The week that followed was one of the best of Ethan's life.
His two worlds, which had once seemed destined for a catastrophic collision, began to weave together into a strange, beautiful, and utterly exhausting tapestry.
The mornings were his favorite. He'd get on his bike for his early shift at CostMart, the cool air crisp against his face, the rising sun casting a golden glow on the quiet suburban streets.
He felt a simple, profound joy in the physical act of pedaling, in the rhythm of his own breathing. He wasn't a gaffer or a shelf-stacker; he was just a kid on a bike, and his life, for the first time, felt amazing.
On Tuesday morning, cycling through the park on his way to work, he pulled over and called Leo.
"Orion FC, Leo speaking, how may I direct your call?" Leo answered, his voice mock-professional.
"Just calling to see how things are in the fourth tier," Ethan said, grinning. "Still playing with formations from the history books?"
