Harry Styles
December 2, 2014 - age 16
"You hit like a pussy." I gritted out as I swung a swift blow to Nialls jaw.
We're suppose to use gloves when we're training, but there's something about feeling my bare fist connect with someone's skin that ignites a fire inside of me.
Unfortunately for me Niall doesn't feel the same way. He refuses to train with me unless we wear gloves. So, like I said before, he's a fucking pussy.
I like the sting of the contact when there's no gloved barrier. It keeps my adrenaline pumping and forces me to keep pushing forward with no pain, no emotion, nothing. It's how we've been trained after all.
Never show emotion.
Never give into the pain.
It's better to learn to shut that shit out as soon as possible. In this line of work there's no room for anything but the actual work.
"Fuck off, was tryin' not to hurt ya." Niall spit onto the padded floor, traces of blood mixed into it. "Never mind with that."
Niall's eyes flashed with anger and a satisfied grin loomed onto my lips. Fighting Niall when he's pissed off is better because it's more of a challenge.
When Niall is angry he doesn't let his conscience get into the way of things. When he's angry he's a true fighter and that's what I want. I want him not to hold back.
I prod at him daily and piss him off in away that I can so that when we come in here, just the two of us to train together, he'll be proper pissed.
Nialls a lot like me, though he'd never admit it. The pain in our training is something that drives him forward too. It's like an adrenaline junky searching for their high.
Niall and I train more than anyone. It's an easy tell just by seeing us preform. We strive for greatness, and we push ourselves past the limits we think humanly possible. We don't give in.
We're the sons of leaders. It's in our blood.
"Don't hold back." I sneered knowing it would add to Nialls fire.
Our movements are quick, each calculated and well thought out in a span of milliseconds. It also helps that we know each others fighting style. It makes it easier to react and counter react to each attempt of a blow.
Niall and I have been in here for over an hour now, both of us sweating profusely, my shaggy hair sticking to my forehead and base of my neck.
Fuck, I really need a haircut.
Niall and I had both ditched our shirts long ago given they were drenched within the first ten minutes of us working out.
The only problem with sweating this much is that my scars start to itch. They'll randomly itch through out the day, but they especially seem to flare up when I sweat excessively.
My scars aren't hidden in the slightest. They're very visible for anyone to see them down my bicep when I where a regular shirt. When I first got them I tried to hide them, I was ashamed of them. They hold more meaning than anyone could know from just a single glance but in my thirteen year old mind I was terrified that everyone knew the truth of them.
Back then I was terrified of them and what they meant. But my training helped change that.
I grew to hate them instead of being ashamed of them. They're my burden to carry for the rest of my life, but that doesn't allow me to hide them. The world doesn't know what they mean or what they're from.
I could tell someone I was in a car accident and make them sympathetic for me if I wanted to. The possibilities are truly endless.
"Uh—" A particularly hard blow to my stomach from Niall made me double over in a wheeze.
It was then in that small moment of clarity that I felt how high my heart rate was. My heart racing, vision blurring, chest weighing a ton.
I winced, my breath still being knocked from my lungs as I held a hand up to Niall and reached for my chest with the other. I stumbled back a few steps, my ears echoing out the quickened thumps of my heart.
"H, you good man?" Niall's voice seemed distant as he stepped in front of me and lowered himself down to be eye level with me.
My shaky legs gave out and I crashed down to the padded floor in a heap. My breathing was erratic as if I was having an asthma attack.
"Have you been taking your medicine?" Niall asked, his eyes flicking between mine. I nodded my head yes but Niall only scowled at me. "Don't fuckin' lie to me." He bit back angrily.
"No— fuck." I panted closing my eyes. "I haven't." I sucked in another few breathes. "My dad says that it..." Another breath. "Renders my performance."
"Renders your—" Niall scoffed bitterly, "You're joking right?"
I shook my head no, my hand still holding my aching chest as if the small touch would make a difference against the pain I was feeling.
"He realizes that without that medicine you won't have a performance to render, right?"
He knows. I know it too.
If I do too much without my medication, I'll die. If I go too long without it, I'll die. Neither of us seem to care, but that's probably just because neither of us actually do.
I should have died three years ago, yet I'm still here. No medicine out there is going to keep me from dying when it's my time again. I won't cheat death anymore than I already have.
"You're dads a fuckin' dick, Harry." Niall said in seriousness. "You need to take your—"
"No." I shook my head, my breathing finally starting to slow, the pounding in my head following with it. "It's my choice. I don't want to take it." I spit out as I ripped the gloves off of my hands.
"So what, you're going run yourself into the ground?" Niall raised his brows at me, copying my actions of discarding his gloves. "You realize you can't exercise without your medicine, right?"
"Fuck off, Niall." I huffed as I pushed myself up to stand back onto my feet.
"No," He shook his at me. "I'm not going to train with you anymore. If you want to kill yourself, fine, that's on you. But I'm having no part in it."
"I'm not taking the fuckin' medicine." I snapped, "It's my choice so you're just going to have to get over it." I heaved in a heavy breath. "Besides, you don't have a choice to train with me or not."
"If your mom was here, she'd agree with me." Niall gave his last attempt at persuasion.
Unlucky enough for him it was a poor attempt.
"Yeah, well she's not here, is she?" I snapped. "She's dead. She doesn't get to make decisions for me anymore."
"But your dad does?" Niall countered with a scoff. "It's fucked up man. It's like you're trying to embarrass her."
"Stop talking about her." I snarled. "Starting to piss me off."
Niall and I took a step towards each other, our chests nearly touching as we stared at each other. I'm a bit taller than him now so I had to look down at him. Growing up Niall was always the tall one, but this year I starting growing and I haven't stopped yet.
It's been working in my advantage so far since it means Niall has to look up to me now. Literally.
A whistle blowing to my left caught both of our attention and were quickly turning to face towards the door.
"What are you two doing in here?"
"We were just training, sir." Niall quickly fumbled out before I could process a sentence.
"Training is over for the day. It has been for hours, get the fuck out of here."
Niall and I wasted no time in snatching up our shirts and heading for the exit of the building.
As we were walking through the door a hand jutted out to grab my shoulder and hold me in place. "Next time I catch either of you in here unauthorized, you'll wish you were dead. Understand me?"
I nodded my head, gulping as I stared forward. "Yes, father."
//
an:
i know it's a short one... but, anyone ready for drama ??!
see you friday <33