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The tattooed man softens his hold on me, gently stroking my upper arm. “Hey, hey, it’s all good now. You’re safe.”

I let out a deeper, harder sob, leaning into his touch. My whole body shakes through violent tears, but his melodic, even tone remains gentle.

“There you go. You’re doing such a good job. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” His words leave a light fluttering in my stomach.

But I shake my head. “Everyone’s so upset, and you got harassed and shoved by him. I’m so sorry he pushed you.”

The man is silent for a while. I peek from my hands to find him looking straight at me. I hadn’t realized how dark his irises were, an endless pool of black staring back.

He sighs. “You’re so sweet to think of me, but I’m okay. I chose to step in because I care about protecting my community, and I hate that you were treated like this. He’s the one who chose to behave like a caveman, not you.”

Dropping his stare, I bite my quivering lip. Hotter tears shudder from me, but this time, they’re slow-rolling. Aching and silent.

He hums, shuffling to squat in front of me. With his wide shoulders blocking me from everyone’s view, I sigh.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“When you think you can stand, let’s take a breather somewhere less busy, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Taking his hand, I try my best to stand but collapse onto the bench behind me with a sharp hiss.

“My legs,” I whimper. I feel so pathetic.

“You can’t stand, can you? Shit, that pisses me off so much,” the man growls. “Change of plans - stay right here.” Dashing to the exercise machine he was using before Josh’s outburst, the tattooed man digs through his gym bag. I glance at the other gym-goers in my peripherals, but thankfully, they’ve stopped staring. Either way, I have an unavoidable need to hide. I hunch over myself, wrapping my arms around my waist.

The tattooed man returns with furrowed brows. “Does your stomach hurt?”

“N-no, sorry, I–” I shake my head, deciding there’s too much to explain that won’t make sense to anyone else. He doesn’t need to know about my crippling, residual anxiety or how Josh reminded me of my father in his worst outbursts.

Maybe the man understands, or maybe he has no idea I’m struggling to speak, and he’s simply a patient person. He squats, balancing a plushy stick over his knees. “Have you seen one of these before?”

He offers the padded stick to me. As I grasp it, I’m surprised the plushy portion spins.

“Let’s try to lessen the damage so you’re not suffering as much later. Roll this over your leg muscles where it hurts. If your arms feel too tired and you’d like some help, let me know.” He nods as I roll the stick over my thighs. “There you go. Good job.”

I don’t know what it is about him - maybe the way he softens his voice when he says encouraging things, or maybe the stark contrast of his sweetness against the sharp tattoo designs clawing over every inch of his arms and legs - but a thrilling warmth builds in my core. I want to know more about him.

“What’s your name? I’m Lilibet– Lily,” I blurt out.

He peeks at me from tying his shoes, moving just his dark, steady gaze. “What was that first name you said?”

My stomach flips. “Oh, um– Lilibeth. It’s just my full name, but everyone gets it wrong.”

“Ah, yes. I know a lot about that, Lilibeth.” He relaxes into his casual crouch like he didn’t set off a tingling avalanche of nerves in my chest by saying my full name. “My name’s Remington, but people just call me Rem, or Remi.”

Wiping the last tears from my eyes, I smile. “Oh. What do you like better?”

He doesn’t exactly smile, only quirking up one side of his mouth. “Depends on the person. Maybe you’ll have to try them all.”

My breath hastens the longer we look into each other’s eyes. I giggle without meaning to, dropping my head. Is he flirting with me, or am I just an emotional wreck today?

“How about you?” He asks.

“I’m fine with either,” I mutter.

“Yeah? Good to know.”

A heavy silence stretches between us, but I’m left to bite my swollen lips, trying not to laugh again. Unfortunately, my muscles feel like goo, and I’ve only rolled out my thighs for one minute.

I stop rolling, instead rubbing my burning arms. Remington said he’d help me if I needed it, but do I really want a strange man rolling out my muscles? A deep, rising warmth in my belly tells me I do.

When we meet eyes, Remington’s eyebrows soften with his lips. “Do you need help?”

My shoulders rise. “Um– If that’s okay.”

“Of course. As long as you’re comfortable with me doing it for you?”

I laugh. “I-I mean, I don’t really have a choice.”

Remington pulls back. “Yes, you do. You always do, with the right people.”

My heart flips. He’s starkly serious, but I feel safer than I have all day.

“T-thank you. But I’d actually like some help still, so I’m okay with it.”

With my permission, Remington gets to work rolling out my legs. “Okay. But it’s your body, okay? You can be honest with me or that other trainer. Has he treated you harshly before?”

I shrink into myself. Remington’s scowl is tense, but he’s intensely gentle with my sore thighs. His soft rolling over them feels startlingly intimate, but I don’t want him to stop.

And I don’t think he’ll like the truth. My heart throbs into my throat. “I’ve never been here before.”

“To this gym?”

“Um— to a-any gym.”

Remington stops rolling, arching his tense eyebrows in sorrow. “Fuck, and this is your first day? God, I’m so sorry it turned out like this. There’s no need for you to be yelled at or shamed at the gym.”

Oh, God. Here comes my ugly crying face in the mirror. I press my chin to my chest to hide myself, begging my tears to evaporate, but Remington softens his voice.

“Hey, it’s okay to cry. You’re doing so great letting it out. That was traumatizing.”

Fluttery nerves swirl in my stomach, tempting me to duck my head again. But a pull in my heart towards Remington wins over my senses, and the truth comes pouring out.

“I need to carry my mom,” I say.

I clear my throat, startled by my confession. I haven’t voiced it aloud a single time in my life. Remington stares, brows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak, but judging by how confused he looks, I sputter as many explanations as possible before he asks too much.

“Sorry, just— I said that wrong. It was traumatizing, probably, but I’m more upset that I couldn’t finish my lunges either. I need to be stronger to carry a lot of things, like at work.”

Remington hums, returning his focus to my legs. “I don’t really agree that you couldn’t do the exercise. More like he was pressuring you past your limits. But what do you mean by ‘a lot of things?’ Does your job involve manual labor, or is it something back at home?”

My heart flips. I blink a few times, wishing I kept my mouth shut as usual about Mom. “I can't carry the big bags of flour or heavy pots of soup as easily as everyone else at work, and it’s really embarrassing. I've always wanted to go to the gym, but I– I'm embarrassed by how I look, and how weak I am–” My heart stings, and Remington’s eyebrows draw together. I laugh. “Sorry, you didn't ask to hear all this.”

Remington shrugs. “I didn't ask for an apology either.”

His straightforward, flat tone takes me back. Is this his version of being snappy with me? But looking into his eyes, I’m confused; his expression hasn’t changed. He looks genuinely concerned.

“If you’re apologizing because you're feeling emotional, or because you're believing that dickhead trainer that you’re weak, then I can’t accept your apology. You coming to the gym to work out despite everything you told me, and still not giving up on your workout goals now, even when faced with confrontation, was not weak. That’s fucking badass, to be honest.”

My stomach flips. “O-oh. Thank you. I mean– It’s just, either way, I really am sorry. I've been a mess since the second we met. I feel pretty weak and embarrassed.”

But Remington softens his voice. “Do you mean then that you think crying is weak?”

“I don’t know. Not when I see other people cry. But with me, it feels like everyone else thinks I’m weak, so I’ll only seem weaker if I cry.”

“I hear you on that. But crying isn’t weakness. It’s information. Your body is informing us that you’re feeling a lot right now and that what you’re feeling a lot about is something important to you. That's not good or bad. It’s just okay. You're okay.”

His words swirl to the scarred depths of my soul. Dropping my head, I let myself cry, sitting on the floor beside Remington.

Digging back into his gym bag, Remington hands me a tissue packet. “Don’t hold it in for me. Even if it takes an hour to let it out, keep crying.”

I want to laugh, but he’s dead-serious. As my smile fades, my tears burn hotter. I’ve never been told to keep crying in a non-threatening way. It feels like he’s holding space for me. It’s so kind. So gentle.

When my floodgates open, he hums. “Good. Keep taking deep breaths.”

He’s right: I’m holding my breath to stifle myself. But when I exhale, a whimper escapes with my air. I duck my head, wishing I could just stop.

But he continues to sit with me, and within minutes, my heart softens enough to erase nearly all the panic Josh created. I suddenly feel so light that I laugh.

Remington perks up. “What’s up?”

Digging through my jacket pocket, I fetch my gym membership gift card. Remington takes it from me with furrowed brows, and I groan. “I still have 9 slots left for this gym.”

I have to softly chuckle at the irony, but Remington scowls. “For how expensive it is, this place sucks ass anyway. There’s a cheaper place five blocks down called Dynamo Fitness Center - which kind of makes me laugh. But people are nicer there. They don’t act like God’s favorite gym bros.”

His sense of humor hits me by surprise, spurring a rambunctious giggle from my lips. But I sigh. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I can’t afford to use extra money on myself, so I’ll just go back to exercising in my room.”

Remington straightens. “No, I think you deserve a refund. You got straight-up harassed.”

Biting my lip, I peek at him. “I-I don’t think they’d give it to me.”

“Probably not, if this is how they treat women here.” Remington stands, holding out his hand. “But you’ve got a gym buddy now who looks like a scary meathead.”

Taking Remington’s hand, I laugh as he pulls me to my feet. “Oh. My legs feel way better.”

“Good.” He gives me another half-up grin before whipping around to shoulder his gym bag. Then he hands me mine, looking into my eyes with a bright stare. “Ready to get that refund?”

I smile. “Yes.”

We speed to the front desk, and I let out another giggle at his determined back.

“But you’re not a meathead,” I mutter.

“Am too,” he says, keeping his back to me.

I didn’t expect him to hear me, but my smile only widens. As we meet Liam’s perplexed stare at the front desk, I remember where I am; thanks to Remington, I forgot how unsafe I felt in this gym only thirty minutes ago.

Remington hands my card over the counter before I can fully catch up to him. He lowers his voice. “I need a refund.”

As I come to a stop beside Remington, he loosens his fingers to let go of my hand, but I give him a quick squeeze. He releases me, but shoots me a glance.

“You okay?” He whispers.

I bite my lip, then nod. I hadn’t seen how furious Remington suddenly looked, but his scowl is framed by smoky, graphic tattoos up his neck, intensifying his jet-black irises. Maybe he’s acting, but the seriousness behind his eyes has an edge I couldn’t personally fake. Does he care about everyone like this? With how genuinely kind his heart seems, I wouldn’t be surprised.

When Remington turns back to Liam, he gives Liam the dark staredown he gave Josh.

Liam takes my membership card, but it’s clear he has the answer before he touches the plastic; after looking between us, the card, and his monitor, Liam swallows hard. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. It's company policy. All I could give is store credit - which is basically just another gift card.”

Remington gives a sharp tsk . “What about if your staff member harassed the gym member with the gift card in front of everyone at the gym?”

As Liam glances at me, my cheeks flame hot.

But Remington stiffens. “No, don’t look at her. It’s not her fault. You’re lucky I’m not plastering this shit all over the internet to shut this place down. Who’s your manager?”

Liam clenches his jaw. “He’s– He’s on a break.”

My heart flips. “Josh?”

“Oh fuck, no.” Remington leans on the desk, digging into his pocket. Whipping out his wallet, Remington throws his gym card onto the marble with a rattling clatter. “Cancel my membership then.”

I gasp.

But Remington turns to me, softening his voice. “How about I pay for your membership to Dynamo to replace this one?”

Shaking my head vigorously, I step closer. “N-no, Rem, I couldn’t have you pay for me–”

“Well, that asshole made it impossible for you to feel safe here anymore, so what does that leave you with? That you can never go to the gym again? That’s not fair to you at all, Lilibeth.”

I drop my chin, tempted to cry again. After sharing with Remington how badly I wanted to become physically stronger, the ache in his eyes tells me he knows how deeply this incident cut my heart.

But before I can speak, Liam huffs. “Fine, fine– I’ll refund you in cash. Just– Just don’t tell Josh I was the one who gave it to you.”

Handing me a wad of cash as he safely escorts me from the gym, Remington waits until we’re fully out the gym doors to turn to me, lifting his hand for a high-five. I have to jump to slap it, and Remington bursts into laughter with me.

“I can’t believe this shit! You just scored at least 20 gym visits with how ridiculously overpriced this place is.”

My jaw drops. “W-what?!”

Remington lets out a sharp, delighted laugh. “Yeah! If they didn’t have one stupid machine I can’t find at Dynamo, I’d never go here.”

My breath catches. If Remington hadn’t come for that one machine today, I’d have gone through Josh’s harassment all alone. Remington’s eyes widen as I clutch my hands to my chest, my eyes warping with emotion.

“Remington, I–” My voice breaks. “C-can I hug you?”

His features soften into a gentle, welcoming warmth. “Thanks for asking first. Come here.”

With his big arms outstretched, I can’t help but laugh despite the tears pricking my eyes; his vibrant energy makes me want to enjoy life.

Dashing into his chest, I squeeze him hard, my tote bumping his side. Remington tightens our embrace, wrapping his full arms around my shoulders.

“Thank you for today,” I whisper.

He softly chuckles. “Even though I’m getting you all sweaty?”

I laugh. “Y-yes. I– I had a good first day now, actually.”

It’s far past time to let go, but I linger. Well, no, maybe we both are? Am I imagining it, or is his heart beating faster against my cheek too? He’s so cozy - a firm plushness to his body that makes me want to snuggle in deeper for a peaceful nap.

The second Remington lightens his hold on me, I hurry back two steps. I haven’t hugged a stranger in a long time, but Remington’s gaze flips my heart when I look at him again - ten times stronger than the first time we met eyes. It’s probably time to leave, isn’t it?

But what if I don’t want to?

Remington’s eyes zip to the cash in my hand. I gasp, hurriedly shoving it into my bag, and Remington laughs.

“I, uh–” He licks his lips, and my stomach tenses. I hadn’t realized how full they were until he wet them. He rocks on his feet, and my gut twists even tighter. Is he nervous?

The more he speaks, the faster he talks. “I wasn’t kidding about the gym buddy thing. I’d be happy to be a real gym buddy with you. Or just help you settle in at Dynamo, if you’d like. But all of this is only if you’d like–”

“Yes,” I blurt out.

My lungs are tight, and I don’t know how to stand, where to look, or what else to say, but Remington’s half-up grin almost extends into a full smile.

“Alright. Same time next week?”

I grin just as wide. “O-okay.”

“Okay.”

We stare at each other for the longest second of my life. But after it ticks by, we both let out a laugh.

“Later then, gym buddy,” Remington waves.

“Later.”

With Remington’s final smile, my heart lifts so high into the sky that I don’t know if I’ll come down from this one without crashing hard. But as we wave goodbye, the tug in my heart tells me I don’t care.