Noah Bennett believed in three truths: Mondays were a crime against humanity, the cafeteria's mac and cheese was a government plot, and Brooksville Hill was the most magical place on earth. Not Disneyland. Not Paris. Not that overpriced ice cream shop in town no, the hill, where the sunsets set the sky on fire. That was it.
So here he was again, stretched out in the grass, arms behind his head, shoes kicked off, grin in place as sun spilled gold everywhere. Laughter floated up from the festival in town, but up here it was quiet and safe. The kind of quiet that makes you want to never leave.
Beside him, Thomas Hale sat cross-legged, sketchbook balanced, pencil flying in perfect lines. Thomas was the calm to Noah's chaos, algebra turned poetry, and a world-class eye-roller.
"You're starting again," Thomas said, eyes never leaving the page.
"What if I am?" Noah smirked, hand to his heart. "Wounding me, Hale."
"You'll survive."
Noah pretended to be offended, but that warmth in his chest was getting harder to ignore especially when Thomas smiled.
They sat silently, soaking in a sky so gorgeous it hurt a little. Until Noah broke: "Remember the first time we came here?"
Thomas arched a brow. "You mean when you almost broke your ankle?"
"That was a tactical misstep." Noah tried looking solemn, failed.
Thomas snorted. "You dragged me up here in a thunderstorm to see clouds up close. Your shoe got stuck in the mud. You cried."
"It was artistic crying," Noah declared.
"Sure. After you bribed me with a melted chocolate bar to keep it quiet."
"Strategic negotiations," Noah answered, half-smiling at the memory.
He caught the rare little smile on Thomas's lips, the kind that made him proud just for earning it. Eleven years together: disasters, heartbreak, and the time Thomas just sat there after the worst breakup of Noah's life, not talking, just being there.
Noah wondered, not for the first time, what would happen if that ever changed.
Soon Thomas closed the sketchbook. "Come on. Late."
"Five more minutes."
"You said that ten minutes ago."
"Time's an illusion," Noah said, sprawling dramatically. "Sunsets should last forever."
Thomas stood, offering a hand. "Your mom's going to kill you."
Noah took it anyway, holding on warm, steady, safe. Just noticing didn't have to mean anything, right?
At the bottom of the hill, bikes waiting, Thomas asked, "Practice tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Try not to heckle the coach."
"No promises."
They pedalled home, side by side, like they'd always done. Noah glanced at Thomas, jaw set, eyes soft, wondered how many more nights would feel like this. "Will we always be like this?"
"Forever," Noah promised, almost whispering. "I'll never leave you. As long as there's a sky."
Thomas wanted to believe it too. Because forever with Noah? Wasn't nearly enough.