Page 36 of Stop and Seek (Our Childish Games #1)

Sleeping wasn’t something that came to Theo easily. He got up too many times for Noah to count. Once to chug enough water to hydrate a camel. Another time to do something else, the bathroom light staying on for what felt like an eternity.

He came back without the jacket, at least. Skinny-ass arms ghostly pale in the light of the hall before it clicked off.

Noah finally propped himself up on one elbow, frowning at the shape Theo made in the dark. “Are you alright? Like, really alright?”

“Acid’s making my brain fucking spiral,” Theo mumbled. “I keep shutting my eyes and it’s—” He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I’ll always listen if you wanna talk.”

“No.”

One word.

Final.

Noah was damn tired of hearing it. Not because he didn’t respect it, but because it meant Theo was shutting him out. Again.

And Noah had been very fucking clear that he wasn’t going anywhere .

“Sleeping’s out of the cards?” he asked. Instead of bitching. Instead of demanding.

Theo grabbed his phone, soft white light washing over his face, highlighting the dark circles. “I have work in a couple hours.”

Noah let himself stare a minute longer, breath slow, heart doing that dumb fluttering thing like a teenager at a sleepover. He didn’t deserve to look this good sleep-deprived.

The riot of hair—wavy and soft—stuck to his forehead and cheeks like it belonged there. The red mark on his lips from Noah’s teeth made his chest ache. Proud. Horny. Something.

Theo looked over, eyebrow raised, glasses reflecting whatever was on his screen, and Noah grinned before he even meant to.

“Coffee?” Noah asked quickly. “With seven gallons of sugar and cream?”

The phone clicked off. “Yeah. Let me show you—”

Noah was already sliding off the bed. “You relax. I’m sure I can figure out where everything is.”

He didn’t need to tell Theo that he already knew the coffee was in the top cabinet—the one Theo had to stretch for, exposing that stripe of skin above his waistband.

That shit was seared into his brain. Cups were by the microwave.

The one with the melting smiley face was his favorite.

Theo’s mouth always looked better drinking out of it.

After what he saw at the party…

Yeah.

The cameras had to fucking go.

Now.

It took three seconds to grab the tiny camera from the top of the blinds—hidden behind the thick, tan slat—and crush it in his hand. Noah dropped the pieces into the trash, burying it under old slices of pizza and coffee grinds.

One down.

The other was in the bedroom and with Theo there… later. He’d get to it later.

The kitchen was dim, lit only by the glitchy bulb that belonged in a haunted house. It smelled like stale air, the faint memory of weed, and something distinctly Theo—oddly tropical, almost spicy under the surface.

Noah padded across the tile barefoot, moving like he belonged there. Because he did , right? He knew every inch of this 600 square foot apartment.

He scooped the grounds in, slapped the machine to life. When it finished, he dumped in enough creamer to make it basically a milkshake. Stirred twice. Dropped the spoon in the sink.

It looked perfect. Coffee-flavored dessert. For his boy.

He arms crossed, grinning like a fucking idiot as steam curled up from the mug. His cheeks hurt. Literally hurt. This—this dumb morning thing—was better than anything he’d daydreamed.

Didn’t matter how little sleep he got. If it meant Theo waking up to him, to this… it was worth everything .

A shuffle of footsteps behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know Theo was watching him.

Noah held the mug up over his shoulder. “Made it just how you like it.”

“And how do you know how I like it?”

“Last Sunday.”

When Noah turned to hand him the cup, there wasn’t a hoodie or jacket this time. Theo had on a sweatshirt , his face scrunched.

“You were at the table with Alyssa,” Noah continued. “You made coffee that looked kinda like milk? A gazillion packets of sugar? You remember this at all?”

Theo took the mug without answering, but he didn’t leave the kitchen. He leaned against the counter across from Noah, taking a sip so slowly Noah thought he might combust. His throat moved with the swallow.

After a moment, he licked his lips and put the coffee down. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Why—” Theo paused. Stared off into the space above Noah’s shoulder. “Why do you look like that?”

That wasn’t what Theo wanted to ask—that was obvious, even to Noah. But the question was weird as hell.

Noah forced out an awkward laugh. “Like what?”

“You remember the models that used to be in the malls? They’d try to get you into stores and shit?”

Noah nodded. Slow. Confused.

Theo ran his hands through his hair, doing that nervous smoothing thing. He patted the back of his head and Noah could feel the beginnings of a meltdown coming on .

He’s embarrassed. Don’t laugh. Even if it’s adorable.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just all over the place,” Theo murmured. “I was thinking you look like you’re from a nineties boy band, but I somehow got to surfboard s , and then Hollister and now,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “I want to jump off the goddamn balcony.”

“No leap of faith from the second story.” Noah held out his hands. “Come here. Story time.”

Did Noah expect Theo to actually come over? To wrap his arms around Noah’s waist, head leaning against his chest?

Hell no.

But he did, and Noah forgot how to breathe for a second.

Carefully—like Theo might shatter into a million pieces, or bolt out the door—Noah held him. He pressed his lips into still-damp red waves and tried not to smile.

“Once upon a time,” he started, blood rushing through his ears.

“I had a cousin. I thought he was the coolest person on the face of the planet. Smart, funny… everyone loved him. I wanted to be just like him. So I copied everything .” Noah laughed.

“Kinda. I did my best, and then real life got in the way. But that’s how I ended up looking like a…

uh… boy band model who surfs part-time. Did I get that right? ”

Theo snorted, burying his face further into Noah’s shirt. “Shut up.”

There was a beat of silence, and it didn’t feel comfortable this time. It was too loaded, the hair on Noah’s arms prickling his skin.

“I can make breakfast,” he said, but Theo was talking at the same time .

“Can I ask what happened?”

Stepping back, Theo drained the last of the coffee and kept going like he hadn’t just ripped open Noah’s ribcage.

“He’s dead, right? What happened? Or is that too personal?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure Lex is alive,” Noah mumbled with the same awful, awkward laugh. “We’re not close anymore. I haven’t seen him in eight years.”

Eight years, one month, and ten days—not like Noah was counting.

But the person he saw in London wasn’t Lex .

Lex didn’t flinch when someone said hi . Lex didn’t look at strangers like they were monsters. Lex didn’t choose some black-haired piece of shit over his own blood.

He should’ve lied. Said Lex was dead. Because the real Lex—the one he spent his entire fucking childhood idolizing— was .

“Oh.”

Another classic, one-word Theo response. How the hell did he manage to sound disappointed and annoyed and hot all at once?

“Did you expect some crazy story?” Noah asked. “Falling from the roof of a building, blood everywhere—that kinda thing?”

Why did Theo perk up.

He rolled his lips together, but Noah caught the smile before it disappeared. “If you have any stories like that, I’m all ears.”

I can tell you things that will make you swear off horror movies for the rest of your life, baby.

Instead, Noah smiled. “You should probably eat. Might make you feel better. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

“Don’t burn down my kitchen.”

The eggs hissed in the pan, grease popping in the air. The whole apartment smelled like weed, butter, and whatever lingering sex-funk had settled on his clothes—but Noah didn’t care. His cheeks hurt from smiling.

He scooped the eggs onto plates with all the finesse of a toddler playing restaurant, slapped a fork down beside each one, and shoved a plate toward Theo at the too-small two-top table.

“This is the part where you pretend I’m a culinary genius,” Noah said, raising his eyebrows.

Theo sat down like he was bracing for disaster. One leg tucked up to his chest, mouth twitching. He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

“Mm. Sulfur.”

“But, like— edible sulfur, right?”

Noah hooked his foot around Theo’s ankle under the table. Didn’t even try to hide it. Theo didn’t pull away.

And that was it. That was all it took.

Noah felt it again—the floaty, stupid, heart-in-a-freakin-balloon feeling that made his chest ache in the best way. His face was sore from grinning like an idiot, his brain somersaulting with all the happy things it could come up with .

Because this wasn’t just breakfast. It was Theo. Sitting across from him in the early morning light, hair still messy, face flushed.

It was coffee and eggs and them .

This wasn’t just a meal.

It was the start of everything. The thing he didn’t know he was allowed to want—finally real, finally his.

He was so fucking sure of it.