: 009 between rounds - boxer!hollis x cutwoman!reader
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cw: aggressive behavior, physical injuries, violence, mexico city, week three, weigh in + morning of fight
content info: boxing au, touch as communication, injury care, tending wounds, professional boundaries, emotional messy boxer, reckless boxer, slow burn
disclaimer: all people in fic r aged up.
summary: you built your reputation the hard way. quietly, carefully. one fight at a time. by the time people stop questioning you, fighters are requesting you. across the country, hollis is building a reputation of his own. brilliant. reckless. impossible to control. so when his team calls and asks you to join his corner, you already know what everyone else does. he doesn't listen. but when the bell rings and blood starts running down his face, you're the only one he looks at between rounds.
a/n: IM SORRY SLUSHIES. it’s SO HARD writing about boxing when i barley am a fan myself … this chapter will be getting broken up because i believe in total it was around 32k words..?
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the hotel room is dark. the alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m and Hollis immediately wants to throw his phone across the room.
he groans into his pillow. fight week. weigh-in day. another day of cameras. another day of reporters asking the same questions. another day of pretending none of it gets to him.
he lays there for a second longer…then another staring at the ceiling, wide awake. the truth is—he was already awake. he hadn’t slept much, not after last night—not after the rooftop.
his jaw tightens slightly. his eyes close, which is a mistake because the second they do—he remembers it. your hand against his face. the way your voice sounded when you laughed. the way you looked standing beneath the city lights.
the kiss. god. the kiss. his stomach immediately flips. which is ridiculous because he’s fought in front of thousands of people, gotten punched in the face on live streams, gone viral for saying stupid things. and somehow—one girl kisses him and suddenly he’s acting like an idiot.
he drags both hands down his face, annoyed with himself. mostly because he already knows the truth: he likes you. not in the casual way, not in the temporary way, not in the way people assume (a little).
he likes talking to you. he likes being around you. he likes hearing your opinions on things. he likes how you laugh. he likes how you somehow make every room feel quieter.
and that’s a problem because you’re leaving in a few days. Mexico City ends eventually. the trip ends. the fight ends. and then what? he doesn’t have an answer. the thought sits heavier than he’d like. he stares at the ceiling again. fight day is tomorrow. he should be thinking about the opponent. he should be thinking about strategy. he should be thinking about weight.
instead—he’s thinking about the fact you kissed him on the cheek before walking into your hotel room. his eyes squeeze shut, “…jesus christ.” he sounds genuinely irritated. which only makes it worse.
his phone vibrates beside him. then again and again. he grabs it. twenty-seven notifications. perfect, exactly what he wanted. texts from; Marcus, Roman, and sponsors. emails asking interviews. new schedules. promotional appearances. he scrolls through all of them, already feeling exhausted.
his thumb pauses because he sees your name. nothing new, just your contact sitting there. the last messages from yesterday.
Y/n: don’t get punched in the face before then.
a smile pulls at his mouth before he can stop it. he immediately hates himself for it, the smile stays anyway.
outside the window—the city is already moving and waiting for him. for the first time all week—his stomach twists for a reason that has nothing to do with fighting. tonight is the weigh-in and tomorrow is the fight. but somehow— the thing making him the most nervous isn’t getting in the ring, it’s seeing you again.
walking into the gym feels like prison, at least according to Ryan. “i’m actually dying,” he says as all of you enter.
“you’re not dying,” you reassure.
“i can literally see god.”
Nate doesn’t even look up from where he’s sitting on the floor, “tell him i said hi.”
Ryan throws a towel at him and misses completely. Roman laughs, “your aim’s getting worse.”
“because i haven’t eaten real food in two days.”
Ryan points accusingly toward Hollis, “he started this.”
Hollis is sitting on a stationary bike near the back wall with his hoodie on and the hood up. sweat drips down his neck. he looks miserable, which somehow makes everyone feel slightly better.
at least they’re suffering together.
“i didn’t make you cut weight,” Hollis defends himself.
“friendship made me cut weight.”
Ryan groans, “when this is over i’m ordering three burgers.”
Nate nods in approval, “atta boy.”
the room fills with tired laughter. nobody has energy and nobody wants to be up at the gym. they’re all still here, though, because nobody wanted Hollis doing this alone, even if they won’t admit it.
especially Nate, who keeps pretending he isn’t worried and keeps checking the scale every fifteen minutes.
Marcus walks in a few minutes later with coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
he takes one look around, “wow.”
Marcus shakes his head, “you all look terrible.”
“that’s exactly what you want before a weigh-in.”
Ryan points toward Marcus, “wow, so great.”
“you’re professional athletes.”
“professional athletes should eat good to stay focused.”
Roman laughs. Marcus ignores all of them.
the gym doors open again. Hollis looks up immediately because he already knows who it is.
you step inside carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder. your hair is pulled back, and you have a hoodie on, looking annoyingly awake for this hour.
Marcus notices immediately, “look.” he points.“someone who doesn’t look like death.”
you take one look at the room then stop, “…oh my god.”
Ryan immediately points at Hollis, “it was his idea.”
“i didn’t even say anything.”
Nate groans from the floor, “can we eat yet?”
collective suffering. you laugh. the sound somehow makes the room feel lighter instantly. even Hollis smiles, small—barely there. but you catch it. your eyes meet his for half a second. you remember everything: the rooftop, the kiss, the cheek kiss last night. all of it comes rushing back. this time neither of you looks away, just a brief look. something warm and private between the two of you. then Ryan ruins it immediately.
“if you two start making eye contact like that again, i’m reporting it to those update pages.”
the entire room erupts. Nate falls sideways laughing, Roman throws a towel at Ryan, and Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose. you immediately hide your face while Hollis just shakes his head, but he’s smiling now.
now the weigh-in feels a little less terrifying for everyone with everyone sneaking at you and Hollis.
the workout finally ends around seven-thirty. thank god because everybody is miserable.
Ryan is laying flat on the gym floor, “leave me here.” you feel bad, he hasn’t been acting the same without his daily intake of actual food. none of the boys have eaten real food, but it’s affecting him the most.
Marcus looks down at him, “get up.”
Nate tosses a towel onto Ryan’s face, “dramatic.”
“you’re all gonna miss me and don’t act like you’re never over dramatic.”
Roman laughs, “we won’t.”
you shake your head, “you’ll survive.”
Ryan immediately points at you, “thank you.”
“i wasn’t talking to you.”
eventually everybody heads upstairs. showers, fresh clothes, and a chance to feel human again. for maybe thirty minutes. by eight o’clock, the hotel restaurant is filled with business people, tourists, families, and one very hungry fight team.
the second everyone sits down, Ryan grabs a menu. Marcus takes it away, “absolutely not.”
“biggest mistake of my life.”
you laugh into your coffee.
across the table, Hollis is already watching you. he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Nate notices immediately because of course he does. he kicks Roman under the table. Roman follows his gaze and immediately smirks.
uh oh. Hollis catches both of them looking and gives them a warning look.
they start laughing even harder.
thankfully, you notice none of it because you’re busy scrolling through emails on your phone.
you look up. it’s Hollis, of course. you raise an eyebrow, “i’m working.”
“it’s eight in the morning.”
“normal people don’t answer emails at eight.”
“you’ve been awake since five.”
Nate immediately points, “she got you there.”
Hollis rolls his eyes, but there’s an automatic smile there. the kind he only seems to get around you lately. which is becoming a problem, for everyone involved. especially him.
eventually breakfast arrives…or at least breakfast for everybody who isn’t cutting weight.
Ryan looks ready to cry watching everyone else eat, “this feels targeted.”
Roman takes a slow and dramatic bite out of his food.
Ryan glares, “you’re evil as fuck.”
for a little while, it feels normal. just conversation, jokes, pictures, Nate showing everyone some random video, Ryan nearly choking from laughing, Marcus threatening violence. the usual. until somebody checks the time. it’s 8:57 a.m. the mood shifts slightly. its getting closer to the real deal. two hours, that’s all that’s left. the weigh-in. the face-off. the cameras. closer to the fight. everything they’ve been working toward.
you glance across the table. Hollis is staring down into his coffee. he’s thinking, he’s quieter than everyone else.
you know that look now, fight mode. the version of him that gets quieter the closer things get. without thinking, your foot nudges his lightly beneath the table. his eyes immediately lift to yours. you offer a small smile, “you good?”
a beat passes. then Hollis nods once, “yeah.”he doesn’t look away right away. neither do you. the restaurant disappears for a while.
that is until Ryan speaks. “if you two keep doing that, i’m charging admission.”
the moment dies instantly. Nate nearly spits out his drink laughing. Roman completely loses it. Marcus closes his eyes. you immediately drop your head into your hands. while Hollis just shakes his head, trying—and failing—not to smile.
11:00 AM is getting closer. nobody’s really hungry anymore. Ryan and Nate’s hotel room always feels louder than everybody else’s. you don’t know how, the room isn’t even that big. but there’s music playing from somebody’s phone.
Ryan’s sitting upside down across one of the beds. Nate’s trying to figure out which shirt he’s wearing. and Roman is throwing pillows at both of them.
you sit cross-legged in the desk chair near the window with a coffee in your hand, watching the disaster unfold. “that shirt looks stupid.”
Nate immediately looks offended.
“all of them. where are the ones i said looked nice?”
Ryan nods, “she’s right.”
“i’m the voice of the people.”
Roman throws another pillow and it hits Ryan directly in the face. the room erupts again, for a few minutes it’s just that. you’re laughing so hard from everything they are saying and doing. it’s probably because everybody is trying to distract themselves from the fact that weigh-ins are in a couple hours.
eventually—the conversation shifts, like it always does. back to the fight.
Ryan stretches his arms behind his head, “you think he’s nervous?”
everybody knows who he means—Hollis.
Roman nods, “he won’t admit it.”
you smile slightly into your coffee because that’s true, very true.
Ryan glances toward you, “you met his opponent yet?”
you freeze for a second, nobody notices at first. except Roman because Roman notices everything.
you lower your coffee, “…yeah.”
three heads immediately turn toward you, “wait.”Nate sits up. “seriously?”
Ryan blinks, “from where?”
you hesitate for a second, “Massachusetts.”
the room gets quieter. it’s not filled with curiosity, the room gets filled with curiosity. Roman leans back against the wall, “how?”
you stare down at the coffee cup—thinking, “his sister.”
Ryan frowns, “what about her?”
you laugh softly because there’s really no easy way to explain this, “she was my best friend.”
that gets their attention immediately. all three of them. Nate sits forward, “seriously?”
you nod, “for years.” a pause. “we trained together.”
Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up, “wait.”
“yeah?” another pause. “that’s Naomi.”
the realization hits all of them at once.
you laugh despite yourself, “yeah.”
Roman’s eyes widen slightly, “that’s who you were talking about on the rooftop?”
you furrow your brows and immediately point, “how do you know about the rooftop?”
Roman looks away. guilty. Ryan starts laughing. Nate starts laughing.
you narrow your eyes, “what do you idiots know?”
“you’re terrible liars.” they are. very terrible liars. thankfully nobody elaborates because they’d have to explain why Hollis has spent the last week talking about you constantly. and nobody wants to die today.
Ryan clears his throat, “…so what’s the brother like?”
the question lingers. you think about it, “he’s good.”
Ryan groans, “that’s not what i wanted to hear.”
you laugh, “he is.” a pause. “he works hard.”another pause. “takes things seriously.”
Roman nods, “sounds annoying already.”
that gets a laugh. you smile but it fades slightly. the truth is—you haven’t thought about him in a long time. not really, not until this trip. not until the fight announcement. and definitely not until now.
Nate notices the look immediately, “you okay?”
your eyes lift. you smile, “yeah.” surprisingly—you mean it. for the first time in years—thinking about your home town doesn’t hurt quite as much.
a knock sounds against the hotel room door, everybody turns. Ryan gets up first and opens it. he immediately groans, “great.”
Hollis, standing in the doorway, hair still damp, in all black outfit. his hands are shoved into his pockets. he looks between everybody then his eyes land on you, immediately. like they always do now. neither of you says anything. just remembering everything. “hey.” his voice is casual, too casual.
that single word affects both of you way more than it should. moments later, Roman throws a pillow at Hollis. the room gets filled with laughter. you have no idea why all of you are acting like giggleshits. maybe just trying to lighten up the mood for Hollis.
“wait—no! those are the pillows on my bed!” Nate exclaims seeing the pillow hit the floor. you and Ryan laugh even harder. Hollis stares at Roman for a second before throwing it back at him, having a grin on his face.
a few moments pass where Hollis is just talking to the boys about pokémon again. you try to understand what he’s talking about. although he explained it to you, you’re still confused.
it’s your phone. you glance down, unknown number. you immediately know it’s probably work because somehow work always finds you, “hold on.” you stand from the chair.
Ryan shakes his head, “traitor.”
“no.” you laugh before slipping out the door, leaving them to start another argument without you. the fades as you’re heading down the hallway. you answer the call and spend the next ten minutes discussing paperwork, licensing, travel schedules, future events. pretty boring, very boring. by the time you hang up, your coffee’s cold and your social battery feels slightly drained. instead of heading back, you make your way toward your room. the second the door closes behind you, silence settles over the room. beautiful silence.
you kick your shoes off, drop onto the edge of the bed, and finally breathe. the room feels calm. safe without the cameras, media, and fight talk.
it’s just you—for maybe five whole minutes.
you blink, immediately suspicious. nobody normal knocks like that.
you already know who it is. you walk over, open the door, and there he is. Hollis. standing in the hallway with one hand shoved into his pocket and the other holding a hotel key like he wasn’t entirely sure you’d answer.
your stomach does something incredibly annoying like it always does.
“…hi.” his eyes flick over your face, almost checking making sure you’re okay.
“hi.” a beat passes. neither of you moves because suddenly you’re both remembering last night. again.
you lean lightly against the doorframe, “…what are you doing?”
Hollis shrugs, “i dunno.”
you immediately laugh, “great answer.”
“thanks.” the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
you hate how much you like seeing him smile. neither of you says anything. you just comfortably stand there.
then he speaks, “you disappeared.”
your eyebrows lift, “…you followed me?”
“no.” a pause. “i asked where you went.” that’s somehow worse.
you smile despite yourself, “oh.”
Hollis glances down the hallway before looking back at you, “you okay?” the question catches you off guard because he asks it like he genuinely wants the answer. not because he’s making conversation. not because he’s being polite. but because he wants to know.
you nod, “yeah.” you pause. “just wanted five minutes without hearing Nate scream.”
you laugh again. everything feels weirdly normal…until Hollis looks at you for just a little too long. and suddenly it isn’t normal anymore. his eyes soften the exact same way they did on the rooftop, the exact same way they have all week.
your heartbeat betrays you immediately, “what?”
his gaze drops briefly to your lips then back up. it’s gone so fast you almost think you imagined it, “nothing.”
lie. you narrow your eyes, “Hollis.”
now he’s the one smiling.
“we should probably get downstairs soon.”
you stare at him because he absolutely came up here for a reason. you sigh dramatically, “you’re avoiding the question.”
“you knocked on my door just to avoid questions?”
you laugh. he looks way too pleased with himself. and for one brief second, standing there in the doorway with the weigh-in only a few hours away, it almost feels like the two of you are the only people in the hotel.
the look in his eye changes, he rubs his neck looking at you like he is hurt.
you stare at him for another second, “…your neck?”
Hollis nods immediately, “my neck.”
you narrow your eyes, “your neck.”
“yeah.” the way he says it sounds suspiciously rehearsed. you know that. he knows that. but neither of you says it.
you sigh dramatically, “…come in.” the second the words leave your mouth, his expression changes. it’s not much but you still notice the change. he’d been hoping you’d say that. which annoys you immediately, “you’re smiling.”
Hollis follows you inside anyway. the hotel room is quiet compared to everything else today. no Nate, no Ryan, no cameras, no Marcus. just the two of you.
you point toward the chair near the desk, “sit.”
he does, immediately. which should’ve been your first clue because normally Hollis argues about everything. today? nothing. not one complaint. he’s acting very suspicious.
you step between his knees carefully, your hands moving toward the back of his neck. it’s professional, entirely professional…at least that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself, “where does it hurt?”
you gently touch the side of his neck, he doesn’t even flinch.
your eyebrow lifts, “hm.”
you continue checking anyway, moving carefully. your fingers brush against his skin, his pulse, the muscle near his shoulder. nothing feels wrong, at all. which is strange because when something actually hurts, Hollis complains about it—a lot. you move around in front of him, checking the cut near his eyebrow next, the same one from earlier. your fingers lightly tilt his chin upward. his eyes immediately lift to yours. the room feels way too small now. you try focusing on the cut, you really do. but Hollis keeps looking at you, not saying anything. just watching like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.
his mouth twitches, “stop what?”
you roll your eyes before glancing back at the cut. it’s still healing, still closed, still completely fine. which finally makes something click slowly.
your eyes narrow, “…Hollis.”
“your neck doesn’t hurt.”
“it absolutely does not.”
his smile finally breaks through. there it is, the truth. you stare at him, completely unimpressed, before lightly smacking his shoulder. the weakest hit in human history. it’s honestly embarrassing.
Hollis actually laughs, “ow.”
“you’re impossible.” you try walking away. you really do. except his hand catches your wrist first. it’s not hard, it’s more gentle if anything. your breath immediately catches. the room goes quiet again because suddenly you’re both very aware of the fact that he’s touching you. neither of you is moving again.
Hollis looks down briefly at where his fingers rest against your wrist before looking back up. his expression is softer now, less teasing and more honest. “i wanted to see you.”
your stomach flips instantly, of course that’s what it was. not the neck. not the cut. not any injury. just you. for a second, you genuinely forget how to breathe. “…that’s a terrible excuse.”
a small smile appears, “i know.”
neither of you lets go. your pulse races beneath his fingertips. and judging by the way his eyes flick toward your mouth—he notices. the tension feels unbearable now: heavy, warm.
weeks of almost, almost kisses, actual kisses, almost confessions, almost touching.
until finally, you carefully place your free hand against his shoulder just to steady yourself. nothing more. nothing less. but the second you do, Hollis exhales slowly. like that tiny touch affected him way more than it should have. somehow, it affects you too.
neither of you says anything because if either of you speaks right now, you’re pretty sure the entire situation gets significantly worse. the room falls quiet, too quiet. your hand is still resting lightly against his shoulder. his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. neither of you has moved. neither of you seems interested in moving either. the tension feels ridiculous now, like it has its own heartbeat. you swallow, immediately wishing you hadn’t because Hollis notices. and of course, he does. his eyes flick down briefly, then back up.
your stomach drops, “…we should probably go.”the words come out weaker than intended.
Hollis doesn’t answer right away. which is your first problem. your second problem is that he’s still looking at you, “…probably.” he makes absolutely no effort to let go.
you stare at him. he stares back, “…Hollis.”
the fact he keeps agreeing while doing absolutely nothing about it makes you want to laugh. or scream. maybe both. you shake your head, trying to ignore the way his thumb shifts once against your wrist. “you’re being difficult.”
a corner of his mouth lifts, “you like me difficult.”
your jaw drops, “oh my god.”
his grin gets worse, “you walked right into that one.”
“you kissed me first.” the second the words leave his mouth for what feels like the one hundredth time, the entire room changes because now you’re both thinking about it again. the rooftop, the lights, his hand on your waist, the way neither of you wanted to stop.
your heartbeat immediately speeds up, “that’s not fair. and last time i checked you liked it, didn’t you?”
his expression softens, “i know. i don’t know…maybe i’d have to kiss you again to see.” his eyes drift toward your mouth again.
you notice immediately and judging by the way his breathing changes, he doesn’t exactly care that you noticed. the distance between you suddenly feels very, very small. “Hollis…” your voice comes out quieter now. a warning, maybe?a plea, definitely. his gaze finally lifts back to yours. for a second, you genuinely think he’s going to kiss you. not because he’s cocky, nor because he’s impulsive, but because he wants to. the realization hits hard.
he steps forward slightly, barely an inch. your pulse jumps and then you place your hand flat against the center of his chest, stopping him. not pushing him, if anything you probably would’ve let it continue.
immediately his eyes drop to your hand, then back up.
“we have to go.” the words come out breathless.
Hollis closes his eyes for half a second like he’s physically restraining himself. when he opens them again, he’s giving you a small smile. completely gone for you, “…yeah.” a beat passes.“…you’re really committed to this whole ‘after the fight’ thing.”
you try not to smile but fail, “very.”
he lets out a quiet laugh through his nose and shakes his head once before he lets go of your wrist. the loss of contact feels immediate. deep down, that bothers both of you. you take a step back, trying to remember how breathing works.
Hollis stands and runs a hand through his hair before pointing toward the door, “c’mon.”
you raise an eyebrow, “that’s it?”
his laugh is immediate, “trust me.” his eyes meet yours slowly. “i’m definitely not giving up.”
your stomach gets butterflies. before he can make things worse, you immediately grab the door handle, “weigh-in.”
you open the door and as you walk out, you hear him mutter behind you—“…worth a shot.”which makes you smile all the way down the hallway.
the drive to the weigh-in is loud. not because of your group, everything outside is what’s causing all the commotion. every red light seems to have fans standing nearby, every block has posters, every turn has somebody holding a phone up. the closer you get—the worse it gets.
you sit beside Marcus in the van. phone in hand and another coffee balanced carefully between your knees. across from you, Ryan is staring dramatically out the window, “i miss food.”
nobody responds. a beat passes, “i really miss food.” still nothing.
Nate finally looks up, “we know.”
Ryan sighs heavily, “nobody understands my suffering.”
“you’ve said that seventeen times.”
“it’s because i’m suffering.”
Roman laughs. Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose.
sitting in the car, you realize you don’t feel nervous. not yet at least. you’ve done this before with different fighters, different cities, and different promotions. it’s same process and same chaos.
the second the van pulls up, the cameras start.
people shout names, security ushers everybody forward, reporters try asking questions before anyone even reaches the building.
the boys immediately get swarmed, “2Hollis!”
you stay close to Marcus and keep moving. you stay organized and stay out of the shots. you know the drill.
backstage is somehow even crazier since there’s nearly 30 people on site: makeup artists, photographers, publicists, hair stylists, event staff, everybody moving, everybody talking, and everybody needing something.
within minutes, everybody gets pulled in different directions. the boys head off for touch-ups.
you get sent over for hair. a stylist waves you over immediately, “sit.”
the woman immediately starts sectioning your hair while the straightener heats beside her. across the room, Nate is getting powder brushed across his forehead. Ryan is arguing with somebody over chapstick. Roman is taking pictures of himself. nothing unusual.
then there’s Hollis. the stylist working on him already looks tired, which feels impressive because she’s only been working with him for five minutes, “stop moving.”
“my head’s attached to me.”
the stylist closes her eyes.you immediately look away before she catches you laughing. across the room, Hollis catches it—unfortunately. the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. and now he looks far too pleased with himself. you hate that.
the stylist starts fixing his hair again, pushing it back, adjusting it, spraying it into place.
the photographers love it.
Hollis sits there with a sharp jaw, rings covering his fingers, and a black shirt, looking entirely too comfortable in front of the cameras. which is annoying because he claims to hate this. but somehow, he always photographs ridiculously well.
the stylist steps back after minutes, “there.”
everybody looks. you can’t lie, he looks good. professional and clean, exactly what they wanted.
Hollis reaches over, grabs a black and white bandana, and immediately ties it around his head.
the stylist stares. you stare. Nate starts laughing. Ryan starts laughing even harder after seeing nate’s face. Roman tries holding back a laugh seeing what Hollis just did.
the stylist looks horrified, “Hollis.”
“i just fixed your hair.”
the argument continues. the photographers are absolutely loving it.
now he’s laughing, actually laughing. which always photographs better. a photographer glances toward you. then toward Hollis. then back at you, “can you stand over there for a second?”
you immediately narrow your eyes, “no.”
the photographer laughs, “worth a shot.”
across the room, Hollis looks way too interested in that conversation. you pretend not to notice. he pretends not to notice you pretending.
touch-ups finish as well as hair and wardrobe. photos are ending soon. Hollis has got rid of his pants and now has black boxing trunks on.
the boys gather near the ring setup while more pictures get taken. some serious, some candid, and some absolutely ridiculous like Ryan biting his glove. Roman leans against the ropes. Nate pretends to punch the camera. it’s all typical stuff, the crew sprays water on everybody to make them look sweaty. which somehow turns into another argument, again.
through all of it, you notice something that nobody else does. not the cameras, not the fans, not the media—just you. Hollis keeps checking the time, keeps rolling his shoulders, keeps bouncing his knee whenever he sits down, keeps looking toward the weigh-in stage.
he’s nervous, not visibly and it’s not enough for the people around him to notice. but you know him now and you know exactly what nervous looks like on him.
the cameras see confidence, the crowd sees confidence, the headlines see confidence. you see the pressure. that makes you want to stand a little closer to him than usual.
the photographers are wrapping up. most of the individual shots are finished.the boys have already done the serious pictures, the laughing pictures, the training pictures, and the sponsor pictures. everybody thinks they’re done.
then a photographer suddenly looks around, “one group shot.” collective groaning.
Ryan drops his head back, “no.”
Marcus points toward the ring, “get in the ring.”
Ryan obeys immediately. a few minutes later, everybody is positioned around the ropes. Roman leans against one corner, Nate sits on the apron, Ryan pretends he’s not exhausted, and Marcus stands with his arms crossed. the photographer snaps a few pictures.
as everyone’s getting pictures someone shouts, “where’s Y/n?”
your head immediately lifts, “…why?”
the photographer points toward the ring, “get in there.”
“because you’ve been with these idiots all week.”
Ryan immediately points, “she’s with us now.”
“see? you’re one of them now.”
“too bad,” the photographer motions again, “come on.”
you sigh before climbing into the ring. you immediately regret it because every single camera turns toward you. the boys are loving this: Roman is already laughing, Nate is smiling, and Ryan is recording. traitors.
you end up standing between Nate and Hollis. the photographer takes one look before immediately stopping, “…actually.”
everybody freezes. uh oh.
he points at Hollis, “you,” then points at you, “you.” your stomach drops. absolutely not. “stand together.”
the room erupts. Ryan and Roman are giggling their heads of and Nate is making this infinitely worse. “oh this is huge,” Nate says looking at the photographer.
“shut up,” you roll your eyes.
the photographer ignores all of it, “closer.”
eventually, you end up standing beside Hollis—close. but not touching, it’s close enough though.
the photographer lifts the camera then pauses to think, “no.” uh oh.
“look at each other.” the room explodes again.
“that’s crazy,” Ryan is crying, actually crying from tears of laughter.
the photographer doesn’t care, “do it.”
you look over. Hollis looks over. immediately, the room gets quieter because the joke disappears for a second. you meet his eyes and suddenly everybody remembers—you actually like each other.
the photographer sees it immediately.
your expression softens without meaning to and Hollis looks calmer than he has all day. neither of you notices.
“perfect,” the photographer lowers the camera and starts scrolling through the pictures then he stops, “…oh.”
the room quiets, “what’s wrong?” Ryan asks.
the photographer turns the screen around. everybody looks snd starts laughing. the picture is ridiculous: not romantic, not obvious, nothing like that. Hollis is standing beside you, black and white bandana tied around his head, hands in his pockets, looking intimidating as hell. and you’re standing next to him with your arms crossed, looking completely unbothered.
it looks like; you’re both about to walk into a title fight together, you’ve been a team for years, and nobody should talk to either of you.
Ryan immediately points, “that looks like an album cover.”
Roman shakes his head, “no seriously.”
Nate nods, “that’s actually hard.”
the photographer nods, “that’s getting posted.”
you look at the photo then at Hollis then back at the photo. it looks really good, unfortunately and Hollis looks very attractive.
the backstage hallway feels smaller than it did an hour ago. maybe because everybody’s finally here. there’s all kinds of people moving in every direction, voices bouncing off the walls, and cameras already flashing.
you stand beside Marcus with your arms folded loosely, your phone tucked into your back pocket, trying not to get run over by anybody carrying equipment. the closer it gets to eleven, the more the energy changes. the joking disappears and Ryan looks more gloomy
Nate notices it too, “you okay?”
Ryan looks up, “i haven’t eaten real food in like twenty-four hours.”
across the room, Hollis is sitting in a folding chair with his elbows resting on his knees, head down, completely focused. a stylist makes one final adjustment to his shirt, another person fixes something with his chain.
a photographer snaps a few pictures.
Hollis looks seconds away from telling everybody to leave him alone. you smile slightly, some things never change.
then Marcus claps his hands once, “five minutes.”
immediately everybody moves, the boys stand, security starts directing traffic, and event staff begins guiding the fighters toward the stage entrance. your stomach twists a little, the realization has hit. you glance over and immediately stop.
Hollis is holding something. white.
the corner of his mouth twitches. the white lucha libre mask. the same one from the lucha libre fight you guys watched—the one you picked.
Ryan loses it, “oh my god.”
Roman doubles over laughing.
Nate points, “he’s actually doing it.”
Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose, “Hollis.”
“it’s cultural appreciation.”
Hollis puts the mask on anyway, the boys immediately start recording. the second the mask settles into place, the room erupts. everybody laughing, filming, taking pictures, except you. how he looks in the mask is kinda cool. which is annoying—very annoying.
then the stage manager points, “you’re up.”
everything goes quiet for a second.
Hollis looks toward the stage entrance, takes one slow breath then starts walking. the boys follow, Marcus follows, you follow.
the second Hollis steps onto the stage, the crowd immediately gets louder: phones go up, cameras start flashing, people shout his name.
the white lucha libre mask definitely isn’t helping. if anything, it’s making people lose their minds even more, “2Hollis!”
the announcer is already laughing, “still committed to the mask, huh?”
Hollis shrugs, “i paid for it.”
somewhere behind you—Ryan is holding back at laugh, Marcus looks exhausted, Nate is recording, and Roman is recording Nate recording.
Hollis reaches up and pulls the mask off. the crowd immediately cheers. and of course, instead of taking his shirt off normally, he pauses for a second. he looks directly at one of the cameras.
you already know, “oh my god.” beside you, Marcus sighs because he knows too.
Hollis grabs the bottom of his shirt, pulls it off, then immediately flexes. full double-bicep pose. for absolutely no reason.
the crowd loses it: screaming, laughing, and cheering.
“nooooo,” Ryan nearly falls over.
“my culture’s got him acting like this,” Roman holds back a smile.
Nate is recording the entire thing, “that’s my goat.”
“his opponent is right there.”
meanwhile, the photographers are loving it.
unfortunately, he actually looks good. which makes it worse, way worse. you physically look away, trying not to smile. and that’s exactly when Hollis notices you. his grin immediately gets bigger. you point toward the scale, “get on there.”
he laughs. then finally obeys. shoes off. shorts off. and now he’s moving onto the scale. he’s professional again. for about ten seconds.
the official leans forward, checks the number, then nods, “one eighty-five,” the announcer repeats it. the crowd cheers again. and done.
Hollis flexes one arm again, just to be annoying. the crowd erupts.
Marcus closes his eyes, “i trained him for months…for this.” he blinks as he
standing off to the side, watching the cameras flash, watching the crowd scream, watching Hollis act like the biggest menace in Mexico City, you can’t stop smiling. despite all the pressure, despite tomorrow’s fight, despite everything hanging over his head, he’s still him. that’s probably why everybody loves him.
the announcer gestures toward the opposite side of the stage, “let’s bring out Jace.”
the cheers settle into something different, their more quieter and curious. you’re not sure if it’s just because Jace is barley starting to make a name for himself but, you watch.
a new song echoes through the speakers as Jace steps onto the stage with no mask and no grin. a black hoodie is pulled over his head. his eyes stay forward locked on the scale.
he doesn’t acknowledge a single camera. you watch from the side as he peels the hoodie over his head, revealing months of training carved into every muscle. no showmanship. no flexing. he simply steps onto the scale.
the official glances down, checks the number twice then nods, “one eighty-five.”
Jace steps off without celebrating. without saying a word. he grabs his hoodie again, rolling his shoulders once before finally lifting his eyes.
for the first time since walking onto the stage—he looks toward Hollis.
the arena seems to quiet for half a second. Hollis doesn’t have his grin anymore. he looks like the one fighter no one could say anything to again. Hollis and Jace are staring at each other now, neither of them smiles and neither of them looks away. the fight suddenly feels a lot closer looking at both of them.
Jace is older, bigger, different, but familiar enough. familiar enough that memories try creeping back in. you shove them away immediately. today isn’t about any of that. today is about Hollis.
the two fighters meet in the center. face-to-face. close enough to touch, close enough that security immediately shifts forward.
photographers shout over one another. reporters lean forward. everybody tries to capture the moment.
Jace says something, you can’t hear it. Hollis answers, you can’t hear that either. but neither of them looks happy. the tension is immediate. thick. electric. the crowd loves it.
then, for one second, Hollis glances away briefly. his eyes find you immediately standing beside Marcus. watching. waiting. you don’t even think. you give him a smile. small. steady. then mouth the words: “you’re gonna do great.” that’s it. nothing dramatic. nothing anybody else notices. just four words. but you watch something change instantly. his shoulders loosen a little. the tightness in his jaw disappears. for the first time all day, he smiles, a genuine smile. it’s small, barely there, but its real. then he looks back at Jace, he looks ready. really ready.
standing there beside the stage, with cameras flashing, thousands of people watching, and tomorrow’s fight hanging over everybody, you realize something. you believe he’s going to win too.
thirty seconds pass. instead, everybody keeps pushing for more photos.
Jace and Hollis stand nose-to-nose. security inches closer just in case. the crowd loves all of it. everybody wants a viral moment. everybody wants somebody to shove somebody.neither of them does.
Jace smirks first, “you talk more online than you do in person.”
the crowd immediately reacts. a few laughs. a few cheers.
Hollis barely blinks, “still showed up though.”
the crowd gets louder. Jace’s jaw shifts slightly, not angry just competitive. the kind of look fighters get when they’ve been imagining this moment for months.
another round of camera flashes. then something changes. you notice it first. Jace’s eyes move. not toward the cameras. not toward Marcus. toward you for half a second. that’s all. his expression shifts. he’s not smiling. he’s not angry. he looks surprised. like he wasn’t expecting to see you here. like seeing you suddenly pulled him somewhere else entirely. back to home, that gym, to years ago. your stomach twists. because you recognize that look. the kind of look people get when they haven’t seen someone important in years.
Jace stares for a second too long. then says quietly, almost to himself, “…wow.”
you don’t think Hollis hears it. unfortunately, he does. his eyes flick toward you briefly then back to Jace, immediately noticing.
fighters notice everything, especially when they’re already wound this tight. Jace shakes his he tilts his head slightly, still looking at you. he finally speaks, “didn’t think i’d see you here.”
the crowd doesn’t hear it. the cameras don’t hear it. only the people closest which is you, Hollis, and Marcus.
you meet his eyes without hesitation, “it’s my job.” your tone is even. professional and nothing more.
Jace gives a small nod, almost sad then looks away first. the moment ends just like that. but not before Hollis catches it. not before Hollis notices the familiarity. not before Hollis notices that Jace looked at you differently than everybody else in the room.
the announcer steps between them. the face-off ends. security relaxes. the crowd cheers. everybody starts moving again.
but as Hollis turns away, his shoulder brushes Jace’s. he says something quietly, low enough that nobody else hears. except Jace.
Jace looks at him. a long second passes, “we grew up together.” that’s it. no explanation. no details. just enough to make Hollis think about it and just enough to make him glance across the stage toward you again. now, your home town feels a lot closer than it did nights ago. the second the face-off ends, everything becomes chaos again. security moves in. photographers start shouting. event staff begins herding people offstage. everyone talking over everyone else.
Marcus is immediately pulled away by somebody from the promotion, Ryan is asking where food is, Nate is still talking about the lucha mask, Roman is trying to steal Nate’s phone. you follow behind the group toward the backstage hallway, trying not to get separated and trying not to get hit by a camera. the adrenaline from the face-off is still buzzing through you. you glance down at your phone briefly then back up. and immediately notice something.
Hollis is quiet, very quiet. which is strange because usually after media events, he’s impossible. before fully committing to him as a fighter you’ve went though all of his fights. he’s very cocky, annoying, and loud after these kinds of things. today, he’s done nothing. he just keeps walking with his jaw tight, hands shoved into his pockets, staring straight ahead.
you frown, “…you okay?” no answer. you blink, “…Hollis?”
finally, he looks over, “what?”
yep. something’s wrong. you immediately know it, “you’re being weird.”
“you’re welcome,” he rolls his eyes.
you walk beside him for a few seconds, trying to figure it out because he’s definitely upset. you just don’t know why. eventually, you bump his shoulder lightly, “seriously.”
he sighs. looks away. looks back, “how long have you known him?” he asks.
oh? you stare at him for a second confused, “since i was like eight.”
his expression immediately changes into worse. which is somehow funny, “…eight?”
“yeah,” you laugh softly, “our dads worked together.” he doesn’t say anything. which makes you laugh harder. now you’re starting to understand, “…are you jealous?”
his head snaps toward you, “what?”
“i’m not.” he sounds offended, which is basically confirmation.
“i’m literally fighting tomorrow.”
“i’m not worried about Jace.”
you nod dramatically, “right.”
you laugh. the tension disappears for a moment until he speaks again, “…he looked at you weird.” he says quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear.
that catches you off guard. your smile fades slightly. you know exactly what he means. the look, the recognition, the history. you glance down briefly, “it’s complicated.”
Hollis immediately notices. he doesn’t look jealous anymore. he looks concerned which is somehow worse, “did he do something to you?”
your eyes lift, meeting his. you shake your head, “no.” partially true. “he was just there for the time being.”
Hollis studies you carefully then nods once like he understands. or at least understands enough. the hallway falls quiet for a moment. people continue rushing around you, staff yelling, camera flashes, doors opening and closing, but somehow, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
then Hollis nudges your shoulder lightly, “for the record.”
he shrugs, trying—and failing—to sound casual, “i still don’t like him.”
you immediately burst out laughing, “Hollis.”
“you’ve spoken to him for thirty seconds.”
you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. he smiles with you too. tomorrow he’s fighting Jace. today he’s just walking beside you, that’s the thing he keeps thinking about.
the conference room is packed with nearly everyone who’s there’s to promote and make some good money out of it. rows of chairs filled with reporters. cameras pointed toward the stage. lights bright enough to make everyone’s eyes hurt.
Hollis sits behind the table, one hand is wrapped around a water bottle. he’s looking significantly calmer than he did during the face-off, at least on the outside. Jace sits a few seats away. neither of them looking at each other.
you stay off to the side with Marcus. you’ve done this before, already knowing the routine. the fighters sit.
the moderator starts first, “tomorrow is one of the biggest fights of the year.” the crowd applauds. a few cameras flash. then the questions begin.
a reporter points toward Hollis, “Hollis, you've had an incredible year: multiple wins, growing audience, and big sponsorships. what do you think changed for you?”
Hollis leans back slightly. thinking. he then shrugs, “i stopped caring about being liked.”
the room laughs, even Marcus sighs because of course that's his answer.
but Hollis continues, “no seriously. when you're constantly trying to make everybody happy, you fight worse.”
a few reporters nod. that answer actually makes sense. another hand goes up, “what has been the hardest part of preparing for this fight?”
this time Hollis doesn't answer immediately.
you notice that. usually, he always has an answer. always. instead, he stares down at the table for a second, “the noise.” the room quiets slightly, “the noise?” Hollis nods, “everybody wants something, everybody has opinions, everybody thinks they know how you're supposed to do things,” a pause, “and after a while it gets loud.” the room goes quieter because he isn't joking.
for a second, you see exactly what you saw on the rooftop. not the celebrity or fighter. just a tired guy trying to carry way too much at once.
the moderator points toward another reporter, “what would a win tomorrow mean to you?”
this one makes him smile faintly, “peace.”
the crowd laughs but he isn't kidding, you can tell.
another question, this time for Jace. “do you think Hollis is overlooking you?”
Jace immediately shakes his head, “no. he'd be stupid if he did.” the room reacts with a few whistles and a few laughs.
the moderator grins, “so you're expecting a war?”
Jace smirks, “i'm expecting a fight.” the tension immediately rises again.
then the question nobody wants arrives. a reporter in the second row raises her hand, “question for Hollis.” uh oh, you know that tone, everybody knows that tone. the reporter glances down at her notes. then says, “there's been a lot of attention online surrounding members of your team this week.” your stomach drops immediately, oh no. Marcus closes his eyes, Ryan starts coughing, and Nate physically turns away because they all know where this is going. the reporter continues, “particularly your cut woman.” oh my god. the room immediately wakes up because people are nosy. a few cameras turn toward you, which you hate. the reporter smiles politely, “we've seen a lot of photos of you two together this week.” oh, this is terrible. absolutely terrible. “what has it been like working together?” you want to disappear, immediately.
across the room, Marcus looks like he's preparing for prison, Ryan is trying not to laugh, Nate absolutely is laughing.
Hollis glances toward you. just once. a quick look, you catch it. he looks back at the reporter calmly, “she's good at her job.” the reporter waits, clearly expecting more.
Hollis notices unfortunately. then adds, “probably one of the best people i've worked with.” your face immediately gets warm, that's worse, much worse.
the reporter smiles, “that's all?” the room laughs. you hate everybody Hollis smirks then takes a drink of water, “that's all you're getting.”
the crowd erupts because of course it does. and somewhere beside you, Marcus mutters, “thank god.” but the second the conference moves on, you accidentally glance toward Hollis and immediately regret it because he's already looking at you before looking away again.
the second the press conference ends, everyone is starving. absolutely starving.
Ryan is the first one out the door, “i swear if somebody makes me answer one more question before i eat—”
“you'll what?” Nate asks.
“i don't know, i'll cry.”
Roman laughs, “you were gonna cry anyway.”
Marcus shakes his head, “you all act like you've never made weight before.”
“we haven't,” Ryan mumbles dramatically, “you've made weight three times.”
Marcus sighs hopeless, completely hopeless.
by the time everyone gets back to the hotel restaurant, plates are already waiting: chicken, rice, vegetables, fruit, water, and electrolytes.
nobody even bothers talking at first, they're eating too fast.
Nate points his fork toward Ryan, “slow down.”
Ryan doesn't even look up, “no thanks.”
you laugh into your water bottle, “i've never seen people so excited over grilled chicken.”
Roman looks offended, “don't disrespect the post weigh-in chicken.”
Marcus nods once, “that’s true.”
you raise your hands, “my apologies. i didn't realize.”
“it shows,” the table laughs, even Hollis. he's sitting across from you this time. still quieter than usual. but every once in a while, you catch him looking at you. not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough for you to notice.
eventually, once everyone has actually eaten, Nate leans back in his chair, “can i ask something?”
he points his fork toward you, “that guy. Jace.”
your stomach immediately knows where this is going, “…yeah?”
Ryan looks up, “from where?”
you glance down at your plate for a second, “back home.”
Roman furrows his brows, “like… hometown knew him?”
you nod, “pretty much.” a beat passes, “he's Naomi's brother.”
the table goes quiet. Nate blinks, “…wait.”
Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose, “oh no.”
Roman slowly looks between everyone, “…who's Naomi?”
you raise your eyebrow, literally hours early they all were nosy about it. “my old best friend.”
Roman's expression softens immediately, “oh.”
Nate sits forward, “that's the one you told me about?”
Ryan lets out a quiet, “damn.” nobody jokes for a second. the realization settles over the table. Hollis hasn't said a word, not one. he's just watching and listening to you.
you shrug lightly, “it was a long time ago.”
Marcus speaks up gently, “does he know?”
you know exactly what he means. you shake your head, “i don't think so. and i'd like to keep it that way.”
Nate tilts his head, “you don't want him knowing you're here?”
“it's not that,” you think for a moment, “i just think it’s pretty pointless bringing up the past. it’s not high school anymore.”
that earns a few understanding nods. Ryan quietly points at Hollis, “well…tomorrow he's getting punched.”
Hollis finally looks up, “by me.”
the tension finally breaks. you laugh, “so supportive.”
“i'm incredibly supportive.”
Nate raises his water bottle, “to Hollis winning.”
everyone lifts theirs, “to Hollis winning.” plastic bottles clink together. for a moment, it feels strangely normal. just a group eating lunch before a big day. there isn’t any instructions being asked, cameras getting shoved in one’s face, and no directions to follow. just you guys. across the table, Hollis catches your eye again. this time, he doesn't look away. he just gives you the smallest nod. a silent promise. i've got this.
your alarm never gets the chance to go off. you’re already awake. you don’t remember the last time you actually slept through the night before a fight, maybe never. you sit on the edge of the hotel bed for a while. elbows on your knees. hands clasped together, listening. the hotel is almost silent. usually by now you’d hear Ryan dropping something. Roman laughing. Nate blasting music through the wall.
today…nothing. everyone’s awake. nobody feels like talking yet. your gaze drifts toward your phone on the nightstand. you tell yourself you’re checking the time. instead, your thumb unlocks the screen.
instagram. your search history is…not your proudest moment. Jace. Jace boxing. Jace highlights. Jace interview. Jace…Naomi.
your jaw tightens. last night—after seeing him, after everything she told you, after she’d gone back to her room…after you’d spent way too long staring at the ceiling…
you’d looked them up. not because of the fight, because of her. you wanted to know what her life looked like before all of this. before Mexico City. before you. Naomi’s page wasn’t hard to find. pictures from years ago: high school, the gym, amateur tournaments, old team photos, then—one picture stops you. Y/n. standing beside Naomi. both of them younger, boxing gloves slung over their shoulders, laughing at something outside the frame, nobody posing, nobody looking at the camera, just…happy. you stare at it longer than you mean to. it’s weird. you’ve only known her for three weeks. but somehow it’s hard to picture that girl becoming the one who apologizes for taking phone calls because she’s worried she’s inconveniencing people. hard to picture someone looking at her and deciding she wasn’t enough.
your chest feels tight. you lock your phone, “…yeah.” you rub both hands over your face, “…i’m actually fucked.” this isn’t about the fight anymore. you know how to fight, you know nerves and the pressure. what you don’t know…is why the thought of one girl waiting outside the cage is making your heart race more than standing across from Jace ever has. that’s new. and it’s terrifying.
a knock sounds at the door.
your head lifts, “…come in.”
the door opens slowly. Y/n peeks her head inside, “…decent?”
despite everything, you laugh. “barely.”
she rolls her eyes before stepping inside, already dressed: credential hanging around her neck, medical bag over one shoulder, she somehow already looks like she’s been awake for hours. “good morning, Hollis.” she tells you softly.
“morning.” the room goes quiet again. not awkward. it’s just a different feeling knowing there’s something going on between the two of you. everything hangs there between you.
she clears her throat, “…how’d you sleep?”
you snort, “that’s funny.”
she nods like she expected that answer, “figured.” she sets her bag on the desk before walking over, “sit.”
you don’t question it anymore. you just sit on the edge of the bed. she steps between your knees without thinking, which really isn’t helping the whole ‘stay calm before your biggest fight’ thing. she gently tilts your chin toward the window checking the bruise beneath your eye, “does this hurt?”
she presses around it carefully, “this?”
“good.” she moves to the cut near your eyebrow. studying it with the same concentration she always has. she furrows her brows every time she thinks. you’ve started noticing that, probably because you’ve started noticing everything “what?” she asks.
she looks up immediately, “that’s a lie.”
a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, “you’re impossible.”
“you still like me.” the words leave before your brain catches them.
she freezes for half a second then goes right back to checking your eyebrow, “…cocky.”
she laughs quietly, “hold still.”
not a no. your grin appears before you can stop it.
she notices, “don’t smile.”
she sighs, “you’re making my job harder.”
“thought i was making it more fun.”
she shakes her head, “fight day and you’re still annoying.”
“it’s part of the brand.”
“…unfortunately.” she gives the side of your head one light pat, “you’re good.” she steps back. the room somehow feels colder immediately,
“don’t test me.” she points a finger at you. “your only job today is to listen to Marcus, stay sharp…” she pauses. “…and come back to me without making me stitch your face together.”
the teasing disappears from your face, “…yeah?”
there’s something about the way she says it. quiet and certain. like she already expects to be waiting for you after it’s over. for some reason…that settles something inside your chest. another knock interrupts the moment.
Roman’s voice comes through the door, “breakfast!”
Ryan follows immediately, “if nobody eats i’m stealing everyone’s pancakes.”
Nate sighs, “you literally don’t have to make weight anymore.”
“doesn’t mean i can’t dream.”
Y/n laughs under her breath, “…come on.”
the breakfast room feels…wrong. everyone’s here: Marcus, Roman, Nate, Ryan, you, and Y/n.
coffee pours. plates clink softly. someone reaches for toast. and yet…almost nobody talks. Nate is the quietest person in the room, which is honestly unsettling. he stares into his oatmeal, “…i hate fight day.”
Nate pokes at his eggs now, “…my stomach’s in knots and i’m not even fighting.”
Marcus finally looks around the table, “good.”
everyone looks at him, “means you understand what’s at stake.” silence settles again. not uncomfortable. focused. everybody’s feeling it. the pressure. the anticipation. the countdown.
without saying anything, Y/n reaches over and slides another bottle of water toward you. you glance at her.
she doesn’t even look up, “drink.”
she finally looks over, “don’t start.”
you twist the cap open anyway. because if she’s asking—you’re listening. that’s the easiest thing you’ll do all day.
the sound of jump ropes hitting the floor.
the mirrors lining the walls reflect everyone moving through the morning routine. nothing intense, just enough to wake their bodies up. Marcus wasn’t about to let anybody do anything stupid on fight day. “no sparring,” he’d reminded them three separate times already.
so instead—shadowboxing, stretching., mobility work, and a little jump rope to keep everything loose.
you stand off to the side with your medical bag already open, watching more than participating. it’s habit. your eyes move between all four of them automatically.
Ryan is suffering through stretching, “i swear my hamstrings are shorter today.”
Roman doesn’t even look at him, “they’re the same hamstrings.”
Nate snorts, “you complain before you’ve even started.”
Ryan points at him, “i know, it’s typically you that’s starting off with the complaining..”
marcus lets out the smallest laugh, “you done?”
across the room—Hollis hasn’t said a word, not one. he’s already wrapped in sweat from the jump rope, breathing steadily as he moves without rushing. no showing off. no trying to make everybody laugh. no spinning the rope behind his back because he was bored. he’s focused. his eyes stay ahead. every movement controlled.
Marcus watches him for another second before nodding toward the ring, “three rounds.”
Hollis sets the rope down, simply nods. “got it.” no joke. no grin. nothing.
Nate watches him walk away before quietly leaning toward Ryan, “…he’s scary quiet.”
Ryan follows hollis with his eyes, “yeah…should we be worried?”
Marcus answers without looking away from the ring, “no.” a beat. “this is exactly how i wanted him.”
Hollis steps inside the ropes. no opponent. just space. he rolls his shoulders once. then starts shadowboxing. everything looks sharp. every jab snaps back to guard. every slip is precise. every pivot is clean. he’s not throwing punches to impress anyone. he’s visualizing.
jab. step. slip. cross. pivot.
Marcus walks slowly around the outside of the ring, “don’t chase him.”
“Jace likes loading up on the right hand.”
“he drops his left after combinations.”
Marcus smiles faintly, “there you go.”
you don’t even realize you’ve stopped looking at everyone else. your attention stays on Hollis. he looks…different today. he doesn’t look nervous or angry. he looks very focused like every ounce of energy he has is being saved for tonight.
twenty minutes later— Marcus claps his hands once, “that’s enough.”
Hollis immediately steps out of the ring. no arguing. no asking for another round. he grabs the towel hanging over the ropes and wipes the sweat from the back of his neck. you walk over before he even asks, “hands.” he holds them out automatically. you smile to yourself. somehow, this has become routine.
he sits down on the edge of the ring while you kneel in front of him, carefully peeling away the loose wraps from earlier. his hands are warm. his knuckles are already slightly pink from the movement.
“no soreness?” you ask, checking over each finger.
you press lightly against the back of his right hand, “this?”
you nod once before beginning to wrap his hands again. the room fades into background noise. the fabric slides neatly between his fingers. around the thumb. across the knuckles. around the wrist methodical. careful. you tug lightly against the finished wrap, “too tight?”
he flexes his hand once, “…perfect.” without thinking, he looks down at you. you don’t notice. you’re already starting on the other hand.
across the room—Ryan quietly elbows Nate, “dude.”
“they’ve got a whole system.”
Nate watches the two of you for a second before smiling to himself, “yeah.”
Roman glances over, “you think they even realize it?”
Ryan immediately answers, “nope.”
Marcus hears every word. he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head once. he checks the time, “alright.”
his voice cuts through the room, “everybody upstairs.” he looks directly at hollis. “next time you throw a punch…” a pause. “it’s for real.”
the room falls quiet again. nobody jokes after that.
“alright.” he claps his hands once. “everybody upstairs.”
almost immediately, the room comes back to life.
Ryan sighs, “i’m showering for at least forty-five minutes.”
Roman rolls his eyes, already grabbing his gym bag.
Nate tosses his towel over his shoulder, “breakfast round two guys?”
Ryan points at him, “shit, i’m down.”
the boys begin filing out one by one, still talking over each other as they disappear into the hallway. Marcus follows behind them, stopping in the doorway. “you two coming?”
you finish zipping your medical bag, “in a second.”
Marcus nods once, “five minutes.” then he’s gone. the door clicks shut.
the gym suddenly feels too quiet. you glance toward Hollis. he’s still sitting on the edge of the ring, elbows resting on his knees. you smile faintly, “you know, you can stand.”
“you’re choosing not to?”
you shake your head, amused. “you’re unbelievable.”
you sling your bag over your shoulder, “come on.”
he doesn’t move. instead, he watches you. “stay for a minute.” the words are quiet, so quiet you almost wonder if you imagined them.
he shrugs one shoulder. “just…” his eyes drift down to the floor for a second. “…one minute.” not demanding. not teasing. just asking.
something in your expression softens immediately. you set your bag back on the floor, “one minute.”
a tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “there you go.”
you walk over and lean against the ring beside him. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward anymore, it’s become familiar. comfortable. you can hear the air conditioner humming somewhere overhead. the faint echo of people talking in the hotel hallway outside. Hollis lets out a slow breath, “i hate this part.”
you glance down at him, “the waiting?”
he nods, “the waiting.” a beat. “i’d rather already be in the ring.”
“i keep thinking…” he trails off. you don’t rush him. “…if i can just get through the walkout, i’m good.”
you nod slowly, “that’s normal.”
he looks over at you, “you always sound so sure.”
you smile a little, “it’s my job.”
“no.” he shakes his head. “that’s just you.”
the words catch you off guard. before you can answer, both of your phones buzz almost at the same time. you pull yours out first. your lock screen fills instantly.
Mom: good luck today. proud of you.
another. instagram notifications. people reposting yesterday’s weigh-in. tagged photos. stories. your phone keeps vibrating.
across from you, Hollis looks down at his own. dozens. texts. missed calls. good luck messages. promoters. sponsors. his family. the fight poster has already been posted again. tonight. his face. Jace’s face. one last countdown.
you both sit there for another second, staring at your screens. the reality of the day settles over you all at once. no more waiting, no more interviews, no more photos. in a few hours…he’s getting into a ring.
you quietly lock your phone, “so…” you look over at him. “one minute’s up.”
he sighs dramatically, “i was hoping you wouldn’t count.”
he finally pushes himself to his feet. standing close enough that your shoulders almost brush. for a brief second, neither of you moves. then you lightly smooth an invisible wrinkle from the front of his hoodie without even thinking, “there.”
he looks down at where your fingers had been. then back at you, “thanks.”
you smile, “come on.” he follows you out without asking you to stay again.
back at the hotel. the floor is strangely quiet. hours ago, the hallways had been full of trainers, photographers, and staff moving in every direction. now—almost every door is shut, everybody disappeared.
Ryan announces he’s “hibernating until violence.” Nate heads back to their room, phone already pressed to his ear before the elevator doors even close, “…hi, mom.”
Roman disappears with his headphones around his neck, muttering something about needing “couple of hours of silence.”
Marcus is gone almost immediately. meetings. promoters. officials. there was always something.
you head straight for your room. the second the door clicks shut behind you, work takes over. your medical bag lands carefully on the desk. you unzip it. one by one, everything comes out: fresh gauze, athletic tape, petroleum jelly, adhesive strips, sterile pads, cotton swabs, scissors, gloves, and ice packs. you inspect every single item. replace what needs replacing. restock what you’ve used throughout the week. then you open your notebook. every fighter gets notes. Hollis’ page has become the thickest. you scan over your own handwriting.
left eyebrow - keep pressure light if reopened. right cheek - bruising from tuesday sparring. neck- still tender (?) monitor after rounds.
you pause for a second then write one more reminder.
you stare at it. a small smile appears, “that’s for me.” you close the notebook.
across the hotel, Hollis is trying to sleep. trying. the curtains are closed. the room is cool. his phone is face down on the nightstand. everything should make sleeping easy. instead—his eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. he rolls onto one side, closes his eyes. nothing. back onto his back. still nothing. he lets out a slow breath through his nose, “…seriously?” he checks the clock.
he’d been lying there for almost thirty minutes. he reaches for his phone and immediately regrets it. he’s seeing more: fight posters, messages, good luck texts, predictions, highlights, and people arguing in the comments about tonight. he locks the screen again. not helping. he tosses the phone onto the pillow beside him and stares at the ceiling.
his mind drifts anyway. not to jace, not to strategy, not even to the fight. instead—you. the way you’d automatically reached for his hands that morning. the way you’d checked every knuckle without him having to ask. the quiet confidence in your voice. you’ve done this hundreds of times.
he smiles to himself, “…yeah.” then he remembers something else. your laugh. the rooftop. the tiny kiss you’d pressed against his cheek before saying goodnight. his hand lifts almost unconsciously, fingertips brushing the same spot. he huffs out a quiet laugh, “fuck.”there it is. the thought he’d been avoiding for days. weeks, maybe. he likes you. not because the week has been emotional. not because you’re around all the time. not because the media won’t stop putting cameras in your faces. he likes you because—when you’re around…everything gets quieter. the waiting doesn’t feel so long. the pressure doesn’t feel so heavy. he feels…normal—for the first time in years.he closes his eyes again. this time, not to sleep. just to think. about your smile, the rooftop, and the promise you’d made.
“you’re not getting another kiss until after the fight you win.”
his lips twitch upward, “guess i’d better win.”
your phone buzzes against the desk.
Marcus: lobby. fifteen minutes.
you stare at the message for a second then exhale, “okay.” you zip your medical bag shut. one last look around the room: phone, credential, notebook, and a water bottle. everything’s there. you slip the strap over your shoulder before stepping into the hallway.
the floor is almost silent. a few staff members walk by with rolling equipment cases. someone from production rushes toward the elevators with a headset pressed against their ear, “main event arrives in twenty.”
you make your way downstairs. the lobby is already filling. Marcus is talking quietly with an event coordinator. Roman stands beside one of the pillars, headphones hanging around his neck. Ryan is slouched across an armchair, “i’m nervous.”
“you’ve said that six times today,” Nate replies.
Roman doesn’t even look up, “you’re dehydrated.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows, “that too.”
despite the conversation…their energy is different. nobody’s loud or messing around. everyone keeps checking the time. you glance around instinctively looking for—
“there you are.” you turn. Hollis. dressed comfortable with a gym bag over one shoulder and a bandana already tied around his head. his eyes find yours almost immediately.
he shakes his head once, “no.”
the corner of his mouth lifts.
Marcus claps his hands once, “alright.” the room settles immediately. “phones away.” everyone obeys. “no unnecessary media.” another nod. “we stick together from here.” he looks around at each of them. “everybody ready?”
a chorus of quiet answers follows, “yeah.”
Marcus nods once, “let’s go.”
outside theres a black sprinter van waits beneath the hotel entrance. the moment the doors open—camera shutters explode.
the barricades lining the sidewalk are already packed. fans lean over the rails with phones raised. security immediately forms around the group. you instinctively move closer to Marcus, not because you’re nervous, but because that’s where you’re supposed to be. it’s become muscle memory.
Hollis walks just ahead of you. he doesn’t acknowledge the cameras. doesn’t wave. doesn’t smile. he’s concentrated now. you notice it immediately. he’s conserving everything, even his energy.
the boys pile into the van one after another. the city rolls past the windows. traffic. murals. street vendors. people walking home from work. the city keeps moving like today isn’t the biggest day of someone else’s life. you glance across the aisle. Hollis is staring out the window. one earbud sits untouched in his hand.
the arena comes into view. your stomach flips. even after years in combat sports…this feeling never changes. the van slows beneath the underground entrance. security is already waiting. doors slide open. immediately—voices. staff. production assistants. officials. security.
“credentials, please.” everyone reaches for the laminated passes hanging around their necks. you hand yours over. the security guard checks your photo. looks at you. then nods, “you’re good.”
only once everyone has been cleared does the group continue deeper into the arena. the sounds begin to change. the echo of footsteps. forklifts moving equipment. crew members testing lights overhead.
somewhere in the distance, music blasts through the speakers before cutting out again.
a giant led screen flickers to life above the arena floor. tonight’s fight card rotates across it. Hollis’ name. Jace’s name.
the main event. you catch Hollis looking at it for half a second. then he looks away.
Marcus notices, “don’t look up.”
Marcus smirks, “i know.” he pushes open a heavy black door. a printed sign is taped across the front. main event — blue corner. Marcus steps aside, “this is us.”
the room inside is simple: benches, a long table, mirrors framed with bright lights, ice buckets, stacks of towels, medical supplies, and equipment bags already waiting.
for the next several hours…this tiny room becomes your entire world. outside, nearly twenty thousand people will eventually fill the arena.inside, it’s just the six of you. and the clock is quietly counting down toward the walkout.
the locker room feels different now. it’s quieter and heavier. outside, the crowd erupts again. another undercard fight. the cheers shake the walls. inside nobody says much. Ryan sits on one of the benches, bouncing his leg uncontrollably. every few seconds, he checks the clock and checks it again. “how’s it only six forty?”
Roman doesn’t answer. he’s already connected his phone to the speaker. he doesn’t play nothing loud. the music is low enough to fill the constant silence.
Nate sits beside the equipment bags, elbows on his knees. he keeps spinning a roll of athletic tape between his fingers.
Marcus notices immediately, “you’re making me nervous.” - “…sorry.”
Nate laughs once. it comes out smaller than usual.
Hollis is already sitting on the stool. his hoodie is gone now. compression shorts. fight shorts. bare feet planted against the floor. his hands rest loosely on his thighs. waiting.
Marcus pulls another chair over, “you ready?”
Hollis nods once, “yeah.”
Marcus begins laying strips of tape across the table. methodical. quiet. he starts with Hollis’ left wrist. loop after loop, securing the base.
you kneel beside them, already reaching for the gauze. the movement feels automatic. you’ve wrapped hundreds of hands. thousands, maybe. but today, you find yourself paying even closer attention. you carefully lift his left hand into yours. warm. calloused. still carrying faint bruises from earlier in the week.
you begin wrapping around his wrist. smooth. even. not too tight. not too loose. the room fades into the background, it’s just muscle memory now. around the wrist. across the palm. between each finger. back across the knuckles. you test the tension with your thumb, “…too tight?”
Hollis flexes once, “no.”
he shakes his head, “no.”
Marcus works in silence beside you, reinforcing the wrist with athletic tape. neither of you has to speak much anymore.
you’ve done this together enough times at the gym back home, you already know each other’s rhythm.
tape. wrap. tape. fold. secure.
another explosion of cheers rattles the hallway from outside.
Ryan looks toward the ceiling, “…that’s gonna be us.”
Roman glances over, “it better be.” nobody laughs. not because it isn’t funny, because everyone is already thinking about the same thing. tonight.
you move to Hollis’ right hand. without thinking—your thumb brushes lightly over one of his knuckles checking for swelling. he watches you quietly.
you don’t even look up, “a little.”
the answer comes so naturally that you don’t realize you’ve said it until after it leaves your mouth.
the room stays quiet. you continue wrapping. around his wrist. across his palm. you smooth the gauze flat with your fingertips.
“i know.” you finally glance up.
his eyes are already on you. soft and steady. the look has become familiar this week. like he’s searching your face for something only you can give him.
you hold his gaze for a second, “it’s fight day.”
a tiny smile pulls at one corner of his mouth, “so that’s my excuse?”
he huffs a quiet laugh, “so if this was a random tuesday…”
“i’d tell you to stop complaining.”
you shake your head, trying not to hide your own smile, “i liked you better when your neck magically hurt.”
he coughs to cover a laugh, “that only worked once.”
Marcus doesn’t even look up from the tape, “i knew you were faking.”
Hollis blinks, “you knew?”
Marcus snorts, “you think i’ve been doing this for twenty years and couldn’t tell?”
Nate immediately sits up, “i knew it!”
“you literally believed him,” roman says.
“you were being gullible.”
for the first time in what feels like an hour, the room laughs. the sound fades almost as quickly as it came. you finish the final pass across hollis’ knuckles. then gently take both of his hands. turning them over. checking every angle. you press lightly against each wrap. watching for circulation. his fingers stay warm. good color. good movement. exactly how you want them.
he spreads his fingers, “close.”
he makes a fist. again. perfect.
you look up, “how’s that feel?”
he slowly flexes both hands then looks at you, “safe.”
the word catches you off guard. because you know he isn’t just talking about the wraps. neither of you says anything.
the arena outside disappears again. the music. the cheering. the countdown. none of it matters. not while he’s looking at you like that.
Marcus tears another strip of tape with his teeth. the sound breaks the moment. he stands, giving each wrist one final inspection before patting Hollis once on the shoulder, “good.”
he checks the clock, “about ninety minutes.”
then he looks at the boys. his voice becomes firmer, “no hero shit.”
Ryan nods. Nate nods. Roman nods. Marcus looks back at Hollis, “listen to your corner.”
“i will.” - “if i tell you to breathe…” “i breathe.” - “if Y/n tells you to sit…” - “i sit.”
you raise an eyebrow, “first smart thing you’ve said all week.”
Hollis smiles, “trying to impress my cutwoman.”
your eyes roll immediately, “you’ve got about ninety minutes left to charm me.”
he leans back slightly on the stool, “i think i’ve got time.”
your heart betrays you with one hard beat. you simply stand, gathering the empty gauze wrappers before he can see the tiny smile threatening to appear. because if you let yourself smile at him now—you aren’t entirely sure you’d be able to stop.
the first bell rings somewhere beyond the concrete walls. the arena gets loud. the sound rolls through the hallway like thunder. nobody says anything. Ryan looks toward the ceiling, “started.”
Marcus glances at the television mounted in the corner. the live broadcast has already begun. the first undercard fighters circle one another beneath blinding white lights.
the commentators’ voices fill the room quietly, “…and here we go…”
Hollis watches for exactly three seconds. Marcus reaches over. the television goes black, “we don’t watch.”
Hollis nods once, “right.”
“you’ve already got enough going through your head.”
the crowd gets louder again. someone must’ve landed a big shot. even through the thick locker room walls, you can hear it. “ohhhh!”
Nate winces, “that sounded bad.”
Roman glances at the clock, “one fight down.”
Ryan exhales through his nose, “only…” he checks the fight card. …three more.”
nobody likes hearing that. three more fights. three more walkouts. three more winners. three more losers. three more times the crowd will erupt before it’s finally Hollis’ turn.the waiting somehow becomes harder than the fighting itself.
you move quietly around the room, double-checking your supplies for what feels like the tenth time.
“you’ve checked that bag five times.” Hollis tells you.
he smiles faintly, “nervous?” - “a little.” - “good.”
you look up, “i’d be worried if you weren’t.”
another roar echoes through the hallway. louder this time. the walls practically shake.
Hollis sits with his elbows resting on his knees. his hands are clasped together now, not shaking. he stares at the floor. listening. thinking.
you walk over, stopping beside him, “you okay?”
he nods without looking up, “yeah.” a pause. “just ready.”
you study him for a second. he’s telling the truth. the nerves are there. but underneath them—he’s not scared. he’s waiting.
Ryan suddenly stands, “i can’t sit anymore.”
“you’ve been sitting for twenty minutes,” roman says.
“exactly.” Ryan starts pacing the room. one end turn and back again.
Nate watches him, “you’re making me dizzy.”
“shit, my fault. i need movement.”
Roman doesn’t even glance up, “you need water.”
“i need to fight.” - “no,” Nate and Roman laugh “hollis needs to fight.” Ryan laughs, “true.”
Hollis smiles. it’s small, barely there.
Marcus catches it, “good.”
he points at him, “stay like that.”
another fight ends. the crowd gets riled up again. music floods the arena. the announcer’s voice booms faintly through the walls. the television outside the room flashes with replay graphics as staff hurry down the hallway.
someone yells, “medical!” a pair of ringside physicians jog past the open doorway with equipment in hand.
the room falls quiet again. reality settles over everyone. this isn’t training anymore, this isn’t media day. people are getting hit. people are bleeding. people are losing.
in less than an hour…it’ll be hollis walking through that tunnel. you glance over at him. he’s looking toward the closed locker room door now. listening to every sound coming from the arena beyond it.
his jaw is set. his breathing is slow and measured. you gently bump his shoulder with yours. he looks over, “what?” - “you’ve gotten really quiet.”
he huffs softly, “you noticed?”
“i notice everything.” his expression softens, “yeah, i know.” a beat passes. almost too quietly for anyone else to hear— “i’m glad you’re here.” the words stop you for just a second.
before you can answer, Marcus’ phone vibrates. he checks the screen. looks up immediately. “they’re introducing the co-main.”
the room goes completely still. nobody has to ask what that means. one fight. one more fight. then it’s Hollis.
the locker room has emptied. production has left. the cameras have stopped, even Ryan has stopped pacing. nobody speaks.
the arena sounds enormous. the roar of nearly twenty thousand people rolls through the concrete like distant thunder.
every few seconds another chant breaks out.
“Hollis!” “Hollis!” “Hollis!”
Marcus looks at the clock, “it’s time.” no dramatic speech. no movie monologue. “let’s go.”
everyone stands. Roman reaches for the speaker. the music cuts and silence takes over. Hollis takes one slow breath then another. you step in front of him before anyone else can, “hold still.”
he already knows what you’re doing. you straighten the black bandana tied around his head. one side had shifted slightly. you smooth it back into place. then your fingers move to the silver chain resting against his collarbone, it had twisted. you fix that too. neither of you says anything. you crouch slightly.
one last inspection. his gloves. the tape. the laces. everything exactly how it should be. your hands brush lightly over each glove, checking. always checking. “it’s good.”
you look up. your eyes meet. for a moment every thing disappears: the hallway, no crowd, and no cameras. just him.
“anything hurt?” he shakes his head, “no.”
“you dizzy?” - “no.” “nervous?” a tiny smile appears, “…little bit.”
“good.” you brush an invisible piece of lint from the shoulder of his robe. “you should be.”
he lets out the smallest laugh, “you always know what to say.”
“i know.” a beat. his smile fades. “…Y/n.”
“hm?” he looks at you for a long second. long enough that your heart starts beating a little faster. “see you after.”
your chest tightens. you nod once, “…yeah.” you adjust the front of his robe one final time, “i’ll see you in the corner.”
he understands exactly what you mean. every round. every cut. every deep breath. you’ll be there.
neither of you moves then Roman reaches into Hollis’ gym bag. “don’t forgot.” he pulls out something folded neatly in his hands. white.
Ryan immediately grins, “no way.” Nate starts laughing before Hollis even takes it, “the mask?”Roman tosses it over, “you can’t come to mexico city and not wear it one last time.”
Hollis catches it easily. he looks down at the white luchador mask for a second. the same one he’d bought on a whim. the same one he’d worn at the weigh-in just to make everyone laugh.
Ryan smirks, “one more time?” Hollis looks at the mask then at the locker room door. “one more time.” he pulls it over his head with a grin. the room falls strangely quiet.
the second the mask settles into place—he doesn’t look like the guy who’d been joking with everyone over breakfast. he looks like the main event.
even you find yourself staring for a second longer than you mean to.
“hold on.” you step forward again. one corner of the mask has folded beneath the bandana. you gently smooth it flat with your fingertips. “there.”you take half a step back. “better.” you have a smile tugging at your mouth.
through the eye holes, his gaze finds yours. he gives the smallest nod. you swear your heart skips a beat.
Ryan breaks the silence, “dude.”
Roman folds his arms, “that’s hard.”
even Marcus lets out a quiet huff through his nose, “now we can go.”
Marcus opens the locker room door.
immediately—the sound hits. the crowd. the music. the announcers. everything at once.
an event coordinator appears, “blue corner.”
Hollis rolls his shoulders once. Roman steps beside him. Ryan on the other side. Nate behind them. Marcus follows.
you fall into place just behind Hollis. the tunnel is darker than the arena. cold concrete. bright white lights overhead. production assistants hurry past. security lines both sides. the bass begins.
