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blue_bells» Title: Devil, You Know (1/?) [PG]
» Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_bluebells | k(at)noiresensus(dot)com | http://www.noiresensus.com
» Fandom: Tekken
» Status: Work In Progress
» Warnings: I've forgotten exactly what was going on here.
» Pairing(s): Hwoarang/Jin, Hwoarang/Miharu
» Summary: He can sympathise with what she's going through. He chooses not to.
Waiting would always be the worst part, though Jin was pleased to find himself coping better the second time around. Every time was more interminable than the last, like waiting on the deep breath before a cry and never being quite sure if your voice would hold when it finally came.
On reflection, he certainly could have warned her that it would be like this. He admitted quiet relief to himself that Hwoarang's routine had suffered little alteration after he set up residence with Miharu. So, maybe Hwoarang had been telling the truth when he claimed it was the work, and not the company, that frequently kept him away. Upon each return the invisible lead was heavier on his shoulders, circles grew darker beneath his eyes, but he always had the strength to eventually drag himself through the doorway.
Hwoarang couldn't blame them for harbouring suspicions when he so evidently lied through his teeth of the 'work' he did abroad. How far abroad he went each time, no one knew. Jin's curiousity should have compelled him well by now, but he was still teetering on the edge of the decision to pursue the matter.
Now that he wasn't the one to leave the light on he could exercise a sensible degree of objectivity. Though every time he found Miharu curled on the lounge futon amongst the dark of pre-dawn he wondered what went through her mind when she stared at the television, as though she didn't see it at all. He noticed that she'd started to bite her nails again. Xiaoyu was coming around more often these days; it was starkly familiar. He couldn't help but empathise with Miharu, but it ultimately postponed his decision. For her he was afraid of what he might find, at least, that's what he always believed.
Numbered months went by and tension in the house had become palpable. The phases were passing just as he'd anticipated, but he hadn't expected the accusations Xiaoyu finally released one night after dinner. There was nothing special about that night except the silence that followed.
"What did you expect? He hasn't changed in four years, you can't fault anyone for your own choices!"
Everyone was angry, but no one moreso than Miharu. It took his own intervention to dampen Xiaoyu's temper and reconcile the two. By then Miharu had retreated to the back porch where they found her curled on the porch swing, rubbing sakura petals between her palms. It was late Autumn and she was muttering through tears about finding the sakura's colour again. Neither of them understood her intent, nor what had implanted the notion of "copper" or "red" sakura in her mind.
Xiaoyu assumed the empty seat on the swing, but he stayed a distance away by the edge of the porch. He found himself tracing the sakura's high branches with his eyes in an effort to grant them privacy, when he turned back Xiaoyu had cradled Miharu to her chest, gently rocking the swing.
Inside, the clock struck eleven.
» Author:
_bluebells | k(at)noiresensus(dot)com | http://www.noiresensus.com» Fandom: Tekken
» Status: Work In Progress
» Warnings: I've forgotten exactly what was going on here.
» Pairing(s): Hwoarang/Jin, Hwoarang/Miharu
» Summary: He can sympathise with what she's going through. He chooses not to.
Waiting would always be the worst part, though Jin was pleased to find himself coping better the second time around. Every time was more interminable than the last, like waiting on the deep breath before a cry and never being quite sure if your voice would hold when it finally came.
On reflection, he certainly could have warned her that it would be like this. He admitted quiet relief to himself that Hwoarang's routine had suffered little alteration after he set up residence with Miharu. So, maybe Hwoarang had been telling the truth when he claimed it was the work, and not the company, that frequently kept him away. Upon each return the invisible lead was heavier on his shoulders, circles grew darker beneath his eyes, but he always had the strength to eventually drag himself through the doorway.
Hwoarang couldn't blame them for harbouring suspicions when he so evidently lied through his teeth of the 'work' he did abroad. How far abroad he went each time, no one knew. Jin's curiousity should have compelled him well by now, but he was still teetering on the edge of the decision to pursue the matter.
Now that he wasn't the one to leave the light on he could exercise a sensible degree of objectivity. Though every time he found Miharu curled on the lounge futon amongst the dark of pre-dawn he wondered what went through her mind when she stared at the television, as though she didn't see it at all. He noticed that she'd started to bite her nails again. Xiaoyu was coming around more often these days; it was starkly familiar. He couldn't help but empathise with Miharu, but it ultimately postponed his decision. For her he was afraid of what he might find, at least, that's what he always believed.
Numbered months went by and tension in the house had become palpable. The phases were passing just as he'd anticipated, but he hadn't expected the accusations Xiaoyu finally released one night after dinner. There was nothing special about that night except the silence that followed.
"What did you expect? He hasn't changed in four years, you can't fault anyone for your own choices!"
Everyone was angry, but no one moreso than Miharu. It took his own intervention to dampen Xiaoyu's temper and reconcile the two. By then Miharu had retreated to the back porch where they found her curled on the porch swing, rubbing sakura petals between her palms. It was late Autumn and she was muttering through tears about finding the sakura's colour again. Neither of them understood her intent, nor what had implanted the notion of "copper" or "red" sakura in her mind.
Xiaoyu assumed the empty seat on the swing, but he stayed a distance away by the edge of the porch. He found himself tracing the sakura's high branches with his eyes in an effort to grant them privacy, when he turned back Xiaoyu had cradled Miharu to her chest, gently rocking the swing.
Inside, the clock struck eleven.
