Through the Screen

it's fifteen minutes to one in the morning when abel turns the lock of the apartment and stumbles in, ruffling his hair and removing his shoes. the house is silent today, no television and no sign of noah lurking in the kitchen or the living room or the corridors.

there is a microwaveable plate on the dining table which is covered, a note stuck on top filled from top to bottom in noah's sloppy handwriting, and abel sighs, biting his lip and removing his jacket like he usually does.

i'm guessing you'll come home late, considering the fact that you're trying so hard to avoid me. anyways, i'm really tired, i've been up until midnight but you're still not here so just eat this before you come to bed. sorry, if i was being offensive earlier. i didn't mean to hurt you. love you.

abel closes his eyes, crumpling the paper slightly in his fist before bringing his hand up to his forehead and tapping it harshly, trying to knock some sense into himself. why the hell did he do that? noah would never say anything about his parents that might hurt him, noah wasn't like that.

just that he is too aware of the fact that noah's parents still

his father sending gifts to adrian to spoil him further. he doesn't get calls occasionally, random plans of lunch being made over mere phone calls, followed by

have gone differently. he has no idea how

out of his head and uncovers the plate, finding some curry and boiled rice resting in a sloppy but appetising mess, and he is suddenly aware of how he missed dinner, even though

the dishwasher and letting out a sigh of relief before patting his stomach and walking into his room. the lights are on, and noah is in his usual position on the right side, his body curled, lips parted and hair fanning all over his

noah, pressing a kiss against his forehead like he usually does and brushing his hair back before getting changed into his signature black tshirt, stripping down so he is only in his boxers