Ian believed himself to be a generally happy guy. With the perfect marriage, his dream job, and a career that was shaping up to be exactly what he wanted, there were more things in his life right now to be thankful for than not. He shouldnât have any grievances.
Granted, a gym like this with super reinforced punching bags made for the perfect training ground for him to practice control, and that was meant to remain the intent of his workout. But the more punches he threw at the empty space, the more aggressive the wind seemed to get as it collided with the bag. Weights rattle in the gym, deafening booms filled the air, and yet he just kept going and going, the force exerted by his fists increasing with every swing.
Did he not like his new costume? Lazav designed it per his specifications, but he had to admit its tightness made the shimmering gold-and-white garment less modest than he wouldâve preferred. Maybe the frustration was internal, but that wouldnât make sense either. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew he was happier than heâs ever been. Perhaps the fact that this knowledge didnât match his feelings was driving him up the wall. And if that was the case, then he needed the answer to one major question: how is it possible heâs not actually feeling happy?
The answer eluded Ian, causing his anger to reach a fever pitch. With a strangled cry he punches the air harder than before and the bag explodes right as it snaps off the chains. He wasnât done yet. Ian turns, punching through the air again, the whirlwind of force easily knocking heavy metal equipment over as if theyâre weightless. He began to scream and shout, demolishing the gym with his random thrashing, spinning like this confused thoughts were. He was so caught up in his strife that the whirring sound of the door opening made him jump.
Ianâs attention immediately turns just as he was about to deliver another punch. However, when he realized a man was entering, his construed expression quickly turned worried. He was aiming right for the door now! At the last moment, he twists his arm up towards the ceiling. The room trembles as it struggles to contain the final whirlwind he causes, shaking the very foundation of the damaged walls. The roaring quickly dies down, leaving Ian panting and clutching his aching arms while looking dejected. âIâm so sorry, I donât know what came over me. Are you hurt? Iâm so so sorry, I just...â He trailed off looking to the ground with a furrowed brow. âI-I donât know whatâs wrong with me.â