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Admittedly, Dan only came to parties for the food. So when Noah invited him to a small gathering his culinary school friends were throwing, he couldn’t not go.
Now, Dan was beginning to wish he hadn’t.
“So, what do you think?” The blonde girl he was speaking to asked. Her eyes twinkled with anticipation, leaning against the bar.
"Huh?" Dan blinked. He hadn't caught anything she said. Noah had warned him that his friends were very talkative, always eager to meet new people, especially when they were drunk. Still, Dan hadn't expected the overwhelming friendliness. He arrived twenty minutes ago, and still hadn't found Noah. "I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
The girl either didn't care that he had zoned out or decided not to acknowledge it. “Do you think it’s anxiety?”
Dan held back a grimace. She had approached Dan the moment the word "therapist" left his lips. He didn't mind being a listening ear to people who needed it. It was part of the reason why he became a therapist in the first place, but there were many aspects of the job he wasn't a fan of. This was one of them. A scene he had run many times, with a script almost always identical.
"I think you should talk to a therapist about it," Dan answered. Noah's friend, playing the role of bartender, slid a drink across the bar. Dan's conversation partner grabbed it, taking a big gulp. Dan wondered how many drinks she’d had.
She turned back to him, a smirk forming on her wine-stained lips. Dan knew what she was about to say. He had a sense for it. It was what made him so good at his job. "I am talking to a therapist."
Dan gave her a polite smile. "I mean in a professional setting."
"Can't you just tell me now?"
"No, sorry, but I can refer you to someone.”
Someone shouted a string of curses somewhere to Dan's right. Dan would recognize the voice shouting anywhere. Noah.
Dan mumbled a quick excuse to the girl. Not catching her response, Dan sped walked in the direction Noah's voice came from.
Scents of strong wines carried through the air as Dan moved. He could still taste the wine he drank on the edge of his tongue. It still lingered heavily in his chest. His brain was fuzzy, but he wasn't drunk. Not yet, anyway.
He found Noah in front of a grill, ranting about bratwurst. At least, Dan thought he was. Noah's words were slurred and disorganized, practically incomprehensible. His hand was clutched to his chest. Rows of sausages were placed on the grill, shimmering from the heat.
"Are you... drunk cooking?" Dan asked. This wasn't a new thing for Noah, but Dan was slightly shocked that he would do it in public. Noah would often turn to drinking (despite Dan's qualms about finding a healthier outlet) when school stressed him out or he was having nightmares about the Power, which usually led to some sort of new food concoction. On the bright side, Dan loved it when their apartment smelled like a freshly-cooked meal. But with someone else's grill? That was a new one.
Noah blew on his hand, as if to ease the pain. "Wayne was supposed to make this," he explained. "He conveniently forgot." Annoyance flashed across his face as he did sloppy air quotes.
Dan was focused on Noah's hand. "Let me see."
Noah shielded his hand away. "It's fine."
"Noah."
"Dan."
Dan pressed his lips together. He was not drunk enough for Noah's denial-of-feelings. He reached over, despite Noah's protests, and switched the grill off. "Hey! Those weren't done!" Noah reached for Dan's hand and stumbled.
Luckily, Dan had been ready for it. He steadied Noah, holding him with gentleness. "Let me see," he repeated softly. "Please.”
Noah grumbled and laid his hand against Dan's, showing him his palm. "I said it was fine," he said again, but Dan wasn't focused on him.
The warmth in Noah's hand made Dan's muscles itch. A small burn was forming just below Noah's thumb, becoming redder by the second. “It looks like it hurts," Dan stated, mentally slapping himself. Wow. Good job, Dan. Way to state the obvious.
Noah rolled his eyes. “You think a little burn hurts? Try dying.”
Dan couldn't argue with that, but still. "Okay, smartass. Whose house is this?"
Noah lazily pointed at a redheaded guy Dan hadn't gotten the chance to speak to. Dan exchanged quick words with the guy and dragged Noah into the kitchen.
He turned on the kitchen faucet, ensuring the water was cool and the pressure was not too high. Noah leaned his head against a cabinet. His gaze was locked on Dan. It was a familiar feeling. Whenever Dan walked around their shared apartment, he could feel the way Noah's gaze locked on his back or the side of his face. He had a sense for it, always acutely aware when Noah was looking at him.
Heat crept onto Dan's cheeks. He blamed the wine. He awkwardly coughed, the sound mixing with the running faucet. He gestured to the water. When Noah didn't comply, Dan sighed and grabbed his hand. "This'll feel a bit jarring." He put Noah's hand under the water.
Noah hissed in pain. Dan's heart hurt at the sound. "Sorry," he mumbled.
“’Tis fine..."
The air in the kitchen shifted as awkwardness passed through them. "So..." Dan decided to just bite the bullet and ask. Blame it on the fact he was a therapist for being so straightforward. "Why are you drunk?"
Confusion formed on Noah's face before letting out a small, breathy laugh. "Well, it happens when you have a few drinks–"
Dan waved him off. "What I'm asking is if you're okay."
"Oh." Noah's expression twisted. He hid his face, muttering his answer. Dan hated that Noah wasn't being open with him. Besides Devon and Connor, Dan was Noah's biggest supporter, but sometimes, Noah struggled to let Dan in.
"You can tell me," Dan reassured.
"I thought you weren't coming," Noah repeated, speaking louder.
Dan's face fell. "Of course I was. My last session took longer than I expected. I texted..."
"I forgot my phone at home," Noah admitted. Remembering his phone was a habit that died with him. Like his taste buds, it didn't come back. "And you hate parties."
Bad experiences in high school led Dan to avoid them in college like the plague. So, Noah wasn’t wrong, but he had asked Dan to come, and Dan would do anything Noah asked of him.
"I do, but you invited me." Maybe it was the alcohol that made him add the next part. Maybe it was the way Noah was looking at him intently, making his heart beat rapidly. Or maybe it was the feelings that had been pent up since Noah's resurrection. "And I like you."
The smile on Noah's face made everything worth it. "I like you too, obviously. I wouldn't have moved in with you if I didn't."
If only Noah meant it the same way Dan had. "You moved in with me because you have no money," he corrected.
Noah's eyebrows creased. The eye contact they had been holding suddenly felt more serious. "I moved in with you because you asked me. I can’t say no to you.”
Dan's brain short-circuited. He must have been so down bad for Noah he couldn't even differentiate what was platonic and what was romantic. No. He shouldn't just assume. Just because Noah was looking at him with soft eyes and said something Dan would've meant romantically, didn't mean Noah meant it like that.
He was reading too much into it. He had to be.
Dan turned the faucet off and hurried away to find a towel. He shouldn't have left Noah alone. He'd probably decide he wanted pasta and burn himself again on the stove. Dan just had to get out of there. His heart was beating so rapidly in his chest that he was scared it would affect his breathing.
If he had stayed one more second, he might've considered kissing Noah. He couldn't let himself ruin their friendship and everything they had built together. Plus, Dan wasn't nearly as drunk.
He bet Noah's kiss would be even more intoxicating than wine.
Dan shook away those thoughts.
After scouring the house for a towel, he returned. Noah was right where he left him, drawing circles in a water puddle. His shoulders sagged as his head rested on his arm.
"I'm back," Dan announced. He grabbed Noah's hand again, tapping it dry with the towel. He tried his hardest not to look at him, but like always, he could feel the weight of his stare.
A few more seconds passed. Dan couldn't take it anymore. "You're staring."
"Sorr-y,” Noah slurred. "But you're just so pretty. Like, they should put paintings of you in that one French museum. What's it called?"
Dan froze. Had he heard him right? Dan was usually in tune with other people's emotions. There was no way he would have missed this.
Yet, he had.
God, he wished Noah were sober.
"The louvre?" Dan breathed out, but Noah didn't hear.
Noah had dozed off. He had dropped that earth-shattering revelation and then fell asleep.
Dan almost laughed. He reached over, adjusting Noah's beanie so it covered his ears.
"Tell me again when you're sober," Dan whispered. "Because I feel the same."