i just finished writing 6tbb...and the word count is 94,457. phew. this is a short one, but the last four chapters will be long <3

*

"Are we still going to your dad's beach house this summer?"

Sanders groans, bringing a hand over his eyes. "Mm."

"Mm, yes? Or mm, shut up, I don't want to torture myself seeing Becks again in a bikini?" Rosen asks carefully, rubbing the towel slung over his neck against his wet hair. Droplets fall on Sanders's forehead. "Gotta say, dude. All her boxing pays off. I almost choked when I saw her abs."

"Shut it," Sanders snaps, sitting upright. He glares at him, and Rosen raises his palms in surrender. "You want me to tell Adan about you talking about Becks's abs?"

"From an athlete to another athlete, brother," Rosen says, bringing his palm to his heart. "Swear to God."

"One more word about Becks's body and we'll leave you at a gas station."

His friend purses his lips and nods. "Fine."

Sanders huffs and lies back down on the bench. "You can ask Adan to come, too. We'll invite Maxon and Suho."

Rosen raises an eyebrow and sits next to him. "Maxon? What happened to wanting him to leave your house?"

"He helps with rent and pays on time, what's not to like?" Sanders crosses his arms over his chest. "Plus, he's a really good cook—he'll keep us fed during our stay. Speaking of food, I'm hungry." He stands and grabs his bag. "Going to the gym, I'll see you tomorrow."

Rosen merely sends him a wave. When Sanders walks in the gym to pick Becks up for lunch, Adan sees him first. She's facing a speed ball. "Hey, Rush!"

Sanders tosses his bag on the bench and sits, smiling at her. "How many more rounds left?"

"Two more," she says, grimacing as she rolls her arm. "I still have a sparring after. Becks is in her fourth. Becks! Your boyfriend is here!"

Clearly, Adan still keeps to her old habits. The whole gym must have heard her, and Sanders rolls his eyes. "I'm not her—"

But Becks is sparring on the floor with her coach. The timer reads two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. "Give me a sec, I have one more round after this," Becks breathes out, punching the mitts with perfect strength, following her coach's every instruction.

And then—for a split second—she switches her gaze to him, gives him a small smile, and then she bends down to dodge an incoming hit from her coach.

"Focus!" he barks, circling around her. And then Becks is back in the game.

Becks has never paid him attention when she's sparring.

Adan grins at him. "You're distracting her, Rush."

Sanders blinks. "Oh. Ah, I've never...before."

"You're shirtless."

Right. He is. His shirt is on his shoulder, and it's so fucking hot, and—Becks just...smiled at him during her sparring session. Like she's happy to see him.

Sanders's heart speeds up as he keeps his eyes on the boxer. Mesmerizing, her thinks. Quick on her feet, powerful punches. Becks thinks she looks ugly when she's punching—like she's concentrating too hard—but like this. Even like this—sweaty, flushed red, panting for breath, baby hairs strewn all over her forehead and face, ones that didn't make into her ponytail, even as she's wearing an XXL shirt and basketball shorts—Sanders hears those bells once again.

The timer rings loudly, indicating her thirty-second break. Becks exhales heavily, and her arms drop, and she hangs her head, panting. Her coach stretches her arms behind her back while she tries to catch her breath, shutting her eyes.

And then she jogs towards him, holding up her pink and white gloves. "Hi," she breathes out, gasping.

Sanders grins and raises an eyebrow. "Hi. You good?"

"Mm." Becks leans forward, wiping her head on the shirt on his shoulder. "Last three minutes after this. Can I have water?"

"Right." Sanders clears his throat, uncapping his bottle quickly, bringing it to her mouth.

When she's done, she licks her lips, runs her eyes over his face, then his down to his body, and back up to his face. "Is there any reason why you're shirtless?"

"It's hot. And you just wiped your sweat all over it."

"Sorry." She grins, not really sorry. "Force of habit. It's distracting, by the way."

"You don't get distracted by anything when you're boxing."

"Not the same for other people," she says, gesturing to her teammates. They look away when Sanders looks. "It's annoying."

He can't help it. His grin widens, and he leans back. "Your break is up. Do your best, I'm watching."

It's the same thing Sanders always says before—before Maxon. And Becks doesn't acknowledge it.

Now, she says, "Always do." And then she returns to her coach just as the bell rings, and she touches her gloves to his mitts, palms down first, and does the same thing with her palms up. She gets into her proper stance, ready and focused.

Sanders's eyes stay on her the whole three minutes.

As soon as she's done, she slumps down beside him on the bench, closing her eyes. Her cheeks are red.

Sanders takes her gloves off. He takes off her hand wraps, too, and her gashes on her knuckles are angrily slashed across her skin. Sanders resists the urge to brush his thumb over them.

"Come on, let's get some food in you."

He grabs her hand to help her up. Her palms are rough, sweaty, and calloused. Just as he remembers. He lets go. "What do you want to eat?"

Siam is excited about their beach trip. He's always been—especially since Becks will be there for the whole week. He's talking to him on the phone, mixing his coffee, when Becks comes out of her room in a huge black shirt with folded sleeves, tucked in a plaid beige skirt. She's wearing makeup, Sanders notes. And her hair is curly. She's smiling at him widely.

Sanders can't take his eyes off her. "I'll call Mom tonight to ask about the van for the trip."

"Which mom?"

"Both—whichever. Anyway, focus on your finals, okay?" Sanders barks at his brother, tossing his spoon into the sink, but keeping his eyes on his roommate. "I'll see you next week."

"Is Becks there?" Siam asks, hopeful. "Wanna talk to her."

"No. Bye." Sanders hangs up. He leans against the counter and tips his chin at her. "You, uh. Look nice...?"

Her face falls. "I look weird, don't I?"

"No!" Sanders shouts, shaking his head. "No, I just...are you going somewhere? The skirt is new. And that's my..." He blinks. "That's my shirt."

"Yup, I borrowed it for a sec." Her smile is back. That's good. "And my mom just sent a bunch of clothes over she bought over the weekend, and I wanted to go out." She clears her throat. "Come on, get dressed. I already have tickets for that movie you said you wanted to see a few days ago."

Sanders is in pajamas. "I—um. What?"

Becks blinks at him. She pauses for a minute. "Uh, sorry, I'm supposed to ask first, aren't I?"

"What? Becks, you're not making any sense. What tickets?"

She groans, hanging her head. "I'm not good at this," she mutters, closing her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, she looks at him, holds his gaze, and says in a louder voice, "Are you free? Do you want to watch the movie with me?"

Sanders is so confused. "I thought you didn't like rom-coms."

"This one seemed interesting," she says immediately, giving him a shrug. Then, flatly, she asks, "Is it a yes or a no?"

Sanders blinks thrice. Then he sets his coffee down and hurries to his room.

(When Becks snatches his wrist to lead him towards the snack bar, she says, "You want your popcorn in cheese, right?" And Sanders is surprised she knows that. She knows a lot of things about him, apparently.)

And Becks can say she doesn't care who Sanders fucks around with. She can.

But she goes in his room, while he's playing a game on his phone, legs stretched out in front of him. At first, he thought it was because something had happened, but Becks is smiling when she comes in, and she tosses herself on the mattress, laying her head on his lap.

"You're heavy," Sanders says.

She turns her head to look at him. Sanders pauses the game, but his fingers keep pressing the screen, like he's still playing. "Sanders."

"What?"

Becks is quiet.

Sanders is tapping on his phone. The screen isn't moving, because he paused the game just so he can focus on Becks's body against him, but he doesn't want her to know that, so his fingers keep moving, like he's still playing, attention elsewhere. He grunts when she doesn't respond. "What?"

She's just staring at him, head on his lap. And then, after taking a breath, she says, "Nothing. I'm going to take a nap here."

"No. I have to go somewhere and I haven't changed."

"You're comfortable, shut up." She snuggles in closer, closing her eyes. "I'll ask later, give me five minutes."

Sanders does. He tosses his phone aside, forgetting about his game. Stares at her face for God knows how long, and carefully threads his fingers in her hair.

Becks hums in contentment. Her lips bear a shadow of a smile.

When five (ten. Maybe fifteen if we're being honest) minutes pass, Sanders gently shakes her awake. "Becks," he whispers, stroking the skin on her shoulder with his thumb. "Becks, I have to go. Just move a bit, you can sleep here."

"Mm." She doesn't open her eyes, but she does move, and Sanders slides a pillow under her head before she can lie down. Becks hugs it to her face. "Where are you going? With your team? Rosen?" she mutters sleepily.

Sanders wishes he can lie. "I have a date."

Becks doesn't move. "Okay," she says. "Have fun. Call me if you need anything."

He nods, forgetting she has her eyes closed. And then he says, "Okay. I'll see you later. Eat a lot."

("So. How'd it go?" Becks will ask later, sucking on a chocolate popsicle, swinging her legs. They'll be seated outside a convenience store, where Sanders called her to pick him up, because his date was...fine. He just called because he missed her. And Becks came, even though she's in pajamas, ready for bed, and even though she doesn't necessarily like being behind the wheel.

And Sanders will say, "It was fine. She was nice. Polite. We have a lot in common."

And Becks won't ask for any more details, and he won't see it, but she'll be forcing her smile. "That's good, then."

Sanders won't be seeing her again.)

(She doesn't have the laugh he wants to hear.)