#boxer!san

they say the sun is the center of the galaxy; a symbol of glory and hope that everyone loves, worships, and chooses to wake up to over the beautiful moon. but the sad truth is that the sun can only be seen and appreciated on the surface. you wish that you could see the sun sometimes, but in the world you lived in, hope was nonexistent. the only hope that existed — the sun that you all knew and admired was a man named choi san.

boxing was undoubtedly one of the most endeared forms of entertainment in the underworld. the people raised in the underworld thrive off of the adrenaline — whether from being in a match or simply observing it; they enjoy the sight of violence and blood, the sound of the boxers' passionate screams and pained grunts, the bond of the crowd, and most importantly; the thrill and suspense.

what everyone especially looks forward to are the bloody matches of the all-too-well known, young and sexy, choi san. people wait months to watch his matches — it's always "the" fight to boxing enjoyers. guards exclusively took watch in his matches just in case any fights broke out anywhere but inside the ring due to lost bets. his matches are the equivalent to the olympics in the overworld.

the the rare occasions that san had a boxing match would be the only time the boxing center is filled to capacity with people and those were the occasions that everybody would forget about oxygen and only live off of the stench of each other's hot breath, body odor, the blood, and sweat all mixed altogether. the atmosphere is charged with boisterous cheers, but there is also an underlying unease. no matter where you look, each person's face would be etched with intense expressions, ranging from anger to anticipation or anxiety. so, in the underworld, if you think boxing is a relaxing pastime or mere entertainment; well, it is. it's just that choi san's matches are surely not for the faint of heart.

but what about you? oh, you. you are his personal nurse as of today. it's rumored that san always mistreats his nurses or "somehow" ends up hurting them, which led to their continuous resignations and which also led his managers to hire you; an unqualified med student who is a year away from graduating. there were no such thing as crimes, malpractice, or even a law in the underworld, you had to pay your tuition and you weren't afraid of san for some reason. they were baseless rumors and you always believed that behind a rough exterior was a soft interior. to be a personal nurse was to be a therapist — not just treat his wounds but treat his heart (wow, cringe) but the strategy works. you just had to test it on him.

your last class was delayed a few hours so you were a bit late on your first day of work. it was san's first match after an 8-month hiatus and the venue was fucking cramped. people were squeezing against each other and practically seeping out of the door. not a step could be taken inside otherwise you'd be vacuumed into the crowd and suffocated like the incident in itaewon 2022 just to get to san's private room where you were supposed to be more than an hour ago.

a deep sigh goes past your lips and you stand still behind the crowd, unaware of your next move and mind not too bothered — it is what it is. the cheers grew louder and louder as the announcer yells out san's introduction and you watch from the isolated area you stood in as he emerges from the back with a few people, bare and all. the crowd somehow manages to make space for him. his body is nothing you haven't seen on posters or the internet, but tbh, damn. you watch as the crowd's cheers slowly lessen in volume, some even yelling dirty boos, when the announcer yells out the opponent's name.

not being able to go to your work area, relax, and prepare like you intended. you decide to dejectedly stand back, cross your arms, and unamusedly watch the match through the end. even as someone who grew up surrounded by glorified violence, you still never really found yourself consuming or indulging yourself in that kind of entertainment as you grew up, in fact, you grew to hate it. so this job will prove quite a challenge for you.

you watch intently as each round passed, flinching and grunting as if you were the one being beat up down there, observing as each injury inflicted onto san's ripped body, and you swore that the only reason was so that it made your job easier once he went into the medical room.

the final round ended with san's expected victory and it took hours for the crowd to fully dissipate as many fans got signatures and pictures with their idols, san's line in particular was longer than the fucking nile river, so as the crowd slowly reduced in numbers, you sneakily made your way into the medical room and got all your materials ready as fast as you could for your first ever official patient who is also am underworld renowned celebrity.

time passes quickly and the door opened with a loud bang, you glanced in the direction for a second, catching a glimpse of san, as you expected.

"please take a seat over there." you said in your professional tone you practiced for this day, gesturing for the patient bed in the center of the room and you calmly and put on your gloves for sanitary measures (although you probably should've just forgotten about it considering how dingy the room is). "how are you feeling?" you turned around and looked at him, but he seemed distracted by the room as if he hadn't been here a thousand times before.

"shitty." he unhesitantly answered. "been worse, though."

"are you feeling any discomfort? where does it hurt most?" you continue to prod, keeping his mind busy, beginning to dab some of the more visible injuries with cotton balls with alcohol and he barely reacted, eyes carefully watching you and the way your hands move swiftly around his body.

"it feels weird somewhere in the neck." he tilts his head and rolls his shoulders back with little regard to the fact that you were just wiping the scratch on his forearm and you just look at him with a deadpan face, damn, you hate arrogant people like this. of course he's like this. "mostly my chest aches, i dunno why though." his eyes flickered to yours and a smile small falls on his face, changing his entire demeanor. you guessed he isn't as bad as the rumors made him out to be though — a tough, scary, big man who was rude to everyone.

"that's my job to figure out," you mumbled, clicking your tongue. you've always puzzled over why boxers choose this path, given the constant cycle of pain and treatment involved. who could have a passion for that? are they driven by money? you glanced skeptically at san, who's been famous long enough to comfortably retire. you discarded your gloves, finding them too cumbersome for the following activity. "please lie down on your front," you instructed. san swiftly complied, grunting softly as he repositioned himself on his chest. you approached him with an essential oil, pouring a decent amount onto his broad back — "i can relieve some tension in your neck with a massage," you explained, and san just chuckled, perhaps amused by your professional approach because you spoke like you were from a textbook. he'd much prefer if you spoke like you just came from a PR seminar like all the others. it was clear that you were inexperienced. he found it cute if anything. "if the silence makes you uncomfortable, we can engage in small talk." you stated blankly.

he glanced up at you but your gaze is fixed on his upper back as you work your magic. "sure." he said and lookd back forward. "do you have any questions for me?" your eyes flicker towards him momentarily before returning to your hands.

"actually, i do." you responded rather quickly than he expected — what could possibly be lingering on your mind? "what led you to choose this career, this path?" hoping to gain insight into his mindset, you thought understanding his motivation might help you empathize or comprehend his journey. san paused for a moment, a soft hum escaped him as he considered your question.

"i started when i was 15."

your movements froze and your eyes widened in surprise, a rare display of emotion. you looked into san's eyes, and you asked, "real?" he nodded in response. despite his fierce stage presence, san is surprisingly calm and sincere. confused, you wonder what made the nurses before you quit and what prompted his manager to hire you. but the thought is quickly set aside as San speaks up once more, looking at you.

"i had a tough upbringing." san began. "actually i was quite the delinquent in school... but i never hurt anyone," he clarified quickly, but then he looked forward again in thought, then back at you. "actually, that's a lie. i did. but it was mutual! we would hurt each other, kind of like gang fights in public, you know? our friends would cheers us on and stuff like that, wooo~"

"but why would you put yourself through that?" you inquired, genuinely curious.

"i don't know! petty reasons. like this one time, me and my friends were hanging out at a new skate park, and some kids came up to us, claiming they 'owned the territory.' they thought they owned the place just because 'they were there first.' we weren't going down without a fight, so we taught them a lesson!"

you chuckled, amused as he passionately recounts the incident while you rubbed his nape gently with a bit of force, he makes a sudden comment: "ooh, that's good. keep doing that." he was momentarily distracted by the sensation, appreciating the massage. "anyways, during one of those public fights, my manager found me. gave me his card. kind of like those weird scouting idol thingies from the surface." san explained and you nodded with a hum. "i was offered a shit ton of money, like, my parents practically forced me into accepting it. i dropped out of middle school and... i guess i've been in the industry for so long, i can't leave now."

"where are your parents now?" you asked, not thinking.

"they're at the surface, living happily. i got them a house." san said and looked forward, a gentle smile rested on his face.

"...do they not watch your matches? i heard the taped versions are banned from the surface."

"yeah, no, they probably forgot i exist." he replied calmly. "what about you?" san turned to you, seeking more conversation, but you broke contact from his bare back to wash your hands. "there's no need to talk anymore," you responded matter-of-factly — as if that authentic conversation didn't just happen a second prior. "the massage is finished, i will now proceed to wrap your wounds."

san is taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor. "what the hell?" he grumbled, sitting up and sounding a bit irritated. "i just shared my entire life story with you. it's your turn now!"

"what do you mean? i didn't force you into telling me your life story." you turned to him, bandages in your hand.

"you did too! you... asked..." san's tone became softer when he realized that he had no valid argument. "agh, fine. okay." he conceded, and you reach for his hand to gently apply bandages he suddenly liftes it up so quickly that it almost hits you in the face, you recoiled in surprise.

"hey!" you intinctively smacked the back of his hand, scolding him like a kindergartener, and you gave him a stern look.

"hey!" san yelled back in response, pulling his hand away from you, his tone more surprised than angry. "what kind of nurse hurts their own patient?"

"the kind that doesn't want their patient punching them in the face." you retort.

"well then i guess some arrangements will have to be made."

after a brief moment of gazing into each other's eyes, you both erupt into lighthearted giggles. okay, you think, he's not as bad as you initially thought. san playfully hits your shoulder, prompting you to playfully raise your hand in a threatening gesture, causing him to flinch back.

"carry on with your work, you weirdo," san laughed, still trying to put some distance between you. you firmly grabbed his hand again and you carefully wrap the bandage on his knuckles and scratches, focusing on placing them just the right way like a baby's diaper, not too tight but not too loose.

it's too silent. you noticed san watching you intently, his lips slightly parted as if he's contemplating whether to speak his mind.

"do you like what you're doing?" you ask, cutting off his thought process and patting his hand gently, smoothing out the slightly wrinkled parts of the bandage.

"do i like what you're doing?" san repeats the question that he heard, distracted by the way you hold his hand. "i love it. why? is it bad?" he blurted out and you look at him, confused. he's probably hearing things. you squint your eyes, you didn't really process what he said so you repeated your question.

"i mean... what you're doing. boxing. do you like it?"

"ohhhh," he awkwardly looked around the room, then back to you. "y- yeah, totally. it gives me life, y'know?"

"but... do you ever want to stop? you said you've been doing it for too long to leave, is that the only reason? you feel trapped?" you question, grabbing his other hand and he pondered, his tongue gliding from inside his cheek to his lips, sticking out for a moment before turning back to you.

"no." he says "i love boxing. as cliché as it sounds, i have a lot of pent up emotions boxing is a good way i can express myself, while also being beat up because i know it's something i deserve." the room filled with silence, san resumes speaking. "...so, it makes me feel relieved in those two ways..." he pursed his lips and noticed the solemn expression on your face. "also, people love me! i'm the brand of boxing. when people think of boxing they think: choi san. like painting = mona lisa or ballet = swan lake, y'know? i'm happy where i am. i am where i'm meant to be."

you don't speak but you give him a small smile and nod, finally finished with his other hand, you turn around to the sink again. "sooo, can i ask you a question now?" san asked softly.

you exhaled deeply and responded, "sure, i guess i owe you one."

san then turned the question on you, asking, "what about you? do you like what you're doing?"

you paused momentarily, replying, "it's my first day ever working, but i guess primary reason for enjoying it would be the amusing client."

"it's your FIRST day?" san feigns surprise, but it morphs into a frown as he mutters, "no, no, i shouldn't be surprised. you're bad..." he muttered.

you quickly counter, "hey, watch your language with me, or you might lose another nurse." san's eyes flash with a hint of intrigue before you added, "besides, i'm still a student. i shouldn't even be allowed to treat a distinguished boxer like yourself."

"you're a student?!" san backed off dramatically, a hand clutching to his chest. "i can't believe i entrusted my life in your hands!"

"hey! don't be so dramatic! i'm as good as a real doctor. i'm graduating. " you said, genuinely offended by his over-the-top reaction.

"but you're not a real doctor- you don't even have a phd yet!" he exclaimed and got off of the bed, aiming for the door and you just dejectedly watch at how fast the entire atmosphere changed. when you slightly frowned, san laughed and began to walk toward you. "nah man, i'm just kidding. i've had middle schoolers treat my wounds once."

your face contorted from one of confusion to anger. "don't scare me like that then!" you harshly punched his chest and he grunts, grabbing it in pain and staring at you in shock.

"ah! ow? i was just joking! that hurtsss! i told you that it hurts! here. it hurts here!" he whined and tapped gently on his chest where you hit.

"i know. that's why i hit it." you said harshly, making san laugh. "teach you not to mess with me." you grumbled and turned your back to him, moping.

"yaaa, don't be like that. is the treatment done? can i take you to dinner now?"

you turned around, eyes blown wide and innocent. "what?"

"dinner. you and me. in a romantic context."

"san," you call him by his name for the first time since he walked through the door and his heart skipped a beat. "i'm sure of all the nice, wonderful, young, and attractive nurses you've had at least one of them has brought up corporate policy."

"well, not necessarily the reason but i have heard the policy —" san clarified. "it's just that since you were already kind of breaking policy by taking a job without having graduated or having a phd yet i figured i could take you to dinner without a problem, but it seems like you're not interested, so—"

"no." you found yourself cutting him off and you offered a small smile. "i'd like to have dinner with you."

san gave you the sweetest smile — sandeoki? — one you have never seen, those paparazzi catches of him smiling amounted to nothing compared to this because all you ever see him on media was a serious man but this one was... too different. too... deceptive. for all you know, he'd have dinner with you and fire you the next day — but y'know, maybe it would be worth it.

"are you sure you can handle it? as your doctor i totally suggest you rest for about a week before doing any strenuous physical activities." you shrugged off your white coat and you hing it on the side of the creaky door where you found it.

"strenuous?" san asked with a smirk, eyebrow raised. "what do you think we'll be doing tonight?" he stepped up behind you, figure looming over you.

you turned around, looking up at him, then his lips — you grabbed his white tank top from the counter behind and shoved it in his chest, you smiled sweetly."if you fuck this date up," you went on your tip toes and whispered, hot breath hovering over his lips. "i might just beat you up."

silence filled the room. you proceeded to open the door and walk away — san smirked, a puff of air escaping him as he rubbed at his chin. he couldn't help himself. he followed you out and caught up with your steps. "where you headed?"

"just wanted to see if you would follow me," you halted your steps and looked up at him. "you pass the first test. now, take me to your dinner spot."

san tilts his head and crosses his arms, inhaling deeply. "well, do you enjoy... japanese cuisine?"

"certain dishes."