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“I’ve heard Captain’s been sleepwalking all over the office,” Domyouji is saying on the other table as Fushimi files a report on the latest status on the remaining JUNGLE clan members.
Across him, Hidaka shudders. “That’s terrifying,” he says. “I mean…what if I’m out on a midnight food run and I run into him?”
“Benzai saw him two weeks ago around the dorms, just standing there in a daze in the middle of the afternoon,” Domyouji adds. “And then Kamo swears he saw him by the cafeteria at three am just the other day!”
Fushimi clicks his tongue, and the two SCEPTER4 members stiffen before lowering their voices as they continue their conversation. Fushimi fights the urge to roll his eyes – his coworkers are clear gossipmongers. He’d been the target of it last month, what with the story of him not actually betraying SCEPTER4 blowing up worse than Akiyama’s supposed harassment scandal a few years back. The Captain had relished in it, too – making slight hints every time he overheard a conversation. By the end of it all he’d been given a medal for all his efforts. It had been an overall annoying time.
The medal is stashed away in his drawers. Fushimi finds it useless; it makes it seem like he’d risked his life for the goddamn thing.
But Awashima still beams at him whenever they cross paths in the hallway, and there’s a strange gentleness to the Captain’s smile lately – not the usual hint of smugness, which normally irritates Fushimi – and while he won’t admit it to himself, it’s far better than some flimsy piece of gold.
He turns back to his laptop – the report is the last he has to finish for the day. He’s been constantly updating it – the Green King had always been so careful with granting power to his clansmen, and with the Slate gone, only a few that weren’t within the top remain with aura that can be considered dangerous. The app itself has been shut down, leaving hundreds of users complaining about their unused points. In a few more weeks, it won’t be SCEPTER4’s problem anymore.
After a few hours he looks up, unnerved by the sudden lack of noise. He hadn’t realized that he was the only person left in the room. He glances at the digital clock on his screen; it’s already past midnight. He saves his files and moves to leave when his senses alert him to a presence.
There’s a shadow on the doorstep. Fushimi’s moving into action to disarm the person when he realizes who it is.
“Captain,” he huffs, annoyed at getting worked up over nothing. He hasn’t changed at all – still trying to catch Fushimi off-guard. “What are you doing here?”
There’s no reply. Fushimi blinks, moving in closer. Sure enough, it’s Munakata Reisi standing in front of him, uniform and all, but his glasses are nowhere to be found, and his eyes seem glazed over. Fushimi pauses; remembering what Domyouji said earlier. Could it actually be possible that his King is sleepwalking? Or is this just one of his stupid jokes?
To test, Fushimi reaches out to touch him; his Captain flinches. But the reaction time is slow, and Fushimi grabs hold of him by the arm without any actual resistance.
“Captain,” Fushimi says, cautiously. And then, “Captain!”
Munakata Reisi starts blinking, his head shaking slowly. “Fushimi-kun,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll ask you the same thing,” Fushimi says, feeling that familiar irritation all over again. “Why are you wandering around at this time of night?”
For a second the Captain looks bewildered, before that usual self-assured expression snaps back. “I was merely taking a quick patrol,” he says diffidently. “I suppose I lost myself a bit. I’ll head back to my office.”
He moves to go, but Fushimi still has his hand on his arm. “Why are you going back there?” Fushimi says. He bites back you should go and rest because it’s not in his place to order his Captain to bed. For a second he wishes Awashima were here – she’s always been much better at steering the Captain to doing the right thing. But Fushimi’s been trained to follow – maybe with some mild grumbling and then occasional questioning, but otherwise not to order back.
His King smiles at him, as if contemplating the question. “Like you, I have some work to finish.”
“I’m already done,” Fushimi says, aware of the laptop that’s still open on his table. He can’t believe the Captain would accuse him of overworking when he’s the one sleepwalking all over the building. Fushimi’s tempted to pull the security logs and find out just how often an occurrence this has been.
“How fortunate for you,” Munakata says, as he gently pulls his arm away. “I suggest you head back to the dormitory. It’s already quite late.” He moves from the doorway, stepping to make room for Fushimi. Fushimi glares back, but clearly the Captain isn’t budging. Fushimi grabs his laptop and sullenly heads to his room, annoyed for a reason he can’t fathom. He slips into the bathroom for a quick shower, throwing on some comfortable clothes before lying down in bed.
Fifteen minutes later, Fushimi still can’t sleep. He’s halfway out of the dorm before he can stop himself, armed with his extra blanket like a man preparing for war. If he refuses to think, then he can convince himself later that he’s doing this on autopilot, and not out of any actual concern.
He’s near the Captain’s office now. Tiptoeing so he won’t make a sound and alert Munakata, he turns the corner.
And runs straight into Awashima, who has a pillow and a stuffed bear tucked under her arm.
They both stop at the sight of each other, mouths half open. Awashima recovers first. “Fushimi-kun,” she says, looking flustered in her pajama clothes. “What are you-” she catches sight of the blanket he’s carrying, and Fushimi fights the same blush creeping up his own ears.
She glances at the door to the Captain’s office. Fushimi clicks his tongue, and Awashima sighs. Together they creep to the door and push it open.
Munakata Reisi is on his desk. The desk itself is covered with papers; unusual for a man like their Captain, who prides in order. But Fushimi’s seen the loss of the Slate taking its’ toll; he may have been a King once, but now he’s closer to a man. And a man can’t do everything Munakata Reisi has been doing for the past year.
Fushimi looks to Awashima, who makes an imperceptible nod. Silently they walk to his desk, and Awashima slips a pillow between the desk and their Captain’s head while Fushimi throws a blanket over him. Then Fushimi takes the papers, filing them away as neatly as he can as Awashima takes the empty teacup, the laptop and their Captain’s glasses before putting them away on top of the cabinet away from the desk.
Fushimi frowns as he inspects their work – the Blue King had barely reacted to their presence the entire time. He’d probably headed here after running into Fushimi and fallen asleep right after.
“He’ll wake up with a neck crick like that,” Fushimi mouths to Awashima, who’s obviously contemplating the same thing.
“I don’t think we can move him, though,” Awashima says. “He might wake up.”
“Good,” Fushimi says sourly. “Then he can head back to his room.”
Awashima almost laughs at that, but she catches herself. “We’ll just talk to him tomorrow, Fushimi-kun,” she says. “He can deal with the pain as punishment for his stubbornness.”
Then she fluffs up the stuffed bear, putting it beside Munakata’s pillow with a victorious smile.
They slip out of the room and heave sighs of relief once they’ve closed the door behind them.
“…I was going to check the security logs,” Fushimi says after.
Awashima shakes her head. “It’s getting worse lately,” she says. “I suppose we’ll have to present him evidence to stop him from overworking himself.” She sees Fushimi’s expression, and frowns. “Do it tomorrow. I don’t need both of you tiring yourself out.” She softens. “We’re not as stretched as we were. We can take a break.”
“We’re not as strong as we were, either,” Fushimi says. Some days he can barely call the Green nor the Red auras – not that he needs it; he simply wants to see if it’s still there. The Blue still tinges all over him, the familiar warmth present, but never as intense as it used to be.
“We’ll be fine,” Awashima says. “I have faith in us.” And she touches him gently on the shoulder before heading to the opposite direction.
Fushimi watches her go, and then looks back at the door behind him over his shoulder. He’s not the type of person to put his faith in anyone, but at least Munakata sleepwalking is the worst of his problems. He’ll take that over his King’s Sword of Damocles falling from the sky and killing everyone in a hundred-kilometer radius any day.
And if some days he feels luckier than the most, he’ll never be the one to say it.