torresxpatrick

[torresxpatrick]

Truthfully, Patrick had never considered how much meaning a space can have - at least, to someone not directly involved. Sure, Roses’s held his whole heart in between her four walls, but he wasn’t sure he could ever find a way to express that someone who wasn’t, well, himself. It felt so special, so unique - he was sure he had created it within his own head. To hear Priya validate that, to say that it was something that shone through the mere physical place that the building rests in, that his (and by extension, his mother’s) story was something worth telling… He smiled, warmth filling his body from the inside out. “Maybe someday. You gotta give me some time to, I dunno, sweep up in here or something.” A shrug, a laugh, noncommittal. “I do know where to find you and I fear I may have kept you from it for too long - I can let you get to your workout.” Patrick didn’t want to commit to any kind of project around Rosalia’s quite yet; as much as he wanted to share her story, to scream it from the rooftops, there was still something that he felt very possessive over, something about the building itself and everything it represented. He could share it on a daily basis with his clients, but to film something, to solidify it forever in an image? It felt … different, somehow. Patrick continued on with another smile, a glance at her camera bag again. “If you need any help filming for your … travel blog, was it? Well, let me know. I’ll be here.” 

her smile deepened, something wry but warm in it. “don’t sell yourself short,” she said, tilting her head. “sure, the south pole has penguins and argentina’s got… well, a lot, but none of that makes this any less interesting. stories aren’t about how far you go. they’re about the people, the meaning behind a place.” she glanced around the gym again, this time with a photographer’s eye, taking in the interplay of light and shadow, the weight of history that settled into the walls. “rosalia’s story is already here — you’ve built it into the foundation, into every scuffed mat, every person who walks through that door looking for something more than just a workout.” her fingers traced absent circles over her camera. “i’d want to capture that. not just the gym itself, but the feeling. the way people move here, the way they change. the way it reflects who you are, and who she was.” priya looked back at him, expression thoughtful. “so yeah, if you’re worried about your gym not being interesting enough, don’t be. people crave stories that feel real, places that feel lived in. and if you ever want someone to actually put that into pictures, you know where to find me.”

[torresxpatrick]

“If only Stella knew how emotionally unavailable I really am,” he grumbled through a mouthful of food, shaking his head. It wasn’t that Patrick wasn’t someone who didn’t want to find his person (not that he would ever admit it), he just wasn’t sure that anyone would ever want to call him theirs. After all, he felt like he still carried so much with him - his dad’s infidelity, his mother’s passing, a brief few stints of sobriety to which he can’t seem to commit. In all honesty, he thought he was a hard sell, so maybe it was easier to spend 12 hours at Roses’, trapped behind the front desk or the back, always tapping away on a computer. 

He couldn’t contain the laugh that escaped him as Sasha regaled his last date, appropriately gasping, laughing, and nodding at the other. “A fuckin’ salad?” Pat shook his head incredulously, shoveling another forkful of food into his mouth. He shut his laptop and stood, taking only a few short steps to the mini fridge against the wall and pulling out two beer bottles, popping one’s lid with the other and passing it comfortably to Sasha. “Don’t tell anyone I have these in here,” he said with a sly smile, “But for real, if you’re not ordering something drowning, and I mean drowning like the Titanic in the last 30 minutes of that movie, in syrup, why even go to Stacks?” Another chuckle. Another bite. Patrick leaned back in his chair, resting his heels on his desk. “Have you talked to her since? Or did she clock you as one of the most boring people on the face of this planet?” 

‎ after fixing himself a warm plate of his mother's cooking, he finds a spot on the couch, feet propped up on the small coffee table stacked with some health and wellness magazines next to a plastic vase that looked tacky even for patrick's taste, but what does he know, he's never had his own office before. and everyday, he's proud of his friend for getting this far and fulfilling his dreams, but he also worries that he might be working himself too much sometimes. so he never minds doing this, bringing over food when he might forget to eat or dragging him out for a couple of games of pool after work or going on a hike on the weekends just so he doesn’t burn himself out in the name of success. with a mouthful of potatoes, he points at patrick with his fork and says, “if there’s anything worse than a legible bachelor, it’s an illegible bachelor, that’s what my mom says about you,” not realizing he’d gotten the words wrong, but whatever, the point is there. “but i think she’s more excited about planning your wedding than you actually getting married, if you ask me.” in the years that stella has known patrick, she’s come to think of him as her own son and yes, that means imagining herself picking out centerpieces for him and giving a toast on his big day. if his mom can’t be there for it, then she will.

it’s not like sasha has much luck on the relationship front, either, though it’s less because he doesn’t have the time for it and more because he doesn’t know how. not after his last one, which has been a few years now, and certainly not after gracie. he visibly cringes when patrick reminds him about the last date he’d been on, the one from last week. “oh, fuck that. i took her to stacks and it was so awkward, eugh.” he shudders at the memory. “we barely talked about anything. and i was fuckin’ starving, i couldn't think of anything else. she only ordered the salad, so i ordered the salad ‘cause i didn’t wanna, like, pig out in front of her or anything.” shoving another forkful of potatoes into his mouth, “who the fuck orders a salad at stacks? that’s sacrilege. you go in there for the grease and the carbs!” 

[torresxpatrick]

He was happy to work with his clients, even if they weren’t his clients. Patrick doesn’t often take on clients of his own, too busy with running the gym and somehow maintain a social life, but he has a select few in town that he’ll happily drop everything and help out; Stella (Sasha’s mother), a kindergarten teacher that reminds him of his own mother, a chef from Aleria that drops him free pastries in exchange for his time, and pretty much anyone who shows that they need a little assistance. After all, what kind of gym would he be running if people didn’t feel comfortable asking for help? He eyed her stance, lined up his own legs and planted a hand on the top of his thigh, fingers pointed to his feet. “See how my foot is pointed?” Patrick readjusted his foot ever so slightly, resting his hand on his knee in the same angle. “Try positioning your foot like that - you’ll feel more solid, less like something could tip you over.” 

⸻ She watched Patrick, entering the gym. ❛ No, my personal sort of bailed on me today. I have some training on my phone.❜ Her blonde brow arched watching his phone drop and then shifted to the hanging bags. She met his brown eyes and smiled timidly. ❛ I might need your help after I do some warm-up. ❜ As she stated, Alice began stretching herself before starting to do any exercises, once she finished it all real quick. She went to one of the hang sacks and started the punches and then looked at him. ❛ Am I doing the punch right? ❜ She inquired at him, demonstrating what she was doing, but the 'aim' in her punches was exactly right.

She never fully practices 'kicking boxing' in a 'real fight' with her trainer, it is just mostly to do the 'aerobics exercises'.

[torresxpatrick]

Patrick grinned as she thought through the options, always curious to hear what other people’s perceptions of the gym are, where they find their comfort level to be set. He found that most are capable of much more than they may think, the fear of looking silly or not knowing how to equipment tends to hold most folks back from fully engaging themselves while in the space. “I doubt you would dislocate something,” he assured her with a smile, “besides, even if you don’t want an instructor, I’ll be close by. I don’t let anyone get hurt in my gym.” Was it cocky? Sure. Did he pride himself on safety in this gym? Also sure. Besides, she seemed capable enough - but if it would ease her nerves; “I’m happy to be your instructor today. There’s not much else I could be doing right now, anyway.” He waved around to the empty gym with another smile, a shrug. 

Emine was listening to him and nodding her head, taking both options in consideration and deciding that maybe she needed to wait a little bit before she decided because she didn't know how the rest of the day would go. It was something she was figuring out with a child in her life now— that nothing ever went to plan. Whenever she was set to do something, her sister came to her with a new problem or new place she wanted to go. "I'll think about the passes and just do the hour for now." She explained as she put her hand upon her hips and then shrugged her shoulder. "The guided option could be interesting because I haven't worked out in a long time and I feel like maybe it would be good to have someone walk me through it so I don't pull or dislocate something." Emine stated, but only realized that no one was around except him. "But if there aren't any instructors then I'm fine to go ahead and work out alone."

[torresxpatrick]

Like most mornings, Patrick had opened the gym and spent the first few hours ‘testing the machines’. It was a little joke he liked to the patron’s if they ever made a comment about his work outs, the (almost excessive) time he spent using his own equipment. But could you really blame him? He’d spent months and months building this gym, turning it into a place that he, and many others in Woodside, wanted to spend hours in, not just that they felt obligated by whatever self-internalized standard that they were trying to reach. Still, he was never going to complain about the uptick in memberships during the first couple months of the year, the eagerness in certain folks as they got back into the routine. Though today seemed to be packed, so much so that Patrick couldn’t even enjoy his own workout and spent majority of the morning behind the  desk, checking people in and answering questions. His lips, shockingly downturned for the last few hours, ticked up when a familiar face approached him, offering him an out from the monotony of front desk work. Patrick was quick to accept and gather up his stuff, meeting August outside the front doors. “So, where were you thinking?” He ran a hand through his hair and pushed it back, setting a backwards baseball cap over the mess of his locks. 

Starter for: August & Patrick @torresxpatrick Location: Rose's Gym

August hated how all of the new year resolution's had been clogging up the gym lately. He knew that eventually they would slowly go away but January was awful. It was always the most painful month for being a regular gym goer. He was finishing up his workout and had showered but changed back into comfortable clothes that he brought with him because he loved to be in comfy clothes since he didn't get to do it often. Because today was his day off, he had gone to the gym later in the morning and now it was nearing lunch time. He stopped by the front counter and saw Patrick, "Hey. You able to get out of here and want to go get a bite?" He asked him. August and Patrick happened to talk quite a bit since August tried his best to make it to the gym every day.

[torresxpatrick]

There was no feeling that compared to being in the ring with another human. There’s only so much satisfaction Pat can get from hitting a bag that hangs from the ceiling for hours at a time - it doesn’t fight back, it doesn’t give any kind of unexpected movement. Sometimes, Patrick wished he actually pursued fighting in a way that felt more real, arranged fights with real hits, real dodging, an actual element of what he fell in love with so many years ago. But still, he could feel his body as it aged, not holding its own nearly as well as it used to - perhaps it was a good thing his ‘real’ fights were in limited numbers these days. Still, he relished the times that a gym goer took him up on the offer, flying around in circles on his feet as easy as walking down the street (maybe even easier, Patrick has been known to trip over his own shoes). The exhaustion left in his bones, the weight in his lungs as they stepped out of the ring, it was his own euphoria. He grinned at the other’s offer, nodding lightly as he took a long glug from his water bottle. “Anytime, man,” he grinned, “if it wasn’t -”, a quick glance at his watch, “only 7:30, I’d be down for a beer right now.” Patrick chuckled, then quirked a joking eyebrow. “Or, a bloody mary…?” Another laugh and the man shook his head, draping a towel over the back of his neck and grabbing onto both ends, letting the towel hold the weight of his heavy arms. “No, seriously though, you ever wanna punch something, you know where to find me. I’m always down to jump in the ring, y’know me.”   

───they are not old, per se; Hunter does not feel old, by any means, but still he is not in his early twenties. athlete or not. he can still do everything he could back then, but it has its toll, whether he likes it or not, recovery time is not the same. Dakar is hard as it is and the fact that he barely gives himself a moment to rest after, not even for a couple of days, adds to it; he wasn’t simply messing with Patrick when he mentioned it. regardless, he is glad they can humor themselves a little about it, as well as for the offer given that he doesn’t really feel in the mood to work out, even when he is already halfway there by being at the gym. in truth, if it wasn’t for his competitive nature, he probably would still be in bed.

after talking himself into doing so warm-ups, followed by a bit of weights, he made his way over to Patrick just when he started feeling that he would rather head home than push through another set. “I highly doubt it,” he laughed but joined the other man nonetheless; not for an actual fight, he hoped, they could just spar and run through some drills for a while. and it’s not like he puts any less than a hundred percent into each step, but it doesn’t make the fact that he feels sore and spent after having ridden dunes for long distances for the past two weeks. “next time, we will make sure you give me a challenge…” he said once they had about wrapped up; people started coming to get their morning exercises in and he was about to call it a day at the gym. “or better yet, grab a beer,” he laughed; he was teasing, of course, he was down for them to do both.

[torresxpatrick]

“Only an hour? Damn.” Patrick chuckled in response, a brow quirked. He thought back to those first formative moments in Woodside - at least he had a friend to drive him from the airport, to give him a warm place to stay for a couple days. He wondered if this man needed anything; he certainly seemed rather self-assured that what, or rather who, he was looking for was here. Patrick slid a slice of pizza off the tray onto a plate, folding it and ripping nearly half of it off as a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, shook the others hand as he introduced himself. “Patrick, nice to meet you.” Another bite of pizza, a slug of his beer. “Who are you looking for?” Honestly, Pat was asking out of hopes of helping (after all, he knew a lot of folks in this town; every time someone in the gym checks in, their name pops up on the screen), but there was a small, nosey part behind his question. It wasn’t everyday you came across someone who just rolled into town with such a specific goal.

Somewhere between his sitting down, staring at his work and hearing the voice in front him Eddie's cocktail and pizza was delivered. Quickly he scanned the people for his waitress and when he saw her he raised a hand up and called out to her. "Thank you." A second later he focused on the guy that had come up to him and smiled. "Hey." Eddie nodded, "of course. Please." Turning his head to look at the older gentleman in question he let out a chuckle. "Man, I don't blame you. They look like they bathe in Old Spice." As he was joined Eddie slid the pizza more in between them. "Help yourself." He folded the papers and slid them into his pocket before grabbing a slice of pizza for himself as he was asked what he was working on. "It's a long story but essentially I'm looking for someone and last I heard they were here at least a few months ago so I decided to hell with it I’m going to come and see if I can find them. I’ve been here for about an hour so we’ll have to see how it goes in the coming days.” He looked around a moment wondering if the person he was looking for was in here, which would be crazy, even though all he had was a name. “I also have to figure out what there is to do in this town. I’ve been to Michigan before but never here.” Suddenly it hit him that he hadn’t introduced himself. “Oh, I’m Eduardo, by the way, but everyone calls me Eddie.” He extended the hand that didn’t have pizza grease on it.

[torresxpatrick]

A grin pulled at the corners of Patrick’s mouth as she spoke - sure, Rosalia had never seen the gym itself, the way people filled his membership list within the first week, classes & training sessions built around comfort and confidence drawing folks from all over Woodside. And sure, his mother would never be able to tell him herself how proud she was of the space, but he’d like to think that she spoke through others when they make such a comment. She would be proud. “I’d like to think so,” he said with another grin, following her movements. Patrick had hired a photographer when he first fitted the space, a few days before his grand open, to take photos for his website & a Rose’s Gym instagram (which had been sorely neglected since its launch), but apart from that, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such a nice camera. It felt almost out of place in the gym, though Pat tended to associate the space with fighting, hitting - he was almost worried about having such an expensive, and fragile, piece of equipment here. “Travel blogger, huh?” He found himself asking with a chuckle. Truthfully, he’d never left the US and there was a curiosity piquing as to the extent of her travels. A brow quirked at her question, wondering how he could possibly capture Rosalia’s story and spirit into something as … tangible as a film. His mother had always felt so otherworldly to him. “How would you go about that?” Genuine curiosity took over and he followed with, “I don’t know if my gym will be as interesting as - like, all the stuff those instagram travel people in yknow, Argentina or the South Pole or whatever? - as interesting as everything they’re posting.”

priya listened, her attention sharp yet easy, the kind that made people feel seen. she leaned one elbow on the counter, her head tilting slightly as patrick talked about rosalia. there was a softness in his voice when he spoke about his mother, a quiet reverence that struck something familiar in her. family was complicated for her, a web of expectations and missed connections, but there was no mistaking the kind of love that fueled something as meaningful as this gym. “that’s a hell of a story,” she said after a pause, her tone gentler now, though the teasing spark in her eyes hadn’t dimmed entirely. “rosalia sounds like she was an incredible woman. and the way you’ve built this place? it’s... well, i don’t know her, obviously, but i think she’d be proud of what you’ve made here.” she glanced around again, as if taking it all in for the first time. the golden light. the scuffed mats that spoke of use and purpose. the faint hum of life buzzing under the surface. “it’s got a kind of soul, you know? not every place has that.” when patrick shifted the focus back to her, priya’s lips curved into a wry smile. “photographer’s one word for it,” she said, sliding her bag off her shoulder and setting it gently on the counter. “travel blogger’s another. though lately, i’ve been spending more time here than out there.” she gestured vaguely, as if the whole world was just a few steps beyond the gym’s doors. “not exactly scoping out new locations, though. just... finding my footing, i guess.” she unzipped the bag and pulled out a camera, cradling it in her hands like it was something sacred. “but you’re not wrong about the light. it’s incredible in here — makes you want to capture it, freeze it for just a second so you can remember how it feels.” her eyes flicked back to him, curious now. “you ever let anyone do that? shoot a story here, or maybe just... this?” she gestured vaguely again, her hand sweeping over the sun-drenched space. “i think your mom’s story would make a hell of a centerpiece.”

[torresxpatrick]

Patrick’s fingers were flying across the keyboard as he tried to finish one last thing. He’d been saying one last thing for the last 2 hours, prompting Sasha (and Stella, by proxy) to bring the party to him. Never in a million years would Pat have rather spent his evening like this, stuck in front of a laptop, running a payroll system that he had never used prior to an hour ago. You didn’t think he missed dinner with two of his favorite people on the planet for something fun, did you? No, the freelancer accountant that Pat had been pulling teeth from for months called him sick, again, and let him know that Rose's payroll hadn't been run yet. It was still a small gym, less than 15 other employees that worked at Rose’s but Pat wouldn’t be able to live with himself if they were inadvertently slighted by someone else’s lack of urgency - payday was tomorrow, checks had to hit accounts tonight. He mumbled something about how good the potato bake smelled, savoring the way its decadence filled the small-ish space before turning back to his computer for one more moment. Finally, with a somewhat exaggerated flourish, Patrick hit the ‘enter’ key and grinned - a green success! displayed on the screen. And, finally, he turned his attention to Sasha, eagerly grabbing a plate and shoving a forkful in his mouth. “Ah,” Pat sighed happily, relaxing back in his chair, “G’damn, she’s done it again.” He took another moment, another bite before chuckling incredulously at Sasha’s, or rather Stella’s, presumption. “Oh please, you know I don’t have the time to date. Besides, business and pleasure don’t mix.” A shrug. Patrick chewed slowly, briefly wondering what his life would look like if he were to become open to some kind of romance, quickly pushing it out of his mind. “And y’all can’t give me any shit - how’s that girl that Stel set you up with? From her book club, yeah?” He looked at Sasha with his eyebrows raised in mock pity. 

closed starter @torresxpatrick setting: rose's gym, early evening.

‎ the tupperware is still warm all over when sasha plops it onto patrick's desk with a resounding thud. "it's potato bake. fresh from the oven." they're in patrick's office. sasha really is proud of his friend at how far he's come from working the odd job here and there with him back in texas. now he owns a gym and has an office, albeit small and hidden behind a nondescript door brandished with an AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY sign in bold, intimidating letters, but there's a couch, a small tv, a water cooler, and patrick's personal microwave, which is convenient because sasha brought plates for them.

"mom said if you're not coming over for dinner, then the dinner will come to you," sasha adds, bringing out the microwave-safe utensils from the shopping bag he'd come in with, tasked with a mission by his mother to feed patrick because he's 'looking too skinny' after finding a recent facebook photo of him. he's fine, ma, his whole bicep's the size of my head, sasha insists, but he figures that's just stella's way of saying she misses him. he lays out the plates next to the tupperware then pops the lid open, faint vestiges of steam escaping from the plastic. he lets the dish breathe for a moment while he grabs the forks. "also, she thinks rebecca's your girlfriend and told me to 'extend her best wishes' to the happy couple." sasha snorts, remembering his mother's comment when she saw another photo of patrick with one of the gym's trainers. "she's not, is she? i mean, you would tell me if you were dating the hottest trainer here, right?"

[torresxpatrick]

With a chuckle, Patrick raised both his arms over his head and stretched out his shoulders, folding his arm down and pulling on his elbow. “Glad I’m not the only one feeling it in my old age,” he said with a drip of sarcasm. Sure, Pat was in his midthirties but he’d spent years abusing his body, treating it as if it was replaceable. And sure, he spent nearly the last decade working like a dog to undo that damage, but even on his best days, he’s not where a man in his thirties could be; at least, physically. Despite it all, he fell easily back into step once they parted ways, fists slamming against the bag as if that’s what they were made to do. One, hit, two, hit-hit. Smooth. Easy. There was electricity racing through his veins at the prospect of getting in the ring with someone, even if it wasn’t a ‘real’ fight. He’ll hold his own, obviously; he wanted to have some fun this morning. But Patrick wasn’t in the business of beating up his paying customers. He stepped away from the mat and lifted his shirt from the collar, wiping it over his face before laughing along with Hunter. “Don’t worry,” he chuckled, “I was at it for at least an hour before you got here - I’m exhausted, man. You could easily put me on my ass right now.”

───people often tend to forget there are billions of people around the globe who are as obsessed with motorcycles as the car guys are with the likes of Formula and WRC. Hunter had tried his hand at car racing, he has a natural talented for driving; can tell the distance, and the amount of weight he needs to apply to the breaks for it to be just enough to make a turn, he loves a good drift, don’t get him wrong, but he is ultimately a bike guy, plain and simple. to him there is hardly any comparison when it comes between the two; there is a sense of freedom when you are on two wheels that he just did not get behind a wheel. yes, he could see himself doing some car racing in the future, but he intended to stick to motorcycle racing for as long as he possibly could before turning into coaching —which they are already setting up to make it happen and help young kids get the chance and guidance they need.

for some, he made the shift from track racing to enduro and off-road too soon. he had been called the younger version of the legendary Valentino Rossi since he nearly started, solely given the outstanding skill and talent he displayed on two wheels, even brought it up when he resigned from MotoGP by the end of last season. turned out track wasn’t for him in the long term, he preferred the excitement of an enduro, all in all, and he had come to know when it was time for him to walk away, the same manner he did when he left fmx a few years ago —it simply wasn’t for him anymore.

“don’t be that surprised,” he laughed, “I may play it cool, but between you and me, Dakar kicked my ass,” he elaborated with another laugh. It was hard, even if he had won and if he had loved every second of it ( even the moments he cursed himself for being utterly unable to give it a rest ). and then he nodded at Patrick, just about begun making his way to the machines before half-turning around at the suggestion. “let me get a warm-up in and then I’ll come find you,” he replied; it did sound better anyway, even if he was going to do some weights anyway —that was something he never really got bored of. and he would go find Patrick a while later, maybe also as a way to not just call it a day after nearly twenty minutes in the gym.

blue eyes studied the precision of the other’s movements, the control. “I warn you, I am not up to this bar today,” he laughed; he normally wouldn’t mind though, even if it had been years since he had his boxing practice and nowadays it was more in a casual manner than back then.

[torresxpatrick]

A pop song filled the space around them, easy enough to not disrupt anyone’s time in Rose’s but dance-y enough to keep them energized through their work out. Patrick allowed his body to plop onto the stool, his muscles screaming as he leaned into the counter and followed Priya’s imagined camera. There was a certain way the sun filtered through the windows, bouncing off the mirrors and illuminating the space from the inside out; Patrick felt warm, full. And while he was sure the vast majority of the feeling came from blood rushing through his veins, still racing from the adrenaline of a morning session, there was a handful of that feeling he knew was pride, screaming just as sure as his muscles. “Ah,” he grinned, “Any excuse.” Patrick launched into telling Priya about his mother, Rosalia, how she was the sweetest woman to grace this planet, how she forgave him more times than any mother is apt to, how her passing led Patrick to Woodside, to the gym itself, for he’d been taking a late night walk on what would have been her birthday when he came across the building, a 2-post sign in the front with some real estate firm and “FOR SALE” in big, red letters. How he turned it all into more than just a gym. “Enough about me though.” He nodded to her bag, a brow raised in question. “Are you a photographer? Are you scoping out new locations?” It was a joke, said with a chuckle, but he was curious - every picture Patrick has tried to take has ended up blurry, somehow has a thumb obscuring whatever he was trying to capture, or ends up being a photo of his face from what is probably the worst angle known to history (how the hell does this thing keep flipping to selfie-mode?).

priya's gaze lingered on patrick for a moment, taking in the quiet pride that softened his features as he nodded toward her bags. there was something inherently calming about the man, like the steady rhythm of ocean waves — strong, sure, but not overwhelming. the gym’s warmth was already starting to seep into her, dispelling the early morning chill that clung to her skin. "i figured i’d keep it simple," she said, shifting the strap of her camera bag higher on her shoulder. "a little cardio, maybe some strength training. my shoulders have been complaining lately, and i’m trying to stay on their good side." her tone was light, but there was a glint of self-awareness in her dark eyes, the kind that hinted she was no stranger to pushing herself too hard and paying for it later. she tilted her head toward the windows, sunlight spilling across the mats in soft, golden pools. "and, honestly, this place? it’s exactly what i was hoping for. the light in here—" she gestured vaguely, a photographer’s appreciation evident in the way her fingers curled in mid-air, as if framing an invisible shot. "—it’s kind of perfect. if you ever decide to branch out, you could probably rent it out as a studio." her smile widened just slightly, the teasing edge of it tempered by genuine warmth."but i guess that’s not exactly what rose’s is about, huh? you’ve got a good thing going here. feels... grounded." priya’s gaze returned to him then, her curiosity piqued. "so, what’s the story behind it? the gym, the name, all of it?"

[torresxpatrick]

"We have a general access day pass and class day pass; the class one would get you into any of the classes for the rest of the day…” Pat started, rambling off about how there weren’t any classes until the afternoon, unfortunately, but the instructors he has are awesome and really know what they’re doing… He even lost himself as he went into another spiel. Not that he would ever admit this, but Patrick had practiced almost all of his responses to questions that he found popping up the most - he didn’t want to be caught off guard or to miss an important piece of the answer. It’s been a little under 3 years since his ADD diagnosis and subsequent medication, but sometimes, every once in a while, Pat still acts like a scared teenager, afraid to mess up and be reprimanded. He found himself coming back to earth, ending on something about how his strength trainer for the 3pm session had called out though, that he’d be covering that circuit later. And, “we can run through it right now though, if you wanted something guided.” He waved a hand at her earbuds and added, “or I can stop talking your ear off and let you get to it.” A chuckle. “Your call.” 

Emine needed something to distract her and use some of the pent up energy. Ever since she found herself back in town with a to-do list that was longer than her arm, she couldn't relax to save her life. She always felt like she was up against the clock. When someone suggested that she visit the local gym in order to release some pent up energy that she couldn't shake, she took their advice and looked up the nearest gym. When she moved to the doors and found it locked, her brow furrowed given that the doors indicated that gym should have been open. Just as she was about to leave, she watched a man rush to the door from inside but hesitated since it seemed that it was empty. It didn't take long for her to understand that he was the owner and this was all a mistake. "What's the benefit of a day pass?" She was coming for a few hours so she wondered if a day pass allowed someone to come back any other time during the day. She didn't know if that would be viable with her busy schedule but she was curious. "I think this is fine. I did bring my earphones but I wasn't sure if it was a guided workout or not."

[torresxpatrick]

Patrick was always grateful when familiar faces found themselves back at Rose’s; it meant he was fulfilling his self-imposed duty of honoring his mother’s memory. This was a place that people wanted to return, that people felt comfortable enough to step out of their safety zone; Patrick can’t count the number of people eagerly scanning the QR code that takes them to Rose’s website to read equipment specific tips and tricks (all written, edited, and put through hours of Canva to try to make it look ‘pretty’ - Patrick keeps saying he’ll find some graphic designer to do it all for him but, truth is, he loves it). He’s seen new folks approach some of his long termers, brawny men and women who respond with kindness and patience when they ask how to change the angle on a seated machine or adjust the cables. Every day he comes to the gym, which is literally every day, Patrick is overwhelmed with pride. He knows Rosalia would be too. So to see a smiling, familiar face standing in front of him - what better way to start the day? “Sure, sure,” He grinned and found a random playlist recommended in the ‘work-out’ section of spotify, “No trainer today?” His phone clattered as he dropped it back on the counter and took a long sip from his water before nodding towards the hanging bags, the one closest to them still swinging slightly from his hits moments before Alice walked in. “I’ll be throwing some hits right there. If you need anything or someone to spot you, lemme know.” He offered, occasionally glancing over after they’d both settled into their own spaces and movements - Pat was never quite able to fully immerse himself in a workout when Rose’s had guests; he had to ensure their entire experience was up to his self-imposed and so high they're almost unmeetable standards.

⸻ As a public figure, she needed to be perfect. Every day, Alice works out, always making sure to keep her body active, before preparing for the studio, shooting. It became part of her daily routine, and even on holiday, there wasn't any day off for her, only when she is very sick ( or depressed ). Although, she was a tad sad lately but it didn't make her stop visiting the gym. She tried to enter the place, but it seemed it was locked (?) Until Patrick showed up.

Holding her pink Stanley water bottle. ❛ Hiii! ❜ Her grey-bluish hues met his gaze. ❛ I have my planned workout. Unfortunately, my personal trainer couldn't make it today. It's legs day for me. ❜ She informed him. The Italian blonde enjoys exploring the different locations to do her daily workouts, hence she ended up in Roses'.

Dressed in her black leggings, and a black top, golden nearly platinum hair, braided, and she activated her Apple watch for the workout.

[torresxpatrick]

Following her gaze and breathing a small chuckle, Patrick’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, immediately taken back to only moments ago. Lost in it again but only for a moment - the pounding of his fist against the bag, the ripple through the leather, so fast you miss it unless you’re looking for it, the tap-tap of his toes against the floor, bouncing in step formations as second-nature to him as breathing. Years and years on the mats have left these motions, these sequences so ingrained in his mind that he was sure he'd never forget them. “Oh, you know,” he started, but found it hard to put words to the feeling. Instead, Pat waved his hand dismissively, not wanting to admit that at his old age, sometimes words were still harder than they should be. With his phone in one hand, scrolling for a playlist to put on the house speakers, he aptly changed the subject, hoping she was more interested in talking about herself than about him - Patrick found that most people were. And not even in a bad or self-centered way. No, he firmly believed that the reason for living on this planet was community, small bids of human connection; a compliment lodged at a stranger wearing a nice jacket, a question to someone standing in front of him in Rose’s. And as much as he believed it, strangers confirmed it. They smiled, they thanked him, they threw a compliment or a question back. Rosalia would be so proud of him; moving to a new city so many years ago, with so little, and to have built the gym into what it is today. To have built himself into what he is today? Pat smiled a little to himself then nodded toward the bags on her shoulder. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”  

priya had always been an early riser — sunrises were her favorite travel companions — but this morning, the brisk michigan chill made her linger in her car a little longer than usual. she'd heard about rose’s gym from a local at the coffee shop she’d been frequenting, and the promise of a quiet, sunlit space to move her body had been too tempting to pass up. she wasn’t a gym rat by any means, but she liked the meditative quality of a solo workout. that, and her camera bag had started feeling heavier lately—a not-so-subtle nudge to strengthen her shoulders again. as the door to the gym shook under her hand and didn’t budge, priya raised an eyebrow, debating whether she should knock or just take it as a sign to head back home. eventually, she gave in, rapping her knuckles sharply on the glass. the muffled thuds from inside gave her the answer she was looking for — someone was definitely in there. when the door finally opened, she was greeted by a tall, slightly frazzled man who was already mid-apology and jumping into a well-rehearsed spiel about day passes and classes. she tilted her head slightly, lips curving into an amused smile as she stepped inside. the gym was flooded with light, the kind of golden, hazy glow that photographers chased relentlessly, and for a moment, she almost forgot about the man who was rambling in front of her. almost. when he rounded the desk and finally looked up, priya met his smile with one of her own, warm but teasing. “appreciate the warm welcome, but i think i’ll pass on the dj gig. not really my calling,” she said, her voice low and even, with just a hint of a smirk. her gaze flicked to the still-swaying punching bag in the corner before landing back on him. “you must’ve been pretty lost in it to miss someone knocking on the door. good session?”

[torresxpatrick]

It took Patrick a moment, perhaps a moment longer than it typically does, for him to recognize the man standing in front of him. It wasn’t that he was a celebrity per se, but his thousands of instagram followers put Patrick’s few hundred to shame (not to say that he necessarily wanted thousands of instagram followers; no, his account was set to private and he was extremely selective with whom he let follow it). Still, Hunter was probably the closest thing to a celebrity that Woodside had and while Patrick knew he lived in this town, he was still shocked to see him standing here, in front of him, in the gym. He thought for sure Hunter would be off in some other country, running a bike track like no one’s business. Maybe Patrick didn’t know as much about bike racing as he thought. “Yeah, yeah,” he quipped back with another chuckle, wiping a towel over his face to get the sweat. Patrick’s muscles were still buzzing, awakened with the rush of adrenaline with which his workout left him, and he almost found himself itching to keep moving, to keep punching, maybe to take a run. Focus, his head screamed - right, he hasn’t taken his medicine yet. 

“Talk yourself out of it?” He questioned, a brow quirked. “Why go through the hassle? I mean, you’re already here.” Okay, Mr Blunt, give the guy some grace. Patrick reeled back with a joke; “Look, that’s the hardest part. Isn’t getting out of bed and actually getting here - especially with my dumbass locking you out - half the battle?” He shrugged, verified that Hunter’s membership was still active & valid before grabbing his phone and beginning to search through his playlists as it connected to the house speakers. “Well, the rest of the gym is yours. I’ll be over in the bags,” he nodded to his side, his water bottle still on the floor near the bag he was working on moments earlier. “But… If your normal circuit isn’t exciting enough, lemme know. We can run a match in the ring if you’re down.” The speakers awoke with the sound of a pre-made playlist from spotify, something with a number and BPM in the title - Patrick hadn’t paid much attention, just saw a remix for one of his favorite songs and hit shuffle on the whole playlist.

───the only person who had not objected, in one way or another, to him participating in dakar rally so soon after his best friend had passed away, was his dad; his mom never wanted him to do all the things that he does ( even though she was pleased he had at least given up fmx a few years ago ), and his manager was generally opposed to it, knowing they had always done it together for the past several years —always the leading duo. his team was, of course, supportive as they could greatly benefit from another win, and despite the circumstances, Hunter was not prone to losing. he is competitive by nature when it comes to what he does; he can’t rest if he is not doing his absolute best and being the best, too, so losing is often not in the cards for him. aside from the audience he attracts solely due to his looks, he has a generous amount of followers who are actually interested in the sport and his skills on a bike —which are, undoubtedly, nothing short of impressive. his decision could not waver though, it was an event he looked forward to and he wouldn’t miss it, the same as he would never turn down an invitation to Isle of Man TT.

the first few days had been a breeze, though as the second weekend rolled in they lost one of their drivers and he, in an attempt to help with the mechanical problem, lost the lead by a few seconds to a Hero driver, which became quite the topic of discussion as it was a first; he hadn’t lost the lead, not once, in the past several years. however, it wasn’t long after he stayed behind, recovering the lead by the time noon rolled around the following day. the last challenge for him had been finding out that vehicles were actually in the lead by being faster for the first time this year, and that just about set the tone for the way he handled the race the following days until all stages were completed and he was the ultimate winner —his biological dad always said that second place is the first loser and that was something that stuck with him through the years; he has no interest in being a loser.

having been back for just a couple of days and with a couple of upcoming enduro races, he couldn’t afford to slack off, even as part of him was not particularly fond of getting up so early to head to the gym. arriving at Rose’s he found it strangely not open, which was a first really, so he peeked inside only to make the outline of Patrick standing inside; he should have taken it as a sign, turned around, and walked away, but instead he knocked on the door. before he could tease the other man when he opened the door, Patrick went into a speech and he laughed. “save the speech, I am already a member,” he teased —wouldn’t comment on the afternoon classes, not even just to tease him, because he was here in this goddamn hour, why would he want to come back around in the afternoon again? “you seem a little distracted,” he commented, blue eyes following him as he busied himself on the computer. “put on whatever you want, man, I am just here before I could talk myself out of it…” he admitted —but also had a race to prepare for later on, so this was really the only time frame he could fit in a session.

[torresxpatrick]

open! (4/4) closed location: rose's gym, early morning.

There was one requirement that Patrick made very clear when he was purchasing the building for Rose’s - south and east facing windows were a must. Now, a couple years into this, he stood completely still, his heaving breaths, lungs exhausted from a high-intensity session, and the rushing beat of his heart was all he could hear. Not that there was much else to hear; Patrick was alone in his gym. The sun, despite illuminating every dust bunny flying around and reminding him to purchase the air purifier that has been sitting in his amazon cart for the past 2 weeks, shone bright on his legs and warmed his hands, wrapped in tape and yet still drenched in sweat. He stepped forward, shut his eyes, let the light travel up his body to burn red on his closed lids. It’s only been a year since Rose’s became open to the public but there were a few months of silence, a few months where he was still working on the restorations, or purchasing equipment, or whatever other pre-opening tasks seemed to take forever and in those months, as shock to himself, Patrick found the beauty in working out in silence. To be completely in tune with your body, the only focus you have is the bag in front of you and the only drive you have is to hit. There was a different high that followed a workout like that, leaving Patrick with a sense of contentment that he never thought possible (and that’s coming from someone who has done a lot of drugs and felt many ‘senses of contentment’). He was lost in it this morning, he wouldn’t even be able to tell you how long he stood there, letting the sun burn through the windows and drench his body in a blanket of warmth. It wasn’t until the main doors shook, followed by a quick knock from outside, that Patrick jumped, all of sudden remembering that he forgot to unlock the doors. He quickly moved to open them, apologizing profusely and wondering to himself how many other people may have tried knocking or shaking the doors, only to be drowned out by the sound of his fists connecting with the hanging bag. Patrick was so flustered by his mistake that he immediately bounced into his welcome speech without even looking up to see who he was speaking to, “Hey, welcome to Rose’s. You can check in at the desk or we have day passes available, and a couple classes this afternoon if that interests you.” Finally, as he rounded the desk and clicked his computer awake, Patrick looked up and flashed a small, friendly smile. “I can also turn on the house music to whatever you want, no one else here so if you’ve ever thought about a career in DJ’ing…” He trailed off with a small laugh.