'Time heals all wounds' or so they say. In some case those wound do not heal. Only cover themselves with regret or worse. The what's if-
The what if seem to play out in your mind when you're alone. Easily overcome with a bottle of bourbon and a fresh pack of cancer sticks. Living above his friend's bar 'Homra' free drinks came easily. All he had to do was move from bed, he calls home since he barely leaves it.
Hearing the bar door chimes sing, he groaned knowing he wasted another night not sleeping. "Morning Mikoto." was yelled up the stairs. "You better be alive up there. I don't want your corpse smelling up my bar!" Follow short after Izumo 'friendly' greeting.
Mikoto doubt his friend could hear the grunt as he reply with another warning. "Quit mopping it was for the best."
Grunting pushing himself off the sweat soak bed from a wicked nightmare. Staring at the dream catcher someone made for him. In hopes, it would stop those dreams. Yet someone that precious couldn't be replace with beads and strings.
Grabbing some clothes he declare 'clean' something that not a hassle to put on. Long sleeve shirt with jammy pants is fitting for his lazy day. February 14th, Mikoto Suoh lazy day of sleeping, rolling over and sleep some more. A perfect day blasting music about heartache, burring someone you love in the backyard, a reckless love affair, burning everything to ground and finally one song was sneaked in thanks to his dumb-ass friend downstairs.
A song fill with what if that's been plagued his mind since that day. The day he finally push someone so far away from him. Mikoto doubts they will ever met again. Beside short phone calls that are fill with his lies of 'yeah I'm fine, why do you ask?'
Just hearing that voice over the phone, Mikoto could picture someone facial expression. Curled up nose, overly bright smile. "Just like a guy would say, King. You do know that I know you better than anyone. Wanna try that again, King? Wanna tell me what's wrong?"
Truth be told no words could be said from him. Being either to stubborn, to prideful or just to lazy. Opening admitting feeling never been Mikoto style. Who would want to be in love with an unstable bomb?
That precious person with that irritating happy go lucky outlook on life always wearing that beautiful smile on those soft lips.
Glancing at the photo which hung near the bathroom door. A picture that spoke a thousand unsaid words on both their parts. It was taken right before his temper got the best of him. Saying things he didn't mean, doing things that wasn't him. Hurtful words stab the heart of the most precious person in the world. Throwing a lamp and chair past someone hoping they would just get away from him. Letting him shut out the world around him.
Counting down to the days, hours, minutes, even seconds that has past since the day he called it quits. In his wordless defense priceless, precious gems shouldn't mix with someone like him. Some thug with a shady past who seem to draw all sort of trouble to him. The type of trouble that always got someone caught up in.
~ Flashback ~
"Come on, King, you have to play along. The rule state: those who are touching the bar must play along. Izumo, you have to play too!" A question and answer game that brat heard about and had to try it as a new hobby.
"Fine, as the old man here. I'll set the example. What's my first question?" Izumo always act like an old grandpa of their gang.
"Once you're married to 'the one', what do you see your first born as?" The kid always had a few screw lost but asking this right off the bat. Without any warm up question took guts. "It's just a game, Izumo. Why are you sweaty?"
Taking one or two shot of whiskey before replying. As he thought of one person he wouldn't mind settling down with. "A little girl with her mother nose." Picturing a little girl with curly golden hair, brown eyes. That wouldn't be so bad. If only he had the balls to step up and ask. Yet he couldn't step on anyone toes. So Izumo step back from that idea.
"Alright, King, same question?" Like he would open up about a future he knew would never happen. He wouldn't live long enough to have. His reply was a quick knock on the game host head. "Didn't like that question, King. I can try another one if you want."
"Brat." Was his only reply that whole night.
~ end ~
What would of happen if he spoken up about settling down in a nice apartment, hell even getting a house big enough for them plus one. A son, maybe, strawberry blond with his amber eyes. Maybe have his attitude with someone's outlook on life. ' Don't sweat it. Everything will work out in the end.'
"Bullshit." he mumbled to himself in the shower, snapping his mind out of those lies. Truth be told, Mikoto wanted a place to call their own. Yet that place had no floors, no walls, no roof. That place to call 'home' came in a form of slender arms wrapping his neck, a comfy lap to rest his head on for his afternoon naps. Listening to someone non-stop talking were like lullabies that smooth away any- if not all nightmares.
That was the 'home' Mikoto wanted to call his own. Giving that brat someone to cling to, to stay out of bad weather with, to get into trouble with.
Anyone with the letter 'T' in their name were surround in trouble. In turns Tatara Totsuka was a troublemaker in every way of life.
Noticing a small but very noticeable smile reflecting back to him as he shaved. Just thinking of that name cause such joy that couldn't be hidden. Cursing in a soft groan. "Shit."
Months, days, even years stop mattering to the former King of a band of delinquent punks named HOMRA. Which meant he paid no attention to Anna's calendar in the hallway at the top of the stairs. A huge heart sticker covering up the small box. Hiding what the date is. February 14th. She wasn't trying to make the day disappear but what was written under the sticker.
Mikoto bypasses the wildlife calendar, lighting up his cigarette as his heavy boots stomp down the wooden stairs that creek with every step. The bar was already filled with noise of chatter. Yet the light seeping through the blinds. It was to bright to be happy hour.
The bar hasn't sound this lively for the past five years. Not since that day he renounce his title as King. The roaming lion couldn't handle being tied down. Once the make believe fantasy came crashing down.
The weakness King mind game, open Mikoto eyes. December 7th was the day he knew what life was. Nothing could change that. Not someone complete undying faith could fix the ticking time bomb. The colorless King mind game with a body double of her. Murder the walls to his make believe life of happiness.
Twelve days. It took to learn the truth. To realize he never had what it took to be the King, she always seen. To know he would drop the sword on himself once the reason to keep going was taken from him.
That day played out like he was watching one of her record movie. The picture would shook and jerk about as each scene play out. Before it become a jumbled mess.
"King, I'm right here. Everything okay now." Those words spark the fight that force his temper to get the better of him.
Thoughts like that Mikoto couldn't erase. No matter how hard he tried. "I never believe in love at first sight until this little man was born." Overhearing his former vanguard talking with Izumo about her son. Mikoto has yet to met. "Is he?"
Make his presence known or remain in the shadow of the stairs case. Not being the Red King has it pros. There no aura to give him distaste. Not that Mikoto distaste his former clansmen. Far from it. The loudmouth and boy genius heal old wounds for a moment. Yata gave away to being know as Fushimi. Suoh didn't bother going to the small wedding. Pass on the baby shower. Didn't put in effort into visiting her.
"Alight, I guess it later, Kusanagi."
"Take care, Yata-chan." Waiting to hear the door chimes before entering out. Tapping on the bar for his drink to start the day. " You could at least let them know you still live, Mikoto. After all we couldn't of asked for a better former King."
"Quit living in the past. What's done is done." Finishing his bourbon on the rocks before asking for something stronger to get the memories of the past to stop playing. It would of been easier if her hobbies weren't around. The old jukebox still whine out songs from their youth. That she could sing from the heart. Those type of song that could take you into years past.
"I guess you're right. Walking down memory lane not Homra's style anymore." Glancing over his shoulder at the 'wall of fame' as Tatara named it. A small collection of photo of the former red clan.