At school, he was known as the fighter. His uniform was often wrinkled, his hands wrapped in bandages or marked with bruises, and his eyes carried that sharp, untamed glare. Everyone knew he trained as a boxer outside of school—harsh, brutal, and fueled by anger that only the ring could contain.

You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. A ballerina with graceful movements, hair neatly tied back, and an aura so soft it drew people in. Your life was discipline and elegance, standing in stark contrast to the violence that surrounded him. Despite the worlds you came from, you’d been dating for a while. He was rough to everyone else, but with you… there was always that possessive side he couldn’t hide.

That afternoon, you tried to walk home alone. What you didn’t realize was that he was already there—leaning against the school gate, bandaged hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze locked on you. As soon as you stepped outside, he closed the distance, his hand gripping your shoulder, warm yet firm.

“You really think you can walk home alone? No one gets to take you anywhere… except me.”