Page 6 of Noah
“And sometimes I just need to be left alone. I don’t think I’ll need you to leave the apartment, but I might not be able to handle music or a lot of noise.”
“Alright,” he says, because what else is there to say?
“The truth is, I’m worried I might hurt whoever I live with. Flashback. It wouldn’t be intentional.”
“Have you done that before?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a valid concern.”
“I’m pretty sure that even if you lash out at me by accident it’s not going to be as bad as what master did to me on purpose.” Noah smiles.
Jensen does not smile back. It’s very, very awkward again.
“What about you? Anything I should…know about?” Jensen asks and folds up the flower wrapping which seems like a bit of a distraction so he doesn’t have to make eye contact.
“I don’t think so,” Noah says. “Not unless you decide to put me in a dog crate or call me a whore.”
“That doesn’t sound like anything I’m interested in at all,” he says, so sharp that Noah flinches.
“It was meant to be a joke,” Noah says weakly. It wasn’t and they both know it.
Noah goes cold inside, the same feeling he gets when he’s worried he’s about to be hit. Which is bullshit because he knows how to defend himself. Plus, this isn’t Johann. So wouldn’t he protect himself? Has he really forgotten all of it? Given up that knowledge?
“I’m sorry,” Jensen says quietly. Very sincere. “Come see the apartment.”
He wishes he could say thank you. ‘Thank you for letting me be here,’ or ‘thank you for not laughing at what I’ve just said,’ or ‘thank you for pretending like my life isn’t awful.’ But all the words are stuck in his throat.
And maybe Jensen knows that too because he’s going around the island, making sure there’s the maximum amount of space between them and carrying on like everything is okay.
“Uh, right. This is the kitchen. There’s the living room,” he says, walking into a large room with giant windows, a wall of bookcases, a large couch, and two reading chairs. It’s all very expensive but bland. And it’s a hell of a lot of gray.
“And there’s a balcony with a good view of the city,” he says, and taps on the glass. “Uh, this is my room and you don’t need to see that. This is my office,” he says, and again doesn’t open the door. “And then this would be your room,” he says and opens a door to a large empty room. “It has a private bathroom and a decent-sized closet.”
“Oh. I don’t have a bed,” Noah says, trying to do the math in his head. What money does he have saved? It’s been at least a month since he sold a painting and he isn’t at the drawing school anymore. Master had wanted him available and Noah, trying to please and being an idiot, had agreed. The self-defense classes have never been more than a side gig. And now here he is trying to leave and he likely doesn’t have enough money to make it happen. “How much is the rent?” He asks, voice thin. It’s going to be too much. In this area and on the top floor.
“How much do you pay now?” Jensen asks, arms crossed and looking at him intensely.
“Uh, twelve hundred.”
“Okay. Well, this is six hundred.”
“Six hundred?” Noah repeats because that is insanely cheap. He can afford that.
“I owe Will my life. And I don’t actually need the money. If you don’t want to pay anything that’s fine, too,” he says, apparently misunderstanding whatever expression is on Noah’s face.
“No. That’s too generous. I…can’t live here for free, that’s just…that’s too much,” Noah says, because he has some self-respect. As if some stranger would do that for him for nothing. Jensen can’t mean it.
“Okay. Then it’s 600 a month.”
Noah nods, a lump of gratitude forming in his throat.
“Great.” Jensen agrees. “And what about furniture? Do you need furniture?”
“I’m leaving the cage behind so yeah,” he says, making a joke.
Jensen’s expression is pinched. He doesn’t laugh. That’s it. No more jokes about dog crates.
“Sorry, I thought…Will made it seem like you were involved in kink. That was a joke.”
