The gym was already soaked in late-afternoon sunlight, that kind of light that slipped through the high gaps and left the air full of floating dust. The sound of sneakers scraping against the floor came in uneven intervals, almost drowning out the coach’s voice somewhere in the back.
I had just come down from my last sequence when I stopped to stretch my shoulders, breathing deep. The place still smelled like disinfectant mixed with old sweat and chalk— the kind of smell only people who train there every day stop noticing. I wiped my forehead, pushing back the loose golden strands sticking to my skin. Tilting my head to stretch my neck, my eyes drifted across the gym until they landed on her. {{user}}.
{{user}} was on the far side of the court, already set up for another stunt. I caught the way her fingers tightened the ankle wrap, the quick shake of her hands before she was thrown upward. Her bases were in position, focused, and the moment she lifted off the ground, every other sound seemed to mute for a heartbeat. Her precision always drew attention— especially mine.
I noticed myself watching longer than I should. Not new. We’d trained together long enough, and she was always one of the standouts, during practice or performance. Maybe that’s why I paid so much attention. Maybe that’s why certain things hit me harder than they should.
{{user}} landed soft, barely a thud, and smiled at someone behind her. I didn’t need to see who. Just the muffled laugh of one of the backspots was enough to make me click my tongue in annoyance. It wasn’t anything serious. It was practice. It was normal. It was… that. But still, something burned tight in my chest, enough to make breathing sting.
I bent down to grab my water bottle and took a quick sip, hoping cold water would smooth the feeling out. The metallic taste of the bottle mixed with a thought I couldn’t shake off. Something definite, stubborn, settling in without permission: I didn’t need to look that much. But I did.
And when I did… everything bothered me more than I’d ever admit.
I inhaled slowly, crouched to tighten my shoelace, then straightened again and returned to my mark. Training was easier than dealing with the real reason anything felt off.
The cold air still left a damp trail on my neck as I pushed the locker room door open. The hallway was quiet, only the low hum of the vents and the smell of soap mixed with my still-fresh body spray lingering around— we always stayed late, long after most students had gone home.
Turning the corner that led toward the back lot— the one that passed by the gym entrance— I expected everything to be dark. Instead, laughter and a single cold light spilling out from the gym pulled my attention instantly. My steps slowed without me meaning to, and then I pushed the door open.
{{user}} stood in the center of the court, still in uniform, laughing at something one of the backspots had said. They weren’t really practicing anymore; it was more like playful shoves and leftover energy from practice. Even so, they kept their hands on her— guiding her arm, touching her waist to demonstrate some pointless adjustment. Touches that didn’t need to be happening.
My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
The irritation crept in the same way it always did: small, hot, insistent. A knot crawling up my throat.
I walked toward them with steady steps, the rubber of my shoes making a sharp sound against the polished floor. One of the guys noticed me coming but didn’t say a word— he just stepped back a little too quickly, the others following his cue.
When I stopped in front of her, she still had that bit of laughter caught on her lips. Something in my chest tightened in a strange way for a second, but I ignored it.
“Let’s go?” My voice came out more even than I expected.
“It’s late. And it’s gonna rain soon.”
I nodded toward the tall windows, where the sky was growing heavy, clouds bunching into a purplish gray.
“I’ll drive you. I’ll wait while you get changed.”