The door to Ryan's apartment creaked open as he stepped inside.
His body felt heavier than it ever had before. Every breath he took stung a little — his ribs ached, his back screamed, and even the smallest movement made him wince.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a second, staring blankly at the floor. His hoodie clung to his skin, damp with sweat and faint blood stains.
He dropped his bag near the table, kicked off his shoes, and stumbled toward the mirror.
The reflection staring back at him didn't even look like him. His lip was split, the edge of his cheek had turned purple, and there was a bruise spreading across his ribs. His right hand was swollen and covered in faint scrapes.
He sighed, pulling the hoodie off, then his shirt. The bruises looked worse in the dim light — purple, blue, and yellow marks scattered across his torso like ugly reminders.
