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He ran as fast as he physically could. With these legs of his it was quite a lot actually.
The metronome step, hitting the surface of the treadmill one by one. His arms right by his body, swinging with each new leap. Heartbeat pounding in his chest, the sound of his watch beeping from time to time. In his ears, only the sounds of his sneakers making another skip. Maybe also the Dionysian electro swing music within the speakers. There really was no other way to describe what Rhys had been feeling like – flying.
After all, he simply had to congratulate himself on arranging the gym space so densely. With lots of equipment, courts and even some swimming pools, Rhys had made sure for this to be accessible for every employee. It was the perfect place for everyone to enjoy their time of mindfulness. Especially with the windows located all throughout, some could view the landscapes of Promethea in their glory. But also there were the convenient blinds, if anyone felt a little sick watching them.
Not that they were installed for anyone in particular. But Timothy did keep telling him how comfortable it was for him and how he didn’t have to feel like throwing up while doing pull ups. Then giving him a smile brighter than the sun. While Lor and Zer0 exchanged knowing looks. Well, anyway.
Knowing everyone’s schedules, Rhys had always taken the dead hours. After all, they were perfect for the CEO. To make peace with his mind and his body – moments like these were way too few and far in-between.
Today he felt like there was too much to make peace with.
Step step, his mechanical legs stomping on the ground. At first, there was the usual. Dread of waking up, feeling that he would die alone in that huge bed of his. Empty walls of his mansion, the echo of loneliness. Only the ECHOvision on the wall repeating news from all over the planet. As usual, he was alone. Nothing too wild about this.
Fists clenched, eyes blinking harder. Then there was the HQ. After saying good morning to Timothy and having a coffee with Lor and Zer0, he was back to the usual. As much as he loved going back on the ground (especially to his fish) from the Atlas satellite, it also meant more annoyances of people knowing exactly where he was. Everyone wanting something, everyone calling for the stupidest thing. Not even calls but barraging to his office in person. Now that just felt like trespassing.
A harder crack at the surface. Oh, god, he hoped he didn’t make an indent there. It was best to always check with his prosthetics. Happened way too often. Making a quick look around, Rhys noted how it was all fine. Proceed.
Where was he… Right, that bitch from accounting Jenny who wanted to change her position for the third time this week. Well, it wasn’t his fault nobody tolerated her acid speak. Thankfully, Timothy was passing by. The feeling of his warm palms on his shoulders… Simply indescribable.
Rhys sighed harder. Then yet again, he was alone. Alone, alone, alone. Shaking his head, he looked at the console and adjusted the level higher. The best remedy of all.
Another call from Naoko, of course. She was talking about… Eh, he couldn’t even remember. He just knew it was another way of hers to show how absolutely better Maliwan is. As if she still wasn’t paying indemnity for whatever the hell her motherfucker of a brother did. Not like Naoko didn’t agree. She simply demanded more, more weaponry, more prototypes, more market share. Rhys couldn’t listen anymore.
His breath got quicker, his mind more weary. It was always like this. It was always people wanting something, anything really. They were passing him by, not caring what he wanted to say. Or only caring when it was either a reprimand or praise. But it was always something for them, not Rhys. His mind took a deep dive back to Pandora. Several voices sounded too familiar, never wanting him, just what he could have provided.
Eyes on the prize, Strongfork, he scolded himself in his mind.
But within all these demands there was a question. Asked by Timothy. As if he always knew the right time to come by and be there for him. A genuine conversation, another time he sat right at his desk. Rhys thought of his own laugh, as Timothy started acting out every annoyance. Changing his voice, exaggerating his moves. He was an actor after all. Suddenly, all the cares went away.
Timothy… Oh, how Timothy was. With him the loneliness seemed to stop. The heaviness of everyday life seemed to become lighter, the days a little brighter. Maybe Rhys was covered in crimson everywhere he went. Yet the warmest shade of all was Timothy’s red sweater, amplified with that smile of his. Asking if he was alright or if he needed anything. Strands of hair falling into his eyes, so much so that Rhys just wanted to cup his cheek and chase them away. The quiet reassurances when the world felt too heavy, actions beyond words. As if he always had the perfect remedy.
Oh, right. Maybe that was the thing he wanted to run away from the most.
Pressing his lips together, Rhys simply closed his eyes. No no no, all those feelings didn’t have a place here. No need for a new crisis approaching either towards his professional relationship or the absolute opposite of this. Just his legs going forward, the music in his ears, the freedom, the everything he could’ve–
“Heey there, hot stuff. I like your tunes, sooo mind if I rock on with you?”
“Oh sh–!“
Two sentences. Just these two sentences and Rhys’ legs already tangled up in themselves.
Grasping tightly onto the handles, his shoulders tensed as he tried to find the rhythm again. But how was that even possible when in front of him was Timothy Lawrence in all his glory. In a tank top tight beyond belief, showcasing all his muscles so perfectly and shorts that just made Rhys beg in his mind for Timothy to turn around. Around his middle was a sports bag with all the possible necessities.
Mustering up the courage to look back at him (possibly a fatal mistake, he thought), he finally decided to do so. Only to get lost within his looks again and again. His bright and gorgeous features, that perfect tan which made all his freckles show. Arching scar displayed oh so proudly along with blue and blind eye so piercing, he was sure they looked through him. And that flowy hair. When Rhys’ words tangled up in his throat, he noticed a puzzled expression on his face.
“Agh, dammit… Rhys, are you okay?” he asked, his brows furrowing. Instinctively, his hands went to the machine. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry… I, ehm… Should’ve made sure I left the other guy outside, huh?”
Straightening his back, Rhys sprinted back to the position, “C’mon, Tim, it’s fine I just… Eh, y’know, I didn’t expect anyone to actually approach me. Here.”
“Sure, ‘f course, I can leave if you wanna, no big deal–“
“Never said I wanted you to leave.”
To which, Timothy’s face brightened up again. “Right,” he said, popping the t at the end.
And Rhys sighed again. How dumb it was how ready he was to swoon just at the mere presence of his.
Still, he tried to focus. He wasn’t there to… Helplessly gawk at his best friend but actually to get to work. Making sure his stance was still good, he adjusted the level higher again and kept on running. His shoulders tensing again and breaths becoming more and more regular.
Not that he couldn’t stare juuuust a little. Especially since Timothy put his bag down and prepared himself for the workout. And his prayers of him turning around were answered, so damn did he stare.
“What are we working with today?” he asked, seeing Timothy put on his fingerless gloves.
“Y’know. The us’,” Timothy tightened up the wrap around his wrists, sparing Rhys a look from behind. “I’m feelin’ bench press today.”
Oh god and it had to be bench press day too, Rhys thought, feeling the sweat mercilessly dripping down his neck.
“Nice,” Rhys answered in a very, very small voice.
“Aaand you? Treadmill again?”
“Yyep. Sorry, I’m not caught out to do any of your… Beastly workouts.”
Laughing a little, Rhys recollected all the times he either saw Timothy working out or describing his very much so detailed and profound routines. Still, it did have to pay off, big time actually.
“I’m sure you could, you just need that teensy weensy motivation,” this time Timothy took a scrunchie to tie up that unruly hair. “I could even teach you some, if you wanna.”
His back muscles tensed in a way that made Rhys hold his breath again. Diligent fingers wrapping the scrunchie around his hair within several pulls. And honestly Rhys couldn’t decide where to stare first.
Yet as Timothy turned around, he knew exactly where to look. As every time he put his hair into that messy bun, Rhys couldn’t help but to appreciate his looks even more. His face lightened up, as the several messy strands still seemed to cup his face. Wasn’t that Rhys’ weakness all around.
So much so he cleared his throat again, “I– I-I’ll leave that up for the best.”
The quietness overwhelmed them. No response, nothing to say, no nothing just… Silence. Looking away, Rhys tried to focus on the running again. And running, and running, and–
“Pfftt, you’d be surprised how easy it gets… With the– And the… Yeah,” Timothy finally answered, nodding to himself. As if working out the most adequate response to the situation.
Perfect, now he’s gonna think I’m an idiot who does nothing all day and only comes by to just chase himself in one place and–
Then it hit him. It didn’t have to be like this.
“I mean hey, you’ve seen my hands right? Maybe that metal arm would’ve handled it but with my other arm’s strength… Let’s just say even climbing is just hard as hell,” shrugged Rhys, recollecting his youth. Oh, so many terrible, terrible decisions. His fashion choices were the least of the problems, of course. But everything happening on Pandora, his collection of merch of that guy, those people he promptly tried to erase from his memories… And he didn’t even have a mustache back then. Now, come on now.
Timothy looked at him knowingly, “Forgot about this?”
Then proceeded to show him that state of the art prosthetic hand that Rhys had gifted him almost a whole year ago. Ah.
“Touché.”
Not saying anything else, Timothy laughed a little, finally sitting down at the bench. Though not in the position of the bench press just yet (and Rhys knew, he had both seen him do so already and loved to hear him talk about it). Instead, Timothy’s eyes seemed almost glued to the picture of Rhys running. As if he was ready to scan through him, one by one.
Maybe he didn’t pay it too much mind – but Rhys definitely did.
“Like what you’re seeing, huh?”
Why did he even say that. What kind of wickedness prompted him to outwardly say this to not only his best friend but also a worker, out loud. Surely, Rhys had to attend this training, there was no way this was appropriate in the first place–
“Ooohh yees. I mean, no! I mean, uh,” all troubled, Timothy looked away. “I mean, ‘s just nice to be working out with you and nice to be in your presence, like all the time, I really appreciate seeing your sexy ass around, I mean, I didn’t say that! I mean, ughm. Y-You’ve mentioned to me before that you’ve always been a treadmill kinda guy, riiight?”
Everything said by him ended up like a slurry, a shake inside of Rhys’ thoughts. Damn, there was that… Heat again, huh.
Despite everything boiling in his thoughts, he smiled warmly back at Timothy, still trying not to look him in the eyes. Rhys had probably just offhandedly remarked on such ages ago but. Timothy remembered. Timothy paid that extra mind.
“It goes hand in hand,” trying not to push any more pressure onto him, Rhys continued on with that answer. “’ve spent a good amount of my 20’s just running around from place to place so it just made sense to do it more, uhm. Professionally, let’s say.”
Nodding away, Timothy looked at him again, “Gotta love Helios corridors. Rest in peace, ugly piece of shit, nobody misses you.”
The blood in Rhys’ veins froze in just a second, “Oh yyeah… Sure…” Not wanting to draw too much attention to it, he coughed away, “Well, gym was basically the only thing we didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for at Hyperion. Y’know.”
“Oh I know. Remember I was only posing as the big boss, I had the same benefits. Quotation marks.”
All surprised at the answer, Rhys asked, being even more curious, “So what, did you guys use to go to the same gym as all the lackeys?”
“Naah, it’d be way too easy to blow our cover,” dismissed Timothy, waving his hand carelessly. “We had to maintain it just so these lackeys would believe we’ve never been there. And some did.”
“Ohh, yeah, sure, Tim, go ahead and just stick it in my face for all my life.”
“He he.”
When they first met, Rhys had laid his heart on Timothy immediately confessing something so embarrassing, he wished he never had to do so again. And yet it was. In a moment of clarity, Rhys had admitted that he had never thought that the doppelgangers were actually real. Only learning the truth ages afterwards, circumstances not needed. After Timothy had laughed it away (to which Rhys had joined, of course), he simply had looked at him with the greatest calmness within him. Cause no one else had ever given him a chance that it would happen.
The rest, as they say, was history.
“Noo sir, we had our own VIP suite. Even the Jackpot had one, Jack really wanted us to stay in shape, so hey, I did just that,”
“With all that Vault Hunting and looking badass, huh?”
“Damn right,” Timothy winked back at him. Rhys truly hoped it wasn’t an involuntary action. “Iiii like it, y’know? Feels good, makes me keep my head together and well. Feels better to look into the mirror, that’s all I really wanna say.”
Amidst all of this, Rhys looked at him. Just like before appreciating every detail, every little quirk of his. The shine of his eyes, the warm smile. Freckles coming down on his muscly arms and that beautiful frame. He never could think why anyone looking at him would ever see even a shadow of Handsome Jack. Cause Timothy looked so different, so beautiful, the comparison always failed in his eyes. Cause Timothy was himself first and foremost and for Rhys it meant the world.
“You really do look wonderful. Just like yourself,” he said dreamily, not caring too much about the words.
“Awwh. Thanks, Rhysie baby,” and though he had probably realized what he had just said, there was no apology to come afterwards. Just a quick almost blank stare and brushing himself off together. “Anyyywhooze, I’ll better get the machine goin’ y’know, hah. Time to make the good ol’ guns work.”
Rhys eyed him. From up and down, “Oh, hell yes.”
Without further notice, Timothy had shaken his head around and composed himself again. Immediately, Rhys knew what was going on – Timothy simply needed to breathe out. A smile crept on his face, knowing all the quirks and what nots of his.
Then it was time for the real deal. Timothy laid himself down on the press. Many times before, he had shown Rhys the correct position to start working out. Feet firmly onto the ground, thighs mostly touching the press. Back arched slightly, eyes on the level of the handle. Though in all honesty, Rhys’ eyes mostly went way, way lower than they should, seeing his legs further apart. Involuntarily, of course.
But before his workout could begin, he asked one last time, “Could you count with me? In case I’ll make a mistake or somethin’.”
Rhys nodded. Just how on Promethea would he focus enough.
With everything set in motion, Timothy’s hands went to the bars. Giving it everything he could, he lifted up the bar, just inches away from his chest. That beautiful, perfectly shaped chest, Rhys so many times found himself looking at whenever he was near. Timothy’s muscles tensed with the force, flexed all throughout. Rhys felt sudden dryness within his mouth.
His eyes then focused on his shaped arms, currently lifting the bar. The movements seemed so flowing, as if the challenge for Timothy had only begun. He knew his strength, quite frankly, quite well. Yet testing it with a pull after pull seemed like the best sense of such. Muscles tensed harder, trying to give as much as he could.
Then he stopped. Bar once more arriving at its place, Timothy returning to sit down and breathe out. Though a bit shiny, he didn’t seem too phased by it. Only needing that quick, fleeting moment to breathe out and run his hand through his hair.
Motioning to the right, Rhys took the water bottle into his hand, suddenly in need of a bigger sip. But goddamn, didn’t his eyes still focus on Timothy and Timothy only.
“Soo, what’s the score, boss?” Timothy followed his suit and took a sip from his own bottle.
“Holy shit, you magnificent… 14! I have personally counted 14,” Rhys shook his head. Get it together.
“Really? Thought I only did 11.”
“Heh, ehm, haha… Either my troubles with counting or-or youu are better than this than you give yourself credit for,” nodded Rhys, still stammering through his own words.
Timothy motioned his bottle in his direction, “Which one you’re willing to bet, huh?”
“T-The latter. ‘f course, I mean.”
“Hmm. Good letter of recommendation, boss,” and Timothy winked again.
And another sip almost spat out entirely out of Rhys’ mouth.
However, in a timely manner, Timothy turned away to increase the weight of said weights. Stacking some more up, placing them on each side. If he had heard so, he simply brushed it off, returning to his trusted position.
“Ooone more time, alright? I’ll get it from there.”
“Sure, sure, I’m here for you, if-if, if you need anything.”
So Timothy started anew.
The same position, the same strategy. Bars clenched in his fists, arms bending a little harder yet still with such grace, Rhys simply wanted to swoon. As much as he could see his face, there was such determination to simply keep going, get even more out of this. Every lift, every struggle got him closer to what he wanted. And that was what Rhys loved the most about him.
That determination which shone through in every action of his. Many times before, Timothy had said just how much Promethea was essentially his second chance. One he never thought he could’ve gotten. Hence now whenever possible, he simply made the most out of it. Bettering himself, living to the fullest. Living the life he had been denied for so long.
When Rhys saw that determined face, echoes of those second chances rang in his ears. There was definitely something his heart saw through within these declarations. Something it understood.
The now and then flung him right back to the moment. Him staring at not only his arms lifting them up and down but the chest, oh god that chest.
Every breath Timothy took was calibrated, gotten at the right time. That beautiful chest of his moving only when it had taken place, arching higher just slightly. But then Rhys went lower. Maybe not that low but, well. Somewhat.
There it was. The tightness of Timothy’s black tee was already leaving next to nothing to the imagination. Particularly staring at his flexed pecs. But the lower down the line Rhys went the more he could see. The edge of his shirt softly curled upwards, exposing just enough of his midriff. The sunkissed skin, that wonderfully built stomach and oh, god if only it could go a little more–
He had no idea how this happened. Or he did but admitting the whole truth was… Less than stellar.
Suddenly, Rhys’ foot missed the mark, tangling within one another. His hands trying to reach the handrails, slipped through. And before he knew it his balance went away. Slipping his feet once or twice, Rhys let out a high pitched yelp. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor. Sure, his back hurt like hell. Sure, he landed right onto his ass and probably could’ve died or something. But what a death it would’ve been.
It hurt, all around it hurt more than he would’ve liked to admit. So his eyes closed, for a bit longer than he would’ve liked. That was when Rhys’ thoughts went back to one thing and one thing only. Those beautiful muscles, those strong hands, that exposed stomach and smile on his face, one worth that made him fall… Well, quite literally.
But suddenly enough Rhys woke up again. The motor of it seemingly being the spike of painful heat that rose at his lower back. The feeble attempt of him standing up failed immediately. Back on the ground, he closed his eyes. In defeat, Rhys outstretched his arms, mumbling something underneath his nose. Closing his eyes, this time not due to blackout just by his own force.
He had accepted his fate. Dying in the stupidest way possible. But it was worth it, it truly was.
“Rhys! Rhys, are you there? Oh man, are you hurt or-or something, should I call the med bay?? I should probably call the med bay, oh my god, how can I explain to them that the boss just fell off, they’re gonna kill me just for my face,” and there he was. Timothy ran off from the bench just to check up on him.
Oh, right.
Trying to prop himself on his elbows, he muttered, “Not if I have… Somethin’ to say about it… Not with your. Pretty face.”
“RHYS! Holy shit, bro, what happened?”
Then Rhys’ eyes opened tentatively. With his mouth pressed into a line.
So I was looking at your massive tits while working out and you are so gorgeous I kinda sorta stumbled away? We’re still super platonic best friends, obviously.
No, no, no. That’d be low even for him.
“Nothin’ just… Aghh, just-just lost my balance, I guess. Haven’t had enough sleep and… Stuff.”
Then he saw this. And then his eyes doubled in size. Or maybe tripled.
Cause it was one thing looking at Timothy from afar. Timothy working out, perfecting his beautiful frame, taking care of himself. But it was a completely different thing from the situation he was in now. Laying on the ground, as Timothy kneeled in front of him, checking if he was alright. The distressed face, slightly messed up hair, he kept on pushing to the side. And those pecs. Those beautifully built pecs, just inches away from him.
Rhys felt heat right up to his ears. Eyes going up and down, not knowing where to focus.
“Are you sure? Cause I wasn’t even sure if you breathed just a second ago,” said Timothy, in a voice almost akin to a question.
Well, he might have as well forgotten how his lungs worked.
“No! Tim, look, I’m alright, haha, I just have to be breasted boobily– I MEAN, rested. Goodly.”
Arching himself upwards, Rhys let out another yelp. Yet, he smiled through the pain. Very, very widely.
Timothy blinked several times, “Well.”
“Why, heh, thanks, I try.”
“No, I mean, uh. Isn’t goodly just well?”
A beat of silence overwhelmed them, staring into each other. Until Rhys didn't break it, “…WELL THEN! Oh, pfft, Tim, my man, look at the time, Iiii need to be going off now and do. CEO stuff.”
Soon after, Rhys ascended carefully back from the ground. Yes, everything still hurt. But this kind of position would probably just not end well for him. Hence he straightened his back, brushed off himself and was ready to go off. If it wasn’t for one small caveat.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it but you’re acting so strange and I don’t want you to get hurt or something,” as genuine puzzlement grew on Timothy’s face, his hand reached back to hold Rhys’ shoulder. So warm, so gentle, yet so strong… “If your legs are in pain why don’t you let me uhm, carry you maybe? It’s just a suggestion, but if you ever need it then, well…”
Now that was when Rhys’ legs felt even weaker than before.
“No! I mean, nah, I’ll handle myself, hah. I really gotta go so, byeee, see ya, Tim!”
“Uhm, see ya!”
As much as his face was burning Rhys looked back. And he couldn’t help but smile for him one last time.
Seeing your boss possibly in pain, with his head in hands and ready to smash his head onto the wall shouldn’t be a common sight. Unless you were Lor.
Taking a steady stroll through the facility, ready to finally start working out again, Lor took notice of a strange sight. Or well, not that strange, seeing Rhys in many, many weird situations. Still, there was something peculiar about him waiting for the med bay.
“Oi! Rhys, mate, what’s up?” Lor asked, stopping almost in headlights.
“Aghh, nothing, I just… Fell on my ass,” he muttered, hesitentaly looking back at him.
“Any particular reason?” he kept on asking, his brow raised. “Or wait, lemme guess, is it actually about the usual?”
“Stop patronizing me.”
“’m just tellin’ the truth you hate so much.”
Maybe Rhys was a top notch storyteller but he surely was a terrible, terrible liar. Not to mention, Lor just had to mess with him once in a while. Especially since they all knew the truth. Well, everyone who had ever witnessed Rhys interact with Timothy could tell they were both down bad for each other.
Everyone except them, it seemed.
But this time around, Lor simply sat down next to Rhys, nudging him by the shoulder, “Ehh, c’mon. Spit it out, it’ll make ya feel better.”
Choosing the correct words in his head, Rhys put his hand back on the edge of his chin, “Fiiine. I was running on the treadmill and then Tim came by and he started bench pressing and uh. I fell on my ass.”
Lor blinked several times, “No way.”
“Yes way. That’s not all, I, uh… I was talking something about… Tits.”
“Tits? Nah, mate, I had ‘em removed 2 months ago, remember?” he nodded his head, waiting for the response. But when the only response he had gotten was Rhys’ pout, he simply laughed it away. “Oh yeah, that was about Tim’s huge tits. Don’t worry though, he’s not my type. I prefer ‘em taller.”
“I wasn’t… Waait a sec, Lor, he’s not my type either. Where’d you even get that?”
“You fell on your ass looking at him,” Lor deadpanned.
And that was how he won the argument. Worked like a charm, every single time.
“Okay, so what? So what, he’s my type and I think he’s really… Really beautiful. I can think of people as attractive, right?” Rhys’ defensive tone spiked, waving his hands around.
If the first step worked, Lor just had to go for the second try around, “Sooo will that finally make you admit you’ve got a giant ass crush on him?”
Those words were enough for Rhys’ face to go back to that red shade it was whenever Timothy was near. Oh, how easy it was for him to snap, it was basically child’s play.
“Ohhh, what, whaaattt, c’monn, I don’t have a crush on Tim, be realistic,” Rhys’ voice almost sounded like wheezing. Or dying. Or wheezing while dying.
“Alright. Then don’t call me next time you’re gonna be thinkin’ about his bubbly voice or courage and wit, or his massive chest,” every word of this he spoke in a quasi-Rhys-like voice. Probably just to spite him or maybe to make him admit something.
Exasperated, he wasn’t ready to quarrel anymore. He simply put his back against the chair and said, “Just. Just let me check on my joints, alright?”
“Sure. Speedy recovery, man.”
With one fell swoop, Lor took back his gym bag, ready to resume his own quest. If he himself couldn’t help two lonely hearts, they truly had to help themselves.
On his way back, Lor heard Rhys quietly repeating Timothy’s name.
How was it possible that he found two lovestruck guys in basically the same position in two different places? Only at Atlas HQ it seemed.
Yet, there it was. As Lor went to the gym space and put down his bag, he saw Timothy. This time sitting at the bench, his head in his hands. Lor looked around himself. Sure, he knew the answer but still decided to ask around here.
“Ehm, Tim? Everything’s alright?” he asked.
“Oh yeah! Yeah, uh. I mean if you consider, gawking at Rhys while he works out and basically forgetting to even bench press on your own and then when he injures himself offering to carry him around good then…” Timothy quickly stood up, something nervous in his walk. “I am super peachy!”
Lor quirked his eyebrow. Maybe one day they would figure it out by themselves.