Age nine

Monochrome

私わ赤が大好き。

You can say I never really had a choice. He's always been there. Strong and bright and beautiful, a powerful presence that seeks to be noticed. With him constantly walking in front of me—beside me, behind me, everywhere—there's nowhere I can avert my eyes to.

Whichever way I turn, he's there.

He's always there, filling my vision a crimson hue akin to roses and blood and sunset.

I have no idea who he is.

I know he's Akashi Seijuro, and he has red hair. His eyes are red too, and he never smiles. I mean, he does, but not truly. He can make an expression resembling cheer and glee, but his eyes never really change. It's always the same shade of red—dark like blood but pale around the edges. Like a young rose that's been cut off too fast, too early, from the stem.

I know he's supposed to be incredibly smart and capable and strong. Perfect in every way. He's polite and just, so, so wonderful, I hear them say. A good child. A good man. He leaves a trail of broken hearts in his wake with his outrageously good looks and character. He draws the crowd in every gathering, his voice hypnotic, his arsenal of skills plethoric.

I know a lot of people practically worship him. He's like a prince—no, more than that. A king. An emperor. He stands above the rest without so much as batting an eye. Victory comes snuggling him in his sleep.

He appears like this perfect man who does no wrong, who always gets what he wants, always wins, but I have no idea who he is because the perfect man is so obviously a mask, a façade. I have no idea why no else could see, why they just assume he's this, this absolute creature and give him their utmost respect without trying to get past the surface or, at the very least, wonder how he could possibly be alive.

I mean, if he's as perfect as they say, why hasn't he died yet? I'd have died of boredom if I could do everything as easily as he does.

Still, he hasn't died yet, so I assume there's still something lacking in his just about completely boring life.

I have no idea what it is. I have no idea who he is.

I know who I am. It's simple.

I'm the childhood friend. Been around him since forever. We aren't close. We don't have secret places and secret codes nor secret secrets. I just happen to be the daughter of his father's friend, who goes around their house often enough for him to know my name, age and face.

We don't talk a lot. He's usually quiet and I have no idea what to talk with him about. I've never been good at small talks. Mother said I was too honest, so she said I should just keep quiet all the time so I don't make enemies I'll regret later. She said I'd specially regret if I made an enemy of Akashi.

I didn't ask her why, didn't say it's ridiculous to be afraid of someone smaller than me (he was, until he grew up, damn puberty) but I knew I'd regret making an enemy out of my mother more than anything.

So we don't talk.

He's just there—beside me, in front of me, even in my fucking dreams. And he doesn't leave.

There's two of him, he says one day, left eye flickering from gold to rouge. He stares blankly as I simply nod in acknowledgement.

"There's two of me," he repeats. He seems to be conflicted whether or not to chastise me from not reacting as he hoped.

But I wasn't surprised, why should I widen my eyes?

"Yes, I know," I say.

And he laughs, mirthless and dark and hopelessly, hopelessly out of use. I remain where I am, because there's nowhere I can go. There's nowhere I want to go.

My eyes and memory are selective. I can only recognize things that are around me often. Stay away for long enough and chances are, I'll be asking your name when you get back. Akashi is an exception though, he always is. I recognize him everywhere. I see him in the red roses in my garden, in the blood flowing in my veins, in the vestige of sunset… he's everywhere.

I feel his presence even before he comes to my sight, and my senses come alive. I'm hyperaware of every move he makes, of his eyes, sometimes gold sometimes red, following me around. I feel his soul calling to mine, possessing me, owning me.

I still have no idea who he is, and I'm still just the childhood friend.

But I know I'll never be able to rid of him.

As he said, he's absolute. And he's damn resilient.

"Hey, marry me," red eyes look into green ones, intense and demanding, claiming the air around me until I ran out of breath.

"Why should I?" I foolishly, innocently ask, senses tingling with an emotion I can't quite name.

"Because," he says matter-of-factly, "you're mine."

I really, really don't have any idea who he is.

But I know there's no saying no to this man.

I don't remember when I wrote this one, probably during my Akashi-obsession period which was…I don't know. Just, reading this makes me realize that while I feel like I have changed way too much, way too little from then, I'm still a sucker for a yandere Akashi, and a good childhood friend story.

So, I think I may continue this. Not sure how I'll proceed, or when, haha, but I hope I can. Or, if anyone is interested in adopting this…hmm.

I'll just leave a prompt for all you Akashi-lovers out there:

He fills my vision with a crimson hue akin to roses and blood and love and I just know there's no getting away from this man.