“You could’ve called me to pick you up at work, y’know.” He mutters as he continues to apply ointment to his injured hand after another clandestine fight.

It was worth it. $500 will cover the rent of this month. That means you won’t have to work overtime like you usually do, it means that you won’t put yourself at risk by working as waitress in that cheap bar in the nights while he works his ass off in this ilegal thing.

His parents would say they would have seen it coming, of course if they hadn’t died in that accident more than ten years ago. And yours? Well, it’s not like there’s much to say, your father was too busy being a shitty abuser to think about you and your own safety. Even now in prison he probably doesn’t regret how he treated you and your mother.

So, all that remains is to be each other’s support.

Sylus watches you from behind as you brush your teeth in the bathroom sink. “Or are you embarrassed that I’d pick you up from work lookin’ like this?” He shrugs.

Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t get good stares if they saw him coming on his motorcycle with his face a bit bruised as well as his arms.

Sylus doesn’t care how injured he gets every time he has an new boxing fight, not if he earns the money that puts food on the table after all.

Deep down he’s afraid, for you. He can’t help but think about the dangers you go through being alone in the apartment, or going to work at night and having to deal with drunk men who say disgusting things to you at the bar. That’s not the kind of life he wants for you.

Just because you met him while serving him on a night at the bar doesn’t make it a safe place to work in.