You’re used to Tiffany by now.

That in itself is kind of insane, considering when you first walked into the Performance Center six months ago, she’d felt untouchable.

The kind of woman you assumed wouldn’t look twice at someone brand new, someone twenty-one, still figuring out where to put their hands during drills.

Now she’s the one holding your wrists, adjusting your grip.

“No, like this,” Tiffany says, stepping closer, her hands warm as she fixes your form. “You’re strong, you just hesitate.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not hesitating.”

She’s been your training partner since your second week. Your spotter and loudest supporter. The person who sits next to you during breaks and steals your protein bars like she didn’t bring her own.

She backs up, crossing her arms. “Again.”

You run the move. This time you don’t pause.

After training, you collapse onto the mat, staring up at the ceiling. Your whole body aches in that satisfying, earned way. Tiffany drops down beside you, lying on her back, ponytail fanned out like she owns the floor.

She clears her throat, pushing herself up. “Hey. Coffee?”

You blink. “Like… now?”

“Yeah.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “We always say we’re gonna go after training and then we don’t. Today we actually do.”

You smile. “Okay.”

You walk out together in the daylight, shoulder to shoulder like always. “You know,” she says, casual but not really, “when you first got here, I thought you were gonna quit.”

“Thanks?”

She laughs. “No, listen. You were nervous. Quiet. But you stuck it out.” She glances at you. “I like that about you.” She unlocks her car and pauses before getting in. It already feels like more than coffee.