[It's the same.
A bell threatens to ring in the distance. A home in the heart of Tokyo with parents and dog willing him to stay. It doesn't matter when he leaves - he always arrives on time. The trains move faster, the delays end, traffic lights stop at all the right times - he was born lucky.
Born loved by a hard working mother, who plays the morning crossword with him while she makes breakfast and-
Loved by a stern, caring father who asks him about tests that afternoon, who fixes a tie loosened by a rough housing session with their family dog Hegel and-
Loved by a group of friends whose chat always seems to pop off from sunrise to sunset, a group of people brought together by bizarre circumstance. Scenarios and situations he can't remember now. It doesn't bother him.
It doesn't bother him because he was born a loved child who has three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, friends who run past his door with obscene calls of Akechi, hurry up that don't irritate his sleeping neighbors, for some reason. Nothing bothers them.
It doesn't bother him.
And school is where he is loved most, as a top student. As a student council representative. A distinguished path for someone destined to live a life adored. It's easy. Life is easy.
Good grades are simple to get, shared lunches on the roof with his friends, chats read all day with different memes and comments from students all over Tokyo. Private chats with one in particular, that fill his heart to the brim.
He is loved by a friend that ensures there are late night coffees from a cozy cafe he's visited for most of his life. Brews made from scratch, chess games played - they don't always finish before Akechi's other demands pull him away, but it always remains untouched until the next day. Though Akechi remembers the first time he saw Akira pull a random piece from his pocket, even though the set was complete by the cafe window.
It didn't bother him.
Makes him wonder how the new special at Penguin Sniper is. A drink created for a new hit movie - one he plans to see in the future. Hegel gets a shorter walk than normal, with a promise of a extra treats, though his mother heard. A bag of dog goodies were hidden and he had to beg for Hegel's forgiveness instead.
He always forgives him, because he is loved by him.
And in the familiar walls of this building - it's busy. Very busy. A sensation that gives him a sense of instant unease, though he can't figure out why. He's always around people - doesn't care about crowds.
Once he remembers that, the sensation vanishes. A wick snuffed with a small burst of air.]
May I join you? It's fairly busy today and I was hoping to do a quick round.
[A man at a table alone. The other boards are used by groups. Billiards tables reserved for hours. There's only one place to be and it's next to a normal, unobtrusive looking man, holding a set of darts like he's never seen them in his life.]
Of course, you can say no. I won't be offended.
A bell threatens to ring in the distance. A home in the heart of Tokyo with parents and dog willing him to stay. It doesn't matter when he leaves - he always arrives on time. The trains move faster, the delays end, traffic lights stop at all the right times - he was born lucky.
Born loved by a hard working mother, who plays the morning crossword with him while she makes breakfast and-
Loved by a stern, caring father who asks him about tests that afternoon, who fixes a tie loosened by a rough housing session with their family dog Hegel and-
Loved by a group of friends whose chat always seems to pop off from sunrise to sunset, a group of people brought together by bizarre circumstance. Scenarios and situations he can't remember now. It doesn't bother him.
It bothers him.
It doesn't bother him because he was born a loved child who has three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, friends who run past his door with obscene calls of Akechi, hurry up that don't irritate his sleeping neighbors, for some reason. Nothing bothers them.
It bothers him.
It doesn't bother him.
And school is where he is loved most, as a top student. As a student council representative. A distinguished path for someone destined to live a life adored. It's easy. Life is easy.
It's never easy.
Good grades are simple to get, shared lunches on the roof with his friends, chats read all day with different memes and comments from students all over Tokyo. Private chats with one in particular, that fill his heart to the brim.
He is loved by a friend that ensures there are late night coffees from a cozy cafe he's visited for most of his life. Brews made from scratch, chess games played - they don't always finish before Akechi's other demands pull him away, but it always remains untouched until the next day. Though Akechi remembers the first time he saw Akira pull a random piece from his pocket, even though the set was complete by the cafe window.
It didn't bother him.
It bothers him. It coils around his body. It-
Makes him wonder how the new special at Penguin Sniper is. A drink created for a new hit movie - one he plans to see in the future. Hegel gets a shorter walk than normal, with a promise of a extra treats, though his mother heard. A bag of dog goodies were hidden and he had to beg for Hegel's forgiveness instead.
He always forgives him, because he is loved by him.
And in the familiar walls of this building - it's busy. Very busy. A sensation that gives him a sense of instant unease, though he can't figure out why. He's always around people - doesn't care about crowds.
Once he remembers that, the sensation vanishes. A wick snuffed with a small burst of air.]
May I join you? It's fairly busy today and I was hoping to do a quick round.
[A man at a table alone. The other boards are used by groups. Billiards tables reserved for hours. There's only one place to be and it's next to a normal, unobtrusive looking man, holding a set of darts like he's never seen them in his life.]
Of course, you can say no. I won't be offended.
[ In the months that have followed the fusion of Mementos with reality, things have been quiet.
For a while, it was a profound relief. He hadn't realized just how taxing his work with Azathoth had been until it was no longer necessary. When the world shimmered around the edges one last time before finally settling into itself, when he could see his dream come to fruition and exhale for the first time in years, he'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. Just another kindness Azathoth did for him, ensconcing him safely in his Palace to finally rest.
Perhaps some would see it as a cruel twist of fate that utopia has no real place for him, but Maruki knew what the deal entailed when he made it. He's had years to get used to the idea of being forgotten in favor of a better world – Rumi's eyes passing right over him in a crowd as she laughed arm in arm with a friend, her happiness palpable even from afar. He experiences it now every time he ventures out of his Palace. Kawakami across from him on the subway with her nose in a book, Shibusawa standing next to him at a crosswalk with no reason to look his way, the former Phantom Thieves posing cheerily for a photo and thanking him with the politeness reserved for older strangers. It's a small price to pay for perfection.
With no work left to be done, no use for his former profession and no one who knows him, Maruki has been left with– himself. For the first time, he has nothing and no one else to direct his focus toward, and he's surprised to find how unsettling it is. Who is he, outside of the work he poured his entire soul into for so much of his life? He's not sure that he knows.
With the gift of hindsight and the sole custodian of the memories of their old, painful world, he can see that it wasn't terribly healthy of him. If someone had come to him for counseling with the same lifestyle he had, he would have told them to take more time to focus on themselves. And he has that now– he has that now.
It bothers him.
One problem still exists in this world, and it's his own crisis of identity and purpose. Sort of funny, really. The savior is the only one left imperfect.
He's taking small steps toward looking after himself. Trying out activities he never had the time for – last week it had been fishing, a truly spectacular failure that ended in him drenched and nothing but a minnow to his name. The week before, an attempt at a piano lesson after never touching an instrument in his life. A trip to the arcade where a child in a ridiculous hat soundly trounced him at every game he tried, a knitting workshop where he managed to make one uneven dishcloth, a turn on an intramural soccer team where he pulled something in his back and had to rest in the garden for weeks.
He remembers– Akira talking once about playing darts and billiards with his friends. He's never tried either, never been much good at any sort of game, but he figures it's worth adding to the list of potential pastimes. Penguin Sniper is crowded with loud, laughing groups of friends – and he finds himself at the one open machine, alone. The world moving as it always does, perfectly formed around him but never for him. It's fine, he's used to it.
Until–
The voice is instantly familiar – though not the one he heard in person, all barbed acid and barely-masked hatred. This was only ever on the television, the radio. Pleasantly polite, endearing in a slightly awkward sort of way that Maruki's all too familiar with himself. The perfect detective prince – but of course there's been no need to reassume that role here. Only an ordinary student, beloved by the people who matter most.
It startles him all the same. It isn't like dropping by Leblanc for a takeaway coffee and a quick glimpse at their happy, cobbled together family – Maruki knows what he's getting into there, can steel himself for the strangeness of being unknown. But this– he hasn't prepared for the possibility of being approached by one of them out in the world.
He jerks his head to look up from the darts at Goro Akechi, his eyes wide for a flicker of a moment before he catches himself. ]
Ah, sorry! I was so concentrated on this–
[ He waves the little pamphlet of rules and laughs at himself, sliding easily back into self-deprecation. They have never met. He has never threatened Maruki's life or his work, never trawled through his Palace to learn all his darkest secrets, never stood by in Leblanc to hear him plead with Akira one last time. Akechi has no idea who he is. Everything is right. ]
If you don't mind playing with a total amateur, then by all means. The more the merrier.
For a while, it was a profound relief. He hadn't realized just how taxing his work with Azathoth had been until it was no longer necessary. When the world shimmered around the edges one last time before finally settling into itself, when he could see his dream come to fruition and exhale for the first time in years, he'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. Just another kindness Azathoth did for him, ensconcing him safely in his Palace to finally rest.
Perhaps some would see it as a cruel twist of fate that utopia has no real place for him, but Maruki knew what the deal entailed when he made it. He's had years to get used to the idea of being forgotten in favor of a better world – Rumi's eyes passing right over him in a crowd as she laughed arm in arm with a friend, her happiness palpable even from afar. He experiences it now every time he ventures out of his Palace. Kawakami across from him on the subway with her nose in a book, Shibusawa standing next to him at a crosswalk with no reason to look his way, the former Phantom Thieves posing cheerily for a photo and thanking him with the politeness reserved for older strangers. It's a small price to pay for perfection.
With no work left to be done, no use for his former profession and no one who knows him, Maruki has been left with– himself. For the first time, he has nothing and no one else to direct his focus toward, and he's surprised to find how unsettling it is. Who is he, outside of the work he poured his entire soul into for so much of his life? He's not sure that he knows.
With the gift of hindsight and the sole custodian of the memories of their old, painful world, he can see that it wasn't terribly healthy of him. If someone had come to him for counseling with the same lifestyle he had, he would have told them to take more time to focus on themselves. And he has that now– he has that now.
It bothers him.
One problem still exists in this world, and it's his own crisis of identity and purpose. Sort of funny, really. The savior is the only one left imperfect.
He's taking small steps toward looking after himself. Trying out activities he never had the time for – last week it had been fishing, a truly spectacular failure that ended in him drenched and nothing but a minnow to his name. The week before, an attempt at a piano lesson after never touching an instrument in his life. A trip to the arcade where a child in a ridiculous hat soundly trounced him at every game he tried, a knitting workshop where he managed to make one uneven dishcloth, a turn on an intramural soccer team where he pulled something in his back and had to rest in the garden for weeks.
He remembers– Akira talking once about playing darts and billiards with his friends. He's never tried either, never been much good at any sort of game, but he figures it's worth adding to the list of potential pastimes. Penguin Sniper is crowded with loud, laughing groups of friends – and he finds himself at the one open machine, alone. The world moving as it always does, perfectly formed around him but never for him. It's fine, he's used to it.
Until–
The voice is instantly familiar – though not the one he heard in person, all barbed acid and barely-masked hatred. This was only ever on the television, the radio. Pleasantly polite, endearing in a slightly awkward sort of way that Maruki's all too familiar with himself. The perfect detective prince – but of course there's been no need to reassume that role here. Only an ordinary student, beloved by the people who matter most.
It startles him all the same. It isn't like dropping by Leblanc for a takeaway coffee and a quick glimpse at their happy, cobbled together family – Maruki knows what he's getting into there, can steel himself for the strangeness of being unknown. But this– he hasn't prepared for the possibility of being approached by one of them out in the world.
He jerks his head to look up from the darts at Goro Akechi, his eyes wide for a flicker of a moment before he catches himself. ]
Ah, sorry! I was so concentrated on this–
[ He waves the little pamphlet of rules and laughs at himself, sliding easily back into self-deprecation. They have never met. He has never threatened Maruki's life or his work, never trawled through his Palace to learn all his darkest secrets, never stood by in Leblanc to hear him plead with Akira one last time. Akechi has no idea who he is. Everything is right. ]
If you don't mind playing with a total amateur, then by all means. The more the merrier.
Edited 2024-04-29 07:58 (UTC)
HRUMMMMMMMMMMMMWRHIRIRHIRH cw: mentions of self harm, murder thoughts, suicide mention!!!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteloki
- 2024-04-29 15:49 (UTC) - Expandi'm gonna lose my mind akechiiiIIIIIIII POOR THANG........
placation
- 2024-04-29 23:02 (UTC) - Expandpoor hegel where's his wish maruki bc it wasn't to be akechi's pet. step up do better.
enteloki
- 2024-04-30 02:43 (UTC) - Expandhands you a tear in reality hands you a tear in reality :3c fuck it up king
placation
- 2024-05-11 03:21 (UTC) - ExpandOH THIS IS QUITE THE PICKLE DICKLE A LITTLE PROBLEM WOBLEM
enteloki
- 2024-05-27 16:50 (UTC) - ExpandHeeeeeeeeeey Witch~ I have no idea what I'm doing :'D
behemoth_betrayed
2024-04-30 07:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ Okay, so this was probably always going to happen. Remember how Abby mentioned he was strolling around realities and sight seeing? Weeeeellllllll.... Maruki's Mind Palace? Totally worth poking around.
What could possibly go wrong?No really mun played P5 like a decade ago
Well, as long as it's not boring here! It's certainly striking to look at; dazzling and unreal and synthetic with bursts of the natural. Made of a magic that tastes different to him but is magic, none the less.
So here is Ábramar, wearing a figment that fits better into the man's expectations. As a Behemoth, he's already accustomed to when a new realty reformats his form, it just doesn't happen very often. He spend a few minutes outside the glaring white buildings, idly examining the composition of his own form.
Dark haired, handsome, somewhere ambiguously aged between Old TA and Young Teacher. With eyes that are the exact right shade of gold, making him look faintly feral, despite the human projection. The fangs will do that too, if he smiles.
For now he's comfortable on the fascinated end of stoic as he slides his hands into his pockets and strolls inside. Godly beings do not skip, of course... but there is a certain air of mischief to him. An almost feline sense of 'Let's see what we can mess with'; mirth more than malice, with claws just the same. Or, long black nails, in this case.
Abby even starts to whistle as he slides through the doors. Quietly, so as not to disturb the... people? Are those people? They look... shadowy? How interesting! It does occur to him thatTHIS IS MAYBE A LITTLE COCKY he could stand to announce his presence. He clears his throat, grasping a few fragments of glittering pink air magic to amplify and carry his voice. It's not loud, per say. It doesn't boom, but it resonates in incredible clarity. ]
Doctor Maruki? Are you here?
What could possibly go wrong?
Well, as long as it's not boring here! It's certainly striking to look at; dazzling and unreal and synthetic with bursts of the natural. Made of a magic that tastes different to him but is magic, none the less.
So here is Ábramar, wearing a figment that fits better into the man's expectations. As a Behemoth, he's already accustomed to when a new realty reformats his form, it just doesn't happen very often. He spend a few minutes outside the glaring white buildings, idly examining the composition of his own form.
Dark haired, handsome, somewhere ambiguously aged between Old TA and Young Teacher. With eyes that are the exact right shade of gold, making him look faintly feral, despite the human projection. The fangs will do that too, if he smiles.
For now he's comfortable on the fascinated end of stoic as he slides his hands into his pockets and strolls inside. Godly beings do not skip, of course... but there is a certain air of mischief to him. An almost feline sense of 'Let's see what we can mess with'; mirth more than malice, with claws just the same. Or, long black nails, in this case.
Abby even starts to whistle as he slides through the doors. Quietly, so as not to disturb the... people? Are those people? They look... shadowy? How interesting! It does occur to him that
Doctor Maruki? Are you here?
[ He has been busy. So much busier than he ever anticipated, and Maruki thought he had fairly realistic expectations of the effort it would take to save the world.
Things have become– difficult. He has lost all of his influence over Yoshizawa, despite his best efforts. Akira and Akechi have made it perfectly clear that they have no intention of accepting his reality. The rest of the Phantom Thieves have managed to slip free from its grasp, tenacious as ever, and joined the cause against him. Every loss is another hairline fracture in his cracked heart. He doesn't just want them to comply, he wants them to want a world free of pain as much as he does.
There is at least that hard line: He won't force any of them into acceptance. He'll fight to defend his vision, to the death if need be, though he desperately doesn't want to – but everything is done in the service of showing them that they too could choose happiness.
He has watched them infiltrating each and every room of the Palace from the safety of his observation room, even watched them clawing their way up from the depths of Mementos. They have gone as far as they can. Everything now hangs in a tenuous balance until the day he will meet with Akira, one last time, to plead for his answer. And then–
White static snow across the front of his mind. Azathoth won't yet let him consider the details of what will happen if Akira still says no. His opposition to violence is one of the only ways in which their hearts differ, and if Maruki had to guess, he would say that one of them is going to have to override that cognitive dissonance between them when it all comes to a head, and it won't be him.
So– no need to worry about that just yet, stay calm and docile and focused on all that needs to be done to firm up the shimmering edges of this reality. Everything must be in place when this world is ready to fuse with Mementos.
He's checking in on the progress of the cognitive beings in the exam room when the voice rings out.
His back goes ramrod straight, panic coursing through his veins – not an emotion he has felt in his Palace until now. Even when Akira first infiltrated, he expected that. But this is not his voice, nor the voice of any of the other Phantom Thieves, nor anyone else from the real world that he recognizes.
There is so much about the Metaverse that he still doesn't understand, but he does know that there should not be any living humans left who know how to access it.
He rushes out of the exam room and through the winding corridors of the Palace as quickly as he can, three shadows joining up to protect him, likely at Azathoth's command. Maruki can feel him in the back of his mind, patient as ever.
When he finally makes it to the grand entrance hall, there is–
A man.
A young man.
A completely unfamiliar young man.
Maruki stands at the top landing, looking over the edge of the railing at him with an expression somewhere between shocked and furious. ]
Who are you?
Things have become– difficult. He has lost all of his influence over Yoshizawa, despite his best efforts. Akira and Akechi have made it perfectly clear that they have no intention of accepting his reality. The rest of the Phantom Thieves have managed to slip free from its grasp, tenacious as ever, and joined the cause against him. Every loss is another hairline fracture in his cracked heart. He doesn't just want them to comply, he wants them to want a world free of pain as much as he does.
There is at least that hard line: He won't force any of them into acceptance. He'll fight to defend his vision, to the death if need be, though he desperately doesn't want to – but everything is done in the service of showing them that they too could choose happiness.
He has watched them infiltrating each and every room of the Palace from the safety of his observation room, even watched them clawing their way up from the depths of Mementos. They have gone as far as they can. Everything now hangs in a tenuous balance until the day he will meet with Akira, one last time, to plead for his answer. And then–
White static snow across the front of his mind. Azathoth won't yet let him consider the details of what will happen if Akira still says no. His opposition to violence is one of the only ways in which their hearts differ, and if Maruki had to guess, he would say that one of them is going to have to override that cognitive dissonance between them when it all comes to a head, and it won't be him.
So– no need to worry about that just yet, stay calm and docile and focused on all that needs to be done to firm up the shimmering edges of this reality. Everything must be in place when this world is ready to fuse with Mementos.
He's checking in on the progress of the cognitive beings in the exam room when the voice rings out.
His back goes ramrod straight, panic coursing through his veins – not an emotion he has felt in his Palace until now. Even when Akira first infiltrated, he expected that. But this is not his voice, nor the voice of any of the other Phantom Thieves, nor anyone else from the real world that he recognizes.
There is so much about the Metaverse that he still doesn't understand, but he does know that there should not be any living humans left who know how to access it.
He rushes out of the exam room and through the winding corridors of the Palace as quickly as he can, three shadows joining up to protect him, likely at Azathoth's command. Maruki can feel him in the back of his mind, patient as ever.
When he finally makes it to the grand entrance hall, there is–
A man.
A young man.
A completely unfamiliar young man.
Maruki stands at the top landing, looking over the edge of the railing at him with an expression somewhere between shocked and furious. ]
Who are you?
Edited 2024-05-01 06:41 (UTC)
*/ABBY JUMPS THROUGH THE ENTIRE CANON this is fine right ;3
behemoth_betrayed
- 2024-05-01 07:29 (UTC) - Expandon god abby if he knew the kids from iwatodai he would be PANICKED
placation
- 2024-05-02 10:08 (UTC) - ExpandWell, I'm an underpaid part time counselor with a live-in partner in crime(?) who has full access to my money, for some reason, so I would say you. You are my financial trouble.
What were you using my card for?
What were you using my card for?
[It was spur of the moment.
Another discussion, another argument. Akechi's resolve matching Maruki's own. The man uttering out a desperate offer in the throes of vicious verbal altercation that didn't need personas to escalate. Akechi took it because he knew Maruki would struggle. An acquiesce both would regret, but only one part of this pair would suffer more.
Akechi is an actor. Maruki is too. In terms of being able to play a part long enough to leave-
Akechi will undoubtedly win.
And they arrive within weeks - Akechi waiting every day prior for Maruki to pull back, give Akechi that same out. Continue with their routine that hasn't stopped in months. Years, when counting a false world.
The man doesn't stop. Fills out paperwork, makes calls. Akechi doesn't comment a single time about it.
Even as they step foot into that facility for the first time, Akechi knows he'll win because old habits die hard and a bright smile that was never real, can never wane. The Detective Prince is less known outside of Tokyo, but a few staff recognize him. Kind, generous, sweet and giving - he wastes no time in falling into an old routine. Play a part. Act how he should because if they're worth fucking anything, they'll see through it.
They don't - not the first week, or the second.]
I often don't care how my meals taste, but this certainly-
[Chopsticks dip too dry rice into bland sauce. He gaze raises up to Maruki right after.]
Is an experience. Perhaps you should offer your services.
Another discussion, another argument. Akechi's resolve matching Maruki's own. The man uttering out a desperate offer in the throes of vicious verbal altercation that didn't need personas to escalate. Akechi took it because he knew Maruki would struggle. An acquiesce both would regret, but only one part of this pair would suffer more.
Akechi is an actor. Maruki is too. In terms of being able to play a part long enough to leave-
Akechi will undoubtedly win.
And they arrive within weeks - Akechi waiting every day prior for Maruki to pull back, give Akechi that same out. Continue with their routine that hasn't stopped in months. Years, when counting a false world.
The man doesn't stop. Fills out paperwork, makes calls. Akechi doesn't comment a single time about it.
Even as they step foot into that facility for the first time, Akechi knows he'll win because old habits die hard and a bright smile that was never real, can never wane. The Detective Prince is less known outside of Tokyo, but a few staff recognize him. Kind, generous, sweet and giving - he wastes no time in falling into an old routine. Play a part. Act how he should because if they're worth fucking anything, they'll see through it.
They don't - not the first week, or the second.]
I often don't care how my meals taste, but this certainly-
[Chopsticks dip too dry rice into bland sauce. He gaze raises up to Maruki right after.]
Is an experience. Perhaps you should offer your services.
[ After so much time spent together across multiple realities, Maruki should have known that a deal made in desperation would only come back to haunt him, and swiftly. Akechi agreed to it only to see him suffer, and he certainly won't be the first to back out, no matter how badly he might want to. He'll wait for Maruki to crack, and as they have established, nothing stops Maruki.
Not even this, his own personal hell, the tables turned on him daily as his own soul is excavated in the way he made so many others do. Worse than that, actually, because those they work with are trained and effective. Good at their jobs.
Akechi has spent two weeks playing his part perfectly, but Maruki has spent two weeks scrubbed raw. It's a waste of time and money to pretend to be anything other than himself here, and they only have one of those things in surplus.
He raises his eyebrows at Akechi, expression mild with disinterest. He refuses to cater to the Detective Prince ruse. He won't call Akechi out in front of others, won't push him to a breaking point, but he won't help him along either. He's on his own in this little one-man show. ]
Are you actually beginning to develop a preference of your own? Don't let anyone hear that, they might think you're making progress.
Not even this, his own personal hell, the tables turned on him daily as his own soul is excavated in the way he made so many others do. Worse than that, actually, because those they work with are trained and effective. Good at their jobs.
Akechi has spent two weeks playing his part perfectly, but Maruki has spent two weeks scrubbed raw. It's a waste of time and money to pretend to be anything other than himself here, and they only have one of those things in surplus.
He raises his eyebrows at Akechi, expression mild with disinterest. He refuses to cater to the Detective Prince ruse. He won't call Akechi out in front of others, won't push him to a breaking point, but he won't help him along either. He's on his own in this little one-man show. ]
Are you actually beginning to develop a preference of your own? Don't let anyone hear that, they might think you're making progress.
[ Oh, god. If he leaves the university now, he might be able to make it to the station in time to catch a train that Akechi might have been on, but that's a vanishing chance and he technically has office hours even though no one will come to them but– ]
Ah, did you tell one of the station attendants? Maybe they can catch it at the end of the line so we can go pick it up...
Ah, did you tell one of the station attendants? Maybe they can catch it at the end of the line so we can go pick it up...
[Three weeks after Akechi blew up in the middle of an apartment that always felt like home, to the only parents he's ever known-
They're here. Rumi's voice uttering reminders through a phone speaker that Akechi holds off to the side. Sifting through a suitcase with the bare minimum for their weeklong trip to the mountains, despite her insistence he needs more than what he showed her through a video call.
A break. A vacation. Therapy started. Schedules adjusted. Apologies given with more sincerity than he's ever felt in a kitchen weeks later met with forgiveness that's never lacking.
All was normal. All continued as ever. Akechi thrived in the easy way they all managed to shift back into normalcy, but-]
When are you coming home?
[An old habit that never died. Where are you? no longer holds the same clingy tone it did in his youth, but he asks all the same. She answers - walking to the station. A stop at a konbini. Limited edition snacks they both enjoy.
He shoves another shirt into the case, only folding it up when she makes a displeased noise and threatens to put up his portion of the meal. It works. He wants that karaage.]
There you are.
[Both voices echoing one another the instant Maruki is spotted from a phone's edge, out of the corner of a boy's eye.]
Are you finished? I'm almost done myself. ['You are not almost done' echoing from the phone.] Do you want anything from the konbini?
They're here. Rumi's voice uttering reminders through a phone speaker that Akechi holds off to the side. Sifting through a suitcase with the bare minimum for their weeklong trip to the mountains, despite her insistence he needs more than what he showed her through a video call.
A break. A vacation. Therapy started. Schedules adjusted. Apologies given with more sincerity than he's ever felt in a kitchen weeks later met with forgiveness that's never lacking.
All was normal. All continued as ever. Akechi thrived in the easy way they all managed to shift back into normalcy, but-]
When are you coming home?
[An old habit that never died. Where are you? no longer holds the same clingy tone it did in his youth, but he asks all the same. She answers - walking to the station. A stop at a konbini. Limited edition snacks they both enjoy.
He shoves another shirt into the case, only folding it up when she makes a displeased noise and threatens to put up his portion of the meal. It works. He wants that karaage.]
There you are.
[Both voices echoing one another the instant Maruki is spotted from a phone's edge, out of the corner of a boy's eye.]
Are you finished? I'm almost done myself. ['You are not almost done' echoing from the phone.] Do you want anything from the konbini?
[ Maruki swings into the room, stops short when he hears their dual voices, considers the latter question. ]
Hi. Can we have baumkuchen tonight? There's a matcha one that's really good...
[ And as for the former, well– ]
You're not done, and neither am I. I'm looking for my gloves, it's going to snow, and–
[ He snaps his fingers, goes to check a drawer in the kitchen. Why would they be in there? Look, stranger things have happened. ]
You need gloves too.
[ He hears Rumi's voice, tinny through the speaker, seconding him on that.
He roots through drawers in the kitchen where they listened to his apologies, forgave him honestly. Didn't act like they weren't necessary. Apologized to him in turn for not addressing some things sooner. A hug, a hand ruffling through his hair, shared daifuku for dessert. And then, water under the bridge. Later, while Rumi was taking her bath, he sought out Akechi in his room. Stood in the doorway and reminded him, I love you no matter what. Even when you're angry with me, or with yourself. Nothing changes that, nothing ever will.
He leans back out of the kitchen to watch Akechi now, decidedly not looking for his own gloves, and pulls a faux-stern face. ]
You'll freeze up there, you're always so cold. Gloves!
Hi. Can we have baumkuchen tonight? There's a matcha one that's really good...
[ And as for the former, well– ]
You're not done, and neither am I. I'm looking for my gloves, it's going to snow, and–
[ He snaps his fingers, goes to check a drawer in the kitchen. Why would they be in there? Look, stranger things have happened. ]
You need gloves too.
[ He hears Rumi's voice, tinny through the speaker, seconding him on that.
He roots through drawers in the kitchen where they listened to his apologies, forgave him honestly. Didn't act like they weren't necessary. Apologized to him in turn for not addressing some things sooner. A hug, a hand ruffling through his hair, shared daifuku for dessert. And then, water under the bridge. Later, while Rumi was taking her bath, he sought out Akechi in his room. Stood in the doorway and reminded him, I love you no matter what. Even when you're angry with me, or with yourself. Nothing changes that, nothing ever will.
He leans back out of the kitchen to watch Akechi now, decidedly not looking for his own gloves, and pulls a faux-stern face. ]
You'll freeze up there, you're always so cold. Gloves!
[Maruki doesn't answer.
In and of itself, that's not odd. Akechi's schedule is erratic. Maruki's is less so, but he's still an adult with obligations beyond a random teenager met in an alternate reality.
He doesn't answer, so Akechi moves on. A day of lights, cameras, conversations, school functions, Diet building meetups, a quick dinner nabbed from a konbini. The sun barely spotted through the windows of a subway he never seems to leave.
Home. The news panders on with the same old shit. No message. A nighttime routine that never ends in sleep, not immediately, and there isn't a response. No left on read.
No notes handed over a pristine office desk. Maruki Takuto not unknown to the group, but considered a threat so small that he doesn't make a list Akechi was so intensely aware of for months of his life.
But there's more than one list, a different group working in the shadows of reality. Akechi killed Akira as an abnormal gift granted by a despicable man. A display of mercy and finality to another life destroyed by an unjust world.
No response, and Akechi sleeps until 2 AM. No response, and his alarm jars him awake before daybreak.
There's another list, and he never has intel on the one clenched in the fists of those paid by the body.
He arrives at Maruki's apartment by 6. Taps in a code the man promised to change every time Akechi used it in the dead of night to make a point.
It's quiet.
Quiet, without the rotting stink of a body at the edges - irritation coiling around a sensation too malicious to be relief.
It's quiet. A pair of shoes at the door noting how it shouldn't - a hum, soft music from a record player, boiling water turned down at the last second.
His hand presses against the wall, both shoes kicked off at the door.]
It's childish to ignore someone. If you have an issue, state it clearly and be concise about it. I don't have time to interrogate you.
In and of itself, that's not odd. Akechi's schedule is erratic. Maruki's is less so, but he's still an adult with obligations beyond a random teenager met in an alternate reality.
He doesn't answer, so Akechi moves on. A day of lights, cameras, conversations, school functions, Diet building meetups, a quick dinner nabbed from a konbini. The sun barely spotted through the windows of a subway he never seems to leave.
Home. The news panders on with the same old shit. No message. A nighttime routine that never ends in sleep, not immediately, and there isn't a response. No left on read.
No notes handed over a pristine office desk. Maruki Takuto not unknown to the group, but considered a threat so small that he doesn't make a list Akechi was so intensely aware of for months of his life.
But there's more than one list, a different group working in the shadows of reality. Akechi killed Akira as an abnormal gift granted by a despicable man. A display of mercy and finality to another life destroyed by an unjust world.
No response, and Akechi sleeps until 2 AM. No response, and his alarm jars him awake before daybreak.
There's another list, and he never has intel on the one clenched in the fists of those paid by the body.
He arrives at Maruki's apartment by 6. Taps in a code the man promised to change every time Akechi used it in the dead of night to make a point.
It's quiet.
Quiet, without the rotting stink of a body at the edges - irritation coiling around a sensation too malicious to be relief.
It's quiet. A pair of shoes at the door noting how it shouldn't - a hum, soft music from a record player, boiling water turned down at the last second.
His hand presses against the wall, both shoes kicked off at the door.]
It's childish to ignore someone. If you have an issue, state it clearly and be concise about it. I don't have time to interrogate you.
[ He vaguely hears the front door opening. Very vaguely, as if the noise only reaches him through dozens of layers of thick cotton soaked in molasses. His mind is so addled with fever and no less than three different over the counter drugs that for the briefest moment, he thinks: Rumi's home from work.
It sinks slowly to the bottom of his brain, like a stone dropped into the sea, until it hits the bottom and he remembers.
If not her, then–
Akechi's voice floats up from the ether next, and Maruki lifts his head from the miserable nest of pillows and blankets to blink at the blurry shape of him in the entryway.
He's sure he looks as bad as he feels, likely worse. It's been a long time since he was so sick; the only good thing about this is that he doesn't have a job to force himself to go to, masked up and miserable. He can afford to spend a few days dying slowly on his sofa– or, well, no, he quite literally can't afford it, but that's a problem for future Maruki.
Regardless. He drops his head back down and speaks in a voice so hoarse and scratchy that it cuts in and out like a bad radio signal. ]
Don't come in, I don't want you to get sick.
It sinks slowly to the bottom of his brain, like a stone dropped into the sea, until it hits the bottom and he remembers.
If not her, then–
Akechi's voice floats up from the ether next, and Maruki lifts his head from the miserable nest of pillows and blankets to blink at the blurry shape of him in the entryway.
He's sure he looks as bad as he feels, likely worse. It's been a long time since he was so sick; the only good thing about this is that he doesn't have a job to force himself to go to, masked up and miserable. He can afford to spend a few days dying slowly on his sofa– or, well, no, he quite literally can't afford it, but that's a problem for future Maruki.
Regardless. He drops his head back down and speaks in a voice so hoarse and scratchy that it cuts in and out like a bad radio signal. ]
Don't come in, I don't want you to get sick.
[Guess what? Those adoption papers look like a death warrant right now don't they? Because Akechi is papping Maruki's face at speed nervous to get him to open his eyes. His 'Rumi is gone on a work trip and I'm going to cry for a day about' sleep is long over.]
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
[ You pap the Mamaruki? You pap him at speed nervous until he wakes up all disoriented and startled???
Yes, Akechi does. What a goober.
Maruki huffs a tiny groan, less in annoyance at Akechi and more in annoyance at the very state of being awake at all, then wraps both arms around the little prince and wrestles him straight back down into bed. ]
Good morning. Go back to sleep. It's too early.
Yes, Akechi does. What a goober.
Maruki huffs a tiny groan, less in annoyance at Akechi and more in annoyance at the very state of being awake at all, then wraps both arms around the little prince and wrestles him straight back down into bed. ]
Good morning. Go back to sleep. It's too early.
[ It's a downright lovely day to be outside. The air is just chilly enough to signal autumn's arrival, but not chilly enough to start trapping people in too many layers of clothing. Just toss on a jacket and you'll be good to head out and get a fantastic view of the leaves starting to change color.
Which is what this little lady, no older than five, is doing in her navy blue coat. Or, maybe not? She seems to be more focused on street signs than any trees, looking back and forth between them and a sheet of paper in her hands. Every now and then she takes a few steps in the direction of one sign, checks her paper, and scurries back in the direction of another only to repeat, and repeat. She's been at this for a little while, and the poor thing's starting to look distressed.
She's bound and determined to do this, though. She can! She just...um. Maybe the other sign after all? Or... ]
Which is what this little lady, no older than five, is doing in her navy blue coat. Or, maybe not? She seems to be more focused on street signs than any trees, looking back and forth between them and a sheet of paper in her hands. Every now and then she takes a few steps in the direction of one sign, checks her paper, and scurries back in the direction of another only to repeat, and repeat. She's been at this for a little while, and the poor thing's starting to look distressed.
She's bound and determined to do this, though. She can! She just...um. Maybe the other sign after all? Or... ]
[ Maruki watches.
He prefers to work on his research outside of the house when he can; it's oftentimes the only way he can get himself out during those difficult months between part-time gigs. He sits in a café with his laptop, picks his head up every so often to watch the people go by. A small child on her own is noteworthy enough for him to keep watching, just to be sure she's alright. Maybe she's catching up to an older sibling, or a parent, but–
No, she's all alone. And she keeps walking back and forth, uncertain, lost.
He watches, research and coffee both ignored, until her expression begins to shift into anxiety, and then he's up. Laptop closed and slid into his bag, out the door quickly, but he approaches her with cautious calm. No need to freak her out more than she already is... ]
Do you need help with your directions?
He prefers to work on his research outside of the house when he can; it's oftentimes the only way he can get himself out during those difficult months between part-time gigs. He sits in a café with his laptop, picks his head up every so often to watch the people go by. A small child on her own is noteworthy enough for him to keep watching, just to be sure she's alright. Maybe she's catching up to an older sibling, or a parent, but–
No, she's all alone. And she keeps walking back and forth, uncertain, lost.
He watches, research and coffee both ignored, until her expression begins to shift into anxiety, and then he's up. Laptop closed and slid into his bag, out the door quickly, but he approaches her with cautious calm. No need to freak her out more than she already is... ]
Do you need help with your directions?
[She's happy.
The barren town road should be full of people, lights. Storefronts should be forced into every tiny space, towering apartments should rise above it all. She should be walking to 2-7-2 Marunouchi, Chiyoda-ku and not an unnumbered home on the outskirts of a small town left years ago.
A flutter of doves -
They don't belong here. She doesn't belong here. She does belong here because she should be here. The doves
She can't move.
The doves gather by her feet, splattered in brilliant red. Paint, maybe. Her grandparents are working on the house - want to paint over shades of r̶̙͔̩̦͐͜ę̷̛̭͎͔̘͍͖̲͖̈́̉̾͆̄̔͆̓̕͠d̴̨̨̧̗̫͖̟͇̜̭̼͈̲̯̫̹̔͋͆͆̌̐̈́̽̄͊̀ streaking down the walls, blood and brain scattered across -
Nothing.
Her grandparents discuss the weather with her - they argue over her love life, work, a desire to go to Tokyo to make a name for herself. It's a short lived discussion that ends with her cleaning up the kitchen with playful, dramatic sighs. She brings up the birds -
Birds no one had seen. Not native to the area. Not known. Rumi must be tired, they claim, because flock after flock of doves would have made its way through normal gossip circles. Gone back to them. Her grandfather would have known long before Rumi opened her mouth - she can't disagree.
Even as she sees one come to her window that night, speckled in flecks of red. A tap, tap, tap against the glass to get its attention, get it to move, get it to step to the side because she can toss out some crumbs for it to eat.
It doesn't move. Doesn't waver. Doesn't stop looking into her room and by the time she grabs her family to prove a point -
The bird's gone. Not a feather remains, even as she scours the windowsill for any sign of proof. Rumi's exhausted, everyone decides, before she can get a word in. She's exhausted, she thinks, as she opens her eyes to a barren town road, a flutter of doves breaking her line of sight.]
Then she isn't.
Her mind snaps back, a band stretched to its limit when stark white breaks her line of sight, a cluster of doves flying away. The birds don't belong here. She knows that. The trickle of feathers that fall from them is unnatural. She knows that.The barren town road should be full of people, lights. Storefronts should be forced into every tiny space, towering apartments should rise above it all. She should be walking to 2-7-2 Marunouchi, Chiyoda-ku and not an unnumbered home on the outskirts of a small town left years ago.
A flutter of doves -
Nauseous. Aching. Head pounding, heart wrenching agony crushing her bones, tearing her ribs apart, filling her mind with red and it's red and her parents are red and they can't be red because they died in a manner unknown to her, too full of grief to investigate beyond her grandparents words.
It's red.Then it isn't.
The doves are gathered at the ground - they never flew away.They don't belong here. She doesn't belong here. She does belong here because she should be here. The doves
fly
and she grips the strap of her purse tight. As if it's her singular latch to reality. As if it will keep her steps forward stable and -They're clustered under a tree she doesn't recognize, clumped up and grouped together across a vast expanse of green.
More than she's ever seen - her grandparents will never believe her. A photo could easily prove it, but-She can't move.
So she doesn't.
The doves fly away. Another step forward down a path that becomes more unfamiliar by the second. She isn't afraid - doesn't feel afraid. Wonders why she's afraid when she's never felt even an inkling of fear. Goosebumps flare over her arms, the back of her neck and when she blinks -The doves gather by her feet, splattered in brilliant red. Paint, maybe. Her grandparents are working on the house - want to paint over shades of r̶̙͔̩̦͐͜ę̷̛̭͎͔̘͍͖̲͖̈́̉̾͆̄̔͆̓̕͠d̴̨̨̧̗̫͖̟͇̜̭̼͈̲̯̫̹̔͋͆͆̌̐̈́̽̄͊̀ streaking down the walls, blood and brain scattered across -
Nothing.
Her grandparents discuss the weather with her - they argue over her love life, work, a desire to go to Tokyo to make a name for herself. It's a short lived discussion that ends with her cleaning up the kitchen with playful, dramatic sighs. She brings up the birds -
Birds no one had seen. Not native to the area. Not known. Rumi must be tired, they claim, because flock after flock of doves would have made its way through normal gossip circles. Gone back to them. Her grandfather would have known long before Rumi opened her mouth - she can't disagree.
Even as she sees one come to her window that night, speckled in flecks of red. A tap, tap, tap against the glass to get its attention, get it to move, get it to step to the side because she can toss out some crumbs for it to eat.
It doesn't move. Doesn't waver. Doesn't stop looking into her room and by the time she grabs her family to prove a point -
The bird's gone. Not a feather remains, even as she scours the windowsill for any sign of proof. Rumi's exhausted, everyone decides, before she can get a word in. She's exhausted, she thinks, as she opens her eyes to a barren town road, a flutter of doves breaking her line of sight.]
[It's not the first time she's left Japan for a gymnastics camp, but it is the first time in a long time that she's left and returned as Yoshizawa Sumire.
It was fun. Even when she stumbled, even when it stung that her brain sometimes tells her maneuvers she should do but isn't able to... she had fun. She's come back better, learned, stronger. A handful of new phone numbers sit in her contacts; casual friends she would never have expected to make during junior high or her first year of senior.
I wonder what you're thinking, seeing me now.
She's more prepared for the jetlag than she used to be, but she knows that part is something she'll probably never get used to. She'll be tired, but it will be worth it. Before she sleeps, she just wants a few things... A plate of curry, a cup of coffee. A smile that warms her through more than either of those could.
If she were a little weaker, she would wobble on her feet as she makes her way out of Haneda Airport. As it is, she still feels a little out of it... but not so much that she can't make her way to the taxi cab parked at the curb. Even though she had tried to plead with her father that she'd be fine on the monorail, he'd insisted and given her the money... So it's better not to waste it. She'd feel wrong using it on herself for anything else; that's what she reminds herself as she waves and waits for the driver to open the automatic door.]
Hello! [Sumire's fiddling with her dufflebag, distracted as she searches for her phone. She's only looked up enough to safely slide inside. It's such a quiet neighborhood, it would probably be polite to show the driver where it is on her map app... She just needs to find it! She should've had it in her hands already, but she was distracted...] May I please have a ride to Yongenjaya? It's southwest of Shibuya.
It was fun. Even when she stumbled, even when it stung that her brain sometimes tells her maneuvers she should do but isn't able to... she had fun. She's come back better, learned, stronger. A handful of new phone numbers sit in her contacts; casual friends she would never have expected to make during junior high or her first year of senior.
She's more prepared for the jetlag than she used to be, but she knows that part is something she'll probably never get used to. She'll be tired, but it will be worth it. Before she sleeps, she just wants a few things... A plate of curry, a cup of coffee. A smile that warms her through more than either of those could.
If she were a little weaker, she would wobble on her feet as she makes her way out of Haneda Airport. As it is, she still feels a little out of it... but not so much that she can't make her way to the taxi cab parked at the curb. Even though she had tried to plead with her father that she'd be fine on the monorail, he'd insisted and given her the money... So it's better not to waste it. She'd feel wrong using it on herself for anything else; that's what she reminds herself as she waves and waits for the driver to open the automatic door.]
Hello! [Sumire's fiddling with her dufflebag, distracted as she searches for her phone. She's only looked up enough to safely slide inside. It's such a quiet neighborhood, it would probably be polite to show the driver where it is on her map app... She just needs to find it! She should've had it in her hands already, but she was distracted...] May I please have a ride to Yongenjaya? It's southwest of Shibuya.
[ Maruki would be a liar if he pretended that he hasn't wondered about Yoshizawa over the past year.
He was lucky enough to make his peace with Kurusu during that brief taxi ride. But in the end, despite all that occurred between them during the month that led up to their confrontation on the shattered shards of reality high above Odaiba, to say nothing of the battle that left each other's blood on their knuckles – in the end, that reconciliation wasn't the one that frightened him most.
He did worse to Yoshizawa than nearly anyone. He doesn't expect Kurusu's level of forgiveness from her any more than he does from Rumi. Neither of them should want anything to do with him for the rest of their long, happy lives...
But he has wondered.
He isn't looking. Haneda is easy work. He can pull up to the curb at the arrivals level, lean an elbow out his window to prop his chin up on his hand, watch a plane or two take off, and by then another passenger will have found their way into his backseat.
He isn't looking, until he is.
That voice shatters his cognition first. Bright as the summer sun, perfectly polite, edged slightly with the exhaustion of travel but no less cheerful than ever. Maruki whips around, eyes wide behind thick glasses to confirm it – there must be nothing less than utter shock scrawled across his features, but his whole body feels too numb to register it, iced over dread replacing all else. ]
Yoshizawa-san?
He was lucky enough to make his peace with Kurusu during that brief taxi ride. But in the end, despite all that occurred between them during the month that led up to their confrontation on the shattered shards of reality high above Odaiba, to say nothing of the battle that left each other's blood on their knuckles – in the end, that reconciliation wasn't the one that frightened him most.
He did worse to Yoshizawa than nearly anyone. He doesn't expect Kurusu's level of forgiveness from her any more than he does from Rumi. Neither of them should want anything to do with him for the rest of their long, happy lives...
But he has wondered.
He isn't looking. Haneda is easy work. He can pull up to the curb at the arrivals level, lean an elbow out his window to prop his chin up on his hand, watch a plane or two take off, and by then another passenger will have found their way into his backseat.
He isn't looking, until he is.
That voice shatters his cognition first. Bright as the summer sun, perfectly polite, edged slightly with the exhaustion of travel but no less cheerful than ever. Maruki whips around, eyes wide behind thick glasses to confirm it – there must be nothing less than utter shock scrawled across his features, but his whole body feels too numb to register it, iced over dread replacing all else. ]
Yoshizawa-san?
closes eyes. so much has changed in 9 months but not how insane this makes me
placation
- 2025-11-15 05:31 (UTC) - Expandlooking at the unused counseling sessions to see he calls her futaba instead of sakura.... weirdo
placation
- 2025-12-23 11:16 (UTC) - Expandi'd think it's her being the youngest but she's a bit older than yoshizawa... what IS going on there
cinderly
- 2025-12-23 12:45 (UTC) - Expand [Once upon a time, a boy woke up in a garden.
In one life, a heart broke. And yet, in another...
On February 2nd, the glass is frosted over in Leblanc's windows and terribly cold, a chill that cracks its way through each of his bones, splintering his heart apart with the truth of Maruki Takuto's words.
On February 2nd, he climbed and climbed and climbed. To the very top he climbed, Tokyo sparkling and transcendent under his feet, until he flayed open a heart on the top of a glass staircase to heaven.
On February 14th, he woke up in Tokyo Juvenile Classification Home and struggled through a brain trying to decipher which reality was real.
On February 28th, he didn't remember anything that happened that day at all.
On May 8th,
the glass is frosted over in Leblanc's windows
When do you truly feel pain in your heart, Kurusu-kun?
I wanted us to wish for the same thing.
When someone betrays me.
And when we get there, "I" will save you.
A city known as 7 flourished with life, even as its Chosen flailed and struggled to find their ways home. Their selves slipped through the cracks, losing their identities farther and farther the more they delved through the fantastical worlds that required their judgements. Some remained strong. Some were completely unrecognizable at the end of it all.
And yet, there were two who always remained recognizable to one another. Perhaps it was because the pair lived together after a time. Or maybe it was the fact that the boy caused a Change of Heart in the man with his own affection and bare hands.
You would let me fight by your side?
You never cease to amaze me...
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.
I'm not unhappy, if that's your concern.
There's only one thing that I want. You know this. It's the only thing I've wanted for so long. I can't have it. By design, I can't ever have it again.
I will not let this pain be in vain, Maruki.
Even if I don't remember this, I'll never truly forget it either.
For nearly a year's time, they lived amongst each other. Some would consider it a stretch to say they lived "together"... but what else should it be called when nearly all of that time was spent in each other's presence?
The beginning was still fraught. It still bore mistrust, and doubt, and pain. But it takes time to build a bridge over the wounds in a heart, especially when in the proximity of one who caused them... But care and determination carry a long way.
Trust looked like sneaking behind a sleeping dragon to steal their horde, teaching Maruki how to step quietly. Trust looked being involved in the silliest Christmas movie plot that he could've sworn he'd seen a bootleg sub of one time. Trust looked like stumbling through a world of youkai and saving Maruki before he was trapped as yuki onna's husband til she froze him forever.
Trust looked like filling up Maruki's fridge before he had a chance to notice how much it depleted. Trust looked like the shock on his face at having Maruki in his own apartment, an adult cooking for him like he hasn't had since he was a small child. Trust looked like texting Maruki at 3 o'clock in the morning after a nightmare, a replacement for purrs until he nodded back off.
For a year, he stayed. For a year, the person who hurt him more than any other became an intrinsic part of his life. And in a year, the dome of the amplitheater broke.
People fled as terrible creatures climbed through the streets, creatures that none were equipped to handle but the Chosen. Side by side, he fought with Maruki, Raoul and adrenaline from seeing Azathoth sizzling in his veins. And at the end of it all, a great beast rearing up before him-
Maruki-
A hand outstretched. A promise made and kept.
A heavy strike to his temple. A yell in his ears and the scent of blood in his nose, before all of it goes dark.
"What do you wish for?"
A flutter of wings, a brush of clouds.
"What do you wish for?"
A warm, curious laugh. Glasses fogged with the steam of good food. A blanket put over those shoulders in a lost world. Promises that will never be forgotten.
"What do you wish for?"
A wish that defied everything his heart asked for before.
I wish to save Maruki Takuto.
In an otherworldly garden, Kurusu Akira wakes up with a frantic gasp.
Waking up in an unfamiliar place barely registers; it's an afterthought, after what he's lived through in 7. With the amplitheater broken, anything could happen. It's not out of the realm of possibility that a world of roles has spilled out from it.
Maruki.
But it doesn't matter.
Maruki.
He hauls himself to his feet, a bag he's never owned in any world banging against his back. Maruki. He doesn't have time to waste with this. Not with any of it. Maruki. There's a path that leads away from this spot, so he tears down it without a second thought. Maruki, Maruki, Maruki-
Akira doesn't fear much. He doesn't know what it's like to panic, or lose his cool.
Maruki-
It's why he can barely understand the feelings coursing through him.
He stumbles, trips, catches his hands on the rocky ground. It doesn't matter that it scratches up his hands. A branch catches him across the face, but doesn't stop him in the slightest. It doesn't matter that it leaves a cut across his cheek.
It doesn't matter.
And it matters even less when he collides with a man walking up the path, sending both of their glasses askew.
An apology builds in his throat, instinctive and just enough politeness, it's nearly past his lips when he looks up - and freezes. The hands that were barely touching the man's arms before suddenly clutch him tight.]
Maruki. [There are a thousand weights held within that name, distress mingled with fear that mangles affection, and are a thousand weights heavier than Maruki has ever heard Akira speak with before.] Are you hurt?
[At his neck, a faded red cross breaks up the paleness of his skin.]
On February 2nd, the glass is frosted over in Leblanc's windows and terribly cold, a chill that cracks its way through each of his bones, splintering his heart apart with the truth of Maruki Takuto's words.
On February 2nd, he climbed and climbed and climbed. To the very top he climbed, Tokyo sparkling and transcendent under his feet, until he flayed open a heart on the top of a glass staircase to heaven.
On February 14th, he woke up in Tokyo Juvenile Classification Home and struggled through a brain trying to decipher which reality was real.
On February 28th, he didn't remember anything that happened that day at all.
On May 8th,
the glass is frosted over in Leblanc's windows
and terribly cold,
I wanted us to wish for the same thing.
When someone betrays me.
The boy sleeps in the grass, and he remembers.
A city known as 7 flourished with life, even as its Chosen flailed and struggled to find their ways home. Their selves slipped through the cracks, losing their identities farther and farther the more they delved through the fantastical worlds that required their judgements. Some remained strong. Some were completely unrecognizable at the end of it all.
And yet, there were two who always remained recognizable to one another. Perhaps it was because the pair lived together after a time. Or maybe it was the fact that the boy caused a Change of Heart in the man with his own affection and bare hands.
You would let me fight by your side?
This will not happen 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.
I'm not unhappy, if that's your concern.
You don't have to find an answer... but think about even one thing Maruki Takuto wants to do.
There's only one thing that I want. You know this. It's the only thing I've wanted for so long. I can't have it. By design, I can't ever have it again.
You still have many tomorrows, Maruki. You don't have to live in one yesterday anymore.
Even if I don't remember this, I'll never truly forget it either.
For nearly a year's time, they lived amongst each other. Some would consider it a stretch to say they lived "together"... but what else should it be called when nearly all of that time was spent in each other's presence?
The beginning was still fraught. It still bore mistrust, and doubt, and pain. But it takes time to build a bridge over the wounds in a heart, especially when in the proximity of one who caused them... But care and determination carry a long way.
Trust looked like sneaking behind a sleeping dragon to steal their horde, teaching Maruki how to step quietly. Trust looked being involved in the silliest Christmas movie plot that he could've sworn he'd seen a bootleg sub of one time. Trust looked like stumbling through a world of youkai and saving Maruki before he was trapped as yuki onna's husband til she froze him forever.
Trust looked like filling up Maruki's fridge before he had a chance to notice how much it depleted. Trust looked like the shock on his face at having Maruki in his own apartment, an adult cooking for him like he hasn't had since he was a small child. Trust looked like texting Maruki at 3 o'clock in the morning after a nightmare, a replacement for purrs until he nodded back off.
For a year, he stayed. For a year, the person who hurt him more than any other became an intrinsic part of his life. And in a year, the dome of the amplitheater broke.
People fled as terrible creatures climbed through the streets, creatures that none were equipped to handle but the Chosen. Side by side, he fought with Maruki, Raoul and adrenaline from seeing Azathoth sizzling in his veins. And at the end of it all, a great beast rearing up before him-
Maruki-
A heavy strike to his temple. A yell in his ears and the scent of blood in his nose, before all of it goes dark.
Maruki-!
A flutter of wings, a brush of clouds.
I wish...
I wish...
A warm, curious laugh. Glasses fogged with the steam of good food. A blanket put over those shoulders in a lost world. Promises that will never be forgotten.
A wish that defied everything his heart asked for before.
I wish to save Maruki Takuto.
In an otherworldly garden, Kurusu Akira wakes up with a frantic gasp.
Waking up in an unfamiliar place barely registers; it's an afterthought, after what he's lived through in 7. With the amplitheater broken, anything could happen. It's not out of the realm of possibility that a world of roles has spilled out from it.
Maruki.
But it doesn't matter.
Maruki.
He hauls himself to his feet, a bag he's never owned in any world banging against his back. Maruki. He doesn't have time to waste with this. Not with any of it. Maruki. There's a path that leads away from this spot, so he tears down it without a second thought. Maruki, Maruki, Maruki-
Akira doesn't fear much. He doesn't know what it's like to panic, or lose his cool.
Maruki-
It's why he can barely understand the feelings coursing through him.
He stumbles, trips, catches his hands on the rocky ground. It doesn't matter that it scratches up his hands. A branch catches him across the face, but doesn't stop him in the slightest. It doesn't matter that it leaves a cut across his cheek.
It doesn't matter.
And it matters even less when he collides with a man walking up the path, sending both of their glasses askew.
An apology builds in his throat, instinctive and just enough politeness, it's nearly past his lips when he looks up - and freezes. The hands that were barely touching the man's arms before suddenly clutch him tight.]
Maruki. [There are a thousand weights held within that name, distress mingled with fear that mangles affection, and are a thousand weights heavier than Maruki has ever heard Akira speak with before.] Are you hurt?
[At his neck, a faded red cross breaks up the paleness of his skin.]
Ku–
[ That's all that manages to escape Maruki's lips. One single syllable, barely more than a breath, and then he's barreled into.
Akira catches him by his arms, grips them tightly, stares at him with eyes that are more wild with panic than bright and honest. Maruki blinks rapidly – he's here, he's really here, breathing hard like a cornered animal with a gash of blood across his cheek. Maruki lifts a hand to it, automatic, before pausing and dropping it back down. He's grown used to being more tactile with the people he's close to while in Somnius, and Akira isn't used to that.
But god. He's here. ]
Kurusu-kun.
[ He hasn't called that name in half a year. ]
Am I– no! No, I'm fine.
[ He always thought when he saw Akira again, he'd grin so wide it would split his face. But a smile doesn't even begin to reach his features now. Only concern, sharp and true as he peers down into his long lost friend's face. ]
You're hurt, though. What happened? Is there something in the garden?
[ That's all that manages to escape Maruki's lips. One single syllable, barely more than a breath, and then he's barreled into.
Akira catches him by his arms, grips them tightly, stares at him with eyes that are more wild with panic than bright and honest. Maruki blinks rapidly – he's here, he's really here, breathing hard like a cornered animal with a gash of blood across his cheek. Maruki lifts a hand to it, automatic, before pausing and dropping it back down. He's grown used to being more tactile with the people he's close to while in Somnius, and Akira isn't used to that.
But god. He's here. ]
Kurusu-kun.
Am I– no! No, I'm fine.
[ He always thought when he saw Akira again, he'd grin so wide it would split his face. But a smile doesn't even begin to reach his features now. Only concern, sharp and true as he peers down into his long lost friend's face. ]
You're hurt, though. What happened? Is there something in the garden?
[It's 2 AM DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR BABYKECHI IS AT?
Well, he's here. He doesn't go anywhere. He hasn't moved in a year actually. Maruki urchin Goro's his name now.
Papping away at one man's sleepy napping face with intent. Oh, so much intent.]
I hurt my knees. My legs are tired. My eyes hurt. Tanaka-san bit my shoulder.
Well, he's here. He doesn't go anywhere. He hasn't moved in a year actually. Maruki urchin Goro's his name now.
Papping away at one man's sleepy napping face with intent. Oh, so much intent.]
I hurt my knees. My legs are tired. My eyes hurt. Tanaka-san bit my shoulder.
Edited 2025-01-10 22:55 (UTC)
[ At this point, Maruki doesn't expect to nap uninterrupted. It hasn't happened once since Akechi first entered their home, and until he grows out of this phase, it never will. A not insignificant part of him hopes that he never grows out of it. For all his circadian rhythm suffers, it's more sweet than annoying to him.
He reaches up to catch Akechi's little hand, looks at him through bleary, half-opened eyes. ]
How did a frog bite you?
He reaches up to catch Akechi's little hand, looks at him through bleary, half-opened eyes. ]
How did a frog bite you?
[ Takuto is welcome and wanted in Akira's home whenever, that's a sentiment Akira's made clear once things started getting more 'serious'. It's normally a ten hour boat ride, but among all the pies Akira has his thumbs in he apparently Knows A Guy who can get them there in only a few steps as well if they really wanted to.
But he likes Takuto's place. He's also made that abundantly clear with how many more excuses he's found to be in the area and opt for it instead of a hotel room--not because it's free or anything, bougie penthouses barely make a dent in his wallet, but simply because it's where Takuto is.
They can fall asleep together, wake up together, eat together, spend all the otherwise unremarkable moments of their days outside of work together and Akira wouldn't have it any other way.
But it comes with a hitch. Of course it does, everything does, and that hitch is both of them sharing each other with their work.
Akira had texted the night before, warned he'd be back late, please don't wait up for him, and knowing what an affectionate cuddle bug he is one might assume that no matter how late he got back he'd be nestled up tight against Takuto once morning came.
But he isn't.
Takuto will wake up to an empty bed when the sun rises, the sheets not even rumpled in a way that would suggest someone's been in and out. No further texts saying there was a change of plans or a sudden emergency or anything suggesting he wouldn't be here anymore. How strange.
Or, maybe not too strange. Once Takuto's up and in view of the kitchen table he'll see it covered in papers, books, and occupied by one Takahashi Akira poring over both with the intensity of a man who hasn't moved from that very spot in heaven knows how long. He doesn't even notice any movement other than his own at first, flipping through papers and scanning up and down, up and down, eyes still moving as he scribbles annotations here and there...
And finally perks up like a deer hearing a snapped twig once Takuto gets close enough, all that intensity immediately replaced with a smile. ]
Oh! Good e--
[ A glance to the window. Squinting. Back to Takuto, ]
Good morning!
But he likes Takuto's place. He's also made that abundantly clear with how many more excuses he's found to be in the area and opt for it instead of a hotel room--not because it's free or anything, bougie penthouses barely make a dent in his wallet, but simply because it's where Takuto is.
They can fall asleep together, wake up together, eat together, spend all the otherwise unremarkable moments of their days outside of work together and Akira wouldn't have it any other way.
But it comes with a hitch. Of course it does, everything does, and that hitch is both of them sharing each other with their work.
Akira had texted the night before, warned he'd be back late, please don't wait up for him, and knowing what an affectionate cuddle bug he is one might assume that no matter how late he got back he'd be nestled up tight against Takuto once morning came.
But he isn't.
Takuto will wake up to an empty bed when the sun rises, the sheets not even rumpled in a way that would suggest someone's been in and out. No further texts saying there was a change of plans or a sudden emergency or anything suggesting he wouldn't be here anymore. How strange.
Or, maybe not too strange. Once Takuto's up and in view of the kitchen table he'll see it covered in papers, books, and occupied by one Takahashi Akira poring over both with the intensity of a man who hasn't moved from that very spot in heaven knows how long. He doesn't even notice any movement other than his own at first, flipping through papers and scanning up and down, up and down, eyes still moving as he scribbles annotations here and there...
And finally perks up like a deer hearing a snapped twig once Takuto gets close enough, all that intensity immediately replaced with a smile. ]
Oh! Good e--
[ A glance to the window. Squinting. Back to Takuto, ]
Good morning!
[ It's not the first time Akira's told him that his work would keep him late. Hell, Maruki's done the same to him on more than one occasion. They both are who they are, and it's that fundamental understanding of their calling to work themselves to the bone in service of others that first brought them together. Maruki wouldn't change it about either of them even if he could.
However.
It is the first time he's woken up alone, and groggy confusion quickly spikes into anxiety as he scrambles out of bed. ]
Akira...?
[ His apartment is small, to say the least, and the sleepy-scared name has no sooner left his mouth than the man appears before him.
Surrounded on all sides by his work.
That sudden dread balled up in Maruki's gut dissipates, his heart rate working to slow back down. When Akira looks up at him, beaming brightly, all he can do is raise his eyebrows. ]
Good morning– how long have you been out here?
[ HMM. ]
However.
It is the first time he's woken up alone, and groggy confusion quickly spikes into anxiety as he scrambles out of bed. ]
Akira...?
[ His apartment is small, to say the least, and the sleepy-scared name has no sooner left his mouth than the man appears before him.
Surrounded on all sides by his work.
That sudden dread balled up in Maruki's gut dissipates, his heart rate working to slow back down. When Akira looks up at him, beaming brightly, all he can do is raise his eyebrows. ]
Good morning– how long have you been out here?
[ HMM. ]
['Tonight, just rest here. You're alright.'
And he did. Does. Minimal pushback given - I'm leaving soon a known lie between them. Akechi isn't going anywhere.
And he doesn't. He shuffles under blankets, pulls them to his shaking shoulders. Even the kotatsu isn't warm enough during the few afternoons he drags himself down there out of desperation. These blankets are worthless. The body next to him less so.]
I'm alright.
[He repeats long after the initial statement was made. A shaky inhale. Then a stronger one because he won't be controlled by plants and-
He doesn't know if Maruki's awake. Thinks he might be, given the not so steady breathing.]
They say the dreams you have - they reflect something you want in reality. Do you think that's true?
And he did. Does. Minimal pushback given - I'm leaving soon a known lie between them. Akechi isn't going anywhere.
And he doesn't. He shuffles under blankets, pulls them to his shaking shoulders. Even the kotatsu isn't warm enough during the few afternoons he drags himself down there out of desperation. These blankets are worthless. The body next to him less so.]
I'm alright.
[He repeats long after the initial statement was made. A shaky inhale. Then a stronger one because he won't be controlled by plants and-
He doesn't know if Maruki's awake. Thinks he might be, given the not so steady breathing.]
They say the dreams you have - they reflect something you want in reality. Do you think that's true?
[ Of course Maruki is awake. Akechi came to him in the middle of the night with a chest wound that still lingers on his palms; the anxiety still festering in his gut after that would keep him up even if the vines steadily winding through his airway didn't.
He tips his head to the side to look at Akechi nestled on the pillow next to him, blurry through the darkness. ]
In some cases, sure. But not every dream is indicative of something you want. You can just as readily dream about something you fear, or regret... [ He clears his throat, faint. ] We actually know very little about the science behind dreams. It's fascinating stuff.
He tips his head to the side to look at Akechi nestled on the pillow next to him, blurry through the darkness. ]
In some cases, sure. But not every dream is indicative of something you want. You can just as readily dream about something you fear, or regret... [ He clears his throat, faint. ] We actually know very little about the science behind dreams. It's fascinating stuff.
[He knows at the end of the day, he wouldn't choose any differently. But it doesn't change the fact that living in the machiya is torturous.
It's warm, and it's loving, and that's why it's a dagger into his back every day. Every moment, he can see the echoes of the Maruki Takuto that he lived with for almost an entire year, and it eats away at him, heart and mind.
This world is a cruel prison in which he must repent for both of the people he couldn't save.
With every new trick the world throws at him, it feels like he'll lose a piece of himself. The Kurusu Akira that went home after changing the heart of the person that was one of his best friends, and the Kurusu Akira that tumbled through worlds to find him again. Bleeding together, split apart, both of them ground down to dust until there's nothing left. When the flowers come for his throat, it's no surprise. Only a bitter acceptance.
He's tired all the time. Weak, and even after the alcove, still full of things he can't bring himself to say. Akira knows what he needs to do, but he still can't find the words, let alone the will.
Maruki didn't see it all. He didn't see the best and the worst of it. He wonders if he'd be better off, just letting the disease take him than having to say any of it.
The disease doesn't alter his mind, but thinking about all of it weakens his heart. Perhaps that's why he wanders, away from the kotatsu and down the halls, thoughtless yet with purpose.
Maybe that's why he ends up in front of Maruki's room.
He knocks quietly, and there's no answer. He pushes open the door, and the light is on.
Nothing else registers but Maruki, slumped over uncomfortably and asleep, glasses still on, so achingly familiar that he feels it in his teeth, slouched over the desk in their apartment in 7, and it takes months before they both overcome the pain enough to be near one another, and one night starts the rest of many, silently and gently sliding his glasses off without waking him
because his heart is weak.
and his heart is weak.
And his heart is still so very, very weak.
His confidant. His ally. His betrayer. His friend. Around Maruki Takuto, there has never been a day that his heart wasn't weak.
His hands reach out with muscle memory.
Akira's known that since he woke up here... hasn't he?
His fingers touch the frames he knows as well as his own, but- maybe it's because he's sick, so unsteady. Maybe it's because he's had to try so hard to stamp out the reflex to make sure he didn't fall asleep in them every night.
Whatever it is, Maruki stirs before he finishes.]
...!
[A wordless, breathless exclamation slips out of him, his whole body locking up as brown eyes blink open still unfocused with sleep.
He can't get himself to release his grip on the glasses. There's no words for how bad this is.
It's- too late to get out of it. Too late to explain it away. Akira swallows, and says the only thing left to say.]
I'm sorry. [A hoarse whisper dropped between them.] I didn't mean to wake you up.
It's warm, and it's loving, and that's why it's a dagger into his back every day. Every moment, he can see the echoes of the Maruki Takuto that he lived with for almost an entire year, and it eats away at him, heart and mind.
This world is a cruel prison in which he must repent for both of the people he couldn't save.
With every new trick the world throws at him, it feels like he'll lose a piece of himself. The Kurusu Akira that went home after changing the heart of the person that was one of his best friends, and the Kurusu Akira that tumbled through worlds to find him again. Bleeding together, split apart, both of them ground down to dust until there's nothing left. When the flowers come for his throat, it's no surprise. Only a bitter acceptance.
He's tired all the time. Weak, and even after the alcove, still full of things he can't bring himself to say. Akira knows what he needs to do, but he still can't find the words, let alone the will.
Maruki didn't see it all. He didn't see the best and the worst of it. He wonders if he'd be better off, just letting the disease take him than having to say any of it.
The disease doesn't alter his mind, but thinking about all of it weakens his heart. Perhaps that's why he wanders, away from the kotatsu and down the halls, thoughtless yet with purpose.
Maybe that's why he ends up in front of Maruki's room.
He knocks quietly, and there's no answer. He pushes open the door, and the light is on.
Nothing else registers but Maruki, slumped over uncomfortably and asleep, glasses still on, so achingly familiar that he feels it in his teeth, slouched over the desk in their apartment in 7, and it takes months before they both overcome the pain enough to be near one another, and one night starts the rest of many, silently and gently sliding his glasses off without waking him
because his heart is weak.
and his heart is weak.
And his heart is still so very, very weak.
His confidant. His ally. His betrayer. His friend. Around Maruki Takuto, there has never been a day that his heart wasn't weak.
His hands reach out with muscle memory.
Akira's known that since he woke up here... hasn't he?
His fingers touch the frames he knows as well as his own, but- maybe it's because he's sick, so unsteady. Maybe it's because he's had to try so hard to stamp out the reflex to make sure he didn't fall asleep in them every night.
Whatever it is, Maruki stirs before he finishes.]
...!
[A wordless, breathless exclamation slips out of him, his whole body locking up as brown eyes blink open still unfocused with sleep.
He can't get himself to release his grip on the glasses. There's no words for how bad this is.
It's- too late to get out of it. Too late to explain it away. Akira swallows, and says the only thing left to say.]
I'm sorry. [A hoarse whisper dropped between them.] I didn't mean to wake you up.
[
It's two in the morning. She has to be awake in four hours. Got up to get water, found him facedown in his books. A hand between his shoulder blades, a soft but sleep-roughened voice. Their apartment is a darkened blur as she takes him by the hand to lead him back to bed.
It's two in the morning. There's no one else in his apartment. No one is coming to look after him, and he never learned to be very good at looking after himself.
It's two in the morning– ]
Kurusu...?
[ Some synapses have crossed in his feverish mind, shoved this way and that by the flowering vines pushing their way up from his chest cavity. Surely that's the reason he dreams of Akira, and–
He blinks, feels how heavy his eyelids are. Tries to pick his head up, feels how it swims as the room around him lurches.
There are still wildflower petals in his pockets.
It's the farthest thing from a dream.
Maruki's eyes open wider, some of the haze clearing away. Akira's fingers are still curled around the frames.
At every turn, for months now, he's discovered something else that the Kurusu Akira he left behind on Christmas Eve would have no reason to know about him – yet it's all common knowledge to this Akira, the kind only afforded to a person over an extended period of close, constant contact.
He knows he's not the right Maruki. He saw the fear in Akira's eyes when they first met in the garden. He's seen the grief behind them ever since. Somewhere out there, there is a Maruki Takuto who knew a year of care with the most precious person still left in his life, and he's just as lost as this Akira is, and there is nothing Maruki can do for either of them.
He doesn't try to move his head, doesn't reach up to bat Akira's hand away. Just watches him, brows creasing in the middle in confusion and sympathy, illness and desperation making him weak. ]
It's alright. How did you know...?
Takkun. Wake up.
Hey.
Let me take those. Isn't that better?
This is why you get such bad headaches, you know...
If you didn't do it every time, I wouldn't have to say it every time. Silly man.
Come on. You're done working.
No, I know.
I know...
It'll still be there in the morning. Unless the zashiki-warashi comes to mess up all your papers? Ooh...
I'm kidding!
Oh, you look so tired.
No, I'll hang onto them, don't worry.
Just come close your eyes with me.
It's two in the morning. She has to be awake in four hours. Got up to get water, found him facedown in his books. A hand between his shoulder blades, a soft but sleep-roughened voice. Their apartment is a darkened blur as she takes him by the hand to lead him back to bed.
It's two in the morning. There's no one else in his apartment. No one is coming to look after him, and he never learned to be very good at looking after himself.
It's two in the morning– ]
Kurusu...?
[ Some synapses have crossed in his feverish mind, shoved this way and that by the flowering vines pushing their way up from his chest cavity. Surely that's the reason he dreams of Akira, and–
He blinks, feels how heavy his eyelids are. Tries to pick his head up, feels how it swims as the room around him lurches.
There are still wildflower petals in his pockets.
It's the farthest thing from a dream.
Maruki's eyes open wider, some of the haze clearing away. Akira's fingers are still curled around the frames.
At every turn, for months now, he's discovered something else that the Kurusu Akira he left behind on Christmas Eve would have no reason to know about him – yet it's all common knowledge to this Akira, the kind only afforded to a person over an extended period of close, constant contact.
He knows he's not the right Maruki. He saw the fear in Akira's eyes when they first met in the garden. He's seen the grief behind them ever since. Somewhere out there, there is a Maruki Takuto who knew a year of care with the most precious person still left in his life, and he's just as lost as this Akira is, and there is nothing Maruki can do for either of them.
He doesn't try to move his head, doesn't reach up to bat Akira's hand away. Just watches him, brows creasing in the middle in confusion and sympathy, illness and desperation making him weak. ]
It's alright. How did you know...?
i have to drop this. anyway cw: blood and petals we know the drill
arsenist
- 2025-04-05 03:29 (UTC) - Expandwell no we can't BOTH go to the drop page. one of us has to suffer
placation
- 2025-06-12 07:19 (UTC) - Expandwell. i've got bad news, boss. we will almost certainly do this again.
arsenist
- 2025-09-02 13:26 (UTC) - Expand[They speak about grief over a kitchen bar.
A countertop untouched from their last meal together - crumbs, stains. It's annoying. Akechi lays lethargic and territorial across the ice cold countertop anyway. His fingers dangle over the opposite edge, head resting on his arms. Maruki's talking. Cooking. Akechi thinks he whaps at his gloved hands with a napkin - plucks at his fingers with a pair of chopsticks. Maybe it’s the cold air from a perpetually open window nipping at his skin.
There's a muffled complaint about 'how this is no different than sitting on the counter' that Akechi barely hears, acknowledges with only a too slow blink Maruki would never see.
His eyes stay fixed on bright bright red - oshiruko, curry, any number of meals could have stained that spot. He’s here more often than he isn't these days - turns out, their homes aren't far apart. Maruki found him within days of their return. Akechi returned the favor by following him home from the shadows a week later.
The spot's stained. He’ll have to remember not leave his homework there anymore.
There’s warmth against his shoulder, as if someone knocked into him. Akechi doesn’t acknowledge it with a look or otherwise. That phantom touch lingers and burns while Maruki rambles about mercy and torment. Akechi feels the latter as he raises the tea to his lips, lava burning the inside of his mouth, steam blinding his vision. Maruki looks like a ghost through the haze.
anger.
In the dead of night, when Akechi can’t take it anymore. When a gun is brandished in a pitch black room meant for one, now housing two. There’s no end to the vile words that flow from his lips - topics meandering from one grievance to the next.
Akechi can’t see Maruki hidden in the shadows of his room, of Maruki’s room, of Akechi’s room and it doesn’t matter - he can feel it. He can hear it. Every smug reaction, every prod of why he’s mad when he’s always calm and Akechi feels calm in the throes of his righteous anger at the world, feels calm when his throat gets dry, scratchy and painful with every passing hour. Feels calm when the steel in his hand gets heavier with every passing second - as if a hand is forcing it down. Maybe it is. Maybe he is. It’s warm. Ice cold.
Akechi wakes up in a room - not his own, maybe Maruki’s, maybe someone else’s entirely. He can’t find his gun - wonders if he had it to begin with. His finger loops around an imaginary trigger anyway.
The latte tastes like shit. Sticks to the inside of his throat, heavier than the weight of a gun only a few days ago, yesterday, a week ago. He can’t find the right words to respond, so he doesn’t. Only sips at the scraps of lukewarm beverage, eyes an untouched manju between them - it’s too sweet for his liking, must be the same for Maruki who doesn’t even attempt to reach across the table to pluck it apart. He must have ordered it when they walked into the shop - no one’s come by their table in hours. Akechi hasn’t looked up once in that time - incapable of meeting the gaze of someone lecturing him about this or that. It’s irritating. The words don’t register.
The voice fades into the tap, tap, tap of footsteps on the other side of a short barrier between cafe and world, the murmur of quieter conversations around them. Someone mentions the Detective Prince, but Akechi doesn’t feel like being that today. Offers a smile, a wave, allows a selfie at the table Maruki can’t be a part of.
Maruki has no family.
Akechi knew that.
They were alone.Maruki has no family, so Akechi isn’t trespassing when he uses a spare key to get into the home.
Maruki has a friend.
Akechi learns that-
When Shibusawa walks in with a box in hand. Akechi doesn’t bother introducing himself. Doesn’t need to. 'Why’s the Detective Prince here? There isn’t an investigation, right?’ But Akechi doesn’t feel like being that today. The air is cold. He stares at the stained countertop and-Maruki had-
The tea scalds his tongue on a couch meant for more than its one occupant, an untouched blanket thrown across the arm from the last unwanted visitor to be here.
The television murmurs about forgiveness - residual commentary from the change of hearts that occurred only weeks ago, months ago. The woman’s voice familiar in mannerism and topic, though he can't place why.
The top of his mouth feels numb - the scalding liquid flows down his throat. He doesn’t wait for it to cool. It doesn't matter if he does.
Maruki was-
He can’t take it he can’t take it he can’t take it he can’t take it he can’t take it a trigger’s weight makes him feel like he can take it he can take it he can take it with ice cold steel pressed at a space above where the rim of glasses would sit if he wore them, right between the eyes because he can’t take it he can’t take it he can’t take it so he-
Wakes up in a room, not his own, maybe Maruki’s - signs of life taken off the walls, out of the cabinets. An unwashed worn futon remains beside the bed, so Akechi continues to lay there.
He doesn’t come by anymore. Only shuts the window in one bedroom and tries to replace it with an open one in another.
Akechi's apartment doesn’t face the right direction. He can’t feel phantom fingers in his hair with each gust - only hears it. The air is stifling. Suffocating. He wonders if it’s possible to stop breathing through will alone. Has no one to ask such an absurd question to. The night’s spent staring up a pristine white wall, staring at a too white wall, staring a wall that may not be white at all because the longer he looks, the less color he sees and-
There’s only one photo of Maruki in Akechi’s phone.
Their memories, photos, a world removed from this one -
The cafe girl tags him on Instagram - an untouched manju, a near empty drink, a false smile of someone he didn’t want to be that day and only one chair around that small table.He leaves a kaomoji in response. Mandatory. Required. He has to acknowledge it and-
His phone ding, ding, dings all day with reactions, comments to it. It makes him dizzy. He can't think.
There’s only a single photo of Maruki on Akechi’s phone that he deletes in a moment of anger, with steel against his head, a bagged up futon in his trash and-
There is no photo of Maruki left in his world. There is no photo of his mom left in reality. There are numerous photos of Masayoshi Shido still plastered up in storefronts and alleyways, far more of Akechi Goro whose 15 minutes of fame extend for as long as people own him.
He thinks it’s good that neither of them have a photo, suddenly.
Thinks it’s good his borrowed key stops working.
That his couch feels uncomfortable.
That steel becomes enjoyable.
That the cafe makes him sick to his stomach.
And he thinks it’s good that his sluggish eyes become difficult to open.
And he thinks it’s good when a wish is granted from what little remains of Maruki Takuto in the world and-
It’s mercy. It's forgiveness. It's agony. Akechi never wanted any of it. Can’t bring himself to care enough to fight it and-
He thinks it’s good when his vision blurs the few minutes he’s awake every day. It must be spring, maybe, because cobwebs look like curtains across his windowsill, at the corners of his bed, string across his ceiling as the only bit of decoration in a once pristine home.
Hello, welcome home ~♡!
[ Said from the couch of [Eyn Sof] 2.0. Squatters rights exist for a reason and he sure has taken it upon himself to make a little home out of this office space. He looks as relaxed as ever lounging on his back, arms folded behind his head like a makeshift pillow.
He expected Douman somehow. It's not. It's only Maruki, who he's seen and heard in passing. Maybe they met once. Who knows! ]
Want a snack? That'll be 50 shards.
[ Said from the couch of [Eyn Sof] 2.0. Squatters rights exist for a reason and he sure has taken it upon himself to make a little home out of this office space. He looks as relaxed as ever lounging on his back, arms folded behind his head like a makeshift pillow.
He expected Douman somehow. It's not. It's only Maruki, who he's seen and heard in passing. Maybe they met once. Who knows! ]
Want a snack? That'll be 50 shards.
[ ? ? ? ]
What?
[ Maruki hasn't even gotten past the doorway. He stands frozen in it, staring wildly at a man who he's only ever seen flitting about around Akira's clinic. A karasu tengu, the good doctor had chirped at him when he asked after watching him quite literally fly off their shared balcony. Not to be trusted, but he's not a bad guy either!
What a wonderful reminder not to trust Akira's judgment of character. ]
This is my office, you can't charge me for– how did you get in here?
What?
[ Maruki hasn't even gotten past the doorway. He stands frozen in it, staring wildly at a man who he's only ever seen flitting about around Akira's clinic. A karasu tengu, the good doctor had chirped at him when he asked after watching him quite literally fly off their shared balcony. Not to be trusted, but he's not a bad guy either!
What a wonderful reminder not to trust Akira's judgment of character. ]
This is my office, you can't charge me for– how did you get in here?
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