The day wound down, the gym's lights dimming as the last sounds of gloves and footsteps faded into quiet. Mark slumped against a bench, completely exhausted. Jackson had already packed up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, while Roy pulled on his coat, ready to head out.
"Back on the couch?" Mark asked, half-joking, half-hopeful.
Roy shot him a puzzled look. "No, kid. You're over in the changing rooms. I don't have the room for ya. I'll bring breakfast, though."
"Oh... right." Mark nodded, trying to play it cool. He turned toward the back, ready to drag himself into the changing room for the night.
Before he could take a step, Jackson laughed, tossing his gym bag onto his shoulder."Come on, old man, don't be such a prick!" he said, grinning. Then he turned to Mark. "Tell you what—crash at my place. I got an air mattress. Ain't fancy, but it's better than smellin' the locker room all night."
Mark blinked, caught off guard for a second, but nodded gratefully. "Appreciate it."
Roy smirked, tightening his scarf around his neck. "Sorted then. Kid, you ain't completely homeless yet."
He tipped his hat with a slight chuckle."I'll see you two idiots tomorrow. Bright and early. Don't be late—I'll make sure you regret it."
With that, Roy pushed out into the cold night, leaving Mark and Jackson standing under the buzzing gym lights, a new kind of tired settling into Mark's bones—but a small, growing sense of belonging, too.
Later that night, Mark followed Jackson up a cramped stairwell to a small apartment that smelled faintly of cheap detergent and old takeout. Jackson kicked the door open with his foot, tossing his keys onto a cluttered counter.
"Home sweet home," he said with a smirk.
Mark nodded, dropping his gym bag by the door. "Better than a locker room, that's for sure."
Jackson dug around in a closet and pulled out a dusty air mattress, tossing it onto the floor with a heroic grunt."Alright, lemme just blow this bad boy up and you're golden."
Mark watched, amused, as Jackson struggled with a small, wheezing pump. After a few minutes, the mattress finally looked decent—kind of lumpy, but decent.
Mark dropped onto it—only for the thing to let out a slow, dying wheeze as the air rushed out from a hidden hole.
The two stared at it.
Jackson scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "Uh... minor setback."
Mark lay flat on the half-deflated mess, staring up at the ceiling. "You're killing it as a host, you know that?"
Jackson burst out laughing. "Hey, it builds character! If you survive the mattress, the ring's gonna be a breeze."
Mark shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Figures my first night on the job comes with a death trap."
Jackson grabbed a ratty old blanket off the couch and tossed it at him. "You want the couch, princess, or you gonna tough it out?"
Mark pulled the blanket over himself, settling onto the squishy, sad excuse for a bed."I'll tough it out. Champion mindset, right?"
Jackson grinned. "That's the spirit."
After the air mattress saga, the two sat up for a while, the TV flickering quietly in the background, neither of them really watching it.
Jackson leaned back against the couch, arms folded behind his head."So... you always been into boxing?"
Mark shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. "Yeah. Always kinda had to fight... figured might as well get paid for it now."
Jackson chuckled. "Man, I just picked it up 'cause my pops wouldn't let me play football. Said I'd break my damn neck. Grew up pretty normal, I guess."
Mark gave a half-smile. "Sounds nice."
"You?" Jackson asked casually, not pushing.
Mark hesitated, staring at the ceiling. "Not much to say. Grew up in a place where if you couldn't fight, you didn't eat. Got left on my own early. Rest is just... history."
Jackson stayed quiet for a second, sensing there was way more to it than Mark was letting on. But he didn't pry — just gave a simple nod, the respect in his silence louder than words.
"You made it out, though," Jackson said finally. "You're here."
"Yeah," Mark muttered, a tired smirk tugging at his mouth. "Lucky me."
The two drifted off not long after, the sounds of late-night TV and city traffic lulling them to sleep.
The next morning.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"Oi! Open up, ya pair of bums!" Roy's voice barked from the hallway.
Jackson bolted upright from the couch, hair sticking up in every direction.Mark groaned from the deflated air mattress, the blanket twisted around him like a cocoon.
Roy pushed the door open and burst out laughing at the sight: Mark half-sunken into the floor, Jackson blinking like he'd been tasered.
"Look at you two! Goddamn. I come to pick up some fighters, not the last two survivors of a zombie apocalypse!"
Mark muttered under his breath, prying himself free of the mattress. "You're just jealous you ain't this comfy."
Roy tossed a gym bag at him. "Yeah, comfy and flat as a pancake. Get your asses moving, training waits for no man — or mattress!"
Jackson scrambled to find his shoes, still laughing."Morning to you too, Coach."
Roy just shook his head, grinning."Hop to it, you two. We got a long ass day ahead."
Mark stood up, still half-asleep but smiling."Wouldn't have it any other way."
The three rolled up to the gym, bikes squeaking and sneakers scuffing the sidewalk. Roy led the charge, whistling a lazy tune, a coffee in one hand and zero pity in his eyes.
Mark dragged his feet behind him, Jackson yawning so wide he looked like he might swallow his own face.
"Look at you two," Roy snorted, holding the gym door open. "A pair of war heroes — if the war was against sleep."
Jackson shot him a lazy thumbs up. "You're just jealous you ain't this good-looking in the morning."
Mark only grunted, tossing his gym bag down by the wall before getting to work, jogging around the ring to warm up.
"Pick up the pace, Kid!" Roy barked half-heartedly. "You're moving like you still got a mattress attached to your back!"
As Jackson hit the jump rope and Mark loosened up his arms with some shadowboxing, Roy strolled to the middle of the gym and clapped his hands, getting their attention.
"Alright, listen up!" he called, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. "We've got a rookie pro coming to this gym, and hes looking for a sparring partner!"
Mark slowed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Yeah? So... who'd you put forward to fight him?"
Roy's grin widened like a wolf spotting a wounded deer."Take a guess."
Mark blinked. "Wait—you mean me?"
"Bingo, sunshine. You should be honored! You're the welcoming committee."
Jackson let out a low whistle, smirking. "Damn, he didn't even buy you dinner first."
Mark let out a long breath, cracking his neck. "Alright... Bring him on. Let's see what this 'hotshot' can do."
"Attaboy," Roy laughed, tossing him his gloves. "Get your head on straight, Mark. The kid's hungry — and hungry fighters don't pull punches."
Mark nodded, slipping on the gloves, feeling the exhaustion in his muscles spark back to life.
He was tired. He was sore.But he wasn't backing down.
Not today.