The apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. You’re curled up on the bed, wrapped in his oversized hoodie, scrolling through your phone half-heartedly but stealing glances at the door, knowing Drew’s about to reappear.

As if on cue, he emerges from the bathroom, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, towel slung casually over his shoulder. He collapses onto the bed beside you with an exaggerated groan, tossing his phone onto the nightstand. “I hate weekdays,” he announces dramatically, stretching his arms over his head.

“Gym skipped again?” you ask, smirking.

“Every single day this week,” he admits, flopping onto his back. “My schedule hates me. Hate. Me.”

You laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Relax. You look fine. Strong, even.”

Drew sits up enough to give you a mock glare. “Fine? That’s all you’ve got? Just… fine?”

You shrug, grinning. “It’s a compliment. Don’t overthink it.”

“Too late,” he says, inching closer, thigh brushing yours. “Because if I can’t hit the gym… I might have to get creative.”

“Creative how?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

Before you can protest, his hands are at your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You squeal, clutching his shoulders, but he just grins, leaning back as if this is perfectly normal.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laugh.

“And inventive,” he counters, tilting your chin toward him. He kisses the side of your neck, then drifts toward your lips, teasing. “See? Very professional. Serious training.”

“You’re… bench-pressing me,” you gasp, laughing.

“Exactly,” he says, lifting you effortlessly. “Resistance training. One of a kind.” He lowers you slowly, steals a quick kiss, then presses you back up before setting you down just enough to push you back up again.

You laugh, breathless, gripping his shoulders. “You’re insane.”

“I prefer charming,” he teases, voice low. “And efficient. Who needs dumbbells when I’ve got you?” He presses a playful kiss to your collarbone, then drifts down to your shoulder, brushing his lips over your skin.

By the fifth “rep,” your laughter is muffled, your hands tangled in his hair. He keeps you close, sliding his hands over your back, adjusting your weight with exaggerated care. “See?” he whispers. “No gym, no problem.”

“You’re going to regret inventing this workout,” you warn, smirking.

“Doubt it,” he says, eyes sparkling as he props himself up on his elbows. “Might make it a nightly ritual. You, me, this… perfection.”

He lifts you again, slow and deliberate, kissing you with a teasing mix of dominance and affection. “Who needs weights,” he murmurs against your lips, “when I’ve got you?”

You shake your head, laughing and sighing all at once. “You’re insane.”

“And completely right,” he says, holding you close, grinning like he’s won some secret prize. “You, me, this… best workout ever.”