a/n: a little bit out of sched bc of life in general ;u; i'm going to be honest here - i had the whole fic typed out on evernote, and it turns out that the last part (which is a pretty huge chunk of the fic) hasn't been saved. so...expect some delay on future chapters. i'm really, really sorry about that. it was a mistake on my part to trust the autosave feature. (also, the m-dashes have disappeared in some sections, so...)
anyhow, here's chapter 3. i'm on tumblr at exordia-co-vu (replace dashes with periods) if anyone wants to talk/sob about kurobas' final chapter c:
extra notes: mentions of character death, sexism, and rape. if any of these triggers you, i'd say that the description is very, very vague, but i'd advise you to take caution. i'm well aware that i'm giving away some essential details, but i hope that this chapter isn't in any way offensive.
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three
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It is a well-known fact that exposure therapy is one of the most effective treatments for people with anxiety disorders. Talk to a therapist about your fears, develop a treatment plan, and expose yourself to scenarios that involve those that terrify you, with each situation being more intense than the last. Hypothetically, patients gradually become more comfortable with the incidence of their fears if they encounter them repeatedly.
What they don't tell people is that fear isn't something that you combat by facing it many times. It cripples your mind—being used to it doesn't mean that it's gone.
.
When Furihata regains consciousness, he is drowning yet again.
He should be conditioned to expect the liquid filling his lungs by now, after his experiences of suffocating under bodies of water without knowing how he ended up there. Furihata's reflex is to swim upwards, to get himself to the surface, but his body loses all sense of coordination and he remains still, eyes open and bubbles floating from his nares.
The moment he realizes that he cannot breathe is also the moment when he actually stops breathing. Furihata brings his hands to his neck and gasps, swallowing a mouthful of cold freshwater.
Shutdownshutdownshutdown—he tells his mind in panic, refusing to be hauled into overdrive before he can drown in exhaustion. Turning his head, Furihata assesses his surroundings—nothing but darkness—and whimpers silently when he finds that he cannot kickstart with his feet. The last memory that he has is of Akashi whispering something unintelligible to him before he blacked out.
Akashi. His eyes have always been knowing, and to him Furihata is probably an open book. Akashi's eyes can see through anyone.
Akashi. He's always said that Furihata is afraid of him, hasn't he? Akashi has always known that Furihata is too far from reaching what he wants.
Breathe.
A glimmer brushes past the corners of Furihata's vision, and he tries to follow the dim light but is eventually met with more of the sprawling darkness. He holds his breath, wary that his chest is nothing but a space that's empty save for the pain.
But he can't die here. He's already dead, anyway.
The soft murmur comes again. Breathe.
He does not do so.
Breathe, the voice insists, impatience dripping from its echo.
Furihata shakes his head, keeping his mouth shut.
Finally, there's anger.
Breathe.
.
Furihata gasps for air, letting the water flood his mouth. He's expecting to choke, to suffocate, to suffer—but the only thing he does is revel in the taste of life as it comes surging down his system like a spark. Focusing his vision on the distance ahead, he breathes normally as he would on land and instinctively reaches for the spot under his jaw.
Lines. Depressions. Folded surfaces.
"It's about time you learn how to follow instructions, Furihata-kun," the voice from before sighs in relief, and Furihata jerks back when a creature swims towards him. Half of the creature's body is similar to a human's, but the lower half is something else—it's shimmering under the rays that pierce through the water, with plates that glisten with an orange glow.
The creature, upon noticing Furihata's look of wonder, points to himself and says, "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Kise Ryouta, and I'm what you call a merman."
Furihata raises his hands shakily. "U-Um, it's nice to meet you…Kise-kun. But what's on your…"
"Oh, this?" he dives in and waves the lower part of his body. "Ah...you're probably not familiar with fish. This is a tail, which I use to navigate through the lake. You've got legs and I've got this. Pretty awesome, huh?"
"Oh, um, yeah," is the only thing Furihata says, wary that his inquisitiveness might do more harm than good. Besides, Kise is talking nonchalantly even if he has only met Furihata, and he already knows what the brunet's name is. "Just a second, Kise-kun—how did you know my name?"
Kise blinks at him in surprise and laughs good-naturedly. "Really? You're with Akashicchi and you don't know what he's capable of? Hm, you're truly interesting, Furihata-kun."
Akashicchi, Furihata echoes in his head, curious about how the suffix came to be and admittedly amused at Kise's endearment. If what Kise says is true, then it must be Akashi who sent him here, perhaps for the purpose of 'bathing'—that is, to cleanse himself of any humanity he has left in him. In reflex, Furihata wraps his arms around himself in hopes that he could at least retain some of his previous identity. He's not certain if he'll sense something leaving him hollow, but he doesn't want to let go of what makes him himself.
Upon seeing his action, Kise quirks a questioning eyebrow and says, "I see—so you're interesting because you're weird. You really shouldn't do that, you know. It doesn't make any difference."
Furihata shrugs and drops his arms to his sides. He opens his mouth to ask something, but Kise beats him to it, swimming upwards and grinning at the light that frames his face. "Your time's up, Furihata-kun. You can head to the surface now, since you're all ready for this world."
The blonde holds his hand out, and Furihata takes it without any inhibition. Kise's hands are scaly and cold, to the extent that Furihata has to suppress a flinch that runs through him. When he looks at Kise, he sees golden eyes that are trying to find the way out of the dark depths of the lake. Something tells Furihata that Kise originally did not belong here but had to hide—from what, Furihata does not know.
"Come on, Furihata-kun," Kise startles and pulls him out of his thoughts again by tightening his grip on Furihata's hand. As insistent as Kise's tone is, Furihata can't help but wonder why Kise is alone albeit being someone who appears to be sociable, at least more than how Furihata is. Akashi's words come back to him almost in an effort to annoy, but the last of them makes Furihata squirm at Kise.
The brunet squeezes Kise's hand in return for the purpose of holding on. "…Kise-kun, before I go—can I ask you something?"
Kise shrugs, saying, "Sure. But you should make it quick; Akashicchi's probably waiting for you, especially since you haven't gone through the rites yet."
What rites—Furihata wants to ask, but he bites the inside of his cheek to remind himself that the clock is ticking and he doesn't want to further disappoint Akashi due to more of his tardiness. He looks up at the surface, the waves rolling and rippling over his head softly instead of angrily. Perhaps this is what people who drown see—once they come to terms with the fact that they are well under the water, they see something beautiful in the place of something deadly.
"Ah, well," Furihata begins with a bit of hesitation, "Akashi-kun told me something about how you—we came to this world. Something about being…murdered."
He jolts when Kise suddenly bursts into laughter, the kind that's hollow and bitter and pitifully hoarse. "…You're asking me how I died. You could save the tact for later, Furihata-kun. I don't turn away from the straightforward types."
In spite of Kise's insouciance about the issue, Furihata can't help but feel sorry for him and his lies about not caring about his departure. "W-well, yes. I'm sure that I'm intruding, but—"
"It's fine, really," Kise waves him off, clearing his throat in the process. "For starters, you could say that where I live is a huge hint." He gestures to his surroundings, where there is nothing else but bubbles and the dark.
"…You're…alone," Furihata offers.
Kise nods, his expression laced with a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. Maybe there's no difference anymore. "Right, I am. I'm away from everybody else, in a place where it's difficult to find me."
"And you wanted this?" Furihata looks around, his hand still in Kise's. "Kise-kun—did you want to be alone?"
He gets a smile in return—all front teeth glistening from the light refracted by the water. "I don't think it's a matter of wanting to be alone. It's just that I wanted to be where no one else could possibly follow—well, except for those who have to cleanse themselves the first time they get here. Other than that, no one can see me. When you leave, you won't find me ever again."
"But-"
Kise continues, not mindful of Furihata's interjection. When Furihata thoroughly looks at him, he sees hair spun from gold, a face that's too impeccable to belong to desolation, and a man who seems as if he ought to live somewhere else. Something tells him that Kise must not be here but chose otherwise anyway. "I was popular, once. Don't get me wrong-I loved the concern that I received from people who have so much going on in their lives, and I was glad that even if I was only one person I was in many people's thoughts.
"The thing about some people who referred to me as their idol was that they became too engrossed that their 'love' turned to something that would destroy and consume them later on. I was only, hm, I think I was eighteen when some people began following me, to the point that I had no personal space anymore." Kise chuckles and shakes his head at the memory. "Now that I think about it, sometimes it's hilarious when they take pictures of me during my restroom breaks."
Furihata bites his lip when Kise exhales shakily, his eyes glistening. Still, Kise smiles, baring his teeth and crinkling his eyes almost painstakingly. The brunet has to suppress a blush when he keeps eye contact with Kise-after all, how could he maintain his composure if he's confronted by someone who catches everybody's breaths away?
Bubbles float from Kise's mouth when he speaks. "You know, Furihata-kun, it's never easy to talk about this-to talk about how I died. Even if it's been an eternity since I last felt human sensations, I can still remember how wrong the atmosphere was when I was walking home. It was after a photo shoot when I knew that somebody followed my trail."
"Why did they kill you?" Furihata blurts, his anger flaring at the unfairness of it all. He sees Kise, a boy who could've grown up to have a family. He could've had the chance to age and lose that beauty of his on the surface but still have his radiance in his wide eyes. Now that he's seconds away from hearing Kise's recollection of his end, everyone whom he has met in the Upper World stare back at him with futures not glimpsed, chances not taken, and lives that disappeared no matter how these people appeared to be innocent.
They didn't deserve to die.
Kise inhales sharply when he notices Furihata tensing up, as if his body is preparing him to cry. "Furihata-kun, I still don't know what I did wrong. But it felt so painful-to have that blade behind me, to know that I could've been saved had I not been on a dark street."
Furihata tastes something salty on his lips as he says, "It's wrong. You shouldn't be here."
"But I am," Kise smiles sadly. "Furihata-kun, please don't cry for me. It's not your fault."
"I'm sorry," Furihata shakes his head, letting go of Kise's hand only to wipe his eyes, but he realizes that he is in the water and it doesn't make any difference if he lets his tears fall freely. "I'm sorry, Kise-kun. It's too unfair."
"You don't have to take the blame for everything," assures Kise, who rests his palms on Furihata's shoulders to keep them from shaking. His hands are cold, so cold-Furihata wonders how warm they would have been if Kise was still alive.
When Furihata has stifled his sobs enough to come to terms with the reality of it all, he looks Kise in the eye and hears him say, "I think that's what your weakness is. You don't have to apologize for things that are beyond your control."
He's about to say something in return, perhaps something about how being sorry is the most that he could do especially since he isn't capable of doing most things-but he keeps his lips plastered and nods, acknowledging Kise's note. He's right, when Furihata ponders on it for a few heartbeats.
"Ah, I've kept you here for far too long. I messed up your eyes, too. Sorry for that."
Rather than feeling Kise's hand in his once again, Furihata winces at the constriction of his chest and subsequently begins to suffocate as he looks to Kise for answers. He tries to open his mouth but ultimately regrets it when he swallows the water and chokes on it, his efforts to breathe through his newly acquired gills rendered futile. The lake presses on him as if it is too intent on getting rid of him.
Beside Furihata, Kise's figure is slowly vanishing-Furihata isn't able to determine if it is his vision surrendering to unconsciousness or Kise's impending disappearance.
Nevertheless, Kise is beautiful even when he fades away. "Hold onto my hand, Furihata-kun. It's the only way you'll get back to the shore."
Furihata nods, sensing every part of him turning into lead.
"This is goodbye," Kise muses, his voice barely reaching Furihata in his transition into the darkness. "But it's an honor to have met you."
There is nothing that Furihata can say because even his lips have given up on him.
Before he can truly 'drown', Furihata flutters his eyes one last time to imprint Kise's image into his mind, to tuck his voice away in the corner of his mind so that he could remember someone who locked himself away where nobody could trace his footsteps. The more he attempts to memorize every detail of Kise's smile, though, the more his grasp on Kise's expressions fades away.
Kise seems to have read his motive from the way he blinks to ward off the blackout, because he offers him one last smile, one that doesn't quite reach up to the peak of his cheekbones but stretches across his face to indicate that he hasn't been this happy for so long. "In spite of that, I hope I'll see you again, Furihatacchi. You're probably one of the people who are worth staying in the light for."
Furihata breathes, long and deep, and lets the water take him away.
Kise's memory dissipates into the nothingness in an instant, but Furihata holds on to the way he felt when Kise called him with another suffix.
.
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At the exact moment that his feet touch the sand, Akashi charges toward him.
Furihata barely has the time to yelp and scream a mouthful of questions at his aggressor, but his hand automatically finds its way to the hilt of his sword. He doesn't register how impossible it is that he could've had that reaction time, but the way the sword weighs feels so natural to him, and he blocks Akashi's own weapon, the clash resounding with a shrill clang.
His eyes widen at the proximity of Akashi's own. Akashi stares at him, hands pressing on his own sword to weaken Furihata's defense.
When they both step back as they realize that neither of them would succumb, it is Furihata who attacks first, raising his sword above Akashi's head. His mind is overwhelmed by his bewilderment at his newfound expertise on swordplay and at the speed at which his body chooses to fight instead of give in. As fast as his reflexes are, Akashi moves too quickly and aims for his side. Furihata steps to the side and avoids the blade narrowly.
Akashi seems to be impressed by this, judging from the way his eyes radiate with something unknown to Furihata. When he positions his arm to slash across Furihata's chest, Furihata recognizes the threat posed on him and grabs the blade, only registering the foolishness of his action after his impulse has taken over. Akashi makes a surprised sound when Furihata doesn't let go of his sword and releases his hold on its hilt too late.
Furihata pants as he points the tip of his blade towards Akashi's throat.
The brunet's palm starts to bleed as Akashi gently pushes the blade away from himself. They hold each other's gazes for a moment before Furihata falls to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.
"This is your true strength, Kouki," Akashi calmly says, his tone sounding similar to the one he possesses when he has not engaged in combat. "You live off of impulse, and it is where you find your courage. When you don't think about the consequences of your actions, you are able to face things without hiding yourself."
He holds his sword out and it vanishes into thin air. Furihata's breaths are erratic-the brunet examines his palm and is taken aback when he finds no crimson stain. There is a scar, however, but he realizes that it is of importance to him. After all, it is the sign that he has finally achieved what he has desired for so long.
Akashi offers his hand and Furihata accepts the invitation willingly, his own hand no longer trembling. It is to his delight that Akashi's touch is familiarly human. Unlike Kise, Akashi's hand is comfortably warm. "Thank you," he says, relieved that he is no longer petrified when he stands in front of Akashi.
The other's gold and red eyes become more vibrant upon Furihata's flawless utterance. Akashi steadies him yet again when he gets up and whirls around, already walking away. "The bath is just the beginning of your transition into this world. You'll have to undergo several...celebrations in order for you to become one of us."
Furihata does not say anything about the matter and trails behind Akashi. However, Akashi halts his footsteps and turns around to face Furihata, his eyebrows knit together. "Kouki, I'm surprised that you aren't curious about what these celebrations will be, what with all the questions that you want to ask."
Swallowing, Furihata disregards his flinch and murmurs, "...I think I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt, Akashi-kun."
Akashi smiles. "Please do call me Seijuuro from now on. We are similar in ways that you can't imagine."
Again, Furihata tucks away the need to ask him where exactly they resemble each other, eyes widening instead at Akashi's request. "Ah, Akashi-kun, I don't think it would be proper for me to-"
"Please," Akashi insists, the statement truly more of a plea rather than an order.
Like this, Akashi is not a king and Furihata is not a subordinate. Akashi is not omnipotent and Furihata is not helpless. Neither Akashi nor Furihata are brave and invincible. Like this, they are both humans, conversing as if they have known each other for the number of years that can't be counted on two hands. As if they are old friends.
Of course, Furihata knows that there is still a long way to go before that could become true.
"Seijuuro...kun," Furihata says slowly, taking the time to acclimatize to the name.
Akashi turns away, satisfied. "I think that that's a good start. Now, follow me-we have a place to visit while we are still in broad daylight."
.
.
They proceed first to a tailor's quaint shop, with Furihata lagging behind Akashi due to his fumbling with his armor. Akashi beckons the brunet to walk beside him and he obeys immediately, putting his hands away from the breastplate that digs painfully into his skin.
"We'll have to measure you, since I doubt that your current attire would be appropriate for the ball tonight," Akashi remarks, opening the door to the shop for Furihata. The latter steps in quietly and raises his head towards the sound of rattling wind chimes. He rolls his shoulders, grimacing at the weight of his armor.
Hours seem to pass by swiftly as Akashi shakes his head at the sight of the tailor's choices for Furihata's outfit. The tailor does show his displeasure at times, but Furihata apologizes on Akashi's behalf, looking to Akashi for any sign of approval. He does get exhausted as the sun begins its descent in the sky, fingers tugging at the dark cravat wound around his neck.
"Hm, that wouldn't do," Akashi says, specifically eyeing the cravat with which Furihata is uncomfortable. "Perhaps we could try simpler designs for him. Something less...suffocating."
The tailor grumbles something akin to irk and twirls his fingers around the empty air, making Furihata's clothes change form while still on him.
Furihata has to take a step back from the force that knocks the wind out of him and staggers forward again. He blinks and focuses on the large, rustic mirror placed in front of him.
He doesn't know what to call what he's wearing but deems it the most decent out of all of the clothes he has tried on so far.
As if reading his mind, Akashi informs him, "You're wearing a cerulean brocade waistcoat with a high black velvet shawl collar, trousers, and leather shoes."
Furihata mumbles, "Oh."
"It looks appropriate enough," Akashi says, turning toward the tailor and nodding at him. "Thank you for your services. I will see to it that you will have been rewarded."
"It's my pleasure," the tailor sighs in relief, indiscreetly wiping the sweat from his forehead. He cocks his head at Furihata's appearance and expresses his satisfaction. "I believe it suits him well."
The flattery only causes a rosy color to suffuse on Furihata's cheeks, although Furihata glances at the tailor in suspicion, wary of his different attitude earlier. He couldn't blame him, really-it is difficult to get on Akashi's bad side.
Akashi fondly smiles at Furihata's direction. "Indeed it does."
The effect is instantaneous; Furihata looks away in embarrassment, quietly wondering why Akashi's words are capable of eliciting such emotions from him.
When they step out of the shop, leaving a trail of chimes behind them, Akashi takes a moment to gaze up at the darkening sky. Like a chain reaction, Furihata does the same, squinting at the blanket of stars across the span of the galaxy. Purple and red lights paint the sky overhead like nebulae just given birth to. Furihata is startled when Akashi speaks.
"The day has gone past without us knowing," Akashi says, exhaling softly with a puff of mist emanating from his mouth. He then faces Furihata. "Kouki, I hope you're ready for the ball in spite of not having been briefed with the specifics."
"Akashi-kun-" Furihata starts but takes it back when Akashi shoots him look that clearly depicts his dissatisfaction. "Ah-I mean, Seijuuro-kun, I just wanted to thank you for the clothes. They're...much better than the armor. I think, um, they look really nice, too. But there's one thing I've been meaning to ask you-what is a ball?"
The redhead stares at him for a moment before he laughs softly. The question must have made Furihata even more of an idiot in Akashi's eyes, but Akashi does not seem to be displeased by Furihata's lack of knowledge about this world's traditions. "I apologize for that. Do you remember when you first arrived at the palace? Do you happen to recall what was taking place on that evening?"
Furihata places his finger on his chin in contemplation. "There were creatures dancing, and soothing music, and...magic."
Akashi affirms. "The dance is typically the highlight of the ball, but what a ball simply means is a feast for the elite. For us, it is a celebration of happiness, eternity, and the congregation of people who have transcended their lives as humans."
The congregation of people who were murdered remains unspoken; nonetheless, Furihata remembers the fact that even Akashi has died in the hands of another. There are many reasons why he would not dare to inquire about Akashi's obsoletion in the Lower World. One, he does not want to ruin this evening meant to formally welcome him. Two, it would be a sign of intrusion, and Furihata does not wish to invade somebody's personal space. Three, asking about such a thing is in no way polite. Four-contrary to what has been said for him to be, he is still not as fearless as Akashi thinks he is. Five-Akashi is much different from Kise. Whereas Kise appears to be approachable, Akashi still is the 'King', and Furihata would be damned if he thinks that he can hold an informal conversation with Akashi.
The justifications of his hesitation to ask Akashi about his death disappear from the top of his head once Akashi claps his hands. "I will send you on your way, so you may find your way to the front of the hall through the thick crowd. Should I be confident that you will be there when I arrive?"
Fervently nodding, Furihata responds, "Yes...Seijuuro-kun. I'll be waiting."
Akashi says, "Good." Before he thrusts Furihata into another dimension, however, he keeps his fingers poised as if to snap them. "One last thing."
When he does snap his fingers, Furihata gasps as he feels his unruly hair slicked back perfectly. The brunet pats his head and is surprised to find that his mane has been fixed.
"That looks better," Akashi tenderly says, the corners of his lips barely extending to form a smile. Furihata doesn't know why Akashi is generous with his smiles-perhaps he has been sad for long enough that he's grown tired of it, or he still is lonely and has decided that it would be best if he would just pretend that he isn't.
Akashi adds, astonishing Furihata yet again, "Always keep your head up, Kouki. People will want to see you for who you are, especially tonight, and you need not worry because you will realize that many of them find you dashing."
It takes about a minute for Furihata to process what Akashi has just said before he adorns his own face with a blush. He does not respond in the current lack of ability to do so.
Akashi snaps his fingers again, and the world revolves and revolves and revolves around him like the whole of it wants to gravitate toward him. The cacophony of the environments that he passes by mingles and intertwines with each other that it all fades into one persistent noise, that it becomes so singular that soon enough it equates to silence. His vision is a haze, his mind blank-save for thoughts of the ball and Akashi's compliments.
What stands out the most, though, is the anxiety that results from an epiphany regarding the ball itself.
He absolutely doesn't know how to dance.
.
Stumbling into the fountain wasn't exactly what Furihata had in mind for a grand entrance.
He doesn't have an inkling of why this world seems to like having him close to water-Furihata realizes a moment too late that he hears a splash instead of his feet landing safely on the floor. For now, he can secretly blame the situation on Akashi, who didn't inform him of where he would be transported to. The Akashi he knows wouldn't do something for the hilarity, but in Akashi's defense, Furihata doesn't know much about him.
Furihata sputters and coughs as soon as he surfaces. Around him, the creatures halt their dance and turn to look at him-first, in surprise; second, in curiosity; third, in amusement; and fourth, in pity.
Aomine is the first to burst into laughter, and Furihata can't rein his humiliation in. He buries his damp cheek in the curve of his collar but flinches when a shadow looms over him.
To his shock, Aomine is the one holding his hand out for him, although there are spots of grease on his fingers. Furihata resists the urge to giggle at the crumbs stuck on the side of Aomine's mouth, focusing instead on his formal attire. Even his hair is slicked to the side, some spikes still showing. He's wearing a bow tie of some sort and a dark suit that doesn't hide his tail.
"Come on, you look stupid just sitting there," Aomine drawls out, pulling Furihata up in one go. He shakes his head, still chuckling at Furihata's state. "Man, you really are clumsy. I'll take you to Satsuki so she can dry you up-but if you dare to do something else to her you should expect to be beat up by tomorrow at the latest."
Furihata hums in agreement, the embarrassment dissipating as soon as he gets back on his feet, still dripping from head to toe. "I understand. Uh, Aomine-kun, is the food really that delicious?"
Aomine disregards the cheeky smile that Furihata has and says, "Yeah, damn if it isn't. Don't tell Satsuki that I finished a whole platter. She doesn't have the guts to report that to Akashi, but she can take it upon herself to berate me. For a woman, she punches pretty hard."
"O...kay," Furihata replies, unsure. He walks with Aomine, treading a path through the hordes of people swaying to the upbeat music. Without any warning, Aomine shoves him to the corner and says, "Oi, Satsuki, this idiot got himself in the fountain. I'm not sure if you can dry him up, but here you go."
As Furihata nearly trips in front of Momoi, he exhales shakily and looks up, the sight of blindingly pink hair greeting him. He holds his breath as he scans Momoi's figure-her curls cascade towards her chest, and she's clad in an emerald gown with a wide neckline and puffed sleeves. Silver threads were sewn into her clothes to resemble spirals.
"Furihata-kun, what have you gotten yourself to this time?" Momoi pouts, and it is then that Furihata reprimands himself for blushing too many times today. He steps forward, squeezing the water out of his cuffs, and smiles apologetically.
Momoi sighs in resignation, putting her glass down on a nearby table. She holds a gloved hand up and makes a waving gesture, her fingers leaving glitter in their wake.
Furihata glances down at himself and finds that his clothes are just as crisp as when he had first worn them.
"Not bad, Furihata-kun," Momoi grins, retrieving her glass and putting it to her lips. She gingerly takes a sip then comments, "Whose taste is it that I should commend?"
"Aka-Seijuuro-kun."
At the sound of the redhead's name, Momoi blinks and erupts into a giggle. She clears her throat afterward, pointing her index finger up to signify that she is collecting herself. "I should've known. But I admit that I'm surprised that Akashi-kun let you call him that, even after only a day of knowing each other."
Furihata scratches the back of his neck. "Ah, he told me to. I think he said something about us being similar without my knowledge of the reason why."
Aomine and Momoi look at each other, each assessing the significance of Akashi's words. When they do break their gazes, Aomine announces, crossing his arms over his chest in spite of knowing that the grease on his fingers could transfer to the seemingly expensive material of his suit, "You're weird."
Furihata wrinkles his nose. "Huh?"
Elbowing Aomine in the side (who grunts in return), Momoi amends, "What he means is, Akashi-kun doesn't usually do those things-you know, allow someone to call him by his first name and such. So Aomine-kun's right in saying that something's weird, but it doesn't necessarily have to be you."
"I still don't understand why," Furihata says helplessly. He's about to ask Momoi something else but blurts, "Ah! Seijuuro-kun told me to meet him in front of the hall, so..."
The smile that Momoi has is in disbelief, and even Aomine's jaw drops at Furihata's statement. Aomine accuses, "You hooked up with him, didn't you? I knew that bastard was up to something sly, just never thought it'd be you, of all people."
Furihata opens his mouth to ask what it means but Momoi beats him to it, grinding her high heel on Aomine's foot. The brunet winces at the sound and covers one ear when Aomine howls in agony, bending to clutch his foot. "Sorry, Furihata-kun," Momoi huffs, blowing a strand of her hair away from her face. "You should get going, then, unless you want Akashi-kun to scold you."
Bowing his head, Furihata says, "I'll be leaving, then...Momoi-san, Aomine-kun."
"Heh," Aomine mutters, glaring at Momoi while nursing his foot. Momoi waves at Furihata, telling him to go quickly.
Furihata murmurs a string of apologies, excuse me's, and thank you's as he weaves his way toward the front section of the hall, where the music originates from. He thinks that the ballroom might as well be a makeshift gym since he feels as though he has just lost several pounds from navigating the spacious hall alone.
Just as he takes the final step towards the group of people playing music-an orchestra, Momoi once informed him-something materializes beside him, the air becoming a bit chillier as a wind sweeps through the floor, having come from nowhere. Furihata steps aside, weary of what it might be, until he sees red and realizes that it's a person teleporting himself to the empty space beside him.
Furihata swallows once he discovers who it is. "Aka-Seijuuro-kun."
Crimson and gold stare back at him, glowing under the light of the chandeliers. Akashi has changed from his robes and into his own formal eveningwear, donning a black coat with gilded buttons, pristine white breeches, and white stockings. "Kouki," Akashi acknowledges, tucking his lapels into his coat. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."
"I wasn't," Furihata assures him. So as not to fix his gaze on Akashi, he turns toward the orchestra, his face only a shade away from being beet-red. To his surprise, Midorima is sitting in front of the piano, closing his eyes as he hums along to the tune and moves his fingers fluidly along the keys.
Akashi follows his line of sight and says, "Shintarou has always been excellent at playing the piano. I believe that he has learned how to play when he was still in elementary."
When he was still alive, Furihata muses, wincing at the disparity between his own thoughts and the festive atmosphere that surrounds him. He also notices the pride underlying Akashi's statement-Akashi and Midorima seem to share a bond that runs far deeper than any of the relationships that Akashi has. When he thinks about it, though, anyone could admire Midorima's talent. There is just something different about how Akashi praises him.
"Of course, Shintarou's skill and mastery do not surpass mine," Akashi adds, striding toward a member of the orchestra to receive an instrument of his own. Furihata stares at his back wryly and resumes his expression of agreement once Akashi comes back.
Akashi smiles at him. "I suppose you could help yourself with a meal first; you must be starving after hours of being surrounded by nothing but clothes."
Furihata is taken aback. "I-"
"You can probably socialize with the other residents, too," Akashi says, encouraging Furihata to distance himself. Furihata thinks he should be offended that Akashi is already trying to get rid of him within minutes of being around him, but he decides to bite the inside of his cheek and convince himself that Akashi is not that kind of person.
"How am I supposed to-"
He doesn't get to finish his sentence when Akashi leaves him on his own, taking his place in front of the other violinists. Akashi murmurs something to Midorima, who nods and starts playing another tune.
Sighing, Furihata stalks off in the opposite direction and immediately sees the long row of delicacies on the side of the hall. He brings his hand up to his stomach when it growls, as if only now realizing that he hasn't eaten anything since he visited the lake. It strikes him as peculiar when he considers the fact that he hasn't been hungry at that time.
He ponders on which food he would get for a while, unable to choose between a cake with edible pearls or another meal that seems to be meat. Furihata's mouth waters at the sight of the latter but doesn't completely trust its aroma; he has never encountered this cuisine before, and he doesn't want to take the chance if ever it ends up disgusting him.
Furihata resolutely goes for the cake.
When he's gotten a slice on his plate, he takes a small piece with his fork and sniffs at it suspiciously. Looking around, Furihata sees to it that nobody is staring at him, and he sighs when he has assured that everybody else's attention is focused on the dance.
It's almost comical how swiftly he takes a bite off of the cake. Furihata swallows, the texture of the fondant icing smooth on his tongue. He recoils and almost drops the plate, blurting while still chewing, "What the heck-"
Later, there's someone patting on his back to help him swallow the piece of cake still lodged in his mouth. Furihata does so, grimacing at the taste, and turns to the person behind him. He flinches when the said person looms over him, and in solution he looks up, staring directly at a purple-haired individual.
"Eh, I guess I'm sorry about that," the tall man sheepishly says. "I always make the food too sweet for everybody else."
Furihata rubs on his throat and holds a hand up. "It's...fine. I just don't usually eat sugary stuff, so I was a bit startled about that."
The one who claims to be a baker is nibbling on another snack when Furihata looks at him. "I don't understand why you wouldn't like the cake, though. It's a favorite in the palace."
"Uh, I'm just not used to it, I think," Furihata says, regretting his slip. He hadn't meant to complain about the man's cooking. "But I still think that it's delicious, really!"
At that, the man stops halfway through his snack, his eyes changing lights. "Really?"
Furihata nods earnestly. "Yes, really."
The man sets his snack away for a moment and holds his hand out for a shake. "I'm Murasakibara Atsushi," he says through a mouthful of chocolate.
"Furihata Kouki," the brunet responds enthusiastically, shaking Murasakibara's hand while having to raise his head to properly look him in the eye. Murasakibara's palm is huge enough to clasp both of Furihata's hands, much to Furihata's awe.
Murasakibara pops a tidbit of his snack into his mouth. "Ah, Hata-chin, you must be the newcomer here. Everybody's telling me that there's something off about you."
"I didn't know that," Furihata says slowly, playing back Murasakibara's statement in his head. Although his greatest concern is the residents' opinion of him, the nickname that Murasakibara has just given him is what lingers in the confines of his mind. He supposes that both Kise and Murasakibara are fond of playing around with people's names, only Kise requires something more than a simple introduction. Now that Furihata's thoughts go back to Kise, his mood dampens and the music doesn't reach his brain as it does his ears.
Fortunately, there's a change in the harmony created by the orchestra to pull Furihata back into the present without somebody shaking his shoulders. Furihata inhales as he recognizes that the music is no longer upbeat, nor is it any tinge of happy.
His eyes focus on Midorima, who shifts in his seat as he plays the first few notes of the song on his own.
Akashi begins his part, delicately running his bow over the strings of his violin. The other violinists, after a few minutes of just Midorima and Akashi playing the piece, contribute to the harmony in the background with varying notes. Furihata notes how Akashi closes his eyes just as Midorima does, both absorbed by their own performance.
Even the dancing pairs stop in their steps to hum along to the song as if they know it by heart. Furihata turns to Murasakibara and finds that while he isn't taking part in the other residents' music, his vision is trained on the orchestra.
Involuntarily, Furihata stares at Akashi again-he senses something clench in his chest, though he's not quite sure what it is and why it does. He listens and forgets about notes and musical sheets and talent and violin; what the song brings to mind is despair, loneliness, darkness, and hope despite them all. Furihata holds his breath and his hand to his chest to stifle something unknown.
Soon, the sounds of the other violins fade as it is Akashi and Midorima who remain playing until the end of the song. It eventually comes to an end, as all things do.
Furihata quickly wipes the corners of his eyes before anyone can notice.
When he has regained his composure, he clears his throat and says, "I wonder how something so sad can be so beautiful."
Murasakibara shrugs next to him. "Aka-chin always manages to do it, and I don't think anybody questions why or how."
.
Without any warning, the lights dim above them and the crowd shuffles to form a big circle. Somebody unfamiliar grabs Furihata by the arm and he unintentionally yelps, wildly looking around for any face that he can recognize. In this darkness, he can only make out moving silhouettes and shadows cast by the decorations in the hall. Furihata scans the proximity for any sign of Murasakibara, but he cannot see the purple-haired lad anywhere near.
The certain somebody who previously whisked Furihata away to the center of the hall puts a hand on his shoulder and another is clasped around his own. Furihata becomes aware of the position he's in too late; the lights turn on again, making Furihata blink back the dots that form behind his eyes.
His gaze falls on a kaleidoscope-eyed girl, whose irises change color every second. The girl smiles at him with her perfect pearly whites. "Hi."
"W-what-"
"Come on, the dance is starting," insists the girl, and Furihata nearly steps on the hem of her dress.
Furihata doesn't have the chance to ask her what the dance is when the music picks up and the pairs begin to sweep across the floor in half-circles. The girl muffles a groan with clenched teeth when Furihata's feet land on her toes.
"Sorry!" Furihata exclaims, his head a mass of apologies. If he just wished hard enough, perhaps he could resume eating his cake-
The girl toothily grins at him before she whirls around and changes partners, giving way to another woman who winks at Furihata the moment she nears his arms. Her blond hair reaches down to her waist, and she isn't quite as timid as the first girl. "Ha, don't think you'll be ruining my pedicure, Tin Man."
Tin Man? Furihata makes an effort to glide and direct his partner without inflicting any harm on her, and it's evident on the sweat accumulating on his forehead.
The blonde laughs at his attempts to dance as decently as he could. "Nice try. You look like a chicken trying to fly, which I don't think is a really pretty picture for you."
What chicken, Furihata grumbles quietly, relieved that he would be changing partners soon. The music drags throughout the evening, and Furihata has already danced with what he estimates to be fifty individuals, most of them female and the others male and queer. He's surprised to find that he's fine with that, actually-it's not like it's frowned upon in the Lower World anymore.
The music sounds like it is coming to a close when Furihata's knees nearly buckle underneath him, and he only has one partner left to dance with before he hits the cot.
He gasps when he's the one being twirled about, and he stumbles into the arms of a familiar redhead.
His eyes make contact with Akashi's own. "Hello there, Kouki."
Furihata straightens his posture and swallows. "Aka-Seijuuro-kun."
Akashi takes the initiative to place one hand on Furihata's waist and use the other the hold Furihata's. However, he goes farther than that-his fingers entwine with Furihata's own too tightly, his grasp almost bruising. Furihata's palms go clammy at the contact and is grateful when Akashi does not call him out for it.
"You should practice calling me properly," Akashi remarks, smiling to ease the tension building up in Furihata's shoulders. He swipes his thumb over Furihata's index finger, saying, "Calm down, Kouki. You're too stiff, but you can learn how to dance if follow my lead."
"I'm really bad at this," Furihata meekly mumbles, looking down at his shoes. The song becomes more mellow with each passing second; Akashi responds to the slow transition easily, accommodating a sway.
"Not if I say you aren't," Akashi says. He continues to caress the side of Furihata's palm with his thumb. "It's easy if you stop thinking that you can't do it. If I step back, that means you can step forward. If I step forward, you have to give way for me. Where I go, you'll follow, and the same is true for the other way around. Do you understand?"
To further emphasize his point, Akashi demonstrates a part of the dance, stepping back on a foot. Furihata bites his lip and takes his place.
Akashi gives him a satisfied smile. "Good. Now, you'll have to do that without observing my feet. Look me in the eye."
"Seijuuro-kun?" asks Furihata, uncertain if he has heard it right. He can tolerate being so close to Akashi-it's fine to dance with him and hold his hand-but it may be too much to hold his gaze. He's afraid that Akashi will know all that he is just by staring into his irises. Besides, eye contact seems too intimate for people like them, for the ones who are still trying to decide if they are mere strangers or acquaintances.
"Look me in the eye," Akashi repeats with no sign of his patience wearing thin. Furihata gulps down a swirling amalgamation of emotions in his throat-of fear, doubt, pity, and something else that he can't quite explain. He nods, focusing on both of Akashi's eyes, and discovers that although they're the parts of him that make himself intimidating, they're also the ones that reveal how human he still is.
Akashi guides him and says, "Trust is a key element in this dance, and if you look at my eyes you will understand me. Just as gears will destroy each other when they go opposite ways, people cannot properly function together if they do not have the same goals. Now, Kouki-do you trust me?"
Furihata, under Akashi's gaze, wants to affirm, but he thinks of all the times he has been lied to and knows that someday it will all come back to him. "No-at least, not yet."
Surprised, Akashi sucks in a sharp breath and smiles a different smile, one that Furihata hasn't had the privilege of seeing yet. "Thank you for telling the truth, Kouki. But the right time will come, as it always does."
Without Furihata being aware of it, the song ends, and Akashi lets him go to bow before him. He does the same, lowering his head farther than Akashi did, and says, "Thank you for the dance, Seijuuro-kun."
"It was my pleasure," Akashi replies, his eyes flickering under the candlelight from the chandeliers. "By the way, your room has been prepared for you; someone will accompany you to show you where it is. I hope you'll have a good night's rest."
Furihata's response is automatic, and the brunet is amazed at how easy it is to talk to Akashi now. Relief floods him at the mention of his own quarters. "I hope you'll rest well, too."
He's left staring at Akashi's retreating back, his palms tingling and his chest a cage for fluttering wings. Akashi leaves two catchfly petals in his wake, one white and the other red. Kneeling on the floor, Furihata picks them up and examines them under the light. After staring at them for a while, he yawns, sensing the drowsiness catch up with him.
The catchflies must be of some significance to Akashi. Furihata decides to pocket the petals and heads off to the base of the staircase, seeing someone waving at him.
.
.
Weeks pass and Furihata eventually adapts to the ways of the Upper World-sometimes he's tasked to go to the market and buy the ingredients for the meals served in the palace, and other times he visits the fields and practices his swordplay. Aomine seldom tags along, daring him to surpass him in a race on foot. Of course, Furihata doesn't have enough stamina to keep up, so early on he surrenders and promises to treat Aomine to a drink in the tavern.
During his sleep, Kuroko also appears, bringing him messages from his sister and friends. The first messages he receives are always borne of tears, but as his 'death' becomes more of a thing in the recent past, the people whom he has left behind tell him stories of their days and how their world is slowly being rebuilt.
Most of the time, however, Furihata spends his days with Momoi, who educates him on various species found in the Upper World. They broach the subject of flowers one day, and Furihata absentmindedly runs his fingers through blades of grass until he remembers the petals still in his pocket. When he fishes them out, he's surprised to see that they're still fresh and intact.
"Momoi-san, what are these?" he inquires, holding the red and white petals out to her. Momoi cocks her head to the side and scrunches her nose, trying to recall where she has seen the petals before.
Finally, Momoi says, "Ah, they're from catchflies. Why are you asking, Furihata-kun?"
"I just..." Furihata is about to concoct a story of how he found them littered on the floor just after his first ball ended, but he saves the trouble for never and sighs. "Seijuuro-kun left them after the ball. I've noticed that he always had those two catchflies in his breast pocket, but I never actually asked him why he treasured them so much."
Momoi hums in understanding, taking the petals between her fingertips and blowing on them lightly. The wind sweeps through the meadow and threads through Momoi's long locks. "During the Victorian Era, which was way before your time, there was something called the language of the flowers. People used the meanings of flowers to convey what they want to tell the people to whom they give the flowers."
"Catchflies," Furihata says, touching the petals now held by Momoi. "What do they mean?"
"I really shouldn't be the one to ask," Momoi laughs, a slight tremor to her voice. "But since it's just the both of us here, I think it'll be okay. So there are red and white ones, right? The meanings vary with the colors, even if they're both catchflies."
"Mm," Furihata nods.
"The red ones signify youthful love," Momoi solemnly says, "and the white ones mean, 'I fall victim to betrayal.'"
It is only then that Furihata considers the prospect of Akashi feeling emotions such as love, which he deemed as a stranger to the likes of the redhead. It isn't that Akashi is too cold, too detached, too impassive-somehow, Furihata feels as though Akashi is hiding behind his smile and pretense, and he maintains a considerable amount of space even if he does interact easily with Furihata. Akashi just didn't seem to be someone who is capable of falling in love, and Furihata pinches the side of his thigh when his mind becomes riddled with prejudice.
The brunet wonders if the catchflies have anything to say about how Akashi died.
"Now that I think about it, Furihata-kun," Momoi disrupts the flow of his thoughts, "you've never asked me how I-well, how I died."
The statement catches Furihata by surprise, and he doesn't want to think how Momoi could've suffered in her previous world. "I didn't find any reason to, Momoi-san. Knowing that won't change what I think of you, anyway."
Momoi laughs, the sound very much gladdening and alive. "You flatter me too much, Furihata-kun. But I wanted to tell you. Unlike some of us, I want the burden of a memory lifted by sharing it to somebody else. I hope I'm not imposing, though."
"No, no-you don't have to worry about it," Furihata waves his hands frantically to keep his dread at bay. He's convinced, so convinced that Momoi's murder would be as sickening as Kise's was, if not much more.
In spite of noticing the unease in his voice, Momoi takes a deep breath and blows on the catchfly petals one last time, letting them dance with the breeze that would take them away to somewhere they can't be recovered. "It was in 1985-again, a long time before you were born. I was set to attend university with high marks, and I wanted to be a researcher of some sort, only I didn't know which field I was going to be researching for.
"During that time, women like me were allowed to go to college, but some people were utterly convinced that we wouldn't make it past freshman year," Momoi recounts, sighing softly at the absurdity of the condemnation. "I wanted to prove them wrong, and they told me that I was just another pretty face waiting to be imprisoned in the kitchen. To think that I wasn't even capable of cooking...sometimes, it makes me laugh at how people get so irrational against specific groups. But sometimes I also get sad when I think of how blinded they are by false ideals."
Furihata continues to pet the grass, tracing its pointy edges and letting the blades prick his palm. On the other hand, Momoi closes her eyes, savoring the breath of fresh air. "They couldn't believe that I became part of the dean's list on my first semester. I think it had something to do with their egos; I surpassed them in the rankings and consequently hurt their prides.
"So what did they do?" Momoi blinks her eyes open, and Furihata flinches when he realizes that they are glassy. "They tried to take me out on dates, but of course I refused-nobody really knows how people are, and I didn't want to bet my confidence on them. Then they forced me, and that was the time I hated being a girl because in the end I was much weaker than them."
"Believe me, Momoi-san," Furihata says, his voice breaking. "You're one of the strongest people I've met."
"If that were true, I wouldn't have been here." Momoi grins, and it's all shades of wrong. She resumes, "They told me that that was all I was for-to take everything they had, to relieve them of their frustrations. And then they made sure I didn't live to tell the tale, because they knew I was capable of filing a case against them."
Silence reigns over them, and Furihata fiddles with the small flowers that he sees next to his feet-dandelions, a combination of flower and seed heads. He plucks the yellow flowers off, cutting off a portion of their stems, and bunches them together to weave the stems. Momoi folds her knees up to her chin and stares at Furihata in curiosity.
When he's done fashioning a flower crown from the dandelions, Furihata holds it atop Momoi's head, and the pink-haired girl bows to accept the crown. Furihata murmurs with his throat constricting, "I'm sorry for everything they've ever done to you, and I hope that you will come to forget how it felt like back then."
"No one ever really forgets when it hurt so much," Momoi says softly, lightly touching the dandelions on her hair. "Now, I've gotten what I wanted the most only because this world has given it to me. I wanted to know everything under the sun, wanted to overload my mind with ideas because I was so fascinated by what lay unknown out there."
Furihata processes what Momoi has just said. He blurts, "You mean...?"
Momoi nods once, fixing the crown perched on her head. "I know your story as well as I do mine. I know where everything and everyone came from, and where they ended...their memories are also mine, to the extent that I can't distinguish between what belongs to me and to others."
Unable to restrain himself, Furihata blurts, "So you know what my sister's name is."
"Suzume," Momoi answers quickly, not in haste but due to the fact that she knows it by heart. "Furihata-kun, I didn't realize that knowing so much was a burden instead of a gift. I bear everybody else's pain because they are a part of me now. I wish I wasn't foolish when I thought about my desires."
Furihata shifts on the ground and grips the front of his gambeson. His clutch loosens when he realizes something that he ought to have known long ago. "Wait-you know about my parents, then?"
"Of course I do," Momoi says. "They're here-haven't you seen them yet?"
The brunet hurriedly gets up from his cross-legged stance and places his hands on Momoi's shoulders. "Momoi-san, do you know where they are?"
Momoi's eyes widen, startled by Furihata's outburst. "I'm afraid that's not something I know particularly. I know who people are, what they've gone through-but not their specific whereabouts."
"Do you know someone who does?" presses Furihata, all the years of his parents' absence counting down in his head. Their faces are blurred, like muddled water, in his memories, and he can't even begin to measure how ashamed he is that he has forgotten what their voices sounded like.
Momoi shakes her head sympathetically. "Mm-mm. But the closest you can get to finding them is Akashi-kun, since the members of the Court keep tabs on the residents of the palace and send the information to him. It might not be easy, depending on your parents' individual desires. After all, there are those who wish to live somewhere else."
"So...do you know where Seijuuro-kun is right now?" The hope in Furihata's voice doesn't waver, especially after gleaning that he is close to seeing his parents again.
"Like I said, Furihata-kun, I don't know where people are at a given time," sighs Momoi. She puts a finger to her chin in thought. "You could try finding him in the palace or the fields. I don't know where else he could possibly be; he usually keeps to himself, even in the long stretch of time that I've known him."
.
.
Night is about to fall upon the Upper World, the horizon darkening with pink, orange, and purple mixing with the blue of the sky. Cumulus clouds swirl around the sun as if to hide it, to thrust it away from Furihata's vision to let the darkness take over. The crickets begin to whir, taking cover in the tall grass. Furihata wanders aimlessly around the fields, looking for footsteps that may not be there. The shadows of the sunlight frame half of his face. "Seijuuro-kun? Are you there?"
He sniffs, the seed heads of dandelions floating as the wind carries them tenderly. Furihata has spent the whole day roaming the palace for any sign of Akashi-he has visited his room, the Court's own, the ballroom, the dining hall, and Midorima's infirmary, but his efforts were futile. Midorima had turned him away, and he had briefly wondered if the healer knew where Akashi was, after all.
After scouring the palace for the redhead, Furihata had proceeded to the fields where he trained. They had been empty, save for a few critters and butterflies. He had also encountered a wild and ferocious beast, from which he backed away. Fortunately, the beast had enough reason not to assault him.
Furihata eventually becomes weary, landing on his backside in the middle of nowhere. He should have waited until tomorrow to confirm his parents' location with Akashi-even after weeks of a new life in the Upper World, he still hasn't memorized its geography. In addition, he doesn't know how the other residents use their magic-perhaps its art is learned instead of innate, because when he attempts to summon something with his mere thought, nothing happens.
"Argh, I'm lost," he groans, rubbing his sides to keep the warmth. He looks around in hopes of finding any landmark, but all he sees is a wide expanse of greens. In front of him, the sun is rapidly descending.
Determined not to stay stagnant, Furihata stands up again, some round spiked burrs catching onto his breeches. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls out, "Seijuuro-kun! Seijuuro-kun, are you there?"
His mouth tastes dry after shouting for a while, and he pants, patting his chest to keep himself awake. Furihata shakes the burrs from his breeches, but they are difficult to remove. He resigns to letting them stay on the fabric.
Furihata's about to collapse from the exhaustion of walking and running around all day until he catches a glimpse of a tree's silhouette from afar. If ever it begins to rain and he falls asleep, he could certainly use the shade. The trudge towards the tree seems like forever, especially since it resembles an uphill trek. The sky is completely rid of the sun and embedded with stars as Furihata drags his feet.
He jerks when he sees somebody else sitting near the tree and realizes that the individual is also perched precariously on the brink of a cliff. At the sound of grass rustling, the person turns his head and expresses shock at Furihata's appearance.
"Ah, Seijuuro-kun, I finally found you," Furihata mumbles, his tone only half-doused with glee, and when he steps forward his knees surrender on him. Akashi, quick to his feet, is already there to brace Furihata against himself. Furihata looks up, a hint of lethargy in his eyes, at Akashi, and in the moonlight the redhead's face is soft and young, as if it is still pure of the evils in the Lower World.
Akashi helps Furihata stand up on his own. His hands are on Furihata's drooping shoulders when he says, "Kouki, what are you doing here?"
Furihata shakes his head to clear the drowsiness. Akashi's hands, even through his gambeson, feel cold. "I wanted to ask you something important, but I didn't know where you were. I got lost but luckily stumbled upon your hiding place."
"This isn't my hiding place," Akashi argues, letting his hands fall from Furihata's shoulders. Furihata stares at him, his hazel eyes boring through Akashi's own. He thinks that Akashi, on the eve of his arrival, had put up a facade, but it's moments like this that show that Akashi also has chinks in his armor. "I only found this cliff because I was expected to know my domain."
"Do you always go here, though?" Furihata says, taking his place on the edge of the cliff and letting his feet dangle over a tall drop. He can't discern the view below, but he can hear raging waters. A river, perhaps.
Akashi discreetly walks over to his spot and sits, maintaining a reasonable distance. "Only rarely, when I have the time. I appreciate silence in a world that never stops talking."
"You want to be alone," Furihata murmurs absentmindedly. He reddens at the realization of his slip and blurts, "Ah, that's not what I meant! I, um, I guess that you have to remember for a while that you have your own space, especially since you're tasked to converse with a lot of people. Er, that's what I was trying to say."
Akashi doesn't say anything in return, choosing to close his eyes to the sound of the gushing river. He keeps his hands clasped on his lap, his posture perfect even while sitting down with nothing to serve as his backrest. Through the corners of his eyes, Furihata observes him, the quiet admittedly unnerving.
Akashi eventually shatters the silence. "What is it that you wanted to ask?"
The brunet reprimands himself inwardly for having forgotten the purpose of his conversation with Akashi. He also remembers that Akashi doesn't know much about his past and dreads the part where he will have to tell Akashi something about his childhood. "Oh, I was wondering if you knew where my parents were. They were...they were killed when I was young. Momoi-san told me that they were in this world."
To Furihata's surprise, Akashi doesn't ask further about the way his parents died. He only says, "I might have met them before, but I clearly didn't know that they were related to you. We could find them tomorrow. Is that all?"
Akashi's sentences are too clipped, too impersonal. There's no twinge of concern about Furihata's desire to look for his parents. Furihata opens his mouth but no sound comes out, because he knows that Akashi isn't obligated to be worried about him. When Akashi stands up to leave, Furihata hastily says, "Se-Seijuuro-" the drop of the suffix makes Akashi stiffen rather than smile at Furihata's progress-"Seijuuro, one more thing."
"Time doesn't wait for anyone, Kouki," Akashi looms over him, his eyes devoid of any emotion. "Go on, what is it?"
Furihata's pounding chest makes it impossible for the brunet to form coherent words. It has been long since he felt terrified of Akashi, of anything-but the blood rushing to his head is his signal to step back and let the matter go. He's about to do just that, to tell Akashi to forget it, but he's sick and tired of having to run away when he very well knows that he can risk it all to be on the front lines. It may just be his curiosity acting on someone as shrouded with mystery as Akashi, but every time he sees Akashi standing alone, his mind screams, Wrong, wrong, wrong.
"How did you die?"
Instead of being lifted from his shoulders, the burden of Akashi's answer only presses down on Furihata further. He becomes hypersensitized to his dim surroundings, and his eyes dart to the trees, the sky, the river-everywhere but Akashi's stare.
He finally musters the courage to look at Akashi directly, and he flinches when he finds that Akashi's lips are twisted into a frown and his eyebrows knit together.
"Why do you care so much?" Akashi asks him, his tone seething with fragile anger. "Why do you care about matters that do not concern you? It only makes you vulnerable, makes you weak."
Furihata, stunned, searches Akashi's face for signs of lying. He finds none.
He stands up on one knee first, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Because it makes me human," Furihata mumbles, looking up at Akashi. His hands are trembling, and it takes him every inch of his will not to turn his back on his defiance. "Because if I don't care, maybe nobody will."
"You were human," Akashi says with a tinge of mockery. "Not anymore."
Something swells in Furihata's chest. Still, he has no idea what it is. He disguises it as a reciprocal of Akashi's anger for now. "Then what are you supposed to be? Seijuuro, if you're not human, what are you? Who are you?"
"I am Akashi Seijuuro," Akashi declares, the moonlit sky casting darkness even on his eyes. "And I am this world's king. Kouki, do not return to this place ever again-I will make sure that you will never find it."
A cry rises in Furihata's throat, and he blurts, "But-"
"Good night, Kouki," Akashi murmurs in finality. Despite Furihata's pleas to hear him out, he snaps his fingers, the little noise breaking the world apart and forcing Furihata to the confines of his own room. His vision stops going in circles and he stops seeing red once he safely lands on his bed, his pillow perfectly nestled under the crook of his neck.
Furihata immediately sits up and stares at the window, the red curtains still swaying with the breeze he has brought with him.
Grinding his teeth, he buries his face in his hands. "Damn it."
.
.
to be continued
listen to akashi's song here: www()youtube()com/watch?v=t012ucY3v2w