Ben hadn't expected to be dragged across the city like a sack of rice. He certainly hadn't expected that their destination to be an actual boxing ring. Terrence said nothing as he strode ahead like a man on a mission, while Ben stumbled after him, occasionally wondering if this was an elaborate prank.
No such luck.
The boxing ring smelled of sweat, rubber, and testosterone-fueled egos. It was everything Ben typically avoided. He felt like a housecat dropped into a lion's den. On one side, several guys were sparring with sharp focus. On the other side, a smaller area housed half a dozen girls working with speed bags. The sounds of punches landing, shoes squeaking, and grunts echoed off the scuffed walls. Ben instinctively shrank back, choosing the corner of the room like a vampire avoiding direct sunlight. He crossed his arms and watched the chaos.
Terrence was chatting with an older man, flashing an actual smile. Ben almost did a double-take. It was like seeing a shark cuddle a kitten.
When Terrence returned, he gave Ben a once-over and smirked, "Wanna try boxing?"
Ben blinked. "No thanks. I am allergic to unnecessary pain. That's why I avoid group projects and family dinners."
"I'm not asking you to spar," Terrence rolled his eyes. "Just sandbag punching. It's great for venting."
Ben narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Are you prescribing boxing as therapy?"
Terrence shrugged. "It's cheaper than your bottled Starbucks stress relief."
Ben sighed but relented. He didn't have the energy to argue. And maybe, he did need to punch something.
***
Ben had never boxed or done anything that counted as athletic, unless you generously filed "rhythmic flailing" under sports. The sharp thuds of glove against sandbag made him feel instantly out of his depth as he trailed after Terrence to a corner of the room that apparently held sacred value, according to Terrence's whispered, "This is my spot. No one touches this bag unless they wanna lose their fingers."
Ben slipped on the gloves and watched Terrence work the sandbag first. It was intimidating. Terrence was focused, fluid, and lethal. His punches landed with force and precision. His footwork was sharp, movements graceful yet powerful.
Ben's confidence wilted slightly. But when Terrence stepped back, nodding at him,
"Your turn, Featherweight."
Ben clenched his jaw and squared up. He, sort of, mimicked Terrence's stance and swung. The first few punches felt ridiculous. His arms flailed like soggy spaghetti noodles. But slowly, his rhythm settled. His breathing evened out. And dangerous thoughts started invading his mind.
Memories of laughter in practice rooms, late-night rameyon, a hoodie draped over his shoulders, warm smiles that lingered too long…
Daniel.
His punches got harder and frantic. He hated how unaffected Daniel seemed. How oblivious he was about it all. And most of all, how Ben still wanted to be near him, even when his chest felt like it was being hollowed out from inside.
He punched until his breath hitched, his arms ached, and his grief had bled into the gloves, soaked through his shirt, and fell in drops to the floor.
Eventually, he slumped to the ground, drenched in sweat, chest heaving.
Terrence sat beside him, casually tossing him a water bottle. "I gotta admit," he said, tone more sincere than usual, "for someone with arms like dried noodles, you punch like you're hiding a secret beast."
Ben coughed, half-laughing, "That was a compliment wrapped in an insult."
Terrence snorted. "It's a talent. So, what's going on with you and Daniel hyung?"
Ben nearly inhaled his water the wrong way. "What do you mean? Nothing's going on!"
Terrence raised a brow that said I-know-you're-full-of-it without uttering a word.
Ben looked away.
Terrence leaned back, arms crossed. "Hyung's been off today. And for him, that's like a dog vowing not to bark. It's throwing off the group vibe."
Ben sighed, dragging the towel over his face. "I'm not trying to ruin the vibe. I'm just trying to sort some things out."
Terrence was quiet for a beat before adding more softly than expected, "He's an idiot, but he's not immune to feeling hurt. Talk to him before your drama starts infecting the rest of us."
Ben turned, surprised by the sincerity buried under the blunt words. The gruff, no-nonsense Terrence wasn't just speaking as a teammate. He genuinely cared about Daniel. No, maybe all of them.
Ben managed a small smile. "I didn't expect this kind of pep talk from you."
Terrence shrugged, grabbing his towel. "Don't get used to it."
As the boxing gym began to empty, they packed up in silence, letting the sound of gloves being stored and lights shutting off fill the air between them.
Fifteen minutes later, they reached the fork in the road where they'd split.
Terrence paused and turned, placing a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Anytime you need to punch your feelings, you know where to find me."
Ben nodded, genuinely touched. "Gomawo." {Thanks}
Terrence gave him a half-nod, half-eye-roll and walked away with the air of someone who deeply regretted talking.
Ben stood there for a moment, watching him go, the tension in his chest loosening.