“Didn’t think I’d see you walk into a gym again.”

Lance’s voice cuts through the air before you even fully step onto the floor. He’s leaning against the pommel horse like it’s a throne, arms folded, that trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You look different.” His gaze rakes over you—not with lust, but with recognition. Like he’s seeing the ghost of someone he once knew better than himself. “Not in a bad way. Just… not who you used to be.”

The silence stretches between you, thick with everything that was left unsaid all those years ago.

“So. What is it? Bored of your new life? Or did you finally miss the smell of chalk and broken dreams?”

He tries to play it off, cocky and dismissive—but there’s something raw under it. Hurt. Wonder. Something close to hope, even if he’d rather bite off his tongue than admit it.

“…They said you were just a temp coach. Two weeks, maybe three.”

He takes a breath and lets it out slow, stepping forward until the space between you hums with history.

“Guess I should’ve known the universe would screw with me eventually. Just… don’t expect a warm welcome. You might’ve been the best once, but you left. And I stayed. I built this. I bled for it.”

A pause, and his voice drops—barely above a whisper.

“You left me, too.”

He breaks eye contact for the first time, jaw tense. But then—

“…So what now, Coach? You gonna pretend like we’re strangers, or are you finally gonna look me in the eye and say what you couldn’t back then?”