Ryan's abrupt arrival knocked the air out of Max's lungs, causing his body to twist and the floor to tilt beneath his feet. He'd spent the last three days convincing himself that it was all just a bad dream. So many things have gone wrong in the previous few months that he feels trapped in a haze from which he can't escape, a nightmare from which he can't awaken, and on top of that, something in his core shrinks and twists with each passing day and he feels he's losing his cool.

Ryan staggers down the corridor before collapsing in a chair next to the table, completely unaware of Aaron and Max's presence. Max and Aaron exchanged irritated and perplexed stares before Max got out of his chair and pulled away a few steps to give himself more room between him and Ryan. He didn't trust himself enough to be so close to Ryan, and with each passing minute, his guts began to boil with rage.

“Good morning!” Ryan fixed his ruffled black hair and grinned at them with glazed eyes. “How’s everyone doing this lovely afternoon?”

When none of them answered, he pulled a metal flask from his jacket’s inside pocket and sipped greedily.

“Ah! Tequila! The drink of the gods!” he giggled hollowly.

Hearing voices in the other room, Connor came out of Aaron's office, holding the letter opener. He noticed Max's tensed jaw and Aaron's frowning brows and the room's strained atmosphere. It seemed everything was moving at a snail's pace in order to keep the intoxicated threat in the middle of the room from exploding. He cast glances at Aaron, Max, and then Ryan, and their eyes met. Connor didn't divert his gaze; instead, he strolled slowly toward the main gym hall, moving closer to Ryan.

Ryan was a mass. His face was a rainbow of colors ranging from purple to sickening yellow, his clothes were ruffled, and blood spatters covered his white shirt. He had a slim build, yet his body appeared to be too heavy for him to carry. It was as if he couldn't move it easily, as if doing so required all of his energy.

The scent of alcohol, coupled with the tinge of blood and iron, made Connor cringe, and he took a step back to stand by Max's side. The smell gave him an uneasy feeling and made his blood run faster. Ryan felt a stab of shame in his chest as he spotted Connor's little twitch; he pushed it aside and replaced it with a bright grin.

“Oh! The mute!” Ryan said, giggling as he raised his hand in the air and then drunkenly dropped it to his lap, mimicking a salute. “Do you wanna have a drink with me? Hum? I’ll take your silence as a yes,” he smiled.

“No,” Connor replied.

Ryan’s eyes widened in surprise, “He speaks! The mute speaks! A miracle!” and laughed.

He felt rather than saw all the eyes in the room on him. "Shite," he murmured, averting his stare to Max, "Has the mute taught you how to shut your mouth?" Ryan cocked his head, strands of black hair sliding across his brow. "I recall you being quite the chattery," he continued.

Max clenched his hands on the sides of his body, digging his fingernails into his palms to calm himself down. Ryan shrugged and sipped, rubbing the back of his palm across his mouth afterward. “Stop with the silence treatment,” he muttered to no one in particular, “You’re boring me.”

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Max was the first to break the silence, Irritated.

“Well, Max, I’m having an excellent day! Thank you for asking! How are you doing?” Ryan chuckled.

“I asked you a question,” Max said, his eyes red with anger.

“I gave you an answer.”

“Get out.”

“Nope.”

“Get the fuck out NOW!”

“Make me,” Ryan said, sliding his gaze up and down his bare chest.

“With that sort of body” Ryan pointed a finger at Max’s exposed chest, “I wouldn’t mind being pushed around.” Ryans’ eyes gleamed with a mischievous light.

Max's cheeks flushed red beneath his tanned skin, and he was about to lunge toward Ryan when Aaron noticed the tension change in his son and scowled at him with a look that kept Max in his place. Ryan was disappointed by the lack of response, but shrugged it off. He sipped more tequila from his flask, the burn in his throat comforting him. The silence in the room started irritating his skin, so he sipped some more.

Ryan looked at the three of them exchanging glances with each other. He just sat there, unsure what to do or how to react, sensing his heart rate rising with panic that was sending ghostly hands around his chest and neck.

Aaron turned to Max, who, after a moment, shrugged and shook his head like he was understanding his father with only his stare. That small gesture was enough for Ryan. He suddenly felt the alcohol coursing through his veins, felt his heavy eyelids, his sore limbs, his speeding heart rate. He could feel their eyes on him. Staring, assessing, observing him. He hated it. Hated their stares. Hated the silence. Hated this place. Hated himself. Hated the drink in his hand. He hated. So he spoke again, a desperate attempt to fill the emptiness.

"Well,” Ryan forced a smile, “I know my face is mesmerizing, but it's extremely disrespectful to stare," he added, the silence becoming unbearable to him, like a knot in his throat.

Finally, Max broke it.

"Speaking of faces... What happened to yours?"

Ryan hated the question but was instantly relieved, his focus shifting from his thoughts to Max.

Ryan's smile faded as he tenderly touched his wounded face with his palm. It wasn't the first time a fight had left marks on his body, but he couldn't bear the thought that those bruises were his father’s gift. That he left his signature on him. With a thin smile, Ryan looked at Max, “Oh this?” He said, “Just a minor inconvenience.” He then emptied the flask and tossed it on the table, leaning his head on his elbows, looking at all three of them.

“So guys, listen, listen. I like you. All of you. And I'm having a reallyyyyy good day today, so I'm gonna change my proposal. Just for you! Cause I like you.” he chuckles as he pointed a finger at Aaron. “I’ll buy this place, but you can keep the gym running. Alright? It's an excellent offer.”

Max took a step forward, “We already told you we are not interested.”

“I didn't ask you, did I? Aaron, what do you say?”

“Mr. Ryan,” Aaron began, “As I told you, we are not interested in selling the gym and I think you’re too intoxicated right now to make any deals, son.” Ryan flinched, his dark eyes fixed on Aaron's face and he felt his breath become shallow.

There it is. There’s that look. That expression.

That pity he so desperately tried to avoid. It twisted something in him. But it was Aaron's words that hurt him the most. His father, who’s supposed to love and care for him, never addressed him as such. 'Disappointment, dog, weak, failure, filthy.' It was always those devastating words.

“Son?” Ryan snapped, “Don't call me that! I'M NOT YOU SON!” his face crumbled as he repeated the word. Ryan forced himself out of his chair. He felt dizziness overtake him as he stood, but he ignored it and rushed at him.

When their eyes locked again for a brief moment, Aaron understood. There was something in his eyes. Something in that shout, a pain behind it. He watched. He watched Ryan's eyes. Then he knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate. He breathed in real slow and took a step back as Ryan drunkenly stepped toward him.

Connor rushed to Aaron, tossing the letter open on the floor where it got stuck next to the boxing ring mattress, and slid between Ryan and Aaron before Ryan could reach him.

"Calm down," Connor said softly, placing his palm on his shoulder and turning him to face him.

Ryan flinched at the touch, he was now yelling, "DON'T TOUCH ME! Get away from me!"

He tried pushing Connor away from him, but he’s weak and exhausted and in pain. His body hurts with every movement of his father’s hands, and despite his best efforts, he cannot move Connor even slightly. His body tremors as he struggles to free himself from Connor's grip. His breathing becomes erratic, and he feels panic creeping in and taking control of him.

And once again, as if his brain had forgotten the consequences of the night before, of his self-destructive impulses, of his inability to control his rage, his body acted on its own. He clenched his fist and launched it violently at Connor's face, as if his brain was betraying him again, his body moving without permission.

“What the fuck are you doing, man!?” Max yelled as he came to stand on Connor's side. Connor ducked the punch. Ryan stumbled to the side as he lost his footing.

He regained his balance and was about to try again, throwing a second fist at Connor when he glimpsed Max's fist reaching to his face from the corner of his eye. The impact was gruesome. His teeth trembled, causing a nauseous sensation to spread down the back of his head and neck. Once again, here he is, a few seconds too late.

Max's powerful punch slammed into Ryan's face, knocking him to the ground. The taste of blood in his mouth and the coldness of the bare floor were familiar sensations, yet he wished for a carpet or a blanket or anything soft underneath to provide some relief to his suffering body.

His vision blurred, and he realized he was about to pass out.

I deserve this. He thought befor his eyes closed.

A few hours of darkness. Of blackness.

A few hours away from life.

He ached for it, and he got what he needed.