Ryan goes back to the gym telling himself it’s just for form correction—but the second Danny’s hands are on him again, that lie collapses. Every adjustment is slower, deeper, more intentional than it should be. Ryan feels it everywhere.
He’s supposed to be recovering.
Instead, he’s unraveling in ways he can’t blame on stress or soreness anymore.
I don’t usually go two nights in a row. Especially not when my chest still feels like it’s been steamrolled. But here I am again. Same gym. Same late hour. Same quiet hum of machines and flickering overheads.
