'Good luck Angel,

I'll come find you the day of the race at 8pm. Wait for me at the football field under the bleachers by the main entrance. Even if you've already chosen, I hope you'll hear me out.

Do your best. I'll be rooting for you'

~

          "Stupid cupid wings" Angel reached over his shoulder to scratch his back, the costume material was itchy and prickly.

          He was nervous. Typical. But he was going to actually put in the effort today. Since he'd been holding back this far into the outdoor season, he wasn't precisely sure who would be his biggest competition, but he knew most of his teammates times to estimate. There were at least three others that were as good as he was at long distance. Jeremiah, a guy named Scott, and a senior named Osvaldo.

          "You look adorable in those wings"

          "Doesn't he? I told you, Angel, they were cute"

          He turned around to the source of compliments, "Hm?" It was Carson and Venus walking past him towards their places. They were dressed more loosely than they normally would, but they had buttons pinned on their shirts with their student government titles.

          "I'll be cheering you on from the stage. Good luck. I'll see you later for dinner?" She asked.

          "Good luck, Angel. You'll do amazing!" The other called out.

         "Thanks. After a shower though, maybe"

          He had already stretched and warmed up. He was queasy and hot, but ready.

          And really itchy. Even through the fabric of his track shirt the material was tickling him.

          His wings were pulled back and a hand with sharp enough nails scratched the exact area he was having a hard time reaching. His head eased downwards and Angel hummed satisfied.

          A voice chuckled at his reaction, "These wings suck, don't they?"

          He grimaced at seeing Jeremiah behind him, though he knew it was him. Angel didn't mean to outwardly respond like that, but he could tell Jeremiah had picked up on his change in expression. Angel was still mad at him, standing there, looking really good in his compression short sleeve shirt, having kissed him and acting like the same guy he's been since they were fourteen.

          "Will you try this time?"

          Angel wanted to say no just out of spite, but it'd be better to just say yes and then beat him. "Yeah. Maybe"

          "Good"

'Attention participants. Race will begin in three minutes.'

          "You don't have to say anything to me, let the race speak for itself. Show them what I see"

          Hesitant, Angel wanted to reply to him. But he kept the muscles in his face still and gave him the silence Jeremiah created at the forest preserve. Jeremiah deserved that.

          "Knowing you will be, makes me really miss our high school days. We were a good duo, huh?" He went on.

          Jeremiah sighed after not getting any word or phrase in return. "The wings suit you"

          Angel's eyebrows knitted together, confused to why he'd switched up the conversation. But he said nothing.

          "Cupid. Cupid has wings. And your name's Angel" He further explained.

          Angel broke the silent treatment, "Cupid was a god. Not an angel"

          Jeremiah laughed at himself, embarrassed he'd forgotten that, "Right. But either way...it fits. You do have a look of divinity in them" He timidly cradled Angel's hand in his, "And looking at you, I'm certain you've shot me with your arrow"

          Angel's flat-look exploded up in red flares of blood, rushing from his neck to his forehead.

          Jeremiah bit his lip and squeezed his hand, "Sorry, that was cheesy. I don't know what to say when you don't talk to me"

          The intercom screeched out feedback and repeated twice: Runners at your places.

          "Come on then" Jeremiah gestured with his head to the starting line area, "Race me, cupid"

          Angel took his hand back, frustrated, and made his place towards the front of all the racers to avoid having to push through too many body's or get any elbows thrown at him. Jeremiah followed next to him.

          The actual length of the race was a little longer than a half marathon, roughly about twenty four kilometers. If his trials were accurate he could get this done in just a hair above an hour. He was aiming to maintain a 4:30 minute pace per mile. He could do it. It was only an insignificant race anyway, but Angel back in high school took every practice, every meet, and every opportunity like it was state qualifying.

          With the shot of the flare gun, Angel did his best to ignore everyone else. He ignored them even when some were nearly passing him early in the race, because quickly they'd slow back down and drop in with the rest. Going in too hard too soon. Marathons were a test of speed and endurance. And Angel had fine tuned both.

          He blurred it all and thought about his chores, his breathing pattern, his assignments, anything away from the people in this, including Jeremiah.

          An incredibly arduous thing to do when the guy had once again randomly chosen to try to talk to him while they were competing. The real thing.

          Even after he was used to the silence, had forgotten about the kiss, and his mind was peacefully blank. After they had already left the football field and were a fourth of the way in. After maybe over fifteen–seventeen whole minutes of sweet competition and calm.

          "Angel, I wanted to say that" His sentences were choppy, "I'm sorry about–"

          Angel could get ahead of him but sound traveled farther. He'd have to be running at a painful, full exertion to escape Jeremiah's voice. It would drain them too soon.

          "Not a good–" Woah, it was incredibly difficult to run a marathon and talk. "–time, Jeremiah"

          "This is the only way–you'll listen to me"

          "At the worst fuckin' time"

          Jeremiah let breaks in between his attempts at communicating with him. Jeremiah knew this wasn't that important to both of them, but he still wanted Angel to win and for him to give Angel a fair race. Where he wouldn't go easy on Angel or let him ditch the marathon. Even if he had to chase him again with confrontation to get him to stay in the game.

          They passed the statue at their city hall where a marker in big black letters read 'Half Way There!' on it. Every five kilometers there was another marker.

          "Angel, I mean it—I'm sorry. And..."

          "Can we talk about this" Angel stopped to breath. The deeper they got, the harder it was to reply. "...after wards?"

            "Depends. Will you listen?"

          Angel kept his mouth shut deciding it's better not to compromise and just ignore him. Keep your pace, just go. He could avoid Jeremiah afterwards.

          "Okay. Don't say anythin' then" Jeremiah was finally seeing, in action, how much Angel had actually improved in secret. He could match his pace but his endurance was better. They were sweating but Angel looked zeroed in. Arms bent properly, light on his toes. He didn't slow or stammer, he just went like a cranked up treadmill at the gym. "Angel, I really mean my apology. I–I got scared. But–I mean it"

          Another marker. Angel could feel a cramp coming on in his calf. Jesus, fantastic fucking timing. It was going to be excruciating afterwards. He'd be rolling out his leg for at least an hour. But they were almost there, back around to the school. He could hold out, cry later.

          Osvaldo was just behind them. Maybe two meters behind Jeremiah. The crowd of people that left the bleachers and gathered onto the grass to cheer them on their way to the end, vitalized Angel. That extra boost of energy where you just want to get it over with, fuck the race, give it your all, took over his body and right as they entered the oval for the last time Jeremiah panted out, "I'm serious, Angel—about you"

          He was listening but also not.

          Angel was half a meter ahead of Jeremiah. The sun was boiling the air, cooking them live like lobsters in a pot. Jeremiah grabbed a solo cup from the group of people lined up by the sides with their hands out with cold water for them to snatch. He drank half of it and threw it to the side already coming up at the finish line. The red ribbon waited for any of them—Angel, Jeremiah, Osvaldo, Scott, or someone else to rip through it.

          "I wanted to say–and I meant to say it that day after I kissed you that..."

          The crowd of people were screaming, urging the front runners to touch the white line. Cheering them all on. Excited after an hour of watching on the sidelines or waiting at the bleachers, to see who would come in first. Angel leading them all. Jeremiah was almost meeting him side-by-side, but the last drop of Angel's adrenaline floored him through the last few yards of track to the end.

          "Angel—I should've said it when I had the chance..."

          Once Angel successfully passed the timing equipment, and tore the red streamer in two, the cramp shot up his calf.

          "...Angel, I have feelings for you"

          The pain caused the winner to stumble in his braking, and fall over. Jeremiah behind him, discomposed from his confession, wasn't fast enough to dodge the boy and crashed on top of him.

          The audience members roared in celebration and concurrently laughed at their tumble.

          Pinned down by Jeremiah, Angel was on his back with his leg stiff, finally relieved from the soreness in his cramp. He needed a roller as soon as possible though.

          Jeremiah stared down at him, heaving. Talking and running were way too difficult things to multitask at once.

          "What'd you say?" Angel questioned, perplexed. Rewinding the muddled moment again.

          "I said...I like you"