summary: Loss gives neither sign nor warning, it just takes a part of you away. You know it doesn't make sense, so you start looking back at the past for things you might have missed, desperately hoping it will. Post-game/ending. AU-ish. Akihiko/FeMC Shinjiro/FeMC
A series of ficlets from a post-game perspective, with(out) the Dark Hour. Alternate Universe-ish.
pairing/s: Akihiko/Female Protagonist/Shinjiro, one-sided Mitsuru/Akihiko, Junpei/Yukari
warning/s: dark themes, character death, unbeta-d.
rating: T (borderline M for dark themes).
disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to a person, whether alive or otherwise, is unintentional. I (un)fortunately do not own any Persona characters mentioned in this story, Atlus does.
fixation
noun.
An obsessive interest in or feeling about someone or something.
one
Shinjiro hates having to get up from his bed in the mornings (he never was a morning person) because when he does, he only finds an empty dormitory, so he has long developed the habit of staying inside for as long as the sun is still out. He especially hates not hearing those annoying sounds he used to hear when she was around, because lately nobody speaks a word or a whole sensible sentence and everyone seems to be just fine with drowning in silence.
When he opens his eyes today, he immediately thinks about how he's starting to hate waking up in general. Whether he wakes up alone in his bed or not (because no matter how many times he tells himself that nothing's changed, he knows everything has). Then, he remembers how his damn bed is half of everything he has.
Sometimes he thinks of replacing it, but one move—one look at it and he is painfully reminded of how only a few months ago it wasn't just his.
"Fuck."
He hates how his mornings don't start with him complaining about the sun and her laughing anymore.
He hates how every morning he takes two steps backwards from moving on.
two
"Hey, senpai?" When Junpei speaks, it doesn't anymore sound like the Junpei that Akihiko knows.
"…What is it?" It takes him a while to respond.
Akihiko is too busy trying to be busy and is constantly trying to find ways to do things without having to look anyone in the eyes. He doesn't look up from the cardboard box with his name neatly scrawled on the lid. He doesn't look at Junpei; he's too scared to look at him. He's too scared to look at anyone.
"Do you know what her favorite color was?" He swears he can feel Junpei's attempt to smile.
"No." Akihiko doesn't ask, because the smile fails to show and he doesn't want the conversation to last longer than it should.
Every minute the room brings back too many memories, and too many memories is one too many painful things and they don't want that. He doesn't want that. Nobody wants that.
Not now. Not now.
He wants to leave the room—her room, soon. Leave and never come back, but at the same time, he doesn't want to.
"Oh…" Junpei's breath hitches and it makes Akihiko shut his eyes because he doesn't want to hear the strain in Junpei's voice anymore.
Akihiko's eyes fall upon the rabbit doll on his bed, and he brings his trembling hands up to his face to wipe away something that doesn't exist. He finds that he's trying to block out the rest of the world again—a habit he's starting to develop lately—and hears Junpei exhale from behind him.
He refuses to acknowledge that Junpei is tired. Acknowledging that he is tired means that Akihiko has to acknowledge he's been crying the whole time that he's been holed up in his room. Crying means that something isn't right, that Akihiko knows that something isn't right, that something has changed. Akihiko doesn't want anything to change.
"She liked grey."
"Junpei." He cuts in with that tone he ever rarely uses, because he isn't (and will never be) ready.
"You should've seen the look on her face when she found out it wasn't technically a color."
Junpei won't have any of it because he doesn't want Akihiko to keep running away, he knows Akihiko can't keep running away, and suddenly she comes into his mind. He knows her so well that it's already too late for him to even try to ignore how Akihiko's hands are always wrapped in bandages, or how Shinjiro is always out at nights to come back in the mornings with at least a fresh bruise under his coat.
"She loved your eyes, senpai."
Junpei is mad at her for leaving like this, for leaving them like this, because only god knows what is going through their heads and he is no god. He's just her best friend.
"She wouldn't want to see you like this."
When Akihiko storms off, Junpei wishes that he just snap and break his jaw instead, just so he could have something that isn't from her and isn't a memory.
Something that can tell him that he just lost his best friend and it is real.
three
Shinjiro is out in the streets again, but Mitsuru doesn't say anything, even if she's the one to hold the door open for him whenever he comes back. She doesn't say anything at all, even if this time he's back (she does not dare say 'home') at the ungodly hour of 2AM and he doesn't even bother to hide the mess that used to be his coat anymore.
She doesn't say anything to Akihiko either; she just lets Junpei bring the fresh bandages up to his room, because it's more practical. That way he won't have to look at her and be reminded of what he lost, and she won't have to be reminded of what she never had.
They all have their ways to deal with the pain; hers is praying for Shinjiro and Akihiko to find another way.
four
Most of Shinjiro's bruises have healed, the last being just under his collar bone. He honestly could not possibly care less whether his injuries show or not, he has nothing to hide, so he doesn't bother to grab his coat anymore whenever he goes out. The streets are somewhat cleaner, and he finds the fact really irritating because he isn't done yet and it means that he has to find something else to keep him busy.
He has to find something else to distract him.
Mitsuru leaves them to do what they want now, but nobody wants to pick a fight with him anymore, and it gets on his nerves every time he remembers how they look at him. As if they know he has just lost his reason to go back to the dormitory, the place he would almost call a home.
He goes out today to drown in a sea of people—of people who haven't lost anyone—instead of silence, because he's fucking sick of silence and of people who are as miserable as he is but don't want to say anything because they can't quite let go of her yet. None of them is ready to face a future without her. He doesn't ever want to let go of her, and it's one reason that he and Akihiko share, but not without issues.
When he passes by the jewelry store and notices that the little silver band that caught his attention last year is now gone, he cannot help but think how ten years from now he could be holding a ring for her in his own palm, instead of an unlit candle.
"There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help, and what they cannot."
TO BE CONTINUED.
notes: I am taking a break from Rewind, and I have to let this out. I'll appreciate it if you notice any error and point it out to me so I can fix it. Leave a review, too, if this tickled your fancy.