──── ( chapter 002. ) real life.
✦ . ⸝⸝ ❝ THE SLEEPWALKER ❞
CHRIS STUMBLES INTO THE APARTMENT, using matt as support before moving away from his brother and collapsing onto the couch. he lays there for a second, every bleeding and bruised spot on his body aching and throbbing.
"chris if you get blood on the couch i swear to fucking god—" he hears nick say, but doesn't react. he just continues laying there, focusing on his breathing. it feels like his heart is beating a million miles an hour, his chest still moving rapidly up and down.
despite the pain it causes him, he lifts up his arm and stares at his hands, which are wrapped in gauze. he grimaces at the state of the bandage, covered in his own blood. he can feel the way it's also dried against his face from where his nose had begun bleeding in the car.
chris gazes around his home. the main part of the apartment is one large room, which encapsulates the living room, dining room, and kitchen all in one. it's a pretty old building, so the walls are all brick and the floors are made of worn-out wood, but he loves the feel the place has. it would be his ideal home, if only their heating wasn't currently broken and nick didn't always use up all the hot water in the shower. it angers him to think about how all the spoiled brats just down the block could shower for hours and it would never get cold. unfortunately, he and his brothers just can't afford such luxuries.
on the other side of the room, matt sits at the dining table, scrolling on his phone. unlike chris, he's escaped any sort of serious injuries today. the only evidence that he's even stepped in the ring is the small cut on his eyebrow.
meanwhile, nick is in the kitchen, rummaging through one of their cabinets to find all of their medicine and bandaids. he takes out a large box filled with ointments, bandages, and basically everything that belong in a nurse's office, before carrying it over to where chris is on the couch.
chris flinches as nick takes one of his hands, the pain coursing all the way up his arm. he didn't even have a proper fight today, just sparring, but he'd been distracted. usually whenever he fights, his mind is blank, but today had been different. he just doesn't know why.
nick unravels the bandages around chris' knuckles, revealing a spray of cuts and bruises scattered across his skin.
"jesus, who the fuck did you fight today?" nick exclaims, eyes widening at the sight. he quickly dabs on some ointment with a cotton pad, and chris winces, ripping his hand away. nick huffs, taking it back and holding it tightly so that he can continue.
"tristan," chris replies through gritted teeth, feeling his anger grow at just the thought of the boy.
"oh," nick says, now quietening down as he knows tristan ford is a tough subject for his brothers. chris and tristan have absolutely had it out for one another since the triplets joined the boxing club when they were fifteen. chris hates everything about tristan: he's a fucking asshole who speaks badly of everyone, especially girls, but gets away with it because of his looks. normally, chris enjoys fighting against tristan because it means he gets to add a few blemishes to his perfect face. today just wasn't that day, much to his annoyance.
it's because of tristan that the boxing club, cherub, is the last place chris ever wants to be. at 20, he's one of the oldest and by far most successful fighters, and should feel on top of the world every time he enters the ring. the younger boys fear him, the older ones are jealous of him, and chris usually would've reveled in it, but because of that one stupid guy all he feels is...
trapped. tired. sick of it.
tristan has always been second to chris in everything when it comes to being a cherub: fighting skill, earning respect from his trainers and peers, and attention. despite the guy's pretty face, chris is more popular with the girls. chris loves it, knowing how much it drives tristan crazy, but the constant rivalry is beginning to exhaust him. so much so that he let himself get his ass beat today.
with every annoyed word his trainer, ralph, had said to him as he staggered out of the ring, all chris had wanted to do was to tell him to fuck off. obviously, he can't do that, hence why he kept his mouth shut, but it would've been nice to let out some of the pent up anger he couldn't release during sparring.
ralph is slowly beginning to annoy him more and more every day with his constant inspirational speeches about how chris is slacking and 'could be so much more if he just tried', and he's honestly had enough. he'd pack up his bags and quit boxing tomorrow if he could, but everything in chris' life is tied to this one man.
besides boxing, the triplets earn their money working at a bar called the sleepwalker, owned by ralph and his wife. chris and matt's jobs there are only guaranteed if they keep up their performance in the ring, and as the photographer of the club, nick must capture it all for publicity. it's all very convenient, as the boxing club is situated in the basement of the sleepwalker, but chris hates it.
the bar is dark and rowdy, with drunk men constantly putting holes in the wall when they miss the dartboard, spilling beers all over the floor and spewing profanities. it's always ridiculously warm in there, causing chris' too long hair to stick to the back of his neck. he doesn't understand why so many people, especially those from the rich side of town, like to come here.
"has anyone heard from nate today?" nick asks, finally done wrapping fresh gauze around chris' knuckles. he's referring to the triplets' best friend, nathan doe. the boys used to live on the same street as nate, who grew up in a similarly dysfunctional home to them. while chris' parents were never present, nate's were almost too present, reminding their son how he would never live up to their expectations.
to this day, chris still feels guilty about he and his brothers just left nate behind in their old neighborhood. when they were fifteen, the triplets' family fell apart and they took it as an opportunity to finally get out of the house. they found an apartment — the one they still live in to this day — and registered it under their older brother's name, since he was already 18 at the time. they got jobs at the sleepwalker, chris and matt became cherubs, and that was it.
nate on the other hand, didn't have a chance at escaping his own home since his parents were extremely strict and constantly on his ass about everything, the opposite of their parents, who were hardly parents at all. luckily, he earned a hockey scholarship in their senior year of high school and disappeared off to canada for eight months, returning to boston without telling his parents and moving into an apartment a few blocks down from where the triplets live with ralph's kids, harrison and bryce.
the four boys know their lives are shitty, but they make the best of what they've got. chris is the only one who ever seems to want more.
it makes him feel ungrateful, but he can hardly help it when he has to watch people like deniz kaine strut past his building every single fucking day. he knows who she is — it's hard not to when the kaine family is the richest in boston — but he remembers her from all the way back in high school. he was a grade above her and he knows for a fact that she never once regarded his existence, but she always stood out to him, for some godforsaken reason.
everything about deniz kaine annoys chris to his very core.
"dunno," matt replies glumly, answering nick's question.
"alright, i'll just text him," nick says with a shrug, packing up the first aid kit and walking away from chris. he sits up on the couch, turning around only to find matt already looking at him.
"you'd better sort your shit out," matt tells him. "we have work in a half hour."
chris groans, rolling his eyes and standing up from the couch. his legs practically cry out at the sudden movement, but he ignores the pain and continues walking over to where matt is seated. his phone, which he was using moments before, is now placed face down on the dining table. he's always been weirdly private about his phone, but chris never has the energy to ask him about it.
he sits down opposite his brother, knowing he should definitely be getting ready for work. he's going to hate himself in about five minutes when he has to rush around to find his uniform, but the thought currently in his mind is far too pressing for him to just ignore, despite how much he wants to. matt gives him a look then, furrowing his eyebrows.
"what," he frowns.
"i didn't even say anything," chris retorts, but matt's clearly not in the mood for any of his bullshit because he just presses his lips into a thin line and continues to look at him disapprovingly.
there's a moment of silence, so matt picks up his phone once again. chris just sits there, a little restlessly, the thought still plaguing him. he decides to just let it go, not wanting to sound like a sad loser. he fiddles with the bandages around his left hand, wanting nothing more than to unravel them. like after every major fight, he's going to get some weird looks and drunk people questioning him about what happened, and tonight he can't even explain because who would willingly admit they got battered during practice?
not him, that's for sure.
"are you okay to drive to work?" nick asks matt, who nods. all three of them can drive, but matt's usually their designated driver when it comes to going to work, since nick has to sit in the back with all his photography equipment to make sure it doesn't get damaged, and chris is always in a bad mood and ends up driving too fast.
nick pulls on his battered converse and leaves then, making matt and chris the only two left in the apartment. the former is still staring at his phone, looking a little zoned out. like chris, he's probably annoyed that nick can go out with a bunch of other cherubs today while they have to work. nick always seems to get the best shifts, since ralph's son, harrison, messed around with the timetable without his dad knowing. harrison claims it was to give more time to develop his photos after fights, but chris has a slight feeling there's more to it.
finally, chris gets up from his seat and decides to take a quick shower before work. he lets the warm water fall over his skin, trying his best to avoid looking at the bruises scattered across his limbs. his knees are going to kill him one of these days, and they hurt so badly today that it even hurts to stand.
any other cherub would just take a break from boxing until their injury is healed, but chris can't afford to do that. only the older fighters have jobs at the sleepwalker, and the younger ones are mostly only training in boxing for fun. for chris and matt, they'd struggle to get by if either of them missed a single fight or shift because of the lack of support from their parents and the government.
the whole thing is very much illegal, with kids under 18 working in a bar they shouldn't even be allowed in until they're 21, but ralph manages to keep it under wraps, so chris has no worries that he'll lose his job anytime soon. it's not that ralph is a bad man, in fact he's actually doing most of the kids who work for him a favor, since without him they'd all have no income. if chris and his brothers didn't find jobs at the sleepwalker when they were just freshmen in high school, they'd be homeless.
while chris is forever in debt to ralph, ralph himself is in debt too. the only reason the sleepwalker is successful is because of the fights hosted in the boxing club below. it runs on a sort of game, like horse racing or poker, but instead of betting on horses or cards, the wealthy participants bet on a young man.
the majority of the older cherubs, chris and matt included, have a sponsor who bet on them every week. this is where most of their money comes from, not the pathetic job in the bar. from his sponsor, chris gets money just for entering a fight, and then even more if he wins. it's why he always needs to be the best and win every fight he's in, because his sponsor is one of the richest men in boston. if he messes up, embarrasses him by losing, chris could be dropped and replaced with another cherub.
he knows tristan is after his sponsor, which is why even with his worst injuries, chris shows up to every single fight. even if he can't walk by the end of it, he refuses to miss a single one. reliability is how you gain a sponsor's trust, and despite his skill, chris knows it's the only reason he's kept this one as long as he has.
matt's sponsor is pretty good too, one of the tamer ones. whilst chris' just feeds him with cash, matt's sponsor is actually quite friendly, his wife bringing them home cooked meals during tough weeks or providing medication when matt's injured. chris is grateful for that, especially since he knows his own sponsor would never.
"chris, let's go!"
the sound of matt's voice coming from the main room prompts chris to get out of the shower, quickly drying himself off and throwing on his uniform — black pants with a white button-up shirt. he feels ridiculous every time he wears it, especially since he doesn't have the fancy shows you're supposed to wear with such an outfit, but he can't afford them, so there's not a lot he can do about it.
chris and matt then exit their apartment, walking down three flights of stairs as they must do every day because their elevator has been broken for the past four years. nick complains about it almost every day but again, they can't afford to pay for the repairs and neither can anyone else in the building, and the boston council won't do it, so they're stuck walking up and down the stairs.
the two of them get into the car in silence, neither of them in the mood to talk because they're both dreading work. matt's in such a foul mood that he doesn't even connect his phone to the aux, instead letting the radio play some obnoxious pop song that's making chris' ears bleed.
they're cruising slowly down the road, chris gazing mindlessly out of the window. he hates the mundane repetition of his life, but has grown to realize over the years that everything fun requires money, and he doesn't have any. whoever said money doesn't buy happiness is full of shit.
his eyes suddenly refocus and chris furrows his eyebrows as he spots the group of cherubs that nick is currently hanging out with. he sees nate, and then tristan, which makes his blood boil. though chris' jaw drops when he notices two unfamiliar girls in the group with them, their clothes and hair making them stick out like a sore thumb.
"oh, what the fuck," chris mutters, leaning forward to get a closer look as the car drives past. matt turns to him, looking confused.
"what is it?" he questions, and chris sighs, leaning back in the passenger seat.
"guess who's with nick, nate, and shit," he says.
"tristan?" matt replies, and chris dismisses him with a shake of his head.
"well, yeah, but i'm not talking about him," he says.
matt sighs, clearly growing impatient.
"who is it then?" he asks.
"deniz fucking kaine."
matt clears his throat, contemplating what to say. he knows of chris' distaste for the girl, but has never said anything on the matter. he's not like chris, doesn't question why a girl like her has everything while they have nothing, so he wouldn't understand. he just thinks of her as some spoiled rich girl, when she's actually so much worse.
"what's she doing with them?" matt says, before a look of regret flashes across his face for even asking.
"i don't know, but it's fucking weird," chris answers, glaring at the road in front of him. he's honestly got no clue why a snobby girl like deniz kaine, who comes from the richest family in all of boston, is hanging around with a bunch of lowlives who are coincidentally also in chris' crowd.
"who cares," matt shrugs dismissively as he pulls into a parking space on the side of the road. chris just nods in agreement, knowing deep down that this is going to bother him all night.
ⵌ ★ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ♱ ‧₊˚𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
i love dominic fike that's all bye
- ava <3