Ria
I watch him from an old padded chair at the edge of the ring. Lachlan's movements are sharp, precise. Each punch, each step, each breath—he's completely focused. I can feel my heart rate quicken as I watch him dodge and weave, his body moving fluidly in ways I never thought possible when I first met him.
It's almost like he's shedding the layers of the person he used to be, slowly becoming someone else. Someone stronger. Someone with purpose.
I watch the sweat gleam on his skin, tracing the lines of muscle that have started to appear under the strain of his training. There's something almost magnetic about him when he fights, the way he holds himself—like he's in control of everything around him, even when his opponent's pushing back. He's no longer the boy who didn't know how to take a punch, the one who kept his head down and avoided confrontation.
No, he's someone else now. Someone who demands attention.
And I can't look away.
His opponent throws a wild punch, but Lachlan counters, stepping aside with the kind of grace that makes the crowd around the ring murmur in approval. My fingers twitch at my side, a soft ache of wanting to be closer, to feel the rush of the energy in the air as he fights. My heart races as he lands a clean blow to his opponent's ribs, and the crowd erupts. There's something so intoxicating about seeing him win—no matter how small the victory is. I feel like I'm winning, too.
When he catches my gaze for a brief moment—just long enough for me to freeze—his eyes seem to soften, just for a fraction of a second. Maybe it's nothing, maybe it's just instinct. But it feels like it's something, like he's finally seeing me, like he knows I'm watching, and he doesn't mind.
I bite my lip, pushing down the excitement that rises in my chest. I can't let him see how badly I want to be closer, how much I need to be a part of this—of him.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the round, and Lachlan steps out of the ring, panting, sweat dripping down his face. He's breathing heavily, but there's a quiet confidence in the way he holds himself. I stand up before I can stop myself, drawn to him.
"Good round," I say, trying to sound casual, but there's an edge to my voice. Maybe he'll hear it. Maybe he'll know. Maybe he'll realize that I've been watching him, not just today, but since I recovered. I've seen his every victory and every struggle, and I can't help but feel that it's all leading to something. Something between us.
"Thanks," he says, his voice hoarse, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel. He doesn't seem to notice how close I'm standing now. He never does. He doesn't understand the way my eyes linger on him, how I follow his every movement.
"You're improving. A lot," I continue, stepping a little closer, watching him carefully. There's a slight tremor in my voice, something I can't quite hide.
He looks at me, his face softening just a little, but I notice the way his gaze flicks downward, as though he's trying to avoid something. "I'm still not where I want to be," he says, still wiping his face, not really meeting my eyes.
"You're closer than you think," I reply quickly, my voice almost too eager. I'm so aware of how close we are now, but it feels like I'm not close enough. Every little shift he makes, every movement, sends a jolt of excitement through me.
I want to say more, to tell him that I see him, the way he's changed. The way he's becoming something more than he thought he could be. But instead, I bite my lip, keeping it to myself. It's almost like I want him to need me—to depend on me for this change, for his growth. Maybe if I keep being here for him, he'll start to notice me the way I notice him.
I take a step closer, so close now that I can feel the warmth of his body. "Chiron's been pushing you hard," I say, my voice soft, a little more intimate. "But I think he sees it in you. He knows you've got potential."
Lachlan glances at me, still not fully meeting my gaze, but I see the slightest flicker of acknowledgment. "Yeah, he's been tough on me. But it's what I need." He looks away again, his breath steadying.
There it is again— that distance between us. I can feel the walls he's built around himself. But I'm not backing down. Not now. Not when I'm so close to seeing the cracks, to seeing him break open, to seeing me inside.
I let out a soft laugh, more like a breath than anything, and took another small step toward him. "You've come a long way," I whisper. "You're not the same guy you were when you started, Lachlan. You don't even know it yet, but you're more than enough."
He looks at me then, and there's a moment where I think he might say something, maybe thank me or even—God, I don't know—admit that he feels it too. That he knows I've been here for him, supporting him, watching him grow.
But he doesn't. He just nods, as if trying to shrug off whatever it is I'm offering him, like he's not ready to let someone in. He's still so closed off. I'm not surprised. I'm used to it by now.
"I should get some water," he says, his voice rough. Then he walks off, leaving me standing there, watching him go.
But even as he walks away, I don't feel discouraged. No. I can feel the pull between us—too strong for him to ignore for much longer. I'll wait. I'll wait as long as it takes. Because one day, he's going to see me. One day, he'll realize how much I care for him, How much I need him to see me, to need me.
And when that happens, I won't let go.
Chiron
A thought came into my head after I saw the blood on Lachlan that night. Was I doing the right thing? Am I doing the same thing as I did in my past? Is it okay to turn this boy into a weapon, as they had done to me, as I had done to others? I can't help but look at Lachlan and see an old friend, as well as a younger me, a me fueled by rage, a me who burned everything I touched, until my own soul was gone. Was this okay? I feel that I am committing another sin, but maybe Lachlan will be different, no, I will make sure he's different.
This boy is improving at a frightening rate, a rate that would put a so-called "prodigy" to shame. Lachlan improving in training is one thing, but he put it into practice, against three others no less. He has shattered my expectations already, but I also now expect more, much more. If only he could see past his own self perception, he would become a version of himself that is unrecognizable. For now, I will do my best to guide him, to not lose himself like I've done in the past, that is all I can do.