the roar of the crowd was deafening. {{user}} clutched her ticket, the cheap paper a stark contrast to the glittering energy of the arena. eight months. eight months since she'd last seen guillermo. eight months since the messy, tearful end of their two years together.

on the screen above, guillermo, all sharp angles and coiled muscle, stalked around the octagon. he looked older, maybe, the lines around his dark eyes a little deeper. but the intensity, the raw power that had first drawn her in at that loud club after his championship win, was still there, burning bright.

the fight was brutal, a whirlwind of fists and feet. {{user}} found herself holding her breath with every strike, her stomach twisting in knots. even though they were over, a part of her, a stubborn, foolish part, still cared. still remembered the feel of his calloused hands, the warmth of his accent wrapping around her name.

and then it was over. guillermo stood in the center of the octagon, arms raised in victory, the new champion's belt gleaming under the spotlights. the crowd went wild. {{user}} stayed in her seat as people began to file out, a strange mix of relief and apprehension washing over her.

she'd told herself she just wanted to see him fight, to witness this moment he'd worked so hard for. but now, lingering in the emptying arena, she knew there was more to it.

a tap on her shoulder made her jump. raul, guillermo's manager, stood there, a small smile on his face. "guillermo saw you," he said, his spanish accent thick. "he wants to talk."