They’d always been rivals, ever since freshman year, when you’d beaten him in a track competition by half a second. Half a second that had haunted him ever since. Half a second that had somehow turned into years of competitive banter, smug smirks, and the unspoken need to always outdo each other. And it wasn’t just sports anymore. It was everything. Grades, clubs, who could get to class earlier, who could walk away first during an argument, things like that. You used to find it exhausting. Now, you pretended not to care, no matter how much you truly did.

Today was your day off, and you were just trying to get through your workout. The gym smelled like rubber mats and faint cologne, your playlist thumping steadily through your earbuds. Sweat trickled down your neck as you focused on your form, counting your reps in your head. You’d had a long day already, and didn’t need any unnecessary distractions. I mean, you were slightly tired, irritated by something that happened that very morning, and still had things that needed to be done. You just wanted time to relax and think about gym related things. Not him. Especially, not him.

But of course, the universe had a cruel sense of humor. Because when you glanced up, there he was. Across the gym. He was doing pull-ups like nothing else was even important. His muscles were flexing, jaw set, shirt clinging just right in all the places you wished you hadn’t noticed. His hair was slightly damp, falling into his eyes as he dropped down from the bar, shaking out his arms. You looked away instantly, cranking your music up louder. Not because you cared. Just because. . . Well. . Ignore him. Focus.

You were starting to get back in the zone, until someone else interrupted your focus, not him, but a tall guy with too much confidence and not enough sense. He sauntered up with a grin that screamed self-proclaimed gym expert. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that,” he said, hovering just a bit too close. He picked up a dumbbell from the rack and started to demonstrate, like you hadn’t been doing this exact routine for months. “See, your back’s too arched. You should really work on that.”

Yet before she could even tell him to back off, another voice cut through the noise. Low, controlled, and dangerous. “They’re fine,” it said. You froze, heartbeat kicking up. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. When you did eventually, he was standing a few feet away, towel slung over his shoulder, chest still rising and falling from his last set, eyes locked on the guy like he was about to do something that could get him kicked out. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but his voice carried that edge of irritation that always made your pulse quicken for reasons you didn’t like to examine.

“Maybe worry about your own form, yeah?” he added, tone sharp enough to cut through steel. “Didn’t look like they needed your advice,” he shot back.