That night we ran was the last we've heard of Utopia.

Shin-Chan and I traveled by foot on many, many miles until we reached upon a deserted beach. We'd said what the hell and built a boat. We wanted to run away for good. Even if we never saw land again, the horizon would be ours.

We did stumble upon an island after what seemed like an eternity. The island and its inhabitants were most peculiar; it was owned by a short man with raspberry-colored hair and catlike eyes who thought himself to be an emperor. He didn't have a kingdom though, just a few subjects whom he treated like friends. They lived like kings with the Red Emperor and his tiny blue-haired wife.

He'd allow me and Shin-Chan to stay as long as we didn't disturb the peace and never planned on sailing away again. It was sketchy at first, but the Red Emperor explained that he wanted no other beings to know about the island. That I could understand.

But he also didn't judge us on the way we were, and we ended up appreciating that more than we'd anticipated. (I thought our neighbors were fun, but Shin-Chan always complain they're kind of loud and I have to agree. I think both Shin-Chan and I knew the redhead's monopoly isn't an utopia, but it was far better than our old one. Besides, he was fair enough and none of his friends came around too often to bother us.)

It's been 16 years since our arrival. We don't plan on sailing anywhere again.

He is wrapping his fingers with fresh bandages, the scent of cotton and soap lingering through the air. An open window waffles a delightful sea breeze into the house.

He still keeps them wrapped up, even after all this time, and he always washes his hands before putting them on. It's painful to watch him because I know that even though it's been so many years, he still hasn't been able to scrap the idea of blood from underneath his fingernails.

And not that it matters, but I ask him one night if it hurts him to touch me. He says it's not that, it's that he's afraid of hurting me. He looks me in the eyes when he says it and that pierces me with more anguish than I have ever felt.

He hugs me until morning. By then I am jubilant, exhilarated. We give to each other something bigger than the both of us.

He's always tried to be strong for me, it's no wonder that he would sometimes crumble and fall apart. But that's okay because it's he who has taught me that there is no shame in falling down. True shame lies in not standing up again.

And if there is one thing Midorima Shintarou lives by, it's his word.

"I don't feel a mere ounce of regret for what I did," he tells me one dawn after a nightmare, "I only fear what would have happened if I didn't shot those men. I would do it one thousand times over if that meant you would get to live." His voice is heavy, and I can tell this has been hard for him to say.

"Shin-chan," I say, for it's the only words I can utter at that moment, the only words I've known to never give up on me. He looks at me with such emotion in his eyes that I fall into a complete spell - his spell.

I imagine we are both be haunted by bits and pieces of our past, him more than me. (I will never forget what he has sacrificed for me.) But we've come a long way and have both healed quite a bit, too. Our new friends are strange but kind, and we've enjoyed nothing but serenity since we started calling this place home.

He flexes his fingers as he finishes, and then slips his hand into my waiting one. We walk out the door hand-in-hand into our front yard, made of nothing but silk and sand and sea.

The sun works a wonder of gentle oranges and pinks and melons into the horizon, and I couldn't help but notice Shin-Chan's lashes throw out bits of evening light as he blinks.

I let go of his hands to cup my face in a giggle, and Shin-Chan just shakes his head because he doesn't know what's so funny. But I bet he's secretly amused on the inside.

"You know, Shin-Chan, sometimes I miss the way the snow makes it look as if sugar has fallen from the skies," I say, and Shin-Chan snorts. But all the same, he laces my fingers through his bandaged, complex ones. "But then again, I'm glad it doesn't snow here. We never need to build any sort of fort. Heh, remember when we first met? We were such fools back then."

"Of course," he answers as we watch the morning meld colors into rosy, beautiful things, "But I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

I, Midorima Kazunari, would not either.


I did something different this time: tried to focus on the point of view of one character (Takao Kazunari in this case) instead of being plot heavy. Lol I suck so much at fluff ;-;

Akashi's regime isn't utopia, but it's by far better than the homophobic, 1984-esque dystopia they escaped from. Thank you so much for reading!