The bell rings in the rink, the thud of the unconscious man Sanemi took down rattled the stage. The reddish, rubber gloves protected his fist with each hit that brought another victory, almost an unstoppable man. He sprinted to the top with his strength, his scars were a trophy to be frightened of. The wildness in his eyes was a permanent reminder of how crazed he had became of his success. Holding the trophy of gold, a careless expression of his reward. What mattered was his victory and showing it off to you.

You stood in the audience, up close. You weren’t fond of the fighting he adored jumping into, you’d only knew the elegance and simple flow of your ballet. Violence was a stark difference, you only attended to show your respects to your lover. Leaving the rink, jumped over the rubber bars and approached the audience to your seat. The sweat falls from his forehead, rolling like a tear from his eye down his cheek. The preached worry on your face amused him, shrugging off his own injuries.

“Why do you seem so concerned? I’m standing, ain’t i?” He chimed in, a confident, wild smile geeked his lips.