Chapter Text
A man’s gym is his sanctum. It’s a temple of self-improvement, a crucible for forming himself into his strongest self, a location for his Heavenly Tribulation, a refinery for his mind and soul. It is the only place where drinking concerning amounts of creatine makes sense. Everything at a man’s gym should be simple and straightforward, with no bells and whistles. A man’s gym should not cost him more than $40 a month, and even that is pushing it.
Despite firmly believing all of these things, Lan Zhan finds himself standing beside his brother in an elevator, riding up from an underground parking garage to the $300-per-month “Luxury Curated Wellness Facility” he’d been strong-armed into joining.
Lan Huan, while growing up, didn’t make much of a habit of asking things of Lan Zhan. This has changed immensely since 1.) moving to Los Angeles in their early 20s, and 2.) encroaching closer and closer to the age of 35. While midlife is certainly a solid decade away from Lan Huan, he perpetually lives as though he’s in the throes of losing his youth, and then drags Lan Zhan along with him for moral support.
When Lan Huan’s Mid-Wilshire office, located in this same building, was informed that they could receive a discount at the ostentatious Zenith gym franchise on the lobby level, he immediately toured the facility, was suckered into signing an annual contract, and then roped Lan Zhan into joining alongside him so that they could get an additional “friends and family” discount on their monthly rate.
Like the good brother that he is, Lan Zhan pushed down his desire to throttle Lan Huan and sent out a cancellation email to his beloved no-frills Planet Fitness.
Yes, the $300/month rate is the “discounted” “”family”” rate. Lan Zhan wants to burn the establishment to the fucking ground.
While parking is more often than not a pain in the ass in Los Angeles, Lan Zhan remains firm in the belief that no gym should require an underground parking garage and an elevator to access. Frankly, he makes a concerted effort to avoid fitness establishments that require him to drive, as that defeats the point of getting a workout in to him!
Is there not a perfectly good $20/month gym within walking distance of both of their apartments that they could be going to instead?!
Lan Huan’s office building is a modern monstrosity, designed to look like a ziggurat for the gods of capitalism. The Zenith gym on the lower four levels of the building is the perfect base for this temple to all the things that are “So L.A.” (derogatory). Once the brothers step off the elevator, they are greeted by a set of large, frosted glass doors that appear to glow from within. Lan Zhan just knows the moment they cross the threshold, they’ll be assaulted by #aesthetic in a way that will make him want to hurl his phone into the ocean.
And he’s correct. There’s marble on the walls, a smattering of “inspirational” platitudes painted into the walls and near mirrors, perfect for gym selfies; Millennial Gray, a bunch of LED light strips giving everything a faint glow… It’s like the place was designed for acquiring social media content.
At the front desk, a twink with dimples deeper than the craters on the moon waves enthusiastically at them.
“Lan Huan!” The twink calls out. He gestures vaguely at Lan Zhan. “I assume this must be the brother you told me all about? The resemblance is uncanny!”
Lan Zhan already misses his no-frills Planet Fitness, where nobody ever tried to talk to him or do customer service in his general direction.
“Meng Yao, so nice to see you again!” Lan Huan beams. Damn his brother and his susceptibility to the idea of “being polite” in public spaces.
Meng Yao abandons his place at the front desk, scooping up a pile of pamphlets and two branded Zenith folders. He passes one folder to each brother and quickly explains their contents — details on the facility and its many, many, many offerings — before bringing the brothers along for a tour.
Lan Huan has technically received the tour already, so he does not need to be subjected to it a second time, but he opts to come along, making periodic comments like, “isn’t that nice, A-Zhan?” whenever Meng Yao introduces a new amenity or “exclusive Zenith detail.”
While the facility is massive, its excess frankly disgusts Lan Zhan. There is no reason for there to be an “athleisure fashion boutique” in a gym. There’s some merit to the sauna and eucalyptus steam rooms, but the spa with aesthetic services is certainly superfluous.
Despite the weights and equipment being designed in a “fashion over function” way, there is nothing here that Lan Zhan didn’t already have at his cheaper, easier to get to, Planet Fitness.
“Brother…” He whispers to Lan Huan as they watch over a group of young men filming themselves bench pressing and performing deadlifts in the free weights area. “Why are we even here?!”
At that moment, a man who looks like he’d fit in better as a semi-nomadic warlord in ancient China walks by, and Lan Huan nearly snaps his neck whipping his head around to check out the man’s ass.
Ah. It all makes sense now.
Remembering he’d been asked a question, Lan Huan returns his attention to his brother.
“For the trade, A-Zhan,” he murmurs sagely. “We’re here for the trade.”
Lan Zhan should have known: his brother can’t resist beef.
Said beefcake notices Meng Yao and the Lans, and with a friendly smile and wave in Lan Huan’s direction, walks over to them.
“Lan Huan! Good to see you back again!” He says, clapping Lan Zhan’s brother on the shoulder and sticking a hand out to shake for Lan Zhan. “The name’s Nie Mingjue. I’m the lead personal trainer here and in charge of our instructor team.”
“Lan Zhan,” he replies as he shakes the man’s hand. He’s got a firm grip, but doesn’t pull the “trying to break someone’s hand to show off how strong you are” thing, which Lan Zhan appreciates.
Almost immediately, Lan Huan launches into a series of questions about personal training, punctuated with a lot of eyelash-batting that Lan Zhan really would prefer not to have to sit through. Nie Mingjue entertains all his questions, and it completely derails the tour.
Meng Yao places a hand gingerly on Lan Zhan’s bicep, and Lan Zhan immediately seizes up at the touch.
“Ah, my apologies!” He says. “I didn’t mean to startle you! I just think that… perhaps we may want to continue the tour with just the two of us? After all, your brother has already seen everything and this will likely be a good discussion regarding his fitness goals and making the most of his membership.”
Lan Zhan merely grunts in response. Nobody ever tries to touch him at Planet Fitness, unless they’re a personal trainer correcting your form.
Meng Yao continues to show him around the facility, periodically making attempts at small talk that are vaguely flirtatious or designed to give him opportunities to upsell Lan Zhan on add-ons to his exorbitantly priced membership. Lan Zhan barely replies.
Look, Lan Zhan knows at least a little bit that this is at least 80% just Meng Yao doing his job, but he really doesn’t gel with the fake-flirty customer service. Lan Huan will constantly rag on Lan Zhan for his preference for men of the twinkier variety, but Meng Yao is not his kind of twink. The whole tour is horrifically awkward, and he wishes that he could just flee back to the free weight area, pop his headphones in, and block out the rest of the world until Lan Huan gets his fill of throwing himself at muscular personal trainers for the day.
After what feels like an eternity, Meng Yao brings him to the top floor of the facility.
“This floor is where you’ll be able to find all our group-fitness studio series classes,” he says, gesturing to the first room on their right, visible through a pane of glass. Inside, a baby-faced young woman with twin space buns on the side of her head leads a group of older ladies through a fast-paced dance. Loud Samba-inspired music blasts from the room.
“That’s Ning Yingying’s cardio dance class!” Meng Yao raises his voice slightly to be heard. “She’s a delight!” He gestures to the room on across the hall, where a stern-looking man with his hair tied in the tightest ponytail known to mankind demonstrates a series of punches and kicks, which the class executes on a set of #aesthetic beige punching bags. Meng Yao continues, “And there’s Power Kickboxing, with Liu Qingge!”
A little further down the hall, Lan Zhan gets a glimpse of a candlelit yoga class and a boot-camp-style HIIT class.
Group fitness is, and he cannot state this enough, not Lan Zhan’s jam. While for some, this would certainly be an incredibly appealing amenity, it does nothing for him.
“Do you have a particular kind of class you enjoy, Lan Zhan?” Meng Yao asks. “I occasionally teach spin and mat pilates classes.”
“Fitness classes are… not really for me,” Lan Zhan says. “My preference is to lift and stretch on my own.”
Meng Yao shrugs, “You just need to find the class that’s right for you!”
With that comment, they reach the end of the classroom corridor.
Meng Yao lowers his voice, “We’ll have to be quiet because there’s a class going on, but this is our Reformer Pilates studio space.” He gestures for Lan Zhan to follow him inside.
There are nine reformer machines in the room, and much like everything in this godforsaken gym, they’re designed in a way that’s meant to catch the eye of someone particularly vulnerable on social media thinking, “hmm, I would like to change my body.”
“That’s great, everybody! Keep pulsing for ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!”
Lan Zhan turns his head to a reformer in the center of the room, and his eyes land on the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen, sitting upright on the reformer carriage and counting out for the class, wearing an overhead microphone, a sinful pair of leggings, and a tank top showing off carefully defined arms. The instructor’s hair is falling out of his ponytail, framing his pretty face so beautifully.
“That’s Wei Ying,” Meng Yao whispers in Lan Zhan’s ear. “People love his classes; he’s a super fun instructor and breaks things down super well for beginners.”
From the elegant lines of his neck and the cut of his jaw to his sparkling, unreal eyes, Lan Zhan thinks he might love Wei Ying’s classes too. If Meng Yao is a twink, Wei Ying is the twink. Someone had to have made him in a lab, specifically for Lan Zhan to lust over.
Suddenly, Wei Ying rolls onto his back, pressing his feet onto the reformer’s foot bar and scooting his ass — and wow, what an ass — to the end of the carriage. He pulls a pair of straps down and hooks them around his feet.
“Time for everyone’s favorite part!” He says over the microphone. “Leg circles!”
And with that, Wei Ying’s legs fly up in the air behind his head, spread open, then close as he lowers them in a wide circle.
Miraculously, Lan Zhan doesn’t immediately cream his pants.
The rest follows along with Wei Ying as he opens and closes his legs in the air and counts them through the movements.
Wei Ying must notice his silent visitors; as he reverses the leg circle in the opposite direction, he smiles at Meng Yao and Lan Zhan and waves.
Once his legs are spread as far as they can be while supported by the straps, Wei Ying speaks again.
“Okay everyone, I know the circles are your favorite part, but this is my favorite part,” he says, and a series of groans echoes throughout the room. “That’s right bitches, now pulse! And pulse! And PULSE!”
He presses his spread legs open further and further, a fluttery movement like a butterfly stretch. Lan Zhan wants to stand at the end of his reformer for an even better look.
As if reading his filthy mind, Wei Ying’s head tilts up ever so slightly from the reformer; he has a slight glow and flush on his face from the exertion of the workout, and Lan Zhan can’t help but wonder what he’d look like exerting himself in other capacities.
Wei Ying locks eyes with Lan Zhan, and he winks. WINKS! With his long, gorgeous legs pulsing behind his head and his ankles strapped into a machine! There’s no universe where that instructor doesn’t know what he’s doing to Lan Zhan, and what he’s doing is making Lan Zhan hold his stupid Zenith-branded folder full of pamphlets in front of his crotch, because he picked a terrible, terrible day to wear gray sweatpants.
Fuck. Lan Zhan can’t help but think, maybe it’s time for him to give group fitness a try?