#altarofakito

“I think this will look nice on you.” Though of course, Saki couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t look nice on Akito. 

“..Akito, I’m not so sure about this.” 

Normally Kureno would go along with anything if it made Akito happy, but when she came up to him with a bag containing makeup, he wondered if he could talk his way out of it. 

It was raining so heavily that at first Hatori couldn’t spot a figure standing out in the storm. He stopped and stared for a moment longer until he could make it out. 

What was she doing?

Kureno regretted trying to navigate on his own. He had stayed behind so he could finish some important work, but didn’t expect to be in a completely different part of the city as a result of trying to reach where Akito currently was. He was already late, and soon the meeting would be starting. 

He hesitated, but pressed call anyway. He had to be honest with her. 

She picked up. 

Akito was momentarily stunned, uncertain at first whether she had heard him correctly. She would have expected the question from he, from Shigure, that was–but coming from Kureno it was odd.

“Why do you ask?”

They could and would deny it, but Kureno felt the changes coming. Like the world was tilting, ever so slightly, the wrong way. He knew that it was inevitable as it was necessary -- that, held in stasis, no single family member would survive for much longer. They need to embrace the shattering to come, and he’ll have to do the right thing regardless of the fact that he still had no idea what that was yet. 

It comes as a shock that it terrifies him. 

He let his head drop, the angle obscuring his gaze. Kureno hadn’t meant to say the last out loud -- hadn’t meant to insert himself as part of the equation. It had been a mental measuring stick; will he continue to protect you? will he hurt you like I have? will he be better or worse? 

His voice was even when he repeated his question, “I need to know. Does he love you?” 

Hatori continued to perform tasks as usual, though not without difficulty. His limbs felt heavy, and he had very little energy. He rarely spoke in profusion, but now to even utter a word felt like a hassle. Still, he refused to slack. 

It had been days since Shigure’s funeral, and every moment after the declaration of his death felt foreign. Nobody said his name, but there was an overwhelming sense of loss - there was no avoiding the fact that Shigure Sohma’s name was carved into a marble slab. 

Akito never left her room. Hatori checked on her every so often, usually receiving no reply but at least feeling satisfied in knowing that she was alive. 

Before, that was nearly not the case.

For some time, Kureno has been gathering the courage to finally ask Akito for a certain permission.

Every so often, Hatori would look down at the mask he held in his right hand. Its design was decent enough, gold in color with cracks to make the impression that it was chipping away. On the left side, the area above the eye was painted a blood red. It was now, moments before he had to put the mask on, that he realized just how grim it was. 

It was rare of him to attend these sort of events, but with Kureno ill, someone had to accompany Akito. To a masquerade ball, that certainly set it apart from the others. The building they were in had traditional Japanese architecture, but the gathering itself was very Western. 

Hatori turned to the Sohma head. They were facing the corridor that led to the ball room.