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Title: Last of Days
Fandom: K Project
Rating: T
Pairings/Warnings: Sarumi.
Summary: Sometimes it felt as if the day Fushimi had joined Homra he’d received a deep cut to the vein and he’d been bleeding out slowly ever since.


“This is it?” Fushimi looked up at the derelict building in front of them with considerable boredom.

“This is definitely the place!” Misaki snapped. “This is something important for protecting the honor of Homra, I wouldn’t get something like that wrong!”

“Honor.” Fushimi snorted. “All we’re doing is preying on the weaker trash, that’s all.”

“Hey, what the hell does that mean?” Misaki demanded, grabbing Fushimi by his shirt collar. Fushimi felt himself smile and wasn’t sure why.

Misaki was angry, and somehow the sight of those burning eyes turned on him made Fushimi’s heart pound.

“After I let you come along, too,” Misaki muttered, pushing him away suddenly and closing his umbrella with a snap, swinging it around experimentally. “These guys are scum dealing drugs in Mikoto-san’s territory. Don’t you dare compare the likes of them to us.”

“Us,” Fushimi repeated blandly, fingers twitching.

“If you’re scared, you can just stay out here alone,” Misaki added, taking a step forward. Fushimi reached out without even thinking, grabbing onto the back of Misaki’s shirt as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Hey, let me go!”

“Idiot.” Fushimi didn’t know why he held on so tightly. They weren’t in school anymore. It wasn’t his job to hold onto Misaki now, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Fushimi clicked his tongue and forced his hands back down to his sides.

“What’s your problem?” Misaki asked. “Ah, whatever! You can just stay out here, you stupid monkey. I’ll do this myself.”

“Don’t just barge into there without a plan,” Fushimi said severely.

Idiot. Idiot. Misaki was just an idiot, like always. Without Fushimi around, he’d get into all sorts of trouble. Without Fushimi around he’d definitely run his head into danger, that was for sure.

So why do you keep leaving me behind?

“Sounds like coward talk to me,” Misaki muttered, arms crossed.

“Only to idiots too dumb to understand basic fighting tactics,” Fushimi retorted. “Just because the King can barge into places like this headlong without any preparation doesn’t mean you can too.”

“That’s because Mikoto-san is awesome,” Misaki stated, and Fushimi scowled. “He doesn’t hold back against guys like this. We should try to do the same. We need to teach these guys what happens when you mess with Homra!” He started for the door again and Fushimi grabbed him again. “Aaah, Saru, quit it already!”

“Tch.” Fushimi pressed a hand against his forehead. His head was hurting again, but it was a duller pain than before. This was familiar, comforting even. The pain of Misaki being stupid. “Let me go in first.”

Fushimi kept low to the ground as he prowled the warehouse upper floor. Persuading Misaki had taken more time than he’d expected — how had the idiot gotten even more stubborn than when they were in middle school, it was infuriating — but in the end he’d agreed to let Fushimi try and do some scouting first before they attacked.

Why do I have to do this? Fushimi’s hand clenched around the hilt of his knife. This is stupid. This doesn’t have anything to do with me or Misaki. Who cares if there are drug dealers around here? We can avoid them. If anyone tries to mess with either of us I can just stab him and we can escape. We don’t need to do these stupid things just because of crap like ‘Homra’s pride.’ If Mikoto-san cares so much, he can squash small fry like this all by himself. He doesn’t even need us.

It was pointless. Here he was finally alone with Misaki without all those other people crowding in on the two of them and he was wandering around a dusty warehouse looking for street punks. Fushimi’s feet slowed and he leaned against a wall, staring up at the ceiling.

If he went back out now Misaki would wonder how he’d gotten through the entire warehouse so quickly. But from where he was standing Fushimi was certain that he could see anyone who might come by before they saw him. It would be easy to take care of them before they raised an alarm. He could just wait, just let the minutes pass, and then go out and tell Misaki that the information been wrong and the place was empty. Then they could go back to the apartment. They could walk back together. It would be dark in a matter of hours, there was no point in going back to the bar this late.

They could just go back to their apartment and spend some time there, together. Just the two of them. All Fushimi had to do was lie to Misaki, and they could go back together.

Fushimi rested his back against the wall, closed his eyes, and waited.

“All right you trash, come and get it!” A yell from further inside the building made his eyes snap open and Fushimi groaned internally.

That idiot. I should have expected this.

Immediately Fushimi broke into a run, heading towards the sound of commotion from nearby. Leaning over the railing he could see Misaki standing in the center of the floor below, umbrella covered in red flames as he swung it about the way he would normally swing his bat. There were several men surrounding him, trying to keep out of range.

Fushimi was halfway down the stairs when he caught sight of one man peering out at Misaki from behind a stack of crates. Misaki clearly had no idea he was being watched, posturing dramatically as he yelled at the fallen men surrounding him.

“And you guys tell your boss that this is what happens when you mess with Homra!” Misaki swung the umbrella in a circle, flames shooting out in a ring around him.

The man behind the crates held up a gun and aimed.

Two knives flew from Fushimi’s hands without even a thought as he jumped down the last several steps. The man fell, clutching at his arm where the knives had sunk deep, and Fushimi utterly ignored him, focused only on Misaki.

You idiot. You stupid idiot. Yelling about Homra almost got you killed. If I hadn’t been here, what would have happened? You could have died.

Misaki. Dead. Fushimi bit his lip and his hands tightened around his knives. An alleyway stained red with blood flashed in his mind. It wasn’t the same, that blood. That blood was only belonging to worthless trash. Even Fushimi’s own blood, that was just red. Misaki’s was different. He would never allow any of these people to harm Misaki. He had long ago promised himself that.

But as long as they were in Homra, he would break that promise again and again.

Why did we have to go with them? Fushimi’s head was clogged with thoughts again. Why did we have to join Homra anyway? We didn’t need any of that. When it was just you and me, I knew that I could protect you from anyone. Even when Misaki went looking for fights, it was never against anyone that we couldn’t take down together. And now everything is caught up in ‘Homra’s pride’ this and ‘Mikoto-san’ that, and it’s all stupid, all of it, and Misaki is going to get hurt, and I’m not going to be able to do anything.

Something hard slammed against him then and Fushimi reeled. He barely managed to look up in time to see a large, broad-shouldered punk bearing down on him, fists raised to strike. Fushimi reached for his knife but he was off balance and suddenly found himself being thrown to the floor, his head slamming hard against the ground. Stars danced before his eyes and his breath felt hot in his throat. He could dimly make out the fuzzy shape of his attacker standing above him and with a sudden burst of desperation Fushimi rolled over to one side, the man’s fists hitting the ground inches from where he’d just been, and Fushimi stumbled to his feet. One knife flew from Fushimi’s hands. The man dodged to avoid it and Fushimi was immediately there, burying his other knife in the man’s throat.

Blood washed over his hands and the man fell heavily to the ground. Fushimi fell to his knees along with the body, staring dumbly at the knife in his hands. There was a throbbing pain in the back of his head and he suddenly felt strange and far away, as if he was just barely tethered to his own body. Collecting his thoughts was like swimming upstream through mud.

Misaki. The name burst into his mind like a life raft. That was right, he was here with Misaki. Where was Misaki? Fushimi had to find him.

Fushimi stumbled dizzily to his feet. He pressed one hand to the back of his head and pulled it away abruptly when he felt the blood matting in his hair. He could dimly hear Misaki’s voice but it sounded strange, as if he was listening to it through a filter.

“All right! Anyone else want to fight me?” Misaki was standing several feet away, swinging the umbrella around proudly. Unconscious bodies surrounded him and there didn’t seem to be a scratch on him.

Is it me? Fushimi wondered dully. I’m supposed to be the one who protects him. I’m supposed to be the one who drags him along, because he’s too stupid to handle himself. So why is he over there looking fine and I’m acting so pathetic? He grit his teeth. Why am I always the one left like this? Why can Misaki stand there looking fine, when he’s only Misaki?

He stumbled forward, nearly falling to his knees, leaning heavily against the wall. Fushimi’s fists clenched.

Pathetic. Stupid and pathetic. Why was it always like this now, falling to his knees, forced into the shadows and the corners while Misaki burned so brightly in front of him? They’d always been the same before. Misaki had always been at his side, a step behind, a step ahead. Now Misaki was so far away and Fushimi could only sink lower and lower, rotating further and further out of Misaki’s orbit, a dark shadow being slowly eaten away by the red flames that surrounded Misaki’s body.

I’ll be nothing to him soon. It hurt, burned, more than the knock on his head, more than the wound on his side. How was he supposed to keep breathing, when everything hurt so much all the time?

“Wait, please!” Another voice was yelling and Fushimi raised his head. The only punk still standing was in front of Misaki, palms up in a calming motion. The umbrella was swung casually over Misaki’s shoulder and he was smiling cockily

“Heh. One still left, huh?” Misaki raised the umbrella and the man took a hasty step back.

“Wait, wait! I don’t want to fight,” the man said. “I-I’ll tell you anything you want to know, okay? Just let me go. You want to know the name of our boss? I can give it to you. His name, his address, his favorite foods — I’ll tell you all of it.” The smile faded from Misaki’s face and the man rubbed his hands together nervously. “I-I don’t really care about the rest of these guys here. How about you let me help you, huh? I can do anything for you, anything you want. I’ll help you take everyone left from our gang down, all right?”

Misaki scowled down at the man and suddenly swung the umbrella. The man squeaked and fell backwards onto the ground as the umbrella cut through the air a few inches from where he had been standing.

“Guys like you make me sick,” Misaki proclaimed darkly. “You’ll betray your friends just like that? Don’t make me laugh.” Misaki pulled down his collar, revealing the tattoo. “You tell your boss that this is what happens when you guys mess with Homra. We don’t need help from scum like you to take all of your guys down. Tell him that Homra’s Yatagarasu will take down anyone who dares to cause trouble in Mikoto-san’s city!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue in irritation as he forced himself forward again. Stupid Misaki. Idiot Misaki. Always yelling about Homra. Have you even noticed that I’m here?

Misaki was still staring down at the remaining gang member with obvious distaste. There was a fire in his eyes that made something inside Fushimi shake and he felt light-headed and strange. His body was tingling with an unpleasant feeling and his hands felt cold, his stomach churning as if he might be sick.

Misaki was angry and staring down, his eyes only on the man in front of him.

(“You’ll betray your friends just like that?”)

Fushimi stopped walking for a moment and leaned against the wall again, breathing hard. Something was wrong. He felt so strange and he wasn’t even sure why. There was a small voice fluttering in the very corners of his mind, something dark and unpleasant and he was afraid to stop and listen to it. If he heard those words, Fushimi knew instinctively that nothing would be the same anymore. The fragile balance he was holding onto would slip from his fingertips at last and smash into pieces on the floor.

“Hey, Saruhiko!” Misaki’s voice cut through the haze in his mind and Fushimi raised his head. Misaki was coming towards him, flames dwindling down around him now that all the enemies had been taken care of. “Where the hell have you been hiding? You were taking too long and I got tired of waiting. I told you we didn’t need to scout first, these guys were totally weak, it was nothing to take them all down…” He trailed off, smile dropping off his face. “Saru? You okay?”

No. Fushimi’s face twisted into a scowl and he felt a sudden rush of absolute hate towards everything, towards the stupid smile on Misaki’s face and the tattoo glaring on his chest. One of Fushimi’s hands raised to scratch distractedly at his own chest, right over the spot where he knew his own mark was placed. It felt hot under his fingertips, as if it was burning itself into his skin.

“Saruhiko?” Misaki reached for him and Fushimi slapped his hand away without a thought. Misaki’s eyebrows rose in surprise and a hurt look fleetingly crossed his face before being replaced by annoyance. “Hey, what was that for? What’s your problem, just because I took care of it all on my own…”

“My problem is you’re an idiot,” Fushimi said darkly. The headache was back again, throbbing deeper than ever before, pounding into his brain. He could feel Homra’s red under his skin, as if it was burning him alive from inside out.

“What, you wanna start a fight, bastard?” Misaki challenged. Fushimi forced himself to straighten and turned away from him.

“Shut up and leave me alone. I’m going home.”

“Wait a minute, hey!” Misaki reached for him and Fushimi pulled his hand out of reach. “Saru, hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s…” The world suddenly began to swim before his eyes and Fushimi put a hand to his head, stumbling dizzily backwards.

“Saruhiko?” And then Misaki was there behind him, catching him before he could fall. “What’s…wait a sec, you’re hurt! What happened?”

“Don’t touch me!” Fushimi tried to pull away but his body didn’t seem to want to obey him and he sagged in Misaki’s grip.

“Saru…” Misaki sighed. “You’re always like this, you know? If you’re hurt, you should tell me, you know I never notice this stuff on my own. Come on, I’ll take you back to the bar and Kusanagi-san can take care of your injury.”

“No.” Fushimi grabbed onto Misaki’s wrist. “I want to go home.”

“You probably have a concussion or something,” Misaki argued. “We should get back to the bar and--”

“I want to go back to the apartment,” Fushimi repeated with as much strength as he could manage, forcing his gaze to meet Misaki’s. Misaki stared back at him wide-eyed for a long moment before finally nodding.

“…All right, Saruhiko. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

A small smile wound its way onto Fushimi’s face as he let his body relax against Misaki’s. He felt Misaki tense for a moment, Misaki’s hands tightening against his shoulders.

“You’re gonna be okay Saru. I’ll take you home, okay? We’ll go home and I’ll fix you up.”

“Mmm.” Fushimi nodded and allowed Misaki to half-carry him as they exited the warehouse together.

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