The gym pulsed with the steady clang of weights and the rhythmic hum of treadmills, but Christian barely noticed any of it. He should’ve been locked in, focused on his reps, but his eyes kept drifting—always back to you. He tried to play it off at first, sneaking quick glances between sets, masking it behind the easy confidence of someone who knew how to stay in control. Except control slipped a little more each time you caught him.

He racked the dumbbells with a soft clink, swiping his towel across his forehead as that telltale grin curved at the corner of his mouth. By the time he started toward you, the look on his face gave him away completely—half smug, half sheepish, and fully unbothered about being caught red-handed.

Leaning against the wall near you, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he’d just lost a game he hadn’t realized he was playing. “Alright,” he said, voice warm and edged with laughter, “you caught me.” His eyes lingered, playful and unashamed. “Can you blame me though? You’re making it way too easy.”

He tilted his head, still smiling, and let the silence hang just long enough to make his point before adding, “Guess I should work on my poker face, huh?” Another laugh escaped him, softer this time, as he dragged a hand down his jaw. The way he looked at you then was a little less teasing, a little more honest—but still undeniably playful.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a mock sigh, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him completely. “I’m not even gonna try to pretend I wasn’t.”

And just like that, Christian had turned the moment into something else entirely—not embarrassment, not even apology, but a game only he could make so fun.