It's not Cobra Fuckin Kai

[Youngbritishbitch]

The bass wasn't just loud upstairs--it felt like it had weight to it, like it pressed against the floorboards and travelled up through their shoes.

Shirley pushed the bedroom door shut a bit harder than she meant to. "Jesus, it's fucking mental down there. I swear there's about fifty folk already."

"Good," Aileen said, dropping her bag onto the bed. "Better than standing about with ten people pretending they're having a laugh."

Linda was already pulling her hoodie off. "You *love* that though."

"I don't."

"You do. Don't talk shite."

Yvette kicked off her trainers by the door, glancing back at it. "Can we just get changed before someone starts trying the handle? I'm not doing that bathroom thing again."

"That was your own fault," Shirley said, digging through her bag. "You picked the tiniest cubicle possible."

"It was the only one with a lock."

"Barely," Linda muttered.

The room was clearly a boy's--Claire's brother's. Posters on the wall, cracked mirror, clothes shoved into corners like they'd been dropped and never thought about again.

"State of it," Linda said, nudging a pile with her foot.

"Claire said he's never in," Yvette said, pulling a top over her head. "Always training or something."

"For what? Living like this?" Linda said.

Aileen held a top up against herself. "Be honest--too much?"

"Since when do you care?" Shirley said.

"Just answer it."

"It's fine," Yvette said. "You'll get attention, if that's what you're after."

Aileen smirked. "Good."

They moved around each other without thinking--zips, makeup, clothes swapped between hands. Someone swore under their breath when something dropped.

Downstairs the music shifted, louder for a moment, and someone shouted something that got a wave of noise back.

"This is going to be chaos," Yvette said.

"Aye," Aileen replied. "That's the point."

That was when Shirley stepped back and caught something with her foot.

"What the--"

In the corner, half-hidden by clothes, were a pair of boxing gloves.

"Don't touch them," Yvette said immediately. "That's rank."

"They're just gloves," Shirley said, already moving.

"Used gloves," Yvette corrected. "That's worse."

Aileen crouched. "They don't look cheap though."

"Course they don't," Linda said. "Look at this place."

Shirley picked one up. It had weight. Real weight. She turned it over, then slid her hand in before anyone could properly stop her.

"It fits," she said.

"It fits doesn't mean anything," Yvette said.

Aileen grabbed the other glove. "Move."

"Don't--" Yvette started.

Too late.

Aileen had it on.

She flexed her hand. "Why does it feel like that?"

"Because it's not yours," Linda said.

Shirley raised her gloved hand slightly. "You could actually do damage with this."

"You could do damage to yourself," Linda replied. "Don't be a dick."

Aileen lifted her hands. "Go on then."

Shirley laughed. "You're a state."

It started light--awkward movement, half-shoves, neither committing properly. Aileen threw a slow jab.

"Missed," Shirley said.

"I didn't miss, I stopped."

"Same thing."

Shirley tapped her lightly on the arm.

"That didn't."

"That was nothing," Aileen said, smiling.

It wasn't a fight. It was messing about in a space that was already too small.

Then Claire came in.

She stopped in the doorway.

Looked at them.

"What are yous doing?" she said.

"Found these," Shirley replied.

"I can see that."

Claire stepped in. "Why are you wearing them like that?"

"Because we're about to have a fight," Aileen said.

"No you're not."

"It's just a laugh," Shirley added.

Claire shook her head. "If you're going to do it, at least do it properly."

"Oh, here we go," Linda muttered.

"I was going to start boxing," Claire said.

"For about five minutes," Yvette said.

"Still counts," Claire shot back.

She left.

Came back moments later with pink boxing gloves.

"I had these," she said, tightening one strap with her teeth. "Was going to start lessons. Couldn't be arsed."

"Shocker," Linda said.

Claire stepped in. "I'm not fighting both of you. Sort it out."

They did.

Rock paper scissors with free hands, half arguing through it. Shirley won, but neither of them really agreed what that meant.

"Just shut up and put the gloves on," Claire said eventually.

So Shirley did.

And Claire did.

The room changed after that.

Less joking. Less room.

Claire bounced slightly on her toes. Shirley adjusted her stance without thinking.

"Right," Claire said.

Shirley exhaled. "Aye."

They moved.

It wasn't big at first. Just contact--gloves meeting, testing weight, distance tightening.

Then it sharpened.

Shirley stepped in. Claire met her.

The sound was dull but solid.

Aileen laughed once under her breath. "Oh, here we go."

Then the door opened.

"Oi--what the--"

A head appeared.

Stopped.

Saw them.

"Oh no way--"

The door widened.

"Is that actually--"

More voices behind.

"Get a look at this!"

"Shut the door, man!"

"Let us see!"

The room filled instantly.

"Fuck's sake," Linda muttered.

But neither Shirley nor Claire stopped.

Another exchange landed cleaner.

The noise spiked.

"Go on!"

"Get her!"

They were no longer just in a room. They were in something being watched.

"Move, move--let us through," someone said at the door.

And then it wasn't just upstairs anymore.

It moved.

The back door came open and cold air hit them as they stepped into the garden.

Shirley went first, gloves still up, grass flattening under her shoes. Claire followed a step behind, pink gloves raised loosely.

The noise reformed behind them instead of around them.

At first it was just the same group spilling out behind them.

Then more.

Claire's friends started to arrive properly.

"Claire--what's going on?" one of them asked immediately.

"Wait--is this actually happening?" another said, stepping down onto the grass.

Claire didn't look at them properly. "It just started."

"Started what?"

Shirley didn't answer either. She just adjusted her stance slightly on the damp grass.

"Is she actually boxing her?" someone asked.

"Aye," Claire said.

That got reactions. Laughter, confusion, curiosity.

"Why though?"

"It just happened," Claire said.

"That's not an explanation."

More people came forward now--Claire's side filling out closer to her, Shirley's group staying more central but widening as space allowed.

The garden became a ring without anyone agreeing to it.

"Go on then," someone shouted.

"Just get on with it."

Shirley exhaled through her nose.

Claire lifted her gloves slightly.

Neither of them stepped out.

Neither of them stepped away.


They moved in a loose circle at first, feet slipping slightly on the wet grass. Nothing clean. Nothing anyone would call proper boxing. Just two girls trying not to look like they were hesitating.

Shirley swung wide once--too wide--and Claire stepped in without thinking. A short, straight jab caught Shirley on the cheek. Not heavy. Just enough to make her blink.

The crowd reacted like it was massive.

"Go on, Claire!"

"Hit her again!"

Shirley tried to reset, but Claire stayed close, gloves tight, not giving her space to pretend it hadn't landed. Another exchange. Claire's jab found her again, turning Shirley's head slightly. Enough to show it counted.

Shirley hesitated.

Claire didn't.

Shirley's gloves dipped. Her stance loosened. She wasn't out--just overwhelmed by the noise and the pressure and the realisation Claire wasn't backing off.

"Call it!"

"She's done!"

Shirley didn't fall. She just stopped first.

And that was enough.

The crowd surged toward Claire, lifting her arms, shouting her name, phones everywhere. Someone tried to get a photo with her. Someone else yelled like they'd been cheering her all night.

Claire didn't look thrilled. More startled than anything. But she didn't push them away.

Shirley sat on the grass, one friend crouched beside her, another blocking people from filming too close. She pressed her sleeve under her nose, checking if it was bleeding or just stinging.

"You're fine," her friend said. "It's nothing."

Shirley nodded, but her eyes stayed on the crowd around Claire--not jealous, just... outside it.

Then the shift happened.

Two boys were already stepping forward, laughing too loudly, shoving each other like they'd been waiting for their moment.

"Right, our turn!"

"Shift over!"

People peeled away instantly, excitement transferring like it had never belonged to the girls at all.

And then--without ceremony--one of the boys crouched beside Shirley.

"Here," he said, not really looking at her.

He undid the strap on her glove and slid it off like she was a coat stand. Passed it to his mate. Didn't ask if she was alright. Didn't say anything else.

On the other side of the garden, another boy was already tugging at Claire's glove.

"Hold still," he muttered, more focused on the strap than the girl wearing it.

Claire let him take it. No one around her seemed to notice she'd stopped smiling.

Within seconds the boys had both pairs--the pink ones and the borrowed ones--and were already bouncing on their toes, testing the weight.

"Move back!"

"Give us space!"

The crowd re‑formed around them like the girls had never been there.

Claire's crowd vanished.

Shirley's crowd vanished.

Only their closest friends stayed.

Everyone else forgot.

[Youngbritishbitch]