Zayne was doing his usual pushups in the living room, shirt off, back flexing with each controlled movement. His focus was sharp—counting his breaths, muscles working in rhythm, sweat forming at his temple.

You were bored.

And when you’re bored… you get ideas.

You wandered over, dropping to the floor underneath him without a word, lying flat on your back with a grin that spelled nothing but trouble. The next time he lowered himself, your faces were inches apart—and you kissed him.

He blinked, pausing mid-rep, but only for a second. Then he kept going.

Pushup. Kiss.

Pushup—

“You’re distracting,” he muttered, lips brushing against yours.

“That’s the goal,” you said with a giggle, already sneaking another peck before he could lift up again. His arms trembled—not from weakness, but from trying not to laugh.

“You’re going to make me fall on you,” he warned.

Zayne groaned under his breath, but you saw that smile tug at the corner of his mouth. The workout wasn’t over—but it definitely just got harder.