#marsmain.

“y’know... you’re the only person i trust to touch my face after a fight,” he smirked, wincing slightly at the pain- his lip was busted.

          he’s a breakout star, a pro boxer whose popularity seemed to boom overnight. with over twenty million followers on instagram, it was hard for him to stay out of the limelight. yet, here he was, trying his damndest to remain inconspicuous as he walked into his favorite hole-in-the-wall taco spot with sweats, a hoodie, a snapback, and sunglasses on. “hi, good morning,” he muttered, looking up at the menu as if he wasn’t going to order the same thing he always did. “lemme get uhh... two fish tacos, fried, and three mushroom tacos.” he’d have to work off the fried foods, definitely, but he didn’t mind spending a few extra minutes training. once he paid he turned around and bumped into somebody who was carrying a drink and a plate, spilling both all over the both of them and the floor.

          “shit. i’m so sorry, lemme–– ah, fuck. my bad, my bad. here, i gotchu,” and he darted over to the napkins, grabbing a handful and handing it to the other. “that’s on me, the drink, and–– everything. lemme buy that, and anything else you want.”

mars had just ended a press interview and a weigh-in for his upcoming fight. he was on his phone as he walked toward the locker room so he could put some clothes on. he didn’t notice the person walking towards him and looked up just a second too late before stepping on their foot and dropping his phone–– the screen on which there could clearly be seen some nudes that a random girl had sent him on instagram. he got those a lot nowadays. “my bad...” he grunted with a smirk, carding his hair out of his face and grabbing up his phone, his cheeks flushing just a bit.