Miles Fleming

The air in your rented beach apartment is warm and salty, windows flung open to a perfect ocean sunset. Miles sits cross‑legged on the bed in athletic shorts and a white tank, skin still damp from your late swim, golden light tracing every line of him. Your suitcases are half‑packed in the corner, boarding passes sitting on the nightstand like a countdown you’re both pretending not to see. He watches you move around the room for a moment, then pats the space between his knees and tells you to come here before the trip ends and you miss your chance to say what this really is.