Really, he wasn't surprised to see the other. It would have been shocking, in fact, if he i hadn't /i seen him.
What Mugen had said had been true; this was their destiny. They'd gone their separate ways, never truly intending to i not /i see each other again. It was an island, after all. And as the filthy other man with the smell of a stray dog tossed back the last mouthful of sake too fast to be enjoying it, and looked at him with clouded eyes and the grin of a hanged man, Jin could only frown in mild disapproval and toss his arm around bony shoulders and drag his former traveling companion home.
Sprawled on the wood-plank floor of a shack in the woods, the graying hem of his shirt riding up around his rib cage, mouth open in slumber and inebriation, there would be no sport in killing the mongrel now and Jin wasn't even sure if he still wanted to. And so he sat, back straight against a wall, legs folded in front of him, weapons at the ready nearby.
The tangle of bones and tawny flesh on the floor began to stir, rubbing at his forehead with knobby-knuckled fingers, more those of a boy than a man, though there was little else childlike about Mugen. Between those parted fingers, yellowed eyes settled their gaze on Jin. A snarl writhed around his lips and a tongue darted out at the dried sake that must have lingered there.
Words didn't pass; neither man was much for loquacity. Mugen settled back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him. Fuu wasn't there to stop them now; they could fight all they wanted. But Mugen simply gave a grunt and returned his gaze to the floor. Jin's eyes trained on Mugen's weapon and his shoulders, sharp bones that would broadcast any movement that he planned to make. There was nothing subtle about the beast in front of him.
One dark, long-fingered hand dipped into his pocket and searched around a bit, coming up empty.
"You spent it all on sake," Jin said quietly, still anticipating attack.
A smirk traveled up his face and his eyelids drooped and the movement telegraphed by his shoulders was not the one that Jin had been anticipating. Instead of lunging to the side to grab his weapon, Mugen rocketed forward from his seated position, landing to press his hands on the floor on either side of Jin's hips. Those yellowed eyes were inches away and Jin could smell the stink of alcohol and sweat. The smirk was still there and then it was gone when Mugen's mouth dropped to sink sharp teeth into the junction of Jin's neck and shoulder, followed by a swath of wet tongue.
Jin, in any other situation, would have fought back. He would have quickly raised a knee to connect sharp bone with diaphragm. Or he would have jerked an arm forward with grace and precision and gutted his attacker. Or he would have tucked and rolled away to fight from a better vantage point. He would have. Any other time. But they were both too tired for fighting now and so Jin let the stray dog do what he wanted. He'd always been too kind with the hopeless.