boxer ⋆ luke hemmings ✔️

01. Underground.

SOPHIE
The bell lets out a loud shrill. There are two people in the ring; one guy with jet black hair, another guy with ashy brown. Fists up, about to swing. They have death in their eyes and determination in their clenched jaws. It's unnerving just watching them.

I stand to the side, next to my older brother Calum, listening to him whoop and yell and scream at them to dig their knuckles into the other's temples. I can't help but wince; I shouldn't be here.

"Cal," I tug on his sleeve. I've been unnerved since the match started, and I'm even more agitated now. "When can we go?"

"Just another round, Soph." he ruffles my hair.

Of course, 'another round' means nothing to Calum. It's just an excuse to stay a little while longer, though it's for a lot longer than a single ten minute fight.

The guy with the ashy hair falls to the floor, twitching and writhing in pain. His opponent wipes the blood from his mouth, spitting out a tooth next to him, before holding his hands up in triumph.

The crowd goes wild, cheers emitting left, right and centre. I gulp, feeling uneasy.

The man announces the winner and I sigh, knowing that there'll be another fight straight after this, no doubt.

"Cal," I nudge my brother again. "Why can't I just get Mali to pick me up?"

This seems to catch his attention. If I call Mali- our older sister- he'll get into trouble, because our parents left him in charge of 'baby'sitting me for the night, and I doubt that they'll be very happy knowing that he snuck me off to an underground boxing match instead of just staying at home like we were supposed to.

Calum's eyebrows furrow. "Don't call Mali," he says, sounding more concerned than anything. "Soph, just wait a little longer, okay?"

"But I don't like it here," I whine. In my opinion, I have every right to complain; I've stuck with him for a good couple of hours now. The least he can do is let me go home.

"Please," he sighs. The thing about Calum is that he won't push on it, and if I try really hard enough, I can convince him to do what I want.

The thing about me, however, is that I hate guilt. And I know that guilt is what I'll feel the second we get back into his car without letting the fight finish.

I sigh to myself, giving Calum a small nod. He grins, before turning back to the ring and letting out a loud yelp.

Running a hand through my hair, I stand with my arms folded, rocking on the balls of my feet as another bell rings and two people take place at the centre.

I don't mean to, but my mind wanders off and I find myself staring at them. I've always been told that it's rude to stare, but I can't help it.

The first is a tall guy, probably 6'1, with shaggy brown curls and a bandana tied to his ankle. His muscles portrude through the thin white tank that he wears; glistening with sweat underneath the glare of the light above the ring. If I'm being honest, all I can focus on is the red of his bandana.

I want to question the interesting choice of fashion, but my attention is immediately taken by the somehow (because he's already a giant) taller man right in front of him.

Arms up, fists clenched and blue eyes dark; he has got to be at least 6'4. He's lankier than the other dude, with ever so slightly less muscle, but I don't doubt that he can fight good.

He wouldn't be here otherwise.

He has messy blond hair and from where I'm standing, he looks much more determined than the other guy. His jaw is set. This blond means business, and I assume that everyone in the busy crowd already knows that, for they all cheer him on; even Calum.