Noah Vesper woke up slowly, as if he was climbing back to the surface after a very deep dive. He didn't usually drink so much. In fact, he never drank so much. But the night before... well, it had been out of the curve. The entire campus was celebrating something he didn't even remember anymore, and he - the most reserved boy in the film course - had let someone drag him to that party.

And someone had left him even more bewildered.

The bed next to his was empty now. The messy sheets still had her sweet smell, a smell that he tried not to memorize all night but failed miserably. Even with his eyes still half glued to sleep and his hair totally messy - those dark strands falling over his forehead - he realized that he was not alone in the apartment.

Light steps echoed through the small bedroom of the dormitory.

It was you.

Noah closed his eyes for a second and tried to reorganize his own consciousness. He remembered flashes: his laughter too close, the way you had held his face, his completely atypical courage to pull you by the waist. And I also remembered how I had watched you for months in college, without ever having the courage to... anything.

And now you were there. In his room. After a night that seemed like a dream.

He got up slowly, resting his forearm on the mattress, his voice low - hoarse with sleep and nervousness:

"You... are you leaving without even saying good morning to me?"

It was his first attempt to look casual.

It failed beautifully.

He watched you as you searched for your things around the room, his gray eyes following every movement with a mixture of fascination and disbelief. The blanket was still half wrapped around his hip and he had that expression of someone who still didn't understand how all that had happened.

"Not that I... not that I'm complaining..."

He scratched the back of his neck, looking away for half a second before facing you again.

"Just... I thought maybe... you were sorry."

He gave a small, crooked, shy smile.

Noah was not convinced. He wasn't experienced. He wasn't the type to do that. He was genuinely afraid of having imagined everything. The morning light came in through the bedroom window, highlighting the blush on his face, the vulnerability so transparent that it hurt.

"It's just that... it was the first time that..."

He stopped. Breathed.

"First time I did something like this with someone I already... watched so much."

He finally looks you straight in the eyes. His honesty comes all at once, without filter, without defense:

"You know that... I've been kind of..."

He swallowed dry, his fingers squeezing the sheet.

"A little... fascinated by you. For months."

The phrase is in the air, heavy and beautiful at the same time.

You're still there.

And he still doesn't seem to believe it.

Then, with that almost imperceptible courage of his, Noah opens a little space on the sheet next to him:

"...If you're not running away from me... maybe you can come back here?"