10. Isaiah #2
The flat was exactly as it had been months ago.
Those summer days crashing here felt like another lifetime now.
42 It was reassuring somehow to return to the soft, lived-in mess.
Medals hung on a hook by the door. A pair of trainers sat abandoned in the hallway like they’d been kicked off mid-collapse.
Mal made it approximately four steps inside before Jacob pointed. “Sofa. Now.”
“Yes, sir,” Mal said, but he went, stretching out with a sigh that sounded almost indecent.
Isaiah hovered for a second, then kicked off his shoes and joined him, sitting on the rug, with his back against the sofa. His legs throbbed in that satisfying, hollowed-out way that meant he’d really worked.
Jacob fussed, bringing out beers, then a half-decent bottle of rum. Music played low from the speaker on the shelf as they talked. The small square windows showed Oxford already sliding into evening, the sky that dusky purple-grey that made the streetlights start to blink awake.
Isaiah felt floaty and loose. His body may have been exhausted, but his brain humming.
Mal leaned forward from the sofa, the medal that still hung around his neck clinking softly. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Course record,” Isaiah said, just to say it again.
Mal grinned, dazed. “Course record.”
Jacob came back into the living room, flopped into an armchair, and pulled a small tin from his pocket.
Isaiah clocked it instantly. “Jake.”
“What?” Jacob said, already grinding.
Isaiah sat up straighter. “You cannot be serious.”
Mal blinked down at him. “Its fine.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s our house,” Mal added helpfully.
“That’s worse!” Isaiah said. “It’s enclosed!”
Jacob looked around the very normal-sized living room. “There’s windows.”
“Windows are not a magical anti-doping shield!” Isaiah snapped. He gestured wildly at Mal. “He has sponsors. He has a course record. He probably has someone from World Athletics setting a Google Alert for his name as we speak!”
Mal was laughing now, which felt deeply unhelpful. “They’re not testing me tomorrow, Zay.”
“You don’t know that,” Isaiah said. “You could get a random drop-in at training. Unless you haven’t updated your whereabouts, and that’s almost worse.
43 Fuck, you know this, Mal, why am I the only one worried?
You want headlines that say ‘Epic course record’ not ‘Runner in Drug Scandal,’ for fuck’s sake. ”
Jacob paused mid-roll, studying him. “You’re not just being dramatic.”
“No,” Isaiah said tightly. “I’m being realistic.”
A small moment of quiet fell over them.
Jacob’s expression softened. “This Green stuff really has you in a chokehold, huh?”
Isaiah’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”
“Chris Green.” Mal wiggled his eyebrows. “Your favourite.”
“He is not my favourite.”
“You talk about him a lot,” Jacob said mildly.
“Because he’s a case study in what not to be,” Isaiah shot back. “He thinks rules are optional if you’re talented enough, he’s arrogant, he’s reckless—”
“And unfortunately—” Jacob sighed. “—very hot.”
Isaiah threw a cushion at him. “I have never—”
“‘Annoyingly symmetrical face,’” Mal quoted.
“‘Shoulders like he was engineered,’” Jacob added.
“That was observational!” Isaiah said. “I have eyes! I’m not blind!”
Jacob grinned wide. “Maybe he’ll be very grateful when you help get his ban reduced.”
Isaiah made a noise of pure disgust. “I would rather eat my trainers.”
But heat crawled up his neck anyway, because the worst part was that he still remembered the impossible heat of Green’s body, and how his eyes had sparked something in Isaiah he couldn’t quite place.
“He still emailing you, then?” Malek asked.
“Sort of.” Isaiah grabbed his beer. “He’s a dick,” he muttered. “And even if he wasn’t, it doesn’t matter. One wrong thing and your whole life gets ripped open. I’m not letting anything stupid even drift near Mal.”
Mal’s foot nudged his hip gently. “Hey. I know, and I love you for it, but I promise I care about this stuff, okay? I haven’t touched anything, and I am keeping my whereabouts up to date.”
Jacob held up the unfinished joint, sliding it back into the tin. “We hear you, Compliance King,” he said fondly.
Isaiah exhaled, some of the tightness easing. “Thank you.”
Amara arrived, jumping on Malek and thrusting food at them.
They ate. They drank. The conversation drifted, getting dumber, warmer.
Mal lay sideways with his head in Jacob’s lap, eyes half-shut, smiling every time someone said “course record” like he still couldn’t quite process it.
Somewhere between his fourth beer and Jacob trying to explain why oat milk was “emotionally superior,” he said casually, “Anyway, Zay, how’s the other career? ”
Isaiah stilled.
“Which one?” he said carefully.
“The one with lighting,” Mal said, not opening his eyes. “And lingerie.”
Isaiah looked between them. “You really do know,” he said, almost in awe that Amara hadn’t been bullshitting. “How?”
“Isaiah,” Jacob said, “you have a ring light that could guide ships to shore.”
“Your calendar has ‘lives,’ written in it,” Mal added.
“And you once muttered ‘subscriber retention’ while doing your laundry,” Amara said.
Isaiah arched an eyebrow at her.
“Okay, I made that one up.” She grinned. “But there was that night in the summer when J came into the lounge for a glass of water, caught you mid-stream, and immediately texted me asking what to do.”
“That never happened.”
“I backed away slowly,” Jake said seriously.
Isaiah covered his face with both hands. “I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Jacob said. “We’re very supportive.”
“We do not care.” Mal’s eyes were still closed. “You’re not hurting anyone. You’re hot. It’s a public service.”
Isaiah peeked through his fingers. “You’re not going to be weird about it?”
“When are we weird about anything?” Jacob asked.
Something in Isaiah gave way; a knot he hadn’t fully admitted was there. “Okay,” he muttered. “Fine. But if any of you ever subscribe—”
“Oh, we absolutely will not,” Amara said. “Boundaries.”
Jacob shifted awkwardly.
“Jake?” Isaiah narrowed his eyes at his friend.
“I just wanted to check you were safe, is all,” he said, flushing red to the tips of his ears. “And then I thought, well, I didn’t want you to worry you were losing subscribers, so I just left it.” He took a long pull of his beer. “I don’t watch.”
Isaiah smirked. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
They all laughed, the sound easy and full.
After a while, Isaiah got up, beer in hand, and slipped out onto the little balcony.
The air was cold enough to bite, clearing his head instantly.
Inside, he could hear Jake’s low voice, Amara’s bright one, and Malek’s laugh like gravel and warmth.
He checked the messages in his app and hated himself a tiny bit for being disappointed that there was nothing more from Flash.