FIC: FEET ON THE AIR, HEAD ON THE GROUND (1/4)
Title: Feet On The Air, Head On The Ground
Author: carolinablu85
Chapter: 1/4
Characters/Pairings: Noah, Luke, Dallas, Alison, Reid (starts off Luke/Reid, but will OF COURSE be Luke/Noah by the end!)
Rating: R for language and violence, A for angst
Spoilers: up through the June 23, 2010 episode, I make it up from there but borrow from canon a little bit
Summary: "I want you to hit me as hard as you can." Noah loses himself after losing Luke.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. I own a pair of sneakers, a cell phone, and some other stuff. The show? Nope, not that.
A/N: Based on a wonderful, beautiful prompt by natashaodwalla: "Fight Club." And then this was born :) And I swear, I have proof, that we started plotting this before any of the gorgeous Jake pics came out (YOU KNOW which ones). The pics came after this, though of course they did, um, help with imagery. So thanks to Jake for that. Thanks to Tasha for the prompt and the encouragement since. Thanks to the movie/book (because I borrow some lines and concepts) and thanks to the Pixies (because my title sort of comes from their lyrics)!
PROLOGUE
This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time. He slammed his fist once more into the guy’s face, feeling that sickening satisfaction at the crunch of bone. It would probably take him awhile to know if the break was in his knuckles or the guy’s nose. Either was fine with him. He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid a counter-hit to his mouth. He had to be more careful, one more hit there and he’d probably lose a tooth.
Only after disaster can we be resurrected. He took a second to shake out his left arm, the shoulder still sore from that hit he had taken earlier. He couldn’t remember if it had been from this man or a different one, and he didn’t really care. By the end of the night they always blurred into one long fight anyway. It was all the same to him. They tried to hit him the same, they tried to hurt him the same. They rarely succeeded. Not much could hurt anymore.
It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything. The hit to his ribs sent him back a few feet, but not enough to topple him over. He recovered quicker than the guy expected, clocked him across the temple with his elbow, used his other fist to knock him to the ground. The other bodies around them yelled, maybe cheered, maybe cursed, he didn’t know. When he was here, all noise sounded the same too.
When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. He leaned down, ready to hit him again, but the guy’s hand was slapping against the dirty ground, sending dust and drying flakes of blood across the floor. There was a time when the sight of blood freaked him out, at least startled him. Now? Now it meant he had done something right. The guy was tapping out. He had won. He straightened, holding out a hand to help the man up. They faced each other, shook hands, and a part of him rolled his eyes at the gleaming grin on the man’s swollen and bloody face. He had just gotten pummeled and he was grinning. What was wrong with these people? What was wrong with him?
There were cheers now, people clapping him on the back, congratulating. He just nodded, drifting to the edge of the crowd, glad when the next fight started up and the attention was off of him. He wanted to soak up this feeling for as long as he could- the relief and release of everything he ever felt. If he put it all out there while fighting, he doesn’t have to feel anything the other twenty-odd hours of the day.
He doesn’t feel anything.
I am Noah’s broken heart.
CHAPTER ONE
Two months earlier...
For having grown up his whole life confined to structure and routine, Noah was surprised at how much he hated it now. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays he had classes in the mornings, then Java till close. Tuesdays and Thursdays were afternoon classes. Saturdays and Sundays were day shifts at Java. That was all his life amounted to now. He woke up in the morning, did whatever was expected of him that day, went to bed, and woke up again.
For the first time in his life, every decision he made was his own. Affected no one but him. No one cared or noticed either way. It wasn’t independence. That required people to be independent from. This... this was pure, droning, robotic movement. It wasn’t a life, it was just living however he could from day to day. A single-serving existence.
Today was a Friday (he was pretty sure). He ushered out the last of the customers, couples at the end (or beginning) of their night, and fought the urge to glare at their smiles. Whatever. Just get the hell out so he could go back to the apartment and go to bed. Stare at the ceiling until he couldn’t help but fall asleep.
He counted out, straightened up the counter and stockroom, and then clocked out with a sigh of relief. Old Town was still and quiet as he locked Java’s front door. Pocketing his keys, Noah had just taken a few steps when he realized it wasn’t all that quiet. Just up ahead, in the alley between the book shop and the dance studio- the sounds of struggling, muffled shouts.
A big part of him wanted to ignore it- not his fucking problem- but a short yell of pain propelled him forward. Someone needed help, he couldn’t actually let that go, could he?
Turning the corner, he saw two men had a third pinned against the brick wall, demanding a wallet. The guy had put up a good fight so far, but Noah could see one of the attackers reach into a back pocket and pull out a knife.
“Hey!” he yelled, rushing at the knife-guy. He grabbed the arm holding the weapon and twisted until it was forced out of his grip, then pulled the guy away towards the wall on the opposite side of the alley.
The guy getting attacked took advantage of the moment, fighting off his other assailant, but Noah didn’t pay much attention. He kicked the fallen knife away, out of everyone’s reach, and turned back just in time to duck and avoid a punch in the face.
“Dumb idea, kid,” the man snarled, grabbing Noah by the shoulders and shoving him back. Noah managed to get free and threw a punch of his own, connecting with the guy’s stomach. When he bent over from the force of it, Noah hit him across the face, sending him to the ground hard.
A voice chuckled roughly from next to him. “Dumb idea was trying to mug an off-duty cop, asshole.” Noah looked up in surprise.
“Dallas?” Noah looked him up and down, shaking the soreness out of his hand. “You okay?”
Dallas nodded with a half-grin. “Yeah, thanks to you. Nice right hook you got there, man.”
Noah shrugged, eyeing the two men on the ground (Dallas having knocked out the other). “What, um, what do we do now?”
Dallas reached into his pocket. “Let me call this in, see if anyone’s nearby to take these guys.” It was his turn to study Noah. “Can you hang out here for a bit?”
Noah nodded and shrugged at the same time. What did it matter if he was late getting back to the apartment, right? So he stayed with Dallas, as two uniform cops appeared less than a few minutes later. He gave a quick statement and leaned against the wall to watch the two men get cuffed and taken away.
Figuring that was it, he turned to go, but... “Hey,” Dallas stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Got some time? Come with me to Yo’s. I’ll get you some ice for your hand, and a beer for your troubles. You know, for saving my life and all that.”
Noah wanted to protest, he really did. He was pretty sure he didn’t actually save Dallas’s life. And he had plans after all- that brooding wasn’t going to get done by itself. But it seemed important to Dallas. “Um, I... okay. I guess.”
“Great,” Dallas clapped a hand onto his shoulder, leading him out of the alley finally and into the bar a few doors away.
A few minutes later they were sitting at a table, small bags of ice pressed to their knuckles and frothy mugs in front of them. Noah took a gulp or two, barely tasting it. Just like everything else, it was bland.
Just like everything else, it left him feeling empty.
But he forced himself to keep drinking, keep up appearances, especially when he saw that look out of the corner of his eye. That look everyone in town seemed to be giving him, that ‘poor little Noah, all alone again, I’ll feel bad for two minutes before I go back to my own life’ look. Dallas was giving it to him now, but Noah had gotten really good at showing he didn’t notice or care. In two minutes the feeling would be mutual anyway, right?
“So where’d you learn to hit like that?” Dallas asked out of the blue.
Noah almost- almost- reacted to the question, managing not to choke on his beer. Instead he shrugged carefully. “My dad. Colonel in the Army, he had me training since I was little.”
“Training?” Dallas echoed, eyebrows raised. “Training for what?”
I never found out, he wanted to say. It was the honest answer. It was the answer he would’ve given if another person in another time were asking him. Instead he shrugged again. “The Army, I guess. To be like him.”
Dallas shook his head with a grimace. “Well, I for one am glad you’re not. Like him, I mean.” Noah idly remembered that Dallas had been around for the first time the Colonel fucked things up in Oakdale. “For one, you really helped me out tonight.”
“You would’ve been fine,” Noah protested quietly. He didn’t want anyone’s gratitude. It felt as fake as their pity.
“You keep up with boxing or whatever still?” Dallas asked then, studying him with more purpose.
Noah actually looked over at him now, confused by the direction his questions were going in. “When I’m at the gym, I guess. Just with a bag though, not with, um, people.”
“Helps letting out that anger, doesn’t it?” Dallas’s voice was, somehow, gentle without being patronizing. Understanding.
Noah didn’t know how to respond to that. To someone with common ground. “Yeah,” he grunted, taking a few more gulps of his beer. He was already finished the mug.
Dallas was too. He dropped some cash on the table, waving Noah off when he reached for his own wallet. Instead he fixed Noah with a calculated, but hesitant, gaze. “You free for the rest of the night, Noah? There’s, uh... something I want to show you.”
************
Weeks later...
He fell almost listlessly into the chair in the hospital waiting room. He hated hospitals. He hated the off-white walls and off-white tiles and not-quite-green scrubs people insisted on wearing. He hated the disinfectant smell, and voices and mechanical sounds bouncing off the walls. He hated it all.
And he kinda hated that he was a part of it now.
Luke still couldn’t fully believe- two months later- that he worked here. He was on a board, for fuck’s sake. He was part of a bureaucracy. A group of ‘Old Mustached Money-Bags,’ as he used to call them. He’d used that phrase with Reid once, and Reid had rolled his eyes, said of course they were, that’s a part of the job, the part of the job he hates, and better Luke deal with them than him.
He’d complained like that to Noah in the past, and Noah would make a joke involving some random old movie or the Monopoly guy, remind Luke of the good work he was doing, and offer to cook dinner to make him feel better.
But no. No, no. He wasn’t going down Comparison Road. That would be stupid, and childish, and Luke wasn’t any of those things anymore. Just because Noah would handle some matters differently than Reid would, it didn’t mean anything. He and Reid were something special, Luke could feel it.
And he refused to feel anything for Noah. He refused to dwell in the past like a little kid. He was an adult. He was moving forward.
It was just... sometimes he wished he wasn’t on the Old Mustache Money-Bag Board.
And sometimes his brain didn’t get that memo about not being stupid. He realized just now he was sitting in the same chair he’d sat in during Noah’s surgery, and he (stupidly) let his thoughts wander back to Noah just for a minute. He hadn’t seen his ex since that day at Java when they had kind of argued, and then Noah had come back and told him Reid was leaving town...
Then nothing. He was a little ashamed to admit he couldn’t remember what happened to Noah after that conversation, where he had gone, what he was up to now. It was like he just disappeared. Though it wasn’t Luke was trying all that hard to contact him. See him. Think about him. He couldn’t. If he wanted to move on with Reid, he had to make sure he was done with Noah. Which he was.
He was. He had to be.
He didn’t let his brain conjure up images of Noah, not of his eyes, not of his goofy smile, most definitely not of the look of pain on his face when Luke talked about Reid. He didn’t let his brain conjure up what his hugs felt like. He didn’t let his brain conjure up his voice-
“Ali, I’m serious. Stop freaking out.”
He about ready to glare at his brain when he realized it wasn’t his imagination using Noah’s voice. It was really Noah. He stood without thinking, following it to the hospital break room. His common sense broke in then, and he paused just outside the half-open door, listening in.
“You’re seriously telling me not freak out over this? This?” Alison’s voice was high-pitched, trembling.
“Yeah, I am. I’m fine, okay? This is ridiculous. Can... Can I please go now?” There was something weird about Noah’s voice, Luke couldn’t figure out what.
“No,” she snapped immediately. “I’m getting really worried, hon. If you keep coming home at weird hours of the night, and... and now you’re looking like this? I’m allowed to freak out.”
“I’m fine,” Noah insisted again.
“You keep saying that!” Alison sounded beyond frustrated. “But, God, Noah... you’re not fine. You haven’t been fine since-”
“I have to get to work,” Noah’s voice was soft and steady, but with an undercurrent so tense Luke almost took a step back from where he was hiding. “Can we finish this some other time?”
There was a beat of silence, then Alison answered with a soft, “Sure. I guess I’ll see you at home tonight.” And then she was stalking out of the break room, too preoccupied with frowning to notice Luke standing there.
Which was fine by him. He slid around the corner and entered the break room, not sure if it was curiosity or concern that drove him more. Noah had his back to him, staring at the lockers. “Noah?” he said quietly. It felt weird, like speaking a forgotten language. He hadn’t said that name out loud in so long.
But those thoughts, any thoughts, flew out the window when Noah whirled around to face him, slight surprise showing on his face before a mask came up. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing on Noah’s face. His left eye was bruised and a little swollen, his lip cut at the edge. Luke looked down and saw a few scrapes littered across his knuckles.
“Oh my God, Noah. What happened?” He moved forward, barely noticing when Noah moved the same amount of space away. “What- did someone attack you? Was-”
“Leave me alone, Luke.” It wasn’t at all what Luke expected to hear, or at least not how he expected to hear it. He realized it was the weird thing about Noah’s voice he’d heard earlier- indifference. Somehow not even a little upset or freaked out that he and Luke were in the same room again. Not that Luke was either, of course.
“What happened?” he asked again, even more worried. “And don’t try to tell me you’re fine, I can tell when you’re not.” The way Noah held himself, moved around Luke to get towards the door, Luke could tell his body was sore, causing him pain. “What’s going on? Is someone threatening you, or-?”
He was cut off by Noah laughing, brittle and shallow. “It’s nothing. Go away, please.”
It was so matter-of-fact. He said it as though he wasn’t talking to Luke of all people, but to a stranger. Luke shook his head, trying a different tactic. One he knew was guaranteed to work. “You know, I was on my way to the farm for dinner. You should come. Grandma and the kids, they’ve been asking about you. They miss you.” Emma and the Snyder siblings were totally the ace up his sleeve when it came to Noah.
Which is why he nearly fainted when Noah just shrugged. “I have to work. If they really miss me, send them over to Java. It’s not like I’m that hard to find.”
He stared for a moment, felt that familiar burn of frustration and worry in his gut. “I’m- I’m sorry if they haven’t been around you that much lately. We’ve been going through some stuff lately, some family drama, and I think-”
“Don’t,” Noah gave a quick shake of his head. “Don’t use them as a way to talk to me, or try to make me feel bad, or whatever. Feel free to go talk to your boyfriend about family stuff. It’s not my job.”
He turned to go, face still so carefully blank, and Luke hated it. He needed to figure out a way to get Noah to talk to him. To stay. “Noah...” but Noah wasn’t stopping. “Noah, I...” He couldn’t just let him leave like this! “I haven’t slept with him,” he burst out.
Now Noah stopped. He turned just a little. “Well, congratulations,” he deadpanned. “Why are you telling me?”
“I-I don’t know,” he stuttered. He really didn’t. He searched his brain for an explanation. Shouldn’t a part of Noah at least be a little happy about it? “I thought... maybe... in some way, it would make you feel better?”
In the split second before Noah flinched, Luke realized what a stupid thing that was to say. “So I should thank you, I guess?” Noah asked quietly, still half-way facing the door. “Be grateful?”
“I don’t...” Luke dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He hated his brain sometimes, and his mouth.
“I slept with a guy two nights ago, Luke,” Noah replied, so matter-of-fact. “Does that make you feel better?” He swallowed hard. “Are we even?”
It was a punch to Luke’s chest. He drew in a shaky breath, feeling it crack and die in his throat. Too many feelings went through him, and he didn’t want to identify any of them. “Is that how you...” he shook his head, trying to keep himself from drowning. “How did you get hurt, Noah?”
Noah just sighed, and the mask came crashing back into place. “I’m late for work. And this is none of your business. So- please- just leave me alone.” In the time it took Luke to breathe and blink, he was out the door.
Luke’s impulsiveness took over again. He fed into it, wanting it to smother the grief and stabbing pain he might feel otherwise. He hurried after Noah, reaching for him. “Yes it is my business! If someone’s hurting you-”
Noah whipped around, pulling his arm free of Luke. “What does it matter if someone’s hurting me or being nice to me or fucking me? You dropped me, Luke. Not just dumped. Dropped. Completely. Since that’s what you want, then fine. It’s not your concern what I do, not anymore.”
Luke shook his head, not backing down. “You can’t expect me to just let this- whatever it is- happen to you!”
Noah was glaring at him now, honest-to-god fire in his eyes now, no matter how calm his voice stayed. “You’ve made it very clear that I’m not a part of your life anymore. So guess what- it’s going both ways. Don’t pretend you have the right to any say in my life, Luke.”
“I was telling you the truth,” Luke insisted, almost a whisper. “I’m always going to care about you.”
Noah clenched his jaw tightly. “No you’re not. You’ll only care about me when it fits your schedule. I don’t want that. At all. I-” he cleared his throat. “I don’t want this.”
Before Luke could ask what ‘this’ was, Noah was gone. Leaving Luke standing in the middle of the hospital hallway, gazing after him, shocked. After a few minutes (hours? days?), he turned to leave.
And then pulled up short, because he hadn’t realized their argument had garnered an audience of a few nurses (one he recognized as a friend of Alison’s, shit), and... Reid. The nurses scattered the moment they realized they’d been spotted, but Reid stayed exactly where he was. Staring at Luke.
Luke could only stare back.
************
Another Friday, another day of wanting to scream and tear his hair out for no reason. At least, until 10pm. Then Noah was clocked out and out the door within five minutes of closing Java. He tapped his fingers against his leg as he walked through Old Town; he hadn’t been able to settle himself since his... encounter, or whatever, with Luke earlier today.
He had been doing just fine, getting himself to not care about anything. He could handle that, he knew how to live on his own. But seeing Luke today, talking to him, it had made some of those stupid feelings come sweeping back through.
It was really his own fault though. He had been naïve. He had indulged in some fucking fairytale, one with a soulmate and a family and a group of friends. It was ridiculous, childish, to think that that stuff just happened automatically. No one had told him it would last forever, so it was his fault for thinking it would.
No. Family would only love him for as long as Luke would. Luke would only love him for as long as Luke needed. After that, Noah was on his own.
And he was fine with that.
But Luke had to walk into the break room today, those damn eyes wide and worried. Noah’s first impulse had been to comfort him, and he was so pissed off at himself for that. What was the point? Luke didn’t need comfort. He didn’t need Noah. He’d made that clear in the last two months. It wasn’t Noah’s fault that the one fucking time they'd seen each other had been today, when he was still bruised up from Tuesday night.
It just wasn’t fair when Noah had worked so hard, had practically trained himself, to be over it. To show he didn’t need anyone. To-
“Noah! Hey, slow down, man!”
Noah mentally jumped (he didn’t physically react to most things anymore) and turned, waiting for Dallas to catch up to him.
Dallas grinned, and Noah forced himself to smile a little back. “You walk pretty fast when you’re distracted,” the man commented casually.
“Sorry,” Noah lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and the two of them walked together towards Yo’s. “I was-”
“Distracted, yeah, I noticed,” Dallas was still grinning. “Good distracted or bad distracted?”
His hands were itching again. He didn’t know if it was in anticipation or in discomfort. “Bad. I think.”
Dallas clapped him on the back. “It usually is. Well, look at it this way, maybe you’ll get a chance to clear your head tonight.”
“Hope so,” he murmured. His hands were definitely burning with it now. He needed this tonight.
They walked into the alley next to Yo’s, past the back entrance into the bar to the door at the end of the path. It was nondescript wooden door. The kind most people would walk right past without caring, if they noticed it at all. Perfect.
Noah followed Dallas as he pushed it open and they walked through near darkness to the room at the end of the hall. The movement and muffled yells from inside told him the night had already started. His right hand twitched. He wanted to hit someone tonight.
When he and Dallas entered the room, he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sounds and smells wash over him. It was dirty and dark and ugly in here, and Noah liked being in it. It felt like everything inside him made real. He didn’t have to hide here.
He had been so skeptical when Dallas had brought him here those weeks ago. For real, a fight club? How suburban cliché was that? But it was real, and it was exactly what Noah needed. Twice a week, the group of twenty to thirty guys met in this room and let every piece of anger and frustration and aggression out on each other. It was perfect. It was Noah’s drug.
He opened his eyes then and scanned the group, sizing up who was there, who he might pick and who might pick him. Dallas went over to the guys who ran the group, shaking hands and joking around. Noah wasn’t here for that, didn’t care about the pleasantries. Instead he hung back, not watching the current fight but watching the yelling spectators instead.
Finally, he saw one. A new guy. Noah let himself feel a little bit of excitement, more than he felt at any other point of his day. It was a rule here- new guys always have to fight their first night, but they get to pick who they go up against. Most of them end up picking Noah because he was one of the youngest in the group, and apparently he looked the least threatening.
Noah liked that, because he gets to prove them wrong.
Sure enough, an hour later Rob introduced the new guy to the club. Noah didn’t listen for his name; he didn’t care. He just nodded and half-smiled when New Guy pointed at him. The guy was big, but not too agile. He also looked like one of those guys who worked the bags at the gym just to show off, knew a couple fancy combination moves, but had never been in a real fight before. That made Noah smile a little more. It felt weird on his face, almost like a genuine smile.
He stripped off his shirt as he moved forward, tossing it over to Dallas when he held a hand out for it. (It was a rule, after all. No shirts, no shoes in a fight.) New Guy spent some time flexing and grinning, thinking he was being intimidating, but Noah just internally rolled his eyes, stretching out his arms and his back. The guy wouldn’t be grinning in the next five minutes.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rob, Angel, and a couple of the other veterans of the club quietly pass around some money. Whether they were betting for or against him, Noah didn’t know. And didn’t particularly care.
His favorite moment was the second before the fight started. Everyone was hushed, like a vortex sucking all the sound out of the room. It was when Noah’s brain was at its quietest too. He could breathe in and out deeply, like a normal person could, and it didn’t hurt.
Then Rob gave a little nod, and a quiet, “Go.”
He never knew what erupted first, him or the crowd. But within a few minutes everyone was at a fever pitch, and Noah was happily swinging his fist at New Guy’s mouth. He had been right in his initial appraisal. New Guy was strong, but not quick. He knew how to throw a punch but not how to take one. Noah could definitely work that to his advantage.
They fought for several minutes, trading blows back and forth, but he could see New Guy was already starting to grow tired. Noah hastily wiped the moisture off his face, not sure if it was blood or sweat or a mixture of both. Whatever. As long as it wasn’t in his eyes, that was all that mattered. New Guy gasped for air again, and Noah nodded to himself. It was time to end this...
On the other side of the room, Dallas watched with something akin to admiration and shock as once again Noah managed to thoroughly hold his own against an opponent. Not just hold his own, actually. More like kick ass and take names. A part of Dallas still couldn’t believe how quickly Noah had adapted and thrived here.
When he had brought Noah into the club, it had been an impulsive decision. The kid just looked so lost and angry that night, but even worse than that- he looked well on his way to being empty. And Dallas knew what a rush fighting could be and, sensing that same mentality in Noah, had hoped this might help keep some fire alive in him. And it had.
Rob was standing next to him, and he shook his head with a smirk when the new guy Eddie threw a wild punch that Noah easily avoided. He checked his watch. “Another minute and the pot’s mine,” he commented to Dallas, barely heard over the yells of the spectators.
Dallas smiled. He was pretty sure Noah didn’t know it, but the club vets had a running bet every time Noah fought on how long it would take for the other guy to tap out. Somehow, saying barely a word, the kid had become part-badass, part-mascot of the club. He laughed a little, imagining the look on Noah’s face if he ever heard that.
His laughter died when Noah ducked under another hit and punched Eddie hard in the solar plexus. Ouch. Angel apparently had the same thought. He leaned in close to Dallas. “Boy seems extra pissed off tonight, doesn’t he?”
Dallas nodded, wincing when Noah knocked Eddie’s legs out from under him, the man thudding to the ground on his back. The cheering got louder as Noah leaned in and pounded the guy’s face a few times, blood spraying from the Eddie’s nose and mouth.
Dallas narrowed his eyes. Noah wasn’t usually an excessive-force type of fighter, he was methodical and quick most of the time. But not tonight. He had seen it when they met up in Old Town that something was bothering Noah. And he could see it now, in the way Noah wasn’t at all hesitating to kick this guy’s ass.
And he should be a little concerned, he knew that. But, Dallas figured, it was better for Noah to let the anger out this way than keep it bottled up. That was what this place was for. That was what they were all here for. To fight the demons they couldn’t in real life- the stress of a job, problems with a wife, arguments with a brother, or even (looking at Noah) a way to keep from wasting away...
Noah hit him again. Harder. Come on, New Guy. Just fucking tap out already. Noah wasn’t going to stop until he did. He could do this all night. Slam his fist down again and again till skin and bone gave way. His, New Guy’s, whichever broke first. Fights don’t stop until someone taps out, that was the rule. Noah followed the rules.
Another hit to the guy’s face, and some tiny part in Noah’s brain whispered about concussions and skull fractures and guilt and mercy and stuff. But that was the tiny part of his brain he didn’t listen to anymore, that was silent and dead for most of the day. He raised his fist to strike again, and finally finally, New Guy smacked his hand on the floor a few times, waving it in surrender for good measure.
Noah straightened almost immediately. God, it was about time. He rolled and stretched his shoulders some- they were always the first thing to ache- and then pulled New Guy up onto his feet. Once he could stand on his own, Noah shook his now-clumsy hand and turned away.
Taking his shirt back from Dallas, he retreated to the far corner of the room, used the shirt to mop up as much blood and sweat from his face and chest as he could, and tried to assess his own condition. Bruised, in pain, but not broken enough for anyone else to notice or do anything about it.
Good.
Same as always.
I am Noah’s inflamed sense of rejection.
Chapter 2