Ria

I’ve been coming to Chiron’s gym for a while now, ever since I started volunteering at the local community center. I bring him food—home-cooked meals, snacks, things that’ll keep him going. Chiron doesn’t eat much, but he appreciates it, even if he never says it outright. I’ve come to learn that he’s a man of few words, but when you’ve been around as long as I have, you figure out how to read between the lines. He’s always so focused on training others that he forgets to take care of himself sometimes. That’s where I come in.

Today, as I pull up to the old gym with a bag of my best homemade burritos, I can already hear the sounds of punches landing on the heavy bags and the grunts of someone pushing themselves to their limits. The place has that distinct smell—sweat, leather, and a faint hint of bleach—and I immediately know that Chiron’s probably either in the back or teaching someone the ropes.

I step inside and make my way toward the kitchen area, where he keeps his coffee pot and a few extra supplies. There’s a faint clink of weights in the background, but it’s quieter than usual. I don’t mind the peace—it’s always nice to catch him when he’s not too busy.

As I approach the back, I spot a guy I don’t recognize. He’s leaning against the wall, his face focused and intent on whatever Chiron is saying. I pause for a moment, watching him. He looks about my age, maybe a little younger, and there’s a certain… intensity about him. His jaw is tight, his posture rigid as if he’s not sure if he should be here or not. It’s almost like he’s bracing for something.

Chiron notices me before the guy does, though. He gives me a small nod, a silent acknowledgment. He doesn’t say anything, but he motions to the guy, signaling me to drop off the food and leave them to their training.

“Lachlan, meet Ria,” Chiron says, pointing at me with a lazy flick of his finger. “She’s the one who keeps me from starving.”

I smile, holding up the bag of burritos like a peace offering. “I brought food,” I say, offering it to Chiron, but I’m addressing both of them. “I figured you guys might want something real to eat.”

The guy, Lachlan, looks at the burritos like he’s trying to decide if they’re some kind of trap. His eyes flicker to me, and there’s something in his gaze—like he’s sizing me up.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s just spent hours screaming in a ring. I get the feeling he hasn’t said much lately. His tone is polite but distant.

I shrug and hand Chiron the bag. “No problem. I know how hard it is to keep a guy like you fed. You forget to eat when you’re too busy training others.”

Chiron chuckles, but his laugh is low and almost like it’s been too long since he let himself laugh freely. “She’s not wrong,” he says, cracking open the burritos and taking a bite.

Lachlan’s still standing there, quiet, observing everything like he doesn’t quite fit into the scene. I glance at him again, my curiosity piqued. There’s something about him—something restless and wounded, like he’s been through something but hasn’t quite figured out how to move past it. He’s trying, though. I can see that.

“You new here?” I ask, breaking the silence. My voice is casual, but I’m genuinely interested.

Lachlan hesitates before nodding. “Yeah, just started training with Chiron.”

I give him a warm smile, not trying to push him, just trying to make him feel welcome. “You’re in good hands then. He’s been around longer than most people realize.” I nod toward Chiron, who’s completely absorbed in his burrito, oblivious to the world around him. “And if you’re ever hungry, you know where to find me.”

Lachlan looks at me then, really looks at me. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe? I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it doesn’t last long before he looks away again.

“You don’t have to do that,” he mutters, almost to himself.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him. “Do what?”

“Bring food,” he says, his voice a little lower now. “I don’t need it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everyone needs food. And Chiron sure as hell won’t eat it if I don’t bring it, so you’re welcome to share.”

Lachlan shifts uncomfortably but then nods. “I guess that’s fair.”

There’s a moment of quiet, but I don’t feel like I have to fill it with words. Sometimes people just need a minute to adjust. I’ve learned that much.

“Well,” I say after a few moments, “if you ever need anything—food, advice, or just someone to talk to—don’t hesitate to ask. I’m usually around.” I give him a friendly smile, then look back at Chiron. “And you,” I say to him, poking his shoulder, “don’t make me bring you burritos every day.”

Chiron just chuckles, his mouth full. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I give them both a wave, turning to head out. As I do, I glance back at Lachlan once more, catching him staring at the burritos. There’s a bit of hesitation in his gaze, but for some reason, I feel like he’s slowly warming up.

Something tells me this isn’t the last time I’ll see him.

As I walk out the door, I can’t help but think about Lachlan. There’s something about him—something more than just his quiet intensity. It’s like he’s carrying around a weight, and though he’s trying to hide it, I can see it in the way he stands, in the way his eyes flicker with a guarded uncertainty. Maybe I’m just being nosy, but I get the feeling that he’s not here just for the training. There’s more to him, something deeper.

I push the thought away as I make my way back to my car, but it lingers. The way he looked at me when I offered him the food, like it was a gesture that was unfamiliar to him. Maybe he’s not used to people being kind for no reason. Maybe it’s been a long time since someone reached out.

The next few days pass in a blur. I’m busy with my usual volunteer work at the community center, and I don’t think much about Lachlan or Chiron. But then, about a week later, I’m back at the gym, and there he is again—Lachlan, standing in the corner with Chiron, going through some kind of drill. I can’t help but notice the way Lachlan moves now. It’s different from before. There’s more confidence in his posture, more determination in his strikes. He’s pushing himself harder than I imagined. Maybe that’s the training, or maybe it’s something else.

I’m unloading some fresh ingredients I brought in when I see him glance over at me. He doesn’t look uncomfortable this time, but there’s still a hesitation in his eyes, like he’s not sure whether to acknowledge me or not. I give him a quick wave as I walk past. This time, he responds with a small nod—barely noticeable, but I catch it, he’s different, intriguing. 

I leave the food in the kitchen and step back into the main room where Chiron and Lachlan are. Chiron’s on the heavy bag, working through a combination of punches, while Lachlan shadows him, mirroring the movements with growing precision.

“Hey, Lachlan,” I say as I approach, trying to break the silence that’s hung between us. “How’s the training going?”

Lachlan’s eyes shift toward me for a second, and this time, the tension in his expression softens, just a little. “Better,” he replies. “I’m... getting used to it.”

“Good,” I smile. “I’m sure Chiron’s been pushing you hard. He’s kind of a taskmaster, but you’re lucky to have him.” I glance toward Chiron, who’s still working the bag. “If you need any more food, just let me know. I’ll bring it by again.”

Lachlan looks at me for a moment, and then, to my surprise, he speaks up. “You really don’t have to,” he says, his voice a little softer than before. “I can—”

“I know you can,” I interrupt, holding up my hand in a friendly gesture. “But I want to. Seriously, it’s no trouble. I cook because I like to, and it’s easier than trying to shove down protein shakes all the time. Plus, I get to make sure Chiron’s not surviving off of energy bars and coffee.”

Lachlan looks like he’s about to say something, but then he stops, studying me for a second before nodding slowly. “Alright, then. Thanks.”

I can’t help but smile. It’s a small thing, but I can tell that something’s starting to shift in him. Maybe he’s finally realizing that people can be kind without expecting anything in return.

Just then, Chiron calls out to Lachlan, snapping him out of whatever thoughts he was lost in. “You’re getting sloppy. Focus.”

Lachlan flinches, like he wasn’t expecting the sharp command, but he doesn’t argue. He nods, adjusting his stance and getting back into rhythm.

I watch them for a moment, my thoughts still on Lachlan. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. People coming into Chiron’s gym to escape or to prove something to themselves. Some of them come with ambition, others come to fight demons, but what they all have in common is that they need something to ground them.

Chiron doesn’t give people much in the way of emotional support, but he does give them discipline. And that’s exactly what someone like Lachlan needs right now. He’s running from something, I can tell. Maybe it’s not a physical fight he’s preparing for, but a mental one. A fight against himself, his past, whatever weighs him down.

I walk out of the gym later, feeling a strange pull toward Lachlan. I know I shouldn’t get involved too much, but something tells me he needs someone to care. Maybe just a little more than he’s used to.

The next time I bring food, I’m a little surprised to find Lachlan waiting by the door when I arrive. He’s leaning against the wall, looking a little uncomfortable but determined.

“Hey, Ria,” he says, his voice a little hesitant. “I wanted to, uh, thank you again for the food. It’s... been a while since anyone did something like that for me.”

I’m caught off guard by the sincerity in his words, but I smile, shaking my head. “You don’t have to thank me, Lachlan. It’s just food.”

He hesitates, then adds, “It’s more than that. I’m... I’m not really used to people being this... nice. I guess it’s just... hard to trust that, you know?”

I nod, understanding exactly where he’s coming from. “I get it. Trust is a hard thing. But sometimes, you’ve just got to take the leap.”

Lachlan looks at me for a long moment, like he’s weighing my words, and then he gives a slight nod, something unspoken passing between us.

“Thanks,” he says again, his voice quieter this time.