Letter: A
Prompt: Anarchy (+ Apocalypse)
Rating: Teen +
Pairing: Mikado/Masaomi, Masaomi/Mikado
Characters: Mikado, Masaomi, ?
Genre: Drama, Angst,
Summary: Kida Masaomi is assigned a mission to protect the son of the late Prime Minister of Japan - Ryuugamine Mikado. Meanwhile, the country is in a state of unrest and total isolation. A sort of end-of-the world scenario, but not really…Okay, that was confusing.

Warnings: AU, boyxboy, twisting reality, hints of boss!Kado, some possible homophobic thinking (though not really), serious!Masaomi, boys kissing each other

A/N: Umm, this used to be a drabble, but now it's a oneshot. I apologize if this isn't very good, for I've edited this quite a lot already, and I sort of want to move on already. OTL.

Also, because this fic website has horrible formatting, I apologize if these lines - "-" have issues. As for other stuff, I'll come back and edit in the future. I just wanna go on to B already.

When his father passed away a few months ago, Ryuugamine Mikado felt utterly and completely lost.

Mikado felt his world crashed down around him, like glass shattered upon the hard pavement, shards of the clear substance floating abysmally around him as if some invisible force field prevented them from flying straight at him, prevented them from cutting him open so he could bleed to death like his father did on that lazy afternoon. Mikado lived in a daze as if noticing and not noticing the glass pointed at him in accusation. Little knives were held in the cool palms of air, but he couldn't see them. He didn't want to see them.

Mikado's father was the Prime Minister of Japan. His father was a good man; his father was a wonderful leader, loved by most if not all the people. His father was a loyal husband and a strong commander. His father was the best father any child could ask for. He was Mikado's idol, his role model and his inspiration.

However, with a heavy heart, Mikado soon realized that all of that - or at least most of that - was a lie, a farce, a façade formulated skillfully and manipulatively in order to hide the bitter and ugly truth:

His father was a traitor, a coward, a hypocrite and a liar.

Mikado discovered this not too long ago, the veracity of the accusation proven true when he returned home from school one day and saw the gaping wound in the man's chest. All the blood - red, red, red - continued to spill out of the corpse. It pooled thickly into dismembered shapes on the wooden floor and he remembered quite vividly that his eyes had widened, his breathing had stopped, his knees had grown weak at the sight.

Shocked and utterly terrified, the high school student crept closer to the body of his father, the man who gave him life and love. He dropped his school bag at the doorway and walked quietly to the blood, fascinated at its vibrant color staining the floor and his father's clothes. His own feet were sticky with the mess too, and they trembled with every movement, every step that brought him closer and closer to the truth.

That was when he found it. A note. A little envelope with no return address - blank except for a familiar name typed neatly on the bleach white paper. The envelope gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the open window - the billowing curtains - and it stood out plainly against the dark suit of his father. Like some heavenly message, the note called out to the teenager. It looked like it was glowing.

On that note, Mikado remembered, was a message that still rings loudly to this very day, and that caused his world - and the world of all of Japan - to crumble in shambles.

It was the beginning of total anarchy and chaos.

Masaomi didn't know who this Ryuugamine kid was. All he figured was that his last name was pretty weird, his father was of great importance, and that Mikado himself didn't look like a leader, like someone who could represent the people and lead them in the right direction. How was this guy supposed to fix this mess? It seemed like he wasn't even capable of running a mile without tripping on his own feet, or perhaps fainting before reaching the half-way point! It was kind of disappointing, Masaomi thought. But it was something he'd have to deal with, for his sake and for the sake of the people.

No one told Masaomi the Prime Minister's son would be this young, this weak-looking. He'd thought the guy would be at least a couple years older, maybe nineteen or twenty, probably more fit than what he's currently seeing right now. From this angle, all the blonde could pin out in the darkened room was a thin physique, a body a few inches shorter than himself, a baby face and short dark hair. Nothing really unusual for a Japanese teenager.

This was totally not his vision of a strong leader, though; the son of yet another strong leader: the past Prime Minister, whom Masaomi's father knew personally. It was strange how he never met Mikado before now. He wondered how life would have been if they grew up as childhood friends, maybe even best friends that caught beetles together and set them free right after observing the fascinating insects. Not strangers like now - people who had to stick together to survive. Not that Mikado knew about that yet, anyhow. But still.

If this was his mission - "-a mission vital to the resurrection of our great country,"- how come he wasn't given the details? Something felt off about this…

Masaomi assumed that he was assigned this job due to his advanced skill, courage and similar age to his charge. That way, a bond may form, which was probably the Organization's intention in the first place. A good bond equals a good connection. A strong connection leads to a stronger desire to live and to not give up, even if the pull to do so grew steadily with time. But what stood out amongst the confusion, like a red dot amongst a canvas of white, was the fact that the Organization planned to manipulate something as fragile as friendship to get the job done. Even though it was for the greater good, even though it's been done before, it rubbed him the wrong way. In fact, it disgusted him. It still did.

"Who are you?" Masaomi asked as he dusted soot off his clothes, wiped the blood off his chin. Nothing but genuine curiosity filtered through his normally buoyant voice, and he calmly inspected Mikado through messy blonde bangs. Cautious brown eyes sought out the other's blue gaze, and in doing so, he hoped to gain some insight on the other's personality or past, maybe his strengths and weaknesses. Eyes were windows to the soul, weren't they? After all, Masaomi was curious; Mikado was a mystery and yet not at the same time. It was downright confusing, but he wanted-No, he needed to understand, whether that be for his mission or personal reasons, he just did.

And Masaomi did know who Mikado was; almost everyone in Japan did. Like any close relative of the Prime Minister, the son - the sole child - of the once-respected man was famous, his name known to both the old and young. It wasn't the celebrity kind of fame, however. Everyone just knew of the kid, not personally - and not for his looks, or charm or talent or anything of the sort. It was just the relation that got his name around and it was probably that same fact that put pressure on Mikado to look good in the eyes of the public. Good school, good grades, good connections.

Mikado twitched a bit at the sudden question and turned around before plastering on a large smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Masaomi then realized this guy looked really young, like a child, and that his blue eyes displayed an uncanny maturity in a boy who seemed to have grown up way too fast to be normal. After noticing that, Masaomi wondered how his next months, maybe years, might play out. Ryuugamine Mikado might have more issues than he'd originally thought.

"Yes? How may I help you?" the dark-haired teen asked politely, succinctly as if he were talking to a coworker in some blue-collar business office. He sounded so professional, not to mention tired and stressed, like a heavy burden was weighing down on his narrow shoulders.

Masaomi looked a little away, perturbed as the screams and yells of citizens rang loudly in the abandoned room they were hiding in. An explosion shook the wooden door at its corner and he resisted the urge to look out the cracked window of the decrepit building.

"I'm Kida Masaomi. Sixteen years old and your new bodyguard. I was assigned this job not too long ago by someone who cannot be named at the moment." Masaomi paused, hesitated. "-but that's not the point, really. I'm here to protect you." He smiled to ease the (possible) awkwardness this piece of information may produce between the two of them.

The blonde expected the other boy to be surprised or at least display some outlandish reaction to the confession. Instead, Mikado was indifferent. Masaomi was genuinely surprised by that fact, though he really shouldn't have been. Bodyguards were a norm for important people like him, weren't they?

"Yes. I figured as much. Thank you very much for your help. I could have died out there!"

Mikado smiled again, his blue eyes more vibrant than before. Without knowing it, Masaomi returned the expression, which had surprised him for just a moment. For some unfathomable reason, Mikado's relief was infectious, his gratefulness heart-warming. The dark-haired teen knew how to affect another person, that's for sure.

Masaomi then took note of the bandages and bruises, the blood, dirt and scratches littered on both himself and the other teen. The gun in his hold felt heavy yet comfortable at the same time, and the very limited light reflecting cleanly off of Mikado's expensive-looking watch was particularly eye-catching. Brown eyes trained on the piece of jewelry, Masaomi noticed that the designer watch was broken. It was probably a prized possession, judging by how careful Mikado was handling it.

In response to the blonde's piercing stare, Mikado covered the face of the watch by pulling his uniform jacket sleeve down over it. The cloth was dark in color, contrasting sharply with his pale skin and bright silver, the movement not going unheeded by one curious Kida Masaomi, who made sure to file that bit of info in the back of his mind for later analysis. Now, he just watched the teen - all parts of him: silver watch, young face, thin body, steady breathing - but he tried not to make it too obvious. It was natural to suspect the other, strangers especially, so he guessed Mikado suspected him as much if not more than how much he suspected Mikado, Organization and titles be damned.

The Prime Minister's son averted his gaze to the window where people were frantically running around like it was the end of the world-and it was for some, if not most Japanese people. His blue eyes grew stormy as he observed a car explode, as he witnessed a little girl burning on the street while crying out for her mother. "Mama! Mama! It hurts!"

Mikado's face was neutral, but his eyes betrayed the warring emotions: guilt, despair, helplessness. Anger.

"Sorry." Masaomi shrugged, as he looked away from the treasured piece of silver and followed his companion's gaze. "That's a nice watch you have there."

"Yeah. Thanks."

The atmosphere turned cold.

A few months passed and chaos still reigned in Japan. In response to the assassination and scattered government, the people who had lost hope became desperate, either reaching out to foreigners for help or shunning them away in accusation or fear . Some of the more zealot citizens went as far as to commit suicide and in some of the most gruesome methods possible.

Despite all that, despite all the violence and death, Mikado and Masaomi became the closest of friends. What they lacked they found in each other: when Mikado fell, Masaomi was there to help him up; when Masaomi felt alone, Mikado would tell him a fond memory. Sometimes, Mikado would just hold Masaomi, or Masaomi would just hold Mikado. They'd hold each other-two young, lost teenagers in a war that no one knew why or how it started.

During all of this, Masaomi often wondered, "Aren't I supposed to be the strong one, the bodyguard?" And with that, he regretted underestimating the shorter teen all those months ago. Mikado was strong in his own way, a fact he shouldn't have overlooked. The dark-haired teen was intelligent, possessed great instinct (which saved their lives on more than one occasion), was calculating and most of all, was caring and selfless. All put together and wrapped in this childish looking teen, Mikado was like an expensive package wrapped in cheap newspaper, vulnerable to tear and wear by the slightest of factors, but underneath it lay a hard shell that Masaomi felt that even he couldn't penetrate. What-or better yet, who was underneath all that covering?

Masaomi thought he should've learned his lesson by now. After all, he of all people should know not to judge a book by its cover…

Mikado had the answers though, or at least some of them. He had the information and the connections. He had an inkling as to how this all started, but not wanting to break this friendship, Masaomi ignored it. He wanted to live in ignorance even though instinct told him countless times that the boy he was supposed to protect might not be the leader the people needed. For some reason, Mikado felt…wrong. Like he was hiding some part of himself. This whole mission felt wrong.

Kida Masaomi couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't comprehend the dark haired teen's nightmares and thrashing, the suspicions that arose whenever he remembered all the little things that occurred during their time together. The watch incident from a few months back, some slip-up about a mysterious note, Mikado's chilling expressions on his face when he thought he was alone…

They'd ran through streets, dodged bullets, bled together and managed to stay alive. They'd stolen and eaten, cried and laughed together as if they've been friends their whole lives, and still. Not a trace, not the barest of clues as to what really happened on that fateful afternoon, that catalytic gunshot.

The only clue Masaomi had to understand - all he wanted was to understand!- was the boy he sworn to protect, the boy sitting not two feet away from him.

Ryuugamine Mikado, himself, was the clue.

About a year had passed and it was now Mikado's seventeenth birthday. A lot had happened over the course of the months to both the country and the people. The streets were filthy, windows were shattered, cars set aflame. Gray was the only color that blanketed the barren land, broken buildings and empty sky, save for the bright orange fire and the torrents of black smoke that wafted up to the heavens, dark shadows, which slinked slowly across the sky to engulf the sun and the clouds.

No more people ran around on the streets, shouting nonsense and blaming the government, the people, religions, wars - whatever disillusioned people came up with on their spare time. Japan was in total isolation, shrouded in its own internal chaos. The only movement one would see was paper flying around, a dog digging through garbage for anything edible, maybe a few people sifting through miscellaneous debris and whispering so low they seemed like characters in a silent film. They, too, were gray, but Mikado preferred the word Colorless.

Mikado was now seventeen years old and had never went on a date or kissed anyone before in his life, though he didn't seem to really care for that fact one bit. He felt ten years older, though, so tired of it all that the day to celebrate his birthday felt more like a death sentence than anything else. And of course, like any best friend, Masaomi had noticed.

Kida Masaomi had opened up more to the other teen, but it felt a lot like a one-sided deal. Mikado stayed quiet nowadays, barely talking. Without making a sound or moving, the other would just sit down against the wall, lean his head against the cracked plaster and sleep or stare into nothingness. The blonde should be concerned, worried. Hell, he was, andquite often as of late too. So Kida Masaomi finally felt that enough was enough and finally made up his mind:

They were going to do something and it was going to be fun. They were not going to spend the Mikado's birthday just lazing around and waiting.

Waiting for what? The end of the world? There were almost no yells or screams or alarms anymore. In fact, everything was quiet, deadly quiet, like the eerie silence that followed a fatal bombing.

"Oi, Mikado. Today is your birthday! We need to celebrate!" Masaomi chimed as he plopped down next to the other teen and poked him in the cheek. Mikado tore his eyes away from the cracked open window and blinked as if he just returned from some alternate space dimension.

"Masaomi? What are you doing here?"

Masaomi feigned a hurt expression on his face before smiling, eyes warm and bright. "I'm here to make you feel happy! You're seventeen now, and actually, you look much different compared to when I first met you during that raid in Ikebukuro." He chucked. "I think it's a good change, too."

Mikado sat up straighter and peered intently at the blonde. "Really?"

Masaomi nodded vigorously. "Yeah. You're less scrawny that's for sure, and you got a little taller. Plus, you don't get so tired so easily, which is a great improvement…- no, a major improvement compared to the beginning of all this." He gestured towards apocalyptic image of the window; the barren, dirty warehouse; the bandage on Mikado's arm. "I think this calls for celebration!"

Mikado blinked, eyes wide before allowing a lazy grin to curl onto his lips, a red flush to appear on his cheeks. "Thanks, Masaomi." he said quietly, and his voice was so warm and full of life - genuine.

When Masaomi heard the words, when he saw the expression on the other's face, in the other's eyes, he could see it; the sincere gratitude of him just being there. Masaomi didn't let his pride get to him, he felt warm though, like something was fluttering in his chest. Mikado seemed to have that strong affect on him, and in the simplest of actions!

Although this was his mission to protect Mikado, Masaomi felt this was way more than that. It was his own personal mission to do so, and during the long year, he often debated about when or how this became so personal in the first place, when Mikado became such an important part of himself. The Organization was correct though; Masaomi had formed a bond with Mikado, and nothing could stop or prevent them from saving each other.

"No problem, Mikado!~" he continued after a short moment.

With a large grin on his face, Masaomi moved to get up and pull Mikado so they could explore outside and perhaps find a new hiding spot; to maybe find some good food and have a proper birthday party despite the guests just being them two. It would be great to relax for a day, and to be grateful that Mikado even reached the age seventeen. A lot of people wanted him dead; the fact that he was still alive deserved something special.

But with no warning, the son of Japan's last Prime Minister kissed Masaomi on the lips, his body so close and so warm it felt both surreal and familiar.

The kiss was sloppy and wet - the proper words to describe it were "nervous" and "inexperienced." A little too much tongue, too much action. Masaomi didn't expect Mikado to do that, but he responded back just as eagerly, a little laugh, a little sigh, a little hum pouring into the instigator of the kiss as he guided him in this intimate moment, that to him, came completely out of no where. Almost expertly, he played his tongue like an aged instrument, directing the warm, slick muscle in just the right places, tilting the dark head at the right angle to explore him deeper and more comfortably.

Mikado smiled against his lips and breathed as his fumbling hands sought purchase. They finally caught Masaomi's hair and almost forcefully pulled his head closer as if he wanted desperately to become one with the cheery blonde.

They pulled apart, panting into the now warm air. Words were unspoken, but Mikado smiled genuinely - real - for this first time ever since he'd met him…and the smile was directed at him, Kida Masaomi - just for him. It was so honest, so soft and so Mikado the expression had the blonde smiling back in return. He couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his mouth before smashing his lips to the other, movements fast and excited - so, so happy - until slowing down so gently and chaste, his lips barely touched the other's bruised ones.

"Happy birthday, Mikado." he breathed in the silent warehouse. Still smiling, but now more confident, Mikado pushed Masaomi down onto the floor and straddled his waist, scarred hands gripping his shirt tightly, but not painfully tight. The older teen kissed him again and Masaomi grinned playfully before flipping them over.

That night, Masaomi and Mikado made love for the first time. It was one of the best nights of their lives, though something palpable, heavy and tangible surrounded them as flesh met flesh, as heart beats became one, as little sighs, deep groans and pants filled the empty room. Warm. The night was warm.

When Mikado fell asleep, pale body scratched and bruised from the fight to survive, but skin still managing to stay soft, when his breaths evened out and his skin cooled down from the sweat that covered both of their bodies, glistening in the little moonlight filtering through the window, Masaomi felt at peace. He smiled down at the teen lying on the floor next to him, naked body like his own covered just barely by the single blanket they've been sharing since a few weeks back.

Idly and gently, like a phantom's touch, Masaomi ran his fingers over Mikado's exposed flesh while marveling over what they did together that night. Honestly, the whole sex thing was difficult, new, painful. But he remembered that they both wanted it, needed it to the point that the it felt not only like a physical connection, but an emotional one as well. Sharing that intimate moment had cemented their relationship, which to him, was now stronger than any friendship in the world. It was deeper, much more than just friendship. Were they lovers? Maybe that was the right word…

Masaomi's brown eyes traced the scars on the exposed parts of Mikado's body, took note of his sweat dampened hair and calm face, which looked much younger than when he was awake. Masaomi observed the male before tracing his gaze to the watch on Mikado's left wrist. It was broken, that's for sure, and when he moved his head closer, he could see it was stopped on a certain time, frozen. There was no ticking, no sign of movement on the silver watch. The blonde frowned and narrowed his eyes in curiosity for just a moment.

Masaomi's frown then blossomed into a smile when he realized that Mikado wasn't having a nightmare. In fact, it looked like he was having a pleasant dream, with a content smile on his young face, body repositioned to be more comfortable and eyelids flickering. The blonde was happy there was no mysterious note to be spoken of from Mikado's occasional dream talking…

Wait a second.

A note.

Masaomi's eyes found themselves trained on Mikado's dark pants where something peculiar was sticking out. It appeared to be paper…a white paper to be exact. The blonde knew he should ignore the note, but something in his heart told him to look at it-whether that be responsibility to protect the raven sleeping next to him, or obligation to return his country back to the way it used to be.

Carefully and slowly as to not wake the other up, Masaomi removed himself from the warmth of the blanket. He shivered violently as the cold night air pierced his naked body, but he forced himself to reach the pants located a few feet away. While cautiously looking back at Mikado to make sure he was still asleep, the blonde stuck a hand into the pocket and retrieved the mysterious paper. It was worn and dirty, a little discolored in some areas. Little spots of blood marked the white here and there; tears and wrinkles covered the envelope as if it were a part of the design-like those faux aged invitational cards one receives for a graceful wedding or banquet.

Masaomi's heart pounded relentlessly in his ears. Was this allowed? What would happen if Mikado saw him betraying his trust? He ignored these thoughts, pushed them in the back of his head and opened the letter.

Hello, Mikado-kun~

It is nice to meet you, though that is one sided on my part. I apologize for not being able to show up in person. You must understand, after all, a lot of people wish me dead, do they not? I cannot blame them, really. I'd want myself dead if I were in those humans' positions. That would be interesting…

Oh yes, do you like the little gift I left for you, Mikado-kun, or should I say, Tanaka Taro-san? Aren't you happy your father was caught working with the mafia, selling out Japan to money and drugs and greed. Aren't you glad he finally got the punishment he deserved? It was through our delightful little chats that this information got to me, and I must say, you are one sharp kid. I commend you for that. If our situations were a bit different, perhaps we could have been friends, maybe even partners.

But most of all, this is the question that I bet you are dying to answer just about now.

Aren't you glad something unusual happened to you? Something exciting and strange, like your last name suggests, though I do often wonder how being the son of the Prime Minister could be boring. I'd expect that position to be quite entertaining, but that's just me.

Aren't you ecstatic that this result, this death was your choice, your very own desire, not the controlling ones of the public and your family? And at your own hands too! Though that was indirectly. I just helped you in that department, don't you think?~

Well, enough with the chatter. My plans have been set up beautifully, my King piece. The pawns have been set up into place, the Queen and Bishop are doing their job quite splendidly if I should say so myself. The playing field was set up on time too, but you, my friend. Were the last part to my puzzle!

Thank you very much Ryugamine Mikado-kun. It was a pleasure work with you. Perhaps we may conduct business again in the future.

- Orihara Izaya.

Masaomi stared and stared at the paper in his hold before snapping out of the temporary daze, brown eyes dark and glaring, and jaw clench so tightly he could draw blood. With heavy breaths, he returned the letter back to the pants pocket and quickly tucked himself next to the sleeping dark haired teen who looked too innocent and relaxed next to him. His once warm and comfortable body now felt cold, flaccid and stiff.

Something felt different now. Something bad. He wished he knew about the letter instead of finding out this way…discovering that this boy was not who he expected. At all. He almost hit himself. All the signs were there, pointing directly at this shocking conclusion, but his feelings, his relationship with the boy blocked it all out. He shouldn't have been so trusting.

Remembering all the past times with Mikado, however…he didn't regret it. But his heart was being pulled in two directions.

Kida Masaomi felt lost. He felt betrayed.

He felt like he could..no- should have done better.

With his eyes pinned on the cracked ceiling, he rolled his body to face away from Mikado, distanced himself a few more inches from the other's body and fell into a fitful sleep while thinking,

'Izaya. I will kill you.'

The promise rang clear in his head, and followed him into his dreams - familiar red eyes, cold smirk, blood…

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Mikado had connections.

Masaomi had nightmares that night while Mikado, oblivious to his lover's inner turmoil, dreamed of an alternate past in which he wasn't the son of the Prime Minister, and that he and Masaomi were young, innocent children playing in the countryside of Saitama.

When Mikado woke up, he felt really cold. Goosebumps appeared on his naked flesh, and almost instantly he started shivering. Immediately, he curled in on himself, teeth almost chattering; the thin blanket did no justice in the morning, especially a morning that he realized was a lonely one.

Masaomi was gone.

For some reason, the dark-haired teenager felt his heart clench. It skipped a beat, first in worry and then in fear. Mikado hadn't realized he came to rely so much on the blonde until now, and so he frowned and smiled at the same time. That warm feeling in his chest that lulled him to sleep, that same feeling from the moment when he first kissed Masaomi was still present in his heart, however, but when he thought about the blonde's absence, it disappeared, flickering on and off like a cursed candle.

He felt like a wreck for some reason the universe wouldn't provide clues to.

Mikado's birthday was one of the best times of his life, though, and he decided to dwell instead on that. Last night was…he blushed red at the memories-last night was amazing, and it was all because of his best friend turned lover. All he knew was that a certain blonde teenager made him feel special, and for just being himself.

It was because of Kida Masaomi.

Kida Masaomi, this guy who came out of no where to protect him. Kida Masaomi with his fading blonde hair and large, warm brown eyes. Kida Masaomi with his exuberance and cheer, his bad jokes and musical laughter…he was someone very, very dear to him. The thought of him gone from his life terrified Mikado and with this thought he pinched his eyes shut. The idea of Masaomi willingly leaving him felt much worse than it should have, and it scared him into oblivion.

At that moment, the door opened, startling him into sitting position, snapping his eyes open and wide. Harsh light came through the open door, illuminating the once dark room. With a free hand he shielded his eyes while trying to make out the dark figure, the silhouette amongst the white, the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Masaomi?" he called out wearily, fear taking a hold of his lungs for a moment. The air wouldn't enter or leave them, making breathing a much harder task than it should. Mikado almost shivered; the cold felt colder than ever before.

The dark and blurred figure at the doorway didn't move or make a sound. It just stood there. Staring? Observing? Thinking? Possibly adjusting to the sudden darkness like how Mikado was trying to adjust to the sudden light? Was it Masaomi? Mikado prayed to dear god that it was.

Suddenly, the door shut with an unpleasant bang and the dark-haired teen flinched in response. The person started moving, but the pace was uneven. Unfamiliar. Mikado was frozen, filled with fear and worry and shame. Being found in this position left him really vulnerable, and plus, what would his people say? "Son of past Prime Minister found naked in abandoned room covered in unknown man's sperm." That would surely make the headlines. His father would be rolling around in his grave, no doubt.

'Why is that still affecting him, though?' Mikado thought with clenched fists, and then realization took control of his mind, shoved the worry straight out of him.. What people? His people had already lost hope. If they weren't killing each other, they killed themselves. His people were…-they were…

Predictable.

'How boring.'

Were humans always made up this way, to follow the set path their peers designed for them. Were they subject to this imprisonment that he, himself, had felt before that fateful day? No. He knew that wasn't true. Just look at himself. Ryuugamine Mikado had set his own path, even though it was a path he would have rather avoided. But the fact that he got out of that cycle of human routine, made him feel both delighted and relieved, like there was hope. The two positive feelings didn't fight for sole dominance, they coexisted together in harmony. Mikado felt like he reached Nirvana; the flame of boringness literally became snuffed out. His father's death was the force and impact, the cool wind that made that happen.

So, when the dark, unknown figure stopped suddenly in front of him, Mikado looked straight up at the other's eyes, not minding his state of disarray, the dried semen on his skin, the scars and marks littered all over his body. Head tilted up, he smiled pleasantly and normally, like nothing was wrong, like his father was still alive somewhere out there and that Japan was the way it used to be: prospering, alive-.

"Hello, Orihara-san."

Red eyes smiled in mirth; a nicely shaped mouth tilted upwards to form a classic smirk; usual fur-trimmed parka, the metal glint in the man's pale hand, that same air of confidence and something terrifying that accompanied the dangerous informant without fail. It engulfed the room like cold fire.

"Good morning, Tanaka Taro-kun."

Izaya let out a small laugh as he looked amusedly down at his King piece's current state. He helped him up, brow arching at the evidence of the previous night's activities.

"Welcome back." Izaya said with a devilish grin, for now ignoring the stench of sex surrounding the shorter male. Now was the time for their reunion, and on the day right after Mikado's birthday, a day in the glorious season of change: Spring. . .

Mikado didn't know why, but he returned the expression - the grin - though it was infinitely smaller than the red-eyed man's in front of him. He could feel the sadness in his eyes, though he hoped the dangerous informant hadn't noticed.

All that he knew was that Masaomi's familiar voice (which he wanted to hear right now, please right now…) kept lingering in the back of his head, his handsome, concerned face embedded forever in the retinas of his blue eyes.

"Whatever you do, don't get involved with Orihara Izaya. He's bad news."

.

.

.

"I'm sorry, Kida-kun. But it's a little too late for that."

A/N: Confusing? I had two different endings to this oneshot, but I chose the one that leaves opportunity for continuation, as you can see. 'Where's Masaomi?' you may ask. I left that up to the reader's interpretation. :D

Mikado and/or Izaya is saying that last itty bitty line, by the way. Mikado switching back to calling Masaomi, "Kida-kun." is Mikado letting go of the past year, the times they spent together, their relationship - whether that be to protect the blonde or not, again, it's up to the reader's interpretation.

...does that make sense? :o

And Izaya, you fucking cockblock. You like worming your way into my fics don't you. (And Aoba, too, but that's a whole other story.) Yes, Izaya had influence over the Organization. His plan was a definite success, as you can see. Yes, I know Mikado is not a King piece in canon...(or is he? o.o) For some reason, I remember him as a Shogi piece, but oh well. Creative license?

Reviews are always appreciated. ^^