Counterbalance

Chapter 2

Harry watches Tommo pound his feet on the treadmill like he's racing everyone else in the row of machines. He curses Malik's lie about Tommo never waking up early, and considers how hard it'd be to get out of his current contract with the gym. Maybe Liam would let him use his basement from now on.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Tommo has noticed that Harry's lurking from across the room, trying not to focus on Tommo's ass as he runs. The timer on his phone rings, his sixty seconds of rest over, so Harry turns around in the power cage and focuses on his squatting form.

Once he's done, he can't help but glance over in Tommo's direction with some hope that he's disappeared into thin air. But it's just Harry's luck that, when he looks over his shoulder, not only is Tommo still there, but he's looking right at Harry. Tommo's eyes flick away quickly. It's probably Harry being self-conscious though, because he doesn't know why Tommo would be watching him.

Tommo's shirt is stuck to his back with dark patches of sweat, as he takes a drink of water before tapping on the screen to change the inclination. Then he's running faster, his legs pumping hard and feet thudding on the rubber. Harry turns to add more weight before his next rep.

They make brief eye contact, then Harry looks away between one blink and the next. He breathes through the next set of reps and curses Tommo's existence. This is supposed to be his quiet time, when he can focus on the flex and press of his muscles and quiet his mind before the day starts. He's not supposed to be distracted and thinking about Tommo, of all people.

The sheen of Tommo's sweat highlights his sharp cheekbones and the side eye he gives Harry whenever they make eye contact from across the room.

Harry lifts the kettle bells, makes sure he has a firm grip on them, and starts his lunges. Tommo slows to a jog, then a walk, then he's stepping off the treadmill and taking a long drink from his water bottle.

Halfway through his set of lunges, Tommo shows up at his side. "Hey, Harry."

"Tommo."

"You good?"

"Uh..." Harry racks his brain for a reason why he wouldn't be good. He breathes through another few deep steps. "Yeah? You?"

"Yeah." Tommo clears his throat and takes another swig from his bottle. His shirt's skintight and his chest heaves as he's still catching his breath. "Z said he saw you here the other day."

Harry drops the kettle bells and reaches for his own water bottle. "There's not a lot of quality gyms around here," he says.

Tommo shrugs. "Guess you're right."

Harry takes another drink and hopes Tommo will make his way to the locker room and leave him alone. He's not sure why Tommo's talking to him as if they're friends.

"Was up early with the twins," Tommo eventually says, like he's reading Harry's mind. "They have their own room at my house. I don't know why they both needed to climb into my bed at five a.m." He chuckles lowly.

"Yeah." Harry smiles at the mention of the twins. "They're cute kids."

"Not at five a.m. they aren't. Little devil children." Tommo laughs again. He takes another gulp of water. "You have any siblings?"

Harry nods. "Yeah. An older sister. We're not that close though. She and my mom don't really get the whole racing thing."

"Is that how you got into ballet?"

"Fuck," Harry hisses. His heart pounds in fear. He whips his head around to see who's around. Thankfully, no one. "You can't just say—"

"Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Sorry. I wasn't thinking."