DISCLAIMER: I do not own Persona 3 Portable.
Author's Note: This is the response for Music1uv3r279's fic request. Inspired by the lyrics of Boys Don't Cry by The Cure and somehow by the lines of Pablo Neruda's poem.
Music1uv3r279: I hope I did a good job. I tried to imagine fluff since the beat was rather lively but I'm not really good at fluff (it might end up sappy again) so it became like this. This is actually a mesh of idea from reading the lyrics of the songs you picked. But in the end I chose Boys Don't Cry 'cause Aki's a crybaby. I hope you like it.
Title: How Often is Sometimes?
Summary: Like her he just tried to cover it all up with lies.
Timeline: Events lately after FeMC and Akihiko have become a couple until endgame.
Pairing: Akihiko/FeMC, Slight Shinjiro/FeMC
#1. How Often is Sometimes?
So I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try to laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
Because boys don't cry
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
He knew what the sighs meant.
He knew what closing her eyes with a scowl signified.
He knew what those roll of her eyes were for.
What he didn't knew was that how was it that even though he kind of feel he regrets it, he still doesn't and maybe he should.
It was only in the middle of it all when he's halfway there and about to lose it all that he realized it could have been hell of a lot worse. And he wanted to start to wonder why he had even tried. He'd like to think he knew the answer.
And he did, he really did.
They always have wild dirty loud sex whenever she was frustrated (not with him, 'cause he never got any when she was frustrated with him) over something. She uses the frustration to anchor force in their rather rigorous activity that leaves him lightheaded, panting, sweating, aching, and wanting more.
She would forbid him to take a shower after club practice and she would cling to his clammy and sticky skin, grinding and touching and humping and licking him to get her sordid satisfaction. He always complied, always. Why would he not when he enjoys every minute of it.
Even if he felt somewhat used after – from the way she grows cold and from the way she refuses to meet his eyes – he still relished it like a real fucking slave. The hurried kisses, the desperate clawing, the self-abusing demands – he has learned how to read them all.
He didn't have to ask her how to spell comfort sex.
That was just the start, actually.
There was one thing he wanted to truly know, unlike the other things he had discovered about her. It was that whenever she stared at him, he was very much curious of what did she see. What was it like to see him through her eyes? Moreover, to see what the world is like through her eyes. However, that was a different matter altogether.
He would deliberate how was it that sometimes her eyes were soft and gentle, sometimes sad, sometimes loving, then sometimes deprecating, and at times plain utter remorseful whenever she looks at him.
Her eyes so red and bright like a pool of blood and spilled wine, full of shells of promises and half-truths but mostly lies, it captured him every damn time and she never failed. One look and he's all gone, as if with just that one look she has seen passed him and studied all the cogs in his mind.
The way her scarlet orbs would linger on his face while denying the other things in the world her attention made him want to monopolize it; her stare. And he would always wonder what was it she found interesting in him to garner that look. So he could keep it, nurture it, so she wouldn't have to look away from him and wouldn't have to look at others. Nor would he have to fear that he might lose it, the breakable thread that had him hanging-sewed-tied to her hand.
But she was always one step ahead and he was always the one chasing, changing pace so he won't get left behind. And it makes him frustrated with her too, but not to the point that he stops craving for her. In fact it was the opposite; it only adds up to the building stacks of longing that weighs him.
The things he wanted to know continue to grow in numbers.
He wanted to know if she loves him.
He wanted to hear it from her.
He wanted to ask her but he's afraid, a coward. He didn't want to be lied to. Most especially, he didn't want to shatter his own fantasy.
Kiss me Aki.
Touch me here or there Aki.
Tell me you love me Aki.
She always said them with the kind of voice that made him want to obey. Then she would sing a string of praises and appreciation of his skill thereof; every dirty word counted to him as encouragement and sweet nothings and love songs.
And he never thought that there would be a day when he'd finally get sick of it.
All those words they mean nothing. They were just fished out in a hazy mindless lust. He could extricate it piece by piece but he won't find anything behind them or inside them.
So one day in his discontent he tried the ever-changing waters and braved her scrutinizing stares.
"I love you." He told her, after one of those nights when they made love not sex. He always told her how much he does; it was her who never did. Waiting can make a heart grow weary. She hummed in response as she kissed his jaw then his neck and down his collarbone. He cupped her face and said it once again. "I love you." He stared hard into her eyes and she smiled; that deadly smile with her curved pink lips and convincing eyes. "I know." She said, with the edges of her lips curling a bit more upwards. If it weren't her it would look like a sneer.
He snaked his arms around her and traced the ridges of her spine. He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead while she buried her face on his neck.
"I love you." He repeated. He was met with silence until she whispered, so soft he thought she was mumbling in her sleep, "What do you want me to do, Aki?"
In retrospect, he should have known that in her mind the confrontation was over and done with even before it had begun. It was stupid of him to have ever expected, to have wished, to have imagined that he would get through it unscathed. Who was he trying to fool, really?
He went to Shinjiro first, to the other party – if that was the right term to use – or maybe it was the other way around and he was the other party, nonetheless he would like to believe he had some proprietorship over Minako or their relationship. He opted to talk to his best friend first so that he could learn the truth and the facts without the added embellishments and drama and cooked out underhanded excuses that he knew she would probably pull off.
But then Shinjiro had told him that 'it was a load of total bullshit.'
Akihiko couldn't have phrased it better.
"Do you love her?" He just had to ask. Shinjiro didn't reply though, he merely glared at his hands on his lap.
Moments later Shinjiro spoke back, "Do you think she's happy?"
Akihiko's answer was the same: silence.
He had let a few days pass after his visit to Shinjiro before he decided the day that he would have 'the talk' with her. He had to prepare his mind and steel his heart just in case, so he could at least get a hold of himself. However, no amount of preparedness could have made him ready for it.
"He made me promise and you decided to jump back to the bandwagon all of a sudden. What should have I done?" She said rather irritably as if it wasn't her fault. Or maybe he just wasn't looking at it clearly and he and Shinji were really to blame. Or maybe this was what she wanted him to think.
"So you're saying it's our fault?" He asked incredulously.
"No!"
"Then what?" He had raised his voice now too, being affected with her outburst and all.
She sighed, again, exasperatedly; glared at him and rolled her eyes.
"What do you want me to say? I shouldn't have told you yes and dated you? Tell you that there was nothing between me and Shinji? I thought you didn't want me to lie?"
It was there at the tip of her tongue. The way she stopped abruptly and nipped her lower lip and her forehead crinkled with lines. He wanted her to spit it out. That she loves Shinji and not him or at least she loved Shinji more than him. But she doesn't, she bites her tongue and swallows the lie in once more.
He hated that awful mercy she offered him.
"What am I to you?" Nothing ventured nothing gained they said.
Minako's eyes softened, and if he were still as oblivious as he was before he would have believed it.
"You belong to me and I belong to you. Nothing else should matter." She said as she hugged his head to her chest.
He was wrong, it wasn't mercy. It was torture.
Minako was a light sleeper. So when he found her sleeping undisturbed when he went inside her room he was surprised. She should have stirred once he sat on her bed, like she did on other circumstances but at that moment she didn't. He wondered how tired she must probably be.
Akihiko stared at her peaceful face, her clear face unmarred with her lies and pretenses in which it was in its most beautiful appearance. The more he stared at her in that state the more he couldn't help but think it was too hard to hate her even though she was the kind of person someone would love to hate and hate to love.
It was too difficult or maybe impossible for him to not love her.
It was the day before his graduation when he had told her.
"I don't think we should be together anymore."
"Huh?" She was for once, he noted, truly confused.
"I'm moving out the dorm and will be attending university at Ayanagi City so… I think we don't need to stay together."
Akihiko could have sworn she looked like she was going to cry.
"I don't understand. It's not like…" She trailed off and looked down to her feet, deep in thought.
"It's not like it will be a loss for you." He said, just so he could spite her.
Minako shook her head.
"Don't worry, I'd get over it."
"I see…"
He waited. He waited and waited and waited for her to say something, tell him she didn't want to, and plead to him because she loves him. She only stayed quiet though. He still couldn't get anything from her in the end.
He was the one to walk away first.
And maybe, he pondered, that he didn't really love her. He just needed someone to be by his side and sink himself into.
He was just disillusioned by the way that she drove him crazy.
He didn't even get to apologize.
He didn't even get to tell her the plans he made for the future in which she was there, everywhere.
He didn't even get to tell her goodbye.
It's only at the end of their fairytale that he understood. It's too late now, though.
He could regret all he wanted but she was gone. His tongue could even taste the ashes.
Now, he could cry until forever because she was no longer there to see his shameful tears.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
I would say I'm sorry
If I thought that it would change your mind
But I know that this time
I have said too much
Been to unkind
Author's Notes: You can all interpret this in any way you want to but this fic can actually be read as it is and as Akihiko fooling himself into believing that Minako was such a fake because he was hurt about Shinjiro and a lot of issues, like Akihiko was an unreliable narrator because this was done in his POV. Also, I've always wanted to write Minako as a real bitch. Anyway, I had lots of fun writing this. Weird, I know, since this isn't a happy story at all.
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