Chapter 6 — Uninvited
1212 Words
Théo's POV
Lyon, France
The doorbell rang at 8AM.
I was half asleep — face pressed into my pillow, blanket pulled over my head — when the sound cut through the silence of my apartment like something personally offensive.
I didn't move for a full ten seconds.
Who.
The doorbell rang again. Longer this time. More determined. The kind of ring that communicated very clearly that the person on the other side had absolutely no intention of leaving.
I dragged myself out of bed.
Shuffled to the door in yesterday's clothes — hair a disaster, eyes barely open — and pulled it open without even checking the peephole.
Noah.
Standing in my doorway with a paper bag in one hand and an expression on his face that was caught somewhere between relief and absolute fury.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
"So." His voice was very calm. "You came back."
"Noah—"
"After how long?" He tilted his head. "How many days Théo? Since you disappeared without a single message? Without telling anyone anything? Just — gone?"
I opened my mouth.
"Don't." He walked past me into the apartment without being invited. Set the paper bag on my kitchen counter. Turned around. Crossed his arms. "Don't even try to explain yourself yet. I'm still deciding if I'm speaking to you."
I closed the door slowly.
"You're speaking to me." I said.
"I'm yelling at you. There's a difference."
I almost smiled despite myself.
"How did you even know I was back?" I asked.
Noah gave me a look that could have flattened a building.
"How did I know." He repeated flatly. "Théo. You forgot that you told me to come back and check on you. And when I called — your phone was off. So I called Élise." He paused. "You know she's basically my sister too at this point. She told me you had some urgent matter and left Bangkok suddenly." He paused again. "So she told you." I said.
"Yes she told me." Noah pulled out a chair and sat down like he owned the place. "Now do you want to know what's been happening while you were busy having your — whatever this was — in Thailand?"
I moved toward the kitchen. Started making coffee. Mostly because I needed something to do with my hands.
"Tell me." I said.
"Okay." Noah leaned forward. "First thing. Your team leader."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"He is furious Théo. No leave application. No notice. Nothing. You just vanished." Noah's voice dropped into something that was almost sympathetic despite itself. "He came to my department — personally — asking about you. Said if you pulled something like this again it's going straight to HR." He paused. "I didn't tell you this so you can prepare yourself — actually I did tell you so you can prepare yourself. When you walk back into that office you are walking into a land bomb waiting to go off on your head."
I poured water into the coffee maker.
"He said it's completely unacceptable." Noah continued. "Said you've been on thin ice since—" he paused — "actually you know what just be ready. When that team leader sees you his face is going to do something I genuinely want to witness."
"Thank you Noah." I said flatly.
"I'm not done."
I turned around.
Noah's expression shifted. Something slightly more uncomfortable crossing his face.
"Camille came to my place."
The coffee maker beeped. I didn't move.
"She showed up at my door two days ago." Noah's voice was carefully neutral — the voice he used when he was trying very hard not to say what he actually thought. "Sad story. Tearful. The whole performance." He paused. "She said you broke up with her. Over the phone." Another pause. "Which — I mean. Phone Théo? Really?"
"Noah—"
"I'm not judging." He held up a hand. "I am absolutely judging but that's beside the point." He looked at me steadily. "You also apparently gave her my address at some point because she knew exactly where I lived. Which — we are going to have a separate conversation about that." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know I don't like her."
"I know."
"I have never liked her."
"I know Noah."
"So why does she have my address—"
"Okay." I turned back to the coffee. "Stop. All of it. I heard you. Team leader. Camille. I'll handle it."
Silence.
"Are you done complaining?" I asked.
"One more thing."
I picked up my coffee cup.
"Your card." Noah said. "Your payment card. Élise told me it wasn't working when you were in Bangkok. She said you took cash from her because your card had a problem." He paused. "Which is weird because you told me last month everything was fine with your account so—"
"It had a technical issue." I said immediately. "Banking problem. It's sorted now."
Noah looked at me.
I looked at my coffee.
I couldn't use my card, I thought. Because if someone was looking — if there was any way to trace a transaction — a card payment would be the first thing they'd find. Cash leaves nothing. Cash disappears. Cash is safe.
You can't tell him that.
"Technical issue." Noah repeated slowly.
"Yes."
Another silence. Longer this time.
"Théo." His voice changed. Quieter now. The voice he used when he was done being funny and had decided to be honest instead. "Is something going on?"
I picked up my coffee cup. Walked toward the living room. Sat down on the couch.
"Do you want something to eat?" I asked. "You brought food right? What's in the bag?"
"Croissants." Noah said. He hadn't moved from the kitchen chair. "Théo."
"I'm starving actually." I said. "Can you—"
"Is this about Camille?" His voice was steady. Patient. The voice of someone who knew me well enough to wait. "Or is it something that happened in Thailand?"
The apartment went quiet.
Outside Lyon moved past my window — grey morning, distant traffic, the Rhône somewhere beyond the rooftops doing what it always did.
I looked at my coffee cup.
Bangkok. The club. The room. The pain. The red corner of the sheet. The man I refused to look at.
The man who is still out there somewhere.
Looking.
"Nothing happened." I said.
My voice came out perfectly even.
Perfectly calm.
Perfectly convincing.
Noah looked at me for a long moment.
Then he stood up. Walked to the counter. Opened the paper bag. Put two croissants on a plate and brought them over without another word.
He sat beside me on the couch.
Handed me a croissant.
And said nothing.
Which was somehow — the worst thing he could have done.
Because Noah's silence was never empty. It was the kind of silence that simply waited. That knew perfectly well you were lying and had decided to give you time to figure that out yourself.
I ate my croissant.
Stared at the wall.
And felt the weight of everything I wasn't saying sit between us like a third person on the couch.
Nothing happened, I told myself again.
Everything is fine.
Keep running Théo.
You're very good at it.
- Writer
