A/N: First foray into K, so go easy on me, please. Tried to be as close to existing canon as possible (until Episode 7). Spoilers ahead, so beware! Also, this is FushimixYata, so you have been warned.

Hindsight

Part I

Misaki.

It is the first thing he breathes upon waking up, and it is also the last thing he says before his consciousness fades into sleep.

In a half-wakeful state, he goes through the motions of preparing himself a buttered piece of toast and coffee with three sugars. The taste has always induced a grimace from Misaki, he muses, but the stark bitterness of the coffee against the mind-numbing sweetness of the sugar is just right for Saruhiko.

"Hey, Saruhiko, wake up!"

"…Misaki?" The lights suddenly switch on, and he is left blearily staring at Misaki, who is sounding far too cheerful for his own good. "What time…?"

Misaki's hands are on his hips, and he zooms in on the pink, frilly apron he gave the young man as a gag gift. "Half past seven. Rise and shine, monkey! The king's not gonna wait for us!" Even the beanie on his head has disappeared, replaced by a white bandana that oddly reminds Saruhiko of home economics class (a lifetime ago when he was still just a wonderfully popular student council member who was always confessed to and given countless batches of cookies, ah yes, those were the days). A strand of reddish-brown hair peeks out from underneath. His fingers itch to smooth it away.

"Mi-sa-ki.."

"What?" He loves it when Misaki's cheeks turn red at the mention of his name, and the way his eyes shift ever so slightly away in embarrassment. This moment is his alone to savor; where everyone else in Homura has Yatagarasu, he has Misaki utterly to himself.

"You look adorable today, as usual." He pulls Misaki's hand to his lips, then proceeds to pull him forward into his lap. "The pink apron, in particular, renders you perfect housewife material." Yes, perfect housewife material indeed. One of these days he will have to see Misaki in nothing but the apron, he decides.

He pulls on his glasses from the bedside table and enjoys watching Misaki sputter out excuses. Of course, that soon escalates into violence (Misaki is a tsundere after all, even if he will die before he admits it), and he is soon ducking and dodging like there is no tomorrow. When it is over, Misaki shoves a coffee mug at him.

"I still don't get why you like this shit, but whatever."

It is a typical morning in the Fushimi-Yata household.

How unfortunate he never did get to see Misaki in that apron. The remembrance has him frowning into the dark liquid of his mug. That must have been one of the things he forgot to do before leaving Homura.

When he sets the empty mug down and finds smudges on the rim where he put it to his lips, another scene flashes before his eyes for an instant.

On the mouth of the white coffee mug there is a little patch of brown curiously shaped like a lower lip, and he doesn't miss the bright red of Misaki's face when he traces his lips to that exact same spot.

The image holds him in its thrall when he sheds his clothes and turns on the shower. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the cold bathroom tiles, letting the hot sting of the water wash away the last of his lethargy. Judging from his recent encounter with Misaki, the poor guy still can't talk properly to girls, let alone initiate a kiss. He'll probably get himself killed by some rival Clansman before he gets properly laid.

His lips widen into a shark-like grin. Misaki the virgin. That's what everyone thinks. It's a lie, but not one that needs disproving. It works better for him, too. It won't do to have others thinking they can lay a hand on Misaki, after all.

Misaki is all his. Only he can touch Misaki. Only he can hurt Misaki. Only he can say that beautiful name and see Misaki shudder in response.

His, and no one else's.

…

Saruhiko can hardly keep himself from yawning aloud. Reporting to Scepter-4 headquarters is the obligation of every single Blue Clansman, but unlike the others, he holds no idol-worship for Munakata, nor is he head over heels for the perky-breasted blonde, Awashima.

He would rather be out hunting for Misaki, really. A continuation of their fight would be most welcome, with no meddling female superiors in sight. Misaki still doesn't fully understand the sort of powers he has acquired by joining two Clans, which isn't that surprising, honestly, given that Misaki's never been the brightest bulb of the Homura lot, and Saruhiko is eager to carve the knowledge into his flesh. He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, imagines Misaki's face contorting in pain and blood running slickly down his fingers.

'Accidentally' bumping into Misaki would be ideal, but Awashima is adamant that he not go anywhere unsupervised considering the racket he caused last time. At the moment, she most likely believes that he hates Misaki with a passion and likewise, given their past and Misaki's plain disgust.

That's another lie, but like the first one, it works in his favour. It certainly can't be explained in a rational manner. There is no one else who causes fire to run in his veins, no one else he would like to slash into ribbons and fuck senseless simultaneously. In his field of vision, there is Misaki, and then there is everyone else. Scepter-4 objectives are secondary to catching a glimpse of his elusive prey.

Bored of staring at the same computer screen for hours on end, he looks out the window. Is Misaki riding out again today on his skateboard, looking for his fellow Clansman's killer? Scepter-4 had apprehended the suspect and his pawn just yesterday night, Yatogami Kuroh, but the Strain woman had outsmarted them, and they had captured none of the three. Homura must not know this yet, however, and are most likely continuing their fruitless search.

Misaki will be ecstatic to get new information on the killer, though undoubtedly he wouldn't fail to throw a jibe about how ineffectively Scepter-4 had run the operation. Saruhiko inwardly shrugs to himself. The Clan's reputation is of no great consequence to him. Meeting with Misaki is far more important. Normally Misaki would never agree to personally meet, but he too, will be only too happy to settle the score, and Saruhiko will be providing him a new lead as well. As for the price, he supposes that will depend on Misaki too.

He is already thinking about how best to lure Misaki in with an e-mail when an exceedingly short blue dress halts in front of him, blocking his view of the afternoon clouds. He can feel his mood deflating. Has the killjoy already caught on?

Still, for appearance's sake, he pastes on a carefree smile and looks up, pointedly ignoring that she is all but shoving her breasts in his face. It is probably not intentional, but then again, it may be so. The woman clearly recognizes that her physical assets are also lethal weapons in a male-dominated organization, although it's a pity her feminine wiles won't work on him.

"And how may I help you, Lieutenant Awashima?" Privately, he wishes she would just leave him to his work, tedious as it is. This must be his punishment for disobeying explicit orders. Watching the Red King sleep, eat and sleep again, while keeping track of the times in between is even more sleep-inducing than normal paperwork.

Her blue eyes swivel back and forth between him and the monitor. "How is our prisoner doing?"

"The usual, no deviations." And because he is entirely bereft of entertainment, he pushes up his glasses and changes the topic, pitching his voice to reach to the other clansmen in the room. "By the way, Lieutenant, how was your leisurely chat with the bar owner? Yield anything useful on the Red King?"

The expression on her face freezes, but she quickly regains her former composure. Not fast enough, however, and every eye in the room is soon looking on in undisguised interest.

"I went only for a drink," she replies primly, "and the bar owner's lips were sealed tightly." Her blue eyes stare him down almost in challenge. "I suppose this should serve to warn me never to underestimate the amount of information you hold." He stares back unflinchingly. Quietly, she sighs and shakes her head, then turns away.

He hears the click-clack of her footsteps resuming, but dismisses it from his mind. Now that she is gone, he can go back to composing his e-mail to Misaki. How long has it been since he's sent Misaki a message? He's changed phones, so Misaki won't recognize the number, though even if he hadn't, Misaki has probably deleted his previous one already anyway.

He can read Misaki like an open book, and he's proud of it. There's nothing about Misaki he doesn't know. Even his e-mails and phone calls weren't left unchecked. Saruhiko is a thorough man, after all. Who wouldn't want to know everything about Misaki? Misaki never did understand his reasons, though, and proceeded to beat him half to death each time he caught Saruhiko viewing the data on his phone.

"I need privacy!" He remembers Misaki yelling at him between blows he barely manages to defend himself against. It's a rainy night, and they're having a shouting match well away from the bar, on account of Kusanagi not wanting to scare away potential customers. It's the fourth time Misaki catches him red-handed, eyes busily scanning and transferring the message data to his own phone. 'What the fuck do you think you're doing, huh? You think you own me or somethin'?"

It is natural for Saruhiko to want to know everything about Misaki, good or bad. What sort of parents he was born to, what his horoscope sign is and his blood type is, what does he do in his free time, there's never enough time to collect all the information he wants.

"It's the other way around, Misaki," he remembers yelling back, and he finally grabs hold of Misaki's fists before they land another hit. Misaki's hands are slippery with rain, and his eyes are drawn to the sight of a raindrop trailing down that slender neck. A slender neck he'd like to lick free of raindrops and cover in bites and bruises. "You're the one who owns me, Misaki. And if you own me,

"Shouldn't I get to own you, too?"

Lightning strikes, illuminating Misaki's bewildered face before Saruhiko leans down to kiss him. Misaki tastes like cola and taco-flavored chips. Not terribly romantic, but he has never been a believer of romance at any rate. Those angry fists hang limply down Misaki's sides now, and Saruhiko presses him against the nearest wall.

He is part of Scepter-4 now, a Blue Clansman, and yet the spell Misaki's cast on him has not lifted. If anything, it's become even worse. At least back then, with Misaki, his need to know was easily satisfied; no words or actions would dissuade him. Now it is different. He skulks around chasing after Misaki's shadow, and worse still, he knows not whose dirty hands could be scheming to take advantage of Misaki. A little laugh escapes him; a needless worry, now that he contemplates the situation. He knows perfectly well Misaki would never let anyone touch him.

Anyone but Saruhiko, that is.

Still, it never hurts to make sure. And despite his bluff and bluster, he knows Misaki will let him do precisely that. He smiles in anticipation.

To Misaki,

Got my hands on some new info about the new film's main character. Wanna meet up and talk?

Message sending…

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