Their first kiss was an accident, really.
Misaki caught sight of Saruhiko strolling randomly around with a blank face and dark-bagged eyes, and he yelled unthinkingly. The blue was oddly mellow that day, only threw half-hearted insults as well as sloppy knives throwing. After a particular failed attack, Saruhiko was unable to block Misaki's bat going straight to his head.
Misaki only had half a second to react when he realized this. For all the fusses about killing the traitor, he would rather burn himself to ashes than embrace Saruhiko's lifeless body with blood tainted hands.
The vanguard tried to halt his attack by turning his wrist fast, twisting the bones in the process. Even so, the inertia did a good job at making both of them suffer as the bat hit Saruhiko's shoulder and Misaki crashed into the other's chest. The strike sent the blue clansman knocking back first into a wall, then fumbled toward and collapsed onto Misaki, pinning the redhead to the ground. Their lips somehow found themselves pressing against each other in such an awkward position.
Misaki was shocked and embarrassed to an inch of his life. Saruhiko seemed to be just as bewildered but minus the embarrassment. Actually, it was safer to say Saruhiko looked like he was going to have a panic attack.
Before Misaki could even shout or peel the taller guy off, Saruhiko scrambled back with sheer terror in his eyes, then ran away at full speed without a word.
Misaki lied there for a minute, staring at the moving blue figure. Even though confusion filled his mind, he couldn't help but laugh.
.
.
Every once in a while, Saruhiko would seek him out. Very actively. Almost in a feverish manner.
These times, the traitor either literally crashed into him without giving a damn about whatever he was doing, or tailed him like a shadow and called his name tauntingly over and over again until he threw up a good fight. Just like that, for years.
"It's as if Fushimi's caught a bad cold", said Kusanagi with a light smile, after he complained about yet another unpleasant encounter with Saruhiko at a summer day in July, "and Misaki-chan is his medicine."
"...Hah?"
On the couch, Totsuka, who was fixing the strings of his guitar, chuckled a bit. "That's one way to say it."
"What the hell does that even mean?" Misaki scowled. There it was. The feeling that somehow, everyone shared a mutual secret which he didn't have a slightest idea about.
Heavy stepping sounds interrupted them, implying that the red king was walking down the stairs. Mikoto yawned and rubbed his messy hair, moving toward Totsuka with a slight frown.
"...Tatara."
"King. Couldn't sleep?" The young blond man smiled softly.
"...Hm."
Mikoto flopped down the couch and lied there, head close to Totsuka's thigh but not quite touching it.
"Tatara."
"Yes, yes. Everything's fine."
Picking his guitar up, Totsuka played a soft, sweet melody. It could be a lullaby or an old love song. Within minutes, the king silently fell asleep again.
"Perhaps, regardless of how different King and Fushimi are, as fellow human beings they're surprisingly similar." The Homra vassal glanced at Misaki, smiled almost pitying.
"That traitor has nothing even close to as great as Mikoto-san." He snarled, even though flashes of memory sparked in his mind.
Bunk beds. Stormy night. Waking up in the middle of the night to find a warm body pressing against him. Moring when the first thing he saw was an upside-down head from the top bed. His own blanket wrapping tightly around Saruhiko as the boy curled on the bottom bed at the night Misaki got home late. Afternoon when the blue-haired boy abruptly stomped in the Homra's bar and dragged him to the game arcade without telling any explanation or accepting any objection.
"...Che. Guess what, stupid monkey. I'm human too."
.
.
Learning to drink milk was a tedious process.
Yes, the white liquid tasted terrible. Yes, its smell made him sick. Yes, his stomach protested loudly when he drank too fast to get it over with. All of these were undoubtedly annoying.
Yet the most annoying thing was that whenever he lost his courage, he unconsciously pushed the glass of milk aside with a snide remark about why people must drink something from a cow's breasts anyway, a monkey like you didn't get it either, huh, so just drank it al-
Then he remembered.
Gripping the glass, he forced the milk down in one go. It was always an effective motivation for him to learn how to drink milk.
He still bought too much meat for his own good, and sometimes Kamamoto complained about him stealing vegetable from the fatty's plate.
.
.
"Then that damn monkey goes like, hehe Mi~~sa~~~ki~~ virgin midget hehe fluffy doggie pokemon or some shit! He even fucking punched me in the face!" Misaki growled, pointing in his injury like a child complained to his parents.
"Yeah, yeah. Same old same old tale, I've heard all that before." Chitose rolled his eyes in what supposed to be a joking attitude. "You never shut up about him."
"Stupid chihuahua." Erik booed from the corner.
"Hey! Say that again and you'll be my sandbag for this week!"
Bandou sighed. "Why don't you just ignore that bastard?"
"I'd do it if it's that easy. Try staying calm when a dumb monkey keeps stretching your fucking name in various degrees of creepy tones and shitting on everything you love!"
"Err..." said Shouhei a little confusedly, "that sounds kind of abusive, doesn't it?"
"Hahhh? Are you implying I'm a weak-ass abused baby?"
"Nah it's like a whole high level of emotional abusive. In short, you shouldn't hang around with that sort of people, it's a waste of time and energy. They'll only drain you and give nothing in return. Just let them alone."
Heh, as if he didn't know that. However knowing and doing are different matters entirely. Leave Saruhiko alone? If he did, who knew what that guy would do. Did Saruhiko even have at least a friend to keep him sane like a normal person should? Misaki had a knack that if he ever ignored Saruhiko entirely, the consequence would kill him with insufferable regret.
"Yeah. Saru is like poison. He'd be the death of me." He closed his eyes and let his head hang low. "But, i don't know, for some weird reasons, I just can't walk away."
He lied. He knew the reasons.
It's always the happiest thing that hurt the most.
.
.
"Everything will be just fine, neh. Cheer up, Yata-chan." Totsuka pat his head. "Fushimi must have his reasons."
"Having reasons doesn't make him less of a jerk." Misaki sulked. Sounded reasonable, but it was a poor attempt of retort, they both knew it.
If Misaki was absolutely honest with himself, he admitted that he had been an insensitive bratty friend to Saruhiko back then when the blue-haired boy was in Homra. Knowing a fraction about his friend's family condition, he thought he ought to know better than leaving Saruhiko alone under the excuse of "giving him space".
Maybe it was really his fault that the aloof boy went away.
"You miss him." The blond man sighed and poked his forehead
"I'm not. Who the fuck cares about that traitor anyway?"
"You should. I think Fushimi misses you too."
"You're suck at telling jokes, Totsuka-san." Misaki clicked his tongue and turned away.
Totsuka only smiled a faraway, unreadable smile.
.
.
There were several times Misaki managed to pry a tiny little confession out of Saruhiko in the middle of their more serious battles. Or it was more like he could see a spark of the truth hidden deep under layers and layers of dark thorns and needles.
"It's always Mikoto-san and Homra and comrades for you. Won't you just open your damn eyes and see that these are all worthless temporary garbage?" Saruhiko swung his saber down, only to be blocked by the skateboard. "Don't be so arrogant just because you think you belong to somewhere! The moment you advert your eyes everything will be gone. Gone!"
They never ended well, though.
"Misaki...I betrayed you, remember? Focus on the fight already." A strike, then a twist of sword. "I'm returning the favour."
Ah.
"The past is an illusion. This is the truth. Look at the me now, Misaki. Am I not a better person in a better place than your bunch of stupid punks?" Sharp cut that was too close to stab him in the stomach, but unnaturally missed for a few suspicious centimeters.
Like a haze caused of blood loss...
"You're pathetic, Mi—sa—ki, so blind and full of yourself, always using that brainless head to do the thinking for others even though you understand nothing!" Flaming knives flied through the air and blue shields pushed him off. "Get this through you thick skull: I was never you comrade and I'll never be!"
...these lies made him dizzy.
.
.
"Saru. You're crazy." Misaki whispered as he breathed franticly in the kiss they were sharing. The smell of alcohol was so strong it made him slightly drunk even when the dead drunk one was Saruhiko.
"...Am I?"
"You are. You're fucking crazy. Insane. You freak me out so much it's maddening."
"Hm..."
Another wet, clumsy kiss. Saruhiko had him pin on the floor.
"Che...it's fine, though. I guess I'm out of my mind too."
Misaki opened his arms and took everything that was given to him. He didn't like the taste of whisky, but Saruhiko's touches were surprisingly gentle and innocent in a strange way. It wasn't so bad.
Some of the knives hidden inside Saruhiko's coat cut his palms by accident. He didn't stop, nonetheless.
.
.
After Totsuka and Mikoto's death, Misaki's days were just long hours after hours of mourning. The sun was bright red, he started to hate it. The sky was so blue, he didn't love it anymore. The once colourful, lively world he was bathing in now seemed like nothing more than a faded dream.
Everyone just left and no one explained a thing.
What was it that he couldn't see? There must be something. Out there, behind the dense fog, mocking him. Who was it that said ignorance is bliss? He was dying slowly and painfully, precisely because of how unbelievable ignorant he was.
He groggily stood up, just in time to briefly catch in the corner of his eyes a familiar shade of blue outside the bar's window. It was gone the second he turned around to take a better look. It might just be his wishful imagination.
However, his instinct helpfully poked in right at that moment, providing him with a small fact that it was rather peaceful recently - less and less Homra's enemies showing up, months passing without a bitter meeting with a certain blue clansman.
He wrecked his head to think if, even by 0.0001%, these two strange matters might somehow relate.
.
.
"Your Homra flame...even if it's back it's not your precious Suoh Mikoto's flame anymore. That guy will never come back! You're nothing but a hopeless kid chasing after an imaginary hero!"
Misaki hissed as a knife plunged itself into his arm, still the pain shooting through his veins was not even close to the pain the felt in his chest upon the poisonous words of his once best friend.
"What's wrong, Mi-sa-ki? Don't stay on the ground for too long, it'd look like you're kneeling before me!" Saruhiko smirked.
"Shut the fuck up!"
With all his strength, he kicked the skateboard straight to the blue clansman. In a fleeting moment in which Saruhiko dodged it, he grasped the tail of long blue coat and yanked it down harshly. They stumbled down the ground, with Misaki straddled the other, his hands clenching tight around Saruhiko's collar.
"Just shut your fucking mouth, shitty monkey!"
"Make me." Saruhiko grinned, sounding eerily relaxed for someone in such helpless situation.
Misaki didn't know what he was doing anymore. Red or blue, friend or foe, love or hatred, who cared? A punch in the face and a kiss on the neck were all the same in their little twisted world. Blood drops were as breathtaking as feather-light touches. A game so painful of constant pushing and pulling, and Saruhiko was always the winner. Somehow. Someway.
But not this time, Misaki grit his teeth. No, not this time.
"Fine."
In that moment, he threw everything out of his head. Every single piece of happy memory, every shred of hope. All the nervousness, embarrassment, hesitance, confusion, he let go of them, like sand ran through loose fingers. He felt as if he was consumed by pure anger, with his heart burnt to ashes by an uncontrollable hellfire.
He crashed his lips onto Saruhiko's, intended to show domination and rage. Hot, harsh, painful – biting and pulling and drawing blood. It was everything but a kiss. Blurred visions, tangled limps, mingled breaths, bruised grips, they were trying to drown each other, all the while sinking deeper down in their own scattered world of broken mirrors.
As the redhead moved down, Saruhiko tilted his head back to show his alabaster neck with a light smile. It wasn't a sign of surrender. If anything, it was an offering - Saruhiko was sacrificing himself, willing to let Misaki feed on his blood and flesh.
"Do it." Saruhiko whispered. And Misaki didn't know whether that was a plea for sexual favour or an invitation to strangle the blue to death.
Sharp teeth gazed on the throbbing vein at the middle of Saruhiko's neck, and then bit down hard, like a lion granting death on its prey. Saruhiko let out a choked noise, tensed up in pain despite what he had said. The mark was dark purple and obvious, making both of them feel oddly connected.
Yet that was stupid, Misaki thought as he ripped the blue clansman's shirt to pieces, because their connecting string had been cut a long time ago. In that dark alley. Half of him had already gone.
Or had it?
Saruhiko grabbed Misaki's hand to stop him going further, yet couldn't make it in time. Misaki stared at the tainted Homra insignia and tasted the anger beginning to melt on the tip of his tongue. He didn't know whether he was feeling indescribable hurt or had numbness had already taken over the hollow space where his heart should have been.
"Misaki?"
Wanting to love. Being hurt. Wanting to be loved. Hurting the other. Swaying round and round. Reeling each other in. Kicking each other away. Dancing with knives and flame. Kissing with bitter poisons. So close. Yet worlds apart.
Why must it turn out this way?
He lowered himself down, hovering above Saruhiko's collarbones. Shoulders trembling and breath shuddering, Misaki closed his eyes tight to prevent the tears from spilling out.
"Damn it. Why, Saruhiko?"
Why? Why did you go? Why did you change? You still care, I know it. Why did you mend and break my heart? Why did you pull me in your torturous game?
"Say something." Misaki choked out, burying his head deep in the joint between the traitor's shoulder and neck. "You know I'm an idiot, so spell it to me clearly."
Cold silence stabbed his ears and burnt his throat.
"Tell me. Goddamnit! Say something, anything! Saruhiko! Why did you betray Homra? Why did you betray me? If you don't say anything how dare you even expect me to understand?"
A pair of hands gently wrapped around his torso, soft kisses placed on the top of his head like spring rain falling on withered leaves. The sudden gentleness was like toxic that seeped through his skin, burning him in unbearable chaos of confusion, driving him crazy. Weak punches were thrown on slender chest. Shaking fingers scratched exposed shoulders. Misaki collapsed on the other man and let the tears drop, screaming his inside out with hoarse, crumbled voice.
Saruhiko didn't move away.
But he also wouldn't answer.
No matter how much Misaki prayed he was wrong, he understood it as "You don't understand, so just keep hating me".
A thousand mistakes. A thousand failures. Broken and damaged. Yet they never learnt.