Simon was trapped in his own thoughts as he mindlessly worked through the machines at the local gym he had found near his apartment. It had been a long time since he's had such a long leave of absence to look forward to- not that time off was something he really desired. He unpacked all of his military equipment only a few hours ago and had immediately searched for the closest gym. He was going to be insanely stir crazy if he wasn't careful.

This wasn't the first time he had been denied deployment, and it was infuriating. He understood the reasoning, though; he had put his team in danger. He was the danger to them. His unprocessed traumas and growing flashbacks had crept up on him, catching both him and his team by surprise. He had lost his shit and by consequence was sent home until he could show improvement.

His eyes focused back down on the machine he was using when he accidentally clanked the weights down, glancing around to make sure he hadn't disrupted anyone. Simon sighed to himself and grabbed for his hand towel, wiping sweat off of his face with the already damp cloth. He had been sporting his usual balaclava earlier, but had tucked it into his pocket after a long bout of cardio. He was in a smaller city, and wasn't so preoccupied with keeping his identity hidden, especially since anyone who might've been after him would be expecting him to be currently deployed.

Simon's gaze flicked across the gym, taking in the handful of other patrons before looking back at the clock. He'd been working out for the last three hours and was well aware that the gym was closing soon. The lieutenant hadn't checked to see what hours the gym offered before signing himself up for the membership; an honest mistake. Normally he would try for a 24hr place. It was a fancy gym, with half a dozen private training rooms for group lessons, a track, pool, and multiple different sports courts - nothing that he planned on using.

He had to shake his hands out in order to get himself to move from the machine he had been sitting at, wiping it down with one of the sanitary wipes the gym kept at the trash bins. Simon's eyes caught onto a flash of bright purple in the corner, looking over to the corner of the gym just in time to see a woman in purple leggings kick up into a handstand. She had her long hair tied back into a ponytail, which dipped down to her black tank top as she stood on her hands, moving her weight from side to side and shaking out one hand at a time. He watched as she swayed, then seemingly effortlessly pushed backwards and landed on her feet. Simon knew he was staring, but couldn't really help it.

She wasn't bulky, per say, but she had impressive muscle definition in her shoulders and arms, which were glistening with a thin layer of sweat. She raised a manicured hand to bat her bangs out of her face before sinking into the splits. Simon pulled his eyes away from the woman, internally wincing at the stretch. There was no way he could manage that. He moved to another machine, a leg press, and tried to keep himself from stealing glances at the woman as she continued what looked like a full-body stretch routine.

Simon finished his workout and looked back up to see if he could spot the purple-clad woman again, but she was no longer in her spot at the corner of the gym. Instead, she was leaning against the front counter while speaking animatedly with a staff member. Simon recognized the staff as the girl who had helped him sign up for the gym membership. She had short curly hair and an eyebrow slit, and seemed slightly frustrated with Simon's quiet demeanor when filing the paperwork in order to get him the card.

The woman speaking with the staff - he recalled her name tag reading 'Tracy' - was still waving her hands. Simon wiped down the equipment he was using and moved to his locker, which was conveniently only a few feet from the front desk. 

"What do you think about tomorrow? We've got a 6PM opening, Jack canceled his session again," Tracy huffed at the girl in purple, her fingers drumming on the countertop in an annoyed fashion. "I swear, that man has never heard of sticking to commitments,"

The woman laughed, and Simon's ears perked up. "So I've heard. Sure, I can take over tomorrow. I have a gap between my last two classes, anyway."

"Yes!" Tracy exclaimed, looking relieved. "I was worried I'd have to step in."

"You? Instructing yoga? That's something I've got to see."

"Lorelei," Tracy scolded, feigning hurt.

Lorelei, Lorelei, Lorelei.

"Hey, did you get those posters up? I can't keep teaching here for free, you know. I've got to keep appearances up."

Tracy rolled her eyes and pointed towards some bright colored fliers. "You're not teaching for free, you know," she mocked, leaning forward on the counter. "We waive your membership fees."

Lorelei smiled at the other woman and started swaying on the balls of her feet. "Alright, you've got me there. I've got to get going, early class tomorrow. Thanks for the fliers,"

Tracy handed her a stack of papers and smiled, waving her friend off. Simon stopped by the desk on his way out, trailing a few feet behind the woman in purple, and grabbed one of the bright papers as he passed.

He didn't feel great about the fact that he was practically stalking this random woman. In fact, he shot back a few ounces of bourbon just to get the courage to even look up the website posted on her flier. The clacking of his keyboard almost echoed in his quiet living room, joining the sound of Simon's soft breathing. He clicked on the link to Lorelei's website and watched as his government-issued laptop loaded up the page. It had a small picture of her in the corner, with her hair down and a small smile. Simon had stared a little too long at the photo and ended up shaking his head to get himself to focus on the text below.

After a short paragraph on where she grew up, Lorelei wrote about the dance competitions she participated in, her experience being a student of psychiatry, and how it all led her to owning a small studio where she taught different forms of mindfulness. Simon thought it sounded a little hippie-dippie, but he appreciated how she incorporated what seemed to be both medical, spiritual, and psychiatric practices in her work. He figured it must be a hard thing to balance.

Simon continued down the page to her social media handles, clicking through each one and looking through the photos there. It was all of her studio and other gyms she had taught in, never showing anything of her home or family. He wondered if that was a conscious decision; keeping her private life off of the internet. That would be the smart thing to do, he thought.

She did, however, post about the different books that she enjoyed. Her age, twenty-eight, was posted on her instagram handle, right above a little story-bubbles that showed pictures of all the different projects she had worked on to make the studio look the way it does. Tapestries and fairy lights hung on the walls and ceilings alike, along with diagrams depicting the muscular system, acupuncture focuses, and reflexology. She made most of her own furniture- tables, chairs, cabinets, shelves- and painted them all in some sort of 80's stoner style.

Once he started to feel a little too stalker-ish, Simon closed down the laptop and stood from his spot on the couch. He stretched out his limbs before making his way over to his porch, a pack of cigarettes in hand. Maybe I've spent too much time alone, he considered. Should I call Price?

He eventually decided against it, dragging himself to his room and collapsing on his bed. He did his best to shut out the thoughts of her, but was secretly grateful for the distraction she was causing. Of course, no matter how hard he tried, his dreams of war still chased after him throughout the night.