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He watches with a calculative gaze as his enemy-turned ally provides him the support needed to combat the white kataphrakt, and determines chances and actions. He has already deduced the enemy’s abilities and has made a counter-strategy with the chances tilting towards their favour, however those chances relied on the belief that his ally will not betray him.
He has little time to contemplate the best course of action and proceeds to execute his plan with the other boy’s help. He opens a communication line and is greeted with a startled yelp, and introduces himself formally, sparing as little details as possible about him. The other boy responds back, greeting him with pleasantries and his rank, his voice shaking with either worry or sorrow (or at least, that was what Calm and Nina sounded like when they were sad).
He offers the boy a truce, and he can hear the hesitation echo in the other’s voice as he accepts the deal. The boy- which he dubbed as bat- listened intently as Inaho unfolded his plan for him to work with, and Bat points out a few minor flaws and gawks at his ability to deduce enemy abilities so accurately.
They both agree to his plan and work together to execute it. Their timing and synchronisation is surprisingly on beat. They both compliment each other well on the battlefield as Bat acts as his vehicle while he provides him with directions. With their combined efforts and partnership, they manage to shoot down the white enemy kataphrakt.
Now he’ll have to deal with his momentary-partner. Bat shoots him with questions, and he answers back as vague as he can, audibly frustrating the boy into emotional turmoil. He decides that the boy is untrustworthy and will hinder in their battles.
So he shoots him and never looks back.
He asks Seylum if anyone would know of her whereabouts and risk her position. She says no.
He is intrigued by the stranger, and finds himself listening to the recorded audio of their shared comm line, watching as the soundwaves fluctuated as Bat breaks out in turmoil. He ponders at the thought of the other boy’s voice, amused at how emotional someone can be. He continues to repeat the audio and notes how high his voice can get, indicating his change in emotions.
He listens in to bat’s hesitated breath as he accepts Inaho’s deal, and he muses an outcome where he spares the boy. He imagines a boy smaller than he, wearing the Vers military outfit (because the boy couldn’t be more than a footsoldier). He then imagines someone taller than him, because as much as he wishes to be taller than others, he knows it often isn’t the case. Judging from the octave of bat’s voice, he thinks that the boy may be younger than him, but he has no concrete evidence.
He blinks as his eyes flick to the time in the corner. He’s spent too much of it pondering over fantasies- nothing practical. If he were to continue at this pace, they would surely lose the war.
So he slips his tablet away and gets up, opting to plan and calculate battle strategies.
His throat itches, but he doesn’t care- it’s probably the beginnings of a cold from the wind settling in.
But then, when has he ever gotten sick?
He watches as his past-ally glides gracefully across the battlefield, dodging every stray bullet with ease, his presence radiating prosperity and power. The image of the emotional boy slipping into his mind, gracing his face with a small smile, content with the knowledge of the boy’s survival.
His smile is wiped off his face as he registers the state his comrades are in, slipping his mind back into action. He attacks the enemies and defends as instructed, his eyes occasionally trailing back to his sworn rival, checking in on the other’s condition in battle.
He is pleased to find him doing well on his own, and finds his heart withering as he is called back to defense. He spares one last fleeting glance at the rivalled mech, and retreats to his new position.
He defends the base with ease, watching intently as the two sides continue to battle. The feud between the sides continue to wage on, and he pays close attention to Bat’s coordinates, watching with bated breath as he analyses the status of his comrades.
They allow him to switch tactics and he’s back on the front lines. He carefully avoids hitting any direct blows against the enemy kataphrakt, instead opting to frighten the enemy into retreat. With calculations running rapidly in his head he begins to dictate the battle to his favour.
The battle soon draws to an end and all Inaho can gain from it was the knowledge that Bat was graciously alive, despite his evolution to a gull.
(His throat itches harder, and he remembers that the pain existed. He looks for cough medicine- he has no time to check up with the doctor.)
The next time they meet, Troyard has been promoted into a knight, a feat that Inaho can’t help but bristle at. His heart swells with an unknown emotion (pride, as his analytical eye says) and he’s caught off guard when there’s an itch in his throat. He raises his hand to scratch at his throat, but realises its futility when the problem had arisen within his throat.
He pours the cough medicine he swiped at an earlier period and slips it down his throat, waiting for the symptoms to wash off with the cool medicine. He feels the cold medicine pool in his stomach, his throat feeling no better than it was before- rather it felt a little more pained.
He considers going to Yagarai-sensei to determine the root of the problem.
He doesn’t get the chance to, as he’s called on for another battle.
As soon as he slips out of the armour, he assesses himself, looking into a mirror as his analytical engine diagnoses him. It scans him and he provides his input, eventually reaching a peculiar diagnosis.
Hanahaki- a disease where victims suffering from one-sided love cough up flower petals.
An odd choice for a disease, but he mulls over it and finds the data and statistics to line up. He walks to his bathroom and locks the door shut, knowing for certain that no one will interrupt him. He sticks two fingers down his throat, and the reaction is instantaneous.
He coughs and wretches into the toilet, his body curved into the bowl as he forces the intruding presence out. A warm substance slips down his tongue, overriding his senses with its metallic pang, almost diverting his attention from a sweet aroma. He finishes up and finds his throat no longer ache, rather they’re sore from his forced chunder.
But it’s okay, because now he won’t be as distracted in battle.
He peers down at the bowl, and he ignores the way his heart wrenches at the thought of the bouquet of petals floating on the water, its pink and white petals identifying it as those of magnolia’s.
He flushes the petals down, deliberating the action as symbolic to his feelings. No matter how much he wills the flowers away, they’ll continue to haunt him until he takes action for it.
He leaves the bathroom and joins the others for dinner.
It gets worse.
He wakes up in the midst of the night, his analytical engine confirming the time to be two in the morning of whatever region they’re residing in for now. His throat itches, and his chest aches. The symptoms are reminiscent of the illnesses he’s been caught in as a child, and he thinks back to how Yuki-nee cared for him all those times.
He feels nothing. There are no emotions tied to those memories. Sure he’s grateful his sister never left him for long, but there’s no sense of endearment or love when he reminisces his time under his sister’s care.
He doubles over the toilet bowl, spewing out the contents of his lungs. He peers into the bowl and is greeted with a new colour. The pink and white petals of magnolia are now accompanied by splashes of deep pink petals. His eye scans the petals and identifies them as those of camellia’s.
(He’ll have to look into these, he notes in his head. The meaning of these flowers, he clarifies as the eye provides him with removal procedures instead.)
He wipes the blood off his face, careful to not stain the uniform provided to them. He rinses the metallic taste out of his mouth, ignoring the aromatic scent that lingered in the back of his mouth.
They’re in the cafeteria drinking the nutrients provided for them when the monitors light up. He continues to force the liquid down his throat, hoping to drown out the metallic pang that stained his mouth. The speakers echo the message of Vers, and Inaho looks up.
His heart is caught in his throat as his eyes lock with the aquamarine in the broadcast.
He listens as Bat speaks, introducing himself with a varied title from their previous battles. He learns that bat’s name is Troyard- Slaine Saazbaum Troyard, adopted son of the late Count Saazbaum.
(He briefly recounts the shower of bullets that blasted through a kataphrakt of high rank. He briefly remembers the sadness Bat radiated as he exited the battlefield, his gull retreating quickly with sombre grace.)
He is in the midst of drinking when his throat acts up and he knows his lungs need release. He pardons himself and flees to the comfort of the bathroom he’s become acquainted to over time. He throws up the contents of his stomach and lungs, his mouth spilling out the acidic taste of bile intermingled with the pink petals of camellia, magnolia and the pink stained white petals of a frilled flower.
Carnations, his eye provides him.
He smiles a bloody bittersweet smile casted upon the flowers that submerged disgustingly in the toilet bowl. He flushes it quickly and rinses his mouth, his stomach grumbling at the absence of their recent breakfast. He opens the door to return to the cafeteria, to be met with the piercingly gold eyes of his sister.
He waits with bated breath as she unleashes waves of anger and sadness. Her brows are scrunched in anger, but her eyes are softened with sorrow. Her lip quivers as the million-dollar question threatens to spill out.
“Who is it?”
They enter Yagarai-sensei’s office and Yuki-nee forces him on the chair and stands next to the doctor, her imposing stance radiating waves of unknown emotion. Yagarai-sensei insists him to relax and he shuts down the analytical engine temporarily. He begins his diagnostic analysis, coming up with a positive diagnosis on hanahaki.
He pats down the bed and insists Inaho lay down for an x-ray scan. He lays down and waits as the machine hovers above him. They let him out and he returns to the chair as Yuki-nee settles behind him, gripping anxiously onto the backboard of his seat.
Yagarai-sensei slips into his own comfy chair and spins it so it faces them. He knits his hands together, his fingers interlacing with one another, as it sits on the nose bridge of his grim face. The light reflects back in his glasses and masks his sorrowful eyes.
He takes a deep breath and begins to explain his diagnosis.
“You have hanahaki.” He begins. “Your heart has grown a plant that wraps around your lungs.”
Yuki shakes the seat behind him. “Is there any way to know who his feelings are for?”
Yagarai-sensei shakes his head. “Only the victim will know. The plant feeds off those affectionate feelings after all.”
Yuki looks down, her bangs casting a shadow over her face, painting her in a tragic colour of black.
“But there are hints.” He continues. “The plants grow faster when you’re in the presence of the culprit, or when you’re thinking about them.”
Inaho pieces the clues together quickly and breathes a sigh of understanding. “I know who it is.”
He can feel Yuki-nee’s surprised gaze cast upon him, and he knows that if he turns around he’ll be subjected to her puppy-eyed face, so he remains stubborn and stares dead into Yagarai-sensei’s glasses. He waits for a few heartbeats and hears the shaky breath of his sister.
“How much time..?”
The man answers, and Yuki ends the conversation with a choked sob.
Inaho is given the option to go through with the surgery. He decides against it for now, cherishing his current ability to understand emotions and feel what others felt. He revels in the affection he gives to no one in particular, and revels in the joy of his heart when it springs to life the same time bat’s voice does.
His infatuation has blossomed, and he’ll cherish it for as long as fate relents.
He smiles now, and it becomes a regular occurrence. The others take in his new attitude with a stride, happy to now strike the boy with affection and gain a response. They don’t speak of the petals that sits in his pockets, or the petals that trail behind him.
(They don’t ask him about the metallic presence his scent is stained with, feigning ignorance. Rather, they’d bask in this temporary normalcy Inaho has been cursed with.)
They try to tease his culprit out of him, ushering him with intimate fantasies that he takes note of. They try to stalk his culprit out of him, slipping into his tablet when he’s called away, only to find no clue of a possible answer.
He has to be more careful now when he listens to the audio, because he’s certain that Calm is on his tail now, watching him in the midst of the night, trying to catch him off guard and make him slip.
But it’s all fruitless, and Inaho smiles and their vain attempts at making him slip.
He is soon called back on duty, and he faces Slaine Saazbaum Troyard.
(He clenches the chain that wraps around his neck, just like the roots that clench around his chest.)
They share a few words and set off to battle, trading off blows in synchronisation. Inaho feels a new thrill every time he encounters the other boy, and inwardly wishes that his superior would allow him to face off the new count more often. He smiles as Bat narrowly dodges a bullet by a hair, and his face beams as he misses bat’s own attack inflicted upon him.
They continue this dangerous dance, and Inaho can’t resist the laugh that bubbles from inside his rooted lungs. The other boy lets out a startled choke, and he laughs harder to the point that petals threaten to spill out. He can hear the boy smirk as his laughter dies down to a chuckle.
“I see you’re having fun there Orange.”
His heart gets stuck in his throat, and he chokes on the petals, causing them to spill into his helmet.
“Of course. I’ve quite missed our battles Bat.” He boldly flirts back, catching his opponent off-guard.
They continue their flirtatious spar, coupled with their attacks. It was a battle like no other, and Inaho can’t imagine having to miss this.
This rollercoaster ends when he is called back to retreat, and so he bids Bat with a farewell.
“Until we meet again Bat.”
He can hear the smirk adorned on Bat’s face.
“Of course Orange.”
The bowl is an explosion of colour, with petals varying from magnolias to camellias, and to the newly discovered carnations. From amongst the pink, small white petals adorned the petals littered on the floor.
Anemone- his engine records, and he takes note to research the flowers later.
He stares at the colourful array of flowers, and in the midst of its beauty, he grimaces at the thought of cleaning it all up.
They urge him to make his decision soon, insisting that he take the surgery for the good of Martians. He declines, forcing their begging mouths shut as he reminds them that he still has time. They continue to pester, annoying him out of his wits.
Eventually, he sits down and considers the consequences of this disease. If he allows it to spread at its current pace, he’ll have limited time in executing a plan to stop the Versian conquest, rendering Earth’s demise concrete, especially with his powerful presence as a player in the battlefield, and as the person who provides the Deucalion with its activation rights as of current. On the other hand, if he were to let this disease spread, he’ll be able to roister in this colourful world of emotions for a bit longer.
He decides, that he’ll savour his colourful fantasy for a little longer, selfishly appeasing to his wants rather than needs.
No, he’s wrong. He needs this. After how void his world has been, doesn’t he at least deserve this?
He meets his culprit on the battlefield once again, but rather than hiding behind kataphrakts and large machinery, they are face to face with each other’s flaws.
His breath hitches as he imagines the cruel treatment he imposed on the other when he shot the former-servant down, just because of his race.
Slaine’s breath hitches as he caught sight of his analytical engine- which, as much as it masquerades to be his real eye, he knows it can’t ever be.
(Their breaths hitch when they realise just how intertwined their lives have been.)
Inaho moves first, shifting his balance as the limited gravity allows him to take to the skies. In a matter of seconds, he has his gun in front of him, ready to shoot and miss Bat.
He shoots Bat as close as he can without actually hitting him. His belief in the boy’s skills are proven to be beneficial as Slaine whips out his own gun, shooting at Inaho.
Unbeknownst to either of them, they both carry the same belief of the other’s skills, and the same hesitation with each shot of their gun.
They finish their shootout with ringing ears and smoking guns, each hopping away to advance in their own plans. Inaho pinpoints Seylum’s location and heads there, floating his way through the hallways and adjusting to the slow rhythm of the air. He finds Seylum as she latches onto his arm, making him lag from his attuned rhythm.
They encounter a few soldiers who manages to render him unconscious after he’s secured their safety. His last fleeting moments of consciousness include the princess begging him to save Slaine from the chains of misery.
(How can he save his beloved when he can’t save himself?)
They meet one last time on the battlefield, the Versians having fled from their Moon Base. He catches Bat as he is about to flee, and challenges him to one last duel. Bat accepts graciously, and like that, they entertain their final engagement with one another.
As their weapons clash with each other, Inaho reminisces the flowers that he had retched in the past.
Magnolia; dignity and nobility.
His thoughts of Slaine- of how noble his need to be by the princess’ side were.
Camellia; admiration and longing.
His feelings when he witnesses Slaine’s resilience, despite the cruel treatment he’s been subjected to.
His yearning to understand the emotions his fellow Terran seems to be conflicted by.
Carnation; affection, admiration.
His feelings as he watches Slaine ascend to nobility despite his background.
His feelings as he watches the monochrome world around him brighten up with splashes of colour with each lie Slaine lays.
Anemone; forsaken love, anticipation.
His realisation, that no matter how much he loves the other boy, he can’t ever have him. They were each bound to different sides, fate cruelly intertwining them like magnets of the same charge, forever cursed to repel each other no matter the circumstances.
His time, as it creeps closer to his death, he must decide on a choice that will change the course of his life forever.
Cyclamen; resignation, good bye.
His choice, as he accepts the arrangement of the removal of his disease, and by proxy, his feelings. He resigns to his curse, because ultimately, he cannot risk the whole of humanity on his own selfish desires.
So he says goodbye to his bouquet and watches as the colour seeps out of his world.
As he engages in the final battle with Slaine, he cannot feel the thrill he had experienced earlier on, nor can he feel the rush of adrenaline as his laugh bubbles in enjoyment as they relish in each other’s presence.
No, now he has a job to do, a job that has no room for feelings.
That’s the mantra he insists on as he watches Slaine descend into Earth, his Tharsis burning up and glowing a bright shade of orange, similar to that of Sleipnir. He continues to watch with bated breath, and waits for a parachute to pop out from the kataphrakt, waiting and waiting and-
Oh, his body seemed to have moved on its own, gripping Tharsis’ limb with Sleipnir’s makeshift hand.
“What are you doing?” The count asks.
He goes to reply, but comes up blank. There is no logical reason for him to save the other boy, but it seemed that his body insisted on it anyway.
So he bullshits a response and adjusts himself to his lie.
(They crash into Earth like the star-crossed lovers they could have been.)
They meet again on the battlefield.
The battlefield they are engaged in is checkered black and white, with Slaine’s pieces the colour of a bat’s, white his is coloured like those of a gull’s. They play half-heartedly, and the intensity isn’t as exciting as the battles they faced in space, but it’s something.
He delivers news on Asseylum’s decree, and makes his exit, his limited emotions unable to discern the emotions that seems to have attack the former-count once more.
They make a routine, Inaho visits him in the late morning, briefing him with news of the outside world before leaving him to his thoughts. His time with Slaine stretches longer with each visit he makes. He lingers in the other boy’s presence, appreciating how natural the silence they share is.
Eventually that silence is broken when Slaine bursts into a coughing fit.
Inaho rushes to his slide, flipping the table and its content to the side, his attention seized by Slaine’s hacking. The boy is curled up, his body doubled over as he tries to retch out the obstructive object caught in this throat. Inaho assists him by hammering his upper back, hoping to ease the boy’s efforts in hauling the object out.
Through their combined efforts, they manage to force the thing out, and the sight that greets him causes memories to flash into his mind.
In front of them, laid a fully grown blue rose.
Blue rose; mystery, the unattainable, the impossible. He recites from the depths of his mind.
Slaine laughs bitterly and he holds the thorned stem of the flower, the sharp stem prickling into his hand, inducing blood to come out. Blood drips from the flower’s bloomed petals, down to his hand, which streams further to the end of the stem, falling onto the cold hard tiles of the prison.
Inaho looked at the shadow casted upon Slaine’s face, staining his beautiful eyes with the darkness of despair.
“Who is it?”
Slaine’s lips quiver and sobs threaten to break out. He breathes sharply and rips his gaze from the floor and forces himself to meet Inaho’s eyes.
“You.”
It’s funny. He thinks. Just cruel fate can be when they intertwine their destinies, duplicating many aspects of their life that it becomes unfair.
He wrenches his eyes from the intensity of Slaine’s, opting for the calm grey tiles that were now stained with scarlet.
”Will you give me a miracle?” Slaine mutters from his breath, his voice cracking at the slightest syllable.
He closes his eyes and breathes, willing his speeding-heart to slow down. Once his mind is clear enough to make logical decisions, he looks back up to the older boy’s expectant stare.
“I’m sorry.”
He watches him cry.