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Adrien's home gym had a hint of cedar and that clean sweat smell, the kind that sticks around even after a workout. I settled cross-legged on the padded bench against the wall, an old leather journal from Joanne in my lap, its yellowed pages soft from being flipped through so many times.
Across from me, Adrien was doing his usual thing — trying to act like he wasn't aware I was in the room while he worked out shirtless.
The steady clank of weights filled the quiet as he lifted the barbell again, muscles in his arms flexing under the light. His focus was locked in, not drifting even a little, and honestly, it was kind of frustrating how effortlessly good he looked while doing something as basic as breathing.
I sighed, pretending to be engrossed in the journal to keep my eyes from wandering. "Do you ever train with a shirt on?" I asked, flipping to another page and trying to sound casual.
He didn't even look up. "Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?"
Yes.
