"Come on, Jett!" someone from the crowd yelled.
Jett didn't look. His focus narrowed to the rhythm of breath and movement.
A single bulb swung overhead, throwing jittery light across the crowd pressed in tight around it. The night smelled of adrenaline, cigarette and alcohol.
It was past eight, still very early per say, and the underground boxing ring sat behind an abandoned warehouse, the kind of place that only certain people knew of. A few men leaned against the walls, some crowded around the ring, waiting for the next punch to fall.
Jett stood in the center of it all.
His fists were wrapped tight, knuckles ghost-white beneath the layers. A trickle of sweat slid down the side of his jaw. His opponent, a heavyset man with a busted lip and desperate eyes, circled, spitting blood.
Step forward. Dodge left. Counter.
Step forward. Dodge left. Counter.
The world blurred, sound dulled, and all he could hear was the slow thud of his own pulse.
The other man lunged. Jett moved with clean precision, one hook to the ribs, another to the jaw. The crowd roared as his opponent stumbled. A right punch cross ended it. The man crumpled, hitting the floor with a dull thud that echoed through the room.
"Winner- Jett!
The announcement came from somewhere behind the smoke, but Jett barely reacted. He stepped back, rolling his shoulders, chest rising and falling like a steady drumbeat. Someone handed him a towel, someone else shoved a bottle of water into his hand.
He wiped the blood from his nose. Another night, another fight. Nothing new. Nothing thrilling. Just noise, fists, and the numbness that followed.
His friends came up after, four of them, loud and half-drunk already.
"Man, you're a machine." one said, clapping him on the back.
"That last hit was fucking perfect!"
Jett gave a half-smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Wasn't much of a fight."
"Come on, don't be modest."
They laughed, and he let them, pulling on his hoodie. The air outside was colder, the city alive with muted sounds. The warehouse door slammed shut behind them.
As they walked toward the main road, Matt slowed beside him.
"Hey," he started, voice dropping lower. "your dad asked for you again."
Jett's steps faltered for half a second. He didn't turn. "Who told you that?"
"Your brother. I ran into him earlier today." Matt shoved his hands into his pockets. "Said your old man's been calling nonstop."
A muscle twitched in Jett's jaw.
"Jett- "
"Matt, not tonight."
The sharpness in his tone made Matt go quiet. The others were still laughing ahead, talking about grabbing drinks at a club downtown. Matt hesitated, then sighed.
"You coming with us?"
Jett shook his head. "No. I'm good. Gonna grab a milkshake."
Matt blinked. "Again?"
Jett only shrugged. "Cold's good after a fight."
Weird cravings. Matt didn't question it. It wasn't the first time.
Jett watched them leave before turning toward the small café a few blocks down. It was quiet there, clean light, open till late, the kind of place where no one asked questions. He liked that.
✧
Jamie sat near the window, one leg tucked under the other, gaze flicking between the glass and his phone screen. The soft hum of music filled the café, gentle, too sweet for his mood. He sighed, drumming his fingers against the table.
Jace was late again. His little brother's basketball practice always ran over, and though the high school was only a few blocks from Jamie's college, he didn't like the thought of Jace walking home alone at night. So, he waited.
He'd already finished his homework, half a slice of cake, and most of his patience. To pass the time, he ordered a milkshake, vanilla, thick and cold, the way he liked it. When it arrived, he smiled a little, thanked the worker, and carried it toward his seat.
And that's when he bumped into him.
Hard.
The collision sent a cold shock through his fingers as the cup slipped, splattering white across a dark hoodie. Jamie froze.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" he started, grabbing napkins. "I didn't see-"
"Fuck."
Jamie's words caught in his throat. The guy looked like he'd walked out of a crime scene, hoodie damp, faint bruises across his jaw, expression unreadable.
Jett's gaze dropped to the milkshake dripping down his sleeve. "Watch where you're fucking going."
His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged through smoke.
Jamie blinked. "I said I was sorry."
"That didn't clean my shirt."
Jamie stared at him. "Well, I didn't throw it at you, did I?"
The café worker behind the counter froze, eyes darting between them. These were the only two people here tonight. The room went quiet, the hum of music suddenly too soft.
Jett stepped forward, close enough that Jamie had to tilt his chin up to meet his glare. "You got a mouth on you, huh?"
Jamie's brows furrowed. "Better than having no manners."
That earned a sharp exhale from Jett, something between disbelief and amusement. People usually apologized, backed down. This one stood there, flushed cheeks and defiant blue eyes, wrapped in a soft sweater that screamed warmth, everything Jett avoided.
The more Jamie spoke, the more it burned to look at him.
"You should-" Jett started, but the door burst open.
"Jamie?"
A boy rushed in, tall, dark-haired, still wearing his sports jacket. His eyes widened at the scene before him, and he stepped between them without hesitation.
"Back off." Jace snapped.
Jett arched a brow. "How about you tell your- what, twig-shaped friend, to back the fuck off first?"
"He's my brother."
Jett gave a short, humorless scoff. "Figures."
"It's okay, Jace. Leave him." Jamie said, voice tight but controlled.
The stare-down stretched, tension thick in the air.
Jett's tone dropped, cold and even. "You better tell your little brother to learn some respect."
A soft scoff came from behind Jace. Then, before anyone could stop him, Jamie shoved his brother aside, stepping right back into the fire.
"How about you learn how to talk to people first? And I'm the older brother!" he snapped, voice rising.
"Jamie-" Jace tried to calm him, reaching out, but Jamie jerked away.
"Don't touch me!"
His eyes were bright with anger now, his whole face flushed. The mistake about his age had struck something raw, and the irritation from before flared into full fire.
He turned on his heel, storming back to his table, fingers trembling as he wiped milkshake from his sleeve.
The café worker finally found her voice, rushing over. "We're very sorry for-"
"Save it." Jett muttered, tossing the crumpled napkin onto the counter.
"Look, I don't know what happened but-" Jace started.
"Whatever." Jett didn't look back. He pushed through the door, the cold air biting at his face as he stepped outside.
The night hit different now, empty, heavy. His phone buzzed in his pocket, lighting up with a name he didn't want to see.
Father.
He stared at the screen for a long second, jaw tightening, before silencing the call. The device slipped back into his pocket.
The streetlights bled pale gold across the pavement as he started walking, hands shoved deep into his hoodie.
The night had started with a win.
Now it just tasted sour.
✧
The bell above the café door jingled as it closed behind the dark-haired stranger. The sound left a hollow silence in its wake. Jamie stood there for a moment, still breathing hard, milkshake dripping off the edge of his sleeve.
Then he huffed. Loudly.
"What a complete-" He stopped himself, muttering under his breath as he grabbed a napkin and wiped at the counter.
Jace watched him with a look somewhere between concern and resignation. "You done yelling yet?"
"No."Jamie snapped. "And don't look at me like that."
Jace held up his hands. "I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it." Jamie tossed the ruined napkin in the trash and grabbed his bag. "That I overreacted."
"I didn't say that either."
Jamie glared. "You didn't have to."
The younger boy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Jamie, he looked like he could break you in half. Why didn't you just walk away?"
"Because he was rude!" Jamie's voice rose again, echoing off the café walls. "He acted like I threw the milkshake at him on purpose. Who does that?!"
"Maybe he was just in a bad mood."
Jamie shot him a look. "You're defending him?"
"I'm not- I'm saying maybe pick your battles better."
Jamie's eyes narrowed. "My battles pick me, apparently." He grabbed his phone from the table and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go before I start regretting not hitting him with the cup instead."
Jace muttered something suspicious under his breath but followed him out the door anyway.
"Why didn't you bring your car?." Jace asked.
"Cause I didn't want to." Jamie replied, and Jace could only sigh and shake his head.
The air outside was cold enough to sting. The sidewalks were nearly empty, save for the flicker of headlights passing now and then. Their shoes scraped against the pavement, the only real sound between them.
Jamie shoved his hands deep into his pockets, replaying the encounter over and over in his head.
"Honestly, back there, he looked like he wanted to punch me just for existing." Jamie ranted.
"Like I said, maybe he just had a bad day."
Jamie stopped walking, turning toward his brother. "You spill a drink on someone, you say sorry, right? And what do they say?"
"They say 'it's okay'?" Jace offered carefully.
"Exactly! It's okay. Not-'watch where you're going.'" Jamie's voice rose again, his hands gesturing wildly. "That's not okay. That's- that's infuriating!"
Jace tried to hide his laugh and failed.
"What's so funny?."
"Nothing, nothing."
Jamie groaned and started walking again. 'Unbelievable. Last milkshake of the night, and I waste it on some overgrown delinquent with anger issues."
They turned down the block toward the station. Streetlights cast soft halos on the wet pavement, the faint scent of rain still clinging to the air. Jamie kicked at a small rock, watching it bounce off the curb.
He looked down at his sweater; a faint white stain still marked the hem. The absurdity of it hit him then, and a reluctant chuckle escaped.
Jace nudged his shoulder. "You'll forget about him tomorrow."
"Doubt it."Jamie muttered.
They fell silent again, walking side by side. And soon enough, they reached the final street that lead to their house.
"Jamie?" Jace said, breaking his thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"You still owe me a milkshake."
"I don't remember promising you one." Jamie scoffed.
"You were supposed to get me one tonight anyway."
Jamie glanced sideways, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "Fine. Tomorrow. But you're paying."
Jace laughed. "That's not how owing works."
"Too bad."
Their laughter softened the cold night.
Jace was already distracted by his phone. The night closed around them, quiet again, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the distance.