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}
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.