Noah lay in his bed that night.
Dinner had been simple. His dad had bought takeout again, which wasn't surprising. Nathaniel Brooks rarely cooked at home.
One arm rested under his head while the other lay stretched across the bed. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but his mind kept drifting back to that rainy night with Scarf.
Aralyn had looked surprised.
Her eyes widened before she slowly pulled away from his light touch. She had expected something to happen–but not that.
For some reason, watching her retreat like that had made his chest tighten.
"What do you get from this, Noah? What do you want from me?" she had asked wearily.
She looked exhausted. Years of secrets weighed heavily on her shoulders. She wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck as if it were armor.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly.
"I don't want anything from you, Scarf."
Aralyn stared at him.
"Bullshit."
Noah chuckled softly. "Damn. She curses." Then he lifted his hands slightly in surrender. "On a serious note though, I really don't want anything from you. All I asked was for you to let me stay here until the rain slowed down. That's it."
"No one I've met before wanted nothing after they saw me," she said quietly.
Noah noticed the way her jaw tightened, the fear that lingered clearly in her eyes.
"So cut the act now," she continued. "Tell me what you want."
Noah stayed quiet for a moment, studying her.
The way she kept her guard up made him think. He rolled onto his side, staring toward the window. People didn't trust easily. He knew that better than anyone. But it wasn't just trust that Scarf struggled with.
"Is it really that hard for you to believe that I just want us to be friends?" he asked, frustration creeping into his voice.
He gestured lightly toward her neck.
"Whatever that thing is–it's none of my business, okay? And for your information, you were screaming and burning up in my arms."
Aralyn blinked.
"Burning up?"
"Yeah," Noah said. "That's why I had to take the scarf off. I didn't know what else to do!"
From where he stood, he could see it glowing again beneath the fabric. Brighter this time. Stronger. Aralyn's cheeks flushed faintly. Her fingers tugged lightly at the scarf as if trying to hide it better. Her blinking slowed, her balance wavering.
Noah moved quickly. He caught her just before she collapsed.
"Son? You're still awake?"
Noah blinked, pulled back into reality.
He sat up straight and moved to the edge of the bed as his dad appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Apart from his greying hair, Nathaniel Brooks still looked pretty good for a man his age.
"How's the road?"
Noah scoffed and dropped back onto the mattress. "Really, Dad? You're asking me that?"
Nathaniel clicked his tongue and stepped into the room.
"Of course. It's what your mom always did–checking in," he said, his gaze drifting over the untidy desk and the luggage sitting by Noah's bedside. "She'd be proud of what you achieved so far."
Noah let out a heavy sigh and pushed himself upright again. His fingers clenched the bedsheets.
"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" he asked, though his voice strained slightly.
"You know I only want what's best for you," Nathaniel replied, turning to look at him. He noticed the anger clouding his son's eyes.
"Yet you chose a path that doesn't guarantee your future, Noah. There's no security in your dreams. How are you supposed to survive in the real world, huh?"
"I love my dream, Dad. Every career out there has its own kind of security–just not in the way you're used to thinking about."
"Really?" Nathaniel shot back, folding his arms with a triumphant smirk. "Look where it got you now. Crawling back home." He tilted his head slightly. "Mind explaining what kind of security your dream had to protect you?"
Noah looked away, his hands clasped tightly together.
"That's what I thought," Nathaniel continued. "Three years wasted on the road, living like a hobo with your so-called band. Had me thinking you'd come back a big star by now."
He turned and started toward the door.
"Mom would still believe in me if she were here," Noah said before he could stop himself.
Nathaniel froze. His hand reached the doorknob. Without another word, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him.
Silence filled the room.
Noah slowly released the breath he'd been holding. The tension drained from his shoulders as he hunched forward, elbows on his knees.
A single sob escaped him before he could stop it.
"I miss you, Mom," he choked, a hand covering his mouth to muffle the sound.
Tears slipped through his fingers.
The last thing he remembered of her was her sweet smile, telling him to keep chasing his dream.
"I know my baby will break a lot of hearts," she had said once, laughing softly. "But don't let that stop you from chasing your dreams."
His body trembled violently. Noah bit his fist, trying to stay quiet, but the effort was failing.
He forced himself to lie back on the bed, staring at the blurred outline of the ceiling above him. His lips quivered as he struggled to keep everything inside.
"What should I do, Mom?" he sniffled.
The heaviness in his chest had been there ever since he came back home.
Rolling onto his side, he reached beneath the blanket and pulled out the small pillow he kept hidden there.
It was his mother's handkerchief.
He had taken it before his dad could throw away the rest of her things. Noah had managed to sneak away a few others too–her pastel green sweater, a brooch, and her bracelet.
He pulled the pillow closer and inhaled softly.
Noah had sewn Evelyn's handkerchief into a small pillow himself. He couldn't bear the thought of losing it, so he turned it into something he could sleep with every night.
When he first took it, the sweet scent of his mother still lingered on the fabric. But as time passed, the scent faded, leaving only the delicate hand-stitched signature–Evelyn–in the corner.
He never understood why Nathaniel had removed all of her belongings so quickly after she died. Noah had nearly fought with him over it once. But Mrs. Collin had stopped him, telling him it was for their own good. At the time, rage had blinded him. Yet somehow, her words had calmed him.
"Mom... I met someone," he murmured softly. Exhaustion from crying slowly pulled him under. Within moments, sleep claimed him.