A/N: Because I really think no one ships it Fuugen more than Jin. Come at me, bro.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
087. Nocturnal
When Jin sleeps – really, deeply sleeps – he drools. Right this very moment the sides of his mouth are wet and shiny, and though Fuu knows he will wake within a split second if he sense something unusual or threatening, for now he is so relaxed and out of touch with the world that he looks young. Innocent, almost.
It's adorable.
For whatever reason – and honestly, Fuu doesn't know what it could possibly be – Mugen is pretending to be asleep. With his back to the dim fire and an arm under his head, his body is lax, nearly limp, and his breathing is slow and even. Too even.
Mugen sleeps as he does everything else; wildly. Instinctively, be it the hard ground or a plush futon, he ends up on his back. Legs and arms akimbo, one hand on his stomach or – worst of all – partially shoved down his shorts. His mouth gapes, he snores loud enough to wake dead men... and yet he, too, is somehow innocent at those times.
She thinks of Mugen as a boy, all hair and sun burnt skin and wide mouth, sprawled out on a dirty floor. Alone – more alone than Fuu has ever been, even after her mother died.
It makes her heart hurt.
Attempting to avoid the pain in her chest, to maybe fix it, she leaves her bed roll. Jin doesn't move (he's grown far too used to her nighttime trips to the bushes), but Fuu can see the way Mugen's muscles tense, just for a moment. It's gone so quickly that she could have imagined it, but she's spent too many nights unable to sleep and staring at him from across a dying fire to not be aware of his details.
Blanket clamped firmly in two hands, Fuu quickly picks her way across their little, make-shift campsite. Once this is done, she quickly folds herself onto the edge of Mugen's camp roll, working hard to squirm under his blanket.
"What the hell?" he asks too loudly for the night. By some miracle, Jin doesn't wake.
"Shhh, not so loud," orders Fuu, poking him hard between the shoulders. "Move over, there's a rock under my hip."
Despite having his head twisted in a truly awkward angle in his attempt to see her, Mugen obeys. Fuu gives him a pleased smile, flipping her blanket on top of his, so they are covered by both.
"What's your fucking problem, bitch?"
Jamming her (frigid) toes between his bare calves, Fuu does what she's been longing to do for a completely ridiculous amount of time: she cuddles Mugen. Like her mom used to do when Fuu was little, scared or lonely or simply cold. She slides an arm around his waist, buries her cold nose in his back, and answers – with a voice muffled by his few layers of fabric – "I'm cold. Now shut up, I'm also trying to sleep."
"Why the fuck don't you go get all touchy-feely with fish face, then?" Mugen may be snapping like a wounded animal, but Fuu can feel him straining against relaxation. Given enough time, and the warmth of their bodies heating the space under their blankets, he will be soon be comfortably resting.
"Because I don't want to," is Fuu's answer.
Not a terribly long time later, Jin opens his eyes while quietly rubbing his wet mouth. Finally, he thinks, narrow mouth fighting the usual impassive line it takes to form a long, incredibly fond smile. He watches his friends sleep; Mugen trapped under Fuu, the both of them a tangled lump under the covers protecting Jin from seeing where hands may have strayed by now. It is peaceful and warming.
If anyone deserves happiness, it is these two morons. But of course he is the one to lead them to it; they would be lost without him, wouldn't they?
In the morning he wakes earlier than normal, just to make sure the second thing Mugen lays eyes on is Jin's smug, knowing expression. The first, of course, is Fuu's sleeping face. She drools in her sleep, just a little, and the corners of her mouth are wet and shiny.