Chapter 2: Gym-timidation
Ted had a new plan.
Avoid the gym.
It was a solid plan. Logical. Effective. If he didn’t go, he wouldn’t have to risk falling off a treadmill in front of Leeds’ Most Attractive Man With the Emotional Range of a Doorframe. He could just jog in the park, do some yoga at home, maybe convince himself that walking briskly to Tesco counted as cardio.
But then Ken ruined everything.
“You’ve already paid for the month,” Ken said over brunch. “And you were the one who dragged me into that overpriced place because they had eucalyptus towels. Go. Work out. Stop being dramatic.”
“I fell, Kenneth.”
“You tripped. Mildly. And he was nice about it!”
“He said ‘nice.’ Just nice.”
“Maybe he’s a minimalist,” Ken said, stabbing his poached egg. “You like minimalism. You dated that architect who only owned black socks.”
“That man was a war crime,” Ted muttered.
Still, by Monday, guilt (and brunch carbs) won out. He went.
⸻
The gym was quiet at 7pm. Too late for the after-work crowd, too early for the night owls. Ted swiped in, heart pounding like he was going into battle. He peeked through the glass of the weights room.
No Aaron.
He exhaled.
Then immediately walked into a weights rack.
A soft clang echoed, but no one was looking. Thank God.
Ted rolled out his shoulders, jogged over to the rowing machines, and settled in, determined to have a calm, normal, functional workout like a grown adult.
Two minutes in, Aaron walked in.
Of course he did.
Wearing a grey sleeveless hoodie and black joggers, looking like a bloody Greek statue on casual Friday.
Ted considered faking a leg injury.
But Aaron didn’t seem to notice him. He headed straight for the free weights and started doing shoulder presses like it was nothing. Smooth, strong, absolutely silent. No grunts. No ego. Just… focus.
Ted tried not to look. Failed. Looked again.
Aaron caught his eye.
Ted promptly mis-pulled the rower and nearly flung himself backward.
Aaron paused. “You alright?”
“I’m great!” Ted blurted. “Just, uh—training for the… Paralympics.”
Aaron raised a brow. “Didn’t you say Olympics last time?”
Ted froze.
Caught. Immediately. This man remembered that?
“Oh, did I? I meant—mentally. Like, the mental Olympics. You know, it’s a metaphor. For life.”
Aaron stared for a moment.
Then—a smile. Small. Barely there. But definitely there.
“Right.”
Ted wanted to lie down forever. Or kiss him. But mostly lie down.
⸻
Later, in the changing room, Ted was drying his hair when Aaron walked in. They were the only two left. Ted caught Aaron’s reflection in the mirror—bare-chested, toweling off, muscles doing things muscles had no business doing.
Ted looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
Aaron opened his locker, pulling out a plain black hoodie. His phone pinged with a notification, and Ted happened to glance over.
It was Instagram.
And he had zero posts.
“Wait,” Ted said before he could stop himself, “you’ve had that account since, like, 2015. But you’ve got nothing on there.”
Aaron looked up, a bit wary. “I don’t post.”
“Not even one thirst trap?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
Ted blinked. “You’re literally a walking thirst trap.”
Aaron just shrugged. “My mate Liz made the account. She tags me in stuff. I just like them so she doesn’t get mad.”
Ted stared. “So your entire digital footprint is just liking one girl’s photos for nine years?”
Aaron nodded. “She’s very persistent.”
Ted burst out laughing.
And Aaron—smiled again. Properly this time. Still small, but warm.
Ted felt his stomach do something deeply undignified.
⸻
Outside, the drizzle had started again.
Aaron was ahead of him, pulling on a beanie that somehow made him look even more unfairly attractive. Ted jogged up beside him.
“Hey,” he said, suddenly brave, “there’s this flower stall I go to on Saturdays, near Kirkgate. The ranunculus are still in season, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
Aaron looked at him, then gave a little nod. “I like the blue ones.”
“Delphiniums?”
“Yeah. That.”
Ted grinned. “Well. See you Saturday, then?”
Aaron hesitated. Then: “Yeah. See you.”
He walked off into the Leeds mist, again. But this time Ted didn’t feel haunted. He felt—noticed.
And maybe that was the start of something.
⸻