A/N: It's been a while! Can't say I have inspiration for Tight Rope just yet but after playing Persona 5 this moment came to mind. I wanted to play with the idea of reincarnation and the burden carried from previous lifetimes. Per usual I start right in the middle of a moment. I think it's a preferred writing style. Instead of a setup, I like to get right into the thick of it and almost make the reader find their place in the story. Hope you enjoy it!
Cooking felt different now. He used to meticulously hand pick his ingredients to avoid any bruising of fruit or wilted herbs. Past sporadic bursts of inspiration allowed him to discover interesting food pairings—ground coffee beans enhanced the savory flavor of grilled meats while the bitterness of watercress provided a clean aftertaste. There was always something soothing about the rhythmic sound of a freshly sharpened knife hitting methodically against a wooden cutting board. Now, it was the only sound against a deafening silence causing tension with every dull thud. It was metronomic and displeasing to the ear. The precision Shinjiro usually took in prepping his ingredients was quickly cast aside in favor of speed as he tossed a handful of chopped onions into the pot of curry. Sojiro would have his head if he saw how carelessly he was treating his food. With a dull thud, he set down the bowl.
"Eat," his tone made his monosyllabic response to sound more like an order, but the hoarseness of it made it apparent how little he slept all week.
Akihiko looked at him—almost through him. His eyes boring holes into his own haggard gaze. Against Le Blancs' dim, yellow lights, Akihiko's eyes only looked more sunken.
"It's curry, and it's all we have here," Shinjiro added trying to fill the silence. It was useless trying to make any of this seem normal. He had lived years of another life, one that he wasn't sure he deserved. And it wasn't until just this week that memories from his past came inundating his dreams like a haunting melody. At first, it was a daydream here and there, but the weight of those dreams and the vivid detail in them convinced him they were something real. Every dream about his past life felt like days, sometimes months within the span of mere hours. He would wake up in a more taxing state than when he drifted into slumber. Seeing Takaya as one of his last memories, and the three circular scars scattered throughout his abdomen confirmed it. In retrospect, he was foolish to ever think such distinct, symmetrical scars were just birthmarks.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," It was an untimely jab, but despite seeing Akihiko for the first time in years—and confirming his existence in this lifetime—time seemed to stay still in terms of their friendship. And with that friendship came his sardonic responses.
Shinjiro leaned back in an attempt to seem nonchalant. In actuality, it was to keep some distance between him and Akihiko. It was the first time he had seen one of his past teammates in the flesh. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the realness of it all and it was an unadulterated instinct that wanted to protect some part of his sanity with set boundaries between them. The intangible reality of Akihiko sitting before him was as dumbfounded as the expression on Akihiko's face for the past fifteen minutes. It was unsettling to see and converse with someone he simultaneously didn't know existed until this week and considered his brother.
"How can you joke about that," Akihiko nearly stuttered, his gloved hands combing through his silver hair. With a muted snort, Shinjiro noted Akihiko still wore gloves in this lifetime. "The last time I saw you—," Akihiko winced. Shinjiro could practically hear the gunshot vibrating in his skull and with it reverberating memories of his past, "You were gone."
His hand reflexively rose to gingerly touch one of his fatal scars through his sweater. The outlines of Akihiko's confused, hurt brow instantly aged his seemingly unbreakable will. The vivid fervor of the Akihiko he last knew was gone. It wasn't until this very moment that he realized how negatively his death impacted him. He looked so broken. Akihiko bore holes into the bowl of curry now coagulating before him. For Akihiko, he was reliving one of his most painful memories as his concept of true reality slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve. It was a difficult truth to face.
"When did you start to remember?" Shinjiro asked.
"It's been a few months," Akihiko squinted, trying to find the answers from deep recesses of his memory and past lifetimes, "At first I thought it was just dreams, but the same people kept showing up in them. Junpei, Yukari, Fuuka, Ken," Akihiko paused before finally looking back up at Shinjiro, "You, and—"
"Have you found her yet?"
Shinjiro looked at the stain of a coffee cup ring on one of the wooden tables, unable to hide the strain of urgency in his eyes. Arguably, she haunted him the most in his dreams. Memories of her piercing gaze and her tight-lipped coquettish smile left him breathless and wide awake in the middle of the night with a sense of longing he didn't even know he had.
"No."
Shinjiro's lips tightened into an indiscernible line.
"You're the first person I've come across all this time." Akihiko muttered, frustration coating every word, "That's why I joined the police force. I figured if I was able to patrol the city I would be able to cover more ground. Maybe find the others. I stopped by on an errand only to find you in Yongen-Jaya of all places," Akihiko swallowed, frustrated that Shinjiro was here all along just under his nose.
"I've been warned by Sojiro about the police sniffing around here," Shinjiro's eyes narrowed, "What kind of errand were you on?"
"Wakaba Isshiki's research. I haven't been able to find out why they're so desperate to have it, but I can tell it's something important."
"Cognitive Psience." Shinjiro heard Futaba mumble it in her sleep when she was in her unusual comatose state of recharging. Sojiro also begrudgingly mentioned it when he ordered Shinjiro to stay on his toes about possible prosecutors coming in and out of the cafe. He didn't press on it any further. The barbed way Sojiro spoke about it demanded no further questions.
"Maybe it can help us figure out what the hell we're doing here or why we're remembering things about—." He paused unable to form his experience into words. Akihiko's expression physically halted, unable to jump from one topic to the next, hell, one life to the next in mere seconds of a conversation with someone he met for the first time and yet knew with his entire soul. Seeing Shinji, a physical, breathing manifestation, was a rushing sense of relief that his sanity was within his grasp. But with that relief came a flurry of open questions with no answers to be found.
Akihiko couldn't read the hard lines of Shinjiro's expression. Was his hesitation and the calculated distance between them because he only had a week to cope with what Akihiko had months to digest and comprehend? Or was Akihiko's presence an unwelcome reminder of a life Shinjiro would have been happy to forget? Was he the only one desperately trying to find the others?
Was he being left behind in this life as well?
"What would change if we knew?" Shinjiro asked, his question directed toward the air around them rather than Akihiko.
Akihiko's lips twitched as though ready to bare teeth and bark back ready to challenge and demand why Shinjiro was so latent about their circumstance, but this was a different lifetime and they currently stood in unknown territory.
"I don't know, but we have to try. Don't we?" Akihiko's question reverberated off the walls, echoing into the night.
Shinjiro wasn't sure what his intentions were anymore. Sojiro had given him a home and the freedom to cook in Le Blanc's humble kitchen. He wouldn't dare cross the boundaries Sojiro crystallized by unlawfully digging up Wakaba's research. Whatever happens, happens. That was how he lived his life, his scars were proof of that. He wasn't sure what he wanted given the choice. Peaceful ignorance or the truth? But his cards were already dealt, he couldn't help but accept that his returning memories were a sign to pursue the truth. It was time to call a spade a spade. He parted his lips to concede only to find Akihiko practically in pieces before him.
"Shinji," Akihiko's brows furrowed, his jaw tightly clenched displaying his inner torment. "I didn't even know if you would remember me."
Shinji. Just hearing that grounded the interaction into reality. The familiarity of it wrought him speechless, but dwelling on nostalgia and the past wasn't his style. Yet his body betrayed his natural instinct. Like a magnet, he took a step closer to Akihiko. The noise of the wooden floor creaking against his mass jerked Akihiko's attention toward him, his expression was fearful and anxious about Shinjiro's reply. He closed the space between them, his arms now leaning against the bar table seemingly more welcome to an earnest conversation.
"Eat," he said, but this time with a gentler tone. He was a man of little words, but if his instinct was right, Akihiko would understand his meaning. Akihiko's expression washed over with relief as he nodded dumbly, like a child post-reprimand. Without another word, he picked up his spoon and ate with nothing more than a low, satisfied hum to express the taste.
And that was enough.
