ramblesandreblogs:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Mondays suck.

This Monday being no exception because this was how this Monday goes for Connor Walsh:

Wake up late. Run out of hot water mid-shower. Miss the bus. Sprint two blocks to nearest subway stop and then miss that too. Waste time trying to get a cab to notice too late that you missed another bus. Finally catch a cab but step in a huge puddle getting out at your building. Spend the rest of the morning with wet socks while attempting to hide from your boss who you don’t think noticed you were 45 minutes late. Your boss finds you hiding from him in the break room and reams you out because he totally did notice you were late. Get down to the cafeteria for lunch just in time to watch someone walk off with the last chicken salad sandwich so you’re stuck with the mysterious tuna. Spend the rest of the afternoon doing data entry that is so simple an intern could (and should!) be doing it while fighting off food poisoning and trying to stay awake. Start packing up for the day only to have your boss pop his head in and ‘ask’ you to stay late to make up for this morning (even though it’s already an hour past when you normally leave because you did make up your time already) and you say “Sure thing boss!” with an exaggerated grin and a thumbs up – he is not amused. Get stuck at the office by yourself working on data entry until the night custodian accidentally turns the lights off on you and you say to yourself “Fuck it” and go home.

Walking into his apartment that night, Connor didn’t even bother taking off his shoes or shrugging off a coat before face-planting on his couch. Mondays SUCK!

A few minutes into his half-rest/half-nap on the couch before he gets up to put on pajamas and see if he has any food to go with the beers he’s planning on drinking, his phone starts to ring and he just lets it go to voicemail. Everything and everyone can wait.

The phone starts to ring right away again so he digs into his coat pocket with a touch of foreboding. Could it be his mom? Last he had heard everyone was doing well but at Grandfather’s age you never know…and false alarm. It’s just Michaela.

“What do you want?” he says as he shoves his face back into his throw pillow.

“Where are you?” Michaela says sounding distracted.

“I’m at home, Mic. Where are you?”

“I’m at the gym. Are you on your way here?” Connor sits up. Fuck. The gym. They were starting that stupid class tonight. Fuck. Why did he agree to do that on Monday nights? He can hear Michaela mumbling to herself and it sounds like she’s digging around in her bag for something. “Where is—ah! There it is. So are you a few minutes away or something?”

“Well actually Mic—”

“No. Connor. No. See. This is why I called.” Michaela holds the phone away from her ear to hand the gym attendant her ID and give a cheery “thank you” before she resumes scolding him as she heads to the locker rooms. “You promised Connor. Remember? January 1. We made a pact. This year we’d get healthier.”

“We also made a pact to get laid more this year. Can we focus on that tonight?”

“Sure. After class.” Michaela stops outside the locker rooms, respecting the ‘No Cell Phones’ sign. “You’ve got twenty minutes Walsh. Be here.”

“What if I’m late?” he asks even as he’s throwing off his coat and toeing off his shoes.

“Don’t be.” Is her ominous last line and she hangs up.

+

An hour and twenty minutes later, Connor is rethinking his whole friendship with Michaela. He did make it to class and hardly complained at all when the perky instructor with 0% body fat and a smile that never wavered made them lift and twist and kick and push and God knows what else during Intro to Bodypump (if that was Intro to Bodypump he would hate to see Intermediate Bodypump). Connor did his part and participated and now he’s done. He wants to go home and shower away this whole exhausting day. But Michaela’s not done. Michaela wants to run laps.

“Come on. Just a few. You used to run all the time in college,” she pleads.

“I used to be 22 in college. Things change.”

“The track isn’t even that long. Let’s do ten.”

“Three.”

“Five.”

“Fine,” Connor concedes. “I’m gonna grab a drink first.” He waves a hand in in recognition when she says she’s going to start stretching and walks over to the water fountain.

Taking a drink, Connor sits down on the small bench near to the fountain next to one of the guys from class. The guy nods by way of a greeting and Connor is more than a little pleased that the guy looks as wiped as he is. “Why is this class on Monday night?” Connor says.

The guy snorts a laugh. “Tell me about it.” After a moment of comfortable silence, the guy speaks up. “Who dragged you here?”

Connor points to Michaela across the way. “Friend of mine. You?”

“That beanpole over there who used to be my best friend.” The guy points to a lanky guy over by the free weights. “Now Wes wants us to lift.”

“Michaela wants me to run laps with her.” They share sympathetic looks. “What did we do to deserve such evil friends?”

“I don’t know. We’re good people.”

“We are good people.” Connor waits a beat, debating. “Plus—there are better ways to burn calories.”

The guy turns, sizing Connor up. “Much better ways.”

“Much much better.” A look passes between them and they both grin. “I’m Connor, by the way.”

“Oliver.”

+

Much later, Connor falls asleep, after their own workout private session, with his face pressed in Oliver’s neck and Oliver’s arm thrown over him. Feeling content and happy, Connor concedes that maybe he was wrong.

Maybe Monday’s aren’t so bad after all.