When he was younger, his mother had a doll.
Not anything like a doll to play with. This doll was one for show, for receiving looks from people with too much money and too much time. Businessmen and women, philanthropists, even the lucky millionaires that did nothing, would look at the doll that was proudly displayed in the case in the main room of the Fushimi mansion and would comment on its beauty. It would stare back with lifeless black eyes, clothed in a frilly pale silver dress that accentuated it's pale skin and dark hair. Truly, it was beautiful. In a haunting way.
Fushimi would often stare at it and it would stare right back, both of their eyes holding the same emotion.
His mother, Kisa, loved the dolls. He thought- no, he knew- that her dolls were more precious to her than he was. She would buy them and primp them, keeping them at top condition. A maid once scratched the eyeball of one of the dolls- unnoticeable to most, but not his mother. No, she instantly knew. She demanded in a cold voice for the maid to explain, and she did.
The next day, Fushimi noticed her absence and nothing was said about it.
Kisa would often make harmless comments to guests. Things like 'There's a certain beauty to things that look amazing and don't have the ability to speak' and 'The most beautiful things in life are silent'.
His mother thought him beautiful.
She told him that over and over again, and he was used to not talking. Because he was beautiful. Because his mother paid attention to him when he was still and didn't talk, contrary to what he knew was normal. He went to school, saw kids interacting with one another. He saw how they got the teacher's attention. Even when they were trying to act like that's not what they were doing. He, however, did the opposite of those stupid kids. He did not speak, did not move. It was often that he got left behind because of that while the class did a group activity outside or in the art room. The teachers lost him multiple times, only to return and find him in the same spot he had been when they'd left.
The principal called a parent meeting for it. To apologize for the mistakes his faculty had made and to ensure it wouldn't happen again. He acted like Fushimi had told his parents. He hadn't, he was silent as always.
His father, Niki, laughed, like it was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard in his entire life. His mother cooed at him, calling him a doll and what a good boy he was.
He just looked at her with emotionless eyes, like he'd learned to do.
She had other dolls, but the one he frequently stared at on the top shelf all by itself caught Fushimi's eyes. It looked almost like him- if he were a girl and dead. So he often stared at it, as if to try to understand where it had came from and why his mother loved it more than him.
By the time he was ten, he didn't care.
By the time he was fifteen, he had escaped and now shivered at the memories.
By the time he was in Homra, he was squirming in the bed he shared with Yata and crying out in a choked voice in his sleep in unrecognizable words. Doll. Glass. Eyes. Black. Break.
Break.
Break.
Yata had only heard him whimpering the words once. Yata was so concerned, wondering if the horror film about dolls had gotten to him. It had. But not in the way he thought. He'd been careful after that.
So Fushimi just clicked his tongue and feigned indifference, telling him to shut up and that the movie was too stupid to be scary.
He spent his Homra days in mostly a jealous daze. He didn't know it was jealousy. Everyone else seemed to, but he didn't. He was frustrated by the emotion.
So, of course, he did the only thing he knew to do.
The next day, Fushimi 'betrayed' Homra and joined Scepter 4.
The day after that, he realized he couldn't escape the emotion he was feeling and gave up.
So he just glanced around and barely tried to do any of his work, only putting in a little effort when Munakata's faithful dog Awashima started snapping at his heels. He kept silent, other than an irritated click of his tongue, and barely said a word to anyone. He heard the whispered rumors about him- 'The Red King cut out his tongue when he said one rude word to him' 'Idiot, then why does he click it at us all the time and look annoyed?'- but he couldn't muster up enough emotion to care. He only had two real emotions.
Irritation and Yata Misaki.
His Misaki counted as its own emotion, because he couldn't describe the swirl of feeling when he was around him. Possessiveness, jealousy, longing, sadness, fear, betrayal, anger, anger, anger-
So yes. Yata was an emotion. And he was the only emotion that Fushimi really let himself express.
Other than that, he was a doll.
The perfect doll his mother had groomed and smiled at and praised and loved-
Not perfect, not perfect, a scar here, a burn there-
Perfect.
Fushimi didn't think he was perfect. But he knew his mother thought that. He didn't let it go to his head. No, he was only confused by the notion. And he was angry that he was confused. It was complex and confusing, even for his so-called 'genius' brain to figure out. He found such things stupid and not worth his time, so he didn't try to figure out the emotion for what it was and left it alone in the looming darkness of his mind made up of black wisps and Cheshire grins and Rubix cubes and emotionless eyes.
"Fushimi-kun."
Fushimi didn't snap out of his musings, if he could even call them that, like any normal person would expect him to. He didn't even flinch. He just looked over at his captain with annoyance, his head lolling as if he couldn't even bother to muster up the energy to hold it up.
"Do try to stay focused, we're searching for a dangerous strain and I would hate to see you injured."
Of course. What good is a damaged doll?
He just clicked his tongue again and turned away, looking around the area they were in. Nothing special. Just alleys and walls and streets. It was boring and wet and dirty from the recent rain. The air was thick and smelled fresh. He hated it. Then again, he hated a lot of things so he supposed this wasn't very high on the list, so he could tolerate it. Didn't mean he couldn't complain in his own head about it, though. It's not like Munakata could read his thoughts.
"Don't worry, we will be out of this muggy weather in no time."
Fushimi didn't look in him, but he had to wonder how Munakata knew what he was feeling. It wasn't something he was used to. His face was expressionless, his eyes hidden and cold. He shouldn't know exactly what he was feeling. Which was weird, because Fushimi knew that his annoyed and pointless thoughts could really count as feelings. Could they?
Whatever.
Fushimi looked at Munakata blankly. The king smiled. "It is a strain that changes its appearance to match that of its victim's worst fear." Fushimi's expression didn't change, but Munakata seemed to sense his apprehension. He felt a little better that this arrogant asshole could read him better than his Misaki. In fact, he was the only one that could do it and get it right. "Do not fear, however, I am sure that the others are more than capable of apprehending the strain." A snort. "Do you doubt your teammates?" A blank stare. "Of course they are your teammates, Fushimi-kun."
Awashima stayed as silent as Fushimi, but she was far more uncomfortable than he was. She didn't know how her captain could hold one sided conversations with the infuriating and silent third in command that he had acted was his favorite. She just hoped that he really could tell what the emotionless and annoyed boy was 'saying', otherwise he was just making an ass of himself.
A scream came from by them. Fushimi and Munakata didn't seem to react, but Awashima's hand twitched visibly towards her sword. The members of Scepter 4 convened around them, Domyouji stumbling along with a frightened look on his face and Kamo running behind him and glancing over his shoulder.
Fushimi looked at Munakata with an emotionless look.
"Ah, I know, Fushimi-kun. 'I told you so', correct?"
"Captain!" Kamo exclaimed, placing his hand that was clutching his sword over his heart. "The strain is headed this way, after multiple attempts to subdue."
Munakata nodded to him and turned in the direction, seeing a large spider crawl around the corner. He was stuck between being amused by Domyouji's frightened squeak- sounding strained, like he was trying to hold it back- and from the slight twitch of Fushimi's eyebrow. He decided to focus on the strain, whose multiple eyes were scanning everyone there. It lingered on him before moving to Fushimi and its fangs twitched in what looked like a horrible grin.
Fushimi tensed slightly, which was abnormal. Normally he was as cold and unphased as a statue. They were curious, though. Was this strain going to show them what the emotionless Fushimi Saruhiko feared?
It started shifting before Fushimi could reach for his sword and his skin turned ten shades paler in less than a second.
It settled its form on a pale porcelain doll with a Cheshire grin and dark hair and emotionless eyes and frills and Fushimi screamed.