I watch you spin from afar

[imugi]

title: bloody moon.

series: Persona 3
characters: Akihiko & Shinjiro

rating: pg-13

summary: His friend was falling. The best he could do was to open his arms. A story about what it means (or doesn't mean) to cope.
author notes: Each part works as a standalone.

He dreamt of it more often than he'd like to admit.

Miki was gone. Akihiko knew that, had already accepted it. He had to hold on to the things that were still solid now, ground himself to the world and push against it— propel himself forward. Maybe the faster he moved, the clearer the future would become. If he could even stave off the dizziness incited from life's constant motion and reach that seemingly unattainable goal, it would be a great victory on his behalf.

In his dreams, he would lose his footing and pitch forward, arms outstretched to grasp at something he desperately wished was there. Luck was usually on his side— His hands would find purchase in the material of a heavy coat, a body like a pillar that held him back from falling off the edge of the world. Looking up into that face, he almost felt like a child again— never knowing his limits, falling and skinning his knee. But he hadn't wanted to let go.

“Shinji...” He'd lean forward, exhausted, pressing his face into his friend's back, “I'm tired of running.”

“That ain't running.” A strong hand would grip at the back of his collar and shove him forward, stumbling, trying to find balance. “Don't stop here.”

He wouldn't. He'd run until he could no longer feel that presence at his back, growing as faint and distant as the memories of Miki and the orphanage. It wasn't fair— The only way to catch up to Shinji again was to run a full circle, but that would have defeated the purpose. He'd never be moving forward. Why won't you come with me?

He dreamt of it often. Running, running— But now, it was different.

When he reached out, there was no one there.


.


He was screaming.


Shinji had walked away. He'd stepped over the rubble of the things he - his other self - had destroyed, the house, the lives, and walked away. Akihiko remembered it too clearly— Mitsuru's pale face, the hot tears he'd felt trailing down his own. They hadn't been for himself. None of it should have happened.


He was holding his head and screaming. Pain, fear, anguish, confusion—


The dorm still housed some of Shinji's belongings, the things he hadn't bothered coming back for. It wasn't a lot, but it was most of what Shinji owned. Akihiko found himself standing in that room from time to time, arms crossed, his mind working at too great a speed to pinpoint a single thought. He'd grab a rag and wipe furiously at the dust that had accumulated on the desk and shelves.

None of it should have happened.


A shining horse, too bright in the sky— terrible, fearsome— like a harbinger of the apocalypse—


He'd done this for too long, lost too much sleep over it. He was beginning to fear he'd collapse in the middle of practice— His grades were already suffering. By all rights, he should have chosen to stay home and rest, but maybe the familiar exercises were the only way to get the questions to stop, the relentless chants of where are you, where are you?

Shinji, where the hell are you?

The anxiety was enough to make him want to retch even after only a month had passed, a month without a word or a sign of life. He'd already gone out and searched until he was too tired to go on, checked all of the usual spots. The futility, and the realization of that futility, only made his stomach twist into tighter knots. Even Mitsuru was becoming concerned.

“Please, Akihiko, stop this,” she'd plead with him, a hand on his shoulder.

But he thought about Miki. And he thought about the day Shinji had first come to the dorm, had insisted on staying by his side, had joined SEES because of him.


Please, stop. Please, stop screaming like that.


One month became two, two became three, and the new year was drawing close. The Christmas festivities had lost their appeal— Akihiko wondered if it would be that way for the rest of his life. He'd survived the past few months only by the grace of Mitsuru's patience. By the time the season had brought the snow, he'd stopped going out so much, but he still searched.

It was snowing the day Akihiko finally found him.

“What... Aki?”

He looked just as ragged and terrible as Akihiko had expected, but he'd never seen anything so relieving in his short life. His head was pounding with the intensity of it— relief, indignation, and anger— and when he threw himself at his friend it was with every intention to punch him into the pavement. And he did punch him— punched him hard enough to split his lip open— but caught Shinji in an embrace just as he reeled back to retaliate. The body in his arms tensed instantly, but he didn't care.

“You bastard,” he hissed, the smell of smoke and gasoline thick on the coat pressed against his face, “Three months...”

Shinji made a rumbling, throaty sort of noise— Akihiko couldn't identify the emotion behind it. He realized a moment later that he didn't need to, because he was enveloped suddenly by a grip even stronger than his own, a sharp inhale against the base of his neck. It was completely unexpected, and made his throat clench.

“It's not—” he tried to speak again, but gave up when his voice broke. Stupid— Even now, Shinji still made him feel like a child.

Shinji gripped his shoulders tightly, pushing him back and breaking the embrace to get a good look at him. He looked a lot more composed than Akihiko felt, but ten times more exhausted, a little thinner. A shower probably would have helped. He wondered how much time Shinji had spent outside in the cold, waiting to freeze.

“You look like shit,” he said, and Akihiko could have laughed at the irony.

“Look who's talking.”

Akihiko reached out to wipe away the trail of blood left behind from his earlier assault, not caring that it sank into the dark material of his glove. Shinji winced and swatted his hand away, stepping back to put some space between them. The distance and the absence of something solid stirred up Akihiko's anxiety again, made him afraid for a reason he couldn't place, and he glanced over accusingly.

Shinji seemed genuinely distraught. “Don't look at me like that... Just get outta here. You wasted your time coming here like this.”

“Shinji—” The weight of whatever it was he wanted to say got caught on his tongue.

It's not your fault.

“I'm not going back.”


.


“Hey, Shinji. You awake?”

It was warm, even at night. He could feel the humidity adding an uncomfortable friction to his skin, but maybe only because he hadn't bothered showering since returning from practice. He'd been tired, somehow ended up collapsing sideways on Shinji's bed, staring up at the ceiling until he'd fallen asleep without realizing it. When he woke again, it was already evening.

A low hum from his side made him turn his head, finding Shinji in a similar position. Back when it had been the three of them—

“I had this weird dream just now,” he cut off the train of his own thoughts, “I think I was looking for you after class, so I decided to check the roof. That's usually where you go when you skip classes, isn't it?”

Shinji finally turned his head, just enough to offer out a flat look. Of course, it was a stupid question.

Akihiko turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “So I looked, but you weren't there. You always do know the right way to disappear when you don't want to be found.”

The bed creaked under the stress of someone's weight shifting, and he made a strangled sound of surprise when he was suddenly shoved off the bed, hitting the floor in an ungraceful heap. Shinji was scowling at him from above, moving into a sitting position and adjusting the sleeves of his shirt.

“What was that—”

“Get the hell outta my room and take a damn shower, Aki. You stink.”

Akihiko got to his feet, suddenly irritated and prepared to retaliate. But Shinji only looked at him once before falling back onto the bed again, shoving his arms behind his head. Both the flippant edge to the simple motion and the fact that he took extra care to stretch himself along the length of the bed was enough to make Akihiko's hot blood boil again, but it vanished like a sudden gust of steam when Shinji spoke up again.

“I'll be here when you get back.”


.


Snow had accumulated a fair amount overnight by the time a day had passed. It took Akihiko some amount of time to find him again, but it was much easier now that he knew where to look. The back alleys were dingy and full of a lot of unwelcome stares, but he wasn't worried— There was no one here he wasn't capable of taking on. No one except for maybe one person, and that was just the one that he was going to see.

“Here.”

Shinji glanced up, eying the steaming cup of coffee in his hand for a long moment before finally accepting it, a little grudgingly. Akihiko smiled— tired, still tired— and settled down next to him, close enough that their sides brushed and he could feel some of the body heat in the space between them. It was more of a reassurance to himself, that there was really someone there. Shinji either didn't notice or didn't care.

It was strained. Akihiko realized that he didn't know what to say anymore, even though the silence itself was strangling. There had been plenty of times where words hadn't really been necessary between them in the past, but it was different now. He felt like he was losing something, and didn't know how to get it back.


He was screaming.


Maybe it was because he still couldn't get those images out of his mind— his closest friend, someone so strong, clutching his head in pain— the sound of a building crashing down beneath the single hoof of a glowing beast— a small boy crying for his mother— a corpse—

“... Hey.”

He wasn't aware that he'd dozed off there until Shinji nudged his side. His own cup slipped from his hands somewhere between being startled and disorientated, and the dark liquid melted a clear path in the snow. Shinji was staring at him, and he knew why. The most prominent reason being that this wasn't one of the wisest places to sleep in, and the fact that he had fallen asleep on the spot at all.

“What a waste,” he sighed, sitting up a little straighter.

Even so, all of those things were already in the past.

“Why are you—”

“I'm going to go get myself another coffee,” Akihiko cut him off, already standing. He brought a hand up to his neck, nudging his fingers into the knot of his scarf. “Will you be here when I get back?”

Shinji was quiet for a longer time than it should have taken to answer, and his gaze dropped down to the mug still in his hand. Akihiko thought for a moment that he would ignore the question entirely, but that wasn't the case.

“Yeah.”

They had to start somewhere.

“Good.” The scarf unraveled, and he looped it around Shinji's face before he could protest, tying it a little tighter than necessary. Shinji tugged it down from his mouth with a scowl, and for a moment things almost seemed normal. “I'll hold you to that. Don't freeze before I get here.”

“... Tch. Whatever you say, Aki.”