Starts with a Match

Staring is Caring

After coffee cakes, a shower, and a nap, Toby decides they're refreshed enough for the gym. And I decide today is the day I do more than a walk on a treadmill.

We haven't gotten the chance to go to the gym together in weeks, so I'm excited that Toby's excited, talking so loud in their room I can hear them from the kitchen, where I'm chugging preworkout, in the hopes that it'll cure my headache. So far it's just making my ears itch which is really not helping how fidgety I am.

"...But y'know how it goes, if I lift too heavy on my legs then I'm out for the count for like two days and that's two days too long and I like to keep a consistent flow, y'know? Plus it's hard to take time off for dancing, knowing if I'd just gone nicer on myself—but not too nice, y'know—they I could still be dancing, right?"

Was there a question in there?

I turn to Toby who's holding a pose; standing an inch up on their toes, hands out from their sides, eyebrows up. Yeah, okay, they're waiting on an answer— "Right, totally."

"Right, yeah!"

I have no idea what's going on. Maybe the preworkout kicked in too soon and I'm on a whole 'nother plane of existence, who knows. Toby nods and starts to go for the fridge, when they a doubletake to my shorts. They smirk and take a water bottle, stretching leg to leg.

"I like how your exercise shorts are longer than your PTs."

"What do you mean?" I ask, glancing at my legs.

"Like—why does the military make the PT ones so bootylicious?"

"Trust me, no one likes the short-shorts; I'd wear sweats if I could.

"Sweats would be even worse at times," they mutter into their water bottle. I chuckle and think of the time we saw Eli with a boner just cause it was early and he was unfortunately wearing sweats. Margie promptly threatened to punch him in said boner when he couldn't get it to go away. "Who's attention you trying to get, Koop?" Toby teases.

"Hold on I'll fix it." I roll the waistband of my shorts higher, higher, until my Under Armor ones are showing out the bottom. Then I pull the bottom of my muscle tank up and tuck that into the collar, giving me a very Twin Peaks server look. Toby cackles and I cock my sassiest hip. "This better? Just here to workout, boys, keep your eyes in your head."

Toby's shoulders hop up with their snickering and they shake their head. "Boys, not girls?"

"Why not both?" I ask, yanking my shirt back into place, fixing my shorts.

"Are you—" Toby jogs after me as we go for the garage door. They stoop for their gym bag, rolled up yoga mat inside. "Are you bi?"

"Bye what?"

"No, like bisexual. We've actually never talked about that before."

"Do we need to? Are you bi?" I ask, opening Toby's side. Why am I on Toby's side? Which side is Toby's side, anyway, we both drive. They get into the passenger seat and look down at me. "I honestly don't even know what bi means, Toby."

"Means you like guys and girls and others, too. I'm pan."

"What's pan?"

"Pansexual. To me, it means I like everyone regardless of gender."

"That's cool."

"Do you?"

I get into my seat, buckling up. "Sure I do."

"So you're pan?"

"Eh," I shrug, reaching my arm behind their seat to back up. Toby's getting frustrated, and I'm a little amused by it.