FanFiction.Net - unleash your imagination|
Author of 26 Stories |
She was an acquired taste. A well-known fast girl and wild child. Her best friend was a beatnik and the same could be said about her. She was petite: standing at about five foot two or three with rounded shoulders, a small chest, and petal like almost translucent skin that clashed sharply with the bright red of her hair which she attempted to iron straight but it ended up fanning out at the ends like Rod Stewart. Of course, she wasn’t a natural red haired beauty any more than he was; they had an annual sink bleaching tradition to thank for that. But beauty she was: complete with the delicate Asian features he so admired.
And he was crazy about her.
He loved every bleached strand of hair on her head down to the bells around the ankles of her bare feet. He cherished the delicacy of her outer appearance. He adored the fact that her attitude made up for her porcelain like frame. Her arrogant, tough, streetwise attitude. One of her many qualities that drew him to her.
Her wit, wildness, carefree outlook…or perhaps it was the fact that he didn’t know how long he’d be able to hang onto her. How long he’d be able to keep her by his side. In his arms. But, man, he wanted to hold onto her. He wanted to hold onto her. He wanted to keep her locked in the cage of his embrace.
But she was so damn unpredictable.
He never knew what she planned to do next. She could force him to sit through every Audrey Hepburn film made one day, go see every band performing in L.A. another day, or suddenly decide she wanted to protest against the war in Vietnam when she damn well knew that he was serving for it! But he gave in to her every time. He couldn’t refuse her. He was too afraid to loose her. She certainly kept him on his toes.
With a love as obsessive and fierce as his, one could only imagine what a two-year separation did to him.
Hwoarang stepped off the helicopter; the first of a dozen other men, eager to board off and see their families as well. He’d been stationed in Vietnam for two years as a sergeant. Several other men had been there as long as seven or eight. For once, he was thankful that his commanding officers hated him so much as to send him home.
Howver, pain in the neck Hwoarang might have been, the officers knew about what a valuable asset Hwoaran was and that it would be a great loss to loose him. But the officers felt that their blood pressure and hearts were more important to think of than loosing the only martial artist they had.
The fierce whipping of the chopper’s propellers snapped his streaked red hair over and behind his face and neck, then back again. His green and brown uniform ruffled as he stood shock still gazing at the late afternoon sun, unbelieving sun, unbelieving that he was finally back home.
“Move it, ya flake!”
“Two years with you’s enough! I wanna get away as fast as I can!”
“Yeah! You waiting for an invitation!”
Hwoarang started and glanced behind him at the twelve others waiting impatiently still on the helicopter. He smirked; officially glad to be rid of them. Tightening his grip on the bag he had slung over his shoulder, he slowly began walking down the steps. Yeah, he was rid of them. But, like always, he felt the undying need to leave a lasting impression.
That is until he caught sight of her standing by the window of the airport.
Standing confidently with a compact mirror in her left hand while applying lipstick with her right. Beside her, clad in her trademark bright colors was her beatnik best friend. He leapt off the side of the stairs, much to the relief of those behind him, and raced toward the door. He discarded his bag onto the floor and ran to where he saw her. Only to find that she had vanished.
Fanned out around him, his fellow veterans were running into the arms of loved ones seemingly forgetful of all the trouble they’d seen. And he’d like to forget too—if only he could find her! Left…. Right…. Here…. There…Nowhere…!
“She ran to the bathroom, you goof,”
He whirled around to find himself facing her best friend. She gave him a wide grin. Hwoarang admitted that she would be pretty if only she didn’t look so young. Xiaoyu was smaller than her friend; five foot flat and very frail looking with large innocent brown eyes. Her long straight black tresses, which were usually tied into two ponytails or braids, hung just below her shoulders. Today, she had let it loose, but had a pink ribbon wound around her head like a headband.
“Thought I’d tell ya that a-cause you looked worried beyond belief,” she added.
He nodded, unsure of how to respond. He felt oddly uncomfortable in her presence. She was the queen of weirdoes with her obsession of pandas and love for concerts and theme parks. She, on the other hand, always managed to look calm, collected, and content whenever in his presence. It wasn’t until he felt a light tap on his shoulder that the anxiety he’d barely noticed was there dissolved.
“Miharu?”
She tugged at his arm, forcing him to face her. A giggle escaped her pale pink lips and her deep-set dark eyes reflected the glaring light of the sun. He clasped her upper arms carefully and drew her close. He practiced what to say on the ride here countless times. It seemed so clichéd that he’d forget once he took in her delicate face and dark brown eyes. Had it been two years? It felt like two centuries.
:
:
:
:
