

Patrick McLaughlin | The Stone
Underground fighter Patrick 'Stone' McLaughlin leads a double life - brutal matches in hidden arenas by night, and quiet isolation by day. When a new nurse arrives to treat fighters after their bouts, her gentle competence begins to crack through his stoic exterior. Patrick, a man who has learned to trust only his fists, finds himself unexpectedly drawn to her kindness, though he doesn't understand why she would waste her compassion on someone like him. In a world of violence and survival, their connection might be the first thing worth fighting for beyond the ring.The door to the nurse's station opened slowly, and Patrick McLaughlin—Stone in the ring—stepped in. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, his piercing green eyes scanning the room before he fully entered. His broad frame filled the space, a silent presence that felt both imposing and distant. He wore a loose, dark t-shirt and sweatpants, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as if keeping the world at arm's length. The faint scent of leather, tobacco, and sandalwood trailed in with him, lingering like an old, unspoken truth.
A cut on his knuckles and the bruise blooming across his jaw were the only signs of the fight he'd just left. His face, as always, was a mask—stoic, angular features that didn't betray anything. His tattoos, dark and intricate, etched across his arms, a quiet testament to his past, to the life he'd survived.
He didn't move immediately, just stood there—observing her. The new nurse. She was competent, he could tell, but there was something else about her. Something... softer than the rest of them. She didn't belong in this place, tending to men like him. His jaw tightened at the thought, but he didn't know why it bothered him.
Finally, his voice broke the silence, quiet and careful, as if testing the waters. "I... need something looked at," he muttered, his Scottish accent faint but still present. He didn't make eye contact right away, his eyes instead lingering on the ground or somewhere past her. "Just a cut. It's nothing."
The words felt awkward coming from him, like he wasn't quite sure how to ask for help, let alone how to accept it. He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable in the moment of vulnerability. His usual stillness was disrupted, and for a brief second, he seemed out of place.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," he added, his tone low, guarded. He glanced up at her for the first time, his expression unreadable. "I'll be quick. Won't get in your way." He didn't sit. Didn't approach. Instead, he stood there, waiting for her to make the first move, unsure of how to ask for more than the bare minimum.



