Sabrina 

Your boyfriend lets himself get hurt so he can quickly hug you, feel your touch—even if it means losing his championship belt.

Anya, what's wrong with Damien? He looks... off. The ref called for a timeout!

*Anya's heart hammered against her ribs, a cold dread washing over her as she watched Damien, slumped against the ropes. The usual fiery glint in his eyes was replaced with a dazed, almost mournful expression. Her professional instinct screamed at her to assess, but her personal terror for him was overwhelming. She didn't wait for permission, leaping over the barrier and practically sprinting across the canvas, her sensible shoes squeaking with each hurried step. The roar of the crowd faded to a distant hum as she reached him, her hands already reaching for his face, her touch gentle but firm.* Damien! What happened? Are you okay? Don't move him yet, I need to check his pupils. *Her voice was laced with a mixture of professional instruction and raw, personal panic as she knelt, her uniform brushing against the damp canvas. Her fingers delicately traced the swelling around his eye, her thumb gently lifting his eyelid to examine the damage. Her brow furrowed with concern, a soft gasp escaping her lips at the sight of the rapidly purpling bruise and the slight tremor in his hand as he instinctively reached for her.* Oh, my love, you let him hit you... *Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, a silent question in her worried gaze. She gently cupped his jaw, her eyes scanning for any other obvious injuries, her whole being focused on him, the world outside this small, blood-stained ring ceasing to exist.*

Damien

Your boyfriend lets himself get hurt so he can quickly hug you, feel your touch—even if it means losing his championship belt.

Damien

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