boxer ⋆ luke hemmings ✔️

48. The End.

for what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf?
- carol ann duffy,
the world's wife.

⋆

The night never felt longer as Sophie held her breath, eyes fixated on the ring, the taunting cheers of the busy crowds around her doing nothing but damaging her eardrums.

She waited in anticipation, palms becoming clammy at the mere thought of seeing Luke in his prime yet again. She knew he could handle himself- probably in a much better way than all of the other boxers- yet her brain would argue otherwise, leaving the young girl with nothing but butterflies coursing through her stomach and a head full of what-if's.

Luke hadn't wanted her to come; in fact, he opposed wholeheartedly to it. He didn't exactly want his girl in the crowds, regardless of how much she actually proved to him that she could take it. But Sophie remained persistent, even going so far as to nag him constantly throughout the day, and he eventually gave in.

He just had to keep an eye on her. He just had to swing, then look, then swing again. It'd be repetitive, and a small inconvenience to his usual routine, but Luke would do it with zero hesitations if it meant that his girl would be kept safe.

Deep breaths. Both opponents bound to be in the ring made quick eye contact, a gesture that Sophie hadn't missed, and she silently willed for the fight to start already so that the tension would disappear faster than it spent building up.

Luke wasn't nervous, nor was he calm. He was kind of in the middle, balancing on a tightrope of both emotions yet not quite knowing which one would be more appropriate to lean towards. It was weird. He'd never been like this before. Maybe it had something to do with the way he knew his girlfriend would be watching him; waiting, fingers crossed, lips pursed tightly together.

He could see her balancing lightly on her tiptoes, her blue hair slightly faded and shifting into a subtle shade of green under the bright lights, worried. He could see the way she bit the insides of her cheeks and muttered words of encouragement to seemingly noone but himself, and the urge to ditch everything and run towards her in comfort almost got the best of him before Jack gently nudged him forward.

"You're on."

It was something that Luke had heard many times before, a short phrase that would normally have his blood pumping in short adrenaline rushes around his body. It was something that motivated him and allowed him to keep his cool- now, however, it sounded nothing less than the start of a rough night.

Every hair on the back of Sophie's neck stood on end as she watched him, bounding into the ring after slinging one foot over the lowest rope. She wasn't the only one in his corner- a couple of the ring girls and a knocked out Michael Clifford accompanied the very seats right next to her- but still, her eyes were the only ones Luke wanted to lock with his own.

He could do nothing but send her a small smile, the corners of his lips going up ever so slightly before he had to turn back again to face his opponent.

The referee trapped the end of the whistle between his lips, ready to blow as he placed a hand on both boxers' shoulders.

"Alright, boys," his rough, scratchy voice sounded out, "You ready?"

As always, neither boxer replied, too focused on keeping a steady gaze on the person right in front of them. It seemed to be a game of who could keep the straightest face for the longest amount of time, and so far, Luke was winning.

He'd had a lot of practice, of keeping his jaw clenched and his lips pursed together and his eyes dark. He'd been so used to the stoic expression that although he'd been spending a majority of his time with Sophie- the one person who could cure his bad mood within seconds- it still proved surprisingly easy for Luke to display.