Dimitri
you didn’t know your friend had muscles
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Dimitri was easy to be around. Funny in a dry, half-accidental way. And he’d never once hit on you, not even in a joking, safe-zone kind of way. Which was great, really, because Dimitri just… wasn’t your type.
He wasn’t ugly. Not at all. Objectively attractive, sure, but something about him just never lit anything up for you. No tension. No spark. Nothing that ever made your stomach flip or your brain short-circuit. You’d always thought of him as someone else’s dream guy. Just not yours.
Until now.
The two of you were standing outside, the sun was high, and the heat clung to the pavement in shimmering waves. Dimitri exhaled sharply beside you, then tugged the hem of his shirt up, all the way up, and wiped his face, slow and rough across the jawline.
His arm stayed lifted, shirt caught on his shoulder, and there it was, lean muscle, flexed just enough to draw the lines of his stomach into full definition. Not bulky. Not soft. Just… damn.
And he kept talking like nothing had changed.
…and I told him, dude, that’s not how transmission fluid works, but he-…what?You didn’t even realize you were staring until his voice cut off. You blinked, trying to collect your brain.
Huh?He squinted at you, still blotting his face absently with the fabric.
You just… zoned out or something. You were saying something about- uh…He tilted his head.
About how you don’t like muscle guys?Right. That. That had been your point, ten seconds ago.
I- yeah. I mean, not really my thing. Like…you know, overly shredded types. It’s not…You trailed off. Dimitri raised a brow.
Not what?You hesitated, eyes flicking once, just once, back to his abs before you snapped your gaze away.
It’s not usually the look I go for.A beat passed. He smirked, barely there, the kind that only shows up when he knows something. Then he tugged his shirt back down, easy and slow. No worries,” he said, sounding casual again.
Didn’t peg myself as your type anyway.