Jackson and Tyler had met in Queer Theory 101 and hit it off instantly. People said they were a match made in heaven. Four years later, they were working on their Gender Studies graduation project together.
They’d come up with a theory to combat toxic gym culture by “injecting queerness.” By showing up and lifting, they wanted to prove queer people could work out too — that strength wasn’t exclusive to straight masculinity.
They went to the gym twice a week at first, treating it like fieldwork. After every session, they’d walk home laughing, parodying the guys they’d seen — the grunts, the swagger, the way some men flexed in the mirror like they were performing for an invisible audience. Jackson would exaggerate a deep bro‑voice, Tyler would mimic the dramatic protein‑shake chug, and the whole thing became part of their routine, a private joke that made the project feel bearable.
But the gym was more resilient than they had anticipated and it alowly began to affect them. Twice‑a‑week sessions became focused, serious. Their jokes got shorter. Their parodies started slipping into their real movements — the stance, the voice, the swagger. What they once mocked began settling into their muscles and their habits, quiet and natural, without either of them realizing it. Twice a week became four times a week, which became every day. They said they needed more data for their research, but besides noting their reps, hardly anything appeared on paper.
Their relationship started shifting as well. The romance that once felt natural now sat in the background, fading without drama. What replaced it was louder, rougher — a brotherhood built on shared reps, shared jokes, pushing their limits. They bumped shoulders instead of holding hands, hyped each other up instead of whispering affection, talked trash instead of talking feelings. Talking about their feelings got replaced with talking about women. The way they looked at them in the gym — the confidence, the curiosity — didn’t feel like a surprise so much as a realization. They weren’t forcing anything; they were just noticing what had been there under the surface.
Slowly, naturally, they understood it: they weren’t gay. They weren’t a couple. They were straight guys who’d mistaken closeness for romance — and now that the fog had lifted, the interest in women came in clear and easy, like it had been waiting for them to catch up.
The gym noticed the shift before they did. After a session, one of the bros, one of bros they had decided to follow closer for their project, offered them cigars — no explanation, just, “Every real man does it.” Jackson and Tyler shared a knowing look and took them without hesitation. It felt like the manly thing to do.
From then on, the cigars weren’t just an accessory — they were part of them. Always clamped between their teeth, always burning, always signaling the men they’d become.
Their vibe sharpened fast. Patience gone. Voices rough. Swagger turned confrontational. The same traits they once mocked now blasted out of them at full volume. And when people started calling them toxic, they didn’t argue or deny it. They took it as a compliment — proof they’d finally become exactly the kind of men they were meant to be.
Jeremy entered the gym. He had heard the rumors about Jackson and Tyler. How they suddenly dropped out just before they had to hand in their project to graduate and simply seemed to have disappeared feom the face of the earth. It had been the talk for months at the Gender Studies Department. Everyone had believed that both would go for tenure and would become professors in no time. Jeremy, a freshman back then only vaguely knew the couple, but through some research he had found out that before their disappearance, they were seen at a particular gym on the outskirts of the city. So he decided to take a look.
As he entered the gym, the smell of metal, sweat and cigar smoke hit his nose. He cringed his face. "Not used to the smell of masculinity, eh, fagboy?" a voice behind him said. He turned around and he was blinded for a second by a cloud of thick pungent cigar smoke. As the smoke started to disippate he saw two gargantuan men standing in front of him, both smoking a thick cigar.
"Oh, uhh, hello," Jeremy stammered, shocked by the sight of the men. "Well, I, uhh, am actually looking for some people, two guys, Tyler and Jackson, they used to go here. Do you, uh, do you know them?"
"You're looking right at them, fagboy," one of them said. "You're doing Gender Studies, right? I think we saw you there a couple of times. Fucking waste of money. It took Ty and me months to get all that shit out of our heads."
Jeremy looked like he was seeing a ghost. Those guys couldn't be the gay couple everyone had known and loved. He started to feel dizzy. Ty noticed and said, "I bet it is quite a shock for you, fagboy? But don't worry, Jax and me just realized who we really are, that's all. And now we're heloing fagboys like you to become real men like us. You interested?" He took the cigar out of his mouth, and offered it to Jeremy. Jeremy wanted to scream, to run away, but a part of him that had been asleep all his life seemed to awaken. He accepted the cigar and he took a tentative puff. He coughed like crazy, not seeing that Jax and Ty were grinning darkly.
They slept their hands on Jeremy's back and guided him deeper into the gym. "Welcome to the brotherhood, bro."
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