The world outside Aarush’s apartment was loud—cars rushing through slush-covered roads, news vans still lurking near the corner, camera flashes occasionally bursting in the night like anxious stars—but inside… it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Noah sat on Aarush’s sofa, wrapped in one of Aarush’s grey sweaters. It was too big for him, the sleeves covering most of his hands, but he looked small in it. Too small. Too vulnerable. Nothing like the blinding celebrity the world saw.
Aarush had seen Noah tired,
he’d seen him reckless,
seen him flirt,
seen him smirk,
—but he had *never* seen Noah like this.
Eyes unfocused, expression hollow, breath unsteady.
Breaking.
Aarush placed two mugs on the coffee table. “Drink something warm. It helps after a panic attack.”
Noah didn’t touch the mug.
He
