Disclaimer; I don't own Heroes, nor Noah Gray... however, I do own my interpretation of him, and his power. Set in the "I am Become Death" 'verse.
Waterfall
At sixteen, Noah is on the cusp of manhood, and some would say that it's about time.
He was a late developer, caught in the motions of being young, of being his dad's favourite – and, only – son, coddled and kept safe away from the world. For to Noah, Costa Verde is as out of the way as he can be. Or so it feels.
When it happens, he finds himself with a dilemma.
School, that place that houses such agony for an awkward teenage boy, is where it happens. Behind the bleachers after practice, entwined with a girl, lips locked to lips and enjoying the privacy taken from the silence of the halls, as calm and still as if students hadn't been clamoring to get home only a few minutes ago.
But what does Noah care, he's in bliss.
This girl, now she's special. She makes his chest ache at the mere thought of her, makes his cheeks flush with embarrassment when their eyes meet across the crowded lunch hall. She makes him feel two inches tall, and yet... at the same time she gives him strength. Whether it's a mere crush or the beginnings of something beautiful... it doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
Lately, he hasn't been feeling well.
Often, he'll get such horrible sweats, cool and scentless, his body unable to retain water for too long. Dad says it's just normal, that if it worsens they'll just have to take a trip to the doctor, but Noah doesn't think it's normal at all. The way that his skin dries out, lips chapped and broken skin, bleeding, he feels like a fish out of water. Like he's gasping for air and scrabbling for purchase, to hold onto something. He's taken to drinking water almost constantly to keep himself hydrated, feeling like himself. Like he's in control. But sometimes... it's just not enough.
People at school call him fish boy.
Today... today was bad. Worse.
All day Noah's skin has felt as tight as a vice, as if he's about to crack in two under the pressure. His hand would twitch every now and then towards the cell phone in his pocket, brief contemplations of whether he should call Dad or not, some small childish part of him wanting the comfort of him, the reassurance.
But each time, his hand would pause... and he would return to his work.
This girl, with her pale skin and her short-cropped blond hair, doesn't seem to mind. She's like him; the epitome of outcast in the social order of this hell, and ultimately, she is his friend. So, to Noah, it's no surprise that they end up entwined in the shadowy canopy, where her lips are as cool and refreshing as the water he so craves.
Her lips, that's all Noah can think about. The way they move, their texture, their colour. So focused is he, his fingers sifting through the too-short locks, almost boyish, that he doesn't feel his body begin to shift. His flesh burns, rejecting all moisture, as barren as a desert, and all of a sudden... Noah struggles to breath. His throat is so dry that it feels like sandpaper, but instead of pulling away, instinct only screams at him to press closer.
Her lips are his ocean.
Noah loves the ocean.
He breathes her in, draws her close, her breasts pressed to his chest as it all becomes so beautiful. Noah hungers for her, hungers for the water retained in her body and through the kiss... he feeds on it. This gut feeling, this need, and he feel as if he's going out of his mind.
Her lips no longer feel as soft as rainfall against his own. She struggles weakly against him as her skin becomes as barren as his own was, as barren as he feels. The precious ambrosia inside of her – the blessed water – is being drawn into him, for his body craves it so, needs it to survive. But soon, her struggles cease, and with her weakness comes his strength.
When he pulls away, he is horrified.
He feels revitalised, gleaming, glowing, flesh as damp and hydrated as if he's taken a dip in the pool. Noah's body sings with pleasure, whilst he... he gags. Pushing himself away he retches miserably, bringing up only water... the water that he'd stolen from her very body.
Her body which is laying stiffly, a shrunken carcass, dead.
Noah runs.
Why must it fall apart so?
At home, Noah does no heed his Dad's worried calls, ignoring the promise of waffles at dinner even if such a thing is illogical. Instead, he lays there, curled up in a cocoon of sheets and closes his eyes... and tries not to think of the way her lips called to him as heart wrenching as the sea.