thank god no one did something dumb like delete an entire entry while switching meme images
Edited 2024-01-28 02:54 (UTC)
[ There's no doubt in Akira's mind that if Akechi really didn't want him here, he'd find a way to force one or them to leave. More importantly, this is Akira's home, even if thinking of it that way this late in the game makes something in his chest squeeze tight. He's not going to get chased off just because Akechi's being a little prickly.
Though when Akechi speaks again, 'a little prickly' is suddenly a woefully inadequate descriptor. The scenario that Akechi describes is terribly grim, especially because... ]
You're probably right.
[ Something like that had gotten him sent to Tokyo in the first place, after all.
That's not the most pertinent fact of the moment, however. Akira hadn't been trapped inside the idealized reality for long, but he'd seen how little room there was for him in that world. He tells himself that he can't resent his friends for it, and he's surprised to discover that he genuinely doesn't. They had rejected that reality, for one, and it's not like any of them had chosen the knock-on effects of undoing the worst day of their life. But even ignoring both of those facts, how can he be upset considering what Maruki had offered them? Akira knows he can't compete with dead parents brought back to life, betrayals and mistakes undone, abuses completely erased. So he can't resent them in the first place, and especially not when they've decided to stand by his side.
And he certainly is sentimental, because thinking about how they'd made that decision, even knowing what they'd lose in the process, makes him think there's not a single thing he wouldn't do if they asked.
But underneath that sentimentality, Akira is a realist. He's important to them in this reality, but he'd played a minor role in their idealized lives. He knows that they care about him, and knows just as strongly that he isn't the center of anyone's universe. They all have their own plans, ambitions, family, and friends to concern themselves with.
Really, it was only Sojiro who seemed to have a wish that centered around Akira. But remembering that makes thinking about his impending departure from Leblanc even more painful than it already is. He sets the thought aside. What matters is that eventually, there's going to be a moment where he can't be there for him, and they can't be there for him. As for how he'd handle it... ]
I'd keep believing they'd be there for me eventually, even if they're not there yet.
[ ... Actually, isn't something like that bound to happen soon? Akechi had turned himself into the police so that Akira wouldn't have to. But if that was all part of Maruki's reality, then once they undo it won't he...?
The thought distracts Akira at a critical moment, and Akira pours just a little too much water into the coffee grounds. It doesn't make a mess or ruin the brew or anything like that, but he does hurry to set the kettle down once he realizes. ]
... I guess you would call that self-deluding behavior, huh?
Though when Akechi speaks again, 'a little prickly' is suddenly a woefully inadequate descriptor. The scenario that Akechi describes is terribly grim, especially because... ]
You're probably right.
[ Something like that had gotten him sent to Tokyo in the first place, after all.
That's not the most pertinent fact of the moment, however. Akira hadn't been trapped inside the idealized reality for long, but he'd seen how little room there was for him in that world. He tells himself that he can't resent his friends for it, and he's surprised to discover that he genuinely doesn't. They had rejected that reality, for one, and it's not like any of them had chosen the knock-on effects of undoing the worst day of their life. But even ignoring both of those facts, how can he be upset considering what Maruki had offered them? Akira knows he can't compete with dead parents brought back to life, betrayals and mistakes undone, abuses completely erased. So he can't resent them in the first place, and especially not when they've decided to stand by his side.
And he certainly is sentimental, because thinking about how they'd made that decision, even knowing what they'd lose in the process, makes him think there's not a single thing he wouldn't do if they asked.
But underneath that sentimentality, Akira is a realist. He's important to them in this reality, but he'd played a minor role in their idealized lives. He knows that they care about him, and knows just as strongly that he isn't the center of anyone's universe. They all have their own plans, ambitions, family, and friends to concern themselves with.
Really, it was only Sojiro who seemed to have a wish that centered around Akira. But remembering that makes thinking about his impending departure from Leblanc even more painful than it already is. He sets the thought aside. What matters is that eventually, there's going to be a moment where he can't be there for him, and they can't be there for him. As for how he'd handle it... ]
I'd keep believing they'd be there for me eventually, even if they're not there yet.
[ ... Actually, isn't something like that bound to happen soon? Akechi had turned himself into the police so that Akira wouldn't have to. But if that was all part of Maruki's reality, then once they undo it won't he...?
The thought distracts Akira at a critical moment, and Akira pours just a little too much water into the coffee grounds. It doesn't make a mess or ruin the brew or anything like that, but he does hurry to set the kettle down once he realizes. ]
... I guess you would call that self-deluding behavior, huh?
[What a disaster.
Maruki fucked up somewhere along the way, a thought that pleases him to no end. His perfect little utopia has a flaw. His seizure of this world the likely cause of his Metaverse app activating unprompted, his fingers slipping through the goddamn screen of his phone instead of opening up the input screen. Akechi can't muster up the energy to be surprised. This halfassed world is ripping itself apart at the seems and he's more than happy to pick at those pieces until it unravels.
Asking Akira to join him is an option. One he crushes and buries under a metaphorical heel once he realizes how ridiculous that assumption is. He doesn't need to bother with collecting a gaggle of people to explore somewhere, unlike the Phantom Thieves.
And then he's gone from the alleyway outside of Jazz Jin and into - where? His outfit didn't change, but Loki thrives and burns and promises in his chest. This isn't Mementos. It's not a palace. It's something else - more reminiscent of a junkyard with the smatterings of tvs and phones littering the ground, the sky a wavy haze with a foggy filter over a sky that churns and twists in waves of grotesque red like Mementos walls.
Really, he's fucking giddy at how awful this place looks. It extends in every direction with no end from this center point, the world muttering its displeasure with whispers and murmurs when he walks too far away from the pile of televisions. He takes some investigative steps in every direction before moving back to the center.]
What a hideous splatter on a perfect world. [Said with mirth, bitterness and a too delighted laugh.] Now what could this place be?
Maruki fucked up somewhere along the way, a thought that pleases him to no end. His perfect little utopia has a flaw. His seizure of this world the likely cause of his Metaverse app activating unprompted, his fingers slipping through the goddamn screen of his phone instead of opening up the input screen. Akechi can't muster up the energy to be surprised. This halfassed world is ripping itself apart at the seems and he's more than happy to pick at those pieces until it unravels.
Asking Akira to join him is an option. One he crushes and buries under a metaphorical heel once he realizes how ridiculous that assumption is. He doesn't need to bother with collecting a gaggle of people to explore somewhere, unlike the Phantom Thieves.
And then he's gone from the alleyway outside of Jazz Jin and into - where? His outfit didn't change, but Loki thrives and burns and promises in his chest. This isn't Mementos. It's not a palace. It's something else - more reminiscent of a junkyard with the smatterings of tvs and phones littering the ground, the sky a wavy haze with a foggy filter over a sky that churns and twists in waves of grotesque red like Mementos walls.
Really, he's fucking giddy at how awful this place looks. It extends in every direction with no end from this center point, the world muttering its displeasure with whispers and murmurs when he walks too far away from the pile of televisions. He takes some investigative steps in every direction before moving back to the center.]
What a hideous splatter on a perfect world. [Said with mirth, bitterness and a too delighted laugh.] Now what could this place be?
[Rising from the ashes, strong and resolute, is a cliche he can no longer stomach.
Tearing away from rot and mud, body heavy and weighed down by an entity he thought was fighting his very existence in the moment - now he knows it was gravity against his exhausted living corpse. But every jostle felt like fire. Every step after burned him alight and-
Even as the months passed, he never contacted Ren. Those passing thoughts surfacing in the quiet moments where static was louder than the television he was flicking through, when words on his phone became muddled, when his college exam had questions reminiscient of a back and forth between two could have been friends in the comfortable expanse of a homely cafe.
Fate held a noose over both their heads - a chokehold impossible to escape if he makes a decision to reach out. A red string weaving through their ribs and soul - binding in a way that makes him want to rip it into pieces. It's the principle of it.
Ren's number stays in his phone anyway. Untouched. Unchanged.
And it's that same fate his mind flickers back to, when he sees Ren standing in their dorm. A reminder that it takes two to cut a string free. A bitter realization that he was waiting. A living, breathing reminder that there was one person out there who wasn't disgusted at his existence. Taller, broader, stronger from a life stuck in adversity, despite all the injustices he solved.
He never believed it was a coincidence. The explosive first encounter with the tense days that followed never shook Ren's resolve. Akechi's tenacity, strong and unyielding, never wavered either. No threat made an impact - shooting, leaving, vanishing. The bluffs called out through a knowledge of his psyche so intimate that he can't stand it.
A comfortable routine forms in the months that follow. A settling of silent debts and promises in the shared coffees, the study sessions, the nights out to places that will never feel like Jazz Jin did and cafe lunches.
It's in the papers they share between them, assignments read over by the other, mistakes poked and prodded with teasing that sometimes turns vicious.
Ren's laptop is a disaster, he decides, on one such day. An already proofread paper minimized to reveal a scattered desktop screen - days as a detective a way to hide his nosy nature.]
These folders are horrible. [There's no bite behind that accusation - he continues to scroll through documents and images. Noting folder names and the like, but not digging further than surface area.] I'm truly baffled. The great leader of the Phantom Thieves, unable to find his algebra homework due to shitty file naming. The media would eat that up.
Tearing away from rot and mud, body heavy and weighed down by an entity he thought was fighting his very existence in the moment - now he knows it was gravity against his exhausted living corpse. But every jostle felt like fire. Every step after burned him alight and-
Even as the months passed, he never contacted Ren. Those passing thoughts surfacing in the quiet moments where static was louder than the television he was flicking through, when words on his phone became muddled, when his college exam had questions reminiscient of a back and forth between two could have been friends in the comfortable expanse of a homely cafe.
Fate held a noose over both their heads - a chokehold impossible to escape if he makes a decision to reach out. A red string weaving through their ribs and soul - binding in a way that makes him want to rip it into pieces. It's the principle of it.
Ren's number stays in his phone anyway. Untouched. Unchanged.
And it's that same fate his mind flickers back to, when he sees Ren standing in their dorm. A reminder that it takes two to cut a string free. A bitter realization that he was waiting. A living, breathing reminder that there was one person out there who wasn't disgusted at his existence. Taller, broader, stronger from a life stuck in adversity, despite all the injustices he solved.
He never believed it was a coincidence. The explosive first encounter with the tense days that followed never shook Ren's resolve. Akechi's tenacity, strong and unyielding, never wavered either. No threat made an impact - shooting, leaving, vanishing. The bluffs called out through a knowledge of his psyche so intimate that he can't stand it.
A comfortable routine forms in the months that follow. A settling of silent debts and promises in the shared coffees, the study sessions, the nights out to places that will never feel like Jazz Jin did and cafe lunches.
It's in the papers they share between them, assignments read over by the other, mistakes poked and prodded with teasing that sometimes turns vicious.
Ren's laptop is a disaster, he decides, on one such day. An already proofread paper minimized to reveal a scattered desktop screen - days as a detective a way to hide his nosy nature.]
These folders are horrible. [There's no bite behind that accusation - he continues to scroll through documents and images. Noting folder names and the like, but not digging further than surface area.] I'm truly baffled. The great leader of the Phantom Thieves, unable to find his algebra homework due to shitty file naming. The media would eat that up.
[ akechi does this.
in the months he's been living with akechi goro, his often-moody roommate would find any little excuse nitpick at what ren does, or what he says, or in this case: what how his folders are arranged.
ren's brows quirk upwards as he watches akechi scrutinize his desktop. true: ren has a bad habit of saving things directly into his desktop instead of arranging his folders, leading to him misplace his files. he thinks it couldn't be that hard to find it if he really tired, but for some reason, ren's absolutely fine akechi peering at his desktop, judging him, findings things to complain about. it reminds him of old times. ]
Eh, I'll find it eventually, [ he dismisses idly, a proud smirk wearing on his lips. ] It's not due for a couple days anyway.
[ innocently, he peers over to his roommate. he's got to be cool about this. ]
We should go out. [ he knows how that sounds. ] Do something. I think we deserve it a little break.
in the months he's been living with akechi goro, his often-moody roommate would find any little excuse nitpick at what ren does, or what he says, or in this case: what how his folders are arranged.
ren's brows quirk upwards as he watches akechi scrutinize his desktop. true: ren has a bad habit of saving things directly into his desktop instead of arranging his folders, leading to him misplace his files. he thinks it couldn't be that hard to find it if he really tired, but for some reason, ren's absolutely fine akechi peering at his desktop, judging him, findings things to complain about. it reminds him of old times. ]
Eh, I'll find it eventually, [ he dismisses idly, a proud smirk wearing on his lips. ] It's not due for a couple days anyway.
[ innocently, he peers over to his roommate. he's got to be cool about this. ]
We should go out. [ he knows how that sounds. ] Do something. I think we deserve it a little break.
(( previously... ))
I thought you said he told you to contact me! Does that mean he can't even speak?!
["It's not serious," Akechi lied, like a liar.]
....Would we really be alright without him in that place, though? I don't think it'd hurt to rest for a day. It just means we'd have to work harder the next time we infiltrate.
I thought you said he told you to contact me! Does that mean he can't even speak?!
["It's not serious," Akechi lied, like a liar.]
....Would we really be alright without him in that place, though? I don't think it'd hurt to rest for a day. It just means we'd have to work harder the next time we infiltrate.
[He wasn't hospitalized- he's fine!!
But he doesn't fight the not go without him. This 'team must move together' nonsense is the most irritating part of working in a group. He'll just go alone.]
A knife in the throat will cause some side effects. I assume not speaking for awhile is the most minor one.
I'm sure he'll text you more detailed updates once he's finished all the paperwork.
But he doesn't fight the not go without him. This 'team must move together' nonsense is the most irritating part of working in a group. He'll just go alone.]
A knife in the throat will cause some side effects. I assume not speaking for awhile is the most minor one.
I'm sure he'll text you more detailed updates once he's finished all the paperwork.
Edited 2024-04-08 13:20 (UTC)
text >> action, i thought i responded to this weeks ago help
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cinderly
- 2024-07-25 11:08 (UTC) - Expand[ from here.
his business with kasumi is dealt with eventually, and luckily, he'd already been in the area when the jazz jin open its doors to guests.
he shows up before akechi, sending off his polite turndowns from other invitations from his friends. frankly, things have been rough for them since they realized what was terribly wrong with reality, but it seems emotions finally settled. he figured that he shouldn't be too present - that's what he tells himself, anyway, when he doesn't want to hang out with his friends and want to just spend the night with akechi - when they're trying to heal.
at the familiar sight of chestnut and warm red, he smiles wide. akechi's expression is different these days - he isn't wearing make-up - he can see the bags under his eyes, but the scarf brings out his features somehow. makes him realize how red his eyes were.
ren steps forward, closer, a swing of his heels away from moving forward to hug him. instead the momentum is there but he only stands awkwardly in front of him, suddenly winded by seeing him again. ]
Hey.
his business with kasumi is dealt with eventually, and luckily, he'd already been in the area when the jazz jin open its doors to guests.
he shows up before akechi, sending off his polite turndowns from other invitations from his friends. frankly, things have been rough for them since they realized what was terribly wrong with reality, but it seems emotions finally settled. he figured that he shouldn't be too present - that's what he tells himself, anyway, when he doesn't want to hang out with his friends and want to just spend the night with akechi - when they're trying to heal.
at the familiar sight of chestnut and warm red, he smiles wide. akechi's expression is different these days - he isn't wearing make-up - he can see the bags under his eyes, but the scarf brings out his features somehow. makes him realize how red his eyes were.
ren steps forward, closer, a swing of his heels away from moving forward to hug him. instead the momentum is there but he only stands awkwardly in front of him, suddenly winded by seeing him again. ]
Hey.
Edited 2024-04-19 01:26 (UTC)
[Jazz Jin is special beyond its ambiance and relative secrecy.
It was his. A place untouched by Shido's influence or his own well struck path of revenge. It simply was and existed as a liminal space for him to recover. Quiet music calming, drinks that held more taste than any food plastered over his blog and-
Because he shared it with someone - the only place he ever has. The only place he ever will - the ticking clock of his own mortality almost in its final day. The bright eyed, intelligent teenager he was drawn to, who outsmarted him, who faced every challenge he offered with finesse and ease-
It's special here - a feeling that resounds louder with the appearance of Ren, who arrived before him this time. Arms outstretch for a hug that temporarily stuns Akechi into absolute silence - maybe that was his plan. It's hard to tell with Ren these days and he puts nothing past him.]
No.
[He does, however, rest a gloved hand against his shoulder to turn him towards their normal table.]
I forgot to mention during our call, but there's a new drink here tonight to accompany the performance.
It was his. A place untouched by Shido's influence or his own well struck path of revenge. It simply was and existed as a liminal space for him to recover. Quiet music calming, drinks that held more taste than any food plastered over his blog and-
Because he shared it with someone - the only place he ever has. The only place he ever will - the ticking clock of his own mortality almost in its final day. The bright eyed, intelligent teenager he was drawn to, who outsmarted him, who faced every challenge he offered with finesse and ease-
It's special here - a feeling that resounds louder with the appearance of Ren, who arrived before him this time. Arms outstretch for a hug that temporarily stuns Akechi into absolute silence - maybe that was his plan. It's hard to tell with Ren these days and he puts nothing past him.]
No.
[He does, however, rest a gloved hand against his shoulder to turn him towards their normal table.]
I forgot to mention during our call, but there's a new drink here tonight to accompany the performance.
[ Maruki has spent the lion's share of the time since Christmas Eve in his Palace. It's necessary for his work, of course, but more than that, it's comfortable. A home for all of the research he's spent so much of his life toiling over, a place with the means to throw himself into the work he was truly meant for – and everything so clean, so simple. Being in the Palace is like slipping beneath warm bathwater, subsumed and soothed. Who would ever want to leave?
But he has left, on occasion. It isn't strictly necessary for his work – the monitoring room, in all its splendor, shows him everything he could possibly need to see. No, it's simply for pleasure. It's one thing to see the effects of altered cognitions from on high, but another to walk among them. He finds it deeply gratifying to wander through familiar streets and see how blissful life has become for so many. Families who can fully enjoy their time together, friends whose bonds are never strained or tested. People sharing good news, celebrating dream careers and graduations, weddings and retirements. His heart nearly bursts to see it: all those pains from their previous lives, large and small, swept aside so they can finally experience true contentment.
Tonight, for the first time, his meandering has purpose.
He's given Akira and Akechi one week to immerse themselves in this new reality and see how wonderful life could be. When it comes to Akira, he's less concerned. Throughout their many conversations, two things became clear to Maruki: there is no one more dedicated to their friends, and no one more steadfast in their own convictions than Akira. A fascinating dichotomy, a fascinating young man. Both possibilities seem equally likely – Akira could stand on his principles and reject this reality, or he could realize how much happier his friends are with their newfound freedom and choose to honor that. Maruki doesn't know what he will choose in the end, but he at least knows what the possibilities are, and he knows that there are ways to convince Akira that what he's done is right.
On the other hand, Goro Akechi is his blind spot.
That uncertainty is what compels him to leave Odaiba and make his way to Kichijoji, weaving his way through crowds of happy couples and groups of friends and tourists who never get lost. As he settles into a comfortable seat in Jazz Jin and orders a cocktail, he taps one foot to the music and keeps one eye on the door.
Akechi made his stance perfectly clear in the Palace. He'd referred to this perfect reality as brainwashing, called it revolting – Maruki hadn't expected such a visceral reaction. Still, Akechi's view of it is valid, in his own way. Maruki has no interest in forcing him to change his mind, and even less interest in fighting him.
But he can't accept that there is nothing that could be done to help Akechi see how beneficial this new world could be for him. Surely there's something. There must be some small part of Akechi that wanted a fresh start. There must be a way to show him that he deserves a life devoid of suffering, just as everyone else does. Maruki wants him to want this, too. It's only a matter of finding out how to get Akechi to let himself want it.
When Akechi enters, Maruki feigns surprise and smiles genially at him. ]
Akechi-kun! I didn't expect to see you here.
[ A white lie, harmless. Maruki waves him over and gestures to the empty seat next to him. ]
Why don't you join me? The singer tonight is wonderful.
But he has left, on occasion. It isn't strictly necessary for his work – the monitoring room, in all its splendor, shows him everything he could possibly need to see. No, it's simply for pleasure. It's one thing to see the effects of altered cognitions from on high, but another to walk among them. He finds it deeply gratifying to wander through familiar streets and see how blissful life has become for so many. Families who can fully enjoy their time together, friends whose bonds are never strained or tested. People sharing good news, celebrating dream careers and graduations, weddings and retirements. His heart nearly bursts to see it: all those pains from their previous lives, large and small, swept aside so they can finally experience true contentment.
Tonight, for the first time, his meandering has purpose.
He's given Akira and Akechi one week to immerse themselves in this new reality and see how wonderful life could be. When it comes to Akira, he's less concerned. Throughout their many conversations, two things became clear to Maruki: there is no one more dedicated to their friends, and no one more steadfast in their own convictions than Akira. A fascinating dichotomy, a fascinating young man. Both possibilities seem equally likely – Akira could stand on his principles and reject this reality, or he could realize how much happier his friends are with their newfound freedom and choose to honor that. Maruki doesn't know what he will choose in the end, but he at least knows what the possibilities are, and he knows that there are ways to convince Akira that what he's done is right.
On the other hand, Goro Akechi is his blind spot.
That uncertainty is what compels him to leave Odaiba and make his way to Kichijoji, weaving his way through crowds of happy couples and groups of friends and tourists who never get lost. As he settles into a comfortable seat in Jazz Jin and orders a cocktail, he taps one foot to the music and keeps one eye on the door.
Akechi made his stance perfectly clear in the Palace. He'd referred to this perfect reality as brainwashing, called it revolting – Maruki hadn't expected such a visceral reaction. Still, Akechi's view of it is valid, in his own way. Maruki has no interest in forcing him to change his mind, and even less interest in fighting him.
But he can't accept that there is nothing that could be done to help Akechi see how beneficial this new world could be for him. Surely there's something. There must be some small part of Akechi that wanted a fresh start. There must be a way to show him that he deserves a life devoid of suffering, just as everyone else does. Maruki wants him to want this, too. It's only a matter of finding out how to get Akechi to let himself want it.
When Akechi enters, Maruki feigns surprise and smiles genially at him. ]
Akechi-kun! I didn't expect to see you here.
[ A white lie, harmless. Maruki waves him over and gestures to the empty seat next to him. ]
Why don't you join me? The singer tonight is wonderful.
[There's experience gained in flitting on the edges of society's grasp - stuck on the edge of two worlds with no interest in either. Perception became key and observing second nature - supposed natural gifts he was lauded for in interviews, but it was life that molded it into a necessary survival skill.
Reality was wrong when he woke up. Confirmed true through investigation, alliances with rivals and dead turned living. People whose bodies wisped through his fingers, under his heel, standing tall in a world they don't belong in. The supposed culprit making himself known and the whirlwind of bullshit that followed was -
Exhausting in its tenacious hold. Maruki a puppet master under a new name, with a lofty goal held behind false altruism. Akira's resolve is strong. His own, untouchable. It's a matter of sifting through those who couldn't maintain their will. There are perks in gained arms and detriments in the time earning them. It leaves him restless - annoyed and tense when there's nothing to do outside of mindless research. Ammo from articles, books, notes - anything he could get his hands on.
But even that avenue is exhausted to its limit, much like his own patience and of all the worldly comforts he afford himself-
Jazz Jin was one. A place free of Shido's influence and a hole in the wall that fit neatly in spaces between two worlds. Muhen never asked too many questions and he was never asked to do more but sit. Listen. Be lulled into feigned peace from the soft edges of songs and dimmed lights.
It was his. Only his and now a disease has infiltrated his home. The man waving him over from a familiar table like they're passing acquaintances - comfortable and content.
Maruki's presence would've had less of an impact if he had been seated on his unused couch, holding a cup of expired instant coffee in the center of his apartment. The image is jarring - he was prepared for an infiltration, but not here.
Ramrod straight, he assess the sight before him from the doorway - momentarily blocking another person from coming in, who slides behind him with annoyance.
Akechi, for the briefest second, flits with the idea of finding Shido's old dealers in one of these dark alleyways and finishing this night with a bullet to the good doctor's skull.
But he doesn't. Continues to stand there for one, two, three seconds. This isn't an accident. Not a mistake. Maruki does not belong here and the frayed edges of reality seem more apparent than ever.]
Oh? Don't want to sit and wait in your ivory tower?
[Tense. On edge. Contorted and twisted - a tone barely held together. Muhen's gaze turning his way at the foreign sound out of Akechi's mouth and-
He moves to his table - Maruki plastered in Akira's common spot a factor he notes with great distaste as he seats himself. This is a place he refuses to be pushed out of. This is his.]
You and I both know this isn't an accident - don't insult me by acting like anything in your reality is mere coincidence. Spit out whatever you're here to say, but keep in mind I lack Kurusu's hesitation on how to deal with you and you're not safe simply because you left the Metaverse.
Reality was wrong when he woke up. Confirmed true through investigation, alliances with rivals and dead turned living. People whose bodies wisped through his fingers, under his heel, standing tall in a world they don't belong in. The supposed culprit making himself known and the whirlwind of bullshit that followed was -
Exhausting in its tenacious hold. Maruki a puppet master under a new name, with a lofty goal held behind false altruism. Akira's resolve is strong. His own, untouchable. It's a matter of sifting through those who couldn't maintain their will. There are perks in gained arms and detriments in the time earning them. It leaves him restless - annoyed and tense when there's nothing to do outside of mindless research. Ammo from articles, books, notes - anything he could get his hands on.
But even that avenue is exhausted to its limit, much like his own patience and of all the worldly comforts he afford himself-
Jazz Jin was one. A place free of Shido's influence and a hole in the wall that fit neatly in spaces between two worlds. Muhen never asked too many questions and he was never asked to do more but sit. Listen. Be lulled into feigned peace from the soft edges of songs and dimmed lights.
It was his. Only his and now a disease has infiltrated his home. The man waving him over from a familiar table like they're passing acquaintances - comfortable and content.
Maruki's presence would've had less of an impact if he had been seated on his unused couch, holding a cup of expired instant coffee in the center of his apartment. The image is jarring - he was prepared for an infiltration, but not here.
Ramrod straight, he assess the sight before him from the doorway - momentarily blocking another person from coming in, who slides behind him with annoyance.
Akechi, for the briefest second, flits with the idea of finding Shido's old dealers in one of these dark alleyways and finishing this night with a bullet to the good doctor's skull.
But he doesn't. Continues to stand there for one, two, three seconds. This isn't an accident. Not a mistake. Maruki does not belong here and the frayed edges of reality seem more apparent than ever.]
Oh? Don't want to sit and wait in your ivory tower?
[Tense. On edge. Contorted and twisted - a tone barely held together. Muhen's gaze turning his way at the foreign sound out of Akechi's mouth and-
He moves to his table - Maruki plastered in Akira's common spot a factor he notes with great distaste as he seats himself. This is a place he refuses to be pushed out of. This is his.]
You and I both know this isn't an accident - don't insult me by acting like anything in your reality is mere coincidence. Spit out whatever you're here to say, but keep in mind I lack Kurusu's hesitation on how to deal with you and you're not safe simply because you left the Metaverse.
akechi baby i am so sorry, you got him to villain monologue
placation
- 2024-04-26 00:41 (UTC) - Expandvillains???? monologues????? to hell with THAT [will power plays in the distance]🎵🎶🎵🎶
enteloki
- 2024-04-26 01:23 (UTC) - Expandwhat ryuji doesn't know is any persona can be a bike if u aren't A COWARD
enteloki
- 2024-04-26 22:31 (UTC) - Expand [It's always been easier not to get close to anyone. Especially not anyone her own age.
Whose smiles are real? Whose smiles are fake? It's impossible to tell who actually likes you when so many just want to get close for the chance of money, of power, of squeezing her for everything she has like a sponge. She doesn't want to be used and tossed aside... so it's far, far simpler to be alone.
It hurts, but it hurts even more as the years pass and her father distances himself, too. Most days, it's like looking at another man entirely... and yet Haru keeps trying, keeps looking and searching as if the next time she beholds him, he'll smile and love her the same as he did when she was small. She keeps trying, no matter how much every dismissive word stings and every cold shoulder bites at her skin with its chill.
She keeps trying even right up to when he sells her hand in marriage like another business agreement.
When Haru met Akechi Goro, it was behind the scenes of Good Morning Japan, embarrassed about the soil still covering her hands in her rush to leave her rooftop garden at Shujin Academy. Akechi was charming, polite, good-natured in every way imaginable...
...and yet, as he handed her a handkerchief with a lovely smile, she couldn't help but think that something about him felt terribly lonely. She wouldn't dare to presume that she knew anything about his life (no one should, but especially not her), but she couldn't help the feeling that the distance he put between himself and everyone else, perfectly nice but with an invisible buffer surrounding him... Wasn't that just so familiar?
Haru doesn't have friends, and she doesn't really think she ever should. But the thought had lingered that it would be nice to talk to him again.
The moment that fragile wish crumbles is seated across from him and an older man at a nice dinner, a gathering of the wealthy. Her eyes are wide and lavender spring dress hanging daintily from her shoulders, sheer cap sleeves and fragile gossamer fabric the most flimsy of armor in this place that can offer her no protection.]
Father... I don't understand.
[He's saying something, but she doesn't understand. Can't. Why is he talking about her like she's just another contract, approval for a new Big Bang Burger location in Sapporo signed off on his desk? Why is that other man smiling like he's getting everything he ever wanted, and what does he have to do with either Haru or her- her new-
...
Why is Akechi wearing that expression she can't read?
Why are they all talking like Haru is the only one in the room that doesn't understand, when it's her life being written away?]
Akechi-kun.
[She doesn't know why she says his name... but maybe it's just for the sake of her broken wish.]
Whose smiles are real? Whose smiles are fake? It's impossible to tell who actually likes you when so many just want to get close for the chance of money, of power, of squeezing her for everything she has like a sponge. She doesn't want to be used and tossed aside... so it's far, far simpler to be alone.
It hurts, but it hurts even more as the years pass and her father distances himself, too. Most days, it's like looking at another man entirely... and yet Haru keeps trying, keeps looking and searching as if the next time she beholds him, he'll smile and love her the same as he did when she was small. She keeps trying, no matter how much every dismissive word stings and every cold shoulder bites at her skin with its chill.
She keeps trying even right up to when he sells her hand in marriage like another business agreement.
When Haru met Akechi Goro, it was behind the scenes of Good Morning Japan, embarrassed about the soil still covering her hands in her rush to leave her rooftop garden at Shujin Academy. Akechi was charming, polite, good-natured in every way imaginable...
...and yet, as he handed her a handkerchief with a lovely smile, she couldn't help but think that something about him felt terribly lonely. She wouldn't dare to presume that she knew anything about his life (no one should, but especially not her), but she couldn't help the feeling that the distance he put between himself and everyone else, perfectly nice but with an invisible buffer surrounding him... Wasn't that just so familiar?
Haru doesn't have friends, and she doesn't really think she ever should. But the thought had lingered that it would be nice to talk to him again.
The moment that fragile wish crumbles is seated across from him and an older man at a nice dinner, a gathering of the wealthy. Her eyes are wide and lavender spring dress hanging daintily from her shoulders, sheer cap sleeves and fragile gossamer fabric the most flimsy of armor in this place that can offer her no protection.]
Father... I don't understand.
[He's saying something, but she doesn't understand. Can't. Why is he talking about her like she's just another contract, approval for a new Big Bang Burger location in Sapporo signed off on his desk? Why is that other man smiling like he's getting everything he ever wanted, and what does he have to do with either Haru or her- her new-
...
Why is Akechi wearing that expression she can't read?
Why are they all talking like Haru is the only one in the room that doesn't understand, when it's her life being written away?]
Akechi-kun.
[She doesn't know why she says his name... but maybe it's just for the sake of her broken wish.]
[Signing away his life is a normal Tuesday for him - check a spot, mark a page, press black ink into the messy lines that form Akechi Goro.
Only a hard life ending with a man's slashed throat and an acknowledgment of Akechi Goro's existence in a world where his name should have never been uttered.
When he met Haru at the TV station, it was quick. Her presence registering a single step above the bustling crew or audience members. She got a show, he played the part, they went their separate ways.
Signing away his life is a normal Wednesday - check a spot, mark a page and listen to the messy voices that viciously whisper Akechi Goro in tense words exchanged over an untapped phone. There were two lives signed away that day and-
He didn't give a shit. Irrelevant. A harsh laugh under Shido's breath - favors and deals in the flesh and blood of those who know better than to fight back. He doesn't bother. The details are meaningless. A dog unleashed into a once fenced yard - he's supposed to be protection, but Shido doesn't protect.
Engaged. Get close. Stay close. A powerful CEO whose greed overshadows all - selling his daughter for political favors.
Akechi doesn't care - not about this situation, not about her. The pleased noises of those at the table settle into a familiar hum at the back of his skull, like every other unpleasant and annoying task. A whisper in Mementos to crush, a palace ruler to end and Okumura -
A palace is the least of his worries now. Already marked on his phone. Marked in Shido's hitlist. A daughter in place to take control when the man's untimely death hits the news, the media twisting the engagement as good fortune, as destiny, as something to be grateful for instead of suspicious of.
But he doesn't want to do this. A desire to gouge out his eyes with the untouched, polished spoon by his hand over playing house with some heiress.
Akechi-kun breaks the white noise he's mustered up - he remembers where he's at.]
It's a surprise, isn't it? It certainly caught me off guard. I feel like I have to apologize for all of this, though it's not my hand that decided anything.
[They aren't listening. No one is. Who cares about musings of two people with no agency, no freedom.
They can't do a thing.
He laughs - light and airy. Uncomfortable, while trying to feign comfort. It's awkward. Pointless. Meaningless. Unimportant trivial bullshit. He doubts the noble heiress will survive long past her shitty father.]
I'm sure this isn't ideal for you - marrying a stranger with no value in their lineage. My celebrity status carries me somewhat, but I'm not ignorant of how this must look to you. I'll do my best to not embarrass the Okumura name you and your father have worked so hard to cultivate.
Only a hard life ending with a man's slashed throat and an acknowledgment of Akechi Goro's existence in a world where his name should have never been uttered.
When he met Haru at the TV station, it was quick. Her presence registering a single step above the bustling crew or audience members. She got a show, he played the part, they went their separate ways.
Signing away his life is a normal Wednesday - check a spot, mark a page and listen to the messy voices that viciously whisper Akechi Goro in tense words exchanged over an untapped phone. There were two lives signed away that day and-
He didn't give a shit. Irrelevant. A harsh laugh under Shido's breath - favors and deals in the flesh and blood of those who know better than to fight back. He doesn't bother. The details are meaningless. A dog unleashed into a once fenced yard - he's supposed to be protection, but Shido doesn't protect.
Engaged. Get close. Stay close. A powerful CEO whose greed overshadows all - selling his daughter for political favors.
Akechi doesn't care - not about this situation, not about her. The pleased noises of those at the table settle into a familiar hum at the back of his skull, like every other unpleasant and annoying task. A whisper in Mementos to crush, a palace ruler to end and Okumura -
A palace is the least of his worries now. Already marked on his phone. Marked in Shido's hitlist. A daughter in place to take control when the man's untimely death hits the news, the media twisting the engagement as good fortune, as destiny, as something to be grateful for instead of suspicious of.
But he doesn't want to do this. A desire to gouge out his eyes with the untouched, polished spoon by his hand over playing house with some heiress.
Akechi-kun breaks the white noise he's mustered up - he remembers where he's at.]
It's a surprise, isn't it? It certainly caught me off guard. I feel like I have to apologize for all of this, though it's not my hand that decided anything.
[They aren't listening. No one is. Who cares about musings of two people with no agency, no freedom.
They can't do a thing.
He laughs - light and airy. Uncomfortable, while trying to feign comfort. It's awkward. Pointless. Meaningless. Unimportant trivial bullshit. He doubts the noble heiress will survive long past her shitty father.]
I'm sure this isn't ideal for you - marrying a stranger with no value in their lineage. My celebrity status carries me somewhat, but I'm not ignorant of how this must look to you. I'll do my best to not embarrass the Okumura name you and your father have worked so hard to cultivate.
[People like Adachi Tohru-
Are baffling in their disturbed psyche. A man corrupted by an undeniable cruelty in a world formed and twisted by his own hand.
The crimes settle neatly near the Metaverse. Adjacent, not the same. The small town of Inaba a joke of a place to have the appearance of such power. Adachi Tohru a bizarre fucking mystery in himself. Crimes written down with apprehension and unease, an unbelievable story at its heels.
The criminal coated in a pleasant veneer - laid back and docile on the surface.
It didn't last. An investigation born out of curiosity and need turned to spite after a single, short lived conversation. A layer peeled back by their own passive aggression, Akechi's lack of true training marred in the face of someone with it.
He fucking hates Adachi Tohru and-
The escape wasn't any goddamn surprise. The news offering a two minute spiel over some shitty rural criminal wandering out of the 4x4 fence he assumes was his cell. Akechi barely hearing the details over the shuffle of his coat, gloves pulled from a drawer, little sparks of life in a barely lived in condo that dulls out background noise.
It's an inkling in his chest that drives him to the Metaverse that evening. No targets to hunt down. Mementos raw and unyielding in its warped imagery, but somehow-
It's different. Much different. Hackles raised even as he traverses lower levels different. Silent and prowling familiar tracks, eviscerating weak shadows that run and-]
Where are you?
Are baffling in their disturbed psyche. A man corrupted by an undeniable cruelty in a world formed and twisted by his own hand.
The crimes settle neatly near the Metaverse. Adjacent, not the same. The small town of Inaba a joke of a place to have the appearance of such power. Adachi Tohru a bizarre fucking mystery in himself. Crimes written down with apprehension and unease, an unbelievable story at its heels.
The criminal coated in a pleasant veneer - laid back and docile on the surface.
It didn't last. An investigation born out of curiosity and need turned to spite after a single, short lived conversation. A layer peeled back by their own passive aggression, Akechi's lack of true training marred in the face of someone with it.
He fucking hates Adachi Tohru and-
The escape wasn't any goddamn surprise. The news offering a two minute spiel over some shitty rural criminal wandering out of the 4x4 fence he assumes was his cell. Akechi barely hearing the details over the shuffle of his coat, gloves pulled from a drawer, little sparks of life in a barely lived in condo that dulls out background noise.
It's an inkling in his chest that drives him to the Metaverse that evening. No targets to hunt down. Mementos raw and unyielding in its warped imagery, but somehow-
It's different. Much different. Hackles raised even as he traverses lower levels different. Silent and prowling familiar tracks, eviscerating weak shadows that run and-]
Where are you?
[Honestly? Adachi hadn't been planning on going anywhere.
It hasn't been fun, and he still doesn't like it, but believe it or not, he's held true to his promise to Yu and the others. At any rate, he's managed to stick it out thus far. With... certain exceptions, of course. Sheesh, don't even get him started on that awful Sho kid. He'd gone along with Minazuki's ambitions, at least long enough to figure out what the brat was planning and relay that to Yu and his shitty little friends in his own Adachi way. Not like he really had much of a choice.
He has one now, though. So what changed?
That is an answer he'll keep to himself for now, smirking from the shadows as Akechi impatiently stalks through the depths of Mementos in search of him. The former detective's lip curls cruelly as he lies in wait.
Just another shitty brat.]
Looking for me?
[That sleazy, nasally drawl of his echoes through the otherworldy catacombs. If he really pushes himself, Akechi might just hear the faintest sound of sensible work shoes clopping in the distance.]
Hey, waitasecond... I thought you were supposed to be the next Detective Prince? That's what everyone else is saying. [But Adachi Tohru, Akechi's about to find out, is different from everyone else.] Shouldn't be that hard for a genius like you to figure it out. Right?
It hasn't been fun, and he still doesn't like it, but believe it or not, he's held true to his promise to Yu and the others. At any rate, he's managed to stick it out thus far. With... certain exceptions, of course. Sheesh, don't even get him started on that awful Sho kid. He'd gone along with Minazuki's ambitions, at least long enough to figure out what the brat was planning and relay that to Yu and his shitty little friends in his own Adachi way. Not like he really had much of a choice.
He has one now, though. So what changed?
That is an answer he'll keep to himself for now, smirking from the shadows as Akechi impatiently stalks through the depths of Mementos in search of him. The former detective's lip curls cruelly as he lies in wait.
Just another shitty brat.]
Looking for me?
[That sleazy, nasally drawl of his echoes through the otherworldy catacombs. If he really pushes himself, Akechi might just hear the faintest sound of sensible work shoes clopping in the distance.]
Hey, waitasecond... I thought you were supposed to be the next Detective Prince? That's what everyone else is saying. [But Adachi Tohru, Akechi's about to find out, is different from everyone else.] Shouldn't be that hard for a genius like you to figure it out. Right?
if you thought TFDAWTAU was escaping today unscathed you got another thing coming
placation
- 2024-06-02 21:41 (UTC) - Expandthe day i get to use this icon in laby is the day i die happy
placation
- 2024-06-02 22:32 (UTC) - Expand[First of all, it got temporarily banned after a semi-hearted argument with x12RedHawkSupremacyo.
SECONDLY-]
Do you still have access to my phone or are you stalking my reddit accounts? Either way, stop.
SECONDLY-]
Do you still have access to my phone or are you stalking my reddit accounts? Either way, stop.
[ The return to reality comes swiftly, brutally, without any time to say goodbye. Without any time to determine if it even is goodbye.
It's something they only ever spoke of once. On a cliff's edge, more stars above their heads than they'd ever see in Tokyo, gently glowing plantlife at their feet. The potential to return to another point in time. Early June, Akechi had told him, was where he was from and where he would return to, without question. Maruki only believed the latter.
Beyond the practical reasons for wanting to return to any, any point before Christmas Eve, there was of course the sentimental side that he knew better than to ever share with Akechi: There was always, always the possibility that their points in time weren't from the same reality. Identical in all the ways that mattered, in all the ways they ever spoke of, but there could very well be enough subtle differences to shift and peel away a new timeline. They could both remember every moment of their time in Somnius, but on the individual islands of their own realities. Alone, together.
The risk was always too great. They promised to remember. Maruki intends to make good on that promise.
His eyes open to a half-darkness so instantly familiar despite having not seen it in so long. As dark as his bedroom could ever be when one window faced a busy street and the other faced the 24/7 lights of a convenience store. Bright lights filtering in through the curtains, painting faint illumination along the wall opposite his bed.
He sits up fast.
Immediately doubles over, violently nauseated, unable to draw breath.
His head pounds, worse than any time the phantom pains of Azathoth's growing presence made themselves known, far worse than ever before in his life. Hot knives dug into the base of his skull, ripping and tearing through his consciousness, what should have been here now replaced with what was there and–
He remembers. The owl, the wish, the contract, the garden. The castle that became a home. The cozy office that served as a safe haven. The labyrinth, the fortress, the fight.
He remembers all of it.
He wrenches himself out of bed – street noise outside, his windows cracked open despite the crisp air – crisp, not cold, not snowing, not yet – down the hall – he can't see straight, vision pulsating dark and tunneled down to only a wavering pinprick – his knees hit tile – his chin whacks into the bowl of the toilet and radiates more pain up along his jaw as he retches and dry heaves.
Maruki doesn't know how long he spends on the floor there. Time and consciousness both waver around the edges. He feels unstuck from reality, unable to get his bearings, wandering blind and lost in a palace. The only way he knows he's alive at all is his heart's insistent thudding in his chest, rattling through every bone in his body as he shivers and chokes on his own saliva.
He doesn't know, but it must be hours. When his vision finally clears, and his stomach settles, and his headache lessens to a dull roar, he gives it a bit longer before staggering to his feet.
He remembers.
His phone – his phone, the phone he left behind on Christmas Eve, not the stupid Okia brick or the poor excuse for a smartphone he's had for months – is charging on the end table to the right side of his bed. He throws himself back down onto the bed – god, the blankets he's used to, the pillows that aren't stuffed with real goddamn goose feathers, he's so relieved – and grabs for it.
The date illuminates on his lock screen.
November 21, but only just barely. A couple hours after midnight.
Huh.
There's no time to waste. As soon as they began forming vague plans for when they returned to their true reality – chess match, tempura udon, visiting the shrine, hopefully not Maruki's inevitable death – they exchanged their Tokyo phone numbers, agreed to memorize them. He read Akechi's out to himself every couple nights, laid in bed repeating it over and over until it was ingrained into his mind.
He opens up a new message. Punches the number in as he mouths through it. Heart in his throat. ]
Enthralled?
[ He doesn't expect an answer right away. Hopefully Akechi had an easier landing than he did back in this reality, hopefully he's asleep.
He watches for a while anyway, waits to see of ... Akechi Goro is typing ... will appear.
Nothing.
Anxiety sloshes in his empty stomach. He tries to tamp it down, reminds himself that this was never going to be an immediate thing. That they agreed. That their will proved stronger than any reality that could hold them, and it will do the same here. There's nothing to worry about.
He worries anyway. Worries until exhaustion finally takes him an hour later and he passes back out. Worries through the intense and nonsensical dreams his beleaguered subconscious churns forth as it works through three separate timelines of memories now. Worries as he wakes up to an alarm so much later than what he's used to – nine in the morning, not 4:45, no roommate out jogging to make coffee for but god he could sleep for twelve more hours, actually he really could, it's three days after his tenure at Shujin ended and he's very aware he has nothing and no one to answer to at the moment–
The notification indicator light on the side of his phone blinks.
Maruki scrambles to grab it, hands shaking from dehydration as much as nerves, and–
He sees Akechi's name.
He sees a message that isn't asking who this unknown number is.
He laughs.
Fucking Akechi.
He taps out another message– ]
Here's my real address. Come over for dinner in a couple days.
[ –and falls back asleep, vindicated, victorious.
Reality proceeds as he remembers it– mostly. There are inevitable differences. They are the inevitable differences. Maruki is too knowledgeable now about the ways a reality can be impacted to think that their renewed presence here, their memories of another world won't change things. There's a new slipstream, a new bend in the river, a new bite to the air.
Things are different.
Good.
Akechi does come over one evening. Makes a snide comment about how Maruki's apartment is somehow even smaller and shittier than what he pictured. Sits at the counter as Maruki cooks, just like old times. They share experiences of what it was like to return. Akechi calls him weak for having been so sick, states that he spent a perfectly pleasant night back in his own bed and woke up feeling refreshed. Maruki doesn't believe him. It doesn't matter. He's just so fucking happy to be back, and to remember.
The remembering fills a good portion of their conversations. Recounting the events that led them to breaking free. Confirming details that they're hazy on, frenetic as the experience was. Reminiscing, though Akechi would never call it that – would never admit to any sentiment or nostalgia for that bullshit reality that captured them for months. But that's what it is.
Maruki hadn't lied to him when he said the bonds they formed in Somnius would not stop him from wanting to escape and from doing so as soon as it was possible. He hadn't hesitated for a second, and he has no regrets. But in the warmth of an active kitchen during a cold late November night, in between talks of philosophy and psychology and the cognitive world that Maruki will not enter, they can each let slip memories only the other would understand. A boy who could turn into a destructive giant as tall as reality would allow. A pink-haired girl and her bat cracking through pure stone. A goddess given a chance at being just herself. An unlikely group crowded around a birthday dinner in a castle kitchen.
He thinks about them all the time. Of course he does. The promise he'd made to ensure everyone else could return to their realities too wasn't one that could be kept, in the end. Maruki doesn't know where anyone ended up. He can only hope, and remember.
They settle into routine again quickly. Akechi is busy – with preparing for final exams, with his career, with Shido – but he isn't booked solid. Dinner is an open invitation whenever he doesn't have other plans, and he takes it up more often than he doesn't by far. Nearly every evening, he arrives at the apartment, scoffs at Maruki's organized chaos. Picks books off his shelves and sprawls out on the sofa to read, a record playing softly beneath their idle chatter. Eats next to him, just as they did in that castle, a crossword book between them. Stays late to talk over coffee, convenience store desserts, horror movies Maruki can't stand, Featherman reruns that just happen to come on close to midnight and don't get turned off because they're so absorbed in their conversation, of course, no other reason.
Maruki meets him in Kichijoji, experiences that jazz club that he'd spoken so fondly of. Joins him at a bathhouse that isn't hot enough for either of them. Only manages one afternoon at a cafe with him before deciding he never wants to experience unruly teenage fans again. Plays chess with him in his cramped living room, then meets him for the promised tempura udon lunch the next day. Tries his best to ignore the election campaign cars around every corner, the knowledge that they are never truly safe from the many eyes of a shadowy cabal. Doesn't ever visit Akechi at his condo, though he knows now where it is. Doesn't ever attempt to reach the cognitive world, doesn't even mention trying.
His promises are kept: He lays low, stays quiet. Doesn't even work on his research, though his paper's already done, a bound copy just waiting to be slammed down onto an uncaring professor's desk in a future he refuses to live. Doesn't get in Akechi's way. Waits.
It's an easy routine for a few weeks that quickly peters out. Akechi's busy as election day draws closer, Maruki knows that. He doesn't need explanations, much less excuses. The occasional text is enough. He doesn't dare to say anything that might even hint at a plan, but he trusts that Akechi knows him well enough to know that ]
Stay safe getting back home after your interview.
[ really means ]
Stay as safe as you can.
[ which really means ]
Do what you need to do, safe or not.
[ Election day comes and goes.
There is no sniveling breakdown on a televised conference.
Maruki watches, unblinking. No change of heart.
Things are not the same, no. Not at all. ]
I hope you're doing well.
[ No answer, but the message is read almost immediately. A few minutes later, a thumbs up reaction.
It's all he can ask for. It's more than he can ask for, in fact.
When he first found out about Akechi's plan, he asked how Akechi intended to carry it out so that he could get away with it. He's known ever since that that shit never mattered to Akechi, not at all. He was, is, has always been ready to die if it means Shido does too.
And it does mean that.
Maruki knows that.
His own life feels– safe. Secure. Far more so than he ever thought it would while he was in Somnius. He spent so much time convinced that he'd return and be hunted down. It turns out, Akechi was right. This shit is so simple. All he has to do is stay out of it, and he's good. He's golden.
It doesn't lessen how badly he wants to go to the cognitive world, but he keeps a lid on it.
Christmas Eve comes. He's barely heard from Akechi. A few words here or there confirming his continued existence, nothing more. Doesn't stop him from sending: ]
I guess we're caught up now. On the off chance things become weird tonight, don't worry about me. I won't be going there. Merry Christmas, Akechi.
It's something they only ever spoke of once. On a cliff's edge, more stars above their heads than they'd ever see in Tokyo, gently glowing plantlife at their feet. The potential to return to another point in time. Early June, Akechi had told him, was where he was from and where he would return to, without question. Maruki only believed the latter.
Beyond the practical reasons for wanting to return to any, any point before Christmas Eve, there was of course the sentimental side that he knew better than to ever share with Akechi: There was always, always the possibility that their points in time weren't from the same reality. Identical in all the ways that mattered, in all the ways they ever spoke of, but there could very well be enough subtle differences to shift and peel away a new timeline. They could both remember every moment of their time in Somnius, but on the individual islands of their own realities. Alone, together.
The risk was always too great. They promised to remember. Maruki intends to make good on that promise.
His eyes open to a half-darkness so instantly familiar despite having not seen it in so long. As dark as his bedroom could ever be when one window faced a busy street and the other faced the 24/7 lights of a convenience store. Bright lights filtering in through the curtains, painting faint illumination along the wall opposite his bed.
He sits up fast.
Immediately doubles over, violently nauseated, unable to draw breath.
His head pounds, worse than any time the phantom pains of Azathoth's growing presence made themselves known, far worse than ever before in his life. Hot knives dug into the base of his skull, ripping and tearing through his consciousness, what should have been here now replaced with what was there and–
He remembers. The owl, the wish, the contract, the garden. The castle that became a home. The cozy office that served as a safe haven. The labyrinth, the fortress, the fight.
He remembers all of it.
He wrenches himself out of bed – street noise outside, his windows cracked open despite the crisp air – crisp, not cold, not snowing, not yet – down the hall – he can't see straight, vision pulsating dark and tunneled down to only a wavering pinprick – his knees hit tile – his chin whacks into the bowl of the toilet and radiates more pain up along his jaw as he retches and dry heaves.
Maruki doesn't know how long he spends on the floor there. Time and consciousness both waver around the edges. He feels unstuck from reality, unable to get his bearings, wandering blind and lost in a palace. The only way he knows he's alive at all is his heart's insistent thudding in his chest, rattling through every bone in his body as he shivers and chokes on his own saliva.
He doesn't know, but it must be hours. When his vision finally clears, and his stomach settles, and his headache lessens to a dull roar, he gives it a bit longer before staggering to his feet.
He remembers.
His phone – his phone, the phone he left behind on Christmas Eve, not the stupid Okia brick or the poor excuse for a smartphone he's had for months – is charging on the end table to the right side of his bed. He throws himself back down onto the bed – god, the blankets he's used to, the pillows that aren't stuffed with real goddamn goose feathers, he's so relieved – and grabs for it.
The date illuminates on his lock screen.
November 21, but only just barely. A couple hours after midnight.
Huh.
There's no time to waste. As soon as they began forming vague plans for when they returned to their true reality – chess match, tempura udon, visiting the shrine, hopefully not Maruki's inevitable death – they exchanged their Tokyo phone numbers, agreed to memorize them. He read Akechi's out to himself every couple nights, laid in bed repeating it over and over until it was ingrained into his mind.
He opens up a new message. Punches the number in as he mouths through it. Heart in his throat. ]
Enthralled?
[ He doesn't expect an answer right away. Hopefully Akechi had an easier landing than he did back in this reality, hopefully he's asleep.
He watches for a while anyway, waits to see of ... Akechi Goro is typing ... will appear.
Nothing.
Anxiety sloshes in his empty stomach. He tries to tamp it down, reminds himself that this was never going to be an immediate thing. That they agreed. That their will proved stronger than any reality that could hold them, and it will do the same here. There's nothing to worry about.
He worries anyway. Worries until exhaustion finally takes him an hour later and he passes back out. Worries through the intense and nonsensical dreams his beleaguered subconscious churns forth as it works through three separate timelines of memories now. Worries as he wakes up to an alarm so much later than what he's used to – nine in the morning, not 4:45, no roommate out jogging to make coffee for but god he could sleep for twelve more hours, actually he really could, it's three days after his tenure at Shujin ended and he's very aware he has nothing and no one to answer to at the moment–
The notification indicator light on the side of his phone blinks.
Maruki scrambles to grab it, hands shaking from dehydration as much as nerves, and–
He sees Akechi's name.
He sees a message that isn't asking who this unknown number is.
He laughs.
Fucking Akechi.
He taps out another message– ]
Here's my real address. Come over for dinner in a couple days.
[ –and falls back asleep, vindicated, victorious.
Reality proceeds as he remembers it– mostly. There are inevitable differences. They are the inevitable differences. Maruki is too knowledgeable now about the ways a reality can be impacted to think that their renewed presence here, their memories of another world won't change things. There's a new slipstream, a new bend in the river, a new bite to the air.
Things are different.
Good.
Akechi does come over one evening. Makes a snide comment about how Maruki's apartment is somehow even smaller and shittier than what he pictured. Sits at the counter as Maruki cooks, just like old times. They share experiences of what it was like to return. Akechi calls him weak for having been so sick, states that he spent a perfectly pleasant night back in his own bed and woke up feeling refreshed. Maruki doesn't believe him. It doesn't matter. He's just so fucking happy to be back, and to remember.
The remembering fills a good portion of their conversations. Recounting the events that led them to breaking free. Confirming details that they're hazy on, frenetic as the experience was. Reminiscing, though Akechi would never call it that – would never admit to any sentiment or nostalgia for that bullshit reality that captured them for months. But that's what it is.
Maruki hadn't lied to him when he said the bonds they formed in Somnius would not stop him from wanting to escape and from doing so as soon as it was possible. He hadn't hesitated for a second, and he has no regrets. But in the warmth of an active kitchen during a cold late November night, in between talks of philosophy and psychology and the cognitive world that Maruki will not enter, they can each let slip memories only the other would understand. A boy who could turn into a destructive giant as tall as reality would allow. A pink-haired girl and her bat cracking through pure stone. A goddess given a chance at being just herself. An unlikely group crowded around a birthday dinner in a castle kitchen.
He thinks about them all the time. Of course he does. The promise he'd made to ensure everyone else could return to their realities too wasn't one that could be kept, in the end. Maruki doesn't know where anyone ended up. He can only hope, and remember.
They settle into routine again quickly. Akechi is busy – with preparing for final exams, with his career, with Shido – but he isn't booked solid. Dinner is an open invitation whenever he doesn't have other plans, and he takes it up more often than he doesn't by far. Nearly every evening, he arrives at the apartment, scoffs at Maruki's organized chaos. Picks books off his shelves and sprawls out on the sofa to read, a record playing softly beneath their idle chatter. Eats next to him, just as they did in that castle, a crossword book between them. Stays late to talk over coffee, convenience store desserts, horror movies Maruki can't stand, Featherman reruns that just happen to come on close to midnight and don't get turned off because they're so absorbed in their conversation, of course, no other reason.
Maruki meets him in Kichijoji, experiences that jazz club that he'd spoken so fondly of. Joins him at a bathhouse that isn't hot enough for either of them. Only manages one afternoon at a cafe with him before deciding he never wants to experience unruly teenage fans again. Plays chess with him in his cramped living room, then meets him for the promised tempura udon lunch the next day. Tries his best to ignore the election campaign cars around every corner, the knowledge that they are never truly safe from the many eyes of a shadowy cabal. Doesn't ever visit Akechi at his condo, though he knows now where it is. Doesn't ever attempt to reach the cognitive world, doesn't even mention trying.
His promises are kept: He lays low, stays quiet. Doesn't even work on his research, though his paper's already done, a bound copy just waiting to be slammed down onto an uncaring professor's desk in a future he refuses to live. Doesn't get in Akechi's way. Waits.
It's an easy routine for a few weeks that quickly peters out. Akechi's busy as election day draws closer, Maruki knows that. He doesn't need explanations, much less excuses. The occasional text is enough. He doesn't dare to say anything that might even hint at a plan, but he trusts that Akechi knows him well enough to know that ]
Stay safe getting back home after your interview.
[ really means ]
Stay as safe as you can.
[ which really means ]
Do what you need to do, safe or not.
[ Election day comes and goes.
There is no sniveling breakdown on a televised conference.
Maruki watches, unblinking. No change of heart.
Things are not the same, no. Not at all. ]
I hope you're doing well.
[ No answer, but the message is read almost immediately. A few minutes later, a thumbs up reaction.
It's all he can ask for. It's more than he can ask for, in fact.
When he first found out about Akechi's plan, he asked how Akechi intended to carry it out so that he could get away with it. He's known ever since that that shit never mattered to Akechi, not at all. He was, is, has always been ready to die if it means Shido does too.
And it does mean that.
Maruki knows that.
His own life feels– safe. Secure. Far more so than he ever thought it would while he was in Somnius. He spent so much time convinced that he'd return and be hunted down. It turns out, Akechi was right. This shit is so simple. All he has to do is stay out of it, and he's good. He's golden.
It doesn't lessen how badly he wants to go to the cognitive world, but he keeps a lid on it.
Christmas Eve comes. He's barely heard from Akechi. A few words here or there confirming his continued existence, nothing more. Doesn't stop him from sending: ]
I guess we're caught up now. On the off chance things become weird tonight, don't worry about me. I won't be going there. Merry Christmas, Akechi.
[ Things don't get weird. He doesn't go to his professor's office. The sky doesn't split open in waves of bloody crimson. Bones don't protrude through the ground and climb up toward the sky.
Nothing happens at all. He spends it alone, watches the snow gently fall.
Wanders through a much nicer neighborhood. Stands across the street half a block away from an upscale building. Buries his chin down into his scarf, tucks his hands in his pockets, and scans the condos for the windows still lit up. Wonders.
The days tick by. ]
I know you've been busy. I don't want to bother you. Do you still want to meet at the shrine on the 1st?
[ Read. Unanswered. Not even reacted to.
It's the most he can expect. ]
Enthralled? wwwwwwwww just kidding
[ Read.
He reaches out to Shibusawa. Spends New Years Eve with him and his fiancée, their group of friends, some other old faces that he hasn't seen since grad school. It's good. It's great, actually. Shibusawa warns him against drinking too much, and he laughs it off, tells him things have changed. They have. He still wonders what Rumi's up to in this reality, but it isn't the persistent ache that it used to be. Azathoth has been quiet in the back of his skull. The collective unconscious isn't at his fingertips.
Someone asks him if he's still obsessing over the same research. Maruki smiles, shakes his head.
A new year dawns. He thinks of Eren and the wasteland he'll create, Aubrey and the sleepy suburban town, Venat and the aetherial sea. Akechi and what needs to be done. Stares up at the snow, Shibusawa's arm slung over his shoulders and voice cheering loud in his ear, and tries to send a thought for each of them with his whole heart. ]
Happy new year. I'll be at the shrine around noon if you are. No pressure.
[ He stumbles home around two in the morning, pleasantly buzzed and teetering on the edge of a new life he hadn't ever expected to see, to find an envelope tucked under his door.
TO: Scow
His stomach lurches. Temples pound. Heart races, cracks, shatters.
He reads it at the counter, sitting in the seat Akechi always took. A simple letter, written in a familiar neat hand. Instructions on accessing the cognitive world. The location of research long thought to be lost. Confirmation of many, many things both spoken and only suspected.
And a thank you.
No name signed. It's not necessary. ]
When did you come over?
[ Unread. ]
Akechi
[ Unread. ]
Akechi???
[ Unread. ]
????????????????????
[ The only reason he sees the breaking news alert at sunrise is because he still hasn't slept. Prime Minister Masayoshi Shido found dead.
Maruki doesn't bother with messages. He calls. It rings through to Akechi's voicemail. He calls again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again and again and again and again and again andagainandagainandagainandagainand– ]
Pick up or call me or do anything. I don't care what danger it puts me in.
[ Maruki isn't stupid. They never would have become friends, confidants, allies if he was.
Every call unanswered, every message unread. He doesn't sleep. He goes to the shrine anyway. Hardly anyone is out, the whole country in shock.
What is there to pray for? He doesn't know. He hasn't slept. He feels dazed, lost. Bruised. To pray for safety would seem foolish.
He rubs his head. Feels Azathoth's glow along the base of his skull. Considers those instructions. Checks his phone for that app.
Akechi wouldn't have written them down if the way wasn't cleared for him.
It's such a miserable realization. It sits bitter in his soul, hollow and rotted.
He goes through the motions at the shrine. A prayer, he thinks, is not unlike a wish.
Akechi never did tell him what wish brought him to Somnius.
On the train home, he tries once more. The call rings through to voicemail.
He doesn't bother trying again. He already knows. In a few days, the Detective Prince will be considered missing at the very least, and that will be that.
And Maruki will not remember him as a corpse. He won't ignore him. That promise was never made with any intention to follow through on either of their ends. ]
I know you won't ever read this. I know that, and I still hope I'm wrong - which you'd hate. Your phone number hasn't been deactivated, at least. I'm sure it's only a matter of time.
So whether you do see these messages or not, I'd be remiss if I didn't say it while I can:
Thank you for everything. Even the awful things.
I'll see you in some other reality, I'm sure.
[ And I will remember you if you leave me, because you deserve to keep what is yours. ]
Nothing happens at all. He spends it alone, watches the snow gently fall.
Wanders through a much nicer neighborhood. Stands across the street half a block away from an upscale building. Buries his chin down into his scarf, tucks his hands in his pockets, and scans the condos for the windows still lit up. Wonders.
The days tick by. ]
I know you've been busy. I don't want to bother you. Do you still want to meet at the shrine on the 1st?
[ Read. Unanswered. Not even reacted to.
It's the most he can expect. ]
Enthralled? wwwwwwwww just kidding
[ Read.
He reaches out to Shibusawa. Spends New Years Eve with him and his fiancée, their group of friends, some other old faces that he hasn't seen since grad school. It's good. It's great, actually. Shibusawa warns him against drinking too much, and he laughs it off, tells him things have changed. They have. He still wonders what Rumi's up to in this reality, but it isn't the persistent ache that it used to be. Azathoth has been quiet in the back of his skull. The collective unconscious isn't at his fingertips.
Someone asks him if he's still obsessing over the same research. Maruki smiles, shakes his head.
A new year dawns. He thinks of Eren and the wasteland he'll create, Aubrey and the sleepy suburban town, Venat and the aetherial sea. Akechi and what needs to be done. Stares up at the snow, Shibusawa's arm slung over his shoulders and voice cheering loud in his ear, and tries to send a thought for each of them with his whole heart. ]
Happy new year. I'll be at the shrine around noon if you are. No pressure.
[ He stumbles home around two in the morning, pleasantly buzzed and teetering on the edge of a new life he hadn't ever expected to see, to find an envelope tucked under his door.
TO: Scow
His stomach lurches. Temples pound. Heart races, cracks, shatters.
He reads it at the counter, sitting in the seat Akechi always took. A simple letter, written in a familiar neat hand. Instructions on accessing the cognitive world. The location of research long thought to be lost. Confirmation of many, many things both spoken and only suspected.
And a thank you.
No name signed. It's not necessary. ]
When did you come over?
[ Unread. ]
Akechi
[ Unread. ]
Akechi???
[ Unread. ]
????????????????????
[ The only reason he sees the breaking news alert at sunrise is because he still hasn't slept. Prime Minister Masayoshi Shido found dead.
Maruki doesn't bother with messages. He calls. It rings through to Akechi's voicemail. He calls again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again and again and again and again and again andagainandagainandagainandagainand– ]
Pick up or call me or do anything. I don't care what danger it puts me in.
[ Maruki isn't stupid. They never would have become friends, confidants, allies if he was.
Every call unanswered, every message unread. He doesn't sleep. He goes to the shrine anyway. Hardly anyone is out, the whole country in shock.
What is there to pray for? He doesn't know. He hasn't slept. He feels dazed, lost. Bruised. To pray for safety would seem foolish.
He rubs his head. Feels Azathoth's glow along the base of his skull. Considers those instructions. Checks his phone for that app.
Akechi wouldn't have written them down if the way wasn't cleared for him.
It's such a miserable realization. It sits bitter in his soul, hollow and rotted.
He goes through the motions at the shrine. A prayer, he thinks, is not unlike a wish.
Akechi never did tell him what wish brought him to Somnius.
On the train home, he tries once more. The call rings through to voicemail.
He doesn't bother trying again. He already knows. In a few days, the Detective Prince will be considered missing at the very least, and that will be that.
And Maruki will not remember him as a corpse. He won't ignore him. That promise was never made with any intention to follow through on either of their ends. ]
I know you won't ever read this. I know that, and I still hope I'm wrong - which you'd hate. Your phone number hasn't been deactivated, at least. I'm sure it's only a matter of time.
So whether you do see these messages or not, I'd be remiss if I didn't say it while I can:
Thank you for everything. Even the awful things.
I'll see you in some other reality, I'm sure.
[ And I will remember you if you leave me, because you deserve to keep what is yours. ]
[ Guess who's away for a week for a research conference! He misses home. : ( Get ready to answer the In Case Of Emergencies baby cellphone, Akechi.
Also? He brought his little Red Hawk figure and he's been taking pictures of it around Kobe. Here he is now, tucked into the hotel bed, snug as a bug. ]
Red Hawk had a long day at the conference and fell asleep before he could even get his mask off!!!
Also? He brought his little Red Hawk figure and he's been taking pictures of it around Kobe. Here he is now, tucked into the hotel bed, snug as a bug. ]
Red Hawk had a long day at the conference and fell asleep before he could even get his mask off!!!
[MARUKI.
It's instant - his little voice perking up from where he's laying on couch with 'It's Maruki.' Bright, happy, holding the phone up like a beacon as he reads the text aloud to a mother that's piling blankets on him.]
Wow ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡
he had a big day
really tired
ar you tired
i heard there's a big bit coin boom
there
they said on the news
was it loud
It's instant - his little voice perking up from where he's laying on couch with 'It's Maruki.' Bright, happy, holding the phone up like a beacon as he reads the text aloud to a mother that's piling blankets on him.]
Wow ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡
he had a big day
really tired
ar you tired
i heard there's a big bit coin boom
there
they said on the news
was it loud
Friend, it's Maruki Takuto. I have nowhere else to turn.
I have a huge deadline TOMORROW when January ends, and my persona and I need to raise ¥20302030203 before then.
Kurusu Akira has generated more manpower than any opponent to my ideal reality in HISTORY thanks to autonomy mega donors propping up his campaign. I, on the other hand, rely on grassroots donors like you.
This is why I need your help right now. I'm counting on YOU to rush a donation of ¥5000, ¥10000, or whatever you can afford to help me start February strong and hit our goal when it really counts. So please, will you make a contribution right now to help enact my ideal reality?
I have a huge deadline TOMORROW when January ends, and my persona and I need to raise ¥20302030203 before then.
Kurusu Akira has generated more manpower than any opponent to my ideal reality in HISTORY thanks to autonomy mega donors propping up his campaign. I, on the other hand, rely on grassroots donors like you.
This is why I need your help right now. I'm counting on YOU to rush a donation of ¥5000, ¥10000, or whatever you can afford to help me start February strong and hit our goal when it really counts. So please, will you make a contribution right now to help enact my ideal reality?
Edited 2024-11-05 01:05 (UTC)
[ If Maruki's head wasn't attached to his body, he would manage to misplace it, and Rumi has understandably told him that he has to clean up the mess he's made.
Which, okay. Very fair. He can do that. He just has to figure out how to finesse the situation. And he knows he will not be able to lie to Akechi's little face, so it's done with a text to the In Case Of Emergencies baby cellphone while he's between student visits during office hours. ]
Big news!
I just heard from Santa-san!
Which, okay. Very fair. He can do that. He just has to figure out how to finesse the situation. And he knows he will not be able to lie to Akechi's little face, so it's done with a text to the In Case Of Emergencies baby cellphone while he's between student visits during office hours. ]
Big news!
I just heard from Santa-san!
[ It's only been a few months since Akechi made the decision to "extend his trip." Maruki knew as soon as he said he might stay a bit longer that he would never return to Tokyo of his own volition. A conversation about what comes next never happened; Akechi simply sent him a link to a postgraduate program in a different country entirely, asked his opinion on their staff, and that was that.
They still speak daily. Akechi still comes to him when he seeks advice or guidance on his next move, even if it's dressed up as something else. Maruki still torments him with memes. But when it comes to Akechi's choices in work, school, travel, living arrangements, he hasn't inserted himself, entirely on purpose. Whatever future Akechi walks toward will be on a path he's carved out entirely for himself. Maruki only set him on the road and gave him the first kick in the back to get him started. To see him hit the ground running is more fulfilling than anything Maruki could ever do for himself.
Still.
Living with Akechi for a few years awarded him with certain information he simply never would have been privy to in Somnius.
There are two dates on the calendar that are set aside from the rest of the year. Maruki is certain that when February third rolls around, he'll receive some of Akechi's own brand of care from afar, whatever form that ends up taking. But before then, there is Akechi's own terrible anniversary, and Maruki mourns being apart from him for it for the first time in years.
Midnight for Akechi is early morning for him. They always chat a few hours from now anyway – 2 AM Akechi's time is usually when he's cleaning up from breakfast – but this time Maruki texts earlier, texts first. ]
I have today off work if you want to video call later, but I understand if you're busy.
They still speak daily. Akechi still comes to him when he seeks advice or guidance on his next move, even if it's dressed up as something else. Maruki still torments him with memes. But when it comes to Akechi's choices in work, school, travel, living arrangements, he hasn't inserted himself, entirely on purpose. Whatever future Akechi walks toward will be on a path he's carved out entirely for himself. Maruki only set him on the road and gave him the first kick in the back to get him started. To see him hit the ground running is more fulfilling than anything Maruki could ever do for himself.
Still.
Living with Akechi for a few years awarded him with certain information he simply never would have been privy to in Somnius.
There are two dates on the calendar that are set aside from the rest of the year. Maruki is certain that when February third rolls around, he'll receive some of Akechi's own brand of care from afar, whatever form that ends up taking. But before then, there is Akechi's own terrible anniversary, and Maruki mourns being apart from him for it for the first time in years.
Midnight for Akechi is early morning for him. They always chat a few hours from now anyway – 2 AM Akechi's time is usually when he's cleaning up from breakfast – but this time Maruki texts earlier, texts first. ]
I have today off work if you want to video call later, but I understand if you're busy.
Edited 2024-12-23 03:29 (UTC)
[It happened over a random dinner, during an unrelated conversation, on a day only Akechi knew was important. He remembers the chain of events leading up to it - how each of their days went, their plans for the week. Remembers scooping a miniscule amount of rice onto his plate. Remembers a passing conversation about whatever celebrity scandal was happening on a too small television in the background.
He said it - the first time he's ever said it. The social worker knew, and never mentioned it. The foster homes didn't care and by the time he was on his own-
Only Akechi Goro knew a thing about her that wasn't clinically written on an autopsy report. The date of her death forever on a family registry filled with more blanks than people. It was when she died, officially. XX:XX. That wasn't the time Akechi found her.
It wasn't the hours spent trying to get her to wake up. It wasn't the minutes her stiff fingers lingered in his small hands, as he tried to warm her up. A single moment in time written down. Akechi remembers her death being much, much longer.
But the date is the same. He thinks. May have been midnight. Might have been 2AM. He remembers waking up an irate neighbor, and nothing else.
Not a thing, until he stepped into the doorframe of an unfamiliar home that was only going to keep him for the weekend.
And Maruki didn't say a thing - didn't offer to visit a memorial, didn't question it, didn't do more than ask a little about her and Akechi was able to quietly relay the few bits and pieces that remain of the woman who wraps her fingers around his throat nightly.
On February 3, Akechi offered the same.
And in the years that followed, it became a routine to acknowledge the dates with an unspoken curtesy. The barest acknowledgement and care towards those forgotten by the rest of the society. Who lived on only in the hearts of two people who never stop grieving.
Akechi didn't realize how it would feel to be sitting alone in a tiny apartment with every door open because he can't stand them being shut today. Only the front remains locked. Didn't realize how breakfast wouldn't happen this morning because he isn't hungry enough to cook and decides to surf the internet for better part of morning until-
Maruki texts, early.
Akechi's fine, so he doesn't need to talk and-]
No, I would welcome it. It's a rare day off. I had no plans and only meant to catch up on chores. You're up awfully early though.
He said it - the first time he's ever said it. The social worker knew, and never mentioned it. The foster homes didn't care and by the time he was on his own-
Only Akechi Goro knew a thing about her that wasn't clinically written on an autopsy report. The date of her death forever on a family registry filled with more blanks than people. It was when she died, officially. XX:XX. That wasn't the time Akechi found her.
It wasn't the hours spent trying to get her to wake up. It wasn't the minutes her stiff fingers lingered in his small hands, as he tried to warm her up. A single moment in time written down. Akechi remembers her death being much, much longer.
But the date is the same. He thinks. May have been midnight. Might have been 2AM. He remembers waking up an irate neighbor, and nothing else.
Not a thing, until he stepped into the doorframe of an unfamiliar home that was only going to keep him for the weekend.
And Maruki didn't say a thing - didn't offer to visit a memorial, didn't question it, didn't do more than ask a little about her and Akechi was able to quietly relay the few bits and pieces that remain of the woman who wraps her fingers around his throat nightly.
On February 3, Akechi offered the same.
And in the years that followed, it became a routine to acknowledge the dates with an unspoken curtesy. The barest acknowledgement and care towards those forgotten by the rest of the society. Who lived on only in the hearts of two people who never stop grieving.
Akechi didn't realize how it would feel to be sitting alone in a tiny apartment with every door open because he can't stand them being shut today. Only the front remains locked. Didn't realize how breakfast wouldn't happen this morning because he isn't hungry enough to cook and decides to surf the internet for better part of morning until-
Maruki texts, early.
Akechi's fine, so he doesn't need to talk and-]
No, I would welcome it. It's a rare day off. I had no plans and only meant to catch up on chores. You're up awfully early though.
Beg for it.
[Short king, Akechi is in a mood.
A mood exacerbated by a shitty, volatile exchange after a shitty morning spent fighting before they even left their shared bed. Dito had gone about his business. Akechi less so, fuming over an argument that stemmed from nothing. The subject of it all lost in a haze of desired vengeance.
While Dito was gone? He hid his stupid weapon. It's somewhere in the apartment.]
Surely you know how. You were accustomed to it with your previous 'owner' weren't you?
[Short king, Akechi is in a mood.
A mood exacerbated by a shitty, volatile exchange after a shitty morning spent fighting before they even left their shared bed. Dito had gone about his business. Akechi less so, fuming over an argument that stemmed from nothing. The subject of it all lost in a haze of desired vengeance.
While Dito was gone? He hid his stupid weapon. It's somewhere in the apartment.]
Surely you know how. You were accustomed to it with your previous 'owner' weren't you?
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