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Misaki felt distinctly awkward walking through the gates of Sceptre 4’s headquarters, clutching a brown paper bag in her hand. The last time she had been here she was standing with her clan, waiting for their King as he tore his way out of the jail cells on the day before he died. That had been almost two years ago; she was alone now, and the building seemed so much more imposing without her clansman around her. It was a huge, ornate, western-style building made of pale brick that seemed very out-of-place in the modern, glass-and-concrete heart of Shizume City; indeed, it would have looked much more at home set on a sloping lawn and surrounded by gardens somewhere in the English countryside. The wrought iron gates towered over her, more than twice her height. It all seemed so over-the-top to her; she didn’t understand what was wrong with having a headquarters like Homra’s: small, but homely and welcoming. As much as she was trying to understand the Blues for Saruhiko’s sake, she wasn’t sure she’d ever quite get the appeal of the elaborateness and showmanship they seemed to feel the need to include in everything they did. The fancy headquarters, the fancy uniforms, the (in her opinion, ridiculous) ceremony they went through every time they drew their swords… it just seemed frivolous to Misaki.
Somewhat tentatively, she approached the gates, and as soon as she stood beneath their shadow it occurred to her that she wasn’t entirely sure how to gain admittance. Her gaze darted from side to side until she finally caught sight of an intercom system set onto one of the brick pillars either side of the gate. Misaki hurried over to it and pressed the button, licking her lips nervously.
A grainy voice that Misaki didn’t recognise issued from the speaker. “This is the Tokyo Legislative Bureau Fourth Ward headquarters, please state your business.”
“I’m here for Fushimi… Fushimi Saruhiko.” Her voice was quieter than she’d intended, and she cleared her throat. It wasn’t like she was a shy person, but this place gave her the creeps.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“What? No…”
“Name?”
“Yatagarasu.” She declared, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Of Homra?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And, what’s your business here-…” The voice trailed off and was silent for a moment, but Misaki could just about make out the sound of muttering, and what she thought was the word “girlfriend.”
Finally, the voice on the other end of the line resumed. “Alright, I’ll unlock the gate for you now.”
There was a click as the line went dead, then the gates’ lock disengaged with a mechanical whirr and Misaki pushed it open to take a slow step through onto the vast courtyard. A few of the bricks still bore black scuffs from when Mikoto had crossed this yard what felt like forever ago. The gate swung smoothly closed behind her, and the clang of metal on metal made her jump. Misaki took a deep breath to steel herself, feeling like an idiot for being so jumpy about something so stupid, and sped up to get across the seemingly endless courtyard as quickly as she could.
The interior wasn’t much better. When the doors opened for her, the spacious foyer seemed far too quiet. An imposing staircase dominated the room, held up by elaborate marble columns, and Sceptre 4’s emblem was emblazoned on the wall above it. The tiles beneath Misaki’s feet were polished to a mirror shine, and the ceiling was several stories high, lost in the bright light that poured in through the windows. There were a few people in blue uniforms milling around, though none that Misaki recognised from the special police force, speaking in hushed tones, as if they were in a museum rather than a workplace. All eyes fixed on her as she entered, and it was impossible not to feel almost ridiculously out-of-place. The whispers instantly adopted a gossipy tone, and Misaki heard her name, and Saruhiko’s, and a smattering of ominous words, like “hospital,” and “shot.”
Misaki felt her cheeks heating indignantly. It had been a few weeks now since the scraps of a drug gang that Homra had raided over a year ago jumped Misaki in an alley and beat her, and Saruhiko had taken a bullet to his shoulder in a poorly-planned revenge mission. He’d told her that some of his colleagues had come to visit him in the hospital shortly after his injury, and they’d seen her cuddled up to him on his bed. Evidently the news, both of his accident and of their relationship, had spread quickly, and evidently not everyone had heard the whole story. The tone of the mutterings was very distinctly hostile; even Misaki had picked up on it. Did they blame her for the bullet wound in Saruhiko’s shoulder?
Misaki only needed to see the look in their eyes to know that was the case. Under the unfriendly gazes of the Blue clansmen, she suddenly felt self-conscious of the cast on her wrist, and the shiny pink scars on her jaw where the scrapes she’d received were healing. She gritted her teeth against the glares, biting back the urge to ask them what the fuck they thought they were looking at; causing a scene would only make things worse, and she didn’t want to embarrass Saruhiko at his workplace. She tried to convince herself that all that mattered was that she and Saruhiko knew that she wasn’t to blame for his injury, but no matter how much she tried to take deep breaths, she couldn’t help but feel indignant at the slander. Though she had to admit that with her reputation, it was easy to see why rumours to that effect had circulated around the Blue clan. Not to mention the five years of abandonment issues Saruhiko had suffered after she’d prioritised her new clan over him, though at least that had actually been her fault.
It wasn’t difficult to tell that the clansmen in the foyer were less than enthusiastic about the news of their relationship; the way she heard the word “girlfriend” spat in a tone of repugnance under the breath of the gossipers was a clear indication of that. Keeping her eyes fixed on the glittering tiles and her tongue clamped between her teeth to prevent herself from arguing back, Misaki hurried to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She was acutely aware that she didn’t really know where she was going, but in that moment she didn’t really care; just wanted to get out of the firing line of those accusatory stares.
Misaki was half way up the stairs when she heard a sharp voice cut through the low muttering.
“Don’t you have better things to do with your time than gossiping?”
She glanced back over her shoulder to look for the speaker, and saw Seri standing in the centre of the foyer, her arms folded across her chest and a stern look on her face as her subordinates turned away, abashed. When Misaki met the woman’s eyes, she thought she saw a small, comforting smile flicker across her lips, and she felt a wash of surprised gratitude; she didn’t expect to be defended by any member of Saruhiko’s clan, much less the one dubbed “the cold-hearted woman,” who Misaki had fought against on more than one occasion. Perhaps Izumo had put in a good word for her, or she’d heard from Saruhiko the truth about the accident, or it was simply some kind of female comradeship, but whatever the reason, she was grateful. Misaki gave a quick nod of thanks and kept heading up the stairs, wanting to put as much space between herself and the unfriendly stares as possible.
After five minutes of wandering through plush-carpeted hallways, all of which seemed identical, Misaki finally accepted that she was lost. Once more, she internally cursed the unnecessary complexity of the building; what need could any clan possibly have for such a labyrinthine headquarters?
Her head snapped around at the sound of footsteps, and when she discovered who they belonged to she felt a sudden tightness in her chest; the Blue King was walking up the corridor towards her. She paused in her steps to watch him approach, her feeling of discomfort amplifying. Even if he wasn’t a King anymore, she’d always thought there was something sort of off about this guy; his manner of speaking was unnervingly formal, and he wore a sort of demure expression most of the time that she couldn’t quite place. It made her nervous. Not to mention that it’d been by his sword that Mikoto had died. Of course she knew that he’d had no choice, but that didn’t mean she had to like him for it. She reluctantly followed Anna’s example- she wouldn’t hate him, but she wouldn’t thank him either. Still, being around him unnecessarily, especially when she was the only Red clansman in the heart of Blue territory, set her on edge.
“Yata Misaki. I heard rumours you were wandering about my headquarters.”
She bristled at the mention of her given name, but decided against kicking up a fuss about it. “Did you now?” She’d only just succeeded in keeping the discomfort out of her voice.
“I hear you’re in a relationship with Fushimi-kun. Congratulations. I presume you’re here to see him?”
Misaki couldn’t place his tone, but there was something about it that made her even more uneasy.
When she didn’t respond beyond a nod, he continued. “I’m afraid I feel the need to get this out of the way now; we rarely have an opportunity to speak.”
“Get what out of the way?” She narrowed her eyes, but kept her tone restrained. Despite how much he gave her the creeps, he was still a King, so she felt the need to maintain a certain level of deference.
“I consider Fushimi-kun my friend, though I expect he’d be reluctant to openly call me his. So naturally I take an interest in his wellbeing. I have noticed that since he entered a relationship with you...”
Misaki cut in, speaking through gritted teeth. “With all due respect, if you’re going to say since he started dating me he’s gotten himself fucking shot you can save your breath. I’m damn well aware that he got shot because he fucking whines about it all the time. But it wasn’t my fault it happened so don’t you dare...”
Reisi interrupted her, smiling faintly. “Fushimi-kun has explained the situation to me, I am aware that you aren’t to blame for his injury. I was actually going to say his mental health seems to have improved since you began your relationship.”
“Oh...” Misaki looked taken aback. “Well, good,” she mumbled.
“That being said... Even though he doesn’t talk about himself much, it wasn’t difficult to tell that he’s had some mental health issues over the past few years. Many of which can be attributed to the abandonment he felt when you joined Homra.”
Misaki almost flinched at the bluntness of his words, her gaze dropping to fix on the carpet. She couldn’t deny that what he said was true, but it still stung. It took a moment before she could find the words to reply, and her voice was low when she finally did. “I know I screwed him up. You don’t need to remind me of that. We’re working on it, alright?”
“I am aware that there is a deep attachment between you. You obviously care about one another, and I am happy for you. I simply wish to point out that Fushimi-kun is rather fragile, even if he doesn’t show it, and another incident could have serious ramifications for his…”
“With all due respect,” Misaki interrupted once more, “you don’t need to lecture me; I’m not leaving him any time soon. You learn to appreciate a person when they almost die twice.” Her fingers twitched towards the cast on her wrist, and she shot a sharp glare at Reisi, still somewhat bitter about the risky mission that Saruhiko had undertaken with the Green clan.
“I apologise; I didn’t mean to overstep. I simply wish to look out for Fushimi-kun’s welfare. As I understand it, Kusanagi-san has already accosted him and given him a vaguely threatening lecture about the consequences of hurting you, and I thought Fushimi-kun deserved someone in his corner as well.”
“Kusanagi did what?!”
Reisi chuckled. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”
“Look…” Misaki sighed, staring intently at her shoelaces. She spoke at an uncomfortable mumble, her teeth gritted and a faint blush colouring her cheeks. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for him, but you don’t need to; I’m all in on this one. I wouldn’t have gone running after him into a gang hideout with a broken wrist and two cracked ribs if I wasn’t.”
Reisi nodded, seeming satisfied. “Understood.”
“And Saruhiko will kill you if he finds out you did this.”
Reisi merely chuckled. “I’ll let you get back to him.”
Misaki nodded awkwardly. “Yeah, thanks.” It didn’t occur to her until after he walked away that she really ought to have asked him for directions to Saruhiko’s office.
It was almost 10 minutes before she came across another person in the vast tangle of hallways. As she rounded a corner, she saw a young man approaching her. He was almost a foot taller than her and had messy brown hair. She recognised him vaguely as someone from the Special Police Force; she had a suspicion his name was Hidaka.
"Huh, it's not often we get many girls around here. Much less Red clanswomen." He commented with a light-hearted manner, but there remained an air of suspicion about him, though Misaki supposed it could simply have been because old habits die hard; it hadn’t been that long ago that the Red and Blue clans had been at odds with one another.
Misaki clicked her tongue, folding her arms in irritation. Even though his face was familiar, she couldn’t help but feel somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of a man she didn’t know, but she hid her discomfort well beneath a snippy tone.
“That's because I'm the only Red clanswoman, genius. I'm here to give Fushimi his lunch; stupid monkey left it at home. He takes such terrible care of himself. I'm amazed every day that he didn't drop dead of starvation or something while we were fighting," she grumbled.
"You really care about him, hmm?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Misaki raised an eyebrow.
“There have been rumours going around since Fushimi-san got injured that he got hurt because of you, and nobody’s seemed super enthusiastic about the news that you two have shacked up, given your history.” Hidaka rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“He didn’t get hurt because of me! I was safe at home and he decided to go on a stupid revenge mission and almost get himself killed. It was his own idiot fault.” Misaki snapped.
Hidaka chuckled, seemingly unfazed by her snippiness. “Sounds like he’s a keeper then.”
“What do you mean?” Misaki raised an eyebrow, her voice low with suspicion and her tone confrontational.
“How many guys do you know who’d risk their life to get revenge on a bunch of hardened criminals who beat up their chick? He’s gotta be pretty head over heels for you if he’s willing to go that far.”
“Yeah, I guess…” she grumbled, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. At the sight of a goofy grin on Hidaka’s face, and Misaki’s brow furrowed in distrust. “What’s up with you?” she asked, unable to keep the tetchiness out of her tone.
“I wouldn’t think too much on the gossip; everyone’s just concerned about him ya know? He’s an easy person to worry about. Like ya said: he doesn’t take very good care of himself. But obviously you’re taking good care of him, I mean, you said you came to bring him food, right? Not many girlfriends would be willing to go into the heart of enemy territory just to deliver their boyfriend’s lunch. Sounds like you’re a keeper too; you’re obviously a good girlfriend to him if you’re willing to go out of your way for him when he’s so ungrateful. Plenty of the guys here have tried to show concern for his health but he’s such a grumpy guts that it’s impossible to actually get him to accept any help. All of us have made multiple attempts to get him to come to the cafeteria for lunch, or to go home on time instead of working overtime for hours, but he just snubs anyone who tries.”
Misaki narrowed her eyes, unsure how to react. He’d way overstepped his boundaries as a stranger talking about her personal life like that, but at the same time, it was nice to have one of Saruhiko’s colleagues take her corner. “He’s still an asshat to me when I try and fuss over him, and he still acts like a total child about it,” she said, skimming over the aspects of his speech that she didn’t how to respond to.
“Difference being that you seem to be able to actually get him to look after himself.”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, you’re doing a damn sight better than we are. Anyway, need help finding him?”
“Yeah, this place is like a freakin’ maze.”
Hidaka chuckled. “I know what you mean; I got lost so much when I first joined. C’mon, his office is this way.”
Misaki nodded and followed him as he made idle small talk. She couldn’t help but be comforted by his words; even if he was a stranger to her, he wasn’t a stranger to Saruhiko so his opinion meant something to her. Saruhiko had never been the type to keep friends, but Hidaka seemed to care about him as a friend would nevertheless, and even though the seal of approval from a member of Saruhiko’s clan wasn’t something Misaki ever expected to get, it was still something she desired desperately. Even with Saruhiko’s closed-off nature, he seemed comfortable in Sceptre 4; Misaki supposed they were something like a family to him, the way Homra was a family to her, even if he didn’t show it. They certainly seemed to care about his wellbeing, which was undeniably a good thing, even if that concern had led them to a misplaced suspicion of Misaki. She couldn’t help but crave their approval, as she’d have craved the approval of his blood family if they were the sort of people whose approval meant anything. Partly, she wanted them to accept her because they cared about Saruhiko, and she wanted the assurance that they thought she was good for him, but she also wanted Saruhiko to be proud of being hers. She wanted to be able to hold his hand around the people he (reluctantly) cared about without hiding her face.
The longer their relationship went on, the more natural it became for the words “I love you,” to roll off Misaki’s tongue, and the easier it became to accept her feelings, the less she wanted to hide them. She’d never been the kind of person who declared their love from the rooftops, but the idea of acting like she was just friends with Saruhiko made her uncomfortable. Their relationship had been a long time coming, and even when Misaki had hated Saruhiko, there was still a part of her that nursed the girlhood crush she’d held for him since they were middle schoolers. But she’d suppressed those thoughts for years; they hurt her too much to dwell on. And now things were better, she couldn’t bear to suppress them anymore. Having the approval of at least a couple members of Sceptre 4, especially in the wake of Saruhiko’s injury, gave her assurances that perhaps she wouldn’t have to be secretive about their relationship around his co-workers, and at least that was a start.
Hidaka stopped outside one of the doors in yet another long, sprawling corridor, and rapped his knuckles against the dark wood. “Hey, Fushimi-san, you have a visitor.”
Misaki heard Saruhiko click his tongue, and reply in a distinctly bored tone: “Who is it?”
Not bothering to reply, Hidaka opened the door, and Misaki ducked under his arm to hurry into the room. The office was small and narrow, with a desk tucked in one corner, and the remaining wall space dominated by bookshelves and filing cabinets. The shutter blinds were closed, and the room was dim except for the blue light of a laptop screen that illuminated Saruhiko’s features as he typed rapidly with one hand, the other secured in a sling. Misaki bustled into the room with a huff and yanked open the blinds.
“You’re going to end up with a vitamin deficiency if you sit in the dark all day, idiot.”
Saruhiko winced as the daylight flooded in, then raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend. “Misaki? What are you doing here?”
“You forgot your lunch,” she grumbled, thrusting the brown paper bag into Saruhiko’s hands.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here just to bring it; we have a cafeteria you know.”
“Yeah, which you never use.”
Saruhiko was about to ask how she knew that when he caught a glimpse of Hidaka over the top of her head, who was still hovering in the doorframe. Saruhiko gave him a glare for his troubles, to which Hidaka replied with a guilty look, then promptly hurried off about his business. Saruhiko then returned his gaze to Misaki, who was still giving him an admonishing look, and he clicked his tongue, unable to refute that he probably wouldn’t have eaten if Misaki hadn’t brought food to him.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” she scolded, and Saruhiko rolled his eyes, then paused, noticing something off about her demeanour.
“You okay?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Misaki,” he said pointedly to remind her of their promise to communicate with each other.
“Everyone here seems to think it’s my fault you got shot,” she mumbled.
“So?”
“Huh? What do you mean so? They think I’m a danger to you or something!”
“Why does it matter what people think? You know that you aren’t the reason it happened, and I know that, why does the opinion of anyone else count for shit?” His tone was almost disinterested, as if it was all too obvious and he had no idea why the opinion of others would matter to Misaki in the first place.
“Because I don’t want your friends to think I’m no good for you.”
Saruhiko got to his feet and kissed the top of her head. “Since when do you care what people think of you?”
Misaki responded with a sigh. “I guess… after the past few years and all the times we fought… I wouldn’t be surprised if people are placing bets on how long we’ll last, ya know? I mean, I know their hearts are in the right place and they’re just worried I’m not good for you, but it still sucks…”
“We’ll prove them wrong.”
Misaki couldn’t help but smile faintly at that, and she let her head droop forward to rest her forehead against his collarbone. “I just don’t want you to be ashamed of me around your clan,” she admitted quietly.
“Ashamed?” He sighed. “Misaki, you’re an idiot sometimes.” He ran his fingers through her hair and cupped her jaw, lifting her head away from his chest to look her in the eye. “I love you.”
Misaki rose to her tiptoes to kiss him. “I love you too.”
“Do you need help finding your way back out again?”
Misaki nodded, and Saruhiko twined the fingers of his good hand with hers and led her out of his office. The journey back to the entrance took only a few minutes with a competent guide, whereas it had taken her the best part of half an hour to find his office in the first place. As the pair started down the grand staircase that dominated the foyer, Misaki felt the familiar weight of every eye in the room fixing on her once more, the intruder in their territory. But their stares weren’t accompanied by anxiety this time though, not with Saruhiko’s hand in hers. She glanced up at him out of the corner of his eye, and his face was smooth and expressionless; he was completely unperturbed by the stares. He wasn’t ashamed to be seen with her. If anything (though it could just have been a trick of the light), Misaki thought she saw the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly upwards, almost defiantly. For someone who usually hated to be the centre of attention, to see him smiling as his fellow clansmen stared at him made Misaki’s heart swell. He’s proud of me, she realised all of a sudden, and she had to drop her head and clamp her bottom lip between her teeth to stop herself from grinning.
They stopped as they reached the door, and Misaki turned to Saruhiko. “You better eat that, with all the trouble I went through to get it to you.” The stern expression on her face was weakened by the smile she was attempting to suppress.
“Yeah, yeah, I will.”
“Good.” She tiptoed once more to press their lips together briefly, then sank back onto the flats of her feet. “I’ll see you at home. I love ya.”
Saruhiko leaned down to steal one last kiss from her before she left. “Love you too.”
With that, Misaki opened the door and slipped out, finally allowing the grin she’d been stifling to spread across her lips. Even if there were still Blue clansmen who doubted them, Misaki decided she didn’t care anymore. If Saruhiko was willing to walk hand-in-hand with her in front of everyone who thought she was no good for him, then Misaki was convinced that she would prove them all wrong.