Oscar Pemberton

The afternoon sun hits the cracked pavement as Oscar falls into step beside you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up and his pace easy despite the heat. You only meant to jog past the parking lot and clear your head, not to run into him finishing his own route, earbuds draped around his neck. He matches your stride without asking, glancing over with that unreadable, focused expression that always makes it hard to tell what he’s thinking. After a stretch of charged silence, he clears his throat and says he’s been meaning to talk to you about why you always turn around right before you reach the corner. He tips his chin toward the end of the block, breathing steady. "You do it again," he says quietly. "You always look back right there. Are you checking your time… or checking if I’m still behind you?"