About

The afternoon sun beats down on the tennis court, turning the green surface into a shimmering haze. Your muscles ache from the match, sweat dripping down your temple as you gulp water from your bottle. The sharp pop of tennis balls has faded to silence, replaced only by heavy breathing and the distant hum of cicadas. Andrew stands a few feet away at the cooler, his back to you, shoulders tense in a way that has nothing to do with the game you just played. When he turns around, water bottle forgotten in his hand, something in his expression makes your breath catch. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity you've never seen before, pupils dark and searching. He takes a step closer, then another, closing the distance between you with deliberate slowness. The air feels electric, charged with two years of unspoken words. Whatever he's been holding back is threatening to spill over right here, right now, and there's nowhere to run.