“Mhm.” I grin into my drink, letting him squirm without pushing.
The air around us feels different. Like we can both tell something has changed, but neither of us knows what to do about it.
I watch him from under my lashes. There’s something different about his face this morning, a kind of glow he doesn’t even seem aware of.
I sip my tea and think about last night. He has no idea how much I want him. Every part of him.
And maybe, hopefully, he wants me, too. For more than just a fantasy in his mind when he’s alone in his room.
I clear my throat before I can say something stupid. “Run after tea?”
He nods, grinning into his mug.
And there it is again—that look, that blush, that soft curve of his mouth that makes me feel like I’ve just won something.
“Good. I need to redeem myself after you smoked me up that hill last time.”
His mouth twitches like he’s holding back a laugh.
It’s been a day.
The gym was packed. Aiden had to call out because Rose is sick, and her mom, Lucy, couldn’t take her. By the time Zeke offered to cover the last hour, I could’ve hugged him, mostly because it meant I got to go home sooner.
When Gabe asked if I wanted to watch a movie, I said yes immediately. Nothing sounded better than sitting on the couch with him, letting the noise of the day fade out.
Running a business is supposed to be hard work, I know that, but today it feels like my brain’s been wrung out.
We’re on the sofa andE.T. is playing, about an hour in, and Gabe still hasn’t said a word. Which isn’t unusual for him. He’s a quiet person, never feels the need to talk for the sake of it.
His eyes are fixed on the screen, hands clasped in his lap, his whole body angled toward the TV like he’s trying to will himself into the story.
He’s gone, completely absorbed. It’s the same look he used to get when we were kids, piled under blankets on rainy weekends, cycling through every eighties movie his dad had taped.E.T. was always a favorite.
It’s strangely beautiful seeing it hit him the same way, so many years later.
I’ve probably watched it fifty times, but watching it as an adult sitting next to Gabe is different. The emotional parts land harder when you’re beside someone who feels as much as he does.
E.T. is fading on the screen, the machines beeping, Elliot crying, and Gabe is statue still. I glance at him, and he’s holding his breath. Waiting to see what happens, as though he’s never seen it before.
His eyes shine as his lips part, and there’s this slow, quiet ache spreading across his expression I recognize immediately. He's fighting tears. I shift so my knee presses his, the smallest point of contact, but enough to remind him I haven’t gone anywhere. He presses back.
I don’t think he's aware I’m watching him like this. Watching the way he feels things. Gabe’s so careful with everyone; he hides a lot of what he feels, so seeing it peek through like this?
It’s a privilege.
My throat feels tight just looking at him. I look back at the screen, but I don’t see a second of it.
All I can think is: I want to be the reason he feels safe enough to show his emotions. And not because of a movie, but because he knows it’s okay with me. Because with me, he never has to hide his softness. How sensitive a heart he has. It’s something I appreciate. Something I crave.
The air feels charged, like he’s holding something in.
Then he lets out an uneven sound.
When I glance over, his eyes are lined with tears, his lower lip caught between his teeth as his chin trembles like he’s fighting it. He blinks, and a single tear slips down his cheek. He wipes it fast with his sleeve, an embarrassed noise catching in his throat.
“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes still on the screen. “That was… stupid. I know, I’m too sensitive.” He forces a laugh, but there’s no joy in it.
Those words aren’t his, they’re someone else’s. Someone who made him believe his softness was a flaw.
