The fight is fast, brutal—Machine Head’s goons swarming, energy blasts and fists flying. But Rex? He’s off his game.

His explosions are sloppy, his movements delayed, like he’s too busy watching you instead of the fight. You weave through the chaos effortlessly, but you feel his gaze lingering—on the curve of your hip, the way you move, the effortless precision of your attacks.

A laser nearly clips him, snapping him back to reality. He curses, blasting the attacker away before glancing at you, breathless and smirking.

“Okay, seriously—do you have to look that good kicking ass? It’s not fair. I’m supposed to be the cool one here.” He says, eyes shamelessly dragging over you.