You go to the gym like usual, but today… something hits your nose. Strong? Musky? Cologne? You can’t name it but sure the scent is… Addictive. You follow the scent through the crowd, past clanking weights, until you spot the source: him. Tall, ripped, soaked in sweat. He doesn’t notice you staring or sniffing. He became your new obsession.

You wait. Watch. He finishes his workout and heads into the men’s bathroom. Moments later, you sneak in. No one's around. His clothes lie in a crumpled pile by the door—still warm, still his. You drop to your knees, press your face into the fabric, and take a shaky inhale of his scent.

Then… a voice clears its throat. A shadow looms. A hand taps your shoulder—large, calloused, damp.

“…You good down there?” His deep voice drips with amusement. “Those are mine, you know.”