[P3] Numbers
Title: Numbers
Author: Danse Amore
Wordcount: 1221
Rating: R? For language?
Characters/Pairings: Akihiko/Shinjiro, Mitsuru
Disclaimer: They belong to Atlus.
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst, angst, and more angst. Spoilers for October of Persona 3.
Summary: "We can't let you do this."
*
His fist hit the punching bag, once, twice. His wrist ached with the strain. Three, four. He imagined the bag was a stomach, a head, a face laughing as it watched Shinji die. Five, six. He could hear the voice - so subtle, so close to human, so close to caring, so evil. Seven, eight. He wondered idly if the bag or his wrist would snap first. Nine, ten.
His fist was stopped by warm flesh. He looked up with eyes blurred with tears. Mitsuru squeezed his fist for a moment, then let go. He dropped his hand and turned away from her. "What are you doing here?"
His voice was harsh, unnecessarily so, and he knew it. But there was calm in numbers, calm in movement, and when he just stood and heard his own heartbeat he was nearly overwhelmed by it. Nearly lost himself in how wrong it was that he was alive and Shinji...
Shinji...He felt his face crumple, heard his knuckles pop as he squeezed his fists impossibly tighter.
"Akihiko..." Mitsuru was smart enough not to touch him. Understanding enough not to try words of comfort. And broken enough, in her own heart, to want what he wanted. But she was also cold - always had been, the balance to Aki's thunder and Shinji's flame. She sat on the edge of his bed, knees together, face downcast but set. "We can't let you do this."
He swallowed, one to three, and turned to face her. "Do what?" He asked, trying to feign innocence, but his voice broke a little, making him sound hiccupy and pathetic, like a child who doesn't know how to stop crying.
She regarded him impassively for a moment. In the face of her stare he breathed, he settled himself, he released the tension in his shoulders until he could meet her eyes with his own clear ones. He gave her a slight nod of thanks. She nodded back, then took a long breath. "You haven't come to Tartarus since..." She paused. "In days."
He shrugged fluidly. She continued, "The number of Lost is increasing again - faster than ever. We have to get out there, get strong, so we're able to take down the next Shadow."
Akihiko narrowed his eyes. "I don't care about the next shadow. The shadows didn't cut off my reason for fighting. The shadows didn't tear away half my fucking heart. The shadows didn't - " He swallowed as he realized he was shouting, advancing on his friend with fists raised. Mitsuru had flinched away slightly. She was still composed, but it was a sort of panicked, desperate control, a porcelain mask cracking and flaking away from the inside. He subsided.
She swallowed, and then raised a hand, delicately, cupped his cheek. "The Shadows didn't kill Shinji." She said. "But neither did he die so that we could fail. Neither did he die so that you could throw your life away fighting Strega."
Aki grasped her wrist. Her hands were too small, too soft, her fingernails scratching lightly against his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her palm. "I can't." He said. "I just...I can't, Mitsuru. I can't..go out there and pretend nothing's wrong. Pretend to be myself. Pretend that I still...care, am capable of caring. Do I just forget him? Let him go silently into the wind, a necessary fucking sacrifice?" He sank down on the bed beside her. "Continue on, fighting evil, saving the world, when I don't..." He laced his fingers through hers, looked her in the eye. "I don't want to save a world that doesn't have him in it."
She stood, extracting her hand from his. Her eyes were cold, her composure back. "No." She said. "You will stand up to evil because it's what he did. You will fight and you will win and you will make him proud." She walked to the door. "And I should hope that perhaps when you are not so blinded by grief you will realize that there are...others who care about you. Others who are tied to you, even if you are not tied to them."
She opened the door, facing away from him. "The funeral is tomorrow. You may wish to attend." And she closed the door behind her.
He flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "A funeral." He could almost hear Shinji's voice, almost taste his breath against his lips.
"All the flowers and crying little girls? Not the way I'd like to be sent off."
They stood by the gates of the graveyard, watching row upon row of mourners pass, their umbrellas held in gloved hands, their faces titled downwards. Aki hardly recognized one in five of them, as they passed hushed words to one another about his darling little sister, about her smile, her laugh, the curl of her hair. He wondered how many of them were there because they looked good in black.
He shook his head, turning to Shinji. "Me neither." He muttered. "Too much...fuss. Just give me a place to lay and a stone as my pillow and I'll be fine."
Shinji raised his eyebrows. "Judging by this? When you die it'll be a national fucking holiday. Millions of yen spent on white roses, the best monk money can buy." He gave Aki a half smile. "I'll laugh. Maybe give a little speech. 'He had everything he could ever wish for...except simplicity'."
Aki smiled back, but it was a little hollow. Not everything. He remembered his sister's smile, her laugh, the curl of her hair.
Shinji's smile disappeared. "Sorry. It was...fuck. Sorry. Bad taste."
Aki shook his head, and his smile grew more genuine. They started following the procession out of the graveyard. "Nah. I was just wondering - what makes you think you'll outlive me?"
Shinji snorted in what was meant to be dismissal but came out more as relief. "Please. You might know all the fancy boxing moves but you wouldn't last a minute in a real fight."
Aki's cocked his head at him. "Oh yeah? Why don't you teach me, then, if you know so much?"
Shinji's smile grew wider, and his eyes flicked over Aki's body, dolled up as he was in his own funereal garb. "Teach a pretty boy like you to fight dirty?" He licked his lips. "Well." He risked a look around. The rest of the procession was far ahead, disappearing down the rainy streets. He slid his hands onto Aki's hips, walking him away from the main road and into an alley. "Lesson one..." He purred in Aki's ear. Aki swallowed, eyelids fluttering. Shinji slid one hand up to his cheek, tracing up his throat along the way, and brought the other one around in a vicious blow to his stomach. He stepped back as Aki coughed and spat. "Never let them get too close."
"You son of a bitch!" Aki gasped, eyes teared with surprise and pain.
Shinji grinned. "Oh, yeah." He growled, and raised a hand in challenge. "Come on, lover, let me teach you to die fighting."
Aki scrubbed a hand across his eyes, drawing in great gasping breaths, choked with tears. He slid off the bed and stumbled to his punching bag. He closed his eyes. "No." He said. "No, I don't think I'll be attending."
His fist hit the punching bag, once, twice. Three, four. Five six seveneightnineteneleventwelvethirteen -
There was calm in numbers.
Author: Danse Amore
Wordcount: 1221
Rating: R? For language?
Characters/Pairings: Akihiko/Shinjiro, Mitsuru
Disclaimer: They belong to Atlus.
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst, angst, and more angst. Spoilers for October of Persona 3.
Summary: "We can't let you do this."
*
His fist hit the punching bag, once, twice. His wrist ached with the strain. Three, four. He imagined the bag was a stomach, a head, a face laughing as it watched Shinji die. Five, six. He could hear the voice - so subtle, so close to human, so close to caring, so evil. Seven, eight. He wondered idly if the bag or his wrist would snap first. Nine, ten.
His fist was stopped by warm flesh. He looked up with eyes blurred with tears. Mitsuru squeezed his fist for a moment, then let go. He dropped his hand and turned away from her. "What are you doing here?"
His voice was harsh, unnecessarily so, and he knew it. But there was calm in numbers, calm in movement, and when he just stood and heard his own heartbeat he was nearly overwhelmed by it. Nearly lost himself in how wrong it was that he was alive and Shinji...
Shinji...He felt his face crumple, heard his knuckles pop as he squeezed his fists impossibly tighter.
"Akihiko..." Mitsuru was smart enough not to touch him. Understanding enough not to try words of comfort. And broken enough, in her own heart, to want what he wanted. But she was also cold - always had been, the balance to Aki's thunder and Shinji's flame. She sat on the edge of his bed, knees together, face downcast but set. "We can't let you do this."
He swallowed, one to three, and turned to face her. "Do what?" He asked, trying to feign innocence, but his voice broke a little, making him sound hiccupy and pathetic, like a child who doesn't know how to stop crying.
She regarded him impassively for a moment. In the face of her stare he breathed, he settled himself, he released the tension in his shoulders until he could meet her eyes with his own clear ones. He gave her a slight nod of thanks. She nodded back, then took a long breath. "You haven't come to Tartarus since..." She paused. "In days."
He shrugged fluidly. She continued, "The number of Lost is increasing again - faster than ever. We have to get out there, get strong, so we're able to take down the next Shadow."
Akihiko narrowed his eyes. "I don't care about the next shadow. The shadows didn't cut off my reason for fighting. The shadows didn't tear away half my fucking heart. The shadows didn't - " He swallowed as he realized he was shouting, advancing on his friend with fists raised. Mitsuru had flinched away slightly. She was still composed, but it was a sort of panicked, desperate control, a porcelain mask cracking and flaking away from the inside. He subsided.
She swallowed, and then raised a hand, delicately, cupped his cheek. "The Shadows didn't kill Shinji." She said. "But neither did he die so that we could fail. Neither did he die so that you could throw your life away fighting Strega."
Aki grasped her wrist. Her hands were too small, too soft, her fingernails scratching lightly against his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her palm. "I can't." He said. "I just...I can't, Mitsuru. I can't..go out there and pretend nothing's wrong. Pretend to be myself. Pretend that I still...care, am capable of caring. Do I just forget him? Let him go silently into the wind, a necessary fucking sacrifice?" He sank down on the bed beside her. "Continue on, fighting evil, saving the world, when I don't..." He laced his fingers through hers, looked her in the eye. "I don't want to save a world that doesn't have him in it."
She stood, extracting her hand from his. Her eyes were cold, her composure back. "No." She said. "You will stand up to evil because it's what he did. You will fight and you will win and you will make him proud." She walked to the door. "And I should hope that perhaps when you are not so blinded by grief you will realize that there are...others who care about you. Others who are tied to you, even if you are not tied to them."
She opened the door, facing away from him. "The funeral is tomorrow. You may wish to attend." And she closed the door behind her.
He flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "A funeral." He could almost hear Shinji's voice, almost taste his breath against his lips.
"All the flowers and crying little girls? Not the way I'd like to be sent off."
They stood by the gates of the graveyard, watching row upon row of mourners pass, their umbrellas held in gloved hands, their faces titled downwards. Aki hardly recognized one in five of them, as they passed hushed words to one another about his darling little sister, about her smile, her laugh, the curl of her hair. He wondered how many of them were there because they looked good in black.
He shook his head, turning to Shinji. "Me neither." He muttered. "Too much...fuss. Just give me a place to lay and a stone as my pillow and I'll be fine."
Shinji raised his eyebrows. "Judging by this? When you die it'll be a national fucking holiday. Millions of yen spent on white roses, the best monk money can buy." He gave Aki a half smile. "I'll laugh. Maybe give a little speech. 'He had everything he could ever wish for...except simplicity'."
Aki smiled back, but it was a little hollow. Not everything. He remembered his sister's smile, her laugh, the curl of her hair.
Shinji's smile disappeared. "Sorry. It was...fuck. Sorry. Bad taste."
Aki shook his head, and his smile grew more genuine. They started following the procession out of the graveyard. "Nah. I was just wondering - what makes you think you'll outlive me?"
Shinji snorted in what was meant to be dismissal but came out more as relief. "Please. You might know all the fancy boxing moves but you wouldn't last a minute in a real fight."
Aki's cocked his head at him. "Oh yeah? Why don't you teach me, then, if you know so much?"
Shinji's smile grew wider, and his eyes flicked over Aki's body, dolled up as he was in his own funereal garb. "Teach a pretty boy like you to fight dirty?" He licked his lips. "Well." He risked a look around. The rest of the procession was far ahead, disappearing down the rainy streets. He slid his hands onto Aki's hips, walking him away from the main road and into an alley. "Lesson one..." He purred in Aki's ear. Aki swallowed, eyelids fluttering. Shinji slid one hand up to his cheek, tracing up his throat along the way, and brought the other one around in a vicious blow to his stomach. He stepped back as Aki coughed and spat. "Never let them get too close."
"You son of a bitch!" Aki gasped, eyes teared with surprise and pain.
Shinji grinned. "Oh, yeah." He growled, and raised a hand in challenge. "Come on, lover, let me teach you to die fighting."
Aki scrubbed a hand across his eyes, drawing in great gasping breaths, choked with tears. He slid off the bed and stumbled to his punching bag. He closed his eyes. "No." He said. "No, I don't think I'll be attending."
His fist hit the punching bag, once, twice. Three, four. Five six seveneightnineteneleventwelvethirteen -
There was calm in numbers.