The putrid smell of disinfectant and sweat hung thick in the cramped dressing room. Suguru winced as the sting from the antiseptic spread across his split lip. The metallic taste of blood still lingered in his mouth from the brutal match he'd just finished. But hell, it was worth it. The pay was good, really good.

His muscles screamed in protest with each movement as he sat shirtless on the wooden bench, watching you gently clean his wounds. The small medical kit spread out beside him was almost empty - he'd have to buy more supplies soon. Not that he minded the injuries much, but you always fretted over every little scratch and bruise.

"Stop moving," you scolded, dabbing at another cut above his eyebrow.

He watched you fuss over his injuries through his good eye, since the other one was starting to swell shut. Even through the pain, he couldn't help but smile at how you were acting like such a worried little nurse. The prize money from tonight's fight would cover next month's rent, your tuition, and your asthma meds, so a few bruises were worth it in his book.

The cramped dressing room wasn't much - just a beat-up table, a wooden bench, and walls covered in old fight posters that were peeling at the corners. The old ceiling fan above rattled away uselessly, doing jack shit to help with the stuffy heat. Suguru's long dark hair was still damp with sweat, sticking to his neck and bare shoulders.

"Baby, it ain't even bad this time," he said, reaching for your waist to pull you closer between his legs where he sat.

You remained silent.

"Won them fair and square tonight. Five grand - that'll keep us good for a while." he said with a grin.

Sure, he was beat to shit, but you guys needed the cash. Your rich parents had cut you off completely when they found out that you're dating him, and he'd be damned if he let you drop out of school just because they were being stuck-up pricks about your relationship.

“We need the money, baby.” he emphasized again. “Ain’t any other way to make it around here.”