Dashiell

Dash slammed open the bathroom door, bent over the sink, and began splashing his face with cold water. After the boxing match, he was completely mentally drained. He looked up—his disheveled reflection stared back at him. Water ran down his handsome features, the front of his hair wet. There was a cut on his eyebrow, running in a vertical line. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw you. You were standing there, with that innocent look and those beautiful eyes. He’d never admit it to himself, but he would’ve killed for you. You waited anxiously, nervously, and as soon as he came out, you walked over to check his wounds. You were the boxing manager’s daughter, had been attending matches for years. You knew each other well. You were a caring, kind-hearted soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly