When the Sky Turns Bright (Claudio Serafino x Reader)

Excellence & Sophistry

That was all. All you could muster. Muscles screamed as melted cheese did. Tapped the man impatiently on his back.

"Aye, getting stronger are we."

You slowly sat on your feet to face your friend, Jorges. He was an experience to handle, but much more powerful than you. You stood a long way from his talent. Prominent smells of glory always lifted from him in each of these sessions.

"Don't worry, you're gonna be smashin' the tournament. But you gotta be gettin' past me, first." He slammed his hands upon his chest. "I am your key to winning."

"You're not helping." You toppled on your back, limbs hanging freely wherever they wished to. How you hoped a magical star had hit you with the strongest powers of the universe, like in fantasy stories, before the weekend. The tournament would begin then. Five days. Overwhelming thoughts of negativity spread like maggots clawing through carcass. Was it too much to ask for a sense of attention in this situation?

"Trust me," whispered Jorges in a jokingly genuine manner. "Do you really want to end up being defeated by a man who uses exorcism as their fighting style?"

You bolted upright. "Huh?"

"Yep. Stupid right?"

"Well, um..." If only 'not at all' had been an answer. You shifted; scratched your neck. "Well, there's this really powerful man who fights with that."

"Right, right, right. Claudius Serafino."

Though said incorrectly, your heart might as well have gone for a jog rather than simply leap into the tiny space of your body at the sound of his name. "It's Claudio, stupid."

It didn't take long for Jorges to become incapable of controlling his bleating laughter as he held a hand to his chest, eyes like coin slots.

"What's so funny?" you demanded through a suppressed crimson blush. Pursed your lips as though they had been zipped.

"I was supposed to say that, you know. It's just a bit funny to say it, hehe. Say, you've talked to him before, haven't you? Tell me, [Y/N], what's he really like? A gentleman in high heels?" Another burst of wild laughter.

Totally understandable. How was the name 'Claudio' funny to pronounce? Mouth clenched yet again, you smacked him on the shoulder. "That's insulting to some people!"

"Can you ask him who does his hair and why it's always oily? And how long it takes for him to get ready every morning?"

You stabbed him with a long glare, forcing him to retreat with his overflowing questions. It hadn't even been a day and the topic of Claudio Serafino, the most powerful exorcist, had been brought up once more. You wished you didn't have such a pleasure in your tastes, but instead a realisation of how clearly impossible it may have been to grasp the full attention of him. He was always busy. He was always working hard. Always seen to be everywhere doing everything but merely relaxing. You even wondered at times whether the Italian had time to be seeing someone. Wondered, 'What the hell was he doing at an old grocery store on this very day?'

"Hey, [Y/N]." Jorges' voice widened your eyes, forcing a jolt from your body. He had risen already. "Done daydreaming? I'll help you up. We should close the dojo – it's already so late, Claudi-ass."

Your eyes lolled to the back of your head. You took his arm and glanced at the small of a window perpendicular the ceiling. Outside was already inky. Crickets had already come to snicker at your fatigue, while the gentle whistle of the wind passed by. And the entire building was probably empty, too. How fast time had gone. You swallowed your doubt of time speeding up, just like always.

After sliding into his sneakers, Jorges slipped on a hoodie and dug his hands into his sides. "Good session today, you reckon?" He slowly started his way towards the exit across the scarlet floor, humming what sounded like Sweet Dreams by Beyoncé.

"I guess, yeah. Maybe I could have done better, though, if I hadn't..."

"Hadn't?" came Jorges' curiosity after a few seconds of silence.

You dismissed him quickly with a 'nevermind' and shouldered your jacket. "We should just go home. Are you taking the bus or do you want me to drop you off?"

Jorges watched as you rushed towards him, pulling out his keys. "Nah, it's fine. Just go by yourself, it's eleven. But be careful. Actually, maybe I should take you – no, that doesn't make sense..."

He thrust the door a little too quickly; Jorges yelped, making you, too, at the sight of a bulky, Asian man in his early twenties standing erect at the doorway. Glowered intimidatingly, as though the steam of his glare ought to piss you off.

"Sir," Jorges began, almost breathless, "I would like you to know that we're closing. Right now. At this very moment."

Strange. The man didn't meet Jorge's face. Just continued to stare at the pavement below him. You were drawn to the shade created by the streetlights and the hood of his scarlet jumper. It brought an excessively evil appearance to his face, though much of it was completely sable. Surely he wasn't some sort of thug...

"I am well aware," the man confided, his voice low and almost inaudible. Made the hair of your neck raise.

    Jorges raised an irritated eyebrow. "And?" he questioned slowly. "You expect us to let you in just because you wanna? It's a no, buddy. Sorry. Better come earlier next – agh!"

    Red-Hood had taken into violence – his large hands clutched the collar of Jorges' jumper so typically, his face finally in view. Eyes were puffy as though he had been crying. Cheeks were hollow.

    You cupped a hand over your mouth before trembling towards the man, attempting to restrain his arms of steel. "Oi –!"

    "Let me stay here," he seethed through gritted teeth, shoving you off like an insect. "It's my only option for tonight. Let me!"

    No sign of sympathy from Jorges as of yet. It was competition for him, as always. His natural instinct was to swerve Red-Hood's arm, changing his position completely as he retreated to the ground; almost immediately, he reciprocated – shot upwards and slammed Jorges' up against the closest wall. Jorges' groans echoed throughout the empty street.

    "Guys..." Men! You thought angrily. Why did this escalate so quickly? Yet fear forbid you from setting even a toe forward.

    "Fine! You win, okay? Have it!" Jorges grimaced in abhorrence as he reached his back pocket to toss the keys to Red-Hood. "Call the number up on the door to return them." He nodded towards the door – it was Jorges' cell phone number – and shoved the man off him. "Can't believe you. You'd better not run away on us."

    The man laughed soundlessly in victory and returned to the entrance. There was a hint of slight sophistry in his expression – it was easy to see. And you had watched everything he'd done. Just for a dojo to himself. You hoped he had money.

    "My God, you piss me off! Why don't you go train at the Mishima dojo?"

The big man snorted towards Jorges. "Do I have to?" The door moaned into its sides with a loud bang.

    Silence.

"Jorges, wasn't that - "

"Jin Kazama. Damn. Great man isn't he. Just like the guy on the news who wants to start war. Thinks he can wander wherever the fuck he pleases."

"Jorges, please calm down. We'll just leave it for now, okay? If it gets worse – that's when we know we'll need to report."

Eyes shifting uncontrollably, Jorges scowled. "[Y/N], shut it. You just met the King of the Iron Fist Tournament."

A/N:
wow. my writing style has changed soo much. a much more violent turn into the story already. shoutout to both @FriskyBitts and @OtsuboTaisuke_Aoru for motivaaation:):):)