split-knuckle smile | [ele]

He gets a little tired sometimes, most people do.

Not in the same way that he does though.

There's a question he's been turning over in his head for a long time now, it makes it hard to sleep at night. It used to belong to someone else too but now it's only his.

"What if there is no next time?"

It's a really good question, everyone loves a hypothetical, except people rarely want to actually find out the answer.

Bailey ignores the obvious, tries to work his way through it methodically, it's too nice to live in the first half. It's laced with so much sweet hope he can barely taste the underlying poison that it masks. The answer's in the question itself, it's easy.

Wes died, so there is no next time.

There's just Bailey and the flat sound of his gym shoes hitting cement, cold air pushing down the back of his neck, hitting sweat, he's late. He used to be really good with time, always early by at least a few minutes, always stayed late to help out where he could. Now he's lucky if he can get from homeroom to his next class without losing himself along the way.

Something happened to his compass, not his fault but not not his fault. Ever since, every single breath has been shallow.

This morning he woke up and he was alright. He hadn't even thought about Wes at all. It's been awhile now, long enough, according to the councillor at the training centre. Bailey's never understood that, the thing about grief and time and how it heals all wounds.

Time's only eroded his into something deeper.

He turns down an alleyway and walks down to the end, finger folding down over his palm to check his wrist for a bracelet. There's a bandage still on his knuckle that's become pretty much permanent over the last year. Every time the wound closes, it gets reopened because as soon as Bailey's healed up enough to return to the ring, he always goes back.

"I'll be more careful next time."

"What if there is no next time?"

He still remembers the smell of antiseptic and the way the light was filtering through the grimy window in the gym's roof. He remembers the way that Wes' hair fell, hiding his eyes as he wrapped the bandage carefully around Bailey's knuckles. The question was supposed to scare him.

Bailey pulls his hood up and slips through the door. He's met by a wall of sound, someone's going down in the ring and they're going down hard. It's common enough. He's been running around the fight rings for years now and the story doesn't change much. There's the people who live at the top of the food chain, the guys in the middle and then the punching bags.

When Bailey first started, he was a little bit of a punching bag, these days he just has his good nights and he has his bad nights. The crowd's gotten good at knowing what it's going to be the minute he steps into the ring.

He sees the masked man in his usual spot. Everyone knows that if you want in to the fight, you either have to talk to the Severens themselves or him. Bailey's always preferred him. There's a familiarity that he's never fully been able to pinpoint, probably seen him around a training centre or something.

"Yeah sorry, lost track of time," he says and leans against the wall beside him, shoulder hitting concrete block a little too hard. Then he raises his arm between them to show off his wrist, "Got it right here," he says, then he pulls a crumpled bill from his pocket and passes it over.

There's a slight accompanying hinging feeling in his elbow, it pairs well with the tiny spark of guilt that flairs in his chest.

"Give you five extra if you put me against Roy," he offers brightly after a moment. Roy, or Roadblock, as most people call him isn't known for his gentle touch, no big deal except for the fact that he's got meat hooks for fists. Bailey's fought him more than a few times over the years but has only ever managed to beat him once.

"Think I really got it this time," he grins, halfway hollow already.

It wasn't a full lie.

Bailey's always lived somewhere near the top of his class when it comes to training. He was lucky enough to be born into a district that put so much self-worth into training scores. If he'd been raised anywhere else, he'd be good for nothing at all.

And when he says that he thinks he's got it this time, he actually does sort of mean it. The stubborn optimism that still manages to perk his tone up even now, after everything, can sometimes mislead even him.

Either way, the masked man takes his money and so the deal is struck. He relaxes a little at that, releases a breath that he didn't even know that he was holding, he forgets sometimes that not everyone can see through him the way that Wes could.

"Better leave the bluffing to me, you're paper-thin."

Bailey runs a hand through his hair, and the corner of his mouth flicks up into a smile, "Thanks," he says. The masked man is already pushing his way through the crowd though, he probably didn't hear that. Bailey watches him go for a moment, that weird feeling of familiarity tugging at him, making him study his back curiously as he walks away.

Then there's a cheer from the side of the ring and he turns his attention back to the fight starting only a few feet away. Daphne was in the ring with some newcomer. He'd fought daph before but at another underground ring. She did it to put money on the table for her kid, at least that's what she said to people.

One time, after a hard fight, she sat on the floor beside Bailey and told him the truth. Her boyfriend used to hit her and when he died, she needed to make money somehow. She went to the rings because she figured she already knew what it felt like to get her ass beat. After just one fight, Daphne realised just how much she liked hitting back.

And even when you lose a fight, you still make a little bit of money.

Bailey watches as she and her opponent circle each other for a long moment, seemingly sizing each other up. The blonde girl looks strong, stronger than Daphne maybe. Looks like she's got training too by her stance. In contrast, Daphne's only ever done all of her learning in the ring.

Monty's back then, his dulcet tone cutting through the noise of the crowd like a reed splitting the river water. Bailey still shuffles slightly closer to hear him a little better. He's right after all, it's busy tonight. It's because it's been a long time now since Two's had a victor and a lot of the district's been on food stamps for the last decade and the best way to turn a quick dollar is gamble fighting.

"Who am I up against?" he asks, gaze fixed on the two women in the ring. His heart feels like a stone in his chest. He knows he should worry about Daphne here but it's so useless to care about gamble fighters, he knows the deal. It doesn't matter how many hits he takes, or how many times he promises he's done, Bailey always goes back to the ring.

The crowd grows louder as the girls circle in closer, like two alley cats that have caught the scent of the other's blood. The masked man leans in closer and Bailey leans in too. He has to strain to separate his voice from the crowd's jeering now. "You think?" he asks, "I'm not so sure."

His analysis gives another piece of evidence to a belief that Bailey's had for some time now. The masked man doesn't ever fight, people say it's because he's working, but Bailey's pretty sure he's just never been in the ring. His fingers are too straight for one, a fighter's are always crooked from training. That and to Bailey's trained eye, this fight was decided the moment they stuck the blonde against Daphne.

He shuts his eyes briefly as she goes down like a stone. Then the masked man's voice is in his ear and excited hands are on his back, pushing lightly. The crowd surges inwards with excitement, Bailey gets rushes against the masked man so tightly that he brushes against him as he tries to get by.

"Good luck," he says, breath warm where it hits Bailey's cheek as he goes by.

He wants to ask him why he smells like wool and green grass, but the hands are passing him along until he's pushed out into the ring.

Bailey turns slowly, watching as his opponent stumbles out of the crowd across the pitch. He's been put up against some skinny kid a year or so younger than him, probably the masked man's doing to get him a quick win. He'd need to get through a round or two to fight Roy.

Bailey smiles kindly, and gives him a nod. He's pretty sure that he's seen him around school before. It's not like there are all that many places to study in Two, most people he runs into in these places are in his social vicinity. They just don't really know the full extent of how brutal he can be until they get in the fight ring with him.

Training rulebooks aren't a thing down here, there's no moral code other than first knock-out wins. Killing each other isn't banned, it's just frowned upon.

The masked man wasn't wrong to guess that Daphne would win, first timers pretty much always hesitate in their first fight. It's normal, most people when actually confronted with the concept, don't actually want to hurt another person.

But this isn't Bailey's first fight and it's over faster than the betting period, the new kid out cold at his feet.

The crowd loves it, there's pride in their cheering. Some of them have watched Bailey grow up in this ring, they feel a little like they've raised him. They rub his head, shove him around a bit as the kid is dragged off and his next opponent enters.

"The pup's having a good night! Odds are ten to one!" the bookie shouts.

His second fight ends almost the same, they get a punch or two in but Bailey hardly even feels them, adrenaline pumps through him, hiding the pain until later when he'll have time to lick his wounds.

They send the blond girl from before in next but Bailey watched the way she took Daphne out and when she goes high, he goes low. She's overconfident after winning her first fight and ends up in the dirt too. Her nails rake down Bailey's leg stubbornly but then his foot finds her jaw and she's out too.

Sweat drips down the back of his neck, gets in his eye and makes it sting, he's starting to get tired. His side is sore from before, he can feel bruises forming. The crowd works itself into a frenzy though as Roy is finally pushed through the crowd. They don't know what's going to happen this time, Bailey's having such a good night but Roy isn't called 'Roadblock' for nothing.

It lasts a little longer than Bailey thought it would. Two minutes in, he tries going low again but Roy was waiting for that, his knee drives into Bailey's chest. His body goes near limp as every bit of air he once had leaves him all at once.

And he's so focused on the knee that he doesn't register the fist flying at the side of his head until it's too late.

Bailey grins, so wide that the corners of his mouth seem to be hooked to his ears. Then as Roy's fist connects and he goes spinning to the left, his expression changes.

He goes down, knees hitting the dirt floor hard. In that split-second, the grin breaks and fades into a soft smile of relief.

Then Roy's foot hits him square in the back and Bailey falls face first into the dirt.

He doesn't get back up.