Static

~Focused, I'm focused~

"Lucky me," I muttered, cracking my knuckles.

She smirked, already grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the edge of the court. "Aw, c'mon, Finn~. You love me."

"I tolerate you."

"Close enough."

The warm-ups started like a slap to the lungs. Lunges, side shuffles, high knees, Coach's greatest hits. My thighs were burning halfway through the second round, lungs tightening like someone had tied a rope around my ribs. Meanwhile, Gwen barely broke a sweat. She moved like she was made of springs and firecrackers, chaos in human form. She could've kept going all day and still made it look easy.

"Don't slow down on me, old man," she teased, ducking under my arm during a shuffle.

"You're staring again," she said casually as we moved into jumping jacks.

"I am not."

"You are," she sang, snapping her gum with a pop. "You get all glassy-eyed when he's around. It's weirdly cute." she winks as I feel heat on my cheeks. This little shit-

"I wasn't staring."

"You nearly tripped over your own feet the second Robin walked in. Coincidence? I think not."

"Gwenny-"

She grinned. "Fine, fine. But if he calls you amor again, I swear I'm getting it tattooed on my wrist. Like in a heart. With sparkles."

I shoved her, half-laughing, half-dying. She shoved back harder. We almost fell over.

It was grounding. The way she could yank me out of my head with a single comment. The kind of ribbing only siblings could get away with without bruising each other.

"All right!" Coach barked. "Split into two teams. We're running one-on-one drills today. Let's see if any of you actually know how to move."

We scattered. Names were called out rapid-fire.

"Blake, Finney, you're on Team Two."

I barely heard the rest of the list because my eyes were already scanning the opposite side of the gym.

And of course.

There he was.

Robin.

Wandering toward Team One like he belonged to it, like he belonged everywhere. He wasn't even pretending to pay attention, just twirling the ball lazily in one hand, his hoodie now stripped and hanging from his hips like a belt. His shirt clung slightly to his stomach, hinting at the lean muscle underneath. His collarbones were sharp. His arms looked unfairly sculpted, like someone had carved them just to ruin people like me.

His eyes flicked up. Found mine.

He didn't look away.

One slow glance, one curl of a smirk. Like he knew. Like he could feel every second of my heart thudding in my chest and was deeply amused by it.

Great. Fantastic. Just kill me now.

Coach clapped for silence. "We're doing one-on-one plays. Quick attacks, defence drills. Get through your opponent, clean, fast, no fouls. Show me what you've got."

I was praying to be passed over, to blend in just enough to avoid having to,

"Blake. You're up."

I blinked. "Which-?"

"Finney."

Of course.

I stepped forward like I was walking into traffic.