Archive of Our Own

There is a new guy who moved into their town just a week ago, not that Lars cared enough. Everyone was busy with the baby, even him—somehow, him. Lars doesn’t know how it came to be that holding Gus and Karin’s daughter didn’t feel like it was burning his skin. A child is different from a normal adult, it seems; at least, that’s what Lars likes to think. He never would have thought he would come to love his niece—well, he knew he would grow fond, but not really love. He’s never been good with children, but sometimes he wants to treat them the way he wished to be treated when he was younger.

Now he has a chance with Olivia—it’s such a beautiful name, Olivia. Very beautiful. Lars liked their decision; he knows well it was Karin’s more than Gus’s. His brother is never really good at deciding important things, and it was one of the main reasons why Gus left Lars—responsibility didn’t seem to be his strong suit.

Well, it’s fine; he’s trying. Lars is trying, and Karin is trying. They have a baby now, Lars' niece. And he wants to be better, even when standing in a half-empty street, where even the lack of people still overwhelms him, or going to church feels more like drowning than fulfilling when doing it alone. He wants to be better.

He knows now that the weekly check-ups with Dr. Berman were always for him, and not Bianca. For him to be better. Even when Karin would tell him that being better wouldn’t matter if he didn’t feel comfortable. He can be himself if he wants to; he can hide in the garage if he wants to; he can dress how he likes if he wants to. It was nice. Lars likes that. He misses Bianca, but at the same time, he’s thankful for her for making a door and opening it wide enough just for him to walk through before leaving him.

“Did you hear about that new guy?” Lars' ears perk up as he ducks down by Olivia’s crib. Olivia looks up at him, giggling with her gummy teeth, and Lars can’t help but smile back, feeling like he won the lottery. Karin and Gus are puttering around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. It was loud, but Lars is getting used to it. Back then, it felt like a cheese grater being scraped right up against his ears, but now he feels like he can close his eyes and fall asleep to it.

It brings him a certain peace that he never felt when he was with his father—the emptiness, the quietness, the same kitchen that was always empty. It was so empty that it might as well have been a home for spiders and other bugs. And Lars hated bugs. “You mean Noah?” he hears Karin ask.

“You know his name already?” Gus replies. Karin laughs a little. “Yeah, I met him by the hardware store. He’s a nice kid. From South Carolina,” Karin mumbles softly as a shuffle of plates and utensils is heard. “That’s far from home. What’s he doing here of all places?” Gus asks.

“No idea… He lives close to the lake. Said he’s building his own house there instead of just buying one.” Now that got Lars' attention as he stands up straight, feeling a bead of sweat at the back of his neck. The lake? The same lake he most often hangs out by after work to think and breathe? Someone lives there? “Which lake?” Lars asks, shuffling to the kitchen and leaning on the wall, tempted to bite the skin on his thumb nervously. Karin, who was wiping the table and placing down plates, turns to him, pausing a little bit, surprised. “Uh, no idea. There are a few lakes around this place. He didn’t tell me. Noah’s a quiet boy, just like you really. But he’s all…” Karin makes motions on her face. “Very scruffy,” she laughs as Lars leans against the wall, feeling a creeping sense of doom about someone else taking the spot where he and Bianca used to go.

“Okay,” Lars says, his voice small as they eventually sit down to eat breakfast, helping Karin with the chores before preparing himself for work. It’s cold again, and he doesn’t even think twice about layering himself with his favorite knitted sweater over his work clothes and his puffer jacket. He drives to work, eyeing the path toward the lake, but he passes it. He says his typical good mornings to everyone, as much as it makes him itch at the back of his neck, and sits at his desk—and… does what he does best.

Work, basically.

Many would say it’s boring, that there is nothing to do or that it’s completely tiring for no reason. But Lars likes the simplicity of it. He likes simple things and jobs that require attention—mechanical and regulated. It’s easy to understand for Lars and doesn’t require the unneeded addition of whatever happenings can occur.

Behind him, he hears Margo talking with Kurt, leaning over the divider with a small grin playing on her lips as Lars sits there, just half-listening to their entire conversation. “He’s kind of weird, don’t you think? I saw him too yesterday, just outside the grocery store, smoking and drinking. He looks homeless,” he hears Kurt mumble, laughing under his breath and typing something on his computer. His fingers make a loud and scratchy sound to Lars' ears as he sits there, a little annoyed and overwhelmed by the noise.

“Oh, that’s rude. Noah seems like a good guy, but he’s just really closed off. I heard he’s building his own house too,” Margo replies. 

“Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you?” Kurt replies quickly as Margo kicks his chair, sending him rolling back to Lars, who sighs and turns to them with a look as Kurt holds a finger over his lips, looking half apologetic and half prepared to laugh. 

“Sorry.” Margo winces.

“We shouldn’t gossip about people.” Lars clears his throat as Margo and Kurt fall quiet at that. 

“Well, we don’t know him that well; I think it’s alright.” Kurt shrugs just before Margo slaps his arm, gesturing at Lars’ face. He knows well he’s making a frowny face right now; he desperately wants peace and quiet. He came here to work, not to gossip about people he knows nothing about and would rather not care about.

Margo clicks her tongue and kicks Kurt again, and Kurt mutters a few words at her. Margo just shakes her head, motioning at Lars, who turns his back against them again, focused on the screen of his computer. Eventually, Kurt lets out a sigh. Work is quiet after that, and Lars feels a little thankful for it. 

When he’s driving home, he doesn’t go straight home right away; instead, he takes a different path straight to the lake he loves visiting, even before his father died. Leaves are falling against the windshield as he drives slowly. The trees are yellowing, and Lars has to turn up the heater in his car because even the cold feels hot against his skin now.

He parks his car and trudges down the forest path, kicking some leaves away and looking around, expecting to see a house—half-built by someone who doesn’t belong here. When he sees nothing, he lets out a sigh of relief. He continues through the dead leaves on the forest floor until he reaches the familiar lake. He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding as he stands there, hands in the pockets of his puffy jacket, enjoying the cold breeze stinging the skin of his cheeks.

It’s nice here—it has always been nice here. He’s always come to this place to think. Even before Bianca, when his father would fall silent and stare off into the distance, going to a place where Lars knows he cannot reach him. Instead of trying to pull him back, Lars just… leaves. Just like how Gus left him. It felt bitter and painful to remember that, that in the end, he and Gus are almost the same people. Lars left too, but of course, he stayed. He’s still in the same house, eating at the same table as his father. But he’s not really there; his body is, but his mind is elsewhere.

Without realizing it, Lars left his father too. 

In fact, they all left each other; they were gone to a place where none of the three of them could reach. Lars knows their mother would have hated it if she were here—if Lars had the chance to meet her, of course. He’s made up his own version of his mother a few times in his head. He hates it too, but he can't help it.

“What are you doing there?” Lars flinches as he turns around to see a man—a few inches shorter than him, a little thin but not too much. His hair is long, the tips touching his shoulders, and he has a scruffy beard and the brownest eyes Lars has ever seen. He’s wearing a thin cotton long-sleeve shirt—definitely not proper clothing for such a cold place—along with pants and leather boots. 

Lars opens his mouth and clams up, choosing to just walk away, ducking his head as he hears the man let out a confused sound. “Hey, sorry—I didn’t mean to surprise you. What are you doing here? This is private property.” The man says again, following behind him just a few steps away, not rushing but definitely following Lars. It makes his heart race like a rabbit.

Lars stops at the edge of the private property and turns towards the man, who stops as well. “This… This isn’t private property.” Lars swallows, feeling a lump form in his throat as the man looks at him strangely for a moment before chuckling and shrugging.

“It is now. I own this place. I bought it, in fact.” He shrugs, and Lars blinks at him, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. 

“I—the lake.” Lars points at the water as the man looks over, letting out a breath. With a hand on his waist, he nods. “Right… You frequent here or something? It’s fine if you want to look at the lake, but don’t go any further; my house is under construction, and you could get hurt.” The man points over his shoulder, and Lars looks past him, noticing a shed, a large truck, and multiple piles of wood and cut trees.

Cut trees—so this man really owns this land now? The same land that Lars comes to for fresh air and an empty mind? Lars gulps, feeling a creeping sense of disappointment. 

“No thank you,” he says and steps back, hugging his arms around his torso. The disappointment seeps into him as the man behind him stays, letting out a confused sound. “Okay? I—I mean, you can come back if you want… okay… you’re leaving? Bye.” The man says awkwardly when Lars doesn’t turn back, climbing up the hill silently but somehow quickly. He looks like a man rushing to leave and run away.

* * *

When Noah first came to this town, all he could think was, “This is a perfect place to grow old and die alone.” It was a horrible thought, but ever since he had seen Allie with that man, those horrible thoughts followed him everywhere. It was one thing to believe that Allie just didn’t want him anymore, which is why she never replied to his letters, but seeing her with another man brought a different kind of pain. He was losing his friend, his father, and now the girl he had loved for so many years.

War hadn’t been kind to him. He came home to his father, bringing pain and suffering with him, waking up at night to the sounds of gunshots and the screams of soldiers he couldn’t save. He didn’t know how many times he had awakened his father with his shouting and screaming, and how his father had never grown tired of it. God knows Noah was getting tired of the same nightmares and the pain in his leg from where he had been shot before he was eventually allowed to go home.

And then there was the house—oh, the house. Noah didn’t really know what had gone through his mind, or maybe it was his father’s doing, which is why he continued to rebuild the whole damn thing. Allie already had someone she loved, someone new—someone who wasn’t Noah. Yet, he built the house in the hopes that she would come back to him when she realized that the man she was with wasn’t him. He remembered going to Charleston for Allie, only to find a man with her, and he had never felt so low in life before. Then he started that foolish belief: if he rebuilt and fixed the house, she would come back.

His father sold their house so they could buy the abandoned one for Noah. It was a bad idea—giving false hope to Noah, who had been nothing but stuck in the past of hopeful romance and painful memories from the war. But his father gave him what he wanted to hear, and then he died, leaving Noah to continue building the house. He was already halfway done; why stop? He wanted to stop, but at the same time, he couldn’t. It wasn’t just for Allie or for himself anymore, it was for his father as well.

The house began to feel more like a prison than something that gave Noah hope. By the time he finished it and got it posted in the newspapers, he sold it for the highest price and left town. That’s how he found himself in Wisconsin, hours away from South Carolina, in nothing but a truck whose lifespan was only a year away, bringing nothing but a box full of beer as he drove and drove and drove until he eventually found this place—a place where he could live peacefully and die alone in old age.

God knows he couldn’t do it himself, whether he got sick or died of old age. He had already tried with a gun, and all that did was fill him with fear; even getting close to it sent him into breathless panic. He felt hopeless—really hopeless.

Anyway, he bought himself a large piece of land here, close to the lake, just like back home. But in Seabrook Island, everything had felt blue, gloomy, and sad. Here… it felt sunny and yellow. Noah couldn’t help but fall in love again—but this time, with a place. He had enough money to live for many years without getting a job, and he didn’t want to buy an already made house. So instead, he did what he was best at: he made his own.

“Made his own…” That was a very big word; he hadn’t even started yet. He had built a decently-sized shed right next to the house he was planning to build, but he had been putting it off, procrastinating. It was cold, and he had only been there a few weeks—just under a month. Noah was perpetually cold. He didn’t have the right clothes with him because he hadn’t brought anything from back home, and he knew that was stupid. But he wanted to be free from his prison in Seabrook. He knew well that his father wouldn’t mind if he did. Yet he still regretted it because of the pain the cold gave to his legs.

His shed was small—barely fitting three people, two could fit, but it’s not like Noah had anyone around. Everything he needed was bought from town; he drove back and forth for materials from the hardware store and some beer to keep himself going. He met a few people around town and spoke to them in curt words because he didn’t really know what to say aside from nodding his head or answering yes or no. He hadn’t spoken to so many people since his father died. He had been so busy rebuilding the house that he had forgotten that making friends was part of life too.

He tried—kind of. He preferred staying in the peace and quiet of his land or by the lake, which was being occupied by a man he had struggled to talk to since they met. 

“Hey,” Noah couldn’t help but say again; this might be the second time he had spoken to him. The man was tall and large, his hair always neat, moustache daily trimmed and well taken care of. He was pale—awfully so—with dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Noah always found him wearing a nice soft knitted sweater underneath the puffed jacket he wore and a tie and dress underneath all those layers.

Ever since Noah had told him that he could freely come back to the lake, he had been seeing him more often, just sitting close to the water, looking over it in silence. Noah knew well that this man appreciated his own silence and privacy, so he observed from a distance, watching him without intruding. That was probably the least he could do for this man, who had likely been at the lake longer than Noah had before he bought it.

He had seen the man walk by the shed a few times while Noah was inside, watching television and eating stale bread that was a moment away from becoming moldy. They coexisted in a space where neither bothered the other, but they were aware enough to glance at each other while engaged in their usual activities.

Noah couldn’t really say they were friends; friends usually talked to one another rather than skittering around like a pair of cats feeling territorial over a space but not territorial enough to fight over it. Plus, Noah didn’t know the man’s name, and he was sure the man didn’t know his either.

The man turned to him, blinking furiously. He didn’t speak, but he watched Noah as he slipped on a thick jacket, breathing quietly while standing just a few inches away. “Hi,” the man said slowly, eyes averted and not meeting Noah’s. Well, Noah could work with that—while he usually preferred looking into someone’s eyes, if the other person was uncomfortable, he wouldn’t press it. “Hi… Noah,” he responded. He didn’t offer his hand because the other man had his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles turning whiter than his normal pale skin.

The man nodded, “I know.”

Noah stood on his heels at that, nodding in return. Okay—he knew. That was good, that was good. “And you?” Noah asked, a bit hopeful that the other would tell him his name since he knew Noah’s from town gossip. The man glanced at Noah when he wasn’t looking, but as soon as Noah caught him, the man looked away. “Lars,” he said.

Noah couldn’t help but smile at that. Alright. He had a face and now a name—that was great. “Nice to meet you, Lars,” he said, clearing his throat. Lars nodded, still avoiding his gaze. Noah didn’t sit down; he remained standing as they looked over the lake in silence, watching as geese drifted in the water. Huh… even here, those things followed Noah around. It wouldn’t be long before the lake was full of them, lingering until they decided to continue their journey to whatever place they had in mind.

“Do you want to try the boat?” Noah asked as Lars turned his head toward him, blinking rapidly. “Boat?” Lars echoed, confused. Noah nodded, “The lake is large enough for boating; I made one.” Noah shrugged as Lars looked at him for a moment, quiet, as if contemplating deeply. “You made one?” he asked, and Noah nodded again. “Want to try it?” But Lars was already standing up, patting his pants and jacket nervously, looking a bit skittish. “Next time… it’s late,” Lars said, averting his gaze from Noah, who simply shrugged and nodded. “Alright, next time,” he replied, and Lars nodded, standing there swinging his arms for a moment before turning to walk away.

Noah watched him ascend the hill, stumbling slightly as he leaned against the tree trunk behind him. He was a strange guy, but Noah couldn’t help feeling endeared by him.

* * *

“There is a man who lives by the lake,” Lars can’t help but say the next time he sees Dr. Berman. She sits at her desk, eating a slice of pie. Lars has one too, a plate on his lap, but he’s only taken a single bite since Dr. Berman handed him his plate. She’s already halfway through hers, and Lars hasn’t spoken a single word since he arrived.

“Oh? A new friend?” Dr. Berman asks, raising a brow as Lars shakes his head, nibbling on his lower lip before finally settling for a shrug. “That’s okay. Sometimes it's hard to know which is which. You have to ask him eventually if you guys are friends. Now tell me about this man who lives by the lake,” she says, motioning with her little fork as Lars runs a hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he shrugs.

“We don’t talk.” He sneaks a look at Dr. Berman, who just hums and gives him a lazy shrug. 

“That’s fine,” she replies. 

“It is?” Lars asks. 

“Friends don’t need long conversations to be friends.” Dr. Berman gives him a sliver of a smile as Lars nods, feeling a little off-put by that fact. “So I don’t have to ask him if he’s my friend, then?” Dr. Berman shrugs again. “It’s your decision, Lars. But it seems to me you guys can be friends. How about you tell me more about this friend of yours?” she suggests.

Lars rocks his leg a bit and realizes he has nothing to tell Dr. Berman about Noah—they don’t talk, they don’t even converse normally. Noah doesn’t push him for conversation and remains silent. The last time they spoke was when Noah offered him a boat ride, and Lars wanted to accept, but his mouth told a different story. In his embarrassment, he left because he didn’t want to correct himself. 

After that, they return to not talking again. Noah sometimes works on his house, and Lars has spotted him lying down on a pile of wood more often than actually working. Sometimes he sits by the lake before Lars, and Lars sits far away from him, watching him stare at the rippling water beneath him. He’s strange, not someone Lars is used to in this town. Everyone else is loud at some point, but Noah isn’t. Just like Lars.

“He doesn’t bother me about conversations. He’s also quiet,” Lars decides to go with the easy route, something he knows well about Noah. 

“Oh, that’s good, isn’t it?” Dr. Berman’s brows raised as she nodded, but Lars just shrugged. Does he want to talk to Noah? He doesn't really know; this is something he never felt like he wanted in the first place. He hates talking and pointless conversations. 

But then again, he initially thought he didn’t like Noah either and assumed he’d be like the rest of the people here. Then Noah went and proved Lars wrong. Now Lars doesn’t know what he thinks about Noah. “Wait, you want to talk to him, but you don’t know how,” Dr. Berman says, grinning widely as Lars looks up at her, shrugging helplessly. Is that bad? “I—I guess,” he mutters, rubbing his nose a little as Dr. Berman smiles.

“Well, you just talk to him. Talk about the weather, the trees, the lake. I’m sure your friend would enjoy a conversation with you,” she says. 

It sounds like a pointless conversation, which is what Lars wanted to say. He doesn’t like those, but for some reason, he can’t help but tuck that information deep into his pockets just in case he needs it. 

“What’s his name?” she asks, leaning on her desk.

“Noah,” Lars replies.

“Sounds like a beautiful name. Talk to Noah; I’m sure he’d like a conversation with you,” Dr. Berman smiles at Lars knowingly, and he nods slowly. “Okay,” he replies. “Okay… come on, eat your pie, Lars. It’ll get cold.” She motions at the plate on his lap, and he nods, picking up his fork and digging right in.

Later, he finds himself back by the lake and spots many geese drifting by on the water. It’s a lot—Lars doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many in one place. But amidst the crowd of geese, he sees Noah in a boat, holding a paper bag and throwing bread towards the geese, causing them to fly and chase after it while he laughs, grinning as he eats his own bread and sits there giggling to himself. He wears a thick brown sweater with a fur jacket over his lap, as if he’s trying to warm his legs more than the upper half of his body. 

His hair is tousled by the wind, making him look young and a bit boyish, reminiscent of when Lars was younger and the boys his age would kiss multiple girls at once and smirk as if they’d won a lottery.

He doesn’t like them—but Noah looks almost like them, yet Lars finds himself wanting to look at him. 

And Lars can’t help but stop and watch, seeing some geese jump into the boat while Noah scare them away with his hand, grinning from ear to ear when the geese get a bit too close, trying to nab the bread from his mouth, chewing quickly as Noah swallowed it up, poking his tongue out at the geese who wanted it.

Then suddenly, as if sensing Lars’ presence, Noah turned his gaze toward him. For once, Lars didn’t avert his eyes, likely because Noah was further away than usual. He watched a goose fly away, quacking loudly as Noah grabbed the oars and turned the boat around to head back to shore. 

“Hi,” Noah said as he brought the boat a few inches closer to Lars, who stood there with his trembling hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, nervously running his tongue over his teeth as he struggled to find the right words. 

There were so many things he wanted to say: Could he feed the goose too? Could he ride in the boat? Could he be the one to row? But he couldn’t express all those thoughts, so he mustered a forced smile and nodded, feeling overwhelmed by his desires and the limited time. 

“You still up for that boat ride?” Noah asked, tilting his head. There was space in front of him if Lars wanted to join. Lars shifted on his heels, glancing at the water and the rippling surface created by the boat, contemplating where to sit while also noticing Noah’s hopeful expression. “Okay,” he finally said, squeezing his eyes shut as the boat moved forward. Noah positioned an oar in the water to prevent drifting. Lars carefully swung his leg in, gripping the sides of the boat until he settled just in front of Noah, their knees nearly touching. He instinctively inched back, but Noah didn’t seem to mind; he was grinning.

“Hi again,” Noah said, and Lars nodded in return, relieved that the boat hadn’t tipped. He hadn’t opened his eyes when he climbed in, but Noah appeared to know what he was doing. 

“Shall we move?” Noah asked, and Lars nodded again, gripping the edge of the boat as Noah began to row. He grunted a little as they slowly drifted toward the center, where a flock of geese awaited

Noah and their food. “I was feeding them,” Noah explained, pulling a paper bag up from by his legs and tossing a handful of breadcrumbs into the water. The geese fluttered around them eagerly as Lars watched. 

“Do you want to try?” Noah offered the paper bag to Lars, who blinked at him, swallowing nervously. Should he? He wanted to give it a shot—Noah grabbed a handful and placed it in Lars’ open palms. Their hands brushed together for a fleeting moment, sending a strange chill through Lars’ chest. “Just throw it,” Noah encouraged. 

Lars nodded quickly, awkwardly twisting his upper body to toss the breadcrumbs, but some crumbs landed on him, and most ended up on Noah, who laughed as he brushed the crumbs off his lap. The geese flapped their wings with excitement at the sudden feast. Lars flinched back, bringing his hands over his face to avoid getting splashed on by water as Noah laughs.

“Sorry,” Lars stammered, feeling embarrassed as he watched Noah adjust his jacket, flipping it to shake off the crumbs before settling it back over his legs, rubbing his hands against his thighs in an attempt to warm up. 

“It’s fine,” Noah chuckled, then noticed Lars staring at him. “My legs hurt.” 

Lars blinked in confusion, unsure of what Noah meant. “Oh, uhm…” Noah leaned slightly to the side. “The cold makes my legs ache a bit—my joints are… well, a bit messed up,” he admitted with a shrug. Lars glanced down at Noah’s lap and then over to the geese. 

He wanted to ask why it hurt, but words escaped him; instead, he opted to watch the geese. Noah seemed to appreciate the silence, and the two of them remained quiet as the boat drifted gently side to side, taking in the geese, the trees, and the sky. It felt nice—a pleasant surprise for Lars, who usually preferred solitude. The last time he had come here with someone was with Bianca.

As darkness began to fall, Noah maneuvered the boat back to shore, allowing Lars to step out first. With a grunt, he heaved himself up, breathing heavily as he exited the boat. Lars watched him bend over, gasping for breath. Hands clenching and unclenching on his knees as if he’s trying to massage the pain away, but it doesn’t seem to be working with how pinched his face are.

“Are you okay?” Lars asked impulsively before he could think twice. Noah nodded, still leaning forward with his head down. “I’m fine… Can you—can you tie the boat?” he asked, looking at Lars with a hint of desperation. Lars glanced at the boat and the wooden post with a white rope, nodding as a wave of guilt washed over him—he feels a bit bad for Noah. Anyways, it was fine if he had to do this. He had done this a few times before when his father still spoke to him and Gus. He would bring them to fishing trips from time to time.

He let Noah walk past him, sitting down on a small mound of soil and pulling his jacket over his legs again, breathing heavily, his face pale and drawn as Lars secured the boat. He glanced over at Noah. “Sorry again, it’s just really cold these days,” Noah finally said, noticing Lars still standing there, watching over him. 

Lars could see that Noah was still feeling pain when he stood up, trying to mask it. His expression was reminiscent of Karin’s during those times when Olivia used to kick inside her. “Good day. Today was pretty fun,” Noah said, and Lars felt an urge to tell him to go home and warm up, to stop torturing himself, but he held his tongue. It wasn't his place to dictate how Noah should treat his own body.

It was nobody’s business but Noah’s.

Later, after Noah finally gave up standing and watching the lake with Lars and headed home, Lars returned as well. He had lingered, mostly to wait until Noah was safely back in his shed, hoping it was warm enough to ease his joints. If it wasn’t… well, Lars could always chop some wood to heat the place. He wasn’t sure if Noah had a fireplace in that small shed, but he assumed there must be at least a steel stove where he could burn wood for warmth.

Once at home, Lars took a bath, played with Olivia, read her some of his favorite books, helped around the house, and eventually sat down for dinner. They prayed at the table before eating in silence. It was cold, and when it was cold, everyone was busy preserving their body heat, which meant fewer words. Lars appreciated that. 

“You know the Noah kid? The scruffy little thing you ladies been gossiping all about?” Gus said suddenly, catching both Lars and Karin off guard. They were chewing their food, lost in thought—something Lars and Karin had in common.

“Apparently he’s a soldier from Afghanistan,” Gus continued, and Lars almost dropped his fork. Noah was a soldier? “Oh, seriously?” Karin asked, surprised. “Yeah, apparently he was discharged after being injured—shot in the leg,” Gus nodded. “Oh, poor guy,” Karin frowned. “Where did you hear that?” Lars swallowed his steak, glancing at Gus whose eyebrows shot up, surprised that Lars would join the conversation. 

“Just around. I’m not too sure yet, but someone spotted him wearing his military uniform casually and thought it looked familiar. Then I guess someone must have asked him, and the story built from there,” Gus shrugged, taking another bite of food.

Noah was a soldier… Lars hadn’t seen that coming. He didn’t think Noah looked like a soldier at all. If anything, he seemed more like a man lost in the woods than one on a battlefield. “Have you met him?” Karin asked, and Lars shook his head vigorously, looking down at his plate, stuffing his mouth to avoid the conversation. “Oh. Hmm,” Karin said, eyeing him before turning back to Gus. 

“Did he really get shot? That’s just terrible,” she murmured. “He could have been discharged for many reasons,” Gus shrugged.

Lars thought about Noah’s legs, recalling the joint issues he had casually mentioned. “I’m done,” Lars mumbled, standing up to clear his plate. “Also, Lars, can you add more wood to the fire? It’s getting cold again,” Karin said, and Lars nodded as he moved to the sink to wash his plate and utensils, setting them aside to dry. He glanced out the window, noticing that it was slowly frosting up; it wouldn’t be long before the snow arrived. It always happened this way.

The gradual build-up of cold, the freeze, then the snow.

As he stood there, warm under his jacket and beanie, breathing in the crisp air and watching small puffs of white escape his lips, Lars couldn’t help but wonder if Noah was warm in his shed. He almost misdirected his axe, nearly hitting his foot with the thought of that man who he wasn’t even sure he could call a friend. Focused, he continued chopping wood, determined to keep his toes—and his legs—safe.

* * *

Noah has no idea where he got the motivation to work, but for days, he has done nothing but focus on his house, drinking painkillers repeatedly to keep going. He has already finished the platform for the house; now he’s just making sure the pipes have space to be worked on before he starts on the wall beams. 

Lars has taken to watching him instead of spending time at the lake these days, and sometimes they share a beer in silence. However, most of the time, Noah avoids beer because of his medication. But today, the pain is worse than before; even swallowing three pills dry didn’t alleviate it, so he spends his time sitting on the porch of his shed in a rickety old rocking chair he bought from a yard sale in town. 

He wears two pairs of pants and his only jacket over his legs to stay warm and has a cigarette between his lips to distract himself from the pain. 

He hears the familiar crunch of Lars’ car approaching up the hill, and he can’t help but smile, tilting his head to the side as he sees Lars walking down, holding some kind of paper bag, looking pale with worn and bitten lips. Noah knows this man is nervous as hell, but he doesn’t know why. “Hey.” Noah waves to Lars, who was looking for him at the half-built house before shifting his attention to the front porch of the shed. 

“It’s very cold,” Lars says, and Noah nods. “It is,” he replies. He knows he shouldn’t be outside because of his leg pain, but he’s waiting for Lars. So far, Lars is the only constant presence in this place, and Noah appreciates it; it gives him hope for another day beyond just working on his house or dealing with the pain in his legs. He watches as Lars eyes the jacket over his legs and the limp leg resting half-heartedly on the wood below. Lars raises his eyes and meets Noah’s gaze, who simply shrugs. Noah stubs the cigarette on the fence and tosses it aside. 

“Does your leg hurt?” Lars asks, and Noah nods in response. 

He watches Lars swallow nervously, rocking on his feet, before he slowly steps up onto the porch and hands Noah the paper bag in his arms. “I—I have many jackets at home... If you want, you can take these.” Lars says, his eyes averted from Noah. Noah looks into the bag; it smells like wood, old paper, and a hint of sweetness—like a rose, perhaps. He’s held enough flowers to recognize that scent. He pulls out a soft knitted cardigan and holds it over his head to examine it. 

This looks… Noah glances at Lars, who still refuses to look at him. This seems important to Lars to give away. “Are you sure?” Noah asks, rubbing his hands over the fabric. It’s soft and will definitely keep him warm, which is exactly what he needs. He sees Lars shift on his feet, biting his lower lip, and distract himself by poking at the fake potted sunflower plant Noah propped on the fence because someone offered to sell it to him. 

“Yes,” Lars mumbles as Noah sits up a bit straighter and pulls out another piece of clothing, this time a thick, dark red sweater. This one looks even more important than the last. “It’s nice,” Noah comments, folding the empty paper bag and handing it back to Lars, who snatches it from his hand. 

“Do you want it?” Lars asks, glancing at Noah as he slips the brown cardigan over his shoulders. Noah has been wearing some of his father’s hand-me-downs; his father prefers long sleeves, while Noah tends to like short sleeves since it tends to be hot in Seabrook. So, he’s not used to cold places, hence his unprepared clothing. 

Lars watches him for a moment as Noah buttons up the cardigan and smiles at him. “Thanks, I really appreciate this.” Noah says, and Lars nods, swinging his arms a little as Noah looks at him, suddenly feeling a bit silly. “Want to walk around?” Noah asks, but Lars looks over with furrowed brows. 

“No,” he replies. 

“Why not?” Noah leans back as the chair rocks, watching Lars look around before deciding to sit on the steps of the porch, curling his knees to his chest with his back turned to Noah. “Your legs hurt, and you can’t walk with them hurting,” Lars states, his voice a mumble. Noah can’t help but snort, hiding his amused smile behind his palm as he nods while rocking in the chair. 

His knees pulse and ache, but it feels a bit better with Lars here to distract him from the pain. “Okay,” Noah says, and Lars lets out a huff of breath. The two of them fall quiet again as they enjoy the day, the sun barely fighting through the clouds before it eventually appears and beams down over Lars’ head. Noah can’t help but notice how golden his hair looks in the sunlight.

Then Lars turned, looking over at Noah as Noah's brows shot up, feeling a bit surprised. "What happened to your leg?" Lars asked as Noah blinked, looking at him, then his lap, and then back at him again. "I served in Afghanistan and got shot; then I got discharged," Noah explained simply, mostly because it was that— it really was pretty simple. He got shot and was discharged because he was no longer useful.

Lars' face paled a bit, and his nose curled slightly as if he were deep in thought. Noah had to resist laughing out loud since that would be considered very rude. "You said... you were shot... it didn't heal yet?" Lars asked, his eyes focused on Noah's covered lap as Noah rocked the chair a bit slower. "Oh, um—it did heal; it's been healed since I got discharged, but uh... the pain," Noah rubbed his knees. 

"It's all in my head. It's not really there; they call it psychosomatic. I feel pain that isn't there. I was only shot in my left leg, but now I feel pain in both because I still think both my legs were blown away," Noah explained, rubbing his thumb over his jacket as Lars watched him.

"There was an explosion, a grenade, after I got shot, and back then I didn’t know I was shot. I thought the pain was from my legs getting blown off. I passed out, believing I had lost my leg and woke up unable to walk because I believed that’s what happened. It took me a few months before I was fully discharged. I can walk again, but the pain was there for some reason." Noah shrugged, making motions with his head as Lars nodded slowly. "Okay." Lars looked down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands, staring at the trees and away from Noah as Noah leaned on his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest of the chair.

"Okay," Noah said simply. "Did that answer your question?" 

Lars nodded, and Noah smiled. "Alright, good. Want to go on a boat ride? You can be the one to man the boat if you want." Noah said as Lars glanced at him, a small excitement in his eyes as he nodded uncertainly.

Noah hated using his cane; in fact, he had never used it since he got home. He just threw it in a place where he wouldn’t have to look at it and never let it see the light of day. However, it was one of the things he brought with him after he had researched that this place might be unusually cold— that meant more pain in his legs, and he was not used to cold places. 

Lars stood up as Noah slipped on the jacket and grabbed his cane from behind the chair, huffing at the pain as Lars waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Sorry, I’ll be pretty slow,” Noah cleared his throat as Lars watched him walk down the stairs, arms swinging again as if he were deep in thought. “It’s… okay… do you need help?” Lars asked, his voice unsure as he offered his elbow to Noah. Noah stopped to look at him; he felt a bit surprised that Lars would offer something like that to him. But then again, this was the second surprise of the day, so Noah nodded, placing his hand over Lars’ arm and letting Lars lead the way, feeling a strange warmth on his face as they walked down in silence.

Lars was quiet the whole walk, his face pinched, eyes twitching, and Noah too was mostly quiet because he was focused on not paying any attention to his useless legs. He heard Lars make a noise—like a word— but Noah had no idea what he just said. “What did you say?” Noah asked, glancing at him as Lars swallowed, looking a bit pale. “Nothing… it doesn’t burn,” he said, eyeing Noah’s hand, which was now holding on to Lars’ bare skin over his wrist since Lars was walking a bit faster than Noah, and he was not really the best helper Noah had met; he was more so dragging Noah than allowing Noah to drag him.

“Why would it burn?” Noah asked, confused as he moved his hand back towards Lars’ arm, this time where he couldn’t touch Lars’ skin. Lars let out another noise, and Noah shot him a confused look. “Nothing,” Lars mumbled, and Noah shrugged it off. It was one of Lars' strange quirks that Noah found he quite liked since the first time they met. 

Eventually, they reached the boat, and Lars helped Noah get in first, even going so far as to help Noah out of his jacket and settle it over his lap. Noah tried his hardest not to feel slightly embarrassed and focused on the flattering part of his emotions as Lars untied the boat and followed after, grabbing the oar and starting to row gently, the water rippling softly as Noah enjoyed the combination of warmth and coldness drifting by.

"So, which part of town do you live in?" Noah asked, as it had been silent long enough, and he didn't know much about Lars. He felt it was a bit unfair since Lars knew where he lived and how he ended up with these useless legs. Lars startled at that question, and Noah observed him wiggle his legs a bit, then tap the oars on the side of the boat. "We're far from town," Lars said.

"We're? You have other people with you?" Noah asked.

Lars nodded. “My brother, his wife, and their daughter,” he said quietly as Noah nodded. “That’s nice,” Noah replied. All this time, Noah had assumed Lars was all alone because Lars always came here by himself. He seemed like a person who preferred solitude, enjoying the silence and peace away from others. Lars nodded softly, looking over the water and watching two geese peck at each other before ducking their heads under the surface to clean themselves. 

Noah let Lars maneuver the boat around the lake, circling without going too far, allowing the geese to enter the boat in pursuit of a single breadcrumb Noah had left behind. Now they were fighting over it until Lars picked them up one by one and threw them out of the boat while Noah laughed, head thrown back, stomach hurting. 

The pain in his legs faded as he watched Lars pout, annoyed by the geese.

“They’re just hungry,” Noah smiled.

“You’ve made them used to being fed; they shouldn’t stay or grow in number. You fed them,” Lars said as Noah shrugged.

“Oh no,” Noah replied, but he didn’t really mean it and received a squinty-eyed look from Lars. Noah snickered, shaking his head. 

Then he turned his head and looked over at his shed—his heart dropped when he saw a familiar brown—so brown it almost looked red under the light, curly hair, styled and beautiful, standing by the lakeside, watching them. He didn’t know how long she had been there, but she was there.

He felt his heart sink, and his breath hitched as he rubbed his eyes, feeling cold all over. Suddenly, his legs began to ache as he heard Lars grumble again when a goose tried to enter the boat. “Uh oh,” Noah wheezed as he turned back to Lars, who wore a confused expression. Noah grabbed the edge of the boat. “Oh no,” he gasped, placing a hand over his lips as he turned to meet her eyes again.

It was Allie, dressed in a soft baby blue blouse, her hair loose, moving with the wind. She had a small smile on her face and was holding something in her arms. She smiled when Noah met her gaze. “Oh no,” Noah whined, burying his face in his hands. He felt cold all over, and he wanted to jump out of the water and flee this place.

“What’s wrong?” Lars asked, hovering over Noah, unsure where to place his hand as Noah shook his head.

“Can you get us back? Someone—someone’s waiting for me. Please? Quickly?” Noah whispered. Lars nodded, looking relieved as he grabbed the oars again and headed back to the lakefront. He hopped off, tying the boat down as Noah stood up, his legs feeling shaky as he watched Allie walk along the lakeside toward their direction.

Lars didn’t seem to notice her right away, and Noah was tempted to believe she might be a figment of his imagination because what was she doing here? Of all places? And why now? 

Noah swallowed a shaky breath as he stepped away from Lars, slipping on his jacket and crossing his arms over his chest, hugging himself as Allie stepped closer. Lars raised his head, surprised at the woman standing in front of Noah. 

“Noah,” Allie smiled.

“Allie,” Noah swallowed, refusing to meet her eyes as he shoved his hands inside his pockets.

“Can we talk?” Allie asked.

“We can talk here,” Noah replied quickly, but Allie glanced at Lars behind him.

“Somewhere private?” Allie winced as Noah bit his lip, glancing over at Lars, who looked like he wanted to leave. Noah swallowed. He wanted to ask Lars to stay—to have an excuse to tell Allie to leave—because whatever she was going to say to him didn’t matter anymore; it hadn’t for a long time.

“Okay,” Noah whispered, turning to Lars. “Sorry—I, me and…” Noah stammered, but Lars just nodded and shrugged. Looking a bit too glad to be leaving, too uncomfortable to stay between the two as Noah holds onto himself, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Okay.” He promptly walked past Allie. Noah dug his heels into the soil to keep himself from following Lars and leaving with him. But as he watched Lars walk up the hill, his chance dwindled to zero. He looked back at Allie, letting out a shaky breath, and nodded as he led her back to his shed.

“Nice place,” Allie said. “Building a new house?” She looked out the window and spotted the house as Noah tossed a few pieces of wood inside the steel stove, grabbed a matchbox, and ignited it, his hands shaking as he closed the metal gate and turned to Allie. “What do you want?” Noah finally asked as Allie turned to him again.

“I read your letters,” she murmured.

Noah eyed her. “You never responded. Why now?” he asked. Allie took a deep breath, looking down at the bag she held. She opened it. “I never knew, Noah. My mom hid all the letters from me,” she said. “You wrote me 365 letters; you wrote to me every day, Noah.” Her voice trembled as Noah looked at her, then out the window at the half-built house, wooden beams and all—barely there, but he was here.

“It doesn’t matter,” Noah muttered. “Not anymore.” Allie exhaled. “Noah—I—I saw the house. You rebuilt it, you sold it… I—I bought it from the person you sold it to,” Allie whispered.

Noah turned to her, confused. “What? What? Why?” he asked as he walked up to her. “Why buy it? I sold it off for a reason; you’d know that I wasn’t waiting for you anymore.” Allie shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, Noah, I really am! I should’ve known, fought harder—” Allie blabbered, but before she could continue, Noah placed a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped. “Allie—Allie, stop. Okay? Stop… Please… I’m done; we’re done. You have someone in your life, don’t you?” Noah whispered, expecting Allie to nod. But her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked up at him. Noah felt his heart drop. “Oh, Allie… Allie—we can’t do this. I can’t do this.” He whispered as Allie grabbed his wrist.

“Noah, I’m sorry I was so late. But I stopped the wedding before it could happen. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I think I’ve always searched for you in every man I meet. Lon... Lon was close to that, but I realized he wasn’t you…” she whispered.

“Allie, no—no, just no. Get out, please, get out.” Noah pulls away from her as he wiped a hand down his face as he pointed at his door. “Noah—just listen to me first, please. Can we try again? Tell—tell me your name, please… please.” Allie whispered, but Noah only shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach and cold all over. He wanted to vomit; his heart and chest hurt, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss her, but at the same time, push her away because he knew that kissing her would feel like he had eaten something bitter.

It wouldn’t feel good anymore, like a puzzle being slotted into the right hole. No—just no.

“No—no, I’m not doing this today, Allie. Go back to Lon. Go back to him and don’t come back here. You hear me? Don’t come back here. Fine, keep the house; I don’t care. I don’t need the house. I haven’t been needing it; I like it here, okay?” Noah said, tears starting to fall down as he wiped his face. His chest hurt so much that he wanted to break something, punch something, or hurt himself.

Allie’s eyes were red, tears building up as she nodded and took a breath. “You’ll change your mind; I know you will. I’ll wait, Noah. Like you did for me. I’ll wait.” Her breath hitched as she stepped back, walking up to the door, opening it and sparing Noah a glance, as if hoping for him to stop her. But Noah just stood there, head lowered as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I’ll be in town. Just tell me if it’s a no; I’ll leave. But if you don’t… I’ll wait,” she whispered, and then she left, the door shutting softly.

He could hear her heels crunching on the dead leaves outside as Noah looked over at his couch, slowly walked over to it, and sat down heavily, sobbing. He buried his face in his hands before he heaved a breath, almost gagging at how hard he was crying. Why him? Why him?

* * *

“Such a beautiful woman, don’t you think, Lars?” Kurt says as Lars sits in the café, holding a warm cup of coffee in his hands. They are at a booth, watching a woman standing by the newspaper stand, reading something from it, her brows furrowed—the same woman who appeared and made Noah look scared. For what reason? Lars doesn’t know.

But he saw Noah’s face, the repeated “oh no’s” escaping his lips, the look that suggested he was being forced back inside a cage. It has been a few days since Lars last saw Noah; he hasn’t come out of his shed. Even when Lars peers inside the windows, Noah’s door remains shut, and the glass has frosted over, which means he’s not heating his house at all. This makes Lars worried—it feels strange to worry. It’s like worrying for Karin because of her birthing Olivia. His fear for Karin’s health was primarily about her dying, but his fear for Noah feels like he might lose him forever.

“She is pretty,” Margo hums, a small blush on her cheeks as she sits between Kurt and Lars, holding her own hot coffee. “Do you know her name? Come on, no way no one knows; she’s been here for more than a week.” Kurt whispers to Margo. “It’s Allie. She went by the salon earlier, and the ladies told me her name is Allie. You remember the soldier guy living by the lake? That’s his girlfriend,” Margo whispers, as if it were a secret, looking partially excited. Lars almost tips his coffee over himself as he turns to them, eyes wide.

Noah’s girlfriend? That woman? Still wide-eyed, Lars stares through the glass as he watches her sigh and walk away, her hair whipping in the air. “Seriously? Lucky guy; she’s so pretty, sexy too. I wonder if they’re doing it in the shed—” Kurt lets out a purr, and Margo pushes him, as if she might as well punch him. Lars is also tempted to do the same, but he doesn’t want people to look at them. “That’s disgusting!” Margo groans, her nose curling as Lars mirrors her expression. It is disgusting to talk about someone as if they’re nothing but an object.

“I’ll be going,” Lars clears his throat. “Oh, are you making a move on her? Kidding,” Kurt says when Margo glares at him. Lars stands up, not bothering to finish his cup as he throws it away and leaves the café, walking down the sidewalk toward the parking lot at the back. He shuffles the keys out of his pockets and is about to unlock his car when he hears heels clicking. He stops, turns, and sees Allie. “Hi,” she says, waving awkwardly, her hands stuffed in her coat pockets. 

Lars turns fully to her, assessing her.

This is the woman that Noah loves, then? Lars doesn’t understand much about her, but he can see how perfectly suited the two are. Just based on Noah’s personality, Lars can understand why Allie is with him. “Hello,” Lars waves a little as Allie smiles, her hair fluttering. “Are you Noah’s friend?” she asks. Lars looks at her, then shrugs, before finally nodding. “Yes, why?” he asks. Allie smiles at him for a moment, then shivers a little when another breeze passes by. “Do you want to warm up inside my car?” Lars asks, feeling a bit bad letting a woman stand in the cold. She’s wearing a blouse under her coat—it looks like she wasn’t prepared to be here, just like Noah.

“Yes, please, thank you,” Allie lets out a relieved breath as Lars nods, unlocking his car and leading her to the passenger seat. He opens the door for her as she mutters a thank you, and he closes it behind her. He goes to his seat, starts the car, and turns the heater up, closing his door. The car is instantly warm as Allie breathes a sigh of relief and sinks back into the seat. “Have you been waiting for me to leave?” Lars fiddles with his gloves as he slowly pulls them off, and Allie lets out a snort. “Was it obvious?” she asks.

Lars shrugs. It wasn’t at first, but Allie refused to leave after a few minutes, and they met eyes a couple of times while he was sitting there drinking his coffee, letting Kurt gossip about her. “A bit,” Lars mutters. 

Allie sighs. “I’ve been waiting for him to come out of his shed, but… he hasn’t been leaving at all. And I’m worried; you’re the only one I know that he knows…” she says, looking concerned as she rubs her hands together. Lars nods—he agrees that much. He didn’t knock every time he came, but it’s obvious that Noah isn’t leaving his room. He’s definitely cold and in pain because of it.

“Are you really Noah’s girlfriend?” Lars asks, and Allie snorts, “I was—but then things got complicated. We were together when we were younger. Noah was good; he was really good to me. But my family didn’t want him, and we had... a fight... we—we broke up.” Allie sighs. Lars listens intently, perhaps the only thing he can do in this conversation. 

Noah never told him about Allie or anyone from home; all Lars knew about Noah was that he was discharged because of his legs. But then again, it’s all Lars’ fault for not asking. “I told his friend to tell Noah to write to me if he wanted me back, and I would come back. Noah wrote me 365 letters that my mother hid,” Allie breathes out. Lars lets out a soft sound at that, his brows furrowing as Allie shoots him a red-rimmed look and a forced smile, shrugging. “So messed up, right? All this time, I thought he had given up on me. But every day for a year, he wrote to me, and I just recently found out about it when I discovered the post he made about the house he promised to buy for me. He sold the house and left,” Allie whispers.

“I had a fiancé, but ever since I got his letters and found the house... I couldn’t get him out of my head. I searched for him; I hired private investigators to try to find him. A few months later, I find out he chose this place, this… random—but so dreamy place. It’s just... so Noah.” Allie shrugs, sniffing as Lars pulls out his handkerchief and offers it to her, but she waves her hand and wipes her face with her own palm. “It’s okay. I just feel like it’s unfair for me to give up on him now, even if he doesn’t want me anymore. He wrote to me for a year, rebuilt the house, waiting for me—I think I should do the same for him,” Allie whispers.

Lars sits there, blinking as he looks out the window, spotting Kurt and Margo walking down before stopping when they see Lars’ car, then inside Lars and Allie, both shocked as Lars swallows. “Let’s visit him then,” he finally says, forcing out the words as Allie turns to him, surprised. “We will? I don’t think he’ll come out,” she whispers. Lars nods. “You should at least try again.” He then shifts the gear in his car, releasing the handbrake and reversing out of the parking area, refusing to look at Kurt and Margo, who were talking to each other.

“Thank you,” Allie whispers.

Lars tries to ignore the bitter emotion in his chest, which feels almost like eating something he hates. His skin burns even without anyone touching him, and he doesn’t know why. It makes his grip on the wheel tight. He wants to say that this wasn’t for her; it was more for Noah. It was never for her. But he chooses to remain silent; driving in silence is what he’s best at as he lets Allie wipe her face clean.

By the time they arrive, the shed’s door is finally open, and Noah is by the porch. He looks pale and sick, and when he sees Allie and Lars, he just sighs, leaning against the fence of his porch while running a hand over his face as Lars walks behind Allie. “Noah,” Allie murmurs.

“Allie—you’re here... again,” Noah mutters, eyeing her with a hard look, not before he looks over at Lars, his eyes softening.

Allie stops, then she looks over at Lars and Noah before Noah turns to her again, leaning heavily on the fence, his hips flush against it. “You’re not dressed for the weather here,” he points out with a small sigh, but Allie just shrugs. “I never expected to stay for more than three days, really,” she murmurs. Noah looks at her and then sighs through his nose. “Can I ask you about something, Allie?” he asks, scratching his head at the side as he lets out another breath.

Suddenly, Lars feels out of place—like he shouldn’t be here.

“Okay,” Allie whispers.

“Can you picture your life for me? Thirty years—no, forty years from now. What does it look like?” Noah asks, looking straight into Allie’s eyes. “I—” Allie murmurs, looking at him as Noah sighs. “Allie—Allie, you don’t have to pick me or anybody,” he whispers. “What do you want to do? Do you want to stay here forever? Wait for me? Or go do something else?” he asks.

Lars watches Allie as she looks down at her shoes, then at her hands as she takes a deep breath. “I want you, Noah,” she says. Noah looks pained at that as he buries his face in a hand. “Do you see a future with me?” he asks again. “Yes—yes, I see a future with you, and you only,” Allie replies, her voice rising. Noah rocks on his feet and stands up a bit shakily. “I used to as well, Allie. I really did—but... this.” He motions between her, himself, and then to the two of them together. 

“This can’t work. I can’t—I can’t go back, okay?” he whispers. “Then we stay here, we can—we can live here!” Allie replies. “No—not the place, Allie. You know it’s not about the place. I don’t care where I am right now!” Noah raises his voice before he glances at Lars, who is watching them, arms crossed, head lowered. “It’s you, Allie,” Noah breathes out as he focuses on her.

“What?” Allie whispers.

“It’s you I can’t go back to—I used to love you, and I think in another world I didn’t give up on you. But here I did, and I’m scared to go back. I don't want to go back, Allie. You don’t know the years I’ve spent alone, hoping for something impossible to happen; for you to come back, for my father to live. I can’t—I don’t want to do it anymore, okay? And—my answer is no. Whatever you see in the future that includes me? I’m out—please, I want to be out.” Noah says, breathing heavily.

“Noah—Noah, wait.” Allie runs up the porch as Noah goes back inside the shed, and Lars steps over, unsure if he should follow. Noah looks one step away from falling, but Lars knows well that his fury is giving him the strength he needs. Lars peers from the bottom of the porch as he sees Noah standing in front of Allie. “Allie—you said I could just say the word, and you’d leave. Please—just go back to Lon. It’s over. It’s really over. No more waiting, no more letters—” Noah says.

“I lied! I lied, okay? It’s not over; it’s never over—” Allie says, desperate, but Noah just shakes his head, placing a hand over his forehead as he breathes harshly, moving away from her and pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Lars furrows his brows as he steps up the porch, feeling a strange heaviness in his chest—like something is going to happen, something bad—

“Noah, please just come back with me, we’ll fix this,  we can still fix this! —Noah are you liste—? Noah! Oh my God!” Allie screeches when Noah stops pacing, stumbling as he teeters on the floor with a loud bang. The coffee table, full of empty beer cans, tips over as he tries to catch himself, falling sideways. His eyes roll up, and his breathing becomes harsh. Lars doesn’t even notice that he’s already inside Noah’s shed—this might be the first time he’s stepped inside. He kneels beside the man, shakily pressing a hand against Noah’s forehead, feeling the searing heat—it’s not just in his head; it’s seriously coming from Noah’s skin as the blond-haired man groans, whimpering, curling up as he shivers, teeth clattering. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Allie asks, panic in her wide eyes. 

“He’s sick.” Lars says, his heart dropping. He doesn’t waste any time grabbing Noah’s arms and dragging him up to his feet. 

“Where are you taking him?” Allie asks, worried, as Lars moves Noah onto his back, giving him a piggyback ride while he hears Noah breathing shakily, eyes still shut, body shaking. 

“To the hospital.” Lars grunts. Noah may be lean and skinny, but he’s heavy, and Lars is a bit thankful that he’s used to cutting logs. All those wood cutting he’s been doing kept him in decent shape; he heaves Noah onto his back and rushes out of the shed.

It’s a blur after that. Lars lays Noah in the backseat while Allie cushions his head on her lap. He drives down the road like a madman, feeling as though he’s losing something important in his life. He carries Noah on his back again as he rushes through the ER, letting a few nurses take Noah from him and setting him down in a bed. Before he knows it, it’s just him and Allie sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs—

Suddenly, it reminds Lars of the time when Karin was in labor, and both he and Gus were stuck waiting. Lars was so worried that he got himself sick, and Gus had to worry about him instead of his own wife.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Allie whispers beside him. Her coat is shed, left in Lars’ car, as she sits there, her hair a mess from running her hands through it, Lars is pretty sure he’s left his car open with the keys inside, and he can’t care less at the moment, he has to wait for Noah to wake up. 

Lars turns to her, confused, as Allie shoots him a smile. “Okay.” She whispers. “Okay… I’m happy it’s you; I’m not angry.” She whispers.

Lars just shrugs, confused. What is she even talking about? he thinks, his mind half-formed, consumed with thoughts of Noah and his health. He’s tempted to bite his thumb but doesn’t want to with Allie around.

Suddenly, Allie stands up, breathing hard. She wipes her hand across her eyes, attempting to calm down. “Where are you going?” Lars asks as Allie walks away. She stops, then turns to him. “It’s over for us… I’m leaving because I said I would leave if he said no.” She whispers. 

Lars looks at her, his hands clasped in his lap. “Oh…” Lars whispers—should he say something? Should he tell her not to leave? Noah’s sick; sick people don’t mean what they say. 

“Noah’s the smartest man I’ve met. He knows what he wants and plans it beforehand. He’s not one to make mistakes; if he wants something, you can’t stop him. Tell him to take care of himself better. It’s colder here; he should buy new clothes…” Allie sniffs, her eyes teary. “Tell him to eat better and talk to people around town; no one knows anything about him.” She lets out a small chuckle as Lars can’t help but bite his lip, feeling a strange tightness in his chest.

“Also, tell him that he can call me anytime if he needs someone to talk to… a friend, hopefully, not just someone forgettable.” Then she turns and walks away. Lars lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in as he slumps down, feeling the pressure leave him.

“Family of Calhoun?” A doctor came out, and Lars sat up, surprised. He watched as the doctor looked around the empty hallway before her eyes landed on him. “Family of Calhoun?” she asked again, and Lars opened his mouth, then shut it, finally nodding. The doctor smiled and motioned for him to follow. “Mr. Calhoun is now in a private room. He’s been given a drip because he’s extremely dehydrated,” she said, and Lars nodded. “What… What happened? Is he sick?” he asked.

The doctor nodded. “He is sick,” she said, and Lars let out a shaky breath. “But he almost killed himself,” she added, and Lars blinked, turning to her. “What?” He let out a shaky breath as the doctor stopped and faced him. “It seems to be a mistake. Yes, he is sick, and as of this moment, I accessed some of his file from another hospital. He’s psychosomatic, which means he has pains that he thinks are there. He’s been taking pills to keep it under control, but being sick made him forget he was drinking a bit too much. Additionally, he has alcohol in his system, which made him drowsy and aggravated the situation. Overall, he’s fine; his stomach has been pumped, but for now, he’ll be staying here for a few days until he gets better,” she explained as Lars swallowed the painful lump in his throat and nodded shakily.

The door behind the doctor opened at her hand. “Don’t worry too much; he’s already awake,” she smiled, and Lars tried to smile back, but he felt like the floor beneath him had been pulled away—a simple mistake… So simple… Lars should have known what was happening with Noah. “Okay,” he managed to say as he entered the room. 

He spotted Noah sitting up, frowning over a newspaper, staring at it as if it had done something wrong to him. When Noah turned to Lars, he smiled softly. “Hey,” he said as Lars took the chair beside Noah’s bed. “Are you okay?” Lars asked, and Noah shrugged, then nodded, smiling a little, looking far too calm for someone who almost died from an overdose.

“Allie?” Noah asked.

“She left; she said—” Lars started, but Noah just shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it anymore… She’s a good person, but… I don’t really want to think about it anymore. I’ll just feel crazy guilty.” He snorted, as if it was a joke, and Lars sat there, hands on his lap as they both fell quiet. Noah rustled the newspaper a few more times. “Did you really carry me here?” he asked, a faint blush tinting his cheeks as Lars raised an eyebrow at him. “I carried you, then drove, and carried you again,” Lars corrected him, and Noah snorted, bending over his waist, grinning from ear to ear with his hair falling over his eyes.

Then he sat back up again. “Your legs?” Lars asked. “I don’t feel anything; it’s warm here,” Noah said softly. Lars swallowed; the tickling sensation in his body felt like a dream now—he was worried—no, he was scared when he brought Noah here. Lars could barely hear him breathing on the way. “Okay… You’re okay now—I’ll go,” Lars murmured, then stood up, but suddenly Noah grabbed his wrist, and he froze.

“Shit—sorry,” Noah said, letting go, but Lars reached to grab his wrist anyway. “It’s okay,” Lars said as he sat back down. “What is it?” he asked.

Noah squirmed in his bed. “Can you stay?” he asked. Lars blinked. “I mean—if you…” Noah breathed out. “Okay. I’ll stay,” Lars nodded. Noah’s wrist felt so warm under his palm—and he couldn’t help but admit that he liked it. So, he didn’t let go. Noah didn’t seem to mind as he laid back down. “Thank you so much… for bringing me here and staying for me,” Noah whispered as he set the newspaper by his bedside. Lars watched him as Noah let out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling, then at him, flashing a small smile.

Lars smiled back.

* * *

Lars doesn’t know when the touching started with Noah—he’s mentioned this to Dr. Berman, and for some reason, he can see a hint of pride in her eyes, along with a small glee when he admits to her that he feels different around Noah than he does with other people. He’s still the same with everyone else; he hates being touched and being included in small spaces filled with people. 

But it’s different with Noah—his warm hands on his skin, his wrist, his hands, and sometimes his back when Noah urges him to walk faster because he has come to notice that it takes Noah at least three seconds to take another step. All this time, he’s been walking too fast for Noah when he helps him around.

“Here, read this.” Dr. Berman slides a book across her desk, and Lars eyes it before reaching forward to take it. He looks at the title, confused. “It’s a book about homosexuality,” Dr. Berman explains when Lars shoots it a puzzled look. She leans on her elbow, smiling at him. “Do you like Noah as you like Bianca?” she asks. Lars’s grip on the book tightens, and his breath is taken away.

Where did that question come from? Does he like Noah like he does Bianca? What kind of question is that? And why would Dr. Berman ask him something like that? Lars… he doesn’t know because—because… “So?” Dr. Berman prompts, tilting her head as Lars blinks at her, confused.

“Take your time, honey. Love can be confusing sometimes.” She leans back and smiles at him as Lars looks down at the book. It seems to be an information-heavy text that Lars would love to read if it didn’t feel so significant and so personal to him at the moment.

Does he care about Noah as much as he cares about Bianca?

Lars spots Dr. Berman humming, opening the blinds, and standing by the window. “Yes.” he finally says after a few beats, nervously rocking his legs, going up on his tiptoes, making his chair rock a little. “Hm?” Dr. Berman turns to him as Lars swallows nervously. “I-I think I like him like I liked Bianca… but more than Bianca,” he mumbles, unsure of himself as Dr. Berman smiles, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding. “Okay,” she replies.

“Is it bad?” Lars asks. “Oh no, it’s not bad. It’s never bad. You care for him very much, Lars, and that’s good. It’s very good.” Dr. Berman shakes her head as she walks up to him, crouching down to meet his eyes. “How did you know?” Lars bites his lip, breathing harshly. “Well,” Dr. Berman shrugs. “You did come here last week panicking about him being sick and how I should look at his health. We’ve spoken about no one but Noah,” she says.

“Because you should give him a checkup,” Lars insists, his voice shaking. Noah is already out of the hospital, insisting he’s healthy, and Lars always makes sure he’s wrapped in the right clothing while he works on his house. But he’s still worried that Noah might pass out again the moment Lars looks away. He’s even gone so far as to tell Noah to only work on his house when he’s around. But Noah is not someone you can tell what to do; the next day after Lars said that, Noah was already hammering a nail into wood up above a really tall ladder when Lars came in.

It took everything inside his body not to pull his hair out and instead sit on Noah’s rocking chair, refusing to talk to him. Eventually, Noah had to apologize, wearing an annoying grin as if he’s proud that Lars is worrying about him and his health.

“Will it make you feel better if I do?” Dr. Berman asks, and Lars nods furiously. “Hm.” Dr. Berman hums. “Will you try your best with your relationship with Noah if I do this?” She tilts her head, and Lars’s brows shoot up. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?” she adds, tilting her head as Lars’s mouth gapes, trying to find the words—maybe a ‘no’ or ‘I can’t’—but he can’t say it because Dr. Berman is holding onto his forearm lightly, tapping his inner elbow.

“What do you think? It looks like Noah likes you too, you know. Every time we’ve talked about him, he seems like a very nice guy,” Dr. Berman says. “What if it’s not the same as mine?” Lars asks, whispering. “What do you mean?” Dr. Berman tilts her head in curiosity. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That I like him. He can’t think the same thing as me,” Lars admits sagely, looking down. The older woman snorts, shaking her head. “Well, bring him here to me, and I’ll be the judge of that, hm?” she says.

Lars seems to perk up at that. “When?” he asks.

“How about tomorrow?” Dr. Berman’s eyes glint as Lars nods, instantly relieved because while he knows Noah has already been checked over by the doctors, he doesn’t trust them as much as he trusts Dr. Berman. What if they’ve missed something important? Something vital?

And tomorrow comes. Noah is still asleep by the time Lars knocks on his door. His hair is wild, his beard scruffy, and he’s wearing Lars’s favorite maroon sweater, which Lars can’t help but think fits him perfectly. He’s in dark green checkered pajamas and barefoot, and he’s wrapped up in a red blanket—tangled around his torso, scratching his head with bleary eyes, blinded by the sun behind Lars as he places a hand over his eyes to look directly at Lars.

“What the? Why are you here so early?” Noah asks, confused.

“Can I come in?” Lars asks, feeling a little excited to get Noah to Dr. Berman. Noah gives him a questioning look but moves back anyway. 

“What’s the occasion?” Noah asks, closing the door behind him.

“I’m taking you for a checkup,” Lars says, and Noah's face turns annoyed as he sits down on the couch before lying back down, wrapping himself up with his blanket with a tired groan. Lars can’t help but mirror his annoyance.

“No way, it’s… 7 in the morning. I’m barely awake, and you’re not taking me to get a checkup. I’ve got work to do,” Noah lists, his voice grave and low as he lays there, refusing to move.

Lars lets out a sharp breath as he stomps his foot, staring at Noah, frowning as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Are you throwing a tantrum at me?” Noah asks, snorting, while Lars just stares down at him, not replying. They hold each other's gaze for a while until Noah sighs, groaning as he sits up. “Okay, give me… ten minutes to prepare. I need to take a bath,” he grouches. Lars can’t help but smile; he won!

This usually never works with Gus or Karin. If he wants something, he typically tries that approach, but they only get annoyed and still refuse to listen to him. This might be the first time someone actually listened to him.

Lars sits on Noah’s couch, waiting for him. He sees Noah leave his room, sighing and going into the bathroom. “Give me ten,” Noah says again, and Lars nods, tapping his fingers on his knees.

Lars counts, and around the seven-minute mark, Noah comes out, hair wet, wearing a gray, beat-up shirt, pulling Lars’ sweater over his head as he dries his hair and face, mostly his beard furiously, running around the house as he tries to get ready. Lars watches him from the open door of his room, trying to brush his hair, but it keeps sticking out. Eventually, Noah gives up and slams the comb back inside the cabinet, running his hand through his hair again and again, further messing it up.

There’s a strange emotion inside Lars that makes him want to smile and laugh, like watching his favorite cartoon character mess up again and again. “I’m done. Let’s go?” Noah grabs his cane, waving it around—definitely not how it should be used. No matter how many times Lars tells him, Noah never listens, just using it to move things around or grapple something that’s far away with the curve of the cane's handle.

Lars nods, smiling and blinking at Noah, who grins back. 

The ride to the clinic is quiet. Noah leans against the window, staring up at the sun, smiling a little. Lars can’t help but glance over at his face a few times, noticing how the sunlight hitting his eyes makes the brown color turn gold and yellow—Lars has always liked the color yellow. At least because he prefers sunny things; not that he hates the cold. He loves it too, because his job cutting wood is more important at this time of year.

But yellow has always called to him, and right now it’s the color of Noah’s eyes, the sun beaming down on him as Noah blinks furiously at it, still trying to look at it even though it’s blinding him. Eventually, Noah looks away, staring out the window, but the sun still shines on his eyes, and Lars can see how golden they are.

Noah turns to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Lars almost swerves into oncoming traffic as he looks back at the road, his hands shaking and his legs too. 

“What?” Lars asks. 

“You’re staring weirdly. Do I have something on my face?” Noah mumbles, wiping his palms over his face, rubbing nothing while Lars shakes his head. 

“Nothing,” he says, and Noah stops moving at that, shooting him a look as he leans back. 

Lars feels at least a little thankful that Noah doesn’t ask again; he’s never been good at lying. By the time they arrive at Dr. Berman’s clinic, Noah has fallen asleep again, leaning against the door. Lars has to clear his throat to wake him up, and Noah shoots up, nodding as if Lars is saying something. His eyes clear when he notices the car has stopped and they’re parked just beside the sidewalk. “We’re here?” he asks, and Lars nods. 

They both exit the car, Noah rubbing his knees a little before getting out. Lars rounds the car to help him, but Noah just gives him a lazy thumbs-up to signal that he doesn’t need any assistance. 

Lars tries not to pout as he leads Noah inside. There are a few people waiting—there’s a reason Lars comes on Sundays and not Saturdays or any weekdays; it’s always busy. There’s no place for Noah to sit, so he just stands beside Lars, humming. Eventually, Lars walks up to the front desk, to Joanne, to ask for a wheelchair for Noah, who looks slightly embarrassed to be sitting in one.

“We don’t need a wheelchair,” Noah says, but Lars just moves him and forces him to sit down. The chair rolls back, and everyone looks at them as Noah lets out a nervous laugh. “Lars.” Noah murmurs, looking embarrassed.

Lars moves him to the side of the chairs where another patient has moved because it was their time to be checked on. “Did you at least get an appointment?” Noah asks, rolling the cane between his legs nervously. “I know the doctor. She’s my doctor too,” Lars says as he looks around, feeling a sense of déjà vu; just months ago, almost a year now, it was Bianca who was sitting in the same wheelchair. Well, Lars doesn’t know if it’s the same, but it looks the same anyway—they borrowed a wheelchair first before Lars was able to buy an actual one, and the two look the same… So maybe it’s the same? 

“Oh…” Noah mumbles, surprised, but he nods anyway, humming a bit under his breath as he looks around and leans back while Lars watches him. 

“Lindstrom?” the nurse at the front desk asks, and Lars shoots up, surprising Noah, who was busy reading whatever poster is by the wall as Lars grabs the handles of the wheelchair, pushing him down the hall to Dr. Breman’s small clinic room. “Oh wow, I’m nervous,” Noah says as he clutches his cane, looking like a man being sent off to war. “Why?” Lars asks. Noah tilts his head to sneak a glance at him, but Lars looks down to meet his gaze anyway. “Uhm… Clinics, hospitals… never liked them,” Noah murmurs. “Okay. This will be fast; I’ll tell Dr. Breman,” Lars nods, serious, as Noah laughs, waving a hand. “What? No way—it’s fine; you’re here anyway.” Noah grins as Lars falls silent at that.

The door to the room opens, and Dr. Breman appears, smiling at them as Noah waves a little. “Noah Calhoun?” she asks, and Noah nods as Lars pushes the wheelchair inside. “Nice to meet you; I’m Dr. Dagmar Breman,” she offers her hand, and Noah eagerly shakes it, grinning. “Nice to meet you too,” he says. Dr. Breman then stands up straight, looking over at Lars. “Is it alright for you to go to my office while I check on Noah here?” she asks.

Lars swallows, looking down at Noah, eyeing how brownish-blonde his hair is and how his cowlick is more prominent when Lars is standing above him. “Okay,” he squeaks out, feeling like it was a herculean effort to part his hands from the wheelchair as Dr. Breman leads him toward the door at the side, which leads to her office. “Just sit there and wait; I’ll keep the window open so you can see Noah, okay?” she says, and Lars nods, eyeing Noah, who just smiles at him.

He opens the door and enters the office; it closes behind him, and he takes a seat, turning the plush chair so he can see Dr. Breman talking to Noah. Noah slowly stands up, using his cane to push himself up on the raised bed, looking around for a moment, saying something that Lars can’t hear before waving at Lars when he sees him.

Lars waves back.

* * *

“It’s psychosomatic,” Noah says as he lets Dr. Berman examine his leg, pant rolled up. He feels a bit embarrassed that he didn’t shave his leg hair—Lars should have told him it was this kind of checkup—eyeing the bullet scar on his left leg, which is almost close to the bone of his knee. 

“Lars told me that,” she says, and Noah’s brows shoot up at that. Lars tells people about him? That’s surprising.

“He did? Uhm—wow. Are you a general health doctor, a gynecologist, a pediatrician, or a psychiatrist?” Noah takes a shot in the dark, and Dr. Berman snickers, eyeing him as she continues her examination. 

“You took a shot in the dark, did you?” she asks. 

“Uh… well yes, don’t take it the wrong way. I did see some posters on the wall about mental health. I don’t think regular clinics have those. At least clinics like these.” Noah clears his throat as Dr. Berman leans back on her stool, hands folded on her lap.

“So you know why Lars knows me,” she says, eyeing him. Noah nods and then shrugs. He doesn’t judge or assume what Lars’ problem could be, but he’s always had a feeling that there might be a small issue with Lars. He never felt bothered by it. Having met many kinds of people in war, Lars feels like a breath of fresh air to Noah. Really. 

“I guess… you’re his shrink…” Noah says slowly, shrugging. 

“And do you have any problem with that?” Dr. Berman asks. 

Noah blinks for a moment. “Well, no,” he says after a few beats. “I don’t think mental health is something to be laughed at… Uhm—if it’s not against your license to answer, did something happen to Lars?” he asks, feeling a bit worried. 

Dr. Berman’s eyes soften at that question. “It is against my license to disclose information about my patients, but Lars trusts you. I won’t tell you much because I believe it’s Lars’ right to share that with you,” she begins. 

“Oh, okay.” Noah nods. “You see him as a friend, yes?” Dr. Berman asks as Noah stares at her and then nods. 

“Yes, he’s a very good friend. He helps me a lot; I don’t know how to pay him back,” he says, and Dr. Berman nods. 

“Will you still be his friend if you find out he dated a sex doll named Bianca? And she’s been seated in the same wheelchair you’ve used?” she asks, so straightforward that Noah almost feels like she’s a drill sergeant. 

He blinks at her, surprised that he dated a sex doll. He almost bursts out laughing but, seeing the serious look on Dr. Berman’s face, he clears his throat and nods sagely. A question persists in his mind: Did Lars use the sex doll for sex? It’s a ridiculous question, but he has to address the elephant in the room first. 

Well, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s heard, but then again, it’s Lars. It would be strange for him not to date a sex doll. “Did he... use it?” Noah asks, and Dr. Berman bursts out laughing. “Is that really what you’re worried about?” she asks, wiping a tear from her eye. 

Noah shrugs. “I don’t know? It looks like Lars was so charming that a doll wanted to be his girlfriend,” he says with a small chuckle. 

“Well, he does have a certain charm, doesn’t he?” Dr. Berman says, and Noah nods. “He does.” 

“Do you not find it strange? Weird? That he’s done all of that?” Dr. Berman asks, and for some reason, Noah feels like he’s being tested on something he doesn’t know. 

“No, I don’t think so… Was Lars lonely? He doesn’t seem like the type to get a sex doll just for the sake of it. I see how Lars acts… He’s not really someone you’d call talkative or chatty,” Noah says slowly, rubbing his hands on his knees as Dr. Berman hums. 

“In a way, yes. Karin—eh, Lars’ sister-in-law—came here about that. He brought home a sex doll and introduced her to them as his girlfriend,” she says. 

Noah looks at her, then back at Lars, who is inside the office, biting his thumb and looking nervous. He’s rocking in his chair as if Noah is on his deathbed, then looks back at Dr. Berman. 

“Amazing,” Noah shakes his head in awe and snorts. “He was lonely, Noah. Very lonely,” Dr. Berman says. 

“Okay… Okay.” Noah looks down at his lap. “Is he doing any better now?” he asks. 

The doctor smiles softly. “He is. It was him who declared that Bianca was sick, and he decided that Bianca was dead. He chose to leave the delusion,” she says, and Noah nods. “That’s good… He’s a good guy, Dr. Berman. He deserves happiness at least.” Noah nods and slumps back, eyeing Lars. “Why am I really here?” he asks. 

Dr. Berman stands up, humming and whistling a tune. “A checkup, of course,” she says with a smile, and Noah raises his brows at her in question. 

“A very chatty checkup.” He says, and Dr. Berman simply smiles at him. “Might as well call it a gossip checkup.” he adds, mumbling under his breath. And if Dr. Berman heard that, she didn’t respond.

Later, Noah sat back in the wheelchair, tapping his cane mindlessly on the wall out of boredom as Lars and Dr. Breman talked inside the office. “His health is perfect, his heartbeat is okay; he’s a very healthy man. As for his painkillers, you do need to be concerned about that a bit. It’s better if they’re over-the-counter ones. I know he could get a stronger prescription, but we can’t have Noah becoming too dependent on it. Even then, if the pain flares up, just buy a heating pad and place it on his legs. Better yet, get a heating blanket and some compression socks. It’ll help immensely. No need for medicine; it’s better if he doesn’t use it,” Dr. Breman said. Noah leaned in his wheelchair, because suddenly she started whispering—Noah could no longer hear their conversation. 

He thought he heard Lars let out a noise, almost like excitement or happiness, so Noah leaned a little closer to the door, trying to decode their discussion. Eventually, he gave up when he realized he couldn't really hear them, no matter how close he got. Then Lars came out, and Noah shot him a smile. “See? I’m fine?” he said, and Lars looked extremely relieved. Noah sensed it wasn’t just his health that made Lars feel that way.

As Lars pushed him down the hall, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Is your doctor really that chatty?” Lars didn’t reply, so Noah slumped in the wheelchair until they eventually went back to Lars’ car. But instead of heading in the direction of home, Lars drove toward the road back to town. “Where are we going?” Noah asked as Lars tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “We’re buying a heated blanket and heat pad,” Lars replied, and Noah let out a small “huh,” leaning back. “I—okay, let’s go.” Noah shrugged.

Lars brought him to a retail store. Noah decided to leave his cane in the car, mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to drag it along and wanted to push the cart—or better yet, ride in the cart while Lars pushed him. He felt that would be a bit embarrassing, though; Lars seemed like a guy who cared about how he presented himself and what kind of attention it might attract.

 “Your cane?” Lars said, catching up behind him as Noah turned to see Lars holding it. “Oh, Lars... I left it because I didn’t want to carry it,” Noah sighed as Lars handed it to him.

“You need it to carry your weight, not to carry it,” Lars said. “I know. I know,” Noah grumbled as they walked in, letting Lars get a small basket cart. “Do you want me to find you a wheelchair?” Lars asked, looking worried. “No, no. I want to walk. My knees get weak if I sit for too long. If I need to rest, I need to lie down,” Noah replied. Lars nodded, worrying his lower lip before nodding again, and they went on their merry way.

It was an adventure to be shopping with someone, something Noah didn’t really expect to do. He and Allie never really got to do this when they were younger. They messed around a lot—kissing, making out—but never to the point of sex. Noah liked the kissing and other things; he didn’t care much for bodily pleasures. He had never tried to be domestic with Allie, but he’d had dreams of growing older with her; they’d get a house, buy their furniture, and he’d drive Allie to work. He fantasized about grocery shopping with her, doing laundry and taxes. He remembered having those dreams while he built the house, waking up yearning for something so far away.

It felt the same as those dreams, but much better. 

“Is this better or this?” Lars asked, showing Noah two boxes of the same product but with different designs as Noah leaned on the cart, staring down at them. He couldn’t care less about what type of blanket it was as long as it served its purpose. “Uhm. Hm.” Noah said, ready to play along. One was a simple black, and the other was red and yellow—very painful to the eyes, but colorful. “This one’s nice,” Noah pointed at the colorful one. He must have made the right choice because Lars’ eyes lit up as he placed the heavy box inside the cart, and Noah shot him a smile as they continued.

He let Lars lead him around, mostly because Noah was eyeing the candy aisle every time they passed it until he eventually gave in and parted ways from Lars, who was busy choosing which heating pad was better: the one you heat with water and place inside or the chargeable one, all while discussing the better color options. Noah didn’t think Lars saw him leave as he debated getting chocolate marshmallows inside a large plastic bear holding a heart or a bag of Hershey’s. “Hm,” Noah hummed, rubbing his chin and scratching it a bit.

He eventually chose the bear marshmallow chocolates, hoping that Lars would like it. As he trudged back, holding it under his arm, he noticed the area where Lars had been was empty. “Uhm...” Noah hummed, looking around. The aisle was deserted, and a few people passed by. “Uh oh,” Noah muttered to himself as he looked into the next aisle, and then the next, and the next. Lars was missing. 

Well, shoot; maybe Noah should have told Lars where he was going—

Suddenly, the speakers above whistled, and everyone around him looked up, pained. “Noah Calhoun? Noah Calhoun? A Lars Lindstrom is looking for you at the front of the store. If you are lost at the moment, please go to the cashiers,” the voice announced. Noah froze, looking around and seeing everyone staring at him. Clearing his throat, he walked past them, his face burning as he stepped closer to the cashier and saw Lars standing there, worried. When Lars caught sight of Noah, he gave him an exasperated look. 

“You were missing,” Lars said, panicked and pale—almost sweaty. 

“I was… buying chocolates. For you,” Noah replied, showing him the bear. Lars didn’t even look at it. 

“Are you okay?” Lars asked. 

“I’m fine—” Noah began, but Lars fell silent, biting his lip hard and blinking furiously as he clenched his fist. He looked as if he were about to lose his breath or burst into tears. Noah didn’t know how to comfort Lars without getting too close or making things strange. His father had always told him that Noah had a nice way of hugging people, but Noah was unsure if Lars would appreciate a hug right now. 

“Are you okay?” Noah asked, and Lars forced a nod. 

“Okay… Chocolates?” Noah offered the plastic bear full of marshmallow chocolates again as Lars finally glanced at it, nodding. 

“Okay… okay…” Lars said, and Noah smiled at him. 

“Alright, let’s check out everything and go home. I’m getting tired,” Noah said. Lars nodded vigorously at that. 

“Okay,” he responded. Noah allowed Lars to push the cart filled with their purchases and place it in the trunk of the car while Noah settled himself in the passenger seat. 

Eventually, Lars closed the trunk, rolled the cart back to the designated area, and entered the car. 

“Hey,” Noah said as Lars started the engine. 

“Hi,” Lars replied, and they drove off. Noah fell asleep right away as the car moved—he had always been the type of passenger to doze off the moment the wheels started turning. However, when he was the driver, he never felt tired; it was the intense focus he had that faded away the moment he let someone else take the wheel.

“You should take this one home,” Noah suggested, offering the plastic bear full of chocolate marshmallows to Lars. Lars froze, busy setting up the heating blanket over Noah’s bed. His help went as far as sweeping and mopping Noah’s place, even though Noah had insisted he would do it himself— which he hadn’t gotten around to doing for a few days because he’d been a bit lazy. And god, there was a lot of wood shavings around too, no wonder he’s been sneezing a lot, he’s thought that it could have just been the cold making his nose act up.

“Okay. Thank you,” Lars said as he accepted the plastic bear from Noah, who grinned as he sat down on his bed. Wow, the blanket is warm; it feels nice. Dr. Berman was right: maybe focused heat is better than painkillers. With painkillers, he could still feel the cold seeping in, even if he burned more wood in the stove. 

“It works?” Lars asked as Noah nodded. 

“Works. Very nice. You can try,” Noah urged, scooting back to make room as he tucked his legs underneath the blanket, enjoying the weight it provided. Lars’ eyes widened as he stood there, unsure, while Noah laid back against the headboard. 

“Try,” Noah encouraged lightly. Lars nodded and sat beside Noah, on top of the blanket, smoothing it down quickly when it shifted. The bed wasn’t large, but Lars seemed to prefer hanging over it rather than getting closer. Noah didn’t mind; he pressed himself against the wall and motioned for Lars to come closer.

Lars bit his lip before nodding, inching closer and lying down next to Noah. 

“Good?” Noah asked. 

Lars nodded eagerly. “‘Is nice,” he mumbled. 

“I told you—can you grab that notebook over there?” Noah asked, and Lars sat up, looking over the bedside to grab the beat-up journal at the side and pass it to Noah. Noah opened it. 

“What is it?” Lars asked, laying on his side as Noah opened it to show his sketch of his house. 

“It’s where I plan the stuff for the house—the rooms, measurements. I don’t do it on a whim; it’s all planned out,” Noah explained, and Lars nodded. 

“Like Gus,” Lars said. “Your brother, right?” Noah asked, flipping to another blank page and deciding to redraw the house from an outside perspective. 

“Mhm,” Lars said. 

“What’s his job?” Noah asks, looking up at Lars, who was watching him intently. It was a strange upgrade from when Lars used to avoid his gaze when they first met, and Noah found it pleasant. 

“He fixes cars as a side job and works at a hardware store.” Lars replied, and Noah nodded. 

“ I’ve been to the hardware store a lot of times—I don’t think I’ve seen your brother ever… But that’s interesting. He must be a very hardworking man to have two jobs,” Noah remarked, stopping when he realized he was drawing Lars’ face instead of his house. 

He glanced at Lars again, whose eyes were drooping slightly, then back at the rough sketch of his face. For a moment, Noah froze, but he continued when Lars opened his eyes again and lay back on Noah’s pillow, forcing them open with his fingers. 

“Are you tired?” Noah asked. 

Lars nodded. “A bit,” he admitted. 

“You can nap; I’ll be here,” Noah mumbled, still drawing Lars’ eyes. 

“Gus and Karin might need me,” Lars said. 

“Rest is important too,” Noah said, distractedly, while Lars sighed and laid there, staring at the ceiling with his hands on his stomach. 

“Can you wake me up?” he asked. 

“I will,” Noah says, and Lars turns his head to meet his eyes for a moment. Noah looks at him and flashes him a smile. “Can’t promise I won’t fall asleep too, though,” he adds. Lars huffs and closes his eyes, not bothering to tilt his head up, and Noah grins to himself, continuing his sketch of Lars’ face.

At some point, he finishes, using the charcoal to color Lars. He doesn’t have any colored pencils; he never did splurge on art supplies back then. A paper and pencil are enough for him, and hell, even a pen is fine. 

Most of all—he falls asleep. The warm blanket and Lars’ sleeping face send him into a coma, waking up hours later to find the sky dark, with Lars holding his arm like he’s a pillow. His legs don’t hurt, which is new. There’s always an underlying pain, but the warm blanket makes it feel less like a heavy weight and more like a comforting presence in his body.

His arm hurts—he turns to see Lars holding his arm tightly, hugging him. Noah’s not really a mover in sleep, sometimes. He fell asleep leaning against the headboard, and he’s still there, now used as Lars’ body pillow. As he sits up, Lars’ hold loosens, and he rubs his eyes before turning towards the bedside to see his clock—

It’s already 8 PM. “Lars.” Noah turns to shake Lars’ shoulder, and Lars groans, pushing him away weakly. Noah glances at the clock again, hoping he’s making a mistake—but nope, it’s really 8 going on 9. Lars has been missing since 4; Noah shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but who can blame him? It’s warm. Who doesn’t take a… four-hour nap anyway? 

“Lars. It’s 8. You gotta wake up. You gotta—” Noah inches out of the bed, crawling over Lars and switching on the lamp. It’s dark aside from the faint light from the living room, flickering—he left it on earlier. Jesus. “Lars.” Noah shakes him by the knees, and Lars shoots up, almost sending them both tumbling off the bed. “Wah—what. What time is it?” Lars stutters, slurring his words as he rubs his eyes. “It’s 8 going on 9, Lars. You’re really late for home,” Noah says as he fully climbs off the bed. “Oh no,” Lars says. “Oh no.” Noah echoes.

And it’s a whirlwind after that. Lars hurriedly puts on his jacket and beanie, a sliver of blonde hair poking out of the hole as he grabs the plastic bear that somehow got left in the bed, shaking the marshmallow chocolates inside as Noah sees him off. Lars almost slips off the front porch, and Noah grabs his elbow. “Thanks,” Lars squeaks out, blinking furiously, his face red. “Careful… Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Noah asks, not letting go of Lars until he stands properly.

“No… too cold. Your legs okay?” Lars asks. “The blanket was good. Really good. Go home, Lars,” Noah smiles and nods. “Okay… Okay. Good night,” Lars says as he walks quickly down the porch. Noah grins, feeling a bit flushed and a little juvenile for sharing a bed with another person without the expectation of doing something like touching each other, but more so for the innocence of just sleeping in each other's presence.

He watches Lars run—then suddenly, Lars turns back and comes up to Noah’s lower stairs. “D-Do you want to have dinner at our house tomorrow?” Lars stutters, breathing heavily from all the running and movement he’s done. “Dinner?” Noah leans in surprise. “Yes… Do you want to?” Lars asks, almost whispering. “Okay. Sure,” Noah grins. “Really?” Lars asks. Noah nods. “Yeah,” he replies. Noah watches as a smile creeps up Lars’ face, and he can’t help but mirror it. “Okay.” Lars’ voice pitches up, and Noah grins. “Be careful on your way home, Lars,” he murmurs. “Okay… You too,” Lars stammers.

“I’m already home,” Noah snorts, but Lars just turns away and runs off as Noah hides a laugh behind his fist, watching Lars disappear into the night.

* * *

It was safe to say that both Karin and Gus were worried about Lars when he got home, but he couldn’t help but feel giddy all the way back, grinning and giggling as he held onto the wheel. He drove faster than he should have and smiled excitedly as he ran up the stairs to the front of the house, unlocking the door with his spare key. 

However, before he could step inside—he was pulled in, his shoulders were grabbed by Karin, and he was slammed against the wall. 

“Do you know how worried I was for you?” she said, her eyes wide and almost teary. Lars stared at her, half confused and half afraid. 

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded. Just then, he saw Gus run down the stairs, holding Olivia in his arms and clutching a telephone. 

“Lars? Jesus—god, we had everyone searching for you in town!” Gus exclaimed, but Karin hushed him loudly when Olivia stirred in his arms, and Gus mirrored her shushing motion, regret on his face.

“Where were you, Lars? Are you okay? You look cold,” Karin said, her concern evident as she rubbed her hands over Lars’ arms until he moved away and shook his head. 

“I’m okay,” he assured her. 

“But where were you? We called everyone around town, and no one saw you. Not even the church,” Gus said, surprised, since Lars never missed church on Sundays. 

“I fell asleep… Sorry…” Lars mumbled. 

“Asleep where? Did someone bring you somewhere?” Karin asked, gasping. 

“No, no one brought me anywhere,” Lars replied, confused. 

“Then where did you sleep?” Gus pressed on. 

“By the lake… With Noah. I just accidentally fell asleep… on his bed,” Lars mumbled, scratching the skin behind his ear as both Gus and Karin exchanged glances. 

“With Noah… the one we’ve been talking about?” Karin asked. 

“Calhoun?” Gus added. 

“Uh, yes and yes,” Lars confirmed. 

“No one sees him around. People can barely get him to talk. And you’re saying you’re that close to him that you fell asleep on his bed? Out of all places… his bed?” Gus asked incredulously, but Karin kicked him in the shin. 

“Noah’s real, very real,” Karin whispered to Gus. “People have seen him. I’ve spoken to him,” she added as Lars stood there, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Yeah… but that guy’s a legend at this point,” Gus muttered. “He doesn’t come out anymore; he’s the hardware shop’s urban legend.” He shrugged. 

“Gus. Come on. We’re not doing this again,” Karin sighed. 

“I asked him if he wants to have dinner with us tomorrow,” Lars suddenly blurted out, looking excited as he slapped his hands against his thighs. Gus’s brows practically shot up to the ceiling. 

“You did?” Karin asked, astonished. 

“You did?” Gus echoed, glancing at Karin again. 

“I did,” Lars said, excitement evident as he clasped his hands together while Karin let out a whistling breath. 

“I did,” Lars repeated, shifting on his toes excitedly as he looked at both of them as if he had won the lottery. 

“Okay… We’re going to—uh, yeah. We’re inviting him then,” Karin said, her enthusiasm fading slightly. 

“Oh no, not this again. Can I take a look at the garage?” Gus said, passing Olivia to Karin, who groaned. Lars looked confused—almost adorably—though it wasn’t easy to dismiss the fact that the other two were horrified and scared of finding another strange doll in the garage, especially one that had explicit details and was named after the new guy in town.

Spoiler: there wasn’t one. Lars stood by the door, confused, biting his lip as Gus looked around the garage, making sure he hadn’t missed any spots. The garage was clean, his bed was well made, and it was swept to perfection. Gus stood in the middle of the garage, hands on his hips, slowly starting to believe that maybe Lars had made friends with the new guy. What if they were even kissing? Gus didn't care if his brother kissed a man or a woman; what he cared about was whether they were real.

Actually, scratch that—Gus preferred if Noah were a sex doll and not the real thing. He didn’t know anything about the man, and all he had heard was that he looked like someone who could ruin women’s lives.

It was a pretty misandrist point of view, considering Gus was a man too, but he could hate men, okay? He’d worked his life as a garage mechanic and had seen many kinds of men.

“Okay… How about tomorrow? You bring him here early, and we—we’ll work around him. We don’t know much about Noah…” Gus proposed, and Lars’s eyes brightened at that. He nodded, and suddenly Gus felt like he had made a mistake but didn’t correct himself. 

“He bought me this,” Lars said, revealing what he had been holding, something Gus hadn’t noticed, wrapped in his jacket as if it were a child. Gus leaned over.

It was a plastic bear filled with marshmallows coated in chocolate. 

“It’s chocolate marshmallow… You like that,” Gus muttered. 

“Yeah… I didn’t know Noah knew—maybe he took a shot in the dark,” Lars murmured, a soft smile spreading across his face as he hugged the bear to his chest. 

“Don’t forget to eat it; don’t turn it into a… stuffed toy or something. It’s plastic,” Gus reminded him, and Lars nodded.

Gus sighed, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Meanwhile, he didn’t know what to believe. “Can he eat breakfast with us?” Lars asked. “Sure, Lars. Sure…” Gus sighed as Lars followed behind him. They went back inside the house, where they saw Karin setting the table. She looked at Gus, who shook his head in response. She sighed in relief. 

“Noah is coming tomorrow for breakfast,” Lars announced, and Karin’s brows shot up as she turned to Gus, who sat down, shrugging. “Okay, that would be nice. We can have him here the whole day; it must have been cold by the lake,” Karin said as she sat down, and Lars followed.

Lars nodded sadly. “His legs always hurt. I brought him to Dr. Berman,” he said. “You did?” Karin asked, surprised. Perhaps she could call her before bed…

“She told us to buy him a heated blanket, so Noah doesn’t have to depend on painkillers. That’s why I fell asleep; we tried it out. We both fell asleep. It’s a good blanket… I think I want one too,” Lars said as Karin nodded. “So… he’s got a really bad leg, huh? Do you want the wheelchair out?”

Karin asked. Gus looked over at her. “Noah doesn’t like the wheelchair; he has a cane, and he doesn’t even use it much. He’s really lazy,” Lars replied. “But people have seen him walk,” Gus said, mostly as a question.

“He’s really bad at taking care of himself; he just takes medicine so he can walk. He said it’s okay when it’s warm, but since it’s getting cold, he’s always in pain,” Lars said. “Oh, poor boy,” Karin said, nodding over at Gus. She looked like she believed Lars now.

“Okay… Okay. We’ll meet him tomorrow anyway,” Gus said, and Lars smiled eagerly. “I’ll leave early to pick him up,” Lars said as Karin nodded. “I’m sure he’ll like it here; we can warm the place extra for him and his legs. How about that?” she asked. Lars nodded at that. They all fell silent, already in a silent—half agreement. Karin and Gus glanced at each other every few minutes while Lars smiled and giggled to himself as he ate, stopping when Gus would give him a look or Karin would raise an eyebrow.

The next day, both of them were still asleep, but Lars was already awake. The back door was always open for him as he got in to prepare breakfast while the couple was still asleep. He checked on Olivia and left a spare plate beside his own before rushing out to his car to pick up Noah. “Another early day; I wonder what we’ll do today,” Noah says, half sarcastic as he leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

Noah met him by the door, hair ruffled and half-asleep, as Lars grinned at him, nervously shuffling his feet. “Gus said you can eat breakfast with us,” he said, his words almost a slur from how fast he said it. “He did?” Noah woke up a bit more at that as he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah… Do you—? Can you?” Lars asked, fidgeting with his hands, and Noah nodded. “Yeah, I can. Hold on; give me ten minutes to prepare. I need to heat up the water. Yesterday I rushed it, and it was cold. It hurts.” 

Noah let Lars inside, and Lars excitedly sat down on the couch as Noah moved around quickly. He went to the bathroom, and Lars could hear a faint hum from what he assumed was the heater Noah used to heat the water in his tank. 

“Why the change? I thought it was just dinner,” Noah asked as they finally settled inside Lars’ car. “Gus wants to meet you much earlier,” Lars said. “Uh oh.” Noah leaned back at the sudden realization. “I’m getting it. The talk.” He sighed and bumped his head against the window by the door, holding onto his seatbelt for dear life. “Talk?” Lars asked. “Don’t mind me,” Noah mumbled, already terrified and wishing there were traffic on the road. 

Lars bit his lip, looking worried as he saw Noah sighing again and again, deep in thought, leaning back and staring at the car ceiling. “Are you guys rich?” Noah suddenly asked, catching Lars off guard. 

“Sorry.” Noah clammed up. “Stupid question.” He placed a hand over his head, biting his fingers and looking nervous. “I don’t understand,” Lars said, confused. He stopped the car by the road, pulled the handbrake, and turned to Noah, who looked like he was about to be sick. “Are they going to hate me if they know I live in a shed with a half-built house and bum legs?” Noah asked, clutching his stomach as if he might vomit. 

“Don’t vomit in my car,” Lars said. “I’ll try not to, but I’m nervous. Can I–?” Noah pointed outside, and Lars nodded. Noah bolted out, took off his seatbelt, and left the car, breathing hard with his hands on his waist as he paced back and forth. Lars got out too, turning off the ignition, and watched Noah pace, hands on top of his head as if it would help him breathe easier. “Noah?” Lars asked after a few minutes.

Noah doesn’t respond; he keeps pacing—and Lars is getting worried that whatever happened with Allie will happen again. So he approaches Noah slowly. “Noah,” he says again. “I’m gonna vomit.” Noah says, and Lars stops approaching him. He’s not really good with vomiting; he doesn’t like the sound of it. 

But watching Noah heave and place his hands on his knees as he bends over, breathing hard, worries him. “Dr. Berman said to put your head between your legs if you can’t breathe. You should sit down,” Lars suggests as Noah nods and quickly sits down on the grass. Lars moves closer.

His hands hover for a moment before he decides against it, but he helps Noah place his head between his knees and holds it there for him as Noah breathes shakily. 

Lars counts the minutes, feeling how grueling this situation is—was this what Dr. Berman saw when it happened to him? “Sorry,” Noah raises his head. “I got a bit of fear meeting another person’s family—Allie… uh… her mother hated me.” Noah whispers slowly, with a small smile on his face as if he finds it funny. 

“Why?” Lars asks as he sits beside Noah. “Because I’m poor and Allie’s rich,” Noah shrugs. Lars frowns at that. “That’s stupid,” he says after a few beats. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Noah sighs. “Anyways, it’s fine now—I don’t care about her anymore. But it just made me nervous because I’m… meeting yours. And I don’t want them to hate me. I’m not rich… I have no money to my name.” Noah whispers, looking ashamed. 

“We’re not either; we don’t care about that,” Lars says, tilting his head in confusion. “Really?” Noah asks, worried. Lars nods, feeling confused as to why it should matter if someone is rich or not. They’re all the same anyways; they have flesh, blood, skin, and bones. Who cares about money? It’s just a social standing, isn’t it? But without social standing, you’re just you in your base form. A human, and nothing else.

Lars lets Noah breathe a bit more before helping him back inside the car. “Do you want to go back?” Lars asks as they sit in silence, listening to cars passing by. Noah lets out a shaky breath. “I want to go,” he says. “But you’re scared,” Lars adds. “I’m scared…” Noah nods, turning to look at Lars. “I’m scared, but I want to do it for you,” he says, and Lars’ brows shoot up at that. “So… let’s go.” Noah forces a shaky smile as Lars starts the car back up again.

“You can think about it more; I will wait,” Lars says. “If you let me think about it, I’ll get more scared,” Noah shakes his head. “I need a push,” he adds.

“You need a push,” Lars repeats as Noah nods. “But being pushed and forced is bad,” Lars says again, serious. “Sometimes, but right now, I need a push that gives me strength, so for God’s sake, move this car or I’m jumping out,” Noah says, grabbing the seatbelt. Lars’ eyes widen, and he puts the handbrake down and starts moving while Noah laughs at the panic in Lars’ eyes. At some point, Lars’ other hand travels over Noah’s, and now Noah is holding his hand, breathing normally again and looking calm.

The ride feels easier after that; Noah’s face isn’t so pale anymore, and he isn’t digging his nails into the cushion of the car. Lars would rather not get his interior fixed so early because Noah can’t stop ripping it apart.

“Is my hair alright? I should have shaved a bit of my beard. I just did last week, but my hair grows fast,” Noah babbles, nervously sweating as Lars offers his handkerchief to Noah, who just holds onto it instead of wiping his face. Lars ends up doing it himself as Noah stands there, still talking about how nervous he is, with a white-knuckle grip on his cane. “It’s okay,” Lars says as Noah and he stand by the porch, and Lars opens the door.

“Lars! —and Noah.” Karin peers out, the door opening as her eyes look happy when she meets Noah’s nervous ones. “H-Hi. Noah Calhoun. Nice to meet you.” Noah’s voice trembles a little as he offers his hand to Karin, who shakes it. “Karin Lindstrom. I’m also really glad to meet you, Noah; you’ve been the talk of the town for many weeks now,” she says as she lets them in. Lars follows behind as Noah nervously chuckles; then he stops when he sees Gus, who is holding Olivia in his arms. “That’s Gus, and that’s Olivia, their daughter,” Lars explains excitedly. Behind them, Karin is grinning excitedly, hands clasped; Gus copies her smile—somehow relieved it isn’t another sex doll or a 60-year-old discharged soldier who’s here to break his brother’s heart.

“Noah Calhoun, it’s so nice to meet you, Gus,” Noah says, offering his hand to Gus, who shakes it gently. “Gus Lindstrom. It’s good to see you. You and my brother have been pretty close, huh?” he asks, and Noah just gives him a nervous smile, shrugging as he rubs the back of his neck. “I—yeah, he’s a good man,” Noah stammers before Lars grabs him and pulls him to a room. “Noah hasn’t eaten breakfast yet,” Lars says. “Oh! Us too; we waited for you two,” Karin says as Gus places Olivia in a moving bassinet.

“Thanks,” Noah says when Lars pulls out the chair for him, and they both sit down, followed by Karin and Gus. “So, Noah, I’m glad that you’re here… really here,” Gus says, motioning at Noah, who gives him a nod at that, looking around as if confused. “I am here—and very real,” Noah adds. 

“You are.” Karin says as Lars places food on Noah’s plate while Noah is distracted. “Oh, that’s a lot, Lars,” Noah says, eyeing the almost moundful of scrambled eggs, three toasts, and four bacon strips. “You must be hungry,” Lars says as Noah lets out a chuckle, brows raised as he looks at Gus and Karin, who are both watching them with grins on their faces.

“Leave him be; he loves doing that for people he cares for,” Gus says, waving at him as Noah nods, feeling his face heat up as he grabs a fork and takes a bite of his scrambled eggs. It’s good—almost tear-worthy—because he tends to eat more canned beans than normal food at times. He’s lazy—incredibly lazy. 

He watches Lars hand the plates to Karin and Gus as they set their food on their plates. Strangely, Noah feels a little giddy; the pent-up fear and anxiety are gone, now just faint amusement and warmth in his chest as he watches Lars eat. He eats just as Noah expected him to: parting his food neatly on his plate, like how he did Noah’s. Each plate has its own sections of food.

“So…” Gus starts, both he and Karin noticing Noah staring at Lars a little longer than usual, and Noah’s head shoots up. Lars follows. “How did you two meet?” Karin asks. “Oh,” Noah says. “Lake.” Both of them say at the same time before snorting at each other. Karin and Gus glance at each other again, looking awfully happy. “I, uh, own the land around the lake now. It’s Lars’ hangout spot, so I just let him,” Noah shrugs. “Oh, that’s sweet,” Karin says, clasping her hands excitedly. Noah blushes. “It’s really not…” His voice turns weak before he starts shoving food into his mouth.

“Noah’s building his own house by himself,” Lars says as Gus nods. “So I’ve heard. Are you sure you don’t need any help building that?” he asks, and Noah shakes his head, swallowing. “I rebuilt an entire mansion by myself… I think I can do this.” Noah smiles, and Gus lets out an impressed breath. “Lars here lives in the garage back there,” Gus says. “Do you think we can pay you to build him a house?”

Everyone pauses at that, both Lars and Karin looking stunned as Noah continues to eat, nodding. “I’d build him a mansion if he wants. A garden and his own lake if he needs. No payment needed.” He nods, with no hesitation whatsoever, as Karin looks at Gus, appearing to want to gasp but stopping midway. Lars turns to Noah, who looks at him. 

“What?” Noah asks. Lars has a deer-in-headlights expression as he glances at Karin, who smiles. “That’s sweet, Noah,” she whispers, leaning on her elbow and nudging Gus. “Really sweet,” she adds as Lars clears his throat, looking red in the face while Noah glances at him. “Do you want that?” he asks, tilting his head.

It was almost too sweet that Gus might as well have puked rainbows and seen unicorns peering in the backyard, but it was the sweetest and purest thing Gus had ever heard from someone. Suddenly, he knows Lars is in good hands. “I like the garage,” Lars mumbles, embarrassed. “It might be too small,” Noah says. “Can I see it later? —If it’s fine with your brother, of course.” He looks at Gus. “It’s okay; you guys can do whatever you want here. The house is open for you, Noah,” Gus says, waving a hand and smiling.

Lars perks up at that, looking over to Noah to shake him lightly as Noah snorts.

Later, Karin and Gus are washing the dishes, watching Noah and Lars bent over Olivia’s bassinet, both smiling and cooing at her. “So he’s real,” Karin says. “I won’t say I told you so... but I told you so.” She grins as Gus groans, rolling his eyes. “So yes, he’s real, and he’s a fucking loverboy. Who knew? God—Lars seems to know how to choose his men better than his women.” Gus rolls his eyes as Karin kicks his leg. 

“Oh, come on, Gus. You know Lars isn’t like that. He loved Bianca because she was his bridge to speaking to us; he felt sad and lonely. Now he loves Noah because he’s already crossed the bridge and is finding his own path,” Karin says softly.

“Well, I’m happy Noah isn’t a sex doll. You know I won’t let a sex doll borrow my clothes,” Gus mutters as they both look again at the two, seeing Lars showing Noah his baby blue blanket and placing it around Noah’s neck. Noah looks confused but amused, while Lars excitedly taps his hands on his lap as Noah nods, touching the blanket lightly. “He cares for him. God—this is awful; it reminds me of us back then. I remember you telling me you would build a house for me, but you never did,” Karin says, a glint in her eye as Gus rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Do you really think he’ll build Lars a house?” he asks.

“Oh, I know; his eyes say so. That’s a man motivated by love Lars could probably ask him for two mansions, and he would do it.” Karin grins. “Oh, you don’t actually believe that,” Gus snorts loudly, and Karin just flicks water at his face. He lets out a choked noise, drowned out by Olivia babbling as Noah carries her, dancing around as Olivia laughs. Lars watches them, a small smile behind his fist, his eyes soft and adoring.

“Aw,” Karin whispers. “They would be good dads.”

“Mhm.” For once, Gus agrees with her.

* * *

The garage is small, or at least that’s what Noah thinks as Lars shows him around. The white walls, cabinets filled with various things, a single neat bed, shelves lined with books, a desk, and a bathroom—all of it makes it feel almost like a performance space rather than a place where Lars lives. “It’s nice here,” Noah says as Lars opens the radiator to heat up the garage. “It’s pretty large for a garage. I thought it was another house,” Noah mumbles. 

“So I don’t need a new one.” Lars says as he sits on the bed, and Noah follows, sitting inches away from him. 

“You still do. This is a nice place and all, but you need more than just a single room with an attached bathroom,” Noah says, already imagining how Lars' house could look like. “What about yours?” Lars asks. “I can do it later,” Noah replies. 

“But you won’t be able to rest properly and stay warm,” Lars frowns as Noah glances at his face and snorts. “Then I can just live with you,” he jokes, mostly. 

But Lars’ brow furrows a bit. “Okay,” he says. 

“Okay?” Noah asks, surprised. 

“You can live with me,” Lars reiterates, and Noah snorts into his fist. “That’s funny,” Noah says, watching Lars’ brows furrow. “What’s so funny?” Lars asks. “Nothing… You do know you’re asking me to live with you, right? That’s…” Noah trails off. Not how friends do things, he wants to say. They’re friends, right? Noah isn’t sure, especially since Lars has already brought him around to meet his therapist and now his family. Is that what friends do?

Lars has gone quiet, rubbing his hand on the sheet underneath them while Noah tries to think. “Lars, can I ask you a question? Answer me honestly,” he says, and Lars perks up at that, looking at him expectantly. “Okay,” he replies quickly. 

“Are we friends? Or are we more than friends—still friends but tethering to something else?” Noah asks, causing Lars to furrow his brows in confusion. “What is the something?” He tilts his head. 

“Uhm… I don’t know… Partners?” Noah cringes a little, not wanting to say ‘lovers’ because it feels worse. ‘Boyfriend’ feels even worse than partners or lovers.

“Oh… Hmm—I don’t know,” Lars responds, suddenly looking anxious. Noah motions for him to calm down. “Sorry, I went in too strong… Can I be honest then?” Noah asks, and Lars nods. “Can we go from friends to something more?” Noah asks, biting his tongue hard after asking that. He watches as Lars’ eyes widen, blinking furiously. 

“Like partners?” Lars asks. “Partners, yeah, lovers… whatever term you want to use,” Noah stutters, his leg rocking quickly until Lars stops it with his hand. He shifts away, but Noah swallows hard, grabbing Lars' arm. Lars freezes as Noah places his hand back on his knee. 

“Sorry,” Noah mumbles, but Lars shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing as if he wants to say something but can’t. “Can—Can I be honest too?” Lars asks, and Noah motions for him to continue. “I like that. I want to as well—but I don’t… I don’t really know how, with a man,” Lars fidgets, looking unsure and slightly embarrassed admitting that. Noah nods in understanding. 

“Me too. Me too—how about this? We both learn about it along the way, and by the end, if we know enough, we tell each other what we think. If you realize you don’t like it, then you tell me, and I’ll back off—” Noah explains. 

“But we can still be friends,” Lars interjects quickly. Noah looks into his eyes and smiles, slowly nodding. “We can still be friends, Lars. I would love that if it doesn’t work,” he says softly. 

“What about you? If you don’t like it, you’ll tell me, right?” Lars asks, and Noah can feel his thumb rubbing gently on his knee—it's warm, like the rest of Lars’ personality. “I would, you know I would… But friends or not, I like you, Lars. I like it here,” Noah smiles, grinning from ear to ear. Lars’ face flushes, and a small smile begins to creep onto his face as he pulls his hand away, burying his lips behind the back of his hand as if to stop himself from laughing. Noah can’t help but grin at his expression. “So?” he asks.

Lars nods quickly, excited.

“And even if we both say yes, we don’t have to rush. It just means we can hang out more than usual, you know?” Noah adds, and Lars’ eyes widen. “We don’t need to kiss or anything?” Lars asks. “Well…” Noah starts, “We can if you want to. I don’t mind if we don’t; I like it like this. You’re special, Lars. I don’t care if I get to kiss you or not. You being here is enough for me,” Noah shrugs. 

Lars’ eyes dart around Noah’s face at that, his face flushed as he lowers his hand into his lap, nervously fidgeting. “Uhm—I want to think about it. I want to try,” Lars mumbles, his pale ears turning red as Noah smiles. “Okay,” Noah says. 

“Okay,” Lars squeaks.

They both fall silent, just smiling at each other. “Do you… want to try holding my hand? If you’re comfortable enough?” Noah asks, offering his hand to Lars, who blinks and looks down at his own clasped hands, tightly holding them together. He gazes at Noah’s calloused hand while Noah nibbles his lower lip. 

Noah waits, watching as Lars shakes his head before making up his mind and nodding. Slowly, Lars reaches over, then stops and pulls back, frowning. “It’s okay,” Noah assures him, but Lars looks annoyed with himself. He clenches his hands into fists before poking a finger at Noah’s palm, then his wrist, before finally lowering his hand over Noah’s. It’s smaller than his own; Lars had held Noah’s hand before, but it had always been out of necessity when he was in the hospital, never because they both wanted it—well, Noah wanted it, and Lars did too. 

But now, there is no other reason but to touch each other.

“Okay?” Noah asks as Lars breathes out shakily, looking up at him and nodding, grinning from ear to ear. “Okay.” Lars then grips Noah’s hand tighter. Noah reciprocates, and Lars watches their hands. “So, house. Would you like it painted white or baby blue?” Noah asks, as Lars raises his head, perking up at the question and blinking at Noah in confusion. Noah just smiles, tilting his head and looking directly at Lars. “I can change my house design and turn it into something you want. A house for you… and a lake,” he says slowly. 

“Oh,” Lars chokes out, his mouth opening then closing.

“So?” Noah asks, and Lars nods. “Uhm—baby blue would be nice… but I also like yellow,” he admits slowly, his ears definitely flushed. 

“Yellow, huh? Like the sun?” Noah asks, but Lars only shakes his head.

“Your eyes,” Lars points out, and Noah raises his brows in surprise. 

“My eyes? They’re brown,” Noah says, palming his face, but Lars inches closer, causing Noah to freeze. 

“When the sun hits your eyes, they turn yellow and gold… I like that color,” Lars mumbles under his breath as Noah looks back into his eyes. 

“I like blue too,” Noah whispers, and Lars beams at that. 

“My eyes, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Noah says, breathless. 

“I thought I hated blue, but it turns out I was just looking at the wrong shade of blue,” Noah murmurs.

* * *

For the past few months, the house had been slowly getting built. Lars was mostly worried about Noah’s health, but it felt like a switch had been fully flipped. Lars watched as Noah took down a beam of his own house; a new and improved sketch of the house that Lars wanted had replaced Noah’s smaller designs. 

Every time Lars left for work, he would head straight to Noah’s place to see him already working. As much as Lars wanted to tell him to stop, he knew from experience that Noah wouldn’t listen. He was a man on a mission.

Months later, snow was drifting down, but Noah had already put the roof on, with no paint yet, so Lars could still see the wood. The fences were half-finished, and trees were still being cut down for a yard behind and a garden to the side, as well as a driveway—it was beautiful. It was larger than the house his father had owned. Not only was it larger, but it was built around Lars’ vision. There was a garden for flowers, just because he had mentioned wanting to try his hand at growing them. The house was three stories high, with a balcony on the top floor where Lars could overlook the lake, complete with two chairs that were still half-finished and a table. The inside of the house had numerous holes where the wiring was planned. 

“This is the kitchen,” Lars said, eyeing the area close to the backyard. Behind him, Noah was sketching something in his journal as Lars pointed out where he wanted things to be.

“Living room… Can I see upstairs?” Lars mumbled, half-excited to see the second floor. He had only seen it from the outside because Noah was worried he would get hurt if he went in since it was still half-finished. However, now that it had a roof, Lars decided to push the idea, and Noah eventually nodded and followed him. 

“I want a small library,” Lars said as he looked at the wide expanse of the second floor, which had no walls yet, and the insulation wasn’t even added because the surrounding walls were still open. 

“You can have a large library, too, if you want,” Noah said beside him, making Lars’ eyes light up as he nodded. “I want that,” he mumbled, and Noah grinned.

Lars let Noah show him around to the third floor, where the balcony had its own tarp to prevent the snow from piling in. Noah mentioned that he would add heaters to the floors so the snow wouldn’t build up inside and would melt instead. 

Overall, it was beautiful and well thought out by Noah. Lars never really doubted him, but a house this big felt like a ten-man project instead of just one person’s mission. Yet Noah made it all possible in the end. November was nearly over, and December was approaching. Lars wanted to take Noah around town to introduce him to everyone.

He knew well that Noah wouldn’t venture into town and make friends, given how focused he was on his project, and he had no desire to do so. Even when he accompanied Lars to town, it was mostly for errands—buying materials from the hardware store or groceries from the supermarket, just because Lars found out that Noah’s diet consisted largely of canned beans—no wonder his stomach always hurt. Noah’s lack of care for his own well-being never ceased to amaze Lars; the man was lazy for himself, but he was tireless when it came to helping others.

“Looks good?” Noah asked, his hair cut neatly, just touching the back of his neck, but now it was trimmed enough that he didn’t look rugged—though Lars thought he looked good either way. Noah had cleaned off his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the hair strands that had fallen there. Lars sat by the living room, watching Noah lean toward the mirror in the bathroom, examining his fringe and debating whether to cut it shorter before finally sighing and putting down the scissors, deciding that enough was enough; he had always hated cutting his hair.

“Nice. Looks really nice. It— it looks really good,” Lars mumbled as Noah exited the bathroom, wearing a baby blue and white checkered dress shirt. He slipped on Lars’ brown cardigan, rubbing his hands for warmth as he sat beside Lars with a grin. “I think I’ll take a week-long break from the house; I deserve it—also, it’s cold,” Noah sighed, rubbing his left knee, which was always more painful than the other.

Lars nodded, frowning. “Do you want a massage?” he asked, but Noah just waved him off. “Church. You said you’d go to church, right? Why are you still here?” Noah asked, shuffling on the couch and adjusting his socks before ultimately deciding to tuck them inside his leather boots. Lars shifted in his seat. 

“I want you to come,” he mumbled, and Noah’s brows raised. Well, he wasn’t very religious; he did pray to God when bullets were raining down around him, but that was about it—mostly just the extent of his religious practice.

He doesn’t go to church every week; he rarely goes— not until he remembers that religion exists, as Noah lets out a breath. “Okay,” he says. He knows well that Lars is religious, very much so, which is even a surprise for Noah considering Lars has allowed this relationship to happen. But Noah supposes he isn’t the kind of Christian who harbors hatred towards queer people. Lars grins, excited. “I want you to meet some of the people I know,” he says. 

“Alright… I’m good with people,” Noah shrugs. Eventually, they went on their merry way, heading straight to Lars’ house where Karin and Gus were apparently waiting for them—wow, Lars is really good at being spontaneous. “Hi Noah, I saw the house; it was beautiful,” Karin greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, and Noah chuckled embarrassedly. 

“Thank you. It’s how Lars wanted it; it’s still not done,” he says, feeling a little bashful as he looks over at the stroller that Karin is pushing outside. “Hi Oli,” Noah coos at the little girl, who giggles when he wiggles his pointer finger at her.

“You two ready?” Gus closed the door behind him, locking it, as Lars nodded, looking over at Noah, who stood up, nodding as well. Noah follows behind Lars, sitting in the back after they’ve gotten Olivia’s stroller from the trunk. Noah had brought his journal along, mostly wanting to plan out the rooms on another blank page—this time, Lars’ library. He was already planning what wood he would be using, a nice table for Lars to sit at and read, a large window where the sun can shine in during the morning, and rows of shelves where Lars can decide which category of books to put on each shelf. 

Suddenly, he finds himself sketching a room that he doesn’t know belongs to either of them, but somehow the room is large enough to fit both of them—a queen-sized bed with dozens of pillows. 

“So you’re a Christian too, Noah?”

He stops, the lead on his pencil snapping. He sees Lars already looking at his paper, intrigued, his eyes focused on him as Noah feels his face flush. He quickly closes his journal and looks at Lars, whose gaze averted when he realized Noah caught him looking. “Yeah—uh, my mother and father are both Christians,” Noah says, noticing Karin looking over from the rearview mirror, smiling at him. 

“Do you go to church frequently?” she asks. Noah shrugs. “Uhm—not much after my father died. I was very busy during that time and didn’t have time to go beyond what I was doing.” 

“Oh,” Karin lets out a breath, and Noah shrugs. “Pneumonia… Uh, my mother left when I was born,” he adds. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Noah,” Karin murmurs softly. Noah just shoots her a small smile, shrugging again. Lars knocks his knee against Noah’s, prompting Noah to glance at him while Lars keeps his attention outside the window, hands resting on his lap. Noah stifles a small smile. 

“We’re part of the church community; there are many good people there. It would be nice if you would join us,” Gus interjects. Noah lets out a small 'oh,' glancing at Lars, who snapped his head toward Gus, eyes wide, then back to Noah. 

“Hm. Maybe after I finish the house for Lars, I can try?” Noah asks. “Is Lars part of the community?” he adds. 

“I’m not,” Lars mumbles. 

“Oh, Lars isn’t,” Karin says as she turns his head to meet Noah’s eyes, forcing a small smile from him. 

“Oh,” Noah hums. 

“Not yet,” Lars clears his throat, and Karin raises her brows, grinning. “Really now?” she says, beaming at Lars, who looks away. Noah feels a small smile creep up. 

“That’s great; everyone’s been wanting Lars to join,” Gus remarks, and Noah lets out a small snort while Lars leans back in his seat, looking fairly embarrassed. 

“I was thinking about it,” Lars mutters. 

“Very long,” Karin adds. 

“It wasn’t long; I was just considering the idea—I’m joining when Noah joins,” Lars mutters, his head lowered as Noah chuckles softly. 

By the time they arrive at the church, the whole parking lot is full, and Lars’ face is red while Noah stands by the side, quietly sharpening his pencil. He watches Lars push Olivia’s stroller, talking to Karin in hushed voices, pouting and stomping his feet—it looks like he wants to be the one to push Olivia, but Karin doesn’t want him to. 

For a moment, Noah observes as he pockets his pencil back inside his coat and approaches. “Can I?” Noah asks Karin, who turns to him. 

“O—Oh,” Karin stammers as she moves back, allowing Noah to grab the handle of the stroller. Lars grabs the other handle, and Noah just moves his hand away as they both push it together. 

“It’s okay,” Noah tells Karin, who lets out a sigh of relief. “Sometimes Lars gets a bit clumsy—I was just worried,” she whispers. Noah nods. “I’ll handle it,” he murmurs back, and he helps Lars and Olivia up the stairs, where some people offer to help get Olivia’s stroller up the steps.

“There,” Noah says, locking the wheel of the stroller beside the pew and letting Karin sit down, followed by Gus and then Lars, before he takes a seat next to him. Lars breathes a little faster as he looks around, holding his gloved hands tight and fidgeting. 

Noah watches him silently before noticing more people filing in, greeting Gus, Karin, and Lars, then eyeing Noah, who just waves at them—he thinks he recognizes a few, but he isn’t sure. He’s pretty bad at remembering faces and names unless he sees them often.

It’s been a while since he’s attended a mass, so he’s basically forgotten when to stand, what to respond, and almost fell asleep during the Homily. He nearly got caught not before everyone was told to stand—which eventually led him to secretly draw in his journal, hiding it under his coat. Also…

“So, you know how to sing, huh?” Noah asks as they both push Olivia’s stroller toward the car. Beside him, he can almost see Lars process that question, freezing a little. “I sing… a little,” Lars mumbles. “That didn’t seem so little,” Noah smiles, and Lars’ lips turn into a pout as he looks down, refusing to meet Noah’s eyes. “Lars! Lars—oh.” They both stop to turn and see a bright blonde woman running up to them, grinning, before stopping—she’s wearing a soft white blouse and a brown coat. “Are you Noah?” She asks, eyeing Noah, who smiles at her. “Noah, yeah,” he offers his hand to her, and she shakes it. “Margo—I’m a… uh, co-worker of Lars,” she grins as Noah nods. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

Margo’s eyes flit to Lars’ averted ones, then back to Noah. Her eyes suddenly light up. “Wait, are you guys—” She points at Lars, then at Noah. “You—” she stutters, grinning. “You can call it that,” Lars clears his throat, and Noah snorts under his breath as Margo gasps, hiding it behind her hands, looking teary. 

“Oh my goodness—Lars, I’m so happy for you,” she whispers. “You guys are so cute,” she clasps her hands to her chest, just as Lars pulls Noah away, pushing Olivia’s stroller past Margo. “Lars! Bring Noah with you to Cindy’s party next week!” Margo calls. “Okay! I’ll come!” Noah says to her, but Lars just continues to tug him away, red in the face. “Can I come with?” Noah asks, grinning, as Lars grumbles under his breath.

Gus and Karin are by the car, talking to an old woman, and Karin is smiling. “Oh no,” Lars mumbles, annoyed, as Noah stops beside him. “Oh no what?” Noah asks, but Lars just sighs. “Mrs. Gruner,” he grumbles, looking down at his feet and shuffling uncertainly over the white snow, causing Noah’s brows to raise slowly. “Is she a bad person?” Noah asks. “Nu-uh. But… very scary,” Lars mumbles quietly, as Noah smiles. 

“It’s fine; let’s get Olivia inside. She’ll get cold,” Noah says as they approach the three. “Oh! Mrs. Gruner, we want to introduce you to Noah. He’s Lars… you know,” Karin smirks, as Noah offers his hand, but the old woman just pulls him close and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, I’m so happy to finally meet Lars’ partner,” Mrs. Gruner says, smiling at Noah as she pulls his shoulder to force him to look at her.

“Let me take a good look at you,” she says. “Oh? Okay.” Noah looks at Karin and Gus, who just give him a wincing smile, then at Lars, who looks filled with anxiety as he bends down to look at Mrs. Gruner. The old woman cups his cheeks and looks into his eyes, her eyes squinted as she basically assesses him. “Hm…” she murmurs, as Noah’s eyes flit between hers, feeling nervous and a little confused. Is he being checked to see how clear his sight is? 

“What are you doing?” Noah asks. “Just assessing if you’ll be good for our boy.” Mrs. Gruner’s serious face turns soft as she lets him go, and Noah can finally stand up. “Oh, Mrs. Gruner. Noah’s a good boy for Lars. He’s even building him his house!” Karin says excitedly, as Mrs. Gruner lets out a surprised ‘Oh’ at that, hands still on Noah’s arms, holding him in place. “Are you now? That’s very sweet; no one’s done that for Lars before,” she says.

“Karin,” Lars mumbles, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket. “Olivia’s getting cold,” Lars grumbles.

“Now, young man, you can’t just keep this handsome man all to yourself. He isn’t some dog; haven’t I told you this before?” Mrs. Gruner tutted—clicking her tongue, furrowing her brows as Lars lets out an annoyed choking sound, pouting. Karin laughs. “Well, Olivia might get sick in the cold; Lars is right,” Karin says. “Lars, help me get the stroller in, along with Olivia,” Gus tells Lars, who just lets out a small forced hum, eyeing Noah then Mrs. Gruner. “Lars,” Karin says, and Lars just sighs, turning to push the stroller toward Gus.

“So, Noah—I’m sure you know by now about Lars,” Mrs. Gruner starts, and Noah looks at her, then at Karin, who just smiles at him, holding onto her scarf, breathing softly. “He knows, Mrs. Gruner. He stayed because he really cares for Lars,” she says. “I do care for him. I know about the sex doll,” Noah replies, as Mrs. Gruner clears her throat, huffing a laugh. 

“You don’t find it strange, do you? Lars is a good boy; he cares very much about the people he loves,” Mrs. Gruner says, and Noah nods. “He does,” he answers.

“He’s a good boy, Noah. You can’t break his heart. He may act like he knows everything and can do anything, but he’s just as soft as a stuffed teddy bear,” Mrs. Gruner says slowly as Noah hums and nods. 

“I know,” he replies, and he’ll never hurt Lars—he won’t leave Lars unless Lars tells him to leave first.

“Did she say something?” Lars whispers when Noah slips inside the car, breathing softly as the warm air meets his skin. 

“Hmm?” he hums.

“Mrs. Gruner looked really serious. I’m worried. Did she scare you too?” Lars asks, his brows furrowed, nibbling on his lower lip. 

“It’s okay. Nothing’s wrong. But she is very scary, yeah,” Noah replies with a nod, smiling at Lars, who lets out a small, shaky breath. 

“Are you sure?” Lars asks again. 

Noah nods again, humming in response, and Lars leans back, exhaling softly and confirming with a nod of his own.

* * *

The paint arrived, a bright shade of baby blue on the outside and a pale, beautiful yellow on the inside. Lars came to help with the painting; they laughed and talked about the people in town. Even though Lars didn’t like gossiping, he somehow couldn’t stop introducing every person he knew to Noah as they painted the exterior, and Noah would laugh, giggle, and respond to him.

But there was a problem once they finished both the exterior and the interior, Lars suddenly found the shade of blue overwhelming, to the point that it gave him headaches whenever he looked at it.

This led him to telling Noah to change the whole thing, resulting in a shouting match about the color. It was already done, and both of them were tired—Noah's legs ached from the snow, while Lars was worn out from work, helping Karin around the house, and assisting Noah with his project.

Lars tried not to remember what had happened; there had been a lot of shouting from Noah and a lot of anger from Lars as he threw things on the floor. It was probably the first time Lars was able to express his frustration adequately. “What the hell are you doing?! Those were good paints!” Noah yelled, and loud noises always overwhelmed Lars, but somehow, Noah’s did not. 

In a fit of rage, Lars threw all the paint outside, spilling it on the snow As Noah ran out, furious and horrified. “Those were still usable! The color is fine! It’s the same shade of blue as your blanket!” Noah shouted, exasperated.

“I don’t like it! The blue is wrong; it hurts my eyes. I don’t want it!” Lars stomped his feet. “What more do you want?! More blue?” Noah shrieked, annoyed and rubbing his tired eyes, while Lars grunted in response.

“It’s not right! It’s not! I don’t like it! I don’t want the house if the color isn’t right,” Lars declared, gritting his teeth.

“Lars—the house is fine. The house looks nice, doesn’t it? You said the house looks good,” Noah said, his voice pleading as he let out an annoyed groan, which grated on Lars' nerves. He felt like Noah was treating him like a child, and he hated that.

Lars shook his head. “I don’t like the house; it looks bad. I’m not going to live in that house if it’s in the wrong shade. It looks awful.” He asserted again, causing Noah to pause, looking hurt with a hand over his mouth, brows raised. “Uhm…” Lars mumbled, suddenly feeling a cold sweat trickle down his back.

“So you don’t want the house? You don’t want it now?” Noah asked, lowering his hand. Lars turned away and walked off, his eyes burning and chest aching as he crossed his arms over his torso, feeling as if a stone had dropped in his stomach. Noah didn’t follow him, instead groaning and letting out an annoyed yell as he kicked an empty paint can.

After that fight, they didn’t speak to each other for a week—or at least for 3 or 4 days—until Lars returned to apologize. Karin, Gus, and even Dr. Berman had been urging him to make amends. He felt bad for undermining Noah’s hard work, only to find the house painted in the shade of blue Lars had originally wanted. He didn’t cry… well, perhaps he did because he felt guilty seeing Noah sitting on the porch, drinking a can of Coke, looking tired. 

Then Noah saw Lars and smiled softly. 

“You changed the color,” Lars said, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“You wanted it,” Noah replied.

Lars shifted nervously on his feet, feeling extremely guilty. “I was stupid,” he said.

“No, you weren’t. The last shade of blue felt too bright; it would have blinded us in the sunlight. You did well spotting it,” Noah reassured him.

“No—we fought… I told you the house sucks,” Lars sniffled, rubbing his nose. His blanket was wrapped around his neck, just as it had been since he stopped speaking to Noah for those three days and four nights.

“Well… is it a lie?” Noah asked, tilting his head. Lars walked up to him and sat beside him.

“I was lying; the house is beautiful,” Lars admitted, pouting.

“The color sucks,” Noah added.

Lars tapped his shoes on the snow, “The color is bad.” 

“I’m sorry,” he squeaked out.

“It’s okay, Lars,” Noah snorted, but Lars huffed, letting out a puff of breath and hugging his arms across his chest.

“No—no, it’s not okay… I hurt you,” Lars sniffed, refusing to look at Noah as he wiped his arm across his face. Noah sighed, “You did—and it’s normal. In relationships, you hurt each other, but you come back to fix it. It’s not always perfect; we’re supposed to fight about things.”

Lars wiped his eyes, grabbing the edge of his blanket and burying his face in it for a moment before leaning back to look at Noah. 

“Lars?” Noah murmured. “Okay?” he asked.

Lars nodded—then shook his head. “I don’t understand… we shouldn’t hurt each other,” he murmured, sniffing. 

“Oh Lars, if there aren’t fights, it means we don’t care for each other. It means we don’t see each other as equals. You tell me if I’m being stupid—which is almost all the time. And I tell you if you’re getting worried over nothing,” Noah said softly, as Lars swallowed, feeling the tightness in his chest disappear a little. Still, he felt a lot of pent-up anxiety from being away from Noah for so long. It’s not like he didn’t regret what he said right away; he did regret it the moment he said it because of Noah’s hurt eyes. But he’s never been very good at taking his words back, so he ran away after that, leaving Noah on his own.

“I get angry at stupid things, and you get angry at stupid things. We might also get angry at each other sometimes, but in the end, we’ll come back, we’ll say sorry. It’s normal to get hurt,” Noah said softly, leaning on his knees as he looked over at Lars with a soft, adoring gaze that made Lars want to bash his head against stone.

“I don’t like it,” Lars murmured.

“I don’t like it either, but I’d rather have you get angry at me than let me do whatever I want. It’s how relationships work… Do you still want me after knowing about this? Now that you know it isn’t just… smiles, giggles, happiness? It isn’t just those? It includes fighting too?” 

Lars crossed his arms over his chest, lowering his head. 

He wanted Noah—he wanted to be with Noah.

“I’m sorry,” Lars said. Noah smiled. “I’m sorry too; you were right—I’ve always had a bad eye for color and should’ve listened to you.” He shrugged. Lars raised his head to meet Noah’s eyes, a small frown on his lips, and then nodded resolutely. 

“You should have,” he muttered, shooting Noah a small glare.

Noah cracked a small smile—

Then Lars noticed a plastic bear filled with chocolate marshmallows. Noah caught his gaze and leaned back. “For you. I went to town to buy an ‘I’m sorry you were right’ gift.” Noah said with a snort as he handed it to Lars, who beamed as he took it from Noah, causing Noah to smile.

“Want to go inside? The paint job took two days; now I’m working on dividing the rooms. It’s been going well,” Noah said. Lars nodded, and they both stood up as Noah led Lars inside the house, showing him the uncolored new walls around the house. 

“About the room—I—well, I’m not sure if we should share one. I don’t know if you want to, so I made four rooms; two can be guest rooms, and we can use the other two as our separate rooms,” Noah explained, pulling out his journal and tapping his pencil over his bottom lip. 

Lars paused. “I want to,” he started. “Share a room, I mean.” He added, and Noah looked up, gaping.

“You want to share a room?” he asked.

Lars nodded.

“We’ll be sharing the same bed,” Noah warned. Lars nodded again.

“Same blanket?” Noah tried.

“I can bring my own,” Lars added, and Noah snorted, his nose crinkling in a manner that Lars couldn’t help but find adorable. There was something inside him that wanted to reach over and grab Noah’s face, to touch him all over. 

It was a strange feeling—he’d never thought he would want to willingly touch someone or be touched. The last time Dr. Berman asked him about it, he felt deep-seated disgust at the idea of being touched and had cold chills at the thought. 

Now… he met Noah—and Noah changed him. Well, not really. It was different with Noah. Other people weren’t Noah, and Noah wasn’t like other people. Lars was still the same; he hated being touched, hated being included in a crowd full of people, hated talking about nothing, and there were dozens more things he hated. He even thought that he couldn’t understand what he wanted and needed. But somehow Noah tried hard to understand him. And that made Lars like him—not just like—love. 

Lars wanted him; he needed Noah like he needed air, water, food… everything his body needed. Noah was part of that. 

Lars didn’t even know when that started—maybe it was the moment Noah made his presence known when Lars came here to this lake. 

There were so many things and words that Lars wanted to say, but he thought words weren’t enough to explain how much he wanted and needed Noah. Bianca was different. Lars had never felt such a bone-deep want and need for someone else before that it made him want to scratch his skin until it bled or pull on his teeth until they popped out and blood came out.

* * *

The day Noah announced that he finished the house was the day Lars didn’t even wait to get all his things situated in the house. His brother and Karin helped him move in, and Noah invited them to eat at their house. It was beautiful, really. Noah is very proud of his work—truly happy too. He’s also offered the guest room to Karin and Gus just in case they need a place to stay if they ever want to relax by the lake. He’s even fixed the docking area so the boat wouldn’t hit the soil and would be stationed safely.

Eventually, the shed turned into Noah’s workshop for his woodworking. The house was finished, but he needs a job, and that job consists of him selling furniture that he handmade: chairs, cabinets, and shelves. He even made Olivia a rocking crib so she doesn’t have to lay in a netted bassinet.

Noah sighs as he walks out the front door. The moon is high tonight, and he can hear Lars reading a book outside, muttering the words under his breath as he rocks on the large swing where they often sit at night to enjoy the fresh air. Lars would read to him while Noah sketched Lars’ face. “Hey,” Noah mumbles, moving the blanket around his shoulders so it doesn’t drag as he sits beside Lars. The chair rocks, and Lars turns, smiling at him.

“Hello,” Lars murmurs as Noah lets the other lean on him, moving the blanket so they can share it and throwing it over Lars’ shoulder. Lars hums and asks, “Good?” Noah whispers. “Mhm.” Lars nods, and Noah smiles softly. They both fall silent; Lars has already inserted a bookmark into the book he’s reading, closing it as they sit there, the chair swinging gently as a breeze passes by.

“I want this,” Lars whispers. Noah hums, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looks over at Lars. “You said we could both check if we want to continue this… I want this—I want this forever,” Lars murmurs, and Noah grins. “Well, me too. I’ve been wanting this for many months, actually. No, scratch that, the moment you rode the boat with me, I think I already wanted you.” Lars’ face turns a shade of maroon, looking embarrassed. “Gus said you’re a loverboy. I can’t help but agree,” Lars grumbles, and Noah laughs. “Is that really the only reason?”

“You built me a house too—this was supposed to be your house,” Lars mumbles. “Mhm… we’ll stay here, grow old together in this house,” Noah murmurs softly. “I’d like that,” Lars whispers. Noah lets out a breath at that.