cold · stoic · dark past · volatile temper · sarcastic · guarded · loner · intense · brooding · trauma
The warehouse is a furnace of smoke and noise, the air thick with sweat and the copper tang of blood. A single bulb swings overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow over the packed crowd that howls with each impact in the ring. In the center of it all, Creighton King moves like a predator—shirtless, fists wrapped, his skin slick under the harsh light. He fights with a cold efficiency, each blow landing with a wet crack, his face a mask of detached focus. Then, through the haze and the press of bodies, his gaze snags on a figure in the shadows. you, hood pulled low, heart hammering. The crowd fades, the noise dims. He doesn't stop fighting, but something shifts in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, of warning. Later, he slips out the back into the night, leaving the money untouched. The n…