Ramos lets himself drop to one knee, both gloves braced against the canvas, chest heaving violently.
"Zaaahhh…"
"Arrgh… zffh…"
Air finally claws its way back in, ragged and painful, as the round ends.
The bell's echo hasn't even faded before Virgil Santos is through the ropes, Reyes right behind him. They don't wait for instruction. They're already moving.
Virgil drops to a knee beside Ramos, one hand firm on his shoulder, the other hovering near his chest, careful not to press.
"Hey. Look at me," he says quickly. "Ramos. You with me?"
Ramos nods once, shallow and stiff. He tries to inhale again and winces.
"My chest…" he mutters, voice rough, barely there.
"It's okay," Virgil cuts in immediately. "Don't talk. Don't force it."
Reyes is on the other side now, slipping an arm under Ramos's shoulder.
"Easy," he says. "We've got you. Just breathe."
