Chapter Text
The air of Palmetto, South Carolina was thick with the scent of late summer as the night stretched on. Neon lights flickered, painting the streets in a haze of vibrant colors. It was on nights like these that the depressed and quick-to-anger Neil Josten often found himself wandering, a bottle in hand or bar hopping and a storm brewing in his mind. Tonight was no different except, perhaps, in the way it would end.
Neil stumbled out of yet another bar after getting too rowdy, the bitter taste of whiskey still on his lips. His head was swimming, his thoughts clouded by anger and alcohol. He didn't even remember what had set him off this time. Maybe it was the guy at the bar who'd been eyeing him like he was a piece of meat, or maybe it was the bartender's flirty smirk when Neil ordered another drink. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. What mattered was the red-and-blue lights flashing in his peripheral vision. Of course, a damn police officer would be around to see him wandering around drunk of his ass.
Neil continued to walk, acting like he didn't see the lights "Hey! You there, stop!" A voice called out, firm and authoritative, the kind that Neil hated. Neil ignored it, picking up his pace. The last thing he needed was a run-in with the cops. But it seemed luck wasn't on his side tonight. He knew he should have started running the second he saw the lights. But the next thing he knew a hand grabbed his shoulder which set him off. He spun around and landed a right hook and gut punch on the officer.
The officer staggered back and wiped some blood from his face. Neil was too busy smirking that he'd landed his hits to notice the officer recover. In seconds the officer grabbed his arm and dragged Neil back to his patrol car. The next thing Neil knew he was pinned against the hood of the police car being frisked and handcuffed then driven to the local station.
Meanwhile, across town, Jean Moreau sat quietly at a bar, nursing his third drink of the night. He was usually the picture of calm and composure, but tonight he felt like something was unraveling inside him. The noise of the bar buzzed around him, a distant hum as he stared into his glass. He hadn't intended to get drunk, but the day had been long, and the memories of his past had been particularly loud. Then a commotion at the other end of the bar caught his attention.
A group of guys was jeering at a female patron who was with her girlfriend, their homophobic taunts growing louder and more aggressive. Jean tried to ignore it, but when the insults turned into shoves, he felt a spark of anger ignite within him. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, shoving through the crowd. His fists were already balled and he was ready for a fight.
"Hey! That's enough," Jean said, his voice steady but with an edge. The group turned their attention to him, and a fight quickly broke out. Fists flew, glasses shattered, and by the time the bouncers intervened, the damage was done. The bouncers held Jean and the two guys while they waited for the police to arrive. Once the police got there Jean was dragged out of the bar to the patrol car and shoved up against the side of it. The officer searched him and then handcuffed him and stuck him in the back of the car before getting in and driving Jean to the station.
The next day, individually both Neil and Jean sat in a small, nondescript courtroom, their eyes fixed on the floor as the judge handed down their sentences. They were first-time offenders, their offenses relatively minor. But instead of jail time, they were sentenced to a week of anger management classes. Before they were released the judge warned them that if they were arrested again they'd be going to jail.
The next Monday Neil and Jean arrived at the local community center for their first Anger Management Class. They arrived separately, both of them not happy about it but it was better than jail. The room was small, with a circle of chairs set up in the center. A few people were already there, but two men stood out to each of them. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a kind smile, and the other was a shorter, stocky man with sharp eyes and an air of authority.
"Welcome, everyone," the tall man said warmly. "I'm Jeremy, and I'll be leading these sessions. This is my partner, Andrew."
Andrew gave a curt nod, his eyes scanning the room. Neil and Jean exchanged a glance, both wary and curious about these men. The session began with introductions and an overview of what to expect. As Jeremy spoke, it became clear that he genuinely cared about helping them. Andrew, on the other hand, remained silent, observing them closely.
After the session, as the group dispersed, Andrew approached Neil and Jean. "You two," he said, his voice low and serious. "Come with me."
Neil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Why? Are you going to lecture us on how to behave?"
Andrew's eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the bait. "No. I own a boxing gym. You both look like you could use a way to channel your anger. If you're interested, come by tomorrow." He said holding out two business cards.
Jean looked intrigued, but Neil scoffed. "Thanks, but no thanks," he said, turning to leave. Jean hesitated, then nodded to Andrew. "I'll consider it," he said quietly before taking one to the cards before walking out.
The next day after class Jean found himself standing in front of a large, unassuming building. The sign above the door simply read "Palmetto Boxing Gym." Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the sound of fists hitting bags. Jeremy, the cute blonde from the meeting greeted him with a smile and then showed him around and explained the training regimen. In the end, Jean was convinced to sign up, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.
Meanwhile, Neil wandered the streets for the rest of the day. Andrew's stare and words were lingering in the back of his mind. He hated the idea of being told what to do, but there was something about the challenge that intrigued him. As night fell, for once he wasn't inside a bar drinking away his past. Instead, he found himself outside the gym, the name of which he'd memorized from the cards yesterday. The place seemed empty, and the lights were dim. Neil hesitated, then pushed the door open.
Inside, Andrew was alone, working a speed bag with swift, precise movements. He looked up when Neil entered, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Decided to show up after all," he remarked.
Neil scowled and shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just curious," he said. "Not like I've got anything better to do."
Andrew nodded, gesturing for Neil to follow him. They walked to the back of the gym, where a ring stood. "If you're serious about this, you can train here," Andrew said, leaning against the ropes. "But you follow my rules. You show up when I say, and you train hard. Got it?"
Neil crossed his arms, his eyes meeting Andrew's. "Fine," he said after a moment. "But I will only come at night. Don't want to deal with anyone else."
Andrew's expression remained unreadable, but he nodded. "Deal. I'll train you myself," he agreed. "But don't expect any special treatment."
Neil smirked, feeling a thrill of anticipation. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, a spark of determination in his eyes.
After they exchanged phone numbers Neil left the gym. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. He had no idea what he was getting himself into, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was on the verge of something new, something that might just change his life.