Page 47 of Gap Control

I tossed my keys into the tray by the door and slipped off my boots. The radiator clanged three times behind me, and then settled back into its usual low hum. I didn't bother turning on the overheads—just flicked on the floor lamp near the couch. Soft light, enough to see by.

I'd retrieved my latest sketchbook from where I forgot it in the arena weight room. It didn't look like anybody opened it, not even TJ.

Now, it rested by the TV, half-tucked under the mail I wasn't planning to open. Perhaps I could draw tonight. Or read. Or do anything that didn't involve thinking about TJ.

That plan lasted all of five minutes.

I filled the electric kettle and stared out the window while it heated. No snow tonight.

I should've been relaxed. The apartment was the space I'd built for calm. I needed it after getting called to Lewiston for the new season. Every drawer had its place. Every object earned its spot.

Tranquil was how I used to describe it. Now, it was just empty space full of things no one else ever touched.

The kettle clicked off. I grabbed a mug from the cabinet, tossed in a tea bag, poured, and forgot about it as soon as I set it down. My phone buzzed once—group chat ping. I ignored it.

I sat at the small table by the window and pulled my hoodie tighter. The air wasn't cold, but my body was restless. I needed to do something before I started overthinking.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through texts. Nothing new from TJ. Not since the weight room.

It was an opportunity to say more than I did. I blew it.

When I opened our thread, I saw the last message was a dumb joke from me about egg rolls. Jokes were TJ's expertise, not mine.

I decided to type something new. Simple, not clever.

Mason:You up?

Hit send and didn't move for a long moment after that. I watched the screen, hoping it might flicker to life and tell me what happened next.

The reply came faster than I expected.

TJ:Depends. Is this a late-night crisis text, or are you about to send me a meme?

I chuckled under my breath.

TJ. Still TJ. Still answering with a joke like it was armor and an invitation at the same time.

I stared at the blinking cursor. Tried to think of something smart or light, hiding the fact that I was sitting alone in my apartment, wondering if I'd already screwed everything up.

Instead, I got to the point.

Mason:Can we talk?

The typing bubble showed up. Paused. Came back again. I watched it like it was a signal flare.

TJ:Always.

Another pause.

TJ:You want me to come by?

I looked around. Everything was neat, but I wanted a different venue. I wasn't ready for us to be stuck together in my space.

Mason:No. Let's meet somewhere.

TJ:Name it.

I paused, thinking.

---