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Estranged Equals	By : Salysha Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 3336 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter edited at the beginning (3/22/11).

Chapter 2: Back in the Game

The problem was with intimacy. He could dodge the subject for days on end, but he wasn't dodging it. He hadn't been able to give Jin what he had been offered willingly. Jin had said it was fine, but he knew it wasn't true. Jin couldn't be happy with indulging him without getting his fair share in return, and the lack of reciprocation had begun to grate between them. After putting off the first try until the end of his patience, he had agreed to try it out, only to discover he hadn't had the stomach for it. He had gotten so drunk, and Jin had gotten so pissed off.

The memory that harrowed him was from a later time, though, after they had patched things up: Jin had turned his back without a word and offered, like he wasn't even human. He had been so disgusted, he hadn't gone through with it.

This wasn't what he was supposed to be thinking about, though. He was back on the Nipponese soil, following the route he had taken out. The same port felt entirely different now. Hwoarang was no longer an intruder from across the sea, but a visitor among others. Hwoarang was no longer driven to be on his way as fast as possible, but he actually found the steady flow of other, busier travelers soothing. Hwoarang was determined to keep the spooks of the past in the back. At will, he still had plenty of time to dwell on them: dodging his master’s offer of a joint trip had made sure of that. He had felt better about going alone, and Baek hadn’t pushed the point. Baek rarely did these days....

Pondering other people’s motives hadn’t done him much good lately, and Hwoarang went on to clear the arrival formalities. He still had a ways to go and a ride to hire, though not even that prospect made him particularly enthusiastic. It was time to don the professional mask and let go of the private woes.

Outside, the accommodation looked like a house, just as any. It wasn’t any nicer than the one at the last tournament, which was a surprise. Considering how much Jin had hated the place, he would have thought that the man in charge would have arranged something better this time around. So much for having a hotel accommodation. Hwoarang supposed that arranging the facilities wasn’t on top of Jin Kazama’s to-do list, but still, the run-down look surprised him. They had seen this already. Not even the new location, much closer to the big city now, had improved the setting. It was void of class and made no excuses for the fact.

Hwoarang ventured inside and was wandering about, wondering exactly what the arrangements were, when a voice called out to him:

“Hwoarang!”

Hwoarang turned and found that he had been discovered by the laid-back, unchanged Steve Fox, who headed straight over to him. He was prepared to hold out a hand and conjure a friendly face, but Steve strode out to him without slowing down and grabbed him in a hug.

“Whoah, what the hell?” Hwoarang exclaimed, but he came to return the grip.

Steve let go of him first, with a grin plastered on this face. “Looking good,” he said.

“Dick,” Hwoarang said flatly, but he punched Steve’s arm lightly to signal to that the statement wasn’t meant as such.

“Like you were any different.” Steve cocked his head.

“How you wound me,” Hwoarang said, pulling a knife out of his heart, but Steve’s good mood finally rubbed off on him, and he developed a lopsided grin, even if he felt embarrassed at making a display. A little pleased, but a lot embarrassed. “Been here long?”

“Naw, just got in. I saw some kind of a chart of the rooms layout; thought I’d take a stab at solving it.”

“Sheesh...,” Hwoarang said half to himself. So this place wasn’t the crown of construction design, either? He couldn’t wait to take his shot at the latest maze. Steve was giving him an eyebrow, and he settled to dispelling the seriousness with a remark, “These things come faster every year. We gotta stop meeting like this. What’s been going on with you?”

“Ouch,” Steve commented without notable offense. He wondered to himself if Hwoarang even realized how much on his death bed he had been at the last meeting. Almost dead at heart. The man was back on his feet, but his hair was a duller shade of red, and his outlook more chiseled. Hwoarang’s clothes were modeled after a toned-down style that didn’t quite befit his usual energy, but the eyes were still as dark and focused. “This and that. You know, always something.... What about you, how’s things? How’s Jin?”

“No idea. Haven’t seen him yet.” The look on Hwoarang’s face hardened. He didn’t know what kind of schedules the big boss held, but he doubted Jin was going to be walking the same hallways yet.

“So, you want to go look around...?”

Hwoarang shook the grim thoughts off and sighed. “Better learn the name of the game now. I’ll go look myself, but catch up with you later?”

“Sure, sure. Laters.”

With that, they parted ways, and Hwoarang set out to explore the house and find his spot for the night.

This isn’t real.

Outside, the accommodation had looked like any other house. Inside, it was a different story. Hwoarang had looked around the day and the dread had come creeping back in. The feel was the same; the building style drooped to other styles only by a notch, and the differences were superficial: it was almost a replica of the last tournament house.

What kind of a game is this? Jin was running the tournament, and this had to be his doing. Hwoarang kept his anger hidden, but this was some kind of a sick joke. The thought fortified until there was no room in his head for anything else. Jin had hated the house as much he had, more even, and now....

He was going out of his mind. Hwoarang wondered if the imminent insanity showed on him, but he didn’t think so; if anything, the storm brewing did. He figured he hadn’t taken it out on anyone else, though; he had been fair with all he had bumped into around the house. Hwoarang weighed his options, and found them scarce: it was getting late. He had better head forward and find his place in this dark, brooding mess of a tournament.

He wasn’t the only one up, after all; Steve barely dodged being knocked over. “Whoa!”

“I’m out.”

That cleared Steve’s head. He quickly backtracked his steps. He had been taking a stroll along the corridors—alone, he had thought. He took in his co-crasher: it was Hwoarang, carrying a bunch of stuff, distraught and unorganized and bordering on frantic. And now Hwoarang was saying... “Wait, whut?”

Hwoarang looked through him and threw his hands up, empty. “I’m not staying here.” Before Steve’s eyes, he started picking up what looked like personal belongings amid bedclothes.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked anxiously as he gripped Hwoarang’s arm. Hwoarang tried to shake him off, but his attempts came across as half-hearted.

Hwoarang shrugged and looked away firmly. “The place is uninhabitable,” he finally muttered.

Steve wasn’t grasping it, but Hwoarang was up the wall, so it had to be something big. “There’s something up with this place?”

“Yeah, something’s up.” Hwoarang started looking for his things again. They were right in front of him, easy enough to grab, and even that wasn’t going well. The focus was lost, and any plans blew into puffs of smoke, one after another.

“You can’t go anywhere, this time of night,” Steve’s voice came from a distance, friendly, blending into the background like it belonged there. “There’s always something wrong with these places. I’ll put you up. Come on. You don’t need to explain.”

Hwoarang’s reaction was stalled, and Steve didn’t let him think too long; he helped Hwoarang collect his stuff, taking some himself, and nudged him with a hand to his back. “That way.”

Steve maintained a steady steering of Hwoarang the entire time and rebuffed his attempts at flight by steadily ignoring them, and the duo finally ended in front of a door that Steve picked open.

“Casa de Fox, here you go,” he said and pushed Hwoarang into the room.

It was an okay room, decent and all. Not too roomy, though. “I don’t know,” Hwoarang said and shifted on his feet. He was irked, but lacked an outlet. He wasn’t even sure where to throw his stuff; he felt trapped on all accounts.

Steve had obviously moved on already. “Oy. It’s a bit tight here, so let me clear this up first.” He moved his hand from Hwoarang and went forward, frowning a little while forming elaborate schematic coordinates in his head about the upcoming sharing arrangements.

“Look, I don’t need to crowd your space—”

“You aren’t; you aren’t,” Steve said apologetically. “Let me just clear this up.”

Steve’s things were spread out; Steve had already dashed forward to stuff them out of sight and make the room more presentable. Then Hwoarang woke to it, too, and started exploring around; it was a single-room, with a single bed and not much to go around for a second one. The place seemed decent enough, with even storage space available. Curiously enough, the only concern Hwoarang had was about pushing into someone else’s property. He should just take off.... What could he do; go back? He wasn’t going back.

That thought dissolved the doubt, and he was back to being his own master. “Don’t go crazy with it,” he warned with a nudge to Steve. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll bunk the night and see about free space in the morning. I’ll just make up something here.” Hwoarang was already bundling the blanket he’d brought and setting up the pillow for a rudimentary cot.

Steve looked at the arrangements suspiciously. “That’s not gonna be very comfortable. We can figure out something; just give me a sec. I don’t think I’ve even seen anything extra around, but there’s gotta be something....”

“Don’t worry about it—I’ve done this before,” Hwoarang said wryly.

“If you’re sure...?” Steve was dubious.

“Positive.”

While Steve wasn’t happy about the offered accommodation, Hwoarang rolled into the determination mode and set forth briskly. He pushed Steve into his bed from hovering like a damn gentleman and left him with no choice but to accept the way of things. Any thick clothes from Hwoarang’s bag got pulled into extra bundling, and he managed to put together a resting place that was going to hold up for the night. He made his resolve perfectly clear to Steve, too.

As welcome silence took over, Hwoarang finally cooled down. He shifted on the bed; it could have been better, but it wasn’t the worst place to sleep on, either. Any extra hassle could wait until the morning. He was starting to feel pretty okay, comfortable and drowsy.

“Night, Steve.”

“Night.”

Huge thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Edited March 22, 2011.

Published February 1, 2011.
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Estranged Equals