[ 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.
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.