The Lonely Shore
Summary: Deprived of everything he once held dear, Yata is left alone in a world he has never had to face on his own before. Sometimes, he feels like a solitary man drifting on the lonely shore.
Characters: Misaki Yata, mentions of others throughout the work
Warnings: Spoilers after Episode 13 of [K].
Disclaimer: As usual, I do not claim to own K project or its characters. The latter are borrowed from time to time for enjoyment and writing only.
Even before HOMRA, Yatahad not exactly been alone in the world, at least then, he had had a friend to rely on, to pass the days with. Then, HOMRA had taken in him and Saruhiko, giving the two a family and a home. For Yata, it had also given him a purpose on the aimless road he so often walked upon. However, his former friend had not shared that feeling, instead opting to defect and join Scepter 4, HOMRA's most prominent rival. That traitor, how could Saruhiko not be grateful for the blessing he and Yata had been given? To the young, ex-vanguard of HOMRA, it was something that he could not imagine. More than his friend's betrayal, that same person seemed to enjoy rubbing salt in the wounds that Yata still nursed, while trying not to think about them. Why had his now ex-friend appeared, only to taunt and harass him? Was that damned monkey really so dedicated to only further fueling the hatred and bitterness that now occupied Yata's heart?
Crippling as that blow was, it was not the worst, or only time in life that Yata had encountered a close person leaving him by the wayside, seemingly confident that the boy would be able to pull through in the end. While Saruhiko's betrayal had carved a dark hole in Yata's young heart, he had papered over the problem by only intensifying his devotion to HOMRA and forging friendships. These methods were not permanent antidotes to his pain, only numbing drugs that he deliberately used as a shield to hide himself from all emotional turmoil, lest he in the end, be consumed by the raging inferno of hate that had started to blossom inside of him. When the second blow had come, no one had expected it, or the tragedy's first victim, the murder of Totsuka-San. He had been killed by one who claimed the title of the 'Colourless King'. Even that occurrence, as devastating as it was, had not been the end for him. Again, Yata had found some sort of shield, a purpose to continue his existence-avenge the death of Totsuka Tatara, no matter the cost. It had been one of the few times that he was happiest to serve under Mikoto-San, united with the rest of HOMRA, beneath a single banner. He had displayed this noble banner on his chest with pride, never once doubting its righteousness. Yet, the death of perhaps the kindest member of HOMRA had also served a darker purpose, for it had widened the slowly expanding hole into a cavernous expanse, darkening his mind, furthering his violent, red anger that seemed to now plague Yata almost constantly.
There were two final blows however, that had caused his barriers to crumble and fall at last. Both had happened around the same time as the other, almost occurring simultaneously- the death of Mikoto, as well as the disunion of HOMRA, the only group he had dared call family. With the red king gone, the bond that had been seemingly indomitable was severed. As days passed, members defected, wandering away from what had once brought all these people together. At first, Yata had vigorously tried to rally the ranks, encouraging them to all keep the end, his valiant efforts had all been for naught, leaving him, once again, alone. Now, shadowed with the dying light of a flickering candle, Yata had to concede defeat at last,dislike it as he did to do so. It was a bitter, cold revelation that left him without any safeguards, casting him into the churning, dark ocean without a lifeline to cling to.
Deprived of everything he had once held close to his heart, the nineteen year old let out a strangled cry of anguish, which he tried to muffle with the white sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt. Of course, the tears still welled up and spilled over in a continuous flood that streaked down his pale face. He felt like a dying shoulder, left to draw his last breath on a quiet, empty battlefield. Alone, wandering on the streets without any particular destination in mind, Yata came to a halt in front of the bar that had once been the center of all the laughs and happiness that HOMRA had enjoyed together. He eyed the large 'Closed' sign with a mixture of anger and a hollow pain that served to only further hid current state of melancholy. As he stared into the blackened room, the young vanguard wondered what the traitor would have said to him. Already, he could picture the words that would inevitably descend from Saruhiko's lips, whispering unwelcome, merciless words that ere good for only one thing- provoking Yata into fighting him, no matter the price. For a moment, the chestnut haired young man wondered if this loneliness was the same experienced by the others, prompting them to flee the memories that had been created here.
Things had come to amend, a hopeless conclusion of a spiral of increasingly volatile events. Left alone to face this world alone, he felt like the solitary wanderer who would drift on the lonely shore in silent concentration. There was nothing left here for him,-all of what he ever needed had slipped through his fingers, abandoning him to the cruel reality of the world that he now walked.