"Okay," Charlie said, taking the clothes. "We can try."
Brent's face lit up. "That's the spirit! Get changed. We'll start with some light warm-ups."
Charlie went to the bathroom to change, catching his reflection in the mirror. He wished that part about how vampires didn't have reflections were true. He had one, and it looked terrible. He was paler than usual and the dark circles under his eyes seemed to get worse every day. The borrowed tank top hung loose on his frame.
When he emerged, Brent had pushed his coffee table against the wall and laid out his collection of weights. It was honestly impressive for a studio apartment—dumbbells ranging from ten to fifty pounds, several kettlebells, and resistance bands mounted to the wall.
"Alright!" Brent clapped his hands together. "Let's start with some basic movements. See where you're at."
He demonstrated a few stretches, which Charlie copied. At least flexibility hadn't changed with his transformation.
"Good! Now let's try some push-ups. Give me ten."
Charlie dropped to the floor and started. One, two, three—wait. These felt different. By ten, he wasn't even slightly tired.
"Nice form!" Brent said. "Let's try twenty more."
Charlie did twenty more. Still nothing.
"Damn, okay! You've got better endurance than I expected." Brent grabbed a twenty-pound dumbbell. "Let's test your strength. Bicep curls."
Charlie took the weight. It felt like holding a coffee mug. He did a curl, trying to make it look difficult, adding a grunt for effect because he knew this wassupposedto be difficult.
"Come on, don't just go through the motions," Brent said. "Really feel the burn."
"Right. The burn." Charlie did another curl, scrunching his face in fake concentration.
Brent frowned. "That weight too light? Here." He handed Charlie a forty-pound dumbbell.
Charlie took it, still pretending to struggle just so Brent would leave him alone.
"Bro, you're not even trying. I can tell. That's forty pounds and you're treating it like it's nothing."
"No, it's definitely something," Charlie lied, adding a slight shake to his arm.
"Stop faking!" Brent grabbed the fifty-pound dumbbell. "Look, if you can't lift it, that's fine. No judgment. But don't pretend it's hard when it's not."
Something snapped in Charlie. He grabbed the fifty-pound weight and did ten rapid curls with one arm, then switched and did ten with the other, his face completely relaxed.
"Holy shit." Brent's eyes went wide. "You're doing single-arm curls with fifty pounds like it's nothing. What's your max?"
"I don't know." Charlie was tired of pretending. "I told you. I'm a vampire. Super strength comes with the territory."
"Right, vampire strength." Brent nodded seriously, but Charlie could see he still didn't believe it. "From all your vampire training."
"I don't train! I literally just told you?—"
"Let's find out your max!" Brent was getting excited now. He grabbed his backpack and started filling it with weights. "This is probably about seventy pounds total. Can you curl this?"
Charlie took the backpack by one strap and curled it easily. Too easily. Then, frustrated, he took Brent's entire weight set—the rack and all—and lifted it overhead with one hand.
"See?" Charlie said, holding approximately two hundred pounds above his head like an umbrella. "Vampire. Actual vampire. Not LARPing. Not method acting. Vampire."
"Dude. DUDE." Brent was practically vibrating with excitement. "You've been training for this role for YEARS, haven't you? The dedication! The commitment! You probably started working out in secret when you first got interested in vampire stuff!"
Charlie set the weights down with a clang. "Brent, I was literally holding your entire gym with one hand."
"I know! It's incredible! You must have such a specific workout routine. And supplements! Are you on creatine? BCAAs? Some special program?"
