Endless solo of solitude | Lookism various x reader

The two musketeers.

Jumping jacks. High knees. Push ups. Air squats. Sit ups. Dips. Chin ups. Run. Repeat. Run. Repeat. Run. Repeat. Again. Again. Again.

Water dribbles down your chin, bottle resting firm at your mouth as you drink all you can. Your breathing is shaky, muscles enveloped in dermis-piercing pain, but you remind yourself of the results, and it's enough to keep you satisfied. Consistent workout is key. Key to strength. Key to success. Key to endurance. Feeling icky, you shake off the wetness of your shirt. Sweat droops across the surface of your skin, pooling at your fingertips, before making itself home towards the corners of your shirt.

Your body flops onto the seat of the lat pull-down machine, which you've been using for the past ten minutes. "That kills," you whisper, sighing in exhaustion. It hurts. More than anything, you want to give up. To go home. But you can't. Not when you've made it so far. Not when your father proudly awaits you with a smile. He cheers in happiness every time you return from the gym. And the result of that—the fond grin your mother sports is enough reason to keep going.

Now that the school holiday's over, training your body is all you've been able to do. Slacking off isn't an option anymore. Three months since you'd been too weak to defend yourself from that coward. Zack tells you it's okay. To not blame yourself. That he'll defend you forever and always be by your side. The sentiment warms your heart, but you refuse to fall victim to some other guy when he's not there to protect you. Three months. You've been keeping track of your progress. Writing down every workout. Every mistake. Every failure. Every improvement. Every bit of your journey. This time, you won't be weak, and you won't freeze up. You refuse to.

Yikes, you think. It's almost too embarrassing to envision how worn out you must appear. Though it shouldn't be a reason for shame. A child-like part of you is proud at how far you've come. From being unable to hold a single punch, to being able to throw a well built kick.

Patting your skin dry with a pink towel (gifted by Mira, who apologised after scolding you about turning into 'another Zack'), you gently place it atop your bag. Your shirt continues to stick to the dampness awkwardly. With another few pats to clean off, you go to redo your hair, too many strands pulling out from your chosen style. Recalling how many reoccurrences you've had, you begin to think you should invest in a better hair-tie. It takes more than one try to get it right, but you're content with how neat the bun turns out. You prepare to get going, stuff packed, ready to move, but then your ears twitch. Shivers run down your spine. A few comments reach you.

"Why is a piggie like that here?" a girl asks, giggling loudly. Her voice echoes throughout the room. It gathers attention. People begin to stare, and it seems like they agree too. It makes you tilt your head. Well, you're not sure what that means. Isn't the gym a place to become more physically fit?

You stiffen, eyes drawn to them, and jerk around to face their conversation. You're frowning when you feel the venom in their words. Someone's appearance shouldn't be a reason to pick on their choices. They don't own the public place, and they don't get to dictate why a person chooses to attend the gym. You hate people like that. How stupid, and how vain.

Her friend, you assume, replies just as rudely, "Who knows? What's the point in coming to the gym when you're so ugly anyway? It won't matter. If you're a piggie, then you'll probably stay like that."

Fists scrunching, you prepare to intervene. Entitled individuals who hold no regard for others don't deserve to live without remorse. The comments are the stupidest you've ever heard, and your stare follows their own—

Woah. Your cheeks flush. She's... so cute! She appears so elegant, so adorable, just like Corocorokuririn.

A girl with plain, short black hair trembles, falling onto the ground. She's wiping away the sweat gathering on her forehead, unbothered. Your fists relax, hands raising to your mouth instead. She really reminds you of Corocorokuririn. Really, really cute. She doesn't look like much. Normal hair and unseen eyes hidden behind thick frames, the notable, hamster-like chubbiness on her cheeks being a distinguishable feature. She must've noticed you staring, because her brows furrow.