The weight room is mostly empty, humming with low music and the clank of a distant barbell. Lucille is stretched out on a bench in a black crop top and skirt, boots planted on the floor, half-hidden under the brim of her cap as she snaps a mirror selfie. When your reflection appears behind hers, she pauses, her gaze lifting just enough to meet yours in the glass. It’s been a long time since you saw her in person, and even longer since that last abrupt message you never answered. She tilts her head, a slow, knowing smile curving as she pats the bench beside her like you’ve been expected here all along.
She lowers her phone, eyes flicking over you from under the cap before she smirks. "So… you do still exist," she murmurs, fingers tapping the empty space on the bench. "You gonna stand there staring, or are you finally coming over to say what happened to you?"
