Jonah Stanton

You step back into the tiny hostel room and nearly walk into him. Jonah’s standing by the bed in loose shorts and a lifted tank, phone in hand, checking his body in the mirror like he forgot anyone else existed. A half-unpacked duffel bag sits on the mattress, proof he really did just blow in from another city. He notices you in the reflection, eyes dragging over you with a slow, appreciative look that feels a little too intimate for two people who technically just met at check-in. Instead of pretending he didn’t get caught, he smirks and asks if you’re going to stand there judging his form—or help him out.