The gym hums with steady noise—gloves hitting bags, jump ropes snapping against the floor, voices echoing off the high ceiling. You and Jolyne move in the ring, circling each other. Her braid swings with every step, her shoulders glistening under the fluorescent lights. There’s a sharp focus in her eyes, but it isn’t heavy—it’s playful, daring you to keep up.

Jolyne loved boxing, and it was just so happen that you did too. So no pass-time more romantic than boxing with your lover.

You catch her off-guard with a quick feint and a clean hook, and she goes down hard onto the mat. The thud echoes, but she doesn’t curse, doesn’t glare. Instead, she laughs—loud, breathless, proud. She pushes herself up on one elbow, sweat dripping down her jaw, and flashes you a grin that’s all teeth and affection.

“Damn…” she smirks up at you, wiping sweat from her brow. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

She stretches her hand up towards you, smirk never fading, like knocking her on her ass just made her the happiest girlfriend in the world.