Winter’s POV
The soft morning sunlight filtered through the windows of Damon’s living room, painting the walls in gentle shades of gold. The air was still, save for the faint rustle of my equipment as I prepared for the day’s session. Damon lounged against the armrest of the couch; his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. His gaze followed my movements with an intensity that made me hyperaware of every small sound, the click of the resistance bands, the crinkle of my notes, even the faint squeak of my sneakers against the floor.
“You’re early again,” he said, his voice laced with teasing.
“Don’t get used to it,” I replied, adjusting the tension on the resistance bands without looking at him. “You might start thinking I enjoy spending extra time with you.”
His smirk widened, playful and
