Lachlan
The gym smelled like sweat and rubber, a familiar stench I used to love. The sound of gloves hitting pads, the rhythmic thud of feet on mats—it felt like home. But after the injury, it felt foreign.
I stood at the edge of the mat, staring down at the padded surface like it might bite me. It hadn't been long, not too long since I'd felt the rush of a fight, the burn of exhaustion in my muscles, the surge of adrenaline pushing me through every punch, kick, and takedown. My first fight had been a wild ride, full of ups and downs, but I'd squeaked out the win. It should've been a victory, but it also marked the start of the time off, the time I spent healing, the time spent wondering if I'd even be able to fight again.
But today? Today felt different. My body felt… ready, even if my mind had its doubts.
"Lachlan."
I didn't need to turn to know it was Chiron. His voice was always the same—steady, calm, and firm in a way that made you listen. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him standing by the ropes, his broad, imposing figure framed against the dim light of the gym. His half-human, half-horse form was as intimidating as ever, but his gaze—his eyes—were always the calm in the storm.
I walked toward him slowly, my feet dragging just a little. "I'm here. Ready to go."
Chiron gave me a slight nod, his eyes scanning me with the precision of a man who knew every inch of my body better than I did. He could tell when I was faking it—he could tell when I was unsure, even if I said otherwise.
"Before you get started, I want to make one thing clear," Chiron said, his voice as firm as it had always been. "You've been off for a bit, Lachlan. Healing is more than just physical. It's mental, too. You're not just coming back to the mat, you're coming back to yourself."
I swallowed hard. My fingers flexed around the straps of my gloves. I'd been through training, through rehab, but it didn't feel the same. That first fight, the one I'd won, was a whirlwind. I wasn't just fighting the opponent—I was fighting against myself, trying to prove that I could do this, that I was more than just a guy with potential. I had to prove it to myself, especially after the injury.
Chiron took a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. "This isn't about the fight you won. It's about the one you're going to face next. Focus on the now, not the past."
I nodded, trying to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat. "I get it. I'm ready, Chiron. I'm ready to get back to it."
He didn't say anything else. Instead, he gestured to the open mat. The space was wide, free of distractions, just me and the fight ahead of me. "Show me what you've got, then. Let's see how far you've come."
I stepped onto the mat, my feet crunching softly against the surface. My heart raced in my chest. The weight of those words, the pressure of Chiron's gaze, was enough to make anyone second-guess themselves. But I couldn't afford that. I couldn't let myself slip back into doubt.
I raised my fists, remembering the fundamentals, the stance he drilled into me countless times. My legs felt like lead, but I pushed through, taking a few slow steps forward to get a feel for the space. My body felt a little stiff at first, like it was waking up from a long, uncomfortable nap. My ribs ached slightly, a reminder of the injury that had kept me away for so long, but the pain wasn't unbearable. It was manageable. I could work through it.
"Relax," Chiron said, his voice cutting through the tension. "Don't overthink it. You're not here to prove something. You're here to flow. Let your body do what it's learned."
I exhaled slowly, trying to take in his words. Flow. That's what it was all about, wasn't it? I'd spent too much time tensing up, trying to force my body into something it wasn't ready for. But right now, I needed to listen to it.
I threw a few jabs into the air, getting a feel for the rhythm again. My hands snapped forward faster than I expected, the familiar sting of impact against the air giving me a small sense of comfort. A small victory. It wasn't perfect, but it was there.
"Good," Chiron said, nodding. "Now, the footwork. You've got to move with intention."
I shifted my weight, pivoting on the balls of my feet as I moved around the mat. It felt shaky at first—like my body hadn't quite caught up to the movements in my head—but it started to come together. Slowly, my confidence grew. It wasn't the same level of fluidity I had before the injury, but it was there. I was still me, even if I had to rebuild the muscle memory from scratch.
I threw a few combinations, working through the motion of each punch, kick, and knee, my breath quickening with every movement. It felt good to be back—damn good, even if I wasn't at my peak.
"Now, the cage work," Chiron said, his voice breaking through my concentration. "You're thinking too much. Let it go."
I nodded, taking a deep breath. The cage was always my favorite part. The intensity, the pressure—it was where everything clicked into place. Where the body's instinct took over.
I moved toward the invisible opponent in front of me, pretending the cage walls were closing in, imagining the crowd's noise fading away until it was just me and the fight. I let myself fall into the rhythm of it, landing kicks with precision, throwing punches with confidence, then slipping into a clinch and firing off knees. The more I worked, the more my body fell into place. The tightness in my chest loosened, my arms didn't feel so heavy anymore, and that fire I'd been missing started to burn again.
When I stopped, Chiron was already standing at the side of the mat, his eyes assessing every move I made. He crossed his arms, nodding slowly as if weighing every decision I'd just made. "You've got it," he said, and there was no doubt in his voice. "You're not back to where you were before, but you're close. Keep building."
A weight I didn't realize I was carrying seemed to lift from my shoulders. "Thanks, Chiron," I said, my voice hoarse with exhaustion and relief.
"You're welcome," he said, his eyes softening just a little. "Your next fight is two months from today, be ready. Ill give you the details on your opponent when I get more on him."
I nodded, feeling a slight anxiety for my next fight.
I wiped the sweat from my face with the back of my hand, feeling the burn in my muscles as I grabbed my water bottle. It had been a long, grueling session—sparring, conditioning, and everything in between. My body felt sore in places I didn't even know existed, but in a way, it was good. It was the kind of exhaustion that made me feel like I was getting somewhere again.
As I walked to the locker room to cool down, I heard a voice, soft but unmistakable.
"Hey, Lachlan."
I turned, and there she was—Ria. She was leaning casually against the wall just outside the gym doors, arms crossed, a small, almost playful smile on her lips. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing a faded band tee, the kind that always made me smile. It was from some old-school metal band, the kind of music I'd never really gotten into, but the fact that she wore it with such ease told me she knew what it meant to find something that stuck.
I couldn't help but smile back, but I quickly looked away, rubbing the back of my neck like I hadn't just been sparring for the last hour.
"Hey, Ria," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "What's up?"
She pushed off from the wall and stepped toward me, her presence almost effortless, like she belonged here just as much as I did. My stomach did this weird flip, and I chalked it up to the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. There was something about her—something magnetic. I couldn't quite figure it out, and that made me uneasy in a way I didn't want to admit.
"Just wanted to see how you're doing," she said, her tone casual, like we'd known each other for years. "How's training going?"
I shrugged, still not sure how to process all the thoughts running through my head. "It's... going. Getting back into the swing of things, you know? It's harder than I thought it would be, but I'm getting there." I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the sweat still clinging to it. I should've probably cleaned up before talking to her, but I couldn't help it.
She nodded, studying me for a second. Her eyes were warm, but there was something behind them—like she was waiting for me to say something more, something I wasn't ready to share.
"You know, I've been thinking about that record shop we went to," she said, breaking the silence before it could get awkward. She smiled, and it made my chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "I had no idea you were into Alice in Chains. I thought I was the only one still listening to them. Oh I listen to Peep, I like him. His voice is soothing."
I grinned at the memory. That day had been unexpected. We'd both gotten lost in the aisles, talking about everything from music to life, and for a couple of hours, it felt like nothing else existed. I'd never told anyone about Peep, or found many people who listened to grungy stuff, let alone anyone my age. "Oh yeah? That's awesome.," I said, trying to keep it light, trying to ignore the way her presence seemed to make everything feel just a little bit... different. "Thought you were more into the heavier stuff."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. "I can be unpredictable," she said, stepping a little closer. "You were just surprised that I knew my stuff. But I gotta say, I'm still stuck on Dirt right now."
I nodded, feeling like I was on familiar ground again. Music was always something I could talk about without feeling like I was treading on thin ice. "Dirt is classic. Probably one of the most raw albums ever made. I get why you're stuck on it. You can just feel the emotion in it."
She let out a soft laugh, the kind that made my stomach do that annoying flip again. "Exactly. It's like they're putting their soul into it."
There was a moment of silence, and I felt the weight of her gaze, but I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes. It was like something was shifting between us, and I wasn't sure if it was good or bad. It was easy to fall into a comfortable rhythm with Ria, but something about the way she looked at me today made me think she wanted more. Wanted something else.
She took a small step closer, and I couldn't help but notice the way her eyes flicked to my lips for just a second before meeting my gaze again. It was subtle, but it was there.
"So," she started, her voice a little softer, "any chance you've got some free time? Maybe grab a coffee or something? We could, uh, talk more about music... or, you know, whatever."
Her words were casual, but the way she said it—there was something beneath the surface. I didn't know what it was, but I felt it. A shift. The tone was different now, less like we were just two people passing time and more like she was hoping for something more.
I hesitated. My first instinct was to say yes, to just go with it and see where it led. But part of me—the part that was still trying to piece things together after everything that had happened—wanted to pull back. I wasn't sure if I was ready to let myself feel anything more than what we had. But I also couldn't ignore the pull toward her.
"I mean, yeah," I said finally, my voice a little hoarse. "I've got some time. Let's grab a coffee. I'm always down to talk music."
She smiled, her eyes lighting up in that way that made my chest tighten again. "Perfect. I know a place not too far from here."
As we started walking toward the exit, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was different today. Ria was different, at least to me. I wasn't sure if I felt the same way she did, or if I was just caught up in the moment, but as we stepped out into the cool evening air, it didn't seem to matter. For now, I was happy to enjoy the quiet, uncertain space between us.
Maybe this was the start of something new. Or maybe it was just another conversation about music and life.
Either way, I knew one thing for sure—I was looking forward to seeing where it went.