haiii, could you maybe write something along the lines of the reader is a sports physiotherapy student working backstage at a UFC event. She meets Quillan Salkilld while helping fighters warm up and treating minor injuries. At first he’s cocky and constantly teasing her, but during fight week she sees a different side of him when he’s nervous about stepping into the octagon. Their dynamic slowly shifts from playful banter to genuine connection, especially after his fight when she’s the one helping tape his hands and calm him down. mwahhh
quillan salkilld x female oc, 6.4k words, one shot
Mondays. She’d always hated Mondays. After all, who didn’t? But this Monday was different. It was special.
She’d spent the last four years training and studying for something like this, and this was the final stretch before she finally got her masters degree. She’d had to travel to Sydney after a job interview she thought she’d completely fumbled, because she’d forgotten to check her emails and was absolutely stunned, only a week ago, to discover that she’d actually gotten it. She was doing her last stage, or placement, however people chose to call it, for the UFC (which still didn’t feel entirely real when she thought about it for too long).
It was probably the best thing about sports physiology, being able to observe events like this and actually take part in them, even if it was only in a small way. She’d already done that for MMA, mostly local stuff, smaller venues with fewer people and less pressure, but this was something else entirely. She wasn’t a fan, but she enjoyed all sports to the limit of her abilities, because her brain always came up with questions or things she’d want to do if she was there as a physio, and she couldn’t quiet that part of herself no matter how hard she tried.
So she’d arrived on Saturday at her hotel room, still a bit disoriented from the travel, met with the man she was supposed to observe under, a nice middle-aged man named Mark, and now it was Monday, and she was in the lobby waiting for that same man so they could head over to the UFC temporary gym and attend to some of the fighters there.
She didn’t really know what to expect or what it was meant to look like there, whether it would be chaotic or calm, but she tried to keep that part of her brain quiet as Another Day by Paul McCartney blared into her ears.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned around and removed her earphones, now faced with Mark.
“Ms. Murray, ready to go?”
“Yeah, all good,” the blonde said.
She’d made sure to wear stretchy and comfortable clothes, just in case her day of observation turned into a day of actually doing things. It had happened before, more than once, and she preferred to be prepared rather than caught off guard.
She thought he would walk out and get into a car, maybe, since they were meant to assess fighters and most of that would be done at a gym. Instead, he turned straight back into the lobby and led her off somewhere else, a big travel bag hanging from his hand, moving like he already knew exactly where he was going.
“The gym space has been set up inside the hotel,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her as he walked. “Better for the fighters, keeps them in a bubble.”
She nodded along, even though she was trailing a few steps behind him and he couldn’t possibly see her. After winding through what felt like a maze of corridors, turns, and identical doors, he finally stopped and pushed open a set of large double doors.
The space beyond looked like it had been assembled just for the week. It was probably a ballroom or a conference room most of the time.
She paused just inside the doorway, scanning everything carefully.
There was an open mat space laid out with foam mats, a few heavy bags hanging at intervals, and mitts, pads, and gloves lined up neatly against the wall. Even through the haze of her tired, slightly unfocused morning vision, she could pick out resistance bands, dumbbells, skipping ropes, and what looked like foam rollers too.
On the other side of the room, separated by black curtains that hadn’t been drawn yet, was their section. Two exam tables had already been set up, everything arranged with precision. Towels folded cleanly, oils lined up, tape rolls stacked and exam tables waiting to be used. The temperature sat a few degrees warmer here than the corridor outside, enough to make the space feel almost welcoming.
Mark had already moved ahead, setting his bag down by the tables. He crouched slightly as he unzipped it, revealing even more tape rolls, oils, and towels. He gave her a small wave to come over.
“I stick with my own gear,” he said, pulling things out and placing them down. “Nothing wrong with what they provide, it’s all decent. Just… you get used to your own stuff, you know? Feels right. You can try both, see what works for you, but I’d always say bring your own when you can.”
“Alright,” Lillian nodded, stepping closer, her eyes flicking between his hands and the layout on the table “Wait… you’re actually going to let me do things?”
There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face, subtle, but there. “What, you’d rather just stand there and watch the whole time?”
She straightened immediately, almost too fast. “No, no. Course not.”
“Yeah, thought so.” He rubbed his hands together, already shifting into work mode. His gaze flicked over her once, quick but assessing. “You forget your badge or what?”
He tapped his own nametag lightly where it sat clipped to his shirt.
“No, no,” she said quickly, already reaching into her pocket. “Sorry. I just didn’t pin it on.” Her fingers fumbled slightly with the fabric of her shirt as she fixed the nametag into place, making sure it sat straight.
“Good.” He clapped his hands together once, sharp and sudden, the sound cutting clean through the room.
She flinched, just slightly.
“Alright,” he said, already turning back to the tables. “Let’s get into it.”
The morning was alright, pretty quiet overall. A couple of fighters came and went, mostly one by one, so she never really got the chance to step in and work on them herself. Instead, she watched Mark handle everything, juggling small talk with tired, slightly cranky fighters while also explaining his process to her, even though she already understood most of it.
Their first proper encounter happened that afternoon. He’d come in to get a bit of training done, clearly having completely forgotten about the fighter assessments, and she ended up being the one to tell him.
He walked through the doors right as Mark had started working on another fighter whose name she had already forgotten. She wasn’t a fan, so she didn’t feel bad about not remembering. To her, all of this was just… medical. She could enjoy a fight, sure, but she never went out of her way to learn names or follow careers.
But she knew him. Well, she knew of him.
A friend had shown her that clip once, the one about a bakery and that completely insane knockout. It had stuck with her, not because she followed the sport, but because it had been so… odd.
So when she saw him walk into the space, she felt a flicker of intimidation settle in her chest. It wasn’t overwhelming, just enough to make her more aware of how she was standing. He was surrounded by three other men she didn’t recognise, though she stepped forward and greeted them anyway.
“Hello, Lillian.” She held her hand out, shaking Quillan’s first, then moving through the others one by one, making sure not to skip anyone. She noticed the training equipment they had brought with them and, after a brief pause to process, decided to take the lead. “I’m Lillian, physio in training. I noticed you’ve brought some training equipment with you. It would be preferable if we assessed you first?” It came out more like a statement than a question, her tone even.
The men shared a quick look. Quillan gave a small shrug, then nodded. “Yeah, alright. Sounds fair.”
As they made their way over to the assessment area, his team started warming up on their own. He gave the fighter next to him a quick fist bump in passing before sitting down on the bed. Mark greeted him as well, then turned to Lillian.
“Check muscles, injuries, joints, then ask your questions and do some assisted stretching, alright Lillian? Let me know when you’re done.”
“Okay.” She nodded, then quickly tied her hair back into a low ponytail, fingers moving with a kind of practiced precision.
“So, um…” She looked up, only to find his brown eyes already on her, steady and expectant. “How is training going?”
“Good, yeah. Going good.” His tone was easy, relaxed.
“Great.”
There was a pause. It stretched just a little too long. It felt awkward, maybe. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she let it pass without addressing it.
“Sorry, I’m still a student, so I might not be the best. Do you want to wait for Mark?”
“Nah, you’re right,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “I’m just here to get a bit of a sweat going, so I don’t wanna be sittin’ around too long before I get into it.” He rubbed a hand along his cheek, thinking for a second. “How long you got left before you finish up?”
“I’ll graduate at the end of this semester, hopefully.” She hesitated briefly before continuing. “Would you mind taking off your shirt and lying down, please?”
“Yeah, no worries.” He did it without hesitation, movements straightforward and unbothered.
“Okay.” Lillian rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them slightly. “I’m sorry if they’re a bit cold.”
She placed her hand on his left calf first, touch careful but firm enough to assess properly. “We’re going to work our way up, alright? I’m going to check for anything that might be slightly off. Tight muscles first, make sure to loosen them up. Then I’ll look at any injuries, current or past, that might still be bothering you, and after that we’ll go through your joints. Okay?”
“Yeah, gotcha.” He let out a quiet sigh as she started, his body relaxing into the table.
She flinched slightly at the sound, a small, involuntary reaction. He noticed straight away.
“Ah, sorry,” he said quickly, glancing at her with a faint, apologetic smile. “Not ‘cause of you or anything. Just starving, hey. UFC food’s alright and all, but I’d kill for a big steak right now.”
“It’s fine, I get it.”
No, you don’t get it, Lillian.
“I mean, no. Um… I don’t. But I empathise with you.” she said, her voice a little tight, like she was picking her way through each word.
It came out awkward. Probably more awkward than what most people would consider acceptable. At least, that’s what she thought. Her chest tightened slightly as soon as the words left her mouth, that familiar sense of having said something just off settling in. She dropped her gaze and focused back on her work, quietly mortified, missing the small smile tugging at his lips.
Work as a physiotherapist was something different. Precise, structured, safe. Usually, she wasn’t that good at dealing with being close to other people. Whether it was physical closeness or just social interaction, she had always struggled.
She had friends, sure. A few. But even then, she kept everyone at some kind of distance.
Touching was manageable when it existed within a clinical setting. It had purpose there, rules she followed. But when it didn’t? That was a whole different problem. It made her skin crawl.
Quillan was the only fighter she took care of that day. She did her best, carefully following everything she had been taught, checking in where she needed to, adjusting her pressure, watching his reactions closely. And her best, from what she could tell, seemed to be good enough for him.
When they were done, she stepped back and watched Mark with the last fighter who had finally come in. She stayed quiet, observing how he worked. She took mental notes, storing away small details she could maybe use later.
The day itself ended early, at least when it came to actual work. Once all of the fighters in the red corner assigned to this gym had shown up and been seen, there wasn’t much left to do.
With their main task out of the way, they spent some time putting the physio space back in order. She wiped down the beds carefully, methodically, making sure everything was clean.
Afterwards, they stepped out and had something to drink.
Mark talked about his studies. He reminisced, jumping from one story to another.
She mostly listened.
She was good at that. Better than she was at actually engaging, as her family often reminded her, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not.
Later, she didn’t do much on her own. She stayed in her room. Studied. Tried to read ahead even though she didn’t have to. Eventually, she went to bed.
The next morning was quiet.
She lingered in the lobby for a moment longer than necessary, half expecting Mark to come and get her like the day before. When he didn’t, she realised, with a small flicker of embarrassment, that it actually made sense. So she made her way to the temporary gym on her own.
He was already there, setting things up. Without saying much, she slipped into place beside him and got to work, falling into the routine easily.
She didn’t expect Quillan to be the first one in.
And definitely not alone.
She glanced up, surprised, even more so when she saw him heading straight for her instead of Mark. It threw her off for a second, enough that she paused mid-motion.
“G’morning,” he said, easygoing, holding his hand out.
She hesitated for a brief second before shaking it, her mind still half asleep.
“Hello, Mr. Salkilld,” she replied with a small, polite smile.
“Quillan, please,” he said, scrunching his face a little, like the formality didn’t sit right with him.
He moved over to the bed, sitting first before lying back, pulling off his hoodie and shirt without much fuss, leaving himself in shorts, socks and slides.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said quickly, adjusting her stance as she turned back to him. “So…”
“My team’s still grabbing breakfast,” he said casually, one arm tucked behind his head. “Figured I’d come in early, get things sorted before they rock up.”
“Sorry,” she said again, the word slipping out before she could stop it. “I’ll try to be quicker this time. I mean, it probably will be, we already know what the problem areas are.”
She gestured towards his foot, the one he had injured after that whole bakery debacle.
Work was actually easy. All she had to do was work on mobility first. Ankle mobility, toe mobility, foot articulation. She tried to warm it up as best as she could before moving to soft tissue work, taking her time to feel for stiffness and tension under her hands, careful and methodical.
“You alright, doc?” he asked, voice low and calm, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.
“Hm?” She raised her head, a few pieces of blonde hair falling in front of her eyes.
“You look knackered,” Quillan remarked, watching her with a slight tilt of his head.
“I am.” Lillian smiled sheepishly as she started massaging his calf softly, her thumbs pressing in slow, controlled movements. “I’m from Perth. I’ve been awake for hours already.”
He smiled slightly. “Me too. That’s rough, hey?” He empathised.
She nodded before moving onto the arch of his foot, adjusting her position slightly so she could get a better angle, studying his face as he scrolled away on his phone and let her do her job without interference.
“And I’m not a doctor,” she said after a moment, almost absent-mindedly. “Physios aren’t doctors.”
“They should be,” he said, simple as that, like it was obvious.
She kind of agreed.
Once it was done, she decided to finish up with some tape to make the area more secure, wrapping it neatly and firmly, checking the tension twice to make sure it would hold without restricting movement too much. It seemed she was quick enough, because Quillan’s head coach entered right as she finished up. She stepped back to give space, wiping her hands on a towel.
She was able to get some peace when Mark worked on fighters, observing closely, though keeping an eye on the one fighter she’d treated herself. She looked at him on the mats as he practiced punches and found herself mesmerised by the quickness, the smoothness of it, the way his eyes looked sharp and focused, tracking every movement like nothing else existed.
Until he looked at her, probably feeling someone’s stare on him.
And she snapped away, back to observing Mark’s techniques, forcing her attention onto something else.
It was embarrassing.
At some point, while Mark was working on a fighter, another guy came in. She found herself oddly anxious to work on him, already half-preparing in her mind for whatever injury he might have. He dapped up everyone around with an easygoing smile, moving through the room like he’d been there a hundred times before. A tattoo was poking out of the collar of his shirt, and his arms seemed to be covered as well.
“Hello, Dan,” he said with a nod of the head at her, casual but polite.
She nodded back. “Lillian.”
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good, good,” she answered, a little quick. “You? Do you need a physio?”
He shrugged. “Eh.”
“I’m still a student,” she cut in, words coming out a bit too fast. “Just in case you’d prefer someone with experience.”
Dan smiled an easygoing smile before shrugging once more. “Eh, I don’t mind being a lab rat.”
She smiled, unsure how to take it. Was it a joke, an insult to her skills, or both? Perhaps neither.
She warmed her hands as he took off his shirt, revealing the tattoo underneath.
“That’s a cool tattoo,” the blonde remarked, genuine curiosity slipping into her voice.
The platinum blond smiled. “Cheers.”
He then proceeded to take his place where Quillan had laid down only an hour before, settling in like it was routine.
Dan Hooker was the second and last fighter she took care of that day. They seemed to all have their own schedules, spaced out enough that her help wasn’t needed much. She mostly helped Dan with his arm, which he’d broken before, testing mobility and working around the area as the man chatted away about the tattoos, picking up from the remark she’d made earlier and running with it.
That night, she struggled to sleep. She was tired, yeah, but she was also an anxious student, keen to do well. Fear had a way of settling deep in her chest, grabbing hold of her like she’d lost control of her own self, making her body go rigid and her thoughts loop in circles. The only way she knew how to deal with it was to work through it until her brain felt quiet again. So, at one in the morning, she grabbed her hotel key card, her laptop, and her wallet, zipped her hoodie right up, and headed downstairs in her slides, barely making a sound.
The hotel’s 24/7 food court was almost empty, save but one employee. She found a quiet corner, ordered a green tea, then settled in and opened her laptop. She went through the semester’s readings, once, twice, carefully, methodically, making sure she hadn’t missed anything.
As she was getting ready to do it a third time, she noticed, just at the edge of her vision, a figure lingering near the cookie display at the counter.
She tried not to pay attention. She forced her focus back onto the screen, rereading the same paragraph until the words started to blur slightly.
Lillian was easily distracted, that much was true, but why would she care that some random guy was hovering around cookies at one in the morning? People did weird things all the time. It wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter.
After only a few minutes, though, a cookie was placed beside her, and the seat opposite dipped as someone slid into it without asking.
“Got this even though I can’t eat it,” Quillan said, letting out a quiet sigh, like it was a genuine tragedy.
The timing couldn’t have been worse.
She slowly lifted her head over the top of her MacBook. Her blue eyes met his brown ones for a second, then dropped to the cookie. “So you want me to eat it?” she asked, just to be sure she understood the situation properly.
“...Yeah?” he said, one eyebrow lifting, like he wasn’t entirely convinced she was serious.
“Sorry,” she said automatically, even though she wasn’t sure what she was apologising for, as she picked up the cookie from the napkin and took a bite. It was bigger than she expected, but good.
He watched her.
“You’re pretty sleep deprived, aren’t you?” he said, tilting his head a bit, studying her face.
“Why do you say that?” the blonde replied, her tone even, though her grip on the cookie tightened slightly.
“Dunno, hey. Just… your social cues are a bit off. Not in a bad way, just… yeah. Maybe you should give the studying a rest for a bit,” he said, leaning forward to glance at her screen before gently turning the laptop towards himself without really asking. “Soft tissue manipulation and joint mobilisation? You’re already pretty solid at that, I reckon. Seen it.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “My social cues are always a bit off though, due to the autism.” She said it plainly before snapping her laptop shut.
“Oh. Right,” he said, pausing for half a second. “So nothing to do with the insomnia?”
“I don’t have insomnia!”
They stayed there for a good thirty minutes, which, for her, was longer than she would usually tolerate that kind of interaction. She worked her way through the cookie slowly, bite by bite, while he watched with open interest, licking his lips every now and then like he was regretting every life choice that had led to him not being able to eat it himself. He talked in short bursts, not pushing too hard, and somehow it didn’t feel as overwhelming as it should have.
The day after was relatively easy. She worked on him again, even though Mark was free at that time and could have taken over without any issue. He stepped in at first, trying to help where he could, offering suggestions, but it didn’t take long for him to notice that Lillian and Quillan had already found a rhythm that worked for them. They moved around each other without needing to say much, anticipating the next step, adjusting naturally.
Mark ended up stepping back, arms folded, just watching it play out with a small, knowing look, realising there wasn’t much for him to add.
On Thursday, she worked on him again. That time, she moved across his whole body, not focusing on anything too intense, just easing through it with lighter work and a few longer massages.
The curtain was drawn, cutting them off from the rest of the room, from Mark and the fighter he was treating on the other side. It felt quieter, more contained, like they’d been set aside from everything else going on.
Quillan seemed alright. He breathed in deep, then out just as slow. There was something steady about him, almost too steady for someone who was about to step into a cage in a couple of days. He looked peaceful. A bit too calm. So she asked.
“Do you not get anxious?”
“Hm?” He blinked, snapping out of whatever headspace he was in, eyes dropping to where her hands were working on his thigh. Her hair was still tied back low, but a few strands had come loose and hung near her face.
Lillian repeated herself.
“Nah,” he said, shifting slightly and tucking an arm behind his head. “Don’t really get anxious, hey. You?”
“No,” she answered, pressing her thumbs into a slow, controlled circle. “It doesn’t serve any purpose. Things are going to happen anyway, right? So why make yourself suffer by being anxious about them?”
Quillan nodded, more firmly than she expected. “Yeah. That’s it. No point wasting your head on it.”
Later, she was working on his back, his face resting through the hole of the table, his voice slightly muffled. His coach peeked behind the curtain and stepped in without much hesitation. She kept working, quiet and focused, easing out the knots along his shoulders while they talked over her.
“What’d you reckon?”
She kept massaging, assuming it was not meant for her.
“Lillian?” Quillan asked.
She paused for half a second. Right. They were probably trying to include her at some point. She hadn’t caught any of it, and she didn’t want to make them repeat themselves, so she just went with the first thing that came to mind.
“Uh… well… yeah?”
“Sweet, perfect.” His head coach gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. “Tomorrow. Room 247. Come by whenever suits you.”
Then he was gone, just like that, leaving the curtain swaying slightly behind him.
She stood there for a moment, hands still resting lightly on Quillan’s back.
She had no idea what she'd just agreed to.
“You didn’t listen to a word of that, did you?” he asked, voice slightly amused.
“…No,” she admitted.
That was how she ended up in hotel room 247 on Friday, standing there with a half-naked Quillan and a group of men she didn't really know.
She’d never assisted with a weight cut before. She’d read about it, gone further than what they taught academically just out of curiosity, but being there was different. The atmosphere, the routine, everything.
By the middle of the day, most of the team got hungry and headed down to the food court without much hesitation. The second they mentioned food, Quillan’s face shifted, something almost pained flickering across it. So she stayed.
He looked exhausted. Sluggish. His stomach made quiet noises that didn't go unnoticed.
She was fairly sure she had heard the scale beep more times today than she had heard her mother’s voice in the last month.
Weigh-in was only a couple of hours away.
“How do you feel?” Lillian asked.
“Like shit,” he snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended. Then, almost immediately, “Sorry.” He reached out and patted the closest thing to him, which happened to be her head. His hand dropped again, and he exhaled slowly.
“It’s okay.” She looked at him, something soft and understanding in her expression. Carefully, she reached out and patted his tattooed hand where it rested on the edge of the tub. He was trying to sweat out the last stubborn kilos. “It’s the worst part, right? Just keep in mind it’ll be over soon. You’ll be back in your room with water, proper food, all of it.”
“Mmhhhhh…” He dragged the sound out into a groan the second she mentioned food.
She stopped.
Right. Not helpful.
She didn’t really know how to distract him, how to pull his thoughts away from it. So she fell back on something people didn’t usually like.
She rambled.
“When I was little, I had a rabbit,” she began. “His name was Thunder. He was completely black, except for a white streak down one of his legs.”
She paused briefly, glancing at him. His eyes, warm brown, were focused on her. Alert. He was actually listening.
She tried not to overthink that and kept going, her fingers absentmindedly picking at the skin around her nails.
“My parents got him for me after I was diagnosed with autism. Rabbits were my favourite animal.” A small pause. “I spent every day with him. He was… my best friend.”
Her voice stayed steady, even if her hands didn't.
“But one day, he fell off the couch and broke his leg.”
Quillan reached out without thinking, his wet hand closing gently around hers to stop her from picking herself raw.
“He broke it, and I was devastated because I thought it was my fault. The vet treated him, put a cast on it, and when it came off, he still had a limp.”
She glanced down briefly at their hands, noticing the contact but not pulling away.
“I started looking into things. I read about hydrotherapy, about stretching, about ways to help him recover properly.” She shifted slightly. “I worked with him every day.”
Quillan’s grip stayed light, resting against the edge of the tub.
“And?” he asked quietly.
“He stopped limping,” she said. “That’s when I decided I wanted to help people. That was the first time I did something like that.”
There was a short pause.
“Well…” he started, voice softer now, “guess I’m glad the little bloke busted his leg then. You’re a good physio.”
“Thanks. Not a physio yet.”
“Yeah, yeah. Soon enough.” He shifted slightly, looking at her properly now. “Hey, when you finish your degree, you reckon you could-”
The door unlocked, cutting him off.
The sound of flip-flops slapping against the floor filled the room as the others came back in.
“Hello, hello, how’s Quillan doing?”
“Good, good,” Lillian answered, pulling her hand back gently. “I think he might be at the right weight now.”
He was, indeed, at the right weight at exactly the right time to pull himself together.
She tried not to hover, knowing he had a lot on his mind and that too many questions would only make it worse. Still, she could not quite help herself and asked if he had any soreness or cramps. He told her he was fine. Lillian nodded, even if she did not fully believe him, and left so he could get ready in peace.
Mark, whose room was on the same floor as hers, ended up in the lift with her. She took the opportunity straight away, because if she did not ask now, she would overthink it later and probably not ask at all. He had not minded letting her observe a fighter’s weight cut earlier, which she had taken as a sign that he was approachable enough to handle her questions without thinking she was being annoying.
No, they did not need to be there at the weigh-ins. Yes, she could go, and he was going himself.
That was all she needed to know. She went to her room and got ready to meet him in the hotel lobby. She changed out of her work clothes and chose something more comfortable. A baggy pair of blue jeans and a green hoodie, loose enough that she would not be distracted by how it felt on her skin.
Unsurprisingly, the weigh-ins were kind of boring. Not bad, just slow. She lost Mark somewhere backstage at some point, though she was not entirely sure when, but she managed to find a spot with a clear view. A good angle, which mattered more to her than standing with anyone.
That was until she saw Quillan from where she was standing backstage, and her breath caught before she could stop it. He looked so… normal. Not drained and worn out like he had in his room earlier. They announced his weight, and only then did she let her breath out slowly, realising she had been holding it.
Once it was done, he moved quickly, clearly not interested in hanging around any longer than necessary. She stepped in without thinking too much about it and handed him the bottle of water she had brought with her, already unscrewed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m alright. Just wanna get back to the room, hey.” He took the bottle, nodding once. “Bit cooked, but I’ll be alright.”
Thankfully, the hotel was not far away. It was nothing a quick five-minute car ride could not fix, and the drive itself was quiet. They ended up back in the physio area at the hotel, where the atmosphere shifted back into something more clinical.
That was when he finally admitted, a bit offhand, that he had been dealing with cramps for a while.
“Didn’t think it was worth carrying on about,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just comes and goes. Bit annoying, that’s all.”
She did not yell at him for it. She wanted to, but she held it back. Getting angry would not help him now, and she knew that. Instead, she focused on what needed to be done.
They went their separate ways afterwards. He stepped out when the lift stopped at his floor, giving her a small nod before heading off, while she stayed inside as the doors closed again and carried on up.
She did not see him again until about an hour before he was fighting.
She and Mark had already been there, helping fighters warm up, when he showed up out of nowhere. She caught him in the corner of her eye, but he was gone so fast it almost felt unreal, like she’d imagined it.
Mark noticed. He told her to focus and pick up the pace, nothing more. She took it well. A bit embarrassed, sure, but she got on with it.
She checked her watch, listened out for announcements. The closer it got, the more wound up she became. By now, she considered him a friend. She didn’t want to miss his fight. Didn’t want to miss seeing him after either.
She was eventually dismissed when she got too agitated to keep working properly. The second she was free, she made a beeline for where she’d last seen him and pushed open the nearest door. Didn’t matter if she got it wrong and walked in on someone else. Lillian had a job to do.
Turned out it was the right room. And he was alone.
He looked good. Focused. He turned quickly when she walked in and gave her a small nod.
“When are you in?” she asked.
“Next,” he said, like it was nothing. “Pretty much up.”
“Oh.” A short pause. She stepped closer. “How do you feel?”
She remembered what they’d said before, about nerves. She watched his eyes closely and caught a flicker.
“Can’t lie,” he said, letting out a breath. “Got a few nerves, hey.”
“Hey.” The blonde tilted her head slightly. “Remember, being anxious or scared doesn’t actually help you.”
He didn’t look convinced. Like the fear of messing up in front of everyone was bigger than anything else. She stepped closer again, grounding herself before speaking.
“It’s not you. The fear’s just… something else. It’s trying to take over. Don’t let it. You’re better than that, and I know it. Whatever happens out there is going to happen anyway.”
He breathed in, eyes still locked on hers. She’d never felt someone look at her like that before, that steady, that intense. After a moment, he let the breath out and gave a small nod.
“Yeah… alright. Thanks. You’re right.”
He still looked nervous, but the tightness in his shoulders eased a bit. He shut his eyes for a second.
“You’re on!”
His team came in, loud and ready, and he gave her one last look before heading out.
For a moment, she just stood there, unsure what to do next. Then, almost on autopilot, her legs carried her back to where Mark was. There were screens set up, sound off, the fight already on. She watched him through the screen, not hearing a word from the commentators, fingers twitching, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Mark was the only one there now.
“Wanna head out there?” he asked.
“We can?”
“Yeah, course. Come on, we’ll go cageside.”
The minute or so she missed felt like the longest minute of her life.
And when she finally got there, she barely had anything left to see.
Because Quillan had already submitted his opponent.
Halfway through the first round.
And she screamed.
All that tension just left her body as she bounced on the spot, pure relief and excitement hitting at once.
The second the cage doors opened, he spotted her straight away.
“Told ya, hey, you were right!” he said, grinning, coming up to her. He patted her shoulder a couple of times, ruffling her hair. “You called it.”
“I was,” she said, nodding, almost dazed.
Then he was gone again.
She stayed, but she wasn’t really watching anymore. Not like Mark, who was completely into it. She didn’t care that much about MMA, and he clocked it straight away.
“Go on,” he said. “Go see him.”
“Sorry?”
“Go see Salkilld. You’ve been glued to him all week. Go. Reckon he’d be happy to see you.”
She raised an eyebrow at that, unsure, but she went anyway.
Same room as before.
Door open this time.
Empty again.
Where was everyone?
She hovered near the doorway until Quillan, sitting on the bench, looked up and waved her in.
“Hey, Lillian. C’mon, don’t lurk out there. Get in here.”
“You okay?” she asked, grabbing the bottle near him and handing it over. “Drink.”
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, taking a swig. “Better than good, actually. Over the moon.”
“You smashed it.”
“Cheers.” A pause. He shifted a bit, then looked at her properly. “Before I get cut off again like last time… this might sound a bit out of nowhere, yeah, and you can tell me to piss off if you want…”
She stilled, watching him.
“…but d’you wanna go on a date?”
A date?
She looked at him properly then. His warm brown eyes, messy hair, tattoos peeking over his shoulders. Really looked. The guy who’d bought her a cookie and stopped her from spiralling over her work. The one who made everything feel easy just by talking.
“It’s all good if you-”
“Yes,” she said.
“Yeah?” he blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, yeah?”
“Yes.”
He broke into a grin, wide and genuine. Still shirtless, still in his fight gear, still riding the high. And even when his team burst in, loud and celebrating, he didn’t stop smiling.
He stood, grabbed her hand, and lifted it up as music started playing somewhere in the background.
“C’mon,” he said, already bouncing. “Gotta celebrate properly, hey.”
And she did. She bounced along with him, a bit awkward at first, but smiling all the same.
hello, thank you so much for the rq and thank you to everyone who read! I didn't proofread because I am knackered (so if you see some things, no you didn't), it was my first time trying to write down an australian accent SO i hope i did well and if i didn't wel... don't be mean. I'll post on AO3 later, probably tomorrow.