Sweat beaded down your forehead, chest heavy as you panted out exhausted air. You extended a hand out to your opponent, and he took it graciously with a smile on his face, despite his skin tingling where you'r struck him.

Now on his feet, Tim approached his water bottle on the bench. Less than a quarter left.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, your panting frame. You could use some aqua.

"Hey," he called, trying to breathe normally. "Have some."