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This is victory.
Victory comes in the smell of sweat in the air mixing with the slight scent of blood from the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth. It comes in the feeling of his arm being raised with a tight grip, the force combined with his exhaustion nearly causing him to fall over and against the fighting ring’s floor, but what’s left of his energy succeeds in keeping him upright.
Victory is the sound of Jaehyun’s name yelled in the midst of chaotic shouts filling the arena in reaction to his triumph. Once the announcer shouts his name in a call of victory, there’s no stopping the volume of the crowd. People, mostly those who have laid their money on the table in trust of Jaehyun’s skill, erupt into cheers. He can feel his heart beat to the sound of his name being chanted, Hyunjae, Hyunjae, Hyunjae, and for a moment, he thinks of how addicting it all is.
It’s the exhilarating rush in his veins, the constant thrumming in his chest that doesn’t cease even when he steps out of the ring. It’s a weak but present skip in every step he takes towards his little corner in the underground club, bumping shoulders and fists as a form of congratulations on the way.
When he finally reaches his spot, he takes a seat on his bench without hesitation, picking up the water bottle nearby and taking a long swig. Next to him, Eric is congratulating him like always with an arm around Jaehyun’s shoulder, telling him how cool he was in the ring, and Jaehyun tries his best not to grimace at the sudden weight of Ericʼs arm clashing with his injuries. He smiles with appreciation, ruffling Eric’s hair and sending him off to go and watch the next match.
When he’s left alone, the slowing of his rush settling in, the pain finally unveils itself. Jaehyun inhales through his gritted teeth, his wounds making it clear that he had certainly taken a beating. This wasnʼt even his last match of the day.
The sound of the arena buzzer booms through the room, indicating that the next match was to begin. Jaehyun’s next round wasn’t until a few more finished, so he sits back to relax as best as he can, wiping the sweat off his temple with a thin towel. When he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, there’s a stroke of blood mixed with water on his skin. He can’t do anything about his injuries—at least, not right now, so he lets it be. He’s used to the pain. That’s what fight club does to you.
Over on the other end of the bench was where Sunwoo stood, back against the wall, looking focused as he sifted through a wad of cash. Victory, materialized.
“You’re doing well,” Sunwoo says, only looking over once he pockets the stash of money. He gives Jaehyun a look of pity. “Your face is fucked, though.”
Jaehyun scoffs. He can still taste the blood in his mouth. “You don’t have to remind me.”
Sunwoo’s gaze shifts upwards and elsewhere, momentarily leaving the conversation. When he looks back at Jaehyun, he has mischief written all over his face. “Your boy is back.”
At Sunwoo’s teasing words, Jaehyun immediately straightens in his seat, not bothering to hide his excitement as he scans the crowd around them with wide, searching eyes. It doesn’t take long for his line of sight to focus in on a hooded figure by the entranceway, leaned back against the wall and not at all seeming conspicuous.
Jaehyun gets a short, amused laugh from Sunwoo as he pushes himself up with what’s left of his strength, dumping his water bottle back on the ground and throwing his towel against the bench.
“Come back on time,” Sunwoo reminds him, but Jaehyun was already a few feet away from their spot, uncaring of the younger’s words. It wasn’t difficult to make his way through the crowd, but the action within the ring that caused sudden cheers and movements from watchers did serve as partial obstacles in his way.
Eventually, Jaehyun makes it in one piece and finds himself standing in front of the hooded man. Jaehyun wishes he could look more presentable, thinking of the sweat on his back and the fresh blood still on the corner of his lips. It’s been weeks since his last appearance, but all Jaehyun gets are those eyes, ever so sharp, giving him a brief glance from underneath a dark blue hood, before the boy turns on his heels and walks right out of the room.
Jaehyun, of course, follows.
The way out is a familiar path by now, consisting of two left turns and a right. Catching up with him is easy, Jaehyun only needing small bursts of energy whenever a stranger brushes past him in the narrow and dim corridors of the club. When they finally reach a set of stairs leading up, Jaehyun tries his best to catch up with the boy’s quickening pace, a jolt of pain hitting some part of his leg with the every few steps he takes.
Jaehyun lets out a breath of relief when they finally reach the top, the boy pushing through the door, the light flooding in and making Jaehyun squint. They step into the small back exit, an area not known to many. It was a small, elevated space on the narrower side of the building, that only had a small set of stairs leading further down and towards a hole in the wooden fence that led to the front and main exit of the club. There’s a faint smell of smoke in the air, indicating a previous presence. Smokers and bored watchers who knew of this spot often stopped by to kill some time, but to Jaehyun, this little space had a different meaning.
The air hitting them as they step out into the open space causes the dark blue hood to fall back, revealing the boy’s light blonde curls. Jaehyun looks again. Blonde curls?
“Your hair,” Jaehyun mumbles. It was slightly windy out here, the day quite cloudy. When the boy turns back with a blank stare at Jaehyun’s words, Jaehyun feels the familiar rush fill his chest.
Here he was. Choi Chanhee.
Jaehyun hadn’t seen him in weeks, but he still looked the same. Save for the hair. Chanhee had black hair the last time Jaehyun saw him, a color less flashy, less likely to grab attention. Jaehyun almost smiles at the shade of blonde he’s chosen. Chanhee’s father must be fuming.
Dark blue jacket paired with a black shirt and some white sport shorts. Chanhee looked nothing out of the ordinary back inside the club—not at all looking like the politician’s son that he was, either. Sharp eyes staring Jaehyun down, a small dissatisfied curl to his lips. Suddenly, Jaehyun snaps out of it.
“Sit,” Chanhee tells him, like always, not needing to gesture at the upright box sitting by the wall. Jaehyun moves to take his seat, inhaling through his teeth at the slight pain that travels down the side of his leg.
Chanhee only glances at Jaehyun’s grip on his own leg. “You should get that checked.”
Jaehyun grins. “Worried about me?”
Chanhee doesn’t bite back, instead bringing out a small pouch from the inner pockets of his jacket. Huh. The wonders of pockets, Jaehyun thinks. Chanhee doesn’t say a word as he opens up the pouch, taking out what Jaehyun thinks is the usual: some wet wipes and a small tube of antibiotic cream.
Chanhee hands it over to Jaehyun wordlessly, and Jaehyun holds onto the items without complaint.
With the items out of his hands, Chanhee starts tying his dark blue jacket around his waist, and ah, this is the Chanhee that Jaehyun knows. Not some hooded stranger in the crowd that watched matches in silence, nor a politician’s son that kept to himself for the sake of someone else’s image. This Chanhee was patient, open about his thoughts, forceful when he had to be. This Chanhee, though often quiet and avoidant, cared.
This Chanhee was also going to do everything in his power to get Jaehyun to comply with his demands.
Wet wipes for the blood on Jaehyun’s face was one thing, but completely patching him up was another.
“It’s useless,” Jaehyun says, moving his face away from Chanhee’s attempts at dabbing some cream on his deeper cuts. “I have another round coming up, anyway.”
Chanhee tries aiming for his wounds again, but Jaehyun doesn’t let up. Chanhee gives him a frown.
“Lee Jaehyun. Would you rather get an infection?”
Jaehyun canʼt help but smile. He likes it when Chanhee uses his full name. It just means heʼs extra forceful because heʼs…
Jaehyun points a finger at him. “You! Are you doting on me?”
The frown on Chanheeʼs face doesnʼt disappear even as he swats away at Jaehyunʼs raised hand. “And if I am? Will you please sit still?”
Jaehyun calms down at the partial admission.
Every dab of cream that lands against his cleaned cuts makes him wince at the stinging feeling, occasionally letting out curses under his breath. This is the price of victory, he supposes. Though futile given the severity of his wounds, he senses a calmer and more careful approach from Chanhee every time Jaehyun expresses his displeasure. It is nice to think about as he watches the furrow of Chanheeʼs eyebrows deepen in concentration.
When the silence between them is spent up and the treatment finally reaches its end, Jaehyun sighs a breath of relief as Chanhee packs his few materials back into the pouch.
“It should dry before your match,” Chanhee says, zipping up the small bag.
Jaehyun thinks quickly. Should he start that side of the conversation? He didnʼt want to spoil the mood at all, but Chanhee had been gone for weeks without explanation. Jaehyun knew that it wasnʼt an obligation and that Chanhee didn’t owe him anything at all. They werenʼt in a relationship after all, and Chanhee had yet to text Jaehyun, too.
(Jaehyun had once left his number with Chanhee, but with the fear of overstepping, decided not to expect a text unless Chanhee initiated that line of communication. Painful, but Jaehyun didnʼt want to pressure Chanhee into talking outside of whatever they had going on every week. They hadnʼt talked about that either, but Jaehyun thinks it can wait for now.)
Jaehyun is curious, though. Self-preservation be damned.
He starts subtly. “Are you gonna stay to watch my match later?”
Once Chanhee finishes tucking the pouch into one of the pockets of his jacket, he looks up at Jaehyun.
A moment passes, and Chanhee lets out a sigh. He gestures for Jaehyun to move his arms, and, oh, here it comes. Jaehyun doesn’t like to think of it too often, but he has to admit it. He hates it when he’s able to know and hold Chanhee like this, the other man settling onto his lap with Jaehyun’s arms wrapped lightly around his waist, and yet, Jaehyun still didn’t know where they stood. What they were, and other things.
Oddly enough, a part of Jaehyun likes the thrill of it, still.
Chanhee has his arms resting around Jaehyun’s shoulders, sitting sideways on his lap with a gaze focused elsewhere. Jaehyun basks in the feeling of Chanhee in close proximity.
“Father has been… less than satisfied about my disappearances,” Chanhee explains, playing with the edge of Jaehyun’s right sleeve, twisting the thin white cloth between his fingers. He looks at Jaehyun. “I don’t think I can. Sorry.”
Like many things about Chanhee, Jaehyun didn’t know much about Chanhee’s father. His entire family life, even. Jaehyun did, however, know enough to conclude that their relationship was not the most ideal thing in existence. Jaehyun assumes that the restrictions naturally came with being related to an influential figure such as Chanhee’s father, one of the more known politicians in the country. When you think about it, who would want their son going around and disappearing frequently in the day? Even worse and unknown to them, who would want their son sneaking off to the unruly parts of the city to watch illegal fight club matches, with the risk of getting caught?
At the same time, Jaehyun also knew enough about Chanhee to know that he was aware of his own responsibilities. Although Chanhee had previously expressed displeasure in having to act like someone he was not for the sake of the family image, given the dos and don’ts that were occasionally absurd in nature, Chanhee still knew himself the most. He disliked his family but knew his boundaries. Chanhee has said it once or twice before: he wouldn’t be here to see Jaehyun every week if he knew he was going to get caught. Jaehyun thinks he’s right. Nobody around these parts really had Chanhee’s face recognized, seeing as his family-related appearances on television were scarce, and the occasional jabs would only really associate him with Jaehyun. Even if someone did try to mess with Chanhee, Jaehyun would deal with it swiftly. Jaehyun pins the entire problem, then, on trust. Or the lack thereof within their family.
Jaehyun never likes to pry when it comes to the family issue, so he gives Chanhee a reassuring smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Thanks for watching earlier. You didn’t even have to come because of your, you know, father thing. But you still came. It means a lot.”
It’s moments like these, with Jaehyun baring his heart, when Chanhee fills a beat of silence with a look of hesitance—a passing emotion in his features, but something Jaehyun quickly catches. Instead of something as honest as Jaehyun’s words, he gets a flick on the forehead from Chanhee.
Jaehyun groans in pain. “What happened to taking care of my injuries?”
“You,” Chanhee says, voice firm and grabbing all of Jaehyun’s attention, “take care of yourself. I don’t wanna come back next time and see your pretty face completely busted.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
“I think reckless is what you are,” Chanhee says, thumb going up to swipe over the skin above Jaehyun’s wound by his eyebrow. It isn’t painful, instead ticklish enough to send tingles down Jaehyun’s spine. He knows this is Chanhee’s way of saying he cares. He isn’t direct about it, but by now, whatever he wanted to convey was clear and obvious to Jaehyun.
“How about a good luck charm, then? For the reckless.”
It’s a split second, easily missable, but Chanhee glances down at Jaehyun’s lips, and that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to know they were playing the same game.
“Your lip is still bleeding. That’s gross.”
Jaehyun pouts for extra effect. “You’ve kissed worse.”
Chanhee looks like he considers it for a moment. Jaehyun mentally thanks his persuasion skills, though rusty, when Chanhee rolls his eyes in defeat.
“One for the road, then.”
It comes and goes, perhaps way too swift of a moment for Jaehyun’s liking. Nonetheless, he indulges in the moment. Chanhee tilts his head down, and though the angle is awkward, their lips eventually meet with ease. Well, sort of. In an attempt to avoid Jaehyun’s slightly busted lip corner with dried blood, Chanhee catches the other corner of his lip in a feather-light kiss, and Jaehyun thinks of how his lips were still as soft as ever. Slightly cold with the windy weather, but still so familiar.
This is not victory.
The victory that Jaehyun has known for all of his life is nothing like this: his arms around Chanhee’s waist, Chanhee’s fingertips brushing against his jaw in a light hold, and Chanhee pulling away with a dazed and satisfied look in his eyes.
Victory, to Jaehyun, has always been a triumph defined by its one-sidedness. In the arena, it is unforgiving. You need to think and fight for yourself, until your blood flows, until your knuckles are painted in colors of blue and purple, until the next punch no longer comes as a second thought. Victory is thin slips of paper dumped into your hands at the expense of others. That’s how the world down below worked, and Jaehyun could only ever follow, to live.
With Chanhee, it’s different. It’s a game of push and pull with two players, but it’s a game Jaehyun was unwilling to completely take control of. It’s a game of give and take, a game that required two with a dash of mutuality, a game that came with the fear of merging his feelings for Chanhee with something so intoxicating that he’s known for his whole life.
It’s a feeling better than the rush in his system that comes with every win, better than the thrum of his heart synchronizing with the chant of his name. It’s something small and quiet, so cut off and different from the unforgiving nature of the world underneath them.
It’s something like following Chanhee down a narrow corridor, trusting him to lead the way. It’s something like Jaehyun cracking a joke, and Chanhee laughing at his silly antics. It’s something like Jaehyun shaking with laughter in his seat, Chanhee telling him to sit still with a barely concealed smile of amusement. It’s something like holding Chanhee’s hand and feeling him squeeze back in his grasp.
It’s something like pulling away, yet still being close enough for their breaths to mingle, as Jaehyun whispers a series of incomplete words with the effect of being so struck by Chanhee, “Can I? Again?”
And when Chanhee nods, Jaehyun lets it sting. The next kiss, the next few gentle times their lips meet, the next moments that bring complete quiet to Jaehyun’s ever shifting, ever restless mind—it isn’t victory.
This isn’t victory, but it’s something far better.
Jaehyun pulls back with a wince. The corner of his lip stings. “Ouch.”
Chanhee tsk’s, leaning close to plant a quick kiss on Jaehyun’s cheek, an area where it didn’t hurt. “What you get for being greedy.”
“I’m not greedy,” Jaehyun says, mischief in his smile. “Maybe you’re a bad kisser.”
Chanhee raises a hand in a faux swing to hit Jaehyun, and the latter bursts out laughing at the reaction. No matter how much Chanhee tries to act annoyed around him, Jaehyun has a keen eye for these things. There’s fondness underneath it all, Chanhee holding back a smile with a pout.
Their moment, however, is cut short by the creak of the nearby metal door, the sound causing Chanhee to flinch in Jaehyun’s lap.
“Hyunjae hyung, are you—oh.”
It was Sunwoo by the doorway, not at all surprised by the sight of Chanhee completely settled in Jaehyun’s lap.
Jaehyun, on the other hand, is silently seething. “Sunwoo.” Jaehyun feels his heart practically break in two when Chanhee moves off of his lap with a cough, occupying himself by untying the jacket around his waist.
Sunwoo looked more amused than anything, not at all sounding apologetic for the interruption. “Your round starts in five.”
One of these days, Jaehyun will have to challenge Sunwoo in the ring. “Got it. I’ll be there.”
Jaehyun tries his best to shoot lasers through his eyes, but Sunwoo remains unbothered until the very end, even sending Chanhee a quick wink before stepping back to close the door.
There’s a moment of silence between them until Chanhee speaks again.
“So,” Chanhee starts, clearing his throat. He’s got his jacket back on, his hood over his head, and Jaehyun knows what this means. It’s goodbye again. “Good luck with your match. I’ll see you around?”
See you around. Jaehyun thinks back to Chanhee’s word: greedy. If Jaehyun’s ever learned anything from his time and experience within the arena, it’s that greed could be your worst enemy. Never, ever get greedy.
Just this time, though? He’ll allow it.
When Chanhee makes a move to prepare for his departure, Jaehyun reaches out to hold his wrist. “Wait.”
Chanhee looks back at him, curious. “What?”
“Can you—” Jaehyun starts, then pauses. Suddenly, he’s flustered. This is what he loses his cool over? “Can you text me when you get home?”
It’s a shock to Jaehyun when Chanhee looks at him with wide eyes, emotions suddenly shifting into something like… embarrassment?
“Your number smudged on my hand,” Chanhee quickly explains, and Jaehyun tries not to let his jaw drop. This is why Chanhee hadn’t texted him back, all this time? It all feels silly, suddenly. “And I couldn’t come because of my father, so I didn’t know—”
As much as he loved seeing a rare, flustered Chanhee, Jaehyun interrupts him. “No! It’s okay, don’t worry about it. I thought you just didn’t want to, I don’t know, talk to me.”
Chanhee raises a brow at that, though his ears were still red at the tips. “I come here every week, Jaehyun. I’ve kissed your bleeding lips, and you think I wouldn’t want to talk to you?”
While Chanhee takes his hand back to grab something from his pockets, Jaehyun mumbles to himself about how that made sense. Chanhee hands him a small slip of paper, and Jaehyun takes it with curiosity.
“Call me,” Chanhee says, and Jaehyun’s eyes widen at the numbers scrawled across the white slip, “after your match. Tell me how it goes, okay?”
Jaehyun nods eagerly, and there it is: Chanhee’s laugh akin to some kind of lovely chime, Jaehyun staring at him with complete adoration.
When he sees Chanhee off, he stands by the top of the stairs, not needing to accompany Chanhee all the way out. Chanhee gives him one last wave and a small smile that sends Jaehyun into a tiny rush, watching as Chanhee makes his way out through the hole in the wooden fence.
Pocketing the slip of paper, Jaehyun walks back towards the door with a small skip in his step unaffected by the subsiding pain in his leg, and a satisfied smile on his lips.
Time to kick some ass.