in the crowd • luke hemmings

6. sorry seems to be the hardest word

pink plasters brightening up bruised hands wasn't the worst thing for luke to wake up to.

and he'd never admit it, but lola was right. they were kind of pretty.

seeing them made him hesitate before his training. did he really want to mess up a sweet gesture by boxing without gloves and fucking up his hands worse?

the image of her smile crossed his mind - the tiny crinkles that appeared at the edges of her eyes, the tiniest gap between her two front teeth, and just how inexplicably soft her lips looked.

so he pulled his worn gloves over his fists, circling the punchbag and taking quick jabs at it.

luke knew he was good, but he also knew how much practice had gone into becoming so good - and how much more he needed to do to maintain it.

boxing put luke in a strange headspace.

he wasn't the most approachable or friendly person at the best of times. but boxing completely shut him down.

he didn't want to see, speak to, or even think about anything or anyone else aside from what he was hitting. it was scary how at home he felt when he felt that way.

luke started boxing when he was fifteen - seven and a half years ago. he started in the midst of a sudden influx of youthful rage; a rage that came all at once and much too quickly.

he was fifteen, and alone and angry at everything and everyone in the world. he barely attended school, and no matter how hard michael, ashton and calum tried to talk to him, he couldn't seem to manage speaking without bursting out in a fit of rage.

his first fight he almost killed his opponent.

he could still remember the feeling of his fists pummeling the bruised flesh; the blood that was splattered across him; the feeling of being pulled off and seeing a paramedic rush into the ring; his own breathing echoing in his ears as time slowed to a halt.

it was the quietest he'd ever heard a crowd - no one was screaming or cheering. they just stared, with bated breath and terrified eyes, watching as the paramedic scrambled to perform cpr on the man who was twice luke's size, laying unconscious on the floor.

bathed in his own blood.

luke shook his head free from the memory, realising how tense and angry it made him to simply think about it.

he paused for a moment, allowing his breathing to slow from it's ragged pace and trying his best to relax himself - even his eyebrows had knotted tightly together.

his shoulders dropped, and he let his head hang back, closing his eyes as they came into contact with the harsh lights, a momentary headache washing over him for a second - only a second.

the youthful anger had re-emerged in a terrifying wave - he hadn't had such a vivid memory of that night in years.

he wasn't even sure why it had come now, but he wanted it gone as soon as possible.

luke pulled his gloves off roughly, a few plasters coming off with them. the one on his face remained intact, however, and he brushed his fingers over it momentarily when he caught his reflection in the mirror.

a low growl of frustration left his lips when he saw the tiny amount of water in his bottle - he'd forgotten to fill it on his way downstairs. his knuckles felt like they were going to rip through the dressing, and luke took a deep breath to attempt to calm himself once again.

he really didn't want to go upstairs and face those horrific fluorescent lights and the bright, beaming smiles of the personal trainers and their huffing, puffing clients. the bright colours of the posters was borderline nauseating, and luke had never been less in the mood to be around people.