we will never be, I am the moon

[imugi]

title: bloody moon iii.

series: Persona 3
characters: Akihiko & Shinjiro

rating: pg-13

summary: Continuation. A story about what it means (or doesn't mean) to cope.
author notes: Can act as a standalone. Final in the series.

Shinjiro had learned and adjusted to things like hardship and loss at a young age. He'd been left alone in a world that was too large and too unkind. There were a lot of things he'd find that he had to teach himself, like how to carve a place in that world, and how to approach others. The latter had never been anything he was good at, and so maybe it was only natural that he, Aki, and Miki would gravitate toward each other so easily.

Except, it wouldn't be like that anymore, would it?

It was nothing unfamiliar. Shinjiro knew what it meant even when the older women running the orphanage didn't want to tell them anything, just apologized with tear-streaked faces. Those of them that were left had been moved off to somewhere temporary until the damages to the building could be assessed, some even placed in temporary foster homes. Miki wasn't with them, wasn't anywhere really, and Shinjiro knew that there was a chance that the two of them left could be separated, too.

For his part, Aki hadn't said much since the incident. He'd just stare off into the distance like everything that was happening was a part of some separate reality. He was patched up in a few places, had an ugly burn on his left arm. When they were brought to the temporary residence to wait until something could be done for them, he'd sat himself in the corner and stared at the floor, was probably still there now.

It was well into the afternoon of the next day by the time Shinjiro was finally able to see him. Maybe Aki had only been waiting for that the whole time, because as soon as he looked up and saw him, his eyes started to fill up with tears.

“Shinji,” he said, only it came out more as a sob, “Shinji,” like it was the only thing he knew how to say.

Shinjiro felt something in his stomach twist uncomfortably, but forced himself to swallow those feelings for now. Aki was barely a few months younger than him, but he was a head shorter— just tall enough to bury his face into Shinjiro's chest. A beat later and he was crying and gripping the back of Shinjiro's shirt like the world might end if he let go.

“Shinji,” he was still repeating it around his tears.

“... Hey,” Shinjiro said once he could finally trust himself to speak. He pushed Aki back and fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, using it to mop up all the snot and tears. “C'mon, stop crying. Blow your nose.”

Aki nodded faintly and gripped the cloth with both his hands, doing as he was told. But once that was done with, he went right back to gripping the sides of Shinjiro's shirt, almost as if he were afraid he might disappear at any moment. It wasn't a totally unfounded fear, not in their situation.

“Shinji, I—” his words were broken by dry sobs, “Don't...”

I'm scared. Don't go.

“Yeah, I get it,” Shinjiro sighed, and placed a hand on Aki's head.


.


October fourth. One year had passed since that day. Akihiko couldn't find Shinji anywhere.

He hadn't even bothered going to school, had woken up that morning with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was still churning well into the day, making him sweat and his hands shake. He couldn't tell if it was a result of nerves or desperation. All he knew was that he had to find him, somehow, even if it took him until sunset.

It ended up taking him until late afternoon, after he had already scoured most of the streets. He was almost beginning to feel just as he had the day Shinji had first disappeared, but luck had it that he spotted a figure with a too-familiar slouch in the distance, seated on a park bench across the street from a local elementary school. It seemed almost surreal to see him outside of those dirty streets, almost like it was a year ago again.

But, no— those days were over. Akihiko sometimes worried that Shinji had forgotten him.

“Hey, Shinji!” He slowed to a stop as he came close, and strangely he couldn't remember when he had started running in the first place. “I'm surprised to see you here...”

Shinji almost didn't acknowledge him. He seemed dazed and a little pale, and Akihiko noticed not for the first time just how much Shinji's overall constitution had suffered in the span of a year. He always looked tired and must have been losing even more weight, though because it didn't seem to affect his strength, Akihiko perhaps didn't worry as much as he should have. It was these sort of days that made him concerned and a little guilty for that.

Shinji did tilt his head after a moment, however— just a slight but considerate motion. “Yeah. It's me.”

Akihiko didn't wait for an invitation to claim the spot on the bench next to him. He followed Shinji's gaze to the building in the distance, though there was nothing much to see during hours. It wasn't anywhere to be right now, wasn't anything to linger on. Hadn't this already gone on for long enough? The day was just too cold— He wished that he could take Shinji back to the dorm, warm him up a little for once and just make him forget.

“It's Amada. Ken Amada.” When Shinji glanced up with a start, Akihiko clarified, “That's his name. It's why you're here, isn't it?”

“Tch,” Shinji's whole demeanor darkened a fraction. “You got somethin' to say about it, Aki? I know you do. I can see it in your face.”

It was a challenge if Akihiko ever heard one. A sensitive topic on a sensitive day— Did he still want to rise to meet it? He certainly hadn't searched all morning only to start another one of these old, old arguments. And yet, he couldn't deny that his own feelings were being stirred, a bothersome mixture of frustration and grief that made his chest tight.

He pivoted in the seat to better face Shinji. “Yeah, I do. When are you going to let this go?”

It was an insensitive question. He knew it even before Shinji reeled back and belted him in the face, and shit— Shinji may not have been a boxer, but he could still throw a mean punch. He had to catch himself on the bench to keep himself from falling off, and how was he going to explain this bruise to Mitsuru?

“Screw off.” Shinji stood, and he must have done it a little too fast, because for a moment he wavered and looked ready to collapse. “You're the last person that should lecture me about this shit.”

Akihiko knew he was a terrible friend for taking advantage of it, but as soon as he saw that moment of weakness, his fighting instincts kicked in and he threw himself forward. Shinji grunted as he was thrown to his back on the ground, and it wasn't long before he was hissing out curses and throwing himself all ways in an attempt to dislodge the person straddling him. Akihiko was forced to catch a few more punches, but it was easier now that he was more focused.

“Ah, fuck,” Shinji was livid, “You asshole!”

“Just what the hell do you mean by that, Shinji?” Akihiko wasn't listening. “You think I don't get tired of watching you waste away like this? Why are you so stubborn?!”

“Waste away,” Shinji spat, stopping his struggles long enough to look him in the eye, “Don't give me that, Aki. As if all your training can really make you forget. Drop all this heroic garbage— you're no better than me.”

Akihiko punched him.


.


Shinjiro's ears were ringing— It was as if the crash had deafened him, and all he could hear now were screams. He thought that maybe there was the sound of someone calling his name in the distance, fighting around smoke and rubble to get to him, but he couldn't be sure. He pressed his hands over his ears almost as if to block out all of those sounds, but somehow it only served to make it worse, as if it made the echoes in his head louder.

He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know when he had collapsed there, or when his persona had finally vanished, leaving him totally drained. He wasn't certain he could stand if he wanted to— It was a sobering reflection of all the strength that Castor had used that night.

Someone called his name again— louder (closer) and more desperate. It sparked a sudden recognition in him, and maybe he could have ignored it were it anyone else. This wasn't just anyone, and so he forced himself to glance up in time to see hands outstretched in his direction, found himself clung to by a pair of strong arms before he could even think to pull away. His name was being whispered over and over in his ear, pleadingly, and there was something damp against his temple—

Oh.

It was like a cloud had been lifted. With that sudden awakening came the weight of everything that had just happened, and he groaned, turning his face into Aki's chest. He felt sick. Aki reacted to it almost immediately, as if it were some kind of reflex, his grip tightening and his body curling forward as if to shield him from something. It almost made Shinjiro want to laugh, or maybe vomit— Shield him from what?

He reached back, fisting his hands into the back of Aki's shirt like it was the only thing holding him up. Aki was still mumbling something to him, the sound of his name being replaced with things like I'm sorry and I couldn't do anything and I wasn't strong enough. Each sentence made Shinjiro's whole body tremble and his teeth clench, and he was sure that his fingers must have started to dig painfully into Aki's back, but nothing was said about it.

He couldn't be weak. He couldn't be weak because then they'd both fall apart, and this idiot didn't deserve to go down with him.

“It's not your fault,” Aki said, and Shinjiro knew then that he had to stand up whether he had the strength to or not.


.


The sky was glowing a faint pink-orange when Akihiko came back to that bench with ice in hand. Shinji thankfully hadn't moved, was still sitting there with a sour look and one hand pressed to the darkening patch on the side of his face. It wasn't exactly an unfamiliar sight where the two of them were concerned, but Akihiko couldn't shake the fear that he had really messed things up for once. It was a feeling that was only slightly relieved when Shinji actually turned at his appearance.

“Took you long enough,” he griped, and Akihiko sighed.

He set his own pack aside for now, and moved over to press the ice to Shinji's face, the other arm curling around his shoulder. “Sorry,” he said, a little despairingly, and he meant it.

“Cut that out...” Shinji winced and reached up to place a hand over his own, the one holding the pack, until he pulled away and let Shinji take it for himself. “It's not a big deal. I was the one that threw the first punch.”

Shinji was back to staring at something off in the distance. Akihiko turned to follow it, spotting a familiar face in the crowd of children that made his stomach drop. Maybe he understood somewhat why Shinji had come here— just to make sure that this one boy was still alive, still healthy, hadn't been completely swallowed by his loss. Was it really possible to make up for the past?

“Last time I saw that face, it was a mess of tears,” Shinji laughed, but it was a pained sort of sound.

“Yeah,” Akihiko nodded, because he didn't know what else to say. “Are you okay with this?”

Shinji mirrored his nod. “Yeah.”

Akihiko knew he wasn't, not completely, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped back when Shinji shifted, watched him stand up again— all on his own, with his own strength, whether he had it or not. In that moment, Akihiko thought that he'd never felt so close to Shinji, and at the same time had never felt so far away.

It would have to be enough for now.