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The barbell dropped with a heavy clang at your feet, the sound echoing through the empty weight room.
Your lungs burned, chest heaving as your breath came out in sharp bursts, but even so, a grin tugged at your lips. That was the thing about lifting weights: no matter how brutal the set, the satisfaction of hard work always outweighed the ache in your muscles.
Sweat clung to your skin, making your olive green tank stick to your back as you straightened, rolling your shoulders and catching your reflection in the long mirror along the wall.
Movement flickered behind you.
Your smile faltered, gaze sharpening, before you relaxed again. You knew that frame immediately. Tall, broad, moving with a purpose. Even before his face came into focus, you recognized the way he carried himself. Simon didn’t just stroll in. He carried himself with a quiet efficiency. He was capable, dangerous even, and you could tell just by watching the man walk into the room.
You hadn’t seen him in nearly three months.
The memory of your last night at the gym came rushing back as you watched him approach. The two of you had been leaving the weight room together, splitting off toward your respective locker rooms when he’d mentioned offhandedly that he was going away for work.
“How long will you be gone?” you’d asked.
“A while,” was all he gave you, his tone as neutral as if the answer were sufficient.
Still, you’d caught yourself scanning the gym for him every night after that. For the first week or two, the disappointment hit hard each time you remembered he wasn’t coming. Eventually, you'd stopped looking.
You both preferred working out at the dead of night, when the twenty-four-hour gym was a ghost town and the weight room belonged only to you, and whoever else struggled with insomnia or was unlucky enough to work the night shift.
It was during one of those late sessions that you’d nearly crushed yourself under an overzealous bench press. You were sure you were ready to up the weight and achieve a new personal best.
You’d clipped the plates (stupid, you knew better) and the moment the bar grazed your chest you realized your mistake. Panic swelled in your lungs as you struggled, with shaking arms to get the bar back up. But you just couldn't get it there.
You kicked your leg out, knocking over your metal water bottle hoping to catch somebody's attention with the loud clang that rang out, but nobody noticed. The few other gym goers were lost in their own worlds, headphones cutting you off from any chance of help.
Your vision darkened at the edges.
Fuck. Think.
Then the weight lifted and you could breathe again. Large hands steadied the bar and racked it with ease.
“That was stupid,” Simon’s voice had cut through your gasps. “Clipping the plates with a weight you can’t lift for sure.”
That was seven months ago. You saw him again the next night.
He was in the middle of his set, headphones on, moving with that same controlled efficiency you would soon know to be habitual for him. He didn’t look at you right away, but when you stopped in front of him, refusing to move, he finally looked up and raised a brow, his expression blank beneath the shadow of his hood.
When you didn’t leave, he sighed and tugged a headphone out of one ear.
“Figured I owed you one,” you said, holding out an energy drink. It was the same kind you’d seen him bring into the gym the night before.
He glanced at it, then back at you. “Don’t owe me anythin’,” he grunted.
You hadn't expected that. Your small smile faltered. You shifted on your feet, feeling awkward. “Still.” You bent down and set the can next to his plastic water bottle. “Thanks.”
And then you walked away.
The next time you saw him was a few nights later. You were on the bench again, though this time you weren’t pushing stupid numbers. The memory of panic still lingered whenever the bar hovered too long over your chest. You weren't going to let it keep you from lifting altogether, but maybe you'd push smaller numbers for awhile.
You hadn’t noticed him until you slid the weight back onto the rack and sat up, wiping sweat from your face. That’s when you realized he was standing there, arms folded loosely, looming over you.
Your brows pulled together as you looked up at him.
“Figured you could use a spotter,” he said, voice casual, “in case you tried to kill yourself again.”
You blinked, startled at both his bluntness and the fact that he’d walked over at all. Then you let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I'm fine, but if you want to hang out, that's fine, I guess.”
Sliding back down onto the bench, you wrapped your hands around the bar again, the faintest sense of reassurance settling in your chest with his presence nearby.
After that, it became an unspoken arrangement.
You spotted for him. He spotted for you. Neither of you had to ask, it was just understood. Sometimes he’d nod at your set-up, other times he’d wordlessly take position behind you, hands steady near the bar until you racked it again. In return, you did the same for him.
You traded energy drinks occasionally. An unopened can left near your water bottle. No words or explanation needed, just a silent exchange.
You liked Simon. He was easy to be around. He didn’t talk too much and when you hit a new personal best, he’d give you a single approving nod. Even once, as you bounced up and down, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, he'd smiled at you. He'd paired it with a roll of his eyes, like you were being too much, maybe even annoying, but you knew better.
You'd thought about that smile for weeks.
And slowly, it became something you looked forward to. Late nights when the gym was nearly empty, the clang of weights filling the silence, and Simon at your side.
You always wondered if he looked forward to it as much as you did.
It'd been a lonely three months. You hadn't realized just how much you'd gotten used to working out with someone. You returned back to your habit of playing your music a bit too loudly and keeping to yourself.
But now he was back.
He wasn’t dressed for the gym, though. No shorts, no sneakers. Instead, he wore jeans tucked into heavy boots and his usual black hoodie, the hood pulled up over his shadowed face.
But you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face.
As he reached you, you tugged your headphones down to hang around your neck. “You’re back,” you said, still a little breathless from your set.
Simon kept his hands buried in his hoodie pockets as he looked down at you. His height always forced you to crane your neck, making you feel small in a way you weren't used to.
For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes sweeping the gym like he was checking corners. Then, without meeting your gaze, he said quietly, “I’d like to see you. Outside of here, I mean.”
You blinked. After so many months gone, you’d expected at least a hello. But despite the bluntness, you found yourself nodding.
“Yeah. Okay,” you said, warmth creeping into your chest. “I’d like that.”
His unreadable gaze finally dropped back to yours, heavy but silent, as he just stared at you expectantly. He was waiting.
“Oh, now?” you asked, startled.
Simon stared, expression unchanging. “Fancy a pint?”
You wiped your sweaty hands on your pants. “Alright. Sure. But—” you gestured toward the mirror, toward your flushed, disheveled reflection. Your cheeks were red from exertion, loose strands of hair plastered to your skin. Your bun was messy and you wore grey sweatpants that sat low on your hips, with scuffed white sneakers completing the look. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
Simon’s gaze flicked over you once, slow and deliberate, before settling back on your eyes. His voice was low when he spoke.
“Look fine to me.”
Heat flared in your cheeks, and you prayed he’d mistake it for leftover exertion from your deadlift. That was the closest thing to a compliment you’d ever gotten from him, that wasn't about your physical performance. You cleared your throat.
“Let me rerack my weights and grab my bag.”
“Get your duffle,” he said, brushing past you toward the barbell. “I’ll take care of the plates.”
You hesitated, watching the easy way he moved to the bar, already stripping it down. For a moment, you watched him unable to fight the smile tugging at your lips. Then you turned and slipped into the locker room, pulling your bag from the cubby where it sat.
The grin returned full force as you slung the strap over your shoulder. He was back. After all this time, Simon had come home, and more importantly, he wanted your company.
Simon was always hard to read. Some nights, he hardly said a word and when he did, it was never anything personal. You had tried once.
“So,” you’d asked during one of his sets, “what do you do?”
“Military,” he’d grunted without looking at you, pushing through his reps.
You were intrigued. “Oh, what do you do in the military?”
He had racked the bar, sat up, and vacated the bench, ignoring the question altogether. “Your turn.”
You had stopped asking after that. But still, despite his guarded persona, despite how much he kept locked away, you liked being around him. He was kind, in his quiet, blunt way, that let you know that the parts of him he was letting you see were authentic.
Which was probably how you'd begun to harbor feelings for him. You told yourself it was a little schoolgirl crush that would never amount to anything. Besides, you wouldn't want to risk ruining a good thing, right?
You hitched the strap of your duffle higher on your shoulder, pausing in front of the mirror one last time. Your reflection stared back with flushed cheeks and a sweat darkened tank top. You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. A pint at midnight. In your gym clothes. Not exactly how you’d pictured a first… whatever this was.
When you stepped back into the weight room, Simon was waiting near the front, posted casually against the squat rack. The bar you’d left loaded was stripped, plates stacked, clips hung, just as he’d said.
“Thanks for that,” you said as you crossed the room.
He pushed off the rack and headed for the exit. “C’mon.”
You fell in beside him, the pair of you slipping out through the double glass doors into the quiet night. The carpark was near empty, a faint mist rising low to catch the glow of the streetlamps, leaving the whole area covered in a blue haze.
Simon’s truck waited in the corner of the lot, a beat-up old thing you recognized instantly despite not having seen it in weeks. He opened the passenger door for you.
You gave a small laugh as you climbed in. “Last chance. You sure you want to be seen in public with me like this?”
His mouth twitched, more a shadow of a smirk than the real thing, making your pulse skip. “Wouldn’t have asked if I cared.”
The pub he chose was nothing flashy. A squat brick building at the edge of town, half-forgotten in daylight but now alive with a warm glow behind curtained windows. He pulled around the side and killed the engine.
“You been here before?” you asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, few times. It’s usually quiet.”
Just as he said, it was pretty empty inside. An old man was hunched at the bar and two college aged guys played darts in the back. The bartender, silver hair scraped into a bun, acknowledged Simon with a nod.
“Two?” she asked.
“Yeah. In the back,” he replied.
You were shown to a booth tucked near a fogged window. Vinyl cracked faintly as you slid in across from one another. Menus were dropped in front of you.
“Guinness,” Simon said without looking. His eyes lifted to yours. “You?”
You handed the menu back. “Same. And fries, if the kitchen’s still open.”
“It is,” the bartender assured, already heading back towards the bar.
You leaned back in your seat, watching Simon appraisingly for a moment. He looked tired.
“You missed this place?”
Simon’s shoulders shifted, a small shrug. “Missed not sharing a bunk with other blokes.”
You smiled softly. “But now you’re back.”
He nodded. “Now ‘m back.”
You let the pause stretch before speaking, voice quieter now. “Did you miss me?”
He didn’t answer at first. His gaze dropped to the table, thumb dragging along the edge of the coaster. Then his eyes lifted, steady, unreadable.
“Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.”
Your chest tightened, and you tilted your head, encouraging him to go on.
“I thought about texting,” he admitted, voice low. “Didn’t seem fair, with me gone. Figured… ‘f I came back and you wanted to see me, maybe that meant something.”
The bartender returned, wordlessly sliding two dark pints onto the table with a plate of fries. She didn't linger.
You lifted your glass, holding it just above the wood. “To coming home.”
Simon’s gaze locked on yours as he raised his own, a smile touching his lips. He didn’t repeat your little toast, but he did watch you with that familiar look in his eye. A look you now recognized as affection.
By the time you left the pub, the night had settled into the kind of silence that only comes in the early morning hours. You walked toward his truck without hurry. Neither of you very eager to let the night end.
Simon’s hands stayed tucked into his pockets, shoulders no longer braced in that perpetual tension you’d come to expect from him. His stride felt more relaxed, somehow.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
He gave a small nod, eyes ahead. “Yeah. Better than I’ve been in a while, ‘f I’m honest.”
And then he added, almost to himself, “It’s strange.”
You tilted your head. “What is?”
“Lettin’ someone in. I’ve spent years keeping things locked down. ‘S easier that way.” He paused, searching for the right words. “But you never pushed. You were just... there.”
You didn’t fill the silence and didn’t pressure him to expand on what he meant. You just enjoyed the moment. Another quiet moment just for the two of you.
Finally, he stopped walking and looked at you fully, and for the first time since you’d known him, there was no wall between you. No careful detachment. No gruff deflection. Just Simon.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to,” you told him quietly, remembering how he’d avoided telling you about his work.
“I know.” His mouth tugged up faintly. “M’ready, though.”
It wasn’t a grand declaration, but it didn’t need to be.
Sometimes the most important shift wasn’t a loud proclamation, but simply a glance held a little longer, words spoken with vulnerability, the quiet choice to let someone stand close enough to see you as you really are.
As he opened the truck door for you, you climbed in, feeling something warm settle in your chest.
Whatever this was between you, although undefined at the moment, it was real. Because Simon had finally lowered his walls, and he was choosing you to let in.