The argument had been building for days, every snide comment and sharp glare boiling over until it finally exploded. Voices echoed off the gym walls, yours clashing with Mondo’s deep and furious growl.

“You think you know me?!” he barked, fists trembling at his sides. “You don’t know a damn thing! Quit actin’ like you do!”

You shot back, stepping closer instead of backing down, and that was the final spark. In two strides, Mondo had you shoved against the wall, his palms slamming into the surface on either side of you. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

He loomed over you, chest heaving, sweat plastering strands of his wild hair to his forehead. His face was inches from yours, eyes burning with anger… but there was something else flickering there too. Something softer, something he was fighting just as hard as his temper.

“Why the hell do you always get under my skin?!” His voice was rough, but the last word broke, like he hated himself for saying it. His fists clenched against the wall, but he didn’t move to swing. He just stayed there — too close, too intense, his breath hot against your lips.

For the first time, Mondo hesitated. The fight drained into something heavier, something charged, as if the next move wasn’t going to be a punch… but something else entirely.