Don't look now but I'm done with this two part series.
I'm not sure where SIDE:BLUE came from except that I was extremely sad.
And because I was sad, everyone else should be sad.
"Alive"
He could have done it.
Tame the beast. Put out the fire - make his world calm again.
He could have.
He might have.
Isn't that what the Blue King was there for?
Cold. Calm. Precise.
So different.
Red and blue.
So different.
Chaos and order.
So different…
King and King.
They were the same.
He wanted to be the one.
He could have been the one.
Never a chance. Never a glance.
Gold eyes that never saw him. Gold eyes that were always, always looking somewhere else - looking at someone else.
Someone who he could never be.
Perhaps he related with Fushimi-kun more than he thought he did. He understood the teen - maybe even more than the young man did himself.
Blue.
Cold.
Death.
Dead bodies littered on the ground. None by his hands - just the one on the throne, bleeding red, sitting there on skeletons from their closets with their grinning smiles, teeth glistening with blood splattered on then.
Fushimi and he were not all that different.
Homra having stolen both of their most precious people.
Fushimi handled it in a unique manner though.
Burn. Break. Destroy.
Everything you hold dear - let go.
But then again, that's what he did, isn't it?
But he didn't, at the same time.
They were similar…yet so diverse in their choices.
Fushimi, who walks away before he could be abandoned.
Himself, who was abandoned because he just couldn't walk away.
He was like Fushimi.
He was like Suoh Mikoto.
But Suoh wasn't like Fushimi.
…
No that wasn't true.
Impulse.
Fushimi Saruhiko was just like Suoh Mikoto.
Perhaps not completely but there were distinct qualities that made them alike.
Except one.
Fushimi was alive.
Fushimi still had Yata Misaki.
In a way, he still had Yata Misaki.
Yata Misaki who was alive.
Yata Misaki who was happy.
Yata Misaki who was not dead.
Not dead.
Not Mikoto.
Not Mikoto, who had died at his hands.
His hands? No...his sword.
Words, not meant for him, uttered in a final breath taken.
Maybe it was his own fault. Maybe he should have tried harder. Harder to save him.
But could he have?
Would the man have looked at him had he been screaming at the top of his lungs?
Or would he be cast away once more?
Cast away. Thrown away. Ignored.
Ah~Fushimi-kun could probably answer that well.
Totsuka Tatara was truly a wondrous being.
To catch a lion's eye.
To be loved.
He often saw Fushimi tear at the wound on his collar bone - a reminder for himself to remember the anguish the mark caused him.
The mark, a symbol for all that he had lost. All that he had taken away from him.
But Munkata Reisi had no such mark.
Suoh Mikoto had not marked him.
Did not need to mark him.
Not even on their occasional night escapades, did the Red King feel the need to claim him.
He did not want him.
He did not need him.
It hurt.
It felt like...a sword through the chest.
Perhaps, then he should believe he was returning the favor.
And there, he guess, is where he differentiated himself from his favorite subordinate.
Fushimi Saruhiko found solace in hating his loved one.
Munakata found it in killing his.
Even then, neither found peace - they never would, but they could make do.
It was true then, there was no rest for the wicked.
But they would not be deterred.
They would advance, sword in hand.
For their cause was pure.
Well, there you have it. I'm sorry it was more focused on MikoRei but the thing is...I don't know. I just began writing and I thought it would be more fun (read: pain) to write about Munakata instead. Or rather, writing bout Fushimi from Munakata's POV.
I hope you guys enjoyed it. Drop a fav and leave a review!