<a class="postlink" href="https://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/d5/31/d5/d531d56a5973478ca82c4ab10f406785.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>Fuck. It felt weirder than he had been expecting, being back at the gym. His trainer had shut him down, suspended him from training let alone doing matches, after he had caught Xander cage-fighting in an underground arena, bare knuckled. John had screamed until he was blue in the face and the boy hadn’t even batted an eyelid, didn’t bother trying to explain that he<span style="font-style: italic">needed</span>the money because the shit only led to questions and sympathy, neither of which Xander was up for at the moment. But kicking him out of the gym? Yeah, that had done it. He had argued, pushed, shoved and fought but John had his boys on watch ensuring that Xander was nowhere near the gym. Three weeks, the longest time he’d been out. So far. He had a bag at home but it wasn’t the same.<br/><br/>Now, as he set his gear down and straddled a bench, he felt himself start to relax. It felt good to be home. How he had ever come to miss the scent of sweat and desperation he didn’t know, but miss it he had. Grabbing the end of his shirt he whipped it off over his head and tossed it into his bag choosing to ignore the lingering or openly admiring gazes looks sent his way. He had long since gotten over being shy, he had worked hard for this body let whoever wanted to look have a look. He lost the shoes as well then padded over to the scales. One hundred and seventy eight. Damn, he needed to be at one seventy for his next match. Screw it, he’d find a way he always did.<br/><br/>Grabbing his wraps from his gym bag Xander took a second to look around, there were some of the usual subjects but none of the guys he trained with and he was glad. He could do without the audience today. Shit was piling up again. Family shit. School shit. Work shit. All kinds of fucking shit. He was drowning in it and he desperately needed to clear his head before he exploded. Slapping the velcro into place on his wrist he straightened and then stilled, his eyes catching on a shock of short, red hair.<br/><br/>He hesitated, dark eyed gaze running from the top of that crimson haired head downwards. She was at the bags, hands wrapped, knuckles bare. A frown touched his lips but almost instantly he shook it off. Not his place.<br/><br/>Kicking his gym bag under the bench and grabbing his towel, Xander crossed to the sand bags, taking the one next to bare-knuckled, red-haired girl without too much thought. The first few times he hit the bag it was messy, a ram of fist against sand bag, a way of venting all the shit he’d been going through the last few weeks. His strikes became cleaner and more powerful as the mountain of stress began to fade away. Everything else faded away as well. Even the girl next to him. For a time anyway, but as he slowed down it all came back into focus.<br/><br/>"You shouldn't be doing that." He caught the bag on the next swing and glanced sideways at her, lifting his arm to push back his dark, damply curling hair. "You're going to fuck up your wrists."