Spot
Monday morning, I run into Haeun right in front of my front door. To be precise, she is blocking my path. She is wearing leggings and a cropped zip-up hoodie. With her hood up, she pulls out one of her earbuds and scans me from head to toe. "Hey, Han Siu."
"...Yes?"
It is a bit too aggressive for a morning greeting.
"What have you been eating lately?"
"What do you mean? Just food."
"Do you work out?"
"No."
"It shows." Haeun crosses her arms and tilts her head. Her sharp eyes scan me as if analyzing a specimen. "Your arms are thin. Your shoulders are broad, but your arms don't match them. You're out of balance."
"...Thank you?"
"It wasn't a compliment."
I figured. Haeun pulls off her hood. The zipper of her cropped hoodie is only pulled up halfway, revealing the top of the sports bra she is wearing underneath. Black fabric with a white logo. The line from her neck to her collarbone, and down to the upper curve of her chest, is completely exposed. She looks incredibly toned—possessing that dense, firm skin unique to people who work out regularly. I shift my gaze upward. Whether she noticed my eyes wandering or not, her face remains expressionless.
"Let's go to the gym."
"What?"
"My gym. 'Iron'. We're running a free one-session PT promotion."
"Why so suddenly...?"
"You need to put on some muscle. You cook such delicious food, so why are you the one who's so skinny?"
Haeun's logic is unique. I don't see what cooking delicious food has to do with my physique, but I've learned from experience that logical counterarguments don't work on her.
"Today?"
"Right now."
"I have work—"
"It'll only take an hour. Let's go." Haeun turns around. It means follow me. I have no right of veto. I grab my sneakers from my room and put them on. I don't even have sweatpants, so I'm still wearing my jeans.
"Are you going to work out in jeans?"
"I don't have any workout clothes."
Haeun gives me a pathetic look. A layer of disdain settles over her default expression, which naturally curves upward at the corners of her mouth. It is terrifying that this is her default setting.
"...Wait here." Haeun slips into her apartment, Unit 203, and emerges thirty seconds later. In her hands are a pair of men's athletic shorts and a T-shirt.
"Wear this. The size should fit. They're gym supplies." A trainer who keeps men's gym clothes at her place... I can't tell if that's professional dedication or something else.
'Iron' is a ten-minute walk from the villa. We head down the stairs to the basement level. Opening the heavy iron door reveals a spacious gym packed with equipment: bench presses, squat racks, cable machines, and dumbbell racks. A massive mirror covers an entire wall. Since it's Monday morning, the place is quiet. A middle-aged man is walking on a treadmill in the corner, and a woman is pulling on a cable machine on the opposite side.
Haeun steps behind the counter and briefly tells the front desk staff, "My guest." The employee nods. I write my name on the visitor log and head into the locker room. When I change and come out, Haeun is already stretching. She is wearing black high-waisted leggings and a gray sports bra. That is it. She has discarded her cropped hoodie. Her midriff is completely exposed. Under the bright gym lights, the definition of her abs casts subtle shadows. Two distinct lines run down her stomach, and her obliques form a sharp V-line that disappears into her leggings.
Haeun stretches her arms high above her head. Her back arches like a bow, and her ribs show slightly beneath her sports bra. Her waist is incredibly narrow—a dramatic, hourglass curve carved between her shoulders and hips. It is truly the body of a woman who lives and breathes fitness.
"What are you looking at?"
"...I was just wondering if I should stretch with you."
"Let's do it." Haeun sits on a mat and spreads her legs, bending her upper body forward to stretch her hamstrings. I sit down next to her and try to copy her. My body is incredibly stiff. The back of my thighs don't just feel tight; they feel like they're about to rip apart.
"You're seriously stiff. This is pretty bad. Your back is hunched, too. That's what happens when you sit and draw all day." Haeun moves behind me and places her hands on my shoulders. "Relax. I'll push you down."
"Wait, what?"
Haeun presses down on my back. My upper body folds forward. My hamstrings feel like they're on fire.
"Ah—!"
"Endure it."
"It hurts!"
"I said endure it." Haeun's palms press firmly against my back. Her hands are warm and solid, her knuckles tense with applied pressure.
"Hold it for ten seconds."
"Make it five."
"Ten." Ten seconds tick by. Haeun finally releases her grip. As my upper body straightens, I feel the rush of blood returning to my legs.
"Now, the real workout begins." The corners of Haeun's mouth curl upward.
Haeun's training session is more structured than I expected. "Today is upper body. Bench press, dumbbell flyes, shoulder press. We'll keep it light."
"How light is 'light'?"
"We'll start with the empty bar. Twenty kilograms."
Twenty kilograms is light? I already knew her standards were different from the rest of the world, but still... I lie down on the bench. The vinyl is cold against my back.
"Form first. Arch your back. Retract your scapula. Push your chest up." Haeun slides her hand under my back. She slides her fingers in to check the space between my spine and the bench. Her touch is dry and confident.
"Squeeze them more. Right here." She presses firmly between my shoulder blades. "Remember this feeling. Hold the bar like this."
I grip the bar. Haeun adjusts my grip width, placing her hands over mine to shift their position. I slowly lower the bar. Just before it touches my chest, Haeun calls out, "Stop."
"Hold it there for one second, then push."
I push it up. Twenty kilograms. Even though it's just an empty bar, my arms tremble. It's embarrassing.
"It's fine. Everyone is like this at first." Haeun's voice softens slightly. Five reps. Ten reps. By the third set, the strength in my arms is rapidly draining.
"Last set. Just five more."
"...I don't think I can do it."
"You can do it. I'll spot you." Haeun walks over to the head of the bench. She positions her hands beneath the bar, ready to assist. The problem is her position. She is standing right above my head while I am lying flat on the bench. Looking up, my vision is filled with her chin, her neck, her collarbone, and the lower curve of her breasts tightly bound by her sports bra. It is physically impossible not to look.
For someone with such an athletic build, Haeun's breasts are remarkably large. Though compressed by the sports bra, their shape is distinct—round and firm. A thin sheen of sweat coats the exposed skin just below the band of her bra. The cleavage between them is deep.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing. Just the ceiling."
"The ceiling is that way." I got caught. The corners of Haeun's mouth twitch upward.
"Focus, Han Siu. Grip the bar."
"...Yes."
I grip the bar. Rep one. Lower. Push. It's less of a push and more of a desperate struggle. My arms shake violently.
"Good. Rep two." Haeun hooks her fingers under the bar. She isn't lifting it for me, just providing a tiny bit of assistance. Rep three. Rep four. My arms are reaching their absolute limit.
"Last one. Push!"
I try to push. My arms shake. The bar stalls halfway up. Haeun leans forward to grab the bar. As her upper body tilts down, her face hovers directly over mine. Closer. Thirty centimeters. Twenty centimeters. Her breath brushes against my forehead, smelling faintly of mint. Her chest is right in front of my eyes. I can clearly see the texture of her sports bra, the soft flesh spilling slightly over the top, and the tiny beads of sweat nestled in between.
"Push, Han Siu." Her low voice drops down from above. It's a command. A tone that brooks no refusal. Squeezing out every last drop of strength in my arms, I shove the bar upward. Haeun's fingers lightly guide the bar until it clangs safely onto the rack.
"Good job." Haeun nods. Her ponytail sways as she steps back. I lie on the bench, catching my breath. My heart is racing. It's because of the exercise. It has to be because of the exercise.
Next is dumbbell flyes, then shoulder presses. The entire time, Haeun stays by my side to correct my form. "Watch your elbow angle." Her hand grips my elbow, adjusting the angle. Skin meets skin. Her palm is calloused—rough, yet warm.
"Remember this angle."
"...Thank you."
"For what?" Haeun looks away, staring into the mirror. In the reflection, we are standing side by side. The Haeun in the mirror looks serious. It's not her usual mocking expression, but an observant one. The eyes of a trainer. It reminds me of the look in Seojin's eyes when she brews espresso. Absolute focus within her own domain. She, too, is a professional.
"Last set. Twelve reps with a light weight. Slow and steady." I lift the dumbbells. Haeun counts the reps beside me. "One. Two. Three." Her voice is low and steady. Normally, she speaks in sharp, brief bursts, but during training, her voice carries a rhythmic flow.
"Seven. Eight. Slower. Nine. Ten. Good." Her voice pitches up slightly when she says "good." A compliment that doesn't quite sound like one.
"Eleven. Twelve. Done." I set the dumbbells down. My arms don't even feel like my own anymore.
"...That was exhausting."
"Of course it was." Haeun hands me a water bottle. I take it and drink.
"But..."
"Yes?"
"You're better at this than I thought," Haeun says, immediately looking away. "You have a decent baseline of strength. Since your shoulders are broad, you'll fill out quickly once you put on some mass."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's a fact." The slight flush on the tips of Haeun's ears must be from the workout.
After the workout, we stretch. "Come three times a week from now on. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. 10:00 AM. You're free then, right?"
"I'm a freelancer, so I have the time, but..."
"Then it's settled." She decides instantly. I can't tell if she's asking for my opinion or just issuing an executive order.
"Han Siu."
"Yes?"
"Three times a week. Mon, Wed, Fri. 10:00 AM. I'll be your personal trainer."
"...Okay."
"If you don't show up, I'll drag you here myself." It's a command, not a request. I only came for a free trial session, but somehow it has turned into a regular PT arrangement.
"As for the training fee—"
"I'm not taking any."
"What?"
"Instead, cook for me sometimes. You get hungry after working out anyway. We'll call it even with that." She frames it like a business transaction, but it's clearly not. There's no way a plate of chicken breast is worth an hour of personal training. It's not like Haeun is bad at math. She just needs an excuse. An excuse to train me for free.
"...Aren't you selling yourself a bit too cheap?"
"I thought you'd feel burdened if I charged too much," Haeun adds a beat later, her eyes fixed on the floor mat. She seems to realize how direct her words sounded.
"...I'll cook for you today, then."
"Today?"
"I hate feeling indebted." Haeun snorts softly, the corner of her mouth twitching. It's different from her usual scoff. "Let's hurry up and go then. I'm starving."
On the way back to the villa, we stop by a convenience store to buy chicken breast and fresh herbs. Haeun walks beside me, looking at her phone. Walking side by side, there's barely any height difference between us.
"Buy some workout clothes."
"...I will."
"Buy leggings."
"A guy wearing leggings?"
"Everyone wears them these days. It makes it easier to check your form."
"Isn't it just easier for you to look?"
"What?" Haeun stops in her tracks. She turns to look at me, her eyes narrowing.
"...Just kidding."
"Not funny." Haeun starts walking again, though her pace has quickened slightly. "Hey. Next time we have to do lower body. Squats."
"Okay."
"Wednesday."
"Okay."
"Don't be late."
We arrive home. As I submerge the chicken breast in brine in the kitchen, I feel the dull ache of muscle soreness blooming in my forearms. Haeun's voice as she spotted me—"Push, Han Siu"—still echoes in my ears. Low, firm, and impossible to refuse. But when that same voice said, "Good job," there was something else laced beneath it. Calling it tenderness felt too unlike Haeun, and calling it satisfaction felt like I was being overly self-conscious. Maybe it was a bit of both.
The doorbell rings. I open the door to find Haeun. She has changed into an oversized T-shirt over her leggings. Her hair is down now. Only now do I realize that when she lets her ponytail loose, her hair falls past her shoulders.
"Not ready yet?"
"Give me thirty minutes."
"...I'll wait." Haeun sits on the sofa. She grabs the remote and turns on the TV, completely making herself at home.
I cook the chicken breast in the kitchen. I drizzle olive oil into the frying pan, toss in sliced garlic, and lay down sprigs of fresh rosemary.
"Whoa, smells amazing." Haeun's voice drifts over from the sofa, quiet and soft.
Thirty minutes later, a chicken breast steak is plated. Alongside it are roasted vegetables and a lemon wedge, drizzled with a balsamic reduction.
"Eat up."
Haeun picks up her fork. She cuts a piece, puts it in her mouth, and chews. Three seconds pass.
"..."
"How is it?"
"...It's delicious," she murmurs, her gaze fixed on the plate. "Since when does chicken breast taste like this?"
"I brined it for an hour and then cooked it at a low temperature."
Haeun cuts a second piece. Then a third, then a fourth. Her pace quickens. Sitting across from her at the dining table, I cut a piece for myself. A shared table. One person provides personal training, and the other pays for it with a meal. The framework of a transaction lies on the table between us. But we both know that while it takes the form of a trade, it is actually something else entirely. We both know, yet we both pretend not to.
Haeun finishes her steak, sets down her fork, and stands up. "Thanks for the food."
"Sure."
"Can I come over after working out on Wednesday too?"
"I thought you said 'sometimes'."
"..." Haeun looks away.
"I'll cook for you."
"...Okay." Haeun puts on her shoes at the entryway. She places her hand on the doorknob and pauses. "Han Siu."
"Yes?"
"I'll get sick of it if we have chicken breast every single time."
"...Okay." The door clicks shut. Clearing the empty plates, I think about her words. I'll get sick of it if we have chicken breast every single time. That means she intends to come back. Not just once, but repeatedly. It means she plans to sit at my table every time our workout ends. It means that hidden behind the word "sometimes" is a frequency that borders on "every time."
The muscle soreness in my forearms throbs faintly. By tomorrow morning, my entire body will probably be aching. But strangely, I don't mind. I wash the dishes. Two empty plates bear circular traces of balsamic reduction. As I wipe them clean, I think of the sound of the TV in the living room. The channel Haeun had left on before she walked out. Was it a sports channel, or the news? I can't remember.
What I do remember is something else. Not the channel, but the person. When Haeun's face had descended over mine to spot me, a single drop of sweat had fallen from the tips of her black hair, landing right on my collarbone. I thought it would be cold, but it was warm. The warmth of that single drop feels like it's still lingering there.
I should buy some workout clothes tomorrow. I'm not so sure about the leggings, though. At least not yet. I can put that off for a few more days.
I pull out my phone and open the memo app. A blank page. I don't really know what to write, but my fingers move anyway. If I write down a new schedule, it becomes a task. And if I turn it into a task, it becomes easier to handle.
Mon / Wed / Fri
10:00 AM
Iron Gym — PT
I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling. Even if it rains, even if I have deadlines, even if I work until dawn, I have to go to Iron Gym at 10:00 AM on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It is set in stone. Haeun decided it, and I accepted it. I could have refused, but I didn't. That fact carries a weight of its own.
Tomorrow morning at seven, the doorbell will ring. Haeun will be standing there holding her eco-bag, just like always. But it will be a "just like always" that is one step closer than before.