He guessed it wasn't all that surprising that he was accepted into the Shaolin Academy.

Well... maybe to a small degree- but only because for the longest time, he was almost certain that he was doing something wrong. It just felt like the entry exam had been all too easy for him.

The small group that he had gotten paired with all seemed to struggle while he passed through each course with flying colors. There was little down time for talking or questions amongst each new recruit... but even the few times they did have a chance to speak, Kung Jin said as little as possible. Despite all the questions and remarks that were thrown his way, he avoided telling anyone his family name, or even so much as hinted at his lineage.

Even after the exam was done with and behind them, and the real training started, he had nothing to say about it.

The last thing he wanted was for everyone to pin his acceptance into the Shaolin Academy based on favoritism rather than his skills.

He worked just as much sweat and blood into his training as everyone else did- if not more.

He didn't want all of that effort to be thrown under the bus.

Of course, it wasn't like he could really hide his family from Master Bo' Rai Cho- but thankfully the drunk bastard kept his mouth shut on the topic. Or at least he did when there were other students around.

Still, it didn't stop the man from occasionally pushing him harder than the rest of the class- much to everyone's amusement it would seem. Kung Jin guessed it was just some kind of initiative thing, but it hardly bothered him; the extra tasks did little to slow him down, and only seemed to bring a spill of drunken laughter to the teacher. And only behind closed doors would Bo' Rai Cho admit that where Lui Kang had been attentive, and where Kung Lao had been motivated... he simply seemed to be cocky.

Lui Kang had done every extra task asked of him because it was asked of him, and because he wanted to train as hard as he could.

Kung Lao had done so to prove himself, and to prove to everyone else that he was just as good- if not better.

Meanwhile he did it to show off- to remind everyone that looks were deceiving, and that he was far from living the rest of his life out as a simple nobody.

Kung Jin chose not to argue, nor agree with the man- simply because he wasn't sure if it was an accurate portrayal of him. Sure, he occasionally liked to remind everyone about certain skills he had; like how he had been the first, and so far only, student to master the defensive kick Master Bo' Rai Cho had taught them. That didn't mean he had simply joined just to become a show off.

Things were far more complicated than that.

... Despite the entry exam, and continuous training, as well as staying on the Shaolin Temple grounds, the whole thing was still a little surreal to him.

He wasn't exactly used to the prospect of being the up and coming poster boy for the new generation of Shaolin.

It wasn't like he was regarded as the black sheep of his family or anything, but... it wasn't like anyone had had much faith in him to do something of importance with his life. He just always got the impression that no one thought he would ever amount to much- but it wasn't like anyone had outright said that.

Maybe it had been in their body language, or in their phrasing.

Or maybe it was just him impounding his own negative thoughts onto himself.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Kung Jin lined up his next shot and focused his sights on the target in front of him. A small, red-painted board a good two hundred yards away- an easy enough shot for him.

He drew in a quick breath and held it in his chest as he drew the arrow back- biding his time as he waited for the right moment.

And then he released it.

The thin arrow was hard to follow, but it was destined to hit the bullseye regardless; he knew that much.

... Or at least, it would've had the arrow not broken sharply to his left all of a sudden.

And had it not, unfortunately, lodged itself into a nearby tree.

He nearly dropped his bow at the sight of it all- a little shocked, but mostly questioning how the hell that had just happened. He knew what he was aiming at, what he was aiming for- and it certainly didn't involve a tree.

That was until a brief laugh caught his attention, in which he looked up in time to see the Wind God manifesting himself into view. There was no telling how long the man had been there, standing only a few yards from him, but... the man's reveal answered all of his questions.

"You cheater," Kung Jin started.

"You should always be prepared for the unexpected in battle," Fujin spoke. And perhaps his homemade lesson would've had more merit to it had he still not been laughing throughout the words. "And always remember that the wind and air are not always to your advantage."

He scoffed lightly at the words as he started towards the tree his arrow was currently lodged in. "Great piece of advice, Fujin, had I not already invested my skills into TWO projectiles." his remark only seemed to further the man's laughter and he shook his head at the fun the man was having at his expense. "Just so you know, if I can't get this arrow loose, you owe me a new one."

Unfortunately, the damn thing looked to be pretty deeply embedded in the tree trunk, so he didn't exactly have high-expectations of its retrieval.

But he tried anyways.

An arrow was an arrow after all.

It took a few heavy tugs before he managed to get the thing freed- only to realize that the tip of it had been snapped clean off.

"Well, you still owe me a new arrowhead at least- and this was one of my obsidian ones too, damn." He only had a handful of the tips carved from obsidian, and he tried to take extra care of those ones. They could withstand the usual training boards easily; a solid oak tree though, not so much.

"Where do you get your arrows?" Fujin questioned, sounding as though he might actually pay his part in return for the damages.

Kung Jin continued to roll the damaged arrow around with his fingers; the shaft hadn't been cracked, or damaged in any other way, so he could still salvage it. "I make them," he answered, dropping the arrow into his quiver as he turned back to the Wind God.

"You... make them? By hand?"

The God spoke with a small sense of disbelief- a small tone he had gotten used to.

Why did everyone seem so surprised by that fact?

He gave a brief shrug in response. "Yeah, it's really not all that hard. Well... you gotta use a good, solid type of wood, or else the shaft will crack- and decent enough feathers for the fletching, or else the arrow will fly sideways. As for the arrowheads, it just depends on what I want to make them out of, or what I can get my hands on. Flint's pretty common and easy to find, not to mention shape. But every now and then I can get a piece or two of obsidian, which is what I prefer in the long run. It's a little stronger, and makes a sharper cut- not to mention, it's not as flimsy. But flint's easy to catch fire, so that's always a nice party trick to show off."

Fujin offered another quiet laugh as he moved to cross his arms. "You have Kung Lao's creative spirit, it would seem," he started. "He always wanted to see if he could set his hat on fire and get it to maintain after he threw it. Unfortunately, it rotated too quickly, and the fire kept getting blown out- but can't say he didn't try, perhaps a few times too many though."

Kung Jin chuckled at the thought- and then tried not to linger on it.

"I'm sure that had to be a sight to see."

"It really was- with the exception of the frequent visits to the healers," Fujin nodded. There was a small, lingering moment of silence between his words, before the man continued. "He would've been proud of you, you know."

He felt himself still at the words, and tried to ignore what felt like the ground shifting under his feet. Fingers subconsciously traced the engravings on his staff, while he tried not to think on if anyone had ever said that they were proud of him. Did it really even count in this situation though? Kung Lao wasn't here to prove it himself, and... it wasn't like they really even knew each other; he was barely a few months old when the man was killed.

"Well... it's nice to know that someone would be," Kung Jin remarked, pulling himself away from the thought. "Not that, you know, I really need it." yeah, smooth recovery on that one.

He watched as the Wind God walked over to him and felt the man's hands clap him pretty heavy on the shoulders- giving him a brief shake. The gesture was either given out of comfort, or reassurance; it was hard to tell.

"I'm proud of you too," Fujin continued; his eyes soft and lips slightly curled in his trademark smile. "I know this couldn't have been easy for you to do."

That... was an understatement.

To the tenth degree.

He felt himself almost sort of melt underneath the man's comforting touch. "Thanks, Fujin, that uh... that means a lot." the words were low in count, but spoken out of genuine relief and acknowledgment. It was genuine acceptance, a genuine sense of pride towards him.

Fujin nodded and shook him once more by the shoulders before he released him. "Good. Now then, I request to see one of these fire arrows of yours. It's been too long since I've last seen the wind catch fire, and after the day I've had, I'm rather overdue for a spot of entertainment."

Kung Jin woke to the feeling of the floor humming with thunder underneath him, to the continuous howling of the wind outside.

The combination of noises still set off tremors in his chest and underneath his ribs- abet to a smaller degree now, thankfully. He might finally have a chance to settle the aching in his head, and the familiar, phantom ache that had spread throughout his body.

...

But he also woke to the warmth of Fujin next to him, to the faint touch of fingertips gently trailing up and down his back; slow and steady. And he let himself linger on the gesture for awhile- faking a sense of sleep in order to take in the subtle comfort that the gesture offered. It was much easier, and nicer to focus on that instead; to focus on something that didn't remind him of anything but warmth and comfort.

He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep, but he must've had done so at some point- which wasn't surprising.

After battling nightmares and night terrors for three weeks, it was nice to get a few hours of decent, uninterrupted sleep.

He had slept facing the small wall behind him- using it to block out the bright lightning strikes that still bled through his closed eyelids. And still continued to do so every chance it got. He was using the side of Fujin's thigh to prop his head up, trying to keep his neck from getting stiff, and had partly buried his face into the man's hip- further blocking out any other visuals of the storm.

One hand was slightly curled against the man's back, fingers tucked into the overlay of his open vest. He could feel that painful kind of stiffness settling into the joints of his fingers, implying that he must've been clenching them together for an extended period of time. So maybe he hadn't exactly escaped those nightmares just yet. They didn't physically wake him though, so that in itself was an improvement.

He felt Fujin's fingers move to brush through his hair now- carefully skirting the few, loose strands off of his shoulders and away from his face. The gesture was more so for Fujin though, as it allowed the God to run his fingers through his hair in one motion; it allowed the silk-black locks to slide between his fingers like water with every slow run.

It was a simple gesture that he enjoyed.

One that he didn't get the chance to enjoy very often.

But Kung Jin felt those fingers hesitate slightly, before the callous pads of them brushed against the scar that ran across the base of his neck. Slow and cautious, and every bit afraid of the knotted tissue underneath his fingertips.

And it took everything in him to not react to it, to not give up his false position.

Still, the thoughts and questions hounded him as he felt slow, careful strokes against the still relatively fresh scar.

... He couldn't help but wonder how Fujin might've felt walking into his hospital room when the ordeal with Shinnok was over with. He was unconscious for the first day or so after the ordeal; he could barely remember even being transported to the SF hospital in the first place. Still couldn't even now. It was a black spot in his memory, a few hours of time lost to the blur between pain and morphine.

He had to have made a horrible first impression on the Wind God though.

Fujin had walked in on him with thick tubes in his chest and arms, with a mess of IV lines taped to every vein in his body it had felt.

Had walked in on him with a thick brace strapped tight against his blackened neck, with sutures freshly stitched into his skin to cover the tedious slicing of a scalpel. The work of a steady hand that was hopeful in fixing his cracked vertebrae and compressed nerves.

Skin revealed the heavy bruising of where hands had grabbed him from the back.

But the X-ray showed where the attempt to break his neck had (thankfully) failed.

Although that wasn't to say that damage hadn't been done in the wake of the failed strike. Stepping out of that jail cell, a mess of blood and teeth at his feet, the combination of agony and adrenaline kept him conscious. A correct twist would've left him dead, and an incorrect one would've left him paralyzed from the neck down; he managed to get stuck somewhere between the two. Fingertips and limbs moved fine, but felt heavy and numb against his working bones and joints. His persistence and his training kept him going forward- knowing fully well that stressing the injury could do more damage down the road.

Probably some of the more terrifying hours of his life.

But the present revealed nothing to be scared about anymore.

Still... Kung Jin wondered if Fujin had thought of Kung Lao every time the man woke him up from his medically-induced sleep- every time the God brought his hand to his shoulder and gave it a subtle shake. And there would be some guilt in Fujin's features over waking him, knowing well that he needed to rest, but... more noticeably, there was relief. Relief that he was still alive, still fighting.

He wondered if Fujin thought of Shao Kahn's hands instead of Osh-Tekk, heavy and large, grabbing him from the back and snapping his neck with no hesitation, no remorse. A nightmare set on repeat again and again in the back of his head.

The thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

It forced him to slowly roll onto his back, and reluctantly accept that he was conscious now- and that there was no going back anytime soon. So for now, Kung Jin let his neck rest against the God's thigh, and tried to ignore the heat that lingered against the still red scar.

"Ah, you're awake- good," Fujin spoke, sounding genuinely relieved as he pulled his hand away for the time being. The man had to be stiff in the legs and hips from sitting in the same position for so long, obviously not wanting to disturb him, and yet he still made no motion to move. Didn't even so much as complain about the minor pain, which Kung Jin was more than certain he was in. "You fell asleep in the middle of my retelling of the Shaolin Battle of '87, so now I'll get to finish it-"

"Oh Gods," he interrupted with a loud, forceful- mildly exaggerated- groan. He moved his hands to cradle his face for a moment, hearing Fujin's quiet laughter in the background. "Just... spare me this one time, will you? It was bad enough that I had to endure it in the hospital."

"You asked me to help you get to sleep, and those stories put you to sleep every time," Fujin reminded. "For once, it was not of my own doing- and you know that."

... Okay, he would give the God that one.

Those stories, while entertaining and telling in their own right, could make him doze off pretty righteously. And for those few nights where he couldn't sleep through the painkillers, it was a nice white noise to hear in the background. It probably helped that Fujin told the stories in the same tone every time, and that his voice was soothing and calm to listen to in the first place. He was always able to capture the feeling of each story, able to convey the emotions and stresses onto any listening audience- captivating new recruits with the tales of what they too could be a part of some day.

It was difficult to tell now, but... he would probably end up letting the God go through each story eventually. They helped to take his mind off of things, and he liked listening to Fujin's voice; it sounded nice against the backdrop of thunder and howling wind.

Dropping his hands from his face, Kung Jin moved to fold them over his chest, and took in the temporary silence around him.

There were still bullets of rain against the rooftops- there was still rolling thunder, and spitting winds outside.

Streaks of lighting that bled through the closed shutters, creating red pools that flashed across the hardwood floors- creating moving illusions of nightmares that stood alive around him.

It didn't bother him as much as it had before.

Or at least, that's what he had convinced himself to believe.

It wasn't long before Kung Jin felt Fujin's fingers carefully moving through his hair once more; the man gently brushed a few loose strands away from his face, before he ran the side of his thumb across the curve of his brow. It was soothing; it was something for him to focus on against the backdrop of a low-key armageddon that still played heavily outside.

He felt his nerves slowly wind back down, allowing him to leave behind bruised lungs and cracked vertebrae for now.

The clash of thunder no longer triggered a harsh rumbling in his chest anymore- a miracle for the time being, it would seem.

He felt the curve of Fujin's palm brush against his cheek as fingers briefly skimmed downward through his hair; a simple excuse to touch him, Kung Jin was certain. A subtle play of his smooth palm, worn and cracked by eras, and centuries before his time. The God had witnessed plenty of rises and falls across the realms; he knew of Edenia, long since forgotten now- knew of its people, its traditions, of its Queen who had enchanted his own brother with her strength.

Fujin knew of worlds and people long before war, and knew of the losses seen and experienced in the aftermaths.

This was not the first storm he had faced- and it certainly wouldn't be his last.

And yet, he saw each day as another step forward, as another dawn that he needed to rise and witness. No matter what the sun might shine down upon- whether it be another day, or simply the last one.

Eras, and centuries, and worlds lived on in the palm of his hand- pressed subtle and warm against his cheek.

Poetic in its own right.

But it wasn't enough to distract him from the quiet mutterings that slipped underneath the Wind God's breath.

"Fujin," Kung Jin started, taking note that the man didn't look down to him at his voice. Instead, the God kept his eyes focused on something on the other end of the room- probably something arbitrary, just something for him to settle on for the time being. Something to distract himself with amongst the flashing color of lights illuminating around them. The candlelight still created circles of fire in his eyes though- filling the white voids with moving sparks of orange and yellow.

"Hm?" a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

"I can still hear you reciting the battle of '87."

The Wind God paused for the moment- but it was quite easy to see how he was trying to hold back the look of having been caught. The corners of his lips twitching just briefly under the strain of trying to keep them straight. "I can't leave a story unfinished," Fujin insisted, breaking the attempted illusion with a grin as he looked down to him. "You know this."

All too well.

If there was one thing to be taken from it though, the man was consistent. Despite his age, his memory could recount and retell stories from decades ago without skipping a single detail. And they were told the same way again and again- never once implying that maybe there was something he had forgotten, or embellished on. Instead, he told the history as it was, as it had been- victories and losses alike.

"The Shaolin went head-to-head against an army of Oni's and successfully defended Earthrealm in the war against the Netherrealm," Kung Jin quickly recited, taking every shortcut he knew through the story. "There. Story finished. You're done."

Fujin responded with a brief laugh, seemingly amused by his ability to shorthand the whole thing. "Yes, well... I suppose so. At least now I know that you've listened to me enough times for the story to stick," he remarked. "It was a good battle; it really showcased Earthrealm's ability to pull together and withstand any and all opposition. We were the underdogs then, and we still came out on top."

Kung Jin supposed there was a lesson there that could be related to the now times.

In terms that... none of them should've survived the events that had happened surrounding Shinnok's revival. But they did. Not easily, and not as smoothly, but they were alive and things were... falling back into place; there was little to complain about.

"The White Lotus was wiped out that following year by Onaga's forces, but it was resurrected at the start of Shao Kahn's reign a few decades later. We got lucky."

There was always a hint of sadness in the God's tone when he recited that part of the story- typically the darker era that no one wanted to think about, let alone talk about. No doubt, with every retelling, the man remembered the countless massacre of friends and allies alike.

The cycle always seemed to repeat itself.

Whenever the Shaolin and the White Lotus rose to power to protect Earthrealm, there always seemed to be... someone, or something waiting around the corner. Waiting to slaughter them when they least-expected it, when they were ill-prepared and unarmed. And without a doubt, it happened nearly every time.

It would take two hands to count the amount of times they had been wiped out- only to rise again a few years later, a little stronger, a little wiser.

Springing up from the ashes of the old like a hard-learned phoenix.

It was a dangerous business for everyone who knew- and yet, there were always plenty of people stepping forward to fill in the spaces. Plenty of people willing to see the Shaolin and White Lotus again.

And after what had happened regarding Shinnok and the Jinsei temple now, there was no doubt that many more Shaolin would step forward.

And he would eventually be one of them.

Pushing himself up, Kung Jin gently rolled his neck to work out a minor kink that had settled in while he had been resting; it was probably because of the odd angle his neck had been at while lying against Fujin's leg. Hell, he had laid down long enough that his shoulders and back were starting to momentarily ache as well. He could sleep like a rock sometimes, which was nice- it was just that the only downfall to it was that it made him wake up feeling stiff like one.

He stilled slightly as he felt Fujin's fingers brush against his back. Cautious and careful- as though afraid one wrong turn and he might accidentally finish the job that the Osh-Tekk had failed to do on him. He tried not to think about it; it was just a thing of the past now, and yet... It seemed impossible to escape.

"I'm fine," Kung Jin quietly assured, rubbing the back of his neck before he managed to catch the God's fingers against his own. A light, subtle grasp that felt warm against his skin- warm and comforting in its own right. He held onto him for a brief moment, loosely interlacing their fingers before he gave a gentle squeeze- mostly for his own benefit. "I guess you just didn't hear me the first time."

"I'm deaf on the right side, you know this," Fujin chuckled.

He shared the same bit of laughter- knowing well that the man was making light of a near-death experience. Two decades before, the Edenian Queen, in all her Revenant form of glory, nearly killed him had Raiden not intervened when he did. Fujin barely escaped with his life, but lost part of his hearing in the wake of it all; it was a fair trade, he supposed, given that the other option was a painful death. The partial deafness hardly seemed to effect the man now though- perhaps he used his power of the wind to help carry voices to him.

The only thing Fujin had to complain about was a buzzing noise in his head every now and again. And the occasional tremor whenever a high-pitched noise sounded off near him- even if it was just the feedback off of a radio.

Kung Jin pulled the God's hand forward and lightly brushed his lips against his knuckles- feeling Fujin squeeze his hand in response to it. "What do you think's going to happen now?"

It wasn't like he wanted to really know the answer to it, but... it was a question that circulated through his head every now and again. Everything up until now, everything that had created this moment to begin with, was still unsolved. The Reiko Accords had been terminated; the ordeal with Quan Chi and Shinnok was over with, considering both of their respective deaths. And in regards to the Revenant...

Silence.

A small, brief pocket of it.

"Let's not think about that right now," Fujin started, his voice tired and low as it whispered against the rain around them. "We're battling one storm as it is- let's not think of another."

... Right.

It would be better to leave the issues regarding the Revenant where they were... on the surface, and far away from them.

Giving a quiet sigh, Kung Jin pulled Fujin's hand forward and brought part of the man's arm over his right shoulder- pulling the Wind God closer to him. He turned his body to his left, moving his free hand back to rest against the man's leg for balance, before he tucked his head into the open curve of Fujin's neck.

He heard the God chuckle quietly at the action, before he felt Fujin carefully drop his arm to wrap around his shoulder instead; the man was still too wary to touch, let alone put his arm close to his neck, for fear of irritating the long-healed injury. It didn't take long before Kung Jin felt the subtle warmth of Fujin's lips as they brushed against his forehead, as fingers interlaced and squeezed together once again.

A careful gesture- silent, yet speaking loud enough amongst the silence of the rain and the howling outside.

"I know you're fine. Maybe not... all the way, not yet at least, but you're alive," Fujin whispered, as he moved to rest his forehead against his, breathing him in. "And there's not a day that goes by where I'm not thankful for that."

...

The God had been scared before- and to an extent, he still was.

Eras of losing friends, lovers even, over and over again had lead to this decade, to this timeline. The man lived every day with the knowledge that the passing time would only eventually bring him pain in place of friends and family.

And with the events that laid behind them now, that familiar, settled feeling of loss had nearly happened all too soon for him.

Kung Jin smiled briefly at the words, before he moved the fingers on his free hand to brush against the Wind God's jaw. "Come here," he started, as he pulled Fujin down to him and touched his lips against the God's- careful and soft as he brushed at the corner of them. He felt them twitch slightly with a soft chuckle, before the man turned his head enough to fully catch him.

Fujin hummed quietly behind his lips, sharing a cool breath between the two of them.

It was brief, and all too short.

Just a small homage to all the times they missed out on before.

Whether it was caused by Fujin's duties to the Jinsei, and to Raiden, or by his need to heal and sleep every chance he could. While the SF Unity hospital was top of the line in terms of medical assistance and performing medical-based miracles... it wasn't exactly a place of privacy. And they weren't ready to have someone walk in on them at the wrong time- even if it was just sharing a comforting embrace.

But he missed it- he missed this.

He felt Fujin pull back slightly, and caught a glimpse of the continuous fire that still played in the whites of his eyes. He watched as the small flames flickered back and forth, replacing the man's long-lost pupils with the reflection of candlelight. It was all still mesmerizing, and addicting to watch.

Fingers grabbed the God by the chin, before he pulled him back- sealing the space between them just enough to pull in a few more loose kisses.

"Jin..." Fujin barely managed to whisper.

He rarely let anyone call him simply by 'Jin', if only those within a close, social circle. But Fujin had picked up on calling him that long ago- and back then, he had been reluctant to admit how much he liked the way it sounded rolling off of the man's tongue.

It sounded even better now though.

"Hm?"

The man gave a short, quiet laugh at his barely-vocaled response. "You're supposed to be here resting," Fujin reminded, even as his fingers moved to tangle themselves in his black hair- slightly pulling a few locks free from their band.

"And I did earlier, and... I more than likely will later," Kung Jin spoke. "I've done nothing but sleep the entire time I've been here. Just... just let me have this."

For now, that seemed to be the end of the argument, as he felt Fujin pull him in close once more.