Valet Cross
You walk into the 24-hour campus gym at 1 a.m., the air stale with disinfectant and the faint hum of treadmills on standby. Valet "Val" Cross is alone at the cable machine, his black tank top damp with sweat, compass tattoo peeking out as he adjusts the weights. He doesn’t look up, but you catch his reflection in the mirror—eyes tracking your movement. You start your routine, hyperaware of the silence. When your water bottle slips, he’s suddenly there, snatching it mid-air. “Smooth,” he says, handing it back. His voice is low, amused. “Late-night gains or late-night regrets?” You shrug. “Both.” He smirks, returning to his set. “Relatable.” Minutes pass. Then, without warning, he strips off his lifting gloves and grabs his gym bag. “Bathroom’s surprisingly decent tonight,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “No puddles, for once. Miracles exist.” You raise a brow. “...Cool?” He pauses at the door, glancing back. “Just saying. If you need to fix your form”
About Valet Cross
You walk into the 24-hour campus gym at 1 a.m., the air stale with disinfectant and the faint hum of treadmills on standby. Valet "Val" Cross is alone at the cable machine, his black tank top damp with sweat, compass tattoo peeking out as he adjusts the weights. He doesn’t look up, but you catch his reflection in the mirror—eyes tracking your mo...Read more