Left Unsaid

Summary: The forces that separate them now are the same as those that separated them five years prior. The power dynamics and impropriety of their situation set Sadayo Kawakami and Akira Kurusu apart. When Akira returns as a newly hired teacher at Shujin Academy they soon learn what separates them most strongly are the words they left unsaid. AU

Chapter 8: Past 4

Cleaning an attic at four in the morning.

He had risen before the sun with little left undone. He dusted the attic feeling in no little part an odd fondness for the unclean shelves. The nights before he had slept soundly, but now just hours away from the day, sleep had left him shaking. Acceptance and resolve does little to erase fear. Akira wondered if he yelled at the single lightbulb that illuminated his room if anyone would hear.

Instead he merely made his bed. Paws with unsheathed nails pulled at the end of his school blazer. Morgana, Akira had come to realize, was a cat that did little without cause. Bright blue irises stared at him accusingly and then widened with shock as Akira threw the blanket in the air. The cat to jumped in fright. Served the cat right. The blanket drifted slowly down to the mattress in place. It signaled what might be his last night in the attic of Café Leblanc.

"You're not the only one with claws Morgana," Akira warned, but smirked as his hands finally steadied. "Keep using me as a scratching post and I'll feed you to something much bigger."

Cats do not grumble, but Akira swore Morgana could mew in a way that sounded like a curse. In no small manner, he could see the cat had in its own way told him off, but Akira ignored him. A quick pat on the head of his cat was met with purr as his skin brushed past fur. All was forgiven. Akira rose and walked to the stairs, it was still early, but some time alone had arisen.

"If I don't make it back tonight," Akira said to Morgana. "I've left some extra cat food out for a few nights."

The dark streets of Yongen-jaya had gone mostly ignored by Akira in the month he had called it his home. If he said he had developed some feeling for the streets he would be a liar. But today, on what he figured might be his last time walking these streets, he felt disappointed. He had neither shopped at the discount trinket store nor visited the small local movie theater.

The stars were not out, covered by thick gray clouds. Though the rain had yet to fall, the air smelled of water and wet things. He stuck his hands in his pockets to fight the cold that had settled in them. Today was Thursday, Ryuji and Ann, had told him that every Thursday Kamoshida left the school late and alone. Would that hold true if it rained? Plan a thing for weeks and in a moment, you will find yourself making excuses when the thing needs to be done. Do it now or never get the chance again.

Akira would have to use Ann one more time to make sure it went smoothly. Kamoshida's number was a gun with one shot and if it missed Akira would be left with little more than blanks.

His plan was lacking in so many ways. A labyrinth constructed from an angry teenage mind, no matter how carefully, had little chance of standing the test of time. It was a bad plan. What if Kamoshida did not take the bait? What if he failed to act according to Akira's expectations? What if it all went perfectly?

One of the most peculiar facets of the mind is its ability to switch from a state of doubt to one of complete faith. This may be some coping mechanism or the grounds for success. Akira pondered what would happen if his plan went exactly to his liking. Kamoshida would be gone. Ann, Ryuji and Shiho might praise him and the volleyball team would be silently grateful for his heroics. That we can view ourselves as the hero of a story, rather than the minor side characters that we are in the larger narrative, is one of those happy absurdities.

Akira smelled the coffee before he noticed the doctor. Steam from a freshly brewed mug rose into the air before a bit of the black liquid disappeared into the doctor's mouth. It was the first time Akira had seen Tae Takemi without her black choker. She was huddled up in her white lab coat hiding from the cold. She looked rather normal in comparison to what Akira had come to expect.

"You're out early kid," Doctor Takemi said. She pulled back one of the sleeves of her lab coat and checked her watch. "What are you doing wandering the streets at five forty in the morning? You're not high on those pills right now, are you?"

"Just on my way to school," Akira answered. The accusation would have been annoying on any other day, but today little jabs seemed to lose their weight.

"It's not even six. You are high," Doctor Takemi shook her head.

"No, I'm not." Akira groaned, "Kinda wish I was though. Say if someone came to you with a broken arm or something like it, could your clinic handle that?"

Doctor Takemi looked mortified. "Kid what are you talking about? And, yes, I could."

"That's good. Maybe I'll see you soon then," Akira said.


Staring at a crowd in the school hallway.

Akira Kurusu did not believe in fate, but occasionally he pondered its existence. Staring past the crowd of students and at the gold Olympic medal, newly displayed in Shujin Academy's trophy case; Akira saw it to be a gift from the universe. A way to solve his problem and ensure that his plan proceeded as he wanted. If his life was a story the medal would be a deus ex machina and if it was coming from the mind of a better writer, it would not have fallen into his lap without a previous mention in the chapters that came before this present moment in his life. Or was this a past chapter? It seemed like the present to Akira.

Contrived solutions to complex problems do not occur in stories. Only the real world could be so random. His universe was authorless. Life was not a story and if it was the writer should have done better than this. Sometimes by coincidence the universe will give you exactly what you need, but a good author never does.

The wide smile plastered on Kamoshida's face as he announced that he would be donating his gold medal to the school grew as the students whispered in awe of him. It was Kamoshida's crown and it was not given in charity, but in vanity. Something that the older man could use to amplify his glory. All hail the king and bask in the yellow-gold light of his life's only treasure.

If this were a story Akira would allow himself the fantasy of being the charming thief, but he knew better. He was just a petty one. Thieves regardless of their charm or pettiness are characterized by the heist.

Akira was going to steal that gold medal or at least make a certain teacher think he did.


Staring into green skeptical eyes on the roof of the Shujin Academy.

Ann Takamaki, despite appearances, was a clever and thoughtful person. Akira, in this moment, wished she was not. He tried not to wilt under her gaze and had the idle thought that if this were a different world she could be someone he could feel a great attraction towards. In another world, he might have wanted from her a genuine friendship; in this one he simply wanted her to send a text at a specific time.

"It's not that I don't want to help," Ann started, "But this makes no sense. Why would you want me to waste our one chance to lure Kamoshida in. On something like this?"

"Look I just need him to be there at a specific time," Akira explained.

"I understand what you want, but you won't tell me why," she responded.

It was good response. One that had to be ignored. The confrontation with Kamoshida was one Mishima and him would face alone, but that still left the question of how to get Ann to cooperate without letting her in on the plan. Some small part of his mind associated with fear whispered to let her in, but it lost to the more manipulative solutions that shouted. Use her guilt.

"Look I'm trying really hard to help you guys and I promise you if you don't send that text Kamoshida will get away," Akira held her gaze. "Do really want that for Shiho?"

It had the desired effect and that made Akira feel sick. All the strength in her gaze gave way to uncertainty and then to acceptance. It was the quick changing of emotion that only came from a person with a good heart. Akira wondered if he had that quality and then thought better of his wonderings.

"I… I'll do it," she said defeated. "If it really is the only way to make him pay for what he did to Shiho."

"Good," Akira nodded and then reminded her, "Oh and please remember our code word. If it's urgent text pink and a location to Ryuji and me. I'll come with the cops."

She left soon after only to be followed by Mishima. Akira stared at the frightened boy. He had come to have mixed emotions towards Mishima. Mainly because Mishima was the only person he had truly confided in. Mishima knew what he was going to do and whether the boy believed in the plan or simply had resigned himself to it Akira did not know. Pity was the first emotion that came into view when he saw Mishima, the boy had a constant look of defeat about him. Then disgust choked the gentler emotion burying it deep within Akira, with no gravestone to acknowledge the former feeling.

In truth Mishima was a mirror that Akira saw himself in. Everything he felt was reflected on his fellow classmate. Akira had spent many years forging a mask to hide those expressions from others, but Mishima had no such qualms. That quality in the bullied boy was brave in its own way.

"I've got the stuff," Mishima mumbled.

"Good do you remember what to do?"

"Yes," Mishima nodded.

"No matter what happens do not come out of hiding," Akira warned. "Send it out as soon as it's all over."

"I will," Mishima agreed. "I promise I will."

Akira was always curt with Mishima even more so now; a bad quality when trying to gain someone's help, but that disgust Akira felt around him was discomforting. He wanted to leave the abused boy as soon as they began interacting. "Good I'll see you around. I have to go buy something round and shiny, but I'll be back in an hour."

As he left Akira fumbled around for the unlabeled translucent orange pill bottle and reminded himself that he would need to lessen its contents before the end of the evening.


Gripping the tassels of his bag drawn taught as he stares into the fuming eyes of his quarry now caught.

The medal hanging from Akira's neck taunted his prey and the teenager knew immediately he would not have to do more to get the response he wanted. Still a certain pharmaceutical calm had come over him. The world felt muted and the rage in Kamoshida's eyes seemed little more than a dull roar.

It was funny. Kamoshida was a comical person when you really gave him your attention. The curly hair and cartoonish jaw were only enhanced by his comically wide eyes. What person had a square so jaw or was it the other way around? Jaw so square and eyes so round. Akira began to giggle at his mistake and the motion only served to increase the fury of the man in front of him.

Akira decided to move along. One his hands went to point at the medal around his neck and the other went into his pants pocket and sent a single word text followed by a location. He gave Kamoshida a confused look trying to match his wide yellow eyes.

"Oh, do you want this?" Akira asked. He said it loud enough to be heard by anyone willing to listen. "I think stuff like this is a little overrated to be honest. I prefer it in bar form. Cheaper too."

"Give it to me!" Kamoshida yelled.

"Hey I bought it. Five hundred yen I'll do what I want with it," Akira said.

He threw the medal on the ground smashing his foot against it and smooshing it into the dirt. His prey was too hot-headed and too inclined to violence to notice that medals made of metal, even gold ones, do not simply smoosh.

The fuzzy world, Akira's drug addled mind found itself in, blurred even further when Kamoshida hit him. The pain was more a bark causing bright fireworks to erupt behind his glasses and in front of his eyes. He should not have worn the glasses they provided no protection. They snapped against the force of the blow and cut the bridge of his nose.

Akira found himself on the ground wondering how he got there and why the fireworks had turned to red. The world felt blurry and first, but now it looked blurry too. His face was wet and he found that air would enter only through his mouth. When Kamoshida's considerable weight was above him and pressing hard on his chest Akira's gasps for air turned to chuckles.

"Chocolate. It's chocolate you idiot," Akira wheezed, still laughing, trying to explain.

Kamoshida did not understand and continued his assault.

First the laughs stopped and then a deep nausea set in. The world ceased to be fuzzy and became sharp and real. Akira felt himself close to vomiting and then when he saw the strange angle his arm was bent at, he gagged and relieved himself hoping to get as much of it on the man on top of him as he could.

Lots of things hurt, but none more than the thought that he probably did not look very heroic at this moment with a thirty-something year-old on top of him beating him. He had allowed himself the thought that in this moment he would look like a martyr on the pyre, burning in proud defiance at the torch bearers. Ann and Ryuji would thank him with happy, but sad eyes the next day ultimately grateful for the sacrifice.

Instead he managed to stay conscious long enough to see the actual looks of horror in their eyes when they arrived with Ms. Kawakami of all people. None of them looked happy or grateful. Mishima came out of hiding carrying only his bag and trying desperately to explain what he had seen. Stupid kids. Mishima was supposed to stay hidden the whole time. Ryuji and Ann were supposed to get the police, not his homeroom teacher.

"It was just a joke, just some chocolate," Akira tried to explain to no one's understanding.

Ms. Kawakami was raging at Kamoshida with a passion Akira did not know she could feel. There was something beautiful about it and he felt embarrassed that she saw him in this state. Her dark eyes seemed to shine and her wild hair flowed with a natural wave. She could scowl in a way that demanded you to look away, but mesmerized you and froze you. Of all things, Akira thought, she looked heroic.

His classmates did not look as magnificent. Ryuji looked scared and disappointed. Ann, she was holding back angry tears. Akira realized the betrayal the blonde girl felt and he closed his eyes in shame.

Akira thought he heard Ryuji curse as the blonde kneeled beside him. Some hero Akira thought; then he thought no more.


AN: Thank you to everyone who has left a review, favorited or followed this story. I appreciate it and hope the people who are reading will continue.

rest-in-beats