The retreat's gym wasn't really a gym. It was more like a bamboo cathedral of sweat: open-air, massive stone weights, pull-up bars made from driftwood, and a corner with battle ropes that looked like they'd been stolen from Poseidon himself. The Instructor marched the men there after breakfast, barking, "NO PHONES. ONLY PAIN."
Jason was already foaming at the mouth with excitement. He clapped his hands on his chest, veins bulging. "Iron sharpens iron, brothers!"
Jeremiah stifled a yawn. "Iron bores me. Diamonds, though…" He trailed off, reclining dramatically on a bench press like he was posing for a Victorian oil painting. One hand draped across his forehead. "Much better."
Jason ignored him, grabbing two forty-kilogram dumbbells as if they were paperweights. He immediately launched into curls, his muscles ballooning with every rep. The other alphas paused mid-lift, gawking. Even the Instructor's booming voice faltered. "Slow down, son, you'll rupture something."
Jason just growled. "Pain is growth."
Meanwhile, Jeremiah had migrated to a leg press machine—not to use it, but to sit on it sideways, sipping the last of his dragonfruit tea like a disinterested duchess supervising a duel. "This is what I imagine purgatory looks like," he sighed. "Endless sweat and no Wi-Fi."
A particularly burly alpha sidled up to Jason. "Bro, how much weight is that?"
Jason didn't answer. He just kept curling, veins popping like angry rivers.
Jeremiah leaned in with a dazzling smile. "Forty-forty. Very impressive, right? Just enough to crush a car door. Or a fragile male ego."
The alphas nodded sagely. "Manly. Very manly."
Jason grunted, slightly embarrassed, but Jeremiah wasn't done. Jeremiah...felt inadequate. Not exactly envious- He would never feel envious of this jomoerotic caveman behavior- but when you see everyone around you doing something you can't, you tend to feel a certain kind of way
Just to show he could, he walked to the weights. Mostly he exercised with 5-5 kgs, but...that would be embarassing. He'll take 15-15. Yes. He can do it.
He could, in fact, not do it.
Now his ego was bruised. And that exact moment- jason, bless that sweet idiot- managed to let out a grown. And jeremiah's eyes snapped to him. And Jeremiah felt...mocked.
That was Jason's first mistake.
Now, Jeremiah felt mocked. What does he do? Improve himself like a normal human being? Nu uh. Sabotage? Yes.
A cheshire grin spread across his face.
He flicked his hair back, the *hair thing*. A move so rare, so dangerous, it was reserved only for moments of absolute chaos. His glossy strands caught the sunlight, practically sparkling. Jason visibly faltered.
Several alphas audibly gasped. One whispered, "That's… alpha?"
Another corrected him. "That's beyond alpha. That's… divine."
Jeremiah smirked. "It's just shampoo and conditioner, darling. Something you wouldn't understand."
---
Jason moved on to push-ups. Not just regular push-ups, of course. Weighted push-ups. He strapped plates across his back and started pumping out reps like a machine possessed.
Jeremiah perked up again, eyes glittering with mischief. The hair thing worked somewhat, but he wasn't satisfied. And then, he got an idea. He slinked over, crouching beside him. "Jason, my sun, my soldier. What if…" He leaned closer. "…instead of those boring weights, it was me?"
Jason froze mid-push-up, sweat dripping from his forehead. "…You?"
Jeremiah tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, me sitting on you. But of course, I wouldn't want to damage your delicate spine. What if I just… lie down instead?" He stretched across the mat, feline and smug.
Alpha Bro #1 squinted. "Uh, that's a lil weird, bro."
Alpha Bro #2 stroked his chin. "No, no. He's trying to help his brother train. That's alpha, right?"
A chorus of nods followed. "Yeah, brotherhood." "Alpha sacrifice." "Totally not weird."
Jason, meanwhile, was not okay. Jeremiah's face hovered dangerously close, breath warm against his neck as he "adjusted" himself to lie across Jason's back. Jason pushed up, muscles straining, Jeremiah lounging like a smug cat on a sunlit windowsill.
Jeremiah rested his chin on Jason's shoulder, sighing theatrically. "Look at you. So strong. So dependable. Truly, you were built to carry me."
Jason's arms trembled—not from weakness, but from something he didn't dare name. His chest felt tight. His stomach churned. He blamed the raw liver smoothie he'd had for breakfast. Yes. Definitely the smoothie.
But when Jeremiah's hair brushed his cheek, and his low chuckle ghosted over Jason's ear, a far more alarming explanation presented itself. Jason swallowed hard.
It's just the protein powder. It has to be.
The alphas, meanwhile, were captivated. "Look at that dedication." "Carrying your bro? That's peak masculinity." "Betas could never."
One muttered bitterly, "Still looks gay to me."
Another snapped back, "Shut up, that's brotherhood."
Jeremiah, oblivious—or pretending to be—shifted slightly, making Jason grunt under the added pressure. "Don't falter now, hero. You've got to impress the crowd." His tone dripped with mischief, every word another pebble tossed into Jason's turbulent chest.
Jason finished his set with a guttural roar, collapsing as Jeremiah rolled off him like silk slipping from skin. Jeremiah stretched, utterly unbothered. "Well done, darling. Ten out of ten. Very alpha."
Jason lay flat on the mat, chest heaving, his mind a battlefield. The alphas erupted in cheers, slapping each other's backs and howling about brotherhood. Jeremiah simply smirked, raking a hand through his hair again. The hair thing. Twice in one day. A war crime.
Jason wasn't sure what was happening to him. But one thing was clear: Jeremiah was no longer just his brother in alpha-hood. He was something far more dangerous. And Jason wasn't ready to name it.