Ria
I've been coming to Chiron's gym for a while now, ever since I started volunteering at the local community center. I bring him food—home-cooked meals, snacks, things that'll keep him going. Chiron doesn't eat much, but he appreciates it, even if he never says it outright. I've come to learn that he's a man of few words, but when you've been around as long as I have, you figure out how to read between the lines. He's always so focused on training others that he forgets to take care of himself sometimes. That's where I come in.
Today, as I pull up to the old gym with a bag of my best homemade burritos, I can already hear the sounds of punches landing on the heavy bags and the grunts of someone pushing themselves to their limits. The place has that distinct smell—sweat, leather, and a faint hint of bleach—and I immediately know that Chiron's probably either in the back or teaching someone the ropes.
I step inside and make my way toward the kitchen area, where he keeps his coffee pot and a few extra supplies. There's a faint clink of weights in the background, but it's quieter than usual. I don't mind the peace—it's always nice to catch him when he's not too busy.
As I approach the back, I spot a guy I don't recognize. He's leaning against the wall, his face focused and intent on whatever Chiron is saying. I pause for a moment, watching him. He looks about my age, maybe a little younger, and there's a certain… intensity about him. His jaw is tight, his posture rigid as if he's not sure if he should be here or not. It's almost like he's bracing for something.
Chiron notices me before the guy does, though. He gives me a small nod, a silent acknowledgment. He doesn't say anything, but he motions to the guy, signaling me to drop off the food and leave them to their training.
"Lachlan, meet Ria," Chiron says, pointing at me with a lazy flick of his finger. "She's the one who keeps me from starving."
I smile, holding up the bag of burritos like a peace offering. "I brought food," I say, offering it to Chiron, but I'm addressing both of them. "I figured you guys might want something real to eat."
The guy, Lachlan, looks at the burritos like he's trying to decide if they're some kind of trap. His eyes flicker to me, and there's something in his gaze—like he's sizing me up.
"Thanks," he says, his voice rough, like he's just spent hours screaming in a ring. I get the feeling he hasn't said much lately. His tone is polite but distant.
I shrug and hand Chiron the bag. "No problem. I know how hard it is to keep a guy like you fed. You forget to eat when you're too busy training others."
Chiron chuckles, but his laugh is low and almost like it's been too long since he let himself laugh freely. "She's not wrong," he says, cracking open the burritos and taking a bite.
Lachlan's still standing there, quiet, observing everything like he doesn't quite fit into the scene. I glance at him again, my curiosity piqued. There's something about him—something restless and wounded, like he's been through something but hasn't quite figured out how to move past it. He's trying, though. I can see that.
"You new here?" I ask, breaking the silence. My voice is casual, but I'm genuinely interested.
Lachlan hesitates before nodding. "Yeah, just started training with Chiron."
I give him a warm smile, not trying to push him, just trying to make him feel welcome. "You're in good hands then. He's been around longer than most people realize." I nod toward Chiron, who's completely absorbed in his burrito, oblivious to the world around him. "And if you're ever hungry, you know where to find me."
Lachlan looks at me then, really looks at me. There's a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe? I'm not sure. But whatever it is, it doesn't last long before he looks away again.
"You don't have to do that," he mutters, almost to himself.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him. "Do what?"
"Bring food," he says, his voice a little lower now. "I don't need it."
I raise an eyebrow. "Everyone needs food. And Chiron sure as hell won't eat it if I don't bring it, so you're welcome to share."
Lachlan shifts uncomfortably but then nods. "I guess that's fair."
There's a moment of quiet, but I don't feel like I have to fill it with words. Sometimes people just need a minute to adjust. I've learned that much.
"Well," I say after a few moments, "if you ever need anything—food, advice, or just someone to talk to—don't hesitate to ask. I'm usually around." I give him a friendly smile, then look back at Chiron. "And you," I say to him, poking his shoulder, "don't make me bring you burritos every day."
Chiron just chuckles, his mouth full. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."
I give them both a wave, turning to head out. As I do, I glance back at Lachlan once more, catching him staring at the burritos. There's a bit of hesitation in his gaze, but for some reason, I feel like he's slowly warming up.
Something tells me this isn't the last time I'll see him.
As I walk out the door, I can't help but think about Lachlan. There's something about him—something more than just his quiet intensity. It's like he's carrying around a weight, and though he's trying to hide it, I can see it in the way he stands, in the way his eyes flicker with a guarded uncertainty. Maybe I'm just being nosy, but I get the feeling that he's not here just for the training. There's more to him, something deeper.
I push the thought away as I make my way back to my car, but it lingers. The way he looked at me when I offered him the food, like it was a gesture that was unfamiliar to him. Maybe he's not used to people being kind for no reason. Maybe it's been a long time since someone reached out.
The next few days pass in a blur. I'm busy with my usual volunteer work at the community center, and I don't think much about Lachlan or Chiron. But then, about a week later, I'm back at the gym, and there he is again—Lachlan, standing in the corner with Chiron, going through some kind of drill. I can't help but notice the way Lachlan moves now. It's different from before. There's more confidence in his posture, more determination in his strikes. He's pushing himself harder than I imagined. Maybe that's the training, or maybe it's something else.
I'm unloading some fresh ingredients I brought in when I see him glance over at me. He doesn't look uncomfortable this time, but there's still a hesitation in his eyes, like he's not sure whether to acknowledge me or not. I give him a quick wave as I walk past. This time, he responds with a small nod—barely noticeable, but I catch it, he's different, intriguing.
I leave the food in the kitchen and step back into the main room where Chiron and Lachlan are. Chiron's on the heavy bag, working through a combination of punches, while Lachlan shadows him, mirroring the movements with growing precision.
"Hey, Lachlan," I say as I approach, trying to break the silence that's hung between us. "How's the training going?"
Lachlan's eyes shift toward me for a second, and this time, the tension in his expression softens, just a little. "Better," he replies. "I'm... getting used to it."
"Good," I smile. "I'm sure Chiron's been pushing you hard. He's kind of a taskmaster, but you're lucky to have him." I glance toward Chiron, who's still working the bag. "If you need any more food, just let me know. I'll bring it by again."
Lachlan looks at me for a moment, and then, to my surprise, he speaks up. "You really don't have to," he says, his voice a little softer than before. "I can—"
"I know you can," I interrupt, holding up my hand in a friendly gesture. "But I want to. Seriously, it's no trouble. I cook because I like to, and it's easier than trying to shove down protein shakes all the time. Plus, I get to make sure Chiron's not surviving off of energy bars and coffee."
Lachlan looks like he's about to say something, but then he stops, studying me for a second before nodding slowly. "Alright, then. Thanks."
I can't help but smile. It's a small thing, but I can tell that something's starting to shift in him. Maybe he's finally realizing that people can be kind without expecting anything in return.
Just then, Chiron calls out to Lachlan, snapping him out of whatever thoughts he was lost in. "You're getting sloppy. Focus."
Lachlan flinches, like he wasn't expecting the sharp command, but he doesn't argue. He nods, adjusting his stance and getting back into rhythm.
I watch them for a moment, my thoughts still on Lachlan. I've seen this kind of thing before. People coming into Chiron's gym to escape or to prove something to themselves. Some of them come with ambition, others come to fight demons, but what they all have in common is that they need something to ground them.
Chiron doesn't give people much in the way of emotional support, but he does give them discipline. And that's exactly what someone like Lachlan needs right now. He's running from something, I can tell. Maybe it's not a physical fight he's preparing for, but a mental one. A fight against himself, his past, whatever weighs him down.
I walk out of the gym later, feeling a strange pull toward Lachlan. I know I shouldn't get involved too much, but something tells me he needs someone to care. Maybe just a little more than he's used to.
The next time I bring food, I'm a little surprised to find Lachlan waiting by the door when I arrive. He's leaning against the wall, looking a little uncomfortable but determined.
"Hey, Ria," he says, his voice a little hesitant. "I wanted to, uh, thank you again for the food. It's... been a while since anyone did something like that for me."
I'm caught off guard by the sincerity in his words, but I smile, shaking my head. "You don't have to thank me, Lachlan. It's just food."
He hesitates, then adds, "It's more than that. I'm... I'm not really used to people being this... nice. I guess it's just... hard to trust that, you know?"
I nod, understanding exactly where he's coming from. "I get it. Trust is a hard thing. But sometimes, you've just got to take the leap."
Lachlan looks at me for a long moment, like he's weighing my words, and then he gives a slight nod, something unspoken passing between us.
"Thanks," he says again, his voice quieter this time.
Lachlan
I never thought I'd be in a place like this. Standing here, talking to someone like Ria—someone who's offering kindness, no strings attached. It feels so... strange, almost wrong. But in a way that I can't quite explain, it also feels right.
I watch her smile at me, this genuine warmth in her eyes. It's so different from the coldness I'm used to, especially from people like Delilah, who only offer affection when it serves them. But Ria? She's different. She doesn't expect anything from me. Just food. Just kindness. And even though I'm still getting used to it, it's starting to feel like something I could get used to.
"Trust is a hard thing," she said earlier. And she's right. It's something I haven't had much of—either from others or myself. I've spent so long being guarded, pretending that I didn't need anyone. But standing here with her, I realize just how alone I've been.
"You don't have to thank me, Lachlan," she says, brushing off my gratitude. She's so nonchalant, but I can tell it means something to her. She's one of those people who does good for the sake of doing good. No ulterior motives. No hidden agenda. I can barely wrap my head around it.
"Yeah," I say, shifting on my feet, feeling a little awkward. "Still, it means a lot. I'm not used to people… being nice to me."
She raises an eyebrow, looking at me in that way like she's reading me, like she's seeing something that I'm trying to keep hidden. It makes me uncomfortable, but I don't look away. I don't want to hide anymore, at least not right now.
"You don't trust easily, do you?" she asks softly, like she's just saying what we both already know.
I exhale sharply, my chest tightening as I look down for a moment. How could I trust anyone? How could I trust someone who might just leave or betray me, like so many others have?
"Not really," I answer honestly, feeling the weight of the words. "I don't know if I ever will again."
Ria doesn't seem offended. She just gives me a soft, understanding nod. "That's okay, Lachlan. Trust takes time. But it's worth the wait. You don't have to be perfect to earn it. Just... give it a little bit, and you'll see. It'll come."
Her words hang in the air between us, and for a second, I feel like she's saying something more than just simple advice. It feels like an invitation—an invitation to let go of the things I've been holding onto so tightly. The walls I've built up. The scars from the past. She's offering me something I didn't even know I wanted until now.
For a moment, I let the silence linger, but it's not uncomfortable. It's just... peaceful. Ria's not pushing me. She's not demanding anything. She's letting me take my time.
I shift a little, glancing down the hallway, then back at her. "I've been training with Chiron for a while," I say, trying to change the subject, but my voice sounds different now—less guarded, more open than it ever has been with anyone. "It's... tough. I didn't think it'd be this hard."
Ria's eyes soften when she hears that. "Training Isn't just about the body, you know," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "It's about the mind, too. Chiron pushes you because he knows you have something in you. He sees more than just a fighter. He sees you."
I blink, unsure of how to respond to that. "He sees me?"
"Yeah," she says, with a small smile. "Chiron doesn't give compliments, but when he trains someone, it's because he knows they've got potential. He won't waste his time on anyone who's not willing to fight for themselves."
I take her words in, feeling them echo in my chest. Chiron's been tough on me, harder than I expected, but... maybe she's right. Maybe I've been pushing myself for more than just the fighting. Maybe I've been pushing because I need to prove something to myself—something deeper than just being stronger.
"I don't know if I have it in me," I admit, my voice lower now. "To be good enough, I mean. Sometimes I feel like I'm not... I'm not cut out for this. Or anything, really."
Ria looks at me for a long moment, as though weighing my words carefully. Then she steps a little closer, her eyes steady on mine. "I think you're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for," she says softly. "But you can't keep running from whatever's holding you back. You've got to face it. That's the only way you're going to move forward. In fighting, in life… in anything."
Her words hit me harder than I thought they would. Face it. That's the thing I've been running from, isn't it? All this time, all this anger, all this pain—it's been easier to bury it than confront it. But maybe... maybe it's time to stop running.
I exhale sharply, feeling a little lighter but also more aware of how much I've been hiding from. "Maybe you're right," I say, barely above a whisper.
She smiles, and it's the kind of smile that feels like it's meant just for me, like she's rooting for me. "You don't have to do it alone, you know. You've got people who care. Chiron. Me. We're all in your corner."
I don't know what it is, but hearing her say that—knowing there's someone who actually cares—feels like a weight lifting off my shoulders, even if just for a moment.
"Thanks, Ria," I say quietly, feeling something inside me shift. "That... means a lot."
I step through the door of the house, the familiar creak of the floorboards greeting me as I toss my keys into the bowl by the entryway. The air feels thick with tension, the kind I can't shake no matter how much time I spend training or how much I push myself. It's always there—hovering over me, waiting for the right moment to pounce. I know my parents are home, but there's something in the silence that tells me this won't be a quiet evening.
I don't even get a chance to make it past the hallway before my dad's voice rings out from the living room.
"Lachlan, we need to talk."
I freeze for a second, then walk toward the living room with a deep breath. The closer I get, the more I can feel the weight of whatever this is. My mom is sitting at the kitchen table, her usual look of concern written on her face. She's the peacemaker, the one who tries to keep everything calm, but I can tell by the tightness in her jaw that she knows this conversation is going to be anything but peaceful.
I step into the room, and my dad is standing there, his arms crossed, his expression hard as stone.
"What's up?" I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral, though I can already feel the edge creeping in. I know what this is about. It's the same thing it always is. Fighting. My dad doesn't get it. Doesn't want to get it.
"You've been training," my dad says, his voice colder than I expected. He eyes me with a mixture of suspicion and concern. "And I don't like it."
My heart sinks, and I feel my chest tighten. "I don't get why this is such a big deal, Dad. I'm doing something for myself. Something that's actually making me feel like I'm getting somewhere."
He scoffs, shaking his head, like the idea of me finding something that actually helps is somehow ridiculous. "Training isn't the answer, Lachlan. It never is. You think you're going to fix everything by beating the crap out of someone? By pretending that you're some kind of fighter? Why can't you be like your brother?"
My breath catches. His words slice through me like a blade. My brother, Lance. Always perfect. Always better than me. He was the one who went to college, got an academic scholarship, made the family proud. And I... I never lived up to that. It's been that way since I can remember. I can feel the weight of my father's disappointment on me again, just like it always has been.
"Stop bringing him up," I snap, my voice rising before I can stop it. "I'm not Lance. I never will be. But I'm trying to do something. I'm trying to be something for once."
My dad's jaw tightens, and he leans forward, glaring at me with that familiar intensity. "Be something? You're going to end up just like those idiots you hang around with at that gym. Getting yourself hurt over some stupid fight you don't need to be in. You think this is going to fix whatever's broken in you, Lachlan?"
The words hit harder than I expect. My mom's soft sigh from the kitchen makes me wince. I know she's trying to step in, to mediate, but this time, I don't know if I can keep it together.
"I'm not trying to fix anything," I say, voice lower, trying to keep the anger at bay. "I'm trying to learn how to fight for myself, not against everyone else."
My dad takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving mine. There's something in his eyes now—a flicker of something I can't quite place. Maybe it's guilt. Or maybe... hesitation? It's like he's wrestling with something inside him, something he's not saying. And for the first time, I wonder if this argument is about more than just me training.
"You don't get it, Lachlan," he says after a long pause, his voice quieter now. "I don't want you to go down that path. I know how it ends."
I blink, confused. "What do you mean? What path?"
My dad looks away for a second, like he's lost in some thought that he's been trying to keep buried for years. His eyes narrow, and he stands a little straighter, like the weight of his past is pressing down on him. "I used to be a fighter, okay?" he says, his words slow, almost reluctant, like they're hard to admit. "I wasn't some big name, but I fought. I made my living off of it for a while before I realized it wasn't worth it. It takes everything from you, Lachlan. Your body, your mind. And the worst part? You end up alone. Always alone. You push people away because you're so consumed with the fight. And I don't want that for you."
The words hang in the air between us. My mind races, trying to process what he just said. My dad—a fighter? I can hardly picture it. He's always been this strong, silent figure in my life, the one who pushed me to be better, but hearing this—it throws me off. The weight of his past suddenly feels so much heavier, like it's become part of who he is now. It's in his bones, the way he holds himself. The way he's holding back.
My mom's voice cuts through the silence, gentle and calm, like a breeze trying to push back the storm. "Your father's just worried, Lachlan. He's seen what fighting can do. He doesn't want you to make the same mistakes he did."
I swallow hard, the words choking me. My dad isn't just angry with me. He's terrified for me. And part of me wants to tell him that I'm not going down the same road. That I'm not doing this to hurt myself. But I don't know if he'd believe me.
I take a slow breath, looking at both of them—my mom, trying to keep the peace, and my dad, still looking at me like he's afraid I'm going to fall into the same darkness he did. I want to tell him I'm different. I want to believe I'm different.
But as I stand there, something clicks in my mind. Maybe this is about more than just fighting. Maybe it's about facing what's been haunting me for all these years. The fear of being nothing, the fear of never being good enough. Maybe I'm fighting not just for the title, but for the approval I'll never get, for the shadow of Lance, no, not Lance, The shadow of never being anything, never doing right by my family.
I run my hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in. "I don't know, Dad. I just don't know anymore."
My dad looks at me, his eyes softer now, but there's still something unreadable in them. "Just don't make the same mistakes I did, Lachlan. You have the chance to be better than I was. Don't waste it."
I nod, but I don't know if I can promise him that. Because I'm starting to realize that what I'm fighting for isn't just about what he or anyone else thinks. It's about something deeper—something I need to figure out for myself.