[Hayato/Ryu] Neon and glass and a lit cigarette

Title: Neon and glass and a lit cigarette
Author: Seiyoku
Rating: R
Warnings: Rating for swearing and violence and a scene that could be considered gory if you have a squeamish stomach
Fandom: Gokusen
Pairings: Hinted Hayato/Ryu
Disclaimers: Hell used to belong to Satan; and then KAT-TUN took over.
Authors notes: I wanted to get my head around why Hayato and Ryu clashed over the Ara high issue. Sure, Takeda explained it all, but, well, come on, it was a weak explanation. Why were they having issues with Ara in the first place? And what sort of issue would cause two schools to go to war... and yet be resolved with just Ryu talking to the other side...? Did that seem sus to any of you, or am I the only one?

Also, I wanted to expand on why the school saw Ryu as such an evil source who they wanted off campus, so I asked myself; if two kick ass guys get into a fight on school grounds, how big would be it? What would be the damage and how far would it go? Plus, how is it that only Ryu was reprimanded and Hayato didn't get expelled before the show even started?

Summary: Pre Gokusen.
Every story has a beginning; every beginning has an end.

Three little words started it, spat out between rival gangs and answered with fists. A beer bottle turned the fight into an all out war and the war sparked a betrayal unlike anything else.

What started in the neon glow of Tokyo's back streets found its climax amidst broken glass and bloodied fists in the graffiti covered halls of Kurogin High, prompting two friends to turn their backs on all they know.




*******

“Someone like you...” Ryu said slowly, his left eyebrow arching up in the middle again. His eyes finally skimmed up off the floor, travelling over Hayato's tense form. The look only lasted a moment, a brief second when their eyes met – dark and angry verses light and resigned – before Ryu shook his head and drew in a deep breath. “Someone like you will never understand anything.”

*****

Two weeks earlier.

*****

“You know, you should stop raising to that taunt.” As usual, Ryu's voice was calm, stoic and flat. If Hayato hadn't known him so long then he would have found it utterly unnerving to have someone speak so plainly even while using their fingernails to extract shards of glass out of their own arm.

It had a way of being creepy. Like a serial killer stalking behind someone running for their lives, or a scratch at the window when there was neither tree branches nor wind to cause the sound.

Hayato merely shrugged at Ryu's words and tried not to watch as the shorter man continued to poke at the deep gashes on his bicep.

Blood seeped and Hayato quickly decided that he didn't like it.

“Its not even an insult to you,” Ryu tried to reason, pulling at the edges of Hayato's attention. Another sliver of cracked beer bottle slipped through his broken skin. It came out with a wet pop before landing in the bloody mess that was forming below his left elbow.

Hayato had to look away. He was far from squeamish, but something about the whole scene was turning his stomach. Maybe it was the way Ryu went about it all so calmly, as if getting a bottle smashed over his upper arm was no sweat at all. Maybe it was that or even the fact that Hayato was still trying to adjust to his friends new hair colour. The reddish blonde tones had a way of making the crimson trailing down Ryu's arm even more vibrant and angry. Not that Ryu had ever had dark hair and Hayato almost shuddered to think of the thought, but it was different now. More attention grabbing and eye catching than his usual shade of milky coffee mixed with sun-bleached highlights.

In a way it was funny that it all related back to that; to hair colour. Such a small fucking thing but it was the reason that they were currently sitting in a dingy alleyway, too tired and sore to move while they made the pretence of licking their wounds.

All with the backdrop of a glowing city night making them look like they were on fire.

'Red haired slut,' had been the words to get Hayato going.

Over the years, Hayato had been told that he was stupid countless times. It was part of every day conversation when it came to the mind frame and mental stability – or lack there of – of the brash fighter. Only thing was that with repetition came knowledge and acceptance and now he was seriously starting to question if there was actually more than just a grain of truth in those words after all.

Maybe Ryu was right. Maybe he was stupid for getting so worked up about those three little words. Then again, maybe it was like what Taku always said. The poor misguided kid had some seriously warped ideas and theories on his older brother and Hayato, for all his 'stupid' ways, at least had the intelligence to worry about how Taku would survive when he worked out that superheros weren't real. But Taku, with his wide eyes and big smile that glowed in a way that Hayato's never could, always said that Hayato's actions were the reflection of some retarded, reluctant, anti-hero issues that he had going on deep down somewhere in his mind and heart.

Hayato sure as hell didn't feel like the hero type. But then he tended to like that idea better than being labelled as some mindless brawn that only knew how to swing a fist and didn't know when to brush words off as unimportant dribble.

That, of course, didn't change anything about the present, cause the moment those words - 'Red haired slut' – had left Hideyuki's ugly as all fuck mouth, Hayato had snapped.

They could say whatever the hell they wanted about Hayato, or even his parents and school, but fucked if he was going to let a comment like that slide when it was directed towards his friend and constant partner in crime.

“It fucking bugs me,” Hayato muttered. Not that he needed to share with Ryu or anything. Fuck, he didn't have to explain his actions at all if he didn't want to. He didn't answer to Ryu – or anyone else for that matter – and no one could force Yabuki Hayato to do anything that he didn't want to. He was the Yabuki Hayato, leader of Kurogin's 3-D class of delinquents, thugs and rebels without causes. Other schools used his name like a grandma scaring young children with tails of boogie-men and ghouls and the things that went bump in the night. The papers knew him, the police feared him and Hayato couldn't be stopped.

No one told him what to do.

Nobody.

Except maybe Ryu but fucked if Hayato was ready to admit that even to himself.

“Why?” Was the only response that Hayato got. That and the soft 'pinging' sound of more glass being added to the pile.

“Why do you think?” Hayato snapped back and he couldn't help but shoot a dirty look at the other man. His glare faded as he saw yet another splinter of red covered brown glass being worked out of Ryu's arm. The jagged edge sat out proudly from the other's skin as Ryu's fingers slipped and slid around the wound, pushing and prodding gingerly while slowly easing the glass out. It reminded Hayato of some determined beauty queen fussing over a pimple in the mirror right before a show. To squeeze or not to squeeze.

Finally the shard slid further out and Ryu pinched at it with his index finger and thumb. A slow pull from a steady hand saw the glass slipping out for good and Hayato closed his eyes briefly as a thick rush of blood seeped out afterwards.

Ryu didn't look fazed at all, not that Hayato would have expected it, and instead he merely looked up, the hints of a dismissive shrug reflected in his eyes as he all but flicked that offending bit of glass towards the rest. Hayato shuddered when it hit the floor, far too close to him to be comforting in any way. He wanted to destroy it. If it was paper he would set it on fire and watch it burn down to ashes; then he would scatter them in water, turning the offensive material into nothing more than muddy, sodden particles. Useless. Defeated.

But how can you destroy glass? It was like the little engine that could. Sure, he could crush it more but then it would just get smaller and more dangerous and harder to get out of pale skin covered in red welts. Or Hayato could melt it – almost as good as watching it burn – but then it took another form; toffee-like slush that popped and bubbled and erupted like some volcano, threatening more danger even as it morphed its way into the ground.

Then, just to spite Hayato and his intentions, he was pretty damn sure that once that happened, he would stand and probably slip on the shiny, drying surface and end up face first in the melted glass, suffocating and scorched.

Oh well, better him than Ryu and all that missing blood.

“Think it is true?” Ryu asked, bringing his thoughts back into the world of the at least semi-sane, and maybe Hayato was losing his mind, but he was sure that he heard a clear taunt in his otherwise toneless voice.

“No!” Hayato spat out. He pulled his legs up for reasons unknown to him and wrapped his arms around them, the crooks of his elbows cradling his kneecaps. “I just don't fucking like hearing bullshit like that.”

“If you know it isn't true, then why does it matter so much? To you? I don't give a damn what they say.”

“It matters, alright.”

And just like that Hayato knew that was the end of the subject. Ryu wouldn't argue it any more and fucked if Hayato wanted to keep bringing the idea up. Especially when, deep down, they both knew that Ryu had just won that argument. Why did it matter so much what some ass went and mouthed off about? Who the hell cared, right?

Hayato did and something about that bugged the shit out of him as well.

Call Ryu a mother fucking bastard and Hayato would laugh and pat Ryu on the back and ask what gossip he had missed out on. Whose mother was it and was she hot? How big were her boobs? They were huge, weren't they? But call Ryu a slut and Hayato had his feathers in a ruffle and his fists in people's mouths before they could finish spitting out the derogatory words.

Weird how that happened and Hayato was pretty sure that his mind would explode the day he worked out the reasons behind all that whacked out shit.

Yet that was all in the past and what mattered now was that Hayato felt like he'd been hit in the chest with a semi trailer and fucking Ryu was bleeding all the hell over the place.

For a moment Hayato struggled to work out why they were there; how they had managed to get themselves into yet another mess that seemed so deep and dense that it could have been mistaken for quicksand. Pulling them down. Tearing them apart. Suffocating.

It was the slut comment, and yes it was with the assholes from Ara high again, but what had led them here, to this very spot huddled together in the dark, one feeling like a caged bull being zapped in the ass with a cattle prod and the other, who should be stressing considering the amount of red pouring down his arm, filled with all the serenity of a Zen master.

Hayato shuddered at the memory of the fight. Of being cornered with no where to go and having a snide look plastered on his face just at the mere thrill of it.

He shuddered at how much he loved those sort of situations.

Hindsight always brought contemplation and maybe that was Hayato's issue. Perhaps that was why Taku labelled him as a reluctant-hero just without the underwear on the outside. In the heat of the moment Hayato had laughed and pushed up his sleeves. He had glared the larger gang down and thrown the first punch in retaliation to those words he hated so fucking much.

Ryu had been silent on his right and had taken a moment or two longer to get involved.

Hayato, though, had been like a demon on speed as he ploughed his way through the ranks of Ara highs pathetic wannabe thugs. It was a thrill and a rush, working to lighten his head beyond the damage of the blows. His breath caught in his throat as his fists pounded against skin and he gasped out loud when a knee found its way into his ribs. Four times in a row.

A punch. A kick. An elbow to the face and one of the Ara idiots crashed back against the wall, panting, bleeding and out of the fight.

Hayato had laughed and moved onto the next. Baseball bats and tire irons seemed to appear from nowhere and Hayato was left wondering if he and Ryu and the rest of their crew were the only ones that didn't fight dirty any more.

That should have been the trigger. The flick of the switch in his mind. The thing to make him stop and think and look the fuck around. They fought dirty. Where was Ryu?

Look for Ryu.

Sitting against that dumpster, his eyes now squinting against the flickering neon, Hayato knew that that was the tiny fraction of time that fate has chosen for him. A moment when he could have made a difference. A life changing opportunity and a shiny moment of glory.

Yet he hadn't looked. Hayato had kept ploughing his way through, making a statement with each impact of his fist, with each kick that he sent into weak knees and unprotected abdomens. He had to be the best, had to be the strongest; be the victor. He didn't care that each time he shattered someone's nose to split open a lip that blood from his own hand was flying out in a spray. What was a few busted knuckles compared to winning this unlikely fight? Of proving his point about those damn fucking words that Hideyuki had muttered about Ryu.

Fight dirty. Look for Ryu. And in the present Hayato shook his head gently.

He still didn't really know what had happened. He had a bat in his hands – something he had wrenched away from one of the other thugs – and he had been brandishing it like some knight in glowing armour sitting on top of a white horse, herding the masses backwards. It was corny and probably made him seem like a control freak, but he wanted them to tremble at his feet and beg forgiveness, both for going against him and being there in the presence of their leaders insulting words.

That was what his mind was focused on when he felt the warm press of a familiar body against his side, felt something cold and hard rain over his head and heard – fucking heard – a startled and pained cry from his friend. Hot breath against his neck as that sound pushed his hair into his eyes.

Hayato's first instinct was to panic and as much as he hated to admit it, that was pretty much exactly what he did.

Whirling around, his eyes darted over the scene; the glass, the blood and Ryu's arm held rather oddly over and above Hayato's head.

Maybe it was lightening fast reflexes or maybe it was just a matter of Ryu having always been the more perceptive of them, but Hayato knew – just knew – in that moment that whatever had gone down had happened as a result of Ryu no doubt saving his life.

Ryu had always been the more observant one.

That made it all hurt like a bitch. Bumps and bruises were fine, cuts and fractured bones something that Hayato was used to. But getting his friend hurt left a rotten taste in the back of his mouth. It reminded him of dog breath or something just as feral, and made his mouth cotton dry and his lips chapped.

And now he had Ryu bleeding beside him and Hayato was pretty sure that the fight hadn't been his most glorifying moment afterall.

The instant Ryu had gasped, Hayato had done the only thing he possibly could. The bat dropped to the ground, rolling away with all the noise of something so hastily discarded, and his hands had grabbed at his shorter friend. Ryu looked shocked and Hayato felt the warmth of blood against his skin as he tired to steady Ryu against him.

And then they were running. Hayato's hand wrapped around Ryu's left wrist as Ryu held his free hand to his bleeding arm.

Ryu was no wimp and even Hayato knew that. His friend could square off against the best of them and if anyone was going to match Hayato for strength, it was Ryu. But seeing him bleeding with cuts instead of bruises, and running blood instead of flecks from a split lip was something that Hayato couldn't deal with.

The fight was over. No more. They needed to get the hell out of there and it was up to Hayato to see to that.

So they ran; Hayato fast and determined with Ryu like a steak of gold behind him. The sound of Ara high students racing after them vibrated off the city walls and echoed off the slow moving cars.

Turn after turn, dark alleyway after dark alleyway and finally the sound of shoes hitting the pavement could be narrowed down to only two participants.

That was when Hayato had finally called the stop.

Hayato didn't care. They needed to get somewhere safe and quiet where he could take stock of the damage done to his best friend. That was all that mattered. That and that he was a failure. He should have been stronger, should have been faster and more aware of his surroundings. He shouldn't have given himself over to the thrill of his knuckles busting open while breaking nose cartilage and instead paid more attention to his scrawny friend.

But it was all really easy to say that now that he was sitting in the glow of the city lights and trying not to worry about the presence next to him.

Hindsight. It was a pain in the ass.

It was even worse since Ryu wouldn't let Hayato help.

“Your big boof hands will just push the glass in further,” Ryu had said, a strange half smile gracing his normally impassive face. With that the shorter man had gone about removing the glass himself, sitting with his back against the dumpster, his knees drawn up and his left wrist wedged in between his legs. His face was drawn into deep concentration – or well, at least Hayato knew it was even though to anyone else it wouldn't have looked like Ryu even made an expression at all – with his high eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

Still it was obvious to Hayato. Ryu was concentrating and who wouldn't when they were faced with plucking shards of glass out of their own arm.

Shifting his weight, Hayato pressed himself further against the dumpster and sighed out slowly. He didn't look over to Ryu even though every muscle in his body seemed to want to do just that. But his mind reminded him that Ryu hated being the centre of attention when he was doing something serious and on a scale of one to ten, importance wise, Hayato figured that picking glass out of flesh pretty much topped the charts. Instead he turned his attention to the area around him for the first time since he had all but thrown Ryu into a slumped sitting position as soon as they had stopped.

It really was a lovely alleyway that they had decided to stop in. Well no, they hadn't decided to stop really. It had been Hayato who'd called the end to the run, surprising even himself with his willingness to risk being seen as weak by his friend. But Hayato's chest was burning and his ribs were pulsing and fucking Ryu just kept bleeding. With the rate they were going, Hayato may as well have just asked the surrounding neon signs to point them out to their pursuers; Ryu was bleeding that damn much – at least to Hayato's eyes – that they were leaving a breadcrumb trail through the middle of the busy city streets. That was the real reason though Hayato would rather been seen as physically weak and in need of a rest then as someone fussing and worrying over something that Ryu seemed to think was small and trivial.

Back to the alley. That was what Hayato had decided would take his mind off his bleeding friend next to him and clearly, thinking about how and why they got there wasn't going to calm his nerves in any way.

It was dark and tiny, with power wires and clothes lines criss-crossed over head. The lines of darkness stood out oddly well against the night sky, cutting black streaks across the stars, reminding Hayato of a maze or a crazy spider web. Neon light glowed from all around them, casting their faces into odd shades of green and orange and blue and for the briefest of moments, Hayato noticed the way the colours played in Ryu's lighter hair. That, however, made him remember all the blood and the way it stood out against his skin and Hayato realised that he wasn't so happily mesmerised any more.

It would be fine if Ryu would just hiss and snarl in pain, Hayato decided. Just once. Hell, even a grimace while his deft fingers worked at getting that shrapnel out of his own skin. Hayato sure as hell felt his own pain; his busted lip was throbbing like a mother bitch and at some stage he'd bitten down on his tongue enough to have his mouth constantly filling up with blood. That reminded him; spit before he drowned and with a slight hacking sound he sent a glob of bubbly blood splattering across the floor off to his left.

“Lovely,” Ryu muttered under his breath and Hayato flashed him a devilish smile, all bloody teeth and reddened chin and winked his less swollen eye just for effect.

“Full of charm and grace.” Hayato managed a forced laugh through his dry lips and raw throat while inclining his head in a slight bow, just for the show and the shits and giggles of it all. “That's why you like me,” he joked.

“Yeah, maybe,” came the short reply and Hayato still had a smirk plastered across his face.

It had always been a source of entertainment for him; their friendship. Not that he took it lightly – it was obviously the most important thing in the world to Hayato – but Ryu was so far apart from Hayato's world as well as the life that the two of them were carving out for themselves that it could occasionally be laughable.

With a truck driver father and a chip on his shoulder, no one really expected anything else from Hayato. But Ryu. He was different. Wealthy and well spoken, looking like he just walked off the set of some serious news program and with the intelligence to match, there was no reason for him to be slumming it with the rest of them. He wasn't even that gung-ho when it came to their fights and wars. Sometimes Hayato had to stop and quietly ask himself why. Why was Ryu there? Why was it that Ryu was always on his right when Hayato walked them head first into a fist fight? Why was it always Ryu who would carry him home and poke at his wounds before strapping him up?

Why was Ryu banished into the pits of delinquency with the rest of their class and not sitting atop the stage in the golden valedictorian chair of success?

“Sorry,” Hayato finally whispered. It was something that Ryu couldn't do; go from playful to serious within the space of a few seconds. Maybe that was a good thing; an added perk to his cold and distant persona. Who really knew, and Hayato, as much as he cared, still hadn't worked it all out.

“About what?” Ryu asked and Hayato's lips mumbled those exact two words silently as the other said them flatly.

“I'm just sorry.” And Ryu smiled at Hayato's last, so incredibly familiar words while letting another shard of glass fall from his sticky red fingers.

Hayato looked away again, not too sure how to deal with the offered sight mixed in with their long running, dry as all fuck joke. There was nothing hilarious about it at all, but each and every time, without fail, that they managed to get themselves into deeper shit than usual, those six words would be passed between them. Always the same, never changing and always said with a tone that was both meaningless and heartfelt.

“I think that is it...” Ryu finally said and Hayato couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. As if those words had been the key to his freedom and the cure to his immovable limbs, Hayato unfolded his arms and stretched his legs back out. His hands roamed over a familiar path, down his hip and into the pocket at the front of his baggy uniform trousers. Said hand didn't come back out until his swollen, bloody fingers were clenched around a crushed packet of Mild Seven cigarettes.

“Those things will kill you,” Ryu pointed out helpfully as Hayato flicked open his stolen zippo lighter and held the flame to the tip. For the smallest of moments his mind wandered back to the idea of setting that fucking horrible glass on fire, but somehow he gathered that Ryu would call him an idiot if he started trying to do any of that shit.

“Gotta die of something, right,” Hayato chuckled around that first glorious puff of toxic adrenaline.

“Idiot,” the other muttered around a smile and before Hayato knew it, Ryu was pinching that cigarette from his mouth with his index finger and thumb. Hayato lifted an eyebrow in silent question as the filtered end, smeared with blood from his own lips, disappeared into Ryu's mouth. The smaller man's hands were shaking slightly now and he left his right hand at his mouth, his fingers spread on either side of the cigarette as he breathed in deep.

“You don't smoke,” Hayato stated rather bluntly and, at least in his opinion, quite obviously.

“You could have tried not to drool your damn blood all over the filter,” Ryu muttered half heartedly as he passed it back. Hayato took it with a stunned blink of the eyes before smirking slightly and shaking his head back and forth.

“But you don't smoke,” Hayato once again pointed out.

“Yeah, so I guess it doesn't really matter...?” Ryu asked and Hayato realised that the fucker was trying to walk him into a trap. The skinny assed red head wanted to relate this shit back to the original issue between them. Metaphors and all that crap that Ryu occasionally busted out with, proving that yes, he was smarter than all of them.

Instead of walking into it – and Hayato thanked his lucky stars that for once, he was a step ahead of Ryu – he simply smirked, put that cigarette back between his lips and sucked in a lungful. “These things will kill ya, you know?”

And Ryu laughed then. Loud and almost manic, the sound vibrated off the dingy, poster covered walls of the alleyway and maybe Hayato was just a sucker or maybe he was weak, but the sound of Ryu laughing was infectious.

******

“What the hell happened?” It was Hyuuga who asked first when seeing them.

Ryu wasn't too bad. It was Hayato who looked like the walking dead. Swollen left eye, ringed in black and a cheek that had been busted open in two places, one across the high bone and the other on the underside, down near his mouth. That was also a mess. His top lip was puffy and curled up in an almost constant snarl and the bottom was bruised and bloody, the skin re-splitting every time he tried to speak. The purple and black line across his forehead looked like he'd been beaten a few times with the ugly stick and yet for the life of him, Hayato couldn't remember actually taking a blow to that region of the face.

But it was him that they looked at with huge eyes and worried expressions and there was a part of Hayato that just wanted to go and thump Ryu on his upper left arm just to prove his point. Yeah, he looked like death walking and damaged fucking goods, but it was Ryu who was in the worst shape.

Of course Ryu hadn't let Hayato take him to any sort of doctor or hospital; not even the dodgy back-dock, black market surgeon that Hayato knew through a friend of a friend. So Hayato had done what they always do. He'd left Ryu in the alleyway and raided the closest Lawsons. Three hundred yen vodka was always a win; not that he could actually pay for it and buy it legitimately – under age and all – but it saved him from having to pick pocket something more expensive.

Then it had been a matter of a home fix up job for both of them. Hayato's dad was away again and Taku was smart enough to clear the fuck out and keep his mouth closed the moment the two older boys staggered in, holding each other up and walking through shuffling steps.

Hayato had insisted that he look at Ryu's arm first and after a good deal of arguing and a lot of glaring, Hayato had ended up with Ryu's head pressed against his stomach while the other man sat on the edge of the bath and Hayato poured the vodka over the red, angry looking wounds in his arm.

Ryu had hissed then, loud and unashamed as the alcohol seeped into the gashes and revealed his skin from under all the dried blood. Hayato had done the only thing he could; he patted Ryu's orange hair, muttered something that made no sense whatsoever and then splashed more of the alcohol onto the wounds just for good measure. Fucked if he was going to let the wound get infected and turn septic.

It had taken the better part of two hours but finally they had managed to patch each other up. Most of it was all remarkably well managed and rehearsed; they had spent the last ten or so years playing nurse maid after fights and scuffs. Only difference was that this time there was more to do with Ryu. That was unusual. Normally it was Hayato who got himself beaten to a pulp and needed the most attention to get him half human again. Ryu would get the split lips, the busted knuckles and the grazed skin. That was it. Once he had broken his arm, but that was more his fault than the person he was fighting. Maybe there was just something about his graceful stance or his delicate features, but people tended to hit him less than they did Hayato and Hayato, for the most part, was pretty fucking happy about that.

Then again, maybe Hayato was just more annoying then Ryu; people tended to want to smash the faces of annoying people against things quite often.

And so from his position on the edge of the bath, his head against the cool tile wall and his arm covered in various shades of red and pink, Ryu had had to direct Hayato's actions in dealing with the deep gashes. Dental floss and a needle and a few dozen swigs of that vodka for his own nerves had Hayato vowing that sewing was not his strong point and making damn sure that Ryu knew never to expect a hand sewn handkerchief from him. Ever.

Ryu had merely nodded and agreed, grit his teeth against the feeling of metal and floss sliding under skin and had been decent – or distracted – enough not to point out that Hayato was making absolutely no sense at all.

That was what friends were for.

So when their friends gathered around that following day, asking all the right questions and looking at Hayato like he was the walking dead, something inside the other man snapped.

Why were they fighting with Ara again? That was the question that was on everyone's lips and Hayato wasn't too sure how to answer that one. Because they called Ryu a slut. Something about that just didn't have an overly good ring to it and saying it out loud would have been as good as a proverbial death sentence.

“It just has to stop,” Hayato concluded, earning nods from the other three and energetic cheers from the rest of the class. He was up the front, his elbows leaning against the chalkboard and his posture slouched. One leg was bent, his foot pressed against the wall behind him as his eyes tried not to look at Ryu.

“We'll teach them a lesson,” Tsuchiya agreed. Again, the class cheered. All except two; one was Ryu and the other was Takeda but Hayato didn't see anything unusual about that. Ryu never expressed any sort of blood lust and that was fine and Takeda was pretty much the last person who went walking into a fight at the drop of a hat.

Plans where made, ideas thrown around like volleyballs at the beach and Hayato merely stood there and smiled around his bruises. Whether they were with him or not, something needed to be done about those thugs. Words were one thing, but dirty play with glass and consequential bleeding didn't sit well with Hayato. Even thieves had their own rules and honour, so why couldn't that be true with gangs as well?

Glancing around the room, Hayato nodded to himself, agreeing with the silent commentary running through his mind. He had a good crew here. A tough bunch even with the few weaker ones. But even then, they could take more then they could dish out and that was sometimes good in an all out brawl as well. Tsuchiya was strong and somewhat of a natural leader when he actually put his mind to it and, while almost sad, Hyuuga was the perfect little footsoldier. He followed orders, tagged along in the background and stood up to bat when the occasion called for it.

Hayato's eyes moved off the two and skimmed the rest of the class. There was the guy with the bright green shirt who was kind of goofy and funny looking but could whack one hell of a power punch when annoyed. Then there was the loud one with the punch perm and his friend who had the googly eyes. They worked in a team and between them, Hayato knew that they could take on almost anything.

Then there was Takeda. Hayato sought him out in the crowd, finding the small blonde standing flush up against Ryu's left side which made Hayato's eyes narrow for a reason completely unapparent to him. Much like Ryu, he was one who didn't fit into the smashing heads and crunching bones mind frame of the rest of them. But he was a thinker and a planner and his tendency to over worry about things often got them out of shit situations. If they were an army then Takeda would be the strategist.

Take was looking up at Ryu with big eyes and Ryu was looking nowhere but right back at Hayato. For a moment Hayato couldn't do anything; couldn't breathe or swallow the lump in his throat. There was something in Ryu's blank eyes that only Hayato could see and yet even he couldn't quite read it. What was the other man trying to say?

Hayato lifted an eyebrow in silent question; Ryu looked away and in the far corner, Tsuchiya's fan flicked open and Hyuuga let out a battle cry.

It was on, yet somewhere in the back of his head Hayato thought it was a little odd that Ryu was so quiet.

*******

It ended the day they both tumbled through the window but it had started with just a look. A glare shot across the classroom. Silence. And then that snotty, cold and dismissive turn of the head and lift of the chin that Ryu was so infamous for.

It had set Hayato off. Like a match being thrown into the middle of a pile of kindling, Hayato had felt that intense burn just ignite. It spread like wildfire until it had his blood boiling and his heart racing. His chair clattered out behind him as he pushed himself to his feet, his palms planted on the desk in front of him.

One second. Two. One more to make three and there was still no reaction from Ryu.

Hayato's hands slapped loudly against the tabletop before he abruptly shoved it to the side, almost blind-siding Tsuchiya in the process.

“You!” he yelled, his voice gruff and harsh and with the 'me*' syllable stretching on into a snarl.

Ryu didn't move and that pissed Hayato off even more. Fucking be scared or shoot him a defiant glare or just do something.

But then Ryu had done something. That was apparent enough to almost everyone.

The battle lines had been drawn, the date set and the masses ready and then fuck Hayato sideways till he cried, but Ara didn't show up. Not a god damned single one of them. And Ryu hadn't been with them either. Hell, he'd been missing in action since the night before and what made Hayato even more fired up was that he had spent the entire night – every damn single fucking second of it – looking for his friend. Every alley, every street. Each and every dingy run down dive of a club that they could get into. The pool hall, the arcade. The grassy hill that they liked to claim as their own. Hayato had even scaled the fence of Ryu's house, pulling himself up onto the balcony of Ryu's room and peering in the window like some peeking Tom. Had Ryu's dad done something; locked him away again for reasons that Ryu would never talk about?

And when Hayato had run out of places to check, he went back to the start, working his way in criss-crossing lines all the way through the city.

It was to the point were Hayato became paranoid. His phone lived next to his ear as he searched, the line always trying to dial Ryu and never coming back with anything other than a polite voice saying that the number he was trying to reach was not in a coverage zone.

Had Ara done something? The battle had started due to their fuckwit leaders comment about Ryu; had they pushed the lines of the fight and done something to Hayato's best friend? Was Ryu in trouble somewhere, or worse, dead in the one gutter he hadn't checked, wherever the hell that might be?

It was with that in mind that Hayato had given up the search only to arrive in the designated meeting place. If Ara had done something to his friend then he would be the first one there to smash heads and find out what. He would be the one to save Ryu from whatever Ara had in mind and then it would be Hayato to dish out sweet justice.

And so Hayato and what he referred to as his army had stood in that empty warehouse, twitchy, tense and fucking pumped up as all hell. Waiting.

Then the door at the far end opened and a lone figure walked in, backlit by a dying street light and Hayato had felt his heart sink in his chest.

“They are not coming,” Ryu had explained after an awkward moment of silence. His voice had been loud and strong even through the lack of tone and expression.

Straight, white teeth had pressed into his bottom lip and Hayato had been struck stupid by the action. It was not in Ryu's genetic code to go and show any signs of nerves. Ever. And yet there was Ryu, standing before them all, his eyes on the floor and his lip threatening to bleed between his own teeth.

“What do you mean?” Hayato was still glad that someone else could speak cause he surely couldn't. In his daze he couldn't even remember who had asked the question. Words had failed him as he looked at Ryu, watching the way the other man seemed to push imaginary dust around with the tip of his shoe.

And then Ryu had shifted his feet again, his gaze had swayed across the cement floor and when he next spoke, his words weren't as loud and weren't half a strong.

“It's been sorted out. They won't bother us again.”

A murmur had started up within the group of students and Hayato was thankful. The silence had worried him, made him think that maybe his mind had been screaming loud enough that Ryu would hear each and every word.

I was doing this for you! They hurt you! What did you do for them?

His thoughts were a jumbled mess and all Hayato could get himself to actually do was stare open mouthed for a few more minutes before turning abruptly on his heels and walking out the door. The one opposite to where Ryu had entered.

That had been last night and now with hours to contemplate and consider and the bright morning sunlight filtering through the blacked out, graffiti covered windows, Hayato was starting to see things clearer. Well, not clearer as nothing that Ryu ever did was anything but a mystery, but he was seeing the pieces on the board now at least. Even if he didn't understand the motives of the other major player.

And that was why, now that he was squinting against his own mind, he had stood up so abruptly and yelled out at the top of his voice, sending the entire room into shocked silence.

Everyone knew that it was coming. One didn't just cross Yabuki Hayato and walk away from it unscathed; not even Ryu. It was just a matter of when it would hit. When would Hayato snap beyond control and start demanding answers.

Hayato's world plunged back into the present and before he knew it, he was striding determinedly across the floor towards Ryu, his mouth set into a grim line and his eyes narrowed seriously.

Ryu still didn't move; didn't even fucking look up as Hayato stopped right in front of him. Again, hands splayed across the surface of a desk, only this time is was so Hayato could bring his face down closer to Ryu's. A desperate plot to get the man's attention.

“Eh?” Hayato curled up his top lip, words of demand expressed in the single, monosyllabic sound.

Nothing. A blink of the eyes. A roll of the left shoulder. The tiniest of all tiny lip twitches and for the first time in his life, Hayato thought of entering Ryu into professional poker challenges.

That fantasy was short lived as Hayato finally decided to act. He took a step to the side, rounding the desk so that he could grab at Ryu's jacket. Once there, with his hand locked so firmly around the cloth he'd punch anyone else for touching, Hayato yanked the shorter man to his feet in one go. That got Ryu up and yet still the red head just offered him that blank and wholly blazé look that made Hayato's eye start to twitch in irritation.

Hauling Ryu around, Hayato did the only thing he knew how to. He threw Ryu backwards, sending the lessor built man staggering towards the chalkboard. Ryu caught himself with his hands, his back to Hayato for what felt like an eternity before he straightened himself up, turned around and then pressed his shoulders backwards.

Finally Hayato found words. He wasn't good at speaking, wasn't good at finding out information in any other way than with his fists and he sure as hell wasn't good a small talk. But finally, with Ryu glaring back at him and the memory of Ryu stumbling burning itself into his mind, Hayato found a voice that could formulate coherent sentences.

“Why did you bow down to them?”

Ryu looked to the side, his eyes rolling in a way that only he could manage. It was a half action, not fully followed through like anyone else attempting the expression but somehow that made it seem even more dismissive. His thin right shoulder hunched slightly, as if he was about to shrug and his jaw flexed once before he spoke, all calm and casual and conversational. “Because a duel is stupid.”

It was the most expression Hayato had seen from his friend in a long time and for a moment, it managed to cloud his judgement. And his reaction time. Ryu was already brushing past him by the time those words sunk in. Ryu was already stepping around his back, his hands in his pockets and his head down in a way that Hayato knew – just knew – was Ryu proving his point with his limited body language.

Maybe if Ryu hadn't been so certain about it all, if he had said the words with a hint of uncertainty instead of pointed conviction, then Hayato could have taken them better. No, he didn't agree. Fighting was never stupid, but he and Ryu were hardly the type to disagree. They had been through thick and thin together, hell fire, brimstone and bright as all hell fucking sunshine. They didn't argue for no reason and they never refused to hear each other out.

“Stupid?” Hayato growled. He turned on the spot, following Ryu with his eyes as the younger man made to walk away. Hayato hated that; hated that snotty defiance in the other that seemed to assume that he could just ignore him without any repercussions. “Don't talk nonsense!”

And he snapped. That fine thread of composure that he had been clinging to ripped in two and before he really knew what he was doing, Hayato had Ryu by the scruff of his school uniform and his fist smashed into Ryu's shocked face.

Yet when that time finally came, when Hayato was so pissed that he couldn't contain himself, Ryu had still taken the hit like a pro.

Just like Hayato had taught him all those years ago.

Ryu went sprawling, his arms and legs shooting out as he tried to seek balance from an invisible source. It didn't work though and not a single one of their class mates stepped forward to offer a catching hand.

As the shorter man landed on his hands and knees in the middle of the classroom, Hayato felt his heart break. It drowned out all other sounds. In the background, Hayato couldn't even hear Takeda yelling out a panicked 'stop it!'

For a moment Hayato couldn't help but wonder if Ryu was just going to take it, to stay there on his hands and knees, humiliated before the class and not even respond. Something about that bothered Hayato more than he wanted to admit to himself. Part of him yelled 'stay down' over and over again, not finding it in himself to actually keep the fight going while another part wanted nothing more than for Ryu to pull himself together and stand up for himself. Seeing Ryu beaten and weak was not on the top of Hayato's list of wants.

Almost as soon as his mind had finished the thought, Ryu moved to prove him wrong. There was a fire in his eyes that Hayato had never seen before and as Ryu pulled himself to his feet and swung a wild fist at Hayato's chin, Hayato had to wonder if Ryu really did hate him that much.

Why?

Never had Hayato seen such passion reflected from those usually cold depths. Something was burning inside Ryu and maybe Hayato really was a coward, but it made him scared.

Snarling, Hayato shook off the dizzying effects of the blow and the self destructive thoughts in his head. Normally he would have been impressed; hell he would have cheered Ryu on for a hit like that. The younger man was a bit of a pansy to look at and Hayato had always found it rather amusing that such a stick like figure could wallop such a bone splitting punch.

Then again, it had been Hayato who had taught Ryu to fight when they were younger, so really Hayato shouldn't have been surprised. He was an awesome teacher, after all.

Going at the other man again, Hayato growled as Ryu beat him to the punch line. The red head dropped his shoulder and charged, catching Hayato in the stomach and driving him backwards. They both crashed into a desk, Hayato's back arching over the surface as he struggled to get a grip on his lifelong friend.

Other hands got there first though and before Hayato knew it, they were being ripped apart and surrounded by screaming figures. It took three people to keep Hayato pinned – something that he was vaguely proud of – and two to keep Ryu from swinging at him again. Voices screamed meaningless things and Hayato saw nothing but red. A kick backwards, a elbow upwards and Hayato was free and somehow Ryu had managed to do the same.

They clashed like the front lines of great armies, hands and feet flying out as they all but crashed tackled each other to the floor. A table fell over; a chair skidded across the room and bumped into the wall. Hands grabbed and pushed, teeth grit under the pressure of punches and eyes closed painfully each and every time a blow hit home.

The fight had taken them out of the class room, past the terrified teacher who was busy clinging to his desk and keeping the wooden surface between him and the students. Hayato paid the fool no attention and apparently neither did Ryu as the red head sent a crushing fist right into Hayato's jaw once again.

Up the stairs, out the door and into the hallways, Ryu and Hayato exchanged punch for punch, kick for kick and king hit for king hit. Shove and grab. Fall and scramble then punch again. They carved a bloody and violent path through the sea of their own graffiti, past the blackened shadow of a figure holding a knife and up the next small flight of stairs.

Hayato got his hands up around the collar of Ryu's school jacket, fisting the material and yanking the shorter man closer. Red hair fanned out and Hayato tried not to listen to the words echoing in the back of his head. 'Red haired slut' and something about those made the throb in his already split lip all the more painful. All Hayato could focus on was the way that Ryu's hands gripped at his own, trying to yank them off while icy eyes locked with his through narrow slits and thin eyelashes.

It took Hayato countless seconds to realise that he was screaming and even then he had no clue what he was actually saying. Random words. Pointless profanities. Only the witnesses would know and even then Hayato had to wonder if anything coming out of his mouth would ever make sense again.

Ryu was panting in his grip, his fingers pressing in on Hayato's wrist, hitting all the right pressure points to make his hands spasm. Hayato didn't care. He struggled through the pain and gripped harder as his knee lashed out at Ryu's side. Straight in the ribs was where he got him. A crushing blow that would have put any prized fighter to shame.

But Ryu wasn't so easy to beat; Hayato had taught him everything he knew after all. The shorter man doubled over in Hayato's grip, gasping out in pain at the feeling of pressure smashing against his ribs even while he countered with his other leg. Ryu's foot hooked around the back of Hayato's left leg, yanking him forward and throwing his balance for shit.

They both stumbled backwards, neither having a decent foothold and both still only standing because of the others hands.

There was something amazing about the fact that they were almost perfectly matched in a fight. It was awe inspiring and terrifying all at the same time.

But the key there was the word almost.

They were not matched, not when it came to heart and soul and all that stuff that really mattered. Ryu had always been the weaker one with that. He was the type to mother and worry and protect and ask questions first. Hayato, on the other hand, didn't give a shit if there were questions. Hit someone enough and answers you didn't even know you were looking for generally just rolled out from between their lips like half swallowed marbles.

Hayato was angry and he had a reason. Ryu had betrayed him, them; all that they stood for and made them look weak and disorganised. Leaderless. Hayato was on fire, burning from within and steadily ready to explode. But Ryu wasn't like that. It never was him. He was locked inside, not with fire, but with ice. He had his reasons and he wouldn't talk. He had his motives and excuses and yet he would keep them to himself.

Even his punches were really only half as hard as they could be. Again, Hayato knew that one from experience.

All it did was frustrate him even more.

But one stumbling step then two and then they crashed into something hard, putting a fast stop to their clumsy fall.

It was only because it was Hayato's back that collided with the object that he knew what was happening before Ryu. Cold and hard yet shaking from their weight. The window at the top of the stairs, covered in both their handwriting and Takeda's coloured doodle of a screaming face. Hayato wanted to twist his features to match as the fear of falling through set his heart racing even faster.

For a moment Hayato actually thought that the window would hold them, that his brief moment of fear had been for nothing.

And then the wood splintered and the glass shattered like a beer bottle and if Hayato needed any proof that he was insane, it was in the way that his hand instantly curled around Ryu's wounded left arm. Not strangling and painful; not using the others weakness to get the upper hand, but to cover it and protect it from the glass that rained down in his mind.

Brown glass and a startled cry.

They fell through, a mess of arms and legs; limbs everywhere and Hayato was sure that even Ryu wouldn't have been able to tell whose appendage belonged to who.

Hayato hit the ground first, his back crunching glass and wood alike before his head followed through like a snapped lollipop. Ryu landed with a gruff hiss on top of him, his forehead catching Hayato in the jaw in an unintentional head butt which pushed more glass into Hayato's hair.

They lay there, startled and panting, eyes wide and bodies screaming in pain and fuck his good guy complex, but Hayato almost asked if Ryu was alright.

Almost.

Ryu put an end to any words that Hayato tried to form by pushing at his hands, yanking his wounded arm free and rolling to the left. That left them side by side, their eyes cast up towards the sky and for a single second Hayato almost thought that they were lying in the grass of their sun drenched hill.

By now Hayato could hear the rush of their friends and the terrified shrieks of those students not used to 3-D's way of things. Whistles were being blown as boots skidded to a stop, forming a semi-circle around the two fallen students. Mutters traveled like a shouted game of Chinese Whispers and teachers made a fuss, trying to get everyone back to class and cover up the fight as best as they could.

And in the background Hayato could hear the ring of damn sirens coming closer and closer. Some fucker had called the police and while Hayato had no dreams of finishing school and getting any gold stars, he wasn't exactly gunning to spend the last year of his adolescence life in juvie for aggravated assault on another student, on school grounds, during school time.

Ryu moved first and later on down the track when Hayato thought back on the fight night after night, he realised that that had been the deciding thing. Hindsight would eventually grant him that gift of reliving the way that Ryu got to his knees, hands shaking and slippery on the shattered glass. Knuckles bleeding. Hayato would come to understand that in that moment, Ryu looked like the monster to the eyes of the onlookers. He panted and snarled, the left side of his shirt blooming red from where all of Hayato's careful stitches had pulled open. Ryu moved, his eyes flicked to Hayato's and in front of everyone, Ryu had clocked Hayato square in the nose, busting it in two while Hayato was still splayed out in the sea of shattered glass.

Hindsight would explain all of that to Hayato's future self – the quick decision Ryu made in the face of expulsion and the way that his violent outburst was the only thing that had saved Hayato from being labelled the devil and kicked out on his poor, unconnected ass; Ryu had his hated dad to hide behind and yet Hayato had nothing if he didn't graduate – but at the time, with his nose throbbing in pace with his frantic heartbeat and with blood filling his mouth, Hayato couldn't see anything past the rage.

Hatred. Betrayal. Boiling anger and Hayato had pulled himself to his own knees and sent an unsteady hook straight back at Ryu. It made him stumble, his weak and shocked body following the arch of the punch and before long Hayato was in the exact position that Ryu had just been. Hands and knees pressed in against broken glass, head down and mouth open with the need to breath. But eyes up; eyes always up and looking at the enemy. That was the key to surviving any fight.

Hayato's opponent was back on his side, his arms sprayed out as he coughed and retched and twitched with each pump of shock that his brain sent out to his pained body.

It didn't stop them though. Hayato focused his mind on getting his limbs to work and before long he was staggering around groggily on the spot, trying to keep his balance while standing with his arms out and his school sleeves pushed messily up. Ryu didn't take long to do the same, his shoulders hunched and one eye slightly closed as skin started to swell.

Again it was Ryu who started it and again, at the time, Hayato couldn't understand why the other was so determined to let that fire inside of him explode. Normally it was the other way around. Hayato had started this, he had thrown those first punches and to have Ryu do such a three-sixty and end up as the enraged one was a shock. The look in his eyes was unnatural and as first the right and then the left knuckles of Ryu's hands slammed into either side of Hayato's head, all followed by a swift but overly unbalanced knee to the stomach, Hayato had stumbling back and was almost completely certain that Ryu was trying to kill him.

Spitting blood onto the dirt patch that the school considered to be their garden, Hayato shook his head slowly and ground his teeth together. The action hurt, his gums bleeding from the repetitive blows to the face and jaw and he had to admit, he was amazed that Ryu hadn't managed to knock out any teeth yet. Then again, it wasn't like he was winning any tally points and making a Ryu-teeth necklace to wear as a trophy either and as much as he hated it, there was a cynical little voice in the back of his head that was politely pointing out that Ryu was currently kicking his ass.

Hayato had to get his shit together. There was a ringing in his ears that sounded suspiciously like bloodied pieces of glass clanging together and he was actually starting to see the world in a shade of red. Anger had nothing to do with it and the rather steady stream of blood coming from somewhere within his hairline, running down his face and filling his eye was the rather obvious culprit.

Jaw set in painfully grim determination, Hayato took a shaking step forward, followed by another one and then half more before he found he couldn't move another inch. Arms. Again with the arms and this time they were pulling him backwards roughly and doubling the distance between him and his new enemy.

Hyuuga made a grab for Ryu and, ever the surprising one, Ryu shocked them all by staggering out of the way and pounding his fist into Hyuuga's face in rapid succession. Red-orange hair flew about a bruised and bloody face and Hayato saw the muscles in Ryu's shoulder and back tense even through his shirt and coat. Hayato counted four hits before Hyuuga stumbled and Hayato actually flinched in shock as Ryu's knee connected with the underside of their friends jaw.

“...The fuck?” Hayato wheezed as Hyuuga sunk to his knees. Ryu merely looked at him, a bloodied eyebrow lifting in what was a no doubt painful motion and then Hayato felt a warm glob of blood and spit land on his cheek. Ryu's mouth closed and a dry, humourless smile crossed his damaged features.

“I hate you!” Hayato wheezed out as he struggled against the arms holding him back. The words sounded like something a perturbed brat would yell out to someone who just stole their favourite action figure. “Traitor!”

Ryu said nothing; did nothing. Cold eyes didn't even look back at Hayato and that made the taller man even angrier.

Hayato lunged forward again, wanting nothing more than to hit that snide fucking look off Ryu's face. Honestly, Hayato was starting to wonder if Ryu even knew he was doing it. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Ryu always looked like that and it was only just now through his anger that Hayato was starting to see him for what he was.

Maybe Ryu had always been a stuck up, double crossing bastard.

But hands again stopped Hayato; large arms wrapping around his middle and yanking him back. Kicking and lashing out, his hands curled into claws, Hayato cursed and struggled as Tsuchiya literally lifted him off his feet to get him away from the silent red head.

“Fucking let me go, Tsucchi!”

“Someone like you...” Ryu said slowly, his left eyebrow arching up in the middle again. His eyes finally skimmed up off the floor, travelling over Hayato's tense form. The look only lasted a moment, a brief second when their eyes met – dark and angry verses light and resigned – before Ryu shook his head and drew in a deep breath. “Someone like you will never understand anything.”

In the silence of his own mind, Hayato hated the fact that he was sure that Ryu was talking about more than just bowing down to Ara high. Again his mind drew a blank, not even realising that months into the future, all of this would make sense. The words, the looks, the anger, the violence. Distract and conquer, cause a commotion and draw all attention to him; Hayato would one day realise that was Ryu's plan and one day it would dawn on him that Ryu's violence had been the thing to save him and the others from being expelled. The head teacher was too busy focusing on Ryu and his outburst and his commanding father to even remember that Hayato had tumbled through the window and thrown the first punch.

“Don't ever let me see you again,” Hayato interjected. It was like flicking a switch; plunging a lit room into darkness with just as single action. One moment Hayato was livid, his anger bubbling to boil over until he was sure he was going to explode. Maybe that was what did happen. He exploded, or imploded would be more likely, because one minute he couldn't breathe and could see nothing but red and then the next he was calm.

It was a display of all the things that Ryu could never be, what with his silence and stoic attitude. Raw; emotional; human. That was what Hayato felt once the anger subsided. Pained and wronged, hurt and vulnerable though fucked if he would ever admit that.

Ryu didn't have any of those emotions and Hayato had to wonder if those cold, unseeing cinnamon eyes even knew to recognise them within someone else.

“Now get out of my sight.”

No one said a word in reply. The students refused to make eye contact, the teachers silently prayed that the two wildest students would work it out themselves.

And Ryu didn't even blink. Quiet and impassive, Hayato saw him take one unsteady breath and then, like the mindless puppet that he was, he turned on his heels and stalked across the quad. Glass shattered under his shoes, his red-orange hair floating on the breeze and his hands were in his pockets. Hayato recognised it as the way Ryu walked to hide physical pain. Not emotional, cause Ryu didn't know what that was, but physical. A blow to the ribs; a throbbing back; he would hunch in on himself and his hands would go to his pockets in an attempt to hide it.

Hayato knew that walk far too well and yet as he watched Ryu walk away, Hayato blocked out the normal wave of worry and concern that filled him when he saw those damn hands sink into pockets. Instead he wondered what it felt like to be the slightly younger man.

How did it feel to be this cold?

Curling his top lip up in a snarl, Hayato imagined himself as heartless as he turned away from the disappearing figure and stalked back towards their ruined classroom.

Cold? He was about to find out and as he spat a mouthful of blood stained spittle to the ground, Hayato realised that he was ready to welcome the opportunity to freeze his heart. He'd welcome it with open arms.

*****

Authors Notes:

- Woot! This is my first foray into this fandom (usually go and stir things up in the Jrock world) so comments and thoughts are greatly appreciated.
- Can I just say that it is remarkably hard to write from the point of view of a sexually frustrated 18 year old, pretty boy highschool thug. Man, the headache. Having said that, I love my Hayato muse. He is a bit smarter then he was in the show, but I think the secretly smart thing sorta works for his character. Plus I love how he is not really a bad guy. Like the bit where they tumbled through the window and the first thing he did was protect the guy he was beating up.
- And come on, who else didn't wish that the feud between Hayato and Ryu lasted longer in the show; just to watch them get into some epic glaring matches followed by some more fist fighting. Hot hot hot.
- The name of the leader of Ara high was never mentioned, so I just used the actors name... ;)

* a really harsh way to scream out 'you!' in Japanese is 'tame'. It is like screaming out 'hey asshole, over here!' in a way. So hence that little description.

Well, that is me done.
Cheers, and hope you all enjoyed.