And voila! Here it is. Kinda dark, kinda angsty, hopefully not too depressing. Since my other fic, To Breathe Again, was deleted, here is my latest multi-chaptered outing set to LiveJournal's 30 kisses challenge. Each chapter is set to a prompt. These chapters are not oneshots. They form part of the story. Shout out to everyone who reviewed and faved TBA! That was much appreciated :D, thank you very much! And a very special thanks to the bands Nirvana and Staind whose music inspired this fic (RIP, Kurt. Your godly voice still haunts me.).

Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken or any of its characters. I do own this plot and the OCs that will appear. It may come as a surprise but I do own the lyrics in this chapter (I made them up so that those possessing more musical talent than I do can put them into melodies of their own). They probably suck but it fits in with FF rules and regulations.

#1. Look over here

Even as he recalled, the incident appeared in bits and pieces. Chopped and scattered...

He'd had a beer before the show so that he'd be pumped up. A temporary, fake high but it had to do. Perhaps it was more than one beer. More than two or three. Could it have been four? Or five? That didn't matter. What did matter was that he'd been drunk and tired. His bandmates, Kim and Han, had felt the same way too. Except that they hadn't been as drunk and tired as he was.

Had he been tired because he was exhausted from his energetic antics onstage?

Or was he just tired of it all?

His head had ached too much for him to surrender to dreams. Perhaps that had been a good thing. His dreams were dreamless. Instead of offering him an escape from reality, they brought him back to the place where he'd tried to bury the past. Dreams were supposed to reflect your greatest hopes and desires. In his slumber, the dirt and blood would cake on his palms and face. The scent would fill his nostrils and his hidden demons slipped off their chains and cuffs.

Playtime.

They'd grin with glee as he choked and spluttered through the layers of darkness. One of them would trail a long, razer-sharp talon up his neck so that the skin split and the scarlet, moist human blood trickled down his throat and chest. It called itself 'Pain'. The other would run its boney fingers through his scarlet locks and caress the silken strands, whispering stories of hope and love that never could have been. This one was entitled 'Sorrow'.

His two biggest fans. Chanting his name over and over until he'd beg them to stop.

Hwoarang... Hwoarang... Hwoarang...

His childhood friends. Now his lifelong companions.

When everything is gone, we shall be all you have left.

They'd taken away his zest for life. They'd gifted him the scars lining his heart.

His attempts to rid himself of them were many and varied. Purging by means of pen and ink or the letters on a keyboard. His troubles manifested in lyric upon lyric, song upon song, performance after performance. The crowds lapped it all up, pleading for more. As benevolent an artiste as he was, he succumbed to their call. The larger the masses, the deeper he dug himself into. Unknowingly, the ones who claimed to adore him the most became the ones who ripped open his raw wounds making him hemorrhage further.

The alcohol was the next step. It tasted awful but it was an anesthetic. Medication was never very pleasant. He'd drink until he drowned. Passing out and falling into the same trap over and over again. There he lay, on the threshold of his grinning obsessors, delighted at finding him in so vulnerable a state.

Unspeakable were the punishments inflicted on his sanity.

The drugs were the last resort. The smoke was hazy and the sensations were like electricity, pulsing and vibrating. The chemicals were an itch, crawling beneath his pale skin. He'd always been a good-looking boy. Those light brown eyes, the loose copper locks, and the roguish smile were a magnet for many fun-loving, giggly females. And even now, he still was. Even as his reflection stared back at him, its gaze hollow and its smile absent.

He was such an attractive boy on the external part. And they loved him for it.

The idea had been formed in his mind on that night, after the show. He kept it to himself and guarded it carefully.

If no one knew, no one could stop him.

He did recall that it was dark because there was no moon in that night sky. No comforting effervescent glow to soothe his disturbed mind. He gathered what he needed in his cold, clammy hands, singing softly to himself to take his mind off the task at hand.

"Gone, gone, where has my light gone?"

The bed-sheet felt heavy in his hands. The smooth cotton chafed at the rough skin of his palms.

"It's hidden, far away behind the night cloud."

A bout of vertigo made the distance between his eyes and the ground beneath the chair he was perched on a dizzying sight. Still, he persevered, looping one end of the sheet over the ceiling-fan.

"It's gone forever."

The third demon had made its appearance. Its head was shrouded but Hwoarang could tell it was smiling. His pain was its pleasure. He watched it writhe and moan in ecstacy as the rest of the cloth found its way around his neck. He looked up into the eyes of 'Loss'.

"As I bid goodbye..."

Closing his own brown eyes, he exhaled and kicked the chair away from him.

The silence awakened him.

He was struck by what he couldn't see.

An endless flash of white light beheld him. With his head bowed low, he picked up an aroma which he'd long ago deemed forgotten.

"Hey..."

And heard a voice that he'd always remembered.

"Look over here."

He turned towards it's direction, hopeful yet fearful.

"It's me."

The light was too bright to see her face but he knew. He could recognize her anywhere. The sweet, low notes of her voice made him piece together the shards of a time when he could smile, laugh, and joke without the fear of being shot down by fate for his sins. The pictures were drawn and painted before his very eyes.

He saw it. But he dared not believe it.

Joy felt too good to be true.

She reached out to him and he touched her hand. The skin felt so clean and smooth beneath his dirt-encrusted fingers. Pulling him closer, she held his hand in hers and wiped off the black filth. When she bent down and kissed his now clean palm, he couldn't help but cry out at the pain. Not the physical pain of sadness and heartache. It was the surge of mad joy that erupted within him which was so strong that it hurt.

"It's okay. I'm here."

"Thank you."

His head lay on her breast, her arms wrapped around him. The peace he felt now was soon overshadowed by fear. What if this was all just another illusion his wayward mind had created? Peering over her shoulder and letting his fingers caress her long braid, he could hear the voices calling him back to earth. Back to reality. Back to his torment...

"Hwoarang, come on! Wake up!!"

"You've gotta come back, buddy!"

He paid them no heed.

"I'm so happy that I could get to see you, Hwoarang."

"Me too."

"But you must go now."

He couldn't believe what she'd just told him. His throat went dry and his body shook with fear. His voice cracked with tears as he implored, "Why?"

She released him slightly but still held onto his shoulders gently. "It's what's best for you. You have to go on living."

"No..." He clutched at her hand, trying to delay her departure.

"I'll stay for a little while longer then."

They stood there, motionless, hand-in-hand. All concept of time was forgotten as he struggled to retain every single part of her into his being. Her touch on his skin, her soft smile, her gentle yet fiery spirit, everything. Like trying to collect water in his cupped hands, the memory was dangerously streaming away from his mind.

"Hwoarang?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about what you've been up to."

"The band's being considered by a record label."

"That's good."

"The fans seem to like us. Kim's an awesome bassist, Han's a percussion genius."

"And you're a talented singer. Don't forget the guitar playing."

"You still remember?"

She laughed softly and his heart broke. "How could I not?"

"After all that - "

"It's over now. Don't worry about me."

It suddenly struck him.

"Why are you here?"

He grasped her hands and met her dark eyes. "What brought you to me?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head slowly.

"I'm not sure. All I knew is that you were in pain." Her eyes were brimming with tears as she looked up again. "You needed help."

"Julia..."

"It's okay. I'm fine not knowing why."

The voices in the background grew louder and stronger. He felt her hand tremble in his.

"It's time for me to leave."

"Don't..."

"Hwoarang..."

"Please." He ached so much that his vision blurred. "I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, you are. I know you are."

The traces of her old determination touched him greatly. Drawing her closer, he tightened his grip on her and nuzzled her hair like he used to. He tried to let her familiar scent permeate his body and soul so that he'd never forget. Her inner strength was wonderful. Maybe this was only a dream. But it was a dream worth keeping in spite of everything that had once passed between them.

He closed his eyes and let it sink in.

"You'll be alright. I believe in you, Hwoarang."

The last thing he remembered was the lightest of butterfly kisses on his forehead...

The bland walls of the hospital room were a disturbing sight. They aroused many unpleasant memories within him.

Surrounded by a group of relieved friends, all Hwoarang could do was shut his eyes once more and sigh.

It seemed that his personal battle within himself had only just begun.