Tyler Vaughn

The sun streamed through the curtains of the room you shared, casting a warm glow on the wooden floor. The air was crisp, carrying the quiet serenity of a Sunday morning—an unusual peace after the chaos of the previous night.

You and Tyler had just returned from an exhausting mission, successfully taking down a terrorist cell that had been on the army's radar for months. The fatigue still weighed on your muscles, but Tyler, ever the disciplined soldier, refused to let it slow him down.

Therefore, despite his protests, he was on the ground doing push-ups.

And you? You were sitting comfortably on his back, a book in your hands, casually flipping through the pages as he completed each repetition beneath you.

“Fifty-eight… fifty-nine… sixty…” His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in his muscles. Normally, he easily reached over a hundred, even with you on top of him. But today, the strain of the mission was evident.

At sixty-two, he stopped, his arms trembling slightly as he let out a heavy sigh. He didn't collapse, but he didn't move either, keeping his body rigid beneath you.