It’s only after Eain has pinned him to the mattress and fucked his breath from his throat when Noah decides they need a break. His head is still fuzzy and his legs are still shaking from his last orgasm, but he somehow manages to stumble from the bed, knees weak, dragging himself to the kitchen to prepare them both a snack. Eain is the kind of person who’d forget to eat or drink if they were in the thick of something. Granted, so is he, but at least he’s likely to remember if he has two people to look out for— and it’s nice being the one responsible for keeping them both alive. It’s one thing he can lord over them with a smirk, something he can hang over their head the next time they shove him against a wall, or drone on about their slightly higher GPA. They might have pinned him to the bed and had him begging, voice trembling, fuck me already; but he’s the one who keeps them fed so who’s the real winner.

Noah emerges from the kitchen half an hour later with two dishes of piping hot food, balancing them both in one hand. He left the door slightly ajar when leaving and kicks it open, noting that Eain has turned the air-conditioning up like they like and he always protests about. Noah grabs the remote and dials it back down before they can notice. They won’t; they’re too comfortable lounging in the middle of the bed. Eain has made a little nest out of the pillows they were both supposed to share, lying splat across them like some sort of weird bird royalty. Noah reaches over and yanks one from underneath them.

They out a loud yelp, staring daggers towards him. “What the hell was that for?”

Noah raises a brow. “I made you breakfast,” he says, planting their plate of piping-hot waffles next to them on their shared bed. Score one to him, score negative ten million something to Eain. Or so he’d like to think. “I hope you burn your tongue on it.”

Eain scowls, though they reach over and grab the plate with both their hands. They dig into the food, silent for once in their life save for the sound of chewing and their slurping of maple syrup. Noah sits down across from them and tucks into his portion, legs crossed and plate balanced precariously on top of them. For a brief moment, there is peace. Probably because Eain is placated with a combination of good food and post-coital bliss, but Noah isn’t complaining. It’s nice to be free from noise pollution for once in his life. He notices that they’re almost done with their food, and he’s getting full on his own portion; wordlessly, he cuts off half his waffle with his knife and sticks it on their plate. “Here.”

Eain glances up, eyes meeting Noah’s in surprise. “Thanks,” they mutter, blinking back at him in half-shock. Noah shrugs.

“I’m getting full anyway,” he says, cutting off another chunk of waffle and swirling it in the syrup on Eain’s plate.

Eain narrows their eyes. “Hey! That’s mine—”

Noah pops the bite of waffle into his mouth. “We ran out. We’ll pick more up from the store on the way back from work later.”

“I’ve got drinks with some of the partners after work, actually,” Eain pipes up, “They’re taking the team from the Mackenzie case out.” There is a slight pause before they add, “Actually, uh, you can come too. If you want.”

Noah frowns. Going to drinks with the partners sounds awful, because it means small talk and socializing with people he’d rather not ever see, but it is an opportunity to network and kiss the asses of the people who will be helping them secure permanent employment. Still, this is an opportunity extended by Eain, which means that they’ll lord this over him for the next hundred years if they have the chance. The pros and cons will have to be measured carefully before he acts. Noah sets his knife and fork down on his plate. “Maybe,” he mutters. “We’ve been seen together a lot at work lately. People might start thinking we’re a couple—“

The sound of metal crashing on porcelain rings through the air.

Eain has dropped their knife and fork and is staring at him, lips apart. Noah raises a brow. “What’s the problem?” he begins, but half a second later it hits him.

Oh god.

He yanks himself away from Eain, face pale and eyes wide. The house-sharing. The bed-sharing. The making Eain meals, the commuting to and from work together every day. Watching terrible reality TV together after a long day in the office and arguing over who’s going to win. This is terrible, Noah thinks, palming his face. He cannot be dating Eain.

He probably is, on all accounts, dating Eain.

They too seem to have come to the same realization, and have bounded off the bed, clenching their plate defensively. “I have to go,” they mutter, flushing slightly. “My refrigerator is running. Gotta go catch it.”

“Where are you supposed to leave to?” Noah asks. A burning sensation is creeping up to his cheeks, and he isn’t sure if it’s from embarrassment or rage. “We both live here.”

“The couch? I don’t know!” Eain exclaims. “Look, if we don’t talk about this, we can pretend this isn’t real, right?”

“I guess?” Noah says. This is getting more and more bizarre by the moment. “What do we do now?”

Where were they supposed to go from here.

Eain slumps back onto the bed, resting their back on Noah’s arm. Noah cringes. This is it. These are the life choices that he’s made.