Page 43 of Stop and Seek (Our Childish Games #1)

Theo couldn’t move a muscle. His whole body locked up, rigid beneath the blanket.

How had Noah gotten into his apartment?

Better yet, why the fuck did he smell like he’d been marinating in a vat of alcohol? Tequila and rum and beer turned the air sweet and too-stale, acidic in the darkness.

“I missed you so bad I can’ fuckin’ stand it,” Noah murmured, thick and slurred, lips pressed into the back of Theo’s head.

Theo watched the headlights through the blinds as Noah shifted behind him, rustling the blanket aside.

His arm slid around Theo’s waist, pulling him close.

Then his face—damp with sweat or maybe just the heat of drunkenness—buried into Theo’s neck.

Stubble scraped his skin. The smell was worse now.

Iron and sour, like he hadn’t showered in forever.

Theo wanted to run. Wanted to fight or yell. But everything inside him had shut down, toothpicks holding his eyes open.

His voice barely made it out, “What are you doing here?”

Wrong. All of this was wrong.

The sheets were too warm where Noah touched him, but his own skin felt icy, clammy beneath the thick sweatshirt .

And the key. How the fuck did Noah have a key?

Theo’s mind raced, flipping through possibilities. He’d never given him one. He would’ve remembered something like that. Noah had never even asked .

“I’ve missed everythin’ about you.” Noah’s hand slid down his side, slow and unsteady, fingers grazing over his hip, tracing lower, toward his thigh.

Reflex took over. Theo grabbed his wrist hard. His grip was shaking. But firm.

“Tell me thank you, baby. Please.”

Theo’s brain stopped, confusion overriding his train of thought. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

His mouth felt dry. The walls were distant and close all at once, like they were coming for him personally, every sound muffled—except for the pounding of his heart.

Noah had always been intense. He knew that. He liked that. But this was a new kind of intense.

This was fucking terrifying.

“I fixed your problem,” Noah said, quiet but clear as hell. “Y’know? The uh… the Jagger problem.”

He rolled Theo onto his back and, for the first time in his entire life, Theo was glad he couldn’t see anything. Shapes and smudges of color were all he had to work with.

“Jagger? My—my ex? Noah, I need you to answer the question. How are you here?”

“I love how you say my name.” Noah came into view for a split second, tan and wild-eyed in the low light, blond hair messy in the dim glow from the street lamp.

He was too close— way too close—his pupils blown wide, and sweat gleaming on his flushed skin.

Then he was kissing down Theo’s neck and top, leaving sticky trails in his wake, before burying his face in Theo’s stomach.

Theo flinched, skin crawling. God, Noah had rocketed past drunk and landed somewhere in the realm of unstable.

All he could do was keep him calm. That was the only plan.

Keep Noah calm long enough to figure this shit out.

Because this—this wasn’t controlled, charming, normal Noah. This was something else entirely.

Of all the fucked up ways he’d considered dying, Noah killing him hadn’t made the list.

But if he said the wrong thing?

He couldn’t risk it.

Theo reached down, every nerve screaming, but he forced his hand to move, fingers threading through the damp, crunchy strands of Noah’s hair.

“What are you doing here, Noah?” he asked again, praying the wobble in his voice sounded better than it did in his ears.

“I missed you,” Noah mumbled, muffled against the fabric. “I can’ stop thinkin’ about you.”

“I… I missed you too.” Theo exhaled, tried to slide one leg toward the edge of the bed, but Noah apparently took that as permission to burrow deeper—his nose jammed hard into Theo’s gut, pain jolting up his spine.

“You could have called, Noah. I texted you. Did—did you see that, Noah?”

Repeating his name seemed to help. Noah turned his head over, and Theo could feel every time he blinked .

“Didja?” Noah asked hoarsely. “Shit… I didn’ have my phone. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I’m going to get you some water, okay? No, maybe—maybe pop will be better. Or coffee? You want me to make you coffee, Noah?”

It rushed out all at once. Anything to keep Noah talking. Anything to buy him time.

Did he want cops swarming his place in the middle of the night? No.

Was he seriously considering dialing 911?

Yes. Hell yes.

“You’re outta coffee.”

Three words.

Theo froze mid-motion, one foot planted on the floor, carpet rough under his toes. His glasses and phone a little out of reach to his right.

He was out of coffee. He’d thrown the empty can across the room this morning and almost cracked the balcony window.

“How do you know that?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Noah went quiet. Theo shifted his weight, the creak of the floor too loud.

“You’ll hate me.” Noah’s voice cut through the silence. He sat up suddenly, and Theo jumped .

Theo took a breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “What do you mean?”

“I jus’,” Noah hiccuped. “I jus’ wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Again—not an answer.

“How?” Theo snapped, harder than he meant to.

“I know almost everythin’ about you. Like… I know you didn’ eat breakfast last mornin’, which is why I—” Another hiccup. “—why I sent muffins to the library.”

Theo’s heart skipped. Part of him recoiled. The other part—the part that never stopped craving that thing just out of reach—shuddered in a different way.

Creepy. It was creepy.

But also kind of sweet?

He couldn’t deal with that combination. It made his chest feel too tight, his thoughts spin out.

Maybe the cops weren’t the answer. Maybe Noah needed help. Real help. Professional help. Theo couldn’t give that to him. Hell, he couldn’t take care of himself on a good day.

Reaching over, he patted around for his glasses. Slid them onto his face.

When he looked back, Noah smiled at him, happy and drunk as shit. Theo had to squash the tiny butterfly crawling out of his stomach.

He broke in. He fucking broke into my apartment. Stop it.

“Why are you here, Noah?”

“I missed—” Noah started.

“No. I mean, how are you here? How did you get in?”

“You have to promise you won’ be angry with me,” Noah said, grabbing Theo’s hands. His palms were damp and cracked at the creases, calloused in all the wrong places.

“I’ll try my best.”

“When I dropped you off the Friday after the bar, I saw the inside of your place and it—it made me sad. I wanted to fix it.”

Fix it ?

Theo blinked. “You’re the one that cleaned my apartment,” he said flatly.

Well, that was one mystery solved. He couldn’t tell if he was mad or what, especially with the soft look on Noah’s face.

The whole night was a disaster. It couldn’t get worse.

“I didn’ clean,” Noah said, swaying a little. “I’m not that good at cleanin’. But your landlord gave me a copy of your key.”

That made Theo sit up straighter. “And you kept it all this time.”

“You didn’ have sheets!”

Theo stared at him.

He stared for a solid minute, and then it hit him—

Sheets. That’s what started all this. No sheets.

Of all the batshit reasons to violate someone’s privacy, that was the one?

The laugh punched out of him, sharp and breathless. It started low in his chest and grew until his sides hurt and tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t stop.

“That’s so stupid ,” he wheezed, gasping. “Who does that?”

Attempts were made—God, Theo fucking tried .

He tried to get Noah water, to take a piss.

No such luck. Every single time Theo moved an arm’s length away, Noah would latch on again like some grief-stricken child, refusing to release him for more than a few seconds unless one of them needed to turn or adjust to get comfortable.

It was like dealing with an octopus. Or maybe a koala with roaming hands and attachment issues.

After a dozen different negotiations, bribes—he’d even offered pancakes, and he hated pancakes—Theo gave up. He lay there like a hostage in his own bed, arms pinned awkwardly while Noah muttered shit against his neck that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Truth be told, Theo didn’t mind it as much as he kept telling himself.

He should mind. He should still be pissed off.

Yes, he was still furious—Noah had scared the shit out of him.

Broken into his fucking apartment. That wasn’t romantic.

That was an arrestable offense. But here they were.

The same guy who’d terrified him minutes ago was now curled up like a sleepy dog, rubbing his nose against Theo’s face and whispering “I missed you. "

The weird shit about Jagger had stopped.

Now, every other sentence was some variation of, I missed you.

I thought about you. I wanted to see you.

And as fucked up as he knew it was—and he did know, he wasn’t delusional—he couldn’t help but enjoy it a little.

The possessiveness. The way Noah clung like he was anchoring himself to something solid.