killer instinct - || h.s. ||

28

" i'm fine if you are fine "

---

harry styles.

"Versus Styles!"

My feet hit the mats, crossing the threshold into the daunting ring. The fence keeping me prisoner rattles in eager anticipation for blood tonight.

I almost run my fingers through my hair to get it out of my face but realize that I pathetically have it clipped together at the top with a little pink clip.

As I walk out, I glance up at my match for the night – easy win for the first fight of the tournament – while tying the drawstring on my 5-inch inseam gym shorts.

The place practically vibrates under the blistering heat of the bright lights above, warming my exposed skin.

Tournaments were simple around here, put together by self-explanatory brackets that lead you through wins right to the championship. The catch was, as always, after night one there's no backing out of this which hasn't ever been a problem for me but my mind was on someone else.

My face remains cold, meeting Bella's eyes for a moment in her low-rise jeans and corset-like top accentuating her figure. She gives me a look like she's questioning my lack of arrogance tonight, and I shake my head at her discreetly.

But all horrid thoughts come to an abrupt halt when a piercing Irish accent cuts through the crowd from behind me, "Yeah! Go get em', Styles!"

My lips part slightly, looking over my shoulder at the golden retriever idiot waiting near the doorway for my win. His white teeth glow under the red light in a smile as I drift my eyes over to Zayn next to him because of Niall's– just Niall.

Z snorts instantly, coughing on a drag from the joint in between his fingertips.

"Yeah, that's my best friend, the fucker with the pretty pink clip in his hair." I hear Niall talking to a random person next to him before smirking at me.

I shoot my eyes to Zayn in his coughing fit before he smacks the back of Niall's head to elicit a yelp from the Irish fucker.

"What'd you do dat for!" I hear sharply in his thick accent.

I take that as my cue to turn around, shaking my head to myself and getting this on with. They bicker behind me, my selective hearing zoned in on my friends during moments in the Pit.

I just walk over to Bella, watching her blue-green eyes meet mine, and I take a breath as she squeezes my arm while walking past me.

"Good luck," she murmurs and I nod with a hum in acknowledgment before facing this guy in front of me. The hysterical scream seems to buzz through my skin and I drag my eyes down his shirtless body in just a pair of gray shorts.

Like I said before, I take my eyes back up to his face, easy win.

Instead, the guy with his pale skin and darker tattoos inked into his skin smirks at me. "Cute hair ... What are you? A fucking girl?" He taunts.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

My jaw goes rigid as the echo of the countdown resounds through the packed place. My bare fists gravitate up to protect my face, welcoming the simmer in my blood.

Why would I need to defend myself with words if I can do the same physically?

"Fight!" echoes through my ringing ears.