Chapter Text
All things have an order. Order like an accumulation of events, a pack of cards going clockwise around a circle. Everyone is born into discord with not a thing besides nakedness, a placenta, and a mother- if they're lucky.
Society is couched at a card table. It's simple judgment in rigid black and white. A body either takes the winnings or looses their fortune. Sometimes folding is the most noble option. Living is a hand dealt but if someone bluffs the rules can be broken.
Mutsuki stands in the doorway. His eye slides towards Urie who is seated comfortably against the wall, newspaper censoring his face. Sasaki wrenches a cast iron skillet from Shirazu- a coup de gräce in the most courteous way possible and ushers him to seat himself at the table.
Shirazu wrinkles his nose indignantly, turning his coffee cup’s handle in small rotations until satisfied with its position. He is unremarkably sober this morning leading Mutsuki to wonder if he really wanted to pursue cooking something other than blackened remnants of egg. He meets Mutsuki’s gaze and fosters something that looks sincerely like a crooked grin but it is lost in pragmatism.
To no surprise does Urie even offer cursory eye contact, but instead straightens the paper in a very aged and bitter fashion that resembles a four-flush, though he would have you believe its more than skin deep. When the mornings rituals are complete, he will sulk off to busy himself with dignified tasks that hone his dapper mask he puts on when women desire to prattle.
Wielding a smile that is warm and strong like the coffee he brews, Sasaki embodies something stolen from Tooru, something that if it was tangible would be winding yards of fine linens and silk wrapped around Mutsuki’s body. Safe temperate material, mirroring his own expressions and cautious remarks.
For as inviting as Haise may been, Mutsuki knows he can bind and choke in a moment- moonstruck incarnated in both definitions. He saw those moments in flesh, for it was Mutsuki’s flesh that had been torn to bleeding and it was Sasaki who lost himself on the bullies without repeal before the head master in preparatory school. He grinned wryly through the bruise that paled in equality to the boys who noses bleed like a noble’s garden fountain.
Mutsuki’s smile echoes what Sasaki wears, just his own face is not nearly as hollow or pallor in comparison. He sets a cup of coffee at an empty seat, entreating Mutsuki to sit while refilling Urie’s cup like the brilliant counterintelligence that he is. Urie turns a page and clears his throat to say nothing. Mutsuki dolefully reads the headline in bold capitalization: 'ANOTHER BODY FOUND' and wonders if Urie and Shirazu will meander the streets tonight.
Mutsuki has always lived under the impression that each person has their own reality, and no person’s realities are alike because of the unique circumstances the individuals face bend and mold them throughout their lives. In his own case, Mutsuki was living a comfortable reality that was never his to procure, and had been for many years.
So when Urie finished his last cup of coffee, before excusing himself from the table he lazily and rather precariously flipped an envelope in front of Mutsuki, who was taking a drink.
"What is it?" Coffee rippled under the force of his breath before he lowered his cup and retrieved the envelope, turning it round to read the fine printing. It was addressed to him. Urie breaks his congenital silence to deadpan.
"It’s a letter (use that forsaking eye of yours)."
After you dip a quill in ink you can either bring it over parchment to create bold sweeping letters or you can press the quill harshly into the paper, and let the ink pool up and run in rorschach blots.
Mutsuki felt the pen puncture his skin and the ink bleed into every stitch.
He ran a finger under the elastic of his eye patch, relieved the loquacious Sasaki and Shirazu had retired upstairs for the time being.
"So it is…" Mutsuki folds it with enough force to kill it, tucking the halved letter into his pocket. Urie eyed him wearily while tentatively organizing his newspaper back into former order and swiftly exited the room.
In the interim after breakfast and dinner Mutsuki scoured through countless books occupying the floor to ceiling shelves in the study out of pure depression. The sunlight had long lost to the prevalence of overcast clouds and a light rain, dulling atmosphere of room significantly.
Mutsuki strained through another table of contents making a noise buffered between a chuckle and groan of despair. He flipped over to lay supine on the study floor. His elbows had grown increasingly sore due to the texture of the rug but soon it was forgotten when his hands splayed across his chest.
What am I even looking for? There is no counsel in these books for my predicament.
The uncomfortable tightness in the core of his body had a bracing effect against the hard cloth and wire modification holding himself together. Used to the gouging of underwire and tickle of threaded lace, the corset binding him was barely distinguishable from his own body. It felt like it had grown into his skin and became an organ of its own, giving him a life that he so very much longed for.
The ode of heavier rain overtook Mutsuki’s thoughts and the content of the letter surfaced back into his mind. Unlike his own family whose members were all very deceased, Mutsuki’s wealthy widowed Aunt on his fathers side was not. Though reaching an age correlated with declining health, she still found a means to meddle with family affairs and invited herself to the estate for a ‘cordial’ visit in person after roughly ten years of only exchanging perfume soaked stationary.
This event was no more troublesome than procuring an empty room for a few nights retreat to comfort, however it would be rather tasking to maintain the illusion Mutsuki has established. Living under his brother’s title and inheritance was a responsibility he awarded himself as the last remaining person of his family. An alias he nurtured since he’d been enrolled in preparatory school. None of his housemates saw through his façade- as far as he knew.
As it was, he’d embellished his letters. Fraught with high-hat banter, education that refined his nobleman tastes, Help that never allowed dust touch the velvet of curtains and- Mutsuki truly regrets this lie- a beautiful fiancé of several years.
Oh yes. Tooru would of been wise to let his brothers name die along with him.
"You’re going out with us, yes?"
The difference between sending a silver tray crashing to the floor and Sasaki’s spontaneous appearance is- well, there is none. Indistinguishable.
Mutsuki lurched forward onto his feet with a start, but was immediately wracked with a head spin so powerful that he instantly crumbled to his knees.
"Ah! Forgive me, I didn’t mea-" Sasaki started, gripping Mutsuki’s thin arm and hoisting him onto the chaise lounge a few feet away. "Oh my, your as white as a sheet! Perhaps you should stay in this evening."
"Um," Mutsuki breathed much too quickly, his sight returning in pointillist waves. " ‘m perfectly fine."
"Horsefeathers! You look absolutely ghostly."
Sasaki had yet to unglue himself from Mutsuki’s arm. Hand warm and solid like the crease of worry in his brow.
"Just sat up to quick is all. I swear." Mutsuki did his best to balance a smile, only to have Sasaki frown at him momentarily before turning down the hall.
"Next time you loose your head make sure you don’t find the corner desk with it or we’ll ‘ave a bloody mess."
Mutsuki scoffs, absently smoothing out his shirt and following after him.