Thanks for the reviews. Life seems to be much more complicated than it should be, and Ive been trying to get something up for the last couple of weeks. This'll be short, but don't worry…it gets better yet…when I get the time. Love to all.

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Julia stood in her doorway for a moment, her thoughts coming in camera flashes that were bright and vivid to her, even as mentally worn as she was. She remembered that she had seen, quite a few daring inches bellow his navel, a few simple black symbols. They seemed to be in his native language, but she had no idea what the meanings were.

The weight of the bag was painful on her already sore back. Julia heaved it across the floor so that it was no longer in her path and locked the door behind herself.

"Maybe I should quit dragging around so many books." She whispered to herself, sighing. Her endless studying was getting her no where. She had hit a wall sometime the year before, and had yet to find anything promising. But yet, she still kept trying.

In fact, she was no longer the happy-go-lucky "Julie C" that all her professors at the U of A had known her as. Her mind set was slowly deteriorating, becoming more and more dark. But that didn't matter. She sat down stiffly onto the bed and for a moment, closed her deep, brown eyes.

He cleared his throat as he entered his room, his eyes systematically scanning everything that could be seen in a matter of moments. Every now and then his paranoia took hold, wrecking his nerves. They claimed to be done with him, but who know. Loyalty had had its limits with him, so why wouldn't honesty have the same with the Korean military?

Hwoarang dropped the damp towel from around his waist and let it fall to his feet beside the bed. The dull pounding of another headache pulsed behind his eyes.

Taking a pair of thin, black and baggy linen pants from his duffle bag, he slipped them over his nude lower half. Tonight would be another sleepless and pointless night. As he lowered himself into the leather chair beside the window, he clenched his injured fist in frustration. There was no doubt in his mind that his sleep deprivation was what had caused his early tournament defeat, but the headaches always came. There was no stopping them.

Hwoarang was in need of a stiff drink. Any concoction wound do. If he had to be awake all night, why be coherent. Leaning forward to reach the ornate refrigerated cabinet, he found a bit of everything. Chinese vodka, his drink of choice, sat in a red tinted bottle to the left of the cabinet. He smiled to himself bitterly, taking the bottle between his fingers and his palm.

Opening the bottle, he took a long sip, feeling the cool and then scratchy burning sensation follow closely behind. Alcohol seemed to be the only substance that could ease the constant annoyance of a head ache that ancient herbs or modern doctors could explain, or heal. Slouching back and down into the chair, he rested his palm against his face.