#twothh

You didn’t like being called a “fighter.” The meaning of that word could mean two entirely different things. It could range from being someone who was “admirable” and “resilient,” someone who wouldn’t be deterred. It could also mean someone who was “combatant” and “difficult,” someone who only caused trouble for others. 

A good part of your life consisted of you being defined by the latter. You were a good student, smart and respectful. The only thing is that you fought a lot during your years in middle and high school. It wasn’t your fault, really; others would antagonize you, hoping to get a rise out of you. And -- to their credit -- they often did get a rise out of you, along with a broken nose. You didn’t like fighting, but you also didn’t like being ridiculed by your peers, especially considering how poorly they did in school. 

In the end, you ended up being the one walking out of your school with a degree while they were expelled and forced to finish school elsewhere, assuming they were even taken in. 

You were by no means a professional-level boxer or wrestler, but you put up a damn good fight when needed. That’s partly why you were about to leave the small street fight you walked by alone. Just outside of the grocery store where you had just gotten your food for the week, you saw a fight starting to brew. 

There was a scrawny blonde guy -- who was actually not that bad looking -- wearing a patterned shirt and blue jeans being yelled at and pushed around by a group of four or so men. Trying to get past them, you walked behind the blonde guy at just the wrong time as one of the men pushed him backwards again, knocking into you and spilling your groceries on the ground.

The blonde guy turned to look at you, but you kept your eyes fixed on the ground and watched the milk from the carton spill onto the street. With balled fists and a clenched jaw you asked,

“Who just shoved him?”

“What’s it matter to you?” One of the guys asked. You turned your head to look at the others and that’s when the blonde pointed at the guy with jet black hair and black suit. 

You shoved past the blonde and walked up to the brunette asshole. He put his hands up to grab you, but you pushed his hands down and away before punching him square in the nose. He backed away with a groan with his hands over his, now broken, nose. Your fingers slipped through blackness as you grabbed him by his hair and dragged him over to your spoiled groceries. Pointing, you shouted:

“THAT’S WHAT IT FUCKING MATTERS TO ME!” You threw him to the ground and into the milk. “Making me waste my money and shit. You ought to pay me back for that.”

You felt the blonde panically pat your back and cry when you noticed the other three now encroaching on you two. You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

“One of you gonna pay me for my groceries? I have the receipt right here,” You said, dangling the receipt in your hand. The shaved head guy glared at you two and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Get ‘em.” 

The blonde yelped as you pushed him out of your way. It’s during that movement that you used his body as cover to position a punch at one of the guys stomach. As predicted, one of them tried to hit you in the face. You ducked down and punched him in the stomach before hooking a foot behind his knee and pulling him forward, causing him to fall backwards. You didn’t mind the other guy as he seemed more focused with the blonde. 

The last guy charged at you and pushed you on your back to the ground with him on top. You blocked a few hits to your face with your arms before wrapping your legs around him and flipping him underneath you. From there, you grabbed him by his collar and headbut him in the face til it was nothing but a bloody mess. 

“Help-” The blonde shouted, “Help me-PLEASE!”

You rolled your eyes before getting up and pulling the two apart and kicking the other guy to the ground. You stared at the guy on the ground before looking back up at the blonde.

“Well?” You asked, “Get him.”

The blonde frantically looked at you then back down at the guy who was getting up. Quickly, the blonde began kicking him over and over again. You looked away in favor of collecting your groceries that were still good, hoping that none of that asshole’s blood had gotten on any of it. 

Once collected, you stood up and saw that he was still kicking the other guy. You placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and he looked over panicked.

“I think that’s enough,” You said, slinging your bags higher on your arms, “You don’t want to kill now do you?”

The blonde shook his head ‘no’ with his mouth slightly ajar. 

“Thank you,” He said, taking your hand and shaking it. You groaned while pulling your hand away due to a dull ache in your knuckles.

“I didn’t do it for you,” You said while rubbing the cuts on your right knuckles, “Asshole spilled my groceries. Speaking of which…” You trailed off while bending down and digging around the first guy's pockets. You stopped once you found his wallet. You pulled all his cash out of it before dropping the wallet on him. 

“Eh, it’ll cover what he ruined,” You mumbled with a shrug while carding through the bills. 

You started walking back into the store when the blonde began to trail you, making you stop.

“I’m-I’m Masa,” He said nervously, once again holding your hand in his own hand, “If there's anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, just let m…” 

You ignored most of his rambling, instead focusing on his face. He was rather beautiful with a sharp jaw, dark-almost black eyes, and bleach blonde hair. And yet he had his very own uniqueness when it came to his finer features, such as the shape of his eyebrows and the point of his nose. 

Masa fell silent when you slipped your hand from his and grabbed his face, turning his head to the left and then right. 

While examining his face earlier, you noticed a few deeper cuts on his eyebrow and cheek. 

“What a shame,” You mumbled while inspecting his face further, “You have such a pretty face, it’s a shame you went and got it busted up.”

Masa grew flustered at that and tried to pull his face away, but your grip was firm.

“I-ha, um…thank you?” He muttered, his hands reaching up to caress yours and pull your fingers away. You let him. 

“Why don’t you come to the store with me? I have to get some band-aids anyway; that first fucker had some sharp teeth.” You asked while inspecting the cuts on your knuckles. 

“Uh,” Masa stutters, fingers massaging your palm still in his hands, “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”

You flip your hand in his and grab his hand.

“Alright, let’s go.” You said while walking back into the store.

While in there, you question Masa on why he was in a fight with those idiots. He explained that one of them had bumped into him and he mouthed off to one of them. Things escalated, a fight started and for a moment one of his friends -- whose name is “Tatsu” -- walked by, but while trying to convince him to fight off the group of guys, he just slapped Masa and walked away. 

“Shitty friend,” You said, placing a pack of band-aids in your basket. 

“He’s not a shitty friend!” Masa shouted, “He just wanted me to fight my own fight.”

“Can you fight?” You asked.

“Of course I can fight,” Masa answered, puffing out his chest and flexing his arms at you. You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Why didn’t you then?” You asked. He deflated at that.

“Well-You see…um,” Masa stuttered, looking away from you.

“Do you even know how to throw a punch?” 

“Yes! Why wouldn’t I??”

“Well, based on your hands alone,” You started while grabbing one of his hands, “You don’t fight much, if at all.” You ran your thumb over his knuckles, noting their scarless complexion. He pulled his hand away, almost offended.

“What do you mean by that?” Masa asked pointedly.

“Relax,” You said, waving your hand dismissively, “There’s nothing wrong with that. You just have too nice of hands to be someone who gets into fights a lot. You should be happy about that; You have very nice hands.” 

Masa looked down at his hands while flipping them over to inspect them.

“They’re nicer than mine,” You murmur, subconsciously rubbing over your own hands. Masa looks up and holds out a hand for you to put yours into and you do.

He holds your hand gently, inspecting every little inch of skin and you can’t help but feel a little flustered at all the attention. Warm fingers run over the lines and creases of your palm and the soft pads of fingers ghost over the numerous scars and bruises that line your knuckles and fingers.

“What happened?” Masa asked and looked up at you for an answer, but you didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“I get into fights a lot,” You said, shifting your stance, “I don’t mean to, I just get angry sometimes and people like to push me -- get a rise out of me.” You pull your hands away.

“I’m not too proud of them to be honest,” You admitted while walking over to the checkout area, “My parents never liked it when I fought with the other kids, but I also never liked getting insulted.” 

“I think they’re badass,” Masa said with a smile, “Shows that you can take care of yourself; beat up anyone who gets in your way.” 

You chuckled low in your throat at his theatrics.

“I guess,” You smiled.

“590 Yen please,” The cashier said. You pulled out your wallet.

“Most guys and gals don’t care for them,” You said, handing the money over to the woman, “Gives off the impressions of being combative.”

“Well, I like them,” Masa remarked and walked with you out of the store.

“Makes one of us,” You comment while looking around outside, “Looks like they left.” 

You move to sit on the curb next to the building with Masa following soon after. You pulled out the band-aids and gauze out of the bag and opened one up. Masa lets you grab his face again and place two band-aids on his cheek.

“Close your eyes,” You demanded, “You need one on your eyebrow.” 

Masa did as told and you quickly placed a band-aid over his oddly-shaped eyebrow.

“There. All better,” You said while smoothing down the band-aids on his cheek with your thumb. 

“Thank you,” Masa mumbled gratefully.

You hummed, placed the band-aids aside and began unrolling the gauze. You wrapped your right hand up with the gauze and secured it, flexing your fingers to test the stability of it. 

“And, um, thank you again for helping me with those other guys,” Masa added, fiddling with his fingers, not looking at you. 

“Like I said,” You clenched your jaw, “I didn’t do it for you.”

You glanced over and sighed.

“Although,” You began with a small smile, grabbing his attention, “I’ve always liked blondes.”

Masa’s face flushed, a beautiful light pink dusting his cheeks, nose, and ears, as he stuttered. 

“Well-I-uh…haha-” You smiled wider. 

“Are you shy?” You asked.

“I’m-No, not at all!” He quickly rebuttals, but he sounds unsure himself.

“Are you sure?” You prodded further and listened to him try to convince you otherwise. Not really expecting a cohesive response. 

“Well, whatever,” You said while standing, “I guess I didn’t mind beating up those shitstains if it meant I got to meet such a sweetheart like you.” 

You cupped the top of his head in your hand, blonde locks slipping in between your fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. You ruffled his hair as you pulled away and began to walk home. 

“Here, you can keep the band-aids,” You said while throwing the box to him. To his credit, he caught it while trying to say something.

“What’s-What’s your name?” Masa finally asked. You paused, looking behind at him. 

“Y/N,” You answered before continuing on your way, “You should call me.”

“Huh?” He asked looking up from the box, but you had turned the corner and were gone.