[ No one has cared for him so selflessly in years.
Maruki takes the hideous blouse, balls it up in his fist. It's so incredibly surreal – his first fight, first major injury, first ally. Even if they weren't in an absurd B-movie knockoff warped cognition and even if he hadn't learned about the existence of their personas, it would still be surreal for those firsts alone.
And then those words, more befitting and ironic than Akechi will ever know.
I shan't describe pain and suffering as good things. I shall, however, describe them as necessary things.
There's no shame in feeling pain. You'll get used to it, in time.
The two sentiments lodge neatly next to one another in his mind. Venat, and now Akechi, flying in the face of everything he knows, fears, believes, is. Balancing some cosmic scale of his soul, even if he isn't fully aware of it yet. All he knows is that it's some strange sort of comfort that nestles itself deep in his sternum, despite how vehemently the very fabric of his soul disagrees. Maruki doesn't understand it. He doesn't need to.
He exhales, sets his jaw, nods.
He doesn't ever want to get used to pain, but he'll at least have to get through this. ]
Yeah. Thank you for doing this, seriously.
[ For real, one could even say.
Of course it hurts. It hurts like a bitch, worse than he could have anticipated, the full extent of the wound he can't see making itself suddenly known in blinding clarity. Panic starts to set in at the edges of his overtaxed mind: He doesn't even know if a rural shithole like Somnius has a proper medical facility where he can get this looked at and stitched up. He wants Tokyo, not this nameless decimated cityscape; clean and efficient and modern Tokyo, with its clinics and hospitals and drugstores.
He bites into the fabric bunched in his hand – it isn't enough, he winds it around his hand and bites down on that instead. Akechi was right, it acts as a solid anchor point, lets him steady himself as mortifying tears prick the corners of his eyes. He doesn't make a sound, just breathes harsh and feels his teeth pressing through the fabric, into his knuckles.
How much has Akechi been through in the cognitive world to not have reacted at all when Maruki did this for him?
Unfathomable. He doesn't want to know. He wants to know everything.
The burn and sting of the alcohol doesn't lessen so much as become predictable, the first swipes infinitely worse than what's followed, and as Akechi's finishing up he drops the blouse onto the dusty ground and pinches the corners of his eyes, beneath his glasses instead. Calm, soothing dark. A shuddering exhale and a sarcastic, uneven lilt to his voice when he speaks, trying desperately for any levity to distract. ]
Oh, I'm sure we both wish that either of us were stupid enough to take my potion now.
"learning to microdose insanity and care between two antagonists" - lexy pancakes, 2024
Maruki takes the hideous blouse, balls it up in his fist. It's so incredibly surreal – his first fight, first major injury, first ally. Even if they weren't in an absurd B-movie knockoff warped cognition and even if he hadn't learned about the existence of their personas, it would still be surreal for those firsts alone.
And then those words, more befitting and ironic than Akechi will ever know.
I shan't describe pain and suffering as good things. I shall, however, describe them as necessary things.
There's no shame in feeling pain. You'll get used to it, in time.
The two sentiments lodge neatly next to one another in his mind. Venat, and now Akechi, flying in the face of everything he knows, fears, believes, is. Balancing some cosmic scale of his soul, even if he isn't fully aware of it yet. All he knows is that it's some strange sort of comfort that nestles itself deep in his sternum, despite how vehemently the very fabric of his soul disagrees. Maruki doesn't understand it. He doesn't need to.
He exhales, sets his jaw, nods.
He doesn't ever want to get used to pain, but he'll at least have to get through this. ]
Yeah. Thank you for doing this, seriously.
[ For real, one could even say.
Of course it hurts. It hurts like a bitch, worse than he could have anticipated, the full extent of the wound he can't see making itself suddenly known in blinding clarity. Panic starts to set in at the edges of his overtaxed mind: He doesn't even know if a rural shithole like Somnius has a proper medical facility where he can get this looked at and stitched up. He wants Tokyo, not this nameless decimated cityscape; clean and efficient and modern Tokyo, with its clinics and hospitals and drugstores.
He bites into the fabric bunched in his hand – it isn't enough, he winds it around his hand and bites down on that instead. Akechi was right, it acts as a solid anchor point, lets him steady himself as mortifying tears prick the corners of his eyes. He doesn't make a sound, just breathes harsh and feels his teeth pressing through the fabric, into his knuckles.
How much has Akechi been through in the cognitive world to not have reacted at all when Maruki did this for him?
Unfathomable. He doesn't want to know. He wants to know everything.
The burn and sting of the alcohol doesn't lessen so much as become predictable, the first swipes infinitely worse than what's followed, and as Akechi's finishing up he drops the blouse onto the dusty ground and pinches the corners of his eyes, beneath his glasses instead. Calm, soothing dark. A shuddering exhale and a sarcastic, uneven lilt to his voice when he speaks, trying desperately for any levity to distract. ]
Oh, I'm sure we both wish that either of us were stupid enough to take my potion now.