I scream. The crowd immediately goes quiet, and I take this as a sign something horrific has happened to him. Maybe he collapsed on the ground? I can only think of so many possibilities when everyone around me begins to cheer.

"No," I say. "No. No, no, no, no!"

I turn my head to Brooklyn without facing the fight, and she smirks at the men in the ring as she takes a short swing of her beer bottle. "Quite the fighter you got there," she says.

Confusion wraps it's fingers around my mind, but my curiosity is cut short when I force myself to watch the knockdown in front of me.

I can't believe it, Xavier's off of the ground! And woah, he's fighting. He's defending himself and he's actually winning!

I begin to laugh at myself, feeling warm tears spill down my cheeks and reach my undeniable smile. The kid had me so worried, I wasn't ready to watch him get beaten to death by a mountain.

Xavier steadies his body, wiping away the wet blood from his face and positioning his hands over his chest. He flexes his biceps, and the muscles in his chest ripple with his arms. I watch the tattoo on his skin move along with him.

"Look at you!" Muscle Man says, gesturing over to Xavier. "You are strong."

He doesn't say a word, keeping his fists balled and at the ready.

"You don't know when to give up, do you?"

Xavier shakes his head. "Never do, never will."

Muscle Man laughs, and I can spot the clench of Xavier's jaw. He's mad, but he's holding himself off. He's not fighting, not yet. He's waiting. Waiting for the right time to pounce.

"I never knew they let little boys in the ring." Xavier's opponent smiles. "You're just a kid. You can't beat me."

Some people in the crowd laugh, and I bite back the urge to punch all of them in the face. Meanwhile, Xavier's fists tighten in anger, and I bite my lip in anticipation.

"He will never win," Muscle Man snarls.

At that moment, Xavier jumps for his opponent, knocking him to the ground with a single shove. I hear a loud shout and a hard thump before he's up from the ground, staring at the other competitor with fury darkening his eyes.

Muscle Man gets up from the floor, wiping fresh blood from his mouth. "There he is," he growls. "No longer a pussy cat, are ya now?"

Xavier spits on Muscle Man's face, showing off clear distaste towards his opponent and snarling in his direction. I can see the smoke shooting from his nostrils, as vicious as the engine of a train.

Muscle Man screams, lunging for Xavier's body and stretching his arms to trap his hands together. He's fast, but not fast enough, and Xavier effectively dodges his punches, swerving to the side and letting the guy fall flat on his face.

He grunts and gets up from the pavement. My eyes widen when I see a clear scrape running in a gash down his cheek, raw-pink and dripping with fresh blood.

Without giving him a second to recover, Xavier advances towards him, landing a horrible punch to his opponent's face. It's hard, nearly hard enough to split his face in two.

Muscle Man's body falls limp to the ground. His eyes are closed and he's breathing alright, but barely. If there's one person who is capable of panting in their sleep, it's this guy.

Xavier backs away from the competition, now unconscious on the cement, and the crowd lets out a wondrous roar. Everyone's arms fly high in the air, and I watch three teenage girls beside me scream their heads off and yell Foster's name.

Brooklyn is shaking her head, downing the rest of her beer bottle in a single swing. She doesn't look at me, but she points to the ring as if she knows I'm staring at her.

I watch the square with wide eyes and an open jaw, staring at Xavier now on his knees. He looks horrific. He looks sad.

Someone from the crowd walks over to the ring. A white-haired man with a leather vest and two sleeves full of tattoos swiftly marches on the concrete towards Xavier. Kenny. The crowd is silent when he helps him to his feet.

"Up ye go," he says, lifting Xavier by one arm. He has just enough strength to bring himself to his feet, but I can see it already begin to wither.

They slowly merge into the crowd, and I follow the pair into the basement of the building, watching as Kenny lays Xavier on the floor beside a workbench.

"Oh no," I whisper, hiding myself behind a wall.

Kenny walks away from the boy's body, catching me in the corner of the room. "Come on out, ye don't needa hide."

I do as he says, immediately running over to Xavier and crouching by the boy's head.

"Jeez Xavier," I say. I stare at his dark eyes and watch as they slowly go from open to closed in seconds. "You scared the hell outta me."

He slightly smiles, but I can barely see it under all the blood and ink. "You're worried 'bout me?"

I can't really deny that now. There's no point in hiding it. Instead, i just say, "How am I gonna get you home?"

He drove me here on a motorcycle, and I have no clue how to ride those things. He is in no condition to rev up that kind of engine, so we are fatally, utterly stuck here.

"I'll take care of him," I blurt out, watching Kenny as he scrambles to retrieve some bandages. "I'll bring him home."

He looks at me. "Xav brought ya on ma motorcycle. Ain't no way I'm lettin' ye drive it back."

I gawk at him. "Ever heard of 'public transit'?"

"Ya gonna take 'em on a bus lookin' like that?" Kenny points to Xavier, keeping his eyes on me.

I hate to admit, but the man's got a point.

"Well, what do you suggest?"

He waves a hand my way. "Sooner er later, someone's gon' come down here. Ye better get yer asses outta the gym before crowds come spiralin'."

His old-fashioned language makes me cringe, but I don't say another word to him. I puff out my chest and lay a hand on Xavier's back, using all my strength to lift him upwards and drag him to the staircase.

"Be careful up there," Kenny says. "Those people er savages."

I don't answer, keeping my eyes on the door ahead.

"Leave me... here," Xavier mutters. "Go."

I use all my strength to lift him higher. "I'm not doing that. You're coming with me."

Looking down at him, there's a small smile on his lips despite the terrible lighting in the hallway.

When I haul him to the metal door, I open it and watch as the crowd bundles close together. There are people dancing and grinding against each other to the music, and they have bottles of whisky and beer in their hands.

I try my best to dodge the crowd, making my way outside with tired breaths and sweat dripping down my forehead. It doesn't help that Xavier's getting heavier by the second, and he almost falls on the concrete face-first before I catch him.

"Shit, you needa hand?" someone says. They tap my shoulder, and I turn around to see Brooklyn staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. She ignores the half-limp body in my arms, holding her empty beer bottle in one hand.

I can't really afford to say no. "Yes. Yes please."

"Come," she says, grabbing hold of my arm and tugging me to the side of the building where Xavier's motorcycle is. Well, where it used to be.

In its place, there's an olden rundown lemon parked beside the brick wall. Almost every edge is rusted, every corner brown with age, and the windshield is partially cracked at the front.

"This is your ride?" I ask Brooklyn.

"Yup. Say hello to my girl Shay." She places her hands on her hips, looking proud to see her old beauty thriving under the night sky.

I can't really complain. I admit, the car looks pretty cute, and I'm sure it means a lot to Brooklyn, enough to give it its very own name.

She unlocks the car, opening the back door and helping me place Xavier inside. He winces when we try and bend him to fit inside the back seat, and I can hear the grit of his teeth when I place his arm over my shoulders.

The way he looks makes me shiver with fear. His face is just a bundle of red and black. I can spot a dark purple area near one of his eyes, and a bluish patch close to the line of his jaw. There's bruises all along his bare chest, and when I touch his arms, it's like I can feel the ache of his muscles writhing beneath his skin.

I scurry to the other side of the backseat, climbing in and shutting the door behind me. It occurs to me that I haven't even buckled Xavier in yet, which means if the car were to start... he'd fly right off of the chair and smack his face on the headrest in front of him.

I sneak my body over his, trying my best not to put any pressure on his arms and legs.

"You're buckling me up," he mutters. "You're keeping me safe." I can spot the slightest smirk beneath all the blood and ink on his face.

"Yeah, well, I need to keep you safe," is all I say to him.

"No..." he whispers, closing his eyes. "That's my job."

Even though we're practically in an emergency right now, his comment makes me turn my head to hide the smile I have on my face.

"Next stop, the hospital," Brooklyn says, starting up Shay and revving the old engine.

"No," Xavier shoots. "No hospital. Dad will kill me." He's drifting off to sleep. Slowly, slowly, slowly... and he's out like a light, sleeping soundly beside me like a baby in a cradle.

"Don't take us to the hospital," I tell Brooklyn, feeling Xavier's head loll to the side and rest on my shoulder.

"Hun, this guy's in some serious trouble. He needs—"

"Please," I interrupt. "No hospital. I'll take care of him." I look at the boy lying by my side, watching his eyelids try their best to flutter open. To no avail, they stay firmly closed, sealed together like the end of a sandwich bag.

"
"Okay." Brooklyn hesitates before driving out of the parking lot, not bothering to wait for other people to cross the street. She's reckless in her lemon, swerving this way and that, failing to put on her signals and break the car at the right time.

"Thank you," I start. "For helping us."

I spot the shrug of her shoulders from the back seat. "I figured I'd help you out. He looked like shit, and you couldn't do all 'a this on your own."

I smile her way. "I really appreciate it, Brooklyn."

She looks in her rear-view mirror, winking at me before placing her eyes back on the road. I smile at the ground, and before I know it, I'm leaning my head to rest on Xavier's, feeling his steady breath on my collarbone as he sleeps.

—

I told Brooklyn the address to my house so she could drop Xavier and I off for the night. No doubt I was worrying about my parents' opinions the moment I stepped through that door with a bloody boy on my shoulder, but once I got home I suddenly remembered they wouldn't be there this evening; they had made dinner plans with one of my father's friends not too long ago, and they planned to be out today a long time.

They must've dropped my brother off at his friend's house when they came home from work at eight, heading straight to dinner once Jack was in bed. Which meant that Xavier and I basically had the house all to ourselves.

I help him up the steps of our patio just as Brooklyn backs Shay out of the driveway, looking out for the both of us as I steadily drag the beaten boy inside the foyer and close the front door behind me. He then collapses on the tiled floor, laying still right by my feet.

"Oh, Xavier," I sigh. "We're almost there, come on." I gently grab one of his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin spread on my palms. Despite the amount of blood on his body and ink on my skin, he feels baby-soft beneath my fingertips.

He grimaces when I lay a hand on his bruised stomach. Immediately, I place it at my side and lead him upstairs to the second floor of the house, keeping an eye out for him so he doesn't accidentally stumble backwards.

I just have one probablement: where do I even take him?

I drag him to my bedroom, carefully opening my door and shutting it closed behind me. I look over at Xavier, trying his best to keep his one-thousand pound eyelids open. I hurry over to my bed and place him on the mattress, grimacing myself when he winces beneath my clumsy touch.

"I have to clean you up," I whisper, holding him upright so he doesn't fall back into the cushions.

He humfs, giving off a childish pout. "I don't need it—"

"The fact is, you do." I tread over to the bathroom, grabbing as much wet paper towel as I can and bringing it over to Xavier in order to wash off all the grime on his face.

For a second, I have zero confidence I can clean everything in less than an hour. But really, I have no time to waste; I have to start now, or else he'll be an even bigger mess than he already is.

Taking one piece of paper towel, I start to carefully dab away the blood and ink from his face. All the things that's stain his skin, all the night black and rose red.

There's a big bruise over his left eye, and the red line on his noise has suddenly increased in size. His bottom lip has a tiny split, and there's a swollen bump on the edge of his jawline.

Without thinking, I clean him like my life depends on it. Slowly, precisely, gracefully enough I won't hurt the boy beneath the cuts and scars. My hands trail the lines on his face, emphasized by chiseled features, and an electric spark zings through my fingertips when my skin touches his.

At this moment I realize he won't get through the night. Not alone, not without someone making sure he'll be okay.

Xavier doesn't hesitate when I'm finished cleaning his face, moving off to the side so I can get in bed with him. He smells of sweat and grime but the faint scent of coffee and mint fills my nose. I breathe him in like he's pure oxygen.

We stay like that. We stay like that until the moon shines like silver through the windows and crickets sing from outside. We stay like that until the world goes still, until his breathing matches mine.

We stay like that until Xavier slowly wraps two arms around me, hugging me close from behind. To make sure I'm still there, to make sure I haven't left like I had so many times before.