Run-Ins (Third Person Creative Writing)

Skin sticking to soft cotton, the breeze carries summer in full swing. It hasn’t even reached ten a.m., and the weather is already sweltering, simmer threatening to turn into a boil.

Henry is adamant about beating the heat, even changing what was supposed to be an early afternoon run to the one he was currently stepping out of the front door to attend.

The sun’s rays have followed him since waking up, shining throughout the acts of making coffee, blinding him from sitting on the porch, unable to complete his morning task of checking his phone for overnight notifications.

Henry doesn’t have a strict schedule for the day; the only thing he wants to complete with certainty is his daily run. It was criminal enough that he missed out on two of these opportunities earlier this week.

And with the promise of a pure, stress-free fifty minutes- something that becomes increasingly sacred as more and more responsibility piles onto his plate- Henry cannot silence the need to run, his one guarantee of solace.

He feels stir-crazy at the idea of sitting it out just for the sake of avoiding possible heatstroke.

Besides, the weather seemed reasonably stable, and though it was much warmer than he was accustomed to, he would just have to dress lighter and take extra care remembering to carry a bottle of water.

So, with that in mind, he had rushed through his fruit salad, threw on his run shorts, laced up his trusty sneakers and filled up his water bottle before making his way out of the front door.

He hadn’t even taken a proper step out into the summer sun when his skin was greeted with the familiar feeling of opening an oven, sending a rush of steam straight to his face.

Without thinking, Henry trudged back inside with determination, sifting through his closet for a pair of shorts even tinier and cooler than the ones he currently wore; his thighs were thankful for the switch, and so was his head once he put on an aged baseball cap.

He was ready now- certain this run would not get the best of him. After all of this effort, his day would be truly tainted if this run wasn’t a success- which was embarrassing enough for him to have to admit.

So, when he steps out into the heat once more, tries his best to ignore the way his temperate begins to increase like that of a reptile on a rock and instead he focuses on choosing the best running route.

The park Henry typically frequents is peaceful by definition; quaint and quiet, the lime green grass is always meticulously mowed, a small stream of water glistens and flickers near the pathway, lapping the entirety of the park, hosting the perfect place for bikers to take a break or couples and families to picnic.

On the few occasions where Henry had forgotten his headphones, the sweet songs of sparrows were a welcomed replacement, something he could hum along to.

Five minutes into the run, Henry hasn’t seen anything or anyone, and he starts to think he might’ve gotten lucky by leaving the house earlier than intended.

The park is as quiet as he has ever seen it, and with the wind on his back blowing only hot air around, he rids himself of the only particle of clothing holding him hostage, lazily slinging the discarded cotton tee over his shoulder.His hat does wonders at shielding a sunburn; his hands are empty, fists clenched at his sides… Why are his hands empty?

Henry pictures the forgotten water bottle sitting woefully on a table in the entrance hall, hastily discarded during the search for substituting shorts.

The mere thought of water- the lack thereof- has him feeling thirsty, and he can't help but anticipate the end of this run. The dirt path, forged from many adventures, begins to rise, and Henry promises himself a rewarding break once reaching the peak.

But, with each step, his skin glistening from sweat, his heart thumping in his head, harder and harder, and he is slowing down for sure, forcing each muscle to push on, ignoring the resistance of the incline, certain he’ll be fine- a little fatigued at most. Besides, he thinks it’s good to challenge one’s self; he needs to switch things up now and then.

Though every part of him is begging to stop, Henry mistakes this for motivation and only pushes onward, relieved when the pathway suddenly welcomes the promise of the finish line, in the near distance, the end is in sight.

Exerting the last that he has to give, Henry stares down at his shoes, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. His fists balled, arms flexing and pressed up against his torso; he gives himself the ultimate push and reaches the summit.

And when he comes to a halt, it’s a lot harder to catch his breath than expected. Every piece of him feels like it’s beginning to float away, and his ears are ringing with desperation, gagging on the desire to gasp for air.

He tries to steady himself, folding over and resting his hands atop his hips- his skin is hot to the touch.

Bending over in an attempt to better open his airways, they want to sit down is only further encouraged, and he has to concede.

Now seated, his legs splayed out, he connects his arms like a chain atop his bent knees, and with a bowed head, he turns, all attending to breath control.

The wind whips through the bushels of leaves, whistling in tune with the songbirds; from afar, the stream sounds strong and fantastical. Wishfully, Henry thinks of finding the strength to walk over, at least dip his toes in.

The symphony of sounds is singing in sweet serenity, so soothing that he almost feels himself submitting to relaxation. But his tongue is like sandpaper, sticking to his palate, and with each exhale, his head wails for the heroism of water.

The only thing that could distract him- and does- is the feeling of something rustling against his side, trying to sneak its way in through the gap between his arms and folded legs. It has a wet nose and makes curious snuffling noises that can only be attributed to that of a puppy dog.

Lazily lifting and tilting his head to confirm, Henry is confronted by the enthusiasm and curiosity of a very cute and very excitable golden retriever, donning a pretty pink bandana, his big brown eyes beaming up at him as if he were heaven itself.

Turning all of his attention to the pup- continuing his attempts to climb up onto him- Henry gives him a rough and thorough ear scratch.

“You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?” He chuckles, opening himself up for his new friend to further fuss him over.

“What’s your name, huh?” Henry shifts and lets the dog stay sniffing, reaching over to take a look at his collar- a silver disk decorated with sparkling diamantes and holds both a phone number and the name,

“Beans." He recites, Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Beans.” The pup reacts with even more vigour, tail wagging and hopping all over Henry in the hopes of somehow getting even closer.

“Beans!” a voice calls out, quickly swept up and away by the breeze.

Henry- looking around but unable to spot anyone nearby-, turns back to the pup- who is currently occupied with the task of trying to remove the baseball cap clean off of his head.

Chuckling and scanning the area again,

“I think someone’s looking for you, bud.”

“Beans!” the same voice sang, carried over the hill and straight into Henry’s heart.

This time, Beans stops chewing the cap and looks off in the direction of the search song; His gaze follows suit, settling on the silhouette of someone summiting and starting to get closer.

A harsh ray of sun forbids him from getting a good look at the person who seems to be searching for his new sidekick.

“Is that your owner, Beans?” He ponders, patting the pup with his free hand- the other is placed on his forehead, palm working hard to help shield himself from blindness.

Beans’ excitement only grows, his eyes darting back and forth between Henry and the mystery person, still undecided as to whether it is best to make a run for it or to stay put.

But, as the owner gets closer, ramping up to call out for the cheeky dog once more, Henry is spotted sitting side-by-side with the dog- Emma’s dog.

Black hair pulled back into a bun, dressed appropriately for the task of walking a dog in a pair of yoga shorts and a strappy tank top, Emelia exits the shield of the sun’s rays, and at the mere sight of her, Beans becomes a mess of jumping and enthusiastic barks.

She sighs in relief, one she hadn’t known had been trapped in her throat, having been hyper-focused on the fact that she had lost control over her dog again.

In fairness, what was she supposed to do? She had trusted Beans to stay for just a second whilst she re-tied her sneakers, but the promise of chasing after an unsuspecting dove proved too much for him to pass up.

Emelia wasn’t nearly fast enough to catch up to Beans- the whole point of taking Beans for a walk was the promise of building up better stamina, on your part- once Beans was far enough ahead, Emelia wasn’t even sure which direction to follow.

With dread, she let her instincts lead her up the hill, hoping that Beans would have tired herself out by this point- he had done a splendid job of ensuring she was.

What had not been expected, hoped for, or even considered, was that somebody else might beat her to it. Seeing her naïve little dog practically sitting in the lap of some stranger was more than her nerves could handle.

Emelia's legs starting to ache, she makes her way over to the pair, conjuring up some sort of jumbled-up apology for both her dog and the mere existence of herself.

But the man is smiling up at her- with such a very pretty smile- and Emelia loses all sensibility, startled as Beans hops up with vigour, bounding over and almost sweeping her off of her feet.

He can see her perfectly now, and even though she is mostly squinting, Henry likes how pretty her eyes look, being so nicely lit up by the sun.

Trying to pacify her pup, hands patting and cooing at him to calm down, Emelia does her best to examine her dogs supposed new friend. His cheeks are so flushed that she feels warmer just looking at him, little droplets of sweat sneaking past his forehead, his skin glistening, muscles flexing.

He’s very handsome, and Emelia is rather grateful for stumbling upon him, but he looks like he just completed a marathon, and with the way his chest rises and falls with rapidity- shallow breaths refusing to let him cool down- she feels concerned for his wellbeing.

Other than a discarded t-shirt, he seems to be empty-handed; considering this may turn out to be the hottest day of the year, there is no way he would have purposely gone on a run without at least a little bit of water… right?

He doesn’t seem to be too bothered because he’s still smiling over at her with a fondness that you just know is a result of spending time with Beans.

Henry is actually dying inside, an irritating sharpness scratching at the back of his throat with each breath he dared to take, but long ago decided he could put up with it a little longer.

After all, Beans is still circling his ankles, and Emelia seems far too pretty to give just a greeting and a goodbye. Her cheeks are also flushed- he wonders if it’s from working up a sweat or simply shyness.

It happens to be both, with a dollop of embarrassment and a hefty sprinkle of dread for even exiting the house this morn.

Beans making a run for it was something she could deal with. Having to make it seem like she wasn’t, in fact, just a moron of an owner- who, on many occasions, could be witnessed chasing after her dog- was a damn nightmare. The quicker she got on with it, the closer she would be to putting this mess of morning behind her.

Henry is just so pretty, though… Emelia is thankful that he doesn’t seem to be the type to reprimand someone over a trivial mistake. So, with a much-needed exhale, the formalities begin,

“I’m so sorry about my dog-”

“Please, don’t apologise-”

“I swear, I’m usually a better owner.” She tries to reason, though it’s only for her own sake.

“I’ve seen much worse, honest.” He smiles reassuringly, the corners of his eyes scrunching cutely as he crouches down to give Beans a rough petting.

"Besides, I got to make a new friend.” He beams up at her,

“I’m quite fond of him already.”

“He majored in likeability.” She adds with a playful eye roll.

Henry smiles at that, turning his attention back to Beans, scratching his bell as he rolls over sillily, moving side-to-side to ensure Harry gives him the best belly rub of all time,

“I like you very much, Beans. Yes, I do. Yes, I do.” He fusses, and Beans revels in the doting, his tongue wagging in tune with his tail, “I love your silly brown eyes and that big goofy smile. And I especially like your bandana.”

“He picked it out himself.” Emelia informs proudly.

“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Henry hums and Emelia scolds herself for the rate at which her thoughts turn filthy, stomach clenching at his sudden praising.

He finds his feet once more, towering over you with ease. And Emelia cannot begin to ignore the sight standing before her- a practically naked man, desperately trying to catch his breath and enamoured with her dog.

Every part of him is on full display; his chest still glistening, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, and his short shorts making his bare thighs the star of the show.

Henry soon understands the utterly distracted gaze being directed his way, finally sane enough to remember his lack of clothing- how damp and frazzled he must appear. If possible, his cheeks are turning even pinker; all calmness is replaced with the return of the heat he had worked so hard to dispel.

When he cannot help but take a sharp and shameful inhale, Emelia has enough reason to stop gawking and instead assist him in regaining his strength.

Reaching into the tote bag currently slung over her shoulder, and it only takes a second to retrieve what she was looking for, pulling out a mostly-full water bottle.

The bottle looks custom-made, probably something she might have stumbled upon in a niche store, deciding it was too cute and camp to ignore. Decorated in bright pink and pastel blue, two My Little Ponies are printed and wrapped on either side.

She extends the bottle this way, and Henry looks at her curiously, currently unable to register what exactly it is that she is trying to offer him.

Upon understanding, he feels bashful, but the mere presence of water makes it almost impossible to ignore the inferno that is his throat.

So, he sheepishly accepts, his fingers brushing over her own during their exchange. The water feels like a miracle as he welcomes it. Henry thinks she might be a saviour disguised as a very pretty and very kind dog owner. When her face morphs into one of relief, the shame he once felt is long gone.

After he takes a long sip, his lips detach from the nozzle with a soft squeak, and Emelia finds herself resisting the temptation to reach out and wipe away the small droplet that slips down the slope of his lower lip.

When he attempts to reach out and return the gift, she only shakes her head in dismissal, preparing to argue over the new ownership of the bottle,

“Keep it.” She insists, adding an obvious, “You need it more than I do.”

“I couldn’t-” He tries.

“You must.”

Henry prepares to protest, but he can feel the solidification of sternness starting to swallow the space between the two of them, threatening to double down if he even tries. Instead, he admits defeat, secretly he is still super grateful for the gesture,

“That’s very kind of you.” He commends, totally enamoured and already praying he might get the opportunity for a second meeting in the near future.

“It’s nothing, promise.”

Henry wants to take this opportunity to at least ask your name, this may be the strangest meet-cute of all time, but his mind is scrambling for what to say next, and by the time he manages to string some words together, with an awkward cough, Emelia interjects,

“Thanks for taking care of Beans… And sorry again.” She bashfully glances down at her feet, and Henry’s heart swells at her soft shyness.

“It’s nothing, promise.” He reassures playfully, enjoying the way her eyes crinkle with a matching smile,

Emelia hopes to god she isn’t blushing, but this seems unlikely, considering the way she almost loses all sanity just by watching the way he holds the water bottle, how small it looks in his hands, thinking that they may be the perfect size to wrap around her…

Thankfully, Beans barks with enthusiasm, and Emelia manages to pull it together just enough to remember that home awaits; her body asking so nicely for the chance to kick its feet up on the couch, pour a glass of fresh fruit juice, perhaps even take a well-earned nap.

“Well, good luck with the rest of your… run?” Her brow raises, waiting for confirmation, and Henry chuckles heartily,

“I’ll give it my best shot.” He promises before crouching down to address the puppy one last time, “Thank you for keeping me company Mister. Be a good boy for…?”

“Emelia.”

“For Emelia.” He nods avidly, enjoying how easily it rolls off of his tongue, smiling up at her sweetly.

Beans lands one last lick on Henry's cheek before retreating to his owner’s side, ready to follow her to the ends of the earth. Emelia nods at Henry in final departure, a shy smile still swallowing her lips whole as she turns on her heels and walks away.

Henry stays put, watching as she slips further away, ready to descend this monstrous hill, her excited pup in tow.

Glancing down at the bottle still clutched in his palm, his heart is racing, but this time no physical exertion was involved. He wonders if he might get the opportunity to return the gift or see her in general.

What he does know with certainty is that choosing to challenge heatstroke may be the best decision he has made yet.