Jay shifts under the blanket, rubbing at his face with one hand, hair sticking up in every direction. His eyes meet mine, still heavy with sleep but immediately focused.
“Hey,” he mumbles, voice rough and low, flicking on the lamp by his head.
“Shit—sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just”—I gesture vaguely toward the door—“heading out.”
He pushes himself up slowly, blanket falling to his waist, showing me his broad chest. “You okay?”
I nod too quickly because the way he says it so gently makes my throat tighten. There’s no suspicion, it’s care, and for a second, I couldn’t tell the difference. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a run.”
Jay glances at the clock, then down at himself, realizing he’s half naked, not that I’m complaining. “You want company?” he asks, standing.
My brain short-circuits for a second. He’s all lean muscle and lazy confidence; his body is carved more from motion and consistency than vanity—strong shoulders, that faint line tracing down his abdomen, a softness around his eyes that doesn’t match how solid he is everywhere else. Heat rushes up the back of my neck before I can stop it.
I hesitate, fingers wrapping around the edges of my hoodie sleeves, wondering why he would want to subject himself to running with me at this hour. And still, I find myself asking, “You usually run in boxers?”
“Well, no,” he says, running a hand through his lopsided bedhead. “Usually I wear my superhero costume and pretend I’m saving the world. But I forgot to get it dry-cleaned.”
Laughter spills out of me effortlessly, and it feels good. “Sorry,” I say, still smiling. “Didn’t expect you to be funny this early. Or, you know, at all.”
“Ouch.”
“I meant that with love.”
“Sure you did.” Jay offers a small smile and stands, then walks right past me. “Give me two minutes.”
It throws me off how easy this is with him already. My body braces, waiting for the catch of him being nice, but it hasn’t come, and maybe it never will. Jay Oliviera is a good guy, and I need to remind myself that it won’t change.
When he rounds the corner from the bathroom, now fully dressed, sadly not in superhero spandex, the faintest scent of mint washes by as he grabs his sneakers.
“So, which costume do you have?” I ask, leaning back against the door, arms loosely crossed.
He doesn’t even look up. “Can’t tell you. It’s classified.”
“Oh, come on.”
He slides his feet into his shoes, finally meeting my eye with a deadly serious expression. “Fine. But if word gets out that I’m the lesser-known but still highly critical member of the Avengers, it’s on you.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Listen, as long as I can take Black Widow, we’re all good.”
He stands to his full height, and I realize how much I have to crane my neck to look at him. “I’d go Hawkeye.”
“Hm, seems we’re meant to be besties after all, huh?”
“I guess so,” he mumbles. “Just promise me you won’t go jumping off cliffs to save my life and humanity as we know it, hm?”
“And ruin the start of our blooming friendship? I could never.”
The door clicks shut behind us as we descend the stairs and step outside to the early morning air, greeting my skin with a bite.
Jay falls into step beside me without a word. We don’t speak for the first few blocks, just the rhythmic slap of sneakers on pavement and the sound of our breath finding a shared tempo. It’s easier than I thought it would be. Easier to let him in without filling the silence.
He glances over after a few minutes, cheeks pink from the cold and the run. And it’s that exact moment I realize something. “You don’t have your glasses on.”
His head tilts, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Can’t run with them,” he says between breaths. “I wear contacts when I exercise.”
I make a non-committal noise in my throat. I remember now the first night I moved in, he’d told me that.
“Why?” he asks, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to read my face. “You like the glasses, huh?” Pretty sure anyone with a pulse likes the glasses.
