fight club. lh ; mc.

uno.

Luke's leaning against the damp red brick wall of the club, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Calum blow rings of smoke out of his obscene, red raw, bitten lips. Luke can tell the older boy is itching to tell him something, and he's waiting patiently in the heavy silence.

Calum side eyes him, takes another drag of his cigarette and speaks up, "Ashton's brought in this new guy," his voice is gruff, raw and throaty, "apparently he's a hot shot. Really knows what he's doing, could probably knock half of our guys out with one punch."

Luke blinks at the raven haired boy, running his hand over his own stubbly jaw, letting the bones crack under his fingertips, "Who is he, then? Need to put a name to this god." the sarcasm radiates off Luke, Calum can tell the tall blonde isn't happy about it. Luke is Ashton's star boy, not this new guy that is gonna come waltzing in like he owns the place.

Calum shrugs, "He's Clifford something or other. I wasn't really listening to Ash when he told me. Point is, is the guy is good, he's gonna bring us a lot of money, fuck knows we need it. You need to let Ashton do what he thinks is best, he knows what he's doing."

Luke's jaw locks, but he steels himself and nods. There's so much he could say about the whole situation, instead he keeps his mouth from running, muttering out a quiet, "Fuck."

"Yeah, fuck. He's up against Malik first, I hope pretty boy is ready to get his face ruined." Calum takes the last drag of his cig, flicks the butt onto the road and steps back inside the building without another glance at Luke.

---

Luke looks like shit.

His reflection stares back at him in the mucky bathroom mirror, and god, he looks awful.

The young blonde's eyes are sunken in so deep that he looks ill, eyes black and blue with new and old bruises from multiple hits. His crimson, bitten lips are puffy and sore, a large cut on his swollen bottom one. His nose is crooked, far too crooked, due to the amount of blows it's suffered at the hands of his competitors. He needs to shave, the skin around his eyebrow is split and the scar on his left temple is weeping.

The twenty-one year old looks about thirty.

Luke clenches his jaw, grits his teeth and brings his fist up to the mirror, punching it so hard it shatters under his hand, tiny shards of glass sticking into his knuckles.

He laughs humourlessly, because he still feels nothing, even with the pain in his left hand.

"What a performance," a voice speaks up out of nowhere, and Luke almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of the heavy British accent.

"Fuck sake, Malik. What did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?" He looks at the tan, stunning man through the broken mirror, and before he knows it, Zayn is grabbing his hand and pressing a wet, warm cloth to it.

"You need to look after yourself," Zayn's voice is soft as he runs the cloth slowly along Luke's knuckles, the younger blonde hissing at the pain from the open wounds.

Luke's head hangs low, he doesn't speak. What's the point? He knows Zayn is right, Zayn is a man of wisdom.

"New kid just came in, he's pretty." Zayn continues to talk as he wraps Luke's knuckles in fresh gauze, "Bright red hair, beautiful green eyes, nice teeth. I can't wait to fuck him up."

Luke lets out a startled laugh at that, "I heard he's good."

"So Irwin says, but he's just a kid, no older than eighteen, nineteen." Zayn shrugs, double bandaging Luke's fist and then releasing it, "How does that feel?"

Luke wiggles his fingers, nods his head, "Feels good. Thanks, Z."

Zayn puts his hands on either side of Luke's face, pulling him close so that their foreheads are touching, "Don't do stupid shit like that again." He warns, a smirk on his lips.

Luke doesn't reply, instead closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to the older man's.

Luke was always Zayn's favourite.