|the naive rebel|
━━━━  ♛ ━━━━

xxiv-A| Don't make me punch your fucking face
     ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

PART ONE
━━━━  ♛ ━━━━

word count- 5640
(both a&b)

Being four months and two days elder, kuch zyada ukhada nahi tunne. Height ki baat kare ;-)

'Kinnaaaaaaa' pyaar♥️

Moving on, there are two chapters posted. This is part one. I hope y'all like these chapters.

These chapters are like a movie in themselves. I guess, all genres have been covered in these two chapters. There is action, humour, a little something you can state as starting romance, mystery, emotional scenes, and suspense ;-)

I won't be disturbing at the start of the next chapter so make sure you check the A/N in the end of chapter 24-B.

Happy Reading

Also UNEDITED.

━━━━  ♛ ━━━━
Third Person
━━━━  ♛ ━━━━

                  
            Shaan takes in his surroundings,   
his lips breaking into a lop-sided smile. The silver-rimmed spectacles are long gone, his hair gelled behind as he looks at the ring from the entrance.

The whiff of blood, sweat and antiseptic mixing in the air. Only a few are here at this time of night, but he couldn't care less.

"It's a mid-week day Shaan." A voice interrupts his thoughts.

"I know. Needed it badly."

"At 3 AM on a Friday?"

He nods at the manager who goes by the name Paul.

"Your regular opponents aren't here, Shaan." He informs but Ishaan's gaze is on the two huge bulks fighting each other ruthlessly.

"Line me next."

"But-"

"With anyone. I need my brain to get back to work, again."

"I still don't know how you get your sanity back after losing blood and getting hurt." The manager tsk's at him while Ishaan rolls his eye in response.

"Lining you up next. Get your gear ready." With that, the man leaves him alone to make the needful arrangements.

Ishaan quickly hops to the locker room, placing his bag on the wooden bench-the locker room is empty and he is the only one there. Walking to the mirror he closes his eyes.

Flashes of that night playing before his closed eyelids.

Opening his eyes, more determined than ever he splashes water on his face from the running tap, and closing it after.

Walking back to the resting bench, he removes his boxing shorts and all the types of equipment he would need to protect his injury-prone areas.

.

.

"You know there aren't any girls here right?" Paul jokes seeing a topless Ishaan who just glares at him disappointed at his poor attempt in humour.

"I lost my robe."

More like Nikhil found it and thought it was his-cause obviously how would Shaan know boxing.

"Yeah right." He mocks.

"Go, it's your match now. I hope you don't lose, pretty sad for someone who has won many matches here."

"Don't make me punch your fucking face right here which will not only leave you with a black eye but also with a fractured nose." Ishaan sneers at him.

"Don't get so defensive buddy."

But Ishaan shuts him with a single look and strides towards the ring. He gets inside the ring box, waiting for his opponent. The referee smiles at him and Ishaan has to return it, forcedly.

"3 AM huh?"

"Getting laid lately, huh?" Ishaan retorts noticing the hidden hickey mark on his neck. The referee's posture suddenly turns fiddly.

"Let's start." He covers up and adjusts the neck of his shirt to hide the bluish mark. Looking at him, Ishaan holds back a deride laughter.

"Yeah sure. You want me to fight myself?" Ishaan offers.

"Ah-I'll just wait down until your opponent comes."

That is when Ishaan notices another man walking towards the ring. Ishaan predicts him to be in his mid-thirties. The man is bulky but Ishaan doesn't fail to notice the little slump in his shoulders and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

The man is an insomniac, who currently is weak from the inside but the muscles help him build a strong outward appearance.

He quickly makes a note of the weak targets in his body noticing the way he walks to the ring.

The man suffered from acute rotator cuff tendinitis, his stiff shoulders easily gave away his problems.

His weak point is his shoulders, Ishaan concludes while his opponent takes the position opposite him.

"Gaurav." The man tells Ishaan who responds with his name.

'Shaan.' They shake hands before starting.

As they stand in fully upright stances, with their legs shoulder-width apart. Ishaan leads with his left foot and fist while Gaurav with his right.

A left-handed, Ishaan observes.

"We start in 1..2..3," the referee rings the bell indicating the start of the match.

With the sound of the bell, both Ishaan and Gaurav start throwing punches at each other, aiming first at the face.

Blow by blow, they try punching each other, right square on their faces but they are too quick to shield on time.

Ishaan was less of a brawler but Gaurav was a certified one. He aggressively boxed, moving and punching.

Ishaan smartly plants a Bolo punch which confuses Gaurav and then throws a punch right on his left face' side.

They Bob and Weave trying to stop the punches and try planting their own.

As they continue the match, Ishaan is distracted by the call he received the previous night. He blocks all his contender's blows but doesn't hit back.

Instead, the scene that took place a year ago flashes in front. The shrill screams, the mocking laugh of the gang leader and his pleadings.

Pleadings to leave his family-his mother and sister. The ruthless leader hadn't only tortured them but killed her right in front of him.

'I-Ishaan-" his mother's whimpers ring in his ears as the leader had whipped her right in front of him. Like a statue, he wasn't able to do anything. His sister on the gunpoint as the dirty man had laughed.

He knew that if he did fire one bullet it held the power to kill his mother and his sister together.

'Choose.' The man had offered as he threatened to hit his sister while Ishaan was chained, too.

"Leave them!" He had roared but he had only gotten laughter as a reply.

Five minutes he had needed to save them. Just five minutes.

It was a clue when he heard an unusual siren which was a signal for him. The back-up was here. He had entangled himself quickly, tucking at the hidden gun shooting at the leader straight through his head.

The other members removed their guns too, but till then the other officers had come and dealt with them.

Ishaan had limped speedily towards his mother unchaining her, as she fell on his shoulder like a dead body. Her breathing was rapid- at least he knew she was alive.

"Ishaan, the ambulance is outside." His junior had informed and right on cue the wardens were there holding two stretchers. He had softly laid his mother on one and went to pick his sister who laid on the ground unconscious.

Her head bled, she breathes were slow.

'I won't let anything happen to you, you hear that right.' He had promised.

False promise, the silhouette of his sister still mocks at him.

He had prayed the entire way to the hospital, wishing and hoping that they were fine. That they were..alive.

He had lost his family that night.

One to the death while the other didn't remember who he was.

He had lost.

The shrill weeps, their rugged breathes taunting his ears as he feels a sharp sting on his face.

He is brought back to the present when he notices that he had given his component a lead. He is sure his lips are bleeding and his cheeks are swollen.

The contender punches his left side above the belt, hard and swift. Ishaan back-pedals, and covers up from the next punch. Getting back to his stance, shaking away the horrendous thoughts.

He is sure that it has left a huge bruise on his stomach. Still, he quickly stops the next day and aims a box at his already injured shoulder side.

Ignoring the pain of his own.

Gaurav winces, and Ishaan quickly throws a punch at his face almost knocking him off.

With another set of blows and saves, Ishaan again aims at the same shoulder, this time successful in his attempt as the contender knocks out. Ishaan moves towards the end of the ring waiting for the counts.

The referee stops the match after the counts and declares Ishaan as the winner.

The boxing matches in the club aren't exactly like the proper ones apart from the rules, everything is different. There is only one round until either of the components in knocked out.

Ishaan helps Gaurav stand and they shake hands, after removing the gloves.

"I thought I had won this when my fist connected your face."

"I was just distracted." Ishaan answers and hops off the ring moving towards the locker room.

His jaws clenching and unclenching as he stares at his reflection.

'We couldn't save her. She hit her head pretty bad. There was internal bleeding..'

"Shaan, first aid." Paul breaks his concentration as he notices Paul with a first-aid kit.

"Naah, not here," Ishaan replies thinking something deeply.

"What? You need to clear up the wounds, your lips are spilt open and not to forget the blue-purple bruise adorning your face."

"I'll get it done by someone else." Ishaan half smirks.

"Who?"

"Someone," Shaan answers heading towards the cubicle to get changed.

After he steps out, Paul is still there sitting glaring at him.

"What?"

"That person had a shoulder injury."

"I know."

"Sha-"

"He didn't tell me, I didn't ask. If he was that weak, he should have not come here. I observed and concluded. No rules are broken."

"They aren't but what if it had aggravated?"

"I know how to throw a punch adhering to the rules."

"Right, officer."

"That's right."

"Whose help are you going to ask for your dressing?"

Ishaan fishes out his phone from his jeans'  back pocket, dialling the new contact saved in his list.

"Are you awake?"

"W-what?" Her voice laced with sleep.

"Can you keep a first-aid kit on the terrace? Don't wait. Just keep and you can leave. I'll be there in fifteen." He says, cutting the call without hearing her reply.

"So are you going to clean these wounds on your own?"

"If I have judged her correctly, she'll be there waiting for me." With that Ishaan picks up his Gym bag leaving the locker room and an astonished Paul behind.

━━━━  ♛ ━━━━
INAAYAT
━━━━  ♛ ━━━━

I stand here, at the terrace on the same spot where I had indirectly cleared his misconceptions. I wasn't angry at him yesterday, I knew his reasoning was right.

I appear as an undeserving candidate from all the angles. Even I was shocked when dad has asked me to do this but the way he had presented all his pent up thoughts was wrong.

I had cleared his doubts, all his misconceptions and now I wasn't angry or hurt. Instead, I am mature enough to take this matter in my own hands.

I do not know how this field works and Ishaan knows it perfectly. I know how to connect dots pretty easily, derive assumptions or theories- all thanks to the thousand books I have read.

If I want to solve this case, find the murderer and now Ishaan's drug dealer, we both would have to work together. No ego, no baseless fights or arguments. I know I have to follow his suggestions and he should know that even though I have zero experience, he should treat me as a partner and not just as a burden.

If we have to solve the case, might as well be cordial with each other and solve it quickly and nicely.

I turn towards the wall, craning to admire the sky. It is almost five in the morning and we have to be ready for college at seven.

"I didn't ask you to wait." I turn at the sound and find Ishaan with his lips bleeding, and a bluish-purple bruise on his cheeks.

"Where were you? What is this?"

"Blood?" He touches the corner of his lips with the finger, picking a drop of blood and showing it to me.

"I know what blood looks like, God. How did it happen?" I ask curiously moving a little towards him with the kit in my hand.

"Regular. Boxing. Nothing great. Now, answer my question." He breaks his sentences and answers me.

He was boxing at bloody five in the morning.

"What?" I play innocent.

"I didn't ask you to wait. You could have just kept the kit here."

"I wanted to talk," I replied staring at him, showing no ounce of uneasiness I feel at this moment.

"I knew. I wanted to talk too, but before that help me clean up these wounds or they'll cause infection." He tells.

My eyes narrow at him questioning his orders.

"Excuse me?"

"What? Won't help a partner?"

"Seriously." I sigh, keeping the box on the wall opening it to remove the antiseptic liquid and cotton balls.

I turn to face him and see his hand behind him almost pulling his shirt over him.

"What do you think you are doing?" I repeat my question.

"Removing my tee?" He offers almost innocently when I see a soft smirk playing on his bleeding lips. His eyes shining in amusement.

"I have a bruise on my stomach too-" There's a pause and then he continues, "And one on my back."

"Ah o-okay."

"Don't stare alright?" My eyes pop out too suddenly hearing his statement and I look at him embarrassed and confused.

"I noticed how you were ogling me while you tended to the wound that day..in the medical room."

"Yeah right, when you winced as  the antiseptic burned your wound-that day right?"

Rolling his eyes he replies," Whatever." And that was about it aa his hand again moves behind and he holds the end of his t-shirt removing it easily in a swift motion.

Rules.

I busy myself wetting the cotton ball, paying absolutely no attention to the taunting, useless, mocking male specimen in front of me-who is an absolute jerk disguised as a nerd.

"Don't talk or move," I instruct.

I move forward slowly pressing the ball against the dried blood, cleaning the wound slowly. His face showed no emotion, no pain-nothing. It is the same poker face Shaan holds every day, but Ishaan rarely does.

He is thinking too deep and I can easily figure it out that whatever he has in his mind isn't a good memory.

I don't question anything, just dab the antiseptic at the corner of his lips stopping my mind from running on its own accord.

"I told you to not stare, but here we are." He mocks moving his eyes to me.

"I told you to not move or talk, but here we are."

"Stand still," I order in a commanding tone.

"Bossy." He huffs but stands still as I finally discard the cotton in the small paper bag I had placed in the kit.

Squeezing the antiseptic cream on my forefinger, I close the cap and start applying it on his wound.

Which is on the corner of his lips.

Just saying.

I focus on the wound as if it is a Shakespearean passage-with utmost concentration.

As I am rubbing it over the wound slowly and gently, he again speaks and I stop.

"Your eyes-" He starts and I look up to see his face realising how close I am standing.

Too close.

My finger still near his lips, while he stares at me-most likely my eyes.

"Are blue. I know." I say moving a little away, taking the tube again and squeezing it.

Also, finally breathing.

"They are your real eyes or contacts?"

"Oh yes, I would take the efforts to put lenses at 5 AM. If you think I am that dedicated, thank you very much."

I apply the cream now on his bruised cheeks, and he finally winces.

"I repent for yesterday." He speaks again.

"No, you don't." I cut him off and he almost chuckles but stops, wincing again.

"Yeah, I don't."

"But in my defence, you weren't angry." He presents and I roll my eyes.

"I wasn't but that doesn't mean that you get the right to shout or utter things like that."

"I know. Won't happen again."

"Better," I say finally done with the first aid.

"How do you think Nikhil will react seeing these?" I point at the evident marks on his face.

"He isn't going to see me until tomorrow evening when we leave for Mumbai."

"You aren't attending college tomorrow?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Work."

"Oh okay. Perfect, I'll go and catch an hour sleep before I sit in the lectures or rather sleep in them."

"There's still a bruise here," he points at the big purple mark on the side of his stomach.

Just next to his abs.

It doesn't bother me.

Not at all.

Nope.

Fuck.

"I am sure your hands are working fine," I say throwing the tube at him which he catches easily.

"But I can't apply it over the bruises on my back."

I huff taking the tube again from him and circling facing his back.

I look for any big or small injury but the only thing I see is the two inked designs.

One below the neck region, and the other in the centre-right on his spine.

I study the two inklings understanding the meaning behind each of them.

The tribal eagle defines power and strength, it represents the connection he has with his roots. While the star compass tattoo is based on the Northern Stars. It depicts direction, whether towards the goal or desires. A compass tattoo has an in-depth meaning behind it dealing with direction, guidance and path.

And stars for the fact represent way too many thinking depending on the belief and thoughts of the person.

After I have checked his back for any injury, I come back to my place.

Scrutinising my eyes," There is no injury there."

"Took you long enough to check." He had in the meantime already applied the cream on his stomach.

"I'll leave now. Goodnight, Shaan." I wish and almost leave when he stops me.

"The reason we are going to Mumbai is that the other half of the gang is most likely to be there during these three days."

"Where?" Suddenly all the sleep my eyes carried