Chapter 16: Porch Swing Daydream
The porch swing groaned under his weight, a low, familiar complaint that matched the ache in his skull. Noah cradled a chipped ceramic mug between his palms, the coffee inside long gone cold and bitter. Dawn was just a suggestion, a pale lavender smear behind the pine trees that lined the ragged yard. The air was cool and damp, smelling of wet earth and the distant, perpetual sweetness of honeysuckle.
He couldn’t get the feel of it out of his skin.It was in his hands. The memory of Taichi’s lean shoulders under his palms, the sharp press of his collarbone. The way Taichi had gone rigid for a heartbeat—a deer in headlights—before melting into the kiss, all soft lips and a shuddering breath.
Noah closed his eyes, but that was worse.It played like a film on the back of his eyelids. The panic in Taichi’s dark eyes in the bar, the way he’d looked like a rabbit ready to bolt. The dark privacy of the parking lot, the crunch of gravel under their boots. The words, It’s eatin’ a hole right through me, falling from his own mouth like stones. He hadn’t planned to say them.They’d just… come out.And then the kiss. Not gentle.Not some tentative, questioning thing. It was a confession in itself, a desperate, clumsy press of mouth to mouth that had sparked something in his gut that felt terrifyingly like relief.
He took a gulp of the cold coffee.It tasted like regret and cheap diner blend.
A mockingbird started up somewhere, its call too cheerful for the hollowed-out feeling in his chest. He’d kissed girls.Plenty of them.Pretty ones with soft laughs and glossy hair. It was easy.A smile, a wink, a slow dance at the Roadhouse. It meant nothing.It was what you did.This wasn’t that.
This was the taste of someone else’s fear and longing mixing with his own. This was the electric jolt up his spine when Taichi’s fingers had curled into his jacket, holding on like Noah was the only solid thing in a spinning world. This was the whispered, “It was my first,” that had landed against his mouth, a secret so fragile it nearly broke him.
“Hell,” he muttered to the empty yard.The word vaporized in the cool air.
He’d replayed the drive home a hundred times.The silence in his truck had been a living thing, thick and sweltering. Taichi staring out the window, his profile lit by passing streetlights. Noah’s own knuckles white on the steering wheel.He’d wanted to say something.Anything. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘Don’t tell anyone.’ ‘Can we do that again?’
He’d said nothing. Just pulled up to the dorm, the engine idling rough. Taichi had glanced at him, his expression unreadable, and uttered a quiet, “Thanks for the ride.” Then he was gone, slipping into the building like a shadow, leaving Noah alone with the echo of the slammed truck door.
He pulled his phone from the front pocket of his jeans.The screen was smudged with fingerprints. He thumbed it awake, the light harsh in the soft dawn.
His last text to Taichi was from a week ago, a bland, Practice running late.Catch you tomorrow? Taichi had replied with a simple thumbs-up emoji.His thumb hovered over the keyboard. What did you say?Sorry I kissed you senseless against my truck?My bad?
He chewed the inside of his cheek, the pain sharp and familiar. The impulse was a physical thing, a need to know where he stood, to bridge the terrible, silent gap the night had carved between them. He couldn’t sit here all day watching the sun burn the dew off the grass. He’d go crazy.His fingers moved, typing fast before the sensible, fearful part of his brain could stop them.
hey.you awake?He stared at the words.Too casual.Too nothing. It ignored the monumental, world-shifting thing that hung between them.He deleted it.
The swing creaked as he shifted, the chain groaning.He tried again, his throat tight.last night. we need to talk about it.No.That sounded like a confrontation.Like he was a pissed-off boyfriend. His stomach churned. He deleted that too, running a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palm.The memory of Taichi’s mouth, soft and uncertain, flashed again. The wild, terrifying joy that had briefly drowned out the shame.
He took a breath, the damp air filling his lungs.He typed a third message, simpler, truer. A thread thrown across the void.He didn’t let himself think.He just hit send.
The phone buzzed once in his hand, the message delivered. He stared at the screen, at the two words now floating in the digital space between them, a tiny, profound confession all their own.Coffee? Today.