Chapter Text
Noah collects his thoughts. He’s in his trailer, fidgeting with a pen on his desk. The most simple questions form his therapist are the hardest ones. He stares at her face at the screen of his laptop, then, at the clock, counting how many minutes of this session are left. He breathes in and starts to answer, “I want-”
“Dude, you won’t believe what I just heard, so there’s-”, Finn slams the door open, stops like a deer caught in the car lights, realising that he has just interrupted Noah in the middle of the sentence. And what sentence, damn. He’s got a couple of drinks and a packet of sour gummies in his hands, listening to something on the phone speaker pressed to his ear.
His quality to rush anywhere like he’s expected and welcomed anytime pisses most of the people off, but Noah finds it endearing. Maybe because he’s still not that good in setting boundaries, or maybe because it’s Finn and he is almost always expected and welcomed in here.
They have been in each others trailers constantly lately, just hanging around, gossiping, watching tiktoks, rehearsing, sharing stories about families and work outside this production. Watching movies on a laptop on a narrow bed doesn't happen often, but it does happen sometimes. A couple of drunk in-the-corner-of-the-mouth-after-party goodbye kisses slipped in there, too. Noah didn’t initiate them, but didn’t flinch either. It’s probably nothing.
Noah half slides his headphones from the head, mouths “I’m on a call” pointing at the screen and throws five fingers in the air. He realises that he’s smiling stupidly.
“Five minutes? Gotcha,” Finn whispers, goes backwards out of trailer and softly closes the door. Something falls and rolls down the steps outside, most likely a soda can. A pop and “shit!” follow afterwards.
“I’m sorry, where were we at?” Noah asks as he returns attention to the screen. His therapist is smiling, too.
“Was it him?”
“Yeah, sorry, I forgot to lock the door,” Noah speaks quieter, not that Finn would be eavesdropping, but he suddenly feels uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. You told me it’s been going on for a few weeks, and you’re not sure how to interpret all of that. I asked you: how do you want to interpret all of that?” Dajana reminds. She is fierce with these questions, not that they are irrelevant or offensive, but they strike a nerve.
“Uh- I don’t know,” Noah swallows and sees how Dajana leans back in her plush chair. He loves her office in New York, it’s very private and cosy, it always smells nice in there. It looks like she’s about to prolong this torture, though.
“Well, a lot to think about. For you, not me. I have a client scheduled right… now,” the therapist gets her purple planner, “I feel like we’re going to continue for a bit? How next Wednesday sounds?”
Noah exhales. He’s been deep in therapy last year, it really helped with a lot of messed up things he faced (online) and did (offline), but eventually a strong need for weekly sessions has gone. Now he reaches out to his therapist once in a few months, on a supportive basis: to chat, to discuss a couple of questions, but this time he stumbled upon something he can’t crack alone. Shit.
“Wednesday’s good, the usual morning slot? Yeah, see you then!” Noah sluggishly waves his hand, leaves the conference room, takes off his headphones and adds next session to the calendar.
How does he want to interpret all of that? Ugh.
He kind of does know, but it’s scary as hell to admit or to say out loud. It’s mixed up contexts, it’s most certainly messed up in terms of… Noah shakes his head and this train of thought away. He’ll think about it later. He goes to the trailer door to open it. The weather is chilly outside, so he only peeks out a bit to see Finn sitting on the steps, sipping grapefruit soda from a slightly damaged can.
“Hey, sorry, it was too explosive to open inside, I started without you,” Finn smiles and hands out another can to Noah. They have these little breaks on set with snacks and something to drink basically on a daily basis. Finn stands up, bites the opened candy bag to hold it with his teeth, slaps his jeans to remove invisible dust and sneaks inside. He slams onto the couch, throws the sweets there too and barely manages not to spill the drink.
“Who were you talking to?” Finn is looking around like he never has been here before, trying to appear not too interested. It’s so curious to watch: they have been acting back to back and face to face for almost ten years now, and most of the time Noah does know when Finn is acting.
“My therapist,” Noah answers and sits back on the chair, closes his laptop and opens his Diet Coke can.
“Woah, you okay?” Finn frowns his brows. Now he’s not acting, is he? They have been spending so much time on set, it’s harder to answer for sure now, some days it feels strange to look at him as a friend, not a character.
“It’s nothing, just a quick check,” Noah reassures, but Finn is already near him. He puts his can down on the table and presses his hand on Noah’s forehead.
“I don’t have a fever, Finn, I have an anxiety disorder. Gosh, you’re cold!” Noah notices that Finn is only wearing a T-shirt. It’s time to switch to coffee and tea breaks. And at least two-layer outfits.
“You’re hot, though,” he chuckles, but looks worried, “So, yeah, if you ever need to talk, I’m all ears.”
Noah huffs, “I am not,” as Finn cups his cheek. Noah clears his throat to continue, “I have a professional, but thanks?”
Of course, he can talk to Finn and for the last couple of months he really does. Just not about them. Finn and Noah are practically attached to each other, though, which is the reason for numerous silly jokes and hoots from the cast and production teams.
Increased amount of Finn’s acts of affection doesn’t not really make things uncomfortable between them, it’s just heartwarming. They have been friends for years, had their teeny tiny crushes on each other when they were younger, or at least Noah did. And their chemistry is especially amazing on the screen now. Maybe, that is where the anxiety comes from that made Noah book his first therapy session in quite a while: all these rituals and proximity will be over soon. The shooting is wrapping in two months, and the final scripts are… well, disappointing in regards of their characters’ story. Nevertheless, they don’t talk about Mike and Will, ever.
A knock on the door makes Finn lower his hand from Noah’s face, but he continues to stare down, with a small smile and a grain of concern.
“Noah, the rehearsal is in fifteen,” PA shouts without opening the door.
“Got it!” Noah replies back, without breaking eye contact with Finn.
“Oh, and if you see Wolfhard, tell him the same, he’s nowhere to be found!”
Noah was going to answer back, but one second before he does, Finn says, “Sure thing, will do!”
“Okay, lovebirds, don’t be late,” is followed by retreating footsteps on gravel outside. Noah doesn’t know why it feels slightly embarrassing, being “caught” once again, because they are not doing anything. The whole set hangs out with their friends during free time, it is not something not allowed.
Finn snickers and retreats to the couch. Noah lets out a chuckle, too.
“So what was is it that you heard?” Noah asks and stands up, sipping soda from his can, to grab something from the closet for Finn. They should get going in a couple of minutes.
“Eeh, nothing, I don’t remember,” Finn replies, throws a couple of candies in his mouth and takes the fresh grey hoodie from Noah. It smells like laundry detergent and Le Labo perfume that he always wears in the autumn. “Let’s go?”