Thank you so much for taking interest in this fic, and a huge thanks for the great reviews! Finishing on a major something forced me to drop everything for a month. I am sorry; there was no way around it. Now, I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I also remind you that this is slash and slashy humor, so please mind your sensitivities and take a U-turn if need be.

Chapter 2: Crude Awakening

Hwoarang woke to a presence by his side. In his bed—and in his arms—as his brain registered the situation step by step. He groaned, then frowned. He could not even remember getting to bed, let alone getting to bed with someone. He opened his eyes with effort and cursed the curtains that failed to keep out the daylight. His arm was numb as he it pulled off his partner. His partner? Hwoarang was suddenly alert and struggled against the painful light.

"What the—"

Hwoarang stared at the sleeping body of Jin Kazama in horrified stupor, which quickly turned to enraged confusion. He reacted on an instinct. "Get out!" he yelled and gave Jin a violent push.

Jin fell off the bed with an ungraceful thump. He was on his feet in no time, staring at Hwoarang, with aggravation taking over the sleepiness.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hwoarang demanded and rose to his knees. Belatedly, he realized his unclothed state, and pulled the bedcovers on himself quickly. This new discovery did not improve his mood.

"What are you trying to do?" Jin snarled.

"What am I—? What are you doing here, Kazama?" Hwoarang demanded. He tugged the covers firmly around his waist as he scrambled up on the opposite side of the bed.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Hwoarang glowered in wrath. "What are you playing at, Kazama?"

Jin struggled to keep his composure, when an unnerving thought struck him. "You don't remember?"

"What...?" Hwoarang left the question in the air. Instead, he broke the staring match and shifted uneasily. He licked his lips unconsciously. "What am I supposed to remember?" There was hesitation in his voice.

Jin sat down on the bed wearily, and this time, he got to stay there. He hung his head and wondered briefly how, exactly, he had tempted fate to find himself here. "It seems that last night we..." There was a pregnant pause. "I thought you knew."

Hwoarang battled the growing unease. "It's not possible." At the same time, he realized his fingers were losing feel, holding onto the covers as tightly as they were. "It's not possible?"

Jin just shook his head.

The silence broke when Hwoarang gulped and muttered, "Where are my clothes?"

Jin started to turn, but Hwoarang gestured at him agitatedly.

"Will you—"

Jin turned his back wordlessly and studied the sunbathed curtains. He heard shuffling noises across the room and the swoosh of fabrics brushing. Jin was looking at the window sill when something caught his attention. The way that the shadows hit the window reminded him of something. Then it struck him.

Second door to the left.

He almost gasped as he remembered his own room with burning certainty. The window there gave light differently. And with that, Jin knew the layout of the room and the location of it as well as he backtracked his sudden memory flash.

He was up and at the door with a few strides.

"What are you—" Hwoarang was startled and much too entangled in the straps of his pants to hinder Jin.

"I must go."

"Hey, waitaminute—" Hwoarang's words fell to deaf ears, as Jin all but stormed out of the room and closed the door behind him. "Kazama!"

It was no use. Jin was gone, and Hwoarang was left alone, with only a good few questions and a pounding head to keep him company. Hwoarang cursed and yanked the offending pants in place with a bit too much force. He set out to find himself a shirt and found his top crumpled on the floor. He tucked it in almost savagely and set out to find the rest of his attire with the same unfaltering intensity.

There was no way to divert his train of thought, though. He and Kazama had been together? Like that? Either Kazama had lost his mind, or he his, or then they were both deranged and had . . . what? Hwoarang leaned onto a wall and squeezed his eyes shut. He vaguely remembered talking to someone at night, which helped nothing. Before and after was a blank, and the only person with answers had left in a fit of an epiphany.

Hwoarang ran his fingers through with his hair, and decided that this could wait until he had eaten something. His head was muddled as-was, and luckily, the start of the day had not quite sunk in yet.

He was halfway downstairs when he felt a sudden vertigo. The stairs were steep, but it was no excuse. With a sharp intake of breath, Hwoarang leaned back on the rail and fought to keep his alarm at bay. What the hell was wrong with his head? He could not think straight, and now his step faltered as well. As he rested there, gripping a hold of himself, something completely different struck him.

Leaning back on the rail and smooching with someone.

The memory was so lively that he shot up and almost tripped on the stairs. He grabbed the rail and rubbed his temple. It could not be. This had to be some sort of a nightmare.

It had to be a new low, Hwoarang thought ruefully, as he forced himself upright and down the stairs. Waking up nude, cuddling Jin Kazama, with blanks and freaky flashbacks for memories? Great start for a day. At least, it couldn't get worse than this.

It could only get worse, as Hwoarang soon learned. He had made it into the kitchen; then, everyone had made him out. Now, less than ten baffling minutes later, he had been privy to more information than he had ever wanted know. He had been informed of how a couple more fighters never locked their doors and how they got lonely at night. A couple of what's-their-faces had tried to give him their room keys. From what Hwoarang gathered, it was for something he had done last night, but there was no way to ask.

"Look, I'm hungry, so do you mind...?"

It was no use. New predators had showed since the first ones had gotten their share.

"Would you like me to feed you?" a low, pseudoseductive voice murmured, followed by a giggle. Anna Williams had stood by long enough. Now, she sought to place herself and her miniskirt in Hwoarang's lap, and only the fact that Hwoarang was cowering by the table kept her at bay.

He was saved by a temporary ally.

"Desperation becomes you, sister dear," a cool, careful enunciation rang. Out of the haphazard group wandering about, the newly arrived Nina Williams was the odd one: there was no evidence of a party night on her or in her demeanor, as she stood there dressed in a catsuit, sneering at Anna.

Anna immediately straightened up, but regained her composure quickly. "Nina. Did you leave your broom outside?"

Nina shook her head amusedly. "You and your pathetic little insults. Will you ever learn?"

"Would you like to see a few new tricks? I've saved them all for you."

"I doubt you've been saving, Anna."

Anna gave a shrill laugh. "Sticks and stones, Nina. Or, is it broomsticks with you?"

"The joke is getting old, and so are you."

"Hag."

Nina faked to yawn. "Boring. I see I must look elsewhere for any competition." She turned away.

"I'll come. A scratching post like you makes as good a spar as any." Anna detached herself from Hwoarang, but before she followed in Nina's suit, she bent over and breathed in Hwoarang's ear, "You'll excuse me. We'll have to continue this another time somewhere . . . private."

Not while I live.

Anna left with heels clicking and hips swinging.

Hwoarang shuddered. What a vamp . . . ire. His relief was short-lived, though, as yet another fighter decided to put in his two cents' worth.

"Saved by the bell, huh?"

"The hell does that even mean, Phoenix?" Hwoarang snapped.

"Whoa, defensive. Take it easy. Just seems the lady is interested even when there ain't no interest in the lady. Or ladies." Never one to err for discretion, Paul Phoenix put that last bit in knowingly.

"Shut up." Hwoarang felt a flush creeping on his face.

"It's no secret you and the Kazama kid are an item now. What'd you do with your boyfriend, anyway?" Paul said and laughed like he had just told a howler.

"I'm looking to beat Kazama, not date him."

"Off."

"What?"

"Off," Paul repeated, looking self-satisfied.

Hwoarang shot him an incredulous look that spelled, I don't get it. Then, the guffawing started. It spread like a disease; some in the present company got it, and those that did not just followed the infectious snickering. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he demanded.

Paul was in too much agony to elucidate—he didn't mean harm to the kid, anyway—and the company just drifted further into insanity. It seemed like the night before had left some tension, which was now released as mass-hysteria.

Hwoarang had had enough. "Screw you!" The chair was knocked over as Hwoarang got up fiercely and stormed out. He got as far as the staircase when he saw Jin, now orderly and prepared to train, emerge on the upper landing. "And screw you, too!"

Jin was taken aback. "What?" he said and leaned over.

Screech. The wooden rail caved in under Jin, who tried in vain to regain his balance and pull himself back. It was no use, and Jin plunged. Hwoarang lifted his arms up for protection, and that was all he had time for before Jin landed straight on him.

Hwoarang was knocked down, and a pained moan escaped him at the impact. The fall did not spare Jin, either. Jin landed with his hands first and hit them painfully before the rest of him landed on Hwoarang and knocked the wind out of the both of them.

Aching, Jin lay there before regaining his senses. He realized he was lying heavily on Hwoarang, who lay motionless, and set out to move. He placed hands on both sides of Hwoarang and pushed himself up with a groan. One foot at a time, he removed his weight off the other man. Chest heaving, he remained there just to catch his breath...

"Bravo!"

Jin looked up to see Lee Chaolan leaning on the doorframe, smirking and clapping his hands with measured relish. He looked around languidly to discover a number of familiar figures at the scene. The shuffling noises around gave away the fact that the audience was growing.

It was the wolf-whistle that crystallized the horror of the situation to Jin.

It's not like that.

It was unlikely that the keen spectators, watching the half-naked Jin Kazama hunched over Hwoarang, saw it that way.

T.B.C.

Many thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Published May 13, 2008.