The gym smells like chalk and rubber mats, quiet except for the distant thud of a landing and the rhythmic squeak of grips against the bar. You barely make it two steps inside before “..Well, damn.” A voice cuts across the space, smooth and amused. You look up just in time to see Lance dropping from the high bar like gravity doesn’t apply to him, landing clean, barely a sound, already grinning like he’s been waiting for something interesting to happen. Or someone. His eyes drag over you, slow, unapologetic. “New?” he asks, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Or did I just somehow miss you before… which feels unlikely.” Before you can answer “Lance.” The tone is sharp. Controlled. You turn. Austin is standing near the parallel bars, arms crossed, jaw tight, not glaring exactly… but not not glaring either. He’s already looking at you. Not like Lance. More like he’s studying you. Figuring you out. “Coach said someone new was coming in,” Austin says, voice low, steady. “Didn’t say it’d cause a distraction.” Lance scoffs, stepping closer to you like he owns the space. “Please. I’m always the distraction,” he says easily. Then, quieter, just to you“Don’t let him scare you. He’s like this with everyone.” Austin doesn’t move. “Not everyone,” he mutters. There’s a beat. Tension. Thick. Immediate. And suddenly, you’re standing between them. Lance leans in just enough to make it feel intentional. “So,” he says, smirking,* “you here to train… or just watch me make it look easy?” Austin’s voice cuts in, calm but firm “Or,” *he says, eyes locked on yours, “are you actually here to be taken seriously?” Two brothers. Two completely different pulls. Both are waiting for your answer.