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It’s funny.
It’s not the expected warmth of the cramped apartment, the brush of hundreds of crowding bodies, or the spilt drinks littering the floor. No, it’d be the bass from the speakers that Noiz fancied he could feel if feeling was ever going to present itself.
The room was filled with an array of colors. It was partially the fault of the flashing lights the DJ decided to drag with him, and it was partially the rainbow of clothing. If Noiz had ever been a betting man, he would have guessed that each person at this party was wearing at least five different colors, excluding tones and shades of the same. He thought it was funny, just for a second, that he couldn’t feel, but he sure could tell the difference between red and green. Thank you, genetic-roulette.
He catches a glimpse of the lights reflecting off the stud on his hand that’s carrying his drink. He isn’t drinking tonight, per say. There’s a tiny bit of whatever the concoction in the punch bowl was, but it’s mostly for face. While he isn’t exactly the type to bend to peer pressure, it was easier to blend in than stand out in situations like these. Standing out was reserved for the Rhyme field. There, he could be in disguise and still be the best. It was a very enticing arrangement. Anonymity and prestige.
It’s been a long week. His teammates were dropping like flies lately. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was nearing the holidays and they all had better things to do than Rhyme all day – fuck them - or maybe it was an resurgence. It didn’t matter. He was strong enough to lead the team. So what if the numbers didn’t match up. Only his numbers mattered in the end. To him.
Speaking of ‘him’ in the abstract…
“Yo.” Noiz purposefully bumps into the guy next to him that likely has had too much to drink but that definitely does not seem to be dampening his spirit.
“Hey,” the man says over the music, drawing it out to three syllables. “How you doin’?” he asks, laughs, and leans against Noiz.
Noiz tenses but it isn’t too noticeable. Not in the middle of this fray. “Have you seen him?”
“Wha?” The man looks pensive, his brows knitting together. He almost spills his punch on Noiz, but the blonde has the sense to readjust his positon before it can slosh out on him. Gross. “Who?”
“Him,” Noiz repeats, voice even and a bit impatient. He clicks his tongue.
“Him…” The man drawls off again and then laughs, smiles, and nods eagerly. “Oh, you mean Sly Blue. Fuck yeah he’s here. He’s in the kitchen taking shots like a cham—” He stops, still sober enough to realize that his boss isn’t pleased with the praise of the enemy. “I mean he’s being a douche in the kitchen. What a douche.”
“Ok.”
He brushes past the fumbling idiot and makes the long stretch towards the kitchen. It’s not too far in terms of distance, but the fact that hundreds of people are moshing makes it difficult to step in a direction the mind of the mob isn’t currently swaying in. But he gets there eventually.
He shouldn’t be surprised. He really shouldn’t.
When he gets there, there is a small circle surrounding the blue-haired Rhymer. And yes, they’re chanting. They’re chanting because, as his teammate so kindly put it, he’s slamming back shots. There’s definitely a deep throat joke in there somewhere, but this is one of the few times where Noiz’s sense of humor is dried up entirely.
“One more, one more!” someone roars above the crowd, unceremoniously handing the Rhymer the half-emptied bottle of pineapple vodka.
“Sheesh, again? Can’t refuse my fans, but fuck,” Sly Blue says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He snags the bottle and is about to pour himself another shot but – but he stops.
There’s eye contact and it’s chilling. Sly Blue lifts a brow, inaudibly chuckles, and then turns back to his adoring fans. With a flick of his wrist, he sets the shot glass down, reaches into his pocket and emerges with a lighter. And with a brilliant display of a flash of blue – and red and yellow and everything that Sly Blue is, embodied in a flame – the fire touches the surface of the alcohol and goes aglow.
“You’re kidding, you can’t be serious,” someone says just as Sly Blue brings the fire to his lips.
“Dead.” And he tips his head back.
The fire burns the tiny, invisible hairs above his lips and scorches his mouth but it’s gone a second later, because that’s how science works, right? He swallows, the near-gasoline liquid destroying his throat on the way down. The taste of pineapple is entirely gone and is instead just a charred flavor – like lighter fluid gone wrong – and he feels it slide the last bit of his throat and into his stomach. And it gets lost in the mess of knots and uncertainty and fire that’s already there from the moment the blonde stepped in the kitchen. Maybe it isn’t just the alcohol.
“Wow. Wow that was bombass!”
There’s another loud round of cheering and there’s drunken laughter and Sly is forcing a smirk.
Noiz rolls his eyes and leaves the room for the time being. He wasn’t going to start a scene with Sly’s lackeys around to screw things up, but that’s fine. He got a show out of it anyway.
* * * * *
There’s something simple about sitting on a roof, strumming along very poorly on a rusted guitar.
“You know,” Sly begins, looking over to his friend. “You can take lessons.”
Noiz smirks at the poorly-veiled insult but continues plucking the chords out of time and out of order. His hair is long, almost touching his shoulders, and there’s tiny pieces getting in his eyes when the wind blows. “I know.”
“Just saying,” Sly says, a tiny chuckle cutting loose, as he turns back to staring up at the sky. His back is against the hard pavement and he’s using his arms as pillows, tucked securely behind his head.
“I know,” Noiz repeats and he clicks his tongue in time with the bad music. “One day I’ll play you something.”
Sly’s breath catches and he sounds like he’s choking for a hot second. “You what?”
“Play you something. That’s romantic, isn’t it?” Noiz wonders, pausing, fingers almost bleeding because he’s too poor for a guitar pick, and too stubborn to stop trying.
“That’s..” Sly begins, cheeks puffed and his face is absolutely on fire. “That’s just weird.”
“Weird?”
“Weird.” But Sly doesn’t sound like he means it.
“Ok.” But Noiz files it away under the category of ‘one day’. There’s a lot of files in that folder but it’s not like he particularly minds. He has all the time in the world, right?
* * * *
“You look pissed.”
“Don’t I always? According to you?”
Noiz doesn’t seem to mind the comment. He’s leaning back against the far wall in the living room, the farthest from the pounding music. Mizuki is beside him, nursing his own drink. Noiz has abandoned his finally, figuring he’s reached that point of the night where people have stopped monitoring what’s in whose hand.
“Yeah. Sometimes.” Mizuki chuckles, a tad sheepishly, and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Is this about Aoba?”
Noiz wrinkles his nose. “Why would it be?”
“Because you only come over to my parties when he’s gonna be here.”
Wow. Okay. Totally caught red-handed. Noiz makes a noise with the pursing of his lips – it sounds displeased but it’s hard to tell. He averts his gaze despite the room being cast in shadows. He’s cautious it’s clear.
“I don’t do that.”
“You do,” Mizuki says, shakes his head. “It’s funny.”
“Is not.” Noiz is nearly pouting and he looks away again. “Do you-” He’s about to ask something completely unrelated to the blue Rhymer, but clearly the tattooed redhead beside him has other plans because he cuts him off,
“He does the same, you know.”
“What.”
“He does the same. He only makes a complete moron of himself when he knows you’re watching,” Mizuki explains. He chugs the rest of his drink, crushes the plastic cup against the wall behind it, and tosses it aside. It’s his place after all. “Like tonight. I don’t think he even knows how to take a flaming shot, but there he goes.”
“So you heard about that,” Noiz deadpans.
“Who didn’t? Besides, the kitchen smells like ass now,” Mizuku says, sighs, and closes his eyes.
Noiz takes that moment to laugh because he knows Mizuku won’t see or hear him. “Tch.”
“But really. You two are morons. And that’s a lot coming from me,” Mizuki explains, opening his eyes and peering curiously over at his friend. “You two were idiots when you were younger, but at least then it was because you were lovestruck.”
“Lovestruck,” Noiz repeats the word, sounding bitter, sounding sad. “What does that mean?”
“You’re joking,” Mizuki says flatly, unimpressed, brows lifted.
“I am.”
Mizuki sucks in a deep breath and looks back towards the general direction of the kitchen. “I preferred when you two were making out in the halls instead of painting the alleys with each other’s blood.”
“That’s poetic,” Noiz says and he pushes off the wall he’s sharing with Mizuki. “I’m getting a drink.”
“Ok. Grab me one?”
“Sure.”
* * * *
“Sometimes I feel like I have two grandsons.”
Tae sighs, watching as Noiz demolishes yet another batch of fresh made biscuits. He’s like a starved dog that hasn’t seen food in years. But Tae enjoys it, smiling, because she’s come to like the blonde boy. Especially because he’s been over every single day for the past year and it’s the first time in years that she’s seen her grandson so happy. And yes, she knows despite how badly they try and hide their budding relationship.’
“Granny,” Sly begins, elbows up on the table. “Can we have stew tonight?”
“Aoba,” she sighs, closes her eyes, holding her head. “Tell me these things earlier in the day, you dumb brat. It takes hours to cook.”
“It does?”
He’s so clueless that Tae breaks out in fond laughter. She shakes her head yet again and strides out of the kitchen, muttering about pre-teens and how dumb they are and how she’s just so lucky to have this blessing in her life. Whether it’s sarcasm or not is up in the air.
“It does,” Noiz answers for Aoba between bites of food.
“Cut it out, you know it all. You don’t even cook.” Sly scowls.
“It doesn’t seem hard.”
“You said that about the guitar.” Snicker.
“I’m getting better.”
“Yah. At not sounding like a dying cat.” Smirk.
Noiz chucks the half-finished biscuit in Sly’s general direction. “Brat.”
* * * *
It’s not that Noiz goes out of his way to wipe the floor with Sly every week – or at least, try to. It’s just the only excuse he has nowadays to see him. It isn’t like back in school when they were dating and young and naïve. It isn’t like the old days where they would stay up late texting, video-chat, sneak out, sit on rooftops and be stupid and young and in lov-
In love.
He admits it and it hurts. He was in love, no matter how young he was. He’s had nothing since he’s lost Sly and that hurts even more. He never could feel, never really had much love in his life, but ever since he met Sly… Ever since then he’s felt this warmth in his heart that he used to only associate with adrenaline and things that were probably too dangerous for a young boy to be doing. Ever since he met Sly, he started to learn happiness. He started to learn what a family was, what it could be. And he started to learn love.
They weren’t dating that long. Not really. Just over a year. But it was the best year of his life, coupled with the two years of friendship before that when Noiz first moved here from Germany on a scholarship for school.
Sly was full of life and bristly but a good person deep down. He was just as confused and broken as Noiz was, and it was understandable with how Sly’s parents had dropped him on the drop of a hat. But it didn’t matter. For some reason, they found safety, found comfort in one another. And they found love.
Or they would have if Noiz had ever had the guts to say it. He had come close a few times. The guitar, the nights they’d spend on the roof, that one awkward date with a kayak… he had come so close to whispering the words into Sly’s ears. He could imagine how he’d react, too. He’d blush, get flustered, smack him a few times, and then probably cry. He’d be so happy and beautiful and that’s all Noiz ever wanted.
But he never said it.
He was told by his teachers and by the other kids in his class that love was for old people. Love was for when you were older and you just didn’t understand it at this age. This was all petty, for naught.
So he never said it.
But with as much Noiz as could, he felt it.
And ever since he came back from a three-year stint back home in Germany, it’s been hell. They broke up because long-distance was hard and they just couldn’t do it. They broke up because they were scared and young. And Noiz regrets it to this day. But he would never admit it aloud. Because he was tough now, he was broken and refused to ever hurt again. Because it wasn’t fair that a guy who couldn’t feel the touch of something soft, of something warm, could feel pain.
So instead, he fought with Sly every chance he had. Rhyme was popular in Germany and here and so it was only natural that they both were amazingly good at it and that a natural rivalry began.
But it just cut deeper.
* * * *
But tonight would be different.
Noiz was tired of playing cat and mouse. These past few months had been brutal and if he was ever going to just move on, he needed to talk to Sly. He needed to just realize that he wasn’t in love and that it didn’t matter and that he just wasn’t capable of happiness and it wasn’t worth it in the end. He needed to reaffirm that Rhyme was the only thing worth living for.
“Mizuki,” Noiz says as he catches the Rhymer off guard. It’s been an hour since his last conversation and both are considerably more tipsy. Noiz had a few more sips of a drink, but Mizuku clearly was embracing the moment.
“Hey,” Mizuki says with a smile but then falters when he notices how serious Noiz is. “What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Sly?” he asks.
“This again?” Mizuki groans, very loudly, and is about to put his hands up in the air in defeat when Noiz cuts him off.
“No. Where’s Sly?”
Mizuki blinks. “Why? I told you two both, on multiple occasions, you can’t fight here.”
“I haven’t seen him and his teammates are blasted and haven’t either.” Noiz said in a measured voice, but there was an edge to his words. Something different. Something worried? Mizuki hadn’t heard that for years and it was enough to pierce through the haze of intoxication. “… He’s been drinking a lot.” Which means Noiz is clearly worried that he’s had too much, like the show-off he is, and… “A lot.” Repetition for emphasis, clearly.
But the storm in his stomach and his veins and he’s worried. He’s worried this time Sly took it too far. He’s worried this time maybe Sly just didn’t know his limits. He hasn’t been worried in years and he’s in love and worried and it’s all coming crashing down on some teenage moron who just doesn’t understand emotions.
“Oh, uh… did you try calling him?”
“I did.”
“Try again?”
“…Tch. I did.”
“…How many times?”
“Nineteen.”
“Noiz…!”
“He’s not answering and he’s not here. He didn’t leave, either. Mizuki—”
There was something absolutely desperate leaking through the cracks, now.
“Maybe he’s just ignoring you.” Mizuki didn’t mean to sound so harsh, so cruel, but the annoyance was growing stronger and he was tired of this game that the two were playing. It was fairly clear they weren’t over each other and Mizuki was, yet again, stuck in the middle. It was tiring and it was unfulfilling giving advice that you knew would never be taken.
Noiz frowns. No, he scowls. “That’s not it.”
“But, Noiz,” Mizuku sighs and he’s rubbing his temples. “Listen. You’ve been a dick to him. He’s been a dick to you. Why the hell would he answer your calls? Why would he be looking at his phone at a party? Christ, you guys are acting like kids and I swear to god if you don’t just sort it out and realize he still cares about you—”
Noiz was about to walk away from the lecture, irritated and upset and worried, but he stops dead in his tracks. He looks back and blinks. Once, twice, thrice. Four times for good measure.
“He does?”
“Fuck, I mean.” Mizuki looks like he’s swallowed a frog. “Dude, crap. I wasn’t supposed to say that. Forget that.”
Noiz cracks a smirk.
“No, no, no. No smirking. I said forget it!”
Noiz was too busy smirking. Still. “Sorry. Can’t. Heard it.”
“Noiz,” Mizuki breathes out, puffing his cheeks, and he’s still rosy drunk. “Noiz, please. Don’t tell him I told you. Crap. I’m the worst best friend either.”
“Yes. You are.”
Just some payback!
“You were worried he was dead a minute ago, stop smirking!”
“I never said that.”
“Dude, you didn’t need to. You basically were begging me to tell you he’s passed out upstairs because he’s tired.”
“Oh.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I didn’t-!” Mizuki panicks. “No! No, I didn’t mean to tell you that.”
“You’re a horrible liar. Thanks.” Noiz tosses him a toothy smirk and he heads towards the stairs like a honing beacon.
Mizuku slaps his own forehead, curses himself out, and sighs. He’s the worst liar to ever exist and loose lips do indeed sink ships. The cussing out he was going to get tomorrow would be unreal. He poignantly got himself another cup of punch.
* * * *
The trek upstairs is the absolute worst. It’s only ten steps, at most, but it feels like an unsurmountable feat. He’s halfway there when his chest tightens, and his legs lock up and he can’t move. He’s frozen in fear. Literally frozen. He frowns.
Good job, genius. You’re almost there and you haven’t even thought of what you’re going to say. That’s probably what’s going through his mind, anyway. But he steels himself, because this can’t be any worse than the way it’s been.
He heads upstairs.
He finds Sly exactly where he thought he’d be. Sly is curled up in at least five blankets and is fast asleep. He doesn’t look ill and it makes a wave of relief pass over Noiz. This is good. This is actually good.
He forgot that Sly sometimes snores. Quietly, and cutely.
“Shut the damn door,” Sly mutters in his sleep. Noiz realizes that he’s just standing in the doorway and abruptly closes it. “Christ, I said close it not slam it…” Sly sits up, rubbing his eyes, grumbling and he looks like a cat with water tossed on him.
Sly looks like he’s seen a ghost in those split seconds that slow down to a crawl. His eyes widen, his face pales, and he isn’t sleepy anymore. Noiz blinks, hand awkwardly still groping the doorknob. His hair is messy and he’s a bit sweaty because Mizuki doesn’t know what AC is, and he swallows. And it resonates in the room and it’s like a loud thud and Noiz feels off balance and he just wrinkles his nose and just stands there.
“Wow. A new low. Catching me off guard when I’m asleep to beat me?” Sly mumbles, eyes narrowed. He rolls his shoulders, trying to break the awkward tension, and he reaches for his phone.
And it’s then that Noiz remembers he called Sly nineteen times and that looks bad. He panics and instead of doing the normal, and smart thing, he opens his mouth and says, “I’d never lose to a dumbass like you.”
“Sure, sure, bunny boy. Say that to your track record.” Sly isn’t distracted by the usual insult and he yawns, looks at his Coil, and then pauses. He clearly sees the number. He’s confused, definitely confused, and he looks up to Noiz for a split second.
He probably thought it was Granny. He probably thought it was Mizuki, or a game notification. He probably thinks it’s spam but the look in Noiz’s eyes gives it away.
It isn’t that Noiz is an open book but it’s just something you learn when you date someone for so long.
“Twenty.”
Noiz doesn’t say anything.
“You… twenty times… why?”
“It was only nineteen—”
“Fuck, Noiz. What the fuck?” It’s all he has to say. He doesn’t need to scream a soliloquy about being hurt and lost and hating Noiz. He doesn’t need to scream to the gods that he’s so lost and he’s still in love and that he wants to slam Noiz’s face against the window, break it into a million pieces, and then put it all back together and kiss it better. No. He just needs to say what he does because that’s him and that’s all it takes.
Noiz pokes his fingers together, one at a time. He doesn’t say anything. There’s no air for his lungs.
“You know what.. it doesn’t matter,” Sly laughs, emptily, and he’s about to sit up and leave. He’s about to leave Noiz’s life entirely and that brings the gravity and reality back into the room.
“It does.”
“What? The number? It doesn’t fucking matter,” Sly corrects, but his words are guarded and he stops moving. He’s just sitting there, still half in the pillows and blankets. He just blankly stares.
“It all matters.”
“Oh my god,” Sly begins and he definitely is going to pitch a fit but mostly because his heart can’t handle this, his mind can’t handle this—
“I thought you were dead.”
“…Excuse me?”
Of all the things that Noiz could say, Sly was not expecting that one. The blue-haired Rhymer stares and he is still trying to process what Noiz had said. Nothing could prepare him for any of that and it shows. There’s still the resonating bass from downstairs, but it’s even more background noise now, more than ever.
“The calls.”
“Oh.”
Sly frowns. He tongues his bottom teeth, looking awkward. There’s a heaviness settling in, the air too thick to even breathe in. Sly sucks in a deep breath despite it and then lifts his gaze back up to Noiz. He’s still guarded and his eyes are sharp and golden and everything Noiz remembers and everything Noiz wants and lo—
“Can I go back to sleep now? Or do you need me to hold your hand and show you the stairs?” Sly deadpans.
Noiz is surprised. He’s genuinely shocked that he isn’t getting a better reaction. But what did he expect? “I meant it.”
“No shit, and…” Sly trails off and he chuckles lifelessly. “Leave. I want to go to bed. My head hurts and I don’t wanna fight you right now.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
“Really.” Sly isn’t impressed.
“I thought you were dead.”
“You said that.”
“I called.”
“I saw.”
Noiz frowns. Maybe his indifferent tone is the problem here. Maybe Sly doesn’t believe him because he’s still so calm and unaffected like always. Noiz probes his snakebites, thinks for a few seconds, and then heads over to the bed. Sly hisses, much like a perturbed cat, and glowers.
“I said leave---”
“Mizuki told me.”
“Where I was? Great. Congratulations,” Sly begins, shaking his head, dismissing it all, dismissing it just like how he feels Noiz dismissed his feelings and then, and then he wonders because Noiz is staring blankly and the wheels start to turn. The wheels turn and turn and Sly wonders if Mizuki had said the other thing and there’s a feeling of despair unearthing itself. Sly swallows and bites his bottom lip. “And did he say anything else?”
“Yeah.”
“Like?”
“Things.”
“Oh my god, you insufferable bastard—” Sly is about to throw a fit and makes a move to throw his blankets off him but Noiz catches his arm. He catches it and it’s like fire and Sly recoils, which is funny because he was just chugging fire earlier. “What?”
“Aoba.”
“Oh my god,” Sly begins again, clearly pissed off, and he’s going to punch Noiz with his free hand but he pauses. The momentary rage from hearing his real name fades when he realizes that Noiz is saying it and Noiz hasn’t said it in years and he only ever, ever said it when they were kissing and in the troughs and he really didn’t need to think about that right now. “Why are you so interested in what I have to say now?”
It sounds like it has years and years worth of harboring. Of doubt. Of pain and agony and guilt. Now…?
“What?” Noiz blinks, but keeps his grip on Sly’s arm deadfast.
“Nevermind. Just… just fucking leave.” He can hear the ‘like you always do’ between the lines and Noiz frowns.
“What do you mean?”
“Leave? It’s an easy word, dumbass. Like, go through that door and—”
“What do you mean what you have to say now? What didn’t I listen?” Noiz looks hurt, offended, frowning, scowling, and he’s such a petulant little boy still.
“For christ’s sake..” Sly is upset and he’s tking this all wrong. “Really? You’re going to play the higher ground card on me?” He gets angrier, angrier, more full of rage. And he tries to jerk his arm away but it isn’t working and his head hurts for more reasons than one and he’s sick and he just—“You know what. You know fucking what? Fine. Fine, I’ll just fucking remind you. You’re the one who left me. You’re the one who didn’t even react when I told you goodbye.”
“Aoba, I—” Noiz is confused and hurt too, and he’s about to snap back at him before he hears that last part. Told you goodbye.
“No you didn’t. Don’t even say you did!” Sly is bristling and he’s almost shouting and his tone is so, so cold. “You fucking ignored me and you left without saying it back – Christ, you probably never fucking felt it and I hate you. I hate your dumb ass and you should just go.”
There was silence. Sly’s breathing had gotten heavier and he stopped shouting at the end. He just looked upset. He just looked beaten and defeated and strung out, really.
“What did you say?”
“Oh my god-”
“I didn’t hear you. Back then. I didn’t hear you.”
Sly contemplates it for a moment. He’s still bristling and he risks looking back at Noiz. He’s trying to search his eyes, trying to use the old times as guidance in this moment. But he winces and swallows and clutches his tiny hands into even tinier bruised fists.
“Are you kidding me….”
“Aoba.”
“You didn’t… Wow, this is just great. Just great.” Sly has left the realm of shouting and is now laughing cruelly and he almost looks like he – is going to cry?
“Oi. Just tell me.”
“You prick.” Sly finally snaps away and looks away and his bangs fall in his face, probably on purpose. “Even now you still find new ways to fuck me over. Fucking brilliant.”
Noiz is almost pouting but it clicks. All of it clicks. He’s slow but he’s not that slow and what with Mizuki dropping hints, and Sly talking in riddles, and these past few months, and these past years and. Oh. Oh it all makes sense. It all makes sense with the dropped phone calls and unanswered texts. Aoba had said something when Noiz left and Noiz hadn’t heard him. He hadn’t heard and it was misconstrued. Not like leaving hadn’t hurt and broken it in the first place, but…
“If you have something to say, you should speak it out loud.”
Sly looks, and then laughs, and then aims a punch at Noiz’s jaw. Noiz jerks away just in time.
“Are you kidding me…”
“Fine.” Noiz purses his lips. I’ll say it now goes unspoken and Noiz looks away as he edges for the door. He looks like he’s about to leave but, “I still love you.”
….
…
Sly blinks, and he probably thinks he’s going insane or that this the world’s worst hangover. He probably thinks he drank too much and now he’s hallucinating all of this. “Excuse me…?”
Noiz doesn’t repeat it, but he doesn’t have to.
“You…” Sly grits his teeth. But he looks down. Part of him knew, part of him knew deep down that Noiz still cared and he had been misreading all of it. But the abandoned part of Aoba, the small little boy who was so used to people leaving, just clung on to that betrayal. It was easier than Noiz not loving him or Noiz eventually leaving one day. It was easier to be upset. To be mad. To be hurt. It was easier than being in love.
“I’m going.”
“What?” Sly jerks up and he nearly falls off the bed because his foot is still caught up in the blankets. “Don’t you dare. Not again. Can you just – not leave – for once?”
Noiz looks at him and he closes his eyes. “You’re safe. That’s all I came up here to check. I’m going.”
“Noiz.”
“…What?”
“How?”
“What?”
“How do you? How can you – how can you possibly say that after all of this and. And you’re just toying with me, aren’t you? You dumb ass, you just.” Sly is laughing again and his body is trembling and he is so close to breaking.
“I mean it.”
“Fuck you do.”
“I do.”
Sly is about to cuss him out again but he notices for the first time since Noiz has been back – and Noiz never told him he got back either, and he just had to find out on his own – but he notices that his Coil still has the tiny star charm that Aoba gave him when they first became best friends and oh. Oh. And Noiz is just… and Noiz still had his number. And Noiz…
“You are a huge, blunt idiot.”
“Tch…” A beat. “…I know.”
Sly cracks a weak attempt at a smile and rolls his shoulders. He feels awkward and his heart is pounding through his chest. “So…”
“So.”
“Yeah.”
“Mm.”
Sly laughs. Again. “Yeah.” Great conversation, really. “You really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a dumb move.”
Noiz shrugs and he moves back from the door, into the room. There’s clearly hesitation, and he clearly isn’t sure what to do, but when did he ever? “…Oi. You still ticklish on your ears?”
Sly wasn’t expecting that, not at all, and blushes like a banshee. He looks away, coughs, frowns, and tries to act tough. “Like shit I am. And even if I was – which I’m not – I wouldn’t tell you.”
Noiz smirks. “Oh yeah?” There’s some confidence ebbing back in and he takes another step closer.
“Yeah, smart ass. You’d have to find out.” It’s brave on his end, too, and Sly almost is surprised by his own candor. But he’s still smirking. And it’s softer than the smirks from the kitchen, and softer than the glares from earlier. It’s like home. And he knows there’s going to be long talks and yelling and a lot to sort out.
He knows this isn’t a magical fix-all, that saying I really do love you doesn’t fix it. But it helps. It takes off the band aid and starts giving care to the wound. It’s the first step. And it’s more than he ever thought he’d get. More than he ever thought he’d deserve. He never thought he’d get this chance again. And yet…
“Would I?” Noiz repeats it, like a parrot, as he strides closer and just lingers inches away from Sly. He tips his head down, meeting his gaze, and waits. And he waits. Because he’s been waiting his whole life and he almost fucked it up once before. He’s waiting because he’s willing to try this time, to be honest, and say fuck you to the world. He’s willing to admit he’s wrong and he’s willing to work through this. So he waits.
“See something you like, bunny boy?”
“Yeah.” And Noiz kisses him.