God fucking damn it. He totally did it on purpose.

Fushimi growled deep in his throat in obvious irritation, causing all his subordinates in presence nervously taking a step back with cold sweat running down their tempers.

How dare he. Even though he's just Misaki. How. Fucking. Dare. He.

Keeping scowling and muttering, the SCEPTER 4's third-in-command stomped back to his rightful station which had been left ignored for the past five minutes. Akiyama informed him about the current situation of the berserk strain in an awkward manner, probably because Fushimi's mind was definitely not in its supposed place.

It's been three weeks. Three weeks! What's the heck wrong with him!?

"Fushimi! Get yourself together! I know it's hard on you, so after solving this case I'll let you have an off duty day. Now concentrate!"

Awashima's clear voice robbed the dark haired young man's attention back. He clicked his tongue to show his unwillingness, but obeyed anyway. The sooner he finished the job the sooner he got to chase Misaki again.

With that motivation in mind, Fushimi quickly drew an effective plan in less than two minutes and barked orders right and left with no explanations whatsoever. The other SCEPTER4's clansmen just sighed and followed orders, clearly were too used to their gloomy superior's tactic. Even Awashima, who was way too displeased with his attitude, let it slide for the best outcome. After all, it wasn't everyday Fushimi put more than one third of effort into doing literally anything.

Ten minutes was all it took to smoke the wanted strain out. In panic, the criminal resolved to the last choice, which was making a sortie towards the direction with seemingly least people.

Which, so very unfortunately, led straight to Fushimi.

An angry, furious, pissed off Fushimi who was ignored by a certain Misaki for three whole weeks.

The rest of the special unit pretended to not see their third-in-command continuously kicking a grown man into a pulp while laughing hysterically and scratching his burnt tattoo like no tomorrow.

Ignoring me? ME? Intentionally? Misaki you sure have guts don't you. You'll pay. I swear I'll make you pay so dearly, oh Mi – SA – KI!

"E-enough, Fushimi! I get it, you're free to go now. Just don't...break any public property like the last time, okay?"

Fushimi gave the strain one last kick, smirking deviously at the lieutenant.

And so the hunt began.

Shot 1.

Fushimi dug through Shizume citizen's database to find where the Homra vanguard was working part-time in. It was arguably illegal but frankly, no fuck was given.

"Mi-sa-ki, you're still working in this pathetic fast food restaurant? Can you even live with such poor salary? Oh I forgot, with so little brain cells you probably don't need much, huh?"

The redhead grit his teeth and glared at Fushimi, who was supposedly a customer, and slammed the ordered dishes onto the table.

"Hehe, why don't you just give up on your pretentious gang of hoodlums? Clearly your precious Mikoto – san couldn't provide you a good source of income, neh Miksaki?"

"Saru...you bastard..."

That's it, he's going to bite the bait. Come on, come on, throw your job away look at me yell at me hit me fight me Misa-

His giddy thoughts were interrupted when Yata exhaled loudly twice times, then calmly walked back to the kitchen without a word.

Yata didn't come out again. Instead a younger boy took his position and brought Fushimi another newly ordered dish.

Fushimi snarled at the poor boy. "Where the fuck is Misaki?"

"Y-Yata - san? He said he wanted to switch out works so now he's helping in the kitchen... Uhm, should I call him? But out chef is really really scary so..."

"...Tsk. Never mind." The blue clansman threw money on the table and powerwalked away, not forgetting to kicked the chair for good measures. Some of the untouched dropped on the floor, but he couldn't bother to mind.

Shot 2.

The bespectacled young man waited in the cafe nearby until 2 in the afternoon, when Yata's working time ended, with the patient of a hungry lion. Truthfully he wanted nothing but to burst in the damn kitchen, lured Yata out and into a fight, however that plan would result in severe damages for public property which would ultimately led to Awashima's anko terror punishment. Ugh, despite everything he still valued his life.

From the corner of his eyes he saw Yata walked out of the doors with skateboard in hands. Figured, that guy would really bring the skateboard everywhere even to workplaces.

...Nope, Fushimi Saruhiko did not just feel jealous of a goddamned skateboard. No way. It wasn't jealous it was...it was pity. Yeah.

Shut up brain. Fushimi cringed at his own thought while approaching Yata from behind.

"You're finally done huh. Working your ass off just to serve fat cheese and carbon drink to people, what a life to live! Mi ~sa ~ ki~"

Yata jointed and swirled around. His eyebrows creased but somehow...his cheeks were kind flush?

"Leave me alone, stupid monkey. I...I don't want to meet you right now."

Hazel orbs met Fushimi for only a brief second before glanced away.

Why do you turn away? Misaki, why do you never look at me? Fushimi felt ugly feelings quickly raised in his chest and climbed into his throat, forcing their way out in the form of venomous retorts.

"Don't make me laugh. Don't want to meet me? When do you use such a luxurious word as "meet" for me? I'm your enemy, I'm Homra's traitor, remember? This is no meeting, it's an invitation for a fight to the death!" Fushimi's voice got stronger and higher each sentence, until he almost shouted the last word. He already drew out some knives to prove his points, expecting Yata to lose his temper and do the same.

But the redhead just sighed and stuck his tongue out in a rather childish manner.

"Whatever. Bye, dumbass Saru."

Fushimi could only stare dumbly as Yata jumped onto the skateboard and strolled away.

Shot 3

Fushimi wandered the street for a good hour in a haze before deciding that Fuck it, no way he would let the rare off duty day pass without knowing what the heck was wrong with Misaki. Besides, he had a vow waiting to be made into reality after all.

The traitor made a beeline to Homra's bar, careful not to make himself too suspicious (which was practically pointless because he looked suspicious through and through anyway). True to his prediction, Yata was there, apparently drinking and talking with a panic-looking Kamamoto. No one else seemed to be in the bar, which explained why Yata got a hand on Kusanagi's precious wine.

Drinking...? It's 3 p.m., have a little shame Misaki... Not to mention you're underaged.

"And then, and then that shitty monkey, hic, just up and said something like...like hey I'm the traitor I don't want to meet you I want to kill you or, hic, or some shit! Damn it! Damn him to hell!"

Yata's yell was loud and clear, having no problem reaching the blue clansman outside. Even though he was insulted, Fushimi felt oddly contented to know Yata was thinking about him. Feel free to call him a masochist.

"Fucccccckkkkkkkk himmmmm! He was, hic, so gentle and, s-so cute back then in middle school. Just whyyyy did he,hic, become a blue creep..."

"Yata-san, please stop, you're too drunk!"

"Shitty monkey...give me back m-my cute little Saru...hic"

Eh, hey...who are you calling cute...

Fushimi scratched his head. He didn't expect this. He spent an hour drowning himself in depressing thoughts about maybe, just maybe Misaki had grown up and gotten over him and wouldn't spare him a single glance... He even built up a thoroughly plan to annoy the redhead until he felt under Fushimi's trap again.

But really, why was Yata avoid him when he clearly thought of him to the point of seeking comfort in alcohol?

Oh right. Something lightened in Fushimi's head.

Misaki must miss the young me and hate the current me so much he can't bear to face me now.

Well. That sounded solid. Solving any possible heartaches down, Fushimi grinned as he made another plan up.

He swiftly turned right to reach the nearby fountain and dipped his head into the water, effectively washing away the hair gel and leaving his hair styled the old way. Then he took off the coat and boots, giving an illusion of him being shorter and smaller.

Fushimi came back to his hidden place just in time to be greeted with a fumbling Yata at Homra's door, Kamamoto was lying on the floor – must be knocked out by the drunken vanguard. Inhaling deeply, Fushimi forced his lips to smile in the gentle way like he did way back then, which was a hard job solely because he didn't get the chance to practice it in years.

"Yo, Misaki."

The Homra vanguard jointed and whipped his head so fast Fushimi could even hear a small crack. Ouch, it should hurt. Always the stupid, reckless one, Misaki ~

"Sa-Saru?" Yata's eyes were as big as plates, his cheeks flushed bright red, and he seemed unable to close his mouth. It was hilarious.

"Why do you look like a mess, Misaki? Well, for now just come here." Fushimi soften his voice and tilted his head a little bit for the effect.

"Saru...SARUUUUUUU!"

The redhead charged straight into Fushimi and embraced him tightly, sobbing like a teenage girl, bonus the strong alcohol smell. To be honest the dark haired male didn't foresee himself being hugged like this, so for a few seconds he didn't know what to do with his hands.

Yata's sob was slowly dying down, and the other young man looked down to see the prior's eyelids weighted heavily. He chuckled.

"Hey, Misaki~ Are you going to faint straight into my arms? You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes, neh?"

Just how ironic that sentence is, consider the past three weeks. Oh who am I kidding? For the fucking past 4 years!

"Shaddup." Yata snuggled further into the taller man's chest. "It's fine, isn't it...Saru's warm..."

Fushimi had half a mind to carry on with his original plan, which mostly including mocking Yata for being a sappy nostalgic brat and the past couldn't come back so look at the me now, then dumped him in some abandoned alleys. However who would have the heart to do that when the redhead clung and cuddled to him this...cutely.

Shit. I'm digging my own grave.

"Wake up, Misaki. Don't pass out on the street, I don't want to carry you."

"Nuh-uh." Yata gripped tightened. "Don't want to...go anywhere."

"At least go back to your apartment so you can sleep there."

"I..." The hands wrapping around Fushimi unsteadily moved up to his jawline, confusing him a little. "I think..."

"You think? How rare."

The dark haired male was going to smirk and made fun of Yata like usual when he was suddenly pushed back hard, his back slamming on the cold hard wall. Before he could even comprehended what was happening, a pair of warm, wet lips were pressed clumsily but insistently on his own lips.

What. Wait, what. Misaki is...

Misaki is kissing me.

A kiss.

What.

How funny, after the first shock passed the second thought going on his mind was

So even a virgin like Misaki can kiss, huh.

Wait a minute.

"Ngh, s-stop, Misaki."

Yata didn't seem to hear him, starting to nibbled softly on Fushimi's lower lips in a rather awkward angle. It was actually kind of adorable.

I said wait a fucking minute, brain. Not helping.

The blue clansman sighed into the kiss and with a no small amount of mind strength, shoved Yata back. In a spilt second he caught a glimpse of hurt (or was it fear?) in the other man's eyes. A rush of guilt came over his head but he had no idea why nor how to handle it.

"What do you think you're doing, Misaki? You've avoided me for three weeks and then kissed me out of the blue." He intended for his voice to be harsh and angry, yet it came out more like a sullen complaint.

Yata blushed harder, if it was even possible. He also looked sober up a bit. "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

Fushimi stared back blankly.

"I realized t-that a month ago, okay, when we were fighting and I accidentally, hm, fell on top of you. I thought it was a familiar feeling...I'd felt that excitement way back then even in middle school, okay. So, so it just clicked."

Fushimi continued to stare in silence, making the shorter man fidget horribly.

"But you! You're just so damn difficult, shitty monkey. I-I thought it'd be the best to give up anyway." The vanguard was close to teary eyes now, though he refused to let it show. "But meeting you hurts and not meeting you also hurts. I don't...I don't know what to do, I'm not even sure if it's love."

Yata hugged the blue again, gently this time, rocking back and forth a bit in attempt to calm himself down.

Clicking his tongue, Fushimi muttered. "There's no way it's love. You can't love me, idiot, just think about it, it's impossible."

"...hah?"

"Gzee. How can you love me? ME, a traitor? It's obvious hatred, how can you even mistake hatred for love?"

Yata blinked, still stubbornly held Fushimi in his arms, then frowned hard,. "But when I talked about it to Totsuka – san, he said it's love."

"Tsk. What did you talk about?"

"About the weird feelings I've gotten... Like, my heart beats faster whenever I meet you and I get overexcited whenever you're involved...and when fighting you sometimes I just want t-to stop and hug you or something."

"Uh huh. Like I said, it's hatred. I get these all the times with you. They're so strong I just to want to stab you to get them over with."

"But I want to kiss you? Normal enemies do that too?"

"Isn't it a weird instinct to dominate each other in order to win? I have that sometimes too."

"I-I-I occasionally want to see you smile and be happy?"

"So you can strike when my guard's down? I feel it that way."

"...Er, eh? So it's the old hatred? So...so it's not love after all?"

"Of course. Don't expect you to know what's love is anyway, virgin."

Yata messed his hair and looked utterly confused. Being drunk certainly added salt to his injury. He was even mumbling "Love? Hate? But I, love? But is it hated?" to himself.

Meanwhile Fushimi was re-thinking what he'd just said and wondered the exact same thing.

Some distance away, precisely the door of the Homra's bar, a group of a three blond men and a red haired man slammed their palms in their own faces, sighing like it was the end of the world.

"These two fucking idiots..."