A little rain wasn’t enough to deter Isaiah from his typical morning routine. Exceptions were made for missions or some type of emergency, of course, but he usually made a point to adhere to his schedule like clockwork. An early morning run on the treadmill was the start of his day, the boost of energy he needed in lieu of caffeine. The heat of his burning muscles after a six mile run kept Isaiah more energized than any bitter cup of coffee.
Isaiah entered the gym with a nalgene of water in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder, and his gaze was fixed on his iPod rather than his surroundings; he knew the path to his machine of choice — positioned in front of the window, not that the view was terribly impressive this morning — by heart. He would’ve missed Charls altogether if he hadn’t glanced up at the right time. One of his eyebrows arched up in amusement as he walked over to where the man was sitting, his crossed legs reminding Isaiah of an elementary school student.
“Well, I see you’ve made yourself right at home,” he said smoothly, smiling down at Charls’ makeshift office. His tone was light and amused; it was all obviously good-natured teasing. “Are you planning to set up an office in here?”