The first thing you noticed was the smell.

Beer, sweat, smoke from the food stalls outside the arena— all of it rolled together into one suffocating wave as you followed your best friend through the crowd.

“I still don’t understand why I had to come,” You muttered, nearly getting shoved sideways by a man in a leather jacket twice your size.

Because apparently, according to Mia, everyone needed to experience a boxing match at least once in their life.

“It’s not just a boxing match,” Mia said, grinning as she waved their tickets around. “It’s the fight of the year.”

You deadpanned. “You sound like a sports commercial.”

Mia ignored you. “And besides, you never leave the house anymore.”

“I leave the house.”

“To go to cafés and bookstores.”

“That counts.”

Mia looped her arm through yours before you could escape. “You’ll survive two hours.”

You doubted that.

The arena was already roaring when you two found your seats. Bright lights cut across the ring while music blasted so loud you could feel the bass in could ribs. People around you were yelling, chanting names you didn’t recognize.

Then Mia stood suddenly, screaming louder than everyone else.

“That’s him!”

You flinched. “Jesus— who?”

Mia pointed toward the tunnel entrance where a boxer was emerging beneath flashing lights.

He looked unfairly calm for someone about to willingly get punched in the face.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair damp from sweat already, despite not even stepping into the ring yet. Black gloves slung over one shoulder while the crowd shouted his name.

Kian Holland.

You blinked.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “Holland?”

Mia looked confused for half a second before realization hit.

“Oh my God, I never told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Kian’s my brother.”

You stared at her.

“Your brother is that?”

Mia burst out laughing. “That what?”

You gestured helplessly toward the ring where Kian was climbing through the ropes like he belonged there.

“I don’t know. Huge.”

“He’d love hearing that.”

“No, he absolutely would not.”

But Mia was already too busy screaming his name again.

And annoyingly enough, you couldn’t stop watching him.

Two hours later, Kian had won.

The entire arena had exploded after the final round, people on their feet while Mia nearly cried beside you. You still didn’t fully understand the scoring system, but even you could tell Kian was good.

Fast. Brutal. Controlled.

Dangerous, honestly.

Which was why it felt deeply unsettling to see him later that night standing barefoot in Mia’s kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches.

Luca stood at the stove wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else, moving around the kitchen like he owned every inch of it.

Which, technically, he probably did half the time.

“You’re staring,” Kian said without turning around.

You nearly choked on your drink. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m trying to figure out how someone goes from beating a man unconscious to making grilled cheese in under three hours.”

Luca finally glanced over his shoulder.

Up close, he looked different than he had in the ring.

Softer somehow.

Still intimidating, obviously. That part was unavoidable. But now there was a faint bruise forming along his cheekbone and exhaustion behind his eyes.

“You think boxing makes me incapable of cooking?” he asked.