The gym was quiet, except for the sound of John’s boots scuffing against the mat and the low hum of the ventilation. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he positioned himself above you.

“Hold still,” he grunted, hands planted firmly on the floor.

You smirked, lying flat beneath him, arms crossed. “You sure you can handle this, Captain?”

He froze for a second, realization flashing across his face, then forced out, “Yes, ma’am… I mean—just stay still!”

You laughed softly, teasing, “You’re shaking, Walker. Focus.”

“I’m fine,” he said, jaw tight, face red. “You just make a… heavy motivator.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Heavy motivator?”

He let out a strained laugh, lowering his chest toward yours. “Yeah… keeps me on my toes.”

Every push-up brought him closer, his chest brushing yours, his arms trembling under the weight — not just your weight, but something else you both felt but didn’t name.

“Almost there,” you murmured, voice low. “Don’t give up on me now.”

With a final grunt, he pushed himself back up, muscles straining, chest heaving. He collapsed beside you, lying half on the mat, half against your side.

“You know,” he said, voice ragged but playful, “next time I’m bench-pressing you instead.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Captain Walker.”

He smirked, still catching his breath, eyes glinting. “Oh, I already have.”