they wish they were us | conan gray

23. recipe for disaster

a/n: might read boring at first but this is so important. also noah's response to jess' texts is at the end of the chapter. go read for clear skin

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Rachel was a year older
When I was in the second grade
I thought she might know everything

I asked her how to win my man
And she said, "I know just the thing"
Gave me lip gloss and a hair toss
And after school, a lesson in kissing

The first day Hunt picks him up, he refuses to get into the car with him and throws a childish tantrum involving a lot of a foreign tongue and whining. The conversation is mostly directed at his mother, saying he'd rather her drive him than Hunter. That woman really needs a break, Hunt thinks.

When he does reach the museum with his mom, Noah defies the purpose of what is supposed to be a partner project. He doesn't talk to him and doesn't as so much as look at him. Hunt kindly offers to push his wheelchair but Noah doesn't let him. Rude is not another red flag Noah has that Conan shouldn't ignore at all.

Maybe, Hunt wasn't the prime choice. He has accepted that but Noah? Really? Conan could do better than some dim-wit who takes longer to process sarcasm than it takes to make laws in the country.

He stares at him, a few galleries apart. Noah smiles at the paintings with a glassy stare and a wide grin. Hunter swears at some point, he spots him clapping his hands with excitement at some piece. He is half childish and the part of him that is mature is curt and untoward.

Unfortunately, Noah picks out a couple paintings to replicate the first day but Hunt doesn't agree. He says he wants to take a wlw take on some extremely heteronormative painting. When asked to show his selections and ideas by Noah, Hunt is left with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks and words that get stuck in his throat like rocks.

They don't interact after that at all. Hunt wishes he had gotten Conan for a partner rather than Noah. He would even take Alice over him, gods. He's so bothersome. He's too much work.

The second day, Hunt reaches the museum early. He is determined to make up for the loss of the previous day. Distractions ensue because Noah shows up early too, wearing something that renders him speechless just like the day before. The shortest tennis skirt known to humanity clings to his waist.

Just a pretty face in pretty clothes. That's all Noah is. That's all that attracts Conan to him. Noah is nothing. He doesn't have the history with Conan like Hunt does. It's all mere infatuation. Even Hunt wants to kiss him for a second. It really goes to show how Noah weaponizes his good-looks.

"You look stupid in that," Hunt gulps the moment Noah is in his proximity.

Noah's face remains blank as ever. "I like it. That's what matters."

"You know, Conan likes masculine boys. Not guys that totter around showing off their legs in femme clothing," Hunt utters. Out of the corner of his vision, Noah's face twitches at Hunt's remark. Watching him twitch is like Hunt's Italian father flinching. A gesture he didn't know could exist. "What if someone touches your legs?"

"What if you learned how to mind your business?" comes the response. He can keep pretending he isn't affected. An unfathomable and unpleasant emotion has been growing in Hunt's chest. He wants to see Noah accept that he isn't good enough. Small faltering actions aren't good enough. He wants to see him cry but doesn't want to be the one to do it. He'll happily see him break, his delicate glass like body, even if a couple splinters land on his face.

"I am trying to be nice. I told you I wanna be friends and friends give each other advice," Hunt shrugs, putting it out there simply. "You're still fixable. Conan could like you more."