[ Maruki hears it, loud and clear. As if Akira would have to plead with him– as if he has to even ask at all. Come with me may as well be a command, and it's one Maruki is all too eager to obey.
This reality has made him stronger in many ways, and weak in several more. He no longer has to deal with things alone, so he no longer wants to. It's selfish, disgustingly so, but he doesn't want to face whatever this is on his own. He wants Akira at his side, no matter how terrible it is.
He tears his eyes away from Rumi, finally. Doesn't pull his wrist away from Akira's grasp.
As they head for the exit, he says it quietly, definitively: ]
It's not her. There's nothing that she would wish for.
[ Rumi wants for nothing. He made sure of that. A regret he would repeat again and again, in every lifetime, and one that would bar her from ever being able to meet the conditions of a reality like this. ]
[Akira is too distracted to ping what it is - even if he wasn't, maybe he couldn't - but something about Maruki being so sure feels... odd. Even if he can't place it, he still speaks on it.]
Are you absolutely sure? There could be things she wanted but never talked about.
[Everyone has something they wish for, don't they?]
A Rumi-san from a time the two of you weren't together, or a Rumi-san that's- not the one you think she is, like I was.
[Even if the reminder makes him stumble over his own words, his feet are sure as they carry him forward. He's walking fast, making sure Maruki is on the side that would've been opposite from her. From the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees a shock of red rapidly moving in their direction. Relentless, it seems. They'll have to hurry.]
For a moment, Maruki's mask slips. He glances sidelong at Akira, horror scrawled openly across his features at the mere idea. For all he knows about the nature of reality, all he's experienced of so many versions of himself, and all the time he's put into thinking about the many varied realities out there, he has never once considered that there could be one where Rumi isn't who he knows her to be. If they exist in the same reality, then she is his most phenomenal love and his greatest regret; there are no other options.
Luckily, before he can respond to that terrible hypothetical, he hears enough to be sure of his answer.
It's her voice– but it's not, there's a twist to the ends of her words that was never there before. The light that used to spark brightly enough to burn when she got too heated is absent – now, when ugly, biting words spill forth, they sound black as tar. Rumi could get angry, could defiantly speak her mind, but she never sounded hateful.
Maybe Maruki deserves that. But it's not her.
He doesn't look as she approaches, that torrent of blame growing louder and louder. Ruined our life and only thinking of yourself and easy way out and impossible, stupid dream collide together between his ears as he keeps his eyes locked on Akira's. His words remain just as decisive and sharp. ]
Something similar happened to Adachi-kun the other day. I should have known better than to– [ Louder, closer still. Maruki grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a second. ] It doesn't matter. She's a cognition. You're familiar, right?
[ There's almost some desperation in that question, and when Maruki opens his eyes again, he finally turns to face her.
It hurts, more than anything, to see recognition in Rumi's eyes once more, and to see it turn to spite.
What happened at the machiya can't happen here. That drawn out argument, that slow turn to violence that escalated rapidly. He can't bear to try to drive her away with his words or to fight her for more than a minute. A quick cut might be a deep one, but at least it's not torture.
It doesn't matter that they're right out in the streets of Stellari. Maruki's long stopped caring what anyone thinks of him, native inhabitants and dreamers alike. Protecting himself and the people he cares for is what's important, and the only thing that would be worse than fighting Rumi himself would be seeing her attack Akira instead.
The aurora ripples through the sky, makes his stomach turn at its familiarity as Azathoth appears. ]
[There isn't even time for him to feel guilt for the horror that his suggestion seems to invoke - she's here, and every word she throws is a blow.
She's so- angry, and maybe that makes sense for the two of them that had some nebulous thing happen between them, but it's still a shock. This was the person that Maruki spoke of so fondly and affectionately... but she hates him?
Akira had thought she had lost her life, to disease or to accident. But maybe this was more painful for Maruki to face than her death.
There's not enough time, and she jumps from one phrase to the next, acidic and fierce. Akira tries to catch each thing and make it out, more reflexive than anything; it's part of his nature, to absorb every piece of information that's laid before him. Ruined our life - what did Maruki do? What could he have done that she resented so much? Only thinking of yourself - Akira's never seen him think of himself at all. Does he try so hard now, because of something that happened in his past? Stupid dream - is it cognitive psience? Did his research drive a wedge between them?
It doesn't make sense.
It doesn't add up.
There is no time for it to make sense, because Maruki is acting.
And Akira is too, suddenly enough - She's a cognition. You're familiar, right? - his hand is reaching out for Maruki's arm without a conscious thought.]
Don't.
[For the first time in Maruki's presence... he almost sounds angry.]
Even if she's a cognition... you love her. [Love, not loved. Akira knows he still does. He said it himself, that he thinks about her every day.] She isn't real, but you are. Is that really something your heart can bear?
this sucks this sucks please feel free to skip ahead this SUCKS
[ He hears Akira's tone approaching anger, and the only thing Maruki can think is that he's so good. So wonderfully, unfailingly good – so unwilling to let someone break their own heart if there's any chance he can fall on the sword for them.
He doesn't need any sort of special ability to be able to see into a future where Akira takes it upon himself to dispel this product of Maruki's distorted heart and manipulated cognition for him – and it's a future that's rapidly closing in. There isn't time to argue, to justify–
There isn't time. ]
My heart has had to bear worse.
[ In every life, he will love her and lose her, again
and again,
and again.
There's no other ending to their story. A tale as old as time: A woman, a man who loves her and who destroys her for it. It's an old song, but it's one that must be sung.
Maruki keeps his eyes trained on Akira. That's what Akira can do for him, here and now. Hold his gaze, don't let him look as bright lights coalesce above them to make quick work of a body without a soul.
That's one thing the doppelganger gets right, though. The scream as she falls – it's plucked right from his memories on a frigid night out in the countryside. It's almost enough to make him doubt his instincts.
Almost.
Maruki doesn't look. Doesn't need to. The people bustling around them on the street are panicked enough about another one of those creatures appearing in their midst that he knows it's the truth. A body that vaporizes, disappears into mist when the one it wanted to feast on isn't looking at it.
Azathoth falls silent again at the base of his skull, only that goddamn aurora left coloring the air around them, and Maruki's stomach lurches so violently that his vision swims.
This is–
Bad. It's bad. Home is too far, he won't make it there. And as much as he loves Akira, the safehouse in Stellari is one of the infinitesimally few things he cannot share with him. They're in the city center, not too far at all from– ]
Kurusu.
[ His voice isn't so much soft as it is broken open, a raw and bleeding thing. ]
[His hand is outstretched, but there's nothing for him to reach.
His hand is outstretched, but it's already too late.
The blue flame that had begun to stir around his legs sparks and gutters like a dying candle. The body is already gone. Vanished, right into thin air; she wasn't real, just like Maruki said.
I couldn't...
Akira can't fix every problem and every pain. He'd thought he'd known that when he started inflicting Changes of Heart - he hadn't, but he learned. He couldn't, and it was alright that he couldn't, because sometimes people have to find the right way without someone else solving their problems.
He knows that all too well, now.
And yet, his chest still aches with his own ineptitude.
I swore I would protect you, but...
...during such a great moment of pain, Akira still couldn't do anything at all.
The aurora ripples in the air, and Akira's hands curl into fists. Around them, people haven't ceased their panic, but there's none of that on Akira's face. No panic, and no fear, because he knows Azathoth will never deliver unforgiveable harm to him. There's only the sting and strain of his own powerlessness.
Whatever eats at Maruki's heart... if Akira can still find a way to carry him through this, maybe he can deliver him to someone else that can kill off whatever it is.
For now, he'll do the only thing that's left to him.
Please.]
...Alright.
[He's silent for the duration of the walk. He stays near Maruki for the entirety of it, watchful of the way he's moving and taking stock of his condition - but he never quite meets his eyes.
His own feel too heavy.
Excepting the time that Maruki first showed it to him, Akira hasn't been by that much. There's still something about climbing the steps that unwinds something tight in his shoulders, even if he doesn't relax all the way. Perhaps it's simply a place that Akira's brain associates with safety, even if the danger is only coming from within himself.]
...Sit, and I'll get some water for you.
[His voice is quiet but unreadable. It isn't Akira's office to offer such, but he's already moving deeper inside to do so.]
[ It's strange, how quickly a place can become a safe haven. It was like that with the first iteration of Eyn Sof, too – now nothing more than a pile of debris he's pointed out to Akira any time they happen to wander through the much more humble Somnius town center. For so long, that office was his only true oasis of peace and privacy. Perhaps that's why it was all the more insulting when it was bugged.
It's the same with this office. It helps that it isn't open to the public, so it's not inextricably linked with long days spent listening to the tragedies of a hundred realities he'll never be able to save – more than anything else, it's where he comes when he needs to be alone.
They're safe here. He's sure of it.
It's one of the few things he's sure of at the moment.
Maruki locks the door behind him and crosses to one of the sofas immediately, sitting just as Akira tells him to. He's being a horrible host right now, he knows, but– it doesn't matter, as Akira picks up the slack for him.
Guilt gnaws through his gut and his head swims again as he folds down to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. In through the nose, two, three, four, out through the mouth, two, three, four. He's fine. They're both fine. Rumi is– ]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that, and– see me deal with it.
[ He doesn't lift his head as he speaks, eyes trained down on the ground until they squeeze shut. ]
I'm sure it seemed callous, but...
[ There's no end to that sentence. It was callous. Even though he knows from experience that arguing with a doppelganger has no effect, he still feels terrible for not at least hearing her out. She wasn't even real, and yet that knowledge does nothing to absolve him of the sins he's rapidly listing off in his own mind.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Maruki nudges his glasses up into his hair, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until neon colors begin to waver behind his eyelids. ]
You have bad habits when it comes to me, Maruki-sensei.
[A glass for Maruki, and a glass for himself. He sets them both on the table, but doesn't touch his own yet.]
You always assume that I'll think the worst of you. [Gentle. He's still quiet, but he sounds gentler than he did before.] And you always apologize for the wrong thing.
[Ruined our life, still tolls in his head like a bell, and he thinks he's starting to get a clearer picture. Or at least, a better one to guess at.
Akira waits after that. Maybe for a long time, or maybe for very little at all. But he waits until Maruki looks at him again before he continues.
It's the first time that his voice and expression crack with pain.]
Bearing worse doesn't mean you have to bear more. Why didn't you let me handle it?
[He has questions - he has many, and he will ask them. But there's none that weigh on his mind more than that.]
[ It does take a long time for him to lift his head, and when he does–
It's the sort of pain he hasn't seen or heard on Akira since those flowers and vines were doing their very best to choke them.
He winces for having been the one to cause it this time, but he'd never make a different choice. That's all the trouble, isn't it? Every time he does something to help Akira or Rumi, it hurts them just as much. ]
Kurusu...
[ A deep inhale, a slow exhale, and he straightens his back to sit upright. Looks Akira dead in the eye, tone gentle even though his resolve is unwavering. ]
I would never make you fight my battles for me, especially not when they're a product of my own cognition. [ The doppelgangers have to be. This place preys on their memories, their fears, their regrets. ] I appreciate that you would have... I really do, more than I can say. But...
[ He's at a loss for words for a moment, before he reminds himself for the hundredth time since their reunion that he will be more honest with this Akira than he was with his own. ]
You already do so much for me. I couldn't ask you to do something like that, too.
No. [It's a whisper that hangs in the air, suspended in the space between them.] I don't think I've done enough, after all.
[Akira knows he's as powerless to stop the existence of something wearing Rumi's face as he was the flowers that nearly killed them. Whatever tricks are played in this world by the powers that be, Akira doesn't have anything to he can do that will stop them entirely.
But even so...]
Fighting the product of another's condition is exactly what it's been my job to do for over a year's time. But more than that... [Akira looks at him, and feels the phantom velvet of petals between his fingers.] You and I promised to shoulder our burdens together.
[Maybe... If it hadn't been Akira that was with him, then maybe...
He breathes out, like the sigh will loose what's in his chest.]
It doesn't matter now. It's already done. [The part of him that's wounded, the part of him that's weak - Akira shutters it off, closes it away. He knows how to do this, even if he's never truly done it with Maruki. He's had plenty of practice with others.] You sound sure, but... Why do you feel certain this came from your cognition?
[ Maruki sees it, clear as day. Hears it, clear as a bell struck once in an empty room. The way he buttons himself up, shifts his own emotions to the side to be what someone else needs in the moment–
It breaks his heart, every time he looks at Akira and feels like he could be looking in a mirror.
But that question needs to be answered first. It's almost comforting to slip into, talk of applying what he knows of cognitive psience to what he knows of this reality. ]
It would be wrong to say that everything that happens to us in this reality is a byproduct of our cognitions, but some things must be. The way the Oracle can extract painful secrets we've never spoken aloud to anyone and put them on display... the wishes we make that manifest into tangible goods and powers. The time a powerful god from a dreamer's reality made his way into this one and tried to wage war on it, and now the doppelgangers taking the shape of people we once knew. [ Maruki scratches at the stubbled line of his jaw, sighs. ] The powers that be here, whatever they are, are the mechanism by which these things happen. But our cognitions are the source.
[ It would be so easy to stay in this realm – the theoretical, the practical.
But that's not why Maruki brought Akira here.
His voice shifts, goes quieter, more honest. ]
If almost anyone else had been with me when that happened... I would have made an excuse to be alone. I can count the people I'd be able to face right now on one hand.
[ And he'd have some fingers left over. ]
You being here is helping me to shoulder this, Kurusu. [ His hands resting over his knees tighten, the fabric of his pantlegs clutching between his fingers. ] You're helping me, right now, just by talking to me. Please understand that.
i would say nothing's stopping u but he wasn't here in april, so
A protest builds in his throat, piles up behind his teeth. Akira has done nothing except allow Maruki to tear a fresh wound in his own heart. What good is it, now, to stem the bleeding of the very damage that he allowed to happen in the first place?
In every sense of the meaning, Akira is the last one that should be here, right now.
But it doesn't help Maruki to fight against it and say any of that, so he doesn't.
All he can do is cast about, grasping desperately until he finds the words to help him. It's the least he can do.]
...Tell me, then.
[He glances away, finally. His eyes rest on the water, the wobbling surface finally settling its movements and becoming still. Akira will do the same.]
You didn't have to, but you chose for me to come with you. If talking helps- [-if I'm really able to help you-] -then tell me what's hurting you, so you don't have to carry it alone.
[ He doesn't need to be an expert in reading Akira to know that his words haven't had exactly the intended effect, but...
Perhaps the way to make him understand just how badly Maruki needs him here is not to tell him, but to show him.
Slowly, he leans back against the couch, hands coming to fold together in his lap. He tips his head back, eyes slipping shut, and breathes. Considers this.
Where to begin? ]
I will. I want to ask you first, though...
[ Begin in a way that he couldn't with anyone else he's told. ]
You know what it's like to change a heart. If someone you loved was suffering terribly, and there was no alternative, would you cut out any instance of pain from their heart?
[It's almost instantaneous, the way he immediately thinks of Futaba. Can see her face as clearly as if she sat in front of him.
When they entered her Palace - he didn't know her the way he does now. All he knew was the distortion that had taken root, rebellion and justice twining around his heart like vines, and the taste of his own desperation on the back of his tongue. If he had to do it now, when he knows every item on her promise list, and the feel of her hair under his palm as he pats her head - would he still Change her Heart?
But - that's not what Maruki is asking. And Akira knows what she had to go through to steal herself back.]
No. [He says it very softly.] I wouldn't.
[If it was someone he loved, he wouldn't, because-]
One of the Phantom Thieves had a Change of Heart. But that process didn't eliminate their pain. It was because they embraced the pain of their past that they were able to heal their distortion at all.
[Even though he wanted to prevent Maruki from feeling any pain... he wouldn't take away what's already there.]
Maybe it's strange, hearing that from their leader. Maybe if I had to make that choice, I would feel caught. But if it was me that was suffering, I know I wouldn't want someone else to erase the things that made me who I am today.
[ The words settle over his mind, heavy as a blanket of snow on the coldest day of the year.
It's not what he wants anymore. To rid the whole world of their pain, their suffering, by any means necessary– it's a dream this reality has crushed between its palms and rubbed in his face for how unattainable it was. Maruki may not know everything, but he knows now that even with the power of the collective unconscious at his fingertips, it wouldn't have been enough. Pain has value, and a world completely devoid of it is not a sustainable one.
Still, though–
There's a pang deep in his chest, a great yawning ache.
Akira never would have wanted the same thing he did, no matter what. They were opposed from the very start. That may not hurt the Maruki Takuto who has had nearly a year in this reality under his belt, but somewhere inside him still lives the Maruki Takuto who looked at the boy across from him in a warmly lit cafe on an autumn evening and thought, I will do this because of you. I will do this for you. I will do this to thank you.
That Maruki Takuto feels the pain now.
He lets the silence drag on for a few long moments before finally breaking it with a breath drawn that shakes more than it doesn't. Focus. ]
It's not strange. You're... [ On the exhale, he laughs– thin, almost pained, but he laughs as he inclines his head to look over at Akira. ] You're right. Good and bad, beautiful and painful, everything that happens to us shapes us into who we are. I just–
[ His clasped hands wind together, the motion anxious. It never gets easier, no matter how many times he tells this story. And it's never been more difficult than it is now, telling it to the person who intimately understands the responsibility one has when shaping a cognition, changing a heart. ]
I've seen what happens when a pain is too unbearable to live with. May I tell you about it?
[In spite of what's happened today, in spite of what Akira's shuttered away - it's clear enough to see that whatever this is, it's weighed down Maruki's shoulders. Maybe for a long time. The sound of his laugh, the twist of his hands... They all speak to an immeasurable strain.
What sort of pain must he have seen, to burden him so? To make the person that's helped Akira hold up his own so deeply wounded?
He doesn't know what he's about to hear. He's heard a lot of terrible things, and maybe it will somehow still be worse. There's something, after all, that ignited Maruki's need to rebel.
But there will never be a world where he answers that question with a "no". Not about this, nor anything else.]
Please. Whatever it is, no matter how painful... I'd still like to know.
[ Any familiarity with retreading this conversation with Akira all over again is offset by just how many ways things are so very different now. A new office, where they sit side by side as equals, allies, true friends rather than across from one another as counselor and student. He isn't pasting more half-truths over a previously told falsehood this time; his only lies have been by omission, and the story he tells now will be nothing but the honest truth.
Even if Akira hates him for it. ]
Rumi's family lived far out in the countryside. We were visiting them for her birthday, and so we could announce our engagement... I was so anxious about it, and she was as carefree as ever. That was one of her best qualities. She never got lost in her own head like I do.
[ His thumb rubs over the ridge of his knuckles, bump-bump-bump-bump, back and forth, not as soothing as it usually is. Maruki clears his throat, presses on. ]
While we were there, someone broke into their home. It was just... one of those completely random things. There was no reason to target them, no reason for any of it. But the robbery attempt went south, and... [ He shakes his head, messy fringe flopping across his glasses as his eyes stay trained on the floor. ] We saw what happened to them. The burglar attacked Rumi on his way out as well, and we were lucky her physical injuries weren't more severe, but...
[ His shoulders ache from how he's slowly hunched over through the story, and his spine cracks as he forces himself to sit up straight before leaning back against the couch and looking over at Akira.
One year and a whole reality ago, he guarded his expression, excised his own pain that he'd so deftly ignored and run from for so long. Here and now, though, there's no hiding the sorrow in his eyes. ]
She never recovered from that. What would you do if the person you love became a shell of themselves, Kurusu? What would you do if their mind trapped them in the worst day of their life?
Edited (SORRY I CHANGED MY MIND) 2025-05-30 07:34 (UTC)
[All at once, pieces snap painfully into place. A mosaic that tells a story, a picture that's all too beautiful before it's twisted into a tragedy.
It's a story that would move him into action, under normal circumstances. An injustice like that can't go unpunished. It's no wonder Maruki experienced an Awakening. But even if Akira did something, moved, acted - he's powerless to undo the pain that's already been caused. For all of the work that he had done to help Ohya, he was still powerless to undo the damage that had already been done to Murakami Kayo. His hands can't undo a mental shutdown, just as much as they're incapable of undoing the worst sort of trauma.
His entire stomach lurches as he thinks about it. Haru or Chihaya. Akechi or Maruki. Any of the people he holds in his heart, imprisoned in the confines of their own mind. What would Akira do, other than shatter apart entirely?]
...For all of the power I've been given, there are some things I can't undo. [His eyes squeeze shut.] Wounds that are too deep for me to ever heal. I'd stay at their side, even if I knew it would never be enough. But at the same time... just as I've been powerless to heal those types of pain, I've been given chances to change everything.
[ This is a place where hope shines through the bars of the cage.
[ For that time when Akira speaks with his eyes shut tight, Maruki watches him closer than ever before. There's such a profound weigh of understanding to his words, empathy that can only come from someone else who knows what it's like to hold the fragile, wonderful cognition of someone in their hands.
That's the thing, though–
Akira's eyes open, train on his again, and Maruki nods. ]
It was, but... I didn't grasp the full scope of what I was doing.
[ Something that still stings in a particular way to admit, even now. If he'd known the cost, would he still have done it?
Maruki can't imagine any reality where the answer to that is no.
He inhales, deep, and tries to reason. ]
You have to understand... I was already deep into my research on cognitive psience. I had the hypothesis that it was possible to directly interact with a person's cognition, but I had no proof of that. No way of figuring out how.
[ An old, familiar pain radiates at the base of his skull, stretches up into his temples, down to wrap around his jaw. ]
I'd been getting terrible migraines all throughout my research. They came on again as Rumi was suffering in that hospital room, and when she told me she wanted to forget...
[ He trails off, throat constricting. He has to look away from Akira for a moment, gather himself up before tying the rotten bow on this story. ]
I heard Azathoth's voice in my head for the first time. [ I shall echo your blasphemous fury with reality so that we may change the world. ] I begged it to help me heal Rumi, and– it did. [ A beat. ] I did. [ Azathoth is strong because you are strong. Azathoth can rewrite a person's mind because Maruki can. ] She forgot anything terrible ever happened to her parents. She was free.
[ The smile he offers up to Akira is water thin, eyes a bit too telltale bright behind thick lenses. ]
Unfortunately... she also forgot me. Our life together. I lost her, just like that. [ Is he still smiling? Everything's gone numb. He can't feel his face, can't tell. The hands in his lap have unwound, clenched into tight fists in the fabric of his pants, and Maruki's not aware at all. ] She's not dead. I know I speak about her as if she is, but she's not. She's happy now. That's what matters. Isn't it?
[ It's a genuine question, plaintive and searching. Isn't it? ]
The guilt. The certainty about destroying Rumi's copy. The way he could only speak of this to Akira.
It should be a terrible thing to find out. Maybe it is. Maybe that's why his gut twists so terribly as he stares at Maruki's face, but if he were to really weigh it in his hands...
The sorrow on Maruki's face is deep and unending, no matter how much he's smiled through every terrible word he said. It's harder for Akira to look at than for him to hear the things that would horrify his friends.
"If I agree to this, the ruined city will return to normal."
But there's one thing that's never really changed about Akira, no matter who he's around or who he's spoken to.
"However, the people will remain trapped, abandoning their ability to think for themselves..."
Humans are capable of terrible, terrible things. The most wretched acts and most irredeemable crimes. That has never influenced who he spends time with, who he will make himself useful to so he may utilize them in turn. Nor has it ever changed the types of people who genuinely worked their way into his heart and all of the things they've done.
Akira knows that every inch of Akechi's hands are drenched in blood and he knows he will never try to wash it off, just as much as he knows that he'll tear himself apart if that's what it takes to save his life.
"Is that really how the world should be?"
Because Akira has always known that he isn't a good person. He's only met people that made him want to be a better one, and who he's made better choices for the sake of.]
...So that's what it was. Why you were sure about her. And why your pain was so vast.
[It's not a far distance from Maruki at all, only a few steps. Akira crosses it.]
I can't be the one to tell you if her happiness is the only thing that matters. If what you did was right or wrong. I won't absolve you of it, the same way I won't condemn you for it. But...
[Akira stops beside where he sits, and looks down.
Before him is Maruki Takuto, suffocating under the weight of his own sins.
Before him is Maruki Takuto, who leaves snacks out on the table for when he gets home from his late shift at Club Quartz, somehow always his favorite. Before him is Maruki Takuto, the only one Akira will allow in the kitchen beside him, flowing from one spot to another without either of them ever disrupting their work. Before him is Maruki Takuto, who lights up with the enthusiasm of a child when he speaks of the difference between physics in the natural world and the Metaverse.
The person who Akira cares about, who he's willing to die to save, has killed more than Akira has dared to ask.
The person who Akira cares about, who fate denied him the chance to meet, wiped clean the mind of the woman he loves.
A person who Akira cares about is in incalculable pain.
His hand reaches out
and gently rests on the shoulder before him.]
When I was first placed under arrest, I felt cornered in an impossible situation. I felt trapped. I felt betrayed. People I've known since I was a small child looked at me with fear and disdain. If I'd had to stay there, in that place that used to be my home... my will itself would've been crushed. It would've eroded away me. No matter how else any of it made me feel... going to Tokyo was an escape from all of that.
[He's never told anyone this. Maybe will never tell anyone this again.]
I think that, in some situations... an escape is your only way out of it. There's a difference between running away and finding escape from the situation that's entrapped you. I can't say whether or not it was the same for Rumi-san. But I think she was also being crushed under an impossible weight. Maybe what you did was right, and maybe what you did was wrong - but it doesn't change that you freed her from it.
[Maybe, even if Akira can't free him from that pain... maybe something in his words can ease it.]
Since she's forgotten you, have you spoken to her?
[ While Akira speaks, all Maruki can do is stare up at him, completely arrested.
The hand on his shoulder is the anchoring weight that tells him this this hasn't all been some sort of dream. Because what else could it be, when he's finally admitted the worst truth of all to Akira and received not only acceptance and understanding, but a peek into the depths of his own heart as well?
It would've eroded away me, and all at once, Maruki has so many questions that may never be answered. Akira speaks so little about himself, and somehow even less about the circumstances that he came from. He's always thought that the beginning of his time in Tokyo must have been so painful, so isolating, and maybe it was, but–
It was an escape. A necessary one, to keep from slipping away from this world, to become the person he was meant to be.
Had Akira not escaped, they never would have met. That goes for the Akira in his own reality, and the one who stands before him now.
And–
for the first time in his life–
Maruki wonders if he hasn't been crushed under an impossible weight for all these years too.
Just like that, with nothing more than his own story relayed and a comforting grip on one shoulder, Akira shifts something that's been stubbornly stuck inside his heart. Some twist of the knotted, gnarled distortion that still lives in there begins to unwind. If his own pain is real, if it goes beyond the all-consuming grief of losing Rumi, if he's been drowning himself in this guilt and loneliness–
Who will set him free?
No one can do that but Maruki and the person standing before him.
Somewhere above them, stretching so high into the sky that it reaches another time in another reality entirely, there is– was– will be a staircase, and a battle, and a hand wrapped around his wrist.
Here and now, Akira's palm is warm over the tense, tired muscle of his shoulder, and Maruki finds himself reaching up to cover it with his own hand. ]
No.
[ There's so much more he needs to say, to all of that, but first– ]
No, I haven't. I can't. I haven't even seen her. Today was the first day I've ever– but it wasn't her, of course.
[Akira nods, agreeing, as if Maruki needs to hear it, or maybe he simply needs to say it for himself.]
If it was me... If it was your Akira, too- I think in any reality, I would tell you it's better not to do what I'm about to say. But right or wrong, forgiven or condemned... There's only one person in any world who can give you the answer you're looking for, and it isn't me. [His voice is even gentler now. Maybe gentler than it's ever been, around Maruki.] Maybe you know that. Maybe you don't. But only Rumi-san can tell you if her happiness is what matters.
[Underneath Maruki's hand, Akira's squeezes at his shoulder.]
But I'm not saying that's an answer you have to seek out, now or ever. [He smiles then, and it's a crooked thing.] Someone would probably condemn me, for saying that to you.
[Maruki didn't do a good thing, regardless of whether or not it was necessary. It's simply that something like that has never gotten in the way of Akira caring for someone.]
I can't tell you to go to her or stay away for the rest of your life. I can't tell you how to choose to move on, either. [His other hand comes up, resting upon where Maruki holds his own.] All I can do is stand by your side, as your friend and your ally. All we can do is fight alongside each other, in this world and our own, and protect each other so neither of us ever feels desperate enough to make a choice like that ever again.
[He can't change what Maruki's done. Akira can't change what he's done himself, either.
But they can still do everything thing they can, to guard against doing anything they'd regret.]
[ It's the same story told through a different lens–
All we can do is fight alongside each other, in this world and our own, and protect each other so neither of us ever feels desperate enough to make a choice like that ever again.
I know how dangerous this is. How dangerous I am. I can't change what I've done, and I never would. I can only change what I do going forward.
–and for the first time, Maruki dares to believe that the story will go on.
It's so easy for him to develop tunnel vision. Too easy, really. It happened with his studies, with cognitive psience, with his research, with the prospect of healing all pains – and lately, it's been happening with what awaits him after his time in this reality is finally through.
But for all the possibilities he's conjured up, all the contingencies he's planned for–
Maruki's never considered what his future holds.
Whether they're able to change Akechi's fate or not, whether he's able to change his own fate or not– life still goes on after, and not once has he spared a single second for what he might want to do with his life. He pictures it now, as Akira talks about moving on, and it's so foreign, so jarring – a great, vast expanse of blank white space and the daunting task of holding the pen to begin filling it.
Where would he begin?
How would he even start to move on?
Akira can't tell him how, but he doesn't have to. The first day they met, he told him the only thing Maruki has ever needed to know:
If I won in a world without you in it, I'll never lose in one that has you.
No matter how he chooses to do it, he will move on. No matter how impossible it seems with his heart still so mired in that tangled, distorted sorrow, he will move on. He will, because he has Akira at his side – in this reality, in the true reality, in so many others.
He will.
Maruki has felt the bone-deep catharsis of being able to share this pain and feel even a sliver of his grief several times over in this world. He's phenomenally lucky to have met a few people who he trusts with the very depths of his soul, and they've all given him more acceptance and comfort than he ever could have dreamed of–
But Akira's presence, here and now, heralds the first time Maruki has ever shared his terrible story and felt a swell of hope.
Their hands are stacked, one of his sandwiched between both of Akira's. It's silly, but he reaches up with the one free hand remaining and adds it to the pile, and the smile that blooms across his face is warm even as it wavers. ]
You truly are my guiding light.
[ Maruki stands, then, dislodging his hands so he can instead press them onto Akira's shoulders instead. For a moment, he only holds him at arm's length there, overwhelmed with such profound gratitude that he doesn't know what else to say.
A deep, trembling inhale, and– ]
I feel like I never know how to thank you. And I know you'll tell me it's not necessary, and you'll mean it when you do– but there has to be something, Kurusu. There has to be some way I can show you even... even just a bit of the light you've shown me.
[ His hands squeeze, desperate to pull him in for a hug, but staying still for now. That's only happened while they were in the throes of the flower illness; this isn't nearly so dire, no matter how close Maruki felt to death as he stared that doppelganger down. ]
[It's an immediate tangle of feelings, prickling through his veins and catching in his throat. There are no more petals and roots in his body any longer, but it feels, just for a moment, like there could be.
You truly ae my guiding light.
When Akira talks to Maruki, he doesn't think he sees the other him. Not anymore, at least. He sees him, except for the places where he inevitably can't; Akira doesn't hold that against him, because he knows that whatever circumstances are at work, he and Maruki's Akira must mostly be the same person. He knows Maruki sees him, and it doesn't eat away at him the way it used to.
And even so, Akira hears those words and feels like he's stolen away something important and precious.
Once more, he closes his eyes.
When you see him again, he thinks at a person he will never, ever meet, never take him for granted.
He reopens them almost as fast, blinking away the ties over his heart. If nothing else... this, at least, has an easy answer.]
You already know that way, though.
[Voice soft, but stronger than before. Surer.]
Stay with me. [His eyes flicker bright with a promise already made.] Help me save him. Help me save you. And at the end of it all...
[When he smiles this time, it's a wistful thing. Spoken words united with careful, neat writing on a small card.]
Remember me. As much as you can, even if whatever power rules this world tries to take it away... Even if your mind forgets, I'll forgive you. But remember me in your soul. Remember me, whenever you see Kurusu Akira.
He's already made this promise. He's already sworn this down to his bones, branded it onto his heart. He'll do it again and again, as many times as it takes to remind both Akira and himself that this is not the first time they've met, nor is it the last, and in every life, in every reality, their souls will remember what their minds might not.
Is it really that easy to show Akira the gratitude that threatens to consume him whole? Could it be true that all he has to do to repay Akira is the only thing he wants to do at all – stay.
There has to be more, Maruki thinks, that can't possibly be it, but–
The same words were on the tip of his tongue before Akira spoke. Please. Stay in the office. Stay here with me until I can face the rest of the world, and then stay by my side as I do.
Perhaps it really is the greatest thing they can do for one another.
Maruki's smile is water-thin, tight, wavering as he bows his head, eyes squeezing shut against the heat that keeps threatening to rise up. He nods, a soft exhale of a laugh escaping, then picks himself back up so he can look Akira in the eye. Like a flower bending toward any ray of sunlight to be found in the dead of winter, always, always. ]
Of course. Of course I will, Kurusu. Staying, remembering... you might as well be asking me to breathe.
[ That smile gains strength, as does his grip over Akira's shoulders, one final squeeze before he forces himself to drop his hands. They feel too empty hanging at his sides, but– ]
You forgot one thing, though.
[ Help me save him. Help me save you. ]
I'll save you, too.
[ Even if it doesn't involve rewiring reality to Akira's exact specifications, even if he doesn't know how yet, even if it takes every day of the rest of his life in this world to figure it out, even if Akira tries to fight it, or doesn't want to help him with it, or thinks he isn't worth it– ]
We'll save each other. I've never been more certain.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
This reality has made him stronger in many ways, and weak in several more. He no longer has to deal with things alone, so he no longer wants to. It's selfish, disgustingly so, but he doesn't want to face whatever this is on his own. He wants Akira at his side, no matter how terrible it is.
He tears his eyes away from Rumi, finally. Doesn't pull his wrist away from Akira's grasp.
As they head for the exit, he says it quietly, definitively: ]
It's not her. There's nothing that she would wish for.
[ Rumi wants for nothing. He made sure of that. A regret he would repeat again and again, in every lifetime, and one that would bar her from ever being able to meet the conditions of a reality like this. ]
no subject
Are you absolutely sure? There could be things she wanted but never talked about.
[Everyone has something they wish for, don't they?]
A Rumi-san from a time the two of you weren't together, or a Rumi-san that's- not the one you think she is, like I was.
[Even if the reminder makes him stumble over his own words, his feet are sure as they carry him forward. He's walking fast, making sure Maruki is on the side that would've been opposite from her. From the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees a shock of red rapidly moving in their direction. Relentless, it seems. They'll have to hurry.]
It could be something like that, couldn't it?
no subject
For a moment, Maruki's mask slips. He glances sidelong at Akira, horror scrawled openly across his features at the mere idea. For all he knows about the nature of reality, all he's experienced of so many versions of himself, and all the time he's put into thinking about the many varied realities out there, he has never once considered that there could be one where Rumi isn't who he knows her to be. If they exist in the same reality, then she is his most phenomenal love and his greatest regret; there are no other options.
Luckily, before he can respond to that terrible hypothetical, he hears enough to be sure of his answer.
It's her voice– but it's not, there's a twist to the ends of her words that was never there before. The light that used to spark brightly enough to burn when she got too heated is absent – now, when ugly, biting words spill forth, they sound black as tar. Rumi could get angry, could defiantly speak her mind, but she never sounded hateful.
Maybe Maruki deserves that. But it's not her.
He doesn't look as she approaches, that torrent of blame growing louder and louder. Ruined our life and only thinking of yourself and easy way out and impossible, stupid dream collide together between his ears as he keeps his eyes locked on Akira's. His words remain just as decisive and sharp. ]
Something similar happened to Adachi-kun the other day. I should have known better than to– [ Louder, closer still. Maruki grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a second. ] It doesn't matter. She's a cognition. You're familiar, right?
[ There's almost some desperation in that question, and when Maruki opens his eyes again, he finally turns to face her.
It hurts, more than anything, to see recognition in Rumi's eyes once more, and to see it turn to spite.
What happened at the machiya can't happen here. That drawn out argument, that slow turn to violence that escalated rapidly. He can't bear to try to drive her away with his words or to fight her for more than a minute. A quick cut might be a deep one, but at least it's not torture.
It doesn't matter that they're right out in the streets of Stellari. Maruki's long stopped caring what anyone thinks of him, native inhabitants and dreamers alike. Protecting himself and the people he cares for is what's important, and the only thing that would be worse than fighting Rumi himself would be seeing her attack Akira instead.
The aurora ripples through the sky, makes his stomach turn at its familiarity as Azathoth appears. ]
I'm sorry you got dragged into this.
no subject
She's so- angry, and maybe that makes sense for the two of them that had some nebulous thing happen between them, but it's still a shock. This was the person that Maruki spoke of so fondly and affectionately... but she hates him?
Akira had thought she had lost her life, to disease or to accident. But maybe this was more painful for Maruki to face than her death.
There's not enough time, and she jumps from one phrase to the next, acidic and fierce. Akira tries to catch each thing and make it out, more reflexive than anything; it's part of his nature, to absorb every piece of information that's laid before him. Ruined our life - what did Maruki do? What could he have done that she resented so much? Only thinking of yourself - Akira's never seen him think of himself at all. Does he try so hard now, because of something that happened in his past? Stupid dream - is it cognitive psience? Did his research drive a wedge between them?
It doesn't make sense.
It doesn't add up.
There is no time for it to make sense, because Maruki is acting.
And Akira is too, suddenly enough - She's a cognition. You're familiar, right? - his hand is reaching out for Maruki's arm without a conscious thought.]
Don't.
[For the first time in Maruki's presence... he almost sounds angry.]
Even if she's a cognition... you love her. [Love, not loved. Akira knows he still does. He said it himself, that he thinks about her every day.] She isn't real, but you are. Is that really something your heart can bear?
this sucks this sucks please feel free to skip ahead this SUCKS
He doesn't need any sort of special ability to be able to see into a future where Akira takes it upon himself to dispel this product of Maruki's distorted heart and manipulated cognition for him – and it's a future that's rapidly closing in. There isn't time to argue, to justify–
There isn't time. ]
My heart has had to bear worse.
[ In every life, he will love her and lose her, again
and again.
There's no other ending to their story. A tale as old as time: A woman, a man who loves her and who destroys her for it. It's an old song, but it's one that must be sung.
Maruki keeps his eyes trained on Akira. That's what Akira can do for him, here and now. Hold his gaze, don't let him look as bright lights coalesce above them to make quick work of a body without a soul.
That's one thing the doppelganger gets right, though. The scream as she falls – it's plucked right from his memories on a frigid night out in the countryside. It's almost enough to make him doubt his instincts.
Almost.
Maruki doesn't look. Doesn't need to. The people bustling around them on the street are panicked enough about another one of those creatures appearing in their midst that he knows it's the truth. A body that vaporizes, disappears into mist when the one it wanted to feast on isn't looking at it.
Azathoth falls silent again at the base of his skull, only that goddamn aurora left coloring the air around them, and Maruki's stomach lurches so violently that his vision swims.
This is–
Bad. It's bad. Home is too far, he won't make it there. And as much as he loves Akira, the safehouse in Stellari is one of the infinitesimally few things he cannot share with him. They're in the city center, not too far at all from– ]
Kurusu.
[ His voice isn't so much soft as it is broken open, a raw and bleeding thing. ]
Come with me to my office. Please.
[ Don't leave me. ]
? anyway
His hand is outstretched, but it's already too late.
The blue flame that had begun to stir around his legs sparks and gutters like a dying candle. The body is already gone. Vanished, right into thin air; she wasn't real, just like Maruki said.
I couldn't...
Akira can't fix every problem and every pain. He'd thought he'd known that when he started inflicting Changes of Heart - he hadn't, but he learned. He couldn't, and it was alright that he couldn't, because sometimes people have to find the right way without someone else solving their problems.
He knows that all too well, now.
And yet, his chest still aches with his own ineptitude.
I swore I would protect you, but...
...during such a great moment of pain, Akira still couldn't do anything at all.
The aurora ripples in the air, and Akira's hands curl into fists. Around them, people haven't ceased their panic, but there's none of that on Akira's face. No panic, and no fear, because he knows Azathoth will never deliver unforgiveable harm to him. There's only the sting and strain of his own powerlessness.
Whatever eats at Maruki's heart... if Akira can still find a way to carry him through this, maybe he can deliver him to someone else that can kill off whatever it is.
For now, he'll do the only thing that's left to him.
Please.]
...Alright.
[He's silent for the duration of the walk. He stays near Maruki for the entirety of it, watchful of the way he's moving and taking stock of his condition - but he never quite meets his eyes.
His own feel too heavy.
Excepting the time that Maruki first showed it to him, Akira hasn't been by that much. There's still something about climbing the steps that unwinds something tight in his shoulders, even if he doesn't relax all the way. Perhaps it's simply a place that Akira's brain associates with safety, even if the danger is only coming from within himself.]
...Sit, and I'll get some water for you.
[His voice is quiet but unreadable. It isn't Akira's office to offer such, but he's already moving deeper inside to do so.]
no subject
It's the same with this office. It helps that it isn't open to the public, so it's not inextricably linked with long days spent listening to the tragedies of a hundred realities he'll never be able to save – more than anything else, it's where he comes when he needs to be alone.
They're safe here. He's sure of it.
It's one of the few things he's sure of at the moment.
Maruki locks the door behind him and crosses to one of the sofas immediately, sitting just as Akira tells him to. He's being a horrible host right now, he knows, but– it doesn't matter, as Akira picks up the slack for him.
Guilt gnaws through his gut and his head swims again as he folds down to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. In through the nose, two, three, four, out through the mouth, two, three, four. He's fine. They're both fine. Rumi is– ]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that, and– see me deal with it.
[ He doesn't lift his head as he speaks, eyes trained down on the ground until they squeeze shut. ]
I'm sure it seemed callous, but...
[ There's no end to that sentence. It was callous. Even though he knows from experience that arguing with a doppelganger has no effect, he still feels terrible for not at least hearing her out. She wasn't even real, and yet that knowledge does nothing to absolve him of the sins he's rapidly listing off in his own mind.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Maruki nudges his glasses up into his hair, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until neon colors begin to waver behind his eyelids. ]
I'll answer any questions you have. I'm sorry...
no subject
[A glass for Maruki, and a glass for himself. He sets them both on the table, but doesn't touch his own yet.]
You always assume that I'll think the worst of you. [Gentle. He's still quiet, but he sounds gentler than he did before.] And you always apologize for the wrong thing.
[Ruined our life, still tolls in his head like a bell, and he thinks he's starting to get a clearer picture. Or at least, a better one to guess at.
Akira waits after that. Maybe for a long time, or maybe for very little at all. But he waits until Maruki looks at him again before he continues.
It's the first time that his voice and expression crack with pain.]
Bearing worse doesn't mean you have to bear more. Why didn't you let me handle it?
[He has questions - he has many, and he will ask them. But there's none that weigh on his mind more than that.]
no subject
It's the sort of pain he hasn't seen or heard on Akira since those flowers and vines were doing their very best to choke them.
He winces for having been the one to cause it this time, but he'd never make a different choice. That's all the trouble, isn't it? Every time he does something to help Akira or Rumi, it hurts them just as much. ]
Kurusu...
[ A deep inhale, a slow exhale, and he straightens his back to sit upright. Looks Akira dead in the eye, tone gentle even though his resolve is unwavering. ]
I would never make you fight my battles for me, especially not when they're a product of my own cognition. [ The doppelgangers have to be. This place preys on their memories, their fears, their regrets. ] I appreciate that you would have... I really do, more than I can say. But...
[ He's at a loss for words for a moment, before he reminds himself for the hundredth time since their reunion that he will be more honest with this Akira than he was with his own. ]
You already do so much for me. I couldn't ask you to do something like that, too.
no subject
[Akira knows he's as powerless to stop the existence of something wearing Rumi's face as he was the flowers that nearly killed them. Whatever tricks are played in this world by the powers that be, Akira doesn't have anything to he can do that will stop them entirely.
But even so...]
Fighting the product of another's condition is exactly what it's been my job to do for over a year's time. But more than that... [Akira looks at him, and feels the phantom velvet of petals between his fingers.] You and I promised to shoulder our burdens together.
[Maybe... If it hadn't been Akira that was with him, then maybe...
He breathes out, like the sigh will loose what's in his chest.]
It doesn't matter now. It's already done. [The part of him that's wounded, the part of him that's weak - Akira shutters it off, closes it away. He knows how to do this, even if he's never truly done it with Maruki. He's had plenty of practice with others.] You sound sure, but... Why do you feel certain this came from your cognition?
i should have stayed logged into haruaki
It breaks his heart, every time he looks at Akira and feels like he could be looking in a mirror.
But that question needs to be answered first. It's almost comforting to slip into, talk of applying what he knows of cognitive psience to what he knows of this reality. ]
It would be wrong to say that everything that happens to us in this reality is a byproduct of our cognitions, but some things must be. The way the Oracle can extract painful secrets we've never spoken aloud to anyone and put them on display... the wishes we make that manifest into tangible goods and powers. The time a powerful god from a dreamer's reality made his way into this one and tried to wage war on it, and now the doppelgangers taking the shape of people we once knew. [ Maruki scratches at the stubbled line of his jaw, sighs. ] The powers that be here, whatever they are, are the mechanism by which these things happen. But our cognitions are the source.
[ It would be so easy to stay in this realm – the theoretical, the practical.
But that's not why Maruki brought Akira here.
His voice shifts, goes quieter, more honest. ]
If almost anyone else had been with me when that happened... I would have made an excuse to be alone. I can count the people I'd be able to face right now on one hand.
[ And he'd have some fingers left over. ]
You being here is helping me to shoulder this, Kurusu. [ His hands resting over his knees tighten, the fabric of his pantlegs clutching between his fingers. ] You're helping me, right now, just by talking to me. Please understand that.
i would say nothing's stopping u but he wasn't here in april, so
A protest builds in his throat, piles up behind his teeth. Akira has done nothing except allow Maruki to tear a fresh wound in his own heart. What good is it, now, to stem the bleeding of the very damage that he allowed to happen in the first place?
In every sense of the meaning, Akira is the last one that should be here, right now.
But it doesn't help Maruki to fight against it and say any of that, so he doesn't.
All he can do is cast about, grasping desperately until he finds the words to help him. It's the least he can do.]
...Tell me, then.
[He glances away, finally. His eyes rest on the water, the wobbling surface finally settling its movements and becoming still. Akira will do the same.]
You didn't have to, but you chose for me to come with you. If talking helps- [-if I'm really able to help you-] -then tell me what's hurting you, so you don't have to carry it alone.
no subject
Perhaps the way to make him understand just how badly Maruki needs him here is not to tell him, but to show him.
Slowly, he leans back against the couch, hands coming to fold together in his lap. He tips his head back, eyes slipping shut, and breathes. Considers this.
Where to begin? ]
I will. I want to ask you first, though...
[ Begin in a way that he couldn't with anyone else he's told. ]
You know what it's like to change a heart. If someone you loved was suffering terribly, and there was no alternative, would you cut out any instance of pain from their heart?
no subject
When they entered her Palace - he didn't know her the way he does now. All he knew was the distortion that had taken root, rebellion and justice twining around his heart like vines, and the taste of his own desperation on the back of his tongue. If he had to do it now, when he knows every item on her promise list, and the feel of her hair under his palm as he pats her head - would he still Change her Heart?
But - that's not what Maruki is asking. And Akira knows what she had to go through to steal herself back.]
No. [He says it very softly.] I wouldn't.
[If it was someone he loved, he wouldn't, because-]
One of the Phantom Thieves had a Change of Heart. But that process didn't eliminate their pain. It was because they embraced the pain of their past that they were able to heal their distortion at all.
[Even though he wanted to prevent Maruki from feeling any pain... he wouldn't take away what's already there.]
Maybe it's strange, hearing that from their leader. Maybe if I had to make that choice, I would feel caught. But if it was me that was suffering, I know I wouldn't want someone else to erase the things that made me who I am today.
no subject
It's not what he wants anymore. To rid the whole world of their pain, their suffering, by any means necessary– it's a dream this reality has crushed between its palms and rubbed in his face for how unattainable it was. Maruki may not know everything, but he knows now that even with the power of the collective unconscious at his fingertips, it wouldn't have been enough. Pain has value, and a world completely devoid of it is not a sustainable one.
Still, though–
There's a pang deep in his chest, a great yawning ache.
Akira never would have wanted the same thing he did, no matter what. They were opposed from the very start. That may not hurt the Maruki Takuto who has had nearly a year in this reality under his belt, but somewhere inside him still lives the Maruki Takuto who looked at the boy across from him in a warmly lit cafe on an autumn evening and thought, I will do this because of you. I will do this for you. I will do this to thank you.
That Maruki Takuto feels the pain now.
He lets the silence drag on for a few long moments before finally breaking it with a breath drawn that shakes more than it doesn't. Focus. ]
It's not strange. You're... [ On the exhale, he laughs– thin, almost pained, but he laughs as he inclines his head to look over at Akira. ] You're right. Good and bad, beautiful and painful, everything that happens to us shapes us into who we are. I just–
[ His clasped hands wind together, the motion anxious. It never gets easier, no matter how many times he tells this story. And it's never been more difficult than it is now, telling it to the person who intimately understands the responsibility one has when shaping a cognition, changing a heart. ]
I've seen what happens when a pain is too unbearable to live with. May I tell you about it?
no subject
What sort of pain must he have seen, to burden him so? To make the person that's helped Akira hold up his own so deeply wounded?
He doesn't know what he's about to hear. He's heard a lot of terrible things, and maybe it will somehow still be worse. There's something, after all, that ignited Maruki's need to rebel.
But there will never be a world where he answers that question with a "no". Not about this, nor anything else.]
Please. Whatever it is, no matter how painful... I'd still like to know.
cw murder..... ptsd...... here we go.............
[ Any familiarity with retreading this conversation with Akira all over again is offset by just how many ways things are so very different now. A new office, where they sit side by side as equals, allies, true friends rather than across from one another as counselor and student. He isn't pasting more half-truths over a previously told falsehood this time; his only lies have been by omission, and the story he tells now will be nothing but the honest truth.
Even if Akira hates him for it. ]
Rumi's family lived far out in the countryside. We were visiting them for her birthday, and so we could announce our engagement... I was so anxious about it, and she was as carefree as ever. That was one of her best qualities. She never got lost in her own head like I do.
[ His thumb rubs over the ridge of his knuckles, bump-bump-bump-bump, back and forth, not as soothing as it usually is. Maruki clears his throat, presses on. ]
While we were there, someone broke into their home. It was just... one of those completely random things. There was no reason to target them, no reason for any of it. But the robbery attempt went south, and... [ He shakes his head, messy fringe flopping across his glasses as his eyes stay trained on the floor. ] We saw what happened to them. The burglar attacked Rumi on his way out as well, and we were lucky her physical injuries weren't more severe, but...
[ His shoulders ache from how he's slowly hunched over through the story, and his spine cracks as he forces himself to sit up straight before leaning back against the couch and looking over at Akira.
One year and a whole reality ago, he guarded his expression, excised his own pain that he'd so deftly ignored and run from for so long. Here and now, though, there's no hiding the sorrow in his eyes. ]
She never recovered from that. What would you do if the person you love became a shell of themselves, Kurusu? What would you do if their mind trapped them in the worst day of their life?
put me and this whole thread out to pasture
It's a story that would move him into action, under normal circumstances. An injustice like that can't go unpunished. It's no wonder Maruki experienced an Awakening. But even if Akira did something, moved, acted - he's powerless to undo the pain that's already been caused. For all of the work that he had done to help Ohya, he was still powerless to undo the damage that had already been done to Murakami Kayo. His hands can't undo a mental shutdown, just as much as they're incapable of undoing the worst sort of trauma.
His entire stomach lurches as he thinks about it. Haru or Chihaya. Akechi or Maruki. Any of the people he holds in his heart, imprisoned in the confines of their own mind. What would Akira do, other than shatter apart entirely?]
...For all of the power I've been given, there are some things I can't undo. [His eyes squeeze shut.] Wounds that are too deep for me to ever heal. I'd stay at their side, even if I knew it would never be enough. But at the same time... just as I've been powerless to heal those types of pain, I've been given chances to change everything.
[ This is a place where hope shines through the bars of the cage.
His eyes reopen.]
Was that the sort of chance you were given?
cw brainwashing..................................... sigh
That's the thing, though–
Akira's eyes open, train on his again, and Maruki nods. ]
It was, but... I didn't grasp the full scope of what I was doing.
[ Something that still stings in a particular way to admit, even now. If he'd known the cost, would he still have done it?
Maruki can't imagine any reality where the answer to that is no.
He inhales, deep, and tries to reason. ]
You have to understand... I was already deep into my research on cognitive psience. I had the hypothesis that it was possible to directly interact with a person's cognition, but I had no proof of that. No way of figuring out how.
[ An old, familiar pain radiates at the base of his skull, stretches up into his temples, down to wrap around his jaw. ]
I'd been getting terrible migraines all throughout my research. They came on again as Rumi was suffering in that hospital room, and when she told me she wanted to forget...
[ He trails off, throat constricting. He has to look away from Akira for a moment, gather himself up before tying the rotten bow on this story. ]
I heard Azathoth's voice in my head for the first time. [ I shall echo your blasphemous fury with reality so that we may change the world. ] I begged it to help me heal Rumi, and– it did. [ A beat. ] I did. [ Azathoth is strong because you are strong. Azathoth can rewrite a person's mind because Maruki can. ] She forgot anything terrible ever happened to her parents. She was free.
[ The smile he offers up to Akira is water thin, eyes a bit too telltale bright behind thick lenses. ]
Unfortunately... she also forgot me. Our life together. I lost her, just like that. [ Is he still smiling? Everything's gone numb. He can't feel his face, can't tell. The hands in his lap have unwound, clenched into tight fists in the fabric of his pants, and Maruki's not aware at all. ] She's not dead. I know I speak about her as if she is, but she's not. She's happy now. That's what matters. Isn't it?
[ It's a genuine question, plaintive and searching. Isn't it? ]
somebody make Me forget this thread
The guilt. The certainty about destroying Rumi's copy. The way he could only speak of this to Akira.
It should be a terrible thing to find out. Maybe it is. Maybe that's why his gut twists so terribly as he stares at Maruki's face, but if he were to really weigh it in his hands...
The sorrow on Maruki's face is deep and unending, no matter how much he's smiled through every terrible word he said. It's harder for Akira to look at than for him to hear the things that would horrify his friends.
"If I agree to this, the ruined city will return to normal."
But there's one thing that's never really changed about Akira, no matter who he's around or who he's spoken to.
"However, the people will remain trapped, abandoning their ability to think for themselves..."
Humans are capable of terrible, terrible things. The most wretched acts and most irredeemable crimes. That has never influenced who he spends time with, who he will make himself useful to so he may utilize them in turn. Nor has it ever changed the types of people who genuinely worked their way into his heart and all of the things they've done.
Akira knows that every inch of Akechi's hands are drenched in blood and he knows he will never try to wash it off, just as much as he knows that he'll tear himself apart if that's what it takes to save his life.
Because Akira has always known that he isn't a good person. He's only met people that made him want to be a better one, and who he's made better choices for the sake of.]
...So that's what it was. Why you were sure about her. And why your pain was so vast.
[It's not a far distance from Maruki at all, only a few steps. Akira crosses it.]
I can't be the one to tell you if her happiness is the only thing that matters. If what you did was right or wrong. I won't absolve you of it, the same way I won't condemn you for it. But...
[Akira stops beside where he sits, and looks down.
Before him is Maruki Takuto, suffocating under the weight of his own sins.
Before him is Maruki Takuto, who leaves snacks out on the table for when he gets home from his late shift at Club Quartz, somehow always his favorite. Before him is Maruki Takuto, the only one Akira will allow in the kitchen beside him, flowing from one spot to another without either of them ever disrupting their work. Before him is Maruki Takuto, who lights up with the enthusiasm of a child when he speaks of the difference between physics in the natural world and the Metaverse.
The person who Akira cares about, who he's willing to die to save, has killed more than Akira has dared to ask.
The person who Akira cares about, who fate denied him the chance to meet, wiped clean the mind of the woman he loves.
A person who Akira cares about is in incalculable pain.
His hand reaches out
When I was first placed under arrest, I felt cornered in an impossible situation. I felt trapped. I felt betrayed. People I've known since I was a small child looked at me with fear and disdain. If I'd had to stay there, in that place that used to be my home... my will itself would've been crushed. It would've eroded away me. No matter how else any of it made me feel... going to Tokyo was an escape from all of that.
[He's never told anyone this. Maybe will never tell anyone this again.]
I think that, in some situations... an escape is your only way out of it. There's a difference between running away and finding escape from the situation that's entrapped you. I can't say whether or not it was the same for Rumi-san. But I think she was also being crushed under an impossible weight. Maybe what you did was right, and maybe what you did was wrong - but it doesn't change that you freed her from it.
[Maybe, even if Akira can't free him from that pain... maybe something in his words can ease it.]
Since she's forgotten you, have you spoken to her?
no subject
The hand on his shoulder is the anchoring weight that tells him this this hasn't all been some sort of dream. Because what else could it be, when he's finally admitted the worst truth of all to Akira and received not only acceptance and understanding, but a peek into the depths of his own heart as well?
It would've eroded away me, and all at once, Maruki has so many questions that may never be answered. Akira speaks so little about himself, and somehow even less about the circumstances that he came from. He's always thought that the beginning of his time in Tokyo must have been so painful, so isolating, and maybe it was, but–
It was an escape. A necessary one, to keep from slipping away from this world, to become the person he was meant to be.
Had Akira not escaped, they never would have met. That goes for the Akira in his own reality, and the one who stands before him now.
And–
for the first time in his life–
Maruki wonders if he hasn't been crushed under an impossible weight for all these years too.
Just like that, with nothing more than his own story relayed and a comforting grip on one shoulder, Akira shifts something that's been stubbornly stuck inside his heart. Some twist of the knotted, gnarled distortion that still lives in there begins to unwind. If his own pain is real, if it goes beyond the all-consuming grief of losing Rumi, if he's been drowning himself in this guilt and loneliness–
Who will set him free?
No one can do that but Maruki and the person standing before him.
Somewhere above them, stretching so high into the sky that it reaches another time in another reality entirely, there is– was– will be a staircase, and a battle, and a hand wrapped around his wrist.
Here and now, Akira's palm is warm over the tense, tired muscle of his shoulder, and Maruki finds himself reaching up to cover it with his own hand. ]
No.
[ There's so much more he needs to say, to all of that, but first– ]
No, I haven't. I can't. I haven't even seen her. Today was the first day I've ever– but it wasn't her, of course.
no subject
[Akira nods, agreeing, as if Maruki needs to hear it, or maybe he simply needs to say it for himself.]
If it was me... If it was your Akira, too- I think in any reality, I would tell you it's better not to do what I'm about to say. But right or wrong, forgiven or condemned... There's only one person in any world who can give you the answer you're looking for, and it isn't me. [His voice is even gentler now. Maybe gentler than it's ever been, around Maruki.] Maybe you know that. Maybe you don't. But only Rumi-san can tell you if her happiness is what matters.
[Underneath Maruki's hand, Akira's squeezes at his shoulder.]
But I'm not saying that's an answer you have to seek out, now or ever. [He smiles then, and it's a crooked thing.] Someone would probably condemn me, for saying that to you.
[Maruki didn't do a good thing, regardless of whether or not it was necessary. It's simply that something like that has never gotten in the way of Akira caring for someone.]
I can't tell you to go to her or stay away for the rest of your life. I can't tell you how to choose to move on, either. [His other hand comes up, resting upon where Maruki holds his own.] All I can do is stand by your side, as your friend and your ally. All we can do is fight alongside each other, in this world and our own, and protect each other so neither of us ever feels desperate enough to make a choice like that ever again.
[He can't change what Maruki's done. Akira can't change what he's done himself, either.
But they can still do everything thing they can, to guard against doing anything they'd regret.]
no subject
All we can do is fight alongside each other, in this world and our own, and protect each other so neither of us ever feels desperate enough to make a choice like that ever again.
I know how dangerous this is. How dangerous I am. I can't change what I've done, and I never would. I can only change what I do going forward.
–and for the first time, Maruki dares to believe that the story will go on.
It's so easy for him to develop tunnel vision. Too easy, really. It happened with his studies, with cognitive psience, with his research, with the prospect of healing all pains – and lately, it's been happening with what awaits him after his time in this reality is finally through.
But for all the possibilities he's conjured up, all the contingencies he's planned for–
Maruki's never considered what his future holds.
Whether they're able to change Akechi's fate or not, whether he's able to change his own fate or not– life still goes on after, and not once has he spared a single second for what he might want to do with his life. He pictures it now, as Akira talks about moving on, and it's so foreign, so jarring – a great, vast expanse of blank white space and the daunting task of holding the pen to begin filling it.
Where would he begin?
How would he even start to move on?
Akira can't tell him how, but he doesn't have to. The first day they met, he told him the only thing Maruki has ever needed to know:
No matter how he chooses to do it, he will move on. No matter how impossible it seems with his heart still so mired in that tangled, distorted sorrow, he will move on. He will, because he has Akira at his side – in this reality, in the true reality, in so many others.
He will.
Maruki has felt the bone-deep catharsis of being able to share this pain and feel even a sliver of his grief several times over in this world. He's phenomenally lucky to have met a few people who he trusts with the very depths of his soul, and they've all given him more acceptance and comfort than he ever could have dreamed of–
But Akira's presence, here and now, heralds the first time Maruki has ever shared his terrible story and felt a swell of hope.
Their hands are stacked, one of his sandwiched between both of Akira's. It's silly, but he reaches up with the one free hand remaining and adds it to the pile, and the smile that blooms across his face is warm even as it wavers. ]
You truly are my guiding light.
[ Maruki stands, then, dislodging his hands so he can instead press them onto Akira's shoulders instead. For a moment, he only holds him at arm's length there, overwhelmed with such profound gratitude that he doesn't know what else to say.
A deep, trembling inhale, and– ]
I feel like I never know how to thank you. And I know you'll tell me it's not necessary, and you'll mean it when you do– but there has to be something, Kurusu. There has to be some way I can show you even... even just a bit of the light you've shown me.
[ His hands squeeze, desperate to pull him in for a hug, but staying still for now. That's only happened while they were in the throes of the flower illness; this isn't nearly so dire, no matter how close Maruki felt to death as he stared that doppelganger down. ]
no subject
When Akira talks to Maruki, he doesn't think he sees the other him. Not anymore, at least. He sees him, except for the places where he inevitably can't; Akira doesn't hold that against him, because he knows that whatever circumstances are at work, he and Maruki's Akira must mostly be the same person. He knows Maruki sees him, and it doesn't eat away at him the way it used to.
And even so, Akira hears those words and feels like he's stolen away something important and precious.
Once more, he closes his eyes.
When you see him again, he thinks at a person he will never, ever meet, never take him for granted.
He reopens them almost as fast, blinking away the ties over his heart. If nothing else... this, at least, has an easy answer.]
You already know that way, though.
[Voice soft, but stronger than before. Surer.]
Stay with me. [His eyes flicker bright with a promise already made.] Help me save him. Help me save you. And at the end of it all...
[When he smiles this time, it's a wistful thing. Spoken words united with careful, neat writing on a small card.]
Remember me. As much as you can, even if whatever power rules this world tries to take it away... Even if your mind forgets, I'll forgive you. But remember me in your soul. Remember me, whenever you see Kurusu Akira.
no subject
He's already made this promise. He's already sworn this down to his bones, branded it onto his heart. He'll do it again and again, as many times as it takes to remind both Akira and himself that this is not the first time they've met, nor is it the last, and in every life, in every reality, their souls will remember what their minds might not.
Is it really that easy to show Akira the gratitude that threatens to consume him whole? Could it be true that all he has to do to repay Akira is the only thing he wants to do at all – stay.
There has to be more, Maruki thinks, that can't possibly be it, but–
The same words were on the tip of his tongue before Akira spoke. Please. Stay in the office. Stay here with me until I can face the rest of the world, and then stay by my side as I do.
Perhaps it really is the greatest thing they can do for one another.
Maruki's smile is water-thin, tight, wavering as he bows his head, eyes squeezing shut against the heat that keeps threatening to rise up. He nods, a soft exhale of a laugh escaping, then picks himself back up so he can look Akira in the eye. Like a flower bending toward any ray of sunlight to be found in the dead of winter, always, always. ]
Of course. Of course I will, Kurusu. Staying, remembering... you might as well be asking me to breathe.
[ That smile gains strength, as does his grip over Akira's shoulders, one final squeeze before he forces himself to drop his hands. They feel too empty hanging at his sides, but– ]
You forgot one thing, though.
[ Help me save him. Help me save you. ]
I'll save you, too.
[ Even if it doesn't involve rewiring reality to Akira's exact specifications, even if he doesn't know how yet, even if it takes every day of the rest of his life in this world to figure it out, even if Akira tries to fight it, or doesn't want to help him with it, or thinks he isn't worth it– ]
We'll save each other. I've never been more certain.
dear God i hope this is the wrap or u wrap after this or it'll kill me