Sparks in the Ring

The bell rang, marking the end of another grueling round of training. Jorie collapsed onto the bench, sweat dripping down her temples as she tried to catch her breath. Across the gym, Owen leaned against the ropes, watching her with an unreadable expression.

"You've got stamina," he said, tossing her a towel. "But your footwork still needs work."

Jorie caught the towel and glared at him. "You say that like I'm not already dying over here."

"Dying's part of the process," Owen quipped, smirking.

"Great pep talk, coach," she muttered, wiping her face.

Owen chuckled and grabbed a water bottle, taking a long sip before walking over to her. He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees, and looked at her with a rare seriousness. "But seriously, you're improving. Faster than I expected."

Jorie blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "Thanks," she said quietly. "It's... because of you."

Her words hung in the air, and Owen's smirk faded. He didn't know how to respond to that. He wasn't used to people relying on him, let alone giving him credit for anything.

"I mean it," Jorie continued, her voice softer now. "You push me harder than anyone else ever has. And I—" She paused, her cheeks flushing. "I appreciate it."

Owen felt a strange warmth spread through his chest, but he quickly pushed it down. "Don't get too soft on me, Leonhart. You're still the rookie here."

Jorie rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. "You really don't know how to take a compliment, do you?"

"Not my strong suit," Owen admitted, standing up. "Come on. One more round."

"Seriously?" Jorie groaned. "Do you secretly hate me or something?"

"Not yet," Owen teased, offering her a hand.

Jorie took it, her fingers brushing against his as he pulled her to her feet. The contact was brief, but it left her heart racing. She quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice.

As they stepped back into the ring, the tension between them felt heavier, like a third presence in the room. Jorie couldn't tell if it was the exhaustion or something else entirely, but every glance Owen threw her way felt charged, like there was something he wasn't saying.

"Alright," Owen said, slipping on his gloves. "Let's see your combos again. Jab, cross, hook."

Jorie nodded, refocusing. She threw the combination, her punches landing with satisfying thuds against the mitts.

"Good," Owen said, his voice steady. "Again."

They fell into a rhythm, the sound of her punches and their breathing filling the room. But as Jorie threw another hook, her foot slipped, sending her off balance. Owen caught her before she hit the mat, his arms wrapping around her instinctively.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and close.

Jorie looked up at him, her heart pounding. Their faces were only inches apart, and for a moment, neither of them moved. His hands were strong and steady on her arms, anchoring her in a way that made her feel both safe and completely vulnerable.

"I... yeah, I'm fine," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Owen didn't let go immediately. His eyes searched hers, and for the first time, Jorie saw something unguarded in his expression—something vulnerable.

"You sure?" he asked again, his voice softer now.

Jorie nodded, her breath hitching. "Yeah. Thanks."

Realizing how close they were, Owen stepped back quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Careful, Leonhart. You're not supposed to hit the floor."

Jorie laughed nervously, trying to shake off the moment. "Guess I'm still learning."

"Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it," Owen said, his tone gruff but not unkind.

As they continued training, neither of them mentioned the moment again. But it lingered in the air, unspoken but undeniable. For Jorie, it was the first time she'd felt something beyond admiration for Owen—it was something deeper, something she wasn't sure she was ready to admit.

For Owen, it was a reminder that no matter how much he tried to keep his walls up, Jorie had a way of slipping through. And that terrified him more than any opponent ever could.