Author's Note: Alright... I know, I don't support this pairing, and I stand by it... but I couldn't help writing them one little obligatory fanfiction, especially since they're supposed to be childhood friends and all. I like childhood friends; it's kind of overrated, but it's cute.

Please, no complaining about the way I characterize Akira. He doesn't have much personality to begin with, and he doesn't seem to show much interest in Aoi. In roder to make this work for me, I had to give him, um, unfortunate circumstances. Plus, I like writing angst. Woot! Also; Sweetsong, newcomer to the VF forum, mentioned she liked this pairing, and described Akira as 'the bad rebel without a cause'. Whatever works.

Yes, I did make Akira a bit younger, so I could point out the age difference, but still write the pairing without people going, "EEEW HE'S OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER DAD". I know I totally would.

Anyway, here we go with the 'Obligatory' Akira/Aoi fanfiction.

--

Look Away

An Akira/Aoi fanfiction by Strike To Incinerate.

--

"Tell me I'm a bad man,

Kick me like a stray.

Tell me I'm an angel,

Take this to my grave."

My Chemical Romance - 'House of Wolves'

--

Aoi heard the phone ring from the living room, and left the half-finished flower arrangement to go and answer it. Sometimes, she felt like a secretary; Midoriko was always too busy not-doing something to answer the phone, Shiroi slept all the time, their father was always teaching, and their mother... well, she couldn't be bothered. Aoi wanted to do something with her life other than answer the phone, go to school, go to the World Martial Arts Tournament, lose, come home, repeat. The cycle was starting over again.

It was on the fourth ring when she finally answered it, and forced a smile and a cheerful voice as she said, pressing it to her ear, "Hello, this is the Umenokouji residence!"

The voice was soft, but firm and male... older than the boys Aoi usually sat next to at school. "Is Aoi-san there?" he asked.

Aoi paused. No one ever called for her... Aside from Miharu, and that was rare. Only when Miharu didn't want to run errands by herself. "This is she," she replied, leaning against the wall. Actually, it was a good thing that she had answered the phone. She didn't know what would happen if her father or her sisters answered it to find an older guy calling for her. "Who is this?" she asked.

"Ah... That's not very important," he mumbled.

"Then I'm hanging up," Aoi decided.

"Wait, don't. It's about Yuki Akira..." the voice implored.

Aoi paused, but she didn't hang up the phone. Someone was calling her on the behalf of Akira. Part of her was angered; Akira never bothered to even wave hello to her at the tournaments, and now he couldn't bother to call her himself. But still... they had been friends once, more than ten years ago, and she was interested. "Fine, what is it?"

"He needs your help. Can you meet us somewhere?" the voice asked.

Aoi gave a nod, and then answered, "Yes." After writing down the information, she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her father's car keys and left.

At least this was a break from the monotony of her life.

--

"Thank you for meeting us, Aoi-san," the man told her, making a bow. He seemed familiar to the college student, as if she had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't place her finger on it. He didn't look too different from every other mid-thirties man in Osaka, either, if only a little more handsome. It was possible that she was mistaking him for someone else.

She placed one hand on her hip, and asked, "Where's Yuki? I don't see any 'us'."

"It's probably better if he stays inside while we talk," the man said.

Aoi rolled her dark gray eyes at him. She had not hauled her cookies all the way out here to be messed around with by some strange guy. "And just why is that?" she asked.

"Because he's drunk."

Aoi snorted condescendingly at that. Sure, she hadn't spoken to him in ten years, but she was pretty postive that she could safely say, "Yuki doesn't drink."

"I assure you, he's quite... smashed," the man continued.

"Is he inside?" she asked him, her hand falling to rest at her side. The man nodded, and she pushed past him briskly to open the door to the single story house.

"Yuki!" she called, expecting it to be some kind of a trick played by her classmates. Yuki Akira, drunk. Yeah, right. From what her father said, all Yuki did was train, just like his old man. Getting blitzed was kind of a hindrance to that, unless you're Shun Di.

There was a clinking sound, and then the sound of a door shutting. A man with mussed black hair, torn jeans, and five o'clock shadow stumbled out of the other room, looking at her with confused and annoyed dark brown eyes. In his hand was a sake bottle that she was sure was either completely full or completely empty. She could smell the alcohal on his breath, even from ten feet away.

"Are you drunk, Yuki?" she asked him, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her slacks to keep from balling them into fists. Well, shit.

He shook his head, slumped into a chair, and took a swig from the sake bottle. He wasn't even going to use a cup. "No."

"Do you even know who I am, Yuki?" she asked, her wrath seeping into her voice now, making it tight and sharp, like metal.

He looked her over once, shrugged and the replied, "A stripper?"

She growled, then turned to look at the man who'd called her. "Alright, what the hell do you want me to do with Jose Cuervo?" she demanded.

He chuckled, then stiffened up again. "I can't take care of him," he began to explain. "I have other responsibilities, but he's in no state to be alone..." The man then sighed, "I'm sorry for the inconvienence, but Umenokouji was the only name in his address book. I figured that he meant Umenokouji Aoi and that you two had met at the World Tournament... I can see now that you are not--"

Aoi cut him off. "I'm not what? His girlfriend? No, sorry, I'm not his fucking girlfriend. I haven't talked to him in ten years," she said bitterly, then looked to Akira again. It was a pity... he was an amazing fighter, so disciplined and fluid and strong in the ring. This just seemed... wrong. She wondered what had happened to make him pick up a bottle.

"His father died three days ago," the man whispered, answering her question.

Now it made sense. Aoi nodded, feeling sorry that she had been so angry. "Akira-kun, come on..." she said. She would probably a massively depressed wreck scrambling for every drop of sake she could find. She'd heard that he had been defeated by a ninja who'd won the last three World Tournaments, too.

Akira glared at her. "I'm not leaving... I've got a dojo..." he said, standing up and then stumbling forward. The man rushed forward to help him.

Aoi nodded again, knowing that the Yuki Budokan was in his hands, but he couldn't teach like this. "It's just for a few days..." she said, but he still seemed resistant. It was probably because she was a woman. He'd had a thing about that when they were kids, too. He was always hesitant to spar with her because she was a girl. "But your otousama would have wanted it. He was my otousama's best friend, remember?" she said, kneeling beside him. He glared at her, gripping his arm, his eyes holding hers. Yeah, she was playing that card.

"We're friends, aren't we, Yuki?" she asked him, standing up and extending her hand to him.

"Aoi..." he muttered, looking at the man for a moment. The man nodded encouragingly, and Akira accepted her hand. She helped pull him up, and he leaned against her as they slowly made her way towards her car.

--

"Aoi..." he called, for what felt like the tenth time in a half hour. Aoi set down the freshly cut deep purple iris on the coffee table, and stood up. She tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear.

"What?" she asked him.

"Where's your sake?" he asked.

Aoi smirked. "We don't have any sake, Akira-kun," she told him. That wasn't totally a lie. They did have some sake... but as soon as they'd gotten back to the Umenokouji household, Aoi had led him to the couch, and poured it all down the sink.

"What do you mean? I've seen your father drink before," he replied, rummaging through the cupboards.

"You haven't seen anyone from my family in ten years," she shot at him, marching into the kitchen. She shut all of the cupboards as he opened them, and he shooed her hands away.

"Not true. I saw you..." he said.

She frowned. "Fine. You haven't spoken to anyone in my family for ten years," she corrected. He shrugged.

"How's your sister?" he asked. The last time he'd seen her, she was only five, and Aoi was ten.

"Midoriko's fine. I've got a new sister, too," Aoi replied, wondering how he could not feel bad, even if he was a drunk asshole right now.

"Really? So your otousama really can't have sons," Akira mused, now looking through the drawers. All he found was silverware and shallow tupperware dishes.

She slammed the drawers shut, and glared at him. "And your otousama can only have assholes," she retorted, heading back from the kitchen into the living room. She tried to resume her flower arrangement, but she couldn't think straight enough to make something pretty, calming and symmetrical. Suddenly, she thought it needed more orange and red.

"At least your otousama is alive," Akira called, taking the orange juice from the fridge and pouring himself a glass of it.

Aoi gave up. She wasn't going to get any ikebana done until Akira got sobered up and left. "You're staying in the guest room, by the way," she told him, but doubted that he remembered where it was. She turned to look at him as he left the kitchen. "Why wasn't your otousama's death in the papers?" she asked him.

He shrugged again. It must be a new habit, because Aoi couldn't remember him ever doing that before. Maybe it was from all the drinks. "I didn't want it in the papers."

"Why?" Aoi asked.

He glared at her. "What do you mean, why? Because it's not something I want everyone to know. I don't want everyone to feel pity for me. That's why I didn't want to come here with you," he explained. "I don't want everyone to look at me, and go, 'What a bad year for the Yuki family. The son loses the tournament, then his father. How very, very sad'," he finished, flopping down on the couch beside her.

Aoi looked down at the floor, guilty as charged. "I'm sorry, Yuki..." she apologized. "I'll try not to be angry with you, or try to look at you with pity," she said. He leaned against her shoulder, and she didn't stop him. "But I'm not going to let you drink and destroy yourself."

He didn't reply, and she looked at him for a moment. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open just a bit. She took the glass of juice from his hand, and he didn't stop her. He was asleep. She set the glass on the coffee table, and gently move, placing a cushion under his head, and letting him lay on the couch. Sleep would be good for him. She went to find the naproxen sodium, because he was going to have a hangover when he woke up.

--

"Aoi, who is that on the couch?" her father asked, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

Aoi looked up from the softly boiling pot of miso soup on the stove. "Yuki Akira," she replied, then placed a finger over her lips to signal that he should be quiet.

His brows lifted. "Yuki Akira?" he asked, making his way into the kitchen. There was a small plate of onigiri, probably filled with dried salmon, and another small plate with steamed red bean paste buns. "What's he doing here?" he asked curiously. Surely, his eldest daughter wasn't making all of this food for him.

Aoi said carefully, "He isn't feeling way... Yuki-sama passed away a few days ago." She then looked up at her father, who was clearly shocked. "It's alright that he stays with us for a little while?" she asked him.

Umenokouji Ryudo nodded. "Yes... it's fine..." he told her. "Reiji's really... he's gone?" he asked, confused and saddened by the sudden passing of his best friend.

Aoi gave a soft nod. "Yes... Akira didn't tell me how he died... maybe when he wakes up, he'll be able to talk about it some more."

Ryudo rubbed his daughter's shoulder and patted the top of her head. "You're a good child, Aoi..." he said, forcing a smile. "I'm blessed to have such a caring daughter."

Aoi didn't feel kind, caring or good. She had deliberately left out that Akira was not sleeping, but passed out from a bout of binge drinking, and she was still not very happy about being stuck as his babysitter.

--

Hours later, Aoi awoke on the couch with a crimson day lily in her hand, which rested against the hardwood floor. She sat up, and shook her head. She must have dozed off... the cooking and stress must have wore her out. "Akira...?" she called, looking around for him.

There was no answer.

"Yuki!" she repeated, more demandingly, and stood up. She pulled on her dark washed jeans to straighten them out, and fixed her t-shirt.

Midoriko pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment and hissed in aggravation, "Would you shut the hell up, oneesama? I'm trying to talk to my boyfriend. Not my fault that yours left without telling you."

Aoi walked towards her, and pressed the reciever's button down, hanging up her call.

"Hey!" Midoriko protested, pushing her back. "What's your problem?"

"Where did Yuki go?" she asked her firmly.

"I don't know!" Midoriko said, hanging up the phone and stomping down the hall. "Otousama!" she screamed furiously.

Aoi slipped on her sneakers, and went out the door. She had a pretty good idea of where he went. There was a bar two blocks from her house, and it was doubtful that Akira hadn't seen it in his drunken stupor on the ride over.

She couldn't believe that she had fallen asleep. Akira... well, he wasn't counting on her, but he needed help, and she was the only one who could. He didn't have any other names in his address book, and now both his parents were dead. He was an only child, and the only teacher left at the Yuki Budokan.

She wished she had thought to put on her jacket. It was chilly, a late August evening. Goosebumps came up on her exposed arms, and the walk felt longer even though she walked faster. People stared at her as if she were crazy, or easy prey, as she walked by. She was almost jogging by the time she reached the front door of the bar. It was called something stupidly chic, like Kiname. The Golden Rain. Yeah, that didn't sound like a boozefest. It couldn't appeal any MORE to Akira in his current state.

She pulled the surprisingly heavy door open and stepped inside, scanning the area for him. She figured he would be easy to spot, but there were many muscular, scruffy-looking men here. Just great.

Akira's hand lifted, and he nodded at the bartender. She was a petite little thing with hair so black it appeared to have a bluish sheen, but he couldn't tell in the dim lighting. She had big dark blue eyes, and she reminded him of Aoi... only she was less bitchy and let him drink as much as he wanted. Aoi had absolutely no right to kidnap him and try to keep him hostage from the only thing keeping him sane. He'd murder Kagemaru when he found him for calling her. It wasn't right of that damn ninja to worry her, either. She had other things to be focusing on, like her schooling and her training. She was in her last year of college, wasn't she? He could handle himself... this drinking thing was only temporary, just to help him cope with losing the biggest influence in his life. How could people not expect him to turn to something? At least it wasn't drugs.

Everyone had to be so negative. Well, fuck them. He'd drink if he fucking wanted to. He was thirty-two years old, a grown man, and a World Tournament winner... once.

The girl refilled his small cup of sake, and he downed it in one sip. She refilled it once more, and then turned to attend to another customer. He didn't blame her for not wanting to look at him. He looked like shit, and he knew it. He couldn't understand how Aoi could stand to look at him with those big gray eyes, even if they were full of pity, or how she could put up with doing all that domestic shit... putting him to bed and making him food that tasted decent, and leaving out a bottle of generic aspirin knowing his head would feel like someone had taken a jackhammer to it.

He was surprised when a woman took a seat next to him. She smelled like... oranges and jasmine flowers. He didn't know what Aoi smelled like. She hadn't gotten close enough to him while he was awake, and he had left as soon as she'd fallen asleep. She probably smelled like designer perfume and expensive shampoo. She was a college student, and they liked that sort of thing. He tried to imagine Aoi spending a half an hour picking out what she would wash her hair with, in the middle of an aisle in some supermarket... and it was hard to picture. He tried to see her perusing the tiny glass bottles of different shapes and colors, occassionally picking one up and testing the scent, and even that seemed too girly for her.

Why should it matter what Aoi smelled like? He wasn't interested in her that way. Sure... she had gotten very pretty in the past ten years, and she'd make an excellent girlfriend to someone her own age. Any college boy would be lucky to have someone as talented as her hanging all over him. The age difference between them had seemed so big ten years ago, and now it seemed even more insurmountable... probably because there were men his age who would date someone Aoi's age.

"I'll take a mimosa, thanks," the woman told the bartender, then glanced to him as he took a considerably smaller sip of his drink. "Well!" she half-exclaimed, smiling brightly. It was making his head hurt, and the aspirin had just started to kick in... "If it isn't Yuki Akira. Never thought I'd see you in a shady bar," she finished, turning in her chair to have a conversation with him. Great.

He glanced over at her, recognizing the face, "That makes two of us, Pai," he agreed.

"So, what's got you down here? You heard I was coming, right?" she said flirtatiously, her hand curling around her drink as soon as the tender set it on the counter.

He nodded, wondering if he agreed with her, would she go away? "Yeah. Sure," he said boredly. What the hell was an action movie star doing in a bar in Osaka of all places, anyway?

"It's a shame that we never have much time to chat during the tournament... you always seem to run off after you're finished," she said, her hand moving up to allow her fingers to toy with the pink miniature paper parasol hanging on the rim of the glass.

Aoi's eyes widened as she saw Pai Chan, of all people, sitting next to Akira at the bar, and she could see the Chinese woman's dark eyes heavily lidded, her attention focused on Akira like they were the only two people in the bar. Aoi wasn't stupid or naive; she knew what that skank was up to. She and that womanizer Brad were exactly alike, Brad just wasn't ashamed of it, and he didn't have a lucrative movie career riding on his 'impeccable' reputation. Given the chance, Pai was going to sink her claws into Yuki and hold on tight.

Aoi felt something very protective, like jealousy's nobler, more acceptable cousin, rise up inside her chest. She'd already had a rough day... Pai wasn't going to be a happy slut when she got over there.

Akira took another sip of his drink, watching Pai. She was a lot more mature than Aoi was, reflected in both her wardrobe and the way she acted around him. He still wasn't nearly as interested in her as she was in him. The only kind of relationship he wanted was with a bottle of the strongest sake money could buy. Right now he was going to have to settle for this watered down swill and deal with her lousy attempts at seducing him. Sorry, but he wasn't that drunk.

"I was thinking maybe we could. I've got a minibar in my hotel room, and we could order room service if you want anything else. It'd be fun to hang out and just... discuss things," she offered him. That sounded innocent, but women like Pai Chan were about as innocent as serial killers. She leaned a bit closer to him, her head tilting... Akira raised a brow. What, was she going to seal the deal with a fucking kiss? He hadn't even agre--

"Hey, back it up," Aoi said, giving Pai's shoulder a push.

Pai looked up at the young woman, her lips curling downward into a slight frown that made her look older and less attractive. Akira had to admit, Aoi had impeccable timing. He had been about to do the pushing himself. Now he didn't have to look like a complete asshole. He had Aoi to do it for him! Finally, something useful about her.

"Why don't you go back to your playpen, kid?" Pai asked.

Aoi's eyes narrowed, and Akira quickly finished the rest of his sake. He probably wasn't going to be seeing any for a few days after this. "How about you go seduce someone who's interested?" she retorted. Akira gave a snicker of approval. "And not drunk," she added. Akira gave a snort of distaste.

"Your jealousy is cute..." Pai said, standing up and leaving her mimosa untouched. "But you're still just a kid."

She started to walk away when Aoi grabbed her arm and twisted it quite painfully behind her back. She pushed it upward, causing Pai to hiss in pain and her back to arch. Aoi grinned, and moved her back to the counter, planting her face against the wood and knocking over glasses, bowls of bar snacks, and stools. Everyone was watching. "How about... if you come near Akira again, this 'kid' breaks your arm in three places," she warned, then let the Chinese actress up. "Good luck acting or getting a date with a cast," Aoi finished, then looked to Akira. "Get up now," she said, and he grudgingly obeyed. She grabbed his arm and led him towards the door.

Before they left, Pai called to Akira, rubbing her upper arm, "Hey, Akira! I'll leave my number with the hotel. When you want a woman instead of a brat, give me a call."

"He call you when he wants an STD," Aoi snarled, dragging him back to the house.

Akira grinned. Aoi was kind of cool when she got all fiesty like that... but he sobered (not literally) when he came to the realization that Aoi could very well be in love with him. Maybe even for the past ten years.

--

Midoriko had gone to bed, Aoi was relieved to discover when she and Akira got back to the Umenokouji residence, and otousama hadn't thought her hanging up the phone on her sister's call warranted a talking-to. That was good, because she really wasn't in the mood. Putting the smackdown on Pai Chan had released some of her recently built-up tension, but now she had another reason to be angry at Akira.

"Why didn't you just tell her to get the fuck away from you?" she asked him, pulling off her sneakers and dropping them roughly on the floor, not caring how much noise she made.

Akira gave a shrug, and Aoi found herself rapidly growing to hate that habit. It was so... indecisive! "I don't know. I was bored and she was amusing," he said, slipping off his shoes, nearly falling over in the process. All of that sake had finally started to circulate... whoo! Drunktown, Yuki Akira was coming home and ready to drown all of his sorrows!

"Amusing? Did you even see her outfit?" Aoi asked, stomping into the living room.

Akira raised a brow, trailing after her, but more relaxed. "What does fashion have to do with anything?" he asked, genuinely confused by the apparent topic change.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "She might as well have pasted a sign on her chest and went in there naked. 'Hey boys, I'm easy and about to get blitzed!'," she told him, then turned around fully. "And you aren't any better! Are you just going to sit around and drink until your liver fails and you die of alcohal poisoning?" she asked him.

"I'm not an alcoholic," he said, reaching out to rub her arm, feeling a bit guilty. Maybe she wasn't pitying hi after all... maybe she did care.

"No," she said, shying away from his hand angrily. "I'm trying to help you, and you don't care at all! You just want to be selfish and self-destructive!" she yelled, tears welling in her eyes. He wasn't the Akira-kun she had known growing up at all. He was a fuckwit, and disgusting, and she felt like she was wasting her time. He didn't want help... not even deep down. He wasn't crying out; he was crying for some booze.

Akira watched her mood worsen, and he just wasn't up for it... she wasn't going to tell him what to do or how to live or act like she had all the answers. She was just a little college student he'd put up with as a teen to appease his dad. He grabbed her arms, gripping them tight and forced her up against the bare wall seperating the kitchen from the living room.

"What are you doing?" she asked, surprised, but not alarmed. She didn't struggle, just looked at him with those clear gray eyes, like a cloudless sky after the rain.

"Go ahead," he began, holding her there, staring at those eyes, "call me a bad, bad man."

"What the hell are you talking about, Yuki?" she asked, trying to move her arm away, but his hand was like a vice. Both of them were. Her arms were going to redden and bruise soon.

His forehead pressed against her. "For drinking and flirting with sluts and destroying every fond memory you've kept of me. Go ahead, I don't care. Call me a bad, bad man."

"You're not feeling right, Yuki... you're not a bad person," she said quietly, those tears in the corners of her eyes getting bigger, almost spilling over her dainty, perfect, jet black lashes. "You're just upset because Reiji-sama died..."

"Come on, Aoi!" he dared her, his voice growing louder, glad to be bothering her. Maybe she'd kick him out and he could go about his business unbothered. He didn't need a babysitter or a bodyguard. "Tell me! I'm a bad, bad man! You'd like to kick some fucking sense into me!"

"Stop it, Yuki... this isn't you, it's the sake..." she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. She wasn't scared for herself, but for him. It was worse than she'd thought, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Wouldn't you?! Especially now?!" he said, his breath hot on her face. She hated the smell, and hated having him so close... she was such a hyprocrite, criticizing Pai for being a two-faced slut when she wanted everyone to believe she was an angel, caring for him and trying to help him in his 'time of need', when everything he said was true and he'd just been dumped on her by Kagemaru.

"No..." she said, shaking her head and resting it on his shoulder. "No... I'm not going to hit you..." she mumbled, crying into his shoulder, convincing herself of that. Part of her wanted to... wanted to hit him hard for making her feel so horrible, but the other part believed what she said. He wasn't himself right now.

Frustrated, Akira nudged her head back up and simply glared at her for a moment, before his look softened. She was crying and still trying to smile and convince him she wasn't angry at him, even though she'd just exploded at him minutes ago. He tilted his head, pressing his lips against hers, gently at first... then, when it felt good, more hungrily. She didn't resist him, and his hands eased and slid down to her hips.

"Akira..." she breathed his name, and, her mouth open, he captured it completely, invading it, tasting and exploring. Her arms snaked around his neck, thin, soft fingers raking into the hair at the nape.

Aoi conceded that Yuki Akira had to be just a little bit bad, because good boys did not kiss like that.

--

"We see the stones falling from the sky (on fire)

The blinding light beaming from your eyes (our desire)

Life has died, yet we're still alive and down below

A sea of damned crashing like a tidal wave."

Escape The Fate - 'There's No Sympathy For The Dead'

--

And that would be the end of part one.

'Aoi Umenokouji, not-so-wonton sex goddess, with a very bad man, uh... pinning her against the wall'.

I love Bridget Jones's Diary.

Anywho... leave a review, please.