On the Fritz

Chapter 5 - Part 1

"You look angry," Calum observed. "Is the testosterone kicking in?"

Fritz yanked down the lateral pull down bar one more time with a guttural grunt, before letting it clank back to the top. He half slid, half fell back off the machine, trying to ignore the straining aches down his back and shoulders.

"I'm not angry," Fritz muttered, though he wouldn't meet his friend's eyes.

"I thought you liked the gym," Calum said, and Fritz fought the urge to slap him.

Again, for the millionth time, Calum obnoxiously switched the weight up by about 20 kilograms, slotted himself neatly under the machine, and began swiftly pulling the bars down like it was easy. He tried to ignore how Calum's back and triceps seemed to pulse with every movement under his loose black muscle shirt. He tried very, very hard.

But Fritz couldn't help it, he felt ugly and useless. Whoever said that working out makes you feel better had to be profiting in some way from the gym membership industry. There was no other explanation.

"You did ask to come, eh," Calum got out, before wincing through a few more reps.

That was true, and Fritz regretted it immensely. He never wanted to go in the first place, but he'd spent the past week locked in his house wanting to drive his car into the lake, so he figured he should be making some effort to come out of his depression. He had managed to avoid his last couple exams using Anne's well-written doctor's notes to earn him a derived grade, but knowing he'd studied all year just to fumble it at the last minute felt pathetic. Of course he was miserable.

"This sucks," Fritz finally said.

"You didn't miss the gym?" Calum asked suddenly, and Fritz looked down to find Calum's eyes warm, mockingly so. The veins on his forearms were standing out again.

"You're such a prick," is what Fritz didn't say. Instead, he bit his lip hard and stood there.

"We can do something else," Calum suggested.

"Please don't say the bench press," Fritz said back, and Calum snickered. Fritz knew all Calum could think about was how much better at life he was, and it made Fritz want to slap the smirk off his well-proportioned face. "Prick," he added, concealed in an exhale.

"Sorry?" Calum asked, still beaming.

Even though Calum definitely hadn't finished and was just being polite, the two left the gym. Calum asked for the millionth time if Fritz was sure he didn't want to come on a bike ride, and Fritz did not have to think twice about this one, he confidently declined.

When Calum asked what he wanted to do instead, Fritz wanted to yell that he didn't know, but he couldn't go home because then he'd feel worse. He couldn't spend another hour sitting in his small, dark bedroom, or lying on his living room couch, staring blankly into space. It was all giving him too much time to think about what the hell he was meant to do with Rafael.

His first option on that front was to shut it all down and be confined to Calum for friendship, who was dangerously lovable in the best of times and infuriating in the worst. The other option was to keep enduring the same miserable yearning he'd been dealing with for the past few months, until Rafael inevitably tossed him out. No matter what he chose, he knew the outcome was going to be bad.

Bottom line was, things were not looking good for Fritz's mental health. Were they ever?

Calum then suggested they could go and get lunch, and that, Fritz realised, was what he wanted to hear. If the rest of his life was going to be shit, he was at least going to treat himself to a nice lunch.