An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Running Man
Running Man sprinted by in the early evening that summer when Rey sat on the steps waiting for her class to begin. She could hear his big feet encased in running shoes hit the pavement before she saw him round the corner and head toward the Institute. He was tall and lithe, with long arms, and big hands, held loosely near his body when he ran. His muscular legs pumped hard and fast, but he slowed when he passed the entrance to the Institute. Running Man was not conventionally handsome but something about him compelled Rey to stare. His damp hair fell in dark waves on his forehead. He had a long nose and full lips surrounded by a short mustache and goatee. He nodded at Rey, looking into her face as if searching for something in particular. “You’re pretty,” he said, gasping a little. It sounded like an accusation.