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The plane cut through the night sky over the Pacific, a silent metal tube save for the constant hum of the engines. Finn sat in the aisle seat, Noah at the window, and between them an empty seat, mandated by their PR manager.
Noah wore a dark gray hoodie, the hood pushed back, his light brown hair like honey under the dim cabin lights. His hazel eyes were closed, but Finn knew he wasn't sleeping. He saw the fluttering eyelids, the intertwined hands, the restless fingers.
Caleb had warned him Japan would be crazy. The jet lag was unbearable, made worse because his PR manager wouldn't let him sit next to Noah. He couldn't help his bad mood with his routine shattered, and being deprived of sleeping curled around Noah didn't help.
It also didn't help how Noah seemed to adapt to absolutely anything, a social butterfly who charmed everyone. Finn could really resent him, if he didn't know better. If he didn't notice the legs jumping, the hands twisting, the way the hoodie's collar seemed to bother his neck.
In those moments, in the narrow space between their seats, Finn would reach out and intertwine their fingers. He would kiss each knuckle, each thrumming pulse in the wrist that always sped up at his touch. There was a soft smile when Noah gave up pretending he was okay and rested his head against the seatback, turning his face toward Finn. Finn could smell the sandalwood or strawberry scent from his hair. He would run his hands through those soft strands, massaging his scalp gently through the fabric, pulling out quiet sighs of contentment.
Finn gripped the armrest. It was supposed to be easy. It was him who wanted it this way, and Noah, saint that he was, so eager to please, on his knees, open and willing, had accepted.
Noah nodded to a passing flight attendant, his hazel eyes catching the faint light. Finn remembered how the sunlight had once illuminated half that beautiful face, how there seemed to be a lost galaxy in those eyes. Finn, who had always loved the sky, reached out in his memory and tried the impossible: to capture stars. And Noah had opened up, allowed it, and never asked for much in return.
***
The TV studio in Tokyo was a bright white cube, lit by unforgiving spotlights that left no room for shadows or fatigue. Noah sat at the end of the low black leather sofa, next to Caleb, with Finn on the other side, separated by Gaten.
Noah wore a slim navy blue suit that accentuated his narrow shoulders and defined waist, the same waist Finn knew by touch, now contained under fine fabric. The white shirt beneath was open at the collar. His hair was swept back, but a few strands fell over his forehead, golden under the hot lights.
Finn would never admit this aloud, but Gaten was right. He felt a certain envy of the way Caleb could make everyone laugh, especially Noah. It wasn't just laughter, it was full bellied guffaws, and it twisted a sharp knife in his stomach.
He could be sensitive, profound, and caring, adjectives his ex had pointed out. But she had also said how he was rigid, stressed, and... boring. He had never been able to make her laugh. He shook his head. It wasn't right to compare, he knew, but he couldn't help fearing that the same things that had irritated her would irritate Noah too, and that he would grow tired.
Noah turned his head, still laughing, his smile softening as he blinked slowly when his eyes met Finn's across the lit studio. Finn smiled back, aching to be at home, where love didn't have to be translated into stolen glances.
***
The hotel room was spacious, silent, bathed in the cold glow of the city lights. Finn was lying on the king size bed when Noah entered, carrying the day's exhaustion like a heavy cloak.
Finn watched, pretending interest in his phone, as Noah unmade himself. The jacket was tossed over the armchair, the tie coiled on top of the TV. The shoes were kicked under the table, one after the other, with an audible sigh. Noah rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, yawned widely, cracking his neck. His movements around the room were slow, heavy, chaotic. He opened his messy suitcase, rummaged through clothes, leaving a trail of garments on his way to the bathroom.
Seeing this phase of Noah was a privilege, Finn thought. He loved watching him come undone, layer by layer, until only the boy behind the studio smile remained.
Noah noticed the gaze. He stopped in the middle of the room, a sock in his hand, and his hazel eyes met Finn's in the dark. He smiled slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, but said nothing. A thick, nervous silence hung between them.
Without ceremony, Noah walked over to Finn's open suitcase and pulled out a worn black shirt from a band they both loved. He held it against his own chest, still wearing his unbuttoned dress shirt. The sight made Finn's heart clench. It was too intimate, too domestic, Noah with his shirt, as if they were one unit, a shared life.
Finn couldn't wait any longer. He set his phone aside and reached out, grabbing Noah by the wrist and pulling him onto the bed. Noah mumbled, protesting softly.
"I have to do my skincare routine, Finny."
Finn didn't listen. He kissed his wrist, his forearm, the curve of his elbow, his exposed shoulder. "You don't need any of that," he murmured between kisses, his lips tracing the warm skin. "You don't know how beautiful you are."
Noah laughed, a tired but genuine sound. "You just quoted One Direction at me?"
They both laughed, low, as if the room could hear. And in that laughter, Finn felt all the day's tension melt away. He pulled Noah closer, until his head fit against his chest. Finn closed his eyes and listened. Noah's speeding heart, gradually slowing, the familiar rhythm he knew better than any song. Noah's hands came up, fingers threading into his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, his nape. A shiver ran down his spine.
Finn had a thousand words to say. He knew there was a tension hanging between them, a guilt that was his. They were words he hesitated to release. I'm not sure if this is enough anymore. I want more. I want everything. I want to be able to hold your hand on the street, I want to say I love you in a tweet, I want you to be mine in a way the whole world knows.
He wanted to say that maybe maintaining things like this wasn't enough anymore. That the desire inside him was growing, expanding. A desire to consume Noah, to merge with him, to never let him go. A possessive and frightening desire he barely dared to name.
But instead, he bit his lip. He focused on the feeling of Noah's soft, warm skin under his fingers, the familiar texture of his back, the vertebrae he could feel through the shirt. He longed to explore every part of that body, to worship Noah as he deserved, with time, with light, without hurry.
But they were both exhausted. Noah's yawns were deep, his eyes were red with fatigue. The exhaustion said it all. So Finn adjusted himself better, shifting the pillows, pulling Noah to fit the way he liked, legs intertwined, head on his chest, arms wrapped around. He knew he'd probably get cramps, but he didn't care.
He kissed Noah's smooth forehead, watched his long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the dark, the perfect shape of his nose, that slightly parted mouth. He held him tight in his arms, appreciating the low, almost cat like purr Noah let out before falling asleep.
And he wished, with a painful urgency, that he could control himself. To not come apart at the seams and beg, Marry me tomorrow. Run away with me. Forget everything else.
But he fell asleep pretending it was enough, these moments stolen in the dark. Knowing, deep down, that he had made this bed and would now have to lie in it, every night, alone with the weight of his own choices.