Fandom: K Project
Feat. Pairings: SaruMi
Listen to: Memory, Ib OST.
◃SARUMI | BETRAYAL | STRIKE ①►
: Everlasting Guilt :
Traitor! His mind hisses at him as he stumbles into the dark alleyway on that snowy night.
Fushimi can barely breathe properly as he leans on the cold, filthy wall as he pants and coughs. Taking no notice, he simply leans there, closing his eyes as the painful memories crowd towards him, spilling and overlapping into one big mess.
Traitor, it calls again, this time mockingly, gleefully as the flashes in his head begin to slow, a cold, sharp sting beginning to crawl into his gut. Against his better judgement- along with Reisi, Awashima, and not to mention the whole damn world in general; he had given into the temptation…
Again.
It wasn't the first time he had snuck out.
It wasn't the first time he had peeked around the corner of- he still shuddered to think- Homura without being undetected.
And it certainly wasn't the first time he had seen Misaki: his- once upon a time- Misaki, sitting there in the homely place, grinning like the idiot he was, eyes showing that disgusting affection to that fucking king.
His heart clenches at the mere thought of it.
"Shit." He breathes out. A blur of blue flashes as he slams his fist into the solid concrete, his eyes clenched in pain; not from the physical contact, but the images burned into his memory.
Misaki called out towards each and every single one of them so happily.
The eyes that once looked at him like that, in that gaze… It had been taken away from him, Fushimi Saruhiko, Misaki's best friend, oh so easily.
Bam! His other fist beats against a trash can, the side of the mental groaning as it dented under the sheer force, the metal cutting deep into his palm. Yet he still took no notice, his mind far off somewhere else.
"Why…" his voice is reduced to a soft longing, raising the now bloodied hand to the fabric above his pulse, clenching the annoying material as it began to stain the uniform.
Why, why, why. His mind cries out.
He catches the sight of his hand, the sight of the liquid enough to send him into a fit.
Crimson.
"Fuck!" He hisses, trying to wipe the trigger as he attempts to hold back the horrible memories it brings forth. After a few seconds into his delusional rampage, he simply rids himself of the garment, flinging it into the broken trashcan.
Then he runs.
And he falls into that abyss of despair once again.
—
Awashima finds him soon enough, huddled by a school gate, his gaze far off into something she could not ever comprehend.
"Fushimi." She calls softly, her voice as gentle as a mothers'. Getting no response from the male, she simply edges closer, ignoring the way the huddled figure does not even take notice of her presence.
Sighing, she tries once again.
"Saru-"
A red knife whizzes past her neatly arranged blonde hair, but she doesn't flinch.
"Don't call me that." Fushimi snarls.
A frown mars her usually placid face, as she hears the tremble in his voice. Even if they guy was a cold bastard, he had stuck around them long enough to become somewhat of a comrade to them. Even when he stalked that skater boy, they had accepted that, and let it be. However, the haunted and enigmatic glint that would appear whenever they dealt with Homra- and Misaki Yata- did not escape their notice.
She knew she should have stopped him.
"Fushimi…"
Framed eyes flicker to her concern.
"I'm fine." His answer is curt, but Awashima is having none of that, and calls bullshit.
"You're half naked." she deapans.
"Why, I'm glad you noticed, I've been working out you know."
"It's winter, Fushimi. And- Wait a minute, you're bleeding." Her voice sharpens at the sight of his grosteque hand, but it doesn't have any effect on the dark-haired male at this time. He shrugs, as if he doesn't understand what the problem was. Instead, he simply looks at his own hand inquiringly, before directing his gaze back at Awashima; almost asking her if she knew what had happened to it.
"Damnit Fushimi, there's fucking metal stuck in there!" Awashima curses, and whips out her phone. Taking a shaky breath, she looks back once more at the seemingly lifeless teen as she hopes to heavens that somehow, one day, they'll be able to break him from this guilt.
Because that's what it is, she thinks. It's a guilt that he carries with him, with his... betrayal. She snorts at the word knowingly, bending down to attempt to inspect the damage and call for help at the same time. The phone rings once... twice, three times, and she begins to worry even more. Then she remembers the skater boy- Yata Misaki, was it?- and wonders how he's doing.
Her eyes narrow.
Certainly he's good enough to make Fushimi act this way. And then, almost like an answer to her frantic prayers, the phone finally picks up, and she lets out a huff of relief she didn't know she was holding.
"...Awashima?" a familiar low voice questions.
Without tearing her eyes away from the delusional comrade in front of her, she answers.
"He's gotten himself half naked in the snow." She states shortly, a sigh filtering from the opposite end of the line.
"Damnit… It's got to be the third time this month alone." the man mutters.
"Can't I just kill the bastard already, Captain?" She murmurs, pinching the bridge of her nose. A chuckle trickled back in answer, and from the rueful tone, she knows that Reisi would love to do the same. However, Reisi's tone was careful and sly at the same time, bringing up the one thing where she was the only one able to attempt contact from.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far… but perhaps you'd like to take the night off for some drinks."
Awashima presses her fingers to her forehead, knowing what he is implying.
"Hai, Taichou."
—
A/N: Ugh.. this might need to be edited quite a bit more :|