(you can pm me here or on plurk if you'd like to beforehand, but also if you'd just like to drop something at my doorstep with no preamble please do!!)
[ He hadn't been paying attention to the show and tell with Rumi, absorbed in rifling through the tub of warm, puffy, fuzzy clothes himself. He hears her laughter, looks up at the propped up phone to see her with a hand over her face, shaking her head– eyes back on Akechi as he brings the sleeve in close to his face. ]
Where... Oh!
[ Dear god, it's nothing more than a single glance of ink off a pen.
Maruki wastes no time. Takes Akechi's arm in one hand, licks the thumb of the other and begins rubbing the fabric. ]
How did you even notice that? You guys and your eagle eyes, making a four eyes look bad...
[To his credit, he does approve of the now missing spot. His life can go on, so he settles back next to his father - kneeled down and digging through the rest of the outfits hidden in this tote.]
Five.
[Under his breath. 'Three! comes the voice from the phone.]
Four. What if they get dirty?
[Oh, there's a single Maruki glove. He digs it out with a-]
Please tell me you learned that in school and not from something you watched for fun...
[ As if he has any room to talk, and Rumi's quick to say so. The documentaries the two of them watch when she's not around, honestly– ]
Go finish packing. Let me sort through this.
[ Let him FIND HIS OTHER GLOVE. He can rifle through this bin faster than Akechi can. Eat shit, son.
Up on the counter where the phone rests, Rumi asks a quiet, vague, did you already give him the thing sort of question, and Maruki makes an equally quiet, vague, not yet, don't rush me sort of noise. Just ignore your parents, Akechi. ]
Oldest? Did you already figure out that you're finally getting a sibling?
[ Rumi squawks even before Akechi has the chance to, and Maruki immediately relents with a laugh that bounces off the apartment walls. ]
I'm kidding, of course! Jeez...
[ First of all, they're two only children themselves, they never wanted a large family. Secondly, it was clear as day when they met Akechi that he was perfect as he was – and enough work to last them a lifetime. ]
Sibling talk begins and ends in an instant. The look he cast to his MOTHER is unlike anything that's ever crossed his face prior. Babies can't ride horses be in an apartment this small.
Oh, the way Akechi mutters 'Divorce' under his breath, ruffles Maruki's hair in a rough, affectionate manner that's commonplace in their family. His wallet?
Akechi looks to his mom, who names off a multitude of places he could have left it. A 'no comes after each one until she mentions his pillowcase.
Right. That's where it is. Bye, Father - he'll return shortly.]
[ It's Maruki's turn to squawk as two hands scrub through his already touseled hair, grey at the temples in no small part due to the boy currently mussing him. Then he's up and out, off to his room to search– ]
Your pillowcase? Seriously?
[ It's going to accidentally get washed one day...
For the brief period of time he's gone, there's a quick conference.
Confirmation that Rumi doesn't want this to wait until she's home, quiet agreement between them. Maruki, they both know, is better at handling the immediate emotional responses of Akechi now that he's well past the years of tears. He's calm, almost preternaturally so, and his words have a way of cutting through the noise in Akechi's mind to set him on a better path. Rumi can offer gentle words of her own once he's calmed, come home later to curl up with him on the sofa for the detective shows they like to watch. It's a system. It works.
He pulls a small envelope out from between two books on the shelf, settles back down next to the tub of winter clothes until Akechi comes back in. Then: ]
[That looks like cash - it's not a shūgi-bukuro, but he can think of little else that might make its way into his hands right now. He did repair that broken window not too long ago, even if it was his fault it shattered. How? It's a mystery even to him. Anyway.
The mood is a bit too somber as he walks into the living room. The tote of winter clothes remains unsorted. It makes his hackles raise, but he moves to sit next to his dad all the same, wallet in hand.]
[ Under any other circumstances, Maruki would whap him on top of the head with the envelope. Three weeks out from a blowup quickly forgiven but slow to recover from, it isn't the time or place for that.
They've all said their apologies, made their adjustments, started new routines. But even with a return to normalcy, Maruki has always been cognizant that in small ways, they could do more. As he's grown up, he's harbored much more below the surface than they were ever aware of, and once the release valve was turned under extreme pressure, he became determined to never let that happen again. Akechi doesn't have to share everything with them – that's what the therapist is for, those things he can't bring himself to say yet in their home – but he should at least know that they're aware, and they'll help him through it all the same.
He hands over the envelope, rests that hand between Akechi's shoulder blades. ]
So you can bring her along on our vacation, or anywhere else you end up going.
[ Inside is a wallet-sized reproduction of the photo of his mother that has hung on the wall since the day he first brought it out to them from the battered little bag of his few belongings. Even this small, it's plain to see just how much he looks like Akechi. ]
[The photo was a lifeline in the back of unfamiliar vehicles - he remembers staring into her eyes over bumpy roads, in dark corners of rooms that were never his and during nights when he couldn't stop crying because all he wanted was to have her look at him.
And she would look at him, if he kept her eyelevel. And she would smile at him, if he didn't blink. Watched her until his eyes burned. Until the next bumpy car ride. Until the next unfamiliar home.
He remembers when the Maruki family took him in.
Remembers counting down the days, holding his mother eye level, crying and-
Remembers how instead of being ignored, someone came in. Not once - over and over. Every night, even when he's sure they were frustrated with him. Even when he couldn't remember why he was crying. It got to the point where a sniffle would summon someone. A different bed was opened to him and Akechi found himself wrapped in a permanent warmth.
It changed over the years - his own understanding of death sharpening. A shared sentimentality among their family, an empathy towards his mother's true situation and what the actual cause was.
The stress of an unwanted child is painful. She couldn't take it. In a roundabout way, Akechi killed her. Her eyes followed him. Became something to avoid. He didn't look at her anymore - she gave up everything to get away from the pain he caused. Staring at her eyes felt like an insult.
Remembers the one day in years he did, how his eyes burned, how he couldn't blink, how he couldn't think and one word from the kitchen set him off.
His therapist said he didn't kill her. Akechi isn't convinced, but it's easier to speak to an unrelated stranger over coffee. The whole affair is pointless when the truth remains just that, but he won't stop going. Loves his family enough to keep going. Finds it isn't that bad to sit with this knowledgeable, friendly stranger. They talk about more than his mother, although the conversation always circles back to her.
He hasn't looked at her since. Can't bring himself to, until a small image is pulled out of an envelope with his own hands and-
He can't think.
So he stares into her eyes, unblinking and immobile. He can't hear his living mother. Only feels his father's presence, always nearby. It helps, so he doesn't move, even if it feels like he's back on the many bumpy roads travelled in his youth.
They look the same - completely. Akechi once looked up the image of a man she claimed was his father. Knows it was likely a delirious accusation made towards the end of a life that spiraled faster than she could handle. Once was enough. No resemblance apparent. He exited out of an email written and went back out to enjoy a variety show with the only family that mattered.
Akechi's wallet is plain with only a few items inside. His mother would easily slot in - he has it open to do so. Thinks his fingers are shaking too much to do it.]
The copy is well done. [His throat is dry. Not a single imperfection to be found on the small image.] But I regret to inform you that you're missing something.
[ Maruki watches closely, carefully. Rumi must be too from where she can see on the screen, but his focus is entirely on Akechi. Those trembling hands, that slight tightness to his voice– he rubs his palm back and forth, just a bit, tries to catch his eye. ]
What did we miss?
[ He knows his son. Knows that if something were truly wrong with it, that's not how he would have said so. His smile is subdued, but undoubtedly curious. ]
[He loves his mother - that won't stop. Not ever. The pang in his chest, the way his eyes burn at her memory - he's certain that won't ever vanish no matter how many times he sits eye to eye with that therapist. He's come to terms with it. Even if he killed her, he didn't mean to. He didn't want to. He loved her.
He loves Takuto. A man who's kept him steady since the moment he arrived - a palm always flat against his back in his worst moments, calm words, soft voice. Always beside him. Only a phone call away. A single request away. The first time he screwed up as a child, he was ready to be placed back into a car. Nothing happened. Maruki pulled him into his arms and promised he wasn't being given up. Did it over and over for years until it finally stuck. Stated it again still when Akechi's obstinance overtook fear for the short time he lashed out with normal teenage petulance. Again still when he broke down only a few feet away.
He loves Rumi. A replacement for his mother will never exist - neither of them want that. It doesn't stop Akechi from being filled with the same adoration and reverence when he looks at her. Doesn't stop him from hugging and huddling up under blankets with her during their late night detective shows, even at his age. His friends make fun of him for it. It doesn't matter to Akechi because he won't let her feel unloved or unwanted. Won't let her die the same way Akechi x̸̢̨͖̪̤̫̮̮̠̯̉̿̎̀͝ͅx̵̢̰̮̱͉̱̦̲̞̞̼͈̉̑̒̀̅͒͋͗̕͘͠͝ẍ̸̡̨̛̟̜̪̫̖̞͖͔̳̃̾͂̊̅͐͝͝x̷͚̥̹̫͖̙̱̭̠͔̠̫͚͉͗̇̃ did. Won't let either of them feel like a noose is their only choice out.
Even if society turns on them, Akechi Goro won't. They will be loved forever. He won't stop. He'll never stop.
There's a childhood habit turned running joke between the three - when Takuto and Rumi are side by side on the couch, Akechi will shove himself between them more often than not. As a child, he wanted to hide from a world that felt too big even in a shoebox apartment and now -
It's to hear 'You're too old for that' from one of them - get pulled into a hug from his Mom. Earn a kiss to the cheek and against the side of his head with that melodious, loving laughter. Sometimes he leaves, other times he doesn't and uses his family as a head and foot rest respectively. It's obnoxious. It's stupid and-
It's them. It's always them. Even when Rumi is stern. Even when she chastises. Even when she grounds and punishes him because Akechi isn't perfect, they still love him. He loves them, so he adjusts. He loves them, so he becomes a better person so he can represent the Maruki family well.
Maruki's face is in his peripherals - Rumi's presence felt in her silence. He doesn't look away from his mom, but-]
If I'm to have one member of my family, then I want all. It's only natural, isn't it?
[ Those nights are Maruki's favorite. Have always been his favorite. When Akechi was still so small he barely came up to his knee, he would wriggle in between them, content to take up the scantest space available, happily squished between their bodies. The sprawling out happened as he grew older, taller, so impossibly lanky that Rumi would joke with him sometimes that he must have absorbed some of Maruki's genes by osmosis.
It happened again just a few days before that meltdown in the kitchen. They watched the news with Akechi's legs draped over Maruki's lap, his head in Rumi's, delicate fingers carding through his hair. It turned to politics, and he changed it. Not quickly enough.
Akechi will leave them one day. It's inevitable. They both flourished with the freedom of university and want him to be able to do the same. There's still a couple years left before that, and maybe he'll want to live at home while he attends school, but it's an eventuality they're preparing for. He will leave, and their little apartment will be emptier for it, that nonexistent space between them on the couch suddenly unoccupied.
Maruki cherishes every moment. Even the difficult ones. Perhaps, at times, especially those. After all, they bring him moments like this. Pain has purpose; flowers grow in the little planter garden on their balcony after the rainy season ends.
Rumi's voice pipes up from the phone, tells him of course, they've got a million pictures he can have. Like they were going to send him off into the world without them in his pocket! Light as ever, endlessly loving, trying to put a small smile back on his face.
Maruki draws his hand up to ruffle through Akechi's hair, then slings that arm around his shoulders instead. ]
[It's beyond corny. His friends make fun of him with good-natured barbs about how moving out will be more difficult for Akechi than his family. It doesn't stop him from taking photos with an open wallet present in every single photo, two pictures facing the lens - his mother, and his parents.
It's a joke at first - photos sent when he gets limited edition meals at Big Bang Burger or empty spaces at the konbini. Extended further when his adventures naturally move further to the edge of the city, overnight trips with friends, weekend outings with schoolmates, and finally the day he moves out entirely.
The first picture he shares as an independent adult is a photo of an empty room, boxes set against the corner, and Kurusu laying flat on the ground pretending to be dead from the exertion of it all. He makes sure his family is looking over the 'dead man.'
The habit continues on past college, past moving back for the interim between degree and job. Beyond a new home formed in a smaller apartment than the one he grew up in, with Kurusu 'dead' in background played up with all the dramatic flair he had in his youth, even though Akechi has to help him back up from the ground afterwards.
He snaps photos at Tokyo University when he goes back for an advanced degree, sends a picture to Rumi when he surprises his father at work with a badge that indicates Akechi Goro works a few floors above him as someone's lackey.
He sends more when he travels around the world, overseas, to any place that will take him for however long he can stay - for work, for pleasure, with Kurusu always facedown on the floor, dead, at every hotel room or Airbnb they end up.
His world is shared with them in every silly image decades after with only an occasional request to send him updated photos. He keeps all the old ones in a small envelope under his bed. Wants to see them as they are for the rest of his life.
They get older, so does he. He never stops sending them, even when he knows Maruki has to show Rumi who's too tired to move from her hospital bed.
Sends more than ever when he knows Maruki will never shake the perpetual grief that follows when there's no one left to share them with.
Sends them anyway, even when both numbers bounce back disconnected.
Sends them anyway until he has to ask Kurusu to snap the final one.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He hadn't been paying attention to the show and tell with Rumi, absorbed in rifling through the tub of warm, puffy, fuzzy clothes himself. He hears her laughter, looks up at the propped up phone to see her with a hand over her face, shaking her head– eyes back on Akechi as he brings the sleeve in close to his face. ]
Where... Oh!
[ Dear god, it's nothing more than a single glance of ink off a pen.
Maruki wastes no time. Takes Akechi's arm in one hand, licks the thumb of the other and begins rubbing the fabric. ]
How did you even notice that? You guys and your eagle eyes, making a four eyes look bad...
no subject
FUCK!!!]
What? Wait-
[In the background, he hears a cackle of betrayal. It feels like a GUN TO THE HEART.
OHHHHH HOW HE JERKS HIS ARM BACK NO NO NO. ]
That's disgusting - stop it.
no subject
[ Akechi Goro. Do you know how many times Mamaruki has licked his thumb to wipe some schmutz off your face? Be so serious. ]
Look, it's gone.
[ Is it? Hard to tell, considering the "stain" was barely visible to begin with. ]
You can pack two different coats– [ Oh, let him have three! from the phone. ] Three different coats, maximum. It's not a fashion show, it's a ryokan.
no subject
Five.
[Under his breath. 'Three! comes the voice from the phone.]
Four. What if they get dirty?
[Oh, there's a single Maruki glove. He digs it out with a-]
Five, or I hide this.
no subject
[ It's probably up for negotiation. ]
You'll need a whole separate suitcase just for your coats. I'm not carrying that up the mountain for you.
[ He's gonna try to grab for that glove now. Give it!! ]
no subject
[Or glove, as it were. Rumi disagrees from the phone - something about being nice before it devolves into laughter.
Akechi is guarding this glove with his life.]
I'm not the only one who gets cold. Did you know frostbite can occur in as little as 30 minutes? Amputation is required in some scenarios.
no subject
[ As if he has any room to talk, and Rumi's quick to say so. The documentaries the two of them watch when she's not around, honestly– ]
Go finish packing. Let me sort through this.
[ Let him FIND HIS OTHER GLOVE. He can rifle through this bin faster than Akechi can. Eat shit, son.
Up on the counter where the phone rests, Rumi asks a quiet, vague, did you already give him the thing sort of question, and Maruki makes an equally quiet, vague, not yet, don't rush me sort of noise. Just ignore your parents, Akechi. ]
no subject
He senses a shenanigan afoot. Continues to hold the glove hostage anyway. Doesn't move from his goddamn spot.
The fuck was that exchange?]
No, I think I'll stay. You're getting older - it's my duty as the oldest child to assist you.
[Oldest. Only. Whatever.]
no subject
[ Rumi squawks even before Akechi has the chance to, and Maruki immediately relents with a laugh that bounces off the apartment walls. ]
I'm kidding, of course! Jeez...
[ First of all, they're two only children themselves, they never wanted a large family. Secondly, it was clear as day when they met Akechi that he was perfect as he was – and enough work to last them a lifetime. ]
Hey, where's your wallet?
no subject
Sibling talk begins and ends in an instant. The look he cast to his MOTHER is unlike anything that's ever crossed his face prior. Babies can't
ride horsesbe in an apartment this small.Oh, the way Akechi mutters 'Divorce' under his breath, ruffles Maruki's hair in a rough, affectionate manner that's commonplace in their family. His wallet?
Akechi looks to his mom, who names off a multitude of places he could have left it. A 'no comes after each one until she mentions his pillowcase.
Right. That's where it is. Bye, Father - he'll return shortly.]
no subject
Your pillowcase? Seriously?
[ It's going to accidentally get washed one day...
For the brief period of time he's gone, there's a quick conference.
Confirmation that Rumi doesn't want this to wait until she's home, quiet agreement between them. Maruki, they both know, is better at handling the immediate emotional responses of Akechi now that he's well past the years of tears. He's calm, almost preternaturally so, and his words have a way of cutting through the noise in Akechi's mind to set him on a better path. Rumi can offer gentle words of her own once he's calmed, come home later to curl up with him on the sofa for the detective shows they like to watch. It's a system. It works.
He pulls a small envelope out from between two books on the shelf, settles back down next to the tub of winter clothes until Akechi comes back in. Then: ]
Come here. I have something for you.
no subject
The mood is a bit too somber as he walks into the living room. The tote of winter clothes remains unsorted. It makes his hackles raise, but he moves to sit next to his dad all the same, wallet in hand.]
My allowance? You're awfully late.
no subject
They've all said their apologies, made their adjustments, started new routines. But even with a return to normalcy, Maruki has always been cognizant that in small ways, they could do more. As he's grown up, he's harbored much more below the surface than they were ever aware of, and once the release valve was turned under extreme pressure, he became determined to never let that happen again. Akechi doesn't have to share everything with them – that's what the therapist is for, those things he can't bring himself to say yet in their home – but he should at least know that they're aware, and they'll help him through it all the same.
He hands over the envelope, rests that hand between Akechi's shoulder blades. ]
So you can bring her along on our vacation, or anywhere else you end up going.
[ Inside is a wallet-sized reproduction of the photo of his mother that has hung on the wall since the day he first brought it out to them from the battered little bag of his few belongings. Even this small, it's plain to see just how much he looks like Akechi. ]
no subject
And she would look at him, if he kept her eyelevel. And she would smile at him, if he didn't blink. Watched her until his eyes burned. Until the next bumpy car ride. Until the next unfamiliar home.
He remembers when the Maruki family took him in.
Remembers counting down the days, holding his mother eye level, crying and-
Remembers how instead of being ignored, someone came in. Not once - over and over. Every night, even when he's sure they were frustrated with him. Even when he couldn't remember why he was crying. It got to the point where a sniffle would summon someone. A different bed was opened to him and Akechi found himself wrapped in a permanent warmth.
It changed over the years - his own understanding of death sharpening. A shared sentimentality among their family, an empathy towards his mother's true situation and what the actual cause was.
The stress of an unwanted child is painful. She couldn't take it. In a roundabout way, Akechi killed her. Her eyes followed him. Became something to avoid. He didn't look at her anymore - she gave up everything to get away from the pain he caused. Staring at her eyes felt like an insult.
Remembers the one day in years he did, how his eyes burned, how he couldn't blink, how he couldn't think and one word from the kitchen set him off.
His therapist said he didn't kill her. Akechi isn't convinced, but it's easier to speak to an unrelated stranger over coffee. The whole affair is pointless when the truth remains just that, but he won't stop going. Loves his family enough to keep going. Finds it isn't that bad to sit with this knowledgeable, friendly stranger. They talk about more than his mother, although the conversation always circles back to her.
He hasn't looked at her since. Can't bring himself to, until a small image is pulled out of an envelope with his own hands and-
He can't think.
So he stares into her eyes, unblinking and immobile. He can't hear his living mother. Only feels his father's presence, always nearby. It helps, so he doesn't move, even if it feels like he's back on the many bumpy roads travelled in his youth.They look the same - completely. Akechi once looked up the image of a man she claimed was his father. Knows it was likely a delirious accusation made towards the end of a life that spiraled faster than she could handle. Once was enough. No resemblance apparent. He exited out of an email written and went back out to enjoy a variety show with the only family that mattered.
Akechi's wallet is plain with only a few items inside. His mother would easily slot in - he has it open to do so. Thinks his fingers are shaking too much to do it.]
The copy is well done. [His throat is dry. Not a single imperfection to be found on the small image.] But I regret to inform you that you're missing something.
i'm still so upset about this lmao die
What did we miss?
[ He knows his son. Knows that if something were truly wrong with it, that's not how he would have said so. His smile is subdued, but undoubtedly curious. ]
ur upset??? fascinating. die harder.
He loves Takuto. A man who's kept him steady since the moment he arrived - a palm always flat against his back in his worst moments, calm words, soft voice. Always beside him. Only a phone call away. A single request away. The first time he screwed up as a child, he was ready to be placed back into a car. Nothing happened. Maruki pulled him into his arms and promised he wasn't being given up. Did it over and over for years until it finally stuck. Stated it again still when Akechi's obstinance overtook fear for the short time he lashed out with normal teenage petulance. Again still when he broke down only a few feet away.
He loves Rumi. A replacement for his mother will never exist - neither of them want that. It doesn't stop Akechi from being filled with the same adoration and reverence when he looks at her. Doesn't stop him from hugging and huddling up under blankets with her during their late night detective shows, even at his age. His friends make fun of him for it. It doesn't matter to Akechi because he won't let her feel unloved or unwanted. Won't let her die the same way Akechi x̸̢̨͖̪̤̫̮̮̠̯̉̿̎̀͝ͅx̵̢̰̮̱͉̱̦̲̞̞̼͈̉̑̒̀̅͒͋͗̕͘͠͝ẍ̸̡̨̛̟̜̪̫̖̞͖͔̳̃̾͂̊̅͐͝͝x̷͚̥̹̫͖̙̱̭̠͔̠̫͚͉͗̇̃ did. Won't let either of them feel like a noose is their only choice out.
Even if society turns on them, Akechi Goro won't. They will be loved forever. He won't stop. He'll never stop.
There's a childhood habit turned running joke between the three - when Takuto and Rumi are side by side on the couch, Akechi will shove himself between them more often than not. As a child, he wanted to hide from a world that felt too big even in a shoebox apartment and now -
It's to hear 'You're too old for that' from one of them - get pulled into a hug from his Mom. Earn a kiss to the cheek and against the side of his head with that melodious, loving laughter. Sometimes he leaves, other times he doesn't and uses his family as a head and foot rest respectively. It's obnoxious. It's stupid and-
It's them. It's always them. Even when Rumi is stern. Even when she chastises. Even when she grounds and punishes him because Akechi isn't perfect, they still love him. He loves them, so he adjusts. He loves them, so he becomes a better person so he can represent the Maruki family well.
Maruki's face is in his peripherals - Rumi's presence felt in her silence. He doesn't look away from his mom, but-]
If I'm to have one member of my family, then I want all. It's only natural, isn't it?
kill me. goodbye
It happened again just a few days before that meltdown in the kitchen. They watched the news with Akechi's legs draped over Maruki's lap, his head in Rumi's, delicate fingers carding through his hair. It turned to politics, and he changed it. Not quickly enough.
Akechi will leave them one day. It's inevitable. They both flourished with the freedom of university and want him to be able to do the same. There's still a couple years left before that, and maybe he'll want to live at home while he attends school, but it's an eventuality they're preparing for. He will leave, and their little apartment will be emptier for it, that nonexistent space between them on the couch suddenly unoccupied.
Maruki cherishes every moment. Even the difficult ones. Perhaps, at times, especially those. After all, they bring him moments like this. Pain has purpose; flowers grow in the little planter garden on their balcony after the rainy season ends.
Rumi's voice pipes up from the phone, tells him of course, they've got a million pictures he can have. Like they were going to send him off into the world without them in his pocket! Light as ever, endlessly loving, trying to put a small smile back on his face.
Maruki draws his hand up to ruffle through Akechi's hair, then slings that arm around his shoulders instead. ]
Of course. One thing at a time, that's all.
[ And the most important thing first. ]
kill ME we can wrap this too satan
It's a joke at first - photos sent when he gets limited edition meals at Big Bang Burger or empty spaces at the konbini. Extended further when his adventures naturally move further to the edge of the city, overnight trips with friends, weekend outings with schoolmates, and finally the day he moves out entirely.
The first picture he shares as an independent adult is a photo of an empty room, boxes set against the corner, and Kurusu laying flat on the ground pretending to be dead from the exertion of it all. He makes sure his family is looking over the 'dead man.'
The habit continues on past college, past moving back for the interim between degree and job. Beyond a new home formed in a smaller apartment than the one he grew up in, with Kurusu 'dead' in background played up with all the dramatic flair he had in his youth, even though Akechi has to help him back up from the ground afterwards.
He snaps photos at Tokyo University when he goes back for an advanced degree, sends a picture to Rumi when he surprises his father at work with a badge that indicates Akechi Goro works a few floors above him as someone's lackey.
He sends more when he travels around the world, overseas, to any place that will take him for however long he can stay - for work, for pleasure, with Kurusu always facedown on the floor, dead, at every hotel room or Airbnb they end up.
His world is shared with them in every silly image decades after with only an occasional request to send him updated photos. He keeps all the old ones in a small envelope under his bed. Wants to see them as they are for the rest of his life.
They get older, so does he. He never stops sending them, even when he knows Maruki has to show Rumi who's too tired to move from her hospital bed.
Sends more than ever when he knows Maruki will never shake the perpetual grief that follows when there's no one left to share them with.
Sends them anyway, even when both numbers bounce back disconnected.
Sends them anyway until he has to ask Kurusu to snap the final one.]