Aspen
I’d been going to the gym with them a couple times a week since the start of the fall semester.
I’d expected to feel abject humiliation approaching someone like Maddox, who was built like one of those Greek god statues, for fitness advice but he’d been extremely cool about it.
He’d basically become my personal trainer, even mapping out a workout routine for me, after asking me a bunch of questions like what my goals and inspo were.
He was taking it quite a bit more seriously than I’d anticipated, but I appreciated his effort and enthusiasm.
If nothing else, both he and Cyprian seemed thrilled to have another workout buddy.
The two years I’d been on T had been very kind to me, deepening my voice and moving my fat and muscle distribution around to give me a more masculine silhouette.
I’d never be ripped like Maddox or Cyprian, and honestly I didn’t want to be, but a broader upper body and some lean muscle definition definitely couldn’t hurt.
I was pretty happy with the results I’d had so far.
Digging in his duffel bag, Maddox extracted two protein shaker bottles, tossing one over to me. I thanked him before popping the cap up and taking a big swig.
Nearly choking, I barely resisted the urge to spit it out before forcing it down my throat. He was always switching around flavors, and some were much worse than others. Some had a consistency that was what I imagined drinking wallpaper adhesive would feel like.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Maddox,” I complained. “That’s the worst one yet.”
He stared at me without a hint of sympathy as he lifted the bottle to his own mouth, taking several large mouthfuls.
“If you can swallow a load, you can swallow a protein shake,” he informed me bluntly. With his short, preppy haircut and strong jawline, he had a bit of a Zac Efron look going on, although he was constantly claiming not to see the resemblance.
“I guess you’d know all about that nowadays, huh?” I mused. Humans were 60% water, but I had a hunch about what fluid might have made up a good fraction of the other 40% of Maddox’s body.
Cyprian shook his head at us as he drank his own shake, but looked amused at our exchange. A healthy sheen of sweat glimmered in the overhead lights on his dark skin as he shifted, pushing his short dreads up off his forehead.
I wasn’t sure if Cyprian had ever swallowed a load, if I was being honest. He was jacked and handsome, with a great personality, but I’d never actually seen him with anyone, guy or girl.
If he was straight, then he was the lone cishet in our fun little group of queer misfits.
It seemed rude to ask, especially because I’d never felt an ounce of judgment from him towards any of us.
Not even Arie, who could be pretty extreme and in your face with his sexuality at times.
And I supposed if he wanted any of us to know, then he’d bring it up himself.
Maddox shrugged, tilting his head in acknowledgment, and didn’t look remotely embarrassed by my assertion.
“Don’t act like you’re some saint,” he responded, smirking a bit in my direction.
“Why?” I wondered, but I was grinning too. “What have you heard?”
I never thought I’d be friends with a guy like him, but all the dumb social cliques and stigmas I’d been obsessed with in high school seemed so petty now that we were in college.
He was a jock, without question, but I realized now that didn’t really mean much in the scheme of things.
Sure, he was a little obsessed with sports and fitness, but this was the guy who’d complimented my top surgery scars and forced himself to play video games with us just to make his nerdy boyfriend happy.
“Ren told me a couple things,” he said.
“What’d he tell you?”
“He told me he walked in on you rearranging some guy’s guts last year,” Maddox said matter-of-factly, and Cyprian coughed out a sputter, setting his bottle down with a thud, a dark blush rushing up to his cheeks.
I gave a haughty sniff, but only shrugged. “Not my fault he didn’t know what a sock on the doorknob meant.”
“I’m just glad my bedroom door has a lock,” Maddox said.
“No one could accidentally walk in on you two,” Cyprian replied with a snort. “They’d have to be deaf.”
“Alright, alright,” Maddox said, rolling his eyes a bit when I barked out a laugh.
“Hey, did Arie tell you about that party next weekend, Cyprian?” I asked, suddenly remembering he hadn’t been around the night before.
“Yeah, he texted me about it,” he confirmed. “I’ll go. Kelani said she’s coming, too.” Kelani was his sister, and a friend of all of ours.
“Cool.”
We chatted a bit more, until all of our attention was pulled to the door to our side, where a pale, slender guy in thick glasses and an argyle sweater walked in. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of athleticwear and sneakers.
“Think he’s here to work out?” Maddox asked, snorting a little as the guy struggled a bit with the stack of folders and papers in his arms.
“That’s the teacher’s assistant for my queer studies class,” I said, realizing it once he got a bit closer. “Isaak Felice.”
He was cute, especially if you were into those endearingly awkward guys with the infectious enthusiasm that bled out when they gushed about their hobbies and interests. Not my type, but definitely somebody’s type.
“Oh yeah?”
“Total klutz,” I said. “He’s always dropping stuff and stuttering when he has to read out loud. He’s nice, though.”
Maddox made a noncommittal grunt of assent to that, and I didn’t expect there to be anything else to say, until Isaak seemed to spot us and started heading over.
“Uh, hi!” He greeted us as he walked up. “Aspen,” he said, giving me the best kind of wave he could with his arms full.
“Isaak,” I retorted, trying not to sound confused as to why he’d be walking up to me in the campus gym.
He was nice and everything, and I appreciated his obvious passion for queer history and activism, but I couldn’t remember ever having a conversation with him that hadn’t revolved around the curriculum.
He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze over. “And you’re Maddox Holmes, right?”
“Yeah, so?” He answered, before taking another swig of protein. He was nicer than I ever thought a jock could be, but he could sound harsh and blunt at times.
“And this is Cyprian Knight,” I piped up quickly, gesturing over to him, mostly just because the silence would be incredibly awkward if I didn’t. He raised his hand in a friendly greeting.
“Um, hi,” Isaak said, giving a quick smile to Cyprian before turning back to Maddox. “Uh, so actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time now.”
“Me?” Maddox asked incredulously.
“Y-yes. See, I’m, um, I’m writing a paper on toxic masculinity in college sports culture a-and the effect on queer athletes choosing to stay in the closet, so…”
“Seriously?” Maddox asked, sounding surprised and instantly embarrassed.
Isaak cleared his throat, glancing down at the ground so fast his light bangs shifted and flopped over his forehead. He looked supremely miserable, and I couldn’t help but feel a little bad.
“Well, I-I’ve seen the video from last year,” he started.
At Maddox’s harassed expression, I felt a hysterical laugh building up in my throat and tried desperately to keep it from bubbling out. When a single little sob escaped, Maddox turned to glare at me.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, trying to cover it all with a coughing fit. When I snuck a peek over at Cyprian, he was clearly trying to hold it in, too.
We’d both been present in the arena the night Maddox had reached his limit on homophobia from the assholes on the swim team, when he’d very loudly announced that he had a boyfriend, followed by the fact that he and his boyfriend enjoyed fucking, before unceremoniously quitting.
We’d been shocked by his announcement (not by the news itself, only that he’d chosen such a public setting for it), although no one had been more shocked than Maddox’s own parents, who he hadn’t even been aware had shown up there to support him at the swim meet.
Unfortunately some people in the stands had happened to be filming that night, and Maddox’s meltdown had gone just a little bit viral. The attention had been blessedly brief and faded away quickly, but I was sure he wasn’t too keen on hashing it out and reliving it.
“A-and I know about Dean Torres launching that investigation into the swim team, and how Coach Larson was fired. I’ve done interviews with some of the other guys that were on the team with you,” Isaak continued, talking quickly, like he just wanted to get it all out so he didn’t lose his courage.
“And so all I really wanted to talk to you about is your experience with the whole thing and just, um, y-you know, how it all made you feel.”
“Feel!?” Maddox repeated the word like it was a vulgar slur, recoiling like he’d been slapped. And for him, the concept of feelings pretty much was a dirty word.
Cyprian gave him an encouraging pat on the arm, a compassionate expression clear on his face, while I just kept trying not to double over, laughing hysterically.
“Y-you know what? Actually, I can come back,” Isaak said quickly, swallowing hard as he shifted his books in his arms and prepared to turn tail and retreat. “You’re obviously busy, and-”
“No,” Maddox cut him off, groaning lightly as he pressed his palms to his closed eyes. “It’s fine. Just… Just ask what you want to ask, alright?”
“Oh, gosh,” Isaak said, after breathing an obvious sigh of relief. “Thanks a lot. Do you mind if I record you? Just to make it easier for quotes and stuff.”
“You’re not putting this online or anything, right?”