Comfortable at home

Pulling the bottles form the bag, Jerry put them on the dresser grimacing slightly, already knowing that he was going to give in. Going to the gym was about change, about being better and if he didn’t do what Reina wanted it would be close to not taking medication given to him by a doctor. Jerry stood there with the towel slung low on his hips, skin still warm from the shower, he wasn’t even sure why he was hesitating before he did what was expected.

He picked up the body lotion first. The pink bottle felt light in his hand, the label soft and rounded like it was designed to blend in rather than stand out. He pumped a small amount into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and started with his arms. The lotion sank quickly into his skin. Too quickly like a man dying of thirst and was offered water. “Okay… maybe my skin has been a little dry.” He admitted to himself.

Moving to his chest and stomach, then down his legs, he felt the smoothness beneath his hands. It was undeniable now. There was no scruff, no grain. Just skin. Clean and warm and exposed. His legs didn’t look toned—he knew that—but they looked... different. Maybe better. Not in a muscular way. In a deliberate way. Like he was becoming someone who actually took care of himself.

He tried not to think about that, but did consider working off some of his tension and using the lotion on his smooth groin. The idea of touching himself and imagining a steamy make out session with his hot trainer was more than a little appealing, but if he let himself get distracted there was no way he would move on to using the other products.

Despite his urges the face moisturizer came next, though he did some solace that he was still very much a man when the thoughts ran through his mind about Reina using her hands to put on the lotion instead of his own. The facial lotion had him mumbling slightly to himself about a waste of money, how dumb it was to need two lotions, but his hands were already moving, dabbing it across his cheeks, working it into the soft spots under his eyes, around his nose. It didn’t sting. It felt... refreshing. Cooling. Comforting.

Then there was the last jar. The foundation, it had him hesitating longer this time.

It didn’t say it was makeup. But he knew what it was. He’d seen girls use it, but Reina mention it casually like it was as basic as sunscreen. To be fair he thought it might her, but she was a girl. Jerry knew he didn’t need it, didn’t want it.

You trust your personal trainer. They want to help you, be the real you.

He unscrewed the lid, dipped in a fingertip, and applied it where his skin still looked blotchy. Just a touch to the cheeks, nose, chin. Before looking in the mirror that was over his dresser, using the little sponge thingy he had been given to rub it in… or he supposed blend it in. Felt like something similar to painting he supposed and soon enough there was hardly any trace of it left, just smoother skin with an even complexion that hid the blemishes that he knew where there. In the mirror he didn’t see a guy wearing makeup, just a guy with cleaner face. That and he actually got a good look at his eyebrows, they didn’t look nearly as bas as he feared, just much neater, a bit thinner.

With his lack of self-confidence Jerry was never one to stay naked for long, so taking his towel he tossed it on top of his gym bag that had a few articles of clothing sticking out he opened up his dresser, tugging the solid wood drawer open, and pulled out a pair of boxers. They were soft, old, familiar—but the second he stepped into them, he flinched. The cotton didn’t say catch on anything, but as the fabric slid over his legs, they felt rougher than he remembered. The waistband clung, rubbed in all the wrong ways. The fabric felt more like it dragged against skin rather than sliding like his skin was hypersensitive.

He adjusted them once. Then again.

Had they always been this rough? Or had his body just changed more than he thought?

He shook the thought away and pulled on a pair of long jean shorts that hung down to mid knee. They were wide at the thighs, loose and baggy—comfortable, unflattering, and exactly what he needed. The kind of shorts that didn’t demand anything from him.

The shirt he chose was an old Guns N’ Roses tee. Black, cracked lettering, stretched from too many washes. It hung loose, two sizes too large, sleeves just long enough to swallow his upper arms. Baggy clothes concealed his scrawny body, he had enough of teasing when he was younger that it had set his style.

Then came a hoodie. It was his father’s sweater. The inside was worn down to fleece. The outside still held the shape of someone broader, taller, someone who used to lift Jerry up with one arm. His dad had been strong in a way Jerry never would be. The man had been larger than life, it was a child’s perspective, but those were the only memories Jerry had of his father.

He pulled it over his head and let it fall over him like armor. The hem dropped to the top of his thighs, the sleeves covering his hands almost to the fingertips. It hung heavy on his frame, surrounding him. Comforting. Like if he wore it long enough, his dad might walk through the door and laugh and call him kiddo again. Despite the music playing from his phone he felt a little stressed, or maybe he was just tired, Jerry didn’t know, but he did know he always felt more at ease, like things could be okay when he felt his long passed father’s sweater on him.

The sweater was big. Too big for him physically, but emotionally it was a perfect fit for what he needed. With it on and fully dressed he moved to try and pop his back before turning to face his bed. Grabbing his gym bag, the dirty clothing inside as he made his way down the hall, hoping to throw a load in the washer before he forgot. As he passed through the living room, Travis looked up from the couch. His expression shifted the moment he saw the hoodie. His body didn’t move, but his attention narrowed.

Travis had seen his friend wear that sweater before—just like this—when he was feeling low. They didn’t ever have any deep conversations and he thought part of that might be on him, he did think Jerri was a boy and there seemed to be no end in sight for how long he was going to be kicking himself for that. That sweater, his friend clearly down about something and his own guilt eating him up the young man spoke up, hoping to help make her day a little better when he heard a distinctive sound from her belly.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but kind. “You hungry?”

Jerry blinked, then realized his stomach had just let out a low, audible growl before his roommate brought up a rather important subject.

“Yeah,” he said, giving a sheepish smile. “I guess I am.”

“Let me grab dinner,” Travis offered immediately, already reaching for his phone. “Pizza okay?”

Jerry tilted his head. “You’re offering to pay?”

“You’re wearing the sweater,” Travis replied simply. “That usually means something’s up. I just figured I could help.”

That made Jerry smile—small, but genuine. “Thanks. Yeah. Pizza sounds good.”

“What do you want on it?”

“Sausage,” Jerry said, too quickly. “Extra sausage. I love sausage.” He said, thinking about how the extra protein would help after a good workout and giving no thought to the extra carbs.

There was a pause. Travis looked up, one eyebrow twitching. Then he looked back at his phone. “Cool. One extra sausage coming up.”

Jerry paused, caught something in the way Travis said it, but decided not to push.

“You paying makes this the closest thing to a date I’ve had in a while,” he joked, voice light.

Travis huffed a quiet laugh. “Well, you’ve been putting effort into yourself lately. Keep it up, and I don’t think that’ll be true for long.” Jerri was the biggest tomboy he had ever met, the fact he thought they were a guy only made that more true, but in addition to the sweater he had noticed she had shaved her legs and something he mother always told him was that girls like it when men notice when they put effort into something.

Jerry wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just smiled again. It lingered longer than he expected. “I’m gonna do a load of laundry while we wait,” he said, lifting the gym bag slightly.

“Want me to toss mine in too?” Travis asked, already gathering a few things from beside the couch.

“Sure,” Jerry said. “No point wasting water.” He took the bundle and headed to the washer tucked near the kitchen. As he opened the bag, a flash of pale pink caught his eye—a strap, slightly stretched from wear, sticking out from the bundle.

The sports bra. He nudged it deeper into the bag without comment. Travis didn’t say anything either, though he’d definitely seen it.

Instead, he just held out his laundry and gave Jerry a grateful grin. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. I hate doing laundry.”

Jerry shrugged. “I don’t mind it.”

Travis leaned on the doorframe. “I hate it enough that I’d pay more rent if you did mine while you were doing your own loads.”

Jerry turned, blinking. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Travis said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean, you’re already doing it. Might as well make it worth your time.”

Jerry paused. The washer hummed under his fingers. The sweater hung low and warm around his body. Money wasn’t tight, but the gym wasn’t cheap either. “…Yeah,” he said at last. “Alright.”

“Awesome. You’re the best, Jerri.”.