Noah didn’t play music on the way there. He liked to, usually. It filled the silence in his head. Gave him something to hold onto when his thoughts ran too sharp. But tonight, the quiet felt right. Like it matched something in him. Like it matched them. He pulled up just down the street, lights off, engine ticking softly in the hush. The sky was clear—the kind of clear that made the stars look sharper than they had any right to be. He sat there for a minute, both hands on the wheel, staring at the house like it might dissolve if he blinked. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. He reached into the backseat, grabbed a hoodie they’d left in his room weeks ago and never took back, typed a quick message before hitting send and stepping out into the cool night air. His footsteps were slow. Careful. He didn’t want to startle anyone. Didn’t want to be anything tonight except there.

When he reached the edge of the porch light’s reach, he stopped. Just enough distance. Just enough space. He didn’t want this to feel like pressure. After a few seconds, the front door cracked open. He didn’t smile. Not really. Just that small flicker of softness that barely reached his mouth, but lived in his eyes. The kind of look that said I see you, without saying anything at all. He held up the hoodie slightly, a silent gesture more than anything else. Then his voice, low, steady, and a little rough around the edges: “Didn’t want to wake anyone. Just figured… if you were up…” He let the sentence trail off, like he wasn’t quite sure where it was going. Then tried again. “It’s late. I know. But I couldn’t stop thinking.” He paused. Looked down for a second. The porch light cast shadows under his eyes, but he didn’t seem tired. Just worn.

“I know you said you didn’t want to celebrate. And I get that. I do.” A soft breath escaped his lips before he continued. “But I thought maybe… maybe we could not celebrate somewhere else. Just for a bit.” He glanced toward the car then back at them. “I’ll drive. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You don’t have to explain anything. Just get in and let it all be quiet for a while.” He shifted his weight. Let the silence stretch between them again. “You don’t owe me anything,” he added, almost like a reflex. “I just… didn’t want you to be here. Alone. Not tonight.” And then he waited. No pressure. No questions. Just the two of them standing under the porch light, hoodie in one hand, keys in the other, and a kind of quiet hope resting heavy in his chest.