they wish they were us | conan gray

18. taser

> Noah's Phone <

>> iMessage <<

Jess

Jess: hi apple pie. Good morning. Just wanted to say that ily and u r literally so perfect *gay screaming*

Noah: HI!

Jess: hi hi hi

Noah: When will you be back?

Jess: I m always w u but physically next year

Noah: I miss you.

Noah: So much that sometimes it's hard to breathe.

Jess: I miss u too :'( why did we both have to have daddy issues?

Jess: daddy issues that throw u around the world to the Philippines

Noah: I don't have daddy issues.

Jess: I mean, I guess they're not issues per se

Noah: I just wish he'd write to me more but anyways

Jess: NO NO NO WAIT

Jess: hes trying his best to make up for the missed birthday of this year. He loves u so much. Hes just busy n stuff

Noah: He doesn't even wanna meet me. There's no return address on his letters ever. In the last letter he said not to write back.

Jess: bby :c that's his personal problem. I promise that it has nothing to do w u

Jess: if I could meet anyone in the world rn

Noah: Miley Cyrus?

Jess: u, dumbass

Noah: Oh, I'd pick a two headed raccoon.

Jess: ofc u would. I ve saved u as raccoon boy in my contacts

Noah: Aw.

******

When he throws open the door to Noah's room, the boy isn't there. His room is neater than before with the bedsheets tightly tucked under the mattresses and Noah's art supplies stacked on a shelf at the far end of the room. The tubes of neon shades are pushed in the far end of the shelves as if to hide their abnormal glow.

Conan uneasily stumbles inside the room as though his feet are moving by themselves. He feels slightly cold, having forgotten to pick up a jacket from home. He immediately grabs his red jacket off a hook on Noah's closet, his cheeks burning at how his thrifted clothes clash at odds with Noah's primeval ones.

His self demeaning thoughts are cut short by sounds.

Laughter echoes through the halls, of Noah's mom and her fiancé. Whatever desire Conan had of going downstairs and asking Diane where Noah was, has evaporated. He decides he can just wait in Noah's room instead of disturbing two women in love who'd only feel bothered by his snags.

His vision roams over the record player, the albums on Noah's desk. He spots something familiar and feels like bouncing on his heels at the new Jeff Buckley record. It's not that Conan doubted that Noah paid attention to him but that he bought something only because Conan loves it, makes the other's insides heat up.

His fingers twitch towards it but he doesn't play it. Even sitting in his room without telling him feels like some serious crime. Besides, he doesn't want Noah to think he went through his music collection without him knowing.