He smiles softly, teeth catching on the corner of his lip as his brow furrows lightly. “Why do you want to run with me, then?”
Because I want to spend time with you. I want to be in your space. I want to get to know you all over again.
“Thought it would be fun.”
That earns me the smallest chuckle before he turns toward the road. “Just tell me if you need to slow down.”
We start at a steady pace. Gabe runs like he does everything else—quiet, controlled, each stride measured. His long legs make it look effortless, his back straight, his arms relaxed, his breathing even.
And of course, I can’t stop gawking.
The shape of his calves in the growing light. The muscles in his thighs working under his shorts. The way the hem of his shirt sticks slightly to his back with sweat when we’ve been running a while.
It’s unfair how good he looks. He’s all my teenage fantasies in the flesh.
Meanwhile, I’m fighting for my life, trying to keep up. Cardio has never been my thing, shin splints come fast, and the incline we hit by the post office feels like a personal attack. My lungs burn. My legs protest. Gabe peeks back every so often, clearly holding back his full pace.
“You good?” he calls over his shoulder.
Oh, totally wonderful, just trying not to die here. Also, can’t stop staring at my best friend’s brother. Wondering how softhis hair would feel between my fingers. What his lips would taste like.
“Thriving,” I huff. “Absolutely crushing it.”
He snorts, and when we stop at the next traffic light, I bend over, hands on my knees, sucking in air like it’s oxygen-flavored protein powder.
Gabe looks far too amused. “You find my suffering funny?”
He presses his lips together, trying to hide his small smile I’ve already become obsessed with, and then—deadpan, in the perfect mock bro voice—says, “I thought you worked out, dude.”
He’s teasing me. It’s so unexpected, so perfectly delivered, I burst out laughing.
And then it happens.
A breath, a glance, and then—he smiles.
Not the careful one he usually offers. No, this is something else entirely. This is sunlight on water. This is warmth made visible. This is Gabe, unguarded.
His eyes—those soft, mossy-green orbs are lit from within, the kind of shimmer that makes me think of summer forests and morning dew and the first hint of spring after a long winter. They crinkle at the corners, those delicate crow’s feet etched by time and tension, morphing into something close to joy.
His scar pulls slightly, tugged by the stretch of his smile, enough to make my heart stutter. It’s a reminder. That he’s been hurt. That someone dared to dull the light he was capable of giving. But now, in this moment, it doesn’t diminish his beauty. It makes it brighter. Braver. Like the smile is something he deserves.
His lips part, and the corner of his mouth tilts just slightly higher on one side. His teeth flash, and it hits me, square in the chest, that I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking.
It’s soft. And devastating. And it makes me feel like I’ve been let in on something sacred.
He tilts his head as it happens, like he’s trying to hide it from me. And still, I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Just watch, wide-eyed, hoping I don’t do something stupid to make it vanish. But it stays, lingering for a few heartbeats, and in those few seconds, I see the man beneath the sadness. Not the cautious bookstore owner with shaking hands and a voice like a whisper, butGabe—the beautiful boy I grew up with, who can smile like that, wide and full and utterly unaware of the spell he’s casting on me.
It’s dawning on me how totally fucked I am.
I drag a hand down my face, forcing myself to breathe like a normal human and not someone who just had a religious experience on a random street corner.
Gabe tilts his head toward the next block. “Come on. Before you pass out, and I have to carry you back.”
“Wouldn’t say no to that,” I mutter to myself as I fall into step beside him. My legs feel wobbly, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when I keep catching that faint curve of his mouth every few steps—it’s still there.
Gabe walks with his hands tucked into his sleeves, strides long and steady, hair sticking to his temple. He looks at ease right now, like the run really did untangle something in him.
I sneak another glance, the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his breath still comes just a little fast. The sight does something low and dangerous to me, and I look away before my brain can start filling in details I shouldn’t be imagining.
