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Their first kiss was a car crash of teeth and jaws, rain soaking into their hair, the smell of dying autumn all around them — he remembers it vividly, the scar-knuckled grasp of Akihiko's fingers against the fabric of his coat, the chilled press of his cheek even through the skin layers of warmth, and the touch of his lips, fumbling, like neither of them knew exactly what to do or where this would end, except there was a taxi waiting outside for Akihiko, and after that there would be an airplane, and all the voices of Iwatodai in the morning wouldn't stop the roar of that plane's engines as it left the ground. Akihiko had said something when they were done, pushed through the muscles of his throat and into the drum of Shinjiro's ear, but Shinjiro had never known what, because all he could think of then was that Akihiko was clenching his fingers around Shinjiro's lapels and then he was letting him go. The taxi honked at the end of the curb, and Akihiko picked up his luggage and ran.
That was their first kiss. They've never repeated the experience since.
It still rains in Iwatodai, often when Shinjiro least expects it. Being that Shinjiro is more likely to carry around a giant axe as accessory than an umbrella, it gets sort of annoying after a while, even though he's lived all his life in this strange, stupid city. He owes his life to his city — and he owes his death, but that doesn't stop him from cursing a blue streak every time he pulls on his shoes to get ready for work, only to glance out the window and see that it's pouring. Goddamn.
Shinjiro hates the wet, and he hates the cold. Why else do people think he wears a long-ass peacoat?
But it's Iwatodai, and maybe once, a long time ago, he'd dreamed about ditching this place to find bigger and better, like going to Tokyo where he could lose himself in anonymous crowds. No one would know him in Tokyo, and that's the appeal right there tied up in a bow, but that was before. These days Shinjiro knows he'll spend the rest of his life in Iwatodai, because that's his blood on the pavement and that's his writing on the back of the restaurant wall. He's stuck himself here, glued himself to the streets like a piece of half-chewed gum. It ain't the prettiest way to go, but it is what it is. He's okay with that now.
Besides, Mitsuru and the Kirijo Group own his balls now. It's only because of their cutting-edge drugs that Shinjiro isn't going to die some wreck of a useless lout. He's got new suppressants for his Persona, ones that don't squeeze his heart into painfully violent palpitations, even if it means Kirijo scientists sticking needles into his veins once a month to monitor his progress.
So, Shinjiro. And Iwatodai. And rolling out of bed in the middle of the afternoon to get ready for the dinner shift at Wakatsu Restaurant. Shinjiro may be a foul-mouthed, sloppy high school dropout, but he's the best damn line cook they've got.
The skies are leaden grey when he leaves his dingy little apartment behind the shrine. His boots squelch on the mud and grass as he cuts through a field. When he arrives at Wakatsu, ducking through the back door, the head chef says, "Thank god you're here, put on your whites quick, we've got a big party coming in."
Shinjiro wipes his boots lazily against the mats, leaving smears of dirt that makes the head chef wince. "Yeah, sure," he says, reaching for his chef whites in their busted-up locker. The heat of the kitchens is already starting to warm him up from the cold, and he doesn't think twice before barging his way to his station, barking at some poor assistant for her badly done prep.
At some point in the night, right after Shinjiro finishes his smoke break and takes a peek at the dining room, he sees a silver-haired boy with his parents and his little sister. The boniness of the boy's wrists, the obvious strength in his hands — immediately Shinjiro thinks of Akihiko. But then he pushes that thought to the back of his mind, where he keeps all the other useless things of a life he'd rather not remember.
Mitsuru checks up on him every now and then. He knows when she's arrived, because how often are there going to be shiny stretch limos on his cheap little street, and he can usually hear the click-clack of her heels as she climbs the four sets of stairs up to his apartment. She always rings the doorbell politely, as if she's not sure he's home, even though Mitsuru's got more tracking devices than Interpol. Shinjiro is pretty sure she could find out when he eats or shits, if she wanted to.
He keeps one tin of good tea in his dusty cupboards, and it's for her. He never drinks that crap himself. But he boils some water while Mitsuru sits on his couch, carefully pretending to ignore the general disarray of his belongings. Sometimes, if he feels like it or if Princess Mitsuru looks like she hasn't had a proper meal yet, he'll scramble her some eggs.
"How are you?" she asks, the same as she does every time. Koro-chan barks happily around her ankles and she reaches down to scratch behind his ears.
Shinjiro sits across from her and spreads his legs casually. "Me? I'm okay. Still sticking around like some cancer."
"You shouldn't talk about yourself that way," Mitsuru says. "You have great worth.to both your friends and your community." And here's that student president voice again. "Even if no one else knows, we know. You helped — well, you helped save the world."
"Before or after the part where I got shot and spent the next few months in a coma?" Shinijro shakes his head. "You don't need to be nice to me. You guys saved the world. I just watched."
"That's not true," Mitsuru insists. "Without your help, Arisato-san would have never triumphed in the final battle against Nyx."
"Yeah, yeah, that's ancient history," Shinjiro says. Mitsuru makes a noncommittal sound, sipping at her tea. Even though it's the best he can afford on his chef's budget, it's still probably worse than anything she's used to in that mansion of hers. But that's what he likes about Mitsuru. She doesn't complain. She's a trooper.
"How is Ken-kun?" she asks. "I haven't talked to him recently."
"He's going to Gekkoukan now," Shinjiro snorts. "He's discovered girls."
"Ah." Mitsuru smiles.
"It's pretty fucking terrible," Shinjiro says. "He used to be such a runt, but now he's tall and athletic. Going to be taller than me one day, even."
"Well, we can't let him lord it over us," Mitsuru says. "Make sure he remembers to show respect to his elders."
"You don't have to worry about that," Shinjiro agrees. As if he's ever going to let Ken beat him in anything.
Mitsuru pauses. For the first time in their conversation, her fluid grace turns jerky. He knows what she's going to say even before she says it, but it's like taking a punch — sometimes you've just got to wait. "I got a phone call from Akihiko yesterday," she says, and Shinjiro feels his face turn into stone.
"Yeah?" he asks blandly.
"He's — well," she says. "He says he's in Thailand right now, learning muay thai. He plans on going to Indonesia next."
Shinjiro shrugs underneath the weight of his sweater. Fuck but it's still cold. "Good for him," he says. "Tell him I say hi." Mitsuru has set down her half-empty teacup, so Shinjiro gets up and goes to the kitchen to refill it. Koro-chan follows him, as if forming an honour guard. He can hear Mitsuru shifting around on the couch, probably trying to avoid one of the broken springs. He doesn't think about — about Akihiko, about anyone. He doesn't think of anything at all.
When he and Koro-chan get back, Mitsuru looks determined. "He misses you," she says in a voice that brooks no argument. "I know what happened between you two is complicated, and none of my business, but you're his best friend, his brother-in-arms. Nothing is going to change that."
"Not the impression I get," Shinjiro says, because if Aki really missed him, he would actually give him a call, wouldn't he? But he calls everyone else — Mitsuru, Ken, Junpei, even Aigis — while Shinjiro's phone is silent. Shinjiro might have flunked Japanese class multiple times, but even he can read some goddamn symbolism into that.
Sanada Akihiko's Around the World in Eighty Days. Shinjiro has to laugh when he thinks of it. It's what Aki always wanted, pretty much. His high school grades were good but never stellar, and even though his teachers all thought he would immediately apply for the police force, Shinjiro has always known him better. Akihiko's a wanderer. He's wanted to get out of Iwatodai even more than Shinjiro, and even though Shinjiro's grand plans pretty much started and ended at Tokyo, Akihiko's always seen further.
Akihiko wanted to see the world. He wanted to travel and learn martial arts from all the great masters on all the continents — he wanted to improve his boxing so that he could be the best he could be, not just in Japan but everywhere. It was because he never saved Miki, and Shinjiro could see the determined obsession in Akihiko's eyes even when they were kids. Akihiko trained like a demon and planned for his future like a general.
Come with me, he'd said the night before he left, which was also the night before he kissed Shinjiro for the first time, that fumbling painful kiss which ended everything.
But Shinjiro had just shrugged. I can't. Got the drug testing here, and Ken and Koro-chan to watch out for, and I was never much of a traveler. I like routine. He'd seen the look on Akihiko's face and had added, uncomfortably, his heart beating against his ribs — You're going to come back, aren't you? This isn't some end-of-the-road forever.
He'd prided on himself for knowing everything about Akihiko, for being able to read every wayward emotion that Akihiko hid from the rest of the world, but he couldn't read what came next.
A lot of things will change when I'm gone, Aki had said.
Probably.
I don't want things to change. Akihiko hadn't met his eyes. I don't want you to change.
That had pissed Shinjiro off. Are you going to play king? Going to tell me what I can and can't do? Fuck you, Aki. I'll change as much as I want to.
But that's the funny bit, isn't it? Because Shinjiro hasn't changed at all. He's still here, doing exactly what he said he'd do — working, taking Kirijo drugs, looking after Ken and Koro-chan. Akihiko's the one who changed. Akihiko's the one who kissed him out of nowhere, lightning fast, the callouses on his fingers rubbing against the vulnerability of Shinjiro's neck. And while he left Shinjiro reeling, it was Akihiko who ran after the taxi, who never looked back.
"Yeah!" Ken says brightly. "Let's hunt some Shadows tonight!"
He's all pumped up, Ken is, scuffing sneaker marks in front of Shinjiro's apartment. Shinjiro grunts as he pulls on his coat and gets his axe.
"Calm down, kid."
"You're getting old," Ken says. "Can't keep up with me anymore?"
"I'm twenty-two."
"Like I said, old," Ken says, and god Shinjiro sort of hates him. Ken is bright-eyed and smug and an object lesson in the fact that no one should save the world as a ten-year-old because as a teenager they'll be insufferable. "Come on, Koro-chan," Ken says, grinning. "Are you ready?"
Koro-chan barks twice.
"Okay, now I'm ready," Shinjiro says, hefting his axe over his shoulder. It isn't the most inconspicuous way to walk around town, but as long as they keep to the alleys and the back fields, usually people won't notice. Shinjiro, Ken, and Koro-chan — the Three Musketeers who keep Iwatodai safe from the leftover remnants of Shadow activity, the oozing pockets of pus that even their defeat of Nyx couldn't quite heal.
There aren't too many Shadows left. They generally only come out at the full moon, which is when Shinjiro and his ragtag gang make a trip of it, prowling the streets listening for the screams. There isn't any Dark Hour anymore, so they've got to act fast.
They find a Shadow near Gekkooukan, roaming the school grounds. Ken and Koro-chan give chase, and Shinjiro ambles after them, catching up right in time to see Ken launch the first attack. The moon is a white coin in the sky, and Ken defeats the enemy with a well-placed hama spell. Koro-chan barks in disappointment, and Shinjiro rolls his eyes. What's the point of the rest of them even coming along anymore?
After Shadow-hunting, they'll stop and get some leftover takoyaki at an all-night stall. It's hangover food, and Shinjiro doesn't even care about what's inside. They hit three Shadows tonight, and he must be getting soft because that's nowhere near the number they used to fight while progressing through Tartarus, but three is enough these days to leave him ravenous. He tears into the takoyaki with his teeth while Ken throws parts of his to a hungry Koro-chan.
Then Ken leaps up from where they're sitting on the curb, eating. "Oh shit!" he says. "I almost forgot. I've got exams tomorrow!"
Koro-chan growls.
"I didn't mean to forget," Ken tells him. "It just slipped my mind. Don't look at me like that. Anyway, got to run. See you guys!" He throws the rest of his takoyaki at Koro-chan, who catches it with a single jump, and takes off into the night.
Shinjiro and Koro-chan exchange glances. "Don't look at me," Shinjiro says. "I failed every single one of my classes — I'm no role model."
Koro-chan finishes chewing and rests his head against Shinjiro's thigh, looking mournful. His tongue comes out. Shinjiro sighs and feeds him the rest of his food, greedy dog.
(Akihiko visited him, once. It was in the second year after he left to train abroad, and he came back to visit the gang. Yukari, Junpei, and Fuuka came back from university, Mitsuru threw them a party, and they poured out some sake for Arisato in silence, the way they always did, before everyone leaped on Akihiko, demanding souvenirs and stories and asking to see his scars.
Shinjiro had said nothing. He'd lingered in the back of the room with Koro-chan, and had glared at anyone who tried to talk to him. He ate one of Fuuka's cookies, spat it out, and stayed sullen for the rest of the night, even when Akihiko finally pulled himself away from their friends and came over to find him.
Hi, Akihiko had said, and the silence between them was so awkward that Shinjiro finally took pity on him. It was as if they were strangers, instead of two boys who had spent nearly their entire lives together.
How was China? The Shaolin monks treat you okay? Shinjiro had said.
Akihiko had smiled wryly. They treat me all right.
Okay. Good. Hate to have to go there and crack some skulls, Shinjiro had said, and they had stood there staring at each other, cataloguing all the changes they could see. Akihiko's hair had been longer, there were even more cuts on his knuckles than usual, and he seemed a little ill, like he'd caught a stomach flu on the way back to Japan. But his shoulders were broader too, more muscular the way Akihiko had always wanted them to be — he resented his slender frame so, so much, Shinjiro knew. A ball had formed in Shinjiro's throat, and he'd straightened.
Got to walk Koro-chan, he'd said.
I'll go with you, Akihiko replied, but Shinjiro had cut him off.
Look, you're the one who wants to pretend nothing ever happened.
Colour had risen in Akihiko's cheeks, half angry and embarrassed. He quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and that told Shinjiro everything he wanted to know right there. Akihiko was as reserved as anyone — he might be willing to do something as flashy as boxing, but he would never make himself an object of spectacle by kissing Shinjiro in the middle of a room with all their friends watching. Focused and respectable, that was Akihiko, and not even their long history together could change the fact that Shinjiro had become a liability.
Akihiko looked miserable. It's not — it's a hell of a lot more complicated than that, Shinji. You're a hell of a lot more complicated than that.
Actually, no, I'm really simple, Shinjiro had said, and then Koro-chan proved his loyalty by tugging him out of the room).
He and Akihiko could fight back-to-back and know each other's every thought, but they were never very good at talking. Just look at all those times Aki tried to convince Shinjiro to join SEES. It took at least five tries for Shinjiro not to think that Aki had hit his head and it was some kind of weird pick-up line.
Shinjiro might not have scuff marks on his knuckles from punching people for a living, but he's got burns from kitchen oil and he's pretty sure he'll have back problems for the rest of his life, seeing as how he's always bending over that stupid Wakatsu stove, which really needs to be replaced except no one will listen. It's not quite living with the Shaolin monks on top of a mountain, but Shinjiro puts up with it because making food for people — making damn delicious food — is an experience he's never going to pass up. It's better than fighting, it is. It's better than sex too, because when he sees someone bite into one of his dishes and groan, he feels like he's just fucked his way through an entire harem.
"Watch it, Aragaki-san," one of the other line cooks says to him. "You're going to become respectable."
Shinjiro tosses his cigarette butt at him in reply.
The other cook's name is Yoshikawa, and he seems in a cheerful mood tonight. "Me, I'm already respectable. Don't know when it happened. One day I was trashing bikes and getting into brawls, and the next day I was married with a fucking kid. Hey, you got a girlfriend?"
"Sure I do," Shinjiro says. "She's pale and quiet and has a wicked right hook."
"Aragaki-san goes for the dangerous ladies, eh?" Yoshikawa leers. "Is she cute?"
Shinjiro thinks of the stretch of Akihiko's limbs, the length of his eyelashes, the curve of his mouth even when he was cussing Shinjiro out, trying to drag him back out of whatever hole Shinjiro had dug himself into. He thought of Akihiko when they were kids, Akihiko's grass-stained knees from when they played pirates and princesses, the crookedness of Akihiko's nose that one time Shinjiro hit him in the face with a folding chair (it was an accident).
"Not really," Shinjiro says.
"Oh." Yoshikawa looks disappointed.
"I mean—" The words rise from Shinjiro's vocal chords like algae. "Tell me, Yoshikawa, how do you really know when you feel something for someone? Like, love, I guess. If you, shit, love someone for your entire fucking life, how do you know when it jumps from one kind of love into another? When do you get the memo? How do you deal?"
"Uh, no idea, man," Yoshikawa replies. He peers at him. "Are you high?"
"I'm not high," Shinjiro says, and laughs. "I think I'm just fucked."
Which is, of course, cue for Akihiko to show up on his doorstep the very next day.
"What are you doing here?" Shinjiro growls, and it says a lot that even though his first instinct is to close the door and crawl back into bed, he doesn't. Shinjiro is normally so good at giving into his instincts too.
"I had a layover on my way to Kyoto," Akihiko said. "Then my flight got cancelled. I thought I could drop by Iwatodai and crash with you for the night."
"What, they didn't give you a fancy hotel to stay in?"
Akihiko doesn't answer that. He looks tired but cagey, and there are muscles along his arms that weren't there even the last time Shinjiro saw him. "Can I stay, or not?" he asks.
"Fine." Shinjiro lets him in. "Koro-chan! We've got a guest."
Koro-chan comes bounding out of the bathroom and jumps all over Akhiko, licking his face. Akihiko smiles — it's a genuine smile for Koro-chan, and Shinjiro has to look away. "I'll make you some food," he says, lurching to the kitchen. Akihiko, to his surprise, follows.
"I'm not that hungry," he says.
"As if I care," Shinjiro says. "Eat something that isn't a damn protein shake on a calorie chart."
Akihiko folds his arms over his chest. Shinjiro knows he's going to argue. He also knows that if he does, they're going to be at this all night because they're both stubborn bastards. "Sit down," he says instead. This could go either one of two ways: Akihiko can take orders because he does all the time from Mitsuru, but he doesn't like to take orders from Shinjiro. This time, he does, reluctantly, and Shinjiro whips up some miso soup. Simple, easy, and a terrible idea because it lets his mind wander as he's cooking.
Akihiko is still playing with Koro-chan, murmuring softly to him. When he catches Shinjiro staring, he freezes. "What are you looking at?" he says defensively.
"You're in my fucking apartment in the middle of the night. I'm allowed to look as much as I want," Shinjiro says.
"Well, don't," Akihiko retorts.
"What are you, fucking five years old?" It's hilarious how the rest of the world thinks Akihiko is so mature, so wise beyond his years, when ten minutes with Shinjiro can reduce him to frustrated child.
There's a cut behind one of Akihiko's ears. The blood is a smear of dried maroon. Shinjiro's hands go wobbly as he pours out the soup. "Here, eat," he grunts.
"Thanks," Akihiko says. He tilts his head critically. "It's even better than it was before."
"You fight, I cook," Shinjiro says.
"You fight and cook," Akihiko says. "I just fight. I think you get to come out as the winner."
"Hey, I'm sure there are some things you can dominate me in," Shinjiro says, and it's mean and it's taunting and it's exactly what he wants.
Akihiko goes red. Poor Aki, he was never very good at winging the more dirty stuff. Shinjiro thinks of how horrible he used to be at picking up girls, and he smirks. A wild recklessness overcomes him, like stepping through the gates of Tartarus. He reaches up and runs a knuckle down Akihiko's cheek, feeling the windblown texture, the welcome warmth. Akihiko shudders and looks down at his soup.
"Shinji," he says, and there might be a million worlds out there, worlds in which they won against Nyx or they lost, worlds in which they were good people, worlds in which they were bad people, worlds in which Arisato lived, worlds in which she didn't, worlds which ended in darkness, worlds in which they were hopelessly happy. Shinjiro is pretty sure that no matter how many worlds there are, he will love Akihiko through all of them, and will be helpless at the way Aki says his name in that hushed, uncertain breath, strength stripped away like meat from the bone.
They're kissing then. Shinjiro scrapes his chair closer and Aki leans in, and they're kissing while the steam rises from the miso soup and through Akihiko's fingers as they pull Shinjiro in. Koro-chan scampers around the floor, and they kiss; they kiss until their mouths are bruised and Shinjiro's fingers ache, and their lungs feel so full that the smallest spark could set them off, creating an implosion they can never recover from.
Shinjiro's thumbs ask a question against Akihiko's cheekbones, and Akihiko shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "I never planned for this."
"You think I did?" Shinjiro asks, and Akihiko puffs out a breath of rueful laughter. They're kissing again, sweet and honeyed and desperate, and underneath the slick movements of their mouths, Shinjiro knows that this will only be the one time. Aki has had a story for his life from the moment he first dreamed, and this was never a part of it. Aki was supposed to be famous and strong, get married and have children he could dote on — a normal, triumphant life, the sort of life every orphan yearns for. Not fear, not hiding, not half-fumbled pronoun games and secrets lurking in every conversation.
Shinjiro pulls Aki up to his feet. They're still kissing as they tumble against the kitchen wall, and then they're rubbing against each other, completely graceless. Aki gasps against the shape of Shinjiro's jaw, and Shinjiro unbuckles his pants with hands that would never pass muster in a professional kitchen — he's supposed to be cool and calm, as good with a knife as he is with sex, but Shinjiro isn't. There have been men, but this is Aki, and Shinjiro shakes into the folds of Aki's arms, who stares at him with a hard-edged wonder.
He makes Aki come once against the wall, and then one more time on the couch; and then Aki tumbles him into bed, showing Shinjiro the strength of his arms. Shinjiro falls asleep somewhere around half past three, sticky and exhausted, his hand resting on the pulse of Akihiko's wrist — when he wakes up, there is a note in the kitchen that he does not read.
The Shadows get worse.
"Jeez, you think we've got another Nyx coming?" Ken asks after stabbing his spear through one Shadow's eye.
"Don't even say that," Shinjiro says, swinging his axe to cover Ken's back. There are five Shadows this time, and though they get rid of them easily enough, it's been a while since Shinjiro has seen five Shadows at once.
"I think there was even a Dark Hour last week," Ken says when they're done. "It didn't last for an hour, so maybe people didn't notice it, but the lights went out and everything got eerie quiet and — you sure didn't notice?"
"I had a guest around that time," Shinjiro grunts.
"What? Who?" Ken demands. Then he grows gleeful. "Was it a girl?"
"Go live your fantasies through someone else, kid," Shinjiro says.
"Aw," Ken replies. "And I'm not a kid, okay. I'm sick of the rest of you treating me like one."
"You're fourteen."
"I bet you did a lot worse at fourteen," Ken points out.
"Look how I ended up," Shinjiro replies. "If you don't graduate school, by the way, I'm going to kick your ass from here to the North Pole." He hoists his axe over his shoulder and checks to make sure his evoker's still in place. "Let's go find Kirijo. If anyone knows why the Shadows are getting worse, it's going to be her."
Mitsuru is already waiting for them at their usual meeting place at Hakagure Ramen. She never says why she likes this place so much as opposed to one of her fancy French restaurants, but Shinjiro knows it's because she used to eat here with Arisato. Besides, he and Ken can afford to pay their own bills here, and Mitsuru must be aware of that. She greets them and Koro-chan when they arrive, and then launches straightaways into business.
"Nyx isn't coming back."
"Oh good," says Ken.
"What we're seeing now is the final push of remaining Shadow activity," Mitsuru says. "One last stand, if you will, though of course they are not so organized as to actually plan it. Rather, it's like the immune system." She thinks about it, and then speaks again. "We're delivering the medicine, and it's almost done, but we've just got this one final infection to deal with."
"Then we'll deal with it," Shinjiro says. "Let's get this shit over with."
"It might be more than the three of you can handle," Mitsuru says. "Even if I join you. I suggest we call in reinforcements."
"You mean the rest of the team?" Ken's eyes brighten. "Hell yeah!"
"I think I should call Akihiko too." Mitsuru rests her gaze on Shinjiro. "He sent me a text saying he was back in Japan for training, so he should be able to come by."
"Fine with me," Shinjiro says, even though it obviously, obviously isn't. He can still feel the bite of Akihiko's teeth against his shoulder, the languid twist of his fingers against his cock. He stares out the window moodily. "Just don't put us on the same team together."
"What's with the two of you?" Ken says. "I don't get it! You guys are like best friends, and now suddenly you hate each other?"
"You'll understand when you're older," Mitsuru tells him, which is entirely the wrong thing to say.
"No, I think I understand plenty now," Ken retorts. "Who cares if they have sex or make out or whatever? It's gross but I don't care — I don't see why anyone else has to either."
"Ken!" Mitsuru chastises.
"No, he's right," Shinjiro says, pulling his eyes back to the table. "He's fucking right. Who cares what other people do, as long as they aren't hurting anyone? But you don't have to tell that to me."
"I think Akihiko is... confused," Mitsuru says awkwardly, like she hates her life and everything that has led up to this moment. "Remember how Junpei used to call him a warrior monk? There's truth in that. Some people spend their teenage years experimenting with romance and emotions. Akihiko just... trained."
"That's stupid," Ken decides, and yeah, Shinjiro has to agree with him on that one.
Akihiko is pale and unhappy when Shinjiro and Ken go to pick him up at the train station, and they very much pretend as if Shinjiro has never taken off every piece of his clothing, one by one. They gather silently into the back of Shinjiro's car, and if Akihiko notices Ken staring daggers at the back of his head, he never says. He looks exhausted, and he nearly falls asleep by the time they reach their old dorm.
"We're all staying here while we fight the Shadows," Shinjiro says gruffly. "Makes it easier to regroup."
"All right," Akihiko says. "I'll take my old room."
"I'll mix you an energy drink," Shinjiro says. Akihiko raises his eyebrows, to which Shinjiro's response is an abrupt, "Take a look in a mirror. You need it."
"Thank you," Akihiko says, ever well-mannered even though Shinjiro once held him against a wall and made him beg. The memory washes over him and makes both of them flush. Their eyes skitter away from each other, and Shinjiro wants to laugh or punch something — maybe even Aki, who would punch back, and then at least there'd be contact.
He mixes the energy drink while he waits for Aki to settle in, and by then the others are pouring into the dorm, joking and laughing — Yukari and Junpei come in at the same time, with Fuuka half an hour later, followed by Aigis, who has been on some mysterious errand for the Kirijo Group since last summer but is under orders never to tell them what. "Come onnn," Junpei whines. "We're past all that classified bullshit, aren't we?"
"Negative," Aigis says. "The information remains strictly confidential."
Junpei whines at Mitsuru, who smiles and says nothing.
Akihiko steps out of the shower, not expecting the rest of them to be gathered on the staircase landing. Yukari squeals at the sight of him in a towel. "Senpai, you're so buff now!" she teases and Akihiko practically sprints to his room and slams the door shut.
"You shouldn't say things like that," Fuuka says, equally embarrassed.
"Where's the fun in that?" Yukari asks. "We're all adults now, and if you tell me it isn't fun to tease Akihiko-senpai, then you haven't lived. Right, Shinjiro-senpai?"
Shinjiro smirks. "Akihiko's the most delicate one here."
"Stop lying about me," Akihiko says, emerging from his room in a hastily tugged on t-shirt. "If anyone is delicate, it's clearly you, Shinji. You cry at soap operas."
"I do not," Shinjiro says.
Koro-chan barks.
"Shut up!"
"Man," Junpei says, slouching over. He slings one arm over Akihiko and the other over Shinjiro. "It's good to be back. So many memories. Remember when we used to think Shinjiro-senpai was going to die in that coma? The good old days, right?"
"Oh jeez, Junpei, you're as terrible as ever," Yukari says, pulling him off.
"I remember that," Akihiko says quietly when the rest of them wander off to raid the kitchens. "We really did think you were going to die. It was not good."
"No shit," Shinjiro replies. He and Akihiko glance at each other, and that's all it takes. No one is watching them, no one cares, and Shinjiro pulls the two of them into his room and shuts the door.
They fuck everywhere the next few days. Akihiko is next to a virgin, but Shinjiro teaches him what's what. They fuck over every surface in Shinjiro's room, and then they do it in Aki's. They fuck until there are bruises on Aki's hips and fingernail crescents in Shinjiro's arms. They fuck until Aki loses his breath and Shinjiro loses his mind. They fuck before dinner, after Shadows, even on Sunday morning when everyone is gathered upstairs waiting for Mitsuru to debrief them — they're late to the meeting, and still they fuck, Akihiko pressing Shinjiro down onto his bed and straddling his hips.
It's strange, and it's wild, and Aki seems half-feral most of the time, as if he's put some part of himself away, set it aside because it does not apply here. And maybe it doesn't. Maybe that's just the way it's always going to be, Shinjiro and Akihiko fucking while pretending the rest of their lives don't exist, greedily snatching up every moment they have together, wordlessly kissing as hard as they fight: brutal and mean, familiar.
"There was a girl," Akihiko says when they're lying on top of the sheets together, sweaty. Akihiko has his head buried against Shinjiro's chest, but he glances up, eyes serious. Shinjiro's fingers tighten against Aki's hair.
"In Brazil," Akihiko goes on. "She was a Nikkei Burajiru-jin. I met her on a beach. I thought she was the one."
"Prince Akihiko," Shinjiro drawls. "On his white horse with his fists swinging."
"I think I loved her," Akihiko says. He sounds like he's puzzling over a mathematical equation, something foreign and alien and untouchable. Shinjiro doesn't reply, even though he's sure that Aki can hear the painful thump of his heart.
"It wasn't enough," Aki says.
They take to the streets in two teams. Mitsuru leading Shinjiro, Akihiko, and Ken, while Fuuka leads Junpei, Yukari, Aigis, and Koro-chan. Each night, they split up and take half of Iwatodai, scouring the roads and the avenues for any signs of Shadows, of which there are plenty. Shinjiro used to dream about the gargled growl a Shadow makes upon sighting its prey, but now he doesn't dream about it at all. With Akihiko in his bed, legs tangled with his, Shinjiro's dreams have taken on a much more dangerous quality.
In battles, they're the best they can be. They're probably even better than they were four years ago, because while most of them are rusty and they don't have Arisato to lead them anymore, they're also older and have better judgment. They don't run into battles nearly so often; under Mitsuru's coaching, they lie in wait. They trap Shadows before the Shadow can wreak havoc among humans, and they dispatch Shadows as clinically as a pharmacist fills a prescription.
At least, that's what it looks like on the outside. Inside, every part of Shinjiro is alight with energy, because this is the first time in years that he's fought alongside Akihiko. Aki has Caesar now, not Polydeuces, which is a small pain that Shinjiro is never going to quite get over — that Akihiko has graduated beyond him, beyond their brotherhood. But he sets it aside and finds that Caesar is almost the same as Polydeuces, and when the night is cool and tense, Caesar and Castor go riding.
"You should evolve," Akihiko remarks to him. "You must be able to — I bet there's another incarnation of Castor just waiting to happen."
"Too risky," Shinjiro replies. "I'm not like the rest of you guys. With all these drugs I'm taking for Castor, I don't know if I could control another Persona."
"You could try," Akihiko says.
"And you'd stick around and help me?" Shinjiro says. "Let's be realistic."
Akihiko looks out at the moonlight over the streets of their childhood. "You never asked me to stay," he says after a while, in that same know-it-all tone he used to charm their caretakers with.
"You're not Aigis," Shinjiro says harshly. "I didn't think I'd have to give you a direct order. And even Aigis is a lot more self-aware than you are."
Akihiko frowns, but just then Mitsuru calls out another Shadow sighting, and they go rushing to join Aigis and Ken down the street where two Shadows are trying to take over a children's park. Shinjiro beats them off the slides and casts assault attacks while they're on the swings, and electricity flares from the tips of Caesar's fingers, sparking the entire night sky with new constellations.
It's a tougher fight than usual, and their victory makes all of them recklessly happy. For a moment Shinjiro forgets all the bullshit between him and Aki, and when they defeat the Shadows in an all-out attack, Aigis lets out a genuine-sounding cheer while Ken jumps up and down like the kid he really is. They stumble out of the park together, with Misuru sounding pleased in their heads. Akihiko is grinning at Shinjiro, saying "nice move there" and completely meaning it. Shinjiro bumps their shoulders together and tells him he didn't do so bad himself with that whole lightning stick act.
That's when the next Shadow attacks. That's when Shinjiro feels a claw slice through his coat, his shirt, his skin, and he sees Akihiko's stunned face as he falls.
He doesn't die. This time, he doesn't even go into a coma, thank fuck. Mitsuru gathers all of her considerable resources together and has the Kirijo surgeons sew him back together with only an impressive-looking scar as reminder. The wound is shallower than it looks, they say, and deem it minimal damage, considering the circumstances. They release him from their care three days later, when Shinjiro shows no sign of infection, and Akihiko is waiting to take him home.
"I didn't know you could drive," Shinjiro says from the backseat of the rented car, feeling dreamy and woozy.
"I can even tie my own shoelaces," Akihiko says, but he sounds tense. Shinjiro opens one eye.
"What the hell's your problem?"
"Nothing," Akihiko says.
"You're an awful liar."
"I'm really hungry," Aki declares. "Are you hungry? Let's go get some food."
They're back in Hagakure Ramen again, and Akihiko is shoveling food into his mouth as if he's never seen it before. Shinjiro watches him skeptically, peeling apart his own chopsticks. He's not actually that hungry — Kirijo hospitals serve food that's a lot better than regular hospitals — but the way Akihiko eats amuses him, so he watches. Akihiko glares at him when he's done, and wipes his mouth messily. I have kissed that mouth, Shinjiro thinks and snickers.
"What?" Akihiko asks.
"Just thinking about how weird it is," Shinjiro says baldly. "If we went back in time and told us that we'd grow up to bang, you think we would have believed it?"
Akihiko stiffens.
"Come on," Shinjiro says. "As if you've got any shame left."
"Doesn't mean I want to talk about it in the middle of a restaurant," Akihiko protests.
"Most of my life happens in the middle of restaurants," Shinjiro says. "Deal with it."
Instead of replying, Akihiko slurps down the rest of his ramen. "I'm trying to deal with it," he says when he's done. "You've got to give me some credit, Shinji. I'm not as strong as you are. I get scared. You scare me."
"Me?" Shinjiro asks incredulously, because Akihiko has seen the way Shinjiro shakes when he touches him — that's enough to kill any bad-boy facade.
"There's a story," Akihiko says. "You're messing it up." He looks around Hakegure, and then gets up and pays their bill. He heads out without looking behind him, and Shinjiro follows — Shinjiro always follows. When they're outside, he sees that it's raining again, a light drizzle, mist coming in from the east and getting condensation into Akihiko's eyelashes.
Akihiko kisses him then, right there on the steps of the restaurant. Shinjiro is taller than him, so he has to get up on his toes — which Akihiko hates. But he does it anyway, and kisses him softly, inexpertly, and Shinjiro groans.
"You're always dying," Akihiko says angrily when he pulls away. There's a light in his eyes, clear and furious. "Stop it. I can't always be around to watch over you."
"Why not?" Shinjiro demands. "Okay, I never asked you to stay. So I'm asking you now. Stay, Aki. Be my terrible, awkward boyfriend. Live with me and Koro-chan in our filthy apartment, and clean up after us and put up with our laziness and yell at me when I'm an asshole, or when I forget your birthday, or when I crash our car for the millionth time. Stay and eat my cooking and grow fat and slow." He curls his hand around the back of Akihiko's neck. "It's what I want."
"I hate you, Shinji," Akihiko says.
"That's what I'm counting on," Shinjiro says, and Akihiko doesn't give him a straight answer, not quite then, but Shinjiro is surprised to find that he can be patient. He's waited all this time — he can wait a little while more.
They kill the last of the Shadows on a Wednesday afternoon, and all breathe a sigh of relief when Mitsuru says, "I think that's it. My Shadow tracking system isn't registering any more activity. The outburst is over."
"Party!" Junpei throws his hat into the air. "Let's get drunk! Except for you, Ken."
"Hey," Ken complains.
"I am also unable to imbibe in alcoholic beverages," Aigis says. "I will keep you company, Ken-kun."
"Oh, okay," Ken says. Koro-chan barks too, after which Ken looks a lot happier, that little alcoholic-in-the-making. Shinjiro watches the rest of the team wander off to the dorms when Mitsuru hangs behind, catching his attention.
"What?" Shinjiro asks.
"Akihiko isn't here," she says. "He seems to have disappeared the moment the battle was over."
"I noticed," Shinjiro says shortly.
"Do you think he's —" Mitsuru hesitates. "Gone?"
"I think he's going to do whatever it is he's going to do," Shinjiro says, and if his voice goes raspy, Mitsuru pretends not to notice. "He's a grown fucking man. If he doesn't want to stick around, no one's forcing him to."
"I see," Mitsuru says. She reaches out a hand almost to touch his shoulder, except Mitsuru is not a touchy-feely person and neither is Shinjiro. They both remember, and she withdraws her fingers ruefully. "Well, if there is anything I or the Kirijo Group can do for you, please let us know. I am your friend." She thinks about it. "I also have access to an excellent supply of alcohol."
Shinjiro smiles.
So Akihiko ran again. Who cares? It's enough, maybe, for things to end up like this. He has his city and his job and his friends — he has Mitsuru to worry about him, and Ken to frustrate him, and Koro-chan to follow him wherever he goes. He's healthy and alive and isn't living in total poverty or anything — so all things considered, he's doing okay. It's a lot more than he used to think he would have. It's a lot better than O.Ding in a ditch.
He's okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.
"Oi, you two!" they can hear Junpei yelling. "Hurry up or we'll start the party without you!"
Shinjiro dreams about a moon large enough to devour the entire earth. He's never seen it, but he can imagine it — sometimes his dreams are Arisato's dreams, and he watches the moon get closer and closer, opening up to reveal its barreled guns. He can feel the silence in the night air, and the goosebumps on Arisato's arms, her bravery gathered against her chest like treasure, her breath rattling her lungs in the last moments of her life.
He wakes up to someone sitting on his bed. Shinjiro's first instinct is defense, and he reaches for his axe, but Akihiko knocks it out of his hand easily enough. "Damn it!" Shinjiro says, waking up for real. "What the hell are you doing, Aki, trying to get yourself killed?"
Aki scoffs. "As if you're capable."
"We can go outside and duke it out right now if you want," Shinjiro says irritably. "God, fuck, it's —" He glances at his alarm clock. "Four in the morning!" He refuses to acknowledge the sudden hitch of his breath. Fucking Akihiko. Shinjiro won't let him tug around on his strings anymore. He is over this. He will be over this.
Meanwhile, Akihiko is perched on his bed like a bird about to take flight. Koro-chan snorts in the middle of his sleep. Of course that stupid dog would never wake up and bark if it was Akihiko.
"So what is this?" Shinjiro asks, pulling himself up against his headboard. He keeps his eyes cold. "Come back for a fuck?"
"No," Aki says, shocked. "Do you really think —" He winces. "All right, maybe I do deserve that. I've been running away from a lot."
"You run so much, you should get frequent flyer miles for that," Shinjiro snaps, but Akihiko stops him by removing his leather gloves. Then leaning forward and sliding his fingers against Shinjiro's wrists. Shinjiro stops talking; he stops being able to think. He can only watch, tongue dry in his mouth, as Aki pins his wrists against the headboard, looking serious and determined and scared.
"Yes," he says.
"What?" Shinjiro asks.
"Yes," Aki says. "To — what you said earlier. Yes."
"I don't know what you mean," Shinjiro says, even though something quiet and terrified is blooming inside him. He wants this, he wants this so fucking much, but he can't always be the one to fight — Aki's got to say it, got to force those words out of his mouth.
"Isn't it obvious what I mean?" Akihiko says, strangled.
"No!"
"Yes it is!" Akihiko accuses. "You know exactly what I damn well mean, Shinji. Stop fucking with me."
"Then where were you after the fight?" Shinjiro asks. Aki's hands are hot against his wrists; he feels like they are burning.
"I had some things to sort out," Akihiko says.
"That girl in Brazil?" Shinjiro asks coolly.
"I know I fucked up!" Akihiko says. "I'm not as perfect as I want to be. I know that. I fucked up with her, and I fucked up with you. I thought this sort of thing would be easy. Other people make it look easy." He leans down, bending his elbows, and Shinjiro can feel Aki's breath against his mouth, much like that one time Aki nearly drowned in a river when they were kids and playing around in that stupidly immortal way kids have. Shinjiro tried to give him CPR in panic, the first time their mouths had ever touched, trying to keep Aki alive, to give him a future.
"You changed my story," Akihiko says, and Shinjiro can see some of those other futures quietly get up and leave, doors closing one by one.
"I didn't mean to," he says honestly, which makes Aki laugh. He leans down even more and presses their foreheads together, taking a deep breath — like the first breath he ever took in Shinjiro's arms, gasping awake to see the sun.
"I'm not picking up after you or Koro-chan," Akihiko warns. "You want that, you hire a maid." Then he's kissing Shinjiro, their fingers curled together, their bodies slotted on the bed like a key and an opening lock. Koro-chan wakes up and starts barking happily, but neither of them notice. They keep on kissing until there are banging fists at the front door and Ken is yelling at the top of his lungs: Hey Shinjiro, Akihiko-senpai flew back in last night, I thought you should know!, and goddamn it really is still four a.m, what is wrong with these deranged people, but Shinjiro can't bring himself to care.
When he wakes up, he finds Akihiko cleaning his cupboards.