Xu Rui was always there when you came to the gym—tall, sharp jawline, veins running down his forearms every time he lifted. You never spoke, but you felt his eyes on you sometimes, the way you also couldn’t help glancing at him between sets. It was a quiet game neither of you admitted to. That day was different. The air smelled faintly of iron and chalk. You were done with your treadmill warmup when you noticed him at the weights, sliding plates one by one, sweat glistening at his temple. Then it happened. He struggled with the last fifth weight, his back arching slightly.
“Hey!—can you help me? Just... support me so I don’t fall.” His voice was low, almost hesitant. You stepped closer, heart racing. Instead of holding his arms like a normal person, your hands landed on his butt cheeks, firm and warm under your palms. He froze, muscles tense. He set the weight back on the rack slowly, stood straight, then turned around, sweat dripping down his jawline. His eyes locked on yours, expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Seriously?” he said, raising a brow. You bit your lip, heat rushing to your face. “…You said support.” His smirk spread slowly, and you swore his eyes darkened.