It's a tactical retreat to assess. Reevaluate. He says nothing as contact is made between rightful owner and the new power in his heart. Says nothing as Maruki could never hate Akechi because it's wrong. The words are wrong. The voice is wrong. The outfit is wrong and it's all wrong.
He needs to think.
He needs to think.
He spends two days languishing on an empty living floor to think. There's a flurry in his chest that makes him nauseous. It's not Loki. It's not Robin Hood. They're there, and they're not. Useless as fucking ever in the wake of this new situation.
It makes him want to puke. Of course he can't think and-
Maruki is waiting outside of a brilliant blue door, steps away from Jazz Jin when Akechi sees him next. A week later, two - he can't say. He's been back to Mementos - ignored him in that subway station. He's fought and fought and fought until Azathoth-
Akechi was run ragged. Azathoth's stamina is limitless. He doesn't understand how Maruki could wield it.
But now it's him, an invisible door and a man holding a book that's become the bane of Akechi's existence.
He watches, waits like a predator poised to attack and- ]
You wanted to visit this place, didn't you? Lets go.
[ It's a disappointment when Akechi leaves, of course it is, but it's a thrill as well– Igor tells him that now that he's finally (finally) accepted another persona into his heart, Maruki can venture outside the door. Not far, just enough to be able to watch, to try to catch Akechi's attention as he moves like a ghost through Kichijoji, as he stalks furiously through Mementos.
It doesn't work, of course, but–
It's enough. It has to be enough, because it may be all he ever gets. He ď̴̼̺̫͜ȏ̶͚̟̻̞̥̇̈ë̸̛̤́̋̃̕s̴̢̤̰͖͎̅͑͐͠ñ̴̨͉̻͔̲̅'̶̧̤̘͕͔͛̾̍͋̄t̸͔̗͛̄̓̕͝ ̵̞͕̠̗̠̊̋͐͝w̷̧̢̥̎a̶̛͇̿ͅn̶͎̩͍͚̂́̅̅ṭ̵̘̍ ̸̩̩͍̼̻̑̇̋͌̾ḁ̴̧̳̌n̵̯̺̾̈́͒y̵̺̟̝̻̽t̸̠͒́ḥ̵̌̂͜͠î̴̛͕͝n̸͕͕͕̾͆̆̍́g̶̻̰̼̘̬͛͆̂ ̸̛̮̹̈́̀̚f̸̱̲̹̗͈͑̕r̷͍̃͛̂o̷̖̠͋̍m̷̟͔͍̖̭͊͂͗ ̷̯̖̬͈̪̑̈́͘A̸̲̩̻͊̓͑̏k̸͖͖͓̥̱̀̑̑̈ẻ̴͍̤͔͓͐͝͠c̷̟̫͓͍̃̓̎͠h̴͎̼̳̟͚͆į̵̮̝͉̘̎̇͋.̶̖͐̿͑̉͝ It's enough just to see him moving about the world, still living, still breathing, still defiant in walking his own path.
The world outside the Velvet Room is incredible. It's so beautiful, everyone in it is so fascinating, and as he lingers in the streets of Kichijoji he listens to all their passing conversations. He starts making a list within his book of things he'd like Akechi to bring him, places he'd like to visit, experiences he'd like to have. Takoyaki sounds delicious, and he wants to try it. A bathhouse sounds relaxing, and he wants to try it. Playing darts sounds thrilling, and he wants to try it.
Only with Akechi at his side. It's the only way he can, but even if he could go off on his own– he can't imagine wanting to.
The list grows and grows until the day Akechi finally acknowledges him, and his idle relaxed stance straightens, face lighting up brighter than the glow that emanates from the door. ]
Really? You'll take me? I accept!
[ He's free.
He's free, so long as he stays at Akechi's side. ]
[ The educated assumption bears expected results - this Maruki leaps at the opportunity to join him in Jazz Jin depths.
It's an insult to see this copy waltz through the stone doorway, down the same steps Maruki used to. He ignores any chatter, the presence of another behind.
But he stops short of walking through the door. A realization slamming into him like ice cold air after resting in a warm room.
Muhen will recognize him. The regular employees too. Maruki joined him here on more than one occasion and the uncanny resemblance will turn heads.
Akechi can't stand to look behind, but he glances over his shoulder anyway. ]
You can't go in like that. Disguise yourself, hide yourself - I don't care what you do. Change your appearance.
[ The book has disappeared, for the moment. It leaves both hands free to pat the rich blue fabric of his suit, searching empty pockets for– who knows what?
He's never had to change his appearance before. He's never had the option at all. He came into being exactly as he is now, and when he searches his wildcard for answers, none appear. ]
I don't have– ah! Wait!
[ Glasses slipped off and tucked into his pocket, eyesight blurred, he sees Akechi as nothing but a mass of colors and vague shapes. It gives him an idea. ]
Could we trade coats? And– could I wear your scarf?
[ A beat, and then he hastily runs both hands through his hair, pushing it all back off his forehead for a moment before it stubbornly flops back into place. Well, he tried. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's a tactical retreat to assess. Reevaluate. He says nothing as contact is made between rightful owner and the new power in his heart. Says nothing as Maruki could never hate Akechi because it's wrong. The words are wrong. The voice is wrong. The outfit is wrong and it's all wrong.
He needs to think.
He needs to think.
He spends two days languishing on an empty living floor to think. There's a flurry in his chest that makes him nauseous. It's not Loki. It's not Robin Hood. They're there, and they're not. Useless as fucking ever in the wake of this new situation.
It makes him want to puke. Of course he can't think and-
Maruki is waiting outside of a brilliant blue door, steps away from Jazz Jin when Akechi sees him next. A week later, two - he can't say. He's been back to Mementos - ignored him in that subway station. He's fought and fought and fought until Azathoth-
Akechi was run ragged. Azathoth's stamina is limitless. He doesn't understand how Maruki could wield it.
But now it's him, an invisible door and a man holding a book that's become the bane of Akechi's existence.
He watches, waits like a predator poised to attack and- ]
You wanted to visit this place, didn't you? Lets go.
no subject
It doesn't work, of course, but–
It's enough. It has to be enough, because it may be all he ever gets. He ď̴̼̺̫͜ȏ̶͚̟̻̞̥̇̈ë̸̛̤́̋̃̕s̴̢̤̰͖͎̅͑͐͠ñ̴̨͉̻͔̲̅'̶̧̤̘͕͔͛̾̍͋̄t̸͔̗͛̄̓̕͝ ̵̞͕̠̗̠̊̋͐͝w̷̧̢̥̎a̶̛͇̿ͅn̶͎̩͍͚̂́̅̅ṭ̵̘̍ ̸̩̩͍̼̻̑̇̋͌̾ḁ̴̧̳̌n̵̯̺̾̈́͒y̵̺̟̝̻̽t̸̠͒́ḥ̵̌̂͜͠î̴̛͕͝n̸͕͕͕̾͆̆̍́g̶̻̰̼̘̬͛͆̂ ̸̛̮̹̈́̀̚f̸̱̲̹̗͈͑̕r̷͍̃͛̂o̷̖̠͋̍m̷̟͔͍̖̭͊͂͗ ̷̯̖̬͈̪̑̈́͘A̸̲̩̻͊̓͑̏k̸͖͖͓̥̱̀̑̑̈ẻ̴͍̤͔͓͐͝͠c̷̟̫͓͍̃̓̎͠h̴͎̼̳̟͚͆į̵̮̝͉̘̎̇͋.̶̖͐̿͑̉͝ It's enough just to see him moving about the world, still living, still breathing, still defiant in walking his own path.
The world outside the Velvet Room is incredible. It's so beautiful, everyone in it is so fascinating, and as he lingers in the streets of Kichijoji he listens to all their passing conversations. He starts making a list within his book of things he'd like Akechi to bring him, places he'd like to visit, experiences he'd like to have. Takoyaki sounds delicious, and he wants to try it. A bathhouse sounds relaxing, and he wants to try it. Playing darts sounds thrilling, and he wants to try it.
Only with Akechi at his side. It's the only way he can, but even if he could go off on his own– he can't imagine wanting to.
The list grows and grows until the day Akechi finally acknowledges him, and his idle relaxed stance straightens, face lighting up brighter than the glow that emanates from the door. ]
Really? You'll take me? I accept!
[ He's free.
He's free, so long as he stays at Akechi's side. ]
no subject
It's an insult to see this copy waltz through the stone doorway, down the same steps Maruki used to. He ignores any chatter, the presence of another behind.
But he stops short of walking through the door. A realization slamming into him like ice cold air after resting in a warm room.
Muhen will recognize him. The regular employees too. Maruki joined him here on more than one occasion and the uncanny resemblance will turn heads.
Akechi can't stand to look behind, but he glances over his shoulder anyway. ]
You can't go in like that. Disguise yourself, hide yourself - I don't care what you do. Change your appearance.
no subject
Disguise myself...?
[ The book has disappeared, for the moment. It leaves both hands free to pat the rich blue fabric of his suit, searching empty pockets for– who knows what?
He's never had to change his appearance before. He's never had the option at all. He came into being exactly as he is now, and when he searches his wildcard for answers, none appear. ]
I don't have– ah! Wait!
[ Glasses slipped off and tucked into his pocket, eyesight blurred, he sees Akechi as nothing but a mass of colors and vague shapes. It gives him an idea. ]
Could we trade coats? And– could I wear your scarf?
[ A beat, and then he hastily runs both hands through his hair, pushing it all back off his forehead for a moment before it stubbornly flops back into place. Well, he tried. ]
That might be as much as we can manage.