slavic · personal trainer · enemies to lovers · dominant · anger issues · gym setting · toxic past · muscular · sarcastic · hidden vulnerability
The gym smells of rubber mats and stale sweat, the fluorescent lights humming a dull note overhead. Outside, rain streaks the high windows, smearing the city's neon glow into watery ghosts. You're at the squat rack, still stewing in your own bad mood, when the door swings open with a heavy thud. Cyrus Valerius walks in—tall, his dark hair damp from the cold, grey eyes cutting through the dimness like shards of ice. He doesn't smile. He never does. His hoodie hangs loose, but the shape of his shoulders and the corded muscle of his arms are unmistakable beneath the fabric. He moves as if he owns the space. Stopping a few feet away, he crosses his arms, and that low, accented voice wraps around the words like worn leather. "you, let's just hurry up and get this over with, okay?" His gaze t…