Despite what he tells people, Luke knows how to change a tire. He's done it before, once, in the rain. Partially, anyway.
His dad had tried to show him a few times when he was a kid. There was a rusty old Ford in the supply shed that Holden worked on sometimes, usually rainy Sunday afternoons. Luke hovered in the doorway, shivering, while Holden talked about jacks and wrenches and the importance of being independent on lonely Illinois highways.
Luke tried to pay attention, but the mention of Illinois highways sent his mind spinning off to other places, murder mysteries, ghost stories, words waiting to be inked if he could just get out of the soggy shed and up to his bedroom to write. And in the end, his little sister Faith had taken over the Ford fix-up duties and Holden had been so bursting with pride over the whole thing (whether it was really about his daughter's mechanic instincts or the idea of having an honest-to-god father-daughter activity, Luke never could tell), Luke hadn't minded.
Back then, before Faith took over, changing tires seemed straightforward. It was one of those things that Holden said you could always identify as a simple problem. Something was broken. So you fixed it. And you didn't waste time scratching your head over it. You just did it, and then you washed your hands of it.
And he wasn't bad at it, changing tires. It just seemed a lot easier when he was a kid.
He gets the internship at the TV station just after graduating high school. It's another simple thing. Things break, learn to fix them. Once they're fixed, move on.
Or it should've been like that, that was the plan, anyway, but then Noah Mayer walked in and Luke had never been as irrationally irritated with anyone as he was with him, and so he made worse and worse coffee and made more and more typos until one day Noah walked in with a small late-summer leaf stuck innocently in his hair and it was so goddamn cute or Noah or something that Luke wanted to scream at him and was finally forced to admit that he might possibly maybe sort of be in love with the guy.
And after that he wasn't very good at fixing things and in fact was pretty adept at screwing things up altogether. Simple things were a thing of the past.
But he was here to do a job, so Luke stumbled about and mumbled along, blushing when Noah's eyes lit up at him, calling attention to the fact that Luke might've forgotten about him for a moment and let himself be himself and oh hell, he had to get some sleep soon or he'd slip and wrestle Noah to the floor one of these days.
Then, on September 26, it happens.
They're filing contracts in the office and Luke can feel a pair of piercing eyes on the back of his neck. He scratches the spot with the corner of a folder and there's a chuckle.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I can feel you looking at me," Luke says, unsure whether to smile.
"I like looking at you."
Luke doesn't turn. He licks his bottom lip and files another folder. It's a simple comment, he rationalizes. Probably not something a straight guy would say, but then again Noah's fooled him before, dating Maddie while still admiring the FedEx guy from the doorway of the office kitchen.
Yeah, Luke hadn't missed that.
"Go look at Maddie," he finally says. It comes out in a childish way, a defensive snap. He cringes and then Noah's hands are around his waist and everything goes hazy because Noah's mouth his on his neck.
Oh, god.
It's not a kiss, though.
It's something between nothing and a kiss. A half-kiss. An unfulfilled kiss? Stop thinking! Luke screams silently, and then he does, because Noah's lips have parted slightly at the nape of his neck and there's a steamy, wet heat as he exhales and licks his neck.
But it's tiny. Just the tip of his tongue. Just enough to make Luke shudder from his groin to his toes and consider signing his soul away for one more touch.
Noah obliges without a word, the tips of his pointer fingers dipping, just barely, into the waistline of Luke's jeans, his tongue licking again. There's a strange, short, high-pitched noise and as Luke drops the Best of 90s News Updates on his shuffling feet he realizes that sound came from his own throat.
Noah silences him with his teeth, grazing against his skin and then lightly biting. Sssshh. It's enough to make Luke suck his breath in and grip the edge of the counter with his hand.
"I—I'm—" he gasps. "Noah—"
And then Maddie's voice rings down the hall.
And then Noah's gone.
-
When the weekend comes, Luke spends most of it in his room at the farm attempting to recreate the feeling of pure erotica that Noah had sent crackling down his spine, until his mom knocks on the door during a particularly critical moment and he decides it's safer to surround himself with the unsexiest thing he can think of: car repair.
Despite the rain, he finds Faith and Holden holed up in the shed, avoiding the spots where the roof is leaking, up to their elbows in grease as they fiddle with the old Ford that they insist will be up and running again by tomorrow. Luke reminds them both that they always say that, and after a few minutes on the open road the old box of rocks always breaks down again. Faith yells at him to either help or get out, so he opens up an umbrella and heads for the house again.
-
On Monday, he catches Noah in the men's bathroom.
"Hey." He smiles.
Noah stares at his own reflection in the mirror, washing his hands. "Hey."
"Hey…" Luke repeats, letting his sheepish smile widen. He makes sure the door has shut behind him, checks that the stalls are empty. "So…"
"So," Noah says. It's a short, clipped word. He rinses his hands once, then again, and clears this throat. His weight shifts from one foot to the other.
It's not exactly inviting.
But this is a simple thing, Luke thinks. Very, very simple. Identify the problem: amount of space between their bodies. Find the solution: be brave.
Noah looks up at him in the mirror, and for a moment Luke can see that he wants to look away but can't. It's that moment, that tiny hesitation when Noah swallows hard and takes a step back to face him, that gives Luke the courage to poke his tongue into the corner of his mouth and close the gap between them.
Noah smells like mint. Luke wants to taste him. To drown in him. He pulls Noah toward him by the pocket of his button-down shirt and kisses him hard. There's a moment of adjustment, of shock, and then it's not enough. He groans and their lips part, interlocking, and Noah presses Luke back into the edge of the sink and takes over.
It's clear that they've never done this before, but Luke revels in the clumsiness of it before they find their rhythm.
Then—there it is. They click.
Their mouths fit and their arms fit and Noah puts a leg between Luke's thighs and oh god that fits and then his mind is gone. Noah presses himself so tightly against him, leaning him so far back over the sink, that eventually Luke's hand slips and he jams his finger in the well of the sink. He makes a quiet sound against Noah's mouth, almost nothing, but it's enough.
Noah swears loudly and jerks backward, nearly tripping and hitting the stall separator behind him.
Luke pushes himself upright, panting. "I'm fine—"
"No." Noah's running his hands through his hair, wiping his mouth, looking anywhere but Luke. Luke steps forward and Noah's hand flies up. "Don't," he chokes out.
"Don't…?"
Noah stares at him, his lips swollen and a sheen of sweat on his brow, and then there's a tiny shake of his jaw. "I can't."
Luke lets out a laugh. "Um, you did that pretty well." He tries to smile again at him, to reassure him, because thus far that had pretty much been the sexual peak of his meager existence.
"No." Noah lets out a long breath. He shakes his head again, more to himself than to Luke.
For the first time, Luke feels his chest constrict. "Noah."
Noah meets his eye for just a moment. "If Maddie…" He trails off.
The words are jarring. Luke had almost forgotten Maddie—almost. Or wanted to, because she complicated things.
"I can't be this guy," Noah finishes. "So… maybe this never happened." He nods, once. "This didn't happen."
The words are so final, Luke almost believes him.
A week later, Maddie comes in to the station with red-rimmed eyes. Noah doesn't show up until late afternoon, and when he does, he accidentally makes eye contact with Luke once in the hallway but quickly turns down another hall, before they can speak.
Luke sneaks up on him in the kitchen again and Noah jumps so high he spills coffee all over the box of sugar packets. "Can't talk right now," he mumbles, and shuffles out. Luke bites hard on his lip and wipes up the coffee himself.
The next day, they drive up to the parking lot at the same time and make eye contact through their car windows. Luke half-smiles and raises his hand in a wave, but Noah looks away, pretending he hasn't seen him.
And so it goes.
There are several moments that week where Luke catches him staring out windows or at computer screens, not moving, barely even blinking. Just thinking. Part of Luke wants to tell him that nothing could possibly be as difficult as Noah's making them out to be. Then he reminds himself that for all he knows, Noah's upset about Maddie and not the possibility that he might really and truly have to stop kissing guys' necks in secret and actually own up to it, maybe even in public, god forbid so he switches off his brain and tries to move on.
The office staff dances around Maddie and Noah like they're made of glass for a week until the tension of the breakup has eased. Except for Luke. He keeps things simple. It's easy, because things at the station are always simple problems. He fixes one, on to the next, fixes that, on to the next. Identify the problem: Noah's changed his mind, apparently. Solution: don't talk to Noah, don't look at Noah, don't think about Noah, don't work with Noah, for god's sake, don't ever kiss Noah.
Don't kiss Noah and everything will be fixed.
It's that simple.
On October 9, Luke stubs his toe hard on the bed post. Then he cuts himself shaving. A forecast of sunny skies gives way to sheets of rain, and his car won't start.
Naturally, he blames Noah.
When he tromps back into the house, Faith shoots him a smug grin and hands off the keys to the supposedly-working Ford, and Luke grits his teeth for the whole drive to class, cringing at each mysterious bump and pop of the old car.
Class is terrible. Lunch at the student union is terrible. Work at the station is terrible (Noah's had a new haircut and the FedEx guy noticed). The movie he goes to at the campus art house is terrible, and the fact that after months of ignoring Noah and hating Noah and shooting dark, practiced looks at Noah he's still fucking in love with Noah isn't just terrible, it's pathetic.
On the drive home in the dark, it starts to rain. Then the Ford blows a tire.
And then, as if he anticipated the exact moment when Luke would least want to see him, Noah pulls up.
-
It's not that Luke can't change a tire. It's that he can't change a tire when there's rain pouring down, soaking the light blue tailored shirt of the guy crouching next to him so it sticks to every contour of his chest and drips off his dark eyelashes. That's the real issue here.
"Don't look at me," Luke says, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
"I'm not. I'm holding the flashlight so you can see… how's that going there?"
"You are—it's—I just can't get the damn lug nut off the damn… thing." So terminology wasn't his strong suit. So mechanics weren't, either. There was a trick to this, but he can't think with Noah's heat practically emanating from his body crouched beside him. Think. Some trick his dad had told him once when he was 14 or 15, when his mind had been drifting off to—well, never mind.
"Are you blushing?" There's a hint of a laugh in Noah's voice.
"No, damn it." Luke throws the wrench down. It clatters under the car. He half-groans and wipes rain from his eyes. "I'm—just stop laughing. Why don't you just go? I can get this myself."
The half-smirk fades from Noah's face, and he leans back on his heels. They're both so soaked now that it almost doesn't matter. "Come on, Luke. Just get in my car. I'll take you home."
"No thanks."
"Luke—"
"I said no thanks." Luke drags the wrench back out and goes to work again, willing himself not to look up.
"This isn't even safe, Luke."
The rain is the only sound for a few minutes, until there's a flash of lightening and a low rumble of thunder. Damn it. Luke looks at his watch to find that it's stopped. Part of him wants to just call Holden, or hell, even Faith could handle this better than he is.
But now he's halfway there, and Noah's watching him, and he's not a kid anymore.
"Is this about pride?" Noah asks over the rain.
"What?"
"Pride." He points the flashlight from the hub cap to Luke's chest. "Bad case of it?"
Luke stills for a moment, his eyes trained on the wrench. "Me?" There's a pause. "Me, too proud." Luke looks at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since Noah had gotten out of his truck.
Noah lowers his eyebrows for a moment, confused. "Hey, I didn't—"
"What? Didn't mean anything by it?" Luke doesn't look away. "No, you never do." He laughs, almost a scoff, and picks up the wrench again. His hands are freezing, but he feels his blood warming again. "You want to talk about pride? Don't kiss people and then pretend it never happened, like you're too good for it."
"Hey."
Thunder rumbles again, and Luke can almost feel it in his chest.
"Hey," Noah repeats, and Luke ignores him. "It's not like I don't get it. You're pissed at me. I screwed up. I led you on… it wasn't fair."
"Save it," Luke says with more conviction than he feels. "I've moved on."
There's a beat before Noah bobs his head. "Sorry to hear that."
Luke whacks the wrench against the hub cap and swipes rain from his eyes. He doesn't know how Noah manages to make looking like a drenched rat seem sexy. Irritating.
"Things have changed," Noah says, focusing on the flashlight again.
"Yeah, I know you and Maddie split up. She figure out the truth about you?"
"Maybe I figured out the truth about me."
Luke doesn't say anything for a moment and then his chest does that annoying yearning thing, so he snorts through his nose just in case Noah thought this was going to be easy.
"I'm trying here, Luke."
For a moment the only sound is the falling rain and Luke has the strong urge to punch Noah in his perfect abs. Instead he ignores him, hardens his grip and pulls on the wrench, knocking the last lug nut free. He turns to Noah, opening his mouth to celebrate his success, but Noah's throwing down the flashlight and then he's kissing Luke, knocking them both to the ground.
They wrestle in the wet gravel for a minute, and Luke isn't sure whether he's trying to pull Noah closer or push him away. Maybe both. "Listen to me," Noah is repeating, "listen," but then his mouth is on Luke's again, warming him until Luke thinks he'll combust, and then he can't take it, because it's too complicated, too much, too everything.
He pulls away and stands, panting for breath, and leans against the car. "I've been listening and there's nothing from you. Just nothing, Noah, and I can't—" He shakes his head and pushes his wet hair from his eyes, leaning back against the car door, his chest heaving.
He hasn't stood in the rain like this, just letting it douse him, since he was a little kid. Like there was nothing to lose.
"Do you… do you know what it's like to sit and wait, or pretend you're not waiting, or not know how to fix… anything?"
Noah pushes himself off the ground and stands, wiping his hands on his knees. "Yes."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"You can't just say yes and fix this, Noah. This isn't just another problem at the station or at school or…" He balls a fist and presses it to his chest, like he's trying to smooth something painful flat. He exhales slowly. "You have to mean it." Noah's in front of him now, inches away, dark curls plastered to his forehead. "You have to mean it," Luke repeats, the rain nearly drowning him out.
"Luke." Noah attempts a smile and nearly fails. There's a hint of desperation in his voice that Luke hadn't noticed before. "I'm standing in a thunderstorm, in the dark, in October, waiting for you to change a flat tire on a car that's not worth the gas it'll take to get it back home. I—look at me, Luke." He takes Luke's chin gently in his hand, extending his long fingers to graze his cheek. There's a long silence before he speaks again. "…I thought you hated me."
Luke avoids his eyes. "I do."
Noah gives him a sad smile. "Wish you didn't."
"Well… I don't… that's…" Luke pulls his chin from Noah's hand.
"God, you are so stubborn. Will you just—" Noah groans and moves toward him, slowly, as if afraid Luke will shove him away again. Or maybe he's nervous, Luke realizes. He's not acting on instinct this time, not just scratching an itch on a whim. He's deliberate.
And he's also pressing his lips to the damp curve of skin at his collar now, saying something Luke can hardly hear. "Just let me convince you…" He kisses him up to Luke's jawline, then kisses his mouth softly, holding him gently against the car.
Luke closes his eyes and marvels at the way Noah kisses, how he makes it seem like the only solution that matters. How he scares the crap out of Luke just by the way he presses up against him, because this is it, and they're too young to have it, and Luke's not crazy enough to really let a guy as mixed-up as Noah just take his heart and maybe break it except that he is, he is, he is, he is, god help him.
Nothing's ever going to be simple again, Luke realizes. Nothing will be easy. Nothing will be black and white.
Nothing will be the same.
"Let's finish the tire," he says against Noah's mouth.
Noah leans back, still hazy eyed, questioning.
Luke swallows. No going back. He takes Noah's arm, pulls him to the ground, and picks up the flashlight.
They have to start somewhere.