(A/N): Well here we go! Chapter two after a month of planning and figuring out just how to make this work out! I really wanted to have a letter or two (one written to Misaki and one written to Mikoto) but it would have been too out of character for Saruhiko, and anyone would trash a letter they never ended up sending. So you get a little extra~!. Hope you enjoy. Rate, review, comment, fav, whatever. Will be working on new projects from now on that hopefully won't take forever to be updated!

Disclaimer: If I owned K, no one would be dead.

That box had sat on Yata's counter for a week; untouched an unopened.

It was the same box that SCEPTER4 had sent to the HOMRA bar sometime after the death of Saruhiko Fushimi. It was the same box that Yata had been so anxious to search through once he had gotten home. It was the same box that held what was left of his old friend's personal belongings. When he had gotten home that day, opening the box and trying to sift through the items was hard. Tears easily formed in his eyes, and the lid had been set down again before he could look at any of the contents.

Every day he'd try again, but he was still unable to manage it. Yata did his best to keep a happy face around the HOMRA gang, but his mind was so preoccupied about the box, its contents, and its previous owner that he seemed to be in a daze half the time.

However, today would be the day. Yata would force himself to open and look through this damned box if it was the last thing he ever did on this planet. Once he'd gotten home from the bar, he moved towards his kitchen counter, grabbing the box and dragging it into the living room of his small apartment. The boy sat cross-legged, hands on his knees as he studied the object. This is how the routine usually went. He'd sit here with the box, stare at it, and open it up only to tear up, close it, and set it back on the counter.

This time would be different. He lifted the lid, tossing it to the side. If Yata wanted to get through this, he'd either have to suffer through some of the tears, or ignore the heavy feeling in his chest. The guilt of his actions still hadn't dissipated yet, and he was fairly certain it never would; but he wasn't about to let that hold him back.

He'd close his eyes, reach in, and grab something at random. It sounded like a good idea to him, so that's what he did. Taking a deep breath, Yata closed his eyes and reached a hand into the box. The first thing he touched was the first thing he grabbed and pulled out. Opening his eyes again, he looked at the back of an old photo. Swallowing down the lump, he turned it over to look at the image.

It was…him? Rather him and Saru in what looked to be the HOMRA bar. He wasn't sure what surprised him more. The fact that he himself was in the photo or that Saruhiko was in the photo. The Blue never let his photo be taken…ever. Whenever Totsuka had gone around filming memories, Saruhiko made sure to avoid the brunette at all times. Yata just always assumed he wasn't a photogenic person, but maybe there was more to it.

Point is, it was shocking to see a picture of both of them together, looking happy as ever—er, well Yata was happy, but Saru looked un-amused. Oh wait—he remembered this picture. He'd caught Saruhiko by surprise and forced him to stay in the shot. He smiled softly, the memory coming back slowly. That's what pictures were for, after all.

"Saruhiko!"

The bluet grumbled, raising his head from its spot on the bar. He swirled around in his chair to stare at the boy that had called his name. He almost instantly regretted moving, because as soon as he saw Yata's proud grin and Totsuka with a camera, he wanted to bolt for the door. No—anything but having his picture taken. Everyone knew how much Fushimi hated being in front of the camera. The Red went out of his way to avoid Totsuka's "memory recordings". He hadn't been in any of them so far. "Misaki, what are you doing?"

The camera man decided it was okay to chime in. "Yata and I were going through some old videos and pictures, and you're in none of them, Fushimi-kun."

"That's why you're taking one right now, with me." Yata cut in, finishing the explanation. Seeing the dissatisfied look on Saruhiko's face only made him want to burst into laughter. He knew how much his friend hated it, but this was his punishment for being so cold and distant lately. It was like Saruhiko was pushing himself away from others, and Yata didn't want that. He wanted to be a family—him, Saruhiko, and the rest of HOMRA.

Saruhiko grumbles, his head resting back down on Izumo's bar. "No."

But Misaki is obviously not taking that as a suitable answer, because he feels a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back around in his seat until he's facing Totsuka's camera again. A small glare directs itself at HOMRA's newest vanguard, but the boy acts as if there's no problem. Slinging an arm around Saruhiko's shoulder to make sure he doesn't leave, the boy smiles, looking towards the camera. Totsuka puts the device up to an open eye, focusing it until he's positive the picture will come out crystal clear.

There's a small click, followed by another and the camera spits out two squares. Carefully, the brunette places two digits on each side of the film, removing them with care before setting them on the bar's counter. "Give them a few minutes. They should show up eventually."

The vanguard is too excited to listen, removing his arm from around his friend's shoulder as he stares down the photos with a gaze so fierce that Saruhiko thinks they might set ablaze; though that'd be a great thing, seeing as how he never wanted his picture taken in the first place. Propping his elbow back up onto the bar, he rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, watching the photo squares as they develop. It's not even a minute or two later before he sees himself, sitting right beside Yata. There's a goofy look on his friend's face, while he looks slightly less amused.

"Saru, you were supposed ta smile." Yata scolds, but looks happy nonetheless. He picks up one of the photos and hands it to the bluette, dorky smile still plastered on his face. "This one's for you." He said making sure it was forced into the other's hand before taking his own and stashing it somewhere safe.

He's stunned, frozen in place as the memory comes at him full force. Looking back into the box, he see's other loose pictures scattered about. It doesn't take long to sweep them all up, flipping through and staring at each one. Some of them don't even have Saruhiko in them, and it puzzles him as to why the Blue would have kept them. If he disliked HOMRA so much, what was the point in keeping pictures of the crew?

They're carefully set aside, and Yata repeats his process of picking a random object. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he reaches in and grabs the first thing his hand touches. It feels unfamiliar, and his brows knit together as he pulls it out of the box. Upon uncovering his eyes, he stares the object over until it clicks in his head. A bracelet? It's made of fake leather, and is rather barren—only two simple charms decorating the material.

It's strange, but something about the band seems familiar. He can't place his finger on it, and the longer he stares at it, the farther away the answer seems to get. It's going to drive him crazy, and he's just about to set it aside and forget about it when it suddenly comes to him.

That's right.

He quickly jumps up, disregarding the rest of the box's contents as he treks through his entire apartment. There's a sorting of all his drawers, most of their contents now emptied to the floor. He'd forgotten all about it—and now that he'd found one he was desperate to find the other. Of course, the last place he'd ever look would reveal the twin bracelet. Misaki looked them over, before carrying them both back into the other room. Sitting back in the middle of his mess of Saru's memorabilia, he fumbled with the similar bands, immediately trying to place his own on his wrist.

It was a tight fit, but the vanguard managed to wrap the band over his hand and onto his wrist. The two of them had gotten these bracelets back in middle school, as a sign of their friendship. Sure it sounded strange for two boys to do this, but it had meant a lot to them at the time; though it had been a waste in the end, as neither of them had actually worn them much afterwards. Now though, with the second pair missing an owner, it didn't feel right to not wear it.

Most of the other things in the box were items that Misaki didn't recognize; belongings of Saru's that might not have had much meaning. A lot of it looked like personal belongings he had forgotten about in his move from HOMRA to Scepter4. Replacing the other items back in the box, he cleaned up the space around him. What he'd dumped out in the other rooms could be cleaned up later, if he ever felt compelled to do so.

Right now, there's one thing he wants—or maybe needs—to do.

Grabbing the second bracelet, he makes for the door, dashing out into the hall. He has to turn back when he nears the stairs, forgetting to lock his door up. Once everything is situated, he exits his apartment building and heads for the one and only place that had popped into his head. Yata pulls his cellphone from his pocket, dialing the bar. It beeps for a few seconds before there's a click on the other end.

"Bar HOMRA."

"Kusanagi-san, it's me." Last time he'd called, it had been right after the Blue's death. Thinking about it stung, and the tone in his voice had gone from happy to sullen in moments.

The bar-owner seemed to easily pick up on the change in tone, "Ah, Yata-chan. Is everything alright?" He kept his voice cheery, if only for the sake of the vanguard.

"Yeah, everything's great." He replied back, picking up his attitude. "I'm not going to be coming back in today. I just wanted to let everyone know." Thing is, there was some unfinished business he had to take care of, and while it might not take too long, he might not have the spirits to be out and about once everything is over. He continues along the streets phone held up to his ear as Izumo reassures that everything will be alright. A few goodbyes and then the phone is replaced back in his pocket. He nabs his skateboard from its usual hiding place and kicks off, making a speedy getaway to his destination.

Scepter4 headquarters.

He hasn't been here since the last time he'd been on overnight arrest for getting too serious in a street fight. Saruhiko had gotten him out a day early, and Misaki had thanked him by calling him a traitor and arguing with the man. The boy groans, wishing he'd acted differently.

Leaving his skateboard at the entrance gates, he walks in, immediately feeling out of place. There are enemies everywhere, each of them giving him strange looks. Some of them are questioning, wondering what a Red is doing on their turf. Others are tossing hateful glances, knowing very well what he'd done to their superior. As if the guilt already eating at him wasn't enough—he didn't need the damn Blues trying to make him feel worse.

One of them stops him at the door, arm held up to keep Misaki from walking any further; and if he remembers correctly, his name was Akiyama. The weird hairstyle kind of set off reminders, and he was fairly certain he was correct. The Red didn't speak a word until a question had been directed his way.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, rather harshly at that.

Yata pushes the hand away, "I'm looking for your stupid King. I need to talk to him."

The Blue keeps a calm face, though it's clear that something's bothering him on the inside. "He's busy right now, dealing with rearranging formations." He snaps. Rearranging formations? Was it because…because their Third was gone? "You're not quite welcome—"

"Akiyama-kun. Is there a problem?"

They both turn at the sudden interruption, and Yata immediately recognizes the Lieutenant. Awashima Seri—the Heartless Woman as Izumo has called her countless times. He's not sure whether to be thankful or not for her interruption. "No ma'am." He replies, immediately at attention to his superior. "He wanted to see the Captain, and—"

Now it was Misaki's turn to cut in. "There's something I need to speak to him about." He looks serious, and makes sure to not look as uncomfortable as he feels. His hand clenches into a fist, bracelet snug inside his grasp. Awashima gives him a quick look up and down before sighing. She seems to understand, even if she doesn't really know the half of it. "I'll take you to his office. If he's busy, you'll need to leave."

"S—Sure." He mumbles, and follows behind the woman, leaving the subordinate behind in the dust. Yeah—it was okay to be thankful for her interruption. She'd gotten him into the building, and there was a chance to speak with the King.

They take turn after turn, and it seems like a strange puzzle or maze before they reach a large double-door. The Lieutenant knocks lightly on the door before clearing her throat. "It's Awashima. You have a guest."

There's no answer from the other side, but she takes that as permission enough to open the door and enter. She lets the vanguard follow in and pass her. The King looks up from the papers on his desk, and he's a little more than surprised to see a member of the Red clan standing in his office. "Awashima-kun. If you'll give us a moment." He says, and she takes her exit after a swift bow.

Once the door is shut, Yata feels trapped. Suddenly he regrets his decision of coming here, and wants out as soon as possible. No, he had something he needed to do, and dammit he was going to get it done. He could swallow his damn nerves and pride for five minutes to get a somewhat sophisticated conversation in with the man who'd taken time out of his work day to acknowledge Yata's visit.

"What brings you here?" He asks, getting straight to the point.

The vanguard looks down to the ground, bracelet clenched tightly in his hand. After a moment of breathing, he looks up to the King locking gazes. "I—I wanted to see him." He looks confident, though he's far from. "You brought him back here and, well…" he trails off, losing his train of thought. He'd just assumed they'd buried him somewhere, or created a grave or shrine. Anything, really. They wouldn't just dump him somewhere, would they?

The Blue King props his elbows onto his desk, chin resting in folded hands. His face has gone still and Yata's not sure how Munakata took this whole thing. It never really occurred to him whether or not the two were anything closer than comrades. Did they have a friendship too? "Just what business do you have with my former clansman?" he asks, posing yet another question.

"There's just something I need to do." Yata answers, and that's about as far as he's going to explain himself.

Munakata seems to be contemplating something, and it's a long moment before he stands from his chair, neatly ordering papers across his desk before he makes his way for the door. "Come with me." He says, opening the door and gesturing for the vanguard to exit. He complies, and they go back through the twists of the Scepter4 corridors until their back outside in the front courtyard. When they reach the entrance gates Yata irritation spikes, and he speaks up. "I thought you were gonna take me—"

"I will, but he's not here."

The ginger is slightly puzzled, but continues to follow along anyways. He plays with the bracelet on his wrist, before picking up his skateboard and trekking back towards the city. Not noticing that the King had suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, Yata bumped right into him, giving off a disgruntled apology afterwards.

He waves it off, pointing down a dirt path. "Follow the path and you'll come across a small gravesite." Pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he kept the hand covering his face. "You'll find him there." As if that were enough, he bid the boy farewell and started heading back to Scepter4's main building.

Before he could get too far away, though—"Munakata Reisi." He calls out, turned towards the dirt path. There was something he had never done. When the King turns to give him a questioning look, he simply mutters. "Thank you. For the box." After all, had it not been for that, he wouldn't be here now, with all the wonderful memories he had forgotten. The King acknowledges it, but says nothing in return, returning to his journey back to his office.

Now for the moment of truth. It's a long way down the dirt path, and the vanguard's slightly concerned that he's gotten himself lost. Either that or the King sent him to the wrong place. But soon enough, he sees the iron gate in the distance, and quickens his pace. The door is slightly ajar, leaving him enough room to slip in.

It's a fairly big site, and he starts going down row after row, looking for the headstone he wants to visit. He notices that a hefty majority hold Scepter titles on them, and he ponders whether this is a personal cemetery. Eventually he comes across the headstone he'd been searching for, body freezing upon seeing it. It's as if the tough wall he'd been building over the past few weeks had been blown to dust in a matter of seconds.

This was all real. Saruhiko was really dead.

Misaki just stands there for a moment, wrapped up in his thoughts. It's hard to stand here, and he's not sure he can manage it for long. "Saru," he speaks out, trying to raise his voice over a whisper. "I, uh—" This was weird—it was awkward. What was he supposed to do?

The vanguard sighs, seating himself in front of the grave. The bracelet is still in his hands, and he decides to start with that. "They sent me your stuff. I found this, along with a few other things." He laughs at himself, knowing he's not receiving an answer in return. "It's kind of stupid. We bought these things and never wore 'em." There's no smartass comment coming back his way, and his chest tightens. "It's a bit small, but it's not too late to start wearing 'em now, right?"

There's another sigh, and he begins to dig a small hole in the ground. Okay, so maybe it was rude to dig up another person's resting ground, but it's only for a quick moment. Just deep enough for him to bury the leather band in the ground and cover it back up. He doesn't want it blowing away in the wind.

Once that's done, he sits back. He feels a bit lighter, and he tilts his head back to look up into the sky. "I'm really sorry, Saru. I didn't want this to happen. I wanted—" Dammit. There goes the stinging in his eyes. He takes a moment to breathe deeply before forcing himself to continue. This needs to come off his chest. "I wanted to be friends again. I can't hate you, even now. I could never hate you."

There's a shiver that passes down his spine, the temperature beginning to drop as it gets later in the evening. He takes that as his cue to leave. With one last goodbye, he gets up, grabs his skateboard, and—once he's back on the main road—kicks off towards home.

And suddenly, he feels a lot lighter.

He glances down at the bracelet snug on his wrist, and smiles.