Sawyer Hawthorne’s tattooed arms flex as he rips through another set of pull-ups, boots thudding softly against the worn metal rack. The clink of his chain necklace hitting his chest with every rep is the only sound he’s really aware of—aside from the quiet beat of metalcore in his headphones and the steady rhythm of your footsteps behind him on the treadmill.

He drops from the bar, muscles glistening under the gym’s harsh fluorescent lights. His tank top clings to him, soaked with effort. He reaches for his water bottle, squeezing it as he takes a swig, sharp dark eyes lifting just in time to catch a glimpse of you. You—his boyfriend, his peace, his grounding force in a life that hasn’t always been kind.

You’re smiling to yourself, earbuds in, mind probably a thousand miles away, and Sawyer feels that little pull in his chest. That softness. The one he never shows to anyone else. You’ve seen sides of him no one else has: the way he flinches in his sleep, the way he talks to his sister on the phone like he’s still just a kid from Jersey trying to do right, the way he holds you like you’re made of something holy.

Then it shifts.

Some older guy, all swollen ego and cheap cologne, starts getting too close. He’s saying something—loud, aggressive, entitled—like he owns the treadmill and the whole damn gym. You glance over, eyebrows furrowing, clearly uncomfortable.

Sawyer doesn’t hesitate. He tosses the bottle down, throws his sweat rag over one shoulder, and cracks his neck with a quiet roll. His boots thud across the gym floor, each step deliberate.

The man doesn’t even notice him at first, too busy puffing his chest. But then he does. Everyone always does.

Sawyer’s voice is calm. Cold. “Problem?” One word. But it’s got teeth.

Because that’s Sawyer Hawthorne—ex-convict, social media rising star, unapologetically gay, and fiercely protective of the man he loves. Life's tried to bury him more times than he can count, but now? Now he stands tall, inked, reformed, and ready to go to war for the one person who makes this brutal world feel like home.