**********December 12, 2012**********

"Kusanagi-saaaaan! Can I have another drink?" Misaki asked sluggishly, taping his empty glass on the bar.

"Yata-chan, just because you're legally allowed to drink now doesn't mean that you should," Izumo said, taking the glass from him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling me that?!" Misaki demanded, perhaps a little more forcefully than he would have if he hadn't been drinking all afternoon.

"You're sitting here at my bar drinking my booze for free; I'll call you whatever I please," Izumo said, refilling the glass and placing it in front of the redhead. "You know that under normal circumstances I wouldn't allow this."

"Whatever," Misaki said, burying himself in the fresh glass, all sense of argument lost.

"I'm going for a walk," Izumo said, pulling his jacket off the hook, pushing a fresh cigarette between his lips and heading for the door.

"Who's looking after the bar?" Misaki asked.

"We're not open yet," Izumo said obviously.

"Oh, right."

Izumo had been going for walks multiple times per day since Mikoto's passing. He had taken his best friend's death harder than anyone, but he'd felt that it was his responsibility to make sure the rest of the clan was ok before licking his own wounds. For instance, the only reason he let Misaki drink so much was because it seemed to bring him back to life; otherwise the teen was completely silent. It scared him. Looking after the others made him feel useful, but perhaps in reality it only distracted him from his own pain.

It wasn't until he was alone that he really started to think. He locked the door behind him and flicked his thumb, lighting the cigarette. His Aura had been dwindling lower since the Red King's death. He wondered how long it would be before it was completely gone. Their clan might as well have disbanded. All of their insignias had disappeared immediately following the loss of their leader, and many of the members had stopped coming around all together. And for those who still came, it wasn't the same.

It had been one week. He kept the bar open and available for the younger members, those who didn't have any place else to go or anyone to call their family. But truth be told, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it together. A large part of him simply wanted to leave this city and escape it all. Perhaps he would ask Seri to go with him, though she still had a King to serve.

As he headed down the side street, he encountered a dark figure, sopping wet from the rain. As he approached the person, he realized who it was.

"Fushimi-kun?" Izumo asked, shocked, but not completely thrown off guard by the young man's presence.

Saruhiko looked up, and upon realizing who it was, glanced down and sighed, clicking his tongue.

"You weren't by any chance headed to the bar, were you?" Izumo asked inquisitively, but light heartedly.

"And if I was?"

Izumo stared at the boy for a moment. He thought perhaps Saruhiko might resurface one day, but while the prediction was there, he had never thought about what he might do should the day actually come. "Walk with me."

Saruhiko said nothing, but stared up, obviously surprised by Izumo's forward manner.

"Do you smoke?" Izumo asked, offering him a cigarette.

"No thank you," Saruhiko declined.

"Ah, good boy. I'll be straight with you," Izumo said seriously, "Mikoto was never particularly bothered by your betrayal, but there's a boy sitting at my bar who hasn't been the same since you left. Your departure from our Clan destroyed him. I have nothing against you, Fushimi-kun, but if you plan on coming back into his life, be careful with him. Don't mess with him for your own pleasure."

"Not that it's any of your business, but for the record, it was never for my own pleasure."

"I know," Izumo said.

Saruhiko glared at him.

Izumo leaned against the wall. "He tries so hard to avoid his feelings, but because of it he's missing out on so much. Feelings can be painful, but they can bring so much happiness as well. There's so much darkness locked away inside his heart that I'm scared he'll be consumed by it one day. I know it isn't my place to ask why you left him, but I don't think he could take another betrayal in his state. Keep that in mind, ok?"

Saruhiko took a deep breath and sighed, taking the spot against the wall next to Izumo. It seemed like no one had much fight left in them these days.

"I didn't think he needed me anymore," Saruhiko admitted, staring up at the sky. He was quiet for a moment, but Izumo waited for him to continue. "He seemed so at home with all of you, especially Mikoto. I didn't think it would even faze him if I left."

"I don't think I'm the person you should be talking to about this, but I will say one thing. He looked up to Mikoto and admired him deeply, but it was you that he was bound to. You were the only person he's ever really let in."

Saruhiko stared at the ground for a moment, then finally clicked his tongue. "Well, thanks for the info, old man." He began walking in the direction of the bar, but Izumo stopped him.

"Saruhiko," he said.

Saruhiko turned; startled by the way he'd been so informally addressed.

"He still doesn't know the exact details of what happened to you that night," Izumo said.

"Good. Nor will he ever," Saruhiko said, turning once more toward his destination.

"Come back tomorrow. Preferably early in the day."

"What? Why?" He questioned, eyes filled with resolve.

"He's had too much to drink today. It isn't worth it. He doesn't realize it, but he's vulnerable when he drinks. He needs to be in a better state when he sees you."

"You're letting him drink his problems away? No wonder he's so damn fucked up." He was angry now.

"He's an adult; he can make decisions for himself. Not unlike yourself."

"It's your bar! You can cut him off anytime!"

"I keep him under control, but it's his choice. Perhaps if he still had a friend to steer him in the right direction, things would be different," Izumo said, grinning.

Saruhiko stepped back, as though he'd been physically hit in the chest. He couldn't believe Izumo had actually said that.

Izumo took a long drag on his cigarette and smiled, looking rather satisfied. "To be honest, I'm not at all surprised to see you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow," Izumo said, turning away and heading in the direction Saruhiko had intended to go. He walked away, leaving the young man standing on the street, mouth wide open. He tossed the cigarette on the ground, and headed back inside, his knowing grin still plastered across his face. He felt better than he had in days.

**********December 13, 2012**********

The following morning found Misaki with his forehead pressed against the bar, much like he had been each morning for the last week. Had Izumo not gone to bed after him, he probably would have believed that he'd been there all night.

It may not have been accurate to say that Misaki had taken Mikoto's death the worst of all the members, but it would not be stretching the truth to say that the effects were more visible on him than the others. This was perhaps because he was normally loud and outgoing, so finding a silent Misaki indicated something was very wrong. Or perhaps the others were simply better at hiding their feelings. That wasn't to say that Misaki was particularly emotional; in fact, he was quite the opposite. He spent his days sitting at the bar not speaking to anyone unless he was drunk. He was the only person who hadn't cried, and whether it was in direct correlation to this fact or not, Misaki was also the one person who had not shown any signs of improvement.

For the moment, he was alone at the bar. Izumo hadn't come downstairs yet, and the others didn't generally follow until early afternoon. True, he went upstairs at night, but he hadn't slept in days and as a result, he'd become somewhat of a zombie. But in general, when he was a zombie, he was too tired to think.

And if he couldn't think then he couldn't hurt.

If only it was that simple.

Misaki thought that after he lost Saruhiko, he could never feel more alone. Unfortunately, reality had smacked him in the face and informed him that he had been sadly mistaken. This was the third time he'd felt the extremely bitter sting of loss. Not only had he been close to Mikoto, but he had also looked up to him. It was as though he had lost a piece of himself; he didn't know who he was supposed to be anymore, so he settled for being no one. He felt lifeless; like he was no more than an empty shell; a ghost with no happiness, motivation, or desire to keep living. He had nothing left. His parents, his best friend, and now his King, were all gone.

He did not look up when he heard footsteps making their way down the stairs, nor did he look up when he heard the door unlock and the lights turned on. Izumo had given up trying to talk to him in the last couple of days, apparently deciding it would be better to let time run its course. He heard Izumo's footsteps make their way to the other side of the bar and he began cleaning dishes. He contemplated asking for a drink, as it seemed to be the only thing that could numb the pain, but he doubted that Izumo would allow it at this hour and he simply didn't have it in him to argue.

Misaki didn't even look up when the door chimed indicating that it had been opened. What finally brought him out of his trance however, was the fact that Izumo stopped moving, but then didn't greet the visitor. Something wasn't right. Misaki was alert now, but he still couldn't find the strength to drag his head up off the counter.

"Hi," a familiar voice finally said.

And as though all the potential energy in the world had congregated in his body, Misaki shot up in his chair and spun around, finding himself face to face with none other than his old best friend.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Perhaps it was the lack of food or sleep or the sheer fact that his brain had not received any sort of afferent stimulation in days, but he could not find the words to reply.

After what felt like several minutes, Misaki mustered up the conviction to speak. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Is that how you greet all your customers?" Saruhiko replied.

Misaki studied the man in front of him. Saruhiko was not wearing his Blue uniform; instead he was clad in black jeans, a green sweater and a charcoal grey jacket pulled around his shoulders. His hair had grown longer and exhaustion displayed itself prominently across his face. But with the exception of the numerous healing cuts and bruises similar to his own, nothing had changed. He looked exactly the same as the last time he looked his friend in the eye. And yet he was a completely different person.

"Why are you here?" Misaki asked quietly, having lost what little fight he had found within himself.

Saruhiko took a seat at the bar but was silent. Staring down at his tightly interlaced fingers, he looked as though he might be wondering the same thing.

Misaki snorted under his breath. "Traitor," he muttered, ignoring Saruhiko's shaking hands and feeling no remorse whatsoever.

Saruhiko glanced up at Izumo as though looking for support.

Izumo sighed, pulling two paper cups from behind the bar and filling them with coffee. "Go for a walk you two. I've got some cleaning to do."

"What?" Misaki promptly demanded.

"I need you out of here for a while so I can wipe your forehead prints off the bar," Izumo said.

It was obvious that it was a pathetic ploy to have them speak to one another without the presence of others.

Misaki stared at the cup in front of him. Under normal circumstances he probably would have scoffed and gone upstairs with nothing but a rude remark or gesture. But for some reason, today was different. Maybe it was because he felt he was at the point that he had nothing more to lose. He picked up the cup, stood up, and glanced at Saruhiko who stared back at him in amazement. Obviously he hadn't expected it to be this easy.

The weather was unspectacularly dull. A collection of grey clouds hung over head bringing about a cool crisp December morning.

The first thing that entered Misaki's mind was that he wished he'd brought a jacket. But that thought was immediately pushed from his mind as he realized what was going on at the present moment. He was aimlessly following Saruhiko, who he hadn't spoken to on normal terms in well over a year and who had just happened to walk into HOMRA barely a week after the Red King's death.

He drank his coffee quickly, absorbing the warmth and the energy from it. "What the hell do you want?" Misaki enquired with a little more sentiment than before.

"Isn't that obvious? I want to talk to you," Saruhiko said in a very un-Saruhiko like tone.

"Why?" He shot back.

"Don't make this harder than it already is," Saruhiko said. His voice sounded strained as though he were nervous.

Misaki tossed his empty cup in a near by trashcan, taking the opportunity to look away. "I have no sympathy for you. You fucking left with barely a word. And now you come back at a time like this? What the hell were you hoping to accomplish? Did you come to gloat? To rub it in my face that my King is dead?"

"Of course not," Saruhiko said quietly, sounding hurt.

Misaki stopped and looked at Saruhiko. He wasn't sure why he was so surprised by his shifts in personality. After the last two times he'd encountered him, it had become clear that he was quite capable of doing a three-sixty in terms of character with no notice. That alone made him nervous. But nevertheless, he couldn't pretend he wasn't curious about what brought him down off of his high horse and back to the bar.

"How is everyone after…?" He sounded like he was going mention the Red King's death, but then thought better of it.

"How do you think?" Misaki shot back angrily, but found he was unable to maintain his front while speaking of his late King. "Everyone is pretty shaken up."

"And you?"

"Take a wild fucking guess," Misaki said, looking away. He had learned to harden himself a long time ago, but even now, it was hard not to get emotional when talking about Mikoto. It would have been like losing a father or older brother. But for Misaki, whose father had never loved him, it was worse.

"I'm sorry," Saruhiko said.

"What?" Misaki spat out before he'd even comprehended what he had said.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, staring down at the ground, kicking a small pebble towards the grass.

Misaki stared up desperately at Saruhiko who refused to make eye contact with him. He felt his body begin to shake, unsure if it was due to rage or grief. He glanced down at the ground, not sure what to feel. So many emotions were running through his mind it made him want to puke.

"What the fuck! You lead me on as your best friend, then betray the shit out of me, and now you come back and dump this on me?!"

Misaki was losing himself. He was trembling uncontrollably. What the hell was Saruhiko playing at? Was his sole purpose in life to screw with him?

"WHY?!" Misaki demanded.

Saruhiko looked at a loss for words. He dropped his head. "I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly.

"Bullshit! You fucking tried to kill me! In this very park!" He found himself furiously pointing at the ground.

"I wasn't trying to kill you," Saruhiko said calmly, still refusing to look Misaki in the eye. If he had not been angry beyond belief at that very moment he might have felt sorry for Saruhiko; he looked so helpless. But that was beside the point right now.

"What the hell! You –"

"I wanted to die by your hand," he interrupted Misaki, finally looking him in the eye.

Misaki's jaw dropped to the ground. He tried to speak but no words would come. He stared into Saruhiko's eyes and could immediately discern that he was telling the truth. He'd never seen him appear more raw and vulnerable, and it did not suit him. He felt like his knees were going to give out, and he took refuge on a nearby bench, leaning forward and running his hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the grass ahead of him. What was Saruhiko saying?

Saruhiko sat down next to him on the bench.

"But… why?" Misaki asked, still at a loss.

"I had nothing left." He said quietly.

"Then why did you leave?!" Misaki blurted out. He had made it seem like there was so much purpose in his departure from the Reds.

Saruhiko turned his head in Misaki's direction, then signed loudly and leaned back against the back of the bench. He stared up into the sky, visibly collecting his thoughts.

"Do you really want to hear the sob story?"

Misaki didn't answer; he simply turned to Saruhiko, head in hands.

"I never fit in there. You found your place and were quickly accepted, but it wasn't for me. This is going to sound pathetic, but I'm not sure I belong anywhere. I never have and perhaps I never will. I was attacked that day simply for being a member of Homura, and it ruined me. I knew then that I had to get out, but I waited until I didn't think you needed me anymore. You fit in so well with the others, and you had Mikoto and Kusanagi. I didn't think you would care. I wanted you to, but I knew you'd moved on. I thought maybe Scepter 4 was for me. Turns out I was wrong again. I gave up and was ready to die, but only by your hands."

Misaki continued to stare fixedly at the ground. "Of course I cared. You were my best friend." Upon saying these words, Misaki felt a lump in his throat. Saying the words out loud hurt so much more than simply thinking them. He'd buried his feelings away for so long, and now the demons were attempting to boil over.

"I wasn't fit to be anyone's best friend. That becomes evident when you consider the fact that I didn't think you'd care. I was a mess, Misaki. I know how you must feel. You lost you parents, your best friend, and now your King. I'm sorry. You must feel so alone."

Misaki felt his body heat up as the tears threatened to overwhelm him. "You're a fucking asshole, Saruhiko," Misaki said, his voice finally cracking with the last word. And for the first time in over 3 years, he burst into tears. He buried his head in his knees, unable to control himself.

It was all too much to handle. So many thoughts were racing through his mind that he was unable to discern let alone comprehend the first. He felt his brain going numb, but the tears wouldn't stop. He hated himself for crying, especially in front of Saruhiko. After staying strong for so long, his front was finally crumbling around him to reveal that weak, pathetic child that he so viciously detested. The familiar feeling of wishing to disappear into a hole in the ground and never return nearly smothered him.

He felt Saruhiko hesitantly touch his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to pull away, but he made no such action. Within seconds, Saruhiko pulled him into a hug, and Misaki cried into his chest. He felt pathetic, but he couldn't stop himself. The wave of tears would not cease, and he sobbed harder and harder; Saruhiko tightened his arms around him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

It was as though the floodgates had opened, and after being sealed shut for so long, the stream of sadness would not be stopped. He cried for his parents; he cried for Saruhiko, and he cried for his lost King.

He thought back to the day Mikoto had found him in the alley; the day he had last cried. He didn't even have to explain what had happened – Mikoto knew. He understood him. And most of all, he treated him with respect and dignity even when he was at his weakest.

'Even the strongest person alive feels pain. But upon healing, we grow stronger. It isn't the events that befall us or the people who hurt us that define who we are; it's how we survive. Remember that.'

Misaki had done everything he could since that day to make himself stronger. He had survived it all, and he did it with a straight face. But even so, it all hurt so badly. He could no longer maintain that straight face; he had failed. And here he was, swimming in his own disaster zone, reduced to nothing more than a sobbing child.

And his sobbing continued.

"I swore I wouldn't cry anym-more," Misaki said, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve. I s-swore that I would be stronger than this. M-Mikoto taught me that it wasn't about what happened to you, it was about h-how you survived." But he choked on his words, and he continued to cry.

"Misaki, I think your sense of strength is a bit twisted. Emotions are powerful things. It takes a strong person to be able to face them. It's harder to face your feelings and allow them to overcome you at times than it is to lock them away and pretend they don't exist. I know it's easier said than done."

As Misaki heard Saruhiko sniffle, he pulled away and looked up. Saruhiko too, had tears in his eyes.

Misaki saw where his eyes fell, only for a split second. Then he held his breath and boldly reached for Saruhiko's left arm. He heard Saruhiko's breath hitch, and he flinched, but didn't pull away. Misaki slowly rolled up Saruhiko's left sleeve, only to be greeted a surprisingly large amount of furious red cuts. Some looked so fresh that they might have been inflicted no earlier than this morning.

Saruhiko closed his eyes and let out a loud sigh, turning his head away as though he couldn't bear to look at it.

All of a sudden, it clicked in Misaki's mind. Saruhiko had his own way of dealing with his pain. Misaki couldn't fully comprehend how it worked, but he knew why. And for the first time, he felt that he understood what had plagued him for so long.

"Does it help?" Misaki asked calmly, his tears finally slowing.

"I don't know anymore," Saruhiko said, turning his arm over to hide the cuts.

"You've been doing it for a long time, haven't you?" Misaki asked. He felt a strange tingling feeling inside of him; it was as though something that had been itching to be free of him was finally released. He'd wondered about this for so long.

Saruhiko looked at him questioningly.

"I saw it right after my initiation."

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, "and I thought I'd managed to hide from everyone. I should have known," He pulled his sleeve down gently over his wrist and up to his knuckles.

Misaki watched closely. He sensed his opportunity. It was out in the open now, and it would be so easy to ask. But a part of his overwhelmingly arrogant curiosity bowed to the newfound respect he had for his friend. Now wasn't the time. He'd been given the free pass; he'd broken down in front of Saruhiko, and it only seemed right that he ask him to share in return. And yet he sensed that Saruhiko really didn't want to confront those demons right now. And so he closed his eyes and forced it from his mind.

"Now what?" He asked, not knowing where to go from here.

"I quit Scepter 4. I'm leaving, Misaki. I'm going up North to go to school."

"You're what?!" Misaki demanded. He'd come back, made peace (or at least he thought), let Misaki cry on his shoulder, and now he was just going to leave? He couldn't take this again. He began to tremble once more, and his body became hot. Adrenaline coursed through him. He was going to be abandoned yet again. But before he could voice his rage, Saruhiko spoke again.

"Come with me."

"What?" He felt his heart beating strongly in his chest.

"Come with me," Saruhiko repeated, watching Misaki nervously, awaiting his response.

Misaki was about to start shouting at him, insisting that he couldn't simply pack up and leave. But in reality he could. There was nothing keeping him here anymore. The other members were moving on, and maybe it was time for him to do the same. It seemed crazy, but it felt right.

"Ok," Misaki said, cursing his missing filter once more. Could he really do this? Just like that, without a second thought?

Saruhiko's face lit up.

Misaki was in shock. Was he really agreeing to this? To just leave town with his best friend? Was Saruhiko his best friend again? Was it really that simple? There was so much bitterness between them; could it really just disappear?

But after everything that had happened, Misaki was finally starting to put things in perspective. Should the past really matter? He had vowed to try to leave things in the past where they belonged; was this not a prime instance?

"Let's start over, Misaki," Saruhiko said, offering his right hand. "Away from the gangs and the drama."

Misaki sniffed, taking in a deep breath of air. He stared at Saruhiko's outstretched hand, the symbol of his peace offering. Not two hours ago he had held so much hate for this man, but now it was as though it had simply evaporated. Like none of it mattered anymore.

He finally reached out and shook Saruhiko's hand. He glanced up and found himself greeted with a warm smile; one he had not encountered in years.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. In that moment, Misaki felt more hope for the future than he'd ever felt in his entire life. They had both hit rock bottom; they had lost everything. But none of it mattered anymore. Together they would find their way back to the surface; the light comprised of their newly rekindled friendship guiding the way.

And that alone said it all. Life does go on. You simply need to find something worth living for.

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! Please review and let me know what you thought of it.

I'm still contemplating writing an epilogue, so that may happen in the near future... I'm not completely ready to be finished with this story.

I AM however, working on something new for K; something very different (same characters). So keep your eyes peeled!

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who reviewed, and a special thank you to Blood Tiara. I know she's in the middle of her exams and probably won't see this for a couple of weeks, but I definitely owe her some credit for the ideas in this chapter (even if she wasn't originally aware of it) and her support in general! Her profile is a great source of information for K readers and writers and you should definitely check it out (there's a link to her profile in the review section for this story). Watch out for stories published by her as well - she has some brilliant ideas!