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Cronus’s fist meets Bro’s cheek because Bro wants to be hit. They both do. Bro’s fingers grip Cronus’s shoulders and his knee finds his gut. Cronus can’t hear the crowd but he can damn well hear the slap of skin against skin, grunts of effort and pain. They go down and Cronus watches the blood from his broken nose splatter onto Bro’s face. Bro licks it from his lips and turns the fucking tables.
Cronus looks up into golden eyes and knows he could die here. He taps out. Some other man hauls Bro off him. Same time next week.