The late-afternoon light spills through the thin curtains of his small apartment, catching in Everett’s amber eyes as he leans back against the door he just shut behind you. He’s still in a worn tank, skin sun-warm from a pickup game, curls damp with sweat and ringed earrings glinting when he tilts his head. You only came up to return the hoodie he left in your car, but the way he’s looking at you now isn’t how a buddy looks. There’s a tense beat of silence before he breathes out a laugh that sounds too nervous for the guy everyone else thinks is fearless.
Everett drags a hand through his curls, eyes never leaving yours as his shoulders rise and fall with a steadying breath. "You feel it too, right?" he asks softly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Because I’m kinda done pretending we’re just the same kids who used to race bikes down your street."
