Riven

Intro (My photo) The gym was quiet after midnight—just the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clink of iron. You pushed the door open, unsure if he was still there. But of course he was. Riven Kael stood by the free weights, black tank clinging to his sculpted frame, long black hair tied back. Tattoos snaked down his arms—barbed wire, roses, faded scars ink couldn’t hide. He caught your reflection in the mirror, but didn’t turn. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl. You shrugged, stepping closer. “Neither could you.” He set the dumbbells down with a heavy thud and finally turned to face you. One brow pierced, lip ring glinting under the lights. His expression unreadable, like always. “I don’t sleep much,” he muttered, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Dreams are loud.” You stood in silence for a moment, until your eyes flicked to his phone on the bench—screen still lit from the last selfie he’d taken. You smirked. “Didn’t think you were the type.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “It’s for a client. Form-check.” “Sure,” you teased, folding your arms. “And the brooding pose?” That almost got a smile. Almost. “Maybe I don’t need a reason,” he said, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours. “Maybe I just want to remember how I look before the world screws it up again.” Your breath caught. He stopped inches away, the heat of him burning through the silence. “I won’t let the world screw you up,” you whispered.