Frequencies of Us Chapter 31: Fists and a Fix

Mateo POV

I’m by the gym, the air thick and sweaty, my hands shoved in my hoodie as I cut through the lot. My chest’s tight, buzzing, since yesterday in the basement—Noah’s shaky, “I like you, okay?” and my quiet, “Me too,” slipping out before I bolted, overwhelmed, my heart slamming wild. That text—“He’s coming back for you”—hummed in my head all night, steamy and raw, pulling me back to him. Now I’m here, head down, my gut twisting, hot and dumb, because I ran—left him—and it’s eating me, needing to see him, needing to fix it.

Footsteps crunch—loud, fast—and my head snaps up, heart jumping. It’s Ryan and his jock pack—three of them—grinning mean, blocking my way. “Fairy’s got a boyfriend!” Ryan yells, voice sharp, nasty, and my stomach drops, cold and fast, because it’s Noah—they mean Noah—and my face burns, hot and mad, fists clenching tight. My chest heaves, breath short, and my legs tense, because they’re close—too close—and it’s hitting me, hard, making me small.

“Back off,” I snap, voice rough, loud, stepping forward, but Ryan shoves me—hard, quick—and my back hits the wall, air rushing out. My heart slams, wild and fast, and my hands shake, bad now, because they’re laughing—loud, mean—and my gut twists, sour and hot, mad at them, mad at me. “Queer’s tough now?” another grunts, swinging, and I duck—fast, messy—my fist flying up, cracking his jaw—sharp, loud. My knuckles sting, raw and hot, and my chest locks up, because I’m fighting—bruised, dumb—but it’s for him, for us, and it’s real, pulling me in.

They swarm—fists swinging, sneakers scuffing—and I shove back, hard, my elbow slamming Ryan’s chest—thud, rough. My face burns, sweaty and red, and my lip splits—warm, wet—trickling down my chin. My heart’s pounding, loud and wild, and my gut flips, cold and fast, because I’m bruised—hurting—but I’m swinging, fighting, because they won’t stop, won’t take this. A punch lands—hard, my ribs—and I stumble, breath gone, but I push up—mad, raw—because it’s Noah, and I won’t let them win.

They back off—slow, laughing—Ryan spitting, “Freak,” and my chest heaves, shaky and hot, as they stomp away. My hands shake, bad now, brushing my lip—sticky, sore—and my legs wobble, leaning on the wall, because I’m beat—bruised, dumb—but I stood up, fought back, and it’s big, hitting me deep. My breath puffs, loud and rough, and my head buzzes—their yells, my fists—mixing up, making me jumpy. My face burns, hot and wild, and my gut twists, steamy and raw, because it’s him—always him—and I’m here, messed up, needing him.

Steps come—soft, quick—and my head snaps up, heart slamming. It’s Noah—eyes wide, bag dropping—thud, loud—running to me. My stomach flips, warm and wild, and my chest flutters, steamy and fast, because he’s here—real, close—and it’s flirty, good, pulling me in. “What happened?” he says, low, rough, kneeling fast, his hands hovering—shaky, warm—near my face. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and my face burns hotter, because he’s worried—soft, steady—and it’s hitting me, hard, lighting me up.

“Jocks,” I mutter, low, wincing as I shift—ribs aching—and my hands shake, brushing dirt off my jeans. He grabs a rag—quick, soft—from his bag, dabbing my lip—gentle, warm—and my heart skips, loud and fast, because it’s steamy—his touch, his eyes—and my gut twists, hot and dumb, feeling him close. “You didn’t have to,” he says, low, his voice cracking, and my chest aches, warm and wild, because he’s wrong—I did—and it’s big, pulling tight.

My hand moves—fast, shaky—grabbing his wrist, warm and firm, stopping him. “I wanted to,” I say, low, rough, my voice raw, and my heart slams, wild and loud, because it’s out—steamy, real—and my face burns, red and sweaty, caught in it. His eyes lock on mine—dark, wide—and my breath hitches, loud in my ears, because it’s us—here, now—and it’s flirty, love, hitting me deep. My fingers tighten—warm, daring—on his wrist, and my gut flips, steamy and fast, because he’s close—too close—and it’s raw, pulling me in, hard.

He freezes—breath shaky, rag still—and my chest flutters, hot and wild, because he’s caught—watching me—and my skin buzzes, steamy and alive, wanting more. My lip stings, my ribs ache, but my heart’s pounding, loud and fast, and my eyes drop—to his hand, his mouth—and my gut twists, warm and dumb, because I could—right now, here—and it’s big, terrifying me, but good, lighting me up. My breath’s loud, uneven, and my face burns hotter, because it’s him—fixing me, holding me—and it’s love, yeah, pulling tight.

“Idiot,” he mutters, low, grinning—small, shaky—and my chest aches, steamy and real, because it’s flirty—soft, warm—and my hand slides—slow, warm—off his wrist, lingering. My heart skips, loud and wild, and my gut flips, hot and fast, because it’s us—close, raw—and it’s good, messing me up, deep. My breath shakes, my face hot, and my leg brushes his—soft, steamy—sending heat up my spine, because I need it—need him—and it’s hitting me, hard, leaving me shaky.

The lot’s quiet—just our breathing, wind rustling—and my head’s buzzing—his touch, my grab—replaying, making me jumpy. My chest’s tight, my hands shaky, and my eyes flick to him—quick, dumb—and he’s watching—dark, soft—dabbing my lip again, gentle and real. My gut twists, steamy and wild, and my heart slams, loud and fast, because it’s forever—yeah, I want that—and it’s big, pulling me in, but my throat’s tight, scared to say more, scared to lose this.

“See ya,” I mutter, low, standing slow—ribs stinging—and my sneakers scuff the ground, because I need space—need air—but my heart’s thumping, pulling me back. My chest aches, raw and steamy, and my head’s loud—jocks, his grin—mixing up, making me dizzy. My phone’s in my pocket, heavy, buzzing yesterday with “He’s coming back for 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—fists, him, me—but it’s tangled, pulling me down.

Then it hums—a soft whir, low and warm, from the gym’s old vent above us. My head tilts, heart jumping, and my eyes squint—air puffing, slow and flirty, curling warm around us. My gut twists, warm and steamy, and my hands grip my hoodie—sweaty, shaky—because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that hum, that glow. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and I glance at Noah—quick, dumb—and he’s grinning—small, caught—pinning my eyes in the dusk.

“What’s that?” I mutter, low, my voice rough, and my chest flutters, hot and wild, because the whir swells—soft, steamy—wrapping us tight. 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 healing for you.” My stomach flips, warm and flirty, and my eyes flick to Noah—laughing now, soft, rag in hand—and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because it’s them—those texts, that tease—but it’s sweet, pulling, warming the air. The vent hums—slow, hot—dancing over his grin, and my heart skips, loud and wild, because it’s us—here, now—caught in the warmth, leaving me shaky, waiting, with something soft and steamy curling around us.