@godkin .
you never had a childhood. you never had that wonderful thing that people talk about so often, the sunny halcyon days and the chilly nights. you never had parents or siblings or family. you had a wireframe where the kirijo group slammed images of pain and suffering and violence into your infant mind over and over and over, to make you into someone who would rather take a hit than not, who would die and die and die again and again for anyone other than yourself. you can’t help it. selflessness to the point of having no self is still how you live today. sure, you have things you like to do for yourself, but your primary function is still to help and serve and hurt for other people, like the wretched little tool you were always made to be.
so you have seen many children, in your time in this job. the shadow operatives dip in and out of persona related incidents, helping fold them up neatly and offering therapy and a place to go in the wake. it’s kids, always, always kids. always children who are sad or scared or unhappy, always children who need something more from life that the world never gives them, no matter how they beg. you should know. you were one of those children, once upon a time.
so you have seen many children, many of them, held many in your arms as they sobbed into you, uncaring of the cold steel that makes you up, taken blows for many of them. but you think none of them will leave an impression on you quite like akira kurusu has.
there’s something in him that you know, deeply. ( an ancient evil inside you , strength you don’t know how to control , a childhood that may as well have not existed , inhumanity , darkness , darkness , darkness , a profound sense of loss. ) and you think he knows you, too. you don’t think you will ever forget him, no matter where either of you go from here. but you hope he would like to stay friends, at least.
you love your friends, you really do. but it’s been a long, long time since anyone has told you that they love you in any capacity. not since - not since -
so when akira tells you that he loves you, in a voice that sounds like he’s expecting a kick or a slap for this small moment of brightness in your life, like you’re not shining, like you’re not singing inside, like you don’t want to sweep him into your arms and spin him around and laugh. you want to hold him close and keep him safe and protect him. you’re strong - you are steel. you could do it. you could do it, you could.
but you take things slow. because you know how it is to be a wounded animal. you know how it is to have to lick your wounds. figuratively. you wouldn’t know what real wounds are like. you don’t even feel anything when one of your limbs are blown clean off.
it’s about a week later, and you’re just hanging out with akira around the streets of shibuya, just... hanging out, buying dog food, and other stuff that the two of you might need, and you’re... having fun. it’s fun. you haven’t ‘hung out’ with anyone since you were a teenager, or something equivalent.
and it’s a spur of the moment thing, where you lean forward, brush his fringe off of his forehead, and press a kiss to it, small and simple. you don’t feel it, but he will, and that’s the important thing.
“ i love you, akira-kun. ” you say, with all the warmth you can put into your voice, and smile because it’s true. you will live for centuries, and you’ll remember him for every second of it.
