Archive of Our Own

Noah forgot to keep his head up, in more ways than one. Primarily because his eyes are swimming as he glares down at his unwanted birthday present, its smooth edges cutting into the meat of his palm as he viciously grips the picture frame. But more importantly, because Noah gave Matt his opportunity, though Noah wasn’t necessarily aware of it at the time.

All it took was a short nod in Matt’s general vicinity, acknowledging his presence after all of the weeks of coldly ignoring his existence altogether. And still, Noah doesn’t know why he did it, why he couldn’t prolong the silent treatment he knew was so heinously efficient in breaking Matt that little bit more each day.

Maybe, because unlike Matt, he can’t stand to be the cause of suffering for someone he loves.

And let’s not mince words. He loves Matt. God, he fucking loves him. But he also hates him with a burning fury that he wasn’t aware he was capable of. Noah’s love has a wholly annoying way of manifesting itself at the most inopportune moments; has a way of freezing Noah’s mind and body to focus on its sole recipient in a peculiar display of tunnel vision.

It has a way of smothering Noah with crushing despair, and Matt with the reciprocating hope of his actions. Noah’s dismally unwavering love fills Matt with so much hope that he feels justified in giving Noah a birthday present, though they haven’t spoken in weeks.

But it’s not just a present. Noah’s been in love with Matt long enough to know that it’s rarely that simple when it comes to him. The present is infinitely more: a plea, an affirmation, and a high-risk gamble all in one.

Noah’s fingertips trace idly over the even loops of metal-wrought flowers tangled around the edge of the picture frame. It’s perfectly aged, a vintage antique that indicates wear and preservation. Distantly, he can feel his body sniffle for him, but his mind is locked on the contents of the beautifully preserved frame.

It’s himself, his face buried into the first blooming bouquet of dahlias Matt ever gifted to him—a shade too dark for Noah’s preferences. Before Matt knew exactly which gradient of red was Noah’s favourite. Before… everything.

Noah can barely recognize himself in the picture, his blemished cheeks animating the pure joy in his features to an unbelievable extent. The youthful roundness in his cheeks that has now trimmed down to reveal angular cheekbones, and the light in his eyes that has since dimmed, leaving behind a shell of his former self.

The second photo in the frame is all-too-familiar, to the point where Noah can nearly close his eyes and be encapsulated within that moment. It’s a photo he wasn’t aware of Auston taking; capturing the moment when Noah reassured his boy of his affections. Where he first began to fall in love with the boy who communicated his love through flowers, and captured the sky within his eyes.

From this outsider’s view, Noah’s back is facing the camera, with Matt’s face on full display. And the distinct happiness and hope exhibited in Matt’s small smile is enough to send a prickling rocket of fire through Noah’s thawing body, and enough to warrant a rough wipe across his wet eyes.

He stares at the way his own body is sheltered by Matt’s, the addition of the skates elevating him over Noah protectively. Matt’s head is lowered with that same concealed grin that Noah recognizes the importance of; the same smile he sported when Noah first spoke those three worn words at his apartment in Raleigh. Back when everything was so uncomplicated, yet so intricately gorgeous.

In the photo Matt’s nearly shielding him away from the camera’s intrusive view, sheltering them in their own private moment. And god, Noah’s insides ache with the need to be that close to Matt again. To feel the warmth radiating from his frame, the elation that once lit a fire within his chest, now nothing more than a flickering memory.

He can feel the memories filter through his unwilling subconscious, the feeling of bliss and adoration cutting through his chest with microscopic heated daggers. Noah’s breath is coming quicker now, in jagged bursts that catch in his leaden throat.

Why couldn’t he be enough? Was he so repulsive, so insignificant that he deserved to be lied to? To be cheated on? Didn’t he deserve happiness, and to be loved?

His fingers sweep over the rough lines of the detailed stems and catch on an indentation on the smooth metal plate on the back of the frame. Turning it over, he can feel his heart sluggishly crack into mismatched pieces as he reads the inscription.

A dahlia in the rough; I’m yours, always.

Despite his heart’s pleading, his eyes lock on the engraved message, reading the unchanging 8 words over in a seemingly never-ending loop. He reads the words until they become agonizingly branded within the mangled tissue of his heart; a sentence that induces a painful clench of his heart, trying to re-stitch itself into a Frankenstein monstrosity with the authenticity of Matt’s words.

Noah feels the first wispy stirrings of the crippling desolation that nearly consumed him whole, bringing with it the buried emotions from the break-up that he couldn’t face. That he wouldn’t face.

---

Noah roughly shoves his key into his car’s ignition, carelessly dropping the picture frame on the passenger seat. Reaching for his phone, he pulls up a message thread he truthfully couldn’t bring himself to delete. Contained within are the domestic, loving, haunting messages he would sometimes read to himself before bed if he was feeling particularly self-loathing. The self-masochism was always an easier excuse to accept than the real reason; his hopes to catch a flash of curly brown hair, or steely blue eyes within the nightmare-ish fog of his unconscious hours.

I’ll be at your place in 10 mins. Buzz me in.

Noah doesn’t wait for an answer, instead navigating the new address that Johnny sent him. It takes him much longer than 10 minutes to get there, instead just over 30 minutes. As he parks, he looks up at the frankly ordinary condominium, his brows furrowing together slightly in confusion. Matt lives 30 minutes outside of the downtown core for a run of the mill place like this? Glancing over the bland stucco walls, Noah can plainly recognize the layout is evidently indistinguishable from every other place that his realtor showed him in downtown Calgary. Matt could just as easily find the same, if not nicer, building within the same general area that most of the young guns on the team live. So the move was intentional, but the motive remains a mystery to Noah.

But not to his inner voice, who teasingly whispers he’s isolating himself, within Noah’s echoing mind. And it’s true, Matt is isolating himself. But from what? From his buddies on the team, the Calgary nightlife, or... Noah?

The thought twinges his chest uncomfortably. It was what Noah requested—space— but now he’s experiencing firsthand the consequences of his demand. Matt sacrificed his proximity to his friends and the rink itself just to ensure that Noah would be satisfied. The guilt stirs at Noah’s insides, until a buzzing in his pocket rips him from his treacherous thoughts.

Don’t Answer

Okay

Noah sighs loudly after reading the message and blindly grabs for the frame, unable to look at it again if he wants to maintain his composure. Sending off a quick Here, he pockets his phone and makes his way into Matt’s building.

---

Standing outside of Matt’s front door, he’s not sure which of his roiling emotions should take precedent at the forefront of his mind. Is it the anger, at Matt’s audacity to gift him a birthday present after all of this time? Or is it heartbreak, at how both of them are still cemented in an unwilling purgatory, all because of Matt’s actions? Or is it frustration, because after all this time Noah’s love is still glaringly present, despite his best efforts? Or maybe it’s the small glimmer of anticipation, the little swoop of hope in his stomach that he can’t quite shake.

However, when Matt opens his door, it’s an unexpected burst of emotion that instead makes the decision for him. Concern.

Because Matt’s eyes are dull when Noah stares into them, abraded by a red hue that stains his tear ducts. His skin isn’t shiny with the youthful glow it should emanate; instead it looks waxy, and too even toned. Even his hair, which is normally voluminous with tight curls, lays flat across his forehead, still damp from the shower.

“What—are you okay? When was the last time you slept?” Noah questions, his eyes flickering over Matt’s face rapidly.

In response to Noah’s unshakable concern, Matt huffs out a wispy laugh that exemplifies his bewilderment at Noah’s concern. The bewilderment that should be Noah experiencing himself, but he can’t, his mind too preoccupied with the deep bags beneath Matt’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” Matt sighs out wearily, clearly in an attempt to convince both himself and Noah. “How, um, are you?” He begins in an almost timid voice, his eyes averted towards the floor.

“I’m—I don’t even know anymore,” Noah huffs, the exasperation surging back in waves. “What is this, Matt?” Noah queries stonily, lifting the picture frame up as evidence.

At the sound of his name, Matt’s eyes flicker back up and over to the frame. It’s where they remain for several moments, staring at the photos in the same way Noah surely did in the safety of his own apartment.

“It’s your birthday present,” Matt murmurs softly, hunching into himself at the edge in Noah’s tone.

“Why?” The word seems as if were ripped from Noah’s most inner parts, clawing its way out with vicious ferocity.

“I—do you want to come in?” Matt asks instead of answering, glancing shiftily towards the empty hallway.

Well, he guesses they’re going for it. The talk. Not exactly what he was expecting when he first set off towards Matt’s apartment, but he’s not going to back down from it.

When they clear the foyer, Noah takes his time to look around. There are bare walls that hold no art, and a kitchen table that clearly is unused. The apartment is very evidently unfurnished, which isn’t surprising; Matt was never any good with decorating—designating it to either his mom or Noah. There’s a scattered assortment of pictures with his family and friends along his barren dining table, and Noah valiantly pretends he doesn’t feel a twinge at the absence of the photo taken with him and the Tkachuks during the previous summer. He distractedly sights a wilting vase of white peonies on a countertop that makes him purse his lips in thought.

“You got a new place,” Noah comments faux-casually, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he’s caught in his calculating once-over of Matt’s new place.

“Yeah, uh, the old place was getting a bit stuffy for me,” Matt responds quietly as his eyes drop to the floor momentarily. Even without his obvious tells, Noah knows the statement is a lie. And the way he’s guiltily avoiding eye contact? Matt knows it too.

Noah grunts out a non-committal noise and shoves his balled fists further into his hoodie in frustration. He should’ve known that he wouldn’t get any true answers from Matt. Deflection was always Matt’s specialty—in more ways than one— and here’s Noah, falling for it again.

Matt must correctly read the tension in Noah’s body language because he shifts on his feet nervously. “Did you, um, like it? Your present?”

And seriously, that’s what he chooses to begin with? Noah feels a wave of annoyance practically suffocate him in its stifling nature. “Why, Matt,” he grinds out instead of giving Matt the answer he already knows.

“Because you—“ Matt cuts himself off suddenly, his eyebrows pinching in a perplexed expression. “Wait, am I not reading things right? I thought—“

“Well, you thought wrong!” Noah explodes, his exponentially rising frustration released in a vicious eruption. “I don’t—what the fuck were you even thinking?“

At Noah’s shout, Matt flinches away from him subconsciously while scrunching his eyes shut. And once Noah cools down enough to recognize Matt’s response, all of his anger evaporates down his body at once, leaving behind a concern that is staggering in its force. Fuck, Noah thinks to himself, sighing loudly while running a rough hand through his hair.

“I’m—I shouldn’t have yelled,” Noah mumbles apologetically, reaching out subconsciously to comfort Matt’s slouched frame before his hand freezes half-way.

Matt’s eyes blink open apprehensively and then clear, as if he realizes it’s only Noah that’s standing in front of him. The same Noah that—for better or worse— could never bring himself to actually hurt Matt.

“No, I mean—I should be over it,” Matt begins softly, toeing the hardwood floor with his sock, “he hasn’t raised his voice since I was a kid,” Matt supplies in a timid voice, though it’s information Noah already knows.

“Still, I shouldn’t have yelled,” Noah whispers regretfully. “I just—Matt,“ he gestures helplessly. “You can’t give birthday presents to your ex, especially not this kind of gift.”

“I know, okay?” Matt sighs, raising a hand to subconsciously flatten his already lifeless curls. “I just—can we sit down?” He nods towards the couch sat in the middle of the living room.

“Matt,” Noah begins cautiously, glancing over to the familiar couch that immortalizes so many of their best memories together.

“Please, Noah?” The wanton plead ensnares Noah’s chest, his breath stuttering in his chest as his eyes flicker back to Matt’s earnest blues. “Please.”

After a slight hesitation, Noah nods and settles back into his unique groove in the couch with a pleased sigh. He loses himself for a moment, closing his eyes and shifting further into the comfort of the familiar couch.

When he opens his eyes to peer over at Matt, his eyes are already on Noah, watching unblinkingly with a desire that kindles an unwanted stirring of warmth within Noah’s belly. It’s a want that is as natural as the enduring attention directed towards him.

Noah drops his eyes, not knowing what else to do. In the corner of his eyes, he watches as Matt wrings his hands restlessly, staring down at them as if they contained the answers that Noah required.

“Stop fidgeting, it’s making me nervous,” Noah whispers abruptly.

“Sorry,” he amends, immediately ceasing the fidgeting to instead look at Noah.

They’re quiet for a moment, Noah staring at his hands, and Matt watching Noah stare at his hands. Clearly, Noah’s going to be the first to initiate the conversation, because Matt seems more than content to gawk at Noah while he has a fucking existential crisis.

“Why?” Noah repeats his earlier question, nodding wordlessly at the frame on the coffee table.

“You know why,” Matt utters under his breath, his eyes informing Noah of all he needs to know.

“I do,” Noah confirms, nodding once. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” Matt begins steadily, leveling Noah with an intensity that can only be genuine. “Even—even if you don’t want me to be.”

The sincerity of his statement feels like a punch through Noah’s churning stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs with its brute strength. It cracks another hairline fracture in the armor around his heart, and he can feel the aching sting of it as if it were physical.

“Were you ever really mine, though?” Noah questions rhetorically. “You fucking cheated Matt, how could you be?”

Matt flinches away from his statement, and realistically, so he should. “No, I—listen—I did...but I was always yours. Always, Noah.”

It’s another strike against his armor, and coordinated or not, Matt’s disintegrating his defences much quicker than he can rebuild them. In an attempt of self-preservation, he drops his eyes and chooses not to respond to Matt’s declaration. Because he can already envision his heart’s words, completely independent of his mind, and it’s not promising.

“Was that why you gave me that, then?” Noah strives for indifference as he gestures over to the frame, but he’s not sure he manages it.

“It was from last year,” he responds candidly, sensing Noah’s apprehension. “Every time I would pass it I would get so—I don’t know… I thought it would be better in your hands.”

Matt’s back to playing with his hands as a means of deflection; subconscious or not, but Noah isn’t falling for it. “You could’ve thrown it out,” Noah challenges.

His head is shaking before Noah can even finish his statement. “No I—I couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself do it.”

And, Noah came for the truth; he knows that. But to be hit with it all at once is all kinds of overwhelming. “Matt,” he begins, a little breathlessly, “you can’t just—“

“I miss you,” Matt blurts out in a rushed breath. “I just—I miss you so much. You’ll be standing in front of me at practice, and I’ll miss you. I’ll miss the way things were, because they’ll never be the same again, and it’s all because of me,” he continues, his hands clenched into tight fists on his lap. “I miss me, y’know? I miss the way I didn’t have to fake smiles and pretend to be okay. And maybe it’s selfish to think about myself, but I miss the way I felt more myself when I was with you.” His words are coming slower, thickened with emotion to the extent that they sound like they hurt coming out of Matt’s mouth. “I just—I miss everything. Fuck Noah, I miss everything.”

He can see the way Matt’s eyes are beginning to fill with tears as he finishes his monologue and destroys Noah all in the same breath. He wants to tell Matt to keep his head up; or anything, but he’s frozen in his position, staring at Matt with a surely epic dumbfounded expression. Matt’s laying his soul bare for Noah, and he can’t even begin to respond. Instead, the air in his lungs is expelled in a loud whoosh, and he can only stare at Matt with stupefied disbelief.

And then Matt’s lip wobbles, just once, and Noah is shaken from his reverie. “Matt—” he starts, truthfully unsure of what will come out of his mouth despite his best efforts.

“No, I’m—I’m gonna go get us some water,” Matt rushes out in a garbled voice, barrelling towards the kitchen before Noah can even open his mouth to respond.

He leaves Noah in the living room, where his thoughts can run for a few interrupted moments. Because he knows that Matt’s not actually going to get water; he’s in the kitchen, isolating himself to cry. Either way, Noah understands that he has two options; he can either slip out of Matt’s front door or follow him into the kitchen. Both are definitive decisions because if he leaves he knows that’ll be it, the last time Matt will ever try. But if he enters the kitchen; well, the outcome is a little more unpredictable.

But there’s something within him that yearns to bend to the siren call of the kitchen and comfort Matt in the way he himself wasn’t. And there’s a soft voice that whispers enticingly through his mind, leaving a tingling warmth as a remnant. It whispers ‘don’t go, baby please,’ and Noah’s compelled to listen.

Strangely, the voice sounds like Matt’s.

The scene in the kitchen is unsurprising, but it makes it no less heartbreaking. Matt’s back is to him, and his palms are flat against the counter, accommodating the way his back is slouched over. His head is hung low, bobbing every now and then with the force of his sniffles. Noah can only watch for so long before he’s walking toward his boy, laying a flat hand against the middle of his back, climbing the muscles until he can soothingly clasp the back of Matt’s neck. He can feel the way Matt’s back muscles initially tense and then relax under the warmth of his hand.

“Matt?” His voice is soft and reassuring, contradicting any of the emotions that originally brought him to Matt’s apartment.

At the sound of his name, Matt slowly turns around, his frame still slouched and his head hung low. However, the harsh fluorescent lights in his kitchen are strong enough to reflect the streaks of tears making their way down his cheeks. Noah can feel the burning all the way through his heart, the armor long since eviscerated. His hand is more on the side of Matt’s neck, and it keeps traveling upwards, until his thumb is stroking just under Matt’s jaw. Matt still isn’t looking at him, instead allowing more tears to fall down his skin as he looks off to the side.

“I didn’t—I don’t want you to see me like this,” Matt stutters with a cracked voice, sniffling quietly. “It’s not fair to you.”

At that Noah can only quirk a small, sad smile. “Oh baby,” he breathes painfully, wiping away the tears pooling at Matt’s jaw.

And strangely enough, that’s what does it. The accidental slip of the term of endearment so frequently used by both of them. It shatters any remnants of Matt’s self-control, sending him into Noah’s awaiting arms with gasping sobs. He clings to Noah’s hoodie with such desperation that Noah knows there will be creases if Matt ever chooses to release his hold.

Truthfully, Noah’s not sure if he wants him to.

“God, Noah,” Matt chokes out agonizingly into his hoodie. “I’m so tired—so fucking tired.”

And somehow Noah intrinsically knows that it isn’t physical exhaustion that he’s referring to. He’s referring to the mind-numbing exhaustion that decides to make an appearance every single time they meet eyes during practice, or the silent agreement made to avoid each other’s paths, even at the detriment of others.

“Matt—” Noah begins unsurely, peering down at the familiar head of hair nestled into his chest.

“Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m breaking,” Matt confesses softly, the jets of warmth from his harsh whispers humid against the material of Noah’s hoodie. “It’s all my fault; I single-handedly ruined the best thing to ever happen to me, and I hate myself, I hate who I became—”

The rest of his sentence is lost in the distraught sobbing into Noah’s chest, Matt’s fingers gripping onto the fabric frantically, as if he’s afraid Noah will pull away. As if he could pull away. Subconsciously, his fingertips run the length of Matt’s back soothingly, against his conflicting mind’s wishes.

Because this is what he wanted, wasn’t it? To see Matt cry, and face the ramifications of his actions head-on. What he wasn’t expecting was a jagged pit of agony to form in the crevices his heartache left bare. Because there’s no satisfaction in seeing Matt like this, grieving as Noah does every day. Only a visceral need to comfort the man who broke his own heart.

“Matt, please,” Noah begs, wincing as he can hear the hiccuping cries manifest themselves into something wholly more desperate.

“Mom can’t even look me in the eye anymore, Brady tries his best—and Dad doesn’t even know, because he never knew,” Matt lifts his eyes up to Noah’s, and he can see the stark redness in both his eyes and cheeks from the force of his cries.

“Why, Matt?” The question sounds as excruciating as it feels crawling up his throat. “We were—I thought we were happy.”

The question makes Matt flinch, and slowly pull away from Noah’s arms. He sighs as he roughly wipes his wrist across his eyes, sweeping away the majority of his tears. When he looks back at Noah, he seems a peculiar mix of both young and mature; the way he’s still leaning towards Noah for comfort, yet his eyes are wise with pain.

“There’s plenty of excuses, but none of them really change what happened; I cheated, broke your trust, and became someone who I never wanted to be,” his piercing confession is brought upon with averted eyes, until he raises them again. “I was insecure in myself as a person, and our relationship. I was—god, I was so alone,” Matt shakes his head slightly, as if mentally banishing a particularly horrible memory. “I still don’t really know why I did it; truthfully. But I never stopped loving you; and now, I can’t stop hating myself for being so fucked up.”

Noah nods, trying to absorb the flurry of information all at once. Why couldn’t Matt just talk to him? He can’t help but be shocked by the candid confession, and realize that there’s so much more going on in Matt’s head that the world isn’t privy to; that Noah wasn’t privy to.

And then Noah asks the question he’s been dreading to know the answer to. “Was there anyone else?”

At once Matt’s head snaps up towards him, looking inexplicably heartbroken. The look in his eyes is something Noah thinks he’ll never forget, purely based on the chaotic rapids of emotion crashing around his irises. “No, it was only one. I know you don’t trust me, and you have every right not to… but it was only one; I promise you.”

Noah can’t help but let his eyes scan over Matt’s face, scrutinizing for indications of a lie. In his search he finds none, except the way Matt’s eyes have begun to fill again, his sniffles increasing in volume. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Matt whispers quietly.

But Noah does believe him, is the thing. With Matt’s earnest eyes and heartbreaking words, Noah believes him. It’s himself he doesn’t trust. Because he knows, all too well, the way he can be around Matt.

Noah can’t force himself to say anything, instead tilting his head to the side and opening his arms, as if to non-verbally communicate: come here, I miss you. Matt, through his limitless understanding of Noah, or a budding hope within him, immediately walks over, embracing Noah tightly. It’s not exactly where he pictured himself when he entered Matt’s apartment; the two of them hugging each other so tightly that Noah doesn’t know where his own body ends, and where Matt’s begins.

“You really fucked me up,” he mumbles into Matt’s hair, the familiar shampoo churning a syrupy warmth through his coiled stomach.

“I know,” is Matt’s choked reply. “And I’m—god Noah, I’m so sorry for everything I put you through.” His words are loaded with so much emotion that they hurt when they land, and Noah covers up his wince with a muffled whimper into Matt’s curls. Absentmindedly, he reaches a hand into Matt’s hair, finger-combing the lifeless curls delicately.

Noah can't respond with 'it's okay,' because still, after all of this time, it's still not okay. Truthfully, he's not sure it'll ever be okay. "I know you are," he instead murmurs, losing himself in the gentle sweeps over Matt’s hair.

“You were so good to me,” Matt sobs into his shirt. “I didn’t deserve you, and I think I knew it all along.”

The self-destructive behaviour is something that Noah’s becoming unfortunately accustomed to as Noah learns more about why Matt cheated. It’s a flaw in Matt’s seemingly perfect outward appearance; one that even Noah admits to falling for. It makes him more human, more approachable, because even Heartbreaker Tkachuk has his own flaws.

“That’s not an excuse, Matt,” he murmurs, though it’s sorely missing the bite that should be associated with the statement. Rather, it’s a soft whisper that he knows Matt hears, purely based on the way his body language changes as he hunches even closer into Noah, as if he’s afraid Noah will run away.

“There’s no excuse for what I did,” Matt begins in a hoarse whisper. “I just hope you understand how truly sorry I am, and that what I did haunts me every day.”

A deep, pained look pinches Matt’s eyes ever so slightly in memory before it passes, and he looks right past Noah’s bravado and into his soul, which still hungers for Matt as if they never broke up in the first place. His arms are still wound protectively around Matt, holding him close. He can feel the erratic beating of Matt’s heart through his shirt and for some reason, it makes Noah’s stomach flip with anticipation.

He’s nervous. His Matt, who could—and has—talked his way out of a parking ticket, is nervous. It confirms what Noah was thinking in the back of his mind with a squandered hope. Matt means it, every single word he’s spoken to Noah.

His eyes scan over Matt’s face for the first time in what feels like years, and he sees it all; everything that he chose to ignore in the name of self-preservation. He sees the devotion shining in Matt’s eyes, the under eye bags that indicate his regret, and the way Matt’s nervously tucked his lip into his mouth at the prolonged silence.

“God, you’re still so pretty,” Noah admits unthinkingly, slowly running the back of his knuckle down Matt’s cheek.

He intends for it to come out in an annoyed huff at his own heart’s singular focus, yet it rushes out nearly reverently, washing affection over Matt until his cheeks are pink with the ferocity of it. The words stain his cheeks with the blush they always have, and Noah can’t help the small grin which pulls at the corners of his mouth, out of familiarity more than anything.

“Noah?” It’s only his name that Matt speaks, but he can readily decipher the underlying tones. Please believe me. Please see me. I’m here; if you still want me, I’m here.

He can feel them both gravitating towards each other, as well as an intangible cliff that he knows he won’t be able to climb once he jumps. Because there’s no going back from this. Noah can choose to fully sever his ties with his first love, or choose to let him back in, trusting the man who cheated on him and broke his heart.

In the end, it’s something nearly trivial that eventually makes his decision for him. It’s Matt, his entire body tensed against Noah. It’s his eyes, looking at Noah with a perplexing combination of terror, passion, and a yearning that Noah knows all too well. But mostly it’s the way he holds himself back instead of leaning in, displaying self-restraint in the way Heartbreaker Tkachuk never could. It’s the maturity Matt exhibits, as well as the respect for Noah and his decision.

Because Noah knows what Matt’s thinking, knows him far too well to not be able to guess the racing thoughts pinballing through his mind. Matt’s letting him dictate the course of action, at his own pace, and it means more to Noah than he’ll ever know. Because his actions don’t indicate his ex; Heartbreaker Tkachuk. Instead, they indicate Matt, a person he never fully understood, likely in the same way he never fully understood Noah.

And god, he needs Matt.

It’s the easiest thing in the world then, to lean down into Matt’s awaiting body. To claim Matt again, flaws and all, with a kiss that is full of reassurance and the frankly staggering reciprocation of love that he feels as Matt moves his lips against Noah’s. There’s nothing timid about the way they move together, only a hurried finesse that demonstrates their exhaustive knowledge of the other’s body. Noah harshly inhales against Matt’s plush lips, walking him back into the support of the fridge so Noah can press against his body firmly.

When the initial heat passes, Noah feels his own body melt instinctively with the intimacy that makes itself known. Especially when Matt slides a hand up his neck to splay across his jaw, cradling it gently as he exhales a relaxed sigh against Noah’s mouth. And Noah can’t help but recall their first kiss against his billet’s house. It’s really only fitting that they would find themselves mimicking the night that changed everything for both of them.

There’s none of the initial awkwardness of kissing someone for the first time, rather there’s a soothing understanding that settles Noah in a way no other will. And it’s good, so much better than good that it makes him want to cry. He thinks he might be, with the residual tears from Matt’s cheeks that intermingle with his own.

“Okay?” Matt pants as they break apart to catch their breath.

He looks back to Matt, and his chest tightens when he does. Matt looks like he’s played a double shift; his cheeks pink, his eyes wide, and his hair already totally fucked.

Beautiful, Noah can’t help but think to himself.

“Yeah—just stop, if I say,” Noah somehow gets out, distracted by the thumb swirling gentle half-circles over his cheekbone.

“Of course,” Matt responds gently.

He fixates on Noah for a moment, apparently finding what he’s looking for in Noah’s eyes before tipping his head up slightly. Moving deliberately, his eyes flicker from Noah’s lips to his eyes, giving Noah ample time to move away if he wanted to.

But Noah can’t walk away. Not again.

When he softly connects their lips again, Matt gasps quietly, his hand slipping to the back of Noah’s head to hold him even closer. Noah goes willingly, submitting himself to the edges and lines of the body he could describe in his sleep. Running his hand up Matt’s bicep and over his shoulder, he explores the enhanced muscle that is new in his memory.

Tilting his head, Matt somehow brings him even deeper into his body. Noah blindly follows his cues, mirroring him as he deepens the kiss into something as intimate as it is sensual. Matt forces everything he can’t vocalize into the harmonized twine of their tongues, and Noah comprehends it readily.

Noah’s possessive hands manifest their own message; hauntingly true and real. No one else will ever possess me as you have, he thinks to himself in an exceptionally perilous stream of thought. Leaning Matt further into the fridge, their mouths work against each other nearly desperately with a singular need to make up for lost time. Noah feels his mind begin to shut off, so lost in the feeling of Matt against him. Fuck, it’s been so long.

As his mind becomes stifled, so do any remaining wisps of apprehension. The remaining brainpower Noah commands is exclusively dedicated to the body pressed against him, and prolonging the rightness he feels all the way down to his toes. It’s not surprising, then, that they’re grabbing for each other’s belts within seconds.

“Bedroom,” Noah gasps against Matt’s cheek.

The noise that escapes Matt after Noah’s statement can only be described as strangled. “Yeah—okay, let’s uh—follow me,” Matt stutters out quickly, and practically tows Noah by his wrist down the hallway and into his bedroom.

Noah barely has the chance to look around at the room before Matt captures his attention once more, pulling his shirt over his head with ease, as if he doesn’t know it steals Noah’s breath. Noah looks, because he can, and mentally catalogs the slight differences of the body he used to know. His eyes lock on the muscle where there previously wasn’t, looking on with appreciation. When his eyes glance back up, Matt’s cheeks are flushed but he looks pleased with Noah’s attention. Which really isn’t anything new; Matt always did like to be watched.

At Matt’s expression, Noah can’t help but step towards him, stealing a slow, sweet kiss that makes his own toes curl. His hand sweeps up Matt’s hip, brushing against the warm, smooth skin until he reaches his favourite spot, splaying his fingers across Matt’s flank, and digging his fingertips into his tapered waist.

Matt’s fingers creep under Noah’s shirt, brushing softly against the skin just above his waistband, and he exhales a stuttered breath. He tugs at it gently, and Noah interprets his unspoken communication, raising his arms so Matt can softly lift his shirt off. And Matt quietly takes his fill as well, watching Noah with hooded eyes and blatant appreciation as he catches his already swollen bottom lip into his mouth. “Perfect,” Matt hums to himself, quiet enough that Noah wonders if he knows he’s thinking out loud.

And maybe that’s the kicker out of all of this. That their bodies know each other better than they ever did. Together, they learned their bodies, and that knowledge doesn’t just disappear. It makes things feel safe, but never repetitive. Matt may be tracing up Noah’s back along the same path others had before him, but his touch is singular. His touch is home.

Matt’s fingertip, gentle as a feather, drifts down Noah’s side until it reaches his hip. His eyes lazily flicker up to Noah’s as he loosely intertwines their fingers, leading him towards the bed. He walks slow enough that the out is clear enough for Noah to huff out a frustrated breath before taking things into his own hands; roughly pushing Matt onto the bed and crawling between his spread legs.

The smirk he’s rewarded with is all sorts of cheeky, as if Matt predicted his exact reaction. In response, Noah leans down to kiss away the stupid comment on the tip of Matt’s tongue. He can still feel Matt’s smile as he kisses him with everything he has. Slowly, he lowers down into the warmth of Matt’s body, the skin on skin contact of their chests nearly taking his breath away. Running his hand up Matt’s neck and into his hair, Noah deepens the kiss, tilting his head to change the angle.

Fuck, he could stay like this for hours. Basking in the exhilaration of re-learning a body he already knows so well, under Noah as he’s been so many times. Cherishing the soft little noises Matt makes at the back of his throat as he seeks his own closeness. But of course, things don’t stay that way. They rarely do with Matt, his impatience always wanting to move things along.

It begins with a stronger sigh that causes Noah’s lips to tingle, and then Matt’s hands skimming down his bare back, caressing his skin as they go. He doesn’t stop until his hands rest gently on top of Noah’s ass, squeezing firm fingertips into the denim. Noah’s surprised gasp is met with another smile, and it fucks their rhythm up enough that they break apart panting. And Matt doesn’t even miss a beat, pulling in Noah by his belt loops to line up their hips. There’s still a barrier of clothing between them, but the first brush of the outline of Matt’s dick has him drawing in a shaky breath.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his head down to Matt’s neck.

“We should,” Matt supplies in a falsely indifferent voice, as if he doesn’t know that Noah can see right through it.

And when he leans back to peer at Matt, his suspicions are correct. Matt’s cheeks are blushed in the way they always are before sex, and his eyes are hazy in anticipation. The way his hips tilt up enticingly to meet Noah’s pretty much confirms it.

“Have you...been with anyone else recently?” Noah aims for casual, but based on the narrowing of Matt’s eyes, he’s missed his mark by a long shot.

“No one’s—since you,” Matt forces out, averting his eyes to the wall for a moment.

“Are you lying?” Noah originally meant to ask the question in terms of preparation, but now he finds himself nearly clinging to Matt’s response.

At the question, Matt’s eyes return to his, and he juts his chin out defiantly in a clear challenge. “You know I’m not,” he states in a matter of fact tone, his eyes a steely blue.

Noah feels a strange rush of possessiveness at the statement, squeezing Matt’s side in response. “I’m not fucking you, it’ll be too much,” Noah states breathlessly, a punched out breath exhaled as Matt shifts under him and accidentally brushes against his hip. “I won’t last long enough to be gentle.”

Matt’s lips turn down into a frown, yet his eyes remain impossibly dark, luring Noah into reneging on his decision. And staring up at him like that, Noah’s forced to reconsider his decision, though he intrinsically knows it’s the right one.

“Don’t act like you didn’t take my virginity in the first place,” Matt begins snarkily, “c’mon Noah; you know what I can handle, don’t make me beg.”

Though Matt’s eyes are clear, the panting breaking up his words indicates that he’s early there. Which really isn’t anything new; quite the opposite in fact, but it’s not something he feels the need to push tonight.

“No,” Noah reinforces in a voice that he knows will cut through Matt’s mental fog. “I don’t want to hurt you,” as you hurt me, is the unspoken addition to his statement, yet it’s understood clearly if the way Matt averts his eyes is anything to go by.

“Fine,” Matt sighs dramatically in an attempt to deviate the slight tension while his fingers dance over Noah’s bicep, leaving behind a path littered with gooseflesh.

“I’ll do your thighs,” Noah compromises, “where’s your lube?”

Matt grins in approval and vaguely points over to a cabinet behind them. “Second drawer,” he says as he maintains his distracting circle drawing into the exposed skin above Noah’s waistband.

“Be right back,” Noah reassures stupidly, pulling back from the warmth of their bodies. “Take them off for me,” he instructs as he teasingly snaps the waistband against Matt’s skin, leaning down to quickly peck the corner of Matt’s smiling lips, helpless to the familiar gesture.

He does the same as he goes, unzipping his fly and stepping out of his jeans and boxers as he reaches the cabinet. As he roots through the drawer, he can feel Matt’s eyes on him, but it doesn’t ignite his fury as it did only hours ago. Instead, he can feel a slow, viscous warmth trickle down his spine, spreading into the cold corners of his body. There’s something about the way Matt quietly watches that isn’t leering, only reassuring at the most intimate level.

When he looks back, Matt’s already watching him with soft eyes and a softer smile, relaxed against the headboard, working himself with lazy, unhurried strokes. It’s quite possibly the sexiest thing Noah’s ever seen. And there’s so much in his expression that Noah’s chest squeezes painfully; desire, adoration, and excitement all unmistakably featured in the small smile he quirks at Noah.

It’s so much for his overwhelmed mind that he very nearly blurts out ‘I love you.’ Instead, he holds up the lube triumphantly, quickly making his way back to his boy.

“Turn over,” Noah instructs, drizzling some lube into his hand. “The normal amount?” He questions rhetorically as his eyes lock on Matt’s ass once he’s turned over.

Jesus.

Noah’s sharp intake of air doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them, judging by the way Matt’s hips tilt up teasingly. “You sure you don’t want to?” Matt’s question is cheeky enough that Noah feels justified in his responding action.

He sends a stinging smack across Matt’s ass—not too hard—just enough to make him feel it. When he hears Matt’s surprised gasp he smirks, feeling Matt lean back into his hand. “Don’t be a brat,” Noah warns quietly, kneading the already pink flesh beneath his fingertips.

“Tease,” is Matt’s muffled reply, because he knows how long Noah can draw it out. How long he has drawn it out, until Matt was a quivering mess, begging in the way no one thought he could.

Noah graces his response with a low hum, before he leans in with a slow thrust between Matt’s thighs, grinning at the strangled moan he hears as Matt buries his head into the sheets. “Cross your ankles,” Noah murmurs as he watches his dick slide out slowly from between Matt’s soft thighs.

“Fuck, Noah,” Matt whimpers, his muscular thighs tightening around Noah’s dick until the both of them are panting.

Fuck, it’s good, so inexplicably better than good. “Okay?” Noah’s voice is pure gravel as he fits a hand around the curve of Matt’s hip.

“Yeah—yeah it’s fucking perfect,” Matt pants breathlessly, already sounding like he’s halfway through playing a double-shift.

At that Noah allows himself to lean his body over Matt’s, tightening the seal between their bodies as he grinds shallowly. He hooks an arm under Matt’s torso to give him space to breathe as bears more of his weight down.

Noah isn’t expecting it, but Matt somehow shatters and fills his heart when he lifts his own hand to twine through the empty spaces between Noah’s splayed fingers. And that’s the thing with Matt, and the two of them together. He never knew something as carnal as sex could mean as much, be as tender, until he met Matt.

He’s it.

“Perfect,” Noah can’t help but whisper as he noses along Matt’s throat, squeezing their intertwined hands gently.

Matt takes the praise just as well as Noah predicted him to; with a full body shiver and a shallow grind into the sheets. And he’s so good for Noah like this, the way he always was.

“Fuck, feels so good Noah, oh my god—“ Matt whimpers, his neck bared as Noah viciously sucks a bruising mark into the exposed skin of his neck.

It must hurt. Noah’s not even holding back, catching the skin roughly between his teeth and sucking tighter still. But Matt just takes it, takes it without tensing, and relaxes into the flurried attack of sensations as Noah ravages his body.

He changes the angle, tilting his thrusts upwards in a way he knows will have Matt’s eyes rolling in pleasure. Sure enough, Matt’s head lolls back towards him, and Noah releases the abused skin of his neck with a satisfying pop.

“You'll always be mine,” Noah whispers possessively, fucking deeply into the softness of Matt’s upper thighs that he could never seem to work off.

“Fucking—always Ace, always.”

The slip of the nickname is surprising, as well as unsurprisingly painful. Noah’s head drops to the middle of Matt’s back, cradled between his jutting shoulder blades, and he releases a stuttered groan. The noise is ripped from him in a confounding mixture of surprise, want, and pain.

Matt called him Ace.

He’s a willing bystander in his body’s actions, watching on as he flips over Matt with a strength he didn’t know he had. Judging by Matt’s widened eyes, he didn’t know either. The stare lasts for a few charged seconds, before Noah’s surging down to kiss the absolute life out of Matt.

And god, how did he even survive without this for the past few months? He’s kissing Matt like he’s a starved man, and Matt’s giving up everything, offering himself on a silver fucking platter to Noah. Their mouths slide with none of their earlier finesse, just a strictly animalistic need to show, rather than tell. His body has completely taken over in place of his mind, and the way his dick grinds filthily against Matt’s would be enough to do it anyway.

“Hurry up,” Noah pants out breathlessly, placing a lingering open-mouthed kiss to the blossoming mark on Matt’s neck.

“Fuck, I’m so close—“ Matt moans as he fits a heavy arm across the middle of Noah’s back, anchoring him to their closeness.

At his words, Noah hitches one of Matt’s legs higher and reaches down between them. His spit-slicked finger rubs against Matt’s fluttering hole, and he watches with pride as Matt’s face shuts down. Noah pushes Matt’s curls off his forehead, and stares into the blue depths, his eyes unblinking as the snapping release of tension dissolves across Matt’s irises. It’s the same stupid ‘O’ face Noah has seen countless of times, familiar in its unchanging ridiculousness. It’s something he used to mentally laugh at Matt for, yet now it’s something he misses like a phantom limb.

Noah huffs a relieved breath as he fucks into the curve of Matt’s hip, setting a lethal pace that’ll have him undone quickly. He can hear Matt whispering things to him—dangerous things, based on the way his body reacts; holding him even tighter. The words aren’t even necessarily distinguishable, fading into each other with their universal affection.

It’s Matt's voice that his mind blindly focuses on, seeking it out amongst the other clashing sensations he feels as his body rocks into Matt’s. And they’re gripping each other with so much urgency that it even surpasses his memory of their first time; which was still over embarrassingly fast. Noah’s last coherent thought before he comes is at least we managed to get our pants off this time.

And then he’s swept up in a release that feels like a punch to his gut, stealing his air and bending him at the waist. Through his harsh panting, he can feel his body slide down Matt’s, too exhausted to do anything but collapse into his boy’s arms. Thankfully, from extensive experience, he knows Matt can take his weight, and he has no qualms with Noah settling on top of his body. It'll only be for a moment at least, just while he catches his breath.

---

Someone’s playing with his hair.

That’s the first thing Noah notices as his brain reboots. That, and he’s cuddled into a warm body, exhaling humid breaths into their neck. He can feel soothing sweeps down the sensitive skin of the back of his neck, and his lips lift into a dazed grin.

“Matt?” He questions in a rough voice, snuffling further into the warmth of his body.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, his fingertips reaching the sweet spot behind Noah’s ear that always makes him shiver with pleasure. “You okay?”

Noah’s first instinct is to furrow his eyebrows at the question as it races through his fuzzy mind. Why wouldn’t he be okay? He’s with Matt, sheltered in the warmth that is so achingly familiar that his chest settles with it.

But, as he opens his eyes again, more details infiltrate the quiet peace in his mind. Including the reason he came to Matt’s place in the first place, and the way Matt couldn’t look him in the eye. The way Matt sobbed in his arms with agonizing wails. The way he kissed Matt, and held his body the way he had so many times before.

“Yeah,” Noah sighs, trying desperately to relax his suddenly tense body.

“You sure? I can go get us some water—are you thirsty? I’m kind of thirsty—” Matt stammers loquaciously, already trying to sit up in an attempt to give Noah some space.

“No,” Noah reaches a gentle hand out to still Matt’s arm. “Just, stay?”

He can still feel Matt’s muscles shifting under his arm like he’s trying to sit up, and Noah leans further into him. “Stop Matt, it’s okay,” he reassures softly, his hand coming up to halt his movement.

“Sorry, I just—you’re here, and I—I don’t know, it’s a lot,” Matt confesses quietly, sinking back into the pillows.

I know, Noah internally agrees, understanding how Matt feels more than anyone. Because the spark that ignited the two of them when they were only teenagers is still glaringly present, though now it’s accompanied with emotion they didn’t even have the words for back then. A combination of lived experience and maturity that manifests the spark into something infinitely more, yet characteristically the same.

Noah loses himself for a moment in his thoughts, before the grounding press of Matt’s body against his pulls him back to the present. His fingertips dance over Matt’s flank before they settle, squeezing gently as he releases a slow, content sigh.

His eyes track his finger’s path until they lock on the skin on Matt’s side. It’s blemished with a sort of dark freckle, yet as he leans closer to inspect the foreign beauty mark, he realizes it’s much more than a freckle. It’s a simple black sketch of a dahlia permanently needled into Matt’s skin, the bolded lines neat and precise. It’s no more than an inch by an inch, but it’s there, a permanent stamp that Matt’s chosen to ink into his skin.

Noah unthinkingly fits his thumb over it, and Matt inhales sharply, as if he knows exactly what Noah’s found. Noah digs his finger in slightly, unsure if he wants to claw the permanent image out of Matt’s skin, or stroke over it lovingly.

“That’s a—“ Noah stutters quietly.

“Dahlia,” Matt whispers after a moment, finishing Noah’s thought.

He stares at it a bit longer, until the simple lines are etched within his memory. The simple design is perfect and inconspicuous—Noah wonders how he’s never noticed it before.

“It’s beautiful,” Noah breathes, feeling himself becoming choked up. “Really—it’s beautiful.”

“Don’t cry Ace, please,” Matt pleads in a hushed whisper once he feels the first tears against his bare chest. “You’ll set me off too baby, please.”

Noah sniffles in an attempt to get his tears under control. “I need you…Fuck Matt, I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Matt’s fingertips maintain their soothing strokes across Noah’s scalp without a fault, as if he didn’t hear Noah’s confession. “I’ll always need you Ace,” Matt begins in an even tone, clearly attempting to mask his emotions. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Noah feels his cheeks warm with a pleased flush. Glancing up at Matt from his position tucked against his side, Noah stares for a few uninterrupted moments.

Matt’s looking at the wall with a distant stare, but his fingertips maintain their soothing trail along Noah’s scalp. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly, and Noah knows that wherever his thoughts are taking him, they’re far outside the confines of his bedroom. Matt’s lips are downturned in a nearly somber expression, before he snaps out of it, blinking rapidly.

His eyes catch Noah’s nearly instinctively, and he grins tenderly, as if Noah's all he could ever want. Matt’s smile contains all the fondness and love that Noah knows he’s capable of, and Noah can’t help but reciprocate it back in waves.

“You staring at me?” Matt questions teasingly, trailing a featherlight fingertip down Noah’s cheek, only stopping when he reaches Noah’s cheekbone.

It’s such a simple touch, but Noah feels the adoration down to his toes, which instinctively curl at the action. God, he’s missed Matt; more than he could ever put into words. The simple check-in touches that Matt always found reasons to give, and his special smile for Noah, currently directed down at him. The light in his eyes, starting to overtake the dullness present when Noah first entered his apartment.

When Noah glances back up at Matt, there’s so much unabashed love in his eyes that it makes Noah’s heart hurt. “Maybe,” he replies, a little too breathlessly for his liking.

Matt’s eyes shine as he looks down at Noah, before his features tighten minutely, subtle enough to go unnoticed by most. But, Noah isn’t most. He watches as Matt’s lips purse imperceptibly before they soften again, plush and pink from the way Noah kissed him.

“Are you...um, staying the night?” The hesitation in Matt’s words is nearly palpable; the way he’s holding himself back from hoping for too much.

Noah feels his own brows furrow, and Matt’s eyes drop accordingly, but his arm still anchors Noah into his side. He feels the immediate regret wash over him, but he can’t raise his hand to reassure Matt, or even open his mouth. He’s frozen in the silence, an unwilling participant in this stalemate.

Matt accepts his silence for what it is; a cautious, confused mess. “I know you don’t owe me anything, believe me, I do, but please, please stay. I’m begging you,” Matt whispers brokenly, shattering any of Noah’s remaining defences.

“Okay,” Noah whispers.

Matt leans over to turn off his bedside lamp, and somehow the room seems even smaller once they’re cloaked in darkness. He can hear, and feel, Matt’s stuttering breaths under his cheek, and the way he fidgets under Noah’s body.

Still squirming, Matt sighs unhappily, the noise cutting clear through the charged silence in the room. “Can I—just tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable,” Matt murmurs, his voice weirdly garbled as he burrows down into Noah’s chest. He reaches for Noah’s arm, gently lifting it to wrap around the naked warmth of his skin. Noah can’t help but reflexively tighten his arms at the feeling of a warm body under his fingertips, and especially this particular body he knows so well.

“Okay?” Matt questions shakily, as if he couldn’t make himself move regardless, even if Noah said no.

And how Noah recognizes it? His own voice shares the same teetering quality as he pulls Matt’s achingly warm body into his. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, finding silent comfort in the press of their bodies. And then Matt tenses slightly, in the way that Noah knows means he’s thinking about something.

“What?” 

“Are you—um—am I going to wake up alone tomorrow?” Matt’s voice is vulnerable, open in a way that can’t help but shatter Noah’s heart.

“I don’t know,” Noah whispers back hoarsely—truthfully.

He can feel Matt nod minutely, his curls pressing back into Noah’s face. “I understand—either way. Can you just… stay until I fall asleep?”

The question is so wanton and innocent that Noah feels spiking tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Of course,” he murmurs, placing a dry kiss to Matt’s forehead.

“Thank you,” Matt speaks weakly, reaching down to lace their fingers together as they rest against his rib cage. “For being here; for listening. You’ll never know how much it means to me.”

Noah isn’t sure what else to do but gently squeeze their fingers, overwhelmed with such a dizzying array of emotions that he feels suffocated by it all. Matt gently tugs their intertwined fingers even closer into his body, pulling Noah close enough that his nose naturally rests against Matt’s forehead. It’s close enough that Noah doesn’t have to reach to place another loving kiss against his flushed skin. So he does, because he can.

“Sweet dreams baby,” Noah speaks unthinkingly, allowing the same words he said before bed each night to slip out without regard.

He doesn’t expect the effect the words have on Matt, as he winds even closer into Noah’s body. Matt clings to him fiercely, as if he can make Noah stay until morning solely with the strength in his arms.

Noah pretends not to feel the tears streak down his chest, or hear the quiet sniffles as his words land. Instead, he pulls his boy even closer, attempting to communicate the words his mind refuses his mouth to form. Pressing a long, lingering kiss to Matt’s cheekbone, he knows.

And with that, he closes his eyes.