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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.


Fushimi slept with the window open on a bed in an empty dorm at Scepter 4 headquarters and stared fixedly at a small black spot on the wall.

He hadn’t intended to stay. He’d spent an uncomfortable car ride with Munakata – uncomfortable for him, at least, Munakata had smiled politely the entire time and made irritating small talk -- before being taken to have his wounds looked at. He’d assumed they would send him home as soon as he was taken care of, but once again the Blue King had been waiting for him and had requested he stay for dinner. Fushimi hadn’t wanted to agree, but there wasn’t much way around it. He had no idea what the meal had consisted of, because Munakata’s big-boobed lieutenant had covered it all with some kind of disgusting-looking red crap before offering it to him with a suspicious glare, and it wasn't until the entire ordeal was over that Munakata had finally offered to have a car take him back home.

Back to the apartment, where Misaki was probably waiting. Misaki had probably called him over and over again too, trying to figure out where he’d gone.

Probably.

Fushimi’s hands tightened around the blankets. His head was hurting again and it had nothing to do with the wound.

There were things Fushimi knew, things he had learned long ago and had always, always remembered. Everything broke. Everything shattered, everything disappeared eventually. He knew that. Anything he tried to hold would always slip from his hands so he’d never bothered to hold anything.

Misaki had changed everything. Fushimi didn’t even know how he’d allowed that to happen, but Misaki had changed everything. He’d let himself believe that he and Misaki would be together forever. He’d convinced himself that if he held on tight enough then Misaki would never be able to leave him. He’d thought that if he just kept Misaki close, then they would be all right. They wouldn’t break. Misaki wouldn’t be one of those things that shattered and was swept away. Misaki was going to be his one permanent thing, the thing he didn’t have to worry about losing.

And even though Fushimi had held on so tightly, Misaki had slipped away anyway.

Fushimi bit his lip and rolled over, unable to find a comfortable position. The bed felt too small and too empty at the same time. His hands reaching out felt nothing but cold air.

So many things Fushimi knew, and he’d let himself forget. He’d thought that he and Misaki would always be together, that his hand was the only one that would fit in Misaki’s. Fushimi had let himself believe and everything had shattered again, just the way it always did.

( “There you are, Saruhiko!”)

( “Let’s go to the game center, okay, Saruhiko?”)

( “You can use my umbrella, then.”)


It was all Misaki’s fault. Fushimi grit his teeth. Misaki had been the one to leave. Misaki had been the one to change, the one who’d decided they should join Homra. Misaki was the one whose eyes had strayed. Misaki looked only at Mikoto now.

I was always looking at you. I was always holding tightly to you. So why…

Why wasn’t it enough?

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


The words tore through his mind like a hurricane and Fushimi’s eyes snapped open.

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

Misaki’s gaze had been steady then, hadn’t it? He’d been so angry.

( “Guys like you make me sick.”)

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


Fushimi could feel the idea welling up within him, perfect and horrible and terrifying and perfect, and he felt the smile spreading across his face. He thought he might be laughing but he wasn’t sure. His body was trembling, though, and his face felt hot.

(Just look only at me, Misaki.)

He couldn’t be Misaki’s most important thing anymore, he knew that. Mikoto and Homra, they were Misaki’s important things now. Misaki had been the one to ruin everything, hadn’t he? Misaki had been the one to change, when they’d been fine the way they were. Misaki had been the one to look away. Misaki had been the one to abandon the cage with Fushimi still inside. Misaki wasn’t looking at him anymore. Misaki would never again look at Fushimi the way he used to, as if Fushimi was the most important thing in his world.

Misaki had flown from the cage and left Fushimi behind, all alone behind iron bars he didn’t dare try to break. Misaki had left him and hadn’t even bothered to look back.

If I can’t be the thing you love, I’ll have to be the thing you hate.

Fushimi’s fingers curled around the pillow, pulling it close against his body as if desperately trying to transfer some of the warmth to himself. His throat felt dry.

It was the only way. It was the only possible way he could make Misaki think of him as Fushimi Saruhiko again instead of just one of a hundred comrades. Only one way that he could be someone Misaki would always stop to look at, someone Misaki would always turn his eyes to when he passed by. The only way he could stand out stark against the sky instead of fading away into background noise.

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

Friends? Don’t make me laugh. I never needed those. I never asked for those.


He was definitely laughing now and he couldn’t seem to stop. Fushimi’s body curled in on itself and he couldn’t stop laughing.

And besides, Misaki…which one of us is really the betrayer here?



Fushimi let out the breath he didn’t remember holding as he let the door close shut behind him. He was shaking noticeably and his hands felt clammy as he let himself lean against the wall for a moment, waiting for his pulse to slow. He wouldn’t miss this at all, the uncomfortable stifling feeling of being near the Red King.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d expected to happen, when he went to tell Mikoto he was leaving. He hadn’t wanted to do it at all but Munakata had made it clear when he’d accepted Fushimi into Scepter 4 that Fushimi was to formally tell his former king of his change in loyalties. Munakata had made it sound like it was all part of some sort of proper procedure but Fushimi secretly suspected that Munakata had just wanted to see if Fushimi would actually do it and what Mikoto would do in return.

What Mikoto had done was mostly nothing. He’d listened to Fushimi’s short declaration of leaving, looking half-asleep and uninterested, and then there had been an uncomfortable silence, the worst kind that Fushimi never knew how to fill. Mikoto hadn’t made any movement at all until Fushimi turned to leave and then the Red King had stood and stared straight at him, eyes cold and dangerous, and asked in a low voice if it was all Fushimi’s own idea and no one else’s.

Had asked if it was all Fushimi's idea, as if Mikoto suspected that someone else might have manipulated him into it, as if Mikoto was promising swift retaliation on that someone else if that was the case. As if Mikoto actually cared at all where Fushimi went or who he served.

Ridiculous, when Mikoto was the one whose power made Fushimi feel like he was drowning, when Mikoto was the one who had stolen Fushimi’s most precious thing away and hadn’t even paid any notice to it at all.

Fushimi rubbed his arms irritably. He’d returned to his apartment earlier, along with several members of Scepter 4 that Munakata had obligingly sent along to help him pack his things. Misaki hadn’t been there. In fact, Fushimi hadn’t even seen Misaki since the night before when he’d stormed out.

Fushimi started to smile. It was all right, really. Misaki would show up nearby eventually, and then Fushimi would tell him.

Fushimi would tell Misaki exactly where he was going and what he was doing, and Misaki would hate him completely for it.

He could feel a cold power stirring inside him. He hadn’t known that a person could receive power from two kings and he suspected Munakata hadn’t either, from the keen interested look on his face when he’d made Fushimi a clansman. It had definitely worked, though. Fushimi could feel the two powers, red and blue, circling inside of him like wild animals. It almost made it possible for him to breathe around Mikoto.

Fushimi took a deep breath and began to descend the stairs back down to the bar. Misaki would certainly end up here at some point and he didn't think anyone would mind if he waited. It wasn’t as though it mattered to anyone but Misaki where Fushimi went. He doubted any of them would even notice he was gone.

Family. Comrades. A foolish, easily broken thing, just like everything else.

He took another step and nearly ran into Totsuka coming up. Totsuka smiled at him and Fushimi felt something deep down inside spark painfully.

“Ah, Fushimi. You were talking to the King?”

“I told him I’m leaving,” Fushimi said coldly, not letting the smile effect him.

“Right, Kusanagi-san told me.” Totsuka held up the camera clutched tight in one hand. “I thought I should take one last picture. For good luck.”

“No thank you,” Fushimi said, moving past him without missing a beat.

“Come on, just one picture!” Totsuka said lightly. He touched a hand to Fushimi’s shoulder and Fushimi froze. “I hope you’ll do well over there. We’ll miss seeing you here, Yata especially. He’ll be sad without you around.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue and didn’t reply, shoulders tensing.

“You know, Fushimi,” Totsuka continued, voice calm and friendly, “if this is what you really want to do I think that’s just fine. But about Yata…I think you should trust him.”

Fushimi paused and found himself looking back. Totsuka was staring at him with a smile that was slightly sad and maybe a little wistful, and the sincere concern in his eyes made Fushimi’s fists clench.

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said at last.

“Ah, is that so?” Totsuka laughed easily. “Well, that’s just me, then. But still, Fushimi…good luck with your new job.” He smiled at Fushimi again, without a hint of judgment or anger, and then walked past him back up the stairs towards Mikoto’s room.

Fushimi stared after him for a long moment, one hand clenched tightly against his chest.

I’m not wrong. I’m definitely not wrong. This is the only thing I can do, to get Misaki to look at me again.

Trust Misaki? Don’t say stupid things.
He couldn’t possibly do that. If he did that, if he spoke those words to Misaki, told everything he felt, and then Misaki rejected him, if Misaki fully chose Homra and not Fushimi…

Then Fushimi really would have nothing at all.

The sound of Misaki’s voice floated up from below and Fushimi began to descend the stairs again, smiling.

This is definitely the best way.

Misaki was arguing with Kamamoto when Fushimi entered the bar and he didn’t even look up at first as Fushimi came down the stairs. Fushimi’s face twisted in a scowl and only then did Misaki finally raise his head.

“Saruhiko! Where the hell were you, I was trying to call you all night!” Misaki stormed up angrily towards him. “You didn’t show up for the raid, even Mikoto-san asked where you went. What the hell have you been doing all day?”

“I need to talk to you.” Fushimi tried to keep his face and tone impassive, but the smile was curling across his face again and his voice was laced with a cruel kind of anticipation.

“Huh?” Misaki looked confused but otherwise the same as normal. As if he had no idea that anything was wrong at all, as if it had never occurred to him that something about Fushimi was different today.

(No one has ever understood me.)

“We need to talk.” Fushimi grabbed Yata by the collar and began to drag him towards the door.

“Hey, lemme go!” Misaki struggled and broke away. “Saru? What the hell’s going on?”

“I want to talk to you,” Fushimi said deliberately. “Let’s go outside.”

“O-okay.” Misaki still looked confused but he nodded anyway and headed for the door. As he pushed the door open he gave Fushimi a half-glance backwards, a small hopeful smile on his face, as if he was expecting a reconcilement of some sort. It only made Fushimi’s anticipation grow.

If you do this, he won’t look at you that way anymore, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. He won’t smile at you like that anymore. He won’t smile at you and say your name like you’re someone he trusts.

Fushimi swept past Misaki and headed for the nearest alley, smiling hungrily to himself.

That’s fine, he thought wildly. That’s just fine. I don’t care if Misaki won’t smile at me. I don’t care if Misaki won’t trust me.

As long as Misaki is looking at me, I don’t need anything else at all.




Misaki was gone and Fushimi’s chest hurt.

The mark on his chest was gone and the burn stung sharply with every breath. It felt like his body was on fire.

But Misaki had been looking.

Fushimi’s smile was wide and feral. Misaki had finally, finally looked only at him. At that moment, Suoh Mikoto himself could have entered that alley and Misaki wouldn’t have even so much as glanced towards the Red King. In that moment, Fushimi had been the only existence in Misaki’s world.

Just the way you are to me.

It hurt, but it was worth it. Fushimi smiled again, ignoring the way his breath came in short gasps and the smell of burnt flesh in his nostrils. Already the Homra mark on his chest was a mess of charred skin. And Misaki had been so horrified, so angry. It was delicious.

Look at me like that more, Misaki. I don’t care if I have to tear this body to shreds, as long as you only look at me.

There was a car sitting at the other end of the alley, waiting for him. He was expected back at Scepter 4 as soon as he’d settled matters with Homra. Even so Fushimi didn’t move, savoring the pain in his chest and the memory of Misaki’s gaze.

It was the right thing. He had certainly done the right thing.

Just hate me, Misaki. The words pounded through his mind, beating like blood through his heart. Hate me and chase me and kill me. Do whatever you want to me.

I’ll make you look at me forever.


He was laughing to himself as he pushed away from the wall and slowly began to make his way towards the car.

(He won’t smile at you like that anymore.)

Fushimi froze briefly, hand clenched tightly against the raw wound. After a moment he lowered his head and continued to walk away.

That’s fine. That’s just fine.

I’m not wrong. This was the only thing I could do. This was certainly the best way.


And even as the words ran through his mind a small part of Fushimi couldn’t help but wonder, if he’d really done the right thing, why the words he’d spoken to Misaki had tasted so very bitter in his mouth.

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