With the gauntlet now in the past, days went by with little drama. Classes continue; students hype over the best thing that has happened in a long time. The talk of the entire school, the gauntlet, and its participants. It's rare for the academy to witness such brutality openly, so it rattles everyone.

Battered, beaten, aching students walk around with excuses. Teachers silent, believing once again in the many lies the school buries.

As for the students who either died or almost died, they had filed excuses for their absence. Where these papers came from, no one knew, but families informed at least, those that had them.

Laying on his back, arm held up high above him, Crescent watches with curious eyes the object that dangles between his fingers. Now equipped with another form of ID, the case spun around slowly, changing image on both sides. They gave him a card with the gang insignia he would now serve. His name is in fine cursive, etched at the bottom.

Someone paid a lot of money for these. The colors on the card are of the gang's. He's to show anyone this ID, so they know exactly where he belongs. He was told when he walked around the school he wore the cardholder on the front-facing side. This side has his regular student ID.

If he needed to flash the gang ID at any point, he would rotate the object. That's all there is to it. Crescent remains in thought as he watches the object glisten when the sunlight touches it through a nearby open window.

A giant achievement on his part. The gang he's recruited to? Kings. Gang leader? Asho Flenning. Funny story about how it all came about. He could only recall.

Being unconscious after the gauntlet, Asho approached Ahni, offering help to fix Crescent up. Crescent awakened a day later in a hospital bed on school grounds. It wasn't the nurse's office, which was decorated to be student-friendly, but a room with many beds, harboring ill gang members.

A man walked by, much older than anyone in the school, took a look at the students and continued on to the next bed. Crescent noticed he wasn't the only one from the gauntlet to make it on one of these beds.

What he thought to be a rejected doctor who couldn't even pretend because he lacked a white coat. The smell of blood and alcohol remained in the air the whole time he stayed. Many of the occupants expressed their discomfort with screams and were uncooperative.

The room was a concrete cell filled with medical equipment and needles. He was certain they were still somewhere in the underground area. A machine humming in one corner pumped out very cold air that smelled like musk, molded water. He remained there for hours, was given meds, and one by one, each person was checked out.

He's certain they had all returned to school life. Later that night, Crescent too was let go. He's been prescribed pain meds and told he would be contacted soon. Ahni wasn't anywhere to be found until Crescent made his way back to the room.

A memory he would push aside; thoughts of being treated like an animal in a vet's office. What was he to expect? Luxurious hospital for lowlifes? Crescent releases a sigh. Ahni was concerned because he wondered if Crescent wanted a say in which gang they were to join, but Crescent informed him that choice didn't matter.

He wouldn't care who he remained under just the fact that he was now a part of the underworld. If dealing with Asho meant Crescent would learn of this world, then he would tuck his tail and serve the psychotic male.

"You've missed a few days of classes already, Crescent. The teachers are asking, where have you gone?" A small and concerned voice brings Crescent from his thoughts.

His now aching arm moves down slowly until it rests on top of his chest. He turns his head slowly, leaning against the side of his face that has the most damage. By now, Crescent's eye has opened up, still coated in a red film. With his skin complexion, bruising, and darkness around and beneath, it was worse looking than it felt.

He could see, smell, and eat comfortably. Resting felt satisfying, and things were beginning to look up for the two. He didn't mind the rest. The painkillers took away the majority of aches and pains for only a few hours.

"I know," Crescent mumbles as he smiles at his younger brother. His unkempt hair sways, fallen strands tickle his cheek as it covers his bruises.

"I'm going to go to next period, Ahni. Don't worry." His voice heavy, raspy from being hit too many times in the torso. He lost his voice for a few days after the event, but it's returning. Thankfully.

Crescent already fully clothed; shower taken, schoolwork done and just waiting on the bell to ring. Ahni softly smiles back, looking concerned at his brother's condition. It's still too early for Crescent to be up and moving, but he has to.

Yeah, this is the individual he's known his entire life. The smile that shined through grim times. Completely different a few days ago, so much so that Ahni feels inclined to bring it up. Its bothered him ever since that day.

"Crescent, were you going to kill that man?" He asks abruptly.

"Does it matter, Ahni?" A defensive tone calls back.

"I was putting on a show. You'd think I'd do something like that?" Crescent lies. Furrowed brows and a slow trailing gaze up and down Ahni's frame, test to get his younger brother off his back. It didn't matter what Crescent decided to do. He was in the presence of those he needed to impress.

Ahni's head falls toward the floor as uncertainty fills his heart. As much as he wants to believe in Crescent, the harsh choice of words told otherwise.

"You're right." Ahni gives up. A sigh follows broken mistrust and positivity.

"I tried to tell Locklear." Ahni attempts to convince himself out loud.

"Who?" Crescent asks confused; however, Ahni didn't care to explain.

"Nothing, Cres."

Clutching the arms of his backpack, Ahni glances at the clock above his head.

The bell rang.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking in a slow and steady breath, Crescent makes way through large double doors. As he enters the room, bright lights from the gymnasium nearly blind him. He squints, making paths over to the bleachers in what looks like hazy, large black objects.

His next class, gym and he arrived earlier than the other students. It's still fairly empty, as it's the end of the first bell. There are two bells to go before students are considered late.

He left his uniform in the dorm room, choosing to wear gym-ready attire. The school supplies him with clothes the colors of his class rank. He had a choice of a sweatsuit, shorts, and tank top, or a simple white shirt, tights, and shorts.

Crescent chose to wear only the lower half of the sweatsuit, sneakers, and a plain white shirt. The majority of his bruises are on his torso, anyway.

Grunting as he sits, he stretches his legs outward. The first class he attends is a class full of sports. Lucky for him. Crescent took a painkiller before he came, just waiting for the effects to push away his aching muscles. Good thing nothing is broken.

The second bell rings and not a moment too soon, bodies of the other students pour in. They all shoot him a glance, pointing and whispering at each other, even greeting him quietly. Crescent gained quite the respect of his peers.

Being the talk of the gauntlet, the school rumors produced about his success, but the rate at which it's spreading is questionable. Ahni came to share with him the things he had heard thus far, and some of them amazed Crescent.

A few minutes pass as the gym fills up, then the coach comes in holding a bag full of white balls. He explains today's sport and directs each student to makeshift smaller courts.

The coach is a nice individual. He always pushes the younger men to be the best they can be. He doesn't tolerate backtalk and explains that the youngest adults are roughly the same age as his children.

He's a rough-looking man, as if he has gone through his fair share of battles and stress. He makes sure to keep his body in fit condition. His hair is neatly trimmed short, no facial hair, and he has muscles he exposes proudly.

Looks like they are going to play volleyball. Two on two. Crescent travels to the setup, a net guarded by two large blue tarps on either side. This makes sure the balls are not to be knocked inside another student's court.

Every four students separate their way into their own rectangle; however, Crescent stands alone. His two opponents wave at him, so he approaches to find out what is going on.

Crescent leans forward, not knowing who these men are, but they know him.

"Gauntlet King. Hey, you did great out there." One man calls. Crescent slightly bows at the remark, nodding his head, and smiling. Gauntlet King? That's a new one. The two seem to be excited, waving their arms and being witty on their feet. Crescent isn't interested in talking about the gauntlet. He needs to know where the hell is his teammate?

Class has begun, and it's going to be hell if he has to play volleyball against two students while injured. Luck is not on his side. Before Crescent can get the questions out, the hyperactive men seem less interested in the volleyball match.

"Ah, I betted that the twins would win. I'm glad the tradition is being kept. I lost a few hundred because of you!" The other male points at Crescent, smiling innocently. Crescent nods back, still impatient to ask his questions, but the other male interrupts.

"My damn television was going out, so I went to watch it in someone else's room."

Suddenly, the way they speak has him a little curious as to what they are talking about. His television? Bets? Placing his hands in his pockets, Crescent decides to play along for a moment. Maybe the questions about the match can wait a few more seconds.

"Oh yeah, you're new. We are Soph's. That gauntlet you were in gets played to the students who decide to tune in. Like watching sports. We paid for that channel to be broadcast. Bets were placed on the twins, given their reputation."

Crescent tilts his head in response. So that's how it went around faster than he could understand. That camera the elite spoke to wasn't just meant to communicate to the participants in that room. The gauntlet was a game, entertaining to students who weren't juveniles.

So more people watched him than he could even grasp. His name was being spread like a slow poison. Perfect. Crescent doesn't care to pay too much attention to the topic any longer. Instead, he looks around for his teammate, becoming quite impatient about who's so late. One guy notices him and smiles.

"You didn't read the board, eh? All our names are placed on fours. Must be your first time in the gym. Well, it'll be nice facing the Gauntlet King and The Enforcer. This is the only time we get to beat the shit out of each other without consequences. We aren't going easy on you."

Crescent turns to the males and nods, only picking up partially what they are saying. If they aren't going to tell him who his partner is, he isn't interested. Pulling his hand from his pocket, Crescent waves at the males, deciding to return to his post on the court.

Nothing interesting, but a bunch of males squealing over another one they find cooler. A bunch of sheep, but a good asset when he becomes God Of The Academy.

Standing with his hands held at his hip, he makes sure to keep his eyes on the opening he knows his teammate is going to enter from. It's now ten minutes after class has begun and he can hear the other smaller courts ramping up with action.

The coach tosses the ball to his opponents, who are reluctant to start the match because Crescent's outnumbered. Awkward situation, as each student was graded at the end of every class.

P.E. is more about participation than actually doing something. The coach wants the males to find their hidden talents and only asks that they participate in the class. Some students never knew they were any good at anything if they were never given the chance to even find out.

Who knows, maybe stars could be born from this. Crescent isn't interested in sports even though he and Ahni played a lot as children to pass the time. If it meant grabbing shabby half-deflated balls and kicking them around in sludge and puddles, it was fun. Ahni thought he was gifted in kickball, but Crescent didn't allow him to show out.

Taking another small breath, he slightly stiffens up when the approaching shadow looms on the tarp. They're coming straight for this small court. The coach is already across the room helping other students, so the person approaching has to be his teammate.

Finally, he wants to get this match done and over with. A hand grabs the tarp, pulling it back slowly. Crescent watches with curious eyes, screaming inside his head for the person to hurry up.

Between the tarp and the gymnasium wall, steps Crescent's teammate, and his face instantly frowns.

"Aha!" One male screams from the other side of the court, rubbing in Crescent's disappointment. Crescent rolls his eyes. Of course, it has to be him. 

"Finally, Mr. Kisha. You made it. Thought your teammate was gonna have to forfeit 'cause we weren't giving a shit if it's two vs one."

Kisha shoots the males across the room a glance before he waves two fingers in their direction. They aren't sure whether it was a hi or to silence them. He had business to take care of before class, which left him a little late to P.E. The teacher scolded him, but Kisha only stared back, paying the teacher no mind.

Having already changed his clothing, choosing to wear basketball shorts his class color, black tights, two grey arm sweatbands, and a white tank top. He jogs up a bit, closing the gap between him and Crescent but, as he approaches, he turns to face Crescent. This is when Kisha realizes Crescent's emotions are showing on his face.

Scrunched up in anger, unhappy.

For Kisha, it's a sense of relief. When the gauntlet ended, he could not see Crescent or hear any news about him. Already having Asho as a leader meant communication chances outside of class were slim to none. The hit that sent Crescent to his knees rocked the entire room. Kisha himself felt a sudden urge. 

Those urges that left him to protect Saikai were not the same during the gauntlet. He didn't want to just protect Crescent. He wanted to kill those who hurt him, and change places if he could.

Crescent was wheeled away to his gang's territory. It was a shame. Asho pulled a few tricks to get him under his command.

During the entire fight, he had the gang leaders on their toes, but it was different for Kisha. Though Ahni nearly blew his cover, he silently had to admit once this was all over and word of Crescent's survival was confirmed— it gave him relief. Relief he didn't know he had for anyone.

The days of healing took forever for Kisha. Impatient and slightly irritable, his mood was lower than it was already. Class roll calls left him wandering where Crescent was when the teachers called his name without an answer. Kisha would often stare at the door, hoping he'd magically pop up. This growing curiosity within him, he had time to understand where it was coming from. The problem was, how could he stop it before it became a problem?

"You!" Crescent calls over the sound of sneakers and balls being smacked; other males grunt. His voice low, laced with frustration as a pointer finger found the culprit that almost made him waste his juice the other day.

With a quick pause in Crescent's being, his eyes refused to help, his disdain travels Kisha like a traveler looking at a lost map. Muscles on top of muscles. The straps of the tank top threaten to expose dark nipples. Crescent can't keep his eyes to himself, loving and hating everything at the same time. Kisha's skin looks soft, and smooth without a scar in sight. How is someone notoriously known for fighting without imperfection?

Why has God given beauty to those who aren't deserving of it?

The constricting fabric at Kisha's torso left no treasure unburied as the imprint of his abs stained through. It's clearer up close, the tattoo that had been hidden at the opening ceremony.

Native American tribal markings nearly cover Kisha's entire arm. Beautifully painted with so much care, the artist who did it must've been skilled. It's faded and Crescent can't read what it says because it isn't in English.

Alright, maybe— Crescent understood what the chubby first year had been talking about. These alluring characteristics he found just with one glance.

Lost time in stares shatters within seconds as a male across the court clears his throat to begin the game. Crescent brought from his mind, darting eyes awkwardly at Kisha's face, which remains expressionless, but still pretty. He has been watching Crescent the entire time.

They met stance, a bone-chilling sensation crippling Crescent before he suddenly flushes red. Embarrassed, uncomfortable, and self-conscious, Crescent rolls his eyes to concentrate forward. Some humans can give off a dominance that others can't. At this moment, he feels that energy pooling around Kisha. He understands he's in the presence of someone with power— not just given power, but physical strength too.

He's glad Kisha's his partner.

Get in the game! Get in the game! He's still an asshole! Crescent tries to convince his thoughts.

"For heaven's sake, don't let him be rude to me today. I swear, I'm going to kick his ass." The venom in Crescent's tongue speaks lowly once words aren't enough inside his head.

"Whose ass?" Kisha asks Crescent in a heavy tone, looking him up and down with a slightly raised eyebrow. Seems like all of their encounters are based on smart remarks.

It doesn't bother Kisha one bit, but Crescent's uncomfortable around him. This is only their third meeting and already Kisha feels the tugging need to get closer to Crescent physically. Without physical walls blocking him, he holds back on approaching Crescent as he believes the distance between them is too great. His awkwardness only a burden because he knows he'd never explain what it is that he wants. Desire to stand at his side itches Kisha's legs. After all their spoiled encounters, Kisha is never one to stick around for more nor tolerate anyone's disrespect, and yet here he is.

At the sound of the husky voice, Crescent suddenly develops shivers down his spine. An unfamiliar chill hit him harder than the pain in his torso and he instantly tenses up. His eyes open wide, as he turns his head away from Kisha, confused. 

He could've sworn he mumbled that. How did he hear it? Acting like he hasn't heard a word of what Kisha spoke, Crescent begins stride to his position on the court, attempting to kill the embarrassment surging through him. He draws his bottom lip into his mouth awkwardly, making sure to keep Kisha from his vision.

"Serve the damn ball already!" Crescent spits back at the two males across the court. The one holding the ball jumping, looking at his teammate, who shrugs. This entire time, they were waiting for the awkwardness surrounding Kisha and Crescent to subside. Everyone took their place, and the ball was served.

Kisha manages a knock, the ball going over the net, and the opponents return the shot. Kisha again focuses on the ball and runs for it. The ball makes its way over the net. Being in the right position, one male deciding to spike it, and the ball comes hurling right toward Crescent. It's his turn after Kisha successfully juggled the ball the last few hits.

Crescent focuses, parting his feet to keep his weight planted.

He raises his arms quickly to block the ball, but a sharp pain rakes his body, forcing him to wince and drop focus. It isn't until the ball smacks against the floor did they cheer, one of them running over to the scoreboard. Their side is doing well so far. Crescent feels the regret of messing up everything.

A slight grunt from clenched lips, Crescent leans over, bracing his weight on his knees. He wants to throw up and pass out at the same time. He isn't sure where that sudden pain came from, but it mimicked being hit by that larger student in the gauntlet. A swift second, his body felt as if it had locked up. He is aware he isn't one hundred percent healed; sudden movements spark some very unpleasant feelings, but the painkillers should be doing their job.

It's great he has a partner. So far, Kisha's the one carrying him in the match with little fuss. He could get used to this. 

As he stands, waiting for the pain to subside, he hears someone approaching him on the side. It has to be Kisha coming to worry about him. He hopes so. Crescent will forgive him if he shows any ounce of care; this being Kisha's moment to shine. He's always easily impressed by gentleman antics.

Crescent awkwardly stares at the ground, able to see Kisha's reflection on the newly stained floor. He approaches and stands, hands placed at his side.

Crescent draws his lip into his mouth once more, waiting for Kisha to speak, but refusing to stand and face him. What is he going to say? The thought manages to loom through his head. This whole situation is getting even more uncomfortable. Maybe if he acts to be in pain, he'd get even more care and eventually Kisha will come in like a hero. Tell him to sit this one out and Crescent will leave, happy to oblige.

The memory of the lunchroom and the fact that Crescent used that to pummel his opponent makes him feel slightly guilty, because the one he wants to punch is now beside him, hopefully, concerned about his condition.

Crescent endured a lot in that ring, so if anyone on this court could understand the pain he was currently in, it would be Kisha.

The silence killing him. Waiting for Kisha to speak is like waiting for a turtle to bring food during a war. He assumes Kisha isn't much of a talker, but this is just creepy. The more he remains doubled over, the more he could feel the blood rushing to his head. It makes him slightly dizzy.

"What...?" Crescent whispers, hoping that will speed things along and it does; moments later, that voice speaks low so that only the two of them hear it.

"The gauntlet isn't an excuse." Kisha isn't the least bit sympathetic.

Crescent instantly shut his eyes, balling up both of his fists. What?! The mockery laced with Kisha's tone sends Crescent suddenly into defense. He's a pure idiot to believe that this asshole has any amount of care in his body. Now full of an amazing amount of energy, Crescent acts as if he is only stretching, pushing himself up straight. He instantly glares at Kisha. So bad, he wants to curse him out so bad!

"Stupid asshole, I'll show you who the fuck you're talking to. Fucking useless."

Crescent mumbles as he begins to walking away. He's going to wipe that funny look off Kisha's face if there's even a look. He has to. To even allow anyone to believe he is weak isn't in him. Crescent looks at the two males, shooting them an even more angered glare. No one's going to be forgiven.

Kisha scoffs, backing up and holding the ball tucked under his arm. He feels a sense of satisfaction, his insides fill with a bit of warmth. A fighting spirit is always something he'd like to see and watching Crescent exhibit weakness causes unwanted things to stir within him. Fearing he's compelled to help, Kisha needs Crescent to get his head in the game. It's more of a challenge with nagging thoughts of saving Crescent in his mind. Seems like the angered shorty finally got the memo. Heisn't here to babysit a grown person.

This is a sport, and though he knows Crescent's injured, he didn't sign up to be a crutch. Kisha tosses the ball up, clasping his hands, a tap and the ball goes over the net.

The two males are ready on the other side, knocking it back. It comes once again in Kisha's area, but as he's getting ready to send it over the net, a familiar figure jumps right in front of him, nearly pushing him out of the way as it comes with aggression.

Crescent smacks the ball so hard, a gust of air rushes past Kisha's face, lightly blowing a few strands of his drawn-up hair loose. Kisha steps back, eyes narrowing as he looks at Crescent.

He's fast on his feet, having the ability to close gaps pretty quickly. This isn't even his spot to guard and yet here Crescent is. In fact, for the rest of the game, Crescent barges his way into Kisha's space, not allowing him to even touch the ball.

He ignores the rules of the game, and pushes himself relentlessly, as if he's the only one playing. The game ends with Kisha failing at exerting any energy, but Crescent's doubled over, panting and sweating profusely.

The scoreboard read 22-0. Team Crescent lost.

Crescent feels every bit of pain in his body. He burned off the painkillers, forcing himself to endure the rigorous sport only doubled the feeling. His body's on fire and a feverish chill holds him in frantic shivers.

He feels faint, exhausted, not wanting to move anymore as sweat pours from his face. All he could think about, the bed in his room and a nice cup of cold water. Rest, he craves rest; needing to get away from Kisha, but first, he wants to remind him again of who he is.

After what Crescent believes was a glorious show of inner strength, he pushes himself weakly to stand, mustering the last bit of his strength, and aggressively approaching Kisha. His sneakers scuffing the ground almost trip him, but he gains footing. A reach out, and a shove, force right into Kisha's chest as hard as he can.

"You asshole, you wanna start something with me?! You couldn't leave your shitty personality at the door?!" Crescent's gritting through the pain, closing the red film-covered eye. It feels like if he has shoved a wall, and to his surprise, Kisha doesn't budge. He stands firm, silent, hands tucked away in his pockets.

"D-D-Don't do that Gauntlet King!" One of the other guys on the court suddenly yells. Not only is it against the coach's rules, but does Crescent know who he's picking a fight with?!

"Stay out of it!!" Crescent yells back without turning towards them. The sounds of their scuffing shoes come to focus as they attempt to break the tension, but Crescent stops them when he yells.

Crescent decides shoving Kisha again, this time balling up both his hands and throwing his small frame into it. He wants to knock Kisha off of his feet. Embarrass him in front of everyone.

As he launches forward, a jolt from his stomach to his legs hit him suddenly and he winces, pulling his extended arms to his torso in a means to catch the surging pain. Forgetting that he had sent himself flying into Kisha until Crescent feels the sturdiness of another warm body against his face.

"Uhn!" Crescent nearly coughs the staggering pain, a single surge of isolated suffering shackling him quickly, he's unable to make out what happened. He bites down on teeth, holding in the need to curse.

The impact, Kisha's thrown from his feet and the two males fall to the ground with a large thud. Crescent with sharp instinct needs to save himself. Throwing his hands out, he's able to catch his weight on all fours, but his body only looms over Kisha who slams back first into the cold polished floor.

Beautiful. The figure above him. Small droplets of sweat, warm, tap at Kisha's face as his eyes fell to focus intently on Crescent's predicament with curiosity. An excitement flashes through his eyes, bottom lip licked quickly at the building tension. Kisha swallows hard, a heavy thump in his chest causes his exhale to skip. Why did this feel good? Though he feels his lungs knock with air, he's too focused on the perfect human pinning him down. A swallow, a slight cough to tame the trapped air, does nothing but make everything burn. Crescent's heavy pants reflect his curious gaze, darting back and forth from the twisted, painful expression to the parted drool threatening pink lips. One of Crescent's eye is closed tightly.

What's most enchanting about the moment is Crescent's smell and the sound of his rapid heartbeat all swirling into Kisha's senses. Kisha doesn't mind the fit Crescent's throwing, nor the anger within, because they are finally physically close. Whatever these feelings are, he doesn't want it to stop. A need he has been craving answered. If it's two of them in the room, he'd surely react.

"Asshole," Crescent grunts at Kisha in last effort to offend him. His heavy breaths blow loosened strands of snow-white hair from Kisha's face. That's all Kisha hears before the weakened Crescent falls unconscious, his soaked frame landing limply on top of him.

The ignorance of his fading beauty brings Kisha to reality. At that moment, he suffers what he's put Crescent through for his own selfish gain. His eyes, baffled, dart around the unconscious human, trying to figure out how to help and in the same anxiety breath what went wrong. Feelings of regret burrow themselves into his mind. The need to comfort Crescent is so strong, he unknowingly raises his hand, and slowly, hesitantly, venturing toward Crescent's face.

"Mr. Locklear. Be kind and bring him to the nurse's office for me." A voice catches his attention and he stops his hand, balling up a fist to cover the action he was about to do. Kisha slowly turns his gaze toward the coach. A savage feeling of questioning authority fighting the desire to listen comes as defiance when the coach shakes his head in shame at Kisha's reaction. 

"Don't look at me like that. Get going." 

(((A/N

Kisha's curiosity is unsightly, but a male not willing to express falls short on the kindness meter.

Hot-tempered meets frigid heart.

Don't be afraid to tell me what you think by commenting.❤️❤️

Drop a vote if you like. 👍👍))