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The first day of the tournament is over, and Guile has qualified for the next round. It’s late, he might be facing Bison tomorrow night, and he feels like a caged lion in his cramped hotel room. He needs to blow off some steam. He spotted a bar near the underground arena earlier today.
When he gets there, he realizes it’s actually a night club. Not his kind of place, but he walked all the way here, and he doesn't want to bother finding another spot. The bouncer lets him in. Guile goes down the dark staircase.
The place is packed, and several people bump into him, spilling some of their drinks on the already sticky floor. The music is too loud to Guile’s taste, but after such an intense day, it feels oddly nice. The bass pumps his weary muscles with vibrations, even managing to send a pleasant chill through his whole body.
Guile orders a drink, something fruitier than his usual choice, and leans against the counter.
He eventually notices a loud flock near the dancefloor, and he lets his curiosity get the best of him. He makes his way through the crowd to get a closer look, and there, being carried by the cheering mass, stands a familiar face.
Vega.
Guile hasn’t fought him yet, but he’s accidentally bumped into him today during lunch break. His formal apologies were met with a disgusted look and four words.
“You’re an ugly loser.”
Vega’s right next to him now, the crowd of admirers has put him down and he just threw them a wad of cash to pay for their drinks.
He’s not walking too straight, Guile notices. In fact, he can barely stand. He takes three hesitant steps, then lands into Guile’s arms, who catches him without hesitation.
“Ah, pardon my clus- my clumn-... My… Cumlisness?…” Vega slurs before looking up at Guile’s face.
Then, to Guile’s surprise, Vega smiles.
“Hey, handsome…”
Vega hasn’t recognized him. It makes sense, actually. The club is dark, he’s on the verge of blacking out, and Guile got changed and put his hair in a ponytail.
Vega’s touching his face now, running his finger down his nose and poking his cheek.
“You’re the kind of older man I like.” Vega states, very matter-of-factly. “Nice bone structure. A bit rugged, but very charming.”
“Are you hitting on me?” Guile asks bluntly. There's no use in beating around the bush.
“Do you want me to?” Vega purrs, and Guile hesitates.
Does he?
Although Guile has been aware of his bisexuality for a few years now, he’s never outwardly flirted with another man. In fact, he’s never gone beyond the “discreetly staring and fantasizing” stage. Plenty of opportunity to do that in the army.
Then, there was Charlie… But Guile would rather not think about him right now.
He married before knowing, made the situation complicated by leaving, and now he doesn't know if he should return, or if he wants to. Abandoning his wife is one thing, but leaving his daughter without a father… That’s the worst decision of his life, the one mistake that stops him from facing them again. How could they forgive him?
He doesn't want to think about that either. He must stay focused. He’s killing Bison tomorrow.
But Vega’s looking at him with those big blue eyes, half-playful half-dazed, and hugging his neck and leaning against him.
Before he realizes it, Vega’s lips are on his; warm, soft and tasting like spicy margaritas. If Guile wanted to pull away, he couldn't. Vega’s surprisingly strong for a drunk man.
The bastard’s getting heavy, Guile thinks, until he realizes that Vega is, in fact, passing out.
Guile gets down on one knee, lowering him gently before slipping one arm under his knees to carry him bridal style.
“Let’s get you some fresh air.” He says, though he’s pretty sure Vega can’t hear him.
The cool night air immediately sobers Guile up, and it seems Vega is also coming around.
“Feel better?” Guile asks, and, when Vega nods, he puts him down on the ground.
Vega is unsteady on his feet, so Guile lets him lean against him.
“How are you gonna manage tomorrow?” He asks, and Vega giggles.
“I’m the only beautiful fighter in the tournament. My victory is guaranteed.”
“What about me?” Guile asks.
“You?” Vega sounds like he’s taken aback.
“You said I was handsome.”
“Are you in the-”
Vega frowns. He takes a good look at Guile’s face. Then, his eyes widen ever so slightly.
“I never said that.” He blurts out.
While Guile is moved by revenge, he isn’t one for grudges. Vega has done nothing more than call him ugly once, which he apparently does to everyone. Still, seeing him so confused and ashamed brings Guile a sense of justice he wouldn't admit feels pretty satisfying.
“You’ll tell me tomorrow if you made up your mind.” He says, and he can see that Vega is fuming.
“My judgement’s altered, you hideous-”
Suddenly, a burp works its way up Vega’s throat. He immediately covers his mouth in shame, and Guile knows what’s coming. He quickly steps aside as the deep, bassy belch is almost instantly followed by a gush of vomit.
“Shit…” Guile mutters as Vega leans forward, bringing up another wave with a loud, painful retch.
His hand finds itself between Vega’s shoulder blades as he heaves and coughs, vomit splattering at his feet into a large puddle.
“Don’t look at me, you- bleeerrgh!”
Guile keeps patting his back until he’s done emptying himself.
“Are you alright?” Guile asks, and Vega wipes his mouth and his eyes.
“One word to anyone and I’ll give you a fate worse than death.” He hisses, and Guile assumes from the look in his tear-filled eyes that if Vega wasn’t drunk, he would already be dead.
“I’m taking this one to the grave.” He replies, and that seems to make Vega even angrier.
“I hope I’ll fight you tomorrow, so I can slash that smirk off your face.”
Guile sighs. This one’s a handful.
“Sure. You know what, I hope we’ll fight too.”
Vega doesn't reply. He just stares into the distance.
“Want me to walk you to the hotel?” Guile asks.
“...Yes.” Vega speaks like the word is burning his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” Guile replies. “I’m taking this whole night to the grave.”
Vega gets quiet again.
“Come on.” Guile says as he offers Vega his arm. “Let’s get moving.”
He’s thankful that Vega accepted his help, because the only way he would’ve made it to the hotel otherwise would have been by crawling.
“What a disgrace.” Vega mumbles when they’re halfway through.
“What is?” Guile asks.
“Letting myself get this ugly.” Vega chokes out.
“I guess you don’t usually drink to this point.” Guile replies. He doesn't really know what to say. He hasn't been this friendly to a stranger in a good while.
“You know, I, uh…” Guile stammers.
Fuck, is he drunk too?
“You’re probably the most distinguished throwing up person I’ve ever seen.”
Vega seems surprised when a chuckle rises from his chest. Guile can see him try and suppress a smile.
“You’re still ugly.” Vega says. “All the time.”
“Fine by me.” Guile replies. “Looks don’t matter much.”
“Only ugly people say that.”
“Shut up and focus on not twisting your ankle.” Guile sighs.
There’s a lot going on with this young man, and he knows one night isn’t enough to unpack all of it.