this fic is based off of cquaer's work on tumblr
the link to the piece is on my profile
(to amplify the sirens and to find real amends)
"To the Phantom Thieves!"
"To the Phantom Thieves!"
As their former leader, Akira has the honour of starting the cheer, the seven other voices uniting in the following chant.
Lucky for Haru, her voice has always been quiet to begin with. The lack of enthusiasm will not be noticed… or so she hopes.
The clinking of flutes filled with sparkling cider resounds in the spacious living room, the volume of eight voices filling in the rest of it. The air buzzes with everyone's excitement in celebrating such a memorable day.
Christmas Eve in and of itself is worthy of celebration, but there is an additional reason for their convening. An entire year has passed since the defeat of Yaldabaoth, returning free will to the citizens of Tokyo.
The party at Haru's house is also a means of catching up; with no Metaverse to alert them of the collective unconscious' endangerment, the octad had reverted to focusing on their school lives, doubly so for the former second years. Attention had found its way to Akira specifically, details from the already reserved on current events at an all-time low.
The heiress is thankful for this game of 20 Questions, as it gives her the opportunity to be mentally absent, her desire to speak with anyone already stretched quite thin. Of course, she returns from her reverie when addressed, mouth forcing a practiced smile whenever the need to fulfill a request as hostess arises.
As she retreats to the kitchen, she does not notice the strands of orange that shift to track her, conducting a close observation of her expressions as the smile disappears, a familiar face of distress replacing it.
A face she knew all too well; she had also been yet another victim to it this time of year.
She sets this data aside for now, jumping back into the conversation she carries with Makoto and Ryuji. Her eyes move almost unnoticeably when she spots Haru exiting the kitchen, deceivingly disguised platitudes leaving her lips upon her return.
Unfortunately, the "almost" had been noticed. "Hey, do you think Haru's alright? She seems quieter than usual today…" Makoto comments, observant as always.
"Ever the watchful eye," Futaba grumbles, easily deflecting the "Huh?" both parties give her in return. "I said, 'she's probably fine.' Probably just tired from having to take care of Ryuji's sorry butt." She sighs mentally with relief when she succeeds in changing the topic. Now is clearly not the time for anyone to address her odd behavior.
So she waits.
She waits until the party winds down to the volume of an empty bar; until the guests begin to depart in a steady stream; until Haru assumes she is finally alone in her own house.
The Hermit leans against a counter with her arms folded across her chest, eyes watching the foot that shakes rhythmically with anxiety. She looks up when she hears a soft, startled "Oh!", the Empress walking into the kitchen with a hand over her heart. "H-Hello, Futaba! Did you need something before you left? I have plenty of leftovers! Or perhaps you aren't comfortable taking the trains back at night? I can have my chauffeur take you home—"
"You don't need to keep that up anymore, you know. It's just me here now." Futaba frowns when she sees Haru scrambling to clear the evidence, the remnants of tears still visible even after she struggles to hide her face and wipe her reddened eyes. "Haru…"
"I'm not sure what you mean," Haru lies, her head turning away as her stare trains on her sink, starting to wash the dishes that had accumulated during the party. She does not have to face omniscient scrutiny this way.
"Lying to me isn't gonna get you anywhere. Lying to yourself isn't gonna get you anywhere." The head of orange moves so that she leans against the counter nearest to the sink; her eyes never leave the girl who now focuses solely on scrubbing a plate. "Please talk to me, Haru. Please."
Neither speak as the dishes are cleaned one by one, placed delicately on the dish rack. It is obvious to both that the process is slowed, an almost infuriating meticulousness to be found in each action, all for the sake of delaying the ultimately inevitable.
When Haru finally dries her hands and stands stock still, the only evidence of Futaba's encouragement is in her shift against her inadequate backrest. After a few more minutes of silence, the Hermit hesitates before taking a chance and stepping closer to the Empress, a hand reaching out to eclipse both other's that clasp together. The former's eyebrows raise in surprise when she feels the dampness that sticks to her palm, mouth opening to speak but voice muted as her expression falls, gazes meeting.
The latter's tears overflow.
"I-It's supposed to be a good day, for all of us… but… but I…" she stammers, pulling a hand away, only to have it captured again.
"It's okay. I know it's been a year since then too."
Though her father had been killed in October, the whirlwind of events that followed had postponed the ceremony to December 26th, the first anniversary two days from now. Okumura Kunikazu's funeral had been kept as quiet as possible, her need for privacy and concern over Akira's imprisonment eliminating any desire she had to invite the Phantom Thieves. None had known until after it had happened; she had no control over media coverage of it, after all.
When she feels fragile fingers fidget and tremble, she pulls Haru in, arms tight around her shoulders and eyes closing as the shivers pass from one body to the next.
"I'm s-sorry… I shouldn't…"
"Don't apologize. You're allowed to grieve."
Her composure crumbles, Futaba following her to the floor when she sinks to her knees, hands shielding her face as her body slumps in defeat. The Hermit takes hold of her once more, left arm around her neck and right hand to the tile, supporting the weight of the one whose sobs fill the otherwise silent kitchen. "It never really goes away," she murmurs, feeling tears prick her own eyes, "but it gets easier. You didn't kill him, Haru. It's not your fault."
Haru's breathing shudders as she speaks, hiccups stuttering her sentence. "I still—it still feels like…"
Violet eyes blink blurring tears away, the drops leaving streaks on her skin. She is silent for a time, her forehead resting on Haru's shoulder in response to the hand on her own and the head pressed against hers. "I know."
Her fingers curl against pink fabric, her own sobs quiet, but equally as wracking.
They pull each other closer, arms wrapped around the other as they mourn parents long departed. The pair stays like that for a while, even after Futaba calms first, hand rubbing at Haru's back and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her head. She offers no other words of support, knowing firsthand that starting with the cathartic release of tears is needed before anything else.
It is not for another fifteen minutes that the Hermit feels the other's body relax, shaky breaths filling exhausted lungs. When the Empress finally pulls away to face her, the former offers a smile, still kind despite the evidence of her own grief. "Better?"
Haru nods, quietly thanking her when her hair is brushed away from her face, trapping the stray hand against her cheek before it can leave. Brown eyes close slowly as they focus on the feeling of her warm touch, breath finally steady.
Thank you," she says once more, mirroring the smile.
"I'm here for you, Haru. All of us are. Just like you all were for me."
author's notes
idk when tf I kinda started shipping these two but HERE WE ARE...
I'm taking requests on my writing tumblr :T