Love is Best Served Fried (Hawks x Colonel Sanders)

1

A cool monsoon rain fell throughout the city. Yet despite the chill in the air, the streets were alive with people. Men with suits quicken their pace as they head off to work. Parents dragging away children from puddles in an attempt to avoid any further drenched children. Local markets began to fill up with people looking for some shelter from the downpour. As the markets became more alive with the hussle of people, there was one foreigner that seemed to stand out from the rest.

A tall, well built American stood near a spice stall, smelling the aromas being released from the herbs. He was looking for something, but he didn't know what it was. After he came up empty handed for who knows how many times, he sighed in defeat, and moved on to the next promising stall. After repeating this process throughout the whole market, the young American ran his hand through his silver white hair, sitting down on a small shaded bench after accepting defeat once again. His grey eyes wandered across the now empty street, give or take a few stragglers here and there. The once bustling streets now cleared with a little help from mother nature.

Deciding to continue on his journey, the man opened up his umbrella, and went on his way. After wandering the street for what seemed like ages, the man's thoughts were interrupted by a low growl emerging from his stomach.

I guess it is lunchtime, The man contemplates, Chicken sounds pretty good, maybe there's a good restaurant around here somewhere.

Setting his sights on a nearby restaurant that he's heard good things about, the man starts on his trek for lunch. His walking becomes a soothing rhythm, creating a singular melody of his own feet hitting the ground. However, after he rounds a corner, another pair of footsteps join his, causing the man to stop and turn around.

Standing in front of him was a man, pointing a knife right at the Americans neck.

"Let's make this nice and easy, hand me over all of your valuables, and I'll let you go." The thug said, stepping closer with his bladed weapon.

"Sorry," The foreigner replied, "I don't speak Japanese."

"Well it looks like it's a good thing I passed my English class, so listen here: You give me all your money and anything of worth, and I'll let you go."

"And if I say no? " The victim questions.

"Let's just say, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Options were running low, and although he didn't want to, the only option that really was laid out was handing over any valuables. Unless...

The man pulls a 180 and sprints away from the robber, praying that the thief doesn't up to him. So far the escapist was able to create a solid distance from him and the thief. He kept up the pace for a solid distance few minutes, however things didn't go well when he took a wrong turn into a dead end alley. Crouching down behind an old dumpster, he hides, praying that the man chasing him wouldn't find him here. It was quite, the dirt soaked water from the rain started soaking through his clothes, starting to chill him to the bones, but none of that mattered. Staying quite and hidden was what mattered at the moment.

Once the coast seemed clear, the silver haired man poked his out of his spot. Only to see the robber standing, knife in hand, waiting for the man to emerge. Noticing he hasn't been seen by his assailant, he quickly returns to his hiding place, praying he still hasn't been noticed. But all hope come crashing down as his leg looses footing. Causing an unwanted thud to be heard.

Hearing the crash, the thief, weapon in hand, walks over to investigate. Giving off a cocky smirk once he finds his victim he was chasing earlier.

"Well well well, looks like you should have stayed hidden, I was about to give up chasing you. But it looks like now I have to make so you can no longer run. Should have just stayed and given me your money." The crook slowly puts his knife right up to the man's neck, blood starts to trickle down where the theif put his knife. All options were out the door. If only the foreigner had given up the money when he had the chance. Now, he was paying for his actions.. He turned his neck away from the knife, trying to create some sort of distance between him and the blade. Once he felt the metal against his neck, he tensed and closed his eyes, praying for something, or someone to save him.