Work Text:
A: we need to talk
Noelle facepalmed as she read the text, her blood pressure spiking and the edges of her vision turning red. Of course he'd text her right now saying something like that. She rolled the stiffness out of her neck and tossed the textbook onto the table in front of her. Her phone buzzed again - a call from Kahono no doubt - but she couldn't be bothered to answer it now. The silver-haired 22-year-old rubbed her throbbing temples.
Once her phone stopped yelling at her, she picked it up and ignored the voicemail Kahono had left her. The last thing she needed was her loose-lipped friend being roped into this. She flicked to her messages and opened up his.
N: Do we really have to? It isn't as serious as you think.
A minute passed. Noelle chewed on her nail.
A: we don't have to
The youngest Silva rolled her eyes and dropped her phone onto the couch cushions. She buried her face in her hands again. Of course he'd answer like that—it was another of his clever moves. Even in the five months she’d known him he’d found out how to work her. Noelle liked to avoid issues, not necessarily deal with them. Other guys she's dated or hung out with in the past didn't like that and tried to force her into confrontations—she never stuck with them long.
Not Asta though; he was different.
He never made her talk but always left the table open. Sometimes she wished he would try and put his foot down with her and force a confrontation just so she’d have an excuse to say “no”, but he was too nice to do that. Besides, his method worked. Whenever he left it open to her discretion her conscience (that damnable thing she'd been trying to ignore for years now) always made her heart feel too heavy to not resolve things with her ashen-haired boy… thing. Sure, they'd only been seeing each other for a few months, but he already had cracked her open like an egg far better than her previous ex or the handful or dudes she'd “tried” to date (mostly to get Kahono off her back, but she didn't need to know that).
It was annoying being that vulnerable; that known. She couldn't put up her “cool girl” attitude and act like everything didn't bother her when he smiled softly and let his head tilt to the side like a puppy. Asta was far more kryptonite than boytoy—Noelle was kind of annoyed by that.
She ran her hand through her hair and fiddled with the button on her white dress shirt.
N: I could go for some coffee.
A: the usual?
N: Yeah.
A: see you in a few
The silver-haired woman sighed again, her fingers tingling in vile anticipation. She hated how hard it was to be cool around Asta. Every other guy she'd dated or hung out with had always been intimidated by her—she had mastered the chic, disinterested vibe that was often her defense mechanism. Even though she'd only had a few boyfriends, many men had tried to pry past her defenses throughout the years. Noelle didn't know if it was a pride thing, or maybe even a feeling of needing to “tame” her, but none had succeeded. For the ash-blond boxer she'd been seeing for the past few months, however, it was a misty illusion. A stripe of cloud where she wished a wall would be.
Maybe it was the fact that he actually respected the barrier she had erected to protect herself that made him so appealing since nothing was sexier than respect—especially for the silver-haired law student who had been denied respect her entire life.
Noelle sighed once more and smoothed out her skirt. She glanced out the window of her apartment and saw the soft carpet of snow blanketing the darkened cityscape.
“Fuck me,” she muttered to herself as she hurriedly slipped on a pair of tights under her skirt. She shoved her feet into the nearest shoes she could find and wrapped herself in her large winter coat before stepping out of her apartment. Her hands shook when she called the elevator but the 22-year-old woman pretended she didn't notice.
—
He was already sitting down in a booth when she arrived, white powder crumbled in his ashen hair and a cup of black coffee in front of him. Noelle let herself check him out as the door bells jingled behind her. It was obvious he'd been relaxing at his place given the fact that he was in sweat pants and a plain white t-shirt. The navy bomber jacket he wore over his broad shoulders was the only protection he had against the cold. He swore it never bothered him but Noelle could see the tip of his nose and ears were redder than usual. He looked up at her and smiled, her step faltering as her heart did a stupid thing.
She smiled back and closed the gap between them, seating herself across from him as a waitress stepped up.
“What can I get for you, miss?” the young waitress asked.
“A hazelnut latte with almond milk, please.”
The young lady nodded and walked away, leaving Asta and Noelle alone in the sparsely occupied coffee shop. The two adults sat quietly for a few minutes—the silver-haired lawyer-to-be was a bit too uncomfortable to really broach the subject. She knew she had to give the ash-blond boxer some explanation but she really didn't want to. Luckily for her, Asta wasn't pushing it. In fact, he wasn't pushing anything. He just sat there with his hot coffee in his hands neither speaking or making her speak. He sat silently with a soft smile which somehow made things worse.
By now her exes would be fuming—slinging accusations or silently spiting her for not talking. Not Asta though. They weren’t even technically dating but yet again he refused to fall neatly into the categories she’d drafted up for her other love interests. He was frustratingly unique in that regard and Noelle had some bitterness about that. Things were easier when she could predict his actions.
Her latte was set before her, the kind waitress smiling demurely before retreating to the counter where a few customers had gathered. Noelle took a sip of the delicious brew and hummed approvingly when it warmed her mouth and throat. More time passed, her anxiety bubbling in her chest until she couldn't handle it anymore.
“So,” she began awkwardly. Asta’s green eyes snapped to her. “How was work today?”
An odd expression crossed his face. There was a band-aid across the bridge of his nose that wasn't there the last time they saw each other. He took a tiny sip of his coffee, his brow scrunching at the bitterness. Noelle tried suggesting he try other drinks aside from plain black coffee but he never really bit down on the idea even though it was obvious that he hated black coffee.
“Work was good,” the boxer said calmly, his fingers drumming along the tabletop. “Luck nailed me pretty good today in the ring,” he added while pointing at his nose.
“I'm sorry,” Noelle replied with a frown. “I thought you guys didn't go too hard while sparring.”
He shrugged. “It happens. He gets a bit excited. No big deal.”
The awkward silence returned and Noelle couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting in her seat a bit. He was so chill about the entire thing and, frankly, it threw her off. If the roles had been reversed… Well, Noelle was pretty good at the cool girl thing, but even she had her limits. She sipped the latte again and let out a sigh.
“So, I suppose you want to know what happened, huh?”
His eyes narrowed down as the small smile on his face dropped into a neutral expression. He took another bitter drink, his nose wrinkling as he pushed the cup off to the side. Leaning forward he laced his fingers together. “I’d be lying if I said I didn't want to hear what happened. It's a bit… annoying but I'm sure there's something I'm missing.”
Noelle wanted to balk at that yet somehow it didn't surprise her. Of course he'd be a little more understanding than others would in his position. She really needed to stop being surprised by the fact that Asta was a lot cooler than she gave him credit for. In her defense, he was a massive dork—he just hid it behind a muscular frame and a good boxing career. Noelle wondered how many people knew how much he liked Pokemon, however, and how people’s perception of him would change if they knew he had a Lucario plushie in his room. She thought it was cute.
Noelle ran a hand through her bangs. “Well, what do you want to know?”
“Was he telling the truth? Are you two still together?”
“No,” she huffed out in an instant. “We broke up a few months ago. Right before we met. Just like I told you.”
Asta nodded his head contemplatively. “Why’d he say that then?”
The law student repressed another sigh of frustration, her blood pressure spiking and her nerves igniting.
Two days ago Asta had a fight. It was a fairly big one as far as Noelle knew (she'd learned a decent amount about boxing hanging around him these past few months but she still didn't quite get all the details), so when he won he understandably made a big celebration about it. Part of which included a picture of him caked in sweat, broad toothy grin and fresh cuts along his jaw, with his arm around Noelle’s waist. She was smiling too, happy to see him succeed (and hiding the fact that watching him beat another dude in the ring was kind of hot) and scrunching her nose up at his sweaty, slightly bloody state (also pretending like that wasn't kind of hot too).
He had posted it alongside a few other photos like him with his coach and some friends, but he'd made the choice to have a picture with only her as a separate thing. She thought it was a cool way to show his feelings without saying anything directly. It made her chest feel warm and cozy and she hadn't been able to totally hide the smile on her face when they retreated to Kahono’s apartment for the afterparty. The famous singer noticed, teasing and prodding at the silver-haired law student every time the boxer left her side to take a shot or play some stupid game one of his friends made up on the spot. It was stupid for her to be so happy over such a small gesture, but her relationship with Asta had been casual so far and she liked it. Her last boyfriend was a nightmarish control freak and she appreciated that the green-eyed young man was cool with whatever she was. The picture was the first public display of them together, so to speak, and it was nice that he had taken a small - yet meaningful - step towards claiming her as his own.
The next morning her ex commented on the photo.
The second she’d seen the comment - toothbrush halfway in her mouth and hair a rat’s nest - she groaned. It was the first sort of contact she'd had with her ex since their messy break up months ago, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to shove her ex’s head in a toilet and flush repeatedly as she read his snarky, nasty remark. Her saving grace came from the fact that Asta pretty consistently slept for 14-16 hours after a big fight (and, of course, a Kahono-style after party for her friend’s victory). He didn't see the comment or even seem tuned in to the fact that she felt like she had spaghetti in her hair when he texted her late that evening. He did see it eventually though; that was obvious from the fact he hadn't texted her all day up until the message she received before coming to meet him here.
Noelle let herself sigh this time, tugging on one of her pigtails as she stared down at her cup of coffee. She wanted to be mad at the ash-blond for something - maybe the fact that he had ignored her all day up until his “we need to talk” message - but she knew it wouldn't be justified. Realistically Asta had seen the message and not immediately jumped to conclusions; that's why he'd waited all day before texting her about it. She didn't know why she hated this entire thing. Part of her was embarrassed that her ex had even done this, like it was a poor reflection on herself—just a cold-hearted, hard-to-handle girl with a crazy ex-boyfriend.
Another part of her hated that Asta was being mature. For so long she'd dealt with crazy: crazy accusations, crazy assumptions, crazy men making crazy ideas and fantasies in their mind about how she was treating them poorly or not being good enough for them. Family too: bitching siblings hurling vile insults her way for everything, anything, and nothing. Noelle was a veteran of disappointment; she'd been doing it her whole life. Yet here was Asta—calm and patient. No harsh words. No harsh feelings.
The youngest Silva had forgotten what it felt like to be given a chance to explain herself to someone that wasn’t Kahono or Nero. It felt wrong; like she was doing something wrong by not betraying or hurting him.
She shook the stray thoughts out of her head, her amethyst eyes locking back in on the boxer gently tapping the cup in his large hands.
“My ex was - is - a bit of a handful,” she started with another lengthy sigh. “We started dating our senior year of highschool and had been together for a while before we broke up.”
“Were you two serious?” the green-eyed man asked genuinely.
The law student thought for a second before nodding slightly. “Yeah, I guess so. Even though we’d been together for a few years we went to different universities after high school. We didn't get many chances to see each other and things weren't ever the best, but we stuck it out with one another and tried to make it work.”
“What went wrong?” he pried.
A bite of anger flared inside Noelle at the memory. She could lie, make some shit up about how they simply “grew apart” or some other lame excuse. For some reason though she couldn't stop herself from wanting to open up to Asta. To tell him the truth if only to validate herself.
“He cheated on me. Slept with some girl at a party,” she said bitterly.
Asta visibly winced, a sour expression on his face as he took a long drink from his coffee. “Fuck. That's lame.”
She snorted, taking a sip herself as she pursed her lips. “Yeah well it wasn't as lame as what I did.” When Asta kept quiet for a moment she continued. “I didn't break up with him when I found out.”
“Why?”
That was what she expected to come out of his mouth. That was the question she'd been asking herself ever since he admitted to it—teary-eyed and begging for forgiveness even though she hadn't even registered what he'd said. Why did she sit there and let him bullshit some excuse about why it wasn't his fault? Why did she apologize when he lamented about being lonely and not getting to see her as much as he wanted? Why didn’t she walk out on him and leave his sorry ass then and there instead of putting up with him for two more—
“Ah, a kindred spirit.”
Pink eyes snapped up to him, coffee cup tilted back and bumping against the bandaged bridge of his nose.
“What?” she asked kind of stupidly, her brain not exactly understanding what he'd said.
“We’re kindred spirits,” Asta repeated gently with a shrug. “At least that's what Kahono said the night before that party we met at. I wasn't planning on coming until—”
She waved a hand to cut him off. “Wait—you were… I mean you…”
“Were cheated on too? Yeah, I was. Two years down the drain.” The boxer grimaced as he finished off the caffeinated brew, running his finger along the rim of the cup before gently flicking it. His emerald eyes followed his fingers movements for a few beats before flicking up to her face. “My last girlfriend was having a pretty consistent affair with an old friend of hers behind my back for a while; only found out because she said something about it at a girl's night within our group. Kahono was there - we’ve been friends for a while - and she broke the news to me the next day.”
Noelle blinked a few times—she wasn't exactly sure what to say. Thankfully Asta didn't seem to want her to say anything as he took a deep breath and continued.
“Apparently I wasn't attentive enough for her. She said something about me not having ‘a single romantic bone in my body’, so she found someone else who did.”
The Silva winced. “Oh. I'm… um, I'm sorry.”
The green-eyed man snorted. “What for? You weren't involved.”
Embarrassment flooded her veins as she felt her shoulders rise to her ears reflexively. “Yeah, I know. It just felt like the right thing to say, I guess.”
“It's okay. I get it.”
There was an awkward silence that hit them, oppressively loud in the small cafe. The lawyer-to-be shifted uncomfortably. She was used to excruciating, condescending slander; not raw vulnerability. She tapped the side of her cup desperate for some escape route, physical or emotional. Anything to deflect away from the fact that the attractive young man across from her had similar experiences to her—experiences she used to justify her actions and iciness. Asta wasn't icy though. He was warm and cozy like a cup of coffee on a frigid, snowy day. Even when her nose was cold and fingertips numb, one sip of him was enough to flood her toes and ears with warmth.
“It's tough to leave behind someone you love, isn't it? Even when you know you have to for your own sake. It feels too big to handle and… and somehow you convince yourself it's easier to bear the pain of staying with them.”
Once more Noelle was robbed of words. Asta wasn't really the “wow, that's so deep” kind of person, not with words at least. Hearing him say that felt off. It felt like the lighthearted goofiness she’d found herself falling for was snuffed out. She cleared her throat.
“I never said I loved him.”
The ashen-haired boxer shook his head. “Right, sorry. I was talking about myself, I guess.” After a moment, “I loved her. It made it worse.”
Noelle felt something bubble up in her chest at his admission. For reasons she couldn't articulate (or simply didn't want to articulate) it bothered her that he loved someone. Someone else. She crossed her arms and tamed her growing scowl. It was asinine to get upset with him for being a good, loving partner. Especially since they weren't even a thing! The silver-haired woman sighed—the beaten-puppy look on Asta’s face did something dumb to her stomach and she found herself opening up despite herself.
“I… I did love him. He was my first for a lot of things. Call me sentimental but that meant something to me.”
“No, no, I get it,” he said while leaning further back in the booth. “She was my first too.”
“Hm.”
The two 22-year-olds sat there for a moment. Snow stuck and melted against the cold glass, the warm interior made Noelle’s chest start to feel warm under her heavy coat. The only other patron had already left and the small staff keeping the cafe afloat at this hour were tucked back behind the tall pastry counter quietly chatting. Asta sat with his hands in the pockets of his bomber, face no longer red from the snow despite the white powder still melting into his broad shoulders and the tips of his ash-blond hair. His green eyes were cast down at the steam rising from her latte, so the law student took the time to admire him.
She'd seen pictures of him as a kid and teenager (he had a whole album from his childhood saved on his phone and insisted on showing her when they were cuddled up watching a movie one night), and while he had looked kind of goofy, who hadn't as a kid? Short, stocky, muscles that didn't quite fill into his frame right, and the tiniest bit of baby fat still on his cheeks—he definitely wasn't the type to catch someone’s attention right away. Now though he looked… cleaner. He’d filled into his frame substantially, and while he was still on the shorter side, he’d gained enough height that he evened his broad shoulders out. He'd lost the last bits of baby fat too. The only thing that seemed the same was his smile—wide and full and shining.
“I almost didn't go to that party, ya know.”
With her thoughts disrupted, Noelle managed to blink rapidly and shoot out an “oh?” in reply. Asta didn't seem to notice her mental lapse (thankfully) as he nodded.
“Mhm. I only went because Kahono was such a persistent brat about it that I needed her off my back.”
Oh, that party. The party they'd met at. A few months after Noelle and her ex ended things. The one she'd let Kahono doll her up for despite the fact she’d been enjoying rotting in her room since the breakup. The Silva felt herself smiling.
“Yeah, she has a tendency to do that, doesn't she?” Noelle noted. “I almost didn't go either.”
An earnest smile graced Asta’s lips and there was a tenderness in his voice when he spoke. “I'm glad you went, Noelle. I'm glad I met you.”
She hated him. Had to hate him. Hated the way his smile warmed her ears and the way the softness in his eyes made her mouth go dry. Hated the way he could be so open about his feelings so easily and how he could make even the simplest, smallest comments feel meaningful. Hated the way she could feel her face burning redder by the second all while she was unable to to look away from his easy smile and strong jaw.
Cool girls didn't obsess over boys; that was lame and cringe.
“Y-yeah, I'm glad I met you too, Asta,” she said while finding her heart stuttering. She cringed further when she realized her icy exterior was melting.
The boxer let his smile widen and Noelle decided that maybe she didn't have to be cool if it meant getting to see him smile like that.
—
If there was one thing she liked about Asta, it was the fact that he never dwelled on things for too long. He always paid attention and engaged even when his ADHD made it difficult for him to focus, but he didn't seem to linger on topics any longer than necessary. It was nice, in Noelle’s opinion, because it meant they could have heavy, serious conversations like the one they had at the coffee shop without it affecting the entire evening. She lingered; she had trouble letting things rest.
As the lawyer-to-be felt herself sink further into the mattress, Noelle couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. The ease of mind that could compartmentalize was something she wished she had.
A strong hand cupped her jaw and aimed her face upwards.
“Hey. You okay?” Asta asked, emerald eyes scanning her face.
Noelle squirmed gently, the boxer’s heavy body hovering over hers made her skin crawl deliciously. She nodded her head. “I’m okay. I promise.”
“You're hesitating,” the ashen-haired man said. “I can feel it in your bones.”
Her face felt hot, his darkened eyes sweeping slowly over her cheeks and nose. The blood in her veins pulsed harder. “Do we need to stop?” he asked.
“No! No,” she replied quickly while linking her fingers behind his neck. Asta swallowed heavily. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “I'm just nervous, I guess.”
“Me too,” Asta said, a soft smile on his slightly parched lips.
The amethyst-eyed woman loathed him once more. This had to be an act or a ruse to get her to lower her guard. That was what people did: trick her, play her, make her feel like a stupid little girl. There wasn't any reason why she should believe he was this genuine, this honest—this good.
“Relax, Noelle,” his thick voice cut in, slicing through the darkness and stuffy air of her room. His lips touched against the porcelain skin of her neck. “Let me take care of you.”
She snorted derisively but tilted her chin to give him more room to operate. His hot breath and slick tongue sent a shot of tingles down to her stomach and she let her eyes shut with a long exhale. Asta smirked against her skin.
“Something funny, princess?” he inquired, heavy vibrations carrying through her veins.
“Let me take care of you,” she quoted back while adjusting under him. “That's something my ex never said.”
“Talking about your ex while I'm trying to give you a hickey is crazy work,” he said teasingly, biting at her skin and dragging his tongue along the agitated skin.
Noelle giggled and slid her foot along his calf, feeling the tingles race down to her toes. Of course she knew it was taboo but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the temptation. “Maybe I'm trying to motivate you to bring your A-game, dork.”
“Motivate me? What am I, a dog?”
Only if you bark, she thought to say but decided better. Instead, Noelle offered a slightly defensive, “There’s nothing wrong with needing a bit of encouragement.”
“Do you need any?” Asta asked coyly, hot breath dripping down her skin.
She shivered, shook her head, and tightened her grip on the back of his head. Soft flesh met hardened skin, the heat of their bodies finding each other and melting into one another. Noelle felt her stomach tighten when his hard abdomen dragged across her silken blouse. Cool fabric and bubbling delight. The silver-haired woman and her ashen-haired boy toy hadn’t exactly been physically pristine in the months they'd been a thing, but that hadn't gone that far yet.
Asta was usually the one to instigate, finding her mouth first and letting his hands cradle her chin, cheek, or shoulder. She let him, because even though she was a “girlboss” she liked it when men took the initiative. She'd let him feel her, touch her, kiss her at his own pace and leisure. She'd reciprocate, of course (especially since Kahono’s claims that she was a “pillow princess”). Everyone wants an active, engaged partner. Then, almost always, when his hands drifted too low or the weight of his tongue on hers made her feel too hot, she'd stop him. She's been terrified of stopping him the first time since her experience told her men hated that, but to her pleasant surprise Asta had done so immediately. No questions, no accusations. In one moment he'd gone from nearly groping her with his tongue down her throat to respectfully far away, hands in lap, and a dumbstruck-look on his face with a bit of drool on his lips.
She'd laughed at him then because he looked absolutely stupid, and the blush on his face when he realized how smitten he looked was enough to stir the lingering butterflies in her stomach. That was how it went with them: Asta initiated and Noelle set the boundary. He never complained, always so damn respectful and attentive (she suspected it had something to do with being raised by a priest and a nun). Over the months she'd let him push the boundary when her nerves allowed it. Noelle let her trust in him soothe the worries and emotional scars from her previous relationship. She knew he was restraining himself (who could blame him?) but he never said it. The Silva could tell, however, by the number of pitched-tents she’d seen and felt after they stopped making out to return to whatever movie one of them had chosen.
Here now, back pressed into her mattress with Asta hovering over her, an unpleasant amount of emotional vulnerability an hour before still leaving an unsettled pit in her stomach, she was tempted to let him go until he wanted to stop. It was his fault that he was so warm and comfortable; that he had melted her icy, sharp exterior and made her remember what it felt like to be giddy. It was his fault for being such a good man, and he was the one who had chosen a cold, emotionally unavailable woman to chip away at. Maybe that's why she stopped him—partially because of her own trust issues but also because she felt like he deserved better. That if she kept her distance then he'd keep his and then they wouldn’t be able to hurt each other.
I wouldn't be able to hurt him.
Noelle’s breath caught in her throat when Asta’s large hand pressed against her lower abdomen. Fingers splayed out and dug into the silky blouse and skin. He paused—this was one of the places she usually stopped him. The heat from his palm sunk through the fabric and burned at her stomach. Thankfully he didn't ask for permission to go lower. There wasn't anything wrong with asking for permission (Noelle encouraged it) but anytime he verbally asked it she would cringe because it meant she'd have to say “yes” or “no” back and both answers were equally terrifying. Now though, Noelle licked her lips and let out a shaky breath. She placed her small hand on top of his bigger one, nails gently scraping into the callouses along his knuckle.
“We don't have to—”
“Shut up, please,” she said, cutting him off a small sigh. She untangled her hand from his hair and brought it to his jaw. Fingers locked onto firm bone, a faint scrape along the skin near his ear. Noelle pulled his head up until their eyes met. Noses and foreheads gently knocked together. Asta’s usually bright eyes were dulled now, half-lidded and dark. “Just… just look at me for a minute. Please.”
Asta nodded and pressed against her more. It was overwhelmingly intimate—face-to-face and linked hands pressed dangerously low against Noelle’s soft stomach. She fought off the urge to close her eyes and avoid the pointed, intense gaze. It'd be hypocritical, she thought, to demand his eyes and then not give him the same back. The sentiment didn't stop her from squirming under him, pink and green eyes darkened and half-lidded. A palpable tension in the minute space between their faces. Noelle wet her lips and Asta’s eyes briefly flicked down to follow her tongue. His tongue copied the movement a beat later. The youngest Silva fought off a shiver to focus on scanning his face.
She was looking for something - anything, really - to latch on to. A lie, a promise of disappointment or pain… anything that she could use to justify not getting close. The silver-haired woman didn't understand why anyone would choose her. Why someone nice, sweet, understanding, and patient would want someone so difficult and annoying to be with? The only way it made sense was if there was an ulterior motive.
“Why me?”
“Hm?” he asked, head tilting to the side.
Noelle blushed upon realizing she’d voiced her concern out loud. There wasn't a way to take it back, however, so she doubled down. “Why do you like me? Do you even like me?”
Asta furrowed his brow. There was a hint of annoyance on his face when he spoke. “What kind of question is that, Noelle?”
She matched his expression. It felt odd to scowl at Asta in such an intimate position, but it wasn't like Noelle had never scowled at people before. She did it far more often than smile at them, that was for sure. The odd part was that he hadn't done anything to make her scowl—part of her just felt like she ought to.
“It's a serious one, Asta,” she said defensively, chest tightening. “You're… really, really good to me. To everyone, but especially to me. A-and I haven't exactly been good to you…”
The flicker of an annoyed countenance shifted on Asta’s face. His green eyes narrowed in a way that made the blushing woman burn brighter. “What're you talking about, Noelle? You're plenty good to me.”
“No, I'm not,” she challenged. “You're so patient with me and I can be snappy. You always say such nice, gentle things and I poke and tease. You’re… you’re too good to me.”
Tears threatened to prick at the corners of her eyes. Asta’s gaze softened. He untangled his hand from hers and brought it up to cup the side of her face. He leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to her lips. “Noelle,” he breathed out, voice so quiet it felt like it slipped through her skin, “I don't know what other people have told you, but you deserve to be treated just as well as anyone else. I know how it feels when someone… uses you like that—treats you like an exhibit or experiment instead of a person. I know how sometimes it's more comforting to believe them or put yourself down to avoid the painful alternative that someone you loved was bad.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and Noelle could see genuine pain in his smile as his thumb brushed against her cheek. It was grounding; they were the only two in the warm, stifling blackness. “Do you know why I chose to talk to you at that party?”
She could hardly breathe, her chest feeling tighter and tighter with every passing second. Asta was everywhere; there was nowhere to flee. “No, I don't,” she muttered.
“Because you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen and I couldn't stop looking at you,” he replied. “Magna and Yuno noticed and threatened to tell you if I didn't talk to you first.”
Tears blotted at the edges of her vision. The sincerity in his dragged along her ear and tickled something in her stomach that made her feel like laughing and crying at the same time. When was the last time someone had called her beautiful? Sure, her friends said it whenever she was feeling down or gloomy, but she'd gotten tired of letting them gas her up when she didn't feel like she’d earned it. She heard other words - hot, sexy, cute, pretty - from all the lame guys at the bars Mimosa and Kahono liked to go to trying to pick up “an easy lay”, but beautiful?
Noelle Silva hadn’t felt beautiful in a long time, but with Asta gently holding her, adoring eyes and soft words smothering her in so much affection she felt like she was drowning… she did.
The crystal pools in her vision broke, cascading down her face and running into the boxer’s thumb still stroking her cheek. Asta’s expression flipped to panic, a startled blush hitting his face as he started to pull his hand away.
“A-ah! I'm sorry, Noelle, I didn't mean to—”
“It's okay!” she stuttered back, her hand flying up to catch his hand and put it back. “I-I’m okay. You didn't do anything wrong.”
“You’re crying.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Yes, idiot, I am. Not because you said anything mean.”
“Then why are you crying?”
She wanted to punch him. How could she of all people attract someone like him? She felt the prickles of uncomfortability at the back of her neck. “Come on, dork, are you really going to make me say it?”
It's not cool to say it this early.
Emerald pools slowly expanded, the embarrassed rosy tint to his cheeks darkening as realization slowly came to him. “Oh, right. Well, um, you too. I think.”
Unable to hold it any longer, Noelle let a giggle escape her lips. Ever since her breakup she'd told herself she was cool—the kind of person who didn't sweat about anything. The kind that was here for a good time not a long time. The kind of girl that didn't care about what others thought and how they perceived her. The cool girl that was down for whatever and didn't get attached. People were going to be upset and disappointed with her no matter what, so why not give them a reason to be disappointed on her own terms instead of them targeting the parts of herself she actually liked?
She wasn't that. Hadn't ever been that. Wouldn’t ever be that. Asta wasn't that either—he wore his heart on his sleeve. He laughed at corny jokes, smothered his adoptive sisters with ice cream and shopping trips, and let his younger brothers wrestle him to the floor whenever he visited the orphanage. He liked cheesy action movies and hated art museums because “if it's pretty then why does it have to mean something?” He was himself; loudly (sometimes too loudly) and proudly.
Noelle thought that was cool. Thought that he was cool.
Fingers still linked together, Noelle guided Asta’s calloused hand off her face and down her body. She could feel the young man tense as she purposefully slid it down her chest and across the smooth plane of her stomach. She hit the point he’d been earlier and didn't hesitate to push past it. She kept her eyes on his, a silent prayer on her lips that he could see the emotion in her eyes because she still couldn't fathom saying it out loud, and navigated their conjoined hands under the hem of her skirt. Asta’s breath caught in his throat when his fingers ran over the smooth tights covering her thighs, but Noelle was too determined to let herself revel in the feeling yet.
“Noelle?” Asta whispered, feeling her guide him towards the apex of her thighs.
“I like the way you say my name, Asta,” she replied, a puddle of warmth blossoming in the pit of her stomach. She could see the way his face changed—his blush fading and eyes growing darker with obvious need. It ignited that small pool of heat in her tummy. It made her feel good to know she could make him feel this way. The Silva supposed that was one of the benefits of being with someone that wore their heart on their sleeve: you never had to guess what they were feeling. They told you with their half-lidded eyes, or the way they softly bit their bottom lip, or with their shuddering breath as they lean down and kiss you.
Noelle molded her lips to Asta’s and eagerly opened her mouth in submission to him. His tongue pressed in, sliding over hers in a wet, warm dance as she explored her. She shifted her grip to his wrist and teasingly traced along the lines of the tattoo that circled his wrist. Asta, thankfully, got the idea, and his fingers started to move on their own. Soft presses and slow drags through the fabric of her tights right over her core. It wasn’t nearly enough friction for Noelle, but it was the first time she’d let him touch her like this. She figured he’d act like most men would and dive straight in, but she was once again proven wrong as Asta seemed to take his time.
Their kisses steadily grew more desperate, the timid (yet still excited) exploration increasing in tempo. Soft grunts and whispered whines met where their lips and tongues and teeth lashed against each other. Noelle could feel his touch growing firmer as his free hand came down to gently grasp her hair at the scalp and pull. Their kiss broke with a needy gasp from the silver-haired woman’s mouth, her lover’s lips instantly latching into her jaw and working down to her collarbone in a trail of liquid fire.
She clamped her hand down on his wrist, pulling him against her fully and silently urging him on. “Asta, do you really think I'm beautiful?” she managed to question through increasingly labored breaths.
Asta, still attacking her neck, nodded, his hairs tickling the space under her ear. “I do, Noelle,” he mumbled, the upper baritone in his voice reverberating through her. “The most beautiful girl in the world.”
The blossoming heat exploded, racing through her and willing her back to arch up without her consent. She pressed herself up into him as much as she could with his heavy form weighing down on her, and she started to gently grind against his touch as his fingers below her skirt moved more boldly. Noelle gasped as a startlingly powerful feeling slammed into her, one she hadn't felt in a long time and never quite this strongly: need.
“Then show me,” she begged, her voice needier and breathier than she wanted it to be. Begging wasn't cool… but then again, neither was Noelle. Not right now, at least. She was hot, her skin buzzing and vision unfocused as the beautifully sculpted man looming over her finally did as she wanted.