Frequencies of Us Chapter 43: Echoes and an Edge

Noah POV

I’m in my dorm at St. Mark’s, the walls cold and gray, my hands shoving clothes into a drawer. My chest hurts, tight and heavy, ever since yesterday when Mateo banged my door, yelling, “I know it’s not you!” His hands grabbed mine, shaky and warm, and my heart pounded so hard I couldn’t breathe right. Then Dad’s car horn screamed, and he dragged me off, the flyer falling from Mateo’s bag, Lena’s ink glaring up at me. My gut twists, hot and sore, because I’m here now, stuck across Albuquerque, and my throat’s dry, aching for him.

This place sucks—uniforms scratch my skin, kids stare like I’m weird, and there’s no tech to mess with, nothing to keep my hands busy. My phone sits dead on the bed, Mateo’s number blocked by Dad’s stupid rules, and my chest sinks, cold and empty, because I can’t reach him, can’t hear his voice. My hands shake, restless, picking at my shirt, and my face burns, hot and dumb, because I’m trapped, missing him bad, and my heart thumps, loud and fast, needing him close.

I sneak out, feet quiet on the hall floor, my gut flipping, nervous and quick. The payphone’s in the lobby, old and rusty, and my hands tremble, dropping coins in fast. My breath puffs, shaky and loud, and I dial Mateo, heart slamming hard, because I need him to answer, need us to fix this. “You there?” I say, voice cracking, soft and scared, and my chest flutters, steamy and tense, waiting for him. “You left!” he snaps, voice mad, sharp, and my stomach drops, punched and raw, because he’s hurt, blaming me, and my throat tightens, words stuck. The line clicks dead, and my hands shake worse, gripping the receiver, because he’s gone again, leaving me hollow, breaking me more.

Back in my room, night’s dark, the air still and heavy, and my chest aches, sore and tight, because he hung up, mad, and I’m alone, messed up. My hands fidget, restless, brushing the wall, and my fingers hit a loose vent, cold and wobbly. My heart jumps, quick and wild, and my gut twists, warm and fast, because it’s something—something to fix, something to feel him. I grab a wire from my bag, shaky and quick, twisting it into the vent, and my breath catches, loud in my ears, because a faint crackle hums through—Mateo’s old track meet station.

“Vargas wins!” buzzes out, scratchy and soft, and my gut flips, hot and soft, because it’s him, his name, his run, and my face burns, red and sweaty, picturing his grin, wide and real. My heart slams, loud and wild, and my fingers brush the vent, slow and gentle, like it’s his hand, steamy and close, pulling me back. My chest flutters, flirty and raw, and my throat’s tight, whispering, “I’m coming back,” soft and shaky, because it’s us, yeah, and my breath puffs, quick and warm, needing him, needing this to stay.

The dorm’s quiet, just my breathing, loud and fast, and my hands shake, restless on the vent, because his voice echoes in my head—mad, hurt, but mine. My face burns hotter, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because I messed up, letting Dad pull me away, letting Lena’s lie split us. My heart thumps, hard and steady, and my knees pull up, close to my chest, because I’m stuck here, but he’s out there, and my chest aches, steamy and real, wanting him back, wanting us whole.

I sit there, vent humming low, and my hands grip my shirt, sweaty and tight, because every crackle’s him—running, laughing, kissing me under the bleachers. My breath shakes, stuck in my throat, and my gut flips, hot and fast, because I see his eyes, dark and soft, and my face burns, red and wild, because it’s love, yeah, hitting me deep. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my fingers trace the wire, shaky and slow, because I’ll fight this, fight Dad, fight anything, to get back to him.

A light flicks on, sudden and sharp, and my heart jumps, loud and wild, because my roommate’s up, muttering, “Who’s that?” My hands shove the radio under my pillow, quick and shaky, and my chest locks, air gone, because I’m caught, maybe, and my face burns hotter, scared he’ll snitch. My gut twists, tense and fast, and my breath puffs, loud and quick, because I’m hiding us, hiding him, and my throat’s tight, dry and sore, needing this to stay mine.

Then it slips, soft and quiet, under my door—a note, crumpled and real, and my heart slams, loud and fast, because I see his scrawl, Mateo’s messy loops, “I’m outside.” My gut flips, warm and steamy, and my hands shake, bad now, grabbing it tight, because he’s here, yeah, for me, and my chest flutters, flirty and raw, lighting me up. My breath catches, stuck again, and my face burns, red and wild, because it’s big, pulling me out, and my legs wobble, ready to run, scared of the locked gate humming dark.

I’m at the window, hands pressed on glass, cold and hard, and my heart thumps, loud and wild, because I see him—shadowy, pacing, real. My gut twists, hot and fast, and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because he came, fought for me, and my throat’s tight, words stuck, needing to touch him, needing us close. My face burns hotter, and my hands shake, bad now, because the gate’s locked, Dad’s rules, and my chest aches, raw and shaky, scared I can’t get out, scared he’ll leave.

Then it hums, low and close, from my pocket—a buzz, soft and sharp, and my heart jumps, loud and fast. My hand digs in, shaky and quick, pulling my phone, screen glowing faint, because Dad missed one, an old burner, and my gut flips, warm and wild, seeing his name—Mateo. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and my fingers tremble, swiping it fast, because it’s him, one word: “Look.” My chest flutters, hot and steamy, and my eyes dart out, spotting him waving slow, a candy wrapper glinting in his hand, old and sweet.

My heart slams, loud and wild, and my face burns, red and sweaty, because he’s here, close, real, and my gut twists, flirty and fast, pulling tight. My hands shake, bad now, pressing glass harder, and my breath puffs, quick and loud, because it’s us, yeah, caught in this mess, and my throat’s sore, whispering his name, soft and raw. The wrapper shines, tiny and bright, dancing in his fingers, and my chest aches, steamy and alive, leaving me shaky, waiting, with the gate humming dark between us.