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veronicaphoenix · 3 months

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zutto — chapter one | wc: 4.9k | series masterpost

chapter summary: lia refuses to stay in the hospital one more day and convinces noah to go back to los angeles.

tags and trigger warnings: best friends to lovers, mentions of an overdose, brief descriptions of it, ptsd, angst/comfort, vomiting, mentions of nightmares, breakdowns.

general trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

“No,” Noah said.

“But—”

“I said no.”

His reply was stern, hard. If Lia didn’t know him like the back of her hand, she would have been terrified by the way his features hardened as he repeated the word, resisting her plea to leave the hospital just a day after waking up. His gaze on her was severe, his eyes —usually warm and inviting— were cold and piercing as they bore into hers, as if trying to drill the seriousness of the situation into her. His jaw was clenched tightly, and a muscle ticked in his temple.

His October eyes were filled with all the fear and pain of the past few days, and more than that: they also the carried the dread of what might come, of the dangers Lia could face if she left the hospital that day.

Lia, who was the reason for all his fears.

Lia, who was aware of it all.

It didn’t matter if he ever forgave her: she would never forgive herself.

Swallowing hard, Lia pressed her hands to the mattress to straighten herself a bit more, ignoring the crack of her back bones, if only to give Noah the same sense of seriousness she felt about leaving that place.

“I just want to go home, Noah,” she murmured, her eyes pleading. “I need to go home.”

She waited for his reaction, but Noah remained still. He stood in the middle of the room, still, lips pursed, hands nearly clenched at his sides. The only sign of his agitation was his increasingly rapid breathing.

“Staying here will only make me sicker,” she continued. “I want to go home. Please.” At her pleading word, her voice diminished to a whisper, allowing the sounds of professionals and other patients outside the room to seep in, reminding her and Noah that they were not in a bubble where it was just the two of them.

Not yet.

Tears welled up in her eyes again. She wasn’t lying—she felt sick, sicker than the day before. Two diseases resided within her, and she could distinguish them with painful clarity. One was the result of her overdose, leaving her weak, perpetually sleepy, struggling to retain information, and nauseous at the mere thought of food. The other was born from the hospital’s sterile smell, the constant reminder of why she was there, amplified by the pitying glances from doctors and nurses whenever they came in to check her vitals.

She didn’t want to be there anymore. She wanted to go home and recover in the safety of her apartment’s walls. She needed to leave before she truly got worse.

Noah was waging his own internal battle; battling against the powerful hold she had on him. He wasn’t sure he could ever deny her anything, especially not when she was so vulnerable, so in need of his care. He just wanted her to get better, and he would do anything to make that happen, even if it meant going against all reason and logic.

He dropped his head, letting out a heavy, defeated sight. He wanted to hit something, in all honesty. He hated how easily she disarmed him, how effortlessly she did so.

He had watched her sleep most of the night, still trying to comprehend how she hadn’t complained about much despite her condition. It was as if she had accepted all the suffering she was enduring, as though she deserved it. Certainly, she was in pain. Dr. Dayal had mentioned that her body was slowly recovering but reminded them of many issues that still needed healing. She hadn’t mentioned feeling weak or having a headache. Nothing. Not until she told Noah she wanted to leave the hospital. He couldn’t decide whether to admire her strength, even after hitting rock bottom hours earlier, or to feel devastated at how he knew she was punishing herself internally.

“Noah—”

“All right,” he cut her off, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll ask Jolly to book the earliest flights and grab our things from the hotel,” he then redirected his gaze back to her. “But I’m going to ask the doctor to run another round of tests before they discharge you, and you’re going to let them, understood?”

Lia nodded, knowing that if she fought him on this, it would only take Dr. dayal’s insistence on her staying a few more days to change Noah’s mind.

Once it was settled, Noah slumped back into the armchair where he had spent his last three days. He was exhausted. Lia would have reached out to touch his hair if the space between the bed and his seat hadn’t been so vast. It wasn’t just her that needed to go home—he needed it just as much.

The tour had just finished, and he was stuck in a hospital room in another state, far from home. He hadn’t had the time to rest or sleep. He hadn’t even showered since they’d been there. So, when Lia suggested he use the ensuite bathroom and wash up, Noah diligently complied, aware that he indeed needed a shower, and he might feel a bit better afterward. After all, Lia was awake, and she was okay; awake. She was back with him, and this time, he wouldn’t let her stray any farther than the steps that separated the bed and the shower.

Despite Noah’s futile efforts to stay in Illinois for a few more days to ensure Lia’s recovery, stubborn as she was even in her condition, they left the hospital and found themselves at the airport not even twenty-four hours after her discharge and merely two hours after she had met the boys.

Th moment the Nicks and Jolly entered the hospital room, Noah had been forced to leave, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of the scenario unfolding.

Jolly held Lia against his chest as she cried, clutching his jacket and repeating the same words over and over: “Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jolly cradled her, and so did Nicholas after. When Noah stepped outside, a heavy feeling crushing his chest, he found Folio pacing around, biting his nails. He was still scared, still consumed by nightmares, haunted by the sigh of Lia lying on the hotel room floor, white foam at her mouth.

Noah and Nick acknowledged each other silently. Noah gestured towards the room with a nod, and nick, gathering his courage, entered.

Lia raised her head from Nicholas’ shoulder, and immediately let go of one Nick to crash into the arms of the other one, though it wasn’t clear who was holding whom. Lia and Nick cried together. From outside, Noah could hear their sobs, Nick’s voice telling her that she had no right to put them through this, to hurt them like this, while Lia apologized again and again, sobbing harder than the day Noah had brought her home from Mitch’s apartment.

But as angry and hurt as Nick was, he didn’t let go, and held onto her because she had always been one of his dearest friends, the closest thing he had ever had to a sister.

As the hours passed, the consequences of her actions sank deeper into Lia’s consciousness. She had not only plunged herself into darkness but had also dragged every person who loved her along. Even though she was safe for now, she knew you couldn’t just offer yourself to Death and then pull your hand away, expecting to play the game by your own rules.

Once alone with Noah in the room again, Lia steadied herself by leaning against the bed, her gaze lost on the white tiles of the floor. She was still wearing the hospital gown and plain black underwear underneath. Her head was spinning slightly, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle the airport hustle and the trip back home. She only knew she didn’t want to spend another minute in the hospital, surrounded by reminders of mortality. It didn’t matter that Noah was looking at her with eyes that begged her to reason, to stay for a couple more days and let the professionals ensure she was truly okay.

Lia simply didn’t want to be there.

“Do you need to lie down again?” Noah’s arm was already extended toward her as he saw her lose balance. Lia’s eyes met his, and she shook her head.

“I just need to get home,” she whispered.

Noah’s shoulders dropped as a sigh escaped his lips. After a few seconds, he took two steps toward her, ready to stand in front of her, to move the hair away from her face and to hold her.

They held each other’s gaze for a while, Lia’s hands clutching the same bedsheets that had covered her weak body the previous days. Why did it suddenly feel hard to swallow with Noah standing in front of her, looking at her like that?

He was looking at her like a boy whose heart had been broken, like a boy who blamed himself for every bad thing that had happened—for every bad thing that had happened to her.

She felt a rush of tears returning.

If she didn’t make it home soon, she would just crash in his arms and be unable to pull herself together.

Before his hand could touch her face, Lia pleaded: “Please, let’s go home.”

The tremble in her voice, the brokenness, could have brought Noah to his knees.

He nodded fervently, and a moment later, Lia was in his arms, her hands clutching his t-shirt while his found their way through her tangled hair, pressing her head against his shoulder. His other arm wrapped around her middle, determined to keep her from ever straying far from him again.

The hours of waiting at the airport were worse than Lia had anticipated. Part of her knew she should have listened to Noah, that she shouldn’t have argued when he insisted on making sure she was ready for the hustle and bustle of travel less than three days after an overdose. But another part of her –the one that felt most lost and hurt— longed for the safety of her small apartment, the comfort of her bed, and the sense of isolation provided by her four walls. There, she could cry and scream without anyone noticing, without anyone appearing at the door with a medical report and administering another dose of who-knows-what to calm her down.

She missed her bed, her plants, her books, the view from her balcony, and the breeze that slipped through and rustled the curtains whenever she left the door open and a slight gust of wind swept in to caress her cheeks. Lia had blocked out the traumatic images and memories of the last few days by projecting images of her apartment and the happy moments she had lived there.

As she watched Noah lean over the counter of the airport’s only Starbucks to order drinks for everyone, she recalled one of the last times Noah had been at her apartment. They had spent a couple of hours on the couch, each with their MacBook on their lap, working on a song that now remained safely stored on Noah’s hard drive. That day, they had eaten together. They’d prepared a vegan lasagna after shopping for ingredients and following a random recipe they found online. After eating, they cleaned up together, and Noah walked around the apartment for a while with a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder, commenting on how full he felt. Lia had bitten her lip from her spot still in the kitchen, imagining how wonderful it would be to see him like that every day—so relaxed and happy, so... at home. The only problem was that that wasn’t his home; it was hers, and entertaining that idea was simply dangerous. Their time of sharing a home had passed.

Yet, in a few hours, she would have her best friend back in her home, in her kitchen, in her living room.

She had almost��lost herself in that hotel room where she would never set foot in again, but the worst part had been nearly losing Noah. She had come close to losing a chance with him. The chance of a life by his side.

Lia almost smiled despite the pain still gnawing at her insides and the weakness enveloping her, but as soon as Noah turned around, her attempt at a smile faded. The dark circles under Noah’s almond-shaped eyes had deepened in the last few hours, and his entire body reflected his exhaustion: his dejected expression, greasy hair, slumped shoulders, and the way he seemed to drag his feet as he moved.

“Chamomile,” he said when he returned to the row of chairs where Lia waited, along with the two Nicks and the pile of backpacks they carried with them.

With a small, gentle smile, Lia thanked him and took the hot drink from his hand. Dr. Dayal had recommended she avoid coffee and strong beverages for the next few days. Despite the doctor’s reluctance to discharge her, he had no choice but to let her leave.

“Be careful. It’s hot,” Noah warned.

As soon as his hands were free, Lia noticed how Noah put his sunglasses back on as he took a seat across from her, sinking into the uncomfortable chair.

During the taxi ride from the hospital to the airport, he had been silent, only speaking to give directions to the driver and responding to questions with monosyllables or short phrases that didn’t invite further conversation.

Jolly had taken care of collecting both Lia’s and Noah’s belongings from the hotel, though he waited for the cleaning service to go through Lia’s room first. Having grown up with a group of friends where alcohol, tobacco, and even drugs were never lacking, he never thought he would find himself in a situation like this, where one of the people closest to him would experience something so harrowing. He was not prepared to relive the image of Lia in Noah’s arms, unconscious, convulsing, losing herself and everyone who loved her.

The only comfort Jolly found in the whole situation was that the nightmare wasn’t just haunting him; it was haunting everyone.

With a long inhalation, Lia brought the Starbucks cup to her lips, holding it with both hands because she knew her strenght wasn’t back yet, and the last thing she needed at that moment was to spill a hot drink on herself. She took a small sip and savored the sensation of the liquid sliding down her throat. Around her, the bustle of the airport continued. Nicholas was talking to Matt on the phone, informing him that they would soon board and be home in a few hours. Nick had his headphones on and was trying to pretend nothing had happened while humming a song and bouncing his leg to its rhythm. Lia took a second sip, her eyes peering over the cup at Noah. He had changed clothes but was still wearing a loose hoodie and his white sneakers. With his sunglasses on, Lia couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed, if he was looking at something specific, or if he was looking straight at her.

At that moment, a wave of nausea hit her again. Despite having eaten nothing more than a plain yogurt since leaving the hospital, she knew she was about to vomit.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she bent down, struggling to place the chamomille tea on the floor, the only surface available. She barely registered Jolly calling her name or Noah’s figure urgently following her as she bolted to the nearest restroom.

Stumbling into the bathroom, she collided with a woman’s shoulder. Lia wasn’t concerned with the words she might get from her, though a few seconds later, she heard the woman’s raised voice declaring that men were not allowed in that restroom.

By the time Lia was kneeling by the airport toilet, holding her hair away from her face with one hand and gripping the seat with the other, Noah was beside her. He gently took her hair from her hand and held it back for her.

He soothed her with soft words while she retched, oblivious to the open door and the young girls looking on with a face contorted by yuck. Noah would have told them to fuck off if it weren’t because his utter attention was on Lia.

When her retching subsided, giving way to her heavy breathing and watery eyes, Noah tucked another loose strand of hair back behind her ear with gentle fingers and waited for Lia to straighten up.

She did so right after flushing the toilet. Noah tore some paper from the roll and handed it to her. Her barely audible thank you got lost amid the sound of the water flushing, taking away the bile that had come out of her and the little chamomile tea she had drank. Such a waste, she thought.

“It’s okay,” she heard Noah say beside her.

Confusion stirred within her as he suddenly grasped her wrist, and she realized he was trying to get her black hairband out. She allowed him to proceed, and a minute later, he had deftly tied her messy hair into a bun.

With a supportive hand on her waist, he helped her stand. Lia braced herself against the fragile wall separating the other cubicle. She spent a moment regaining her breath and composure. She wanted to lean on Noah, to let him carry her out of there and onto the plane, but the tranquility she craved wouldn’t come so easily, at least not until she was finally home.

Turning her head toward him, her eyes still watery from the ordeal of vomiting, she asked if he could retrieve her toothbrush and toothpaste from her backpack. She didn’t need to specify where it was; he knew she kept her toiletries in a denim bag adorned with Lilo & Stitch, a souvenir from a trip to Disneyland a few years back.

Sending a furious look to the girls still staring, he made sure Lia could stand on her own before leaving.

A minute later, the girls were gone and Lia was alone in the bathroom. Noah returned with her toiletry bag and a bottle of water. He watched Lia as she tried to regain a sense of normalcy. After spending a few quiet minutes looking at her reflection in the mirror, Noah said: “Just a few more hours and we’ll be home.”

She tried to send a smile his way, but all she could do was keep staring at the pain etched all over his face.

Once settled in her window seat, with Noah still standing in the aisle as he set their backpacks in the overhead compartment, her eyes landed on the buildings in the distance. No matter the buzzing sound of the plane’s engine and the chatter of the people on board, she felt distant from everyone and everything. Her eyes grew heavy, threatening to close in a matter of minutes. She knew she could never look back at this city the same way again. Her past, chasing her until the present, had put a stain to this place. She wondered if she would ever be able to come back with the boys, if Noah would ever want to perform here again, or if the memory of what had happened would forever taint the city.

As the skyline shrank into a thin line below, Lia felt herself drifting away, her eyelids heavy, her stomach still unsettled. Her mind was wandering to places. Her throat was dry, and she knew she should drink some water before sleep took over, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. As she sank deeper into her seat, her eyes fell to her lap. She watched her own hand move toward the seat next to her, where Noah was now sitting. His arm rested on the armrest, his hand hanging off the edge.

Her fingertips touched his palm first, and then, slowly, her fingers intertwined with his.

Noah’s heart skipped a beat as he watched Lia’s hand —small compared to his— wrap around his. She felt warm, and he wondered if she had a fever. He was about to ask, but when he peered away from their intertwined fingers to her, he realized she wasn’t looking at him.

Within moments, her head gently leaned onto his shoulder. A long exhale escaped him. His chest sank, lips parted, and shoulders dropped. With his thumb, he tenderly caressed the back of Lia’s hand, noticing the subtle change in her breathing. It was calmer now. She had fallen asleep.

The knot in his throat wasn’t receding, though. It might not persist for days, lingering until he could replace the memory of Lia unconscious in his arms with something brighter. He wasn’t sure what awaited them upon landing in Los Angeles. The doctor had warned of tough days ahead, possibly worsening during Lia’s withdrawal process. Noah wasn’t looking forward to anymore worsening. He’d had enough. Yet, he was willing to weather any storm if it meant bringing her back, or even a stronger, better version of Lia.

Allowing himself to envision a moment of calm and joy with Lia once they reached her apartment, he pressed his lips to her hair.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was just a touch, the gentle, soft pressure of his lips against her hair, and the relief that always washed over him when he touched her; the reassurance that she was there beside him, and that she was okay. Or at least, that she would be.

Most of her plants had died.

During her absence, Lia’s flowers had wilted. Maybe because they’d been neglected in the weeks she was away, or perhaps because they had sensed Lia drifting away, and the same sadness that now filled Noah had also filled Lia’s plants. They didn’t want to live without her, just as Noah couldn’t bear to live without his best friend, without the girl he loved. The only difference was that no one could save them now. Noah had appeared on time to save his Lia, but Lia was too late to save her plants.

Tears burst forth the moment Noah and Lia stepped into her living room, her only bag dropping to the floor.

In an instant, Noah was holding her, cradling her head against his chest as he shushed her, desperate to comfort her despite the circumstances.

But it didn’t matter that they were finally home, that they were finally alone, away from the noise, away from the people, away from the triggers. There was no way they could stay away from the pain. They carried it within.

Noah had thought it a good idea to get an Uber from the airport to her apartment. Matt had come to pick them all up, but Noah considered that driving home and having to get Lia through the inevitable hassle of reaching the house and dealing with well-meaning men hovering around wouldn’t aid her condition. So, Noah arranged the ride, finally bringing Lia back to her flat.

Her crying, however, wasn’t solely for her dead plants and the fallen, dried leaves strewn about. Her tears also fell for the empty alcohol bottles and pill blisters littering the space, remnants of the past days, of her life, of every internal wound bleeding, of the person she once was—the same person that had taken Noah to the edge.

“Hey,” Noah whispered, reaching for her face. She buried her face in his hoodie, muffling her sobs. “Hey,” he urged, tilting her chin to meet his eyes. “We’re home. We’re finally home.” Her lip trembled. She looked so small and vulnerable. She wanted to say something, but her voice failed her. Noah continued, “we’re home and we’re going to be okay, all right?”

She wanted to believe him so desperately, but she didn’t trust herself, and she didn’t want to break his heart anymore. She wanted to take care of it, to take care of himself. But she needed to heal first, and she didn’t know how long that would take.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Noah suggested, his thumb brushing down her temple. “I’ll clean this up, and when you’re out, I’ll have a movie ready. We can order takeout and spend the rest of the day on the sofa. Sounds good?” He tried to smile, really tried. But his words didn’t seem to have any effect on Lia, so he couldn’t bring himself to cheer up, either.

Nonetheless, after a moment or two, Lia nodded and let go of the tight grip she’d had on him.

As she disappeared down the hallway, Noah turned around to face the mess. He wasn’t sure he would be able to deal with it on his own, but he had no other choice.

He moved their suitcases to Lia’s room while the shower ran in the apartment’s only bathroom. Shedding his hoodie, Noah efficiently gathered all the glass bottles, empty cans, and plastic blisters. He planned to handle the recycling tomorrow, for now stowing everything discreetly in bags where Lia wouldn’t see.

In just fifteen minutes, he completed the task—sweeping the floor and collecting scattered dry leaves. Apart from this, Lia’s apartment remained exactly as he remembered: not minimalist, but tidy and organized. It was a space he had always adored.

Memories flooded back of the day they had visited this same apartment together. Lia had brimmed with excitement about having her own place. Despite Noah’s sadness at the fact that his best friend wouldn’t live with him anymore, he had shared in her joy. Lia was blossoming into the independent, strong woman she was meant to be, and Noah cherished every moment.

Succumbing to a wave of sorrow, Noah sank onto the sofa, elbows on knees, hands covering his mouth. His eyes scanned the room, eventually resting on a frame hanging in the hallway. It contained a drawing they had created as children, during one of those endless summer days spent together in his grandparents’ house. In the picture, Lia had depicted Noah with long stick legs and a wide grin, while Noah had drawn Lia as a diminutive figure with a flower crown on her head. It seemed they had both unknowingly known the tall man he would become, and the thought stirred a yearning within him, making him wonder about all the small details that had escaped them while they grew up, every single thing that Grandma knew about them and that they had laughed off. He would make sure to ask her once he was in Japan. He wanted answers. He needed them.

For now, he would remain in Lia’s apartment, enveloping himself in the familiar embrace of her walls and taking comfort in artifacts that not only chronicled her life, but the one they had built together; the life they had built together as kids and then as young adults; a life they’d been building since they were mere six and seven-year-olds, two kids oblivious to the obstacles ahead, of every moment of ecstasy and misery, of love and pain.

The sound of running water ceased. Noah’s eyes were fixated on the hallway leading to Lia’s room. There was a churned mix of frustration, temptation, and longing inside of him. He wanted to get up and rush to her, drag her out of the shower, press her against a wall, and kiss her until the fervor might somehow mend the wounds within her.

But he couldn’t.

Minutes stretched agonizingly, the bouncing of his right left joining the ticking of the clock on the wall.

When Lia appeared a while later, she halted in her tracks upon seeing Noah on the sofa, looking as if he was going to be sick, eyes rimmed red, watery, and a pulse throbbing visibly on his neck.

She swallowed hard.

“Noah?” She asked softly, tentatively.

His eyes had been fixated on her since she stepped into the living room, the sweet scent of vanilla trailing in her wake. She wore cotton shorts and a plain t-shirt, her damp hair cascading over her chest. She looked thinner than he remembered, and perhaps it was that realization which struck him hard, pushing him to the brink as he began to shake his head.

“Don’t ever do this to me again,” he said, voice quivering, barely audible, cracking, breaking. “I beg you. Don’t this to me again, Lia. Ever again. Please. Please, I beg you.”

And just like that, the tears and sobs surged fort, uncontrollably.

The intensity that his own words overwhelmed him. He buried his face in his hands, unable to contain the anguish, every cry and sob echoing through him as his chest heaved.

Only nine feet away, Lia turned pale, frozen momentarily, processing the image of Noah breaking down in front of her like never before. Then, she hurried to him. She knelt between his legs, her hands prying his from his face as tears streamed down her own cheeks, as she asked for forgiveness, for mercy. She pressed her face against his lap, clutching his torso tightly as Noah leaned into her, holding her close in any way he could. Their cries mingled together, filling the apartment with their shared pain, the only sound that mattered in that moment.

— prev. chapter | chapter two

I cannot express my gratitude at each of you that has been patient with me and with lia and noah's story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you didn't cry too much (I did every single time I reread it to revise). We're back to regular updates, be it every week or every couple of weeks, but I promise to deliver the rest of this story during the coming months x

#noah x lia #the inevitability of love at second sight #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian fanfiction #zutto #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #i'm still crying

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