Chapter Text
1.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it started. It felt like the shift between us happened so gradually, so quietly, it was almost invisible. The closest comparison I can think of is when I’m tattooing and I’m trying to blend two colors seamlessly so the design looks as realistic as possible. The whole trick is that you can’t tell where one shade ends and the next begins.
That was us.
Somewhere along the line, the transition from I want to hug him like a friend to I want to kiss him until I forget where I am just… happened. Maybe I woke up one day feeling that way. Or maybe it had been simmering for weeks, months, years, buried so deep I refused to acknowledge it.
And honestly? Maybe I felt that spark from the very first time we met. I was practically a kid back then, so how the hell would I have recognized it?
I have to start this story somewhere. And like most fairy tales, this one didn’t begin beautifully.
The whole band was weighed down by grief after losing a friend. But like every artist who dies too young, Keaton had become immortal. His voice would live forever on the records we’d captured, despite the fact that he hadn’t been breathing for days.
Too Close To Touch played through the speakers, blending with the low, constant murmur of the crowd waiting in the club’s main room, while Keaton’s voice echoed painfully against the walls.
“Death is not a game with the ones I hold close
She was mine, mine, you can’t deny
Three years is too quick to die.”
All his anger, all his pain was woven into that song - the one he wrote for his little sister, who died in a hospital bed. In the lyrics he called God out for choosing Eiley instead of him. Poor guy… he didn’t know then that they’d both end up chosen.
Part of me wanted to break something every time I remembered he was gone too. The only thing that eased the ache was the thought that maybe they were together now. If there was such a thing as “up there.”
Because what if “up there” is actually just two meters below the ground?
The timing of the song was terrible, considering we were supposed to be onstage right after it. I could probably hide my mood before the crowd… but when I glanced at Noah, my heart clenched painfully.
He was leaning against the wall beside the stage stairs, gripping the microphone so tightly his knuckles must’ve been white beneath the faux-leather glove he wore on his left hand. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back, taking slow breaths. And I completely forgot how to breathe myself.
He would hate himself if his voice cracked while singing the opening lines of The Death of Peace of Mind. His perfectionism was his favorite weapon against himself. And worst of all, he’d be alone onstage for the first part of the song, we wouldn’t join in until later.
I stepped up to him and gently set a hand on his shoulder. I must’ve startled him a bit, because he flinched before opening his eyes. But when he realized it was me, he leaned into the touch almost instantly.
It reminded me of my first cat; a tiny black fluffball I found on the street when I was barely ten. I named him Dusk for his color, and once he came home with us, I tried everything to get some weight on his little bones. He slept in my bed every night, purring softly until I drifted off.
It’s insane how much Dusk and Noah had in common.
Even in the dim backstage light, Noah’s dark brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears he kept blinking away. His shoulders slumped under his thin canvas jacket, and I would’ve bet money that his fingers were numb from clutching the mic so hard.
He and Keaton were incredibly close. In the past two years they’d spent so much time together, especially during the Covid era when travel was possible again. And even when they were far apart, they talked every single day. Keaton liked all of us, but his bond with Noah was something deeper. It was Noah’s idea to honor him by playing their songs during the break after our opener, but god, this was the worst possible moment for Eiley’s song to hit.
“We can stall for five more minutes,” I said, glancing back at Jolly, who was still fussing with his in-ears with help from a tech, while Folio tapped rhythms on the wall and rolled his shoulders like he was warming up for a fight.
“I’m fine,” Noah said weakly.
I nodded, not believing him for a second, and let my hand fall as I stepped back.
“I'm worthless to the world
You're innocent and pure
God, why didn't you choose me over her?”
They signaled to Noah. He raised a thumb like everything was perfectly okay.
Bullshit. Nothing was okay.
Keaton’s voice faded outside, and soon the intro to our own song began. I looked down at my guitar, stretched my fingers, and played a few chords just to keep myself occupied.
When Noah finally walked out and the crowd exploded in cheers, he didn’t look nearly as lost as he had two minutes earlier. He filled the stage instantly, singing without the slightest tremor; like a fucking siren calling sailors to their doom.
I shook my head, annoyed with myself for underestimating him again.
You’d think by now I would’ve learned that nothing—absolutely nothing—had broken Noah.
If anything, all the shit he’d survived had only forged him stronger.
*
Two months later, I was sitting on the steps of the tour bus in Phoenix, a beer in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other, when I heard Noah’s footsteps behind me. After shows he always liked to clear his head outside, so I figured he was heading out for his usual walk, and I hoped I could tag along. I stood up to let him pass, and when he stepped beside me, the scent of his cologne hit me. He was shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, so I started to suspect he had different plans for the night.
“Karin’s in town,” he threw out, not even looking at me, just watching the city lights. The neon-blue glow from the bar reflected off his brown hair, and the tattoos winding down his arms curled across his skin like snakes. I thought I still had time. I thought I could come up with something before they met again in Salt Lake City.
I blew out the last bit of smoke, put out the cigarette, slipped out of my denim jacket and held it out to him.
“We’re leaving in the morning. Be back by then.”
Noah hesitated before taking the jacket, then looked at me.
“That’s it?” he asked, stunned.
I had no idea what he expected. Maybe that I’d remind him again that this woman was absolutely not normal?
“I’m tired,” I admitted. “I can’t keep saving you from someone you keep running back to. But I can save you from catching a cold.” I nodded at the jacket.
He still didn’t move, and the situation was starting to weigh on me. The spring night wasn’t warm enough for me not to be covered in goosebumps. I folded my arms over my chest, rocking in place. My boots nudged tiny stones across the asphalt of the parking lot while I waited. I figured that even if I froze out there, I wouldn’t leave Noah alone as long as he needed me.
The guys’ laughter drifted out from inside, and somewhere down the street a car honked. I lifted my head — and immediately met his dark gaze. He was staring. I had no clue how long he’d been looking at me, or why. I swear he didn’t even blink. Then he reached out and touched my arm under the sleeve of my T-shirt.
“You’re cold.”
I blinked for both of us, then finally moved. I took the jacket from his hands and draped it over his shoulders.
“But you don’t need to be cold,” I told him with a small, encouraging smile.
“It’ll be fine,” he said quietly, gloomy. I couldn’t tell which of us he was trying to convince, but it didn’t work. My smile vanished instantly.
“Noah…” My voice hadn’t sounded that desperate in a long time when I said his name. I guess every fear I had showed on my face, because he stepped back and shook his head. And there I was, ready to try one more time to convince him not to go. We could’ve done a million things. Gone for that walk. Played video games with the guys. Hit some late-night bar to drink and flirt. Anything to keep that monster from touching him again…
He ran a hand through his hair, shrugged, and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets.
“I gotta go, Nick. We’ll talk in the morning.”
And that was it. There was nothing left I could do to stop him.
I got home late that night from the tattoo studio, so tired I could only think about my bed. But the second I stepped through the door, the thick smell of weed hit me. It had soaked into the whole tiny apartment so much it almost got me high.
“Jesus…” I muttered, kicking off my shoes, dropping my bag on the floor, and heading toward the bedroom with every intention of giving Noah a serious lecture. The door wasn’t even closed to the little hole we called a bedroom; basically just my bed and the mattress Noah had been sleeping on for months.
When I walked in, he was sitting on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chin, a joint hanging between his long, thin fingers. He’d clearly forgotten about it; ash was falling onto my blanket, and I silently prayed nothing had caught fire yet. He still didn’t notice me, earphones in, staring into nothing. His body was in the room, but his mind… definitely not.
I leaned in, took the joint from his fingers and put it out in the ashtray. That finally got his attention. He looked up at me with red, tense eyes. His Asian features sharpened in the dim light, and normally I would’ve stared like an idiot, but this wasn’t a normal moment. I even forgot I’d planned to yell at him for wasting perfectly good weed and nearly burning down the apartment.
Because by then, that little hole wasn’t just mine. It was ours. His guitar was in the corner next to mine, his shampoo and toothbrush had claimed space in the bathroom, he’d gotten half my closet, and sometimes half my bed… His clothes lay around just like mine, and he even had a favorite mug he always drank his morning coffee from.
I really wanted to believe his red eyes were from the joint, but the second he spoke, I knew he’d probably been crying for hours.
“I thought you’d be home earlier,” he said, voice stuffed up as he paused the music and took out his earbuds. I cracked the window without even scolding him for not doing it himself.
“So did I,” I sighed and dropped down beside him. “Someone walked in at seven thinking I could work miracles on their old, screwed-up tattoo in two hours.”
Noah nodded, stretching out his impossibly long legs. He was only sixteen then, already slightly taller than me. We sat quietly for a while, staring ahead; the exhaustion wrapped around me like a blanket, and I must’ve closed my eyes a little too long mid-blink, because what snapped me out of it was Noah moving beside me. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. Our tattooed arms touched, and I could feel the tremor running through his bones as he reached for his phone.
God, he was so skinny. Every time I touched him I was afraid he’d break; like his limbs were made of thin glass.
“I got a message,” he whispered into the half-dark, then placed his phone on my thigh.
My heart jumped as I picked it up and started reading. I already had a guess what it was about, and honestly, the only thing I didn’t understand was why it didn’t come to me sooner. His mom had started with sugary, poison-soaked words trying to lure him back, then switched to straight-up threats. Every single sentence made me sick.
“Half a year later she remembers she has a minor son. What, does she expect a round of applause?” I muttered mostly to myself.
Noah tensed beside me, breathing quicker and quicker.
“I… I can’t go back there. If… if you tell me I have to go back, I… I’d rather… I…”
“Hey, Noah, I’d never say that,” I turned toward him, keeping my voice as soothing as I could. But I was too late. Tears were already pouring down his face, and he was clutching the hem of his oversized shirt with white knuckles. I panicked. I’d never seen him like this. What kind of friend doesn’t notice things are this bad?
Noah had an old soul - too much shit and too much loss behind him -, he blended in with adults so easily I constantly forgot he was still a kid. And right now, that’s exactly who was sitting beside me: a terrified kid. Fear dragging the worst out of him.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he gasped between sobs. I shook my head so fast my hair slapped into my eyes. I knelt on the bed, turned to face him, trying to pry his fingers from his shirt just to hold his hand, just to let him feel I was there.
“Noah… no! Don’t say that!” I pleaded, but he wasn’t listening. It was like he couldn’t even hear me. He was spiraling deeper and deeper.
“I should’ve… I should’ve died years ago.”
If his earlier words stabbed me in the gut, this was the moment the blade twisted. My chest tightened painfully; I couldn’t breathe. Noah threw his head back so hard it cracked against the wall, and that snapped me into action. I didn’t care if it ruined my tattooing hand. I pressed my palm to the wall to protect his skull, pain shooting through my fingers, but I barely registered it. Nothing mattered except keeping him safe.
His cries; that raw, broken, animal sound still ring in my ears whenever I think about it. Mixed with my heartbeat pounding so loud it felt like my ribs would burst.
I wrapped both arms around his head and pulled him into me. He clung to my thighs as I knelt beside him, finally stopping his attempts to hurt himself.
That night I only left him long enough to grab water from the kitchen. Then we got into bed, and Noah turned toward me, hiding his tear-stained face partly in the pillow and partly behind his hair. I quickly shimmied out of my tight jeans, tossed them aside, and grabbed his phone. He watched me but didn’t say anything.
First thing, I deleted his mom’s message without even a hint of guilt. Then I opened his music. No surprise, he’d been listening to “Castle of Glass” by Linkin Park when I got home.
I scrolled and put on our favorite As Cities Burn song, handing him one of the earbuds.
“Won’t you come down, heaven.
Won’t you come down?
Won’t you cut through the clouds?
Won’t you come down?”
By the first chorus, his eyes were closed, and only then did I allow myself to relax a little. I reached over, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and closed my own eyes. I begged silently that he’d fall into some kind of restless sleep.
In the morning, when we woke up, Noah helped untangle the earbud cord from my hair. We laughed, shoved toast into our mouths, then split. He headed to band practice, I to the tattoo shop, my second home. My hand was mostly fine, just a small bruise near the knuckle that only started hurting later that day.
We never talked about that night again. Maybe I regret that now, but what could I have said? I was just a scared kid too, afraid I wasn’t enough to help my best friend.
Noah’s mom died barely two months later. I didn’t feel for a second that the world had lost anything important.
*
He’d grown into a man now, someone who didn’t need me to shield him from the world.
I just stood there, watching him walk toward the street to grab a cab. His tall, lean frame disappeared around the corner, and finally my legs decided to start moving again.
I hopped back on the bus, grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge, and joined the others. Folio was showing Matt some funny video, and Jolly was typing a message on his phone. I sat down next to him on the couch and started scrolling through the news.
“He won’t be able to do that for long,” Jolly said beside me, his strong Swedish accent cutting through the quiet. When it got late and he was tired, he didn’t bother as much with perfect English, but that was fine. We’d worked together and been friends for so long that half a word was enough to understand each other.
“What do you mean?” I asked. I kicked off my boots, slid down onto the couch, and rested my feet on the coffee table. Leaning my head against the backrest, I wiped the condensation off my bottle with my thumb.
“Noah’s little secret night dates. Matt already made a comment when he saw him stepping out into the city alone.”
“That doesn’t happen that often. And it’s not that secret where he’s going; he told me he was meeting Karinn,” I immediately defended him. “Besides, why shouldn’t he go? The fans had left an hour ago, no one was outside. And it’s not like he was walking across the city. He called a cab.”
“That girl’s weird,” Jolly grimaced. You telling me? “When she came over, Noah wasn’t himself.”
Lately, guilt had started creeping in because I hadn’t stopped him more firmly. But I reminded myself: in a heated discussion about this, Noah had made it clear, angrily, that I couldn’t protect him from everything.
“If a little sex puts him in a better mood, it works out for all of us,” Folio chimed in after Matt left us alone. I might’ve given him a slightly sharp look from behind my beer bottle, but he raised his hands in defense. I took another sip, then realized I didn’t even want the beer. I set it down, brushed my teeth in our little bathroom, and went to bed. Well, tried to. I probably tossed and turned for another hour at least.
I barely even closed my eyes before something started tickling my nose. I swatted it away at first, then Noah’s quiet giggle crept into my brain. I groaned, pulled the pillow over my head, and tried to go back to sleep. I kicked off the blanket because I was hot, and that was a huge mistake. Ice-cold fingers pressed against my side, my stomach muscles tightened, and I let out a muffled groan.
“Fuck!” I growled, hoarse, grabbing Noah’s hand as he tried to cover my mouth with the other.
“Shh… the others are still sleeping,” he whispered, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I want to sleep too,” I muttered, pulling his hand away.
“Come on, Nick. I’m hungry. I want breakfast.”
“And what’s stopping you from eating?”
“You.”
I sighed.
“Go to the kitchen. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“If I leave you, you’ll go back to sleep,” he said accusingly, like he had every right to prevent me from snoozing again. “And I’d go a little further than the bus kitchen for breakfast. But I promise it’ll be worth it. You’ll love the place.”
Another sigh. Half-awake, I sat up, pulled on some pants and a thick sweater. My jacket was still on, and he didn’t seem keen on returning it. Five minutes later, Noah bounced ahead energetically while I trudged behind, wrapped in my sweater, shivering. It was just past dawn, around 5:30. Noah finally slowed, stopping in front of me, and I must have looked like a total disaster; hair a mess, pillow creases on my face, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“You’re cute when you’re sleepy,” he said, smiling. He pulled my hood over my head, then did the same with his. “Don’t want anyone to recognize us.”
“Really, who’s awake this early?” I teased, yawning into my palm.
We walked down the street, and luckily, he was right, we didn’t have to go far before reaching the breakfast spot. Too tired to read the sign, I just walked into the small, cozy diner and sighed at the warm air inside. I greeted the kind lady behind the counter.
When I noticed the first cat grooming itself on a chair, I looked at Noah questioningly, and he just shrugged.
“Thought you’d miss your little troublemakers,” he said.
A wide smile spread across my face. A cat café. Already feeling less sleepy, I crouched down next to the cat, letting it sniff my hand. Then I noticed even more furballs and had no idea which one to approach first. Noah ordered coffee and breakfast for us at the counter. I heard the lady laugh at his question about why they opened so early:
“If the cats wake up, why wouldn’t I open the café?”
I smiled, scratching a calico’s head while sitting against the wall, blinking lazily at Noah. After ordering, he came over and sat next to me.
“Making your move on the little fluff, huh?” he teased, as the cat settled in my lap.
“What fluff? She’s a lady of distinction,” I said, stroking her furry ears.
Noah leaned forward, laughing quietly. Following the cat etiquette I’d taught him, he introduced himself to our newest friend before petting her. Now that his hood was off, I noticed bite marks on his neck; a dark red spot right at the edge of his tattoo and bare skin, clearly visible. I swallowed, tore my eyes away, and comforted myself with the thought that Noah didn’t look as lost as he usually did after meeting Karinn. Maybe she had changed. Maybe she finally realized what she could lose.
His fingers brushed mine through the soft fur, and we smiled at each other as the little ball of fluff purred loudly. I hadn’t seen Noah this happy since Keaton died. Maybe Karin wasn’t that bad after all.
We ate breakfast sitting on the floor, each with a cat in our lap, and then had to run back to make it to the bus before we left.
*Too Close To Touch - Eiley
**As Cities Burn - Contact