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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The sound of leaves and snapping twigs crunch loudly underfoot. Low hanging branches whip across his face as the bright moon casts long shadows across the forest floor. His lungs feel like they’re about to tear apart but he has no choice but to run .

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

It had just been a mistake.

The flash of wild fury that had boiled over in response to the virulent words being spat at him. A swipe of his hand. Sharp nails tearing easily through weathered skin. 

That brief moment of vindication had been quickly quashed by the feeling of warm blood staining his face. The anger and fear in the eyes of the one who had taken him in when he had nothing left; the subsequent disgust as a singular word drops from their mouth like a well honed dagger and sinks itself deeply into his heart.

“Demon.”

Jin regrets ever raising a hand to his grandfather, but the baying hounds and the shout of the hunters that pursued him did not care for his remorse. No amount of prostrating and begging for his forgiveness would ever change how Heihachi would now see him as something inhuman . 

Only a few days have passed since he fled from his grandfather’s estate. Not quite the place he had been raised in, but a place that had treated him well nonetheless. Clothing him, feeding him, nurturing him when he had nowhere else to go. Jin had ruined all of it in a blink of an eye. A second was all it took for him to lose control over his emotions and, and— 

Pain lances through his side and brings him back to reality. The worn mountain path he found himself on offers little stability as Jin continues to flee from his pursuers. Roots and hidden rocks in the foliage threaten to trip him. He’s hurt, exhausted, his muscles screaming in protest with every footfall. None of that mattered when his life was on the line. 

Jin could hear the dogs drawing closer, and the malicious excitement their handlers exuded as they closed in on their prey. The hunters had almost caught him once — where Jin had made the mistake of trying to catch his breath and suffered a deep gash to his side for his carelessness— and he forced himself to push on. 

Step by step.

Breath by breath.

He would make it out of this. He had to. 

Despite his resolve, he could tell his body was starting to slow, no longer able to keep up with what he demanded of it. The blade those hunters had stabbed him with was definitely coated with something as dizziness swirls across his mind. Jin hadn’t thought his thundering heart could beat any faster, but the panic that creeps into him at his realisation only makes him more desperate to survive.

Jin has no idea where he is going. Trying to seek safety in the unfamiliar terrain of the countryside where he hoped to lose the hunters in the ocean of trees and foliage. He didn’t account for how relentless they would be. Heihachi must have paid them well. Or perhaps these people simply relished in the promise of violence . He passes by a large tree with a thick cord of shimenawa rope enclosed around its trunk. Jin leans heavily against it, smearing blood onto its ancient bark. Just a moment was all he needed. To breathe. Gather his resolve. His vision swims in and out of focus as he stares at his feet, breathing hard while he prepares himself to start running again.

There’s a slight shift in the air as the rocky trail beneath his feet shifts into worn stone. It could just be his delirious mind slowly catching up to his surroundings but a small, overgrown path appears before his eyes. Jin had been aimlessly sprinting for his life before, but now there’s direction. A gentle tug in his mind, the barest whisper making itself heard over the cacophony of his heart and heaving breaths.

Perhaps it was out of pure desperation that he listened to this whisper. Or perhaps something more. It was awfully alluring.

The fierce snarling of the dogs grows quieter, eventually fading away into the distance. Jin drags himself up this new path. He holds tightly onto his bleeding wound, hanging onto that sticky warm feeling seeping past his hands that tells him he’s still alive as his vision begins to wobble.

No… not yet.

He follows the intangible thread guiding him. It’s a momentous thing every time he manages to place one foot in front of the other. The dark droplets of blood splashing against the ground keep him company when he no longer has the strength to look ahead. The path changes once more, smoothing into moss covered steps. He barely registers the small foxes adorning the path, carved out of stone. They seem to be watching him intently, waiting for him to fall perhaps. A small part of his mind informs him that he must be in some sort of inari shrine as he passes by a large red torii gate. 

He sends a small prayer to the heavens, thanking them for guiding him here. Jin looks down at his side again. Even blinking feels like a chore now. It gets harder to not fall back into the comforting darkness everytime he closes his eyes. He doesn’t know when he had stopped moving, or when he had laid on the ground. The stone feels warm against his frigid skin. He takes in the blood beginning to pool around him, and the heaviness of his eyes.

At least he has the small mercy of having such hallowed grounds being his final resting place.

The trees around him meld into blobs of dark green and midnight blue as his breathing begins to slow. He can hear each deep inhale loudly in his ears. The sound is oddly calming, meditative, as a sense of acceptance washes over him. There’s the faint sensation of a cool breeze ghosting over his skin, bringing the clean, unfettered scent of the forest to his nose. 

Jin has a vague thought that his blood was most likely making a mess of the place before everything fades to black.

~~~

Mother… Why do we have to live in the mountains far away from people?

Because it is safer to be away from humans.

Then Mother… Why do you take care of the injured travellers who come through here? 

…

Because it is only right to help others in need, Jin.

— 

Jin! Why are you wasting your time with those peasant children?! Get away from them before their stench sinks into your clothes!

T-they’re starving and we have plenty of food at the estate. They need my hel— !

Silence, boy! The failings of the lower class are not our concern. The Mishima Family is not a charity.

— 

You pulled back your punches in the dojo again, Jin. I’m disappointed.

I am sorry, Grandfather.

I’ve told you, time and time again: Exploit every weakness you see in your opponent. Crush any hope of retaliation. Teach your opponent to fear you. As a Mishima your victory should be absolute. This, of course, is the same approach you should be using to handle the business dealings of our family should you ever have a hope of becoming a worthy heir. 

I will do better, Grandfather.

It’s been 7 years since I’ve taken you under my wing, Jin. You should already be better.

…

…I should’ve known better than to expect any greatness from the son of a promiscuous wench— 

~~~

Jin’s whole body lurches forward as he startles awake with a gasp. His heart was threatening to leap out of his chest as he’s left with the phantom sensation of blood splattering across his face and a distinct urge to wash his hands.

Where was he?

A sickly heat suffuses throughout his aching body while an undercurrent of nausea swirls through him, cementing him in reality. A sharp twinge of pain shoots up his side as he immediately reaches up to his head.

Where did his head coverings go?! Who had removed them?! 

Panic bubbles up his throat as his hand makes contact with soft fur. 

Oh god ohgod anyone could see that he was— 

“You…”

Jin freezes.

“You’re a Nekomata , aren’t you?”

He doesn’t even think about breathing as pure dread sets into his lungs. He flicks his gaze over to the sound of that voice, only to be met with an empty room.

“...and a young one at that…your tail is yet to split.” 

Jin feels a wandering hand caress the end of his tail and he immediately whips his head around, snatching it out of that phantom grasp. He catches a flash of orange in the corner of his eye.

“Are…are you going to kill me?”

His throat feels like sandpaper; he can’t quite keep the waver of fear from his voice.

A laugh is all he gets in response. The sound comes from behind him and Jin follows it, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was talking to him.

“Now why would I want to do that?”

A young man with striking orange hair and golden eyes appears before him. He had sharp, handsome features, and a cunning smile playing on his lips. The man seemed human enough, but there was a touch of otherworldly energy surrounding them that made Jin want to think otherwise.

“B-Because I’m a—”

“A demon? A yokai? ”

Jin flinches at the name, but this mysterious man simply tilts his head to the side, his smirk growing wider.

“You’ll find that we’re not so different, you and I.”

As if on cue, a pair of ears the same brilliant shade of orange appears on his head; followed by a foxtail swishing behind him. Jin’s eyes grow wide as more and more tails fan out from behind the man, like a peacock on display. 

One…three, four, five… nine tails , all neatly placed behind him. It was reminiscent of a buddha sitting on a lotus flower; each tail a beautiful petal of vermillion red tipped with white. They gently sway in the air, the soft fur catching the light and seemingly glowing with different hues of red and orange.

A nine tailed fox, a kyuubi of legend. Jin is at a loss for words. He’s only ever heard of these omniscient beings in stories told by his mother, and now one is talking to him? His head begins to spin, as if his worn out body had given up on comprehending anything that had just transpired. The man draws close to him and waves his hand in front of his eyes. 

“Rest, for now. You need it.”

Jin’s eyes grow heavy and he’s taken into the warm darkness once more.

Chapter Text

Jin is cold. And then he’s hot.

Blood like ice for a moment, then being boiled alive the next. Molten lava creeps through his veins and it’s like his heartbeat is in his head.

Pulsing,

Pulsing,

Wracking his body with shivers and cold sweat. Pain burns through him in waves. Like tiny needles stabbing through his skin before peaking at a gut curling stab of agony in his side. 

It’s excruciating.

Enough to make him cry out, digging his nails into his palms in a pitiful attempt distract himself from this seemingly neverending torture. The only thing that made this suffering bearable was a gentle hand.

Soft. Soothing. Easing his pain, even if it was just for a moment with a swipe of their fingers. They brought a cool towel to his burning forehead. Held him up to feed water into his parched mouth. Pressed bitter medicinal herbs past his lips.

Jin can’t help but wonder if he’s somehow made it home. Not the stifling Mishima estate in the city but home . The simple minka house sitting in the clearing of a bamboo forest comes to mind, pulled from a memory that felt like an eternity ago. Jin can almost hear the sounds of his mother cooking, building a fire for their stove. Though there’s a distinct lack of singing. Only a soft humming to which he doesn’t recognise the melody of. Not that it bothered him all too much.

He feels safe, and that’s all that really mattered.

~~~

Jin wakes slowly this time.

A soft opening of his eyes. His head feels clear and the cool yellow light suffusing through the windows tells him it’s early morning. There's a sense of deep fatigue in his bones, his muscles trembling as he pushes himself upright. He feels so weak. Just how long had he been asleep? A twinge in his side reminds him of what had happened prior to losing consciousness. He had woken up before this; sick and feverish. He’s pretty sure he met someone too… 

Jin’s memory fails him after that. Perhaps the room he was in could offer him some clues.

The futon he’s wrapped up in is soft and warm. The ruined karate gi he had been wearing has been replaced by a grey cotton yukata. His senses slowly begin to catch up to him as a familiar smell of medicinal herbs touches his nose. There’s a pile of clean bandages next to him, alongside a bowl of cool water and a wet cloth sitting on a tray. He’s being taken care of. Extremely well at that; if the scattering of tinctures of poultices on a nearby table are anything to go by.

His eyes wander over to a crack in the shoji doors, curious to see outside his room when the door suddenly slides open. Jin almost leaps out of his skin at that, jaw dropping to the floor when someone casually walks in. Their presence seems to knock something loose in his memory, and he finally remembers talking to this cryptic man before blacking out.

Right. Yes.

He had met a nine tailed fox .

A heavenly being. Messenger to the divine O-Inari.

The man’s tails sweep about him mesmerisingly as he turns to face Jin. What was such a powerful being doing here? Much less holding a tray with a bowl full of steaming rice porridge and little plates of pickled vegetables on the side.

“Glad to see you’re back with the living. You almost died y’know?”

He was dressed plainly— in a deep blue yukata that hung loosely around his chest. His simple way of dressing and casual manner of speech threw Jin in for a loop. Jin quickly closes his gaping mouth, remembering himself.

“Th-thank you for your generosity and kindness for taking care of me.” He brings his head down low in respect, as far as his aching side would let him.

“I must have used up much of your time and precious medicine. I cannot allow myself to continue to accept your benevolence. As for your medicine, please allow me to replace it; whether monetarily or— “

A sharp laugh interrupts him. It makes Jin look up at the man who is now fixing him with an amused smile as he sets the tray to the side.

“Wanting to leave so soon? What’s your name, kid?”

Jin bristles slightly at being called ‘kid’ by a man who looked to be barely older than him.

“Kazama… Kazama Jin…”

“The locals here call me ‘Suzaku’ but…” They look thoughtful, bringing a hand to their chin with a soft hum.

“Just call me Hwoarang.”

“Hw-hwoa— ?” Jin’s mouth trips over the unfamiliar syllables. It sounded foreign. 

“ Hwoa-rang.” The man enunciates before shaking his head.

 “Anyways, Kazama. Have you even tried getting up to walk? Move around? The wound in your side hasn’t closed yet, and I'd hate for my benevolence to go to waste.”

Jin hadn’t quite thought of that. Surely his body hadn’t deteriorated that quickly, had it? He goes to try to push himself onto his feet. His muscles shake with exertion as sweat beads on his forehead. Jin grits his teeth. Just a little more and he’d be able to stand up. 

Pain, fiery hot, shoots up his side like lightning and he collapses back onto the futon. Hwoarang is there in a flash, steadying him. Jin glances up to Hwoarang, and the easy-going amusement has disappeared from his eyes. He lets go of him, gently, after deeming that Jin is no longer in danger of hurting himself with a click of his tongue.

“...Damned yokai hunters…” Hwoarang spits out. He goes to busy himself with the stone herb grinder in the corner of the room. Well practised hands drop measured handfuls of various roots and berries into the mortar.

“They only seem to get better and better at killing .”

The room is silent, save for the quiet sound of grinding stone. Jin doesn’t dare to speak, not wanting to give a reason to incense Hwoarang anymore. His head begins to hurt again and the beginnings of nausea creeps into his stomach.

“You’re still poisoned. Those bastards used a particularly nasty concoction on you.” 

Hwoarang steeps the mix he had been working on in hot water before straining it out and bringing it to him in a large teacup.

“I’m still trying to draw it out of you.” The atmosphere eases as Hwoarang’s tone softens. He places the cup on the tray of food he had brought earlier and pushes it towards Jin.

“Eat. You need your strength.”

Hwoarang leaves before Jin can say a word of thanks. The shoji shuts quietly behind him, the soft thud echoing loudly in his ears.

~~~

The medicine pulls Jin back into a dreamless sleep. It’s morning again when he opens his eyes, and he has no idea how much time has passed since he’s arrived. Another tray of food is set conveniently by him, the contents still steaming. It was simple fare. Made especially for recovering people like him to be easily digestible. Jin eyes the cup of bitter medicine, wondering if it would make him drowsy again. He would take it later, not quite wanting to be sent back to unconsciousness so soon.

A small opening has been left open in the door again. It calls to Jin, piquing his curiosity of where he could possibly be. His weak muscles protest his attempts to stand again, opting instead to carefully drag himself over the tatami. Jin resigns himself to the fact that he couldn’t even stand , much less walk on his own two feet out of here. 

He makes it over to the door. It slides open with minimal effort. Greatly appreciated, for even crawling that short distance has left him panting for breath. Sunlight briefly blinds his eyes before a peaceful scene paints itself across his vision amid its brilliant rays.

It was a simple garden with old pines and momiji sprinkled along the edges with moss covered rocks of various sizes strewn about; save for the ancient weeping sakura tree in full bloom in the centre. The sheer size of it steals Jin’s breath away. It radiated primordial power and commanded a deep sense of respect from him. 

Jin felt so small beneath its elegance, so unworthy of its presence. He almost felt like it was quietly observing him, just as he sat there gaping at its beauty.

 As if on cue, a gentle breeze blows his way, bringing the crisp morning air and the sweet scent of those cherry blossoms to his nose. Somewhere, the sound of a souzu fountain knocking against stone makes his ears twitch. Jin still isn’t quite used to having his hearing so clear. It’s a strange feeling. Being able to pick up on the running water of a nearby stream and the melodic chirping of birds without it being dampened by cloth wrappings or willed away, his ears out of sight.

Jin leans against the door frame. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a contented sigh leaving him at the natural sights and sounds before him. It was nothing like the stiff, curated garden of the estate where it had been just a disappointing mimicry of the natural landscape that surrounded it. Perhaps a short stay here, at least until he was strong enough to walk, wasn't such a bad idea…

“Oh good. You’re awake again.”

He yelps, his limbs a startled mess of loose fabric as he almost slips off the doorframe in his attempt to leap away from the sudden voice beside him. 

Hwoarang is standing there with a light smirk on his face, arms folded into the sleeves of his yukata. Jin’s pounding heart settles at the sight of the other man. He’s quietly surprised he couldn’t hear Hwoarang coming at all; though he’s mostly annoyed at his unannounced presence which has left him with an uncomfortable throbbing in his side at the sudden scare.

“Thank you… for the food.” Jin keeps an even tone despite that. He should be grateful afterall. Hwoarang had saved his life.

“Still thinking about leaving?”

Heat prickles on Jin’s cheeks at the man’s direct line of questioning. 

“No…Not anymore.”

“Good.” Hwoarang’s curt reply makes him look up.

“I wouldn’t have let you go anyways. You would’ve died.”

There’s a distant look in Hwoarang’s eyes as he leans into the door. Jin doesn’t miss it despite the nonchalant air he was putting on. His tongue feels too big for his mouth as he prepares himself for what he’s about to ask of the nine-tailed deity before him.

“Could…could I stay here then? At least until I have the strength to walk again.”

Hwoarang doesn’t give anything away as those golden eyes turn to pierce through him. Embarrassment flares hotly across his skin as he quickly looks back down towards the floor. He hated this. Feeling so weak. Asking for help was never an option in the Mishima estate, and here he was, so shamelessly bowing his head to a stranger he just met. He can already hear Heihachi berating him in his head.

“I-I’ll repay you of course! I’ll help wherever I can— “

Another laugh cuts him off. This time it’s full of genuine amusement.

“Weren’t you listening? Stay. We can talk about payment after you can hold a conversation at eye level with me.”

Jin doesn’t think he can get any more embarrassed, but the searing heat in his ears proves him wrong. He hoped he hadn’t sounded too desperate. His silence prompts another light chuckle.

“Just focus on your recovery for now, Kazama.”

Hwoarang slowly walks away with a lazy wave of his hand, and Jin is left alone once more. He eyes the now cold cup of medicine he had left on the tray with a sigh.

It would probably be even more bitter now that it had cooled.

Chapter Text

Boredom quickly settles its lethargic shroud over Jin’s mind. His days in recovery are slow; his progress frustratingly minimal. At least he could stand on his own two feet now, but not without difficulty. The medicine Hwoarang gives him everyday is working, but there are still times where he gets hit with spells of nausea, the room spinning around him and making his stomach churn uncomfortably — Times such as now.

Jin is lying on his futon with an arm thrown over his eyes, hoping this bout of sickness would pass soon. He had simply been trying to do some light stretching. Spending everyday sitting in his room with nothing but ‘Get better’ as his goal, Jin had to find some way to pass the time. Sitting stagnant for so long made him feel weak and restless. Visits from a certain nine-tailed fox were also few and far between. It left Jin alone with his thoughts and they always drifted to places he’d rather not dwell upon.

The spell passes eventually, with Jin focusing on his breathing. The door slides open and he immediately snaps his gaze upwards.

“Ah. Bad timing?”

Hwoarang stands there, this time in simple work attire with the sleeves of his yukata being tied back by a tasuki sash. A basket full of satsuma mandarins is being held on his hip as he fixes Jin with a questioning gaze. Jin scrambles upright, tucking his legs beneath him in as proper of a seiza as he can manage while tipping his head forward.

“Do…Do you have any tasks I can help you with?” Hwoarang lazily raises an eyebrow at him.

“I would like to take my mind off of things… and I think it would be beneficial to my recovery if I was more active…”

Those mighty tails swirl about Hwoarang as he mulls over his proposition. Jin is thankful that Hwoarang (probably) couldn’t see his own tail whipping around in anxiety beneath his yukata.

“Can you read and write?”

“Yes…?”

“Then follow me.”

~~~

The journey to the archival rooms in the shrine…or more accurately Hwoarang’s home proved to be more challenging than expected. Jin is winded after only a few steps. Heat creeps onto his cheeks as he has to lean heavily on the multitude of wooden pillars and screen doors to support himself. Hwoarang doesn’t say a word though. Simply casting a glance over to him every now and then, stopping patiently beside him when he needs to take a break. Jin has no idea what’s going through the deity’s mind. Shame prickles up inside of him for taking so long, despite wanting to help. He tamps it down. He had offered his assistance and he would see it through.

They eventually arrive at their destination and Jin had never been so happy to see a zabuton cushion on tatami before. There’s a spacious writing desk set up in the room and Hwoarang gestures for him to sit in front of it.

 “Here’s the ink sticks…and the water dropper. Brushes are over here…” 

Hwoarang busies himself gathering the writing materials while Jin blinks owlishly at rest of the room.

There were multiple ornate storage chests in the room, cabinets that seemed to be at least a century old. Various curios were scattered about the shelves and was that a set of armour from the Sengoku Period?! 

The more Jin looks around, the more relics from an age ago come to his attention. He keeps his open surprise quiet. Just who was this enigmatic being? And why did they casually have a whole museum in a secluded part of their house? Jin recalls the old legends of the kyuubi then.

For some, the number of tails a kitsune possessed symbolised how powerful it was. For others, A sign of its age. To Jin, those simply went hand in hand. A kitsune would supposedly gain a tail for each century it had lived, and the one before Jin had nine . The largest amount one could have. Which meant Hwoarang was at least a thousand— 

A large pile of books and scrolls slam down next to him, shocking Jin out of his thoughts. A cloud of dust explodes into the air and he fights the urge to sneeze.

“Those were heavier than I thought.”

Hwoarang pats his hands free of dust, looking entirely unbothered by the countless invaluable objects in his possession.

“I need you to make copies of these. The paper is getting old and I’d rather not lose them.”

Jin decides to save his questions for later, focusing on the task at hand. He feels less like a burden now that he could start to repay Hwoarang, however minutely.

“U-understood!”

“Hey man, relax. You can do as much or as little as you want. It’s not like they’re gonna crumble into dust within the next century.”

“O-okay.”

A loud laugh leaves Hwoarang’s mouth. Jin finds that he does that a lot around him. It only leaves him slightly confused as it didn’t seem to be in ill will…but Jin doesn’t really understand what was so funny about what he said.

“Just don’t work yourself too hard, Kazama.”

A few mandarins come flying his way, to which he catches with some difficulty. With a sweep of his tails, Hwoarang is gone again.

~~~

Transcribing those ancient texts keeps Jin occupied for a good few days. They ranged from old poems to identifying medicinal plants and their properties. Jin is silently happy he had taken an interest in studying classics when he had still been receiving his education at the Mishima estate. He would never have been able to read, much less understand the old scripts if he hadn’t.

The walk to and from the archival room proved to be beneficial to his weakened state as well. He could feel the strength slowly returning to his body. It gave him the little boost of confidence he had needed to ask Hwoarang if there was anything else he could do upon finishing his given task.

“That was fast…hmm.”

Hwoarang flicks through his completed copies with a thoughtful look.

“You’ve got nice handwriting y’know?”

“Tha-thank you…” 

“You a noble or something?”

“S-something like that.”

“Oh? Which family?”

The question gives Jin pause. There would be no harm in telling him, but speaking of the people who had been so quick to throw him out and chase after his blood felt like digging his nails into a still bleeding wound. It hurt, alot ; having the people he thought he could trust turn on him so easily. Though…could trust even be built on a foundation of secrets in the first place? Maybe he had already been doomed to be chased out from the estate.

Jin shakes his head. Now wasn’t the time to be sinking into a hole of self-pity.

“I…I was supposed to be the heir to the Mishima Family…” Just speaking the name made a lump grow in Jin’s throat.

“But then they found out about… this. ” Jin gestures vaguely to the ears sitting on top of his head. Hwoarang’s voice takes on a gentler tone.

“Ah, the Mishimas… I’m sorry to hear that.” Jin digs his fingers into his palms.

“Though you’re not quite what I expected, considering their power and cutthroat business dealings.”

“...”

“They also produce some of the finest martial artists in the country…You any good?”

“Somewhat…” A smile stretches across Hwoarang’s face.

“We’ll have to have a match sometime then…”

Jin simply bows his head. He had his qualms about raising his fists against someone who had shown him such kindness. The idea would have to be entertained at a later date, considering the state his body was in right now.

Hwoarang seems to notice his discomfort, as he brings his idle browsing to a pause and tidies up the loose pages in front of him.

“As for your next job…” Jin sits up a little straighter in anticipation.

“Why don’t you clean and polish all the candle holders?”

“...”

~~~

The candle holders were a nightmare. Jin can already feel his hands cramping up at the thought of soaking them in hot water and buffing them with polish again. Though granted, Hwoarang had never told him to polish them until they were sparkling and brand new again; it just felt right to put in 100% of his effort into all the tasks Hwoarang gave him. It was the least he could do, even if he had the sneaking suspicion that the sly fox was just giving him the tedious jobs that he didn’t like to do himself.

Be that as it may, Jin didn’t mind doing all these menial jobs around the shrine. His bouts of nausea became shorter and less frequent, he could feel the strength slowly return to his body, little as it was. He wouldn’t exactly call himself ‘fully recovered’ ; far from it. But filling his day with odd jobs and seeing his own improvement was far better than idly sitting in his room and lamenting the past.

So yes, Jin didn’t mind wiping all the dust off the shoji. He didn’t mind reordering all the books in the archive by topic and alphabetical order. He didn’t mind pulling out the weeds in the vegetable patch. It was a refreshing change to his old life, where his days were rigidly ordered, and he was constantly living in fear of his true nature being discovered.

Jin felt like he could finally breathe .

His tail was no longer stuffed beneath his obi . He didn’t have to worry if his ears were hidden or not. He could wander around the shrine and its tranquil garden to his heart's content without being tailed by servants or attendants. He’s sitting on the engawa, enjoying the spring breeze while reading a book from the archives when he sees Hwoarang come into his periphery.

“Oi Kazama, can you go grab some daikon from the garden?” Jin quickly puts his book away, feeling slightly embarrassed at being caught not doing anything…productive.

“Of-of course!”

“You know how to make miso soup right? You take care of that, I’m gonna make dinner soon.”

“I’ll do my best…”

Jin is a little apprehensive. It’s been a long while since he’s last had to cook for himself. He remembers he has to peel the daikon…but what else went into miso soup? For such a staple in meals, Jin barely paid attention to what actually went into it. There were green things on top… yes. It couldn’t be too hard, right?

Luckily, Hwoarang had already set out what he needed in the kitchen when he arrived there with the vegetables. The fire was already lit, the water bubbling away in the pot. All he had to do was chop some vegetables and stir in some miso paste. Simple enough.

The knife felt heavy and unwieldy in his hand. Holding the daikon to peel and chop it felt awkward and dangerous. He settles for large chunks into the soup, not wanting to test the blade’s edge with his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what the bowl of dried kombu and dried bonito shavings were there for but he saw no harm in placing them into the soup. He throws in the tops of the daikon as well— those were the green things he’s seen before, right? —  and the soup seemed…complete?

Jin wonders if he should taste it now. Or would it be rude to take the first sip? Especially with ingredients he didn’t even grow or make himself? Jin settles for waiting. Food tasted better with company after all.

When they finally sit down together for the meal, Jin feels like his heart is about to leap up to his throat. Would the soup be okay? Did he cook it long enough? Did he cook it too long? They both reach for the bowl of soup first, and Jin takes a sip.

The urge to recoil once it hits his tongue was overwhelming. It was a salty, soggy disaster. So there was such a thing as too much miso paste. The daikon was somehow mushy on the outside and rock solid on the inside. It was by all means a terrible bowl of soup but Jin feels oddly emotional at the almost acrid taste on his palate.

When had been the last time he had eaten something he had pulled from a garden himself? Caught and prepared something with his own hands? Had been able to roam free amongst the trees and foliage?

He can’t help but be brought back to his younger, happier years where those moments were commonplace. He’s hit with a painful pang of nostalgia as those blissfully carefree memories come bubbling up to the forefront of his mind. The similarities of living in this shrine to his old, forgotten life overwhelm him.

Just how long had he been yearning for this?

Jin’s vision wobbles as hot tears roll onto his cheeks. He thinks of his mother. Everything had moved so fast after she had gone. So suddenly upended from his peaceful life in the forest and placed in the heart of a city where the constant danger of discovery and the two-faced politics of the upper class loomed over him. He never had the time to properly grieve her.

It comes bursting out of him now in an unstoppable torrent in all its painful, buried ugliness. There’s probably snot running out of his nose, his face a reddened mess, but Jin can’t bring himself back together enough to care.

“H-hey, it’s not that bad alright, Kazama?”

He takes large hiccuping breaths to calm himself, rubbing furiously at his face with the sleeves of his yukata, as improper as it was.

“No…No, I'm okay— it’s nothing.” 

“Thank you.” Jin manages to choke out. He sounded horrendous.

Hwoarang looks at him with mild concern, confusion clear on his face before shrugging it off and stuffing a chunk of rice in his mouth. Jin doesn’t think Hwoarang would ever understand just how much he owed to him. The gaping hole that had been left inside of him ever since his mother’s death starts to fill at the edges. The turbulent void inside of him begins to settle and Jin doesn’t think he’s ever felt this light before.

He’s back where he should be and he believes his mother can see it as well. The yokai within him that had been longing to be in the wilds again is finally at peace.

Chapter Text

There were many perks that came with living in the secluded forests of the countryside. The pure air that was almost sweet on the nose. The calming green landscape that spreads out as far as the eye could see. Jin wakes up early simply to enjoy the quiet sunrise because he could . His days were no longer accounted for and he was free to do what he had longed to do without a harsh voice berating him for wasting time.

Jin takes to the well kept garden of the shrine outside his room. Walking was easier, especially after his body had gotten used to moving around again now that he had a ‘schedule’ of odd jobs to keep him active.

 A fine haze of mist blankets the grounds in the early hours of the morning, adding a dream-like quality to the scenery around him. He passes by the aged weeping sakura tree, running a curious hand along its weathered bark. Jin would never tire of its ethereal beauty; its pale pink blossoms only made more resplendent by the purplish tint that seeped into everything as the day began to break. He wanders aimlessly throughout the garden, passing by the vegetable patch and the shishi-odoshi . He finds himself heading towards the boundaries of the garden, where a scattering of momiji awaited him.

The sky starts to take on an orange hue, warming the plant life with its weak golden light. The world begins to wake and Jin lets the sights and sounds wash over him: The soft earth beneath his feet. The birds trilling their early morning salutations. The cool forest air brushing against his skin. It was all so wonderfully peaceful . Jin could’ve stayed there the entire morning were it not for his ears twitching, picking up on the barely audible sound of crunching leaves.

It had come from the furthest edges of the garden, near one of the sheds for storing farming tools. Jin catches the end of a fluffy orange tail disappearing behind the shed.

What was that? It couldn’t be a thief, could it?

Jin cautiously follows the disturbance, taking care to keep quiet. It wouldn’t do to spook whatever it was and cause a ruckus. Hwoarang would surely still be sleeping.

He keeps his distance as he turns the corner. The supposed ‘thief’ turns out to be a lone red fox with the shiniest coat Jin has ever seen, trotting its way over to the living quarters of the shrine. It seemed to be holding a pouch of something in its mouth, but it was hard to tell. Jin moves closer, following the fox out of a mixture of curiosity and concern. 

Was this an unwanted intruder? It seemed to know where it was going… 

Was it one of Hwoarang’s helpers perhaps? Though Hwoarang had never spoken of any other foxes…

Jin shakes his head. Why continue speculating when he would just have to continue following this new visitor until he figured out what they were doing here? He would hate to have anything happen to the shrine.

The fox leaps up onto the engawa , continuing its journey into the deeper parts of the building. Jin has only been here to change the candles a few times. The rooms are still a mystery to him. He thanks whatever god is looking out for him when the old floorboards don’t make a sound as he creeps quietly after the furry visitor. It disappears into one of the rooms and Jin waits a few moments before carefully peering inside through the crack it had left open in the shoji.

The pouch the fox had been carrying is now placed on a small table. A dawning realisation creeps upon Jin as he takes in the rumpled futon and the lacquered drawers around the room. The fox gives itself a quick shake before the orange fur begins to recede from its frame; limbs elongating, its black paws fading away as it stands upright. It grows larger, its tail splitting and unravelling like a blooming flower. A smooth expanse of healthy skin feeds itself into Jin’s eyes, the body before him taking shape. A well sculpted abdomen comes into view and Jin knows he should really avert his eyes out of decency, but there’s something that holds his gaze for just a moment longer.

The scars.

The pale, discoloured surface of those marks tell Jin that they’re old wounds that have long healed, but the sheer number of them littering Hwoarang’s bare body has him staring on in shock. He finally tears his eyes away in fear of getting caught after he catches Hwoarang’s ears twitching. 

A heavy lump grows in Jin’s throat as shame burns on his cheeks. He should’ve walked away as soon as he realised who he was looking at. Try as he might to forget the scene, those scars burn itself behind his eyelids. The lingering after image haunting Jin with questions he knows he isn’t privy to the answers for. 

He would have to make it up to Hwoarang. 

Somehow.

~~~

Jin is doing some light drills in the quiet corner of the vegetable patch in hopes of not running into a certain fox for the rest of the day. It’s futile really. Trying to hide from someone in their own home, but he tries nonetheless.

It’s only been about three weeks since he’s awoken here, but his movements have grown sloppy and weak after so much bedrest. A flicker of frustration makes itself known in Jin’s heart and he throws a particularly hard punch in the air which has him doubling over in pain. 

Right. His side still wasn’t fully healed yet.

A low whistle catches his attention and Jin immediately stands up straight.

“Didn’t I say not to push yourself too hard, kid?”

Jin grimaces at being called a kid again. He keeps his eyes low and bows towards Hwoarang, not quite able to meet him in the eye.

“With all due respect, Hwoarang- sama , I am twenty-two years old. I am not a child.”

A flick to the forehead was the last thing Jin had expected as a response. He jumps back at the sharp pain, bringing a hand to his head to ease the sting.

“First of all, don’t call me that. Just Hwoarang is fine.” Hwoarang takes a step closer and Jin resists the urge to make himself smaller. He doesn’t know where to look. Each time his eyes settle on Hwoarang, a damning flash of those scars beneath his clothes comes to mind.

“And secondly, twenty-two means you’re still a kid when you’ve lived as long as I have.”

“H-how old are you then, Hwoarang… san ?”

Hwoarang lets out a soft breath, laughing to himself as he kicks at the dirt.

“What era is it now again?”

“ M-meiji era.”

“...Time sure flies, huh?”

Hwoarang has a pensive look as he gazes out to the forest. Jin isn’t sure the elusive fox would answer his question as he seems to contemplate something before opening his mouth again.

“That would make me one thousand one hundred and twenty two. Give or take.”

“O-one thou…?!”

“Anyways, Kazama— “

Jin had already known Hwoarang would’ve been somewhere around that number, but hearing it for himself has him reeling. He barely registers what the other man is saying to him as he thinks of Hwoarang’s laid-back attitude and simple lifestyle. Was this person really the same as the all powerful, all knowing kyuubi in the stories his mother used to tell him? Jin had a hard time believing someone who was awfully particular about his pickled vegetables could be a divine being, but the tails didn’t lie. 

“Hey, Kazama. You listenin’?” Jin startles, remembering himself.

“Huh? Y-yes!” Hwoarang gives out a small sigh.

“Maybe you aren’t well enough for this yet…”

“W-what? No! Yes! I am well enough to help you! What do you need me to do?”

Jin finally musters up the courage to properly look at Hwoarang. He has a hand on his hip and is holding up a small box wrapped in a beautiful red cloth. Hwoarang is dressed a little more properly today; in a slate coloured kimono with a faint pattern of clouds.

“I was sayin’, Kazama, if you could take this down to a rice farmer called Sae- san who lives in the village at the foot of these mountains.”

Jin inwardly baulks at the thought of having to journey down the mountains and up again on foot. He’s not sure if he can handle it with the state his body is in right now, but refusing was not an option for him. An opportunity to try atone for his earlier mistake has presented itself and he wasn’t going to let it pass by.

“I’d do it myself but I’m busy today.”

“Of-of course!”

The now familiar smirk crosses over Hwoarang’s features as he hands over the box to Jin. There’s a letter tucked into the cloth as well and Jin can’t help but wonder about what’s inside. He may have made his curiosity a bit too obvious.

“It’s medicine.” Heat tickles his cheeks at being caught out on his thoughts.

“I’ve left you a change of clothes in your room and if anyone asks, just say you’re from the shrine.”

“O-okay!”

~~~

After a quick change into more appropriate travelling attire, Jin meets Hwoarang in the shrine courtyard. He nervously picks at the bamboo hat in his hands as Hwoarang gives him a once over: Handing him a few onigiri for the road and money for some small things to get while he is in the village. Jin is reminded of when his mother had fussed over him before sending him off to go forage by himself for the first time.

“Hm. You’re almost good to go except for…”

Hwoarang steps in close to him. Much closer than he had ever been. 

Jin gets a good look at Hwoarang’s face for the first time before quickly averting his gaze to somewhere safer. He had never noticed that he had a small bump on his nose ridge or that his eyebrows were neatly plucked. Or that his eyes were a peculiar shade of gold that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Hwoarang’s close proximity makes him anxious and he flinches when he feels him place his hands over the ears on his head.

“These.”

His palms are warm as they slide over his ears, a strange numbing sensation spreading from them. Jin is staring hard into the treeline, willing his heart to stop beating so erratically. He’s not used to having someone so… near him, much less touching him in such a casual manner. Jin is left with a faint scent of cherry blossoms when Hwoarang pulls away, managing to bring his eyes back towards the other man now that they weren’t so close anymore.

“I hid your ears for you. Figured you could worry about one less thing.”

“Thank you…” Jin carefully touches his head, and sure enough, his damning feline ears were nowhere to be seen or felt, especially now that his hearing was less acute now.

“Better start heading out now. The mountains are hard to navigate at night.”

“Y-yes…”

“See ya soon, Kazama.”

Jin slips his hat on, glancing back towards Hwoarang as he begins his trip. The fox has a softer smile on his face as they wave each other goodbye. The image of it lingers long in Jin’s mind as he walks down the stone steps and past the large torii gate.

Would this be what their final farewell would be like as well?

Would Hwoarang say “Goodbye, Kazama.” instead?

Jin can’t help but wonder where he would go once he inevitably leaves this peaceful shrine. This idyllic life in the mountains was a dream. There was no way he could stay here forever and leech off Hwoarang’s kindness; It was only a matter of time before he’d have to go. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear going back home. Looking upon the ruins of his childhood; returning to the place where his precious memories would be tainted by grief and anguish. Jin knows that that particular haven would no longer be the same and it pains him to no end.

Every step down the mossy stone path takes him further away from the one place he had felt safe in after so many years. But that would be a pipe dream. Jin would have to learn how to stand on his own two feet, but his mind is hopelessly devoid of any idea of where to go. He’s at a loss at what to do and almost runs into a tree, halting his spiralling thoughts.

It’s that old tree again. The one with the shimenawa rope on it. Now that it’s light, Jin can see its a red cedar, a sugi . He had somehow made his way back here again. Hwoarang had told him to touch it when he saw it. The weathered bark is pleasant against his palm. Looking around the forest now, when he was no longer gripped by fear and adrenaline, it was beautiful . A sense of awe fills him and Jin just knows, intrinsically, that this forest was old. Powerful. It had this particular shade of green to it; so deep and calming, begetting its age. Jin closes his eyes and sends a small prayer to the cedar tree in front of him. Thanking it for its aid all those weeks ago. 

A small gust of wind rushes through the forest, the sound of rustling leaves coming with it. Jin opens his eyes again, only to find that he’s somehow at the foot of the mountain. The village is clear in sight, straight in front of him. Jin spares a curious look behind him, wondering vaguely how he will find his way back to the shrine again as an unfamiliar trail meets his eyes. He would have to worry about that later. He had a job to do.

He greets the few farmers he meets on the outskirts with a polite bow, and through a few conversations, figures out that Sae- san is currently in the centre of the village. Jin makes his way over, and the village becomes more of a small town with an equally small street of shops and restaurants for weary travellers passing by to rest their legs. He spots a small gathering of older women, all of whom could be his grandmother’s age (if he had one) chatting around a street stall and decides to try his luck there.

“Ex-excuse me. Would one of you happen to be Sae- san ?”

“Well now, who’s this handsome young man?”

“So tall!”

“Such beautiful eyes!”

“And strong too!”

A chorus of chattering washes over him as he draws all the attention of the women. As much as he’d like to tip his hat down to hide his face, he stands firm—  Ignoring the heat spreading on his cheeks and the curious prodding of his biceps.

“Oh stop your gushing you lot, you’re scaring him!” One more voice joins the fray and the excited clamouring dies down.

“Yes, yes. I’m Sae. You’re a new face around these parts. What’s your name?”

An old lady with a kindly face addresses him. She had a crooked back, bent after many years of hard labour and sun-kissed skin from spending so much time outside. She was standing behind a simple wooden cart with a bountiful variety of dango for sale. Jin briefly considers coming up with a fake name on the off chance his grandfather was still looking for him, but he had never been particularly good at lying.

“Kazama…Jin. I come from the shrine. I was told to give you this.”

Jin offers the box to Sae- san with both hands and the small gathering of old women grow quiet. The sudden hush that had overtaken the group confuses him, but Sae- san ’s face lights up in recognition at the sight of the box. She takes it from him with shaking hands, reverence glowing on her features. It gets held close to her chest, cradled like a newborn as she looks back towards him.

“The shrine you say…Thank you.”

She bows deeply, leaving Jin feeling hopelessly out of the loop.

“So blessed we are, to have Suzaku- sama watching over us. It’s been an age since we’ve last had anyone visit from the shrine. You must be special, dear.”

Jin hardly feels worthy of the praise. If anything, he feels a little like Hwoarang’s errand boy at the moment (not that he minded, he still had a large debt to pay after all.)

“Sae- san, you are much too kind. I am simply a messenger.”

“Oh! And he’s humble as well!”

“Won’t you have a cup of tea and some dango? You must be tired from walking all the way here.”

“I..I— !”

Before Jin can even protest, the swarm of grannies take him towards one of the raised bamboo seats, a steaming cup of green tea being quickly pushed into his hand and a stick of mitarashi dango shoved into the other. The ladies are chattering amongst themselves all the while and Jin watches on, slightly frazzled.

“Sae- chan , Now you won’t have to worry about your cough anymore!”

“Yes, you’re very lucky to have been blessed by Suzaku- sama .”

“Now now, we’re just lucky that this little old village has caught the favour of a god.”

The group seem to feel Jin’s curious gaze on them, facing him with excited smiles. Jin takes it all in his stride. Who knows how often travellers pass by this village. It would be good to learn more about the area he had been staying in.

“There's a tale that's been passed down through the generations in this village; That long ago a terrible army of demons had wanted to steal our crops and Suzaku- sama himself came and protected our ancestors.”

“A great nine-tailed fox. Our ancestors named him ‘Suzaku’ because he apparently had the most beautiful red fur, rivalling that of even a phoenix. They built him the shrine you’re from after that. Out of gratitude.”

“Our humble village has never been stricken by famine or poverty since then. Not even the plague. We were even safe from the wars a few hundred years ago. Suzaku- sama must be watching over us, protecting us to this very day.”

Had Hwoarang truly been living here that long? The aged architecture of the shrine he had spent weeks in is telling enough but…

“...Why?” Jin can’t help but ask.

“Because Suzaku- sama is a kind, and benevolent god. Perhaps even an incarnation of O-Inari-sama themselves.”

The reasoning seemed sound. Hwoarang had saved him after all. A mere stranger on death’s door. The ladies seem to take on mischievous air, coming in close to him in a whisper, as if letting him in on a big secret.

“There’s a particular fox around these parts. Kou- chan , we all like to call him. You’ll know once you see him. He has a lovely red coat and he likes to wander around the village sometimes.”

“He helps us keep all the rats and vermin away from the crops. It’s always a good day when you see him!”

“Kou- chan surprisingly doesn’t like the fried tofu we leave out for him. He only goes for the honey cakes.”

Jin can’t help but think back to the red fox (or rather, Hwoarang ) he had seen in the morning. Such a cute name didn’t seem fitting for the man, but Jin resolves to ask about it later. Perhaps Hwoarang did have a helper he didn’t know about. He takes a bite of the dango as the ladies continue to share stories of their village and their history to him. The dango was perfectly chewy, the fragrant scent of rice filling his mouth alongside the savoury sweet sauce slathered onto it. It was delicious. The perfect treat to have while listening to the grannies.

It was clear they loved their village very much. Held pride in their crops and still ever grateful for the protection from their beloved ‘Suzaku- sama ’. Maybe he could settle here, once he made his departure from Hwoarang’s home for good. He had never got to experience this side to living in the countryside. 

Back when he was still with his mother, the closest he had ever gotten to humans were the injured travellers they would care for. Or looking on in envy as a group of village children played in the river while he stayed hidden in the safety of the trees.

He had forgotten people could be kind too. Not all of them were as conniving and two-faced as the ones he had met and lived with back at the Mishimas estate. Jin can’t help but wonder if these people would be as welcoming as they were now, if they knew what he truly was. His injured side throbs, as if reminding him of those consequences. Perhaps the shrine was the only place he could ever really be himself .

He thanks Sae- san for the treat, pushing coins into refusing hands as he takes his leave. The sweetness on his lips feels cloying now. Jin still had a few things to do before he returned to the mountains, where he truly belonged.

~~~

The journey back to the shrine wasn’t as long as he thought it was. Jin suspects that Hwoarang had something to do with it, seeing how the large cedar tree came into view again barely ten minutes after he had begun to walk up that unfamiliar trail.

It was mildly disorientating, having his surroundings change so quickly like that, but Jin was grateful to see the fox statues come into view again. His side was starting to give him trouble again after such a long day, he’s out of breath once the shrine’s courtyard finally came into view. Hwoarang is there to greet him with folded arms, back in a simple yukata.

“I’m…back.” Jin pants out dragging his foot up the last step.

“So you are.” Hwoarang comes to relieve him of his burden of items from the town: A set of scales and salt.

“Do… Do you know of a fox named Kou- chan ? The villagers told me about them and I was wondering if you had an idea…”

Hwoarang immediately turns away from him, and it has Jin looking up in confusion. Was there bad blood between them perhaps? But there's a telling flush on the tips of his ears and creeping down his neck. Hwoarang’s skin almost matching his impressive shade of hair. He clears his throat.

“D-don’t concern yourself about that.”

Jin feels a wide smile spread onto his lips.

Chapter Text

The scent of stale blood hangs thickly in the air. A wet cloth comes to gently dab at the wound in his side. Jin hisses at the sharp sting it leaves. The cut looks better now. No longer inflamed and the edges beginning to seal; being replaced by tight, newly formed skin.

“You’re doing surprisingly well, considering you got poisoned.”

Jin shifts as another twinge of pain shoots up his side despite Hwoarang’s careful movements. He’s staring into the corner of the room, finding the spider that had made its new home there extremely interesting. Jin tries his best to ignore how close Hwoarang is to his bare torso— he had to be there, he was checking how the stab wound was coming along after all. Something wet and cool gets slathered onto his side. A balm of sorts. It smelt pleasantly of honey and green tea, leaving him with a numb tingling sensation as Hwoarang begins to wrap fresh bandages around him.

“I…I can do that myself.” 

“I know. I just like doing it.”

Jin finds that he can’t argue with that, eventually casting his eyes down to Hwoarang’s hands wrapping the cloth around him. They were nimble. Well practised. It has Jin wondering how many people Hwoarang has taken care of.

“Where… Did you learn how to do this?”

Hwoarang barely stops what he’s doing but Jin can tell his mood has shifted, a wistful smile appearing on his lips.

“I taught myself. Through books, travelling.” There's the barest pause in Hwoarang’s hands as he ties a knot in his bandages.

“Personal experience.”

The scars hidden beneath Hwoarang’s clothes immediately come to mind and Jin regrets opening his mouth.

“I-I see…”

“All done!” Hwoarang cheerfully announces, dispelling the heavy cloud that had been unknowingly creeping upon them.

“I’m happy with your progress. You're healing pretty fast you know?”

“Is-is that so…? It must be from your impeccable medical care.” Hwoarang gives a soft laugh at that.

“Aren’t you a smooth talker? Flattery will get you nowhere with me though. Mostly.”

“B-but it's the truth! And I'm not tr-trying to…” Jin sputters out.

“I still haven’t repaid you for saving my life…” He eventually mumbles.

“Don’t worry so much about that, Kazama. It’s fine, really.”

“I c-cant just…” Jin stares down into his lap, digging his fingers into the sleeves of his yukata. 

It felt so wrong to live here; be so comfortable and carefree while Hwoarang asked for nothing in return. Wear clothes that weren’t his. Eat food he didn’t plant. Sleep in a bed that he didn’t make. Helping Hwoarang with menial day to day tasks wasn’t enough. There had to be more he could be doing. His eyes feel hot again. When had someone last been so overwhelmingly kind to him? He felt so undeserving of Hwoarang’s grace but the words get lodged in his throat when he tries to speak out loud.

“Y’know if you’re really hung up on this whole ‘repayment’ thing, how about a sparring match?” Jin snaps his head up. Had he heard him right?

“Nothing too serious of course, since you’re still injured and what not. It’s been a while since I've had someone to train with.”

Hwoarang is looking at him with expectant eyes, a playful smirk on his lips.

“I’ve always wanted to test my skills against a Mishima- ryu practitioner. Humour me?”

A simple sparring match was far too little to make up for all Hwoarang has done for him. Jin almost protests the notion but he turns his gaze back towards the borrowed clothes he was wearing. Hwoarang would never say it himself but Jin knows he’s offering him a way out. Spinning it as if he was asking a favour from Jin. Was it to protect what pride he still had? Or to settle the little dispute they had before things got too awkward? Perhaps Jin was a bit too pushy but…it was all for his own sake in the end. To settle his own guilty heart.

Ah.

No wonder the villagers loved him so much. He really was a kind person.

“Okay.” Hwoarang grins at him at his answer, showing off his pointed canines.

“I should’ve left some hakama in the drawers here. Meet me out by the sakura tree. There’s enough space to spar there.”

~~~

The loud trilling of cicadas herald the start of summer. The days are longer, the air warmer. Jin busies himself with spotting all the subtle differences in the garden with the changing seasons while waiting for Hwoarang. The flowers are shedding their brightly coloured petals; the foliage shifting from its young pale shoots to a more mature, verdant green. The changes were all very apparent to Jin, and yet the sakura tree beside him still blooms; as if completely unaware (or uncaring) of its supposedly ephemeral blossoms. 

The tree seemed especially vibrant today. Perhaps it was the knowledge that it was blooming out of season, or that Jin had never seen how cherry blossoms looked when lit up by the harsher rays of summer sun. He wants to touch a wayward branch gently swinging his way when the crunch of gravel announces the arrival of his sparring partner.

“Thanks for waiting. I had trouble finding the right set of clothes.”

Hwoarang was dressed in something adjacent to a white karate gi with a black belt tied around his waist. His hair is held back by a band of cloth and Jin thinks this is as proper as Hwoarang has ever been around him— especially since he seemed to favour loosely fit yukata in his day to day.

“Let's get right into it then.” Hwoarang stretches his head to the side, rubbing at the nape of his neck before resting his hands on his hips.

“Okay.”

Jin steps away from the sakura tree and into the open area in front of the garden. He gives Hwoarang a deep bow, seeing his sparring partner do the same before he brings his arms in front of him, ready. His eyes carefully flick around his opponent, observing the stance Hwoarang moves into, trying to glean any sort of information that could tip him off to what style he uses.

Arms raised to protect his chest or to go on the offensive at any moment, body slightly faced away from him and a rhythmic bouncing of his feet. It didn’t seem like any sort of traditional karate Jin knew. He would just have to figure it out on the go.

They circle each other for a moment, throwing out inconsequential jabs and loose kicks to test the waters. Jin blocks each blow as they come. Even if he knew Hwoarang was holding back, his attacks felt heavy. The techniques well honed. It was only polite for Jin to answer back in his own way.

He flicks out a right hook after sidestepping a kick to his flank, only for it to miss when Hwoarang moves his head away. The rigid niceties begin to crumble away with each matched blow. Much like carefully turning the pegs of a shamisen until the strings ring true in matching resonance.

Hwoarang is good . There was no doubt about it. Jin had held pride in his own skill in the Mishima dojo. Being unmatched save for his Grandfather. Not that it really mattered anymore. Having someone answer each attack with unwavering confidence and a whistling punch that kept him on his toes filled Jin with… excitement .

His senses hone in the opponent in front of him. Blocking, retaliating; hesitation shedding away with each punch, each kick he throws his way. Adrenaline fills his pounding heart, pushing him to take it further, see how much Hwoarang could pull from him. Those mighty tails swish around Hwoarang in a deceiving dance. Concealing his next move and adding an extra layer of challenge to this fight.

Jin has a better idea of Hwoarang’s style now. While his punches and holds were already a force to be reckoned with, Hwoarang’s footwork, his kicks were truly a marvel.

They felt almost acrobatic, and they were just as deadly despite the beauty of those perfectly-executed techniques. The numb, stinging sensation on his forearms were a testament to the weight behind those blows. Jin wanted to see more. Feel more. His side is throbbing, a deep ache radiating in protest to the sudden endurance test it was being subjected to, but Jin couldn’t let it slow him down.

Not when Hwoarang was grinning down at him, golden eyes ablaze with life.

It wasn’t that Hwoarang was a reserved person by any means, but Jin couldn’t help but feel that he was a little withdrawn at times. What he saw from Hwoarang in his day to day felt like it was merely a thin veneer made to be projected to the outside world.

Jin thinks he finally has a better idea of who Hwoarang was now, after the countless times he’s had trouble parsing what the fox truly feels. 

He was fiery. Aggressive. Filled with boundless energy and a thrill-seeker; with a touch of warranted arrogance that came with being so skilled. Hwoarang fought like no other opponent he’s ever sparred with: Taking unimaginable risks to try to fake him out and take the upper hand—  with the skills to match his dangerous gambles.

Jin is being pushed back to an imaginary corner, at the edge of the boundary where this open space formed into a garden. He could still keep going. Stopping (losing) was not an option.

The air whistles above his head, ears twitching as he manages to duck underneath a powerful roundhouse. Static buzzes around his right arm as he clenches his hand into a fist; electricity sparking a violent red glow on his skin before forming into full fledged lightning as Jin follows through with the movement. His fist flies upwards in an uppercut, the air around them cracking with thunder at the speed of it.

A Mishima's victory is absolute.

Hwoarang barely manages to move his chin out of the way at the apex of the punch. Jin feels his knuckle nick Hwoarang’s brow and sees the subsequent micro-expression of pain. It’s like water being poured over a fire. All the excitement and joy he had been feeling is immediately doused when Hwoarang pulls back with a hiss, clutching his left eye.

No. No.

Did he just— 

“H-hwoarang- san ! Are you alright?!” Jin immediately rushes forward. The sight of red dripping past Hwoarang’s fingers sends him into a panic.

“I’m-I’m so sorry! I apologise, I-I— !”

What was he thinking?! Hurting the person who had saved his life?! This was supposed to be a casual match. Jin is at a loss of what to do, waving his hands around uselessly and hovering around the edges of Hwoarang’s proximity. Not wanting to get too close but wanting to help with the injury he had just inflicted. Hwoarang waves a hand at him placatingly, trying to calm him.

“You’re okay, Kazama. You’re okay. ” Jin feels awful. Hwoarang was worrying about him despite being hurt.

“It’s just a scratch, see?” Hwoarang gingerly removes his hand. Jin can barely see the small graze on his brow through all the blood. It was dripping from Hwoarang’s face and his palms; staining the pristine white of his clothes. His stomach churns uncomfortably as Hwoarang squints through the blood getting into his eye.

“Head injuries just bleed a lot…” 

Hwoarang gives him a small smile before pressing his hand against the wound again.

“I-I’ll go get some bandages from my room.”

“Yeah… that would be great.”

Jin almost trips in his haste to scramble up the engawa .

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

How could he have let himself get carried away like that?! He knows better than to let his emotions get the better of him. Jin resists the urge to slam his head against the tatami as he picks up the extra dressings and bandages left in his room this morning. His self-imposed punishment could come later. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Jin finds Hwoarang leaning against one of the large rocks in the garden, looking quite unbothered by the whole ordeal. He reaches out for the dressings in his hands when he sees him approaching but Jin ignores him, stepping past that outstretched hand and into his space to directly press the soft cotton against Hwoarang’s brow himself. It’s the least he could do.

“Oh. Hey…uh, thanks.”

Hwoarang’s hands come to rest against the rock and Jin can’t stop staring at the blood staining the collar of his clothes.

“Hwoarang- san … I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have lost myself like that. I— “

“Kazama, seriously. It’s okay. It happens.” Jin knows Hwoarang is trying to catch his eye, to let him know the sincerity of his words but he keeps his gaze low out of shame.

“I got carried away myself. You’re pretty good, y’know? I haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

Even now, with blood pumping out of his face, Hwoarang still had the time to compliment him. A small part of him is quietly relieved that Hwoarang had enjoyed their little bout as well, but was it really the right time for that? Why wasn’t he more concerned about himself?

“...I’m sorry…”

Jin bows his head lower, but he still keeps his hands in place to stop the bleeding. This had meant to be a favour for Hwoarang. Some lighthearted fun to pass the time and act as a small means of beginning to repay his debts. Jin feels so rotten. 

Why had his Grandfather’s words come to mind then? 

Jin’s lip wobbles as his vision grows blurry. He had sworn to himself that he would never become like those twisted puppets in the Mishima Estate to be used by his Grandfather. Was that all just a far fetched dream on his part? Had those awful teachings somehow become ingrained within him?

He should feel embarrassed about shedding tears in front of Hwoarang again, but the nauseating ache that had torn itself in his chest; swelling in his throat and suffocating his words leaves him paralysed in front of the person he had hurt. Uselessly holding a bundle of cloth to Hwoarang’s head for what? In the hopes it would magically mend itself? He wasn’t as skilled as Hwoarang when it came to wound care and yet here he was, stubbornly trying to make himself useful.

“O-oi, Kazama! You’re bleeding as well!”

“W-what..?”

Jin looks down, and sure enough there is a growing dark spot on the side of his yukata. Hwoarang pulls Jin’s hands away from his face, immediately surging forwards to check in on him.

“W-wait! Your eye!”

The reddened dressing falls away from Hwoarang’s face. Jin inwardly prepares himself for the wretched sight beneath it except… there was none.

Sure, there were still the sticky remnants of half-dried blood smeared around his skin, but the bleeding had stopped. In fact, all traces of the injury have disappeared, as if it had never been there. Jin refuses to believe that the wound could’ve healed in that short amount of time. It looked like Hwoarang had a hard time believing it too as he did a double take, gingerly poking at his brow.

“Huh… Neat.”

“Did…Did you do that, Hwoarang- san ?” The fox looks at him with a knowing smile that makes him feel uneasy.

“Nope.” He replies simply, drawing out the word in an almost sing song-y manner.

If he didn’t do it, then…

“I think you did that, Kazama.”

Hwoarang comes closer towards him, busying himself with the dirtied bandages around his side as Jin just stands there in disbelief. 

Jin could hardly begin to understand what had just happened. 

“You have a rare gift… shit. ”

Hwoarang had finished undoing his bandages, revealing the ugly mess of fresh blood leaking out from his still healing wound.

“This is my fault… I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard so soon…” Hwoarang bites his lip, gently prodding at the newly torn edges.

“Wanna try use your uh… new gift on yourself?”

“I…I don’t even know how!”

“Yeah… right. Figures.” Hwoarang looks sheepish as he grabs a handful of the dressings he had brought over and presses it against his side.

In an almost laughable twist of fate, it’s Hwoarang’s turn to try to stop Jin’s bleeding this time. Perhaps Jin was fated to be forever indebted to him. There’s a pensive look on Hwoarang’s face despite his light hearted tone. The dried blood on his face must be itchy but he focuses all his attention on Jin.

“I’m sorry.” Hwoarang has a guilty look on his face. 

“I should be the one who’s sorry.”

“Well, I'm not the one who’s got blood pouring out their side.”

“B-but I hurt you!”

“Yeah? Well you made it go away so it’s fine. It would’ve been fine even if you didn’t heal it. It’s only natural to get some scrapes and bruises from sparring.”

Jin didn’t know what else to say. He always felt like he was on the backfoot every time he spoke of anything remotely related to his intangible debt to Hwoarang. His supposedly newfound ability was still weighing on his mind and Jin found that he didn’t really have the energy to bicker with Hwoarang anymore.

They remain in silence as Hwoarang slowly moves them back over to Jin’s room, where he had his supply of medicines and balms. The bleeding thankfully stops after a short while and the air around them is fragile when Hwoarang rewraps his bandages.

“Your healing abilities would explain why you’re recovering faster than usual…”

“Can’t you do it as well, Hwoarang- san ?”

“I wouldn’t have to be doing this if I knew how to, would I, Kazama?” Jin bites his lip.

“Like I said, it’s a rare gift. You should treasure it.” Hwoarang tugs at the knot on his fresh bandages as he finishes up.

“Any idea where you might’ve gotten it from?”

A soothing voice comes to him then, from a distant memory.

A Kazama’s power fosters life…

“I… must’ve inherited it from my…my mother…” Jin touches his bandaged side, dipping his chin at the sudden wave of emotion threatening to choke him.

“...But she’s not around to teach me anymore.”

Speaking about her to another person brought back all those unpleasant memories he had been forced to bury. The void she had left behind was still much too raw. It hurt to even think about her after spending so many years pretending like she never existed while he lived in the estate. 

And now the knowledge that he couldn’t even figure out how to use the gift she had left for him pained him to no end.

“I can teach you.”

“…”

“...What?”

Chapter Text

“Like I said. I can teach you.”

“Your connection to your yokai self— your true self is pretty weak. Considering you were living amongst humans for so long.” 

“Y-You can tell?” Hwoarang scoffs at him, as if insulted by his words.

“Of course.” He narrows his eyes at Jin before sniffing the air.

“You’re also half yokai aren’t you? I thought it was weird you still kinda smell like a human even after staying away from them.” 

Jin stiffens at those astute observations. Was Hwoarang going to kick him out because of that? Something uncomfortable digs its claws into the pit of his stomach. Was he just a monster who had no place in either world?

“Is…that a bad thing?” He asks tentatively, looking down at his lap.

“Hm? No? I never said it was. It just might make your spiritual connection to the land a bit distant so you’ll just have to work extra hard to make it stronger but I think you— “

Hwoarang stops himself mid sentence upon seeing Jin blinking at him owlishly, uncomprehending. He chuckles apologetically, scratching at the dried flakes of blood on his chin.

“Right. We can talk about this later.” The fox gets up on his feet, brushing the creases out from his pants.

“Just don’t uh…move around too much.”

~~~

A week passes by slowly since then. Jin has been banned from doing his usual tasks around the shrine and if he so much as mentions asking for something to do, Hwoarang just gives him a flat look and covers his ears. Both sets of them. Before disappearing into some unknown corner of the shrine.

Jin has tried some ways to occupy his time despite it: Picking up a damp rag to wipe off some dust or kneeling down in the vegetable patch to pull out some weeds; only to have Hwoarang appear seemingly out of thin air with flattened ears and a small grumble as he shoos him away from his task with a push from his tails.

He knows Hwoarang feels bad for making his wound open up again…but this was a little extreme. Jin would’ve probably done the same if he hadn’t miraculously healed the graze on Hwoarang’s brow so he goes along with it. 

For now.

The books from Hwoarang’s archives serve as his main way to pass time. Jin leans against one of the support beams while he makes his way through a collection of ancient poems on the engawa . He would’ve been harassed for his posture back in the estate, but there’s comfort in knowing that trivial things like that wouldn’t bother him anymore.

Jin hears the floorboards creak quietly and he looks up to see Hwoarang placing down a small plate of cut peaches in front of him. Which would’ve been a kind gesture (it still was) if he didn’t already have a dozen or so dishes of various fruits around him.

“Thank you…say, you don’t have to bring me fruit every ten minutes or so you know? I can’t eat that much.”

Hwoarang turns slightly red as Jin gestures towards the growing pile of plates surrounding him. Apples, cherries, mandarins to just name a few. The spread would’ve cost a fortune back in the city. He supposes it's one of the perks of being so close to all the agriculture.

“Tch…It’s summertime now. Fruit season. I’d hate for it to go to waste.” Hwoarang ducks his head as he turns away from him. Jin can see him turn even redder.

“J-just eat it, alright?”

Jin can’t help the small laugh that leaves him. The awkwardness Hwoarang was exuding was a far cry from the confident, easy going manner he had grown used to from him. It was quite the change and Jin found himself curious to see more. 

“Have you had any yet?”

Hwoarang pauses mid-step. His tails puff up amusingly, caught in his attempt to run away. 

“You should have some with me since you went through all the trouble of cutting it. Food tastes better with company.”

The floorboards squeak as Hwoarang sits down with a small sigh. Jin puts the book away before arranging the assortment of fruit in a way that was easier to be shared between the two.

“Thank you for the food.” Jin offers his gratitude with a small clap of his hands before picking up a wooden kashi-youji that had been resting on one of the plates .

The peaches were fragrant and juicy, the apple crisp and refreshing. The mandarins were a perfect balance of tangy and sweet. Jin doesn’t think he’s had such delectable fruit before and he spares a glance towards Hwoarang to see his reaction at such wonderful treats.

Jin is not prepared for the sullen expression on Hwoarang’s face and the begrudging bite of apple he takes. His mighty tails move around him restlessly. 

Was… was he sulking…?

But why?

An incredulous laugh almost spills out of him before he manages to remember himself. Right. He was in the presence of a mighty nine-tailed fox. He was not supposed to laugh at him.

“The fruit is really good, Hwoarang- san …where did you get these?”

Thankfully his mood seems to brighten with his attempt at conversation.

“They’re offerings from the village. I also have a few fruit trees growing around here.” Jin almost chokes on his bite of peach at his words. He’d almost finished 3 plates of them by himself.

“I-I shouldn’t be eating your offerings!”

Hwoarang’s smirk returns as he folds his arms and balance has been returned to their small bubble.

“Nah. It’s okay. I always get too many and I don’t know what to do with them anyways. There’s only so much I can preserve.”

Jin sheepishly wipes away the peach juice that had dribbled down his chin.

“B-but…”

“It’s a good way to get your strength back and bring your connection closer to the land as well.”

A beat passes as Jin stares at him blankly. His ears twitch while Hwoarang gives him an expectant look before it clicks.

“Oh-oh! My gift!” Hwoarang sighs quietly with an amused smile.

“Exactly. We need to build a solid foundation to work from before you can control your gift properly.”

“A-are we starting right now?” There’s that smirk again. Like Jin has done something entertaining but he can’t figure out what.

“We could.” Hwoarang states mysteriously.

Jin scrambles up into a proper seiza and a dip of his head, sticky fingers from fruit juice be damned.

“I-I’ll be in your care!” 

“There’s no need to rush.” Hwoarang says with a laugh. He stacks up the empty plates and Jin moves to help him. 

Right. Maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself there… The dishes rattle lightly with each step he takes as they head towards the kitchen to clean up.

“There’s a nice spot in the garden, we can go there for starters.”

~~~

The spot Hwoarang takes Jin to is shaded by a dense smattering of momiji trees. A small brook trickles its way beside them, filling the air with the sound of its flowing passage. The midday sun peeks through the gaps of the leaves, dappling the forest floor with patches of golden light. 

Dried leaves crunch beneath their weight as the pair settle down on the soft earth. It’s comfortably warm beneath the shade and with the gentle breeze that passes through the trees every so often…This would be a good place to take a nap.

“It’s a nice spot, isn’t it?” Hwoarang has his legs crossed in front of him, hands resting on his knees. 

The awkward fox from before is nowhere to be seen and Jin feels the back of his neck prickle. There’s something about Hwoarang now that feels more akin to the energy Jin felt from him when they first met. Perhaps it was because Hwoarang’s face was mostly cast in shadow under the shade, his sharp golden eyes all the more apparent because of it. Perhaps it was the way his many tails shifted around him with a languid casualness that seemed to radiate confidence . A certain pride in the unshaking belief that he was powerful . Jin could feel it. Even if he had little to no knowledge of the yokai world; the overwhelming presence Hwoarang commanded. Maybe he had grown a little too comfortable around him in this secluded paradise…

“It…it is.” Jin feels unimaginably small sitting in front of him, and he fights the urge to fiddle with his sleeves. He’s met with a small chuckle and that brief glimpse of that all powerful deity disappears.

“First part of the lesson: Relax.” Hwoarang gestures to Jin’s stiff frame, legs tucked beneath him with his shoulders drawn up, and then back at himself.

“R-right… yes.”

Jin shifts out of his seiza to mimic him, crossing his legs and bringing his hands in front of him to rest in his lap. Hwoarang hums softly, scratching beneath his chin as he observes Jin’s new posture.

“Mmm…it’s an improvement from before I guess.”

Jin is overly aware of his every movement. Was he sitting properly? Was he holding his hands in front of him right? Was he looking down too much? He wanted to do this right and not disappoint Hwoarang. His nervousness spikes when Hwoarang shifts closer to him, laughing again.

“We’re just going to mediate.”

“Ah. Y-yes.”

He could handle that. He’s done that countless times before in the dojo. Jin follows Hwoarang’s cue when he closes his eyes. Darkness fills his vision, ears twitching with every rustle of leaves or chirp of a bird. He does his best to focus on his breathing, to wipe his mind clean and block out everything. Drift along with nothingness…but Hwoarang’s voice interrupts him.

“No, Kazama. Not like that.”

Jin snaps his eyes open, his heart jumping up to his throat when Hwoarang grabs his hand. He pulls him, making Jin lean towards him and sending him into a panic. Why was he so close?!

“Wha-what are you— ?!” All he gets is a toothy grin in response.

“Don’t worry. I won’t eat your soul…” The grin grows wider.

“Though, I’m sure you would taste very sweet, considering you liked those peaches so much.”

“W-wha— ?!” Jin splutters.

What does that even mean ?! He flushes deeply, looking away while Hwoarang cackles his head off, a few tails thumping the ground in amusement. Hwoarang is still holding his hand and Jin feels a flicker of annoyance at how he wasn’t taking any of this seriously.

Learning how to control the gift his mother had left behind was so important to him and yet…

“I…I thought we were supposed to be training…” Jin stares hard into the ground.

That seems to sober Hwoarang immediately. He wipes away a few tears, the residual mirth slowly fading in his eyes.

“Of course. My bad.”

They take a few deep breaths together, settling back into the tranquil afternoon air that surrounds them. Hwoarang places Jin’s palm onto his chest. He flinches once he makes contact with the warm skin. It was strange. Jin had no idea why he had thought Hwoarang would feel cold . He was a living being who breathed and laughed and poked fun at him. It made him feel real . A tangible person, not some great god-like mythical being that only existed in fantastical stories.

“Feel my breath, my heartbeat, the forest around us…” 

“The water, the birds… Listen. Don’t wall yourself in.”

Hwoarang’s heart beats strongly beneath his palm, Jin can feel every deep rise and fall of his chest, the steady movements lulling him into a soft rhythm, matching Hwoarang. The other man’s proximity still makes him nervous. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, the heat beneath his hand like the rays of sun tingling his skin. It was distracting.

“ Relax, Kazama.”

Easier said than done. It was still hard to get used to Hwoarang’s presence so close to him despite the multiple times he’s been around him…nobody had ever approached him like this; so casually and free of ulterior motives unless it was within the dojo. Even then, this was different. 

Jin does his best to keep his breathing even despite the tightness in his chest. He lets all the things Hwoarang had pointed out wash over him, honing in on them and calming his trembling heart.

The undercurrent of anxiety slowly ebbs away as his mind slowly relaxes, placing a pleasant fog over his head. He barely feels Hwoarang return his hand back into his lap, too focused on the world of sounds and sensations surrounding him.

Jin’s hearing seems to grow sharper, but it doesn't bother him. The sound of rustling leaves would give him goosebumps before, but now it was merely a noise in the background. He could hear the sound of burrowing rodents scampering around the forest floor, the light-footed gait of distant deer. If Jin tries, he feels like he could hear even the sound of hoes being thrown into dirt and the unrefined melody of folk songs sung by the villagers as they work.

But there was something beyond that. Something that Jin could barely pick up on through the multitude of threads and layers of the forest.

A voice.

It was something he had never heard before but yet it felt comforting and nostalgic. It spoke no words, but Jin could feel it talking to him, evoking feeling and emotion. A warm sensation blankets him, as if being held in his late mother’s embrace. He was being welcomed home, being praised for finding his way back and being marvelled at for how much he had grown.

Jin isn’t sure what or who this voice is or even how to communicate with them. He does his best to convey his feelings of gratitude; towards Hwoarang, towards this welcoming voice. The voice seems to understand, a phantom sensation of someone tousling his hair before gently saying goodbye.

His senses seem to quieten down back to their regular state, like the tide slowly receding from shore. The residual warmth from that experience is still buzzing beneath his skin. Jin slowly opens his eyes again, being met with Hwoarang resting his chin on his hand, with a knowing smile on his lips.

“How was that, huh? Pretty cool, right?”

“Y-yeah…” Jin runs a hand through his hair, where that ghost-like sensation had been.

“That’s enough for today though, we can head back inside.”

“I’d…!”  Jin blurts out, much louder than he had intended. Hwoarang looks at him with surprise. His face burns, quickly bringing his voice back to his usual, quiet tenor.

“...Like to stay here for a little while longer… If you don’t mind.” Hwoarang’s features soften with a small smile.

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Just watch out for the mosquitos when it gets late.”

~~~

Deep red and purple hues saturate the garden. The sun’s stubborn rays offer the world the last of its light before it retires for the day and ushers in the dark blanket of night. The injured stray was nowhere to be found in his usual spots, so Hwoarang finally decided to check back to where he had left him earlier in the day. He has an inkling of what the man is up to as he passes by the vegetable patch, humming an old folk song passed down by the villagers.

It comes as no surprise when he finds Kazama still sitting by the brook. It’s clear he’s fallen asleep: Judging by his slumped posture and lolling of his head. There’s a few swallows perched in his gravity defying hair— which was rather fitting, considering how Hwoarang had always thought it looked a bit like a bird's nest with those ridiculous strands. The birds all turn their curious eyes towards him as he approaches Kazama’s sleeping form.

They don’t fly away as he kneels down beside him. It may be summer, but it still gets chilly up in the mountains at night. Hwoarang wraps a small cotton blanket around Kazama’s shoulders. He feels a smile creep onto his lips as the sleeping man mumbles something under his breath, eyelids fluttering at the soft sensation.

Maybe he should make some miso soup with daikon greens tonight.

Chapter Text

An incandescent glow warms the early morning sky as Jin returns to the shrine. He had taken a brisk walk around the surrounding forest. He may still be injured, but that didn’t mean he could grow complacent with his exercise.

It’s a far cry from his usual training regime from back when he was still living in the estate, but he does what he can. Life in the shrine was comfortable, maybe even too comfortable. Jin can’t quite shake the feeling of needing to be doing something with his time aside from relaxing and finds himself clinging onto his old routine. Well, to the best of his ability with the eagle eyed deity that resided in this shrine hissing at him to stop doing anything too strenuous as soon as he so much as picks up a broom.

What was strenuous was up to personal discretion though, but he finds himself reluctantly taking it easy despite the restlessness prickling underneath his skin; nagging at him to keep up with his karate drills and fitness. 

Jin walks along the quiet grounds of the shrine, its open areas and long corridors have grown familiar to him as he makes his way over to the kitchen— Hoping to lend a hand to Hwoarang who would be making breakfast right about now. He’s been trying to get better at this whole…cooking thing and Hwoarang is kind enough to humour him with smaller, menial tasks despite his abysmal skills.

The garden in the secluded area of the shrine opens up to him as he turns the corner. His eyes are always drawn towards the mighty weeping sakura tree in the centre. Its beauty is captivating even if it has become a daily sight. Such old trees are a rarity to come by. Jin can only imagine the ages it has lived through; the history it holds in its roots.

Today, there’s a bright shock of orange within its pale pink plumage that gives him pause. Jin carefully retreats back into the corner as he realises that Hwoarang is sitting at the base of the tree, talking to it quietly. 

Jin can see it then. The ‘ Suzaku-sama’ the locals worshipped and loved so dearly. 

The swaying branches seem to reach out for Hwoarang, as if listening to him intently and cradling him with its soft petals. He is leaning against the wizened trunk, tucked away comfortably in one of the grooves like it was a nook made just for him. He’s gently tracing his fingers across the branches as he looks up to the pink canopy with a small smile on his face.

It’s not an expression Jin has ever seen on the fox before. Sure, Hwoarang always seemed to be smirking or snickering in some way or another, but he’s never seen such genuine care and tenderness on his face. It’s like he’s reminiscing with an old friend. Hwoarang’s voice is barely audible and Jin has to strain his ears to pick up on those soft words.

“Things have gotten pretty lively around here now, huh?”

“...What?”

“...I’m not being overprotective…you’re exaggerating, dumbass.”

Was… Hwoarang talking about… him? He couldn’t think of any other possible answer unless he was talking about the noisy cicadas that were starting to fill the forest air recently. But why would he need to protect the cicadas?… This was not a conversation for his ears. Jin summons the courage to act nonchalant and quickly think of the best way to announce his presence without exposing that he had been (unintentionally) eavesdropping. He had to be fast, before he heard any more of this private conversation. If his memory serves him right, there should be a creaky floorboard around here…yes, that will do!

The wood squeaks loudly beneath his strategically placed foot as he clears his throat.

“H-Hwoarang- san ?” He keeps his tone light, as if searching for him.

Those draping branches pull back from him, the curtain of ephemeral pink receding from Hwoarang’s frame and revealing those bright, curious golden eyes.

“Yeah? You need somethin’?” There’s a few delicate petals scattered around his tails and hair as he slowly sits up to greet Jin properly. Jin wonders if he should tell Hwoarang about the petal that’s stuck on his cheek…

“N-no… I was just wondering if you needed help with breakfast…”

“Oh! It’s all done already. Just something simple today.”

“Oh-oh…”

There’s a beat of silence as Jin flicks his eyes up and down between Hwoarang and the tree before shifting to the ground. He’s never been particularly good at hiding his emotions around Hwoarang— there wasn’t a need to anymore now that he knew any sign of ‘weakness’ wouldn’t be used against him. There weren’t many things he could hide from someone who had nursed him back from death’s door. Hwoarang always seemed to have a hunch on what he was thinking despite his best efforts anyways, so it comes as no surprise when he picks up on his curious gaze. 

However, it’s not any less embarrassing when Hwoarang just grins at him knowingly. Jin’s not quite sure how he feels about being such an open book for him…but at least it saves him having to muster up the courage to ask questions when Hwoarang already seems to know what he’s about to say.

“This tree was just a sickly sapling when I first arrived here in these lands…barely taller than my shin.” There’s that smile on Hwoarang’s face again, so warm and full of nostalgia.

“I took care of it. Sheltered it from the strong winds and heavy rain and I guess we ended up sharing a bond together. They’re surprisingly chatty— it’s why I got you to meditate before. It’s a good sign if you can hear the voices of the land; means your yokai spirit is still strong.” 

Hwoarang runs a gentle hand up the trunk of the great sakura, looking up at its bountiful blossoms. It seemed to puff itself up, as if putting itself on display.

“They represent me…my strength…the health of this land I watch over. We’ve been through a lot together but we’re still going strong.” Hwoarang gives the tree a small pat.

“You could say this guy’s my best friend…” 

“You’re not from around here, Hwoarang- san?” The fox looks up at him, a complicated smile quirking onto his lips.

“No…I’m from a land not too far from here…to the west. You could probably see it on a good day if you visit the seaside towns in the south.”

“Would you ever want to return?”

“Never.”  

The answer comes so quickly, it takes Jin by surprise at how firm Hwoarang’s tone was. Jin decides it’s best not to ask; just like how Hwoarang had given him the same courtesy after asking about his upbringing.

Though…

Hwoarang rarely ever spoke of himself and Jin found it strange that he barely knew anything about the man who had saved his life despite living with him for the past couple of months. Jin would treasure this information.

“Thank you for sharing, Hwoarang- san .” Hwoarang’s face loses its stiffness as an easy smile stretches back across his face.

“Hey now! No need to be so stiff and formal, Kazama!” Hwoarang stands up and claps him on the shoulder, pushing him towards the kitchen.

“How about we have breakfast now, eh? I’ve got some more training for you to try out.”

~~~

After a light breakfast of grilled ayu- trout, miso soup and a small bounty of fresh summertime vegetables on the side, Jin finds himself sitting on the grass back at their previous meditating spot. He’s watching Hwoarang stretch with bright eyes. Eagerly anticipating what this powerful deity will show him next.

The voices of the forest were an amazing experience, letting him reconnect with a part of himself that he didn’t even know he had been missing . Hwoarang had a wealth of knowledge and Jin was all too happy to sit still and listen to him even if it meant having to endure some of his teasing.

Not that he really minded all too much.

Jin just never really understood why Hwoarang was so… casual around him. People had always bowed their heads down low, voices taking on a simpering, overly polite manner when they spoke to him. Out of fear. Seeking to ingratiate themselves with the Mishima family. 

Hwoarang’s attitude was refreshing, even if he didn’t quite know how to react to him outside of the mannerisms and etiquette that had been hammered into him at the estate. The fox certainly didn’t seem to care about the infamous status of the Mishimas, nor have any need to sidle up to him for favours which meant he was talking to Jin for… himself.

Talking to Jin because he wanted to. Talking to him and teasing him just for the fun of it and treating him as Jin Kazama, not as the heir to the Mishima family.

But…why?

Why would Hwoarang do that?

‘I’m not being overprotective.’

Jin breathes out through his nose, banishing those unbidden words out of his mind. He had a goal he needed to focus on right now, and that was learning how to control his mother’s gift. He returns his attention back towards Hwoarang, only to be met face to face with a very familiar red fox sitting in front of him.

Even the amused glint in its eyes and the small grin is so obviously apparent in its face in this form, Jin has to refrain from gaping in surprise.

How was it that Hwoarang could look so much like… Hwoarang , even as a fox?

There’s a small gust of wind, stirring up all the dead leaves on the ground and Jin blinks once before Hwoarang is sitting in front of him again— as a human. He’s adjusting the collar of his yukata and there’s a growing feeling of trepidation at the realisation of what Hwoarang wanted to try to teach him.

Could he even…?

“Basics of Yokai magic, Lesson 2: Shapeshifting.” Hwoarang grins widely at him.

“U-um…Hwoarang- san …is this really something that can be called ‘basic’?”

“Well, to me it is. Don’t worry about it, Kazama. It’s simple!”

Somehow, drastically changing one's physical appearance and bone structure didn’t exactly scream ‘ simple’ to Jin. He sighs softly. 

Despite his qualms, Jin had a curious desire to do well by Hwoarang. To prove himself and get it right. To show Hwoarang that he could take care of himself. He supposes it was only natural, seeing as he was taking time out his day to teach him the ‘basics’. It wouldn’t hurt to try…

“Well, you’re a Nekomata right?”

“Y-yes?”

“And you’ve seen a cat before?”

“...Yes?”

What was Hwoarang getting at…?

“Then it should be natural for you! Just pretend to be a cat!”

“H-how? Laze around in the sun? Chase after mice? Play with string?”

“Exactly.” Hwoarang has that infuriatingly playful smirk on his face again that makes it impossible to know if he’s joking or not. 

“To turn into a cat, you’ve got to think like one right? Y’know, like image training.” Hwoarang taps his temple. Jin thinks he’s heard of this before…the logic seemed sound enough.

Jin tentatively scooches over towards a patch of sun beneath the trees. Its midsummer harshness is dulled by the countless leaves it filters through. The rays are pleasantly warm on his skin. He looks over to Hwoarang who’s just observing him with a smirk while resting his chin in his hand. He gives him a nod, as if in encouragement and Jin settles down onto the bed of fallen leaves beneath him and closes his eyes.

The goal is to relax, and be like a cat. Sunbathing without a care in the world. Feel the heat suffusing across his ‘fur’ like a warm blanket on a winter’s night. He lets his tail swish through the leaves as he thinks. He’d seen a few cats do that in contentment before… What do cats even think about when they lie around all day? Did they even have the concept of daydreaming? Jin can’t help but worry if he’s doing this right. Was he lying on the ground correctly? Was his breathing even enough? Why was nothing happening?!

Relax.

Relax!!!

Jin’s tail starts thumping the ground at how hard he’s swishing it around. 

Just don’t think about Hwoarang observing him and thinking that he’s probably a failure for not being able to shapeshift!

Oh. Right.

He immediately stills.

Hwoarang was here as well. Watching him lie down in the sun and pretend to be a cat of all things! Jin snaps upright, bringing a shower of dead leaves with him.

“I… don’t think this is working, Hwoarang- san.”

“Well, I guess it’s different when you’ve got some human in you as well…”

Jin turns back to face Hwoarang properly again.

“I came into this world as a fox, and I'll always be a fox…though it’s complicated for you.”

Hwoarang stares at him a little longer, giving him a thoughtful hum while Jin does his best not to fidget beneath his gaze. He knows he’s just thinking but… did he really have to do it like… that? Like he’s staring right into his soul and judging his worth?

“Come. Sit in front of me, Kazama.” 

Jin gulps slightly, mouth feeling dry at what’s to come. Was Hwoarang going to touch him again? 

It sounds weird when he puts it like that but… He’s always so overly aware of Hwoarang’s presence when he’s close to him. It’s been an age since anyone has touched him without any malicious intent. All he knew were the painful, radiating sting of each heavy-handed blow raining upon him in the dojo and the cool metal of a blade slicing through his skin. To say that ‘ touch’ made him anxious was an understatement. His body always tensed up, preparing itself for the pain that was sure to come and fraying his nerves. Even Hwoarang’s careful movements when he had been changing his bandages felt like lightning prickling across his skin.

He jumps when Hwoarang grabs onto his hands before he settles in front of him. His grip was light, and yet they felt like burning brands around his palms. Jin does his best to hide his discomfort, keeping his eyes low to the ground. Hwoarang brings his hands in front of their laps, resting against each other’s legs.

“You have an abundance of power, Kazama. It’s just all unfocused and scattered…lost.”

“Reach in deep…listen to your yokai half. Surely you hear it? The call of the wilds? The yearning for freedom?”

Jin takes a deep breath, trying to open up his senses like Hwoarang had taught him to do before. Hwoarang’s hands were so warm around his own.

“Think of the veins webbed all across your body, fueled by your beating heart. Your lungs, expanding with every breath you take, suffusing your blood with oxygen and keeping you alive.”

It feels like he’s wandering aimlessly in a mire, fog stretching as far as he could see before he can feel a small tug in the back of his mind.

…This…way…

There’s an invisible line tugging him, guiding him. He takes a step towards the voice, eager to be free of this directionless maze only for his foot to meet nothingness and he goes plummeting into the dark.

~~~

“Heyyy. Kazama. Wake uuup.”

Huh?

“Earth to Kazama, do you copy?”

What?

Who was he? What was he? Where was…?

“...Probably shouldn’t have forced him so hard…”

Wind rushes past his ears as light rushes forward to meet him. Jin’s eyes snap open with a gasp and everything comes back to him at once.

Sitting underneath the momiji…Hwoarang helping him to control his powers…yes…

Everything seemed to be right where he had left it, before that jarring slip into the void. Hwoarang was even still holding onto his hands. He felt kind of dizzy, groaning slightly.

Has he always sounded like that?

Why did Hwoarang look so big?

And why was he grinning so widely at him?

Jin looks down at their hands only to see that he now has…two very fluffy white paws, with his arms covered in sleek black fur.

He screams. Jumping away from Hwoarang at the sudden sound of a cat yowling. He screams even louder when the ground suddenly seems very far away, the brief sense of weightlessness overcoming him before the ground rushes back towards him worryingly fast. He panics, but his body seems to reflexively right his flailing limbs and he lands softly with all fours crunching onto dried leaves.

“Man, Kazama… you catch onto this stuff pretty quick y’know!”

Jin knows exactly what Hwoarang means but he couldn’t have…right? The rumpled fabric of his yukata lying empty in front of him is damning evidence and Hwoarang helps his lagging brain along by pulling a small hand mirror out from his sleeve.

His eyes are still the same warm amber brown, pupils blown wide at how…disconcerting this whole situation is, though instead of having his usual bangs covering them, he sees fur. 

A lot of it.

A black cat stares back at him through the mirror. He has a splash of white on his chest, his hands…paws(?) much the same. He blinks in disbelief, awkwardly touching his face. Seeing the cat in the reflection move in sync makes reality sink in that much more. He can see his tail waving in the background, the same spot of white on the tip bobbing around as he moves is the last straw. He slowly sits back on his haunches, taking everything in.

Jin knows that Hwoarang had helped him along yet again…but how? A quiet meow rumbles from his throat instead of words and that gives him pause. Hwoarang just cocks his head to the side in amusement. Wait… could he really not talk in his form?

<<What did you do, Hwoarang-san?>>

The words in his head all get drowned in a series of meows as soon as they leave his mouth, but Hwoarang seems to understand, nonetheless.

“I didn’t do all too much. Just gave a direction for your power and you sure went for it. All of it came rushing out at once and your body changed so fast.” Hwoarang snickers behind his hand.

<<I don’t know how to turn back!>>

“Well…jump into a lake and you’ll figure out how to swim, right?”

W-what?! 

He didn’t even know how he turned into a cat in the first place and now Hwoarang wants him to figure out how to get back to normal on his own?! Jin doesn’t have a clue about shapeshifting!

He dips his head low, trying to assume a meditative pose as best he could in his new form and visualise the body that had been his for twenty two years until…now.

Go back to normal, go back to normal, go back to normal!

Nothing was happening and his rising panic and distress only seemed to provide more amusement for the sly fox sitting in front of him. So much for being his teacher. Jin paces the floor, desperately trying to come up with any sort of feasible idea that could help him turn back. Hwoarang had mentioned pretending to be a cat before, so perhaps if he tried to be himself again, it would awaken some intrinsic part of him that just knew what to do?

Jin glances back towards his pile of clothes. Maybe wearing something again would help get him back on the right track. He tries his best to slip his arms through the now very large sleeves; and how was he going to be able to tie his obi? His efforts leave him tangled in the mass of loose fabric and he wants to cry.

This was an absolute disaster.

Couldn’t even figure out how to turn back into a human, and now he’s trapped in this fabric prison…just how much worse could it get?

He can hear Hwoarang laughing at him loud and clear even through all the fabric, but a hand comes to carefully untangle him and pull him out from his clothes. Another hand comes to support him and Jin finds himself being held up and in front of Hwoarang with a grin on his face.

“You’re kinda hefty for a cat…”

Now what is that supposed to mean?! Jin feels his tail flick in annoyance.

“Though… you’re pretty cute like this.”

Jin yelps as Hwoarang stands up and spins him around in a circle. The fox’s expression turns impish and he already knows it doesn’t bode well for him.

“I should keep you like this forever.” A positively villainous smirk that shows off all of Hwoarang’s sharp teeth stretches across his lips and Jin feels his stomach drop.

Would he be forced to stay like this for all of eternity until he figured out how to turn back? A cat who couldn’t talk properly? Would Hwoarang treat him like a pet?! Give him a ribbon with a bell and try to play with him with a piece of fish tied to a string? Try to scratch behind his ears and roll him onto his stomach?!

No… No!

He wouldn’t be able to practise karate anymore! And all his words would turn into meows that the locals would coo over and he’d stop being Jin and be named something like Kuro !

“I DON’T WANT TO BE A HOUSECAT!”

Hwoarang’s arms suddenly buckle beneath him. The most curious stretching sensation takes over his body, making his skin prickle like he’d been out in the sun too long. The ground rushes up to meet him a second time, and instead of smacking straight into it, a breathless ‘oof’ comes out from beneath him. Jin blinks through the sudden bout of dizziness that had overcome him, dazedly picking his head up. Joy slowly bubbles up within him as he realises that he has his fingers back, his arms and legs; his body!

He did it! He turned himself back to normal!

His celebration is quickly cut short as a small breeze passes through the garden, making him shiver. Jin becomes all too aware of the amount of bare skin he’s revealing right now and his mind completely blanks out. Heat sears across his cheeks as he becomes more and more aware of his compromising position —  his bare torso draped across Hwoarang’s own. No wonder he had such a soft landing.

Jin hopes that by some miracle Hwoarang hasn’t noticed all of this as he scrambles upright. He’s at a loss of what to cover first, his arms flailing around his chest before landing in front of his groin.

Jin thinks his head might explode from how hot his face feels. He counts his tiny blessings as Hwoarang gives him the courtesy of covering his eyes with a fluffy tail as he cackles loudly, slapping the ground with a palm. 

“See? It worked, didn’t it?”

Maybe being a cat might not be such a bad idea after all.

Chapter Text

To say that Jin was sulking after the whole shapeshifting fiasco with Hwoarang was an overstatement. He was just a little…annoyed at him for throwing him into the deep end and drawing great amusement at his panicked flailing.

Yes. He was just mildly annoyed at Hwoarang and nothing more.

It was perfectly reasonable for him to stay holed up in his room reading— it was too hot to spend his time in the garden anymore with the summer heat beating down on the land. It was also reasonable for him to not want to engage in Hwoarang’s conversations over their meals — he just didn’t feel like talking. There was no reason to talk if he had nothing to say.

He was most definitely not doing something as childish as sulking .

Hwoarang seems to have picked up on his sullen mood nonetheless, if the return of the mountain of cut fruit outside his door is anything to go by. Jin allows himself one plate of peaches, the temptation of its juicy fragrance too alluring for him to ignore. 

His mind suddenly flashes an image of him collapsed on top of Hwoarang in a naked heap and he wants to smack his head against the table repeatedly with a pained groan. 

Embarrassing memory, begone!

Why did his brain have to suddenly remind him of that mortifying predicament? How could he even face Hwoarang after that? Jin buries his head in his hands. He didn’t seem to be any good at controlling his powers…but he has to admit— He feels a little different somehow after his accidental transformation into a cat.

Like he’s more aware of… himself.   How his fingers move to turn a page. The muscles he uses to blink. It’s as if there’s a gentle current beneath his skin that shivers awake every time he remembers its existence. It’s most apparent when he’s shapeshifting. Jin has practised it a few times now; to make sure that embarrassing predicament from a few days ago doesn’t ever happen again. He’s grown more comfortable with his transformations but that doesn’t stop another defeated groan leaving him as he reminds himself of Hwoarang’s cackling laugh directed at him during that fateful lesson.

Maybe he should just go be a wandering hermit…travel someplace far so no one knew how much of a fool he had made of himself and— 

A sharp knock raps on his door, followed by it sliding open just slightly. Hwoarang’s silhouette stands starkly against the screen door but Jin can only see the tips of his ears peeking through the opening. They’re twitching slightly, as if he was unsure of something.

“H-hey…um…I need you to drop off some medicine for Sae- san again at the village…and to pick up a few things…”

“I’ll leave the medicine outside your door…and uh…” Hwoarang’s tentative demeanour gives him pause. Jin sits up properly, giving him his full attention.

“ ...Sorry, Kazama …I shouldn’t have teased you so much back there…”

Jin’s eyes widen in surprise, only for that moment to be shattered as Hwoarang trips over his many plates of fruit in his haste to run away. He can hear him cursing under his breath, quickly picking up the scattered mess before dashing off to some unknown corner of the shrine.

Jin laughs under his breath. If Hwoarang needed his help then who was he to say no?

~~~

“Why thank you so much again, Jin-chan!”

“U-uhm? Jin- chan …?”

“Ah, don’t mind me! You just remind me of my grandson so much I just can’t help myself!”

Sae- san proceeds to shove a box of assorted dango into his hands while he’s still reeling at the sudden use of his given name by a granny he hardly even knows. A clever tactic. Jin supposes Sae- san is a familiar face compared to the other villagers though. Someone brushes past him in his daze, making him startle and mumble an apology as he steps out of the way.

There’s something that has been bothering him ever since he set foot into the village. It makes him keep his head low, tilting his bamboo hat down in the hopes it would conceal most of his face.

“Sae- san… Is it just me or are there a lot more people around the village now?”

There’s a hustle and hubbub around the small sleepy town that wasn’t there before. Combined with the sudden influx of newcomers…it sets Jin on edge. He hadn’t heard anything about his pursuers or his Grandfather since he had shaken them off his tail all those months ago, but…

“They’re all here in preparation for the local festival that starts in a few days. You should come along as well, Jin- chan! ”

“A-a festival…?”

“It started as a way to celebrate a good harvest over the summer but we’ve become known for the firefly displays in our rice paddocks. It’s good fun!”

“I…I’ll think about it…”

A festival, huh?

Jin desperately scours through his mind for any memory of ever attending one and comes up with…nothing.

His Mother had always warned him to stay away from the raucous humans that always seemed to gather around the most during summer with their dances and variety of new foods. He had even worse luck in the estate. Heihachi had always called it a frivolous waste of time; cheap entertainment for those low-class plebeians .

And yet Jin would always look upon the lively atmosphere those festivals always had. The colourful yukata…all the games set out by the vendors; the laughter and the warm glow from the lanterns as night began to settle in. Nothing about it seemed frivolous or dangerous to Jin, but he had only ever been able to watch on longingly in the shadows— be it in the dense foliage of a forest or up high in the many tiered rooms of the cold Mishima estate.

But…a chance to experience that joy and to see just what those people had been so excited about every year presents itself to Jin. Noone to tell him it was dangerous. Noone to tell him it was beneath him. 

Except…

Would Hwoarang let him go?

Did Hwoarang even care about these kinds of things?

Maybe he shouldn’t…

And even if he did go, he had no money to participate in the games or to try the delectable food on display…There was no way he could ask Hwoarang to lend him some money…

The more Jin thinks about it, the more reasons he can come up with to not go to this festival. His walk back to the shrine was a blur, too focused on convincing himself that it was a bad idea to entertain this childish want. There would be too many people attending, who was to say he wasn’t still being hunted? Maybe he’d lose his concentration over hiding his ears and expose himself again. Who even wore hats at nighttime?

Yes, the festival was a bad idea and he would not be going, but…

Why did he feel so sad about it? The dangers far outweighed the merits of going to this festival, he knows this. Logically, rationally, reasonably. Was he so easily swayed by his heart? A forgotten part of him that so badly wanted to fulfil this silly dream of his?

Jin desperately tries to tamp down these trivial feelings as he walks up the final steps to the shrine. Hwoarang is there to greet him again, taking the newly bought goods off his hands.

“Hey, thanks for that, Kazama. How was Sae- san? Lookin’ healthy?” 

“Mmh? Yes…She was…”

“Good.”

Hwoarang turns to leave and panic rises up Jin’s throat. A sudden impulsive urge drives him to summon the courage to say…!

“U-um— !”

Very eloquently put, Kazama Jin.

His sudden outburst startles Hwoarang, seeing him jump before snapping his head back towards him.

“Yeah, Kazama?”

Those golden eyes were on him now and Jin somehow felt ten times more nervous despite his loud proclamation. He’d already stuck his foot in it now…and Jin saw no way out except to muscle his way forward, no matter how painfully he had to drag the words out of his mouth.

“Th-there were a lot of people down at the village today…”

Hwoarang’s eyebrows knit in confusion. Jin had been hoping that he knew what he was talking about considering he had lived in the area so long…

“...and…uh…Sae- san told me there would be a festival happening in a few days…” Jin trails off, looking down at his feet. His traitorous voice leaves him when he feels his throat lock up. Shame burns onto his face as he fails to stutter out the last sentence. 

The most important one.

‘ I want to go.’

Silence stretches awkwardly between them, with Hwoarang most likely trying to figure out his cryptic words and Jin standing there mutely. They were just words. Why couldn’t he manage even something as simple as asking for what he wanted? Why did it feel so wrong? Why can he hear Heihachi even now? The sharp words he’d always spit at him digging beneath his skin and making him want to disappear.

Weak.

Naive.

Cowardly.

Worthless.

“N-nevermind, Hwoarang- san …I’m sorry for wasting your—” A loud shout interrupts him, making him look up at Hwoarang who’s clapping his hand together.

“Oh that’s right! The firefly festival! It’s been a few hundred odd years since I last went.”

“I stopped going since I couldn’t be bothered with all the people, but…that’s right…” Hwoarang’s eyes fall upon him, a smile quirking onto his lips.

“You wanna go? It’s quite the spectacle if you're seeing it for the first time.” Jin can’t believe his ears.

“B-but what if I get found out? What if the yokai hunters are still searching for me?” Hwoarang just grins at him.

“I’ll tag along. It’ll be fine if I'm there.” 

Hwoarang beats him to it when Jin wants to raise any more concerns, and that heavy, painful fog of silence that had suffocated him gets blown away.

“I wanna go as well. It’s been too long.”

“W-what about— “

“You’ve got nothing to worry about if I'm there as well. Really. ”

Overprotective…

But Jin can’t deny that he does feel a lot better once he knows Hwoarang is coming with him. He felt…safe.

A smile of his own creeps onto Jin’s lips.

~~~

It was time.

It was time!

The festival would be starting soon and Jin eagerly slips on the yukata he had chosen for this special occasion.

Hwoarang had been kind enough to let him pick from his large selection— Jin had even considered wearing a kimono with its more intricate designs but the summer nights were much too hot for that. He had settled on a deep blue yukata, with a subtle wave pattern on the hem and a light grey obi to keep everything in place.

He takes large strides through the shrine— he wouldn’t run , no! That would be too improper and he wasn’t so excited that he would forget himself. His quick steps take him to the courtyard where Hwoarang stands with an arm tucked inside his yukata, scratching his face with a yawn. His fluffy tails have been hidden away and the space around him seems oddly empty without them.

“S-sorry to keep you waiting, Hwoarang- san! ”

“You’re fine. I just got here as well.” Jin can see his eyes scanning him from head to toe, making him nervously shuffle his feet.

“You look nice and festive.” A lazy smile stretches across Hwoarang’s lips.

“You do too…”

Hwoarang is wearing a fashionable black yukata with faint grey vertical stripes all across it, still in his forever loose and relaxed manner. It was held up with a matching black obi embroidered with silk. The dark colours went well with his striking orange hair.

Wait…

Striking. Orange. Hair.

“Uh-uhm…Hwoarang- san… ” Jin tentatively gestures towards his head.

Its bright shade was just asking for unwanted attention that Jin would very much like to avoid. Orange may be natural for a fox but…

“Hm? Oh, right.”

Hwoarang touches his hair, as if he had forgotten what colour it was. He laughs quietly at Jin’s wide eyed stare as the orange strands slowly darken from his roots and bleed into the rest of his hair as if being dipped in ink. Barely ten seconds pass and Hwoarang has a full head of black hair.

Jin wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Sure, his hairstyle and face were still the same, but it didn’t quite feel like he was looking at Hwoarang anymore. An odd thought passes through his mind then: Would this be what Hwoarang looked like if he was just a regular human? It felt strange to see him without his trademark hair colour and tails.

A sudden warm sensation on the top of his head startles him out of his thoughts. Hwoarang has his hands over his ears again, followed by that tingling numbness creeping across them as they disappear.

“Before you forget.” Hwoarang grins down at him.

Jin’s cheeks warm. He had honestly forgotten about that very important detail in all his excitement. 

“T-thank you…”

Hwoarang pulls away from him before clapping his hands together and taking a deep breath.

“Now! Let’s go get some food!”

Wait.. Weren’t they going to a festival?

“I wonder if they’ll have those honey cakes this year…”

Ah. So that’s the real reason why Hwoarang was going.

~~~

The sun has just begun its descent as they arrive, lighting the sleepy little village in a golden haze. Though, its small town appearance has drastically changed in the few days since Jin’s last visit: Sizable lanterns hung up and decorated the modest buildings in preparation for the night. Lines of food stalls were propped up on either side of the street with their eye-catching signs advertising their delicious treats in bold font and hand drawn caricatures. 

The tantalising aroma of various street foods being cooked reaches his nose, making his mouth water. What should he try first? Yakitori? Tako-senbei? Maybe the newly trending gyoza ? There were too many choices and seeing the amount of festival-goers was…nerve-wracking to say the least. A sea of people (at least to Jin’s standards) meandering about as they line up for each store. He can feel the wave of heat from all the bodies hit him as they draw nearer and nearer to the town. It’s not a pleasant feeling, combined with the already muggy heat of the summer evening but it does little to dampen his excitement. 

Jin looks beside him for help. He doesn’t even know where to start or how to tackle this festival business, and who better to turn to for guidance than the one who’s lived here for centuries? Hwoarang is curiously sniffing the air before his face lights up. Jin blinks once before he’s helplessly dragged into the fray.

Hwoarang expertly weaves them through all the warm bodies and Jin doesn’t have time to wonder where they’re headed to with the speed they were going at. It’s a miracle he hasn’t tripped or bumped into anyone yet. They come to a grinding halt in front of one of the small stalls tucked away in a quieter corner. A floral sweetness hits his nose and Hwoarang is already pulling out a large pouch of coins.

“I’ll have ten!”

“My…It’s rare for youngsters to buy these. Aren’t they a bit old-fashioned for you?”

“Nope. They’re my favourite.”

An old granny who seemed vaguely familiar to Jin gives a hearty laugh before moving to scoop up some dense, brown syrupy slices of something into some bamboo wrapping. Jin takes another curious sniff. They smelt sweet. Lightly spiced and nothing like Jin had ever seen before. Not even during his time at the Mishima Estate where he had tasted countless delicacies. Hwoarang’s obvious excitement at these unassuming treats reminds him of the off hand comment one of the villagers had made. It seems that these were the honey cakes that the local ‘Kou-chan’ seemed to favour. Hwoarang is dropping a pile of coins into the granny’s hands when she looks up at him.

“Ah! You’re the new boy! From the shrine!” Jin jumps at her voice.

“Y-yes…” His hand automatically reaches up to his head, trying to tip his non-existent bamboo hat low. He settles for tucking his chin down slightly.

“Have another one. On the house, Jin- chan !”

Before Jin can say anything, a cake gets shoved into his hands and he’s being whisked away by Hwoarang who gives her a cheery smile.

“Thank you very much, granny! I hope you stay healthy!”

They’re back in the ocean of people again when Hwoarang grins down at him.

“Looks like you're cozying up to the locals well, eh?”

“H-huh? N-no! I— “

Jin stumbles as he gets pushed along by Hwoarang into another quiet side street. He seemed to know every corner of the village and all the spots where people seldom wandered to. The buzz of the bumbling crowd is dampened by the surrounding buildings and Jin feels like he can finally breathe after all that excitement. His brain has barely caught up to the present when Hwoarang meets his eyes. Those golden irises hold him in place, awfully close to his face again and making his skin prickle.

“Wait right here, Kazama. I’ll be back.”

“W-where…?”

Hwoarang has already taken off again in a cloud of dust before he manages to get a sentence out. He sighs, curiously looking around this quiet nook he found himself in. 

It was dark. The eaves of the buildings block the last of the setting sun and submerge the narrow street in shadow. Anyone could come across him here. He’s read too many books and seen the filthy sidestreets in the city to know that this was just a disaster waiting to happen. All it took was a wandering drunk; A group with unsavoury intentions to come across him and…

Was he going to get mugged? He didn’t have any money?! He could always render them unconscious with his karate but what if he made a scene? What if a group of wandering vagrants came across him? They could pincer him on both sides…or even worse… What if those hunters found him like this? It’d be all over for him then. He still had some difficulty moving around most days. He shudders at the thought of having to run again…just like that night all those months ago…

Where was Hwoarang, and why was he taking so long?!

He bounces his leg, digging his fingers into his palm. Should…should he try to find— 

“Hey man, what are you doing?!.”

Jin whips his head around, only to be met with a wall of black and red, a scowling visage of sorts and he lets out a startled shout, jumping away from this stranger.

They’ve found him and now they’re here to finish the job!

“H-hey! Calm down, Kazama! It’s just me!”

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder. His body catches on before his mind does as a flicker of annoyance beats against his chest, relief flooding through him. Jin turns back to see Hwoarang slipping off a mask with a small pout. 

“Aw man…Kazama, you’ve really done it now…”

Done…what?

“If you weren’t gonna eat it you could’ve at least given it to me y’know…”

As if on cue, Jin is suddenly very aware of an unpleasantly sticky sensation all over his hands. 

Right. He had been holding…

Jin looks down at the massacred remains of the honey cake smeared across his palms, gulping dryly. That kind granny had given it to him and he…

He casts a glance over at a deflated Hwoarang who’s woefully looking at the pieces of the cake that had fallen to the ground during his panic.

“I’m…sorry…”

Hwoarang still looks so despondent and Jin desperately wants to console him.

“Hwoarang- san… You still have the ones you bought, right? Ten of them?”

His expression doesn’t change.

“I already ate all of them.”

Jin chokes on his spit.

Barely five minutes must have passed and he had finished all of them?! He looks towards Hwoarang’s hands and sure enough, the little bundle of sweets are nowhere to be seen. He’s holding something else instead; something covered in a white cloth with blue dots all over it.

“Uhm…Hwoarang- san , where did you go anyways?” Jin asks as he washes his hands in a nearby rainwater trough.

That seemed to take his mind off the ruined cake as he snapped his head up, a more familiar smirk stretching back across his lips.

“Well…you don’t want the wrong people to know you’re here, right?”

“So…”

Jin already has a bad feeling as Hwoarang slowly unwraps the object in his hands.

“I got you this!”

Jin stares blankly as Hwoarang brandishes a paper mask with all the theatrical flair of a kabuki performer. He’s not sure how to react to the enthusiasm that’s radiating off of Hwoarang while he’s holding a hyottoko mask of all things. Was this a joke?

“Y’know, to hide your face and the bandana to cover your hair especially since it's kinda…uh…”

“...”

“A-Are you mad at me again…?”

His silence on the matter must’ve unsettled Hwoarang and he takes the mask from his hands with a bite of his lip. Jin could see the logic… 

“N-no… I couldn’t be! You went out of your way to accompany me to the festival and get me this for my safety… It’s just…”

Should he really say it? Something so trivial and selfish?

“...Just?”

“W-were there really no other designs aside from this? It’s so…”

“Oh! Sorry, Kazama…There weren’t any others that could cover your hair as well…”

Right. Of course Hwoarang would think of that too. He was just being difficult for no reason.

“...and I thought it’d be pretty funny too…”

He feels his eye twitch.

So much for being grateful to Hwoarang. Jin’s annoyance must’ve shown as Hwoarang backtracks with a weak laugh.

“I-I got myself one too! So you won’t stand out so much!”

Hwoarang pulls down the mask that had been resting on his head and Jin gets a proper look at what he had mistakenly thought was an oni . It had an intricate design of sweeping red lines that stood starkly atop smooth black paper with a pair of slanted lines as eyes. There were two ‘ears’ protruding at the top and a small quirk at the corners of the mouth, a feature that was all too reminiscent of a certain someone. 

Had Hwoarang really got himself a kitsune mask? There was something to be said about his sense of humour but Jin held his tongue. He begrudgingly slips on his ‘disguise’. There was a festival to enjoy and Jin wouldn’t let himself waste anymore time moping over a mask.

But for all his inward grumbling, Jin can’t help but feel at ease as they step back into the main street again. He felt safe under the guise of the fool, even more so as countless other festival goers brush by him donning various masks. Eating might be tricky, but at least now he didn’t have to be so on edge all the time. Constantly worrying about prying eyes and catching the attention of the wrong person. He could pretend, at least for a moment, that he was just a simple man visiting from a city. Here to enjoy this countryside festival. 

Not as a disgraced heir in hiding.

Not as an inhuman monster to be hunted down and killed.

But as a person. Perfectly normal and accepted. 

Jin looks around the crowd. The warmth of their laughter and bubbling conversation washing over him. He knows that his life as a human is over. Ruined by his own hands. It was inevitable, really. He knows this and yet…a bittersweet smile crosses his lips, hidden from the world beneath his mask. Was it so wrong to yearn for it all the same?

A sudden movement in front of him makes him startle; he barely registers Hwoarang’s arm shooting out—  a small gasp and a bump to his side.

“A-Ah! I’m so sorry!”

Jin grits his teeth. Whoever had run into him just had to knock right into his still healing side. Hwoarang had managed to soften most of the impact but he still fights the urge to double over in pain.

“Be careful where you’re going, little miss. There’s a lot of people around so it’s best to not be in a rush.”

Says the one who beelined for their favourite food as soon as they smelt it.

Jin finally looks down, realising that Hwoarang had kept a whole steaming boat of akashiyaki from going all over him. In front of his arm was a small girl, wearing an oni mask that had drooping brows and a downturned grimace. Quite the unusual choice for such a young girl. She seemed to be trembling at her knees, bowing her head down profusely and apologising.

“I-I didn’t burn you did I? Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“No, no. It’s quite alright you see? You didn’t spill anything!”

Sure enough, Hwoarang is spotless and the savoury snack has somehow miraculously all stayed within its bamboo serving vessel.

“I didn’t drop anything on you either did I, S-Sir?” 

Jin subtly tries to massage the pain away in his side as he does his best to ease the girl's concerns.

“N-no, you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“See? No harm done. Run along now, little miss. And be careful!”

The young girl wearing the oni mask dips her head one last time as Hwoarang hands her back the akashiyaki . They watch her scurry off into the crowd before Hwoarang steps close to him with a small whisper as they continue walking.

“You alright? Is your side okay?”

“Ah…yes… It’s fine. The pain will go away soon.”

Hwoarang makes a small hum before pulling away.

“Well, c’mon now. There’s still a lot you haven’t seen yet, Kazama!”

He watches him pull his mask out of the way before throwing one of the small round snacks he had seen in the girl’s hands in the air and catching it with his mouth. He makes a happy sound and Jin feels his eyebrow twitch.

Hwoarang quickly puts his mask back into place and Jin just knows he’s smirking underneath there. He gives a small sigh before mentally noting that he should try one of those without underhanded means. He hadn’t eaten anything yet, what with that honey cake disaster and now this minor incident. He was a little…envious that Hwoarang had already gotten to try so many foods, but it wasn’t like he had any money on him. He couldn’t exactly ask Hwoarang to lend him some… 

“Hey, what do you wanna try? It’s your first time here so you can go crazy. I’ll treat ya.”

“I-I couldn’t possibly impose myself like that on you— “

“Aw c’mon, Kazama. We both know you’re just being polite.”

“...”

“You really gonna come all the way here and not try anything?”

Damn Hwoarang and his wily ways. He always knew how to break past the propriety that had been beaten into him and pull out what he really wanted with disarming ease. Jin wasn’t quite sure how to feel about his methods. It always left him feeling embarrassed at being so easily read and yet it was…nice…to have someone ask him how he really felt about things.

“... S-senbei …”

“Hm?”

“I would like to try the tako-senbei.”

He can’t see it but Hwoarang is surely grinning at him again. 

“Let’s go then!”

~~~

Jin brushes away the crumbs of a fluffy castella cake from the edges of his mouth. He hadn’t expected to see it here, a treat more commonly found in the larger cities. Hwoarang had taken him to try so many things. The senbei had been just as delicious as he had imagined. So light and crispy, it had been a little bit of a shock when it stuck to his tongue at first, but the spectacle of watching it be prepared in front of his eyes made him forget about it. Who would’ve thought that squashing lightly battered octopus between two hot plates would be so good?

There had been so much delicious food and Jin felt giddy simply recalling the taste. Grilled potato mochi slathered in sweet soy sauce… the springy texture of the akashiyaki … The gyoza were very different from the ones he had in the estate, not filled with expensive seafood but rather mostly vegetables with a little bit of meat. But somehow they were even more delectable despite their humble ingredients. 

Eating was only half the joy at festivals though. Hwoarang had noticed him glancing over at all the games laid out in the stores and had been kind enough to teach him how to play some of them. Not without a fair share of laughter at his failures as payment though. It wasn’t his fault that scooping goldfish with a flimsy net was so difficult! (Completely ignoring that many children half his age seemed to be so…proficient at it.) He thought he had done well at a ring tossing game only to have Hwoarang completely show him up. But for all the teasing he had suffered and the embarrassment of losing to children, it was… fun. 

To think that he would be able to actually experience all of this after he had spent so many years as a quiet observer… It made his steps lighter, less hesitant to speak and wondering what new thing he had been missing in his life that Hwoarang would show him next. He’s grateful to him, taking all his overflowing excitement in stride. Jin can feel Hwoarang’s eyes on him sometimes, wondering if he’s just inwardly laughing at him at all his naivety. It’s a curious thought; thinking about how Hwoarang feels about all of this seeing as he’s probably experienced this festival countless times. Jin catches him looking at him again as he wipes the last of the crumbs off his face.

“W-what is it?” He stutters out, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“Hm? Nothing. We should start heading to where the fireflies are.” Hwoarang answers with a small tilt of his head. The mask makes it even harder to know what he’s thinking. 

Looking around though, people have already started trickling out to the paddocks. It’s fully dark now, the only light coming from the warm glow of the lanterns that had been set up in the town. There’s a small trail of them leading to the fields as well; a guide for the other festival goers. Hwoarang had already started walking away and Jin jogs to catch up.

There’s a small doubt digging at him in his mind now. Did Hwoarang actually enjoy the festival as well? Or had he just been putting up with his selfish desires the entire time? Now that he thinks about it…He had been using all of Hwoarang’s money and he’d been so wrapped up in all his excitement that he had hardly been paying attention to the reason why he’s even able to be here…

Jin trails behind Hwoarang, wondering how best to make it up to him as the path grows darker and darker. That was strange. Weren’t there supposed to be lanterns showing them the way? He looks up to find that they’re in a secluded alcove close to the forest. There’s a large worn rock with a flat surface that seemed almost…purposefully placed? It was rather well-maintained despite how well hidden this spot was. Hwoarang takes a seat and pats the space next to him.

“You can take the mask off here, Kazama. Noone wanders this far.”

Sure enough, there seemed to be nary a soul here save for the loud chirping of the crickets and the sound of running water. Tall grass seemed to stretch all around them, save for a small clearing in front of them. They would be able to hear if anyone approached them.

Jin slowly takes off the mask, breathing in the warm summer air as he takes a seat next to Hwoarang. It’s quiet here. A tranquil stillness that was not unsettling but rather, peaceful . Was this where Hwoarang would go when he visited all those centuries ago? Was it just as untouched as it was before? He could picture it then. A lone Hwoarang escaping back to the familiar embrace of nature after a night of being surrounded by the crowds.

“It’s almost time…stay very quiet.” Hwoarang whispers.

They sit there. Jin in apprehensive silence, Hwoarang in casual anticipation. The space in front of them is empty for a few minutes. A dark landscape washed with broad strokes of grey and blue before Jin sees it. A flicker of yellow.

He follows the glowing dot as it meanders around its backdrop of reeds and tall grass. It seemed lost, searching for something before Jin spots another flicker off to the side. And then another. 

One by one, the fireflies make their presence known with their luminescent displays. Soon, the once monochromatic landscape is alight with warmth. Their brilliant glow tinged with green brings life to the darkness as they call to each other and answer in return. Jin barely knows where to look anymore as yellow streaks across his vision in a playful dance, flickering about in gracious camaraderie as more of their companions join them.

It’s a beautiful sight, and Jin can scarcely believe that there had been so many of them hiding in the grass. They looked like softly blinking stars, bringing colour to their dark stage. It was simply breath-taking; a whole galaxy spread upon these humble lands.

“There used to be a lot more fireflies here you know…” Hwoarang gently breaches the tranquil atmosphere with a soft voice.

“But I had the most fun this time, after all these centuries.”

“Why? What’s so different this time?” Jin curiously whispers back as he slowly turns to face Hwoarang. 

“Who knows?…It just feels that way.” 

Jin sees Hwoarang glance over to him with a smile before his attention is drawn back towards the phenomenon before his eyes. A small smile of his own stretches across his lips.

So Hwoarang did enjoy the festival in the end.

~~~

“You’re sure of this?

“Y-yes, I’m sure. There’s no mistake. That was the Young Master’s voice. H-he even seemed to be bothered by something on his side… just as you said he would.”

“...”

“Send word to Mishima Heihachi-sama that the runaway is still alive.”

Chapter Text

As summer begins to fade, it graces the lands with one last gift before it bids them farewell: 

A whole week of rain.

Thunder and lightning had lit up the sky with flashes of purple and blue. It was nostalgic, in a way. Reminding him of those countless hours spent in a dojo practising drills…

It had lulled Jin into a false sense of security, cooling the air back to a more agreeable temperature only to be hit by what he could only describe as the hottest day of his life.

Blinking made sweat bead up on his skin. Walking made it soak into his clothes. Even the little stream in the garden felt lukewarm beneath his feet and did little to offer him relief from the relentless heat that was beating down upon them. The harsh rays of sun only made things worse— suffocating the air with moisture as it evaporated the water that had saturated the earth.

They’re both sitting in the kitchen having breakfast: A modest meal of the last summer vegetables they had harvested, having little appetite for anything else in this sort of weather. Jin watches as Hwoarang lethargically chews through a cucumber. His face is pressed against the small dining table, no doubt trying to leech what little coolness that was in the wood onto his own skin. The heat seemed to be getting to him, not that Jin was doing particularly well either, but he never would have thought that a powerful nine-tailed fox would suffer in summer to this extent. 

Couldn’t he use some…magical trickery to cool himself off? Hwoarang certainly seemed skilled enough to do it.

But the reality was, the poor fox had his hair up in a messy ponytail to keep it off his neck. His sleeves tied back as far as they would go, exposing his arms, and the rest of his yukata rolled up to his knees. If Hwoarang took things any further up his body, it would defeat the purpose of wearing clothes in the first place. Jin wonders vaguely if he’s still wearing said clothes out of propriety’s sake— seeing as he was inhabiting Hwoarang’s space at the moment and he didn’t particularly care to see him walking around the shrine in just a fundoshi …

Hwoarang suddenly lets out an exasperated groan, making Jin almost drop his chopsticks.

“Summer…is the worst…”

Jin watches with curiosity as to what other emotional outburst Hwoarang was planning to make as he slowly raises his head from the table. There’s a red imprint of the wood grain squashed onto his cheek and Jin has to suppress a laugh.

“Let’s get outta here. I’m gonna go insane if I have to sit here marinating in my own sweat any longer.”

“Out of here? Where?” Hwoarang wipes the sweat off his brow before answering. He really did look quite miserable with all his damp hair plastered across his sticky skin.

“A waterfall…It should be cooler there…”

“How far away is it?”

“About an hour’s hike from the shrine.”

Jin bites his lip. 

Would he be able to handle that? The walk to the festival had been fine because of Hwoarang’s magic, but this was different. A hike meant climbing things…unsteady pathways and gruelling elevations. Having a repeat of what had happened during their sparring session wasn’t ideal, even if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his day ‘marinating in his own sweat’ as Hwoarang had so aptly put it.

“It’s nothing too crazy. Mostly flat with a few rocks to climb; we’re quite high in the mountains already anyways.” There it was again.That disconcerting ease in which Hwoarang seemingly knew what was on his mind. He unconsciously touches his side.

The awful stab wound was mostly closed now, save for a large scab that covered it. The stitches had long been removed but he still felt tender around there, not to mention the sharp pain he’d get whenever he’d stretch too far. It was still much better than before and if Hwoarang seemed to have confidence in him…

“Okay…”

Hwoarang suddenly jumps up, as if rejuvenated with a burst of energy. There’s a large smile on his face, no doubt having his mood lifted at the prospect of escaping this oppressive heat.

“Perfect! You mind making some onigiri with the rice that’s left over in the pot? I’m gonna go pack some stuff we need.”

“A-ah. Okay. Sure…”

Jin felt uneasy at being trusted with such an important task for their little excursion. Hwoarang had shown him how to make the rice balls on more than one occasion, but he still felt woefully unprepared to undertake this task without his guidance.

He’s been left alone in the kitchen before he could even ask for a refresher course, giving Jin no choice but to pass this trial by fire.

~~~

Jin watches as Hwoarang tip toes and skips from rock to rock as they walk along a river embankment. It’s filled with all shapes and sizes of stones: From pebbles the size of a soybean to large boulders that Hwoarang couldn’t seem to resist the temptation to climb. For someone who had been complaining about the heat, he seemed to be awfully energetic. Perhaps it was just a by-product from being cooped up inside all week from the rain. Jin had no such excitement, choosing a more level path on the side. Maybe in another time, he would’ve joined Hwoarang. If only he didn’t have to be so careful about his injury…

He finds himself smiling at those antics though. There was just something so carefree, and a certain degree of immaturity about Hwoarang that Jin never thought a mighty spiritual deity would be. He had expected him to be more… grounded; jaded even.

But now he watches on in amusement as Hwoarang lobs stones of various sizes into the river that flowed beside them; just to hear the deep resounding ‘plunk’ they made as they dropped into the water. Jin is reminded of when he had practised skipping stones on a lake when he had been younger. Something he had observed the village children do to pass time and had wanted to try for himself. It was fun for a while, but it just wasn’t the same without the cheering and the friendly competitiveness that came with having friends that were his age. 

Or even having friends for that matter.

They come across a stretch of the embankment where the water turns shallow. Its deep azure blue fading to a more transparent teal. Some trees stretch over the rocky path and offer patches of shade from the harsh sun with their wilting leaves.

Hwoarang stops in his tracks, skipping towards the water before waving him over upon spotting something. It’s hard to tell what exactly he’s supposed to be looking at once he’s beside Hwoarang. Its crystal clear depths offer a clear view of the bottom. All the multicoloured stones and pebbles that lay as its foundation wink at him with their saturated colours.

A pair of zori go flying by his head and Hwoarang is already rolling up his yukata again. Jin narrowly avoids the straw sandals smacking him in his face before he hears the sloshing of water.

“Go take a seat, Kazama. I’m gonna catch our lunch!”

Was there even any food to be found in this river? Jin couldn’t see anything of interest at a glance but there’s a grin on Hwoarang’s face that gives him pause. One that looked like he was eager to prove something and play a game that he seemed entirely too excited for.

Jin watches him wade towards the centre, the water reaching up to his knees. A bit of it laps at the ends of his yukata but Hwoarang didn’t seem to care; entirely focused on something in front of him. His hands are at the ready, prepared to grab something in an instant; tongue poking out in concentration. Hwoarang is very still, but Jin can see the tension coiled in his form, ready to strike. A sight that's all too reminiscent of a fox hunting in the snow. He watches with keen interest at what Hwoarang could possibly be up to before he almost jumps out of his skin at the sudden SPLASH!

A wall of water briefly blocks his vision before dissipating into fat droplets that rain back down into the river. Hwoarang lets out a triumphant laugh, holding something high up in the air. It was flapping about quite vigorously before Jin spotted the shining scales glinting in the sunlight.

It was quite the sizable ‘ yamame’ — cherry trout— struggling in Hwoarang’s clutches.

Such a large fish with just his bare hands was an impressive feat…should he clap for him? That felt a little too condescending and he wasn’t exactly confident in cheering Hwoarang on with his voice. He loses his chance before he can make a decision though. The fish takes its chance while its captor was entirely too focused on showing off his catch to keep a proper grip on it; slipping from his hands and smacking Hwoarang right in the face before making its escape back into the water.

Jin really can’t help the sputtering laugh that leaves him at the sight. The defeated grimace. The slight red mark growing on Hwoarang’s cheek. Oh, to have stood at the peak of the mountain only to come tumbling down seconds later…

“Alright, wise guy. Why don’t you get your ass over here and try catching one yourself!”

“A-ah…uhm… I don’t— “

“What? Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, seeing as you seem to have a better idea of how to do this!” 

There didn’t seem to be a way out of this conundrum he’s dug himself and Jin gulps. A challenging glint flashes in Hwoarang’s eyes and an all too knowing smirk stretching on his lips that Jin just can’t ignore. Maybe…Just maybe he’d be able to go against Hwoarang’s expectations of him just once? Surely he could surprise him with a fluke? He didn’t have a flimsy net to hinder him this time, and his target seemed to be much larger as well. It’d be easier than that rigged game at the festival…right?

Jin slips off his zori, placing them neatly by the edge of the river before rolling up his yukata as well. Yes…he’d show Hwoarang! Show him that he wasn’t a hopeless city boy, far from it! He had his early upbringing to rely on, not that he actually had the patience to fish back then— but that's besides the point!

He steps into the cool water, the smooth rocks pushing against his bare feet. It’s been a while since he had been barefoot and treading upon such a rough surface. It was a rather…painful massage that tested his balance as he carefully swished his way through the river. Hwoarang ‘graciously’ gestures for him to take the stage with a smug smile, pointing to the stretch of water in front of him. There’s a moment of inward panic when he can’t see anything for a while. Just the swift ripples on top of the water that tell him that the river is indeed flowing. His eyes frantically dart around, searching for anything vaguely fish-like before finally landing on what he had initially thought was a strangely shaped stick.

Upon closer inspection, he could see it was moving. Slowly swimming it’s way upstream and…right towards him...!

Jin does his best to copy the stance Hwoarang had taken on earlier, being mindful not to disturb the water. He could feel those golden eyes on his back, daring him to do a better job and it made his mouth dry. All he had to do was wait until it was almost in front of him…don’t overcomplicate things, Jin!

That being said…

…Didn’t things in water always appear closer than they seemed? Or was it the other way around? The fish was fast approaching and he didn’t have enough time to think. Should he try to pincer it from the sides, or grab it from the top? How did Hwoarang hold it earlier? Didn’t fish have teeth?! Wouldn’t it bite him?!

Argh…!

He plunges his hands into the water, flinching at the large splash he had produced. Water goes everywhere, soaking into his clothes and raining onto his face. It felt nice on his sweaty skin but more importantly…!

Did he catch the fish?!

A snicker comes from behind him as he slowly brings his hands back up from the water, growing into full blown laughter as river stones drop from his hands. Sinking defeat soaks into his bones as he slowly turns towards Hwoarang who’s clutching at his stomach. 

So much for trying to prove Hwoarang wrong.

All he had caught was the water dripping from his hair and soaked all over his front. 

And was currently wrangling with a bruised ego.

But no! He wouldn’t give up so easily! Jin was determined to contribute to their meal and he’d spend the whole day trying if he had to. He swipes the water off his face before turning around and searching the water for his next target.

“I’ll…I’ll get one for sure, Hwoarang- san. Just you wait.”

“Wanna see who catches more then? Loser has to scale and gut the fish.”

That was… something he had no idea how to do but Jin wasn’t backing down now.

“...Deal.”

~~~

“What? There’s no way I’m making you do this and risk you chopping your fingers off— You barely even know how to make namasu yet.”

“Y-yes I do! It’s got…vinegar and…raw stuff… in it…”

“Don’t try to figure out the dish just based on its name, Kazama.”

…Nothing could get past Hwoarang, could it?

It should really come as no surprise that Hwoarang had won their little ‘bet’ by a landslide. All Jin had to show for his efforts were some banged up fingers and a dripping wet yukata that was drying absurdly fast beneath the sun. Catching fish was serious business. He had taken those children too lightly…

“Maybe you would’ve had more luck if you had been a cat instead.”

Jin grumbles under his breath as Hwoarang laughs at his own wit. It seemed a sense of humour wasn’t something that matured with time…

He squats down a small distance away from Hwoarang, resigning himself to simply observing his fluid movements. His tail waves around with curiosity while he watches the way Hwoarang handles the knife; making short work of the scales and cleaning off the blood in the water. Hwoarang could be a chef for the royals if he wanted to. Though, Jin would be hard pressed to figure out a reason why the fox would want to do that.

“The fins fry up nice and crispy if you have the patience to grill it that long…”

Hwoarang seemed rather content living so close to nature as he chatters on to Jin about the many delicious ways to prepare river fish. Fame… recognition…material values…all those things felt far beneath him. What could a being who’s lived for as long as he has still have left to desire? 

What did Hwoarang want?

“C’mon, let’s get going. The waterfall’s not too far now.”

“A-ah. Okay.”

It’s a question that lingers in his mind as he helps Hwoarang pack up his tools. Perhaps it was an answer that he too would find eventually. There had to be a reason why the fox lived in seclusion high up the mountains, why he held those villagers so dearly to him.

…

…Why he could still be so childish…!

This supposed ‘omniscient’ deity is currently trying to show him a rather large and grotesque cicada he had plucked from a nearby tree trunk in the hopes of scaring him. All he gets is a deadpan stare as his reward.

“Aw… I thought you city slickers couldn’t handle this kind of stuff…”

“Hwoarang- san… I did spend a portion of my upbringing in the forests as well, you know…”

“O-oh…”

Hwoarang sheepishly releases the poor insect and strides ahead with a whistle. Jin needs to repress another laugh, lest another ‘challenge’ randomly gets thrown at him for being unable to contain his mirth. The rest of the journey goes by without incident: Hwoarang still walking slightly ahead of him while poking and picking at random plants growing off the worn path; even swiping a few leaves and roots into his pack— probably for his trove of dried medicinal ingredients. The roar of water eventually reaches Jin’s ears and the air around them seems to drop by a few degrees. Excitement bubbles up within him as a clearing opens up in the forest before them, the ground beneath their feet changing into smooth rock. Jin can feel the waterfall first before he sees it.

A cooling mist caresses his sweaty skin and the grandiose view greets his eyes: A torrent of water tumbling over the edge of a tall cliff. It comes rushing down towards the rocky basin, splashing outwards as it crashes into the small reservoir at its feet and billowing into the fine particles landing on his face. A small, wobbly rainbow could be seen amongst the rushing water, a small gift as if to congratulate them for coming this far (even if it was just an hour hike).

Hwoarang lets out a relieved sigh; finally free of the heat prison he had been seeking to escape. He runs over to the edge of the pool, shucking off the small pack he had been carrying and splashing water onto his face. The waterfall seemed to sap away the summer heat from his skin as Jin walked closer towards it, a blessed coolness that reinvigorated his sun-baked mind sweeping across him. It felt like he could think properly again, without being suffocated by the awful, sauna-like mugginess back at the shrine.

They both take a moment to refresh themselves and enjoy the fruits of their small trek before Hwoarang speaks up.

“Hey Kazama, come over here for a sec.”

Jin needs to force himself away from the cooling spray of water, pulling his attention to Hwoarang who was sitting at the edge of the pool with his legs crossed. There’s a small inkling of what the fox has in mind niggling at him when he takes a seat in front of him. Hwoarang folds his hands into his lap and Jin does the same.

“Are we going to meditate again…?”

“You catch on quick, eh?” Hwoarang nods with a small hum.

“It’s gonna feel a little different than before, but…I guess you should just see for yourself.”

Now what did that mean? Trepidation creeps upon Jin but he quickly follows Hwoarang’s cue and shuts his eyes.

There’s nothing for a moment but Jin tries his best to focus. The cool mist of the waterfall forming droplets on his skin and melding with his sweat that's dripping down the nape of his neck. The sun-warmed rock beneath him. The water rushing behind him. Jin isn’t quite sure what he’s searching for and it’s like wandering aimlessly in that mire again.

“Your power, Kazama. Bring it forth. Show that you’re worthy.” Hwoarang’s voice is clear despite the roar of the water.

Power?

He had only just been made aware of its existence not too long ago and Hwoarang wants him to call on what little he has? It felt like a futile effort. He was far from ‘worthy’, whatever that meant. The sound of water crashing down the cliff is loud in his ears. Distracting, grating, intimidating in all its raw destructive power. The remnants of the thick tree trunks he had seen scattered around the basin of the falls come to mind then. Their sturdy bodies reduced to kindling before its might. His heart beats faster as if on reflex, an urge to run filling him.

“Don’t back down. You’re ready, Kazama. Don’t let it scare you.”

Right. Hwoarang was here with him. A comforting thought, as Jin knows he’d be able to pull him out of any danger that might befall him, guide him through this meditative process. There was an unshakable confidence coming from him that Jin was ready for…whatever it was he was trying to show him.

Breathe in.

…

Breathe out.

The gentle current beneath his skin felt like nothing compared to the massive torrent he was an audience to, but he tries his best to bring it forth. A disappointing silence meets him for a long, bated breath, until something stirs awake.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and Jin could feel its disconcerting presence arrive.

It was hard to tell if it was an intrinsic part of himself or if it was purely an outside influence. A distinct feeling of being scrutinised makes his skin crawl but there’s no mistaking it— whatever was happening was similar to when he had spoken to those voices in the forest. Except…this time they offered no warm welcome. No gentle guiding hand. Jin could feel the oppressive weight of its being pressing down into him as if he was sitting beneath the waterfall itself. 

And yet Jin could…appreciate what it seemed to be saying. How quickly the current within him could spiral out of control and turn into a raging, unstoppable force if he wasn’t careful; destroying everything in its path and drowning those around him in a blink of an eye. How that very flood could be calmed, tamed back into a babbling brook much like the one that ran through the shrine. A source of life . He thinks back to the smashed trees…and the relief he had felt from the same force that had broken them, cooling his overheated skin.

The waterfall seems to quieten then, the torrent less violent. Something or someone tousles his hair again, albeit more forceful and rougher than when he had been sitting in Hwoarang’s garden. It lingers for a moment before it abruptly turns on its heel and leaves. 

Jin carefully opens his eyes. That was… interesting to say the least. Hwoarang was right, it was very different from his earlier meditating experience. It felt similar to watching his grandfather perform calligraphy. Seeing the graceful way he handled the brush…the measured strokes of ink across the paper. Knowing how those very hands could smash a hardwood desk in half…leave bruises that would last for weeks. His thoughtfulness must amuse Hwoarang as he laughs quietly beneath his breath.

“…They’re a bit awkward but they mean well. I think.” He says with a reassuring grin.

Jin fixes his hair. Buying himself some time to shake off those unpleasant memories, even if he knew his hair would forever be a mess and stick up at the back of his head. This was the wilderness in the countryside. Not the city. He wouldn’t let that oppressive presence ruin the time Hwoarang had so kindly set out to teach him.

“I…barely even know how to change my form. I don’t think I could harm anyone like that…” He chooses to ignore Hwoarang’s quirk of his lip and presses on.

“Why did it feel the need to caution me?”  Hwoarang’s demeanour takes on a more serious edge despite him resting a hand against his chin. There’s something cold behind those golden eyes.

“A yokai’s power can be a fickle thing…”

“Your lightning…Is that from your mother as w—?”

“No!” Jin cuts in sharply.

Hwoarang pauses, sitting back up properly. He knows he shouldn’t have reacted so rudely but the thought of his mother…so gentle and kind, wielding something so… so violent goes so far against what Jin knew her to be. She was already gone. The mere thought of associating her with this cursed family was sickening.

But Hwoarang couldn’t have known that. He wills the dark lump that had risen into his chest again to disappear as he takes a deep breath, composing himself. Hwoarang simply looks at him with a small, patient smile. There was something about Hwoarang that just made him feel like everything would be alright. A sort of… belief that Jin knew he wouldn’t laugh at him (when it mattered) or turn his words against him.

Trust.

“I…inherited it from my father…” Jin looks down at the rock beneath him. 

Silence stretches between them as Jin tries to find the right words but strangely enough, he doesn’t feel pressed to get his thoughts out unlike with his grandfather. There was no overwhelming pressure forcing him to speak. No feeling of wasting someone’s time. Hwoarang waits, his usual talkative self tucked away in favour of prompting Jin to continue when he is ready.

They were out in the mountaintops amongst the trees and water with the sun high over their heads. Not the dimly lit halls of a barren dojo. They had all the time in the world.

“Mishima…Kazuya…”

“He’s just a name to me. I know nothing of him.”

The name was akin to blasphemy in the estate. Jin learned very quickly never to mention his father or seek to learn more of the man that had caught his mother’s affections. The servants would always clam up and avoid his gaze, whereas his grandfather was quick to set some cruel punishment for him.

Kazuya seemed to care at least. The worn golden kanzashi bearing the Mishima crest left within his childhood home was telling enough. He remembers the urgency of which his mother had pressed that cold metal hairpin into his hands all those years ago. Pushing him to run to the city, to seek out this family as flames began to engulf their home.

He wonders if his mother would’ve still sent him there if she knew just how twisted they were.

“...So your father is the human side of you?” Jin feels a self deprecating smile tug on his lips.

“It’s funny…My mother taught me more about kindness and ‘ humanity ’ than my Mishima blood ever could.” He continues bitterly.

Silence stretches once more between them, and this time it unsettles Jin. He bites his lip, staring hard at the ground. Why did he say all of that? Hwoarang probably just meant to strike up some idle conversation and now he’s gone and taken it too seriously like he always did and made things awkward. An eternity passes and Jin resists the urge to pick at his fingers. Why wasn’t Hwoarang saying anything? Regret surges within him and considers heading back to the shrine when Hwoarang lets out a small breath.

“Humans can be unsightly, vile, hateful things…” That makes Jin look up at Hwoarang, who’s fixing him with his own wan smile. A strange thing despite the venomous words that dropped from his mouth.

“Fearing…destroying what they don’t understand.” His hand comes to run through a fluffy orange tail that lay at his side.

“But…They can also be kind and gentle to us all the same.” 

The villagers… with their welcoming faces…Sae- san and her gifts of dango… The reverence in which they held Hwoarang. All of it soiled by the knowledge that people would turn on him if they knew what he was. He wasn’t like Hwoarang. He wasn’t a sacred, worshipped symbol of prosperity. He was a Nekomata . Scorned and feared. A supposed ‘ Man-eating ’ beast that tricked humans and brought nothing but misfortune. None of it was true of course, but that didn’t stop people from believing it. Even as the ‘heir’ to the Mishima Family he had been feared. He rarely met anyone who didn’t pale at the sight of him simply because of his name. Jin could appreciate what Hwoarang was trying to say but… 

His silence on the matter must show the lingering bitterness he still had as Hwoarang shifts back onto an elbow. It just wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Hwoarang sensed it too, though it seemed he still had one last thing to add.

“You know, Kazama…something’s been bothering me about this ‘Mishima’ blood of yours.” A deep sense of unease fills him at that. Was he really nothing but a monster?

“We yokai have predisposed powers- certain affinities to different aspects of our magic.”

“I guess what i’m trying to say is…your grandfather is a hypocritical asshole”

Huh?

Having someone openly insult his grandfather was… rather strange. Anger filled his heart and yet it was sort of…vindicating. Having someone realise the pain the man had caused him. But what was Hwoarang trying to do? 

“Your lightning…it must mean that the Mishima’s must’ve received a blessing or at least have some sort of relation with the Raijin-sama himself…”

“A bloodline blessed by a God. Wouldn’t that be an impressive intimidation tactic.”  Hwoarang gives a dry laugh that holds none of the humour.

“At least it would be, if the Gods actually gave out blessings.”

Jin’s head was beginning to spin. Gods? Fake blessings? Intimidation? What was Hwoarang even talking about? Jin just sits and continues to listen intently in the hopes of making sense of all this information being thrown at him.

“Only yokai can influence people. Only powerful ones can give blessings. What if I told you that a Raiju — a beast of lightning—  was the one behind that power you wield?”

Jin’s eyes grow wide.

“The yokai he detests so much…I wonder how he’d feel if your grandfather knew that his power stemmed from our kind?”

“Your lightning doesn’t make you evil, Kazama. Someone in your ancestors must’ve been a kind soul. Raiju don’t give their blessings easily.”

All this time spent cursing his own heritage…Jin pulls his gaze down to the ground again as a maelstrom of complicated emotion stirs within him. It was hard to tell if he should be happy? Grateful at this new information? Angry at his grandfather for all those lies? They all melded together into a bitter tasting, indecipherable soup inside his chest that could only take time to understand. There was an unbelievable pressure in his head with all this new information and he wanted out .

“A-about these powers you mentioned before…Hwoarang- san… what affinities do you have?”

It felt strange, rude even, to not acknowledge the kindness that Hwoarang had just shown him. It was kindness. There was no other way of putting it. He must’ve noticed the weight the Mishima blood held over him and sought to comfort him. Jin just wasn’t ready for it. He needed time. Time to come to terms with those seven years of his life…Time to understand himself . Thankfully, Hwoarang seemed to catch on. He had already said his part and let him be.

“It’s nothing special. Something fairly common for a fox to have. We actually share this affinity.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. Shapeshifting. Though I guess I do have another one that you don’t have.”

With a simple wave of his hand, small wisps of blue flame appear around Hwoarang. The cool light they exude is a stark contrast to the orange fur of his tails. They looked almost ghostly , a strange aura to them that seemed to draw him in and seek to touch the flames. The mesmerising dance Hwoarang was making the wisps do certainly added to the hypnotic quality.

“Here. You can hold it.”

That snaps Jin out of his trance, leaving no room for his concerns as Hwoarang brings all the wisps together into a single flame and promptly places it into his hands. Jin can’t help but flinch when he does— half expecting a searing pain to burn up his palms but…

It was warm.

In the best kind of way. Reminiscent of sinking into a hot bath on a winter’s day. Of snuggling into blankets on a cold morning. Of sitting by a fireplace and sipping tea. Jin stares deep within the azure flames licking at his palms. Noting how the edges had an almost coppery, orange-green tint denoting its master. Jin swears he could almost feel a steady heartbeat within it the longer he watches the wisp dancing in his hands.

“No wonder you never have trouble lighting the stove, Hwoarang- san. ”

A breathless sputter is his answer and Jin feels heat rise onto his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to say that! It was just the first thing that came to his mind; the words entirely unfitting for the elegant flame before him. This was the power of a mighty nine-tailed fox! How could he have compared it to the ease and convenience of a matchstick?!

“Well aren’t you a professional jokester?”

Jin sinks further in on himself as he desperately tries to find a way to salvage the situation but Hwoarang is already hiding another laugh behind his hand, snorting loudly and his eyes alight with mirth. At least he didn’t seem to take any offence to it…

“Speaking of stoves…Why don’t we cook up some lunch now? I’m starving.”

With his way out of this embarrassing conversation secured, Jin vigorously nods his head in agreement.

~~~

A small fire crackles merrily by the rocks, easily lit by Hwoarang’s…talents. The knowing smirk that had quirked onto Hwoarang’s lips when he conjured up the flame had Jin hastily excusing himself to look for more firewood within the forest.

They didn’t need too much— just enough to cook the fish Hwoarang had caught earlier. The pile of twigs and branches in his arms would more than suffice, and he reluctantly returns to the fire. Hwoarang is chipping away at the ends of some sticks to make a few makeshift skewers, humming to himself as those wood shavings drop into his lap. He has his feet submerged into the small pool of the waterfall, in a chipper mood at the prospect of grilling some freshly caught river fish. There was no space for Jin to try to offer his ‘help’ so he settles off to the side, a sigh of relief leaving him as he dips his feet into the water as well.

Jin closes his eyes, leaning back onto his palms as a warm breeze passes through their hidden alcove. It brought the heady smell of wood smoke and the delicate sweetness of the last blooming wildflowers. The cicadas chattering in the trees added to the pleasant ambience he was surrounded with. Combined with the quiet scraping of Hwoarang’s knife on the wood, Jin felt a wave of relaxation wash over him as his ever buzzing thoughts came to a gentle stop and his tight muscles loosen with every breath he takes.

It was just so… peaceful . Safe. Jin could fall asleep here for the rest of the afternoon if he wanted to.

Until the tranquil bubble he had found himself in shatters at the sharp hiss cutting through his ears. A clatter of metal on stone and Jin is already leaping up.

Frantic eyes dart across the landscape. Were they being attacked? Had those hunters somehow found the peaceful life he had been blessed with? His eyes fall upon Hwoarang, who has his tails flaring out in irritation. Realisation slowly sinks into him as he takes deep, gulping breaths to calm his thundering heart.

Hwoarang was simply holding up his finger, a low grumble leaving his lips as he cursed beneath his breath. Blood steadily drips from the wound. The knife thrown to the side, the stained wood in his lap. Jin lets out a sigh. 

Not an attack.

“H-hwoarang- san, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Can you grab me some bandages from my pack? I didn’t expect to use them on myself…”

Jin carefully digs through Hwoarang’s belongings, having to brush past a few scattered leaves and roots before wrapping his hand around a large pouch. Inside of it was a pile of neatly folded bandages, balms, and tinctures…They seemed familiar to Jin. It only takes him a second longer to realise that these were all the usual items Hwoarang used to take care of his stab wound… 

He was already no longer in danger of tearing his stitches or needing to pack his wound, and yet Hwoarang had brought all of this with him…

Something compels him to leave the pouch inside the pack, choosing instead to kneel down by Hwoarang’s side empty handed.

“Hwoarang -san… let me see.”

“It’s kinda deep, Kazama. Don’t faint on me.” He snickers. Always so light hearted despite the situation he was in.

“Wait, where are those bandages I asked you to get?”

Maybe it was because of their meditation earlier. Maybe it’s because Hwoarang has been teaching him. Maybe it was because he was out here in the wilds, enjoying the simple wonders that nature could offer. Whatever it was, Jin feels… good right now. Hwoarang’s protests die down as he slowly reaches out for him, gently prying away the finger that had been squeezing down on the cut.

Jin focuses on the stark red rivulets the blood leaves on Hwoarang’s skin. The heat radiating from his body as he clasps his hands around the bloodied finger. Feeling how it melded into his hands with its tacky warmth. He focuses on his breathing. Slow and calm. Evoking that gentle current beneath his skin, willing the blood seeping into his palms to return to whence it came. It wasn’t enough. He could feel himself faltering, drawing water from a well that had run dry. Something prods at him to submerge their hands beneath the crystalline pool before them and he does.

A small, confused yelp comes from beside him as water splashes around them, but Jin squeezes hard; not letting go until the current within him grows still. That snaps him out from his hyper focus, suddenly very aware of their close proximity. He could feel Hwoarang’s slightly elevated breath on his ear. Feel his wide eyes staring at him with bewilderment. Jin jumps away, almost knocking Hwoarang over in his haste to escape.

“Um…um…I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have been so forceful and presumptuous. I’ll get your bandages now!”

“Wait, Kazama!”

Hwoarang draws his hand out of the water, looking at it with an odd expression on his face before a wide smile stretches across his lips.

“It worked!”

Jin rushes back over as Hwoarang excitedly shows him the finger that had been bleeding profusely moments before. Sure enough, the water that was still dripping from his hand was clear, untainted by blood, and a thin scab had appeared over the wound.

“It’s… not fully gone…”

Jin can’t help but feel a little disappointed at that. He had been hoping to fully close it like the time when they had that sparring mishap, but…

“Hey now! Give yourself some credit, Kazama!”

“How so…?”

“At least you’re conscious of it now! You’re still learning so don’t worry about it so much!”

Hwoarang seemed to be more excited than him about this, but Jin can’t help but feel some of that positivity rub off on him. That… was true. He had been trying to use his power, even if it wasn’t perfect and took most of his energy. As if on cue, a horrendously loud grumble reverberates from his stomach and Jin feels like jumping into the pool and letting the waterfall wash him away.

“Pfft— Yeah. I figured you’d be hungry after doing that.”

He hears Hwoarang suppress another laugh as he turns away, rifling in Jin’s smaller pack this time before pulling out the box of onigiri he had made in the morning.

“Here. We should eat these while I get the fish on.”

The box gets shoved into his hands as Hwoarang busies himself with skewering the fish and placing them around the fire. There’s a stable enough looking rock by the edge of the pool, where the water flows off the edge of the cliff to form another waterfall. Jin goes to make himself comfortable as he waits for Hwoarang to finish.

He… had done it.

He’d been able to call on his mother’s gift! Another precious fragment of his mother he could treasure after years of only being able to hold onto fading memories of her. 

Brought to him by none other than Hwoarang.

There’s a certain tenderness in his heart at the realisation— an all too familiar heat behind his eyes the more he dwells on it. He finds himself trying to pinpoint the distinct sounds of bird calls around him as he loses his thoughts in the deep green landscape that stretched before him. No. He wouldn’t cry in front of Hwoarang anymore. The day had been trying enough with all its revelations and Jin wanted to simply be . Take a break from all the emotions that had risen within him and rubbed his heart raw.

The bird calls were different, now that he had his second set of ears. They helped him understand the nuances and the distinct personality behind each one which had been lost to him before. Jin can’t tell which call belongs to which bird any more… Their names scrubbed from his mind after years of education drilled into him that were deemed more ‘useful’ than identifying bird calls. Maybe Hwoarang had a book on birds…

There’s a small shuffle closeby that pulls him out of his thoughts and Hwoarang is settling down beside him. Jin holds his breath as Hwoarang claps his hands together and grabs one of the onigiri he had made. They were lumpy, misshapen things, but he hoped he had done a good job… It was mildly daunting, being unsupervised in that kitchen.

Hwoarang takes a bite, his face indecipherable as he chews before his brows knit together. Was… he angry? But why was he smiling?

“Man, these are salty…” Crushing mortification slams into him and Jin is quick to bow his head down profusely.

“I’m-I’m sorry! The rice was so hot so I thought I’d put more salt to cover my hands…”

That draws a loud laugh from Hwoarang as he just snickers quietly to himself and stuffs the rest of it in his mouth before incredulously… reaching out for another one.

“It’s fine. I’ll just show you how to do it again.”

Even with Hwoarang’s reassurances, Jin can’t help but feel a little frustrated with himself. He had tried so hard to make them look good, but it really had been too hot for his hands to handle…How did Hwoarang do it? Jin remembers those perfectly triangular mounds of rice that were perfectly seasoned and the rice just fell apart in his mouth. The ones he made felt like licking salt water while chewing on a pair of wet zori. He sends his apologies to all those villagers for absolutely destroying their hard earned crop…

Hwoarang surprisingly doesn’t seem too bothered, judging from the few furtive glances he steals at him to see if he would spit it out. A smile is playing on his lips instead, contentedly chewing on his third rice ball as looks out to the forest. He’s kicking feet, humming a melody that Jin swears he’s heard somewhere. The wind passes through their impromptu picnic spot, ruffling Hwoarang’s hair and sweeping away some of the clouds in the sky. A ray of sun lands on Hwoarang, lighting up his bright red hair.

He felt so… normal to Jin then.

Seeing the small droplets of sweat on his forehead. The slight unevenness to his flawless skin. The hunch to his posture as he sat. Hwoarang didn’t feel so…untouchable anymore. Especially not after feeling the warmth of his hands beneath his own. Witnessing his terrible jokes or his hacking cough after he had laughed too hard. And especially not now, when he had a few grains of rice stuck to the corners of his mouth that wriggled with each chew of his overstuffed cheeks.

Hwoarang had his own bad habits and bouts of laziness. He was far from the all perfect and elegant deities in the stories his mother had told him about. He liked to burp after meals, and had an almost unhealthy addiction to honey… Jin wonders if Hwoarang has noticed the rice on his face. Should he let him know? Or should he reach out and get rid of it for him? Would that be overstepping? He has been pointedly staring at the corner of his mouth for a while now and highly doubts Hwoarang would catch on…

Why was he thinking so hard about this?

Hwoarang got into his personal space all the time, as if it was as natural as breathing. There was no way that he would mind Jin doing the same to him, right? They…They’ve known each other long enough…right? 

“Hwoarang- san… Excuse me…”

“Hmm? Yeah?”

Jin reaches out trying to exude the casualness that Hwoarang always seemed to have when he helped him hide his ears like it was nothing. A questioning look crosses Hwoarang’s features before his eyes go wide; his thumb making contact with the corner of his mouth.

Just a simple, quick swipe. The grains of rice sticking easily to the pad of this thumb, the warmth of Hwoarang’s cheek lingering on his skin.

Hwoarang’s lips disappear into a tight line. Red blooms on the apples of his cheeks, stretching to his ears, to his chest, those mighty tails puffing up into a curtain of red that matches the colour of his face as he draws up his shoulders. Hwoarang blinks uncomprehendingly before remembering where he had put his words with a loud clearing of his throat.

“A-ah thanks… I can get that myself next time…” His eyes dart away from Jin, flicking to the floor, the forest, anywhere but him.

Was…was he not supposed to do that? Jin doesn’t understand. He had only done the same as Hwoarang had countless times to him. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation…

Silence stretches thickly between them, and they both squirm uncomfortably beneath the weight of it. Jin doesn’t know what else to say or do, too scared of misunderstanding Hwoarang again when the fox thankfully claps his hands together with an awkward stutter.

“Oh, I think the fish are done! I-I’ll go get them!”

Despite that slight mishap, all seemed to be forgotten as soon as they both took a bite of the fish. Eyes lighting up in unison with Hwoarang in smug confidence and Jin in absolute awe. 

Hwoarang was right. The fins did get delectably crispy if one had the patience for it.

Chapter Text

Steam rises thickly from the bubbling pot on the stove, filling the kitchen with the savoury smell of miso soup. The daikon floating around in the soup has been simmering away for a while now — Jin has learned to cut it smaller and add it first, so it has a chance to soften. Who knew that there was an order to throwing things in a pot? Though Jin has graduated from making just a simple miso soup as a side to meals—  He was making ton-jiru. Granted it was still just miso soup with a few extra things thrown into it but…still.

It would be the perfect thing to start the day with now that a chill has begun to settle into the lands. A hearty soup filled with vegetables and thin slices of pork to warm the soul. The leaves of the momiji were shedding their summer green in favour of transitioning to their bright, burning hues of yellow and red. Seeing the orange chunks of carrot bobbing around in the pot fills Jin with joy. He had picked it from the garden himself. Washed it, peeled it, cut it; without hurting his fingers! All the vegetables in the soup had been sitting in the earth just this morning until he had decided that, yes, he would wake up extra early and surprise Hwoarang by making breakfast. 

There was a small bit of pride glowing within him at being able to know how to clean and prepare each vegetable whose seeds he had helped sow without any guidance. Shaving strips of burdock root into a bowl of water…knowing to boil the taro first before peeling to stop his hands from getting itchy… Though, Hwoarang was the one who had taught him all of this. What better way to say thank you than to relieve him of this important task, even if just for a day?

Jin pokes the daikon with a chopstick, making sure it pierces through easily before adding the rest of the ingredients — sliced konjac jelly and tofu that Hwoarang had made yesterday before topping it with a shower of spring onions, not daikon greens , to finish the soup. It smelt delicious, so surely it would taste just as good? Though there's a distinct smell of smoke permeating the air, much heavier and too bitter to brush off as just the woodfire fueling the stove…

…The rice!!!

Jin almost knocks over the soup in his rush to rescue the rice before coming to an abrupt halt in front of the smoking pot. He had forgotten to take it off the flame once it had started boiling… It’d be extremely hot if he tried to pick it up and the sleeves of his yukata would be much too thin to protect his hands. As fate would have it, the kitchen door creaks open just as everything is quite literally on fire.

“Hey…what’s that smell?”

Hwoarang is in the middle of tying back his sleeves with a tasuki sash when he meets Jin’s frozen form. Jin stares back in wide eyed panic.

“Oh.”

Words fail him as he tries to come up with any sort of explanation for what was happening. Too busy wrestling with the absolute mortification of being caught right at the centre of this disaster and the overwhelming urge to just cry out ‘help’ .

Hwoarang’s eyes dart across the room, flicking between Jin and the smoking pot before a small snicker leaves his lips. He finishes tying the knot to hold up his sleeves and steps into the kitchen. Jin awkwardly shuffles away from the stove, and leaves the fate of the rice in Hwoarang’s capable hands. The pot gets picked up without so much a piece of cloth covering the handles and is placed on the table so nonchalantly, as if it hadn’t been sitting atop burning coals for the last twenty minutes. Was this another display of Hwoarang’s powers? He never seemed to have any problem handling piping hot rice with his hands or fishing out a piece of meat with his fingers from a boiling pot of nikujaga .

The lid comes off the pot of rice and the acrid smell grows even stronger. Despite that, Hwoarang gestures him over with an amused smile.

“Look Kazama, it’s fine!”

There’s a heavy shadow of doubt that looms over him, but Jin tentatively walks over, peering through the mixture of smoke and steam rising from the pot. Snowy white grains of rice meet his eyes instead of a blackened, sooty disaster. Sure, it was a bit mushy looking from the grains splitting, but at least it still looked edible enough. Jin didn't want to know what lay at the bottom of the pot when they finally got around to washing up…

“Let’s eat then!”

An excited twinkle dances in Hwoarang’s eyes as he goes to grab chopsticks and bowls from the drawers. Jin has a sudden realisation that they needed to actually eat what he made. Well, he did make this meal for the express purpose of being consumed and as an act of gratitude, but was it going to be any good? He mentally runs through all the steps he had done, making sure he hadn’t accidentally skipped or done anything extra that would result in the absolute travesty of a miso soup he had made when he had first been allowed in the kitchen…

Nothing comes to mind, but was that a good or bad thing? Was he simply too nervous to recall anything? Jin’s body moves on autopilot as he scoops the rice and his soup into the bowls Hwoarang had laid out. Various dishes of pickles and fermented vegetables greet him as he places the bowls on the dining table. Hwoarang sure was quick in the kitchen… Reality sinks in as he takes his seat, staring down at the meal placed before him. The vegetables he had taken pride in preparing suddenly look dull and unappetising as he picks out every misshapen chunk made by his amateurish hand. Hwoarang’s ton-jiru didn’t look like this… It was prettier. More elegant.

“Thanks for the food, Kazama!”

The small clap that Hwoarang makes with his hands in the customary prayer before meals rings in his ears. What if he had accidentally poisoned the soup somehow? Jin grits his teeth, wanting to take the bowl from Hwoarang’s hands and throw it out of the window when he raises it to his mouth.

A slurp. A small twitch of those fluffy ears.

“Looks like hanging around in the kitchen with me really paid off, huh?”

Jin can’t believe it. His frozen expression must amuse Hwoarang as he continues on.

“This is pretty damn good, Kazama!”

Amusement was most definitely behind Hwoarang’s wide grin, but there’s something else dancing in his eyes. A fleeting softness when those golden eyes linger on him for just a moment longer when Jin relaxes his stiff posture with a sigh. The rollercoaster of emotion he had put himself on leaves no room to dwell on it as he mumbles his own thanks to the food and picks up the bowl of soup.

His first sip takes him aback.

It was…good. Hwoarang had said so himself, but being able to confirm it for himself chased away the last dregs of nervousness clinging to his gut, replacing it with a reminder of just how early he had gotten up to make this on an empty stomach. He can’t help the smile creeping onto his lips. It really might be the best thing he’s made (though the bar wasn’t even that high to begin with). Even the strange texture of the smoky tasting rice couldn’t dampen his spirits.

Hwoarang seemed to greatly enjoy it as well, getting up to spoon seconds and thirds into his bowl. Jin thinks his face might cramp up if he smiles any wider. He understood why Hwoarang always seemed to have a wide smile at the dinner table now… A pleasant quiet settles over them as they have their meal, and Jin feels immeasurable joy every time he glances up from his bowl to see Hwoarang taking a big bite out of a piece of daikon or seeing the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile with every chew. He seemed to be a little more mindful of how he ate rice though. Taking measured mouthfuls instead of his usual shark bites.

Was it because of the… misunderstanding at the waterfall? It’s been a few weeks since then, but there hasn’t been a hint of awkwardness or discomfort coming from Hwoarang since they had arrived back at the shrine. Their conversations still held up well enough and Hwoarang didn’t seem to be avoiding him. His teasing may have gotten more frequent but that wasn’t anything to worry about. If anything, the whole rice grain debacle seemed to have completely slipped from Hwoarang’s mind. Was it possible he was the one making things weird by thinking about it so much?

If it didn’t seem to bother Hwoarang, then he shouldn’t let it bother him. Right?

His focus should be on finding other ways of repaying Hwoarang outside of the tasks given to him instead of lingering on a one off mistake he had made. Making breakfast seemed like a good start, but Jin would have to greatly expand his current cooking repertoire if he wanted any hope of making it a semi-regular occurrence.

With the last of the soup settling down in their stomachs, Hwoarang speaks up as he picks at a plate of takuan.

“Now that autumn’s coming in…You mind helping me clean the shrine?”

“Y’know. Like airing out all the futon and books. The tatami as well. That kinda stuff.”

Jin already knows his answer, but he can’t help a small curl of curiosity.

“O-of course I don’t mind! But…”

“Isn’t this something that should be done during spring?”

Jin recalls how he had helped his mother with all the dusting and cleaning once spring had arrived. It was a busy time of year with the race to plant new crops after the winter snow had melted and all the futon had to be changed in favour of lighter, more breathable bedding. It was even busier at the estate, a buzz amongst the servants as the days grew warmer. All of them preparing to tackle the gargantuan task of maintaining the old rooms and the countless antiques tucked away in the store rooms.

It wouldn’t come as a surprise to him if Hwoarang had an even grander collection hidden away in the winding passages of the shrine.

“Well…The weather's good for it…” 

There’s a certain wave of his tails that let’s Jin know that wasn’t the sole reason for the sudden urge to clean. All he had to do was stare at Hwoarang for a moment longer to have the truth come tumbling out.

“... and I have an extra pair of hands right now.” 

Now wasn’t that just awfully convenient.

~~~

Jin had thought that with his regular duties at the shrine, there wouldn’t have been much to do anyways. 

Oh, how wrong he was.

They start with the easy things first: Airing out Hwoarang’s large collection of clothes to prevent mould from settling in. How a single person could have a wardrobe spanning multiple rooms, Jin would never know. Though Hwoarang is kind enough to give him a few kimono now that it was getting a bit colder. A dull red and a dark grey one to be precise. Ones that he claimed ‘clashed with his hair colour’ . Next was the futon and tatami. Bringing the bedding out to the clothesline was simple enough, Though Hwoarang must’ve noticed he was favouring his uninjured side while he was hanging up the futon. A strange look passes through his eyes when they arrive back in the room and Jin starts pulling up the tatami mats.

“...Leave that to me. I’ll take care of the crop planting too. I’ve got something else for you to do.”

Jin is only mildly perplexed at Hwoarang’s change of heart. It hadn’t really hurt him but perhaps erring on the side of caution was a good idea. It had taken him so long to reach this point in his recovery, he supposes it was only natural to not want to see all that hard work be undone. Hwoarang jerks his chin to follow him and he follows along wordlessly.

Despite having settled into the shrine for a while, there were still many facets held within its passages that Jin had yet to know about. Imagine his surprise when Hwoarang shows him to yet another archival room tucked deep inside its halls. The store room he had made copies of those books and scrolls all those months ago had only been one of many, but it had at least been well maintained and bathed in natural light. This one was different.

Thick layers of dust blanket the storage space as Hwoarang slides the door open; a coating of grey sitting atop swathes of discoloured cloth. They were draped across a multitude of objects stacked about the room. The dim lighting and bumpy silhouettes cast by the covered furniture made for a rather eerie atmosphere. The only window was shut tightly in the corner. Jin is afraid his very breath would disturb the years, decades even , of dust that had settled in.

“Yeah…Uh. I haven’t touched this place in a while you see. It’d be nice if you could give everything a wipe and make a record of the stuff that’s in here…”

Jin found himself rather excited to handle this task despite the state of neglect the room was in. Rather like when he had unearthed golden droplets of amber as a child while digging for tubers. He would hold the hardened sap up to the light and occasionally see the fossilised remains of a creature from aeons past. Hwoarang had been living here for a long time. Who knew what treasures and rare books were hidden beneath these piles of dust?

“Understood.”  Hwoarang hands him a piece of cloth to cover his face before giving him a pat on the back.

“I’ll be in the garden if you need me.”

And with that, Jin is left to tackle this room by himself.

He quickly fetches a bucket of clean water and some rags before starting his first order of business: Opening the window so he could see what he was dealing with. Stagnant air fills his nose as he takes his first step within. It was tinged with decay and the mustiness that always came with stale air. He could feel the weight of the dust brushing across his skin as he moved through the room. The window latch takes a few spirited grunts to wrench open, almost sending Jin tumbling outside upon the latch suddenly giving away beneath his hands. A gust of fresh air fills the room, chasing away the stillness. Fat motes of dust fly about at the disturbance, lit up by the beams of sunlight streaming in.

The eerie quality of the room is gone now, but Jin can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness upon casting his eyes over the collection hidden away beneath these old sheets. All these memories buried beneath the dust. Forgotten and hidden away. At least he would be able to do Hwoarang the small service of bringing them to light again.

Removing all the moth-eaten sheets was an exercise in how well he could hold back a sneeze, lest he send dust flying everywhere and end up having a coughing fit. Jin carefully folds each cloth, dragging each one outside and he could finally take a proper breath again once those breathing hazards were outside the room. With everything uncovered, he could get to work.

The room is mostly filled with unused furniture, though all of it was masterfully crafted. Some equally beautiful porcelain vases and glass trinkets sit alongside them. Jin could only wonder where Hwoarang had gotten his hands on such a valuable commodity. Glass had only recently been made more accessible to the people and even then, it was highly sought after and needless to say, expensive .

Though Jin could appreciate the beauty and artistry of the antiques, there was one thing that really caught Jin’s interest: A bookshelf stacked high with books and scrolls. He carefully skims the cover of each one as he pulls them out of the shelf. Browsing their contents could come at a later date. The weathered paper felt sturdy enough beneath his touch, but he had no idea if the oils from his hands would damage them irreparably. Arithmetic…old maps… Jin brings them all out towards the courtyard and sets them on the engawa. It was a delicate balancing act, leaning the books on their spine so air could wick away any moisture clinging onto its pages that was leftover from the summer humidity 

The sound of tools being thrown into dirt catches his attention. Jin doesn’t have to look very far to see Hwoarang preparing the earth for the next batch of seeds that would become their winter harvest. It was hard, physical work. No wonder Hwoarang didn’t want him doing it. The sight of him wiping sweat off his brow only motivates Jin to quickly head back towards the storage room, more determined to finish his task in a timely manner.

He kneels down on the floor to remove the last of the books from the bottom shelf when he spots something lodged behind a neighbouring cabinet. It seemed like a rather compact block of dust sitting behind it; though it’s solid beneath his fingers when he goes to clear it out. It was thoroughly wedged between the cabinet and the wall and Jin would have to find other ways to grab it, lest he risk damaging whatever it was.

Hwoarang likely would’ve flicked him on the forehead again if he saw Jin moving something as heavy as a piece of solid hardwood furniture, but curiosity burns at him. It drives him to drag the cabinet out just enough until he hears something drop to the ground. It sounded light, making a fluttering noise as it fell. Jin scrambles down to reach beneath the cabinet, the texture of worn paper meeting his fingers as he pulls it out.

It was another book.

And a very old one at that.

The faded lettering on its cover is from a language he can barely make out. Jin is more grateful than ever for his interest in history and classics. It was a book on medicine; more specifically, plants . The style of its bindings and the roughness of the paper all pointed to the book being from another land; and from an age long ago. It seemed to have been well loved too— the edges dog-eared and torn in some places from use. Jin can’t help but flick through some of its pages in a hunt to decipher its origins. A little look would be okay, right?

There were illustrations of various flora within it, its colours long muddied and dulled. None of them held any familiarity with Jin, despite observing Hwoarang’s expansive store of medicinal plants more than once. There was dirt on some of the pages, dark stains likely from the juice of berries and grass smudges. Jin can’t help but smile. This was a cherished book. The other volumes within Hwoarang’s archives hardly looked like this. They were all pristine (well, as best as they could be with their age) with immaculate covers. Barely touched.

Jin loses himself in the illustrations, entertaining himself by imagining what these plants would’ve looked like if the colours on the pages were still intact. He’s reached the end before he knows it, coming face to face with handwriting that was distinctly different from the words that lined the pages before it. 

‘Hopefully you won’t poison yourself with random plants again once you finish reading this.’

It’s signed with a simple character. Jin isn’t sure how to correctly read their name, only that it meant ‘White’. It could be ‘ Haku’ , or it could be ‘ Shiro ’. Perhaps Hwoarang would know who this is.

The floorboards creaked behind him barely a moment later as if he had summoned the one in his thoughts.

“How’re you getting along here, Kazama?”

“A-ah! Uhm…I’ve almost finished clearing out this shelf but…” He’s a little embarrassed at being caught dallying on his task, though Hwoarang never seemed to mind his wandering focus.

“Say…Hwoarang- san, who is this ‘ Shiro’ person?” Jin holds up the worn book, pointing at the written note and prompting the fox to come closer to where he was kneeling on the ground.

Hwoarang’s expression freezes upon laying his eyes on the page. Picking up the book from him, those golden eyes flick across the sentence over and over as sheer disbelief slackens his features. Did…he do something wrong again? Why wasn’t he saying anything? Just as Jin begins to panic, Hwoarang’s face pulls itself back to something close enough to his usual, ever present smile before speaking again. More to himself than anything.

“ That’s right…that’s what he would’ve been called over here…”

There’s another long moment of silence, as if Hwoarang was deliberating on something before a name softly slips from his lips. A careful neutrality in his tone concealing emotions Jin was not privy to.

“...Baek…”

“That was his name.”

Hwoarang corrects his earlier guess with a distant smile, but Jin knows he’s not really there. Lost in the recollection of whatever memory the name had spurred. It sounded like this person hailed from the same land as Hwoarang. Whoever he was, he certainly held a great fondness in Hwoarang’s heart as he just continued to stare at the note in silence. A finger comes to trace over each stroke of the name, scratching softly against the yellowed paper. There’s a pensive quality to Hwoarang’s eyes; a glimmer he had never seen before. The room is suffused in a delicate quiet that Jin is all too afraid to break. 

“...Thanks for finding this. I thought I’d lost it…” 

Hwoarang flashes him a small smile that is just so painfully brittle before excusing himself. Jin is left surrounded by silence and a distinct feeling that he had done something wrong. He’s at a loss of what to do and ends up picking up the rag he had brought in here, busying his hands with wiping the dusty furniture as he tries to make sense of what had just happened. It’s only after the bucket of water he brought in the room had long turned a murky grey did he realise that he never did get an answer from Hwoarang.

~~~

The sun had begun to set, its radiant warmth receding with it. Hwoarang hadn’t come back to check on him ever since he had discovered that book. Had showing Hwoarang his discovery been a good or bad thing? On one hand, he had managed to learn a little more about the ever enigmatic fox. It would be safe to assume that the book was gifted to him by another person… which brought up the root of Jin’s unrest.

Who was Baek? And why had Hwoarang reacted like that? It was as if he had been in a trance when he had left the storage room, almost running into the door frame on the way out with the way he had kept his eyes on that book. Jin grumbles as he accidentally drips ink onto the record book he had been filling out for the past hour. It really wasn’t any of his business if Hwoarang wasn’t inclined to talk about it but… he can’t help but wonder if it was linked to his distaste for yokai hunters.

“Hey, Kazama! You’re still here? It’s time for food!”

The sudden voice makes him jump, smearing a thick line of ink across the list he had been working on. He sighs, taking a moment to collect himself before turning away from his makeshift writing desk.

“O-oh. Haha. Sorry.”

Hwoarang stands there with a sheepish grin, picking at a strand of his hair.

“No, it’s alright. I can always just make another one.”

Jin looks at Hwoarang’s face as he gets up, searching for any hint of moroseness that could be lingering from this afternoon’s incident. He was ready to apologise for showing him the book but… there was nothing. Hwoarang looks the same as ever. If anything, he seemed to be in a good mood if the twinkle in his eyes was anything to go off. Now Jin wasn’t sure what to make of this afternoon. Was he faking his cheer? It didn’t seem like it…The longer he stares, the more palpable his lack of response is and now it’s Hwoarang’s turn to give him a questioning look, knitting his brows in concern.

“Is something wrong?” 

Those golden eyes really could be so disarming. So full of genuine concern and a drive to remedy whatever problem there was. How long had he been staring again? Far too long in any case.

“N-no, nothing…!”

Jin quickly averts his eyes. Hwoarang’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before shrugging. Perhaps he had a tendency to think too hard on the meaningless day to day interactions between them…but that book did seem meaningful to Hwoarang. It was getting hard to understand the sudden switch in his mood, but that could be something that was mulled over a bowl of steaming rice and sukiyaki .

The thin slices of beef melted in his mouth, and the sweet soy sauce it was cooked in made it a perfect compliment to rice. The vegetables and tofu that accompanied it were all simmered in that same savoury goodness and made the meal so delightfully moreish. Maybe that was why Hwoarang was in a good mood. Getting his hands on such a valuable protein was sure to brighten up anyone’s day— especially if they knew how to prepare it. Jin is reminded that he had accidentally skipped lunch today, and sheepishly goes for more helpings of rice. Hwoarang just flashes him a smile: Setting more slices of beef into the sizzling pan and topping it off with more sauce and vegetables. It was a good thing that Hwoarang also had a large appetite so Jin wasn’t as self conscious for eating more than usual.

They end the meal with a few wonky slices of pear that Jin had attempted to peel and cut (with no injuries, so that was always a win in Jin’s book!). This was usually the point in the evening where they’d begin winding down— taking turns to heat the bath for each other before heading to their own respective rooms to do their nighttime routines. However there’s an air of restlessness buzzing in Hwoarang’s frame as Jin nibbles on his fruit. Lightly tapping his foot and watching Jin stab each slice of pear with an almost unsettling focus. It takes him a moment to realise that Hwoarang has long finished his own plate and was waiting for him to take his last bite. Jin quickly swallows down the last of his dessert and Hwoarang’s eyes light up, ready to strike now that he wasn’t so preoccupied.

“Wanna see something cool?”

“Something…cool…?”

“Yeah! I figured it’d be nice since we spent the whole day doin’ chores n’ stuff!”

It was always hard to keep up with Hwoarang’s speeding thought process once he had this excited air to him, but Jin tries his best nonetheless.

“Right now…?”

“Mhmm. It’s not far. Think of it as a thanks for all your help around the shrine.”

“O-oh, okay…”

Wasn’t this all the wrong way around? He’d been helping to show his gratitude for all Hwoarang has done for him, and now he wants to thank him? Though Jin really didn’t have the heart to say no and ends up nodding, to which Hwoarang only grins wider.

“Oh, and bring a towel and a change of clothes. You’ll need it where we’re going.”

~~~

Cleaning up was a quick, and efficient affair. The easy routine they had fallen into of who washed and dried was a part of it, but mostly because of Hwoarang’s eagerness to get on the road.

They met in the courtyard, as was custom now whenever they needed to go somewhere together. Instead of heading down the steps though, Hwoarang takes him out back, towards the edges of the garden where he had first caught a glimpse of ‘Kou-chan’ . They continue past the tree line. The sun is now a sliver of orange on the edge of the horizon, painting the shadows with deep hues of blue and purple. There’s just enough light to see where they’re going and Hwoarang takes them deeper into the forest. The air is filled with chirping crickets and croaking toads emerging from their burrows. Jin’s hardly ever been outside the bubble of safety that surrounded the shrine, much less at night. It’s not hard to explain the unease creeping into his gut, his ears twitching at every disturbance in the trees.

Thankfully, they come across another great cedar tree before Jin can spook himself even further. The sugi tree he had used to get to town was larger than this one, but it still had a sizable trunk compared to the other trees that surrounded it. There was a fuzzy carpet of green moss that crept up from its roots and hung from its outstretched branches. A thick cord of shimenawa rope and paper shide streamers encircle it as well. Jin has an inkling of what’s to come as Hwoarang gestures for him to come close, placing a palm on its trunk.

It was damp beneath his hand, the moss offering a rather soft cushion for his skin as opposed to rough bark. He jumps a little when Hwoarang grabs his hand. The warm sensation is enough to throw him off balance before he hears Hwoarang let out a deep breath. It melds with a now all too familiar sound of wind rushing past him, the earth shifting beneath his feet.

The first thing Jin notices is the smell.

Sharp, sulphuric and all too reminiscent of rotten eggs.

Next is the heat. Suffusing through the rock that now lay beneath his feet and seeping past his zori sandals .

Jin opens his eyes to thick rolling clouds of steam sweeping across the still surface of a hot spring. The water held a cloudy, bluish tint to it and Hwoarang was already dipping a toe into the pool.

“Well, whaddya think? Pretty cool, right?”

Smooth rock surrounds them with a backdrop of wild flora peeking at the edges. The moon has risen to its peak now, bathing this natural wonder in its pale light. Somewhere, the sound of water bubbling out of the ground adds to the almost mystical ambience of this geothermal beauty.

“It is…cool.”

Hwoarang laughs and gives him a slap on the back

“Good to see you’re finally loosening up a bit, Kazama!”

Before Jin can even respond, Hwoarang is already pulling his arms out of his yukata and kicking off his zori to who knows where. It always amazed him how Hwoarang could find his shoes again but that was besides the point. He’s suddenly face to face with a lot of bare skin. Skin that he’d accidentally seen before but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing. Scars he thought he’d been able to banish from his mind reveal themselves to him once more, only this time, Jin has nowhere to run.

Yes, sitting in an onsen with other equally undressed people was a perfectly normal thing to do but… It’s been so long since he’s last had to share a bath. Much less with someone he knew. The servants at the estate respected his need for an entirely private bath, leaving him alone and away from prying eyes that would have persecuted the…supernatural parts of his body. It had been one of his sole places of relaxation in that place and now it seemed he had forgotten all etiquette that came with bathing at a hot spring.

He should really stop staring at all the marks marring Hwoarang’s skin. The extent of all the wounds that had been inflicted on him were clearer now that he was no longer peeking from behind a crack in the door. Burns… gashes… puncture wounds…The venom that had been present in Hwoarang’s voice when he had spoken of humans was…chilling. It only made the love he held for those villagers all the more inspiring.

Hwoarang’s yukata drops to the ground, revealing the rest of his body. Long legs lined with lean muscle that wasn’t overly defined but the strength behind them was more than apparent. No wonder his kicks had stung so much— 

“Aw c’mon Kazama, you’re making me feel self-conscious over here.”

Heat burns fiery hot across his cheeks, blooming onto his ears as he whips his eyes away and straight to the ground. Jin highly doubted Hwoarang could feel self-conscious of all things but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been caught staring. God, he hoped he hadn’t come off with any lecherous intent…

He gingerly undoes his own obi, all too aware of a small snicker that floated to his ears and the pair of eyes that were on him. Was this payback? Though Jin wasn’t in any position to complain… The yukata slips from his shoulders, only to be gathered in front of his groin in a flash as Hwoarang appears before him.

A strangled, hiccupping sound he’d never thought he could make leaves him as Hwoarang bends down to inspect his abdomen with a thoughtful hum. His nerves jump when he lightly traces a finger over his stab wound, sending sparks of heat tingling up onto his already scorching cheeks.

“Looks like it’s finally closed now. Good. The water will help with any stiffness around the area too.”

Impromptu inspection complete, Hwoarang turns around, those fluffy tails brushing against his chest as he steps into the hot spring. It wasn’t the first time Hwoarang had checked on his wound… but not like that. Was that just a completely normal interaction? Perhaps Hwoarang was taking his teasing to another level… But he had always taken all matters of his medical care very seriously. This really was all so confusing.

Jin tests the water with his feet. It was a little on the hotter side but it was perfect for the slight chill in the air. A warm, tingling sensation surrounds his body as he submerges himself into the hot spring, and Jin can already feel it work wonders on his tired muscles. A blurry smudge of orange peeks through the wafts of steam and he spots Hwoarang leaning against a warm rock with pure bliss etched onto his features. A little curl playing on his lips and a flush blooming onto his skin from the heat. Hwoarang seemed to be completely and utterly in heaven as the water lapped gently at his chin. He finds a seat next to Hwoarang—  A small ledge made of completely smooth stone protruding from the rock that bumps against his knee. It was the perfect height to keep his entire body covered in the water but tall enough to keep his head dry.

Hwoarang really seemed to know the entirety of the forest like the back of his hand. All the areas of interest were stamped into his mind. It was only natural, seeing as he lived here. Jin could see him making small adjustments to the hot spring to make it more comfortable for himself over the years. It painted a funny picture. Of Hwoarang lazing about in the water or even swimming in it during the cold winter months, with snow blanketing the landscape. The image of Hwoarang getting up, only to be hit with a frigid blast of cold air and sinking back into the warm embrace of the water crosses his mind and he snickers.

A soggy wet tail flicks water in his face, making him sputter.

“I dunno what you’re thinking about… but I know you’re laughing at me…”

Hwoarang’s voice permeates through the steam in a lazy drawl.

“N-no…I’m not…”

“You suck at lying, y’know.” There wasn’t any heat behind his words though, and Jin finds himself cracking a smile.

Hwoarang really could be so observant, even when he was dozing in a hot spring. He eventually shifts higher on his seat, pulling his torso out of the heat to cool off. Rivulets of water run down his chest, making winding detours past the welts of scarred skin. His tails also partially leave the water, making for a hilarious sight. Jin is used to them being so… voluminous that seeing how much they’ve deflated after getting wet, revealing the skinny frame of his actual tail makes him laugh. It reminded him of a group of garden eels he’d seen in some books. Poking their heads out of the sand and waving around with the currents…

Those tails flop back into the water, disappearing beneath the cloudy water. Hwoarang sinks back against the rock with a sigh. It seemed that Jin was off the hook for any more teasing today. He was far too content and floating along in his own world to care about Jin’s ‘transgression’.

Jin follows Hwoarang’s example. The heat surrounding him and the warm fog brushing against his skin lulling him into a state of half-consciousness. All the fatigue from the day’s work melted from his very being the longer he stayed here. Even the ache in his side slowly ebbs away. Jin can only imagine the wonders it would do for the scars littering Hwoarang’s body. No wonder Hwoarang had been so excited to come here…

It really was a perfect private bath. All to themselves. Though there’s a niggling in the back of his mind that whispered in his ear ever since they arrived. It kept him from relaxing fully, the last point of tension keeping him alert. Begging the question…

“Are we safe here out in the open?” He can hear Hwoarang take a quick breath, startling out of his spell of relaxation.

“Mmh? Yeah. People and yokai tend not to come and bother me.”

“...Do you prefer it like that? Being left alone?”

There’s a long silence that makes Jin sit up. A shift in the air that presses down on his lungs. He’s breaching the invisible line Hwoarang had set, tension filling between them. What lay across it? Jin would never know… Though he has an inkling. The image of Hwoarang’s distant expression fresh in his mind after being brought face to face with a relic of the past.

Perhaps it was just the desire to learn more about the one who had welcomed him into his home that had pushed that question past his lips. Who had wordlessly taken care of all his needs in those first painful weeks of injury where he could barely move from delirium. What drove his kindness? What had kept his heart so gentle over the centuries despite having the brutal reminder of horrors past quite literally branded onto his skin?

“...Do you think anyone wants to be alone?” The answer is soft despite the pain bleeding into his voice.

Hwoarang has pulled up his knees, tucking his chin against his arms. He looks so withdrawn. Eyes staring through the water. A small crack and a brief glimpse of what lay beneath that perfectly imperfect demeanour. Delicate. Vulnerable. Hwoarang hardly looked like the majestic nine-tailed fox brimming with confidence he’d seen and talked to for the past few months. Right now, an echo of the past is balled up before him. A sodden fox kit with his tails wrapped protectively around himself to provide a small comfort from the cruelty of the world. Jin knows he has really done something wrong now.

“I-I’m sorr— “

“ Forget I said anything.” 

The words come sharp. An iron door slamming into his face as Hwoarang suddenly stands up. Water rushes from his body, its harsh sound shattering the calm that had settled over them. The pained silence from before is gone. Burned away by anger . The air is quiet but Jin can feel the tension writhing beneath Hwoarang’s skin, stealing any sort of empty platitude he could’ve said to comfort him from his lips. He needed to say something, anything, to show that he was truly sorry for prying but Hwoarang stepped up onto the clearing above them. The chance never shows itself as his soaked tails drip water everywhere when he turns around and then he’s gone. There’s barely a disturbance in the leaves that littered the floor. It was as if he had never been here at all.

It leaves a sour weight in his chest that grows heavier with each second. Dragging a well of regret down into his gut. What had he been thinking?! Asking such a stupid, probing question?! He had grown loose with his tongue with the familiarity that Hwoarang brought. Remorse tightens around his throat like a noose; dropping his head down to stare into the murky depths of the hot spring. It was a small blessing that he couldn’t see his own pitiful reflection in the water. He doesn’t think he could stomach whatever wretched expression he was making.

He couldn’t believe that he’d hurt Hwoarang like that. First losing himself in that sparring match and making him bleed…and now pulling up the deep wounds that still plagued his heart simply to sate some misguided curiosity… It was unforgivable.

Just because they had shared the same roof over their heads and sparred together didn’t mean that they were friends . He had no right to ask him that. Hwoarang was just naturally friendly and he had latched onto that aspect of him thinking that he was special . What a joke. He’d already stepped out of line more than once: At the waterfall…begging Hwoarang to take him to the festival… So why hadn’t it occurred to him that they were never close? That Hwoarang had only been humouring his selfish desires? Had he forgotten that Hwoarang was a worshipped deity? The lines that separated them had been blurred by his own hand; so desperate he was for companionship . Mentor and student. A sacred, heavenly fox and a filthy half-blood. 

Strangers.

It’s clear to him now that he’s long overstayed his welcome.

A few months were but a drop in the ocean for a being who’s lived for more than a millennia. So what were a few laughs and a convenient set of hands to put to work? Why had he thought any of those forgettable moments were significant to him? Hwoarang has already seen them, lived through them time and time again. Jin was such a hopeless fool. 

Naive.

Weak .

Just like his grandfather had said.

He’d been so arrogant as to think a few pleasant months would have a lasting effect on Hwoarang. The fox had already been living well enough without him. The centuries he’d stayed here were a testament to that. His own selfish desire to repay Hwoarang must be grating on him with his frustrating stubbornness. Debts could only be repaid if he even had one— did Hwoarang even want his help? Jin highly doubted mediocre breakfasts could even count as payment. The words he had said to himself all those months ago came to the forefront of his mind. That he would leave, as soon as he could walk on his own two feet. 

Well, he’s been able to walk perfectly fine for a long while now.

It was time to make good on that promise.

~~~

The way back to the shrine had been lit up with familiar dancing blue flames. It only served to make the weight that had settled in his chest twist painfully. Could he really be as hopeless as to not find his way back without his help?

The shrine is dark by the time he gets back to his room. Quiet and nary a soul in its halls. Just what Jin needs to steel his resolve. He would leave in the morning. There was no point in this dragging out.

He tidies up before setting his focus on gathering what little he has in preparation for his departure. Only to be hit with the realisation that none of the books, clothes or trinkets in this room were his. He didn’t actually…own anything . All of it was borrowed from Hwoarang. From the clothes on his back to the futon he slept on, it was all Hwoarang’s. The karate gi he had come in is long gone, leaving him no choice but to selfishly keep what he was wearing for now. Jin couldn’t believe the extent of how much he had relied on Hwoarang and taken advantage of his hospitality. His kindness .

His eyes fall onto a familiar deep blue yukata…patterned with waves and the grey obi that sat on top of it. Something in his chest tears. The recollection of Hwoarang’s wide grin telling him he could keep it. He was such a weak, weak man. His vision wobbles as he carefully folds it back into its wooden box. Just one last act of selfishness. Even if his absence would be barely felt by Hwoarang, he couldn’t bear to forget his time here. The blessing of finally being able to feel like himself after those seven, long years was something that he would treasure forever. 

Hwoarang stays at the forefront of his mind as he stares at the ceiling. Savouring the last few hours he would have in this precious shrine he had called ‘ home’ for the past few months. The one who had gifted it all to him burning behind his eyelids with every blink.

And how he had ruined it all. Again.

Dawn settles its pale grey roots into the sky all too soon. Birds begin to chatter, getting ready for the busy day ahead of them. Hwoarang would be waking soon to make breakfast. Just a few more minutes of being suspended in this wonderful dream before he’d be back in reality. On the run. Constantly looking behind his back for when an unsuspecting blade would come piercing through his heart.

The sky brightens. An orange-yellow tint taking over the grey and it was time. Jin pulls himself up with heavy limbs, his eyes dry from a sleepless night. The walk to the kitchen was one he’s done many times, but there’s a weight behind his steps that just grows heavier and heavier the closer he gets. His traitorous body cements itself in place once he’s outside the kitchen door. The scent of woodfire and an inviting smell of freshly cooked rice wafting from closed windows. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. It was time to stop being a burden to Hwoarang.

The door opens with a creak on its worn hinges, the same as any other day.

“Heya, Good mor— ” Hwoarang pauses, no doubt looking at the bamboo hat on his head and the box he held in his hands.

“—ning…” He finishes. It really is a cheap trick from Jin. Using the hat as an excuse to avoid looking Hwoarang in the eyes. He already knew those bright, golden eyes would be wide with such earnest concern. How his resolve would crumble to pieces if he dared to raise his head and be met face to face with them. 

“Hwoarang- sama… Thank you for all you’ve done for me. A thousand lifetimes would not be enough to show my gratitude to you. You saved my life and offered me your home while I recovered under your excellent care…”

The next part would be the hardest. Jin could already feel his throat locking up, the heat burning behind his eyes. Go, go, go. Before he had time to think about the consequences behind his words.

“But it’s clear to me that I’ve long overstayed my welcome.”

“...”

“It’s time for me to go.”

There. He’d said it. Even if his voice did waver dangerously on the last few words. 

Jin thought that saying it out loud would’ve made him feel better, but it couldn’t be the furthest thing from the truth. The brittle box he’d been keeping all his emotions in for some semblance of composure cracks dangerously under the pressure of the long silence that follows. There’s no sigh of relief from Hwoarang. No “Oh thank god, I thought you’d never realise!”. Only a brewing, simmering quiet that’s all too reminiscent of yesterday night’s horrid mistake .

What little he dares to peek of Hwoarang's face is flat, impassive. But even Jin can tell that he’s hurt. That he’s done something wrong, again. It’s only now that he gets a proper look around the kitchen that Hwoarang had been setting the table. Holding onto two pairs of chopsticks.

“I-I’m sorry…I should have told you earlier so you wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble of making so much food…”

Hwoarang’s grip goes white.

“Do what you want.” He slams the chopsticks onto the table, making Jin jump before turning to busy himself at the stove.

Jin has never seen Hwoarang so angry before. He never raised his voice. It only further cements his hunch had been right, he really had been grating on his nerves for far too long. Jin leaves the kitchen as quietly as he can, not daring to make a sound that would incense Hwoarang even further. He spares a last look at the one who had saved his life, bowing as deeply as he could and then the door swings shut.

The image of Hwoarang standing with his head hung low over the kitchen sink as a pot boils over next to him would haunt him forever. Jin rubs at his eyes.

It was time to stand on his own two feet now. He takes this opportunity to say his goodbyes to this cosy corner of the countryside as he walks through the shrine. Past the garden he’d helped keep free of weeds. Past the babbling brook where he had meditated countless times. Past the great weeping sakura tree where he had sparred with Hwoarang. Past his favourite spot on the engawa that he’d like to spend time reading in. He knows he’s dragging his feet, clinging onto the small hope that Hwoarang would come see him off when he reaches the courtyard.

He allows himself to hold his breath. Just for a moment or two. Listening hard for any sign of Hwoarang’s light footsteps on the gravel but… there’s just crushing silence. Of course there wouldn’t be anything. Not with the way Hwoarang had turned away from him in disgust. It was just a foolish wish that he already knew the answer to but it didn’t make it hurt any less. 

There would be no fairytale “Goodbye, Kazama”.  

This was the right thing to do. It’s what he deserved. He had already made up his mind to leave, so why did his heart tremble so? Why was his vision so wobbly? Overwhelming dread was filling his lungs with every step. Where would he go after this? He doubted Hwoarang would like him being so close if he chose to settle into the local village he was so fond of. There was no one else he knew, no one else he could trust to be kind to him. He’d be alone again: Either at the mercy of the wilds or beneath the scrutinising eyes of humans.

His steps echo loudly in his ears as he passes by the torii gate he had first dragged himself over during that fateful night. He had been so ready for this shrine that had appeared out of thin air to be his final resting place. This shrine that had offered him so much comfort. Made him believe that maybe he did deserve to be happy, to finally act on all his desires that he’d kept bottled up since his childhood. The fox statues that line the steps stare at him once more. Scrutinising him, waiting for him to fall. 

Hot tears fall from his eyes, splashing onto the mossy stone. He was about to give up the only place he’d ever felt safe in. The box around his heart threatened to shatter into a million pieces.

“Oi, Kazama!” 

The sound of stones scattering everywhere reaches his ears. Jin doesn’t think he knows how to breathe anymore with how tight his chest is. Struggling with keeping all his emotions in a careful limbo of unfeeling nothingness . He turns around numbly, trying to tamp down on the budding hope blossoming within him, trying to keep his expectations in check.

It's Hwoarang. In the middle of the courtyard, hands on his knees and panting heavily. Jin can feel his resolve falling to pieces the longer he stares at him.

“Is this really what you want?!” His voice echoes across the empty courtyard with the same sharp irritation that had been present when he had snapped in the kitchen. Though the words were far from hurtful. 

“Are you really okay with just leaving like this?!” Hwoarang comes closer. Frustration lines his voice; brows furrowed, eyes alight with anger. 

It’s quiet. The very forest holds its breath waiting for his answer.

He can’t.

He can’t keep doing this.

Being so weak. Having his will waver every time the pressure grew too much in his chest. He’d finally made up his mind about something, and he would see it through. Jin turns away from him, even if it feels like breaking every bone in his body. The moss covered steps face him once more. 

“I…I’ve taken advantage of your kindness for far too long…” His voice is surprisingly even, despite the turmoil thrashing beneath his skin. He takes his foot to the step below. Somehow it was even harder than climbing up these steps when he’d been bleeding out through a hole in his abdomen. 

“You dumb— Argh!”

A pattering crunch of gravel and suddenly a warm hand grabs his own, squeezing hard and making him freeze. Then Hwoarang’s voice, as soft as it’s ever been. A stark contrast to the seething confrontation over the courtyard.

“Y-you can stay , you know?”  He sounds so desperate, those words tinged with a pain that ran so deep that Jin would never be able to fathom.

“You’re not a bother, Kazama. J-just… stay . As long as you like.” 

The box around his heart finally shatters. Crushed into a million pieces as he finally dares to turn around and look Hwoarang in the eyes. Those golden eyes are watery, lined with red and Jin knows it's simply a mirror of his own expression. Hwoarang is looking at him with such honesty, the doors thrown wide open with a single plea written all across his face.

Stay. 

The numbness that had kept his features in check crumpled beneath that gaze. All the negativity he’d been holding back comes spilling out. All his doubts and fears; the things he’d always believed, made himself believe surfacing with an ugly sob. A single hitch in his breath is all it takes for the tears to come and drench his cheeks. Being faced with the undeniable truth that Hwoarang didn’t actually want him… gone.  

He startles a little when a pair of steady arms come to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him into a soft, gentle embrace. It only makes the rift in his heart tear even wider when Hwoarang rubs a tentative hand across his back. A comfort that he didn’t even know he had been missing dislodging itself as he finally, finally allows himself to hold onto Hwoarang’s yukata and bury his face into his shoulder. The heat from his body suffusing beneath his skin and filling all the cracks of his fragile heart.

“I…I-I like… having you around, you know that?” Hwoarang’s trembling voice whispers next to his ear. Something warm splashes onto his neck.

Jin doesn’t have the words to express himself. Simply gripping harder onto Hwoarang’s clothes. He’s not even sure what he’s feeling. Overwhelming relief. Surging happiness. Pure joy. Acceptance.

All he knew was that Hwoarang cared about him, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

Hwoarang held onto him for a long time after that.

At least until his hiccuping breaths come more evenly. Until each blink of his eyes doesn’t send another stream of tears down his face. Hwoarang’s arm on his back is soothing. A steady weight that he focuses on when the still fragile parts of his composure he’s been trying to build up shake on their imperfect foundations.

“Feeling better?”

Jin can feel Hwoarang’s voice rumbling against his chest from how close they are. Better than before, yes, but he doesn’t want to let go of the comforting warmth around him. He nods despite himself. A numbness in his feet that betrays just how much time has passed with them just standing there in each other’s embrace. Hwoarang hadn’t rushed him at all throughout all this. A steady presence even when his tears had soaked into his clothes and formed what must be a very uncomfortable wet patch on his shoulder.

He raises his head slowly and Hwoarang doesn’t move. Letting Jin make his own choice to step back when he felt ready enough. It’s cold without him. Jin already wants to seek out his warmth again but he takes one last unsteady breath before working up the courage to look Hwoarang in the eyes. Even if he knew his face would be red and puffy. Even if his lips still felt too heavy to straighten out to a picture of neutrality.

“So…Why’d you think you had to leave?”

Hwoarang’s eyes are open, honest. Likely trying to evoke the same feelings from Jin.

“I thought you…hated me.”

Jin can see Hwoarang’s eye twitch, his lips tightening in an effort to hold whatever impulsive outburst that wanted to slip out.

“Idiot.”

The irritation that lines his voice makes Jin flinch and Hwoarang’s expression immediately softens.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“I…I don’t know.” 

Jin feels ashamed at how he genuinely doesn’t have a clue even after how long they’ve been living together. It makes him look back at the ground, shying away from Hwoarang. He must be angry at him again. Such a simple question leaving him at a loss for words…

A sudden smack on his shoulders forces him to look up, Hwoarang gripping onto him with both hands and forcing their eyes to lock together. 

“I know I haven’t been exactly… forthcoming about certain things but I could never put up with pretending to like someone.”

“I don’t have the energy for it and that’s better left for the upper class squabbling over their mind games.” A weak smile crosses Hwoarang’s lips, making Jin hold his breath.

“I…I know I lost my temper back there…”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was sad that you thought of me like that. So shallow and…it felt like you never understood me. As a person. That you’d believe I would do something as awful as throwing you out simply because you made me upset.”

If he had trouble parsing Hwoarang’s feelings before, he didn’t now. It was clear as day that Hwoarang was laying his heart out for him. No room for hidden meanings or things to twist into misunderstandings. Jin thought he had no more tears left to shed, but the heat behind his eyes said otherwise.

“Your company means a lot to me.”

It’s only now that Jin can see the wetness that still lined Hwoarang’s eyes as he spoke to him.

 “...and it would make me happy if you stayed as long as you wanted to.”

“...”

“Okay.”

Jin can’t help but wrap his arms around Hwoarang again as he finally lets the joy he had felt when he first heard those words fill his heart.

~~~

The air between them afterwards is… awkward… for lack of better word. Tiptoeing around each other with stilted small talk to fill in the uncomfortable silences. Jin simply wanted to be more cautious with his words and actions, and it seemed Hwoarang did as well. Neither of them wanted to send the other bolting away into the dark recesses of their mind again. 

It was as if a mountain of broken glass lay between them. With both of them carefully picking up the jagged pieces of each other in the aftermath of such vulnerability. A tentative little dance with its fair share of furtive glances cast between them as each shard gets turned over; it's dangerous edge on display. Full of hurt, rage, and every other inexplicably ugly emotion that had come tumbling out of them during their exchange. A wobbly spark of warmth blooms in their chests as each part of themselves gets handed back to each other gently. A sigh of relief when the jagged edges get tucked away safely and cherished with an understanding smile.

Jin’s daily routine is much the same despite the delicate atmosphere. Save for Hwoarang offering a new room for him deeper within the shrine that neighboured his own. Someplace warmer now that the colder months would begin to settle in. He might miss having the garden on his doorstep, but being able to stay away from the chill was more than worth it. The garden bed was littered with brightly coloured leaves everyday and Jin busied himself keeping it clear. The crops and flowers are more than happy to have their fair share of the waning autumn sunshine without the fallen leaves obscuring them.

He’s about to pick up a basket full of dried leaves when he hears the gravel crunch behind him.

“H-hey… Kazama.”

“H-hwoarang-san…”

It’s commonplace now, the both of them having trouble looking each other in the eye after their shared emotional outbursts. Jin could only hope that these feelings of embarrassment only fade with time. 

“Can I ask you to go pick up some stuff from the village again…?” It was somewhat amusing, hearing Hwoarang’s voice so tentative.

“Of course. I don’t mind.”

He does his best to give Hwoarang a smile, to show that he means it. It must work, seeing as whatever expression he had managed to pull off on his face makes Hwoarang crack a smile of his own.

“No medicine delivery this time. Just whatever’s on here.”

“O-okay, Hwoarang-san”

A small sheet of paper with a scrawled list of everyday items gets handed to him. Hwoarang’s hand lingers on the paper for a moment, not quite letting go until Jin fixes him with a curious look. Did he have more to say? Jin can see something is going on behind those eyes before Hwoarang seemingly gives up with a sigh.

“Have a safe trip, Kazama.”

~~~

Lye for soap…more salt for Hwoarang’s never ending supply of pickles… Jin totters around the small shopping street of the village with a basket that grows heavier with each store he visits. He’s never really had to buy things for himself, much less be able to tell the difference between the countless variations of the same item on sale. To think there could be such different price points for salt… 

The villagers are all thankfully kind enough to help him when he stands in front of their store for a little too long, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice. Even if it was their business, their livelihood, none of the store owners sought to cheat him or trick him into buying the more expensive commodities. Just a simple “What are you looking for, Jin-chan?”, and they would quickly point him in the right direction. It was a bit jarring, having his given name already being so widely used throughout the village, but it was a good sign right? That the villagers liked him?

The coin pouch Hwoarang had given him had grown light rather quickly. Just how many of these things would he use as well? Especially now that he could… stay. This line of thought was what had sent him spiralling down that misplaced desire to get out of Hwoarang’s hair in the first place but… He can’t help but feel guilty at spending money that wasn’t his.

Jin finds himself wandering out to the rice paddocks.The harvest would be upon the farmers soon, and the village would be buzzing with life from visiting farmhands. He peers into the vast swathes of rice crops, something compelling him to seek out a familiar face. A crooked back grabs his attention a distance away.

Sae-san is tending to the garden in front of her humble cottage. Jin can’t help but be a little in awe of her as he draws closer. Spending the entire day taking care of plants… only to take care of more plants? It was a beautiful garden though, with large patches of autumnal flowers coming into bloom. Chrysanthemums and roses were among the few flowers Jin could recognise. There was also a modest vegetable patch in the corner with an old persimmon tree that grew over it. The unripe fruit was beginning to take on a sweet, orange hue.

“Oh! Jin-chan, what a surprise!”

Sae-san stands up, tilting the wide brim of her bamboo hat upwards to better greet him with a smile.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Would you like to come in for some tea?”

Jin’s mouth suddenly feels very dry. Faced with the consequences of his own impulsivity. He desperately trawls through his still very disorganised mind for why his feet brought him here in the first place. Sae-san just looks up at him warmly as he tries to find an acceptable reason. Hwoarang’s face suddenly pops into his mind. Of that gentle smile when they had watched the fireflies together at the summer festival.

“I…was wondering if you could teach me how to make some honey cakes, Sae-san…”

Her wrinkled face lights up with joy, dusting the dirt off her hands as she gets up from the flower patch.

“Of course, of course!”

Sae-san eagerly waves him into her house as she shuffles over to the front entrance. A wave of nostalgia hits him as he ducks his head past the door and into the genkan . The smell of woodsmoke clinging to the walls…the hardwood floors and the large shoji… It was a mix of being back at home but not quite. The small design flairs within the interior were reminiscent of the shrine—  such as the covered ceiling instead of the exposed beams of his childhood home. 

Jin follows Sae-san to the kitchen, taking in everything in her home. It was cosy and lived in, unlike the spotless perfection of the estate. He passes by a small kamidana sitting high on a wall. It had a thick strand of shimenawa rope above it, no doubt woven from the stalks of rice grown in Sae-san’s own fields. A wooden fox dyed in red sat at its centre, clearly carved by a child’s hand with a few freshly picked flowers on either side of it. Taking his gaze lower, a butsudan sat on top of an ancient lacquer drawer beneath the miniature shrine. Countless memorial tablets lay before it, and quite surprisingly, a picture of a young man with rather prominent eyebrows was in the centre. Jin quietly pays his respects. He would’ve burned some incense for them if he didn’t have to move on before he lost sight of Sae-san.

A simple kitchen comes into view. Smaller, rougher than the one at the shrine, but just as welcoming with its stone finishings and the heavy iron pots that were lined against the wall.

“Ah, Jin-chan, I’m sorry but will a written recipe do? I’d love to show you properly but I realised it’s almost time for me to check on my crops again!”

“Of course, Sae-san. Whatever suits you best. I was the one who came to visit you unannounced.”

“Oh you! Such a polite boy. Let me find some paper…”

A warm cup of green tea gets pushed into his hands as he patiently waits for Sae-san to get some ink and a brush. When had she brewed it? He can’t help but wonder if this was yet another snippet into an ordinary… human life that he had forsaken. Being able to visit his neighbours on a whim, having the entire village know him on a first name basis… It’s a bittersweet feeling of being able to enjoy their company but only behind a wall of glass. An intrinsic difference between him, and the rest of these kind-hearted villagers that stopped him from truly relaxing around them.

“Here you go, Jin-chan! Thank you for waiting!”

 “Ah, thank you very much.”

Jin accepts the precious piece of paper with both hands, careful not to smudge the still drying ink. The list of ingredients thankfully wasn’t too extensive, but what makes his eyes grow wide is the sheer amount of honey required for the cakes. It should’ve been obvious, with their namesake but Jin can’t help but feel a little crestfallen. Honey was a rare and precious commodity. He doesn’t ever recall seeing it inside the shrine apart from the medicinal balms Hwoarang had used to treat his wounds with. His expression must give him away as Sae-san wordlessly shuffles off and comes back with a small clay jar.

The sweet, floral aroma that radiated from it tips Jin off on what was inside, but shock overtakes him when she makes to give all of it to him.

“‘S-sae-san! I can’t possibly accept this! This is too valuable!”

He gently pushes away the small jar, careful not to do anything that might send it shattering on the floor. That jar alone would cost the entire list of items Hwoarang had sent him to buy, and then some.

“It’s alright, Jin-chan.” Sae-san has a knowing smile on her face as she pushes the jar back into his hands. A certain finality behind her eyes that lets him know he’s lost this battle.

“I’m sure Suzaku-sama will hear your feelings. You’re an earnest, hard-working boy.”

“F-feelings…?” 

Jin feels heat rise to his face despite his confusion at Sae-san’s words. Now where had that come from? She laughs softly behind her hand.

“Oh…to be young again…” She takes pity on him, no doubt seeing the hopelessly puzzled look on his face.

“Suzaku-sama is a kind and gentle god who doesn’t ask for much. Even offering a simple apple or a wildflower plucked from the wayside is enough for him.”

“All that matters to him is the heart you put behind your offering.”

Jin can’t help but wonder how easily Sae-san saw through his simple need to learn a recipe and figure out his true desire. Of wanting to show Suzaku-sama … well, Hwoarang , his gratitude in a more… physical sense.  Was it the wisdom that came with age? Is that why Hwoarang could always see so easily past his polite airs?

“Go on now. I’m sure you will have a busy day at the shrine ahead of you.”

“T-thank you very much, Sae-san… I…am grateful to you.”

He gives her a deep bow, bringing himself even lower than where her crooked back left her, and another sweet laugh reaches his ears.

“Good luck on those honey cakes, Jin-chan.”

~~~

It’s a good sign for his fitness when walking back up the steps of the shrine while carrying a basket full of shopping doesn’t leave him panting for breath anymore. Maybe except for the persistent ache in his side. But nowadays it just feels like a particularly bad bruise when he moves around too much. Jin is watching the autumn leaves floating in the air, landing on each stone step when he spots a large splotch of orange waving around behind the rim of the basket he was carrying.

Hwoarang.

Sitting on the steps with his chin resting on his palm and an impatient foot tapping on the ground.

Waiting for him.

Jin adjusts his grip on the basket and Hwoarang immediately jumps up.

“Welcome back.”

He comes over to take the shopping off his hands, not before giving him a curious sniff. Hwoarang cocks his head to the side, following his nose and looks inside the basket with keen interest.

“Where’d you pick up the honey?”

Leave it to the honey addict to quite literally sniff out the goods… Maybe he should’ve been born as a bear instead of a fox. Jin is quick to snatch the basket back out of Hwoarang’s grasp, lest his surprise gets ruined.

“F-from Sae-san but… nevermind that. Your money, Hwoarang-san.”

He pushes the pouch of coins back into Hwoarang's hands before quickly heading back inside the shrine to put away the newly bought items. 

And to keep the jar of honey out of a certain pair of sticky paws.

The rest of his day is spent trying to gauge whether or not there were enough ingredients in Hwoarang’s stores to make the honey cakes, while trying not to tip said curious fox off on what he was planning. It was surprisingly hard. Hwoarang always seemed to be hanging around his periphery and he kept on running into him around unexpected corners. It seemed that the scent of honey had piqued his interest and Jin wouldn’t be surprised if Hwoarang would eat it straight from the jar if he didn’t keep an eye on him. At least the appearance of his favourite…condiment… lessened the stagnant air that had grown between them.

Night rolls around, and thankfully Hwoarang seems to have given up on poking around. They’re cleaning up the dishes from dinner in what felt to be a relatively comfortable silence compared to before. Perhaps enough time has passed for that awkwardness to begin to blow away? Their fingers brush each other as Hwoarang hands him a wet bowl to dry. It makes Jin inwardly jump but he keeps his hands steady. Hwoarang didn’t seem all too bothered by that brief moment of contact, keeping his eyes on the pile of dishes in the sink. His nonchalance gives Jin the courage to breach the quiet around them.

“H-Hwoarang-san… You won’t be using the kitchen for the rest of the night, correct?”

“Hm? Yeah…?” Hwoarang looks at him curiously. Jin immediately brings his eyes to the bowl he was drying, lest he give anything away. 

“That’s good.”

“What? You wanna practise or something?”

“Y-yeah…you could say that…”

Jin does his best not to crack under Hwoarang’s scrutiny. He can feel the weight of his gaze on him, narrowing those golden eyes in suspicion. There’s another beat of silence between them, and it only makes the nervousness that had been brewing in his gut since he had brought back that jar of honey rise up to his throat. Hwoarang eventually sighs, the sudden sound making him want to bolt. Though his voice comes in a familiar, teasing tone that he hasn’t heard in a while.

“Just don’t burn the kitchen down, Kazama~”

A smile stretches across Jin’s face in relief. Both at the feeling of being let off the hook and… that Hwoarang felt comfortable enough to begin poking fun at him again. Something he hasn’t done since their little show of vulnerability and it felt… nice. A sense of normalcy bleeding back into their lives. He wasn’t sure how to feel if they spent the rest of their… friendship …tip toeing around each other.

Friendship. What a funny word. It wasn’t one Jin found himself using often, but that was what was going on between them right? Mutual respect, a desire for each other’s company. A precious bond that Jin couldn’t bear to lose, and that was why he was going to such lengths to make Hwoarang’s favourite food. To convey how he felt. There was no small amount of anxiety that came with it though. Of messing up the recipe and wasting ingredients…but Sae-san’s words reassure him. Even if the result wasn’t very good, all that mattered was that he was doing this to say thank you to Hwoarang. To try to express the words that always got lodged in his throat every time he looked at the one who saved his life.

And the one who saved him yet again; from the demons of his past.

He has a few precious hours to himself in the kitchen, now that Hwoarang has left him to his own devices. Even if he wasn’t there with him, Jin can still hear him helping in his mind.

‘Preparation is key. Get everything you need set up first so you’re not trying to find something in the middle of cooking.’

Jin brings out Sae-san’s recipe. Right. He would need some flour… rice wine… sesame oil… He digs out the priceless jar of honey he had hidden in the kitchen and gets everything on the table. The last embers in the stove were dying out so Jin put on another log of wood to begin heating the oil he’d need to fry the pastries.

Everything was going fine. Well. As fine as it could be with Jin in the kitchen. He’s had to retry a few batches of the dough. Too much liquid in one, the oil was too hot in the other. The failures sit out on the table as a reminder of his mistakes, and what not to do for his current batch. The dough felt nicer beneath his hands this time. This was the one! He’s in the middle of cutting out the little diamond shapes he remembers the cakes to be from the festival when his ears twitch. The faintest sound of footsteps on soft ground. 

Jin didn’t think he’d be able to move this fast in the kitchen but he immediately shuts the windows in a panic. Doing his best to clean off the bits of dough sticking to his hands before giving up because the footsteps were coming closer!! He almost runs straight into Hwoarang as he scrambles outside, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

There’s flour all over his clothes, he knows. His hair is a mess (at least more than usual) from the amount of times he’s run his hands through it in stress, he knows. Hwoarang just looks at him in mild surprise before a smirk stretches on his lips. Another one of Hwoarang’s words of kitchen wisdom pops into his head.

‘Clean as you go.’

He probably wouldn’t even be in this mess if he had heeded those words but it was just so awfully hard with everything that was going on at once. Frying, rolling, cutting, dunking the cakes into the syrup… He has no idea how Hwoarang manages to keep the kitchen sparkling clean after making so many complicated dishes.

“ Jin-chan~ What are you making?”

Jin makes a choked sound. Sweating at the prospect of his surprise being uncovered, but more so at the way his stomach flips at the sound of his name coming from Hwoarang’s lips. There’s an incessant fluttering in his chest that only makes him panic over how confused a simple word leaves him. It’s different from when Sae-san and all the other villagers call him that but why? He could just accept it with an awkward dip of his head when they called him his name, but why does he feel his face turning red now? Why does he feel so tongue-tied all the time in front of Hwoarang?

“D-don’t call me that…” Hwoarang tilts his head to the side, coming closer. Jin takes a step back, immediately averting his eyes.

“Do you not like it?”

“N-no…but it's just…” It takes him off guard more than anything, rather than him finding it disagreeable. His back hits the wooden door to the kitchen and it makes whatever that was flipping in his stomach spike up to his throat. 

Nowhere to run. 

Opening the door would mean Hwoarang could peek inside the kitchen. Running away would mean Hwoarang would look inside himself. It was a lose-lose situation either way and Jin can feel the weight of Hwoarang’s gaze on him the longer he goes without answering his question.

The more he thinks about his erratic heartbeat, the more his face burns. It’s too much emotion to process in his already stressed out mind. Especially when he’s already trying to hide his batch of honey cakes from Hwoarang.

“Argh…! J-just wait until tomorrow, Hwoarang! You’ll see what I'm making then!”

Pure mortification strikes through Jin as he baulks at omitting his usual respectful honorific in the heat of the moment. Hwoarang’s grin only grows wider at that, but he mercifully decides to take pity on him.

“Whatever you say, Jin-chan .”

Those fluffy tails tickle beneath his nose when Hwoarang leaves him be. He fights the urge to sneeze and waits until Hwoarang turns the corner before letting out a sigh of relief.

Crisis averted.

Now he could work on his surprise in peace. Nevermind the warmth still burning on his cheeks.

~~~

Another sleepless night plagues Jin as he stares up at the ceiling. He resists the urge to get up and check on the cakes every five minutes to make sure they are still there and haven’t somehow disintegrated into the syrup they were soaking in. Or even worse, sitting in a certain someone’s stomach after they felt peckish in the middle of the night.

Jin hadn’t gotten a good look at the honey cakes at the festival, his mind preoccupied with… other things. Doubt keeps him awake as he wonders if he had followed the recipe correctly. Though they had tasted rather nice when he tested one before attempting to go to sleep last night. Surely they were better after an overnight stint in a bath of ginger infused honey?

With his new proximity to Hwoarang’s room, he can hear when he begins to wake. The futon rustling beneath his stretching limbs as he gets ready for the day. The loud yawn and the quiet popping of joints. Jin bolts upright. He needed to beat Hwoarang to the kitchen today. Just so he could put all of last night's efforts neatly onto a plate to finish his surprise.

The shoji smacks against the grooves in the floor from how hard he opens it. He’s met with Hwoarang standing there next to him. A hand on his own door in a mimicry of Jin’s frozen frame. Wide, golden eyes look at him incredulously while he scratches at his stomach. Jin gives him a polite bow before running off to the kitchen. The sound of Hwoarang’s laugh echoes behind him. Something more gentle than the sharp cackle he had grown used to.

He tries his best to open the door to the kitchen more gently despite his haste. All the cakes were as he had left them last night —  revealed to him in all their shiny, golden brown glory as Jin removes the bamboo cover from the bowl. They looked even better than the night before now that they had a chance to soak up all that syrupy goodness. Jin grabs a pair of chopsticks and carefully lays them out on the prettiest plate he could find— An elegant white porcelain piece in the shape of a cherry blossom, the edges of each petal tipped with a powdery pink.

Jin is just finishing topping each cake with toasted pine nuts when Hwoarang finally walks in. He straightens up immediately, fighting the urge to cover the plate he was working on. Right. He still needed to show his surprise. Hwoarang is already sniffing the air in curiosity. It was now or never.

“U-uhm…T-thank you for everything, Hwoarang-san…”

The sight of Hwoarang’s eyes lighting up when he turns around quells any lingering doubts he had about his plate of wonky looking pastries. There's a confusing mess of emotions that cross over Hwoarang’s features in record time, and Jin can’t tell if he’s about to cry, laugh, smile or do all of the above.

“This…this is Sae’s recipe, isn’t it.” Hwoarang whispers, voice heavy with emotion.

“Y-yes…Hwoarang-san.”

Something indescribably soft finally settles itself into Hwoarang’s eyes as he fixes him with a blindingly sincere smile.

“Don’t you think we’re past that now, Jin? Just call me Hwoarang.”

Another flip in his stomach. Though it's not quite as visceral as last night's reaction when Hwoarang had added a ‘-chan’ to his name as well. It’s… not so bad. Having the small blessing of being able to hear how his name sounded in Hwoarang’s voice. He could live with that.

“Okay, H-hwoarang…”

He needs to stop himself from adding the extra ‘-san’ to the end of Hwoarang’s name out of habit. It was only fair, right? If Hwoarang wanted to start using his given name, then it was only natural he could drop the honorific as well…right?

Hwoarang moves to put the heavy, cast iron kettle on the stove, making quick work of setting the kindling on fire with a spark of blue flame coming from his finger. Jin watches him wordlessly, sitting both himself and the plate of precious pastries back at the table— lest something come over him and he drops it all on the floor.

“I’m impressed, Jin…These must’ve been hard to make, right?”

“N-no, not at all! Sae-san’s instructions were very easy to follow!”

Jin decides now is probably not the best time to mention the multiple minor breakdowns he had making the dough and his overwhelming urge to cry when he had completely burnt one batch to a crisp.

Not when Hwoarang was facing away from him, busying himself with pulling tea cups out of the drawers and sniffing various jars of tea leaves. Even if Jin couldn’t see his face, there was something inexplicably happy about Hwoarang. Maybe it was the way his many tails seemed to wave around in contentment. Maybe it was the soft humming coming from him. With the early morning light filtering through the windows and streaming across Hwoarang’s hair, it made for a rather familiar scene. Of watching his mother cook in the kitchen. The same comforting nostalgia radiated from Hwoarang, but yet it felt different. A tug at the back of his mind telling him that whatever he was feeling right now was something only Hwoarang could pull out of him.

A quiet thud against the wood shakes him out of his musings as Hwoarang settles down in front of him. A cup of hojicha gets pushed towards him. Its warm, toasty aroma melds perfectly with the sweetness wafting from the plate of honey cakes. Even if Hwoarang’s reaction had been promising, Jin can’t help the nerves rising up within him as he watches him grab a syrupy sweet from the plate and place it into his mouth.

A happy sound, somewhere between a giddy laugh and a delighted hum reaches his ears. Hwoarang is already licking his fingers and going to grab another one. It was hard to tell if it was a good or bad thing that Jin had doubled Sae-san’s recipe at the rate they were disappearing off the plate.

“Are they… good, H-Hwoarang?”

“Good? These are great, Jin! You should try them yourself!”

There’s such a sweet sparkle to Hwoarang’s eyes as he bites down on his third, his fourth…his fifth cake that sends a wide smile to Jin’s face. So that’s how those ten honey cakes had disappeared so quickly at the festival… He grabs one before they get devoured, finally able to savour the fruits of his labour.

An explosion of nectar meets his tongue. The syrup he had made was… delicious. The fresh ginger warmed his throat with just a hint of spice that was mellowed out by the rich sweetness of the honey. The texture was extremely moreish with its flaky crispness. He could see each defined layer of the dough he had worked so hard on, and how it all melted in his mouth after soaking up all the syrup. Sae-san’s tip of adding a bit of black pepper to the dough was incredible. Its subtle savouriness complimented the fragrance of the sesame oil so well. It makes Jin go back for seconds after refreshing his palate with a sip of the delicious tea.

Half the plate is already gone when Jin reaches out for more and Hwoarang finally looks a bit sheepish, licking his fingers. He can see Hwoarang fighting with his impulses before wrapping both his hands around his teacup and sitting up properly. Most likely trying to find something else to occupy his mouth with outside of shovelling down his favourite sweet.

“...Did Sae-san ever tell you where this recipe came from?”

“No…only that it’s their village specialty…”

Hwoarang rests his chin against his hand, and Jin already knows that an interesting story is about to come.

“I gave them the recipe, actually.”

Now Jin wasn’t expecting that . He swallows down the last mouthful of his cake and turns to listen to Hwoarang intently.

“It’s something from my childhood… They’re actually called ‘Yakgwa’. I missed it, and I wanted to eat it.” Hwoarang lets out a small laugh.

“Though I didn’t really have the means to make it when I first arrived here, so I kinda…nudged the villagers in the right direction, you could say.”

“These ones are still a bit different from the ones I used to have though. They were shaped like a lotus flower…a bit softer and chewier.”

Jin can’t help the small smile on his lips at the story. Hearing Hwoarang talk about his past…It was hard to imagine how long ago his childhood was, and even harder to imagine what Hwoarang looked like as a child. A rather blurry image of a small child comes to mind. Covered in dirt and bruises from a day playing in the woods and happily munching on these sweet treats.

“Why don’t you make them all the time then? You have the ingredients to do so now, don’t you?” This prompts another laugh from Hwoarang.

“Well, you’ve already seen how much I like them. Gotta watch what I eat you know? It’s the secret to a long life.” Hwoarang finishes with a teasing wink. Though there’s a look in his eyes that let’s Jin know there was something more to that story.  

“...and because… I don’t need to. The villagers… they’re kind. ” 

“They leave out offerings for me when they can and once they figured out I liked yakgwa alot, they started making them. Even if they are quite expensive to make. What with the flour and all the honey…” Hwoarang looks off to the side. Something clouding over his features as he’s drawn back into another memory of the past.

“They surprised me when I first came here… Their generosity and kindness has stayed with them throughout all their generations. I didn’t expect them to leave food out for me despite having so little themselves.” 

“Why wouldn’t they be kind? You’re a kitsune , right?”

A complicated smile simply crosses over Hwoarang’s lips. A sad glint behind those eyes that lets Jin know that there still much more he didn’t know behind this rather sensitive topic of conversation. He does his best to steer it away from the distant past that still seemed to plague Hwoarang.

“Speaking of kitsune… H-Hwoarang…You’re a nine-tailed fox, right? Why is your fur still red?”

“The stories always say that a fox sheds their red fur for white…or gold…or black to get ready to ascend to the heavens once they get their final, ninth tail.”

“You asking me what I’m still doing here, on humble earth?” Hwoarang’s voice is low, despite the smirk playing on his lips. Jin gulps, thinking he’s only made things worse after getting caught up in the excitement of recounting the stories his mother used to tell him.

“W-well… without you staying here, I wouldn’t even be alive so…It’s not a bad thing…” Jin mumbles, looking at the table and fiddling with his thumbs. A soft chuckle lets him relax his shoulders.

“You’re sweet, Jin.” Warmth creeps onto his cheeks.

“You know… I’m not really sure myself, actually. Maybe the gods don’t like me here. Or maybe it’s simply because I'm not from these lands…”

“Either way… I don’t really care about that ‘higher calling’ stuff.”

“The villagers like me and my life is peaceful.” Hwoarang looks at him with another disarmingly soft smile.

“That’s all that really matters to me.”

“And as for my fur…”

“Red is my colour, don’t you think?”

Chapter Text

The smell of incense swirls throughout the moonlit halls of a dojo. Countless candles line a stage on which a grand statue of a wooden bodhisattva sits. Molten wax pools into their golden holders. The flickering flames cast deep shadows across its smooth surface, making the scowling visage carved into it all the more intimidating. An ageing man with peculiar grey hair that swooped upwards into two neat spikes sits at its centre, mediating. The proud set to his shoulders showing off the roaring tiger embroidered onto the back of his black karate gi. Despite his age, the man still made for an imposing figure— a physique that rivalled a fighter in his prime was apparent even beneath his clothes. It inspired an undercurrent of fear in what should’ve been a picture of peace and tranquillity.

“Speak.” 

A deep, rumbling tenor not unlike the sound of thunder rings throughout the training area.

A figure cloaked in black had entered the dojo, making nary a sound. He drops to one knee, dipping his head down low in respect despite the man barely moving to acknowledge him.

“Mishima-dono… The fox is a problem… we need to lure it out and weaken it if we are to have a chance at exterminating the runaway.”

“Do what you must. I just want that stain gone from our bloodline.”

A small silence follows. Tension brewing in the air as soon as the disgraced heir had been mentioned. The cloaked man carefully chooses his words before daring to speak once more.

“Understood, sir. We only ask for your patience on this matter. The fox is old. Powerful. It will take time to get through its defences.”

“Do I need to repeat myself? Go! I need not hear your excuses!” The anger boils over; lightning striking down in the form of a booming voice before another tense silence is left in its wake.

“Contact me only when it’s time to strike.”

The man quickly leaves after giving Heihachi another deep bow. The air is heavy. Filled with static as a few stray flashes of blue spark around his arms. Heihachi brings a hand up to his face, running his fingers over the welts of scar tissue that had been left on his cheek after that demon had shown its true colours. 

To think he had cared for it as one of his own.

“That cursed Kazuya…bringing such tainted blood into my family. I will put an end to that creature with my own hands.”

He brings his hand into a fist. The crack of his knuckles echo loudly in the quiet dojo.

~~~

The air is crisp, clean on his nose as Hwoarang scampers beneath the tangled undergrowth of the forest. An easy task on four legs. Having only one tail out as he poses as a regular fox also means he doesn’t have to worry about it getting caught on a stray branch. 

…And it saves him the trouble of being gawked at by the villagers as he makes his morning rounds.

The sun is only just beginning to rise, the world still awash in a sleepy midnight blue. A warm orange glow blooms from the countless houses as the village begins to wake. Hwoarang trots along the empty paths, making sure only the tip of his snout or a flick of his tail gets noticed by the villagers as he collects some of their offerings.

The villagers were always so generous. Giving him only the freshest harvests from their vegetable gardens and fruit trees, or labour intensive foods that could take hours or even days to make. He never did care for the sweet fried tofu curds though. For some funny reason, the villagers always offered it to him even after all these centuries. However he always made it a point to never take all that was left out for him. It wasn’t like he could eat all of it anyways. 

Though with the new addition to the shrine…

He walks by another house, the bag he had brought was already quite full even after only taking one thing from each villager’s offerings. A sweet scent makes him pause. He follows his nose, the smell getting stronger and more fruity before he’s finally face to face with a plain ceramic bottle. It was sealed with wax paper around its lip. Hwoarang gives it another sniff, a heady sensation filling his senses as he gets a strong whiff of alcohol. It appeared to be a bottle of homemade peach sake. Certainly a rare sight. Hwoarang slips it into his bag before heading back up the mountain.

Ideas of how to use it in his cooking swirl in his mind, though this was probably made to be best enjoyed as is, judging from how sweet it smelt. At least he didn’t have to feel so bad about having a cup all by his lonesome now that he had company back at the shrine. 

Wait… was Jin even old enough to have a drink? Maybe a sip wouldn’t hurt…

The image of Jin perking up at his first bite of a ripe peach had been ingrained in his mind. Hwoarang only realises why after some thought. 

It’d been the first time Jin had smiled since he’d arrived on his doorstep. Even if he had been completely unaware of it. A soft, gentle little quirk of his lips that had finally broken through after all those weeks of passive rigidity that had been ingrained on his features. A tiny peek of the real Jin that lay beneath the overly formal and polite mannerisms he’d use. Such a little thing made warmth bloom in his heart. He had forgotten what it was like. Experiencing the world and wondering at its marvels. He still found contentment in the small things but nothing could ever beat the feeling of discovering something for the first time.

And he had found himself being able to experience that joy once more. 

When Jin had arrived.

The joy of being able to laze around all day in the summer breeze. The joy of going to a lively festival. The joy of sharing a laugh in the presence of another.

It’s been too long really. Since he’s last been able to chat and joke and just be with another person.

Not since…

A lump grows in his throat, throwing a heavy cloud over his chipper mood. Hwoarang lets out a soft sigh, changing back into his human form now that he is within the forest cover again. On that note, it was better to check the fringes of his territory. Even if nothing has disturbed him for well over a few centuries, it never hurt to stay vigilant. Complacency was a dangerous thing that he was all too aware of.

There’s a few large sugi trees that dot around his domain, offering a convenient way to get around. The earth and forest around them are still healthy—  as they have been for as long as he can remember. A quick touch to their moss strewn trunks is all he needs to check on them. The birds hop around him in curiosity every time he visits; as well as the shy deer peeking at him through the foliage. He takes care not to disturb the family of foxes that had made their home beneath an old tree stump for the past ten years. Their glowing eyes staring at him through the darkness as he gently places a few chicken eggs offered by the villagers in front of their den.

Everything still seemed to be in order. Hwoarang grabs a ripe persimmon from the bag of offerings as a snack as he walks around the dense forest. The sweetness that bursts onto his tongue quickly sours as the last sugi tree comes into view. 

It’s… quiet.  

Alarmingly so. 

The air should be rife with chattering wildlife as they welcome the dawn of a new day. Hwoarang immediately puts his snack back into his bag, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

The bark was stripping from the tree in large chunks, the ground around it a mess of rotting wood and suffocating moss. Large patches of brown and grey disturb the verdant green landscape of the forest and Hwoarang already has an idea of what had happened here. An old hatred sparks in his chest. Dark and seething as he approaches the withered tree and finds yellowed sheets of paper nailed into its trunk.

Talismans.

Despicable human magic. A pathetic imitation of the power that was gifted to yokai . There's a heavy metallic tang in the air that lets him know that the dark text scrawled onto the paper is written with human blood. Hwoarang supposes it was only a matter of time before some hunters who were in over their heads would attempt to go after him. But what could’ve possibly given them the stupid idea to take him on?

Hwoarang carefully removes the rusted nail that had pierced the sugi tree’s bark, ridding it of the awful accessories. His first instinct is to burn them. Reduce the paper to ashes and let them float away on the wind. He knows better. Yokai hunters could be tricky. Even the act of letting the talisman sit in his palm made his skin crawl from the malicious intent that radiated off it. A desire to hurt, poison, ruin everything it touched.

The talismans get folded up and tucked away into his sleeve to be scrutinised later. The sun was rising and Jin said he’d take care of breakfast today. He didn’t want to keep him too long.

~~~

The paper felt heavy in his sleeve all throughout breakfast. Hwoarang does his best to keep up with Jin’s small conversations, even if his mind keeps wandering back to the rotted tree he had found. Jin really was getting better at cooking. A simple seaweed and tofu soup with his first attempt at grilling fish. It was a bit dry, but considering his first few forays into the culinary world, it was a miracle none of it had turned into charcoal. It was good. Though Hwoarang does look back on the miso soup with daikon greens Jin had made fondly—  Thinking back to how he had to school his features to not put the stray off from ever cooking again.

It felt like an age ago. Even if it had only been a few months. Having Jin in the shrine just…felt right. It was hard to imagine how he had managed all those centuries without his quiet, gentle presence. Jin wasn’t loud or rambunctious by any means, but his unexpected arrival had breathed life back into the shrine. Breaking the peaceful routine he had made for himself and filling it with so many unexpected (and humorous) incidents.

Hwoarang used to spend the better part of the day sleeping. Preferring to do most of his activities in the cover of night. But now with a bustling new presence in the shrine, he found himself adjusting to Jin. It had been out of necessity at first. Having to care for him in his injured state. And then… it just kind of… stuck.

The urge to check up on Jin every once in a while never really went away. Preparing a proper three nutritious meals a day instead of settling for whatever he could throw together in the least amount of time. Teaching Jin was also one of his favourite new additions to his routine. Whatever it was; be it strengthening his yokai powers with meditation or showing him how to prepare a certain dish… Jin always had this bright eyed curiosity— a wholehearted desire to learn that brought back a spark of nostalgia within him. Something warm budding in his heart as he thinks back to the early days of his life. Where he was younger and had still shared that starry eyed look Jin had.

Hwoarang knows it’s not the only reason why he feels so warm everytime he looks at Jin. He’s spent enough time in this world to understand it. But that was something best not to dwell too much on. Especially with how delicately new it was. It’s a curious feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time and Hwoarang finds himself wondering where it would take him. 

…And where it would leave him.

He helps Jin clean up the dishes before excusing himself. He really needed to get to the bottom of those talismans: Where they had come from, who put them there. Someone dared to challenge and threaten him and it was inexcusable .

Whoever had made them certainly was skilled though. Hwoarang spends the better part of the morning on the shrine rooftops trying to decipher the threads of the human magic that lay within it. The deeper he searches for its root, the more it feels like diving into a pool of tar. A suffocating darkness that burned his lungs and stung his skin. There were many layers to the curse placed on the talisman, each with their own proverbial stinger that kept him from poking around too much. There’s a familiarity behind the symptoms it inflicts him with.

The nausea. The brain fog. The weakness in his limbs.

The feeling goes away once he stops trying to unravel the curse, but there’s a niggling sense of deja vu— like he’s seen this before. Hwoarang jumps down from the rooftop, still holding onto the talisman as he tries to pinpoint the answer to exactly why it felt so familiar. A startled noise comes from behind him as he lands softly into the garden

“H-Hwoarang?! Where did you…?”

The talisman gets scrunched beneath his fist in an instant. He must’ve gotten too lost in his thoughts if he had managed to forget Jin liked to read in the garden after breakfast. Hwoarang turns to face him, hiding his hand behind his back. Meeting Jin whose tail had puffed up in surprise at his sudden arrival. Those adorably curious eyes staring at him like he had just dropped from the sky.

Something clicks then. 

The symptoms. 

Jin. 

Whoever had planted those despicable talismans were the very same hunters who had chased Jin all those months ago. The poison that had afflicted him presented in very much the same way as what he had felt just moments before. They were hatching a plot. Targeting him specifically, but to what end? 

Hwoarang grips onto the piece of paper in his hands tighter.

There was no need to get Jin involved in this. He'd suffered at the hands of his family enough. This was something that he would handle himself .

Jin probably hadn’t realised it himself. How sickly and pale he had been while battling the aftermath of getting stabbed. How his cheeks had hollowed out… The feverish delirium that had plagued him for the first week; barely able to lift his head to sip water. How weak the poison had actually left him and the lengths Hwoarang needed to take to save him. Jin was incredibly lucky, and Hwoarang suspected his mother’s healing gift had something to do with that.

At least Jin looked much healthier now, months into his recovery. A roundness to his cheeks that better showcased his youthful vigour. His body filling out the kimono and hakama he was wearing rather than having it simply hanging off his frame. There was a reason why Hwoarang hadn’t put a mirror in Jin’s initial room. He doubted being faced with the true extent of how much his body had deteriorated would do him any favours.

Hwoarang realises he’s been silent for a while now. Jin was fidgeting beneath his gaze, no doubt wondering if he’d heard him or not. He can feel those curious eyes flicking to the hand behind his back. 

A flash of heat. Barely noticeable. Goosebumps break out on his skin but it’s gone as quickly as the spark he’d burnt the talisman to a crisp with. Hwoarang opens his palm and lets the ashes float away on the wind as he pretends to fix his clothes. Luckily he had chosen to wear grey today.

There’s a pile of books on the engawa, next to a zabuton cushion Jin must’ve been sitting on before he interrupted him. He puts a smile back on his face to ease the worry plastered on Jin's features.

“I was just sunbathing on the roof. What about you? You plannin’ on doing somethin’ with those books, Jin?”

“O-oh! Yes! I wanted to ask you something, H-Hwoarang.”

Jin’s eyes light up, taking a few steps closer to him and folding his hands in front of him. How proper. The awkwardness that Jin exuded from leaving out his usual honorific makes him grin.

“Do you have any more books on martial arts? I found some myself but… uhm…” Jin’s eyes darted around on the floor, clearly trying to pick his words carefully which only made Hwoarang snicker. He didn’t mind finishing his sentence for him.

“None of them catch your fancy?”

Jin turns slightly red before nodding wordlessly. How cute. Jin reminded him of the stray kittens he’d see around in the village. Always so cautious, yet so curious as they poke their heads out from beneath the foundations of the village houses or peek at him from behind some furniture as he passes by. Hwoarang tamps down on the sudden urge to pick Jin up and twirl him around, just like he had done when Jin first turned into a cat.

“I’ve got a few more tucked away somewhere. Though…”

“Why the sudden urge? Aren’t you already good at Mishima-ryu?”

A pensive look passes through Jin’s eyes, washing away the awkwardness from before. His mouth opens and closes a few times before settling on an answer he seemed to be happy with.

“It’s…time I let go of the past, don’t you think?” He finishes with a small smile.

The words send an unexpected pang through his chest. A poignant reminder of the pain Jin had been subjected to. It showed in his skittishness, how he avoided eye contact. The downward spiral he had spun himself into. It was a monumental thing to hear those words from Jin. The strength it took to move on .

Something akin to pride flickers within Hwoarang. Warm and tingly, though most of all: He’s happy. 

Happy that he’s been able to slowly loosen the fortress of brambles Jin had woven around himself. Happy to be gifted with tears, smiles, and a whole array of emotions instead of a stony mask devoid of personality. 

The early days of Jin’s company had been unsettling to say the least. Silence was to be expected from him, considering the ordeal he had been put through before staggering up the shrine but the quiet had stretched on. The flinching when he’d move his hands too quickly; instantly shying away and making himself smaller whenever he spoke to Jin…

It only makes this simple moment all the more wonderful.

“Yeah…you’re right.”

~~~

They take another tour of one of the countless dust filled store rooms that Hwoarang swears he’ll get around to cleaning someday—  and not just take advantage of Jin’s inability to say no to him. Though granted, Jin always seemed to enjoy tidying up his forgotten messes so…maybe it’ll just work itself out?

There’s no missing the curious gaze that flicks around the musty room as Jin waits for him to find the books. No doubt wondering where he had accumulated all these trinkets and curios. It’s been an age since they’ve fallen into his hands. Hwoarang finds that he’s forgotten a lot of where all this… stuff had come from. Or rather… he just doesn’t want to deal with the unpleasant memories that always resurfaced when he got too wrapped up in his nostalgia.

Though Jin had shown him that it wasn’t always a bad thing… looking back on his past. If it wasn’t for him, he never would’ve been able to be reunited with one of the first gifts that his Master had given him.

“Here you go, Jin. I think you should find something you like here.” 

Hwoarang dumps the thick stack of books into his waiting hands. Trying not to laugh at Jin’s subsequent sneeze as it stirs up the dust that had settled on top of them.

“Th-thank you…”

There’s that look on Jin’s face again. The small furrow to his brow. The minuscule bite to his lip; the one that told Hwoarang that he had something more to say. 

“Say, H-Hwoarang… Why do you have so many books on martial arts?” Jin’s eyes widen as he fixes him with an awed look.

“Don’t tell me you’ve actually mastered all of them…!”

Hwoarang can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes him. The face Jin was making reminded him of the bright eyed look a child would give him when he showed them how far he could skip stones on a lake.

“What if I said yes?” A flat out lie, but Hwoarang can’t help himself.

Jin’s eyes grow even wider.

“Th-then can you teach me?” Jin seems to have forgotten the books in his hands in all his excitement as he makes to prostrate himself on the floor.

“It would be the highest honour to have someone so skilled—”

“W-w-wait! Hold on Jin! I’m joking!” 

Hwoarang almost trips over himself in his haste to grab Jin by the shoulders to stop him from bowing. Being put on such a high pedestal always left him uncomfortable, especially after having Jin around the shrine for so long. It just didn’t feel right having someone who he’s shared meals with regarding him with such… reverence. He’s not prepared for the mildly betrayed look that Jin fixes him with at his answer and wait a minute… w-was he pouting?!

It’s barely noticeable, but there is a slight jut to Jin’s bottom lip that makes something squeeze in his chest.

“Oh…”

He looks so disappointed and Hwoarang finds himself desperately wanting to wipe that expression off of Jin’s face.

“I-I’ll still be your training buddy!” Hwoarang blurts out.

“Y-you will?”

“Yeah!”

Jin smiles at him and Hwoarang is suddenly all too aware of the heat that was seeping into his palms. Right. He was still holding onto Jin’s shoulders. It really shouldn’t bother him so much. He got into Jin’s personal space all the time but… with the way those amber eyes crinkled up at him in a hopeful smile…the soft curve to his lips… Hwoarang needed to get a grip on himself before he did something stupid.

It was too early. Too much. Too soon.

There’s no small amount of uncertainty as to what would happen if he did act on these budding impulses. Especially after Jin was only just beginning to truly heal.

He steers them back out towards the garden. The storeroom is suddenly much too small for the both of them. The refreshing breeze chases away his bothersome thoughts, but it’s not like he’d suddenly starve himself of seeing Jin. He had nothing better to do for the day and he’d been on this earth long enough to control himself. 

Surely.

The pair make it back to the spot where Hwoarang had surprised Jin earlier by jumping off the roof. He takes a seat by Jin, subtly watching him through the corner of his eye as he pretends to admire the great sakura tree that lay as the centrepiece in the garden. He could almost feel the cheeky bastard snickering at him… It wasn’t his fault Jin could make even reading books endearing .

With the way his fingers turned each page with the utmost care. The soft flutter of those dark lashes as he scans over the words and drawings. There wasn’t a hint of the nervousness that usually permeated Jin’s actions as soon as he picked up a book. Always immersing himself so wholly within the pages no matter how mundane the subject matter. Hwoarang really could spend the entire afternoon simply observing Jin and finding joy in picking out all his little quirks and habits. Or perhaps even a few centuries…

Jin’s eyes stop on a page eventually. It seems that he’s finally found the one.

The familiar restlessness comes flooding back into Jin a moment later. It’s more than apparent that he’s summoning the courage to ask him something and Hwoarang just fixes him with a patient smile. Resting his chin on his hand as he watches Jin fidget with the corner of the page.

“H-Hwoarang… could you hold this up for me?”

He glances down at the book Jin places in his lap, still not quite meeting his eyes. It’s opened to a few basic katas illustrated to great detail. It takes him a few moments to jog his memory before he realises what style Jin has picked out.

Kyokushin Karate.

“Please correct my form if you see any errors.”

“Sure thing.”

Not a bad choice actually. Mishima-ryu was already quite an aggressive style itself. It would lend itself well to the new techniques Jin was trying to learn.

Jin steps out into the open area of the garden before giving him a quick bow. Hwoarang needs to stifle another laugh. It almost felt like Jin was taking an exam and he was the evaluator. Jin’s movements are careful, measured. Stopping every once in a while to refer to the illustrations in the book or ask him what came next in a kata. 

“Raise your arms higher, Jin. Bring your hands closer to your face.”

“Yes!”

It wasn’t hard to see how Jin had become such a proficient martial artist though. With the way he always stopped himself as soon as he performed a technique that was unsatisfactory. Jin held himself to an extremely high standard. Picking up on the tiniest mistakes with a critical eye before Hwoarang could say anything. A single minded focus to better himself—  be it through the body or mind. Jin always devoted himself so wholeheartedly to whatever task was asked of him. 

It’s no wonder he had picked up on all the things Hwoarang had taught him so quickly. Well. Maybe except for cooking. But that was something Hwoarang didn’t mind doing for him.

“Are you sure you need me here, Jin? You seem to know what you’re doing.”

Jin stops his movements. Fixing him with a determined smile. So bright and pure.

“Of course! I need to get better at these techniques. How else will I be able to spar with you, Hwoarang?”

Heat prickles onto Hwoarang’s cheeks and is filled with the sudden urge to put his head through the floorboards. Yes, he’d been the one to offer the whole ‘training buddy’ thing but having Jin reply to him with such… earnestness makes his heart do somersaults. Especially with the way Jin’s amber eyes seem to sparkle at him in the sunlight.

God. What was wrong with him.

He takes a deep breath. Running a hand through one of his tails to distract himself from the sweat that was dripping down Jin’s temple. He’d dug this hole for himself, and now he’d just have to lie in it.

“Well… If you put it that way…”

Jin looks up at him enthusiastically as he stands up. Hwoarang honestly can’t tell why Jin is so excited seeing as he wasn’t exactly a master at Kyokushin Karate. 

“I think you should work on your flexibility rather than trying to put too much power behind your technique. Especially your kicks.”

Hwoarang walks over to Jin. Pointedly ignoring those bright eyes staring at him as he mimics the stance he had seen in the book. Lest he do something stupid and just pull Jin in for a wrestling match.

“Here… I’ll show you.”

~~~

It’s only after watching Jin struggle to reach the same height as his own kicks does Hwoarang realise that Jin is actually… rather inflexible. At least, compared to him. Their whole training session had turned onto its head once he’d figured that out. A villainous smirk stretching across his lips as he offers to help Jin stretch out his limbs out of the kindness of his heart, and not any other ulterior motive thank you very much.

Jin was too stubborn to complain anyways. His mind was already set on mastering Kyokushin karate and he’d bear with whatever Hwoarang thought would benefit him. It didn't stop him from squawking when Hwoarang had pulled his arm a little too far or stretched his legs just a smidge too wide though. However, flexibility only improved with time and Hwoarang took pity on Jin a while later. Stifling another laugh behind his hand as he watches Jin trying to walk on shaking legs.

He looked an awful lot like a newborn fawn and Hwoarang is reminded of when he’d first started learning martial arts himself.

“A-are you sure this is the best way to do this, Hwoarang?”

“Hm? Yeah! It’s how I warm up anyways.”

There’s no missing the dread that crosses Jin’s features at the realisation that he’d likely be put through that stretching hell everyday until he just got used to it. As entertaining as it was to watch Jin suffer through the growing (or rather stretching ) pains of learning a new style, Hwoarang wasn’t a total sadist.

“Go take a bath first. I’ll handle dinner.”

The reluctance is palpable on Jin’s face but Hwoarang gives him a little push towards the bathroom.

“Th-thank you…”

Jin must be really sore if he didn’t even try to put up a fight with him. The warm water would do those aching muscles some good. Besides, he wasn’t exactly keen on having Jin helping out in the kitchen with him when his limbs were akin to jelly. Nevermind getting him to handle a knife.

Hwoarang finds himself humming again as he gets to work tying up his sleeves. What should he make today? Perhaps a simple mizutaki stew? The clean flavours and vegetables would be just what Jin needed for his tired muscles.

It had been a good day, really. Despite the nasty discovery he had made in the morning. He finds that all his worries and irritation had ebbed away as soon as he spent time with Jin. Even if the days they passed together weren’t particularly groundbreaking, it held a different quality to when he’d still been living alone. The quiet that permeated the shrine halls no longer felt so oppressive. Each day felt novel. Exciting. Compared to the blur of before, when time held no meaning to him. The sunrises and sunsets had been all the same to him. Blending together into a perpetual cycle that he could never break.

Their meal together goes by like any other. With Jin’s eyes lighting up at the taste of his cooking and his quiet proclamation of "This is delicious, Hwoarang!” . The warm, fuzzy feeling cementing itself in his chest the longer he observes him. It felt like everything he made was Jin’s favourite food and that knowledge brought him insurmountable happiness.

But as happy as Jin made him, there were always reminders of the wounds that still lay deep within the stray’s heart. Change couldn’t happen overnight, despite the determination that fueled him. Jin’s demons always resurfaced when he was at his most vulnerable, manifesting themselves into his dreams.

Hwoarang had been made aware of them early on. When he’d never left Jin’s side for that first, nail-biting week of his injury. There were days Jin had laid so still, that Hwoarang had wondered if all his efforts had been in vain. But even in all his weakness, there was always something that plagued Jin enough for him to writhe in pain in his sleep.

His grandfather.

The first few times he had come across Jin thrashing about in his sheets, Hwoarang had simply brought a hand over his sweaty forehead. Casting a weak hypnosis spell to ease his mind. And now, as the day winds down and a sleepy, tranquil atmosphere sweeps across the shrine, Hwoarang isn’t surprised when he hears the beginnings of Jin’s unrest filtering through the walls separating their rooms.

If these past few months have told him anything about Jin, it’s that days like these— where Jin was the most relaxed and happiest— were the ones where the worst nightmares happened.

It starts off as a quiet sob. A shifting of the futon. Hwoarang already knows what’s to come but he waits. In the hope that Jin would be able to overcome this himself, that he’s spent enough time in the safety of his home to understand that they were just phantoms of the past.

“Ojii-sama…I’m…sorry…”

“I’ll…do… better…”

“So… please…”

“Stop…hurting…”

Hwoarang is already quietly sliding open the door to Jin’s room before he knows it. It’s a sight he’s seen many times, but it doesn’t stop the pain cracking open in his chest. The futon is a tangled mess around Jin’s limbs as his fingers twitch into a weak fist. Those thick brows furrowing, as if flinching away from something as he curls up into a ball. Trying to make himself smaller, trying to disappear from his grandfather’s ire.

“Ojii-sama…why do you…hate me…”

Hwoarang lets out a soft sigh. Trying to relieve the pressure that had built up in his chest as he quietly sits by Jin’s side. He brings his fingers to Jin’s forehead once again, easing the pain etched across that face. He carefully thumbs away the dampness in those eyes, wary of waking Jin. Somehow…today… it just wasn’t enough to chase away Jin’s demons for him and just leave like nothing had happened.

He watches that sleeping face for a moment longer. No longer caught within his nightmare, but still so, so sad. Hwoarang lets his impulses win. For just a moment. Bringing one of his tails to gently run over Jin’s back. Smoothing away the last jagged edges of his dream with a soothing rhythm. A small smile curves onto Jin’s lips as the lingering strings of tension leave him and he relaxes into his touch.

Hwoarang would protect that smile.

Whether it be for just a few months.

Or a millennia.

Chapter Text

~~

Lately Jin’s dreams have been about chasing someone. The desperation that usually came with these types of dreams was strangely… nowhere to be felt.  They were actually rather…pleasant.

Instead, it was rather like playing a game of tag as a child. There was no incessant fear of being left behind if he could never reach them. Jin wasn’t quite sure exactly who he was chasing after, but it was fun. 

His dreamscape felt like it was bathed in the warm afternoon sun, his steps light. As if he was bouncing off of cotton candy with each stride he took. All he could see was a fluffy orange tail. And the devious little smirk of a fox when it would turn around to look at Jin before scampering away when he got too close. As if to say: ‘Catch me if you can.’

It was just a silly game for the sake of it. He could finally understand why it always seemed to be the favourite pastime of the village children he used to observe.

Jin could never catch up to the fox though. His dreams always seemed to end when he got too tired and the fox would come sit by his side as he caught his breath. Those golden eyes…filled with such warmth and kindness looking down at him as a curious blankness overtook his mind and pulled him back to reality.

But this time was different.

Every step he took brought him closer to the fox. He could almost feel its tail brush his fingers if he reached out. 

So close…

If he just…

Jin gathers all his energy into his legs, banking everything on one great final leap to close the distance between him and his target.

All of it happens in a split second; in the brief moment that they’re suspended in the air.

The fox looks almost as surprised as he does when he manages to wrap his arms around their small frame. Jin lets out a triumphant laugh as he holds the elusive creature close to his heart. Trying to bask in the feeling of its soft fur pressed up against his skin. The sleek coat that smelled surprisingly of cherry blossoms. His senses try to burn the sensations into his memory before he hits the soft ground. Only, instead of the cotton-like floor of his dream, something hard smacks right into his shoulder.

Jin takes a gasping breath as his eyes snap open. Flopping around on the tatami mats of his room like a fish out of water. His mind races to make sense of the jarring change of his surroundings. 

Where was the fox he had finally caught? Why was it so dark?

Jin looks down to find a pillow being squeezed in his arms and lucidity finally comes rushing back to him. And with it, a reminder that this was indeed the waking world.

The nights have been growing longer and where he might’ve been greeted by a sunrise in the warmer seasons, the blanket of darkness keeps its lethargic hold on the mornings. Jin’s muscles are screaming in protest at his excitable awakening. Places where he didn’t even know he had muscles were hurting. Right. Of course they would be after the ‘new and improved’ training regime that Hwoarang had suggested he’d try. Jin let out a sigh. 

Just when he had finally caught the slippery fox in his dreams…

He shakes his head as the last dregs of sleep clear from his mind and he slowly sits upright. Another sigh leaves Jin when he fruitlessly rubs at his stiff muscles. The memory of Hwoarang’s smug smile as he ‘helped’ him improve his flexibility is still fresh in his mind. 

Hwoarang seemed to love it when he had urgently slapped his shoulder to tap out whenever it felt like his leg was about to be ripped off or he was about to be split in half. Was there something amusing about his reactions? Though Jin would be lying if the image of a younger Hwoarang squawking at his first attempt at doing splits didn’t make him laugh as well.

Jin could deal with being the object of Hwoarang’s entertainment for a while. Especially if it meant he could see him wheezing with tears in his eyes. Despite Hwoarang’s ‘happy-go-lucky’ attitude on most days, it’s clear there’s a lot on his mind. It’s easy to forget that Hwoarang was indeed much older than him with how immature he acts sometimes; and with it, a whole expanse of worries. People always did say the older you got, the more burdens you carried…

It was hard to shake that image of how serious Hwoarang’s eyes were the other day. When he had looked at him oddly with a hand behind his back. What could’ve made someone who usually lazed around in the sun all day make an expression like that? It was clear he was hiding something…but it wasn’t his place to pry. The consequences of his tactlessness are still fresh in his mind despite the new closeness Hwoarang had graced him with.

If Jin could make Hwoarang forget about those worries, even just for a second, it was worth it.

It’s this same determination that gives him the push he needs to finally pull himself out of bed. Even if it felt like sandpaper grating on all his limbs. He had set his sights on becoming a new… better person. Something as small as muscle aches was nothing in the face of it.

To let go of his past… and look forward to paving the new peaceful life he had been so lucky to receive. And what better way to let go of his bad memories than to cut ties with the only thing that connected him to that cursed family that had been the cause of it all? Again… that was easier said than done.

Unlearning Mishima Ryu, the very style that had been drilled into him and helped him survive those seven awful years under his Grandfather’s tutelage, felt like cutting off his own arm. Trying to retrain his muscle memory on something as simple as throwing a punch was difficult. What came to him as easily as breathing, Jin now found himself overly aware of how he twisted his hips, his stance, the way he curled his fingers into a fist.

Everything felt slow and sluggish. Jin has to stop himself from groaning out of frustration when his body automatically brings his leg up into a split kick when he attempts to do a simple punch to a high roundhouse. He’d thought Kyokushin Karate would come to him easily, but he couldn’t have been more conceited.

Just because he was competent in one style didn’t mean he’d automatically be able to do all the moves perfectly. He thinks back to the early days of his grandfather’s teachings…how difficult it had been and all the monotonous drills he had to do. Punching a tree ten thousand times everyday… five thousand kicks… Of course it’d be hard to break through all the years of training. He just needed to stop… being so hard on himself…

Jin takes a small breather, wiping the sweat off of his brow as he stares blankly at the wooden training dummy Hwoarang had dug up from somewhere. He finds his gaze being drawn over to the shaded engawa. Half expecting to see a certain fox sitting there with a smirk on his face. But no… it was quiet today. He knows logically that Hwoarang had his own important things to do as the revered deity of these parts, and that he would always see him at every meal. In fact he’d just seen him while they were having breakfast earlier but… 

Jin can’t help but wish for Hwoarang’s company all the same.

Sure, he wasn’t particularly good at keeping a conversation going… or able to crack jokes as effortlessly as Hwoarang could but… Jin finds that he enjoys the quiet between them just as much as when the air around them is filled with laughter. He liked when Hwoarang came to sit by him in the garden when he was reading. Peeling a fruit to share or just to simply enjoy the weather. Or when he’d come and quietly observe his training drills on the very spot of the engawa he was staring at right now.

After almost half a year of being constantly around Hwoarang’s comforting presence… Jin felt his absences even more acutely nowadays.

This was normal… wasn’t it? Missing a … friend . Especially after said friend so proudly declared he liked having him around… 

Jin shakes his head as a strange pressure grows in his chest the more he dwells on it. A few punches to the training dummy would clear his head. A welcoming sting on his knuckles as the blows come fast and true…all in the trademark Mishima style. He seemed to be sighing a lot today as he leaned his head against the wood in defeat.

This was no good. Perhaps he’d been too bold to assume he could learn a new martial art on his own…

But…

He wasn’t alone, was he?

Hwoarang’s offer to be his sparring buddy is still clear in his mind. He feels so lucky that the fox had been so interested in helping him achieve his new goal. Well maybe some of his enthusiasm could be because of that stretching regime… but still. He remembers that wholehearted offer. And that surprised look on Hwoarang’s face as if he couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud.

Yes… this would be a good plan. Everytime his progress slowed in the estate… his Grandfather would throw him into the deep end to get results. Not enough stamina or endurance? He’d spend a night with his grandfather’s beloved bear with his hands tied behind his back. A trial by fire as he couldn’t block any of those heavy blows that could maul him and all he could do was evade . The same logic could be applied here, right?

Hwoarang being that spoiled bear… and his handicap being he would fight only using Kyokushin moves… If his body refused to discard the technique ingrained into it, then Jin would make his body do it.

He should practise his moves a bit more for good luck. Try to get into the correct mindset before he asks Hwoarang to fight him… Even if he still couldn’t remember all of the katas and he’d have to stop mid kick to go look at the illustrations in the book again. Even if he was very much not prepared to fight Hwoarang with his tiny repertoire of moves. This would be the fastest, most efficient way to finally be rid of the past that clung onto him.

“That’s an interesting way to train, Jin.”

A spluttering string of words leave Jin as he leaps upright at the sudden voice right beside him. 

“H-H-Hwoarang!”

Jin can feel the heat rise onto his cheeks as he rubs at his forehead. No doubt a red mark lingering on his skin from how long he’d been leaning on the training dummy. Hwoarang is just standing there with a large grin on his face, arm tucked into the open collar of his yukata.

Now would be a good time to ask Hwoarang for that match. Before he had the chance to ask him why he was just leaning against a piece of wood in the empty courtyard by himself.

“C-could you spar with me?” His voice still sounds squeaky at the sudden scare Hwoarang  had given him.

“...Now?” Hwoarang cocks his head to the side, seemingly mulling something over. Jin clears his throat, gaining control of his voice again.

“Yes… if you aren’t busy…”

Jin fidgets beneath his gaze. He can’t help it. Not with the way it almost feels like he knew Jin was thinking about him. Hwoarang seems to mistake his discomfort for something else before he claps his hands together with a wide grin.

“Don’t worry too much, Jin! I’ll go easy on ya!”

 “P-please don’t do that Hwoarang…”

A look of confusion crosses Hwoarang’s face again. But instead of keeping it to himself this time, Jin tries his best to speak what’s on his mind.

“I…I won’t be able to improve if you’re holding back, H-Hwoarang…”

Hwoarang still looks doubtful, but he slowly puts some distance between them and raises his arms up anyways. Ready.

“A-are you going to fight like that?” Jin can’t help but be worried about Hwoarang possibly tripping over his loose yukata and sandals in the heat of the moment. Another tilt of his head, but this time a smirk accompanies it.

“I’ve fought in less.”

A surge of heat immediately surges onto Jin’s cheeks as Hwoarang’s sharp cackle reaches his ears. The fox rushes in with a high kick. Jin barely raises his arm up in time to block it, his mind still reeling from the very distracting image of Hwoarang wearing nothing in a fundoshi. It really didn’t help now that he had the entire length of Hwoarang’s bare leg right in front of his face. The blue yukata falls open along the slit, exposing his thigh to make space for those kicks.

Jin bites the inside of his cheek, the sharp pain pulling his scrambling thoughts back into reality. A heavy grunt leaves him as he pushes away Hwoarang’s leg, immediately rushing forward into a sharp jab.

It should’ve hit. Would’ve hit. If his body didn’t immediately revert back to the Mishima horse stance he had practised millions of times. Jin feels himself lock up. Trying to force his stubborn body to listen to him but his chance at retaliation slips through his fingers. Hwoarang easily dodges his lousy attempt at a punch and launches his own counterattack.

A sharp low kick. Coming at him fast. Judging from the positioning of Hwoarang’s body it was going to be a quick low-high combo. It’s all he can do to just dodge, stepping out of Hwoarang’s range to give himself some time to breathe. Recuperate. 

Focus.

He should know better by now that Hwoarang would never give him the chance to do that. The overwhelming pressure that came from the speed of those kicks. How easily Hwoarang could close the distance between them. Hell, Hwoarang wasn’t even making things harder with his tails and Jin could barely keep up.

Too conscious of how his body moved to counter each blow Hwoarang threw at him. Jin can see the small openings in Hwoarang’s technique, his body moving on instinct to capitalise on them but he didn’t want that. That Mishima instinct. To meet each blow with an even harder, devastating one. To beat his opponent into submission through raw power and fear.

It’s all he can do to just dodge, dodge, dodge.

But Jin knows that this is no way to spar, much less fight . That this was just a one sided game of cat and mouse if that was all he could do. Jin can see the beginnings of doubt etching itself on Hwoarang’s features. Somehow that expression makes a pit open in his stomach.

Sparring together was one of the first things he’d learned that Hwoarang genuinely enjoyed. It was hard to forget that burning excitement that had overtaken him when they’d exchanged blows. How Hwoarang’s eyes had seemed to sparkle in that summer sun. He couldn’t ruin that memory for him if he kept on running away from the very fists that had answered his challenge.

Jin grits his teeth, drawing on all his concentration, pulling up the still foggy katas from the depths of his mind. Another high kick, straight for his head. He’s seen that move enough times. The beautiful arc of it whistling towards him. It really was a perfectly executed kick. So perfect in fact that Jin felt confident enough to raise his hands up to his head. Palms open and relaxed.

It was strange how calm Jin felt at that moment. How everything seemed to slow down as Hwoarang's heel made contact with his palm. Jin could feel the power behind it, the way his skin began to sting from the weight of it. It’s almost like he’s back at the waterfall again. Watching how that roaring fountain of water could be tamed into a gentle stream.

Jin pivots his hips, guiding Hwoarang’s foot along the curve of his hand. Simply letting it take its natural course as Jin steps out of the way and into Hwoarang’s space. He can see those golden eyes widen as he comes close.

Here.

This was it.

He’d bought himself enough time to stop his panicking mind from reflexively falling back on his old techniques. A deep breath. Feet steady. Hands back… and strike!

While his fist may have rang true, all it meets is a loose brush of fabric. Tickling his knuckles as it billows lightly in the air from the force of his punch. 

“I know you said not to go easy on you, Jin…”

Hwoarang’s voice comes from beneath him. Jin’s eyes widen as he spots him crouched low underneath his fist with a playful glint in his eyes. 

Ah. 

It never really was a proper match in the first place.

“But you’ve still got a long way to go if you want to go toe to toe again.”

The air escapes his lungs in a loud ‘Oof!’ when the weight of Hwoarang’s frame slams into him. Tackling him to the ground and sending loose stones scattering everywhere. There’s a brief moment of struggle as Jin does his best to throw Hwoarang off of him but the fox is quick. Agile limbs quickly find their marks and lock him in place. All he can do is stare up at Hwoarang with his arms pinned by his sides, the heavy weight of his body pressing him into the earth.

“Why the hurry?” Hwoarang grins down at him, flaunting his victory.

“You can take all the time you need, Jin. There’s no need to rush anymore.”

Those words really would’ve been so touching… if he wasn’t in a submission hold right now. Jin had a reply forming in his mind, but whatever he had been planning to quip back disappears from his mouth.

There was just something about Hwoarang right now. How he looked with his fiery hair draping down his shoulders and dangling in front of him. Ghosting over his cheeks. The way he smiled at him. So soft and… happy. The way the ever blooming sakura tree behind him gently showers them with pale pink petals. One delicate petal lands on his lips and he can see Hwoarang’s gaze flick over to them. Golden eyes swimming with something as he adjusts his grip around Jin’s arms.

It’s here that Jin realises that… Hwoarang really was so beautiful.

…Beautiful?

His mind is immediately thrown into confusion. Was he supposed to find a friend… beautiful? Another unnameable pressure pushes itself into his chest, making him involuntarily shift beneath Hwoarang. Something hard presses into his thigh and Hwoarang gasps. A stray branch perhaps? They were sparring beneath the trees… 

Hwoarang’s expression freezes and whatever warmth that had been radiating from his gaze gets snuffed out. Jin can barely process that sudden shift in emotion before the weight pushing him into the ground leaves him as Hwoarang leaps away. Almost as if he’d been burned, like the very contact between their bodies hurt him.

Jin dazedly tries to get up from the ground, mind racing at what could’ve possibly made Hwoarang act this way.

“H-Hwoa—? “

“Sorry, Jin… I just remembered I had something important to do.”

Hwoarang’s tails are wrapped so tightly around himself, all Jin could see was a mass of orange fur and a pair of flattened ears peeking from them. Like a protective barrier… from what? The cold?

A few pebbles fall from his clothes as Jin finally stands back upright. A dark voice in the back of his mind telling him that he’s done something wrong again. That he’s stepped all over Hwoarang’s toes even after his best efforts to avoid doing that. Should he not have asked for this sparring match? Had he not put up a good enough fight? Had he misjudged just how close they actually were again?

An erratic rhythm begins to overtake his heart. His breaths come quicker as he digs his fingers into his palms. He knows he should be saying something right now. Asking Hwoarang what he did, what happened, but he’s scared.

Doubt steals whatever words that had wanted to leave his mouth. It should be okay to speak his mind. To say what was troubling him. Hwoarang had told him that it was okay to do so but… what if—  

Jin barely realises that he’d been staring at the ground until something soft brushes against his skin. Fluffy, like a cloud. Just like his dream. A reassuring touch to his cheek that guides his eyes upwards and out of the hole he’d unknowingly been digging himself into. A tentative gaze meets him. An awkward smile.

“I-its uh… nothing you did, Jin. Really.” The raging voice that screams at him that Hwoarang is lying immediately quietens when he sees a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“I just need to uh… take care of… ahem , something by myself.”

The redness on Hwoarang’s cheeks grows brighter with each passing second and he can’t help the small laugh that leaves him at the sight. The sound relaxes Hwoarang’s shoulders despite whatever obvious embarrassment he was feeling. Their gazes linger on each other, both of them searching each other’s eyes for any lingering hurt they may have caused to one another but… No. There’s nothing but a curious sort of tension growing in the air the longer they stare and Jin feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“I-I’ll uhm, be going now, Jin.”

“C-catch you later!”

Hwoarang makes for a rather hilarious sight, as he practically runs away while all balled up in his tails. Jin would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the confusing tingling sensation left on his cheek after Hwoarang had left. It takes him a moment to realise that it was where Hwoarang had touched him with his tail. Jin presses his palm against it, wondering if his own touch would bring that same sense of comfort .

It’s woefully lacking, but somehow… Jin finds himself smiling all the same.

~~~

He doesn’t see Hwoarang for the rest of the day. A small note in the kitchen and a few perfectly shaped onigiri left under a cover for him for lunch.

‘Sorry, still busy! Have lunch without me, Jin.’

-Hwoarang

There was something cute about Hwoarang feeling the need to sign his own name on the note. Despite only the two of them living in the shrine. Whatever sadness he might have felt at having a lonesome lunch is forgotten as Jin stares at the note all throughout his meal with a giddy sort of elation.

Jin honestly felt so foolish. How seeing his name written by someone else could make him both want to giggle every few minutes and miss having his dining companion even more. He carefully studies the penmanship of his name. It’s funny how four neat little strokes of ink on paper could mean so much to him.

The onigiri fuels his tired body for the rest of the afternoon. Quickly going through his daily chore of cleaning the garden before jumping straight back into his training drills.

While the sparring session may have been an absolute disaster, it was precisely what Jin needed to get a better idea on what to improve on. He’d made so many mistakes. Slow… bad form… too tentative… He wouldn’t let Hwoarang’s efforts go to waste.

…

Hwoarang…

Jin is actually quite glad at his sparring companion’s hasty exit. What a strange thought to have about someone mid-fight. Thinking that they were… beautiful. No wonder he had lost the match so completely. Getting distracted like that. A heavy sigh leaves Jin. Perhaps he should call it a day on training if his mind kept wandering like this. Too much practice was a bad thing after all, but he needed something to keep busy. So his mind would stop replaying the image of Hwoarang atop of him with that smug smile.

The tips of his ears burn. He wants to put his head through a wall right now.

It was just an observation. A simple fact he noticed. He couldn’t let something as small as that turn his mind into a mess.

Perhaps he could do something else to keep his wandering thoughts in check. Cooking. The looming danger of an open flame and cutting himself should be enough to distract him. Or rather, keep him focused. A small lapse in concentration meant a rather painful injury.

Jin begrudgingly drags himself over to the kitchen once more. Admitting defeat to Kyokushin Karate for the day. What should he make? There were still a couple of hours before it was time for dinner… perhaps a few side dishes would be enough. A small look in the food stores and Jin feels his stomach sink.

It was autumn afterall. It made sense that they had an abundance of sweet potatoes in the dry storage. And pumpkins. And the persimmons sitting on the table. The thing was, they were all orange. And with the state his brain was in right now, it didn’t take much to remind him of a certain fox he was trying so hard not to think about.

Jin sighs one final time. Perhaps this was a sign to talk to Hwoarang more. But what would he even say? 

‘Oh pardon me, I just think you have very pretty eyes.’

Absolutely not.

Jin would sooner be able to fly than summon the courage to say that to Hwoarang’s face.

There was no use in trying to run away from vegetables now. Jin grabs a few of them from storage and gets to work. He racks his brain, trawling through the list of recipes he’d learned over the passing months. Something that was versatile and could go with any main dish… Perhaps something sweet? Hwoarang seemed to have a sweet tooth…

Jin nods his head. Menu decided.

Daigaku imo would do for the sweet potatoes. A simple, but satisfying dessert made by frying chunks of sweet potato and tossing them in a sweet sugar syrup. Finished with a shower of toasted sesame seeds. The perfect mix of crisp and fluffy, with the sugar accentuating the sweet potatoes natural fragrance. Jin gets to work lighting the stove and heating up some oil.

While Jin has gotten more confident using a knife, he still struggled with keeping things even. He liked cutting up things like potatoes and daikon. Things that took time to stew and cook. Irregularity was part of its charm in those dishes.

The sweet potato makes a satisfying crackling sound as it hits the hot oil, bubbling up fiercely as it cooks. Maybe this dish was too simple. Jin glances over to the pumpkin he had brought over, feeling a bit restless from just standing there and staring at a pot. Another dish wouldn’t hurt…

This time something savoury. 

Cubes of pumpkin seasoned simply in a broth of soy sauce, dashi, and sugar. Left to simmer until tender and full of flavour.

Time passes quickly once Jin busies himself making the two dishes. A natural flow of tasks filling his mind and blocking out anything unnecessary: Make the syrup. Drain the fried sweet potato. Stir the pumpkin. Add more wood to the stove.

There’s something meditative about being alone in the kitchen. Accompanied only by the sounds of cooking and clanging of pots. Jin is already cleaning up before he knows it. Cooking stint successful. No cuts, no burns, and a ‘minimal’ mess was made. At least by Jin’s standards. Food felt easier to make now, after the whole honey cake trial. He’s rinsing the last pot when he hears the door open and familiar footsteps shuffling in. 

Jin always felt nervous whenever Hwoarang walked in on him cooking. Always afraid of messing up the kitchen despite Hwoarang always laughing off his countless mistakes. He turns around to greet him but the air somehow already feels…tense. Jin can tell from the get go that things are weird . Especially from the way Hwoarang’s tails flick around.

“You’re back.” Jin is the one to break the silence between them for once.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Would you like me to take care of dinner?”

“N-no it’s fine. You can help me. Like usual.”

Hwoarang stiffly makes his way over to him, grabbing a knife and a cutting board. It’s like the incident at the hot springs again. Only this time… it feels different. Something much…softer. He couldn’t describe it any other way. At least he could tell for certain that Hwoarang was not angry at him, but rather… embarrassed? While Hwoarang wasn’t blushing or anything, there was an awkwardness exuding from him that only showed up whenever he felt bad about something he did to Jin.

Jin’s mind begins to spin, trying to think back on the day for any clue as to why Hwoarang was acting like this.

The only thing that comes to mind is that moment of tension that had been plaguing Jin since it happened. Hwoarang sitting atop of him in triumph after his pitiful sparring performance. Was it the closeness that rubbed Hwoarang the wrong way? The bodily contact? 

“Hey Jin, you mind getting the rice on? I’m gonna make nikujaga to go with your pumpkin.”

Jin fights the urge to jump in the air after getting too lost in his thoughts. Right. He was supposed to be helping Hwoarang. His theories could come later. 

The pair fall back into their easy routine while preparing dinner, but even that couldn’t ease the tension in the air. The silence is palpable between them. Made more obvious by the rhythmic ‘thok thok thok’ of Hwoarang’s knife on the cutting board. They barely exchange any words, much less start a conversation. Which leaves Jin with a lot of time to just look and stew in his thoughts. 

There’s a small furrow to Hwoarang’s brow as he swiftly cuts his way through the ingredients; as he always did when he was concentrating. Jin can’t help but notice the warm shade of his eyes again. His lowered gaze showing off his lashes. The aesthetic curve of his profile. An idle thought passes through his mind then. 

Hwoarang would’ve been bombarded by marriage requests if he had lived in the city. His looks would’ve garnered him so much attention, no matter his social standing. Especially if knowledge got out about how incredibly kind he was. Jin can already imagine all the noble women (and even some courageous noblemen) flocking to him. Somehow that knowledge makes his stomach churn.

Their eyes meet, after Jin realises he’s been staring for far too long. Hwoarang immediately averts his gaze, busying himself with throwing more kindling into the dying fire of the stove.

That was really weird. Jin can’t help but wonder… was it his very presence that made Hwoarang uncomfortable?

That didn’t seem to be the case however. Hwoarang still went about business as usual when Jin passes some ingredients to him or whatever utensils he needs; even when their fingers brush when he does so. He’d half expected Hwoarang to leap away again just like this morning, but none of that happens. Jin purposely looks over Hwoarang’s shoulder as he cooks. Hovering around his proximity to see if he’d say anything, turn red, smack him with a tail, but no, nothing.

Jin tries one last time, stretching his legs out at the dining table so they’re right next to Hwoarang’s own. He knows he can feel it. Even Jin can feel the body heat radiating from him but Hwoarang makes no move to shift away. But perhaps Jin had been looking for the wrong reaction. Instead of discomfort or disgust… there’s finally a hint of redness on the tips of Hwoarang’s ears. A slight tremble to his chopsticks as he goes to pick up a piece of pumpkin Jin had made earlier. Jin watches him try to pick up the vegetable only for it to slip out of his grasp. Again, and again. He watches on in incredulous silence as it falls from Hwoarang’s chopstick for the twentieth time before Hwoarang abruptly puts his chopsticks down before finally looking at him properly since they started cooking together.

“J-Jin.”

“Y-yes?” Jin stiffens, sitting up straight upon finally being addressed.

The blush on Hwoarang’s ears spreads to his cheeks when he blurts out the rest of his words.

“You wanna go on a small trip together…?”

Chapter Text

“A… small trip?”

“Yeah.”

“T-together…?”

“Y-yeah…”

That was rather sudden. Perhaps this was another one of Hwoarang’s spontaneous ideas— like that hot spring trip.

“Right now?” 

Jin’s answer seems to fluster Hwoarang even further as those golden eyes widen in panic.

“N-no! Uh— “ 

Hwoarang brings a hand to his chin, looking down at the table. It’s not hard to see his brain going a mile a minute as he mumbles under his breath. Jin can only pick up a few words through the torrent of Hwoarang’s thoughts.

“— too hilly… at least a week to get it delivered— faster if I go myself—”

Jin can see Hwoarang’s eyes darting around each intangible idea before he claps his hands together.

“One week.” Jin can only blink owlishly at the sudden enthusiasm overtaking Hwoarang’s demeanor. 

“Let’s go on a trip together in one week.”

“W-where…?” A familiar grin creeps onto Hwoarang’s lips.

“Secret.”

His lingering confusion must show on his face as Hwoarang’s grin softens into a smile.

“I think you’ll like it. Besides, it’ll be nice to get out of the shrine every once in a while.”

Jin nods slowly, a small smile of his own creeping onto his lips.

“Yeah… that sounds good.”

The air between them no longer feels so strange, the pair of them finally able to focus on their meal. When Hwoarang goes to pick up a piece of pumpkin again, he gets it on his first try.

~~~

A week used to pass by so quickly for Jin. Especially when he’d still been recovering from his injury. Time seemed to slip past his fingers every time he closed his eyes, drifting through the days. However, his reality was different now.

Now, he felt each hour so very acutely. Creeping along at a snail's pace as he went about his day. The mind numbing training drills that used to eat up at least half a day somehow only took barely an hour. A good meditation session somehow only lasted twenty minutes. It drove Jin insane. Was he looking forward to that trip with Hwoarang that much? Enough for it to warp his sense of time?

Jin is lying on a bed of fallen leaves beneath the momiji trees of Hwoarang’s garden. Staring up at the sunset-hued canopy. What made matters even worse was that Hwoarang was now barely around in the shrine. With no one to train with… meditate with… talk to… it left Jin vegetating amongst the foliage. Not even Hwoarang’s expansive library could keep him occupied. None of the titles caught his attention and the words seemed to blur on the pages when he did try to read. At least when he watched the clouds lazily rolling across the sky, it reminded him that time was indeed passing. Albeit dreadfully slow.

All he had to do was endure it until the end of the week. A day was made up of twenty four hours. There were sixty minutes to an hour. Sixty seconds to a minute. If he counted each— 

A small dark shape drops from the canopy. Landing onto his chest and startling Jin out of the trance he’d put himself in. His first instinct is to sweep whatever it was off himself. A soft ticklish sensation on his skin that makes him break out into goosebumps.

His disgust quickly fades when he looks down instead. A mass of olive brown feathers meets his eyes. Followed by a weak warbling sound.

Jin carefully sits up, cupping his hands together to catch the small bird that had come crashing down from the skies. Upon closer inspection, it was an uguisu. A shy little bush warbler with a pretty song that rang out into the forest on most mornings. It was in bad shape. A wing bent at an awkward angle and a damp warmth seeping into his palms. Jin knew it didn’t have long. It’s tiny heart beating at a crazed pace. The small bird’s eyes darted around, its beak opening as if it was gasping in despair. So much fear was within those eyes. Its wings flap weakly against his hands. 

Even on the verge of death, it still tried to escape. To survive.

Perhaps it was odd of Jin. To feel so much kinship with a dying bird. But it filled him with a desire to protect it. Save it. Just like Hwoarang had done for him.

Jin hasn’t had that many chances to use his mother’s gift. With Hwoarang’s knowledge in medicine and how careful he was to avoid getting hurt. This would be the first time he’d try to heal a mortal wound. He had no idea if he could even do that, but he had to try.

The dormant current beneath his skin shivers awake. A palpable warmth surging through his body as he gathered that heat into his palms. It felt stronger than before. Much stronger than when he’d mended Hwoarang’s cut at the waterfall. There was no time for hesitation, no time for doubt. As much as Jin was nervous about this whole thing, he just couldn’t bear to let the bird die in his hands.

Jin’s understanding of a bird's body was minimal at best. But he evokes the same feelings he had used the times he had healed Hwoarang. Willing the blood to stop. To return to its body. The shattered bones in the wing to right themselves. The heat that radiated from his palms slowly ebbs away and a dead silence hangs in the air. Jin assumes the worst. Looking down at the fragile, unmoving body in his hands. Disappointment fills his lungs only to be burned away by disbelief.

The bird stirs, blinking slowly. It seemed to be just as surprised as Jin was as it hops upright and gives a loud chirp. He lets out a weak laugh. Still reeling at the emotional whiplash but… He’d done it! He had managed to save the bird! Jin wanted to hold it close to his chest, let out a whoop of celebration before a sudden exhaustion overtook his bones. Jin feels himself collapse, falling backwards and sending dead leaves billowing around him. 

The last thing he sees is the bird peering at him curiously before the fatigue sends him floating away into unconsciousness.

~~~

It’s hard to tell just how much time has passed when he next opens his eyes. His dreams had been filled with nothing. For all Jin could know, all he had done was blink and the bright morning light that had filled the garden had suddenly turned into a dusky orange. Heralding the beginning of night. A blanket had been thrown over him— signalling Hwoarang’s return. Before he could get up and find that man to release him from his boredom, a small weight on his chest gave him pause. Much to his surprise, the uguisu was still there. Sleeping peacefully. It wouldn’t do to disturb it. Jin resigns himself to just lying there on the ground until it decides to wake. 

That is, until a quiet huff right by his ear has him jumping into the air.

Jin can feel the hairs on his tail puff up as he whips his head around to the source of that unsettling disturbance. A few pairs of large, dark eyes stare back at him. Heavy lashes bat at him and all Jin can do is gape at the new visitors. A small group of sika deer were standing around him. The uguisu that had been napping on his chest flits about, landing on one of the deers’ antlers. Jin’s lagging mind finally catches up as he notices something strange about the deer.

One of them was holding their leg up. Another had an arrow still stuck into its hide. Rope from a trap cutting into the flesh of another. The little bird must’ve brought them here. There was no other explanation for it. Jin’s heart aches at the thought of these animals hurting enough to seek him out of all people for help. A curl of anger flickers within him at the realisation that all these injuries… they were never meant to kill.

The placement of the arrow was too far away from any of the usual vital points a hunter would go for. A deer with a broken leg would take days to slow down and track. These wounds… they were all inflicted with the cruel intent to make them suffer.

It’s telling enough how much they wanted to be rid of the pain when Jin approaches them and they don’t move. He briefly considered finding Hwoarang for help but… he seemed so busy nowadays. The current flowing beneath his skin is still there. It should be enough to handle this unfortunate group by himself. The rope comes off, bones mended and flesh healed. All with a surge of heat and a soft glow coming from his palms. It leaves him a little unsteady on his feet but it’s worth it. Watching the relief fill their eyes, and the little dip of their heads as the deer return back to the quiet depths of the forest.

A small bit of pride glows in him at the thought that he could do his own part of helping the forest Hwoarang called home. 

This could be his own little secret.

Well.

A rather big and indiscreet secret. 

When the next day rolls around and Jin makes his usual rounds through the vegetable patch and into the garden. He needs to pinch himself when he sees the amount of ‘visitors’ lining the edge of Hwoarang’s garden. Squirrels… tanuki, a small band of macaques, and even a wild boar to just name a few.

Perhaps Jin shouldn’t have lamented about having too much time on his hands…

~~~

A new routine now fills Jin’s days.

Wake up. Eat breakfast with Hwoarang before he disappears somewhere. Sneak into the garden to take care of his ‘patients’.

Hwoarang probably knows what he’s up to, especially after how dishevelled his appearance has been for the past few days. Sniffing the air curiously but never saying anything. It’s impossible to tell if he’s happy that Jin can get more use out of his power, or annoyed at him for using too much of said power. 

In fact, it’s been rather hard to understand Hwoarang ever since his sudden declaration to go on a trip.

Somewhere.

Together.

The fox had still been rather unforthcoming about what he had been planning. Uncharacteristically tight lipped whenever Jin worked up enough courage to pry. One thing was certain though: Hwoarang’s mood was all over the place. One moment he would be moping around the shrine and sighing despondently. The next he would be jumping around in excitement. Jin swears he can hear him screaming into a pillow occasionally throughout the day. 

The source of his giant mood swings had yet to be found. Sometimes Hwoarang would get a letter and he’d just deflate. Another time he found Hwoarang almost covered head to toe in dust. Most likely rummaging through his many storerooms, but with a giant grin on his face. Jin probably had a better idea about what was in each storeroom than Hwoarang at this point but… it was rather unlikely Hwoarang would ask him to help at this point. He seemed rather determined to put this trip together by himself, and who was Jin to stop him?

Hwoarang had yet to postpone the date of the trip, so at least he had everything under control. Despite his rollercoaster of emotional outbursts. Jin had a good way to keep himself occupied now anyways. No longer bored out of his mind with his rather large… woodland following.

The little avian friend he had saved seemed to have spread word around the forest as more and more creatures showed up. All with expectant looks on their faces as they quietly approach him. 

Jin welcomes them all. Well, to the best of his ability. There was only so much he could do before the toll of calling on his mother’s gift caught up to him and he’d have to sadly turn away the poor animals for the day. Though with each passing day, he can feel his power grow stronger, more familiar. The glow beneath his fingers was brighter and he could feel himself tiring less.

The wide range of ailments and cruel wounds he had to face everyday simply allowed his gift to flourish- rather like a good training session. He wasn’t limited to just small cuts and lacerations anymore. Fevers, poisoning… the less obvious symptoms. It wasn’t as if Jin treated this as a game, but he found it was rather enjoyable figuring out what each creature was suffering from and curing them.

Though one thing stands out to him the most after he had ‘opened’ this impromptu clinic. There had been quite a large amount of fauna afflicted with this strange sickness. A burning fever. Coughing up blood. Sores bubbling up on their skin and making their fur fall out. Like something was festering, eating them from the inside. Jin wasn’t sure if his healing touch was of use to them, but he always did his best. Soothing their irritated skin and relieving their concerning symptoms, at least for a little while. Time flies by now, and before he knows it, seven days have passed.

Hwoarang had told him that it was going to be another evening excursion, which left him free to do as he pleased until the set time. Jin goes to the garden once more. A small flicker of pride blooming in his chest as the crowd of patients that greet him is considerably smaller than when he’d started out at the beginning of the week. The experience he’s gained from this allows him to work efficiently. A hawk with a broken beak. Two macaques with that strange illness. A tanuki tangled up in the remains of a trap. 

Jin is still mindful to treat them with care. Gently petting them if they allowed it and calming them with a soft lullaby his mother used to sing. His last patient of the day arrives late in the afternoon. A rustle of leaves and a weak whine coming from the bushes that makes Jin’s ears perk up.

A red fox comes limping out of the bush. Jin’s first instinct is Hwoarang. Blood running cold as he tries not to rush over to them. But no. The colour of their fur wasn’t that same brilliant red. More dull and their eyes were rounded; less sharp and cunning than Hwoarang’s. It was rare to see such a shy creature come visit him. Jin had yet to see any other foxes in this forest outside of Hwoarang. Whatever the injury was, it must be bad enough for such an elusive animal to seek him out.

A large gash running from its shoulder to its chest comes into view. At least a few days old. Inflamed and infected. This wound was different from the others. This had the intent to kill written all over it. The fox was likely only alive because it was too quick for whoever was hunting it. It was even stranger knowing that the closest human settlement was the village at the foot of the mountains. The one that worshipped Suzaku-sama. A fox deity. Who would do such a thing to a creature believed to be sacred around these parts?

The questions could come later. 

Jin reaches out for the fox, letting it sniff his hand before it weakly flops down on its side. Surrendering itself to Jin. A now familiar heat tingles into his palms and he presses his hands, as gently as he can, against that open wound. The fox flinches but doesn’t move. Letting Jin mend the torn flesh back together. Such a large wound would’ve proved to be a challenge for Jin. But perhaps it was the niggling feeling in his mind, telling him that this could’ve been Hwoarang that pushes him to eke out more of his power.

The wound morphs beneath his hands. Blood vessels closing, muscle fusing back together. Jin had never really been squeamish about these things in the first place— what with seeing Hwoarang change his bandages so often— and especially after this week of abundant injuries he’s faced. Pink skin and scar tissue eventually meets his hands. Even a small carpet of red fuzz emerging in patches from it. The glow from Jin’s hand’s disappears, smiling to himself at a job well done before he suddenly has his arms full of fur.

The lethargic fox from before is nowhere to be found as it leaps into his arms. Excited squeaking and what could only be described as giggling coming from it as it snuggles up against him like a fluffy ball of energy. It nips at his fingers — not enough to hurt— licking at his face and rubbing its head against his chin. It certainly was a rather exuberant show of gratitude. Its wagging tail and affectionate headbutts only seem to calm somewhat when Jin raises a hand to stroke through its fur with a laugh. Jin finds himself almost wishing that the fox in his dreams had reacted the same when he managed to scoop them up into his arms…

One last snuggle and a nip to his fingers later, the fox wiggles out of his arms and trots off back into the forest. 

Just like that. As if it hadn’t been on its last legs when it showed up not even twenty minutes ago… Jin can’t help but feel a little sad as he watches its fluffy tail disappear into the undergrowth.

A weight had settled into his chest upon seeing that injured fox. He could only hope that its elusive nature would keep it out of harm's way. Maybe he should check up on how Hwoarang was doing… 

He knows logically that the fox he had just met was definitely not Hwoarang but… what if? What if his memory of Hwoarang was not as accurate as he believed he was? The irrational doubt quickly fills his mind as he makes his way over to the kitchen. Hwoarang had holed himself up there after breakfast. He should still be there. That is if that fox wasn’t Hwoarang…

Jin’s heart beats a little faster as he approaches the familiar wooden door. Smoke rising steadily from its chimney and the smell of vinegar and rice heavy on the air. Before he can even come anywhere closer to the kitchen, he can hear the clatter of a knife being abruptly dropped on a cutting board. The door opens swiftly, slamming shut in the same instance and preventing Jin from peeking inside.

Hwoarang stands before him. Healthy as ever. With the sleeves of his yukata tied back, his hair held back in a white bandana. He was even wearing an apron. He looked a lot like the cooks pushing around noodle carts in the city. The only thing out of place on Hwoarang’s person is the slightly frazzled look about him at his unexpected arrival.

“Ya need somethin’? Or are you hungry?” 

Hwoarang readjusts the ties around his sleeves as his eyes dart back into the kitchen. It’s clear his mind is preoccupied with whatever he was planning this evening. Jin is treated to a rather entertaining flashback to his honey cake debacle. Only, their roles are reversed now. Jin can already guess at what Hwoarang’s about to say next.

“I can make you something but you gotta eat it outside, Jin.”

“You’re not allowed into the kitchen right now.”  Hwoarang finishes with a fold to his arms. His many tails fan out behind him, blocking access to the door. Not that Jin was even planning on sneaking around Hwoarang.

“Ah—  No, no… I just…” 

Jin feels his cheeks turn red when he realises what he’s about to say. The thought process that led him here in the first place. But he was here now, and it wasn’t like he could just suddenly turn tail and run away.

“I… uhm… j-just wanted to see you…” Jin picks at his fingers. 

“O-oh…”

A quick glance upwards lets Jin know that Hwoarang was clearly not expecting that answer. Especially not with the hint of red on his ears.

The air around grows heavy. Not that it took much for it to happen these days when the both of them always seemed to be at a loss for words around each other every time they had a conversation that lasted longer than a minute. Not that it was uncomfortable per se… rather there was an expectation of… something hanging thickly around them. The answer to which Jin doesn’t have the foggiest idea about.

Hwoarang clears his throat awkwardly, trying to fill the silence between them with a small sniff before he pauses. Hwoarang sniffs again. Audibly this time. He takes a step closer, bringing his head around Jin’s face as his eyes narrow with suspicion. The sudden proximity makes his heart stutter. Hwoarang brings a fresh scent of cherry blossoms with him as he comes close. A disapproving sound rumbling low in his throat.

“...Go take a bath.”

Hwoarang says quietly.

Jin feels mortification strike through him. D-did he smell bad? He always took proper care of his personal hygiene though! Jin sniffs at his clothes, growing confused upon finding nothing offensive. Except maybe the lingering smell of that happy fox.

“B-but I don’t smell… and I’m not dirty.”

“Yes you do. You stink.” Jin sputters at his reply.

Perhaps it was something only Hwoarang could smell. But did he have to be so blunt about it? Hwoarang’s expression softens a beat later, seemingly aware of how his words sounded.

“I’ll be finished up here by the time you’re done. Besides… I thought you might’ve wanted to freshen up a bit after you spent so long trying to choose an outfit for tonight…”

Another wave of heat sears across his cheeks again. So Hwoarang found out about him fussing over his limited wardrobe. He’d spent over two nights trying to decide if he wanted to wear hakama… which kimono to wear…He only had two colours: Dark grey and red. Both were gifted to him by Hwoarang but he still wanted to try and make an effort. Especially after seeing the amount of work Hwoarang was putting into planning for this trip— and even now, cooping himself up in the kitchen.

“You’re… right….” Jin eventually nods.

Hwoarang gives him a toothy smile as he watches him shuffle away towards the bath.

~~~

A heavy sigh leaves Jin’s mouth as his hair springs upwards in its ever rebellious spike for the umpteenth time. It had been a twenty two year long battle that he had yet to win. Why was he trying so hard to change his hair anyways? It was just a little trip. Hwoarang never said anything about it either so it was good enough. 

Jin gives up trying to tame it. Adjusting the collar of his kimono and making sure everything else was in place. He’d opted for the red kimono, with a pair of black hakama— just to make walking a bit easier if they were going somewhere far— and a deep navy blue haori to battle the chill in the evenings. He takes one last look in the mirror in his room.

His own amber-eyed gaze meets him and Jin is hit with just how… remarkably ordinary he looked. It was hard to believe that he had brushed shoulders with death half a year ago. If he had told that version of himself that he’d be free of the constant fear of the Mishima estate, that having his true nature exposed would secretly be a blessing in disguise, Jin would’ve just laughed at himself and called it a far-fetched dream. 

But here he was.

Living the dream that he had never dared to hope for.

Being able to feel comfortable in his own skin for once. To be able to smile and laugh once again without being berated for it. All because he had chosen this mountain to flee to that moonlit night. Because of a chance-encounter with a kind-hearted deity.

Because of Hwoarang.

There’s that pressure growing in his chest again. It wasn’t a… bad feeling. Nothing like the crushing weight he felt when he was sad or anxious. It was just… unfamiliar. He’d felt it often enough in these recent months to be able to notice that the feeling always came when he was thinking about Hwoarang.

Perhaps he’d be able to find a name for it eventually. 

And with that thought, Jin figures he’s dallied enough trying to fix up his appearance. 

It’s still light out when Jin makes his way to their usual meeting place — the courtyard. Hwoarang is already there when he turns the corner, those fluffy ears twitching at the sound of his footsteps. He turns to greet him with a smile which makes Jin’s chest do something funny. Probably because Hwoarang always amazed him at how drastically he could clean up his appearance.

From the almost grimy noodle-cart owner disposition he had this morning, Hwoarang now looked like he had stepped out from an ukiyo-e . With some of his hair tied back into a ‘half-up’ ponytail, there was a sort of effortless messiness to it that almost seemed deliberate. He wore a dark turquoise kimono with a simple bamboo motif draped around the hem of the fabric and his shoulder; all held together by a maroon obi. His attire was simple but even Jin could tell that the quality and the make of it was expensive.

Which only made the covered wicker basket placed by his feet a jarring juxtaposition to how well dressed Hwoarang was. Jin recognised it as the one Hwoarang liked to use for fruit picking. The familiar sight settled some of his growing nerves at how formal this all felt.  

“Oh hey, you’re here!”

“S-sorry to make you wait…”

“It’s not like you’re late or anything.” Hwoarang waves him over to stand by his side, taking in his appearance with a satisfied hum.

“You smell much nicer now.” 

Jin feels his face heat up immediately. Was Hwoarang still hung up about that? Their trip had barely even started and he was already feeling flustered.

…But if Jin was being honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“W-well you did ask me to take a bath…”

“That I did…Hey, what’s up with your hair? Why’s it all wet?” Jin fights the urge to scream when Hwoarang touches his hair. 

He doesn’t even want to imagine the amount of teasing he’d suffer from Hwoarang if he told him he tried to make his hair look ‘normal’ for two hours before giving up and washing off all his attempts. Forget his earlier statement about enjoying Hwoarang’s poking and prodding. He just wanted to see what Hwoarang had spent the entire week planning for in utter secrecy.

“I-It’s nothing…Where are we going, Hwoarang?” Jin gingerly removes the hand messing with his hair.

“You were rather adamant we set off before sun down…”

Hwoarang immediately straightens up, all teasing forgotten as he picks up the basket on the floor.

“Oh right!”

Jin can’t help but laugh. As fancy as Hwoarang could dress, he was still the same person who had somehow forgotten how to use chopsticks a week ago.

The pair set off down the shrine steps, making their way to the familiar sight of a great sugi tree. Jin notices that Hwoarang puts his hand over his own again when they’re at the tree. His skin tingling at the contact. Perhaps Hwoarang needed to do that whenever they went somewhere he'd never been before?

Jin welcomes that sensation of wind rushing past him. Excitement bubbling into his gut as he wonders what sight would greet him when he opens his eyes. What wonderful thing Hwoarang would show him next.

The wind stops but Jin doesn’t notice any change in the air. A bit cooler perhaps. They were still in the forest if that same damp scent of leaf litter and cedar wood was anything to go by. His guess is only confirmed when he slowly opens his eyes. Same forest, different place. Hwoarang meets his eyes with a smile. 

“You there? Let’s get moving then.” Hwoarang slings the wicker basket over his shoulder and Jin falls into step with him.

A pinkish hue has overtaken the forest as they walk. Casting long shadows amongst the trees. There’s a sense of utter peace and tranquility that washes over Jin. Especially as the pair exchange small talk along the way to their destination. A simple conversation about each other’s day, the daily happenings at the shrine; Just so easy and a comfort radiating from it that Jin wanted to hold onto for the rest of his life. 

“What did you spend the whole day in the kitchen doing today?” A mysterious smile stretches on Hwoarang’s face in lieu of an answer.

“You’ll see.”

As if on cue Hwoarang stops. Gesturing Jin to come stand beside him on the peak of the small hill they had been climbing.

Jin feels his breath leave him.

The wide expanse of a lake comes into view. Its waters are perfectly still, transforming it into a giant mirror and reflecting the beautiful hues of the sky. Orange, red, pink— and the brilliant gold of the setting sun shimmering across its surface. It was impossible to tell where the horizon ended and the lake began, and all Jin could do is just stare. 

Taking everything in and imprinting this scene upon his memory for years to come.

“Not bad, eh?”

Hwoarang looks extremely pleased with himself, a wide grin stretching across his features.

“I-I… Wow…” 

“Let’s head down to have a closer look.”

Jin nods vigorously, reminding himself to watch where he was going as he tries to peel his eyes away from the scenery stretched out before him. 

There’s barely any wind to disturb the surface of the lake, save for the gentle waves lapping at the shore and sending tiny ripples across the water. Breaking the illusion of an infinite sky for just a moment before it seamlessly bleeds back into one perfect image again. Grey-blue pebbles litter the edges of the lake. Worn down and smooth to the touch after an unnameable amount of time. Hwoarang takes off the cloth covering the basket and lays it out for them to sit on, alongside a few zabuton cushions he’d somehow managed to fit in there.

Jin is so entranced by the view he barely notices Hwoarang flitting about him until the smell of woodsmoke reaches his nose. Hwoarang had somehow already managed to set up a miniature fire pit from the stones and is already burning charcoal within it. A modest array of cooking utensils surround him and Jin remembers himself. 

What was he doing getting all cozy on the cushions while Hwoarang was so busy setting everything up? He’d already spent the entire day preparing for this!

“H-Hwoarang, let me help you!”

“Nah, it’s alright, Jin. I’ve already got most of it done this morning.”

“But— !”

“Really! It’s your first time here anyways. Just enjoy the view, it’ll get even better later.”

Hwoarang waves him away and Jin sinks back on the cushion in defeat. Already plotting ways to make up for all the effort Hwoarang has put into their little excursion. He watches him work for a little bit. Setting a small pot over the fire and pouring something into it— some sort of simple miso soup— before reaching into his basket once more and grabbing something that looked rather heavy.

A box-like object wrapped in a decorative red furoshiki embroidered with a phoenix. It seemed to be rather precious to Hwoarang as he held it with both hands, setting it down gently between them. The cloth falls away to reveal a beautifully carved lacquer bento box. It’s deep reddish black hues decorated with a cherry blossom motif. It looked old and Jin can only guess that’s why Hwoarang had been snooping around in his storage rooms. A small porcelain plate gets shoved into his hands while he was busy admiring the craftsmanship of the box, along with a pair of chopsticks.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

The lid comes off with a quiet pop and a plethora of colours is the first thing to meet his eyes. Green, yellow, inviting shades of brown and pops of bright orange. 

A wide array of side dishes are nestled within the box, all meticulously placed and garnished with the perfect compliment: Tamagoyaki with a dab of mentaiko fish roe on top. A simmered selection of bamboo shoot, lotus root, and carrots with thinly sliced spring onions. Simple blanched edamame tossed in salt. With Hiyayakko tofu and an Ohitashi spinach salad to finish things off. 

Jin is already blown away by the amount of food he can see and then the next layer of the lacquer box is revealed to him.

A wave of vinegar hits his nose. Sweet, with a sour, refreshing scent. If Jin thought the layer containing all the side dishes was amazing, then this one was simply a work of art.

Expensive seafood— Tuna, salmon, butterflied sweet shrimp. They were in the middle of the mountains, how had Hwoarang managed to get all of this and still keep it so fresh? The plump cuts of sashimi all have a lustrous sheen to them, resting upon a layer of vinegared rice. Ribbons of egg chiffonade decorate the surface alongside dollops of marinated ikura . Jin’s stomach decides to choose that exact moment to voice its eagerness towards the spread laid out before him.

“H-How did you manage to make chirashi-zushi when we’re so far from the sea?” Jin can feel his ears burning as he tries to pretend like nothing happened.

“I have my ways.” Hwoarang smirks.

Suddenly, Hwoarang’s weird mood swings throughout the week made sense now. Despite how much he downplayed it, Jin can only imagine the amount of hurdles he had to leap through in order to source and prepare all of this food. 

A warm feeling settles into his chest. Growing into that familiar aching pressure that he experiences so often nowadays. Pushing him to act. But act on what? He shifts closer to Hwoarang, letting his instincts lead him. They lock eyes and he can hear Hwoarang draw in a quick breath.

“Thank you, Hwoarang.”

For this lovely trip. For this beautiful meal. For all his effort this past week. For all the times he’s made him feel safe and listened to. For all the times he’s made him laugh and smile and cry and— 

For giving him a new home.

He wonders if Hwoarang will ever be able to feel the weight behind those few words. Of all the things he wanted to say. Perhaps he could voice them out loud one day, but now was not the time. Not even with the golden light arcing across the horizon, bouncing off the lake and lighting up the edges of Hwoarang’s hair into a halo of fire. Making the word that has been haunting him since their recent sparring session pop into his head once more.

Beautiful.

There’s the sound of pebbles shifting as Hwoarang’s hand twitches, and that magnetising moment is gone. Hwoarang’s eyes shift away as he clears his throat.

“I-It’s nothing really… I just wanted to do something nice.” Hwoarang stares down into the blank porcelain white of his own plate. As if searching for an answer.

“We should eat. Enjoy the sunset.”

“I’ll bring the miso soup over and then we can start.”

Basked in the autumnal glow of the receding sun, the pair enjoy their meal. Jin can’t help the noises of awe he makes with each new bite of the many different dishes on display. Many of the side dishes were light and refreshing. Just what his palate needs after taking a bite of the chirashi-zushi. Loaded with decadent toppings of o-toro and ikura. The fish melted in his mouth, leaving the pleasant well-rounded flavour of the sea. The miso soup only whets his appetite. A warm, inviting hug that washed away any lingering fishiness in his mouth to prepare for his next bite.

Jin hasn’t had such an exquisite feast in a while. Not since… the many extravagant banquets held by his grandfather. It’s nice. Being able to overwrite the stuffy memories that this expensive food brought up with a new experience. Hwoarang has a large grin on his face. Jin only realises after a while that Hwoarang has barely touched any of the food he’s made; too engrossed in watching his reactions. He puts a few slices of fish onto Hwoarang’s plate. A chunk of tofu too. Urging him to join in the joy that his food created.

Hwoarang laughs softly.

“I can use chopsticks, you know.”

“Are you sure? You seemed rather challenged a week ago.” Jin quips back with a grin of his own. 

A surprised expression crossed Hwoarang’s features, before breaking out into a full bellied laugh.

“You really are something else huh, Jin?”

Hwoarang wipes a few tears from his eyes before finally picking up his own pair of chopsticks.

The air around them softens with the dimming light. Conversation flows easily as dark bluish hues begin to take over the sky. The last of the feast disappears into their bellies and a sleepy atmosphere grows between them. The perfect time to just laze around and enjoy each other’s company. Jin helps Hwoarang clear up the dishes, packing them away to be washed back at the shrine, but it seemed that Hwoarang had one last surprise up his sleeve.

Jin had been rather content to just lay out on the lake shores until night well and truly fell, before an o-choko sake cup is offered to him. 

“You ever had a drink before?”

“Not really…”

“This should be a good starting point then.”

Hwoarang pulls out a ceramic bottle sealed with wax paper, which only serves to pique his curiosity. A cloudy white liquid, tinted with pink comes out of it as Hwoarang pours him a cup. Definitely homemade, judging from its pungent smell, with the lingering scent of peaches. They clink their cups together gently before Hwoarang downs all of his in one go, whereas Jin takes a more cautious approach. Taking a tentative sip of it.

He can hear Hwoarang make a satisfied sound, but Jin can hardly believe that Hwoarang actually enjoys this. Bitterness explodes on his tongue and he recoils. An undignified choking sound coming from him as he tries to clear his throat.

“Not to your liking?” Hwoarang smirks.

“N-no, it’s just…”

Once the initial wave of bitterness subsided, there was quite a sweet aftertaste; which took the edge off the sharp alcoholic fumes that were filling up his nose. This would probably be more palatable if it was chilled…

“...Different…”

His reply only serves to amuse Hwoarang further, but he doesn’t say anything more. 

Hwoarang pours himself another cup and the pair begin to wind down for the evening. The coals of their fire dying down to a soft red glow. The only source of light illuminating their surroundings as the world grows darker around them. Stars slowly come popping out one by one, lining the sky in all its cosmic beauty. The lake beneath it transforms into a giant mirror, as if someone had taken a scoop of the universe and placed it within arm’s reach.

It was an amazing spectacle. Far beyond what Jin had expected when Hwoarang had invited him out for a trip. But there was something far more eye-catching than the dots of glowing silver in the sky in Jin’s opinion.

Jin stares down into his cup. Still half-full with the sake he wasn’t exactly a fan of. The cloudy alcohol was a far cry from the reflective surface of the lake, but Jin can still see Hwoarang’s visage reflected perfectly within it from his mind’s eye. 

His smile. 

How content he had looked watching Jin’s wide-eyed reactions to his food, to the scenery. 

That loud, full bodied laugh that rang out from him when he was well and truly happy.

A question had always sat at the back of his mind ever since their exchange in the hot springs and now… Perhaps the alcohol has loosened his tongue. Or maybe it’s because he feels comfortable… safe enough to ask. 

“Hey…Hwoarang…” 

As they turn towards each other, Jin only realises now how close they are. Their shoulders a hair’s breadth away. Unconsciously shifting closer to each other as the chill of the night creeps in.

“...Yeah?” 

“...” 

Jin takes a breath before the words come tumbling out.

“Do you still feel lonely…?”

There’s a long pause between them, Hwoarang’s eyes widening before looking away to that star-filled lake. The question was clearly unexpected, and yet a small smile plays on Hwoarang’s lips. The silence stretches on and yet it doesn’t make Jin squirm. Only waiting with bated breath for an answer that would tell him everything he didn’t even realise he wanted to know.

“No…”

When Hwoarang turns around again, Jin unconsciously draws closer. Hanging off of every word coming from that mouth. 

He can see it. 

The stars reflected across those golden irises. A constellation glittering in his eyes, filled with an emotion that Jin can’t put a name on. So pure and earnest that it takes his breath away. They were surrounded by galaxies of aeons past and Jin only saw Hwoarang in all his vulnerable, quiet beauty.

Their hands tentatively touch and Jin knows…that whatever it is he feels for Hwoarang is reciprocated, it's over. After spending the past how many weeks chasing after the name to the emotion that surged into his chest whenever he thought about the man right in front of him.

He’s fallen so deeply for him without even knowing it. The realisation slams into him like a roundhouse kick to the head, and Jin finds it hard to breathe.

“...Not anymore.”

There is an indescribably soft look to Hwoarang’s face , a look that Jin would’ve never thought could be directed at him . Hwoarang tilts his head slightly and leans even closer, their noses brushing. Jin can feel his skin tingling at the phantom weight of Hwoarang’s lips. It’s up to him to close whatever distance that was left between them. 

For once, his body completely overrides the screaming thoughts inside his head; surging forwards without thinking and it’s warm.

It’s about the only thing Jin can feel at the moment as his mind quickly catches up to what he was doing. Shoulders drawing up to his head, his heart going into overdrive as it threatens to leap out of his chest. His whole body is as stiff as a board, a whole mess of emotions flooding within him as he just sits there. With his lips against Hwoarang’s.

In a kiss.

He can feel himself grow redder by the second. Embarrassment. Mortification. What was he even doing?!

Hwoarang pulls away from him with a quiet laugh. A half-lidded gaze meeting his own wide-eyed stare. Cool air sweeps between them and Jin finds that he misses that touch already.

“You wanna try again?”

Jin flushes even further. It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t spontaneously burst into flames yet from how hot his cheeks are. He nods furiously despite himself and Hwoarang comes close once more. A hand comes to cup his jaw this time. His touch is gentle, yet electrifying as it sends sparks of heat burning on his skin.

“Close your eyes, Jin.”

Hwoarang’s breath puffs over his lips from how close they are. Jin squeezes his eyes shut, listening to Hwoarang’s every word as he guides him through his first kiss.

Their lips meet once more. It really was so warm. Jin can feel it better, now that he wasn’t freaking himself out. The texture of Hwoarang’s lips. So soft and pillowy. How their breaths seemed to mingle together into one. It was a chaste, sweet little thing and Jin finds that he doesn’t really mind the taste of peach sake all too much if it was on Hwoarang’s lips. It was fascinating, really. How such simple contact between their bodies made Jin feel like he was floating on a cloud. Suspended in the heavens as each passing second fills him with overwhelming joy .

The feeling only grows stronger as Hwoarang sneaks a tail around his back, pulling him closer. Like he wanted more of him. Like he never wanted to let him go. Butterflies surge into his stomach when Hwoarang tilts his head. The sensation somehow makes this a hundred times better.

When Hwoarang eventually draws away from him, Jin barely realises that the burning feeling in his chest is from him forgetting to breathe. Hwoarang doesn’t go far though, resting his head against Jin’s shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. Jin is dazedly staring at the star-filled lake in front of him, trying to tell himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

The weight of Hwoarang’s body was real, the tingling feeling left on his lips was real. The warmth, how solid Hwoarang had felt; he couldn’t have dreamed this up by himself. Jin feels his hands shake. Itching to wrap themselves around Hwoarang and pull him even closer.  

“Are you cold, Jin?” Hwoarang looks up at him with a smile. So blindingly soft. There’s a small tint of pink on his cheeks; still a far cry from Jin’s own beet red face as he places his hands over Jin’s.

Jin can only nod numbly, even if it wasn’t really the cause of his shaking. He can see it for what it is though. An excuse to touch. To be closer.  Who was he to get pedantic when Hwoarang’s hand intertwining with his own makes his shaking stop? Getting lost in those pools of molten gold. Hwoarang makes him lean down on the many cushions laid on the lake shore, wrapping him up into a gentle embrace. His many tails slip between the gaps around their bodies, forming a fluffy cocoon with just the two of them. The warmth, the comfort that radiated from that touch calms his frantic heart. Lulling him into a sense of security that only being with Hwoarang could bring.

They don’t say much else, despite the many questions that hung around them now. What it meant now that they’ve exchanged lips. What they meant to each other. One thing was certain though:

They absolutely cherished each other’s company. Everything else could come later.

Simply basking in each other’s presence was enough for now. There was no rush after all in this unprecedented time of peace within Jin’s life. Hwoarang idly runs his fingers through his spiky hair and Jin tentatively places a hand over Hwoarang’s waist. Whatever words they had to say could come later, as the fire dies down and they both fall asleep in the comfort of each other’s arms beneath the stars

Chapter Text

A comfortable warmth radiates around him, seeping deep into his bones. It settles something inside of him, making him bask in the feeling for just a moment longer before opening his eyes.

So soft.

Safe.

Jin had such a vivid dream last night. Of a moment of tender vulnerability. A shared kiss. Of falling asleep in Hwoarang’s embrace.

The dream raised some concerns about how if he truly saw Hwoarang as just a friend , but that was something that could be mulled over making breakfast. Jin makes to get out from his futon, only… his futon doesn’t let him go.

Jin’s eyes snap open. Instead of being greeted with his humble room in the shrine, he finds himself pressed right up against Hwoarang’s chest. With those fluffy tails all wrapped around him. No wonder it had been so comfortable. But if he was waking up in Hwoarang’s arms, that means…

Everything comes flooding back to him from last night. Jin tentatively raises a hand to his mouth. Recalling how… h-how Hwoarang’s lips had felt against his own. The feeling was almost reminiscent of a silk pillowcase except alive and solid beneath him. Heat prickles across his skin. Had that really all transpired last night? He can feel Hwoarang shift against him in the midst of his internal turmoil and it only makes him want to scream.

What should he say to Hwoarang? How should he act? Did he expect another kiss in the morning? Jin isn’t sure if he could handle the emotional toll (excitement) that came with it.

Hwoarang’s arms twitch around him, as if startling at the unfamiliar weight of a body against his own before relaxing. Jin can feel his gaze shifting down towards him and it takes everything in him to meet it.

“Good morning.”

A soft smile is playing on Hwoarang’s lips. The sight of him in the pale morning light makes Jin’s chest do something strange. He can barely hold his gaze.

“G-good morning…” He manages to whisper before darting his eyes elsewhere.

Except there’s nowhere to run.

Being in such close proximity with each other means that everywhere he looks is filled with Hwoarang. From his Adam's apple and the bare expanse of his neck. The sliver of skin that peeks out from his loose kimono. The broad line of his shoulders where his arms are still wrapped loosely around him. Jin fights the urge to squirm as his skin seems to burn at every point of contact between them. He doesn’t know how to handle all of this as his senses scream at him that he’s touching Hwoarang.

There’s a small beat of silence before Hwoarang lets go of him. Stretching out his sleep-stiff muscles with a grunt and Jin takes his chance to sit up properly. Fixing up his obi and the collar of his kimono that had shifted throughout the night.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Mm? O-oh! Yes…”

The tips of his ears are already burning. How was he going to survive the rest of the day around Hwoarang?

Hwoarang for his part seemed remarkably… normal about everything. Busying himself with reviving their little fire and setting a teapot onto it. He goes about clearing up the space, save for the blanket and pillows they were sitting on and all Jin can do is just watch him.

He fidgets in his seat. It felt… strange to go back to how they were before last night. It has Jin second guessing himself. Was he supposed to be acting as nonchalant as Hwoarang was? The fox seems to have experience with this sort of… romantic… matter. However, having Hwoarang acting as if nothing happened makes his chest ache. Jin has never experienced something like this before and he feels hopelessly left in the dark about what came after such revelations.

A cup of green tea gets pushed into his hands. The warmth of the ceramic cup seeping into his hands and offering a little comfort to his flurry of thoughts.

“H-Hwoarang…”

Jin looks up from his lap and sees Hwoarang regarding him with a curious tilt of his head. A patient smile on his lips. Jin isn’t even sure why he addressed him or what he wanted to say. Just that he needed to say something , lest the emotions that had been bubbling beneath his skin burst out of him in a more unsightly way.

“Wh…What are…?” He starts.

Jin grips onto his cup. Simply saying each word as it comes to mind. From his heart. Hwoarang seems to sense his struggles and thankfully shifts closer to where Jin is sitting. Their knees brush as they face each other.

“I like you.”

So blunt. So direct. So simple. And yet Jin wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it makes him choke at how easily and suddenly Hwoarang says it.

“And do you like me?”

“I…I…”

Jin isn’t sure what ‘like’ even means. It was such a general, commonly used word that it felt woefully subpar to describe whatever he felt for the other man. Hwoarang sighs softly, not out of disappointment but rather… it sounded almost like he was laughing at his awkwardness. Like he found it endearing.

Jin thought being unable to answer such a simple question would’ve been a source of anger for most people. He supposes it’s why he’s fallen for Hwoarang, and nobody else before him.

“Well…” 

“Does my company make you happy? Do you feel like you wanna spend more time with me even though we already live together?” 

There’s finally a hint of awkwardness in Hwoarang’s voice as he lays bare his feelings. The words resonate with something in him all the same. Jin could picture it. Spending the days with Hwoarang just as he had done for the past six months. A shaky future building itself in his mind; of the both of them coming back to this lakeshore many years down the line and reminiscing about their first kiss.

“Because I do.” Hwoarang continues. The conviction in his voice makes Jin look back into Hwoarang’s eyes. Seeing them almost glimmer with the rising sun steals his breath away.

“This is what you do to me, Jin.”

Hwoarang reaches out for him. Telegraphing his movements and giving Jin ample time to pull away from him as he gently grabs onto Jin’s hand. The touch is electrifying and sends goosebumps over his skin. Hwoarang raises it up and places it over his chest. The heavy heartbeat that greets him almost makes him flinch. Frantic. Nervous. Matching the frenetic pace of his own heart.

He would’ve never known how much he affected Hwoarang. His cool, easy going demeanor. His calm, reassuring words. 

The racing heartbeat in his own chest was just a simple by-product of being in Hwoarang’s presence… and now Jin knows he’s not the only one. The tension that had been building within him since he had woken up in Hwoarang’s arms bleeds away at the inexplicable truth that thunders beneath his palm.

~~~

Jin has always been an avid reader since he was a child. All manner of genres piqued his interest. From long winded academic works to ghost stories and poetry, Jin had always been fascinated with the knowledge held between those bound pages. That someone had deemed an idea, an experience important enough to try to preserve on paper.

It’s no surprise really, that Jin has also read his fair share of romance novels.

It’d simply been a passing curiosity when he was younger. Wondering what could get both people of noble birth and commoners gossiping so fervently about.

The novels had always described it as a spark. A kiss was akin to fireworks going off in one’s chest. A blooming, fantastical, awe-inspiring emotion that could start wars between countries and move mountains.

Jin could kind of see where the authors were coming from. His own kiss with Hwoarang had felt slightly similar to what they had described. But that was only after Hwoarang had been kind enough to try again with him. That swooping sensation in his stomach. How his senses seemed to open up and accept Hwoarang’s weight against his body.

Nevermind how he could barely feel anything through his nerves from his first ‘proper’ kiss not seconds before that.

Jin is beginning to question if those romance novelists were even drawing on their own personal experiences to write their stories. Or if they were just exaggerating everything that did come with a romantic relationship. Noone had told him how awkward and nervous he’d feel. That he wouldn’t magically know exactly what to do for his first kiss, and how to respond to Hwoarang’s occasional teasing.

In fact, he just feels woefully underprepared to deal with this new facet of their relationship. A lot of the emotions and actions described within those novels didn’t come naturally to Jin. He can’t help but feel he’s already starting off on the wrong foot and that Hwoarang is already accommodating him.

Hwoarang never seemed to mind though.

Surprisingly, Hwoarang hasn’t changed all too much since their kiss.

No grandiose declarations of love. Sappy poetry laden with double entendres. Midnight ballads by his window. Jin couldn’t imagine Hwoarang doing any of these things and yet he wasn’t sure why he had expected Hwoarang to treat him differently.

He still pokes fun at him, has his bouts of mischievousness where he always ends up laughing too hard at his own jokes, and makes him occasional nice treats. All things he’s done before their…kiss. 

But wasn’t that a thought. 

Could it be that Hwoarang has always treated him this way because he’s harboured feelings for him for so long?

No, no, no.

That was a dangerous way of thinking.

The implications make Jin bury his face in his hands with a muffled scream. He’s glad that he’s in the privacy of his own room now. Able to act as he wishes without any teasing eyes looking at him as he fights the urge to put his head through the table at the idea that…that Hwoarang had fallen for him first… 

He should’ve been more mindful about his actions!

Hwoarang’s reaction when he thought he’d harmlessly remove the piece of rice stuck to his face comes to mind and he honestly feels like such a fool that he hadn’t noticed then. The stuttering. How quickly he’d turned red. Though a small part of Jin wonders if he should do it again… now with purposeful intent. The expression Hwoarang had made was rather cute…

For someone who had so casually got into his personal space all the time, Hwoarang really did have such an interesting reaction when the tables were turned. Jin can’t help but wonder what kind of face he’d make if he ran a finger over his lips… He knows how they feel now. The sensation seared into his mind. The weight of them still lingering on his— 

“ ...--in? … Jin!”

“H-huh? Yes?!” Jin snaps his head up, body fixing itself into a perfect seiza out of habit at the sudden voice.

“Must’ve been some daydream huh? I was tryna get your attention for a while y’know?”

“S-sorry…”

Hwoarang is standing in the doorway, back in his regular day-to-day garb of a loose yukata. Not that Hwoarang needed much to look more than presentable on most days. Jin wonders how the other man doesn’t feel cold now that the winter months are beginning to approach them.

“Wanna come help me in the kitchen?” 

“O-oh? Sure.”

One thing that has changed about Hwoarang recently is that he was rather good at coming up with excuses to spend more time with him. Good enough that Jin didn’t even realise what he was doing until he thought back to it later. There were plenty of tasks Hwoarang would’ve finished faster if he did it himself. But here he was, taking the time to teach Jin something new despite his clumsy hands simply because he wanted to be with him.

It was a busy time of year for both the village and Hwoarang. Making sure all their food and firewood stores were plentiful before the great blanket of snow came and signalled the end of the farming season— he’d even helped Hwoarang string up bundles of firewood they had collected throughout the forest to place on the villagers doorstep as a gift to them. So it really doesn’t surprise Jin all too much at the organised chaos of the kitchen as soon as he steps foot into it.

Countless pickling jars lay on every open surface, and a giant pot of water was bubbling away on the stove to sanitise them. Large bags of salt lay open on the table with bowls piled high with all manner of vegetables that would see them through winter. From hakusai to thick logs of daikon, and all the wild vegetables he’d gone out and foraged with Hwoarang.

Some of the vegetables have already begun their preservation process. Either being salted to remove their moisture before being hung up to dry, or sitting in a brine and ready to be packed away. Jin had thought Hwoarang would get him to do something simple: Washing all the vegetables and getting rid of any blemishes that might hinder their storage life but, to his surprise, Hwoarang makes him sit next to him— right by a mountain of hakusai.

The hardy vegetable was a staple in winter time, grown most abundantly for its variety of uses in the kitchen.

“Here… Salt these first and then I'll get you to chop some other stuff.”

Jin carefully observes how Hwoarang does it before trying it for himself. Spreading salt on the cabbages evenly, making sure to lift and cover each individual leaf before setting them aside in a basin filled with water. They work in amicable silence for a while, and there’s just something so calming about being with Hwoarang. 

Who knows how many years he’s done this process. Each winter… by himself for centuries . His hands are swift and efficient with each motion. Did he ever deem it as a chore? But Jin can see the care Hwoarang puts behind his actions. Never throwing the vegetables he’d grown himself to the side, but always setting them gently on top of each other. Hwoarang must’ve enjoyed this yearly process— seeing the fruits of his labour quite literally— and now he’s choosing to share this part of his life with him.

A cutting board gets passed to him next. Alongside a bowl filled with ingredients that weren’t really found in the pickles he’s eaten before. Plump red dates, pine nuts, chestnuts, capsicums and mitsuba to name a few.

“Hey Hwoarang… What are we making?” Jin can’t help his curiosity.

“Hm? Something from home. Kimchi.”

Hwoarang looked up at him from what he was doing. Grating a bunch of pears into a bowl. Another unfamiliar ingredient he never knew would go into pickles.

“I haven’t made it in a while since the ingredients can be a little hard to find…” Hwoarang looks to the ground, and it’s hard to tell if it's the lighting or if a hint of red was blooming on his cheeks.

“But I thought it’d be nice to put in the effort his year…” Jin can see Hwoarang’s tails twitch restlessly and it makes his heart jump up to his throat. At a complete loss for words.

“O-oh…I see.”

The pair go back to focusing on their tasks, a certain awkwardness permeating the air as the room heats up—  not just from the pot of water bubbling away on the stove. These small moments that would’ve gone over Jin’s head before are so much more… noticeable now. Especially with their feelings out between them. Twisting, mingling with one another and creating a strange sort of weight that presses upon them. A certain expectation lingering between them… but of what?

Jin narrowly misses lopping off the tip of his finger with the knife. A clear sign to stop thinking so much about it before he does end up losing a finger. 

The cabbage gets rinsed out thoroughly before being stuffed with the ingredients Jin had just chopped up. Making for a pretty mix of vibrant green, with bits of yellow and red swirling around the pickling jar as it gets topped off with the brine Hwoarang had been working on. An aromatic mix of ginger, garlic, onion, and pear all juiced and seasoned with salt water. The aroma that rises from it was already pleasant enough, but it needed to sit out and ferment for a couple of days before it was ready to eat.

Even after all that work, they still had a mountain of jars filled with a variety of vegetables waiting to be stored properly. Hwoarang takes him outside, to the vegetable garden that was now growing bare. 

The momiji have shed their brilliant red leaves, littering the ground in decaying brown. The garden used to be so abundant, but now it’s so… empty. The only saving grace is the weeping sakura tree. Still so vibrant, still ever blooming. Its pink petals are a striking contrast to the dull coloured ground it carpeted. A pillar of stability and strength despite the chill in the air. Grey clouds begin to cover the sky. It wouldn’t surprise Jin if it snowed tonight. Though Jin vaguely wonders if the amount of fallen petals littering the ground seemed thicker than usual…

“Jin, can you start bringing some of the jars out from the kitchen? We’re gonna store them here over the winter.”

They’ve arrived at an empty spot that seemed purposely cleared away within the garden. The thought is gone just as quickly as it had formed. Jin can only ogle Hwoarang for a moment as he casually grabs a shovel and starts digging. It was better not to question it. The jars were rather unwieldy, so Jin can only carry them one by one. 

With each trip he makes, he can see the progress in Hwoarang’s hole digging venture. He’s already excavated a small hole by the time Jin has carried the third jar. The perfect size to fit one of the vessels inside. By his fifth trip back from the kitchen, Hwoarang has shucked off the top half of his yukata. The long sleeves hanging by his side and leaving his bare torso to confront the chilly temperature of the air around him.

It gives Jin pause. At first out of genuine curiosity.

Just how did Hwoarang not feel cold with winter just around the corner? Though with the laborious work he was currently undertaking, it seemed to make sense he’d stay warm even at this time of year. Sweat is running down his temple, making the fiery orange strands of his hair stick to the nape of his neck. It trails down his body, leaving a damp sheen that catches the waning autumn sun. 

This would be the second time Jin has seen Hwoarang so…undressed. Well, technically the third but Jin doesn’t count the time he had been snooping around out of concern for the shrine. He’d been so focused on all the scars marring his body before, but Jin doesn’t know what has changed. He finds his eyes being drawn to the rivulets of sweat running down Hwoarang’s body. Seeing the muscles of his forearms tense and relax with each stab into the earth he makes with the shovel. He really did have such a nice body.

Jin had admired it simply as a passing observation before. Sizing him up as a sparring partner, but now?

Something about that torso; lean, but with defined lines of muscle that hinted at Hwoarang’s martial prowess made Jin’s heart stutter. Gripping onto the jar he had been carrying as his mouth suddenly feels very dry. There’s a brief moment where their eyes meet and a sly little smirk flashes on Hwoarang’s mouth before he returns his focus back to the task at hand. As if he knew what Jin was doing.

Right.

What was he doing?

Jin’s face felt about as hot as the coals currently burning in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. How could someone’s bare body make him shiver and break out into goosebumps? He’s seen his fair share of partial nudity in the dojo, and his body was definitely not reacting out of fear or intimidation. So what was it?

The more he thinks about it, the redder he can feel his face become. Jin decides to put his head down and just work for real this time.

~~~

The jars all find their place in the ground by the end of the afternoon. Buried up until the lip so it was still easy to access them. It only made sense to Jin why they were doing this after he let his thoughts carefully wander to places that didn’t involve Hwoarang. The ground would be covered in snow eventually, the cool temperatures preserving the vegetables especially since they didn’t readily have access to ice— unlike back in the estate. 

Jin had wanted to help Hwoarang with digging the holes but it was like trying to repay Sae-san for all the treats she gave him every time she saw him down at the village— nigh on impossible. 

The slippery fox would always dodge his requests to switch out or take a break. Either waving him off or physically dodging out of the way when Jin made to grab the shovel off his hands.

Jin had a suspicion that Hwoarang was still worried about the wound in his side that had long since closed. All that was left of it was a rather large and jagged scar that was occasionally tender to touch. So in a rare show of boldness, just to prove something to Hwoarang, Jin had picked him up—  His whole body and the nine tails that came with it clean off the ground. It felt nice having most, if not all of his strength back and Hwoarang could only stare at him incredulously. 

The moment of shock passed quickly as Jin felt his cheeks grow redder by the second. His mind helpfully supplied that he had Hwoarang’s bare torso right by his face, and that he was grabbing onto nothing but smooth skin, but he stubbornly kept Hwoarang off the ground. At least until the fox broke out into a laugh and said:

“Alright. Fine, fine. I get it now so put me down.”

As much as it made Jin happy that Hwoarang understood that he was no longer a delicate, injured kitten who would topple over with a gust of wind, Jin would be lying if he said he wasn’t out of breath halfway into digging out his first hole. Hwoarang made it look so easy… Not that he’d ever admit that to him.

A quick bath afterwards relaxes all his tired muscles and then it was time for dinner. A simple hotpot of all the leftover odds and ends of the vegetables they had prepared earlier in the day. Neither of them had the energy to do anything fancy, but the meal still tasted just as good. The remaining embers within the small tabletop stove keep them warm and content as they sit there in satisfied silence. Their bellies full and Jin is just basking in Hwoarang’s company. The radiating heat from the stove lulling him into a gentle limbo of half-consciousness until Hwoarang suddenly gets up with a clap of his hands.

“Dessert time!”

The sudden burst of energy startles Jin awake, but he can only smile at how Hwoarang never seemed to be able to sit still after a meal until he had something sweet to satisfy his palette. Be it fruit or handmade wagashi. This time a grill gets placed over the mini stove. Followed by tiny bits of mochi all skewered and placed over the coals. Jin can’t help but feel Hwoarang’s excitement rub off on him. What was he making? Mochi always tasted good, sweet or salty.

The tantalising smell of roasted rice fills the air. Jin’s eyes follow Hwoarang’s every movement. From him flipping the mochi until it reached grilled perfection, to it getting dipped into a plate of kinako soybean powder and placed into the dish in front of him that had been filled with a white miso sauce.

Jin feels his mouth water at all the smells rising to his nose. Savoury, sweet. With a hint of smoke. It tastes just as good as it smells with the crispy outer crust of the grilled mochi giving way to a satisfying chewy texture with each bite. Jin’s thoughts begin to wander as he savours the taste in his mouth.

Glancing over at Hwoarang who was so focused on preparing their little treats. The tiny little smile playing on his lips as he rotates each skewer with delicate precision.

There was just something about today that made Jin wish it would never end. A tranquil, easy going atmosphere wrapping around them the longer they were in each other’s company. They had already spent the entire morning, afternoon, and now the evening together; but Jin wanted more. Which was strange. He usually got so tired being around people, but with Hwoarang?

He looked forward to the bursts of high energy— filled with chatter and jokes—  just as much as the periods of quiet between them. Neither of them exchanging a word for hours but still lingering around each other all the same. Perhaps it was just a desire to learn more about the other man. Observe and remember all the things that made him laugh, smile, grumble and complain. But maybe it’s something Jin couldn’t put into words either. Surprisingly… he felt okay with not knowing the name of the emotion that yearned to be by Hwoarang’s side. He was happy. They were happy. Perhaps it was time to step back and just enjoy life as it came. Jin allows himself a private smile.

Hwoarang really was rubbing off on him.

A gentle conversation about the books Jin had been reading recently flows between them as he helps Hwoarang flip the skewers. Their hands occasionally touch as they both reach for the same one. They both flinch away at first, but then it keeps happening. A scant little touch that left Jin’s skin tingling each time. It gets hard to figure out which of them is doing it on purpose after a while. The both of them carefully observe the path the other’s hand takes to meet them in the middle. But it doesn’t matter. It makes Jin laugh, and Hwoarang grin that little lopsided smile of his when he was truly happy and that was all that mattered.

It’s regrettably time to call it a night as the last of the coals die down. Their excuse for staying together fading away in a gentle wisp of smoke. They clean up the dishes in amicable silence, and the walk back to their rooms is just as quiet. Even as their knuckles brush together as they step through the corridors side by side.

They both knew it was time to wind down and spend the night away from each other, and that tomorrow would bring them a new, exciting day of each other’s company. But… Jin hesitates for just a moment outside the door to his room. Words of ‘Goodnight, Hwoarang’ at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to say it yet. He doesn’t want to end their wonderful day together so soon.

Jin flicks his gaze over to his next door neighbour for just a moment, only to find that Hwoarang is paused outside of his own door in much the same way. What should he say? It’s not like he could blurt out what was on his mind. He honestly feels like an absolute fool for missing Hwoarang already, and they haven’t even turned in for the night yet! They were literally sleeping one wall apart. Jin could survive that time without him— he wouldn’t even be conscious for most of it for goodness sake!

“Hey… Jin.”

It’s about as gentle as Jin has ever heard Hwoarang. It makes him look up, only to have a familiar sensation press into his cheek. Making the air escape from his lungs and goosebumps tingle all over his skin.

Hwoarang was close. Very close.

A gentle hand cupping the side of his jaw as the velvety sensation of his lips press into the side of his cheek. 

Another kiss.

He feels his heart skip a beat, knees feeling weak at the rush that Hwoarang’s presence brings. Jin can only look at Hwoarang with burning cheeks, not trusting himself with words with the state his mind was in.  

“You wanna…maybe…”

It’s not often Hwoarang is so hesitant with his words. It only makes the squeezing sensation in Jin’s heart even tighter. Seeing the obvious redness surging to the tips of his ears. The way Hwoarang’s eyes darted around, barely looking at him for more than a whisper of a second.

“…open up the doors separating our rooms?”

Jin feels himself nod before fully comprehending what Hwoarang had said. But even then, a curious mess of excitement and nerves rises within him when he sees Hwoarang wipe his shaking hands onto his yukata.

The pair both head into their rooms, and Jin needs to take a moment to calm himself once he’s faced with the large fusuma segregating their rooms. It was just opening a door. He could do that. He did it everyday! Jin squeezes his eyes shut and throws all caution to the wind. If he didn’t do it now, he never would.

A quick internal count to three and he slides the door open. The frame makes a clacking sound as it slams onto the wooden rails, followed by a startled noise coming from the newly exposed space. It makes Jin cringe. Both at how much strength he’d accidentally used to open the door, and at the realisation that he probably should’ve waited for Hwoarang to say that he was ready…

He cracks open his eyes, about ready to get on his knees and apologise before seeing Hwoarang’s spooked face melt into a smile. A reassuring laugh meets his ears and Jin is thankful that he hasn’t ruined the mood with his tactlessness.