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Queen of hearts. Twelve squats.

Jack of spades. Eleven pushups.

Four of clubs. Four squats.

The deck shrank. The pile of used cards grew. Sweat started dripping off his nose and hitting the concrete floor in dark spots that spread and disappeared.

Nine of diamonds. Nine pushups. His arms were shaking now. Every rep felt like the last one but he finished them anyway.

Three of hearts. Three squats.

Ace of spades. Fifteen pushups. He barely made it through the last three. His chest touched the floor on fourteen and he had to push with everything just to lock his elbows on fifteen.

Six of clubs. Six squats.

King of diamonds. Thirteen pushups.

Jordan’s vision started going spotty around the edges. His muscles screamed. His lungs burned. The pain in his chest from earlier was still there but now it had company. Now his whole body hurt and that was somehow better.

Ten of hearts. Ten squats.

Five of spades. Five pushups.

The deck kept shrinking.

Jack of diamonds. Eleven squats.

Queen of clubs. Twelve pushups. He got to eight and his arms gave out. He dropped to his knees, gasped for air, and forced himself through the last four anyway.

Two of diamonds. Two squats.

Eight of clubs. Eight pushups.

Jordan’s phone buzzed somewhere upstairs. He ignored it.

Four of hearts. Four squats.

Three of spades. Three pushups.

Ace of clubs. Fifteen pushups. He dropped to the floor and his arms physically would not cooperate. He made it to seven before collapsing flat. Rested for ten seconds. Finished the last eight.

Nine of clubs. Nine squats.

Seven of spades. Seven pushups.

The last card sat face-down on the table.

Jordan’s hands were shaking. His legs felt like water. Sweat poured off him and soaked the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

He flipped the card.

King of hearts.

Thirteen pushups.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Jordan dropped to the floor one more time. His arms nearly buckled on the first rep. He made it through three. Rested. Did two more. Rested. Three more. Rested. The last five took thirty seconds each.

Thirteen.

Done.

The pain radiated through Jordan’s arms and chest like someone had replaced his muscles with broken glass. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his knees, then his feet.

Water.

He needed water and then he’d start the deck over because the rage in his chest hadn’t actually gone anywhere, it just had a body full of lactic acid to compete with now.

The doorbell rang.

Jordan froze halfway to the kitchen.

What the fuck does someone want?

His phone was upstairs. His shirt was on the couch. He was standing in his apartment at one-fifteen in the afternoon wearing only grey sweatpants and enough sweat to qualify as a biohazard.

The doorbell rang again.

Jordan walked to the door and yanked it open.

Chloe stood in the hallway.

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened slightly and no sound came out. A pink flush spread across her cheeks, creeping down her neck. She looked at Jordan’s face for maybe half a second before her attention dropped to his chest, then his stomach, then snapped away to the wall as if she’d been caught doing something criminal.

"I, um—" She cleared her throat. "Sorry."

Jordan just stared at her.

"I came to—" She stopped again. Her fingers twisted the hem of her hoodie. "Alexis was being a total bitch back there and I just wanted to say, like, that wasn’t cool."

Jordan leaned against the doorframe. His arms burned. "Okay."

"And also—" Chloe’s eyes flickered toward him and away again. "You left really fast and I thought maybe you were, I don’t know, upset or whatever." She paused. "Which is totally valid because she was being awful."

"Yeah."

Silence stretched between them. Chloe shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her face was still pink. She kept her eyes fixed on the wall behind Jordan like the paint was fascinating.

"So I was thinking," she said, her voice coming out too fast. "If you wanted to, like, watch a movie or something. At my place. Not like a date or anything, just, you know, as neighbors. Because you seem like you had a shitty day and I have Netflix and my couch is really comfortable and—" She stopped. Took a breath. "You can say no. That’s totally fine. I’m not being weird."

Jordan blinked. His exhausted brain tried to process what was happening.

Chloe Kim. Who slammed her door in his face yesterday. Who made him promise to pretend they didn’t know each other. Who was now standing in his hallway inviting him to watch a movie at her apartment.

Jordan’s arms still burned. The deck of cards sat on his coffee table waiting for round two. The rage in his chest was still there, sitting under his sternum like something with teeth.

"Or something?" Jordan said.

Chloe’s blush deepened. "Or something. Yeah." She finally looked at him again, met his eyes for maybe two seconds, then looked away fast. "Just, you know, if you want. No pressure."

Her fingers were still twisting her hoodie hem.

Jordan pushed off the doorframe. "Give me fifteen minutes to shower."

"Oh." Chloe blinked. "Okay."

"Still Unit 403?"

"Still Unit 403." She nodded quickly, backing toward her door. "Yeah. Just, um, knock when you’re ready. Or text. You have my contact. From—" She stopped herself.

"Right. Fifteen minutes."

===

〘Traore’s Thoughts〙

Hey guys, I decided to make a Power Stone Goal for this novel.

Every 200 Power Stones this week = +1 Extra Chapter. (MAX 14 ChapterS)

We can have the normal 2 Daily Chapters + 2 Extra Chapters Every Day, is all up to you ;)