The crowd went wild at each hit the two men inflicted on one another. The crowd mercilessly shaked the metal railing, the brute force making it seem like it would be ripped out of the ground any moment.

They stared at the men with hungry eyes, whether that's for the fight or for their bodies. Each hit and jab was cheered, nobody quite caring who won as long as there was a fight.

Most of the audience focused on the older man. While the singlet did block off his abs, his muscular arms gave them enough fantasies to imagine behind the clothing. Plus, that silver beard was to die for.

Very few paid attention to the other fighter. Even though his muscles did outline his figure, he looked like a boy next to the man. It didn't help he was shorter than the man and that the man had a beard while the boy had a clean, baby face.

But the round continued, the two trying to catch the other off gaurd and pin to the ground. The two were interlocked, their arms wrapped together and top of their heads tightly pressed together, like two mountain goats.

The man seemed to catch the boy off balance for a split second and immediately took advantage. He pushed him to the right and climbed on top of his back, struggling to keep the boy down. The boy, angered at the cheap move, used his legs to push the man off. But a high pitched whistle stopped the two.

The match was over.

The two got off, the man smirking, while the boy fumed. The referee looked at the two judges and stepped on the fighting mat. He took both wrists, indicating a winner has been chosen.

The referee teased the crowd by raising both arms up, pretending like he wasn't sure who was the winner. The crowd loved it, their screams bouncing off the concrete walls.

But the two fighters knew. The man won. He had more points then the boy, the boy's anger letting him win. And as the boy's arm was dropped, his anger only rose.

"Zifar won by technical pin! Roftkal lost." The end part was lost within the noise, not that anyone cared about the loser. They all wanted the muscular man, his smirk just driving them more mad.

The two fighters turned to one another and shook hands, both piercing into the others eyes. They left from different exits off to the side of the enclosed metal barrier. Roftkal slammed the metal door, knowing that no one would hear or care.

He immediately went to the black punching bag in the small practice room. It was meant to be a place fighters could warm up and clean up before and after fights. To get their minds cleared. But Roftkal just wanted to release his anger, not caring as his sore muscles protested from the forming bruises.

After 20 minutes of continuous hitting, his knuckles a deep red, he felt calm. The steady punches created a soothing rhythm for him, letting his body take over and mind to rest.

Now he quickly washed and dressed himself in all black and exited the room into a hallway. There, he saw his coach, or Rosette as she calls herself. The woman stepped towards him, her buff body overshadowing his. She had more width then height, her muscles allowing that. Her pants and leather jacket tightly hung around her body, the looks able to scare a school of children.

But her manly look was offset by her hot pink hair. Yet it made her more fierce, if that was possible. Perhaps it was the bold color and her piercing black eyes that allowed the pink to blend in with her look.

"I watched how you fought. This is the third match you've lost this session because of your penalties. Because of your anger." She let the words sink in, her hazel eyes piercing his chestnut ones.

"You need to think straight to win, Li-" Roftkal glared, "Roftkal. Anger won't solve anything, it only makes you blind." He nodded, already heard the speech hundreds of times. He pushed past her and headed towards the exit. He heard her tired sigh at his attitude, but he didn't bother to apologize.

"See you on Monday-" But the door closed before he could hear the end of her sentence.

He breathed in the cool October air, the cold contradicting the heat inside himself. But like magic, his anger vanished.

The quiet one am streets with the comforting darkness allowed him to finally relax. The last of his fog cleared from his mind. He put up his hood, making sure no one would recognize him and started to jog towards his house.

The trees, street lights, and buildings all blurred into the background, adrenaline pumping through his blood. Sure, he loved fighting, but he was always too angry. Too much of an animal.

Yet he couldn't help himself. It's the only thing he can say he loves with no hesitation.

But being invisible he loved even more. No one would judge you, no one would see you, and no one could harm you.

So he jumped into the night, knowing nobody would care and only he would ever know about all the weird things he does. It was liberating to know nobody knows what he does or how he acts, as it never ties him down to other people's expectations of how he should behave. Because they don't even know how he behaves.

He just loved every part of it.

But as he slowed down his pace, his 20 minute run led him to his house. He went to the side of the house, where his bedroom window was located. Linx quietly opened the window and hopped in, immediately closing it to stop the cold air and noise to come in.

He dropped his duffle bag and stripped off his clothes, urgently needing a shower to get rid of his sweat. He grabbed some boxers and a t-shirt, before going to his connected bathroom. He closed the door, trying his best to make as less noise as possible, and started to shower.

He cleaned himself in the dark, as he already memorized his bathroom layout a few years ago. And as much as he wanted to stay under the hot shower cap, he didn't want to wake the others up. Plus, his bruises were calling for his attention every time he moved as well.

He did his nightly procedure, grabbed Aloe vera cream and a bottle of painkillers, and got out. He applied the cream anymore he felt pain and swallowed two pills with the help of his waterbottle on his nightstand. He set the items back on the nightstand and looked at his digital alarm clock.

The white letters read Friday, 3:45 am. He silently groaned, knowing that one of the boys was going to wake him up early in the morning. It's fine, he thought, I've gotten less sleep before.

If only he could be invisible, he could sleep as long as he wanted. Unfortunately, only to the boys was his presence noticed.

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