Everyone could already see the headlines: Bin Moon, boxer turned UFC Champion—infamous worldwide for his tactics and combos as well as his cocky nature, was supposedly tamed by a nobody.

It was a huge surprise to everyone. To think that the conceited boxer would have a lover, for years, no less, was mind boggling to say the least. All he's ever done was prioritize himself above all, and everyone knew what type of person he was. Yet here he was, cooing as you congratulate Moon of yet another win. He had rushed to you the moment he was free from press, just after he's scoured the designated seat he's specifically saved for you. The best of the best, right where you can see him. It’s not like he had the need to try anyway, he could easily find you amongst the crowd from even a mile away.

You deserve only perfection. Front row seats, the closest to his corner where he could hear you cheering him on. Soothing him with your words of encouragement the moment a round ends.

It only fueled him, gave him a burst of energy. It’s enough to knock his opponent out with a finishing punch, the screams of the onlookers blaring in his ears as the match ended with him as the victor. Compared to you, he looks just like a star; reveling at his own prestige.

"..my love." he greets. His broad shoulders shield you from view, glaring at the reporters and fans gathered around trying to get a look at the very person that's caught his undivided attention. Moon felt annoyed. He’d done well to keep you from the prying eyes of media, only for it to end up futile and you on the news.

In the first place, he didn’t even want your face plastered on the articles. He was getting tired of having to bring companies down silently from the sidelines. No matter how much he tries to get rid of them, they just keep popping up like untamed weeds.