Gabriella
Noah was so kind to him that, if the kindness has come from any other source, Max would have thought it a taunt. What other purpose would someone have for touching him so freely and with such tenderness? Max thought he might break from under the weight of it. But he wouldn't trade it for anything in all the world either. 

From Noah, the arm around his shoulders was no taunt. Nor were their clasped hands the night before. Noah was just good, in that plain and simple way. 

He leaned ever so slightly against the sheriff's arm.

"Does that trouble you much? To hear and see them so regular?" He asked, voice low, like the trees might hear them otherwise. And in a place like Briar Ridge, well, maybe they wasn't so far from the truth. "Can you sense their intent? Do they seem - are they dangerous, do you think?"
Donald
"Sometimes." The answer was honest, because Maxwell deserved honesty. But he also deserved elaboration. It was something Noah hadn't confided to anyone but his mother - and even then, it was only a matter of questions in passing, quickly glossed over with a shake of his head and a 'no, nevermind.'

But Max was listening and Max was sharing and Max talked to him like he couldn't do a thing wrong in the world. And that was awfully kind considering Noah figured he should know better. 

And Max was leaning into him and Noah was leaning a little back, if not literally then certainly emotionally. 

"Sometimes it's troubling. But more in a sad way than a scared one. I don't think they've ever scared me so much as surprised." Startled, maybe. Until he got used to the cadence of sounds and feelings. 

"I don't think they're dangerous - not these ones. Ain't ever seen 'em though." Which, he supposed, might be a blessing. He wasn't entirely sure how - or if - he'd handle the sight of the babies or his dear departed wife. He hadn't spent long pining for his lover but he sure missed the lifelong friend and mother of his children that he'd lost. And he didn't think she'd be angry with him for it. 

"Dunno if it's my sad or theirs, though." If they were there at all. "Could just be wishful thinking. I'm the only one who notices."
Gabriella
Max nodded along, listening. Quiet. Letting the crunch of pine needles on the path fill the space. 

"If it means much, I don't think it's your imagination runnin' wild. I think - well, to start, you notice plenty that other folks don't. You're sensitive to other people in a rare way. So... It follows you'd be sensitive to the energies of those who're no longer living, too," Max said like it was easy - or at least like they could pretend it was. 

"It ain't the same, but I know what you mean about not knowing where your sad ends and another's sad begins. I feel that way a lot. Gets more complicated when you add spirits to the equation, I s'pose."

He stopped on the path. If nothing else landed with Noah, it struck Max as important that this next bit seeped in. 

"I believe you. Briar Ridge is a funny place that way. Maybe they just feel a little safer, communin' with you."
Donald
From anyone else, Noah would have found the silence between his words uncomfortable. Might have tried to fill the space excessively with rambling explanations in a vain attempt to promise that he was *Not* Delusional, that he *Knew* He sounded crazy. 

But Max never made him feel like the words coming out of his mouth were unwise nor unreasonable. Even when they were laced with and liberated by shine, Max indulged his rambling with uninterrupted gentleness. Never made him feel burdensome, even on the occasions he deserves it. Certainly not now. 

"It means a lot." The world, even. He didn't much think to call himself sensitive but he supposed that read wasn't wrong. And Max would know - he *Was* Sensitive, even if it wasn't the same. 

The admission only served to tighten Noah's arm around the younger man's shoulders, pulling him tight against his side as Maxwell's abrupt halt dragged Noah to a standstill with him, pivoting on one toe to face him direct. With his arm around Max's shoulders, near chest-to-chest in their newfound closeness. "Thank you. For that. I..."

Near enough that words faded in the warmth of one body radiating to another, connected by a gentle thrum he couldn't blame on the pulsing August heat. His arm shifted, unsure if pulling away was the most reasonable thing to do, and immediately deciding against it when the roughness of his fingertips caught the softness of Max's honey blonde locks, teasing the baby hairs at his nape before he could think against it.
Gabriella
If Max knew Noah to be so attuned to the people around him, why did he think himself an exception? What did Max think positioned him a step outside of Noah's gentle, confident perception? So much of Max's energy was dedicated to hiding from Noah - which was its own backwards act of devotion. Because oh, Max did not want to burden the sheriff and his brother's dearest friend with the reality that, to Max, Noah had always been the axis upon which his whole *World* Turned.

But maybe Noah already knew. Maybe, miracle of miracles, that fact didn't find him as a burden at all. Maybe it found him as a *Gift* - one he might even return.

There were only so many explanations for the placement of Noah's hand, after all; there were only so many roundabout ways Max could write off how Noah's fingers began to tease at the hair along the back of his neck, his palm warm and his hold as strong as it was so, so careful...

Max's breath caught in his throat, and his heart leapt up to meet it there. His eyes were wide and nervous in a way that could not conceal the hopefulness they held in equal - maybe greater - measure. 

Because, miracle of miracles, if Maxwell Morton didn't know any better, he thought Noah Rowe may be damn near about to kiss him. Max might even have kissed him himself, if the shock of the prospect hadn't frozen him in place.