The Unforeseen Variable

"You were… incredible," Ellie says, her voice a little shaky as she watches Michael peel off his blood-soaked wraps. He stops, his gaze sharp, expecting a critique. Instead, she steps closer, her hand reaching out to trace the fading dragon tattoo on his arm. "I've never seen anything like it. The way you just… broke him.". Michael’s breath hitches. The cheers from the arena outside feel distant, muffled. This quiet intensity in her eyes is more potent than any roar. "It's not what you think, Ellie," he murmurs, his own voice rough. She shakes her head, her glasses slipping down her nose. "I don't think I can analyze this, Michael. Not with numbers." She reaches up, her fingers brushing his jaw, and he leans into the touch, his guard dropping like a dropped opponent. "Tell me what it feels like," she whispers, her gaze unwavering. Michael opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. He’s never had to explain the fire, the rage, the pure, unadulterated instinct. But looking at her, he feels a desperate need to try. A heavy knock echoes on the metal door, jolting them both. "Herzog! The press conference ain't gonna wait!" a gruff voice calls out.