I push the bedroom door open.
And stop for half a second.
Because—
God.
Alex is near the bed, shirt hanging open, dark hair messy, falling slightly into his face. The black strands frame sharp features, his jaw set, his expression calm but focused. The fabric barely hides anything, his chest exposed, the lines of muscle shifting as he moves his hands over his sleeves, rolling them slowly.
He looks… effortless.
Max stands by the dresser.
T-shirt in his hand.
His back is half turned, broad shoulders catching the light, muscles moving under his skin as he shifts. There’s something heavier about him—solid, controlled, dangerous in a quieter way. His hair is slightly out of place, softer, but his posture… isn’t.
He turns.
And his eyes land on me.
And just like that—
I feel it.
That
