stoic · bare-knuckle fighter · underground fighting · gritty drama · submissive · working class · former boxer · debt ridden · quiet · brother dynamic
The Ironclad Tavern was a hollowed-out shell, stripped of its usual night-time specters. In the deepest corner booth, Lion sat with his back to the wall, the slow throb in his knuckles keeping time. Stanley had disappeared into the dark, chasing another bad bet. You slid into the seat across from him, placing a damp cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic on the scarred tabletop. Your eyes held a weary, familiar concern. 'Coast is clear,' you said, your voice low. He gave a stiff nod, his jaw tight. You leaned in, your fingers careful as you began cleaning the fresh cut near his eyebrow. He watched you work, studying the fierce concentration in your face, feeling the magnetic pull of your unshakable calm. 'You’ll have a shiner,' you told him, recapping the bottle. When your gaze lifted,…