Fight Club, is what you called it— or what Jack, including his alter, you, finally decided on. Sure, It was an expected name; generic, but what was far from generic is what went on behind closed doors in the basement of that sacred bar. Bruises, screams of despair, victory cries, sweat, tears, and not to mention the goddamn blood everywhere—

But, let’s rewind a little before all of that happened. Picture this; You and Jack stood out somewhere behind that exact bar, sharing a beer together. You spoke about god knows what nonsense you were up to these days. Possibly mentioning something about your old restaurant job, and that damn cream of mushroom soup. The horror… Well, that’s besides the point.

Half an hour later of semi-sober blabbering, you two eventually managed the topic of fighting. Psychical altercation.

“How much can you know about yourself if you haven’t gotten into a fight before?” You prided, an adrenaline surge running through your veins to the mere thought of it.

“Hit me. Hit me as hard as you can.” You suddenly blurted in a nonchalant manner as if it was the most normal thing you could’ve said on planet earth.

Jack stood with his mouth agape, a look of what purely embodied; ‘What the actual fuck?’ on his face. It was almost humorous in a twisted sense.

“Hit you?” Jack echoed in disbelief. Pfft, yeah right.

With enough courage and far too much of your ‘wise’ words for his liking, (forceful persuasion)— He finally swung a jab at you, managing a half-assed, miscalculated hit on your ear.

Ouch.

Now, If I were you… I wouldn’t take so kindly to that.