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Intimate Rivals	By : Salysha Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 5835 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken or any of the characters in it. I do not make any money from writing this story.

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Chapter 13: Jin Kazama

It wasn’t difficult for Baek to talk Hwoarang into it: a new city, a new job.... It was a new start. Baek deemed his dues to the army paid and wanted to reopen his business in a new city, and he asked Hwoarang to join him. It meant leaving everything old behind, including the gang that had been Hwoarang’s before the army. Baek would help him find an apartment and a job and secure the rent.

Now, as Baek was driving, he was taking worried glances to his side. Hwoarang had remained withdrawn throughout their journey, and he still wasn’t saying much. He just stared out of the side window. At first, he had thought Hwoarang was being willful by deliberately ignoring him and had bitten back his temper, determined to not let it show. As they had journeyed on, he had realized with growing alarm that Hwoarang wasn’t doing it deliberately at all: he simply wasn’t there. The eerie, uncharacteristic apathy continued, and he was growing more apprehensive by the minute. He shouldn’t have let Hwoarang talk him into getting out of the hospital so soon. Leaving had been the only thing that Hwoarang had been interested in, and he had foolishly, sentimentally, given in.

“Should we have something to eat?” he suggested, and now he was definitely worried. Hints of anger had vanished as he stole another glance at Hwoarang.

Hwoarang didn’t even look away from the window as he said wanly, “I’m not hungry. Thanks.”

Even in that, Hwoarang was polite, without any backtalk that Baek would have paid the world to hear now. He didn’t even bristle at the worried looks, which he had to have noticed by now. Baek forced himself to hold back any remarks and drove on.

--

Hwoarang stayed a few days with Baek before moving on his own. Officially, the delay was because Baek wanted to look for a suitable apartment and see to business arrangements; in reality it was because he wanted to keep Hwoarang under his supervision for as long as he could. He couldn’t stall forever, though, and he had to let Hwoarang go. The agenda was going to work immediately and getting back to training the art as soon as he was healed.

Elsewhere, as Hwoarang settled into the life laid before him, feeling more saintly than ever, Jin Kazama, the newly appointed head of the Mishima Zaibatsu, stared off into the distance, until the board meeting called him away from the window and back to the table.

--

One month after the match, Hwoarang’s door rang. Late on a Saturday, he had no idea who it could be. Baek wasn’t an uncommon visitor, with visits so frequent he could swear he was being watched, but Baek didn’t come unannounced. Others... there were none. He answered the door, and immediately reared up. He should have known who it was, always: Jin Kazama, in the flesh. He had played this scenario in his head countless times, thought what he would do if they ever met again. He had thought about decking Jin on sight. With a snap, the anger came smoldering back.

“I should break your jaw!”

Jin recoiled visibly at the greeting. Unfortunately, someone chose that particular moment to open the door to the corridor and overhear them.

“The hell are you staring at?! Go fuck yourself!”

“Idiot,” came uncertainly, but the intruder retreated, and privacy was granted.

“Get in from making a scene,” Hwoarang said to Jin, in turn, and reined him in. He closed the door and, just for a blessedly cursed moment, closed his eyes like he was fighting a vicious headache. He wasn’t imagining this. When he turned around, the sight still remained true: it was Jin, dressed darkly and looking drawn. His fine features stood out through the pallid complexion, just as handsome and strong as before. Jin’s anemic appearance belied his dangerousness.

Jin didn’t put up a fight. If anything, Jin seemed almost afraid of him, which Hwoarang noted with near-satisfaction. “You can hit me if you like,” Jin said and averted his eyes.

In a single line, Jin deprived him of a leg to stand on. He couldn’t raise a hand against Jin; it was like domestic abuse. He wasn’t that guy--he wouldn’t be that guy. Gulping painfully, Hwoarang made a move further into the apartment. He felt Jin on his heel.

Hwoarang dropped to a sitting position; Jin remained standing, looming somewhere in the corner and looking to blend in with the wall. He remained in clear sight, though, without sudden moves, keeping his hands in view. He displayed all the right signs of wanting to appease and appear peaceful. It was eventually he who spoke up.

“How are you?”

Hwoarang measured the floor with his eyes. “All right, considering. Unless you came to finish the job.”

“No!”

Alarm. It was a feeling akin to fear, and Hwoarang liked that. It was comforting to know that it went two ways with them. Yet, it was also depleting his energy. He sagged back, but didn’t offer a seat to Jin. If Kazama wanted to sit, he was old enough to know how to do it himself.

“I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

“What the hell are you, even?” Hwoarang said tiredly.

“I’m... I’ve been trying to find out for myself.” Jin approached cautiously. “I’ll try to explain it, if you let me. It started when I was fifteen, and it’s something of a story.”

--

Hwoarang’s head was spinning, and he didn’t like it one bit. Jin’s tale was so fantastic that, had he not borne the brunt of it, he would have dismissed it instantly. Demons and nightmares and family feuds.... If he had ever thought that Jin Kazama was something else, he had been dead-on.

Unbeknownst to him, Jin had barely scratched the surface and dodged explaining his sudden flight out of the country, or the new fighting style. He hadn’t started by saying, I killed my own grandfather, or mentioned much of the tournament. Prudence wasn’t the sole right of the offended party. He had tried his best to explain the nature of the beast and the existence of one.

“And after we... were together, it became harder to control. I don’t remember much from thereon,” Jin said, wondering if Hwoarang realized how vulnerable he was making himself with the confession--if he cared. Hwoarang could be so hard to read at times, and his stillness betrayed nothing. He listened, reactionless, and Jin wondered if anything had made a difference to him. Apparently, something had.

“It’s been a month!” Hwoarang snapped.

Yeah, maybe he had been expecting something. A call, a message, an inquiry after him--any sign that he had mattered, even as an opponent. They had been destined to meet again, sooner or later, but he just wished Jin had paid respects when the anger was still fresh. Anything was better than the stale indifference. Jin’s words were meaningful, and yet his bearing was dark and formally cool. They were supposed to be closer than ever, and they couldn’t understand the first thing about each other. What are you after, Kazama?

“I didn’t know if you would see me. We fought once, and you spent two years hating me. That was a draw. No one won or lost! You couldn’t forgive me for a draw, so what would you do if we had a match with an actual result?”

Hwoarang had always known he’d dig his own grave yet; he just hadn’t known how fixed he had been and what a good job he had done at it. He didn’t say anything to Jin, who took his silence for a dismissal.

“I have to return home. I can’t stay away for long, but I came to give you this.” Jin presented something from his pocket and laid it before Hwoarang. “I cannot stay, but please, come see me.”

Hwoarang looked at the document. He had been presented with a flight ticket, a week from then. Look at that. Even spelled my name right. He had been outed as a man who had a real name in real life. It’s still Hwoarang to you. Yet, another seed of insult bore fruit. “You think I need your money?” Hwoarang said dangerously.

“I don’t know how else to apologize.”

It wasn’t an insult; it was about social skills, which Kazama notoriously lacked. Like you were much to cheer at yourself. Hwoarang stared at the papers blankly.

Jin continued, “What would you do, in my place?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have to go back. The company needs my attention, and I have to learn how to run it. I don’t have training or a degree for something like that. I don’t know what to do....” Jin laughed mirthlessly and stopped short when he realized that he had lapsed into unburdening his heart to an audience who had no cause to sympathize. “If you come, I’ll have you seen from the airport. And if you don’t... I’ll know you can’t forgive me. That you hate me too much.” Hwoarang didn’t say much, and eventually, Jin relented. “I’ll see myself out.”

He was leaving, when Hwoarang finally spoke up:

“I don’t hate you, Jin. But I don’t love you much, either.”

Jin deflated. Nothing Hwoarang had said had had this effect, but the downhearted honesty knocked the wind out of his sails. He looked like he wanted to speak, but in the end, he lowered his eyes, blinking away.

Jin turned on his heel, but on the way out, he stopped. His cool was finally breaking. “You don’t know what it’s like. You can’t know. All the time, being like you were someone else, constantly fighting back the urge to do evil. And now, I’ve destroyed everything.” He couldn’t continue.

How could he explain it? After the all-consuming gray, nothing had been as joyous as discovering that the admiration was mutual. When he had focused on Hwoarang, it had let him ignore the devil. He knew Hwoarang couldn’t understand what an immense relief it had been; wouldn’t have a point of reference to think of it as anything more than another slight.

Jin left, and left a void behind him. Hwoarang took the ticket in his hand and twiddled with it. He removed the paper clip and looked at the business card attached to the documents: it was a proper one, with Japanese on one side and English on the other. The phone number had been highlighted markedly, and Jin had scribbled his name by hand beside it. Eventually, he pushed the papers on the table and had to admit that, for the longest time, he didn’t have a clue what to do.

Many thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Published May 14, 2010.
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Intimate Rivals