5' 8"-5' 9"
Noah always experienced a mix of anxiety and anticipation the day before the trip to his grandmother. Love interspersed with fear. On the one hand, he really wanted to see her, chit-chat about stuff, hold her hand, and, if he got lucky, hear her laugh. On the other hand, what if she got worse? Or, once she'd see Noah and not recognize him, she'd freak out and kick him out of her room? That had happened before—not even once. What if his grandma mistook him for another person and started to ask him about things he had never heard of? Though she'd usually take Morgan for a nice stranger who wouldn't mind listening about her wonderful daughter and a grandchild. That option always seemed to Noah to be the least painful one, even though it wasn't less depressing.
It just happened that grandma's health began to sink just when Noah entered his puberty stage, which made him grow up for at least 4 inches and lose weight rapidly, all in just several months. At school, people called Noah 'fat pig', but then, surprisingly, he became 'thin rail'. Morgan liked neither of those nicknames. But what he liked even less was that all the changes in his appearance confused his grandmother's struggling brain, so she stopped recognizing her favorite grandchild in Noah. It feels odd and eerie when one of the closest people in the entire world doesn't see the same in you anymore.
This time, Noah was worried even more than usual. Not because of his granny, no. Because of Ethan. What was Morgan even thinking when he agreed to take Ethan with him? If you like a guy (which Noah had to admit he had a big crush on Ethan), it's quite weird to take him to a retirement home on the first date.
It wasn't a date, of course. To begin with, Noah had no idea about Ethan's preferences. Even though, after Thomson's question, 'Do I look like a person who can't do a blowjob?' it was possible that he was, at least, a bi. However… Noah had the impression that Ethan's position in a question was not because of his preferences but because of his aching pride. Something like, 'If others can, why can't I?' If these moments remain unnoticed, then Noah doubted that Ethan could be into anyone. Regardless of gender, Morgan didn't have enough imagination to picture a person suitable for Thomson. Ethan just seemed to be a complicated and closed person. Like he had his own agenda. Let's take the evening in 'I want you deadly' into account. The majority of the time, Ethan looked absent. Like his mind was on the other side of the planet, or even the universe. The concert didn't raise any interest. Probably, the small talk with Noah was also boring. It looked like the only thing that could make Ethan present was conflicts. No matter which and with whom he could blend into fights, negative confrontations, and wrangles so easily, as if it was his cup of tea. The only comfortable position. On the contrary, peace and calm could cause apathy in Ethan.
Noah was thinking about Thomson until late at night; that's why he managed to catch only a couple of hours of sleep before his alarm made him jump out of bed. Morgan always set up not one but ten alarms that were going off one after the other with a five-minute break. He could never wake up earlier than the 8th alarm. Only today did Noah jump out of bed with the first signal. Too many thoughts were swirling in his head to let him lay in bed peacefully. After taking a shower, Morgan spent almost an hour fixing his hair, which didn't show any difference at the end. When he searched through almost all of his wardrobe and tried on at least half of his clothes, Noah chose a pair of dark-blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a short kimono shirt. There was a red sea dragon on the back of the shirt. Noah's usual looks didn't change after all. No matter how Noah tried to look better, he looked in the mirror and understood that Ethan would see him to be the regular Noah Morgan, not the wow-so-handsome-Noah-Morgan that I would-definitely-hook-up-with-him.
Maybe it was for the best? Noah didn't know how Ethan would react if he noticed that Morgan liked him. What if Thomson got disgusted? Or embarrassed? Or what if he decided that Noah's feelings were a problem that he wouldn't want to solve?
Still, Morgan wanted to add something new to his appearance, so he put on some round glasses with transition lenses that could change the color from blue to green, depending on the edge of the light. Noah looked in the mirror critically and decided that he looked nice. After the second look, he decided that he looked more like a clown. The third observation made him think that he looked ugly in any clothes, so what was the point? And this stupid acne that never bothered Noah before suddenly looked disgusting. What if Morgan had no chance that Ethan would like him because he had acne?
Ethan Thomson: 'I'm outside.'
After this short message, Noah flinched and threw his phone away on the bed for some reason. His heartbeat ran up.
'Stop panicking! Everything's gonna be great!' Morgan thought, giving Peanut a good-bye kiss on his head, taking grumpy Fluffy in his arms, and hugging him firmly. Noah forgot that it wasn't a good idea to hug Fluffy on your way out. Especially if you had white clothes on. The next five minutes Morgan spent cleaning the shirt from the cat's black hair with a sticky roller and panicking that he was late.
Noah had smoked several cigarettes already, so his nicotine cravings wouldn't be so bad while he was with Ethan. However, as soon as he got into the car, his hand immediately laid on the pack in his front pocket.
"Good morning," Thomson said with such an unclear intonation that it was possible to congratulate newlyweds with it and say a funeral speech at the same time.
"Oh," Noah suddenly realized that he was lost in his thoughts and forgot to greet Ethan. "Yeah, good morning!" he answered emotionally.
"You're worrying."
"What? Of course not! Why would I worry? I'm not worrying. Not at all," Noah rattled, taking his glasses off and then putting them back on.
"That wasn't a question," Ethan said, and maybe he smiled. Noah sighed soundly, hoping that Thomson wouldn't guess what the reason for his behavior was, even though Morgan couldn't let go of the thought that Ethan could see beyond his skin and bones. What if he really did? Did it mean that he knew about Noah's affection? Didn't it scare him off?
Morgan had already sent the address of Mercy McMahon Retirement home to Thomson earlier. Now the destination point was a red dot blinking on the navigator's screen. Considering the information below, it shouldn't have taken more than forty minutes to get there. Forty minutes with Ethan in the same car? Sober? It was quite a challenge.
Thomson drove out on the road, certainly not experiencing the same emotions as Noah. Ethan, of course, didn't give the impression of a person living in peace. There was probably a full-time war in his soul, with nuclear weapons and endless bombing of everything around him. But these battles had nothing to do with Morgan or the world around him. Unlike Noah, whose anxiety was definitely because of Ethan.
It was getting more and more difficult to sit in silence, but Noah, who usually could start some chit-chatting easily, suddenly couldn't find any topic for the conversation. Just when he was about to open his mouth, the words would get stuck and scratch his throat. Morgan was worried he could say some stupid thing again, just as he did the day before. Who knew, what if Ethan wasn't in such a good mood today and it wouldn't be enough to make it up for him in the near (or not) future? Instead, he could actually drop him off in the middle of nowhere and drive away, leaving Morgan in a state of guilt and unbearable regret.
'Damn, he could've played some music or something,' Noah thought helplessly, and only after that did he notice that the car speakers had been working all that time. There was some other quiet sound coming from them, not music. It was the sound of the rain. Weird choice.
"Is it calming you down?" Noah was trying to catch an opportunity to talk.
"What?"
"Rain."
"No."
"I know that such sounds are used in meditations. It can improve people's sleep."
"I don't have any pleasant associations with rain," Ethan parried, and Noah bit his tongue. What was his problem? Ethan gave the impression of a minefield. Should he ask or not? Ask, or not to ask? Should he? Or maybe he shouldn't?
"Then why did you turn it on?" No, Noah wasn't interested in that. He wanted to learn more about the associations.
"I'm trying to get used to it. It'll be quite funny if I freeze in the middle of the street because of the light rain," Ethan answered super casually. Noah would love to dig into it, but Thomson definitely wouldn't enjoy it. But, after all, Morgan wouldn't be able to change the conversation quickly enough because there was nothing to switch to.
"Do you visit your grandmother often?" Ethan helped Noah out in his desperate search for the new topic of the conversation.
"Every weekend."
"Are you that close?"
"Yes, we are," Noah nodded, smiling.
"Why do you go there alone?"
"What do you mean?" Morgan didn't catch the question.
"Why not with your parents?" Ethan clarified.
"Oh, that," Noah said, embarrassed because he didn't think about his relatives, "They live in New York. They moved a year ago."
"Why didn't you move with them?" the question followed.
"Because my grandmother lives here," Noah said sullenly, "The doctors said that she's too weak for big changes. Actually, parents didn't really want to take her with them either. What's the most important thing about the retirement home, after all? Paying. You don't have to show up there too often."
"But you do."
"Of course! That's my grandmother! How can I leave her?"
Noah put too much grief in these words, so, to lower the pressure, he yawned histrionically. Like, look, Ethan, the topic wasn't that painful at all.
"Didn't get enough sleep?"
"I wish."
"Couldn't fall asleep, or something?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
'Because of you!'
"I don't even know. Probably, I was way too impressed by the gig," Noah lied.
"Like there was something to be impressed by," Thomson smirked.
"They weren't that bad," Noah frowned. Yes, Andrea's band didn't play perfectly, but they were, at least, trying!
"That's right, but they aren't that good, either," Ethan noticed, driving off the road and turning to the parking lot near the cafe.
"Where are you going?" Noah perked up, when Thomson stopped the car and opened the door.
"I'll be right back. You'll barely have time to miss me," he didn't give a lot of information for an answer, which made Noah embarrassed and wish to sink into the ground. Ten minutes later, Morgan got a big latte. He took a sip and felt a rich chocolate taste.
"So tasty, thank you," he expressed his gratitude, "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing," Ethan tossed out.
"No, that's not gonna work. Let me pay you back," Noah mumbled while searching in his pockets. There should've been a twenty.
"I said 'nothing'. Do I need to say it twice?" Ethan said it so calmly, but it gave Morgan chills.
"I… I just don't like to feast at someone else's expense," Noah frowned.
"Latte—it's not a feast. You didn't ask me for it. This purchase is my own initiative. It's my gift, if you wish. You don't like it? Then throw it out of the window," Ethan said through his teeth sharply.
"I like it," Noah stuttered, "Then next time coffee's on me," he almost whispered, feeling invisible pressure.
"As you wish."
Yes, definitely a minefield.
"How did you guess that I like chocolate?" Morgan asked with a fake surprise, trying to escape the awkwardness.
"Almost everybody likes it," Ethan said, toying with his cup. His tone immediately became normal. Most likely, Ethan's mood was as changeable as the sea. A second ago, there was still air, and then suddenly a storm advisory and waves that were at least six feet high.
"Did you also get yourself the one with chocolate in it?"
"No. I don't like sweets."
"Hm… A regular then?"
"No," Ethan said, shaking his head again. Noah was confused.
"Then which one did you get?"
Thomson looked heavily at him, as he was thinking about whether he should tell Morgan such valuable information.
"With salt," he answered after a long pause. Noah froze, unintentionally staring at Ethan like he was crazy.
"With salt? Like, the salty salt?" he said, the first thought that came to his mind.
"Exactly," Ethan confirmed, "I usually order a double Americano and add a pinch of salt to it."
"And... is it good?"
"Would you like to try?" Ethan handed his cup to Noah, "I haven't drunk out of it yet."
"Oh, who cares?" Morgan shrugged, taking the cup and trying to smell it for some reason.
"Some do care," there was a silent Thomson's comment.
Noah looked at the cup skeptically for a couple of seconds and then took one cautious sip.
"How is it?" Ethan asked, carefully monitoring Morgan's reaction.
"Strange. Not bad, but unusual," Noah shared his thoughts.
"Salt neutralizes the bitterness of coffee. It does it better than even sugar. It also intensifies the taste and aroma. The most important thing is not to overdo it," Thomson explained.
"That's great. How did you find out about it?"
"From my father. He traveled the world back in the day. Some cultures drink coffee like that. When I tried it for the first time, this combination also seemed weird to me. However, no, I add some salt to my coffee when I have a chance."
"You have such an unusual taste," Noah smiled.
"Did you notice just now? And how about your 'Devil's Eye'?" Ethan smirked.
'It stopped working the second after you came up to me and started talking,' Noah thought helplessly.
"I'm not invincible," Morgan frowned, "and I don't think that salted coffee can be considered an 'imperfection'."
"Who knows…" There was a smile in Ethan's voice, "If I have a peculiar taste in beverages, then the question arises—what my other tastes can be peculiar, right?" he said slowly. Noah was aware that Thomson could mean anything, from the taste of clothes to the taste of cinema. Maybe Ethan loved old Indian movies about love with songs and dances. Or maybe he loved dipping French fries in ice cream. Or maybe he was crazy about taxidermied animals. There were tons of variants. Though the first thing Noah had thought about was sex.
Of course, it was about sex.
What else would he think about besides sex, God damn it!
Noah was confused and quickly turned his head to the window, feeling his face turn red. The only thing left was to hope that Ethan wouldn't notice and ask, why the hell did Morgan suddenly become so embarrassed, because Noah wouldn't be able to give a proper answer. Actually, he could, but he wouldn't. Ethan would definitely call him a pervert if he found out about the fantasies in Noah's poor head.
The rest of the ride Morgan was examining the view attentively. He was too embarrassed to look at Ethan.
"You don't have to come with me," he said quietly when the retirement home's wrought gate appeared in the distance.
"You make me sick," he suddenly heard the annoyed voice as an answer.
"I'm sorry?" Noah asked.
"I'm saying that you make me sick. We talked about it yesterday. Did something change over the night?"
"No."
"Then I'll take the Fifth."
"Huh? What?"
"According to the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, 'No person shall be subject, except in cases of impeachment, to more than one punishment or trial for the same offense –
"I still don't get it," Noah was almost whispering.
"You can't be judged for committing the same crime twice," Ethan explained patiently, "In our situation, you can't talk me into staying in the car twice."
… A thought suddenly hit Noah. Every time Thomson was turning lawyer mode on, it was really getting him going. Probably Morgan should've given his body more attention in the shower this morning so that it wouldn't bother him that much right now!
"I'm just worrying that you won't like it there," he mumbled, trying to push the nasty thoughts away.
"I'm not even sure I'll like it," Ethan parried while parking the car.
"Then… Why are you going with me?" Noah finally brought himself to speak about it. That question was hunting him for almost half of last night.
"Isn't it obvious? I want to get to know you better," Ethan stated, getting out of the car. Noah rushed after him.
"Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'?"
"Why do you need to get to know me better?"
Ethan frowned.
"Do you mind?"
"What? No, I don't mind."
"Then let's go."
"You didn't answer the question!"
"Yes," Ethan nodded.
"What do you mean 'yes'?" Noah made a helpless gesture.
"Yes, I didn't answer your question," Thomson said, going to the main entrance of the retirement home.
God. Damn. Minefield.
Mercy McMahon's employees knew Noah well, so when guys were heading to the building, Morgan said hi to a couple of nurses.
"Good morning, Mr. Morgan!" Miss Ellie greeted Noah. She was a joyful, chubby lady who worked as the receptionist. "You never miss Saturdays. For a young man of your age, you're dead on time! Oh, and who's that little one? Is he your younger brother?"
Noah could swear his heart skipped a beat at this phrase. He slowly glanced at 'the little one', sure that Thomson was holding a pen-knife in his pocket.
"I'm twenty-two. And I'm not his relative," Ethan didn't say anything extraordinary, but his words sounded like a curse. Miss Ellie got confused, and Noah was about to go meet his maker.
"He's my friend," he mumbled quickly, "Excuse me, how was grandma doing this week?" he changed the topic.
"No incidents," the woman notified, "However, she refuses to eat more often. We're doing our best. Sometimes it can lead to scandals. But don't you worry. She's moody every fall; besides, scandals are a good sign! That means she's full of life and energy!" Miss Ellie assured, noticing that Noah had darkened.
"Where's my grandmother now?"
"As usual," the woman smiled.
"Thank you; I should go then."
"Sure. And… I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to offend you!" Miss Ellie addressed Ethan again.
"Would you feel better if I called you a slut and then apologized?"
The woman became pale. So did Morgan.
"Jesus, Ethan!" Noah got angry, grabbed his hoodie, and basically forced him out of the building.
"What the hell are you doing?" Thomson hissed, freeing himself from Noah's grasp.
"No, what the hell are you doing?!" Morgan snapped back. Noah could rarely raise his voice. He didn't like it. And Ethan was definitely disoriented by his furious look. "Now you listen to me carefully. We're not on campus. Neither are we in 'I want you deadly'. We're not in a fucking court either! We, God help me, we are in a retirement home. My grandmother's well being depends on these people. Don't you dare to fight with anyone! And don't even think about being rude! If you're not capable of it, then go back to your car!" Noah almost yelled, pointing in the direction of a parking lot furiously.
"Interesting," Ethan commented calmly.
"What the fuck is interesting here?!" Noah continued raging.
"Usually, when people are mad, their voice goes up higher. Yours – lower."
"What the fuck does it have to do with my voice?!"
"It's beautiful."
Noah got confused, but he didn't calm down.
"Are you going back to your car?"
"No."
"Then promise me that you won't say something rude to my grandma," Noah demanded.
"I won't if she doesn't tell me some nonsense."
"Ethan!" Noah yelled, "She'll tell you some sort of nonsense with, at least, a ninety-nine percent chance! She has Alzheimer!"
"Oh…" Thomson said. It seemed like he was confused. At last.
"Nothing rude. Do we have a deal?" Noah sighed more calmly. Ethan looked at him furiously. Such question was probably driving him crazy, which was why it was weird to hear him say it coldly,
"Okay."
"Did I offend you?"
"No. I never get offended."
"So, are you mad then?"
"I am."
"Why are you mad? Do you think I was wrong?"
"It doesn't matter whether you're right or wrong. But you're restricting me."
"Just go to your car then. Nobody will restrict you there," Noah noticed aggressively.
"I won't. I want to continue to be mad at you. Maybe it'll help me get rid of your influence."
"What?" Noah rubbed his eyes, tired. He always had a headache after having bursts of anger, "I don't understand you."
"You will."
"Why are you so complicated?"
"Why not?"
Mercy McMahon Retirement Home had a lot of territory. Besides, it was located on a hill, so there was a great view of the ocean from the west. The view was a key point when choosing a new home for grandmother.
Noah and Ethan had crossed dozens of narrow paths before they reached a wide meadow that was covered with little pavilions, like mushrooms. All these old people there were playing chess and reading, and some of them were even taking a nap. But the farthest pavilion (the farthest from the building and the closest to the ocean) had been taken by a specific person.
Grandmother was sitting on a stool. There was a canvas in front of her. Hundreds of paint cans surrounded her; a lot of them were already empty or dried out. She dipped her brush into the mix of paint and applied it to the white surface with bold strokes. The painting wasn't ready yet. But the marine scenery was definitely recognizable. Even now, when grandmother wasn't aware of what she had been doing the majority of the time.
"Is she an artist?" Ethan asked quietly.
"Yes. However, when she would hear that question, she would always refuse. Apparently painting was just a hobby, and she had to learn a lot more to be a pro," Noah answered.
"But I don't agree with that."
"Me neither," Thomson nodded, entering the pavilion. Noah followed him.