Red
Fandom: K Project
Ships: MikoRei (Munakata x Mikoto)
Summary: Not a night without dreaming about it. Not a day without thinking about it. Not a moment without facing his doing. Mikoto's red light. Mikoto's red hair. Mikoto's red eyes. Mikoto's red sword. Mikoto's red blood.
Warning: Angst, major character death, suicidal thoughts, emotional trauma, life is a bitch
A/N: Well I just finished season 2 three years later and it still hurt to see what happened to Mikoto so here go my feelings. A gift for @blueflamebird because she clearly wanted me to write this so blame her.
[AO3]
Munakata looked up, thoughtful. It had been a while since so many swords stood up like this in the sky. His eyes wandered on the Red King's sword, just a moment. It hadn't changed, of course. It was as beautiful as ever. All of them, so powerful – so dangerous. An incredible power. A gift.
A curse.
Here they were, standing still above them, both protective and threatening the city. Each of them inspired respect and fascination. Only his own, in its pitiful state, seemed sad to just take a look at. And yet, it didn't look that bad – he'd seen how bad it could get, he'd seen how fascinating, how scary it could grow. This self-destructive power.
He'd seen how it grew, and how it ended.
Munakata took a deep breath, closed his eyes. The Red King. Kushina Anna.
Suoh Mikoto.
The apparition of Anna's sword always... touched Munakata. In a certain way. It was as if both life and death hit him for his past actions – a reminder of that day, when he murdered a man, of that day, when he saved an entire city. That day, which kept repeating itself ever since. That day that became his everyday.
Not a night without dreaming about it.
Not a day without thinking about it.
Not a moment without facing his doing.
The Blue King had never known darkness ever since. His darkness had always been broken by red. Mikoto's red light. Mikoto's red hair. Mikoto's red eyes. Mikoto's red sword.
Mikoto's red blood.
He couldn't forget the intensity of his despair when he withdrew his sword. Never before had he felt this way. Withdrawing a sword showed determination, pride, excitation even. It was no secret, Mikoto and he never pretended disliking their fights. They both were Kings, they were both powerful – they could take it.
This time, his sword wouldn't meet any resistance.
This time, his sword wouldn't spare his adversory's life.
That day, Munakata Reishi didn't show up. It wasn't Munakata and Mikoto anymore. It was a dying King facing another King. It was a Red King and a Blue King. It was the life of a man and the life of thousand others. It was a man of sadness and a man of duty.
Munakata's sword lost another piece, and he prevented himself from smiling. How ironic. Would Mikoto have killed him, too, if he had been here now? Awashima screamed something, but he didn't hear. He knew she was scared. He knew she was his right hand, and she had a duty to complete. She could have let the old Blue King's right hand do the dirty job, but he could understand her decision.
She didn't want to kill him. The moment she'd withdraw her sword, just like him, she would become a murderer. And Munakata couldn't help but wonder.
Wonder if there was still a reason to be standing there, and wait. It felt like he's always been standing there, watching.
Burn.
Mikoto's voice rang to his ears in a painful memory.
Ah, really, it would make things easier if he'd just let his sword fall, wouldn't it? What would it change, anyway? There'll always be someone else, the Blue King's seat wouldn't remain empty for long – that never lasts too long.
Yes, that would be nice, to feel the sweet sword's embrace, its coldness, its rapidity, as if death couldn't wait another second now. And yet, his life had been an agony without a final death for so long. It would feel good to be the one receiving the sword in himself, instead of being the one holding it. He knew just how it would happen – Mikoto – he could imagine just fine how his weight would suddenly be freed. The question was – who would hold this sword for him?
Let's get this over with.
No blood. No bone. No ash.
Let's just end this.
Just like Mikoto, he'd open his arms, wide open, to embrace liberty, to embrace freedom, to embrace death. Mikoto's smile. Mikoto's breath. Mikoto's touch. Mikoto's warmth, slowly turning into coldness. Mikoto's apologies. Anna's scream of despair.
The dumbness.
That wouldn't change anything, not really.
After all, he also died on that day.
If this fandom’s still alive, reviews, reblogs and likes are really appreciated :D
