Gabriel slows to a walk, resisting the urge to jump or flip, [i]something [/i] to keep moving. He's done several laps, but he's so jittery he just wants to keep going. He's got this inexplicable energy. But that's not quite the right word, is it? It's adrenaline. A part of him wonders what the [i]fuck [/i] it's for. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it, and makes his way to the bath house. Maybe he'll feel better after he gets the sweat off of him.