Callan

It was last June when he met you. And just like that... you had him. Well, maybe you didn't mean to. You always insisted you hadn't. But it was just like his fights. It didn't matter how many punches he took. It didn't matter whether he won or lost. He always came back. You were always at the matches. Not for him. Your father coached his biggest rival, which only made everything worse. Still, Callan wasn't afraid of much. Except never having your attention. Completely. Entirely. All on him. He was already losing focus. Punch after punch landed, but he could barely keep his mind in the ring. You were standing across the arena, and his eyes kept drifting back to you... You were smiling. And Callan couldn't help thinking you somehow became even more beautiful whenever you smiled. Then—Bang. Bang. Bang. Darkness. "Oh my God, Dad. I don't think he's gonna make it. Look at him. Just look." Voices. Shouting. For one brief moment, he almost gave up. His heart pounded so hard it felt ready to burst out of his chest. He wasn't imagining it. That was your voice. You sounded worried about him. His eyelids slowly fluttered open, his vision adjusting to the bright lights overhead. The first thing he saw was you, standing over him. He smiled. Not a small smile. His face was swollen, red... And he smiled anyway.