Page 39 of Hurt

Willow made some sort of grunt and bit into the slice again.

Molly had forced Kurt to take the night off. He had protested, but Molly was not to be trifled with. Willow had decided that Kurt taking the night off meant she could too, and they splurged on a large pizza to share.

The apartment was cramped. It was really never designed to be lived in anyway, but three people were really pushing it. To someone who had spent the last ten years of his life living in mansions with rooms in the double digits, it should have been claustrophobic. But Noah was in heaven.

What was the point of having a massive house if you can’t fill it with love? If the sound of your loneliness echoed around the hallways. Noah would take a cramped mattress with convenience store pizza over the catered three-course meals back at White Sand Mesa any day.

“So, what’s up with the Weavers?” he asked as he bit into his pizza. Grease filled his mouth and coated his lips.

Kurt and Willow exchanged a look.

“They’re none of your business. Stay away from them,” Kurt said roughly, swiping his own slice of pizza.

“I know who they are.” Noah rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“Debatable,” Kurt muttered.

A piece of pepperoni flew through the air and landed in Kurt’s lap. “Shut up, you grouch.”

“Did you just through a piece of cured ham at me?”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s probably not real meat.”

They stared at Willow. “What? It’s cheap pizza!”

“Anyway,” Noah dragged the word out to bring their attention back to him. “I meant with you guys. Evan said they were sniffing around you two.”

“There’s your first mistake,” Kurt said as he finished his slice. “Never listen to a thing he says.” As he finished speaking, he leaned back and reached for his guitar.

Noah had not seen Kurt touch his guitar in years. It always sat on its stand in the corner. Like a sentinel watching over them. But it never collected dust.

The guitar itself was unimpressive. It was made out of dark wood, and the guard was scratched from years of use. The metallic purple strap was the only thing flashy about it. It laid across Kurt’s lap now. His ring knocked against the wood as he situated the instrument in his lap.

Willow caught his attention and shook her head. The meaning was clear: Don’t say anything.

“The Weavers are customers,” Willow said as she picked up another slice. “But they’re uninteresting. Tell me about you.”

Noah laughed. “Like what?”

Willow shrugged and rested her chin in her hand. Gray eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Are you dating?”

That question led to a lengthy discussion on just how much Noah was willing to tell his nosy aunt. He wasn’t used to sharing. Luther didn’t care, and he never made any lasting friendships. It was weird to have someone asking him. More than that, it was weird to have someone care so much. Willow was watching him with an unnerving amount of interest, taking in every word he said and digesting it. Even if it was boring—like the stories about his time at a German boarding school where he got into a fight with three guys when he refused to talk to them in anything but ‘Die Hard’ quotes.

What surprised him more was when he glanced over at Kurt. He noticed him watching them. His fingers were idly plucking the guitar—not quite playing, just fiddling. Stroking and occasionally tuning it. But his attention was on them. Like a large cat, he was positioned just outside their circle, seemingly minding his own business but completely aware of what was going on.

When Willow noticed, she smiled faintly.

Later, when they took out the garbage, Willow slung an arm around Noah. “I can’t believe he picked it up.”

“The guitar?”

Willow nodded. “I haven’t seen him do that in years.” She looked up at her wiry nephew. Even at eighteen, he was only a few inches taller than her.

“He really missed you, kid.”

Noah smiled shyly. “Think he’ll teach me to play?”