Chapter Sixteen

The weather reminded Lee of why he hated coming back to Dreyfus; dreadfully humid after the previous day's rain, and mud everywhere. However, he was relieved that he was to his destination, finally after taking a redeye flight, and doing what little work he could over the phone. He took a sip of his coffee.

Granted, he was tired and looked more of a mess than usual; black tailored suit, tie loosened sloppily, his grey hair mussed, and his jaw stippled with his five o'clock shadow. Luckily, though, it was still early, and few people sat in the shop aside from him. It made for a rather peaceful change from the cramped flight he had taken just a few hours ago. He figured he could rest the remainder of the day at the manor, but he needed just a bit of caffiene to make the trip to the house safely.

He was sitting in the coffee house across the street from the Louisville Bar, which he made a point not to look out the window at the wretched lot as he drank his coffee and read his newspaper. Ocassionally, the doors opened and jingled as a customer came in; and for the first time, Lee went unnoticed. He looked like the usual business man that strolled in and read his stock numbers before heading off to work, styrofoam cup in hand. In the years that he had lived in Dreyfus, that was something he had never experienced, and he rather enjoyed it. As he read his paper, a slight smile curved across his lips.

In the pit of his stomach, though, he still felt a little ill from the night before. He hadn't told Anna of his change of plans at all. However, he reminded himself that it made little difference whether she thought him to be in Illinois or not; he took another careful drink of his coffee then turned the page of his paper. Soon, he finished his coffee and paper, and with a heavy sigh, Lee quickly refolded his paper and stood up to leave. He gave a hearty yawn and stretched before strolling over to the doors.

The sky was completely clear that day, and as Lee drove past the city limits out towards his former home, he squinted from the morning sunlight that glazed over the dead scenery with its fiery light. He imagined that was what Hell looked like; burning colors, lack of life. Ocassionally, he did see a hawk or a crow on the sides of the gravel road pecking at some unidentifiable animal or circling the fields on either side of him. Soon, the first set of iron gates appeared, indicating that he had finally reached his family's estate.

It wasn't long before the Mishima reached the manor, and the car slowed as the road turned from gravel into pavement. Lee shook his head; the house hadn't changed a bit from when he had visited aside from the garden; as he drove past, he noted that gardenias had been added and were in full bloom like the poppies from being well-tended. Finally, he pulled up to the garage.

Lee got out of his rental car and pulled his suitcase from the back seat before slamming his door shut. He then dragged his luggage over to the garage door's entry key pad and flipped the lid up protecting the keys. Quickly, he punched in the entry code, and the garage door rose slowly, groaning as it lifted and rolled back. Before the door finished opening, the silverhaired man ducked underneath and pulled his bag behind him.

There was one car in the garage, an old black Civic which Lee was certain had belonged to Jin. As he trudged past it, the Mishima shook his head in pity. He had never met Jin, and never had seen what the boy looked like until after the funeral. And despite being Jin's uncle, Lee felt rather detacted whenever he heard stories about the young man. Sometimes, it did bother Lee that he didn't think much of his nephew. Most of the time, however, he shrugged it off.

Like the exterior, the inside the home was still the same, aside from the baby grand piano in the family room. The silverhaired man stopped and set his bag down, surprised; the instrument had been in storage since he was a teenager, since Lee had been the only person in the household that played any. He smiled slowly and crept over to the piano then carefully lifted the lid. For a few minutes, he tinkered around, playing starts and fits of Beethoven and Kabalevsky. Eventually, he pulled out the bench and sat down, as songs started to come back to him.

He lost himself for awhile as he played, music flowing out as if he had never stopped playing, until something jarred him. The song he was playing had been a Chopin nocturne, one that his mother had particularly been fond of. During the last few months of her life, she had often requested to be moved from her bedroom into the family room, and covered with blankets, she sat and listened, her eyes closed and a thin, sickly smile on her face.

One morning, she had been sat up as she always requested and listened, humming along softly to the music her son played for her. Softer and softer her voice became until she was weeping to herself. Lee, only twelve then, paused and looked over his shoulder, and for the first time, it hit him: his mother was dying.

All those years, he had never thought anything of her always being ill, of her state slowly degenerating. He turned back; the little boy's hands trembled as he tried to force himself to continue, yet he soon found himself bent over the keys, his arms wrapped around himself as he fought off tears.

That had been the very last time he had played any.

Lee stopped playing and hastily pushed out the bench as he stood. The silverhaired man then painfully rubbed his tembles with his thumb and forefinger; without taking another look at the piano, he turned and headed to the staircase to go upstairs.

His room had been the last one down the hall, and instinctly he walked past his brother's room and the bathroom. Lee sighed heavily and grasped the doorknob, turning carefully and pushing the door open at the same time. When he poked his head in, he chuckled softly and completely opened the door, amused but somewhat in shock.

He had fully excepted that Jin would had taken Kazuya's old room, but instead the young man's belongings were neatly arranged in Lee's room in a fashion sickingly similar to how Kazuya himself would had decorated the room; academic awards hung on the walls, along with prom and graduation photos. On top of the chest-of-drawers in the corner, several cross-country and martial arts trophies were lined up , and a white dicky indicating that Jin had been valedictorian of his class was folded carefully on top of the dresser. Lee wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Over-achiever," he muttered under his breath as he fully stepped into the room, somewhat annoyed, since he didn't want to sleep in there anymore. However, that didn't stop him at all from snooping around. He wandered over to the dresser and mirror, casually pulling open drawers, peering in, then closing them, disappointed at the lack of anything interesting.

He then strolled over to the chest-of-drawers and pulled out the top drawer and looked in; a grin crept slowly across his face as he stared down at the contents. Of course, there were clothes folded with care, as there had been in all the other drawers he had checked. However, resting on top the pile of clothes were: a half used dime bag and rolling papers, an unopened pack of cigarettes, a couple of disposable lighters, and an opened box of condoms. With a relieved laugh, the silverhaired man turned around and pushed the drawer close with his back. His head was down as he continued to laugh, forgiving his nephew and thankful that Jin hadn't been exactly like Kazuya afterall. After a few moments, he managed to compose himself and straightened him, smirk still on his face and marched out of the room. He pulled the door shut behind him, glanced over his shoulder, and noddedwith respectat the door. Lee then headed back up the hall to Kazuya's room to lie down.

The air in the room was thick with dust, and he coughed a bit when he opened the door. He didn't go in right away and leaned in the doorway to soak in everything. As with Jin's room, everything was tidy, though almost too tidy; Lee recalled that Kazuya had been neat to the point of being compulsive, arranging and rearranging items constantly, cleaning three or four times a day, and reorganizing his files and notes for no reason on a regular basis, some of which still sat neatly on the desk in the corner of the room. The bed, of course, had been made; Lee could tell that was Heihachi's doing, however, from how the bedspread was folded, since it was slightly different from what Kazuya would had done.

On the floor, there were cardboard boxes stacked and set against one of the walls, which the silverhaired man knew were filled with Kazuya's belongings he had acquired while residing Chicago. He frowned, pondering why they hadn't been destroyed or put in storage at the very least, yet he felt a relief wash over him; perhaps it meant that Heihachi had forgiven Kazuya. Finally, he came into the room and cautiously headed to the bed. Slowly, he sat down on it, facing the dresser and mirror.

Nothing sat on top of the dresser, and there were no pictures on the mirror. It was neat and bare, much like the rest of the room. However, Lee felt the same distressed presence he always felt when he was around his brother, particularly during the nights when he used to crawl into bed with Kazuya and slept. Of course, he hadn't done that since he was a child, and definitely not since before their mother had passed. And yet, those were some of the memories he enjoyed most, the sound of a heartbeat when he pressed his ear against his brother's bare chest and his aroma of soap and sweat, bittersweet but refreshing. It made Kazuya human.

Lee sighed and rubbed his temples again; fatigue was starting to hit finally. He lifted his head and glanced down at the bedspread; it was carved into strips of light and shadow from the sun streaming through the cracks of the blinds. With a small yawn, he turned his back to the window, picking up up the single pillow from the bed. He gripped it as he laid down on his side and stared out out into the room at the dresser and mirror again. Lee inhaled deeply; despite the heavy smell of dust, there was a faint scent of cologne and detergent on the pillow.

He wanted to cry.

o.o.o.o.o

Hwoarang stirred a little as the sun light from the half opened blinds hit his face. He groaned and turned to his back away from the window. Surprisingly enough, Julia had let him stay in her room the night before. She seemed rather forgiving or at least willing to forget about the previous day. Hwoarang himself decided it was better he didn't ever mention it again, as much as it hurt him.

There was a soft, persistance sound of shuffling, to which he tried to tune out as he hovered between waking up and falling back into a deep sleep. Eventually, the young man ended up opening his eyes slowly. His vision blurred then focused as he stared out into the room, and he blinked. Confused, he sat up, taking care to not to make a sound.

Julia was up and standing at her dresser, her back to the older boy as she was hunched over. He felt a small grin form on his lips; she was wearing nothing but her red bikini briefs, and her long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. As tempting as it was, Hwoarang restained himself and watched, mesmerized with every subtle move the younger girl made; it was enough just to watch her like that, though a small bit of shame nagged him for being aroused. He reminded himself that wasn't his fault though.

She stopped and straightened up. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder and straight at Hwoarang; her face was tearstreaked from panicking, and she turned around fully, the cigar box in hand. The older boy blinked once then carefully pulled his covers off before standing up, keeping his gaze steady on Julia.

"Good morning," he said quietly. She was silent and continued to stare at her guest, her face hardening into something he couldn't quite read.

He added cautiously, "Did you sleep well?" Again, silence. "I guess not."

"Where is it?" she responsed finally, ignoring any gesture of good will he had shown; her voice came out eerily calm in comparison to her face. Hwoarang frowned as he approached the younger girl. When he reached her, he didn't say a word and instead tenderly ran his fingers through her hair, causing some of it to trickle forward over her bare breasts. He smiled down at her fondly; in the pit of his stomach, he felt ill-ease, however. He knew what she was asking about, and his mind drifted momentarily to the picture that sat tucked safely in his duffle bag now.

Julia swatted away his hands, "You've been going through my stuff. Where is it?"

He frowned, "Where's what?"

Angrily, she held up the cigar box and opened it, shoving up to his face. Hwoarang stumbled back a bit, startled at the sudden gesture. He blinked once and stared down at the necklace before relaxing a bit and carefully plucking out the chain and charms.

He had honestly never looked at either charm up close. The ring was plain, no decorations or engravings, which bothered Hwoarang to some extent. Aside from the sentimental reasonings behind Jin giving the ring to Julia, the utter lack of personality of the ring was odd. However, it had been well-taken care of and still shone beautifully, as did coin, though its one exposed face was nearly completely worn away. There was an inscription on the backing of the coin which he couldn't read, though Julia had mentioned once that it had belonged to her mother.

"How come you don't wear this anymore?" he asked as he as unclasped the delicate gold chain and wrapped his arms around her to fasten the necklace around her neck. Quickly, he pulled back and straightened out the necklace, placing it neatly between her breasts. It took almost every ounce of self-control for his hands not to wander; the warmth and softness of her bosom was something he missed sorely. Though, he did find himself wondering if she missed being touched in that manner at all, and if so, if she missed it because of Jin.

His train of thought was broken when she jerked back, staring wide-eyed at him, her mouth parted slightly as she started to say something. She didn't speak, however, nor did she push away his hands this time, which he took as a sign that he could go a little further. Hwoarang's hands moved slowly outward, and he cupped a breast in each hand. His thumbs lightly brushed over her nipples, which hardened with each deliberate stroke. Again, she did nothing.

He leaned down, bringing his face to hers, his mouth parted a bit like hers; he could feel her breath quickening against his lips and her body warming up as he fondled her. A slight grin formed on his mouth; for once, he was winning, even if it was just for a moment. Hesistating a little, he swallowed hard then leaned in completely, gently nipping her lips once, twice, then with a bit more aggression, he fully kissed the younger girl. His hands slid down from her chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Julia quickly broke it off and shoved him away, "What do you think you're doing?" Her voice again was even, cold, and she ripped off the necklace. With an angry huff, she threw it back into the box, breathing heavily from both being upset and aroused. He shrugged and sat down slowly on the bed, keeping his gaze forward at the dresser. The only sound in the room was their breathing and the songbirds outside. The older boy crossed his arms and rested them on his knees as he leaned forward, still not taking his eyes off the dresser.

She stepped in front of him, her free hand on her hip; her other hand shook the box condescendingly, rattling the ring and coin inside. Sighing heavily, he looked up at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Where's my picture?" she repeated coolly; Hwoarang was silent. In response, she began tapping her foot, waiting.

Finally he shook his head and replied, "I don't understand why you can't just let go of him."

"You're the one that keeps bring him up."

"Because one of us has to." He stood up, and he glared at Julia before walking past her to the bedroom door.

She threw her hands up in disgust, "Hwoarang, where is it?" He glanced over his shoulder, still frowning.

"You never answer my questions either." And with that, he turned back around, pulled opened the door, and left, slamming the door behind him.

o.o.o.o.o

He hadn't had enough coffee, Lei decided. As he sat next to Drake, half-listening to his briefing for that morning, he worked to keep himself from nodding off. He wasn't sure if it was really fatigue or just plain boredom. Either way, he knew that he didn't want to be there.

". . .Well, it's only been two years, which should be recent enough to run forensic tests on the skeletal remains," the balding fed said tenting his fingers as he leaned in over the table he, Lei, and several other specialists and agents were sitting at. Lei's head jerked up as he caught himself about to doze off again, and he frowned as he resituated himself.

One of the specialists frowned, "Well, that's true enough, Agent Drake, but I'm not sure exactly what that would accomplish, aside from just reconfirming what's already been established."

"Kazama wasn't subjected to a proper autopsy," he replied as he sat back in his seat. "His family had him embalmed and buried immediately. You can't tell me that doesn't reeks of what happened to Kazama's father."

"...I'm not familiar with the whole story, so no. What happened to Jin Kazama's father?"

Drake shook his head, "The guy was supposedly mugged in an alley and gunned down when he was leaving from work one night. Heihachi Mishima made sure no one but the coroner saw the body, and supposed it was cremated before anyone else could view it." Lei blinked as he realized what exactly was being discussed, and he sat up slowly.

The specialist shook her head, "I'm sorry, but I still don't see how--"

"--This may be our only chance to finally get Mishima and put him behind bars."

Lei's eyes widened, and he stood up, "Wait a minute. Do we even have permission to go digging up Jin?"

Drake chuckled and looked up, "Detective, you of all people should know that Heihachi Mishima was Kazama's only living family. Since Mishima is the one we're investigating, we can bypass permission from next-of-kin."

"What about Heihachi's surviving son? Doesn't he count?" The detective began pacing back and forth. "I'm sure you know about Chaolan Mishima. I would think--"

"--And Chaolan was not Kazama's legal guardian at the time of death. And I heard that he didn't even attend the funeral. I think we can consider that as permission enough." Lei crossed his arms slowly in shock as he gazed down at Drake, who kept a straight face.

Drake continued, "Detective Lei, I know you're very familiar with the incidents two years ago. You were one of the witnesses, correct?"

"...Yeah, but..." Lei frowned and sat back down. "I can tell you, he was gunned down and then shot point-blank in the head. And it's the truth. There's no reason to--"

"--Did you know that those documents and witness interviews are missing and have been for well over a year?" Lei was silent and shook his head; he felt his stomach gnawing on itself as he listened numbly. "Agent Bryan Fury was the only person that could possibly had known what happened. Now, that he's gone..."

"...You have to start from the beginning," the detective finished as he hung his head.

"Well, that settles it. We'll send a crew out tomorrow morning. I want to get this done as quickly and cleanly as possible."

Lei spent the rest of the day feeling sick as he continued to sort paperwork, and tried to prepare himself for the next morning. The one thing he had hoped for was that it wouldn't had had come down to that. He knew it was useless and that Drake would be sorely disappointed with his findings. Body or not, there wouldn't be enough evidence.

As he gathered his things to head back to Paul's, Lei reminded himself of that. He tried desperately to take comfort in that, knowing at least in that way, he had kept his promise to himself; it didn't matter if Jin was Kazuya Mishima's son, he was Jun's first. And anything regarding Jun was Lei's personal business. He promised to look after Jin, and he was going to do his best. No one, not even the federal government, was going to exploit Jun Kazama nor her child.

Lei chewed on the inside of his cheek as he cleaned up and carefully restacked the few remaining unsorted papers to place back into the tub. He wasn't planning on bringing them home at all that night after spending two whole days organizing and rereading. Unfortunately, he did see what Drake meant by missing filework; several audio tapes of his and Julia Chang's interviews and questioning were missing, and reports of findings and evidence confiscated from the Mishima estate the local branch of the company were missing as well, including a possible murder weapon. He remembered Julia's testamony particularly well, mostly since he and her mother had told her what to say.

His frown deepened. It was indeed a repeat of what happened to Kazuya Mishima, right down to the rehearsed testaments. He relaxed some as he placed a stack of folders into the tub sitting on his desk. There was no use in getting worked up about it like he did then. For now, he had to just go with everything and hoped for the best. With that thought, he was ready to see Paul and maybe go out for drinks later. Quickly, he finished placing the last few folders away and snapped the lid shut. With a soft yawn, he turned his back on his work for the day.

His office door opened, "Detective?" One of the receptionists popped her head in the door meekly; he nodded and gestured for her to enter. She sighed with relief and pushed open the door before stepping in. "This came for you a couple days ago." In her hand, she held a small envelope, and she held it out to Lei. He gave her a friendly smile and nodded as to thank her as he took the envelope from her. The younger woman nodded, turned, and quickly exited.

Annoyed, he shoved his mail in his trouser pocket and left as well. There would be plenty of time to read it later.

o.o.o.o.o

Julia left the house hastily that morning, quickly saying good-bye to her mother with her head down and not a word to Hwoarang. As she went outside her front door, she pulled her grey hoodie over her head, then scurried over to her car, in a hurry to leave before Michelle did.

After she got in her car, Julia sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel. Her breathing was shallow and stagnanting from trying to keep from crying again. She glanced up when the front door opened and her mother stepping outside and pulling the door shut. The older woman marched up to her daughter's car and knocked on the driver's side window.

Julia hesistated before rolling down her window, but she composed herself quickly and did so. Her hands went back to firmly gripping the stirring wheel, but she kept a steady gaze on her mother.

Michelle crossed her arms, "Jules, tell him."

"What am I exactly supposed to tell him, Mom?"

"How about the truth?" the older woman replied coolly. Julia clicked the roof of mouth with her tongue then glanced forward at the windshield. "Jules, he's losing patience--"

"--You think I'm enjoying this?" The younger woman looked back up at her mother, her face was drawn down in a taunt frown as she fought off tears. "And how do you think he'd take it? He'd either think I was crazy, or he'd blow up with that temper of his. Hell, probably both." Julia pulled her hands from the wheel and folded them on her lap.

The older woman frowned, "Robert's changed a lot, and he obviously cares about you. I just hate to see you lose someone else--"

"--Don't. Please, Mom, I already know, and I'm not going to ask him to stay or to leave. Rang's an adult and can make his own choices." Julia leaned over and started her car.

Michelle blinked as her daughter rolled up her window. Julia, however, didn't drive away, but finally hunched over and began sobbing. With a heavy sigh, the older woman shook her head and turned to her own car.

Julia didn't look up again until she heard her mother's car start and drive off.

It took her a few minutes to recompose herself. Deep breaths, clenching her teething, doing everything in her power from getting out of her car and smashing the windows in with the crowbar in the trunk. She looked down at her hands; they were balled up into tight fists and were trembling, to no surprise to her at all. She stretched her fingers a bit then concentrated on getting them to stop shaking by counting backwards from one hundred until she calmed. Julia then looked back up at the house; her frown tightened, and finally she put her car in reverse and pulled out.

The roads that morning were still wet from the rains the day before, making a spectacular show of reflected sunlight in the puddles as her car splashed through them. It almost made Julia to want to abandon her car at the side of the road and just leave Dreyfus by foot and enjoy the morning; the bright golden colors that bathed everything in warmth, and for a little while, she was able to forget about her spat with Hwoarang earlier until she suddenly she realized that she was going to run a red light. At that point, she stamped down on the breaks then waited, humming to herself, mostly to keep herself occupied.

She hated this town and she hated whenever she had to come home. She had spent so much of her childhood daydreaming of escaping there, particularly after her parents divorced. Sometimes, Julia didn't know what was worse: living alone with her mother or being surrounded by her father's new family. Either way, she felt isolated; when she was little, Julia used to dream of running away, maybe to New York. As she got older, New York became California, then Canada, then Europe, and then finally Mexico after she had been seeing Jin Kazama for a little over two years. He was fixated on leaving as well, though it was more a less due to some kind of unsettling feeling that he wouldn't speak about with her.

That was probably what she remembered most about him, how ill-ease he was. Jin never talked much; hhe figured that he had been taught not to speak unless spoken to. Respectively, he had told her next to nothing to her about his childhood in Japan. In that sense, Julia really never considered herself as anything other than a companion to Jin. Friends, maybe. Lovers, of course. In love, never.

But, he wanted to leave, and he had the means to do so. He had money, though it was something he never bragged about. He didn't need to, he was a Mishima. Everyone in the whole goddamned town knew he was Heihachi Mishima's grandson, or more importantly, Kazuya Mishima's son, and it was hung over him as some of punishment for simply existing. Julia often wondered if he resented the fact. However, she never asked; it wasn't her place to. She was just to there to keep him company, and she latched onto him. She still hated herself for it; after that last night she spoke Jin, she vowed to herself never to attach herself to anyone like that again.

The light turned green and traffic moved forward.

She wasn't sure exactly where she was going that day, though soon Paul Phoenix's garage was came into view. The shop itself wasn't opened yet, but his bike was parked around the back. Julia sighed with relief and changed lanes to pull over into the parking lot. She always made some kind of effort to visit Paul whenever she was in town; she was fond of him and viewed him as family, sometimes even as a father figure. There was a hope that maybe, just maybe, her mother would reconsider him as a mate, though that was another faded wish left over from her childhood.

She parked her car then quickly jumped out.

Through the glass of front door, she could see the biker working, going over figures with his reading glasses on before he was to start working on vehicles that morning. She smiled to herself; Paul had always been the image of hip, even in his work clothes. His denim jumpsuit was clean for the moment, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a rag shoved into one of his back pockets that waved back and forth like a flag as he paced and read to himself. His long hair was pulled back unto a ponytail, and aside from the hornrimmed readingglasses, he looked like the stereotypical macho mechanic lifted straight out of a movie. Julia lifted a hand and tapped on the glass. He looked up and glanced over at the clock then at the door. His face then lit up when he saw the younger girl waiting, and he closed the binder.

"Hey there, Miss Julie," he smiled as he opened the door to let her in. Julia immediately hugged the older man tightly, taking him by surprise. It was silent for a moment before he realized that she was crying, and he pulled away; he frowned as he placed his hands on her shoulders and nodded, stepping to the side to let her in.

Without saying a word, he led her into the waiting room and gestured for the younger girl to sit down on one of the couches. He then did the same and sat across from her, his face stern.

"What is it?" the biker asked softly.

Julia was silent for a moment, keeping her head done as she attempted to control herself; she hated crying. Most of her life, she had been taught that it was a weakness for women to weep; her mother never cried in front anyone, nor did her grandmother. She couldn't even bring herself to cry at Jin's funeral at all, as much as she wanted to, though the months after she had her fits in private. However, that wasn't out of sorrow.

"I...I..." she stammered before taking a deep breath and finally calming herself. "I wanted to ask you something about Kazuya Mishima."

Paul blinked then leaned back in his seat, "Okay, I guess."

With another heavy sigh, Julia looked up finally, "Paul, do you think he really killed those two girls? Those sisters? I know the whole thing was entirely speculation, but those stories everyone tells..."

"...No, I don't think he did." The blond's frown deepened; his face stormed over as he went deep into thought; he leaned over his knees and was silent as he stroked his beard.

"Mom says that--"

"--Julie, trust me on this. I hated the fucker, but I knew him well enough to know that he wasn't a murderer."

She sniffed once and brought up a palm to wipe her eyes, "Even though there's nothing to prove that he didn't do it."

"And there's nothing to prove that he did. They never even found the bodies." Paul stood up abruptly, rubbing the back of his neck. He began pacing back and forth, keeping his gaze off Julia. "You know, I get sick of people accusing Mishima of killing Annie. He loved her. Loved her, Julie. As if it's impossible for them to feel that way--"

"--But, he wasn't human," she replied, her voice meek and almost child-like as she tried to find some kind of logical argument. "Like Jin. Jin isn't...wasn't human. They're not people."

Paul paused, his back to Julia. Again, he was silent; he looked up at the ceiling then hung his head, shaking it. Slowly, the biker turned around, his face drooped sadly as he finally looked Julia in the eye. Despite his expression, she was eager for an answer, her eyes still stinging from her tears. However, she straightened up in her seat and neatly placed her hands on her knees as she waited.

"You loved him, didn't you?" he asked softly as he fully turned to face the younger girl.

"...I thought I did. But the more I think about it, I'm not so sure--"

"--Julie, you can't think about those kinds of things. Love isn't something rational. Love isn't something that you can just put into some kind of mathematical equation and sum it up." He chuckled harshly and continued, "The world would be a much different place if it were that easy."

She glanced away, "...I know. But, you weren't there. You didn't see it."

Paul's frown tightened, "...You know, I remember when I got the news about Mishima from your mother. I didn't want to believe that rational people would play God like that." Slowly he sat back down, this time next to Julia, his gaze forward. Numbly, he continued, "At first, I felt this sigh of relief in the back of my head, though, like this was supposed to be my justice for losing Nina. But, it wasn't. Maybe I was the only one, but I still thought of him as a person. I grew up with him, I butted heads with him. Hell, I remember sitting next to Annie's bed with him when she lost that baby, since Nina refused to go see her. But most importantly, I respected him, Julie." Paul rubbed his temples painfully, "Mishima was one of the few people that I honest to God respected, even if he was a prick."

He added in a murmur, "To me, he was a person, regardless of what I've been told. And I don't think any differently of Jin. I can't. He was a damned good kid, like his mother." The blond glanced over at the younger girl. Her face was eerily placid, as if she was satisfied with his explanation. As if he had said exactly what she wanted to hear.

"Thank you," she said, managing a weak grin. Julia then stood up; Paul folded his arms, then leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze was forward, again not on Julia. She, however, tenderly placed a hand on his shoulder before walking away to leave.

The front door jingled as it swung shut behind Julia, yet the sound was almost lost entirely beneath the ringing in her ears. The air outside was sticky and humid now that sun had risen completely. However, she didn't mind, since it made the air heavy with the scent of drying mud, a smell she adored. It reminded her of playing in puddles after rainfall as a child; she walked towards her car, though not sure where she should go then. And of summer vacations traveling to Arizona with her mother and father; when she reached the car, she placed a hand on the roof and stared down at the door handle. And of that summer night when Hwoarang first kissed her while they waited together outside on her porch, refreshing and completely taking her by surprise, bold since Jin was right inside making a phone call. Hwoarang had been quick about it, though, smiling shyly at the younger girl when he pulled away as he pushed his red hair from his face to behind his ear.

She, however, didn't know how to respond and stared at him in astonishment, unable to move until the front door creaked opened, and she heard Jin's voice: "You two ready?"

Julia stared down at her hand, which was still planted on the car roof.

"It's not fair," she whispered to herself.