Knockout • OT4

2 - Avoid

"A bitch."

"Luke."

"A pretty bitch."

Calum rolled his eyes and sighed as he took another drag of his cigarette, watching his blonde companion struggle to work the lighter.

His hands shook in anger.

After the first punch Michael threw, Luke could hear the crowd gasp. He felt the way his strong front only crumbled from there. The punk embarrassed him, made a mockery of him.

Now usually, Luke was pretty well put together.

He put his calm demeanour and clean look on the line, intimidating his poor competitors. But with Michael? He couldn't hold back.

The blonde only huffed and dropped the lighter onto the wet cement, weakly spitting his cigarette to the floor too.

He was about to tuck his hands into his pockets before he felt the warm hold of beaten hands. He glanced to the side to see Calum holding the cancer stick between his lips, hands now focused on the blondes much paler one's.

"Relax, Luke. You're starting to look like me."

Luke chuckles, gently squeezing the hand back. Calum was driven by his anger, by his emotions when he fought.

He was dangerous at every and any part of the day, because working and living in this environment since way back? Only breeds eternal misery.

This was all he knew, fighting, blood, violence.

Some say it's fucked with his brain, others say it's turned him into much more than a fighter.

And man were they right.

"The kid has some audacity showing up and pulling that shit." Calum spat, annoyance in his tone of voice. It's clear as day that the two weren't fond of the red haired fighter.

"What're we thinking, no more than like.. 19? 20?" questioned the blonde. Calum merely shrugged, uninterested at the topic at hand.

"With the way he acts, he may as well be 12."

Luke snorted humourlessly and looked away, eyes trained to the busy streets beyond the alleyway.

Luke always wondered what life would be like if he had never gotten involved with the dirty work, with the blood on his hands.

He guesses he'll never know.

Meanwhile, Michael was being babysat by yet another strong contender that worked in the ring.

The younger man groggily opened his eyes, adjusting poorly to the hospital like-lighted room. As soon as he opened his eyes however, a sharp pain took over.

"Careful rockstar, you sure take more than you can handle." came another voice from within the room.

It's calm but rough, deep.

Shivers went down to boys spine.

Michael didn't even bother keeping his eyes open, he simply draped his arm over his face with a quiet wince.

"Where am I?" he questioned.

"The lounge, couldn't keep ya' around the ring much longer. You would've been left for dead." responded the voice. Michaels heart beat could only quicken at the thought of what the blonde would do to him the next time he saw him.

And he could only think about ways to return the favour.

The room went silent apart from some shuffling from the other stranger. He heard said man stand and walk, not knowing if he was moving further or closer.

The rough hands feeling him up for injury clearly answered his question.

The red head jumped slightly in his position, groaning at the pain coming from his ribs.

Rough hands with an even rougher touch pressed down on his ribs, moving down to his stomach.

The younger man winced, "Fuck- could you go any harder?"

The man could only grin.

"May have bruised you up a bit.. looks like you may have broken an eye socket too. A black eye suits ya, kid." said the man, a smirk laced in his tone of voice.

His blood ran cold at the tone of voice.

A bunch of sick fucks is who they are.

"What are you, a doctor?" Michael questioned, fingers desperately pressing into his palm. A loud laugh boomed through the sad room.

"A doctor? No. Experience, punk. When you've been fighting for as long as I have, you get used to it. You learn."

Another fighter, just Michaels luck.

"Right.. Can I put a name to the face?" the red haired asked. The familiar chuckle only echoed through his ears again. It's menacing, these men are menaces.

"You could.. if you could see."

Michael was so over the blatant mockery and belittling that he threw his fist up aimlessly, hoping it'll hit the stranger somewhere.

His fist was caught is a large hand, one much larger than his.

Michael tried to pull away, he really did, but the stranger only tightened his grip painfully. He heard his fist crack under the pressure, emitting a loud whine.

The stranger paused.

"Nice try, punk. I would watch what you do.. but we could use someone pretty and little like you."

The younger mans lips only parted at the words before he scowled, pulling at his trapped hand again.

"Will you guys stop calling me this shit? It's demeaning."

"It's true."

Michael could only turn his head away, hiding it further into the arm draped across his face.

He heard shuffling again, only this time he assumed that the stranger was moving away.

"Whatcha say, punk? Wanna stick around, help us train? In return, you learn how to fight too." the man said, returning back to his original position in the chair across from the wounded fighter.

This was all Michael needed, an opportunity to join and stay at the ring. He can learn and make accomplices on his own, he'd simply avoid the three men.

How hard could that be, right?

"Yea.. yea I'm in."

The stranger smirked and stood, making his way out of the quiet room, not before poking his head back in.

"The names Irwin, sweetheart."

The younger man was sure his palms were bleeding with how hard his nails dug into his delicate skin.

"First or last name?"

"Does it matter? It's what you'll refer to me as, and if you knew what's best for you, you'd listen."

That's when it seemed to click for the young fighter.

Avoiding them simply isn't an option.

—-
mashton finally meeting

I have so many ideas for this story, i can't wait to write michael getting wrecked (in both ways)

comments and opinions are so appreciated! i love hearing feel back from you guys. any predictions?