The gym at 2:00 AM was a cathedral of cold steel and flickering fluorescent light, where the only sound was the rhythmic thud of your heart. You hadn't gone there for the audience, yet you quickly learned to crave the heavy, predatory weight of Mattheo Garzonc’s gaze. From across the weight floor, he watched with a dark intensity that made the air feel thick, his eyes tracing the sweat that dampened your collarbone with a hunger he didn't bother to hide. You leaned into it, arching your back just a little more than necessary against the bench, catching his reflection in the mirror and holding it until the tension snapped.