yours.

[5] Miles

"You don't have to stay, you know," Jasper reminds me as we return for our second round of boxes.

"I do," I say back. "My mom has this whole 'productivity' obsession now, and..." I trail off. "Never mind."

Jasper still refuses to meet my eye, and I redirect my focus to finding the lightest box to lift. The one I took from him was insanely heavy, but I carried it for fear of seeming, I don't know, weak? I don't know why I care about looking good to him, but I do. Something about first impressions, I guess.

"We're almost done," Jasper remarks to himself, staring into the back of the moving van.

My gaze falls to the dozen boxes at our feet. "No, we're not."

"I can handle the rest. Why don't you--"

A man appears from the doorway behind me, and Jasper's mouth clamps shut, his shoulders going tense.

"We need to keep moving..." I turn at the voice, and the man narrows his dark eyes at me. The olive skin of his forehead is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the faint yellow of his teeth catches the light of the morning sun. "Who is this?"

I raise my hand in a wave. "Hey. I'm Miles. I live--"

"He's here to help," Jasper says hurriedly, eyes wide.

The man's gaze slides past me to Jasper, whose breaths begin to come faster until I can hear his heavy pants pushing past his lips. "Is he?"

I nod warily, glancing between the two. "I... am."

The man grunts, shoving a large shoulder past me to hoist four boxes into his grasp. Then, without another glance at either of us, he marches back into the house, leaving us in our uncomfortable silence.

"Really, Miles. This will be much easier for us both if you go home." Jasper's eyes are downcast. His dark hair falls to hide his expression as his pale, trembling hands reach out to grab another box. I realize he's wearing a light blue jacket and jeans despite the rising heat outside and glance down at my T-shirt and shorts in disbelief. Is he not overheating?

"Fine, fine," I sigh finally, retreating a few steps. "If that's really what you want." He nods, his dark eyes finally rising to meet mine. His face relaxes into a soft expression of relief, and my eyes trace over the delicate lines of his jaw and cheekbones before I catch myself and step around him, in the direction of my house. "See you."

He draws his gaze from mine and turns to carry his box into the house. Watching him disappear through the doorway, I chuckle humorlessly to myself. A "thank you" would have been nice.