The Devil In You

Instinct

Suggested listening: GIMS - Est-ce que tu m'aimes ?

-Sign here, please, and here and here. But we strongly advise against an early release, sir.

-And I strongly advise you mind your own business, miss. I'm sick of all this crap, I'm going home.

Hwoarang was far from being good enough to leave the hospital; but since he was signing for it, no doctor or nurse could keep him in there. He knew that, and wouldn't take a no for an answer. He looked like he had been beaten up well enough when he left - a black eye, bruises and scars pretty much everywhere, his clothes ripped apart by what could have been a tiger. He didn't care though - the only thing that bothered him was not having his motorbike with him. A good ride would have lifted his mood, as always. Instead, he had to take three different busses to get to the other side of town where he was staying - not the best neighbourhood, for sure. But it reminded him of home, of his teenage years, of Baek and the times when all was simpler. He went up steps until the fifth floor where his apartment was. He was still adapting to the new, limited vision, so when he pulled the keys out from the door, they fell down on the floor with a clinking. "Crap", he thought, and when he bent down to fetch them, a pair of black boots was also there.

-Want a hand with that?- the calmness in his voice felt almost like unplanned sarcasm.

-I lost an eye, not a hand, in case you didn't notice. I thought you were a little better at anatomy.

Hwoarang stood tall on his feet, keys in his hands, his eyes -well, his eye- locked with Jin's.

-Sorry, didn't want to offend you. I wanted to help.

-There, self-righteous again. The paladin has come to my rescue, how lucky am I?- Hwoarang stormed into the apartment. It was small, made for a single person to live in; a sofa, which evidently transformed into a bed, sit beside the door with a small wardrobe at its right, a table at the center of the room, and a tiny kitchen was at the other side of it. Then there was the bathroom with a shower, and that was it. Spartan and essential, just as he liked it.

-May I come in? I want to talk. We need to talk.

-We don't need to do anything. I saved you, you escaped, end of story. But if you're dead set on wasting your breath, Kazama, let me at least open myself some beer. Want one?

Jin shook his head while he crossed the threshold of the apartment, closing the door behind him lightly. Hwoarang was already drinking his beer right out of the can, in front of the fridge.

-So- he said, taking a breath beneath a sip and another -what are you here for? I'm tired, and I have no time for any whining, mind you.

-I'm not here to whine. I'm here to make you think, deep.

-Think, deep? What are you eve-

Hwoarang wasn't able to finish his sentence, because in the flash of a second Jin was right in front of him, a little too close for his likings. The Japanese then put his right hand near his dull eye, closing on him even further. Now, that was really uncomfortable and plain unpleasant. He left the beer can falling and rolling on the floor.

-Why did you save me? If I really am just an arch-enemy to you, you could have left me there to die under the bombs. It wasn't for some stupid fight, you didn't even have the time to think about what and why to do - you just did. You jumped at me and you saved me, and you could have died in there, not just lose an eye. That was your natural instinct, your reflexes acting on their own, telling you to save me from that grenade.- Jin put his mouth near Hwoarang's left ear and said softly, -I want to know why.

A faint shiver passed through the Korean's spine, though he didn't understand it. It made him angry, and he lashed out, pushing the other fighter away from himself.

-Why, you ask me? Because I don't like seeing people blown up in pieces, and I usually take action when I see trouble, it's who I am, Kazama. Don't read anything more into it, because there's nothing to read here. I'm just a nice person who does nice things, there, you have it.

-I can call you many things, Hwoarang, but nice is not one of them. I got to know you in a clandestine fight, you were a gang boss, cheating people for money, bedding as many women as you could with false promises and empty words... you deserted your own country's army, should I go on or did you get the picture of what is not "nice"?

-Woah, Jin, I will call you when I have to write my résumé. Not nice, I got it. Still, I don't like people dying like confetti, that's my instinct kicking in. Still nothing strange to add.

-Fine, if you insist. But mark my words, Hwoarang: you will come to your senses. And I will help you do it. Because when it comes to this kind of matters, I rarely am wrong. And I am not wrong this time, I see it all the more clearly now.

-I think you should stop doing drugs, Kazama, not a good poster boy for your family's name, are you? Now, do me a favour, get lost, my head aches and I'm tired of your riddles and nonsense. I just want to sleep.

-Until we meet again.

Jin opened the door and closed it behind him as lightly as a cat on its paw, and Hwoarang threw himself on the sofa after getting rid of what was left of his clothing and putting on some pajama pants. "What a freak. All of his family would need a good ten years of therapy". And before he could think of anything else, he was fast asleep.