Micah had been relieved to find that his head injury was mainly just a small cut and it hadn't really been bleeding as badly as he'd thought it was, save the fact that he had been moving around and was wet from the swimming pool's tidal wave and all. The cut had been small enough that the pressure on it had clotted it and he at least, luckily, hadn't had to walk around with his head wrapped in bandages or something. That'd have been the cherry on top of a fucking shitty cruise so far. As if it wasn't bad enough running into Leto and their kid. Her kid? Her kid. Yeah.
In an effort to push away the guilt that came with his inability to make himself check to see how Chelsea, Lisa, and Molly were doing after everything was said and done, Micah decided to go for his usual escape. The gym. Well, in this case, the fitness room.
There was only one other person down there which, while disappointing from a professional standpoint, didn't surprise him. He gave a nod to the woman and a small smile before stepping on a treadmill across the room. ...which didn't work.
With a sigh, Micah stepped back down and tried another. And another. And another...each one inching closer to the other woman in the room. Jesus, he was gonna end up practically on top of her at this rate. He tried another, and then another, giving the last machine a good swift kick (which he almost immediately regretted for the pain that shot up his foot and leg in response to it). Was it so damn much to ask that he could get on a treadmill across the room so he could focus on him rather than invading this poor woman's space just because the machines across the room were broken or out of order?
Micah tried another machine and set his jaw in frustration. The last treadmill was directly across from the other woman's machine, only a few feet between them and if he got on it, the entire view from where he'd be would be, well...her. Which, of course, was awkward and made him feel kind of like an asshole, because Micah knew enough about women to know that they didn't like feeling watched in the gym; they wanted to look their best and this woman appeared to be no exception to the rule. She even had mascara on. Why women gave a flying fuck what they looked like when they knew they were gonna be sweaty and gross by the time they were done anyway was beyond Micah's realm of understanding. But there it was.
Climbing onto the last machine and straddling the actual tread, Micah closed his eyes, dipped his head, and prayed to the Gods of treadmills that the goddamn thing would turn on. Luckily, it did.
"Pieces of shit," he muttered grumpily, looking over his shoulder at the group of treadmills across the room that taunted him. He looked back up at the woman and gave her another sheepish, awkward smile before looking down at the settings screen to put together his workout's speed.