Nochelle - Our Stories

S T A R S

~Season 6~ (ignore Noaquie Xx)

Noah's eyebrows bunched together as he looked at the phone in front of him. Something was off about the snapchat he was looking at, but he couldn't quite place it. It wasn't unusual for Richelle to send her late night snaps from under the light blue covers of her bed.

Or her evening snaps.

Or her 'right after she got home from practice' snaps for that matter.

Noah smiled a bit at that thought, but hey, Richelle worked harder than anyone he knew; she deserved as many naps as she could squeeze into her schedule. He cursed quietly to himself as the timer ran out and the picture closed. He instinctively held down on the screen to replay it, knowing she'd ask about it but figuring he'd brush it off as an accident. Noah studied her face but again ran out of time. He cursed Richelle (not for the first time) for not letting her snaps have the infinite timer. There wasn't anything specific in her snap, but his instincts were telling him something was wrong. And his instincts were usually right when it came to Richelle. He had known her since they were just babies skipping around Studio B, and they had only continued as best friends since.

He pursed his lips as he considered his next move. He might have been wrong, maybe nothing was the matter. He could already see her making fun of him for replaying her snap, ("Aw, did you really wanna see my beautiful face again?") and if he paired that with genuine concern for her wellbeing....well he'd never hear the end of it.

His concern won, and he took a quick pic and typed out a simple:

'r u ok?'

He kept his eyes on his phone and watched as she opened the snap. The minute he was on opened felt like the longest minute of his life, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he got a response. He quickly opened it and read the reply:

'Honestly? Not really. Just stressed out. Like more than normal lol'

Noah's pride flared for just a moment at being able to read her expressions so well before he closed Snapchat and switched over to his texts. He scrolled to find their conversation and smiled when he landed on it. Their last text was from a couple weeks ago: he had sent a picture they had taken of the two of them after she had earned her place on the Ballet Duet. She had replied with a simple heart emoji, a message that—at the time—had sent butterflies through his heart and exactly zero rational thoughts to his brain. Looking at it now had a similar effect, and he shook his head to get back on track. He began to type.

Noah: R u dressed?

Richie: ...What?

Oh. Right. Probably should've added more to that. Oh well, no other choice now but to push on.

Noah: If ur not dressed get dressed

Noah: I'm coming to pick u up

Richie: What?

Noah: You need to destress! And lucky for u I am a newly minted driver

Noah: Come on it'll be fun, and it's not even midnight yet

Noah: I'm already on my way Richie

Noah was at her house in five minutes, not even checking if Richelle has sent a reply. When he finally parked up and bothered to check, he was relieved to see she had (a thumbs up emoji) and so he quickly typed out that he was outside. He waited a few seconds, nervously tapping out a beat on the steering wheel, before he saw her gate open, her house dark and dead to the world. Richelle was wearing a large sweatshirt and the same pair of cozy pyjama pants she always wore to sleepovers; Noah smiled as he saw the too-long sleeves hanging past her hands, her opening the passenger door and giving him a small, tired smile.