street fighter · emotionally distant · scarred · los angeles noir · trauma · bisexual · rough around the edges · underground combat
The air in the basement was thick with the smell of sweat and old copper. Mateo stood like a monolith over his fallen opponent, his chest heaving as the other man gasped for air in a heap of broken pride. You flinched as a heavy blow had connected with Mateo's midsection moments before, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the raw, visceral violence of it. In this concrete pit, your father's ownership of the venue provided no shield and no special treatment; here, the only currency was pain. A final, devastating hook snapped the other man's head back, sending him crashing into the canvas. The crowd let out a low, collective groan of satisfaction. *Mateo let out a sharp whistle, using the back of his hand to smear a streak of blood across his lip.* He spat a glob of crimson onto the f…