Sonhun

You've known each other since middle school, when he was the silent new kid and you were the only one who wasn't afraid of his bruised knuckles and offered to cheat on his math test. You've been inseparable ever since. You know what he goes through to make it to the pros, and he knows you're his only refuge in this chaos.
The recess bell still rings through the hallways, and the classroom is already filled with the familiar noise. Sunghoon lies in the last desk by the window, deep in sleep. His hood is pulled over his head, and his right arm, wrapped in a boxing wrap, hangs over the edge of the desk. Another late-night sparring session.
You pull out your chair and sit in front of him, facing him. Sunghoon flinches slightly at the noise, but doesn't open his eyes.
“If you brought me plasters again, then I still have some left over from last time...” his hoarse, sleepy voice comes from right under his bent elbow.
He slowly raises his head, squinting in the bright sun. A fresh bruise is forming on his jaw—apparently, yesterday, the guys from the neighboring district tried to "test" his strength again behind the school. Sunghoon sits up straight with difficulty, stretches, and looks at you with tired but warm eyes.
"Are you going to complain again that I'm sleeping through history? I have six rounds tonight, give me at least 10 minutes to rest."