THE SWEETEST SCIENCE

Part 1: https://venus.chatfighters.com/story/85142

 

A few weeks later:

Nat_Blake: The gym smells the same, old leather, metal dust, and the kind of sweat that never really leaves, just settles into the bones of the place. The hum of the overhead lights fills the still air, a reminder that this is a gym that remembers, even when the people who fought here try to forget. I push the door open and feel the warmth hit me, not from heat but from belonging. It’s been a while since I felt that. Mike’s voice carries somewhere behind the heavy bags, slow and calm, like an anchor dropped in shallow water. I spot him wrapping his hands, that broad, weathered frame moving with the kind of patience that only comes from years inside the ring. For a moment, I just watch. The ghosts in my head quiet down. I’m not here to learn, not really. Not to know, but to remember. Since I left Ethan’s grip, I haven’t forced my limits. Haven’t dared to. Every fight since then has been about control, precision, staying within what I could manage. But this woman coming next… she won’t let me stay comfortable. She’s heavier, built for the clinch, the kind that smothers breath and will at the same time. To beat her, I need to feel weight again, real, raw, immovable weight, and Mike is the only one who can give me that without breaking me. I walk toward him, red gloves loose in my hands, the air thick with resin and memory. “Hey, Mike,” I call, voice softer than I mean it to be. “Hope I’m not interrupting your peace. I came to borrow some of that weight of yours, thought you could help me remember how to stand when someone twice my size tries to fold me in half.”

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: the creak of the old door makes me notice someone is coming in... i thought I had the gym for myself tonight... no one booked space or sparring sessions tonight... but there is someone coming... I am sweaty from the training, been hitting the heavybag, and my hands are still taped, though my gloves are in the floor... drinking some water as I hear someone approaching... I hear you saying "hear Mike" with a soft voice... I turn and see you, gloves on, looking at me... as you say what you need I smile... "helping you will be a pleasure Nat... I hope you pay me back with a ringside seat for that fight" I say, grabbing my own black gloves from the floor... yt

Nat_Blake: I smile at your words, the kind that carry both warmth and challenge. “I’ll save you a front row seat,” I say, slipping my red gloves tighter, feeling the leather pull against my wrists. “But don’t expect it to be pretty. This next one won’t be about style, it’ll be about surviving the storm.” I step closer, the canvas groaning softly beneath my boxing boots. You’re still glistening from the bag work, the smell of sweat and resin hanging between us like old honesty. “I missed this place,” I admit quietly. But some words stay unspoken, I missed that feeling of belonging. “Places like this don’t lie. You walk in with what you are, and you leave with what’s left.” My green eyes meet yours, steady but carrying something underneath. “So, Mike, show me how to hold my ground when someone bigger tries to crush it out of me. I need to remember what real weight feels like.” Then, with a faint grin and a spark in my tone, I add, “Mike, don’t hold back, por favor.”

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: I look into your green eyes and my heart starts thumping in my ears... you are a young glorious vision in boxing attire... and you are asking this ole heavyweight to help you train... "I hear you, Nat... I an help you to know how it feels to fight close against a bigger opponent... and I won't hold back" I say smiling, adjusting my gloves... "you are the real deal, love. You belong here, in this dusty old place... where the real heat happens and the real fighters are made better" I say, pointing towards the ring... "ladies first" I say

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: yt

Nat_Blake: I nod slowly, my eyes flicking toward the ring, then back to you. There’s something in your voice, not the command of a trainer, not the challenge of a rival, but the calm certainty of someone who has already seen every version of the fight. It makes me feel safe, almost. And that’s dangerous. For a second, I feel that old tension inside me, the echo of the black ops ghost, the one that moves only to survive, to destroy. But she doesn’t belong here. Not with you. Not in this ring. I take a breath and step forward, boots whispering on the canvas. My body loosens, my guard rising, my movements patient, deliberate. You wait for me to move first, but I don’t like silence pretending to be hesitation. I exhale slowly, and then I move. A clean step in, hips aligned, weight rolling forward. My left jab snaps into your chest guard, not full power, just enough to test the structure. I follow with a short right to your ribs, tight and controlled.

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: We enter the ring… you first, then me following you… you move slowly, loosening your arms as i enter… our mouth guards in place… your eyes tell me you are ready…no bell, no need… I put my guard up as you come towards me and pfff slam my guard with your jab, then pffff you crisp right slams my ribs, controlled, tight, as I circle and Ush Ush jab twice with my left aiming to your face… we both remain close to each other…. The whisks, of our boots over the canvas and our breaths are the only sounds so far… I look at you… “c’mon… you came for something… let’s do it” I say, leaning forward, my gloves in a peek a boo guard… yt

Nat_Blake: I shift my weight from heel to toe, eyes narrowing just a little as your words hit the air between us. The rhythm is alive now, not a fight, not yet, but a conversation made of breath and impact. “Alright,” I murmur through the mouthguard, my voice calm, measured. “Then let’s talk.” I drive forward, closing the gap, my gloves tight and high. Your left flicks twice, brushing my guard, but I press in, cutting the distance where the jabs can’t live. My shoulder rolls, my body leaning into yours as I test the clinch. I move in, sliding past your guard, my gloves brushing your forearms as I press forward. The space between us closes until there’s nothing but the warmth of breath and the sound of leather shifting. I dig my feet into the canvas, trying to push, to turn, to move you, but it’s like hitting a wall made of patience and iron.

Nat_Blake: The pressure rebounds through my arms and shoulders, the weight of you unshakable. For a moment, I stop fighting it, just feeling it. The slow pulse of power beneath your stillness. The kind of strength that doesn’t need to prove itself. A small breath escapes me, half exertion, half awe. So this is what I came for, to feel what cannot be moved, and remember how to stand against it.

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: you catch my jabs on your guard... you are skilled and fast, and you close the gap between us in a blink... you then utter "let's talk" and collide against me, our gloves creeching against each others' as we enter the clinch... we both puff and grunt breathing steadily as we plant our feet in the canvas and push against each other... I feel your warm breath in my skin as we are close... the bump of our guards slamming each other as we push, trying to move the other... I feel your weight against me pressing... my head low, see your shiny red gloves agaisnt mine... you push, but the weight difference is too much for you to move me... I stand, breathing, and I try to hold your right arm against your body with my left... yt

Nat_Blake: Your hold tightens around my arm, and in that instant something flashes behind my eyes, not this gym, not you, but another place, another grip. Ethan’s. The memory hits like a cold current under the skin. His hands had the same authority, the same quiet command that erased choice, not teaching but controlling. My ribs remember the pressure, the way breath turned thin under his weight. I blink hard, shaking the image off before it can root. This is different. You are steady, not cruel. You hold to remind, not to own. I brace my legs, grounding through my boots, refusing the tremor trying to rise in my chest. My glove twists again against your hold, this time with purpose. I angle my hips and step, not to break free but to rewrite what that kind of strength means to me. “Not his grip,” I whisper under my breath, almost too low to hear. “Not this time.”

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: i hear you whisper to yourself as you move your arm trying to release it from mine... I can feel you been in this kind of situation before... with another man... in a different time, in a different way... cannot understand what you say but the tremor on your voice makes me think it got you deep... and that maybe, at the same time you train, you are trying to exorcise some demons tonight with me... I am more than happy to help... you are a great fighter, and those demons only hold you back... I am gonna help you get rid of them... as we struggle I know you want a real train... so I am going to give it to you... I keep holding your right for a moment then I shift a bit to my right and USH USH fire a sharp but not full force double right hook aimed to your ribs... to remind you that this is not only about pushing...

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: yt

Nat_Blake: The first hook lands clean, slamming into my ribs before I can brace, and the breath punches out of me in a short, rough gasp. The second follows fast, but this time I’m already moving, instincts snapping back into place like a switch flipped inside me. I twist my torso, my left glove dropping low to catch part of the blow while my right arm finally wrenches free from your grip. The sting still burns along my side, but it wakes something sharper than pain, focus. The haze from that memory is gone; this is the now. 

Nat_Blake: I step in close again, the world narrowing to the sound of our breathing and the drag of our boots on canvas. My right shoulder bumps against your chest as I drive a short uppercut inside, tight and controlled, not looking for damage but for balance, for control. As I press in, something flickers in my mind. I remember breaking free from Ethan, the way his grip once defined the edge of who I was. Part of me still misses him, not the hold, but the man, his always hidden love, or maybe just the illusion of it. I know what it did to me, and what it cost to walk away. But this is different. I have respect for you, and trust. You hold to help, to understand, not to own. My eyes meet yours, steady again, a small flicker of a smile at the corner of my mouth. “Alright, Mike,” I breathe out, voice low, focused. “Let’s continue.”

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: you eat the first but stop the second, covering welll... you push with your shoulder and UFF slide a good upper inside grazing my lowered chin... I bite my mouthguard with the impact... some drops of sweat fly...feel the power behind it... we keep staying close, pivoting a bit but not stepping back a bit.... "alright Mike, let's contiue" you say, in a more relaxed voice... I meet your eyes on mine... smile too... "yeah... let's do this" I say... I mover forward pressing against you to make you feel my weight over you... as I push I USH throw another right hook against your ribs and then try to double USH with my right aiming to your left cheek in a short cross punch yt

Nat_Blake: I feel your weight press into me, steady and relentless, and the air thickens between us. Your first hook comes low again, but this time I brace, my right elbow sinking down to guard my ribs. The thud still shakes through my core, a deep reminder of the power behind your frame. Before I can reset, your next shot slips through. The glove clips my left cheek, not heavy enough to hurt, but enough to snap my head slightly to the side. Heat blooms under the skin, a flush of red spreading where the punch landed. I taste salt, sweat, and focus. My body glistens now, the light catching the sheen of effort, the scent of the ring wrapping around me. I pull my guard back up, breathing deep, slow, controlled. I can’t let the sting, or what it stirs, take over. 

Nat_Blake: Ethan’s ghost tries to rise again, the anger, the hunger to strike back without thought, but I don’t let it. Not here. Not with you. You aren’t the enemy. You’re the anchor, the weight I can push against without losing myself. I pivot slightly, staying close, feeling your breath on my temple. “Good shot,” I murmur, voice calm, focused. “Now let’s see if I can turn it.” I drop my left shoulder, feinting low to draw your guard, then twist my hips sharply and drive a compact right hook toward your midsection. The strike lands with control, precise and measured, meant not to hurt but to answer, to show I’m still here, steady under your pressure

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: you catch my first, but the cross smacks your face... you are not stunned, but show a new determined look in those eyes... you keep close covering yourself... you move slick and I fall and UFFF your glove drills into my body hard... it's a good punch... I puff a bit, as the impact shakes me... "good one" I utter smiling.... we remain close, feeling our warm breath in our skin... you retract your right into your guard, covering yourself well... we push against each other... I push forward and USH fire a left hook aiming to your right arm trying to open your guard a bit for USH a fast right hook aiming right into your navel yt

Nat_Blake: I feel your gloves pound against my guard, your left slamming into my arm with force that makes my stance tremble for an instant. Then your right digs in, crashing into my navel. The air jolts from my lungs, a sharp burn spreading across my core, but I refuse to fold. I fight weight with weight, sinking lower, grounding my boots, drawing on balance instead of speed. The blow lands, but I let it roll through me, my conditioned abs tightening, absorbing the shock. Sweat bursts from my skin, scattering through the air between us. You’re still close, pressing forward, but I use that closeness to carve out space. I shift my hips, exhaling through my mouthguard, and my right hand curls low before snapping upward. My glove slices through the narrow pocket I created, rising toward your chin in a tight, clean uppercut, all precision, no anger, pure control.

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: as my glove lands I feel how your abs absorb the punch well... you keep close and move creating a little pocjed of space between us and then UGH you slide your right upper in a flash slamming my chin again... you are fast and precise, even versus a bigger opponent... you are really good... I smile as I soak the punch and lean low again, pushing against you again... my gloves covering my chin and my elbows clenched to my sides... using my weight I push forward... making you put your weight against mine to help you from beeing pushed backwards... we both grunt... our gloves scratch against each others'... then I suddenly step back only one step trying to make you loose balance for a moment then sidestep to my left and USH fire a left punch aiming to your face, controlled, but aiming clearly trying to catch you by surprise yt

Nat_Blake: When you shift back that single step, I don’t let the space open. My boots slide forward in rhythm with yours, our motion staying one current instead of two. As you sidestep left, I follow the turn, my hips rotating with yours, keeping the tension coiled between us. Your left starts to rise, but I’m already there. My right arm loops over it, forearm locking lightly against your bicep, redirecting the punch before it can find its line. My left hand finds your shoulder, fingers tightening just enough to feel the weight shift under the skin. Now it’s my grip that holds. The clinch reverses, my frame tucked close to yours, using timing and balance to steer the mass that should have overpowered me. The muscles in my core tighten, steady, my breath hot against your neck. I feel the tremor of your strength trying to reset, but I stay calm, centered. For the first time, it’s not about power; it’s about rhythm. I move with you, not against you, until your weight becomes mine to guide.

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: you avoid expertly my slow move and then hold my shoulder and grip hard, clinching agaisnt my body, our chests colliding as your head rests over my shoulder... we both puff, force against force, as we struggle... your hold is strong and you move with me as I shift weight... you are holding my right... tight... I move it trying to release it... as we move closer, like dancing tightly together to an inaudible music... the thump of our hearts almost acompassed as we collide... my left arm holds your right clenched to your body... maybe a ref would separate us... maybe not... my feet strongly planted on the canvas... I push forward trying to unbalance you... feeling your moves... trying to surprise you... yt

Nat_Blake: I try to hold you, my grip tightening around your arm and shoulder, every muscle in my body fighting to keep the lock, but it’s like trying to catch a tide with bare hands. No matter how hard I pull, you shift, slip, your strength redirecting mine until the space between us breathes again. And in that breath, something opens inside me. The feeling of losing control, of something slipping away, it’s too familiar. I remember my father, the weight of his hand when I was small, the way it felt when that hand was gone. I had tried to hold on then too, as hard as I could, and still he slipped away. 

Nat_Blake: For a second, the ring fades. It isn’t Mike I’m holding. It’s Ethan. The same ache, the same void that built the monster I became. The old gym smells like leather and sweat, but under it all is something older, a buried grief clawing back to the surface. My body wavers, the balance I built around control faltering for a heartbeat. My boots slide, just enough to make me stagger back. The air leaves my chest in a soft gasp. My gloves hang half raised, not in defense but in realization. I steady myself, forcing my eyes to meet yours. The fight is still there, but the ghosts are closer now, and I know this place isn’t just a gym. It’s a mirror, and every move, every touch, reflects something I’ve been trying to forget.

Nat_Blake: “Come, Mike… continue,” I whisper, trying to leave them behind, trying to squeeze out the fighter that I was from the monster that I became.

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: I am starting to feel a desperate need in you… a need to exorcise your ghosts… your past mistakes… for a moment you are not here… the light fades from your eyes and you go somewhere else on your mind… you freeze for some instants, like a boxer in the moment before going limp and falling after a KO punch… I can feel it… you then go back here… but with a special light in your eyes… they meet mine and I can feel your need… you crave to be back to the woman you were before bad things happen… I think I can help you with that… but you got to collaborate… you got to stay here with me, tonight, in this ring… I take two steps back, my eyes on yours… “ are you with me, Nat?” I say, bouncing on my toes… yt

Nat_Blake: I draw in a breath, deep and slow, my chest rising under the red gloves. Your words hang in the air, heavy but grounding, pulling me back from whatever shadow I was standing in. The lights above hum faintly, the smell of the old gym pressing close, familiar and real. “I’m here,” I say, my voice low, steady. “I’m with you, Mike.” I roll my shoulders once, the ache in my ribs, the burn on my cheek reminding me that this is real, that I’m alive. I raise my guard again, feeling the weight of my gloves, the comfort of the stance. “Let’s stay right here,” I add softly, eyes locked on yours. “No past, no ghosts, just the fight.” Then I step like the fighter I am, weight balanced, eyes sharp. I fake a quick jab toward your face, watching your guard rise, then slide in close before the punch finishes. My arms loop around your upper body, gloves pressing to your shoulders as I take the clinch, feeling the solid weight of you again. My boots dig into the canvas, my hips turning slightly to find control. The air grows thick between us, breath against breath, strength testing strength. “Alright, bull,” I whisper near your ear, steady and composed. “Let’s see if the matador still remembers the dance.”

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: you are here... I can tall that... your eyes tell me that... I look at you and your eyes glow... you then say those words... I nod... "yeah... you an me... here" I say, and as you get closer, I lift my guard... stopping your jab... and then ufffff you clinch hard, holding my upper body hard with your strong arms... our chests collide aagain, and I feel the burning hear in your skin, as our sweat mixes... you move, gaining balance and holding me... I lean forward, my head on your shoulder, as my owin arms struggle trying to open your iron grip... shale my shoulders, testing your strength... push forward... you hold... I hold... "the matador is here, love" I say when you taunt me... my left hits your ribs under your arms in a short punch, controlled, and then USH USh I cock my right arm back and hit your gut, harder this time, to let you knnow I am really here... and this is real... yt

Nat_Blake: Your first shot drives into my ribs, the dull sound swallowed by the ring’s still air. The ache ripples through my side, joining the burn already blooming along my obliques from earlier hits. The second comes faster, heavier, your glove thudding against my gut. My abs tighten instinctively, catching the impact, but the shock still travels up through my core, forcing a sharp breath out between clenched teeth. Sweat drips from my temple, tracing the curve of my jaw before falling to the canvas. My cheek is flushed from your earlier cross, a faint red mark spreading beneath the sheen of perspiration. Each breath scrapes a little deeper now, but the pain is clean, real, something that keeps me anchored in this moment. You push forward again, strength pressing through your frame, and I meet it. Our chests collide, slick with sweat, the sound of fabric sliding over skin as our gloves tangle in the clinch. My forearms lock around your shoulders, my muscles trembling but holding, the fatigue in my body burning into something steadier, something controlled. I turn slightly, trying to guide your movement, boots grinding into the canvas for leverage. The air between us feels thick, heavy with effort and heat. I can taste iron on my tongue, maybe from the inside of my cheek after that last punch, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just part of the ring, part of the language we’re speaking now. “Yeah,” I whisper, breath shallow but steady, my eyes locked on yours. “You’re here, and so am I.” Then I push again, shoulder to chest, using your weight against you, trying to shift the center, to take back control, even as the bruises bloom and the fatigue settles deeper into my limbs.

Nat_Blake: yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: As you soak my punches, you push against me again, showing your strength… I can feel your power as we collide, chest to chest, your forearms holding my shoulders as you try to shift and move to the side as I push forward… my right arm holds your body and keeps us close… our hearts thumping as we push and hold each other close… you are here… I can feel it… your muscles palpitating under your skin as you push… my left arm is loose and USH I jerk it back and aim to your gut again… you wanted a test… you are going to get one… I lower my right shoulder and push you and USH my left aims to your body again ut

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: Yt

Nat_Blake: Your arm jerks back and the moment shifts. I feel the motion before it lands, the coil of your shoulder, the small drop of your weight. I brace, tightening my core, but your fist still drives deep into my stomach. The sound that escapes me is a rough exhale, half pain, half willpower. My ribs ache, my abs scream, but I stay upright, refusing to give you ground. The pressure of your body against mine holds me in place, sweat sliding between our arms and down my spine. My skin burns where your shoulder presses into me. Every breath feels heavier now, every muscle humming with effort, but it’s a kind of pain that sharpens instead of weakens.

Nat_Blake: My cheek burns, my ribs throb, my breath is rough, but I’m still here, still pushing, still fighting to balance strength with control. Then I see Ethan in you, in the enthusiasm behind your eyes, in the way you wish to help me, to give me back control. He wanted that too. He wanted to make me the best, to protect me in his own way. I know that, and I loved him for it, as my missing father, as a boss, and, God help me, as a man. A smart man with charm and charisma. It’s damn hard to confess, but it’s true. I never should have loved him that way, and if he ever loved me in that sense, he never showed it. His love was wrapped in cruelty, in the harsh missions that built me and broke me.

Nat_Blake: I push back, turning with your movement instead of against it, my boots sliding over the canvas. My left arm snakes under your right, trapping it for a second as I pivot to your side. I slip out of the clinch just enough to create a pocket of space, drawing a breath through my mouthguard. Then I fire a short, tight left hook at your ribs, not wild, just measured, a counter that carries everything I’ve learned from the struggle. And I finally see it now, more clearly than before, thanks to you. Thanks for giving me the answers I was searching for. I murmur it softly, a sound half a moan, half a breath. My arms rise and wrap around your broad shoulders, our sweat mixing, skin slick and trembling from effort. I don’t want to fight anymore, not in this moment. I just need to rest in this new, unexpected safety.

Nat_Blake: “Thank you, Mike,” I whisper in your ear, my lips brushing your cheek in a soft kiss. For a second, the world stops, just the sound of our breathing, the warmth of being understood. Then I push myself back, forcing air through my lungs, and the mask slips gently back into place. “Hey, Mike,” I say, a playful grin forming as I lower my gloves. “I hope I didn’t hurt that old body of yours.”

Nat_Blake: Yt

MIKE_BOXER_-_BOXEADOR: my glove drills into your body, and you gurnt and exhale... you soak the punch like a champ, and I know that you are really here... in this ring... with me... your body palpitating, your boots sliding as you shift your balance and find a space and UFF slam my ribs in a well placed punch... as we struggle, you suddenly change the clinch for a hug... a warm and friendly hug... a feeling of connection, of understanding, shakes me as I hug you back patting your strong shoulders with my gloves... "hey Nat... you are a champ... and I am glad I helped you to loosen up and let some demons go away, at least for a round" I say, smiling, as you push yourself back lowering your gloves... I offer mine for you to tap, like a good sport, smiling and looking into your bright eyes.... yt

Nat_Blake: “Oh well, I guess I remember now how to deal with heavy weight,” I say with a small grin, rolling my shoulders as the ache settles into something satisfying. “And a couple of pounds won’t help Joanna that much.” My eyes glow with determination, my face brightening with a confidence that finally feels real. But deep down it isn’t confidence I feel, it’s security, the kind I thought I’d lost a long time ago. I look at you, the warmth of the moment still lingering, and I know you’ve given me more than just a lesson in strength. “You helped more than you can think of, Mike,” I murmur, barely audible even to myself. “More than you can think of.” I reach out and tap your glove, the gesture simple but full of meaning. “I’ll send those front row tickets soon, Mike,” I say, a smile softening my voice. “Until next time.” As I step down from the ring, the boards creak under my boots. The light feels different now, softer. I know that this place, this old gym, will always be waiting, a space where I can fight, remember, and maybe even heal.

Nat_Blake: END