Author's note: What can I say? I L-O-V-E this couple! That should entitle them to a one-shot series of their own shouldn't it? Smirks. Anyway, on with the show!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken.

1. Admiration

There are a number of ways to describe a mosh-pit. To begin with, the noise. Whoops, hollers, jeers, and sneers being emitted from the motley crowd of spectators. Petty crooks, gangsters and plain low-lives gathered together to feast their roving eyes on the spectacle before them. Most of them were intoxicated as they climbed up the metal frames surrounding the arena where the two women fought. The very sight of them attracted an array of wolf-whistles and catcalls. One in somewhat stereotypical Native American attire, the other in her trademark scarlet quipao. And then there were the smells. Sweat and beer-breath interspersed with tobacco and smoke. It was no place for any women to be caught dead or alive in. Hwoarang should know. He'd attended as well as participated in several events akin to this one.

But he knew Julia never had. And that was what scared him.

Sure, she was strong. Mentally as well as physically. More than any other woman he'd ever known. And there had been a lot of them in his life. Nothing more than mere sex toys. He'd lost his own virginity at the age of seventeen. With a class-mate of a reputation as loose as the garments he'd stripped her off of. Their 'relationship' had lasted for two weeks before the artificial pleasure had left them both. Last time he'd heard, she'd been pounding the pavement of a certain red-light district in fish-nets and mesh blouses. God knows how many abortions she must have had by now. After her, there had been a deluge of them. Brunettes, bottle-blondes, tall and statuesque, small and petite. Oh, they adored him alright. Their pouting and posturing had said too much. And he'd given them what they wanted in return for what he felt he 'deserved'. Drunk or sober, he was always up for the action.

The soulless women, the endless street-fights, the endless supply of booze… it was a heady mix. They were only temporary but they'd kept him satisfied for a while. Until that void in his heart would begin to trouble him and keep him up on certain nights. Then, he would think back to that time. When he had lost his virginity. His spiritual virginity, his innocence. That had died a long time ago. On the hard and fast streets of Seoul, done in by hunger for food, warmth and love. The Korean had had to fight to live for almost every day of his childhood. He had earned several scars from his troubles. Too bad they weren't just the superficial type. No one, not even the man he had come to see as a father could erase them. The memories were vivid and they would be on auto-replay in his head. The next day, he would seek out a new high and, hence, end up repeating the vicious cycle he had created for himself.

But then, life had taken a new turn. He had been nineteen, on the brink of manhood, when that fateful draw had occurred. When Toshin had attacked Master Baek. He soon had a new rival in the form of Jin Kazama and a new aim in life. He'd pushed himself to his very limits in training before entering the third King of the Iron Fist tournament.

It was here that Hwoarang had met Julia Chang.

Not exactly love or even like at first sight. He remembered thinking that she looked like she stepped out of a comic-book with that get-up, feathers in her hair and everything. To compound matters, she hadn't been too pleased when he'd knocked her down in his hurry to register. Not the best way to sweep a girl off her feet. Still, she had been nowhere near as annoying as that Chinese ditz with the irritating laugh. Ironically, it had been the nuisance that was Ling Xiaoyu that had finally bonded them. Julia hadn't been too fond of the Jin Kazama-obsessed fangirl either. They'd had quite a few laughs at the latter's expense.

He had found her determination amusing at first. Just another pretty girl with a goal similar to his.

But that had before he actually saw her fight.

Nothing fancy in her technique. No acrobatics or flashy moves. But there was passion. Pure, unadulterated passion. Whether hers was enough to match his was questionable but it had been enough for him to feel the first few twinges of admiration. She had been some girl.

Two years later, she had grown into some woman. It was no wonder she hid those curves under her jeans. Man, she would probably have to put her fists to good use to beat off the guys had she worn something skimpier. And she still had the passion flowing through her veins. She never needed to shout it out loud like some people. Because Hwoarang could feel it. Flowing through to him like an invisible wave onto his coast. He had to admit the twinges had grown into something else. Something more than attraction or lust. The only woman who had found the chink in his black armor and the way to his heart.

He denied it. Kept on denying it to himself. He had lost the ability to love. He was a lost cause. The battle between his present and past raged on; he could, he couldn't. He could. He couldn't.

The raucous cackle brought him out of his reverie.

"OWW! Watch that pussy get owned!"

Hwoarang snapped his gaze back to the arena.

Anna Williams was most definitely a formidable opponent. Right now, she had her younger, less-experienced adversary in an arm-lock. Hwoarang winced inwardly as he heard Julia's cry of pain. Sadistic as she was, the Irishwoman launched a new barrage of attacks.

He tried to block the shrieks out of his mind. He failed.

What was that she had told him yesterday?

"You have to have courage to listen to your heart, Hwoarang."

He realized he was a coward as she was knocked out. All he could do was watch through blurred vision as she slumped to the ground. He never heard the referee declare the winner. He never heard the mocking hoots directed at the loser.

"It's never too late to change."

Hwoarang heard his own voice echoing in his mind as he crawled through the metal frames and into the arena. He ignored their stares as he made his way over to her.

There she lay, beaten and broken. He turned her around onto her back so that she faced him. She looked pale and ashen, a line of blood trailing from her mouth.

"Julia." He called out softly. "Julia, can you hear me?"

The lowest of whimpers told him she was at least conscious.

"It's me." But she knew that already. She opened her eyes and a stream of tears ensued. He wiped them away.

"Come on, I'll get you some help."

Having said that, he lifted her up like she was a child.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine."

She smiled sadly as she clung to him.