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Noah shrugged the backpack off his shoulder, kicked his door shut, and paced slowly over to drop down and sit on the edge of his bed, still holding the hoodie that he'd given Pey, that she'd shoved back at him. He got that. He understood. She didn't want it, of course, he'd hurt her, he'd broken up with her, she'd told him to leave and of course she didn't want anything to do with him. Of course. Of course. He'd been a huge a*****e about it.

He hugged the hoodie. It smelled like her soap and her hair.

Unexpected, sudden, a huge blast of anger rolled through him, a downburst of uncontrollable and unpredictable feeling like a storm warning, and he curled over his knees, his eyes squeezing shut and his lips parting silently. He couldn't breathe. Irrational and massive and encompassing, anger at Peyton for being angry at him, for caring, for loving him more than he could love her back; anger at Al, for loving him at all, for making him choose, for wanting him back, confusing him and making it complicated and being impossible to ignore, impossible not to care for; most of all anger at himself for being stupid, for not understanding, for not getting it, for ******** up and not doing it right, for hurting people he cared about and not having any way not to hurt them, stupid, stupid, stupid and it was his fault and there was nobody else to blame for all the pain he'd inflicted. It was his fault and he was furious and it hurt and the guilt tore at him like nothing he'd ever felt in his life.

He'd left. He'd left and for the first time in - a year, he thought, almost a year - he thought, too, of leaving his family, letting them think he was dead, and he hadn't thought it would matter, he'd never been that important, the baby, the shy and useless kid, and he hadn't thought so many things would matter, he hadn't thought this would matter, and how many people had he hurt by not even thinking he could hurt anyone?

An impulse swept in, and he hovered briefly on the edge of just tearing the shirt in his hands apart, destroying it like he'd destroyed what they'd had. The fabric stretched taut between his fists and he heard a stitch pop, another one, without even trying, he had changed so much, he could do this now, and with a wordless sobbing cry he threw it across the room and into the laundry basket. He would wash it instead, so it wouldn't smell like her. He'd take it back, because she'd given it back.

He stood and shucked his t-shirt off, dropped it on the floor, crossed to the dresser and blindly chose a fresh one without looking at it or thinking about why he was changing now, pulled it over his head and looked briefly at the coat flung carelessly across the bed. He wasn't on duty, he didn't ******** care, this wasn't about being a hunter at all, just about being him, being an idiot, being an a*****e. He'd been an a*****e. But it had been for a reason.

He closed the door quietly behind him, not slamming it because he didn't want anyone wondering why, and headed down the hallway with his shoulders hunched and his head down until he reached a newer section of wall, and knocked twice on the door attached to it. "It's me," he said to the closed door, "are you there, please, can I come in," and waited tensely.

Something eased in Noah's chest at the sight, and he managed a little smile. He slipped inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, trying to figure out what he felt, finding guilt and sadness and warmth and relief and happiness and still the thread of anger underneath, and gave up, and said simply, "I did it." The smile slipped off again, and he wiped his hand across his eyes.

"She gave my hoodie back and told me to leave," and Noah's voice cracked a little, and as Al wrapped the fur around him he reached out to pull him closer, because he'd been an a*****e and he felt bad and it really was all his fault but at least now he could do this without being a cheater as well as a jerk. "I avoided her for a while," he said into Al's shoulder. "I was, I was pretty much a huge jerk. I was kind of freaking out."

He didn't blame Al for sounding happy, for looking happy. That wasn't wrong. It had been Noah's responsibility to do what he had to. Maybe, he thought, maybe that was what love was, not as much about the touching or the smiles or even really the being together, but about facing down what you didn't want to face, because that was what someone else needed from you and you needed to give them that.

"No more avoiding. It makes things suck worse," Noah said plaintively. He pulled back just a little and eyed Al. "You have cold hands."

A small nod and a deep sigh, and he leaned into the hug again. "Yeah. I just -- I feel like such an a*****e. I should've -- I don't, I don't even know. But I messed it up."

Noah squeaked a little, but oddly, the gesture made him feel better, relax a little more in spite of the chilliness. Al was Al, and if there hadn't been any sort of dumb jokes or teasing, things would have been weird. That was part of how it should be. Even if that meant enduring cold hands. He grumbled a little, wordlessly, and moved a little to pull the fur back around Al's shoulders, muttering, "I think you need this more than me."

The question made him sigh again, deep and windy. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Better, kind of, because it's not, because it's not hanging over me any more. Worse because I was a jerk and I messed up and I made her feel bad, but, but. Better because I'm here," he admitted, "and that, that kind of, I feel really guilty." He flattened his hands against Al's back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, a little comforted.

"Can I stay for a while? I just, I don't wanna be alone with myself right now." Noah's thumb moved absently, slowly petting Al's back; he didn't seem to notice that he was doing so. "I mean, unless, unless you're asking like. More like, about us?" He drew back a little to look at Al, nervous and vulnerable.

"I don't want to, like, interrupt, or be a pain. Or, or something." In spite of the words, Noah wasn't letting go yet. His eyes searched Al's face anxiously. "We -- you still want to be together with me, right? Like, dating? I -- I just, I don't want to assume and, and be wrong again." He was tense and still under Al's hands, not quite holding his breath but breathing shallowly, mostly sure but afraid, too.

The moment of blank, frozen confusion was just enough to start Noah's throat locking up, cold with fear, had he been wrong, he couldn't have been that wrong, not when -- he didn't resist being pulled over to sit down, shaky and wide-eyed, and when Al took his hands he held on maybe a little tighter than he needed to. The gesture shook him out of the spinning descent of panic that had begun to seize him, and he listened, and sagged with relief.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I just, I needed to know. I ... I stayed away this week, because, because I had to know who I missed more," he confessed, and his gaze dropped, guilty and a little ashamed.