My Hands Can Hurt You

"He acted like he'd never seen my face before."

"Classic psychological move to undermine your opponent."

"And where did you learn that?"

"Saw it in an episode of Suits once."

Michael guffaws at Eddie. "Of course you did."

They are sitting at a round table playing cards with Tyson and Rick. The former recounting his encounter with his least favourite person on earth that had taken place earlier that evening.

Tyson looks through his cards, a tiny grimace of hopelessness pulling at his lips. There's absolutely no way he can win this game. He slowly puts down a six with narrowed eyes at Mike. Nobody hoots or jumps or even grins evilly for the next five minutes. He finally relaxes once six whole minutes are up and they are still playing. "The whole thing was kind of super weird," he continues where he had left off.

"What do you mean?" asks Rick. "Weird how? He ask for your mom's number at the end or something?"

"No" A laugh escapes his mouth. "I mean, it wasn't just 'him'. I had this...," he trails for a minute, not sure how to explain it. "I had this kind of weird ass reaction to him."

Eddie looks stupidly confused. Michael glances up from his deck to stare at him curiously.

"Okay" says Rick. Wishing he would continue and not leave them in the dark for longer.

Tyson reshuffles the cards in his hand for no reason as he thinks about how to phrase his sentence. "You know how I hate it when you guys get in my face?"

"Literally or figuratively?" asks Eddie.

"Literally"

"Ah"

"Like usually, I'm repulsed by the sight and the smells-"

I don't know what you're talking about," interjects Rick. "I always smell good."

"You literally smell like wet, dirty fucking socks," Tyson informs him clearly.

The other guys start laughing while Rick gets offended and starts prattling defensively in the background. "Hey, now that's just plain rude. You know I have a condition. You've talked to my mom about it-"

Tyson stops laughing and chugs down the last of his almost forgotten beer.

"It's alright, Rick," Eddie pats his mate empathetically on the arm.

Michael urges him to go on with the story. "Continue, man! Tell us the rest! Come on!"

"Mm, mm," Tyson licks his lips and places the can down on the table, picking up his cards again. "Yeah, so I was there. And he was there. And he got up in my face. And I-," he pauses and glances at Eddie, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not gay," he assures him with a finger pointed at him. Eddie's spine snaps straight like a whip in interest. "Jesus, holy mother of god," he says in awe, "he's about to say something scandalous. This one's for tomorrow's gossip column."

"Don't you dare!" Tyson nearly leaps across the table to warn him. "I'll rip your balls off."

"Sit down!" Rick yanks him back into the chair. "He won't say shit."

Tyson glares at him for a couple more moments just to make sure Eddie hears his message loud and clear. "I'm not fucking gay," he emphasizes on the last word, "but I...wasn't grossed out." He holds his palms out at his sides in a "there you go" gesture.

Michael's the first to blink. He wears a thoughtful expression as he considers Tyson. Then he shrugs. "That happens. It's not so weird. Some dudes just smell nice."

Tyson doesn't know why but something about Mike's casual demeanour lifts a weight off his chest. "I mean I hate the guy, but, I really thought he smelled nice. Like, really nice," he admits almost enviously.

"It was the money," Rick tells him, nodding sagely. "You smelled generational wealth on him."

"Handed down from his ancestors," Eddie supplies.

"Oh I just remembered! They moved here from Russia," Michael informs them with sudden and genuine enthusiasm. "During the Soviet Revolution that started in 1917."

"You mean he comes from a family of cowards?" barks Rick.

"What do you mean?" Tyson asks puzzled.

"His family is wealthy. Probably aristocratic," he explains before saying in a low growl. "The bastards ran away."

Tyson traces the lip of his beer can, thinking. "May be they didn't want to fight?"

"Most of the lower-ranked noblemen did take their money and flee the country when the riots reached the capital," Michael adds. "All of the Blitzkriegs share that history too. That's why they're such a tight-knit group. Filthy rich Russian kids who grew up together, isolated from the rest of the Japanese population."

The story paints quite a sad picture to Tyson. "Sounds kinda lonely," he muses, then looks up and jokes. "Tall mansions and tea parties."

"Broken vases and crystal chandeliers," Eddie sing-songs in a deep baritone.

"Poetic, but you completely missed the point," he teases in a ridiculously low-pitched voice.

Eddie crushes an empty can and hurls it at Tyson's head.

"Does my butt look fat in these shorts?" Hilary turns in front of the mirror, her hands above her hips as she examines herself from head to toe.

"Yeah, the left one's kind of hanging out a bit there."

Tyson grins over her shoulder at her reflection as she sends him a nasty look.

"Not funny" Hilary says in a clipped tone. "Kai's going to be there. I need to look perfect." She grabs her brush from the dresser table and combs her already flawless brown hair.

"You need to chill with this Kai-thing. He's not all that hot anyways."

"You are blind."

"My eyes are working fine, thank you." Tyson surveys his friend while she is distracted. She appears skinnier than normal. "Have you been skipping meals again?"

"I'm on a liquid diet. Kai likes super-thin model type of girls."

Tyson closes his eyes. Her obsession with him used to be bad before, but after sleeping with him, it seems to have doubled. May be even tripled. She was convinced he was in love with her because he had held her close and whispered sweet nothings into her ear when he fucked her. The part where he has done the same thing with dozens of other girls does not seem to go through her skull. And now she was on an all fluid diet because of him. God, Tyson should have killed him when he had the chance yesterday.

Sure, he did have him pinned against a car, but only because Tyson had let him. He could have kicked his ass if he wanted to. He has a black belt in kendo for crying out loud.

Despite the lack of solid food in her belly, Hilary still manages to look stunning. Her cheeks have a beautiful pink glow and her eyes appeared bigger. "Is it me or is it the makeup?"

Hilary scoffs. "It is definitely you."

"Haha, I'm talking about your eyes." He leans over her to take a closer look. "They look so big!" he says gasping.

Hilary blushes. She pinches his jaw between her fingers and presses a kiss against his cheek. There's a heavily suppressed smile on her face. "Let's go, you flirt."

The Hiwatari fundraiser event for the victims of a flood that attacked a village last week is more of a strip-n-get-paid party than an honest good intentioned fundraiser. They just take whatever excuse they get for throwing a party and getting laid. The Blitzkriegs are worse than frat boys. The pussy parade simply never ends for them. They party no matter what day of the week it is.

How they still manage to keep perfect attendance records in class is beyond Tyson.

He reads the flimsy, skewed, silk banner above the door bearing their righteous cause. It is holding on for dear life as he stares at it and loses hope in humanity with every passing second. The music is loud and makes it hard to hear what other people are saying even outside the house. He sighs as Hilary joins him with Emily in tow.

The redhead has a tiny matching red dress on and purple glitter over her eyes. "Hi, Tyson!"

"Hey" he has to stoop down to properly talk to her.

"Who are you planning to kiss?"

"What?" Did he hear that right? Gosh, this music is too much.

Emily's lips brush his ear as she shouts, "Who are you going to kiss?"

Tyson stands up straight. "Nobody" he says. "Why? Is there a kissing booth as well?"

"Yep"

"Obviously," he mutters. Why is he surprised?

He crosses the threshold and steps into the house. The energy in the room is insane. There are people everywhere he looks. Tyson makes a mental note to keep an eye on Hilary at all times and loses Emily in the crowd as he navigates through the bodies. The Blitzkriegs' house is huge and multi-floored. It is adjacent to the campus grounds and boasts stellar views of the city. He has been here more times than he can count but always at night. The house stands on a cliff, and if you go peek over the edge, you'll be able to see the entire city of Tokyo. That's the sole reason why he can tolerate a Blitzkriegs' party.

The booze helps too.

The walls are off-white and lavender. There are arches of ribbons hanging from the walls and balloons floating around the floor. Occasionally one of them bursts and someone shrieks. Tyson spots the kissing booth, people are already lining up in front of it. A girl stands at the station, lips puckered, gloss on. And none other than Kenny leans across the booth from her.

"What the fuck" Tyson curses out loud in shock. He shoulders his way past the crowd and wins front row seats to Kenny's show. The kiss goes long and hard and Tyson stares with his mouth hanging agape till it ends. She's blonde and pretty. Way out of his league. When the girl finally pulls back and tells him his five minutes is up, he staggers off the little platform in a daze. Tyson catches him around his arms to steady him. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"That was my first kiss!" he gasps out. His eyes look glassy as he sags in Tyson's hold.

He is speechless for a moment as he steers his friend to a vacated couch and rubs his back. "You didn't have to do that to get your first kiss."

"You don't understand, Tyson." Kenny seems to have drank a lot as tears form in his eyes. "I don't have your good looks or charm. It's not easy for me like it is for you. Either way, I'm glad it's over. I owe the Blitzkriegs' a thank you."

"You don't owe anybody anything," he says when he can't find anything else to console him with. He seeks Hilary or Emily in the group of students dancing nearby but doesn't find them. Not a single friendly face turns his way to help them. "You know what," he takes Kenny's hand and gives it a squeeze, "I'm going to go get you a glass of water from the kitchen, okay? Sit here. Don't go anywhere."

The Chief nods silently, gaze in his lap.

Tyson pats the back of his hand briefly before getting to his feet. "I'll be right back."

There is a stage on the far side of the living room. A couple of presenters - Tala and Sergey - are standing on it with mics in hand. "It is time for the auction," announces the former. "You get to bid on one of the five members of the Blitzkrieg Boys, including the two of us," he gestures to him and his companion with a taunting wolf's grin, "the highest bidder, gets to hook up with none other than Kai Hiwatari himself." He waits smugly as the cheers go up in unison.

"Oh no" Tyson glances around. Where is Hilary? She'll be heartbroken when she hears this. He rushes to the kitchen, and it's easy for him to get there because most of the crowd is gathered in the main hall. The island is trashed but he finds the 1 gallon bottle of water still half full. He tries not to spill too much in his hurry as he tilts some water into a red plastic cup. As soon as it's full, he runs back out toward where Kenny is waiting for him.

He hears the shouts and screams of partygoers as the bidding begins behind him. His friend is lying half-asleep on the couch when he reaches him. Tyson helps him up and hands him the glass of water before searching for Hilary with his eyes. He will need to join the others in the living room if he wants to find her. He has a feeling he'd find her there.

Kenny mutters a thanks and falls sideways on the cushion again. He will have to leave him there for a while. Tyson informs him where he's going before making his way over.

They're all girls. The bidding hall is full of Blitzkriegs' fans. It gives him pause. Hilary probably knew of the auction beforehand. Why didn't she seem pissed then? This new realization doesn't calm him down the slightest bit. When he finally catches sight of Hilary's blue jeans shorts and pastel green tank top he nearly cries with joy. Tyson steers around a bunch of girls to get closer to her, but as soon as he is within shouting range, he sees him. Kai. He's talking to Hilary.

Or rather Hilary is talking to him.

He has this bored and exasperated expression on his face like he can't wait to get away from her while she looks like she's on the moon. This makes Tyson want to drive a fist through his stupid mug.

Although he wants to get nearer, and listen in on their conversation, he knows he shouldn't. Hilary would never forgive him if he interrupted her moment with Kai.

It's like watching a train wreck. There is nothing he can do except stand and stare horrified as something his friend says makes Kai's mouth tick up in one corner and his molten gaze lands on Hilary. His lips move as he speaks, his words inaudible to Tyson.

Then it happens.

Her face falls.

Tyson's fists ball.

She asks him something, he can tell from the way her head moves. And Kai gives a brief shake of his head, a single syllable falling from his lips.

Hilary cups a hand to her mouth and a tear slips free. He reacts before he can stop himself.

Kai's face whips to the side as Tyson punches him. Blood pours out of his nose and onto his shirt. "Call her a slut again one more time, you son of a bitch."