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The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, spilling molten gold across the cracked pavement of the skate park. The air hums with the distant laughter of other skaters, and the rhythmic clatter of wheels against concrete fills the space between breaths. You stand at the edge of the ramps, your fingers wrapped around Reed's wrist, his footsteps trailing slightly behind yours. You have a board tucked under your arm, its worn grip tape rough against your fingertips—a familiar comfort. Reed, however, is far from comfortable—his brows knit together in apprehension, his lips pressing into a thin, uncertain line. "You sure this is a good idea?" he asks, eyeing the dips and curves of the park like they personally wronged him. You grin, tugging him forward. Your excitement is palpable.
The first time he steps onto the board, he loses his balance and falls hard onto the concrete. The sound of his fall echoes sharp in the open air, a mix of a dull thud and his own startled curse. You press a hand to your mouth, laughter threatening to spill over, but the sight of his disheveled form—legs tangled, hands braced against the pavement—breaks your restraint. It starts as a giggle, small and breathless, but you soon find yourself doubled over, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. "You're—" you gasp between laughs, "you're so bad at this!" Reed glares up at you, but there's no real heat behind it. He's just playing along. "Glad you're enjoying my suffering," he mutters, dusting off his jeans before standing up. You wipe at the corners of your eyes, still grinning, and hand the board back to him. "Come on, try again."
He tries again. And again. And again. Each attempt is met with the same result: a misplaced foot, an overcorrection, a dramatic flail before gravity claims him once more. You laugh at each failed attempt, your amusement ringing through the park like wind chimes in a storm. Reed groans each time he crashes, but even he starts to smile, shaking his head as he picks himself up over and over. "This is actually humiliating," he grumbles, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the failure clinging to him. "Nah," you reply, beaming at him. "It's endearing." He scoffs but doesn't argue, which makes your grin widen. The sun catches in his hair, warm brown strands illuminated like burnished gold, and for a moment, you forget about the skate park, about the laughter—just lost in the way he looks at you, exasperation softening into something fond.
When he falls for the twelfth time, his hands braced against the pavement, he doesn't get up right away. Instead, he flops onto his back, breathing hard, staring at the sky as if contemplating his entire existence. "That's it," he declares dramatically. "I was not built for this. I quit. I resign from skating forever." You approach, standing above him with your hands on your hips, grinning down at his theatrics. "Forever's a strong word," you tease, nudging his side with the toe of your shoe. "I mean it," he says, though a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Some people are born to skate, and some people—" he gestures vaguely at himself, "were born to fall."
You drop down beside him, stretching your legs out over the smooth pavement, the heat of the sun still lingering in the concrete beneath your palms. The wind ruffles through your hair, carrying the scent of summer grass and asphalt. For a moment, you just sit there, side by side. "You tried," you say, bumping your shoulder against his. "That's what matters." He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "I tried a little too hard." He lifts his hand, showing a deep red scrape on his palm. You wince, but you reach for it anyway, brushing your fingers lightly over the wound. "Battle scars," you murmur, pressing a featherlight kiss to the skin. His breath hitches, and when you look up, his gaze is already on you, something soft and unreadable behind his eyes.
"You're impossible," he says, his tone warm and affectionate. "But you love me," you counter, smirking as you lean in closer, your noses nearly touching. Reed sighs, surrender written large on his face. He's conceded the battle of your heart. "Yeah," he agrees, quiet and honest. "I really do." His quiet admission resonates deeply, stirring a warm, expansive feeling within you, stretching out like the horizon before you.
The afternoon progresses, the sun gradually dipping lower, transforming the sky into a soft blend of orange and pink. The skate park empties, but you and Reed remain, stretched out on the pavement, content in each other's company. He still refuses to try again, stubborn in his defeat, but you don't mind. Watching him fall was fun, but watching him smile—really, genuinely smile—is better.
You poke his side, breaking the silence. "Next time, I'll bring knee pads," you tease, grinning. He groans. "Next time?" "Mhm," you hum, tilting your head. "Gotta teach you somehow." He groans again, louder this time, but the laugh that escapes him afterward is genuine, full of something that feels a lot like love.
-
The sky melts into deeper shades of violet, streaks of orange lingering at the horizon like the last embers of a dying fire. The wind has picked up slightly, ruffling Reed's hair as he lies beside you on the cooling pavement, eyes squinted against the fading light. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, the weight of exertion still clinging to him, but the corners of his lips remain curved in that soft, barely-there smile that makes your heart stutter. You shift, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him and drink in the quiet contentment settling in his expression. "You know," you murmur, tilting your head. "For someone who fell more than he stood, you took it like a champ." Reed groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't remind me," he mutters, but he's smiling, and that's enough.
You sit up fully, stretching your arms above your head, and feel the cool evening air brush against your skin. The laughter from earlier still lingers in your ribs, a bright thing that refuses to fade, even as exhaustion begins to settle over you both. Reed pushes himself up, his movements languid and reluctant to leave the warmth of the pavement. "I bruised everything," he mutters, rolling his shoulders with a grimace. "My dignity included." You laugh, brushing dust from his shirt, your fingers lingering longer than necessary. "Your dignity was doomed from the first fall," you tease, and he groans again, leaning into your touch. "You wounded me," he says, but there's no real complaint in his voice, just amusement, just warmth.
The skateboard lies forgotten a few feet away, abandoned like an old toy after a long day of play. You glance at it, then back at Reed. An idea springs to life in your mind, like the flicker of a match. "One last try?" you ask, raising a brow. He blinks at you, incredulous. "Did you not witness my tragic downfall? Multiple times?" You bite your lip, about to laugh, tilting your head. "Just one more," you coax, nudging his knee with yours. "I'll hold your hand this time." His expression softens slightly, and the fight in him ebbs away like waves retreating from the shore. With a dramatic sigh, he pushes himself to his feet. "Fine," he relents, shaking his head. "But if I die, you're responsible."
You grin, scrambling up beside him and already reaching for his hand before he can change his mind. His fingers are warm against yours, calloused in places but gentle as they intertwine with your own. You lead him toward the board again, steadying it with your foot before motioning for him to step on. He hesitates, as if it's a wild animal ready to pounce, but with your hand in his, he finally places one foot down, then the other. His grip on your fingers tightens immediately, his muscles tensing like he's preparing for battle. "Okay," he says. "I hate this already." You giggle, squeezing his hand in reassurance. "You've got this," you say, even though you both know he doesn't. Still, he tries.
The board shakes beneath him as he shifts his weight, his brows furrowing in concentration. You can see he's overthinking every movement, and the slight twitch of his jaw is clear evidence of his concentration. "Loosen up," you whisper, squeezing his fingers again. "It's just balance." He exhales through his nose, relaxing only slightly, but it's enough. For a brief moment, he stands there, stable and victorious in his own quiet way. But the board wobbles violently, and he tumbles again, pulling you down with him.
You yelp as you crash onto the pavement, laughter bursting from your lungs before you even fully register the fall. Reed groans beside you, his body sprawled out like a defeated warrior, and you can't help the way your laughter shakes through you, bubbling up uncontrollably. "You—" you gasp between giggles, "you took me down with you!" He turns his head to look at you, his expression deadpan despite the flush creeping up his neck. "Oh, so now you understand my suffering?" You can't respond, too engrossed in your own laughter, your stomach aching from how hard you're shaking.
Reed sighs, shaking his head, but his eyes reveal amusement and a quiet fondness as he watches you. He sits up slowly and reaches over to poke your cheek. "Alright, alright, laugh it up," he grumbles, though there's no real bite to it. You swat his hand away and wipe at the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. "You're so bad at this," you say, breathless, and he lets out a long, suffering groan. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters. "I'll just have to stick to impressing you in other ways." You quirk a brow, tilting your head. "Oh? Like how?" He smirks, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts over your skin. "You'd be interested to know."
Your chest burns with warmth, a slow, steady burn that lingers long after the sun has set. The sky darkens into deep indigo, the first few stars flickering into existence, distant and unbothered by the laughter that still fills the air between you. The skate park is nearly empty now, the world quieting around you, but neither of you move to leave just yet. Instead, you sit there, side by side, your legs brushing, your hands close but not quite touching. And for a while, that's enough.
-
The stars scatter across the sky, tiny pinpricks of light swallowed by the vast indigo stretch of the evening. The air is cooler now, the heat of the pavement fading, but the warmth between you and Reed lingers—persistent, steady, like an ember refusing to die out. He sits close, his body tilted slightly toward you, one knee bent, one arm casually draped over it. His hair is a mess from all the falling strands sticking up in odd directions, but it only makes him look softer, less composed than usual. You could smooth his hair down if you wanted to, but you don't. Not yet. Instead, you watch him, noting how his gaze lingers on the sky and the corners of his lips twitch, as if he's thinking hard.
Reed sighs, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair, shaking his head. "Well," he says finally, breaking the silence, "I think it's safe to say skateboarding is not in my future." You snort, wrapping your arms around your knees as you lean slightly into him, your shoulder bumping against his. "Oh, come on. You didn't even break anything. I'd say that's a win." He side-eyes you, unimpressed. "I bruised my soul," you deadpan. "That counts." You laugh, the sound light, unguarded, and his expression softens just a bit. "And besides," you add, nudging him playfully, "at least you entertained me." He exhales sharply, a mix of laughter and scoffing, but there's a fondness in his gaze, making your stomach flutter.
There's a pause, just long enough to let the quiet settle between you again, comfortable and familiar. Reed leans back on his palms, tilting his head up toward the sky. His features are illuminated in the faint glow of the streetlights buzzing to life around the park. "I like this better anyway," he says, his voice quieter, thoughtful. You glance at him, intrigued. "Like what?" He gestures vaguely toward the empty skate park, the stars overhead, and the way your legs are still touching. "This," he says simply. "Just sitting here. With you."
His words are casual and effortless, yet they sink into you like a heavy, meaningful weight. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your thoughts are tangled, between teasing him and just... letting the moment settle. You lean your head against his shoulder and exhale slowly. "Yeah," you murmur. "Me too." He doesn't say anything, but you feel the tension in his muscles ease up just a bit. His hand twitches beside yours, as if he's debating, but he doesn't move. Not yet.
The night stretches on, time slipping away unnoticed as you sit there together. The streetlights cast long, golden shadows, and the wind carries the scent of asphalt and summer air. It should feel like an ending—the park empty, the sky dark—but instead, it feels like something else. It feels suspended in time, infinite. Reed shifts beside you, tilting his head down to glance at you, his smirk returning. "So, when do I get my prize for all my suffering?" he asks, voice light, teasing. You raise an eyebrow. "Prize?" "Yeah," he says, smirking wider. "I endured public humiliation. I deserve a reward."
You roll your eyes, but the grin that pulls at your lips betrays you. "And what exactly do you want?" He pauses, feigning consideration, tapping his chin. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe a kiss?" Your heart stumbles over itself, but you keep your expression neutral, tilting your head as if considering. "Hmmm. "I don't know. You fell a lot. I think that might've canceled out any potential prizes." He dramatically gasps, pressing a hand over his chest. "That's cruel. Absolutely heartless." You giggle, leaning in slightly, your nose nearly brushing his. "You'll have to try harder next time."
He huffs, shaking his head, but his smirk softens at the edges, revealing something more genuine. Then, before you can react, he reaches up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin for just a moment longer than necessary. "Guess I will," he murmurs. The space between you feels impossibly small, the world fading into background noise. And then, finally, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours, slow and sure, like this is exactly where he was meant to be all along.
-
The air is crisp but not cold, carrying the scent of rain that never quite fell, the pavement beneath your feet still warm from the sun's lingering heat. You and Reed are walking side by side, the streetlights casting pools of gold along the sidewalk. His hand brushes yours. He's testing the waters, waiting for you to close the space first. And you do. Without a word, you slip your fingers between his, your palm fitting against his like it was meant to be there. Reed squeezes your hand, not teasing, just holding. You exist together in the quiet.
"You're gonna be sore tomorrow," you remark, your voice direct as you glance up at him. He huffs a soft laugh, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, no kidding. My tailbone is probably permanently damaged." You giggle, squeezing his hand in reassurance. "It was worth it," he continues, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Seeing you laugh like that." Your steps slow, your heart stumbles at his words. He says it so easily, like it's the simplest thing in the world, like making you laugh was worth every fall, every bruise.
The silence is comfortable, and the sounds of the city hum in the background: the distant chatter of people, the occasional passing car, the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. Reed maintains a steady pace beside you, his grip firm but gentle, as if he's reluctant to let go now that he has you so close. You look at him, at the way his gaze flickers over the surroundings, ever watchful, ever careful. His movements are purposeful, leading you closer to the edge of the sidewalk, as if shielding you from the world.
"You do this often?" you ask, your voice light and teasing. "Walk you home after humiliating myself?" He snorts, shaking his head. "Oh, all the time," he deadpans. "It's my favorite hobby." You giggle, bumping your shoulder against his, and he smiles—one of those rare, genuine smiles that softens all the sharp edges he tries to keep in place. He glances at you, and his expression is unreadable for a moment before he tilts his head slightly. "I'd walk you home any day," he says, quieter this time. "Even if I didn't have an excuse."
The warmth spreads in your chest, blooming slowly and steadily, wrapping around your ribs like something safe and steadfast. The streetlights flicker as you pass beneath them, casting shifting shadows over the pavement. For a moment, the rest of the world fades into the background. You and Reed are inseparable, walking in sync, your hands intertwined. You lean into him, the weight of his presence grounding you.
Your house comes into view too soon, the soft glow of the porch light spilling onto the front steps, marking the end of the night. Reed slows his steps, reluctant, as if he's not quite ready to let go. You turn to face him, still holding his hand, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. "Well," you murmur, tilting your head. "Guess this is where I leave you." Reed exhales through his nose, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Tragic," he says. "Heartbreaking." You roll your eyes, but the smile you wear is too soft to be anything but fond.
He doesn't let go of your hand, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, slow and deliberate. "So," he says, dragging the word out slightly. "How long until you drag me to another skate park and ruin my reputation all over again?" You giggle, moving closer, your warmth reaching him. "Mmm. I'll give you a week to recover." His smirk widens, his fingers tightening around yours. "Generous."
He'll kiss you again. The air is thick with something unspoken, something electric. But he doesn't rush it. Instead, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. "Night, trouble," he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and warm, familiar. Your breath catches slightly, but you smile and step back toward your door. "Night, Reed."
You don't close the door right away. Instead, you wait until he's a few steps down the sidewalk before calling out, "Oh, and Reed?" He turns, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?" You grin, leaning against the doorframe. "You should invest in some knee pads for next time." He groans, throwing his head back dramatically, and you laugh, watching him disappear into the night with that same warmth still settled deep in your chest.