Note: For SoMa Week 2019. Enjoy.
Chapter One
2 A.M.
Black was the only color that hid the blood.
At first he had tried red, but when the blood dried (his or his opponents, sometimes he couldn't tell), it had turned a rusty color. Then he had tried brown, but he could still see the sliver of an outline from the splatters. Finally, Blake had given him some black wraps with a mumbled try these, and from that day on, Souls hands were wrapped in black and unforgiving.
He didn't like the fights. He never got a fighters high, but it brought in the most cash. His other two jobs were made through friendships, the first at Blake's shitty hole-in-the-wall bar where being drunk seemed like a requirement when entering the place. The second he enjoyed more, but was less entertaining, at Blake's girlfriends book shop. It was small, hipster heaven. He had caught people coming in simply to take an aesthetically pleasing photo for their Instagram more than once. But, both were minimum wage, and part-time, and that wasn't enough for him to make it on his own.
"Soul," Blake's voice echoed in the empty room, off the metal doors of rusty lockers. Soul glanced up from underneath his shaggy hair. The man was his age, but shorter and bulkier. His neon blue hair, which he insisted was a trend, appeared washed out and faded in the blinking light of the shitty locker room. "They're waiting."
"Of course," Soul stood up, flexing his hands in the wraps, testing to make sure they were tight enough to protect his knuckles as best as they could, but loose enough not to turn his fingers a shade of purple.
(Sometimes he wrapped them just a little too tight to watch the tan skin of his fingers turn a slight shade cooler. Just to make sure.)
"He's good," Blake said as the two men walked out of the locker room and into a loud, crowded basement. He raised his already booming voice. "He focuses mostly on offense, but that doesn't mean his defense is weak. I know he's been out of the game for a while, but he's a legend, so I doubt he's going into this blind. I suggest waiting it out a bit, make sure you study his moves a little before doing anything big. He's taller than you, but about the same weight, light on his feet. He did break his knee a few years back, though, which was why he had to pull out. His left one, so maybe hone in on that."
"I'm not breaking an old man's knee," Soul scoffed, nodding to a few people as he walked through the crowd towards the center of the basement where the ring was.
"I'm just saying, if worse come to worse."
"I'll be fine."
Blake gave Soul a hard look before nodding and clasping a hand roughing on the other man's shoulder. He wished him good luck, told him not to die, and then disappeared into the crowd. He may be Soul's best friend, but Blake had a bar to look after, which was located above the underground ring.
Soul made his way through the crowd once more,stopping at the edge of the makeshift fighting ring. It was sad, something they had found on Craigslist. It was being sold after a close-by after-school program was closing up, and the ring was used for their boxing program. It was made for kids, not full grown men and women, so it was smaller, a tighter area, which meant more intense fights. And the people loved that.
The bands which fenced the ring in were dirty, some were snapped in half, laying limply on the ground. Soul lifted one and entered the ring, ears pounding to the sound of the small audience roaring with excitement. His opponent had yet to enter, but Soul knew he wouldn't back down, not after the way Soul challenged him.
"Hey kid," a voice snapped Soul back to reality.
Soul's opponent stood across the ring, ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, blue eyes piercing, and his fists wrapped in red. There was a cut on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes had bags, but there was no denying that there was a fierceness in the man's eyes that only came from years of experience in the ring.
"Three rounds," a voice rang out, but Soul was trained on his opponent. "First one down for ten is out. At the end of three rounds, it's a tie. Are the fighters ready?"
"Aye," Soul said, clenching his fists. The other man spat.
"Begin!"
Soul stepped forward, bouncing on his heels as he watched the older man move, the two circling each other. The sounds of the crowd died out and all Soul heard was a pounding in his ears. The opponent had a straight face, eyes tracking Soul's every move, and then there was a flash of movement.
His fist connected with Soul's shoulder, but that was better than his face. It hurt like hell, and packed power, but Soul took the chance and grabbed the man's arm, tugging him forwards and rammed his shoulder into the man's chest. He heard a gasp and then felt a punch on his back followed by a knee to the stomach. Soul clenched his teeth at the impact, but moved his hands to the man's neck, pulling him over his back and slamming the man into the pad of the mat.
"God dammit," he heard the older man grumble, and Soul turned around swiftly, taking a few steps back so his opponent could stand up. "What? Too scared to kick someone who's down?"
"I like my fights fair," Soul countered, "something that you wouldn't understand from what I've heard, Spirit."
"Rumors are rumors, kid," the man spat, blood covering the front of his teeth, "back in my day, fights were done with bare knuckles in backyards."
"Back in your day you had to fight dirty to win because you something to fight for," Soul smirked at the way Spirit's eye twitched, "from what I heard, you're an empty nester now. No wife. No kid. Sounds like you've got fighters rush to block that shit out."
"You white-haired, mother-,"
Spirit launched himself at Soul and the younger man dodged it, landing a good punch on Spirits ribs, but he ended up standing in a corner. Spirit turned around quickly and smirked, seeing the opportunity to trap the other fighter. Soul tighten his fists, taking a deep breath and trying hard not to wince at the pain that blossomed in his stomach.
As Spirit moved, Soul dodged, his face close to the edge of the ring. He tried to focus on Spirit, his fists and his moves, tried to study the way he fought, but a flash of green caught the corner of his eye and he looked away for a moment.
Green eyes.
That's all he remembered seeing before blacking out.
He woke up to a coolness on his eyes, someone touching his torso, and the sound of an angry girl.
When he cracked his eyes open, Soul saw green eyes framed by long, blonde lashes, and white teeth pinching an ace bandage. The girl blinked and he realized it was her hand that was on him because she moved it to push the fringe of bangs on her forehead back, and he missed the warmth.
"You've got a black eye, a split brow and lip, and some nasty bruises on your lower ribs, but you'll be fine," She said after removing the bandage from her mouth and pressing a bit of it to his brow, "I'm Maka by the way."
"Why are you even helping this punk, sweetheart," Soul heard the voice of Spirit as he closed his eyes, head pounding and stomach churning, "I'm sure Blake can fix him up just fine."
"Maybe because you're the asshole who knocked him out and I always have to clean up after you," the girl, Maka, spat back with venom, "God, is like you're trying to fuck everything up to get me back into your life, Papa. For once can't you just figure your own shit out? No wonder Mama left."
"E-excuse me?"
"Wait, did you just say Papa?" Soul grimace, voice raspy.
"Yeah, sadly," Maka huffed, peeling the bandage away as Soul opened his eyes again, "that's my dick of a dad who beat you up. But, you held your ground for a good bit until …," she trailed off and Soul watched her cheeks go pink.
"Until what?" He smirked, finally getting to look her up and down.
"Hey, watch where you're looking," she hissed, slapping him in the ribs with the back of hand, making him hiss in pain, "I'm not sorry about that."
She stood up, tossing the ace bandage into a small messenger bag by her feet. She glanced over to her dad before leaning down to gather the bag and hoist it onto her shoulder. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, a few tendrils framing her face and a fringe of bangs. Her eyes were green, but they looked dark from the distance even though Soul has seen flecks of blue around her iris when she was closer to him. He noted she had long, fit legs and her arms seemed to be tight with muscle, but he snapped his eyes back to her face after her words repeated in his head.
"I'm getting a drink," she huffed, rolling her eyes and she spun on a heel, "try not to beat each other up again, I'm a history student, not med."
She disappeared from the locker room, the door slamming behind her.
Soul touched the ice pack he assumed she had place on his head, and sat up on the bench, his muscles pulling and begging him to lay back down. Spirit was across the room, leaning on the rusty, old lockers. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt now, but Soul could tell he had left some bruises on the man by the way Spirit pushed off the lockers and winced.
"You, ah, put up a pretty good fight out there," Soul offered, trying to ease the tension in the room, "I know I said some shit out there in the ring, and I want to apologize. It was unprofessional and -,"
"This is fighting," Spirit cut him off, "not an office job. There's no such thing as unprofessional."
"Right, got it," Soul swallowed hard, fingers dancing atop the ice pack in his hand.
"Listen kid," Spirit walked over toward Soul and took a seat next to him on the bench, "I may have been out of the ring for a while, but I still know what I'm doing. You've got some good fight in you, some good moves. Reminds me a bit of myself when I first got into the scene."
"Really?"
Spirit hummed and fished into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, took a big puff, and blew the smoke from his nose. He was quiet for a moment.
"It was true what you said in the ring though," he said, eyes going distant, "my wife and daughter hate me because of what I do, where I go at night. My wife left me and Maka … I can tell she's getting there. I'm only telling you this because you're a lot like me when I was younger. I've seen you fight, I've been watching you for a while. When word got out that were was a new guy, someone following in my footsteps, I needed to met him and put him in place."
Soul was quiet, the ice pack now beginning to numb his palm.
"Not to be rude," Soul said, "but you don't know me. We're different, you and I. I didn't start fighting because I had a family to support. I started for myself and I fight for myself. I don't have, and won't have, what you did."
"That's what you think," Spirit huffed, putting his cigarette out on the bench before he stood, "If you're going down this path, do it right. If you're gonna be following after me, than I want a good-ass trainee."
Soul's eyes widened as he looked up to Spirit who stood there, hands in pockets, eyes hard.
"You're pulling out after just coming back?"
"I'm too old for this shit, and my daughter was right. I bring her my bullshit all the time. She always comes to my fights, cleans me up after, swears me out, and then ignores me until the next time I need help. I can't keep doing that to her, not when she's about to start her own life."
Spirit made his way towards the door of the locker room. He stopped before leaving.
"I'm leaving my number with Blake. I expect to hear from you by the end of the week if you want to train. But, my first advice for you, don't apologize for anything that happened in the ring. That will just piss off your opponent more, and beef's outside of the ring can get bad."
The bar was usually filled at two in the morning, but on a Tuesday night, Soul should have expected it to be empty. There were a few people, an older man passed out at one of the tables, a couple in the back making out, and Maka sitting at the bar, beer in hand, head thrown back as she laughed at something Blake had said.
Soul made his way over, Maka catching his eye, her own eyes narrowing suspiciously as he sat on the stool next to her. Blake had already filled a glass with beer and had it on the bar ready for him. Soul took a sip, the alcohol burning the cut on his lip.
"It was really stupid of you to say that stuff to my dad in the ring," Maka said suddenly, making Soul cock an eyebrow, "that shit really riles him up."
"That was the plan."
"For you to get your ass kicked?"
"If I remember, I was doing the ass kicking before you got involved."
"Oh, and how did I get involved, per say?"
Soul turned his body towards her a bit, taking her in again and he watched as her cheeks turned pink. Blake had left by this point, mumbled something about getting the last customer's out so he could close.
"Listen here, blondie," Soul said, leaning forward a little, "I appreciate you fixing me up, and I understand that you think your dad is a good fighter, whether you like him or not, and that I need to watch my mouth, but if you don't stop looking at me with those eyes, and getting pink in the face every time I so much as glance at you, something is gonna be done about it."
"I prefer it if my suitor's take me on at least two dates before they talk about ravishing me," Maka scoffed, rolling her eyes as she took another sip of her beer, "and if I recall correctly, it was you who froze up like a statue when you saw me."
"And you were the one who fixed me up up-close-and-personal. I believe I recall some wandering hands on my chest and stomach."
"To feel for broken bones," she hissed, her face blossoming in color again, "perv."
"Tiny-tits."
"Asshole!"
Soul smirked as Maka crossed her arms, her neck and chest now flush with either anger or embarrassment. Soul couldn't tell which, but he liked to color on her.
"Sorry," he chuckled, leaning back and holding his hands up in surrender, "it's too easy to tease you with your reaction. Let's go back to introductions because I think we started on the wrong foot. I'm Soul, twenty-four year old male. I love open-mics and long walks on the beach. My favorite kind of movies are rom-coms and I love puppies."
That got a snicker out of Maka and Soul wondered if he could make her laugh like he had seen her do with Blake.
"Maka. Twenty-one year old female. I love the night time and silent movies, but only if they are black-and-white. My favorite kind of books are cheesy romance and I love cats."
"Ouch," Soul said, putting his hand over his chest, "I thought you'd be more of a dog person."
"Don't think too much about me, Soul, I'm not what I seem."
"Mmm," Soul hummed, taking another sip of his beer, "and what if I want to think more about you?"
"Dear god," Maka rolled her eyes as she finished the last of her beer, "is this how you pick up girls?"
"Only one's named Maka."
"That's my cue to leave," she laughed, grabbing her bag from the other stool, "listen, I'm sorry my dad is an asshat and gave you a black eye. Even though you push my buttons, you seem like a cool guy."
"I am the epitome of cool, blondie."
"Alright, cool guy, than an acquaintanceship it is."
"Not even friends?" he smirked.
"I actually like my friends," she smirked back, "see you around Soul. Try not to get killed in those idiotic fights."
"Whatever you say," he watched as she left and wondered if this, two A.M. in a shitty bar after getting beat up by her dad, was the last time he would see Maka Albarn.