Archive of Our Own

”I will miss you more than anything. Next time we meet, I hope you will finally look at my words the same way you look at me. I could not hope for anything else. I cannot truly know when creativity will reach my brain for this most difficult line, but I know I want you to read it, if you will.”

“This summer will end soon enough, but you shouldn’t worry too much about your inspiration being trapped in time.”

“The summer never ends, that is actually what I am trying to write about.”

“How’s so…?”

“I cannot really understand why, but I feel like I may have the power to write my fate through each singular black ink. And I want you to be my only reader to change even a word if this fate is not to your liking.”

Red meeting red, oh, how he would love to say it was the first time this had happened, but unfortunately, those once-pink cheeks of his were turning into this ethereal shade of maple leaves.

So this is how it felt to drown in autumn…?

“Just wait for me, Heizou.”

Incarnation of spring, that makes one petal.

As colorful and filled with warmth as this season was, its existence was nothing but an imaginary bliss at this very moment. This was probably a sign to make those five petals disappear from his sight.

In any case, nobody would pay attention to the symbolism of such a flower when it’s physically gone.

Physically, but mentally as well.

Even someone as blind to reality as the Raiden Shogun would immediately feel that this month was a bit too cold even to be considered spring.

This November was embodying autumn as exemplarily as it should.

No matter.

Five petals, five symbolism.

As balanced as it should be. That was… quite the contrast with the name Shikanoin.

A sigh took the lead of the man’s emotions, leaving a shy cyclone in this place he could call “bedroom”.

“Incarnation of spring then… See you in hell, pretty cherry blossom, I suppose.”

One petal removed.

Or in the eyes of someone as greedy for hidden meanings, one symbolism gone, leaving more room for autumn to exist in Inazuma.

Cherry blossoms never had their place in autumn — they were only admired in the total opposite season of November, which is to say ; spring.

At least some shade of pink could be admired, but when reality caught the Detective that someone embodying such flowers would never even be glanced at, all of a sudden spring was melting with the mere feeling of jealousy.

Jealousy, disappointment…? Perhaps. It shouldn’t matter much.

Back to the key of concentration, or perhaps, the only escape the laid-back man had to avoid any thoughts related to this specific hue of red.

A room filled with nothing but empty feelings, only to be covered by more and more messy old cases or novels, depending on where you look.

The reader that he was was most likely an unfinished book.

Silence slowly being replaced by the sound of a squeaky bed due to perhaps a leg shaking a bit too much.

Perhaps. Just perhaps.

Ragged emotions wouldn’t exist without consequences after all. Whether it’s physical consequences or mental.

Speaking of mental…

Piercing emeralds staring a bit too much at those now four petals, ready to witness the glorious view of a digit of three.

“Farewell, dear violence, about time you leave this world to let my name be remembered with achievement and success.”

Cold fingers reflecting the temperature of this room, now removing another shade of pink, or rather, another symbolism with it.

How ironic to bear such coldness when you’re literally the incarnation of spring. Why was he trapped with this condition between the two of them…? Whether they were kissing the sky or dancing with the wind, autumn leaves were supposed to be filled with more coldness than cherry blossoms.

Was autumn always this warm…?

Emeralds avoiding the world once more, only to be left with memories a detective like him shouldn’t have. And even less at this moment.

Oh dear, not at all.

This tiny petal most likely already hit the floor now. Probably. But it’s not like Heizou cared right now.

Or maybe, just maybe, he tried to convince himself that deep down, his focus should remain on his current surroundings, and not memories.

Rubies once welcoming a new world for the first time, as if this one was repressing every single bad name thrown at the Detective’s face. And it only seemed to increase since this moment.

Oh deer, it truly was.

Their world melted… just like a perfect fusion between spring and autumn — cherry blossoms and maple leaves.

Oh, cherry blossoms. That’s right…

A quick glance at the floor was enough to confirm that the poor yearner actually yearned for quite some time.

It seemed like Eternity since the petal was here.

Summer was way past over now, their time together was over, and in conclusion, their last meeting was just a fleeting memory now.

It seems such bonds were only meant to blossom during such a heated season.

“Incarnation of pure flowered season, madness sins from this world… Two out of five petals doomed to bear such symbolism are now gone. It’s… quite poetic when we think about it… I mean… How could it not when even in the most beautiful things you find atrocious hidden realities…?” The scarlet-haired man giggled to himself, of course, laughing at such matters would be easier than to face such reality.

Never two without three, they all say. Oh, this concept will be applied without any hard feelings.

In fact, this thought alone was enough to make the young prodigy’s face harbor a smirk.

Now this was getting interesting.

“It is said that sakuras, pardon me, cherry blossoms, are filled with beauty.”

Smirk so strong that those hidden wounds were reflected in Heizou’s voice.

A maddening laugh echoes in the whole room. Wide open green gems, fingers trapping the poor, damaged flower…

As much as he claimed to despise violence, it wouldn’t stop his soul from damaging such ethereal perfection from nature, or should he say, his own natural incarnation…?

Self-destruction is still within the spectrum of violence, another confirmation that this man wasn’t always following and applying his own words.

If violence was a thing he despised so much, then it was even clearer as to why brutality was a part of him.

As long as this sin was only directed to himself… You couldn’t make a world purely white without adding some black shades to its morality, wouldn’t you…?

That’s what he said, back then. Last time actually…

“He never mentioned beauty in all of our conversations, though. As he should.” Time to fully remove its sobbing concept, then. That way, whether it’s its personification or the person embracing this supposed elegance, all of it will fall into oblivion.

Fingers still bearing such freezing energy now saying good radiance to this third flawlessness pink beauty.

Another one gone. Forever and evermore.

“The name Cyclone is really gonna stick, isn’t it…” A faint whisper that would actually mistake a stranger as to why Detective Shikanoin is the incarnation of a cyclone, and yet, whether they believe it or not, harshened hands were willingly removing all sense of beauty in its wake.

At this point, even the mere energy of the Doushin was slowly being consumed.

It shows.

Teary eyes and weak yawns escaping from the man just now wouldn’t even be necessary to be seen to actually notice this fact.

Maybe that’s how nature felt when it was a victim of humans’ sins.

Maybe that’s how those flowers felt when they were slowly being ripped apart.

Maybe that should be enough to show that cherry blossoms were just the perfect reincarnation of Heizou.

Maybe…? Most likely, if “definitely” felt too bold a statement.

It seems lucidity wasn’t the strongest skill of the man in that regard.

“One… two, three…? Three petals removed. That’s… literally the same amount of time as my last hours of sleep. How fitting, haha.” Why was he laughing at this anyway…? Three poor petals gone, and suddenly the feeling of losing his mind was as clear as this warm sunset separated by a window…?

Pink was now fully gone. Utterly. Whether it was spiritually or physically, autumn was dominating, and by all means, replacing the timid two last petals of spring.

Was this a reflection of this persuading hue of red hunting the poor Detective…?

Summer felt like such a long time ago, their blossoming relationship felt like just a tainted canvas, once tainted with pink and red shades, only to be a memory swallowed by time.

A sigh — a reality check that he was existing in this reality, busy with the weak, sad colors of the end of autumn.

Crimson leaves soon to be extinct by the arrival of winter, snow almost as cold as his own hands ready to completely remove the last reminder that his best friend was still watching him.

Just like he could gaze at those poetic maple leaves. It was just a matter of time — a race against time until those red shapes he could consider as his true home would just be another illusion.

Illusion of Kazuha’s shadow.

Illusion that he was still here somewhere, whether it was in the moon, the stars, his own dreams, if he was lucky not be accompanied by torments from Morpheus.

Or just simple enough, scarlet plants.

If he couldn’t bring himself to have nice dreams during the night, then the only thing Heizou could do was to daydream about this unrequited love.

Maybe he could protect this dream of having the honor of loving someone like him.

Maybe one day, he wouldn’t need to dream of seeing those autumn eyes staring at him.

If this fall was as ethereal as Heizou was seeing it,

Then they would be together,

Once more,

Until the only thing he could call a sweet dream was the other’s presence.

After all, why would you need to dream of something already yours ?

“Hey… What color do you want to be…?”

“I don’t know… White…? That way maybe I wouldn’t be this common during spring…?”

“White…? But white is also a shade of flowers.”

“Such as…?”

“You of all people should know this.”

“Are we r…really having the same definition of such a blossoming season…?”

Tainted flowers. Tainted sky. Pink was filling this trapping roof above a land murdered with sins, artificial flowers, violent wind removing the last intact petals.

The others were just cut in half. At best.

How fitting it was to possess such scarlet, no, sanguine hair among those bloody flowers. It felt like home. For once, he really belonged somewhere.

Spending too much time with his Ronin friend surely affected his vision of identity.

Violence, wilted flowers, people sobbing in front of their loved ones’ corpses…

Of course, home would always be the same no matter the year, of course, the weather would still be the same, just like this exact day — a rainy day, making those cherry blossoms sob due to being associated with such a failure of a man.

In the end, everything would start and end the same way ; he truly was the incarnation of violence, the only symbol out of the five of those, once more, five petals in a cherry blossom.

Beauty wasn’t his vision of spring.

His life was dedicated to scaring people he may cross paths with.

Violence was his middle name, Onslaught was his nickname.

As for death, it would suit him in more than one way,

Using those martial arts in the same way they were taught to him back then —

All that would remain of those supposed vibrant flowers would be branches incarnating bones.

“White…. J…Just li…ik-e… b-o-n-e—s…?”

More ragged wind — Cyclone. No, more than this. Why was he suddenly questioning the lucidity of things…?

“I’m sorry…? W-What… di…id you say…?

My friend once said that he wanted to be unique, a pure new concept defying the current advanced knowledge, is that right…? What was his name already…

Huh…?

“Heizou…?”

??

What was happening…? Was it even normal to feel a voice supposed to be in front of you cutting you in half from afar…?

Green eyes looking for the source of his name being called like this.

Or were they still really green and not tainted by blood in his reflection…?

A flower…? More than this, piercing petals — six red petals.

If those five petals supposed to belong to his own soul weren’t the ones presented to his soul —

If he struggled to pick more than one symbolism to confirm his identity, then… perhaps… this addition of a long petal could be the final verdict, the ultimate conclusion of this quest of his own character.

Red flower… Passage between summer and autumn…

“Kazuha…?”

Summer. Those almost four months’ worth of fusions of color, this one summer when he told him to wait for his final line — The moment their relationship could be blossoming under a radiating sun.

This one passage between spring and autumn, written to be the last bridge between this draining distance —

Tears reflecting such hidden longing — such nostalgia.

Not the first, nor the last time they will be separated by their busy life.

With a voice he wasn’t even able to recognize as his own, the Detective… wait, the Detective…? Heizou…? Heizou…?

The… scarlet-haired person answered to… the flower…?

“You truly came…? To see me, Kazuha…? I… missed you, does that mean you found your line…? Were you able to write this poem you yearned to show…?”

Five petals in a cherry blossom. Five symbolism. Spring, beauty, violence, life, and death.

So… One more petal would be able to choose one of them as his main symbol…? His whole identity…?

“Come here to see me, did you… Heizou ?”

Spider lily.

Spider lily.

Spider lily.

Spider lily.

Spider lily.

Spider lily. Six petals.

Blinding red, hues cursed by the doors of Hell.

His own Hell. No more transitions between spring and fall, just…

“I… I came to see you, too…”

Unattainable love. Not only between him and Kazuha, but also between this Flower whispering from the afterworld.

Death was his main symbol, forever and evermore.

His corpse would finally shine, for all Eternity, dancing with this oxidized flower, only held by the hands of a murderer : The Cursed Cherry Blossom Man.

Bright light, which is to say, clear sky, even during those quite short days due to this season of research : the reddish season of them all.

The leaves will fall, that was a fact, but even so, wouldn’t it be more thrilling to seek the last colors of this warm season before the iced tears of the sky drown every saturation left…?

Regardless, seconds were meant to pass, there was nothing you could do to prevent this condition, this rule of Istaroth.

It was once again a matter of hours until the last words would finally escape from those hidden ideas buried in his brain. Was it also a consequence of yearning…? This maddening desire to prevail against the blank page syndrome, this craving to go back home with the proof that summer was infinite…?

Every condition was reunited ; a weather embracing autumn, or to put it less poetically, a world filled with shades of warm colors, but also a rather neutral temperature.

A content sigh escaped the platinum-haired Samurai, followed by quiet dabbing on his notebook.

It seems those maple leaves surrounded him, and overall, the whole island of Ritou decided to follow the same spirit ; a promise of an eternal dance among those words he wrote down there.

Fall was quite unstable, just like leaves ; one day you would find them following a certain masquerade with the wind, hiding the whispers of a usual breeze, and maybe one week later, they would be as clear as Barbatos’s words.

The will of Freedom — the whole path of identity.

But to find this certain sense and inner truth, the Poet knew he had to merge his own inspiration with it. So why should he decline his adoration for every form of Anemo, and create his own conclusion when the God of Freedom wasn’t here to let his voice echo even among Inazuma ?

Speaking of wind, one greedy gust decided to actually speak. Maybe it was a sign after all.

Now it was probably the Poet’s turn to let his voice appear in this secluded spot of Ritou, or rather, answer to a transparent guest.

“The leaves will fall,”

“And so will you,”

“When you do, bury me under them too,”

“Seconds pass, we'll make it through,”

“Eventually we all go home,”

A pause. Oh, racing heartbeat now…? It didn’t feel that way last time he read those lines. Was this pining stronger ? Was this desire to express those hidden feelings scarier now…?

Deep breath, deep breath.

“It…It won’t be long…” Cracked voice, trembling fingers only witnessed by the letter gazing at those rubies.

“And the leaves don't abandon their trees to the light…”

Trembling lips. Maddening heartbeat. Did the sky already start to shed tears…?

Since when has the renowned Kazuha been afraid to read his own words…?

“…W-Where the skies…alwa— always………..”

Rain. Right…?

“W-Where the skies a-always… always…”

A sniffing. Just one.

“Always clear…”

Another one.

“And— the… the summer never ends….”

The summer may never end, but so does the rain. Or were those tears from the sky always so salty…?

One glance at the roof above him should be enough to confirm this. He was supposed to be attuned with the weather in the most intimate and rawest form, since when his own season was feeling so new to him…?

Sunset gems immediately locked with the literal sunset representing the canvas above all of the world.

Not a single drop of water, nothing. Just red, orange, and a shy hint of yellow.

And yet, this black ink was tainted by unwanted wetness. In truth, it was anything but dry.

As much as those words were selected and dancing with one another in the most poetic way he could have created, it felt… incomplete.

Something was missing. It wasn’t just about lines, it was more… personal than this.

Truth be told, the Poet knew he literally had no home. Sure, all the sceneries around him were giving some ephemeral sense of belonging… But in the beginning, a singular leaf was born in one tree, a tree planted at one place.

And soon enough, winter will come, it was only a matter of days, weeks at best… Nothing will remain, whether it’s fallen leaves, wilted flowers, rays of sunshine…

This freezing season was both enchanting and terrifying. The world will stop, time will freeze until the arrival of spring, welcoming a brutal melting.

Melting strong enough to reveal buried thoughts the Poet will fail to see during such a cold and still season.

Mourning season. A pause to inspiration, and another welcome to loneliness.

If he needed to be completely clear with himself, Kazuha would even dare to say that those ephemeral travels filled with a palette as varied as the rainbow were comforting. In the end, he was supposed to incarnate the changing colors of maple leaves. But if those colors were suddenly out of reach, then what should he refer himself to…? A naked branch…? Another gust of wind just like the other to everyone else…?

Back then, he made the statement that the summer never ends to Heizou. He still means it. But how could he convince someone else to believe his love letters if his expression wasn’t reflecting that of a believer…?

Heizou.

Heizou.

Heizou.

Heizou.

Heizou.

The name of his best friend may have crossed his mind five times in a row in only a few seconds, but it was still never enough. Five thoughts, just like the number of petals in a cherry blossom. Just like the exact number of symbols this one was harboring.

And yet, the name “Heizou” — Oops, he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

The name of his… best friend…, contained six letters. And to Kazuha, that would also mean another meaning. Another hidden representation reflecting an intimate truth of this one.

This need to see him was eating him alive. Plus, he knew the Detective was somewhere in Inazuma, they always managed to find each other since their first meeting.

But, and it pained him to do this, Kazuha couldn’t see him in such a state. Not until this promised poem was both finished and complete.

Not until he found the last symbolism granting him the needed inspiration to write the perfect confession.

If avoiding Heizou were his only way to represent this driving desire to be enough for him, then he had no choice but to keep going.

In a way, it should be proof that summer never ended, since the last memory he had of the Detective was under heated weather of this July.

In a way, that makes their friendship, mindset, and even appearance still. Reduced to such an alive and vital season.

For all those years, they saw each other in every one of those four seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, and even winter.

This last ice season included.

Almost one year ago, approximately…

Rubies following trapping memories, only to let his gaze rest on this giant tree ; this maple tree.

Yes, there…

A faint smile managed to appear on the Samurai’s face, making him look like someone who had just teared up from pure joy.

Okay, the tears might be mixed with a hint of nostalgia now.

Or maybe it was already the case deep down.

Of course it was, there was no use in trying to fool himself, emotions were clear to him after all.

And yet… As clear as emotions were to him, it didn’t change the fact that he was stuck for now.

Literally.

Heizou…

“Kazuha…”

Just one more forbidden memory to recall, just one. That’s exactly why the Poet let the world become black, and here he was, filled with images of their last winter together.

Less than a year ago, at the same place.

Together.

“It feels new to wait like this with you. I can’t help but feel like time is suddenly not that heavy a burden when I’m not the only one being confused under the coldest of weather.”

Racing heartbeat, but not from the same cause this time. This memory was just… sweet.

“I am sorry our time together is only counted in a few hours. I wanted… I wanted to stay with you just a little bit more.”

“You still don’t want to tell me this secret project you’re working on…? Is that really why you don’t want me to stay by your side…? You’re the first one to remind me that asking for help is okay, do you even follow your own advice, Poet…?”

Back then, Heizou didn’t know he was already trying to write this poem. The current one he is still stuck with. He was just so slow…

Or maybe he was scared to use unprepared words. Maybe.

Yes, he was.

“It is something I need to do on my own. I need to actually feel the topic of my writing for it to be easier to express. And this topic includes such things as distance and yearning. That is all I can say. It is the main reason as to why I need to drown in those feelings, whether they are pleasant or not, is only my burden to bear.”

“Don’t you think you’re already isolating yourself a bit too much during winter…?”

“The lack of colors plays a lot in this, I am afraid.”

“You mean maple leaves… Right…? I know how much importance you grant to nature around you. And it would be a lie to say that nature isn’t more or less dead in winter.”

“I have nothing to say, once again, your intuition is always right, my dear Partner.”

…His best friend, his partner. His partner.

Those quiet words from far away in his mind would never cease to make his face meet a touch of heat. Warm just like summer.

Quite the contrast when the Detective always had cold hands, no matter the season.

Warm hands yearning to tangle with cold hands.

“You know… I hope it doesn’t feel weird to hear, but… The world is silent around us, even empty. I won’t lie, I don’t really like this… feeling. Winter always seems more promising in novels… And yet… now that I know that we can’t see each other as we please this winter… I don’t know. It may be… strange to say, but, when I’m with you, the whole world suddenly doesn’t feel this gray, even in the blankest winter, you still shine enough to make my vision saturated. W-What I’m trying to say is that… When nature is devoid of every hue, I know that I just have to stare at you to see infinite shades of red. T-Think of yourself as a leaf….?”

Maybe he was right back then, in any case, those words were and still are enough to make the whole being of the Poet as saturated as one could be.

For once, he felt like a unique shade of maple leaf.

Creativity speaking, he would be referred to as the lipstick one if someone were aiming to use those reddish cheeks, and overall, heart, as a brush.

Maybe painting the sky could be a good idea to cover his lack of identity.

Why not then…?

Sparkling rubies from anticipation now opening and facing the sky of Ritou, here he was welcomed with a sky still as identical as a few minutes ago.

Orange, yellow, red…

Hold on… Was it normal that the more those rubies faced the reflection of his own colors in the sky, the more pink was introduced…?

Not just a regular pink, a more…

A pink filled with beauty, sure, but it looked… alive. As if it were about to give birth to something.

And yet… this birth seemed… painful. It was strange to describe. It looked… filled with conflicted emotions. Brutal ones. It was as if a battle of colors was being performed right here, right now.

Would that mean…

Could some colors… lose this artistic battle, and by all means… succumb from their wounds, before meeting the afterlife…?

Four emotions were swimming inside the Poet’s imagination. But it felt so real… Was he dreaming…? He couldn’t.

Here he was transported once more under an April sky.

Four emotions creating a new one as a conclusion. A coming of spring promises. A blossoming spring.

Incarnation of flowers — of one flower with five petals.

Heizou.

Heizou.

The sentiment of flying in this sight was embracing Kazuha. Quite accurate as a wielder of Anemo, and yet… it felt like… the sky was now his floor… A floor slowly collapsing — falling.

Was it normal to not feel any painful or disgraceful sensations…?

Was it the identity he yearned to feel…?

Were wings the gift he truly needed to possess…?

His writing was let down. He couldn’t deny it.

More pink, pastel yet… slightly saturated shade now kissing the remaining red. In fact, only pink and red were the ballerinas in this stage.

Infinite shades of red, Let the opportunity be open to anyone to find their muse.

Infinite shades of pink, Down enough for even those unable to fly high to see the stars.

Infinite shades of colors, And yet, you wouldn’t be lost in the illusion of free choice.

Infinite shades of flowers, Hanging in the hands of his beloved.

Infinite shades of leaves, Around a Poet now yearning to see a new vision of spring.

…

When was the last time he felt so inspired by colors…? When was the last time he felt free from his fears…?

Sometimes, it’s harder to be fully honest with someone than to tell a meticulous lie. The Samurai knew he was doomed by the fear of rejection, no matter what. But the fear of not finding his path was even harder than all of those worries.

A path he knew he shouldn’t and wouldn’t trade alone.

One last glance at his notebook was enough to add imaginary traces of ink to every corner.

After all,

Only you could truly know where you wanted to belong,

Of all people, You Know Where You Are the most intimate with better than anyone else.

“When nature is devoid of every hue, I know that I just have to stare at you to see infinite shades of red.”

No more thoughts, just the strength of memories and reveries gave the Poet the courage to stand ; legs guiding a yearner to the path that felt the most like home.

Where red would meet pink.

Where maple leaves, incarnation of autumn, would finally merge with cherry blossoms, as cursed as this middle of spring was.

“I am about to stare into your inner pink, and those lonely shades of red will have a home as pretty as magenta, that way, this secluded star shall be considered as a constellation.”

Red.

Pink.

Magenta.

Pink.

Pink.

Pink…?

Only pink…?

“Huh…?”

Floor collapsing, falling,

The verse of pink began.

Cracked voice filled with hope, was this the final performance…?

“Am I already staring at you…?”

No more wings.

“Don’t you take me there !!—” Burst from light pink, but so does screaming in the dark.

Green gems. He had green gems. Not bloody eyes sobbing the weight of his sins. This may be a hidden truth, his inner self, but he should be the only one knowing this. Blood may stand in his reflection, but not in others’.

Heavy breath escaping the scarlet-haired man back to another cruel world, except that this one was reality.

Shaky hands gripping an anything but dry shirt.

All he did was — closing his eyes to disappear, praying his dreams will leave him here.

No one’s there. No one was secretly watching him behind his eyelids. Thankfully.

But even so… why does it feel safer to be trapped in black vision closer to this a bit too real nightmare rather than facing the world he was doomed to pretend to see as real…?

Maybe all those dreams were actually the world he yearned to be in. Maybe the Detective was actually dreaming of it crossing the line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Truth be told, all those nightmares were just reflections of his desires. He couldn’t control his dreams, but while he was trapped in them, he actually understood his fears.

Would those dreams disappear, would this strange feeling of belonging disappear as well…?

It was always macabre things. Of course, he would feel like belonging there. The message was clear enough, in the end, whether the shaky Detective was sleeping or not, death would always be a part of his life.

Just like this now-gone friend of his reprimanded him on concepts he studied.

“As with most dream symbols, history matters : if storms once meant danger to you, your dreams may track that memory. If they meant excitement, the narrative may lean toward adventure or transformation. Your point of view matters. You’re the only one able to decide to change your mind, or not.”

Did Kazuha manage to get over Tomo’s death ?

At least, Tomo never blamed Heizou for not coming to see him.

There was no need, he did it himself.

At least, his thief friend was glad to come and see him.

Did Heizou even manage to get over his stabbed friend’s death…?

It was quite insulting to him when he was the one gone, and yet, the man with moles was the one wishing he could have stayed in this Hell of a dream.

It should have been him.

With still racing thoughts connected with this sanguine nightmare he could call his biggest dream, the Detective ever so slowly let his eyes meet the real world he was scared to face.

How long was he even asleep…?

With hope that his eyes were still green and not pierced by the raw color of blood, with the dream that not a single spider lily would be awaiting him, it was now time to pretend to be awake and well.

Warm shades of yellow, orange, red…? Sunrise…? Quiet breeze, not even a trace of a potential cyclone he would have most likely created in those usual moments of panic emerging from him —

Did… time accelerate…? Why was it already morning…? A secluded mountain embracing the warm yet pastel colors of pink he was now sure he could call the sky, sunrise was here.

Sunrise, a promise of a new day ahead. Sunrise, or the pact that the journey is still long and open to anyone’s desires as to how they would like to spend their time…

Trees — He was outside. He must be somewhere in Inazuma. That’s the only thing he knew.

Does that mean…

Legs moving on their own, feet now realizing they were supported by dirt, and not an actual bed.

“What is…?—” Words unable to follow his thoughts, unknown color of eyes stolen by, yes, an ethereal view of poetic autumn, sure, leaves falling ever so slowly as it was an intimate dance between invisible wind and… maple leaves…?

Since when drowning in autumn always felt so warm…?

Slow steps, aiming to who knows where, only guided by the clear light of the sky.

A breath still as heavy escaped the lost Detective. Breath louder than all this breeze, whether it was gusts physically close or far away from him.

“Realistically speaking, this is a new view. The scenery is obviously filled with elements from Inazuma, but for some reason still unknown to me, it looks like a more imaginary and abstract way of adding real elements and…dreams. Of course, it would be dreams. How ironic.”

Wait. Dream.

One pinch on his cheek.

Nothing.

Another one on his hand.

Everything around him remained the same.

The only fleeting thing around him was the position of each maple leaf in the air.

More steps, this time, a random tree was the target of the Detective.

But it also seems his heartbeat was the target of fear.

As more steps were taken, somehow, more elements were added for the Detective to analyze.

Another maple tree was slowly appearing, melting with this thin air, a floating leaf was turning from green to crimson, while another one just disappeared.

Would it be crazy for him to think that all of those elements were filled with symbolism…?

In his defense, he studied those things out of passion. Of course, he would want to understand the maybe key as to why he’s actually not in his room…?

“First conclusion that I could even make with my eyes closed ; it’s not a place in Inazuma. It’s obviously sunrise, meaning time is different from how it’s supposed to be. It’s a warm autumn, giving a sense of unreality, colors are changing at an unnatural speed, and there’s no dominant sound whatsoever. It gives a sense of… freedom. Everything can transform and merge as they please, as if they’re only following the dream of what they want to be.”

One finger raised.

“Speaking of warmth, it’s strangely familiar despite its supposed to… represent autumn. It’s confusing… I can’t seem to link any of this with my definition of fall. Whether it’s realistically or symbolically.”

A race against time, a pure blissful feeling of home, doomed to disappear and lose its battle against an unachieved eternity. A rushed hope to see his partner in every leaf before winter arrives and consumes every incarnation of red nature. Red nature being the illusion of Kazuha’s shadow.

It was as if… he was living inside someone else’s inspiration. Someone else’s vision.

A vision seeking — begging to see one shade of pink among those autumnal hues. A vision yearning for emotional connection. A vision that loves autumn for such strong emotions that he could easily consider as yearning. A dream to paint something other than shades of red.

The more Heizou thought about it, the more he realized that this wasn’t as controlled as he imagined. Sure, the scenery was free to change its shape as it pleased. But was the actual painter not lacking paint deep down…?

Was the painter scripted — written to only see red and seek flowers endlessly in this story…?

Writer.

No.

A writer would never let a story unfinished if this yearning to conclude it felt this strong.

It was doomed romantic lines.

Only a poet could be this tortured.

So… a poem showing how you could be trapped by the harsh reality of feeling too much, but also wanting something you can’t have…?

A small reality check was needed.

Heizou was trapped in a world incarnating freedom, but the artist of all of this was unable to fully embrace this liberty.

Heizou wasn’t dreaming ; he was awake. And yet, this world wasn’t his reality. This was a real-world showing an unreality.

This was quite difficult to follow…

There was a specific pattern of colors — representing autumn, and only autumn.

This was an alternate universe.

“Oh, thanks, Heizou, for being so smart. Now be smarter to actually, with all respect, get out of here…?” A small, nervous chuckle, surprisingly echoing in the whole… world.

While studying psychology, Heizou learned that even if people may be in the same place at the same time, they won’t see the same thing. Likewise, for people remembering a certain place or feeling they felt in the past. Opinions mattered, history mattered. You could never pretend to possess the intangible truth when it comes to emotions. As much as it hurt, this for one was a fact. The mere detail that the Detective was showing autumn differently was already proof, if not an ultimate verdict.

A universe reflecting the vision of someone longing for more seasons to exist in this autumn-coded place.

Against the memory of seeing autumn as a race against time, a comfort before the lonely passage of winter.

And yet, why did the more he stayed there, the more his opinion started to merge with the one this world was claiming…?

It’s just one perception — one canvas filled with reduced selections of colors.

This autumn is wearing the burden of yearning ; it wasn’t trapped inside his usual drowning feeling of race against time. If there was one thing those two visions had in common, it was the presence of saturated colors.

Saturated leaves.

Saturated maple leaves being under the trapping gaze of the witness that he was in this world.

Both enchanting and lonely autumn, wishing to see hues of both summer and spring.

“When nature is devoid of those infinite autumn eyes, the only thing I can do is stare at the hues available in front of me with hope that the world will be as saturated as if he were here.”

Even if this island bears sadness, those unfinished words should blossom one last time.

There was only One line missing.

Yet, no matter the Day, those words were unable to be said out loud.

Should this Poet, should I, Kaedehara Kazuha, remain uninspired forever and evermore…?

Was this pink sky the only light I Am forced to see now…?

As much as he loved skies, was he Gonna be doomed to only stare at this shade to see him ?

Was it impossible to extend this palette, Grow pink hues that would look like his illusion ?

Was it the reason as to why he wasn’t a painter, those Wings being just a mere lost draft ?

Since when does sunset feel this pink, since when does Ritou feel this cold, even in autumn…?

The only memory the Poet had was to gaze one last time at the sky, admiring a dance between red and pink right after he abandoned his writing, for some reason, the rest remained unknown. A light too bright was facing him, making those reddish gems of his utterly blind for who knows how long.

Did he just… lose track of time…? Did those leaves in his poem fall for too long…?

Speaking of leaves, those rubies incarnating maple leaves finally faced Ritou, wait… Ritou…?

He wasn’t blind anymore, right…?

This wasn’t the Ritou he knew, the island that witnessed his failure to come up with verses. Not a single leaf was around him. If there were one dominant color, it would certainly be pink.

Time to get back to reality. This was most likely a dream. It should be. After all, the first thing he noticed here was him lying on his back, and since coincidences liked to appear, the memories of exhaustion and struggles against his paper were accompanied by him rising to face the sky.

One deep breath.

Nothing.

A pinch on his cheek — Heizou liked to do this.

Still nothing.

If this were a lucid dream, he would be aware of it, could he be called crazy if he concluded that he fell into another reality…?

With more composure regained, the Poet decided to stand, or at least, try to see if he could make any movements.

What if this was just a hallucination…? If his physical condition was affected, then the cause of it should be as clear as the blinding light of the sunset.

This alone already doesn’t make much sense.

Lighter rubies following his own movements, and in a matter of seconds, back on his heels he was.

Deep breath, deep breath. The Detective always claimed out loud that strange things always had an explanation. The guarantee of finding the cause of all of it was rather poor, but every place shared a story, and for one, Kazuha was better as a writer than a detective.

Let’s not see — but hear.

Rubies avoiding the “world”, letting those ears gifted with this rare gift listen to the prologue of this world.

Cold sharpen unstable wind, sometimes a bit too strong to be considered as a regular breeze, but at the same time, the whispers of it being cut middle sentences revelated suspens in this novel.

In fact, it was quite unusual for the Poet to be confused by the words of the Anemo Archon, it was as if… as if…

As if this wind tried to hide his true rushed and heavy strength.

The so-called breeze outside was failing to remain steady and consistent. A battle of will, that was it.

The inside truth was most likely hidden by this whole masquerade.

A small, calm sigh escaped the Poet, testing the waters. If this truly was a sort of… alternate universe… then the possibilities of answers to his own actions were infinite.

As the maple leaves smell of the Poet’s air wandered on the horizon, the on the contrary-unsteady-breath of this world yelled at him.

Heavy air, no more than this —

A repressed cyclone.

Quite the welcome.

Platinum hair being attacked from every side, forcing cold air to tangle in those strands of his.

If attack and raw strength were the normalized answer here, then why should he hold back…? Rubies imposing their warm colors against those sad hues.

Gigantic trees — Sakuras. Those flowered plants trapping the whole scenery. In a way, maybe there wasn’t any horizon there.

Step by step, the colors became less blurry. As the Poet expected to only see shades of pink there, he was actually quite surprised to see…

Crimson.

Dried crimson.

Iron…?

For all his life, Kazuha yearned to finally see pink and red mixed together. This tint was a promise that seasons, but also symbolism, could merge into one another. The dried crimson facing him was the closest representation of the Poet here. Red was his inner, but also, outside color. Is that really the role he had to play in this reality…?

Cherry blossoms shouldn’t be tainted like this.

Even less because of him.

Wilted or not, the symbolism was here, but it shouldn’t mean that death should consume those five petals.

What if a sixth wanted to appear by a miracle of nature…?

Cyclone trapping his own breath, his own Anemo — blood forcing him to believe it was the only shade of red he belonged to.

Was this a true representation of spring…? A bloody nightmare desperately trying to appear as someone’s biggest dream…?

Was this his escape to reality…?

Did he also see bloody patterns when he started at him…?

What if…

Hold on.

His poem.

Was it here with him…? Was it also transported in this… place…?

Retracing his steps didn’t help much. The poem wasn’t there. How great.

It doesn’t make any sense… If this is a vision of spring… by someone… does that mean… his own vision of autumn isn’t accepted…?

Just like he concluded that he wasn’t allowed to see a spring he adored in this place.

A spring filled with hope to finally hear praises about his… best friend. A season incarnating him due to how pretty and magical it was. Its colors being enchanting, as clear and pure as him. A blessing to the eyes. For once, Heizou could be admired for a few months, and not rejected by the world. A season filled with transient colors, a reminder that even the most beautiful things can disappear under ruby eyes. And yet, even if a flower is gone, the symbolism will forever remain, after all, weren’t cherry blossoms incarnating death as well ?

This world was nothing like this. It was just shown as a curse. Wind hiding its real power, a sunset hungry to make this day disappear, a coldness pushing away every visitor, flowers being covered by bloody sins…

A reality promoting fakeness.

He has to get away from this. Now.

And if reversing psychology worked, then…

Autumn shall make its place here as well. A true promise that summer would always coexist between those two emotional seasons, between THEM.

Deep breath, deep breath. Again. Was inspiration truly lacking him…?

He knew his poem by heart now, but… it was just… not good enough. It was incomplete.

“Inspiration. Inspiration. In a way, I should create lines to reverse this psychology, this ideal. But… is my vision of autumn truly the same for everyone…? A season of longing and infinite search for the last flowers that lived through the whole summer. But… if summer is eternal in a way… would it not count as well…?”

Maybe considering this place a poem was actually the key. In truth… it lacked an ending. Just like his own writing. How fitting. Maybe he could use this… adventure as a lesson.

Heartbeat starting to increase, slowly, but surely. Lips bitten, quickly, but filled with uncertainty.

Just like before…

“The leaves will fall,”

Red leaving room for pink.

“And so will you,”

Pink allowing room for red.

“When you do, bury me under them too,”

Until death do us part.

“Eventually we all go home…”

A place to belong… Home…

Home. Heizou.

“It won’t be long,”

No matter the distance between us, it will never be longer than the time without your presence.

A voice-crack. Of course. Doomed Poet reluctantly swallowing the rain that threatened to escape.

“A-And the leaves don’t abandon their trees to the light…—”

Maple leaves always returning to their roots ; sakuras.

Rain. Weather was unpredictable after all, wouldn’t you agree ?

Shaky hands wandering in the air, just like the wanderer that he was.

“And… A-And the summer never e-ends…”

Could your hands hold mine even if it only lasts four months…? Your touch alone is something I would never be able to stop feeling on my palms. Cold touch that I yearn to embrace and warm up.

Please. Please. Please.

A line. Any hope to be able to see through his heart. Any hope to be able to stare into his eyes and see saturated colors as well.

Any hope to scream those tainted colors of mine.

Tainted colors, tainted cheeks. Salty tears scrolling through reddish skin as warm as a sunny autumn. Uncontrollable heartbeat.

Heartbeat never wanting to slow down. Lips bitten, painfully, but filled with clear feelings.

Please.

Please.

Clear feelings, clear words.

“WON’T YOU TAKE ME THERE…?!—”

…

Please.

Please.

I miss you. I love you. But as much as I miss you, you will soon forget the saturated colors of my eyes. Autumn doesn’t exist there. Only blood is close enough to my shades here.

Crimson cherry blossoms.

Just like those right in front of him.

Somehow, this world looked like Heizou. Was it strange to think that way…?

Without any reason left, the sobbing Samurai stole one cherry blossom from this world. Violence was a part of them, removing an element from nature felt fitting.

Criminal back then, criminal today. But how this treasure was soft… Despite the unwanted shade of red covering the prettiest shades a flower could have.

If this blood wasn’t dry, would this sanguinary flower also shed tears from wishing they could have lived a little longer…?

Would they have been the same speed as his own tears…?

Falling leaves, falling sobs, kissing damaged petals.

In this spring he won’t be back.

Then together but apart we can see this through.

Just like Kazuha was seeing pink petals.

“Wait, pink petals…??—”

Red.

Pink.

Magenta.

Pink.

Pink.

Pink…?

Only pink…?

“Huh…?”

Floor collapsing, falling,

The verse of pink began.

Again.

Cracked voice filled with hope, was this the epilogue…?

“Am I finally staring at you…???”

Heizou’s world. It was Heizou’s vision.

Wings being back.

“Huh…??—”

A room. An empty room, to be more precise.

A glance at the window… Yes. Sunset. Time went back to normal. So did space. Another glance, yes, autumn.

He was back. Back from a nightmare sold as a promising dream. A promising spring.

“Wait— My… poem…? Is it… there…?” Damaged voice from this dreadful travel, and the poem was in fact, not there.

Oh no.

What did just happen… How did he even get out of there…? Was inspiration truly gone as well in his real world…? Once again, Kazuha wasn’t the detective, the only thing he could do was write.

He was the writer, and Heizou the reader.

Wait, what if—

Hushed steps contrasting with a crack under his heels.

Rubies following this unexpected sound, only to find another shade of ruby under his own.

A maple leaf. Just one.

“A maple leaf…?” The troubled platinum-haired man whispered to himself without more thoughts as to where he actually was.

Autumn gems blinking slowly as if to make sense of those actually nonsensical events.

He lost his poem he was trying to conclude in the real world.

Okay.

He fell into an alternate universe of spring for unknown reasons.

Okay.

All of this happened right after he stared at a pink sky.

This alternate dimension was most likely Heizou’s vision of spring.

Okay…?

And finally… he went back here right after finding his missing line.

All of this caused by a cherry blossom that suddenly turned pink again after… being in contact with tears…?

It doesn’t make much sense…

Wait. Did he… really manage to steal and save this flower…?

Once shaky hands, still shaky hands. Habits never grow too old, it seems. The new part in this story was that while trying to hold this maple leaf, another product of nature fell on the floor.

Pink product. Devoid of any saturation, devoid of any blood as well.

A cherry blossom. The cherry blossom.

Could he really have the power to shake dimensions like this…?

Maple leaf and cherry blossom. Even if Kazuha was completely lost as to why all of this happened, the message was clear enough. Somehow, a poem about Heizou — for Heizou, managed to bring him back here. And their two reincarnations were here.

Here. Here —

Cold room, messy desk, old cup of coffee, open novels…

“I am in Heizou’s room. But he is not there. He should be there, I think…? But… if he is not, and I have in my possession a cherry blossom, does that make this maple leaf his…?”

Oh no. His vision of autumn. What if Heizou was actually trapped there just like he is, since all of this life…?? Just like he was trapped in Heizou’s vision for a brief moment.

He would never forgive himself for this. Such lonely —

The maple leaf must be the key, but so is the cherry blossom. Linking them must solve things. Just like Heizou is able to solve cases in the most orthodox ways.

Cherry blossom kissing maple leaf, five petals meeting five red veins.

…

Seconds passed.

Nothing.

Utterly nothing.

It didn’t work…?

Would Heizou remains trapped here forever, if he was the one to have the keys— Sure, Heizou is smart, but having an intuition doesn’t make you able to go through dimensions as you please.

What should he do now, what if, what if— he couldn’t activate the keys ??—

Emotions drove him once again, but not in a good way this time.

“I am sorry. I am sorry. It is my fault. I should have given you this poem before. I should have been more gentle with myself and just allowed myself to write this last time with the most blunt words. And now I cannot do anything but feel like I lost you forever. I should have realized that everyone has their own vision of seasons, I should have had—”

A crack, but not from the maple leaf.

This one was too busy melting with the pink flower.

At least spring and autumn were drowning in each other there.

“Y-Your vision of spring is trapped in one symbolism, a-and… it wounds me. And it should wound you as well… I should have been there more often— And now you are trapped in a mournful autumn you never saw this way, meaning you will never look at me the same way— meaning… You will only see black and white colors if you ever want to glance at me after all I have done…—”

This time, it was the maple leaf that cracked under the shaky hands of the Poet.

Damaged leaf, damaged flower.

Until death do us part.

Until grayish autumn gems reflecting the loneliness inside him were closed as well.

“I… I do not want to lose you. I miss you, no, I…”

“I do not want you to read such a story. I want to rewrite it. I want you to have a happy ending, even if it is not with me… I want you to be the character speaking on the last page. I want you to merge with my vision of spring… and I-I… want to drown in your dream of autumn.”

Green.

Doomed poet — doomed writer. It seems fate truly respected the usual outcomes of those types of characters in fiction. All that remained of him was the faint memory of their last summer together, the promise he wasn’t able to keep, but even worse ; Heizou will never see a winter again, meaning he will be alone behind the doors of Heaven. And even if he decided to break the trope of “until death does its part”, his place was already being prepared in Hell for what he just did. Actually, it was just a matter of time, he would already have clean sheets there, the doors were already wide open since their first meeting. Maybe more, who knows. How he wanted to believe it was just all a dream. A bad dream filled with bloody cherry blossoms. Maybe bloody maple leaves would be as macabre as well.

Another crack in his respective maple leaf, but also in the cherry blossom that wasn’t his.

In fact, this crack was heavier than the pain he just inflicted on this red leaf.

“I am sorry… I am sorry— Please take me back—” Those broken words were followed by rain once again, hoping it could create a sort of portal to this both lonely autumn, but also lonely Heizou.

Another crack of the cherry blossom. The cherry blossom that wasn’t his.

Nothing. It was in vain.

“Let me go back there…!! P-Please…—” The cracks didn’t stop.

Green noises.

“Won’t you take—” Cold chest resting against his back. Cold arms embracing him. Cold spring meeting warm autumn.

“I’m awake again to the sound of your voice running through my head.”

Widened rubies slowly regaining their saturation, summer flooding through him, red cheeks, maddening heartbeat.

“Kazuha…” Stop, stop, stop. How—

Warm hands holding cold ones even if it only lasts four seconds. This touch alone would forever remain on his palms. Cold touch that he yearned to embrace and warm up for so long. And he did.

Nails digging into hands painted with moles.

Those scarlet hairs he remembered so well were drowning him. Finally. Cold heavy breathing making the skin of his neck warmer. Of course. Red and warm. Opposites attract after all.

How—

“Are you in my dream…?” Watery rubies facing the wall, quite the contrast with the dry feeling of guilt in his chest.

Slender fingers pitching the Poet’s cheek. Long, cold fingers. Fingers with the same smell of flowers.

“Are you awake now…?”

“I’m awake again to the sound of your voice running through my head.” A raspy tone escaped the weepy Poet. This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t.

“Heizou—”

“Kazuha—”

Oh, two raspy voices.

“Please look at me.” Four raspy voices.

Spring chest leaving his favorite fallen leaf, as they finally looked at each other.

It’s been months. July. Summer.

Sparkly emeralds gazing into saturated autumn gems.

Even after crying, he was ethereal, was it wrong to think that way…?

“Kazuha, did you… live the same thing…?”

“I did.”

There was no need to explain what kind of things they were talking about. Partners understood each other after all. Plus, harboring very similar expressions was enough to put the puzzle in place and conclude that they were both as affected as the other.

“What… did you see exactly…?” A quiet voice contrasting with the usual confident tone of the Detective.

A pause. A deep breath. Oh, Kazuha saw many, many things. But the fear of not seeing Heizou again was longer and heavier than all of them.

How he wanted to hold him and never let go.

“I will not lie, I am completely lost, I will try not to bend the truth in your presence. I was occupied with an activity of mine, and all of a sudden, the sky turned pink, it was… unique, rare. Beautiful as well, sure. But even so. I thought I was dreaming, it was… it w-was a distorted reality ; an incarnation of tainted spring, the colors were so cold despite them being supposed to inspire romance and calmness. This painting was damaged by the only red hue the artist had, which is to say, dried red. Bloody cherry blossoms. It felt like a world of lies — a wind trying to hide the true nature of its cyclone ruling over it. But it is not a dream, now I know this.”

“Kazuha… While being… trapped there, I managed to gather a few pieces of information. Would you believe me if I told you something…? It may change your vision of me, b-but I think it’s important. Neither you nor I were trapped there at the same time by accident.” Sparkly emeralds staring right at the Poet, once gathering information, now gathering courage. Maybe feeling his vision saturating would help. Maybe.

A timid nod was executed by the Poet, making the last tears that fell earlier actually fall like those maple leaves dancing in the wind.

What did he mean by change your vision of me…?

“I am listening, do tell. I suppose you may have stayed there longer than I did, which is my fault in the beginning. I am deeply sorry, I concluded some things as well, and I think I have a part to play in this as well—”

Finger shutting the platinum-haired man. Oh. Okay.

Only his thoughts shall remain noisy, but this, Heizou couldn’t know. As for his heartbeat, that was another story. He was the one attuned with emotions and nature between the two of them.

Pinky cheeks. Avoidant green gems. Okay.

“Do you… happen to be aware of the theory of… soul being linked with another one…?”

A choking. Kazuha choked. Oh.

“Yes… I am… Like… soulmates……………?” Strangled voice, rubies unable to blink.

“I ahem y-yeah I guess you could call it… that way… as w-well……..? It doesn’t matter, well y-you see, ahem…—” The way the Poet looked at him didn’t help AT ALL. He wasn’t specifically referring to this, at least, in the way he said it… right…? Oh this was so bad.

Silence hits the room. His own room. Oh deer.

A silent Detective slowly let his weight fall on his bed, letting his heavy thoughts rest for a bit. Or at least, trying to make them under control.

A cacophonous Poet on the inside quickly following his lead, hoping to be able to read the other’s gestures a bit more. It was unusually blurry.

Silence being broken by Heizou this time, at least, on the outside.

“It’s no surprise to me to see us living the same thing at once. Well, I saw your vision of autumn. It was as poetic as I could have imagined, but… it betrayed so much loneliness — such a lack of identity. I felt like being forced to feel comfort in such sadness, and in a way, call it home. My point is, we exchanged our visions of the world. I saw your greatest, weakness, and you saw mine. And you can never force someone to reveal such an intimate truth if the person in question doesn’t want you to see it. Despite being in such far and opposite realities, we were still inside each other’s inner world. It’s… It’s…—”

A pause. A long pause.

“It’s because our struggles and strengths are linked — destined to remain together. Yes, it did stretch, tangle, twist, but our… bond… never broke. You were in a world representing my dream, Kazuha. I mean literally. Your short description was literally the nightmare I had. As to why you brought me here—” Same raspy voice being cut by the Poet, or rather, stolen.

“Hold on— I just have to be sure… did you feel like… you were… in a sort of… s-story… p-poem perhaps…?” Please say no, please say no. This was too much. Heizou couldn’t just say such things without noticing the burning October in his face now. Raw sunset embracing the most saturated leaves.

Of course, he would finish his sentence. Of course, he would finish his thoughts, read through him, just like he infiltrated his dream, making it a vivid reality.

Were soulmates always doomed…?

“Don’t cut me— I was about to say it, I gathered clues, and I’m concluding with you. To answer you… It was the saddest unfinished poem I ever read.”

Oh. Oh no.

“…A-And… What about it…? I mean… Why a poem, as I already guessed, a poem of mine… is linked with how you got out of here…?”

Let’s make this clearer, to the point —

“Kazuha. Do YOU believe in the theory of… red string of fate…?”

Bursted.

“Yes.”

Emeralds avoiding those rubies he yearned to drown himself in.

“I cannot really understand why, but I feel like I may have the power to write my fate through each singular black ink. And I want you to be my only reader to change even a word if this fate is not to your liking.”

This summer truly never ended.

“Then, my dear partner, would you like to finish the work I’ve done, and throw your ultimate conclusion…? Like usual.”

A gulp.

“You… can, no— you are living through my poems.”

The faint noise of both the cherry blossom and the maple leaf in the Poet’s hand was just a background sound now. It betrayed so much, and yet, there was no need to hear more clues, the evidence was clear — the case was solved.

“You are writing our fates, Kazuha. I heard you begging for me to come back — You wanted me to read your poems, poems I’m included in. That makes me… your character. You spoke to me as such. I was inside your poem, you were inside my dream. But you wouldn’t throw a fate with brute force. You… You made me a reader able to change the story if it’s not to my liking. In the end, I have the final word.”

Summer. Red string of fate. That made them… linked. In more ways than one.

Heizou was in his poem. Unfinished, sure. But that means… He didn’t change the verses, did he…? The words weren’t presented to him, and yet, he knew the content of it. As intimate as it was.

As hopeless as his poem was, Heizou didn’t change a single line. He wanted to wait for the conclusion.

Just like he asked him to wait for him, back then…

“You did not change a line of it. You wanted to hear it from me, am I right…? That is why you came back, you changed the narrative of it, but not the story. Heizou— it is…”

It’s embarrassing. Wonderful euphemism. It’s mortifying.

A chuckle. Heizou dared to chuckle at this…?

“Even if islands you lead to bear sadness, your words may blossom one last time.”

How did he learn to talk like this…? Since… Of course.

Now it was Kazuha’s time to chuckle like an idiot. Embarrassed idiot, sure, scarlet idiot, sure. Just like those hair…

Maybe covering ugly realities were worth it as long as you end your story.

“So… Should I… read you this… poem…? Since you asked.”

Silence. Only a nod.

“Are you… really sure…? It is not perfect or anything…”

More silence, until…

Cold fingers betraying an unusual warmth as the tip of his nails were tangled with sunrise ones.

Oh…

“Go ahead. I would have changed the events of it if I… didn’t like it.” Quiet, vulnerable voice.

Being sat together like this, suddenly winter felt like just a mere illusion.

It was a burning heatwave.

Same ritual then. One, two, three deep breath.

Or…

Four, five.

Just like the exact amount of petal in a cherry blossom.

Only one was missing to make the identity’s struggle of the Detective stop.

One breath.

He should keep that in mind.

It was a promise.

“Okay. It is… the same poem I mentioned to you last winter… Just so you know…”

He was waiting — eager even. Kazuha couldn’t mistake that expression on Heizou’s face.

“That, I didn’t know. Interesting.”

Here goes nothing.

“The leaves will fall,”

“And so will you,”

“Eventually we all go home,”

“It won’t be long,”

Rubies begging to already see a reaction. Those green stars weren’t even blinking, no emotion whatsoever. And yet, Heizou’s grip on his hand felt more pronounced. Was he… stressed as well…?

He should maintain his composure. The weather should remain sunny today. For his sake.

Depending on Heizou’s reaction, he would allow himself to drown into those precipitation.

Silence outside, but inner incomprehensible music deep down.

“And the leaves don’t abandon their trees to the light,”

Closer.

“Where the skies always c-clear,”

Please.

“And the summer never… never…”

A deluge was already threatening to escape. Not now. Not now. Only two lines left.

They were… close. Red was slowly appearing in the very core of the Detective’s pupils. It wasn’t bloody reflection, somehow, Kazuha knew it. Dreams are meant to stay lies convincing enough to pretend that a draft is an achieved canvas.

And right now, both of them wanted to drown in this pure, authentic draft.

“Keep… Keep going. Please, Kazuha.”

He would die. He was gonna die. If Heizou liked the plot of him dying in his arms, then so be it.

Until death do us part, after all.

He couldn’t let another breath escape. Not now.

This was saved. Just… Just in case.

“And the summer never e-ends,”

His yearning, his pining was obvious now. There was no holding back.

No holding back. Should he…

His free bandaged hand shakily replaced a scarlet strand of hair behind the other’s ear. Scarlet hair devoid of any violence.

He didn’t flinch.

Life, death, beauty, violence, spring…

There was something much clearer than all of this fleeting metaphor to Kazuha.

Something Heizou incarnated more.

“I… Heizou… Won’t… ahem… Won’t y-you—” Now he was sure Heizou could hear every single melody in his heart. Would he catch him if he fainted…?

Let me stay where the wind will whisper to me in my field of flowers.

“Kazuha… Let me finish. While being in your world… I was blessed by your inspiration, it may not be as poetic as you, b-but… maybe it can help you to conclude it, and by all means, help me to decide if I want to edit… our fates…?” Bold. If Kazuha really believed that he would change his poem, then he was so wrong. All he could do was hope that this cursed intuition of his didn’t betray him at the last time.

“Were you really…? Inspire me, Detective.” Fingers squeezing. Lips biting nervously.

Since when spring felt this warm…? Was this how it felt to drown in spring…?

Life, death, beauty, violence, spring… There was something much clearer than all of this fleeting metaphor to Kazuha.

Reincarnation.

Emeralds nervously darting into the “literally Poet”’s features. Or should he say, his partner — his soulmate.

“I can’t promise you that I will never go back to this vision of spring of mine, but I yearn for you to see my vision of autumn.”

“Yearning, really…?” Thumb tentatively moving on the Detective’s palm.

This canvas of his was finally bearing the weight of autumn and spring combined. A terrible summer awaited.

A wonderful winter shall come. Nature would never be devoid of any hues, not anymore.

The whole world shall witness a saturated poem.

“For you.” Hesitation wilted, just like those enchanting cherry blossoms. After hesitations came actions.

Slow movements, lost gaze, the mere smell of reincarnation merged between them. A tender, blossoming kiss was left on the Poet’s cheek.

Seconds, minutes, years…? Was spring always this everlasting…?

As the Detective carefully pulled away, he was brought back to reality with the reddish chromaticity only he would be able to see in any season.

Red autumn contrasting bloomy spring.

Silence fell upon them.

“Please say something. W-Was it…”

Racing heartbeat as fast as Heizou’s cyclone took over the Samurai.

“Do it again. T-This, and the line you concluded.”

Passion.

“Kazuha… I love you, and will you stay with me………………?”

More flowers would bloom. More leaves would dance.

“Please take me there.”

The last breath the Poet saved was begging to be free from his lungs. Thankfully, those weren’t filled with flowers.

After all, neither Kazuha wrote this, nor Heizou changed the story.

Tentative, carefully, but also deeply afraid, more fingers tangled, more flowers bloomed, more leaves danced. Not so cold chest met burning one, as the Poet was finally able to let escape the breath as heavy as a cyclone right now.

Small smiles, pinky fingers finally cupping Kazuha’s cheeks.

The book finally closed, ready to be published. Many bad poems betraying a lack of confidence would be filling those pages, and yet, the ending was as happy as it was hoped — yearned to be.

One last word, one last sentence, one last verse, until there was nothing to see.

Lips finally meeting in a flux of seasons, colors finally merging, confessions finally being made.

Who knows how long it lasted, after all, there was so much to write on this infinite yearning.

Hands by hands, their first kiss was an introduction to a second one.

The Detective finally embraced the cyclone inside him that wanted to escape for minutes now.

Spider lilies also included the passage between life and death, maybe that was why they chose the Freedom to be part of each other’s lives and afterlives.

Quite poetic, don’t you think ?