Frequencies of Us Chapter 72: Kisses in the Static

Noah POV

I’m crouched in the AV basement at Lincoln High, twisting a screwdriver into a busted amp. Mateo stands close, his track shorts brushing my knee. He grins and teases, “Don’t blow us up, tech boy.” His voice feels light, like a warm hug after weeks of fighting. I’ve missed this. My hand slips on the screwdriver, and he grabs it fast. His fingers lock with mine for a second. My heart beats loud and quick.

The amp sparks, a little flash of light. I can’t wait anymore. I lean in and kiss him. His lips are warm and soft. They taste like sweat and Gatorade from practice. It’s gentle, a promise we’re okay again. His breath shakes, and we pull back, giggling like we’re hiding something. My stomach flips, sweet and happy.

I start working again, but then I see it. A tiny mic sits inside the amp, its red light blinking. My chest gets tight. I yank it out, my fingers shaking. Who put this here? My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. The screen shows a text: “I hear you, fags.” My breath stops. Mateo looks at me, his face serious now. He waits for me to say something. I try, but nothing comes out. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out. Everything turns black. Mateo gasps sharp next to me.

My heart pounds fast. I reach for his hand. It’s sweaty and strong. He squeezes back, tight. I know he’s scared too. We thought we were alone down here. That mic means someone heard us. Heard us laughing, kissing. My mind spins. Lena? Ryan? Ortiz? Someone who hates us. The text stings, mean and ugly. I feel sick. I want to tell Mateo it’s fine, but it’s not.

I step forward, pulling him with me. My sneakers scrape the floor, loud in the quiet. I reach out with my free hand, feeling for the door. It’s too dark to see. Mateo breathes fast beside me. I feel his heartbeat through his grip. “Noah,” he whispers. His voice is low and rough. “What’s going on?” I don’t know. I don’t have answers. My stomach twists harder.

The silence feels heavy. I stop, listening. Nothing at first, just us breathing. Then a creak. Like a shoe on the stairs outside. My throat dries up. I freeze, holding Mateo’s hand so tight it hurts. He pulls me closer. His arm brushes mine. He hears it too. We wait, stuck in the dark. My mind yells to run, but my feet won’t move.

I think about the mic in my hand. It’s small and cold. If it’s live, they heard everything. Our laughs. Our kiss. The way Mateo’s voice gets soft for me. My face gets hot, mad and ashamed. This is ours, private. Someone’s taking it. I want to smash the mic, stomp it flat. But I don’t. It’s proof, maybe. Proof we’re not safe.

Mateo shifts. His shoulder bumps mine. “We gotta get out,” he says, quiet but strong. I nod, even if he can’t see. I step again, slow. The air feels different near the door. My hand finds the knob. It’s cool metal. I turn it. Locked. My stomach drops. I twist harder. It won’t move. Mateo curses low.

The creak comes again, louder. Closer. My chest feels crushed. I press my ear to the door, holding my breath. Footsteps, soft but real, coming down the stairs. Panic hits me. I pull Mateo back, away from the door. My hands shake bad. He’s tense, holding me like he’ll fight. I’m not ready. I’m scared, so scared. I don’t want him hurt.

The footsteps stop. Right outside. I hear breathing, faint through the wood. My heart’s so loud they must hear it. Mateo pulls me against him. His chest is warm and solid. I press my face into his shoulder, just for a second. He smells like sweat and locker room soap. It keeps me steady. “We’re okay,” he whispers, so quiet I almost miss it. I don’t believe him.

I need him closer. I turn in his arms, my hands grabbing his shirt. “Mateo,” I whisper. My voice shakes. He doesn’t answer with words. His lips find mine in the dark. This kiss isn’t soft. It’s hard, hungry. His hands slide under my shirt, hot on my skin. I gasp into his mouth. My fingers dig into his back, pulling him tight. His tongue pushes past my lips, wet and rough. I moan, low and needy.

He presses me against the wall. The concrete bites my back, but I don’t care. His body’s hard against mine. I feel him, all of him, through his shorts. My hands move down, grabbing his waist. He groans, loud in the quiet. His lips leave mine, trailing to my neck. He bites, not hard, but enough to make me shake. I tilt my head, giving him more. My breath comes fast, ragged.

His hands tug at my jeans, fumbling with the button. It pops open. He slides them down just enough. I kick them lower, desperate. His fingers wrap around me, tight and warm. I bite my lip to keep quiet, but a whimper slips out. He moves slow at first, then faster. My knees shake. I grab his shoulders, holding on. His mouth’s back on mine, swallowing my sounds. I feel the heat building, tight and wild.

I reach for him, clumsy in the dark. My hand finds his shorts, pushing them down. He’s hard, hot in my grip. He hisses, pressing closer. I stroke him, matching his rhythm. Our breaths mix, fast and messy. His free hand grabs my hair, pulling just right. I groan louder, too loud. He kisses me harder, like he’s trying to keep me quiet. It’s too much, too good. I’m close, so close.

The tension snaps. I spill over his hand, shaking hard. He follows right after, a low growl in his throat. We cling to each other, panting, sticky and warm. His forehead rests on mine. Our breaths slow, syncing up. It’s sweet, perfect, even here. I want to stay like this, lost in him.

A soft click breaks the dark. My head snaps up. The lock? I hold my breath. Nothing moves. No sound. Then my phone buzzes, sharp and loud. I fumble it out, hands still shaky. The screen lights us up. Another text: “I’m closer than you think.” My blood freezes. I look at Mateo. His eyes are wide, dark, scared. The door rattles, hard and fast. I choke on a scream.