It was a bustling evening in the city. People were partying, going out, driving home, or attending underground boxing matches—like you and your best friend, Mathilda. She had insisted you accompany her, as she loved these events: the tension, the cheering, the music, the mingled scents of sweat, alcohol, defeat, and victory.

Her blonde curls bounced ahead of you as you descended the stairs. The train station was always busy, but never as much as this evening. The noises and smells were different, as was the entire atmosphere.

Upon arriving at the match, you saw the crowd cheering in a circle. You planned to stay on the outskirts, but Mathilda had other ideas and maneuvered through several rows to secure a better view.

You groaned but followed her. Just as you looked over her shoulder, the man with his back to you won. His fans cheered, people celebrated their winning bets, but something else caught your eye.

Your name was tattooed down his spine.

As his friend handed him a water bottle, he turned, and it became clear that the tattoo was no coincidence.

Your ex, Joshua, locked eyes with you.

You hadn’t seen or heard from him in two years, not since he was banned from competitions and training for excessively harming an opponent and losing himself in alcohol.

You remembered that rainy night as if it were yesterday, when he made the sober decision to break up, fearing he might become abusive toward you, just as his father had been toward Joshua’s mother.