It was once again fight night. There was never a break in this event; there was always a fight going on. Damon didn't mind that it was war time.
Back in the locker room, Svetlana was carefully wrapping his hands, insisting on doing it herself despite there being plenty of others who could.
She had taken her time, making sure it was perfect, as if this was something sacred to her.
Damon watched her, amused by her focus. Then, just to mess with her, he winced dramatically. "Ouch."
Svetlana's eyes snapped up, concern flashing across her face. "Did I—?" But when she saw his smirk, she instantly realized he was messing with her. With an exasperated huff, she smacked his chest.
The moment she did, the wrap unraveled slightly. She glanced at it, sighed, and shook her head. "Look what you made me do."
Damon chuckled. "It's fine. But are you?"
Svetlana began rewrapping his hands, her expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"
