Disclaimer : I don't own K project, though I do I wished. I do.

Title: Smile Again

Relationships: Misaru (Misaki/Saruhiko)

Rating: Rated T for zombies, language, boys' love.. Yeah, you get the drift.

Warnings: Zombie!Misaki & more, possibly ooc deranged!Saruhiko, character death.

Summary: The moment Misaki left his side, left their murder-splattered 20-metre wall, Saruhiko knew he would never see the boy again- not alive, at least, because all he could do was to hope. Yet, as the redhead reappears before their guarded gates and armed forces, Saruhiko would be forced to question himself on what was the price of his love- or his life, or simply, a smile, again, from the love that had left him. Zombie!AU Misaki. Possible trigger warnings.

Part 1.

He'd be lying if he told himself that it didn't hurt; Physically, mentally.. Emotionally.

Apparently, the pain was all over his face too, and everyone around him could tell- that's probably why they were so forcefully holding him back. Fingers closing around his arms, his wrists, his waist, his legs.. Desperately clawing at his clothes, dragging him away from the gate, but making no progress whatsoever. Huh.. His body must really be struggling, hard.. But he could barely feel the pressure, the weights he was pulling and pushing against..

Because it's so hard to connect his heart to his brain, and his brain to his body, all of a sudden. Not that he could say he was sane enough for that to begin with.. Not since Misaki had disappeared from the safety of their bloody, murder-splattered 20-metre wall, into the wild, wild world of the undead beyond. The moment Misaki left his side with naught but a briefly scribbled goodbye note, Saruhiko knew something inside him had died, robbed away with all the promises that he had believed, that Misaki had broken right in his face. Alright, maybe he had lost a big half of himself. Maybe almost all of himself. Why? Because he had not even been given a chance to chase after the boy he loved. Oh, he tried, of course he did. But it was unfair, really, because somehow, Misaki was able to slip past Scepter 4's secured gates in the middle of the night without any detection, while he was immediately pinned down and dragged away the minute he tried, just like how he was being held down now..

And tried, again he did. Again, again, and again, until his superior, his lieutenant.. Had slapped him hard across the face before the gates, sobbing and apologizing as she did.

The tears, it seemed.. Was what helped the truth sinked in.

Even if Misaki had somehow escaped the fate of turning into a zombie out there.. He could've at least realized that he had doomed Saruhiko to a similar fate within. Denial and worry and sorrow and what could only be anger, pure undiluted anger.. Washed through his veins as he struggled to keep up his daily routine, but it wasn't working. Of course it wasn't working. He had suddenly lost sight of everything again; his love, his future, his life- and really, he had hoped someone would finally mistake him as a zombie and end his misery, because nothing else would.

But no one did.

No one could.

So they shut him away in a cell, kept him occupied with paperwork that really didn't need any tidying, because he wasn't going to do them in the first place. Rise, rinse, eat, fold out that crumbled goodbye note for good measures, read, cry, crumble that piece of paper up again, cry some more, and sleep- that was his timeless routine, again and again,

again and again,

again, and,

again..

And that was all there was. To life. To him. Whatever that's left of him, anyway.

It wasn't until a month later did the frantic screech of the emergency alarms finally rose him from his trance.. No, not just the physical noise; it was rather the way a crowd of people suddenly flooded into his room, loud and anxious; and how everyone was desperately trying to keep him well and secured in this room, that got him back off the edge. Wordless blabbering in all sorts of panic reached his ears, and beneath his close lids, Saruhiko could tell they hadn't even bothered to switch on the lights. In that split second when he felt the cold metal of handcuffs being snapped onto his wrists, Saruhiko finally opened his eyes- to the confusing sight of a good dozen of his subordinates huddled around him, pushing him down, desperately trying to chain him to the headrest of his bed.

Which could only mean one thing, really.

There was only one reason, one person he'd break out of here for, anyway.

So he struggled, of course. None of his subordinates were strong enough to fight against the power of his sheer fury, not when he had nothing left to hold it back for, and even though he was a little rusty on his fists, none of them dare tried a second time. Perhaps this was one of the times he could be thankful to the Dresden Slate for the strength he had inherited, if it had not been the source of the contamination in the first place. The cause of all that false hope, crushing them in the sudden uprising of brainless undeads that bore the faces of their loved ones. Mikoto, Totsuka, that brat of a silver king- everybody. It was sickening.. Only because he almost believed, too.

Perhaps, he had already bought the lie, and was just waiting for his turn to live it.

Because he only loved one face, one person.. And he was already dead, Saruhiko knew.

No use lying to himself from the start, not when it had been so, so painfully obvious. Even now, it was clearer than ever- with he rooted just a few arm's length away from the metal gates, wordlessly fighting against the growing crowd trying to restrain him. Because he's there- that idiot is there, right there, just teetering there, out of the canon's range and distinctly wavering in the distance and it couldn't be anyone else but him- yes, him, in those crimson overalls that Saruhiko so clearly remembered hating, wearing what would appear to be Mikoto's old jacket.. That stupid face with hesitation written all over it, the same face he wanted to slap, to claw at, and to kiss so desperately, and to make him swear never ever to leave again-

"-ET ME GO!"

His voice tore through his dry windpipes, sharp like razors against a chalkboard. His mind had frozen, standing still enough to let his heart run wild, wild, like fire; and any moment now, he would emerge from the crushing weight that was dragging him back, and be able to fling himself back to Misaki's side. Or that was what it felt like, maybe. He wouldn't know.

Couldn't know, for sure, anyway.

"LET ME- TO HIM!"

That must've sounded like all sorts of crazy, Saruhiko knew. Not to mention that it did hurt him, finally letting his voice out of his throat after a month's worth of silence. He wasn't even sure if his windpipes would work, but he was glad they did- because the sound of his horribly broken voice seemed to have paralyzed a few of his restrainers, and Saruhiko was able to free a hand from the gasping crowd. Immediately throwing a punch straight at some poor clansman's face to his left, he was finally able to kick a leg free- and then the other, and then everyone was gone, retreating from him in fear and panic and whatever that was left in their sanity, because that was apparently the limit to the tolerance everyone was made to bear with the higher-up's orders.

Because they seemed to have all decided that they would rather hurt him, kill him, than to let him run off like this.

Swords were drawn, metallic, sharp and sickening in the misty morning air. Melting back into a single-filed semi circle that surrounded him as completely as they could without exposing their backs to the gate, his subordinates tensed on their spots, ready to cut through him at what would be the slightest suspicious movements from him. What a stage Misaki had chosen to return with, indeed. Maybe he could dye it red, with his own blood, and maybe Misaki would be happy with this welcome-back gift. Maybe then, he wouldn't run away a second- no, a third, or what it his fourth time..

"Fushimi!"

It was a woman's voice that parted the formation, and caught his gaze. Both hands in the air, steadily ignoring the echoed pleas around her as she approached him was no one other than Lieutenant Awashima, possibly the only person alive who had enough strength in her heart to pin him down. But why- what's the point? Saruhiko barely cared enough to live, anymore. His purpose was just standing past the gate, waiting to be welcomed back into his arms, but without the lieutenant's permission, the towering structure would not budge- So what the hell, why, would she personally come down here- to see his crazy? To entertain him? To convince him to give it all up? To save the lives of these subordinates of theirs, in case he really did go crazy?

To apologise?

"Please," was the word she picked, hands firm in the air, eyes desperate to lock gaze with his own. Her own sword laid trembling by her waist, clattering noisily, anxious to be drawn, to be called upon to protect its owner, but she was looking at him and only him. "Please, Fushimi, open your eyes and just-"

"I AM LOOKING, AND HE'S THERE, RIGHT THERE-"

"He's not the Yata Misaki that had been with us-"

"OF COURSE HE IS, JUST LOOK AT HIS FACE-"

"He's been bitten! He's one of them now, and-"

"HE HASN'T, LOOK AT HIS EXPRESSIONS-"

"He doesn't HAVE ANY!"

Dry, painful laughter erupted from his throat, and Saruhiko could taste blood running up his tongue. "He doesn't have any?" Spinning around to jab a finger at Misaki's silhouette, Saruhiko crackled again, and brought his other free hand down to clutch at his stomach. What a joke- he hadn't gone insane, no, it was Lieutenant Awashima who had. Why else would she be telling such blatant lies, as though she could not see?! "He doesn't have any?" repeated the brunette as he gestured wildly in the same direction. Ouch, his stomach was starting to hurt from all the laughing, but he couldn't get enough. "Look at that carefully, can't you see that stupid hesitating look he's wEARING?"

Eyes still fixated on Saruhiko's, Awashima bit down hard on her lower lip, and shook her head.

"Then LOOK!" He cried, swallowing the blood only to cough out a little more, ignoring the crimson splattered on his palm and clenching his fingers into a fist. As he took a step forward, the entire semi-circle reacted with a violent step forward, but were stopped in place by Awashima, who finally dropped her arms. What? Can't she just- see? Just take a look? Did he have to gesture again and again to get her to divert her bloody eyes from him, and to finally focus on his lover who's standing alone out there?

It was then did Lieutenant Awashima finally made a grand show of slowly turning her head, to focus on Misaki's shivering figure in the distance..

Before she finally caught Saruhiko's eyes again, and shook her head once more.

"… You can't be serious.." She must be lying, Saruhiko knew. Anything to keep the two of them from seeing each other again. That was how they dealt with traitors, with contagious persons, with the infected anyway- and even though it was all just a bloody lie, she would never have the courage to tell him anything else other than the perceived truth. "He's just there.. Right there, waiting.."

To come back, no-

"For me to go.."

Awashima took another deliberate step back, shaking her head, and that was when Saruhiko noticed how she had finally allowed her tears to fall.. In silent, glistening steaks that traced her cheeks. Hands creeping up to the sword that was begging for release at her waist, Awashima drew it out slowly, surely, keeping her eyes locked upon him all this time.

Ah, so he was going to die here.

What a joke.

Instead of whatever he had been expecting, though.. Lieutenant Awashima merely raised the sword above her head in a steady hold, and looked towards the nearest guard tower that overlooked their main gates.

A red flame in the distance answered her wordless question, flickering for a second before being extinguished as quickly as it had been lead.

"… Saruhiko.."

Once again focusing his eyes upon Lieutenant Awashima, Saruhiko found himself almost choking at the sight of her tears, and had to look away.

"… You may leave through the front gates."