Fucking Dosu. Even in my dreams, he keeps showing up. I groan as I get out of bed. That's it. I'm going for a run. Last night wasn't fun. If sleep was money, I can barely count how much I got. I kept tossing in bed, and it wasn't until past five in the morning that I realized sleep wasn't going to come.
And that's how it's been lately since I arrived at Ellie's. I just lie in bed, doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, waiting for my brain to shut up about Dosu being here, dating my sister and it never does. The same loop, over and over again, like I'm a detective trying to solve a murder, is making my head pound, and I feel like I'll lose my mind if I don't do something productive. That's why I'm out of bed now, putting on my hoodie and the Nike sneakers Dad got me last birthday.
I slip out the door and close it gently. I don't want Ellie to worry.
It's six when I finally find myself in the neighborhood, jogging down the street. It's quiet, but not the kind that makes you think a murderer is right behind you. It actually looks like a fancy place. I have to give it to Ellie, she's doing well away from our parents' clutches. Just look at me. I'm a mess, and I like to think that if Dosu wasn't my roommate, I'd have done well enough for myself. Maybe I should have convinced my parents to let me get my own apartment. They had the money.
I don't know where I'm going, but I let my legs take me, something they're very fond of doing. Dosu is dating my sister now, the irony of it. The past months have been horrible. God, I did everything, everything to forget him, and now he's back in my life. And dating Ellie? What do I even tell her?
If I tell her, what will she do? Will she freak out? No, Ellie isn't like that. My sister isn't the irrational type. She'd probably be upset, but later she'd calm down. But if she knew I willingly hid the fact that Dosu and I hooked up, she'd hate me, because she'd want to do the right thing, break up. And as much as I would love that, I don't want it.
Ellie wouldn't be breaking up with him because of the hookup. My sister would take one look at me and see all the pain the sex cost me, and when she finds out the real reason I broke up with Lena, she'd think breaking up with Dosu is for me. And I don't want that. I don't.
I turn onto a longer stretch of road that runs parallel to a park, and I slow down. A stitch is starting to form in my side, and I swear I'm not as conditioned as I used to be. Months of chronic stress and bad sleep will do that.
There's a bench in front of the park. I slow my breathing and make my way to the seat. There's an old guy there who looks like he's in his late fifties.
I nod a greeting to him as I settle down.
He returns it, gently holding the paper coffee cup in both hands. The man is dressed like he's also out for a run, but he doesn't quite look it.
He must have seen me touching the side of my torso when he asks, "You good?"
"Yeah."
"You might want to try breathing out on your left foot," he says. "Try to exhale. I heard it fixes it faster than taking a break."
I look at him. "Does that actually work?"
"Worked for me for thirty years." He shrugs, tilting his coffee cup slightly. "Well, until my knees decided they were done. Now I just dress for fun and watch other people run."
I huff something that's almost a laugh. Okay, it's been a long time since someone made me laugh.
I sigh, resting my back against the bench and tipping my head back. All thoughts of Dosu disappear, just like that.
Are you visiting the area?" the man asks, slowly swiveling in his seat. Normally, I'd cut off any attempt at small talk, especially with older people. Growing up around my parents did that. If they were judging something I was doing, it either came with advice and right now, I want neither. But somehow, somehow, I want to answer this man.
"My sister lives nearby." I stupidly stretch my hand, pointing nowhere. "Semester break."
He nods slowly, like that's a satisfying answer. "What are you studying?"
"Athletic training."
His eyebrows lift slightly. "Sports medicine direction or performance?"
I look at him properly this time. The white hairs on his head curl in a way that's actually kind of cute. Even the wrinkles on his face don't detract from his features. He must have been handsome when he was young.
"Performance." My brows raise. "Mostly injury prevention. You know the field?"
"A little." His lips stretch into a smile. "My son plays basketball. And, well, I've spent enough time around training staff to pick up a thing or two."
He sounds like my dad when he's bragging about how well I'm doing in school. Intrigued, I ask, "Wow. What school?"
"Heathrow."
I blink. "Heathrow?!" The fuck, what are the odds?
"That's where I go."
Now he looks at me with more interest. "Small world. I knew there was something special about you."
I let out a laugh. "I'm actually doing my practicum with the athletics department next semester."
The man smiles again, amusement flickering across his face. "Well, maybe you'll work with my son then. He's wonderful."
"Maybe." I stretch my arms above my head. "What position does he play?"
"Point guard. Though he'd tell you he can play anywhere." He says it with that dry, parent tone, you know, the one that comes from hearing that claim a hundred times. "He's good. I'm not just saying that because I'm his father. He's genuinely good."
"You sound proud," I say.
He nods and lets out a breath. "Every day. That boy's had a hard couple of months, actually. Stuff going on, but he's handling it. He's tougher than he looks."
I don't ask what stuff. That's not really my business, and honestly, I'm not that curious. I just wanted a small conversation and I've had it. It was nice.
I'm already planning to stand up and finish my run when his eyes drift past me to something over my shoulder, and his face does that thing parents' faces do when they see someone familiar. Call me brainy, but I just know it's his son. I'm not surprised when he says, "Speaking of."
I want to meet the wonderful, perfect son he's been talking about, maybe even pick up a few tips on how to be a good son to my parents but when I turn, Dosu's eyes are narrowed. He's coming up the path deeper in the park, and he's seen me. He's seen his father. Earphones hang around his neck, his blond hair damp and pushed back from his face. He's been running too, obviously, because now, as he slows down, his breathing is heavier.
The man beside me, Dosu's dad, is saying something, but my eyes go to the shirt in his son's hand, bunched in a fist like he pulled it off mid-run. Exactly the kind of thing he would do. Because the universe has a very specific sense of humor about my life.
I don't mean to look, but my eyes go there before I can stop them and then they stay for approximately one second too long. One second too long in any situation, but especially this one. His chest, his stomach, the lines of him I've spent months trying not to remember. The way sweat sits in the hollow of his throat. The exact shape of his abdomen, every ridge. And then my brain, unhelpfully, as if it's been waiting for this exact trigger, drags me back to that night.
It had been two months since we'd had sex, and God, God, I had tried to fuck it out of my system by now but fucking hell, it didn't seem to be helping. The mere memory of that night, the hours spent, kissing his mouth afterward, never getting enough made me burn. His weight above me. The heat of him. The feel of his stomach under my hands when I grabbed at him, and the sound he made, right against my ear. The way he looked down at me afterward, breathing hard, hair falling into his face. The room had been dark, but not dark enough, I could see his expression, and I'd felt so…
I swallow. Damn him. Damn him for looking like this.
My jaw tightens. I look away, anywhere that isn't Dosu Michael's torso. My face feels hot. Something else feels worse, and I'm acutely, horribly aware of it. I cross one leg over the other on the bench with a casualness I absolutely do not feel.
Dosu reaches the bench and goes completely still. "Eli. What are you doing here?"
"Running," I say, tone dripping with 'obviously stupid question.' "This is your neighborhood, apparently."
I realize this is also the first good conversation we've had since… what happened between us. Dosu recognizes it too. His eyes flick to his dad, then back to me, and I can see him doing the math.
"You know each other?" his dad asks, looking between us like a man just realizing he's walked into something.
"Yeah," Dosu says in a way that clearly tells his dad not to push it. Same here, I don't want to explain to this man that we fucked and that's why we are awkward.
"We go to the same school," I say at the exact same time he does.
His dad studies us for a moment. His eyes move in a way that unnervingly reminds me of Dosu, and I wonder how I didn't notice it before. "Okay."
He stands with his coffee, hands it to his son, and extends his hand to me. I take it. I am not a bitch.
"Good luck with the practicum," he says, smiling. "You're a good boy."
"Thank you, sir."
His dad claps Dosu once on the shoulder as he passes. Dosu watches him go.
Then it's just us.
Suddenly, the bench feels too hot for my butt. I want out. I stand, but Dosu stops right in front of me. I jerk back when I realize how close we are. God, his face is inches from mine. I can't… I can't just be near him like this, not with his musky smell confusing me like it does.
"The fuck?" I grit out. "What do you want?"
Dosu looks at me, something tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Elisha."
He just says my name, and the way he does it makes something hot pool in my belly. I glance him up and down, swallowing hard.
"We're going to keep running into each other. Your sister is… thing is, we're going to keep running into each other. At some point, you're going to have to—"
"Have to what?" I fold my arms. "Talk to you? Work it out?" I let out a short, bitter laugh. "I don't have to do anything. I'm here for two weeks. I'm here for my sister. That's it. You and I don't have to play pretend."
He raises his free hand as if to gesture, then drops it back to his jaw. "God. That's a bit much."
"Is it?"
"Yeah." His voice drops slightly, an edge creeping in. "It is. Because you keep acting like everything that happened is something I did to you. Like you didn't—"
My eyes dares him to continue that trail of words.
He stops, takes a deep breath, eyes locked on me. "It was mutual, and you know it. So please, stop making me feel bad and acting like you're the only one who had to deal with the aftermath."
Another memory of how mutual it was hits me, but I shake it off.
I pretend his words don't affect me and shrug. "I don't know what aftermath you think you had. You looked fine after that. You look fine right now."
"That's not—"
"We're done here." I turn toward the path with one thought in my head. What aftermath did he have to deal with?