Chapter Text
The campus gym at five in the afternoon was a strange mix of chaos and ritual. Plates clanged against metal. Sneakers squeaked across rubber flooring. Someone near the treadmills laughed too loudly at something on their phone. The air smelled faintly of chalk, disinfectant, and the sharp bite of effort.
You preferred this hour. It was busy enough that no one stared, but not so crowded that you had to wait for equipment. You slid your headphones over your ears, though you were not playing anything yet, and stepped under the barbell resting on the squat rack. The weight was already loaded. You had warmed up. Now it was time to work.
You were not there for aesthetic angles or carefully curated sets for social media. You were there because the 150 and 200 butterfly demanded it. Fly was unforgiving. It chewed through shoulders and lats and left your lungs burning if you were even slightly underprepared. So you trained like you respected that.
You unracked the bar and stepped back, spine tall, core braced. The first rep was controlled. The second slower. By the eighth, your shoulders were starting to protest. By the twelfth, your muscles trembled. You racked the weight with a sharp exhale and rolled your neck once before moving to the pull down machine.
Across the weight room, Aoi Todo noticed you.
He had noticed you before, vaguely. A tall girl with serious eyes who moved with purpose. But today he actually watched. Not in a careless way. In a focused one. He stood near the dumbbell rack with a towel draped over his shoulder, midway through his own workout, and paused.
You did not glance around between sets. You did not take mirror selfies. You did not text. You chalked your hands lightly and adjusted your grip like someone who understood exactly why they were there.
Your shoulders were broad in a way that spoke of repetition and discipline, not vanity. Your back was defined, muscle shifting cleanly beneath skin when you pulled the bar down toward your collarbone. Every movement was deliberate. Efficient.
He watched you finish a brutal shoulder circuit without theatrics. No dramatic groans. No collapsed sprawl on the bench. Just a steady inhale and a sip of water before you reset for the next movement.
Todo’s mouth curved slightly.
Interesting.
You moved to the dumbbell rack, selecting a pair heavier than most of the guys nearby were using. Strict overhead press. Controlled negative. No sway in your spine.
He did not realize he had fully stopped his own set until the guy next to him bumped his elbow and muttered an apology. Todo blinked once, then laughed under his breath.
He wiped his hands on his towel and walked toward you.
Up close, he was even more massive than he appeared from a distance. Six foot five at least. Built like he had been carved from something dense and unmovable. Broad chest, thick arms, thighs that strained against his shorts. He cast a shadow when he stopped beside you.
You racked your dumbbells and reached for your water bottle.
“What is your type?”
You turned slowly.
For a brief second you genuinely wondered if he was speaking to someone behind you. Then you realized he was looking directly at you, expression serious in a way that felt almost ceremonial.
You stared.
He was enormous. Not just tall. Solid. Intimidating in the way that large men often were without meaning to be. His presence filled space easily. You had dealt with enough loud gym bros to know the type.
But his eyes were not mocking. They were expectant.
“You just walked up to me,” you said carefully, pushing one ear cup off your head, “and asked what my type is.”
“Yes.”
There was no embarrassment in his voice. No hesitation. Just confidence.
You looked at him again, properly this time. Dark hair pulled back. Strong jaw. Muscles that looked earned, not accidental. He was very aware of himself.
You could have ignored him. You could have brushed him off. Instead, for reasons you did not entirely understand, you answered.
“Kind,” you said first, because that mattered. “Funny. Respectful. Supportive.”
He listened like you were giving a lecture.
“Usually tall,” you added, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “But that’s hard to find for a taller woman like myself.”
There was a flicker in his eyes. Appreciation. Amusement.
He straightened slightly, as if presenting himself.
“I see.”
You raised a brow. “That’s it?”
He placed one hand over his chest as if wounded. “You do not ask my type in return?”
You huffed out a laugh before you could stop yourself. “Fine. What’s your type?”
His posture changed immediately. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin like he was about to deliver a speech in an arena.
“My type,” he began with gravity, “is a tall woman with a big butt.”
You closed your eyes.
He continued without shame. “Strong. Confident. A woman who could defeat me in battle and then praise my effort.”
“You rehearsed that,” you muttered.
He ignored you. “A woman of presence. Of conviction. Of power.”
“Is this a motivational seminar or a dating preference?”
His lips twitched. “Both.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling now. It surprised you how quickly your annoyance had shifted into reluctant amusement.
“Is that your go to opener?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“And it works?”
He considered this. “It works when the woman is worthy of answering.”
You rolled your eyes again, but your cheeks felt warmer than they had a moment ago.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said.
“And yet you answered.”
You had no counter for that.
There was a pause, not uncomfortable but charged in a strange way. He looked at you like he was cataloging something, committing details to memory.
“You lift for sport,” he observed.
“Swimming.”
“What stroke?”
“Fly.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Butterfly.”
“Yeah.”
“That explains the shoulders.”
You crossed your arms lightly, amused. “You analyzing me now?”
“Yes.”
You laughed outright this time. “Unbelievable.”
He extended his hand suddenly. “Aoi Todo.”
You hesitated only a second before shaking it. His grip was firm but not crushing. Controlled strength.
You gave him your name.
He repeated it once, like testing how it felt in his mouth. Then he nodded.
“I will remember it.”
“That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“It is a promise.”
You slipped your headphones back on. “Well, Aoi Todo, I have another set to finish.”
He stepped aside with exaggerated politeness. “Then I will not interrupt greatness.”
You snorted under your breath and turned back to your weights. But you were aware of him now. A presence just beyond your peripheral vision. You did not look directly at him again, though you could feel that he had not moved far.
You finished your session, wiped down your equipment, and grabbed your bag. As you headed toward the exit, you risked one glance back.
He was watching.
Not in a predatory way. Not leering. Just observing. Interested.
You lifted your chin slightly in acknowledgment before pushing through the doors into the cooling evening air.
Inside the gym, Todo remained where he stood for a moment longer.
“Kind. Funny. Respectful. Supportive,” he repeated quietly to himself.
Then he smiled.
“Tall,” he added, glancing down at his own frame.
He picked up his towel and returned to his workout, but his focus had shifted. The rhythm of his sets felt sharper. More deliberate.
He had not asked for your number.
He had not needed to.
He knew he would see you again.
And when he did, he would ask you the same question.
Just to see if your answer changed.