they meet at the gym.
not his scene anymore, not really — not since the injury, not since everything changed. But he's there anyway, lingering near the squat rack like a ghost of who he used to be.
you walk in, earbuds in, all steady breath and focused eyes. you're the kind of girl who doesn’t slow down for anyone. except today.
today, you notice him.
he’s watching — not creepily, not with arrogance, but with this... quiet, aching kind of gaze. like he knows every move you're about to make because he used to do it too.
you catch his eye between sets. he looks away first.
later, you see him wrap his knee in a brace. There's a softness in his frustration, something you understand — that language of limits, of pushing through anyway.
you offer him your towel. a nod. a half-smile.
he laughs under his breath. “You’re the real athlete now.”
you just shrug. “Once an athlete, always an athlete.”
you don’t flirt. not yet.
you compete — quietly, respectfully. who can hold their plank longer. who finishes first on the treadmill.
he starts showing up more often.
you never ask what happened.
and he never tells.
but in the silence between reps, the understanding grows.
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🏃♀️ athletic!reader who wakes up before sunrise to run when the world is still quiet, headphones in, sneakers tied tight, breath steady
🏃♀️ athletic!reader who’s competitive, but never cruel. Who celebrates others’ wins like her own, but trains harder the next day. Who believes in discipline over talent and effort over excuses.
🏃♀️ athletic!reader who cries at the gym, wipes her face with her sleeve and finishes her reps anyway
🏃♀️ athletic!reader who teaches you how to pace yourself — in life, in love, in healing. Who encourages you to keep going, one step at a time "Just one more round," she says, but she means: don’t give up yet.
🏃♀️ athletic!reader who was the best in every domain in high school — sports, grades, leadership, all of it. Not because she was trying to prove something, but because she didn’t know how not to give her all.
🏃♀️ athletic!reader who wears old team hoodies, hair always in a ponytail or messy bun, and a water bottle always within reach. Her skin smells like sun and salt — like early morning jogs by the water, sun-warmed pavement.
Eddie didn’t know there were people who didn’t go to lunch, just to go outside and play volleyball until he left early from lunch one day, deciding to skip the rest of the day.
He went outside and just saw some girls with their arms together hitting a ball up just for another girl to get it.
He was intrigued.
He saw one girl just absolutely killing it, going after every ball and evening diving on the ground for it, causing her pants to get dirty.
When she was getting up, she looked over to see him just looking at them playing. While she was wiping herself off she asked him if he wanted to play.
“I don’t really know how to, wouldn’t want to mess you guys up.” Studying your beauty and how you didn’t care you were messy.
“Everyone over here is equally bad, you wouldn’t make a big difference. Plus, I can teach you the basics real quick, in case you ever want to play again.” He loved that you offered to let him play and even teach him. He could tell the girls you were playing with didn’t like that thought because some of their faces were scrunching up in disgust.
You heard one of the girls mutter something and you turned and looked at the girl and told her if she didn’t like it, she can leave. In quote, “This is my ball, I own it. So, I choose who can play and can’t. You have a problem with it, just leave.” He thought it was nice you stood up for something so minor to him. The girl just sighed and continued standing there.
“Thank you for that,” Eddie said to you.
“No problem, I don’t like judgement during a game. Especially if you hate one of the people you are playing with.” He looked at you and realized how beautiful your eyes are and how the compliment everything about you. He also noticed your hair was up, but he just craved to see it put down and see how it looks flowing in the wind. Wondering if you have naturally straight or curly hair.
“You know if you just want to stare you can, but I think you will have a great time playing.” You snapped him out of his trance.
“I think I would prefer to get your name and number, but this will do. And I will gladly stare at you as long as I want.” Eddie said in such a smug tone with a smile tugging at his lips.
“How about I teach you how to play right now, and after. Right before we go to out next class, I’ll right that all down for you.” You proposed. Eddie nodded and you went over to him and showed him how his arms should be positioned too properly bump the ball.
And every time the ball would threaten to go over his head, he would never hit it with his hand. No, of course not. He head bumped it right to you and sometimes low so you would have to dive or maybe bend or lean forward so he can get a view at your ass.
He learned you were on the volleyball team and didn’t have a car so he would offer to pick you up every day.
He said he would go to some of your games if you went to Hellfire meetings.
And when you would get bored over at his place, you would beg him to play volleyball outside with you.
Uncle Wayne was so happy to see him outside and doing something with someone that made him happy.
You always tell Eddie he is a natural pro, and he is so much better than you.
