kyumills

He offers up a smile as you enter the building, going back to the white wooden desk. He knows he doesn’t look the part, but if you look deeper you can piece together exactly who he is. 

If you follow him, you’ll see the countless croquis scattered about his desk, sketches in the most vivid of colors with measurements scrawled on the side. You’ll see a cactus pin cushion with a golden flower on that same desk, gifted to him by the spa owner from the third floor, carefully placed right beside the croquis. Everything about the person in front of you might scream plain, but he is anything but. 

He is a couturier, responsible for all the custom pieces of clothing that find themselves scattered about this boutique. Right now, he is working on a lavish wedding gown for a very important customer. 

The couturier is concentrated. Even with the bustling and shuffling of people all around, the light chattering and admiration and outright astonishment at his work, the couturier focuses on the garment in his hands: a beautiful wedding gown with hand embroidered roses, a job requiring a steady hand of a well-experienced couturier.

You can hear the shuffling of feet and the slight scratch of plastic from the bottom of a spool of thread. Occasionally, you can hear a sharp intake of breath; most likely due to the needle that so ever delicately pricks his finger on the occasion that he completely goes on autopilot. 

His name is Jing Beiyuan. This boutique is his life’s work. 

On the third floor of the same building, there’s a door that leads a calming wooden oasis; a serene and peaceful ordeal ten years in the making. Compared to the bright lights of the downstairs area, this part of the building is dimly lit; serene, like it was meant to replicate the very beautiful pockets of nature that people could only dream of going.

A stoic, but kind face greets you, inviting you to relax—to take your time and be at peace. 

His name is Wu Xi; the serene spa on the third floor is his venture. The couturier downstairs is his partner and this is the story of how this boutique and spa came to be. 

Lee Sangyeon is a well known name in the world of underground boxing. 

He’s one hundred seventy-six centimeters of lethal poison, a hard hitter in the ring and the person most feared and most respected in this underground scene. Most would turn and run at the idea of facing him in the ring, others would stay and learn the consequences on their own, but the main consensus is that Lee Sangyeon--the Neon Medusa, as he is so brilliantly named--is no joke.

And whoever goes against him has to be even more insane than he is, which isn’t a lot of people. 

Now he’s acutely aware of the fact that, one day, he’ll be brought to his knees by someone better. Someone stronger, someone younger, someone faster--it’s the inevitable truth of getting older. One day, Sangyeon knows he's going to have to stop all of the fighting and find another thing he's passionate about. But that day, he hopes, isn’t today. The world around him can shatter another day, his body can deteriorate around him another day. 

Today is the fight of his life and he's not gonna go out without a fight.

Everyone looked forward to seeing him,  So, he’s expecting to win tonight. He’s expecting catharsis from punching someone’s teeth in for the sport of it, as terrifying as it might sound.

They don’t call him the Neon Medusa for nothing. One gaze into his eyes in the middle of that ring can get anyone to tense up and freeze. By then, it’s all over--that’s when Sangyeon captures you and wins, all in the blink of an eye. But, he should have known that nothing is ever as it seems, that no expectation about anything in the ring is the actual reality. He should have learned that the world doesn’t give two shits about anyone, nevermind him. 

There’s a bit of hype surrounding the both of them at the moment: around Lee Sangyeon, a seasoned underground fighter, and his return from a six month hiatus, and Kim Sunwoo, the rookie who took his place while he was gone. 

But then again, it’s all talk. It’s all spectator jibber jabber, muttering in attempts to frighten him before he steps into the ring--to make him lose this time around. Sangyeon can’t wait to get them to shut up, to cut a thread to sew in the fabric of history right before their very eyes--cutting through their nasty words. They can say whatever they want about him--about the death wish he hasn’t acted upon yet--but Sangyeon knows he’s one of the best, he’d bet everything on it.

Maybe Sangyeon is a bit of a gambler. Maybe he gambles a little too freely with his own life, but he doesn’t have anything else to lose other than blood, pride, and a bit of sanity. 

“Are you good?” 

“Yeah, totally.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Jacob says, lips pursed. His arms are crossed in disapproval, nodding at the lit cigarette between Sangyeon’s fingers, “I know you’re not feeling well--there’s a smoke in your hand for god’s sake.”

“Well--” 

“You said you were trying to quit, hyung.” 

“Listen, everyone is trying, Jacob,” Sangyeon chuckles lightly. He leans back against the brick wall, blowing up smoke at the dark ceiling. His fingers twitch with nervousness settled deep into his bones--he’s always that way before a fight, but tonight there’s something that’s different. He’s more nervous than he’d like to admit because there is someone who can actually bring him down. Sangyeon sighs, “What do you want me to say, Jacob? That I’m scared out of my mind? Would that make you feel better?” 

“No. My problem is that you look terrified,” Jacob replies. He lifts his right hand and lightly flicks Sangyeon’s arm. “If  I can pick up on it, then Kim certainly can, and he’s definitely going to use it against you. I need you to fake it ‘til you make it, Sangyeon.” 

“Look at you,” Sangyeon grumbles, “Rocky has nothing on your spirit, huh Jacob?”

“Watch it,” Jacob warns, removing his hands from his ratty sweater pockets. He fiddles with the gauze wrapped securely around his knuckles in a neat bundle. “I’m not against fighting you, hyung, even if Kevin won’t like it because my knuckles aren’t healed properly.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re the one who kicked me in the goddamn knee like a degenerate during the last fight that got me fucked up for six months--” 

“But you flaunted it so easily, see what I mean?”

“That makes no sense--” 

“Do me a favor and quit yapping,” Jacob says, pointing a finger in Sangyeon’s face, “You’re revealing everything like an open book right now. You know fighting is about body language, and yours tells me that you’re dealing with a fucked up right knee because you wince when you put pressure on it. If I can tell that, Kim can definitely tell that, so while you’re in that goddamn ring don’t lean too much onto it if you don’t have to and keep both your knees bent as much as you can. If you give off even a sense of weakness in your right knee, he’ll know to take you down with it, so don’t give him the opportunity to even get that far. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Sangyeon replied. Sangyeon doesn’t make it a habit of being nervous in the moments before the ring, but this time is different. This time, the reality of the situation is that he’s going to fight for his life to ultimately die, to get the shit beat out of him all because of his no good knee, and that terrifies him. He’s hardly ever lost, but there’s a first time for everything. “Fuck,” Sangyeon continues, “Be real with me for a few seconds, Jacob: I’m gonna lose, aren’t I?” 

“Shut it, Negative Debby, you’ve got this.” 

“It’s Debby Downer or Negative Nancy, pick one,” Sangyeon grumbles, “Besides, you’re not supposed to be my Ben Kenobi, Jacob. I’m the older one--”

“But if I beat the shit out of you, I’m the asshole,” Jacob replies, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing. “I should, then I’ll let Kim have whatever pickings are left--” Sangyeon exhales the puff of smoke he’d been holding in from the last drag of the cigarette sharply--nervously, as he goes through his habit of overthinking just about everything in his life so far. “Stop it, Yeon, I know what you’re probably thinking,” Jacob sighs, “He’s just a guy. They’re all just guys. You’ve won more times than he has. Stop being like that, have you seen yourself in a mirror lately? You beast.” 

“Of course you like me and my muscle,” Sangyeon teases, “Everybody likes me for my muscle--”

“Likes you? Everyone is terrified of you and your muscle,” Jacob says simply, “Which is good. All Kim is and all he’ll ever be is a pretty face compared to you, Sangyeon. And I mean it, so kick his ass a s best as you can tonight.” 

“Got it,” Sangyeon replies, “Let’s go watch me get murdered tonight.” 

“Wow, how optimistic of you, Sangyeon.” They walk down the darkened hallway towards the sounds of people chatting fills their ears. 

“I’m a raging ball of optimistic spirit, right Jacob?” 

“Nice optimism, Lee.”

“Mmh. One thing, though. When you drag my dead, bloody body out of the ring,” Sangyeon says, “Make sure you match a stunning look for my casket viewing. These pants--” Sangyeon runs his hands on the “Well, dragging me out of the ring in these pants and plopping me into a casket is a recipe for disaster--” 

“Don’t talk like that,” Jacob says, “You’re going to be fine.” 

“In this hell?” Sangyeon laughs, “I need to get out of this hell, it’s going to ruin my damn life one day--” He’s an opponent tonight and, even though there’s a chance Kim might beat him, he’s not going to go down so easily. 

Jacob continues. “You’re crazy if you think this is the hell you have to stay away from,” Jacob chuckles lightly, “This is nothing.” 

Sangyeon likes to boil his presence down to being here solely for the money.  He’s struggled a lot and this is something that helps ease the difficult financial situation he’s been in. He likes to boil his presence down to desperation--if he wasn’t in desperate need of some cash, he wouldn’t be here--but he’d be lying if he said that was the only thing. 

He could also boil his presence in this grungy boxing ring in a basement of a warehouse down to a single factor: the thrill. 

Sangyeon finds it thrilling to box like this, riding the rush of adrenaline all the way to the fight. Excitement lays hand in hand with apprehension, nesting comfortably in his bones when he steps out onto that blue mat for a match, and he greets the red splatters on the floor like they’re old friends. He puts everything he has into the ring, and reaps the reward of winning and growing stronger as he does so. Even as he nags, when he teases Jacob and says, “Well if this isn’t hell, what is it?” and gets no response, does Sangyeon feel the rush humming under his skin. 

Fighting is thrilling. He can’t change that fact, not that he wants to at all. 

The referee stands in the middle, and the crowd slowly starts dispersing back to seats. Sangyeon isn’t going to get an answer from Jacb, not before the fight starts anyway, but he gets closer as the crowd disperses. The ref is wearing old sweats and a college sweater from the class of ‘95, hilariously unofficial, but still commands authority in the underground ring. 

“Be careful with your knee, hyung,” Jacob reminds him, elbowing Sangyeon lightly in the ribcage. Jacob disappears back into the crowd, leaning on a pillar in the corner of the room. Sangyeon follows his direction with his eyes, seeing Jacob and Kevin giving him thumbs up from where they're standing.  

A lot of blood is going to be shed tonight. 

After all, two popular fighters are going head to head tonight, so why wouldn’t there be bloodshed?  Tonight is about to be horrible for the clean up crew. The last time there was a fight this legendary, clean up crew spent two weeks straight getting the blood out of the mat. 

Tonight is absolutely no different. 

“All right everyone,” the ref says, “Away from the ring. We’re gonna start soon.” 

Sangyeon cracks his knuckles, a bad habit for sure--something that he’ll work on dropping since it’s probably god awful for his joints. He looks straightforward at the hooded silhouette of a man in front of him and can't help but grin. 

He wants to fight so badly, he's eager for it, and whoever is on the other side of that ring better be ready for him.

Everyone who knows who Lee Sangyeon is might as well know Kim Sunwoo a little better because the rumours are stacked up when it comes to him. 

Kim Sunwoo is the man who’s known for smashing bones with his fists countless times because he’s brutal at best, off the hinge at worst. He is a first rate fighter and that’s something that nobody could take from him. And now, Sangyeon is walking straight up to the infamous Kim Sunwoo, the same man whose face is shrouded with a hooded cape that conceals his entire face with how big it is, and hoping for a victory that he knows might not come. There’s a tingle in his fingers, maybe because the gauze around his knuckles was wrapped just a bit too tight, but Sangyeon can bet that a healthy amount of it is due to excitedness. So what if he loses? The challenge of someone equally as skilled as he is sends adrenaline all throughout his body--something about the strike of a skilled punch makes him smile on the inside at what’s to come. 

“Ready?” Sangyeon nods. He mentally reassures himself that this is his fight to lose: nobody who comes into this ring can beat him without the fight of their lives. He’s never one to really talk in the ring, opting to focus on his opponent--to glare with the eyes of the Neon Medusa and hope to freeze this newcomer into place. 

Then, he’ll strike. 

“As ready as I can be, ref,” Sunwoo says, and his hands reach for the tied lace up of the cape. It’s obvious that Sunwoo wasn’t at all phased by him, shrugging off any preemptive intimidation attempts that Sangyeon could try to shake him with.  There’s something about the voice that Sangyeon swears he’s heard before, but he can’t quite place---like he knows who this guy is just by hearing him talk---but he can’t focus on that right now. He’s got a fight to win. 

“Step in the ring, gentlemen, and we’ll get this started.” Sunwoo steps in almost immediately and Sangyeon pulls in after--while Sunwoo undoes the string of his hooded cape that drowns his figure and obscures his face in fabric. 

Sangyeon is watching, borderline staring , at the figure on the right side of the ring. He’s ready for the scarred face of a man who’s taken one too many punches--a man with scars that litter his body; each one marking a win. A man whose body mirrors his own: scarred, broken, fucked up even. In his mind Kim Sunwoo is exactly like him: years upon years of getting beat down just to rise up and win once and for all.

But he should have known that expectations mean nothing.

When the guy’s cape comes off with a shrug, falling to the floor in a singular fluid motion, Sangyeon sees who Kim Sunwoo actually is. He sees the man from the gym that pleasant Saturday evening, the one with the kind smile and the large doe eyes--the same guy who stared at Sangyeon in awe and had a whole conversation with him like it was nothing.

He’s also the guy who tucked a bloody cloth into his back pocket like it was nothing, something that Sangyeon just shrugged off like it was normal. He should have known something was up. 

But, at the moment, he doesn’t know what to do. Every single day his boxing life folds into the separate calamity that was his everyday life. He tries to keep them separate, but the cosmic karma he faces for punching people into oblivion for fun  and for cash likes to catch up with him once in a while; it likes to throw him for a loop and rattle him because the guy right in front of him--the one he’s meant to smack down into oblivion--is the same guy he thirsted after not even a few days ago. Kim Sunwoo is the pretty boy he thought about hooking up with if he ever got the chance to see him again, the guy he wanted to press him into the tile wall of the gym shower and go stupid over. 

The world really is a small place, isn’t it?

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