Since the people he knew had returned to what he was guessing was the 'normal' version of them - even if by 'normal' they were in no way near the ones he was familiar with - Noah's life had been turned on its ear. He'd met the infamous Sylar, learned that the man had at some point killed another version of his mother, found out that this version of his mother was pregnant, met Noah Bennet and, perhaps most distressing of all, been discovered that he was not actually related to the Petrelli family in any capacity whatsoever. He knew it said something when everything else paled in comparison to that fact, but it was true.
He'd tried to talk to Angela about it but it hadn't been a very good idea at the time. The urge to strike out and say something hurtful had been hard for him to ignore so he'd decided to do what he did best when overwhelmed and out of his element. He shut down until he could sort through the emotions and figure out the best way to handle the situation.
The only problem was, he still wasn't sure what that was. Here it was a fair bit of time later and instead of letting the anger and betrayal go, he'd taken to all but avoiding the woman that he'd spent his entire life adoring. Part of the problem, he knew, was that this wasn't 'his' Angela. Had she been, had they shared a mutual history, it might have been easier. That was the one he was angry with, after all, and that was the one who could explain just why she would have kept the lie going for so many years.
She wasn't here, though, and the one who was here wasn't someone that Noah knew all that well. He loved her just as he loved the version from back home, but the bond just wasn't quite the same so it was hard to be angry with her for it having been severed.
It was these thoughts that had plagued him on and off for the past few days and were even more noticeable at times like this, when he was in the apartment and she was so close he could hear her moving around and yet felt so distant that she might as well have been across the city somewhere. It was almost moments like these when he took to doing anything to keep from seeking her out.
Currently he was simply sitting on his bed and focused on a book that he'd picked up from one of the local libraries. Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment. He'd read the classic a few times before and could at least appreciate the mild irony of the fact that it happened to be one of his more favorite reads as he poured over the familiar words. The knock at the door barely registered at first, in fact, but after a second he tore his gaze from the passage and, marking the spot with his finger, simply stated, "It's open."
He knew it was Angela. Who else would it be? However what he didn't know was if something was wrong or if she had finally decided that it was time to have a talk about things they'd both been avoiding. And he also wasn't sure which reason he'd prefer it be.