That BOY AINT RIGHT By King Trashmouth
Urameshi stepped out of the portal and into the hot light of the Texas suburb, confused and annoyed at having missed his original destination by a few portals too many. His friends had arrived as planned in the demon world, he assumed, and probably were wondering where the hell he was.
No matter now. He wouldn't be able to open another one for another 24 hours, so he may as well kill some time before Kurama found him and remedied the situation.
So this was Texas.
Urameshi has read about this state during one of the few times he'd actually shown up for class, and wasn't too impressed. Each one-story house sat blandly on dozens of well-manicured lawns, fences obscuring backyards from view. He sighed at his predicament and walked down an alleyway, trying to get away from the blazing Texas sun.
Just as he was rounding the corner, he was stopped by an incredulous voice:
"What in the hell are you wearing, boy?"
Urameshi turned slowly towards the voice, not knowing what the American was saying to him but still understanding the confused incredulity of it's tone.
"Eh?"
Standing before Urameshi was a slightly heavy-set man in his late-forties, white tank top showing off aged but still-toned arm muscles beneath it. In the man right hand was a beer, gleaming condensation sliding down his calloused hands as they gripped the cozy in confusion.
Urameshi sized him up, trying to decide whether or not he was a threat. Deciding he was not, he approached the man with his nose in the air, examining him haughtily.
"You understand me boy?" the man said as he approached, eyes squinting from a combination of bright sun and a growing sense of wariness at the strangers presence. Urameshi was wearing his school uniform today, something the American seemed to notice. Standing a head taller than Urameshi at least, the man finally seemed to understand that he was speaking to a foreigner.
"So. Are ya Chinese or Japanese?"
Urameshi stared.
"Uh. Well why don't you follow me if you're lost. You keep standin' around like that and yer gonna get yer ass kicked. Name's Hank, by the way. Hank Hill."
He gestured Urameshi to follow and, sensing no danger, Urameshi followed, determined to kill his time somehow.
As he followed the American, his eyes fell to the stranger's butt:
Small, tight, and concealed beneath a pair of loose denim blue jeans. And the man's walk slowed down, the intricacies of his muscles began to show themselves through his jeans.
Urameshi grinned:
Maybe he'd discovered how he was going to spend his time, after all.
Are things gonna heat up between Urameshi and Hank Hill? Find out in the next chapter!
