#and it evoked the exact same emotions i felt when i read the last chapter of a memory of light

[youaremysunshine-court]

Oh.

[fictionkinfessions]

hi it's me again! still reading the princess and the scoundrel. oh my goodness. i think what's really getting me about this book is that - so far, at least - it feels so close to home. the luke in this book reminds me of myself, then and now, and han and leia's romance makes me so incandescently happy, and it's like... this is the first time i've felt so deeply connected to something from the "disney canon" that actually has to do with me and my own direct family.

now, i'm only on chapter eight so that probably will change once the rest of the plot picks up. but i'm reading about han and leia's wedding right now and it makes me feel so emotional. they were my best friends and my family, and i can't imagine what i would have been without them. dead on more than one occasion, certainly.

it's the little things that get me - how this luke interacts with everyone, how his smile comes easy and free, how obviously he loves the people close to him. that's me. that's who i was. that's who i still am, even today. seeing that evokes something strange in me. i've known for a very, very long time that i'm nothing like the luke in the sequel trilogy. but we were once the same. this almost feels like - like a deep breath you take before something bad happens. it's that last second of peace you feel before it hits. this luke and i are the same.

at what point do we start to become different? when did he become someone i could never fathom? what was different, between the two of us? if i were in his exact situation, would i have become the same thing? i know many years ago i said i could understand, theoretically, how it had happened. but i can't say i agree with that anymore. i just don't know what happened to make him that way.

anyways, regardless of all that hanging over me, i have so far vastly been enjoying this book. it feels right in a way not much of the new stuff does. han, leia, i love you guys so much. congratulations on the wedding, and if you ever need a babysitter, that's practically my speciality. i promise not to look into their nightmares and almost kill them on accident.

- 💚 luke

[whatsyourcolor]

Dragnet - Chapter 9 - Kingdom of Thieves.

Read on Ao3

Thank you to those of you that are still reading Dragnet! In previous chapters Kogami and Akane conducted a mission that resulted in technology malfunctioning, suspicions arising and Akane almost getting killed. Kogami broke up their short-lived (or so he thinks) association for reasons and emotions still confusing to him. Here’s Chapter 9:

KINGDOM OF THIEVES

Pliable, suspiciously warm, the sofa's leather cushions in the analysis lab sank underneath Kogami's weight, comfort suffusing his tense limbs like an anxiolytic. Undoubtedly, Kunizuka had made a routine pitstop here prior to heading to the interrogation room with Ginoza for another round of fruitless grilling. Which would explain the mellow, secret melody Shion was humming as she typed away on her keyboard. At least someone in Division 1 was having fun. Banished from the interrogation room and having severed the only connection he had to that other world, lulls of silent anticipation such as this had become nearly intolerable for him because, like a stray dog, his mind would go—insistently, shamelessly—back to her.

If only his ruminations had been centered in the pragmatic aspects of their relationship (what was her exact link to the syndicates? When did it start? And why?), he could have forgiven himself more easily. But it was the way his name sprung from her direct mouth, and how it meant she was not cross with him (as opposed to Inspector), and that furrowed brow each time she sermonized about things not unlike those he’d spend hours perusing in books—things he had strictly forbidden himself to linger on; things he’d never dream to speak about out loud. It was her scrutiny, never sub rosa. Not when she looked at him with unabashed eyes, not searching for a weakness or a fault—he suspected—but for something like a virtue, something that would warrant their unlikely partnership in her eyes.

So what did it mean for him to be sitting here while she was still out there, meandering in the dark? Stubbornly continuing this, insisting on this, and she would lose more than her hue. Kogami palmed the cellphone inside his pocket and then thought better of it because—what right did he have to care? To ask anything from her? Who was he in her life but an accident of chance? Or, perhaps, had his threats managed to compel her, and had she gone back to an ordinary life where she didn’t want to change the world? No, he thought sullenly. Even I know that about you. But it’s not like you’re alone either, is it, Tsunemori? Not that it makes you any safer.

On a large screen, a corner-side vantage of the dark interrogation room. Light spilled from a lamp above onto a table as a cuffed man swaggered in like a circus bear that's figured out the master's whip is made of hay. A braggart's smirk splashed across his face as he flumped on a chair. Kogami perched his elbows on his legs, interlaced hands under his nose to summon all his objective focus on the screen, but all he could think about was how much he'd love to pummel that sneer off again.

"A different species of inspector today," proclaimed the Arumajiro man, all affected bravado to Gino's bespectacled, sober professionalism. Still bearing the marks Tsunemori had gouged on his tattooed skin, he slammed his arms on the table, presumably to stir a wince from Ginoza, who only blinked with imperturbable disdain. "And you even brought a woman to protect you. That a habit of Sibyl's dogs?"

"The type of technology found in the interior of the truck you and your comrades were riding on is not something that can be built with metal scraps scavenged from Ougishima,” Gino said with no inflection in his voice. "Who is funding your association?"

The man acknowledged the question with a caustic snort for answer, a sort of growl. His eyes slithering over the less illuminated corners of the room—methodically, as if searching for something.

“He’s watching, ain’t he?” he eventually muttered. “He wouldn’t miss this.”

"You'll have enough time to look at walls when you go to the isolation facility. No need to strain your eyes so hard on these,” Gino spat back. “Answer the question. Your syndicate knew about the crackdowns by the MWPSB. How did you acquire a signal jammer? Who programmed it?"

"Inspectors in the blocks," the man began in a low voice. "You lot stick out like a pack of wild hens running around with your dominators. Of course, everyone always knows when you're there, with your holos and your drones. You’re not exactly low-key, you know? The eyes of Sibyl might see us only when they want to, but we’re always watching.”

"And so your syndicate figured they'd try to go undetected and invest on an illegal piece of technology impossible to acquire within the abolition blocks.”

"Impossible,” the man echoed as if mulling the meaning of the word. As if, Kogami thought, what a Sibyl detective would deem impossible, even preposterous in his world, was something that acquired a different value where he came from. A perverse grimace spread on the man’s face, a sort of smiling frown full of certitude. "Nothing is impossible in the abolition blocks. Not anymore.”

“Not exactly a charmer when he finally decides to talk, is he?” Shion drawled with a slow plume of smoke, her profile silhouetted by blue light in the haze. “What could he possibly mean?”

"At least he's taunting us now,” Kogami murmured dryly. “But I don’t perceive urgency in his behavior. No negotiation or surrender. If he’s decided to talk it must be for more than dull temporizing, though I don’t think his objective is to necessarily give us what we want.”

“Hmm. Who knows.” Shion gave an affected gasp. “Could it be he likes Ginoza better?”

Kogami chuckled softly, and Shion smiled, proud of herself. He figured he probably had been looking as dismal as he felt.

“Definitely,” he acknowledged with a cool sigh, lifting himself up from the softness of the sofa, and starting to hanker for a smoke. He shoved the flaps of his navy windbreaker aside and thrust his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Gino can be a darling when he wants to. But I should head over there now. Might as well put some pressure now he’s talking.”

“I thought Ginoza said—”

“I know. I know he instructed all of you to keep me at bay. But this case might be bigger than we think and I can’t just wait idly by.”

Shion exhaled coolly, swiveling her chair toward her station again. “Very well. Just be careful.”

Freely, brashly for an interrogation, the man went on blathering on the screen. “But impossible things have been happening. People disappearing. Tunnels hidden behind holo. Miracles, even. The last of which involved a woman intercepting a truck in the tunnels, armed with nothing but a bat—so what I’ve been wondering is, how did the excellent and competent MWPSB get a double-crossing bitch to do their job for them?”

Doors glided open in front of him as Kogami’s step came to a standstill. Jaw clenching, he whirled round to face the grainy image of the man again.

“You’d do well to remember I’m the one asking questions here,” Ginoza retorted impatiently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t an exchange of particulars between two commensurate parties. This is an interrogation, and your time is running out.”

The man leaned in over the table and Kunizuka’s back went upright, her hand circling around her waist as a warning. “You see,” he said. “I can’t help but be intrigued as to how a single woman gained the trust of the underground resistance and helped them against the syndicates, all while working with the police.”

Kogami stiffened. Was that the reason behind Tsunemori’s ironclad secrecy? Did the man not kill her only because he was working information out of her? Even if Kogami had entertained a similar notion before—with her overt spurning of the system and her criminal consorts—something in him refused to admit that she could be, for lack of a better word, his enemy. But if what was being said was true, then the accusations he’d hurled at her—the same ones that had been tormenting him since he’d said them—may have been wholly understating.

“Justice for traitors and informers, know what that is? That wretched girl hanging from a wire in the ports of Ougishima where anyone else with funny ideas can see. Or worse—No. Better—her chained to a bed in the filth of a brothel. See that pretty hue turn black.” The man spoke slowly but without pause, in his visage a pained expression that evoked menace in lieu of sorrow. “Imagine, if you can, in a place crawling with people both desperate to cleanse their sins and itching for something unsullied to defile, just what coveted merchandise a clear-hued Sib would be. Not just any Sib, no. A plant by the MWPSB. A traitor. Hell, for all we know it might be her own people that get her first.”

With clenched fists, Kogami made his way back toward the screen. It wasn’t that the man’s tirade didn’t incense him greatly, considering to whom his poisoned darts were being aimed. But there was something else: the fact that he spoke as if he wasn’t in Sibyl’s claws. In his claws.

“That brat is too smart for her own good. Messing with things she don’t understand. Stealing things that don’t belong to her. Out of all the crummy chumps the so-called resistance has produced, this one might be the trickiest one. Should’ve snuffed her out when I had the chance.”

“This resistance,” Ginoza cleared his throat, “is it an anti-governmental group?”

The man stared superciliously, almost amused. “You Sibs think the blocks are seedbeds of chaos where the scum of society oozes like a weeping blister in your clean world. It’s not for me to deny it. I’ve seen men rip out each other’s guts over a cigarette. I’ve slain many more myself, men and women, for less than that. Why? You worried the pus might spill onto your streets? You afraid hearing these things will make you catch that disease?” A spark of relish in his eye. “What if I told you there’s a cure for that?”

“A—a cure? A cure for what?”

“The illness of evil—the illness the Sibyl system diagnosed for the rest of us. In fact, I’ll prove it to you right now,” the man invited with an almost affable tone. “Point your dominator at me.”

“What? What are you talking abou—H-Hound 2! No one ordered you to withdraw your dominator!”

Kunizuka, arm fully extended next to Ginoza’s face, had her sights aimed directly at the space between the eyebrows of the Arumajiro man. “I’m sorry, Inspector. This is the only language men like these speak.” A heavy mute second was filled with Ginoza’s eyes flitting from the dominator, to the man, back to Kunizuka until at last, haltingly, she lowered her arm and her jaw dropped with shock. “Th-There has to be a mistake. We checked his hue this morning and it was—a-and besides, he just said—”

Kogami didn’t wait to hear the rest. He bolted out of the analysis lab and down the corridor in the direction of the emergency stairs. His mind raced. One victim found dead in a factory. A second victim mauling herself to death in Nona Tower. Disparate timelines and intervals in both casualties, as if the pill’s dual mechanism could be detonated at a distance, at will. It made no sense. He hurtled down endless flights of stairs many floors below, gnawing despair lodged deep in his stomach. He’d seen him strangling her. He’d tried to drown him. No doubt he was a murderer. It couldn’t be. Nausea and doom had overtaken him by the time he tore past the doors of the last hallway and turned the last corner, silvered walls bouncing all around him as he caught sight of his mark leaving the interrogation room behind Ginoza and Kunizuka. He couldn’t see or hear until his hands were on the man. Until he felt other hands trying to pull him away.

“Shepherd 2! Get a hold of yourself!” Ginoza thundered, forcefully jostling against him. “Stop this right now! Kogami!”

“You fucking bastard,” Kogami growled, both hands yanking the manacled Arumajiro man by his threadbare shirt. “You know about the pill. You know what it is. You’re gonna tell me everything even if I have to kick it outta you!”

“Seems like someone’s found the antidote to Sibyl,” the tottering man hissed back, reveling in Kogami’s stunned expression. “Whatever it is you want to call it.”

“Yeah?” Kogami’s grip was taut on the collar around the man’s neck. “Then you must know about its side effects. Does that make you smile also?”

“I’d be more worried about that hue of yours, Inspector. I’d even go as far as advising you to choose your friends and allies wisely. Before she ruins you.”

A sobering shudder ran through Kogami.

“Search for her,” he rasped with bared teeth, “touch her again, and I swear I’ll find you and kill you with my own hands!”

“That’s enough of that!” Masaoka shouted from somewhere. Next thing he knew, Sasayama was there too, shouldering his way between them, tearing Kogami off as Kunizuka and Gino pulled the man away. Still, Kogami shoved and kicked and cursed as the man crossed the threshold of a door shutting closed, and then his vision went askew as a sharp pain had him hunching down and looking at the ground, immobilized.

“You need to cool down, son.” Masaoka tightened his armlock and Kogami heard himself pant helplessly, his forehead beading with sweat.

“Don’t you realize,” Kogami grunted through the pain, “that’s the one lead we have in this case?”

“And what good will it do if you end up in a rehabilitation facility?” Sasayama’s shoes came into view and Kogami was just able to shift his head up to shoot a glare at him. “How is pulling this bullshit gonna help you catch him then?”

There was the slow squeak and hush of a door opening and closing again.

“I hope you know this is all your influence, Sasayama,” Ginoza roared. “And if you think I won’t have a few words to say about you in the report of this incident, then you’re awfully misguided.” Masaoka loosened the grip of his metallic arm, and Kogami yanked his own free. He straightened up to meet the withering, unforgiving gaze of his partner. “Masaoka, go assist Kunizuka in the discharge of the witness. Kogami, you and I need to talk.”

“Gino, we can’t let him go,” Kogami protested with a gruff voice. “You saw what just happ—”

“Would you rather we do this in the presence of the Chief?”

Kogami squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to steady himself, but rage still boiled inside of him. “Fine,” he grumbled with frustration. “Fine.”

---------

Outside of Nona Tower the sun had set but the city was blazing like it was the middle of the day. A shine as artificial as that of the abolition blocks, though sleeker, clearer, new. Not the dizzying red and yellow twilights that led the way through the narrower, angular alleys of the abolition blocks, nor the darkened hollows and crannies where eyes and knives glinted. From a holographic billboard the large face of a woman donned in traditional garb gazed at him, her pale face dissolving into a pink forest, carpeted with what looked like pink snow. The next thing he noticed was that there was no distinct smell.

He walked the stretch of the plaza. Guardedly. Drawing near to where another hologram had attracted a multitude, but still keeping a cautious distance, he stood to watch. Three large fish swam in a hoop, floating in sync until one of them broke the formation to playfully pursue the others, making a squealing sound similar to that of rats, but louder and full of delight. Something like a fog, a vague sensation taking form, disturbed him. A nebulous recollection from years ago, of childhood in the blocks. A discoloured picture of animals like these nailed to a cracking wall. A wrinkled old lady calling him evil before falling with a thud. He remembered her body being warm even after he’d withdrawn his knife more times than he could count. The eyes in the eyes of his first kill looking deep into him and then…nothing. It’s cold, he thought, and that’s why I’m shivering. He peered at the crowd. Oblivious onlookers and their marveled profiles. His gaze drifted upwards and behind the surrounding skyscrapers. They didn’t know a few kilometers from here people burned. Soon they would.

He pivoted to two pairs of gawking eyes pegged on him. Youngsters. They approached him with slimy passivity, before gushing admiringly.

“Woah, mister, you really went out of your way with that cosplay! See? I told you the tattoos weren’t holo!”

“Of course they’re holo! How do you think he’d show to work with those tattoos? But isn’t the convention until next February though? If it was today I’m sure he’d win first prize!”

He snarled at the two pests, which only seemed to excite them more. A flashing light blinded him for a second, and before he could curse them out, they were scuttling away. It was then he took notice of the woman wearing a red long coat standing beside him.

“Do you actually know where you’re going, Igarashi-san?”

Unblemished skin. Long, silky hair. Almond eyes evenly shaped with a strange green sheen to them, and a thin, pointy nose. An enigmatic smile that could’ve been wider but wasn’t.

“Choe Gu-sung?”

“I knew Makishima-san was right to put his trust in the Arumajiro.”

“Your holo is too perfect,” Igarashi answered with blunt disdain. “No one looks like that.”

“That may be true in the abolition blocks, but as you can see, people love illusions here.”

Minutes later they were driving through the elevated highways of Tokyo. A light rain fell aslant, pins of purple and pink hitting on the windshield of the driverless vehicle. Igarashi kept a wary side-eye on Makishima’s lackey sitting beside him, though underneath that stupid holo he was more unreadable than usual. Not that he didn’t understand how such concealment was necessary for serious matters, but it pissed him off that important work should fall on the lap of a foreigner out of all people.

“I hope your doubts about our plan are settled now, Igarashi-san,” said Choe Gu-sung as if reading his mind, the faintest hint of mockery in his voice.

“Our plan requires certain arrangements we’ll overlook for the moment, but I know the Arumajiro won’t be so sparing afterwards.”

“It’s precisely that ruthlessness that Makishima found so compelling for this project to start with. In this brave new world of Sibyl, few men are willing to go where the Arumajiro go, and so your clan is instrumental for what needs to be done.”

All the sickly ass-licking made Igarashi turn his face toward the city flashing past. “To think you’re the first person to

address me by my name since I was arrested,” he muttered with disgust.

Once they had arrived at the high-rise hotel, an elegant wooden door embellished with the metal knocker of a spider admitted them into a vast suite decked out with fine furnishings. A low gray sofa with plush cushions half-mooned around a glass table where a steaming cup of tea had been set. An open book rested onto the lid of a black piano, and above it, a strange light fixture glittered from the ceiling like a dancing bride. Igarashi was becoming acutely aware of the thick, green rug underneath his tatty boots, but unlike him, the silver-haired man contemplating Tokyo out of the ceiling-to-floor windows fit into the room perfectly. Deceptively.

“I’m glad you made it out safely, Igarashi-san.”

Obscured on the reflection, Makishima’s features betrayed his otherwise harmless semblance as a truer, more sinister face smiled at Igarashi from the glass. Long gone was his first impression of a wealthy, over-spoilt child uttering words of revolution because, where the pointless, clumsy violence of the blocks rose and fell with no consequence or significance, Makishima had given them the means to overthrow an evil bigger than all the gangsters of the underground.

“The MWPSB has an informer in the blocks. That’s how they were able to get us. It’s Lemonade Candy.”

Piqued by his words, Makishima looked briefly over his shoulder. “The mastermind of the resistance works with the MWPSB,” he said, turning again toward the city. “How interesting. It only makes it the more impressive for you to have survived such a predicament, being attacked, as you were, by both sides.”

“It was one of their own group who gave them away. An unregistered who’d worked for Bunzo.” Igarashi’s fingers trailed the soft fabric on the arm of the sofa without daring to sit. “Wanted to settle a score or somethin’. Went mad, and for a moment there I really thought we’d turned the tables on her.”

“Her, you said?”

“Lemonade Candy is a twenty-something woman. Small and thin as a reed. And still the bitch was able to take out our lights singlehandedly and then escape through one of their hidden tunnels. We followed, and for a moment I had her, until an inspector showed up.”

“She ensnared you,” murmured Makishima. “She used herself as bait knowing you’d follow her. What appeared like recklessness at a cursory glance, was a calculated gamble.” He turned around and ambled across the room, feathery and lithe, with hands in his pockets. “We’re not the only ones with the will to choose to bet, it seems.”

Again there was that mysterious smile on Makishima’s lips and, like an obedient disciple, Igarashi felt the irresistible urge to supply more. “The resistance is not our biggest problem. Getting the syndicate to get rid of her now that I’ve seen her should be easy. But there’s also the police. That detective, especially. He don’t seem the type to let go of things.” An ear-to-ear grin spread on his face. “And he’s a hot head for that woman. Nearly slugged me when I mentioned her to him. Threatened to kill me, even.”

“Are they not merely enforcers?”

“No,” Igarashi assured with a sharp shake of his head. “He’s the one who’s been interrogating me. Or trying to, at least. Today I heard his partner refer to him as Kogami. As for the woman…haven’t seen her since that night.”

“Kogami,” Makishima echoed with flash of eagerness in his amber eyes. “Are there still humans in this city who are not afraid of themselves, I wonder? And, if so, is it a coincidence that we happened to lure two of them out of hiding? Is this what the sentimentalist calls ‘destiny’?”

Across from him, Choe Gu-sung ambled over and sat on the other side of the sofa where he opened a laptop. He’d remained so quiet, Igarashi had but completely forgotten about his presence, and his appearance, now devoid of holo, glared like a sour reminder. He began typing something hurriedly.

“They’re vermin—that’s what they are,” crossing his arms, Igarashi commented while looming over Choe. “All those who can’t rise by their own strength deserve to be squashed like roaches. It’s the rule of the world. Eat or be eaten.”

“You know, Igarashi-san,” Makishima lingered by the piano, slowly turning over the pages of the book. “I’ve always admired men like you. The ones who agitate the whole world through the sheer strength of your desire. If the world sings blue, you’ll force it to sing red until it matches your vision. A common man in an uncommon world. Please,” his eyes rose from the page to watch him intently. “Understand that this is the deepest of compliments. You see, in this sterile, plastic world, that type of primal life force has been forgotten. The human animal domesticated, his soul depurated, sterilized, until he became nothing more than the ruins of what he once was—and ruins are only beautiful after a great war. Anything else is…mockery.”  

“Well, that’s the way of the blocks. The only way we know. And now, thanks to you, these things will be ours too.” Not until he said it did it seem true to Igarashi—that they would rule over this world just like they ruled over the underground. Dominators, cymatic scanners and drones could not stop them anymore, and the weak children of Sibyl would succumb just like their evil mother. “And even the enemies of the Arumajiro won’t mind it if it means destroying this system.”

“You are correct. Anger has an interesting way of vitalizing people in ways no other need or cause does, notwithstanding how pure or lofty. That vein those spurned by the system share is what the Sibyl system has cut off and anesthetized, to the extent where the masses can’t even recall it ever being there. Their senses lay dormant as if they could truly exist as humans without them. Others even claim to want to live forever. But what value does a life have when it’s benumbed and protected from the knowledge of its own mortality? When it loses all primitive instincts in a beautiful cage where there’s no danger? As in the yesteryear, we need men like you to remind us what it means to be alive.”

In more ways than he could understand, Makishima’s words made Igarashi feel strangely satisfied. Comforted, even. Never before had he thought of his life in any aspect beyond, well, living.  What for was a question that hadn’t occurred to him. But for all the things he’d seen and done, he never would have guessed it’d be this man the one to weave meaning into his life.

“Do you know what intrahistory is, Igarashi-san?”

Choe Gu-sung’s annoying typing made it difficult for him to hear the question. “Huh?”

“Intrahistory,” Makishima continued as he ran his finger down a yellowed page in the book, “Is the history that’s left outside of the books. Think of it as the blank margins on the paper. It’s the story of the nameless people who made history but who are never mentioned. Without them, History with a capital H is unconceivable.”

Igarashi gave a sly smile. “Is that the people from the blocks?”

“Indeed. The men who wrought the world and thrust it forward through blood and fire. You can see why the system made sure we never hear about them. Those who dare to be the actors of their own existence have no need for Sibyl.”

“Like the Arumajiro in the blocks.”

Makishima closed the book carefully. “Like the gladiators who died devoured by the lions under the impassive eyes of an Emperor. Or the soldiers in the vanguard bringing us closer to victory with their sacrifices. The anonymous martyrs who enrage the survivors. The strongest within the strong.”

It was quiet now. Choe Gu-sung had abruptly stopped his noise. A bizarre, undeniable aura of expectation hung in the air. Igarashi swallowed something he’d not felt in years down his parched throat, his mind scrambling to decipher what Makishima was getting at with his incessant blabber.

“Violence can be captivating, even beautiful. But like any art, when it’s empty, it’s hopelessly corrupted and vulgar. You do not need to worry about that, Igarashi-san. I’ll be sure to make your sacrifice meaningful.”

Dread surged in Igarashi like a freezing chill. “What the hell are you talking about?” he murmured. He’d kill the two of them. He could take them both easily, rip them apart with his hands, bludgeon them to death.

With a flourish, Choe Gu-sung made a single clicking sound on his keyboard, and Igarashi felt his body drop and crash into the glass table. A hail storm of white particles infested his vision, followed by a green crooked line and a tea cup rolling on the floor. Beyond that, Makishima’s feet trod toward him with the precision of a ropewalker, and he felt fear.

“I know you don’t like this gruesome part, Choe. You may go.”

Igarashi’s wild eyes tried to meet the mechanical eyes of the hacker, but he couldn’t move because a rumbling began inside his body; his blood boiling and searing and cauterizing from the inside. He clenched his teeth and grunted, his body growing rigid as pain travelled through his veins like a jagged marble—excruciating pain that made it impossible to think on anything except on it being over. With what little mind he had, he started wide-eyed at a slice of a window visible between Makishima’s legs, wishing with all his rotten heart he could jump from it. Then he heard himself howl a beast-like howl over and over again.

“’Alas, what is good and what is evil?’” Makishima said looking down on him. “’Are they both one single thing with which we furiously attest our impotence and passion to attain the infinite by even the maddest means? Or are they two different things? Yes…they had sooner be one and the same…for if not, what will become of me on Judgement Day?’”

[skania]

Hollow: an ode to Cloud’s regrets about Aerith

I’ve always felt Hollow is about Cloud’s regrets after Aerith’s fate. But after finishing the Original Final Fantasy 7 game, I realized the lyrics outright quote and reference things Cloud says about Aerith in Disks 2 & 3.

So if I was convinced before, now I just can’t see the song being about anyone nor anything else.

I’ve been posting my thoughts about it on Twitter the last few days, but I figured it was worth putting everything together in one single post to illustrate just why I feel this way. I’ll divide the post in a few parts:

What we know about the song

Where we hear the song in Remake

The name of the song

The song lyrics and its ties to the OG (and to AC)

The imagery of the song

Could the song be about multiple people? nope

I’ll illustrate each point with images from the OG and occasionally Advent Children, so beware of spoilers for both! In contrast, there are only a few spoilers from Remake, including one cut-scene from the ending and a scene from Chapter 14.

What we know about the song

The song’s lyrics were written by Nojima and the music by Uematsu. In the Behind the Scenes, Uematsu explains that the song is sung from Cloud’s perspective and gives the vocalist clear instructions to make the vocals fit Cloud’s character.

This was further confirmed on a recent interview, where Uematsu said: “[...] the song is supposed to be about Cloud's inner feelings” (source).

Similarly, Nojima confirmed that one of the two keywords he received to write the lyrics was “told from Cloud’s point of view.”

Even more interesting, however, is the following:

I interpreted [Hollow] as "a ballad for a man who lost something important to him."  — Nojima

In other words, Nojima wrote these lyrics thinking about Cloud having lost “something important” to him. In Japanese, the wording is 大切なもの, which means both “something important” or “someone important” depending on the context (comment from the translator).

Both have already been used from Cloud’s point of view, in regards to Aerith.

In the OG, it’s used when Cait Sith predicts that Cloud will lose Aerith. “What you pursue will be yours. But you will lose something dear." In Japanese, “something dear” is written with the exact same wording used by Nojima:  大切なもの

The same wording is also used in Cloud’s cameo in Final Fantasy Tactics, where he’s featured alongside Aerith.

As for “someone important”, Aerith has been described as Cloud’s 大切な人 "important/precious someone” more times than I can count. Like here, for example:

... [Sephirot] took away my important/precious someone. 

So just from the wording alone, we can establish a link to Aerith. However, this is far from being the only way Hollow is connected to Aerith.

Where we hear the song in Remake

The very first time we hear the instrumental version of song in Remake is in Chapter 8, called “The Flower of Reunion” in Japanese and “Budding Bodyguard” in English. In other words, the first time it plays is on a Chapter entirely dedicated to Cloud and Aerith.

But even more telling is the very first moment we hear the song. It’s when Aerith briefly separates from Cloud in the Sector 5 Slums. It literally starts playing the instant Aerith leaves the party.

Then, it continues to play throughout the chapter as Cloud & Aerith reunite and do different quests together.

Fittingly, the second time we hear the instrumental version of Hollow is in Chapter 13, as Cloud & the party step into the places that Aerith first showed to Cloud  — except that this time, Aerith isn’t with them because she’s been kidnapped by Shinra.

Meaning, Hollow’s instrumental version only plays in Sector 5. Aerith’s Sector.

The last time we hear the song is, of course, in the credits of the game. Where the full version of Hollow plays in full. But I think it’s interesting to think of the moment when the song starts to play.

First, we focus on Cloud & Aerith, standing on a barren place as rain starts to fall down on the party (this will be important later). It’s only after this very shot that the camera pans to the sky and Hollow starts playing.

So three out of three times we hear Hollow, the song can be connected to Aerith.

Which makes perfect sense IMO, because everything about the song itself is connected to Aerith.

Including its title.

The name of the song

While the song is sung in English, the original lyrics were written in Japanese. The original name of the song was actually 「 空っぽの雲 」 “Empty Cloud”, which then became「からっぽの空」aka “Empty Sky” or “Hollow Sky”. And in fact, the Instrumental version of the song that plays in Sector 5 — again, Aerith’s sector —  keeps the Japanese name.

Of course, both “empty” and “hollow” carry the same meaning:

“Having a hole or empty space inside”.

You know what was meant to evoke this exact same feeling in the players? Aerith’s death.

The feelings aroused by Aerith’s death are “a great emptiness” and “If I had know this was coming, I’d have done things differently”.

These are the exact same feelings Cloud sings about in Hollow. 

And what’s more, his pain after losing Aerith was recently referenced in the Final Fantasy 30th Anniversary Exhibition with the following quote:

Which takes me to:

The song lyrics & its ties to the OG and to AC

Since the song was originally written in Japanese, I will be using @gurekura’s literal translation as well as the official translation of the lyrics. You can see their original post on Twitter HERE.

I think that when you read the lyrics, it becomes very obvious that it’s written from the perspective of the original Cloud. The Cloud we see in the Original FF7 as well as in Advent Children, among others. So, of course, it’s no surprise that these lyrics perfectly match various scenes.

What’s telling though, is that just as we’ve seen until now, the lyrics are a perfect match for scenes focusing on Cloud and Aerith.

1.

2.

No matter whether you take these lines literally or figuratively, “healing” easily evokes images of Aerith. Who not only is a healer  — we even see this in AC, where Aerith heals Cloud of Geostigma — but also reaches out to Cloud as he’s broken by pain and guilt in AC and helps him recover.

But while this is all fine and dandy, I can understand why people may think of different scenes while hearing these lyrics.

However, their link to Aerith becomes even more blatant as we go. In fact, from here on out, the lyrics basically quote Cloud’s words, feelings & thoughts in the OG as he faces Aerith’s death.

3.

Was it all a dream? Will I ever know?

Foolish and blind to everything Had I realized, had I noticed it sooner, Would you be here in my embrace?

Word. For. Word. These are literally Cloud’s feelings, pain and regrets after losing Aerith.

4.

Then we have the chorus, where the references to Aerith are also clear because she’s always been known for her bright personality, and for keeping a smile on her face even in the hardest of times.

Remember how Kitase said that “If I had know this was coming, I’d have done things differently” was one of the feelings he wanted to inspire with Aerith’s death? 

That is exactly what Cloud is singing about in this chorus. But this will become more obvious when we get to the end of the song.

5.

This is honestly unequivocally about Aerith, who hid her pain and the weight of her mission behind smiles and comforting words to not pain Cloud and the others.

Hidden within your smile There were secrets

But I was empty I just demanded

This fits perfectly with how blinded Cloud was by his own pain after he lost her, and how this kept him from realizing the truth of her sacrifice.

6.

Then there’s the second chorus, where Cloud once again sings about all the things he would do differently if only he were given a second chance.

And what he wants to do most of all, is to be able to notice Aerith’s pain and the truth hidden behind it.

What’s more, while players may have missed it given the graphics of the OG, Remake itself shows that this is indeed how Aerith is. She is always hiding her pain and heavy truths behind a smile. The perfect example comes in Aerith’s Resolution Scene in Chapter 14, where Aerith tries to reassure Cloud that she doesn’t mind staying in the Shinra Tower.

She does her best to keep a bright smile and a happy front. But if you look closely enough, you can see the sadness in her eyes, a clear reflection of her true feelings.

7.

Lastly, we have Cloud facing the truth. That despite all his regrets, despite how hard he may wish to have a second chance, Aerith is gone. And the song takes us full-circle.

You’re no long here, so I’m empty. Again, this fits perfectly with the feeling Kitase wanted to evoke with Aerith’s death.

And Cloud feeling this way is also backed-up not only by his behavior in AC, but also by insight from Tifa, as shared in Dismantled:

Plus, of course: “She was gone in the blink of an eye. But the pain never went away.”

So really, given everything I’ve mentioned above, I just can’t see this song being about anyone but Aerith. Because the lyrics clearly evoke thoughts and emotions Cloud himself said about her in the original game.

And if you keep Aerith in mind, then...

The imagery of the song

In the Behind the Scenes, Uematsu  also talks about the imagery that inspired the music. This is what he says about it:

Nojima also confirmed that  [Cloud] “standing in the rain” was the second keyword he received to write the lyrics.

The moment I heard this, I thought of one particular scene from Advent Children:

This scene fits the imagery on multiple levels. Cloud is alone, standing on a barren and empty place, as rain pours over him. He lets the rain wash over him, eyes closed.

In this scene, that rain is Aerith’s Great Gospel. It starts falling the moment Kadaj hears Aerith’s voice, heals everyone it touches from Geostigma and Tifa outright speaks to Aerith as she watches a droplet of the rain.

Of course, there’s no way to know exactly what image Uematsu was talking about. But I find this particular scene quite fitting, given all the ties the song has to Aerith.

Not to mention that in the Final Fantasy 30th Exhibition, Aerith says the following about Cloud’s pain after her death: 「もう、泣かないで. 雨になっちゃうよ」 “Don’t cry. You’ll make it rain”. (source)

So, there we have an explicit link between rain — and Cloud’s anguish after he loses Aerith.

To wrap this up, I’ve seen people suggest that the song is about multiple people. I respect that everyone has the right to have a different view-point, but personally, I can’t help but to disagree with this particular one.

Could the song be about multiple people?

There is no evidence of this in the song. At no point does the song switch its focus. At the contrary, the references and themes remain the same all throughout-it  — as does its subject.

Your shining smile = Once more, shine brightly = Once more, laugh again = Hidden within your smile, there were secrets = Had I noticed sooner, would you still be in my embrace? = Show me your smile one more, this time = I'll notice the truth hidden inside your tears

The subject and the imagery remain constant, so it’s safe to assume the song is about one person and one person only. 

And given all the things mentioned above... I hope you can now see why I can’t think of anyone else but Aerith.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

[the-moon-prince]

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter IV

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

A new chapter! I tried my best to develop further the self insert character and clarify more its backstory and clan! I have somethings planned I hope you’ll enjoy. Thank you so much for all you support and I thank you for reading!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story.  (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter V  soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 307

TW: None!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything in life has a continuation. Kurapika and (Y/n)'s relationship is also subject to this law. An undeniable detail was that the lives of both subjects were terribly busy and loaded. Notably, the activities that Kurapika was involved in were lightened. (Y/n) held their word to assist him in his cause, as their work turned out to be advantageous. Primarily when it came to retrieving scarlet eyes. Kurapika even recovered two more pairs not long after by the dint of their research.

Another point in common was that the two were- Or at least when they wanted- very organized. The majority of encounters took place after they departed their jobs with the Nostrade. Consisting most frequently in small walks in nearby parks, have coffee or read together. Accommodating conversations that permitted them to know each other.

"What is the reason behind your decision to study psychiatry?" It occurred to Kurapika to bid during a walk. The situation was atypical; people with profitable prior careers didn't take the Hunter exam, not to mention how extremely young (Y/n) was, being just a year younger than him. But knowing the introversion of his partner, he decided to go little by little.

"My grandad was one. I aspired to be similar to him.

He had a treasury full of medicine and psychiatry titles I loved to read, I also sneaked into his conversations on the subject!" -(Y/n) gloated, with a tiny rocking and a smile.-"I find the functioning of the brain stimulating! And I like to help, it makes me feel useful. One of his acquaintances invited me to be his apprentice several times ago. I just accepted." 

It was not rare for them to get together in the same room for each to work on their matters. They spent time in each other's presence. It was what mattered to them. 

~

In the beginning, (Y / n) was the one that expressed questions the most. Especially details that many would judge insignificant.-"What is your preferred flavor of ice cream?" "Your favorite color? Mine is (Fav .color)" What musical genre do you prefer? I like (Fav. genre), I'm particularly a David Bowie fan." The answers to those questions were vanilla, light gray, and jazz. (Y/n) liked to accumulate all the possible details about Kurapika. More than once he was surprised that the (hair/colored) remembered, like what candy he preferred from the local store, that he liked his water slightly cooler than room-temperature or they reminded him to take a break from using his contact lenses. (Y/n) was also very vocal, consciously or not, with what they liked about Kurapika. They made him blush more than once with "you look pretty today", "you are kind, thank you" or "I love your eyes, they are blue dog's eyes". He had no clue what the latter meant or where were their origins, but (Y/n) said it so lovingly that he couldn't help feeling like it was the greatest of compliments.

Kurapika relied most on studying (Y/n) body language to approach them. He soon realized that while their face was not very expressive, the rest of their body tended to be. When they were waiting for something that excited them, they tapped the table with their long nails. They used to hold the door for the person behind them and him. And the two things that Kurapika found the most adorable of all, they tilted their head when they thought of something and flapped their hands when they were excited-even if they tried to suppress it on occasions. Something that Kurapika was not anticipating at all, particularly considering its dexterity and exactness from the time they fought, was (Y/n) clumsiness. They took bad or silly postures and never tied their shoes- Kurapika suspected them to not know how-.

He loved to tease (Y/n) with it. Expressly when they caught a light pole in the road, for not paying attention while they talked.

(Y/n) reminded him so much of Pairo, shy, a tad playful, and caring.

Pairo...

He would have liked to meet Yorknew. Observe everything Kurapika had seen. He sure would have liked the cinnamon rolls and the city lights. It was cruel and wicked. 

"Kurapika"- a quiet voice took him away from his thoughts. His head stung.

"Here's your tea, sunshine"-(Y/n) placed a cup full of steaming cinnamon tea in front of him, and proceeded to sit down.-"Are you fine?"

"Yes, I was just... just thinking."- Kurapika mumbled and looked at his cup.

 "I see. It is not wrong to miss someone. It simply signifies you love them, and they're important to you."-They mumbled, also looking down at the tea, as if they were capable of reading his mind. They certainly didn't read minds. Just missed someone too.-"If we don't remember them no one else will."- (Y/n) muttered as if the statement was also for them. They wanted nothing more than to comfort him. In one effort they dubiously lifted their hand and started to gently rub his back.

Kurapika turned to see them.-"You call me sunshine now?" He wanted to tease them. It didn't work.

(Y/n) nooned with pride.-"Because of your hair, the color evokes a ray of sunshine. Without sunlight, the flowers do not grow, therefore it is important. You are valuable to me."-Completely overlooking the other man's intentions. Kurapika covered his face with his hands and started laughing. He felt better.

"You are sickly sweet!"- he exclaimed, shaking his head. 

"I am. And you're sneakier than you seem." (Y/n) similarly joked. They rested their heads on the hand, drinking tea. They maybe were sappy, but in the end, Kurapika loved it. He had someone to comfort him and with whom he could play. How he had missed this!

"Your piano is nearly the only furniture you have in your living room, and I haven't seen you play it yet."-continued taking a sip of his tea. He didn't know if (Y/n) played the piano, but they certainly prepared good tea.

"I am not very skilled. I am incapable of composing anything, and I haven't played for a long time. I was taught how to play some melodies, and that's what I play."

"May I see?"-Kurapika requested, for (Y/n) to approach the grand piano. They opened the tone's cover and he started to play. Sol-Fa Re Si-Fa Re Si ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f81rM4BKODw ). It sounded like a child's song, sweet and simple.

"My grandad was better. Verily, the instruments make me nostalgic, I have them essentially for that." They babbled once finished.

"You're not awful either." The blonde assured-"Did he teach you?" 

(Y/n) agreed with a smile. "We fancied dancing and singing. My people liked artistic activities, we were somewhat hippies." they joked with a melancholic undertone.

"And the Kurta?"-their interests were genuine

Kurapika was surprised, it was the first time anyone had asked him. He couldn't help but respond excitedly.- "Well, I traveled with a friend, his name was Pairo. We transported ourselves on the backs of huge birds called Pikos! It was really fun... did you had something similar to travel?"

(Y/n) stared at him for a moment, tilting their head "We were the animals...", to them, the answer was a bit obvious. Why would they mount animals for transportation if they could transform themselves into animals?

"That seems lawful... I quite omitted that detail." Kurapika notified. I forgot that people like (Y/n) were part beast. They hardly ever mentioned him and he hadn't seen them in their other form either.

(Y/n) Laughed-"And we used normal cars. Uniliums didn't live very detached from humans. Our community was like 40 away from the city and most adults worked in it. We just maintained our animal figure in private. Most humans didn't have a clue they were fraternizing with us." They were delighted to talk about their peers. Like when you talk about a family member you haven't seen in a long time.

"What kind of animals were they?"-.Kurapika's curiosity about the group only increased. Besides if he knew more about them he would also know more about his (Y/n).

They hummed, -"Well... we were all mammals. Most were preys, for each predator, there was an average of 13 preys. Of 126 members, we were 10. There were mice, rabbits, deers. But no one was sure how to determine which animal would be an offspring."- They cheerfully explained, general information. But nothing about themselves. 

Kurapika would have to question directly.-"And you?"

"I am the cat. But I was raised by wolves, like Romulus and Remus. Who knows? I might establish my own empire!"-(Y/n) played.

It was the first time they mentioned it. But now that he reflected, (Y/n) resembled a cat. They had particularly long fangs and claws.

"I didn't know your parents were wolves!" Kurapika felt he was finally learning a little more about his lover's past. But the reaction received was not the one he expected. An ordinary person, he included, would be glad to remember his parents.

(Y/n) quitted smiling and leaned their head into their folded arms. The atmosphere in the room had changed.-"They are average humans. As we mix with humans, it was not uncommon for some to marry them. My grandfather's mother and my grandfather, who were Uniliums, married humans. My mother was human and married another human."- they mumbled. Kurapika felt that the topic was not very pleasant for them, and considered it appropriate to stop that conversation.

"I comprehend..."-and changed the topic-"Kurtas were further separated. It was difficult to get outward of our village. This to guard us. Controlling the scarlet eyes and our emotions was not easy. Many panicked when they saw them."

(Y/n) seemed to quickly forget the preceding topic and willingly listened to their beloved again.-"I understand that. Some humans were also afraid of us, they believed we were demons or beasts. The funny thing is that the deluded wouldn't recognize us."-they mocked-"Sentiments could also influence our appearance. But our parents taught us to be cautious since cubs." 

(Y/n) had seen Kurapika with his scarlet eyes, but he hadn't seen them in their beast form. The most he had seen was that night when they saw him straight in the eye, and their pupils were contracted, like a cat's, and the (e/c) had almost fully spread.

"You have never revealed your cat form to me. I bet you're adorable!"- He expressed in an attempt to satiate his curiosity. 

They sure weren't anticipating that request, following a moment of hesitation, they lilted "I presume I get accustomed to wearing this shape."

Kurapika wanted (Y/n) to have confidence in him. He understood the concern in showing foreigners such aspects. After all, they had both been marginalized and punished for their looks.-"It's not going to be unpleasant to me. I like cats." he offered them a sweet smile. 

At the moment he blinked and reopened his eyes, (Y/n) had a pair of fuzzy (color) cat ears, the right one with a tiny darker spot on the tip, a fluffy tail, and their hair was slightingly fuzzed up. Maybe the most remarkable thing was their feet, long and standing on the tip.

 Their eyes changed again, and their hands were slightly larger with wider claws; to ultimately have the appearance of a cat-humanoid. They didn't look so different and they were still (Y/n). 

Kurapika didn't see anything devilish about the person in front of him. Rather, he saw an exotic beauty, like fantastic creatures from magical books. He felt lucky to be able to witness something of that bearing and have that experience. What was so special to him was that this being was his partner.

"You certainly are a kitten. That's something you can do in that form?"-Kurapika interrogated.

(Y/n) took a minute to consider, head tilted as usual- the only difference is that their ears moved delicately-. They raised their open hands, showing some very pink set to digital pads, advanced towards him wagging his tail, and cupping his face with a cute smile.

"Your hands are very soft, darling."-Kurapika giggled at the silly idea. (Y/n)'s grin grew wider, closed its eyes, and in complete pride said "I have paws, honey!" That was true. Not many could say they had paws. Especially a so soft and warm pair. (Y/n) appeared happy and relieved, as if they had been discharged from a weight or they were finally doing something they had repressed.

"And you also have marshmallow cheeks. Can you do something particular under that form?"-As Kurapika enjoyed the softness of the caring touch, his question was not precisely answered.

(Y/n) separated their paws from his face, and showed its claws. "I have retractile claws, like, well, a cat. Under this form my strength and speed increase. My bite force equals that of a Jaguar. Ultimately I'm capable of using a more potent nen's technique since my aura flow grows. Although, you know I'm a pacifist. I tend to be softer..."

"You look like a big plush doll. Yet, this appearance may be tricky. You absolutely are a cat."- Kurapika could recognize why (Y/n)'s clan was killed to extermination. Many collectors would be filled with sick and devious pride to have such a creature. He was happy that at least (Y/n) survived. For the first time, he was happy that he too survived.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 3

Bésame Mucho by George deValier

Summer, 1934 The French Countryside

.

"It's getting late. We should probably start heading back to town." Francis said the words reluctantly.

Antonio held a sprig of lavender to his nose and inhaled deeply. The bright afternoon sun descended slowly in the darkening sky above him; the thick, soft green grass felt like a blanket beneath him.

"Here, have another drink first," said Gilbert, passing a bottle of wine to Francis over Antonio's head. The red liquid sparkled as a ray of sunlight filtered through the glass.

"Fine," said Francis, taking the bottle. "But we can't stay on this hill all night."

"Why not?" asked Antonio. "I feel like I could lie here forever."

Francis laughed. "I'm quite sure you could, you lazy bastard."

"I can't believe the week's almost over," said Gilbert. "How does it always go so damn fast?"

Antonio shook his head, without an answer to that question. For the last five years, since he had turned fifteen, the best times of Antonio's life had been these brief weeks during the year he managed to spend with his two best friends. Talking, laughing, arguing, flirting, drinking, sightseeing… if only life could always be like this.

"Next time, my place, yeah?" continued Gilbert. "Ludwig's been asking when he's gonna see you guys again."

"How is the little guy?" asked Antonio. "Did he like that model plane I sent for his birthday?"

"Not so little anymore. Twelve years old and the little shit's nearly bigger than me. But he loved the plane. It's hanging from his ceiling with all the others."

"All right," said Francis. "Let's make it December, shall we? There's nothing like Christmas in Germany."

"Yes," agreed Antonio. "Gingerbread houses and glowing Christmas trees and candles and snow…"

"Gluehwein and schnapps and beer…"

"Muscular men in lederhosen and busty barmaids in low cut dirndls... Ahh," Francis sighed dramatically. "Yes, this December I shall fall in love in Germany."

Antonio twisted his neck and squinted up at Francis. "You're not going to fall in love. You're going to sleep with people."

Francis peered down at him disdainfully. "Yes, and I fall in love with everyone who shares my bed."

"That's not love, Francis. That's sex."

"Who are you to tell me what is love and what is not? I have fallen in love a thousand times, and I will a thousand more."

"Urgh," said Gilbert loudly. "I can safely promise you, I will never fall in love."

Antonio gazed back up at the dark blue sky and breathed the warm, clean scent of lavender. "I will fall in love but once."

"How terribly boring, mon cher. I never would have thought I'd hear you moralising."

"I'm not moralising. You can sleep with whomever you choose - bonne chance; cuidate; viel Spass. I am simply saying that I believe you only ever truly love once."

Francis scoffed. "And just how are you supposed to tell this one true love from all the others?"

"Well, I don't know yet. But I will when it happens. It'll be something like, when you look at them, this one person, and you really, truly see them. It might be immediate, or it might not be the first time you look. And it might be earth shattering, but it could also be just a silent realisation. But it's when you look at them and you realise, beyond any doubt, that they are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in all your life."

Francis gasped in mock revelation. "I think that happened with that barmaid last night…"

Gilbert snorted. "You're both insane. This stupid idea of love doesn't even exist."

Antonio shrugged. "Laugh all you want. But it will happen. When I see them… I'll know."

.

Spring, 1942 A village in Italy

.

The air was warm and still, the afternoon sun low and golden through the orange clouds as Lovino and Grandpa Roma walked cheerfully down the country road towards home. Feliciano skipped excitedly around them. Someone had given him a glass of wine, which never failed to make him even more unbearably happy and energetic than usual. But today that was all right. Today Lovino did not mind. Because today was a good day for a free Italy.

"O partigiano, portami via," sang Roma, his boisterous baritone almost echoing in the fields around them.

"O bella, ciao! Bella, ciao! Bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!" Feliciano was always the better singer. Lovino only sang when drunk. Which probably had something to do with why he joined in as his brother chanted the chorus cheerfully back at Grandpa Roma.

"O partigiano, portami via…"

"Ché mi sento di morir!"

They all dissolved into wild peals of laughter. The mission that morning had gone perfectly - a truckload of weapons and vital information blown sky high - and the afternoon had been spent drinking, singing, and celebrating in the back room of the Cantina Verde. Lovino had actually been allowed along on the mission this time. Of course, he had done no more than stand with Grandpa Roma across the street as he gave the signal, but he had still been there. Still been a part of it. He was not sure if it was the wine or the exhilarating adrenaline still running through his veins that had him so exuberant.

"What's next, Grandpa?" Lovino asked eagerly when he finally managed to bring his laughter under control. "A base? A supplies route? A secret location in town?"

"Oh, Lovino," sighed Roma, smiling and clapping a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "Can't we just celebrate today?"

"But we must think ahead, yes?" The sun dimmed behind the trees as they turned into the narrow lane leading to the house. "That's what you always say, and I showed you today that I can take more responsibility, and I really think it's time that I..."

Lovino trailed off slowly as he looked up the road to the front door. There was someone standing before it. Lovino felt suddenly hot and dizzy as everything spun inside his head and time slowed to a stop. Feliciano gasped loudly, and Roma took a few hurried steps forward, holding his hand above his eyes and squinting. "Is that..."

"Antonio!" Feliciano cried, bolting up the lane and throwing his arms around the laughing Spaniard. Roma laughed and followed him, clapping Antonio on the back, kissing his cheeks in exuberant greeting. Lovino just stood still, stunned, beyond any thought or feeling, watching the lively greeting from a distance. His entire world split apart, spun around, turned upside down. He had long ago lost track of the days since Antonio had left. All he really knew, now, was that he had not really expected him to come back. It took Lovino too long to move, to force himself to walk slowly up the lane.

"It is so good to see you here finally!" said Roma, his loud voice carrying down the street.

Antonio's grin shone down the lane, lit up the countryside. "It's good to be here, Roma."

"Why were you gone so long? Where did you go? What did you see? Oh, oh, did you bring me presents?"

"Of course I did, Feli!"

Antonio finally looked up and smiled softly when Lovino eventually reached the doorstep. He looked exactly the same as Lovino remembered... and he evoked the exact same reaction. Still this fluttering in his heart, in his stomach; still this annoying ache that he could not suppress, could not control. Still this anger that Antonio had left, that he had not come back. After all this time - almost three years. Three years and not a thing had changed. Antonio smiled brightly, cheerfully, then rolled his eyes to the sky and laughed. "Not a damn thing."

For a brief, mad moment Lovino thought Antonio had read his mind. Then he folded his arms and scowled. "Not a damn thing what?"

Antonio just shook his head, his green eyes twinkling as he smiled that infuriating, perfect, terrible, wonderful smile. "Nothing."

Roma opened the door, took Antonio's arm, and led him into the house. "Come in, come in! Let us not stand on the doorstep all day!"

Feliciano bounced through the door, Lovino following slowly, still dazed and slightly confused. Antonio smiled the whole time: as Roma took his bags and offered him food and practically forced him into a seat at the table, as Feliciano laughed and asked endless questions, as it all went too fast over Lovino's head and he struggled to comprehend that Antonio was actually sitting before him, in his house, in his life. That he was really here, after all this time, no longer just an intangible dream in his memory but really here, smiling and laughing and answering Feliciano's questions and brushing his hair back and nodding and glancing over at Lovino so subtly, so briefly...

Roma placed two bottles of wine on the table. "I'll fetch some glasses..."

"I'll get them," Lovino almost shouted before quickly rushing into the kitchen. Once alone in the room he let out a deep, shaking breath and leant against the bench, staring at his hands before him. Three years and he thought he had gotten over this. But this reaction… this was stronger than he remembered. This threw him off balance; this was scary and unexpected and so intense it was painful. How could Antonio look so wonderful, his voice still so cheerful, his eyes still so warm and sparkling? How could he so easily shatter three years of trying to forget?

Unbidden memory came quickly flooding back. Memories Lovino had tried to suppress, that he had played over in his head a hundred times. Antonio leaning towards him and whispering he was beautiful; holding his hand and saying he would protect him; singing in Spanish and handing him a guitar and looking down at him in the sun and calling him his 'corazón.' And of course that moment, that moment that lived fixed in Lovino's memory, the one he replayed over and over in dark early hours alone. Antonio holding him close: the feel of his arms and his breath, the touch of his hands, those sensations he awoke and feelings he evoked that never really went away. And then, those same hands pushing him away. Lovino realised that he was still angry about it, after all these years.

By now Lovino was practically gasping, defenceless against the memories and emotions that assaulted him relentlessly. Because now Antonio was back. In the next room. He was here, he was back, and this was real again, and Lovino didn't know how...

"Lovino?"

"Holy shit!" Lovino jumped and spun around. Feliciano squeaked. "Don't sneak up on people, Feliciano!"

Feliciano held up his hands defencively. "But, I didn't, I…"

"What the hell do you want?"

"You said you were going to get glasses and you've been in here for fifteen minutes."

"Oh. Right, fine, I'm…" Lovino opened the cupboard and reached for the wine glasses. "I'm coming now."

Feliciano tilted his head. "Are you all right, Lovino? You seem…"

"I'm fine!" Lovino slammed the cupboard door shut and stormed back into the front room.

Sitting at the table while Antonio, Roma and Feliciano talked brightly and easily, Lovino felt at a complete loss. He did not know how to act, where to look, what to do with his hands. He searched for something to focus on and settled for the drink before him, quickly making his way through two glasses of wine before Roma took the bottle from him and told him to slow down. Lovino glared at the table, embarrassed, with no choice but to listen to Antonio's cheerful, lilting Spanish accent. It was obvious Antonio was only speaking of unimportant topics in front of him and Feliciano. He avoided mentioning anything about the war, instead chatting about silly things like the different cars they had in Belgium and the strange weather in Spain. He gave them presents from the places he'd been – chocolate from Switzerland, wine from France, books of poetry from England. And the whole time Antonio only ever gave Lovino the tiniest glances, the smallest smiles, while he laughed and joked and gave his full attention to Feliciano and Roma. Lovino started to wonder if the stupid bastard even noticed he was there. Not that he was upset by it, or hurt, because he wasn't, and he didn't care, he…

"And how have you been, Lovino? Have you learnt to play your guitar?"

Lovino froze. And stared. Antonio was looking at him. Smiling at him. Waiting for him to speak. And oh God, his brain had just shut down and he couldn't think of a single thing to say, he couldn't…

Roma grinned broadly. "Lovino's lucky that his old Grandpa learnt to play back in the day. He inherited my natural talent, of course. He's a virtuoso on the thing, aren't you Lovino?"

Antonio was still looking right at him. Lovino still couldn't speak. Why this nervousness, this tight knot in his throat and his chest and his gut making it impossible for him to say or do or think anything... Lovino looked down into his hands. "No," he managed to choke out. "Not really." He could have kicked himself. Luckily, Antonio quickly changed the subject.

"What do you think of the book, Feli?"

Feliciano tilted his head as he flipped quizzically through the book of English poetry Antonio had given him. "It says the poems are romantic but they're all just about mountains and roses and people shooting seagulls."

Antonio laughed loudly. Lovino clenched his teeth. "'Romantic' refers to an artistic movement," Antonio explained. "It's not always about love."

"Oh." Feliciano looked disappointed.

Antonio smiled at Lovino. "But love poems are my favourite too, Feli." Lovino ignored him and reached for the wine bottle.

Grandpa Roma forced Antonio to stay for dinner and the night continued the same way - Feliciano and Roma chattering on, Antonio laughing and asking them questions. Lovino staring silently at the table, the back of his neck burning and his stomach rolling with anger and jealousy and frustration. He barely ate, barely looked up, barely spoke the entire meal; but then, Antonio, Roma and Feliciano needed no help with the conversation. And Lovino was used to being ignored, after all.

After what felt like all night, and like only an instant, Antonio finally put down his glass and started to stand. "I am afraid I have imposed on you far too long. It is time I headed back to my rooms in town."

Lovino did not know if the feeling in his chest was relief or disappointment. But then Roma stood quickly and grasped Antonio's shoulder. "Nonsense, my friend. You have drunk far too much wine to make the trip safely. You will stay here tonight."

Lovino took a deep gulp of air and immediately choked. He coughed, spluttered, gasped for breath, then grabbed a bottle of wine and took a few swigs to try and clear his throat. Finally catching his breath, Lovino looked up, eyes streaming, wine dripping from his mouth, to find everyone staring at him.

"Wow," said Feliciano. "Are you all right?"

Lovino's cheeks burned in humiliation. He took a few deep breaths, slammed the bottle down, and kicked the chair behind him as he stood. "Shut up. What the hell are you all looking at? Fuck off!"

"Lovino!" shouted Roma, but Lovino ignored him and stormed from the room.

Lovino refused to speak to Feliciano when he barrelled into the bedroom asking what was wrong, why he was so cranky tonight, why he wasn't happy to see Antonio like him and Grandpa Roma, why he just kept glaring angrily like that… Lovino simply ignored him and threw the blanket over his head, intent on a very long sleep-in the next morning.

But he could not sleep. Of course he could not sleep. How the hell could he sleep when Antonio was in the next damn room? This was all so stupid, and he had only made a damn fool of himself all night, and he was so mad at himself that he acted this way, felt this way, and why could he not stop his thoughts from running like this and damn it all he needed some air.

Lovino got out of bed and pulled on a shirt. He checked to see that Feliciano was asleep before leaving the room and heading down the hall into the kitchen. He pushed through the door into the back garden, stumbled a little, and realised he was still a little drunk. The night was warm, the garden illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon. The nighttime air was scented with lily and rosemary. Lovino walked directly to the back wall, leant against it, and stared up at the starlit sky. It felt calmer out here; almost like he could finally begin to think clearly. But just as he started to lower his gaze, he noticed, from the corner of his eye, that someone was standing only metres away from him. A sharp jolt shot through his head and Lovino took a deep gasping breath, almost crying out as he placed a hand to his chest in shock.

"Sorry, it's me, sorry!" Recognising Antonio almost made Lovino's shock worse. Could this night possibly get more embarrassing? "Sorry, Lovino, did I scare you?" Lovino looked at Antonio like he was insane, and tried to even his breathing. Antonio's face suddenly furrowed in concern. "Seriously, Lovino, are you all right?"

"You stupid bastard, damn it, what the hell are you doing, you scared the absolute shit out of me, who the hell stands in other people's gardens at midnight, I mean oh my God, really!"

Antonio bit back a smile and sucked in a breath through his teeth, shrugging apologetically. "Sorry." He scratched his head then held out a small packet. "Would you like a cigarette?"

Lovino looked down at the offering warily, his breath coming a little easier. He narrowed his eyes. "Yes." He reached out and took one. He stared as Antonio put a cigarette between his own lips, struck a match, lit it, then held the light out to Lovino. Lovino lifted the cigarette uncertainly to his lips. Antonio held the match to it, smiling, his eyes glittering behind the flame.

"Don't tell your Grandpa."

Lovino had no idea why those words sent an aching, tingling, excited shiver shooting down his spine and across his skin. "It's none of his business anyway," said Lovino flippantly. "I'm eighteen years old, I can do what I like." Lovino took a draw on the cigarette and immediately dissolved into a coughing fit.

"Don't inhale," said Antonio. He almost sounded like he was laughing.

Lovino fought once again for breath before his lungs finally cleared. He glared up at Antonio, his eyes wet from coughing. "Why am I always left breathless around you?" Damn. That hadn't come out very well. "I… you… I mean… what are you doing here?"

Antonio answered too easily. "I needed some air. It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"No, I mean what are you doing here? Why did you come back now?"

This time Antonio paused. "It was the right time. What with the Germans taking control, and..." Antonio stopped, then sighed, then shook his head almost disbelievingly, just gazing at Lovino. "But it is so good to see you again, Lovino. And you're so grown up!"

Lovino shrunk back against the wall, feeling the need to hide from Antonio's eyes. "Well, that's what happens in three years."

Antonio nodded and took a draw on his cigarette. He smiled at the ground. "I missed you."

Lovino could suddenly feel his heart pounding within his chest. "I didn't even think of you." That was, of course, a total lie. Not a day had passed in three years that Lovino had not thought of Antonio. While the other village boys talked about girls, while Grandpa Roma joked about him getting a girlfriend, while he grew to understand just what was expected of a man and a woman… all Lovino thought of was Antonio.

"That is understandable," said Antonio quietly. "I thought you might have forgotten me." Lovino didn't say it, but that was impossible. And he should know - he'd tried.

"Why did it take you so long?"

"Well, I was very busy."

"And you couldn't visit once? Not once, in three years?"

Antonio looked surprised. "Well, I..."

"I was so confused when you left, you know. I wasn't sure if I had done something wrong, but you said that I hadn't, but you also said that you left because of me, and I never quite understood why."

There was a very long pause as Antonio stared at him, as Lovino slowly processed what he had actually just said. He very nearly ran away, but then Antonio responded. "Lovino, I am so sorry. I think I told you once, that I was never very good at separating right from wrong – that I always felt too much to know the difference." Antonio broke off again, like he was debating whether to continue. Lovino waited silently, his heart fluttering, his hands shaking. The night was so still and silent around them; like they were somewhere far away, long ago, where things like this could be said to each other. Antonio took a deep breath before continuing. "Well, that was why I left. Because when I was around you, I could not stop the feelings that engulfed me. They screamed at me, overtook everything, blocked out all sense of what was appropriate and…" Antonio closed his eyes, furrowed his forehead, took a draw on his cigarette. "I shouldn't be saying this."

Oh no. He couldn't stop there, not when Lovino was on the edge like this; his heart thumping, his head hazy, his knees weakening… "What feelings?" Lovino asked it softly, scared of the answer. "What do you mean?"

Antonio opened his eyes. They were so much darker in the moonlight. "I'm not one to play games about things like this, so I'll be honest with you. You have a right to know. I have... feelings for you, Lovino. I always have. I wondered if going away would change anything. But of course it didn't."

Lovino clutched onto the brick behind him, sweat rising across his skin. This conversation was heading somewhere he was not sure he wanted to follow. "Feelings?

"Yes. Very strong feelings. Romantic feelings."

Lovino gasped and looked away. He did not expect this. He felt like he would fall over any moment. "You mean… like the way a man feels about a woman?"

Antonio spoke slowly. "Something like that. But men can feel that way about men, as well."

Now Lovino's heart felt like it was being squeezed, his entire world turning upside down. "People say that is wrong."

"People are afraid of what they do not understand."

"So why… if its not wrong… why did you leave then?"

Antonio took another shaking breath through his teeth. "You were fifteen, Lovino. Even now you're still…" Antonio broke off and sighed in frustration. "Even now I should not be saying this, I'm still so out of line. But I could not stay away any longer. Every night for the last three years I have thought of you. And seeing you now… my God, but how much I missed you, it's... it's stunning."

Lovino shook his head, everything unreal and far away. He could not comprehend it. That anyone could say these things about him, could feel this way about him... No one ever said things like that about him. Hell, no one even liked him. Antonio must be confused; he could not mean this. This must be a mistake, Lovino must be misunderstanding... He stood still, the night silent around him, the forgotten cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"I'm not asking you for anything, Lovino. It's just, as I said… you have a right to know."

Lovino was beyond stunned. He was simply numb. "I… I don't…" Lovino spoke not to himself, not to Antonio, but just because he could not stop the words spilling from his lips. "I don't know what I'm supposed to…"

"No," said Antonio quickly, severely. "You're not supposed to do anything."

Breathing through the silence, Lovino finally looked up at Antonio: his green eyes so dark in the moonlight, his always cheerful, passionate face so like the image imprinted on Lovino's memory. He wondered exactly what Antonio's words meant. What possibilities were there, what it could all mean... and suddenly he couldn't breathe. "Oh." Lovino gulped for air, dropped the cigarette stub, turned away... He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself, and said it again, unable to stop. "Oh... oh..."

"Mierda." Antonio was suddenly right beside him, his face twisted in distress. When Antonio's hand almost brushed his Lovino nearly shouted. He reached out to hold onto him, to push him away, he didn't even know, and then he just settled for sinking to the ground. Antonio followed him, speaking quickly. "Forget it, Lovino, it was nothing. It never happened, all right? We'll just pretend that it never happened, and I never said those things, all right?"

Lovino shook his head, then paused, then nodded, the whole time refusing to look at Antonio. He tried to calm down by thinking how stupid was he being, what a fool he was making himself, how ridiculous Antonio must think him. Why did he always overreact like this? Everyone thought Feliciano was silly and high-strung, but Lovino was just as bad. He was at least grateful that it was probably too dark for Antonio to see his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Do you want me to go away?"

Lovino looked up as Antonio asked the question slowly, reluctantly. And he realised... no. No, he didn't. Because out here, alone, in the middle of the night, it still felt like another time and place. So maybe it was all right to let his guard down for just a moment. "No."

Antonio sat back slowly against the wall. Lovino covered his face with his hand, ashamed, but Antonio smiled at him. Lovino ran his hand over his eyes, looked up at the stars and the bright, nearly full moon. Everything felt so different here.

"You are so beautiful in the moonlight." Antonio said the words so softly that Lovino was sure he was not meant to hear them. He scowled and kept his gaze up at the sky.

"Don't say such stupid lies."

"It's not a lie, Lovino. You really are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…" Antonio gave a short, quiet laugh, almost a sigh. "In all my life."

.

It was the first Resistenza meeting since Antonio had returned, and the cantina was full. Feliciano sat drawing in the corner and Lovino sat on the table beside him, swinging his legs nervously as the meeting got well underway. But Lovino barely spared a glance for his Grandpa as Roma gave the usual speech about recent activities and constant vigilance. Instead, Lovino's eyes were fixed on Antonio. The night before felt like a dream. Lovino was not even sure it had happened. Surely that could not be real. Surely Antonio could not actually think those things about Lovino, could not feel that way for him. Antonio was a stupid bastard, sure, but no one was that stupid. Lovino chose to believe he had imagined most of it, and misunderstood the rest. Because that was easier to deal with.

It took Lovino a few moments to realise that Antonio was staring right back at him. And smiling. Lovino turned bright red and concentrated on the picture Feliciano was drawing beside him. With his thoughts running wild and swift through his head and his nerves overtaking him, Lovino could hardly pay attention to the meeting until he realised Antonio was speaking.

"The Germans have been using a few different supply routes, but none so important as this. This railroad is their most direct link to Austria and is being used to transport vital supplies to bases..."

Lovino tilted his head to the side, bit his lip, and completely lost concentration once again. There was something different about Antonio when he spoke like this. Something exciting and passionate and confusing and just so... appealing. Everyone in the room sat hanging off his every word.

"Our objective is simple. If they lose this rail line, we delay the Germans by months. This line must be destroyed."

The room erupted in quiet words and murmurs. "We've never attempted anything like this before," said one of the men.

"No. But the situation has never been so serious. This is just the start. From here, our attacks against the Germans are going to increase... as is the danger."

A thrill ran across Lovino's skin at the words. And yet he was surprised by just how much those words worried him. Because this was what Antonio did, all the time, and Lovino started to realise how dangerous that actually was. And how much it scared him.

Over the next few days Antonio quickly became a part of their lives once again. It was just as Lovino remembered. Antonio coming and going constantly, giving them silly presents and trinkets, staying for dinner after speaking privately with Grandpa Roma. Lovino was learning Antonio all over again, and trying desperately not to fall into this painful want and longing. But it was so hard when Antonio smiled at him like that, when he gazed at him from across the room, when all Lovino could think of was those words he had spoken in the garden, that life shattering confession. When he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was some way that confession could become something more. But Antonio had left before, and he would leave again, or he would finally realise just what Lovino was really like and that he had made a huge mistake in these silly, misguided feelings for him.

The evening before the mission, Antonio and Grandpa Roma spoke in the front room until well into the evening. Feliciano was already in bed, but Lovino sat waiting in the kitchen, sick with anticipation, scared and unsure, his stomach twisting nervously and his head pounding... Eventually, unable to stand it, Lovino jumped up and stormed into the room. Antonio and Roma both looked up in surprise. "I want to go with you."

Antonio smiled, but Roma frowned and shook his head. "No. It is too dangerous."

Lovino burned immediately with frustrated anger. Not only was Roma still treating him like a child, he was doing it in front of Antonio. Lovino glared at him, his hands in fists. "I know what I'm doing, Grandpa, I…"

"Lovino, we are not having this conversation now. The answer is no. Besides…"

"I don't have to do any fighting," Lovino pressed on desperately. "Surely you need someone to drive the car or something…"

"The plans are already made, and we have no room for one more."

"But just listen to me…"

"NO, Lovino!" Roma looked at him as though he was a nuisance, a naughty child, and Lovino's eyesight blurred with rage. His pulse hammered in his head. He clenched his teeth and his fists, furious and humiliated. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, then glared at Roma defiantly.

"I could go join the army tomorrow if I wanted, you know. I bet they wouldn't think I was too young."

Roma just looked exasperated. "Don't say such stupid things, Lovino."

"It's not stupid, it's the truth!" Then angrily, unthinking, wanting to hurt and anger Roma, Lovino shouted, "How would you like it if I went and joined the fascists? I'm sure I'd have more freedom with them than I do in this household!"

Roma reacted immediately. He slammed his fist on the table before standing, furious, and taking an angry step towards Lovino. Then suddenly, shockingly, Antonio stood and moved between them. Everyone stopped. There was a heavy, silent pause as they registered what just happened. Even Antonio looked surprised as Lovino stared at him wide-eyed, Roma glaring with an expression of confusion and anger. And then Antonio laughed.

"If it's action you want, Lovino, I don't suggest joining the Italian army. I believe they recruit based on how fast you can run away with a battle raging at your back. Sadly different from the days of the Great War, Roma, no? Which reminds me, I've been wanting to ask about your famous evasion technique before the sixth battle of the Isonzo. I've been thinking of how we could use this brilliant move in a smaller setting. I'm sure you have some ideas."

Roma narrowed his eyes, flicked them quickly between Antonio and Lovino. But Antonio just kept smiling easily, and eventually Roma nodded slightly and took a step back. "It is interesting you should mention that. Run along, Lovino."

Still furious, but now also confused and irritated and very strangely, slightly flattered, Lovino raced out of the room, through the kitchen, and into the garden. He felt like screaming. Instead he walked to the wall, kicked it, then spun around and leant back heavily against it. What the hell had just happened? Why had Antonio moved between him and Roma like that, almost as if trying to... protect him? That was ridiculous, he didn't need protection from his Grandpa. But then Antonio seemed to have done it unthinkingly, automatically. Lovino put his hands to his head as though trying to prevent it exploding. He could not deal with this. He was never good at handling his emotions, but whenever Antonio was around it just became a thousand times more confusing. Did Antonio even know what he did to Lovino? If he did, would he stop? And more importantly - would Lovino want him to?

Closing his eyes, Lovino felt his skin cool in the slight evening breeze, his pulse start to slow and even. He refused to admit to himself what he was waiting for. But his stomach twinged nervously, his head spinning in anticipation of something he could not quite grasp.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps approached and Lovino opened his eyes to see Antonio smiling down at him. Lovino's pulse raced again, but he just frowned back. "Well. I supposed I had better ask you to be careful tomorrow."

"I will."

"And I'll… I will see you after the mission."

"Yes." Antonio's eyes shone in the moonlight and he laughed softly. "Please don't go and join the army in the meantime." Lovino glared and opened his mouth to answer, but bit back the words and looked at the ground. "Did you want to say something?" asked Antonio cheerfully.

"No!"

"Well all right, then. Goodbye, Lovino." Antonio turned to leave, and Lovino's chest crowded with panic and doubt.

"Wait, Antonio, I…" Antonio looked back slowly, hopefully. Lovino fought to return his gaze. Damn, this was so hard. "I've been thinking about your words. Here, in the garden, last time. When you told me…" But he couldn't finish the sentence.

"I remember," said Antonio softly.

"Well… that's all. I've just… been thinking about them."

Antonio smiled. "All right."

Lovino scowled at Antonio, afraid of how he might interpret the words. "That doesn't mean anything, you know, it doesn't mean that I…" And Lovino had dug himself into a hole. What a stupid thing to say... He frowned bitterly and folded his arms violently. "You can go now."

Antonio laughed again, his face so handsome and carefree in the soft light. Then he reached out for Lovino's hand and lifted it slowly. Lovino felt the touch shoot through every part of him, felt it fire through his head and burn through his veins and stop his breath. He tried to pull his hand back; he could not make himself do it. This was the first time Antonio had touched him since he had arrived back... the first time in three years. And then the whole world spun around when Antonio lifted Lovino's hand to his lips and kissed it gently, smiling down with sparkling eyes. "Adios, mi corazón."

Lovino could only scowl and snatch back his hand. He did not know what else to do. Antonio laughed, nodded, and strolled out the back gate, whistling as he went. As soon as he was gone, Lovino gasped for breath, an unwanted smile spreading uncontrollably across his face. His head felt light with giddiness and he almost glided up the house, laughter close to bubbling over, all anger and embarrassment gone in the uncontainable happiness of this moment. He went to walk through the back door, only to stop short, abruptly, the smile falling immediately from his lips. Grandpa Roma stared down at him in the doorway, his expression dark.

"Grandpa."

Roma's darkened eyes flicked over to the back gate, then back to Lovino. "Lovino, you are never to be alone with Antonio, do you understand me?"

Lovino bit back a gasp, then tried to look confused. "But Grandpa, what..."

Roma nearly yelled the words. "Do you understand me?"

Lovino choked off a protest and simply nodded, his eyes on the ground, his heart falling to his feet. "Yes, Grandpa."

"Good boy. Now go to bed."

Anger. Humiliation. Futile frustration. Lovino nodded again. "Yes, Grandpa."

.

"It was unexpected. A small group of station guards. They were just as surprised as we were. We took them down but lost some of our own, and we had to escape immediately..."

Lovino had come early to the cantina to meet Grandpa Roma and hear the results of the previous night's mission. He hadn't been quite sure what to expect. A quiet debriefing, an empty room, wild celebrations like last time maybe. Instead he stood listening as Roma explained what had gone wrong, why they had failed. But Lovino didn't need to know all this. Why Grandpa Roma's shirt was red with blood, why the members of the mission looked worn and dead-eyed, why extra patrols had been placed around the streets outside, why people sat in the corners staring blankly and angrily. He only needed to know one thing.

"Antonio," he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "How is Antonio?"

Lovino pretended not to notice the quick, sharp glance Roma shot him. He just stared at the wall, waiting for the answer. "The bullet only grazed his side. It was deep enough, however. He has lost a lot of blood."

A sickening hot shudder ran down Lovino's spine. The air turned thick and slow around him, his head caught in a hazy place where everything was too dark and too fast. "Where is he?" he finally managed to choke out, his throat dry.

Roma did not answer. After a long pause, one of the members said, "The side room there has become our little hospital."

Lovino did not wait to hear anymore. Too lost in his terrifying emotions to think about what he was doing, he ran across the room to the side door, ignoring the shout that came after him.

"Wait, he's sleeping…"

Lovino did not stop. He threw open the door, then immediately recoiled at the smell of blood that hit him. Antonio lay on a red stained mattress, his eyes closed, his face white, his chest rising and falling evenly. Bloody bandages wrapped around his body and littered the ground; metallic bowls and instruments sat upon the centre table. Lovino's body was stone; his head was fire. A horrified fear rolled in his stomach as a hundred awful, unbearable thoughts attacked him. What if this was it? What if Antonio died? What if Lovino had only realised how he felt just in time to lose everything… What would he do, what could he do, oh God, what was he supposed to do! He was terrified, panicking, and all he wanted was to scream.

"He's going to be all right, Lovino." Lovino did not turn at the sound of Grandpa Roma speaking just behind him. He kept his eyes on Antonio, on his pale, sleeping face, on his bloodied side. "He is wounded, yes, but he will survive."

Lovino felt dizzy, sick. The walls closed in on him - his breath too fast, his pulse hot and pounding - and it was all too much. He had to get out. He turned and ran through the room, unheeding of the looks shot his way. He ignored Roma calling behind him.

His feet pounded on the hard stones and it was all still so unreal, so heavy and strange and stifling, but more than anything it was terrifying. This crawling, spinning, horrified fear that crowded his mind, shook his body, suffocated his lungs. He could not stand this fear. Lovino reached the end of the street before the rolling nausea in his stomach rose and overcame him. He fell against the wall, steadied himself with a hand against the cold stone, then bent over and vomited onto the pavement.

Lovino could not deal with this. It was not worth it. Nothing was worth this feeling - of caring so much about someone that the very idea of them leaving or dying left him a frantic mess, sick and shaking and burning and freezing, with this feeling that his chest was going to rip apart and darkness was going to engulf him and he was going to collapse and scream and break into a million pieces.

The realisation was sudden, stunning. If he loved Antonio, he would have so much to lose. And one day, he would. Because what Antonio did was too dangerous. One day Lovino would be destroyed... and he could not endure it. He could not endure any more of this. Lovino wiped his mouth and stumbled down the street, ignoring the concerned and disgusted looks of the few passersby. And he came to the decision. It would be easier to close off his heart now, to stop this silly little infatuation before it went any further. And besides, look at him – a broken mess, a pathetic coward, a worthless, powerless, friendless weakling who was still treated like a child. He would be doing poor, deluded Antonio a favour, too.

Lovino refused to return to the cantina over the following days. Instead he spent his time at home, sometimes venturing to the village market with Feliciano. He knew Grandpa Roma was starting to worry about him, but Lovino easily ignored him. He did not ask about Antonio, though he burned to know; luckily Feliciano solved that problem with his constant, insistent questions about Antonio's well being. Lovino was desperately relieved to hear that Antonio was doing even better than expected, though he never asked or acted like he was the slightest bit interested. Roma continued organising missions, but Lovino no longer asked to go… he could not handle seeing Antonio. And always there was this voice inside of him; a tiny, stupid, insistent voice that told him how stupid he was being, how selfish, how completely idiotic… a voice that knew he was lying to himself.

Lovino tried to convince himself that if he did not see Antonio, then these feelings would all go away, and everything would go back to normal. But even as he thought it he knew that could never happen. And of course he could not avoid Antonio forever. So when he walked into the kitchen one afternoon and overheard Antonio speaking with Grandpa Roma in the front room, everything he had tried so hard to suppress came flooding back, engulfing him, pouring through every part of him.

"This was merely a setback. We will see many such hindrances in the coming months. What matters is how quickly we fight back, how soon we can get on our feet. A few lives mean nothing to the fascists… we can not afford to let them mean more to us."

Until recently, Lovino would have listened avidly. But today he fled the sound of Antonio's voice, ran into the sunny garden, hid himself in a far corner behind a bed of sage and rosemary. It was childish, he knew, and it was foolish. And yet, it was all he could think to do.

This should not change anything, Lovino tried to tell himself. He was still uninterested in Antonio. He still didn't care. It still wasn't worth it. Oh God, he was still lying. No matter how he tried to change it, every thought he'd had for weeks now, all the avoiding and waiting and ignoring, had all been tied to one man, to one desire, to one fear. And when Antonio walked out the back door and into the garden, Lovino felt his resolve strengthen, weaken, fall away, disappear. The early summer sun shone down, bright and hot, forcing Lovino's inadequate hiding spot into blazing view. Antonio simply walked over to him, smiled down in a way Lovino could not bear to see.

"I've missed you this last week."

Lovino did not respond. He looked away from that smile, rested his arms on his knees, fidgeted with a sprig of rosemary.

Antonio left a silence for Lovino to respond, before filling it himself. "Are you well?"

Lovino nodded. He knew he should be the one asking Antonio that. But he didn't - he couldn't. Even as the relief of seeing Antonio standing healthy and well before him turned his body weak, Lovino could not possibly say the words. Antonio waited in silence for a few seconds that began to feel like hours, until Lovino blurted out, "Grandpa told us you were fine. Feliciano was worried."

"Was he?" Antonio's voice was almost amused. "Were you?"

Lovino could barely stand this pressure. Why couldn't Antonio leave him alone, why did he have to stand here smiling and asking these questions Lovino had no way of answering... What did Antonio expect? What did he want? Lovino felt sweat start to rise on his neck. He had to leave before he lost control and screamed. "I am glad you are well." He scrambled to his feet. "I have to go now."

"Lovino, wait."

Why did he have no choice but to stop… why did he have no choice but to wait for Antonio to continue?

"They told me you came by the cantina. When I was injured."

Lovino gritted his teeth, fixed his eyes on the kitchen door across the garden. "Yes."

Antonio stepped towards him. Lovino's breath came faster, even as he jerked his head away. "I was happy to hear that you… that you were concerned."

"I was worried for the cause." Lovino said it too quickly.

"Of course." Antonio said it too easily.

Lovino put his hands in his pockets and twisted his foot into the ground. This conversation was so difficult. He did not know what to say, what Antonio wanted him to say, what he himself wanted to say. He finally forced himself to bring his gaze back to Antonio, but the look in Antonio's eyes brought back too many memories. Of words said years ago… Maybe you'll understand one day… Of ones spoken only weeks ago... I have... feelings for you, Lovino… The memory sent an excited, yearning flutter through Lovino's veins. He felt so close to giving in… But there was nothing there to fall into. Lovino could not feel this, could not accept it. He had to stop this now. Lovino closed his eyes and breathed out all his useless hopes, his broken desires. Then he opened them, and spoke.

"Do you remember, Antonio… the first night after you came back. Our conversation in this garden. The words you said to me."

"Yes." Antonio's expression was almost hopeful. But that hurt too much, so Lovino looked away.

"Well I just... I just… I want you to know that… I…" Oh God he was going to say this… He tried to convince himself that he was doing this as much for Antonio as himself. "I do not have those feelings for you."

Antonio blinked in surprise. "Oh." He narrowed his eyes in confusion, his expression uncertain. "But Lovino…"

"You need to know that." This was better for him, better for Antonio, better for everyone...

"I am sorry, but somehow, I was starting to think…"

"No!" Lovino could not let Antonio weaken his resolve. "Look, it's easy to understand. I don't feel anything for you. I never will. So stop this. Stop staring at me, and stop giving me things, and stop calling me your 'corazón' because I know what that means!" Lovino almost tripped over the words. This hurt so much… hurt so much to say these things, to see the look on Antonio's face, but Lovino tried to convince himself it would hurt more to admit the truth, so he just kept going. "I'm not like you, Antonio. I don't feel anything for you, because it's not normal and frankly… frankly it's quite disgusting as well."

Lovino could see the words hit Antonio. He flinched briefly, his face turning white and his eyes dropping to the ground. "Oh. I see."

"You expect too much. And you wear your feelings too plainly. So I… I am…" Lovino faltered but quickly pressed on. "I am asking you to hide them."

Antonio nodded, his hands in fists and his jaw clenched. Then he gave a little sigh, a shrug, and smiled at Lovino. "I will try, Lovino. I will endeavour to behave more appropriately in future." Lovino blinked rapidly, breathed through the rising tears and the crushing in his chest, and felt Antonio's bright gaze and smile like a knife. Antonio inclined his head slightly. His accent grew stronger as he spoke. "I apologise for any distress I have caused you. It was unforgivable of me. And I also apologise for mistaking my own selfish desires for reality." Antonio turned on his heel, and Lovino had to fight back a sob, had to stop himself from reaching out to stop him. Antonio paused briefly at the back gate. "But Lovino. I will never apologise for loving you."

When Antonio walked out the gate Lovino sank down against the wall, put his head in his hands, and finally let the tears break. He tried to convince himself this was right, that he was shielding his heart, that he was protecting himself from pain. But he couldn't stop the thought that screamed at him stupidly, insistently. How could anything possibly hurt more than this?

.

Christmas, 1934 A village in Germany

.

"So, Antonio, what happens if this one person of yours decides they don't feel the same way about you?"

Gilbert groaned loudly. "Are we really talking about this again?"

"Oh hush, drink your glue wine."

"GLUEHWEIN!" Gilbert shouted before taking another deep swig of the liquid. The table before them was covered with empty plates and half filled bottles and crumpled coloured paper, the last remnants of a truly magnificent Christmas dinner. No one did Christmas like the Germans.

"Well," said Antonio, trying to think of a way to respond to Francis' question. "That is the risk, isn't it? You can not stop yourself from loving someone, and you can not control how that person feels. If they do not love you…" Antonio shrugged. "They do not love you."

Francis looked appalled. "But how terribly depressing! You are trying to say that you fall in love just once, and if that person does not love you, then there goes the only chance you get?"

"It is unfair, isn't it. But what can you do?"

"What you can do is spend a week weeping over them - eating too much, drinking too much, having filthy, dirty, fabulous sex with strangers - and then forget them forever."

Gilbert waved his glass before Antonio's face. "No, what you can do is spread rumours that'll follow them forever, so the little shit never forgets they messed with the wrong guy."

Antonio rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about loving someone in expectation of anything in return. I'm talking about loving someone because of who they are. Because of the way they talk, they smile, they fight; because of what they say and what they believe; because of all the wonderful, annoying, beautiful, frustrating, stupid, lovely, embarrassing things they do and they are. Because they are the one person in all the world who makes you finally understand how perfectly, intricately amazing a human being can be. And if they do not love me it changes nothing, because I will not love them so they love me, I will love them because I have no other choice."

"Antonio." Gilbert shook his head and sighed in frustration. "You are one stupid, melodramatic bastard."

Antonio flashed him a wild grin. "But come on. With lines like that, no one is gonna be able to resist me for long."

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[thechildoflightning]

What’s in a Name?

Part 1- Calendrical Consequences

My Sander Sides series “just keep stumbling forward (baby im waiting for you)” has grown a lot recently. I just hit the tenth work in the series, and as such, I wanted to create something special for the occasion.

First, for anyone who doesn’t know “just keep stumbling forward (baby im waiting for you)” is a Human AU following each of the sides through life, focusing mainly on college and afterwards. Some key points it hits are relationships (romantic and otherwise) and how to cope with trauma. I you haven’t read it and are in any way interested, you can read it here.

Now, as for the special occasion post.

Names have a lot of meaning to me. A lot.

And because of this, everything I have given a name in this series (titles, chapter titles, character names, etc.) has a lot of meaning. So I thought I’d take the time to explain each one. Please note that if you haven’t read the series and are planning on it, this will contain spoilers.

I’ll start with this post just including the largest story “Calendrical Consequences.”

If you would like to read the story, it can be found on ao3 here.

Now, on with the post.

Calendrical Consequences 

The title of the current longest multi chapter fic of the series can be broken down into two easy words- calendar and consequences. This story is chaptered month by month, and so having something do with calendars or months just made sense in my mind. On the other hand, a consequence is any result from an action. Consequences generally have a bad connotation, but they are not strictly bad at all. This story is all about consequences from past situations. The term “calendrical consequences” seemed to fit perfectly, as all of the multiple issues, or consequences, that appear in the story have been building up since time has passed.

Seasonal Equivalent (August)

The North and Southern hemispheres have flip-flopped seasons. The term “seasonal equivalent” is just a fancy term to say which months in the north hemisphere line up with those in the south in terms of season. They are always exact opposites, yet they have the same season. August and March are seasonal equivalents, and in both of these chapters they show the beginning of the rising action. Yet, at the same time, they are completely different. August is laid back and just an intro to the story, while March shows events in full swing, just before the trial. As such, I felt the paradoxical term “seasonal equivalent” fit the chapter perfectly.

Meteorological (September)

The term “meteorological” relates to a branch of science that studies the atmosphere. This chapter, being the second, is still very much introducing the characters and the beginning of the plot, allowing the reader to get a sense of the future atmosphere of the story. I really wanted this chapter title to relate to the fact that you are learning about this story’s atmosphere, but I also didn’t want to be direct and just name it “Atmosphere”. That was much to bland for me. Hence, “Meteorological.”

Collision Course (October)

“Collision Course” was probably the easiest chapter to name. The name evokes a strong sense of urgency, panic, and pain, which is exactly what this chapter is about. Virgil is hit with some very hard news in this chapter, and is therefore stuck right in the collision course of events.

Penultimate (November)

“Penultimate,” simply put, means second to last. November is the second to last month of the year according to the Gregorian calendar. But, the chapter title has a deeper meaning. The thing is, the word “penultimate” is often misused. Many people think that adding the prefix of “pen” to the word ultimate is making a thing or item more ultimate, when in fact it is making it less. This chapter fits this perfectly. It falls right after Virgil’s phone call, what one would think to be the worst news of the story. This chapter helps continue that belief by being more calmly paced. But really, it’s just a lead into the news of the case being made public, the real heavy hitter. Thus, “Penultimate.”

Remembrance (December)

“Remembrance” is pretty much a fancy word for remembering something, especially remembering the deceased. December is the month when the trial is made public, causing a lot of memories of Virgil’s past to flood his mind. It’s a simple name for a chapter, but I like to think it’s poetic, especially when one considers that in a way, Virgil is remembering someone who is dead; his past self.

Two Consults (January)

This title comes strictly from the myth of Janus, who the month of January has been named after. Janus is a god with two heads, one looking forawrd, and the other back. He represents both beginning and endings, because truthfully, don’t the two go hand in hand? Therefore, “Two Consuls” refers to Janus’ two heads and their differing perspectives. This chapter in many ways, introduces new beginnings in the form of Virgil considering reconnecting with his mom. But, it also represents endings. Virgil has a fight with Roman- a fight that was truthfully long overdue- ending their current relationship. Of course, once they make up, a stronger, better relationship rises in its place.

Quadrennial (February)

Something that happens every four years is considered “quadrennial.” Nothing in this chapter is really related to a length of four years, but I still think it works. In the chapter we see Virgil planning to meet his mother for the first time in years. We also see four different conversations between four different characters. With the intense references to fours, and February being the month with an extra day every four years, I felt it fit in nicely.

Late Antiquity (March)

This title is a history term. It refers to the transition period from the classical antiquity ages to the middle ages. It was an upheaval of change in many different areas, but specifically within politics, religion, and art. The “Late Antiquity” chapter is very much a transition period. It shows a changing relationship between Roman and Virgil, as well as Virgil’s first meeting with his mom in years. It is also the lead up to the trial. The chapter is full of transitions and changes, and what fits it better than a historical term meaning exactly that?

Etymology (April)

“Etymology” is the study and origin of words. This chapter is defining for Virgil, as it’s the first time he has faced his abuser since he has been free of his abuser’s control. Virgil is stripped to his very core and is obviously very emotional. I felt that a chapter title relating to one’s origins therefore fit this chapter quite well.

Proletarian Mayovka (May)

In ancient terms, a “Mayovka” was just a picnic, but eventually it grew to have intense political ties. The more modern, but still ancient term “Proletarian Mayovka” became a term for an illegal celebration, while being presented as a perfectly innocent picnic. I picked the term because I felt like it defined the polyamorous relationship in this story quite well. Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are just happy to be themselves and together by the end of this story. But, even if they don’t wish it, four men in a committed relationship together causes a lot of controversy in today’s political climate.

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Cacophony Chapter 8 Read from the beginning Music/Band AU Pairing: Mikorei, side Izuseri, Rating: M Word Count:  4,208

AO3 Summary for Ch8: Muna and Suoh deal with the band no longer being together thanks to @its-love-u-asshole for reading this over! Only a couple chapters left

Things should've felt more normal. Should've. Or so Munakata had thought, and yet he felt like he was missing out on so much. A week went by without practicing with Homra, then another, and it wasn't long before it had been almost an entire month with no practice.

That didn't mean Munakata wasn't playing. He'd been working on his original composition much harder than before. Scepter's admission audition was only a few weeks away, and Munakata was still going to audition as planned.

Still, it felt different. He truly did believe his playing had improved, even now as he sat at the piano, writing out the notes of his new original composition, he felt something for the piece. It held a sadness Munakata's music had never depicted before, and depending on his mood, he could also feel anger resonating from his fingertips. He still hadn't quite determined where the emotions came from, but he could finally feel them there.

Before, his music had seemed intelligent, and it had come from a place of his technical talent. There had been nothing wrong, but nothing had been emotionally interesting either. Looking back on the piece he had wrote before, he could see why they had found his music to fall flat.

This time was going to be different. If he could actually finish the damn song.

He'd taken to walking around out in the snow, listening to the bustling noises of the city. The cacophony of sound would swirl in his head like the whooshing of the wind blustering through his bangs. The sounds sometimes inspired him, and it was as though he could hear the beautiful sounds in his head. However he usually heard it as a band, as a combined unit, not just his solo piano music. Then he would return home, sit down to practice, and the sound would feel off. Like it was missing something.

Really his whole life felt like it had been missing something.

He hadn't meant to fall in love with the band, and the style of music, and...

Well, it didn't matter. Suoh had split up the group, decided to leave the rest of them behind, and there was absolutely no way Kusanagi and Yata were going to play without Suoh. It had been such a silly little blip in Munakata's career. It was supposed to only be a gig for a few months, then he would move on once he had the life experience.

Which he now had, and yet, for some reason, he missed it. He missed practices.

"How has the new composition been coming along?" Awashima asked. She had stopped by to pick up a few music books Munakata had borrowed during what he had called his 'planning phase'.

"Ah, it is much better than my last, Awashima," he chuckled. "Though...I still feel like it's missing something. Or perhaps I am missing something."

"You were rehearsing quite frequently in a completely different genre of music for a long time," Awashima stated, always true to the facts. "Maybe you miss playing more casually?" she suggested.

"I suppose it very well could be that," Munakata admitted. "The thought has crossed my mind. How is Kusanagi doing?" he asked, genuinely curious about the man's well-being.

A soft blush slipped across Awashima's cheeks, as it always did whenever either of them brought up the topic of Kusanagi. "I think he's trying to decide what direction to take his life in," she said. "I know he wants to keep playing music, but he feels strange doing so without Yata and Suoh."

"Yes, well Suoh made his choice quite clear," Munakata snapped.

"I take it you haven't spoken to him then?" Awashima asked. "Izumo asked me if you had, but at the time I didn't have an answer for him. I suppose I do now."

"Indeed," Munakata said, regaining composure. "I have not spoken to him since. He is not much of a talker anyway, so I don't see the point. I don't foresee him changing his mind."

Awashima nodded. "Izumo seemed to think the same thing, but this wasn't for his lack of trying," she sighed. "I think he goes to Suoh's apartment almost everyday," she explained. "He wants to make their band work. Would you...go back if they asked you?"

For a moment, Munakata wasn't quite sure how to respond. Of course there was a part of his heart which was desperate to return to the rush of feelings he'd felt upon that stage, and yet, it also felt so impossible. He had a goal, and he wished to stick to it. Munakata wasn't the type to give up, and he'd been shooting for Scepter University for so long, he couldn't imagine changing his mind to go do something else. Perhaps he could try and do both?

"I...apologize if that was an odd question?" Awashima's voice broke through the silence and Munakata blinked for a moment, shaking his head.

"Ah...no it was not. I suppose I hadn't thought much about it, since it does not seem to be a possibility, even in the near future. Besides," he said, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I really am focused on my audition, and you and I both know if I am accepted I would have barely any free time."

"...True," she said, though Munakata did not miss the slight hesitation in her voice.

He said goodbye to Awashima, ready to return to his piano for the evening. He felt as though he was close to finishing the composition, and then he could make tweaks and rehearse it. Perhaps he simply needed to get over the challenge of writing.

And yet, even as he sat down to focus, he found his mind drifting once more, to the stage, to the sound of the music resonating across the audience, to Suoh's voice. The truth was he adored that rush, and if Suoh came back, Munakata most likely would've jumped at the chance to play with them again, even if he felt like he shouldn't...or couldn't.

With a sigh, he brushed his fingers over the keys. He had to focus. Scepter University was what was important now. He was going to continue on his path to becoming a classical pianist, just as he always had planned. He couldn't afford anymore distractions, especially ones which weren't going to follow through.

~~

The snow was beginning to melt, since the spring season was slowly rolling in. The breeze was growing warmer, and Suoh finally could sit outside on his balcony and enjoy a cigarette. Also if he sat out there, the chance of missing Kusanagi was much higher.

His best friend had come over almost everyday since Suoh had decided he didn't want to play in the band any longer. And everyday Kusanagi would ask for the exact same thing. Suoh however, would never relent. He wasn't going back to the band.

He placed the cigarette in his mouth, taking a long drag as he leaned over the railing. He never wanted to touch his guitar again. Never, not without Totsuka, and especially not with stupid Munakata.

Munakata had gotten far too close to Totsuka, and it hadn't sat right with him. It had been a month, and nightly, the concert would haunt Suoh. He would hear the way Munakata's fingers pushed over the keys, the sound echoing in his mind. He hated the thought that he would turn around and see someone playing Totsuka's songs who wasn't him...and he was playing them better.

So he had to end it.

"And what the hell are you going to do now?" Kusanagi had yelled at him. It was no surprise Kusanagi was angry. Hell, Suoh had expected it, but it didn't change his resolve. He wasn't going to play with the band anymore.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "I'll figure somethin' out."

"You can't smoke and sit in your apartment for the rest of your life," Kusanagi had said.

But as far as Suoh was concerned, he was more than happy to do just that. Which admittedly, was what he had been doing for the past month or so. Playing music was too complicated, and it evoked too many feelings Suoh didn't feel like feeling.

There was a knock on the door, like expected, and Suoh rolled his eyes. He knew it wouldn't be the last time Kusanagi tried to get in. Shaking his head, he held the cigarette to his lips and sucked in a long drag, puffing out the smoke. It swirled with the spring breeze, and flew away from his balcony. It would've been easier to do the same.

Sighing, he kept his cigarette between his teeth and opened the door, his face unchanging when Kusanagi pushed past him to step into the apartment. Suoh shut the door behind him, and made his way out onto the balcony.

"So I don't even get a 'hi' now?" he asked.

Suoh shrugged, waving his hand.

"Thanks..." Kusanagi muttered, pulling a cigarette from his own pack as he walked towards the building. "Mikoto...You can keep living like this. You're gonna waste away."

"Yeah?" Suoh grunted, letting another puff of smoke slip from his lips.

"Why did you quit, Mikoto?" Kusanagi sighed, leaning against the railing with him.

"I already told ya'. You've already asked me. I don't want anything to do with music." Kusanagi had forced him in the first place, and Suoh was sticking to his original plan. "I played the damn concert. It was practically a month ago. What the hell do you want from me?" he grumbled, shaking his head.

"I want you to be honest with me. Mikoto."

"I don't want anything to do with music," Suoh grunted.

"Are you scared? Of continuing this path without Totsuka? You actually looked like you were having a good time on that stage, and even during practice."

"I wasn't," Suoh muttered.

"You're being stubborn," Kusanagi said, glaring at his best friend.

Suoh sighed. "Ya'. Stubborn. You've come over here every single day to see if anything would change and it hasn't. I dunno what you're expecting."

"I'm expecting my best friend to pull himself out of this funk and realize what it is he loves doing. I wish you could've seen how great you looked. Hell, we all looked great. And what happened to spreading Totsuka's music? Mikoto, you could write new songs and share them with the world, be inspired by what Totsuka did-"

A long sigh trailed from Suoh's lips while Kusanagi talked. "I already told you Izumo," he mumbled. "We went through this before you practically forced me to come back against my will. I said I didn't want to in the first place, and I don't want to now. The concert changed nothing."

Admittedly, there had been a moment where Suoh had considered it. When he'd taken Munakata's stupid ass to that concert, seen how his face had lit up...He'd realized he liked teaching the idiot about the world of music, he liked seeing Munakata learn new things and grow. But when he got too close, their kiss, the strange feelings which were slowly growing inside of him, Suoh wasn't sure how he felt. It wasn't until Munakata had fully grasped Totsuka's songs, almost to the point of surpassing him, that Suoh realized he needed to stop. Munakata would never be Totsuka. They were nothing alike, and Munakata could never be as good as him. Even if he seemingly was.

Suoh hated that.

Kusanagi sighed, snuffing out his cigarette against the railing. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"...right," Suoh grunted. He used to tell him not to bother, but after many weeks of this, Suoh knew it wasn't worth it. Kusanagi would come back whether Suoh wanted him to or not.

The two didn't say anything else and Suoh finished his cigarette, but stayed outside. He wondered for a brief moment what his life would've been like had he chosen to stay a part of the band. It wasn't like Munakata was going to stay with the group. No, he would've left and joined his pretentious university, leaving them all behind. All that work Suoh had done had been so Munakata could push himself forward and forget they had ever existed.

Perhaps that had been part of the reason why he'd quit. He'd never looked at it that way, but now that the thought crossed his mind, it made Suoh angry. There was no point in staying in a group that would have to keep cycling through people, and Suoh wasn't going to teach them how to be little mini Totsukas each time Kusanagi found a new pianist who inevitably wouldn't be good enough.

No, Munakata never would've stayed, and even if he had, Suoh didn't want to get closer to the guy. Suoh didn't want to get close to anyone.

~~

The stage looked exactly the same as it had so many months ago, and Munakata felt his hands begin to tremble. He wasn't the type of person to get nervous, but something about reliving the experience from before, made him feel uncomfortable.

The stage felt cold, and unwelcoming, the light shining down on the solo piano was enough to make Munakata feel nervous. He didn't know why though; a little over a month ago, he'd played piano in front of a huge crowd of people. And that hadn't even been a genre he was truly familiar with.

Before the classical stage had always felt like his home, but now, he wasn't so sure what he felt exactly. However, he knew it was a feeling he didn't much enjoy.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way out to the stage, bowing to the small group he was about to perform for. "Hello, my name is Munakata Reisi, and this will be my original piece performance," he said.

A man gestured for him to take a seat. "Whenever you are ready."

Nodding, Munakata pulled out the bench and sat in front of the grand piano. He placed his fingertips against the keys, and shut his eyes. He smiled for a moment, letting the thrill wash over him. This time he was going to do it, this time he was going to be successful. He would walk out of this building, prepared to be a student in the spring; he was sure of it.

With a sigh, he pressed his fingers down on the keys, and began to play. He knew his piece by heart now, and he glided through the beginning, a slower more somber part of the piece. The music felt like it flowed from his fingertips, and though it didn't have the same rush as performing on the concert stage had, Munakata could still note the difference in times he'd been on this particular stage.

The tempo of the piece began to pick up; Munakata's fingers pressed harder against the keys as the anger began to seep through. It was so frustrating, how different things felt now. It was as though Suoh had ruined him. Perhaps ruined wasn't the proper word. Changed? Classical music was his life, and he could tell this piece was exceptional. Scepter University would truly be crazy to not accept him after this, but Munakata didn't feel the same thrill he had while playing with HOMRA, and he despised that.

His fingers angrily slammed down on the keys, his emotion shooting through his fingertips. How dare Suoh change everything he'd known about music. Yes, perhaps he was a better performer now, as much as Munakata hated to admit that, but also he hated that the joy he'd felt had seemingly dissipated.

Or maybe he'd never really felt joy at all.

Finally, he moved into the final movement of the song, a somber ending, laced with a bit of resentment.

All his life, he'd wanted to do exactly what he was doing now. Sit on a stage by himself, and wow the classical world with his talent, skill, and art. He was finally capable of doing so, and yet he felt as though something was missing. The loud roaring of the crowd at the end of a song, Suoh's grungy vocals which were so incredibly captivating it wasn't fair. He missed HOMRA, that stage was where he wanted to be, not this one. This one was far too lonely, and empty.

But he didn't have much of a choice. HOMRA didn't exist anymore, and this stage had beckoned to him, had been his 'dream' for so long. Munakata had no choice but to push forward. His fingers danced over the keys as he played the last few lines, filled with a resignation to the fate he had chosen for himself.

He pulled his hands back, opening his eyes, and he waited for some kind of response. Slowly he turned his gaze towards the audience, trying to gauge what they could possibly be thinking. All of them were sat, mouths open, staring at him.

Finally, one of the men stood up and began to clap, the others now following suit. All of them cheered and clapped, and it took Munakata a minute to process what was happening. Months ago, this would've been his proudest moment, but Munakata didn't feel much of anything.

He stood up from the bench and bowed, stepping forward to the front of the stage where he had spoken to them before.

"Excellent," the man in front of him said. "Simply, excellent. It seems you really took our criticism to heart. It was like watching a different man up there!" He was so excited, so Munakata pulled his lips into a smile.

"I thank you," he replied, and bowed once more. "I've been working on this original piece for quite sometime now."

"And it greatly shows," A woman continued. “Your improvement shows just how capable you are. And in such a short amount of time."

"We'd be happy to offer you a position at our school. You have definitely earned it," the man said.

"Thank you so much," Munakata smiled, and bowed once more. "I am very grateful that you have given me this opportunity, and that you even gave me the opportunity to prove myself once again. I know not many people are given a second chance."

"You have an extremely promising future here," the man said. "We could tell your technical performance was absolutely perfect, and when we gave you instructions to better yourself, you did. We could not be more pleased with your results. So, I take it we will see you in the spring?"

Bowing one more time, Munakata nodded. "Of course," he said, smiling widely.

"Marvelous!"

Grabbing his music, Munakata exited the stage. He had finally been admitted to the greatest music program, and he knew he should be happy. He should've been elated, thrilled and any other word one could think of for happy. And yet, as he exited the building, he couldn't help but wonder if he was making the right choice.

~~

"I hear Munakata got in to that Scepter University he wanted to get into," Kusanagi said, letting out a puff of smoke into the air.

"Tch," Suoh scoffed. "Figures."

"You sound mad?"

"Not mad," Suoh grumbled.

"You sound it," Kusanagi teased, gripping the railing with his hand, he leaned back, staring up at the sky. "What did you expect him to do?"

"Nothing. I expected him to do that," Suoh said, shrugging his shoulder.

Kusanagi chuckled softly. "Yeah I guess he did kinda join our band with the idea that he would leave after everything was said and done so he could do his university shit."

"Yup," Suoh said, shoving his cigarette aggressively against the railing as he turned around and headed back inside. He walked towards the kitchen, and grabbed a beer, plopping down on the couch.

Kusanagi's brow furrowed, and Suoh hated that look on his face. It usually meant Kusanagi was thinking about something Suoh would not want to talk about, and he was going to bring it up, whether Suoh wanted to talk about it or not.

"You really do seem mad," Kusanagi chuckled, grabbing his own beer to take a seat next to him.

"Izumo. M'not," he grunted, taking a long swig of his beer.

With a sigh, Kusanagi leaned forward. "Lemme ask you something."

"You're gonna anyway," Suoh muttered, leaning against the arm of the couch.

"Would you have stayed with HOMRA if you thought Munakata was going to stay?" Kusanagi asked and Suoh sighed.

That was exactly the question he'd been expecting, and it was just another question Suoh had no desire to answer.

"S'got nothing to do with him..." Suoh muttered. "He was just a shitty replacement for Tatara."

"Yeah at first. We needed a pianist, but I think it's more than that," Kusanagi said. "The two of you got pretty close."

"We didn't..." Suoh groaned, and pushed himself off of the couch. "Izumo. I don't want anything to do with Munakata. No one would be as good as Tatara, especially not him."

Kusanagi frowned and stood up. "Are you really going to spend the rest of your life hung up on Totsuka? Look, I know you loved him. I get that it was incredibly devastating to lose him, he was one of my best friends, and he should never have died like that. But what do you think Totsuka would say if he saw you like this? Saw you sitting around doing nothing? Do you know how mad he would be?" he hissed.

"Izumo," Suoh rolled his eyes lazily. "Don't bring Tatara into this."

"I will, because I know that's the only sort of thing you listen to. And you know I'm right," he snapped. "Munakata is incredible, and you know that too. Hell, you liked him. Don't even try and deny it. I know you two haven't been talking anymore since you quit, but he was good for the band, he was good for you!" Kusanagi yelled.

"I dunno what you want me to do Izumo," Suoh sighed. "I'm not coming back to the band, and even if I had stayed, Munakata would've left. I'm not going to keep training people to play Totsuka's songs half-assed."

"Munakata didn't play them half-assed and you know that," Kusanagi accused.

"Izumo, shut it. Stop telling me what I know. If you think I know it, why the hell are you talking to me?"

"Because you won't say it. Did you ever consider asking Munakata to stay?"

Suoh froze. It was such a damn catch-22. Asking Munakata to stay would've meant accepting that he was Totsuka's replacement, and it meant he might actually stick around. Which in turn meant that Suoh would have to stay a part of the band, something he was hell bent on not doing.

"He wouldn't have," Suoh said finally. It was easier to push the blame on that asshole.

Kusanagi frowned. "Y'know, I think you're wrong. At the end of everything...he seemed really happy. I mean I didn't know him as well as you, but it really seemed like he wanted to...keep playing with us."

"Yeah, well he's got a fancy university now."

"So you're not even willing to try? We could keep the band, and play together," Kusanagi asked.

"I told ya' I didn't wanna do that anyway."

"Even if Munakata was there?" Kusanagi asked. There was hope in his voice, as though he'd finally found the reason why Suoh had quit, and he was partially right. Partially.

"...yeah," he grumbled.

Kusanagi chugged back the rest of the beer. "Fine. Be stubborn," Kusanagi grunted. "I don't care anymore. When you realize that you're doing exactly what Totsuka wouldn't want you to do, come find me, and maybe we can actually do what we're good at doing. And maybe when you realize Munakata is good for you, you'll actually try and talk to him again."

After his speech, Kusanagi immediately stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. In the silence, Suoh wondered if this meant Kusanagi was going to finally give up on getting the band together.

He pursed his lips and glanced around the room, his eyes falling on his guitar. He hadn't touched it since the concert. He hated when Kusanagi spoke these things out loud because he was always fucking right, and he made Suoh actually think. Totsuka would be incredibly mad if he knew Suoh was sitting around doing nothing.

'You're the best guitar player I know!'

'I love your voice, Mikoto!'

The words echoed in his head again...and he hated it. Just as how Totsuka's voice had convinced him to play the concert, it was starting to convince him not to give up music, not to give up Munakata.

'Don't think, just go.'

With a grunt, Suoh began pacing around the room. Don't think, just go. Totsuka was right. Totsuka was always right. Grabbing his jacket, Suoh yanked the door open and left his apartment, heading for the place he needed to go.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Dear White People (S01E01) Chapter 1 Airdate: April 28, 2017 @netflix @JSim07 Ratings: Privatized @DearWhitePeople Score: 7.5/10 TVTime/FB/Twitter/IG/Tumblr/Path/Pin: @SpotlightSaga **********SPOILERS BELOW********** Dear White People, Brown People, and any People who are reading, listening, watching, or paying attention... Eventually it was coming. Eventually this series had to be addressed. But how? The last thing a Sexually Fluid, White Scotch-Irish, Ginger Male in an 11 year+ gay relationship, living in an Argentinian neighborhood within a city that has massive pockets of square miles with +80% people who speak Spanish as a first language... Or large numbers of neighborhoods with Haitian-Creole voices blasting loudly from friendly faces throwing friendly waves from a group of old men, who for some reason are always sitting at a major bus stop in North Miami Beach (but never going anywhere or taking any busses), wants to be labeled as is a 'Pseudo' or even a 'Hardcore-Leftist' who's desperately out to prove that he isn't racist. You won't be getting that article from me. You won't be getting anything of the sort from this 10-Piece Project that I assure you I will be taking my time on. I am not Left. I am not right. I'm barely in the middle. This isn't political, though it might have political undertones and repercussions. That's on interpretation, not me. By now you know that Spotlight Saga never reviews anything in a traditional manner unless it's an everyday type series that doesn't carry a particular tense or emotional impact. We go at our own pace and I prefer existential challenges, but all are welcome. I had made promises to write articles to accompany 'Dear White People', brought to us by the new & true, multitalented Justin Simien, to multiple readers, but I was waiting for the right time. Sure, I have an army of unreleased articles and reviews ready to shoot out of an iOS cannon when I'm not feeling particularly inspired, but that just hasn't happened lately, so expect last second 'Big 4 Network' reviews to start spewing out sometime in September, because everything from 'Gotham' to 'Lucifer' to 'Colony' awaits you. Oh boy. Now let's get something straight, particularly to the people on Social Media whining and crying about the show's polarizing title, claiming to cancel (or to the ones who actually did cancel, though I doubt it) their Netflix subscriptions because the title evoked some sort of feeling of uncomfortable paranoia, or what they felt was divisive rhetoric, even though it was them who were attempting to divide themselves from Netflix and causing a stir... Ultimately giving the show free promotion in the process. DWP isn't a series that is out to make anyone feel shame, wagging a brown finger across your noses, or smacking you over the top of the head with a rolled up newspaper, preferably Sunday (because there are some people who actually deserve it). The show's main protagonist narrates the thoughts of Justin Simien directly and quite accurately, right off the bat. "Dear White People is a misnomer. My show is meant to articulate the feelings of a misrepresented group outside the majority." @jsouth71 on Twitter, one of many racist, idiot keyboard warriors (I'm personally singling out him because he no longer seems to be active - guess he came, he typed, and he successfully looked like an idiot), responded to the original trailer (legit on March 12, 2017, the show didn't even air until April 28th) with multiple hashtags claiming that Netflix was racist. His most hilarious claim (to me anyway) is the one claiming that the show, what it stands for, and those that support it are all full of #LiberalBS. Well what now, Joey Southworth? I'm not even Liberal, Black, or some sort of seemingly desperate apologist... I have no agenda, except to review a Netflix TV Series in a way like no one has ever done before and while doing so, tell you all MY story, my letter to White People, because there is one thing I won't do... Tell someone else's truth... Unless they ask me to, I am for hire, y'all. Ironically, Lionel (DeRon Horton), says something eerily similar to what I've just said and said before a million times. Some people, *coughAVCLUBcough*, don't understand that telling someone else's 'truth' isn't necessarily the point of journalism, but sometimes it does involve telling another person's story from your OWN perspective, after a little help from gaining a bit of someone else's. So let's kick this thing off, shall we? It's going to be a doozy! Samantha White aka Sam (Logan Browning - ah, yes we see the ironic juxtaposition of those names already, especially since the character is biracial) attends an Ivy League school called Winchester University and hosts a radio show on campus called 'Dear White People'. As the aforementioned quote pulled directly from Sam's mouth would suggest, she really just wants to be a voice not normally heard without some sort of filter or applied lens to trickle out what people feel safe with. Sam isn't prejudice or even remotely a bigot, she doesn't seem to be whatsoever. As a matter of fact, Sam's reactions to environmental stimuli and certain situations remind me of me. She is shown often attempting to pull back when faced with a possibility of reacting off of an emotion, but when that emotion becomes overwhelming, she caves and takes control by spiraling out of control. There is a blackface party on campus and it is quickly revealed by the end of the episode that the campus crew, Pastiche, had their Facebook hacked and invites were sent out after the school's administration had already shut down the idea of the party even going forward. Did Sam send it? Please remember we're talking E1, and I don't go beyond that. She claims to have sent the email in an emotionally provocative, genuinely stirring speech she delivers after her radio show is pushed to the sidelines. She had shown up for her time slot and someone else had taken her place due to the recent controversy. This all forces Sam to make a split, snap decision, overthrowing the DJ booth like a straight up BOSS... A prime example of what I mean when I say she 'takes control by spiraling out'. Sam is also seen videotaping the party and later editing & going over the footage. So far, 2+2=4, but if she did indeed do what she said she did, then she's not the only one playing games to prove a point. She's outed to have a white boyfriend, Gabe (John Patrick Amedori), who she seems to genuinely like and in turn he is definitely enamored with her. Yes, by the way, one can be racist and have a significant other of an alternate race (as we covered in an article in S2 of the E4 & Netflix series 'Chewing Gum' after talking with and interviewing several women of color from the Caribbean)... Thats related to the fetishization or perversion of race, skin color, or anything of the like, but that isn't what it looks like what is going on here. There's definitely some real life chemistry brewing. Of course, some of Sam's peers look at her with disdain after Gabe puts their ongoing, once secret relationship on blast with an Instagram pic and a hashtag... Amazing what hashtags are capable of these days, ammirite? Well, in this case it's less the hashtag and more of the 'tagging' of the pic done by Sam's arch nemesis, Coco (Antoinette Robinson - who my white, CW loving ass recognizes from the God-awful 3rd season of 'Hart of Dixie', yeah I see you, Lavon's Niece!)... All of this confusion and animosity is what Coco wanted but this isn't what she necessarily got, not in the exact form she was aiming for, at least. Here comes the fun part! Through self-reflection and talks with her best friend, Joelle (Ashley Blaine Featherson), Sam realizes she does in fact like Gabe and decides to embrace the couple's outing... Bringing him along to her usually, black only, weekly viewing of 'Defamation', a hilarious satire of Shonda Rhimes' (who might just answer this cheeky mockery, since she just scored herself a Netflix contract) ABC political thriller, or just plain dumbed down (sorry Rhimes' fans) version of 'Scandal' (as if it could go any lower). Ouch! Anyway, according to Sam, 'Defamation Wednesdays' are the cornerstone of black college campus life.' It's just that, well, Gabe is obviously feeling a bit 'fish out of water'... Come on, white people, think about how you feel when you are the only white person in the room, you get it right? Well, that's more than likely how your good friend of color feels when you invite them out and they are the only black person to show up at your Baby Shower, Birthday Party, 'Girls Night Out', whatever the event may be. It takes time. It's admirable that Gabe came, it truly is, but this isn't exactly the same situation that I used for environmental comparisons. Sam has a show called 'Dear White People' for Christ Sake, she has an obligation to stick to her guns, sure... But love is love, and as long as there is no perversion of skin going on, who the fuck cares? Mind your mother fucking own! Oh, but that's a tale as old as time, people just love to give no fucks about this or that, while simultaneously giving all kinds of fucks about who someone lays next to at night. I can attest to both of these things, or some version of it, at least... As I live in a part of the States where I'm the only white guy that's not a Euro-Tourist in an incredibly wide radius, also being in a gay relationship, I get quite a few double takes... And the giant Red Beard doesn't help. Yet, I've come to a point where I've been here so long and become so accustomed to a different environment, being amongst other white people makes me a tad uncomfortable. More on that another episode, another day. Reggie (Marque Richardson) isn't too happy about Gabe's presence at the 'Defamation' viewing party... I'm guessing it's a lot less because he's white and a lot more because Reggie feels like he should be the one holding Sam's hand. Reggie comes off as a bit of a jackass, then again, Gabe is not only encroaching on what appears to be Reggie's love interest, but he's also aggressively inserting himself into the group. It's not that Reggie, or most of Sam's friends and acquaintances are prejudice of intolerant, quite the opposite, really. It actually seems more like a 'too much, too soon' situation. Take race out of the equation for a second, take out that fact that Sam's ideals are being broadcasted over the radio, representing a whole lot of people. EVERYONE eyes the 'new' guy or gal in a group, especially if that new person is also a new significant other, I don't care who you are. It's always best to sit back, shut your mouth, and let people come to you... Not stick out your hand and affirm loudly that, 'Hi, I'm Gabe, and I'll be taking a prominent role here now, whether you like it or not.' I love the fact that just like we all have a long way to go as a society when it comes to understanding where everyone is coming from, why people feel what they feel, so do the characters of 'Dear White People', all of them... Black, White, and everyone in between... Especially the girl in between! Yes, it appears that Sam is telling the truth in her guerrilla takeover, emotionally charged, campus wide, broadcasted admission... And if she wasn't she appears very much ready to to take both the praise & the heat (something not yet shown in E1) that she was the one who hacked the Pastiche Facebook and sent out the invites, encouraging the culturally ignorant to show up in Blackface and other embarrassingly idiotic, culture appropriated, misfortunes of human error to a party that had already been given the axe... But the show is still playful in its righteous delivery. The narrator (Giancarlo Esposito) points out a white girl and guesses that she's in a Nicki Minaj costume... Later on, while in her feelings, Sam quickly switches her music from a soft, feminine country crooning track, Suzanna Spring's 'Some Blue Sky' to 'Black' by 'Innanet James' on her way to the radio station when passing a group of Black acquaintances... It's ok to laugh, it's ok to point out the confusing parts of a sliding identity. It's ok to be who you are as long as you are true to whoever that is... Unless your a fucking hateful asshole, then Fuck You. *Somebody cue a 'Run The Jewels' track, please* *********Written By: Kevin Cage********** http://www.tvtime.com http://www.facebook.com/spotlightsaga http://www.spotlightsaga.com http://www.facebook.com/groups/artsentertainment