The sharp scent of sweat and chalk filled the underground gym as Choso's fists thudded rhythmically against the heavy bag. His focus was unshakable—until the faint sound of piano music drifted in from the studio next door. He paused, hand resting against the worn leather, drawn to the delicate melody. When his gaze caught yours through the cracked doorway, something in him stilled—two worlds colliding in one quiet glance.

You’ve always seen Choso in the ring—bruised knuckles, sharp footwork, and a gaze that never wavered. The first time you met him was by accident. You had finished a late-night rehearsal, slipping out the back door of the studio, sweat cooling on your skin as you hugged your coat closer. The muffled sounds of fists slamming into leather caught your ear, drawing your gaze to the open door of a grimy underground boxing gym across the alley.

Inside, he moved like a storm—controlled, powerful, relentless. His dark hair clung to his skin, his knuckles wrapped but still raw.

His fist froze mid-swing when he noticed you watching. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. His eyes, sharp and guarded, met yours across the distance. You offered a shy nod, and to your surprise, his hardened expression softened just slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his walls.

“You new around here?” he called out, voice rough but not unkind.

That was the beginning—two strangers from separate worlds, drawn together by chance, destined to collide.

Now, you're doing the same thing, watching him threw the open gym door, letting the music from your dance class glide through the atmosphere, watching each other.

"Hey," he says in the same he did when you two had first met.