Page 37 of Stop and Seek (Our Childish Games #1)

I can’t do this.

The eggs were fine. Warm, with little brown bits mixed in with the yellow and white—which meant Noah had actually tried. He hadn’t just tossed a Pop-Tart on a paper towel and called it breakfast. He’d made a real attempt. Used a pan. Flipped things. Found Theo’s goddamn salt and pepper.

The coffee was exactly how Theo liked it. No instructions, no guesswork. Noah had made it and handed it over like he’d been doing it for years.

Theo should’ve said thank you. He should’ve told him to get the hell out.

He didn’t say anything.

Because if he opened his mouth, he was going to scream.

This was more terrifying than the one time he traded a blow job for heroin in the backseat of some guy’s car at The Rat’s Nest. That he could handle.

I really can’t do this.

His hands were clammy. He’d already wiped them on his sweatpants three times.

He kept touching his own face—eyebrow, cheek, jaw—like he was trying to confirm he hadn’t hallucinated everything.

Like maybe he was still alone in bed, curled under too many blankets, watching those white particles float behind his eyes while pretending he didn’t feel anything anymore.

Noah’s bare foot was still brushing against his ankle. Just… there. Unbothered. Intimate in a way that made Theo’s chest cave in on itself.

No one had sat at this table in six years. Alyssa and Rachel ate with him on the couch, on his bed. The table was off-fucking-limits. He couldn’t bear to sit here without thinking about the smell of marshmallow cereal. Without thinking about the messages that told him his face was on that site.

He’d clicked on the video link at half past six in the morning and vomited for an hour.

His apartment should’ve been considered a liminal zone. A place to exist quietly and get just high enough that the walls stopped whispering.

And now Noah was here.

In his space. At his table. Touching his ankle like it was normal .

Theo had no idea what to do with that.

He wanted to grab Noah’s face and kiss him until he forgot how afraid he was. He wanted to crawl into his lap and beg him not to leave. He wanted to shove Noah out the door and lock it for the rest of eternity.

He wanted to be good enough.

He wanted to deserve this.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t. And none of it made sense.

The knots in his stomach had nothing to do with last night’s acid. He wasn’t even that high anymore. The dull hum behind his eyes was manageable. The panic, though—that was all him. All flesh and nerves and a brain that didn’t work quite right.

Noah, of course, was eating like everything was fine.

Like sitting three feet from a silent, emotional breakdown was part of the morning routine.

He was oblivious. He didn’t know what it meant to let someone stay.

How long it took Theo to claw himself back together after Jagger cracked him open and acted like he was the one overreacting. How utterly fucking stupid he’d felt.

Theo couldn’t do that again.

He wouldn’t .

He stared down at his plate. Half-eaten eggs. Cold now. He didn’t remember chewing.

His foot twitched under Noah’s. He didn’t pull away.

He should have. He should’ve ruined it before Noah got the chance. Before he ripped off the drywall and saw the mold. Before he realized Theo wasn’t anything worth staying for.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat there, fork loose in his hand, heart punching against his ribs like it was trying to get the hell out of his body.

He wasn’t breathing right. Too shallow, too loud in his own ears. His tongue sat dry and heavy in his mouth. He reached for his coffee just to do something with his hands, but the mug clinked against the wood when he set it down, and the sound cut straight through his skull.

Noah didn’t look up from his phone. Still texting someone. Still fine .

Theo cleared his throat. Sat up straighter. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but he was trying for neutral. Detached enough that it wouldn’t bleed if Noah leaned in too close.

“Hey, I think maybe you should—”

Noah glanced up. Bright-eyed. Hopeful. “Do you have plans later? ‘Cause if not—baby, I scored us something hella fun.”

There was no defense for it. Not that look. Like he was already halfway to giving Theo everything and didn’t even realize it.

Theo swallowed sand. “Noah—”

“C’mon. Just say yes.”

“I need space,” Theo said flatly. It came out of his mouth all at once, and he had no idea how to take it back or smooth it over.

Noah’s expression shifted like someone had dunked him in ice water. His hand slowly lowered, the phone going dark in his palm.

“What?” he asked after a minute, voice barely above a whisper. “I make you breakfast and you… you need space? I don’t…”

He trailed off. The kitchen clock ticked behind him. Noah’s gray eyes locked on Theo’s like he was trying to see through him—past the brittle shell, into the rotting, splintered mess inside.

Theo couldn’t hold his gaze.

Couldn’t hold onto him .

Don’t look there. You won’t like what you find.

I’m too fucked up.

“I need you to leave,” Theo said. His voice cracked so hard it felt like it cut his throat on the way out.

Noah didn’t move. Didn’t shout. Just stared at him like the walls were caving in and he didn’t know how to brace for it. The kind of silence that should’ve come with sirens.

“Did I do something?” he asked finally, careful in that way that made Theo want to crawl out of his skin.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

Theo’s fingernails dug into his palms. He couldn’t answer. Not when the air in the room felt too thick. Not when the heat behind his eyes threatened to break him open.

“You said you wanted space,” Noah went on, slower now. “Okay. I’ll give you some space. But I need to know what the fuck I did so I can fix it, Theo.”

“I don’t know!” Theo snapped, sharp and fast. His voice cracked again, and this time, it was from the sob that wanted out and couldn’t fit. “I can’t do this again, alright? I can’t. ”

Noah’s face softened— pity, and Theo hated it.

Everything went hot, then cold, as Theo stood. The chair legs scraped across the hardwood and the sound tore through him. He barely heard Noah move.

Noah stepped forward.

One step. Not too close.

“I’m not whoever else you’ve been with,” he said. “I told you this. Whatever happened, I wished you’d—”

Theo’s throat burned. His eyes stung. His whole body felt like a raw nerve, waiting for someone to press down and say oops.

“I said leave.”

Noah hesitated. Then nodded, slow. “Okay,” he said, soft enough it nearly didn’t register. “But I’ll be here, baby. Whenever you decide you wanna talk.”

He didn’t slam the door when he left.

Theo stood there, surrounded by the scent of Noah, and the sickening, familiar echo in his chest that said you did the right thing and you fucked up in the same goddamn breath.