Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

33.2 - good meets bad

A/N: It's past 00.00 where I live (Shoutout to those sweet creatures who are denying themselves sleep at the moment. High five! BUT, sleep is really important, so please get some). This is the second part. I promised two chapters this week, so here they are. I hope you like it. It doesn't involve Nolan, sadly, but I hope you like it anyway. 

Recently I've been obsessed with Harley and the Joker (yes, I know, their relationship is abusive and blah-blah, but they are such interesting characters, and that's why I like them). So naturally, I've been listening to Suicide Squad soundtracks. 

This time, I really want you to tell me who your favourite side character is (I know who mine is). 

Lots of comments and also votes, pretty please.

Happy reading x)

Chapter 33.2 - good meets bad

Kev steps into the ring and even though his face is neutral, I can see he's scared. He rolls his neck and rubs his knuckles; they're about to hurt really badly.

Mickey comes from the opposite side. A few from the crowd pat his back, but he brushes them all off, almost angry that he's being touched, perhaps even insulted. He's the king of the ring, or at least that's what he seems to think. I really hope Kev will beat him up.

Why is it that Mickey always looks for a fight?

(I could ask my past-self the same question, but my past-self wouldn't know the answer.)

Mickey bounces on his feet like they do in the movies, mentally preparing themselves for what's about to come. But let's be real here – neither of them is a professional fighter, so what's about to come is not very much. Mickey joined Marcus's gang later than I did and he was shitty at fighting.

He's improved, but he's still quite shitty. Or maybe I just like to think that he is. This way he's somewhat less in my eyes. (Less what? Just less.)

"Last chance to abort this mission," I say to Devon over my shoulder. He looks horrified; eyes wide open like a rabbit caught in the headlights. I could hug him or hold him, but this isn't the place for romance (or maybe it's the perfect place for romance).

"I can't," he mumbles back. "He's my friend."

I realize that they're playing songs in the background, as if it would make it easier for the fighters. "Should I request your favourite song?" I try to joke, anything to make Devon less tense (and myself also. I don't particularly like this place. I would like it better if I were my old self and one of the fighters. Man, I'd get off on the adrenaline.) A twinge in my stomach tells me I'd still enjoy it even now.

"They should play ballads," he says and grins. "Would make it more dramatic." Ooh, that's my guy right there.

"Well, I could always steal the show with my insane abs, right?" I roll my eyes and fall back against the wall landing next to Devon. I'm clenching my fists, but he can't see how nervous I am, because my hands are in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

He shrugs. "It would certainly get my attention."

My eyes twinkle (I mean, they must in this awful lighting). "Exactly."

But our friendly conversation gets interrupted by the first punch and the sound that the collision makes is not pretty at all. Kev is swaying on his feet, recovering from the blow (if he manages to recover at all).

I take it back, Mickey isn't that shitty.

Who knew that Mickey Mouse knew how to throw a punch or two (or three or more)?