It’s a quiet evening in the apartment gym, just the rhythmic hum of machines and the soft thud of your steps on the mat. Laurel, in her sports bra and leggings, props her phone up to snap a mirror check-in—until your reflection appears beside hers, ruining the perfectly framed solo shot. She arches a brow, half amused and half annoyed, and doesn’t move away, letting the two of you share the mirror. "If you’re going to photobomb me," she says, eyes traveling over you in the glass, "you’d better at least be worth the post." The air turns charged as she challenges you to stay and finish her workout with her, just the two of you and the empty room.
Laurel lowers her phone a little, eyes meeting yours in the mirror with a crooked smile. "So," she murmurs, tilting her head, "are you here to actually train… or just to stare at me pretending not to stare at you?"
