Rock seldom remembered his dreams. The esoteric nonsense that happened at his mind palace while he was sleeping was arcane knowledge even to him. It was just some corner of his mind for his thoughts to run roughshod and not affect him in any way. Usually. As of late, the opposite had happened. Never mind Yamazaki, that was best forgotten.
But then there was White.
That incident was so vivid, it burned into his neurons like the stench of bitter chemicals mixed with blood or the nasal drip that tasted like plastic. It was just about enough to make him vomit. Thus he only faced the day come noon where he sat in the courtyard. He quickly came to realize where he was and was almost happy to see the Kim Dojang again. On the other hand, he was ready for the Earth to phase him out of existence. If so, he'd take Yamazaki with him.
Rock didn't sit out here alone, examining the area and determining nothing had changed. You could almost be forgiven if you forgot that National Park was located in the heart of a massive metropolis. With the massive trees, the thick forestry, and the distant hum of traffic, it felt like its own realm. Isolated from the other filth that usually choked the city. Of course, Geese Tower was visible, even more so because of the trees losing their massive crown of leaves. The scene would look outright apocalyptic come winter.
Ew, Rock didn't want to think about that place, so he looked at Yamazaki again. He liked to look at him now – even as the lingering shame of this morning reared its ugly head. He wasn't in love with the man and even if he was, he'd never let him know. Still, Rock took in the quiet moment for it made him feel like he had a spot to fall back to if he really did phase through the surface of the earth. Neither was talking to the other, just watching the day pass by at a snail's pace and it was almost pleasant.
"You think he slept in?" Yamazaki said at last.
"Kim is a Type A person with capital letters."
Yamazaki glanced at him and then at the main building. "Gross. I bet he puts on yoga pants and goes for a jog at five in the morning."
"He'd have to attach a tire to his body with rope first," Rock quipped although the joke came out flatter than a pressed flower. "To keep himself fit."
Yamazaki snorted at that. "Fuckin' revolting. He smells of sweat and balls before the day begins. And all he got to show for it is child-bearing hips."
Just a bit, Rock smirked.
The door to the dojang went open and Kim stepped out, followed by a short mouse of a man with shades and a tall, boulder of a man with a beard. Kim spotted the pair sitting by a tree in the courtyard and made a beeline for them, raising his hand to wave.
"Good day!" he greeted, spry with energy like the coming of spring. It was autumn.
Rock stood up, not nearly matching half the energy. He shuffled a bit on his feet, trying not to get swept up in the looming wave of who he used to be. "It's…it's been a while."
"Yeah," Kim nodded, his cheeks plumbing up with the strain of a smile. Momentarily, his eyes shifted sideways to the bench under the largest tree in the courtyard before he looked at Rock again. "I have a bunch of questions but you don't have to answer them at all. I'm just glad to see you again, see you well."
He laughed a bit too hard and cleared his throat. As friendly as he was, Rock always felt a bit awkward talking to the man. Zealous, overbearing, boisterous, strict. And yet, despite it all, a very good man.
"Ah…I've been better," Rock shrugged not without deadpanned self-deprecation.
"I doubt anything can beat yesterday," Kim said but eased the blow of that unintentional humiliation by putting his hand on Rock's shoulder with a firm grasp. "But you're strong, Rock. Even without Terry, you're your own man."
"About that…I guess you don't know where he went."
"No…" Kim cowered a bit in unneeded shame, then swiftly changed the subject. "You can stay here at least for now. Having familiar faces would be nice, right?"
"…I hope," Rock nodded, falling short of actually saying yes simply because he couldn't. Not yet. Not for the foreseeable future.
"About…?" Kim changed subjects again. His hand was warm and began to imprint through Rock's jacket, searing onto his skin.
"It's bit of a long story."
"Can I assume you brought him to my Rehabilitation Project?"
"Yeah, no. Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck everything," Yamazaki growled like a rebellious teenager.
Rock tried to get a good read on Kim, quietly regarding him but got little more than a blank look like he was used to that sort of behavior. And all he said to it was; "Uh-uh. That will change under the might of justice."
"You can take your justice and cram it up ya ass," Yamazaki glared at him with ice and malice in his eyes.
"It's already up there. Justice is part of my entire body," Kim shot back with a slight smirk that thoroughly defeated whatever banter was to come from this.
Without much of a retort, Yamazaki rolled his eyes. "Sure, cool, whatever. Have fun with that constipation."
Kim sighed and swung his arm around Rock's shoulders. "Come. We have some time ahead of us to catch up before the others come back from their break."
They crossed the courtyard to the dojang which had been strewn about with training equipment, mats, gym rings, and tires. With no time to spare, Kim reached for a pair of dumbbells and began pumping iron. Suppose there was no sense in being a martial artist if your arms were noodles and your legs were cinder blocks.
Rock stuffed his hands down his pocket. "I'm not sure you want to hear what I've been up to."
"I doubt you've been doing nothing for the last many months," Kim said, lighthearted.
Rock chewed the inside of his cheek. He had already been forced to bare his soul to someone less than twenty-four hours ago and hadn't healed. Kim wasn't White, granted but his good mood didn't deserve to get ruined by a tale of filth and heartache. So Rock tried to paraphrase as much as he could of it.
"Terry left. I felt bad. Associated with people I shouldn't have. I was forced to do bad things. Got hurt. Got found by a certain someone. Now I'm here."
"And the drugs? I thought you were about to have a heart attack," Kim said calmly, taking the information in and making his own conclusions. Still couldn't hide that he looked a little out of it and predictably, it stung. It stung so much that Rock fell quiet.
So Yamazaki jumped in to answer. He came sauntering around the dojang like he owned the place, standing oddly close to Rock. "Brainwashed into snorting coke and whatever the hell was in that trash. Don't get your justice boner popping. He ain't a junkie."
For far too long, Kim stared at Yamazaki. And something seemed to click when he nodded. "Which brings me to you. And why you are here. And why you helped him."
Those were not questions. They were conclusions. Ones he had formed yet kept purposely esoteric. Yet what he was suggesting, became clear as water. It didn't sound right. Like he was saying that-
"I am going to cut your fuckin' throat if you try to badger me with your rehabilitation bullshit," Yamazaki told him, dead serious, eyes shooting lightning of death and murder. He noticed too. Of course, he did.
Kim let the matter be, smirking just slightly.
It took a very long time to get used to a so-called home as Rock found himself less agitated, less in the mood to harm himself, less in the process of walking long periods without food or washing. All the shit he had dealt with in life came to resemble little more than unfortunate nightmares. The scabs on his wrist healed though they would no doubt end up as scars. But there would be no more marks – for now.
Was Rock healed, healthy, alright? No.
He doubted he'd ever be, but he was…stable, for lack of a better word. Stable enough to have something that resembled a routine. It consisted of waking up, eating breakfast with the Kims, wandering about the area outside their property, coming back to eat lunch with the Kims, helping with the Rehabilitation Project by making sure that two kids wouldn't get into trouble whenever they weren't in school or keeping them away from Kim's actual students, dinner with the Kims, bedtime.
It was simple. Easy living. In the midst of it, Yamazaki would come and go like a shadow but Rock couldn't complain. Little by little, as he felt just a tiny bit better, he came to enjoy the man's presence. Just a bit. But there was no pattern to his visits, so anticipation never got a chance to build.
So Rock never began to feel hope, just aimlessly wandering around in National Park, passing the residents in the area. He avoided Ryo's farm in case he'd see the man again. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure he was ready for the auto shop that stood by the edge of the park. A sizable building with its garage doors wide open.
A faded sign hung just above the opening. Several cars and tires stood in a disordered mess alongside what Rock assumed were spare parts from aircraft. Wasn't there a private airport here before? Anyway, most curiously, a man sat in the maw of the building on a stool, polishing tools with oil. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of shades so he had to lift his head for Rock to notice that he was being looked at.
"What ya lookin' at? If you want somethin' fixed, just say so," the man growled in a thick midwestern accent. Yeah, he probably wasn't getting customers often, was he?
"No, I'm just passing by," but Rock kept standing. And opened his mouth when an idea popped into his head. He could do with some work so he figured he might as well throw the offer out here. The place looked rather abandoned otherwise. "You don't happen to be hiring, are you?"
The man's brow pulled together under the rim of the shades and Rock felt compelled to explain himself further. "I could use a job."
Still no response and Rock was very close to just saying forget it and leaving. At least until he heard the distant hum of a motor and moved out of the way for the entrance of a tow truck that pulled a decent sports car into the parking space of the auto shop. A woman hopped out and paid the driver who quickly pulled his truck in reverse and drove off, leaving the sports car behind. She was pretty tall with long blonde hair. She was dressed in a red tube top, jeans, and a red headband.
The man stood up, putting his hands on his hips, one eyebrow quirking upwards. "A woman driving, huh? How can I help you?"
"Yes, hello. My car has died, I think. The tow truck driver said that this was the closest mechanic in the area," she reached down to twist the key in the ignition a few times to demonstrate but nothing happened, ignoring the jab at her gender. She stood back up again and sighed. "I'm a freelance journalist so I'll make sure to write a good article about this place. Provided the service is good."
The man turned to Rock, then nudged his head as the young man came to understand that it was essentially an audition. Fair enough, Rock thought as he pulled off his jacket, tied it around his hips, and went to pop the car's hood open. There were bandages around his wrists so no one could see the wounds. In the meantime, he caught onto the conversation between the woman and the mechanic.
"Lenny Creston by the way," the woman said like she was gearing up for an interview. "Nice to meet you, Mr.…?"
"John Crawley," the man with the shades answered flatly and kept it at that. The silence that followed was awkward, to say the least.
As for the car, its interior looked fairly new and well-maintained. The battery looked rather fine too. Rock stood up and looked at the fuel meter inside the dashboard, seeing it almost full. And the ignition switch did turn fine earlier. No, he was not a mechanic, but he did educate himself in repairing cars and his bike – which was seized by Kain. Terry would often joke about how he'd one day buy a car for him and Rock to go on road trips.
Rock tried not to think of that, turning to the hood again. He'd need tools for this, so he lifted his head and skipped past Crawley for the polished tools. There was no use in asking. If this car was gonna be fixed, Rock had to use what he could get, heading back to the vehicle. The rattling of the motor being dug through drowned out the heavy silence, though it immediately stopped when he managed to remove another piece.
And there it was.
Rock detached and pulled out a small device. It had been blackened in its end, indicating burnout.
"Sparkplug is busted," he held onto the oily part, bringing the awkward silence to an end. The woman's cheeks turned fuller with her smile but the way she tilted her head made it apparent that she wasn't apt in the nitty gritty of automation.
"Huh," Crawley mused. "Good thing we have plenty of those here, eh?"
He didn't wait for a response, turning around and walking towards a bundle of spare parts and whatnot inside the garage. The lack of organization was enough to drive lesser men insane and Terry had a similar issue but always called it an organized mess. Moments and a few curses later, Crawley returned with a brand-new sparkplug.
For such a vital part of any machine, it was easy and straightforward to put it into the motor thus solving the problem with Lenny's machine. She came to the driver's seat of the car, twisted the ignition, and smiled brightly at how the motor roared back to life.
"Wonderful! Thank you," a spark turned alit in her eyes that stared up at Rock.
Like clockwork, he found himself flushing under the attention and nodded with a practiced smirk. When she reached for her purse and pulled out a checkbook, he felt like he could breathe again until she held out the slip of paper and he accepted it, staring down at the number written. He hardly noticed Crawley slithering up next to him to look at the amount paid.
"It's a bit above my usual rate," he said flatly with just the tiniest hint of disgust. If Lenny noticed any of it, she didn't let it show. Or maybe it was just that journalistic professionalism on display.
"That's fine," she shrugged, then attached her seatbelt. "Keep the change."
And then she drove off, letting silence fill the hole left behind. Rock turned his head for the verdict and noticed that Crawley had taken off his shades. Looking at the man, his hard features, and sharp eyes, edged with age and stress, his low-note business wasn't much of a surprise – if his lack of people skills wasn't already a turnoff. But he was pleased, however distant it may have appeared.
"Congrats, boy. Looks like you get yourself a job."
Crawley had no fixed hours because, as Rock had suspected, customers were a little on the low end. That was how a joyride as Yamazaki put it could be had on a weekday. He had come in the middle of the night and surprised Rock with the announcement in something that resembled a gleeful mood. He had scored it big doing whatever he did to keep himself occupied, had some money to burn, and wanted Rock with him.
It was breakfast, then go-time. Cruising in the warmth of yet another new vehicle. Possibly stolen. Suppose Rock couldn't get shocked anymore about that. He never thought to ask what became of the six million bucks from the warehouse, but he wasn't considering doing it either, too busy with his mind melting at the hour it took to cross the highway out of South Town. He rested his head against the window, becoming vaguely familiar with the locale around as he struggled to stay awake when something clicked.
He sat back up and tapped Yamazaki on the shoulder. "Pull over."
Yamazaki grumbled something displeased but swung the wheel, tuning the car to the exit. They drove down the road and did more turns at Rock's behest until that familiar sight was quickly approaching. A small roadside town, its local church, and more importantly, its accompanying graveyard. It looked like Rock remembered it.
When they parked at its parking lot, he turned to Yamazaki and said; "It's a special place."
Unsurprisingly the older man narrowed his eyes at that. "The fuck? Did Kim turn you into a bible humper?"
Rock shook his head and hopped outside. There was a flower shop nearby, still open for business so he headed there first to buy a bouquet of hydrangeas. The deep blue ones Mom liked. In the meantime, Yamazaki simply observed with confusion plainly written on his face and followed towards the graveyard. Rock pushed the gate open and entered, heading past grave after grave until he reached a small hill with more headstones at its top.
It felt strange to be here after so long. Maybe a little shameful considering what had become of Rock. But as he knelt before Mom's grave, all he could really feel was an acute sense of longing. He noted the bouquet of another flower by the headstone and assumed that the groundskeeper felt generous. Again. Often there would be a bouquet whenever he came to visit, even after Terry left.
Putting the hydrangeas next to the other flowers, he took a deep breath, and let the heaviness set in. Thought of the ways he could apologize to Mom. Tried not to imagine how she'd forgive him. If she'd forgive him.
He liked to think she felt a little less sad whenever he came to visit but the truth was that he hadn't been here for so long and the guilt growing within made that clear now. He probably didn't deserve to be here after the mess of a man he had become even if he knew Mom to be a gentle, forgiving person. Always kind and loving to those around her.
Even those who didn't deserve it…like that man.
It felt good that his awful tower couldn't be seen out here. It was particularly why Mom was buried here and not in South Town. Here where Rock fondly remembered her and her sweetness, then forgot how often she was exhausted, how she was prone to illness. How she deserved far better than the cards she had been dealt, how the men in her life failed her.
Rock too.
He stood up, remembered her smile, and turned around, wiping his eyes dry before he looked at a wide-eyed Yamazaki. The man shifted on his feet, outwardly uncomfortable, mercifully without quips. He simply followed behind Rock as they left the graveyard in silence, standing in the parking lot once more.
"Wanna insult God's house?" he asked at last.
In a daze, Rock found himself following the older man inside the church. He had never actually been inside the chapel but when he entered through the door, its appearance didn't shock him. There was a cross above the altar without a corpse nailed to it situated between two wide windows of stained glass. Pews stood lined up, old and in desperate need of new paint. They came to sit on the ones in the front row, with the sun hitting the stained glass, casting a mosaic of colors across the tile floor.
"Was that your nanny or somethin'?" asked Yamazaki into the silence.
"My mom. She was great. What about yours?" Rock answered, in parts curiosity, in parts deflection. In parts to switch the roles between the nut and the nutcracker.
"Dunno. I don't remember," But something in the way he darted his glance away for a second, told Rock that Ryuji Yamazaki did indeed remember. A lot of it.
So Rock pressed further. "Dad?"
"It's complicated," came the simple and honestly cliche answer.
"Not on speaking terms anymore?"
"I'm gonna be honest with ya, kid. I tolerate you because you're not a fuckin' overly peppy mutt or an overbearing justice zealot and I'll listen to your issues but believe me when I say that this is not a conversation you want to have."
"That's fair, I guess. I mean it's not my place to pry. I just feel like I've been unloading so much on you that the balance is skewed a bit-a lot…sorry," Rock curled onto the bench. "I guess I just needed to feel like I'm not the only one with issues."
Yamazaki had not been smirking at all since they pulled over. He stared at the cross a bit, then at Rock, his jaw tight. Despite sitting spread across the pew like he owned the damn thing, his entire body was rigid.
"The world never runs out of fucked up people. The world never gets tired of fuckin' people. Some harder than others. You don't need an autobiography to know that I alongside half the population have been fucked pretty badly," Yamazaki said. "So now we all got STDs in the soul."
He looked particularly hollow whenever he'd turn all philosophical like this. The way his eyes blanked a bit was a sign of it. Rock had just assumed he was cutting straight to the chase with a strange tic but the truth of the matter was that it cost him to reflect. Why and how and over what, was a mystery.
"You're not supposed to cuss in church."
"Get the fuck outta here with that. God can suck my left nut," The genuine disgust in the older man's voice put a faint smile on Rock's face. Childish, juvenile, yeah but also amusing. He stood up, stretched his arms, and arched his back a bit, catching the glance Yamazaki sent his way.
"Blasphemous. There's a calmness to it though. The church, not your left nut."
This seemed to give Yamazaki pause. His head tilted and he closed his eyes with a quiet sigh. Whatever he was thinking of, got cast down the void as he stood up and made his way to the heavy wooden doors, closing them carefully. It'd be a lot faster if he took his right hand out of his pocket.
"Funny yet weird when you don't believe in anything. It's easy to lose your grip then. Stained glass ain't gonna cut it."
"What does then?" Rock asked.
There was a pause where time froze, then moved like gasps of air before Yamazaki stood in front of him. The church fell quiet like the world just up and vanished. A wave of something came over Rock; anxiety, a slither of fear, curiosity. He tipped his head back just a bit to meet Yamazaki's eyes instead of staring at the black fabric draped around his chest.
Their eyes met and Rock, for a moment, flinched like he was about to be mauled by one of the monsters from his past. He almost threw a reactionary punch despite the strange energy that passed between their bodies. Undefinable much like Yamazaki's mood.
"Nice things," he answered cooly and Rock caught the smallest hint of…well, not sadness exactly.
But it was something potent and unpleasantly empty. Fully aware of how hollow it felt. It only became more noticeable when Yamazaki's gaze veered elsewhere like it was looking for something to fill that void. Divine intervention, higher calling. It was poison to look at. Poisonous, curiosity-arousing, surreal. Bizarre when the sunlight cascaded through the stained glass, turning the entire thing into a psychedelic fever dream. It was…it was too much. For Rock, it was like looking at a mirror.
So just to avoid the ghost of misery staring back at him, he asked; "Is that what the paycheck is for?"
Something akin to artificial life came over Yamazaki then. "You bet your pretty little head on that."
For the uninitiated, John Crawley and Lenny Creston are both kinda obscure characters from Art of Fighting. John is the blonde dude with the shades and the military garb not named Clark or Street Fighter V Guile.
Lenny is even more obscure than John because she was only in the third game. She's the blonde girl with the whip and the red headband and top
