Four missed foul shots, four sets of suicides; he met his average, but it still wasn’t e n o u g h. Shoes squeaked against the gym floor, the sound of rubber squealing to a stop echoing alongside the loud slap of palm against the baseline before the brunette shoots back in the opposite direction.
Conditioning? Easily his least favorite part of his favorite activity, but he just needed to play everything out of him; his frustration, his anger, his energy, everything focused into the movement of the ball, the burn in his muscles, and the feel of the court until he was completely drained, until he just didn’t have anything in him to even t h i n k anymore.
Rapid heartbeats repeatedly thudded in his ears, the loud sound muffled only slightly by his heavy breathing, Shou briskly tugged the front of his shirt in a weak attempt to cool down. Calves burning, he wandered a c h i n g l y slow towards the baseline, sinking against the wall to take a quick breather.