◺Chapter I◹
What was he even feeling...or, was he even feeling? There was nothing he could say when this happened, and he was such a slave to his guilt that he found himself being torn down so easily, ripped apart as though that hellish being's claws were stripping him of his skin, stripping him of the layer of confidence that he had worked so hard to build up. But it was counterfeit, that being, no matter how powerful it was, the truth would always be able to take it down in a single moment.
These moments were selected completely at random by his devilish counterpart, and Jin could almost feel those knife-like claws lining his jaw, moist lips against his ear that dared him to defy what was real. What was so terribly real, like wildfires burning down the fantasy land he had tried to create.
[You simply cannot defeat me. I know everything about you.]
The pen broke in his hand, ink burst from the thin and cylindrical structure as the glasslike protection around it was shattered by the quaking force of Jin's hand. He had ruined the document beneath him, and for a moment, the dark liquid looked like blood—the demon's blood, black as a raw night that had its stars stolen or smothered by complete darkness.
He remembered how much he hated his family, his heartless father and his heartless father—but no, he could not give into hate. The devil would win, it feasted upon hatred, it got stronger by it. Jin tried to focus on who he loved, but he could not remember for some reason. His mind was shrouded in fear and hatred, and he could hear that sadistic laughter rise like choking smoke from flames born in the pits of Hell—
"Kazama!"
It echoed in his head. Whose voice was that? How was it reaching him? Part of him knew that voice—but was that part his head or his heart? Was his heart even beating at this point?
"Kazama! Hey!"
Something slammed onto a hard surface, and Jin's eyes open instantaneously.
His hand is bathed in ink, as are the papers beneath his forearms, but most notably of these things is the impatient redhead before him.
"Hwoarang," He managed to keep his voice from shaking, "There is absolutely no need for all this noise." Like hell there wasn't, if Jin wasn't the man he was, and Hwoarang wasn't whatever he was, Jin would have thanked him for being an obnoxious prick and storming into his office, causing so much commotion. Maybe that was why his hands weren't clasped around the Korean's neck in frustration.
The saviour of the moment had his boot placed on the edge of Jin's desk, knee bent as he leaned forward and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe if you'd act like you aren't deaf and heard me the first time I said your name, dumbass."
Jin's hidden gratitude almost faded as he remembered just whom he was before. Hwoarang. Probably the most bastardly of anyone Jin knows. "What do you want?" He knew what he wanted. "And who let you in here?"
"This ain't a game of 20 questions," The red-haired of the two gave a scowl that Jin was used to by now; so used to that he could consider it Hwoarang's standard expression, if he hadn't known him better. "You were looking like you were daydreaming, and you don't daydream. The hell is up with you? Why are you being more of a prick than usual?"
The lightest smirk touched Jin's features.
"I thought this wasn't a game of 20 questions?"
Hwoarang scoffed, "It ain't for you."
"Why would it matter to someone like you, anyway?" Jin wasn't even looking at Hwoarang, and he could tell that gesture was making the Korean seethe.
"I don't like a stupid opponent. Pull your head outta the clouds, would you? You've been pulling this shit all week and it's annoying the hell out of me! Every time I talk you act like you can't hear me!" Which was normal, actually, but all of those times, Jin was consciously ignoring Hwoarang, and making sure Hwoarang knew he was being ignored. As of late, Jin had been acting different. He didn't read the paper while Hwoarang was yelling at him, or stare at shop signs and billboards while the Korean vociferated.
He stared directly forward of him, eyes shut tight and frozen in place.
'Doing it all week' was most likely an exaggeration, but Hwoarang had stumbled upon it happening a good three times. Two out of three, he was able to snap Jin out of it. But once, the Japanese man was so far gone that he had to slap him, and hard. Though he was known for powerful kick, Hwoarang's slaps were mere abuse.
"You'll most likely say I'm mistaken, but it sounds as though you're worried about me."
The fiercer set of brown eyes narrowed and trailed off toward the wall, back straightening slightly as lips pursed in unamusement. "Don't flatter yourself. I told you why I wanted to know why you're acting like this."
"I don't think it's any of your business."
Part of that was antagonising the antagonist on Jin's part, he knew that answer would make Hwoarang want to flip a table. It was a sort of bond between them, annoying each other was simply expected, but it was usually Hwoarang that irritated Jin.
"Oh—shut up Kazama! Get your shit together so I can kick your ass." Those his final words as he left the room and, eventually, the building.
The ink on his hand was starting to dry, to his misfortune. Groaning, he scanned the room for Kleenex, knowing there had to be a box somewhere.
...
It was later in the evening when Jin found himself doing something he often did—mulling thoughtfully over Hwoarang's words.
Usually, most of what Hwoarang says flies right over Jin's head, but his rival had a habit of weaving important messages into trash talk. Whether or not he meant to do that was beyond Jin, but the leader of the Mishima Zaibatsu found himself setting down the book he had been somewhat reading, and leaning on his hand.
It started with why Devil had been so eager to come out lately, and why Jin was so weak against him. Usually, Jin could be strong in the constant battle with his evil counterpart. But recently, he had been so recessive, so spineless at times. Why? Where was the strength going?
[It goes to me. I am taking it from you. I will take all of your strength from you, and leave you with nothing.]
Devil did not lie when he said he knew everything about Jin, for this was what he feared more than anything. It was terribly difficult when your greatest enemy lives within one, in one's body, constantly noting one's weaknesses every waking moment. It seemed Devil was indestructible, but Jin knew better.
And yet, sometimes he forgot.
You cannot take everything from me. Some of what means most to me is not yours for the taking.
[I beg to differ.]
Horrifyingly, Devil was silent for the rest of the night.
...
"Stupid Kazama," Hwoarang hissed as the engine vibrated beneath him, riding against the wind and avoiding contact with any other vehicle on the road. He could be a cautious driver when he wanted, but right now he was simply too angry to have road consideration.
The fuck does he think he is?
He eventually gains some control of thought to make a right, motorcycle leaning slightly as he whipped around the curb.
Why do I even care about his stupid ass? All he ever does is push everyone away.
His apartment rose above the horizon line as he kept forward, shifting off the main road and down his street. Then he begins to slow, eventually stopping in his driveway as he exhales a huff of breath that he didn't know he was holding. He chose to finish dwelling on Kazama and to march up to his front door, fumbling through his keys.
He had forgotten he had cleaned up a little, so the clutterless floor was a pleasant surprise. He fell back onto the navy blue couch, stretching out his strong legs as he blinked mindlessly.
"You'll most likely say I'm mistaken, but it sounds as though you're worried about me."
"What if I was...?" he mused out loud, eyes narrowed as though Jin was before him. "Not like you'd care. You'd just keep shutting everyone out of your life, anyway."
He'd say he didn't give a damn about Kazama, but a pang in his chest told him that he gave at least a fraction of a damn. Jin was, in the strangest of ways, like a friend to Hwoarang. The Korean would sooner die than admit it, but he respected and admired how Jin was an excellent fighter and had the power to hold back a demon whilst living his shitty life. Hwoarang's everyday routine seemed like a cakewalk compared to Jin's sometimes; the raven-haired man had mornings clogged with meetings and paperwork, then he had to deal with his dad's bullshit some days. And he never slipped on training, somehow.
But Hwoarang also hated him, as much as he admired him. Maybe more so.
Kazama was just so fucking uptight and 'humble', to the point where he deserved a good knee to the face. Jin irritated him so much that he just wanted to kick his ass, really.
All the thinking about his rival made him squirm, suddenly he was uncomfortable lying down on the couch. His eyes flick to the clock, the object read 9:37pm.
He swung his legs up and over, getting to his feet and packing a simple duffle bag before he walked to the dojang.
...
He's startled out of sleep by the vibration of his phone. Albeit he had fallen asleep with the object against his face, he groans loudly as he rubs his eyes so he can glance at the caller ID.
"Kazama...?"
He answers, suddenly enraged. "What the fuck? It's fucking 4am, you better be dying!"
"You have to leave town!"
Not exactly the reply he'd been expecting. "...What?"
"You have to go, go as far away as you possibly can! Now!"
"Slow down, Kazama," He said, sleep and anger in his voice, "Why the hell would I ever just randomly up and leave town because you told me to?"
Stubborn. He was so stubborn, couldn't he read between the lines? "Devil is after you. You. You have to go!"
"Kazama, I'm not goin' anywhere. You probably just had a little nightmare, just go back to sleep."
"Hwoarang? Hwoarang, you don't understa—"
Three beeps and the call had ended, and Hwoarang was face first with his pillow.
Jin was panicking, which didn't help the situation.
[See? I told you it wouldn't work!]
Maniacal laughter echoed in his head, and Jin's eyes were wide in terror.
If Hwoarang wouldn't leave for his own safety, he would be the one to go.