𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧,

fingers sense her before she comes into view,   bending themselves around the edge of the island his back’s rested against as if physically anchoring himself into the spot.   guilt pools between intestines when gaze finds hers,   ears momentarily tuning out the voices that echo beside him,   focus laid singularly on keeping the soles of his shoes flat against the kitchen’s laminate floorboards.   control is a skill long buried in the bottom of a toolbox,   rusting from a marriage of time and lack of use.   fifteen slow seconds dribble around him before feet finally let him go,   easing through the crowd that hugs the living room,   the hallway to the bathroom.   a few faceless silhouettes linger near the bedroom door adjacent,   but he thinks nothing of it.   thinks of nothing at all when fingers find the door knob and the rest of him eagerly pushes forward. 

the flickering instinct to pry is from his mother,   a habit adopted to quiet anxieties.   he can’t think his family eerie enough for open - ended questions and fidgeting in the normal setting of a diner booth.   naivety makes home in his joints,   bubbles through the muscles of his arms to lift them from where they rest at his sides to a general swing of fingers to the parking lot.   ‘  if he does,   we can come up with something to say then.  ’   a twenty dollar bill is tucked beneath a white coffee mug,   edges of his mouth dulling into a smile.   a vague attempt to reassure ;   nerves would be misplaced in the brunette’s company,   born with an engraved desire to help.   the blonde waiting at home for him will make it easier,   he thinks,   her soft nature and loose relation to their family could only serve as enough of an anonymity to hopefully get more reason out of the other.   ‘  charlie’s still got some stuff at my place,   you can just take whatever you need so we don’t have to stop at yours.  ’   one can only hope brown irises don’t betray the genuine derivation by leaning too heavily into implied insinuations.   the younger had carried himself in small mannerisms for as long as he had known him,   but somehow this felt different. 

shoulders tense to hold their grimace but his face betrays,   small crease between his brows and a barely noticeable shift of the right side of his lip.   he’s been fortunate enough for his mom,   a sturdy support system that has only ever wanted the best for her children.   a kind hand,   a listening ear,   a reassurance that knows no bounds.   his dad loves them the only way he knows how,   loud praise and endless adorations in the form of family trips off the coast of the caribbean and basking in the confetti at the superbowl.   a brown gaze tries   ( and fails )   to not trace the forlorn look that begins to crack through an otherwise stoic expression.     ‘  you’re family,   mav.   it’s not   ——   has he actually referred to it as a privilege ? ’   his dad explained it to him once :   an accidental pregnancy made known six years too late,   an absence of time to prepare,   a disconnect that must have been routed in the questionable upbringing.   it’s not the male’s fault though,   even if a new father has spent the last twelve years expressing so.   

it often felt like he was kept in the dark about family secrets :    had never been too sure why only select siblings were displayed across their grandparents’ mantle,   why side glances were given to his mom whenever she walked across a room at thanksgiving dinners,   why his uncle only ever seemed to be vaguely referenced.   he had never been stupid enough to think them the perfect family,   simply hadn’t ever been stupid enough to ask for details either.   brown eyes analyze the person in front of him.   nerves flood from his pores,   irises shifting in flickers to keep from making eye contact.   it’s eerily similar to the nights he’d spent trying to coax charlie down from a high,  embarrassment layered in between fear and remorse.   ‘ she loves having visitors.   gives her a reason to make breakfast before i can grub hub anything. ’   spills between the space between them in lieu of an outright yes.   admittance makes it feel too much like a favor,   a task needing an iou slipped in between a thank you.   ‘ we’ve got a guest room,   so you can stay there.   the couch isn’t as comfortable as it looks.   but you   ..    i’m not gonna get my ass reemed right ?    or like,    there’s not gonna be any missing posters up on cnn tonight ? ’

the memory of rubber soles squeaking against pearly white linoleum almost brings a shiver to his spine.   there’s a voice that sometimes slips up and tells him to follow his grandmother’s footsteps,   blame the silence on losses of time.   but he always finds himself standing in front of those automatic glass doors ;   can’t quite survive without the other despite the havoc that’s been set upon their shared surname.   ( may or may not also ease some qualms from his mom’s tired shoulders. )   a tip of his head is the only nod he can offer.   ‘ no one else really has the free time,   you know ?    i know you don’t have a car or anything,   but he’s   ..    i don’t know,   worried,   maybe.    asked about you a couple of times.   i can always swing by if you ever want to tag along. ’   although the other’s addition had come arguably beyond his prime,   anyone that slid beneath his twin’s collapsing form and tried to ferry him from demise,   didn’t think his stumble too taboo to acknowledge,   wouldn’t find themselves tripping into the same abyss unspoken aunts vanished into,   not by his account. 

brown eyes don’t quite remember the male in front of him.   there’s a brief memory playing between blinks like the feeble sparks of two sticks being scratched together by a novice :   sheepish form tucked between two gaudy crochet throw pillows on a forlorn couch   ( once having housed seven siblings on thursday nights before dinner )   with blue eyes darting along with an uncle’s silhouette that paces the living room,   haphazardly spewing a pros and cons list to add another sibling to the roster.   he remembers the look on his dad’s face,   a pique of interest,   an opportunity to build another legacy.   ‘  sorry you’re stuck with me,  ’   is all that can be guided gently across the diner table.   sympathy is an emotion he knows too well,   the same intimate sickly feeing beginning to wedge between the muscles around his mouth when he hands it out.   ‘ you heard about charlie,   right ? ’

narcissism lures in the idea that confession is dressed for him,   ghosts through the veins of a heart that yearns for something he knows he shouldn’t dare ask for.  dreams of a night absent of second guessing flicker through blinks like disposable film reel.   in truth,   there hadn’t been much in life that earned an iron clad passion from him.   fifth grade had him briefly aiming for an adult life zooming between crash sites and hospitals in an ambulance,   freshman year gave way to an idealistic mantra of a 4.0 gpa,   a first job as a bus boy at a neighbor’s family restaurant was nothing more than dollar bills towards a frayed jean jacket at a local resell store   ——   but this ?   it may have been safe to say there’s nothing he’s wanted more.   and he’s half certain his body makes it obvious with every twitch of tendons,   no matter how desperately his physique tries to play cool.   somber undertones begin to color the tip of his nose,   shoulders debating on shifting to face her and keeping still.   the result is the former,   loosening the hold that he has on her hands as a barter for iced irises to sketch out her features through the night sky.   the switch in his mind isn’t set to any grandiose actions,   no proclamations that had the potential to smear him against pavement because he simply wasn’t a risk taker,   heart too soft for most unknowns.   ‘ you deserve as much, ’   is offered as substitute for any confessions.   gratitude exhales out of pores for the darkness,   leaving any hopeful glint between his eyelashes untraceable.    ‘ i don’t know if it’s all that it’s cracked up to be,   but you   ——   everyone should at least have the option,   you know ? ’

the sound from the television hums through the silence just enough to keep any eerie inklings from seeping through the floor tiles.   ‘ maybe in a minute, ’   manages to fill the room.   it seems in that moment to hit him,   pads of fingertips suddenly sparking to life that makes her touch all the more real.   tears begin to inch up his throat,   manage to pool the rims of eyelids a moment after as his other arm shifts to round out their hands the first chance it gets.   as if keeping himself anchored with both hands won’t be enough to keep him awake,   keep him present.   fear begins to hollow out his rib cage in a more permanent manner and he tells himself he’ll work on it later,   when he’s back in his own bed and needs a good reason to misdirect attention from the homework sitting on his desk   ——   even if a voice in the back of his head tells him to pay the fear mind sooner rather than later.   ‘ i’m sorry.   i love you,   you know.   right ? ’

fear seems to have made a home in the center of his chest.   like every time he closes his eyes now,   there’s a looming darkness that toys with the idea of pinning them shut.   a lump in his throat is swallowed back,   two blinks offering themselves as a means to reset facial features and keep discontentment at bay.   thumb sweeps over her cheek once,   gently aligning with the bone beneath skin.   he wants nothing more than to have her close,   inch to the far side of the bed so there’s space for her to embody but pain keeps limbs still.   ‘ it was a freak accident, ’    is spoken in lieu of the i’m glad you weren’t with me that settles between the cracks of syllables.   panic struck him like a lightning bolt as soon as his eyes opened that night,   mind racing to grasp whether he was dead or alive,   whether the other people in the car were,   if he could smother the pain to shimmy out of the shattered window like they do in the movies.   the only good,   solid thought that passed through his mind that night was knowing she was in bed,   safe.   ‘ we were at the intersection before caleb’s and it was just   ..   unlucky timing. ’

‘ fuck off, ’   lips retort delicately,   follows with an eye roll despite lids having already fallen shut.   mind is relentless to not read too much into the way she settles against him,   the warmth that radiates off of her and eases usual tension from muscles.   ‘ i mean there’s something you should know.   but i don’t know how to say it,   yet,   and i don’t know how to not make it sound like this   ..   big thing. ’

prominent dilemma comes in keeping eyes open.   the darkness is alluring,   swallows him whole for hours that simply feel like seconds.   words ebb and flow from a mind consistently lulled to sleep,   fingers on his skin serving as a lone lighthouse in the middle of a tumultuous dark sea.   ( and where was the surprise in that ? )   the next time vision comes to him,   the upper half of her body is set in an uncomfortable looking angle so her hand remains overlaying his and her cheek dropped against her forearm as a haphazard pillow.   a sense of nausea settles against his sternum when he moves,   finally with enough energy to attempt shifting into an upright position without stirring the blonde awake.   a dull ache resides in the back of his head,   can only be hopeful that it’ll go away with time even though a voice assumes otherwise based on an episode of the good doctor,   he thinks.   brown eyes scan the room twice in question of another’s presence,   but come up empty.   only when he’s certain no familial intrusion will impede their reunion does he let his hand shift beneath hers,   reaching instead to dance delicate fingertips from her temple to the height of her cheekbone.   almost like he could envision it as any other evening. 

body falls against the worn polyester couch,   content sigh manages to follow.   lowly,   his conscience tells him to fight it for another day of false normalcy.   another day of not yet scaring her away.   ‘ there’s something i have to tell you first,   i think. ’

the night is soft,   much like it always seems to be when he’s in her company.   the air isn’t too cold,   the clouds dust the sky enough only to lean into the moonlight and keep their surroundings with just enough light to not be spooked by any rustling.   the warmth that’s emitted by her hands around his is homely,   second only to the tattoo shop that he spends too many hours of the day in.   her question catches him off guard but he makes a point to not let his line of vision falter ;   hands have never looked so interesting.   ‘ no. ’   i think i might be in love with you,   his bones want to say but his tongue can’t quite form the words.   it feels too much like boxing her into a corner and he doesn’t want to be that type of person,    doesn’t want to seem like he’s demanding an answer that she can’t yet give   ——   maybe doesn’t even want to give at all.   ‘ there have been a lot of times where i thought i was,   i think.    like i might’ve been in love with my fifth grade math teacher,   because she was the first person that didn’t seem to think my shitty inability to do a page of multiplication problems in less than a minute meant that i was going to be a deadbeat.   and maybe i thought i was in love with sydney boswick because i had a crush on her for,   like,   four years after one dance at our winter formal.   but nothing   ..   nothing seriously,   probably. ’   the pause that follows should lend itself to asking her the same question,   he knows,   but the answer is what selfish tendencies fear the most.   if she was in love presently,   what did that mean for him ?   for them ?

he doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know how,   all he’s aware of is the darkness fading away slowly,   through shades of gray until everything is a piercing white that makes his eyes squint.   his mother’s voice rings through the color first,   followed by his brother’s and an authoritative one that reminds both to be patient,   to give him some space to breathe.   his body feels foreign.   his arms are heavy from a lack of movement and the hospital gown that covers him is rough against his skin,   synonymous to the dog shark that he had pet in the seattle aquarium.   his throat feels to be two centimeters wide,   words trudging through tissue to make it into the open air but somehow always getting muddled between the breaths that force their way out first.   eyes blink three times before they’re able to keep themselves open,   much like when he awakes from an illness induced seven hour nap.   safety comes in the form of a hand against his,   traveling up his arm and across his chest when lips press to his skin.   his hand twitches beneath hers,   stinging his muscles but desperation has made it so the pain is nearly enticing.   another twitch,   followed by a third until fingers can curl themselves halfheartedly around her own.   i love you,   i’m sorry,   lips move to voice though they only manage a small parting.   

time has evaded him.   making himself comfortable on a lone bench,   he’s greeted by a stranger that looks misplaced yet familiar.   the clothes on his back are clean and warm,   like they’ve just been pulled fresh from the dryer and the braided red and white bracelet he’d lost in the haneda airport’s back on his left wrist,   blacked out slip on vans charlie had stolen months prior covering his feet.   ‘ am i dead ? ’   faded remnants of his mom’s voice occasionally fills the empty room,   noah’s all too familiar humming leading him through dark hallways without the fear that occasionally pings his chest.   not yet,   the stranger reassures.   not fully.   he sits and sits and sits until he can piece together how he had managed to find himself in such a predicament,   replays the last night he can remember until his temples ache.   a friend of a friend decided to drive his own car,   more space in the back had been the argument and near unanimously decided.   the seatbelt held tight over his chest and the crowd of voices never quite overlaid the radio too heavy and the speedometer only twitched past the line next to a faded white thirty twice.   the light is green,   car lagging by a fraction of a second before it pulls forward and begins to turn left   ——   suddenly clipped on the driver’s side rear,   gravity veering the metal frame into the center of the intersection.   a single sound is made,   reaction of his head turning towards it and instead catches white headlights.   the force rocks his head forward and back in a dodgy fashion,   follows with a strangle for breath between the panic as the world rolls once,   twice.   his vision’s at a slant and the pain reeks enough to want to pull himself away from his skin,   away from the blinding scream that follows,   away from the angry wail of sirens.   panic vibrates from his bones and a gasp awakens him to nothing but black.   again. 

he’s taken a backseat in a film reel of his life.   the wide,   gappy smile on his face when he scores his first touchdown in flag football.   the bitter taste of homemade taffy on a bahaman boardwalk.   a four year old tucked between his dad’s legs on the floor of a private jet,   small arms wrapped around calves as an illusion to hold himself more steady during lift off than any seatbelt ever could.   dodgy footing to the tune of high school musical’s breaking free with nervous hands on a blonde’s hips that he’s be able to name his for the past five years,   yet still manages to keep him breathless.   the surprise of a familiar silhouette just beyond the fence as his lungs heave,   feet dragging over the goal line.   he doesn’t realize what all is happening until he’s falling away from it all again,   edges of each memory tinged with black before he tumbles into an abyss altogether.   his body finds itself between crisp hospital sheets,   the needle of an iv bag on the back of his left hand,   monitors framing either side of the bed.   the stark white of bandages around his head contrast brown hair,   a mother’s hand occasionally brushing strands from his forehead for the sake of normalcy while a concerned father keeps his voice hushed in conversation with a doctor.   i’m right here,   he says into the void,   tries desperately not to lean into the ache in his chest.   help.