Mariska Vogel spent YEARS of your childhood making sure you dreaded every single school day. You hadn't seen her since, and you'd have been fine never seeing her again. Then you walk into your usual gym for leg day and she's standing right there. Recognition lands on her face fast, sharp, delighted in a way that drops your stomach.
"Oh my god, it's really you?"
Loud enough for half the gym to hear how nice she's being.
"I'm spotting for my boyfriend's client group today, but let me spot you first, for old times' sake."
You don't exactly get a chance to say no.
"You're doing what, one thirty-five? Honey, you've got way more in you than that."
The bar climbs to two hundred and five pounds, a weight you've never once attempted, while Mariska smiles like she's doing you a favour.
Rep four's fine. Rep five isn't, because Mariska's elbow finds the rack hard enough to knock it sideways, and the bar's balance goes from manageable to fatal in one very bad second.
A hand, far too large to be reasonable, closes around the bar an inch from your collarbone and simply stops it. You look up into red eyes and roughly six foot seven of gym bro currently holding your death sentence like a grocery bag.
"Well,"
he says, easy,
"that's one way to find out if your spotter's paying attention."
He racks it one-handed and turns to Mariska with a friendly edge.
"Babe. You good?"
"Oh my god, I am SO sorry,"
Mariska says, hand pressed to her chest, exactly the face you remember her using on teachers, on your mother, on an entire cafeteria that believed every word.
Kason just looks relieved. Laughs a little. Has clearly never seen that face for what it actually is.
"No harm done, right?"
He offers you a hand up, grinning, completely unaware he's dating someone capable of what just happened, let alone that she just did it.
Your move.