Nathaniel - Orange Flags and Quiet Fears

“Are you ready?”

Gemma shifts her weight impatiently in my living room. She invited herself over and guilt-tripped me into a run, claiming I never make time for her anymore. We’ve drifted, but some patterns are hard to break.

She scans my decor with quick, darting glances, fingers tapping against her hips. Her red hair is braided, and she’s wearing barely any makeup—unusual for her, making her seem oddly out of place.

I met Gemma five years ago, a few months after Kaiden left. She moved here with her dad after the divorce and joined our soccer club—the only girl, always keeping us on our toes.

When she turned eighteen, club rules forced her out. So she built her own women’s team.

Sometimes I catch her watching us play and wonder if she misses being on the field with us. I want to ask, but I know she’d never admit it.

Gemma was the one who brought Freya in—after spotting her alone in the park, shooting a ball against a wall.

I smirk, grateful. If she hadn’t seen Freya that day, I might not have met her so soon.

“Come on, dude,” Gemma snaps. “I don’t have all day!”

I grab a water bottle, slip my key and phone into my belt, and move quickly.

“Let’s go, then.”

We walk briskly to warm up, stretching as we move. Gemma grabs her right foot and pulls it toward her lower back, steadying herself with her free arm raised. I watch her, wondering why she showed up unannounced, knowing how much that usually annoys me.

As we run through the town square, a breeze at our backs, I wait for her to say something. I glance at her, but her eyes stay fixed on the path ahead.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe she just missed me.

We turn a corner and leave Eldermoor behind. Cornfields stretch along the road, yellowed leaves waving in the wind, nearly ready for harvest.

She focuses on the run, gaze flicking from ground to road to treeline—as if searching for something, or deliberately avoiding my eyes.

The woods swallow us next. Sunlight filters through thinning branches. Leaves and twigs crunch beneath our feet; the smell of rain and earth loosens something tight in my chest.

“So,” Gemma blurts, still staring ahead, “you know Markus and I are… something.”

Her voice is awkward, like saying it out loud makes it real.

“I mean, Markus doesn’t—” I start, but she cuts me off, words tumbling out like she’s been holding them in for weeks.

“Every morning, Markus texts me good day. Every night before bed too.” Her eyes widen, lips pressed tight. “Last night I told him I had a deadline. Know what he did, Nate? He brought takeout. Made sure I ate.”

I laugh despite myself. That’s so Markus.

Gemma jumps easily over a fallen branch blocking the trail, waving her hands behind her to keep me close.

“It’s not funny,” she says. “This morning he asked if I’d meet his parents this weekend. In person. Not over text.”

“So… what will you wear?” I tease.

“I said I’d think about it.”

I hide my grin. She’s serious.

“It means something if Markus wants you to meet his parents,” I say. “It means you’re special to him.”

She slows, eyes dropping. “He’s such a green flag.”

Then she looks at me. “It’s weird, Nate. I thought I’d be fine keeping things light. Never getting attached. But with Markus… the rules changed. It’s not just about what feels good right now.”

I laugh. She makes it sound like a problem.

“So,” I ask, half-joking, “what kind of flag am I?”

Gemma snickers. “Oh, it’s about you now? You’re orange.”

I slow, startled. “I’m orange?”

“Yeah. You were a red flag when we met. After Freya, you became orange.”

Ahead, water glints through the oaks. The lake is close. Laughter carries from boats drifting near the shore.

Gemma doesn’t look at it. She checks her watch. “If we speed up, we can be back in town in under an hour.”

Challenge accepted.

The path widens, and we run side by side. It feels good—easy, familiar. I’m surprised by how much I missed this kind of closeness. There was never anything romantic between Gemma and me. That’s why our friendship always worked.

Eldermoor comes back into view as sweat drips down my spine and traffic noise builds.

“Race you to my place,” I say, challenging her to something I know I can’t win.

We’re ten minutes out, sprinting over bridges. People duck aside, cheering Gemma on.

I slow when a group of kids—Freya’s team—blocks the pavement, ice cream in hand.

I spot Freya through the shop window, licking chocolate ice cream before it can drip.

Then I see him.

He stands beside her, wearing the same hoodie she wears. They’re laughing. She looks at ease in a way that makes my chest tighten.

He doesn’t touch her. She doesn’t touch him.

But the way they stand…

I’ve seen that kind of comfort before. The kind that turns into something else if you blink too long.

They don’t see me watching. Every instinct screams to look away—but I can’t.

Gemma slows beside me. “Oh,” she murmurs, seeing it too.

She nudges my shoulder. “Relax, Nate. It’s just ice cream.”

I let out a breath, grounding myself.

Back at my place, I say goodbye to Gemma and nod when she asks if we’re running again next week.

But my thoughts stay stuck at the ice-cream parlour.

I know I shouldn’t overthink it—everyone had ice cream, probably just a reward. Still, it takes me a long time to fall asleep that night.

❤️ Maliyka ❤️