#dumbmoetears

They share a bed, him and Gilag -- or what passes for a bed, anyway, the biggest worn-out mattress they could find on resale heaped with faded blankets and squashed pillows and lying bare on the ground. It's shoved into one corner of the shitty little one-bedroom apartment and they both pass out on it at the end of the day, sprawled over each other and snoring and somehow content to sleep through the noise.

He gets some weird looks when he tells people that. Not that he really blames them, given he's got kind of a reputation. But, really, they mostly just sleep. He doesn't tire out easy but in the underground you get exhausted no matter who you are. That's sort of the point.

Maybe part of the reason people react that way, though, is that he and Gilag are sort of an unlikely pair in the first place. You don't see faces and heels hanging out often, especially when one has a penchant for dirty tactics and the other one's just about the cleanest duelist you can find in a cage. But it takes more than that to break apart somebody's family -- and that's what they are, he thinks, given that they're all they've got. Big bro and little bro, stuck in the underground as long as they have to pay the bills.

It's a decent job, far as Alit's concerned. What else can give you that kind of rush? Where else can you get a real fight that's not going to end in somebody jamming a knife in your gut? He works out, he spars with Gilag, but it's not the same thing. It's not as real. Winning down here means something.

It takes him a while to find someone he thinks might feel the same way.

When he first sees his opponent for that night, he doesn't really think much of him. He's pretty, sure, even with the dumb swoop in his hair and whatever the heck the shoulders on that vest are supposed to be, enough that Alit might pick him out to invite him over, but the expression on his face -- looking down his nose at the other duelists he's standing with, like they're something he stepped in walking home -- sort of kills it. There's nothing Alit likes about a person like that.

It doesn't look like it's going to change early in the duel, either. The first time Alit takes a hit, he does what he usually does -- he rolls with the shock like he dropped off a building and he's just about to land, screams it out and rides the pain and lets it toss his body like a doll. And this one was a good one, so when he's picking himself up and readying his duel disk again he's laughing, exhilarated and grinning.

The other guy looks like he doesn't know what to do with it. His face is twisted up like he can't quite comprehend what he's seeing, and Alit almost laughs at that too, because he gets people who aren't used to someone getting into it (and not getting hard at the same time) but he's never gotten this kind of squinting, nose-wrinkled disbelief before.

"You--" The guy shakes his head, eyes still narrowed. "I end my turn." And it seems like that's the last thing of interest Alit's going to see out of him.

But he's not on top forever, and it doesn't take long for Alit to land his first blow. So to speak. His opponent tries to take the hit like a lot of guys do, standing and quiet, and ends up braced on the cage and growling-yelling out his pain (like a lot of guys end up actually doing). That part's nothing new. When he pulls himself up, though, Alit can't help but stop and stare.

The guy -- Mizael, right? -- is snarling as he gets up, almost showing his teeth, hunched in on himself like he's blocking another hit. Like he expects another hit, even if he doesn't know it, which is kind of a surprise. If he's so haughty outside of the ring, why would he be bracing himself to lose?

He expects to get hit, and yet he's forcing himself to straighten up, open up his arms, stand up proud like he's never been hurt in his life. And that stops Alit cold.

This guy is the real thing. Somebody who's been in and out of the ring a hundred times and probably left at least once being carried by the guards, somebody who has to claw every single win away from his opponent with everything he's got, and yet he keeps dueling like there's nobody in the world he can't bring down.

He hears Mizael cough from the other side of the ring, and spends a few seconds wondering why he looks so unimpressed before he remembers that he hasn't ended his turn.

He wins this one. He kind of expected that. Mizael ends up staggering out of the ring with a growl, pulling his collars off and nearly just dropping them there until he thinks better of it.

Alit waits as little time as possible before he follows him backstage.

It's probably a bad idea to go barreling up to him right away, because Mizael squawks and nearly loses his balance -- luckily Alit has the presence of mind to grab his hands and keep him standing.

"That was so COOL!"

Mizael splutters, yanks his hands away and then seems to slowly register what Alit actually said to him.

"It…what?" He makes that bizarre squinty bird-face again and Alit laughs.

"You're seriously interesting! I'm all fired up now!" He grins, thinks for a second. "Wanna get a drink or something?"

He doesn't get his answer right away. Mizael stares, blinks, stares a little harder, grabs his phone -- Alit peeks a little without really intending to and wow, that's a lot of texts from "That Asshole" -- and then sighs.