On a deserted street in a demoralized street on an unseasonably cold day in March, Saruhiko Fushimi was staring at a pole.
It was a stupid thing to do of course, he had work to do for one, more work than usual in fact since the death of the third Red King 15 months ago. And the fact that stating at inanimate objects is literally one of the least productive things to do. But the sight of an ugly and unsightly lamppost resurfaced memories he could never seem to let go of.
It was idiotic. The memory was almost inconsequential in the first place. That wasn't the day the world he'd built with Misaki fell apart. It wasn't even the day the cracks started. It was just a normal day of doing nothing. Saru drinking a coke, staring aimlessly at a world he felt no connection to. Misaki next to him getting too invested in the violent world of his video game. Just a normal day that continued to be a normal day after one small aberration. Just a normal day aside from meeting Souh Mikoto.
Misaki snatched the cola he was drinking, downed it, then threw it in a random direction.
A violent and pointless action, but such a Misaki thing to do he wouldn't dream of doing anything about it beyond throwing an exasperated look.
Then the Red King caught it.
Nothing happened. They came, they talked, they left. Saruhiko and Misaki went back to their small world for a little while longer, joining Homra properly when they had nowhere else to go.
Saruhiko's mind wandered to more recent happenings. Mikoto's death. A meeting in prison. Misaki's tears. His own uselessness in everything that happened.
It's like soaking a wick in gasoline thought Saruhiko. It's not the start of anything, but the whole situation would be better if it had never happened.
This revelation made him wonder if the failure of his and Misaki's relationship was inevitable. At the same time how far he had overanalyzed their relationship by this point pissed him off.
His thoughts were such a mess by this point he didn't hear a distinct clatter of wheels headed towards him.