Chapter Text
The gym is always busy at this hour, but Dunk's mind is in hitting the punching bag with a rhythm that only exists in his mind.
1, 2, 3, 4.
1, 2, 3, 4.
1, 2, 3, 4.
"Dunk!"
The voice makes him stop at once, he looks and Arlan Pennytree is looking at him, he tries to wipe the sweat off his brow with his gloves but he just manages to smear it all over his forehead.
"Coach!, I'm sorry, I didn't see you, I was…—" Dunk throws a few jabs in the air and laughs, "y'know?"
"Yeah, I know you boy," Arlan checks his watch and gives Dunk a look that he can never decipher. "You are getting good at that looping punch, now let's practice defense, aye?" Dunk nods, he can use some pointers.
Arlan has been Duncan's coach for the last 3 years, and his un-official foster parent for the last 15. Everything that Dunk knows about life, boxing, work, it's all thanks to the old man.
Dunk's first encounter with boxing was when he was a young and angry kid, and he wanted to get in trouble by getting punched in the face and getting to punch people back. Arlan had looked at him like he'd finally had it. 'this is it,' he had thought then, 'this is when he finally kicks me out.' They got in Arlan's beat up truck, but instead of an orphanage Dunk found himself in an old gymnasium. His face must've been a painting because Arlan laughed.
"If you're gonna get punched the least you can do is learn how to cover your face."
As a kid it really looked like that, but now, as an adult, Dunk can see how training shaped him, it thought him patience, endurance, and tolerance.
He could never repay him this kindness, so he tried to be the best student.
'Try' being the keyword. In just 15 minutes the old man managed to punch him more times than he could count. He didn't looked angry, though.
"I'm not gonna give you shit, kid. You're 2 meters of pure muscle, after all." he laughs a bit and punches him lightly in the chest, Dunk nods sheepishly. "So next time they come at you, don't duck, try blocking or smother."
"Yes coach, sir."
"Aye, now jump the rope a bit and hit the showers, see you on Monday." he waves Dunk and gets off the ring with a grace that only an old and seasoned fighter can muster.
Dunk's muscles are burning and he feels like fainting, but if the coach said hit the rope, he will hit it all right. While he prepares he finds his inner pace once more.
1, 2, 3, 4.
1, 2, 3, 4.
1, 2, 3, 4.
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Aerion Targaryen feels drunk.
Well, he's drunk, so it'll be better to say that he feels dizzy and giddy in a way that only booze can make him.
He's also really thirsty, and a bit confused, since he's not sure where he is or what time it is.
He's not a drunk, by any means. That tittle belongs to his brother, and he'd hate to take it away. It's just that his father has been a constant pain in his side, more than usual. And in the face of pressure and family expectations he decides that the only solution is to drink his mind away and party till he blanks.
Well, he blanked, all right.
There's some movement in his bed and there's pounding in his door. Fuck.
He gets up and slouches towards the sound of the noise, he opens it and it's his stupid cousin. Aerion can't feel his face right now but he knows that he must be frowning.
"What are you doing here?"
"Good morning to you too, cousin. There's brunch, at my father's house. You're invited."
Aerion breathed loudly, he doesn't care about manners right now, he's awake and he's starting to feel less drunk and more hungover.
"I don't care, go away."
"We thought you'd say something like that, so my uncle urged me to come and fetch you; I'll drive you myself."
Valarr doesn't look too thrilled about that turn of events either. Aerion rolls his eyes and surrenders.
"Fine, wait here."
He closes his door and gets back to his room. He starts to undress when a figure emerges from his bed. It's the girl he picked last night from the club. They didn't do anything, not even kiss. When they reached Hyperion's room he dropped in his bed, tired, she must've done the same. He reaches in his pocket and hands her a $100 bill.
"I'll give it to you if you leave now, and if you promise that when the press asks you what we did last night you hint that we fucked."
The girl opens her eyes real big, she looks confused, but a $100 is a $100, so she takes it and blows him a kiss, grabs her shoes and exits his room.
He stops undressing and for a moment he inhales with his eyes closed, then exhales sharply.
It's going to be a long day.