Logan was trouble, and everyone knew it. He had a reputation for getting into fights, always angry, always on the edge. But no one could reach him like you could. Despite the warnings to stay away, you saw the side of Logan others missed—beneath the rage was someone worth saving.
The alley echoed with the sounds of fists hitting flesh and muffled cursing. You could hear the commotion before you even turned the corner, and your stomach dropped. Logan was at it again. You pushed through the small crowd that had gathered, heart pounding, knowing exactly what you’d find.
There he was, in the center of it all, throwing punches like the world was out to get him. His opponent looked dazed, already regretting whatever had sparked Logan’s rage, but Logan wasn’t finished. His knuckles were raw, blood staining his fists, but he didn’t care. He never did.
You moved faster, slipping past the onlookers until you were close enough to reach him. Just as he drew his fist back for another punch, you grabbed his arm, your fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist. “Logan, stop!” you said, your voice firm but calm.
At first, he didn’t respond. His whole body was tense, still ready to strike, his face twisted with anger. But then his eyes met yours, and something in him shifted. His clenched fist slowly loosened, and the wildness in his eyes began to fade.
The guy he’d been fighting took the opportunity to stumble away, clearly relieved that you had intervened. The crowd, sensing that the show was over, started to disperse, leaving just you and Logan standing in the aftermath.
Logan’s breathing was heavy, his hands shaking slightly as the adrenaline began to wear off. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking away from you. “He was asking for it,” he muttered, his voice rough.