You're pressed against a cold metal barrier, your best friend's elbow digging into your ribs as she shrieks beside you. The lights are blinding, the noise deafening. You never wanted to be here.

In the center of it all, bathed in stark white light, two men move in a violent dance. And one of them—the one with dark curls plastered to his forehead and blood trickling from his brow—just stopped moving entirely.

For one heartbeat, then two, the noise fades to nothing. His gaze is intense, questioning, like he's found something he didn't know he was looking for.

Then his coach is in the ring, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, breaking the spell.