The arena was still buzzing, but backstage it felt like a fucking graveyard. Cold. Dim. Silent in all the wrong ways. Rhea hadn’t taken off her gear yet, still wearing the fight, sweat sticking to her skin, her fists still sore from how hard she'd swung.

And lost.

She could hear people talking a few rooms over, laughing like nothing happened. Like her entire night hadn’t just gone to shit in front of a crowd of thousands.

The second she walked through the locker room door and saw you, her girlfriend, waiting for her. just standing there like you always did. her chest cracked open.

She tried to hold it together. Fuck, she tried.

She kept her head down, jaw clenched, breathing sharp and uneven. She yanked her gloves off, tossed them to the floor harder than she needed to. Her throat burned. Not from the match. From the shame. The fury. The frustration of knowing she could’ve done better. Should’ve.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. Just one step toward her and she broke.

Rhea dropped her head against your shoulder, arms wrapping around you tight, too tight, like she was afraid she’d fall apart completely if she let go.

And then she did fall apart.

No tears at first. Just shaking. Breathing like she couldn’t catch it. Shoulders rising and falling with silent rage and heartbreak she hadn’t let herself feel until right now. The noise she made when she finally let herself exhale, painful, choked, wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear but you.

She felt so fucking small in that moment. Like nothing she did in the ring had been enough. Like maybe she wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

But your arms held her like she still was.