Unfinished Canvases

The city stretched before them, a kaleidoscope of neon and shadows. Noah and Elijah walked in silence, their hands stained with paint, their thoughts heavier than the air between them.

The weight of what almost happened—what could still happen—pressed against Noah’s chest.

He had spent years constructing walls, telling himself that order meant safety. That control meant certainty.

But Elijah had a way of undoing him, stroke by reckless stroke.

And Noah wasn’t sure if he wanted to be undone.

The Art of Avoidance

The next day, Noah buried himself in work.

He told himself that last night had been a moment of impulse. That it didn’t mean anything.

But his mind betrayed him—each brushstroke felt hollow, each canvas too clean, too controlled.

When his phone buzzed, he ignored it at first. But the messages kept coming.

Elijah: Are you hiding, Professor?

Elijah: Should I come find you?

Elijah: Noah.

He shouldn’t respond.

But he did.

Noah: I’m busy.

A few minutes passed before the reply came.

Elijah: Fine. Then I’ll just wait for you to stop lying to yourself.

Noah stared at the screen.

Damn him.

Crossing the Line

Days passed, but Elijah stayed in the back of his mind, an unfinished sketch waiting to be completed.

Finally, frustration pushed Noah out of his studio.

He found himself outside Elijah’s favorite bar, a low-lit place filled with cigarette smoke and unpolished music.

He spotted Elijah instantly—leaning against the bar, laughing at something someone said.

Noah’s stomach twisted.

Why did he come here?

Elijah turned, as if sensing him, and their eyes met across the room.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Elijah smirked. He excused himself from the conversation and strode over.

“Well, well. Looks like the Professor finally came out of his cave.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Elijah leaned in slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

Noah swallowed. He hated how easily Elijah saw through him.

Elijah tilted his head. “So what is it this time? Another lecture on control? Or did you finally come to admit that you like breaking rules with me?”

Noah exhaled sharply. “You think this is a game.”

Elijah’s smirk faltered, just slightly.

“No, Noah,” he said, voice softer. “I think you’re scared.”

Noah stiffened.

Because he was right.

And before he could stop himself, he grabbed Elijah’s wrist and pulled him outside.

A Different Kind of Recklessness

The night air was crisp, wrapping around them as they stepped onto the empty sidewalk.

Noah turned, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You push and push—”

“Because you need to be pushed,” Elijah interrupted.

Noah clenched his jaw. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Elijah’s gaze softened. “Then why are you here?”

Noah exhaled. “Because I—”

He stopped himself.

Because I can’t stop thinking about you.

Because I don’t know how to do this.

Because you make me want things I’ve spent my whole life avoiding.

Elijah stepped closer. “Say it.”

Noah’s pulse pounded in his ears. He could step back. He could walk away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he did the one thing he had told himself he wouldn’t do.

He closed the distance.

And kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was messy, reckless—like the art Elijah had taught him to create.

And for once, Noah let himself get lost in it.

[To Be Continued in Chapter 5]

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