seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
What about kid Kunzoi and/or kid Shitennou?
Absolutely!! Here are some snippets:
The shitennou all meeting for the first time:
---
The boys discovering that Kun and Zoi also do magic:
---
The shitennou as children using their magic to make-believe with Endymion:
Theres more but these are my favourite bits! Hope you enjoy!
[Invisible Ink, Chapter 1, Pages 1-3]
Finally got around to cleaning up photos of my pages and inputting text! The original is on Twitter (in Japanese), and I’ll be keeping an English translation thread on both Twitter and Tumblr - it just might be posted with some delay, as it takes me some time to process these pages. Hope you all enjoy!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter of Without Words 2: Our Orbiting Paths is up!!
In this chapter, Kunzite makes up for his mishap on White Day. Very fluffy and soft!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I finally updated! In this chapter, Kunzite makes a grave mistake in his relationship with Izou, and has to work hard to make amends.
In other words, Kunzite learns how to emotionally comprehend and communicate ...better LOL!
Enjoy!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The newest chapter is out! In this one, Izou finds out about Kunzite’s interference regarding his job, and things are about to get a little rocky. You can read it on A03, FF.net, or below the cut!
“I’m really sorry,” the voice over the phone begged again. “I wasn’t sure if I should’ve said anything…”
As Izou listened, his furrowed brow deepened. It was dinner time the next day, the first window of opportunity when he and Kunihiro would be home. A pot of package-made curry was stewing quietly on the stove. The plan had been to share a nice, quaint evening together, but Mi-chan’s news quickly began to distress it.
About an hour ago, Izou had just discovered that his employment at the Dark B-ean Garden had been terminated. “Our circumstances have changed,” the assistant manager had apologetically explained. With no further information, Izou had called the one person he felt might have the details. It took some effort to convince Mi-chan to speak about it, and when she did, her voice was wrought with guilt.
“You’re sure it was Kunihiro-chan?”
Mi-chan sounded like she was about to cry. “It seemed like it was him...he wasn’t wearing the uniform, but he looked a lot like him.”
Unconsciously, Izou began to chew the bottom of his lip. Kunihiro hadn’t mentioned anything about this exchange. Nor had he mentioned even visiting the shop! And then there was this woman, this manager...
The sound of the doorknob wiggling snapped Izou out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said quickly. “But thank you, Mi-chan.”
He managed to hang up just as the door opened. As Kunihiro stepped inside, Izou slowly folded his arms across his chest. The man would have some explaining to do.
“Kunihiro-sama.”
Before the door had even closed behind him, Kunzite could tell something was wrong. Izou was waiting for him, but the look on his face was sharp, and his arms were folded over his chest. As the hair on the back of his neck began to rise every so slightly, Kunzite had a feeling he knew what this was about.
“Yes?” Kunzite asked, tucking away his duffel bag into the closet as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Izou’s expression did not change. “A friend of mine from the new coffee shop was speaking just now...”
“Mn.” Kunzite tried to look disinterested as he put away his coat. “And?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kunzite noticed the grip Izou had on his sleeve tighten marginally.
“Apparently the manager had been fine for me to work, until someone bearing your resemblance came in and spoke to her? Is this true?”
Damn it. Having been so focused on speaking to Beryl, Kunzite hadn’t even considered that he could have been recognized. At this point, he realized there was no value in hiding any longer. Hopefully, he could make Izou understand. Slowly, he turned around to face the boy.
"Izou, I can explain... -”
Izou didn’t even give him any time for that, the boy had flung his arms in disgust as he spun out of the kitchen. Kunzite followed, intent to calm him down. It was fairly rare for Zoisite to ever be angry with him - frustrated, upset, agonizingly exasperated, yes - but rarely angry.
“Izou-”
The redhead was rubbing his forehead and flustering about, as though not even sure where to begin with his anger. But at the sound of his name, he whirled back to face Kunzite.
“No, you listen,” Izou said, uncharacteristically confrontational. “Under no circumstances are you ever allowed to just - unilaterally make a decision like that about my own life! Who do you think you are?!”
“I had intended to tell you,” Kunzite tried to say, even though he had not. “But the opportunity hadn’t arisen.” This was true - it had only been a day since his talk with Beryl.
But somehow Izou could see through this white lie, and even called him out for it.
“To tell me what, exactly?” Izou demanded. “Your concerns as to my employment there - whatever the hell they may be, because you haven’t actually told me yet! - so I could come to that conclusion myself? Or the fact that you’ve already gone ahead and made the decision for me without my consultation?!”
“Both,” Kunzite answered without thinking. Immediately he knew this had been the poorest choice of reply.
Izou’s eyes pinched and bloomed in incredulity multiple times. “I can’t believe this! Do you even hear yourself, Kunihiro-sama?!”
“If you would give me a chance to speak, you would understand!” Kunzite finally rose with a boom. Normally he would have been able to keep a tighter grip on his patience, but Zoisite yelling at him was a foreign and unprecedented experience. Every word rained on him like a round of fire across a warfield, and unthinkingly, the militaristic thunder of his voice rose through his lungs like an old tidal wave. “I did what was necessary, and everything I do is for the betterment of our life, Izou. You would do well to remember that!”
“Don’t you dare use that tone of voice with me!” Izou snapped back dangerously. “I don’t know how you were expecting us to function in this life, but under no circumstances do you ever just make executive decisions without discussing it with your romantic partner! You had absolutely no right to interfere, especially without talking to me first!”
“As your partner I had to do what was necessary to protect you!” Kunzite bellowed back. "My actions were entirely within my bounds, and I would expect you to trust and understand my intentions with your life better than this!"
“You lost all right to my life when you let me die!” Izou shouted.
As though the words had not been his own, Izou’s hands flew to his face and clapped hard over his mouth. But the damage had already been done. Kunihiro’s face was dumbfounded and crinkled, as though Izou had slapped him.
"Kunihiro-sama," Izou breathed, and his voice was small behind his hands. “I'm so sorry..."
In an instant, Kunzite’s breath swept from him like a dam broken open. His blood flooded with a jettison of emotions too quick for him to recognize as they churned through his tightened vessels. Disgust, fear, anger, rage, pain - all spinning through him and cutting him open like rocks whipping against the banks. Unable to speak, Kunzite just shook his head, and turned to make his way to the door. to grab the knob of the door once more.
“Wait, Kunihiro-sama, please!” Izou’s rapid footsteps followed behind him, but Kunzite couldn’t bear to have him near. Grabbing the knob, he swung it open and twisted the door behind him, like a shield.
“I need some space,” was all Kunzite could say. His voice was thick and rough.
“No, Kunihiro-sama, please don’t go-”
Abruptly, Kunzite shut the door behind him.
---
It had been hours since Kunihiro-sama had left the apartment. The silence in the home was both expansive and stifling, and no corner was safe from its permeating discomfort. Though he was sitting on his favourite part of the sofa, Izou’s legs were crossed and his back was straight - it was like sitting on a bed of spikes, and the only way to distract himself was his constant chewing. His bottom lip rolled regularly between his teeth, as well as his thumbnails.
After what seemed like ages, Izou heard the doorknob rattle once more. As soon as the door opened, Izou was on his feet and flying towards it. He only stopped short when he saw that Kunzite hadn’t yet turned to face him, still busying himself with slowly undoing his jacket.
“Welcome home,” Izou said weakly.
Hearing Izou’s little voice made Kunzite’s eyes squeeze, and he let out a deep sigh. His reprieve in the office had given him enough time to settle his adrenaline, but ache in his heart remained heavy, lodged deep under his rib.
“Thank you,” he said, slowly turning around. Izou’s eyes were big and raw, and Kunzite couldn’t help but notice how both strands of curls had been coiled and uncoiled so often that they were now frayed against his cheeks. Unable to remain mad at Izou any longer, especially like this, Kunzite slowly parted his arms.
In a flash, Izou had rushed into his embrace and buried his face in Kunzite’s chest.
“Oh Kunihiro-sama,” Izou whispered in relief, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Kunzite could only sigh, wrapping his arms tightly around the bundle below him. Of course he did, and of course he would, but if only everything else could be so simple.
“Think nothing of it.”
“No.” Izou shook his head, pulling up slightly from under Kunzite’s chin. “It was unfair and cruel of me to say what I did. I’m so sorry for what I said.”
Kunzite could only shake his head, slowly resting his chin back on Izou’s head. You were right to say it, he thought, but the words dried up in his throat like dead leaves.
Izou glanced up uncertainly. “Could we talk about this?” he whispered softly. “Please?”
Sighing, Kunzite nodded. Their arms unwinded from one another, but their fingers never broke free. Hands still loosely locked, Izou began to lead them into the living room.
As they approached the sofa, however, Kunzite mildly panicked. With swift command, he plucked Izou up into his arms instead, and directed them both down in his single armchair. While Izou was confused, Kunzite made sure to wrap his arms tightly around the Izou’s waist, and buried his face in his partner’s back. If they must have this conversation, Kunzite would prefer to do it with his face unseen.
Thankfully, Izou did not protest. Instead, he placed his own hands on Kunzite’s arms, squeezing them reassuringly. Leaning into the curve of Kunzite’s bearlike embrace, Izou hesitantly looked over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said again in a small whisper. “I really am.”
Kunzite knew Izou hadn’t meant to hurt him, and that the boy’s apology was genuine. But it alone couldn’t soothe the leaking flesh wound that remained pulsing deep within him. Only time could reseal the crack in his scales.
“I know,” was all Kunzite could say quietly. “I forgive you.” This much was true. Izou had been innocent in his accusation.
But his words did not seem to lift Izou’s anxiety. His fingernails dug marginally into the cotton of Kunziite’s sleeves.
“I swear I never meant to say something like that,” he whispered, biting his lower lip. “That wasn’t me.”
Kunzite took a deep breath to steady himself, and held onto Izou tighter. His heartbeat thumped steadily into Izou’s back.
“It was,” Kunzite finally said quietly, “but you were not wrong.”
Izou’s eyebrows pinched together, and he tried to twist around to face Kunzite once more. But Kunzite’s grip was steadfast, and Izou just had to percolate on this new information in his current position. After some thought, Izou slowly came to understand what had happened.
“It was a me from another time,” he concluded softly. Behind him, he felt Kunzite nod.
“Yes,” was all Kunzite said. Silence followed after that.
Izou tried to fumble with that particular memory in a way that wouldn’t lead him down a rabbit hole. That was something they had mentioned in his clinical sessions - how to only open certain boxes in the mind at a time.
“Do you think we should talk about it?” Izou whispered softly, as if the words were a terrible, forbidden incantation. “The memory, I mean.”
Kunzite readjusted himself so that he was no longer smothering his face into the small of Izou’s back. Instead, he rested his forehead between the boy’s shoulder planes, which fell his bangs forward and shielded his eyes from Izou’s view.
“Do you remember much of it?” Kunzite finally asked. His voice was dark and deathly, like gravel. Izou ran his lip under his teeth again unconsciously.
“A little,” he admitted, his voice still hushed. “Not much…It’s mostly been feelings.” Feelings that leached into his blood like a root in a midnight soil. This flash had been as instant as it had been insidious, whipping from beneath the undergrowth and baring its flesh-eating teeth. But Izou was sure that if he were to delve into the box, the memory would surely consume him in its softly familiar petals.
Kunzite was quiet for a few moments, slowly considering this piece of information.
“Have you spoken about it in your appointments?” Kunzite eventually asked.
Izou thought about it, before shaking his head. This one had been a new sensation; quick and fiery like salt on a branded wound. He couldn’t recall feeling such a white-hot flash of anger and indignation before meeting Kunihiro.
There was another sigh, and Izou held on even tighter, a little scared as to what conclusions Kunihiro would draw from this. There was some silence before Kunihiro finally spoke again.
“You said I let you die,” he finally murmured. “Do you remember who killed you?”
At the thought, Izou’s lungs shrank and his chest tightened. Already he could feel that he was there - a cavernous room, cold to the bone. A woman’s voice, ringing crystal-clear like ice but tearing like a serrated blade. Then his own voice, pleading. I’m sorry, please forgive me, his voice echoed in the empty chamber. Just one more chance…
“Izou.”
As quickly as the sensation had come, Kunihiro saying his name shattered it - for a second, Izou felt displaced, uncertain as to what time or place he was in. Kunzite’s voice was a familiar octave, but the name Izou was crisp and fresh and new, like fresh laundry.
“I don’t think we should talk about this anymore,” Kunihiro said.
As fast as he could, Izou twisted around to face Kunihiro. This time was marginally more successful, finally able to see his partner’s face.
“But we have to,” Izou said helplessly. “How else are we going to move on from this…?”
“We’re going to have to figure that out by ourselves,” Kunzite replied without thinking, still not meeting Izou’s gaze. His face was solemn, as though in prayer or contrition, Izou couldn’t tell. “It’s not my place to tell you how to remember.”
Strangely, these words penetrated deeply within Izou’s heart, and for a moment his chest warmed with unexpected appreciation and respect. But it still didn’t solve the matter at hand - that Kunihiro was still clearly upset, and that this was a knot in their life that needed undoing.
“I think I remember,” Izou finally whispered. He didn’t dare say her name, though. If he thought of her, she might rise again between them.
Kunzite took another deep breath, before readjusting his grip on Izou so that it was looser. So that he could feel the warm planes of the boy’s waist, back and thighs beneath the curve of his hand. So he could remind himself that Zoisite was alive.
“She was the manager at the coffee shop.”
There was a very long pause before Izou finally understood what Kunzite was saying. Eventually when Izou’s expression finally slipped entirely from his face, his voice could only utter a single sound.
“...Oh.”
‘Oh’ indeed. Kunzite simply shook his head, as though ridding himself of the distastefulness that hung in the air. Eventually, Izou readjusted himself so that he was now facing Kunzite properly, straddling across his lap. His hands found themselves gripping the front of Kunihiro’s shirt loosely, like a silk lifeline.
“Were you worried I’d...relapse?” Izou murmured quietly, thinking back to that time they had walked in the garden together after a study session. Izou blinked again, suddenly remembering that night in a new light. Had Kunihiro known about the garden and what it meant? Had they taken that path on purpose?
Kunihiro’s hand was now slowly grazing along Izou’s hip and upper thigh, warm but slightly robotic.
“I was just afraid of how you’d be hurt,” was all Kunzite said.
This new piece of information certainly complicated matters, Izou thought vaguely, as neither man would look the other in the eye. Instead, they partook in each other’s touches, as though reminding themselves that they were still there; they were still wanted. They were still together.
Izou was still trying to figure out how he felt about Kunihiro’s interference, when his partner finally grazed his cheek. It was enough to make Izou raise his eyes and finally meet his lover’s. They were a deep grey-blue, edged with regret but solemn in sincerity.
“I am sorry for the interference,” Kunzite said. His thumb lightly grazed Izou’s cheekbone, and Izou felt himself melt into the touch. “You are right - … I should have spoken to you first.”
Izou shook his head to indicate that he was no longer angry with Kunihiro. “It’s okay, I understand,” he said softly. “You were just - ...looking out for me.” He took a deep breath, bringing up a hand to cup Kunihiro’s. “Just...keep me in the loop in the future, okay?”
Kunzite nodded, but wasn’t entirely sure if he could. How much was necessary to tell? “I’ll try,” was all he could promise.
But the unspoken matter still hung in the air between them; the memory that neither was ready to address. Kunzite wasn’t sure if it would ever be resolved. If anything, the memory was a ticking time bomb...for if Izou were to remember it in its clarity, he might feel that his rage had been truly warranted. That the accusation had the weight of truth behind it. And when that day should come, Kunzite thought hollowly to himself - it was entirely possible Izou might choose to leave.
“Kunihiro-sama?” Izou’s voice filtered into his thoughts. He blinked and saw the boy’s face in his, wide and clear-eyed and beautiful. Izou’s bangs hung above the ridge of his eyes like the curls of grapevines, shrouding him in beauty and love that was truly innocent.
“I’m not mad anymore,” Izou whispered softly. “We’re okay now, right? I forgive you.” Here, his eyebrows knitted again ever so briefly, betraying the hitch in his heart. “Do you forgive me?”
Unable to resist Izou like this, Kunzite gave him the smallest of smiles to reassure him. After Izou’s face lit up in relief, Kunzite wrapped his arms around the boy again, this time bringing him into a crushing hug. In response, Izou’s arms flung tightly around him as well, like a koala holding on for dear life.
“Of course,” Kunzite whispered. “Always.”
As he slowly delved his fingers into his lover’s hair, feeling the sensation of his heartbeat against his, Kunzite ruminated on the word. Forgiveness.
He had let Zoisite die once, this much was true. And no matter how much Izou forgave him for his current human mistakes, Kunzite knew that his worst sin had yet to be washed away, if it ever could. Come high or low tide, Kunzite vowed that he would not fall pretty to the comfort and security of Izou’s love. He would ensure Izou’s safety above all else. It was the only way he could truly redeem himself, for them to truly move on.
And if it was possible that Izou’s love would one day be forfeit, Kunzite thought, it was all the more important that Izou’s life was preserved. No matter what else, Kunzite vowed that he would never let Zoisite’s life slip away again.
He wasn’t going to let that happen again. Not in this life.
Not when Izou was the most important thing.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I did it! I finally finished writing this chapter! I’m so sorry it took ages; it has 4 different scenes so it was a bit tricky to be in the right zone for all four of them! I hope you all enjoy!
As usual, link goes to A03, or you can also read under the cut!
Chapter Summary: After their first fight, Izou senses Kunihiro has withdrawn. His anxieties take him all over Tokyo, where he bumps into someone who seems strangely familiar.
“Thank you, we’ll let you know if we’re interested.”
Izou accepted the resume graciously and thanked the man for his time. As soon as he had left the establishment and was greeted with the open air, Izou couldn’t help but let out a groan.
“What a waste of time,” he moaned to himself, crossing The Jazz Heart off his list.
With another annoyed sigh, Izou ran a hand through his bangs. He had only a few resumes and business cards left, and had to choose wisely. To remain in the area would mean applying to more businesses in which he had little experience: high-end jewelry and retail outlets, flower shops, or elegant dinner venues. A wistful part of him had even hoped to win a position at the up-and-coming jazz bar, despite his lack of official musical experience.
“I should have known better,” Izou muttered to himself, as he scanned the list and chewed on his knuckle absently. “As if I actually know anything about any of those things…”
But, as quickly as that thought came, another arrived. It rose from his gut, soft and illustrious but tenacious in its roots.
But you do, this voice whispered, echoing into his bones. You would know better than most.
As loudly as he could, Izou tried to squash the voice.
“Let’s try further afield!” he announced, trying to pep himself up. So long as it wasn’t as far as the coffee shop from last year, anything would be reasonable. With a newfound sense of determination, Izou stuffed the list back into his pocket, and marched off.
---
As Izou meandered his way through the city, however, he found himself struggling to concentrate. At every coffee shop and bakery, his mind would drift to his home: the empty apartment, in which he and Kunihiro had been regularly in and out of since their first “fight”.
It hadn’t been an easy few days since that fateful interaction. Although neither of them had spoken of the incident again, the apartment had fallen with an unusual hush. Izou couldn’t tell how much of the quiet was due to their usual mismatched schedules, or if Kunihiro was intentionally avoiding him. The only exchange they regularly had was Izou handing a daily lunch box to Kunihiro. The man always accepted it with a nod, but Izou couldn’t help but notice that Kunihiro’s eyes never met his.
I’m reading too much into this, Izou scolded himself, as he rounded the corner to yet another hopeful location. This one, like the others, was a bit of a long shot. Izou had seen ads for this particular milkshake shop flash in all his magazines. It was new, hip, and set to open later this month. Izou hoped that by coming here early, he could convince the owner to hire him as part of the opening staff.
After checking the address once more, he stepped back to take a better look at the establishment.
Starlight Parfaits...
The windows were a slick shade of dark purple, gradually transparent like the facets of an amethyst. Posters of dark chocolate sundaes, fruity gradients, and swirly sorbets hung like pillars between the windows. As Izou tilted his head, he tried to gauge his feelings about this particular place. Even though it was so new, there was something about it that seemed strangely familiar. In addition, strangely comforting. Izou could see himself regularly popping up in a place like this.
Deciding it was worth a shot, Izou readied his resume. However, just as he was about to knock on the door, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette. Curious, Izou lowered his hand.
Past the bustling workmen and supervisors, a man and a woman were chatting behind the main counter. Although she had her back to the door, the woman was significantly shorter, and so Izou could see past her stature to the man towering over her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. A cloud of dark curls cascaded down his back. Despite his rising heartbeat, Izou squinted closer. Where did he know this man…?
Suddenly, as though the man had sensed his presence, his head jerked up.
For the briefest moment, their eyes locked. Bright ivy green and startling cerulean were frozen in time. However, as soon as the man shifted from the counter, Izou recoiled back. When the shadow began to solidify closer and closer to the door, Izou bolted from the corner as fast as his feet would carry him.
By the time the man had arrived at the door and opened it, all that remained of Izou’s presence was his resume and business card, lying motionless on the sidewalk.
---
It seemed ages before Izou’s feet began to slow down. The echoes of the pavement pounding were comforting; as if each step could breach him further from the dread that was rising within him. When he felt he had gained enough distance, Izou stumbled to a halt, crouching down to regain his breath.
Just great, he thought, as he gulped air with his hands on his knees. On top of everything else, he hadn’t needed this. Although deep in his gut he knew who that man was, Izou was forcing all his focus to stave the recognition at bay. Think of anything else, he kept telling himself. We are not going to open this box.
When his lungs were eventually functioning normally again, Izou finally collapsed onto a nearby bench. With the adrenaline wearing off, the heaviness of regret began to sag in. Defeated, Izou hung his head in hands, trying to hold himself together. His messenger bag knocked hollowly against the seat, his silken love-charm dangling silently.
I wish Kunzite-sama would talk to me, Izou finally whispered.
The name almost brought tears to Izou’s eyes, which he angrily pushed away with his sleeve. That name was so precious, so miraculous, yet as forbidden and dangerous as cursed treasure. To own it would be an elixir, the saving grace from the danger of the ghost that lived inside him. But to touch it at all was to unleash the rest of the monsters from their prisons, to drown in fool's gold in a cave of wonders.
The past doesn’t matter, Izou kept telling himself. We have a new life. A real life.
But how can it be real, a different voice asked, if you’ll never know the truth?
Letting out a frustrated groan, Izou buried his face in his hands again. If only there was someone else he could talk to. Some higher power who could understand the nuances he was struggling with. Izou didn’t consider himself particularly religious, but at this point, he couldn’t think of anything else to turn to. What human could possibly help him navigate adjusting his first real relationship, a spotty memory of an equally questionable past, and possibly some supernatural elements thrown in the mix?
At that moment, Izou felt something brush against his cheek. As he looked up, he thought he saw a pink petal float out of the corner of his eye. How strange, he thought. Cherry blossom season wasn’t set to open for another month…
But that’s when he realized where he was. Before him stood an immense stone staircase, lined with green cherry blossom trees that lined its ascent. As Izou’s gaze slowly drew to the top, the grand majesty of the temple slowly dawned to view. It was the same temple he and Kunihiro had visited on his birthday.
Before he knew it, Izou began to slowly make his way up to the temple once more.
---
When he arrived at its peak, Izou was dismayed to see that the temple grounds were practically deserted. Not a single attendant could be found, and Izou didn’t feel entirely comfortable approaching the grand establishment on his own. Biting his lip, he unhooked the enmusubi from his messenger bag. Perhaps if nothing else, he could find someone to buy a new one from…
Come back in six month’s time, or when the charm has run out, the attendant had said. Izou gazed upon the charm agonizingly. Only three months had passed, and with Izou’s love and care, the enmusubi practically looked as good as new. Its magic, if he believed in such things, should still be working…
But this isn’t an ordinary situation, Izou thought desperately, closing his eyes. Maybe I should try something more powerful…
“Can I help you?”
Startled, Izou opened his eyes. An attendant with yellow-blond hair had opened the door to the temple, and was stepping out with a broomstick in hand. From this distance, Izou thought he recognized him, but he wasn’t sure from where.
“I’m just hoping to say a little prayer,” Izou answered, but his voice was distant as he struggled to place this man in his memories. His gait, his serious, slightly condescending voice. The way his bangs hung over his eyes, as though he didn’t really want to meet Izou’s gaze unless necessary. How his short hair was the color of summer wheat, or freshly ripened corn.
Without looking up at Izou, the attendant began to sweep briskly.
“That enmusubi isn’t meant to work overnight,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Trust in it, and let it do its work.”
Although Izou understood where the man was coming from, he couldn’t help but feel uncertain as he glanced back down at the omamori in his hand.
“I just need a little more help,” Izou whispered. “Or maybe a different type of luck…?”
The attendant sighed shortly and paused in his sweeping. Suddenly, he turned to face Izou straight-on, and Izou was startled to see his features so clearly. Though he had boyishly handsome cheeks, they contrasted so sharply with the seriousness of his bright blue eyes.
“With all due respect,” the attendant said bluntly, “praying for change is a waste of your energy.”
Once more, Izou was taken aback with the man’s words. “Excuse me?” was all he could say.
The attendant didn’t look impressed, but he also seemed to understand that Izou wasn’t going to absorb his advice immediately.
“Praying only gets you so far,” he explained, gesturing to the charm. “And the omamori can only do so much. The rest is up to you, and your own effort to actively do something about your problem.”
Izou eventually closed his fingers over the amulet. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the man was right in principle. Even if magic was real, it wasn’t as if Izou could summon such powers to bury away the obstacles that laid before him, or force Kunihiro to open up to him. The only thing he could do was to rely on himself - his own bravery, tenacity, and quick-thinking. He looked back at the man, whose sky-blue eyes remained steadfast.
“What if I’m doing all I can,” Izou finally asked, “but the other person isn’t responding?”
The attendant’s expression hardly changed.
“How do you know they aren’t?”
Izou blinked. “Er, well…” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. ”They haven’t exactly talked to me about it. How would anyone solve a problem if they don’t even discuss it?”
“People process things in different ways,” the attendant shrugged. “Just because they’re not talking about it doesn’t mean they’re not working on it.”
It took a moment for Izou to process the man’s words, which seemed to have been spoken from a place of personal experience. Speaking came so naturally to Izou that it was hard for him to imagine anyone struggling with it, much less Kunihiro, who seemed so eloquent when he did speak. But perhaps that’s what Izou had been seeing all this time: a perfect facet, polished from practice.
He looked really upset, Izou recalled from their fight. Perhaps that night he had stumbled upon a crack, and Izou had not given Kunihiro enough time to address it before calling it to attention. Maybe the crack even ran deeper than it first appeared. But Izou understood now that it was unlikely for Kunihiro to trust him with it again so soon. Izou would have to earn it.
Slowly, Izou tilted his head at the attendant, gauging him up and down. Although there was something familiar about him, the sensation was entirely unthreatening. There were no shadows or pinpricks of dread, no echoes of ghosts. Instead, the man felt like a safe harbor, a neutral impasse. Izou decided then and there that this man was a friend.
“What’s your name?” Izou asked. “I’m Kozakura Izou.” He nodded respectfully. “A pleasure to meet you.”
The man blinked at him, as though he hadn’t expected Izou to be so forward. Eventually responded with a nod in kind.
“Daito, Jay,” the attendant answered. “Same to you.”
---
Upon his return home, Izou felt much better. Although his discussion with Jay hadn’t solved his various problems immediately, it certainly lightened Izou’s emotional load considerably. It was still early days yet, and Izou had faith in his self-efficacy to navigate himself around Kunihiro. He had made it this far, after all. They could talk about all that messy stuff when the time was right.
“I’m home,” he sang habitually as he stepped inside. As he hung up his items, he was surprised to see that Kunihiro was indeed home. There was a pot stewing quietly on the stove, and the smell of sweet curry wafted around him like a hug. From around the corner, Kunihiro appeared.
“Welcome home,” he greeted. “How was your day?”
“Good,” Izou chirped back. He decided it wasn’t worth telling Kunihiro about his worries from earlier that day. This was the first the man had spoken to him since their fight, and Izou wasn’t going to ruin it with something he could solve himself. “How was yours?”
Kunihiro passed Izou his lunchbox, all wrapped up in its fabric. Izou blushed when he realized he had accidentally sent Kunihiro to work with a pattern dotted entirely with flowers. He hoped he hadn’t embarrassed Kunihiro.
“Good,” Kunihiro answered. He looked like he was about to say something else, then quickly changed his mind.
“Why don’t you get yourself settled. I’ll plate for you and we’ll eat on the sofa.”
Izou smiled as Kunihiro went to busy himself with their curries. This was the most normal and relaxed they had felt in some time. When Kunihiro disappeared around the corner, Izou slid open the knot to sort out the lunchbox. Since Kunihiro was a much better cook, Izou was happy to do the cleaning.
Upon opening the lunchbox, however, he discovered it had already been cleaned. Not only that, but a single pink rose laid in its center. His heart warming, Izou slowly brought it up close.
This is his apology, Izou realized, his eyes closing. He just needed some time.
With the lunchbox and the rest of Izou’s things put away, he hurried to join his partner in the living room. As he tumbled into Kunihiro’s side on the sofa, he flung his arms around his partner and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” he said, referring to the rose. “It’s a lovely gift.”
Whatever tension Kunihiro had been reserving seemed to evaporate with relief.
“I know I’ve been a bit distant lately,” he murmured quietly. “I’ve just needed some time to think.”
“I know,” Izou said, resting his head on the crook of Kunzite’s shoulder.
“But I wanted you to know my affections have never changed,” Kunihiro continued quietly. “To me, you are…” The most important, but somehow Kunzite couldn’t finish the sentence. It felt like making a deathly promise, a vow to beckon fate to break. “My care for you will always remain the same.”
Izou beamed and gave his partner a big, tight hug, before unwinding his arms and settling in next to him.
“Don’t worry, I know,” he said cheerfully, as he picked up his plate from the coffee table. “So long as we have time together like this, nothing else matters to me.” He curled up his knees and looked up at his partner. “I know how you feel, Kunihiro-sama.”
A great weight seemed to have been lifted from the room, and Kunihiro’s smile rose along with it. Reassured, he even turned on the stereo so they could enjoy some quiet, easy listening.
“Thank you for understanding,” he murmured quietly as they began to tuck into their food.
“No worries,” Izou replied, around a mouthful of rice. “Just don’t forget about the special days, you know? Those are the best days to spend some time together.”
“I promise I won’t forget.”
In the upcoming chapter, Kunzite might be bumping into someone familiar...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A new chapter has been posted! You can read it on A03 or below the cut!
In this chapter, Kunzite meets and confronts a familiar face from the dark past.
The next morning, Kunzite left the apartment a bit earlier than usual. He was curious to see this new cafe, and wanted to visit as a form of celebratory support. As he was already in uniform, the visit would have to be brief - probably just long enough to pick up a set of drinks for his team.
When he arrived, the coffee shop was bustling with life. Overhead, the snazzy letters of the Dark B-ean Garden flashed in neon against a slick dark backdrop. Posters of rich, deep coffee grounds and beans hung in alternating windows. Inside, dark green flora fanned from the corners of the room, creating a warm, lush, darkly tropical environment that Kunzite assumed was an homage to the coffee’s home of origin. The establishment was filled with both students and young professionals, all chatting excitedly to one another as they admired the quality of brews on the menu.
When it was his turn at the counter, the waitress instantly recognized him. She was a tiny little thing, with a darling bob of dark hair and wide brown eyes.
“Officer Saitou!” she cheered with delight. “It’s been a long time!”
“Yes,” Kunzite nodded in response. The last time he had seen her was on that fateful day nearly half a year ago, when he had given her Izou’s practice exams to pass on. “How are you, Ueda-san?”
“I’m well, thank you,” she chirped. “What can I get for you today?”
Kunzite placed an order for five of their most expensive coffees, as well as a box of cakes.
“Thank you,” he said, as he handed her the money. “Izou is very excited to work here.”
“You’re welcome!” she replied, punching the keys on the till with automated speed and bubbliness. “He’ll be a perfect fit here, I just know it! The assistant manager liked him immediately. In fact - oh, ...darn…”
The till seemed to jut out its drawer, but had jammed. “Sorry,” she said to Kunzite apologetically. “Please wait one moment, I have to go grab our manager. It’s a new system, I must’ve typed in something wrong.”
“Take your time.”
As Ueda-san quickly disappeared into the backroom, Kunzite glanced around the coffee shop again. Yes, this seemed like just the right place for Izou. It was contemporary, youthful, and clearly he would be among friends and other respected peers -
“I’m sorry to bother you, so soon after your vacation,” Ueda-san was saying sheepishly. “It was working before…”
“Don’t worry, Ueda-san,” a familiar voice floated by his ear. Kunzite’s eyes snapped wide and he jerked to face the voice’s owner.
“I’ll take over,” the manager was saying, her voice rich but far-away. As the cash drawer discharged like a bullet, Kunzite couldn’t believe who he was seeing before him.
Though her hair was inky black in this life, they still floated behind her in their distinct tresses, disappearing into the darkness of her clean and pressed uniform. She was smaller now than he remembered, but still remained an impressive height, even in kitten heels. It made her amber eyes almost equally level to his, and in the moment that their eyes met, Kunzite knew she had recognized him too.
“Beryl,” he said without thinking.
There was a blink, but Kunzite instantly caught the guarded clarity flash in her eyes. She placed her hand on the tray with Kunzite’s order, her shortened talons scraping firmly against the cardboard sleeves.
“Pardon me,” she said in a slow but clear voice. “I didn’t catch that. Will there be anything else, officer?”
Kunzite didn’t say anything as Ueda glanced between the two of them with some confusion. In lieu of his answer, his money swiftly disappeared into the till. His change was brought back as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and then his order was pushed towards him firmly.
“Have a good day,” was all Beryl said to him. Before he could protest, she had already looked past his shoulder. “Next.”
Kunzite knew there was nothing he could do at this moment. Heart thundering in his ears aside, he was in complete uniform, and he obviously could not interrogate her for a crime no one was even aware of.
“Officer Saitou?” Ueda was calling to him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Kunzite replied abruptly, picking up his items. “Good day.”
Without another word, Kunzite turned on his heel and left the establishment briskly.
He’d catch her at a more appropriate time.
---
Over the next several days, Kunzite intended to catch Beryl outside her shift. It took several attempts to figure out her cadence, but eventually, on a dusky evening, Kunzite was ready.
He was sitting in his car when he noticed the woman stepping out of the door. Now was his chance. He was out of uniform and off-duty; there would be nothing to interrupt his meeting with the woman he once followed to Hell.
As Beryl rounded the corner, Kunzite stepped out of his car, effectively blocking her path. Beryl halted immediately, but made no move to maneuver around him.
“We need to talk.”
Once resting dead-ahead, Beryl’s eyes finally shifted to rest on his face. They were unflinchingly blank, with the same cold aloofness of her monarchical past. Dark curls swayed slowly by her face as he waited for her response.
“If I answer your questions, will you leave me alone?” she asked, her voice clear and straight as it always had been.
Kunzite couldn’t promise. “That’ll depend on your answers.”
Her eyes flickered briefly as if to nearly roll them, but she swiftly retained enough composure to jerk head towards the coffee shop again.
“My office then.”
She swivelled on her high heels and led them back inside the establishment. Kunzite knew why. It was a safe but private meeting ground for both of them. Public enough that there was help should he cause any trouble, private enough for them to speak without attracting attention.
The colleagues all seem happy enough to see her again, if a bit puzzled. She was friendly enough with them, something Kunzite found bizarrely out of character. They disappeared quickly into the office in the back of the shop, a small, cramped room stacked with boxes and plain, uncomfortable metal chairs. A calendar hung above the mini fridge, and her desk - an ornate mahogany affair that was the only piece of furniture indicative of her past - straddled the width of the small room. It nearly bloated it.
“Let’s make this quick,” she said as the door closed, gesturing to Kunzite to sit in the chair in front of the desk. “What exactly do you want from me?” As she settled in her own seat, Kunzite couldn’t help but notice that even in a bedraggled coat and plain black uniform, she still lounged in her chair with the elegance of a queen.
“I know you have your memories,” Kunzite started. “What are your intentions here?”
Beryl arched her eyebrow, looking darkly unimpressed. “To lead a normal life, as I assume the rest of you are doing,” she replied coolly. “The life of Kurosawa Akako is very ordinary, and I intend to keep it that way.”
He didn’t believe it for an instant. “You haven’t contacted any of the others? Jadeite, Nephrite?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Even Tuxedo M-”
Beryl instantly raised her hand, and her expression swiftly turned severe. “Don’t be quick to assume my current actions based on our history, Kunzite,” she said stonily. “I will have you know I have absolutely no intentions of seeking any one of you again in this life. I have enough to focus on without troubling those who would have completely valid reasons for wanting me dead.”
Kunzite still wasn’t buying it. His blood was slowly pumping faster and faster, thrumming in his ears as he gripped the metal arm rests tightly. “Certain feelings are hard to ignore, even in a third life,” he challenged quietly.
Her eyes, once steel, briefly flickered with…sadness? Bitterness?
“Those feelings can be overcome,” Beryl replied back softly, as a dark lock of hair fell loosely from her sharp fingers. “Even if it means cutting a part of you off to grow something new.”
Kunzite’s knuckles whitened. His grip on the metal arm rests with enough strength to warp them.
“Stay away from Zoisite,” he finally demanded, without thinking.
Unexpectedly, Beryl’s face lifted in surprise.
“I haven’t seen him,” she said, genuinely confused. “Unless-...” Beryl’s eyes glanced upon the collection of resumes that were on her desk, and one that had a little note attached to it.
“...Kozakura Izou,” she read. “Is that what Zoisite goes by now?”
By the look on Kunzite’s face, Beryl understood she had correctly identified him, and casted a bemused smirk.
“Well, you must forgive me for not immediately recognizing his civilian name. I-zou I understand, but his surname should be Saitou if you had expected me to put two-and-two together.”
When Kunzite remained stone-faced, Beryl’s brief attempt at humor swiftly evaporated. “ Well, if that is what you wish, Kunzite, I won't have him working here." She reached forward to pull off the post-it note and scratch his name from the schedule. “There. Will that suffice?”
Having watched her discard Zoisite’s employment so easily suddenly made Kunzite uncomfortable. Momentarily, Kunzite remembered how Izou had been excited to work here, how it had been a good fit with university, how much more time he had been hoping this would gain him to share with Kunzite at home.
No, Kunzite ultimately decided. Better to have Izou be rejected by this job than for him to be triggered by another traumatic memory. He would understand, surely.
"That would be acceptable."
Without a moment’s hesitation, Beryl swiftly ripped Izou’s resume cleanly in half, then in quarters. The echoing tear that resounded made Kunzite’s heart unexpectedly jump.
“There,” she said, as she discarded the remaining quarters into the trash bin under the desk. Her long fingers knitted over each other elegantly. "Will there be anything else?"
Suddenly, Kunzite's eyes flashed up again, his defenses surged to full strength. His instincts were telling him to leap to his feet and tear this woman limb from limb. But for reasons he could not understand, isolate, or give voice to, his muscles remained frozen in time, straining for him to keep control. Beryl must have recognized this tension in him and the danger it hinted, for she faced her palm to him warningly, as if halting a rottweiler.
"If I were you, Kunzite,” her voice dangerously slow and dark, “I’d put down any ridiculous notion of revenge you may want to extract from me. You’ll have to wait in line behind many others seeking justice by spilling my blood."
"Maybe I won't wait," Kunzite finally said, but even his own words sounded hollow to him. Beryl must have heard the same, for she scoffed.
“If this is for Zoisite’s death, may I remind you that you all knew the terms and conditions of your servitude to the Dark Kingdom. Though I was the one who delivered the final blow, your acceptance made you equally complicit.”
“I tried to stop you,” Kunzite argued. “I-”
“Yes,” Beryl agreed. “And for all the power at your disposal to interfere, you and I both know that you hardly tried at all.”
In a flash, Kunzite flew to his feet. The chair skittered back several feet, its grating echo cutting across the cement room, as his full height towered over her.
“Don’t mistake my loyalty for agreement!” His voice was uncharacteristically loud, booming in his ears. He had never spoken to his queen with much volume, this much anger.
“I think you’re the one who’s mistaken,” Beryl replied lowly over her threaded knuckles. “That’s exactly what your loyalty meant.”
As much as Kunzite wanted to show her the full force of his disagreement, deep down he knew he could not. His muscles began slowly to atrophy, but he remained shaking his head.
"I believed in you," he whispered, lowly and bitterly. "I believed you would bring him back!"
"You have him back now, don't you?" Beryl pointed out. “Killing me in vengeance won't do anything to help secure his safety in this life."
"You are a danger to him, and I won't have you disturb us," Kunzite tried to order, but his voice was so hard and tight that he feared it would snap. "I won't risk you hurting him in this life."
At this, Beryl finally barked out a laugh of bitter, incredulous disbelief.
"Kunzite, let me make this clear to you. I'm pushing forty, single, as powerless as any of these morons underneath my roof. You think I would risk whatever scrap of peace I have left to endanger you? How foolish do you honestly think I would be?!"
“I would see you as desperate, not foolish,” Kunzite retorted lowly. “And desperation drives us all to do dangerous things.”
At this, Beryl’s eyes narrowed. Seeing her mirth drop dead gave Kunzite a quiet sense of success, though it was short-lived.
"The only one who remains an immediate danger to Zoisite,” Beryl finally said coldly, “is you, Kunzite."
Kunzite’s heart halted fast, and he froze. His lungs were like ice, unable to swallow or pump air to the stiffness in the rest of his limbs, or to protest otherwise. Beryl understood his silence as such.
"Unlike me, you’ve retained a position of considerable power," Beryl continued, almost a bit ironically. "So long as you wear that uniform, you will always put him at risk. Don't fool yourself into thinking I am his only threat, Kunzite. You share that responsibility just as much as I do."
As blood returned to his veins, the silence quickly flared and withered, its embers hanging like dusty air, uncomfortable and almost suffocating. Eventually Kunzite had to turn away, lest his boiling anger overtip into actions he would later regret. As he gripped the doorknob hard, it hardly registered that it trembled vaguely in his hand.
“I believed in you,” he said again, this time hardly louder than a breath. He was tired, exhausted; whatever vengeance he had experienced was now dwindling into a twisted, burnt coil of remorse and scorn. At who, he wasn’t sure. “I wasted two lives believing in you.”
Beryl’s tone was entirely unsympathetic.
“Then perhaps it’s time to believe in someone else,” she replied curtly.
