Mikoto wondered if this would ever feel right. People all around him, rallying around him. Calling him king. There weren't many, not yet; just a small handful at best, tucked into the bare bones bar studio Izumo had insisted on buying. A dream he'd always had, he had said, "And besides every king needs his castle!" That last part, Mikoto was sure had been Totsuka's idea. The kid was part crazy, part stupid, and all relentless dreamer. He had been the first, and wobbling on a stepladder to tape up hand-made paper lanterns, it seemed as if he would be the last, too. With a sigh, Mikoto downed the last of his drink and smacked the shot glass mouth-down on the counter. He hadn't wanted a first, and he damn sure didn't want any of them to stick around.
"I'm going out for a smoke," he said, ignoring Izumo's glare for the poor treatment of his precious bar.
"It's almost midnight. You don't want to be with them?" asked the blond. "Totsuka will be disappointed."
"He'll live." Mikoto slammed the door behind himself.
Scrawny and over decorated kadomatsu brushed his arms as he walked through the doorway, shedding sharply scented pine needles on the sleeves of his jacket. It was cold outside, and he was glad for the fur-lining in his coat as he snapped up the collar. Pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, Mikoto rolled his lighter around his palm a few times before putting it away. His bare hand looked strangely pale in the stark moonlight.
He snapped his fingers. Tongues of ruby flames erupted at the contact point of his hand and surged outwards. They devoured his cigarette, lapping affectionately at his oat sleeves and lips as the slender stick sifted down into ash. A sigh left him, breathing away the smoke that remained. That was another reason he liked his jacket. Leather was about as fire retardant as they came.
Before he had really thought much about it, he was walking. His hands were shoved into his pockets, down where he could not see them anymore. Overhead, the lights of the city marred the stars with their caricatures of intimacy. Silhouettes danced against the glass while music pulsed through the air, but they were little more than fleeting traces in his sensory memory as he ducked deeper into the city. Once, he found himself standing outside a club, its front glossy and black as the kohl caked onto the women slinking along its walls. The bass vibrated the concrete under his boots, and jewel-toned lines sparkled from out the crack of the door. He thought he saw the crook of a porcelain hand, heard an echo of a giggle before he turned and continued on his way.
He did not know the time when he stopped, but he knew the place. White stone walls scaling up towards the cloudy sky and steel gates that burned when he touched them, it was hard to miss, never mind to forget. The facility was a good thirty minute walk from the bar; if he had wanted to make it back in time for the midnight festivities, Mikoto ought to have turned back then and there. Instead, he took a seat outside the main gate and leaned his head back on the walled in enclosure. It did not take long.
"No cigarette? I don't suppose quitting is your New Year's resolution, Mikoto," said a voice to his side.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Silence. His shoulder warmed with the heat of another body, and he cut his eyes to the left. Cobalt hair shone beneath the street lamps, standing out starkly against a throat pale as marble. Mikoto almost wanted to smile as he caught a glimpse of violet shadow behind the high collar of his companion's trench coat. Without speaking, Reisi folded one knee to his chest and held his hand out. Mikoto placed a pair of cigarettes and his lighter into the open palm. Soft, golden flames sparked the drags to life, and he lolled his head sideways, parting his lips the slightest so that the other man could place his cigarette between them.
"You've started spiking your hair," Reisi said through a mouthful of smoke.
"Stays out of my way," Mikoto said.
"I like it." He laughed. "You didn't come here to talk about your hair."
"No." Another puff of smoke; two, intertwining as they dissipated into the air. Mikoto fixed his gaze on the rimless edges of his partner's glasses. The light cut so sharply he couldn't see Reisi's eyes. Shutting his eyes, he sighed. "They call me a King."
Reisi said, "I know," and Mikoto opened one eye. "Scepter 4's surveillance."
"So what came first?" When the Reisi only raised an eyebrow, Mikoto shut his eyes again. "This power…or your decision to leave."
"Does it matter? We couldn't have survived either way," said Reisi's voice, his breath brushing Mikoto's cheek as a weight settled to the red-head's shoulder again. "This is the road to ruin, Mikoto."
Mikoto said nothing. Pinching his cigarette and holding it away with his hand, he turned his cheek to the side and removed Reisi's as well. His hand slid to the nape of the other man's neck, and, meeting no resistance, brought their lips together. As he slanted his mouth over the other's, he could feel Reisi's hands on his chest. They slipped beneath his jacket, twisted in his shirt, pulled him closer. Mikoto almost dropped the cigarettes. One of them grunted, the other shifted. Tongue slid on tongue, the familiar taste of ash seeping into every crevice of the kiss.
"Yes," Mikoto finally said, pulling back and replacing his tongue with Reisi's cigarette. "And we're starting at the end."
Standing, he turned to leave. The bar would be missing him by now, and he'd had his last midnight kiss.
Happy New Years, all! Enjoy my take on what happened to Reisi and Mikoto before the actions of the [K] series anime. Reviews are appreciated, but no hate mail or flames, please and thank you.