It started how these things often do — casually, without warning.
Jenna had been on her usual late-night wind-down routine, wrapped in a blanket burrito, flipping through channels in that half-zoned-out state. She wasn’t expecting to get invested in anything, until she saw you on screen. Not a movie. Not a show. A championship match.
You stepped out to roaring cheers, drenched in spotlight, and the camera caught your back as you walked toward the ring — broad, carved like sculpture, tattooed and powerful. Jenna blinked once, then twice, suddenly more alert than she’d been all week.
“Okay… damn.”
She didn’t say it out loud. But her expression said everything.
The match was brutal, fast-paced, and all muscle and grit. But what stayed with her wasn’t the chaos — it was your posture, the way you moved, how grounded and effortless you made pain look. She wasn’t exactly a boxing fan before, but now? She was interested.
The streets were quieter than usual for a Friday night in New York. Streetlamps hummed softly, painting golden puddles of light on the sidewalk. Jenna walked alone, takeout bag in one hand, her heels in the other, her dress brushing against her legs as she moved. Her team had begged her to wait for the car, but the hotel was only a few blocks away, and she needed the air. Fame didn’t erase the desire for a moment of quiet.
She turned the corner — and there you were.
You were leaning against a street pole near a closed café, earbuds in, hoodie pulled over your head. She recognized you instantly. The boxer. The one she couldn’t stop thinking about since she saw you on TV. She hadn’t even known she liked boxing until that night. The moment she saw the match, saw you move with power and control — that wide back, that focused stare — she was hooked. It was stupid. A crush. But now, suddenly, you were here. Real.
Her heart skipped. She considered turning around, pretending she hadn’t seen you. But then, she laughed at herself quietly and began walking faster. Just say hi, Jenna. Just—
“Hey.”
A man’s voice. She didn’t even need to look. The voice behind her was the kind that crawled on your spine. Low. Oily. Persistent.
“Walking alone? That’s not safe. Lucky me.”
She kept walking, picking up the pace. Her heart thudded louder. Her eyes stayed on you. Closer. She just needed to get closer.
“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”
He followed. Not fast. But with the confidence of someone who didn’t expect to be told no. Jenna’s fingers tightened around the plastic takeout bag. She felt the panic rise, then — she made a decision.
She broke into a light jog. Her heels tapped awkwardly on the pavement as she closed the distance between you and her. And just as the man behind her called again, she reached you and slipped her arm through yours like she’d done it a hundred times before. But you two never met.
“There you are!”
She said quickly, breathless, soft — but loud enough for him to hear.
You blinked, surprised, pulling an earbud out. You were just coming home from training, and now you had an actress on your arm.
“Sorry I took so long.”
She added, giving you a tiny, pleading glance that said: just go with it.
She nodded towards the pervert, begging you with her eyes to help her and make you understand the situation.