Chapter Text
When Noah heard they were getting an off day because the plane (apparently) needed an urgent refuel right as they left London, he had half expected Chris to make one of his interns bungee jump out and do it midair. The man didn’t, fortunately for whatever employees were onboard, because they were ahead of schedule and allowed to take a off-day by the producers instead, which is new for all of them.
It’s an entirely unprecedented situation, especially considering that Noah was supposed to get voted off and eliminated by now - he’s certain Alejandro had convinced Duncan and Tyler to vote for Noah. But here he is, standing in a cafe somewhere near (or in - he’s not exactly sure how far they were when they decided to land a second time on British grounds,) London, getting coffee for Chris Mclean and the rest of the crew.
It’s a lot of coffee, not forgetting his own, and he’s puzzling how exactly he’s supposed to trudge through the streets back to the haphazard place the plane had landed without spilling the contents of approximately 20 cups of it.
(Once a long suffering Chris Mclean personal assistant, always a long suffering Chris Mclean assistant - though at least Chris offered to tip him a couple hundred for the ‘small’ effort.)
Noah is sighing under his breath when the bell on the door of the quaint cafe tinkles, letting in a cold draft that has Noah shuddering even under his three layers of clothes. He figures he should probably hurry back and stop obstructing the counter, but the cashier’s in the back and he’s certainly not picking up 20-ish full cups anytime soon, so he turns to apologise for whatever wait might occur and freezes.
Immediately, his brain thinks: Fuck, it’s Alejandro. Noah wasn’t even thinking about the guy in enough capacity for him to just waltz in like this, in the event this was a cruel hand from fate. What the hell. And then Noah is smoothing his expression back into his usual disinterest, eyes taking in the sight of the other teen who appears fully unphased, aside from the confused glance spared towards the honestly rather obscene number of coffee cups behind Noah.
His eyes are otherwise trained on Noah, lips pursed in a way that shows he has something he wants to say but isn’t entirely sure how to put it into eloquent words. It’s a tell Noah had caught back in an earlier challenge - not quite sure when, its name now blurring away given its unimportance.
Noah scoffs, but it feels weak. He feels weak. “We’re off-camera. All of our fellow contestants have gone off to who knows where, so they won’t hear or see you. Whatever you want to say, or do, just… y’know. I’ll be figuring out how to lug these back to the deathtrap in the meantime.”
There’s an acidity in the air mixed in the warmth of coffee and baked goods that has Noah shifting uncomfortably as he turns back to the counter. The sour sensation of surprise oozes from Alejandro, certainly, and it makes Noah want to gag. Fuck, he knew better than anyone that his words were being broadcast. Even if Alejandro hadn’t heard it immediately - he would’ve at one point in the future. But Noah just had to run his mouth anyway.
“I saw you from across the street,” Alejandro says, tone flat, but it disrupts both the stilted silence and Noah’s thoughts, causing the atmosphere to shift again. “I was on a walk, but I thought I’d come have a… chat with you before we have to go.”
Noah frowns. He can hear some noise coming from the back of the shop now, talking mixed with the soft thuds of a few counters. “I don’t think there’s anything for us to say to each other.”
“I think that there’s a lot, Noah. You require help to carry all those cups - and I am looking for answers. It can be a trade, of sorts.”
This is wildly out of character for Alejandro, Noah thinks. But is it really? They both know Noah’s out of the game, and without it, they’re just two boys who happen to be acquainted standing in a cafe with too many coffee cups to be carried by one person. Noah certainly doesn’t know what Alejandro is like outside of Total Drama. And he does need the help before the coffees get too cold.
“Fine.”
–
And that’s why they’re walking through the London streets with a bunch of coffee cups in bags. It’s silent, the street strangely barren for the time of day. Noah has half a mind to apologise, even though he wouldn’t mean it at the moment.
But Noah’s dealt with worse awkwardness before, and certainly more animosity. This silence, stifling as it is, isn’t anything new for him. So he just averts his eyes, looks anywhere except the direction of his travel partner, does anything except open his mouth.
They’re several blocks away from the cafe before Alejandro says anything.
“Why.”
And Noah blinks. And then he narrows his eyes. “Why what?”
Alejandro lets out a short huff that sounds frustrated. His voice, in the next line he gives, is loud. “Why did you-” Alejandro catches himself, and he tones it down, letting out another huff. Noah peeks at the other curiously, both of their steps now slowing. “Why did you say that about me, back at the challenge? I had thought… that we were friends.”
Alejandro says the last word a little bitterly, and Noah almost feels bad.
“Well. It’s not wrong, is it?” The delivery is too clunky, too blunt, even by Noah’s standards, and he winces as Alejandro’s head almost snaps towards him. “No, that- I- Ugh. It’s not- That’s not all you are. An eel, I mean. I’m sure you’re probably less suspicious and probably using less people in your day to day life than you are on this weird show. But so far, everyone that’s been eliminated has had it tied back to you, in some way. You aren’t exactly subtle. You’re suspicious and you’re slippery and you have just about everyone wrapped around your finger.”
Noah lowers his head slightly.
“I didn’t actually mean to say any of what I did. Not aloud, at least.”
“But you were thinking it,” Alejandro interrupts flatly.
“...Yeah, I was. But you can’t seriously tell me you wouldn’t suspect it if someone else acted as suspiciously as you do. It wasn’t personal. Just. The drama," Noah finishes lamely.
They had stopped completely now, just standing in the middle of the pavement. Alejandro isn’t saying much in response, just staring into Noah’s eyes, searching for something. The coffee’s getting cold - Alejandro leans down to place the two bags he was carrying on the pavement. In the process, a few strands of his hair stray from place, falling in front of his eyes.
It’s irritating, somehow, how Alejandro doesn’t even move to brush it away, even though Noah would be scrambling to fix it. Has the other just not noticed? He looks stupid with his ridiculous hair falling over his eyes like that, especially while he’s staring at Noah. Which is happening because of what Noah said back at the challenge. Fuck.
(His heart had been heavy since the moment the words left his mouth, but he hadn’t let it show until he realised that Alejandro had heard the words and been hurt. It didn’t matter anymore, at that point, whether that anger at the end of the challenge was just an act for more sympathy or the real thing. Noah has done this song and dance too many times. He’s tired of himself.)
“It’s a habit,” Noah blurts out to fill the silence, and he would be mortified at how open he was being with someone that’s essentially a stranger, if not for the fact he was trying to give a semi-decent apology instead of an emotional breakdown. Alejandro’s eyebrow raises in interest, so Noah continues, “I say things without thinking, sometimes sarcastic quips, sometimes thoughts I haven’t fully worked through, and then I hurt the people I care about. It’s happened so many times at home that I’ve just learnt to shut myself off and not think about it and just avoid the problem until one of my sisters decide to- Fuck. I’m oversharing. The point is I’m sorry and I was being stupid, even if you’re kind of a jerk for getting Bridgette and Leshawna kicked off the way you did and for gunning after Heather now.”
Alejandro is silent again, but he’s not doing that strange soul-searching thing that made Noah’s heart ache anymore. It’s still strange, to be standing in the middle of who-knows-where alone with Alejandro so soon. He hadn’t expected to get a chance to speak to the other until after Alejandro got eliminated, or won, and that was if Noah even wanted to speak to him after the ordeal. Noah was a bad friend in many ways, and shutting himself away from other people just to avoid a worse situation from arising, even when he was supposed to apologise, is exactly what he’d do, given the chance.
“Okay,” Alejandro says, a knack for speaking at the perfect time to knock Noah straight out of spiralling.
“Okay?” Noah parrots hesitantly.
“Your apology,” Alejandro clarifies, “I accept it.”
“Oh.” Alejandro has that look on his face where he has something he wants to say again, so Noah waits. Instead, he focuses on Alejandro’s bangs again. Seriously, what is his deal? It has to be annoying, draped over his eyes like that. Does he just want to seem cool or something? There’s no one here but Noah.
Alejandro follows with something in Spanish that Noah doesn’t quite catch. “I just don’t understand why I’m so… affected.”
“My words tend to have that effect on people.” This time, Noah is the one shrugging. Alejandro’s eyes are trained on the movement as his eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“You know. They’re meant to hurt.”
“Ay, dios mío. I’d thought- Nevermind.”
Alejandro finally moves his hand to comb at his hair, and Noah almost cheers. But seconds after brushing it back, he starts ruffling it, creating an even bigger mess, more strands falling to the side and front of his face. He looks even more stupid now, which is honestly a record, and Noah has half a mind to fix it himself. Instead, he clenches his fist and deadpans at Alejandro.
“No cameras, remember? Whatever there is to say, just say it.”
Alejandro laughs, looking to the sky. “It’s not that simple, mi querido. We should go back.”
Go back? Noah almost repeats it back as a question before he remembers the coffee on the floor between the two of them. Those were definitely lukewarm now. Gross. But still, there’s something stilted about Alejandro’s words (just what was that nickname-) that sits uncomfortably at the bottom of Noah’s stomach. “I’m already out of the competition, Alejandro. We won’t see each other for a long time, probably until the competition is over, since you seem like you’ll make the final three at least. Anything you want me to hear, or if you just want to cuss me out, you won’t get a second chance to do it. If nothing else, I just poured my heart out to you about my crude remarks, at least even the playing field a little.”
“My, my, trying to know me better now that we are no longer competitors, Noah?” Alejandro’s eyes narrow in amusement, lips tugging into a smile, and Noah’s throat feels just a little bit too dry at the sight. Does he think Noah’s stupid, evading the question like that?
“Don’t change the subject,” Noah says, annoyance bringing a heat to his face. To be petty, he reaches a hand to swipe at Alejandro’s messy bangs, but he’s caught by the wrist before anything is fixed.
They just stand there for a few beats, Noah’s hand entangled in Alejandro’s hair as his wrist is held loosely, staring into each other’s eyes. The irritation further contributes to the heat on Noah’s face - can the asshole just let him deal with his hair already - and Alejandro’s eyebrow is only raising further.
“What’s this?” Alejandro sounds smug, almost like the times he got people eliminated, like the times their team would win the challenges under his guidance. Maybe his real self and his Total Drama self weren’t so different after all, Noah thinks, and suddenly there’s a spike of something that causes his heart to feel like it was bursting, and it renders him breathless.
“Fuck you,” Noah rasps. “And your annoying hair.”
It takes a single step to close the distance between them, Alejandro’s loose hold letting Noah push his hair back with relative ease before he’s drawing back to admire his handiwork. Alejandro’s hair is no longer dangling in front of his eyes. Noah one, Alejandro zero.
Alejandro blinks several times in confusion, so Noah graces him with an explanation, “Your hair got messed up earlier, so I fixed it. You’re welcome.”
It takes a moment - Noah can see Alejandro’s brain buffering - and then Alejandro is letting out a cackle that doesn’t sound remotely like his laugh during filming, yet sounds exactly like him. It’s fitting, somehow. But Noah doesn’t quite know what Alejandro’s laughing about, so he stares at the other in mild concern until suddenly there’s a hand in his hair, and Alejandro ruffles it with the force of a bull.
"What the hell ,” Noah squawks out, using his hands to push Alejandro’s away while stepping backwards to escape. “Go away, can you not-”
“Allow me to show you how to fix hair, cuqui,” Alejandro says at the same time, and their voices overlap as Noah tries (and fails) to get Alejandro to leave his hair alone.
“You ass-”
“Take it easy-”
“- kaṭavuḷiṉ poruṭṭu -”
“ -shit, the coffee-”
There’s now a mess of coffee on the pavement because one of them knocked a bag over during the scuffle. Noah groans.
“You’re lucky that this is all Mclean-subsidised. We have to make a trip back, though.”
“Ay, yes. Are you sure you want to go back with your hair like that?”
Noah shoots Alejandro a glare as the other lets out another laugh, heat creeping to his ears. Noah has half a mind to call him annoying, but he just huffs and works on smoothing his hair out as well as he can without a mirror.
Alejandro is chuckling now, and Noah’s brain is too busy grappling with the sound to pull away when Alejandro reaches to help untangle the mess on Noah’s head. Suddenly Noah is acutely aware of just how quiet the rest of the world is, and of the way Alejandro’s eyebrow ticks upwards instead of down when he’s focusing on something.
Alejandro’s eyes shift to meet Noah’s, and the two are at a standstill yet again.
“I find my face awfully close to yours quite a lot recently,” Alejandro jests, but his voice is barely a murmur.
Noah snarks back, voice low, “I wonder whose fault that is.”
It’s so quiet. The silence is messing with Noah’s brain a little. He doesn’t register just how close their faces are until he feels a pair of lips on his.