Dawn had barely broken, painting the sky in pale hues of lavender and gold, when Erin stormed down the hallway toward Noah's quarters. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath his hurried footsteps, echoing through the silent base like the impatient drumming of war drums.
"Noah!" Erin banged his fist against the door, the sound sharp and insistent. "Wake up! It's training time!"
Only the deep, rumbling symphony of Noah's snores answered him.
Erin gritted his teeth, slamming his palm against the wood again. "Noah! You can't just—ugh!" He pressed his forehead against the door, exhaling sharply. "You're supposed to train me, remember?!"
A long pause. Then, from inside, Noah's voice—thick with sleep and irritation—grumbled, "What training?"
Erin's eye twitched. "The training you're supposed to be doing with me! You know, the one where you teach me how to fight?!"
Noah yawned audibly. "No training until you do the five hundred push-ups."
"That's impossible!" Erin snapped, throwing his hands up. "Nobody can do five hundred push-ups in one go!"
Silence. Then—
"Bet your night meal on it."
Erin froze. "...What?"
Noah's voice was smug even through the door. "If I can do five hundred push-ups in one go, I get your dinner tonight."
Erin scoffed. "You? You're going to do five hundred push-ups?" He eyed the door as if he could see through it to where Noah lay buried in his sleeping bag, looking about as athletic as a sack of potatoes. "Yeah, sure. Fine. Bet."
The moment the word left his lips, the door flew open.
Noah stood there, already wrapped in his sleeping bag like some kind of deranged cocoon, his hair sticking up in every direction. But his eyes—sharp and awake—locked onto Erin's with unsettling intensity.
"Let's go."
Erin blinked. "Wait, now? And—why are we going back to the woods? Can't we just train here?"
Noah was already shuffling past him, moving with surprising speed for a man who looked like he'd rather be napping. "Nope. Woods. That way, nobody hears you scream when I kill you for doubting me."
"That's not funny!" Erin protested, scrambling after him. "And you're not doing five hundred push-ups!"
Noah didn't answer. He just kept walking, the sleeping bag rustling ominously with every step.
Erin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I regret everything."
But he followed anyway.
***
The clearing was silent save for the whisper of wind through the trees and the distant call of a lone crow. Golden shafts of morning light pierced through the dense canopy, dappling the forest floor in shifting patterns of light and shadow.
Noah stood motionless for a moment, his sleeping bag draped around him like a second skin, its fabric swaying slightly with his breath. Then, without warning, he dropped to the ground, his palms pressing flat against the cool earth.
"Start counting," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
And then he began.
Erin's jaw dropped as Noah's arms pistoned up and down with mechanical precision, his body barely disturbing the sleeping bag still wrapped around him. Dust puffed up with each controlled descent, the rhythm unnervingly steady.
"What the—?!" Erin sputtered. "Have you ever even left that sleeping bag?! You look like a damn turtle with it as your shell!"
Noah didn't pause. "One. Two. Three."
Erin fell silent, his earlier bravado crumbling as the numbers climbed.
—Four hundred and ninety-seven. Four hundred and ninety-eight. Four hundred and ninety-nine.—
Noah's voice never wavered, never strained.
—Five hundred.—
He pushed himself up one final time, then rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling as calmly as if he'd done nothing more strenuous than yawn.
"Bet your breakfast tomorrow," Noah said, tilting his head to look at Erin. "I'll do a thousand."
"No!" Erin nearly shouted, his voice cracking. "That's—that's not possible! How are you even alive right now?!"
Noah sat up, brushing dirt from his palms. "Your turn."
The sun had climbed high overhead by the time Erin managed to press his trembling palms into the dirt. His muscles screamed in protest before he'd even begun.
"Just… watch me," he grunted, lowering himself.
One. Two. Three.
By twenty, his arms shook like leaves in a storm.
At twenty-nine, a strangled noise escaped his throat.
Thirty.
And then—collapse.
Erin's face hit the ground, his body refusing to move up or down. He wheezed, his arms locked in useless agony.
"Noah! Help! I'm stuck!"
Noah, now lying on his back with his arms folded behind his head, didn't so much as twitch.
"...Noah!"
A snore.
With a guttural cry, Erin finally wrenched himself free, rolling onto his back with a gasp. His arms flopped at his sides, utterly spent.
The sky burned crimson by the time Erin managed to reach ninety-nine.
His entire body trembled, sweat pouring down his face as he strained for the hundredth rep. His arms gave out halfway up, and he crumpled into the dirt, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.
Noah sat up. "Failed. We continue tomorrow."
"No—no, wait—" Erin groaned, but Noah was already shuffling away, his sleeping bag dragging through the dirt.
***
The base loomed ahead, its windows glowing warmly in the twilight. Erin limped toward it, every muscle in his body howling in protest.
Inside, Garrett and Lila looked like they'd been trampled by a herd of wild horses. Garrett's usual swagger was gone, replaced by the dazed expression of a man who'd stared into the abyss of Regina's expectations. Lila's hair was a tangled mess, her knuckles raw and red.
They raised weary hands in greeting.
Erin didn't even have the energy to speak. All he wanted was to collapse into his bed and never move again.
But then—
Lila wordlessly pushed a plate of food toward him. The scent of roasted meat and herbs made his stomach growl, and he reached for it with shaking hands.
And then he felt it.
The weight of a gaze.
Noah stood in the doorway, his eyes wide awake and fixed unblinkingly on him.
The bet.
With a trembling sigh, Erin slid the plate across the table.
Noah took it without a word, his expression as serene as ever.
As he walked away, Erin dropped his head onto the table—with a thud—, his voice a broken whisper:
"I hate everything.".