Seated in the passenger's seat of his best mate's car, Luke was staring out the raindrop-covered glass his head was resting on. He insisted on driving back, but Ashton reminded him that he drank and that his knuckles were split open. Ashton didn't need Luke to hurt himself more driving with a tight grip on the wheel and the alcohol and adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Ashton was focused on getting the blonde back to his apartment and cleaning his hands. The fast they got his knuckles clean, the faster they would heal, and ultimately—the faster Luke could get back to fighting.
Luke idly watched the buildings pass by on the New York streets. His heart was pumping slower, his intoxication and adrenaline wearing off. Luke knew he screwed up, he had another fight coming up soon and messed up his fists before the match—his right more than his left.
He was annoyed and confused, which just made him more angry. It was an endless cycle sometimes. The boxer didn't like confusion and when the rare occasion came up that he was, he got extremely frustrated. Luke liked having control of his life and confusion meant he wasn't in control. And all his confusion started those few weeks ago at the ring when Michael came with two girls.
Michael. Another thought to get is blood pumping and anger flowing. Michael hated Luke and Luke hated Michael, it was pretty simple. Though, the blonde's hatred blossomed from confusion. Confusion because of the hostility the then dark-purple haired teen had expressed.
Granted Luke could understand the frustrations the guy had, though it was sudden and surprising to everyone.
Luke hadn't noticed the car parked outside his expensive apartment complex and that his friend had already left until a knock right next to his face on the glass prompted him out of his thoughts.
He scowled up at the grinning dirty blonde and opened his door to step out, and slammed his door shut.
"Hey watch it! That's my car you're harassing," Ashton yelled as he had already started towards the elevator. Luke mumbled under his breath as he got closer to the waiting elevator.
"Don't mumble asshat, I can still hear you,"
"Whatever," Luke sighed, and stepped into the opening doors of the elevator.
As soon as Luke heard the intake of air next to him, he knew he'd be stuck listening to Ashton's rant. It was a perfect place—he was trapped in the elevator for another nine floors.
"Okay, what the fuck bro," Ashton sighed as he looked over at the blonde who was glaring at the solid metal doors.
"Fuck off,"
Typical, thought Ashton as he rolled his eyes.
"Why the hell did you attack that guy? Like I get what he did was gross but did you really have to beat him up so bad?"
Luke stayed staring ahead of him, trying and failing to not think over Ashton's question. Luke had been asking himself the same thing on the way here. In response, he shrugged his shoulders.
The other lad's shoulders slumped as he tried to figure out his friend. Luke was a mystery most times but Ashton had known the blonde for many years and could tell something was up. He was usually more vocal when Ashton scolded him, but right now he opted for shoulder shrugs.
"Stop overthinking Luke, it never does you any good," Ashton patted the blonde's shoulder as he walked off the elevator at Luke's floor.
Luke knew he was right and made the conscious decision to stop letting himself be distracted by unnecessary things like short, pretty girls with curly hair and two different colored eyes.
With his shoes at the door, Luke walked into his apartment and over to his sofa and threw himself down. His arm immediately went to cover his eyes, he ignored the pain in his hand when he clenched his fist.
"You need to clean your hands Luke," Ashton said, stood right in front of the blonde draped on the plush sofa.
"Whatever," Luke mumbled.
"You know you have a fight soon and you need your hands healed so you can win and get the money. I don't know if you forgot but this one is a pretty big deal," Ashton explained to him.
"I always fucking win, it doesn't matter,"
"It does matter because the less you get hurt during a match the better. You know it doesn't look good walking around sporting bruises on your face,"
"Good thing I don't get hit then,"
Ashton sighed and Luke rolled his eyes behind his arm. Of course Ashton was fucking right, they both knew it. With one final huff, Luke pulled himself from the couch and started towards his bedroom. A groan left his lips as he heard footsteps following him, "What the fuck do you want?"
Ashton merely smiled, "Just wanna make sure you do it right,"
The blonde walked into his en suite and flipped the lights on. The bathroom had a large bathtub against the left wall, a large glass-door shower towards the back of the room and a marble top vanity with two sinks and a mirror on the right.
"I've been doing this for two and a half years, pretty fucking sure I know what to do," Luke grumbled. He didn't need Ashton hovering over him doing every little thing.
"We both know when you're in a pissy mood you like to half ass things because you're mad at anything and everything," Ashton said as he leaned against the doorway and watched the blonde take out his first aid kit.
"Fine watch me do it all you want, I'll still do the same thing I've done every other time,"
"Now was that so hard?" Ashton asked with a smile to the boxer as he put the kit back in the cabinet. He chuckled at the very sarcastic smile and middle finger given by the blonde. Such a happy guy, Ashton thought to himself, following him out of the bathroom and back to the living room.
Luke wasn't sure how late it was but needed to sleep so he told Ashton to leave and gave a little fuck you when Ashton called him a grandpa as he left.
Eventually before he fell asleep, Luke turned off the lights and TV Ashton turned on and went to his bedroom. He stripped out of his skinny jeans and shirt, only left in a pair of boxer briefs.
Climbing into bed, Luke nestled himself under his copious amounts of blankets of his king sized bed—his AC was always on and he liked to be as warm as he could. It wasn't long before the boxer was drifting into sleep, and whether a certain brown haired girl was on his mind or not as he fell into slumber, no one had to know.
♛
Fighting was what Luke did best. He loved the adrenaline, the rush of power he got when relentlessly punching and dodging opponents' fists. He felt like nothing could touch him when he was in the ring, dancing around in a circle waiting for a punch to be thrown, a crowd full of people booing and cheering.
He knew that sometimes the booing was for him, he was quite frankly the best boxer there. And people didn't like to admit that the tall, slightly buff, 20 year old could easily down so many bigger, stronger opponents. But Luke didn't care, the more people that wasted their money on other opponents and realized they'd always lose, the more people ended up betting on him and more money was put in his pocket.
This fight was no different. Lots of boos, presumably from the people who knew Scarface—what an original name for a man with a tiny scar in his eyebrow—but Luke wasn't intimidated. He could read almost everything about each fighter.
That's another thing he was very good at, reading people. Whether it be normal people on the streets, people in the club or strangers in general, Luke found it easy to figure them out.
His real talent was calculating the next moves of his challenger. After many fights and many training sessions at the gym, Luke knew pretty much every move imaginable in these types of situations. Hence why Luke was breathing heavy with his left arm in the air and one bloodied, groaning body on the ground.
The fight was easy, which in turn inflated the large ego the man already had. So many fighters wanted a chance to fight him—they all thought they would be the one to take him down, yet no ones even come close. So many flaws each player had, all of which Luke could spot and take advantage of. He seemingly had no weaknesses and was a perfect person for this line of work.
Ashton patted his friend on the back as they made their way over to the metal doors and up the stairs to his room. Not many people who fought for this place had their own 'dressing rooms,' only the ones they chose, and the blonde was lucky enough to be one of those.
He caught sight of a few of his knuckles bleeding when he gripped the handle to his room. He walked over to his basket next to his mini fridge and pulled out the alcohol and bandages and started cleaning his cuts.
"You know it's always really funny to watch the guys you fight try to intimidate you when you don't give a shit about anything," Ashton laughed from the couch.
Luke looked up and nodded, "It's a great ego booster when I beat them too," Luke said as he put all his wound cleaning supplies back in their place.
"I'm gonna leave, I don't feel like staying in this hell hole any longer than I have to today," Luke said and put on his shirt and leather jacket.
Ashton stood to follow the blonde out of the building and to their cars. Silence was pretty common between the two, until Ashton felt the need to talk—which he did do quite often.
"Bye Lukey Pukey," Ashton called out as he walked over to his parked car. Luke flipped him off without looking back and heard a chuckle.
Luke unlocked his Porsche and slid into the red leather seat. The drive back through the dark night didn't take long, at least with a mind full of thoughts it was long.
Back in his penthouse and in his bed, his mind started over working again. One thing particular that he focused on was Evelynn—the girl hadn't crossed his mind since that night two weeks ago.
He thought more about her and came to the realization, she definitely was a distraction. Luke didn't like distractions and honestly, the girl had become one way too fast for his liking. He barely knew her and yet beat the shit out of a guy for her. Hell the first time he saw her he got punched in the face, which rarely happens.
The boxer didn't want to be distracted therefore he decided to just forget about the girl and focus back on his training and fights. His career as an underground boxer was more important than some girl he'd met. His job was boxing—besides the occasional lawn care he'd do which no one had to know about—he needed this job to survive and why not make a living off something you're good at, right?
The blonde's blue eyes slowly closed with pictures of his next fight playing in his mind as he fell asleep. The other guy was smaller than himself, a lot smaller. The ref was counting down the seconds until the round started. His eyes scanned around the ring at the screaming crowd of gross men, two eyes standing out under the dim lights. Next thing he knew, a fist was in his face, his jaw throbbing. He looked back at the smug face of the guy who just punched him but his eyes slowly moved back towards the crowd. His eyes met hers again before a second punch knocked him out of his dream.
He groaned loudly, his eyes squeezed shut, and flipped over in his bed. Forgetting her would be a lot harder than he hoped but he was determined.
♛ ♛ ♛
would you look at that i wrote again!
anyway CALM. CALM IS SO AMAZING AND I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT
best years and lover of mine make me wanna cry every time i hear them. lierra>>>>>>
what song is your favorite off CALM?