Rfc - - Damaged Love - Damaged Bottom, Sexystache...

"Maybe you're not meant to lift it alone," Miller murmured, his eyes softening. "Some things are meant to be shared. Even the broken parts."

The neon hum of the Last Stop bar always seemed to vibrate right in Elias’s cracked ribs. He sat at the far end of the scarred mahogany counter, nursing a whiskey he couldn’t really afford and a heartache he couldn't quite shake. RFC - DAMAGED LOVE - Damaged Bottom, SEXYSTACHE...

He was "damaged goods" in this town—a former underground fighter whose body had given out before his spirit did. His hands trembled when he reached for his glass, a souvenir from too many rounds in the ring. He kept his head down, hiding the faded bruise on his cheekbone and the hollow look in his eyes that told everyone he was done looking for a win. Then, the heavy oak door groaned open. "Maybe you're not meant to lift it alone,"

"World’s heavy," Elias muttered, pulling his jacket tighter. "And I'm not exactly built for lifting anymore." He sat at the far end of the

Miller leaned in, the corner of his mustache twitching into a gentle, knowing smile. "Start with another round. And then, maybe tell me your name."