"You’re going to tear a hamstring if you keep striking with your heel like that."
Caleb didn't stop. He didn't even look up. He just dug the toe of his sneaker into the rubberized surface of the track, the grit crunching under the synthetic sole. His chest was heaving, a jagged, ugly rhythm that scraped against his ribs. He could feel the sweat dripping down his temples, stinging his eyes, mixing with the humidity that hung over the stadium like a wet wool blanket.
"Did you hear me?" The voice was closer now. Daniel.
"I heard you," Caleb gasped out, turning to face the start line again. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing grime across his skin. "I just… ignored you. There's a difference."
"Funny." Daniel wasn't laughing. He was standing in the shadows of the bleachers, a dark shape against the chain-link fence. He stepped into the halo of the single security floodlight that was still buzzing—a low, electric hum that felt like it was vibrating inside Caleb’s teeth. Daniel looked infuriatingly composed. Track pants, a black hoodie despite the heat, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked solid. Immovable.
Caleb hated it. He hated how Daniel always looked like he knew the end of the movie before anyone else had even seen the opening credits. It made Caleb feel transparent, like his skin was made of cheap glass.
"Go home, Daniel," Caleb muttered, dropping into a crouch. His quads were screaming, burning with that specific lactic acid fire that usually told him to quit. Tonight, he wanted it to burn hotter. He wanted it to hurt enough to drown out the noise in his head.
"Can't," Daniel said. He walked onto the track, his boots making a heavy, deliberate thud on the surface. He stopped in lane three, just a few feet away. "Coach gave me the keys. I have to lock up. Which means I have to wait for the resident masochist to finish destroying his collegiate prospects."
Caleb scoffed, a dry, sharp sound. "My prospects are fine."
"Your form is trash," Daniel countered, his voice low, lacking any real bite but heavy with something else. Concern? Annoyance? Caleb couldn't tell. He refused to look at Daniel directly. If he looked, he’d see those eyes—dark, observant, uncomfortably steady—and he’d lose the tenuous grip he had on his own composure.
"It's midnight, Daniel. Who cares about form?"
"I do. Watch."
Before Caleb could protest, Daniel was there. The sudden proximity was like a physical blow. Daniel crouched beside him, invading his space with an ease that made Caleb’s breath hitch. He smelled like laundry detergent and something metallic, like old keys or copper. No ozone. Just the grounded, real scent of a guy who didn't sweat the small stuff.
"Your back," Daniel said, reaching out. His hand landed between Caleb’s shoulder blades. It wasn't a shove. It was a weight. A warm, heavy anchor.
Caleb flinched. The contact sent a shockwave through his spine, a jolt of static electricity that had nothing to do with the dry air. "Don't."
"Relax," Daniel murmured, his voice right by Caleb’s ear. "You're tense. You're carrying everything right here. Drop your shoulders."
"I can't just—"
"Drop them."
It wasn't a request. Caleb exhaled, a shaky, broken sound, and let his shoulders slump. Daniel’s hand didn't move. It stayed there, the heat of his palm seeping through Caleb’s thin dri-fit shirt. It felt… dangerous. It felt like if Daniel pressed just a little harder, Caleb would shatter into a thousand jagged pieces.
"Why are you here, Cal?" Daniel asked. The banter was gone. The sarcasm had evaporated, leaving only the raw, humid night air between them.
Caleb stared at the white line painted on the track. It was chipped, faded. "Training."
"Bullshit."
"Regionals are in two weeks."
"And you ran a 10.8 yesterday. You're fine. Physically."
Caleb stood up abruptly, breaking the contact. The loss of Daniel’s hand on his back left a cold spot, a phantom pressure that ached. He paced away, kicking at a loose piece of rubber. "You think you know everything, don't you? Mr. Captain. Mr. Perfect Split Time."
Daniel stood up too, slower, unfolding his height. He didn't chase, but his gaze pinned Caleb in place. "I know you haven't been in the cafeteria for three days. I know you're running drills until your legs give out. And I know what day it is, Caleb."
The silence that followed was heavy. It pressed against Caleb’s eardrums. The crickets in the overgrown grass beyond the fence seemed to scream.
"Don't," Caleb warned. His voice cracked. He hated it. He hated how weak he sounded.
"It's been a year," Daniel said softly.
"Shut up."
"Since your brother—"
"I said shut up!" Caleb spun around, the outburst tearing from his throat before he could stop it. The anger was sudden, white-hot, masking the terrifying drop in his stomach. "You don't get to talk about him! You didn't know him! You just… you just saw the news like everyone else. 'Local star athlete tragic accident.' It’s just content for you people."
He was panting now, not from running, but from the sheer effort of keeping the dam from bursting. His hands were shaking at his sides. He felt ridiculous. Exposed.
Daniel didn't flinch at the shouting. He took a step forward. Then another. He moved with that predatory, calm grace that made him a terror on the 400-meter dash. He closed the distance until Caleb had to crane his neck to look him in the eye.
"You think I don't see you?" Daniel asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You think I'm just watching the clock?"
Caleb swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. "I don't know what you're watching."
"I'm watching you disappear, Cal. Piece by piece. You think if you run fast enough, you can outrun the grief? Is that it? If you hit a sub-10, maybe the hurt can't catch you?"
"It works," Caleb whispered, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He blinked them back furiously. "When I'm sprinting… it's just noise. Wind. It’s the only time it’s quiet inside."
Daniel’s expression softened. The mask of the stoic captain cracked, revealing something raw underneath. He reached out again, and this time, he took Caleb’s wrist. His grip was firm, grounding. His thumb brushed over the frantic pulse point on the inside of Caleb’s arm.
"It's not quiet," Daniel said. "It's just loud enough to drown out the screaming. There's a difference."
Caleb looked down at their hands. Daniel’s fingers were rough, calloused from the weight room. They felt real. They felt like the only real thing in a world that had felt dreamlike and gray for twelve months.
"I miss him," Caleb choked out. The admission felt like vomiting. "God, Daniel, I miss him so much it feels like… like I'm bleeding out. Every day."
"I know," Daniel said. He pulled gently on Caleb’s wrist, drawing him in. Caleb didn't resist. He had no fight left. He stumbled forward, colliding with Daniel’s chest.
It wasn't a hug, exactly. It was a collapse. Caleb buried his face in the rough fabric of Daniel’s hoodie. He smelled the detergent again, and the faint, bitter scent of the metal fence. He let out a sob, a jagged, ugly sound that echoed in the empty stadium.
Daniel’s arms came around him, locking tight. One hand pressed the back of Caleb’s neck, shielding him, holding him together. "I've got you. You're okay. I've got you."
They stood there for a long time. The floodlight buzzed. A moth fluttered against the bulb, casting frantic, dancing shadows on the track. Caleb cried until his chest ached, until the front of Daniel’s hoodie was soaked. Daniel just held him. He didn't offer platitudes. He didn't say 'it gets better' or 'he's in a better place.' He just stood there, solid as a rock, absorbing the tremors racking Caleb’s body.
Eventually, the sobbing subsided into hiccups. Caleb pulled back, wiping his face with his shirt, mortified. He felt raw. Scrubbed clean.
"Sorry," he mumbled, looking at the ground. "Snot on your hoodie. That’s gross."
"I've had worse," Daniel said. His voice was rougher now. He didn't let go of Caleb completely. His hand lingered on Caleb’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles into the muscle.
Caleb risked a glance up. Daniel was looking at him with an intensity that made Caleb’s knees weak. It wasn't pity. It was… hunger? No, that wasn't right. It was recognition.
"You're not the only one who's lost something, you know," Daniel said quietly.
Caleb blinked. "What?"
Daniel looked away, towards the empty stands. "My dad. Freshman year. Not an accident. Just… left. Cleared out the bank account and vanished."
Caleb stared at him. Daniel never talked about his family. He was a closed book, a statue of athletic perfection. "I didn't know."
"I didn't want you to know. I wanted to be the guy who had it together. For the team. For… you."
The last word hung in the air, heavy and sweet.
"For me?" Caleb asked, his heart doing a strange, frantic flutter against his ribs.
Daniel turned back to him. His dark eyes searched Caleb’s face, tracing the line of his jaw, the redness of his eyes. "Yeah. Caleb, who do you think paces you? Who do you think makes sure you eat? Who do you think hacked the roster to make sure we're always rooming together on away games?"
Caleb’s breath caught. "I thought… I thought that was just… coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidence," Daniel said. He stepped closer again. The space between them vanished. The air felt charged, electric, like the seconds before a thunderstorm breaks. "I believe in intent."
Caleb felt a flush rising up his neck, hot and prickly. "Intent?"
"I'm not just here to lock the gate, Cal."
The realization hit Caleb like a starter pistol. The looks. The touches. The way Daniel always seemed to be *there*, a constant orbit around his chaotic life. It wasn't just leadership. It was…
"Oh," Caleb breathed.
Daniel’s gaze dropped to Caleb’s lips, then back up to his eyes. It was a question. A silent, terrifying question.
Caleb didn't think. He couldn't. His brain was offline, short-circuited by the grief and the adrenaline and the sudden, overwhelming warmth of Daniel’s body. He just nodded. A tiny, imperceptible tilt of his chin.
Daniel didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his hand sliding up to cup Caleb’s jaw, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone. The kiss wasn't tentative. It was firm, assured, possessing. It tasted of salt and mint gum and something purely *Daniel*.
Caleb gasped into the kiss, his hands clutching at Daniel’s hoodie. It felt like falling. It felt like the ground had disappeared and he was free-falling, but for the first time, he wasn't afraid of the impact.
Daniel’s other arm wrapped around Caleb’s waist, pulling him flush against him. The heat was incredible. It burned through the layers of clothes, searing Caleb’s skin. He felt Daniel’s heart beating against his own chest—steady, strong, a rhythm he could sync to.
When they broke apart, breathless, forehead resting against forehead, the world felt different. The stadium was the same—rusty, humid, empty—but the silence wasn't lonely anymore.
"You're okay," Daniel whispered again, his lips brushing Caleb’s skin.
"I'm not," Caleb admitted, his voice shaky but honest. "I'm really not."
"I know. But you're not alone. That's the start."
Caleb let out a laugh, a wet, ragged sound. "You're such a cliché."
"And you're a mess," Daniel retorted, but there was a smile in his voice. He pulled back enough to look at Caleb. "Let's go. I'm locking up. And I'm driving you home. No arguments."
"My car is here."
"We'll get it tomorrow. You're in no state to drive."
Caleb wanted to argue, to push back, to reclaim some of his independence. But he looked at Daniel—at the set of his jaw, the softness in his eyes—and realized he didn't want to. He was tired. He was so incredibly tired of fighting alone.
"Okay," Caleb said.
They walked towards the exit gate, the gravel crunching under their feet. Daniel didn't hold his hand—that would be too much, too soon, out here where anyone could see—but their shoulders brushed with every step. A constant, reassuring friction.
As Daniel fumbled with the padlock on the chain-link gate, Caleb looked back at the track. The lanes stretched out into the darkness, empty and waiting. The ghost of his brother wasn't gone. The grief wasn't gone. It was still there, a shadow in the corner of his eye.
But as Daniel clicked the lock shut and turned to him, holding out a hand for Caleb’s bag, the shadow felt a little less dense. A little less consuming.
"You coming?" Daniel asked, swinging the keys around his finger.
Caleb took a breath. The air smelled like rain coming in. Fresh. Clean.
"Yeah," Caleb said, falling into step beside him. "I'm coming."