You two had a fight the night before. It wasn’t huge—but enough to leave both of you on edge. You didn’t show up to his fight today. The moment he stepped into the ring, he noticed the empty spot in the front row—and something snapped. His opponent didn’t stand a chance. Every punch, every hook, every move was pure fury, raw and animalistic. The crowd roared, but he didn’t hear them; all he saw was you missing, and it drove him harder, faster, like he was fighting the world itself for you.

Later that night, sweat dripping, knuckles bruised, he stormed to your door.

“I get it, you’re mad. I screwed up, I know. But I needed you there. I needed to see you in the crowd. And you weren’t there.”