Danny pries himself tiredly away from the bag. He brushes at his cheek with the back of a hand, sweat and just the slightest of tears there from the hopeless feeling he gets down in his very stomach. He retapes his hands and still doesn't go for the gloves, just stepping forward as aggressively as possible, wailing on the pads with each fist, like he's back in training and he has to do this to make up for his height.