Shinjiro Aragaki (荒垣 真次郎) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
themortalhalf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
asgardmeridiem2013-09-03 02:14 am
themortalhalf) wrote in asgardmeridiem2013-09-03 02:14 am
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Step one. You say, "We need to talk." / He walks. You say, "Sit down, it's just a talk."
Who: Akihiko Sanada and Shinjiro Aragaki [Closed]
What: Shinjiro hasn't seen Akhiko in a week—let alone heard from him (which is a miracle in itself)—so Shinjiro goes looking for him.
When: Day 320
Where: Thor
Rating: PG-13 for language. Will update as needed.
Normally, Shinjiro would have found the lull in persistent attempted visitations to be a much-needed breather. He could take a week—a week of empty space that he was used to—two, even.. And in a way he needed it, because he felt like shit. Hell if he wanted to deal with anybody when the room insisted on spinning each time he bothered to stand up and look his pale face in the mirror. He didn't want to see anybody, didn't want anyone to see him, didn't even want to look back at his reflection. He had expected that getting himself off the pills would be hard—after a year in a half, what habit wouldn't be hard to break? Like putting cracks in steel—but he hadn't expected it to be like this. But it ain't like he had a frame of reference.
Electric headaches, mood-swings he doesn't want to be responsible for, and exhaustion to the point there were a few days where he didn't want to even roll out of bed to cook something. He had gone off the Suppressants steadily since he had arrived to Asgard. Two pills, then one. A half. Then nothing. It was what seemed safest, but his strategy did little to appease his upset body that hurt most of the damn time anyway. Stopping the pills didn't stop his lungs from feeling like they were going to tear—didn't stop the cough—didn't seem to be doing much good. But that's what withdrawal entailed. And if Shinjiro is anything, he's stubborn.
He wasn't going off the suppressants totally because of repentant intentions, either. He just knew if powers came back—and it somehow didn't kill him—he would need them. He couldn't just have them gone. He needed to keep some on hand, just in case. But he also had come to terms with the fact that he didn't need them here. He can't feel Castor in his head—can't bring him forward no matter how many times he pulls the trigger. The pills were shit, a capsule wrapped in barbed wire that gradually tore your body apart as it went down, but they had done what they needed to do. They worked just as advertised.
But being cooped up in your room for a week, it made you notice things. And considering the fact that he was essentially rooted in one spot, Shinjiro found it unusual that Aki hadn't even tried to stop by or call (like he did last time), and put his nose all into his business. He knew what had happened last week with the ghosts, but… well. Aki knew how to bounce back easier than he did, even if things bothered him deep down. Faced with something, first thing he'd do is try to find a way to surmount it. Right?
Maybe he was just giving Shinjiro that "distance" he wanted so much.
But a part of him couldn't help but be concerned—he isn't going to say worried because he ain't worried—but bothered. So when his symptoms lessened to the point where he felt like getting up, didn't feel like his emotions were going to roller coaster anywhere, he left Hel house and made a beeline to Thor. He stopped by Aki's apartment, even knocked on his door when he didn't hear any noise coming out the thin walls. He could call, use the damn bracelet, but he didn't want to, because a part of him still wanted to be left alone, to avoid interaction entirely, and if he didn't find him, he'd have an excuse to head back to the apartment and sleep away the next few hours.
That's what he told himself, anyway.
But Shinjiro finds himself wandering around Thor district anyway, keeping to the sidelines and not making eye-contact with anyone. Then, as he walked around the quieter areas, where there was actual green and rocks and trees instead of houses and grey-saturated crowds, he found him.
Training, of course. Like he said he would.
Shinjiro almost turns back then. He thinks about it—he's seen enough, after all. But he doesn't. Just watches as Aki train. Something breaks. A branch? He thinks he sees bark fly like shrapnel, and wonders if there isn't some better training equipment around that doesn't involve stripping down trees. But Aki's ability seems powerful. He had seen it last week, with the axe, and he's seeing it again. …It seems like too much power, to him. If you could damage a tree like that, imagine what you could do to something else.
He speaks up.
"That's how you're learning to control your punches, huh?"
What: Shinjiro hasn't seen Akhiko in a week—let alone heard from him (which is a miracle in itself)—so Shinjiro goes looking for him.
When: Day 320
Where: Thor
Rating: PG-13 for language. Will update as needed.
Normally, Shinjiro would have found the lull in persistent attempted visitations to be a much-needed breather. He could take a week—a week of empty space that he was used to—two, even.. And in a way he needed it, because he felt like shit. Hell if he wanted to deal with anybody when the room insisted on spinning each time he bothered to stand up and look his pale face in the mirror. He didn't want to see anybody, didn't want anyone to see him, didn't even want to look back at his reflection. He had expected that getting himself off the pills would be hard—after a year in a half, what habit wouldn't be hard to break? Like putting cracks in steel—but he hadn't expected it to be like this. But it ain't like he had a frame of reference.
Electric headaches, mood-swings he doesn't want to be responsible for, and exhaustion to the point there were a few days where he didn't want to even roll out of bed to cook something. He had gone off the Suppressants steadily since he had arrived to Asgard. Two pills, then one. A half. Then nothing. It was what seemed safest, but his strategy did little to appease his upset body that hurt most of the damn time anyway. Stopping the pills didn't stop his lungs from feeling like they were going to tear—didn't stop the cough—didn't seem to be doing much good. But that's what withdrawal entailed. And if Shinjiro is anything, he's stubborn.
He wasn't going off the suppressants totally because of repentant intentions, either. He just knew if powers came back—and it somehow didn't kill him—he would need them. He couldn't just have them gone. He needed to keep some on hand, just in case. But he also had come to terms with the fact that he didn't need them here. He can't feel Castor in his head—can't bring him forward no matter how many times he pulls the trigger. The pills were shit, a capsule wrapped in barbed wire that gradually tore your body apart as it went down, but they had done what they needed to do. They worked just as advertised.
But being cooped up in your room for a week, it made you notice things. And considering the fact that he was essentially rooted in one spot, Shinjiro found it unusual that Aki hadn't even tried to stop by or call (like he did last time), and put his nose all into his business. He knew what had happened last week with the ghosts, but… well. Aki knew how to bounce back easier than he did, even if things bothered him deep down. Faced with something, first thing he'd do is try to find a way to surmount it. Right?
Maybe he was just giving Shinjiro that "distance" he wanted so much.
But a part of him couldn't help but be concerned—he isn't going to say worried because he ain't worried—but bothered. So when his symptoms lessened to the point where he felt like getting up, didn't feel like his emotions were going to roller coaster anywhere, he left Hel house and made a beeline to Thor. He stopped by Aki's apartment, even knocked on his door when he didn't hear any noise coming out the thin walls. He could call, use the damn bracelet, but he didn't want to, because a part of him still wanted to be left alone, to avoid interaction entirely, and if he didn't find him, he'd have an excuse to head back to the apartment and sleep away the next few hours.
That's what he told himself, anyway.
But Shinjiro finds himself wandering around Thor district anyway, keeping to the sidelines and not making eye-contact with anyone. Then, as he walked around the quieter areas, where there was actual green and rocks and trees instead of houses and grey-saturated crowds, he found him.
Training, of course. Like he said he would.
Shinjiro almost turns back then. He thinks about it—he's seen enough, after all. But he doesn't. Just watches as Aki train. Something breaks. A branch? He thinks he sees bark fly like shrapnel, and wonders if there isn't some better training equipment around that doesn't involve stripping down trees. But Aki's ability seems powerful. He had seen it last week, with the axe, and he's seeing it again. …It seems like too much power, to him. If you could damage a tree like that, imagine what you could do to something else.
He speaks up.
"That's how you're learning to control your punches, huh?"
You called me strong, you called me weak, but still your secrets I will keep
He retrieved one particular thick branch – ripped it right off just using his regular strength – and then casually threw it up into the air. Once it had descended to a close enough distance, he activated his ability and smashed it with one fierce punch, causing bark to spray everywhere. As the broken pieces cascaded down around the boxer, he kept his steps light and stayed in constant motion, agilely avoiding them. Discounting wood slivers - they weren’t dangerous, barring infection - but he sought to improve on his evasive tactics. A strong and efficient warrior had to find balance between offensive and defensive techniques, which was why his Persona suited him so well.
Akihiko had just finished a partial turn, his right leg sweeping back in position to regain balance, when he suddenly heard a familiar voice address him. Gray eyes widened as he turned around to face the speaker.
“…Shinji?”
He was, in a way, respecting Shinji’s wishes by giving him distance. Considering all the trouble he had caused him lately, Akihiko thought that leaving him alone would be the best form of gratitude. It was hard as hell for him to stay away, and he continued to run by the Hel house every morning, looking up at the window in hopes of catching a glimpse of Shinji. He had been sorely tempted to dial into his inbox directly, just to hear his voice and reassure him, once again, that he didn’t up and disappear all of a sudden. But after being in Asgard for a couple of weeks now, Akihiko was starting to get used to the idea of having his best friend… or maybe former… he still didn’t know for sure on that front… around, on a possibly permanent basis.
The notion itself both excited and terrified him.
And seeing Shinji right now, he couldn’t effectively control his emotions. The first thing that he noticed was the other man’s condition, how pale and fatigued he appeared. Frowning with deep concern, Akihiko immediately stepped forward, ignoring all possible incoming protests as he started his inspection. This was not going to be well-received, but he would use force to keep him in place, if he had to. He placed both hands onto Shinji’s cheeks and leaned in closely, checking the appearance of his eyes. Then he moved down to grasping a hold of his jaw, trying to draw his mouth open to identify the color of his tongue. Akihiko was assuming, of course, that he had fallen sick, which would logically account for his current condition.
“What’s wrong? How do you feel? You look… uh…” he let that sentence trail off awkwardly unfinished as he stepped back to finally give the other some space. Did Shinji’s immune system get weakened because of all the running around and straining himself on his behalf? Just to save his ass from that damn ghost?
…He was fortunate, he supposed begrudgingly, that he had been able to handle the other two ghosts on his own. They didn’t behave violently toward him, in the physical sense. They were content with simply tearing down his mental defenses and leaving scars inside his mind. That was all.
Just being reminded of those ghosts made his body suddenly tense up, his fist curling into an even tighter fist. Akihiko exhaled slowly, though his eyes still narrowed, in visible indication of displeasure. The last thing he needed to do was lose his cool, yet again. If Shinji had seen how he reacted after the third and final ghost visited him… No, to hell with those aggravating things. His demons were his own to exorcise, and he would handle them alone… as always.
The only times he had allowed someone else to actively witness his weakened state was when he and Shinji were younger, before their friendship started declining. After that… never again, not even around Mitsuru. Minako had caught him in a couple of vulnerable moments, but nothing as bad as the night of the first ghost attack. Maybe Shinji didn’t understand the significance of those taunts, or even thought they were a big deal.
But for Akihiko, he couldn’t shake them off so easily. Not when certain key terms and phrases had roused doubts and fears within his mind, pulled up from the darkest recesses. Putting on a smile and responding to everything with great enthusiasm and optimistic gusto was expected of him, from a shallow perspective of his behavior. But here in Asgard, without so many impressionable juniors to influence and encourage, he didn’t have to assume that exterior all the time. It wasn’t like he always felt that way, if he could be perfectly honest.
In reference to Shinji’s original question, he answered calmly, “I don’t have to control my power. I need to get stronger.”
Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams / Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams
Guess these means Shinjiro was concerned for nothing, if he's acting like a damn hen.
After another second of tense, uncomfortable resistance, he begrudgingly lets Aki stare at him until he's satisfied (can't help that much, given that there's some force involved that's making moving difficult), and releases his hold enough for Shinjiro to recoil back and step away, scowling much like his aforementioned feline counterpart. He favors Aki with an stern look, one that suggests he didn't at all appreciate the inspection. He doesn't say anything in response to Aki's probing question. He's not here to be interrogated, and he'll be damned if he doesn't like lying; he would rather say nothing at all.
Maybe he would have been forced to, but then Aki answers his question, and his expression abruptly flatlines.
"That's ain't how it works, Aki."
Power without control ain't worth shit.
Your slaps don't stick / Your kicks don't hit / So we remain the same
God, how different things had been between them, just a few years ago. He found himself reminiscing over those times lately, more often than usual, always ending with the conclusion that they might have been... well, lost forever. Shinji hadn't acted that way toward him ever since they were first-year students in high school. Akihiko knew he should have already let go of that particular part of their lives, despite it being past instances that made him happy. But because of that, actually doing so was a lot harder than he initially thought.
Still, he mentally steeled himself, especially upon catching sight of Shinji's abrupt change in expression. It wasn't hard to determine that what he had just said displeased him. But why? He didn't make any reference to Shinji's loss of control on the night of the tragic accident. He knew better than to speak so lightly of that dark incident. Besides, in Akihiko's mind, these were two completely different situations.
Tilting his head a bit to the side, the boxer quipped bluntly, "Do you wanna explain it to me, then? I'm training to pick up new techniques. I need to figure out how far I can go with this new power. Without our Personas here, it's almost like starting all over again. What's so hard to understand about all this?"
He turned away from Shinji to idly run his gaze across the wooden slivers scattered all around their feet. The words stayed stuck in his throat for some time, but he stubbornly forced them out, deeming it necessary, especially after the recent events. "I know I owe you for... helping me out. If you got sick this week because of me... I'm sorry. I'll keep getting stronger, and I won't have to be a burden on you anymore."
He was supposed to be looking out for Shinji, not the reverse. Akihiko refused to even consider the thought of letting him die again, and furthermore... they weren't kids anymore. He needed to repay Shinji for more than just recently saving his ass - there were many years of history between them. Even if it seemed like his erstwhile friend had either forgotten, or simply didn't want to acknowledge that period at present.
Why does your heart have to beat for me? / Make you want what can never be?
Shinjiro's not sure when Aki had started thinking that he owed him anything. That wasn't the point. Shinjiro has already learned that no matter what he does, or says, it isn't going to change how Aki handles himself much, if at all. In the end, only Aki can change who he is and what he'll become. It still doesn't stop Shinjiro from trying, of course, hoping that Aki will listen to him one day and slow down and think a little, so that Aki won't have to make the same mistakes that he did, realize there was more to strength than power, before something forces him to. Shinjiro had had that, raw power—did, anyway, with Castor—but he had never been strong. He could plow through things, sure—Castor could shatter, bend, and brushed things just as easily as Aki had broken apart that branch—but the end, he hadn't been able to do much good when it mattered.
"But if you want to thank me," he says, "then stop trying to race towards the finish line when there ain't one to cross in the first place. You can have all the power you want, that's fine, but make damn sure you know how to handle it before you go off trying to take down shit bigger than you."
But all the miles that separate / Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face
Well, damn. He didn’t mean to let that slip out. Of course, Shinji had to persuade him to step back on that first night, or he might have tried out a few tactics, regardless of their efficiency. Though to be perfectly honest, Akihiko had wanted to use his fists to shut those ghosts up. Simply put, since he wasn’t able to, he saw no reason to waste his time or energy; he had just retreated back behind the safety of the barrier, and waited for them to disappear.
…Like a coward.
Shaking off those reminders, Akihiko neutralized his own expression and returned his gaze to the other while piping up in inquiry, “Anyway… Did you need something, Shinji? The last time you sought me out… Well, it’s been a while, you know?”
Not that he had any objections to seeing him, but Shinji seriously confused the fuck out of him at times, one of them being right now. Acting like he cared, and then pulling back or nonchalantly walking away whenever Akihiko tried to reach out to him. What the hell was he playing at? It was obvious that Shinji returning to SEES had been nothing more than fulfilling an obligation, so… Did he bear the same mindset toward their friendship – or whatever he considered their bond to be now – as well?
They really didn't need the tension between them to increase, but the status quo was almost just as unsatisfactory. There were so many things left unsaid, with Shinji's usual reservations and Akihiko's unwillingness to rock the boat, make the situation any worse than it already was.
But sooner or later, something was going to give.
Your grace is wasted on your face / Your boldness stands alone above the wreck
His grimace thins, and something in his jaws and muscles tighten. There had been others? Probably shouldn't be a surprise, with how many ghosts there had been, swarming Asgard like some kind of infestation, but he had thought he had set up things securely so the damn things wouldn't get near him anymore. After the first, he hadn't wanted to take chances. After the salt and rosemary, and his shadow, Shinjiro's own demons had gradually faded away. But they had never attacked him. Only yelled and cried when he let his defenses slip. But there's nothing he can do about Aki's ghosts now. He can't change what he heard or how he felt.
Instead, he pointedly ignores the next question and move in favor of another. He'll walk over to the tree instead, breaking off a small branch, tossing it in Aki's direction with a gruff command. "Catch it."
To what do I owe this gift, my friend? / My life, my love, my soul?
Not that he really expected Shinji to give him a straight answer. So he wanted to play keep-away, did he? How typical, of what he had become. Though on the flip side, Akihiko himself didn’t volunteer any additional information on the other ghosts either. Shinji didn’t need to know what they had said to him. The fact that he had even been present around the first one was bad enough.
“Huh?” His brows furrowed with confusion, but he did as asked and caught the branch, leather-clad fingers closing firmly around it. Akihiko shot him a questioning look, silently asking for the purpose behind this action.
Somewhere deep inside me / I hold a picture of a time long gone
The ghosts are gone, faded away along with the Reapers that brought them. The last thing he's gonna do is talk about his, share old demons that haven't yet gone away, and probably never will, even though they no longer hold a physical, near tangible presence. It's not something he wants to do. Those issues are his, and that burden is no one else's. He'd rather keep them invisible, like they don't exist, like his eyes were the only pair to see them. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand. The branch. It's not thin, but it's not so thick it couldn't be snapped in two without effort. But that's not what he's going to ask.
"Try crushing it with one hand. Without the strength this place gave you."
Instead, something harder.
Baby, just breathe; there’s nowhere else tonight we should be / You wanna make a memory
Or was he hoping for something else instead?
“......”
Interesting request, he mused inwardly. Gray eyes immediately measured out the length of the branch, finding it too long to fit the width of his hand. He fingered the areas closest to the middle, in an attempt to pinpoint the weakest spot, before initiating his plan of attack. Pressing his thumb against it, the boxer applied enough pressure to make the branch start to fold, and then swiftly crumpled whatever he could hold within his palm. The ends poked out from between his knuckles, and he tilted his head at the sight; a reasonable result, he would surmise.
“I can’t crush the whole thing,” he candidly reported to Shinji, even though it was obvious. The branch was twisted inside his hand, but he didn’t crush it into unrecognizable dust or anything like that. “It’s too big. Or were you expecting a different result?”
With our respective similarities / It’s either sadness or euphoria
He wasn't expecting anything different. Aki was strong, sure, there was no doubting that. Under the right circumstances he could do damage, but Aki wasn't strong enough naturally to shatter the branch into pieces.
He snaps another branch off the tree roughly equivalent to the one before (part of him inwardly feels guilty about pulling apart the damn thing all for a stupid object lesson). He tosses it over to Aki, expecting him to catch it.
"Now try again. Use your powers this time."
And I won’t duck and run, 'cause / I'm not built that way
So be it.
His brows furrowing with concentration, Akihiko activated his power, and just by casually curling his fingers inward, smashed the wooden stick into countless tiny slivers. He opened his hand and let them drift aimlessly back down to the earth, shaking off the remaining pieces that clung to the black leather material. Thank goodness he was wearing gloves, because having those damn things injected deep into his skin would be a pain in the ass to remove, without a doubt.
"There's a difference in the amount of power applied," he assessed in a logical manner, but presumed Shinji had more to say on the subject than that alone.
And we stare each other down / Like victims in the grind
Just like the Persona had been. One night. The hollow barrel of an Evoker. That's all it took for things to change. For an unknown power none of them really knew how to use to be activated instead of sleeping dormant and remaining undiscovered potential. It didn't just gradually appear. Even though Persona grew in power slowly, Persona were still leagues stronger than what was possible by the majority of humankind.
"Before, you had limitations. Your body couldn't push itself that far—it can only be stretched to a point before stops. If you got stronger, you did it slow 'cause you had to build it. Here, you haven't had that time. You ain't used to it—you don't get used to that kind of power in days. Or weeks. Months. Don't pretend you got it, 'cause you don't."
He shakes his head slightly in response to an unseen stimulus, like he's trying to shake static off his skin.
"You're used to fighting the old way," he says, jerking his head to the first branch, crumpled, but not in splinters. "That way. That's how you're used to sizing up things, and you know how shit is gonna react to you when you use it. If you think you don't need control and are just gonna race for more damn power instead, just to see how strong you can get so you can take down giants, you should rethink it. If you mess up, and go rushing ahead like you usually do and don't think, you're gonna leave more than just bruises if you make a mistake with what you've got now. You need to watch it and be careful."
Shinjiro's been the recipient of enough of Akihiko's punches to know he tends to react physically. This isn't a matter of him being some pacifist who wouldn't lift a fist if he were put in a boxing ring for a charity game. Aki needs to be careful—and he is, in a way, never would hurt anyone on purpose, but he's as reckless and unbridled like lightning is as it strikes down to find ground.
Tu vida es mia / Your fear is living in me
And what in the hell gave Shinji the right to stand there and tell him that he didn’t work for his power? Not this ability, specifically, but did Shinji really think he was out here training every single day to waste time flexing his muscles? Months had passed since SEES last stepped foot inside Tartarus, and Akihiko could tell that his fighting attributes declined, rather drastically, during the idle period. Attending university classes took priority, and the majority of his time was spent on studying, going through practically the same motions as high school. Normal teenagers didn’t need to exercise those vicious techniques in their regular lives, after all.
But that didn’t mean his drive and determination had gone away, his desire to be useful and strong enough to protect his important people. He had so much lost time to make up for, and to hear Shinji imply that he didn’t know what he was doing, that he was just being reckless like old times… it hurt, more than he realized. Shinji's opinion mattered to him - it always had - and he sounded like he didn't trust his judgment… still lacked faith in him…
“The old way… Hah!” Akihiko released a single laugh, curt and icy. “Which old way, Shinji? When we were kids? Or after we joined SEES? Because if it’s the latter, then how in the hell would you even know any of this shit? You didn’t stick around long enough to observe the way I fought. We’re not fifteen anymore, stumbling through Tartarus for the first time. Things have changed a lot since then.
“Besides, you have a new power too. And how are you controlling it? By letting it sit dormant inside your mind? To hell with that! You use it in practice, and test out your limitations before bringing it out on the battlefield. So what’s wrong with what I’m doing? What the hell is it that you think I need to learn how to control?”
His heated emotions were rising, and if it continued this way, he would need to seek some kind of outlet. Briefly, his gaze drifted down to focus on the other’s jaw, but he made no move toward him. In the past, Akihiko wouldn’t have hesitated to deck him whenever his smart mouth ran off for too long. That was before his untimely death, of course. He felt inclined to treat Shinji somewhat more delicately since then, which was a strange concept in itself. Was it simply derived from the fear of losing him, or…?
“Still lecturing me about the same shit as before, huh? It looks like you haven’t been playing close enough attention.” Akihiko smirked right after muttering those pointed remarks, and it looked just as cold as his earlier laugh.
The tired old reel… he had heard it before, countless times. More recently than when they were young kids, which suddenly reminded him of something else that he wanted to bring up with Shinji, now that he was actually around for longer than five minutes. Something important that had been eating away at him for a long time. Akihiko honestly didn’t think he would actually be voicing any of it out loud, burying his fear of losing Shinji yet again. But he could no longer suppress it, and he wasn’t going to take the coward’s route. This hot and cold bullshit had to stop, even if it meant weakening… or destroying… the foundation of their bond.
“Tell me something, Shinji. Why are you suddenly pretending like you care? Are you trying to mess with me? You come to help me, and then say that you want space. And that ghost… None of what it said even remotely fazed you, huh? Let me guess – you either didn’t draw the connection, or you thought it was no big deal. Sweep everything under the rug and walk away without a care. Shit, you could’ve just let it teach me a lesson on controlling my power by… well…” dying, because his attacks had been completely ineffective. All he could do was run, and Akihiko wasn’t even sure how long he could have kept that up before the ghost crippled him and swooped in for the kill.
“Two fucking years, man. You had no problem walking away from me during that time, even when I needed you. So why are you doing this now, saving me when you don’t have to? You're not under any obligations, and you don’t give a damn about our friendship – you made that pretty fucking clear back home. When you-” he choked on the word as it came out, “-died, you didn’t even… say good-bye. Your last words were about Ken… and I… kept my promise to you. I took care of him, because you asked me to. But you…”
Akihiko turned his head away, breaking their eye contact, and forcibly swallowed past the hard lump inside his throat. He was getting very emotional, and usually, he dissolved high levels of tension by beating it out from his body, but he couldn’t do that right now. No, he had to sit tight and ride through the roller coaster of mixed feelings swirling within him, a tornado picking up in speed and ferocity the more vulnerable aspects that he allowed to slip free.
“…You’re hiding things from me, even now. You never used to do that, Shinji. Or did you throw away those memories too? Back when we only had each other, but we could still take on any challenge and bear it, just because we knew we weren’t alone. We used to tell each other everything… and now, you won’t even answer a simple fucking question about yourself!” Akihiko flung a fist to the side, gray eyes ablaze with emotion, even as a sliver of fear caused his voice to faintly tremble. “Did you come find me today to say good-bye? Is this your last lecture or something? What do you want, Shinji? Don’t even think about leaving again before we're actually done this time! I want you to answer me, damn it!!”
But it was not your fault but mine / And it was your heart on the line
Aki's initial reaction doesn't surprise him—part of the same damn dance number they've been a part of for years. It's like watching a choreographed fight; you've usually seen and heard it all before. The reactionary anger spits sparks at Shinjiro's own irritation, because it's all-too easy to fight anger with its own kind when you've already taken enough shit for one day, but it simmers there underneath his pale skin and thin face, because at this, Shinjiro is better. Or at least he pretends to be.
And then Aki's temper spikes, and the first flickers of concern wash across Shinjiro's face before hardening into as unreadable of an expression as he can force himself. Shinjiro thinks many things—probably thinks too much—but there are some things he's crossed his mind. He's never doubted Aki's dedication. Never thought Aki didn't work for his desires or lacked persistence. He trained, but his goal was becoming stronger. Shinjiro had vowed to do the same back then, but he hadn't understood how complicated power was. Shinjiro remembers what happened when his Castor was new—he went into Tartarus just like Aki did, most nights, not knowing what they were doing but trying and growing. Shinjiro had been stubborn then, even a little reckless, and wanted to protect the very few things in life he cared about. But power never meant a thing. He still lost control despite being having more of a level head than Aki never did; he never rushed recklessly into a situation if he had a choice. And all it took was one moment, something inside him snapped without thought or warning, and a woman was dead.
He had power then, but what good was it?
Perhaps Aki had changed. Perhaps Aki was lucky. But all it took was a few seconds, and to Shinjiro, prevention was worth everything in the world—and would have meant everything to him if he could have turned back time and stopped things from happening. Aki didn't understand that like he did. Aki had never been in those shoes when your actions had hurt someone beyond repair. If Aki made a mistake, he patched it up, like all mistakes could be fixed in easy time. He didn't want Aki to have to experience that, he didn't want Aki to have to get hurt to learn a lesson that could have been avoided, and making sure he didn't was worth whatever ire he received from it.
And all the accusations of him not caring hurt like nails he has no choice but to swallow one by one. If he was to be accused of anything, it would be feeling too much. He had walked away. He never wanted Aki to believe that he hated him, but by the same token, he wanted Aki to leave him and move on for someone better, someone who wouldn't require baggage and guilt he couldn't get rid of or make go away. He just wanted Aki to forget him, and hoped distance would make things hurt less. He still didn't know what to do.
"So I guess I'm just a piece of shit, but I ain't here to watch you make mistakes you can't undo. I don't wanna see it."
It would hurt too much. He wants Aki to be successful. He wants Aki to be everything he couldn't be.
He hadn't wanted to say good-bye in the first place, not any more than he had wanted to drive Akihiko away. It had hurt a little more every time he tried. Maybe he could have said something while he was dying, but there hadn't been much time left, and it was hard to think through the the pain in his leg and chest and the growing fog. He had thought he had said it, in his own way. He was passing Ken onto him, just like he had asked Minako to watch over Aki. He was handing over responsibility because he couldn't do those things anymore. He was handing over the most important things in his life to other people. It was his good-bye. Or was supposed to be, anyway.
But everything he hears is hard to listen to and process at once. He still feels lightheaded, almost nauseous, irritated, angry, guilty. He doesn't know how to respond to any of it. All he knows how to do for the moment is listen, and inwardly feel all the nails he swallowed, and the thousands more he was letting rust, and not meet Aki's eyes like he should. He didn't know how to answer, not yet. He has answers, but doesn't know how to word them, or if he even should give voice to them if he could. He made his decisions back then based on what he believed was right. Not for him. But for everyone else.
"...If you want to hit me, then you might as well get it over with."
So stay with me / You look in my eyes and I'm screaming inside that I'm sorry
Akihiko was usually prone to respond based on his emotions, and he wanted to control that particular impulse this time. He had months to learn why that wasn’t always a good idea, to forget himself sometimes and simply rush into things, but right now… Would he feel any satisfaction from punching Shinji? What would that resolve? Just send them running around in circles like before, him using his fists to express his emotional pain and still driving Shinji away in the end.
“......”
Eventually, Akihiko straightened back up and pulled his knuckles out of the jagged pattern of wood with a few creaks. Wincing slightly, he uncurled his fingers, testing the tender limbs while trying to work out the soreness. Let out a long, shuddering sigh to reveal how tense he still felt, and then shifted his gaze over to Shinji. If he didn’t want to look at him directly, then Akihiko would allow it. What was one more small infraction, compared to the way that he was already feeling?
“No, Shinji. Because if I did that right now, it’d be to hurt you. Really hurt you. All those times before…” he paused to shake his head listlessly, “I hit you because you frustrated the hell outta me. But I… Maybe I should’ve just told you straight up.”
He shrugged his shoulders in a forced casual manner, as if he was feigning indifference, when in fact he was mentally berating himself for allowing the tension to build up between them. He had almost always been the one reaching out to Shinji after that night in October, and took rejection after rejection while exercising restraint, for the most part. Only when his temper had boiled over, like in the hospital when Shinji revealed that he was taking the deadly pills, did he feel strongly enough to react without thinking, without consideration toward his longtime friend.
“You’re not a piece of shit,” he refuted with a stern look, “but you are an idiot sometimes. You… Damn it, Shinji. You never thought about how we’d be affected by you… dying? Everyone felt like shit afterward. Minako cried at your funeral. Mitsuru and Fuuka blamed themselves. And even Ken-…”
Akihiko abruptly closed his mouth, sensing that maybe he was going too far by telling him all of this. He took a moment to still his whirling thoughts before resuming, “Listen. I’m not trying to make you feel bad on purpose, okay? But you need to realize what kind of impact you had on everyone. They looked up to you too, thought you were strong and had your shit together, even if you didn’t see value in your own life. Stop beating yourself up over this, Shinji. If you really wanna honor her memory, then keep fighting and moving forward, instead of drowning in guilt. I-… We wanna save you, but you keep swimming out further and further away. And you’re still doing that.”
Speaking this bluntly now made Akihiko realize how long it had been since he was so open with his feelings toward Shinji. It felt uncomfortable for him, almost foreign and unnatural, and that in itself told him just how much their friendship had declined over the recent years. But Shinji wasn’t to blame for all of it – he had to bear responsibility too, for not doing more, letting himself get swept under the tide in his lust for power when he could have kept trying and trying and trying to reach his friend. He could have checked in on him more often instead of excitedly planning out the next Tartarus expedition, and wondering what new Shadows the team would take on as they climbed higher.
He started walking forward, with mild hesitation in his first step only, but then his strides grew more confident the closer he drew to Shinji. He stopped about a foot away and lifted a hand to grip onto his shoulder, wanting to emphasize the importance of his next words. There was still some pain lingering within the gray depths of his eyes, though his expression remained strong and ever-serious.
“I should’ve told you before, when I had the chance, but…” he didn’t know their time together was going to be cut so short. And since he had the opportunity now, he felt like he should seize it, before he lost yet another chance. “You’re precious to me, Shinji. You always have been – both you and our friendship. Every time you pulled away, it… hurt like hell. I don’t know where I stand with you, anymore. If you want to… end it because I messed up somewhere, give me a chance to make things right. You want space; I’ll back off and leave you alone. I just… I don’t want to lose you again.”
Subconsciously, his grasp tightened with apprehension, as he felt unsure of whether or not any of this was getting through to the other. Bad timing on his part, too, to yell at him when he was feeling sick. Shit.
“…Seriously though, are you feeling okay?” There was no mistaking the concern in his tone as his gaze gradually traveled down his body in avid scrutiny. Shinji might dodge the question again, but maybe if he persisted a couple more times, he would finally answer him. “Because if you’re sick, then… you really should get some rest, man. Don’t let me keep you out here.”
You don't understand this/ I think you never did/ Silently I search for a reason to exist
"None of that was ever up to me," he says, taking a step back, away from the proximity, pulling Aki's arm carefully away from his shoulder. "It asn't for me to decide."
Of course he had thought about what would happen if he died. Who it'd affect. Because if it had been just about him, then things probably wouldn't have mattered. If he lived or died, no one would be around to care. But he always knew there'd be at least one that would take it hard. So he had thought about it enough. Especially in the darker hours of two years ago when he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. He had wanted to forget more than he wanted to die. If he had wanted to die more than anything else, he could think of a thousand faster ways to go. Dying wasn't all that hard.
But he had figured dying and dying soon would be the inevitable conclusion. He accepted it, because that was justice. So he had tried to make things easier. Because a wound that wasn't deep would hurt less and would heal quicker. For the most part, it wouldn't be a problem. No one knew him. Fuuka might blame herself, but in the end, he had only spent a month in her memories. She would forget him. A month was nothing in the span of years she had left in her. The others were the same. Mitsuru would bear responsibility because that was her way, but she'd move on because she was practical. All that left was Aki. He couldn't erase fourteen years. But he could step back and out of his life it was for the best. It was what needed to be done, and had he possessed more iron in his blood he would have done it properly and skipped town and never came back. But he always makes mistakes.
And in the end, what happened to him was out of his hands. He had left it up to Ken that night. He didn't ask Takaya to try and murder the both of them. Never expected to have to deal with having bullets sunk into his chest. And once that happens, ain't much you can do about it except die. He hadn't had a choice. The bullets had cut things short. He could have stood there and done nothing. Maybe he'd still be alive, but the kid wouldn't be. If Ken had died, Shinjiro knows he couldn't have forgiven himself for that. Better him than Ken, and the kid had gotten what he wanted without having to kill, even if he felt a bit more regretful about it now. If that's what Aki was trying to say. ...He didn't know.
He shrugs. "I wasn't gonna be around for much longer anyway." With the pills. And at least he had done something decent for once. It was better than dying like a starved stray. "So it didn't matter. The longer I'd've been around, the worse it would've been."
Like Takaya said.
Do you wonder why you hate? / Are you still too weak to survive your mistakes?
He had to prove that he still trusted Shinji, though nothing stopped him from continuing to inspect the other. Though despite his claim, Akihiko could tell something was off, based on appearance and discomfort in his body language. At least this kind of pulling away, he expected, knowing how Shinji felt about physical contact. (So many people in general had hang-ups on the same thing, which he really didn’t understand, but whatever.) Of course, if Shinji suddenly collapsed on him mid-sentence, then he would have every reason to kick his ass for trying to tough it out.
He listened without comment, without judgment, but at the end of it, shook his head in disagreement and inquired, “Running off alone wasn’t your choice? Come on. And Ken disappearing at the same time – I should’ve realized something was up, earlier.”
He just didn’t think Ken would want to seek revenge on Shinji. Or that his friend would be so willing to accept his demise. Yes, he had saved Ken from getting killed by that crazy bastard Takaya, but if they didn’t abandon the damn operation in the first place, then their lives might not have been threatened. Strega had always expressed hesitating in taking on SEES as a whole, instead waiting for the members to separate, or making their last stand at the very end.
Maybe it was childish or foolishly optimistic for him to hold this perspective, but Akihiko hadn’t expected to have this many regrets, once their goal was realized. Back home, when there was still an objective to fight for, he could focus his attention on getting there without wandering astray from the main path. He convinced himself that he was fighting for Shinji too, and it had felt good to imagine both him and Miki observing from high above. And then Asgard came along to throw a wrench directly into his circuit of emotions, turning everything inside out and making him wonder if he had been completely honest with himself. In spite of his confident bravado, it had taken him years to get over Miki’s death. Shinji still elicited a great deal of emotions from him, still affected the way he felt and how strongly he cherished their friendship.
A frown of bewilderment creased his brows; Akihiko knew what he was referring to, but… “What do you mean? Were the pills fatal? You’re not still taking them, are you?”
I tried but I can't find a way / To untangle all the pieces
—Well, he couldn't change anything. There are always a lot of ifs, when something goes wrong, but in the end, you can never see as far as you'd like to pretend you had the ability to in hindsight. All that is is blaming and pointing fingers that don't need to be pointed goddamn anywhere.
As for the pills. He goes quiet for a few seconds. "Castor's not here, so there's no reason to." He avoids the first question, neither confirming or denying, but the silence and lack of answer is probably more than enough, because Shinjiro has never been one for lies. A part of him would still rather not say. Shinjiro might not be taking the Suppressants anymore, at least, not more than the small handful that are necessary to get himself off them, but he needs what he will have left over, just in case.
But though you're still with me / I've been alone all along
Talk. That was why Ken had gone there armed… But in spite of the discomfort that Akihiko felt around him shortly after, he never expressed any hatred toward his younger teammate for desiring Shinji’s demise. Whatever had taken place prior to Takaya’s arrival, Akihiko didn’t know. Had never pressed Ken to tell him either, even though he wanted to know exactly what happened. It wasn’t necessary, since the official police report listed Shinji’s death as an accident, but the full story… would have given him more peace of mind.
Though he definitely felt relieved right now, to hear Shinji admit that he wasn’t taking the pills anymore. Especially if they were as dangerous as he was implying. For fuck’s sake, was Shinji even aware of the consequences before he had started taking them? It truly felt like he was willing himself to die, being so damn careless with his own life. And yet, he somehow had the balls to lecture him on his lifestyle, Akihiko griped inside his mind. At least he didn’t rush headfirst into situations to get himself killed – he always did that to help someone, and would continue doing so, as long as he was able to.
“Shinji.”
Akihiko took another step closer, though he made no move to touch him. His expression was alarmingly blank as he asked in a neutral tone, “Why did you keep taking those pills, if you knew they were going to kill you?”
And now you know that you can choose / To lose the part in your heart where your insides bruise
"You know why," he says, neutral tone shifting and sparking with tired exasperation.
It's a story he's said and told over and over again. Aki knows why, just like Shinjiro understands why Aki fights and trains as hard as he does, even if Shinjiro doesn't always approve of his actions. Aki knows why—and sometimes it's frustrating to hear him ask the same old questions. Ask him why he does every little damn thing, when it's always tied to same roots as everything else.
Aki knows why.
Because he can't let something like that what happened that one night in October happen again. Even if the Suppressants wore down his body by slow degrees, day by day, nothing would have broke him faster than having Castor go out of control again. Nothing else would make him hate himself more, and very few things in the world scare him more than that. He'd rather die. Better him than someone else who didn't do a damn thing to deserve being cut down. He had taken the pills to try and forget initially, then he had started taking them just to survive another day. It made him feel less like trash, less scared, like a kid waiting for monsters to come out of his closet, even if his body never felt entirely whole anymore.
So even though you’re so close to me / You’re still so distant and I can’t bring you back
Akihiko grasped at the back of his own neck, nails briefly digging into his skin, as the frustration started boiling up again. He was trying really, really hard not to give into the urge to punch him. He just… needed to blow off some steam after this. Lose himself in an intense training session, and forget, for a short while, that he had to keep wearing a mask to cover his face. Let that guard slip in private so he could be himself, instead of filling in an expected role.
There was a warning edge to his tone as he stated firmly, “You’d better not still hate yourself, Shinji. You saved Ken back home, and now… you have a chance to make a difference here too. You won’t have to worry about losing control. As long as you keep practicing, anyway.”
His arm idly dropped down by his side, gloved fingers loosely uncurled. Faint embers ignited within twin gray depths as he steeled himself once again, to try and convince Shinji that his life mattered. Things could have been different for him, for both of them. Not that they could change the past – what was done would not be altered. They had to look forward to the future now, and make the best of it.
“You’re wrong, you know. It didn’t have to end that way. We could’ve figured something out. Losing control of Castor – that was tied in with your mental state, right?” Shinji wasn’t like the artificial Persona users that Strega had spoken of, doomed to die long before their time. But Akihiko did understand how a severe lack of confidence could affect a person’s regular functions, let alone their ability to fight. “Maybe you could’ve healed your mind if you weren’t so hard on yourself, so unsure and scared all the damn time, thinking that you’re gonna mess up again. If you step into the ring thinking that you can’t beat your opponent, then you’ve already lost the match before it’s even started.
“We’ve been through a lot together, Shinji. Things were never easy for us, even before joining SEES. You’re stronger than this – I know you are. You’ve got a second chance – here and now. So let’s try and stick to what we promised each other: to get stronger and do what’s right. This world needs us, just like all those people back home did, with the Apathy Syndrome.”
Still holding his gaze, Akihiko extended a hand toward him, an invitation to shake on it. “No matter what happens, I’ll always have your back.”