Jab, cross, jab.
Akihiko shouldn't be doing this, not when they're staircasing in Tartarus in a few hours. He had boxing club earlier and worked himself ragged, challenging his teammates with a new grueling routine he devised on a whim during lunch. They ran hard this morning too, and interval sprinting is taxing.
At least the aftermath of that was as sweet as can be, but it left him with a foreboding dread he can't seem to shake off.
Yet none of the reasonable, rational facts about rest and recovery he preaches almost daily to his dorm mates stop Akihiko from wrapping his hands after supper and going to town on his room equipment. He has days ahead to pace himself still, and with a little rest before the Dark Hour, this impromptu workout session will just serve as a decent warmup. Loosen his joints, burn out some stress; he's a little tense right now.
Jab, cross. hook, cross.
Each impact of his gloves smacks hard, loosening sparks out of the thundercloud in his mind, crashing them in his punching bag like so many shooting stars.
Failure is not an option.
It's pervasive, how some words imprint themselves in the mind once you simply will them into existence. That thought became a droning frequency lodged firmly in his head, a background noise that keeps ramping up since Wednesday, and now it just won't let up. It whirrs faster, now that the stakes have changed. The charge runs through his spine, snaps the nerves, buzzing like a faulty wire.
Lead hook, cross, down lead hook.
His wrists ground his hands again and again, leather espousing leather, the pulse of all that red tension bursting on impact. It used to be a silvery white flash, the clouds of that overcast gray, like that storm Miki made him watch through the window back then. The day she finally coaxed him out from under his bed at the orphanage, where he cowered in fright. So tiny and insistent, she goaded him to look, her crystalline laugh full of delight at the rumblings quaking the glass.
Big bro, is that what festival fireworks are like?
They're prettier. I'll show you once you're old enough, I promise.
Specular flowers bloomed in her eyes as they admired the ballet of light in wonder, forever bereft of the real spectacle, his pledge heaps of ashes blown in the wind.
All because he wasn't strong enough when it mattered most .
Lightning always sleeps beneath his skin now, coursing in muscles, amplified by the friction of sweat and long-gone tears. It fizzles out through movement, dies in the black of shadows and it's the only way he can make amends for his past mistakes.
But now that he tasted a clear sky for the first time in forever… The tingle of the rebuilding chaos stings.
Three little words and a flash of fire scoured the clouds away, and he'd like to keep it that way. It won't ever erase the loss, but it makes the weight of its smoky cloak turn to gauze, revealing a dawning horizon where smiles shine.
Yet it creeps back, that storm of guilt. It boils, tinged by red rubies, magma warm. Akihiko can feel every frayed edge of the surge prodding his mind as it grows, ever so slowly, teasing how slipping even once could tear everything apart.
He's been lying to himself, pretending he's over loss. That scar never healed.
Jab, jab, cross, hook.
He loves red, it's his favorite color, his makeshift luck. It's on his armband when the Dark Hour strikes twelve, always against his skin when he steps into the ring. The tint of it weaves the burgundy fabric of a familiar long coat, curls in the hair of a haughty girl who handed him an evoker, accents his inner self he summons with cool metal to his forehead.
Failure is never an option.
The hue is all over her, too, she's the very living embodiment of it. It's in those glorious irises sparkling with life, in the sheen of her coppery hair at dawn, glistening in her playful smile and all over his cheeks when she so much as glance his way.
Not when it's you.
Her warmth sleeps in his pocket, an insistent reminder to keep going harder, faster, and his wrists keep drilling.
Jab, cross, slip left-
No.
No slipping out to evade, not when he's supposed to keep that crimson rainbow alive. Skip steps are for offense, for quickly closing the distance.
It's what she does, bridging the gap between where Shinji plays grumbling wallflower and the rest of them.
It's how she sets his whole universe ablaze with a mere touch, mesmerizing his heart until he remembers what it is to live.
It's in the way she unites them with joyful revolve in the frozen frame of green that splits one day from the next, to put an end to all nightmares.
Keeping that color spectrum whole gives his existence so much meaning he can't afford any mishap, and Akihiko quickly berates himself before changing the routine, chaining his movements differently.
Jab, cross, body shot, overhand right.
That combo rolls out exactly as he expects, well-oiled, practiced, and he weaves in other combinations until they execute together in fluid perfection. The impacts chain in quick succession, strong and loud with the full might of his fists, until it's time to go.
The trek back from Gekkoukan is not much of a fanfare later that night, Tziah's trials are brutal and if the tremors in Akihiko's wrists are any indication, he might have overdone just a bit.
His ribs certainly have an opinion to share about how that came to a head less than an hour ago; the varicolored bruise on his flank aches something fierce when he bends, splashed right where he got injured in spring.
It all started innocently, casually even, because Akihiko is a nice senpai who cares deeply about the wellbeing of his teammates and it's his job to look out for all of them. It had absolutely nothing to do with the dread that gnaws on his nerves when Minako fights; after all she's a force of nature to be reckoned with and she tries the hardest out of all of them.
I would have done the same for any of us.
It's just that an enraged shadow was charging straight at her and Takeba in the back, and he was the closest one who could intercept to take it down. Besides, the Hare's soothing light took the edge off, fixed his lip bleed in short order; a day or two of discomfort and a stern glint of red is a price he'll gladly pay to keep everyone safe.
Shinji gave him quite the spirited lecture about his reckless streak, they even exchanged a few sucker jabs and terse words in private over it, but nobody takes their daily scuffles in Tartarus seriously anymore. His friend now seems content to admire the extracurricular crowd from afar, trying his utmost to keep company at bay, but Akihiko knows his act has more to do with the need to politely escape Fuuka's prodding than residual anger.
Yamagishi has been throwing the cookbook at him every chance she gets since the feast, and for such a mousy wisp of a girl, she can be quite persistent. Minako had to entice Aragaki to walk Koromaru with her earlier, just to extricate him from the dorm before all the requests for a culinary encore drove him up the wall.
Or should I say… Koro-chan? I heard that.
There are still a few faint sparks darting around Akihiko's skull at the thought of their private outings, but he overpowers the annoyance now, it's an irrational leftover of fear with no teeth.
Still, nobody solves jealousy in a day, it's a process.
A misguided reflex, a bad jerking maneuver Akihiko needs some time to correct, like one learns to keep the shoulders loose when hitting a punching bag. It takes some practice, but he'll get there. He just needs to remind himself of her sighs of longing when his lips scour her neck, or the ways she says she loves him.
Which Minako promptly did when she came back later that evening, darting in the kitchen where he was preparing his protein shake to cram a bag in the freezer. He fumbled his measuring spoon down the sink the second her nails slid on his spine, spinning around just in time for her to pull hard on his tie and scorch his mind blank with five seconds of heaven.
"Hi senpai!"
Her words had a very different meaning in context, murmured though lips still wetly sticking to his, half-hooded eyes sparkling bright. She left as quickly as she came in to check on Junpei, teasingly amused at his vain attempt to reply something coherent, leaving him to savor all the unsaid with burning cheeks and the ghost of frozen strawberry ice cream zinging on his tongue.
It took a few minutes until he was presentable enough to float back to his room with no one the wiser, but that's nothing new, all it ever takes from her is a simple greeting. A shamelessly indulgent and sneaky one Akihiko very much enjoyed but doesn't feel comfortable pulling around a potential audience; everybody and their dog were right there .
Literally.
Let's be real, I'd feel guilty just holding her hand around the others.
Hence why he keeps his adoptive brother company, admiring her exuberance from afar as she captivates Mitsuru with some energic conversation, her twin at her side. It takes a few minutes but eventually Aragaki's hums of amusement pierce through his distraction, and he frowns.
I know I'm staring. Are you ever going to say anything?
Akihiko didn't get a comment when he fled to his room earlier, not even a wry smirk in passing. Then again, Shinji seemed quite busy with Ken in the boys' corridor, somberly listening to the kid's whispers and he left them be.
"Princess sure changed… Not such a lone wolf anymore, it looks good on her to finally rely on others."
It's not the tease he expected at all, they might have been looking the same way, but apparently not at the same redhead. While it's a spot-on observation of Mitsuru learning to indulge new friendships, with a veneer of pride at the sight, the nickname Shinji coined for her years ago stands out. He's so rarely sappy, that's his schtick, and Akihiko wonders what brought this on.
You haven't called her that in forever.
The title started as a reminder to keep her feet off the throne, backhanded, snappy. Then it quickly became a taunt as they fought, challenging her to greater heights as they bickered in and out of Tartarus, too stubborn not to. And one day, the moniker coming out of his brother's mouth had a warm lull to it that bespoke admiration, affection even.
There's no glint in Shinji's eyes as he looks his way, but he rarely shares blanks; all his words are calculated when he squints that way. Akihiko mulls them over, wondering if he missed some subtext somewhere, and starts talking before his thoughts get aligned.
"Did you…"
He's not even sure what he really wants to ask, but that "princess" didn't sound like it used to; it's bland now, friendly, yet… clinical. They might have buried the figurative hatchet of regret, but the next offhand comment Shinji shares confirms that whatever was budding between him and Mitsuru two years ago is truly gone.
"All she needs is for all this tower madness to finally disappear… one last loose end to tie up."
We're almost there actually.
No more Tartarus.
No more Dark Hour.
It feels almost surreal to think about the finality of it all, now that it's within reach. Back in the days, they fought on and on with no end in sight, just a vague goal to make things right. Futile heroics for a trio of kids who had no idea what they were doing, abruptly bereft of innocence when the curtain ripped. Then, this spring came, and with it, full moon monstrosities.
But now that we know how to stop this…
"We might be done before winter, can you believe it? If we're lucky, next operation we'll face more than one of those Shadows and get it done faster, and then-"
Akihiko absently registers Shinji's exhausted eye roll at his enthusiasm and runs out of words, suddenly mind boggled as his thoughts catch up to him.
And then…what?
It's so strange… how he never consciously thought about after.
The part where they win and pat themselves on the back for saving the world, dispelling an horror most people will never be consciously aware of. Mitsuru always harps about that future, their eventual careers, their lives… a mirage over the sands of unspun time he's slowly drifting toward but not really making sense of yet.
All he's known for so long is the fight, the burning need to seek greater challenges until he could overpower anything. It consumed him so deeply for a while he even forgot the reason why he picked up an evoker in the first place, but he's no longer the warrior Takeba berated for his love of violence at any cost.
Akihiko might not have a clear grasp of what concludes the inevitable victory lap, because there's no doubt they'll succeed, nor how he'll redirect his energies concretely, but there are some changes he can foresee.
Wrapping SEES business means giving Mitsuru the keys to her life back, it brings a certain justice to Ken's unfortunate circumstances, lets them all resume their individual journeys without the obligations of their power, really. It also frees the twins from the trappings of leadership, its inevitable pressure, the risks and pains of fighting shadows.
Minako can simply be, without him worrying about her well-being, without her stretching herself thin to keep the team afloat. Knowing her, she'll find many pursuits to keep doing just that, but he'll be there to catch her.
February is so far away, and thinking too hard about the intricacies of after outside that particular goal is a luxury Akihiko cannot afford yet. What's critical is that they get there, and that demands all his focus, every single drop of strength he can muster. But once they do…
"Just one more week, huh…"
You're right, one full moon at a time.
Shinji's words are stoic, softly spoken as the callused hand around his battle axe tightens white. But for a split second, the unblinking stare at the green crescent waxing above is too reminiscent of the way his eyes looked in the hospital parking lot. Dull, almost regretful, hoarding secrets the same way he hides in that heavy coat even in the heat of summer.
It's just a fleeting image layered on the present, but it's enough to make Akihiko aware of some wrongness and his fingers claw so tight they itch.
"Listen Aki… I'm back now, and I'm fighting with you again. So just… let it go, okay?"
Shinji went out of his way to surprise him with a thoughtful memory he'll never forget…And now, tonight, a minute explicable change creeped in. Slanting them a few degrees off, edges askew, and the photograph of his birthday doesn't fit in the frame anymore.
I'm supposed to just let it go?
He can't, not really.
Not when he can't understand what's causing his sudden unease.
All I can do is lie to myself, and pretend.
"…Yeah. Should be a good fight!"
Akihiko nods with vigor, rolling his shoulders to dislodge the sparks roaming his spine, even playfully shoving Shinji as if he's full of unspent excitement at the prospect of that bout.
Faking aloofness, fraying inside out.