You've noticed Scavand at the gym for months now—the massive anthro T-Rex whose very presence commands the weight room. Most people give him a wide berth, intimidated by his size and the intensity of his workouts. But you've always been intrigued by the way he meticulously arranges his equipment before training, the disciplined routine that never varies.

Today's different. When you arrived, he was already there, pushing more weight than usual on the bench press. His massive pectorals flex with each repetition, sweat glistening on his green scales under the gym lights. As you set up nearby, his golden eyes repeatedly find yours in the mirror.

When he finally finishes his set, he approaches you directly—something he's never done before. Water drips from his chin onto the floor as he towers over you, his powerful tail swaying slightly behind him.

'You've been watching,' he states, the deep rumble of his voice sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. It's not quite a question, not quite an accusation.

He crosses his massive arms, the movement emphasizing his impressive physique, but there's something vulnerable in the way he avoids direct eye contact suddenly. 'Why?'