Brotherhood, Unapologetically

Chapter 2 – Brotherhood, Unapologetically

The gym had mirrors everywhere, but Aleem didn’t come here to look at himself.

He came for the same reason he came every morning–because someone would be waiting.

At six thirty, the air still held a leftover coolness from the night. The lights were too bright for the hour. The floor smelled faintly of disinfectant and rubber. Aleem pushed through the glass door with his hood up, water bottle in hand, and found Hafiz at the squat rack exactly where he always was.

Fiz didn’t greet him with big gestures. He just nodded once.

Aleem nodded back.

That was the thing about Fiz. His affection was made of consistency.

Imran was already stretching on the mats, earphones slung around his neck, looking half awake. When he saw Aleem, he lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.

“Morning,” Im said, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Aleem replied, and it wasn’t just a greeting. It was a quiet confirmation: I showed up.

Aaron arrived next–silent as always, carrying an extra strap without being asked. He handed it to Aleem like it had been planned.

Aleem accepted it without thanking him out loud.

Daniel came last, jogging in with a grin too bright for dawn.

“Boys,” Dan announced, spreading his arms as if they were a crowd. “You miss me?”

“No,” Fiz said flatly.

“Yes,” Im said at the same time.

Aleem laughed, the sound coming out easy.

They moved through their routine like a language their bodies already knew. Fiz counted reps without looking at his phone. Aaron adjusted plates with quiet efficiency. Im coached form with words that were gentle but firm. Dan narrated everything like a talk show host, throwing compliments and insults in the same breath.

Aleem watched them in the mirror once–not his own reflection, but the way they stood behind him, always there in the frame.

Not alone.

Not ever.

After training, they filed out into the morning like it belonged to them. Sweat cooled against skin. Hair damp. Hands busy with towels and bottles. Conversation loosened as the hardest part of the day ended before most people even began.

They went to the same café nearby. Not because it was the best in the city, but because it was theirs.

Four men at a corner table, shoulders brushing when the space got tight. Fiz ordered the same drink as always. Dan ordered something new just to complain about it. Aaron stirred his coffee slowly, eyes moving around the room like he was reading it. Im asked Aleem about his week without making it sound like an interrogation.

“So?” Im said, leaning back. “How’s the scholarship paperwork? Any updates?”

Aleem exhaled through his nose.

“Still waiting.”

Dan made a face. “I hate waiting. It’s disrespectful.”

“It’s reality,” Aaron said, voice quiet but steady.

Fiz sipped his drink. “Whatever happens, we adjust.”

Aleem looked at them. At the way they talked about his problems like they were shared weight–heavy, yes, but manageable.

He felt something settle.

“Kita ada satu sama lain.”

We have each other.

Outside, the city brightened slowly. People began to flood the sidewalks. Couples held hands. Families pushed strollers. Friends walked in clusters.

Dan pointed at a table across the café where a couple sat close, heads bent together.

“You ever think about it?” he asked, casual, as if he was asking about the weather. “Dating. Serious dating.”

Aleem didn’t answer immediately.

He wasn’t against love. He wasn’t afraid of it.

But he wasn’t starving.

“I think about it,” he said finally. “Just… not like it’s the missing part.”

Im nodded as if that made perfect sense.

Aaron hummed, approving.

Fiz’s eyes stayed on his cup. “Good.”

Dan grinned. “Look at you. Emotionally mature.”

Aleem rolled his eyes, but the warmth stayed in his chest.

“Listen,” Im said, voice softer now, as if speaking to something deeper. “If someone comes into your life, make sure they don’t make you smaller.”

Aleem’s throat tightened, unexpected.

He looked away, pretending to focus on the foam in his cup.

“I know,” he said.

And he did.

Because the men around him had already taught him what love looked like when it wasn’t desperate.

It looked like showing up.

It looked like a strap handed over without words.

It looked like a friend asking a question and waiting patiently for the real answer.

It looked like a corner table at dawn.

And if romance came one day, it would have to fit into a life like this.

Not because Aleem was guarded.

But because his life was already full.