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“What look?” Noah asked. He still felt groggy, even though he must have slept enough for a month while in the morass, and he didn’t feel like using an abundance of words.
Beckett shrugged and finished scraping away shaving soap. “You just look like you have questions is all.”
Noah shrugged, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bathtub. “I don’t. I’m just…squidgey.”
Beckett’s eyes sparkled as he smiled at their word, making Noah’s heart speed up. “Well, if you do, you know you can ask me anything.”
“I know,” Noah said.
Beckett leaned forward to splash water on his face, then reached for a towel to dry it. Noah drank in every movement and gesture, his emotions blaring loudly within him. He forced himself not to think about what he was feeling, though. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear the way they made him feel foolish and blind, or the way they sent guilt and shame pounding through him with every beat of his heart. The worst of his depressive fit might be over, but that didn’t stop him from thinking Beckett deserved so much better than him.
That didn’t stop Beckett from stepping away from the sink and holding his hand out for Noah’s either. Noah took the offered hand and stood. When he did, Beckett pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him so that their bodies were flush. Beckett’s smile was devastating, and his eyes so full of affection as he leaned in to kiss Noah tenderly.
One kiss wasn’t enough, so Beckett stole another, and Noah let him. He let Beckett part his lips and kiss him with passion, sliding their tongues together. It was glorious and breathtaking. Noah closed his eyes and circled his arms around Beckett, letting himself fall into the sweetness of the moment.
But he knew he didn’t deserve it.
“I’m so happy you’re feeling better,” Beckett said when he broke their kiss, though he didn’t let Noah go right away. “And before long, you’ll be back to your usual self.”
“God, I hope not,” Noah murmured, lowering his head.
Beckett slipped a hand under his chin and pulled Noah’s head up to face him. “I like you just as you are, Noah,” he said.
Noah sucked in a rough breath, his eyes stinging. Beckett didn’t know what he was saying. He’d sat patiently through one fit. How would he feel after the next one, or the next one, or the one after that?
“Now, come along,” Beckett said cheerily, stepping back and taking Noah’s hand. “I can smell breakfast already, and Miss Taylor will be upset if we don’t enjoy it.”
Noah let himself be led downstairs to the dining room. He was hungry. He never felt much like eating when he was in the throes of despair, and whenever he came out of that state, it was like his insides demanded to be filled up again. He’d been well enough the day before to eat three solid meals, but he needed more.
Food wasn’t the only thing Beckett assumed he needed either. After breakfast, he bundled Noah into his coat and hat, and the two of them set out for Central Park.
“It’s a bit chilly for November,” Beckett commented as they walked briskly through the fading colors of autumn, “but the fresh air will do both of us good.”
“If you say so,” Noah said, trying to smile for his…friend?
He couldn’t, in good conscience, continue to use that word to describe Beckett. Beckett was so much more than that. Lover didn’t seem appropriate either. They hadn’t made love since he’d emerged from the blackness. He wanted to, though. Badly.
That thought seized him, and he reached out a hand to stop Beckett as they neared the lake.
“Let’s go home,” he said, his whole body heating with desire. He wasn’t entirely sure whether the sudden strength of that desire portended another manic fit on its way or if he just felt that strongly about Beckett. “Let’s go home,” he repeated, stepping closer to Beckett and pretending to brush something off his shoulder. He raised his eyes to meet Beckett’s, pouring as much fire as he could into his gaze, and said, “To bed.”
A corresponding blush painted Beckett’s face. Noah could see in the man’s eyes that he wanted him. But instead of taking Noah up on his offer, Beckett’s expression inexplicably pinched and fell into anxiety.
“We can’t,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes for a moment. “We…you have an appointment.”
Suspicion lashed at Noah. “An appointment?”
Beckett raised his eyes pleadingly and met Noah’s frown. “Please don’t be angry with me. Father was the one who made the appointment. He is as concerned for you as I am.”
“What sort of appointment do I have, Beckett?” Noah asked, clipping each of his words as his suspicion shifted to anger.
Beckett sighed and rubbed his forehead before admitting, “An appointment with Dr. Carmichael at the Bloomingdale Asylum.”
The very mention of the word “asylum” caused Noah to suck in a breath and widen his eyes. He wanted to run, to flee the horror that Beckett was trying to throw him into.
“You want to lock me away?” he asked, his voice cracking. “After everything that has happened between us, you want to put me away in an institution and forget about me entirely?”
“No! No, that’s not it at all,” Beckett insisted.
