Page 13 of Noah
But he doesn’t correct Jensen because this is probably one of those nonkinky people differences.
Jensen picks up a candle and gives it a sniff. “They should pay me to buy this candle. Smell this,” he says, and Noah obliges.
“That’s awful. Chemical Christmas.”
Jensen laughs. “Exactly,” he says, and puts it back on the shelf.
An hour later they are both carrying bags. Two throw blankets, three throw pillows, two candles, and a set of coasters.
They’re in the middle of discussing TV shows and walking leisurely back to their apartment when Jensen stops before a store. He has an odd look on his face. Not bad exactly. Nervous? Uncertain?
Noah takes four steps back towards him and waits.
“Any interest in ice cream?” Jensen asks brows raised up in question.
“I have lots of interest in ice cream.”
“Then we should go in. This is the best ice cream in the city. In the state,” he says, grandly. “But you have to pass by the toys and children first. Can you imagine a worse idea? Everything must be so sticky.”
Jensen holds the door open for him and Noah steps inside, stopping to take it all in.
“Oh god, they’ve started with Christmas music already,” Jensen despairs.
It’s magic. There are Christmas decorations, fake snow, and everything a kid would want. “I think my inner eight-year-old is jealous. Maybe I’m jealous. Do you think the easy-bake oven food is really that disgusting?” He asks, staring at the display.
“Hell yes,” Jensen says, just as a woman and her son pass by them out the door. She gives Jensen a look for using the word hell.
“Careful or you’ll get put on the naughty list,” Noah says.
Jensen leads the way back to the ice cream parlor and they take seats and examine the menu. They decide to get lunch and have ice cream for dessert and Noah sighs in relief at getting to sit down for a bit.
“Shopping is exhausting. Mentally, I mean.”
“Was it the company?” Jensen asks, with a pout so adorable Noah wants to suck on his bottom lip.
“Ha. No. The company was—and still is—fantastic. I think I’m gonna have to get Will something nice to say thank you for introducing us.”
“Well, give it a week. You might change your mind,” Jensen says, annoyingly self-deprecating.
“No, I won’t. You’re a good guy. Easy to be around. You make me feel…safe. I don’t think I realized just how unsafe I felt. Which is ridiculous, here I am taller and stronger than most of the people we’ve seen today, but I don’t feel like it,” he says, and looks down, watching his fingers shred the paper from his straw. “And I think I used to. Once upon a time,” he says.
“It’s amazing the things we can get used to. How small we can make ourselves in response to our surroundings.”
Fortunately, the waitress comes in and takes their order, interrupting the conversation. But Jensen doesn’t want to let it go.
“When I came back from Afghanistan, there was a period of time where I just didn’t leave the apartment. I needed the quiet, needed the routine, but then I realized I hadn’t left the house in six weeks and so I had to change that.”
“Was it hard? To change?”
“Very much so. Will came to visit. He made me leave the house every day and got me into therapy. On the first day, we just stood outside for 30 seconds. The next day was a minute. The day after that we went around the block and I had a panic attack.”
“Oh no,” he says and finds himself reaching across the table, giving Jensen’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Jensen stares at his hand and then opens and closes it once he takes it back.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I just realized it’s been a while since I touched another person. Well, that sounds pathetic.”
