Our first day together, when the kissing and touching stops and reality steps in, one where we are stuck together in a small space for an indefinite period, nothing changes because the thing with Noah is that he never stops touching me. There are no awkward moments because Noah isn't giving awkward a chance.

After breakfast, I am bombarded by phone calls from my crew and the office so I have to spend some time working, my dining room table functioning as a temporary home office with my laptop and phone.

Meanwhile, Noah slowly makes himself at home. I showed him where he could wash his clothes and borrow some of mine, so he did that. Then he washes the dishes and makes me a coffee. He silently puts it next to my laptop, while I am on the call, his knuckles brushing against mine, so gently that I'm convinced that is accidental.

When I look up, the heat in his eyes tells me it definitely isn't. Fuck. There is a chemistry between us that I'd never felt with anyone else. And before my brain can catch up, I slide my hand along the back of his thigh and pull him closer. I tug until it's clear what I want and he climbs into my lap with his knees on either side of my thighs. He looks amused as I continue with the phone call, while I rest my other hand on his jaw and draw his mouth to mine.

"I'm going to have to call you back in five minutes Jake." The second I end the call I smash my lips against his in a bruising kiss.

He slides his arms around my neck, his breathing ragged. "I don't think five minutes will be enough."

"I'm only going to kiss you. You're still sore from last night."

He pouts and it's so fucking tempting.

"You already miss being full of me?"

He nods.

"Words, babe."

"Yes. Want you all the damn time," he utters."But I'll be good, I'll wait."

He opens his mouth, wanting my tongue and I slip it inside, kissing him harder. rewarding him for being good for me. If that's how he wants to play, that absolutely works for me. Minutes later, we are interrupted by a different phone call and he begrudgingly walks away from me with a substantial bulge tenting his sweats.

After we watch some TV, we talk, and Noah is playing some nice music from his phone that he connected to my Bluetooth speaker that I never even used and he makes tea for us.

The more time he spends in my home, the more he looks like he belongs. Those first few moments after I told him we were snowed in and getting out would be difficult I could see all of his armor sliding back up. But now he's back to Noah who likes to tease and flirt and show those dimples when he smiles.

By the late afternoon, he already finds a spot in my living room where he likes to sit, and while I am going through my emails he picks the paperback he found from one of the boxes I bought from my dad's. And I just observe him while he flips the page, his eyes skimming the rows then he seems to decide he likes what he reads, pulls out a paper from the notepad on the coffee table next to his mug, and scribbles something down, leaving it in the book. God, how much this feels right.

After a while, he walks back to the other box and seems to find some of my mother's art. And he doesn't move from there for a while. I have to focus on my laptop for a few minutes but minutes turn into half an hour, and then after an hour I finally manage to finish and hang up. I look up to find Noah sitting cross-legged in front of the crate with some artwork spread around him. My socked feet barely make a sound on the floor while I walk to him. I crouch behind him, slide my palms over his shoulders and wrap my arms around his neck from behind.

He turns his head and smiles. "Hey, are these your mother's?"

"Yeah, I got a few from my dad's, thought it would look good on my shelves."

He takes one piece from the floor, an abstract beige ceramic vase and studies it from all sides. He holds it gently like he's afraid he's somehow going to drop it and break it.

"All these are gorgeous," he pulls out a rolled canvas and gently unrolls it. "Is this you?"

I nod. I used to be so embarrassed when my mother would order me to sit still for her so she could paint me.

"What does it say here?" He points at the back of it, where my mother's handwriting is in cursive Norwegian.

"It says: for my dearest Leif because you are always going to be loved by me." I chuckle. "Leif is my middle name, by the way, it's Norwegian. And it means one who is loved."

"That's beautiful.." He looks at me like he's about to cry. "I always liked to draw and paint and art was always in the back of my mind. Before."

"Oh yeah?"

He nods. "And my mom always used to hang my drawings up around the house. She was very supportive of whatever I wanted to do. When I told her I liked a boy she just smiled and asked what his name was. So different from her parents. That's why it'll never be clear to me why she took me there, left me with them."

"I'm sure there is an explanation, Noah. From what you say, she clearly loved you." I kiss the side of his neck.

"She never even wanted me."

I look at him, his eyes are distant. "I overheard my parents fighting, I was maybe seven. My mom got pregnant with me at seventeen and wanted to get an abortion but my grandparents never let her. So she ended up getting married to my dad, even though they never planned to and gave birth to me. But she never really wanted children. I heard her say the words to my dad when they were fighting."

"Oh Noah."

"And I lived with that in the back of my mind all my life. How not even my mother could want me, love me. When my dad died she was supposed to make an effort for me, but it seems she just gave up. Like I didn't exist anymore."

"Hey, come here," I manage to manoeuvre him  around until he's facing me. "People sometimes say and do the wrong thing in the moments of weakness."

"I was always so angry with her..." He grits out. "And all that helpless anger had no place to go, so it just grew and grew until it didn't fit inside me and filled... everything."

Noah glances over to the window as if searching for solace. I want to be the one to give him that. I love that he's so comfortable with me sharing all his heartache—talking about it can only do good, however, I can't help but feel anger at so many people who deliberately and unintentionally hurt him since he was a young boy.

"But I miss her," he adds softly. "I keep thinking about her and how much I just wanted her to say those words to me. And how much I want her to know that I actually don't hate her at all, that I might not understand it but that I forgive her."

"Well I'm sure you will. When you find her and get to have a conversation with her. I'm sure she'll explain some things about her life and why she did certain things the way she did. And if you think that's not a good enough reason, you can finally leave that chapter behind you and move on."

He looks at me. Looks into me, like he needs reassurance more than anything. I gently ease his bottom lip from the bite of his teeth.

"You know that I'll be here for whatever outcome." It's too soon, it's too soon. Don't say it. Don't say the words.

Noah nods. "Thank you. I believe you."

"I think you should put this one on the wall," he says, lifting my portrait ending that conversation.

"Yeah, ok, we can do that," We. Damn it, I need to rain myself in, the way I'm talking about us, the way I'm behaving is like he's just moved in. But it's difficult holding myself back anymore, when he's this close, when we just fit.

Instead of arguing with myself or trying to play it down, I let myself enjoy the way my heart jumps in my chest and the feverish rush of blood inside my veins. All the reasons I had before are now slowly disappearing–I don't see our age difference being a problem that much anymore. Sure he has a boyish face with those adorable dimples but he is a smart young man who had to go through some tough life experiences. He is smart and willing to learn new traits. He's persistent and courageous, he works hard and I'm so proud of how he's been able to rise above it all. The only friend he had, he lost to drugs, then had to bury her. His mother's strange behavior and the tragic loss of his father. And I don't even know half of what he's been through in his high school when he was living with his homophobic grandparents. What's it like to be seventeen and run away from home to find a better place for yourself? I sure as hell wasn't half as brave as he was. All I did was fucking hide in the middle of the forest. So my respect is only growing for this brave man that I have in my home right now. And telling him that I liked him, and that I am ready to give this a go, is so fucking petrifying but it's the only thing that makes sense. I have no idea what will happen, how long will he stay here, how are we supposed to make this thing work but one thing I know with absolute certainty–Noah Summerville needs me in his life right now, as much as I need him. And maybe, just maybe as time goes by, he grows to like the place too.

He hugs me closer, pressing the side of his face into mine and whispering his thanks. His blunt nails dig into my back, as we stay like that for a while before we pull away. His eyes are hooded as I slide my hands under his T-shirt, my thumbs moving over his abdominal muscles, leaving small shivers of pleasure in their wake. He bites his bottom lip and I can feel the gravitational pull of every damn inch between us.

"God, Dylan. Has it ever been like this before for you?" His eyes get an intense look in them.

I shake my head. "Never."

"Not even with your ex of four years?"

I nip at his lower lip that he already made so puffy from nervously biting it, and he shivers. I nip at his neck and he groans. I am so happy that not even the mention of my ex provokes a reaction from me anymore. I don't feel anger, humiliation, disappointment, I don't feel anything except fondness for this warm body wrapped around me.

"Not even with him. It was never like this."

He finally smiles, and lifts his hand to my chin, scratches my beard. "Why do I feel so jealous of him? I keep thinking how there is this man out there that you have so much history with, that is your first love. The love so big it made you so lonely."

I kiss him with as much honesty as he'd shown me. No, I couldn't find the words in the moments before when he asked about him, but I hope he'll listen now.

We move to the sofa, I bring a couple of cold beers from the fridge and I tell him everything.

About Tom.
About how it started in high school when he kissed me at prom in the toilets without ever talking to me before.
About how I was out and proud but he was a closeted rich jock that I was stupid to fall for because he showed me attention.
About hiding and secrets and slowly abandoning all my queer friends because he didn't feel comfortable with me being around them.
About how stupid and naive I was.
How special I felt that I was his first and only.
About times I felt lonely when he would avoid me in public because we couldn't even be seen together as friends.
And arguments and arguments and promises and promises.
About all the pressure he was under from his rich father and how I felt sorry for him.
About when he only met my parents once, and didn't even come to my mother's funeral in fear of someone connecting the dots.
About me breaking up with him.
About the time he came back begging, telling me about a company he's taking over in LA and a plane ticket for me to come live with him there where we could be finally free.
And me trusting him. Hoping. Only to have his father come and threaten me.
Telling me how Tom is getting married and I should stop harassing him. Showing me pictures of his girlfriend, fiancée in the LA apartment that I was supposed to move into.
And Tom never denied anything.

"Jesus, Dyl. And his father threatened you?"

"Yeah. There was a sexual harassment lawsuit ready to be filed against me if I even tried to get a job there. He wanted me away from Anchorage, just in case."

"They can't fucking do that to people!"

"I know. But I didn't know better at the time. My old man was having a hard time after my mother's death and I couldn't risk them coming after him. I just wanted to get out of there. Tom is married to a woman now, living his dream life except he's living a lie. And that means he's going to suffer in silence and misery for the rest of his life. I don't think he ever even loved me. He only used me. I was his little fun gay trip before he settled down with a wife and a CEO job his daddy gave him."

A wave of sadness washes over his face."Thank you for sharing that with me."

"You've been so honest about you, it's only fair."

He looks down at his hands." There are things..."

I nudge his chin with my forefinger. "Hey. I know what you're going to say. But I don't want to hear it. You're not a bad person. Life just hasn't been kind to you. But that can change. You're so young. You'll find your happiness."

He stares, just stares at me, and I can't look away even if I wanted to. Finally, he cleared his throat and smiles. "Yeah. I think I will."

______