There were three reasons Noah Bennett loved Fridays. No algebra until Monday, snack privileges without Mom-policing, and, most important... sleepovers with Thomas. The tradition started at age five, back when "sleepover" meant staying up 'til nine whispering superhero stories under the blanket. At seventeen, it was still their thing. Same goofy rituals, just a little taller, a touch messier. Still home.
Noah jogged up the Carter driveway, hoodie zipped high against the chilly night, juggling snacks like a champion. He burst inside, grinning. "Thomas! I brought chips and emotional trauma!"
From upstairs: Thomas's laugh, low and warm. "Come up before my parents think you're a burglar."
Noah took the stairs two at a time, swung open Thomas's bedroom door. "Your favorite human has arrived," he announced, arms wide.
Thomas sat cross-legged on his bed, textbook in front of him (obviously), giving Noah that small, secret smile. "You're late."
"You always say that," Noah replied, flopping down dramatically. "One day, you're gonna greet me like 'My life lost meaning without you.'"
"Don't hold your breath," Thomas shot back, but his eyes sparkled.
Noah rolled onto his back, clutching a pillow. "So, what's the plan? Ghost movies? Video games? Summoning spirits?"
Thomas snapped his book shut. "Let's stick to horror movies. Unless you plan on screaming in my ear again?"
"I don't scream, I shriek. Artistically," Noah insisted, scandalized.
Thomas actually laughed. Noah's favourite sound in the universe. They ended up half-watching a ridiculous horror flick, stuffing each other's faces with chips, Noah shoving memes in Thomas's face every ten seconds. "Look at this one," Noah said, pushing his phone close enough to almost boop Thomas's nose.
Thomas leaned in... just a fraction too close. "Not funny," he deadpanned, but there was a tiny smile.
"You have no soul," Noah grumbled, heart thumping, pulling his phone away before his brain could spiral.
Hours ticked by in that sparkly, safe way only sleepovers could. By midnight, the only light was from Thomas's string lights, glowing gentle gold around the window. And then: Mia texted.
Mia: "truth or dare? you two. don't be cowards."
Noah snorted. "Mia says we're boring."
"She's... not wrong," Thomas murmured, already burrowed in blankets.
"Excuse me, I'm a delight. C'mon, dare!"
Thomas rolled his eyes. "Fine. Dare."
Noah eyed the neon candy jar on the dresser. "Eat five at once."
Thomas didn't even pause, popped all five in, face scrunching like he'd just bitten a lemon from hell.
Noah nearly wept with laughter. "You look like you're reconsidering every life decision-"
Thomas whacked him with a pillow, triggering a chaos-pillow war. Feathers, laughter, and Noah hanging halfway off the bed.
And then disaster (Noah's brand): Water bottle tipped. Cap loose. Ice-cold waterfall across the bed, the floor, and, most importantly, Thomas.
The silence lasted one shocked heartbeat.
Then laughter. Noah wheezed, "You look like a sad wet cat-"
Thomas, calm as a serial killer, poured the remnants of the bottle over Noah's head. "Fair's fair."
"I'm shivering!" Noah yelped, towel-drying the bed as Thomas changed shirts.
And, because the universe is cruel, Thomas's fresh shirt clung exactly where it shouldn't, and Noah's brain just... fizzed. "Y-you need a... drier blanket," Noah squeaked.
Thomas grabbed the backup blanket, tossed half over Noah's shoulders, and settled in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Silence, the best kind. Just breathing and togetherness.
Then, softly: "You're shivering."
"No I'm-" (yep, he definitely was) "...maybe a bit."
Thomas tucked the blanket closer. "Better?"
"Yeah, thanks," Noah said, his heart thudding at the casual closeness.
Then Thomas's hand brushed his under the blanket... a tiny spark, but a thousand volts. Neither moved away.
For a while they just lay there, Noah thinking about saying something brave. Instead, he whispered, "Don't let me hog the blanket."
"You can have as much as you want," Thomas murmured, just above a whisper.
In the dark, blanket shared, Noah smiled, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Thomas meant more than just the blanket.