He’s all there.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Now I can’t unsee him.
Can’t uncome here.
Can’t unmove.
Can’t unbreathe.
I press my back against the shadow and stare at brick.
What the fuck is he doing here?
At this public place?
I forget my eyes are wide
until the cold burns them.
I blink.
Not only my eyes, but my heart blinks.
My lungs blink.
Everything blinks.
Then—slowly—I look again,
peeking around the corner.
He’s holding coffee to his mouth,
not drinking,
lost, thinking, dazing, somewhere else.
I lean my shoulder into the brick.
It holds me the way I wish he would.
A black button-up shirt's rolled halfway up his arms,
a tie undone and hanging around his neck.
One knee's bent and bouncing,
the other's stretched out.
And he looks...
Gorgeous.
And wrecked.
And exhausted.
