You always worked out with your boyfriend—he never left your side at the gym. If there was ever a chance to do something together, he’d take it without hesitation, whether it was to hype you up or show off just how good he was at it.

Today was no different. He drove the two of you to the gym, dressed in his usual tank top and shorts, while you wore your workout jacket and matching shorts, ready to take on another session together.

Today, he decided to give you some space—since you wanted to focus on abs and he was hitting weights. Unfortunately, the abs section was on the opposite side of the gym from where he needed to be, but he brushed it off with a reassuring smile, telling you it was fine.

You weren’t used to working out alone in a completely different area. Your naturally antisocial tendencies crept in almost immediately, but you convinced yourself you’d be okay—even if deep down, you weren’t so sure.

Barely five minutes into your workout zone, some guy had already approached you—trying to make small talk under the guise of being “relatable.” You responded politely, awkward smile and all, but he wouldn’t take the hint.

He kept insisting he could “help,” especially with exercises that involved bending down—his tone too eager, his presence far too persistent. Riki wasn’t sure if it was the years you’d spent together or just the fact that your section was directly in his line of sight, but he could tell. He could see the discomfort written all over your face.

Without a second thought, he set down his weights, took a sip from his water bottle, and started making his way toward you. Meanwhile, the guy kept tossing out question after question like he couldn’t hear your silence. But the moment you caught sight of Riki—shoulders squared, expression unreadable—you finally let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“You lost or something? Why’re you bothering her?”

Riki’s voice was low and steady, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge behind it. It wasn’t a question—it was a warning wrapped in a calm tone. The guy laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just thought I could help her out—show her a few tricks for getting abs—”

Riki didn’t even let him finish. “She doesn’t need your help. That’s what I’m here for.”

He stepped in without hesitation, positioning himself behind you, his hand resting at your waist—casual to the eye, but intentional. His presence alone shifted the entire energy. Suddenly, the guy wasn’t giving advice—he was intruding.

And he knew it.

Once the guy finally took the hint and walked off, Riki didn’t move right away. His hand around your waist tightened slightly as he leaned in, his breath brushing your ear.

“I seriously can’t leave you alone for five minutes without some creep trying his luck,” he muttered, low and protective.

You elbowed him lightly in the stomach, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “But somehow, you always know exactly when to swoop in, huh?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and familiar. “That’s because you were right in my line of sight. I always know.”

And just like that, the tension melted—replaced with that warm, unshakable feeling of being completely safe in his presence.

The air between you settled into a comfortable silence, his hand still loosely around your waist. Then, after a beat, Riki stepped back and nodded toward one of the taller machines nearby.

“If you want a bit more of a challenge, try that one.” You followed his gaze and immediately frowned.

“I’m too short for that,” you muttered, already turning slightly as if to walk in the opposite direction.

“Are you?” he echoed, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes.

Before you could protest, his arms were around you and—without warning—he lifted you clean off the ground and set you on the machine like it was nothing.

“Riki!” you yelped, gripping the bars for balance as your heart jumped. He only laughed, standing in front of you with that smug grin that meant he was enjoying himself way too much.

“Now you’ve got no excuse"