Chapter Text
The smell of sweat mixed with cheap perfume wafts in the air. The roar of cheer inside the ragged building rings in your ears as you thread through the crowd. Your nose scrunches in disgust as you hold your breath, shoved by the enthusiastic people who don’t care if they’re pushing someone or not.
You can never bring yourself to bear this.
Amidst the crowd is a fight ring where a pair of men with gigantic physiques throw sharp punches and kicks at each other, desperate to knock the other out.
A deep frown displays on your face as you follow Yuji in front ― your stubborn and foolish friend who thinks joining an underground battle can do him good money. Well, it does, but the risks? Bless him and his naivety.
“Seriously, Yuji, you could get hurt,” you complain one more time. You have been for the past 30 minutes.
You watch him remain stoic. His eyes scream an utter determination as he fixates his attention to the fighters in the middle.
Yuji has been living alone in a small apartment ever since his grandfather ― his only guardian ― passed away a year ago. He has to work nonstop while going to the same university with you, working his ass off just to pay his bills and necessities. But with the requirements and tuition of your school demanding a lot of money, most of his allowance goes there. That’s why he can’t afford this month’s rent.
Sometimes, you wonder if he is as strong as he appears to be. You haven’t seen him grieve his grandfather properly yet he’s already adjusting to a foreign environment ― living with no one but himself. You wish the universe will give him the kindness he has always offered. So, you take it upon yourself to spoil him since you have the privilege. In fact, you can help him pay for his rent instead of watching him risk his life over this underground fight, but Yuji’s ego is too big for that.
You heave out a sigh when he just ignores you. A look of worry flickers on your face, turning away to watch the match instead. If you can’t bear the smell of the place, it’s even worse in watching your friend struggle with life when all you ever wanted is to spoil him the way he deserves.
You hug your arms despite the flounce sleeves of your mini dress embracing warmth on it.
Light bulbs surround the old walls. Ragged banners hang between each bulb that contains motivational phrases or names whom you assume are the popular fighters of this place. The walls are filled with crude and rude vandalisms; the white paint peeling off. Dusty transom windows line up on either side of the room. Some even carry holes like some bored teenage boys decide to throw their rage with stones through it. The place is abandoned, meant for this event. It should be hot here with all the lights and nonexistent space where a strong air can gush over the place, but your hands are freezing and you’re barely feeling them while your legs are trembling lightly.
You’re not comfortable with this. Not even a bit. You hate how Yuji is trying to be independent when you’ve reminded him a hundred times that he can always ask for your help — that he can always rely on you as much as you rely on him.
“They’re twice your size.” Your gaze shifts on him once more, hoping to see a bit of reaction ― one that flickers regret or hesitation. Anything that’ll show a sign of his determination crumbling because once it does, you know damn well you can convince him. But you only see the same determination from earlier.
“I know you can fight, but can you ruin those big guys the same way?”
“I need the money.”
You roll your eyes and scoff. “Sure, because I’m not insisting on letting you borrow from me, right?”
Yuji remains silent as if you didn’t just remind him how he can depend on you. So, you heave out a sigh and shift your attention back to the fight ring.
A heavy weight settles on your chest. You have to clutch on your ruffled neckline, fiddling with it, as you take slow, deep breaths. No words can lift the pressure at all. You can only ease this once you leave the place with Yuji in one piece.
God knows how desperate you are to pull him off of this nasty place, but his fight is already settled and there is no way Yuji will even let you drag him out. Right now, you and him are just waiting for his turn — the one after this match you’re watching.
After a momentary silence, you turn to him again.
“My five grand’s still on the table.” There is an underlying irritation in your voice now but you still keep it low and calm.
“You’ve given me too much.” He sighs and finally meets your gaze.
You scoff and roll your eyes, diverting your eyes to the fight as you fold your arms on your chest. Seeing the look of displease on your face, Yuji is the one to exhale this time.
“Look. I just need a few hard punches to knock the guy out and we’ll be gone before you know it. I’m not gonna die, alright?”
“Are we seeing the same men, Yuji?” You raise your eyebrow, scoffing at the absurdity of his plan.
“I know they’re big, I know.” Yuji sighs. “But I’ve had a few fights before and they say I punch really well.”
“That was on some limpy, lanky boys who can’t really take even a bitch punch, Yuji. And you were in high school back then!”
“Look.” Another exhale escapes through his nostrils. Yuji’s eyes flutter shut, composing himself for the meantime. “For your sake, fine. If I can’t take the guy, I won’t push further. But if I can take the guy, I’ll do it even if it means a few bruises and cuts. Does that make you feel better, princess?” The nickname rolls in his tongue with sarcasm. If it weren’t for the serious deal, he would be rolling his eyes instead of staying stoic.
He knows that you’re just worried. If he’d be honest, he is just as worried for himself. But he can’t always be kind to himself. He has to make some risky sacrifices to survive and live — something that someone privileged like you could never understand.
“I don’t understand boys who put up their pride first,” you mutter to yourself which only earns another sigh from him.
As the emcee announces the winner of the fight, Yuji leaves you in your spot. It’s his turn — the day of his execution because this man chooses to protect his ego instead of accepting help like every sane man will do.
You watch him with a scowl bordering on frustration and worry.
“Don’t go yet because the fight is just about to get more intense!”
The crowd roars in excitement, but you massage your temple with your eyes on the floor. What’s so thrilling about watching men fight till they break a bone or bleed to death? All you can feel is disgust and intense anxiety.
“The angel boy who turns like a demon at night! Itadori Yuji!”
The crowd roars as Yuji enters the ring. His red varsity jacket and white hoodie is gone now, exposing his bare torso. Yuji isn’t really that bad. He has that typical athletic body of a man who works out: broad shoulders, defined chest, and visible abs. While you’re certain he can take a few hits, it’s the fact that he has nothing else in his body aside from his black workout shorts. No gloves. No headgear. Not even a bandage in hand. Not even a mouthguard. Just their raw body. You heard that there are no other rules aside from they can’t kill their opponent and that’s what scares you the most. He won’t get killed but he could get hurt pretty bad. If he gets hurt pretty bad, he’ll stay in hospital for who knows how long, but it’ll surely be a bigger bill to pay. A bigger bill to pay will be a bigger problem and you doubt he’ll let you help with it.
You take a deep breath as you hold onto the platform for support. You’re not sure anymore if it’s the different smell of perfume and sweat wafting in the air that’s making you dizzy or the thought of the possible consequence of this one-time fight.
“He beats like death beats with no mercy! Geto Suguru!”
The crowd roars louder at the new name. A man in a bun emerges from the opposite side of the ring. He’s only wearing a similar black workout short and just like what you expected, his body is twice your friend’s size. His shoulders are broader than Yuji’s, the muscles in his arms and chest are more defined and bulging. An intricate tattoo of a snake slithers around his arms, covering his chest as well. Only the valley between his chest remains clean. His abs are very pronounced and the v-line that lines down on his lower abdomen is so accentuated. When your gaze shifts to his face, you notice his naturally sharp eyes that carry a cold mystery behind it and the sharp smirk that should be annoying for looking like utter mockery instead of enticing.
Your teeth sink onto your bottom lip. Your mind circles around the thought of how those muscular arms would feel around your waist or how those slender fingers would feel around your neck; better yet, inside you, curling deeply while those scarlet lips stifle your moans with a burning kiss.
The commentator’s commencement of the fight pulls you back to reality. You shake your head in disgust. You did not just fantasize over a stranger, did you? You curse under your breath and force your attention back to your friend.
When the fight starts, both fighters are just circling around the space, exchanging sharp glares with their fists in the air in a fighting stance; gauging each other and waiting who will hit first. Yuji lands the first hit. The man tilts his head to the side in an instant, like he already reads your friend’s move to know when exactly to dodge. Yuji doesn’t give him time to recover though. He aims another punch on Suguru’s face but the man in bun dodges it once more and punches your friend directly on the face.
You gasp at the scene, a hand flying over your mouth when you see the stripe of blood running down from Yuji’s nose. His face only sterns and wipes it off with a scowl. Yuji then aims for another punch but it barely lands on Suguru’s face. Instead, your friend gains another hit on his face.
“Yuji!” you scream, gripping on the ring.
Yuji stumbles back with a louder groan, his hand covering his bloody nose. His groan echoes in your ears louder than the cheer from the crowd.
“Yuji!” You sound desperate this time, begging him to stop the foolishness already.
But no. Not yet. Noo pain, no gain, he’ll say. Besides, it’s only a bloody nose. His rib cage is still fine. He can still lift his arms just fine. His knuckles are still complete. He can still stand.
He gestures you to stand back while his eyes remain on his opponent. But your grip on the ring only tightens. You can never bear to watch such violence, especially if it’s your friend bearing the pain.
The fight goes on. Brutal hits from each fighter earns hisses and cheers from the crowd. It turns out that the people around you are not just spectators but also bettors. Where do they even get the enticement of watching men be violent? What is so alluring in that? Because you will never understand.
You watch the fight unfold in front of you through gritted teeth. Tiny lines etch between your eyebrows. Too etched that they almost look like it’s naturally part of your skin. Your fingers leave a mark around your arms for holding on it too much, anchoring yourself while watching Yuji lose the fight.
You knew it. This isn’t a good idea at all. He only stops fighting when you scream his name one last time — desperate, worried, panic and plea lacing your voice all at once. When the commentator officially ends the fight, you run into Yuji who can barely walk to help him stand even though two other men are also coming for him.
You hold him by the arm and guide him to the corner of the ring.
“I’m fine,” he assures you when the way he holds onto his stomach and the way he’s limping says otherwise. The blood dripping from his eyebrow and the patch of a broken skin at the corner of his lips tell so much either. Why would he even lie?
You bring him to where the bar counter is. Seems like the place is not as bad as you thought it was. Not that any beer they offer can make things better though.
You and Yuji sit on the line of stools. He orders some soda for the two of you while you rummage through your bag for the materials you’ll need for tending on his wounds. You’ve already taken out the cotton balls and bandage until you realize you’re missing something.
“Great. I forgot the antiseptic.” You shut your eyes in frustration, drop your trembling palms on the wooden counter, and count softly while massaging your temple, grounding yourself instead of impulsively venting on Yuji for being the root of your anxiety right now. You only open your eyes when he calls your name softly, apologetic for worrying you like this. He never meant to make you this worried. He just miscalculated things.
“Just clean it with water. I’ll be fine.”
“He’s not dead yet, you know?” An unfamiliar voice suddenly butts in, sarcasm lacing his tone which contrasts his mellow voice.
You and Yuji turn behind you to see Suguru standing at the end of the counter, his forearms propping on top of it. A teasing smirk stretches on his lips despite the small cut at the corner of his mouth. He looks at you directly. If you were still in trance, you’ll be enticed by how close he is in front of you. But frustration eats up your entire system, so you just frown at the man.
“Well, thanks for being kind enough to keep him alive.” You roll your eyes before diverting back to your friend. Just as you’re about to grab the cotton ball, an antiseptic bottle slides beside your hand. You turn back to Suguru, your frown deepening in confusion.
“Think of it as my utmost gratitude for giving me the five grand.”
“I did not ask for sarcasm.” Yet you grab the bottle and roll your eyes once more.
“Who says I’m being sarcastic?” He snorts. You squint your eyes in annoyance as your hand stops from twisting the antiseptic’s lid.
“Yes, you are. Who the hell thanks someone while rubbing their loss in their face?”
“Don’t take it personally. Your boyfriend’s a newbie but it was a good fight.”
Your jaw clenches at his condescending smirk. It pisses you off — how it looks like an insult and how his words sound like mockery. But it pisses you off even more of how his smirk is giving you butterflies.
You hate bad boys. They’re arrogant, always full of themselves, troublemakers, and just completely infuriating. Right now, this man in front of you oozes of all that. You should hate him, really. But it’s that damn smirk that keeps enticing you and those sharp eyes that are somehow seductive in your eyes.
Yuji’s call pulls you back to reality. “Don’t waste your time. He’s just getting a rise out of you.” He tugs you gently by the arm but your head stills toward Suguru.
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Reminding yourself the same thing your friend reminds you is what keeps you behaved. Yuji is right. This cocky bastard is just getting a rise out of you because unfortunately, people like him who love torturing people emotionally do exist. So, you roll your eyes and turn back to Yuji in attempt to tend his wounds.
“You’re welcome.”
You cast the man a sharp stare but his smirk only widens, a scoff leaving your lips. He sure doesn’t know when to stop, does he?
“Anger doesn’t suit you, doll.” He lets out a breathy laugh through his nose and drags his knuckle on your jaw. You suck in your breath, eyes widening at him, but that doesn’t faze him at all. He even has the audacity to lean in. His warm breath fans your ear but you’re too shocked to move away despite the proximity.
“Try smiling sometimes,” he whispers. “Or put on that face you have when you’re eyefucking me on the ring.”
Your eyes widen even more, your breath hitching at his last statement. Your face heats up in embarrassment. Was it that obvious? Never in your life have you thought of fantasizing about a random stranger at all. It’s so unethically wrong. While you feel an amount of guilt weighing in your chest, something you don’t want to acknowledge clouds your guilt.
When he leans back to meet your eyes properly, the condescending tease in his eyes and smirk morphs into a suggestive one — like an invitation to do something nasty.
“I was not!” You turn away from him and pour antiseptic on the cotton ball harshly and hastily in hopes of hiding the deep blush spreading on your face. Suguru doesn’t need to catch it under the dim lights. The way your shoulders slumps as you avert your gaze somewhere tells enough. He can hear the defensiveness of your tone as well.
You’re not escaping this man, really. You just met him tonight but he can already read you like an open book.
Suguru scoots closer to you. His arm touching your spine as he peeks on the side of your shoulder. “You’re really saying that in front of your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” You turn to him again only to meet his face that is an inch away from yours. Your breath hitches and your eyes widen again, freezing on your spot.
“Can you just go? Please?” Yuji finally butts in. His eyebrows knit, glaring at Suguru despite the trail of blood covering a portion of his eyelid. The same flare of anger ignites in his eyes, but he composes himself to not punch Suguru right on the face.
Before anyone else can speak, the bartender slides a bottle of beer in front of Suguru. He must be a regular for the bartender to know what drink he will get since you didn’t hear him order anything at all. Suguru takes the bottle though and raises it as if telling you and Yuji that his main purpose in being here is to get a drink, not to waste his time riling up some university students like you.
“Such a creep.” Yuji sighs in infuriation. His gaze follows the man while lifting his glass of soda. He sips on his drink and once he sets it down on the counter, his eyes dart on you. “I’m sorry for bringing you along. Should’ve forced you to stay at home.”
“And let you die because you’re desperate to win?”
“You know I have to.”
You roll your eyes at his excuse. Yes, you do know he has to win. You hear him the first time, but it doesn’t mean it’ll stop you from being anxious. That’s not just the strength he’s betting on the match but his dear life. Why can’t he see that?
“What did he tell you anyway?”
A deep hue of red paints your face at the reminder. You look away from him, averting your gaze on the cotton ball that’s almost dripping with antiseptic by how you’re drowning it now.
“Doesn’t matter. We are so not going back here, Yuji.”