The Personal Trainer
Genre: Gym!AU
Pairing: Junhoe x You (Female!Reader)
Warnings: None
Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,395
Finally, after weeks of putting up with your older brother’s badgering, you caved. You relented to his persistent suggestions to sign up at the gym close to your apartment -- and not only that. You had signed up (and paid extra for) personal training.
You really had never been one to find any sort of exercise enjoyable. You hated getting sweaty, and you had yet to find any activity you actually wanted to do. Just thinking about going to the gym and running on a treadmill or doing strength training made you feel like whining. And hiding under your covers in bed. And sleeping for about a week.
It’s not your fault you were lazy! It’s just how you were! It’s who you were as a person, and now that you were well into adulthood, you had come to accept that about yourself.
But, apparently, your brother had not.
He claimed to be “concerned for your long-term health,” but you knew he really just couldn’t stand lazy people and wanted everyone he cared about to love working out just as much as he loved working out.
It would never happen, but you got irritated enough to give it a try.
So, here you were. Wearing brand new workout clothes and scanning your fresh, new membership card at the front desk of the gym.
“Excuse me?” you asked the gorgeous, young receptionist who looked worlds better in a spandex crop top than you ever could.
“Hmm?” she chirped, shifting her gaze up to you. “How can I help?”
“Where do I go for personal training?”
The girl stood up, a beaming, friendly smile tugging at her lips as she replied, “Right over there!” and pointed to a closed-off area to the side of the main exercise room.
“Thank you,” you murmured with a slight grin before heading over there.
“Have a great session!” she called out cheerfully after you.
...How could you be that cheerful working in a gym?
I mean, obviously, a lot of people could be. But you couldn’t imagine it. The only place at which you’d be that cheerful to work would be... like, a candy store. Or a coffee shop. Definitely something to do with food.
Anyway.
Your heart began to beat faster as you approached the personal training area, and you chewed the inside of your cheek when you realized your trainer -- whoever he or she was -- hadn’t shown up yet.
Then again, you were basically always early to anything and everything, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that you’d arrived before your trainer.
You let out a soft sigh as you set your bag and water bottle down next to the wall of the fairly small, roped-off area designated for personal training, and then you slid onto a bench to wait.
As the seconds ticked by, you found your gaze wandering out into the main area of the gym -- who didn’t love people watching? Especially when you were just sitting somewhere waiting for someone else to arrive.
To your slight surprise, the ellipticals and bikes and treadmills were not occupied solely by buff guys and fit ladies. There were definitely some of those, but you also saw a couple of -- truly no offense intended -- average people running and cycling their hearts out. There was even an older, gray-haired man speed-walking on a treadmill, and it brought a tiny smile to your face.
At the very least, it made you feel better that you didn’t seem to be the most unfit person here.
Just as you turned back around, you caught a glimpse of someone walking toward the personal training area.
...Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn --
You shook your head quickly to dispel the thought.
No. It couldn’t be.
“Hey,” you heard a voice call out.
And it was a very familiar voice.
Indeed, the familiar voice of the person you thought for a split-second you’d seen in your peripheral vision walking over here.
...Great.
You stood, your heart jumping up into your throat as you turned to face...
Him.
Junhoe.
Your ex-boyfriend.
As soon as he saw you, Junhoe stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly, but it was enough to be noticeable.
What -- was he -- I mean, was he also here for personal training or was he --
“Are you my trainer?” you blurted out. Your nerves were very obvious in your voice, and you scolded yourself for letting your anxiety show right now.
Junhoe’s mouth fell open, but it took him a few seconds to actually answer you.
“...Yeah.”
Wonderful.
So, he was a personal trainer now? After your break-up a couple of years ago, you hadn’t kept up with him on social media (but you still stalked his sister on Instagram kind of regularly... not that you would ever admit that out loud), so you hadn’t even known he’d quit his job at the music store.
Now that you thought about it, going from working at a music store to being a personal trainer was kind of an odd jump.
But that was Junhoe for you. He was predictable in some ways, but in many ways, he absolutely was not.
That was ultimately why you’d ended things with him. The romantic aspect of your relationship had been great -- more than great, actually, but Junhoe just hadn’t been stable enough for you. He was too spontaneous for your schedule-loving, plan-everything-within-an-inch-of-your-life self.
But, looking at him now...
Good god, was he handsome or what? He always had been and, apparently, he always would be.
“Ah,” you replied somewhat breathlessly, your nerves slowly sucking all the air from your lungs. “Well. I -- I guess I’m your new -- trainee... person... thing.”
At that, Junhoe’s expression relaxed, and an amused smile appeared on his lips.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied with a soft chuckle. He then stepped closer to you, his eyebrows raising just a smidge. “...How -- how are you?”
“I’m good -- doing well -- just fine,” you replied, inwardly cringing at how awkwardly you’d answered him. “Nothing much has changed, really. Same job, same apartment, same cat.”
You knew from your Instagram stalking escapades that things had changed more for him than they had for you since your break-up. He’d moved in with his sister at one point, and he had adopted the tiniest, fluffiest puppy you’d ever seen. And, apparently, he now had a different job.
“That’s great,” he said. The grin on his lips was genuine, and it kind of warmed your heart to see that he really did think it was great that your life hadn’t changed. He obviously remembered how greatly you valued stability and routine and structure.
You were about to ask him how he was doing (despite the fact you had a good idea based on his sister’s Instagram), but he clapped his hands together and said, “Well, we should probably get started” before you got the chance to.
“Right,” you murmured, feeling your heart jump again. You had been nervous about starting personal training before, but now that your ex-boyfriend was going to be your trainer...
Despite the fact this was your first ever personal training session -- and Junhoe knew this -- he didn’t go easy on you.
Maybe he was still bitter about your break-up and had made you work super hard because he wanted you to feel as much physical pain as he’d felt emotional pain a couple of years ago.
...Or.
And this is the most likely option.
Maybe he was just a tough and passionate trainer who didn’t believe in easy exercising.
(You kind of still wanted to believe he was still bitter, though.)
(But no one needs to know that.)
After the hour was up (though, you were hard-pressed to believe it had only been an hour), you found yourself lying on your back, staring up at the gym ceiling, and trying to catch your breath.
The workout had just ended, but already, every part of your body hurt.
“Good job,” Junhoe chuckled, holding his hand out to help you up.
You closed your eyes briefly because you really did not feel like getting up yet.
“Are you sure?” you panted. “It doesn’t feel like I did a good job. It feels like I did a horrible job.”
“No, no, you did good,” he assured you with one of his signature smirks -- you know, the same one that had been the first thing to make your stomach flip back when you’d met him. “Come on, let me help you up.”
Well. You had to get up some time, so it might as well be now. The sooner you left the gym, the sooner you got to take a hot bath with three pounds of Epsom salts sprinkled in the water.
Weakly, you lifted one hand, allowing Junhoe to grab it and hoist you up. You were basically dead weight because you were so exhausted, but he was able to pull you to a standing position all on his own. And quite easily, too. It was... pretty impressive.
Junhoe had certainly had a great body while he’d been your boyfriend, but you had no doubt his job as a personal trainer had only done good things to his physique.
...Mm, nope, better not think about his muscles. It’s not good to think about an ex-boyfriend’s muscles. Especially when that ex-boyfriend is standing right in front of you.
“See you Wednesday?” he asked casually once you were (basically) on your feet, referring to your next training session.
“Y--yeah,” you stammered. “Wednesday. Absolutely.”
There was a pause, and you were just about to turn and grab your bag... but then Junhoe broke the silence.
“Listen, I -- if you don’t want me to be your trainer, I can ask --”
“No, it’s fine,” you interrupted, though... to be quite honest... you weren’t really sure why you said that.
Was it fine?
I mean, sure, your session had gone pretty well. In terms of your interactions, at least. You had felt awkward at first, but you’d gotten used to it after a while, and Junhoe hadn’t acted at all like an ex-boyfriend -- only a trainer.
But... still.
Did you really want to see him three days a week? After not seeing him at all for about two years?
(Not seeing him at all in person, that is. You’d definitely seen him in pictures since, as we’ve established multiple times, you stalked his sister’s Instagram.)
But Junhoe’s lips had already curved into a smile at your reassurance, and you would feel too guilty if you took it back now and asked for another trainer.
“Okay,” he murmured through his grin. “Well, then. See you Wednesday.”
You just nodded before hoisting your bag over your shoulder and beginning to make your way out of the personal training area and into the gym -- limping slightly as you walked, mind you.
It felt like it took you about five hours to leave the gym, get to your car, get inside your car, drive home, walk up to your front door, go to your bathroom, and draw a bath.
And now that you were in the bath -- the hot water and scented Epsom salts relaxing your muscles like nothing ever had before in your entire life -- you were pretty sure you were going to stay in here for another five hours.
You tilted your head back, letting the base of your skull rest against the edge of the tub and closing your eyes. You breathed in the healing aroma of the salts and sighed with content.
Truly, there was nothing better after a long day than a nice, relaxing bath.
...Well, actually. A nice, relaxing bath with some music playing.
Opening your eyes and lifting your head, you reached out and stretched your arm to grab your phone nestled in your discarded clothes on the floor.
Just as you opened up your music app of choice, though, your ringtone cut through the silence and made you jump.
Your eyes narrowed when you saw your brother’s picture on the screen, but your heart was still racing with fright as you answered and pressed your phone to your ear.
“What?” you asked irritably. “You interrupted my Me Time.”
“How was the gym?”
You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes because of course that’s why he was calling.
And you were just annoyed enough to be sassy about it.
“Well, my personal trainer ended up by my ex-boyfriend, so thanks for that.”
Your brother chuckled softly and said, “Junhoe? No way, what are the odds?”
“No matter the odds, it happened, and I’m blaming you.”
“No, no, no, Dear Sister. You will be thanking me when you have more energy and don’t get out of breath walking up two flights of stairs.”
“Okay, those were very long staircases!”
“You’re going back, right?”
You waited a few seconds... let out a long sigh... then replied, “I mean, I paid for two months of sessions. I don’t want to lose that money.”
“Was it super awkward?”
“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “At first. It got better once we were actually training, but... still. It’s not like I had a pleasant time.”
Your brother chuckled softly and said, “Hey, you never know. Maybe it’s fate.”
You quirked one brow. “...Fate? What?” you asked, entirely unamused.
“You never know!” he repeated in a singsong tone. “Good luck on your next session, keep me posted, okay?”
“Whatever,” you murmured, though you could feel a smirk tugging at one corner of your lips.
“Love you, Sis,” he teased (but you knew he really meant it).
“Love you, too, Bro,” you teased back (but you obviously really meant it).
As soon as the call ended, you tapped on the icon for your music app and pressed shuffle on your relaxing Jazz playlist.
After tossing your phone back onto your pile of clothes, you leaned your head against the edge of the tub again and closed your eyes.
The bath, although it was starting to cool already, and the ambient music were doing wonders to ease your aches -- both physical and mental.
But... your brother’s words kept ringing in your head, for some reason.
You never know.
Part 2
















