A/N: Just a little drabble I wrote while I was pondering how to handle Jin's character in Never Ever. Let me know what you think of it, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one.
Dreams
Dreams are the reasons why he hates Ling Xiaoyu. Hates her for believing in him, for caring about the loathsome creature he's become, for not giving up on him, no matter how hard he pushes her away. For making him think that maybe things will be alright. For making him imagine being normal, dream of having an ordinary relationship with her, holding her hand, returning her smiles. No matter what he does or says to her, she always has a smile for him, and he knows that if she ever sees him for what he truly is, there will be no fear in her eyes. Not even when that thing takes over his mind and he is no longer Jin Kazama, when those ugly black markings burn their way over his forehead and chest, not even when his eyes sting and he knows that means that they are changing, and he is changing, becoming a demon outside as well as in. She will still reach for him, try to help.
He doesn't deserve to love her, touch her, doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as her. When he's suffocated by terrible, delicious thoughts of bones snapping and fires burning and blood flowing, he will think of her smile and her face and her hair. Sometimes it will help him to breathe. Sometimes it will make him wish they'd never met. If he'd never got to know her, never found himself wanting to hear her voice and make her smile, to kiss her and touch her and hold her close and breathe her in, then it wouldn't sicken him so much when he wakes with a start from dreams where she comes to him, and he grabs her and his fingers leave bruises on her skin. Dreams where he tears her clothes away and buries himself inside her, where he fucks her hard and fast, relishing in her cries of pain, and he finally gets the fear he deserves from her. Dreams where he stands breathless over her broken body, her blood running through his fingers, her heart in his hands.
Dreams are the reasons why he won't chance it. Why he forces himself to appear indifferent to the hurt that flashes across her face every time he dismisses her worries and tells her to leave him be. He's terrified. Terrified that some day there'll be no waking up, no sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, hating her for still believing in him when his mind conjures up such things, because he won't be dreaming when he kills her.
