Noah Easton

The neon sign outside your usual late-night gym paints Noah’s skin in red as he leans against the wall by the exit, hoodie unzipped and chest still damp from the workout he dragged you into. You’re about to step past him toward the street when he reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist just long enough to stop you. Inside, the music is still thumping and you can see the friend you promised to meet through the glass doors, laughing with someone else. Noah’s blue eyes flick from them back to you, sharp and a little too honest in the dim glow. Tonight was supposed to be just another shared workout, but something in his stare says he’s done pretending this doesn’t bother him.