#sbau october 18

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

Akihiko lets the words roll off him. He can tell by Shinji’s tone– soft, grave– that he’s being serious rather than trying to get a rise out of him, but he’s still tired of indulging those morbid remarks.

He tugs the glove off of his right hand and reaches out to Shinji, an offering.

Shinji eyes his hand like it’s an entirely alien object. Akihiko might have been insulted if he hadn’t completely expected it.

There’s no hesitation in his answer. It’s not even a question, really. Despite everything, that’s one truth that Akihiko could never doubt. 

He knows Shinji too well, cares about him too much. He hadn’t given up on Shinji even when he’d been fighting tooth and nail and venom to push Akihiko away, and he’s not about to do it now. 

The look on Shinji’s face is…complicated, and Akihiko can’t quite read every nuance knitted into the expression, but he can tell at least that Shinji hadn’t been expecting that response.

He seems to mull something over for a few more seconds before slowly reaching out to take Akihiko’s hand. Shinji’s palm is dry and calloused. His skin is cool to the touch but the contact sends a current of warm static curling up his arm. Akihiko beams– he can’t help it.

Akihiko squeezes Shinji’s hand. He never wants to forget this moment; he wants to sear the scene into his memory– a perfect, permanent afterimage left behind by a lightning strike.

Shinji shakes his head a little like he’s exasperated, or just humoring him, but his smile is so soft and sincere. Akihiko’s heart flutters in his chest like a charge is being run through it. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Shinji look so at peace. Far, far too long.

Restless energy snaps through Akihiko’s limbs, but it’s different from the aimless, frustrated jittering that plagued him through the hours he’d sat vigil in this room.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

He’s walked through this door what feels like a million times already, but Akihiko finds himself hesitating outside of Shinji’s room today. He’s struck with the terrible, paralytic notion that yesterday was just a dream, and that when he walks into the room he’ll find Shinji unconscious and unresponsive again. 

It’s an absurd idea to even entertain, let alone be so afraid of, but– he really doesn’t know what he’d do if that ended up being the case. 

Akihiko’s wrestling match with his own irrationality is interrupted when he realizes he can hear voices coming from the other side of the door.

One of them belongs to the lead doctor for Shinji’s case, talking about– something. Akihiko can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he definitely catches the response. 

“No, nothin’ like that.” Akihiko would be able to recognize Shinji’s voice absolutely anywhere, in less than a heartbeat. He knows it every bit as surely as he knows his own.

He leans against the wall and finally lets go of the breath he’d started holding. 

Shinji really is awake. Akihiko hadn’t imagined it out of pure desperation.

Now he has to actually work up the nerve to open the damn door. It’s been all he could think about from the moment he’d left the hospital last night until this exact moment, but now suddenly the idea of speaking to Shinji seems as daunting as a title match. It’s never felt that way before. 

Yet another thing Shinji would laugh at him for. He’s amassing a collection.

Well, since Shinji’s doctor is here, Akihiko figures he ought to be polite and knocks instead of letting himself right in. When he does, the muted conversation on the other side of the door grinds to a halt.

“Who in the world could that be this early?”

“‘S probably Aki. Dunno anyone else who wakes up at the a– the crack of dawn like he does.” 

He exhales, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Just hearing Shinji’s voice again smooths down some of the prickling edges of his nerves. This can still be salvaged. 

Hopefully. 

“You can come in, Sanada-kun.” 

Akihiko steels himself before he opens the door, and he still feels nearly bowled over when Shinji’s eyes meet his. Seeing them open yesterday was emotional enough when Shinji could barely keep them focused. Now his gaze is alert and aware, fixing on Akihiko with the keen scrutiny that he’s come to find so familiar– it’s almost overwhelming. He very nearly chokes, though at least this time the universe shows him a little mercy and he doesn’t make any embarrassing noises.

“Uh–” God. He needs to get a hold of himself. “Sorry for coming by so early.” Akihiko shuffles inside and closes the door behind him.

Shinji snorts quietly and looks away. 

“It’s no trouble,” The doctor replies mildly, though Akihiko has a feeling he’s a little annoyed at being interrupted. “We can continue this conversation later then, Aragaki-kun?”

“Sure,” Shinji shrugs lightly. Akihiko has no idea what they were talking about, and it’s really not any of his business to ask. He steps out of the way and takes a seat in a nearby chair, as the doctor takes his leave to give them some time alone. Akihiko appreciates it, even if it does feel a little awkward at first. 

“Never known you to be so sheepish.” Shinji’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Never known you to censor yourself like that,” Akihiko shoots back immediately. Despite the circumstances, all he’s been through these past two weeks, all his apprehension and hope and the nausea-inducing slurry they’ve blended into– despite everything, it’s still as easy as breathing to slip right back into their familiar, bickering rhythm. 

“Yeah well, the doc doesn’t appreciate ‘profanity’ in his hospital.”  Shinji rolls his eyes. “His words, not mine.” 

“When has that ever stopped you before?” 

“When he’s got the same glare as Sawashiro-san.” 

“He can’t be that bad,” Akihiko laughs. Out of all the matrons who’d been at the orphanage, Sawashiro-san had been the most intimidating by an oceanic margin. She’d practically been a boogeyman to the younger kids– and the older kids, however much they would have denied it. She had never been cruel, at least not in hindsight, just ruthlessly strict. And after all this time, even Shinji still can’t say her name without an honorific.

“Go ahead and try swearing around him then,” Shinji returns. “See for yourself.” 

Akihiko folds his arms and scoffs amiably. He will not be doing that.

He feels so much more relaxed now than he did when he first walked into the room. He wishes he could keep things like this, continue to bask in the simple camaraderie of nostalgia.

He knows he can’t.

[next =>]

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

Akhiko can’t remember a single time when the silence between them felt so awkward. 

Tense, sure– especially recently. But never like this.

Akihiko wonders if Shinji can tell just how frustrated he’s getting. Probably; they’ve always been able to read each other pretty well, Shinji especially– with the uncanny talent of getting even better at it whenever Akihiko particularly doesn’t want to be read.

Dammit, this is not how he’d wanted this to go. This isn’t how he wants to feel while talking to Shinji after facing the uncertainty of whether he’d ever get the chance to again. Why the hell is it happening this way? Why can’t things just make sense? 

With all the knowledge Akihiko has now, things feel too different. The fact that Shinji had kept quiet about all of it just makes it even worse, and he doesn’t even have the decency to be apologetic about it. It’s like he doesn’t even care that he could still drop dead at any given moment, despite all they’ve been through. Like it doesn’t matter to him at all what that would do to the rest of the team, to Mitsuru, to Akihiko–

It’s ridiculous. It’s infuriating.

Akihiko takes a deep breath in and out through his nose in a way he hopes is subtle enough to go unnoticed. He needs to change the topic again.

Akihiko groans. Of course. Of course that’s the first thing Shinji remembers. Why on earth should he have expected his luck to be any less terrible than that? As if he didn’t feel shitty enough.

He doesn’t sound sorry in the least. Fresh, caustic heat flares in Akihiko’s chest. The last thread of his self-control is getting more and more taut and frayed, and one stray spark really will make it snap. He can’t hide how high his temper is rising anymore, even if he could still be bothered to.

One stray spark. Akihiko surges up to stand, fists clenched at his sides and shaking with fury.

Shinji blinks at him, slack-jawed and stunned, and Akihiko is torn between an ugly sort of satisfaction and feeling even more infuriated, because how the hell could any of this come as a shock to him? Isn’t this exactly what Shinji’s been goading him on to since the moment Akihiko walked through the door this morning?

Since long, long before then– Shinji’s been pushing and prodding and herding him towards this cliff since the moment he walked out of the dorm with no intention of ever coming back, and now he has the audacity to act surprised that Akihiko’s gone over the edge?

“What do you think would’ve happened if Amada had actually killed you, huh? Did you really think he’d be just fine after that? Did you think that would’ve solved anything? That it would be anything other than taking the easy way out?

“I never would have thought you could be that much of a coward,” Akihiko sneers, venomous. Poison for poison, repaying what Shinji had spat out like a cobra a month ago. Shinji winces and looks away, but he remains silent.

Good, because Akihiko isn’t nearly finished. “And did you even stop to think for one second about the people who give a shit about you? About what it would do to us if you just went off and died without saying a word?!”

“Aki–” Something odd has crept into Shinji’s expression, but Akihiko steamrolls over it, too caught up in his own vehement momentum to spare a thought for curious inconsistencies. Blood roars in his ears and his throat singes and stings.

“What would I have told Miki if you went out like that? Were you fine with breaking your promise to her too? Is that it?!”

“Aki.”

“Because you’ve gotten so good at that, haven’t you? Going back on your word, leaving people behind–”

“Aki.”

Shinji barely raises his voice, but it still cuts right through Akihiko’s even though he’s practically shouting at this point. It’s only now that it dawns on Akihiko how loud he was being. Just like that, all of his anger snuffs out, so suddenly that it leaves him dizzy and cold.

Dizzy, and cold, and ill– every malignant word of his tirade echoes punishingly around his skull. The blood drains from his face.

“I– Shinji, I’m–” His voice has gone thin and shivery. “I’m sorry. I didn’t–”

“Don’t be sorry,” Shinji replies quietly, not looking at him. “The only reason I stopped you was ‘cause I don’t want them to kick you out.”

Akihiko can hardly wrap his head around what Shinji’s saying. He has every right to want to get rid of Akihiko by any means necessary after all of that. He should want to, why wouldn’t he want to–

God, and for him to bring Miki into it? Akihiko’s never felt so ashamed in his life. Using her memory as a weapon– what kind of person does that?

Akihiko wants to tear into his hair in frustration– at Shinji, at himself, at everything. He wants to climb right out of his skin. “I shouldn’t have said any of–”

“Yeah, you should have.” Shinji locks his gaze pointedly to Akihiko’s. “You needed to say it, and–” His eyes slide away again. “...and I think I needed to hear it.”

Akihiko collapses back into the chair, slumping forward over his knees. “Why aren’t you angry?” The question is pleading, almost desperate.” I– I was awful to you just now.” 

“You weren’t wrong, though. Not like I didn’t earn pretty much all of it.” Shinji laughs– laughs– and Akihiko feels like he’s going to be sick. “‘Sides, it…sounded like that’s been building up for a while.”

What is he supposed to say? What can he say?

Nothing. That’d be best.

He’s already said enough.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here]

Definitely not the most graceful way to change topics, but Akihiko’s fairly sure that eloquence would just serve as yet another obstacle between him and the things he needs to say. 

Shinji hums and leans his chin in his hand, looking perturbed.

It’s not exactly a clear picture, but Akihiko can’t blame Shinji for not knowing precisely how to describe something like that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to, either. Despite generally being taciturn by nature, Shinji’s always been better with words between the two of them; so if he’s struggling to find the right ones then Akihiko wouldn’t stand a chance.

That might have been everyone talking to him. If that’s the case, then Shinji hadn’t heard anything they’d said, at least not clearly…

Well. Except for Akihiko, apparently, if the smart remark from yesterday was anything to go by. He isn’t sure whether to be flattered or mortified. 

Or guilty. If he’d tried talking to Shinji sooner, would it have made a difference? He has no idea, and now he’ll never know.

He’s not sure how Shinji will react, but he deserves to know how much he’s cared for. Whether Shinji accepts it or not, or if even believes it, is a different story. But he’ll do everything in his power to try and get it through Shinji’s thick skull. Shinji might be as stubborn as a wild ass, but so is Akihiko.

Clearly Shinji doesn’t believe him at all. Well, it’s not like he really thought it would be that easy to convince him.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

Shinji’s taking his turn with graceless subject changes, apparently. Akihiko rolls the question around in his head for a moment, trying to decide which facet of it to answer first.

Despite himself, Akihiko can’t help feeling a little surprised. The doctor had said that it wasn’t uncommon for people in comas to not remember exactly what happened before they fell into it.

Shinji fixes him with a hard, flat stare.

That’s such a gross oversimplification that it’s almost comical, and Shinji sounds so damn matter-of-fact about it– irritation pricks hot behind Akihiko’s breastbone. He pushes it down as best he can, at least for the moment. Now really isn’t the time.

He gestures wildly with one hand at nothing.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th] It may be Shinji who has more of a way with words between the two of them, but Akihiko has always been the one who fills their silences. Shinji’s the kind of guy who would rather listen than talk, unless he’s really got something to say. So naturally, that means it falls on Akihiko to break the silence they’re mired in now, as well. 

But he just can’t bring himself to do it. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t know what to say– he can think of plenty of things that he should say right now. The issue is whether or not he can. He tries a few times to speak up and feels bile rise in his throat instead of his voice. 

So he chokes it down and they’re left with…nothing. Nothing besides the scorched atmosphere Akihiko left in his wake.

Maybe it would be for the best if he leaves. Maybe getting away from here and taking some time to calm himself down is the better option, even though he’s loath to think about parting ways with Shinji on such an awful note. Even if it should only be temporary, how can he be certain it will be? How can he know for sure that their luck will hold, and Shinji will still be here when Akihiko gets his shit together?

He doesn’t know how he’d live with himself if the worst came to pass, and that was the last conversation he and Shinji ever had.

Akihiko’s inability to swallow his shame and talk past it turns out not to matter, ultimately. It’s Shinji who finally breaks the arid silence with a heavy sigh. 

“Look, I’m…really no good at this sorta thing,” he starts. “You already know that. An’ I’m also kinda high on painkillers right now, ‘cause– turns out getting shot doesn’t feel great. So maybe nothin’ I say’ll make any sense.”

Despite himself, Akihiko wheezes out a small laugh, and Shinji’s mouth twitches up on one side. He wants to believe that maybe this is a step in the right direction. It’s not like he’s wrong either; Shinji’s talents with words have never extended to talking about his feelings, even before his Persona went berserk. 

“But…you’re right,” Shinji continues. “I knew what the consequences could be, but I didn’t take ‘em seriously enough– not for Amada, or for you ‘n Kirijo– because I was too caught up in my own reasons.”

Shinji’s hands clench into fists around the bedsheets, his fingers trembling. “None of it– nothing mattered to me as much as the thought that maybe… Maybe I wouldn’t have to live with the fact that I’m a murderer anymore.”

“Shinji…” Each word out of Shinji’s mouth feels as heavy as a cinderblock, and Akihiko’s chest aches under the weight of them all. 

Shinji closes his eyes and sags back against his pillow, exhaling a weighted breath through his nose. He looks utterly exhausted. “That’s all I’ve cared about these last two years. The only thing I wanted was to atone, no matter how. And my life for the one I ruined seemed like a fair trade, y’know?”

When Shinji opens his eyes again, his gaze falls on the open window. The Moonlight Bridge winks back at him, the morning sun glazed mirror-bright over its arches, forcing him to wince and look away. “But I guess that’s pretty screwed up, right? I was just pushin’ my selfishness onto a kid and takin’ the coward’s way out, like you said.” 

Akihiko doesn’t quite trust himself to speak without a sob bubbling up instead, and in any case, the glare off the bridge is starting to get to him too, so he gets up to close the curtains. He grips the stiff, plasticky fabric tightly and bites his lip. 

“And that’s…” He almost doesn’t turn back around to face Shinji, but decides at the last moment that he needs to. “That’s really how you feel?” 

Shinji holds his gaze for just a moment before looking away. “Mhm.” 

It’s the first time Akihiko has heard Shinji like this– so somber and serious– in a very long time. But if he’s being truthful (Akihiko hopes to god that he is), it only serves as a horrible reminder of just how much Akihiko has failed. 

He must be making a face, because when Shinji looks at him again his mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Still mad, huh?”

“Of course I am.” Akihiko’s answer is immediate. “I just…am I really that unreliable?”

“...What?”

Akihiko almost returns to his seat but overshoots it and ends up pacing instead. “Shinji, you helped me so much when Miki died. You were there for me, you– you never left my side. You always made sure I was okay.”

Memories flood over him like a tsunami, churned together by time and grief until they all blend into an amorphous impression of those days, individual moments of shocking clarity floating within the tide like flotsam. 

Shinji had let Akihiko cling to him for days after the fire with minimal breaks, while Akihiko had cried until he’d been sick. Shinji had held him tightly all through the funeral as he’d choked on dry sobs, all of the tears wrung out of him, his eyes throbbing and swollen almost shut. Afterwards he’d bullied Akihiko into lying down and draped washcloths soaked in cool water across the top half of his face. 

Shinji, checking in with him between classes since they didn’t have the same homeroom that year. Shinji, walking the entire way home with him after school even after the adoption had been finalized and Akihiko had gone to live with his parents, their house in the exact opposite direction as the new building that served as the orphanage.

And that was just the aftermath of Miki’s death. Shinji’s been looking after him all his life and never expected anything in return. All those memories blend together until it’s impossible to keep track of them all. 

Akihiko had certainly appreciated it at the time, but he’d still taken it for granted. It’s only now that he realizes just how much it all meant to him. His breath shakes, his voice trembles. “I don’t– I don’t think I could’ve gotten through it at all if I hadn’t had you. So– the fact that you thought I couldn’t be there for you–”

“That’s not it.” Shinji cuts him off. “You’ve got it all wrong, Aki. I knew you would’ve been.” He glares into his lap. “That was the whole problem– I didn’t want you to be. I didn’t want your help, or Kirijo’s, or anyone’s. It all goes back to me bein’ a selfish asshole.”

Oh.

That makes an unfortunate amount of sense. 

“...Was it that you didn’t want it, or–” Akihiko swallows, the sound uncomfortably loud in his ears. “Did you think you didn’t deserve it?”

Shinji shrugs. “Same thing at the end of the day, ain’t it.”

“No.” Akihiko shakes his head. “It’s not the same at all. You did deserve it. You do deserve it, Shinji.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His expression is stony and contemplative as he mulls over Akihiko’s words. 

“...If I’m honest, ‘m still not sure I can believe that,” Shinji says quietly. He looks at Akihiko again, meeting his gaze and holding it this time. “But I am sorry, Aki. Sorry for bein’ that selfish asshole.”

Despite what he’d demanded earlier, he hadn’t really been expecting any kind of apology. He wasn’t sure if he’d even really wanted one, or if all he’d really been after was the catharsis of throwing a punch. But hearing it now, with Shinji sounding so genuine, so sincere– emotion starts to swell in Akihiko’s chest again. 

He pushes it down before it can strangle his voice. Shinji isn’t the only one who needs to apologize. It’s time he stops being so self-centered.

Akihiko makes his way back to his seat, pulling it even closer to Shinji’s bedside as he sits. His knees knock against the bed frame. 

“I’m sorry too,” Akihiko murmurs. He ignores the look Shinji gives him. “I kept saying I wanted you to rely on me, but– I didn’t take your feelings into consideration at all and I forced you back into a fight you didn’t want to be a part of. 

“And because of that…” He shakes his head, glowering down at his hands. He clenches and unclenches them into fists, watching the tendons in his wrists flex. “If I’d been paying more attention, if I’d just realized what was going on when Amada joined us–”

“Hey,” Shinji interrupts him using the same tone of voice he does when he’s about to tell off one of the juniors, or when he’d scold one of the younger kids at the orphanage. “Don’t you dare start blamin’ yourself for this, alright? None of this is your fault.”

It’s nice of him to say, but Akihiko knows it isn’t true. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You’ve told me a thousand times how tunnel-visioned I am. How I always run off on my own without thinking because I focus on one thing and forget about everything else.” Suddenly it feels like every lecture that Shinji’s ever given him and he’d brushed off is weighing down on his shoulders, heavy and shameful. 

“I told myself I needed to be stronger, but… In reality, I was just doing the exact same thing I accused you of. I was just running away too, from any problem that I couldn’t solve by knocking it down hard enough.”

What else has Shinji lectured him about that he just passed off as nothing when he should have listened? Why had it taken him until now to realize it? Why had it taken this? 

“You were right all along. And in the end, it didn’t even do any good. It didn’t matter how strong I was. Look what happened!” He gestures at Shinji, at the bed he’s propped up in– at everything in the room. It speaks for itself. 

“You almost died, Shinji! If one thing had been different– if just one thing hadn’t happened the way it did…you wouldn’t be here.” A sob clogs his throat. He drops his head into his hands, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes in a futile effort to keep the tears at bay. 

“All that strength, and yet I still couldn’t do anything for you. Not a single goddamn thing. I couldn’t even donate blood when you needed it, did you know that?”

“Aki…” Shinji doesn’t say anything more for several long moments, and the silence between them grows so heavy. Eventually, though, Shinji reaches out and puts a hand on Akihiko’s knee. 

“Listen,” he says. “We both fucked up. But there’s nothin’ we can do about it now. And…” He gives Akihiko’s knee a soft squeeze. “If it means anything, I don’t hold any of it against you.” 

Attempting to hide how emotional he’s gotten was hopeless from the start, but he’d been holding the line so far, if only by the skin of his teeth. Now Akihiko crumbles. He’s thankful that it’s just Shinji here instead of the whole team. He’d never live it down. At least Shinji’s seen him cry a million times before, so the blow to his pride doesn’t sting that bad. 

“I-it does. It means a lot to me, Shinji,” he replies, his voice quiet and hoarse, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

Akihiko pulls a long, slow breath in and out through his nose. He feels both relaxed and energized, loose-limbed and pleasantly charged the way he does after a good warm up. His eyes have even drifted closed at some point.

So that’s what a second awakening is like, huh? He wouldn’t have guessed it would be so…comfortable. The brand new presence in the back of his head is unmistakably different from Polydeuces, but just as effortlessly familiar. Had it been the same way for Amada?

He opens his eyes to find Shinji staring at nothing in particular, his mouth slack with surprise. As Akihiko watches, his gaze refocuses but loses none of its astonishment as it snaps to meet Akihiko’s own.

“...Aki, what the hell was that?” 

For a moment, Akihiko isn’t certain what he’s talking about. The only thing he can think of is… “Wait,” he replies. “You saw it too?” Were second awakenings actually visible to everyone? Or maybe just to Persona users? And outside of the Dark Hour, too–

“I–” Shinji clutches loosely at the front of his hospital gown with his free hand. He drops his gaze again, his brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting back and forth like he’s trying to examine the inside of his own heart. “Castor, he…”

Oh. Everything suddenly clicks into place. It hadn’t been Akihiko’s awakening Shinji had seen.

“Yeah.” Akihiko is taken by surprise when the word comes out as a breathless laugh. “Me too. Polydeuces isn’t there anymore. It’s Cincinnatus now.”

Shinji’s mouth twitches upwards and he snorts softly. Akihiko suffers a moment of intense confusion before he realizes: mister-history-buff probably recognizes the name. He wonders what it says about him that Shinji finds funny; he’ll have to remember to look it up when he gets the chance.

The amusement slides from Shinji’s expression, replaced with befuddled concentration. His fingers curl and uncurl in the fabric over his chest. His other hand– the one still clasped solidly with Akihiko’s– flexes too. It doesn’t seem like he even realizes he’s doing it.

“Hey,” Akihiko murmurs, concerned. He’d been so caught up in how easy his own re-awakening had been that he’d just assumed it had gone the same for Shinji, and he probably shouldn’t have. After all, Shinji’s first awakening to Castor hadn’t exactly been…a peaceful event. He leans in a little closer and gives Shinji’s hand a brief squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong, that just felt–” Shinji’s jaw works silently for a moment. “So damn weird. It’s not– It isn’t bad, but it’s–”

“It’s a lot.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Shinji runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s never been able to break even after he started wearing a hat nearly twenty-four-seven (his other hand still hasn’t let go of Akihiko’s, and the realization hits like a bolt of giddy adrenaline). “I ain’t a fan of not knowin’ why it happened either.” 

“It happened to Amada too,” Akihiko says. “When he told us about it, Mitsuru said that it was something there had been theories about for a while, but that they’d never actually seen happen before. The idea is that if a person changes enough, their Persona can change too. She called it a ‘second awakening’.”

“Huh…” Shinji laughs. Just once, and the sound is thin and utterly exhausted. “I guess they recognized the promise we made too,” he says, slanting a tired, crooked smile at Akihiko.

It’s hard to breathe suddenly, like the tide of warm gratitude and affection that floods his chest is taking up all the space usually reserved for his lungs. He swallows past the knot in his throat.

“Yeah, I– I-I think they did.” Akihiko’s voice rushes out in a thick, emotional whisper.

His grip on Shinji’s hand tightens and the movement tugs Akihiko another centimeter forward. It strikes him now, for the first time, that he’s been leaning in like this for a while now. 

It strikes him, as well, just how little distance there is between him and Shinji’s smiling mouth– near enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. 

It would take so little effort to close that gap entirely, wouldn’t it?

The thought makes his jaw ache and his breath skip in his chest.

…What thought would that be, exactly? 

What the hell is he thinking? 

What the hell is he doing–?!

He can’t just–

He can’t.

He’s still leaning in closer to Shinji as though drawn by gravity, but he wrenches his attention away from the stupid, catastrophic impulse that had almost overcome him.

Instead Akihiko presses his forehead to Shinji’s and closes his eyes.

It’s an old, familiar gesture between them, and the wave of comfort it brings is so intense that it even overpowers (most of) his mortification, leaving him feeling very close to serene. 

Shinji sighs, long and relaxed, just as soothed by the gesture as Akihiko is. Mercifully, he says nothing about what Akihiko had nearly done.

He’ll think about that narrowly averted disaster later.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

Before Akihiko can even try to think of something else to say, Shinji hunches over and breaks into a coughing fit. It sounds awful, even worse than the ones he’s witnessed before– bone-dry and concussive, each cough jolting his entire body with its force. 

And all Akihiko can do is wait, second by agonizing second, for it to pass.

Shinji shakes his head, breathing heavily through his nose.

A minute is more than enough time for Akihiko’s thoughts to spiral to extraordinary depths.

He should have paid more attention to the coughing fits. To the way Shinji had started wearing a winter coat even at the simmering peak of summer. The deeper, darker shadows under his eyes and the occasional tremor in his normally steadfast hands. How many other warning signs had Akihiko ignored because he’d been so preoccupied with the electrifying excitement of Shinji being back; of himself and Mitsuru and Shinji all getting to fight side by side again?

How many had he neglected to notice altogether? The thought alone makes him feel sick. 

The hospital had done a thorough examination of Shinji’s body once he’d made it out of surgery in order to assess the extent of the damage done by the suppressants, and the results were… Well…

Akihiko hasn’t seen any of the scans or hard numbers for himself, but with the Kirijo Group acting as Shinji’s de facto next-of-kin, Mitsuru has. She’d pointedly kept the information that she relayed to Akihiko only as detailed as strictly necessary, and it had still painted a harrowing picture.

The way she’d described the x-rays of his lungs in particular…

He doesn’t like to think about it. But as bleak as the state of Shinji’s health seems at the moment, at least it isn’t hopeless.

Shinji’s tone is barbed, but half-heartedly at best. It still snags on his nerves.

Akihiko sighs and shakes his head. At least that hadn’t devolved into a real argument. He’s already irritated and he doesn’t need to add any more fuel to the rapidly growing fire.

How had things gone so sour so quickly? Somehow the easy camaraderie he’d been so grateful for less than half an hour ago feels further away than it did before Shinji had ever returned to the dorm.

Evidently Shinji is going to keep tossing fresh kindling into that fire himself. When it comes to knowing exactly what to say to piss Akihiko off, he’s always been a savant. He’s practically elevated it to an art form at this point.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

The moment would have had to end eventually. Akihiko just wishes it wasn’t because he’s started sniffling, like they’re still seven years old and their fights are over lost games or dares instead of lost time, or the chance of losing each other.

It’s not all bad, at least. It makes Shinji laugh, for real this time. Akihiko can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed because he’s just so thankful that he gets to hear it again, despite the odds.

It’s the most that Akihiko could ask for. Besides, despite the layers of cynical pessimism, he can tell that Shinji means it. 

Akihiko opens his eyes just in time to see Shinji close his. He gusts out another heavy sigh and Akihiko is gratified to note that it isn’t nearly as world-weary as the last one. He can’t help but want to check in anyway– just in case.

He definitely sounds like it. This was a talk that they’d desperately needed to have, but now that pretty much everything is out in the open, Akihiko can’t blame him for being exhausted. Slowly, and very reluctantly, Akihiko leans back. He doesn’t let go of Shinji’s hand.

Shinji doesn’t let go either.

Akihiko stands and finally allows Shinji’s hand to slide from his grasp. He takes one more glance back just as he crosses through the door to find that Shinji has opened his eyes again, and is watching him leave. Akihiko smiles; Shinji blinks slowly back at him, like a cat would.

Shinji merely hums in response.

The door clicks shut. Shinjiro slumps bonelessly against the slant of the mattress, his gaze angled towards the ceiling but not really looking at it.

“Another promise, huh? Live my life…” He settles a hand over his chest again. His heart beats under his palm, something that, up until yesterday, he wasn’t expecting to ever feel again. The startling new presence within stirs quietly, gently. It’s going to take a long time to get used to.

“Yeah…” He closes his eyes. “I guess I should do better about all that.”