[Two thoughts come to mind - ignoring him being the first and most tempting. The second is to comment about how they aren't playing house and ignore any additional commentary by blocking him for his foreseeable shopping experience. He tried to make peace by giving him a choice.
He settles on a third after a few minutes of staring at the illuminated watch on his arm.]
You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm about to list off every item in this store. I don't need you to cook for me. I'm fine with what I'm purchasing.
[A photo of a store aisle comes through - an assortment of weird items on either side, mostly canned soup and tv dinners. Other random items are littered in between.]
[God damn it, Akira doesn't type, because that's neither helpful nor productive.]
I don't need you to list every item, just something that isn't processed. It's important to keep up your strength when we don't know what to expect here.
[Akira's sentimental nature is rubbing off on him in a disturbing way - that's the only reason he doesn't turn off the watch and do what he wants. His thin thread of patience, bolstered only by that memory of resolve on February 2, is the only reason he takes a single side step to the next aisle.
Another photo sent. It's only canned soup. ]
My strength is fine. You may have forgotten, but I've done well for myself over the years.
Should I attribute any of your future failures in battle to what you had for breakfast that morning?
[What did you eat on the morning of the engine room, is typed out and hastily deleted, because that's. It's sardonic enough for Akira but it's too painful to even read. Still too soon, even if something arguably worse came later.]
You've made it in spite of it, not because of it. You're hitting the age where you start feeling the effects of what you eat anyway.
[Part his own knowledge, part picked up from Takemi. It's interesting, though, that Akechi said this instead of simply saying "no". That doesn't seem unsignificant.]
And yes, they do say that breakfast is the most important day of the meal for a reason. Please feel free to blame that for any of my future blunders.
I don't think my age will be a concern for much longer.
[Bitter. Quick. To the point.
Akira loses his chance with the metallic rows of canned soup and Akechi, in his infinite mercy, moves to the final aisle of this small store unprompted.
Predictably, a new photo comes - it's full of processed meals, a stray vegetable of unknown origin, and an assortment of candy. There's some sauces in there and-
Soup. Rows of it.]
Dully noted though. I'm assuming you didn't have a good one today, judging by your inability to follow simple instructions.
[At first, Akira doesn't even pay attention to the picture. There's something a lot more important to address here, because it's panging through his chest in jagged waves.]
It's my concern. Are you planning on giving up on our deal that easily, Akechi?
[The temptation to say yes - if only to make Akira give up on waiting for a corpse is present, persistent and intrusive. He settles on that answer, deep in the aisle of a futuristic grocery store. It's fitting. Type it, end it and Akira's shitty sentimental attitude towards him will die with it.
The issue comes with the words that blur together. The bitter sting of losing to Akira in anything enough to override logic and-]
[There's a long pause before Akira responds, and that's because every second of it is devoted to pinching between his eyebrows to ward off either a tension headache or the rare impulse to yell at Akechi. Maybe it's actually both.]
Did the local say they had miso paste at the Soup Store?
[Wearily, Akira glances outside. It's not especially safe at night in this District, but maybe if he leaves now he can make it to pick some up on his own before the sun sets.
He makes the executive decision to not acknowledge most of that with a response, especially since it seems he'll be using alternative means to get ahold of their dinner.]
That depends. Is there anything in there that isn't soup?
[ When the Death Knight tells him to get out of his sight, Maruki doesn't need to be told twice.
He'd been on his way to the train before he was captured, and all good sense tells him to continue on that way, get the hell out of District 6 as fast as possible. He isn't even far from the station. It would be the smartest move by far.
Maruki isn't thinking that rationally.
He escaped with his life, without so much as a scratch on him. He's fine.
His whole body is shaking.
It's the fight or flight adrenaline, of course it is, but it's also the simple fact that Maruki has never been in a physical altercation before. He's certainly never been stabbed before. Never had a man holding him in place, sadistically delighted by his pain, promising to make it a slow death. Never summoned Azathoth with the intention to do harm. All of the nevers coalescing into an experience wholly unique to his life thus far and deeply, viscerally terrifying.
Being alone with that experience right now might do his head in.
It's how he finds himself at the front door of Akira's apartment in 6, breathless from his sprint. His torso is soaked in blood, streaked on the palm he'd pressed to it in a panic and down his chin from where he coughed through Azathoth's healing. His sweater sticks to his shirt, and his shirt sticks to his newly pristine skin.
After a moment of attempting to catch his breath, he knocks.
When Akira answers, he'll say before anything else: ]
I'm not hurt. I'm perfectly fine. Please don't panic, it looks much worse than it really is!
[He opens the door without much expectation, already dressed down for sleep in the clothes he bought that are a surprising approximation of what he used to wear back in Tokyo; even the house slippers seemed weirdly similar to what he could pick up in Japan, but Akira's never questioned it. The colder air from outside is already curling over his toes before the door's even wedged open the entire way, and then he can't think of anything at all. Perhaps it's Eren, coming to ask him something even though Akira (at least to his knowledge) hasn't done anything worthy of a sound complaint in a month and a half.
It's his brain, freezing and stalling and failing to restart, as his eyes process first Maruki's face and then the blood that might as well be covering him from head to toe. It turns all of Maruki's words into white noise after "hurt", the denial of his own state making something in Akira's gut twist with nausea. He feels his body go rigid like it's happening to someone else, detached yet snagged into the moment like a fish hook has him by the collar.
It takes a short but impossible moment to remember to breathe. He can't stop looking at the blood, face rapidly going pale. Akira isn't sure of what kind of expression he's making.]
Ma-
[Maria, maybe, is what he's trying to say, an attempt to pull out a Salvation he doesn't have access to without her. Maruki, perhaps, with his voice pitched up on the final beat of his name like a question, seeking the answer he doesn't have the breath to ask for. Maybe not a ma entirely, but a mo, because surely Morgana would be able to fix it, make everything better and full of sense once more.
The words Akira had spoken the last time he saw him are a dagger lodged in his chest.
And when we get there, "I" will save you.
He really is the fool. There's so much blood. The moment he dares to want anything is always the moment he can never save anyone at all.]
Bathroom. Now. [Between one moment and the next, his hand has lashed out and gripped Maruki's arm as unyieldingly as an iron bar (is it even safe to touch him there, will it make it even worse-). Akira may be in the middle of a fraught rebooting process, but something in his body still remembers how to be Joker and how to respond when one of his is downed.] Where are you bleeding from?
[Akira tugs him into the apartment, trying to recollect what's in his first aid kit under the sink. He's never used it, so it should be enough, unless it's even worse than it looks...]
Akira may not know what his expression is doing, but Maruki watches everything filter through it in those split seconds – shock, panic, fear, a pallor that he's never seen on Akira before. All at once, guilt shreds through Maruki's soul; he shouldn't have brought this to Akira's doorstep, quite literally. Shouldn't have heaped another instance of suffering onto his already overburdened shoulders, forced him to try to act the hero.
It doesn't take long at all for steel to overtake his expression, and then Maruki is being wrenched inside the apartment, the grip around his arm unrelenting. ]
Kurusu–
[ Maruki reaches out as well, mirroring the action, grabbing Akira's other arm to still him after they've staggered only a few steps. The door is still open behind him. ]
Kurusu. Stop, I'm okay.
[ It's less panicked than his original disclaimer by far. Gently authoritative, firm with the edges sanded down. Maruki looks at him, brows knitting together to meet in the middle in sympathy – really looks at him, shuttered down to spring into action despite his own shaking fear, and allays it as best he can. ]
I'm not injured, you don't have to do anything. I already healed myself. I just–
[ The hand vice-like around Akira's upper arm releases its tension, though he doesn't let go. ]
I wasn't sure where else I could go. I'm sorry.
[ It's plain in its sincerity, earnest in its intent. He really is sorry. And he really is otherwise alone in this world. They both are, save for each other. But even if they were spoiled for choice... Who else would Maruki really choose to turn to? ]
Don't- [Something pained flits across his face before he can control it and overstays its welcome. It's twice now that his voice has cracked in front of Maruki, something that most people never get to hear.] Don't apologize for getting injured.
[Maruki's guilt is a collection of nettles stinging his heart over and over; just as he frees himself from the clutch of apologizing for almost dying like he's making trouble for Akira, he's stumbling into the sharp bite of him saying sorry for getting himself somewhere safe.
It hurts Akira twofold. It's not just Maruki minimizing his own pain that's hard to swallow, but the fact that Akira knows he's to blame for this guilt. Maybe not all of it, but enough. He almost wishes he'd listened to his conscience, not extended himself to Maruki the way he had, because it's almost certain that he'd weighed on him even more-
...But if he hadn't, then where would Maruki have gone tonight?
He stops moving, but doesn't loosen his grip. It's the only acquiesce Akira can make, because he doesn't even know if he can let go. The primal fear is still pounding out a beat located at his temple, even with the logic of Maruki's words starting to bounce around in his skull.
What a sight they must make, holding onto each other in Akira's entranceway like the world will end if they let go.]
How strong of a spell did you use?
[Azathoth had decent healing capabilities from what he remembers, but not a full one. If Maruki bled this much, then...
He aches to have Futaba with him; he always does, but especially right now, to look over Maruki's vitals and make sure Akira's less-trained eye hasn't missed something. It makes his heart feel small and tight and helpless in his chest.]
Edited (i upset myself so much i forgot my subject line) 2024-06-16 10:07 (UTC)
[ That waver in his voice, the clear pain flickering through his features before being neatly tucked away again. Has he ever seen Akira this raw? It's somehow even different from their conversation in the tea house, which was already a unique sight.
The two of them, a ceaseless ouroboros of guilt and care in equal measure. Of course they can't let one another go. ]
Ah... Well, I wouldn't say it was a fully conscious action on my part.
[ Because he was about to die, and because those inextricable parts of Azathoth are capable of acting independently to protect him. Eager to do so, even.
They really must have had a hell of a battle in Akira's timeline. ]
But what was done was strong enough to fix me up. I promise you that. If I had an extra shirt with me, you'd never even know it happened.
[ That last part is said with a smile, a forced lightening of his tone, but if Akira is looking closely – and what are they doing, if not staring one another intently down – he'll be able to see the fear trembling at the edges. It isn't the state of his injury now. It's the fact that it happened at all – that one moment he was trying to find the train station, and the next he was slammed into a wall with a blade to his throat. If he hadn't awakened to the powers that he did less than two months ago, he would be dead. If that man pulls the same move on any other people without special abilities, they'll be dead.
It sinks in, in fits and starts. Every time a new piece of what transpired tonight clicks into place to lodge the whole image into his memory, he's unsettled and unmoored all over again.
Maruki draws a breath, wills it to be steady – it isn't, despite his best efforts – and rubs his palm vigorously against Akira's arm to try to loosen him from that worry. ]
[The touch is both an electrocution and a balm; both help clear his head for different reasons. He struggles to pull his mask into place, but can't really succeed. Honestly, Akira doesn't think it even matters right now.
Who cares if his eyes are a window to his heart, when Maruki's trembling with fear that even a person less perceptive than Akira could pick up on?
He nods, though. Breathes out and forces his hand to release Maruki even as every instinct in his brain screams to protect protect protect, and forces himself to walk over to the door and close it with a soft thud.]
...I'm lucky, then, that you weren't carrying that extra shirt around.
[It's punctuated with him fastening all of his locks, even the third one that he doesn't usually bother with. Whoever or whatever did this to him, Akira isn't letting it get in that easily.
And if it somehow tries to force its way in... it'll be lucky if Akira lets it back out. Raoul is hot in his chest, simmering with the sensation of Satanael's gun in his hand.]
If it was an unconscious action, I'm checking you over anyway. We'll wash off the blood in there, if nothing else. [When Akira turns to him, he sounds just a little bit more like himself.] Do you know if you were chased here?
[He's taken the extra precautionary measure... but he wants to check anyway. Maruki might even know, and it's fine if he doesn't, but Akira will still ask. He'd rather have the heads-up now before he's elbow-deep in bloody water.]
[ While Akira handles the door, Maruki toes off his shoes– there are droplets of blood already sunken into the fabric.
His hands are beginning to shake again without anything to hang onto and be stalwart for. It's stupid, really. Pure adrenaline. He needs to focus on the present. Practice that mindfulness that they spent so much time on, all those months ago.
Hands safely tucked into his pockets, he meets Akira's gaze and question with a quick shake of his head and a firm resolve. ]
I wasn't. He let me go. Candidly, ah... How should I put this...
[ It's the strangest thing. In his own reality, he has never had to call Azathoth forth to do physical harm. He never planned to need to. This was the first time, here in the dingy alleyway of a futuristic city he still doesn't understand. But in Akira's reality, he surely knows better than anyone just how mighty Azathoth's rage can be.
Maruki grimaces. There's no joy taken in this explanation, only regret for having done harm. ]
He wasn't in good enough condition to chase anything. After I was healed, I did warn him to leave, but he struck Azathoth first. So...
[ A sigh, a helpless shrug. Akira can likely fill in the rest better than he can tell it. ]
[His eyes narrow ever so slightly as he evaluates Maruki. There's the fear that's threaded through ever centimeter of him, from the shine in his eyes to the tremble that goes all the way to his fingertips. Other than that... he's reasoning well. Doing his best to describe the situation to Akira in a kind and level manner. The fear is affecting him in a drastic way (understandably), but remove that and he's not much different from his norm. Akira absorbs the information and weighs the probabilities.
Most likely, Maruki wasn't pushed far enough to kill someone. Not knowingly, at least. The chance of it happening knowingly still isn't zero, because Akira's never seen him break in that particular way, but the fact that he's still very much himself leads him to believe that the chance of it is astronomically low.
The fact that the pressure is on him in such a distinct, way, the fact that his mask isn't all the way back up... That's why Maruki's able to witness the extremely brief thing that happens next.]
Good.
[There's just the slightest knife's edge to the word, wrapped in the layers of his normal tone like a hidden blade. It's the sharpness that could be easily mistaken for Joker's steel, but it goes beyond that.
Fierce. Relentless. Unforgiving. It's the cold piece of him that didn't care what happened to Kamoshida Suguru.
One assessment done, he leaves his spot in front of the door and begins another. Is Maruki shaking too much to make it on his own? Should Akira do anything even if he is? The answer to the second question is easy to decide, even if it isn't an easy question at all - his hand is already going out to Maruki's arm again before he's even weighed the pros and cons of it.
Akira knows he shouldn't. He knows it's not a good idea to initiate something like that when he still has to give Maruki a chance to prove himself... But that doesn't seem important enough right now. Not when his heartbeats still haven't slowed down, and he doubts Maruki's have either.]
I wasn't sure how much of Azathoth's strength that you had, but it's better that you were able to defend yourself. [His voice is softer now. Something feels sort of gauche about the fact that he's relieved for the strength that might end up being Akira's own undoing down the road, but he's too glad that Maruki's still breathing to care all that much. He doesn't know what that says about him.] It should be enough to keep him away, but you should describe him for me if you can.
[ It could last only a millisecond. It wouldn't matter. Maruki still wouldn't miss that tone.
Akira sent a jagged crack down the middle of his distorted heart that first night in 7. Maruki hadn't known where to go after their meeting. Stayed in that tea house, lost in thought, until it closed. Spent another hour wandering through the sweetly lit streets of 3 before finally admitting defeat and asking a hotel receptionist. It's how he wound up one district over, checking into one of the temporary free housing areas. It's where he spent the next few days in a fugue state, unwilling to reach out to Akira for help with a problem that he caused for himself, unsure of what else to do, if there even was anything to do.
Because the fact of the matter is: What do you do when you lose your purpose? When it's pulled out from underneath you at the last second, and then you find out that even if you return to it, you'll lose it again – for good – within twenty-four hours?
Maruki knows that's not an existential crisis anyone should pity him for, least of all Akira.
At nights he still grapples with that feeling of being cut adrift alone in the world by his own selfish mistakes. He feels it again, here and now, with the sharp-edged wrought iron woven around that one word, good, so utterly lost even with Akira right next to him.
As quickly as it washes over him, it passes.
He looks down at Akira's hand wrapped around his arm, hears the words. Blinks. Breathes. ]
Of course, I already planned to. The last thing I want is for you to run into him.
[ That was, admittedly, his chief concern upon deciding he would go to Akira's. Not that the man would follow him, battered as he was on the ground. That he would one day in the future stalk another unsuspecting persona user into a dark alleyway, and maybe whoever Akira is currently wielding wouldn't be able to heal, and maybe–
A sick twist in his gut not unlike the knife.
He can't think about it. About Akira meeting any sort of fate, even just one of nonlethal harm. If he goes pale again, it's entirely due to that thought.
Maruki speaks as he's steered through the little apartment, into the bathroom. ]
He was taller than you or I by a few inches. Long blond hair... I think it was pulled back? Light eyes, though it was hard to tell the color in the dark. An incredibly deep voice. No small amount of sadistic glee about taking a life...
[ A beat. ]
He hit with an electric skill, somehow.
[ God, it sounds ridiculous to say. Maruki looks at Akira, fiercely protective and helpless all at once. ]
He cut an imposing figure. You couldn't miss him if you tried, and I hope you never see him at all.
[There's a not insignificant part of him wants it. Not to kill, because he's still a Phantom Thief and he will never break their code, but to give even half as good as what Maruki got. It's an angry thing tangled together in his chest, the part within him that rises up when someone he cares about is hurt. He cannot change a heart here, so it lashes within his chest instead, wanting the opportunity to strike out.
Akira does what he ever does when he says the things that are genuine but crafted to meet the needs of his situation, choosing the calmer response out of three when he could make a joke or be blunt instead.]
In that case, let's hope neither of us run into him after this.
[Akira's apartment doesn't have the biggest bathroom. With one man at 180 cm and a boy that's almost a man not that far behind, it feels downright tiny. Fortunately, Akira still moves like the world's wiliest cat, so he wriggles around Maruki as soon as he releases him and digs around in his cabinet for the medkit.
His eyebrows have drawn down further in the time that it took to arrive here. None of this bodes well, but there's one detail that's standing out to him more than the rest.]
...You said he uses electric skills. [Glass bottles clink as they're moved to the side, white box pulled free. He sets it on top of the shelving and moves onto the sink next.] I'm assuming he didn't use a Persona, and it was probably too dark to see if he had tally marks on his skin. Did anything seem strange about his teeth?
[Not all blood-drinkers are vampires, but enough are that it's worth an ask. But it still doesn't add up. Do the locals even have access to magic, and if they do, why would one bother with a spell when it would be so much more natural to try and sink their fangs into Maruki's neck?
It points far more to the likelihood of it being one of them, the people like Akira and Maruki that were brought here to be judged. Many of them already seem to have some combat abilities, but this may be the first time that one of them is an active danger to the rest. It changes a lot.]
Edited (I FORGOT MY SUBJECT LINE I WAS RUSHING BEFORE DINNER) 2024-06-20 03:27 (UTC)
please you could never be as pathetic as dr. punchable crybaby
[ Maruki leans back against the wall of the cramped bathroom, watches Akira rummaging around. It's wholly unnecessary, he really is fine, but he'll allow it twofold– because he understands the anxiety driving Akira to not want to believe something he can't see for himself, and because it blooms a strange sort of pride in his chest. He really was the leader of such a cohesive team, made up of people who adored him so wholly. How he must have cared for them with this same fervor.
Akira is the best of everyone. Maruki's only trying to keep pace with him. ]
No Persona, no. Wouldn't that have been something?
[ He laughs, quiet and a little uneven, as the rest of Akira's words try to sink in but keep getting caught.
Maruki looks at him in the mirror, brows pulled down just the same. ]
And his teeth seemed normal. What's that about tally marks...?
[ Seriously, what the hell, Joker. Is this another Wrath thing??? ]
[Before Akira turns around, there's just a moment-
A soft laugh catches in his chest before he can stop it when Maruki confirms there's no Persona. "Wouldn't that have been something?" It's so much Maruki Takuto, so much the counselor sitting with his student and pondering the probability of something he says with just the warmest dash of awe... It makes fondness burst in Akira's chest like a shotgun shell, wormed down deep around his heart where it will never be dug out.
He could've lost him tonight. He lingers another moment, one hand starting to numb from the cold under the sink while the other white-knuckles the side of it. He could've lost him tonight and he never would've even known until he tried to contact him like Akechi.
The moment passes. Akira pulls his hand out from under the water and shakes it out as he turns around.]
Pass me your shirt and you can start rinsing some of the blood off. [Akira holds a hand out for it. He hasn't decided if it's going in the hamper or the trash yet.] The tally marks are tattooed onto people in this district called Combatants. They enjoy violence for sport, so they'd probably fall in line with your attacker. But...
[His brow furrows again. He should tell Maruki his thoughts; nothing he's thinking would aid Maruki in fighting against him if things ever go poorly, and... he's supposed to hope for the best thing right now, not the worst.
If Akira is going to believe in him, he needs to open his hand to accept it.]
The electric skill is bothering me. It sounds like some kind of magic, even if it's without a Persona, and I don't think I've seen of the natives able to do anything like that. It makes me think it's someone that was summoned to the Amplitheater.
Maruki visibly pulls a face at that explanation about Combatants. Why on earth does Akira even live in 6? Surely it's better when Patience is in control, but that hardly seems worth it for how dismally violent things are right now.
The face twists further into discontent as he dutifully takes off his sweater, already a sticky mess of blood and torn fibers, and then sees just how bad his button down underneath is. He's listening to Akira, yes, but he does whisper a little come on, are you kidding... to himself as he begins to unbutton it.
It's a bit of a fumbling thing. His fingers are shaking again, and he hates it. There's nothing wrong with him, and he's already worried Akira enough– but there's no real normal way to react to seeing so much of your blood outside of your body like that.
Thank god Akira is still talking. He forces himself to focus, listen, not lose himself in the sense memory of the blade slowly twisting, tearing– ]
I'm inclined to agree. It wasn't weak, either. Obviously I know much less than you do about... all of that, but it was an impressive lightning strike. That seems like a power inherent to someone back in their reality that transferred over here.
[ Shirt successfully unbuttoned, he gathers it up with the sweater and hands it over. ]
I've already written these off as lost causes. If we put them in a bag, I'll just... throw them out somewhere. I'm sure this district won't look twice at some bloody clothes dumped into a garbage can.
[ A weak laugh along with his joke, a flicker of a smile. As he moves to the sink to wash his hands, finally, and start dabbing at the mess of his stomach, he remembers one more thing: ]
Even after Azathoth attacked him, and he was nearly knocked out on the ground... When I didn't run right away, he was able to start getting up again to continue the fight. Nothing was going to truly stop him.
[ Eyes trained down on the muted red water as he scrubs his hands. ]
I'm afraid that sort of strength points to someone summoned to the Amplitheater as well.
me falling hitting every branch on the way down: what did u say about trees i can't hear u
[Akira's skill of observation aren't perfect. There are holes and patches in it, seeing the forest before the trees, the mass of wood and bark that blocked his eyes from the cracks in his best friend's heart. Sometimes he doesn't choose the right words, sometimes he doesn't understand as well as he should, and sometimes he misses things.
He doesn't miss the shake in Maruki's hands, and he's almost certain of what it means. He still remembers the shake of Futaba's hands the first time she saw one of them badly injured.
Akira drops the shirt and gently but firmly tugs Maruki's hands out of the water.]
Let me. [He says it soft, a sorry unspoken as he gets to work. Not everyone is equipped to deal with this; perhaps that's something he's forgotten a little, too.] If he's hard to take down, that poses a problem no matter where he's from. But I agree. I think we should count that towards him being summoned, too.
[Even as his mind is churning, trying to think of how to neutralize this new threat, he's observing the skin formerly hidden under blood. Not even a break left. Azathoth's healing might even be as strong as a Diarahan.
He wishes he had the innate skill to know the depths of someone's wounds like Futaba. He wishes he had any Persona that wasn't Raoul so he could do it again to be sure. And more than anything, he wishes he trusted any of the medical facilities here enough to tell Maruki to get treatment rather than relying on his own emergency healing or Akira's unequipped hands.]
If it happens again but we could attack him together... it might be enough. Between the two of us, we have a lot of firepower between us.
[It clogs in his throat: even if I'm at half-strength. He can't say that. Not yet. Not until he's absolutely sure.]
i'm about to take a chainsaw to these goddamn trees i can't take this anymore
[ Pathetic and pitiful as it is, Maruki gratefully acquiesces the task to Akira. He dries his hands off on a towel but otherwise keeps still as Akira makes quick work of his torso. It really does look like nothing at all happened.
And that wasn't necessarily a guarantee. Maruki was putting a tremendous amount of faith into Azathoth at the moment of summoning it. No matter how powerful they both are, the simple fact of the matter is that they had not directly engaged in battle until tonight. Short lived as it was, it was still more combat experience than Maruki has had outside of commanding the Shadows within his own Palace. He knew Azathoth could heal. He didn't know the extent. It was lucky. He's lucky.
He's phenomenally lucky to be here at all.
A feeling that's already seeping deep down into his bones even before Akira speaks, but then– ]
Between the two of us...?
[ Maruki repeats it quietly, almost blankly, as if he doesn't realize he's saying it. His eyes are wide and guileless on Akira's.
That Gratitude mark on his hand seemingly never ceases its mild, pulsating glow when they're together. It certainly isn't stopping now. ]
Kurusu. You would let me fight by your side?
[ No, they haven't taken up arms against one another yet. Maruki's timeline ends neatly before that foregone conclusion. He's accepted that it will happen, though. As much as he would like for there to exist a reality in which Akira takes his deal, it's a vanishing hope.
But short of actual battle, he has caused pain to Akira in as many ways as a person can. Used him to further his own motives. Betrayed his trust. Changed the people he loves most into versions that don't need him in the visceral ways they used to. Taken Yoshizawa, returned Akechi – at a price. Forced him into the corner of an impossible decision. For a man so wholly, intently focused on healing – for as deeply as Maruki cares about him, down to the very bottom of his soul – he has struck out again and again to hurt the most important person still left in his life.
And yet, Akira draws from a seemingly endless reserve of compassion and forgives him.
And yet, Akira extends this offer to him, almost carelessly, as if he doesn't realize how thoroughly it tips Maruki's world onto its head.
He can't help himself: His tone and expression mirror one another in their open, honest hope. ]
[His pulse is so, so loud in his ears. It's strange, because Akira is the calmest that he's been all night.
He knows what they would all tell him to do. He knows the things he shouldn't do. And he knows what he's going to say anyway.]
I do.
[Because he does, in fact, mean it.
Because he doesn't know if he could bear the cost of losing even more.]
I can't let a threat to your life go unchecked. I made you a promise, whether it's me or another me that will carry it out. [His task mostly done, he pulls red-tipped fingers back and looks up. The eyes that stare at Maruki are hard and unrelenting, steel and weight, but it isn't directed at him.] This will not happen again.
[It won't. He won't allow it.
Akira doesn't care what's in this world, and he doesn't care what this person can do. He'll stop that danger if it costs him his very last breath.]
What district did you finally settle on? [He turns his back, but only for the sake of washing the blood off of his hands. His sleep shirt seems to have avoided getting covered in anything, for now.] Were you attacked there or closer to here?
[He should've asked that earlier, really. It's better for Maruki to know about the Combatants so he didn't get caught up in anything with them, but it followed a train of thought they might not have needed to go down.]
i'm about to go full-tilt self-indulgent and i'm dragging you down with me
[ For the moment, Maruki stays silent, watching his own blood running off Akira's hands beneath the water. There's a sickening lurch in his stomach when he realizes it, but there's also a strange, horrible sense of security in it. The same sense that sits deep in his soul when he considers the fight that awaits him back in his reality, the inevitable loss, the fact that Akira will not let him die as he'll surely want to.
I can't let a threat to your life go unchecked.
It's the same for him. Akira is far less hapless than him, unlikely to find himself in a danger he can't get out of under his own power – and it doesn't matter. Maruki would have protected him from anything back at Shujin and he'll do the same now, no matter the cost.
They're allies now, after all, impossible as it feels. A lick of blue flame warming the center of his chest from the inside out, a space that only Akira occupies, whether he knows it or not. ]
I ended up finding a place in 4. I know you don't necessarily need to live in the district associated with your mark, but it felt appropriate... And the city is pleasant enough. I'm sure I won't enjoy it when Envy inevitably takes over, but it is what it is.
[ He finishes patting his torso dry with the same towel he used for his hands, the faintest mottled pink splotches on the cloth. With a grimace, Maruki adds it to the list of ways to repay Akira for this incredible kindness – a new set of towels, a new shirt to replace whatever one Maruki is going to have to borrow, an inevitable invitation to lunch. ]
Ah, but– no, it happened here. Not all too far away, either.
[ Which isn't comforting, is it. Maruki folds his arms over his chest and looks askance. ]
A trip to the Amplitheater spat me out here, and I was trying to find my way to the train station. Guess I'm just lucky, huh?
[ The weak joke is as good an excuse as any for him to look at Akira again, searching, both for what to do next and for the question that's been on the tip of his tongue since they were first reunited here. But he can hedge around it a bit longer, circle in closer and closer to what he most wants to know. ]
Why is it you decided to live here, anyway?
Edited (oh my god don't tag sleeby good NIGHT) 2024-06-30 10:48 (UTC)
[For a moment, a long moment, Akira is quiet. He's thinking about the reason why. He's mulling over how he wants to answer. He's deciding if this is really what he wants to do, because - once again - it definitely isn't what he should do.
And most importantly... he's preparing to say goodbye to what once was.]
A reason that doesn't matter anymore. [Akira dries his hands off, unconcerned with the stains left behind, and tries not to let whatever melancholy emotion he's feeling poison his voice.] Tomorrow I'm going to search for vacancies near where you're staying.
[Beyond how foolish it would be to move in with Maruki... Akira doesn't ask because he doesn't think he can. He couldn't live together in this city with anyone anymore, for the same reason it's probably a good thing that he's now deciding to leave.
If he did, he would always be terrified they wouldn't come home.
It'll be good for him, he thinks. It's better not to spend every morning standing in an empty room feeling hollowed out, no personal effects left to even hold onto because its former owner didn't care to leave any. It'll be good for him to get away from the stores that hold familiar cologne that he has to take out of his shopping basket every time before he checks out. It will be easier to not have to avoid the closest grocer with food inside it since he can't stomach the memories it holds. And he knows it's not good for him to stay up late almost every night, waiting for the person that will never come home.
It's odd, sometimes, how the glove in his pocket has become one of the least painful parts of his day. But grief doesn't have a logical pattern to follow. Maybe it would still be like this, even if he hadn't ended up here and had the chance to return home.
From now on, maybe he will always be doomed to live as the ghost of someone's absence. But first, he has to get through this with Maruki and get them home in one piece.]
I think we both know this, but just to be clear... this isn't my way of keeping an eye on you regarding our promise. It may not be safe for me to stay here anymore, but I don't want you caught over there alone if he follows you, either. Close together, we have the best chance of protecting each other.
[Envy is probably a lot safer than the worst parts of Wrath, anyway, so even that will probably be advantageous change.]
Words don't come for a solid half minute, maybe more. Maruki just tries to absorb the statements that stutter and stop on their way down from the surface of his mind. He opens his mouth, nearly says something about Akira not needing to go to all the trouble to move– but then, how long would it take him to do the same? They hardly own anything here, and housing is easy enough to find. Logistically, it's so much less of a nightmare than it is back home.
Emotionally, though–
Maruki can't parse exactly what's tinting the edges of Akira's tone, but he gets the suspicion they might both be circling around the same thing.
When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, grateful but calm. ]
There are other apartments in my building that are empty. I looked at enough of them to know. And... I'd feel better if we were closer as well. I know you're intent on looking after me now, but it goes both ways, Kurusu. After this, I wouldn't feel right leaving you in this district. In fact–
[ And then his expression goes sheepish. It's not an act whatsoever. Nothing around Akira is anymore. ]
It's asking a lot, I know, but could I stay here tonight? I don't need anything but your couch– well, and a new shirt, but I'll repay you for that, I promise...
[ He scrubs a now clean hand through his hair with a self-conscious laugh. ]
I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be alone. And we could chat a bit longer. There's more I want to ask you about what you've experienced here.
[Every thought that's raced through his mind, every ghost that's lodged itself in the space between each of his ribs - all of it seizes up with his breaths.
He didn't anticipate this, even though he should've. It's a natural next step, isn't it? Maruki still has enough fear lingering that it left his hands trembling; he's also made it clear that he's worried for Akira's safety, and Akira would've been lying if he suggested he wasn't worried for the same. Hadn't he been prepared just now to say that he'd walk Maruki home, even with the knowledge he'd put himself at risk doing so? Maruki would protest it; the thought is both warm and painful, but he's almost certain of that. And Akira isn't sure if he could've brought himself to turn him away right now. But if that's the case...
There's really only one thing to do. The words feel like they cut his throat, but they still sound calm when they come out of his mouth-]
You don't have to take the couch. This is a two-bedroom unit.
[Akira can stand in it once more to get Maruki settled after they're finished speaking. Just one more time for the road.]
Wait here and I'll grab a shirt for you. Don't worry about paying me back for it, just-
[Even with his back already to Maruki, his jaw snaps shut, words miserably lodged in his throat. There's so much he wants to say, and even more that he wants to keep locked up so it never sees the light of day. He wonders how much he'll end up saying tonight.]
...I'm going to make coffee after I grab a shirt for you, so let me know if you want some. It's nice to talk over a cup.
[They're the softest words he's delivered yet.
Akira doesn't usually look at that room when he passes it in the hall that leads to the bedrooms, but tonight's the first in a while that he feels the weight of how much he's not looking at it.
Otherwise, it doesn't take long; Akira doesn't have many shirts that are too big on him, so that makes them a lot easier to find. He snatches up a blue pullover that'll still probably be just a little too small on Maruki, but it should at least be able to keep him warm.]
So many things. A student, a diligent worker, a leader. A Phantom Thief, a trickster, a rebel. A heart too huge for his chest. A mind sharper than an expertly wielded blade. A will stronger than anyone's. A trusted confidant. A guiding light. An unwitting enemy. A friend, a friend, a cherished friend.
If Rumi is his why, Akira is his how. Wholly necessary. Without him, things fall apart.
He's everything.
So of course Maruki remembers the very first words spoken to him when they reunited in this strange reality:
All these weeks, I'd wondered if you had something to do with him vanishing from this city.
Their conversation never circled back to that. There was too much else on the table to make room for it. But Maruki has never forgotten, not for one moment.
A two-bedroom unit.
Every desperate, aching impulse in Maruki's distorted heart to give him what he most wants rears up at once. Could he do it here? Summon Akechi back from the ether, smooth over the painful cracks and potholes and gaping chasms that have surely sprung up during their time apart, make it so that to Akira, he never left, in this reality or in any other. He could, he thinks, and it's there, nestled warm in the back of his mind right against the space Azathoth occupies. All he has to do is imagine it.
The memory of Akira seated across from him, smiling and fond, tea in hand and honesty ever-present in his eyes: There was suffering, and hardship, and pain... And it made every bit of happiness I've had shine brighter. It made it all worth it.
He watches Akira retreat down the hall, feeling rather unmoored. Like a stone dropped into a yawning abyss, in perpetual motion through darkness for so long that time seems to still until the very moment it strikes the bottom.
There's a pullover being handed to him. An offer being extended.
Maruki blinks at him, eyes wide and sad behind his glasses for just a moment before he smiles, grateful. God, he never stops feeling grateful. ]
Thank you. I'll definitely take a cup, please.
[ The shirt tugged on; only the slightest bit too small, but not bad. Like one he's kept since college. Comfortable.
He follows after Akira into the kitchen, slides into a seat to watch him fiddle with his coffee. It's all such a far cry from Leblanc. Maybe that's a good thing. ]
[His hands pause over the grinder. (Because he does, at least, have a grinder; it's absolutely not Leblanc quality, but he'd rather go out and fight the Combatants and Blood-drinkers with his bare hands than drink instant coffee.) His eyes slide over to Maruki, watching him watch Akira. Observant. Thinking.
Not so unlike himself.
Maruki Takuto is a therapist; that's how Akira met him, that's how he's always known him. He studied to be able to do that, he presumes, even if his distorted heart took it in such a wide direction. He's not just that, though; he's a researcher, too. Something close to a scientist, perhaps, but well-learned enough in the field of cognitive psience that he could write an entire thesis on it. He's smart. Akira has never doubted that, not once. It just feels very stark, right now, to see it so clearly on display.
The moment ends; his gaze returns to the beans, but even as his hands move, Akira still feels somewhat frozen.]
...You figured it out, then.
[He doesn't mince his words. Maruki will understand, he's sure.
Honestly, he doesn't want to have this conversation. At least... not with Maruki. Not right now, not right at this moment when it's raw and painful and still healing wrong. Maybe not ever, or until he knows that Akechi will come back, or at least until he's an adult and watching all of his friend's kids have kids and knows he'll be waiting until the day he day he dies to bring someone that's never coming back to a jazz club. Maybe then, when the warmth of Akechi's shoulder is more than a phantom pain or Maruki's starting to go gray, he can have this conversation with him without feeling tension swirling in his gut.
Unfortunately, Akira has vows and promises to keep.]
I was on my own for about three weeks before you arrived. I still don't know what happened. I investigated, but there was no trace left behind that I could find.
thrashes around to dislodge your teeth so i can DO THE SAME TO YOU
[ It doesn't come immediately. Only after a heavy silence as the gravity of Akira's words settles over him until it becomes oppressive.
It's quiet. Sincere. Far from the cloying tone used back in their reality.
He opens his mouth, draws a breath as if to speak further. Closes it. Considers.
Akira mentioned that the last time they saw one another was in March. He lived beyond the dissolution of Maruki's reality, and then he appeared here. Alongside Akechi? Or was Akechi already in the city? Had they somehow seen one another back in the true reality before their reunion here? Or was Akechi from a different time, just as Maruki is? One before their battle, perhaps. One where his future still hung in a dubious balance.
To then be brought into a reality against his will, again... Maruki can only imagine how furious that Akechi would have been here. Too furious to live with the person holding his fate in two cupped palms?
Or perhaps he was from even earlier. Before Masayoshi Shido's Palace, even. How would it feel for Akira, as he is now, burdened with such knowledge of what's to come, to see him again so unquestionably alive? Would that Akechi, still posturing at being rivals, deign to live with him?
There are countless other options. It's impossible to know. Reality is already a mutable thing; reality in a place like 7, doubly so. Anything could have happened, anything at all.
There's only one way to find out, but it feels rotten to ask.
Akira is good at hiding his true pain. Always has been. And Maruki is good at finding the few fine, hairline fracture thin cracks to catch a glimpse anyway.
Another breath. ]
You don't have to answer this. If you don't want to, tell me so and we'll drop it. No explanation needed and no further questions asked.
[ He means it. Hopefully Akira can hear just how much he means it.
Maruki's hands are folded together in front of him on the counter, the thumb of one running methodically over the knuckles of the other. Steadying, grounding. ]
What point in time was he from?
Edited (how could i forget the most important PART) 2024-07-11 10:48 (UTC)
[He's quiet for an equally long stretch of time. The motions of making coffee, even with lesser equipment, are familiar and grounding enough that he still feels present and solid and in this moment.
He's almost certain that he's going to drop it. It's what Akira wants to do. It's probably what he should do, as well; it won't heal any faster if he reopens it all over again, after all.
Instead what comes out, completely calm is-]
February 2nd. Almost the same moment as you.
[He doesn't know if Akechi went back. He doesn't know if there was a "back" to even go to, for him. Did he at least have those last moments in the Palace before he disappeared, or was he simply met with nothingness?
He'll never know. Maybe it's better that he doesn't, but it'll never let his mind rest, either.
But Maruki's voice settles something in him. It soothes the burn ever so slightly, even if it isn't enough to truly dull the pain of it. It's the voice that draws the deepest confessions out of him that not even Akechi could ever dig up. In both cases, like calls to like, but it's different; in order to protect, Akechi pushes away, but Maruki pulls him in.
It's more than enough to keep him talking. His weak spots are the same as they've always been, and Akira's never done anything to guard them.]
I wondered if there might be some connection, but... I don't have enough info to make any guesses. I'm thinking of asking around to see what the others' experiences are like, but even then it might still be a dead end.
[Akira knows it won't bring him back. He knows he won't feel better after it, either, but at least that one he can lie to himself about.]
surprise bitch bet you thought you'd seen the last of pain
Maruki is hardly in motion, seated as he is watching Akira at work, but what little of him that can still does. Time hangs in stasis; almost the same moment as you.
If Akechi also arrived here after that conversation in Leblanc, the moment that the extent to which he was Maruki's trump card was revealed–
Perhaps it's for the best that they just missed one another.
It's a horrid, selfish thought, one he pushes back down into the ether instantly. He would take all of the miserable tension in the world and then some if it meant Akira could have him back, even in a place such as this. ]
I wish I could tell you. It can't hurt to survey the populace on the network, even if the information doesn't end up being useful. I'll help you if you do– if you'd like me to, of course.
[ A slight falter, a hesitation. He means it, of course – he'd offer his services as someone well-versed in research to Akira for anything he sets his mind to trying to figure out – but it isn't what he truly wants to say.
It's the question he's wanted to ask ever since Akira told him that he was ripped away from their reality in March. A time beyond time for Maruki. For Akechi.
The answer was always going to be a heavy one, but it feels infinitely weightier now that he knows that for a brief period of time, they really were reunited here. ]
Before you arrived here, Kurusu... You told me it was March, and that we'd seen each other.
[ He still can't quite believe it. That he will lose to Akira, that his perfect world will crumble, and that he won't be allowed to crumble along with it. There is no part of him that wants to continue living in such a torturous, unjust reality – but Akira will save him. Again and again, if he has to. In every reality.
A breath drawn, unsteady. ]
What about him? Had you seen him at all after... everything?
Edited 2024-07-18 08:21 (UTC)
:) i always believed u would come back to me, just like-
[He's quiet as he continues the process, pulls the grinded beans out so he can get them into the filter. The smell is decent enough he can almost pretend it's Leblanc, sometimes, if he lets his mind get wistful enough. It's enough to keep his heart still.]
No. Nobody's seen or heard from him since.
[I'll carve my own path mixed into everything will return to how it should be weaved with tell him to come by again. They both knew what the most likely outcome would be, and they both still made it.
Even haunted by the anchor of his own impossible promise and the painful space of an absence that he can't ever get rid of, he wouldn't change anything. He'd do it all again, and if the time comes where he has to, he will.]
He and I both knew what would be the cost of our choices. [This isn't trivial!] We still made them, and I'll make them again if I have to. [It isn't trivial that I want you to live-!] One day, we'll know a future beyond March of 2017, and there's no telling what will be waiting for us.
[He shifts his feet as he starts to pour the coffee, a reminder of the weight in his pocket.]
As for the survey... Give me some time to think about it. [He sidesteps from one topic to the next, though a little less neatly than would be the norm. Whether it's to give himself a break or Maruki, it's harder to say, but it's probably the latter. Even with all of his preparedness to tear into whoever nearly killed him, it still makes his pulse jump alarmingly to expose Maruki to that many people's stories.] It shouldn't be a lot, even if I did it alone.
[He needs to trust him. He's trying to. He will. But for this... it's more than Akira thinks he can allow right now.]
i could never leave u..... unlike akechi goro on february 3 2017
[ Every word Akira speaks confirming what he feared to be true sinks jagged claws into his soul. They lodge in deep and stay there, lethal but motionless. Like the man in the alley, the knife passing through fascia and muscle, holding him together in the most painful way possible.
And then–
It's the hope that rips them free, tearing everything apart anew on their way out. There's no telling what will be waiting for us, as if there's still a possibility Akechi could turn up unannounced. Maybe, maybe not. No telling until it happens, or it doesn't. And it's true, Maruki knows it is.
It wasn't ever certain death that he dangled above their heads. It was simply the unknown. None of them knew Akechi's fate, not even the boy himself.
They knew the risks, the cost. They made their choice. And some stubborn seed of hope still lives in that unknown that Akira will return to.
All at once, Maruki remembers in pure crystal clarity why he first grew to genuinely adore Akira. That tenacity. That assurance that even when everything else before him in hazy and undefined, he'll still move forward to seek out the truth. Who knows what will be waiting for him? No one, no one at all, not even Maruki, and that's the joy of it.
He swallows hard, mouth dry. Lifts his eyes from the counter to watch Akira pouring the coffee. One palm presses against the center of his sternum, firm and grounding, only briefly before it drops away. ]
You never cease to amaze me...
[ A beat. ]
I wanted you to want something for yourself. That's all.
[ And then he shakes his head, smiles, soft and sad. ]
[I did. For the first time, I wanted something for myself more than I had in my entire life, and I let it go because I had to.]
Wanting to stop you and being grateful to you don't have to be conflicting feelings. [As he finishes pouring Maruki's cup, a wisp of a smile slips onto his face.] Someone taught me that very important lesson.
[Akira doesn't say who, even as he sets down the mug in front of him. He thinks Maruki should know, honestly... But those are probably Sumire's words to say directly, and he doesn't know if he should take that from her, even if it might not be likely the two of them will meet again.]
If I end up being wrong... If my gambit is misplaced, there will never be a time that I won't be grateful to you for it. Maybe that's confusing, but I think you'll understand one day. We'll leave it at that.
[His smile has dropped, but the quiet fondness hasn't left his eyes. He leans back against the counter, takes a sip of his own coffee, lets the warmth and taste wash through him. Ponders if he should really say what he's about to, and decides to take the plunge anyway.
For all of the trouble it's gotten him, he's never stopped being opening up to Maruki about what's on his mind. It's more than with most people, even amongst the ones that he loves.]
It's not about him, but... I'd like to ask you something about what you just said, if that's alright.
[ A knot tightens against his throat, like adjusting a tie too harshly when you're dressing in a rush.
After everything Akira admitted to him about Maruki's gross betrayal of the fundamental trust built up between them, after vowing with ironclad conviction to stop him again and again, after all of the pain evident in every word spoken about Akechi– he's grateful.
Maruki stares down at the mark spanning the back of his left hand. He feels unworthy of it, suddenly.
It's so difficult to reckon with. Somehow still being a person worthy of Akira's forgiveness, his frienship, his gratitude.
His trust.
Maruki takes the cup in both hands, lets it warm his palms. Looks at Akira with a quiet curiosity. ]
Of course it's alright. You can ask me anything.
[ He brings the cup up to inhale, eyes closed and smile serene, before taking a sip and humming in appreciation. It isn't Leblanc, no, but it's as much of a comfort. Maybe more of one, knowing it's something that exists only in this reality, only for the two of them.
He opens his eyes again and that smile quirks into a wry grin. ]
I might even answer honestly, if you're lucky.
[ It's entirely facetious, the light mischief plainly evident in his tone. Just enough to dissipate some of the tension that's built up throughout a profoundly painful conversation. ]
It's hard, the times that he has to see Maruki broken and sad and guilty because of him. It's unspeakably hard, and he wishes he could fix it when he knows that Maruki is the one that's supposed to do the fixing. And yet, sometimes the most difficult parts are the times like now, when he smiles and it feels just like before.
Akira inhales through his nose and tries to wipe out the taste of apple juice and ramune candy with another sip of his coffee.]
I think I'll gamble on that.
[Akira's never been good at preserving his heart, his mind, or his body. And that's exactly why he smiles back at him.
Still, he waits another moment. Lets his thumb rub against the mug handle as he lets it all sit, because he knows he's about to ruin the levity that Maruki tried to bring into the room. Somehow, their easy conversations are never easy, and their difficult conversations are never difficult. But this...
Finally, Akira meets his gaze, eyes bright and clear and staring right to the heart of him.]
When was the last time you did something for yourself, Maruki?
[ Maruki's caught mid-sip. He stares over the rim of the mug, warm brown eyes unblinking for a very long moment, before he lowers it with a smile. ]
I came to you tonight because I was scared to be alone. I'd say that was doing something for myself. Maybe it was a little too selfish, honestly, but it worked out...
[ And that's it.
He doesn't understand the question.
: ) ]
Edited (I FORGOR THE MOST IMPORTANT PART) 2024-07-26 02:47 (UTC)
[The pause that comes this time isn't because Akira makes space for one. It's because, for a moment, there's a quiet hurt and shock that spills across his face before he can reign it in.
He would never have wished for tonight's circumstances, because Maruki could've died. He's been terrified, Akira's been terrified. He can't say he's thankful for it, but he does wish something less threatening had brought this conversation to fruition, because Akira doesn't think he would've realized it otherwise. As is always his mistake, he never notices the small tree rotting through with disease, because he's too caught up watching the rest of the forest.
"You can lean on me too if you need it, Akira."
"I'd promised myself that if you were ever in trouble, I would leap in to save you."
The tight feeling in his chest... Is this how the others feel when they watch him put everyone else first, when he won't even accept help and takes it all on alone? How long will he have to wait to even get the chance to apologize for it?
He'd thought Maruki had trouble wanting things for himself. It's why he'd even asked; from the time he's known of his plans for actualization, all signs had pointed in that direction. Akira just hadn't realized how deep it actually went.
With all the grace of a cat, he unfolds himself and steps away from the counter, approaching the table until he's close enough to put his cup down and place his hands down after. From any other angle, it probably looks like Akira is about to question or accuse him... but his face is so, so sad.
It's the saddest he's ever looked, as if he's moments from his heart breaking, and he doesn't even think Maruki will understand why.]
That isn't what I asked you.
[How can he say it to make him understand? It feels like trying to change a heart with his bare hands, and even Sae had at least needed a push in the right direction to do it on her own.]
It's human to want to live. There isn't anything selfish about it. But I'm not asking you about surviving. [His fingers clench on the table with the desire to rip away the torch that he cannot reach, but the soft sadness in his voice and eyes don't change.] When was the last time you did something you liked? Not for surviving, or for functioning day to day... When did you do something that wasn't tied to someone else's happiness?
[Even as he says it, he thinks with a churn in his stomach that he already knows the answer.]
remember when you diagnosed him with pride at the amplitheater akira <3
[ Even if he doesn't understand the source of it, Maruki can see that deep sadness over Akira's features as plain as day. He's never seen it before, nothing even close to it.
He really thought that the worst he'd ever see Akira was in that tea shop, when he was being honest about Maruki's betrayal.
This is infinitely, infinitely worse.
His first instincts whip up in him like a twister – to reach out and touch the back of one of Akira's hands, gentle. To tell him it's alright. To ask what's troubling him so much.
But it seems like Maruki is what's troubling him, and not for the usual reasons.
His brows draw down, then further when Akira clarifies the question. ]
Ah. I see. Well...
[ He's starting to feel like a fish on a line, a cornered animal. He wants to answer with mundane things – there are plenty of things he likes, and he does them all the time. Cooking for himself and others. Reading a good book on a sunny day. Hot baths, crossword puzzles, long walks.
But Akira said that he doesn't mean those simple, everyday fondnesses.
No, Maruki knows exactly what he's asking now.
The walls are closing in, and there's nowhere to run. There's nowhere else he could go, and nowhere else he'd rather be. Even now, trapped as he is by Akira's persistent, pleading gaze, he can't make himself hide away.
Maruki smiles at him, and he has no idea that it looks just as sad as the look over Akira's face, but it does. ]
I think that we both know the answer to that. I've been focused on my work for some time now, and for good reason, Kurusu. It hasn't left me with much time for anything else, but...
[ A sip of his coffee. Tasteless on his tongue now. ]
You should know that doesn't bother me. I'm not unhappy, if that's your concern.
Having happiness and not being unhappy are also two different things.
[It may be a soft one, but it's still a counter.]
One of them seeks out joy... while the other lets things happen as they may.
[Maruki may guess at why if he thinks about it, but Akira's voice sounds just a little too knowing when he says it.
He turns his thoughts over in his head as if they're a worry stone. Even if it's not a perfect read, he's already picking up on the skittishness this conversation is bringing. He doesn't have long to make his point at all, if it isn't already too late.
Maybe this is truly a fruitless effort, when Akira knows he can't make any meaningful change until Maruki remembers what happened to him or has to live it if he hasn't yet. But Akira has never been able to leave well enough alone, especially not with him.
And more than that... he hates seeing someone he cares about in pain and being able to do nothing to stop it.]
You don't have to force yourself, if it's hard to think about this. [That isn't what Akira wants to say. He forces himself to say it anyway.] And I know your work isn't something that you can let go of right now, not truly. But...
[What's the point in the moments before a future that's already happened? What's the point in trying to ease something that Akira has already fixed, that he will fix again if need be?
Perhaps there's nothing that comes from this. Akechi would think it's pointless. The Phantom Thieves would worry about the toll it's taking on Akira's heart.
And yet-]
Here, you don't need to focus on your work right now. And when we get home... You can guess why you don't need to. [Akira closes his eyes. He doesn't cry easily. He won't do it now, even if he wishes he was alone so he could.] I'd like it if you could think about even one thing you'd like to do, on your own. Nothing to do with me, nothing to do with the actualization you wished for so desperately, nothing that you think others need or that you want to do for them... [He opens his eyes, smile full of pain.] You don't have to find an answer... but think about even one thing Maruki Takuto wants to do.
[And yet...
If Yoshizawa Sumire believed she was her sister for her almost her entire year of high school, Akira wouldn't regret even one time he smiled with her or she held his hand.
If Akechi Goro died at the beginning of winter, Akira wouldn't regret even one moment in January that he fought at his side or talked with a ghost about everything and nothing in a jazz club.
And if Maruki Takuto is here with him in another world... Akira would never, ever regret the chance to tell him everything he wished he'd had time to say.]
h. heyyyyy what's up ha ha don't look at this don't read it
[ Having happiness and not being unhappy are also two different things.
Something that he would tell Akira, and–
You don't have to force yourself, if it's hard to think about this.
Something he would tell Akira, and–
I'd like it if you could think about even one thing you'd like to do, on your own.
Something he would tell Akira, and–
Maruki is proud, in that moment. Caught, pinned, wounded– and proud.
He wants to put a stop to this. To take the out given to him, to not force it. To tell Akira: You're remarkable. To remind him: I told you that you'd make a better counselor than I do, didn't I? To ask him: When we return to our true reality, what are your plans for the future? When you finish school, will you return to Tokyo for university? What have you thought of studying? It's okay if you don't know yet, but if psychology ends up interesting you at all, I'd be happy to recommend you to my undergraduate program. To do anything to turn the focus away from him, back to Akira, because there is no world in which Maruki Takuto is the person in any room who deserves even the barest sliver of the spotlight.
But– ]
I'm afraid you're giving me an impossible task.
[ It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.
And he could end it there. Take the out. Turn the focus.
He could, but– ]
Not because of my work, or what will happen when we return.
[ No, he couldn't. He can't.
He won't.
He's asked Akira impossible question after impossible question tonight, forced him to recount what must pain him most. Asked so much of him. Comfort, assistance, a place to sleep. Honesty, vulnerability, a cup of coffee. Akira has agreed to fight by his side. Akira has promised to save him, again and again.
What can Maruki do for him in return? What has he ever been able to do?
Has he ever truly done anything for Akira?
Sought him out. Picked his brain. Taught him focus, mindfulness, mental conditioning. Gave him snacks, a kind word, a friendly listening ear that he never took advantage of, never laid his own burdens on Maruki's shoulders the way everyone else did. Tried to create an ideal reality for him anyway, tried to give him what he wanted. Betrayed him. Paid the price– or, will pay the price. It's coming.
None of that was what Akira wanted. He wants the world as it is, brutally painful and unfair as it is. He wants to find the beauty and love in it anyway. He wants those moments to matter.
He wants Maruki to open up. Take in what he's saying. Respond with integrity. To look at him with a fraction of that same bright honesty.
Maruki can force himself to give him that. Even if it kills him. ]
No, because–
[ Sorrow digs long fingers into his heart, gripping into the grooves of the fissure down the middle that Akira started weeks ago, and tears it cleanly in two. ]
There's only one thing that I want. [ And it isn't Actualization. ] You know this. [ He does. He should. ] It's the only thing I've wanted for so long. [ Years, and years, and years, marked by the passage of every bitterly cold February. ] I can't have it. [ There is a reason, after all, that the power to craft an ideal reality for all does not extend to the creator. ] By design, I can't ever have it again.
[ He stops. He has to stop, because– when did his throat get tight? He tries to clear it, fails. One of those torn off pieces of his heart, lodged roughly up into his windpipe. Stinging pressure behind his eyes. Tries to blink it away, fails. Heart racing, hands wrapped numbly around the mug, echoes of everything he just blathered repeating endlessly in his cavernous skull.
He looks to Akira. The slightest watery blur at the edges of his vision.
Such a wretched, quiet admission. It's a far cry from screaming his outrage and grief high above Odaiba, but it's all he can allow himself for now. It's more than he's allowed himself, ever. And in every reality, it's only for Akira's ears to hear. ]
Edited (I FORGOR THE MOST IMPORTANT PART) 2024-08-10 07:22 (UTC)
yet another terrible day for all of us to have eyes
Akira's fingers flex on the table like he's been struck, even if the rest of his body is still.
"Everything!!!"]
...I know.
[Akira shouldn't have done this. Meeting his eyes is more painful than staring into the sun.
"Why Rumi...?!"
...He wants to think he shouldn't have done this, because it would've been easier on both of them if he hadn't. Facing Maruki in pain is still more raw and gutting than facing him on the battlefield ever was. But to think that is to reject the truth that he's just acknowledged, that this moment will still mean more than anything to him even if it turns out that fate has deigned neither of them will ever have the memory of it.
So he balls up that pain in his chest to give himself just a little bit more strength.]
But that doesn't mean your life has to begin and end in that place.
[And then, for a second time, Akira breaks the one thing he told himself not to do the first time he ever saw him in this world - he reaches out and gently places his hands over Maruki's.
He holds them there, just for a moment. And then he presses down, so together they set the cup on the tabletop where neither of them can cause it to shake.]
What happened to you... to both of you was terrible. I won't condone what you did because of it, and I won't condemn you for it either. But you've punished yourself enough for it.
[Over and over and over, until Akira helped him flay himself raw on a glass staircase to heaven, freedom found in the pain that he rejected so fiercely.]
Letting go of that doesn't mean that you're terrible, or wrong, or selfish. It doesn't mean that you didn't love her, or that you can't still. And it doesn't mean that you've forgotten her or what both of you went through. What it means is you're learning how to heal from something that hurt you.
[Fingers squeeze over the backs of his hands. Here, he thinks with all his might against a distortion and broken heart that he can't fix with these too-weak hands. Stay here, with me, in this moment right now. Don't look backwards anymore.]
You still have many tomorrows, Maruki. You don't have to live in one yesterday anymore.
Edited (i did so much damage to myself i forgot to add my subject line for two hours) 2024-08-10 11:57 (UTC)
[ Every word – every single word, drawn from such a deep well of emotion, like Akira shares his pain as keenly as if it were his own – drives into Maruki's beleaguered, distorted heart. Knifepoint sharp and white hot, unerring in its aim. Again and again. And again. And again.
Being gutted like a fish in a dark alley not but a few hours ago hurt less than this.
It isn't like their confrontation in Leblanc at all. Maruki can't deflect, obfuscate, turn the tides of the conversation with his clever manipulations, pick up a calling card, wriggle free. He can't do anything at all, trapped by Akira's hands pressed over his own, honest and empathetic gaze locked on inexorably.
His mouth opens to form a rebuttal.
Nothing comes.
He can't breathe.
Letting go circles through his mind, impossible and anathema, a concept his body rejects like poison. He's never let go. He tells others they have the right to give up on impossible dreams or hurtful circumstances, start over to find their true happiness – and he has never. Will never. Can't ever. He found a niche area of study to obsess over and never let go. He found the one person to ever love him in spite of his many shortcomings and never let go. He found a purpose, a mission, an ideal and never let go. Maruki is so practiced at seeming relaxed, loose and easy with affable humor and quiet confidence, and it all belies years, decades of consistently held tension, digging his fingers into everything that's ever happened to him and never
letting
go.
A choked off, pathetic noise rises from the back of his throat when he tries once more to say something. He snaps his mouth shut to strangle it, grits his teeth, wills himself to breathe, think, speak, anything–
He will return to his true reality for a future that Akira has already lived. His ideal reality will be rejected. He will fight for it until there is nothing left of him. His world will crumble, and he won't be allowed to slip away with it. Akira will save him. Again, always, forever, in every reality, Akira will not let him die. Akira will deliver Maruki toward that promise of many tomorrows in a reality that he doesn't want to live in, hasn't wanted to live in since the cold of a February afternoon sank deep into his bones with each gunshot ringing through a rural home.
Maruki blinks.
When did tears pool enough in his eyes to spill over? They run hot tracks down his cheeks, and he can't remember the last time he allowed himself to cry. Is he even allowing himself now, or is it simply happening to him?
Heartbeat stuttering against his ribcage. He flexes his hands against the mug, feels Akira's fingers tight around them.
Another attempt at drawing breath. It shudders horribly, like a gasp, like a death rattle.
He looks at Akira, helpless, broken, furious, miserable, wretchedly mortified for all of it. Grief, like an anchor chained to his soul. He can't move. Hasn't been able to move in years, decades. One yesterday.
His head falls forward then, hair flopping down gracelessly as a bit of dampness splatters against the counter. ]
Sorry.
[ Small, soft, wavering. He tries to clear his throat, only succeeds in exhaling another awful noise he doesn't recognize. ]
I'm sorry. I'll be fine in a minute.
[ A lie so poor that for once, even Maruki doesn't believe it himself.
He shakes his head – another drop hits the tiled surface he can barely see through rapidly blurring vision.
The only concession he can allow himself, in this moment: Both of his thumbs unclasp from around the mug, wrench free to grip over Akira's fingers instead. Holding him there as Akira has held him. Nothing else comes. ]
rolls out covered in tears and blood, oh he was upon me alright
[Maruki's hands are warm, searing and soothing all at once.]
You're not. [He shakes his head, voice small and soft.] You're not, but you will be. It's going to be okay.
[In any other scenario, they would be words he wouldn't say unless he had full confidence he couldn't deliver that promise. Here, where he does not even have the power to control who comes and who goes, it's something he would take more care in saying so it doesn't become something shallow.
But he's seen Maruki's future. He knows he will hurt like this again, break apart and shatter amongst the stars, and at the end of it all he will be able to smile in the little slice of peace that he carves out for himself. Maruki will be okay, because he's seen the other side of this.
And if Akira shot a god to save a world before, he'll tear down the sky of another to make sure that "future" comes to pass. Whatever the cost.]
You don't need to apologize. [His back bows and shakes with the ache of that weight.] I'm the one who should be, when...
[I'm sorry if it's my fault that you're here.
I'm sorry I made you feel this, even if I know you need it.
I'm sorry that I'm too powerless to take away this pain for you right now.
Akira shakes his head, because he can't say any of that.]
I know it's hard. I know this hurts. [His hands wiggle under Maruki's, but not to break free. His thumbs squeeze between the spaces of his fingers, hook over Maruki's hand. Holding on, though he doesn't know whose sake it's for.] Take all the time you need. Say whatever you need to say. But...
[Akira waits enough to make sure he's caught his eye and he won't look away. His eyes are bright, somehow still dry, but it's only his own aversion to crying in front of someone that keeps it that way.]
I will not let this pain be in vain, Maruki. I promise you.
[I'll fight to see that tomorrow, so I can find out if we'll meet again.]
tell me what makes you hopeful tell me what makes you hurt.......
[ Maruki does meet his gaze. He doesn't look away. He hears every word, takes them all in, lets them coil tightly around his chest as if they alone could hold him together as his heart does its best to shake apart.
Say whatever you need to say, a kindness so rarely afforded to him by anyone at all, but what is there to say, really?
Perhaps the greatest indicator of the complete, total, all-encompassing trust Maruki has in Akira lies in the fact that he says nothing at all. Trying to put words to this bottomless well of sorrow that sits deep in his soul wouldn't begin to do it justice – and Akira already knows it, as intimately as if it were his own. He doesn't need to think or talk for perhaps the first time in his life. He only needs to feel.
He only needs to let himself feel.
It lasts for–
Well. It lasts.
There's no telling how long they stay like that. Maruki, head hanging down, glasses fogged and water-blurry, nearly silent even as his shoulders jump and his breath hitches. Akira, unfaltering, unwavering, stalwart as ever, the foundation that manages to keep him propped up no matter how badly he wants to collapse in on himself. He shouldn't have to do this. He does anyway.
At some point, Maruki snakes one of his hands free just to be able to remove his glasses. The heel of his palm pressed into one eye, then the other, the sleeve of Akira's pullover dampening.
When he brings it back down, he unwinds both of their grips from around the mug, tangles their hands together instead. It's not a case of one holding the other; it's a jumbled mass, a physical microcosm of the bond that exists between them, clumsy and clinging and intertwined so tightly that it's become Gordian.
I don't know what I've done to deserve a friend like you, Kurusu.
[ Strained and tight, but not weak. There's a conviction in his tone despite everything.
He picks his head up finally. Tips his chin up toward the ceiling and blinks a few times, forceful, as a breathless noise that might one day evolve into a laugh escapes. ]
Ah, I'm really going to owe you for life, huh...
[ And when he tilts his face back down to meet Akira's gaze again, there's a smile there. Soft, subdued, but genuine. ]
It doesn't matter to me if we return to separate realities, or whether or not we retain our memories of this place after we leave. I believe that there are some things that persist throughout someone's consciousness. Even if I don't remember this, I'll never truly forget it either.
[ Even if the specifics of this night leave him, the feeling never will. All the pain inherent in it, and all the care, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text - un: akechi
Pick a flavor - soy or plain?
text; un: personyaa
Oh, white would be fine, too.
no subject
Your list is irrelevant now.
We're eating instant noodles. There are only two flavors. Pick one.
no subject
What else is there? You don't have to get miso paste, I'll make something simpler.
[Not that miso isn't simple, but. Akira knows a dead-end in a conversation when he sees one.]
no subject
He settles on a third after a few minutes of staring at the illuminated watch on his arm.]
You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm about to list off every item in this store. I don't need you to cook for me. I'm fine with what I'm purchasing.
[A photo of a store aisle comes through - an assortment of weird items on either side, mostly canned soup and tv dinners. Other random items are littered in between.]
These are your choices.
no subject
I don't need you to list every item, just something that isn't processed. It's important to keep up your strength when we don't know what to expect here.
Can you go to a different aisle?
no subject
Another photo sent. It's only canned soup. ]
My strength is fine. You may have forgotten, but I've done well for myself over the years.
Should I attribute any of your future failures in battle to what you had for breakfast that morning?
no subject
You've made it in spite of it, not because of it. You're hitting the age where you start feeling the effects of what you eat anyway.
[Part his own knowledge, part picked up from Takemi. It's interesting, though, that Akechi said this instead of simply saying "no". That doesn't seem unsignificant.]
And yes, they do say that breakfast is the most important day of the meal for a reason. Please feel free to blame that for any of my future blunders.
no subject
[Bitter. Quick. To the point.
Akira loses his chance with the metallic rows of canned soup and Akechi, in his infinite mercy, moves to the final aisle of this small store unprompted.
Predictably, a new photo comes - it's full of processed meals, a stray vegetable of unknown origin, and an assortment of candy. There's some sauces in there and-
Soup. Rows of it.]
Dully noted though. I'm assuming you didn't have a good one today, judging by your inability to follow simple instructions.
1/2(?)
It's my concern. Are you planning on giving up on our deal that easily, Akechi?
2/2 okay yeah i'm done
Wait, where the hell are you? What store are you in?
1/2
The issue comes with the words that blur together. The bitter sting of losing to Akira in anything enough to override logic and-]
No, never.
2/2
no subject
Did the local say they had miso paste at the Soup Store?
no subject
Yes. [Lie.] Perhaps they mistook what it was.
Regardless, you're being picky. Tell me what you want from what they have or I'm going to purchase what I deem appropriate.
[Aren't you tempted by lone potato on a shelf, Akira??]
sideswipes u
I'm not being picky, I haven't seen a single thing in there that isn't bad for both of us.
Beside, "paste" and "soup" are hard to mix up. If someone told you that, there must be some sort of miso somewhere in the store.
SCREAMS
You are being exceptionally difficult today and you've lost the privilege of making a decision. We'll eat what I bring home tonight.
Is there anything else you need that isn't food related?
no subject
He makes the executive decision to not acknowledge most of that with a response, especially since it seems he'll be using alternative means to get ahold of their dinner.]
That depends. Is there anything in there that isn't soup?
backdated to mid-may !!
He'd been on his way to the train before he was captured, and all good sense tells him to continue on that way, get the hell out of District 6 as fast as possible. He isn't even far from the station. It would be the smartest move by far.
Maruki isn't thinking that rationally.
He escaped with his life, without so much as a scratch on him. He's fine.
His whole body is shaking.
It's the fight or flight adrenaline, of course it is, but it's also the simple fact that Maruki has never been in a physical altercation before. He's certainly never been stabbed before. Never had a man holding him in place, sadistically delighted by his pain, promising to make it a slow death. Never summoned Azathoth with the intention to do harm. All of the nevers coalescing into an experience wholly unique to his life thus far and deeply, viscerally terrifying.
Being alone with that experience right now might do his head in.
It's how he finds himself at the front door of Akira's apartment in 6, breathless from his sprint. His torso is soaked in blood, streaked on the palm he'd pressed to it in a panic and down his chin from where he coughed through Azathoth's healing. His sweater sticks to his shirt, and his shirt sticks to his newly pristine skin.
After a moment of attempting to catch his breath, he knocks.
When Akira answers, he'll say before anything else: ]
I'm not hurt. I'm perfectly fine. Please don't panic, it looks much worse than it really is!
[ YEAH, IT SURE DOES. Sorry, Akira! ]
takes a deep breath and shuts my eyes
It's his brain, freezing and stalling and failing to restart, as his eyes process first Maruki's face and then the blood that might as well be covering him from head to toe. It turns all of Maruki's words into white noise after "hurt", the denial of his own state making something in Akira's gut twist with nausea. He feels his body go rigid like it's happening to someone else, detached yet snagged into the moment like a fish hook has him by the collar.
It takes a short but impossible moment to remember to breathe. He can't stop looking at the blood, face rapidly going pale. Akira isn't sure of what kind of expression he's making.]
Ma-
[Maria, maybe, is what he's trying to say, an attempt to pull out a Salvation he doesn't have access to without her. Maruki, perhaps, with his voice pitched up on the final beat of his name like a question, seeking the answer he doesn't have the breath to ask for. Maybe not a ma entirely, but a mo, because surely Morgana would be able to fix it, make everything better and full of sense once more.
The words Akira had spoken the last time he saw him are a dagger lodged in his chest.
And when we get there, "I" will save you.
He really is the fool. There's so much blood. The moment he dares to want anything is always the moment he can never save anyone at all.]
Bathroom. Now. [Between one moment and the next, his hand has lashed out and gripped Maruki's arm as unyieldingly as an iron bar (is it even safe to touch him there, will it make it even worse-). Akira may be in the middle of a fraught rebooting process, but something in his body still remembers how to be Joker and how to respond when one of his is downed.] Where are you bleeding from?
[Akira tugs him into the apartment, trying to recollect what's in his first aid kit under the sink. He's never used it, so it should be enough, unless it's even worse than it looks...]
S C R E A M S AT YOU
Akira may not know what his expression is doing, but Maruki watches everything filter through it in those split seconds – shock, panic, fear, a pallor that he's never seen on Akira before. All at once, guilt shreds through Maruki's soul; he shouldn't have brought this to Akira's doorstep, quite literally. Shouldn't have heaped another instance of suffering onto his already overburdened shoulders, forced him to try to act the hero.
It doesn't take long at all for steel to overtake his expression, and then Maruki is being wrenched inside the apartment, the grip around his arm unrelenting. ]
Kurusu–
[ Maruki reaches out as well, mirroring the action, grabbing Akira's other arm to still him after they've staggered only a few steps. The door is still open behind him. ]
Kurusu. Stop, I'm okay.
[ It's less panicked than his original disclaimer by far. Gently authoritative, firm with the edges sanded down. Maruki looks at him, brows knitting together to meet in the middle in sympathy – really looks at him, shuttered down to spring into action despite his own shaking fear, and allays it as best he can. ]
I'm not injured, you don't have to do anything. I already healed myself. I just–
[ The hand vice-like around Akira's upper arm releases its tension, though he doesn't let go. ]
I wasn't sure where else I could go. I'm sorry.
[ It's plain in its sincerity, earnest in its intent. He really is sorry. And he really is otherwise alone in this world. They both are, save for each other. But even if they were spoiled for choice... Who else would Maruki really choose to turn to? ]
mrrrrrrrrow
[Maruki's guilt is a collection of nettles stinging his heart over and over; just as he frees himself from the clutch of apologizing for almost dying like he's making trouble for Akira, he's stumbling into the sharp bite of him saying sorry for getting himself somewhere safe.
It hurts Akira twofold. It's not just Maruki minimizing his own pain that's hard to swallow, but the fact that Akira knows he's to blame for this guilt. Maybe not all of it, but enough. He almost wishes he'd listened to his conscience, not extended himself to Maruki the way he had, because it's almost certain that he'd weighed on him even more-
...But if he hadn't, then where would Maruki have gone tonight?
He stops moving, but doesn't loosen his grip. It's the only acquiesce Akira can make, because he doesn't even know if he can let go. The primal fear is still pounding out a beat located at his temple, even with the logic of Maruki's words starting to bounce around in his skull.
What a sight they must make, holding onto each other in Akira's entranceway like the world will end if they let go.]
How strong of a spell did you use?
[Azathoth had decent healing capabilities from what he remembers, but not a full one. If Maruki bled this much, then...
He aches to have Futaba with him; he always does, but especially right now, to look over Maruki's vitals and make sure Akira's less-trained eye hasn't missed something. It makes his heart feel small and tight and helpless in his chest.]
pained animal noises
The two of them, a ceaseless ouroboros of guilt and care in equal measure. Of course they can't let one another go. ]
Ah... Well, I wouldn't say it was a fully conscious action on my part.
[ Because he was about to die, and because those inextricable parts of Azathoth are capable of acting independently to protect him. Eager to do so, even.
They really must have had a hell of a battle in Akira's timeline. ]
But what was done was strong enough to fix me up. I promise you that. If I had an extra shirt with me, you'd never even know it happened.
[ That last part is said with a smile, a forced lightening of his tone, but if Akira is looking closely – and what are they doing, if not staring one another intently down – he'll be able to see the fear trembling at the edges. It isn't the state of his injury now. It's the fact that it happened at all – that one moment he was trying to find the train station, and the next he was slammed into a wall with a blade to his throat. If he hadn't awakened to the powers that he did less than two months ago, he would be dead. If that man pulls the same move on any other people without special abilities, they'll be dead.
It sinks in, in fits and starts. Every time a new piece of what transpired tonight clicks into place to lodge the whole image into his memory, he's unsettled and unmoored all over again.
Maruki draws a breath, wills it to be steady – it isn't, despite his best efforts – and rubs his palm vigorously against Akira's arm to try to loosen him from that worry. ]
Come on, let's at least close the door.
kneads u thru it
Who cares if his eyes are a window to his heart, when Maruki's trembling with fear that even a person less perceptive than Akira could pick up on?
He nods, though. Breathes out and forces his hand to release Maruki even as every instinct in his brain screams to protect protect protect, and forces himself to walk over to the door and close it with a soft thud.]
...I'm lucky, then, that you weren't carrying that extra shirt around.
[It's punctuated with him fastening all of his locks, even the third one that he doesn't usually bother with. Whoever or whatever did this to him, Akira isn't letting it get in that easily.
And if it somehow tries to force its way in... it'll be lucky if Akira lets it back out. Raoul is hot in his chest, simmering with the sensation of Satanael's gun in his hand.]
If it was an unconscious action, I'm checking you over anyway. We'll wash off the blood in there, if nothing else. [When Akira turns to him, he sounds just a little bit more like himself.] Do you know if you were chased here?
[He's taken the extra precautionary measure... but he wants to check anyway. Maruki might even know, and it's fine if he doesn't, but Akira will still ask. He'd rather have the heads-up now before he's elbow-deep in bloody water.]
frantically making air biscuits
His hands are beginning to shake again without anything to hang onto and be stalwart for. It's stupid, really. Pure adrenaline. He needs to focus on the present. Practice that mindfulness that they spent so much time on, all those months ago.
Hands safely tucked into his pockets, he meets Akira's gaze and question with a quick shake of his head and a firm resolve. ]
I wasn't. He let me go. Candidly, ah... How should I put this...
[ It's the strangest thing. In his own reality, he has never had to call Azathoth forth to do physical harm. He never planned to need to. This was the first time, here in the dingy alleyway of a futuristic city he still doesn't understand. But in Akira's reality, he surely knows better than anyone just how mighty Azathoth's rage can be.
Maruki grimaces. There's no joy taken in this explanation, only regret for having done harm. ]
He wasn't in good enough condition to chase anything. After I was healed, I did warn him to leave, but he struck Azathoth first. So...
[ A sigh, a helpless shrug. Akira can likely fill in the rest better than he can tell it. ]
air biscuits save us........
Most likely, Maruki wasn't pushed far enough to kill someone. Not knowingly, at least. The chance of it happening knowingly still isn't zero, because Akira's never seen him break in that particular way, but the fact that he's still very much himself leads him to believe that the chance of it is astronomically low.
The fact that the pressure is on him in such a distinct, way, the fact that his mask isn't all the way back up... That's why Maruki's able to witness the extremely brief thing that happens next.]
Good.
[There's just the slightest knife's edge to the word, wrapped in the layers of his normal tone like a hidden blade. It's the sharpness that could be easily mistaken for Joker's steel, but it goes beyond that.
Fierce. Relentless. Unforgiving. It's the cold piece of him that didn't care what happened to Kamoshida Suguru.
One assessment done, he leaves his spot in front of the door and begins another. Is Maruki shaking too much to make it on his own? Should Akira do anything even if he is? The answer to the second question is easy to decide, even if it isn't an easy question at all - his hand is already going out to Maruki's arm again before he's even weighed the pros and cons of it.
Akira knows he shouldn't. He knows it's not a good idea to initiate something like that when he still has to give Maruki a chance to prove himself... But that doesn't seem important enough right now. Not when his heartbeats still haven't slowed down, and he doubts Maruki's have either.]
I wasn't sure how much of Azathoth's strength that you had, but it's better that you were able to defend yourself. [His voice is softer now. Something feels sort of gauche about the fact that he's relieved for the strength that might end up being Akira's own undoing down the road, but he's too glad that Maruki's still breathing to care all that much. He doesn't know what that says about him.] It should be enough to keep him away, but you should describe him for me if you can.
god it's real pathetic hours in here
Akira sent a jagged crack down the middle of his distorted heart that first night in 7. Maruki hadn't known where to go after their meeting. Stayed in that tea house, lost in thought, until it closed. Spent another hour wandering through the sweetly lit streets of 3 before finally admitting defeat and asking a hotel receptionist. It's how he wound up one district over, checking into one of the temporary free housing areas. It's where he spent the next few days in a fugue state, unwilling to reach out to Akira for help with a problem that he caused for himself, unsure of what else to do, if there even was anything to do.
Because the fact of the matter is: What do you do when you lose your purpose? When it's pulled out from underneath you at the last second, and then you find out that even if you return to it, you'll lose it again – for good – within twenty-four hours?
Maruki knows that's not an existential crisis anyone should pity him for, least of all Akira.
At nights he still grapples with that feeling of being cut adrift alone in the world by his own selfish mistakes. He feels it again, here and now, with the sharp-edged wrought iron woven around that one word, good, so utterly lost even with Akira right next to him.
As quickly as it washes over him, it passes.
He looks down at Akira's hand wrapped around his arm, hears the words. Blinks. Breathes. ]
Of course, I already planned to. The last thing I want is for you to run into him.
[ That was, admittedly, his chief concern upon deciding he would go to Akira's. Not that the man would follow him, battered as he was on the ground. That he would one day in the future stalk another unsuspecting persona user into a dark alleyway, and maybe whoever Akira is currently wielding wouldn't be able to heal, and maybe–
A sick twist in his gut not unlike the knife.
He can't think about it. About Akira meeting any sort of fate, even just one of nonlethal harm. If he goes pale again, it's entirely due to that thought.
Maruki speaks as he's steered through the little apartment, into the bathroom. ]
He was taller than you or I by a few inches. Long blond hair... I think it was pulled back? Light eyes, though it was hard to tell the color in the dark. An incredibly deep voice. No small amount of sadistic glee about taking a life...
[ A beat. ]
He hit with an electric skill, somehow.
[ God, it sounds ridiculous to say. Maruki looks at Akira, fiercely protective and helpless all at once. ]
He cut an imposing figure. You couldn't miss him if you tried, and I hope you never see him at all.
that's me at all hours
Akira does what he ever does when he says the things that are genuine but crafted to meet the needs of his situation, choosing the calmer response out of three when he could make a joke or be blunt instead.]
In that case, let's hope neither of us run into him after this.
[Akira's apartment doesn't have the biggest bathroom. With one man at 180 cm and a boy that's almost a man not that far behind, it feels downright tiny. Fortunately, Akira still moves like the world's wiliest cat, so he wriggles around Maruki as soon as he releases him and digs around in his cabinet for the medkit.
His eyebrows have drawn down further in the time that it took to arrive here. None of this bodes well, but there's one detail that's standing out to him more than the rest.]
...You said he uses electric skills. [Glass bottles clink as they're moved to the side, white box pulled free. He sets it on top of the shelving and moves onto the sink next.] I'm assuming he didn't use a Persona, and it was probably too dark to see if he had tally marks on his skin. Did anything seem strange about his teeth?
[Not all blood-drinkers are vampires, but enough are that it's worth an ask. But it still doesn't add up. Do the locals even have access to magic, and if they do, why would one bother with a spell when it would be so much more natural to try and sink their fangs into Maruki's neck?
It points far more to the likelihood of it being one of them, the people like Akira and Maruki that were brought here to be judged. Many of them already seem to have some combat abilities, but this may be the first time that one of them is an active danger to the rest. It changes a lot.]
please you could never be as pathetic as dr. punchable crybaby
Akira is the best of everyone. Maruki's only trying to keep pace with him. ]
No Persona, no. Wouldn't that have been something?
[ He laughs, quiet and a little uneven, as the rest of Akira's words try to sink in but keep getting caught.
Maruki looks at him in the mirror, brows pulled down just the same. ]
And his teeth seemed normal. What's that about tally marks...?
[ Seriously, what the hell, Joker. Is this another Wrath thing??? ]
okay no you're right, nobody can beat him
A soft laugh catches in his chest before he can stop it when Maruki confirms there's no Persona. "Wouldn't that have been something?" It's so much Maruki Takuto, so much the counselor sitting with his student and pondering the probability of something he says with just the warmest dash of awe... It makes fondness burst in Akira's chest like a shotgun shell, wormed down deep around his heart where it will never be dug out.
He could've lost him tonight. He lingers another moment, one hand starting to numb from the cold under the sink while the other white-knuckles the side of it. He could've lost him tonight and he never would've even known until he tried to contact him like Akechi.
The moment passes. Akira pulls his hand out from under the water and shakes it out as he turns around.]
Pass me your shirt and you can start rinsing some of the blood off. [Akira holds a hand out for it. He hasn't decided if it's going in the hamper or the trash yet.] The tally marks are tattooed onto people in this district called Combatants. They enjoy violence for sport, so they'd probably fall in line with your attacker. But...
[His brow furrows again. He should tell Maruki his thoughts; nothing he's thinking would aid Maruki in fighting against him if things ever go poorly, and... he's supposed to hope for the best thing right now, not the worst.
If Akira is going to believe in him, he needs to open his hand to accept it.]
The electric skill is bothering me. It sounds like some kind of magic, even if it's without a Persona, and I don't think I've seen of the natives able to do anything like that. It makes me think it's someone that was summoned to the Amplitheater.
(through tears) y. yay. i love catharsis
Maruki visibly pulls a face at that explanation about Combatants. Why on earth does Akira even live in 6? Surely it's better when Patience is in control, but that hardly seems worth it for how dismally violent things are right now.
The face twists further into discontent as he dutifully takes off his sweater, already a sticky mess of blood and torn fibers, and then sees just how bad his button down underneath is. He's listening to Akira, yes, but he does whisper a little come on, are you kidding... to himself as he begins to unbutton it.
It's a bit of a fumbling thing. His fingers are shaking again, and he hates it. There's nothing wrong with him, and he's already worried Akira enough– but there's no real normal way to react to seeing so much of your blood outside of your body like that.
Thank god Akira is still talking. He forces himself to focus, listen, not lose himself in the sense memory of the blade slowly twisting, tearing– ]
I'm inclined to agree. It wasn't weak, either. Obviously I know much less than you do about... all of that, but it was an impressive lightning strike. That seems like a power inherent to someone back in their reality that transferred over here.
[ Shirt successfully unbuttoned, he gathers it up with the sweater and hands it over. ]
I've already written these off as lost causes. If we put them in a bag, I'll just... throw them out somewhere. I'm sure this district won't look twice at some bloody clothes dumped into a garbage can.
[ A weak laugh along with his joke, a flicker of a smile. As he moves to the sink to wash his hands, finally, and start dabbing at the mess of his stomach, he remembers one more thing: ]
Even after Azathoth attacked him, and he was nearly knocked out on the ground... When I didn't run right away, he was able to start getting up again to continue the fight. Nothing was going to truly stop him.
[ Eyes trained down on the muted red water as he scrubs his hands. ]
I'm afraid that sort of strength points to someone summoned to the Amplitheater as well.
me falling hitting every branch on the way down: what did u say about trees i can't hear u
He doesn't miss the shake in Maruki's hands, and he's almost certain of what it means. He still remembers the shake of Futaba's hands the first time she saw one of them badly injured.
Akira drops the shirt and gently but firmly tugs Maruki's hands out of the water.]
Let me. [He says it soft, a sorry unspoken as he gets to work. Not everyone is equipped to deal with this; perhaps that's something he's forgotten a little, too.] If he's hard to take down, that poses a problem no matter where he's from. But I agree. I think we should count that towards him being summoned, too.
[Even as his mind is churning, trying to think of how to neutralize this new threat, he's observing the skin formerly hidden under blood. Not even a break left. Azathoth's healing might even be as strong as a Diarahan.
He wishes he had the innate skill to know the depths of someone's wounds like Futaba. He wishes he had any Persona that wasn't Raoul so he could do it again to be sure. And more than anything, he wishes he trusted any of the medical facilities here enough to tell Maruki to get treatment rather than relying on his own emergency healing or Akira's unequipped hands.]
If it happens again but we could attack him together... it might be enough. Between the two of us, we have a lot of firepower between us.
[It clogs in his throat: even if I'm at half-strength. He can't say that. Not yet. Not until he's absolutely sure.]
i'm about to take a chainsaw to these goddamn trees i can't take this anymore
And that wasn't necessarily a guarantee. Maruki was putting a tremendous amount of faith into Azathoth at the moment of summoning it. No matter how powerful they both are, the simple fact of the matter is that they had not directly engaged in battle until tonight. Short lived as it was, it was still more combat experience than Maruki has had outside of commanding the Shadows within his own Palace. He knew Azathoth could heal. He didn't know the extent. It was lucky. He's lucky.
He's phenomenally lucky to be here at all.
A feeling that's already seeping deep down into his bones even before Akira speaks, but then– ]
Between the two of us...?
[ Maruki repeats it quietly, almost blankly, as if he doesn't realize he's saying it. His eyes are wide and guileless on Akira's.
That Gratitude mark on his hand seemingly never ceases its mild, pulsating glow when they're together. It certainly isn't stopping now. ]
Kurusu. You would let me fight by your side?
[ No, they haven't taken up arms against one another yet. Maruki's timeline ends neatly before that foregone conclusion. He's accepted that it will happen, though. As much as he would like for there to exist a reality in which Akira takes his deal, it's a vanishing hope.
But short of actual battle, he has caused pain to Akira in as many ways as a person can. Used him to further his own motives. Betrayed his trust. Changed the people he loves most into versions that don't need him in the visceral ways they used to. Taken Yoshizawa, returned Akechi – at a price. Forced him into the corner of an impossible decision. For a man so wholly, intently focused on healing – for as deeply as Maruki cares about him, down to the very bottom of his soul – he has struck out again and again to hurt the most important person still left in his life.
And yet, Akira draws from a seemingly endless reserve of compassion and forgives him.
And yet, Akira extends this offer to him, almost carelessly, as if he doesn't realize how thoroughly it tips Maruki's world onto its head.
He can't help himself: His tone and expression mirror one another in their open, honest hope. ]
Do you really mean that?
my hero...........
He knows what they would all tell him to do. He knows the things he shouldn't do. And he knows what he's going to say anyway.]
I do.
[Because he does, in fact, mean it.
Because he doesn't know if he could bear the cost of losing even more.]
I can't let a threat to your life go unchecked. I made you a promise, whether it's me or another me that will carry it out. [His task mostly done, he pulls red-tipped fingers back and looks up. The eyes that stare at Maruki are hard and unrelenting, steel and weight, but it isn't directed at him.] This will not happen again.
[It won't. He won't allow it.
Akira doesn't care what's in this world, and he doesn't care what this person can do. He'll stop that danger if it costs him his very last breath.]
What district did you finally settle on? [He turns his back, but only for the sake of washing the blood off of his hands. His sleep shirt seems to have avoided getting covered in anything, for now.] Were you attacked there or closer to here?
[He should've asked that earlier, really. It's better for Maruki to know about the Combatants so he didn't get caught up in anything with them, but it followed a train of thought they might not have needed to go down.]
i'm about to go full-tilt self-indulgent and i'm dragging you down with me
I can't let a threat to your life go unchecked.
It's the same for him. Akira is far less hapless than him, unlikely to find himself in a danger he can't get out of under his own power – and it doesn't matter. Maruki would have protected him from anything back at Shujin and he'll do the same now, no matter the cost.
They're allies now, after all, impossible as it feels. A lick of blue flame warming the center of his chest from the inside out, a space that only Akira occupies, whether he knows it or not. ]
I ended up finding a place in 4. I know you don't necessarily need to live in the district associated with your mark, but it felt appropriate... And the city is pleasant enough. I'm sure I won't enjoy it when Envy inevitably takes over, but it is what it is.
[ He finishes patting his torso dry with the same towel he used for his hands, the faintest mottled pink splotches on the cloth. With a grimace, Maruki adds it to the list of ways to repay Akira for this incredible kindness – a new set of towels, a new shirt to replace whatever one Maruki is going to have to borrow, an inevitable invitation to lunch. ]
Ah, but– no, it happened here. Not all too far away, either.
[ Which isn't comforting, is it. Maruki folds his arms over his chest and looks askance. ]
A trip to the Amplitheater spat me out here, and I was trying to find my way to the train station. Guess I'm just lucky, huh?
[ The weak joke is as good an excuse as any for him to look at Akira again, searching, both for what to do next and for the question that's been on the tip of his tongue since they were first reunited here. But he can hedge around it a bit longer, circle in closer and closer to what he most wants to know. ]
Why is it you decided to live here, anyway?
not if i drag u down first
And most importantly... he's preparing to say goodbye to what once was.]
A reason that doesn't matter anymore. [Akira dries his hands off, unconcerned with the stains left behind, and tries not to let whatever melancholy emotion he's feeling poison his voice.] Tomorrow I'm going to search for vacancies near where you're staying.
[Beyond how foolish it would be to move in with Maruki... Akira doesn't ask because he doesn't think he can. He couldn't live together in this city with anyone anymore, for the same reason it's probably a good thing that he's now deciding to leave.
If he did, he would always be terrified they wouldn't come home.
It'll be good for him, he thinks. It's better not to spend every morning standing in an empty room feeling hollowed out, no personal effects left to even hold onto because its former owner didn't care to leave any. It'll be good for him to get away from the stores that hold familiar cologne that he has to take out of his shopping basket every time before he checks out. It will be easier to not have to avoid the closest grocer with food inside it since he can't stomach the memories it holds. And he knows it's not good for him to stay up late almost every night, waiting for the person that will never come home.
It's odd, sometimes, how the glove in his pocket has become one of the least painful parts of his day. But grief doesn't have a logical pattern to follow. Maybe it would still be like this, even if he hadn't ended up here and had the chance to return home.
From now on, maybe he will always be doomed to live as the ghost of someone's absence. But first, he has to get through this with Maruki and get them home in one piece.]
I think we both know this, but just to be clear... this isn't my way of keeping an eye on you regarding our promise. It may not be safe for me to stay here anymore, but I don't want you caught over there alone if he follows you, either. Close together, we have the best chance of protecting each other.
[Envy is probably a lot safer than the worst parts of Wrath, anyway, so even that will probably be advantageous change.]
alright well now it's war
Words don't come for a solid half minute, maybe more. Maruki just tries to absorb the statements that stutter and stop on their way down from the surface of his mind. He opens his mouth, nearly says something about Akira not needing to go to all the trouble to move– but then, how long would it take him to do the same? They hardly own anything here, and housing is easy enough to find. Logistically, it's so much less of a nightmare than it is back home.
Emotionally, though–
Maruki can't parse exactly what's tinting the edges of Akira's tone, but he gets the suspicion they might both be circling around the same thing.
When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, grateful but calm. ]
There are other apartments in my building that are empty. I looked at enough of them to know. And... I'd feel better if we were closer as well. I know you're intent on looking after me now, but it goes both ways, Kurusu. After this, I wouldn't feel right leaving you in this district. In fact–
[ And then his expression goes sheepish. It's not an act whatsoever. Nothing around Akira is anymore. ]
It's asking a lot, I know, but could I stay here tonight? I don't need anything but your couch– well, and a new shirt, but I'll repay you for that, I promise...
[ He scrubs a now clean hand through his hair with a self-conscious laugh. ]
I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be alone. And we could chat a bit longer. There's more I want to ask you about what you've experienced here.
:guncat: ok!
He didn't anticipate this, even though he should've. It's a natural next step, isn't it? Maruki still has enough fear lingering that it left his hands trembling; he's also made it clear that he's worried for Akira's safety, and Akira would've been lying if he suggested he wasn't worried for the same. Hadn't he been prepared just now to say that he'd walk Maruki home, even with the knowledge he'd put himself at risk doing so? Maruki would protest it; the thought is both warm and painful, but he's almost certain of that. And Akira isn't sure if he could've brought himself to turn him away right now. But if that's the case...
There's really only one thing to do. The words feel like they cut his throat, but they still sound calm when they come out of his mouth-]
You don't have to take the couch. This is a two-bedroom unit.
[Akira can stand in it once more to get Maruki settled after they're finished speaking. Just one more time for the road.]
Wait here and I'll grab a shirt for you. Don't worry about paying me back for it, just-
[Even with his back already to Maruki, his jaw snaps shut, words miserably lodged in his throat. There's so much he wants to say, and even more that he wants to keep locked up so it never sees the light of day. He wonders how much he'll end up saying tonight.]
...I'm going to make coffee after I grab a shirt for you, so let me know if you want some. It's nice to talk over a cup.
[They're the softest words he's delivered yet.
Akira doesn't usually look at that room when he passes it in the hall that leads to the bedrooms, but tonight's the first in a while that he feels the weight of how much he's not looking at it.
Otherwise, it doesn't take long; Akira doesn't have many shirts that are too big on him, so that makes them a lot easier to find. He snatches up a blue pullover that'll still probably be just a little too small on Maruki, but it should at least be able to keep him warm.]
looks away from u and from guncat
So many things. A student, a diligent worker, a leader. A Phantom Thief, a trickster, a rebel. A heart too huge for his chest. A mind sharper than an expertly wielded blade. A will stronger than anyone's. A trusted confidant. A guiding light. An unwitting enemy. A friend, a friend, a cherished friend.
If Rumi is his why, Akira is his how. Wholly necessary. Without him, things fall apart.
He's everything.
So of course Maruki remembers the very first words spoken to him when they reunited in this strange reality:
All these weeks, I'd wondered if you had something to do with him vanishing from this city.
Their conversation never circled back to that. There was too much else on the table to make room for it. But Maruki has never forgotten, not for one moment.
A two-bedroom unit.
Every desperate, aching impulse in Maruki's distorted heart to give him what he most wants rears up at once. Could he do it here? Summon Akechi back from the ether, smooth over the painful cracks and potholes and gaping chasms that have surely sprung up during their time apart, make it so that to Akira, he never left, in this reality or in any other. He could, he thinks, and it's there, nestled warm in the back of his mind right against the space Azathoth occupies. All he has to do is imagine it.
The memory of Akira seated across from him, smiling and fond, tea in hand and honesty ever-present in his eyes: There was suffering, and hardship, and pain... And it made every bit of happiness I've had shine brighter. It made it all worth it.
He watches Akira retreat down the hall, feeling rather unmoored. Like a stone dropped into a yawning abyss, in perpetual motion through darkness for so long that time seems to still until the very moment it strikes the bottom.
There's a pullover being handed to him. An offer being extended.
Maruki blinks at him, eyes wide and sad behind his glasses for just a moment before he smiles, grateful. God, he never stops feeling grateful. ]
Thank you. I'll definitely take a cup, please.
[ The shirt tugged on; only the slightest bit too small, but not bad. Like one he's kept since college. Comfortable.
He follows after Akira into the kitchen, slides into a seat to watch him fiddle with his coffee. It's all such a far cry from Leblanc. Maybe that's a good thing. ]
Kurusu. How long have you been alone here?
sinks my teeth into u like the one cat gif
Not so unlike himself.
Maruki Takuto is a therapist; that's how Akira met him, that's how he's always known him. He studied to be able to do that, he presumes, even if his distorted heart took it in such a wide direction. He's not just that, though; he's a researcher, too. Something close to a scientist, perhaps, but well-learned enough in the field of cognitive psience that he could write an entire thesis on it. He's smart. Akira has never doubted that, not once. It just feels very stark, right now, to see it so clearly on display.
The moment ends; his gaze returns to the beans, but even as his hands move, Akira still feels somewhat frozen.]
...You figured it out, then.
[He doesn't mince his words. Maruki will understand, he's sure.
Honestly, he doesn't want to have this conversation. At least... not with Maruki. Not right now, not right at this moment when it's raw and painful and still healing wrong. Maybe not ever, or until he knows that Akechi will come back, or at least until he's an adult and watching all of his friend's kids have kids and knows he'll be waiting until the day he day he dies to bring someone that's never coming back to a jazz club. Maybe then, when the warmth of Akechi's shoulder is more than a phantom pain or Maruki's starting to go gray, he can have this conversation with him without feeling tension swirling in his gut.
Unfortunately, Akira has vows and promises to keep.]
I was on my own for about three weeks before you arrived. I still don't know what happened. I investigated, but there was no trace left behind that I could find.
thrashes around to dislodge your teeth so i can DO THE SAME TO YOU
[ It doesn't come immediately. Only after a heavy silence as the gravity of Akira's words settles over him until it becomes oppressive.
It's quiet. Sincere. Far from the cloying tone used back in their reality.
He opens his mouth, draws a breath as if to speak further. Closes it. Considers.
Akira mentioned that the last time they saw one another was in March. He lived beyond the dissolution of Maruki's reality, and then he appeared here. Alongside Akechi? Or was Akechi already in the city? Had they somehow seen one another back in the true reality before their reunion here? Or was Akechi from a different time, just as Maruki is? One before their battle, perhaps. One where his future still hung in a dubious balance.
To then be brought into a reality against his will, again... Maruki can only imagine how furious that Akechi would have been here. Too furious to live with the person holding his fate in two cupped palms?
Or perhaps he was from even earlier. Before Masayoshi Shido's Palace, even. How would it feel for Akira, as he is now, burdened with such knowledge of what's to come, to see him again so unquestionably alive? Would that Akechi, still posturing at being rivals, deign to live with him?
There are countless other options. It's impossible to know. Reality is already a mutable thing; reality in a place like 7, doubly so. Anything could have happened, anything at all.
There's only one way to find out, but it feels rotten to ask.
Akira is good at hiding his true pain. Always has been. And Maruki is good at finding the few fine, hairline fracture thin cracks to catch a glimpse anyway.
Another breath. ]
You don't have to answer this. If you don't want to, tell me so and we'll drop it. No explanation needed and no further questions asked.
[ He means it. Hopefully Akira can hear just how much he means it.
Maruki's hands are folded together in front of him on the counter, the thumb of one running methodically over the knuckles of the other. Steadying, grounding. ]
What point in time was he from?
ouchies!!!!
He's almost certain that he's going to drop it. It's what Akira wants to do. It's probably what he should do, as well; it won't heal any faster if he reopens it all over again, after all.
Instead what comes out, completely calm is-]
February 2nd. Almost the same moment as you.
[He doesn't know if Akechi went back. He doesn't know if there was a "back" to even go to, for him. Did he at least have those last moments in the Palace before he disappeared, or was he simply met with nothingness?
He'll never know. Maybe it's better that he doesn't, but it'll never let his mind rest, either.
But Maruki's voice settles something in him. It soothes the burn ever so slightly, even if it isn't enough to truly dull the pain of it. It's the voice that draws the deepest confessions out of him that not even Akechi could ever dig up. In both cases, like calls to like, but it's different; in order to protect, Akechi pushes away, but Maruki pulls him in.
It's more than enough to keep him talking. His weak spots are the same as they've always been, and Akira's never done anything to guard them.]
I wondered if there might be some connection, but... I don't have enough info to make any guesses. I'm thinking of asking around to see what the others' experiences are like, but even then it might still be a dead end.
[Akira knows it won't bring him back. He knows he won't feel better after it, either, but at least that one he can lie to himself about.]
surprise bitch bet you thought you'd seen the last of pain
Maruki is hardly in motion, seated as he is watching Akira at work, but what little of him that can still does. Time hangs in stasis; almost the same moment as you.
If Akechi also arrived here after that conversation in Leblanc, the moment that the extent to which he was Maruki's trump card was revealed–
Perhaps it's for the best that they just missed one another.
It's a horrid, selfish thought, one he pushes back down into the ether instantly. He would take all of the miserable tension in the world and then some if it meant Akira could have him back, even in a place such as this. ]
I wish I could tell you. It can't hurt to survey the populace on the network, even if the information doesn't end up being useful. I'll help you if you do– if you'd like me to, of course.
[ A slight falter, a hesitation. He means it, of course – he'd offer his services as someone well-versed in research to Akira for anything he sets his mind to trying to figure out – but it isn't what he truly wants to say.
It's the question he's wanted to ask ever since Akira told him that he was ripped away from their reality in March. A time beyond time for Maruki. For Akechi.
The answer was always going to be a heavy one, but it feels infinitely weightier now that he knows that for a brief period of time, they really were reunited here. ]
Before you arrived here, Kurusu... You told me it was March, and that we'd seen each other.
[ He still can't quite believe it. That he will lose to Akira, that his perfect world will crumble, and that he won't be allowed to crumble along with it. There is no part of him that wants to continue living in such a torturous, unjust reality – but Akira will save him. Again and again, if he has to. In every reality.
A breath drawn, unsteady. ]
What about him? Had you seen him at all after... everything?
:) i always believed u would come back to me, just like-
No. Nobody's seen or heard from him since.
[I'll carve my own path mixed into everything will return to how it should be weaved with tell him to come by again. They both knew what the most likely outcome would be, and they both still made it.
Even haunted by the anchor of his own impossible promise and the painful space of an absence that he can't ever get rid of, he wouldn't change anything. He'd do it all again, and if the time comes where he has to, he will.]
He and I both knew what would be the cost of our choices. [This isn't trivial!] We still made them, and I'll make them again if I have to. [It isn't trivial that I want you to live-!] One day, we'll know a future beyond March of 2017, and there's no telling what will be waiting for us.
[He shifts his feet as he starts to pour the coffee, a reminder of the weight in his pocket.]
As for the survey... Give me some time to think about it. [He sidesteps from one topic to the next, though a little less neatly than would be the norm. Whether it's to give himself a break or Maruki, it's harder to say, but it's probably the latter. Even with all of his preparedness to tear into whoever nearly killed him, it still makes his pulse jump alarmingly to expose Maruki to that many people's stories.] It shouldn't be a lot, even if I did it alone.
[He needs to trust him. He's trying to. He will. But for this... it's more than Akira thinks he can allow right now.]
i could never leave u..... unlike akechi goro on february 3 2017
And then–
It's the hope that rips them free, tearing everything apart anew on their way out. There's no telling what will be waiting for us, as if there's still a possibility Akechi could turn up unannounced. Maybe, maybe not. No telling until it happens, or it doesn't. And it's true, Maruki knows it is.
It wasn't ever certain death that he dangled above their heads. It was simply the unknown. None of them knew Akechi's fate, not even the boy himself.
They knew the risks, the cost. They made their choice. And some stubborn seed of hope still lives in that unknown that Akira will return to.
All at once, Maruki remembers in pure crystal clarity why he first grew to genuinely adore Akira. That tenacity. That assurance that even when everything else before him in hazy and undefined, he'll still move forward to seek out the truth. Who knows what will be waiting for him? No one, no one at all, not even Maruki, and that's the joy of it.
He swallows hard, mouth dry. Lifts his eyes from the counter to watch Akira pouring the coffee. One palm presses against the center of his sternum, firm and grounding, only briefly before it drops away. ]
You never cease to amaze me...
[ A beat. ]
I wanted you to want something for yourself. That's all.
[ And then he shakes his head, smiles, soft and sad. ]
Sorry. I'll drop it. I promise.
[ And now he really will. ]
he left us because he's a hater
[I did. For the first time, I wanted something for myself more than I had in my entire life, and I let it go because I had to.]
Wanting to stop you and being grateful to you don't have to be conflicting feelings. [As he finishes pouring Maruki's cup, a wisp of a smile slips onto his face.] Someone taught me that very important lesson.
[Akira doesn't say who, even as he sets down the mug in front of him. He thinks Maruki should know, honestly... But those are probably Sumire's words to say directly, and he doesn't know if he should take that from her, even if it might not be likely the two of them will meet again.]
If I end up being wrong... If my gambit is misplaced, there will never be a time that I won't be grateful to you for it. Maybe that's confusing, but I think you'll understand one day. We'll leave it at that.
[His smile has dropped, but the quiet fondness hasn't left his eyes. He leans back against the counter, takes a sip of his own coffee, lets the warmth and taste wash through him. Ponders if he should really say what he's about to, and decides to take the plunge anyway.
For all of the trouble it's gotten him, he's never stopped being opening up to Maruki about what's on his mind. It's more than with most people, even amongst the ones that he loves.]
It's not about him, but... I'd like to ask you something about what you just said, if that's alright.
gold medal at the hater olympics 4 years running
After everything Akira admitted to him about Maruki's gross betrayal of the fundamental trust built up between them, after vowing with ironclad conviction to stop him again and again, after all of the pain evident in every word spoken about Akechi– he's grateful.
Maruki stares down at the mark spanning the back of his left hand. He feels unworthy of it, suddenly.
It's so difficult to reckon with. Somehow still being a person worthy of Akira's forgiveness, his frienship, his gratitude.
His trust.
Maruki takes the cup in both hands, lets it warm his palms. Looks at Akira with a quiet curiosity. ]
Of course it's alright. You can ask me anything.
[ He brings the cup up to inhale, eyes closed and smile serene, before taking a sip and humming in appreciation. It isn't Leblanc, no, but it's as much of a comfort. Maybe more of one, knowing it's something that exists only in this reality, only for the two of them.
He opens his eyes again and that smile quirks into a wry grin. ]
I might even answer honestly, if you're lucky.
[ It's entirely facetious, the light mischief plainly evident in his tone. Just enough to dissipate some of the tension that's built up throughout a profoundly painful conversation. ]
we're so proud of him
It's hard, the times that he has to see Maruki broken and sad and guilty because of him. It's unspeakably hard, and he wishes he could fix it when he knows that Maruki is the one that's supposed to do the fixing. And yet, sometimes the most difficult parts are the times like now, when he smiles and it feels just like before.
Akira inhales through his nose and tries to wipe out the taste of apple juice and ramune candy with another sip of his coffee.]
I think I'll gamble on that.
[Akira's never been good at preserving his heart, his mind, or his body. And that's exactly why he smiles back at him.
Still, he waits another moment. Lets his thumb rub against the mug handle as he lets it all sit, because he knows he's about to ruin the levity that Maruki tried to bring into the room. Somehow, their easy conversations are never easy, and their difficult conversations are never difficult. But this...
Finally, Akira meets his gaze, eyes bright and clear and staring right to the heart of him.]
When was the last time you did something for yourself, Maruki?
pride is not the word i'm looking for........
I came to you tonight because I was scared to be alone. I'd say that was doing something for myself. Maybe it was a little too selfish, honestly, but it worked out...
[ And that's it.
He doesn't understand the question.
: ) ]
thesaurus.com says a synonym for pride is delight
He would never have wished for tonight's circumstances, because Maruki could've died. He's been terrified, Akira's been terrified. He can't say he's thankful for it, but he does wish something less threatening had brought this conversation to fruition, because Akira doesn't think he would've realized it otherwise. As is always his mistake, he never notices the small tree rotting through with disease, because he's too caught up watching the rest of the forest.
"You can lean on me too if you need it, Akira."
"I'd promised myself that if you were ever in trouble, I would leap in to save you."
The tight feeling in his chest... Is this how the others feel when they watch him put everyone else first, when he won't even accept help and takes it all on alone? How long will he have to wait to even get the chance to apologize for it?
He'd thought Maruki had trouble wanting things for himself. It's why he'd even asked; from the time he's known of his plans for actualization, all signs had pointed in that direction. Akira just hadn't realized how deep it actually went.
With all the grace of a cat, he unfolds himself and steps away from the counter, approaching the table until he's close enough to put his cup down and place his hands down after. From any other angle, it probably looks like Akira is about to question or accuse him... but his face is so, so sad.
It's the saddest he's ever looked, as if he's moments from his heart breaking, and he doesn't even think Maruki will understand why.]
That isn't what I asked you.
[How can he say it to make him understand? It feels like trying to change a heart with his bare hands, and even Sae had at least needed a push in the right direction to do it on her own.]
It's human to want to live. There isn't anything selfish about it. But I'm not asking you about surviving. [His fingers clench on the table with the desire to rip away the torch that he cannot reach, but the soft sadness in his voice and eyes don't change.] When was the last time you did something you liked? Not for surviving, or for functioning day to day... When did you do something that wasn't tied to someone else's happiness?
[Even as he says it, he thinks with a churn in his stomach that he already knows the answer.]
remember when you diagnosed him with pride at the amplitheater akira <3
He really thought that the worst he'd ever see Akira was in that tea shop, when he was being honest about Maruki's betrayal.
This is infinitely, infinitely worse.
His first instincts whip up in him like a twister – to reach out and touch the back of one of Akira's hands, gentle. To tell him it's alright. To ask what's troubling him so much.
But it seems like Maruki is what's troubling him, and not for the usual reasons.
His brows draw down, then further when Akira clarifies the question. ]
Ah. I see. Well...
[ He's starting to feel like a fish on a line, a cornered animal. He wants to answer with mundane things – there are plenty of things he likes, and he does them all the time. Cooking for himself and others. Reading a good book on a sunny day. Hot baths, crossword puzzles, long walks.
But Akira said that he doesn't mean those simple, everyday fondnesses.
No, Maruki knows exactly what he's asking now.
The walls are closing in, and there's nowhere to run. There's nowhere else he could go, and nowhere else he'd rather be. Even now, trapped as he is by Akira's persistent, pleading gaze, he can't make himself hide away.
Maruki smiles at him, and he has no idea that it looks just as sad as the look over Akira's face, but it does. ]
I think that we both know the answer to that. I've been focused on my work for some time now, and for good reason, Kurusu. It hasn't left me with much time for anything else, but...
[ A sip of his coffee. Tasteless on his tongue now. ]
You should know that doesn't bother me. I'm not unhappy, if that's your concern.
i can't read and i wish he couldn't read either 💔
[It may be a soft one, but it's still a counter.]
One of them seeks out joy... while the other lets things happen as they may.
[Maruki may guess at why if he thinks about it, but Akira's voice sounds just a little too knowing when he says it.
He turns his thoughts over in his head as if they're a worry stone. Even if it's not a perfect read, he's already picking up on the skittishness this conversation is bringing. He doesn't have long to make his point at all, if it isn't already too late.
Maybe this is truly a fruitless effort, when Akira knows he can't make any meaningful change until Maruki remembers what happened to him or has to live it if he hasn't yet. But Akira has never been able to leave well enough alone, especially not with him.
And more than that... he hates seeing someone he cares about in pain and being able to do nothing to stop it.]
You don't have to force yourself, if it's hard to think about this. [That isn't what Akira wants to say. He forces himself to say it anyway.] And I know your work isn't something that you can let go of right now, not truly. But...
[What's the point in the moments before a future that's already happened? What's the point in trying to ease something that Akira has already fixed, that he will fix again if need be?
Perhaps there's nothing that comes from this. Akechi would think it's pointless. The Phantom Thieves would worry about the toll it's taking on Akira's heart.
And yet-]
Here, you don't need to focus on your work right now. And when we get home... You can guess why you don't need to. [Akira closes his eyes. He doesn't cry easily. He won't do it now, even if he wishes he was alone so he could.] I'd like it if you could think about even one thing you'd like to do, on your own. Nothing to do with me, nothing to do with the actualization you wished for so desperately, nothing that you think others need or that you want to do for them... [He opens his eyes, smile full of pain.] You don't have to find an answer... but think about even one thing Maruki Takuto wants to do.
[And yet...
If Yoshizawa Sumire believed she was her sister for her almost her entire year of high school, Akira wouldn't regret even one time he smiled with her or she held his hand.
If Akechi Goro died at the beginning of winter, Akira wouldn't regret even one moment in January that he fought at his side or talked with a ghost about everything and nothing in a jazz club.
And if Maruki Takuto is here with him in another world... Akira would never, ever regret the chance to tell him everything he wished he'd had time to say.]
h. heyyyyy what's up ha ha don't look at this don't read it
Something that he would tell Akira, and–
Something he would tell Akira, and–
I'd like it if you could think about even one thing you'd like to do, on your own.
Something he would tell Akira, and–
Maruki is proud, in that moment. Caught, pinned, wounded– and proud.
He wants to put a stop to this. To take the out given to him, to not force it. To tell Akira: You're remarkable. To remind him: I told you that you'd make a better counselor than I do, didn't I? To ask him: When we return to our true reality, what are your plans for the future? When you finish school, will you return to Tokyo for university? What have you thought of studying? It's okay if you don't know yet, but if psychology ends up interesting you at all, I'd be happy to recommend you to my undergraduate program. To do anything to turn the focus away from him, back to Akira, because there is no world in which Maruki Takuto is the person in any room who deserves even the barest sliver of the spotlight.
But– ]
I'm afraid you're giving me an impossible task.
[ It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.
And he could end it there. Take the out. Turn the focus.
He could, but– ]
Not because of my work, or what will happen when we return.
[ No, he couldn't. He can't.
He won't.
He's asked Akira impossible question after impossible question tonight, forced him to recount what must pain him most. Asked so much of him. Comfort, assistance, a place to sleep. Honesty, vulnerability, a cup of coffee. Akira has agreed to fight by his side. Akira has promised to save him, again and again.
What can Maruki do for him in return? What has he ever been able to do?
Has he ever truly done anything for Akira?
Sought him out. Picked his brain. Taught him focus, mindfulness, mental conditioning. Gave him snacks, a kind word, a friendly listening ear that he never took advantage of, never laid his own burdens on Maruki's shoulders the way everyone else did. Tried to create an ideal reality for him anyway, tried to give him what he wanted. Betrayed him. Paid the price– or, will pay the price. It's coming.
None of that was what Akira wanted. He wants the world as it is, brutally painful and unfair as it is. He wants to find the beauty and love in it anyway. He wants those moments to matter.
He wants Maruki to open up. Take in what he's saying. Respond with integrity. To look at him with a fraction of that same bright honesty.
Maruki can force himself to give him that. Even if it kills him. ]
No, because–
[ Sorrow digs long fingers into his heart, gripping into the grooves of the fissure down the middle that Akira started weeks ago, and tears it cleanly in two. ]
There's only one thing that I want. [ And it isn't Actualization. ] You know this. [ He does. He should. ] It's the only thing I've wanted for so long. [ Years, and years, and years, marked by the passage of every bitterly cold February. ] I can't have it. [ There is a reason, after all, that the power to craft an ideal reality for all does not extend to the creator. ] By design, I can't ever have it again.
[ He stops. He has to stop, because– when did his throat get tight? He tries to clear it, fails. One of those torn off pieces of his heart, lodged roughly up into his windpipe. Stinging pressure behind his eyes. Tries to blink it away, fails. Heart racing, hands wrapped numbly around the mug, echoes of everything he just blathered repeating endlessly in his cavernous skull.
He looks to Akira. The slightest watery blur at the edges of his vision.
Such a wretched, quiet admission. It's a far cry from screaming his outrage and grief high above Odaiba, but it's all he can allow himself for now. It's more than he's allowed himself, ever. And in every reality, it's only for Akira's ears to hear. ]
yet another terrible day for all of us to have eyes
Akira's fingers flex on the table like he's been struck, even if the rest of his body is still.
"Everything!!!"]
...I know.
[Akira shouldn't have done this. Meeting his eyes is more painful than staring into the sun.
"Why Rumi...?!"
...He wants to think he shouldn't have done this, because it would've been easier on both of them if he hadn't. Facing Maruki in pain is still more raw and gutting than facing him on the battlefield ever was. But to think that is to reject the truth that he's just acknowledged, that this moment will still mean more than anything to him even if it turns out that fate has deigned neither of them will ever have the memory of it.
So he balls up that pain in his chest to give himself just a little bit more strength.]
But that doesn't mean your life has to begin and end in that place.
[And then, for a second time, Akira breaks the one thing he told himself not to do the first time he ever saw him in this world - he reaches out and gently places his hands over Maruki's.
He holds them there, just for a moment. And then he presses down, so together they set the cup on the tabletop where neither of them can cause it to shake.]
What happened to you... to both of you was terrible. I won't condone what you did because of it, and I won't condemn you for it either. But you've punished yourself enough for it.
[Over and over and over, until Akira helped him flay himself raw on a glass staircase to heaven, freedom found in the pain that he rejected so fiercely.]
Letting go of that doesn't mean that you're terrible, or wrong, or selfish. It doesn't mean that you didn't love her, or that you can't still. And it doesn't mean that you've forgotten her or what both of you went through. What it means is you're learning how to heal from something that hurt you.
[Fingers squeeze over the backs of his hands. Here, he thinks with all his might against a distortion and broken heart that he can't fix with these too-weak hands. Stay here, with me, in this moment right now. Don't look backwards anymore.]
You still have many tomorrows, Maruki. You don't have to live in one yesterday anymore.
swear to my bones.mp3 - WOE, CRYRUKI BE UPON YE
Being gutted like a fish in a dark alley not but a few hours ago hurt less than this.
It isn't like their confrontation in Leblanc at all. Maruki can't deflect, obfuscate, turn the tides of the conversation with his clever manipulations, pick up a calling card, wriggle free. He can't do anything at all, trapped by Akira's hands pressed over his own, honest and empathetic gaze locked on inexorably.
His mouth opens to form a rebuttal.
Nothing comes.
He can't breathe.
Letting go circles through his mind, impossible and anathema, a concept his body rejects like poison. He's never let go. He tells others they have the right to give up on impossible dreams or hurtful circumstances, start over to find their true happiness – and he has never. Will never. Can't ever. He found a niche area of study to obsess over and never let go. He found the one person to ever love him in spite of his many shortcomings and never let go. He found a purpose, a mission, an ideal and never let go. Maruki is so practiced at seeming relaxed, loose and easy with affable humor and quiet confidence, and it all belies years, decades of consistently held tension, digging his fingers into everything that's ever happened to him and never
go.
A choked off, pathetic noise rises from the back of his throat when he tries once more to say something. He snaps his mouth shut to strangle it, grits his teeth, wills himself to breathe, think, speak, anything–
He will return to his true reality for a future that Akira has already lived. His ideal reality will be rejected. He will fight for it until there is nothing left of him. His world will crumble, and he won't be allowed to slip away with it. Akira will save him. Again, always, forever, in every reality, Akira will not let him die. Akira will deliver Maruki toward that promise of many tomorrows in a reality that he doesn't want to live in, hasn't wanted to live in since the cold of a February afternoon sank deep into his bones with each gunshot ringing through a rural home.
Maruki blinks.
When did tears pool enough in his eyes to spill over? They run hot tracks down his cheeks, and he can't remember the last time he allowed himself to cry. Is he even allowing himself now, or is it simply happening to him?
Heartbeat stuttering against his ribcage. He flexes his hands against the mug, feels Akira's fingers tight around them.
Another attempt at drawing breath. It shudders horribly, like a gasp, like a death rattle.
He looks at Akira, helpless, broken, furious, miserable, wretchedly mortified for all of it. Grief, like an anchor chained to his soul. He can't move. Hasn't been able to move in years, decades. One yesterday.
His head falls forward then, hair flopping down gracelessly as a bit of dampness splatters against the counter. ]
Sorry.
[ Small, soft, wavering. He tries to clear his throat, only succeeds in exhaling another awful noise he doesn't recognize. ]
I'm sorry. I'll be fine in a minute.
[ A lie so poor that for once, even Maruki doesn't believe it himself.
He shakes his head – another drop hits the tiled surface he can barely see through rapidly blurring vision.
The only concession he can allow himself, in this moment: Both of his thumbs unclasp from around the mug, wrench free to grip over Akira's fingers instead. Holding him there as Akira has held him. Nothing else comes. ]
rolls out covered in tears and blood, oh he was upon me alright
You're not. [He shakes his head, voice small and soft.] You're not, but you will be. It's going to be okay.
[In any other scenario, they would be words he wouldn't say unless he had full confidence he couldn't deliver that promise. Here, where he does not even have the power to control who comes and who goes, it's something he would take more care in saying so it doesn't become something shallow.
But he's seen Maruki's future. He knows he will hurt like this again, break apart and shatter amongst the stars, and at the end of it all he will be able to smile in the little slice of peace that he carves out for himself. Maruki will be okay, because he's seen the other side of this.
And if Akira shot a god to save a world before, he'll tear down the sky of another to make sure that "future" comes to pass. Whatever the cost.]
You don't need to apologize. [His back bows and shakes with the ache of that weight.] I'm the one who should be, when...
[I'm sorry if it's my fault that you're here.
I'm sorry I made you feel this, even if I know you need it.
I'm sorry that I'm too powerless to take away this pain for you right now.
Akira shakes his head, because he can't say any of that.]
I know it's hard. I know this hurts. [His hands wiggle under Maruki's, but not to break free. His thumbs squeeze between the spaces of his fingers, hook over Maruki's hand. Holding on, though he doesn't know whose sake it's for.] Take all the time you need. Say whatever you need to say. But...
[Akira waits enough to make sure he's caught his eye and he won't look away. His eyes are bright, somehow still dry, but it's only his own aversion to crying in front of someone that keeps it that way.]
I will not let this pain be in vain, Maruki. I promise you.
[I'll fight to see that tomorrow, so I can find out if we'll meet again.]
tell me what makes you hopeful tell me what makes you hurt.......
Say whatever you need to say, a kindness so rarely afforded to him by anyone at all, but what is there to say, really?
Perhaps the greatest indicator of the complete, total, all-encompassing trust Maruki has in Akira lies in the fact that he says nothing at all. Trying to put words to this bottomless well of sorrow that sits deep in his soul wouldn't begin to do it justice – and Akira already knows it, as intimately as if it were his own. He doesn't need to think or talk for perhaps the first time in his life. He only needs to feel.
He only needs to let himself feel.
It lasts for–
Well. It lasts.
There's no telling how long they stay like that. Maruki, head hanging down, glasses fogged and water-blurry, nearly silent even as his shoulders jump and his breath hitches. Akira, unfaltering, unwavering, stalwart as ever, the foundation that manages to keep him propped up no matter how badly he wants to collapse in on himself. He shouldn't have to do this. He does anyway.
At some point, Maruki snakes one of his hands free just to be able to remove his glasses. The heel of his palm pressed into one eye, then the other, the sleeve of Akira's pullover dampening.
When he brings it back down, he unwinds both of their grips from around the mug, tangles their hands together instead. It's not a case of one holding the other; it's a jumbled mass, a physical microcosm of the bond that exists between them, clumsy and clinging and intertwined so tightly that it's become Gordian.
Maruki won't be the first to let go. ]
I don't know what I've done to deserve a friend like you, Kurusu.
[ Strained and tight, but not weak. There's a conviction in his tone despite everything.
He picks his head up finally. Tips his chin up toward the ceiling and blinks a few times, forceful, as a breathless noise that might one day evolve into a laugh escapes. ]
Ah, I'm really going to owe you for life, huh...
[ And when he tilts his face back down to meet Akira's gaze again, there's a smile there. Soft, subdued, but genuine. ]
It doesn't matter to me if we return to separate realities, or whether or not we retain our memories of this place after we leave. I believe that there are some things that persist throughout someone's consciousness. Even if I don't remember this, I'll never truly forget it either.
[ Even if the specifics of this night leave him, the feeling never will. All the pain inherent in it, and all the care, too.
His hands squeeze tightly. ]
Thank you. So much.