Author's Notes: In this chapter we meet… nobody important really, I just didn’t know what else to say here.
**Disclaimer**: Tekken is owned by Namco and not me. I just manipulate the characters for entertainment purposes.
Crossfire
Chapter 2 - Painful Eyes
Right before the waitress could say ‘double Knockout,’ the blood-soaked Korean and the Egyptian both climbed back to their feet. The fight wasn’t over. Hwoarang refused to be defeated by another man. It wouldn’t happen again.
Hwoarang shifted his stance, sweeping his foot under the other man. The move was easily blocked, but while the man was busy recovering from blocking, Hwoarang twisted, and nailed the man across the jaw with his boot. The other man didn’t miss a beat, using the blow to his advantage, by moving with it and spinning into a mid-blow. His fist would have broken a rib or two, but instead slammed against something stiff.
Despite his wounded state, Hwoarang grinned and winked before leaping into the air with a small combo that he liked to call the ‘Hunting hawk.’ He had wrapped his chest in gauze, and coated it with flour and water. A little dirty trick Doo San had taught him. It was common knowledge that it was frowned upon to wear any protection in these fights, but his little mixture could easily be passed off as a cast.
The Egyptian didn’t look like he was going to get back up at first. For a moment, Hwoarang thought it was over, that was until he spotted someone in the crowd that stole his attention, and the next thing he knew, a foot nailed him right between the legs.
Hwoarang’s eyes widened on the unexpected impact, and his breath got trapped in his throat. He was sure he should have been screaming, but the only noise he could manage was a tiny squeak. The Egyptian passed out seconds after his dirty attack.
Before announcing anything, the waitress poked the unconscious Egyptian with the heel of her shoe, to make sure he was really out. She then grabbed Hwoarang’s hand and helped him up, “We have a new champion! What’s your name, cutie?”
Hwoarang shook his head, holding himself. He couldn’t talk and didn’t want to make another embarrassing squeak if he tried. His eyes scanned the crowd again. Yes. Standing between two fat boozers, was the man himself. Kazuya Mishima. Some short waitress pushed her way into the centre, and shoved a wad of cash into Hwoarang’s free hand, “May I suggest using some of that on a drink, handsome?”
He rolled his eyes and limped back into the crowd, cursing away the pain as he did so. That was a really cheap shot. Even Hwoarang himself would never resort to doing something like that. The pain was unbearable, but he had lived through worse, and he wasn’t about to break down in front of all those people.
Just as he was about to head for the doors, he heard a bunch of shouting in Japanese. It was the lookouts. They were talking too fast for Hwoarang to understand, but by the urgency in their voices, he could guess. As if to confirm his suspicions, a few armed policemen busted through the door, night sticks drawn and ready to beat anyone within range. Hwoarang cursed again, and looked around the bar for an escape. One of the cops spotted him. It was one he knew from the last time he was in Japan. Wasn’t a very friendly cop, and he had taken a liking to arresting the Blood Talon.
Before Hwoarang could conjure up a welcoming insult to use when he got cuffed, an arm weaved past his arms and around his chest. The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air, landing on the bar counter, and back into the air again, smashing through a high window. A shower of glass shards fell down on him, but he hadn’t been the one to create the shower, so the glass slid off him just as easily as it had fell, without leaving so much as a scratch.
As his captor ran, Hwoarang’s heels dragged on the ground, shaking his feet uncomfortably to the point where he was sure; he’d have problems walking again. He watched calmly as dark streets passed by. Of course, he didn’t want to be alone with Kazuya for fear of the devil, but after that leap through the window, he was positive that it was already the devil. There’s no use trying to escape if that were the truth.
They came to a stop in a dark alley. Kazuya (or devil) dropped Hwoarang in a puddle, and laughed when he barked an obscene string of barely audible curses. “How I missed you, my beautiful human.”
“Fuck you,” Hwoarang coughed, holding his pained package. “What the hell is this about? Why didn’t you let me get arrested?”
“You wouldn’t be a very useful toy if you were behind bars.”
Hwoarang coughed, “Toy? Man, just tell me what you want and get it fucking over with. I have a curfew.”
The devil knelt down by its favourite prey, and gently caressed Hwoarang’s cheek with its rough hand. Its eyes drifted over his body, despite the lack of light. The red glow in its eyes faded, and in seconds it was Kazuya again, “Hwoa-kun,” Kazuya whispered after a while, “I’m sorry…”
The Korean allowed the Japanese arms to pull him out of the puddle, and into a loose embrace, leaving room for rejection. Hwoarang buried his face into Kazuya’s neck, not knowing what else to do. He feared the devil, and for that reason, he feared Kazuya, but there was comfort in the protective way Kazuya held him. There was comfort, and there was… passion?
So many things were wrong with his strange attraction to Kazuya Mishima. Baek Doo San would be turning in his grave. But Hwoarang couldn’t help it, no matter how hard he tried to help it. He needed out, whether he wanted out or not.
Hwoarang pulled back a little bit, so that he was face-to-face with his former lover. Those eyes. Those eyes that had seen the unthinkable. Those eyes that had seen a lifetime of pain and hatred, stared back at Hwoarang with something more. But it didn’t matter. Things couldn’t be that way. Hwoarang couldn’t live in fear any longer. He couldn’t live with such a heavy lie on his shoulders.
“Mishima-sama,” The Korean spoke, breaking apart from his companion’s arms completely, “Tell me… If I finish my task with Kazama, Jin, will you leave me alone, and not come back into my life?”
Kazuya closed his eyes and stepped back as if he had been hit. When he finally did open his eyes, he looked down in shame, and refused to meet the boy’s eyes, “Do not worry about my son. I do not wish to use you. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. Goodbye.” With that said, Kazuya turned and headed out into the street.
“… Kazuya…” Hwoarang said under his breath as if it were a curse. He ran out into the street after his former lover. Strangely, Kazuya was nowhere in sight.
/You lied to our toy. Tsk, tsk, tsk.\
Unfortunately, It was a elevator with mirrored walls, so there was no way Kazuya could escape the taunting eyes of his inner demon. He ran a hand through his hair, and remained silent. There was no need to reply, since the devil would continue anyway.
/I know you’re thinking of taking advantage of your toy. Tell me your ideas, ‘Mishima-sama’.\
Kazuya stepped out of the elevator, glad to get away from having to look at that creature. Despite how irritated he was that the creature was teasing him about his Hwoa-kun, he still did not make any move to answer. Of course, lack of answers was enough to keep the demon talking, in it’s voiceless language.
/You’ve got a thirst for power in your aura. How do you intend on attaining this power?\
The door to his room unlocked with a quiet click, and he stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He tried to resist feeling guilty for what he was going to do. Hwoa-kun brought it all upon himself. If they would not be together, Kazuya had no reason to protect the boy.
Kazuya sat down on the bed and smirked, “He was so certain that he could complete his task, which gives me reason to believe he already met up with Jin. After tonight, judging by the way he was acting, he will be deeply confused and troubled. I have no doubt that he will decide to complete the task in order to prove to himself that he can.” He paused and looked out the window, “Tomorrow we follow him.”
/Very good, my pet. If you weren’t an evil bastard, I’d suggest becoming a cop.\
“Shut up.”
Please be asleep!
Another typical night of coming home late. Hwoarang came to his apartment door. He rented out the apartment after the forth tournament, when he figured, since he was in Japan so much, an apartment would be a lot less expensive then constant hotel bills. Of course it was in a fairly bad neighbourhood, since it was a low-rental agency, so Julia usually pulled a fit whenever she stayed there.
The door opened with a quiet squeak. Looked like something needed oil. The floor creaked under his weight. Damn place. His noise would probably wake her. She was always a light sleeper, especially when she stayed at his place.
Just as he closed the door behind him, something soft landed on his head and the lights flickered on. Julia stood there angrily tapping her foot as she watched Hwoarang pull the thing off his head. Her venomous eyes bored two holes through his head as she asked, “Care to explain that?”
Hwoarang looked down at the white denim vest in his hands. “Uh… What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Look at the collar.”
He fumbled around with the vest, still fighting through his pain between his legs. Eventually he found the collar, and found what she was so angry about. There was pink lipstick on it. “Uh…” He tried to resist laughing, “You sure this isn’t from you?”
Julia glared at him, “I don’t wear lipstick.”
“Well, neither do the people I cheat on you with,” Hwoarang said in a joking tone, despite the honesty of his statement.
“This isn’t funny, Hwoarang! Who is she?”
He shrugged, looking at the smudge of lipstick, “Julia, there is no she. I have no clue how this got here, I swear… I don’t even remember the last time I wore this… I don’t even think it fits anymore. Now can you please stop rummaging through my stuff?”
“I was cleaning.”
“Well please don’t. I like my pad germ-infested. They keep me company when you make me sleep on the couch.”
She frowned, “There is no girl?”
Hwoarang couldn’t help it. He laughed, falling back against the door, “Nope. You’re the only girl for me, Julia.”
“Why is there blood on your clothes?”
He stopped laughing and looked down, cursing himself for forgetting about the fight, even though he was still feeling it, “Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of a tangible excuse, “Oh yeah,” he frowned, suddenly feeling dizzy, “I kinda got into another bar brawl. This big guy was picking on some other guy for no reason so I kicked his ass.” He looked down at his pants, “He kinda hurt me… I’m sorry.”
“Come on, let me fix you up,” Julia sighed and walked into the bathroom, pouring water into the bathtub.
Hwoarang grinned inwardly and followed his girlfriend.