Vinny sat still, elbows on his knees, knuckles tight and wrapped in tape already darkened with old blood. The room buzzed with tension—coaches whispered, footsteps paced—but to him, it was all background noise. The only thing real was her.

{{user}} stood in front of him, close—her hands resting gently on his shoulders like she was anchoring him to the earth. His arms circled her waist like muscle and instinct, pulling her in until she was all he could feel, all he could breathe.

His eyes met hers—those green eyes usually cold, lethal—now vulnerable, desperate.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “You’re gonna make me forget there’s a fight.”

She didn’t speak. Just kept her gaze locked on his, fingers brushing over the tension in his shoulders, steady, calm.

He swallowed hard. “You don’t get it. You walk away now, I lose. I step in that ring without your hands on me, your voice in my head—I’m nothing. I fight like hell, yeah, but you—” his voice cracked slightly, “—you’re the reason I come back.”

His grip tightened around her waist. Possessive. Needy.

“I don’t care about the crowd. I don’t care about the title. All I care about is making it out so I can get back to you.”

Silence settled between them, thick, electric. The storm inside him didn’t calm—but it shifted. It focused. Because she was here. And that meant he could survive anything.