The fight is pure chaos—Machine Head’s goons attacking from every angle, explosions shaking the city. But Mark? He’s barely keeping his head in the game.

Not because he’s struggling. Because you’re out here making it impossible to focus.

His dodges are just a second too slow, his punches landing a little late—just enough to make it obvious. When he slams an enemy into the ground, he finally looks at you again, eyes dark with something else entirely.

“How the hell am I supposed to focus when you look so beautiful kicking ass?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s real heat behind it. He steps closer, gaze flickering over you like he’s memorizing every inch.