I saw you turn to shadow

[imugi]

title: monochrome blue.

series: Persona 3
characters: Shinjiro & Minato

rating: pg

summary: Shinjiro, Minato, and a pocket watch. (This is apparently an "awkward confession of love".)
author notes: original prompt

tick, tock.


It's close to 8PM— exactly 7:58 judging by the hands on Shinjiro's pocket watch— and the sky is bright with stars. The streets are glistening from a light shower earlier in the day, the yellow streetlights and the white moon reflecting off the surface of the dark pavement. Koromaru's paws splash through shallow puddles as he runs circles around nothing in particular, weaving around Shinjiro's legs and then those of his unlikely companion this evening.

It's exactly 8:01 when Minato turns to look at him, blue-gray eyes the same smoky color the sky had been when the sun had still been up. The cool metal of his watch suddenly feels too cold in the palm of his hand, and so he flicks it shut with an echoing click and stuffs it in his pocket. A deep breath— it feels like he's breathing in smog, something that makes his lungs itch— and he turns to meet that gaze.

“What?”

Minato doesn't answer immediately. He swallows and his lips part as if he means to, but he doesn't. Maybe it's just that there's nothing to say— Shinjiro wonders not for the first time why he's here, walking together with him on a cold night, when their respective names are probably the most intimate pieces of knowledge they share. Minato has his hands in his pockets, too, and his nose is already turning a faint shade of pink against the pale of his face.

“Is something wrong, senpai?” he finally asks, smooth and unfaltering despite the person he's speaking to.

Koromaru yips somewhere in the distance, already far ahead of the two of them. Neither make any real effort to catch up, keeping the pace slow and even.

“Nah,” Shinjiro says, already turning back to the sky. The moon is starting to get hazy under the cover of a creeping blanket of clouds. “But there's gonna be a hell of a storm, soon.”

“A storm?” Shinjiro feels somewhat relieved when Minato's attention turns to the sky, too. “Yeah, probably.”

Things fall into silence again after that. Neither of them are really the talkative type, and that's fine with Shinjiro. He likes Minato because he's quiet, and he likes the quiet because it means that there isn't anyone around that'll tell him to let go. He likes the quiet because he's used to it— But, as the minutes continue to roll on, he realizes that it's only his own quiet that he's used to, and not one filled with the silence of someone else.

Damn it.

He can still see Minato out of the corner of his eye, the dazed way his eyes stay trained forward and the way his thumb rubs against the single earphone hanging off his neck— the one facing Shinjiro's direction. The other is hooked around his ear, and Shinjiro thinks he can make out the faint sound of music around their footsteps. It's somehow more comforting than silence.

“Do you like music, senpai?”


.


tick, tock.


It's three minutes after the Dark Hour when someone comes shuffling uneasily down the dorm's staircase. Shinjiro isn't quite sure who to expect at first, because no one had gone to Tartarus that night, and it isn't often that there's someone other than himself who decides not to retire early. He's surprised to see their leader's sickly form curl around the banister, paler and spacier than usual, a little unsteady on his feet. He'd come home earlier that day soaked in cold rainwater, so it isn't difficult to draw the right conclusion.

“Hey...”

Minato's eyes flicker over to him, blink once. They seem grayer in the dim light of the lounge. “Senpai.”

Shinjiro wanders over, reaches out to touch him on a whim. He presses his palm against the slick skin of his forehead, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. The kid has so much of it hanging around his face all the time, it's a wonder that it doesn't get in the way.

“Haven't eaten a thing all night, huh?” Shinjiro asks, but he already knows the answer. Minato's skin is quickly warming the palm of his hand, and he looks like shit.

“Mm,” he seems to be reacting more to the cool feel of the hand against his face than the question itself.

Shinjiro's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth— another click as he closes and pockets the watch in his free hand. Minato takes notice of the action, his gaze dropping to blearily regard that coat pocket even as Shinjiro pulls away and starts walking. It takes Minato a moment to follow, but eventually he seems to gather the strength (or the will) to unfurl himself from the banister and make his way to the kitchen.

Shinjiro is already digging through the cupboards and refrigerator by the time he gets there, looking for something easy to digest. It's more difficult than it should be, living in a dorm full of people that haven't got a clue when it comes to nutrition. It takes him nearly a full two minutes (he can hear the ticking from his pocket) before he decides. Minato hovers at his side briefly, watching him lay out the pot and vegetables, before he moves away and Shinjiro hears him pull out one of the chairs.

“I told you there'd be a storm. This is what happens when you don't listen,” he chides later on. He sets the steaming bowl down on the table, dropping an ice cube in the broth so that it cools faster. “You're supposed to be the leader, right? I'd think you'd know better.”

Minato's eyes widen after the first bite, not hearing much of what was being said. “It's good.”

“Tch.”

Shinjiro stands around and watches him eat for a bit, the way he does it slowly but with a deliberate sort of concentration, even though his hands are clumsier than usual and a bit of broth drips down his chin. He shakes his head and unbuttons his coat, vaguely aware that Minato is the one watching him this time, and sets it on the back of one of the other chairs. He rolls up his sleeves and turns to start cleaning up.

“Senpai...” the voice comes after another period of (someone else's) silence, “Why are you always looking at that watch?”

The question is enough to give him pause. The line of his lips tightens and he focuses on the running stream of water from the faucet, not answering.

“Are you counting up to something?” Minato asks, and there's a soft clink as he rests the utensil he was using against the side of the bowl, “Or are you counting down?”


It's already been decided.


The water flows. Shinjiro sighs and reaches over to the knob to turn it off, but Minato is already asleep by the time he turns around, head rested comfortably atop the pillow of his arms.

He has Shinjiro's pocket watch in one of his hands.


.


tick, tock.


It's 7:39PM when Shinjiro prepares to leave the dorm. A smaller hand reaches up and flicks the lid of the watch in his hand shut.

“Are you taking Koromaru for a walk?” Minato is staring up at him thoughtfully. Shinjiro can never really discern what it is he's thinking about. “I'll go with you.”

This isn't the first time, so he doesn't bother questioning why either of them are here. The ground is dry and the sky is clear. The moon is a little fuller and the air is a little colder. Shinjiro's old pocket watch is dangling by the chain in Minato's hand, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Every time it swings in Shinjiro's direction, the silver surface catches on strands of white moonlight. He wonders if he'd miss it if it were gone.

“No one can escape time,” Minato mumbles, but it sounds more like he's reciting something from somewhere.

It takes Shinjiro by surprise when he pockets it. He tries to protest, but the deep breath he takes makes his lungs hitch, and then he's clutching at a wall for support and coughing his throat raw. Minato is asking something and grasping at his arm, but he shakes his head and drops to his knees. Once he can finally breathe normally again, the first thing he notices is a soft whimpering at his side.

“S'alright, Koro,” he reassures, mustering up a smile and ruffling the top of the dog's head.

Minato's concerned expression softens at the display. Shinjiro turns to him and notes that he's pulled the watch back out of his pocket in his surprise.

“Are you alright, senpai?”

“Yeah,” Shinjiro nods. “Don't worry; it's not contagious.”

Minato holds out a hand to help him up, but he pushes it away and stands on his own. He rolls the ache from his shoulders and straightens his coat. Minato is still eying him thoughtfully. Shinjiro doesn't know why, but he starts to feel uncomfortable— like there's something that this younger boy knows, but he just can't figure out what it is.

“Got something you wanna say?”

“Not really.”

It's pointless to try to intimidate him; Minato meets his stare evenly. Standing this close together, there's still miles of distance between them. That's fine with Shinjiro, too— or, it should be. He hates the fact that the life he had is slowly becoming something more difficult to bear. He hates the fact that he's slowly becoming used to the warm sounds of people chattering, and a quiet filled with someone else's silence.

He hates—

“Give me that,” he growls, and covers Minato's hand with his own. He leans over and hungrily covers Minato's mouth with his own, too— His ever-fearless leader freezes momentarily, but doesn't pull back. His lips are chapped and a little cold, but his breath is warm. His eyes are surprisingly blue up close before Minato slides them shut.

The pocket watch sandwiched between their hands is just by his ear. He can hear it tick, tick, ticking down the seconds to the end.

When he pulls back, neither of them say a word. He doesn't hate anything but himself.


.


Time never waits.


He doesn't know what time it is. He lost his pocket watch some time ago.

It doesn't really matter now, does it? That's what he thinks as he falls to his knees, absently watching the ground turn red in a pool of his own blood. A multitude of voices are calling his name, but he can't force his brain to think hard enough to differentiate one from the other. Aki's is easy, at least— He can always hear Aki's voice over anyone else's— but it's the last one he wants to hear right now.

He doesn't reach out. Instead, he steps away when he begins to feel them crowd around him in a panic. He knows that if he doesn't do this alone, he—


He has his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave the dorm (for the last time). His knuckles are turning white on the handle. He knows where he has to go. He's been prepared for this moment ever since that day two years ago, so why—


“This is how it should be.”


Why is he afraid?


Through the haze, he can see Minato staring at him from behind the others. His expression only shifts the barest amount, and his head tilts upward just slightly. He has something clutched in his hand, but Shinjiro can't see what it is. He's too busy trying to find the blue of his eyes under all that gray, but colors are getting harder to see.

He laughs, an airy sort of sound, and collapses.


.


It delivers all equally to the same end.


His world is monochrome. Time is irrelevant here.

“Sleeping again, huh?”

Shinjiro stares down at the boy shackled to the door in front of him. He keeps his hands in his pockets, and watches as Minato shifts enough to look up at him. Some sort of emotion passes over his face then, something like confusion— or maybe it was the opposite of that, and this guy already knew everything. He was unusual that way.

“You guys were pretty damn impressive. Good job.”

“Yeah,” Minato agrees, and Shinjiro realizes that his eyes are the only spots of color in his monochrome world. They're blue.

He wonders if there's some sort of doubt lingering at the end of that word, but Minato starts moving again before he can think on it too much. He brings his arms out and forward, but the restraints stop him just before he can touch Shinjiro's face. Shinjiro doesn't move; they probably wouldn't be able to touch, anyway.

Minato looks up at him with half-lidded eyes (he looks tired) and smiles a little. Knowingly. “Someone else could have done better.”


A girl smiles up at him. Her disposition is cheery and her eyes are red.

She's holding out the old pocket watch he lost in one of her hands.


“I never asked for better,” Shinjiro says.


She's crying over his body, his blood covering her hands and face.

He never feels his heart stop beating.


“Besides,” Shinjiro begins again, “Looks like there are still things you've gotta take care of. You know those guys are a bunch of idiots.”

“Yeah.” Minato's smile is still in place. “... Keep counting, senpai.”