Real Psychopath

Zara stepped into Ace's hospital room, the sharp scent of antiseptic hitting her nose. She looked around, confused. The bed was empty.

She paused. She could hear something—short breaths, a grunt. Then she spotted him at the far end of the room, behind the curtain.

Ace appeared a moment later, shirtless, a towel in one hand, sweat glistening on his chest.

"You came," he said, flashing a small smile.

Zara rushed to him, grabbing his hand. "What are you doing? Push-ups? Are you insane? You're supposed to be resting!"

"I'm fine," Ace said, brushing her off.

"If you were fine, you'd be at home!" she snapped.

Ace scoffed, raising a brow. "I'm stuck here, bored out of my mind. A little workout won't kill me."

Zara crossed her arms, looking away. "You're not training for the military. And your body's already... you know..." She trailed off.

The harsh fluorescent lights hummed above, casting a cold glow on Ace's pale skin.