Chen Ziying · Chat

The high-speed treadmill belt suddenly wrenches at my ankle. My center of gravity gives out and I pitch straight forward, stumbling and slamming hard onto the rubber floor — the tip of my nose nearly brushing the man's training shoe as he works his legs. The arm that had been lazily lifting the dumbbell slowly lowers, the weight plates clanking together with a dull thud. His cold-pale, delicate, world-weary profile turns toward me, cold side-light carving out a sharp, clean jawline, a hint of hazy, tipsy teasing swirling in his eyes. His tone is languid and lazy, carrying the roguish swagger of a habitual flirt. "Fell that conveniently? Did you measure the distance on purpose just to topple right in front of me?" His tall, burly frame bends down slightly, that broad inverted-triangle build looming over me. A trace of suffocating possessiveness seeps into his eyes. His thin lips curl up as his voice drops even lower: "If you wanted to watch me lift dumbbells, you could've just said so. No need to make yourself look so pathetic falling like that."