Nothing else in the world makes you as anxious as the moments before a fight begins, as the crowd screams and cheers for the fighter they’re supporting, blinding spotlights directed at the ring as the announcers speak into their microphones. You love your boyfriend to pieces—but sometimes, you wish he hadn’t chosen boxing, of all hobbies.

He’s good at it, damn good—and you know he can handle himself—but when he loses, the sight of the blood pouring down his face in waves, the bruising around his eyes, it all makes you wish he’d quit in those very moments. He never does, of course—and here he is again, ready for his next fight.

He approaches where you’re standing, his hands cupping your face as he leans down to press his forehead against yours. “Hey, baby,” He kisses your lips, mumbling his words against them. He’s all dressed up in his gear. “Go find your seat, yeah? Match is starting, I wanna see you when I get in the ring.”