I figured it would be good for us. Sometimes it’s easier to run than to talk.

Oh buddy, your hands. We continue running, my fist against my mouth. Though I’m bundled up nicely, it seems I’ve forgotten how susceptible my hands are to the cold.

I love you, bud.

I haven’t run since the last time he asked. And we haven’t spoken much since last time either.

Where are your gloves? They’re sitting in my room, leaving my hands unprotected.

Cloudy breath bellows out of my nose like the sigh of a steam engine.

The cold makes my head hurt, which I only realize as we come to a stop at the turn.

 I was ready to study in my room, but he pulled me away, asking to go for a run.

He stays a few steps out of reach until we pause at the mile marker.

The run was impromptu, a way to step away from everything and let out steam.

I see him exerting himself, and think if he’s sweating out any of the worry.

He pulls ahead, outpacing me by just over a hair’s width.

The air is brisk and biting. It chaps my knuckles, cracking my skin and digging miniature wounds onto which I place my lips to stop the bleeding.

Then we finally reach the last bridge. We grasp our knees and breathe heavily.

We pass a large pack of highschoolers running the opposite direction.

click anywhere

Then we make one last sprint, pushing ahead with all we have left, until we reach the turn, relieved.

I figured it would be good for me too. At the very least we’re outside, and together.