Frequencies of Us Chapter 28: Steps and a Slip

Noah POV

I’m in the AV room, the air humming with gear and chatter, my hands busy twisting wires on a busted speaker. My chest’s warm, jittery, since yesterday by the track—Mateo grabbing my hand, “Thanks,” his touch steamy, lingering, flipping my heart wild. That song—“He’s keeping you warm”—played in my head all night, flirty and soft, pulling me to him. Now my crew’s here—Lena, Mike, the usual—and my gut twists, hot and dumb, because they’re grinning, watching me too close.

“Track boy’s your shadow now?” Lena teases, leaning on the table, her voice sharp, playful. My face burns, hot and sudden, and my hands fumble, dropping the wire—clattering loud—because it’s him—Mateo—and it stings, their words digging in. “Shut up,” I mutter, low, shrugging it off, but my heart slams, loud and fast, and my stomach twists, warm and sour, because they see it—see us—and it’s real, too real, making me shaky.

Mike laughs—loud, mean—“He’s glued to you, man,” and my chest tightens, breath short, because it’s flirty—steamy in my head—but out here it’s raw, cutting deep. “He’s not,” I say, fast, my voice cracking, and my hands shove into my jacket, sweaty and restless, because I’m lying—he’s everywhere, with me, and I like it, too much. Lena smirks—“Sure, buddy”—and my face burns hotter, red and dumb, because it stings—hurts, good and bad—and I don’t know what to do, what it means.

I grab my bag—quick, shaky—and mutter, “Later,” my sneakers squeaking as I bolt, needing air, needing him. My chest’s tight, my head buzzing—her tease, his touch—mixing up, pulling me out. I hit the track, the air cool and sharp, and there he is—Mateo—running laps, hoodie flapping, legs pumping fast. My gut flips, warm and wild, and my heart skips, loud and fast, because he’s there—real, moving—and it’s steamy, pulling me in, hard.

I drop my bag—thud, soft—and step onto the dirt, my legs shaky but moving, joining him—wordless, synced. My sneakers hit the ground, matching his pace, and my breath puffs, loud and quick, because it’s us—close, running—and my chest flutters, hot and dumb, feeling him next to me. He glances—quick, dark—and my face burns, sweaty and red, because he’s here—breathing hard, steady—and it’s flirty, alive, pulling tight.

We run—laps blurring, dirt flying—and my heart slams, wild and loud, because it’s easy—us, together—no words, just steps, synced up. My leg brushes his—quick, warm—and my skin buzzes, steamy and fast, sending heat up my spine. My gut twists, hot and wild, and my breath catches, stuck in my throat, because I feel it—him, me, this—and it’s big, falling hard, terrifying me. My hands clench, restless, and my eyes flick to him—sweat dripping, jaw tight—and my chest aches, warm and raw, because he’s pulling me, deeper, and I can’t stop.

He slows—gradual, smooth—and I match him, my legs shaky, my chest heaving, air rushing out. We stop—close, panting—and my heart’s pounding, loud and fast, because he’s inches away—sweaty, real—and my gut flips, steamy and dumb, because it’s us—here, now—and it’s flirty, hitting me hard. “Hey,” he says, low, rough, wiping his face with his sleeve, and my stomach twists, warm and wild, because his voice—scratchy, soft—is back, pulling me in.

“Hey,” I echo, soft, my voice cracking, and my hand brushes my hair—shaky, dumb—because he’s looking—dark, steady—and the air’s thick, steamy, wrapping us close. My chest flutters, hot and fast, and my leg nudges his—soft, warm—sending a jolt through me, flirty and real. My face burns hotter, red and sweaty, and my heart skips, wild and loud, because I’m falling—yeah, falling—and it’s big, scary, lighting me up.

“You’re fast,” I say, low, grinning—small, shaky—and my gut twists, steamy and fast, because it’s dumb—flirty—but it’s him, and it’s good, digging in. He smirks—crooked, soft—and my chest aches, warm and wild, because that smirk—real, pulling—is everything, messing me up. “You’re slow,” he teases, low, stepping closer, and my breath catches, loud in my ears, because he’s near—too near—and my skin buzzes, hot and alive, wanting more, wanting him.

My hand moves—slow, shaky—brushing his arm, warm and firm, and my heart slams, loud and fast, because it’s steamy—flirty, real—and my gut flips, pulling tight. His breath hitches—quick, soft—and my face burns, red and wild, because he feels it—I know he does—and it’s love, hitting me deep, terrifying me, but good, too good. My fingers linger—warm, daring—and my chest locks up, air gone, because I could—right now, here—and it’s pulling me, hard, leaving me shaky.

The track’s quiet—just our breathing, wind rustling—and my head’s buzzing—his smirk, my fall—replaying, making me jumpy. My chest’s tight, breath uneven, and my eyes flick to him—quick, shy—and he’s watching—dark, soft—and my gut twists, steamy and real, because it’s us—close, synced—and it’s big, falling hard, pulling me in. My hands shake, restless, brushing my jeans, and my face burns hotter, because I want to say it—“I’m falling”—but my throat’s tight, words stuck, scared to break it.

“See ya,” he mutters, low, stepping back, his sneakers scuffing dirt, and my heart jumps, loud and wild, because he’s pulling away—but his smirk stays, flirty, warm, lingering in me. My chest aches, raw and steamy, and my hand lifts—slow, dumb—waving soft, because he’s going, but he’s here, pulling me still. My breath’s shaky, my gut twisting, and my head’s loud—crew’s tease, his run—mixing up, making me dizzy. My phone’s in my bag, heavy, buzzing yesterday with “He’s keeping you warm,” and my chest flutters, steamy and fast, mixing with this—him, us—making it heavier.

I slump on the bleachers—slow, shaky—my legs dangling, my hands gripping the cold metal. My chest’s tight, my heart pounding, and my face burns, hot and wild, because I’m falling—hard, deep—and it’s him—Mateo—lighting me up, terrifying me. My breath puffs, white in the chill, and my eyes trace the track—his steps, ours—warm and real, pulling me in. My gut twists, steamy and dumb, and my heart skips, loud and fast, because it’s love—yeah, love—and it’s big, hitting me, leaving me caught.

Then it sings—a soft chirp, low and sweet, from the grass nearby. My head tilts, heart jumping, and my eyes squint—crickets humming, louder now, weaving a tune, flirty and warm. My gut flips, warm and steamy, and my hands grip tighter, sweaty and shaky, because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that song, those lights. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and I grin—small, dumb—because it’s them—those texts, that tease—but it’s sweet, wrapping me close. My phone buzzes, sudden and soft, making me flinch.

I yank it out, hands trembling—unknown number, one line: “He’s running to you.” My chest flutters, hot and wild, and my eyes flick to the track—empty now, but his steps echo in me, pulling tight. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because it’s us—here, now—flirty and real, caught in the hum. The crickets swell—soft, warm—dancing in the dusk, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—close, always—and I’m falling, waiting, with something sweet and steamy chirping in the air.