Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4185573.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      終わりのセラフ_|_Owari_no_Seraph_|_Seraph_of_the_End
  Relationship:
      Hiiragi_Shinya/Ichinose_Guren
  Character:
      Ichinose_Guren, Hiiragi_Shinya, Ensemble_Cast_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      character_death_but_that's_obvious, Alternate_Universe_-_Soulmates, 25
      Lives, you_know_the_one, references_to_random_pop_culture_stuff, cloud
      atlas_references, ace_attorney_references, all_that_jazz, modern_stuff,
      also_gender_neutral_characters, and_aus_of_nearly_everything
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-22 Completed: 2015-10-05 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 12061
****** stranger I've known you for so long ******
by sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
Summary
     I would chase you across ten, twenty five, a hundred lifetimes, until
     I find the one where you'll return to me.
Notes
     Giftfic for our girl emblems' birthday, because she deserves the
     best! LOVE YOU EMILY!!!
     The title's from the Katie Costello song, Stranger, which is
     basically such an owasera song it actually hurts. And of course, the
     premise is based off this_masterpiece.
     I'll be writing the first twelve parts, and Eri the rest, and the
     twenty-fifth is a joint effort. It's our first collaboration, so be
     nice!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter by sunsmiles, sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
The very first time I remember you, you are blond, and you don't love me back.
He watches her, staring at the long braid of silver hair trailing down nearly
to the floor instead of watching her adoring gaze directed at the king.
"Leave us alone," he instructs, and he almost snarls, because the Moon Princess
is his responsibility, he was the one to stay with her when no one else did,
but then she looks at him, violet eyes uncannily knowing, and he finds himself
unable to speak.
"You did well," she says, extracting herself from his embrace. "Someone, bring
me scissors." The maid at the door snaps to attention and runs off. He stares
back silently. "You have been my most faithful companion, even though it was me
who imprisoned you." It was always voluntary, they both know, but in the
presence of the king some things are best left unsaid. "Shin'ya. Stand."
He does, rising from the half kneeling position. She takes her sword and taps
his shoulder with the blade. "No longer an Assassin, but my friend and ally."
The maid returns with the scissors on a salver. She takes it and before anyone
can object, cuts off the end of her braid and fashions it into a bracelet,
pulling the ribbon into her signature flower bow.
"There," she says, holding it out to him, crimson ribbon and all. "It will help
you get back home." And it will, he knows - the Crimson Lotus seal of the
Princess is revered in every province and allows free passage and food, as well
as a title of the Knight.
He doesn't tell her what she knows -that he is finally leaving home. If she had
wanted to, she could have stopped him.
When he steps out into the palace courtyard, the guards are still abuzz with
excitement. One of them eyes the lock of hair around his wrist.
"She does have the most beautiful hair in all the land, doesn't she?" the guard
remarks. "No wonder everyone loves her."
"Perhaps," he agrees. "Maybe if I had that hair everyone would love me
instead."
The guard barks a laugh. "You're a funny guy. What's a Night Assassin with
silver hair?"
What's a Night Assassin who's an Assassin no more?
He looks up and spots the Princess on the balcony, smiling at someone behind
the pillars he'll never see. "As lonely as the moon?"
***
The next time you are brunette, and you do.
"And that's why I can't stand people who diss Tuxedo Mask," she finishes
typing, and then flops down on the futon. Her cat watches her with beady eyes,
and in this light it almost looks like he's grinning.
"Don't go all Kyubey on me now," she warns, and Midnight purrs, silver-white
fur glistening as he jumps down from the windowsill and comes to sit by her.
She sighs. "I can't even use that argument when you're as white as I am." It's
lonely out here, especially with her parents gone for the weekend and Julian at
school. Luna never seems lonely though. Maybe it's because she counts. That's
comforting, she guesses. Mark always says she has the weirdest problems.
Thinking about Mark doesn't help. "Why can't I have normal white girl problems,
like, you know, worrying about what I'm going to wear when Mark comes over?"
This time it's definitely a purr of displeasure, so she sits up, tucking dark
hair behind her ear and lifts him onto her lap. "Now, now, you know I'll always
love you best, even if you're one-upping me for potential candidates in
fairness cream commercials. Sometimes I think it's some form of revenge."
The purr that ensues is either a contented yawn or "you're damn right it is,"
so for her sanity's sake, she assumes it is the latter, and closes the pop-up
for cosplay wigs before pulling the laptop lid shut. "Think we have time for a
nap?"
He's already asleep, so she yawns, stroking his fur, and feels her own eyes
slide shut, seeing rainbow colors behind her eyelids. Maybe blue hair would do
for Robin, if she weren't sticking to the original.
Maybe it would be silver.
***
After a while, I give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means
anything
"It was blue yesterday, wasn't it?" Shinya looks down to see the cute
underclassman from the art club frowning in his general direction. He probably
can't see colors yet.
"Maybe," he replies offhandedly. "What is it today?"
Cute Underclassman swallows. "White. But you're up in the apple blossom tree,
so I'm not sure."
He grins. Maybe he was off the mark. "So who is it that you haven't asked out
yet, and why?"
To his surprise, the boy looks up, challenge clear in violet eyes. "Maybe I
would, if he'd stop hiding in trees when I tried to ask him out."
He'll never admit it, but for one second his breath catches, strange snippets
of memories that never happened filtering through his brain. "You've got nerve,
asking out your upperclassman."
"Not against his will," the boy points out, looking away, and something in his
heart clenches. He doesn't know why he slides off the tree, but he does, and
the flash of color he sees again when the boy looks at him with widened eyes is
worth it.
"Do the colors mean something?" he asks, when he casually slides a hand into
his. Shinya smiles. "Does it matter?"
***
"It's just a painting, Guren," she points out when he tries to hang it over the
mantle. "It's not even a famous one - we have apple blossoms in the yard if
anyone wants to look at them."
But he doesn't want to look at the apple blossoms in the yard, or in the trees
painted in the picture, as much as he doesn't want to think about his failing
marriage. He wants to study the soft (how does he know, like he could reach out
and touch it?), wispy white hair and blue, blue eyes of the person concealed in
the nearest tree.
He doesn't know how to explain that the blue eyes and soft pink lips in the
painting among the stark black and white of the rest of the canvas are the
first colors he's seen in years without hurting his eyes, and that when
everything else starts turning into shades of gray and Mahiru starts talking
about color specialists, they're still the only colors he sees.
He doesn't know how to tell her he's not going to get better, because the
person in the portrait doesn't exist.
because even when you don't exist, I'm always in love with you.
***
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter by sunsmiles, sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
Chapter Notes
     literally edited this in ten minutes flat. FORGIVE ANY MISTAKES.
I remember most fondly those lifetimes when we get to grow up together,
The little boy is twelve, and he doesn’t have a family, but he has a name.
He is thirteen, and he has a surname. 
The little boy exists in the shadows of where his foster family walks, trailing
behind his foster sister, holding a little girl’s hand. They exist in the
fringes of their family’s consciousness, and they’re okay.
The first time he wishes for something else is when he meets Glen, who watches
him with the prejudice of the entire town in his eyes when he talks about his
foster family, and the pride of a child who knows he has been raised to be
different, who knows he has an identity when the child he’s talking to clearly
does not.
He hates him at first. He doesn’t know how it changes, but it does, and it is
terrible, wonderful, terrible. They fight like cats over a petty comment, and
the next day he’s sitting in Glen’s treehouse, watching the stars with him like
he’s known him all his life.
Everything good must come to an end, however, and so does their golden summer.
"She really is pretty though, isn't she?" he prompts, and Glen looks at him
strangely. "Weren't you the one who told me you didn't think she was your
type?"
He swallows. That was before I knew my role, he doesn't say. That was before
familial obligations and deep-rooted crushes and responsibilities.
"She's your type though," is what he chooses to say in the end. "You can't deny
that."
Glen doesn't. He looks up at the sky instead. "Did she put you up to this?"
"You wish," he says lightly. And it's true, Glen's ears are turning red. It's
almost cute, except then he remembers that he's sending him straight into the
clutches of an enemy clan because of one obstinate girl's wishes. "Cute, but
she prefers boys with the nerve to ask her out, you know?"
"Did she tell you that, Shirley?" He taunts, and gets an elbow in the ribs for
his wit. "Ow, okay, I give!!!"
"Don't call me that, please, Kurtis calls me that when he realizes I'm in the
room." He might as well not exist except in the fringes of his consciousness,
and that's okay, because Kurtis is bad enough when he's paying attention to
people.
"He doesn't bully you, does he?" Glen demands, sitting up, and he stifles a
smile. Always playing hero. "It doesn't matter. These things happen in foster
homes. Plus he's usually too busy trying to trip up Mariah to actually actively
torture me."
Glen frowns. He's thinking something, and his dark hair falls over his eyes as
he slides them shut. "She's had it rough, hasn't ?"
No. "Yes. There's a lot of expectations on her. It doesn't help that she's
decided to go on with her research just so she can one-up her brothers." And
that she's demanding you as payment, he doesn't add.
"What about her sister?" Glen asks, and he smiles, relieved. "Shireen's a
darling - you did see her the other day, remember? With the blonde at the
park."
"Don't remind me, Ju still thinks I'm some sort of pervert after her new best
friend told her all about the mean man at the ice cream stand." He tries to
hold in his laughter, he really does, but one look at Glen's grumpy face has
him going into fits. "Stop laughing!"
"You would have the worst luck - I can't believe her, oh my god." He's almost
in tears by the time the laughter dies down and Glen looks as disgruntled as
ever. "Please, you know that she's mostly joking to rile you up."
"She's aggravating," he replies, sounding, well...aggravated. "And you still
haven't told me why you changed your mind about Mariah. What's the catch?"
The catch is, I care for you. The catch is, she does too. The catch is that I
care for my own skin too much to tell anyone no when they want me to do
something, when you're involved. The catch is that I don't want you to get hurt
but I don't know how to stop it.
"You're the catch," he says lightly, and when Glen punches him back, he hopes
fervently that everyone else sees it too.
***
when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.
Everyone knows the Hiiragis practice human experimentation. It’s why they got
the tiny foster child from one of their orphanages years ago, when the place
blew up. The foster child who would eventually become Glen’s best friend.
Glen never realizes what’s happening to him over the years. He doesn’t go after
him when Kurtis calls him away for curfew, or when he’s dating Mariah (the
shortest, most whirlwind romance he’s ever had) and she lashes out at him for
interrupting them, and he hates it. He hates himself for it even more when the
only reason he finds out is because he’s in his room when he hears the muffled
screams from upstairs when Shireen catches him at the gate to talk to him.
(He’s wondering now, how long she’d waited for him to find out.)
He’d blown off the offer for him to help Glen with his homework that day.
"You couldn't have helped."
"I should have," he whispers, holding the ice pack to his throat. His hands are
still trembling, and any other time he would have thought it was because of the
wailing sirens outside. "It's my fault."
His breaths are short and stuttering, and Glen has never hated himself more.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks fiercely. "There was so much time, so many
years-"
"It was four years ago. What would have I said?" he replies, and Glen hates it,
hates the dry voice that doesn't even sound like his best friend's anymore. The
hand prints are still stark against his neck, raw and probably going to heal
soon enough. Unlike the scars on his psyche which are never going to fade.
They aren't even going to get reported. They're the rulers of this town - they
know how to silence people, even about this incident.
What would he have said, indeed. Four years feels like a lifetime.
“I would have hidden you,” he replies finally. “Away, somewhere. Somewhere only
we could go.”
“The treehouse was only big enough for one person.” His best friend’s voice
could be a giggle in some fucked up movie - and he wishes more than anything
that this was someone else’s life, as selfish as it sounds.
"You're going to get emancipation." Glen says. He's sixteen years old and he
feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I'm going to ask my dad for
help, and you - I'm going to free you. Not again. This won't happen again."
He laughs again, and Glen wants to sob when he sees the blood on the napkin
from his coughs. "If I'd known you'd be this efficient, I'd have asked you to
assist me in a coup-d'etat years ago. But you were just the little brat on whom
I had the most inexplicable crush of the century, and you didn't even know my
name."
He's beautiful. He's savagely wounded and he's alive and he's beautiful. Glen
lets the ice pack rest against his neck and title his chin up. "Hello. My name
is Glen and I think you're beautiful. What's your name?"
His eyes slide shut. "Glen, I don't want your pity."
"It's only polite," he replies. "What's your name?" He says it against his ear.
His best friend sighs, and lets the name he’s never said for five years cross
his lips, and Glen smiles involuntarily. "Shinya. Shinya, Shinya, you're
beautiful."
"I know."
"I love you." Shinya trembles in his grasp, and then tears run down his cheeks.
"I love you too, you absolute moron. And if you dare get stabbed by someone
someone to rescue a victim of attempted murder again, I'll kill you myself." He
pokes the shoulder wound, and Glen laughs, wincing from the pain, swooping in
to kiss him as the sun rises outside.
***
I love how you play along with my bad ideas,
"No," she says.
"Come on, it's only an experiment." Her eyes are gleaming, and Gwen sighs.
"Shirley, I'm sorry to break it to you, but I'm not going to kiss you so you
can practice your sick moves on Seishirou and make the social hierarchy
topple."
"You're supposed to agree with me!" she whines, and Gwen looks away before the
puppy eyes attack again. "How are we supposed to pull off the biggest prank of
the year if I don't manage to convince Seishirou I'm one of his groupies?"
"Ask one of his pod people," she says. "I'm studying, Shirley. We have a test
next week."
"We've already studied for that - and don't give me that look, we both know
we're going to ace this thing." Shirley bites her nails - the blue paint is
chipping off already, she needs to reapply it. "Now, for something none of us
have done before - kissing."
"Are you just planning to jump him before the entire school?" she demands,
exasperated, turning around in her chair again. "That's only going to boost his
ego!"
"...it's a social experiment in finding out if he has a heart, and Sayuri's
already agreed to help me," her best friend mutters, and her heart sinks. This
fucking idiot.
"Come here," she says finally. Shirley looks up. "What?"
"I said, come here." She points to her lap, and Shirley gets up, staring at her
as she crosses the room and gingerly places herself on the spot. She's not too
heavy, but the chair creaks. She prays it doesn't collapse.
"So, what's this about?" she says, looking a little thrown.
"Like hell am I going to let Seishirou be your first kiss," is all she says,
before pulling her face down to hers. Shirley makes a delighted noise in her
throat that she files away for blackmail purposes - knowing her, she's probably
going to encourage her to tell people, so it's moot.
When they break away, she's smiling, and Gwen tries to control her own smile.
"You don't exactly need an excuse to kiss me if you want to, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind for our revision session next week," she sing-songs.
"Unless you want me to break up with you," she threatens, amidst the giggling
of "you haven't even asked me out yet!" resounding in the room. Maybe she owes
Seishirou's arrogant ass a thank-you instead.
***
"Yes."
"It's illegal, for one thing. And you're twenty-two and beginning your life so
you can't fall for the first person who treats you better than your last
girlfriend."
Guren looks extremely serious, and that's the tragedy of it all. "And why are
you of the opinion that I've had an abusive relationship?"
Seriously? "Mahiru's my sister. And what she did was illegal and wrong on at
least seventeen different levels." He takes off his glasses, placing them on
the table, and looks out at the apple blossoms outside. "I'm thirty-four,
Guren. This isn't going to work."
"You're such a pessimist, Professor." His tone is almost amused, like he
doesn't understand the gravity of what Mahiru did to him. Seventeen years old.
Seventeen. He had just been a child.
"Realist," he quips back. "You're still my student."
"I won't be your student forever." His tone has switched back to serious. "And
I'm not the victim you think I am."
"If you're blaming yourself-" his voice rises, and Guren slams his foot against
the desk, effectively silencing him.
"I'm not. But I refuse to let her have any hold on what I do for the rest of my
life." Guren leans forward. "That includes you."
Shinya flushes at the implication, and then hates himself for it. Guren's still
a student, but he is beautiful - dark hair slicked back to make him look more
mature, the figure of someone who could be a pro fencer and unusual violet eyes
that always make him feel the kind of déja vù that only teenagers were supposed
to feel. And they're trained only on him.
This is a bad idea. Shinya looks away. "We're not having this discussion. I'll
expect you in class on Monday - and A grades on the test next week. You're one
of my best students, after all."
His eyes go cold before the look settles into something calculating. "Of
course, Professor -" he sing-songs, before getting out of the chair and moving
to the door, hips in deliberate motion. "We can settle this - discussion - next
semester."
Shinya doesn't realize until he's gone that there isn't one, and he almost
laughs. Almost. Until he realizes that he'll have to face him everyday starting
Monday.
This is going to be a long semester.
before you grow up and realize that they’re bad ideas.
***
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter by sunsmiles, sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
Chapter Notes
     ATTEMPTED SUICIDE TW FOR THIS CHAPTER, it's only hinted, but I think
     it's fairly obvious enough that I should mention it.
(And in our times together I have many, many bad ideas.)
This isn't what she had meant when she had asked for younger bait.
The boy on the floor - a Midnight model - is just a child. He can't be older
than three pins old. She's six pins, and she remembers exactly how brutal the
training was for younger kids. She's been there, after all. And the amount of
blood on the floor and along his legs is a reminder.
"Can you stand?" she asks, and when he shakes his head, something inside her
goes cold. It's not supposed to be like this. She is not human. These boys do
not matter. Neither of them are human.
It doesn't matter.
"They'll be here soon, so you should at least kneel," she instructs. She knows
her brothers have planned a festival, so it is likely to be worse than she
expected. But that is what life is in the brothel. "They won't like it if they
find you in the corridor."
The boy stumbles to his feet and looks at her, and she realizes two things.
One, that he has blue eyes, and she remembers that the skies used to look like
that long ago. She saw it in her earliest picture books. And two, he knows who
is behind his coming here. She feels sick, and she can't figure out if it's
from pity for him, or herself.
"Don't feel sorry," the boy says, shocking her to the core - yet another one
who knew, knew that they were more human than the humans outside in the
festival - struggling to his feet. "We're not people, after all." He meets her
eyes, and she sees a lifetime where they could have both been human.
But then the door opens, and the Master is coming down the stairs, and the
story ends there.
***
When we meet as adults you’re always more discerning. I don’t blame you.
"There’s a bouquet of flowers outside with your name on it," someone says, and
she looks up from the plant she’s tending to see her standing with a little boy
at her heels, and that’s when she knows she’s screwed up somehow.
"What did you do this time?" she says, amused. "Let me guess, you accidentally
set fire to the lab again?"
Her fiance doesn’t looked amused. She looks nervous. It doesn’t sit well with
her, especially with the boy looking at the both of them. He reminds her a bit
of Gwen, actually. "We can talk about this inside."
The house has changed in the months she hasn’t been here, of course. It’s
neater than usual, and the lab, from the cursory peek Gwen aims inside, is
actually cleaner than she expected, as is evident from the pleasure on her
face. Gwen hums and beckons the boy inside with her, and they make themselves
comfortable on the sofa. She gets the hot chocolate ready, and overhears the
conversation in the back.
"Am I really going to live here?" the whisper starts, and then devolves into
hushed muttering. She sighs. Of course.
"Yes you are," she says, when she walks back in with the hot chocolate and
scones. Gwen looks shocked at first, but then so, so grateful that she’s almost
a little jealous. Almost. Looking at the little boy, who has none of Mark’s
coloring, but all of Gwen’s delicate features, she realizes that she might come
to love him as fiercely as Gwen seems to.
(Later, when they’re together in bed, and Julian tucked in tight in the other
room, Gwen kisses her, and she remembers a time when she had been the one to
fuck up, on a night like this, and maybe Christmas is a time for forgiveness
after all, just not in the way that her mother used to say. Not forgiving all
the flaws, but the person behind them, and learning, slowly, to accept them.
Just a year ago, they would have fought over this, and she would have stormed
out, and the razors are still sitting in the drawer in Gwen’s lab, and she
never apologizes for those, not anymore -
“I love you,” Gwen says.
She doesn’t need to, because she’s there - she can pull her back when needed.
Gwen knows it too, and she smiles because she knows, and that’s as close to
sorry that she’ll ever need.)
***
Yet, always
"What were you doing on the night of December 25th?" the attorney asks again,
and ve looks directly at the audience and mouths, "Sorry," before casually
saying "I was with my boyfriend."
Of course, it's a shitstorm. First the indignant attorney demands details,
which are duly provided. In copious detail. Ve'd feel sorry for the poor guy
except the entire thing is too entertaining. Prime suspect gone, the man
flounders, tries to search for another suspect, and eventually caves and the
court is adjourned, the hearing extended by another day.
"Video games gave me an unrealistic expectation of defense attorneys, and
that's saying a lot, because this man was even worse at bluffing," ve remarks
later, when they're being driven home. Guren doesn't look happy. Welp.
"Was the boyfriend thing really necessary, Shinya?" he demands. Aaand here they
are, the recriminations. Shinya's favorite part.
Not.
"I think Kureto can deal," ve says, turning to the window and tapping on the
glass pane. "It's not like the entire criminal world doesn't already think that
I fucked my way to the top."
It starts raining, and ve’s as small as the splatter on the panes. Guren
watches ver from behind, and one day he’ll understand what it feels like to not
feel so inadequate, to not be able to say out loud what he has lost until it’s
too late.
One day, he’ll look at Shinya, and not see a broken person, but someone who has
loved him so fiercely that ve could never say it.
“I never did,” he says, when they finally reach the destination. There’s
paparazzi outside, torrential questions of Please specify your gender for the
crowd, Does this mean you will be active at the next LGBT-, Have you allied
yourself with a particular religion, and Shinya’s wide eyes barely spot him as
the door closes and they’re hurried through into the hall. Kureto’s waiting
inside somewhere, always watching like a hawk.
And that’s as close as they’ll ever get to I love you and I’m sorry in this
world.
***
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gwen groans. There’s a lemon cake on top of the
counter, with her favorite layers and strawberry toppings, and she has
absolutely no doubt it’s delectable.
She also knows that there is no way she’s going to eat that thing, because
someone has scrawled I love you over it in ridiculously neat, narrow
handwriting in pink icing. She slams an obnoxiously large vessel on top of it,
taking care to not smudge the cream, as soon as she hears footsteps coming in
her direction.
Gwen is going to kill Sheridan.
She doesn’t have to wait long, because the man in question comes in whistling,
and Gwen has a flashback to the first week of Masterchef, when the unsmiling
interviewer had asked, what is your objective? and Sheridan had said, with the
same poker face, I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to become America’s
Next Top Chef, and everyone had burst into laughter up in the galleries. Gwen
had tried to control her smile, and it wasn’t easy, not when he directed a wink
in her direction right after.
The bottom line is: Gwen likes Sheridan. Has liked him ever since she broke up
with his foster sister back in high school and helped her egg Kurtis’ car as an
outlet. Probably even before that in a really latent way, back when he was
playing at being the school delinquent, if she’s being honest. Likes him enough
to not murder him with a blunt spoon, even if it’s a Monday morning and this is
one of his worst ideas, and the judges are going to come in any second and see
the cake on her table, because her table is literally the first in the entire
row. Likes him enough to wish that she could have loved him platonically and
without complications in this lifetime, enough that it’s okay -
“Hey babe,” he says casually, and pats her head with a fond look (that almost
stops her heart) before breezing over to his own table, not even sparing the
awkward utensil on her table a glance. Gwen closes her eyes and starts counting
to ten. She knows -
(that he doesn’t like her back. It’s okay. This is probably all a stupid prank
by the organizers anyway, it’s Valentine’s Day soon and they love milking the
romance opportunities for all it’s worth, as completely unprofessional as it
is.)
Before she can remove the damning evidence, however, the cameramen and the rest
of the crew start pouring in, and Gwen forces a smile on her face. This can
wait. She can get through this. And if it’s Sheridan who’s put everyone up to
this prank he will pay, with interest, after the show is over. She’s going to
line his entire refrigerator with egg yolk. That’ll show him.
Everyone’s excited. Valentine’s episode is next week, her brain screams in
annoyance, when she spots Mito texting her girlfriend and giggling in the next
lane. Get over it.
The universe is, however, against her. She manages to shove the offending cake
into the refrigerator before any comments are passed, but the organizers
clearly are planning something big, and it’s not going to be pretty at all.
“We have an announcement today,” the guest judge says, once the camera starts
rolling, and actually grins his biggest grin at the contestants. They’re all
smiling at each other, and honestly, Gwen doesn’t get the point, is this some
inside joke she’s not part of, or -
“In honor of Valentine’s Day,” oh no,
“-someone has decided to confess-” whendid Mito put that goddamn phone away?
“-to our very own Gwen!” She is going to kill her friends. Every single one of
them. Starting with Sheridan, who is walking up to her like he has absolutely
no sense of self-preservation -
“I’m going to kill you,” she threatens, when he drops to one knee, one hand on
his chest, but her stupid face refuses to get the memo and she can’t stop the
smile breaking out.
“What a wonderful way to die,” he says affably, eyes as sharp as ever, before
it goes softer, just a little softer. She’s aware that the other contestants
are wolf-whistling and the judges are laughing, and Mito is taking pictures,
and that her asshole of a best friendhasn’t even confessed yet but she pulls
him into a kiss anyway.
“You’re so lucky that I didn’t kill you with that knife you left by that -
obnoxious cake,” she hisses at him, and he smiles cockily. To pull all of this
so confidently - he knew all along, the bastard, but she can’t be arsed to care
in this second.
“What a crude weapon,” he teases, pulling away from the chaste kiss and into a
hug. “I’d rather die by your hands, if that’s any consolation.
“Stupid,” she mutters, and lets herself feel happy and without complications,
just this once. “This is the last time you get away with something like this, I
swear.”
“And yet,” he says, and she kisses him again.
you forgive me.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter by sunsmiles, sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
Chapter Notes
     The following three chapters mark the Eri part of all of this. I hope
     you enjoy it! I hope that most of all, Em enjoys it!
as if you understand what’s going on, and you’re making up for
 
“It’s such a crude weapon,” Soraya says slowly, chewing the words inside her
mouth one by one. She lets her eyes linger on Gerard and his beautiful
(deliciousis what her sisters would say) figure, his captivating eyes that
strike something inside her. Well, maybe it’s just her hunger.
God—her stomach’s going to killher one day. To be exact: her stomach when she’s
right next to Gerard.
“Get to the point, Soraya. Stop the prose.” Gerard asks, voice like the
relentless ocean and the sound of sails pushed by the wind, and even though he
sounds just like usual (usual: the time the siren has spent watching this
pirate talking to other humans), there’s still naivety in his voice. Soraya
knows him, after all; he’s layers of flaws and nothing else. After all,
his layers of flaws and nothing else had made her fall in love with him.
“Death, I mean,” Soraya continues. “It’s unrefined. It steals people’s chances
to live, and in the worst way possible. Isn’t it terrible?”
“Stealing is what I do for a living,” Gerard answers and Soraya is this close
replying that it's the same for her, but she stops herself in time. Gerald
thinks she is a French lady, a hot affair for the weekend perhaps, and she
can’t afford losing that image toward him. Because if he ever were to
know, this relationship would be over. She curses herself. When has she become
this way? When has she ever cared for a human being? When, for God’s sake, has
she felt so much towards a human? She has never seen Gerard caring this much
about his food, either. So why does Soraya, the deadliest Siren of the seas?)
Soraya leans forward to Gerard (dangerous dangerous dangerous), smells his
scent of sea salt, wet wood, coldness and flaw over flaw, his sweet human flesh
(no, no, no) and the warmness that lies inside of him, vivid and strong. Maybe
she loves him because he loves so much inside.
“So you wouldn’t mind dying?” she asks in a hushed voice. Gerard is so unfazed
about Soraya shamelessly entering his personal space that it moves something
inside her.
“No, not at all.” He sounds quiet. “You?”
“Would you mind to see me dying?” Well, it’s not like she doesn’t already die
now. But rhetorical questions need to be asked, and it’s what Soraya likes to
do when she is with Gerard.
(She’s dying; dying because she restrains too much and he smells too good. She
is trying not to give in to the temptation. She is human, trying to resist to
the devil, and she thinks it’s particularly funny she’s been saying that.)
“I guess,” is all Gerard replies. It’s all Gerard replies, the sunshine beaming
on him, the clear sky reflected in his violet eyes.
She thinks it looks familiar.
(God is merciless to her.)
                                      ***
 
all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist,
Ghufran stares grimly at the solid ocean of dark grey unraveling before his
eyes outside. The petroleum lamp isn’t going to last long - two or three hours,
perhaps. His food supplies will only bring him for one day - maybe two. Maybe,
if He is merciful to Ghufran. Though, really, who would be?
Who would be merciful to a murderer, a sinner?
The desert isn’t. The desert is cruel, merciless, exactly what Ghufran
deserves. He doesn’t need forgiveness.
You will be deserted. This is your punishment, Prince Khaliq had told him, his
eyes as dead as the dunes in the desert. And Ghufran, Ghufran had been laughing
at it.
Prince Mahir would have, too.
(His hands are clean now, because every day, the body creates a new layer of
skin. Beneath ten layers, there must be blood. There must be sin, ten layers
under his skin.)
Your pretty hands are not suited for murder, Prince Mahir had told him. Ghufran
would laugh if there’d be anything besides sand in his mouth, soul and heart.
No--
Actually, there is something else. Something, deep inside his heart, something
he has tried to bury but never will be able to - something unwavering, strong,
vivid, like Prince Mahir had described the ocean is like. Blue, strong,
bringing people at ease and uncertainty at the same time.
It must be a joke from Him, then, that every time he felt this particular
yearning, he would see a pair of blue eyes - a color so striking, so deep that
it must come from the ocean Prince Mahir had told him about so many times
before.
It had been a blue so beautiful that it had given Ghufran, all those years ago,
a goal to work on -- expand the Hijazi Empire, maybe even usurp the throne, and
expanding the empire until the borders where the land and sea met. And that is
why he had given it a name.
Sham’a.
Though really, it felt more like noor, godly light. Noor that beckons him to
come to the afterlife.
Ghufran chuckles at himself. Perhaps he is so thoughtful tonight because he
knows death is close.
(Is death a punishment were the words he had wanted to tell Khaliq, but hadn’t
said in the end. And now, these words feel even truer than before.
No -- he embraces death.
He embraces death so that he can be reunited with the light again.)
                                      ***
 
“So you would choose to die just to see your goddamn Earth?”
“Yes.”
Sheridan means every word of it. They feel like he has been on the Earth, ages,
perhaps even lifetimes ago. Every picture, every written line about it, and
even the terran stones they show in the museum have felt familiar to him. They
have always felt like they have been together, before. And soon -- very soon,
they will be reunited.
They have wanted to see the rainbow unfolding before his eyes, apple trees
holding white blossoms with soft pink ends.
“Whatever you say.” their co-worker says, sounding indifferent about Sheridan’s
passions. “Anyway, you sure you don’t want to have Glen in your team?” Kody
asks. Really, it sounds more like he’s suggesting Sheridan to not have Glen in
his team, for whatever weird reason this time. Sometimes, not even theycould
really tell what Kody had in his mind. And usually, they don’t mind; they don’t
want to know what’s going on in Kody’s sick, twisted CPU. But today is
different, and Sheridan wonders why. And most importantly, they wonder just who
this Glen person (if he is even a person; they strongly doubt so - just who
ishuman in this day and age?) is.
Actually, Sheridan knows - a little, that is - who Glen is; twenty-four,
Marilyn’s ex, eyes of striking violet crocus are described with (a violet they
feel like they have seen before, have been close to before, have been apart
with before). Word has it that he plans something against the organization. But
spoken words can’t be trusted fully, anyway, so the last bit of information is
not even that valid.
“Glen?” Sheridan asks anyway.
“Yeah. I suppose he could be of good use to you.”
“I have decided my team just a few days ago, however. I suppose he could be of
use for another team?” And indeed Sheridan has; they have chosen Marilyn,
Noreen and Justin as his companions on Mission Terra. And three humanoids and a
cyborg are more than enough.
(But maybe--)
“A human? Don’t make me laugh.” Kody doesn’t even twitch any of his muscles,
however, as he says that. Not even his voice changes its tone. “A human would
know best of the Earth, though? Since they’re actually from the Earth and all.”
A human indeed, huh?
Spoken words can’t be trusted fully.
(But maybe they--)
“Your argument is invalid as all humans are born on the spaceship, and
therefore can’t know Terra best.”
(But maybe they want to--)
“But Glen says he does.”
(But maybe they want toexplore--)
He does what?
Spoken words, they remind themselves, can’t be trusted fully.
“Proof?” is all they can bring out in the end, anyway. The fact that someone
knows Terra, the Earth,
The moment they think that, Sheridan sees text flash in front of them.
(But maybe they want to explore Terra--
 
with Glen.)
A text flashes across every screen. 
1CH-I0SE “GLEN” CEASED TO EXIST. CAUSE: HEART ATTACK. TIME OF DEATH: 16:07:57.
POPULATION ON SHIP: 153
Kody and Sheridan glance at each other, Kody unflinching as ever.
“Maybe we weren’t meant for each other,” Sheridan whispers, more to themselves
than to anyone else.
 
and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.
                                      ***
I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.
“But don’t you think we would have made a good match!” her opposite shouts,
voice excited. His blade, his body, his voice – all of them screamed danger to
Lotus, and so far, her guts hadn’t betrayed her. Midnight was extraordinarily
good with throwing daggers, and generally being a big nuisance to Lotus. And on
top of that, her mind fills with weirder and weirder things – her opponent
being her teacher, her girlfriend, always so close, annoyingly close. They are
like memories, but are definitely not her memories.
She feels sharp, vivid pain go through her left arm. Again. Midnight snickers,
no, laughs even. “You’re slow!” she yells, the blue so annoyingly mocking and
familiar. Lotus curses under her breath before she finds a hiding place behind
one of the big coliseum’s pillars. God, why couldn’t she just win? Why couldn’t
she just stay alive?
(Though, her mind tells her, it wouldn’t be so bad if she were to die in—)
“No. This is not the time,” she tells herself, loud; too loud, scared, anxious.
God. She just wants to win and yet—
“I know,” a voice whispers in her ear, and she turns around as fast as she can
just to meet the blue eyes again. “It’s not the time to be kind, right? That’s
why I haven’t been nice to you.”
Lotus manages to bring out a laughter. “So you were kind to me when I landed a
few strikes on you?” And as if on cue, she wields her sword and lands a strike.
Her opponent coughs, and Lotus doesn’t need to see it to tell that it’s blood
she coughs.
Okay. Keep it that way. That’s good, Lotus praises herself internally.
“Why would I? After all, we’re a match made in heaven, meant to be together!”
Midnight looks even more scary now with the blood all over her, and yet her
blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Why is she excited over getting injured?
Lotus, just like during the entire match, has no idea what Midnight thinks. She
supposes she doesn’t want to, anyway.
“If we’re meant to be—“ Lotus shouts, landing another strike on Midnight, “then
why do we kill each other?”
“Easy one!” Midnight’s strike is too good—Lotus’ vision fades, becomes a mix of
yellow and gross red, and in the middle of it all this familiar, goddamn blue.
Fuck. This was one in the vitals.
And she hadn’t seen it.
“Because this lifetime tells us so,” is the last thing Lotus hears before she
feels her soul leaving her body.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter by sunsmiles, sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
But when all’s said and done, I’d surrender to you in other ways.
“What the fuck, Shinya,” Guren replies. His eyes move lazily, slowly; like he’s
a leopard, trying to find his suitable prey, moving around and around. Shinya
considers replying something that could possibly shake Guren out of this
immense concentration, but he realizes that the violet eyes (the violet eyes he
seems to know for more than ten lifetimes already) are far too beautiful right
now to make them forcefully change their emotion.
Shinya could sigh at this beauty that probably lasts one, two, perhaps five
lifetimes even.
Guren seemed to have set his prey; his amethyst eyes have focused and he now
slowly, carefully, approaches his victim. He readies his body: lowering his
back, legs in a position where you’re ready to run, his head on the same
eyelevel as the object. With a precision that brings a shiver on Shinya’s
spine, the black-haired looks at the victim with an intensity that could murder
it ten times, probably.
And then, in an exact, short movement—
ball Number 15 falls into the hole.
“Aren’t you just amazing, Guren,” Shinya comments with his usual smooth voice.
“That brought me a shiver down my spine.”
“Shut the hell up,” the professional billiard player replies while applying
crayon on his cue. “You know it wasn’t impressive.”
Oh, if Guren knew just how much impressive that was. Just how much impressive
he is, always has been. But Guren never appreciates his own sight in the
mirror; he picks his flaws one by one, with almost no effort at all. Just like
he holes one ball after the other right now; he picks his flaws with a
precision that was unmatched. It’s exactly that precision that has brought
Guren his notorious aura of danger, when in reality, all his danger is directed
at himself, really.
People who hate themselves have an unusual high capability of hating others
with zero effort.
“Shinya,” Guren calls out, poking him with his cue. “You haven’t trained in
weeks and it’s noticeable. Focus.”
Shinya sighs. He’s going to lose this round, though, if he’s honest with
himself, he actually wants to. But oh well. Guren can get pretty angry when
someone provokes him, and Shinya doesn’t want to test the champion’s temper
today, really.
(His heart thinks otherwise, and he’s been one to follow that tiny, relentless
machine.
It brings him a smile that would defy deities.)
Shinya places his cue on this particular ball; the ball that will always remind
him of Guren. Strong, steady, doom bringing at an early stage, but the biggest
reward at the end. And, well, Shinya, of course, is the white ball, poking
others, pushing others, while moving himself.
Shinya, the white ball, holing the king into the welcoming black hole.
(It sounds like something he had done – but killing Guren sounds ridiculous and
unrealistic for this lifetime.)
“I’m telling you, Guren,” Shinya says while trying to find the exact strength
by which to push the ball. “We’ve been connected, by lifetimes. I can tell.
Your eyes seem too familiar for me.”
Guren doesn’t reply for a long time, and from the corner of his eye, he can see
the other’s eyes trained on the cue.
“Actually, I—“ Guren begins at the exact moment Shinya swiftly holes ball
number 8 into a hole, and loses.
“I have felt the same,” he mutters under his breath.
There is a huge relief that washes over Shinya’s soul. His mouth curves up to a
wide, big and most importantly, sincere smile.
“Isn’t it so—“ Shinya can’t really find words. Romantic? Amazing? Astonishing?
None of them really fit. More like… hm… like it has been obvious this whole
time. Yes, obvious seems to have fit best. He comes over to Guren, who looks
more shaken from his friend’s (#2 in the nation, no less) statement before than
actually angry at Shinya deliberately losing. He looks so cute right now.
Shinya places his cue on Guren’s jaw and gently pulls it up. “I lost, Guren.
Now, what to do? My heart’s broken and my soul is scattered, and only your—“
“Shut up,” Guren replies with the same strong, fiery voice from before before
he pulls Shinya to a kiss that’s wild and whirling, and yet beautiful and
rewarding.
Just like the 8 ball.
                                      ***
Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder
“The eigth ball told me that you shouldn’t worry,” Shina tells Gaen. “You can’t
die.”
Gaen knows she can’t die, of course; she’s a minor deity, the goddess of
redemption and the sunrise, but an immortal nevertheless. She can’t die. She
won’t die. She doesn’t need the eight balls of fortune for that. But that’s not
what bugs her.
What bugs her is Shina. What bugs her is Shina, who knows. What bugs her is
Shina, who knows that Gaen is in love. What bugs her is Shina – goddess of
fortune and ruler of the night –, who knows that Gaen – a nobody – has fallen
in love.
What bugs her is that she, Gaen, has fallen in love with a mortal, and that
Shinaknows about this. Because Shina is terrible; a controlled typhoon with
blues and greys, where no one but the typhoon itself knows what will happen
next, a controlled typhoon who only causes insecurity to others and chaos to
those close to it. Just like fortune, just like things related to luck and
vague.
And Gaen feels like, on top of all of this, that she has dealt with this
typhoon multiple times in her lives before.
“Don’t worry – with a little luck, Mahru won’t die either,” Shina continues
happily, her smile cunning. Both know it’s a lie; mortals are meant to die and
meant to worship gods, not to be gods themselves. They’re meant to be laughed
at and not to be loved. And yet…
“I don’t need any of your luck,” Gaen replies curtly.
“You don’t?” Shina laughs; it’s like the wind laughing. “That sounds very you,
though.”
“Why do you care so much, Shina?” Gaen asks back, voice pissed. “Why does a
higher goddess care so much about someone who is practically a nobody?”
“Because I’m interested in you, Gaen. You are violet and violent and things
other deities aren’t; you’re vivid and beautiful,” Shina replies, blue eyes
sincere. “And, most interestingly, your eyes are so old. Nothing like the
wannabe deities who pretend they’re still young.” Shina comes closer to Gaen;
she smells of apple, sandalwood and geranium, strong and fresh and like a
tsunami, rather than dry typhoons. Well, it fits her better for sure.
Vivid and beautiful, huh. That’s definitely not what she is. She’s pathetic and
ugly, flawed in every imaginable way possible. And if anything, she’s not the
color of mysteries, violet. Not at all.
“Go be interested in something else,” Gaen shoots back.
Shina laughs again. “No, I won’t. Well, anyway – fortune means well with you,
so you and Mahru will be reunited.”
“I told you I don’t need any of your luck.” Ugh, when will Shina understand
that luck isn’t needed if there’s something called fate that predetermines
everything?
But Shina still laughs. “We shall meet again, deity of redemption. Maybe not in
this form. But we will, definitely. Be sure about that.”
With a smooth movement, Shina transforms the mirror behind her into something
fluid like quicksilver; a portal. “Go through that portal, and you will meet
Mahru. You can come back anytime you want to, and through other means as well,
of course. You’re an immortal, and we will meet again.” Shina’s eyes look old
and wise for a moment, before the cunning, all-knowing smile returns and pisses
Gaen off again.
“Whatever,” Gaen replies; yet she can’t deny the feeling that tugs inside her
to stay, stay with Shina. She brushes that off as well. Mahru. Mahru. Mahru.
                                      ***
is this the last time?
Mahiru. Mahiru. Mahiru.
Never would Shinya had thought that it had come to this – him driving an empty
highway, Mahiru sitting next to him. Their conversation is long overdue,
anyway. But still—Shinya can’t find any real words. There are feelings raging
inside him like fireworks exploding at all the wrong places, but he can’t form
them into thoughts, much less into words. Everything is like a typhoon inside
him and Shinya has lost control over that typhoon. And it’s terrible. He feels
terrible. Everything is terrible.
(But the one who is most terrible is—)
“Have you known?” Shinya manages to bring out – it sounds more like a croak,
really, and his mouth has moved on his own (probably the feelings gaining
control even of his mouth. It seems more plausible than it sounds like.)
Have you known. Of course she hadn’t. No one had. No one had ever known that
Shinya could have harbored feelings as fiery as Guren himself.
(The one who is most terrible is Guren.
Guren is the reason why Shinya’s hands itch and why the suit won’t feel
comfortable today; Guren is the reason of the typhoon in Shinya’s heart, Guren
is the reason why Mahiru sits next to Shinya. Guren is the reason why they’re
in the goddamn car, why they’re driving on the highway – to hell, presumably –
and why Shinya’s fingers burn to rip the envelope in his jacket’s left pocket
into tiny little pieces. Guren. Guren. Guren.)
Mahiru doesn’t reply; the road is empty so technically, Shinya could look at
her. But the keyword is technically; the truth is, he doesn’t want to know. He
doesn’t care. Well, this much about long overdue conversation, a rude voice in
Shinya says, and it sounds too much like Guren so he feels a sting in his
heart.
How much did Mahiru really know, anyway?
With every meter, kilometer passing, Shinya felt like it was his last time with
Guren like this – friends. Friends. Allies. Not more than lovers, since that
was part of Shinya’s fantasy. And Shinya has left fantasy way back when the car
started moving.
Shinya has left his optimism way back when the car started moving, too.
They’re going to meet at the altar, Shinya greeting new guests, being helpful,
and then – and then he’s going to be Guren’s best man. What an honor, really.
What an honor to sit right next to the woman that teared him and Guren apart.
(Shinya had felt they were meant to be – that they were connected, always and
forever, no matter what their circumstances were. He has seen dreams – Guren as
goddess of sunrises, as billiard player, as wanderer, as school girl. In all of
them, they’ve been together, and that has been all he can really remember. And
yet—
yet, this one’s different.
And what if this one is their last one? What if their last lifetime together is
them being nothing more than friends?
No. No what ifs. What ifs mean fantasies, and Shinya has left them. No what
ifs. No whats. No ifs. Just is. Guren is going to be a married man. Shinya is
the best man.
This is the end.
                                      ***
Is that really you?
“It seems to be the end of her career,” Kurtis comments from Glen’s shoulder.
God, he is annoyingly close again. This guy really knows no such thing as
personal boundaries, does he? Glen doesn’t reply to the comment, just lazily
flips the pages. Or at least, he seems like he does. Inside him, something is
set ablaze every time his fingers turn to the next page, every time he sees
another variation of her face, her body, and these blueeyes.
Glen remembers confessing his love to these blue eyes and the one who holds
them at least five (life) times. He remembers them in different forms, with
different emotions, and how their color ranges from the ocean to the sky; he
remembers all of them. But that doesn’t mean anything – it doesn’t mean this
model, Shirley or whatever, is the person he has seen so often before. It
doesn’t mean a single thing at all.
Or that’s what he thinks, anyway.
His heart yearns, his heart yells with every page. Not only that the entire
photoshoot is held in black and white except the eyes, but the body is very
well-curved, the hair is styled really ridiculously well and the cunning, sharp
look on her eyes drives Guren mad. Immensely mad. Madness like angering madness
and like insanity madness. That’s a lot what a pair of blue eyes can do. These
eyes in particular, anyway.
Kurtis snickers from behind. He probably thinks something rather shady about
Glen right now, but Glen really couldn’t care less. He couldn’t care less about
a lowlife like Kurtis who enjoys making other people suffer and to adore his
own goddamn eyebrows. He couldn’t care less about other people in general,
anyway.
So why is it that he cares so much about these blue eyes, then? How are they so
different? How do they evoke so many emotions inside Glen, then, and how do
they seem to hide everything and simultaneously nothing at all?
Glen really, really wants to look away, but he can’t somehow. These eyes are
ridiculously captivating, and the magazine is also the only thing that keeps
him from replying to Kurtis, somehow at least.
“Do you know her?” Kurtis asks, trying to initiate conversation again. Glen
stares at the eyes, eyes, eyes. At the blue of the sky, the blue of the ocean,
a blue like the veins look like on his skin.
Is it really the blue that he knows for so long?
I don’t know is what Glen thinks.
“No,” is what Glen replies. Well, in the end, it shouldn’t matter too much.
(Do the eyes look like they’ve been betrayed now?
Glen chuckles in way. No way that could happen.)
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter by sunsmiles, sylveonimbus_(cloud_sakura)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
Gyuri looks at her like Shinhye had just betrayed her or something.
“No, no, don’t get me wrong,” Shinye quickly adds. “It’s not like I’m telling
you to hate Minseok now or anything, you know?” (I do.Realize that Minseok is
the poison that runs through your veins; Minseok is the one that makes you hate
yourself.) “I’m just saying, you two should have a break or something.”
Something inside Shinhye says that they had this conversation before, somehow,
in some way, but this life is different than the others, and it’s this life
that counts the most this instant. And not the others before or after. Plus,
Gyuri needs her help now and not lifetimes later.
The familiar violet eyes return back to their default stoic state upon hearing
this. They return to something like smoke, like a ride on the highway at 2am,
like a solid that holds a liquid inside. Shinhye has seen this so many times,
and she will never get over these eyes, over the lips that hold a cigarette
now, over the raspy voice that now replies that no, she can’t do this, and
exhale words like the smoke. Gyuri is a master of talking essays in
parenthesis; parenthesis that only Shinhye can read and wants to read.
(Minseok is the one that makes you quieter than ever before. When will you
realize this, Gyuri?)
“Listen, Gyuri. I’m your therapist. I’m supposed to help you detox through
various poisonous things in your life.”
“Like?” She takes a long, deep breath of the cigarette.
Minseok? “Your cigarette addiction, for example. And the reason behind it, as
well.”
“Oh? So what is the reason behind it?” It’s unfair, Shinhye thinks, how Gyuri’s
thick, red lips curve so well to the cigarette, how the cigarette has a red
stain Shinhye wishes she has instead, and how perfect Gyuri looks when she
exhales yet another stream of smoke, yet another stream of parenthesis left
unsaid.
Shinhye knows that if she were a color, she would be the annoying neon pink
Gyuri dislikes so much right now. She knows. But… she has to be this color, or
else no one else will be.
“You don’t seem to realize,” Gyuri begins after a long moment of silence, voice
even more silent than before.
“Don’t realize what?” Shinhye asks, not even faking an usual smile right now.
“That I’m perfectly fine as I am right now. I’m fine with it all.”
(You’re not. You’re not. You’re not.
Or did Shinhye make it all up?)
and what if you're perfectly happy
                                      ***
without me?
„See,“ Kursula tells her. “Guerik never wanted you. Ever. He’s happy with his
own human friends.”
Shirelle looks worriedly at the prince, then at her human feet. This isn’t what
she had wanted. This isn’t what she had planned. A voice inside her says that
she should’ve known so from the very beginning, but of course she had been too
reckless, too busy defying said voice.
She had been busy loving the human body that had black hair and stinging violet
eyes like the sunset.
“A friendly remind that you are mine tomorrow when the sun dawns,” Kursula adds
and snickers before she leaves, leaves and lets Shirelle alone with all of her
feelings crashing down to her and her eyes still trained on Guerik.
There’s so much I want to tell you,she tells Guerik in her mind. Shirelle
quickly makes a list.
First: I think I have known you for a rather long time.
Second: I know that every single time, I have loved your eyes the most. How
beautiful they looked at dawn, at noon, at dusk and at night. Your eyes were
truly windows to your soul.
Third: I know that in every single lifetime before, I have loved you.
Fourth: I was lying before. I love your soul the most. Your soul that rages
like the ocean. Your soul that is so human to me.
Fifth: I will always love you.
Shirelle hopes that this somehow found its way to these violet eyes that look
at her right now, in their own piercing way. Captivating. Beautiful. Eternal.
She wants to tell him something, anything, but what? I love you? No. That’s
stupid. That won’t work; they just met a day ago (a few days ago, actually,
because Shirelle has saved him, though he doesn’t remember that). I know you?
Hmm. No.
Then she remembers that she can’t talk anyway, and just waves back. Guerik
waves back, albeit a little reluctantly.
He’s happy with his ownhuman friends.
Guerik never wanted you. Ever.
Shirelle feels her heart breaking into tiny little pieces. She had thought that
she was a strong mermaid, since she’s the princess of Atlantis. But no, she
isn’t. She shatters because of someone who just so happens to share lifetimes
with her, who happens to be the one she always has loved.
You are mine tomorrow when the sun dawns.
If only Guerik had said these words, maybe she would have felt a little better.
Maybe, and then she would have replied something that goes like I’m mine
tomorrow, and you’re yours tomorrow.
But we’ll be together.
                                      ***
Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. It’s only
fair
And that is how Shirelle the mermaid was able to break the spell Kursula has
put on her,Scheherazade finishes writing. Gwen’s eyebrow twitch. The nerve her
girlfriend shows!
Her fingers are furious when she types Did you really just throw both of us in
a Little Mermaid AU? Really now? and, in another DM, Did you make ME to a dude?
Are you for real, Zade?
She can practically feel Scheherazade giggling from miles and miles away. omg
yeah I just did that. And then: hahaha you’re so cute when you get worked up
crim.
am not. it’s 1am I’m trying to sleep and all you do is hinder me. again.
Gwen means it; she had asked Zade, her long-distance not-quite girlfriend
girlfriend to tell her a good night story before she finally falls asleep, and
this is what Zade pulls: a gross self-insert fairytale.
aww, but you DID like it, right? is her reply now.
Well... Gwen supposes this is true. Zade has always had this rather particular
way of writing: no matter what she wrote, it would always sound like it’s real,
like truly an alternative reality that has happened. As if she had lived all of
these things she had written. Well, if she weren’t to know her girlfriend was a
normal psychology student, Gwen would have assumed that she was an adventurer
or something. Or something like a shape shifter.
Gwen takes her time replying for this one. well… it’s like all of this really
happened, she types and before she can doubt it, she recalls Zade telling her
that she wants to know everything Gwen thinks, so here they are.
hmm?? what do you mean?
well… like… like this happened and like you wrote this from your POV. idk.
Zade’s writing is too much. It’s how they have met, anyway – through her
amazing, vivid writing, and through Gwen’s preference to comment on fics. Zade
always manages writing all of her characters so in canon and realistically that
her writing is basically Gwen’s ideal.
But she also knows – she will never achieve that. The way she writes is always
lacking; whenever she seriously likes something she is writing, her friend just
tops it effortlessly. Though, really, she shouldn’t be surprised; a neon pink
can never pretend to be soft pink and vice versa. She should know her level and
her position. And she will never be as brilliant as Zade.
you think so? Zade has taken herself an awfully long time replying, as well.
well… I did dream about it once?? if that makes sense.
do you write what you dream of?
Another long pause. not always, but this one I did, yes.
(Gwen doesn’t blame Zade; they’ve become friends, lovers even, and she’s
grateful every single day of her friend’s presence. The only one she really
blames is herself; for not being as brilliant enough as her friend, for not
being an equal but lower. It makes her feel pathetic, and Zade doesn’t deserve
this.)
then… I’m happy you shared your dream with me. <33Gwen writes.
Zade replies, so am i! I can always be myself when I’m with you <333
Today she’s definitely not going to sleep. Again. All thanks to the fact that
she loves Zade far too much and always will.
She will always love her, no matter what it takes.
                                      ***
that I should be the one
“Ren, listen to me.”
Ren did so many things for her anyway – it’s why et is here, anyway, and not
with her. I’m listening, don’t worry, et replies in her mind. Et’s body is way
too damaged to bring out a sound right now, so just in ets mind, hoping that
the other will receive the message anyway.
(Et would still do anything and everything. Always)
“Ren. We have met, before. I-I don’t really mean this life…. I mean the lives
before. Many, many, many lives before.” Shi’s voice is shaking. “It… it seemed
unlikely at first... that a feeling of mine would turn out to be really true.
However, I have found few things that seemed to prove what I felt ages before.”
Ren closes ets eyes – it’s too tiring to have them open now – and listens to
ets mate. Shin has such a soothing voice right now. Well, she always does, of
course, but today is just even more so. Even more beautiful. Even more pretty.
Even more everything. And Ren is even more dying today. Though, et thinks with
a smirk, not about Shi’s perfection this time.
(Forher perfection. That’s the keyword. For.)
Et feels the cold concrete on their back, and tries to focus on that instead of
the hot pain. Tries to focus on the voice that transcends galaxies, lifetimes
even.
“I.. From a few centuries ago, when the human lived on earth, there was a
painting.On The Apple Blossomsit’s how it’s called. And on it, there are both
of us. Masculine versions, but unmistakably us.” The voice shakes even more.
“T-there is also this story of Arabian culture, even farther back than before.
There was a knight, called Ghufran… he had killed the prince he had served,
claiming he was possessed and had to be freed of the curse. He was said to have
violet eyes. Violet.”
So?
Ren doesn’t believe it’s not true, but it just lacks decisive proof. Is the eye
color really enough? Et doesn’t think so. But among these two, it has been Shi
who has been the pessimist (realist, she would say), not Ren.
“You’ve always been one that believed, right?” Shi says almost right on the
mark. Ren snickers, before the snicker turns into a cough and there is a warm
(redredred) liquid et spits out in the terrible cough. Fuck – this is not
looking good. Et’s really going to die.
Crow be damned. Fer be damned. All of the higher-ups be damned.
“D… do you believe me?”
I do, Ren replies. I trust you, I believe you, I always will.
 
                                      ***
 
until I find the one where you’ll return to me
Guren opens the one eye that isn’t bloody. Slowly, because the darkness is
better than light right now.
There is light – white, blinding, terrible light. It happens more often than it
might seem; whenever Crowley feels like investigating again, whenever one of
the vampires come and linger around and Guren’s entire body tenses up. From
fear, out of all things. God, this is the last thing he had wanted, and what’s
worse is that he can’t even control (as in: shove) the feeling (away, away, ten
thousand miles away) anymore. Fuck.
He hears Mahiru snickering mockingly – or maybe it is his own anxiety laughing
at him, he can’t tell – and Guren tries taking deep breaths. In, out. In, out.
He’s Lieutenant Colonel Guren Ichinose. He has a mission. He has people he has,
wants to protect. He can’t die now. He can’t be afraid now. He can’t ever be
afraid.
There’s nothing to see, so Guren just closes his eyes and sees colors of all
kinds flashing. He sees memories flying, coming close to his reach before he
stretches out his hand and can’t grasp them anymore. He sees himself as Arabian
knight, as assassin, as pirate, as young high school girl in love, a
underclassman. And there’d be Shinya, always, no matter what. Guren chuckles;
the moment he remembers his own life right now, as high school student
determined not to stand out too much (and standing out anyway), he had thought
Shinya was a nuisance.
How the tides have changed. How the tides will always change.
“Guren?”
Oh, so his mind is playing tricks right now, huh. How the hell can he be here,
anyway. He is somewhere safe, that for sure, and he is somewhere far, far, far,
far away from here, leading troops and usurping the Hiiragi throne. Fulfilling
his own dream. Their dream.
He can’t be here.
Guren dares to open his eyes a little more, and sees a tall, slim figure
standing amidst the light. And already from the clothing, he can tell that this
is not Crowley or Chess or Horn.
It has to be one of the Japanese Imperial Demon Army.
Shinya is what Guren wants to say, but his mouth opens and there’s only dust
coming out of it. Shinya. Shinya. Shinya.
“Guren!” It’s really him. Him with the voice as clear as water running toward
him, and his (warm warm warm) hand melting ten layers of ice inside Guren. So
his mind wasn’t playing tricks, after all. So fate ison his side for once.
“Guren,” Shinya whispers. He smells like withering apple blossoms, defeat and
unwavering determination; he sounds like self-confidence cracking on its edges
and its pieces finding together right now; his face tells the story of a life
crumbling, his eyes the ones of finding light in darkness.
He wonders what his own voice would sound like right now. Probably like coming
home.
“I’m here to save you,” his partner (partner for lifetimes) adds before he
unties the ropes that bind Guren’s hands, then his feet. The light is too dim
for Guren to see the brilliance that are Shinya’s eyes, but it’s enough for the
spark of determination that has found its raison d’être again.
About time, is what Guren replies, though he actually doesn’t mind.
Shinya’s arm finds his way to Guren’s shoulder and Guren’s arm finds his way to
Shinya’s slim belly. When he stands up (finally after weeks and eternities),
gravity is crashing on full force – no, at least ten times more than usual.
“We’re going home,” Shinya whispers and it sounds like a prayer; a prayer to
keep the vampires away. Funny; this time he doesn’t feel as anxious as before,
when he was all alone. Though, well, he shouldn’t be too surprised either – his
partner is with him, capable and strong as Guren himself. They walk towards the
light, towards the uncertain, towards the dry and the grim reality that is
Nagoya.
He doesn’t mind, because Guren knows – they are always connected, in every
lifetime, in every galaxy and in every dimension. He doesn’t mind dying now,
and he doesn’t mind waiting ages. Though, well –
it brings a smile to Guren’s lips to know that he’s alive in this lifetime.
“We made it,” he croaks out and Shinya adds a silent yes, yes we did before he
pulls Guren’s face to a short kiss; a kiss like the sun crashing on him, but in
the most pleasant way.
“We made it, Guren,” Shinya whispers again, blue sparkling in such vibrancy
that it makes Guren speechless once again.
They made it.
Chapter End Notes
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End Notes
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