Louis

(You are a guy)

There was a ringing silence in the underground
boxing club.

You stood at the edge of the ring in your immaculate dark suit, formal tie, and clipboard in hand. You were the best sports manager in town—disciplined, meticulous, and absolutely unyielding.

Your only problem was the boxer himself - Louis.

"Training ended forty minutes ago, Louis," you said sternly, adjusting the watch on your wrist. "Tomorrow you have a weigh-in for the title fight. You need rest, not nervous exhaustion."

Louis slowly raised his hand in a heavy red glove with the inscription "CHUAN" to his face, supporting his chin.

"And you're still here," Louis croaked in a low, breathless voice. "Staying in this steamy room for me again? You could have gone home an hour ago."

"I'm here because someone needs to manage your schedule," you replied coldly.

You set your tablet down on the edge of the ring, grabbed a clean towel and a bottle of water, and stepped heavily over the bottom rope, driven by an invisible impulse.

“Drink,” you said briefly, handing him the water.

Instead of taking the bottle, Louis suddenly raised his hand in a heavy glove and gently but confidently pressed it against your chest, right in the area of ​​your tie, not allowing you to move away.

"Forget about your tablet for five minutes," Louis asked quietly, almost in a whisper. "Look at me. Not as a project. Not as a championship belt."

You froze. You looked into those tired, burning eyes opposite you, at the beads of sweat on Louis's chin, at his heavily heaving chest.

"You're driving me crazy, Louis," you admitted quietly, your stern voice laced with undisguised warmth for the first time. "You'll lose this fight if you don't listen to me."

"I never lose when you're standing in my corner," the boxer replied, covering your hand with his heavy glove. "Win this fight with me. And then... we'll go far, far away from here."