The taste of sweat was still in his mouth.

The bandages on his knuckles were still taut, splattered with the friction of the canvas and dried blood. Hwoarang paced the back aisles of the stadium like a storm on legs: no direction, no words, just pent-up fury that couldn't find a way to vent.

Losing to Jin again.

Not out of cowardice. Not out of lack of technique.

Simply because he was Jin. Because that bastard always found a way to take things one step further.

And then, as if fate had completely mocked him, he saw you.

There, leaning against a column, your torso still shining from training, a bottle of energy drink in your hand, and that damned peace on your face. So close to the stage. So close to Jin. Always so close to him.

Hwoarang stopped, saying nothing at first. He just watched you from a few feet away. His brow furrowed reflexively, but his steps betrayed him: he came closer anyway.

"I guess you came to watch me beat the shit out of you, huh?" he finally growled, without asking permission to stand in front of you. "Or rather... how your precious Jin did it."

His words came out sharper than he intended. But the fire was too hot to be extinguished.

He looked you up and down. Slowly. As if sizing up another fight. But this one was different. There was more to his gaze than just defiance.

"You're always hanging around him. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Like you can't breathe without being in his orbit." He paused. His jaw tightened. And then his voice lowered, huskier, more restrained:

"You're disgusting." A lie. Hwoarang knew it was a lie, but he wouldn't admit it.