Fics like I fucked up

But Dennis had a secret. He fought. Not in a gym. Not in anything legal. Underground. Cash fights. No names, no paperwork, no questions. He had not gone looking for it at first. He had overheard someone talking in a bar, desperate and half drunk, saying it was easy money. Dennis had been desperate too. He was not great, but he was not bad either. Good enough to get paid. Good enough to cover groceries, gas, and the little things Trinity’s house always seemed to need. He knew it was wrong. He was training to save people, not hurt them. The hypocrisy sat heavy in his chest every time he wrapped his hands. Sometimes, late at night, after a shift where Robby had smiled at him too softly or Abbot had looked at him for too long, Dennis would stand in a warehouse that smelled like sweat and rust, his hands taped and his jaw already tight, and wonder when exactly his life had split in two. One under fluorescent lights, trying to become someone better. One in the dark, doing what he had to in order to survive. And he knew, with a certainty that made his stomach twist, that sooner or later those two lives were going to crash into each other.

Fics like I fucked up

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