In typical couldn't-care-less Hwoarang fashion, he'd gone and left his laundry behind. In typical goody-two-shoes Julia fashion, she'd gone ahead and got it done for him anyway, that jerk. Consequently, she'd felt both bad and annoyed that she was continuing to blame him for her less-than-angelic mood swings. Not that anyone ever knew of them because of her more-than-decent acting skills which made her wonder why she hadn't aspired to more leading roles in high-school drama activities rather than the less-than-innocuous role of an extra in the background until she remembered she'd also suffered from more-than-advanced stage fright.

The combination of all these streams of thought and less-than-colorful adjectives had also resulted in a headache of epic proportions.

Alright then… just get through the day as best as you can.

Shaking her head gently to clear her mind of sympathetic friends and absent almost-lovers, she picked up the plastic wicker-basket filled with folded clothes fresh from the dryer.

Keep yourself busy, that's the best way to go about things.

Biting her bottom lip unconsciously, she nudged his bedroom door open with her elbow and staggered in with the basket perched on her hip like an infant. The place seemed cleaner already in his wake. Less junk on the floor, more dust on untouched surfaces. She would have to run a cloth over those soon or else…

Or else what? It wasn't like she was his goddamn wife or something.

She spat it off her tongue like it was an unwanted seed. Well too bad for him. The world wasn't his to command and even if it was, she'd definitely want no role in it. To have to bend over and bow down to the whims of a mere man was a fate fit only for a harlequin woman with red lips and fish-net stockings…

Okay, so maybe she was overdosing on her pent-up frustration.

Still, there was a bright side to everything. No more greasy pizzas for dinner, no more watching retarded comedy flicks, no more being snuck up on and poked at, no more disgusting sex jokes, no more laughing so hard that her sides ached from exhaustion… no more smiling at the silly things he did… no more goofy one-liners…

"Screw this."

His clothes were promptly dumped on his bed and she was soon jabbing keys on the telephone, desperately hoping that she'd be able to reach a certain cell-phone number. She held the receiver up to her ear and listened impatiently for the creased electronic ring-tone.

Ring ring.

Come on, Hwoarang.

Ring ring, ring ring.

For Heaven's sake…

Ring ring.

Please answer your damn phone.

Ring ring.

Please?

A series of beeps greeted her as the line was automatically disconnected.

Like Christie, Asuka had her own unique brand of optimism. It didn't need plush sunshine and sparkles to shine in the dark, neither was it the type that was so overwhelmingly fake that it was sickening. It shone more through her dogged determination to never yield to whatever weakness which plagued her surroundings as well as a wry sense of humor which was, at times, strikingly similar to her older cousin's. But unlike Jin, the world could be changed for the better, even if it was through one fist-fight at a time. And thus was the philosophy of Asuka Kazama. Think fast, act faster.

Julia allowed herself to smile as she watched her younger friend saunter through her doorway, short brown hair as unruly as ever, feet encased in a weathered pair of trainers. A splash of disorder was always welcome in a sadly predictable world.

"I take it that you're off today?"

"Yep. I need at least one day away from my boss the Slave Driver."

"Knowing Matt, I can understand your plight." She reached out and plucked an abandoned leaf from its loft on Asuka's head. "Talk about using a physical handicap as a weapon."

The Japanese girl yawned and stretched out, each sinewy fiber of muscle marking its presence beneath her skin. "Tell me about it. You can't tell a blind guy to shut the hell up because he's blind. And I hate how he's always got an answer for everything complete with that… that… 'annoying' is too weak a word to describe that smile of his, argh."

"Poor thing." Julia sympathized. "Still, at least you're earning some extra money, right? That's always a good thing."

"Yeah, I guess." Asuka exhaled loudly, releasing some of her suppressed irritation. "I'm saving for college, a car and some new Chuck Taylors. How bad can that be?"

"And you're learning to keep a lid on your famous temper."

"And I'm… hey! You're one to talk! You were the one who pushed Hwoarang into the pool in high-school!"

"I was giving Christie a hug because she was having a bad day and she needed one. He just had to walk in and start making slurping noises behind us so I…"

"Lost it?" At least the girl seemed impressed.

"Yes. To put it that way."

"Sweet. That splash was awesome and the best part was when he came up spluttering like a dying fish," Asuka stopped to perform her best imitation of Hwoarang trying to speak as his head had bobbed up from the chlorinated water. "W-wha - …urgh… what the f-f-fuck – bleargh – was that, Jules? I… agah.., ah, fuck this!"

The memory of his eyes wide open in shock behind soaked strands of scarlet hair was enough to make her crack. Damn, it felt great to laugh for a genuine reason.

"I almost forgot about that. Maybe I should've given him a shove on the way out before he left."

"Somehow, I doubt that would have stopped him…"

Reality struck down hard. Of course, he was gone, nothing could change that now.

"Why do you have to leave right now? Can't you just think about it first?"

"I already have…"

"But…"

"Would you just stop it, Julia?"

"You okay?"

"Quite."

"So how come I don't think so?"

"Maybe you're wrong. Maybe I'm confused."

The cautious touch on her hand brought her back to today. Today, in her apartment, with Asuka by her side, without him to distract them.

Where was the sense in that?

"He'll be alright, you'll see." The younger girl assured her. "He can take care of himself, we all know that. And so can you."

"Not you too, Asuka."

"Well, it's true. You're not giving yourself much of a chance."

"I'm trying but it's not as easy as it sounds." She gulped down a small sob. No space for weakness here. "You're beginning to sound like everyone else. I'm sick of promising that I won't go and drown myself in the shower. Why can't anyone see that I'll do fine in my own time?"

Asuka's silence offered her some solace. Silence was that somber little girl adorned in black lace in the corner of the room. Silence was a fog which arrived when temperatures dropped to single digits on thermometers. Her mind buzzed with ideas that would never find words, a distraction to keep her eyes clear and dry from the problems crashing over the helm. The hum of activity was nothing more than an illusion of activity to keep her thinking of matters which she could have a say in, even if it only was in her own head. Anything to keep her from falling apart from the outside. Strange and melancholy machinations of her mind and heart which didn't cushion the pain but at least made it less real.

"Slow down there, Jules. You're trying to pick yourself up before you fall."

"Huh?"

Asuka nodded, as if to reaffirm her belief in what she'd noticed. "Trust me, I've seen that look before. You just want to show everyone that you're doing fine so that no one will worry about you unnecessarily, right?"

Julia stared as her friend strolled over to the sunlit window. Outside one the ledge, a plain brown sparrow hopped down on its perch for a few moments of rest. Asuka had once told her that her name meant 'soaring bird' in her native tongue. Julia had no idea what her name meant except that most people thought it nice and attractive. 'Asuka' had an exotic touch in its intonation as she rolled it off her tongue and replayed it mutely. Too vivid and colorful for a common sparrow.

"You know, there's this legend in Japan, about the crane. They're supposed to be symbols of long life so people think that by folding paper cranes, you get to enjoy a longer life. If you folded a thousand of them, you'd get a chance to have any one of your wishes granted. Like to be cured of a disease or for prosperity in a business. That sort of thing."

Origami cranes. How could a thousand scraps of paper amount to anything in the end? Perhaps Asuka had read her thoughts for she continued after the sparrow flapped its wings and took off from the concrete ledge.

"Sounds crazy? I thought as much when I first heard it. But somehow, a story works wonders where no medicine can. My grandmother used to tell me that stories heal whatever medicine numbs…"

"The soul."

"That's right." The teen murmured softly. "I think my grandma would have liked you, Jules. Too bad she died eight years ago."

A year ago

Interestingly, the thumping beats were not only affecting her ability to study, they were also responsible for inducing a restlessness in her that she was finding increasingly difficult to contain. So far, she'd managed to sketch a flower, a horse, a girl with long banana-curved pig-tails and a series of eight-pointed stars. She'd read an article a few days ago on the significance of doodles. Eight-pointed stars indicated an ability to concentrate well on the task at hand. How ironic, considering she should have been halfway through her essay due next week for her Introduction to Anthropology class. Instead, she'd been forced to make sense of the muffled screeching guitar riffs and roughened vocals of whomever Hwoarang happened to be listening to at full blast across the hallway.

She didn't mind his interests nor did she want to interfere with them but enough was enough if she wanted to make it through this semester…

Gathering her composure, she marched across the hall and rapped smartly on his bedroom door.

No response. Very likely that he hadn't heard above the racket.

She tried again, her knuckles striking harder against the wood.

Nothing, zip, zero.

Third time's the charm, she assumed with her patience wearing thin. The crashing symbols were literally storming through her eardrums. She could always blame him if she went deaf from overexposure to thrash metal.

Fourth time around, she had her teeth grit and her fist poised above the door, ready to smash a hole in if he didn't bother opening it…

One…

Two…

Three…

… He had her by the wrist as soon as he released the catch on the lock and burst upon her in an explosion of guitar wails, smashing drum infernos and heavy ragged breathing. The noise forced her voice down her throat so that she stood limp and breathless from the impact.

An elliptical silence presided over their hushed forms until he chose to drop the word.

"What?"

She could do little else but pull the plug on her vocals and speak.

"Could you keep it down?"

"What?" he repeated, sounding less taciturn and more clueless. Feigning calm and controlling the spurt of annoyance, she rephrased her request.

"Keep the music down. It's getting on my nerves."

"The song or the music in general?"

Sighing in exasperation, she rolled her eyes. "Both. How am I supposed to study when some guy keeps screaming 'Master of Puppets' a few meters away from my room?"

"Um, so give up and go with the flow?" he quipped in an attempt to sound cute and quirky.

"No… a bit of consideration for others won't bite you, Hwoarang. I'm trying to work."

"But it's…" He glanced swiftly at the neon green alarm clock on his bedside table. "Ten thirty-two?! Who works around that time?!"

"Ahem, I do. Because unlike some people, I prefer keeping my grades above C-level. Pun intended."

"What the hell…" He left his accusation unfinished, leaning into the doorway and scowling at the scuffed end of his shoe. "Well… what'm I supposed to do then?"

"How about turning down the music and enjoying how nice and soothing it sounds that way." This wasn't a simple request anymore. It was an order, an imperative that begged to be challenged and not to be disobeyed.

"Uh-uh, you don't listen to metal with the volume turned down. That's like eating warm ice-cream." The Korean shook his head in malicious contempt. "Just not cool, Jules."

"Then listen to your records in the morning."

"Who fuckin' listens to Metallica in the morning?!"

"I do," she answered icily. "Why don't you try it?"

Turned out that she'd hit the right nerve. His light brown eyes narrowed to slits, a frozen fire glowing within, frigid venom spewing in their pools. She folded her arms across her chest, prepared for the inevitable barrage of poisonous barbs directed her way. They both stood their ground, eye to eye, fire and ice, a battle of the greater will.

"Because – "

A long lean finger jabbed her hard and direct in the chest, right below her collarbone.

" – nobody listens – "

Jab.

" – to Metallica – "

Jab.

" – or Motorhead – "

Jab.

" – or Dream Theater – "

Jab.

" – or Deftones – "

Jab.

" – or Mudvayne – "

Jab.

" – in the fuckin' morning."

She rubbed at the sore spot furiously, still returning his glare. "Oh right, so that means you can't because everyone else can't? So much for standing out in the crowd, Blood Talon. I thought you had a little more spunk in you."

"Spunk?"

Snorting in mock disgust, she prodded further.

"It means you've got no guts, Hwo. Or in your case," She stood up straight and tall, arching her back to the best of her 5'5" stature. "No balls."

A flash seemed to light up his eyes for a moment but he chuckled through her jeers. "Right, so I suppose I gotta learn to loosen up more if I need more 'spunk'."

Julia sensed the mischief behind his words and contemplated an alternate plan of action. However, she realized he already beat her to it when five long digits appeared at each of her sides and proceeded to tickle her through her t-shirt, at the place where she hated to be touched most.

"Gotcha!"

"Hey! Let… haha…"

Spurred on by her weakness, he dug in more aggressively, devilish smirk infuriating her further as she unsuccessfully tried to escape his clutches.

"Stop that!"

This time, he took advantage of her raised arms and attacked her under them, wallowing in the screams of laughter that pierced the heavy rock music that streamed in the background. Two types of music which rattled the cells in his muscles, squeezed them dry and made him thirst for more. Soon, she managed to wriggle free from his grasp and he ended up tackling her onto the sofa after chasing her to the living-room.

Eyes met, senses electrified. Every slight touch resulted in a spark alighting on the other's bare skin and singeing it to a heightened awareness of primal feelings. He was so close above her that she could taste the heat of his breath. And she was sure that he could hear, perhaps even feel, her heart pounding against her rib-cage, making her skin and bones vibrate like guitar strings beneath his hands. Seconds passed like hours and before they knew what hit them, the spell broke…

… leaving them to separate and wonder what could have been.

Nevertheless, he kept the music at a lower volume from then on and she'd never dared to question him further.

She cradled the frail paper crane in her hand and hoped that it would quell the worry that insisted on invading her calm even-tempered world.

Pristine white and frighteningly delicate, she examined the creation of her own hands at a moment of stress. One white crane, nine hundred and ninety-nine away from one precious wish. No stars in the sky tonight for her to watch and no music in the background for the noise to fade into. It was so small that she could crush it in the palm of her hand and not notice that it had been there in the first place. As was the case with so many things in this life.

His clean clothes lay in the same spot she'd dumped them. In the dark of the shadows, it almost seemed like he was back, a tired rumpled figure who lay on his sheets. She reached out, pressed her trembling hand against the clothed mass of her imagination and sighed as she felt it give way. Ashamed that she'd treated his belongings as such, she gathered them up and laid them neatly on his bed in case he changed his mind and decided to return after all. She'd be waiting here, calmer and no wiser for letting him back in again. Those carefree days seemed light years away, somewhere at a time where the world seemed so much bigger and friends didn't seem so imposing.

She looked down at the paper crane in her hand. Plain, whimsical and a symbol of a fragile promise.

"… I'm sorry…"

Smiling sadly, she placed it on the pillow where his head had once laid.

"It's okay… just come back home soon."