— Chapter 24 —
The Alley Cat to a Stray Dog

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E L L I O T

"You play guitar?" I asked Noah several minutes later, nodding to the honey-colored acoustic guitar in the corner of his living room.

The clock on the wall read just past three in the morning, though it didn't look like either of us were tired out enough to pass out. My legs hurt, sure, but I was usually up until the early hours anyway.

Noah looked up from his cooking and followed my gaze to the guitar, a smile pulling on his rosy lips.

"Hah—no. I don't have a musical bone in my body. My brother left it here the last time he came to visit."

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah. Jasper," he told me. "Lives down in New York with the rest of my family. Smart kid."

I gestured to the guitar, and after a few moments, asked nervously, "Would he mind if I...?"

Noah shrugged, tasting the sauce before answering me. "Nope. Knock yourself out."

I gave him a small nod and headed over to the guitar. Fuckass let out a soft mewl from its spot on the sofa as I passed, curled comfortably into a black ball of fur in the living space.

The guitar was cold to the touch. It had been a long while since I'd last played—but I still had marks on my fingers from all the years of practice in high school.

Sitting on the ledge of the kitchen floor, I adjusted my arm over the guitar and watched as Fuckass came over to sniff me out of curiosity. The guitar was an old Yamaha, its wooden construction a pale yellow with six cords running straight along its neck.

It was somewhat difficult to get a comfortable grip to play the strings, considering the bandages and my sore skin.

I began with a few cords, though immediately winced at the scratchy sound that filled the air. I didn't need my perfect pitch to know that it was out of tune—even Fuckass cringed away at the sound of it.

"You play?" Noah asked as I started to fiddle with the tuner keys, strumming the strings individually as I adjusted the sound.

"I used to. I'm out of practice," I admitted.

It was a little bit before I managed to get it sounding decent, playing basic cords a few times to get used to the feeling.

Eventually, I found the tune that I wanted to play, drowning out the noise of Noah fiddling with plates in the kitchen behind me.

It was a bittersweet melody, one that I hadn't played in a few good years. I was surprised that I still had the muscle memory for it—though it took a bit to kick in. It felt nice.

It was my song—a song I'd written back when I'd turned eighteen. It was the last song I'd ever composed. The song I'd never finished.

It was intricate, melancholic... it encapsulated all the emotions I felt after being abandoned and isolated. My mom, my dad, James...

I was always the one who'd been left behind.

Noah, who'd been listening quietly off to the side while I'd been playing, voiced, "Hey, you're pretty good with that thing."

My fingers detached from the instrument, and the music quickly died out with the last vibrations of the cords. But the feelings that had been stirred in me remained. I bit my bottom lip and ran my fingers through the back of my hair as a quiet sigh left my lips.

"Thanks."

Fuckass stretched out from the ball it had curled into beside me and nuzzled its nose to the side of my leg. Cats were my favorite—I had an old Russian Blue named Smokey back when I was a preschooler.

A few scratches behind the ear and Fuckass surrendered completely, rolling over onto its back and surprisingly letting me rub its stomach. The rumble of its affectionate purrs filled the air.

"Um... Fuckass is a girl," I pointed out to Noah, gesturing to the swollen teats running down the alley cat's belly.

Noah dropped his spoon.

"No way."

I chuckled, watching as the feline chirped in response.

"Traitor," Noah commented, passing a glare to Fuckass who was still purring away beneath my fingers. "Fine, then. Fuckass is a unisex name anyway."

Fuckass meowed back.

"Jeez."

I moved the guitar away and admired the softness of its dark fur. "Black cats are supposed to bring bad luck, you know."

Noah shrugged and pursed his lips. "I'm not superstitious. You believe in that stuff?"

"Not really."

But I might need all the luck I can get.

I got to my feet and put the guitar back in its original place, taking the time to wash my hands of the cat hair as Noah plated up the hot food for the both of us.

"Dinner's ready, Alley Cat."

Alley Cat?

Heat warmed my face as I cringed. "You're not calling me that."

"We'll see."

Nodding his head to the kitchen stool, he said, "Sit."

Sliding a plate of warm spaghetti to rest before me, I couldn't help but notice my mouth watering at the sight of it. Noah passed me a fork.

It looked absolutely incredible—the smell on its own could've brought a tear to my eye.

Digging my fork into it and twirling the pasta, Noah took his first mouthful and passed me a glance as I followed suit.

I wasn't at all prepared for the sensational explosion of flavors on my tongue.

Oh... my god...

Noah must've noticed the blissful expression that had grown on my face. "How is it?"

Of all the talents Noah could possibly have—I never realized cooking would be one of them. Maybe I just didn't have high standards, but Noah's spaghetti might've been the best damn pasta I'd ever had in my twenty-three years of living.

The smell coming from the plate before me was intoxicating. He hadn't been stingy with the cheese, either. God bless his soul.

It was probably the first warm food I'd had in weeks.

Swallowing eventually, I only managed to get out two words.

"Holy shit."

Noah laughed. "That's a good sign, right?"

"It's so good," I mumbled behind my hand after another mouthful. "I haven't had something homemade in... too long."

"I'm glad you like it," he said warmly. Nodding to my plate, he asked, "You want more cheese or something?"

I couldn't help the big smile that grew on my cheeks. I fucking love cheese.

"You bet your a—" I said. "Um, I mean, please."

Noah chuckled and complied with my request. With a small mountain of parmesan on my pasta and a cat purring away at my feet below the counter, the two of us ate with a comfortable silence in the cold air. I hadn't even noticed that Noah's gaze hadn't lifted off my figure until a minute or so had passed.

He'd tried to hide it, but it was obvious he was staring at me. There was a shimmer in his toffee-colored eyes.

I chuckled nervously, "...What?"

"Nothing," he answered. Briefly flicking his focus to his food, he admitted, "That's just the first time I've seen you genuinely smile."

Smile...?

I bit the edge of my lip as embarrassment made my cheeks grow warm. A charming grin pulled at Noah's boxy lips as he spoke again.

"You have a pretty smile."

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Pretty.

My cheeks had begun to ache from the smile I'd been forcing on my cheeks the following morning.

It's not that pretty.

Noah was delusional. There was nothing that anyone could have possibly found 'pretty' in the bruises on my face and the dryness of my lips.

Cringing slightly as I shied away from my own reflection, the compliment that Noah had given me the night prior remained at the forefront of my mind. Nothing about me suited his words—not the messiness of my hair or its unkempt roots, the boring color of my eyes, and definitely not the smile he'd seen last night.

Nobody had ever complimented my smile before. And with that fact alone, I didn't think I could believe in his words.

Noah and I had eventually passed out in our own rooms sometime in the early morning.

The next few days passed in a blur.

I'd pulled an all-nighter purely out of how stressed I was. Moving out of home put more pressure on me than I'd originally realized it would, especially considering the extra hours I'd put in at Joe's to cover all the money I'd spent buying the necessities that my father had neglected to include in the duffle bags he'd so lazily packed.

I hadn't stepped a foot anywhere near that house since the night I'd left.

I hadn't seen my father, either. I knew keeping that kind of distance between us wasn't going to be sustainable in the long run, but just for now, I wanted to stay as far away from any conflict with him as possible.

Noah had given me a key to the front door after signing the agreement that made my move into his place official. The simple act of replacing my old house keys with it felt strange.

Adjusting to the new place was another thing altogether.

I could still remember the all-nighter I'd pulled with all the tossing and turning in the new bed. My new bed, which still felt strange to think about. I felt hopeless, because laying on it felt like floating on a cloud—but I couldn't get my mind to rest.

Even growing used to the little things was a challenge. I still hadn't gotten the new routines down. Trivial stuff, like turning right instead of left to the bathroom in the mornings, the settings for hot water in the shower, the placement of the cutlery in the kitchen, and working the damn flatscreen TV without throwing the remote at the wall out of sheer frustration.

The bus trip to get to Joe's had gotten longer, too, considering the two buses I had to catch to get to work now. I had to get to my stops on time or face showing up an hour late, which I'd ended up learning the hard way.

Noah always did his best to help me with the changes where he could, but there were limits to that, just as there were limits to how quickly I could adapt to it all.

Some days we'd miss out on seeing each other entirely, as I'd occasionally leave for Joe's at the same time that he was finishing up work at the auto garage.

Whenever he cooked while I was out, though, he'd always leave me a plate of it on the kitchen counter for me to find when I got home in the early mornings. And the fact that he cooked like a professional chef was just the added bonus.

It was a gesture I hadn't asked for, but it always managed to lift my spirits.

Living in the same house as Noah was also a great way of unintentionally learning more about him. Like the fact that he and Chains would often get stoned with their other biker friends, that he'd go to the gym most mornings, and that we had a shared liking for old rock classics.

Perhaps the most interesting was his poor sleeping habits—he never passed out before midnight and was always out of bed by five in the morning, unless he was really exhausted, in which case that number would stretch to seven. But it explained the shadows beneath his eyes, and why he always looked out of it. I wouldn't say anything out loud to him, but sometimes I'd worry because of it.

Fuckass had grown a bit attached to me over the last few days. She would always meow for my attention, and even slept at the foot of my bed on some nights. Waking up with her weight on my face wasn't great, though.

Riven and I had been texting lately, too. It was nice to hear about all the things he'd been doing over the years. Funnily enough, when I was with him, we talked like the five years we hadn't seen each other was no time at all. It wasn't awkward, and that was definitely a good feeling.

Stepping out of my bedroom on the Saturday afternoon of that week, I came to rest my gaze on Noah's figure leaning against the counter. He looked up from his phone when he saw me.

"You going to Joe's?" He asked when he saw me, fiddling with the thin chain hanging off his neck.

Alright, I thought as my gaze trailed down his figure. What the fuck.

Every part of his clothing hugged his body like devotees at the temple of a Greek god. His ripped jeans perfectly outlined the lean muscle of his thighs. The studded leather jacket he'd chosen to layer over a distressed band shirt only served as an attractive reminder of just how broad his shoulders were. And the fact that he had the good looks to match his fashion sense just felt like a slap to the face.

"You're coming with me?" I said, tilting my head slightly. "You don't go on Saturdays."

He shrugged. "I'm being spontaneous. Figured we'd go together."

"On your motorcycle?"

"No. We can take the truck," he said with a smile. "I know you don't like motorcycles."

"It's not that I don't like them," I answered. "It's the idea of riding one that freaks me out."

"Right."

I continued, "You don't have to go to the trouble of taking your truck because of me. Being a biker is your whole... thing, anyway, I guess. And I doubt people seeing us together would be good for your street cred."

He smirked at the thought. "Oh? And why's that?"

I furrowed my brows and paused.

"Um... I'm... openly gay?"

"So what?"

I frowned, trying to find the words. "So—?"

"Look, the world has bigger problems than who someone like me associates with," Noah pointed out with a shrug, stretching out his arms with a grin. "But if you think it's bad for my street cred... fucking great. The more assholes I can piss off, the better."

For whatever reason, his words surprised me.

"...Are you sure?"

Noah chuckled and headed over to me. "Absolutely sure. Don't worry your pretty head about it—if anyone has a problem, they can come and deal with me personally."

"I don't want to cause you trouble."

"Trouble? Please, you worry too much," he said. "Now let's go, Alley Cat, or we're going to be late."

I couldn't help the smile that pulled on my lips as I watched him head to the front door.

"I'm coming, Noah."

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