Munakata's head was spinning. The world around him seemed to get farther and farther away with the more time that passed. He struggled to maintain his balance, desperately ignoring the blood still lingering on his hands as he laid Mikoto's body in the gathering snow. Part of him wanted to stay, let the snow cover his body as well, and let this war end. He could give up… leave the tasks to Awashima… she always liked the attention anyway.

"No," he muttered to himself. I'm a King. I can't leave my clansmen. But they didn't matter. He knew that, even though it killed him. They had never mattered. The only thing; well, person that had ever mattered, was gone…

Mikoto was so stubborn. He always had been. Even back in high school, stealing Munakata's glasses… refusing to give them back until he kissed him in the hallway. Memories fluttered to the forefront of his mind… all the heated embraces… it twisted his gut to remember. Placing his glasses, back on his head, he turned to return to the Blues. They would be waiting, straight faces desperate not to show any emotion. Maybe Fushimi might even cry tonight. He knew the boy still cared for the Reds… well, one Red clansman in particular. Yata Misaki was his name; or so Munakata had been told. Mikoto had let it slip one night in between sharing a bottle of Vodka. He had caught them one night upon returning from a job, tangled in each other's arms; Misaki's moans audible from down the hall. Mikoto had chuckled and accepted it. That's just how he did things. Besides, he wasn't one to talk, fraternizing with the enemy… Enemies. How petty. It all seemed so petty now. Maybe the rest of them could move on now. After all, the Silver King had returned… maybe peace was possible. But Munakata's heart would never be at peace, not while Mikoto was dead, never.

Before turning around, Munakata noticed something dark in the snow lying on the ground. Mikoto's jacket, he thought. No… I really shouldn't. Against his better judgment, Munakata picked up the jacket, folding it over his arm, and dusting the snow off the sleeves. He could feel the fur hood against his fingers, soft… like Mikoto's hair… He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He forced them down and swallowed.

He heard screaming everywhere. Yata Misaki's wails the loudest of them all. It was as if the tears were audible, the pain tangible. Everyone was suffering. He spotted Fushimi standing in the distance, the only one not in the vans ready to go back to Scepter4 headquarters. They had won after all. He looked… empty. There was no pain in his eyes, not like there usually was. He knew from the very beginning this young man's intentions upon joining his clan. Revenge. He wasn't desperate to find a home, or worship Munakata, or preserve justice. He wanted Yata Misaki to notice him and he would do whatever it took. Munakata had almost smiled when he figured it out. He could sympathize obviously and he welcomed Fushimi with open arms.

He ushered Fushimi to follow him into the van, watching as Fushimi's eyes finally drifted away from Yata Misaki and he followed Munakata. Reisi placed his hand on Fushimi's back and smiled at him. He felt that same pain.

Awashima tried to make conversation on the way back, only making it awkward for everyone in the van, and eventually she just stopped talking. When they reached headquarters, Munakata ignored everyone who tried to speak to him, grabbed the vodka out of the freezer and went to his room. He needed to be alone. He didn't know for how long. Days. Months. Years. He had no idea how long this grieving would take.

Sitting down on his bed, he unscrewed the cap to the bottle and took a swig. It burned like none other. The first drink always did. He was never a heavy drinker, some of his clansmen were and he knew how to deal with it, but he never saw the appeal… not until now. As he consumed more alcohol, his mind started to go numb. He knew he was killing brain cells. Not that he gave a fuck. Suddenly he remembered the neglected jacket he had dumped on the bedside table on his way in. Staggering over to it, he pulled Mikoto's jacket on and pulled the hood over his head, continuing to drink. He couldn't even taste the alcohol at this point; he could feel his world becoming grey. He would never see the color red again. His blue color would fade. His sword of Damocles would fall. He didn't even want to be King anymore. The world was ugly anyway.

Tears. He tasted them before he knew he was crying. "Fuck," he swore, biting his lip. He had sworn he wasn't going to cry, even though he knew it was a lie as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He tightened the jacket closer to his body, suddenly feeing very cold. Shivering, he grabbed the bottle, only the find out that it was empty. "I drank all that? Damn, I'm losing it." He breathed heavily when he heard a knock on the door. Shit. He did not need anyone to see him like this.

"Go away," He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible.

The door opened anyway and Fushimi walked in, closing the door behind him. Munakata released the breath he didn't know he was holding. Fushimi. I can handle him.

"Are you okay?" Fushimi knew this was a stupid question as soon as he asked it. He knew Reisi wouldn't be okay, but he asked it anyway.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Munakata tried to form the sentence, realizing how heavy the words were on lips.

"Wow. You really are drunk."

"Am not."

Fushimi just chuckled and sat down next to his boss, and only friend. He knew the words were going to flow out of him soon, and it was better if someone could listen and provide support.

"I love him."

The words tumbled out before Munakata had realized what he said. Fushimi was stunned for a second. He had never actually heard Reisi confess his feelings for Mikoto, though he knew the general idea of their relationship.

"You should go see him."

Fushimi was startled, "Who?" He asked quietly.

"You know who. I'm sure he's hurting as much as you. He needs you. He's always needed you."

"Munakata, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." Fushimi look down at his feet. His chest burned.

"You're right, I am drunk. Because the man I am utterly in love with is dead." Munakata paused, choking as sobs wracked his lithe frame. "Yours is not. Go to him."

Fushimi instantly felt disgusted with himself. He tried to picture a world without Misaki. He tried to feel Reisi's pain. He felt sick to his stomach. That red head bore deep into his heart a long time ago, tearing apart everything he believed in, and setting his life ablaze. Red was his color. It always had been.

All Fushimi could do was nod. He kissed Reisi on the top of the head and turned to leave. With his back turned, he heard Reisi's voice call out to him.

"He loves you. I see the way he looks at you. He loves you so much that it pains him to be near you. Don't ever let him go." Tears overtook the last part of his sentence, causing Fushimi to cry. Shutting the door behind him, Fushimi broke into a run. He had to find him. "Misaki, please don't have hurt yourself," he mumbled softly, pushing his body even harder. "Don't die on me now."

I need you.

I love you.

Munakata watched Fushimi go, knowing he had made his point. He pulled the jacket tight around his body and curled up on his side. The alcohol had made him sleepy; tears staining his face, he attempted sleep. He knew nightmares would claim him, but he needed today to end. Somewhere inside he silently prayed the alcohol would poison him, taking him far away, allowing him to see Mikoto one last time. For the first time in his life, he felt colorless. Blue is such a cold color anyway. He had always wanted to feel red.