It feels so real, so distinguished and then nothing. Not even a whispering impression, not even a breathy sigh left for him to exhale. He's left confused, looking at Noel from across the room with the distinct impression that…he's missing something. He gets up from his chair with both equal parts measured calm and equal parts unmeasured confusion, glancing down at his tie and fiddling with his bangs as he searches for something to say.
"What is it? Something wrong, Hope?" Nothing's wrong, he wants to say, but can't. I just had the feeling though that somehow we're meant to be more, he wants to say. Of what, I don't know. Why, I don't know. It'd just feel right if we were just something…more.
"Nothing, nothing, I'm just tired." Noel laughs, and he describes it as hearty and rich, far in the back corners, far in the recesses of his mind.
"You work way too hard Hope," and Noel's getting up as well, muscles gliding and moving in rhythm as they allow him to stand almost effortlessly in motion, a kind of elegant that would be dangerous out on the field. A wonderful sort of dangerous—
"We should probably call it a night." And he's turning around, away from Noel, turning around to turn off his computer and to turn off his thoughts. As the lights are flickering down, flickering dimmer, he's left with lingering effects and he looks over his shoulder but no one's there. Noel's gone, even though it feels like he's never left the room.
He turns back to the computer and at the forefront of his mind is that Noel's gone, even though it feels like he's never left the room.