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Finn wakes slowly, the way he always does when he’s warm and comfortable enough that his body refuses to let him go all at once.
The first thing he notices is the sound.
Rain.
Not the polite kind, not the distant drizzle that taps at windows like it’s asking permission, but the heavy, soaking kind. The kind that crashes down in thick sheets, blurring the world beyond the glass into soft gray smears. It fills the room with a low, constant hush, like the apartment itself is breathing.
The second thing he notices is warmth.
It’s everywhere — around his waist, along his back, pressed against his chest. Familiar warmth, the kind that makes his heart stutter before his brain even catches up.
Finn exhales, long and quiet, eyes still closed. He shifts just a little, careful not to break the moment, and the warmth tightens around him in response. An arm pulls him closer, solid and gentle at the same time, like it knows exactly how much pressure he needs.
He knows who it is before he opens his eyes.
He always does.
When he finally does blink awake, the room is dim and silvered by rainlight. Curtains half-drawn, the world muted. The sheets are tangled around their legs, soft cotton wrinkled from sleep. Finn is on his side, curled slightly inward, his face pressed into a familiar chest.
Noah’s chest.
Finn lifts his head a fraction, just enough to fully see Noah’s face, and immediately regrets it.
Noah is already awake. Propped up slightly against the headboard, hair mussed from sleep, one arm slung lazily around Finn’s waist. His other hand is tracing slow, absent shapes along Finn’s back, fingers warm and unhurried. His expression is soft in a way that makes Finn’s chest ache — eyes half-lidded, mouth curved into the faintest smile, like he’s been caught doing something tender and doesn’t regret it at all.
Like he’s been watching.
Finn feels heat rush straight to his face.
“Oh,” he murmurs before he can stop himself, voice still rough with sleep.
Noah’s smile deepens.
“Morning,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to scare the moment away.
Finn swallows and immediately looks down, tucking his face back against Noah’s chest. He can feel his ears burning. His heart starts doing that stupid, fluttery thing it always does around Noah, like it hasn’t learned by now.
“How long have you been awake?” Finn asks, muffled.
Noah hums thoughtfully above him. Finn feels the vibration of it through his cheek.
“Mm,” Noah says, pretending to think. “Long enough.”
Finn groans softly and presses his forehead against Noah’s collarbone. “That’s not an answer.”
Noah laughs, quiet and fond, and his arm tightens again. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”
That does it.
Finn’s face feels like it’s on fire now. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a helpless little sound somewhere between a whine and a sigh.
“Noah,” he mutters, embarrassed.
“What?” Noah asks innocently, though there’s amusement threading through his voice. “You’re cute when you’re asleep. I can’t help it.”
Finn peeks up at him again despite himself, eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to say it out loud.”
Noah’s fingers pause, then resume their slow tracing. “Why not?”
“Because,” Finn says, searching for the words and coming up short. “Because it’s embarrassing.”
Noah tilts his head, studying him. His expression softens even more, like he finds the embarrassment endearing rather than inconvenient.
“You get shy over the weirdest things,” he says gently. “We literally woke up in the same bed.”
Finn’s throat tightens. “That’s different.”
Noah’s smile turns fond in a way that makes Finn want to curl in on himself. “Is it?”
Before Finn can answer, Noah leans down just enough to press a light kiss to his hairline. It’s brief, barely there, but it sends a rush of warmth straight through Finn’s chest.
He exhales shakily.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
Noah doesn’t even hesitate. “Because I love you.”
Finn’s breath catches.
It doesn’t matter how many times Noah says it. It never stops feeling like something both fragile and enormous all at once, like it might spill over if he doesn’t hold it carefully enough.
He hides his face again, pressing into Noah’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of Noah’s shirt.
“You say it too easily,” Finn mumbles.
Noah laughs softly. “You hear it too rarely.”
Finn goes quiet at that.
The rain keeps falling outside, steady and insistent. The world feels very small, very safe.
Noah shifts slightly, adjusting them so Finn is tucked even more securely against him, legs tangled together beneath the sheets. His thumb brushes along Finn’s side in slow, soothing strokes.
“Do you hear the rain?” Noah asks after a moment.
Finn nods. “It’s loud.”
“Mm. Storm came in early this morning.” Noah glances toward the window, then back down at him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Looks like we’re trapped.”
Finn raises an eyebrow. “Trapped?”
“Yeah,” Noah says seriously. “Can’t go anywhere. That’s the rule.”
Finn snorts despite himself. “That’s not a rule.”
“It is now.” Noah grins. “I propose we stay right here all day.”
Finn’s heart is going to burst with all the love it holdes for him. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely.” Noah leans closer, nose brushing Finn’s. “Cuddling. Kissing. Not moving.”
Finn swallows hard.
“Seriously? All day?” he asks, voice betraying his excitement just a little.
Noah’s eyes soften. “If you want.”
Finn nods immediately, then freezes, embarrassed at how fast he answered. “I mean– I do want to. I just–”
Noah chuckles. “Baby,” he says softly.
Finn melts.
The word hits him straight in the chest, warm and dizzying. He presses his face into Noah’s shoulder again, utterly undone.
“You can’t just call me that,” he mutters.
Noah laughs, delighted. “Why not? It’s cute.”
Finn shakes his head, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t pull away. He never does.
Noah cups the back of his neck and gently tilts his head up, just enough to look at him. His touch is careful, like he’s asking permission even though he already knows the answer.
“You’re so shy,” Noah murmurs affectionately. “Why are you so shy? Just let me love you.”
Finn’s eyes flutter closed.
“I am letting you,” he whispers.
Noah smiles, something bright and reverent breaking across his face, and then he leans in and kisses him.
It’s slow and soft, lips fitting together like they’ve done this a thousand times and still want to do it a thousand more. Finn’s hand comes up automatically to clutch at Noah’s shirt, grounding himself as warmth spreads through him.
The rain keeps falling, and neither of them move.
The kiss lingers.
It always does with Noah — never rushed, never careless. Like he has all the time in the world and intends to spend it right here, memorizing Finn’s mouth. Finn sighs into it, shoulders relaxing as the last remnants of sleep slip away, replaced by warmth and that dizzy, too-full feeling in his chest.
When Noah finally pulls back, it’s only by a breath. Their noses brush. Finn keeps his eyes closed for a second longer than necessary, as if opening them might shatter something delicate.
“You okay?” Noah murmurs.
Finn nods, still not trusting his voice. His fingers are curled in Noah’s shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the bed, to the moment.
Noah smiles at that, thumb brushing over Finn’s knuckles. “You’re adorable.”
Finn opens his eyes just enough to glare at him. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Saying things,” Finn mutters.
Noah laughs, genuinely amused, and leans down to kiss the corner of Finn’s mouth. “I’m just being honest.”
“That’s the problem.”
Noah hums thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, voice light, “most people like being told their boyfriend thinks they’re cute.”
“I like it,” Finn admits quietly. “I just– don’t know what to do with it.”
Noah’s expression softens immediately. He shifts them so they’re face to face now, Finn half-draped over him, their legs tangled beneath the covers. One of Noah’s hands comes up to cradle Finn’s cheek, thumb brushing gently along his jaw.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Noah says. “Just feel it.”
Finn swallows. “I do feel it.”
“I know.” Noah presses another kiss to his lips, feather-light. “I can tell.”
They fall quiet after that, listening to the rain and each other’s breathing. Noah’s hand moves slowly, continuing to trace its soothing patterns along Finn’s back, like he’s drawing invisible shapes there. Finn lets himself relax into it, the tension melting out of his shoulders inch by inch.
He could stay like this forever, he thinks. Wrapped up in Noah, the world narrowed down to warmth and quiet affection.
They shift themselves, settling into each other more comfortably. Finn ends up half on top of Noah, his cheek resting over Noah’s heart. He listens to the steady rhythm there, grounding himself in it.
“Can I tell you something?” Finn asks quietly.
Noah’s hand smooths over his hair. “Always.”
“I like mornings like this,” Finn says. “When it feels like the world’s forgotten about us.”
Noah hums. “Me too.”
“It’s easier,” Finn continues. “To say things. To feel things.”
Noah tilts his head, pressing a kiss to Finn’s temple. “You don’t have to hide from me, you know.”
Finn nods, even though a small part of him still wants to. “I know. I’m trying.”
“I can tell,” Noah says softly. “You’re doing great.”
Finn smiles into his chest, heart fluttering. Praise always hits him harder than he expects.
They kiss again — on lips, cheeks, noses, anywhere they can reach. It’s unhurried and playful, laughter slipping between kisses when Finn gets too flustered and tries to bury his face again.
“Baby,” Noah murmurs at one point, amused. “Why do you keep hiding?”
“Because you keep looking at me like that,” Finn protests weakly.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me.”
Noah laughs, delighted. “I am in love with you.”
Finn groans and presses his face into Noah’s shoulder again. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Noah says, arms tightening around him, “you’re still here.”
Finn sighs, content. “Yeah, ‘cause I love you too.”
The rain continues to pour outside, relentless and soothing. The world beyond the bed can wait.
For now, there’s only warmth and the quiet joy of being loved.