Chapter Text
Burning. White. Burning. White.
Hands that had once burned red, now flared white, the fire now gnawing at him as hungrily as it licked at the white walls of his prison.
Changed. Corrupted.
He tried to reach the red sanctum, to lose himself in Mikoto’s flames. To find that red. To find his fire. If he could just touch it once more, could find the spark of himself, he could break free.
He could go home.
Hands on him now, fingers biting into his shoulder. Shaking him. Pulling him away from the sanctum, back into the endless white.
He fought them. Snarled. Fought to find the red. Felt the burn of those strange flames, the bruising bite of restraint and in the midst of it a sharp pain.
The world turned white.
****
Fushimi closed is laptop with an exhausted sigh. Leaning back in the computer chair that had been his bed more often than not the last few days, he reached up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. The headache that had taken up root pounding away. He wasn’t sure if it was stress, exhaustion, or the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten or drunk something that wasn’t bitterly strong coffee to keep himself going. Probably all of the above, he admitted to himself. A distant part of him wondering why Awashima wasn’t breathing down his neck to take care of himself like usual, or Munakata being the interfering busybody he tended to be at the worst of times. Perhaps they realised the futility of trying it this time.
Abandoning his attempt to curtail the headache, he turned his head to look at the active investigation board. Covered in row after row of photos of missing people who had disappeared over the last couple of weeks, some just normal people going about their life, possibly involved, possibly nothing to do with the current situation. Still another weight on his mind. More photos were of Strains, those who had been identified by Scepter 4 but had been left alone as they had posed no threat, now missing without trace. He studied each face, both delaying the inevitable and trying to commit them to memory – as though he hadn’t already. Finally, though, his attention turned to the poster that was the true source of his headache, and the reason he couldn’t rest.
Yata Misaki. HOMRA clansman and vanguard.
Missing without a trace just like all the rest.
Gone without a word.
The photo was of the Misaki who had blossomed in HOMRA. The one who had labelled Fushimi a traitor and had fought him tooth and nail since the day Fushimi had walked away and joined the Blue clan. In the first few days when Kusanagi had reluctantly reached out for help, that was all Fushimi had been able to see, even though he’d had to agree it wasn’t like the hot-headed idiot to take off without the others knowing where he was. And even more unheard of for there to be no sign of him. Yata was always louder than life wherever he was and whatever he was doing. However, as the days crept by and that initial unease became outright worry, Fushimi had found himself staring at the photo more and more, seeing more of the past in the lines of his former friend’s face.
Seeing the boy he had grown up. The friend he had lost because of Kings and Clans.
“Where are you Misaki?” He asked, speaking to that version of Misaki. Why would you disappear? There was no answer, just as there hadn’t been for days now. He hadn’t been able to find an answer to the first one, the other one was the reason that outright worry was now a gnawing dread that made closing his eyes at night impossible and kept him locked to the laptop when he wasn’t out searching.
Because Misaki wouldn’t just disappear.
He hadn’t forgotten how things were between them, and he wasn’t ignoring the fact that Misaki like him had changed in their time apart. But he was absolutely certain Misaki wouldn’t disappear, believed it as strongly as he believed that he couldn’t have stayed with HOMRA.
Which meant someone or something had taken him.
That something was stopping him from coming home.
But what? Fushimi glowered at the map that covered the rest of the board, eyes tracking the maze of pins that marked where leads had led to dead ends, to the ground that had already been searched. HOMRA and Scepter 4 were both out in force at the moment, admittedly his clan’s attention was spread thin, having to balance their other duties with the fact that it wasn’t just Misaki who was missing. The Red Clan had a singular focus, and for once he was glad of that fact, because Misaki needed that; and yet so far, it hadn’t been enough.
There had been no leads for the last couple of days.
No sightings at all since any of the individuals on the board had gone missing.
And from what he’d heard during the last tense meeting with HOMRA, not even Mikoto could feel or locate his missing clansman through the sanctum. As though Misaki had been wiped from the face of the world.
Misaki.
He knew that he needed to rest, or at least to eat or drink something, but he found himself reaching for the laptop again. Readying to go through the security footage that had already been combed through several times already, needing to do something that didn’t feel like waiting, or giving up.
“Saruhiko…” As though his earlier thoughts had summoned him, Fushimi froze as his King’s voice rang through the room, fingers on the edge of the laptop.
“…what?” He couldn’t bring himself to look at the older man. Didn’t want to see reproach, or even worse the worry or sympathy that he knew would be there.
“Awashima tells me that you haven’t eaten.” It was a measured statement. One that told Fushimi that wasn’t all that Awashima had told their King, but also that Munakata realised that Fushimi could only be pushed so far at the moment.
“I’m not hungry.” It was the truth. The thought of eating left him queasy at best, and the last time he’d been part way through a meal he’d been struck by the thought of whether Misaki was somewhere where he could eat and drink, and that had destroyed whatever vestiges of appetite he’d had.
“You’ll also be of no use to Yata Misaki if you collapse before we find him.” That did get Fushimi’s attention, and he lifted his head to look at his King. Munakata was stood in the doorway, not crowding him, but there was something unyielding in his expression, and Fushimi sighed, knowing from past experience that this was a dance and an attack he wasn’t going to be able to defend against.
“I can’t leave,” the words crept out, a whispered admission that he hadn’t intended to give. What if we find something? What if there’s news? The logical part of him knew that they would reach out to him, but that would take extra time. Time that Misaki might not have.
“I’m not asking you to,” Munakata said, voice even, as though Fushimi hadn’t just exposed a weakness in front of him and betrayed just how close to the edge he was. “I have asked Awashima to order food for us. All I am asking is for you to join me for a meal.”
“I…” Fushimi’s gaze stayed to the laptop.
“Fuse is on his way up to cover surveillance. You need to eat, and a break will clear your mind.”
“Will it?” Fushimi wished that could take the words back as soon as he said. Waiting for the question, or the accusation, or worse the order to go home. He knew that he was past the point of no return, and hanging by a thread. He also knew he couldn’t leave. Not until they had something, even if it was just a crumb of information. Not until he had some thread of hope to cling too, but that was a weakness he wouldn’t let himself admit.
“We’ll see,” Munakata stepped forward, turning to look at the board, gaze roving over each face much in the same Fushimi had earlier. In that look, Fushimi saw the weight of both a King, and a man tasked with the safety of many people and for a moment, he felt maybe this man did understand. “However, you have a choice. Come and share a meal with me now, or I will order Awashima to take you home and ensure you get rest.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” Munakata was stern now in a way that Fushimi rarely saw, iron in the words, and Fushimi scowled and looked away, before nodding.
This wasn’t a battle he could win, and Munakata had struck a nerve when he’d said he’d be no use to Misaki if he collapsed.
Munakata smiled, and Fushimi caught it and fought back the urge to snarl something he probably wouldn’t regret. Instead, he deliberately rested a hand on the laptop for a moment, a silent apology to Misaki for taking even a short break before getting to his feet. Both of them pretending to ignore the way he staggered when got to his feet, and Fushimi choosing to ignore the way Munakata gestured for him to lead the way, shepherding him along from behind, as though doubting that Fushimi would keep his word.
I won’t be long Misaki, I promise.
****
The white was endless, flooding into the place where the sanctum was supposed to be.
No, not empty.
There was something he hadn’t been aware of before. A blank spot even amongst the endless white.
He pressed against it, and felt something splinter deep in his mind.
White flames seeping through the cracks.
Burning him alive.
****
HOMRA Bar:
Kusanagi hesitated for a moment outside the door to Mikoto’s room. Even at this distance he could feel the roiling anger of his King’s power, a tempest born of impotence as the days that Yata had been missing stretched into double digits. He understood. The weight of the vanguard’s absence was weighing on all of them, tempers fraying throughout HOMRA, minor disagreements blossoming into full blown arguments to the point where he felt like they would be lucky if he still had a bar standing by the end of this. Anna was a ghost of herself, barely sleeping through her worry for Misaki and Mikoto, and exhausted from searching constantly for some sign of the vanguard, her marbles rolling over and over on the map they had given her.
If anything, that was what scared him most. Anna had always been able to find them all before, even when they were injured or unconscious, but now it was like Yata had disappeared from the world. And in the quieter, darker moments of the nights, Kusanagi wondered if they were already too late, and Yata was already gone. It was a thought he had kept to himself, although he doubted that he was alone in harbouring it. Yet there was still a part of him that believed they would know if he was gone.
That Mikoto would know.
Tried to ignore the louder part of him that whispered, that if Yata was still out there, why hadn’t there been some sign of him? It wasn’t as though the vanguard was known for being able to keep a low profile. Tried not to let his thoughts wonder to what might be keeping Yata from letting them know where he was, if he was still out there?
Tried not to let the flames simmering just beneath the surface burst free under the force of those ‘what if’s’, aware that if he lost control, then they were all lost, because Mikoto was on a knife edge and with him so was the entire clan.
Which drew his attention back to the door. Mikoto’s red had been off for some time, and Kusanagi knew that the current situation was fraying what control he had left. Had seen the concern a couple of days before when they had met with the Blues who were searching for Yata alongside multiple disappearances, Munakata’s gaze on Mikoto for most of the meeting, as though he knew something the rest of them didn’t. Kings, he thought with a sigh, before shaking his head and pushing the door open without knocking and slipping inside.
The red exploded towards him, reeling back at the last minute as golden eyes landed on him. Mikoto was sat on the bed, head in his hands, gaze locked on him – the kind of gaze that reminded Kusanagi that as long as they had been together, this man was a King.
“If you’re going to remodel the bar, at least let me save the good stuff,” he said, old instincts kicking in, trying to bleed away some of the tension. Mikoto blinked, and the pressure in the air decreased a little. “Sorry, I should have knocked…” He had never knocked before. Neither did Totsuka, and he almost wished he’d got the other man to come up with him, as he might be able to defuse the bomb that was their King even more than he could; but Totsuka had been sat comforting Anna when he’d come upstairs.
“No.” Mikoto grunted and sat up. “Sorry…” The apology, as blunt as it was, told Kusanagi that all was not well with the world. “Is there any news?”
“Nothing,” Kusanagi admitted, and felt the pressure return. “Anna needs to rest, she’s not picking anything up, but I don’t know how much of that is down to exhaustion.” A lie. Exhaustion impacted her abilities, but she was stronger than any of them cared to admit and she was determined to find Misaki, and the fact that she wasn’t… “And I spoke with Seri, the Blues are also coming up on empty across the board.”
“He’s still out there,” Mikoto said after a moment, breaking the awkward, weighted quiet that had followed Kusanagi’s update. It was the first time he had addressed the doubts, as unspoken as they had all been keeping them, and there was such certainty in his voice and gaze that Kusanagi believed him. Mikoto lifted a hand, flames dancing in his palm. Not the red that Kusanagi had known for so long, but strong and steady. “I would know if he wasn’t.”
“The question is where he is, and how whoever has him is holding him,” Kusanagi said cautiously, because the truth of it was that there wasn’t a good answer to either of those questions. “It’s not like we can burn the city down to find him.”
“Not yet,” Mikoto acknowledged, clenching his fist and quenching his flames. But there was an echo of them in his gaze as he met Kusanagi’s eyes. “But if that is what it takes…”
“Mikoto…” There was a world of danger in those words. Not least because he could still feel the roiling tempest of his King’s temper, which told him that it wasn’t a flippant statement. There was also the fact that it would push them into direct conflict with the Blues at the very least, if not the entire city.
“Yata is ours,” Mikoto cut across the protest, gaze distant now. Kusanagi wondered if he was remembering that first meeting with Yata and Fushimi, or if he was thinking about the vanguard who had come into his own with HOMRA in a way that first meeting had only hinted at. Probably both, because he knew those memories had been haunting him too the last few days. “We will bring him home at any cost.”
At any cost. It wasn’t the first time they had flung those words around, but now, with Mikoto’s power already on a knife edge, it took on new meaning. Worse, was that Kusanagi didn’t really disagree, even as the thought of what that cost might be had something unpleasant churning in the pit of his stomach; and even though he knew that Yata would blame himself if any harm came to their King or their clan because of him. But his voice was steady and certain as he echoed the words anyway, because Mikoto’s rage was inevitable at this point.
“At any cost.”
**
The white flames had subsided.
No, they had seeped their way inside, until he was made of them.
They no longer hurt, but there was a wrongness to them, an alien feeling that crept beneath his skin.
They weren’t his flames. They weren’t HOMRA’s flames.
Those flames, that red, remained out of reach.
A distant spark that he could no longer touch no matter how hard he reached for them.
Mikoto…
Anna…
Help me…
**
Anna had been leaning against Totsuka, exhaustion catching up with her as sleep threatened, her marbles rolling aimlessly over the map. She felt as though she would hear that noise in her dreams for weeks after this, her power searching for something that refused to be found. Misaki being gone was bad enough, but for her power to fail her in finding him, terrified her more than she could put into words; and as much as the others tried not to say their doubts aloud around her, she knew they were losing hope. Knew that if she could just find something, even the tiniest clue, she might be able to protect their precious red which was dimming with the loss of their vanguard, and with Mikoto burning too bright for all of them.
Her eyes closed, head bobbing, Totsuka warm and solid beside her. He was quieter than usual, not immune to the fading hope of the Clan, but still brighter than most. She almost believed that she could rest here, that his red would keep the doubts and nightmares at bay; and for the first time in days, she didn’t fight the pull of sleep.
“…Anna…” Totsuka’s voice broke through the haze of encroaching sleep, just as she heard the rattle of her marbles coming together, and felt her red quiver, as something familiar and yet so wrong brushed against the edge of her power.
“Misaki!” Her eyes flew open, just in time to see the marbles clack together above a location downtime, spinning on the spot as the spark of red inside them grew brighter and brighter. The wrongness remained, and as she leant in close, studying both the map and her marbles, she could see something blooming inside that captured flame. Something white and rotten and wrong. She was distantly aware of raised voices around her, frantic questions and Totsuka calling for someone to fetch Izumo and Mikoto, but her attention was riveted on the marbles which were spinning faster and faster.
She stretched a handout for them, and her fingers had barely brushed the glass when they erupted in a flash of white flames. White that devoured the red within them, and scorched the map and table beneath them, before disappearing as though they had never been there.
But it didn’t matter.
She had a location, and her eyes might have been burning as she lifted her head at the sound of rushing footsteps as Mikoto and Kusanagi entered the bar, but her expression was fierce and triumphant.
“I found Misaki.’