Out of focus. The white ceiling above San's head straightens itself out as his eyelids flutter open and the conscious world welcomes him to another day. Silently begging sleep to overcome him again, he forces his eyes closed.
Slowing his breathing, he feebly attempted to release the tension that had held his limbs captive through the night.
Although, no matter how reluctant, his mind had become too aware.
His ears sensitive to the sound of the fan rotating above him. To the small hand of the clock ticking its way around the miniature facade decorating his night stand.
He peered at the figure, a cat dressed as an astronaut adorning a glowing moon, a gift from Yeo.
It read 5:19.
His body begin to adjust and stretch under the sweat dampened sheets. He unclenched his fingers as realization set that he had been holding his duvet rather aggressively during his slumber.
Taking one last deep breath, he urged himself straight up, body folding upright the way Dracula rises from his coffin at the start of a new night.
Catching his reflection in the mirror of his vanity, he smirked as he noted his hair.
The soft black strands, touched gently with burgundy highlights, were plastered wildly across his forehead and stiffly swept up in the back.
Almost resembling fox ears, it topped off his 'undead' fashion statement.
He winced at the onslaught of pain gripping his torso, shoulders, and back as he clambered out of bed. Making his way to the bathroom that was in the corner of his room.
Flicking on the lights and stepping in front of his body length reflection, a sharp inhale invaded the silence as he reviewed the damage.
San has always gotten out of hand with his fights. There aren't many that he remembers when he isn't in training and faced with an unfamiliar adversary.
He sort of... loses control.
Yeosang, San's best friend since the age of eight, tells him all the time that watching him in the pit is almost satanic.
A shadow shrouds his figure when he gets captivated by the thrill of the fight and he resembles an entity of another world.
Eyes darkened and feral.
It has almost become sadistic the way he admires his battle scars, as if he is welcoming the pain, greeting an old friend.
Maybe the idea of him barreling forward, unstoppable in his violent charades being kept a secret from his dad fuels his desire.
San squared his shoulders, standing taller and surveyed his image further. He shuffled closer to the mirror as he noticed the tiny split in his lip and red and purple mark resting on his cheek bone.
That would be harder to hide but he would just pass it off to his father as an accident.
Preparing for the day entailed only a few things, but San took his time.
Leisurely showering, letting the hot water run over his coloring skin and soothing the gradual aches. He pulled on a pair of olive colored trainers that hugged his waist and fell loose around his legs.
He opted for a long sleeve black shirt to cover his arms, not really much he could do about anything else.
As he left his room and wandered down the hall, the sun began to peek just barely through the shades, kissing the walls and submerging the (not so humble) abode in a lazy golden haze.
Creme colored walls decorated high ceilings, that were gilded with golden leaf accents arching over polished floors.
He ran his fingertips along the walls as he walked by, over the paintings and cases that lined the walkway.
He stopped at a glass case mounted higher than others roped off with a red velvet barrier to avoid fingerprint smudging.
Inside the case were a few trophies, a ribbon, a set of shimmering golden shorts and a heavy plated belt that read;
Flyweight Division Champion of the World 2009, Choi Seunghyun.
He admired the treasures inside with immense adoration and hoped that there would be a case someday with his name on it.
San admired his dad, he had no ill intentions of going against his back to fight but the spark of passion already in his eyes had ignited and lit a fire so bright inside of him that the devil himself would have to wear oven mitts to take his soul.
He sauntered into the kitchen, eyes of a vulture, hunting for food.
It was the start of the summer holidays from uni and San had decided to occupy his time (strictly as a cover) by instructing at the dance academy run by two of his close friends.
A heavy thump of approaching footsteps alerted him that he was no longer alone and he popped his head up from the fridge, a piece of bread hanging from his mouth.
He shook his bangs out of his face and greeted his dad with a grin.
"Morning dad," he mumbled through stuffed cheeks.
Choi Seunghyun was a daunting figure to look at. At first glance you would be afraid he was about to hold you upside down by your feet, demanding you pay him for blinking.
He stood six feet tall, broad shoulders and frame atop lengthy legs and a toned torso.
Partially covered by his robe, his right shoulder displayed a huge tattoo trailing down his arm of a dragon with tatters on his skin and three sets of claw marks over its eye.
Distinct eyebrows raised in question as he spotted his son. With the left brow being cut short by a scar that followed through his eyelid and a clouded grey eye beneath the lashes. Silver almost, to match the undercut he sported on his head.
A powerful and deep, yet soothing voice replied, ignoring his greeting.
"San...what happened to your cheek?"
San silently cursed himself because, damn, even with one eye this man didn't miss a thing. He quickly racked his brain for a response, diverting his eyes back to the fridge.
"What cheek?" San failed to keep his cover, "I mean nothing.....Yunho introduced a pretty tough dance move at the academy yesterday where you kind of.."
He begin tutting his arms in a distracting tactic lowering to the ground and popping back up, "and then like a...ungh, bum, da da dat, one and two and one and two and.."
Seunghyun raised his eyebrows in bewilderment, amusement gracing the scarred composure.
"Yeah okay, never mind, no wonder you are dancing like you are injured, jeez I am surprised you aren't covered in bruises."
San stood upright again and chuckled nervously, a bit too loud, almost making himself too obvious.
Changing the topic he brought his now clear cheeks into a high grin, eyes turning into half moons, "So dad, the Brawl Out is coming up an-"
Any trace of comfort left on the elder's face immediately disappeared. Replacing his warmed features with a horrifying scowl that made San take a few steps back.
A low growl could be heard as he spoke his words slowly, approaching the smaller figure and grabbing his arm firmly.
San cowered as the developing bruises that littered his arm made the grip much worse than it actually was.
"I thought I made myself clear, time and time again that I don't EVER want to hear you talking about fighting, going into the pit, or any of that ever again. There is nothing in that world for you and if I ever catch you getting yourself involved, you will regret it until the day you take your last breath. Do I make myself clear... again?"
San flinched as he let go of his arm and watched his back storm out of the kitchen. Tears welled in his eyes and he slid to the cold marble.
San's song:
Bullet in a Gun - Imagine Dragons
"Bullet in a gun, but in the end my time will come. Like a bullet in a gun blood, sweat, and tears to be the one"
a/n so when writing this I gave some characters songs. These songs represent the character's personality and I will put the playlist probably at the end to help you get a feel of the mood I wrote the lyrics under for those characters. These will only be when I introduce them at first. I highly encourage you listen!
How's the story? Is it okay? Should I keep going? I'm nervous haha