GFW - Wellness Center - Part 3

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By the time I got home, I still hadn’t fully shaken the feeling of those twelve pairs of eyes on me. The tank top and shorts were gone, handed off to Morgan like a borrowed costume I wasn’t allowed to keep, but the weirdness stayed. Under my skin. In my shoulders. In the way I moved.

My sister was already gone, probably in class, so I had the apartment to myself. I changed quickly into office wear, thankful for something more neutral, more familiar. Button-down shirt. Slacks. Normal black formal shoes. 

Before I headed out, I opened the cabinet, popped the pill organizer open, and knocked back the four capsules without thinking. Supplements, the doctor had said. Vitamins and hormonal balance, or whatever that meant. I didn’t overthink it. I had enough in my head already.

The train ride downtown was quiet. I kept my headphones in without music, staring out the window, letting the rhythm of the city distract me. Normal people in normal clothes. Suits, sneakers, coffee cups. Not a lavender tank top in sight.

But I couldn’t stop replaying the moment in the studio, Rava’s voice adjusting my posture, Sara and Lili’s teasing smiles, Morgan’s calm statement: You’ll need a new set for tomorrow. It felt less like a gym and more like I had just been inducted into something I didn’t understand.

Still, by the time I pushed through the glass doors of the Halston Group office, I forced my face back into normal mode. Smile, nod at reception. Badge swipe. Elevator. Just another Tuesday.

“Derek!” someone called as I stepped onto the floor.

It was Camille from HR, approaching with a coffee in hand and a tone that made me brace instinctively.

“Hey,” I said, keeping it casual.

“Glad to see you up and moving,” she said. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, much better. Just a weird episode. The doctor said it was because of stress and fatigue.”

“Well, don’t overdo it,” she said with a light touch on my arm. “But we’re glad to have you back. You’ve got a few updates on your accounts, but no meetings till noon. Take your time easing in.”

I nodded. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

As I walked to my desk, I felt something strange a few glances from coworkers that lingered half a second too long. But it was there. Or maybe I was just imagining it.

Maybe the gym was still clinging to me more than I realized.

I had just settled into my desk and started sifting through a backlog of emails when I heard the familiar clack of sneakers against the floor and the unmistakable voice behind me.

“Well, well, look who decided to cheat death and clock back in.”

I turned around to see James, my best friend at the office, a former college roommate, and a longtime partner in sarcasm, leaning casually against the side of my cubicle, arms crossed, an energy drink in one hand.

“Hey, man,” I said, forcing a grin. “Still alive. Just taking it one awkward conversation at a time.”

He gave me a once-over, his playful smirk quickly fading into something more genuine. “No joke, dude. I was worried. HR told us you were in the hospital. What happened?”

“Passed out,” I said simply. “The doctor said it was probably stress, bad nutrition, and too much desk time. They ran a bunch of tests. Nothing serious just some stuff I’ve gotta stay on top of now.”

He nodded, quiet for a second. “That sucks. Glad you’re okay, though.”

“Yeah. Same.”

James tossed the energy drink onto my desk, like a weird little gift. “Here. That’ll cancel out at least one symptom.”

I laughed. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to crash again by 2 p.m.”

He sat on the edge of the chair beside me and leaned forward slightly. “So… what’s the plan? Doctor putting you on something?”

I shrugged. “Just vitamins, supplements. You know. And they want me exercising again. Getting into a routine.”

“Ah, finally joining the rest of us in pretending we care about our bodies,” he said. “You sign up anywhere yet?”

I hesitated.

The name GFW sat heavy on my tongue, but I didn’t say it, I couldn’t. Not after what I wore. Not after the way Rava had adjusted my posture like she was tuning an instrument. Not after the way the class had stared when I walked in.

“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “I’m trying something… local.”

James perked up. “Cool. If it ends up being a dud, you should just come with me. I go to Torque, five blocks from here. Real gym weights, barbells, chalky air, no plants in the corners.”

I smirked. “Sounds intense.”

“It is,” he said proudly. “But it works. None of that breathing-circle crap. Real strength stuff. You’d like it.”

I nodded along, not quite committing. “Maybe I’ll check it out.”

He patted my shoulder. “Good. Wouldn’t mind having my bro back in the trenches. You’ve been way too zen lately.”

I laughed, but something about that stuck with me.

Too zen.

I hadn’t said anything about soft tank tops or gender-neutral training programs or having to change in a basement because there was no men’s locker room.

No one here knew. And right now, I want to keep it that way.

It was past six. Most of the office had emptied out, but I was still at my desk, pretending to review a pitch deck while mostly just staring at my screen. The day had been… long. Pretending things were normal was starting to take more effort than I expected.

My phone buzzed beside my keyboard, and when I saw the name, I sat up straight.

Dr. Levin. Finally.

I answered immediately. “Hey, Doc. Thanks for calling back.” “Of course, Derek,” he said, voice calm but a little tired. “I apologize for missing your earlier call. Long rounds. Everything okay?”

I glanced around the dimly lit office before lowering my voice. “Sort of. I wanted to ask about that wellness center you referred me to, GFW Wellness Center.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly. “Your first session was this morning, right?” “Yeah,” I said slowly. “That’s kind of the problem. No one told me it was a women’s gym.”

There was a pause on the line. Not long. Just enough to confirm he knew this would come up.

“Yes, that was technically an error in the initial referral entry,” he admitted. 

“GFW Wellness Center began as a women-exclusive wellness facility. However, they’ve since restructured portions of their programming and have been slowly integrating mixed care under a pilot initiative.”

“So… it was a mistake?”

“In terms of categorization, yes,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But after reviewing your lab results and overall case file, I didn’t see a reason to change it.”

I frowned. “You left me in a gym where I was the only guy.”

“That studio specializes in restorative training, hormone stabilization, postural correction, and emotional regulation. Frankly, Derek, that combination aligns perfectly with what you need right now. Better than any conventional gym.”

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling. “Still would’ve been nice to get a heads-up.”

“I understand,” he said. “But part of your recovery depends on your ability to stay open to unfamiliar structures. Trust the program. Trust the environment. The gym might not feel comfortable yet, but it’s effective.”

“Is this about my bloodwork?” I asked. “You keep mentioning hormones, but you’ve never really explained what’s going on.”

He hesitated just long enough to make my stomach twist a little.

“Nothing alarming,” he said quickly. “But we’ll continue monitoring your levels during the coming weeks. For now, just stay consistent with the supplements and the gym sessions. You’re in the right place.”

The call ended soon after, and I sat there for another ten minutes without moving. So, yes he had mistakenly signed me up for a women’s gym.

But he didn’t think it was a mistake worth correcting.

By the time I got home, it was already dark. The conversation with Dr. Levin was still replaying in my head, and no matter how I tried to justify it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about all of this was moving faster than I could keep up with.

The home smelled like sautéed garlic and something light, maybe lemon or ginger. I walked into the kitchen and saw my sister at the stove, wearing an oversized hoodie, her hair pulled up in a loose clip.

She turned when she heard me come in. “Hey. I made dinner. Don’t worry, nothing greasy just something light, like the doctor said.”

I gave her a tired smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” she said, plating up two small portions of steamed vegetables, quinoa, and grilled chicken. “But it’s easier to stick to this if we both eat the same. And honestly, I don’t mind.”

We ate quietly at the kitchen table. There was a strange, silent agreement between us now, like we both knew something was happening, but neither of us was ready to unpack it.

Afterward, I rinsed the plate, left it in the drying rack, and told her I’d lie down for a bit. She just nodded and said, “Don’t forget your pills.”

I took them without comment.

And then I collapsed onto my bed, fully clothed, and barely managed to pull the blanket over me before sleep hit me like a switch. Not the restless, tossing kind of sleep I usually had.

I woke up the next morning feeling… foggy. Not groggy like after a late night or hungover. Just heavy, like my body had melted deeper into the mattress than it was supposed to. My limbs felt slow, like they were taking an extra beat to respond.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

The clock on my phone read 7:03 a.m. The gym started at 8:30.

I took a moment before getting up, letting the blanket fall off my shoulders. My body didn’t hurt if anything, I felt looser. Lighter. Like my joints had been reset while I slept. Probably the stretches. Or the supplements. Or both.

My sister was already in the kitchen, dressed for class, spooning yogurt into a container. She looked up when I entered and gave me a quiet smile.

“Morning. Slept hard, huh?”

“Like a rock,” I muttered, heading to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

When I came back out, she already had a small breakfast plate waiting: sliced fruit, plain toast, and a cup of herbal tea. I almost asked for coffee, but stopped myself. The tea felt… safer. 

“You’ve got gym this morning, right?” she asked casually.

“Yeah,” I said, picking at the toast. “Session two.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t even sure what getting used to it meant anymore.

After eating, I went back to my room to get ready. My usual gym gear, hoodies, old T-shirts sat untouched in the drawer. But that’s not what I was supposed to wear today.

I pulled out the black client pass card from my desk.

GFW  – Week One Client Pass.

I slid it into my wallet and headed out the door.

When I arrived, the studio was already buzzing quietly. A few women I recognized from yesterday were in the lobby, chatting softly, laughing. They nodded politely when they saw me, not unkind, just curious.

Morgan was at the front desk, as usual. 

“Good morning, Derek,” she said smoothly, already reaching for something beneath the counter. “Your second-day set is ready.”

She handed over a neatly folded bundle similar material as yesterday’s outfit, but this time in blush pink and light gray. Still a racerback tank. Still high-waisted shorts.

But even softer. Even more fitted. I took it silently.

“Staff room is open again if you’d prefer to change downstairs,” she added.

I nodded and made my way down to the basement. Alone in the plain white room, I changed quickly, then looked at myself in the mirror.

Same body. Different outline. Same face.

But something in the way I stood, even the way I adjusted the hem of the tank, felt just a little off. 

By the time I got back upstairs, most of the class was already gathering in Studio B.

And there she was, Reva at the front of the room, clipboard in hand, her hair tied back in a high ponytail, smooth and effortless. God, she was beautiful. Not just in the obvious way. There was something about her presence controlled but warm, confident, without ever needing to prove it. She had that quiet magnetism that made you want to impress her just by existing.

And, yeah. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.

Maybe, I told myself as I found a spot on my mat. Maybe if I keep showing up. Keep making progress. Maybe we’ll talk more. Maybe something real could come of this.

The rest of the women were settling in too, including Sara and Lili, who gave me small, knowing smiles as I sat down beside them. I just nodded back and adjusted my tank top, trying not to notice how fitted it felt around my waist.

“Alright, everyone,” Rava began, her voice calm and clear. “Before we begin today’s session, I thought we’d do a quick round of introductions. First names only. Let’s keep it simple, just your name and why you’re here. Sound good?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, and then, one by one, the women started speaking. Some talked about recovering from burnout. Others mentioned flexibility goals, posture corrections, and post-injury rehab. Normal stuff. No one made a big deal out of it.

When it came to me, I cleared my throat. “I’m Derek. The doctor referred me. Still figuring out the rest.”

A couple of giggles. Not mean just... empathetic. I sat back down, and we moved on. Then Rava stepped in front of the group again.

“Great. Thank you, everyone. And Derek,” she said, looking directly at me, “I’ll just say I appreciate you being here. Not everyone is brave enough to show up when things feel unfamiliar.”

I blinking. Courageous?

“Also,” she added, her tone lightening a little, “your hair’s a bit longer than some of the others’. You don’t have anything to hold it back?”

I instinctively ran a hand through it. It had gotten long, yeah, just past my ears, brushing my cheekbones when I turned my head. I usually didn’t think about it. However, it felt messier here, in the company of women with neat ponytails and buns, under these gentle lights. 

“Didn’t bring anything,” I said with a half-smile. “Didn’t think I’d need it.”

Before I could say more, Lili, three mats over, sat up and waved something between her fingers. “Here,” she said, tossing it gently toward Reva. “Give him this; it’s clean and pretty.”

It was a fancy black hairband, with a delicate looped pattern and a tiny pearl on the side. Rava caught it mid-air, turned it over once in her fingers, then walked over to me and knelt beside my mat.

I hesitated; everything in me screamed to say no. But my head was already nodding. She gently brushed my hair back, her fingers light against my temples, and slid the hairband in place.

“There,” she said, smiling. “Now you can see.”

I swallowed. My ears burned. Not because I was embarrassed in front of the others, but because something about the way she did it, so calmly, like it was nothing… made it feel normal. Even when I knew it wasn’t.

I felt... vulnerable as soon as the hairband slid into position. My hair stopped falling into my eyes, and I was able to see clearly for the first time since I entered this room. I could see the lights, the mirrors, and the delicate pastel lines of twelve women moving through the room with grace.

“Let’s begin,” Reva said, rising to her feet with fluid ease. “Today, we’re going deeper into core alignment and control. This will feel unfamiliar for some of you. That’s good. Discomfort is where you grow.”

She gave me a glance, brief and unreadable, and then walked to the front of the studio.

We started with seated positions, breathwork, and spine rotations. It wasn’t hard, not physically. But the way she spoke changed the tone of everything.

“Feel your body shift inward,” she said. “Not just to collapse, but to gather. The strength isn’t in how hard you push. It’s in how clearly you feel what’s not working and let it go.”

We moved into slow leg raises, arms overhead, toes pointed. I tried to follow and mimic the shapes around me, but I kept noticing how easily the others moved, how fluid they were. Meanwhile, I was trembling to hold poses they made look effortless.

“Don’t fight it,” Rava said from somewhere behind me. “Let your core hold you. 

I didn’t even realize I was clenching until she said it.

Then came the mirror sequence.

We stood in front of the wall of glass, feet in a wide stance, arms lifted. Reva demonstrated a controlled transition from a wide plié into a full-body twist, arms slicing through air like water.

“Use your hips,” she instructed. “Let them guide your motion, not your shoulders. Derek, slow your top half. You’re leading with tension. Lead with trust.”

I adjusted, feeling the awkwardness burn across my back.

My legs shook. My breathing quickened. I hated how much of this felt like dancing, like something that required grace rather than force.

Some part of me wanted to prove I could do it, not just to myself, but maybe to her, to Reva.

As we moved into the final set of movements, slow, wide-legged lunges with arm sweeps that reminded me of ballet but stripped down, I caught my own reflection in the mirror.

The fitted blush tank. The high-waisted shorts. My hair was slicked back with a delicate band. The sweat was forming at my collarbone.

The exercise session was ending. Our bodies were cooling down, and the mirrors were a bit cloudy from everyone breathing hard. My arms and legs felt like they had been stretched and changed. I wasn't really sore, but I had used my body in ways I wasn't used to. Ways I wasn't sure I was supposed to learn.

I was still trying to catch my breath when Rava came over.

She kneeled next to my mat again. She had that same calm, confident way about her. I could smell a little bit of citrus on her skin and hear the quiet talking of the other women getting their things ready behind us.

"You did great today," she said. "Much better control."

"Thanks," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. My hairband had mostly stayed in place, but a few hairs stuck to the sides of my face. "It still feels like I'm moving around wildly half the time."

"That's normal," she said with a small smile. "But there's something I want to tell you, and I hope you see it as a way to get better."

I looked at her carefully.

"I noticed that when you were doing the twisting moves and floor exercises, your upper body was... making up for something," she said. "Your chest was taking the hit instead of keeping your body straight. It's hard to see, but it's stopping you from using your core muscles properly."

I blinked. "Uh, okay?"

She moved a little closer. "To train correctly in this program, to fully use your breathing and posture, you might want to wear something supportive. A sports bra, specifically."

"Wai,t what?"

"It's not unusual," she said calmly, like she was talking about drinking water or proper form. "It's about keeping things in place and controlling your muscles. With how your body is shaped now and how you move, your chest area is soft in places where movement needs to be steady."

I looked down at myself, feeling confused, embarrassed, and something else I couldn't name. "But I'm"

"You don't need to explain," she said softly. "This isn't about if you're a man or a woman. It's about how your body works and staying in line. We want to keep your body safe from unnecessary stress. That's all."

I didn't know what to say. I sat there, sweat cooling on my skin, and the feeling of my tank top suddenly seemed much tighter.

"I'll talk to Morgan," she added. "She'll get a light support top for you. Just to try. No pressure. It's a normal thing we do here."

"Right," I said, my voice quiet.

The class had emptied out by the time I made it back to the front desk. Most of the women had already filtered out with rolled mats and water bottles, exchanging easy goodbyes and post-workout laughs. I moved slower, hoping somehow I could slip past without catching Morgan’s eye.

No such luck.

She looked up the moment I reached the lobby, as if she’d been waiting for me. 

“Derek,” she said pleasantly. “Reva spoke with me.”

I paused. “About,?”

Morgan didn’t flinch. “About the support garment.”

I cleared my throat. “Right. That.”

“I’ve already pulled a size from our inventory based on your measurements,” she said, stepping around the desk and motioning toward a side hallway marked Staff Access Only. “Let’s chat in private.”

The room she led me into was small, clean, clinical, and softly lit like everything else at GFW. A folded item sat on the bench: soft gray with wide straps, smooth lines, no branding. But there was no mistaking what it was.

“A sports bra,” I said flatly, even though she hadn’t said the words.

“A support top,” Morgan corrected gently. “This style offers light compression and upper-body containment without harsh underbands. It will help with breath regulation, posture control, and bounce minimization during twisting sequences. It’s designed for movement, not presentation.”

“Do other guys wear this?”

Morgan smiled patiently. “Not any men yet enrolled in this program. But the ones who are enrolled receive the same care we offer every client, tailored to their body’s needs.”

I hesitated, arms crossed. “This isn’t about comfort.”

Morgan didn’t deny it. “It’s about helping you move the way your body wants to.”

I looked down at the garment. It was soft. No hooks or frills. If anything, it looked more like a cropped compression tank than what I’d ever thought of as a “bra.” But still... I knew what it was.

“Do I have to wear it?” I asked, quieter now.

“No,” she said simply. “But you should. Especially if you want to keep progressing in class without discomfort. Reva only recommends what’s necessary.”

I didn’t respond. I just nodded once.

“I’ll add it to your weekly rotation,” she said, gently placing the folded item into a labeled garment bag with my name on it. “You’ll find it with your outfit tomorrow morning.”

I turned to leave, and I heard her voice behind me.

“See you tomorrow,” Reva said sweetly, loud enough for only me to hear, “in a sports bra.”

I froze for half a second, just enough time for my stomach to do a small, awkward flip. She said it so casually, like it was no big deal. Like I was just another regular in her studio. Like this had always been the plan.

I forced a half-smile over my shoulder and left quickly. The second I stepped outside, the air felt colder.

The outfit today’s blush tank and fitted shorts was buried under my hoodie and joggers, but I still felt uncovered. Like the lines of my body were somehow giving away more than I intended. Every step echoed strangely in my head, and for the first time in weeks, I noticed the way I walked was less slouched and more balanced, and people noticed, or at least, it felt like they did.

Two women walking past looked at me, then whispered something to each other. A guy on a bike glanced twice. I picked up my pace.

By the time I reached the front door of our apartment building, I was practically speed-walking.

When I stepped inside, my sister was by the mirror near the hallway, throwing on earrings and checking her bag. She was halfway through her routine when she caught sight of me and did a quick double-take.

Then she smiled a wide, knowing smile and said, “Cute hairband.”

I blinked. “What?”

She pointed. My hand flew to my head. Oh God.

I had completely forgotten I was still wearing the hairband Reva had put on me earlier, the delicate black one with the tiny pearl, the one Lili had loaned her. It had blended into my hair so naturally that I hadn’t even noticed.

I yanked it off immediately. “Didn’t realize I left that on,” I muttered, heading for my room. 

I shut the door and leaned back against it, the hairband still in my hand. It was small. Barely anything, but it felt heavier now.