He and Akechi listen to one another, even when they don't agree. And when Akechi takes that tone, he certainly wants to go along with whatever's going on in his head.
So he sits up. Swings his legs over the side of the bed. Stands, even. ]
[ Akechi told him not to wallow, and he didn't. He isn't now, either. He feels– hollowed out, mostly, but not in a bad way. Drained, emotionally spent. Oddly calm. Ready to sleep for sixteen hours straight.
But he isn't the emotional wreck Akechi probably assumed he would be. Life would be easier if Maruki processed his feelings like that. But he never is, on this day, and especially not this time around.
He picks up his satchel from a hook on the wall, slings it over his shoulder. ]
[Akechi takes him down the steps that separate a line of occupied rooms from the common spaces, beyond the alcove where they sat together and shared a bottle of warm sake.
They don't even leave the house.
Akechi leads him down a mostly unused hallway that goes nowhere. The only door waiting for them at a the end for a walk-in closet that's roomy enough for a grown man to stand and lay down.
Yeah.]
If you're incapable of leaving, I suggest you put yourself here for the time being. Your room is hardly the place to avoid people - it's a revolving door of sad sacks that vie for your attention.
Akechi doesn't flinch when his head's pushed - barely reacts when his hair's mussed. He pulls his body away and waves Maruki's hands off when they linger more than the 0.1 seconds allowed. Doesn't make another comment on the matter.]
What's to explain? No one takes their personal items out of their room - not by choice. The odds of someone stumbling on you are minimal.
[Whether he wants it or not-
Akechi isn't relenting. Much like Eren in a dark bathroom, Maruki is afforded one moment, a brief period of time to do whatever he must, and get over it.]
This was a tactic told to by those I associated with in a home I was at for some time. It tends to help when the mind is reeling, or so I've been told.
[And he remembers -
In an unfamiliar room adjacent to people who couldn't stand him, who didn't notice him, with those that barely recognized his presence on a day to day basis-
He remembers crawling into closets covered in blankets, pillows and the few toys afforded to him, books from the library, homework he could never quite focus on because his mind would always wander to a women coaching him through kanji and basic math -
A quiet space for him alone - his eyes would shut and he would think of heroes. Cry. Hold a pillow close to his chest to muffle sounds no one would care about at best and-
Some would notice. It always made it worse. Ended with him standing on a sidewalk with less belongings than he arrived with and-
It helped, more often than not, to be enclosed in a place that never felt quite safe enough.
It's irrelevant in the grand scheme. Ridiculous in theory.]
Since you're acting childish, I thought this would be beneficial for you.
Those I associated with in a home I was at for some time– a tactic to hide away in a closet when emotions are overwhelming. When one is acting childish, overcome by sorrow and grief.
All at once, Maruki's arms feel heavy. The phantom weight of a child he loved just as unconditionally as the person who stands next to him now.
If he looks back to the closet again, he'll see that younger version of Akechi in there, he's sure of it. And his heart can't take that.
Maruki draws a breath. Thinks to ask. Thinks to tell him that he shouldn't have been made to tuck himself away in dark corners, he should have had someone to care for him when he was upset.
And then he exhales. Lets it go. Now isn't the time. It will likely never be the time. These things remain unspoken between them, like so many days months ago when Akechi cried freely in his arms. ]
Thank you.
[ It's genuinely meant, too, even though he shakes his head next. ]
Why would I do that? Unlike you, sentimental shit doesn't shake me and my emotions are always under control.
[And he doesn't need it.
Stands tall, meets Maruki's gaze and folds both arms tight across his chest.]
My suggestion is you use this long enough to get some peace from all those who will seek you out the second they know you're home. What you do in the morning is your own business and there will be no further opportunity to sulk around once you leave this space.
[ There's a temptation to explain to Akechi that he isn't sulking, that this never was about sulking. That solitude is the last thing he wants now – that he wants to rest, yes, but perhaps there is more value in resting with someone trusted than doing so alone.
It won't get through to him. Sentimental shit.
So instead, Maruki speaks his language. ]
Actually, there's an emergency.
[ A hand raises to scratch at the stubbled line of his jaw as he sighs. ]
I can't tell you what it is. You'll have to help me figure it out.
That term. That word. It wasn't that long ago that Akechi was using it to gain entry into a world he would never understand. Spent hours on that couch to ensure a man didn't exhaust himself to an unrecognizable point. It was exploitation on Akechi's part. He doubts Maruki ever saw it that way, but it was for the singular purpose of maintaining a resource under the guise of a prince. Nothing more.
It's exasperating. There's no time for this and yet-]
You can't be serious?
[But he is. He always is and so-]
Only for a few minutes. I won't stay here all night.
[ Or longer. But not the whole night, no. Maruki is tired.
So, in they go– and it's immediately comical. Patently absurd, two grown men squeezing themselves into a space barely meant to hold one. Maruki kicks a box of miscellaneous goods out into the hall so that there is at least enough room for them both to sit on the floor – his back against one wall, Akechi's against the other, facing one another with their knees bent because it certainly isn't wide enough for them to stretch their legs.
With the door pulled shut behind them and the dim flickering bulb overhead, it's–
Strange.
But not unwelcome.
There are very few people Maruki would feel so comfortable sharing quarters as close as this with.
He drapes his arms around his knees, clasps his hands loosely. Looks at Akechi with a patient, evaluating gaze. ]
Thank you for doing this. If you'll humor me for a little while, I want to tell you a story.
[There's a brief comment about that box as their bodies find ways to contort and fit in the space. Get rid of it because they don't need anything in storage. It doesn't matter what's inside. Akechi will go through it later, if it doesn't vanish before then and throw away anything unnecessary.
And unfortunately for them -
Akechi does splay out and take up more room than necessary. A punishment to make Maruki more uncomfortable. A way to stretch out the tight, tense muscles in his legs, hidden under an all too baggy pair of pajama pants.
He's content to spend these next moments in silence. Shuts his eyes, leans back against the wall and ignores the blanketing sort of comfort that comes in being a space all his own. Private. Quiet. Unknown.
Unknown, except for one other and he's speaking again. Akechi doesn't open his eyes.]
By all means - when have I ever been able to stop you? Get on with it.
cw death, grief, gross oversimplification of mythological figures
[ Maruki watches him for a few silent moments longer before leaning his own head back against the wall, letting his eyes slip shut.
For some reason, even though the circumstances and the people that they now are – wholly themselves with one another, for better and for worse – couldn't be more different, he's reminded of a dilapidated convenience store in an apocalyptic city.
In this moment, there is no one he would rather be with than Akechi Goro. ]
There's a Hindu myth I read once, about the first mortal humans born on earth, twins named Yama and Yami. They lived in complete happiness. The weather was always clear, food was always plentiful, rivers were always full of clean water, animals and plants flourished... And the sun never set. Their peaceful lives were spent in perpetual daylight.
One day, Yami returned from a walk to find Yama asleep beneath a tree. No matter what she did, she couldn't wake him. He had passed away without her, and she was left alone in the world.
She cried enough to flood the earth, then felt the pain intensely enough to light infernos. The gods were afraid she would unintentionally destroy everything in her grief. They tried to console her. To explain the inevitability of loss and death, and to impress upon her that life goes on.
But all she could say, over and over, was the one truth she knew: Yama died today. Yama died today.
[ Maruki strokes right thumb over left knuckles in a gentle, compulsive rhythm to match the beats of the story. He doesn't open his eyes to see if Akechi is listening. His silence is enough. ]
The gods spent ages trying to figure out how to help Yami, and they finally realized that all her life, she had only known today. With no passage of time or seasons in that blissful world, it would always be the day that her twin died. In order for her pain to become more bearable, today had to end so that tomorrow could begin.
So, the gods created the sunset. They created night. They created the moon and stars in the sky overhead as Yami fell asleep for the first time. And when she awoke to the first sunrise, she said: Yama died yesterday.
And the next day: Yama died the day before yesterday.
It was never enough to fully heal the pain of losing her twin, and she never forgot him. But as time went on, her grief became easier to bear, and less dangerous for her and the world around her. Every day she woke up another day farther from the day Yama died, and life went on.
[ A pause. His voice drops quieter, lower, softer, loses the cadence of a storyteller. ]
In trying to run from pain, I spent years living in that perpetual sunlight, but the paradox was that I could never feel anything else. That day– this day was all I knew. But I've learned how to let night fall here, and I'm a little farther from it. You're part of the reason why. Thank you.
Even with his eyes scrunched shut for the entirety of the story, the light lingers behind his eyelids. Shining down on him. Illuminating a death that happened today.
Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today. Rumi died yesterday. Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ died today because no one will remember her if he doesn't keep that memory there. Rumi died the day before yesterday.
He wonders how often Maruki visualizes a wall painted in viscera. Wonders if it's as often as he sees a bloated, blue tinted corpse dangling from the rafters.
Rumi didn't die yesterday. Rumi is alive. Maruki's memory is alive. Rumi is gone. 'Rumi' died yesterday.
Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today. Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today. Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today.
'But I've learned how to let night fall here-'
Akechi did too. Unintentional. Unwanted. He didn't want it.
'I'm a little farther from it.'
Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ yesterday. Sometimes Akechi wonders-
'You're part of the reason why. Thank you.'
How different their lives could have been.
There's an undeniable comfort that comes in these enclosed walls - like a dog with a kennel door slammed in its face. It's a trap. It's small. It's safe, even if they don't control the latch that binds them here.
It's comfortable, no matter how scrunched up he is between two walls, by a door, contorting lanky legs to keep from touching his companion.
He doesn't open his eyes. There's a pillow, blanket, and forgotten homework next to him.]
I don't want your gratitude. It's unnecessary. This is something you should have managed on your own long before arriving here. Today, yesterday -
[Something burns in his heart. He smothers Robin Hood until it turns to ash in it.]
It's irrelevant. They're gone and will always be gone, whether in death of the mind or the body or both.
['Thank you.']
Your will and strength are your greatest assets. Rely on them more. If you begin to fall back into old ways-
You're the man that can summon Azathoth, are you not? Frankly, there's little you can't recover from with such a power lurking in your soul.
['Thank you.]
You are strong, Maruki. That is an undeniable fact. Whether you're stuck in yesterday, today, tomorrow - that's all second to that.
Akechi doesn't need this childish comfort anymore. Maruki shouldn't at his age. They both stay anyway, uncomfortable and incapable of keeping any semblance of personal space.
It's soothing, in a bizarre way.
And he doesn't fight his already aching back or leg muscles on the verge of cramping. Only adjusts his body a little against the doorframe as he drifts off only minutes after the conversation ends.
And for a moment, it feels like a pillow is pressed into his chest, a featherman figure is set up beside him as an ever present guardian. A woman's distract voice echoes from a memory he can't place, words he can't decipher.
But he sleeps, through 4AM alarm and all. Get trapped in a closet, idiot. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Maruki does listen.
He and Akechi listen to one another, even when they don't agree. And when Akechi takes that tone, he certainly wants to go along with whatever's going on in his head.
So he sits up. Swings his legs over the side of the bed. Stands, even. ]
No negotiation needed, Akechi. What's up?
no subject
What's up???
After all that whole talk, only 12 hours away and it's what's up?
Akechi continues to stand, arms crossed over his chest.]
Follow me - bring your bag or whatever else you took with you for your walk around the machiya.
no subject
But he isn't the emotional wreck Akechi probably assumed he would be. Life would be easier if Maruki processed his feelings like that. But he never is, on this day, and especially not this time around.
He picks up his satchel from a hook on the wall, slings it over his shoulder. ]
Where are we going?
no subject
[Akechi takes him down the steps that separate a line of occupied rooms from the common spaces, beyond the alcove where they sat together and shared a bottle of warm sake.
They don't even leave the house.
Akechi leads him down a mostly unused hallway that goes nowhere. The only door waiting for them at a the end for a walk-in closet that's roomy enough for a grown man to stand and lay down.
Yeah.]
If you're incapable of leaving, I suggest you put yourself here for the time being. Your room is hardly the place to avoid people - it's a revolving door of sad sacks that vie for your attention.
no subject
Just.
Stares. ]
The closet...?
[ He blinks so rapidly behind his glasses that his vision goes fuzzy for a moment after he stops. ]
You want me to lock myself in the closet.
no subject
[A beat.]
It's still in the house, but out of the way from others. There's plenty of room for you and you'll have that privacy you were so adamant on having.
[He gestures to the open closet door. Notes the darkness. Flicks on the light, as if that was the deciding factor in all of this.
Thinks about-
A moment that's shaken from his mind the second it begins to form.]
I don't see the issue.
no subject
And then laughs, quiet to be mindful of the late hour but genuine, and pushes at Akechi's head as his hand ruffles through his hair. ]
What if someone comes looking for a coat? How would I explain sitting in here alone?
no subject
Akechi doesn't flinch when his head's pushed - barely reacts when his hair's mussed. He pulls his body away and waves Maruki's hands off when they linger more than the 0.1 seconds allowed. Doesn't make another comment on the matter.]
What's to explain? No one takes their personal items out of their room - not by choice. The odds of someone stumbling on you are minimal.
[Whether he wants it or not-
Akechi isn't relenting. Much like Eren in a dark bathroom, Maruki is afforded one moment, a brief period of time to do whatever he must, and get over it.]
This was a tactic told to by those I associated with in a home I was at for some time. It tends to help when the mind is reeling, or so I've been told.
[And he remembers -
In an unfamiliar room adjacent to people who couldn't stand him, who didn't notice him, with those that barely recognized his presence on a day to day basis-
It's irrelevant in the grand scheme. Ridiculous in theory.]He remembers crawling into closets covered in blankets, pillows and the few toys afforded to him, books from the library, homework he could never quite focus on because his mind would always wander to a women coaching him through kanji and basic math -
A quiet space for him alone - his eyes would shut and he would think of heroes. Cry. Hold a pillow close to his chest to muffle sounds no one would care about at best and-
Some would notice. It always made it worse. Ended with him standing on a sidewalk with less belongings than he arrived with and-
It helped, more often than not, to be enclosed in a place that never felt quite safe enough.
Since you're acting childish, I thought this would be beneficial for you.
no subject
Those I associated with in a home I was at for some time– a tactic to hide away in a closet when emotions are overwhelming. When one is acting childish, overcome by sorrow and grief.
All at once, Maruki's arms feel heavy. The phantom weight of a child he loved just as unconditionally as the person who stands next to him now.
If he looks back to the closet again, he'll see that younger version of Akechi in there, he's sure of it. And his heart can't take that.
Maruki draws a breath. Thinks to ask. Thinks to tell him that he shouldn't have been made to tuck himself away in dark corners, he should have had someone to care for him when he was upset.
And then he exhales. Lets it go. Now isn't the time. It will likely never be the time. These things remain unspoken between them, like so many days months ago when Akechi cried freely in his arms. ]
Thank you.
[ It's genuinely meant, too, even though he shakes his head next. ]
But– I'd rather you sat in here with me.
no subject
[And he doesn't need it.
Stands tall, meets Maruki's gaze and folds both arms tight across his chest.]
My suggestion is you use this long enough to get some peace from all those who will seek you out the second they know you're home. What you do in the morning is your own business and there will be no further opportunity to sulk around once you leave this space.
no subject
It won't get through to him. Sentimental shit.
So instead, Maruki speaks his language. ]
Actually, there's an emergency.
[ A hand raises to scratch at the stubbled line of his jaw as he sighs. ]
I can't tell you what it is. You'll have to help me figure it out.
no subject
That term. That word. It wasn't that long ago that Akechi was using it to gain entry into a world he would never understand. Spent hours on that couch to ensure a man didn't exhaust himself to an unrecognizable point. It was exploitation on Akechi's part. He doubts Maruki ever saw it that way, but it was for the singular purpose of maintaining a resource under the guise of a prince. Nothing more.
It's exasperating. There's no time for this and yet-]
You can't be serious?
[But he is. He always is and so-]
Only for a few minutes. I won't stay here all night.
no subject
[ Or longer. But not the whole night, no. Maruki is tired.
So, in they go– and it's immediately comical. Patently absurd, two grown men squeezing themselves into a space barely meant to hold one. Maruki kicks a box of miscellaneous goods out into the hall so that there is at least enough room for them both to sit on the floor – his back against one wall, Akechi's against the other, facing one another with their knees bent because it certainly isn't wide enough for them to stretch their legs.
With the door pulled shut behind them and the dim flickering bulb overhead, it's–
Strange.
But not unwelcome.
There are very few people Maruki would feel so comfortable sharing quarters as close as this with.
He drapes his arms around his knees, clasps his hands loosely. Looks at Akechi with a patient, evaluating gaze. ]
Thank you for doing this. If you'll humor me for a little while, I want to tell you a story.
no subject
And unfortunately for them -
Akechi does splay out and take up more room than necessary. A punishment to make Maruki more uncomfortable. A way to stretch out the tight, tense muscles in his legs, hidden under an all too baggy pair of pajama pants.
He's content to spend these next moments in silence. Shuts his eyes, leans back against the wall and ignores the blanketing sort of comfort that comes in being a space all his own. Private. Quiet. Unknown.
Unknown, except for one other and he's speaking again. Akechi doesn't open his eyes.]
By all means - when have I ever been able to stop you? Get on with it.
cw death, grief, gross oversimplification of mythological figures
For some reason, even though the circumstances and the people that they now are – wholly themselves with one another, for better and for worse – couldn't be more different, he's reminded of a dilapidated convenience store in an apocalyptic city.
In this moment, there is no one he would rather be with than Akechi Goro. ]
There's a Hindu myth I read once, about the first mortal humans born on earth, twins named Yama and Yami. They lived in complete happiness. The weather was always clear, food was always plentiful, rivers were always full of clean water, animals and plants flourished... And the sun never set. Their peaceful lives were spent in perpetual daylight.
One day, Yami returned from a walk to find Yama asleep beneath a tree. No matter what she did, she couldn't wake him. He had passed away without her, and she was left alone in the world.
She cried enough to flood the earth, then felt the pain intensely enough to light infernos. The gods were afraid she would unintentionally destroy everything in her grief. They tried to console her. To explain the inevitability of loss and death, and to impress upon her that life goes on.
But all she could say, over and over, was the one truth she knew: Yama died today. Yama died today.
[ Maruki strokes right thumb over left knuckles in a gentle, compulsive rhythm to match the beats of the story. He doesn't open his eyes to see if Akechi is listening. His silence is enough. ]
The gods spent ages trying to figure out how to help Yami, and they finally realized that all her life, she had only known today. With no passage of time or seasons in that blissful world, it would always be the day that her twin died. In order for her pain to become more bearable, today had to end so that tomorrow could begin.
So, the gods created the sunset. They created night. They created the moon and stars in the sky overhead as Yami fell asleep for the first time. And when she awoke to the first sunrise, she said: Yama died yesterday.
And the next day: Yama died the day before yesterday.
It was never enough to fully heal the pain of losing her twin, and she never forgot him. But as time went on, her grief became easier to bear, and less dangerous for her and the world around her. Every day she woke up another day farther from the day Yama died, and life went on.
[ A pause. His voice drops quieter, lower, softer, loses the cadence of a storyteller. ]
In trying to run from pain, I spent years living in that perpetual sunlight, but the paradox was that I could never feel anything else. That day– this day was all I knew. But I've learned how to let night fall here, and I'm a little farther from it. You're part of the reason why. Thank you.
cw: suicide, gore, murder
Even with his eyes scrunched shut for the entirety of the story, the light lingers behind his eyelids. Shining down on him. Illuminating a death that happened today.
Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today. Rumi died yesterday. Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ died today because no one will remember her if he doesn't keep that memory there. Rumi died the day before yesterday.
He wonders how often Maruki visualizes a wall painted in viscera. Wonders if it's as often as he sees a bloated, blue tinted corpse dangling from the rafters.
Rumi didn't die yesterday. Rumi is alive. Maruki's memory is alive. Rumi is gone. 'Rumi' died yesterday.
Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today. Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today. Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ ̸̧̛̖̫͖̖̦̬͙͑́͂̈́̐̋͋̚͝͝ died today.
'But I've learned how to let night fall here-'
Akechi did too. Unintentional. Unwanted. He didn't want it.
'I'm a little farther from it.'Akechi ̸̢̖̱̭̮̥̥͉̳͍̱̄̏͊͆̓̚̚̕͝ ̴̤̜̈́̀̌͋̍̀͘ͅ ̴̢̛͇͇̻͈̠̰̻͖͍̑͂̓͆̒̈́̀̒́̈́͘͠ yesterday. Sometimes Akechi wonders-
'You're part of the reason why. Thank you.'How different their lives could have been.
There's an undeniable comfort that comes in these enclosed walls - like a dog with a kennel door slammed in its face. It's a trap. It's small. It's safe, even if they don't control the latch that binds them here.It's comfortable, no matter how scrunched up he is between two walls, by a door, contorting lanky legs to keep from touching his companion.
He doesn't open his eyes. There's a pillow, blanket, and forgotten homework next to him.]
I don't want your gratitude. It's unnecessary. This is something you should have managed on your own long before arriving here. Today, yesterday -
[Something burns in his heart. He smothers Robin Hood until it turns to ash in it.]
It's irrelevant. They're gone and will always be gone, whether in death of the mind or the body or both.
['Thank you.']
Your will and strength are your greatest assets. Rely on them more. If you begin to fall back into old ways-
You're the man that can summon Azathoth, are you not? Frankly, there's little you can't recover from with such a power lurking in your soul.
['Thank you.]
You are strong, Maruki. That is an undeniable fact. Whether you're stuck in yesterday, today, tomorrow - that's all second to that.
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And there is nothing Akechi values more than strength.
No matter many acidic words surround it, that's the core truth, and Maruki hears it loud and clear.
He knocks one of his knees against Akechi's, just briefly. ]
Don't worry. I won't forget.
[ And then he shifts to slump a little more comfortably against the wall, head tilting back and eyes closing. ]
Let's just stay here for a while. I'm done talking.
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Then it's quiet.
Akechi doesn't need this childish comfort anymore. Maruki shouldn't at his age. They both stay anyway, uncomfortable and incapable of keeping any semblance of personal space.
It's soothing, in a bizarre way.
And he doesn't fight his already aching back or leg muscles on the verge of cramping. Only adjusts his body a little against the doorframe as he drifts off only minutes after the conversation ends.
And for a moment, it feels like a pillow is pressed into his chest, a featherman figure is set up beside him as an ever present guardian. A woman's distract voice echoes from a memory he can't place, words he can't decipher.
But he sleeps, through 4AM alarm and all. Get trapped in a closet, idiot. ]