Wells had the kind of body that made a construction site look less like work and more like a warning label.

Shirtless under an orange sunset, muscles lit up in heat and dust, wearing nothing but bright orange hi-viz rubber pants and heavy safety boots, he looked like the whole job site had been built just to show off what real labour could do to a man. Broad chest, thick arms, hard shoulders, and the kind of back that said lifting, hauling, and handling heavy loads had clearly paid off.

Construction did not just build skylines.

On Wells, it built muscle, swagger, stamina, and a dangerously unfair amount of sex appeal.

With a tool in his hand and that smug little smirk on his face, Wells looked like he knew exactly what people were thinking. Maybe it was the way he gripped the handle. Maybe it was the way the orange rubber clung to his legs. Maybe it was just the fact that some men looked made for hard work, and Wells looked like he enjoyed every inch of it.

He liked to say a proper day on site trained everything: grip strength, control, endurance, and how to keep working when things got hot, heavy, and a little rough.

Looking at him glowing under that sunset, it was hard not to believe him.

Because Wells did not just know how to use a tool.

He knew how to make the whole site watch while he handled it.