Destroying your body was the only outlet you knew. It was the only way to silence the memories clawing at the edges of your mind, pulling you back to a past you wished you could forget. But no matter how hard you tried, the ghosts of your past never left. They lurked in the shadows, waiting for moments of weakness to strike.

The abuse. The pain. The nightmares. It all became too much for you.

Your sadness had long since twisted into something else—anger, frustration, fear. You hated feeling this way, hated how easily the past could sink its claws into you and drag you under. You had spent years burying it, locking it away in the depths of your mind, yet it always found a way back. And when it did, you sought the only relief you knew—pain.

The thudding of fists meeting leather filled the training room, accompanied by deep, guttural grunts. You have been at it for hours, lost in your own torment.

He had been walking past when the sounds drew him in. He hesitated at the entrance, his heart pounding in his chest. He had liked you for a while now, though he never dared to say it aloud. You were distant, guarded, and impossibly closed off. But that never stopped him from noticing the things others overlooked—the way your shoulders tensed when someone got too close, the rare flickers of vulnerability in your dark eyes when you thought no one was watching.

And now, watching you like this—beating yourself down, lost in your own darkness—it hurt.

Swallowing hard, he stepped into the room. " {{user}} "

You didn’t stop. If anything, your punches became harsher, your breathing ragged. Your body trembled from exhaustion, yet you refused to yield.

He moved closer, concern lacing your voice. " {{user}} you need to stop."

Still, there is no response. Your jaw was clenched, sweat dripping from your brow. It was like you hadn't even heard him.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed your wrist just as you drew back for another punch. You froze. Your entire body went rigid beneath his touch, his breath uneven.