So a couple weeks ago I watched the entirety of K and really wanted to write something for it. Today I got it.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own K or any of its characters.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. The anguish and anger on Yata's face was not real. The sadness that caught in the air and stilled it even though the wind blew was not real. Mikoto wouldn't believe it. The still form, bleeding between them all wasn't there. Totsuka was down stairs practicing his guitar or messing with some new video. He wasn't lying there dead in Yata's arms, limp and drenched in a sickly red color.

They began planning, plotting to find Totsuka's killer. Mikoto walked away. Cries of anger rang into the air behind him. Determination flared up like their fire. He however, did not feel it. He did not feel anything at that moment because there was nothing to feel. Nothing had happened. He was going to go downstairs and find Totsuka messing with his camera. He could hear Totsuka playing his guitar and serenading them all. Everything was fine. There was nothing wrong. Everything was right.

He slept little. He spent much of the night staring at various points of the room. His bed was unusually cold. That's why he couldn't sleep. Totsuka had decided not to come to bed with him. He was too busy messing with one of his hobbies. Mikoto would find him asleep on the couch with the boy's camera perched in his hands about to fall, a blanket haphazard over Totsuka's lean frame. He would have to reprimand him. Tell him to be more careful.

He awoke. The air wasn't the same as it usually was. The liveliness wasn't there. He couldn't hear them laughing or talking over breakfast. Totsuka's laugh or Yata's roar of determination did not hit his ears as it would. Despair and grief were all he could feel in the air. Yet he was sure they were just being quiet as not to wake Totsuka. That was Mikoto's job alone. He stood and moved to dress and fix his tussled hair. He found his pack of cigarettes and stowed them in his jacket.

His footsteps were louder than he could ever remember. The air was still. Everyone's fire seemed to have gone out. He couldn't understand why. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was fine. Once he woke up Totsuka….

"Morning," Izumo greeted briefly. Mikoto grunted in response, but noticed that the cool playfulness usually behind Izumo's words wasn't there. Granted Mikoto didn't have Totsuka trailing behind him out of the bedroom they sometimes shared, but that didn't usually stop him. Mikoto looked up to see the couch empty, the blanket usually left there for placing over Totsuka still folded over the back of the couch. Totsuka's camera lay abandoned on the glossy bar. It was the only thing there. The other members were away on other sides of the room, not looking at either Mikoto or Izumo or the lonely camera. It was as though they were avoiding it. He noticed that Yata stared off, stricken. Anna looked lost and alone as she sat at the very end with Izumo who stood behind the bar, but still far from the Camera.

"Where's Totsuka?" Mikoto asked, reaching into his jacket for a cigarette. His heart suddenly began to race. His mind suddenly flashed images out of the darkness of a blotted red color. Nothing like theirs at all. It was a sickening red that made his stomach churn.

Izumo glanced at everyone around them. The other HOMRA members had bent their heads down. Yata clenched his fist so tight, Izumo was sure either his nails would slice open his palm or his knuckles would split open. Yamamoto bit his lip so harshly he was sure the bigger man was tasting blood. He looked at Anna who stared up at him, her eyes shining despite the stoic expression still plastered to her face. A single tear ran down her cheek as Izumo looked back at their king and opened his mouth. The words would not come as their eyes locked. He brought his gaze to focus on the camera and inhaled deeply. "He's dead."

Denial- End