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Morning arrives with the sound of Noah arguing with an orange.
Not out loud, exactly. More like a series of soft, offended noises punctuated by the crinkle of a grocery bag. Finn lies on his side, eyes half open, watching the pale light spill across the bedroom ceiling. He can hear Noah in the kitchen, barefoot, moving with that particular lack of stealth he has when he is trying to be quiet. Noah is not good at being quiet. Noah is good at being present.
Finn listens to the small domestic soundtrack. The cabinet door opening. The tap running. Noah humming, then stopping, then humming again like he is restarting himself.
Then the offended noise again.
Finn smiles into the pillow.
He waits until Noah is mid-hum before he calls out, voice rough with sleep. “What are you doing.”
Noah pauses. “Nothing.”
Finn closes his eyes. “That’s a lie.”
Noah’s footsteps approach. He appears in the doorway with an orange in one hand and a knife in the other, looking like someone who has been betrayed by citrus.
“It’s dry,” Noah says.
Finn blinks. “The orange.”
“Yes,” Noah says, like Finn is the one being ridiculous. “I wanted a good orange. This one is not good.”
Finn sits up slowly, hair a mess. “How do you know it’s dry.”
Noah holds it up. “I can feel it.”
Finn stares at him for a second, then exhales a laugh. “You can feel an orange’s emotional state.”
Noah smiles, pleased with himself. “Yes.”
Finn rubs his face. “Okay. What do you want me to do about it.”
Noah steps closer and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning into Finn’s space like it belongs to him. He smells like shampoo and sleep. “I want a different orange.”
Finn’s mouth lifts. “We don’t have a different orange.”
Noah’s eyes widen as if this is a personal attack. “Then we need to go grocery shopping.”
Finn sighs dramatically. “You can’t start your day with an orange crisis.”
Noah tilts his head, soft and earnest. “Why not.”
Finn looks at him for a long moment. Noah’s face is open, unguarded, already bright. Finn’s chest warms in a familiar way. The protective instinct arrives before Finn can stop it. That quiet pull to make sure Noah gets what he wants, even when what he wants is unreasonable.
Finn leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Noah’s forehead.
Noah’s eyes close instinctively. He leans into it like a cat.
“Fine,” Finn says. “We’ll get oranges later.”
Noah’s smile is immediate. “Okay.”
Finn watches him for a beat, amused. “That worked too fast.”
Noah grins, slipping his hand into Finn’s hair and ruffling it on purpose. “I’m persuasive.”
“You’re annoying,” Finn corrects, but he’s smiling.
Noah laughs and leans in for another kiss, longer this time, soft and unhurried. Finn’s hands settle at Noah’s waist, pulling him closer like it is instinct.
Noah’s mouth curves against his. “You’re clingy.”
Finn mutters, “You started it.”
Noah hums, satisfied. “I did.”
They stay like that for a moment, tangled in morning softness, the world outside still quiet enough to ignore. Finn’s mind tries to remember the schedule. The next interviews. The constant motion of being seen. Noah’s hand slides down Finn’s neck, grounding him back into now.
“Museum today,” Noah says into Finn’s shoulder, voice muffled.
Finn exhales. “You’re still on that.”
“Yes,” Noah says. “I want to be a person who goes to museums.”
Finn’s mouth lifts. “You go to museums.”
Noah pulls back, offended. “Not enough.”
Finn studies him. Noah’s eyes are bright with the kind of excitement that feels almost childlike, but not in a naive way. In a determined way. Like he is trying to build a life on purpose, piece by piece, and Finn is the person he wants in it.
Finn nods once. “Okay. Museum.”
Noah’s grin is enormous. “Okay.”
Finn shakes his head, fond. “You’re going to make us walk through an entire wing about ceramics.”
Noah gasps. “Ceramics are important.”
Finn narrows his eyes. “Name one important ceramic.”
Noah pauses. “That is not fair.”
Finn laughs, genuine, and Noah’s smile softens like he loves the sound of it.
They make breakfast together in the familiar rhythm of minor arguments and constant touch. Noah sits on the counter, legs dangling, watching Finn make coffee like it is an art form. Finn pretends not to notice Noah staring and then turns the mug so the handle faces Noah because he knows Noah likes it that way.
Noah notices anyway.
“You did that,” Noah says.
Finn shrugs. “Did what.”
Noah leans forward, eyes warm. “The handle.”
Finn’s ears go slightly pink. “It’s not a big deal.”
Noah smiles like that answer is the point. “It is to me.”
Finn looks away, but his mouth goes soft. He is never sure what to do with Noah’s sincerity except accept it.
After breakfast, they get dressed with the casual indecision of people who have nowhere urgent to be. Noah changes his shirt twice. Finn changes nothing and complains quietly about Noah changing his shirt twice.
Noah pokes him in the side. “You don’t care what you wear.”
Finn raises an eyebrow. “I care.”
Noah squints at him. “You care that it’s black.”
Finn points at him. “Exactly.”
Noah laughs and pulls on his jacket, then grabs Finn’s arm and drags him toward the door like a mission has begun.
The museum is quiet in a way that feels almost sacred. High ceilings. White walls. Soft footsteps. The kind of space where people naturally lower their voices. Finn is not sure he likes museums, exactly. He likes them the way he likes certain things Noah loves. By association.
Noah moves through the exhibits with focused attention, reading plaques, tilting his head at paintings, making small noises of appreciation. Finn stays close, hands in his pockets at first, then slowly drifting toward Noah until he’s walking near enough that their sleeves brush.
Noah stops in front of a large painting, something old and dramatic. He stares at it like he is trying to solve it.
Finn leans in slightly. “What.”
Noah doesn’t look away. “It’s sad.”
Finn studies the painting. “It’s a painting.”
Noah glances at him, amused. “You’re so bad at museums.”
Finn scoffs. “I’m not bad. I’m just not… dramatic.”
Noah’s grin turns sly. “You’re dramatic. Just in a different way.”
Finn’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean.”
Noah leans closer, voice low, teasing. “You’re dramatic in your face.”
Finn huffs. “My face is normal.”
Noah laughs softly. “No, it’s not.”
Finn can’t help it. He smiles. He’s always been helpless against Noah’s amusement.
They wander into a smaller exhibit, something about photography. Noah pauses at a black-and-white image of two boys on bicycles, grainy and old. He stares at it longer than he should.
Finn notices the shift in Noah’s posture. The quiet. The inwardness.
“What are you thinking about,” Finn asks.
Noah’s voice is soft. “Us.”
Finn’s throat tightens. “Us.”
Noah nods, eyes still on the photo. “We were like that. Not literally. But… the feeling.”
Finn leans closer, shoulder brushing Noah’s. “Yeah.”
Noah turns his head slightly, watching Finn’s face. “Do you remember our first day.”
Finn’s mouth tightens. He remembers too much.
“I remember you,” Finn says instead.
Noah’s eyes brighten. “That’s not the question.”
Finn exhales a laugh. “Yes, I remember.”
Noah’s voice is gentle but curious, like he is opening a drawer of old memories carefully. “What did you think of me.”
Finn’s gaze flicks away, then back. He is not shy, exactly. He just does not always like digging into the past because it reminds him how long he has been holding certain truths.
“You were twelve,” Finn says.
Noah makes a face. “I know.”
Finn continues, voice quiet. “You were… small. Like, physically. But you didn’t act small.”
Noah blinks, surprised. “I didn’t.”
Finn shakes his head. “No. You were brave. You walked into everything like you belonged. You were nervous, but you did it anyway.”
Noah’s cheeks warm. “I was terrified.”
Finn looks at him, steady. “You still did it.”
Noah swallows, moved in spite of himself. “What about you. You were fourteen and annoying.”
Finn snorts. “I was not annoying.”
“You were,” Noah insists. “You were quiet in a way that made you seem older. And you played guitar like you didn’t care who was watching.”
Finn’s expression softens, surprised. “You noticed that.”
Noah laughs, a little embarrassed. “I noticed everything.”
Finn’s eyes narrow slightly. “Like what.”
Noah hesitates, then commits, eyes bright with the honesty that always gets him in trouble.
“I had a crush on you,” Noah says simply.
Finn freezes.
Noah rushes on, cheeks warm now. “Like, a very obvious one. I thought you were the coolest person I’d ever met. And you had those little vlog guitar sessions, remember. The ones you posted.”
Finn’s face goes pink. “Oh my god.”
Noah laughs, delighted by Finn’s embarrassment. “I watched them.”
Finn stares at him, appalled. “Why.”
“Because I thought you were cool,” Noah repeats, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “And I liked hearing you play. It made me feel… I don’t know. Like you were real. Like you were a person and not just… everything else.”
Finn’s chest tightens. He looks away, then back, voice low. “You never told me that.”
Noah shrugs, smiling softly. “I was twelve. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
Finn’s expression shifts, tenderness deepening. “I always had a soft spot for you.”
Noah’s eyes widen. “You did.”
Finn nods. “Yeah. You were… you. It was hard not to.”
Noah’s smile turns shy. “That’s embarrassing.”
Finn’s mouth lifts. “You started it.”
Noah laughs, then reaches for Finn’s hand openly, fingers threading together. Finn squeezes, grounding himself in the now.
They leave the museum with the quiet satisfaction of having touched something real. The past, remembered without pain. The present, chosen.
Outside, the city feels louder again, but it doesn’t matter. Noah is still holding Finn’s hand.
They stop for groceries on the way home because Noah has declared they need dessert for the karaoke night.
Finn has agreed because Finn always agrees to Noah’s specific domestic whims, even when he complains about them.
The grocery store is bright and mildly chaotic, full of people who do not care who they are. Noah grabs a cart and immediately starts filling it with unnecessary things.
Finn watches him. “We’re getting pizza later.”
Noah nods. “Yes. But we also need snacks.”
Finn raises an eyebrow. “For after pizza.”
Noah looks at him like Finn is slow. “Yes.”
Finn sighs and follows anyway.
They move through aisles like a practiced team. Finn grabs practical items. Noah grabs emotional items. Finn grabs eggs and bread. Noah grabs cereal that is shaped like little stars because it’s “cute.”
Finn’s fond exasperation is quiet but constant. “Why are you like this.”
Noah grins. “Because life is hard.”
Finn’s mouth twitches. “That’s not a reason.”
“It is,” Noah insists.
They reach the dessert aisle, and Noah slows like he is approaching a sacred altar.
Finn already knows what is coming.
Noah stares at the options with painful seriousness. Cookies, cakes, ice cream, pastries. He picks up one box, examines it, puts it back, picks up another.
Finn leans on the cart handle. “Just choose one.”
Noah’s eyes widen. “I can’t just choose.”
Finn stares. “Why.”
Noah gestures at the shelf like it is a philosophical dilemma. “Because what if I choose wrong.”
Finn exhales. “It’s dessert. It’s not a life decision.”
Noah looks at him, dead serious. “It is a life decision.”
Finn’s laughter bursts out unexpectedly, loud enough that a woman nearby glances over. Finn doesn’t care. Noah’s face is too earnest to survive without laughter.
Noah smiles, pleased. “See. You’re happy.”
Finn glares, still laughing. “Pick the ice cream.”
Noah squints. “Which one.”
Finn points. “That one.”
Noah picks it up. “This brand or that brand.”
Finn sighs. “That one.”
Noah bites his lip, indecisive. “But this one has better packaging.”
Finn’s face goes blank. “Noah.”
Noah laughs and puts both in the cart. “Okay. We’ll get both.”
Finn stares. “You can’t do that.”
Noah smiles sweetly. “Watch me.”
Finn shakes his head, helpless. “You’re impossible.”
Noah leans in and kisses Finn’s cheek, quick. “You love it.”
Finn mutters, “Unfortunately,” but his hand settles at Noah’s lower back as they move toward checkout, and Noah leans into it like it’s home.
Back at the apartment, they unload groceries, put away snacks, and get ready for the night with the familiar rhythm of teasing and touch.
Noah changes outfits twice again. Finn pretends to be annoyed and watches anyway. Noah asks Finn if he looks okay five times. Finn answers the same way each time, voice steady, eyes soft. “You’re perfect.”
Noah rolls his eyes like that’s dramatic but smiles like he believes it.
Finn adjusts Noah’s collar before they leave, fingers lingering at his throat. Noah looks at him, amused. “You’re fussing.”
Finn shrugs. “You’re messy.”
Noah laughs. “I’m not messy.”
Finn’s eyes flick to Noah’s hair. “You are.”
Noah swats him lightly. Finn catches Noah’s wrist and kisses his knuckles, quick and private.
Noah’s face warms. “Stop.”
Finn smiles. “No.”
They arrive at the karaoke place with the inner group already there.
It’s privately rented, which means they can be loud without worrying about phones or strangers. The room is dim, neon lights pulsing softly. A stage in the corner. A screen with lyrics waiting like a dare.
Pizza boxes stack on the table. Someone has already opened wine. Someone has already started singing badly on purpose.
Gaten is on the mic when they walk in, doing a dramatic rendition of a song that is not meant to be dramatic. Caleb sits in a booth, smiling softly, watching the chaos. Millie is cheering loudly. Sadie is laughing in that quiet, genuine way she only does when she’s relaxed. Joe is clapping off beat. Maya is filming a short clip, but only for their group chat. Natalia and Charlie sit close together, amused. David and Winona are there too, radiating warm guardian energy. Jamie leans back with a drink, looking delighted by the absurdity.
Noah’s face lights up. He turns to Finn, eyes bright. “This is perfect.”
Finn’s mouth lifts. “You said that about the museum.”
Noah grins. “I have a lot of perfect things.”
Finn watches him with fondness that never fully hides. “Yeah. You do.”
They join the group, greeted with cheers and teasing.
Millie immediately hugs Noah. “Where have you been.”
Noah laughs. “On a date.”
Gaten turns, eyes wide. “A date date.”
Finn groans. “Don’t.”
Gaten points at them like he is accusing them of a crime. “You two are so domestic it makes me sick.”
Noah laughs. “That’s your problem.”
Gaten snorts. “It is.”
They eat pizza, drink wine, argue about song choices. It is chaotic and warm and exactly what they need after weeks of being watched.
Noah gets tipsy faster than Finn does. He always does. His laughter comes easier. His gestures get bigger. His clumsiness increases in proportion to his happiness.
At one point he stands up too quickly and bumps his knee on the table.
“Ow,” Noah says, laughing anyway.
Finn reaches out immediately, hand firm at Noah’s waist. “Jesus.”
Noah’s eyes sparkle. “I’m fine.”
Finn’s voice is gentle but scolding. “You’re not coordinated.”
Noah grins. “I’m joyful.”
Finn laughs despite himself, loud and surprised by his own sound. Noah beams like he lives for it.
Gaten watches, delighted. “Married.”
Finn flips him off.
Gaten grins. “Confirmed.”
Noah ends up on the mic at some point because Millie drags him up. He sings something silly, giggling through half the lyrics, voice slightly off, totally unashamed. Finn watches from the booth, wine in hand, eyes soft.
Noah stumbles on the stage step, catching himself with a dramatic little flail. The room erupts in laughter.
Finn laughs the loudest, head tipping back, the sound full and unguarded.
Noah points at him mid-song. “You’re laughing at me.”
Finn wipes at his eyes. “You almost fell.”
Noah grins. “I did not fall.”
Finn’s smile is bright, helpless. “You almost did.”
Noah finishes the song to applause and collapses into Finn’s lap dramatically, like he has been shot.
Finn catches him easily, arms wrapping around his torso to steady him. Noah’s head falls against Finn’s shoulder, laughter still bubbling.
“Your performance was terrible,” Finn murmurs.
Noah gasps, offended. “It was art.”
Finn’s mouth lifts. “It was chaos.”
Noah’s eyes close, smiling. “Thank you.”
Finn presses a kiss to Noah’s hair, absent and affectionate. Noah hums and sinks deeper into Finn’s hold.
Caleb watches from across the room, expression warm and quiet.
He remembers the first time he saw Finn around Noah. Back when they were younger. Back when Finn always hovered just slightly closer than necessary, steadying Noah without making a big deal of it. Back when Finn’s protectiveness looked like teasing and timing and silent watchfulness.
It looks the same now.
Only now it’s allowed to be openly tender.
Caleb feels something in his chest, a soft ache that is not sadness. More like relief. Like watching a story complete itself without losing its sweetness.
Gaten grabs the mic again, grinning. “Okay. Next song. Finn and Noah duet.”
Finn’s head snaps up. “No.”
Noah’s eyes fly open, delighted. “Yes.”
Finn stares at him. “No.”
Noah’s grin is wicked. “Please.”
Finn’s mouth twitches. “Stop.”
Noah leans closer, voice soft and persuasive. “Please.”
Finn exhales, defeated. “Fine.”
The room cheers.
Noah claps and stumbles to his feet, dragging Finn along by the hand. Finn follows, grumbling, but his smile betrays him.
On stage, Noah sways slightly, giggling, and Finn stands close, one hand at Noah’s back, steadying him without making it obvious.
They sing something ridiculous. Finn pretends not to be into it and then joins in fully on the chorus, voice strong and sure. Noah beams like Finn has handed him the sun.
They finish to roaring applause.
Noah bows dramatically and almost falls again.
Finn catches him again, laughing, and Noah laughs too, pressed close, unashamed.
Later, the night softens. The songs get slower. People spread out, lounging in booths, finishing drinks. Noah’s tipsiness shifts into tiredness, the giggles fading into sleepy warmth.
He curls into Finn’s side on the couch area, head heavy against Finn’s chest. Finn’s arms wrap around him automatically, holding him with steady tenderness.
Noah mumbles something incoherent, then sighs and dozes off.
Finn looks down at him, expression soft and protective, the world narrowing into this quiet weight against his chest. He watches Noah’s face relax in sleep, the tension of the day melting away.
Finn’s thumb rubs slow circles against Noah’s shoulder, gentle.
Caleb smiles softly from his seat, watching.
He thinks of the twelve-year-old Noah, small and brave, trying so hard. He thinks of fourteen-year-old Finn, quiet and watchful, already protective in the way he offered his attention like shelter.
He sees it now, unchanged. The same care, just deeper. More certain.
It is heartwarming in the simplest way. Not because it is perfect. Because it is consistent.
Finn lifts his gaze and meets Caleb’s eyes across the room.
Caleb nods once.
Finn nods back.
No words needed.
The room hums with low conversation and fading music. The pizza boxes are half empty. The wine glasses scattered. The night is winding down.
Finn stays still, holding Noah as he sleeps, as if moving might break something fragile.
But nothing here is fragile.
Not anymore.
Noah shifts slightly, sighs, and tucks closer. Finn tightens his hold just a fraction, chin lowering to rest against Noah’s hair. His eyes close briefly, letting himself feel the peace.
For tonight, the world is quiet enough.
For tonight, Noah is safe in his arms.
And Finn, for once, is not thinking about anything else.