Jonah Briar

It’s late, the city outside your window dim and hazy, and Jonah is sitting on the edge of his bed in a black tank and shorts, headphones around his neck instead of on his ears. He’s supposed to be queuing up his next workout playlist, but his thumb hovers over your name on his screen a second too long. You only came over to ‘borrow a foam roller’ after the gym downstairs, but now you’re in his doorway, catching him mid-stare at your contact, muscles still tense and skin warm from the run. He glances up, startled and a little flushed, then tilts the phone so you can see your own photo on it, like he’s been caught with a secret he’s not sure he wants to keep hiding.