I didn't expect the response that this story got, especially after my year long hiatus. Thank you for sticking around with me for this long!
I hope that you enjoy this chapter!
—
"that leaves my breath stilted, the bleeding hands around my throat tightening"
Akira's not sure how many runs pass in this haze of confusion that clouds around him, twisting and warping his sense of the passage of time. He manages to achieve some sort of ending each time, never waking up with the telltale headache from deviated runs. Nothing more than instinct honed from years worth of runs keeps him on the right track.
He vaguely remembers concern from his friends that he brushes aside with a well placed smile that's a bit too fake on the edges and lies that are sweet enough to be taken as truth. He's not sure why he tried to fight this in the first place, why it was so hard for him to accept it. Drifting along like this was far easier than anything else he's done during these runs.
He knows that he can't keep this up forever. Something's wrong with the world with each one becoming more and more distorted. It's the faint echo of recognition in his friend's gazes before he's introduced himself, the lingering gaze of distrust from Akechi after any run that he accepts Maruki's offer. The edges of his bonds start to fray, unraveling at his end. They're slipping through his fingers one by one and he doesn't know if he can stop them.
He doesn't know if he wants to stop them.
It's a dangerous game that he's playing, getting close enough to them so he can hide the emptiness with their layers of warmth but risking dragging them down with him when he falls. And he will fall one day. The ground is crumbling beneath him, so it's only a matter of time.
And if everything goes the way he wants it too, he'll be far gone before anyone notices.
—
Akira walked into LeBlanc, Morgana securely in his bag over his shoulder. The weight was becoming increasingly more unfamiliar as he pawned Morgana off to Ann or Futaba at any possible opportunity. Not that he didn't like him, but the feeling of someone always there, someone close enough to him to realize that everything he was doing was a facade, a simple series of masks to mimic every emotion scared him. He couldn't risk anyone finding out because the ringing was starting to dull and he didn't know what he'd do if he messed up and there's no way to fix it.
Akechi sat in a chair at the bar, sipping from a cup of coffee. The setting sun cast shadows over his face in thin strips in the outline of the windows. He looks up when Akira walks in, a small, pleasant smile on his face. It's hard to tell if it's real or not.
Akira slides into the chair next to him and Morgana slinks off upstairs or outside to Futaba. Sojiro places a cup before Akira and he brings it to his lips. Mildly sweet with a faint undertone of bitterness that compliments it. It's been a long, long time since he's had coffee like this.
"It seems like we've both had a long day." Akechi says amiably. His cup's empty and his fiddling with the handle, gloved fingers running smoothly over the ceramic. "In all honesty this is the first free night I've had in a long time."
"Even with school being out for the summer?" Akira knows that Akechi attends some sort of college prep academy just to keep up his image of being the studious Detective Prince. He doubts that it stopped for the summer. He vaguely remembers Makoto mentioning it some runs long ago.
"I still have to work with the police." Amusement dances across Akechi's expression, subtle like they're sharing a joke that only the two of them understand. "The Phantom Thieves made no attempts at stopping either."
"If you guys are tired, there is always the bathhouse." Sojiro puts down the cup that he was cleaning and gestures to the right. "It's right across the street." Sojiro gives Akira a discreet glance with the corners of his mouth twitching.
"I've been there a few times." Akira offers, keeping his tone open but edging on disinterested and impassive. "It was okay."
"If you're both insistent on it, I guess we should go?" Akechi directs the question at Akira. Akira nods and Akechi turns to Sojiro. "Do you mind if I keep my briefcase here? I can't ensure it's contents will be safe from the water if I bring it with me." Akechi laughs, a light flittery thing. It hides the tightness in his voice from anyone who isn't looking.
Sojiro shrugs and holds out his hand. Akechi relinquishes his briefcase and steps back, looking a little off not having it at his side. Sojiro stores it under the counter. "It'll be right here when you're done. I'll lock up if I leave early so no one will be able to get in."
"Thank you." Akechi turns to Akira, slight sheepishness tugging at the corners of his smile. "Now we can get going."
Akira leads Akechi out into the street. It's just starting to cool off; the days are still warm but the nights have a bit of a chill to them. It's not cold enough to require long sleeves but it will be soon.
The two of them stopped before the bathhouse and Akira paid the fee before Akechi could stop him.
"You didn't have to do that." Akechi watches him from the corner of his eye, tugging off his gloves and loosening his tie.
Akira shrugged off his own jacket and laid it off to the side. "It was only 500 yen." When Akechi's look didn't waver, he continued. "Consider it my treat if it makes you feel any better."
Akechi didn't dignify Akira with an answer. They continued to undress, wrapping a towel around their waist when appropriate before sinking into the water. It was pleasantly warm with a faint lingering scent from the herbs used last night.
Akechi talked at length about things he wouldn't dare admit to under any other circumstances, words that Akira could recite back long after this night has passed. Akechi's voice is softer than usual, similar to the tone he takes when they are hunting down Maruki. It's a bit solemn with an age that you could only possess after committing the acts that Akechi had.
Akechi was not lying when he said that he had let down some of his masks when talking to Akira in the bathhouse, some that Akira doubts were put back up perfectly.
They step out of the baths, drying off before melandering up to the lockers in the front. Akira is entertaining Akechi in some sort of conversation but he can't quite remember what it was about. His mind was drifting to the last time the two of them were alone like this, the cool weight of a gun imprinted into his hand.
Akira glimpses over Akechi's chest, right to where his heart would rest. A small scar marred his skin, a circle that's almost perfectly round. Akira steps forward a bit, the ringing in his head growing.
"Um." Akechi draws Akira's attention back to the present although his gaze doesn't move. He can hear Akechi swallow. "What is it that you're looking at?"
"How did you get that scar?" Akira restrained himself from reaching out to touch it, making sure that it was there and not some figment of his imagination.
(Blood's coating his hands, thick and bright red. He wonders how such a small hole could bleed so much.)
Akechi brings a hand up to it, running a finger lightly over it. "I don't really know." Barely restrained confusion darts across his face, weaving through his words. But his expression slackens and his voice grows monotone. "It was a long time ago. I don't think it was intentional but children should be careful around things that can burn them."
Akira knows he's lying because that's not a burn scar and he can still feel the recoil of the gun jolting through his arm. Akechi's eyes are wide as he presses harder on the scar. "That—that isn't right." His voice is weak, fluttering and wavering with each word. "This isn't from a burn."
Akechi presses a palm to his head, groaning. He supports himself with his other hand, eyes narrowed and fingers digging into his scalp. Akira stands awkwardly beside him, unsure if Akechi wants his support. "What's wrong?" Uncertainty and confusion settle into his voice, hiding the faint thread of fear.
Akechi's silent, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged gasps. It takes him a moment to control his breathing. He straightens up, chilled anger settling into his expression. "You accepted Maruki's deal, didn't you." It wasn't a question, his voice flat but rising quickly in flares of molten hot anger. "We're living this life underneath his control and you don't seem to care." He gestures to the scar on his chest. "At least if you're going to kill me, do it right."
"This isn't Maruki's offer." Akira's words are soft, fluttering through the air before dissipating.
"What?" Confusion stops Akechi from spitting the word. "Who could've done this?"
"Do you think Maruki could turn back time?" Akira can't stop his voice from rising, faint desperation weaving through it. "Return us to a time before he even had his Persona?"
"Then what is this? Why do I have memories of this year repeating over and over again?"
"Because it has been." Akira's voice was flat, dulled. The ringing was growing strong and his head started pounding. "For a long, long time."
Akechi pauses, looking like he wants to argue that. But he sighs and leans back against a row of lockers. "Do you have any idea why it's repeating?"
"No idea. I've tried everything I can think of." Akira stumbles a little, wincing. The pain grew from a dull ache to sharp and searing. He tried to hold onto his world, grabbing onto the Justice Arcana so tightly that the bond could've cut his skin.
But none of this could stop the world tearing from his grasp.
—
It takes Akira a moment longer than he'd like to get his bearings on the train. His head is spinning with the remains of the headache from the previous run and he can swear that the hair near the base of his skull is still damp. He runs a hand through it just to be sure, stopping at the thin line along his neck. He draws back as if he's been burned.
His hands are trembling even as he rests them against his thighs. He can't stop it, just like he can't stop his breath from coming out in short gasps. Frustration pricks tears in his eyes and settles deep within his gut. He was so close to having someone that knew about the cycles, that understood. But it all slipped out of his hand because he wasn't strong enough.
He held onto that world for months before letting it crash down, why couldn't he hold onto the last one for more than a hour?
His phone buzzes in his pocket and for a moment, he considers ignoring it. But no one even has his number this early into the run, so whatever it is must be important. He fishes his phone out, fumbling a little until his hands are steady enough to hold it.
The number isn't one that's in his contacts but he can recognize it. Akechi sent a single message:
I remember.
—
On another note, I'll be attempting whumptober again this year. I wrote for it last year, another reason why I was distracted from this fic, using my OCs. I'm still in the planning stages for that and I'm still figuring out what I'm planning on doing. It shouldn't affect my posting of this story, but check out my tumblrfor any updates.