Frequencies of Us Chapter 36: Forms and a Flirt

Noah POV

I’m in the library, the air quiet and dusty, my hands flipping through papers on the table. My chest’s warm, fluttery, since yesterday—Mateo texting, “Sorry, I’m an ass,” and my “Yeah, you are” with a smiley, easing the ache from our fight. That tick—“He’s wearing you too”—hummed in my head all night, steamy and soft, pulling me to him. Now he’s here, across from me, hoodie loose, scribbling on college apps, and my gut twists, hot and dumb, because he asked me to help—quiet, shy—and it’s him, close, making me happy.

Our knees touch—soft, warm—under the table, and my heart slams, loud and fast, sending heat up my spine. My face burns, hot and sudden, and my hands shake, restless, brushing a pen—clack, soft—because it’s flirty—real, close—and my chest flutters, steamy and wild, feeling him there. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and my eyes flick to him—quick, dumb—his head down, pen moving, and my gut flips, warm and fast, because he’s here—with me—and it’s good, pulling me in, hard.

“Here,” I say, low, sliding a form his way—slow, careful—and my fingers brush his—quick, warm—jolting me bad. My heart skips, loud and wild, and my face burns hotter, red and sweaty, because it’s small—dumb—but it’s him, and it’s steamy, hitting me deep. He looks up—eyes dark, grinning small—and my stomach twists, hot and wild, because that grin—soft, real—is back, lighting me up. My knee presses his—harder, warm—and my chest aches, flirty and raw, because it’s us—easy, close—and I like it, too much.

“You’re smart,” he teases, low, smirking, his voice rough, and my gut flips, steamy and fast, because it’s him—flirty, warm—and my heart slams, loud and wild, pulling tight. My breath’s loud, shaky, and my hands move—fast, shaky—shoving his shoulder—light, playful—because he’s trouble, yeah, and it’s good, messing me up. “You’re trouble,” I say, grinning—big, dumb—and my face burns, red and wild, because it’s flirty—steamy, real—and my knee nudges his again—soft, daring—sending heat through me, deep.

He laughs—loud, bright—and my chest flutters, hot and fast, because it’s us—laughing, touching—and my gut twists, warm and wild, easing the ache from before. My hands shake, restless, grabbing a pen—twirling it, quick—because he’s here—teasing, close—and my heart skips, loud and fast, feeling it, feeling him. My breath puffs, soft and quick, and my eyes lock on his—dark, shiny—and my face burns hotter, because it’s flirty—love, maybe—and it’s big, pulling me in, lighting me up.

“Shut up,” he mutters, low, shoving me back—playful, warm—and my chest aches, steamy and raw, because his hand lingers—soft, firm—on my arm, and my skin buzzes, hot and alive, wanting more. My knee presses his—steady, warm—and my heart slams, loud and wild, because it’s us—close, real—and my gut flips, flirty and fast, liking him here, liking this. My breath’s shaky, my face hot, and my hands fidget—dumb, quick—brushing his form, because he’s trouble—yeah—but he’s mine, maybe, and it’s hitting me, hard.

The library’s quiet—just whispers, pages rustling—and my chest’s tight, my gut twisting, because he’s grinning—soft, close—and it’s steamy, pulling me in, deep. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my leg stays—warm, touching—because I need it—need him—and my face burns, red and sweaty, feeling the tension melt, feeling us again. My hands shake, restless, tapping the table—soft, quick—and my throat tightens, dry and stuck, because I could—could say it, could lean—but I don’t, not yet, just grinning, caught in him.

Lena’s there—corner of my eye—leaning on a shelf, smirking sharp, watching us. My stomach twists, cold and quick, and my face burns hotter, because she sees it—sees us—and my chest locks up, air stuck, because it’s flirty—steamy, real—but out here it’s loud, making me jumpy. My hands shake, bad now, gripping the pen—tight, sweaty—and my heart skips, loud and wild, because she’s smirking—knowing—and it’s big, pulling tight, but I don’t care, not with him here, not with this.

“Focus,” I mutter, low, grinning—shaky, dumb—nudging his form, and my knee presses his—warm, steady—because it’s us—laughing, close—and my gut flips, steamy and raw, needing him to stay, needing this easy. He laughs—soft, low—and my chest flutters, hot and wild, because it’s flirty—real, warm—and my heart slams, loud and fast, pulling me in, deep. My breath’s loud, shaky, and my eyes flick to him—quick, shy—and he’s grinning—soft, trouble—and it’s love, yeah, hitting me hard, leaving me shaky.

“Done yet?” he teases, low, leaning closer—too close—and my face burns, red and wild, because his breath’s warm—hitting my cheek—and my gut twists, steamy and fast, wanting more, wanting him. My heart skips, loud and wild, and my hands shake—restless, dumb—brushing his arm—soft, warm—and my chest aches, flirty and raw, because it’s us—here, now—and it’s good, lighting me up, pulling tight. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and my knee presses his—harder, steamy—because I could—right now, here—and it’s big, messing me up, deep.

The room hums—soft, quiet—and my head’s buzzing—his tease, my grin—replaying, making me jumpy. My chest’s tight, my face hot, and my hands fidget—shaky, quick—because he’s here—close, real—and it’s steamy, easing the hurt, pulling me in. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—always him—and I’m happy, yeah, but shaky, caught in this, caught in him. My breath puffs, soft and quick, and my eyes flick to Lena—smirking still—then back to him, because it’s us—flirty, real—and I don’t care who sees, not now.

Then it sings—a soft chime, low and warm, from the clock above the door. My head tilts, 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 the table—sweaty, shaky—because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that tick, that glow. 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 us close. My phone buzzes, sudden and soft, making me flinch.

I pull it out—hands trembling—unknown number, one line: “He’s signing up for you.” My chest flutters, hot and wild, and my eyes flick to Mateo—grinning, pen down, knee still on mine—pulling tight. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because it’s us—here, now—caught in the chime. The clock ticks—slow, soft—dancing over his grin, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—close, always—and I’m shaky, waiting, with something sweet and steamy ringing in the air.