Chapter 33: Home [M]
I catch the scent of something cooking from the kitchen, and instantly, my stomach growls. The rich, warm aroma floats through the air, pulling me toward the house. Noelle's cooking again—he always knows exactly when I need to refuel. I set the axe down for a moment, wiping the sweat from my brow, and take a look at the pile of firewood I've been working on. It's decent for now, enough to get us through for a while.
With a flick of my hand, the axe flies through the air, sailing perfectly into the shed where it belongs. My telekinesis is sharp these days, as precise as it ever was. But, honestly, I prefer not to use it. Noelle loves watching me work with my hands, loves seeing me sweat and toil in the sun, and if I'm being honest, I love being watched by him. The way his eyes follow every movement, the admiration, the quiet pride—it's like fuel, stronger than anything else. A win for both of us.
I start heading toward the house, eager to see him, but I get ahead of myself, stepping a little too quickly. Then it hits—the sharp, stabbing pain in my left leg. The kind that cuts deep and fast, stealing the breath from my lungs. Damn thing. It's always a reminder of what I lost. My hand instinctively tightens around the cane I carry, an unwelcome but necessary companion. I lean into it, grit my teeth, and slow my pace, forcing myself to breathe through the pain.
I count the seconds in my head. Five. Ten. Fifteen. And then, just like that, it fades, as it always does, leaving behind a dull ache that I've long gotten used to. I push it aside, focusing on the scent of Noelle's cooking, on the warmth of the house just a few steps away.
I can see the soft light spilling out from the windows, hear the faint clatter of pots and pans. Home. Our home. It still feels strange to think of it like that. This house, this life—it's more than I ever thought I'd have.
*
As I watch Noelle move gracefully in the kitchen, the smell of his cooking fills the room, making my stomach growl in anticipation. But it isn't just the aroma of the food that's captivating me—it's him. His delicate frame moves with such purpose and precision. There's something mesmerizing about how he works, how focused he becomes when he's cooking. My eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. Honestly, he's so beautiful.
When he finishes, he places the food on two plates and looks over at me, a hint of curiosity in his green eyes. I can't help the smile tugging at my lips. I stand up, slowly stalking towards him, my heart beating just a little faster.
"What?" His voice is soft, almost teasing, as he catches my approach. Those green eyes lock onto mine, always so curious, always so damn tempting.