Nochelle - Our Stories

W A L K H O M E

~anytime after Noah becomes DC~

"Listen, Richelle–" Noah said as they made their way out of the studio, "I walked to dance today and now it's raining and it's getting dark and–"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll walk with you." Richelle replied, instead of being normal and offering him a ride with Michelle or giving him money for the bus. She didn't know why she did it, any other option would have been so much easier, so much simpler. Then she wouldn't have to contend with the tension buzzing always in the air between them, the rain soaking through her leotard, her hair, her skin, Noah's eyes hovering on her face (there's something inscrutable in his gaze, dark and rich, and she can't think about it, she can't, because she doesn't know where her mind will go if given the chance). Even then, she didn't know why she did it, just that she did.

So now, instead of being in the warmth of a vehicle or their own homes, they're trudging through a torrential downpour in late September. Once they walk about a block, he finally looks at her shivering next to him and wordlessly gives her his jacket.

As a natural reaction, she protests. "Noah, you don't have to–"

He smiles for what feels like the first time in ages, tired and more meaningful than it should be. "It's okay." he says, almost too softly to be heard over the arrhythmic drumming of the rain.

They pause as one, and she looks at him, searching and strange. Noah tilts back his head as if unaware he's being watched, eyes shut tight, and grins up into the storm. Water drips down his face, into his hair, through his parted lips into his mouth. Oddly, he looks at peace like this, soaking wet in an early-fall downpour.

Something shifts in Richelle, then. It's not immediately identifiable but she knows it as surely and intimately as she knows each of her own breaths, and her lungs stutter on their next inhale.

Then Noah opens his eyes again, blinking the water off of his eyelashes, and he quirks another smile at her, this one feeling much more real, more normal. She grins back, not fully of her own accord.

"What're you looking at?" he teases, eyes bright with something bigger than joy. "See something you like?"

Richelle snorts. "You wish."

He gasps in mock offense. "But Richelle, you promised your hand in marriage to me when we were ten, are you breaking up with me?!"

"Yeah, sure. If you count promises I made when I was ten, I've been engaged to Zac Efron for years." she shoots over her shoulder, and he gasps again.

"Are you cheating on me?" Noah jokes, jogging to keep up with her pace. Despite the mock offence, there's a grin curling his lips that lights up his whole face.

A reflexive roll of the eyes. "That implies the presence of a relationship to begin with, Erlick." she jibes with a smirk as she turns left into an alleyway. "Shortcut." she calls behind her in explanation, and Noah rushes to catch up to her.

"Thought you were gonna leave me behind," he complains with an exaggerated pout.

"I've been trying for years. Can't believe I've been foiled again." Richelle deadpans, and he huffs as they both slow their paces to a lazy meandering walk through the alleyway. Above them, they can see the dark clouds, the rain redoubling its efforts. Their shoes splash through puddles and, surprisingly, Richelle finds she doesn't care that her new trainers are probably getting at least a little bit ruined.

It's effortless, really, the pattern of their conversation, the ebb and flow of their banter and snark. Maybe it's not too intelligent, maybe it's childish sometimes, but it's natural and easy. Nothing feels jilted out of place, even with the tension humming through every word, every sentence.

They bicker playfully and talk about the day, the choreography, the teammates, the friends. Noah shoves Richelle under the torrential stream of water coming from a gutter, and when she curses at him, he jumps under too with a wild laugh. Their clothes stick to their skin, hair hanging in messy strings, and they flick drops of water out of their eyes, spit it from their mouths, and they laugh, loud and ringing in the dusk of the city.

Richelle leans back against the brick wall of the building, chuckling breathlessly, head tilted so she can see the sky. Noah comes to rest beside her, giggling the way he does so rarely, full of a genuine mirth and happiness that he so rarely shows at the studio when he has to be the serious Dance Captain he is. She turns her head to look at him, grinning, and finds him already gazing back, eyes warm, smile resting still on his face.

"Richelle–thanks for walking home with me." he says softly, nose to nose with her. A drop of rain hits her cheek, and she does not flinch.

"Any day, Noah." she replies, just as quiet, and his lips twitch up at their right corner.

The air between them is breathless and choked, drowned by the storm, the sharp edge of things always left silent, unsaid.

She leans forward, hesitant and slow, and even as her eyes slip closed, she can feel his eyes on her, open and afraid and so hopeful it almost breaks her apart. From only millimeters away, she can feel the wild heat of his skin, the rush of blood under hot flesh.

So alive in the storm.

His lips meet hers, gentle and soft, and she leans into it, her hands finding their places at the back of his neck and his cheek, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer.

The air around them is cold, and they are warm, and the rain comes tumbling down.

~~~
I clearly like writing about them in rainstorms huh