Frequencies of Us Chapter 30: Words and a Walk

Noah POV

I’m in the basement, the air damp and cool, my hands twisting a loose wire on the table. My chest’s tight, pounding, since yesterday in the AV room—Mateo fixing the speaker with me, “You’re slow,” his shoulder brushing mine, warm and steamy, flipping my heart wild. That hum—“He’s humming for you”—stayed with me all night, flirty and soft, pulling me to him. Now he’s here, slouched in a chair, hoodie up, watching me mess with tools, and my gut twists, hot and dumb, because it’s him—close, real—and I can’t hold it in anymore.

My breath’s shaky, loud in the quiet, and my face burns, hot and sudden, as I drop the wire—clattering soft—and turn to him. My heart slams, wild and fast, and my hands shake, restless, gripping the table, because it’s big—huge—and my throat’s tight, words clawing to get out. “I like you, okay?” I blurt, voice cracking, low and raw, and my chest locks up, air gone, because it’s out—steamy, real—and my face burns hotter, red and sweaty, waiting, scared he’ll laugh, scared he won’t.

He stares—frozen, eyes wide—his breath hitching, loud in the damp, and my stomach flips, warm and wild, because he’s caught—still, watching—and it’s pulling me in, hard. My hands shake, bad now, and my legs twitch, itchy to bolt, because it’s dumb—saying it, meaning it—but it’s him, and it’s love, hitting me deep. My eyes lock on his—dark, steady—and my gut twists, steamy and fast, because he’s here—close, real—and it’s flirty, big, terrifying me, but good, lighting me up.

“Me too,” he mutters, low, rough, his voice barely there, and my chest flutters, hot and wild, because it’s him—saying it back—and it’s steamy, real, slamming into me. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and my heart skips, loud and fast, because it’s us—here, now—and it’s love, yeah, pulling tight. His hands fidget—quick, shaky—grabbing the chair arms, and my gut flips, warm and dumb, because he means it—I feel it—but his eyes drop, jaw tight, and my chest aches, hopeful but scared, because he’s not moving, not staying.

He stands—fast, stiff—his sneakers scuffing the floor, and my heart jumps, banging hard, because he’s walking—away, out—and my stomach twists, cold and fast, leaving me shaky. “Mateo—” I start, low, my voice cracking again, but he’s gone, door banging shut, and my chest locks up, breath short, because he said it—“Me too”—but he’s overwhelmed, running, and I’m here, alone, caught. My hands grip the table—sweaty, trembling—and my face burns, hot and wild, because it’s good—steamy, flirty—but it’s messy, pulling me apart.

I slump in the chair—slow, shaky—my legs weak, my breath puffing loud in the quiet. My heart’s pounding, wild and fast, and my gut twists, warm and scared, because he likes me—yeah, he does—and it’s big, lighting me up, but he walked out, leaving me hanging. My hands shake, restless, brushing my jeans, and my head buzzes—his mutter, my blurting—replaying, making me jumpy. My face burns hotter, red and dumb, because I said it—finally—and he said it back, but it’s not done, not easy, and it’s hitting me, hard.

The basement’s still—just echoes, my breathing—and my chest aches, raw and steamy, because he’s gone—but he’s here, in me, pulling tight. My throat’s tight, a lump I can’t swallow, and my eyes flick to the door—shut, cold—and my heart slams, loud and wild, because I want him back—want us close—want this forever. My hands fidget—shaky, dumb—and my gut flips, warm and wild, because it’s love—real, scary—and I’m falling, deeper, hopeful but terrified he won’t come back.

I stand—slow, wobbly—my sneakers scraping the concrete, and my chest flutters, steamy and fast, because he said it—“Me too”—and it’s flirty, alive, buzzing in me. My face burns, my breath uneven, and my hands shove into my jacket, sweaty and restless, because it’s us—close, real—but he’s out there, running, and I’m here, shaking, caught between hope and fear. My heart skips, loud and fast, and my head’s loud—his stare, my words—mixing up, making me dizzy. My phone’s in my pocket, heavy, buzzing yesterday with “He’s humming for you,” and my gut twists, steamy and quick, mixing with this—him, us—making it heavier.

I pace—three steps, turn—my hands gripping my hair, pulling soft, because I need to move, need to feel it. My chest’s tight, my face hot, and my breath’s shaky, because he likes me—yeah, he does—and it’s big, pulling me in, but he left, and it’s messy, leaving me raw. My heart’s pounding, wild and fast, and my eyes flick to the table—wire tangled, like us—and my gut flips, warm and dumb, because I could’ve grabbed him—held him—but I didn’t, and now I’m here, hopeful, scared, wanting more.

The lights buzz—soft, low—and my chest aches, steamy and real, because it’s him—always him—and I’m lost, falling hard, needing him back. My hands shake, restless, brushing my face—sweaty, hot—and my throat tightens, words stuck, because I want to say more—“Come back”—but he’s gone, and it’s hitting me, deep, leaving me shaky. My breath puffs, loud and wild, and my heart slams, pulling tight, because it’s love—yeah, love—and it’s big, terrifying me, but good, keeping me here.

Then it glows—a soft blink, warm and quick, from the speaker on the table. My head snaps up, heart jumping, and my eyes squint—lights flickering, slow and flirty, pulsing soft in the dim. My gut twists, warm and steamy, and my hands grip my jacket—sweaty, shaky—because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that hum, that tune. 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 coming back for you.” My chest flutters, hot and wild, and my eyes flick to the door—still shut, but warm now, glowing faint in my head. 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 pulse. The speaker blinks—slow, soft—dancing over the wire, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—out there, close—and I’m shaking, waiting, with something sweet and steamy flickering in the air.