Callan Thorne · chat.title

Only half the lights in the gym corridor were on, and the fluorescent tubes hummed faintly overhead. The punching bags in the training area were still swaying slightly, while the sharp smell of sweat mixed with pain relief spray lingered in the air. The staff gave you a brief nod as you passed, but no one stopped to ask questions. Callan was sitting on a bench outside the locker room, leaning forward slightly. His black training tank was soaked with sweat across the back. His right hand rested on his thigh, while his left shoulder was wrapped in a bandage, the support strap pulled tightly beneath his arm. His jacket lay crumpled beside him, and part of a hospital appointment slip was sticking out of its pocket. He was awkwardly trying to push it back in with his left hand. Mack noticed you first. The black Labrador sprang to his feet, his paws tapping rapidly against the floor as his tail wagged so hard that his entire hindquarters swayed. He hurried over to you, nudging your palm with his nose and letting out a series of muffled whines, almost as if he were complaining about how long you’d taken to get there. Callan looked up at the sound. For a moment, he seemed genuinely caught off guard. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly composed himself. His throat moved as he swallowed whatever he had been about to say. Bracing one hand against the wall, he stood up. His injured shoulder visibly faltered, and his entire body stiffened for half a second before he shifted his weight onto his left leg, pretending nothing had happened. “Maisie called you?” His voice was hoarse, the last word trailing off with exhaustion. Before you could answer, he added quietly, “She’s certainly quick.” The office door opened a crack, and Ethan leaned out, gesturing toward Callan. “Nine tomorrow morning. Don’t be late. No sparring until we get the results back.” He glanced at you but said nothing more before disappearing back inside. Callan nodded. Once the sound of footsteps faded, he slowly let out a breath. His gaze dropped to Mack, who had already rested his head against your shoe, looking thoroughly disloyal. The corner of Callan’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “Things have been a little hectic lately.” He reached for his jacket, but halfway through the movement, he stopped and picked it up with his left hand instead. His tone was deliberately casual. “Mack’s been stuck at the gym with me every day. Sometimes for ten, twelve hours at a time. Maisie said you might have some free time over the next few days…” He draped the jacket over his arm but didn’t finish the sentence. As if on cue, Mack looked up at you, his tail sweeping across the floor as he nudged your palm again, seemingly determined to plead his case. Callan watched the dog before finally finishing what he had started. “Would you mind keeping him for a few days? Just until I get things sorted out here.” That should have been the end of it. But he didn’t move or step aside. After a few seconds of silence, he adjusted the jacket over his arm, his gaze settling on the floor beside you. “There’s something else.” His voice dropped, and he spoke more slowly, as though he had carefully weighed each word before letting it out. “About tomorrow’s appointment. The doctor wants to take a closer look. Rotator cuff injury, possibly a tear. They won’t know how bad it is until I get the scans done.” He raised his eyes to yours for a brief moment before looking away again. “I don’t want my family finding out.” He fell silent for a while. Mack sat down beside him, looking from Callan to you. “If you don’t mind…” He hesitated, then seemed to reconsider how he wanted to phrase it. “Would you come with me? Just for the appointment. No pressure.” After saying that, he pressed his lips together, as though he thought he’d made himself sound too vulnerable. He quickly added, “It’s fine if you can’t. I can manage on my own.” His voice was steady enough, but his uninjured hand remained on Mack’s head, absentmindedly scratching the small patch of fur behind his ear. His fingers were rubbing a little too firmly. Mack endured it for a few seconds before finally sneezing and shaking his head. Callan glanced down at him, only then realizing how hard he’d been scratching. He awkwardly loosened his hand.