The air of the spare room is muggy, almost suffocating with the horrendous ventilation. Muffled cheering is being heard from the center of the basement. Rumbling could nearly be felt through the thin walls and makeshift door. The crowd is rowdy. It's always rowdy the first night. That's something everyone can count on opening night. Rowdy, loud, the entire room filled with excitement to watch desperate people beat the hell out of each other as if their lives depended on it. The excitement of a crowd like that is both accelerating and nerve-wracking.

An indie song you're not familiar with plays from Matty's phone while your hand is stuck out. Mikey wraps the off-white wrap around your hand and wrist, making sure to keep it snug but not enough to cut off your circulation. You opened and closed your fist on the opposite hand, as if the movement would disperse the ever-growing nerves.

"Good?" Mikey asks, letting go of your now wrapped hand.

"Good." You affirm, opening and closing both fists. Your eyes watch your fist, distant and concentrated.

"Y/n," Matty starts. "There is another way."

You rest your hands in your lap, narrowing your eyes slightly at Matty. "Yeah? Beg your rents, right?"

"They'll loan you the money." Matty urges.

Mikey hangs his head, shaking it and running his hand through the worn gel of his hair.

"Yeah, they'll loan it to me, Matty and then what? I'll still be in debt to someone."

"Not Ian." Mikey scoffs.

"Look," You sigh, standing up and grabbing your gloves. "End result, still the same." You're calm as you shrug your shoulder, Mikey and Matty glancing between each other. "You don't have to be here and I wouldn't blame you if you left." Your eyes are solely on Matty for a few seconds. "You either." You look to Mikey. "Not yours, not your shit."

Mikey and Matty both groan, annoyed with their friend but understanding your point of view, Mikey more so than Matty.

"What's that thing you say-" Matty starts.

"You do for family...and sometimes your two best friends...and the homeless guy on ninth." Mikey rolls his eyes but there's a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips.

"Homeless guy has cool stories." You laugh and bite your lip.

"Yeah, yeah." Matty says. "Point is, we're not going anywhere." His eyes are soft with worry but he stands up.

You look at Mikey who's already getting to his feet. "I was never out of it. I disagree with everything you do but I'll be damned if something happens to you and I'm not there to help." Mikey smirks, flicking your forehead. You hiss in pain as a response. "Well, let's go." Mikey laughs, resting a hand on her shoulder.

The three of you make your way down the long, cold hallway, a strange contrast from the room you were in. The ceiling above you produced muffled music and thumping from the club dancers but your focus was on the growing sound coming from the center of the basement. The rumbling of feet hitting the floor grew louder and the cheers escalated. Your palms sweat as you got closer and your heart ached in your chest with every step you took. The ringing in your ears is barely noticeable over your nerves.

Confidence doesn't mean the inability to be nervous. It was now or never. You had a shot here. This is your shot and if you win, you're off the hook. It's a hook you've been dangling on like a catfish, waiting for your cheek either give way or someone to just remove it. One's a death sentence and the other is a hail mary. There is no next year. It's this year and you know it. Brave face or not, you're terrified.

The three of you reach the crowd of people in chairs, some standing from lack of seating, just in time to watch the winner of the second match exit the ring. You and Mikey leave Matty to make your way towards the ring, Matty always choosing to just try and find somewhere to stand or sit if you'd choose to stay after you were done. Mikey spends a few minutes reassuring you, his pep talk not doing much pepping but getting it's point across. "Just don't lose." And before you know it, it's time for you to enter the ring.

You go under the ropes and Mikey stands outside the ropes in your corner with a water bottle, his heart picking up its pace as he's finally allowed to feel nervous for his best friend. But, he maintains a straight face as you and the other fighter take your stances.

The guy you're fighting today is bigger, as they usually are. His veins protrude from his neck and his arms. His muscles are flexed and he's nearing six foot three. The guys is big but, as you have found, the bigger the better. You can dodge them easily and they tire out faster. You're faster and you can stay lower, their fists missing your face almost every time.

With the sound of an announcer through an old mic and a bell chiming, the fight begins. Your fists block your face and you remain on your toes while the man you're facing swings. He misses and his green eyes darken to a shade of forest green. His teeth grit against his mouth guard as he goes for another jab and you dodge. He's one of the smug boxers. New to the game but thinks he's better than everyone around, especially a girl, a girl smaller than him.

The fight continues when you see your opportunity and punch him in the ribs, black and blue glove connecting with tan skin. The man grunts while you resume your position, fists in front of your face. But, the man recovers quick and is on you. He lands a few punches to your head. Your vision blurs for a few seconds and the ringing in your ears becoming more noticeable but, with blood dripping from your nose and the wound Matty had stitched up earlier, you recover. You only recover long enough for the round to end, declaring your opponent the winner according to the ref.

You move to Mikey for water and a short breather. You take your mouth guard out while Mikey squirts water into your mouth with the water bottle.

"What the hell are you doing, Rocket?" Mikey's eyes are dark and narrowed, jaw squared.

"Winning." You retort when he pulls the water away.

"Looks like you're losing to me." Mikey challenges, putting the water down and grabbing a rag to wipe the blood and a few beads of sweat from your forehead.

"New plan. Trust me." You give him a half-cocked smile before putting your mouth guard back in.

"Y/n." Mikey groans through gritted teeth but you've turned away from him, making your way to the center of the ring.

The next round ensues and it's almost the exact same dance, but you keep track of how long the rounds are. You can focus on your opponent and you can count a clock. With less than a minute left, you start throwing punches, catching the bigger and meaner fighter off guard. Your punches are low first and then come up high. You're punching and dodging at the same time, your eyes trained on the opposite fighter. Your vision is tunneled and while the crowd is cheering and surrounding the ring, the only thing you can see is the fighter. You can't hear anything besides your own breathing. You land another punch to his face, knocking his head back and the crowd erupts, some pissed and others happy but you don't notice. It's just this.

And you win the round.

You keep the half-cocked smile as you walk to Mikey, taking out your mouth guard. Your chest heaves as Mikey squirts the cold water into your mouth, Mikey's eyes narrowed at you.

"Here." He mutters, swapping the water out for the rag to wipe the blood and sweat.

You let him wipe your face again before you lean in to whisper. "I got this. Chill, would ya?"

Mikey shakes his head, teeth locked together in a mixture of annoyance, anger, and worry. "I swear-"

"Trust me." Your eyes are soft as you put your mouth guard back in and go to take your place for the final round.

The rumbling of voices bounced and echoed down the long cement hallway of the basement of one of Chicago's many nightclubs. Tom's hands went from fists to flat out, stretching his fingers as he followed a man and his best friend to where the yelling was coming from. Tom held his head with confidence, not needing to see or know about his competition. He's good, and he knows he's good. There's a reason he doesn't lose but the stakes have never been this high before.

Tom was lead through the crowd, able to see the ring in the center of the open basement. Two boxers were moving about the ring, one looking steadier than the other. Tom glanced from the ring and to the man, waiting for him to explain how the night would take place.

"One match after this one, and you're up." The man by the name of Arthur says, his attention on Tom.

"No problem." Tom nods, glancing to his friend, Harrison, and back to Arthur.

"Good." Arthur stifles a chuckle. "You win, you make it to the next round.

"Figured that much." Tom remarks.

Arthur shakes his head, displeased with Tom's comment. "Look," Arthur's strong hand grips Tom's shoulder, making him look into the ring. "She's your competition."

Tom's brows furrow and his eyes widen as your glove connects with the side of your opponent's face. You're a girl, he's not supposed to fight someone of a different gender. That's not very fair and as far as it seems, you wouldn't even be in the same weight class. Tom's never fought professionally, it's always been underground for him but there were always strict rules on weight and gender roles. But, those were different competitions than this one. This one is grimy with rules maybe a little too lax.

"That's a girl." Tom points out.

"Yes and she's made it to the championship match these past two years. She would have been close her first year but was kicked out the second we got wind of her being under eighteen. Following year, she was caught. You get caught, you're out." Authur's stare moves to Tom, it's hard and warning, making Tom understand it's a threat to him not to make the same mistake. "She came back and she's beat almost everyone she's been put up against, until the final match. This year she's the one to beat and you," Arthur looks back to Tom. "Are going to beat her."

"Don't think that's much fair, do ya?" Tom questions

Arthur shrugs nonchalantly, a voice starting to echo above them counting down the last seconds. "This isn't fair. That's why the money is good and I do believe you're in need of it, are you not?"

Tom's jaw clenches, glancing back to Harrison whose eyes haven't left the ring. "Yeah." Tom answers shortly.

"Good. So, it's simple," Arthur continues just as you were declared the winner of your match. "You win, you're off the hook. You lose," Arthur pauses and a sinister smile just barely graces his face. "I own you."

Trickles of fear run through Tom's blood as he nods. "Got it." Tom says.

"Good." Arthur chuckles, his tone changed to one of cheer and excitement. "Let's get you in one of these rooms and get you ready." Arthur places a hand on Tom's shoulder and leads him back down the long hallway, Harrison walking side-by-side.

Harrison's eyes scan every room they pass, every pipe above them. Tom's distracted with trying to psych himself up for the fight but also not get his ass kicked by Arthur. He's trying not to ruin everything and get himself into more trouble. He needs to listen to whatever Arthur is rambling on about it. It's Harrison's job to look at the building and watch out for whatever he can and he hates the way this place looks.

It looks like a basement that would have been used for the movie Hostile. It's grimy and probably hasn't been cleaned properly since the nightclub above them opened. A few pipes seem to be leaking which Harrison can only hope is just water. Leaking water probably means mold. It's not a good building and given who Arthur is, it only sparks more confusion in Harrison. But, that's not everything that's making him feel uneasy. What if something happens?

In other fights Tom has been in, other competitions, people have been severely injured. People make a run for it while an ambulance is called, if it's that bad. But, looking at where they are and how loud the music above them is, Harrison's best guess is that if something happens, it happens. The person on the ground is just going to hope someone helps them and gets them out of the basement. Tom's been hurt, bad, and so has Harrison when Harrison used to fight, it's unnerving.

"What'd'ya think?" Tom asks, wrapping his hands now that Arthur has left the two to their own for a minute.

"Not a fan." Harrison mumbles.

"Why's that? Fought in worse places."

Harrison shakes his head, his expression pondering. "I dunno. I can't put my finger on it. Seems dangerous."

"Course it does." Tom chuckles. "Always is."

Harrison remains silent, a clear indicator that there's something eating at Harrison's mind. Tom's the talker of the two of them but Harrison tends to speak his mind. He's holding back but based on the curious expression, he's holding back because there really is something just off.

"What?" Tom asks.

"Nothing." Harrison shakes his head. "Just don't lose."

"You got it." Tom smirks, looking back to finishing wrapping his hands.

You and Mikey make your way to Matty. Mikey helped you clean up the blood from your face and watched the door to make sure no one would come in while you changed back into your street clothes, a pair of black track pants and a hoodie you borrowed from Mikey ages ago. Your bag hung from Mikey's shoulder and Matty pulled you in for a hug, congratulating you on the win. But, he was quick to pull away, wanting to look over your face. You rolled your eyes and pulled your face away from his hand.

"Food?" You ask.

"Portillos?" Mikey offers.

"We always go to Portillos." You groan.

"What do you suggest then?" Mikey questions.

"We stay here." Matty pipes up, looking to ring behind them.

You and Mikey follow his gaze and your eyes land on Tom. His black and red gloves clinging to his fists and his black shorts hanging nicely off his hips. His fists are in front of his face, accentuating his toned arms. Tom's abs are chiseled, even in the horrible lighting and distance, every crevice of his torso is visible. While Tom's hair is messy from the long day, it still seems to lay perfectly, complimenting his face nicely.

"Wipe the drool." Mikey rolls his eyes, staring at his friends.

"Huh?" You and Matty sigh simultaneously, looking to Mikey and back to Tom.

"Who's he?" Matty asks.

"Dunno." Mikey says.

"He's cute." Matty says.

"Yeah, that pretty face of his isn't gonna last past this first round." You chuckle, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest.

"I think he can pull it off." Matty remarks.

You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder. "You only think that because you think he's cute."

"You only think he won't because you think he's cute." Matty retorts.

"True." You shake your head with a soft laugh against Matty's shoulder. "Alright, I gotta a five on me."

"Mikey you in?" Matty asks.

"He'll make it past this round but second one he's out." Mikey says, eyes on the ring.

You pick your head up and three of you shake hands on the petty bet. It's something the three of you have done over the few years you've been involved in the league. If you see a boxer the three of you don't agree on, you bet whatever you have on you which usually is no more than a ten. It's all out of fun and if one of you needs the money back, it's no worries. Betting between the three of you, while your reasoning is usually something as petty as the way someone looks, it's fun.

You watch the fight take place, you watch every move both boxers make knowing you'll likely be against one of them. While you're betting Tom won't make it out of the match, your focus is divided. You're confident but not stupid. It would be dumb not to watch how your potential opponent performs. It's not all about who can hit the hardest, there's a strategy.

"Fuck me." You roll your eyes, seeing Tom's won the first round.

Mikey snorts. "Can I change my bet."

"Nope, might as well pay up now." Matty holds his head up high.

"You shouldn't be able to bet on someone because you think they're cute." You remark, bitterness in your voice already knowing Tom's opponent doesn't stand a chance anymore.

"That's the exact reason you're against him winning." Matty retorts. "Now sh, enjoy the show."

Mikey and you look to each other, trying to conceal your laughter. Your eyes go back to Tom and you both observe the way he moves. You watch that Tom's light on his feet, similar to you. He waits for his opponent to get tired. He's thin, not super tall. His arms aren't large. It's his stamina that will win his rounds, just like you. But, the way he moves around his opponent is almost like it's dance, calculated and drawn out.

You shake your head as Tom wins the second round, declaring him the winner of the match. That's when he sees you. Tom's eyes went from Arthur who was lightly clapping in approval to you. He wasn't looking for you, of course. He just happened to be scanning the crowd and his eyes fell on you with you not being surrounded by people. He flashes you a toothless smile, subtle but a smile nonetheless. You roll your eyes and look to Matty.

"Get you your money at Portillos." You say, jerking your head for the three of you to leave.

Tom brushes off your eye roll, knowing he'll see you again and exits the ring, Harrison helping him to the floor. He only got hit good once but it'd likely only leave him with a bruise across his cheek. Tom's relieved to have his first match done and over with. It wasn't that bad, in fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say it were easy. However, by the way Arthur speaks and given how much money is being spread around for the championship winner, not including side bets, Tom knows this is only getting started. It's going to get worse so he can't get too far ahead of himself. Stay confident but don't get cocky.

"You alright?" Harrison asks.

"All good." Tom nods, the two of them walking towards the hallway, Arthur meeting them.

"You did well, Holland." Arthur says, taking Harrison's place beside him. "Keep that up and you'll have nothing to worry about."

"No problem." Tom says, confidence in his voice.

"We'll see." Arthur says, a sinister tone just coating his words. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Tom looks up to him, brows knitted with confusion. "We're off tomorrow."

"I'm aware." Arthur chuckles, squeezing Tom's shoulder. "My assistant will text you with address and you'll both meet me there." Arthur's words don't ease Harrison's previous concern and now Tom's excitement from winning is starting to match Harrison's concern. "It's a good thing, dress for a meeting."

Harrison watches Arthur with careful eyes but doesn't say anything. "We'll be there." Tom assures.

Arthur nods to both boys, congratulating Tom for winning once more before he started making his way down a separate hallway, towards an exit. Tom and Harrison exchanged confusion glances but went on their way to the room they were in previously. Harrison handed Tom his bag, Arthur having instructed the boys not to leave their things unguarded, for him to change into clothes while he worked on getting the two an Uber to take them home.

"What do you think he wants tomorrow?" Harrison asks.

"Fuck if I know." Tom shrugs. "Probably another contract."

"Another?" Harrison questions. "What? Neither of us have the money to sue him as is, fuck's he need this much shit for?"

"Why're you asking me, mate?" Tom groans.

"I just don't trust him." Harrison slides his phone back into his pocket.

Tom nods his head to the side slightly. "Sorry."

Harrison nods, pursing his lips. "It's alright."

"Got you into this." Tom says, guilt taking over the uneasiness he felt about Arthur and the excitement he felt for winning.

Harrison squints, a look of 'oops' crossing his face. "Got you into it first."

There's a smirk tugging at Tom's lips as he rests the wrap beside him. "That mean you're admitting this is your fault?"

Harrison scoffs, a laugh following right after. "No, this is your fuck up still."

"Fuck." Tom chuckles, looking to his beaten up knuckles.

"You ready? Could go for some food?"

"Yeah, yeah." Tom nods quickly, tossing a shirt over his head and grabbing his bag, stuffing the two wraps into an open compartment.

The boys make their way from the room, finding the exit. The walk to the front of the building felt nice against Tom's skin, the chilled breeze of the coming fall cooling him down. The music from the nightclub plays behind them as a black SUV pulls up to the curb. Harrison does the talking to make sure it's their Uber while Tom just looks around, something he didn't do much of with having arrived with Arthur.

There are bars across the street with a few other businesses. People in dressed from hoodies and jeans to short skirts and crop tops walked along the sidewalks as if it's all a regular night to them. Friday nights were just people walking to get their alcohol fix or people just trying to get home. And then there's Tom, bit of a different night compared to everyone else.

Harrison signals for Tom and the two get into the car, Harrison asking just to be dropped off at the McDonald's near their apartment complex. They get dropped off not fifteen minutes later and they get their food, allowing their night to proceed. They go home and follow the same routine. Eat, watch whatever they can find, shower, bed. Friday nights weren't anything special.

The next day rolled around and the morning was slow for you. You went to your usual job at the diner a few blocks from Mikey and Matty's house. It might have been Saturday, but there are fewer customers today, most likely from the start of the school year and everyone taking their chance to sleep in. Either way, you wouldn't dare complain about a slow morning. If only the earlt evening could be just as pleasant.

"You're looking...." A man, likely in his late forties starts. "Ravishing." He looks you up and down as you pour him a cup of coffee.

You put on your best fake smile. "Thank you."

The man smiles, a bit too warm for your comfort. "Why don't we get out of here?"

"I'm sorry, sir." Your words are soft and kind, but your blood is boiling. "I'm working."

"After." The man says. He says it rather than asks and his face is tinting the softest shade of red.

"I'm not interested. I'm sorry." You apologize again, trying to keep your anger from showing.

"I'll pay you." The man releases a chortle, not making his stare on you any less obvious. He's eyeing your like a piece of meat he owns.

"I'm not a prostitute and I'm still not interested. Go to twenty-fifth and green." You direct him to a once popular prostitution spot you pass a thousand times, hoping it'll get him to leave you alone. The spot is now being used to catch men like this guy. She has to be nice. You cannot afford to lose this job, not by telling some asshole off.

"I'd rather get you out of that outfit." He reaches out to hook his fingers between the band of your apron around your waist but you dodge your touch.

"Please, don't touch me."

"C'mon." The man almost growls as he reaches out again but his hand is blocked by someone bigger than you.

"Get out or I'll kick your ass right here." Mikey demands, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at the man. You roll your eyes from behind Mikey but don't interrupt.

"Hey, I was having a conversation." The man stands up, standing at the same height as Mikey.

"And I'm telling you to shut the fuck up and move on." Mikey gestures for the door and the man huffs.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Does it look like I give a shit? Can't be anyone too fuckin' important to be eatin' here." Mikey remarks while you roll your eyes again, wishing Mikey would just stop talking.

The man mumbles but pushes past Mikey and leaves, likely realizing that Mikey wasn't going to back down and no one else was going to step in. The man didn't stand a chance and he knew it. You were already making your way to the counter, resting the warm pot back in its place. Mikey followed you, taking an empty seat.

"You're not really mad, are you?" Mikey groans.

"You don't have to do that shit." You mumble, attending the register.

"You're my friend."

"I know." You say, glancing to Mikey and back to the register. "I can handle myself though." Your tone is soft but bored, getting the point across without snapping.

"I know." Mikey chuckles. "Ready? Need to get going."

"Lemme clock out and I'll be out there." You say, moving from the register and starting to remove your apron.

Mikey nods and the two of you part ways. You go to the back where you clock out and go to your locker, retrieving your belongings. With you being one of the diner's longest working and best employees and you picking up holiday shifts, you get lucky and are able to clock out before six on Saturdays.

It's a nice trade-off, especially with the given boxing times for the next few months. Working two legal jobs isn't exactly easy but throw in another one that almost no one can know about it, that's just hard. It's trying to explain to bosses why you can't work after a certain time and only on Fridays and Saturdays and only for a few months. It always seems weird but you always bullshits that it's something and they don't question it. It's always better not to question. What they don't know, can't hurt them.

You came out from the back, your black and blue backpack clinging to your shoulders. You wave to your manager before exiting the small diner and meeting Mikey who's straddling his motorcycle. You let out a soft laugh as you approach him.

"Got it running?"

"No bike or car I can't fix. Here." Mikey says with a proud grin, handing you a helmet to match the black and blue backpack.

"Black and blue?" You quirk a brow.

"It's like your signature." His eyes widen jokingly as he points to your hair. With Matty getting his cosmetology license, he's been doing your hair. For the moment, you've chosen thin blue streaks.

"Fair." You shrug, putting the helmet on before getting on the bike. Your arms wrap tightly around Mikey's waist before Mikey gets you on your way to the gym.

Meanwhile, Tom and Harrison were seated at a nice restaurant on a different side of the city. This restaurant, in contrast to the diner you work at, had black and white accent pieces through the entire place. The tables are black and sleek, clearly made of expensive wood. The chairs are all white and almost so comfortable anyone could fall asleep. White candles decorated every table and recessed lights complimented the all black ceiling. The entire restaurant read modern and expensive.

However, the look and feel of the restaurant didn't ease Tom's or Harrison's nerves. They've met with Arthur two other times for dinner or a lunch or a breakfast. Once was for Tom to borrow money and the other was to sort out the boxing agreement when Tom couldn't pay Arthur back. Both of those meetings weren't exactly good so it's only right that the two of them have their guard up. But, what really has them suspicious is the two other men sitting with them. They're dressed in black and navy suits, both in their fifties and looking very similar to Arthur. Business.

"These are the two I was telling you about." Arthur says to the men, gesturing to Tom and Harrison.

"Arthur's spoke highly of the both of you. You've seemed to be doing him quite well where you stand." One of men compliment.

"We're just doing our jobs, sir." Tom says, nodding his head.

"Richard." The man corrects him. "What exactly are the both of you doing right now?"

"We're just doing the filing and keeping everything organized," Harrison explains.

The other man chuckles, looking to Arthur. "They're more like your assistants."

Arthur shrugs. "I couldn't have them be out doing the real business just yet."

"Mmm," Richard hums, eyeing Tom and catching glimpses of a bruise decorating his cheek. "Understandable."

Tom's brows furrow but he quickly relaxes his face, choosing not to pay much attention to the man's words. There's something eating at the pit of Tom's stomach. Of course, when him and Harrison took up the job with Arthur, both of them didn't have a good feeling about him. There always seemed to be something off, not quite right but it was a job and a nice one, it's one that could lead them to a life of success and good fortune if they play their cards right. But, now, sitting with these other men, Tom is questioning if he ever had any cards to play.

"Well, we'll be in touch." The man Tom and Harrison never caught the name of says while he shakes Arthur's hand.

"I look forward to your call." Arthur says, shaking Richard's hand. Arthur, Tom, and Harrison watch the two men leave before any of them start talking. "They're investors."

"Why did you have us meet with you and two investors?" Tom asks.

"You'll find out." Arthur answers, sending Tom a quick glare. "Now, you're both going home to change. There's a car out front for you and you're going to this gym." Arthur hands Tom a piece of paper with an address and information on the gym.

"We have a gym." Harrison says.

"You have a new one." Arthur says. "I will know if you go or not so don't try anything stupid, understand?" Arthur warns, his green eyes darkening with venom.

"Yeah." Tom says, with a single nod. Arthur looks to Harrison and Harrison nods in agreement.

"I'll see you both tonight, then." Arthur says.

"Alright." Tom says and him and Harrison get up to leave.

They make their way outside where, just as Arthur had said, there is a car waiting for them. They get in and without instruction, they're brought to their apartment complex. The ride was quiet, Tom and Harrison not wanting to speak inside one of Arthur's vehicles.

Arthur might have told Tom that if he loses, he'll own Tom but if Tom didn't know any better, he'd say he was already owned. Arthur is demanding he train at a gym without a second thought, Tom has to compete in this competition, he needs to meet for dinner with men he isn't aware of and still work for Arthur. Harrison has to come with. It feels like Tom is already being owned and it's filling him with anxiety but also more determination to win and get the fuck away from whatever this is.

They quickly got changed from the dress attire and got their things ready. While Tom and Harrison were set to make their way to the new gym, you were at the gym, helping Mikey. You moved around the ring, you had the punching mitts on your hands while Mikey was throwing the punches. Beads of sweat dripped down his face and his breathing labored. Soft grunts fell from Mikey's mouth as you lead you both about the ring.

"Breathing a bit heavy, Mikey." Matty chortles as he walks up to the ring.

"Fuck off, Mat." Mikey grunts as he punches your mitt.

"He's not wrong." You chuckle before Mikey lands another punch.

"Fuck off." Mikey grits his teeth.

"Well, come on then." You taunt. "Put some fuckin' muscle in your punches then. I could punch harder than this when I was ten." Mikey throws another punch, you wince with the hit. "Okay, ow."

Mikey smirks, continuing his hits until you're once again interrupted.

"Y/n, Mikey." A voice pulls your attention. Your second boss, Maurice, grabs your attention as he's walking up to you, two people with him and one looking far too familiar. "Like you to meet two new members." He gestures to Harrison and Tom.

You could almost feel your head explode with the sight of Tom. You don't interact with any other boxer. Most of them don't and none of them train at this gym. It's part of why you picked this gym to apply for a job. Free membership and it distances yourself from your competition but now, you're face-to-face with someone you know is going to be a pain in your ass to beat.

Oh, fuck me.