Shiro & Kyle, Wednesday evening

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When Shiro has trouble getting back into shape, Kyle is there to lend his support. It's the start of what promises to be a very weird companionship.


Lifting really shouldn't be this hard, Shiro mused, gently replacing the thirty pound freeweights on their rack. His arms ached with a burning sensation that he shouldn't have felt at a measly ten reps. He wasn't a particularly muscular man to begin with, but surely a month and a half of little exercise due to recuperation should not have left him in such a pathetic state. Right?

He idly wondered what the rack of weights would look like melted.

Kyle's habit of showering each and every time he worked out was entirely due to the fact that he knew just how much funk someone working out could generate, and not at all due to being fussy about his hair. Or at least, so he told people. Any hair fussiness was a hidden benefit to being fastidious about being non-stinky.

Coming back through the gym, he caught sight, and smell, of Shiro, looking dismayed, and eying the rack of freeweights suspiciously. "Dude, they're not -evil-." Kyle said, muffled slightly from the towel he was using to still dry off his hair.

"I beg to differ," Shiro replied, rubbing his toneless chicken arms. "They would do more good if I turned them into a modern art installation and sold it to MoMA."

Kyle barked out a laugh. "Yeah, but that's not gonna fix your skinny girl arms." He picked up one of the weights and turned it over in his hands. "Besides, the professor or Mr. Marko would totally bill you for the weights and you might not make a profit."

"I do not have skinny girl arms." Shiro glanced at Kyle, whose fitness was obvious even under his clothes. Shiro was not going to let himself be jealous of a sixteen year-old dog-boy with no impulse control. That tight restrictive sensation in his chest was just exhaustion. "And art is about sacrifice, not profit."

"Yeah, but I'm not an artist." Kyle argued. "And you totally have skinny girl arms." He sat down on one of the weight benches. "It'd probably help if you used lighter weights, and did more with them, until the, you know.." He waved a clawed hand in the air, to indicate the entirety of Shiro's recovery "Is better. Busting your own ass at five, ten reps isn't gonna do anything, and it'll keep you from being able to fix it, because you'll be busted."

"I'll take that under advisement," Shiro said grudgingly. Not that he didn't already know that, but he didn't want to wait for results. He wanted his body back in shape now.

"Is that the "I'll take that under advisement" where you're actually listening to the words I am saying, or is that the one where you're like "God, Kyle, you're just the class clown, so shut -up-?"? Kyle asked, a touch of bitterness in his voice. "Because I'm hoping it's the first one, but figuring it's the last once."

"Not the latter," Shiro assured him, "Because clowns are funny." Being jealous of this boy is one thing. But taking him seriously on a serious matter is something different altogether. Shiro didn't think he'd ever be able to live it down if this kid's advice actually proved useful. "Listen, thank you for your input, but I think I will be just fine as I am." The thirty pound weight begged to differ, and thanks to what reflexes Shiro maintained, it just barely missed his toes.

Kyle bent to pick up the weight, and put it back on the rack. "Look, dude, one, I am -damn- funny. Cute girls tell me so. And, uh, you totally are going to destroy yourself if you keep trying to use stuff you're not ready for." He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at Shiro. "All seriousness. I'm not making fun. Ask Forge. I totally don't make fun of him for gym stuff either, except, you know, when it's fair to, because he can beat me." Kyle glanced over his shoulder towards the door. "Like basketball. Because for a skinny red dude, he's got a totally wicked three point shot. And I throw bricks." He was so never living it down if Shiro told Forge that he admitted it.

Not like Shiro was going to exchange even simple pleasantries with Forge if he could avoid it. "Your secret is safe with me," he muttered. He ran a finger down the rack of weights, very careful to not melt them even though he really wanted to. "This is all just incredibly frustrating. I need a montage so I can just get better quickly."

It took Kyle a few seconds to realize what Shrio was talking about. "I think we're under quota on time travelers though." He stood up, and made a motion towards the gym door. "If you need help or anything, I mean, you know, not like, help-help, but like, somebody to complain at, or spot you, or to tell you "One more rep and then you can have the Gatorade", I am totally up for it. I need a gym partner. Mine's turned himself into Darth Vader."

Kyle's offer was met with surprise, disbelief, embarrassment . . . and yet, a certain degree of gratitude. If there was anyone who knew enough about physiology to help him yet didn't know the specifics of why he needed it in the first place, then Kyle might be the right person. And Shiro couldn't believe that he was even thinking that. "Dueling light sabers would be a cool workout," he mused, his own way of saying 'Yes, thank you.'

Stopping at the doorway, Kyle laughed, and grinned. "That'd be pretty awesome. Have you seen what Julio uses for my email? Chuy.." The word was pronounced almost exactly like 'chewie' when Kyle said it. "Which, I dunno what it means in Spanish, but he calls himself Juan Solo, and it never stops cracking me up."

"If you deliver what you promise, then you can be Obi Wan," Shiro offered.