koizumi & kuzuryuu throughout the years. // at the beginning.

When the door shakes the house, Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko doesn't remove his feet from the table. He swipes his hand across his mouth to cleanse himself off the cookie he had previously been munching on.

With a look towards the tall, willowy swordswoman that stands to the left of him, Fuyuhiko raises an eyebrow.

There's only one person in this household who's slamming of the door shakes it like it did just now.

"Natsumi," he shifts his position so that his arms fold over his chest. "Chill the fuck out."

"Chill the fuck out?!" His sister exclaims as her school bag skirts across the table, her having thrown it.

Peko, the female to the left of her master, draws herself towards it, holding the strap of the school bag without a word.

Natsumi scoffs, the heel of her palm slamming firmly against the table. "I need ya' to kill someone for me."

"Can't ya resolve your own shit?"

Her eyebrow twitches in annoyance. Fuyuhiko fights back a smirk.

"I'll do it on my own, then," Natsumi hisses. Retracting herself, she spins on her heel, snatches the bag from Peko's hands, and walks out of the room with a jagged step.

After a moment of silence, Fuyuhiko pulls his feet off the table, cocking an eyebrow towards the silver-haired woman. "What d'ya think that was 'bout?"

She lifts her shoulders in a petite shrug, red eyes roaming to rest on where Natsumi had exited the room. "Perhaps something from your school," she comments. "After all, the Young Mistress does go to a club in the afternoon."

"Photography club, ain't it? Not worth her damn time. She should be helpin' the clan instead of wastin' time taking 'pretty' fucking pictures of some dumbass flowers."

"The best choice of action would most likely be talking to her about it. But it shall always be your choice in the final say."

Glancing at her, Fuyuhiko shrugs. "Ya think so?"

"It is your choice."

"'m asking you."

"I would follow after the Young Mistress herself, but something made out of metal such as I..." She shakes her head. "Surely not a good idea."

"Peko."

She doesn't comment on usage of her nickname, despite the dark eye her master gave her.

He pulls himself to his full-height, stalking after the direction of his sister.

Kuzuryuu Natsumi's outside the main household of the clan, arms crossed and head tilted back to watch the clouds, jagged with grey, pass by.

"Onii-chan," she greets mockingly upon hearing his footsteps shift behind her.

"Cut that shit out," he says. "What's goin' on?"

"Some girls are just being trash, that's it. Bitches, hah. They could go die in a ditch and I'd prance with glory."

That explains the way she stomped in.

"One of them just tried to punch me today. Not that I couldn't kick her ass, it's just- she's not worth putting the energy into, y'know? So I'm just pissed. They act that they're so much better but really they're pathetic. I'm going to rip up that Koizumi's goddamn pictures-"

"Koizumi."

Natsumi signals by pulling her hair back. "Redhead. High-pitched. Some kinda bitch mother, the way she acts. Short hair."

Oh.

Fuyuhiko's eyes draw into a narrowed expression. With a jerk of his chin, he motions for her to continue.

drawing her fingernail across her own arm, she watches the blood bubble from the cut. Her fingernails are jagged, half of it having been chewed off.

"I should kill her."

Fuyuhiko spares a glance at the broad-shouldered guard at the door of the house. "You have all of the goddamn power to do whatever ya want. Go ahead, I ain't fuckin' stopping ya."

The air doesn't shift, the layers of cold lay upon one another. It's only after Natsumi cocks her head with a snarled word on her tongue that it does move, hate bubbling.

"I fuckin' hate her."

With that, she spins on her heel and departs, movement graceless. It would have been graceful if not for the obvious spite in her body language.

The heir watches her go, his hands slid into his pockets, then slams one foot against the wall to push himself off of it.

"Kohaku," he orders. "Run a search. Find out the first name of anyone with the name 'Koizumi'."

The guard, Kohaku, bows stiffly. "Yes, master."

Fuyuhiko flexes his fingers, the ring of his middle finger catching the light of the sun and casting a orange gleam.

The orange was something cold and heartless, dull, dry, and dead.

"Fuck you, Koizumi," the heir breathes out, his words daggers. "Fuck you."

The next day, Fuyuhiko follows his sister. She's unaware of her brother following behind her, but she can feel the hardening of a glare at the area where she spits at Sato's feet.

 He twists the ring on his finger, but stops the instant he sees the redhead.

Even the sight of her causes his blood to boil, his stomach to flipflop. How easy would it to see the same color of her hair drenched over her body, seeping from her abdomen, one hand holding the blade of the knife and his hands covered in her blood and her choking and screaming and dying-

"Tch," is all Fuyuhiko says. 

The photographer turns. 

For a moment, their eyes connect.

For a moment, golden eyes meet olive eyes. 

The hate is thick in the air.

Koizumi Mahiru.

Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko.