start a fight [muke af]

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Sweat was dripping from Luke's back as his once light grey shirt was now a dark hue. His forehead was lined with beads of the ungodly liquid as his hair stuck to his skin.

Calum, a rookie that trained the same year as him, held out his hand, helping Luke up from the ground once more. "You've gotta hit back, Dude."

"I know," Luke sighed. He wiped at the rough skin along his cheekbones that he knew would leave another bruise. Luke wasn't sure why he always got hit in the cheeks, he quite liked his cheekbones.

"If you don't show that you can fight, these assholes are going to keep picking you, and you're gonna get beat up." Calum lined up on the right side of the mat again, spreading his feet and getting his stance strong.

The lights of the training auditorium above them were beaming down. All the rookies have been in the dense air since noon. Now, at six, they were about to pass out. Conditioning was bad. Training was bad. Fighting was worse, but it was needed to be done.

The large room with fake grass was filled with yells and whistles, everyone trying to show off to the sergeants walking around. This was what they needed to get promoted, this is what would prove that they weren't just every other rookie out there.

"Do I really look that weak?" Luke asked. He put the red gloves back on his hands, standing in striking pose and preparing to take Calum's hits.

Calum stepped forward within the seconds of Luke's question, shoving all his upper body strength into Luke's gloved hands. Luke clenched his jaw, his mouth guard tasting awful as sweat and saliva mixed in his mouth. It was better than blood in his mouth, though.

He pushed forward, causing Calum to take a step back and reposition.

Calum breathed out and put his hands down. Luke rested his position down, taking a deep breath. "You don't look weak," Calum responded, his breath staggered, "You just don't look strong."

"Oh, wow. Thanks, you're really boosting my self-esteem right now."

Calum laughed. He bent down, grabbing two water bottles and tossing one at Luke. "You're just not threatening. These dudes can bench three hundred, can you even do a hundred?"

Luke sat down on the mat, stretching out his arms and taking a gulp of water. He relaxed back, not willing to look his work partner in the eye.

"Really? Do you wanna train with me?"

The nineteen-year-old nodded, "I need that help." He stood up, stretching out his back and tossing the gloves at Calum. "My turn."

Calum stood up with a grin as he made his stance strong. "Hit me. Hard."

Luke took a deep breath, jumping forward and forcing his full weight into Calum's right hand, then left hand, then right. He backed up, taking a kick up at his right hand.

"Harder!" Calum yelled at the blonde.

Luke stepped forward with his stronger leg, leaning forward and punching harder and pushing more weight into each punch.

"Left hook, too much right." Calum lunged forward, causing Luke to step back and throw his left hand into the right glove.

Luke could see Ashton circling their mat, he knew it was his time to prove that this job is for him. He stepped forward, trying to cower Calum back against the mat.

Doing so, he undershot his punch and his hand hit the top corner of the glove. He took a step back, trying to reposition and start again.

Sweat dripped down his face like water and made his eyes sting. His shoulders were sore, his arms were weak, his knuckles were bruised.

"Stop," Ashton said, his usually loud voice echoing in their ears.

Calum and Luke took a step back as Ashton jumped up on that mat, facing Luke. He stared at the blonde, and Luke wasn't sure what to do.

"How did you get through Academy?"

Luke's shoulders slumped as his eyes saddened. "I worked hard."

"Did you fight for it, Lucas? What I'm seeing is not good."

Calum stepped forward, now at his boss' side. "Hey, it's been a long day—."

"I was not talking to you." Ashton's entire persona was threatening.

The rookie took a step back, understanding that this was Luke's problem.

Luke stayed quiet, still looking at his sergeant with puppy dog eyes.

"This is the reason you've got a healing black eye," Ashton reached up, poking at the scabbing skin above his cheekbone. "You can't defend, you can't fight either. What am I supposed to do with you? You don't even look threatening, Luke."

"I'm sorry."

"Prove it." Ashton stepped back off the mat, standing on the side and watching their position take forth again.

Luke swung harder, his jaw clenching with every power swing ricocheting through his body. His veins stung as he hit the center with muscle he didn't have. He forced Calum a set back, repositioned, then swung again.

Sweat layering on him made his skin itch and burn, but he kept at it. It felt like hours, but was a mere four minutes.

He took a step back, huffing as if he just ran a marathon. His pale skin was a flushed red as he looked down at a silent Ashton.

"Better, not good, though."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. We don't apologize." Ashton stepped on the mat once more, the not-so-soft cushions moving underneath his muscle weight. He grabbed Luke's arm, holding it up to see the scarce muscle upon his bicep. "At least get tatted up, that could make you look threatening."
"I told him he could train with me," Calum jumped in.

Ashton let go of Luke, letting his arm drop to his side. He looked over Calum, picking up his arm and looking at Luke. "This is what I'm talking about," he squeezed the tattooed skin, hiding muscles that took months to build up.

Luke looked down at his feet, one again ashamed of his body.

He got let out early and made it home in time for dinner with his parents. Even though the boy is technically a legal adult, he still felt the need to ask his mother for permission to get a tattoo.

She said no.