all4yug:

car ghost wrote this cause i cant spell or anything so thank @wantanymukewiththatcake

It’s 5 in the morning and you want to fucking kill your friend. Why? Because they’re forcing you to work out with them in a public gym. Public as in anyone can see you, specifically fit anyones that probably make fun of unfit everyone else’s (like you). “It’ll be fun,” they said, pushing you through the gym doors. “You’ll feel great afterwards.“ 

Well, fuck afterwards, because right now you feel like absolute shit. The digits beside "Calories Burned” are mocking you, pressuring you to increase the speed of the treadmill. You want to, but not really, considering the fact you’re probably going too fast already. Next to you, your friend is doing insanely better. Of course. Their numbers are WAY higher than yours and they’ve barely broken a sweat. You, on the other hand, are soaking wet. It seems your post-gym shower may include tears. Just as expected

You look away, trying to ignore the fact that you suck ass, only to make eye contact with the most beautiful person to ever walk this earth. His eyes are the warmest brown you’ve ever seen, warmer than his skin–but fuck, his skin is just as pretty. He’s sweating (but, like, in the hot way), making him practically glow in the sunlight coming from the windows just beside him. 

He smiles and turns away, adjusting the weights so he can go back to bench pressing them and wait. Fuck. He lifts. 

You almost turn fully towards him, but you stop yourself. Right…running. Yeah.

But then he lays on his back and calls his friend over. And then–THEN–he lifts the weight above his head, biceps bulging, face reddening and then–

“Fuck!” you scream, tripping over yourself and falling onto the treadmill. It pushes you backwards as you scramble to get up, causing you to land on the ground. Hard. And on your fucking face, at that.

Groaning, you stand up with the help of your friend who finally stopped showing off their greatness. You cover your face, feeling it heat up in absolute embarrassment. You’re hoping no one saw but judging by the newfound silence…

“You alright?” Wait. That’s not their voice…?

With your hands still covering most of your face, you look up (wow, tall much?), peaking through the cracks between your fingers. It’s him. The beautiful brown boy who caused this disaster. “Um. Maybe?" 

He laughs. And damn, even his laugh is beautiful. And that smile? You’re going to die, you’re sure of it.

This isn’t fair.

"You hurt? Bruised? Scratched?” You stare at him. “Do you need ice? I can walk you to the front desk. They have a freezer in the back room,” he suggests, glancing between you and your friend.

Lowering your hands, you glare at your friend, telepathically telling them to stay put. They stare at you blankly, clueless. You sigh and turn back to the friendly stranger. “Yeah, that’d be sweet of you,” you say, forcing yourself to make eye contact and not explode. “Thank you.”

He smiles again and you take control of your raging hormones. Maybe. You’re not jumping him so that counts. Hopefully.

Your friend calls for you but with one glare and a middle finger forced their way, they shut up. “So…come here often?” You laugh, glancing down at your aching body. “What do you think?”