#boxer boy

this file got corrupted >:'''( the final lines and colors are gone and im too sad to start over. contexts under the cut

hi hi hi, t i present to u boxer boy! if ur new to this concept (or jus need a refresher) below is all of the resources on characters

character menu!! | kori n lilac! | jakobi n miles! | parental units! | alexei! | aave dictionary

warnings: violence (not unsolicited this is a boxer au) swearing, use of the n word, talks of racism, and i think that's it, lmk if i missed something!

i wrote conversation the way i conversate w my friends family and cousins, so this is very caribbean/ taíno/ afro latine/ in general black! coded!

published: august 2, 2023

w/c: 2.47 k ish

Chests heave and sweat travels, leaving streaks down pretty brown skin and resting, finally, on an upper lip. Groans and grunts bounce off the wall of a run-down gym, filled to the brim with a burning passion, the passion to prove yourself. 

“Miles! Focus up! Eyes up, watch the hands.” 

Miles says nothing, a mere grunt in response angling his eyes up and off the ground. The first time he’s fully taken in his opponent since the sparring match. His opponent has a few good inches on him. Tall and muscular, almost beefy, with a square and set jaw. Ducking and fumbling, he desperately weaves and dodges the strikes his opponent throws again and again. 

“Miles” 

 Falling into a rhythm of combinations, he begins to float, weaving in and out of corners, his feet barely touching the floor. Tragically, this ends prematurely with one good hook that leaves his ears ringing. 

“Damn it, Miles,” Alexei grumbles, Russian accent thicker than clay, rubbing his face in a combination of concern, disdain, and a twinge of disappointment. “The hands Miles, always watch hands and shoulders.”  

Shaking himself back up, Miles exits the ring, climbing between the ropes and tearing off his gloves he groans and sits on the very edge of the ring in front of Alexei who holds his hands out to inspect Miles for any injuries. 

“You did good, for someone that size. I have opening this week for one on one training session. Yes?” Alexei almost stubbornly mumbles to him, cradling his face in his hands and inspecting his head for any damage.

“Yes,” Miles grumbles. 

“I see you Tuesday at six, don’t be late.” Alexei pats his shoulder in an almost fatherly motion. Almost fatherly. 

Pushing himself off the edge of the ring and giving his opponent, apparently named Marco, a quick dap out of respect, he staggers to the locker room, cursing himself under his breath. 

“What? You get fucked up out there?” Jakobi snorts, shrugging a black tee over his head. “Prolly ain’t even that bad, son.”

“Barely, the nigga had like three inches on me, not to mention a different fucking weight class,” he huffs.

“That don’t sound like ‘barely’ bruh, sounds like your ass got pounded out there,” 

“I ain’t get pounded, it was just a hook.” 

Jakobi visibly winces and sucks in air, his face contorting as if he could feel it. Bringing his fist to his mouth, “Left?” 

“Right.” 

“Damn,” he whistles, rubbing the right side of his face. “You good?” 

“Fine,” 

Shaking his head and sighing “Don’t sound fine to me. You ain’t supposed to win every time my nigga, don’t let it go to your head.” 

“Yeah, whatever man, I’ll see you.” 

“Damn straight,” he affirms, clapping Miles’ shoulder and leaving, a duffle bag draped over his shoulder. 

And so it begins. 

Pulling off his muscle tee, he investigates the small bruises that litter his abdomen and ribs, all of which are in different healing phases. Pressing down on the dark purple contusion, he inhales sharply and jolts his hand back. Rubbing his face and running his hands over his braids he lets out a sigh and laces his fingers on the crown of his head. 

“You ain’t supposed to win every time my nigga,” 

But he should be winning every time, fueled with the white-hot grief turned to rage, he should be winning.  

“Ay, pero mami, ¡no quiero ir!” 

Ay, but Mom, I don't want to go

“Kori. You won the lottery. You took the test. We’ve had this discussion for weeks on end. I said you’re going and that’s final.” 

“But–” 

“Kori. No. I work my ass off for you. You are my world, you hear that? And so help me god, I’m not just going to let you throw your life away because you have some conspiracy about this school,” 

“Pero, it’s not a conspiracy Ma! This is what they want, for a bunch of quote-unquote ‘above average’ Black kids to test into some bougie school so they forget where they come from,” 

Alma sighs, places the laundry basket on the couch, and turns. 

“Look, I get why you don’t want to go to Visions, okay? And it’s a big adjustment for both of us. I don’t understand why you have this hatred towards this school, but please try for me. I love how passionate you are about this matter, I just wish you could put this passion, this spark that I see in you into loving this school. Proving to the world that we aren’t just some stupid Taínos. I love you so much Kori, I want the best for you, you deserve it mi vida. ¿Comprendes?” 

A stifled silence follows. 

“Kori.” 

“Fine.” 

“Como que ‘fine’? Por que no dices ‘sí’? soy tu madre” 

What do you mean, 'fine'? Why don't you say yes? I'm your mother.

“Yes, Mom, I understand,” 

“Good. Help me with the laundry.” 

“Miles? ¿Estás aquí mijo?” 

Miles? Are you here/ have you arrived my son?

He stops in his tracks, slightly wincing, a bruise forming on the side of his face from the match earlier. 

“Hey Mamá,”  

Rounding the corner, fatigue lining her eyes, she gasps dropping the empty delivery box and rushing to examine his face. 

“Miles! ¿Qué es esto? Qué está pasando?!? tú cara, mijo, estás herido?!?”  

Miles! What is this? What happened? Your face, my son, are you hurt?

“Ma, no es nada–” 

Ma, it's nothing--

“Miles, ¿como que ‘no es nada’? ¡Mira tu cara! ¿No es nada? Explicame, como eso no es nada. Ahora, Miles, go!” 

Miles, what do you mean 'it's nothing'? Look at your face! It's nothing? Tell me how its nothing. Now, Miles, go!

“Solo fue un spar en entrenamiento, no es serio ma, soy bien, te lo prometo,” 

It was just a spar in training, it's not serious Ma, I'm fine, I promise,

“... por dios Miles,” 

My god Miles 

“I’m sorry Ma I–” 

“I– Miles.” Rio grabs his face, forcing him to look down at her “You, you’re my little boy. No matter how much taller than me you get, you’re my little boy okay? Take care of that little boy for me, make sure he is loved. And safe, mijo. I want my little boy to be safe, ¿entiendes?”  

mijo- my son, entiendes- understand

“I got you ma,” 

Still cradling his face, her face seems to crumple at the edges whilst rubbing her thumb against his jaw.  It had been difficult to raise him on her own, he was old enough to look after and take care of himself, but at what cost? She knew he was trying his best to stay safe and do his best at school, but she still worried. Worried about him, she felt like a ghost in her own home. Barely there, barely scratching the surface of making a difference in his life. She wanted him to know that she cared so deeply, yet how could she? She couldn’t exactly spell it out for him, he’d grown too hard-headed after Jeff’s death, always insisting to take care of himself. She knew it was for her benefit, to have one less person to take care of, but Miles was her little boy. The little boy who used to beg for a spoonful of whatever was being cooked on the stove, the little boy who used to squat on the middle of the pavement and examine the cracks in the sidewalk with his grubby little fingers, the same little boy who would collect dandelions in a bouquet to give her after a long shift. What happened to that little boy she could just cradle in his chest and protect from the bad in the world? Where did he go? 

“Good.” She sighed “Te quiero tanto, Miles, pero ya tu sabes, ¿sí?”  

I love you so much, Miles, but you know that, yes?

“Sí Mamá, yo sé, y te quiero tambíen,” 

Yes Mom, I know, and I love you too

“Lilac I just feel stupid in this uniform” 

“Girl, bye, dudes be likin bitches in skirts and polos now, aren't smart girls the shit now?” 

“That's not the point!” 

“What you don't wanna find some fine-ass nigga there? ain’t none at Oscasio that's for damn sure” 

“You a damn lie bitch and you know that,” 

“And what would you know about that, your ass barely left the damn classroom while you were here,” 

“That don't mean a bitch ain't look, girl, the fuck?” 

“Who were you looking at?” Lilac’s voice calms down to a whisper, and Kori can hear her swinging her feet and smiling over the phone

“That one guy, his boys called him ghost or whatever-” 

“YOU HAD A CRUSH ON GHOST?”

“Briefly–” 

“GHOST? The ghost? Yall so different forreal but–” 

“That's not the point, I'm not gonna be seein none of him at no visions academy” 

“Hh here she go yall–” 

“I’m just saying–” 

“Bitch you been there a month, 31 days, any complaints?” 

“... I–” 

“Bitch exactly, you don't have no complaints, you like it there,” 

“Ain’t nobody say I like it” 

“But you don’t hate it,” 

“I hate that I got all these twisted ass white folks lookin at me weird–” 

“K dot, whoooo gives a fuck? you're just better than them, move on wit it, it's not that serious” 

“Lilac it feels that serious is what I'm tryna say! all these rich-ass white kids who prolly aint been through half the shit I did got a seat at the table without working half as hard!” 

“Look bruh I hear you loud and clear but now you’re just being a hard-headed ass bitch K dot. Visions have the best programs in allat nerdy shit you're into, fucking look around! You’re getting what you need after years of feeling different from everybody else, I watched you hate yourself for literal years because none of the Black kids in our little Brooklyn public school liked the things you did. And now you have maybe a handful of Black kids just as weird and nerdy as you, but you tryna tell me you ain't like it over there? Bullshit Kori and you know this,” 

“Lilac–” 

“Would you just shut up and admit I’m right?” 

“Fine. you’re right.” 

“I know, now listen this kid that hangs around the track team at school, Jakobi or whatever, annoying as shit, knows this kid at Visions. Got his number in my phone from our history group chat, you want me to hook something up so you can make friends up in that nerdy cesspool?” 

“Fuck you know about cesspools?” 

“Answer the damn question, Kori,” 

“Yeah, fine, sure,” 

“I got you,” 

“I know,” 

“Listen, I gotta go do meal prep for track this week, ima talk to you soon?” 

“Yeah, yeah” 

“Byeee K dot, love you,” 

“Love you too Lilac,” 

Sighing, Kori flops back onto their bed. exasperated, confused, and feeling violated for whatever reason. Lilac’s known them since the two of them were tiny, right after she had moved to the States with her mom, she knows her better than anyone. She was probably right, but it felt wrong to be said out loud. In truth, Kori loved and hated it there. She loves the way the halls are clean every morning, never once smelling like a cheap strain of weed or putrid hallway sex. They hated all the dirty looks she got just raising their hand in class, hated the way she could feel their eyes burning into the four braids they keep tightly cornrowed to their scalp in a zig-zag pattern. She didn’t know what she felt, but she knew it wasn’t positive. Not in the least.  

 “Kobi?” 

“Yurrr, what's goody what’s goody what’s poppin Miles?” 

“Nigga, do you see the time?”  

“Whatever, anyway–” 

“I don't feel like opening a window,” 

“I ain’t comin over?!? You miss me or sumn? Want me all up next to you?” 

“Stop being like that, whatchu need Jakobi? You need me to come get you from somewhere?” 

“Nah, some girl at Oscasio is mad tight with a transfer to Visions, Kori or sumn, asked me to hook y’all up. Her friend said she had some big-ass brown eyes and medium brown skin and cornrows in a zig-zag pattern and wears them legend blue retro 11s,” 

“Ain’t looking for a girl man, and you know this,” 

“Not like that, I’m sayin just to have someone on your side in that bougie ass school,” 

“You said her name was what?” 

“Kori I think,” 

“Oh,” 

“Oh?” he mocked “Fuck you mean ‘oh’? I’m over here finding you someone to eat lunch witchyo grumpy ass and all you wanna say is ‘Oh’? Well fuck you too nigga, damn,” 

“It ain’t even like that bruh, I was just takin in her name bruh,” 

“Since when you takin names like that?” 

“Since it’s 11 pm and I was listening to music on vinyl tryna put my ass to bed,” 

“Oh, you all domesticated now?” 

“It’s called a right hook to the jaw, stupid,” 

“Aight, man, I gotchu. Sleep good,” 

“Yeah, whatever, you need anything?” 

“Nah, that’s all,”  

“You said what? Blue retro 11s?” 

“Yeah, them light blue joints with the gummy soles”

“Aight then, see you,” 

“Damn right, you will,” 

Miles’ ear is met with the dial tone and he slumps back into bed, stretching under the covers, listening to whatever vinyl his dad used to play at night. The ringing in his ear had lulled to a dull ache, the left side of his face sore, but not hurt enough to bruise. 

“Kori. Aight then.”  

“Kori, right?” 

Jumping out of her skin, they turn. 

“Yeah,” She clears her throat “I’m Kori. Who are you?” 

“Miles,” 

“Oh,” 

“Tight Js,” 

“StockX,” 

“Them niggas too expensive on there,”  

Tension immediately disintegrates from her shoulders when she hears his slight Brooklyn drawl and what’s no doubt a nuyorican accent. 

“You needa get em when they first drop, then that's retail price without the upcharge,” 

“What are you, some sorta sneakerhead?” 

“Self-proclaimed,” She shrugs 

“Figures, they still white as hell,”  

“I’m Taino,” She cocks her head to the side, gesturing to her skin and cornrows. 

“The shoes I mean,” 

“Oh,”  

“Yeah,” 

“You said your names, Kori, right?” 

“K dot,” 

“Like Kendrick Lamar?” 

“I did it first,” 

“Yeah, whatever, nice to meet you,” 

“You too,” 

Pulling his lips into a loose smile, Miles walks down the hall towards his next class, a small wave in Kori’s direction and he’s gone. 

Miles. 

She liked how he complimented her shoes immediately, most people here don’t pay any mind to them. Liked how he was like her in the sense that he liked, or at least knew of, Kendrick Lamar, liked how the conversation flowed naturally with him and he probably spoke Spanish too. It felt good to them, to know that she wasn’t alone in this huge school and to know that this twin-tailed ass nigga probably was a good person. What kind of monster compliments retro 11s? She doesn’t think Ted Bundy did such a thing, she didn’t believe it though. People usually don’t approach them without a reason, but it seemed like Miles did. Cool and casual as if he didn’t want anything from her, which was weird. What did he care about her? 

“Miles,” She whispers to herself “Aight then.” 

a/n: sooooooo? worth the wait? lmk if this something yall want me to continue!

taglist: @nagi3seastorm @lunarfleur @milesmolasses @hearts4hobie @kombuuuu @hummusxx @n1cole-ghost (lmk if u wanna be on the taglist, i think i'm gonna make a form!)

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach

xo,

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ jungoo boxer. ♡