Archive of Our Own

Tsukinaga Leo wonders what it’d be like to fall.

He peers over the rooftop edge, legs swinging back and forth as he observes the other students flying around. They’re a pretty sight against the plain afternoon sky, blurs of that signature Yumenosaki-uniform blue—and they should probably be in class, but Leo can’t judge them for skipping. Not when he hasn’t attended classes himself in… has it been two days? Three? Well, the pencil he’s twirling in his hand and the half-written composition in the other is way more important than some boring classes, Leo thinks. Letting his creative flow get interrupted would mean depriving the entire world of his masterpieces, a crime against humanity itself!

…Besides, with the new Dreamfes system Tenshi’s recently put into place, Leo doesn’t have the luxury to laze around. Knights hasn’t been doing well in their recent lives, and while he isn’t exactly worried, it does mean that he has to write better songs to make up for their losses.

Ah, but what to write about, what to write about? For some reason, the usually easy-flowing melodies in his head have slowed to a trickle, as if someone’s interfered with the radio signal of his inspiration. He taps his chin in thought. Maybe it’s aliens!

(He’s never had trouble with his compositions like this before, and some extraterrestrial force being the issue makes the most sense—because if it isn’t aliens, it means the problem comes from himself. Which shouldn’t be possible, as Leo is a genius when it comes to music. Right?)

Aliens aside, lounging around in high places is enough to at least get him started most of the time, but today, his mind feels awfully empty. What he needs is a fresh dose of inspiration, which brings the earlier question back to mind.

If he were to lean just a little further, loosen his fingers against the rusted railings, how long could he last before his wings naturally unfurled? If he were to fall— really fall, without the promise of flight to follow, wind rushing up, gravity overtaking him—

“Oi, Leo-kun, what the hell are you doing up here? I’ve been looking for you.”

(…He feels like there’s a song to be found there. He’s written in the aftermath of tragedy before after all, fingertips stained with crimson and the feathers along his wrists broken and bent, a piercing pain running up and down his arms like an arpeggiated scale. And while it’s not the happy music Knights is known for, these discordant melodies are all his brain can come up with these days.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s composed with his blood. Why not try it again?)

“Sena, you found me!” Leo says, instead of any of that. “Didja miss me? Aah Sena, my Sena, I missed you!”

Leo turns, coming face to face with a scowl. Ah. Even with his eyebrows turned down like that, arms crossed and tawny-brown wings tight against his back, Leo can’t help but think that Izumi is beautiful. With silver hair that rivals the gentle glow of the moon itself and a charmingly cold blue-eyed gaze, how could he not?

Whether he’s standing by the school entrance with the early morning sun behind him, a well-practiced frown on his face as he insists that he wasn’t waiting for Leo to arrive, or on better days, says that he was waiting because Leo would be helpless otherwise. Whether he’s sitting in the empty classroom-turned-practice room, knees drawn to his chest as he sits on the windowsills, his iPod in hand. No matter where he is, no matter what he’s doing, Leo loves everything about him: his Sena, his sparrow, his perfect muse.

“I’m not yours,” Izumi says, scowl deepening. “And stop saying my name like that. I’m just here because we have to practice for our next duel. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

“Mhm… mm, of course not!” Leo turns back to the sky. There are no clouds today—just the sun, bright and blistering against his skin. He soaks it in.

“We’re going against Queen, and if we lose again, I’m seriously gonna be pissed. Like, doesn’t the audience realize how much work we put into our performances?” Izumi lets out a heaving sigh. “Well, whatever, we just need stronger weapons. Have you written a new song yet?”

Leo’s eyes fall, hovering over his notebook. It’s seen better days, held together by tape and a spine that’s broken more than once with how often he’s ripped out the pages. “…Workin’ on it!”

“Well hurry up, ‘cause we’re running low on ammo. And get off the ledge, I only rented the practice room for the next hour—”

“Hey Sena,” Leo interrupts, leaning backwards so that he’s viewing Izumi from upside-down. His back wings spread, feather tips touching the floor, a mess of bright orange that hasn’t been maintained in days. “Won’t you smile for me?”

A pause. Leo watches as Izumi’s lips tremble, the corners of his mouth immediately turning down. Ah, he thinks again, but there’s a sour taste in his mouth, a disappointment he tries to ignore—Izumi has always been a bit of a sourpuss after all, all rough edges and snarky words.

Maybe Leo is the fool for letting himself believe that one day, Izumi could stay smiling forever. That Leo would be the one to make it so. After all, as pretty as Izumi might always be, he’s the prettiest when he’s happy, hidden moments of joy Leo’s seen when he gives Izumi a new song, when he drags Izumi into a dance in the dusty classrooms, like little snapshots of could-be’s and what-ifs. What if you were always like this? What if I could make it so that you’d never cry again? What if I were perfect for you and my music were more than a hollow sword with an empty tune?  

As Izumi stares down at Leo though, there’s no trace of anything warm.

“I’ll smile when I have a reason to, yeah?” he says.

Leo blinks up at Izumi, once, twice, and chews on his lips. Wonders what he’s doing wrong, when this picture-perfect scenario got so blurry. After that fateful live, Checkmate, Leo had vowed that he would be the one to give everything ( his heart, his blood, his blade ) to fulfill Izumi’s dreams. While he doesn’t necessarily regret his decision to stay by Izumi’s side, there are nights where his thoughts wander. 

It’s just… he finds that he’s getting a little tired.

If only Sena smiled more for my sake… but that’s also my fault, isn’t it?

The sky and Sena, blue blue blue. It surrounds him like a cage.

“Inspiration…! It’s come~” Leo says, but doesn’t move his fingers. “It’s come,” he says, but stares at the ground one last time before finally getting up.

Falling is something he’ll never have to worry about anyways. There’s a reason why all human beings are born with a pair of wings on their back, Leo thinks—if not, well, he’ll just imagine the answer! They’re a blessing, maybe, from the gods above, or the universe itself. The more wings, the better the boons, or so they said—and was Leo’s creative genius not proof of this?

Or maybe they were a curse, and humans were never meant to reach the skies. Sometimes, it really did feel that way—like a cruel punishment of some sort. There were people born with wingspans too small to fly properly after all, people with unfinished pairs or feathers that deteriorated and caused pain, giving those unlucky few only a taste of the freedom that they could’ve had.

Blessing or curse, the universe above clearly had favorites, and was that not the cruelest revelation of them all?

As for himself, Leo likes to think that he was born with an extra pair of wings on his wrists and a song in his heart so he could reach higher than the moon—into space itself! And one day, he’ll have his name written in the stars, amongst all the geniuses of the past. Mozart, Beethoven, Bach… and Tsukinaga Leo! The great composer who made people smile with his music!

…Although, he hasn’t been doing a very good job with that last bit as of late.

“Are you coming, or do I have to drag you?” Izumi huffs, holding open the door to the staircase.

“Alright, don’t leave me!” Leo says, laughing despite the heavy stickiness in his chest, wondering if today, Izumi will feel any better, if his latest song will finally come through.

(A few months later, Leo learns that falling is less of an abrupt plummet and more of a steady burning, and he doesn’t realize that the sun has melted glue between sinew and bone until there’s already water in his lungs.

It happens slowly, but he crash-lands all the same, and at the bottom of the ocean is no melody waiting to embrace him, or even a peaceful silence. As the waves overtake him, there’s nothing but the jeering cheers of the audience screaming for his execution, his dying voice, and it doesn’t matter how well he can fly, how great his wingspan is or what extra pairs he might have, because the blood soaking his feathers drag him deeper and deeper, away from the sun and the stars and the sky.

He sinks with a warble stuck in his throat, sinks until he forgets how he ever dreamed in the first place, wonders if there’s really a place for his name to shine when he threw away his kindness and love for something sharper, something that hurt, songs turned into weapons. He wishes he never tried paving a way for Sena, his Sena, who doesn’t deserve to fall, if it meant that things would be like this —

—And with the sound of the guillotine ringing in his ears, Leo drowns.)  

──────⚜️──────

One of the first things Izumi learns about Leo is that he loves flying by the ocean.

“I’m not- I’m not doing this,” Izumi repeats, but Leo doesn’t seem to hear him—or maybe he’s being ignored? He’s probably being ignored—and he stumbles as Leo tugs on his wrist, pulling him alongside the sandy shoreline. Even if the sun is already half-set, a heavy humidity sticks to Izumi’s skin, the only reprieve from the heat being the incoming waves that lap at his feet, staining the edges of his rolled-up pants.

“Why not? Flying’s the best way to get inspiration!”

“Then you go ahead, I don’t see why I have to— hey!”

Leo abruptly lets go of Izumi’s hand and turns, causing Izumi to almost fall head first into the wet sand. When he gives Leo a glare though, all the other does is laugh, eyes crinkled, mouth wide. Izumi distantly thinks that Leo might drop his shoes into the ocean with how much he’s been flailing around. He tries not to stare.

“But Sena’s my other best way of getting inspiration, so if I combine the both of them, I’ll be able to create the world’s greatest masterpiece! Wahaha, I can already imagine the melodies!” With that, Leo abruptly crouches, sticking his finger into the sand and humming to himself.

Izumi huffs, crossing his arms. “If you wanted to compose, you should’ve brought paper. The waves are going to wash everything away, idiot—”

“And besides, flying helps relieve stress. I think maybe it could help you feel better.” Leo looks up, his hair a complete mess as usual, unkempt strands flying across his face. There’s the matter of his crooked uniform tie too, the light freckles on his cheeks from sun damage, all signs of a complete disregard for physical appearance. As a model himself—as someone who only ever strives for perfection—Leo shouldn’t be someone considered pretty, shouldn’t be someone worth Izumi’s attention at all.

And yet, for some reason, Izumi’s heart skips a beat as Leo grins at him. 

“Who said I needed cheering up in the first place?” Izumi manages to choke out in a normal voice.

“Nobody, but you’re always such a grump-grump. C’mon, what got your panties in a twist? Or can you not smile naturally? Ooh, ooh, don’t tell me—let me guess, you’ve been cursed by a fairy that gave you a frowny face forever! What’dja do to piss off a fairy like that? Wahaha, now your wrinkles are gonna be stuck for-e-ver—”

Izumi swallows the urge to push Leo into the ocean. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

“Nope! If I’m not speaking, I’m singing! Music’s better than words anyways, but I— gah, sneaky Sena! You’re distracting me from my main point!” Leo stands up, and Izumi tries not to wince at the way Leo wipes his dirty hands on his clothes. “We’re here to fly! No more talking.”

“You’re the one who started talking nonsense…”

“Anyways, there’s a good updrift here, so even with your tiny wingspan, we should be able to lift off!”

Izumi can’t help the way his feathers rustle at Leo’s comment, glaring at the other.

( There’s nothing special about the existence of Sena Izumi, plain as an iron sword or a simple sparrow. He boasts of nothing but a pitiful wingspan that gives him less-than average flight ability and an all-too-common color scheme of dark brown edged with white.

Compared to Izumi, Leo is gifted—or maybe just lucky—with bright canary-like wings on his back, large enough to easily carry him to the skies despite his shorter height. There are the smaller ones on his wrists too, the supposed mark of a creative genius.

Izumi hardly ever cares for those stupid superstitions, but there are times when he sees Leo, the way his eyes shine brighter than emeralds as he chatters about his latest song, the way he sings of inspiration, and wonders if there’s a bit of truth in them after all.)

“Are you trying to get on my nerves?” Izumi says.

“No, no, it’s not a bad thing! I like it—I like everything about Sena.” A pause, where Leo turns to him, eyes bright but gentle. As if he’s staring directly into Izumi’s soul ( which can’t be true, he thinks, because then Leo wouldn’t be this kind ). “Even if you’re clumsy and awkward in the air, you’re always so pretty. The prettiest person in the world—my Sena, my sparrow! I’ll help you, so no worries if you stumble, okay? I’m an expert at flying!”

And, well, Izumi doesn’t have a response for that —is never sure what to say in response to Leo’s overwhelming affection—and so he doesn’t say anything at all.

“…The wind is seriously gonna mess up my hair. Sooo annoying.”

“ Wahaha —” A second, a breath, and Izumi doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late, and Leo’s dropped his shoes into the ocean and grabbed onto both of Izumi’s wrists instead. With a yelp, he’s pulled forward, and Leo starts running backwards with his wings unfurled, orange feathers spread behind him like an arc of flames, sweeping Izumi up and up until they’re off the ground.

His own wings instinctively try to find balance, feet skimming the ocean surface as they stumble above the waves—and this is why he hates flying, he thinks, unable to help the embarrassing squeak he lets out as Leo pulls him higher. For Izumi, the sky has always meant instability, and it feels like he’ll plummet at any moment, at any mistimed turn—

But Leo is here, and Leo is holding his hands, and surprisingly, things even out.

Leo laughs again, and maybe he’s always laughing; but here, with the auburn glow of the burnt sky lighting him up from behind, ponytail coming loose from the ocean breeze, the wind generated from the steady, graceful beats of his wings flowing between them…

…Izumi thinks Leo couldn’t look any happier.

“I’m so glad you’re in Chess with me!” Leo shouts over the wind, eyes bright as he spins Izumi around. “I mean, Chess is already great, but with my music and your looks, we’ll be unstoppable!”

And later, he’ll blame the adrenaline running through his veins from the thin air that surrounds him, the infectious laughter of Leo, calling to Izumi like the moon calls the waves. He’ll blame the way Leo holds him: as if he’s the most important thing in the world, as if being a simple sparrow isn’t bad, is something amazing, even. He’ll blame it on his faulty heart, because he isn’t sure how else to describe the feeling that blooms in his chest, spreading like fire through his fingertips, right at where they touch.

But in a rare moment of indulgence, Izumi feels the tips of his lips curl upwards. “Yeah. We’re gonna rule the world.”

──────⚜️──────

A jolt of pain runs up Leo’s back, but he ignores it in favor of forcing his hands to move along the page. At this point, he’s not even sure if he’s writing the notes correctly, if he’s writing anything at all, and maybe if the lights were on, he’d be able to check. But the paper is crinkled and stained with— with something, and Leo would rather not look, likes pretending that he doesn’t know what it is, and in the darkness, he doesn’t have to look at himself either.

So in the darkness he stays. Whatever it is he’s writing is garbage that’ll be thrown out with the rest of the papers that litter his bedroom floor anyways, so it’s not like it really matters.

We need more weapons, Ou-sama.

“I know,” Leo mutters, and his voice comes out jarring, scratchy, wrong, the words painfully crawling up his throat. “I know, so shut up, shut up, shut up!” he repeats, but he can barely hear himself over the tick-tick-tick of the wall clock, or the distant crowd jeering at his pathetic self. The edges of his vision flicker and he chokes on his next inhale as he’s reminded of blinding stage lights, the way they’d assault his eyes, those floating cyalumes all turned against him, against

Knights is falling, Ou-sama, we need to defend our castle. We need more songs. What kind of king can’t do even that?

(The voice is himself. The voice is Sena. The voice is the audience, the former members of Chess—Othello? Backgammon? —Chess. The voice is Little John. The voice is the entire world, the entire world is against him and he said he would be okay except nobody is by his side and the entire world has come to hate him and the entire world )

Maybe he should— should try something new, he thinks, try writing with a different colored pen. Sometimes that helps with his creativity.  Leo feels around him, fingers shaky and burning as he only finds loose feathers, brittle and dry around the edges; they’ve run out of ink, how is he supposed to compose like this? Leo scratches at his hair, then runs his fingers down his sleeves, behind him, fingers meeting the bony outline of his wings, feathers spread out: writing in different colors is always so fun, so Leo goes through the rainbow, red, orange, yellow, do-re-mi-fa-so!

…His back hurts even more, a pulsating pain stemming from his shoulder blades and running down like a lightning burst. Leo ignores it. He doesn’t want to imagine what sorry state he must be in, tries not to think about how Ruka must feel whenever she catches glimpses of him through the cracks of his door, and forces his hand against the paper once more.

Even if it takes every single bloodied feather from his back to write one last masterpiece for Sena, he’ll do it.

He decides to restart with a time signature of 3/4. C minor, three flats lined up and ready to march, a diminished chord—but oh, the sound isn’t right, shouldn’t the music be happy? Leo’s hand trembles above the floor. It feels as if there’s something crawling just under his skin, a mutilated song that’s lost form and turned into searing poison, and without thinking, he brings his hand to his mouth; he wants it out , doesn’t care if his skin tears and falls apart and his wings become nothing but brittle skeleton if it means that this sticky, horrid feeling would just go away, he hopes, he dreams —

—he wonders what it would be like if he could just disappear.

(If the world forgot about Tsukinaga Leo, would everyone be able to smile?

Would Sena finally stay happy?)

Leo finds himself looking down, knees sore from being on the cold ground for so long, and it doesn’t matter that it’s dark because all he can see is blood, staining his sword, his hands; around him is a battlefield of bright glowing lights swaying as if in a death march, illuminating the sneers of his former comrades. He wishes he could hate them. He wishes they would die too, but mostly wishes that they’d hurry up and kill him themselves.

To sleep forever on this abandoned battlefield— how lovely that would be .

Leo knows he’s a coward for thinking so, for wanting to run away for good (and that’s all he seems to be good for these days: running away and holding onto things already broken), and perhaps the only reason why he continues to draw one shaky breath after another on this cursed earth is because there’s something underneath that erratic impulse. Something worse. A fear that gnaws on him from the inside like a parasite, a shuddering, selfish desire that keeps his hand moving along the paper, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he bleeds.

A voice that clings to him and says, If I’m going to die, I don’t want to die unloved.  

To be loved, to want love: what a gelatinous, poisonous thing. To admit that such tender growth resides within his heart is surely going to be what kills him, but Leo can’t help it, this craving to hold something close and dear.

He knows it’s broken. He knows it did nothing in the end, but still, he clings to it—this sticky, useless thing called a heart, beating like a metronome. Even if it makes him sick. Even if no one in the world comes to love the plain, ordinary boy known as Tsukinaga Leo, he doesn’t care; he’ll carve his heart into the shape of a masterpiece and pray that the melody that plays from his hollow self will be enough for at least a hint of affection.

It’s all his fault anyways, he thinks, something vitriolic bubbling up, and he can’t stop it, can’t stop the way it crawls up his throat and traps him. It’s all his fault I’m like this, it’s all his fault that I love him, I love him I love him I loved him? Doesn’t matter whether it’s past or present tense because it isn’t-wasn’t enough and I is am a song a song I need to write a song and

His wings bristle as ragged hands run through them once more.

──────⚜️──────

All I could do is stand still in silence.

Why has it come to this?

“Hey.”

──────⚜️──────

“Hey.”

“— Arghh, does anyone have a pencil, a pen, quick, I need to write this down before I lose it!”

Izumi steps into the Knights studio room and is met with the sight of Leo rolling around on the floor, hands thrown out in a tantrum. He blinks, then turns to the other half of the room, where Ritsu and Arashi seem to be ignoring Leo in favor of… napping and looking through a magazine respectively. Only Tsukasa seems to be stressed, rummaging through his bag and giving Izumi a wide-eyed but polite “Hello!” as he enters.

“Hey,” he repeats. Already, he can feel a headache forming. “Ou-sama, could you get off from the floor? And what are the rest of you doing, I thought we had an important meeting today?”

“Oh, Sena is finally here!” Leo looks up from the ground, upside-down. His hair spreads around him like a halo.

“Leader, here, a pencil and some paper.” Tsukasa marches over to Leo to hand him the requested materials, annoyance clear on his face. “Now, please get up and join us at the round table. I know you cannot help molting due to your condition, but I am always the one who must clean up your feathers later…”

“Eeh, what’s this?” Leo grabs onto the paper Tsukasa is holding out and instead rolls further away. “I guess you’re useful for something after all, Newbie! I love you!”

Tsukasa’s face turns slightly red at that, his own back feathers raised as he stutters out a protest—but Izumi stops listening, instead staring at the way they briefly make eye contact. Leo grins at him. “We were waiting, y’know?” 

…You don’t get to say that to me , he wants to say, unable to help the bitterness on his tongue. Not after how long I’ve waited for you. 

(It’s petty, but Izumi has never claimed to be a good person. Even though it’s been months since Leo’s comeback, he can’t get used to it, jumping as if he’s seen a ghost every time he catches Leo composing in the practice room or actually attending classes for once.

It feels a little bit like stumbling across an anachronism: afterimages of a smile that should have disappeared showing up again, a casual act of indifference when they meet. Sometimes—when he hears the distant, melodic laughter of Leo down the hallways, or the flutter of feathers as someone runs up to him from behind—he feels, just for a second, that maybe nothing’s changed at all. That their entire second year was nothing but a bad dream.

But then he’ll turn around and notice Leo’s wings. The thin scars that line his hands and wrists like white briar, the manic, bloodthirsty edge to his smile that was never there in his first year. It’s petty to feel this jealous, this hurt that Leo seems to have moved on, but Izumi shouldn’t be surprised, he supposes.

He’s the one who honed Leo to this breaking point, after all.

Leo, their mad king, the one who killed everyone he loved and then fell from the sky, fell to his knees in the darkness of his room while begging Izumi to stay, writhing on the floor for the sake of composition— Leo, his first companion in this rotted school, the first person who made him feel like he was someone good, someone special, his first— )

“Sena-senpai, are you going to take a seat?” a voice calls. It’s Tsukasa, who’s now sitting by the kotatsu, already pouring out a cup of tea for him. He turns to him expectantly, a brightness in his eyes.

(Izumi tries to ignore it—he doesn’t dislike Tsukasa, but the way he holds them all so reverently makes him a bit uncomfortable at times. It feels all too much like back then, the way someone else had looked at him, giving him that heady feeling of being someone important for once in his life.

But he’s also different—different in a better way. As Izumi watches the way he pours tea for Arashi next, his posture perfect, his smile eager, he can’t help but think that Tsukasa truly does live up to his self-proclaimed title as a peregrine falcon. Descended from a long line of warriors, he’s ever-diligent, steadfast, and elegant in the air. Most importantly, he’s also placed his trust in Knights—and while Izumi might be nothing more than a dull sword, he still strives to do things perfectly.

This time, he’ll make sure the younger doesn’t fly too close to the sun.)

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs out, hating the way his body relaxes under the kotatsu. Ugh. He’s not sure exactly when they started to treat the studio like a collective personal room—they have a goddamn futon in the corner—but all the increased clutter is seriously starting to get in the way of being productive.

Case in point: Arashi, who sits across from him, slides over the magazine in her hand and coos, “Izumi-chan, look! I grabbed this because I happened to be featured on the first page, but they added such a fun little quiz right after. We should definitely all take it!” 

“I don’t care,” Izumi quips, and then looks at Arashi’s page anyways. She’s wearing winter casual wear: a tan jacket with white pom-poms hanging from the breast pocket and a dark green plaid scarf. Underneath, she has a dark turtleneck and grey slacks, along with knee-length boots and a smattering of silver jewelry. The outfit accents her own dual-toned wings nicely, a pure-white base with sleet-grey primary feathers. Unfurled, they reach the edges of the spread, and against the backdrop of a starry sky he has to admit that she looks good. Her expression is alluring and sweet.

“I wish they gave me something a little prettier to wear,” Arashi sighs. “And, like, did they really need to show off my wingspan again? I know they’re lovely, but I’ve told them I wanted a daintier image. Whatever, I guess it’s fine…”

Izumi rolls his eyes. “Your fault for being so tall.”

“Rude!” Arashi gasps, but the way she puts her hands to her mouth tells Izumi she’s not actually that offended. “ You of all people should know height doesn’t have anything to do with wingspan, I mean, just look at yourself—”

“You guys are sooo loud… can’t a vampire bat sleep in peace around here?” Ritsu finally unfurls from what Arashi likes to call his lump formation and crawls closer to the table from the futon. His own dark, leathery wings—only slightly larger than Izumi’s—drag on the floor as he lazily grabs Arashi’s cup of tea and takes a sip.

“Ritsu-senpai, that was not for you!” Tsukasa calls out, indignant.

“Ehh, sorry,” he says, unapologetic. “I was just so thirsty… ooh, Nacchan, you look pretty good here.”

“Thanks, Ritsu-chan~ You wanna do a quiz? It’s supposed to reveal your ideal partner.” Arashi flips the page to a tacky, pink-themed questionnaire. 

Ritsu yawns, sluggishly peering at the magazine before shaking his head. “Mm, no thanks, I already know what my ideal partner is like. I don’t need a magazine to tell me Maa-kun and I are gonna get married. Why don’t we make Secchan take it?”

“Sena-senpai’s ideal type? I must say, I am a little curious…” Tsukasa says, putting his finger to his chin. 

Huh? Izumi gapes at Tsukasa. “What the hell? Why?” 

Tsukasa flusters, shaking his head with wide eyes. "It's just, you always give such... non-answers during interviews, such as simply referring to our princesses as your type. I've always wondered what your genuine thoughts on the matter were. J-just out of curiosity!"  

"But I'm being genuine? I want to support our fans," Izumi says, feeling even more confused. 

"Izumi-chan, that's not what we mean by ideal type, and you know it~" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and I’m not taking your dumb quiz, Naru-kun.”

Arashi sighs. “Booo, you’re no fun.” A slight pause, then, as she seems to get an idea “Hey, Ou-sama, what about you?”

At the mention of his title, Leo looks up from his composition. “Huh? You called?”

Oh god. Izumi’s stomach immediately drops. Not this. Anything but him.

(…Although, Izumi might be a little curious. Not that he actually thinks a stupid tabloid quiz is going to give accurate information, but still…

I’m going to get you for this, Naru, he thinks while glaring at the other model. She only sends him a sly wink in return. Ugh. This is why he hates shitty juniors with big egos.)  

“Come over here, join us! Don’t you want to discover what your future partner might be like?” Arashi waves around the magazine in hand and pats the open space next to her.

“Wahaha, sounds fun!! What do I have to do?” Leo gets up from the ground, shaking himself and getting feathers all over the floor. Tsukasa makes a face, but otherwise keeps to himself as Leo bounds over, papers forgotten on the ground as he settles into the kotatsu beside Arashi.

“Just answer the questions and you’ll see. Hmm, okay, let’s get the basic ones out of the way. Number of wings, that’s four, your star sign is taurus, base plumage color—”

A pause, and Arashi notices her mistake too late. She cuts herself off awkwardly, eyes darting up to Leo, who seems unfazed but doesn’t offer an answer either. Izumi almost chokes on his tea, can’t help the way his eyes turn towards Leo, at the wings on his back, and finds that he can't quite remember what it was like before, memories replaced by that sickening smell of blood and— 

“Is it not a pale white color?” Tsukasa says, cutting through the silence. Izumi can’t even bring himself to get angry. “If I were to be honest, they somewhat remind me of Eichi-oniisama’s in the sunlight.”

Ah.

Izumi looks at the ground.

Sena, don’t leave, I promise I’ll write a song so wait

“…Wahaha! You sure say some interesting things sometimes, Newbie!” Leo laughs, but there’s a sharpness to it that feels like it’s cutting him. Izumi grips onto his teacup harder, fingers white from the strain. “Like the blockhead emperor…? I guess he did try making me like him, but I’d like to say I’m nothing like him at all!”

An awkward silence settles into the air, both Ritsu and Arashi staying quiet as well. Tsukasa must realize that he’s breached some sort of unspoken rule and quickly tries to backtrack, shaking his head with wide eyes. “A-apologies, I didn’t mean to… erm…” He trails off, unsure of what he’s apologizing for. Izumi can’t blame him. He wouldn’t know what to say in his situation either.

Leo quietly thumbs over the wings along his wrists—brittle and plain, there aren’t many feathers there anymore, before finally giving an answer. “White, Naru. My wings are white now, and I’ve been told that I probably won’t get the original color back.” 

“…If you say so, Ou-sama.” Naru is gentle as she thumbs the magazine. “We’ll mark it as white and move onwards~”

Izumi holds his breath, feeling a hot sting behind his eyes he absolutely refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Doesn’t want to look up and be reminded of everything he’s failed to protect. 

Then, of all people, Ritsu is the one to speak up next. “Tsukipi,” he calls out, a bit hesitant. “...I think white is a nice color. It’s much better than mine, at least.” A slow chuckle. “At least you don’t have any rumors about being a bad omen or anything, right?” 

Leo seems surprised too, but only for a second—without warning, he leaps forward into Ritsu, who barely manages to catch him. “Wahaha, thanks Ritsu! You’re right, mine are definitely prettier?”

“…Well, now you’re making me want to argue against you,” Ritsu pouts.

Tsukasa chuckles at that, and oh, suddenly the atmosphere seems to loosen. Arashi continues listing off mundane questions in a chipper tune— favorite food? “Does coffee count?” Favorite color! “That’s gotta be blue!” If I say the word ‘flower’, what’s the first type that comes to mind? —and it isn’t until they’re nearly done with the quiz that Izumi remembers they’re supposed to be having a meeting.

But then he looks at the way Ritsu seems actually awake, blood-red eyes open wide as he traces the edges of his teacup, following Arashi and Leo’s banter for every word. He looks at Tsukasa, the way his shoulders have relaxed, the way he tries to hide his smile behind his hands. He looks at Arashi and hears the lightness of her laughter, the way she tries to keep everyone close.

He listens to Leo. To the cadence of his voice, bright and full of whimsy. 

And Izumi thinks, well. Perhaps a bit of relaxation here and there isn’t the worst. Although he knows Knights is no longer in a time of war, it’s only in moments like these where it hits him. This warmth in the room—it’s something he’d never thought he would have again. It’s nice. 

It feels like home. 

“Okay, that should be everything! Now, let’s match your answers with what they have to say…” Arashi goes to the back of the magazine and quickly starts skimming the page for answers. Leo leans his head on her shoulders, as if pushing her will get him his results faster.  

I don’t care about this stupid quiz, Izumi thinks to himself, his palms suddenly clammy for some reason. His heart feels… strange, is he getting sick? He’s not so sure if he wants to be here, if he wants to listen to this, but before he can come up with an excuse to leave the room, Arashi starts.

“It says… your ideal type is a passionate lover! Someone who loves easily and is open in their affection. Once you get to know them, you’ll never doubt the feelings that they have for you. Your relationship will be long and fulfilling, where you can completely give your all to the other with no worries!” A pause. “Oh, and the color of the flower you imagined is going to be the hair color of your children!”

“Eh, my children are gonna have purple hair?!”

“What the fuck,” Izumi accidentally says out loud. His heart feels too loud in his ears and he’s sweaty and oh god, I’m definitely getting sick or something, he thinks to himself. This… is just a cold. 

(The excuse sounds weak even to himself, but he can’t admit the truth, doesn’t want it to become real. ) 

“What? Don’t judge me and my purple kids, Sena!”

Izumi splutters. “I don’t- that’s not- this is stupid, ” he says hotly, pointing an accusing finger at Arashi. “You know this is all just bullcrap they feed to make anyone who takes the test feel better about themselves, yeah?”

And besides, if this is true, then… Leo’s ideal type definitely isn’t me.

(Again: not that he cares.)

But Leo turns to Arashi himself, eyes wide with traces of that childhood innocence Izumi thought had been smothered, and says “Well, I think it was pretty accurate?”  

(Again: he doesn’t care he doesn’t care he

Wishes he were different.)

“You want purple haired children…?” Tsukasa says, and if Izumi weren’t trembling, he would have laughed at his affronted expression.

“No, not that part—although, if my kids end up having purple hair I’ll love them anyways!—but I meant everything else!”

Arashi, for some reason, doesn’t seem to realize what this means and leans in with far too much enthusiasm in her eyes. “Really? That’s so romantic, I hope you can find your ideal lover soon!” she coos, hands clasped together as she sends a look towards Izumi. 

He can’t even bring himself to glare back at her, something ugly growing from the pit of his stomach. I don’t want to listen, Izumi thinks desperately, I don’t want to listen I don’t want to hear this I don’t want to hear about Leo’s lover if it’s not…

“Wahaha, there’s no need! I already found ‘em!”

… but in what world would it be me in the first place?

He doesn’t know how to regard Leo anymore, isn’t sure how to label the stupid things fumbling around in his the cavity of his chest. Maybe once in the past, Leo really did love him—saying those three words to him daily, calling him beautiful and using him to create masterpieces. 

But Izumi is someone who only ever poisons what he touches; he grabbed onto what Leo had offered, and even though it had only grazed him on the surface he ran Leo dry, used him up and turned that innocence into a blade that could only hurt others. 

 Leo should know how dangerous it is to try to love Izumi; whoever it is he’s talking about, it simply cannot be Izumi. 

(But somehow, he also thinks, he came back. I turned him wicked and weak and after he saw how pathetic and selfish I could be, for some reason, he came crawling back. He doesn’t look at me with hate in his eyes, and even now, doesn’t try to shy away.

He stares at Leo and wonders, can I really say that you loved me? The me who breaks everything he tries to keep close. Would you still say that you love me now? 

He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.)

“Do you really believe that you’ve met your ideal lover already?” Tsuaksa asks.

Izumi finds himself speaking up before he can stop himself, words harsh and heady as they spill out of his mouth. “You need to break that awful habit of yours, you know? Saying you love everyone you meet, don’t you think our fans might get jealous?” He sees Ritsu snicker at the word fans. He pretends not to notice.

“Hm? Sena, you’ve got it wrong.” Leo grins. This time, Izumi notes that it’s a kind that he’s never seen before. It sends a strange feeling down his spine. “Fans are a different thing. This is different. This is… a little little something. A confession in a song, it’s already been released! It’s just a matter of waiting for a response!” 

“...You make no sense, Leo,” Izumi says. 

Arashi squeals, trying to poke Leo for more answers, while Tsukasa seems to realize the time and how late it’s gotten, hurriedly bringing out notes about the actual reason they’ve all gathered here. Ritsu groans, demanding someone pour him more tea, and Izumi…

Izumi tap-tap-taps his finger against the table, swallowing down all the strange emotions that try to crawl up his throat. He should have realized from the beginning.

Deciphering love and Leo is simply impossible. 

──────⚜️──────

“What’s this?” 

“A new song. The title’s… hm… A little Sena Izumi!” 

──────⚜️──────

The stage as a battlefield isn’t home, but Leo is used to it all the same.

The overhead lights feel hot and overbearing on his skin as he marches forward, microphone grasped tightly in hand. His songs (their weapons) blast loudly from speakers behind, amplified voices reverberating throughout the stadium. They move perfectly as choreographed, a dance with blades and feathers. While they might be individualists all vying for the spotlight, on this grand stage, the tension only heightens their charms.

They’re prideful, they’re passionate, they’re Knights in their full glory—and amidst this band of mercenaries he wouldn’t hesitate to admit that he’s found himself something like a family, an irreplaceable bond that could have only been forged through fighting side by side on the daily with their lives on the line.

…So why do I feel so out of place?

His heartbeat accelerates as he stumbles on a turn, moving a bit too left as Ritsu takes center stage. Thankfully, he continues singing without wavering, and he can only pray that the audience isn’t noticing all these little mistakes, or at the very least, has it in their hearts to forgive such a clumsy former king.

Arashi steps up next, movements wide to bring attention to her rather than Leo; there’s a silent question in her motions, a helping hand that asks, are you okay?

Leo manages to step up and winks at the audience with his next verse, causing a chorus of screams to rise: I’m fine, he’s trying to say. I’m fine, he tells himself, but it feels like there’s something stuck in his throat and a thought comes, unbidden and bitter: How long have we been up here, fighting? He blinks, and then blinks again, staring at the massive crowd, their glowing cyalumes. I’m… tired.

So, how long until we win?

(Except this isn’t a duel, or even a judgment—and he knows this, should be better about it, but his familiarity with war only comes in the form of scars. Even if he’s left his bloody past long behind, his body still curves like a bowstring. Unrelenting, he trembles with excess energy fueled by anxiety, his piercing voice ready to shoot out and shatter anyone who dares to oppose his Knights.

A victory that razes over the enemy is how he’ll bring happiness to everyone… right?)

Leo takes in a shuddering breath, trying to even himself out, but now that he’s started to spiral he feels himself slipping even further: he wonders, can the audience see it too? The cracks that line his body, the stitch marks of where he was pieced together after falling apart, the unsteady trembling of his steps.

In the past, he used to think of names as nothing more than meaningless chatter, didn’t try to hide his scars—but now he knows that there’s an image he wants to protect, a special sort of love that was cultivated by the rest of Knights while he had hidden away as a ghost. He wears gloves that covers the worst of his scars, attaches faux feathers to the open patches of his wings like a naked king that was given a patchwork cloth to cover himself.

Out here under the spotlight, he feels as if the threads of his costume are beginning to fray. Or maybe that’s just his body.  

He’s become transparent and at the same time all-too solid, heavy, they’re staring at me, he thinks, and as an idol that should be a good thing, but these gazes hurt, they feel like fire, burning him, melting away the make-up he uses to make himself look whole again, don’t look at me, don’t look at me. His back burns with his movements, a chronic ache that starts from the tips of his wings down to his shoulder blades, and he hates it but can’t fault his body for it either—he’s just reaping what he’s sowed, after all.

The battlefield isn’t a home, but his blood is no stranger as it drips down, his heart beating and open for the world to see, his songs laid out for anyone who might lend an ear, but he feels his bones about to crumble, his vocal chords collapsing, the weight of his sins on his back.

He stands on the stage, the stage is where he lost everything, he stands between his knights, what do they think of him with his deteriorating self?   

And somehow—as Leo falters his way through their music and the sun bears down on him relentlessly—the performance ends.

Leo doesn’t even realize it, moving completely on autopilot as the lights dim and there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder leading him off the stage. The sweet, floral perfume of the touch is familiar, but for some reason he can’t quite place it— can’t quite breathe , actually, wonders if they’ve won, if Knights is going to be okay, a white hot pain spreading from his chest and his head hurts —

“—y, Ou-sama? Ou- Leo-kun. ”

He hears distant muttering, people shuffling, and then there are hands against his ears —blocking out the noise, Leo thinks distantly—and although the pounding of his temple comes from inside his head, it somehow works.

Breathe, he thinks again, or maybe he’s told, and something in his chest loosens. He breathes.

He opens his eyes—when did he close them, again?—and is met with a rainbow of colors. Do-re-mi-fa-so, blue purple purple red.

Four pairs of eyes staring at him in concern.

“Hi,” He whispers out, unable to help the pure relief that spreads throughout his body, or the way his legs immediately give out.

“ Ngh, hey, you’re heavy, ” Izumi complains, but catches him anyways. Leo huffs out a weak laugh, which turns into a groan of pain—apparently, forcing his body to dance for hours on end isn’t as easy as it used to be. His wings flutter behind him weakly as Izumi wraps one of Leo’s arms around his neck. “Hey, a little help here? I don’t think he can walk right now.”

Tsukasa is first to respond, quickly supporting the other half of his body as they slowly make their way to the backstage area. Ritsu says something about getting some water before disappearing, and Arashi rushes ahead to clear space for them to sit. It takes a while—Leo’s consciousness going in and out—but he soon finds himself settled on their prep-room bench.

The rest of Knights seems to be holding their breath as Leo takes a shaky sip from a bottle offered by Ritsu, the water clearing away some of the fatigue. There’s a second of silence, then, and another, and then Izumi leans forward—

— and flicks Leo in the forehead.

“Owww! Ow, ow, ow, Sena’s bullying me?!”

Izumi rolls his eyes, leaning closer to threaten another flick. “I didn’t do it that hard idiot, stop exaggerating—”

“And now you’re calling me names!”

“Because you are an idiot, what the hell were you thinking, going out on stage if you’re only going to push yourself to this sort of state?”

“I must say, I agree with Sena-senpai this time,” Tsukasa starts, arms crossed as he stands to the side. “If you are feeling unwell, we’d all appreciate if you told us before a live. It would ease our minds, and to be frank, everyone’s performance was suffering as we worried about you.”

Leo tilts his head, feeling confusion mix with his exhaustion. “Eh? But what’s there to be worried about?”

Blue purple purple red. It plays like a children's tune. They’re staring at him again.

“Tsukipi… are you seriously asking that right now?”

Izumi looks as if he’s about to say something, but Arashi puts a hand to his shoulders, and then gets down on her knees to get to Leo’s eye level. “Look, Leo. I know you’re forgetful sometimes, but please remember this: you’re important to us. And that means we care about your health. We all already know that it can get a little tough, so don’t be afraid to depend on us more. We promise we won’t judge you.”

Because the battlefield isn’t a home and the war is over, but Leo has spent far too long on the front lines using his body as a shield. He's been told, over and over: the damage is irreversible. Colorless wings, damaged nerves, a body that creaks as it tries to stand.

But even so, Leo has managed to keep one, good thing close to his heart, has managed to salvage the most important part from the wreckage.

That’s right, Leo thinks, how could I forget?

Even after war, my Knights will always protect me.

“Yeah… okay. Sorry.” Leo admits, quietly.

“As long as you understand, okay?” Arashi pats him gently on the cheeks twice before standing up, then claps her hands together. “Alright, let’s get ready to leave. Izumi-chan, stay with Leo?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Izumi mumbles out again, but immediately sits by Leo’s side anyways. Leo grins, leaning his head on the other’s shoulder, letting his body relax.

And maybe things will never be perfect—maybe these phantom aches will always be just around the corner, and he’ll always have off days like this, where he loses himself to time and the wounds he’s tried to carefully stitch back together start to tear a little.

But he has his Knights, and Leo is no longer alone. Even if his body starts to whittle away and being on stage inevitably reminds him of painful times, he can’t deny the absolute love he has for standing on stage, the entire world cheering him on.

This dream he thought he’d lost…

…it isn’t so bad, now that he’s found it again.  

──────⚜️──────

“Secchan, are you almost done?”

“If you weren’t fidgeting around so much, we would’ve been done five minutes ago,” Izumi huffs out, tilting Ritsu’s chin upwards. “Now close your eyes, unless you want glitter in them.”

Ritsu wrinkles his nose at the mention of glitter (which is always impossible to get out and sticks in the worst places) but acquiesces anyways. They lapse back into silence as Izumi carefully applies eyeshadow—a misty purple, perfect for accentuating Ritsu’s more sultry image—brush strokes quick and efficient. In the distance, he can already hear the audience filling the room, a distant rumble of voices like low thunder. Arashi is chatting with the production team further away, and Tsukasa is… looking for their King. As usual.

Izumi tries not to think about whether Leo will appear today and dabs his brush back into the palette.

“Seriously, next time you oversleep our prep I am not helping you. Either come to work on time or go out on stage naked.”

“You’re so mean… I really tried today, you know?” Ritsu pouts, and normally, Izumi would have just rolled his eyes and ignored that stupid doe-eyed look Ritsu did whenever he was trying to get out of trouble. But there’s something about him today: the slight tremor in his lips, maybe, or the paler-than-usual complexion of his skin, and Izumi finds himself hesitating.

“Have you been sleeping alright?” Izumi asks, hoping his voice comes out casual enough so that it doesn’t sound like he cares that much—but Ritsu grins in a way that tells him he’s not doing a very good job of it. “Stop moving around. We should hurry up and join everyone else.”

“Mm, yeah.” A pause, as Izumi rummages through his makeup back for concealer— someone needs to do something about those eyebags. Ritsu’s lashes flutter as Izumi goes back to work. “Well, I guess I’ve been sleeping less… but like you said, that’s because we need to join everyone else. It’s hard, but… I guess I’ve been trying to stay in the light this time around.”

“...Mmm. Turn around, let me fix your hair too,” Izumi says instead of giving a real response. He’s not the sort of person who can give Ritsu encouraging words and a shoulder to lean on (at least not outwardly ) and they both know it.

Ritsu turns, his wings unfurled and playfully smacking Izumi on the way. Izumi scowls, flicking Ritsu on the back of the head in retaliation—and for a moment, Izumi thinks that their conversation is over. That his dismissal was enough to dissuade Ritsu from going any further.

But then Ritsu takes a deep breath as if nervous, shoulders tense, and says, “Hey, Secchan. If you don’t want to talk about this, then tell me my makeup is done and I’ll leave it. But still.” A pause, as he seems to struggle with what words to say. “Are… are you seriously happy with things being like this?”

And Ritsu is smart—knows that it helps that he can’t see the other’s face right now, and is giving him a direct exit in case he wants to run away.

Maybe it’s this kindness that leaves him rooted, unexpectedly calm as he thinks of a response.

“…It’s rare for you to be so energetic before a live,” Izumi says, hoping that it’s enough of a response.

“Honestly, I think I’ll be ready to pass out as soon as we’re done here, but glad to know I seem alive on the outside.” Ritsu laughs, but it falls a bit flat. “…It’s just. You’re going to graduate soon. Both of you are. Don’t you think it’s about time you two talked things out?”

Oh. Izumi tenses, suddenly unsure whether he wants this conversation to continue if Ritsu will poke and prod about him. But despite the hitch in his breath, the way he freezes with Ritsu’s hair in his hands, Ritsu goes on blithely anyways. (Or maybe he’s being willfully ignorant, cheeky and pushy in a way he never was in his first year.)

“It’s not like the world is going to end after you two leave school but… if you don’t chase after happiness and try to grab it for yourself, you’ll be left alone in the dark.” A breath. Ritsu is still staring straight ahead. “Trust me. I would know. I don’t… I don’t want to see people losing what they could’ve had anymore. Especially you. I’ve always wondered, but…

Secchan, why are you so afraid of being loved?”

No one said anything about love, Izumi says, or wants to say, but what comes out instead is “No one said anything about Leo.”

He doesn’t need to look. He can feel Ritsu’s smile, although there’s no humor in it. Maybe a bit of understanding if anything, the kind of smile that’s bittersweet. “You’re right,” Ritsu agrees. “I didn’t say anything—but the fact that you thought of him says a lot, don’t you think?”

But that’s because it’s always implied, isn’t it? Izumi thinks, unable to come up with a response. When it comes to love, there’s always Leo.  

A better question would have been, what is there not to be afraid of? Leo is someone who loves without question, with unwavering dedication— And what a terrifying thing to be given, Izumi thinks. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it's that hearts are delicate, fragile things.

If he were to break another, Izumi isn’t sure he’d survive.

He knows Ritsu is only trying to be kind to him, but to try and curse Leo with a horrid existence like Izumi is a bit too cruel. He’s suffered enough, he thinks, biting his lips, adding the last finishing touches to Ritsu’s look. He doesn’t need me to chase after him.

“…I’m done with your makeup,” Izumi says.

Ritsu gets up, turning to face himself in a nearby mirror. He leans in to observe Izumi’s work, before giving a small hum of approval and turning to the other with a grin. “Alright, I’m ready. I’m sure Suu-chan has found Ou-sama by now.”

He walks towards the stage without waiting for a response, heels clicking against the floor in a sharp staccato, clearly focused despite his earlier complaints. When he stands like this—with dark, leathery wings stretched wide, casting his face in shadow as he turns around—he really does seem befitting of his title of tactician , their vampire knight.

“Just know that you’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m trying my best to fly with the rest of you guys, so…” Ritsu turns. “You should join us before you have any regrets.” 

──────⚜️──────

It isn’t until later when Izumi learns that it doesn’t matter whether he’s chasing after Leo or not. Even if he flies to the end of the world, even if he tries putting the vast ocean between them—like a moth to a flame, Leo follows.

──────⚜️──────

Leo shivers against the biting winter air, diggings his face into his scarf to try and warm up his cheeks. It’s a quiet sort of morning, with nothing but the crunch of his and Arashi’s footsteps along the snow, and the low whistle of the wind to keep them company.

He lets Arashi lead—apparently, before their studio room had been secured, Knights had spent the beginning of the school year practicing out here. How fitting, he had thought when first told, for a band of bloodthirsty mercenaries to practice their song by a gravestone for the fallen.

Although, that’s not what Knights is anymore, is it, Naru?

For something so monumental to the school’s past, the cenotaph seems mostly forgotten by both staff and students. Or maybe that’s on purpose. Nobody likes to be reminded of horrible things after all, and it’s always easier to pretend like it was all just a bad dream. Still, Leo can’t help but think that it’s a little sad—no matter how painful the memories are, there’s still a potential for a song, isn’t there?

As the cenotaph finally comes into view, perfectly still against the barren trees covered in pure white, Leo finds himself eyeing Arashi—Arashi, usually bright and charming and overwhelmingly energetic, who now walks silently with eyes straight ahead, graceful wings blending in with the snowy background.  It’s like this when she’s the scariest, Leo thinks: not when she’s being loud (although, she certainly could be intimidating when she raised her voice), not when her fists are clenched, but when she’s quiet. Like a silent storm, unseen, but with the force of a typhoon about to hit without warning or preamble, her beauty and anger convalescing into one, singular unpredictable point.

It’s also like this when she looks the loneliest.

Although, it’s less anger and more sadness today, or maybe nostalgia? Leo isn’t sure—isn’t very good at reading Arashi just yet, has only seen glimpses of her true heart. But he feels, strangely enough, that she might be feeling similarly to him. While he doesn’t have the words to express that either, for now, that feeling is more than enough.

“Wahaha, there’s so much snow piled up!” Leo says loudly, jumping ahead and startling Arashi. He’s familiar with this morbid kind of setting after all. He turns, smiling at the way Arashi’s feathers are raised. “What?”

Arashi sighs. “Ou-sama, you’re as lively as ever. You’re going to disturb the spirits if you shout so suddenly,” she says, although there’s nothing accusing in her tone.

“Eh? Am I? I’m sorry spirits, I just got excited!”

“Aha, only you would use the word excited for this…”

Arashi finally steps up beside him, and the two of them stare down at the stone tablet. Leo wipes away some snow. Hm. He should’ve brought gloves. Icy cold seeps into his fingers as he reaches out again, tracing over the engraved names.

“There was a time when my name could’ve been here too.”

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s admitting, and he hears Arashi’s breath hitch.

Leo waits—will Arashi yell at him like Izumi or Tsukasa would? Will she understand?—but when no response comes, he turns to look at her again. So pretty, he thinks, maybe even moreso than the heron maidens in those myths. Bright, purple eyes stare at him, those dual-toned wings just slightly unfurled as a strong wind blows right between them. He can’t help but wonder why Arashi always acts so insecure about how large her wingspan is. Isn’t the world silly like that? Everyone is jealous of each other without realizing how much worth they already have. Or maybe it’s just a model thing? His Sena is like that too, although for the opposite reason.

“That time isn’t now anymore, right, Ou-sama?” Arashi asks, bringing Leo back from his wandering thoughts.

“Eh, time? Ah—” Right. In another world, in another life… Arashi would be here alone, maybe tracing over the words Tsukinaga Leo with her own bare fingers. Maybe I would have been with Sena and the others from the very beginning as they danced and practiced besides my resting spirit.

But here, in this world, where the sting of the winter air is sharp in his lungs, Leo says: “Yeah.” Like an exhale, the answer comes easier than he thought it would.

“And you’re not just saying that?” Arashi insists.

“Well.” And Leo tilts his head, turning the question over in his mind. Is that time now? He thinks about everything that he’s lost. He thinks about how he was shot and fell down from the sky and shattered, how Izumi kept their home safe, dragging Ritsu and Arashi in despite their supposed indifference. He thinks of Ritsu slowly waking up, Arashi eventually thawing the distance between all of them, and he thinks of Tsukasa too: that bright, wonderful child with far too much faith in their name, carrying a diligence befitting of his inheritance despite the bloodstained title of Knights.

And he thinks of how even after carnage, flowers were able to bloom. How Arashi kindled the flames of warmth and made Knights into a lovelier home, a lovelier nest, turning their blades soft. And how everyone—for reasons he still can’t quite comprehend—is slowly putting back all his broken pieces together.

“Yeah…” Leo steps forward, turning so that the cenotaph is behind him. “Naru, I’m so happy I came back. Earlier, when I said I was excited—I think I used the wrong word! I guess… coming here, seeing this with you… it makes me relieved. I feel glad that I’m still here. Does that make me a bad person?”

They make eye contact. Leo takes note of how the snow falls against Arashi's lashes, and feels the whispers of a melody following.

“If that makes you a bad person, then I’m a bad person too,” Arashi says, and he pretends not to notice the tears in her eyes, the warble in her voice. “I… I don’t want to come here for more than one reason, Ou-sama. That better not change, alright?”

The one who called you the most beautiful person in the world... the one you miss. I hope you can find someone like that again soon. I hope you remember that you're worthy of love no matter what, the way you taught me. 

“I won’t, Naru. That’s a promise as your king. Even if it sometimes hurts, now I know that I’m not alone… and that’s enough to help me wear this crown until the end of the year. So… thank you.”

Thank you for making me want to stay.

──────⚜️──────

They separate, but it’s not for long. Just like how the sun pulls all the other planets into orbit, Leo cannot resist Izumi’s gravity. Sporadic visits turn into extended stays, which becomes two sets of toothbrushes in the bathroom and a shared rent. 

They separate, but Leo is tired of running away. He chases, and at some point, Izumi waits. 

They meet. 

And while Leo is still trying to figure out what it means to love and be loved in return, waking up to breakfast for two and being able to exchange words like “I’m home” and “welcome back,”... he thinks that maybe, this is it. 

──────⚜️──────

The world is ending, and Izumi finds himself at the center of it.

He finds himself at the beach with Leo, running alongside the shore despite the cloudy sky. It’s a familiar scene. A fond one, even. Leo laughs to himself as the incoming waves splash at his feet, sprays of water tickling the tips of his wings. Against the stormy sea, Leo appears like a smear of flames, maybe even the sun itself; Izumi watches with an inexplicable fondness growing from his chest, unable to help the way he wants to laugh too.

Izumi tries to take a step forward, feeling impulsive and wanting to hold the others hand. But the moment his feet lift above the sand, Leo suddenly seems far, far away, and oh.

The sky is falling.

The wind picks up and the cool temperature he had been grateful for suddenly feels chilling in all the wrong ways. The air turns dark, darker than he’d ever thought it could be during the day, and the only clear thing in his vision is suddenly the bright orange of Leo’s hair, Leo’s wings (except they haven’t been that shade in a long while) and he hears nothing but unrelenting rain and distant thunder.

“ Leo,” he calls, except his voice is barely audible over the abrupt downpour and Izumi curses, begging his feet to go faster, his wings to beat harder despite the water already soaking him through. His heart is going fast, too fast, and his breaths are so shallow he’s afraid he’s going to pass out—but somehow, he persists, feeling deep in his soul that if he doesn’t grab onto Leo now then he’s going to lose him forever—

—then Leo’s hands are in his.

And the sky is falling and

Leo is falling too.

Izumi blanches as Leo’s wings start to crumble, feathers falling off faster than he can blink, leaving behind only a pale skeleton. There are spider-web like scars running through his entire body, his arms, re-opening like fissure lines from where Izumi grips onto him, blood joining that bright orange like the sun except Leo was never the sun the sun killed him Leo is just a lonely canary trapped in a cage and Izumi gasps, trying to let go. Let go but Leo clings to him anyways, smiling as he slowly turns to dust turns into nothing but foam in the waves.

I’m killing you, he thinks, desperate, and then tries to say it, but the words get stuck in his throat and his mouth feels glued shut—it’s always been like this, he can’t say it, can’t say anything meaningful without choking and he wishes he were different and loved a little easier and softer and

“Shh. I know, Sena. I know it all,” Leo says, his kind expression never faltering. Izumi hates it. Wishes he could kiss it without killing it. “But I’m happy if it’s my Sena.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” He finally manages to choke out, the words like acid against his tongue. “Leo-kun, please. Let go, y-you’re hurting.”

Leo ignores him and comes closer instead. For a second, some delusional part of Izumi thinks that Leo really is going to kiss him—but instead, Leo wraps his arms around Izumi for an embrace. A hug.

Is this better or worse? He can’t tell. He wishes his body didn’t instinctively relax, the familiar smell of Leo’s strawberry shampoo filling his senses and mixing strangely with the sea. Leo tucks his chin by Izumi’s shoulder, hair brushing against his cheek. He can feel the warmth emanating from Leo’s body as fingers run across his wings, like one might skim over the keys of a piano.

Leo could pull every single one of Izumi’s feathers out if he wanted to, but Izumi stays still, waiting.

A shiver runs up his spine as Leo’s lips brush against his ear. Despite the storm and the thunder and the rain, Izumi can hear every, shuddering breath from Leo clearly, as if he’s projected himself directly into his eardrums, his lungs. There’s a scream lodged somewhere in his chest, but before he can finally wrench Leo away, before he can beg him to hurry and let go, Leo opens his mouth.

(Like this, he feels Leo’s body falling apart, the trembling staccato of his heart.)

Even before he speaks, Izumi knows that these words will haunt him forever, will make nest in his empty heart even after he’s turned into nothing but sand. Leo says in a voice all too bright, like wind-chimes in the distance—

“My Sena, my sparrow…

 Won’t you sing me my requiem?”

—Izumi wakes with a start.

Sweat clings to his skin as he abruptly sits up, heartbeat pulsating in his ears as his chest heaves. He blinks, trying to readjust his eyes to the dim lighting of the room, nothing but the warm glow from his bedside lamp filling the walls, the sheets. It takes a second for him to place a soft pitter-patter noise as rain falling against the windows, a distant rumble of thunder briefly masking the night traffic of Florence. It’s not the first time he’s had a nightmare, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how weak it makes him feel, a gross layer of perspiration sticking to his clothes, and—

“Sena?” A voice calls.

He turns, and besides him in bed is Leo.

Right, he thinks belatedly, clenching and unclenching the blanket underneath his fingers. He’s been there the whole time, hasn’t he?

Leo is wearing his alien-print pajamas and night glasses, a pencil and notepad in hand. Izumi distantly notes the unkempt state of his hair, the water dripping from the loose strands that frame his face—and he knows that Leo must have just showered, but something about the way he looks reminds Izumi horribly of that scene from the beach.

“Sena, you okay? Bad dream?” Leo asks, and when Izumi doesn’t give a response, he tilts his head. “Want to talk about it?”

There’s a shuffle as Leo moves to touch him then, hug him, maybe, and out of pure instinct Izumi finds himself flinching away. Leo freezes at the motion. “Sena, I’m not going to hurt you.”

I know, Izumi thinks, remembering the way Leo’s skin withered away at a single touch. You would never.

The problem is that I’m going to hurt you.

“…I’m sorry,” Izumi manages to wheeze out, and he’s not exactly sure what he’s apologizing for—for flinching? For everything he’s done? He has so many things to be sorry for—but to his horror, that’s as far as he makes it before tears start to well up in his eyes.

“Sena, I’m—” a pause, as Leo’s hands hover over him, hesitant to try again. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m here, s-so don’t cry, okay? Can I touch you?”

You’ll break him, a voice whispers, you’ll hurt him if you touch him, don’t you dare. 

But Izumi is only human. A human who craves to be held just like anyone else, a human with a selfish heart. He closes his eyes, hoping the world will forgive him for this one sin, and nods. Leo immediately responds, wrapping his arms around Izumi, soft and there’s that strawberry shampoo, he thinks, clutching onto Leo hard and hoping that it’s enough to hide the way his entire body shakes.

Leo hums a thoughtless tune, rubbing his hands up and down Izumi’s arms, the rain becoming an errant harmony in the background.

 “Sena?” Leo calls gently, after the trembling in his arms has somewhat stopped. “You okay now?”

At the call of his voice, he finally dares to look up—at Leo’s wide eyes, the way his lashes flutter with every blink. At the light freckles that sprinkle across his cheeks, his nose. At his lips, curled slightly downwards as he waits for an answer.

I love you, he wants to say. I don’t want to hurt you anymore and I’m afraid that everything here will only end in tragedy if I let you love me like this for too long.

“You don’t have to do this,” Izumi says instead.

Leo pouts. “I don’t mind, I was up anyways writing my next song—”

“Aren’t you tired?” Of this? Of having to be with someone like me? The nightmare seems to have affected him more than he thought, because normally, Izumi keeps these thoughts to himself, too afraid to try and tear apart this happy illusion that they’ve built in Florence. Yet, something about being in Leo’s grasp has him spilling out his heart anyways. It’s like ripping off a band-aid—he should have done this the moment Leo decided to walk into his room and sleep by his side.

“Eeh, what’s this, all of a sudden?” Leo pulls back a little, carefully studying Izumi’s face. “Do you not want me around?”

“No, that’s not it.” Izumi takes a shuddering breath. “It’s just… you’re free to fly wherever you want now. We’re not in school anymore and we both have things outside of Knights. Is… is it really okay for you to be wasting your time here?”

Is it really okay for me to be held like this?

Izumi holds his breath, waiting for an answer, waiting for the world to finally take away this happiness that he’s built—but then he hears the click of a tongue, the shuffling of sheets, and then, abruptly, a flick to his forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?!” Izumi yelps, immediately putting a hand to his face.

“ Bzzzt, that was the wrong answer! Try again!”

“I- um, I don’t understand?” Izumi says, bewildered. Leo moves as if to flick him again and Izumi scowls, pushing Leo’s hand away, only for the other to start tickling him instead. Izumi pushes, and Leo pulls, and then they’re a mess on the bed and Izumi can’t help the laugh that bursts from him as Leo rolls on top of him—

“There you are,” Leo says, and the absolute adoration in his voice has Izumi breathless for a different reason. “My Sena, my sparrow. I was afraid the aliens took you away, you started saying some really weird things!”

“Again with the aliens,” Izumi says, immediately flushing at how breathy his voice comes out. “G-get off me, you’re heavy. And just… ignore everything I said, I’m gonna go back to sleep—”

“Sena, you know I’m here because I want to be, right?” Leo doesn’t wait for a response, gently cupping his cheeks. “You said I’m free to fly wherever I want. If it’s my choice, then I’ll always pick you, Sena. I want to stay right here… nestled by your side, forever.”

“…Why?” he chokes out, and his chest is full, his heart feels as if it’s going to explode, but he doesn’t mind dying like this, with Leo so close, with Leo in his arms.

“Why not?” Leo says, as if it’s that simple. Maybe it is. “It’s warm, and I don’t want to miss your smiles anymore. I don’t want to leave you alone again.” Leo leans in to kiss his forehead, then wipes the last of Izumi’s tears away. “Even if it’s to the ends of the Earth, I’ll be right by your side, like your knight. I’ve got to protect my silly little sparrow from getting into trouble, since you seem so keen on it!”

You, Izumi thinks, and that's as far as he gets. He's never known how to process Leo, and so all he can do in the moment is scoff. “You... You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Wahaha! So I’ve been told!”

“And besides, I’m supposed to be the knight, aren’t I? Don’t go around taking my title.”

“Ehh, but I’m no longer the king, so what am I supposed to be? Isn’t downgrading from the crown just like becoming a knight?”

Izumi bites his lips, turning away so that he isn’t looking directly at Leo, feeling his cheeks somehow flush even more. “…Even if you no longer wear the crown, I will always serve you as my king. S-so, let me be the knight. Or whatever.”

A beat of silence. Then two. Izumi really feels like he’s going to die now, if not from heart failure, then from sheer embarrassment—and it doesn’t help that Leo then bursts into laughter, shaking the entire bed with the way he trembles. “Wahaha, now you’re the one being ridiculous. Aren’t you embarrassed saying that kinda stuff?”

“You of all people don’t get to tell me that, do you even hear yourself whenever you talk?!” Izumi splutters, trying to push Leo off of him so he can go under the blankets and hide, preferably for forever.

But Izumi must still be weak from the nightmare; this is the only explanation his brain can think of as Leo holds him down, keeping him trapped and unable to move.

Leo grins. He’s so close, he feels like he can hear Leo’s heartbeat too, a steady melody against his own. “Okay. Then how about… you just stay my Sena, and I become your Leo. That way, it’s fair, isn’t it? No kings, no knights. Just us.”

“Just…us,” Izumi repeats. “My… my Leo-kun.”

And oh. Seeing the way a smile blooms across Leo’s entire face, he can’t help but think, You are the loveliest person in the world.

“My Sena,” Leo says back to him, before kissing him softly on the cheeks. “I love you.”

Leo, who is the sun and the moon and the stars, the entire universe collapsed into a single point. Leo, who finally lets him go, tucking himself right by Izumi’s side, as if he were made to be there. Leo, who cards his fingers through his hair, tells him to sleep.

Leo… who is his to love, and his to cherish.

Despite the ugly, selfish state of his heart, the warped reflection of his soul from years of hosting a self-serving pride—somehow, for some reason, it seems that Sena Izumi has been given a second chance.

My Leo, my canary, he thinks as he closes his eyes, lulled to sleep by the warmth of Leo.

This time, I swear that I will love you right.

 ──────⚜️──────

It always comes back to this: Sena Izumi, the open sky, and the gentle flutter of wings against the shore.

It’s the same story, but there are also differences, variables in the script: the setting is Florence now. They’re older. It’s dusk, not after school, and this time, Leo isn’t the one leading.

“C’mon, Leo-kun.” Izumi’s voice is warm, alluring. “It can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t know, Sena…” Leo looks out to the ocean, waves choppily meeting the peachy-orange hues of the rising sun on the horizon. It’s just them on this beach, and despite being thousands of miles away from home, he feels a strange twist of nostalgia as he walks along wet sand.

How long has it been since he’s last flown?

(The doctors tell him that the never damage on his wings have made him stiff, and while it’s not an impossibility, flying certainly has more of a strain on his body than it used to. Gone are the afternoons where he would freely fly whenever he could, practicing dives by the ocean and getting as close to the sun as possible. He doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself for this condition, but still.

He misses it more than he likes to admit.)

“Hey. Leo-kun, look at me?” Izumi calls. They’re standing face to face, Izumi’s own wings unfurled: small, a light brown, speckles of white and black on the edges. His silver hair shines against the soft rays of sunlight. It almost looks like he’s glowing. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t force you. I just…”

Izumi trails off, hesitation clear on his face—and when Izumi’s like this, with the shy way he plays with the ring on his thumb, cheeks a dusty pink as he avoids eye contact, Leo can’t help the way affection bubbles in his chest like wildfire. “Se-naaa.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re thinking too hard! What is it, what’s got your forehead so wrinkled?” Leo moves to smooth over the creases in Izumi’s eyebrows, and then cups his cheeks. “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, ‘kay? So sing your heart out!”

“I’m not gonna sing, ” Izumi says with a scowl, but leans into Leo’s touch regardless. “I just… you seem nervous.”

“It’s been a while since I tried flying, Sena.”

“I know, I know, but… since it’s my fault you’re like this, I just thought that today, I could maybe. Help.” He pauses, flushing over how much he’s fumbling over his words. “Like the way you helped me.”

“Stop right there, my Sena!” A pause, for dramatic effect, before he lets go of Izumi’s cheek to… poke him on the noise . Daintily, of course. “You’re saying stupid things again!”

Izumi splutters, face going red as he gapes at Leo—whether this is because of the insult or the nose boop, Leo isn’t sure. He’s going to guess a healthy mix of both!—going, “You, of all people, do not get to call me stupid. Need I remind you who had to ask me how to cook chicken nuggets the other day?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you needed oil? And a pan? Isn’t it more accurate to put the little dinos into the fire directly anyways— gah, wait, sneaky Sena getting me off topic!” Izumi opens his mouth as if to protest, but Leo is faster, says as clearly as he can. “You keep saying that it’s your fault when I’ve told you a hundred times over that it isn’t.”

Izumi goes silent, trying to look away, but Leo doesn’t let him: he wraps his arms around Izumi, leans in until Izumi stumbles a few steps backwards and into the waves, until their foreheads almost touch. Their eyes meet. A blue bluer than the ocean, he thinks.

He smiles. “Sena, do you forgive me?”

“For what?” Izumi asks. Then scrunches his nose. “What did you do this time? If you’re trying to get out of trouble because you mixed our laundry again—”

“I mean for all the ways I’ve hurt you,” Leo says plainly. “When we were kids. When we just made knights.

Izumi is staring at him, now. Leo wonders what he sees, what he thinks when he’s so close like this. “…We’re still young, you know.”

“I know. But I think we have the right to say that we’ve grown a little older since those days... and even though you say you’ve moved on since then, you’re still clinging onto your past self. So, I’m just wondering. Do you forgive me?”

When Izumi doesn’t respond, Leo continues.

“Let’s be honest. I’ve hurt you too, Sena. Just because the scars I’ve left on you aren’t visible doesn’t mean that they aren’t there. Loving only the surface, asking you to smile in impossible times, treating you like a pretty bird in a cage…”

“That wasn’t— that wasn’t nearly as bad as what I did—”

“Leaving you alone while I ran away like a cowardly king, where you had no choice but to keep going with the weight of everything on your shoulders… sometimes I wonder how you don’t hate me, Sena.”

“Don’t say that,” Izumi suddenly says, the vitriol in his tone immediately causing Leo to falter. Then, softer, Izumi repeats, “Don’t say that. I don’t- I’ll never hate you, Leo-kun. Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

Even if I tried to kill you myself? Leo thinks, already knowing that the answer would be an instant yes. The way in which Izumi holds him now, desperate cerulean staring back at him—it reminds him of a melody. A masterpiece, maybe, and he starts tapping out the tune on Izumi’s skin. “And you say I’m the scary one when it comes to love…”

“Hm? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing… that’s not my point anyways! You still haven’t answered the question!”

Izumi sighs. “Do I really need to spell it out for you? I’ve already forgiven you a long time ago, Leo-kun. Why are we talking about this again?”

“Because if you’ve forgiven me, then I’ve forgiven you too. So, there’s no need to try and- and do this to pay me back or something. You’ve paid it back plenty!”

Izumi's nose scrunches, and Leo knows that Izumi remains unconvinced. It'll take a lot more than these gentle reminders to get him to be kind to himself. It might take years. Maybe Izumi, stubborn as he is, will never let it go. 

But Leo doesn't mind. He'll wait for eternity and spend every day reminding Izumi that he forgives him, not only for the past but for way that they're sure to hurt each other in the future. For now, Leo grabs onto Izumi’s hand, bringing the back of it to his lips for a chaste kiss. The silver band around his thumb glitters, reflecting Leo back. “Let’s fly, Sena.” Let's not worry about that right now. 

Izumi is blushing, and whatever rebuttal he had seems to die on his tongue. Instead, he brings Leo’s hand to his lips as well, giving a kiss in return. He smiles—eyes crinkled, lips wide. “Okay, Leo. Whatever you want.”

There’s no more need for words—Izumi nods, slowly taking a few steps back, testing out the wind with his wings. The water swirls at his ankles, a reminder that one false step could mean their death, and although it’s been a while, Leo knows that their flight conditions aren’t the best. With Izumi’s small wingspan and Leo’s broken figure they probably won’t get very far at all.

But Izumi turns around, and holds out his hand.

Without hesitation, Leo takes it.

They run, Izumi going backwards and Leo following, tawny brown and discolored white blending with the sky. Before he realizes it, they’ve reached a good momentum and Izumi kicks off, and the first thing Leo does is stumble. For a horrible second his stomach drops, and he thinks that they’re going to crash into the water—but then Izumi pulls him up, using the motion of their sudden turn to swerve into an awkward dance. They spin, a mess in the air, rising at odd intervals while buffeted by the wind. They’re faltering through the sky, moving in a haphazard waltz, and even if his body is stiff and his wings start to tremble unevenly, Leo finds himself laughing.

Here, with the entire world below them, with Sena Izumi at his fingertips, Leo feels free in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Here, he suddenly knows—with striking clarity, without a single doubt in his heart, that no matter how broken and bruised his body might become, no matter how many times his wings might fall apart, his Sena, his sparrow, will always be there to help him fly once more.

They’re a broken canary and a diligent sparrow. A fallen king and his knight. Just Leo and Izumi, two people who might one day rule the world.

As they dance, with nothing but the blue waves against blue eyes and a loving smile reflected back at him, Leo can’t help but think that maybe, there’s a melody to be found in falling after all.