Frequencies of Us Chapter 29: Wires and a Want

Mateo POV

I’m in the locker room, the air thick with sweat and noise, my hands shoving gear into my bag. My chest’s tight, restless, since yesterday on the track—Noah running with me, wordless, synced, his grin soft and steamy, flipping my heart wild. That chirp—“He’s running to you”—stuck with me all night, warm and flirty, pulling me to him. Coach yells, “Practice, now!” but my legs twitch, itching to ditch, because Noah texted—quiet, simple—“Speaker’s busted, help?”—and my gut twists, hot and dumb, needing to go, needing him.

I sling my bag over my shoulder—quick, shaky—and slip out, dodging the team, my sneakers squeaking loud. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my face burns, hot and sudden, because I’m skipping—dumb, risky—but it’s him, and it’s big, pulling me hard. I hit the AV room, the door creaking soft, and he’s there—hunched over a speaker, tools scattered, hair messy. My stomach flips, warm and wild, and my breath catches, stuck in my throat, because he’s real—here, steady—and it’s flirty, good, messing me up.

“Hey,” I say, low, rough, dropping my bag—thud, soft—and stepping close. He looks up—eyes dark, grinning small—and my chest flutters, hot and fast, because that grin—shy, pulling—is back, lighting me up. “You’re slow,” I tease, smirking, leaning on the table, my shoulder brushing his—quick, warm—and my skin buzzes, steamy and alive, sending heat up my spine. My heart skips, loud and wild, and my gut twists, because it’s us—easy, close—and it’s hitting me, hard.

“Shut up,” he mutters, shoving me—light, playful—and my laugh slips out, loud and real, because his hand’s warm—firm, flirty—and my chest aches, steamy and dumb, liking it too much. “You’re bossy,” he fires back, low, grinning bigger, and my stomach twists, hot and fast, because it’s banter—ours, good—and my shoulder presses his again—solid, warm—pulling me in. My face burns, red and sweaty, and my hands move—fast, shaky—grabbing a wire, helping, because I need this—him, here—more than practice, more than anything.

We work—wires twisting, screws clicking—and my leg bumps his under the table—soft, warm—and my breath hitches, loud in my ears, because it’s flirty—steamy, real—and my heart slams, wild and loud, feeling him close. “Pass that,” he says, low, nodding at a tool, and my hand brushes his—quick, hot—sending a jolt through me, pulling tight. My chest locks up, air stuck, and my gut flips, warm and wild, because it’s small—dumb—but it’s him, and it’s big, digging in deep.

“You’re bad at this,” I tease, low, smirking, my voice rough, and my fingers linger—warm, daring—on his hand, steamy and flirty, buzzing under my skin. He laughs—soft, bright—and my heart skips, loud and fast, because it’s good—too good—and my shoulder presses harder—warm, solid—wanting more. “You’re worse,” he says, low, shoving me again—playful, close—and my chest flutters, hot and wild, because it’s us—laughing, brushing—and it’s steamy, pulling me in, hard.

The speaker hums—low, fixed—and my hands shake, restless, brushing his arm—warm, firm—as we finish. My face burns hotter, my breath shaky, and my eyes flick to him—quick, dumb—and he’s grinning—soft, real—watching me back. My gut twists, steamy and fast, and my heart slams, loud and wild, because it’s easy—us, here—and my head goes quiet, thinking, I could do this forever, warm and raw, hitting me deep. My throat tightens—dry, stuck—and my chest aches, love maybe, because it’s him—close, steady—and I want it, bad, but I can’t say it, can’t let it out.

“Done,” he mutters, low, leaning back, and my shoulder brushes his again—soft, warm—and my skin buzzes, steamy and alive, pulling me closer. My breath’s loud, uneven, and my hands fidget—shaky, dumb—grabbing a wire, twisting it, because I need to move, need to hide it. My heart’s pounding, wild and fast, and my face burns, red and wild, because I’m caught—falling, wanting—and it’s big, terrifying me, but good, lighting me up.

“You’re quiet,” he says, low, tilting his head, and my stomach flips, hot and fast, because he sees it—sees me—and my chest flutters, steamy and real, pulling tight. “Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, smirking—small, shaky—and my leg nudges his—warm, flirty—sending heat up my spine. My heart skips, loud and wild, and my hands shake, restless, because it’s him—here, now—and it’s love, yeah, digging in, but my throat’s tight, words gone, scared to break it.

He laughs—soft, low—and my chest aches, warm and wild, because it’s flirty—steamy, pulling—and my shoulder presses his—harder, warm—wanting to stay, forever maybe. My face burns hotter, my gut twisting, and my eyes lock on his—dark, soft—and my breath catches, stuck in my throat, because it’s us—close, easy—and it’s hitting me, hard, leaving me shaky. My hands move—slow, shaky—brushing his sleeve, warm and real, and my heart slams, loud and fast, because I could—right now, here—but I don’t, can’t, throat too tight.

The room’s quiet—just our breathing, the speaker’s hum—and my head’s buzzing—his laugh, my want—replaying, making me jumpy. My chest’s tight, my face hot, and my leg brushes his again—soft, steamy—because I need it, need him close, and it’s pulling me in, deep. My hands grip the table—sweaty, shaky—and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s forever—yeah, I want that—and it’s big, terrifying me, but I can’t say it, can’t let it slip.

“See ya,” I mutter, low, standing fast, my sneakers scuffing the floor, because I need air—need space—but my heart’s thumping, loud and wild, pulling me back. My chest aches, raw and steamy, and my head’s loud—his grin, my skip—mixing up, making me dizzy. My phone’s in my pocket, heavy, buzzing yesterday with “He’s running to you,” and my gut flips, steamy and fast, mixing with this—him, us—making it heavier. I shake my head, hard, trying to push it out—practice, him, me—but it’s tangled, pulling me down.

Then it cracks—a soft pop, low and warm, from the speaker we fixed. My head snaps back, heart jumping, and my eyes flick to it—lights blinking, slow and flirty, humming a tune, soft and sweet. My gut twists, warm and steamy, and my hands grip my bag—sweaty, shaky—because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that chirp, that hum. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and I glance at Noah—quick, dumb—and he’s staring too, grinning—small, caught—pinning my eyes in the dim.

“What’s that?” I mutter, low, my voice rough, and my chest flutters, hot and wild, because the tune swells—soft, steamy—wrapping us close. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my phone buzzes, sudden and soft, making me flinch. I yank it out, hands trembling—unknown number, one line: “He’s humming for you.” My stomach flips, warm and flirty, and my eyes flick to Noah—laughing now, soft, leaning closer—and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because it’s them—those texts, that tease—but it’s sweet, pulling, lighting up the room. The hum curls—slow, hot—dancing over his grin, and my heart skips, loud and wild, because it’s us—here, now—caught in the sound, leaving me shaky, waiting, with something soft and steamy buzzing in the air.