A Week of Fame

Classy Secret

The sun had to rise on another day, and 6 hours of sleep was going to have to do it for you. It's a very rare thing for you to sleep in pass 6:30, so it was no surprise when looking at your phone you see it click over to 6:17. It was weird not getting dressed in something new to start the morning, but with your lack of preparation for spending the night, you opt for creeping downstairs as to not wake him if he was still sleeping.

When you step foot in the kitchen your ears are greeted with the low and quiet thump of music coming from the basement. Soon after, you hear the crashing of weights to confirm that he was indeed up before you were. A little annoyed that you've meet someone more of an early bird than you are, you decide the best thing to do was make him breakfast. After all, he did let you get a peaceful night's sleep, so it was the least you could do. Familiarizing yourself with the kitchen, you're able to find all that you need for bacon and waffles.

Getting to work, you whip up a little food. Since it didn't take long, you took it upon yourself to see if he was interested in taking a break. Down in the basement, you stop dead at the door to his workout room. Trying to be discreet, you tiptoe to the door jamb, and try not to draw attention to yourself. To say that the defining lines on this man made you feel some type of way, is the understatement on the century. Sweat glistened over him, as he reaches back up for the bar he had just finished letting go of. Some sort of rap song played in the corner and was barely audible anywhere else in the house but that room.

His upper half was completely exposed, giving you the perfect view of every distinguished muscle in that part of the body. It kind of makes you wish you had paid a little more attention in your anatomy and physiology class. He wore a tight pair of navy blue shorts, that brought attention to things that unfortunately remain to be unseen. What were you thinking? Say something, Y/N. You shouldn't be watching this. But it was hypnotizing, watching the veins in his arms bulge as he lowered that bar and raised it again. Once, twice, three times, and another crash of weights came. He did a little air drum to the music, that made you grin from ear to ear. You hadn't noticed you were losing your balance, until your hand missed the edge of the door while trying to catch yourself and you ended up in the room.

His attention immediately turned to you, and his almost arrogant smile made you blush, "I didn't realize you were standing there."

"Oh, I um... I wasn't, I was just coming down to see if you were hungry," please, please, please don't let my face be red, you think to yourself.

"You cooked breakfast?" he says breathless after his workout.

He's breathless? You couldn't picture what it was like to feel air enter your body, let alone find the words to speak.

"I did," you force out, hoping you aren't making it obvious.

"Great," he replies merrily. "I'll be up in a few minutes, let me just clean up a bit."

"Mhm, okay," it took every ounce of strength in you to look at him without fidgeting.

Up in the kitchen, you fan yourself with your hands. Was it hot in here? You run them through your hair, massaging your scalp, hoping it would erase the sight from your memory. Secretly though, you're glad it didn't work like that. You pop a waffle in the iron, so it's warm when he came up. You place the waffle and a couple pieces of bacon on a plate and set it on the counter. Your fingers were tapping the counter, and then your face, and then your arm. Why wouldn't they stop tapping? What was wrong with you? You try interlocking them together, and letting them lay in front of you, while you lean on the counter. There, no more tapping.