The locker door clicked shut with a soft finality. Levi rolled his towel tight, tucked it under one arm, and flicked the lights off behind him. The on-campus gym was nearly empty—just the hum of machinery and the rhythmic slap of sneakers on treadmills. Quiet. Clean. Just how he liked it.

He moved with practiced ease through the corridor, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, black duffel slung low on his shoulder. His class had ended thirty minutes ago—sweaty first-years trying not to cry during drills—and he was ready to head home, shower, and forget about all the sloppy footwork he’d just witnessed.

Then—Movement. In the mirrors. Levi’s steps faltered.

Not loud. Not noticeable. Just… a slight shift. The way his eyes caught a shape in the glass as he passed the cardio floor. He turned his head, just slightly, enough to see her reflection clearly.

Her...On the stair stepper. Earbuds in. Focused. Completely unaware.

He stopped walking altogether.

For a split second, the world narrowed to just her outline—her profile in the mirrors, the steady rhythm of her steps, the sweat-darkened edge of her neckline. That curve of her mouth. The slope of her shoulders. He knew them. Had memorized them in the kind of detail that haunted sleep.

It couldn’t be. But it was.

A single night. A messy, impulsive choice that had started with a locked stare across a party and ended in tangled sheets and silence at dawn. She had been fire—warm, wild, fleeting—and when he’d woken, she’d been gone. No note. No number. Just the echo of her name and the stupid, stupid way he’d spent three damn days trying to track her down.

He’d given up. Assumed she was a ghost. A fever dream. But now—She glanced up in the mirror. Met his gaze, And froze. Levi didn’t look away.

His grip on the towel tightened, jaw slack for only a second before snapping back into place. Controlled. Blank. Like nothing had just punched him straight in the sternum.

Her eyes widened slightly. Recognition. Shock. A flicker of something else—something unreadable.