"No, I, uh-" I hate my stuttering, but I have no words. I'm too nervous to say that I found them in my bag; it would sound like a total lie! "I think you, like, uh," I attempt.
"Calm down," Gabe tells me. "Sorry if I sounded aggressive; I had just been looking for them," he offers me a sweet smile that feels like a hug. I take a second to breathe. He's a reasonable guy, I think. I just don't want him to think I'm some boxer-stealing freak, but aren't I? I did, you know.
"I just found them jumbled in with my clothes," I explain, feeling a little less anxious. "Maybe I accidentally picked them up with my dirty clothes, or they fell from your locker. Sorry, I didn't tell you sooner."
"Don't be sorry," he assures. "Give me your phone." I unlock my phone and hand it to Gabe. Usually, I would just give someone my phone, but I feel obligated to. I watch as Gabe opens my contacts and adds his number. "In case it happens again." He smiles again; it's like he knows just how to give me butterflies.
Gabe pulls his black athletic shorts up, and I try not to stare as it catches on his package. "Let's get going," he says. "Before Coach Bayleigh nags us for being late."
...
"Walls! Still not here?" Coach Bayleigh scribbles on her clipboard.
"West!"
"Here!"
"Wright!"
"Here!" I yell, careful to not touch Gabe's ass as I shoot my hand up.
"Today we will be doing workout stations, and I don't want to see any phones," Coach Bayleigh glares at me, and I look down at my shoes. "Everyone needs a partner and to go to one of the stations I have set up."
I stand still because I usually end up being partners with someone who was the odd one out in their friend group. I could branch out and socialize, but it feels like an effort in futility at this point in the year. Gabe starts to walk towards a yoga mat.
"Jake, you coming?" He projects. I do an awkward half-run and half-walk to Gabe.
"Aren't you usually with Marcus?" I ask him.
"He's sick. Plus, I'd rather be with you." His lips lift into a smile, and I mirror his expression.
Coach Bayleigh shouts instructions for a while, trying to raise her voice over the whining of the boys who were hoping for a free gym day. Eventually, loud pop music plays over the gym speakers, signaling the start of the activity.
Gabe picks up a laminated card at our station. "30 sit-ups each," he reads. "Wanna start?"
"Sure." I awkwardly lay on the yoga mat, and Gabe sits down and holds down my sneakers. I lift my torso up, and I meet eyes with Gabe. He smiles. I lay back down.
"One!" Gabe counts. My abs start to burn after only 5, but the excitement of seeing Gabe's brown eyes each time I sit up motivates me. At 10 sit-ups, I realize his eyes aren't a simple brown but, instead, amber. At 15, I notice the way the light makes them shine. At 20, I see the darker brown flicks surrounding his pupils. I could look into his eyes forever.
"And... 30! Good job." Me and Gabe switch places, and he starts his reps as soon as I place my hands on his feet. I feel weird counting out loud, so I just count in my head. As Gabe speeds through his sit-ups, I notice his blue boxer briefs present themselves each time he lays flat. I try not to look down at his crotch as it barrels toward me with each sit-up. Gabe is sweaty, breathing heavily, and I can smell his musk. My mind starts to drift away from PE and into a fantasy...
"Jake?" I snap out of my daydreaming. "It's time to change stations," Gabe alerts me.
"Oh, sorry, I was-"
"You're good!" He assures me.
50 minutes, ten exercise stations, and a few awkward boners later, we make it back to the locker room. I feel like I have overdosed on physical education, so I plan on getting changed as quickly as possible. I sit on the floor and put on my fresh pants and t-shirt, trying to ignore Gabe's bulge hovering over me.
"Thanks for partnering with me, dude," Gabe says, looking down at me. I suddenly feel very conscious of my body now that his eyes are on me. I hug my legs to hide my chest, even though I already have a shirt on.
"Yeah, of course!"
"I had fun. Let's do it again sometime."
I can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but I answer with an over-excited "Yes!" regardless.
...
I am lying down half-naked on my bed when my phone buzzes. I lazily turn my head and read the notification: "ryanlovesfrogs has accepted your follow request." I immediately open Instagram and scroll through the account. A few posts later, I find a photo of Ryan and Gabe sharing a massive milkshake at some restaurant. I click the picture to see the tagged profile, but instead of gabriel.west.2005 popping up, an entirely different account shows: gabe.elio.05. 57 posts, but only 20 followers. I request to follow him, and about five minutes later, I see that he confirmed my follow.
I feel like I'm seeing a whole new side of Gabe. The smiling, giddy, teen ogling fish in an aquarium feels like an entirely different person compared to the overconfident jock that I thought I knew. I continue scrolling and see an extensive collection of posts featuring Gabe and Ryan. Gabe with Ryan on his shoulders, the boys sitting together at a lake, them having a picnic in a park. I feel a twinge of jealousy. All I want is to be close to Gabe. To bask in his warmth, to touch his skin, to smell his musk.
And soon, I would.
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