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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.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3: Waking Nightmares

Participating in a King of Iron Fist Tournament was an emotional seesaw: the ups and downs were inevitable, and, right now, life was on the down for Hwoarang.

He pressed his soap-slicked hands into his face and scrubbed. He turned the water on again, fumbled the soap back into his hands, growing more infuriated with each missed attempt to find the rack and grasp the slick soap, and scoured his face with the soap bar directly. He was tainted for life.

“Everything all right?” a familiar, low voice sounded from his side. Jin had taken the next shower stall and now eyed Hwoarang in bemusement.

A renewed jolt of aggravation ran through Hwoarang instantly, though not at the question or even Jin being there. It was this infernal house and its diabolic inhabitants. A common shower room with short walls for stalls fit the bill perfectly, though, strictly speaking, it should have been a garden hose in the yard.

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be cleansed, ever. Hwoarang cast the soap bar aside and brought his hands to his face, rinsing it vigorously. To Jin, he said, “Marshall Law sat on my face.”

“What?!”

Hwoarang wiped his brow and cast Jin a dark look. At the back of his mind, he acknowledged that the uncharacteristic, wide-eyed look on Jin’s face and the exclamation could have been amusing. Sparking a reaction that equaled to a hysteric, open-mouthed shock in anyone else would have been hilarious in an alternate universe where he was joking. “You heard it,” he snarled.

“How?”

“We sparred. And the sonovabitch--” Hwoarang couldn’t finish the sentence. He swerved back to the shower and had another round of violent soaping. Impure and tainted for life: those were the defining words of his existence, only notches stronger than the violent dislike he was growing toward the other competitors.

Jin hovered in uncertainty for a moment, but he chose not to comment further. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marshall Law leaving the shower room with a wolfish non-grin on his face, and, with a sidelong glance toward the other stall, was very glad Hwoarang seemed to have missed it. Jin set about to wash himself.

Just then, the door opened, and a bright voice chirped, “Panda? Are you here? ... Oooh, Jin!”

“Xiao!!” Instantly, Jin brought his hands to cover his privates and jumped back. The short wall hardly concealed the fact that he was fully naked, even when he managed to shield his crotch, and his humiliation deepened when Xiaoyu remained in place, gaping at him between startled and transfixed, not trying to look, but not comprehending not to.

Something snapped. “Get the FUCK OUT, woman! This is the men’s shower!” Hwoarang stepped out and bellowed at Xiaoyu without bothering to cover himself in any way.

Xiaoyu gave a yelp when she realized Hwoarang was giving her a full, unabashed view. Her eyes darted up, only to meet daggers, and that’s when she lost any direction of where it was safe to look. The straining of her cheek muscles told she was about to blush furiously.

Ling Xiaoyu turned around and fled.

The scene cooled, and they were left alone. Jin detached his hands gingerly and went to his shower with a bit of a gulp and suck of his lower lip and a careful look to his side. Hwoarang tried to control the heavy breathing the adrenaline rush had induced. He respired heavily to calm his racing pulse, slow down its pace, and give himself time to cool down before stepping back into the wretched stall a little shakily.

It was suddenly so silent. Hwoarang turned the shower on numbly and stepped under the stream as though in a dream. He leaned forward and let the flow travel down his shoulder blades and wet the back of his head.

From his position, Jin cast him a sidelong glance--a strictly appropriate one to eye level--and said conversationally, gently almost, “You didn’t need to do that.”

No. Hwoarang leaned forward until his forehead rested against the clammy tiles. He didn’t need to do that, and he shouldn’t have done that. He was painfully aware of how Jin was regarding him, and it bothered him to think what was going through the Japanese’s mind--the disappointment must have been there--and it left him feeling defeated. While the notion was insane, he couldn’t subdue it.

His forehead was growing cold, and an imprint was forming onto it from the edges of the tiles. A nasty pounding in his head was on its way from the cold. Hwoarang pulled himself upright, letting the warm water soothe away the chill and detach the bangs that had locked unpleasantly against the skin of his forehead. He turned the shower off. “No,” he said quietly, as he grabbed a towel and left. He didn’t look back, and he missed the concerned look Jin gave after him.

--

In a tournament that must have been put together by the devil himself, it took Jin and Hwoarang roughly three days to decide that, despite all the catastrophes laid in their paths, sharing a room was the best thing that had happened to either of them.

They didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t awkward. They hadn’t expected much from each other, and the sense of freemasonry surprised them both. It was... nice to have someone there and not be so alone all of the time. They didn’t say so much, of course: it wasn’t part of the code. But, silently, in a way, having company wasn’t as bad.

Hwoarang kept his things in order with almost military precision. Jin wanted to ask about that. Jin had assumed Hwoarang would be a messy and boisterous roommate, an irritant to the nerves. He had never expected him to be so equable, even quiet, when it was just the two of them. His sense of humor, the few times is surfaced, was delightfully dry. Jin couldn’t shake off the impression that something was distracting the Korean, but as it was, Hwoarang kept to himself and made for a pleasant roomie.

Hwoarang, then, had his rival of two years at his hand’s grasp – and he was doing nothing about it. Hwoarang hadn’t had the chance to see if before, but outside the ring, Jin Kazama wasn’t disagreeable. He had a quiet, unassuming manner to him, which Hwoarang found strangely disarming. The challenge between them remained unchanged, but it didn’t take precedence.

The one thing that disrupted the peace was the matter of the neighboring room. After the initial scare, the Red Room had returned to full action. On a couple of nights, the noises came through the walls and embarrassed them. The first night, Jin and Hwoarang pretended on a mutual, unspoken agreement that they didn’t exist and slammed the wall for a warning.

Now was the second night. Jin was uncomfortable and mortified and rolled on the bed; on the floor, Hwoarang tried not to listen but, as the noises carried on, he got up brusquely and left. Jin never said a word about the abrupt departure as Hwoarang returned; he didn’t need to.

To top it off, another happy scream forced its way through the wall. Jin could almost envision Hwoarang’s eyes flash right before the Korean jumped at the wall and buried his foot in it. “Shut the fuck UP!”

Jin could hear the strain in his voice, and though he mentally grimaced at the poor, abused wall, all he muttered was, “About time,” before turning his back and burying himself under the covers.

Out of habit, Hwoarang gave the buried figure a hard look, but the remark didn’t set him off; though he thought he didn’t want to hear a peep from anyone, Jin’s comment passed right through his filter. Instead, he glowered at the wall, daring the occupants in the next room to keep it up, before he dropped on the floor and settled down himself.

--

“Kazama. Wake up,” Hwoarang tried for the umpteenth time, but his words had no effect. He finally reached out and laid a hand on Jin’s arm, shaking him. “Jin. Wake up.”

Jin finally awoke. “Hm?” he muttered, not too conscious of the world around him.

“Hey, wake up. You were having a bad dream.”

Taking the time to adjust mentally, Jin turned around to find Hwoarang looking at him, resting a warm hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly. Jin noticed the hand belatedly, but Hwoarang withdrew only as Jin reached for his face and felt the dampness there. How was he sweating so badly? He took everything in sluggishly, as still in a dream, and couldn’t quite understand the look Hwoarang was giving him. “I’m sorry. I woke you....”

Hwoarang shook his head, though the motion drowned in the darkness. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jin finally woke enough to rise to his elbows and take the situation in. He was lying on the bed, entangled in the sheets. Hwoarang was standing by the bedside, crouching a little, obviously woken from sleep just as he was, though he didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Hey. Let me just get back to sleep, and you do the same.” Hwoarang straightened up, and his back gave a cracking sound.

“That floor’s not good for you.”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine,” Hwoarang dismissed the notion and prepared to lie down on his makeshift bed.

“Hwoarang?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you... stay here? Share with me?” Jin bit his lip. He didn’t understand why it was so important now, from where the urgency crept to his voice, but the words found their way out, even when he tried to hold them back. He was embarrassing himself, but surprisingly, Hwoarang didn’t jeer.

“Don’t worry about it. This is fine.” He didn’t sound angry or upset.

“No, I mean it. If-- if you don’t mind....”

Hwoarang was quiet for a moment. His dark silhouette stood motionless and blended in with the shadows dancing in the room. “Sure. I don’t mind,” he said softly. He grabbed his pillow and blanket from the floor. Jin scooted over as best as he could and released the covers, still anxious about his request and a little surprised Hwoarang had accepted.

Hwoarang steeled himself. He lay down carefully and experienced first-hand how the bed wasn’t made to fit them both easily. He turned on his side, away from Jin, but the position felt awkward and... unnatural. He sucked his lips just a little, unsure with what to do with this newfound sense of intimacy. He could feel Kazama right behind him, even when they weren’t touching. He could sense the presence, knew Jin’s ass was inches from his with a clarity that embarrassed him, even when neither of them moved.

He wished the warmth from his blanket would kick in soon; he had been a little cold on the floor. He remembered the coldness of Jin’s skin and realized he wasn’t the only one feeling chilly. “Hey, would you mind--?” he started and then realized how much they tiptoed around each other. What was he suddenly so faint-hearted about? He turned onto his other side and found himself gazing into Jin’s profile. “Turn on your side,” he said and lightly pushed Jin in the right direction.

Jin looked at him quizzically, but he slowly turned his back on him and faced the wall, getting himself in a comfortable position. Hwoarang, barely daring to think what he was doing, scooted over until he nearly pressed against him. He flung his own blanket over the both of them and pried some of Jin’s on himself. Hwoarang then pulled some of the covers between them, building a barrier.

“Look... think nothing of it,” Hwoarang said before spooning Jin fully and flinging an arm across his chest. He held his breath, as Jin tensed at the full-body impact. He managed to wait for the reaction wordlessly, even though his chest pounded incessantly. Faint-hearted, he reproached himself. He wasn’t doing anything worth fretting about, so why the cold feet? They continued not to speak, as Jin slowly relaxed into the full-body contact. “Do you mind?” Hwoarang’s voice was a whisper.

“No....”

“It’s not making you uncomfortable, is it?”

“No.” It was a white lie; it was a new sensation, but Jin reveled in the feel. “It’s nice,” he admitted. It felt comforting, personal. Intimate, almost.

“Good.” Hwoarang burrowed closer, giving Jin a quick squeeze. “Go to sleep.”

Jin was too tired to answer back and he sank into oblivion again. Hwoarang held him, amazed at himself at what he was doing, all the while knowing he was doing the right thing. He was now wide awake, although his heart was no longer racing as badly and the audible, deep breathing from the bundle in his arms soothed him as well. He wasn’t sure how orthodox it was to go... cuddling with your rival, but...

At least Jin had stopped crying.

Jin’s nightmare had woken him up. Kazama had been trashing around, speaking in his dream. Hwoarang had tried not to pay too much attention to it. Everyone had a bad dream once in a while, and it was all right. It was personal, and it didn’t need anyone interfering. Jin had sounded distressed, though, and he had wondered if he should try to rouse him from it. It was when he had heard the first sob that he knew he had to do something.

For a moment, he had played with the thought that maybe Jin was awake and had forgotten he was there, too, and he should leave Jin be and turn a blind eye. The weakness had passed, and Hwoarang had known he could not walk away from it, in mind or body. He would not shame himself thusly... A jolt of pain had stabbed him at the thought. Baek had spoken about shame in almost identical words many years ago. Even in the dark, Hwoarang had quickly blinked his eyes dry. It didn’t matter.

As he had risen carefully, he had realized that Jin was asleep and set to rouse him. Had Jin woken up on his own accord, he would have just pretended he hadn’t noticed a thing, but, from the way Kazama acted once awake, he was shaken and not quite conscious. Hwoarang wasn’t sure if he even realized that he had been crying, and that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were lying closely now and the pain had subsided.

“...M?”

“Sorry.” He had tensed and accidentally squeezed Jin with his arm. “Go to sleep,” he murmured. He snuggled a little closer still and closed his eyes.

Hearty thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Originally published February 27, 2009.
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Intimate Rivals