Hold me close and we'll just leave it all behind

damn but you is amaze

The slam of the front door echoed through their mansion. Macau flinched, his nose buried in a book. He recognized the defeated voice of his hia even from another room.

"There you are, you good-for-nothing excuse for a son!" Their father's voice boomed, laced with the familiar edge of barely contained fury. The book felt heavy in Macau's hands. He inched closer to his bedroom door.

"Didn't get the job done, did you?" the voice continued. A sickening thud followed, the sound of a fist connecting with his brother's flesh. Macau bit his lip, willing himself not to peek.

"I... I tried, Dad. There were just so many complications in the projects offered," Vegas' voice was strained, barely audible over his father's tirade. Another thud, this time followed by a choked gasp.

Macau couldn't take it anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the already faded words of the book. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He reached for the doorknob, his hand shaking.

Just then, another roar from their father split the air, "You're a disappointment, Vegas! Just like your mother!"

Macau's hand stilled. He couldn't handle hearing their father bring up mom again. Not like this. Not ever. With a choked sob, he slammed his bedroom door shut, the sound a feeble counterpoint to the violence unfolding downstairs. He hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face in them, trying to shut out the world.

After what felt like an eternity, the sounds subsided. Silence settled, thick and heavy. Macau didn't move. He couldn't bring himself to peek out, to see the aftermath. He knew the picture wouldn't be pretty.

But somewhere in the quiet, a new sound emerged: a soft, choked sob coming from down the hall. Vegas. Macau knew he should go check on him, offer some kind of comfort. But the exhaustion from the fight, the fear, and a strange, heavy despair kept him rooted to the spot. He stayed curled up on his bedroom floor, tears tracing silent paths down his cheeks, a silent witness to the storm that raged within their broken home.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The amber glow of the bar cast a warm light on Pete, Porsche, Arm, and Pol as they huddled around a high-top table, their laughter echoing amidst the chatter. Across the bar, Pete sat nursing a beer, a playful glint in his eyes. He was a sucker for a good story, and Porsche was currently regaling them with a hilariously disastrous online date, the date was so bad, he felt pity ang gave the man named Kinn another chance.

Suddenly, Pete's gaze drifted across the bar. He froze mid-laugh, a slow smile creeping across his face. There, perched on a barstool a few seats down, was a vision. His cascading dark hair framed a face sculpted with high cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted nose. His eyes sparkled even from a distance.

Pete felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. He nudged Arm, who was engrossed in his phone, "Dude, check out the man at eight o'clock."

Arm glanced up, a low whistle escaping his lips, "Damn, Pete. Go for it. Looks like he's already offering you a drink."

Pete hesitated. He wasn't known for his boldness. But this man, he was worth taking a chance for. He started to rise, picturing himself walking over with a charming line, maybe even a playful wink.

Just then, the man's phone buzzed. He answered with a frown, his brow furrowing in concern. Finally, with a quick apology to the bartender and a hurried glance back at Pete, he threw some bills on the counter and practically ran out of the bar.

Pete stood there, a look of deflation on his face. He slowly sank back into his stool, the nervous flutter morphing into a dull ache. "Well, that was..." he began, searching for the right word.

"Disappointing?" Pol offered with a raised eyebrow.

"Anticlimactic," Porsche chimed in, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Pete sighed, a sheepish grin breaking out on his face, "Yeah, anticlimactic. Who knew being the pretty approached damsel involved paying your own bar tab?"

Porsche, ever the optimist, nudged him, "Hey, at least you had the guts to look interested. Next time, your knight in shining armor routine might actually work."

Well Pete for sure didn't expect to meet the beautiful stranger any time soon.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

The gym buzzed with the dull thud of leather on leather and the rhythmic whoosh of heavy bags. In the center of the ring, bathed in the harsh glare of a spotlight, stood Vegas. It was Sunday morning, and Vegas was tired from everything... his father, his company, his brother's behavior, his mom. Each blow was a release, a desperate attempt to release the frustration and anger coiling in his gut.

Finally, with a ragged gasp, Vegas threw one last punch, the bag swinging listlessly in the aftermath. His hand got a few more scars, the red stain being a reminder of his physical and emotional exhaustion.

Just then, the gym door creaked open, a shaft of light slicing through the gloom. A man walked in, his figure silhouetted against the rain-streaked glass. Him...

Porsche had recently acquired the membership to one of the best boxing gyms in the city but they held no good value to him, so he decided to give them to Pete, who is a boxing genius, at least in Porsche's opinion. Pete finally decided to check it out today. He walks towards one of the empty rings, puts on his gear and begins.

Across the gym, propped against the ropes of another ring, was Vegas. He leaned back, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Pete. His own gloves lay abandoned on the canvas beside him, forgotten in the face of this mesmerizing display. Pete's footwork was poetry, his punches explosive bursts of concentrated energy, Vegas wondered if those punches held an untold story in them. He wanted to know the reason for the fire in his eyes, a fierce determination that mirrored his own.

Pete landed a particularly brutal combination, the bag swinging violently under the impact. He stopped, panting lightly, chest heaving. As he straightened, his eyes met Vegas' across the gym. It was not on Pete's to-do list to meet the beautiful stranger who later left him and not more so for the stranger to remember him too. They locked for a brief moment, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

A flicker of surprise, quickly masked by amusement, crossed Pete's face. He smirked, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. Tossing his head, he adjusted his hand wraps with deliberate slowness, the motion fluid and practiced. It was a subtle display of controlled power, an invitation he couldn't ignore.

Vegas uncrossed his arms, a slow smile playing on his lips. He stretched, emphasizing the lean lines of his body, before picking up his gloves with an almost casual grace. His movements were measured, deliberate, but held an undeniable undercurrent of confidence. It was a silent reply to his challenge, a promise of a worthy opponent.

He pushed himself off the ropes and began a slow walk towards this beautiful stranger's ring, his eyes never leaving him. Each step seemed to crackle with unspoken energy, the tension building with every move. Pete watched him approach, his stance relaxed, yet his eyes mirrored his focus.

As Vegas reached the edge of her ring, he stopped, a respectful distance maintained. He raised one eyebrow, a playful question in his gaze, "Mind if I get in there handsome?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling.

Pete met his challenge with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Always up for a good spar," he replied, his voice a husky whisper.

The unspoken attraction hung heavy in the air, as thick as the sweat-laden atmosphere. They were two predators circling each other, a silent dance of dominance and desire. The boxing ring, usually a place of violence and competition, had become a stage for a different kind of battle, one fueled by unspoken attraction and a mutual respect for raw, untamed skill.

With a nod of agreement, the dance began.

🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙

End Notes

is it rlly the minor family if gun doesn't traumatize his kids? my babies :(