Forever Friends
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Neo Geo/ SNK. I own this piece… You own yours. Don't sue, please!
Warning: Yaoi. If this isn't your piece of cake, please turn back immediately. I don't want to have anything to do with people who don't know how to think right… or people who'd suddenly die of a heart attack and have their family members try to sue me for something their kid did. Oh, and flamers are lame and retarded. It's a fact.
Plot Cockroach: Right. I've been bugged to do this ever since pre-school, and I'm still bugged. You know, she poked me with plastic straws till I choked and had milk spill out of my nose. Disgusting, huh? Gee, I hope you feel sorry for me. I'm finally steeling myself to do this, and I swear, I think it just might be my first and last attempt at Joe angst. Seriously, I think I just might become sane.
Pairing (if that's all you're here for): Joe x Terry XD
Note: Plenty of repetitive phrases… (^^;)
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It was a clear, starry night. The air was still – not a single murmur of the wind stirred the littered papers on the streets, and the people hurried by, unconcerned. He stepped past the alleyways, where he saw homeless people sleeping in newspapers, cardboard boxes, and he strode by the park, where vagrants slept on the benches, under the stars. Around him whizzed busses, cars, bikes and citizens, and the lights glowed brightly, fiercely blinking in the nighttime sky. He smelled dust in the air, combined cigarette smoke, exhaust fumes – sometimes the savory dishes from Chinese restaurants, and a familiar scent of a Japanese one. He could feel the cool, but stuffy air, as he went strolling by. And he could hear shouts sometimes, and whispers, even giggles and laughter of high school girls whose fancies were tickled as they watched him.
Such was the scene painted on his mind – a busy city in the heart of the United States of America.
But there was also another picture painted deep upon the tablet of his heart. He could see a small bar, with waitresses swaying their hips, entertaining customers. Opposite the bar counter, a man tended to his customers. He could see smoke rising from a bunch of middle aged men, seated round the tables, with women straddling their legs, and cards in their hands. Whiskey bottles lay empty on the ground. The lights were dimmed and fogged, and there was music that filled the air, causing his heart to beat to its rhythm. Upon a seat, there sat a young man clad in red, white and blue, with a white pack settled by his feet. He was blond, his face was partially hidden by a baseball cap he wore customarily, and a long ponytail hung past his shoulders, fanned out, like pure gold silk. He couldn't see this blond's eyes, but he knew by heart that it was blue, and the very shade it was, he could never name.
The noise, sights and smells of the bar seemed to fade away even as he stalked in closer. In place he heard a low one, like a hushed breath of wind, but loud enough to be regarded as speech. He breathed in a familiar scent, like that of a city, washed clean after the rain. He saw but one person, with a golden complexion, and lips curled faintly with a smile. A face slightly round and ruddy, framed by flaxen strands of satin, and the figure turned to face him.
"Joe?"
His eyes were so blue, like sapphires, but perhaps lighter, or maybe darker – no one knew the exact depth in which it went.
"The one and only," Joe replied, taking a seat beside his friend. The bartender came up, and took an order. Joe then turned back to meet the azure gaze of the tanned blond. "Long time no see."
"Yeah, guess you're right," the other replied lazily, staring at his shot. "What brings you here? Is there any trouble?"
"Is trouble the only reason why a guy has to come approach you here in a bar?" he asked. "It could have been by chance."
"Right. You came ALL the way from Japan, to America, stumbled into a bar, and guess what? You meet an old friend here, and you walk up to him and say, 'the one and only'," the blond flashed him a grin. "I'd say that was pure coincidence."
"Okay, right, so it wasn't," Joe lifted a brow; "I came here to tell you that your younger brother is having an orgy with Geese Howard's henchmen, and I was pissed because they didn't invite me. So I came here to get smashed."
"Right on. This is the best place to get smashed," he laughed. "No, seriously. You look troubled enough to me."
"Maybe." The bartender came up and delivered Joe his order. They sat in silence.
Joe had not been able to come up with admittance. He was frightened of what could be, what could never be, and how things could be so fragile, and destroyed with just three words. But at the same time his heart would leapt with joy at the mention of this person's name, in which he chanted as a mantra, day and night, when he ate, walked, and slept. His dreams were filled with the golden sun, many a time it would be rivaled by another, whom he regarded to be far more superior in strength – much more important. It was sweet, warm and strong, and he smelled, in the fields, a scent like that of a city, hushed and quiet, washed clean of its impurity by the rain that had just swept by. The skies were the color of a depthless, pleasant but nameless shade of blue.
Terry made his world go round.
Even in his Japanese heart, he saw the red, white and blue of America. He saw the slight smile; the sun kissed skin and the deep, azure gaze of one with hair the color of the sun. He saw through the icy crystal eyes of the Lone Wolf, hidden behind which was the clear blue skies of summer. He saw through the Power Waves and the Power Geysers, a heart that had learnt to live and love; to protect and not destroy.
And so Joe said nothing at all. He knew somehow, in his heart of hearts, that he was happy beyond relief to have just the friendship of one he held so dear. Joe had never gotten the girls, no matter how hard he tried… and he would never get the boys, either. He was Joe, plain old Joe, there to help and be forgotten. He was lucky his friends never thought of it that way, but it was true that they were much more sought after than he. He was loud and brash – but he was there, and he was contented, so long as his noise and humor could bring a smile onto those pink lips.
And yet, there was this dull ache…
Therefore, Joe said nothing at all.
"Joe? Joe?"
"Hmm?" he snapped out of his dazed state.
"Are you smashed already?" Terry asked concernedly. "You haven't even touched your drink!"
"I… uh?" Joe blinked. He then grinned stupidly. "Yeah, guess not, huh?"
"Are you alright?" the tone was hushed – Joe knew that his friend did not want to embarrass him further. "Would you like to get back to… wherever you're lodging in?"
"Nah. I'm fine," he replied casually, and flexed his muscles, then tried to stand up. Suddenly though, he stumbled forward and crashed onto the counter. Someone had thrown a beer bottle at him from behind!
Instantaneously, the people in the bar stopped what they were doing and roared with laughter. Joe felt his ears grow pink. He glanced around, and saw, to his embarrassment, that even the bartender was trying hard to conceal a smile that was slowly spreading across his face. He scowled, forgetting his cool. Joe slammed his fist on the table.
"Laugh, laugh on! Morons!" he yelled brazenly. "Let's see if you'd laugh any longer when you feel my fist!"
"Oh, so you think you're so great?" a big bulky man stood up, rather drunk. "You Japanese people, you think you come here as tourists, and you expected to be respected? Without us you'd be nothing! We brought forth the planes to Japan! And we can bring it back!"
The others behind him cheered. Boosted by his drunken confidence, he did not notice the atmosphere growing tense. Joe's knuckles cracked inaudibly, but Terry heard it. He sauntered towards the men, his eyes now a burning fiery blue.
"Shut up, all of you!" Terry shouted hotly, banging the table around which the men were seated. The women ran off. "We don't need this now! No need for cultural low downs – we go to Japan, and we're respected there; they come here, and we respect them!"
"Ah," a strikingly attractive man grinned. He was rather muscular, well toned, and very proud of it, despite being slightly balding and a little pot-bellied. He was obviously in charge, sitting in the center, his leg crossed, and smoking on a cigar. Somehow he reminded Terry a little bit of Geese. "My, my, aren't you a pretty one… But it seems to me that you're already taken in by this yellow chink. Too bad… for him that you've finally met me."
Hands flew out and grabbed on to him, dragging the blond into a mass of middle aged drunkards, dressed in suits. They obviously worked out too, being strong enough to hoist him over and land him onto their 'boss'' lap. The blond may be stronger than they were, but not being laden with muscles, being slim instead, he was rather light, and easy to carry. He struggled futilely; lewd hands clamped over his thighs through his jeans, tugged at his hair and stroked whatever inch of exposed skin there was. For the moment, he finally settled to finish the issue by ramming his fists into each of their faces.
Before he could act, though, they were silenced with a savage roar. Then, as if in slow motion, the blond saw Joe rip through the mass, a fist flying here, there, everywhere, and blood spurting out to the ground, coupled with saliva and sweat. The combination of fluid dotted and stained the floor, and the bartender flew down behind the counter, desperate for cover. There was the clinking sound of fractured glass, beer spilling over the wooden floor, teeth crashing against the counter, in brief flashes of white. There were piercing shrieks, yells, screams, and curses, and the tables slammed against the walls.
Everything then settled to place, as the fight ended.
Joe surveyed the area, now desolate and deathly silent. In the middle of the mess, stained with blood and beer, sat Terry, his baseball cap on the floor beside him. He looked bewildered, his azure eyes wide with shock. Joe gave a low growl. Trust him to be that hotheaded! Per usual only Andy could have pulled off such a stunt, and leave his eldest sibling grinning and shaking his head. Joe couldn't stand the notion that he had lost his cool in front of Terry! At that, he stomped out of the bar.
The wind cooled his hot cheeks, and it gave him time to think. He walked aimlessly, and found himself in an esplanade, leaning against the railings, the gust of fresh air pushing his dark locks away from his face. People hurried by, and a few couples strolled together, hand in hand. Beyond, the lights blinked in the nighttime sky.
"Joe! Joe!"
Joe looked up. He spun around to see a familiar figure stalk up to him. His face was partially hidden by the shadow cast by his hair and the red baseball cap he wore, nonetheless Joe could feel his smile, and his bright blue eyes glinting with wicked mischief. A white pack was slung across his shoulder, and his sneakers squeaked on the wet pathway as he walked towards Joe. The street lamps caused the golden hair to shine with a strange glow, and tinted his tanned skin with a reddish highlight. He stood beside Joe, leaning against the railings.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"Really," he said. "I feel stupid. Looked like a regular D.I.D."
"D.I.D?"
"Dude In Distress," the blond chuckled. "I should've helped you on some, huh?"
"Yeah," Joe couldn't help but to grin. Silence reigned for a while.
"Joe?"
"Hmm?"
"Is something troubling you?"
Joe turned to meet the azure gaze he longed for. He had not been able to come up with admittance before, being frightened of what could be, what could never be, and how things could be so delicate, and shattered with just three words. But at the same time his heart would leapt with joy at the mention of this person's name, in which he chanted as a mantra, in light and darkness, when he ate, walked, and slept. His dreams were filled with the yellow sun, many a time it would be rivaled by another, whom he regarded to be far more superior in power – much more significant. It was sweet, warm and strong, and he smelled, in the fields, a perfume like that of a city, hushed and quiet, washed clean of its impurity by the rain that had just swept by. The skies were the color of a depthless, pleasant but indescribable shade of blue.
Even in his Japanese heart, he saw the red, white and blue of America. He saw the small smile; the sun kissed skin and the unfathomable, azure gaze of one with hair the color of the sun. He saw through the frosty semiprecious stone eyes of the Lone Wolf, hidden behind which was the clear blue heavens of summer. He saw through the Power Waves and the Power Geysers, a heart that had learnt to live and love; to guard and not devastate.
Joe had never gotten the girls, no matter how hard he tried… and he would never get the boys, either. He was Joe, plain old Joe, there to help and be forgotten. He had nothing to lose.
Terry made his world go round.
And therefore, Joe said it all in just three words.
"I love you."
Pink lips parted in amazement at the revelation. Slate blue eyes snapped open with shock, framed by golden treads of silk. Terry stepped back, faltering, his mouth running dry. He looked up at Joe, and saw true desperation written in his eyes.
Joe did not know what was going on in the blond's mind. He looked so expressionless, that for a moment, Joe thought that Terry had suddenly disconnected from the world. He looked on, and the face remained very much the same unreadable one, though he saw silvery tears smarting the blond's eyes, welling up, trickling down, and disappearing into the ground. Terry looked up, a sudden smile lighting up his features, but adding furthermore to its desperate, lonely one.
"… Thank you…"
Joe felt hope flooding through his heart.
"But… but I can't…
"I… can't. Not like this, Joe." The blond widened his smile, and pushed Joe's hair back. "Not like this."
"… Sorry," Joe choked out the word. Terry shook his head.
"No, I'm sorry," he said. He held out his hand. "Friends?"
"Friends," Joe took it in his – it was warm, like the sunlit fields he had always dreamt of… it lasted only a brief moment. And then, it was gone.
Joe walked off, feeling the wind in his hair. Behind him, Terry leaned against the railings, sighing into the air. As soon as the Japanese fighter was out of sight, the blond sank onto his knees, staring at the floor.
Dad, Lilly, Sulia…Joe never heard those words.
He walked on, his heart finally at ease. He had had nothing to lose. He knew somehow, in his heart of hearts, that he was glad beyond relief to have just the friendship of one he held so dear. Joe had never gotten the girls, no matter how hard he tried… and he would never get the boys, either. He was Joe, plain old Joe, there to help and be forgotten. He was fortunate his friends never thought of it that way, but it was true that they were much more sought after than he. He was loud and impetuous – but he was there, and he was satisfied, so long as his noise and wit could bring a smile onto those pink lips.
And yet, there was this dull throbbing pain…
He didn't know. But he knew, too, that what they did was for the best.
It was a clear, cloudless night. The air was silent – not a single whisper of the wind stirred the scraps of paper on the streets, and the people rushed by, nonchalant. He stepped past the alleyways, where he saw itinerant people sleeping in newspapers, cardboard boxes, and he strode by the park, where vagrants slept on the benches, under the starlit skies. Around him whizzed busses, cars, bikes and citizens, and the lights glowed brightly, fiercely flashing in the nighttime sky. He caught the scent of dust in the air, pooled with cigarette smoke, exhaust fumes – sometimes the flavorful dishes from Chinese restaurants, and a familiar aroma of a Japanese one. He could feel the cool, but unventilated air, as he went ambling by.
He could see a small bar, with waitresses swaying their hips, amusing patrons. Opposite the bar counter, a chap tended to his customers. He could see cigarette smoke rising from a group of middle aged men, seated round the tables, with women straddling their legs, and cards in their hands. Whiskey bottles lay empty on the floor. The lights were dim and fogged, and there was a tune that filled the air, causing his heart to beat to its tempo. Upon a stool, there sat a young man clad in red, white and blue, with a white bag settled by his feet. He was fair-haired, his face was partly hidden by a red baseball cap, and a long ponytail hung past his shoulders like pure gold silk. He couldn't see this blond's eyes, but he knew by heart that it was blue, and the very shade it was, he could never name.
The clamor, sights and smells of the bar seemed to die away even as he stalked in nearer. In place he heard a low voice, like a hushed breath of air, but loud enough to be regarded as speech. He breathed in a familiar scent, like that of a busy city, washed clean after a shower. He saw but one person, with a golden complexion, and lips curled faintly with a smile. A visage slightly round and ruddy, framed by flaxen strands of satin, and the figure turned to face him. He smiled.
Such was the scene painted on his mind, embedded in his heart – a busy city in the heart of the United States of America.
They were comrades.
Forever friends.
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The End
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Note: Trust me to be bad at endings. There may be a sequel though! XD