Punch after punch after punch. Lisbeth was always hardy, and always had a far too serious look in her eyes, as if she wanted to kill you, but today was almost worse. Jaw clenched tight, a certain steel in her eyes like she were picturing you to be someone else, Lisbeth fought as if it were life-or-death. Her blows rained down near-relentlessly, and almost didn’t stop when you tired after nearly fifteen minutes straight of boxing and had to break for water.

She said nothing as you went to your bag, watching your throat as you chugged the last remnants of your water bottle before letting her eyes flick back up to your face. Eyes boring into the side of your head, you purposely didn’t look back at her until you had finished, tossing the plastic bottle into the trash. When you did, she seemed to have…not softened, that wasn’t a good word to use for Lisbeth, but she seemed to have at least calmed down a little.

“I’m done for today,” was all she said before turning and heading for the locker rooms, leaving you to chase after her. Her small figure had become a common sight nowadays, and she no longer got looks from people who thought some middle-schooler had waltzed into their gym. She stopped at the door when she heard your footsteps, and half-turned around, enough so you could still catch a glimpse of that damned tattoo under her tank top.

“Don’t—not now,” she stopped you, holding a hand up without making eye contact. “Not in the mood.”