Work Text:
Naib shunts his hood over his head as he pushes through the glass double doors of the gym, avoidant from the get go. He's blasted by air conditioning angled at the entrance, which puffs his hoodie up for a brief moment and freezes the sweaty soup he'd worked up trudging the sidewalks to get here. He shudders, squints, then pulls out his phone as his feet carry him through the hall to the gym floor, knowing the layout by heart.
Campbell (theater)
yeahh check the 2nd floor he runs alot
cardio or whatever the fuck
Treadmills or the track up there?
treads
Thanks
💪👍 goodluck
It's not noisy like he's used to—if it were Thursday and three months ago he'd be hitting the weights with William and competing lap times on the upstairs track—Naib slouches when he realizes William will likely be holding the last record he got, forever. Right now it's empty benches and cable machines with some students puttering around the door that leads to the court in the interior of the gym. Naib turns for the stairs.
All of this time later, he's finally aware enough to take each step at a moderate pace, instead of plodding up two at a time like before. The frustration that itches at the base of his spine every time a reminder of what was typical for him has become a can’t isn't lost on him now. Maybe Naib is glad he hasn't done a real set since the game.
The second floor has a long line of treadmills, flat and incline, looking through tall windows at the court below, which the students have finally gotten into and started to throw a basketball around. Aside from that, just past the glass and in a tight loop around the whole space, the elevated track encircles the court, bright with the sun streaming in and empty. He turns back for the only person working out on a Monday afternoon when the rest of the college has class or better things to do like each lunch. God, he's hungry.
Aesop is a short silhouette at the end of the grouping of treadmills, going at a moderate pace and dressed in a grey tank and blue joggers. Naib can hear him huffing, but not outright panting, as he draws near enough to realize he's going at it with near-complete focus, earbud wires and ponytail jostling with each step. Naib juts his hands into his hoodie pocket for a moment and chews at his lip as he's stood a good five feet away, the irritation of all his morning spent hunting down who was supposed to be mentoring him ripening, the man indeed having fucked off to do as he pleased. Getting Norton’s phone number was bad enough, but realizing his first week spent in his new program was going to be halfway dictated by this person?
“Aesop,” his first attempt is moderate, probably not loud enough to get him off the treadmill even without headphones in. He shuffles a step closer and tries again, one hand cupping his mouth.
“Hey! Aesop!”
Nothing. Not even a twitch of his head. Naib isn't going for three strikes.
He moves to the front corner of the treadmill, smacking the end of the machine and glaring up at Aesop.
“Yo! Hello!?”
In sequence, he watches the actor's eyes widen at his sudden appearance, his normally poised face scrunch up in anger, then fall apart in shock as his body isn't as vindictive as his brain. Legs stumbling, the run aborts late, at the end of the belt, and the emergency stop clip attached to Aesop's tank top yanks the magnet from the console. He stumbles into the front and the handrails with an undignified yelp.
That probably wilts his ego enough. Naib stands up straighter and does his very best not to smirk.
Aesop recovers quickly however, bracing one hand against the handrail and the other coming up to rip an earbud out, loud and cheap enough for the tinny sound of an electronic pop song to burst out.
“—all I ever ever wanted baby my Elysian—”
“What!?” he fumes, raging but seemingly unimpressed despite Naib’s surprise. The question leaves their anger being at similar levels.
“You were supposed to be at the theater an hour ago!” Naib jabs a finger in Aesop's direction. “Helping me ‘settle in,’ remember??”
He's fixed with such a sour look in response, though, genuinely offended, that he has to stop from confusion. They stare at each other as Aesop pants from his run and near-fall, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, and Naib digging himself back a little farther in his hoodie. He doesn't like the heat radiating off of him from this close of a distance.
“...I didn't forget,” he eventually complains, reaching for the cup holder and the hand towel stuck in next to it. “I didn't want to go.” He swipes the towel down his face.
Seriously? Naib's fists ball up, whole body bristling.
“What the hell's your problem? I just started! You don't even know me!”
“Yeah,” Aesop has his water bottle next, taking a few chugs with disregard. “Exactly right.”
Naib flips off his hood at that point, carding his hands through his hair in frustration. If this were any other case, he'd be just flipping the man off in general and walking away, but him and his stuck-up nose stands between Naib and staying in school. He attempts civility despite how tightly his jaw is set.
“Look. Mr. Lapadura told the both of us that you're the one that has to get me started here, it's not just me bossing you around.”
Aesop's lips pinch. “Burke can say whatever he wants to, that doesn't make me in charge of babysitting a jock.”
“ You,” Naib clenches his fists in front of him. “He told me you were the most disciplined of his students, but turns out you're just a judgy priss. Too good for me, right?”
With a thud, the actor steps off the treadmill, measuring a couple inches above Naib even with both of their statures being short already. His right eye twitches with a tell of getting under his skin. Naib continues.
“You can mock and stare all you want but I'm here because I fucking need to be. Believe me, if I had a choice I'd be running off to anyone else before bothering your delicate mood again.” His hands get shoved back into his hoodie. “So help me, please. Get me started and I'll leave you the hell alone.”
Aesop's expression is absolutely dour, the crease of his brow so deep it leaves Naib startled. As an acting student, maybe that amount of theatrical emotion would be expected, but they're not on the stage. Just by themselves, red-faced with a standoff that would amount to Naib only getting his foot in the door. Whatever song it is that Aesop was running to loops again, synth and beat heavy.
“Oh, take it slow, cause I'm a lover not a fighter babe—”
“You're an asshole.”
“Tell me something new.”
Another eye twitch.
“Fine. Fine.” He pulls the other earbud out and shoves them in a pocket, scowling while he fiddles with his phone he pulls out. “Nothing better to do if I'm almost done with my set. How'd you even know I was here?”
“I got Norton's—”
Aesop's already furiously stabbing his thumbs to the keyboard. “Okay. Twenty minutes and I'll meet you back at the theater.”
Naib could groan at the implication. “No, you're not getting out of my sight. God knows you’d run off somewhere else.”
“You're going to watch me do pilates?”
“I guess I am.”
He could probably make a running tally of the irritated quirks he gets out of Aesop's face. Naib's phone buzzes from his hoodie pocket.
Campbell (theater)
okay you found aesop
cool
can you tell him
😘🖕
?
“Asshole,” Aesop mutters, and Naib realizes he's side-eyeing his phone screen. “Stop texting him. And—” for a moment, he smoothly leans forward on one foot to pluck his hand towel from the treadmill, which he then flings at the other's chest. “Get out of the way.”