Disclaimer: Atlus owns Persona.
Pins
On October 3, his fingers snag against the pins in her hair. In the hallway, out of direct lamplight, and hopefully out of the notice of anyone downstairs. She lifts her face from his chest, bemused, and says that if he wants to play with her hair, she'll give him a hand. And undoes the short tumble of her ponytail, releasing his waist to snap the band around her wrist. The six hair pins follow, and she drops them in his right jacket pocket, it being handiest.
On October 4, after he's found the note shoved under his door, the note he's been expecting for a month, he strips. Blood red armband, protective vest, battle axe, pistol. For most of his life, he's been able to live out of a suitcase, and now he places everything he owns on his desk. Pulls his sweater back on, static snapping his hair, then on with the jacket. He tosses his wallet, lets it skid lightly across the desk.
His right hand falls to its pocket and touches cold, almost surgical metal. Lifting his hand free, unfurling the fingers to show the hair pins, lying like glinting lines of type he never learned to read.
He considers dropping them back into his pocket, to take them with him. Would they ever be found again?
He would rather have cool strands of hair in his fingers.
He considers placing them on the desk, by the pistol. They belong with everything he's done without.