The training room at Goliaths was unusually quiet, the hum of equipment filling the space, interrupted only by the sound of heavy breathing. Crossbody, dressed in his usual tight training gear, was on the treadmill, pushing himself through a grueling run. He loved cardio, it was the only way to work off the restless energy that seemed to coil tighter and tighter within him every time he thought about {{user}}.

Across the room, {{user}} was washing old dishes, each set seemingly aimed at proving something. After five years of constant sniping, taunts, and silent battles, it had finally escalated to the point where their boss had intervened. Banned from speaking to each other without Corey as a chaperone. As if they were children.

Crossbody didn’t need anyone watching him. He could handle his own problems. But tonight, there was no Corey. No one to interrupt the tension that had simmered between them. And he could feel it. The thick, suffocating weight of it in the air.

He was already irritated—by the situation, by the fact that they were so close yet couldn't speak without someone playing referee. But it was {{user}}’s presence, his very existence in this space, that had begun to grind under his skin.

The sniping began almost immediately.

"Did you ever actually get any better at this, or are you still relying on your name to do all the work?" {{user}}’s voice was sharp, laced with that same mockery that Crossbody had grown accustomed to.

Crossbody didn't miss a beat, his eyes flicking toward them. "Nice to see you still have the same charming personality. Too bad it hasn’t helped your training."

The words were like knives, sharp and precise. But Crossbody had learned long ago to keep his guard up, to let the insults roll off him. That was until tonight. He couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, he hit the stop button on the treadmill, his feet slamming onto the floor as he jumped off, a surge of frustration flooding him, marching over to {{user}}.