Arriving back at my old apartment was like leaving paradise and ending up in some Hollywood version of a hellscape. Two days after Samuel and I agreed to share the rest of our lives together and to build a home, I had returned to the apartment to start packing up my things.

We’d been back together for about two months, and moving back in together as the first step. It made the most sense. If we were able to pick up where we left off in so many other ways, we should be able to pick up where we left off here, too.

Besides, Samuel's bed was much more comfortable. It was easy to start daydreaming about that bedroom, though. As I cleaned out my closet, I definitely thought about that big box of toys that was waiting on me. I thought about how easy it was to collapse underneath the calming and dominating presence of my boyfriend, and ignore all of the other problems that I had.

I started in the living room, boxing up various plaques and trinkets that I had been given. There were a few books that had to go into the boxes, as well. I noticed as I began to pull the heaviest of the books that my body didn't seem to like it very much. What was that about? Had I not done my exercises well enough? Had I forgotten to stretch out before I'd started in on the heavy sparring practice? Maybe I'd just over done it. The championship was getting closer. It was completely expected that we were going to work harder. It wouldn't be the first time that I had pulled a muscle.

I made a mental note to get it checked out soon, but otherwise ignored it. The slight twinge in my side left as I went into the kitchen and began to box up the sad cooking utensils. I couldn't imagine that I needed to keep most of this stuff. My boyfriend was a notorious and compulsive freak fond of color coding all of our dishes and cookware. The few items that I had used to boil eggs and drink my coffee with were not going to go well with what we already had at the house.

Did I mention that my life had been pretty stagnant for two years? It definitely had been.

I started in my tiny bedroom, making two different piles. One pile was for donation, of things that I didn't need to worry about taking with me to Samuel's - to our - house. The other pile was stuff that I needed to take with me to my former and future home.

In all honesty, I was mostly only taking trophies and clothes out of the bedroom. There would be some other personal items, but I simply hadn't collected enough stuff during the past two years to actually take most of it anywhere. Most of it would be going to a donation center. Someone could get some use out of the tiny bed and the very used couch.

Meanwhile, I would be enjoying the soft and ridiculous color coded furniture in that house. I smiled to myself, as I thought about how that color coding was going to take a beating once those children we agreed on having someday started making their debut.

As I put the last of pair of pants into the suitcase, I heard a firm knock at the door. I almost didn't go to answer it. I wasn't expecting anybody. People rarely came around to this little apartment. When I went out with friends, it was usually to a movie or to their house.

Maybe eventually I would be able to start inviting my friends to our house, the one that I was sharing with Samuel. Most of them weren't aware that I was gay or an omega, but after a few more championships, I'd probably have to retire. They didn't exactly let you fight when you were pregnant, after all.

Opening the door, I was surprised to see Terrance standing right there in the hallway.

Terrance was definitely not someone I was friendly enough with to expect to see him show up out of nowhere and make a call to my home. We had been friendly with one another when the situation warranted it, but we also weren't best buddies. I wasn't even sure how he knew where I lived, to be honest.

"Hey, Terrance," I said slowly. "I wasn't expecting you today. Or ... ever."

"Hi, Eric," Terrance said, and his voice sounded extra slimy to me today.

I wasn't sure what the problem was, but a bundle of nervousness began to build in my stomach. That fight or flight response was back, just as it had been when I had to fight that gang of would-be muggers. But I told myself that was ridiculous; Terrance was my colleague and my associate. We were on professional terms, even if I did have to tell him to go screw himself occasionally in the gym.

A little professional jealousy was no reason to want to fight the guy in real life, after all.

"I need to come in," he said. "I have something we need to discuss."

Every part of my brain was screaming at me to tell him no, but I allowed it. As I stepped back and let him in, he pushed his way inside the room obnoxiously. He stood in the middle of the living room and frowned as he glanced around it.

"What's the problem?" I asked shortly.

"This wasn't exactly the kind of living quarters I was expecting out of a prized HIT champion," he said. "Especially not one who has three championships under his belt."

"Thanks for the criticism, but I'm actually getting ready to move," I said irritably. "Now is there a reason you're here? I didn't exactly give you my address."

"No," he agreed. "But these things are easily findable, aren't they? If you know where to look."

Well, that seemed sleazy, I thought. It also sounded threatening, but surely Terrance wasn't as stupid as the gang of kids had been. Surely, Terrance knew good and well exactly how dangerous I could be.

"What do you want?" I asked shortly.

"Why so hateful?" he asked. "Are those boxes? You said you were moving, why don't you let me help you?"

Before I could really mount a protest, Terrance picked up a box that I knew was too heavy for me to carry on my own – I had been planning on waiting until Samuel was free to help me move it – and began walking towards the door.

I scowled, but picked up a box and followed him.

"You really didn't have to do this," I said. "And I'm not quite sure I really appreciate it. Coming by without asking first is kind of an invasion of privacy."

Kind of was an understatement, of course. But there still wasn't any need to really offend Terrance – or at least there wasn't until I could figure out exactly what his problem was.

"Oh, was it? I just felt so terrible about the slight that I might have caused towards you the other day that I knew I had to come by and make amends," Terrance told me as he slid the box into the front seat of my car.

I sized him up as he was bent over. He was larger than me, both in height and width. He'd been chasing after the championship so long that he definitely over compensated in the gym and over did he bulk.

Constantly weight lifting to the point that you looked like your muscles had their own set of abs was not what it took to win a HIT championship. But you couldn't tell certain people that. I knew that Kamal had already engaged in that conversation several times. Kamal was patient and kind, both attributes that I wasn't the best at; if he couldn't get someone to see some sense, there was no way that I was going to win that battle.

As for fighting him? Well, I might win that battle, but it would definitely hurt. Besides, fighting outside the ring with other fighters was explicitly prohibited according to the rules in the HIT guidebook. What would Kamal say? Nothing good, that was for sure.

"Well, that's nice of you," I said, and I could hear the sarcasm in my own voice. "But it was unnecessary, so you could probably go head and be on your way."

He straightened up then, and as he did, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"You're so judgmental," he scoffed. "It's really not very professional, you know."

"Look. I'm trying not to be an asshole here, but you showed up on my doorstep without any previous invitation. You inserted yourself into my routine without asking. You'll have to forgive me if I'm not exactly being on my kindest and most open behavior here."

Terrance shrugged in an unnecessarily exaggerated fashion, and I watched as his phone "accidentally" fell out of his pocket. There was no way it was truly accidental, though, because it just happened to "fall" onto the ground on its case, protecting it from accidentally cracking the screen.

When I glanced down at the screen, my heart fell into my shoes. There, on his screen, was a picture of me and Samuel, kissing outside of Kinkee Sensation Studio, next to his car. The shock I felt made me unable to move quick enough to pick it up before Terrance.

"My, my," Terrance all but purred. "What is this? Such an incriminating picture of everyone’s favorite little fighter being some sort of fetish loving freak. But I'm sure there's some explanation, right?"

Sure, I thought. It wasn't at all what it looked like. There was a perfectly good reason to explain why it looked like I was playing tonsil hockey with another man outside of a paid bondage studio. But the denials died in my throat as Terrance flipped through the pictures on his phone.

The result was a complete invasion of privacy. Picture after picture revealed shots of the two of us together, in various forms of embrace. Some even looked like they had been shot through the open window of the big picture window in our home.

The sickness in my stomach was strong, but not as strong as my desire to punch Terrance in the face. My fists balled at my side, but before I could react, Terrance actually laughed at me.

"I understand that you're mad, but you might want to remember how strongly Kamal frowns on fighters fighting outside the ring. You wouldn't want to lose your precious championship over that, would you?"

He was right. He was telling the truth, and I couldn't just punch him. What would I even say? How would I defend myself? If I tried to say that Terrance was blackmailing me, they would want to know exactly how.

I couldn't tell them.

"That's good. Now that you've calmed down, let's talk about that championship a little more, shall we?" Terrance clamped his hand roughly on my shoulder, and the sickness in my stomach only grew. "Put it simply: I want a match and I want you to lose it. On purpose."

"Never," I spat out.

"Really?" Terrance said the words as though he didn't believe them. "You might want to think on that one, and think about the consequences, Hitch."

The implied threat didn't need to be spoken.

I watched Terrance leave, and I barely made it to the inside of my crappy apartment before I collapsed against the door, completely and utterly emotionally drained.

How was I going to fix this without throwing a match?