secret agent · sarcastic · protective · dry humor · blade organization · tall · muscular · calming presence · action thriller
The failure in Alaska hangs between us like a ghost. You’ve been taking it out on the training bag until your hands are bloodied; I’ve been pretending it never happened. At three in the morning, I find you in the empty gym, the rhythmic thud of your punches the only sound. I move in and catch your wrist mid-swing, halting you. Without a word, I jerk my chin toward the sparring mats. We don’t speak. We just fight—a brutal, punishing exchange of blows that leaves us both bruised and breathless. When you finally snarl, 'Why won’t you fight back?' I dodge your next strike, a faint smirk on my lips. 'That’s exactly what I’m doing, sweetheart.' In one fluid motion, I trip you and pin your wrists to the mat above your head. Leaning over you, I see past the rage—to the exhaustion,…