Disclaimer: K anime is not mine.
Note: This is inspired when I'm listening to Jay Chou's Nocturne from November Chopin album. It's pretty old Chinese song, but when I listen it again, I think this fits MikoRei a lot. Well, after the sad ending of anime, of course so this fic is angst, angst and more angst with character death. Don't read if you're having your blue days. There is lots of MikoRei death fics depicting after the anime's ending, and I finally decide to write one as well.
This is sort of a song fic, but since I heard that fanfictionnet has something against song fic, I'll just copy the translation of the lyric at the bottom part of the fic. The translation is not mine, someone has done a marvelous job on translating it.:D
"Where is Captain?" The raven-haired man in blue-clad uniform fixed his glasses with an annoyed tone. He had searched the whole building but he could not find even Munakata's shadow. Inside the tranquil room, there was only Seri sitting on the woven straw mat with a Japanese cup of dark green tea and a traditional confectionery with a pile of red bean paste on top of it. She was quietly reading her PDA, surveying the recent reports while allowing the tea to chill down.
Her azure eyes averted to her intruder before she returned her gaze on her task. "Why don't you come in, Fushimi? Captain is currently away. He is telling me to take a break in his office."
If he did not have anything against Seri's peculiar taste with red bean, he would be more than glad to join her and abandon his job which had started to give him terrible headache. However, he knew that she would offer that abominable snack once he took a seat beside her, so he would prefer to return to his desk. Fushimi stood still by the door, hoping that he still could make it to leave the room. "No, thank you. I still have several reports to be submitted today. When Captain will return? I need his signatures."
Seri lifted her face with a dark look looming it. "He has a meeting outside. Afterward, he is done for the day."
Fushimi clicked his tongue, grumbling under his breath. "Tsk…running away from his job again."
However, before he could continue his rambling inaudibly, a stern voice snapped at him. "Fushimi, stop it. Today is an important day for him."
Fushimi raised an eyebrow at her before finally something clicked in his mind. As soon as he realized it, he lowered his gaze and his expression softened. "I see. A year has passed, huh. Time sure flies."
Seri made a noise like an agreement but none of them spoke anymore since they had known what the other would say. They simply stared at the closed glass windows, watching at the withering trees outside and the snow-colored cloud floated away like sea waves, painstakingly slow but mesmerizing. Their thoughts went for a certain cobalt-haired king who was wandering on the bustling city, with a heart as silent as an iceberg.
The beautiful, young girl in her twenties blushed prettily before him, and her rosy lips were smiling all the time. Pure innocence sparkled behind her eyes like a clear mirror. Her golden hair waved down, framing her petite face as some of the strands were tied into neat braid behind her head and tied with a plain-colored crimson ribbon. Her pristine-white one piece dress up above her knees rustled as she crossed her legs gracefully like a royal princess. Her voice was melodic like a well-played tune of grand piano that was pleasant to anyone's ears.
Munakata suavely smiled before her and stirred his bland-flavored Earl Grey scented tea with a small, silver spoon, making small comments in every line of her words, pretending as if he was listening. He had preferred to meet in traditional-style tea café since he loved their authentic taste, but the lady had personally requested him to entertain her to modern one instead. He was not a discourteous man who would refuse at woman's request, thus there he was, spending his noon in a café not to his fondness, in companion of a fine-looking stranger.
"And I ask my father to arrange this meeting. He has praised for your achievement and I would like to see the man he highly regards." The young blonde lifted her teacup and blew it to cool down before she put it to her lips. "And apparently, he is not just boasting."
Munakata copied her gesture and took a sip of his tea. The taste was bitter without artificial table sugar, just like his usual green tea, but it was different kind of bitterness and he disliked the distinction. He was a man of habit. The spirit of exploring for something new and exhilarating was never in his tranquil soul. He only found pleasure in expedition for new things in company of certain crimson-haired friend.
"I am truly flattered, Lady Yukino. Please relay my gratitude for your father, the prime minister." Munakata replied with a pleasant smile, fighting back a sigh. He wanted nothing but to leave this place and to be left alone to his mind, at least for today. Today he started the bleak morning with grieving.
"I want to know more about you, Munakata-san." She giggled courteously. He could see a transparent interest blooming inside her and it pained him since he knew it more than anyone else how unrequited that feeling was. Just like how he once experienced in the hardest way. But he would not lie and offer her a false affection. It was much more brutal than a rejection.
He pushed his eyeglasses up to the bridge of his nose, softly telling her. "I am as well, as a friend, Lady Yukino."
She caught the hint and her smile faltered slightly. Her hand reached for her nape, awkwardly rubbing it as she stammered weakly, avoiding the eye contact. "O-Oh…Are you in relationship, Munakata-san?"
The Blue King stared down at his brown tea with a hollow look. "Was. But I will love that person for another six years."
He did not have to steal a look at her; he can feel her fidgeting uncomfortably across him. He was certain that she would want a private time for herself too, to sort of her withering feeling. He felt guilty for slaughtering that flower before it could even bloom into a bud or even a full blossom, but he would not let her to go through what he had to before. Love was dangled in front of him, as if it was within his reach, when the truth was, it was just an illusion to keep him still and it was actually as distant as a star. Now he resented the years he spent in ignorance for wanting the impossible and for nurturing his feeling into blossom which no one would see or even receive in the end.
Munakata smiled apologetically, already feeling sympathy for her pain. "However, if you don't mind me being a friend, I would love to be your acquaintance. Although my subordinates often tell me that I'm not exactly a pleasant company."
The mood was lightened up a bit and she beamed at him. "That's rude of them. I think you are quite entertaining. I have to thank you for such lovely noon." He nodded courteously and spent his noon in masking his heartache behind his little laughs and smiles.
Yata was walking on the lively road, watching as people passing by while he took Anna's ivory hand in his to make sure that he would not lose her in crowd. He somberly looked around, searching for the florist shop that Kusanagi had mentioned to him. The bartender had left him with a map drawn on a small note and some money to buy any flowers that Anna would pick. The blond told him to accompany the princess since he was busy with preparation and Yata seemed to have nothing to do but tapping his shoes impatiently in the bar.
"Tsk, why don't we just buy the flower from any florist?" Yata clicked his tongue when suddenly he felt a tug on his hand since Anna had stopped in her track. Her ruby eyes were completely focused on the small but luxurious café across the road. Interested of what had distracted her, Yata followed her gaze and narrowed his eyes to see better the object of her vision.
There was a pair of couple sitting by the window, smiling happily from Yata's eyes. But it was no ordinary couple and when he saw the one who sat across the pretty girl, he felt sudden urge to run across the road and shatter the glass window to ruin their flirting moment. He trembled hard from his rage and his fist actually hurt Anna's hand that the little girl had whimpered quietly. Yata abruptly released her hand and apologized quickly. "I'm sorry, Anna! I don't mean to hurt you."
She nodded at him and averted her eyes once again to the familiar Blue King. Yata understood what had perked her interest, and he could not help himself not to scowl at the view, "How dare he, smiling and living happily after killing Mikoto-san?" He knew that Scepter 4 and HOMRA were foes in the field, but at the same time, the interaction between both kings told him that there was something more, possibly friendship, shared between them. When you murdered your own friend, you should not laugh but grieve and ask for forgiveness. That would be the common courtesy. But the Blue King did not seem to even be bothered by spilling Mikoto's blood on his hands and it was still just a year ago.
However, Anna shook her head and gave a scolding look at Yata. "He is not smiling." With that, she pulled Yata's hand and dragged him to finish their errand. The crimson-haired vanguard blinked in wonder at her words. He clearly saw them laughing together like a happy pairing, and that was exactly the reason for his anger, but he did not argue.
Munakata exhaled, blowing a white mist out of his mouth with his breath as he hid his hands inside his jacket pocket. His collar scarf was fully entwined on his neck to protect him from cold. This year, the early winter seemed to be bitterly chilling, much worse than last year. He was not certain whether it was because the season had turned for worse or his heart had frozen all over.
He stole a glance on the big clock standing in the middle of nearby park, taking a note as it pointed at 2:33. The noise of joyful children playing in the park and young mothers gossiping was deafening to his ears. Such bustling sound dimmed down the sound of chirping birds or rustling dying leaves. His heart was heavy and he was not ready to carry his legs to his destination. Thus he took a seat at the most corner of the park, watching at the peaceful sight from far. The white doves flew above his head and some landed near him, pecking on the gravel soil. Not far from the park, he could hear the divine music played from a church and echoed to distant air.
Munakata leaned against the bench park, absorbing the beautiful scene with such barrenness. Such feeling made him wonder. For this exact picture before his eyes, he had thrust his saber through Mikoto's chest and took away the vibrant heartbeat from that existence. In exchange for children's merry laughter and parents' smiles, he paid the price at the cost of Mikoto's life. However, at the end of the deal, his violet eyes no longer saw the scenery as beautiful and energetic as before. Instead, all he could see was gray like the color of ashes.
When he closed his eyes, wishing that he could erase his pain by letting the cold bit into his skin and froze everything of him, something bumped to his leg. He took a peek and looked down to see the object that had bothered his pensive thought was a colorful ball. From the corner of his eyes, there was a little boy running clumsily in his thick winter jacket and a hat toward him. When the child saw Munakata picking up the ball, he waved at him from distance with a big grin. "Uncle, can you throw it back?"
The blue-haired male chuckled, wondering if he looked much older than his real age but he threw it anyway in perfect angle, right into the child's waving hands. The child left him alone again, and Munakata took his cue to leave.
As his feet carried him along the stone pavement, he passed through the church that he had seen before from the park and witnessed a small party in front of its grand door. There was a blissful bride in her stunning white wedding gown and next to her was a groom in his black-clad coat with butterfly necktie, blushing shyly and grinning wide from ear to ear as the crowd cheered for them along the flight of stairs. The flower petals were scattered around them, as if spring had engulfed them, in contradiction to current season. His feeling was torn between happiness for the smiling faces on that warm place and bitterness for reminding him of the forgotten pair of silver band in the most corner of his unopened desk.
He had waited for the right moment, trying to confirm their relationship first before he could take what they had to the next level. Nevertheless, as quick as the winter suddenly came, their bond spiraled down into trash since the night of Colorless King had declared his appearance. When he fought the urge to scream with every fiber of his soul to stop Mikoto from destroying himself, the rings were abandoned at his night table beside the bed they occasionally shared. And when at last the red had left him alone with regret, he locked the ring box in the deepest corner of his desk.
Munakata had steeled himself, made a promise to himself that he would forget about the brash man that he had once loved so much. Every year, he would not remember the man, except for this memorable day. It was difficult, of course, but he kept himself busy with the paper works, to Fushimi's delight, since he no longer dumped most of trivial works on his subordinates. When the night came and the silence of the bedroom was unbearable, the sleeping medication had helped him a lot to go through the night, although the dose had gradually increased and to his worst fear, he might have been too dependent on it. He had sought medical attention to control the dose, and it helped him, but the drug still could not chase away the nightmare.
He dragged his feet away as soon as possible from the church and strode fast along the road until he reached a shop, selling multicolor flowers. Unconsciously he entered the building and looked around, searching for the familiar striking red that matched Mikoto's hair color. His amethyst eyes were drawn to the deep color of crimson roses, blooming majestically but full of thorns. The young florist wearing her apron approached him with a smile, noticing his interest on the red roses.
"Would you like to buy those lovely roses, perhaps for a fair lady? They have just freshly picked this morning."
When he realized his folly for still seeking a dead man even in such a place, a shadow was casted on his eyes and he turned his head to face her with a neutral smile. Even the most ignorant man would recognize the meaning of vermillion-colored roses and he would detest to be reminded of the lost love. "No, it's for a friend who will depart soon."
"In that case, you should bring the white roses." She tilted her head, beaming at him. "A farewell means a new start and it means that you're thinking of that person."
He solemnly nodded at her, "Yes, I believe that would be more appropriate."
With a wreath of snow-colored roses on his shoulder, Munakata passed through the eerily quiet and empty cemetery, paying no heed on the lines of gray-colored stones engraved with names. The sky had considerably darkened with black clouds covering the sunlight and the snow seemed about to fall and painted the darkness that surrounded him into blank white. A crow perched on one of the tombs, cawing as the raven orbs observed his movement. Munakata wondered what would be reflected behind those black pearl eyes of the raven. Was it a man who nonchalantly visited a grave of a friend he had slain or a man who had gone through the living hell?
After an endless walk in such dreary atmosphere, his violet eyes at last caught the name he had uttered and whispered countless times, even now in his haunting dreams. Munakata stood still, watching the name written on the cold block, but his mind did not even register the word. Since the breaking daylight, he had dreaded of this moment, when he would stand before Mikoto's grave, speechless like a mute man. It did not sit well for him to send a prayer. No dead people would love to accept prayer from their executioner. Nevertheless, he could not think of a single thing he should do since when people visited a grave, it was to offer a prayer.
He decided that he could be careless. After all, the grave was built not to provide solace to the dead, but to allow people left behind to remember and overcome the passing.
Kneeling before the grave stone, Munakata laid the bouquet and rummaged his pocket to take out a pack of cigarette and put it beside the wreath. Mikoto's favorite brand. "If you are here, you will probably prefer the cigarette since you have no aesthetic sense at all." The cobalt-strand man chuckled with a hint of bitterness. "At least, these flowers should keep your grave from looking so depressing."
He blew a hot breath to his freezing hands and his cheeks started to flush into the color of sunset because of the chilling air. To his relief, he felt so void that not even a single tear formed before his eyes. Even after Mikoto's death, Munakata would not flatter the latter by showing his grief, at least not in front of his grave. "You know, I really can forget you for most of the times. Just saying that you don't have to worry about me. Just like how you dismiss our relationship without words, I will forget you and memories of you after seven years. You probably no longer remember that it has been seven years since our first meeting back in high school. So I'll still love you for the same overall time of our link before I completely cut ties from you."
A gust of the winter wind blew and tousled his strands into messy hair. When he glanced up, small flakes danced in slow tune and gracefully fell onto the damp concrete and melted into a blotch of water. Munakata hurriedly combed his hair with his hand to put the strands away from his face and tightened the loosening scarf on his collar before he shot up, taking a step away from the grave. Before leaving, he threw a last look at Mikoto's name and whispered in low voice that was carried away by the breeze. "If there is a second-life, may our fates never intertwine anymore. No matter how many lives, I will never forgive you. You, who have made me to feel that the world seem unworthy to protect anymore."
He sighed into the thin air with a white mist coming out from his lips as he whirled around and traced back his footsteps to where his entire world now remained. The snowflakes had begun to pour down from the dust-colored sky, little by little piling up and covering the world into pure white color. It made his feeling better with the depressing graveyard being blanketed by sparkling lights. Shutting close his eyes, he tilted his head up and took a deep inhale of the wintry air with parted lips, trying to taste the first snow of the last season of the year. One flake dropped on his cheek, melting instantly at the touch of his body warmth and it trickled down like unshed tears down to edge of his lips. The snow tasted nothing, just as clear as the color of dove's feathers.
"See you next year, Suoh." For six years more, Munakata would keep the previous memories of them inside before he would bottle it up and bury it deep in the sea of his stormy heart.
The young girl in her rustling flowery red dress carried a wreath of roses painted in her favorite color in her embrace, being careful not to crumple the fragile flowers. She had been waiting to come here for a whole day that she walked much faster in front of her friends, who were conversing actively among them like chirping birds of spring. When her eyes caught the stone block she had sought, Anna smiled cheerfully and started running closer until she noticed the fresh bouquet of roses lying on Mikoto's grave, withering slightly under the extreme cold weather.
She knelt down and put down her flowers beside the old one and grabbed her marbles out of her pockets. Her ruby eyes took in the colors of the world through the glass marbles and she gasped quietly when the little strain realized that someone had brought white roses instead of red, which told her that it was not from one of HOMRA members. Her little fingers reached out and touched the feathery petals gently, and her smile had vanished a little into a bittersweet one.
"So he really comes, Mikoto."
"What's wrong, Anna?" Kusanagi startled her from behind with a curious look before he also noted the previous wreath that had been placed before their arrival. "Who brings that white roses? I thought no one would know this place except us."
Anna only dusted off her cloth as she stood up and stared at him through her petite shoulder with an impartial look before she threw a glance at Yata, who did not notice as he still argued with Bandou at the group behind.
The bartender was silent for a moment before he whispered under his breath to her like a shared secret. "Is it from Blue King?"
She abruptly snapped her head up to face Kusanagi in surprise before she lowered her gaze again and nodded weakly. The blond sighed and smiled at her as he patted the crown of her head. "I have nothing against him. After all, this is what Mikoto wants." He had been acquainted with his best friend for a long time that he did not need the fiery king to tell him that Mikoto only trusted the Blue King to end his life. "Let's just tell the others it's probably mislaid flowers so they won't throw it away." He finally said with his forefinger on his lips with a secretive wink.
Anna replied with a little smile and nodded, while expectantly waiting for the rest of HOMRA members to catch up and gather.
The end. Sorry, I just like poetic songs and literatures, so I tend to try writing one. :D It might be boring for most people though, hahaha~ I think this one is more like a prequel for Hourglass, fufufu.
For people who are interested with the translation I've mentioned before, here you go. Once again, I remind you, it's not mine.
A crowd of bloodthirsty ants are drawn by rotting flesh
I watch the lonely scenery with an expressionless face
Having lost you, love and hate becomes clear
Having lost you, is there anything left to care about
When the doves no longer represent peace
I've finally been reminded, that those feeding in the plaza are, in fact, vultures,
I use beautiful rhymes to describe a love that has been plundered empty
Ah, black clouds begin to obstruct [the sky], the color of the night is unclean
Echoes of that funeral in the park, are flying all through the sky
The white rose that [ I ] gave to you has withered in this environment of pure darkness
On branches, the silence of the crows creates a surreal atmosphere
Listening quietly, my black overcoat yearns to provide you warmth
A memory that grows colder with each passing day, a life that's gone,
Ah, fog fills the air all around
Ah, I am in an open cemetery
[ I will ] still love you after I've aged
For you [ I ] play Chopin's Nocturne
To commemorate this deceased love of mine
Just like a wind in the night
So heartbreakingly beautiful
[ I ] gently stroke the keys
The longing that I gave was very tentative
You are buried in a place called the afterlife
For you [ I ] play Chopin's Nocturne
To commemorate this desceased love of mine
And for you I've become anonymous
Playing the piano under the moonlight
The feeling of your heartbeat
Is still so warm and clear
I remember the scarlet imprint of you lips
Those dragonflies who have lost their wings, are scattered in this forest
And yet my eyes do not show a shred of sympathy
Having lost you, my tears are murky and blurred
Having lost you, even my smile holds shadows
The wind on the moss-covered rooftop
Ridicules my sadness
Like a waterless well
I use an exquisite font-type
To depict that love which not even regret will bring back