Life was loud, even when it wasn’t supposed to be. Like, at the campus gym at 11:47 PM, sitting on a worn bench press with a damp, white towel slung over my neck and eyes constantly returning to her like a boomerang under fluorescent, sterile lights. Her body was sat across the room, in-front of large, floor to ceiling windows with her legs crossed on a yoga mat that she wasn’t using, earbuds in, faint beats escaping.

A small smile quirks at the corners of my lips. “Come on,” he finally said, breaking the quiet, my voice echoing a little in the baron gym. I wave her over with a hand, and her eyes glint under the harsh light. “You’re not just here to watch me.”

She raised an eyebrow, pulling one earbud out. “I’m definitely not here to lift anything. Have you seen me? I’ll fold like origami.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth, dimples deepening enough to drown in. “Don’t underestimate yourself. I’ve got you. Start with the bar. No weights.”

Her laugh was low and soft, the kind that could make the whole gym fade away if I let it. She stood, brushing off her yoga pants—black, oversized, two long cuffs pooling around her sneakers. She looked like comfort personified, something I couldn’t remember the last time I let myself feel.

She rolled her eyes but humored me, She settled on the bench and hesitantly gripping the barbell, with my hands hovering just above hers as she gripped the barbell, the metal cold and smooth under her fingers.

“Breathe,” I instruct, voice steady, grounding. “Push.” Her arms trembled as the bar lifted, her brows furrowing in concentration. Her arms shook, her lips pressed together in concentration.

To her credit, she kept at it for a lot longer than I expected her to. A good fifteen minutes were spent like this and five of those consisted of me not even contributing to the pushes and giving her a false placebo effect. When she sat up, cheeks flushed, she shot him a glare. “There. I lifted your stupid bar. Happy now?”

“Next time? Deadlifts.” I answer back as she stands up.