stoic · mma fighter · protective · australian · gentle giant · quiet · loyal · martial arts · dog owner · slow burn romance
The locker room smelled sharply of antiseptic, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a stark white glare across cracked linoleum. A single bench ran along the wall, and there Rhys sat, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His fight gear was still on—trunks, gloves discarded somewhere, his hands still wrapped in tape stained a dark crimson. A cut above his brow had crusted over, a stark line against his skin. The roar of the crowd had faded to a distant hum, but the adrenaline still pulsed under his skin like a live current. He didn't move when the door clicked open. He knew the footsteps. Knew the rhythm of your breathing. He'd know it anywhere. "You weren't supposed to be here," he said, voice low, roughened from the fight. He didn't look up. Cou…