It was a rainy Thursday afternoon. The boxers were all gathered at the arena to watch that day's match; Great Tiger vs. Flying Feather. A few were gossiping about the previous night's match.
"Did he really?!" Super Macho Man thought the results were hysterical.
"Yup," said Bear Hugger. "They had to stop the match and everything."
Joe said nothing. He still felt rather sorry for Aran. He kept replaying last night in his head; driving Aran home as he leaned by the window for air, arriving to learn that Aran was living in the same apartment complex he had been living in before Katrina came along, leaning him over a bin as he threw up the rest of his sandwich, laying him on the couch because he just didn't have the energy to go to bed, nursing him on a water bottle until he fell asleep…
Joe decided to text him. He got his number through the group chat, typed out a message, and sent it.
joebeaufort84 sent: Je viens pour visiter après le match. (I'm coming to visit after the match.) (2:35 pm)
. . .
deathclover317 sent: aye (2:56 pm)
Once the match was over, Joe collected Katrina and drove down to the apartment complex. He found the apartment number and pushed the door open. Even though his bed wasn't that far away, Aran was still curled up on the couch where he had left him the previous day. The TV was waiting on a "Play next episode" screen, and Aran was lightly snoring, his eyelids fluttering. He must be dreaming. Joe nudged Aran, and he snorted and opened his eyes. "Aye?"
"Bonne après-midi," said Joe softly. "Comment va tu?" (Good afternoon. How are you feeling?)
Aran pushed himself upright. "Fine," he mumbled, massaging his face.
"Tu n'es pas encore nausée?" (You're not still nauseated?)
"Nah." Aran sat up. "'Aven't yakked since last night. By now, I think me belly thinks me throat's been cut."
Joe sat with him. "Qu'est-ce que tu regardes?" (What are you watching?)
"Hotel Hell," said Aran, picking up the remote to continue watching. He looked up at the doorway and saw Katrina. "'Ey, junior."
Katrina didn't want to come in. The reality of how much danger she really was in was sinking in. This guy could have killed her!
"Viens, ma belle," said Joe, "c'est ça va." (Come on, sweetie, it's okay.)
Katrina slowly went and sat closely next to her father. The three of them watched the show together.
After a bit, Aran's stomach rumbled. "Alright, ye whiny dope," grumbled Aran, "I'll feed ya." He got up, and came back a bit later with some dry cereal.
"Alors," said Joe, "tu penses que tu es prête pour retourner demain?" (So, you think you're ready to come back tomorrow?)
"Aye," said Aran. "Yer li'l one didn't bang me up that bad."
Katrina clung to her father. She was still a bit shy. "Yeah, ye think I bite, don'tcha?" Aran leaned in to talk to her. "Okay, seriously though, ye…y'opened me eyes." He pursed his lips and averted eye contact. "I didn't see meself for who I was."
"So you're going to go easier on people now?" Katrina raised her head.
"Oh, I'm still fightin' like a beast," chuckled Aran, "but I'm keepin' in the ring."
Katrina smiled. "Good."
The next morning, when Joe came into the arena, he was pleased to see Aran already there, looking good as new and itching to get back into the arena.
Off to the side, Pierce was registering a new boxer. "Alright, and do you have a stage name, Mr. Miller?"
"They call me Disco Kid," he replied, bouncing back and forth; he was full of energy.
"Alright," said Pierce, "we can get you in this evening for your first fight."
Once Pierce walked off, Disco Kid looked up, and Aran caught his eye. He blushed; why, Aran was the grooviest fella he'd ever laid his eyes on.
He looked away; he was too shy to say anything. Maybe some other time, he would talk to him. But not yet.
