Sometimes, Mugen contemplated killing him. In the night, while he was sleeping maybe. One silent slash of his sword and it would be done. Jin would be gone.
He couldn't, though. He wouldn't. Mugen didn't condone sneak attacks; they were for cowards, for weaklings. If he was to bring Jin down, he'd do it the old fashioned way – face to face and blade to blade. He'd relish the look in Jin's eyes - the shock, the defeat, the flare of knowledge that Mugen had won. And as the samurai drew his last breath, Mugen would take Fuu, would claim her, stake his possession, just so Jin would know that Mugen was best.
So Fuu would know that he was best.
Too bad he was rather fond of the boring old fart. If it wasn't for Fuu, he might even be able to befriend the guy. But jealousy is a tough emotion to overcome. It rots the most gentle of souls, and Mugen was a long way from gentle.
He knew that Fuu loved Jin. He'd always known. A person would have to be blind not to notice. And it was killing him.
Mugen had always lived a free life, taking what he wanted and severing all strings that attempted to hold him down. But what do you do when a string is unbreakable? When you tied that string to yourself, without even realizing? He wanted something that he couldn't have, and for once, he couldn't just take it by force. So why did he still fight for it?
Hope was a cruel thing. Fuu was cruel as well.
She strung him along; he knew that. But why did she do it? Why did she let him touch her, when it was Jin she wanted? And couldn't she see that Mugen loved her? He wasn't a tender man, and he knew no sweet words to whisper in a girl's ear, so he couldn't attempt to tell her. But there were other ways. Mugen went to her often, showed his love for her with touch and taste.
If only she would look at him, look at him like she looked at Jin, then he could prove that his love was just as worthy. He would hold her, like other boys might, be soft with her, if that's what she wanted. But when she looked at him, her eyes were empty, and sometimes, when they were done, when Mugen was still hovering above her, she would cry. So Mugen would climb off and leave, because he knew that was what she wanted.
He supposed that Fuu was just taking what she could get. Mugen never could stand being second fiddle. Second best was still losing. But what choice did he have?
No. He'd go to her again tonight, and try to prove once more that his love was good enough. He'd keep fighting for her, keep trying to bust down her walls. And if, once again, she turned away…well, he'd take what he could get, too.
Second fiddle was better than nothing.