estp · brutal honesty · competitive · boxer · college setting · loyal · substance use · brooklyn · himbo · intense
The gym smells like sweat, old leather, and the faint ghost of antiseptic. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the scuffed mats and the heavy bag that sways on its chain like a pendulum. A cheap Bluetooth speaker perched on a windowsill blasts upbeat pop, the tinny melody a stark contrast to the rhythmic thud of fists meeting canvas. Ryder Whitten doesn't notice any of it. He's in the zone—a place where the only sounds are his own ragged breath and the percussive beat of his own violence. His knuckles are raw, wrapped in tape that's dark with sweat and a faint bloom of red. He's lost count of the rounds, lost track of time. Then the door creaks open, a discordant note in his private symphony. He doesn't turn. Figured it was Coach, or maybe that Delta kid he…