Lachlan
My back hit the mat like a damn thunderclap. For a second, everything went white. My lungs stalled. Heart stuttered.
Then—air. Just enough to remind me I was still alive.
Chiron's voice came through the fog like it always did. Calm. Cold. Sharp enough to cut.
"You want to get back to who you were at the last fight? Then stop pretending you were ever finished growing."
I didn't say anything. Just stared at the ceiling for a second longer than I should've. The lights above the ring were dusty, one of them flickering like it couldn't decide whether to burn out or hold on.
Felt about right.
He offered his hand. I took it. I was pissed, my pride screamed, but my body needed the help.
My knuckles ached inside the gloves. Sweat burned the cut just under my eye, reopened from a spar last week. I knew Chiron did that sweep on purpose. Not to hurt me. Just to remind me where I stood.
No one else would've had the guts nowadays.
I hated how much I respected that.
Back on my feet, I rolled my shoulder out and caught sight of Ria still by the ropes. She hadn't moved. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable, like always. But her eyes? Watching. Tracking. Like she was waiting for me to fall again just to see if I'd get up the same way.
I looked away before she could see whatever was starting to crack through.
Chiron didn't wait. He came in again—gloves up, steady pace. "Footwork. Breathe. Stay with me."
I moved. Tried to. But my legs are heavier now. Each jab felt like it cost more.
"Relax your jaw, Lachlan. You clench like you're trying to eat your own teeth."
I exhaled hard through my nose, jaw loosening. Tried to reset.
Tried not to think about why I was really here.
It wasn't just to train. Not really.
I was trying to fix something I broke months ago—maybe longer. Me. The ring. The way Ria looked at me like I wasn't some ghost just passing through.
Chiron jabbed me in the ribs, hard enough to make me wince.
"You thinking again?" he snapped. "Think later. Fight now."
I surged forward. Cross-hook. Missed. He dodged like he knew my moves before I made them. Probably did.
I stumbled. He caught me with a tap to the forehead. Not hard. But pointed.
"You're not here to impress anyone," he said low, so only I could hear it. "You're here to remember that last fight."
I stood there, chest heaving. Gloves up. Every part of me burning.
Chiron gave me a nod—small, but I knew what it meant. That was it for now. Enough fire. Enough bleeding the poison out of me.
I peeled the gloves off, fingers aching. Sweat clung to every inch of me, dripping off my brow, soaking through the wrap around my wrist. I felt rung out.
But something had settled in my chest. Not peace. Just... space.
Ria hadn't moved. She was still leaning on the ropes, looking at me like she was trying to decide whether or not to say something.
I didn't look away this time.
"You gonna keep watching or actually say something?" I asked. My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
She pushed off the ropes slowly, walking toward me across the mat. Her boots were quiet. Her presence wasn't.
"You looked better before," she said, stopping just a few feet from me.
"Thanks. Great to be back."
She didn't smile. Didn't even blink. "You're slower."
"I'm still carrying that weight."
"Well obviously."
That pulled a huff of breath out of me. Not quite a laugh. Not quite not one.
"Guess you saw through that too, huh?"
"I always do." Her arms crossed again, like a shield. But her voice was softer now. "You wanna talk about it?"
I looked past her for a second. At the ropes. The bags. The scuffed-up walls and rusted lockers.
Then back at her. Her eyes didn't flinch. Still sharp. Still familiar in a way that made my throat tighten.
"I don't really know what to say," I admitted.
The truth landed between us like a weight dropped from high up.
"I still feel the same," I added. "But I feel guilty about how I treated you."
She didn't deny it. Just stood there, holding that silence like a blade between us.
"You trying to make it right?" she asked.
"I'm trying not to make it worse."
Her jaw tensed. She looked away for just a second—then back at me, something harder behind her eyes now.
"I don't need you to be perfect, Lachlan. I never wanted you to be. I just needed you to let me in like you are now."
That one hurt. Because it was true.
"I'm doing it now."
"For how long?"
I didn't have an answer. Not a good one. So I said nothing.
She gave me a look like she wanted to believe me. Like maybe she almost did.
Then she turned and walked off the mat without another word.
I stood there in the sweat-soaked silence, fists still curled at my sides, heart pounding like I'd just gone three more rounds.
And all I could think was—
I'd rather take a punch to the face than look her in the eyes and not know if I deserved to still be standing here.
I stayed on the mat longer than I should've. Chiron had already stepped out, wordless this time, like he knew whatever fight was happening now wasn't his to referee. Just me. And the echo of everything I couldn't say.
The gym always had this hum when it emptied out. The buzz of the fluorescents, the faint whir of the old ceiling fan that never stopped spinning, like even it was too stubborn to quit. I listened to it all with my gloves hanging limp from my hands, sweat cooling on my skin like regret setting in.
I finally moved.
Locker room smelled like metal and old socks, but it was private. A kind of sanctuary, even if the benches were splintered and the mirror had a crack that ran down the middle like a scar. I caught my reflection—eyes bloodshot, jaw tight, cut under my eye swollen and red. I looked like hell. But more than that, I looked tired. The kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix.
I sat down on the bench, elbows on my knees, gloves still on. I didn't untie them right away. Didn't even move. Just stared at the floor, that familiar cracked tile under my boots, and thought about everything I didn't say to Ria.
The weight she mentioned—I'd been dragging it for months, like chains around my ankles. Guilt. Loss. That gnawing ache in my chest that never really went away. I thought if I bled enough in this ring, if I worked until I couldn't think anymore, I could outrun it.
But pain doesn't cleanse you. It just carves you out.
And I'd been hollow long before she started looking at me different.
I peeled off the gloves slowly, knuckles raw beneath the wraps. My hands were trembling, just a little. Not from the fight. From the after. From the words she'd said.
"You wanna talk about it?"
Yeah, I did. But I didn't know how. And I hated that. I used to be good at talking to her. Not easy, but good. Honest. Real. Before everything fractured between us—before I got so lost in proving I could come back that I forgot who I was fighting for.
I unwrapped my wrists like they were wounds. Each loop coming undone felt like stripping away something I'd used to hold myself together. When I was done, I sat back, stared at my hands. Scarred. Calloused. Shaking.
Then I heard the door creak.
I didn't look right away. Thought it might be Chiron again. But then I heard the boots.
Ria.
She didn't speak. Just walked in, slow. Her eyes flicked to me once, then to the locker beside mine like maybe she'd come in for something else. But she didn't reach for anything.
I finally lifted my head. "Forget something?"
She leaned against the wall, arms still crossed like she couldn't let herself uncross them or maybe she'd fall apart. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes… they weren't cold. Just tired. Like mine.
"You looked like you had more to say," she said.
"I did." My voice came out low. Rough. "Didn't know if I should."
"That never stopped you before?"
I almost laughed. Almost. "I'm trying not to say the wrong thing."
She tilted her head. "That's new."
That hit. But she wasn't wrong. I used to speak without thinking. Act without asking. That's how we ended up here.
I stood, slow, every part of me aching like I'd been rebuilt wrong. I stepped closer, but not too close. Just enough to make it clear I wasn't hiding behind distance anymore.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Not just for what I did. For how I didn't let you in. For pushing you out like it made me stronger."
"You looked at me like I was the enemy," she said, voice quiet. "When all I ever wanted was to stand next to you."
That one cracked something inside me. Deep. Splintered me clean through.
"I know," I said. "And I don't blame you if it's too late."
"It's not about blame."
I nodded. Took another step, slow. "Then what's it about?"
She was quiet for a second. Then her eyes finally softened. "It's about whether you're done fighting yourself long enough to let someone fight with you."
I swallowed hard. Felt that weight in my chest shift, just a little. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe I'd just finally stopped pretending I could carry it alone.
"I want to," I said. "I don't know how to be someone else. I'm not even sure I should be."
"You shouldn't." She didn't hesitate. "You need to be the one you are now. The one who can look me in the eye and tell the truth, even when it hurts."
My throat tightened. "I'm not good at that."
"Then get better."
She stepped closer, just enough that I could smell the faint trace of whatever soap she used. Clean. Familiar. Real.
I looked at her—really looked—and saw the woman who hadn't walked away even when she had every reason to. And that did something to me. Anchored me.
"I'm trying," I said. "I swear to god, I'm trying."
She didn't answer right away. Then she reached out and pressed her hand to my chest. Right over my heart. I don't know if she felt it racing or just knew it was.
"You better be," she said softly. "Because I don't want to know half of you. Not anymore."
I nodded. Because there was nothing else to say. Not tonight.
But for the first time in a long time… I believed maybe I could make myself better.
Even if I had to crawl.