(Gym For Women) GFW - Wellness Center - Part 1

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"Derek!" I dropped the water and ran to him, kneeling beside his motionless body.

"Help!" I screamed, panic rising in my throat. "Call 911!"

In minutes, the house was in chaos. Our aunts, uncles, and cousins who had followed us home in separate cars rushed inside as the ambulance arrived. Someone cradled my shoulder. Someone else grabbed his wallet and ID.

Everything blurred. We sat in a white hallway under harsh lights, the family whispering prayers or holding their breath.

The doctor came out nearly an hour later, a clipboard in hand and a grim expression on his face.

"He's stable," he said quickly, quieting the crowd. "But we need to keep him overnight for observation. There were a few irregularities in his blood work. Nothing conclusive yet, but... something's not typical."

"What does that mean?" I asked, stepping forward.

He hesitated, then looked at me more directly. "I'd like to run a more detailed panel in the morning."

The air just left the room.

"What?" I asked, the word barely forming on my lips.

"It's too early to say anything with certainty," the doctor added quickly. "But we're seeing things that don't fully align with standard male physiology. It might be congenital, undiagnosed, or something more recent. We'll know more after the tests."

He turned and walked off, leaving silence in his wake.

I looked back through the glass window at my brother—his long hair spread on the pillow, his blouse still wrinkled from the party, his frame so still, so small in the hospital bed.

The hospital lights had dimmed by the time the doctor called us into his office. Only a few of us went—me, Aunt Melissa, and Uncle Ron. Everyone else waited outside.

Dr. Levin was calm but serious, his gaze steady as he closed the door behind us. He held a file in his hands, thick with lab results. Derek's name was printed in bold across the top.

"He's resting now," he began. "Vitals are stable, and he regained consciousness briefly, but we sedated him to run further tests."

"What happened to him?" Aunt Melissa asked. "He's never had health issues before. He's young, for God's sake!"

Dr. Levin nodded, folding his hands. "I understand this is shocking. But... we found some anomalies in his blood panel and imaging. I'm going to be direct with you—it's something Derek may not even be aware of himself."

My breath caught in my throat.

"What kind of anomalies?" Uncle Ron asked, his voice tight.

The doctor took a moment, choosing his words carefully. "It's... rare. But not unheard of. Something he was likely born with and never diagnosed. It doesn't pose an immediate threat to his health, but it will require a major decision in the near future."

"What kind of decision?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Levin paused again. "That's the part I need to be very clear about. Right now, it's important that you know. But Derek doesn't. Not yet. And I advise keeping it that way—at least for now."

Aunt Melissa frowned. "You want us to lie to him?"

"I want you to protect him," Dr. Levin replied gently. "We have about a year before some key developmental thresholds pass. If Derek hasn't made certain choices by then—choices I'll explain to you in detail—some of his options may close permanently."

Dr. Levin nodded. "We'll discuss them privately, one-on-one, if you prefer. But what matters now is that he's safe, and he has time. Please don't push him. Don't corner him with questions. Let him feel what he feels. If you guide him too hard, you risk doing real harm."

I nodded slowly, not fully understanding, but feeling the weight of it settle on my shoulders.

When we stepped out into the hallway again, the others looked up with hopeful, questioning eyes.

"He's okay," Aunt Melissa said quickly. "Just exhausted. The doctor says he needs rest and follow-ups."

We didn't say more. Not yet.

But when I looked through the glass, I saw Derek still asleep in that bed.

Dr. Levin flipped through a few more pages in the file, then looked up at me again. "One more thing," he said, his voice softer now. "Derek's health insurance is active and comprehensive. It covers not just hospital visits but certain ongoing therapies and wellness programs."

Aunt Melissa leaned forward. "Like... counseling?"

He nodded. "That, and physical conditioning. Gentle strength-building, balance-focused exercise, and postural alignment. That kind of regimen could help stabilize a lot of what's going on internally. We're not talking bodybuilding—we're talking slow, corrective progress."

I frowned. "You're saying he should join a gym?"

"I'm saying he may benefit from it, yes. There's a facility we work with—a local partner clinic, technically. They're used to handling specialized wellness programs. Low-pressure, structured, good environment. The kind of place where he won't feel overwhelmed or watched. That's key."

"And insurance covers it?" Aunt Melissa asked.

"It's fully eligible under his current policy," Dr. Levin confirmed. "If you bring him in next week for follow-up blood work, we'll quietly handle the referral. Keep it casual. Low-stakes. If he thinks it's just part of getting his energy back, he's more likely to go."

I nodded, filing that away.

He didn't say the name of the gym. He didn't need to. I could tell from the way he spoke—carefully, intentionally, and rehearsed—that this wasn't a typical fitness recommendation.

When we stepped out of his cabin again and returned to Derek's bedside, he was beginning to stir. His lashes fluttered slightly. He looked pale but peaceful.

"Hey," I said softly, sitting beside him as he opened his eyes.

He blinked a few times, groggy. "What... happened?"

"You passed out. The doctor says you need rest and a few tests, but you're okay."

He didn't argue. Didn't ask too many questions. He just leaned his head back against the pillow and sighed. "Felt weird. That's all."

"Well," I said, reaching for his hand, "they'll help you feel better soon. Just a few follow-ups. Maybe even some light workouts. Nothing big."

He nodded faintly, already drifting back to sleep.

Story from Derek's Point of View.

In the morning, my body felt heavy, but not in a sick way. More like I'd slept too hard on a stiff mattress, which, judging by the beeping machines and the antiseptic air, I probably had. Ugh.

I blinked up at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to remember where I was and how I'd gotten here. Then it came back in pieces. The party. The awkward compliments. Paige. The cold noodles in the fridge. Then, blank.

I sat up slowly. My arm had an IV taped to it, but there were no wires, no panic. Just the quiet hum of monitors.

I didn't feel terrible. A little light-headed, maybe, but nothing worth all this drama. Seriously.

A knock at the door made me turn. Dr. Levin stepped in, all calm smiles and clipboard posture. He was the kind of guy who could give you bad news and still make it sound like a weather report.

"Morning, Derek," he said. "How are you feeling?"

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. "Tired. Hungry. Not dying, though, I guess."

"Correct," he said with a dry chuckle. "You gave your family a bit of a scare last night, but your vitals have stabilized, and your blood sugar was low when you came in. You've already responded well to fluids, so I'm happy to discharge you today."

He flipped a few pages on his clipboard and handed me a small paper bag with a bottle inside. "There's some supplemental medication here—basic stuff. Iron, vitamin D, and a few hormone-balancing supplements. Nothing intense. Just to even things out."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hormone-balancing?"

"Just part of a general wellness protocol," he said easily. "It's becoming more common with guys in their twenties who work long hours, skip meals, and stress themselves to the brink."

That tracked. Still, I made a mental note to Google whatever pills were in there.

"Do I need to do anything else?" I asked.

He smiled faintly and nodded. "Yes, actually. We'd like you to follow up with a partner clinic. It's not a hospital—it's more of a wellness facility. Focuses on mild, guided fitness and recovery. Think of it like... post-burnout repair. Nothing high-impact."

"A gym?" I said, trying not to sound suspicious.

"Sort of," he said. "But calmer. Monitored by specialists, very structured, very private. You'll be assigned a fitness doctor to check in with weekly—make sure everything's progressing properly. It's all covered by your insurance, so there's no cost."

I shrugged. "Sure, why not. If it gets my aunt off my back."

"Good," he said, handing me a small envelope. "This has the details. The appointment is already booked for Wednesday morning. You'll just need to show up."

He patted my shoulder once and left the room.

I leaned back against the pillow, envelope in hand, still feeling like I'd been hit by something invisible. A part of me wanted to brush this all off, to say it was just stress, bad food, or lack of sleep.

But deep down, something told me it wasn't that simple.

I didn't know what they weren't telling me. But whatever it was, I had a strange feeling it was already in motion.

By the time I'd signed the discharge papers and changed back into my clothes—still neatly folded in a hospital drawer from last night—I was more than ready to leave. The stiffness in my joints was giving way to normal movement, and honestly, I felt fine. A little out of it, sure, but no more than I would after pulling an all-nighter and drinking bad coffee the next morning.

Dr. Levin walked me to the lobby and gave me a final rundown.

"You're cleared for normal activity," he said. "Go back to your routine; just take it easy this week. The supplements should help level things out. And remember—tomorrow morning, your session at the wellness center starts at 8:30 sharp!"

I nodded, tucking the appointment card into my hoodie pocket. "Got it."

"Consistency is key," he added, his tone kind but firm. "Stick with it. It'll help in more ways than you realize."

I gave him a half-smile, the kind you use when you're too polite to argue but not quite convinced. "Sure thing, doc."

Outside, the sun was out in full, which felt unfair considering how weird everything had been for the last twenty-four hours. We grabbed a ride home, and the second I stepped into the apartment, I dropped my bag by the door and collapsed on the couch.

For a few minutes, I just sat there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together how this week had spun so wildly off course.

And then my phone rang. Ugh.

HR Call—Work,

I sighed, rubbing my temples before answering. "Hello?"

"Hi, Derek! This is Camille from HR at Halston Group. Just checking in—how are you feeling?"

Of course. Word travels fast when you pass out and get hauled off in an ambulance. Great.

"I'm okay," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "Resting at home today. Had a little medical thing yesterday, but it's under control."

"Oh no," she said. "Glad to hear you're alright. Do you know when you'll be back in the office?"

"Yeah. I'm planning to come in tomorrow," I said. "Just taking off today to get my energy back and... do what the doctor told me."

"Of course, totally understandable. Take care of yourself. We'll see you tomorrow."

I hung up and dropped the phone on the coffee table, letting my head fall back against the cushion. So much for easing back into things.

Work. Gym. Supplements. Appointments.

And yet, despite all the pieces being put in place around me, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

I'd show up at that clinic tomorrow. Do whatever I needed to. Play along.

That afternoon at home was... weird.

Not bad weird. Just not normal. My sister, usually quick with sarcasm and even quicker to call me out for leaving dishes in the sink, was acting like Florence Nightingale. She made tea. She reheated soup. She even fluffed the pillows on the couch before handing me a blanket. What?!

I gave her a look the third time she offered me water.

"Okay, what's going on?" I asked. "You're being nice. It's weirding me out!"

She just rolled her eyes—but not with her usual fire. "You passed out and scared everyone, Derek. Forgive me for not treating you like a walking ego today."

"Ha, so this is pity care?"

"No," she said, smiling faintly. "Think of it as temporary immunity. You get, like, one day of being babied."

I grinned. "I'll take it!"

Still, something was off. Not in a bad way, just... off. Like she knew something I didn't. She kept glancing at me with this unreadable look, like she was trying to measure something she couldn't quite name.

But I let it go. Whatever. One weird day wouldn't kill me.

The next morning, I woke up groggy but solid. The supplements hadn't turned me into Superman overnight, but I didn't feel like collapsing, so that was a win! I showered, threw on joggers and a hoodie, and left early to find this "wellness clinic" the doctor had referred me to.

The address led me to a sleek-looking building. There was no flashy sign—just a brass plaque near the glass door that read:

GFW Wellness Center

Huh. Sounds intense.

I pushed open the door and stepped into a spotless lobby. Soft music played overhead. A woman in a peach tracksuit walked past me, earbuds in, and gave me a polite nod.

Behind the counter, the receptionist—another woman—looked up and smiled warmly. "You must be Derek. Welcome. You're right on time!"

"Uh, thanks," I said, glancing around. "So this is the place? Dr. Levin set me up for a session."

She tapped a few things on her screen. "Yes. You're scheduled for an intake consultation and a light introduction circuit. Just head through those doors. A dressing room is to the left. You can change there—someone will meet you on the floor."

"Cool," I said, pretending not to notice that every single person in the waiting area was a woman.

I walked into the locker room and opened one of the cubbies. Inside was a folded towel, a water bottle, and a small name tag with my name already printed on it. Prepared, I thought. Creepily organized.

The more I looked around, the more it sank in.

There were no men.

Not in the lobby. Not in the locker room. Not in the hallway.

Just women. All shapes and sizes, stretching, chatting, clipping up their hair, adjusting their tops. I felt like I had wandered onto the set of a commercial for athletic wear.

And then it hit me like a slow-moving freight train.

This wasn't a normal gym. This was a women's gym.

I froze. For a second, my mind went totally blank. I wanted to laugh, or back out, or text my sister with a snarky "very funny." But no one around me seemed shocked I was there.

Not even the staff. And worst of all, I wasn't sure if I was out of place. What?!