Frequencies of Us Chapter 33: Steps and a Stop

Mateo POV

I’m in my room, the air still and heavy, my hands gripping my phone tight. My chest’s tight, a knot twisting, since yesterday by the track—Noah kissing me, quick and desperate, his shaky “Sorry” burning in my ears, flipping my head upside down. That glow—“He’s tasting you still”—stayed with me all night, steamy and wild, pulling me to him, but messing me up bad. Now I’m here, avoiding him, my gut churning, hot and dumb, because it’s big—too big—and I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t know what this is.

My phone buzzes—his name, again—and my heart slams, loud and fast, my face burning hot and sudden. My thumb hovers—shaky, dumb—wanting to answer, but I toss it on the bed—thud, soft—and stand fast, my sneakers scuffing the floor. My head’s a mess—his lips, my want—spinning loud, and my chest heaves, breath short, because I kissed back—soft, real—and it’s hitting me, hard, making me jumpy. What am I doing? I think, low, my hands shoving into my hoodie, because it’s him—Noah—and it’s love, maybe, tearing me up.

I grab my bag—quick, rough—and head out, my legs moving fast, needing air, needing space. My heart’s pounding, wild and fast, and my face burns hotter, red and sweaty, because I can’t face him—not yet—not after that kiss, that pull, that heat. My chest aches, steamy and raw, and my head buzzes—his voice, my dodge—mixing up, making me dizzy. My sneakers pound the sidewalk—loud, steady—and my gut twists, warm and scared, because I want him—yeah, I do—but it’s big, freaking me out, keeping me away.

At school, the hall’s loud—lockers banging, kids yelling—and my hands grip my straps tight, my eyes down, dodging faces. My chest’s tight, breath shaky, and my heart slams, loud and wild, because he’s here—somewhere, close—and my gut flips, steamy and fast, feeling him without looking. I turn a corner—quick, dumb—and there he is—leaning on a locker, jacket loose, talking to someone. My stomach drops, cold and hot, and my face burns, red and wild, because it’s him—real, close—and my legs freeze, caught, needing to run.

I turn fast—shaky, rough—my sneakers squeaking loud, and my heart jumps, banging hard, because I can’t—can’t look, can’t talk—not now, not yet. My chest locks up, air stuck, and my hands shake, bad now, shoving deeper into my pockets, because he’s there—grinning, steady—and it’s steamy, pulling me back, but my head’s loud—What am I doing?—screaming, pushing me away. My breath puffs, quick and rough, and my legs move—fast, dumb—down the hall, needing out, needing space.

“Mateo!” he yells—loud, sharp—cutting through the noise, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—calling, wanting—and my chest flutters, steamy and raw, stopping me dead. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my face burns hotter, because he’s close—I hear his steps, quick and soft—and my throat tightens, dry and stuck, because I want to turn—want to face him—but I can’t, not yet. “Talk to me!” he says, voice cracking, closer now, and my stomach flips, hot and fast, because it’s flirty—real, desperate—and it’s hitting me, deep, tearing me apart.

I keep walking—fast, shaky—my sneakers pounding tile, my hands clenching tight, because my chest’s tight—too tight—and my head’s a mess, spinning wild. My breath’s loud, uneven, and my gut twists, steamy and scared, because he’s right there—behind me, calling—and it’s big, pulling me in, but I’m torn—wanting him, running from him. My heart skips, loud and wild, and my face burns, red and sweaty, because it’s love—yeah, love—and it’s raw, freaking me out, keeping me moving.

The hall blurs—faces, noise—and my chest aches, hot and wild, because he’s still yelling—“Mateo, wait!”—soft, rough, digging in. My hands shake, restless, brushing my hair—quick, dumb—and my throat’s tight, words stuck, because I could—could stop, could talk—but I don’t, can’t, too messed up. My gut flips, warm and raw, and my heart slams, pulling tight, because it’s him—always him—and I’m avoiding, dodging, but wanting, needing him bad.

I hit the end—stairs ahead, quiet—and my legs slow, shaky, my breath puffing loud in my ears. My chest’s tight, my face hot, and my hands grip the rail—sweaty, trembling—because he’s back there—close, calling—and it’s steamy, hitting me hard, leaving me torn. My head buzzes—his kiss, my run—replaying, making me jumpy, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because I like him—yeah, I do—and it’s big, pulling me in, but my throat’s tight, scared to face it, scared to feel it.

“See ya,” I mutter—low, dumb—to no one, my voice rough, and my legs move—up the stairs, slow now—because I need space—need time—but my heart’s pounding, loud and fast, pulling me back. My chest aches, steamy and raw, and my head’s loud—his voice, my mess—mixing up, making me dizzy. My phone’s in my pocket, heavy, buzzing yesterday with “He’s tasting you still,” and my gut flips, steamy and quick, mixing with this—him, us—making it heavier. I shake my head, hard, trying to push it out—kiss, him, me—but it’s tangled, pulling me down.

I stop—top step, quiet hall—and my hands grip my hoodie—sweaty, shaky—my breath shaky, chest tight. My heart slams, loud and wild, and my face burns, hot and wild, because I’m torn—wanting him, running—and it’s love, yeah, hitting me deep, leaving me messy. My gut twists, steamy and raw, and my eyes flick back—quick, dumb—down the stairs, empty now, but his voice echoes—soft, real—in me, pulling tight. My throat tightens—dry, stuck—and my chest aches, because I could—could go back—but I don’t, not yet, too scared, too caught.

Then it rings—a soft chime, low and warm, from the clock on the wall. My head snaps up, heart jumping, and my eyes squint—hands ticking, slow and flirty, clicking loud in the quiet. My gut twists, warm and steamy, and my hands grip tighter—sweaty, shaky—because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that glow, that hum. 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 chasing your heart.” My chest flutters, hot and wild, and my eyes flick down the stairs—empty, but his call rings in me, pulling tight. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because it’s us—here, now—caught in the tick. The clock chimes—slow, soft—dancing through the hall, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—close, always—and I’m torn, waiting, with something sweet and steamy ticking in the air.