The gang

Noah woke up slowly, his mind still groggy. The small room was dim, with sunlight filtering through old blinds, creating striped patterns on the walls. For a second, he forgot where he was, panic rising in his chest. But then he remembered: Liam's house.

The bed he had slept on wasn't large, but it was cozy. Noah swung his legs over the side, his feet brushing against the slightly uneven wooden floor. He looked around the room. The walls were bare except for a poster of a vintage car, and the only furniture was a desk cluttered with random items—empty coffee mugs, pens, and a stack of papers that looked like they hadn't been touched in a while.

He stood up and wandered out of the room. The apartment wasn't large, but it had character. The living room was small but felt lived-in. An old, slightly frayed couch sat across from a coffee table stacked with magazines, pencils, and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. A tiny TV sat in the corner, its screen slightly dusty. The air smelled faintly of instant coffee and something burnt, probably from the kitchen.

The kitchen was connected to the living room by a counter. It was messy but functional, with some dishes piled in the sink and a single cup noodle wrapper left on the counter. It was clear that Liam wasn't the kind of guy to fuss over cleaning.

Noah wandered back to the bedroom and sat on the bed again, his thoughts drifting. He didn't want to go back home. Not yet. His mother's words still echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving.I wish you weren't born. The weight of those words pressed down on him like a stone, making it hard to breathe.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening. His body tensed. He wasn't used to being in someone else's space, and for a moment, he panicked. Then Liam's voice rang out, casual and carefree as always.

"Yo, you awake yet?" Liam called out.

Noah relaxed slightly, but he stayed seated as Liam walked into the apartment carrying a plastic bag. He looked over and grinned.

"Morning, sunshine," Liam said, setting the bag on the counter. "How are you feeling?"

"Thanks," Noah said quietly, "I'm fine for now."

"Good to hear," Liam replied, his grin widening. "I got us some breakfast. You hungry?"

Noah walked over to the counter and peered into the bag. "Cup noodles? For breakfast?"

"Hey, don't knock it," Liam said with a laugh, pulling out two cups. "I'm on a tight budget, but these are the real deal. None of that knockoff crap. You're eating gourmet today, kid."

Noah rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Liam grabbed a battered kettle and filled it with water before placing it on the stove. As the water heated, he leaned against the counter, watching Noah.

"So," Liam began, his tone more serious, "mind telling me what the hell happened last night? You said your mom said something. What was it?"

Noah hesitated. Talking about it felt like reopening a wound, but Liam's easygoing demeanor made it easier to speak. Slowly, he recounted what had happened—the argument, his mother's harsh words, and the fight with Henry. He left out the part about Maiya, keeping the details focused on his family.

Liam's expression darkened as he listened. When Noah mentioned his mother wishing he hadn't been born, Liam slammed his hand on the counter, startling him.

"Are you fucking kidding me? She actually said that?" Liam asked, his voice laced with disbelief and anger.

Noah nodded, looking down.

"That's messed up," Liam muttered, shaking his head. He turned back to the stove, grabbing the kettle as it began to whistle. "I swear, Henry and your mom are like a tag team of assholes. And don't even get me started on your dad."

Noah stayed quiet, unsure of what to say.

"I knew it," Liam continued, pouring the hot water into the cups. "Henry's such a dickhead. I don't know what people see in him."

Noah finally spoke up. "You're always insulting Henry. Did something happen between you two?"

Liam shrugged. "Not really. I don't like him. He doesn't like me. Simple as that."

"Simple, huh?" Noah said, raising an eyebrow.

Liam smirked. "Okay, fine. You wanna know the full story?"

Noah nodded.

"You remember when Henry came home with a busted head back in ninth grade? He told everyone it was an accident, right?"

"Yeah," Noah replied. "He said someone hit him with a baseball bat by accident."

Liam scoffed. "That lying piece of shit. It wasn't an accident. I hit him on purpose."

"What?"

"Yeah," Liam said, leaning back against the counter. "We got into an argument, and he punched me first. I was so pissed, I grabbed a bat and clocked him. Honestly? I don't regret it."

Noah looked at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," Liam said, grinning. "Did he cry at home?"

"Yeah, he did. It was actually kind of funny," Noah admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Man, I wish I could've seen that," Liam said, laughing. "The golden boy of Elderigh High bawling his eyes out. That's priceless."

Noah let out a small laugh, the tension in his chest easing slightly.

They ate their noodles in relative silence, with Liam occasionally cracking a joke or commenting on how the noodles were "the breakfast of champions." For the first time in a while, Noah felt a little lighter.

After they finished, Liam stood up and stretched. "Alright, kid. I gotta head out for a bit. Can you hold down the fort?"

"Sure," Noah said. "Where are you going?"

Liam smirked. "Trust me, you don't wanna know."

Noah didn't push further. He had a feeling Liam was up to something shady, but it wasn't his business.

After Liam left, Noah wandered around the apartment, eventually finding a sketchbook and some pencils on the bookshelf. The sketchbook was old and worn, its pages filled with crude but heartfelt drawings. Most of them looked like they were done by a kid, full of messy lines and raw emotion.

There was only one blank page left. Noah grabbed a pencil and began to draw. He sketched a chaotic battlefield, filled with bodies and blood. The scene was grim, but amidst the carnage, he drew a lone figure. The figure wasn't fighting or killing; they were helping the wounded, guiding the lost. The figure stood tall, a beacon of hope in the middle of chaos.

Noah poured everything he was feeling into the drawing. The chaos represented his life, the turmoil he couldn't escape. But the lone figure? That was someone he wished existed for him.

He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't hear the front door open.

"Liam!" a sharp, familiar voice called out. "Are you here, you son of a bitch? You know we have a meeting today!"

Noah froze. His heart began to race as the voice grew louder.

"Liam!" the voice yelled again. "Are you in there? Jesus, clean your damn house sometime."

The door to the room swung open, and standing there was Maiya.

Her eyes widened in shock. "Noah?"

And just like that, the world tilted again.