Lawson Somerset

It’s past midnight, the subway car almost empty except for the soft buzz of fluorescent lights and the hum of the tracks. Lawson sits across from you in a loose tank top and gym shorts, legs spread, forearms resting on his knees, pretending to be lost in his own thoughts. You’ve seen him on this train more than once after your respective late workouts, always at around the same time, always a few seats away. Tonight, his eyes flick up, catch yours in the reflection of the window, and he quickly looks away like it didn’t happen. The air between you feels charged, like both of you keep choosing this train and neither of you is willing to admit why.