It's true what they say. When you lose one sense, the others are heightened. Noah knows this because he can now recognize people from the steps, their breaths and their mere presence.

That's how he knows that it's Luke who has entered the bedroom, staring at him from the doorway.

"What do you want?" he says, again with this aggressive voice that he doesn't recognize from himself, and that he definitely doesn't like.

"I just…" Luke's voice is fragile and thin, close to breaking down. "How are you?" Luke walks closer to him, afraid to touch Noah, and Noah knows it. Ever since the accident, he has shrug away all Luke's attempts for hugs, touches and kisses.

He misses them, more than he dares to admit to himself, but he can't. If it wasn't for Luke… The thought runs away from him, after having been repeated so many times in his head, it's almost a mantra. He's bored sick of it by now, and he wishes nothing more than to let go, and become himself.

Himself. Happy, movie-making, Luke-loving Noah. Seeing Noah.

"I'm tired, I'm taking a nap," he quips to Luke, when what he really wants is just for Luke to sit down next to him on the bed, stroke his back and whisper in his ear that it will all be okay, and that all the evil will go away.

He can hear Luke trying to find the right words, or just about any words. Something to say that won't get a vicious reply and build onto the pile of anger between them.

Noah is sure that he can hear a hand being extended towards him. Luke's hand, attempting to soothe and comfort, moving closer to him. There is electricity between them. The uncertainty about what is going to happen when their bodies meet. Luke mentally preparing to being shot down again, Noah attempting to move forward. From himself. To them.

The moment seem to last for an eternity before Luke's hand lands on Noah's shoulder. It rests there for seconds, insecure to if it will be allowed to stay. When Noah hasn't shaken it away, it moves a bit. Luke sinks down on the bed next to Noah, his hand sliding over Noah's back, slow and trying, before settling on the small of his back.

It's been very long. Long since they sat next to each other, long since they allowed their bodies to touch each other, and even longer since they let their lips meet. Noah swallows deeply. Insecure.

"I miss you," Luke whispers. His mouth speaks close to Noah's ear, so close that he can feel Luke's warm breath on his ear. It's too much, it's been too long and too much desperation between them.

Noah has no idea what he is actually doing, but somehow it's easy to find Luke's lips with his, and to encircle Luke's waist with his hands. Luke's initial shock is shortly replaced with heat. Luke lets Noah cover his body with his own, falling down on the bed.

Noah reaches under Luke's green sweater – he can recognize the fabric – and lets his hand hover just over Luke's skin. Luke's breath is shallow and impatient, and his hands around Noah's back want nothing but to press Noah against himself. He moves his body up to meet Noah's hand, and the touch is almost an explosion.

Their lips move against each other, parting slightly to let eager tongues meet. Luke's sweater lands on the floor, quickly followed by Noah's. They tug at each other's pants, undoing zippers and removing layers of fabric as quickly as possible.

It's different from before. Their hips, rolling against each other, is an expression of the hostility that has been between them, mixed with the passion that has always been a part of their relationship.

Noah forgets for a moment that he is blind. It's not important anymore, because whatever he needs now he has at the palms of his hands. He lets his fingernails dig into Luke's skin as he feels Luke surrounding him completely. They make love, quickly, passionately, messily.

When their sweaty bodies rest next to each other, naked and intertwined, there is a lingering feeling of desperation and anger. Noah tries to repress it, but inside there is somehow a growing bitterness about not being able to see Luke.