Archive of Our Own ^beta

"

There seems to be great pain and emptiness within me

That have lived longer than I have.

"

The truth is, Leonard Mitchell does not like the colour red.

Every night when the crimson moon casts its bloody gaze across the land, Leonard feels himself wrapped in a cold and heavy embrace. He would look down at his hands - dyed red from the moon, and feel his heart ache with intensity.

The nightmares were never-ending.

While it is true that Sequence 7 Nightmares often find it difficult to distinguish between reality and dreams - but for Leonard, what was the difference? How was reality any different from the nightmares that found its home within his wretched brain?

Still... he couldn't help but embrace the nightmares that haunt his dreams.

At least then, he can see... them.

...

He closed his fists and held them tight. He watched silently as the crimson rays of moonlight fell onto his hands, covering it with a thin layer of red. If he stared long enough, it almost seemed as if he were wearing red gloves.

Knock. Knock.

'Leonard!'

He sighed and ruffled his hair.

'Come in.'

An excited young man came in with his hands moving vivaciously, stirring the faint flickers of light and dust that once hovered lifelessly in the silent room.

'Cindy overheard something! Apparently we'll be given our red gloves soon - perhaps by tomorrow! It seems that there's an urgent mission coming up so they're pushing up our official advancement into the Red Gloves!'

Leonard let out a small tight-lipped smile.

It seems that the road to revenge might come faster than he thought.

"

He stood there, silent.

A ghost of his reflection,

A shadow of his thoughts,

A-lone,

Holding a heart that wishes to remember yet

Forget.

"

Splash.

Leonard watched carelessly as he let his hands gradually wrinkle beneath the cold water from the tap.

It seems that no matter how much he scrubs, no matter how long he washes, no matter how much soap he used - the blood he was sure he saw in his hands won't disappear.

It's never clean.

I'm never clean.

When will my hands be unstained?

Leonard closed the tap tightly, before drying his hands. He moved heavily to the counter where he took the red gloves and placed it back onto his hands.

Have I tattooed the blood onto my hands?

He recalled the lifeless bodies he held onto tightly that day. The warm liquid that drenched his hands. The smell of blood that suffocated him.

He instantly felt unclean again.

A burst of panic suddenly sprouted from his heart. There was a sudden belief that wrapped itself around his mind, telling him that if he left the bathroom with such bloody hands, he would bear witness to the lifeless bodies of his teammates, drenched in their own blood.

Just as he was about to take off his gloves to wash his hands again -

'You haven't written or read a poem in a while.'

Leonard paused.

'Has old age gotten to you, Old Man? I think you've forgotten what my true profession is.'

There was a few seconds of silence before he heard an aged voice reply in his head, 'I think it could help you maintain your humanity as you advance in sequence.'

A brief pause.

'And help you express your emotions.'

Leonard grimaced.

'Have you lost your memory, Old Man? You do remember that I was quite terrible at it, right?'

Leonard opened the door and left the bathroom, mumbling under his breath.

'Didn't you once insult my poetry nonstop?

There was a hint of slight laughter in his tone as he recalled all the insults Pallez had hurled at him in the past. Those criticisms of his plagiarised poems could become a whole other genre of literature itself.

The old voice in his head hummed.

'But be honest, you did enjoy acting as a midnight poet though.'

'But I wasn't good at it.' Leonard reminded him.

'You don't have to be good at it to do it.' The staid voice in his head paused.

'Nor do you have to be good at it to enjoy it - or for it to be good for you.'

Leonard had finally reached the break room.

Seeing nobody there, he sat down on the couch and lifted his legs up on the small coffee table.

The others must still be completing the mission.

He had just advanced to Sequence 6 - Soul Assurer, this morning, so he was left to rest and stabilise himself in the Church first, before joining another mission.

Leonard sighed as he gazed despondently at the brown wall opposite him.

He knows what the Old Man was hinting at - but he didn't feel like continuing the conversation. His energy had somehow been drained between the walk from the bathroom to the break room.

He rubbed his head.

It seems that advancement took a bigger toll on him than he thought.

But still - the Old Man had good intentions, and had always helped Leonard in times of need. He felt a twinge of guilt for avoiding certain conversations with him for the past few weeks. 

After the silence in the room deafened Leonard, he spoke out softly, 'Alright. I'll try.'

Even though a part of him wanted to ignore the pain in his heart and pretend that he was strong enough to push through - he knew he shouldn't do that. It would not be good if he broke down, or even worse, lost control.

This is all to maintain a stable state. To advance as fast as possible. To get revenge on that damned Ince Zangwill -

He took out the piece of paper at the edge of the table and grabbed a pen.

'Since you suggested it first, tell me what I should write about.'

He heard a loud hmph in his brain.

'Oh? So now you're not helping?'

'A poet can only become a poet by using his own skills.'

Leonard scoffed.

'No poet can become a poet by relying only on his own skills and knowledge. Everyone starts somewhere, and as you can see, I have no muse nor mentor. Now give me an idea, Old Man.'

He heard a low grumble in his mind.

Leonard ruffled his hair.

'Fine. You'll just have to deal with the repercussions of bad poetry then.'

Leonard twirled the pen, looking around listlessly, hoping to glean some creative inspiration from his surroundings.

'Maybe I should just write a poem about poetry.'

'You fool.'

Although Leonard could not see the Old Man, he can imagine that he was shaking his head, and let out a small smile.

Perhaps he should just bicker with the Old Man all day and say that it's all to maintain a stable mental state.

Bzzzzz!

He turned his head and saw a small mosquito flying around the room.

Aha!

He quickly scribbled onto the piece of paper, before smiling proudly.

'Old Man, what do you think of this? I think this might be my best work yet!'

"

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I am not food,

So please leave you fool.

"

Coughing sounds echoed around his mind.

Leonard snickered.

'You're the one who refused to give me a topic for my poem, and you're the one who encouraged me to revisit poetry.'

A sorrowful sigh reverberated in his mind.

'Did you leave your brain in the bathroom and flush it down the toilet?'

Leonard sighed and tapped the pen on the table, looking around the room again, before lowering his head to look at his hands wearing the red gloves - the signature look of their Red Glove team.

'Old Man, why do you think our gloves are red?'

'Can you really not focus for longer than a minute?'

'Do you think it was an arbitrary choice? Or is there a hidden reason behind these red gloves?'

Leonard sat up straight.

'Why are we called the Red Gloves? Why couldn't we be called the Orange Gloves or the Yellow Gloves or the Green Gloves or -'

'I'm this close to stealing someone's attention span and forcing it onto you.'

'Alright, alright, I'll focus, okay? I'll try.'

Leonard stared at the paper with intense focus, before his eyes slowly drifted to his pen, and then back to his glove.

Memories flash by once again of the blood that wrapped itself around his hand, squeezing it tight, moving up towards his heart, twisting its way towards his throat -

Blood filled his vision.

His breathing quickened and he rushed to write down a sentence before slamming the pen down.

'I think that's it for today.' His rigid tone cut through the silent room as he stood up.

He didn't feel comfortable in this room now.

The mahogany chairs, the brown wallpaper, the dark pink bottle that Cindy left behind - it was all starting to turn red.

Just before leaving the room, he recalled that he left the paper with his poem. He quickly went back to grab the piece of paper, before ripping it apart.

'What kind of poet only writes one sentence for a poem?'

Leonard let out a dry laugh.

It seems like the Old Man is back trying to save him from himself.

'Prose and one liner poems have been on the rise lately.'

He moved towards the bin and threw the shredded paper down carelessly.

'Isn't poetry about freedom anyways? Do you think that I look like someone who would stay bound by the banal rules of classic poetry?

He looked at his gloved hands, and at the small specks of yellowing paper that remained stuck on his red glove. He suddenly remembered that he could just burn the paper using his spirituality.

He snapped his fingers and watched the remnants of the paper burn to oblivion.

However, although the paper has all but distingerated, the words he wrote remained glued in his mind.

"Poetry is the art of using one's blood as words."

"

I struggled against the pen,

With all my inferior might.

I tried to write of light and hope,

But tainted blood was my daily plight.

I bled on and on — on the piece of paper,

My blood stained hands — A

Sin, with my

Darkened mirth.

Every touch my ink bleeds a scorching

Red and

Black.

Pity those who read my words.

"

'Why do you think our gloves are red?'

Leonard sat languidly on the edge of the couch, facing Bob and Cindy with cards in his hands.

Bob tilted his head.

'Isn't it obvious? Red is the most horrifying colour. It represents misfortune and horror. Look at how all those criminals run away or cower in fear once they see us hunting them down!'

Bob ended the speech with a pump of his fist up in the air, his chest protruded out with pride.

'Praise the Lady!' Bob tapped his chest four times in a clockwise manner.

The others followed and praised the lady.

After the small moment of praise, Cindy glanced at him before placing a few cards down on the table, continuing the game.

'Or maybe there's no reason at all, you fool. But I'm surprised you've sprouted out something intelligent for once.'

Bob glared at Cindy.

'What do you mean? I didn't train this hard and wrecked my brain through all those case study reports for nothing!'

Cindy just humphed and ignored him before looking at Leonard.

'Why the sudden question?'

Leonard narrowed his eyes looking at the abysmal cards in his hand. He was quite unlucky this round. He shrugged as he waved his hand, indicating that he wanted to pass.

'I don't know. I suddenly thought about it. Perhaps I'll ask Captain Soest or Crestet Cesimir one day.'

He grinned.

'Maybe we can start a revolution, and change our name to the Green Gloves or something.'

Bob balked at the idea.

'Do you want to change it to green so that the gloves will fit your eyes? How vain are you? Are your good looks not enough for you?'

Leonard simply ignored the comment and glanced down at his hands donning the red gloves. At this point, he doesn't remember the last time he saw his naked hand. Their team has been busy these days, and Leonard has probably seen himself with these red gloves more times than his own ungloved hands.

Although, what difference does it make, wearing it and not wearing it? After all, his hands were always covered in -

'I WON!'

Cindy jumped up and cheered.

With a small sigh of regret, Leonard placed his deck of cards down on the table before leaving the room with a short 'I'll be back in a few minutes.'.

He didn't miss the looks the two gave each other.

Although he did not show it, he was aware of how he was seen within the group. His contradictory character perplexed his team members. Sometimes aloof and silent, sometimes sharp and persistent, sometimes desultory and casual.

When he first joined the Red Gloves, his team members and Captain were often unsure of how to act around Leonard. The grief, guilt and powerlessness weighed on him heavily during the first few months, and he was forced to receive a few sessions of therapy from a real psychiatrist. It was a mandatory procedure for Nighthawks who have experienced severe traumatic events. But once the psychiatrist deemed him stable enough, Leonard tried to push back on future optional therapy sessions. It was then that his state sometimes swayed from one end to another as he found moments of strength and resilience, before closing himself off again, lost in his memories.

It wasn't too extreme that Captain Soest felt like he needed to force Leonard to go back to therapy - but Leonard noticed that his members would often glance at each other when his state changed from one to another. It didn't help that before that incident, Leonard already had a contradictory temperament. While easy-going and friendly, he was often told that he can be quite hard to understand. His languid, sharp, and restless nature seemed like a puzzle many found difficult to solve.

Regardless, within the Red Gloves, it gradually became a tacit agreement to not bring up the suggestion of therapy to Leonard - because as long as he was focused, calm and diligent in missions, he had proof that he was doing okay. All suggestions for therapy go through one ear and out another. The Red Gloves would only intervene if Leonard showed signs of losing control. They knew that Leonard was persistent, and there was no point in pushing him towards something he was avoiding. After all, they had no arguments to back them up when Leonard provided proof that he was training harder than others for advancement. It didn't help that he had a keen intuition, and a sharper eye that was far greater than others - this was something the team greatly wanted to utilise.

Leonard glanced back at the room as Bob and Cindy moved their eyes away from him.

Therapy is a waste of time.

I must focus on my missions and advancement.

Those thoughts pervaded his mind even though he knew that logically speaking - he'd be advancing better, and faster, if he had a better mental state.

However, it was easy to push off those vulnerable thoughts and pretend that he was okay. Seeing his strength improve and gaining experience from missions gave him a sort of gratification, and a sort of relief. It reminded him that he was not powerless. Thinking of all the people they've helped, all the criminals they've arrested, all the monsters they've hunted - being busy during missions helped keep his overwhelming thoughts and emotions at bay.

'Where are you going?' the Old Man asked.

'I just remembered that Captain left some files for Gehrman Sparrow in Room 213 that I forgot to take the other day.'

Just as Leonard took a right turn, he was faced with a robed women with a belt made of tree bark. He looked down and noticed that she did not wear shoes or socks.

Ma'am Arianna? What is an Angel doing here?

He didn't know what gave him the courage to ask this to a Sequence 2 Angel, but before he knew it, he stopped in front of her, and raised a question,

'Do you know why our gloves are red?'

He heard Pallez let out a sharp warning in his mind.

'That's an angel you're talking to! Mind your manners! Why are you even asking this sort of question!'

Ignoring him, Leonard waited patiently.

Arianna glanced down at his red gloves, before looking back up at his eyes. It was hard to read her.

Just as Leonard was about to get nervous and regret his impulsive words, he heard a gentle voice enter his ears.

'Does it matter what the answer is?'

Leonard let out a small breath.

Arianna continued, 'Why do you think it's red?'

To remember the blood of the criminals and monsters we've hunted, the misfortune we've bestowed on others, the blood of the victims if we should fail our missions.

To remember why we dirty our hands - to protect the people.

Leonard chuckled and shrugged.

'I don't know - maybe it's because red is a bold colour so closely associated with misfortune and death, it's sure to scare away all the people we hunt.'

He paused and tapped his chest four times.

'Praise the lady.'

Ma'am Arianna followed by tapping her chest four times.

'Praise the lady.'

He bowed and let Ma'am Arianna continue her journey.

'Thanks. For answering.'

Ma'am Arianna simply nodded her head and moved forward silently.

After watching her leave, Leonard continued towards the room to grab the files. Something was brewing in his mind about Gehrman Sparrow and Sherlock Moriarty - but he wasn't sure what.

However, just before he could open the files, he heard Captain Soest speak up from behind him.

'Leonard - there you are.'

'Captain?'

'We have an urgent mission. Bob and Cindy are on their way now with sealed artifact 1-165. Get ready and we'll meet at the foyer in 5 mins. A young girl has been kidnapped for a high level sacrifice.'

Leonard nodded, quickly putting the files down.

Whatever thought he had disappeared.

---

'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much!'

Leonard stared dazedly at the mother who grasped his bloody hands with such reverence and joy.

I guess the red blood doesn't make the red glove look more bloody... it almost seems as if the glove has absorbed the red blood... what lovely camouflage. If I dressed myself in the colour of my glove, could I swim in a sea of blood and drown unnoticed?

Another hand grasped his hands - thicker hands filled with scars.

'We can't thank you enough for saving our daughter. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have let her go unwatched.'

The father weeped in front of him.

He snapped back to the parents in front of him.

He recalled seeing the blood flow from the young girl's chest. The image shocked him frozen as he recalled the empty, dark and hollow chest of Captain Dunn and Klein.

But he quickly shook himself free and hurriedly moved forwards, determined not to let the same thing happen again.

He clicked his tooth and a healing spirit came out.

It was one of the first spirits he found when he became a Sequence 5 Spirit Warlock. Haunted by his inability to protect his team back in Tingen, finding a spirit that could heal was on his priority. That, and finding a spirit that was strong and vicious.

He ordered the spirit to help stop the bleeding and heal the girl. However, just as the healing spirit came out, another cultist appeared with a dark scythe, attempting to kill off the girl with one final move.

Leonard lurched forwards, allowing his back to be injured by the cultist's scythe and called forth a wolf spirit from his teeth. He cradled the young girl's body beneath him as the wolf spirit and cultist fought. He looked down and sighed in relief when he realised that the girl did not sustain any further injuries. However, he became solemn once again upon gaining a closer look at her bloody chest. At least it was her right chest - her heart remained beating, protected by her left ribcage.

Ignoring the pain, he trusted the other Red Gloves to fight off the cultist as he focused all his powers on the healing spirit.

The healing spirit couldn't undo a damage as big as the injury on the young girl's chest, but he was sure that stopping the bleeding can give her some time. His muscles remained tense throughout the ordeal, praying to the Lady that the fight would end soon, because he wasn't sure how long he could prolong the girl's life. They needed to heal her as soon as possible.

Soon, the fight ended and they brought over the healing potion for the girl. The girl's chest was soon covered with an artifact that helps boost healing, until an Apothecary and doctor could come and take over. Although still unconscious, it was clear that the young girl's state was improving. He watched her skin turn from a pale blue to a faint red, making her look more alive.

It was then that he felt he could breathe, but the rusty smell of blood permeated his lungs and made it difficult for him to feel fully relieved.

'We can never thank you enough!'

Suddenly, he felt the pain on his back again. It throbbed excruciatingly, bringing him out of his reverie.

Tap.

Leonard turned around to find Cindy looking at him worriedly, holding up a potion for him to drink.

"We still have enough for you. The wound on your back doesn't look good. You should see someone when we get back."

Leonard nodded as if he was listening, but his eyes were staring at his red gloves, held by the hands of the grateful parents.

Maybe red means hope.

As long as we bleed, we're reminded that we're alive.

As long as we're alive, there's hope.

He turned around to look at the decaying body of the cultist. Half his body has transformed into a gruesome monster with black blood, while the other half as burned to ashes.

As long as we bleed - we remember that we're human.

Leonard clasped his hands tightly around the couple's hands and gave a sincere smile.

'It's what we should do. I'm glad we could save your daughter.'

He let go of their hands and tapped his chest four times.

'Praise the lady.'

He watched the couple follow his movements with their bloody hands - stained from hugging their injured daughter.

'Praise the lady.' they responded reverently.

Looking at their crimson hands, Leonard suddenly had a thought.

Maybe it's a reminder of our pain.

The lives we've lost.

The lives we've saved.

The lives we carry on our back.

This suffering that stains our hands reminds us to keep going, to never give up, to keep fighting and protect.

...

To be a guardian.

He suddenly thought of Captain Dunn.

"

Perhaps one day I'll die

By drowning in all the

Unspoken words and

Heavy emotions that

Lay deep within my heart.

But still,

I will keep writing in hopes that

Maybe I'll be strong enough to

Swim through the crimson ink of my

Sorrows.

"

Ma'am Daly is dead.

He couldn't remember what happened when the Red Gloves found him in the square, holding Ma'am Daly's lifeless body in his hands, a peaceful smile etched on her face.

He thinks he was treated, then rushed to see a psychiatrist.

Something something happened.

And now he's at her funeral.

Funeral.

...

Somehow it's over.

He's still sitting on the bench, staring at the tombstone filled with flowers.

He tried to read the epitaph - but his eyes kept blurring.

He wiped the liquid that came out of his eyes and looked down, somehow feeling a little shocked to find tears, and not blood.

Suddenly, a flash of colours appeared in front of him. A familiar, yet unfamiliar sight greeted him.

It was the crazy adventurer, Gehrman Sparrow.

Another name echoed in his mind.

Klein Moretti.

He looked back down towards the tombstone, trying to read the epitaph, however the figure in front of him moved forwards and blocked his view. He watched Klein's face turn back to his original appearance as he bent down, laying a bunch of colourful flowers gently, and muttered a few words. Words that Leonard could not hear because his mind was -

Klein sat to his right side.

When did he come back?

A vivid memory invaded his head.

'A-Aren't you returning to the Church?'

'I can't return anymore...'

A low voice slipped its way into his right ear.

'You don't look good.'

Tiredly, he turned to the right and finally had a clear look at the man who sat beside him.

'And you don't look like a crazy bounty hunter.'

They sat in silence as the cold breeze brushed past them. The leaves seemed to dance melancholically in remembrance for the dead.

They watched the sun grow dimmer until the beginnings of the crimson rays hit.

As the last rays of sunlight shone past them, turning a golden-red hue, Klein stood up and turned around, reaching up for his hat, about to bow before -

Leonard's hand quickly reached out as he grasped Klein's wrist. It was both tight, yet weak. He could feel his hand tremble.

They hadn't spoken much since... since...

I’m glad you’re alive.

Don’t die.

Stay a little longer.

Don’t leave me alone too.

I only have you left -

'I don't want to dig another grave.' Leonard managed to let out a small half cry and half laugh.

He looked up and saw Klein's eyes soften as the evening light hit his eyes - making it turn slightly golden.

It abruptly hit him that Klein is now a demigod.

A demigod.

The thought twisted itself in his brain. He wasn't sure what he was feeling or thinking.

A soft murmur brought him out of his stupor.

'With how often you visit the graveyard... I hope you won’t turn it into your permanent home.'

I hope you stay alive too.

Klein gently patted Leonard’s hand before he reluctantly let go. He watched Klein disappear - just like Captain Dunn, Madam Daly, Old Neil, Kenley, and countless others he has lost within the Red Gloves.

Leonard continued to watch the tombstone until the sun drowned in sorrow from watching him. It turned around, then like all others, left him behind.

The indifferent, crimson moon replaced the sun as a lone thought echoed throughout his mind.

"We are guardians, but also a bunch of miserable wretches that are constantly fighting against threats and madness."

When he went back home to 7 Pinster Street, he took out a pen to write down a poem.

The first stanza has been lingering in his head since Klein left.

"Perhaps one day I'll die

By drowning in all the

Unspoken words and

Heavy emotions that

Lay deep within my heart."

This time, Pallez Zoroast didn't say anything, and just watched Leonard bleed his heart out onto the paper in front of him.

"

It’s not ignorance I court

But apathy I serenade

As I watch myself fade.

"

"Pallez, you're old, right?"

Pallez scoffed. He was about to reprimand the young man for his insolent behaviour until he realised that Leonard called him by his name.

Something felt wrong.

'How do you move on, Pallez? I'm sure you've watched many of your descendants die off one by one.'

Pallez hesitated. He had to choose his words carefully.

Leonard had been acting... differently, recently.

Although Pallez should celebrate Leonard's growth in healing from his traumas, guilt, and grief - at this stage in time, he seemed to be 'moving on' from his past in a different direction.

In the past, he has watched Leonard cradle his grief with sorrow, love and remembrance. But in the present, he seemed to be fine leaving his grief behind, watching with indifferent eyes amidst the chaos of the war.

Pallez has seen enough Beyonders turn indifferent and insensitive to the cruelty and madness of nature to know that the results won't be good.

While being extremely sensitive to the darkness of the world isn't great for survival, being indifferent and cold was just as bad.

Pallez only had to sigh in regret, reflecting at the impeccable timing of the war.

Just when Leonard was getting better.

After Leonard's induction into the Tarot Club, he seemed to have gained newfound hope and ambition. He was slowly coming back to himself.

Of course, there were moments of stress as they dealt with He-who-shall-not-be-named, but things seemed to be going well.

Until the war.

"Grief... doesn't leave us completely, but we learn to cope with it. It's easy to believe that moving on means throwing away the grief that's weighing on you, but grief shows that you care, that you loved, that you once held on to something or somebody worth cherishing."

"You carry it with you like a blanket."

"On some days, the blanket weighs heavy on you. On other days, it comforts you. The memories you have can both heal and hurt you, but as life goes on, as you learn to cherish what once was, it can become a warm candle for you in dark and cold nights."

"They never truly leave."

"You're never alone."

"They're just here for you, in a different form."

Leonard hummed and didn't say anything.

Pallez wasn't sure what else to say. "He" wasn't a psychiatrist, nor was "He" completely human. Although "He" tried "His" best to maintain "His" humanity, "He" wasn't sure that "He" was the best person to explain grief to a young man like Leonard.

Pallez remained quiet, afraid that he might say something that might not help.

They waited until the clock turned 2, before Leonard opened his eyes to see the gray fog.

This was one of his and Klein's regular gossip sessions above the gray fog.

During those sessions, the long mottled table is nowhere to be seen, and in its place was the break room from the Blackthorn Security Company.

He moved towards the couch and slouched down, immediately putting his feet on the coffee table in front of him.

One thing that frustrated Leonard during the Tarot Club meetings was his inability to put his legs up on the table.

Klein never mentioned it to him, but Leonard was smart enough to piece together the fact that it was likely due to Miss Justice's influence or suggestion that Klein scheduled a regular chat with him as he travelled the Forsaken land of the Gods.

It was important to socialise to maintain a healthy mental state when travelling through such a desolate land.

Leonard was worried for Klein, but being able to see him regularly puts him at ease.

However, he could imagine Pallez chiding him in his mind.

'Look at your former colleague. Look at how he cares about his own mental state. Why can't you do the same?'

He shrugged that thought out of his head.

Anyways, this was helpful for him too. Through these sessions, they could both maintain their mental state, humanity and find a reprieve from the madness of the world.

During these sessions, he would gossip about his teammates and dramas that occurred within the Evernight Church. He would catch Klein eyeing him incredulously at certain stories, and laugh at some of the mistakes the Red Gloves have made. Klein would also not shy away from insulting Leonard at his own mistakes.

Taking advantage of these session, Leonard would also sometimes share some of his ongoing cases that his team struggles with, hoping to glean some insights and advice from Klein. In return, Leonard would get questions from him about certain monsters he met at the Forsaken Land of the Gods. Leonard would then look through the archives in the Church and help provide information about certain monsters or whatever information he could find about the Forsaken Land of the Gods.

The most shocking thing to Leonard though, would be listening to Klein talk about the beginnings of the Tarot Club and his journey through each of his persona. Leonard couldn't help but be left aghast, finally catching up to the stories of the Tarot Club and its members. However, he was left even more amazed, listening to Klein's journey as Sherlock Moriarty, Gehrman Sparrow, and Dwyane Dantès. (And let's not forget Sinbad Voluntier and John Yode)

Leonard was almost tempted to take a break from the Red Gloves in the future to travel and see the world that Klein has witnessed, and to meet those famous... pirates that he has mentioned. He had an idea that if he ever become a sequence 3 horror bishop, he should find this pirate named Danitz, and bring him nightmares filled with Gehrman Sparrow. He was sure he would be able to digest a good amount of the potion by bringing such horrors to Danitz.

Glancing around the room above the gray fog, he tried to summon the energy to have a good conversation with Klein - but he just wasn't feeling it.

He suddenly recalled what happened a couple days ago - the day they met on Captain Dunn's anniversary in front of his tombstone.

'Captain Dunn could've made it this far.' Klein had murmured.

Leonard only hummed in response, not knowing what to say. It had been in his mind too, but something seemed to have pulled his voice away from him.

---

"Leonard, it seems like we have good news. You're about to get a new colleague."

Leonard's eyes widened as he jumped up.

"Really? He said yes? Despite knowing the risks?"

Captain Dunn nodded his head.

"That's great! I won't have to deal with Rozanne nagging me anymore about finding a wife and all that."

Rozanne laughed behind the counter.

"When did I say I'll stop nagging you once we get a new member? I can nag both of you at once! We really do need more civilian staff!"

Leonard threw Rozanne a glare before ruffling his hair.

"I have more important things to do than to woe a lady."

Rozanne twisted her face and coughed into her hands.

"Narcissist."

"Gossiper."

Captain Dunn sighed.

"Now, now, calm down you two."

Rozanne raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, you're not free from this either. When are you gonna make a move on Ma'am Daly?"

Glad that the attention had been brought away from him, Leonard jumped in eagerly.

"Yeah, Captain, I thought that you are a brave and courageous man." He specifically emphasised brave and courages.

Captain Dunn's face flushed as he turned back around.

"You're overthinking things. You should both focus on your work now. Leonard, your report is due in an hour and Rozanne, don't forget to help Old Neil once you're done with your tasks."

Captain Dunn left as groans filled the room.

After a moment of silence while they continued their previous task, a small voice echoed throughout the room.

"Hey, Leonard, treat the newbie well, okay?"

Leonard looked up and saw the emotions hidden within her eyes.

"Of course I will. Don't worry."

Rozanne let out a light laugh before looking back down to continue her task of going through the reports.

"I'm saying this for your own good. You look too unreliable. You should put in double the amount of effort in watching him and guiding him. I don't want him to become another you."

Leonard scowled and threw a soft pillow at her from the couch.

"Hey! I'm a lady!"

"Yeah. A lady who insulted me."

Rozanne glared at him.

"Yeah, I should give up on persuading you to find a wife. No lady's ever going to fall for someone like you."

"Who said I needed a wife?"

"So you want a husband? Well, no sane man would fall for you either."

"-It seems that I've arrived at a wrong time..." an aged voice echoed through the hallway.

"Old Neil!" they both exclaimed.

Old Neil chuckled as he moved forwards to sit on the couch next to Leonard.

He glanced at Leonard who was clutching a poetry book in his hand tightly.

"You're not going to throw a book at a lady, are you?"

Leonard looked at him, appalled.

"Why would you think I'd do that?"

Old Neil shrugged.

Feeling aggrieved, he rebutted "I've never once hurt Rozanne!"

"You threw a pillow at me just now!"

"I wasn't even aiming at you!" He waved his hands.

"I was.. gifting you a pillow!"

"There, there. You two should to maintain your distance when the newcomer comes. Wouldn't want to scare him away, do we? What's his name?" Old Neil touched his forehead.

"Klein Moretti." Leonard replied, having calmed down.

"Mhmm, I hope you don't forget about me once the newcomer officially joins. I'm sure you'll both have fun completing missions together." Old Neil replied with a smile.

"There's no way I'll forget you, Old Neil. I'll make sure to come visit you often, even if you can't join in on our missions frequently."

Old Neil simply laughed and moved to make a cup of coffee.

"Sure, come join me when I give Mr. Moretti his Mysticism lessons."

Leonard shivered and quickly opened his poetry book, trying to forget his past gruelling mysticism lessons.

"No thanks, I'll let you two bond over mysticism."

Old Neil simply shrugged.

"Alright then - Oh, don't you have your report to submit in less than an hour?"

Old Neil and Rozanne watched in amusement as Leonard jumped up in fright, leaving the room with a quick 'See you later!".

---

"You look a little out of it"

The calm voice slowly brought Leonard back to the present.

"Hmm."

Leonard cast a glance at Klein who was drinking sweet iced tea, and at his hands that wrapped itself around the tall glass.

Those hands were smooth, with callous at the edges telling others that looked at them that these were the hands of an academic.

Unlike him, Klein's traumas and pain isn't revealed in his hands or his face. His struggles are ones hidden far away within the depths of his heart.

Leonard once again felt helpless at being unable to help his friend.

He looked down at his own hands.

Although he wasn't wearing his red gloves, somehow the vision of it remained and he can't seem to see his hands without seeing the colour red.

Unlike before though, he felt indifferent towards it.

His hands were red.

That's just the way they are.

"Why do you think we wear these Red Gloves?"

Klein looked at him, confused.

"I mean, I'm not wearing them now, but - do you think there was a reason behind making our gloves red?"

Leonard chuckled.

"Why couldn't it be green instead?"

Klein scoffed.

"I didn't realise that you were so vain."

However, when Leonard didn't rebut back with a line of his own, Klein fidgeted a little, his lips tight.

"I used to hate the colour red." Leonard stared at the coffee in his hand.

"It reminded me of Captain Dunn and... you."

He looked back up at Klein and saw that he was putting his sweet iced tea down with a slight furrow on his eyebrows.

"I was wondering why they chose such a colour, and if they'd allow me to wear a different coloured glove, haha."

"It was just a passing thought. I'm okay with it now though. You get used to seeing red on the battlefield. It doesn't haunt me anymore. But I was just thinking, it would make identifying my team members better if red wasn't our signature colour. It's hard to differentiate them between the blood you see on the field."

Suddenly, Ma'am Daly's voice echoed in his mind.

Don't you think the red colour of the gloves looks romantic? The things we do for love, all wrapped up in our hands, coloured with shades of anger, pain and guilt.

Leonard had scoffed back then.

The love we have for the world, the love we have for our ideals, the love we have for our people... it's lovely to wear this in our hands and be reminded of why we fight.

It reminds us of our strength.

Leonard didn't say it, but in his mind, he added -

And our weakness.

"Why do you think it's red?"

Klein's voice once again brought him out of his memories.

"I don't think it matters." Leonard raised his cup to take another sip of coffee, shifting his body into a more comfortable position.

Klein took a hard look at him and Leonard had to look away, feeling like he said something wrong, but he wasn't sure what.

"Why are you staring at me? Are you finally going to admit I look good?" He put his coffee cup down and fiddled with the pillow beside him.

"You’ve done well. Captain would be proud."

Leonard, confused at the direction of this conversation, simply nodded his head.

"Captain would be proud of you too."

Klein sighed and picked up the sweet ice lemon tea again, shaking it a little.

"I hope you don't take what I say the wrong way. Although you are unreliable sometimes -"

"Hey!"

"Rude -"

'I thought we were friends!"

"impulsive -"

"Weren't you complimenting me before?"

"Crude -"

At this point, Leonard had given up on interrupting Klein.

"aloof, and rebellious - you are brave, and you do have your own strength and sharp moments."

He took a sip of his sweet ice tea and stared intently at the cup.

"I do respect you, and care for you."

Now, Leonard was feeling uncomfortable. He sat up straight and frowned, moving his legs off the table.

"If…" Klein's voice teetered off, sounding a little hesitant.

"If you think you need it, Miss Justice is always willing to offer her help."

Klein looked back up at Leonard and cast a strong gaze at him.

"I can attest to her abilities. She is a good psychiatrist, and a kind person."

Leonard didn't know what kind of face he was making now, but his mind was whirling with thoughts and emotions he couldn't grasp.

"She is also trustworthy and a believer of Evernight."

Seeing that Leonard hasn't refuted, he continued.

"I know the Evernight Church has its own psychiatrist and requests the Red Gloves to seek psychiatric treatment every once in awhile, but you may feel more comfortable talking to someone not associated with the Church."

Leonard let out a low chuckle as his muscles relaxed, seeing that they were nearing the end of this uncomfortable conversation.

"Thank you, Klein. I’ll keep that in mind."

Klein paused before adding on, "Of course, it's not for free though. You'll have to discuss the price with her."

Leonard raised his eyebrows.

Within a few seconds, laughter echoed throughout the silent kingdom.

---

Blinking his eyes, he found himself back in his living room.

A small smile appeared on his face as he recalled the conversation above the gray fog, but it soon faded as he recalled he did schedule a therapy session with Miss Justice within the next few days.

I'll have to face it sooner or later.

'You have two letters.'

'Oh.' Leonard watched two letters float towards him in midair.

'Thank you.'

For a moment, the both of them remained silent, a little wary at the coincidence of the two letters.

Leonard does not send letters out regularly, nor does he receive them regularly either. It was a little strange to be receiving two letters within a span of an hour when he was above the gray fog.

"It should be fine. I don't sense "His" involvement with these two letters."

Leonard nodded, trusting Pallez's judgement and opened the first letter.

His eyes lit up in slight amusement when a few pieces of chocolate fell down from the envelope.

"

Dearest ex-Captain, Former teammate, friend,

(Don't mind Bob, he's stupid.)

Hey - what do you asdlkfsfkljhs

We're in East Balam right now for a side mission, and we found this small shop that sold some wonderful delicacies. Apparently they used to be famous for chocolates. The war has not been good to them, and after hearing their stories, we decided to buy some of their chocolates to support them. It was better than we thought. We decided to send some over using our messenger (so don't worry, it's not spoiled due to long postal travels). We know that you don't necessarily have a sweet tooth but... I have to admit, their chocolates are exquisite. We got you some to try.

Uhm - using MY MONEY.

Ignore him. We hope you enjoy the chocolates.

We've missed playing cards with you and hope you stay safe in Backlund.

Protect the people well.

- Bob and Cindy

"

Leonard could only let out a soft chuckle, imagining the scene of Bob and Cindy fighting for the pen to write the letter.

He gently took out a piece of chocolate, unwrapped it and plopped it in his mouth.

The sweet taste mixed well with the bitterness of cocoa, melting in his tongue providing him with a sort of warmth.

'It's not too bad.' He murmured.

'Too bad you can't taste it, Old Man.'

'I'm too old for this sort of thing, kid.'

Leonard rolled his eyes and moved on towards the next letter, keeping a mental note to keep a few chocolates for Klein to try later. He could sacrifice it to Mr. Fool.

However, as soon as he opened the next letter, his hand froze. The letter he was holding trembled a little.

It was from Rozanne.

He took a small inhale before continuing to read the rest of the letter in silence.

...

...

...

"Hah..."

Leonard found himself shifting in his seat, huffing out a small breath while shaking his head.

'They don't hate you as much as you think they do.' Pallez's voice resounded in his head.

Leonard pursed his lips and nodded his head.

'You should go back and visit when you have time.'

'You're right, I really should stop avoiding that place.' Leonard murmured. The last time he visited was to help Klein with getting that sacred sun emblem artifact from Frye.

He was Captain now.

Leonard found himself musing over the past and how much everyone has grown since.

He took out a pen and paper, wanting to reply to these letters. While replying, he found himself thinking,

'Captain would be proud.'

For the first time in a while, his heart felt both an aching pain and a warm comfort.

"

I’ve forgotten how it felt,

To be in love with life.

Now that I’ve had another taste of it,

I feel the pain of drowning

A thousand times more than before -

But with the hope of a billion dandelions.

"

It seems that Miss Justice's treatment and suggestions have been working.

However, Leonard had to admit that feeling the pain and horror each time he visits the battlefield and fights the Rose School of Thought doesn't feel great, and he has to fight the urge and inner desire to let his humanity and emotions go.

What good does it do to constantly feel weary and carry the suffering of those around me?

Isn't it easier for me to let it all go and focus on my missions?

Just how flawed are human beings to have to feel these emotions and make careless decisions due to our poor mental and emotional states?

"But Mr. Star, don't you think that it is only through experiencing true horror in the face of misfortune, that one remembers that they are human? Hold on to your fears, your anger, your pain - but don't let it overwhelm you. They are what makes you human. They show that you care."

Leonard recalled his conversation with Miss Justice.

"It is through despair that we learn how to appreciate the blessings and happiness that come our way. How is one supposed to understand peace and joy, if they've never felt sadness and pain?"

"To let go of all that burdens you, to let go of all the grief and pain that you hold, is to let go of all the hope, joy and love you may have for the world."

"Indifference might not break you now, but it will break you later."

"Sit with your emotions and feel it. Try to feel where it lays within your body, and see what helps you process them. Throwing them away does not solve the issue."

"We humans are flawed, but isn't that a part of what makes us beautiful? That we strive and survive despite all odds? That despite the darkness that tries again and again to drown us, we still see beauty in this world worth protecting and nurturing, that we still try our best to light up the night sky and create beauty in a world that's constantly drowning in madness..."

"Mr. Star, I hope you don't forget the warm embrace of life while traversing its shadows."

...

Whoosh.

A flurry of red and golden leaves brushed past him.

He was back in Backlund, walking along the streets as the autumn wind danced around him.

He was on vacation, and with nothing to do, he decided to go on a walk. Donning a casual outfit with a black trenchcoat, he wandered around without his red gloves, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

It has been a few years since the end of the war, and since... Mr. Fool and Klein fell asleep.

He tossed the golden coin in his hand, walking aimlessly.

"Mr. Mitchell?"

He turned around.

In front of him was a young lady, her reddish brown hair tied in a braid, wearing a casual and loose red dress. If one looked closely, a small bump could be seen on her belly. Beside her was a young man wearing a suit, giving him a warm smile.

"It's me... Rose. The girl you saved 8 years ago."

Leonard's eyes widened.

It had been so long. The young girl he once saved was now.. pregnant and married? He looked at the ring in their hands.

"Rose... it's good to see you. How have you been? How are your parents?"

Rose smiled, letting her left hand lay on her belly gently.

"They're good - they're more than good. They're excited to welcome a new member to the family."

They all looked down at her belly.

A small smile came up on Leonard's face.

He suddenly felt like laughing, recalling the days when he would quiver slightly seeing a pregnant women. It took him a while to slowly feel safe again and not be reminded of that terrifying incident whenever he saw pregnant women.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" was what the Evernight Church's psychiatrist had told him previously.

Now, he wanted to cry tears of joy at the fact that the young girl he saved is now married, and welcoming a new life into their family.

"I've always felt sorry that I never truly got to thank you properly back then... I wasn't in a good state. But thank you, Mr. Mitchell."

Leonard shook his head.

"No need for that, I was just doing my job. I'm glad I could get to you in time."

Rose shook her head then motioned to her husband standing beside her. After a quick glance, it seemed that he knew what she wanted him to do.

He took out the basket on his right arm, and handed him a small bouquet of roses and a bag of apples.

"We were just on our way to buy fruits and saw a stall with beautiful flowers. We got a bit too many roses here haha... I got too excited at seeing the roses because..." He blushed and glanced at his wife beside him.

Rose rolled her eyes, but her face flushed pink.

"I wanted to give you a little something now that we can finally meet once again. Thank you for saving me, and for protecting us during the war."

"And thank you - for saving the girl who would eventually become my wife." The husband added.

The smell of fresh roses wafted into his nose. Hesitant, he reached out and held the bouquet of roses and bag of apples.

He looked down at his hands coloured in red and smiled.

"Thank you."

After exchanging a small goodbye and well wishes, he continued along his way, lost in his thoughts. He began to take out a golden coin from his pocket and toss it around.

He began to wonder how the victims he has saved have been doing. He hoped that they too, were doing well.

"Leonard?"

He turned around and saw a young lady wearing a light yellow dress, carrying various materials and tools in a big gray bag.

"How are you becoming more like him when he's been away for so long?" The young lady remarked, looking at the coin dancing in the air.

"Melissa?"

A part of Leonard wondered if this was a coincidence of some sort, suddenly meeting up with people on the one day he decided to walk around aimlessly. However, he shook the feeling off, knowing that 'He' was busy with something else. Besides, Pallez didn't let out a warning.

Melissa let out a light laugh.

Leonard thought back to the first time he saw her, and compared that with the elegant and intelligent lady in front of him now. He also recalled the time when he broke down the tragic news to the family, and when he told them the truth a couple years later - that Klein was a Blessed of Mr. Fool.

Since then, they've met a couple of times, and Leonard has tried his best to ensure their safety when he could.

"Is that his coin?"

Leonard grabbed the coin that was floating in the air and glanced at it.

The Sefirah Castle's aura around it shouldn’t be easily discerned by low or mid level Beyonders.

But she is his sister after all.

"I never understood why he kept playing with his coins. It’s only after I entered the Beyonder world that I knew what it was for."

Leonard let out a laugh.

How stingy is this man to have kept a gold coin for this long? 

He then imagined Klein taking over Miss Messenger's position and let out an internal snicker. Although he would grumble, Leonard was pretty sure Klein would be happy with being a messenger as long as the pay was good.

He should ask Klein to be his messenger at least once when he wakes up and offer a gold coin.

When he wakes up.

His thoughts sobered up.

He refused to believe in 'If's'.

He will wake up.

"How've you been? How's the family?"

"More or less good, the little lady though, has been extra naughty these days." Melissa shook her head.

"But she's a clever little one."

She tucked a hair behind her ear as the autumn breeze blew past her.

"Although she's been calling you a dummy recently."

Leonard coughed.

Melissa snickered.

"I suppose even at her age, she can tell that your poetry is quite... "

"No need to finish that sentence."

Melissa laughed.

"It's okay, keep trying. Even if it sucks... it's okay. Maybe all you have to do is write as badly as you can until you annoy him enough to wake him up."

Leonard cringed as they continued to walk down the road.

Suddenly an idea crossed his mind - an idea that had been floating around in his brain that he was afraid to touch. Mr Fool and Klein...

He shook his head.

That needs more confirmation.

Melissa glanced at his hands holding the roses and apple.

"You have a lover?" She raised her eyebrows.

Leonard looked down at his crimson hands and smiled.

"No. It's a gift from someone I once helped."

They continued to walk down the street in peaceful silence, walking amidst the dancing red leaves towards a brighter future.

---

Author's Note:

I've been thinking a lot about grief, loss, moving on, trauma and life recently, and it's always been on my mind that we never really got to see Leonard's internal state and how he felt throughout certain ordeals. This man has been through a LOT. I suppose since LOTM has always been on my mind, it kind of mixed in with some other thoughts I've been having and this came out.

I'm not quite sure how to navigate and go about these sensitive topics while exploring his character but... I hope this was okay? HAHA. I'm also not really a fanfiction writer. I tend to be a fanfiction reader but, I suppose sometimes things come out. So please keep this in mind haha. I do apologise for any mistakes I make and if it might not be up to certain standards - I really do read more than I write.

*cough* Also if anybody here is also a Link Click fan... yeah... that's part of the reason why I wrote this, thinking about grief, moving on, loss and trauma.

Additionally, I just wanted to add that those depictions of OCD (with the washing hands part) and more complex trauma symptoms are slightly based off of my own personal experiences. (Not the extreme ones, no I did not hurt anybody and did not hold a lifeless body thank goodness, y'all I'm okay I'm not Leonard, I hope everyone here does not have to experience that - but at least those aspects of being triggered by certain colours and things are somewhat based off real things).

Just wanted to give out a PSA for this so I don't get comments for 'Don't generalise OCD' or things like that. But also don't take this piece of fiction as a guidebook for moving on, grief, loss, what OCD or trauma is lol, I'm not an expert either. People deal with grief and mental health differently and they present itself in different forms. I know, wacky, part of my OCD is the general 'washing hands' one, but also, I didn't want to make Leonard become someone who was all about OCD/complex trauma so I didn't dive in too deep in those scenes. I just wanted to depict someone who has experienced severe trauma and how someone like Leonard might process and react to it. Since this is a one shot, I could only fit a few key scenes from the novel - scenes that I wanted to view in Leonard's perspective.

Yes, those poems at the beginning of each section are written by Leonard haha. They aren't the best but aren't too bad either. I do think he slowly improved over time.

Anyways, thank you for reading this, and I hope this piece... I don't know - I hope this piece was worth reading for you ahaha. Thank you for your understanding if I made any mistakes and if some things don't flow well. I've literally been writing this late at night and trying to figure out how fanfic writers do it... I respect y'all... but now I respect y'all even more. Thank you for feeding us but I think it's time for me to say goodbye to my LOTM fanfic writing career haha.

It was fulfilling for me in that it allowed me to try and investigate how Leonard - a complex character in his own way - would deal with losing people one by one throughout LOTM. And it was also a way for me to consolidate my general thoughts on losing people, grief, moving on, trauma and loss.

Also, there is a reason why I called Pallez Old Man until a certain point. I was trying to write this from Leonard's POV and I don't think he knows his name until much later? Or I might be wrong. Sorry I'm sleep deprived lmao.

Let me know if I got any of the timelines and things wrong.

Argh. Idk. If you want to give feedback that's okay too, and let me know how you viewed this piece! I was trying to show Leonard's big grief at first from Megose incident, to being more at a loss as he gets deeper into the Beyonder world, then the apathy/indifference and his struggle with divinity and humanity, before finding joy in life again.

Asdkjfhaslk Idk what I'm saying anymore. How do y'all do this?

I hope I depicted the characters okay. It's been a while since I read them since I'm currently reading COI (but also being a little slow for COI because life and I'm always reading like multiple things at once). So, please no COI spoilers in the comments! I'm literally making guesses about ending of LOTM and what happened with Leonard and Melissa and them knowing about Mr. Fool/Klein (based on the Niece audio book).

Also, why did I title this Crimson Hands? What does Leonard think the red gloves mean? I hope it slowly becomes clear towards the end of this piece.

*cough* I know the red gloves are probably because of the crimson moon but like - let's ignore that for the sake of this story alright? hahaha

I'm too tired and lazy to edit this work. I really.. being a writer is tough, how do writers edit their works? I'm so sorry I'm only going to quickly read through this a few times to make sure it's readable and post it ahh

Have a good day/afternoon/night, and may you have beautiful dreams and reality.

P.S There's a reason why the Room number was 213 and the sealed artifact is 1-165... (Hint: LOTM Chapter numbers hehe) (Chapter 213 and 165)

20Jan2025 Edit: Just made a few formatting edits and removed a few sentences + replaced a few sentences in the part where Miss Justice and Leonard talks. The original version had Leonard thinking a thought that I felt didn't fit in. Also I realised I messed up the timelines a little where Leonard became a Seq 5 before Ma'am Daly's death but let's just be flexible about it lol, just like how I'm flexible with the characterisation and plots a little.