Jason
I whip out my phone and fix my gaze on a girl in the video yapping about god knows what on TikTok.
I don’t hear what she’s saying.
I don’t hear anything.
My chest heaves as I use all of the willpower I possess not to look at Gabe again.
The phone shakes in my hand.
I look again.
Damnit!
What the hell is he doing walking around like that?
Be decent!
But if I start yelling about it, then I’ll give myself away.
That can’t happen—the last thing I want is to give Gabe the satisfaction of knowing that I want to walk over there and rip those boxers right—
NO!
Jesus Christ, this is a nightmare. I have to stop it.
I jump to my feet and close the distance between us. Gabe catches me through the window and spins. We’re face-to-face, and he looks at me wide-eyed while I sneer.
“Go to your room,” I demand.
Gabe swallows. His eyes trail to my lips, and heat washes over me.
When we lock eyes again, he shakes his head no.
“What?” I ask, absolutely gob smacked.
He shakes his head no again.
I point to his bedroom. “Get in there and draw or fucking knit—I don’t care what you do, just get out of my face.”
He leans against the counter, folding his arms over his chest and raising a brow.
“Don’t give me that,” I yell.
He smirks, and I nearly spontaneously combust.
“That’s it!”
I grab him by the arm and drag him to the bedroom, practically tossing him onto his bed and shouting, “You have a bedroom. I don’t. If you want to air out your stinky panties, DO IT IN HERE!”
I slam the door as I leave and fall onto the couch again, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Why did I come back here?
Why would I do this to myself?
***
The early morning light peeks in through the blinds, shining right into my eyes.
I hate mornings.
Especially when I spent half the night tossing and turning.
And not just because sleeping on a stone would be more comfortable than this couch.
I dreamt about him.
We were kids running through the woods, trying to find our fort, but we couldn’t.
In my dream, I hadn’t destroyed it yet, so I thought Doug had come into the woods and torn it down.
I was screaming. Shaking. We searched high and low.
Finally, we found it, and when I looked inside, there was a twenty-year-old Gabe.
And that’s when I woke up.
I have to get out of here.
If I don’t find a job and make some dough to move out of this place, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Focus. Get a job and get out. You can do this.
But where? What the hell can I do?
I think back to the graffiti I saw when I walked off the bus.
HellCats.
I could do that.
Fuck, I want to do that.
Power. Money. A lot of money probably…
“Hell yeah, bitch.”
I’ve gotta figure out a way to get in with them.
But first I need some food.
My eyes trail to his bedroom door. Still closed.
Perfect.
That’ll give me at least some time to myself.
But as I rise from the sofa, I catch sight of Gabe sitting on the ground in the backyard, his back facing me, through the window above the kitchen table.
I curse under my breath.
Forget about him—get food and leave.
I stroll into the kitchen in search of something to eat, but I spot him again through the kitchen window. His side is visible now, and I can see that he’s drawing.
He examines the tree in the backyard, his head tilted to one side, with his pencil and paper on his lap.
I shouldn’t watch.
I don’t want to watch.
But I can’t look away.
Watching him draw was always—
Stop. That’s over.
But I still can’t look away.
This was always Gabe’s process when he was really serious about a drawing.
Sometimes, he’d just doodle something quick and fun—like a weird cartoon octopus or something random like that.
But when he was serious, he’d start by sketching the outline of his subject, study it for a long time, and then he’d get to work.
It’s the coolest thing in the world to watch.
I rest my head against the window, waiting for the explosion of activity that will occur when he feels he’s studied the tree enough.
I wait.
Gabe cocks his head to the other side.
I wait some more.
Then it begins, and a rush of excitement whooshes in my stomach as Gabe’s hand moves like lightning, sketching the tree.
I creep to the back door to get a better view, but his body still blocks the drawing, so I slowly open it, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Gabe doesn’t notice when I tiptoe outside, inching closer and closer to see the picture.
I finally get a good look at it—
So good.
He can draw a tree and make it look like a photograph just as well as he can draw some outrageous anime-style monster.
His hand whips across the page, zigzagging and curving, crafting a spitting image of this busted old tree in the backyard.
My eyes trail up to his profile.
His hair is longer than the last time I saw him, and it’s wavier now. His lashes are long—always have been—and his skin is super pale.
He gets this look in his eyes when he focuses on drawing. He was always a nervous kid, looking away if someone made eye contact with him for too long, but he gets this determined expression when he’s sketching. His features relax, and I can see how pr—
I almost called him pretty.
Oh, fuck me sideways.
This is bad.
But I can’t look away.
I walk a little closer, telling myself I just want to see the picture, but I’m not looking at the picture.
I’m watching him.
Without realizing it, I crouch down and just…stare.
Then his hand stops, and he slowly turns to me.
Our eyes meet and, suddenly, everything feels like a dream.
Those big brown eyes…
I can’t stop looking.
Holy fuck.
I shake my head, snapping me out of this trance, and stand up.
“Where’s the fucking coffee?” It’s the first thing that popped into my head, so I just blurted it out.
Gabe’s eyes aren’t like they were last night. There was mischief in them when he was being a brat, but they’re different today.
Sad.
My chest tightens.
I turn on my heels and dart back into the trailer, slamming the door and falling against it as I try to catch my breath and scrub my hands over my face.
Get out of here.
I put on my shoes and shirt, and walk out.
I don't know where I’m going, but I can’t be in this trailer with him any longer. I’ll wander the streets of Belmont all day if I have to.