A/N: Finally managed to get this all down. Grarr nngh mrr... fight scenes still love to kick my ass. But! I hope this one turned out well. It's my own fault for writing fic based around a fighting tournament anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter, thank you so much to everyone who left feedback on the last one. I always love to read your thoughts on the story, so I'd be really grateful for your comments on this chapter too.
NEVER EVER
When you're in despair, try remembering
That the today you're about to give up on
Is the tomorrow that someone, somewhere
Refused to give up on.
- Red Line ~For TA~ , Ayumi Hamasaki
Chapter Twenty One: Tempest
The dim orange glow of the wall lamps and the gentle piano music drifting through the bar helps dissolve some of my nervous tension at the thought of my match in the morning. Christie and Hwoarang's cheerful banter helps a lot too; she scowls in mock-annoyance as he traces his fingers down his beer glass and laments the fact that Christie's one year shy of being able to drown her sorrows in alcohol.
"Go on, just twist the knife even more, Hwoarang, I would."
"You shouldn't even be drinking anyway," I tell him. "You've got a match tomorrow too."
"That never seems to bother Lei Wulong." he replies, "Mind you, maybe that's how he ended up losing to you."
I go to shove him, and he grabs my wrist and tugs me forward, wrapping an arm around me, ruffling my hair and completely ruining the ponytail I pulled it into earlier in an attempt to emulate Christie's sleek style. Oh well, hers looked better anyway. I still glower up at him and knock his hand away though. He treats me like such a kid sometimes.
"I suppose being in the army's taught you how to function on a hangover." Christie says, leaning back against the booth cushions with a smile.
"Well I needed to be fuckin' drunk to take part in half the stuff we got up to."
She flashes him a knowing glance.
"Hazing stuff?"
"Yeah, that." He makes a face at her expectant look and takes a swig of his beer. "No way am I going into it. Let's just say I will never be offended again when a girl spits."
"Hwo. For the love of all that is holy, don't go into it."
"Don't worry, it's not for twelve year old ears anyway, Xiao." Hwoarang laughs, tugging at my ponytail, and I pull the band out of my hair in exasperation.
"I'm guessing you're glad you've finished it all up then." Christie comments.
"The army thing? ...Can't say I regret leaving."
"Weren't you a sergeant? I really can't imagine anyone taking you seriously." I snipe. "If I were a soldier I'd never listen to a single word you said."
Hwoarang grins.
"If you were a soldier you'd be a damned liability with those pipe cleaner arms of yours."
"These pipe cleaner arms are gonna smack you in the face if you carry on."
"Dunno if you're aware, but most people use their fists, Xiao."
Christie laughs at our bickering, swiping Hwoarang's beer and taking a sip.
"I'm guessing she hasn't forgiven you for only lasting three seconds yet." she says airily, winking at me.
"Hey, lemme set you straight, Monteiro. The only time I've had problems like that is when I've been drunk."
Christie grins and hands him his beer back.
"Guessing tonight's no good for us then, hmm? Since that's your third one and all."
I half listen to Hwoarang's amused reply, an awkward feeling twisting in my stomach, the same type of unease as I felt this afternoon when I came across them hugging in the gardens. Jeez, no wonder he's been treating me like a kid tonight. I should've really got over this possessive, 'that's my friend' kind of thing after I turned seven or something. Seriously, Xiao, get over yourself.
Later, after Christie's headed off to her room, Hwo and I walk back through the lobby on our own way back. Usually we'd be making idle chit-chat about whatever, but there isn't much in the way of conversation right now, he actually seems a bit subdued. It can't be because he drank too much, I've been around him when he's drunk before, and he's usually got loads of stuff to say, though not a lot of it is worth listening to. When we reach the stairs, he trips up them and I give him a disapproving glance and try to steady him.
"Hwo, what did I tell you earlier? You really shouldn't be drinking the night before a match, it's just irresponsible when it comes down to it, isn't it?"
He gives me a sharp glance, his eyes flashing with anger, and I blink.
"Oh shove off, Xiao. You really shouldn't be planning on screwing Kazama when he's obviously fuckin' tapped in the head."
I look back down into the lobby and the woman on the reception desk is peering up at us curiously. Wow Hwo, I'm not quite sure you said that loud enough.
"Where did that come from?" I ask, my face reddening, and Hwo tugs his arm free from my grasp, carrying on up the stairs.
"Well, it's just irresponsible when it comes down to it, isn't it?" he snaps over his shoulder, and I run after him, temper flaring.
"Keep your voice down Hwo," I hiss. "You'll blow your chances with that receptionist down there if she thinks you're the jealous type."
"What?" Hwoarang shakes his head, laughing at the idea, and for some reason, my stomach wrenches. "Sure, 'cause there's really a reason to be fuckin' jealous of the guy if what Mi said is anything to go by, right? 'Least I'll always be myself, which's more than he can say." He starts off down the hallway again, spinning his keyring around his index finger.
"Hwoarang, why are you being so unfair? He can't help it!"
"Whether he can help it or not's irrelevant. You should stay the hell away from him."
I feel tears welling up in my eyes and quickly blink them away.
"I should help him. He hasn't got anyone else."
Hwo must've picked up on the tremor in my voice, because he lets go of the door handle and gazes at me, the anger dissolving from his expression.
"Xiao... can you really say you're not scared of him?"
I struggle to find the words to answer, and Hwo turns to face me properly, reaching out to touch my hand and then seemingly thinking better of it.
"'Cause you know what?" He folds his arms and holds my confused gaze. "I am. I'm scared of what he'll do to you. I'm scared I won't be there to do anything about it. I... If anything..." He trails off and looks at the floor. "Fuck... just don't try and do everything by yourself, Xiao... You don't have to, you know?"
"What brought all this on?" I ask again, wiping my eyes and following him as he walks into the room.
"It's..." he stops himself, shaking his head. "Look, I just don't wanna be worried about you when I've got matches to focus on."
Yeah. And the other people staying on this floor who've got matches to focus on are gonna love us for this little performance, I'm sure. I close the door behind me as quietly as possible to make up for the raised voices. Hwoarang sits on the edge of the messy bed and sighs, staring through the window opposite, and I stand there awkwardly for a moment and watch him. Somehow, knowing that he's worried about me, that he cares... it makes me feel a bit... I dunno. I mean, I know he cares about me anyway, we're friends after all, and it's probably the couple of drinks he's had that set him off on that little tirade. But even if it is just because of that, still... it makes me happy.
"You should go get some sleep." he mumbles, and I automatically head over to the wardrobe and pull out a couple of spare pillows and a blanket. "...I meant in your own room, Xiao."
I throw the bedding on the armchair in the corner with a shrug.
"Shut up, Hwo. You're drunk, you'll probably fall over something and not be able to fight tomorrow, and then blame me for not keeping an eye on you."
"I'm not drunk." he argues tiredly.
"Well you're not a hundred percent sober, then."
"What-the-hell-ever, if you won't piss off then just don't keep me awake with your snoring, kiddo."
I scowl and throw one of the pillows at him, and he offers a small smile before throwing it back.
The waves are gently lapping at the sand, the ocean a breathtaking shade of turquoise, stretching in front of me for miles as my hair flutters around my face in the breeze, and I want nothing more than to take my shoes off and paddle in the surf or close my eyes and enjoy the feel of the sun on my skin. It's not exactly the height of summer, there's a sharp chill in the air and I'd most likely catch my death if I were to splash about in the sea for too long, but still.
Anyway, unfortunately, I'm not here to have fun. I turn away from the sea and start heading back, taking in the sight of the palm leaves swaying as I walk past the ramshackle beach hut towards Julia.
She flashes a faint smile when I stop in front of her, and the PA system crackles to life, sounding like it's coming from the hut I just passed.
"This match is scheduled to begin in sixty seconds."
I push back the sleeves of my tracksuit jacket, Julia fixes her twin braids, and neither of us say a word until the bell sounds. Before I can even blink, she smashes her elbow straight into my midriff, and I stagger backwards with a cry that I'd like to imagine was more of surprise than pain. Then again, which one's worse? I know what Grandfather would say. God, if he was here, he'd be so disappointed in my performance these last few matches.
I resist the urge to clutch at my sore stomach, taking a long, deep breath and relaxing into a defensive stance as Julia studies me intently. You know, once, just for once, I'd like to make the first move, and for it to actually connect. At least that way I'd feel more confident. Julia hasn't moved, her braids dancing in the strong breeze, waiting for my response, and sand scatters as I spring forward, slamming my heel into her shin in an attempt to throw her off balance. It's a success, and as she tries to right herself, I seize the opportunity to take revenge for her first attack, palm lashing out to strike her in the stomach as hard as possible. I'm rewarded with her yelp of pain as she flies back, but she's unexpectedly quick in stumbling up from the ground.
The high winds push clouds across the morning sun, casting dim shadows across the beach and giving a bleak grey tint to the surroundings, and I suddenly think of Jin, of his profile as he stared out to sea in my dream that seems so long ago now. The distraction inevitably means that my late attempt to block Julia's foot from colliding with my head fails spectacularly, and through blurred vision I can see her dipping down in a graceful spin before pain jolts through my ankle and I automatically reach down towards it. Her fist rushes up to meet me, the impact strong enough to send me tumbling backwards through the air when it smashes into my face.
The chill in the air has intensified now the sun's shrouded in clouds, and I scramble to my feet, swallowing the metallic taste of blood and blinking away the tears of pain that sprung to my eyes in response to Julia's attack. Fighting on sand doesn't seem to faze her as far as I can tell, but all the same, I wonder if Christie would've had a better time of it if their match had taken place here. Memories of last night filter through the swirling panic in my head as I bite my lip and watch for Julia's next move. Christie, resting her chin on her palms, her gold necklace glittering in the soft light as she reminisced about sparring with her grandfather on the beach back home, her smile faltering slightly when she mentioned how she'd sometimes get the chance to train with Eddy too.
Julia darts forward, and a sudden feeling of indignation and resentment grips me. I cartwheel out of harm's way, sand slipping through my fingers, and angrily lash out with my foot. She gives a cry of pain, bringing her hands up to her face, and I snap it back for a second strike that sends her staggering. Before she can recover, I leap upwards and force my body into a spin, my foot arcing through the air and crashing into the side of her head. For a few seconds, the sun shines weakly through a break in cloud before shadows once again stifle its rays. Julia lands heavily, rolling onto her stomach with a groan and slowly standing up. She gives me a level stare, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the smear of bright blood startling against her white fighting gloves.
Lightning fast, her knuckles jab at my face, and I quickly shake my head in an attempt to clear the bright spots dancing across my vision, breaking out in a cold sweat. One blink, and she's no longer in front of me. A second confused blink, and there's no time to whirl around to face her; the impact explodes through me as she rams both fists into my lower back. I topple forward, shrieking in pain, and suddenly she's in front of me again, slamming her knee into my chin in a merciless followup strike.
I hit out blindly, connecting with nothing but air. Her palm drives fiercely into my stomach, forcing the breath out of me in a rush, and I somehow open my eyes only to glimpse her leg, a blur of blue heading straight for my face. Dropping down into the Phoenix Stance is the only thing that saves me from waking up in the infirmary, I'm certain of it. She's left herself open for a countermove, and I waste no time in dipping lower towards the ground and bringing my forearms up to crash into her chin, but it's just not enough to drive her back.
The last time I lost a match, the defeat was instantaneous. I mistimed my attack, Law wasted no time in punishing my mistake, and in a split second it was all over and I was waking up to the overpowering scent of disinfectant and the squeak of the infirmary ceiling fan. This time, it's so much worse. Julia draws both fists back and yet another solid blow to my stomach is too much for me to handle. The leaves on the palm trees close by continue to rustle softly in the breeze, the sound of the waves lapping against the sand sounds like I'm hearing it through a dream. Clawing back from the brink of unconsciousness, holding on desperately even as I can feel myself slipping, I know there'll be no surprise turnaround, no leaping to my feet and somehow, against all odds, managing to deal the finishing blow. All I can do now is gaze up at Julia, vision swimming with tears as it dawns on me that I no longer have the energy to get up and fight.
Somewhere far away, carried on the strong winds, I hear the PA system announcing Julia as the winner.
She looks caught between the thrill of victory and the strange feeling of guilt that often surfaces upon seeing your opponent suffering for it. I feel warm tears slipping from the corners of my eyes, and the dreamcatcher around her neck sways as she leans down, holding out a hand to help me up. I don't have the grace to accept it, childishly knocking it away and struggling to get to my feet and turn away from her, even as my limbs scream in protest and all I really want to do is lay back down in the sand and drift away.
"Xiaoyu..."
Her footsteps are soft against the sand as she comes around in front of me.
"I know losing is difficult, but we're all fighting for something. I wasn't willing to give up on what I'm searching for, it means too much. I'm sure you're searching for something too."
I choke back a sob and don't answer, throat closing around any words I might have wanted to say. She sounds so certain, but what am I searching for, really? A way to save Jin? Is that even linked to winning this tournament anymore? Is there even a way at all? Julia's hand is warm as she touches my shoulder, and it's as if she can sense all my doubt and fear.
"You don't have to give up on it just yet, okay?"
She starts to walk away, and I finally manage to get the words out, not quite loud enough for her to catch.
"...Thank you."
I stay there after Julia leaves, brushing the dust and sand from my clothes and trying my best to hold the tears inside, and after a few moments, a different set of footsteps move towards me. I steel myself for a smartass comment from Hwo, he said he was gonna meet up with me after both our matches were done with. Knowing him, he won in five seconds flat and he's here to tell me how just how amazing he is.
"You took that quite well. You've grown up, Xiao..."
I turn towards the voice in surprise. Jin is standing a few yards away from me, and I'm caught between a faint sense of fear, a strong urge to run to him and an even stronger urge to smack him in the face for being so condescending.