[Locked to Shia, RT, Post-dated to yesterday]
Akihiko stood in his room with boxing gloves on, working up a sweat at the punching bag. He was going stir-crazy, the typhoon still raging outside without showing much sign of slowing down, though the weather people swore it would blow over during the night.
Minato was still unconscious.
The rhythm of pummeling the bag was soothing. Right and left, feinting and dodging an invisible opponent, the sound of it filling his small dorm room until it was almost meditative.
Minato was still unconscious.
The rhythm of pummeling the bag was soothing. Right and left, feinting and dodging an invisible opponent, the sound of it filling his small dorm room until it was almost meditative.