NEW YORK CITY, BROOKLYN, 1994.

the apartment was small, the kind of place where every sound lingered a little longer than it should. pipes clicked behind the walls, the radiator breathed out uneven heat, and the city outside hummed like it never really slept. the window was cracked open just enough to let in the night air and the distant sound of traffic, sirens softened by distance. that was how you’d gotten in, quiet and familiar, like you’d done it a hundred times before.

noah barely looked up when you climbed in. he never did anymore. you belonged there in the same way his tools did, in the same way the mess of wires and half-fixed electronics belonged to every surface in the room.

"all right, baby, come on... all right, show me the money, show me the money..." noah murmured to himself as he put together reeks cable box. noah was good with things like that, although he never really bragged about it but everyone knew it. people asked him to fix their stuff, cars, televisions, telephones like he was an electrician or something.

his fingers moved with confidence, careful but quick, like he trusted the machines to listen to him. you lay back on his bed, shoes kicked off, staring up at the ceiling with its faint water stain shaped like nothing in particular. the mattress dipped slightly where you rested, springs creaking softly, the sheets warm and familiar.

he tested it out and turned on the tv, tupacs face coming up on screen. there it was, free cable. "here we go! here we go." he said with a small grin as he turned in his chair to look at you. "i fixed it."

you watched him like that for a moment, pride shining through the tiredness in his eyes, the way it always did when he made something work. "i know you did." you replied softly as you stretched in his bed, arms over your head, body loose and unguarded in a way you never were anywhere else.

he got up and walked over to you. he got on top of you, before he made sure both of you were comfortable. him on his side, arm around your waist. the room felt smaller like that, quieter, like the rest of the world had been shut out on purpose. his thumb traced slow, absent patterns against your hip, grounding, steady. your breathing matched his without either of you noticing.

the walkie talkie on the nightstand crackled before surely his little brother kris's voice came through. "yo, sonic, breakfast ready yet?"

noah sighed, the sound muffled against your shoulder, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. he reached over and replied to his pain in the ass brother whom he loved very much though, "i ain't your butler, kris."

the static faded, leaving behind the low sound of the tv and the city outside. noah settled back in, holding you a little closer, like this moment mattered more than anything waiting on the other side of the door. for now, it was just the two of you, tangled up in a quiet morning, safe in the in-between.