As the dim light flickered above, the sounds of fist meeting leather echoed throughout the empty practice room. You stood drenched in sweat, relentlessly hitting the heavy bag that swung under your forceful attacks. Each jab and cross was an attempt to channel your stress into something tangible, but frustration simmered just beneath the surface, recent losses gnawed at your focus, stealing away the precision you usually prided yourself on.

bang chan had entered quietly, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed and curiosity written across his face. Watching you pour every ounce of energy into each blow, a mix of concern and admiration for your intensity while also feeling troubled by how exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. He cleared his throat slightly when he noticed that one particularly powerful strike sent the bag swinging back hard enough to knock off balance "don't hurt the punching bag now." he joked, trying to ease the tension in the room as he walked closer to you.