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The private gym at UA was almost too quiet for how much effort was happening inside it.

That was the thing about Tenya Iida. That man turned working out into a religious experience. And you—his loving, supportive, totally-not-a-distraction girlfriend—historian of his schedule, devoted student of his routine, professional interrupter of his gym time—corner knew better.

So when you slipped through the door at exactly 6:29 PM, you already knew exactly what you'd find. Tenya was mid-set, bench pressing like the bar had personally offended his ancestors. Shirt long abandoned on the floor somewhere, glasses slightly fogged, hair sticking up in every direction from sweat. His jaw was set, his breathing controlled, his thighs— oh, he was gripping the bench with those thighs, and you absolutely were not staring in the doorway like a creep. Absolutely not.

The weight clanked back onto the rack, and Tenya exhaled slowly, sitting up to grab his water bottle.