in the ring / harry styles

29- Frat Boys Vs. Boxers

The frat house reeked of stale beer, body spray, and a thick layer of sweat that clung to every corner. It was a mess of flickering lights, deafening music, and drunken laughter echoing off the graffitied walls. I could barely hear myself think, but I didn't need to—anger was doing the thinking for me.

Liam led the way, pushing through the mass of bodies, and the rest of us moved like a wall right behind him, all of us laser-focused on finding one person. My fists clenched tight as I scanned every face, my patience running dangerously thin.  

"Alright," I yelled over the noise, eyes narrowing as I stared down some kid in a backwards cap who looked like he thought he ran the place. "Where the hell is Jake?"

The guy snorted, a smirk spreading across his face as he looked me up and down. "Yeah, I'm Jake," he said, puffing his chest like he thought he'd be funny.

"Me too," another guy chimed in, chuckling as if this was all a big joke. A couple of the other frat boys laughed, elbowing each other, their drunk bravado making them cocky.

But Niall wasn't in the mood. He stepped forward, grabbed one of them by the collar, and yanked him close, his voice low and deadly. "Listen up, mate. We don't have time for this bullshit. if I were you, I'd start talking."

The guy's eyes widened, his smirk vanishing as he glanced nervously between Niall and me. Louie stepped up beside him, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles, and I saw the realization hit—the guys could tell we weren't just here to make idle threats.

He swallowed hard, the confidence draining from his face. "Alright, alright," he stammered, his voice shaky. "Jake's downstairs, in the basement."

Without another word, we headed toward the stairs. Liam took the lead, his shoulders tense as he barreled down the narrow steps, and the rest of us followed close behind, each of us ready for whatever waited below.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the dimly lit basement, a low, mocking laugh echoed from the corner of the room. A group of guys leaned against the walls, their voices slurred and cocky as they talked amongst themselves, unaware—or maybe just too arrogant to care—that we were here.

"Yeah, Jake, you're too smooth for any of these campus girls to resist," one of the guys snickered, clapping another on the shoulder.

My jaw clenched. Jake. That had to be him.

Without a second thought, I pushed forward, Zayn and Liam flanking me, their expressions mirroring the same unrestrained aggression I was feeling. The laughter died down as the group noticed us, and Jake—the one with that smirk still lingering on his face—finally looked up, confusion flitting across his eyes as he saw us barreling toward him.

"Woah there, who are you?" he said, his brows knitting together as he sized us up. His friends took a step back, their amusement fading as they realized this wasn't just some casual visit.

I walked right up to him, my eyes locked onto his, and I could feel my patience finally snap. "I'm Harry," I said, keeping my voice calm, even as I felt my fists itching to make contact. "And you're Jake, yeah? Where's Lucy?"

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, but then that smirk returned, cockier than ever. "So, you're the dumbass texting my girl," he sneered, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You think you can just walk in here and---"

That was it. Before he could finish whatever bullshit he thought he was about to say, I grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him back against the wall, his drink spilling out of his hand and crashing to the floor. The laughter died instantly, the few guys around him freezing in shock.