Handyman

Chapter 2

The gym isn't far away, merely in the residential area. If there is one near his place, he would have walked there instead of riding a bike. Then he would save on petrol. He knows the distance is not far, so the patrol is not much. But still, a little saved could go a long way, since he can't find much contract work now. He is not sure why, though. He knows the repairs and replacements were done properly, and no customer called him back to complain. Not like before, a few months back, when he was hired to do some light fitting at some bungalow, or fix a faulty toilet another place. He knows he used to charge high. He explained this way to his customer, citing transport, the high costs these days of spare parts for houses, and of course, the work itself. He would often try not to grin away as he looked at the payments passed into his hands. He never gave any receipt, so he could skip declaring for taxes.

Today, he is aware of the money he has to spend on dinner. He hasn't asked his mother for money for the takeout she wants for dinner. And it is meant for her and him, both. He thinks asking for the money after what has just happened would be a bad move. After parking his bike outside the gym, he reaches into his bag and counts the money he has brought. Luckily, there is enough.

And the gym session only costs RM3. The gym probably never raises the price because it cannot justify it if the equipment are bespoke and not the real gym equipment one sees in expensive gyms. Merely metal parts soldered together, except for the dumbbells.

The gym is upstairs, over a restaurant. There is no air conditioning—not for the price of RM3 per session. The warmth and the reek of sweat buffet him when he walks in and heads for the paying counter. He feels so suffocated he wants to take off his sweater right there and then, without waiting for his receipt. The man behind the counter simpers and stares openly at his body in just a tank top. He knows the man is looking at his nipples. He clenches his pecs. He thinks the man is raising his eyes, admiring them, smiling now. Hung tips a finger over his forehead in acknowledgement, before turning around—is that a deep sigh he hears behind him? He stashes his sweater into the locker. He bends down and steps out of his sweat pants, all the while enjoying the attention from the gym staff. He nearly has an erection, he has to hide it by turning his back to the paying counter. He puts on his running shorts, and checks that the bulge has subsided.