"Then one day, my father had a boxing match, and I went to cheer him on."
Matt's voice grew quieter.
"By then, my father was the ring's reigning champion, on a winning streak. He'd been knocked down, but he always got back up and turned the fight around. At forty-two, that was nothing short of incredible."
"Something was strange about him that day. His opponent seemed especially strong, and a punch knocked him to the floor. I was nervous, so I kept cheering him on. We'd promised each other we'd never give up. Before the count ended, he got back up, knocked his opponent down with a combination, and won the match."
"He draped his red boxing robe over me and lifted me onto his shoulders. He said he'd won it for me. I was so, so excited then, so happy I forgot everything else."
"Afterward, I waited for my father outside the arena..."
"When I heard the sound of fists hitting flesh, I knew something was wrong and ran over. All I could feel was my father's still-warm... his heart had already stopped beating. I didn't know who the killer was. All they left at the scene was a rose. Nobody cared whether a washed-up boxer lived or died... except me..."
"Matt..."
The two lovers, bound by similar suffering, could now feel the deepest scars in each other's hearts. They held each other, soothing their own battered hearts as well as each other's, and slowly drew closer...
"A rose?"
The girl's sudden voice startled the two of them, interrupting them just as they were about to touch. They sprang apart as though shocked by electricity, only then remembering that someone else was in the room-a young girl, still a minor.
"Miaomiao... what did you say?" Even Matt, long accustomed