Anchor

Written by: RinoaDestiny

#12 – Red

"Did red hair always run in your bloodline?" Kyo liked Iori's hair, the way it fell to cover the other's face. It made his lover look mysterious with one eye hidden, emphasizing the other half of his face with its high cheekbone. Some of the fighting contestants thought it looked goth, which Kyo could see if Iori dressed like that, but goth wasn't a fitting description for Yagami. Neither was emo, but those from the West called him that, too.

It was difficult, Kyo realized, to pin Yagami down to any one label.

He did like his hair, though. It was soft and the color was unlike anything seen here in Japan (hair dyes were a chemical exception and not natural). Of course, Yagami knew that, since he often brushed back his hair to see the rest of his face. Iori looked different with both eyes revealed. An openness there. He sometimes looked younger, too.

"It did after a certain point."

"So the Yasakani clan started out like the rest of us?"

"Think so." Iori's brow creased in thought; the man reclined on the couch, one hand bookmarking a slim novel. He also had beautiful hands, Kyo thought. "You remember Heidern's girl? Leona?"

"Yeah."

"Remember the time she Blood Rioted in '97?"

"What does that have to do with…oh." His recollection of that startling moment late in the tournament was still clear. Leona's hair was blue, itself a strange and unique color. But when she Rioted, it turned red. An unmistakable bright red, similar to Yagami's. "Her hair."

"Nothing in the clan records states anything outside of the norm."

"At the time of its founding?"

"Yeah." Iori shifted slightly, readjusting his position on the couch. His body was long and muscled, molding itself to the couch's dimensions with languorous ease. He could be envious of that, Kyo thought and probably was. The other man moved through life nonchalantly – with defiance – and all his motions were graceful akin to a wild predator. "Might've changed once we made the pact with Orochi."

"So if it wasn't for that, you might have black hair?"

"Or brown. We did take after you Kusanagi for a time."

Kyo tried to imagine – couldn't – Iori with dark or brown hair. His eyes would be different, too – wouldn't be reddish-brown. An odd thought, that. "I…can't see you like that." Red seemed to be the only color suitable for Iori, and not just because he'd seen him like this for years. It would change everything about him: normal and plain instead of bold and colorful (even with his weird fashion sense), the first impression of cold calculation instead of controlled frenzy, and because everything boiled down to appearance, what dark or brown hair would do to that face. Shadows instead of brightness. A cheekbone not accentuated.

"You wouldn't have known the difference if I did."

"You'd be Yasakani, then, and we wouldn't have been rivals."

"No." A crisp sound as Iori lifted the book off his chest and turned a page. "We'd be friends or sworn brothers and Orochi would've been sealed by us a long time ago. Kagura might've been like an older sister, even."

"You mean she isn't now?"

Iori snorted. "Less of a sister and more like a mother."

"Is that our fault?"

"Perhaps."

He really did like Iori's hair. Lifted his hand to sweep it aside, red against pale skin. Two eyes focused on him instead of one. "You mentioned your clan records. You can read them?"

"Yeah. You can't?"

"It's all kanji and old ones, too. Don't recognize most of them."

"Bring them here. Shouldn't be hard to figure out what your ancestors did or were."

"Where'd you learn this stuff anyway?" It wasn't like they taught ancient Chinese characters in high school. Not even the history classes did, unless it was university-level and he never made it that far.

"Tutors." Iori closed the book, not looking away from him. "You might find some stories of our ancestors fighting and killing each other, though." A slight smile there – a trace of sardonic amusement. "We can see whose are better."

A callback to their previous rivalry. He matched Iori's smile with one of his own. "And you call me insufferable."

"You are."

Red against pale and brown mingling with it. "We'll see about that, won't we?"