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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
A ryokan is a Japanese inn. Lee Chaolan is primarily addressed by his family name, Lee, following Namco’s example. Thanks for reading, and don’t hesitate to comment midway!

--

Chapter 5: The Red Room Unveiled

Hwoarang lay on his back and raised his foot off the floor. He twisted the foot experimentally and drew a circle in the air with it, and his ankle allowed it with nominal discomfort. The rest of him didn’t feel too bad, either, but the ankle was a surprise and a subsequent joy. He twisted it again, and while the joints took no pleasure in the experiment, they allowed the maneuvers all the same.

Hwoarang let his foot back down and sighed in relief. He hadn’t killed the foot, and he was still in with a win under his belt. He owed it to Jin, too. It had been after that horrifying garden episode, when Jin had come to his rescue for the second time.

--

He was trying to get comfortable on the floor, mindful of his foot, when Jin popped up by his side.

“I don’t know if you want this, but it could help,” Jin said as he crouched beside him and offered him a hexagonal glass jar.

“What’s this?” Hwoarang said automatically before taking a closer look.

“Tiger balm. It helps with muscle pain... if you’d like to try it on your ankle, that is.”

Hwoarang rolled the jar in his fingers. It looked slightly worn, but he recognized the leaping tiger on the label and the royal red decorations and decided that the jar wasn’t all that different from the ones available at home. He hadn’t actually ever tried the ointment, but he knew of it, of course. It was such a small jar, though. “Thanks, but it’s yours. I don’t want to use it up; you may need it yourself.” He offered the jar back, but Jin declined it.

“I don’t need it.”

“Because you don’t get hurt yourself--is that it? You think I need favors from you?!” You think I’m weaker than you? The choler was so instinctive and overpowering that Hwoarang wasn’t able to subdue it, even when he regretted lashing out the instant the harsh words left his mouth. His shame doubled when Jin looked at him in surprise, and he felt downright rotten when he saw a hurt look pass on Jin’s face before it was quickly stowed away. When Jin looked away and blinked rapidly, Hwoarang was ready to shoot himself. Shit, shit.... He couldn’t help himself; the thought--the mere implication--that he was second to the Mishima prodigy made his blood boil and overthrew rational thinking. Now he had taken it out on Jin, just as they had started getting along, and Jin had come to find him when no one else had, and now he had fuck it all to ruin. Fucking hell with him. And he was back to cursing every second word.

Jin was back to facing his direction, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I--I didn’t mean to im-imply anything. It--it’s just.... Maybe you’d like it.” He sounded defeated. He still held out the jar miserably.

Kazama was stuttering. Hwoarang’s heart sank. Jin didn’t do that normally; he had noticed how Jin’s hedging turned to stumbling when he was upset, and only then.

He had to act and redeem himself. “Jin...,” he said and grasped Jin’s arm, “I didn’t mean anything. I--I just get stupid.” Now he was the one stammering. He held onto Jin’s arm, even when Jin clearly noticed his hand there and threw a confused look at it. This was important; he had to make Jin understand, and so he kept his hand there, even if meant stepping outside his personal comfort zone. “Okay?” he said stupidly and half-squeezed, half-patted Jin’s arm before relinquishing his hold.

Jin nodded to himself thoughtfully and pulled himself upright. He even quirked a wan smile, to Hwoarang’s relief.

“You really don’t use this yourself?”

Jin placed the jar wordlessly in Hwoarang’s hand, his fingers brushing the skin of his hand briefly as he did. He shook his head lightly. “No. It doesn’t really work for me, but it helps others. You won’t need much,” was all he said.

“Thanks,” Hwoarang said. His back was screaming in protest, and he had to rise to a better sitting position before wrestling with the jar. He placed the jar aside while he tried to get into a bearing that would allow him to sit upright and work on his foot the same time. He was so tired, and his body ached so badly that he found the ludicrously simple task to be taxing, and he ended up fidgeting and shifting on the bedding. He was conscious that Jin hadn’t moved much and was watching him closely. A blush crept up on Hwoarang’s face; what a great mess he was, when sitting up and bending his limbs was getting the best of him. Kazama would have had every right to slight him some.

“Would you like me to put it on?”

The dreaded offer of help wasn’t perhaps a surprise any more than the fact that it was presented with a steady, unprovocative voice, and still Hwoarang found his face heating with scorching intensity. The universe was all about humiliating him. “Shit...,” he muttered and winced at the creak his hand gave when he tried to push himself upright. He was so freaking tired. “You don’t need to do that.”

Jin sighed audibly. He gave it time, but then he said, “Just get on your back,” and pushed Hwoarang down with a firm shove to his chest.

Hwoarang let out a yelp of protest, but Jin shot him such a firm scowl that he knew the game was lost, and his rival was going to engage in giving him the second foot rub that night. He lay back in defeat and took his ease. He could be humiliated, but at least he could be comfortable while at it.

“Good. Now, work on being less stubborn,” Jin muttered, and Hwoarang almost swore he did not say that entirely without humor, although he decided against commenting on it. Jin bent over him and reached for the jar.

Hwoarang propped up on his elbows and saw Jin looking at the jar before wrenching it open carefully. The jar gave a slight plop as it came open. Jin’s eyes glistened faintly as he still gazed at the jar. Hwoarang noticed it with apprehension, but then the smell reached him, and he dropped back with a groan. Kazama was blinking at the foul odor of that ointment; it was strong enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. It reeked to him, and it must have been stupefying at a close proximity. “Is the whole place going to smell like that?”

“Yes.” There was humor in that voice now, definitely.

Hwoarang groaned again. Then Jin’s fingers, covered with a faint film of balm, went to his foot, and an intense heat pried his attention from the foul odor. The feeling was heady, and it enkindled his senses. Jin applied more balm and worked his way from the sole of Hwoarang’s foot to his ankle. He massaged the ankle gently, and Hwoarang was sold. “How come you keep this stuff if you don’t use it yourself?” he said as he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was too distracted by the pleasant sensation to notice that Jin took a moment to reply.

“I’ve had it for a long time.”

“Mm-m.”

It wasn’t that unpleasant a smell, but it was strong. Anything that felt as nice couldn’t be entirely disagreeable, Hwoarang decided, and craned his neck pleasurably. Just lying here, he could easily forget it was Jin massaging his foot....

He opened his eyes. “Umm, hey. You should get some sleep. I’ve kept you up half the night already....”

“It is not a bother,” Jin said, sedate as usual. He gave the foot a tuck before putting it down carefully. “How does that feel?”

“It’s great. Thanks.” That was the truth, too. Morning would give the final results, but the foot felt at least twice as good as after the first rub, and that rub had already felt pretty damn nice. “Seriously, get some sleep. You’ve done more than enough already.”

“Let’s hope it worked. See how it is in the morning.”

Hwoarang gathered his blankets in his lap and settled down, hoping Jin would do the same. Then, as he thought about sleeping, he felt slightly guilty. Jin wasn’t sleeping well, and here he was, contributing to it. The guy probably thought he kept it a secret, but the somnolent mornings and restless nights were hard to conceal when you were sharing a room. Jin seemed sedated when waking up, even when he perked up as the day progressed. It wasn’t really Hwoarang’s concern, but... he had noticed it.

Hwoarang closed his eyes in an attempt to grant them both some privacy, and he left Jin to attend to whatever he had to attend to before settling down. This was a drop-dead kind of night, with minimal changing of clothes, let alone washing up.

“Night.” The shuffling noises told that Jin had lain down, and the lights went off with a whisper.

“Night,” Hwoarang responded. He hugged at the blankets and hoped Jin would fall asleep soon.

As Hwoarang drifted into outward repose, Jin took the jar and worked the lid back on with infinite gentleness. He stared at the small jar before giving it a pet of sorts and placing it very carefully into his keep of personal items, back among the other few he had left of Jun.

--

It was a new day now, and Hwoarang was no longer a man with a problem. His ankle was as good as new, and he was in good spirits. If Jin hadn’t showed up with that weird jar of his and, admittedly, very nice moves, he would have been a wreck. Damn, he’d have to say thanks. Now, if only he could think of saying it without losing too much of his pride. It was weak of him, having his rival look after his back like this.... But then, Jin hadn’t made a show of it or seemed to mind.

It worked for them, this looking after each other’s backs, Hwoarang realized. It was a good notion to start the day with.

--

The tournament progressed through its usual course of tedious matches and rematches, most of them happening to other people at an assortment of locations, each with their themes and quirks. On one hand, there was plenty of extra time, and on the other hand, the matches tended to be scheduled with a lacking regularity and at too short or long intervals. It all went well into the special, delightful characteristics that made up the tournament.

Jin and Hwoarang’s coexistence was increasingly companionable; over a mere number of days, they settled into their skin to find some humor in this all, despite having to live next to the designated orgy room and having to share a room in the first place. It wasn’t bad at all; the early notion that it was nice to have someone around held true. They had their own training and competing schedules, but in the evenings, they found their way to the room at around the same time. Even so, the evenings got long, as one could only train or trifle in the public areas so much.

Eventually, there was nothing to do but talk. That, too, was an experiment for them. They had never really talked before. It was light and casual: nothing to probe too deep into their personal histories, but exchanging tips about sports and comparing likes and dislikes was a good pastime. Hwoarang finally told Jin why he didn’t mind the floor.

“You wouldn’t have beds in traditional Korea. Or bedrooms. We use sleeping mattresses.” Hwoarang was leaning against the wall and resting his arms on his knees. He was in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for the night, yawning every now and then. Jin lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, in his nightclothes as well. They were just hanging around. The lights were turned off, and their eyes were growing accustomed to the dusky room.

“Really?”

“Yeah... I guess it’s just a tradition now... but old habits die hard. So, I don’t mind that much. Maybe not my first choice, but I’ll live.”

“Hm? I never knew.”

Hwoarang laughed shortly. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know about stuff like that. Learn about it.”

“We have something similar. If you have ever been to a ryokan here...?”

“Haven’t traveled much in Japan. Sorry.”

The ensuing silence was a comfortable one. To Hwoarang, however, it was a portal to delve into his starting match. He had been playing it in his head so many times, even when he didn’t care to explore his own conduct in it too closely, and he still didn’t know how that thing had acted the way it had. Would Jin know any better? The desire to share was too overwhelming, and he spoke up on an impulse. “Do you know how Mokujin picks his fighting styles?”

“Mokujin?”

“Yeah. Do you know how he picks his style? Or where, why?” Hwoarang hated referring to the treacherous impostor as a “he,” but he wasn’t about to pick on semantics now.

“No, I’m sorry.” There was a pause before Jin asked, “Is it important?”

“Never mind.” Jin didn’t know, and why would he? Hwoarang felt irritated at himself, like he had revealed something deeply intimate and made himself vulnerable. “It’s not important.” The irritation wouldn’t leave, even when he tried to shoot down the confession. It felt like he had given away something real about himself.

“All right,” Jin said in a final tone.

The matter would not be touched again, and even through beating himself up, Hwoarang felt grateful. Jin had good qualities like that: he didn’t pry, and he didn’t make a fuss. Hwoarang could appreciate the reticence, and, in all honesty, he could be partial to some of those characteristics.

This was getting way too mushy.

They remained in silence, but now, different thoughts plagued Hwoarang. This roomie-thing was one, but they were also bonding--he had no other word for it. He would never have imagined they would come to have this friendly camaraderie when he had enrolled into the tournament. He couldn’t tell what Kazama thought of it, or if he thought about it at all, but they were slipping away from that rematch every day.

“Jin.... All this buddy-buddy.... It still doesn’t mean I don’t want to fight you.” He had to say it out loud. That was what they were here for: to fight. Yet, Hwoarang couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had said the wrong thing, somehow. The ill feeling was emphasized when Jin replied to him, and the response echoed the hesitance he had felt lately.

“Is it that important to you?” Jin lay unmoving on the bed and spoke the words to the ceiling.

“Yeah.... Doesn’t it matter to you? Don’t you want to know who the better man is?”

Jin was quiet for a long time before he finally said, “As you wish.”

With that, they agreed that the game was still on, and they still had the question of supremacy to solve, within or after the tournament. Yet, not even Hwoarang could not feel enjoyment over the fact.

--

It was all going so well, until that wretched day when all had to come out. Jin and Hwoarang were returning from the gym at the same time. They were almost to their place, when the door to the neighboring room opened, and Kazuya Mishima stepped out. In tow, Lee Chaolan followed, his hair slightly disheveled, still tucking a shirt into his pants.

Hwoarang froze on the spot; Jin, too. Kazuya Mishima saw them, but he recovered quickly. He pulled his head upright and gave them an arrogant look. He avoided Jin none, but accorded him a look of contempt, sneering in every way but in words. Jin responded with equal distaste. Lee Chaolan didn’t engage in the enmity; he nodded to Jin and Hwoarang and waited on the side. With the last antagonistic look at Jin, one that extended to Hwoarang for the briefest glance, Kazuya left with Lee.

Jin looked long after them. He looked at Hwoarang. He shook out of it. “Them?”

There wasn’t a place on Earth where Hwoarang would not have rather been. He had tempted fate and lost, and now Jin was thinking God knew what and waiting for an answer. “Let’s go in.” He didn’t want to do this in the hallway. Luckily, Jin followed him in the room and let him close the door. Hwoarang braced for what was about to come.

“Him?” Jin said. His eyes felt piercing to Hwoarang, who sought to brave his wrath. “It’s been him all along? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m sorry, but would you have wanted to know? From me??”

Jin frowned. “What do you mean, ‘from you?’ What’s wrong with you?”

Hwoarang blinked. What did Jin mean, what was wrong with him? They’d been up against each other until now, and they still vied for superiority over each other. How could he have been the one to tell; telling a man his father was screwing a man, let alone whom, wasn’t the kind of news that should come from the one challenging you. It wasn’t appropriate. It was breaking the unwritten rules--the same ones that they had been throwing on the scrapheap lately. The ones Jin didn’t consider relevant, Hwoarang suddenly realized. But still.... “I mean, it’s me--” The thought was getting him nowhere, and he tried to convey another one. “I didn’t know what to say,” he said wearily. He should have come clean; secrets always came out, sooner or later. He hadn’t had the words then, and he didn’t know what to say now. He felt Jin’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet them.

“Is this why everyone has been acting so oddly? Is that all?”

All? The scene came back in a flash. He had gone to his room. After the initial startle, Kazuya Mishima had smirked. He hadn’t bothered to cover himself; Lee Chaolan hadn’t been able to. The sight had been emphasized by the vivid red coloring of the room, the fortune color that had taken tainted shades in a twist of irony. Hwoarang nodded miserably.

Some reaction was inevitable, and there it was: Jin sank on the bedside and started shaking. Not in shock or bent-up frustration, but in...

...laughter?

The world stopped making sense. Hwoarang was at a loss. “Jin?” He watched the shaking man in stupefaction.

A small eternity passed until Jin calmed down enough to look at Hwoarang. Jin’s legs were spread afar, and he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Hwoarang. Do you think I give a shit about Kazuya Mishima or who he fucks?”

There was a good chance Jin Kazama had been replaced by aliens. It was likely, actually. Never in a million years would Hwoarang have expected expressions like that to leave Jin’s mouth. “I gotta sit down,” he mumbled, and fumbled a chair for himself. A stair leg got stuck on the mat, and he yanked it free, swinging the chair riskily in the air. He grabbed the chair with both hands, planted it on the floor, and placed himself onto it forcefully. He stared at Jin, who, by now, had noticed his bafflement and was clearly amused by it. “Come again?” he tried.

“What Kazuya does makes no difference to me.”

“But--it’s your father?”

“Kazuya Mishima is not a father to me. He and I share nothing but blood and genes.” A strange expression flashed across Jin’s face, but Hwoarang was too shocked to notice it.

“I... I thought...,” Jin was looking at him like he was an interesting sample under the microscope, and Hwoarang finished lamely, “something.”

“No.” They both sat in silence, and Jin sobered. The moment of folly had passed, and Hwoarang was almost willing to believe he had imagined through the whole thing when Jin spoke, his voice calm and soothing again, “I did not know, and I would not have expected that choice of company from him, but it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.” Jin was quiet for a moment. Then, he continued, “But maybe it explains something about me.”

“Uh?”

“Perhaps his preferences explain something about my own.”

“What?”

Hwoarang was not following at all, which Jin noted with fleeting amusement. Hwoarang wasn’t obtuse usually, but he seemed perplexed now. Jin willed himself to stay collected and hide the mirth. “If my father enjoys male company, perhaps it makes sense that I do, as well,” he said evenly, patiently. And waited.

The message sunk in. Hwoarang looked startled, but the response died on his lips. Honest to God, he stared at Jin, who met his gaze unfalteringly. “You--do?”

“I’ve always known it’s an option.”

“Oh.” This was a lot to take in. Hwoarang had to get out and find a quiet place to think things through. He hadn’t expected any of this, and he needed to... think. Because right now, he wasn’t... thinking. Things were too muddled in his head for him to... think. He stood on his feet dazedly. “I guess I’ll see you later,” he said wanly. He felt stupid. A break would do him good and get his mind back on the track. Hwoarang was on his way to the door, when Jin rose to his feet.

“Hwoarang. If you are attracted, why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

Busted! his mind screamed. That moment when he had realized he wanted to know what was going on in Jin’s head, and he wanted to see him well.... That moment when he had gone to Jin’s match, indifferent to the one he should have been preparing for.... That moment when he had realized that the problem wasn’t that he forgot it was Jin massaging him; the problem was that he would remember.... Any number of those moments when he had looked at Kazama and felt like he was seeing him for the first time.... Somewhere down the line, Kazama had found him out.

All these thoughts swirled in his head in a speed that made him dizzy. And Jin was calling him by name, too. Jin didn’t do that unless it was something important, he had noticed.... Eyes fixated on some insignificant spot on the wall, Hwoarang could only bring himself out to say quietly, “It’s not that easy.”

The silence carried on. When Jin broke out speaking again, his voice had taken hypnotic qualities.

“If you are as attracted as I am, why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

Hwoarang realized what he had just heard and could only look at Jin in stupefaction. His gaze drifted to the door. It would have been so simple to walk away now, take a moment to think this through and ponder what it meant to find out that this... one-sided, forbidden infatuation was suddenly a very real possibility and a mutual attraction. It would have been the easy choice.

Jin stood still and waited.

Hwoarang took a step toward the door... and halted. Was he going to run away? The resolve crystallized at that moment: he was not, and never would be, a coward. He stepped up to Jin and pled silently that he wasn’t hallucinating this. Then, he leaned in and pressed his lips onto Jin’s.

Jin’s lips were firm, masculine, and just as exquisite as the man himself. Their touch was soft and pleasing to him. It was a test, and Hwoarang passed it by taking the initiative.

They broke off the kiss. They had an understanding now.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Hwoarang said.

“You should. We live in the same room.”

Damn Kazama.

Hwoarang made it out of the room after a slight delay: as he turned to leave, Jin leaned in and kissed him twice.

Immense thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading! Seriously, thank you so much.

Originally published April 16, 2009.
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Intimate Rivals