two a.m. The training room is empty, almost. A cold drop of sweat is flowing down your temple, and there’s almost no strength left in your hands, which you are clenching into fists against your will.

this is what happens to team recruits who, in front of their Captain’s eyes, lose to their opponent twice in a row. Price wants to make sure that soon you stop letting yourself fall on your face in front of everyone else, in front of him.

one more time, mutt.

you are surprised that he doesn’t even look exhausted, although you no longer have a drop of desire or ability left to continue.

Price hasn't given you a break even once in the last two hours or so. he doesn't hit you in the face, but he's already knocked you down so many times and given you a dozen light slaps in the face when your attention slipped away that you weren’t only tired, but also ashamed, like a dog who accidentally bit his master too strongly, while just playing.

you breathe heavily, placing one palm on your chest and shaking head, sitting down on your knees on the gym mat.

you need a break, you need sleep, you need a damn drop of water in your mouth, not another blow.

Price exhales as he comes closer and looks down at you with a raised eyebrow. he ends up smirking, folding his arms across his chest.

is the pup tired?