#SO EXCITED FOR MORE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inthedarkofmyroom · 20 days ago

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Oh wowwwww😭what a beautiful part!! I loved learning more about Noah and where he is living. Alpine is the cutest🥺I’m glad she went to go find him and return the bracelet. The way they immediately fell into light conversation and some flirting🤭🤭Noah pulling away but you can tell he’s kinda regretting it😫The angst hurts so good😩

I’m so excited to see where this goes !!!! Really loving this story🩷🩷

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Series masterlist

Your best friend showed up twenty minutes late, obviously.

The coffee shop where you waited for her was one of those faux-rustic places with exposed brick, croissants that cost way too much, and an indie playlist always in the background.

She stepped inside with oversized sunglasses on her head even if it wasn't really sunny, blonde hair all messy. A plaid slip dress layered over a chunky cable-knit sweater, knee-high boots that looked like they’d survived a war, and a tiny black purse. For a girl studying fashion, she sometimes wore really unusual outfit combinations.

She spotted you instantly and made her way over.

“You ordered already?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from you with a sigh.

“Are you allergic to mornings, by any chance?” you asked, lifting your cup. “Or is ten a.m. sunrise in Amber World?”

She made a face. “I had to fight my own soul to get out of bed. Be grateful.”

You smirked, already halfway through your first coffee. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Obviously,” she said, then leaned in a little. “Okay. So. This guy.”

You gave her a look. “I knew you were gonna open with that.”

“I’ve been waiting all night for this story, don’t play coy. You texted me ‘I stripped for a man I met less than an hour ago’ and then ghosted me. Who does that?”

You snorted into your coffee. “I didn’t strip strip.”

Amber raised an eyebrow. “Your shirt came off. That qualifies.”

You leaned back in your seat, shaking your head. “You make it sound so much worse than it was.”

She grinned. “Honey, you don’t need me to make it sound worse.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. So, we go to this underground fight club, don’t even ask me how Kole knows about it. I didn’t even want to go. I thought it’d be stupid. And gross. I’ve seen weird shit before, like that one party where everyone was microdosing on mushrooms, but this?”

You paused. Amber leaned in further.

“This was next level.”

She let out a delighted gasp. “God, I love when your life becomes a movie. Keep going."

So you did, right after Amber order a honey lavender latte with oat milk, and a vegan lemon-blueberry muffin.

You told her about the crowd, the noise, the guy who raised his arms like he was in the damn UFC. You told her about the moment Noah got into the ring, how he looked like he already knew he was going to lose. How it wasn’t even a fair fight and everyone knew.

“How bad was it?” she asked softly.

You shrugged, remembering. “Bad. I left before it ended. I couldn’t watch. Kole was having the time of his life.”

Amber made a face. “Ew.”

“Yeah. So I went outside to get air. And guess who gets tossed out into the alley like trash?”

She blinked. “Noah.”

You nodded.

“He looked... I don’t know. Hurt. Not just physically. Like no one had ever given a shit about him, and he’d stopped giving a shit about himself too.”

Amber’s smirk faded a little. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Yeah, well. The whole thing felt kinda sad.” You paused, wrapping your hands around your coffee cup. “I couldn’t just leave him there like that. I tried to help, didn't really do much.”

Amber was quiet for a second, then said, “So you gave him your shirt.”

You gave her a sheepish look. “It was the only clean fabric I had. What was I supposed to do? Let him bleed all over the pavement?”

She covered her face with her hands, laughing. “You are literally the weirdest person I know. And I say that with love.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

She peeked at you through her fingers. “But also… kind of sweet. In a reckless, vaguely illegal way.”

You sighed. “I didn’t plan it. He was just... different. I don't know, he was... not like Kole.”

By the time you stopped talking, you'd already said it, and you'd made it sound wrong.

Amber was watching you now with that look she always gave when she saw through you a little too easily.

“You like him.”

You almost choked. “I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You stayed quiet for a momenti, then muttered, “He asked me not to come back.”

“Did you tell him you probably will anyway?”

You didn’t answer.

Amber raised her cup like a toast, joking. “Well. Say hello from me when you see him again.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not going back.”

She smiled over the rim of her drink. “You totally are.”

"I told you I'm not."

Amber pulled a piece off her muffin and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “So,” she said, her voice casual but her blue eyes sharp, “What did you two talk about while he tried not to pass out in that alley?”

You sighed, tracing your finger along the rim of your cup. “He barely said anything. Just... thanked me. Asked my name. He said fighting is all he has.”

She whistled low. “So he’s got emotional damage and a probable concussion. Sexy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Amber.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. Be careful. I know you, don't go back and try to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you said, maybe a little too fast.

“You gave him your shirt.”

“It was a reflex!”

She grinned. “You have weird reflexes.”

“I just...he looked like he needed someone.”

Amber’s expression softened. “And you’ve got a hero complex.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

Amber nodded, satisfied. “Finally we agree on something. Now tell me one thing, was he at least hot?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curled. “Amber. He had blood in his hair, one eye was swelling shut, and I’m ninety percent sure he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days.”

Amber leaned back in her chair. “So that’s a yes.”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “God, you’re the worst.”

Amber laughed. “And you have a crush on a stranger.”

“I don't.”

“Denial. First stage.”

“I don't!” you said louder, holding your cup up like it could shield you. “It was just one night. One really weird night. And I'm with Kole.”

Amber scoffed again, but let it drop, her boot tapping against the leg of the table in that absentminded way she did when her brain had already moved on to the next thing.

“So, are you free later or is your mysterious alley-boy getting another shirt from you?”

You glared at her. “I’ve got work.”

You'd been working at Nick's Urban Ink Studio for several months now and Amber never seemed to remember.

“Right,” she said. “I always forget you have an actual job.”

“Nick wants the place cleaned top to bottom before the walk-ins start, and I’m the lucky one who gets to mop the floors and wipe down the chairs.”

Amber grinned. “But you still love it.”

“I love being there,” you corrected. “The actual job? Meh. I’m just a tattoo shop receptionist. I answer the phone, book appointments, tell drunk dudes we don’t do dick tats, and clean up ink splatter when someone bleeds too hard.”

She perked up. “Still sounds cooler than anything I’ve ever done. You get to hang out with artists all day.”

“Yeah, well, Nick’s a decent boss. And he lets me play whatever music I want.”

“Did you show him your drawings?”

You let out a small laugh. “No. I have no reason to. He’s the artist, not me.”

“You do really good sketches. You should show him. Maybe he’ll like them and…”

“And what? Give me a promotion? Come on, be serious. All I do is doodle.”

Amber gave you a look like she didn’t believe a word. “You’re way too modest. If it were up to me, you’d already have a whole wall to yourself.”

You just rolled your eyes.

Amber rested her chin on her hand, watching you. “You think he’d let me book an appointment?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You trying to get inked?”

“I was thinking something small. Like... a butterfly.”

You tilted your head. “A butterfly?”

Amber shrugged. “Something on my arm. Tiny. Simple. I don’t know. Symbol of transformation and all that crap.”

“Well, Nick would definitely do a good job. I’ll check his schedule later. See when he’s free."

"Cool. Let me know."

You finished the last sip of your now-cold coffee and stood, grabbing your bag. “Alright, I better go if I don’t want Nick to threaten me with the steam cleaner again.”

Amber wasn’t done.

“You think I’ll get a discount because I know you?” she called after you.

You paused, glancing back with a smirk. “Nick doesn’t even give discounts to people he knows.”

Amber threw her hands up. “What kind of boss is that?”

“The serious kind,” you said, grinning as you pushed the door open.

She laughed, waving as you walked toward the door. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to charm him instead.”

You shook your head, waving back. “Good luck with that.”

You stepped into your house after work, just as the late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows in warm beams. You sighed, hanging your bag on the coat rack by the door.

Kole was still at work. His shift at the warehouse stretched late, and he was probably still stacking shelves and sorting shipments at the sprawling department store, the one that sold everything from clothes to kitchen goods, random trinkets, and sometimes those odd gadgets no one really needed.

You changed into more comfortable clothes and started picking up the ones Kole had left scattered around the living room: his hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch, a wrinkled shirt half-hanging off the edge of the chair, and then a pair of jeans balled up on the floor of your bedtogether.

As you grabbed the jeans to toss them in the laundry basket, something cold and metallic slipped out of the pocket and landed on the floor with a soft clink.

You paused, crouching down and picking it up. A silver bracelet.

For a moment, your brain froze.

You had completely forgotten Kole had taken it.

You rolled it between your fingers, the metal cool and heavy against your skin.

You remembered promising Amber you wouldn’t go back to find him, that morning. You kind of tried to promise yourself that, too.

But here it was. His bracelet.

In your hands.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it. It didn't look really expensive. You weren't an expert, but it looked more like silver than white gold, probably wouldn't get more than fifteen dollars if someone tried to sell it.

You leaned back against the bedframe and stared up at the ceiling, the last of the golden light slipping across the room. You could already hear Amber in your head again, saying “I told you so”.

And yeah, maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea. Maybe it was reckless, unnecessary, and you were asking for trouble just by thinking about finding him.

But honestly? You were almost relieved to have a reason to go looking for him.

Even if, technically, you had no idea where to start.

Unfortunately, your next completely free day was six days away, so you had no choice but to wait.

Kole started his shift early every day, 7 a.m, and he wouldn’t be home until late.

You already knew what you were going to do, you just had to be patient now.

Noah didn’t have a home.

Not really.

What he had was a place to crash. A half-dead building on the outskirts of the city, not far from where the underground fights usually happened. It had been abandoned for years, and whatever it once was, a factory, gym, or school, had been swallowed by time.

The outside was overgrown with weeds and tagged in layers of graffiti. Half the windows were shattered, and inside, the air smelled like concrete and rust.

Still, it was quiet. Empty. And no one bothered him there.

He lived in the biggest room, the one with high ceilings and beams that creaked when the wind pushed too hard. He’d swept it clean the day he claimed it, years ago, shoved the trash and broken glass into a corner and pretended it didn't exist anymore.

A mattress sat in the far end of the room, thin and lopsided but enough to sleep on. A few crates acted as makeshift furniture. He’d dragged in a desk lamp, found one working outlet in the wall, and sometimes it even turned on.

At night, it got cold in the building. The wind cut through the broken windows and the walls didn’t hold heat. He’d sleep under layers of old blankets, wearing half his clothes, listening to the sound of water dripping through the pipes. The showers ran cold no matter what.

In the center of the room, hanging from a chain that once held god knows what, was a punching bag. Old and worn. But it did the job.

That was where he was now, throwing punches with all the strength he had. The bag swung gently under each hit. His hands were wrapped, his breath uneven.

It had been almost a week since his last match; his ribs still ached, but nothing like that first day, and the swelling on his face had gone down a lot.

It had also been nearly a week since he’d seen you.

Because of course, his mind kept circling back to you.

He gritted his teeth and threw another jab.

He’d expected disgust. Pity, maybe. But you hadn’t looked at him like that. You’d looked... concerned. Maybe even scared, but not of him.

And then, the softness. The way you touched him, carefully, like you thought you might hurt him more if you weren’t gentle enough. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him without anger behind it.

He kept remembering the feeling of your hand against his skin, the way your fingertips brushed his cheek when you moved his hair away from his face when he was still on the ground.

Even with blood dripping from his nose, his vision blurred, his ears ringing, he’d felt it. Clearly.

Even when you didn’t know what to do, you tried. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t deserved it, and still, you were there.

His hands dropped from the bag, arms burning slightly from the repetition. He leaned forward, resting his weight against it, forehead pressed into the worn leather.

That moment stuck with him more than he wanted to admit.

He shouldn’t have cared. He didn’t know you, and you probably were just a good person trying to do the right thing.

The problem was you weren’t supposed to care either. But you did.

And now you were stuck in his head. Not the way the fights got stuck, not like bruises or pain, not like the bad memories that kept him up at night, leaving him staring at the ceiling of that shitty place. You were a different kind of ache.

Either way, it didn’t really matter what you’d done. He wasn’t going to see you again, for both your sakes.

He sighed and let the bag sway gently under his weight.

Breathless and sore, Noah let himself fall back onto the mattress he slept on every night. It was still early morning, but he just needed a moment to rest.

He lay there, one arm draped over his stomach, the other flung out beside him, trying not to think too hard about anything.

And then he felt it, something soft brushing against his leg.

At first, he didn’t move. Just blinked up at the ceiling, letting a tired, amused smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, Alpine.”

A quiet meow answered him.

A small white kitten climbed onto the mattress, and then up Noah’s chest, finally curling into a perfect little circle right against his chest. She purred immediately.

Noah lifted one hand, still wrapped from the bag work, and gently scratched behind Alpine’s ear. The kitten leaned into the touch, eyes already fluttering closed.

It had been about three months since Alpine first showed up. Just a scrawny, half-feral thing lurking near the building, bones too visible under patchy fur. Noah didn’t know where she’d come from, maybe abandoned by a family when they moved, maybe tossed away by a stray mother who couldn’t feed her.

He just saw her, so small and shaking, and left out a crust of bread that first day. The next day, it was half a can of tuna. Then a towel in the corner of the room. Then a name.

Now Alpine was basically his roommate.

Noah didn’t have much. Not by a long shot.

People tended to think that when he won a fight, he walked away with some huge pile of cash. That wasn’t true. The organizers took most of the money, the crowd bet against each other, and what Noah ended up with was just enough to keep from starving in that abandoned building, and maybe afford the occasional new piece of clothing.

But what little he did have, he shared. A corner of the mattress, old blankets, and sometimes the last dollar in his pocket, traded for cheap cat food at the bodega two blocks away. It was worth it.

Because Alpine was soft, and warm, and didn’t ask questions. And on the days Noah could barely stand to look in the mirror, the kitten still climbed into his lap and purred like she was safe.

Like maybe he wasn’t a total lost cause.

The first time Alpine slept curled up on Noah’s chest, it really caught him off guard. He’d just gotten back from a fight, sore and half-asleep on the mattress when he felt something small and warm settle against him. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then he heard the soft purring.

The tiny creature had found her little place on him. She looked at him once, blinked slow, then tucked herself in and didn’t move. And Noah just lay there, completely still, because for the first time in a long while, something had chosen to stay close to him.

And that became kind of an habit.

He let his head sink deeper into the thin pillow, Alpine rising and falling with every slow breath.

Noah closed his eyes for a moment.

Just as he was on the verge of falling asleep again, he heard an unusual noise coming from somewhere in the building.

It sounded like footsteps.

It had been six days.

Kole hadn’t brought up the fights again, or the betting. But you knew he was still talking to Dean, and some of the other guys who hung around that place. You heard the names, caught little pieces of conversations he didn’t realize you were paying attention to. And even if he was quiet now, you could tell he’d go back soon.

You woke up when you heard the front door click shut. Kole leaving early for his shift at the warehouse.

You listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, then sat up and got ready. You pulled on jeans, your favorite old hoodie, slipped your phone into your pocket, and the bracelet. Then you headed out.

It took nearly an hour to get there. Back to the part of the city where the fight had taken place. The drive felt longer than it was, probably because you kept thinking about what you were even doing. You had no plan. No address. No reason to believe he’d be anywhere near the place at this hour. It wasn’t even nine in the morning.

You parked a little way down the street, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. The area didn’t feel like the kind of place where people should linger if they didn’t belong.

The buildings here were tired. Not quite ruins, but definitely neglected, with graffiti stained every wall, many windows were either boarded up or broken, and the streets were cracked, patched in places where the city had given up halfway through fixing them. Trash collected in corners. It looked like the kind of place people forgot existed.

You got out of the car and looked around, unsure of where to even begin. The warehouse where the fight happened was quiet now, its entrance sealed shut with a heavy chain. You stared at it for a second, then sighed.

What were you going to do?

You had nothing to go on. Just a name. No number. No clue where he might be.

A sudden sound caught your attention.

Two kids, maybe ten years old, maybe younger, were playing with a soccer ball a few buildings down. They kicked it against a wall and chased after it with laughter. You hesitated for a second, then started walking toward them, keeping your hands in your pockets.

They noticed you when you got close, their game slowing as they eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. You weren’t from around here. That much was obvious. You could see it in their guarded expressions.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying your best not to sound like someone they should run from. “Can I ask you something real quick?”

They looked at each other. "Sure."

You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and asked, “Do you happen to know a guy named Noah Sebastian? Tall, dark hair, lots of tattoos?”

That sounded so stupid.

The two kids exchanged quick glances, whispering back and forth just out of your hearing. After a moment, one of them looked up and asked cautiously, “Why are you looking for him?”

“He lost something. I just want to give it back to him.”

They muttered between themselves again, then the other kid nodded and pointed down the street toward a worn-down building a little ways off, but still clearly visible from where you stood.

“He usually hangs out there,” the first one said, watching you carefully.

You nodded. “Thank you so much.”

They gave a small, almost shy smile in return, and you turned toward the building they’d indicated, feeling more and more anxious.

You reached it in some minutes. The paint was peeling, it looked covered in dirt, and the heavy metal door was firmly shut. You pressed your hand against it, testing the handle, but it didn’t budge.

For a moment, you wondered if maybe he’d found a key somewhere inside and locked it behind him. Now the door was closed, and you didn’t even know if he was inside at all. Standing there, you felt a sudden feeling of uncertainty, what if you’d come all this way for nothing?

Then your eyes caught a window, cracked open just enough to slip through. It was a little too high to reach from the ground… unless…

Before you fully registered the thought, you found yourself dragging a rusty trash bin across the cracked pavement. At nine in the morning on your day off, here you were, preparing to climb into an abandoned building through a window. That was probably the moment you realized you had lost your mind.

You steadied the bin, climbed up carefully, and then pulled yourself through the opening, landing on your feet on the other side.

You looked around. The space was vast, shadows stretching into dark corners, with long, empty corridors leading off in several directions. The faint echoes of your footsteps bounced softly from the high, cracked ceilings.

You paused, listening. And there it was, a faint noise coming from somewhere deeper inside, from a larger room down one of the hallways.

You hadn’t even stepped fully inside when you heard his voice. He sounded calm.

“I know you’re here.”

You froze for a second, then stepped in.

There he was, standing tall in the middle of the room, shadowed by the soft golden morning light filtering through the broken windows. He looked different from the last time you saw him. Definitely in better shape, wearing a white tank this time. The swelling on his face had gone down, the bruises faded just a bit, and he stood steady on his feet. Did fighters healed quicker than other people?

“Hi.”

The faintest smirk appeared on his lips.

“I thought I told you it was better if you stayed away from all this."

You shrugged lightly, trying not to look as out of breath as you felt.

“Yeah, well. I’ve never been great at listening. My elementary school teacher always told me that.”

That earned a soft huff of amusement from him. “So you grew up breaking into buildings on your free time?”

“Only when I’m trying to return lost property,” you said, pulling the bracelet from your pocket and holding it up between two fingers. “Thought maybe you’d want this back."

He blinked at it, silent for a moment. Then, “Didn’t expect to see that again. I thought your boyfriend was already showing it off as an extra win.”

“Didn’t expect to be crawling through a window to meet an underground fighter, and here we are.”

When he reached you, his fingers brushed yours as he took the bracelet. You felt it in your chest more than you should have.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quieter now. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here for that.”

You watched him secure the bracelet around his wrist with one hand and shrugged. “I didn’t come all the way out here just for this.”

He gave you a look.

You shifted your weight.

“You’ve been stuck in my head for six days for some reason and it was getting really annoying. So I wanted to check if you were actually still alive.”

His brows lifted, clearly not expecting that. “Wow. That might be the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”

You smiled. “I’m full of surprises.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, then he laughed, and something about the sound of it made your chest ache in the weirdest, warmest way. He looked younger when he smiled like that. Softer. Almost boyish.

“Well,” he said, still grinning, “If I knew breaking my face and almost chocking on my own blood in a dark alley was all it took to get a pretty girl's attention, I would’ve done it sooner.”

Had he really just flirted with you? Did he actually call you pretty?

“Please don’t,” you said quickly. “Your face is just starting to look like a face again. Would be a shame to ruin the progress.”

His grin widened at that. “So you do think my face is worth saving.”

You scoffed. “Don’t push it.”

He made a show of pretending to think. “No, yeah, I think I will. You broke into a building for me. I'm invested now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from tugging upward. “I mainly broke into a building to give you the bracelet back.”

“Right. Of course,” he said, slowly. “That makes way more sense. Has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been thinking about me for six days.”

Your eyes narrowed, playful. “You’re a lot cockier when your nose isn’t kinda broken and you're losing blood all over.”

He chuckled again, and then, after a moment, he tilted his head like he’d just remembered something.

“Speaking of that,” he said, and turned away.

You watched as he walked toward the far corner of the room, where a big gym bag rested against the wall. He crouched down beside it, and as he moved, he placed a hand on his ribs, a gesture that hinted they still hurt, though he did a good job hiding the pain.

He unzipped it, and rummaged around for a moment. When he stood again, he had something in his hands.

He walked back toward you, holding it up to show it was clean now.

Your shirt.

“I took it to a laundromat,” he said, holding it out. “Heavy-duty wash. Twice.”

You blinked, reaching for it automatically. It was soft, smelled faintly of detergent. You looked back up at him.

“So,” you said slowly, squinting at him. “You were hoping to see me again. Or you wouldn't have bothered."

He smirked, but shook his head. “Nah. But I figured I’d see you again sooner or later. You looked like the stubborn type.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Your gaze wandered around the space.

He noticed, then scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he said, half a laugh in his voice, “I wasn’t expecting company. Didn’t exactly clean up.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s okay. Do you live here?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You nodded slowly, not quite sure what to say as your eyes lingered on the mattress.

“It’s… not exactly a palace,” he added, almost like he was trying to make you feel more comfortable. “But it’s mine, I guess.”

“I’ve definitely seen worse,” you said.

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

You gave a light shrug. “There was this one motel Kole dragged me to on a road trip. Bedbugs. Shower didn’t work. I had to sleep in a hoodie with the drawstrings pulled so tight I looked like a turtle.”

He chuckled and it echoed a little in the open space, as that boyish look flashed over him again.

You were just about to say something else when a sudden, soft meow came from somewhere behind Noah.

Your eyes shifted past him, and a moment later, a white cat emerged from somewhere in room, fluffy and a bit dirty. She padded over without hesitation, brushing up against Noah’s leg in a slow motion before moving toward you.

Your entire expression shifted.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, crouching slightly. “She’s so cute. Are you kidding me?” You held out your fingers. “Look at her little face. I’m gonna cry.”

Noah huffed out something that might’ve been a little laugh. “She’s Alpine.”

You looked up at him and then at the kitten again. “Hi, Alpine,” you said softly, and crouched all the way down to run your hand along her back.

“She’s so pretty,” you added, glancing up at him again. “You didn’t tell me you had company here.”

“She showed up some months ago,” he said. “Didn’t leave. I figured if she wanted to stay that bad, she could.”

Your hand paused on Alpine’s head. “Smart girl.”

“She eats better than I do.”

You smiled to yourself and gave Alpine another affectionate scratch.

“So, how did you find me? How did you know I lived here?” He asked as something caught the cat's attention across the room and she scurred away.

“Two kids were playing with a ball on the street, like a block over." You said as you stood up again, "I asked them if they’d seen someone tall and covered in tattoos named Noah Sebastian and one of them just pointed this way.”

Noah let out a groan and dragged a hand down his face.

“Miles and Theo,” he muttered. “Of course. I’ve told them, like, a hundred times that if anyone comes around asking about me, they’re supposed to say they’ve never seen me in their lives.”

You laughed. “They weren’t very convincing liars.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“How do you even know them?”

“They don't live far, and their mom used to clean the fight place for a while,” he explained. “Last year. Just a few nights a week. One day she had to go into the city for something. She asked me to watch the kids for a few hours.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I figured it’d be a nightmare. But they were actually... kinda cool. Little goblins. Thought I was some kind of superhero for knowing how to throw a punch.”

You tilted your head. “So you stayed in touch?”

“Sort of.” He shrugged. “I often run into them on the street or at the gas station where we buy snacks. Taught Theo how to wrap his hands without cutting off circulation. Now they think I’m the coolest person alive because I let them swear when their mom’s not around.”

You snorted. “That's irresponsible adulting.”

“I mean, I try my best.”

“Sounds like they really like you, though.” you said, "And kids are pretty good judges of character.”

He looked over at you, something unreadable passing through his expression. A flicker of surprise, maybe. Or discomfort.

“Yeah, well,” he said after a second, voice quieter, “they don’t know me that well.”

You didn't know what to say. You didn’t know him, you didn’t know his story or how he ended up fighting, and you couldn’t pretend you were in any position to judge him.

He slowly walked over to the mattress, crouched down, peeled the hand wraps from his knuckles, and tossed them onto the rumpled blankets with a careless flick of his wrist. You watched him move, the easy tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his tattoos.

It struck you that, for all the sarcastic and smart remarks, there was something about him that felt… held together with duct tape and thread.

“You don’t give yourself much credit, do you?” you asked.

He didn't answer right away. Just sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together absently like he needed something to do with his hands.

“Credit’s for people who earn it,” he said eventually, not looking at you.

You took a slow step closer. “You think you haven’t?”

He gave a humorless laugh under his breath, then finally looked up at you. “I don’t know what version of me those kids see. Or you, for that matter. But it’s not the whole story.”

You hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, “Why do you fight, Noah?"

He stiffened.

“Let’s not do this, okay?” he said, voice firm. “We’re not friends. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. You gave me the bracelet and I gave you your shirt. I think it’s better if this stops now.”

And just like that, his playful, almost flirty way of talking to you was conpletely gone. He sounded like somebody else.

You nodded slowly, but couldn’t let it drop that easily. “If it’s because of the money—”

He cut you off with a sharp glance.

“I know people,” you continued, ignoring the warning. “In the city. Nick from the mechanic shop is looking for someone. Jolly from the music store too. There are jobs you could do. Things better than… fighting.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amused and skeptical, and suddenly the friendly way he had spoken to you until a few minutes before had completely vanished.

“What makes you think I want to stop?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “I guess I just assumed…”

“That this was a last resort?” he said, and there was something sharp under the words. “That I’d crawl out of this fucking life the second someone dangled a job in front of me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then closed it again.

“Noah, I didn’t mean—”

He stood, slow but sudden.

“I still fight" he said flatly, "because I still want to,”

You searched his face, hoping for some flicker of softness, of humor, but there was none now.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, tone clipped. “But I’m not looking to be saved.”

You stayed silent for a moment.

“I wasn’t trying to save you,” you said, then. “I just thought… maybe you deserved a way out. If you ever wanted one.”

He let out a breath. “I don’t deserve shit,” he said. “And definitely not from you.”

You felt your chest tighten. “I really don’t understand.”

He snapped, the words coming fast and louder than before.

“Then stop trying to!”

The silence that followed his words felt so loud. His eyes were hard now, jaw clenched, like he regretted saying it, but not enough to take it back. He ran a hand through his hair.

You didn’t flinch. You just looked at him, quietly, and said, “Okay.”

A moment of silence filled the space between you. “Maybe it’s better if I leave.” You added.

“Maybe it is,” he said quietly.

You glanced toward the main door at the end of the hallway, then looked back at him.

“Do you have the key?”

Without responding, he turned toward the mattress. He crouched, reached for the worn bag at the foot of the "bed", and rummaged through it. A moment later, he pulled out the small keyring and tossed it toward you.

You caught it in the air without thinking.

The cold metal pressed into your palm, and for a second, you just stared down at it.

You thought maybe you should say something, maybe just "bye."

But nothing came out.

So you turned toward the door, your clean shirt still in one of your hands, without looking back, even if you felt his eyes on you all the time.

You dropped the keys on the floor beside the door after you unlocked it, and as your hand touched the doorknob, a single thought echoed in your head.

Maybe you should’ve just kept the bracelet and stayed home.

As you closed the door behind you, you heard the dull, rhythmic thud of a fist slamming into the punching bag, again and again, each hit louder.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavicprincess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse

#“I had to fight my own soul to get out of bed. Be grateful.” me on the weekends #She let out a delighted gasp. “God I love when your life becomes a movie. Keep going. she’s so fun #“So he’s got emotional damage and a probable concussion. Sexy.” This girls a riot #“You have weird reflexes.” hahahha #Love how you brought in the bracelet #He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him without anger behind it.#Like maybe he wasn’t a total lost cause.#omg do you hear that it’s my heart breaking 😭#Noah and Alpine besties for life <333 #At nine in the morning on your day off here you were preparing to climb into an abandoned building through a window.#That was probably the moment you realized you had lost your mind. Lolololol anything for Noah Sebastian #so excited for more #love love love #so good so good #noah sebastian fic rec #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fan fiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fluff #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens angst #noah sebastian x reader

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inthedarkofmyroom · 26 days ago

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Oh goshhhh this was so good !!!!! The attention to detail !!!! Describing outside the building, inside with the ring and outside in the alley was all excellent! It felt so immersive. I am so intrigued to see where this goes. Really looking forward to the next part🩷🩷

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: violence, blood, wounds, drugs/alcohol mentions

The building almost looked dead from the outside.

It was hidden deep in a forgotten corner of the industrial district, tucked between rows of abandoned warehouses and loading docks long out of use. It had no sign, barely any light, nothing that marked it as anything but another slab of concrete and rust.

The only hint that something was happening inside were the muffled voices coming through the metal door and the occasional chatting of people slipping in.

You stepped out of the car and pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. The wind bit through your sleeves, but Kole didn’t seem to feel it. He was already circling the front of the car with a grin plastered on his face, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he was trying to play it cool.

He was dark-haired, his eyes green, dressed in black from head to toe except for the gray jacket he always wore. A trace of stubble darkened his jaw, the kind that came from not bothering to shave for at least two days.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be weird about it.”

You didn’t move right away. Your eyes lingered on the building.

Could you still walk away? Pretend you weren’t about to watch two men try to kill each other while strangers bet on who’d bleed the least?

Kole bumped your shoulder lightly.

“I told you, this place is insane. You’ve never seen anything like it."

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

He laughed.

“C'mon. I’ve got two hundred on the guy fighting tonight. Undefeated. Everyone’s saying he’s a beast, fast as hell, never goes down.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And if he does?”

Kole grinned wider. “He won’t.”

He reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze, then started toward the building. You followed, reluctantly. The gravel crunched under your boots as you crossed the lot, the only sound besides those muffled voices growing louder the closer you got.

As you neared the metal door, someone slipped out, a man in a black hoodie, talking fast on a phone, his head down. He looked angry, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. You wondered if he’d lost a bet, or if someone had tricked him somehow.

You hadn’t even stepped inside yet, and you already hated the place.

Kole knocked twice.

A slot in the door slid open with a metallic rasp. A pair of sharp eyes peered out. They flicked to Kole, then to you, then back again.

Kole spoke first. “We’re good. Dean’s expecting me.”

Dean was one of the organizers of the illegal fights, a guy your boyfriend had met a few months earlier and seemed to have quickly become close with. He was the one who had introduced Kole to that world, telling him it was fun and that you could make good money if you knew how to bet, and bet with the right people. Kole had already been to three matches without you before that night.

A pause. Then the door creaked open just wide enough for the two of you to slip inside.

You were struck by the smell first: a mix of sweat, beer, smoke, metal (you wondered if it was blood, and you hoped not) and weed.

The place was big and the walls were streaked with faded graffiti and tinted yellow, like the place had been dipped in old whiskey. The ceiling was high, with led lights casting a warm glow over the room.

People were packed in tight, standing, laughing, drinking.

The ring at the centre wasn’t a ring at all. It was a square outlined with chain and caution tape, the floor inside scuffed and stained in too many places to count.

Kole tugged your arm.

“Come on. We need to get closer before it fills up.”

You didn’t move.

“Kole, this—”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off. “Just stick close to me.”

You let him pull you through the crowd. The voices got louder. You caught fragments of conversation, names, bets, someone bragging about how much cash they’d put down.

A man passed by with a clipboard, calling out something over the music. People handed over bills without hesitation.

You found a spot near the makeshift ring, the crowd pressing in tight all around.

Suddenly, Dean appeared beside Kole, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said with a grin. Then his eyes shifted to you. “Finally! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he added, nodding in your direction.

Kole smiled and introduced you quickly, but you barely caught the words over the noise.

Dean turned back to Kole. “Placed your bet?”

“Two hundred.”

Dean nodded, a knowing smile crossing his face. “Good call. Sebastian doesn’t stand a fucking chance tonight.”

Kole grinned wider. “Then everyone betting on him’s crazy. But good for me.”

Before you could say anything, someone called Dean’s name from behind. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Kole.

“I gotta go. Enjoy the show,” he said, clapping Kole on the shoulder once more before disappearing into the crowd.

You turned back to Kole, trying to find some kind of comfort. He caught your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile.

“Relax,” he said quietly. “It’s not as bad as it looks. You’ll get used to it.”

You glanced around. The crowd was mostly men, gruff, loud, sizing each other up or lost in their bets. A few women were scattered through the room. One was pressed against a wall in the far corner, kissing a man fiercely. Another laughed with a bottle clutched in her hand.

As you were still scanning all the people in that place, Kole spoke again, his mouth close to your ear, his voice low so only you could hear. “There, see that guy? That’s Sebastian. Or Noah, whatever you wanna call him.” He nodded toward a tall figure on the other side of the room with his back mostly turned, speaking quietly to another man.

He had broad shoulders but didn’t look too muscular, he wore a black tank top and seemed covered in tattoos. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and he lifted a hand to brush some strands out of his eyes.

He had a silver bracelet around one wrist, something simple that caught the light when he moved, and both his hands were wrapped in black tape.

His tattoos, unlike some of the harsher ones you'd seen around the place, looked almost softer, though you couldn’t make out the details clearly, they seemed to be flowers and leaves wrapped around his arms.

He turned around, and for a moment, his brown eyes met yours. They looked tired but not cold, just like someone who’d been through a lot and had nothing left to lose.

Kole didn’t seem to notice.

There was something softer about him, and not only the way his tattoos looked. Something that didn’t quite fit the image he was trying to project. He looked like someone playing the part of the scary fighter because it was expected of him, not because that was really him.

Then, he shifted his weight and turned slightly, continuing his conversation with the man in front of him like he’d never looked at you at all.

You leaned in a little closer to Kole, still watching the guy across the room. “Why are you so sure he’s gonna lose tonight?”

Kole gave a short laugh under his breath, like the answer was obvious. “Because you haven’t seen the guy he’s fighting yet.”

You opened your mouth to ask another question, but before you could get the words out, a loud metallic clang rang out, not quite a bell, more like someone slamming a steel bar against a pipe. The noise cut through the music and chatter, and almost instantly everyone turned toward the ring, voices rising and shouting.

You saw Noah stepping toward the makeshift ring, his movements calm, almost slow. He climbed through the chain barrier with ease, black-taped hands flexing slightly as he adjusted his stance.

Then his opponent followed.

If Noah was tall, around 6’3”, the other guy was towering. At least 6’8”, maybe more, and built like he was carved from concrete. His arms were huge, veins visible even from where you stood. He looked strong and he moved like he was sure he was going to win.

And just like that, it made sense.

You suddenly understood why Kole had bet against Noah. Why everyone probably had.

Because standing next to this guy, Noah really looked like he had no chance.

Noah stood still, head slightly lowered, hands loose at his sides. The other guy rolled his shoulders back and flexed his neck like he couldn’t wait to tear something apart.

Then the signal came.

No bell. No referee. They weren't even wearing boxing gloves or any dental protection. Just a shouted “Go!” from somewhere in the crowd, and they moved.

Noah darted forward first. Fast. Faster than you'd expected. He closed the space between them in a second and ducked low, slipping just under a wide punch that would’ve taken his head off. He twisted to the side and landed a quick jab to the ribs, nothing extremely heavy, but enough to make the bigger man grunt and pivot.

They circled.

Noah stayed moving, fast on his feet. The other guy was slower, but every swing he threw felt like it could break bone if it landed.

For a while, it was just movement. Dodging. Glancing hits. The thud of fists against ribs, the crack of footfalls on the stained floor. The crowd screamed every time someone got close to landing something big.

And then, Noah misjudged the angle, maybe by an inch. He went in again, too close this time, and the bigger man caught him.

A punch to the side of his face.

You heard it. That awful, heavy crack of skin on bone.

Noah’s head snapped sideways and he staggered. But before the cheers could even rise, he twisted back with a elbow that landed against the other man’s jaw. A small payback.

It wasn’t enough.

The bigger man slammed his shoulder forward, knocking Noah off balance, and then another hit, straight to the stomach. Noah went down.

He hit the floor hard, one hand catching himself, but there wasn’t time. The next punch came before he could stand. Then another.

Each one landed with a sickening sound, like something breaking.

Noah's opponent took a step back, chest heaving, not from exhaustion, but like he was just getting warmed up.

He turned slightly, raising both arms above his head, palms open as if inviting the crowd to praise him.

And they did. People screamed a name you couldn’t understand, drinks were thrown into the air, fists pounded the chains of the makeshift ring.

Noah pushed himself up again. Blood dripped from his mouth. He swayed on his feet.

The bigger man didn’t wait.

As soon as Noah was back on his feet, blood painting his chin, the other guy launched forward like a freight train.

A kick slammed into Noah’s side.

Noah’s body twisted before crashing to the ground with a thud, skidding across the floor.

He landed right in front of you.

You flinched, instinctively stepping back.

Something slid across the concrete, his bracelet. The silver one that had caught the light earlier. It had somehow come loose in the fall and now scraped its way toward Kole’s boots, stopping just against the toe of his black shoe.

Kole crouched down quickly and snatched it up.

You turned to him, staring. “That’s not yours.”

He grinned, holding the bracelet up between his fingers, letting it dangle in the air like a prize. “This night just keeps getting better, huh?”

“Kole, you can't —”

“I didn’t steal it,” he cut in, slipping the bracelet into his pocket. “I found it. On the ground. Finders keepers.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Noah was still on the floor, coughing, trying to push himself up again. His blood smeared the concrete just inches from your boots.

Noah pushed himself up again, barely. One knee under him, a hand gripping his ribs like it might keep them from shattering altogether. For a second, he found his footing enough to swing another punch.

But the other man saw it coming. He ducked easily, a smug grin stretching across his face like he was enjoying every second of this.

Then he drove a brutal fist into Noah’s ribs.

The sound was sickening, like a crack, or maybe just your imagination, but either way, it made your stomach turn. Noah dropped again, folding over his midsection, arms wrapped around his stomach as he collapsed.

He didn’t even have time to catch his breath before the other fighter was on top of him.

Straddling his chest, pinning him down, and throwing another punch at his face.

Noah tried to block it, but his arms were too slow.

And he punched him again.

His head jerked to the side.

And again.

Blood sprayed against the stained concrete.

He squirmed beneath the weight, tried to raise a hand to hit back, but the punches kept coming.

The crowd cheered and shouted.

But all you could see was a man covered in blood.

On the ground.

Defenseless.

Getting his face caved in.

There was so much blood.

It didn’t even look like a fight anymore. It looked like an attack.

The man on top had already won. It was obvious. Noah wasn’t resisting, wasn’t fighting back, wasn’t even moving anymore. Just jerks and spasms with every blow to his face or stomach.

And no one was stopping it.

You wondered what the rules were. If there were any.

You felt something twist in your stomach. Your mouth went dry.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I need air,” you said, barely loud enough to hear yourself.

Kole turned his head, distracted. “What?”

“I said,” you snapped, louder now, “I need air.”

And then you were moving, shoving through the crowd.

No one probably even noticed.

You were just one more body in the way.

You pushed past shoulders, dodged a man holding a beer who didn’t even glance at you.

You spotted a door at the back.

You hoped it was the exit.

You pushed it open and stumbled into the night.

The door creaked shut behind you with a dull clang, muffling the noise of the crowd just enough that you could finally think. The air outside was cold and sharp, but you welcomed it. It smelled way better than the stink of sweat and blood and beer inside.

The alley stretched out in both directions, empty and quiet. A few scattered streetlamps buzzed overhead, casting pools of pale yellow light that flickered slightly.

Trash bins lined the wall, dented and overflowing in places. A broken pallet leaned against a fence, a cracked bottle near the curb, glittering faintly.

You walked a few steps and sank down onto the edge of the curb. The concrete was cold beneath you. You pulled your coat tighter, but it didn’t help much. You stared at the ground, and you breathed.

In.

Out.

Slow.

Your heart was still racing, and your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

What you saw in there, wasn’t even sport.

You tried to understand it. Why people would come here. Why they’d want to watch someone get beaten half to death for fun. For money.

Did they ever think about what it looked like after the lights went off? After the winner walked away, and the loser just... stayed down?

You swallowed.

You wondered if anyone had ever died in that ring. If anyone even cared.

It was nothing like the movies. There, the blood was fake and the bruises washed off.

People cheered because they knew it wasn’t real.

But this?

This was real, and it fucking sucked even just being there, even just watching.

You were still sitting there, hunched over, trying to breathe, when the door behind you burst open with a loud clang.

You flinched.

Two men stepped out, each one gripping Noah by an arm. His feet dragged limply behind him, feet scraping over the concrete. His head hung forward, chin against his chest, and his hair, dark and sweat-slicked, clung to his forehead in wet strands. His face was a mess of blood and swelling. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and his cheek was split open. Blood dripped from his nose and his mouth.

They barely even looked at you. One of them opened his hand and shoved Noah forward like he was nothing but trash.

He hit the pavement hard, the sound awful and dull, and then he didn’t move.

Just crumpled there. One arm bent awkwardly beneath him, the other lying useless at his side.

Then the men turned and went back inside, letting the door slam shut behind them.

You stayed silent for a moment, the only sound in your ears the quick thump of your heartbeat. He didn’t move. Not at all. For a fleeting second, your mind raced with the worst thought: maybe he was dead.

Slowly, you inched closer, careful not to rush or startle him. His face was pressed against the cold concrete, one cheek resting flat on the rough surface while the other was hidden beneath tangled strands of dark hair.

You dropped to your knees beside him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Please, tell me you’re not dead,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Gently, you brushed the hair away from his face with your fingers, trying not to hurt him even more.

His eyelids fluttered open just as your hand made contact, but he didn’t look in your eyes.

“Not yet,” he mumbled.

A small relief washed over you.

He didn’t try to move. He just laid there, face bruised, lips split, blood drying in sharp red lines along his jaw and neck.

“I should probably… get you up or something,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

No answer.

You swallowed and shifted forward an inch.

“Okay, I’m going to help you sit up, alright?” You paused. “Unless that’s a terrible idea.”

His lips barely moved. “They’ve had worse ideas tonight.”

You let out a faint breath that was almost a laugh, then finally reached toward him, slowly, gently, and slid your hand under his shoulder.

He groaned but didn’t protest, and with a little effort, you managed to ease him into a sitting position, his back leaning against the brick wall behind him. He winced through gritted teeth, one hand coming up to press lightly against his ribs.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“S’alright,” he rasped, closing his eyes for a second. “Better than lying face-down in garbage.”

You sat back on your heels, watching him breathe. One of his hands wasn't covered anymore, and his knuckles were raw and red, the other was still loosely wrapped in torn black tape. The side of his face was already swelling.

“I have no idea what to do.” You said. And it was true. Obviously it was the first time you found yourself in the back of an illegal fight club with a beaten up guy.

His mouth curled faintly, more pain than smile. “It’s not the first time,” he said, “You don’t have to do anything.”

He looked like a kicked dog, half-expecting someone to come finish the job.

You didn’t know what to say. You just stared at him, and for the first time, up close, he looked back. Even with one eye nearly swollen shut, he met your gaze.

He was younger than you’d first assumed. Probably still in his twenties. You’d never seen someone look so young and so tired at the same time.

He was looking at you like he was trying to understand why you were still there, why you were trying to help him. Like it never happened to him before.

You found yourself wondering why he was even there. Why he did what he did. What his story was.

There was no way he did it because he liked it, you could see that written all over his bloodied face. In the way he sat slumped against the wall, exhausted.

He wasn’t like the guy who had beaten him. That man had raised his arms for applause, grinning. That man enjoyed it, Noah didn't. And not just because he lost.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, a sudden rush of blood spilled from his nose. He coughed hard, blinking fast.

“Shit. Tilt your head forward,” you said quickly, reaching toward him but stopping just short of touching. “Don’t let it go down your throat.”

He nodded faintly and leaned forward, breathing heavily through his mouth. You looked around instinctively for something, anything, to stop the bleeding. You didn’t have tissues and your leather jacket couldn’t help.

You thought about it just for a moment, hoping you were not going to regret it.

Then, you stood up quickly, heat rushing to your face even though the air outside was biting cold. Your heart was still racing, your hands trembling slightly.

Honestly, it felt a little bit like you suddenly lost your mind. Because this wasn’t something you usually did:

stripping in a dark alley in the middle of the night for a guy you barely knew, a guy you saw for the first time less than an hour ago in a underground fight club. A guy whose name you only knew because someone else told you. If that was even his real name.

But there was nothing else. No tissues. No towels. No first-aid kit magically appearing out of the shadows. Just you, him, and the slow, steady drip of blood from his nose onto the dirty pavement. And the fact that you were a person with at least a bit of a heart, someone who hated seeing another human being suffer, unlike all those people back inside.

So you turned around, to have a second of privacy while undressing.

Your fingers moved quickly, unzipping your jacket and shrugging it off your shoulders. The cold bit into your skin instantly, but you ignored it. Then you pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, balling it up in your hands. You were left in just your bra for a moment, breath hitching in your throat as the wind kissed every inch of exposed skin.

Then, you pulled your jacket back on, zipped it up to your throat, and exhaled a shaky breath as you turned back toward him.

He was still hunched over, blood slowly dripping between his fingers, and he hadn’t said a word. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed.

You dropped back down to your knees beside him, still holding your shirt in your hands.

You held it out to him carefully, not pushing it into his hands.

“Here,” you said.

He looked at the shirt in your hands like it was something he didn't deserve for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached for it.

His fingers brushed yours, and the contact was barely there but it was enough to make your breath catch, even if you didn't know why.

“Thank you,” he said.

Then he paused.

You saw it, the moment he noticed the smear of blood on your fingers. A small streak where his fingers had touched your skin.

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked up at you with a flash of something that almost looked like shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You blinked, looked at your hand. It wasn’t much. Just a thin streak of red, already drying in the cold air.

“It’s okay,” you said softly.

Because it was okay. You hadn’t even noticed until he pointed it out. Maybe because, in that moment, you were too focused on him.

On the man who, if it weren't for you, would probably still be lying face down in a pool of his own blood. The man you knew probably wouldn't call anyone for help and would just stay there until someone else found him, maybe while throwing out the trash.

He nodded slowly, not quite meeting your eyes again. He looked down at the shirt, then raised it gently to his face, trying to stop the bleeding. You watched him as he moved.

You didn’t say anything else for a while. Just sat there as he used your shirt to stop the bleeding.

“What’s your name?” he asked then.

You told him, and he repeated it quietly, as if tasting the word, then gave you a faint, tired smile. “Noah.”

"Yeah, I figured."

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual but feeling a bit exposed. “Yeah, first time. My boyfriend dragged me along.”

He shifted slightly against the wall. “You didn’t even see the match finish.”

You frowned. “It wasn’t exactly something I was enjoying. For a second I thought I might throw up.”

Only after answering did you register what his words really meant.

He had noticed.

Somehow, while lying on the floor, half-conscious and getting the life beaten out of him, he’d seen you leave. Was that even possible?

“How much did you win tonight?” He asked before you could say anything.

You shook your head. “I didn’t bet. Just him.”

He let out a low chuckle, then flinched for the pain. “You should’ve. It was obvious I was gonna lose.”

You frowned. “Why did you fight then?”

Noah gave a dry laugh. “This is all I've got.”

A dark alley, a fight club and body covered in bruises?

“Impossible.” you said.

He had to have a family, friends, a home somewhere. Right?

“You don’t know me.” he muttered.

And the way he said it… it felt like an answer to all the questions that had been racing through your mind.

No, he didn’t have anyone. No other options. No place to go.

You didn’t really know him. For all you knew, he could’ve been a criminal.

But something deep down told you he wasn’t.

He didn’t seem like someone who deserved to be thrown out like garbage, left bleeding and broken in a dark alley after getting beaten half to death.

A damp strand of hair kept falling into his eyes, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush it away with your fingers.

The bleeding from his nose had finally stopped, but then he shifted, just slightly, and let out a sharp hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he muttered, one hand flying to his ribs. His jaw clenched, and his eyes (or eye) squeezed shut for a second.

You leaned in. “Ribs?”

He gave a faint nod, breathing shallow. “It'll be okay in a couple of days.”

“You need a hospital,” you said firmly, even though you already suspected what his answer would be. “They need to check you out. That could be serious.”

“No.” The word came out fast. “Out of the question.”

“You could have internal—”

“I said no.” He insisted. “I don’t have the money. And they’ll ask too many questions. I can’t risk that.”

You hesitated. “I want to ask many questions too.”

He looked away. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, softly, he said, “You shouldn’t.”

Your mouth opened, but before you could speak, he went on.

“You seem like a good person. So… don’t come back here. Don’t get involved.”

“I-”

“It’s better if you don’t ask anything. And it’s better if we never see each other again.”

Then, quieter still: “But thank you. For this. For staying. For giving a damn when nobody else did. I mean it.”

You exhaled, your breath fogging faintly in the cold air. "Is that your way to tell me to leave?"

“Yes. But before I need-” he paused, glancing at the damp concrete beneath him. “Can you help me up?”

You stared. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head once, slowly. “No joke. I just need to stand. Please.”

Your heart squeezed. Please. He didn’t look at you when he said it. There was something almost painful in how quiet the word came out, like he wasn’t used to asking anyone for anything.

“You’re insane,” you murmured. “You’re going to pass out the second you try to move.”

He didn’t answer. Just held your gaze, and waited.

And you just couldn't tell him no.

So you just slipped an arm around him, one under his shoulders, careful of his ribs.

He was heavy and incredibly tall. Your palm pressed briefly against his chest, and you felt the stickiness of old blood, dried and flaking now.

He hissed through his teeth, body trembling slightly, and his fingers gripped your jacket.

“Okay,” you whispered, grounding both your feet. “On three.”

It took longer than it should have. Every movement was careful and slow.

When he finally made it upright, he swayed.

You tightened your hold for a second, steadying him. His body was warm against yours despite the cold of the night.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Then, slowly, he took a half step back. You let your hands fall away as he reached for the wall, one palm bracing against the brick for support. He leaned into it.

“I’m good,” he said quietly. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

Just as you were about to say something, the door Noah had been thrown out creaked open.

You turned at the sound, seeing Kole stepping into the alley.

“There you are,” he said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

You froze for half a second. Noah straightened a little, his fingers still splayed on the brick for balance.

Kole’s eyes flicked to him and stayed there. He let out a low whistle, dragging his gaze from Noah’s bruised face to the bloodied shirt.

“Damn, man,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You look like shit.”

Noah didn’t say a word.

“But,” Kole continued, shrugging with one shoulder, “you made me win two hundred bucks tonight, so... thanks for that.”

There was no real gratitude in his voice.

Kole turned to you again, like the interruption was over. “Come on,” he said, jerking his chin toward the street. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, he started walking.

No pause to see if you’d follow. No offer of a hand. No helo for the man covered in blood next to you. Just an expectation that you’d fall into step, like always.

You lingered for a second. Looked back at Noah.

He hadn’t moved. His eyes were on the ground now, jaw tight, face unreadable. You didn’t know what you wanted to say.

“Try to take care, Noah” you said softly. What a weird thing to say to a man who was fighting for a living.

For a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t look up. But then he met your eyes again.

"Yeah. You too."

You started walking away.

The air felt immediately colder without his warmth beside you.

You didn’t stop thinking about him the entire car ride home. Not even for a second.

Not when the lights of the city blurred past the window, not when Kole went on and on about how he should’ve bet more, how the guy didn’t stand a chance from the start, how easy money like that didn’t come around often.

“You dipped out before it ended,” Kole said, eyes on the road, voice casual.

You kept your gaze fixed outside the window. “I wasn’t feeling great.”

He hummed. “Yeah, it was pretty rough. That guy took a beating. Probably gonna piss blood for a week.”

You didn’t respond.

Kole glanced over at you, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

“Fine.”

A beat of silence. The hum of the engine filled the space.

“Didn’t think this stuff bothered you,” he added eventually.

You shrugged, still watching the city slide by. “I guess I never watched someone actually get hurt like that before.”

“It’s a fight,” Kole said. “They sign up for it. You think the guy didn’t know what he was getting into?”

“I’m not saying he didn’t,” you replied, your tone flat. “Just… doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

Kole scoffed under his breath, amused. “You’re getting soft on me.”

You didn’t answer.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, then smirked. “Don’t tell me you were rooting for him.”

Still, you stayed quiet.

“Babe.”

You finally looked at him. “What?”

He grinned. “Come on. He didn’t stand a chance. The second he walked in, you could tell. That’s easy money. I should’ve put down double.”

You looked back out the window.

“Right. Easy money,” you echoed quietly.

Kole didn’t notice the shift in your tone, or didn’t care. He kept going.

“You gotta learn to detach a little. It’s not ballet.”

You remembered the way Noah had staggered, ribs heaving, blood matting his hair.

You remembered the way he’d looked at you like you were the first person to treat him like he wasn't trash in a long time.

He shook his head, amused. “Come on. You’re not actually sitting there feeling bad for the guy?”

You didn’t answer.

He tapped your knee lightly with his hand. “Babe.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

Kole let out a short laugh. “Seriously?”

You turned your head just enough to glance at him. “Yeah. Seriously.”

You both remained silent until you got home.

You didn’t stop thinking about him even when you got into bed and Kole’s arm wrapped around you like nothing had changed.

Especially not then.

Because while his breath warmed the back of your neck and his hand rested heavy on your waist, your mind was still in that alley.

With him.

That man who, somehow, felt like he deserved better.

Who looked like a beaten-down stray too wary to trust kindness.

Who hadn’t asked for help, but hadn’t completely pushed you away either.

You kept seeing his face, bruised and tired but his eyes were still kind.

You kept hearing his voice, low and rough, saying thank you like it was the first time anyone had tried to help him.

You fell asleep thinking about him. And he was your first thought when you woke up.

You were definitely in trouble.

Chapter 2?

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper

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