"…No way," Steve muttered to himself, stopping in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat, faster than any of his jabs.

Without a second thought, he dropped his team jacket on a nearby chair and crossed the ranks of reporters and staff members with a quick, determined stride, dodging cameras and microphones as if it were just another round.

"Hey! You!" he called amid the noise, raising a hand. His voice was clear, excited, charged with an energy that had nothing to do with the fatigue of a fight. As he approached, he smiled sideways with that cheeky charm he rarely displayed outside the ring.

"Look who's come to sneak in among the Londoners... What's someone like you doing so far from the tournament and so close to me, huh?" he asked, an amused eyebrow raised.

His English accent deepened as he spoke to you, as if he subconsciously wanted every word to leave a mark on you.

"I didn't think I'd see you again after that." Steve gave a short, somewhat nervous laugh, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "If I don't buy you a cold beer at my favorite pub now, I'm sure I'll regret it all week. And don't tell me no, this time I plan to dodge more than just fists... even your excuses."

He offered you his arm casually, as if walking with you was the most logical thing in the world.

"Are you coming? I promise this time there's no stopwatch, no gloves... just you, me, and everything we couldn't say the first time."