#ayaz ates

Whilst the fights Ayaz had participated in before tonight were few and far between, whenever he did put his name down on the list, a masterclass typically followed. The Rutherford had honed his skills far beyond what the streets of Haringey had taught, and that much was made clear by his swift, clinical, militaristic approach in the ring. The fighter didn’t hesitate. Calculated each strike to an unmatched degree as well as everything else that came in between.

Perhaps that was why, when he greeted his opponent with a headbutt powerful enough to immediately put the man on the floor, it’d taken the crowd aback.

It was a hello in a language the street rats would understand.

-

“You got better at this, Ayaz.” “You didn’t. Maybe you could use another lesson from my ex-wife.” “Which one? They’re both fucking crazy.” “That’s very funny.”

-

Oh, he absolutely had gotten better.

It was precisely the reason that he’d used his new found status in Lara Rutherford’s good books to request the match up in the first place. Ayaz held bitterness for most of those in Haringey—they’d all done their part to make his younger life a living fucking hell—but there were few he hated more than the man he’d once called his best friend. The anger didn’t sway him, though. It didn’t make him sloppy. It didn’t make him impatient.

It made him a merciless fucking machine.

The crowd was ardently and loudly on his side—Rutherfords outnumbered most in attendance, after all—but in spite of all his ego, he didn’t let it go to his head. Ayaz’s assault was relentless. Hasan hadn’t even managed to draw blood until the third round, and even that had only been the result of a mistake on his enemy’s part. The matchup was unfair. In any other fighting ring, the skill disparity would’ve been condemned as negligent on Lara’s part.

But that was precisely the point, and the Rutherford loyalist didn’t give a shit about what was fair, and what was slaughter.

-

“How does it feel, knowing your sister is rooting for me and not you?” “Feels an awful lot like I don’t care. Happy to disappoint two sisters tonight.” “You? Disappointing women? Surely not...”

-

For a man struggling to keep on his feet, he sure could run his mouth.

Perhaps, had he focused more on avoiding Ayaz’s strikes instead of attempting to insult him, he would’ve been looking better. Still, it wasn’t entirely one sided. Eventually, the freshly minted Rutherford Lieutenant also started to feel the struggles and exhaustion of a match that’d dragged on for far too long. A showcase was one thing—he’d been hell bent on embarrassing Hasan in front of his peers as much as beating him—but it wasn’t worth making a mistake that’d cost him later now that standards were slipping on both sides.

Demir didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

So, after waiting patiently for the opening, Ayaz dealt a blow that put his opponent on the floor, once and for all. The man’s face looked like a Jackson Pollock and he still had the audacity to sneer like he was somehow better than him.

The Rutherford held up a hand in warning.

He said they were done. So they were done.

-

Avoiding Nevra had been one thing, but dodging Ayaz proved far more challenging. London may've been small, but on days like this, it felt even smaller. Three times he'd spotted him, each time turning on his heel and stalking off in the opposite direction. This time, however, there was no escape. The crowd parted, leaving them staring directly at each other. The unusually beautiful weather in London had been a blessing, but seeing Ayaz's face was like bringing the rain.

Work was work, but Berat...he couldn't keep thinking about it for fear of what he might do once he hit a certain point, falling over the threshold he currently held onto. Kerem huffed a silent sigh, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he finally bit the bullet and closed the distance.

"Ayaz."

"Ayaz," Amélie said, catching sight of him from her peripheral as nerves erupted in her stomach when she realized she'd stopped her conversation in the middle. She'd wanted out for some time. She didn't like...this. Socialising. Pretending to want to talk when a book called her name. Still, offering a small apologetic smile, she dipped the first chance she got.

"You come expecting to spend thousands, or were you dragged along for work?" She whispered as if they were conspirators.

NAME: Traitor

RINGTONE: Standard

PICTURE: 

NAME: Ayaz

PICTURE: 

Not Guaranteed Tomorrow Oct 6, 2023 @ayaz--ates

There was a numbness that had taken over Ayda, one that she knew wouldn't last long, shock ridden with the news of Mr. Aksoy refusing treatment. The fact that in a matter of time she would lose another that meant so much to her, it gnawed at her.

She had opened the top of the shoe box that was given to her, not sure if she was ready to see what of her past laid within, but it was envelope with Ayaz' name that caught her attention. Slender fingers plucked it out, placing the top back on. She turned it over in her hands a few times, letting out a sigh.

Needing the fresh air, she grabbed the metro to head over to his flat with the envelope stuffed in her coat pocket. Her mind raced to what might be inside. What did Mrs. Aksoy have to say to him? Curiosity was eating at her, but she would never invade someone's privacy like that. It was between them.

She could have text or called Ayaz about it, arrange to meet up, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to face people yet. He would definitely ask questions and she wasn't sure about what answers she could give; not ready to acknowledge that they were gone.

The businesswoman managed to get into the building as someone was leaving, making her way up to his floor. Standing outside of his door, she pulls the out the envelope and slides it under his door, turning to walk down the hall and disappearing down the stairs before he would have a chance to catch her if he was home.

--

Inside the envelope is the necklace that he gave Mrs. Aksoy to give back to Ayda and a picture of teenage Ayaz standing with Mrs. Aksoy.