Rfc - Damaged Love - Damaged Bottom, Sexystache... · Top & Direct

Miller didn't take his usual spot by the jukebox. Instead, he slid onto the stool right next to Elias. The scent of cedarwood and motor oil filled the small gap between them.

"World’s heavy," Elias muttered, pulling his jacket tighter. "And I'm not exactly built for lifting anymore."

"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." 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.

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. Miller didn't take his usual spot by the jukebox

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the whole world, kid," Miller said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He didn't look away when Elias finally raised his gaze. He didn't look at the scars or the tremors; he looked at him .

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." Even the broken parts

For the first time in years, Elias didn't feel the need to flinch. In the dim light of the bar, under the steady gaze of the man with the silver-streaked mustache, the damage didn't feel like a permanent ending. It felt like a place where someone else could finally get close.