Work Text:
Zanka stopped in front of the building and checked the app.
Yes, this was definitely the place.
He let out a sigh.
He had moved recently, and the last two weeks had been, so far, a long list of things to do: contracting internet service, checking with his landlord about the previous tenant's outstanding bills, unpacking his things, filing a complaint with the moving company for a couple of plates that broke during the move…
He needed to de-stress, and for that, he usually went to the gym.
He had made it a task to locate establishments near his apartment to try out after classes or his part-time shift, but so far, none had convinced him.
The first one had very high costs and a receptionist who was too snobby. The second was overcrowded, and he couldn't complete his routine in peace. As for the third… what he found in the showers and locker rooms was enough to convince him never to set foot there again (and to go home and shower scrupulously, even though he hadn't had direct contact).
This was the fourth place he visited.
The building looked a bit old, but it was just a few steps from the subway entrance and on a busy avenue. The directory indicated there was a dental clinic on the second floor, a language school on the third, and the last two floors with offices, half of them for rent.
The gym occupied the ground floor and the basement.
The first thing he saw upon entering was the reception desk, where a girl with a bored expression sat wearing giant headphones. She took them off when she noticed his presence.
"First time visiting us?" she asked with the practiced courtesy of someone who'd been doing the same thing all day.
"Yes," Zanka replied, taking a quick look around.
The girl nodded before explaining the internal regulations and charging for the visit.
Zanka nodded, and the receptionist gave him access through the turnstiles. He then headed to the locker room, which turned out to be clean and quite decent. Once he was ready, he looked for a place to start warming up.
While stretching, he observed his surroundings more closely. It was one of those old-school gyms, with heavy, worn-out equipment, the kind with rivets, welds, and the smell of solid iron. The floor was covered in rubber mats in different shades of gray, showing the passage of time.
Even so, the atmosphere seemed calm. There was enough space to move between the equipment, and despite the hour, the place wasn't crowded. Everyone seemed focused on their own routine, occasionally alternating cordially. No drama, no incidents.
He decided to start with something light, just to shake off the day's stress, so he grabbed some dumbbells. When he felt he'd worked enough, he moved to a treadmill to finish with a cardio session.
A little over an hour later, he headed to the locker room and then approached the receptionist without thinking twice.
"I'm interested in a membership."
*
*
*
Zanka returned two days later, after a heavy day.
He'd had to deal with an extremely difficult customer at the restaurant where he worked, and on that day's exam, he hadn't gotten the grade he was expecting. He needed to clear his head.
He greeted the receptionist politely before passing through the turnstiles and heading to the locker room. Once he was ready, he started warming up and decided that today he'd focus on strength training.
He headed to the leg extension machine, sat down, and noticed he needed to adjust the seat. The problem was, he had no idea how to do it. The machine was old and looked nothing like the machines at the gym he used to go to in his old neighborhood.
He spent several minutes looking for levers, letting out frustrated groans, and just when he was about to go to reception to report that the equipment wasn't working, someone approached.
"You're new, aren't you?"
Zanka looked at him.
He was a guy around his age, with very long dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail. His crooked smile showed off very white teeth.
"Ah, yeah… but I think this machine doesn't work," Zanka replied, frowning.
"It does work; it just has a trick to it." The guy replied before he crouched down, moved a lever underneath, and adjusted the seat without any trouble.
"Thanks…" Zanka replied.
"No problem," the guy replied lightly. "If you have any more questions, just let me know," he added, his crooked smile still in place.
Zanka watched him walk away. The dread headed boy stopped to chit-chat with another person that was a couple of machines over there, and that's when Zanka paid more attention to his appearance.
He was wearing loose pants and a tank top that showed off a physique that could serve as an anatomy lesson: strong but not exaggerated arms, a V-shaped back, defined shoulders, and from what could be seen, marked obliques.
He looked away before his mind could start imagining what else might be under that shirt.
He adjusted the weight and started his usual routine.
Or that had been the original idea. After the second set, he started to feel tired.
"Hey, everything okay?"
Zanka barely managed to hide his surprise. It was the same guy from before.
"Yeah, why?" he replied, raising an eyebrow
"Well… I can hear the plates clanking from over there," the guy commented, shrugging.
Zanka frowned, trying to hide the heat at the tips of his ears.
"Are you sure the plates have the correct label?" the blue-eyed boy asked. "Because this is the weight I used to lift at my old gym, but on this machine, it feels heavier."
"Let me guess… you're from one of those fancy franchise gyms, aren't you?" the guy with dreads asked with a small laugh.
"And what if I am?" Zanka frowned even more.
"Whoa, no need for that attitude," he replied with an amused expression. "The machines at those places soften the movement at the start and end. These don't. You rely solely on your own resistance and good mechanics."
"And what does that mean?" Now Zanka was confused.
"I'll show you! Take off one weight plate."
Zanka looked at him for a moment, hesitating, but eventually agreed.
"Now, lift slowly, and when you reach full extension, lower it slowly. You're the one who should control the descent, the machine won't do it for you. Don't let the metal win."
He did as instructed. The lift was relatively easy, but on the way down, he could feel the metal plates trying to pull him down. He was forced to resist, feeling the muscles in his legs fighting against the metal.
"Just like that! How many reps were you planning on doing?"
"Four sets of fifteen…"
But at the rate things were going, he was starting to doubt he could complete them.
"Hmm… since you're still adapting to the movement, why don't you try dropping it to twelve? You can go back up to fifteen later, and in another session, try again with the weight you used to lift."
Zanka nodded. It seemed like a reasonable suggestion.
The boy with dreads kept watching, probably to make sure he maintained proper form. Every now and then, other members would pass by and greet him with a fist bump or a wave from a distance.
He must be a very popular trainer, Zanka thought.
"Sorry, what's your name?"
"Jabber," he replied with a lopsided smile. "What about you?"
"Zanka," he replied, finishing his set and taking a break.
"Well, Zanka, I think you've got the hang of it now. If you have any other questions, I'll be over there."
And with that, Jabber walked off to another area of the gym.
*
*
*
Two more days passed, and Zanka returned to the gym.
This time, it had been a relatively calm day, and he just wanted to burn off some energy before heading back to his apartment to have dinner and be able to fall asleep.
He greeted the receptionist, who just nodded, changed his clothes in the locker room, started warming up, and headed to the dumbbell area to begin a set of chest presses. He grabbed the first barbell he saw and placed it on the rack, then took a set of plates that felt much heavier than the weight indicated.
He let out a sigh. Apparently, he'd have to adjust the weight here too.
Once he secured the plates, he lay down on the bench and was about to start his sets when he felt a sharp pull in his right wrist, and the barbell threatened to tilt dangerously to that side, out of his control.
Before the iron could tip completely, a pair of calloused hands grabbed the barbell by the center, stabilizing it immediately.
"I see you grabbed the crooked barbell," Jabber said in an amused tone. Then he helped Zanka guide the barbell back to the rack.
"And how was I supposed to know it was crooked?" Zanka replied with a frown.
"Do you always have that attitude when someone helps you?" he asked with that lopsided smile that showed off his perfect teeth.
"Thanks…" Zanka replied, looking away to the side, ignoring the heat that was beginning to build in his cheeks.
Jabber let out a small laugh.
"Come on, I'll show you a trick," he said, starting to walk toward the racks at the back. Zanka followed him.
"When you're about to grab a barbell, roll it on the floor first." Immediately, Jabber placed the barbell on the ground and gave it a push with his foot. "Can you see how it does that in the center?" he pointed out when the ends of the barbel seemed to lift slightly off the ground as it spun. "That means it's crooked."
Then he grabbed another barbell from the rack and repeated the experiment.
"This one is straight!" he exclaimed when it rolled cleanly across the floor.
"Why are they bent?" Zanka asked, raising an eyebrow.
"They accumulate heavy training over the years," Jabber replied, shrugging. "Come on. Let's replace your barbell with this one."
They returned to the bench and set everything up. Then Zanka lay down on the bench and got ready to start his sets when Jabber stopped him.
"I wouldn't lift like that if I were you."
"I've always lifted this way," Zanka replied.
"Well, you've been doing it wrong. Your trainer never told you?" Jabber asked, raising an eyebrow.
"…I learned on my own with tutorials," Zanka admitted reluctantly.
"Ah, that explains a lot," Jabber let out a small laugh at the end.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Zanka frowned.
"That if you keep lifting with your elbows at that angle, you're going to blow out your shoulder."
And then, without warning, Jabber's hands pressed lightly on his shoulders, pushing them back and forcing him to slightly puff out his chest; then they traveled to his lower back, ensuring a slight arch against the bench; and finally, he adjusted his arms to the correct angle.
Zanka froze for an extra fraction of a second. His heart was beating hard, his cheeks were beginning to warm, and he could still feel the ghost of Jabber's calloused hands on him.
"Now try it like that," Jabber said, with a lopsided smile when he finally finished adjusting him into the correct posture.
Zanka forced himself to focus on the exercise and noticed that the movement was, indeed, easier. He no longer felt those occasional clicks in his shoulder joints.
"Thanks…" he said when he finished the set, pretending the heat on his face was purely from the physical activity.
"Just don't hurt yourself, okay?" Jabber said before walking away.
Zanka continued with the rest of his sets, concentrating as hard as he could on the movement so he wouldn't think about Jabber's hands on him, or that lopsided smile with perfect teeth, or his dark eyes with that curious purple tint, or how good the sleeveless hoodie he was wearing today looked on him, or…
Oh, crap…
He finished that set and wiped off his sweat after placing the barbell back on the rack. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out Jabber talking to another couple of members, laughing and joking around.
He let out a sigh.
*
*
*
In the following days, Zanka went to the gym religiously at the same time.
The reason? To improve his physical condition, build a little more muscle mass, and get all the day's stress out.
Yes. That was definitely it.
It had nothing to do with Jabber, of course not.
He warmed up and started his routine, completely focused on his own business. Or at least, he tried to be.
"If you keep doing deadlifts like that, you're not going to see results. Try it this other way," Jabber commented one day, just before correcting his posture.
Zanka just felt his cheeks warm up.
On another occasion, he was taking a break between sets, feeling more tired than usual, when Jabber suddenly appeared beside him, offering him a thermos of coffee.
"It improves performance," he explained.
Zanka stared at him for a moment before taking a sip.
Jabber would show up regularly to correct his technique when he went to the dumbbell area or used a new machine. Sometimes he'd just come over to chat for a couple of minutes between sets and then leave.
But every time it happened, Zanka couldn't help feeling his pulse quicken.
He's a trainer. It's his job, he told himself each time.
Even so, he couldn't help scanning the gym for him. Sometimes he'd find him chatting with a group of muscular guys, other times with that older man who came by every so often for health reasons, and other times he'd be using some equipment himself, doing short but intense sets.
Zanka supposed that was to be expected if he wanted to maintain the physique he had.
He also reminded himself that he couldn't just stare at Jabber indefinitely, no matter how good he looked lifting all that weight.
The blue-eyed boy knew what a gym crush was. He'd heard experiences about it, and in general, the consensus seemed to be that you only used it as motivation to show up, avoiding interaction beyond what was strictly necessary.
Well… his situation was slightly different.
What was he supposed to do if his gym crush was the coach?
"Are you done for today?" Jabber asked, appearing suddenly when Zanka was heading toward the treadmills to finish with some cardio.
"Yeah… I've done what I wanted," he replied, trying to sound casual.
"Don't forget to rest, that's when muscle is built." Jabber had his characteristic lopsided smile.
Zanka's heart skipped a beat.
He never thought he'd have a gym crush, and he definitely didn't expect it to be someone on the gym's staff.
He couldn't deny that Jabber motivated him to show up even on those heavy days when he sometimes just felt like going home and doing nothing, and that he was starting to feel the results of his technical corrections.
He knew there was nothing wrong with asking him questions (which he had several) or requesting help to improve his routine. Still, he kept his distance because he didn't want to seem too obvious.
But… would it really be so bad?
He could allow himself a consultation or two, right?
"Hey…" he called out just as Jabber was about to turn away. "…What do you recommend I eat as a pre-workout?"
Jabber looked at him for a second before smiling from ear to ear.
Immediately, he began giving him different options depending on how much time he had available before training.
Zanka listened attentively, taking mental notes of the advice… and the way his lips moved.
When he finally reached the locker room, he couldn't hide the smile on his face.
*
*
*
From that day on, Zanka began to approach Jabber more often, voicing his doubts and asking for advice.
Jabber didn't seem to mind his evident preference over the other trainers, in fact, he seemed genuinely happy to share his knowledge.
Zanka wanted to keep better track of his training routine? Jabber would recommend the apps he'd tried, with pros and cons.
A routine focused on back? Jabber would put one together for him, considering his weekly frequency and without neglecting the other muscle groups.
Dietary modifications? No problem. Jabber would recommend simple recipes rich in protein and fiber.
As the days went by, Zanka began putting Jabber's advice into practice and noticed how his performance at the gym improved little by little. He could lift more weight, sometimes do more reps, and overall, he felt more energized.
There were also days when Jabber pushed his limits.
"Is that all, Mr. Bad Attitude? Do it for real!"
Do it for real… what made him think he wasn't doing it for real?
Zanka was on the leg press. Jabber had progressively added more weight, and now he was gritting his teeth as he tried to complete the set.
"You're the one who got excited adding weight!" he grunted as he finished that rep.
How many were left? He'd lost count…
"Because you can lift it! Come on! Show me what you've got!"
The blue-eyed boy took a breath and made a Herculean effort to lift the weight. Slowly but surely, the press rose completely. Jabber smiled delightedly while Zanka felt his soul almost leave his body.
Just when he felt his legs starting to tremble and could give out at any moment, Jabber stepped forward and set the safeties.
"That wasn't so bad, see?"
Zanka just let out a sigh before taking a sip from his water thermos… but feeling incredibly satisfied with himself.
His legs were going to hurt tomorrow.
*
*
*
Another couple of days passed, and Zanka returned to the gym.
He changed clothes, warmed up, and started his routine for the day. However, he finished his first sets, and there was no sign of Jabber.
At first, he didn't think much of it, but he finished his sets and moved on to the next machine, and the next. That's when he scanned the entire gym.
Jabber wasn't there.
That was strange. Jabber was always there at that time.
He probably took the day off, he thought. Still, he couldn't help the wave of disappointment.
Another couple of days passed, and exactly the same thing happened. Jabber wasn't at the gym.
Zanka told himself that maybe he'd just taken a vacation and clung to that idea throughout his entire routine. However, a thought began to take root in his head: He could have told me.
He ignored the slight pang that shot through his chest.
When he finished his session and headed to the exit, he approached the receptionist.
"Excuse me." The girl with the giant headphones looked up. "Do you know when Jabber is coming back?"
"Jabber?" She gave him a confused look.
"Jabber. Long dreadlocks, loud laugh, this height…" he placed his hand slightly above his head to emphasize.
"No… why would I know that?" she replied, raising an eyebrow.
Zanka looked at her, slightly exasperated by her attitude.
"Don't you keep a record of staff days off or something?"
The girl looked at him for a second, her expression slowly changing until suddenly, something seemed to click.
"Wait… you think Jabber works here?"
Now it was Zanka's turn to look bewildered.
"What do you mean…? He's a trainer, isn't he?"
"No." The girl stared at him. "He's a member. He pays his subscription at the beginning of the month, just like everyone else."
Zanka stared at her, dumbfounded.
"…a member?" he repeated slowly.
That couldn't be possible. Jabber had helped him correct his technique, put together his routine, establish a meal plan, and given him several more tips.
"For years now. Didn't you know? I thought he was your gym bro or something."
Gym bro?
Zanka did a mental review of all his previous interactions with Jabber, looking for any sign, any clue, anything that could disprove what the receptionist was saying.
But he didn't remember Jabber ever mentioning that he was part of the gym's staff…
Zanka had never asked him directly either.
He'd simply assumed.
His face began to turn red with embarrassment.
*
*
*
Zanka avoided the gym for at least a full week, opting to just go running around his neighborhood instead.
At first, he considered canceling his membership, moving out of the city, out of the country, and starting a new life as an alpaca farmer under a false identity. But his body had already gotten used to training, and eventually, he felt that just running wasn't enough.
When he finally worked up the courage to return to the gym, he greeted the receptionist with the most neutral expression he could muster. Nevertheless, he noticed the amused smile that appeared on the girl's face.
He passed through the turnstiles with all the dignity that the heat on his face allowed, thinking the best thing to do would be to change his clothes quickly and start warming up as soon as possible so he could blame it on physical activity.
He began his warm-up sets in the dumbbell area when suddenly he felt someone approaching.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Bad Attitude!"
Zanka tensed from head to toe.
"…Hey."
"I didn't see you all week!" Jabber continued in a cheerful tone, grabbing a couple of dumbbells.
"…I was busy," Zanka replied, feigning indifference.
"I get it! I also had things to do out of town for a few days," Jabber replied, before starting his set.
They continued lifting weights side by side, Jabber with his usual carefree attitude while Zanka felt more and more uncomfortable with every passing second.
Jabber was a member, just like him. Zanka had thought he was a trainer and had asked him for a ton of advice.
But Jabber had approached him first, hadn't he? He'd gotten him out of trouble when he was just starting out at this gym. That's why he'd gotten confused in the first place.
Why had he approached him?
That was the question that had been spinning in Zanka's head for days.
Was it because Jabber was simply a good guy?
Was it because Zanka really looked that pathetic?
Was it something Jabber regularly did when he saw a lost newbie?
When they finally finished their set and were about to take a break, Zanka couldn't take it anymore.
"Hey…" Zanka began. Jabber looked at him attentively. "Why did you never tell me you weren't a trainer?"
Jabber blinked.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
"Huh…? You… thought I was a trainer…?" Jabber asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
"…Yeah," Zanka admitted, looking away to the side.
Jabber looked at him for another very long second before letting out a snort and starting to laugh, softly at first, then in full-blown laughter.
Zanka just felt his face begin to burn. He only wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
"What made you think that?" Jabber asked, wiping a tear from his eye.
"How was I supposed to know you weren't? Nobody here wears a uniform!" he defended himself, frowning with an exasperated tone.
Jabber let out a small laugh.
"Well… since apparently I was your personal trainer for weeks, I think it's only fair that I ask for some compensation, don't you think?" Jabber sported his characteristic lopsided smile.
Zanka stared at him. He wasn't sure if the other was serious or not.
"What kind of compensation?" he asked cautiously.
"Let me take you on a date."
"Huh?"
"Ever since I saw you, I thought you were cute." Jabber smiled, showing all his teeth. "Then we started talking more, and… I really liked you."
Zanka was perplexed.
"You call me Mr. Bad Attitude…"
"That's exactly your charm," Jabber replied, biting his lip.
The blue-eyed boy just felt the blood rushing to color his cheeks. He pretended to clear his throat to hide it.
"I suppose a date wouldn't be so bad…" he replied, looking away and feigning disinterest.
Jabber let out a small laugh.
They exchanged numbers after weeks of coexisting in the same gym, and Jabber agreed to send him the details by text.
That night, Zanka returned home, feeling stupidly happy. He prepared his dinner and was about to go brush his teeth before bed when his phone vibrated.
It was a message from Jabber.
Good night, Mr. Bad Attitude <3
Zanka read the message and lay down on his bed. If he stared at the text for ten minutes, smiling like an idiot… that was his business and no one else's.