#fellowshiptag

I was going to change my icon to dumb Hei to complete the trifecta but then I realized that I physically can’t because Misaki Kirihara is my forever girl

Very rarely could Hei and Misaki decide upon what to watch when getting ready for late nights in front of the television. It wasn’t that their tastes were incompatible, although Hei always groaned good-naturedly when Misaki turned to a piece of Hallmark Channel diabetes-in-waiting. Misaki, for her part, was not enamoured with documentaries on the intricacies of Song dynasty sword making.

Flick.

A true crime drama, swathed in blue, speckled with off-color blood and intrigue. “The procedure is totally unrealistic,” Misaki griped, swiping the remote from Hei’s hand.

Flick.

A wushu drama full of intrepid warriors screaming for honor and justice, landing with a kick atop an enemy fortress- “You’d break your ankle landing like that,” Hei said matter-of-factly, and Misaki with a sigh switched again.

Flick.

“Stop,” Misaki said, holding the remote aloft before either of them could complain about the realism of their fantasy programming. “Let’s just watch this. We’re wasting too much time waffling.”

Hei looked at the confusion of city shots juxtaposed atop jump cuts and fade outs, casting Misaki an apprehensive look. “All right,” he said, shuffling out from under their shared blanket on the couch. “I’ll make popcorn.”

Laying down so as to capture the warmth of both of their spots, Misaki nuzzled against a pillow and tried to focus on the program, despite the jarring fireworks of popcorn sounding in the kitchen.

The show had just returned from a commercial break. She saw the title, written in a swath of pink, mawkish kanji: Healing a Criminal’s Heart.

Oh no.

 Misaki wanted to run. Bolt out of the apartment with no explanation, leaving Hei popping popcorn and expecting Misaki to have turned to some maudlin program on love amongst tax accountants. She wanted to launch herself out of her balcony window before someone saw her. Before that someone saw her.

No. She was the Section-Chief Misaki Kirihara. And she wasn’t scared of anything.

She turned her attention to the television in time to see a gorgeous police officer stride onto the screen, shirt pulled down just enough to show tasteful cleavage.

We’ll find him, the policewoman says. The Shadow of Death will be brought to justice! Dolly shot. Close up of the stunning lady-cop’s face. A blue tinge of empathetic sorrow. I saw his eyes once, behind his fearsome mask- so tender, and so lost. Clenched fist. I know I can heal him! With the power of love!

“What are you watching?” she heard Hei’s voice sound from the kitchen. The popcorn beeped ominously in the microwave.

“Nothing!” Misaki called desperately, throwing herself up into sitting position. The remote bounded onto the floor, beneath the depths of the couch. Desperately she leapt from the cushions onto the rug, slamming her ribs against the coffee table.

 “Are you okay?” Hei called.

 “Fine!” Misaki cried back a little too soon. She shoved her hand beneath the couch, nursing her side with the other, to no avail.

 Cut scene. Fadeout of pink hearts. A dark alley, misted with rain. Lamplight casting the scene in exciting chiaroscuro. I finally found you, the policewoman said.

The Shadow of Death stood before her, masked, cloak wrapped around his frame. And what are you going to do about it?

Nothing, the woman said sultrily. Reaches trembling fingers to touch the white mask. A hand stopped her.

Don’t, the killer said.

I only wanted to talk! About your tragic backstory!

Misaki shot another frantic grab for the remote under the couch, before coming face to face with person she had hoped was currently distracted with a valiant urge to cook popcorn far away from here, for many hours. Anything. Anywhere but here.

Hei stood beside the couch, two bowls suspended in his grip, very carefully not making eye contact with the actual police officer tangled on the ground.

“Um,” he said, cheeks and neck growing pink. Misaki was sure that her blush was also fever inducing. “I also brought…ice cream…”

Valiantly avoiding all notice of each other, the pair fumbled onto the couch again, throwing the blanket atop them in a twist. Misaki buried her face in the bowl of popcorn, leaving Hei to fend for himself.

You’re not meant to understand the face of a killer, The Shadow of Death said, voice strung with despair.

 But I can fix you! The policewoman cried. With the power of my love!

Misaki stole a glance at Hei. He was sitting beside her, completely red, face buried into his chest.

“Are you…” Misaki somehow asked in a level voice, “Trying to hide from me?”

Hei merely looked up, glance expertly deflected at the lamp behind Misaki. “No,” he said in a voice that Misaki knew was meant to sound dark, the voice he liked to use when trying to keep others from asking questions he absolutely would not answer. It failed. Spectacularly.

“Ah, well,” Misaki said, leaning in amongst the blankets to ruffle his hair. She did her best to be torrid and seductive, buttoned her shirt down a little. Hei only managed to look more mortified. She said, in her best desperately melodramatic voice, “I guess I’m not meant to understand the face of a killer.”