Disclaimer: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

Warnings: Hwoarang/Jin, pre-slash. Derogatory language use in passing.

"Marking time" means spending time idly, lingering. That goes for both the purpose and content of this fic. Nothing happens here. The timeline is inverse.

Marking Time

by Salysha

The light that crept between the thickset tenement houses was obstructed momentarily when the redhead made an abrupt turn and took a leap into the dark. Hwoarang. Beside him, a dark shadow blended in effortlessly with the shady street, without the eerie halo from street lighting on his back. Jin Kazama. The hour was ungodly, but they were taking a leisurely stroll without minding the time or the district.

Hwoarang said something private. It didn't strike a chord. He held out a hand, and after some bristling, Jin took it. They continued, holding hands.

"Look at the fags."

The alley was no longer empty. Out of every nook and cranny, the street was filling up with dark shapes that rounded up in a ring around them. The newcomers summed up to eight ambitious individuals.

Hwoarang snickered and let Jin's hand free, after giving it a squeeze. He craned his neck. "What was that?"

"You heard me."

Hwoarang's grin was white and sharp and not very pleasant. "Get it over with."

He could have made the introductions longer, but he wasn't in a mood to shoot his mouth. The mind was craving action. Hwoarang didn't wait for first blood. The step he was about to take never landed on the ground; instead, his balance shifted from one foot to the other, and the fast turn suddenly developed into a well-aimed turning kick. He hardly waited for recovery; to the shock of the next guy in line, Hwoarang bounced off his feet and leapt into him straight out.

Behind him, Hwoarang heard the suppressed grunt he hadn't caused and smirked despite himself. Jin was on his game and—judging by the yelps that didn't come from him—out of humor.

The deal turned out slightly disappointing in the end. The posse had amateurish tactics and no strategy; Hwoarang nearly clucked his tongue in disappointment when he and Jin finally ended up watching six fleeing backs make a run for it and two men stay behind, knocked out. The number had been good and could have proven a real danger, but the attackers' discipline had been ostensible and strength undisciplined. He cracked his joints and decided he had gotten off with cheap bruises and more experience to carry on to the next day. Any fight kept up the skill.

On his side, Jin was heaving deeper breaths than usual, otherwise unshakeable. The slightest flick of his bangs and dark flicker of his eyes showed that his attention had shifted over to Hwoarang, assessing and checking, and Hwoarang's mouth curved to a lopsided assurance. All good. Jin tore his eyes away.

Hwoarang crouched, sneaking deft fingers into the man's pocket and extracting his wallet. He removed the cash and flipped the rest out of sight. He patted down the man's pockets for anything extra and then moved for the next easy catch.

Jin stood by, watching the heist with tacit disapproval. Another thought dropped his face back to neutral. "Why did you ask me to take your hand?"

"They were gonna jump us. I just wanted to give them a reason," Hwoarang said distractedly. He dug up the second guy's wallet, found no cash, and took to inspecting his ID. Local boy, true blue. He tossed the wallet to the trash without another glance.

Jin gave him an odd look.

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Hwoarang. Sometimes I wonder."

Hwoarang woke in the middle of the night and was instantly irritated. His urge to scream WHY CAN'T YOU SLEEP? diminished quickly as worry took over. The sheets shuffled as he shifted. In the shapeless gray of his bedroom, Jin's figure was etched by the bed. Then Jin dropped to sitting, facing away from him.

"Is it bad?"

Jin hunched even more and nodded.

Hwoarang rose on his elbow and studied Jin's silent back. "Come here."

Jin didn't move until Hwoarang nudged him. He shifted a look, and Hwoarang drew back on the bed, holding his covers up. "Come on, Jin."

Slowly, as though fighting the force of nature, Jin finally lifted his feet on the bed, one at a time. Equally sluggishly, he finally lay down and moved closer.

Hwoarang spread the covers on him and tucked them in tightly. He enveloped Jin in his arms, spreading up against his side, tangling their feet together. Jin was shirtless; his skin felt too cold and clammy. God knew how long Jin had been up and padding around before finally coming to wake him. Hwoarang's feet touched against Jin's, and he nearly jumped. "Like ice, Jin. I've told you to dress more warmly." His voice was mild and soothing as he finally fit his feet against Jin's.

Jin didn't say anything, but Hwoarang knew he was sorry. He didn't move away, though; he stayed still and allowed Hwoarang to seep warmth and human contact onto him. Hwoarang pulled his arm around Jin, pushed more blankets on him, and tucked Jin in tighter. "Go to sleep," he finally said and closed his eyes.

Beside him, Jin settled down.

In the morning, Hwoarang was the first one cognizant. He tugged at the bed sheets between yawns and checked his side. Jin was coming to as well, and Hwoarang waited by as he gathered his bearings belatedly. Jin finally woke up with a friendly glint in his dark eyes. Hwoarang scooted closer, to Jin's side, and leaned over. Their gazes locked until Hwoarang tilted, touching their lips together. He crept to Jin's chest and moved on to steady kisses, which Jin allowed. Only when Hwoarang tried to slip in tongue did Jin back off and push him away.

"All right, all right, that's enough."

Hwoarang snickered and jumped out of bed, leaving Jin to tidy up.

Jin was back to himself.

There had been a conscious effort to keep things normal and red-blooded, once upon a time. Fleeing the country and settling in had been enough preoccupation for a while, but eventually, the mind started wondering where the normal pleasures in life had gone to. Jin seemed pretty happy with a solitary life, but Hwoarang was growing restless and decidedly unhappy at going lily white and abstaining. Eventually, he reached the breaking point with this sexless life. He'd gone out to look for company, and told Jin to make himself scarce.

He'd picked a girl who was good-looking and amenable, and after a good time without complications, the same as he was. They had been well into making plans on the dance floor, with her charmed and him pleasantly attracted, when the nausea had hit. Hwoarang had left her, gone to the men's room feeling sick as a dog, and hadn't been able to shake off the worry about Jin and where Jin had gone to. Jin had nowhere to go except their shared place.

"Must be something I ate," he muttered upon returning, and she had been concerned enough not to mind the canceled tryst or suspect that promises of a rain check were anything but white lies. She had even given her number, which he had kept barely long enough to get out of sight.

Hwoarang had excused himself and rushed to their apartment, only to find it empty, just like he had wanted to only hours before. The place had never seemed so bleak.

The search took him outside, running along places where Jin could be.

He found Jin at the riverside, hunched on the bench, wearing a thin coat, staring at the river. He noticed Hwoarang only when the Korean parked straight in front of him, worried sick to his heart. Jin raised his head. His sincere bafflement didn't ease Hwoarang, who felt miserable to the core. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shuffling on his feet, and tried not to show how wretched he felt.

"I didn't really want to. It just didn't feel important; I wasn't interested."

Jin's surprise didn't make it any easier, nor did the protest he was undoubtedly already forming about how Hwoarang should indulge himself and that he'd gladly leave home so Hwoarang could sleep with strangers to his heart's content. Hwoarang, himself, almost felt sick. He stopped Jin quickly before Jin could say something self-discriminating that would haunt him for days to come.

Hwoarang held out his hand and let a plea slip before he even realized what he was doing. He withdrew his hand and stuffed it back in his pocket, but Jin seemed to get it. He went with Hwoarang, and they strode away, side by side along the waterfront, homebound.

They went together to an all-night noodle bar, and even though Jin didn't say much, despite digging enthusiastically into the cup Hwoarang had bought for him, Hwoarang felt better about things than he had for a long time.

Jin had lost. The celebration around him broke in full, but Jin stayed down, defeated. The audience around him chorused the name of Mishima.

Hwoarang watched the festivities commence from the side of the field, but the false praise held no meaning to him. He was watching the lone figure who stayed on the dirt, on knees and legs, forgotten. Only, Jin Kazama never got up, and Hwoarang frowned.

He was the sole person to venture on the field. Even as he crossed over, watching out if someone was going to check on the runner-up, Jin didn't move. By the time he stopped, mere feet from Jin, no one else had moved in.

"Hey, Kazama. What's wrong?" he called out, irritated to be there, stuffing a hand into his pocket and shuffling on his feet. He should've just left and minded his own business, but the thought unsettled him. He didn't want to be here, but he didn't want to walk away.

Jin lifted his eyes and looked through him, and Hwoarang's heart struck cold. Jin didn't even seem to recognize him. His eyes were so empty, held something broken... damaged.

On the side of the field, a group was conversing: Kazuya Mishima, ruthless in contest, cruel in victory. Heihachi Mishima, who by sight sent a feeling of something heinously evil up Hwoarang's spine. They were engaged in a conversation, sparing the occasional glance at Jin, who didn't notice. Not too far away from them, Lee Chaolan.

Hwoarang's gut went on red alert.

"Jin, get up."

Jin looked up at him, so lost. Uncomprehending that someone would take enough interest in him to talk to him.

The glances had gone up in number. Son and father, conspiring together, casting vicious glances at Jin. Fleeting looks at him.

"Jin, you have to get up. Now." Hwoarang's voice took urgent notes. Jin picked up on it, too, because he seemed to consider it, startled. Hwoarang thought to his motorcycle, parked at the far corner of the field, trying to gauge how much time they had. Each second was bringing them closer to what he perceived a vicious, looming threat; they had to put distance between them now, whether Jin wanted to be dragged along or not. Then he looked at Jin, still hunched on the dirt miserably, looking down in all the wrong ways. Even as he did, the decision became easy to make; it came to him unbridled. He offered his hand.

"Come on, Jin. I'll take care of you."

THE END

Many thanks to Gypsie (Gypsie Rose) for the beta job!

Published July 15, 2013.