Chapter 207: Snacks

CASSIAN

The question pulled me back from the ledge of my own thoughts. “What?”

Noah was looking at me, his face already beginning to fall into that self-effacing logic he used as a shield.

“You’ve been quiet. Your mind is obviously somewhere else. You’re thinking about work. You only came because of me, and I’m fine now. We can leave. I don’t want to be a bother.”

The default assumption: I am an inconvenience. It was a sentence he had likely lived inside for many years.

“Where did you get all that from?” I asked.

“You look like you’re thinking about work.”

I looked at him, the decision to tease forming before I could stop it. I liked his face when he was flustered; it was the only time he stopped shrinking. “I was thinking about the different ways I could bend you over that fountain over there.”

Noah paused. His entire face went scarlet. He turned away immediately. “You’re a sex addict.”

“I can’t help it,” I said, following him. “You’ve been seducing me nonstop.”

He spun back, genuinely affronted. “How? When? I have been doing nothing—”

I bent slightly, matching his height, closing the distance until the air between us was thin. “Right now,” I said quietly.

I took a mental inventory: those vibrant green eyes, the color of his lips, the flush on his neck. That specifically I want to test. See what more sound it produces.

Noah opened his mouth, likely to say something cutting, but I didn’t give him the chance.

I kissed him. It was brief, clean, and utterly deliberate. I retreated immediately, turning away and starting to walk before he could recover. I could hear his frantic footsteps behind me a second later.

He caught up, falling back into step. He was still talking… indignant, breathless… but I wasn’t hearing the words. I was hearing the tone. It was no longer sad. That was the point.

“We’ve been walking for a while, let’s get something to eat,” he eventually said. “Snacks. Specifically.”

He led me to a stall selling street tacos. They were loaded with multiple fillings and a sauce that looked like it would get everywhere.

Then came churros. Then milkshakes… thick ones in flavors Noah read off the board with the focused consideration of a scholar.

He ordered with complete commitment. This was not a snack; it was a considered, multi-course meal. I watched him order with the same attention a person might give a gallery.

“Order for me,” I said when it was my turn.

Noah did it without hesitation. He didn’t ask; he just chose. It meant he had been paying attention to my preferences for weeks, cataloguing them without being asked. I noted it and said nothing.

“Oh my—you two are both handsome.” The stall owners commented.

They were loud and warm, their compliments arriving with the natural ease of people who saw couples all day. They made a comment about how lucky our “girlfriends” must be.

I didn’t miss a beat. I looked at Noah, a smirk tugging at my mouth. “He’s not my girlfriend. He’s my husband.”

I paused just long enough for the owners to look confused. “And lucky doesn’t cover it. He’s insufferable and I’m devoted. It’s tragic.”

I saw the owners recalibrate. The warmth stayed, but a new understanding settled in.

Noah, meanwhile, was studying the menu board with such intensity you would have thought it contained the secrets to the universe. He was pretending I wasn’t looking at him.

After that we found a small table and sat opposite each other as the food arrived in stages.

When the first tray landed, Noah’s face lit up. It was involuntary, a pure response to something he’d been looking forward to. It was as if those tacos were the best thing that had happened to him all year. Given the day he’d had, they probably were.

“I thought we were having snacks,” I said, watching the spread expand.

“This is snacks,” Noah insisted, not even slightly convincing as he began unwrapping a taco.

“This is a congressional dinner.”

“A snack is relative to the hunger level,” he countered, sounding like a politician caught stealing. “I haven’t eaten properly since lunch. The tacos are small.”

I ate anyway. I approached the street taco with the same precision I approached everything.

“You eat street food like it’s a three-course meal,” Noah observed, watching me.

“I eat everything with the same attention,” I said. I paused, holding his gaze. “Everything.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m balanced,” I corrected him. “Someone has to counter all the innocence at this table. The universe requires it.”

He laughed. He tried to stifle it, but it broke through anyway.

Once the food was finished, a quiet settled over us. Noah worked on his milkshake, and we both watched the park… the families, the chaotic paths of running children, the ordinary loudness of a Friday night.

I felt him looking at me. It was the familiar weight of being watched, but it was different when it was Noah. It had always been different.

“Something you want to say?” I asked without turning.

He flustered immediately, the stutter returning for a split second. Then: “Thank you.” It was quiet. Meant.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” I said. I turned to look at him then. “This is me apologizing. For being careless. For sending you somewhere without knowing what was waiting for you.”

Noah gave me a small, sad smile. “It’s not your fault. I would have had to see them eventually. They’re my only family.”

I watched the expression arrive on his face, the resignation. They’re my only family. He said it like a sentence with no exits, a diagnosis he had accepted rather than a choice he had made.

Something in my chest recognized that with a specific, personal accuracy. The only family. Who happens to be the wrong one. I knew that geography. I had lived in it. I still did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked before the thought fully formed. I added, “I’m a great listener,” which was a lie delivered so flatly it became a different kind of truth.

Noah looked at me, genuine surprise flickering in his eyes. The offer didn’t seem to compute immediately. “I don’t want to look worse in your eyes,” he said quietly.

He meant it. He truly thought there was a version of himself that could be “worse” to me.

I looked at him fully. I looked at him the way I look at things when I intend to own them.

“Noah,” I said. I let the name hang between us for a moment. “You have no idea how I see you.”

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