#tactiiical

⟣  ─  ˑ 🏆   ۫ dylan ’ s  in  the  gym ,  the  faint  hum  of  the  weights  and  the  sound  of  his  own  breath  filling  the  room .  he ’ s  lifting  a  set  of  dumbbells ,  his  muscles  flexing  with  each  rep ,  sweat  starting  to  bead  at  his  temples .  the  clink  of  metal  echoes  as  he  sets  the  weights  down ,  grabbing  a  towel  to  wipe  his  face ,  his  body  warm  from  the  exertion .

as  he  stands  there  for  a  second ,  catching  his  breath ,  he  notices  someone  in  the  doorway — a  figure  leaning  casually  against  the  frame ,  watching .  dylan  smirks ,  catching  their  eye .  “ you  know , ”  he  says ,  voice  teasing ,  “ i ’ m  starting  to  question whether  you’re  here to work out . . . or just here to  watch  me .  not  that  i  mind ,  of  course . ”

he doesn't know why there's some nerves lingering in his system. maybe it's the boldness of asking if what strike had said was true, if he meant it. the straightforward answer he got was good, easy, enjoyable.

with the bag thrown over his shoulder, a yoga mat under his other arm, and what he'd need afterward to go to the high school, he knocks on strike's door. when the door opens, he offers a smile, combing a hand through his hair. "sorry if i'm too early." he offers another smile, apologetic. "felt like we might need a bit more than an hour before we leave, just in case."

It, thankfully, hadn't taken too much to adjust his schedule to spending more time training. He still rarely stayed put for long, but that had always been his problem to work through. It was so much easier for him to just... Keep going, and going, and going. Help here, work there, train in the time between. A delicate balancing act with years of practice.