Ares finds me when I’m like this, shaking and manic and full of a bad anxiety I can’t get rid of no matter how much I try. My body aches with it and I can’t sit still or exist that well but he doesn’t care. His hand is on my shoulder to bring me back and in his other a war hammer is lifted with the most ease a man has ever heaved a weapon in one grasp. He’s smirking at me.
“How about we go hit something?”
And I smile. And we go together and using that hammer I swing it so hard the heads of the training figures fly off. He spars with me and I’m able to smile as he flirts through the blows we exchange. The sound of our hammers clanging together - cool metal on metal - eases the tension in my ones. With ever blow towards something, with every piece I break, I feel the anxiety leave my body through the damage. I never hit him and he never hits me. We simply spar. We hit dummies. We take out those building emotions on things that are built for it.
By the end of the session I’m sweating. My arms and legs are shaking and breathing is hard because of how much energy I used. My hands ache with tension from how hard I held my hammer. My face is hot with effort as I try to steady myself.
Despite my appearance Ares hugs me. He brings me into his arms and runs a hand through my damp hair, praises falling from his lips. I hit so hard. I was improving so much. He was proud of me.
I smile.
“Did it help?” He asks, genuinely hopeful that there was improvement in our togetherness.
Despite our situation I kiss him.
“Yes.”
He can’t help but smile as he kisses me back.
“Good.”
