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It’s a week into the semester when Zayn finally makes it to the gym for the first time. Well, technically it’s not the first time – he’d been by during the open house and tours and such, and he’d done his research to make sure it had all the facilities he’d need, talked it over with his trainer and such, but – this is his first time actually, like, using it.
He quickly heads down to the locker room to get changed, pulling on loose shorts and a worn t-shirt, then stows the rest of his things away. He spends a few minutes tying his shoes and fiddling with his socks… then grits his teeth and forces himself to quit stalling.
As he steps out into the main area, he wonders what kind of attitude he’ll find here. Will everyone be bro-y and competitive, just here for the #gainz? Maybe it’ll be all athletes, anyone else slowly iced out as the football players and hockey players and soccer players and baseball players hog the space. Those are what he’s found in most gyms he’s been to. The gyms that have a sense of community or camaraderie are few and far between, and he’s not foolish enough to expect to find that here.
The main level is a bit crowded, students not exhausted from classes yet and full of good intentions for the year ahead. But the second floor is quieter, and Zayn finds an unoccupied treadmill to start his warmup on. He sets it for a 15 minute interval training set, going from brisk walks to full sprints and back again.
There are three minutes left when someone gets onto the treadmill to his left. Zayn glances over, noting a muscular young man with sandy hair cropped short on the sides, and a soft swoop over his forehead. A handful of dark tattoos paint his tan skin, and Zayn takes a moment to catalog some of them – a series of chevrons, a feather, some sort of flower – but when he looks up, he realizes the boy is watching him back.
“Hey,” the stranger says, giving a friendly nod and a smile. “How’s it going?”
“Uh, just got here,” Zayn says. “I’m a freshman, so kind of feeling out the place.”
The boy’s smile brightens. “Me too,” he says. “I’m Liam, majoring in sports journalism. What about you?”
“I’m Zayn,” Zayn says. “Studying kinesiology.”
“Cool,” Liam says. “So what sport do you do play?”
“Sport?” Zayn coughs. “I’m not – I mean, I’m an athlete, but not… sport, exactly. I’m a dancer.”
“Oh!” Liam’s cheeks flush a soft pink. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed – I’m always putting my foot in my mouth, I swear. And I mean – dance is cool! Still takes a lot of, like, skill and strength and – sorry, I’m babbling.”
Zayn chuckles softly. “You’re all good,” he says. “I take it you’re an athlete too?”
“Yeah.” Liam smiles nervously. “I’m on the football team – tight end.”
Zayn nods. “Cool,” he says. His machine beeps, letting him know his 15 minutes is over, and then starts to slow to a stop. “Sorry, I don’t know shit about football, but… welcome to OSU, I guess? As much as someone who got here a week ago can welcome you.”
“You too!” Liam says. “Maybe I’ll see you around – I know it’s a big campus, with lots of students, but. You never know.”
Zayn smiles. “You certainly don’t,” he agrees. “I’m heading downstairs for the next part of my routine, but – it was nice to meet you, Liam.”
Liam waves after him. “Nice to meet you, Zayn!”
~*~
Two weeks later, Zayn is sitting in front of a wall of mirrors, going through a series of stretches. His hamstrings have been feeling particularly tight lately – probably all the walking around campus getting to classes – so he holds those ones a bit longer, breathing through the pull, letting his body relax into the movements.
Next, he practices his splits – right, left, and middle. They’re old hat by now, he’s been doing them since he was about ten, but his teachers have hammered in the idea of use-it-or-lose-it for years, so it never hurts to remind his body of what it can do, what it’s learned.
When he gets to his feet again, he feels a sense of eyes on him. He turns slowly, feeling a creeping sense of dread that he’s going to find himself in an argument with some macho man who thinks his very existence is somehow emasculating – but instead, he finds Liam from the treadmills looking at him with unabashed wonder, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“Sorry,” Liam says when Zayn meets his eyes. “I didn’t mean to stare, I just – holy smokes. That’s so cool.”
Zayn laughs, feeling the tension in his chest unwind just a little. “I’ll forgive you,” he says, “if you’ll forgive me for staring at your ink.”
Liam laughs too. “Deal,” he says. “You’ve got some nice designs yourself.”
“Thanks,” Zayn says, glancing down at his arms. They’re a wild amalgamation of styles and colors – some that he drew himself and some he just liked the look of at the shop, some meaningful and some just for fun. They’re a pain to cover up for auditions and shows, but they make his body feel like his, on the days where he feels like a slave to the dance.
He loves dancing, really – but still, some days that love is exhausting.
He looks up again as Liam grabs a weight from the racks and sits down on a bench a few feet away. He tries a few lateral lifts, but winces on the third one and sets the weight down with a sigh.
“Sore?” Zayn asks.
“Is it that obvious?” Liam makes a face. “I strained my shoulder last week at practice, and it’s still giving me hell.”
“I don’t suppose encouraging you to rest it instead of working it will help?” Zayn says with a soft chuckle.
Liam sighs again. “I probably should,” he says. “I just… I worry about keeping up with everyone, you know? Everyone else comes here practically every day; I feel like I should too. I don’t want to let the team down.”
“Injuring yourself won’t help anyone,” Zayn points out. “And if you aggravate it more, it could take even longer to heal.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “You know, sometimes I find with soreness, some gentle stretches can actually work wonders to loosen muscle tension and encourage blood flow. And if it boosts your flexibility, maybe you’ll be less likely to strain it again another time. So you’re still training something useful, even if it’s not pure strength.”
Liam looks up at him, his eyes bright. “Are you offering your expertise as a stretchy guy?”
Zayn laughs. “Just call me Elastiguy,” he says. “And sure, I can give you a few pointers.”
Liam stands eagerly, moving over to stand in front of the mirrors with Zayn. “Show me your ways.”
Zayn can’t help smiling as he guides Liam through a few of his favorite stretches, trying to focus on the arms but still throw in something for every part of the body. He talks Liam through each movement, where he should feel it, how far he should push it – and Liam is an eager student. He can’t bend half as far as Zayn (to no one’s surprise), but he gives it his all, and Zayn is quietly impressed by how far he can take some of the stretches.
When Zayn shows Liam a way to twist his back just so, Liam groans out loud at the sense of release – and if Zayn feels his face heat up a few degrees, nobody needs to know about it.
~*~
Zayn stands in the showers, letting the hot water pour down on him. He tips his head forward, hoping the heat and pressure can untwist some of the knots inside his back. He has a show coming up, so he booked one of the private studio rooms and has been running the same dance combos for almost a full hour – over and over and over, until his legs are shaking and his back is sore and the moves feel like nonsense, like repeating a word until it loses all meaning.
He doesn’t even look up when he hears someone else enter the shower, too tired to care who sees him naked. It’s a shower; they’re all on equal ground here anyways.
But when he hears a quiet squeak, it stirs some faint curiosity in his sluggish brain, just enough to lift his head – and see Liam backpedaling out of the room.
“Sorry,” Liam calls as he disappears around the corner. “I, uh, didn’t realize anyone – you – sorry, I’ll just-”
“It’s fine,” Zayn calls back with a weary laugh. “It’s a communal shower, I don’t mind sharing.”
“Oh.” Liam’s voice is higher than Zayn is used to hearing it. “I, uh, I mean, yeah, I guess, I just… um.”
Maybe it’s Liam who minds, Zayn realizes. “If you’d prefer privacy, I’m almost done,” he says.
“I – no, it’s not – I don’t-” He sighs. “Never mind. It’s fine. I’m coming in.”
“Cool.” Zayn barely opens his eyes, reaching over to grab his body wash and squirting a generous glob into his hand. He lathers up, rubbing the soap over his body with exhausted efficiency.
When he bends over to suds up his legs, he hears another squeak, and glances over at Liam just in time to see him look away, his cheeks pink. Zayn contemplates this as he finishes scrubbing down, then lets the water rinse all the bubbles away.
He peers at Liam – just carefully, just out of the corner of his eye – and though Liam studiously looks away from him for the first minute or two, it doesn’t take long before Zayn sees him glancing over again, and again, and again – never for more than a second or two, but each time, Zayn hears his breath catch, just a little.
Interesting.
Since Liam is almost certainly checking him out, Zayn thinks it’s only fair for him to return the attention – though with equal subtlety, of course. Liam’s gently bronzed skin looks even smoother as it glistens under the water, and the droplets accentuate his muscles even more distinctly than his workout clothes. He’s strong, but not stringy – there’s still a softness to his strength.
He lets his eyes slide down Liam’s body, lingering on the gentle curve of his ass – it’s a pity that with Liam facing the wall, he can’t see more.
He’d kind of like to see more.
Zayn shuts off the water with a sigh, and he hears Liam jump and almost slip.
“Careful,” he says, unable to hold back a soft laugh.
“Sorry,” Liam says. “I, um, just – startled. I’m fine.”
Yeah, you’re definitely fine, Zayn thinks to himself as he heads back into the main changing area. It’s probably a mark of how drained he is that the joke has him grinning as much as it does, but he can’t help it. And he doesn’t want to.
As he changes, he considers – should he stick around, wait for Liam? It feels weird, given… their circumstances. Asking someone out while one party is naked seems impolite. And also, he’s on the verge of falling asleep. And he’s famished.
He’ll run into Liam again soon, he’s sure. With a sigh, he hoists his bag and walks out of the locker room.
~*~
Zayn goes back to the gym the next day, but he doesn’t see Liam. He goes back the day after that, but he doesn’t see Liam. The third day, he visits three times around his classes – not to work out, just… to see.
But he doesn’t see Liam.
On the fourth day, he gets impatient. Instead of looking for Liam at the gym, he heads for the football field in the evening. And sure enough, the team is there, spread out across the lined grass.
Of course, as Zayn slips into the stands, he realizes that a) all the players look the same with their helmets and padding and b) he doesn’t actually know Liam’s last name or c) what the fuck a tight end is.
Other than the obvious, that is.
But as he sits, watching, he sees one player – number 29 – look up at the stands and do a double take. Zayn smiles, leaning against the railing as he keeps watching.
A few minutes later, the coach must call a break, as the players all jog over to the sidelines. Most of them grab water bottles or sit down on the grass for a few moments of rest.
But number 29 makes his way towards Zayn, and by the time he reaches the railing, Zayn can see Liam’s flushed face through the cage of his helmet.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” Liam echoes. “What are you doing here?”
Zayn shrugs. “Looking for you.” He holds out a thin printed piece of cardstock. “You should come to my show next week.”
Liam glances at the invite, then at Zayn. Shock registers on his face, then slowly shifts to a grin. “Only if I can take you to dinner after.”
Zayn feels a soft smile spread across his face as well. “You know,” he says, “I think that could be arranged.”