#sbau main plot

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Mitsuru crosses her arms, her expression steely.

Ryoji’s eyes dart nervously between the three of them as their… vigorous discussion… picks up steam.

He seems genuinely concerned, which is sweet of him even if it’s also totally unnecessary– as far as their verbal jousts go, this one is peanuts. Minato would even go as far as to say that it’s a good sign. A return to form that underlines Mitsuru’s recovery: she has the energy to pick a fight, and Sanada and Aragaki no longer feel compelled to treat her with kid gloves.

There’s another word that might describe what’s happening here a bit more accurately, but there’s no way Minato’s going to say it out loud. Not where they can hear, at least. He absolutely will not be the one to pop open that can of worms– they’ll have to do that themselves.

He’s kind of surprised that Ryoji doesn’t recognize what’s really going on, given what a Romeo he tends to be.

Then again, Minato has been realizing lately that there’s a surprising undercurrent of naivety running below Ryoji’s romantic streak. The conversation they’d had at the riverbank today was a shining example– how else would he have been able to say what he had so completely guilelessly?

That’s going to have to be something Minato fully unpacks later.

Their senpais’ bickering cuts off so abruptly that Minato can practically hear a record scratch sound effect. They turn to stare at Junpei in comical unison, then avert their gazes in three different directions, their expressions each a variable mix of alarmed, outraged, and mortified. 

As a reaction, the whole thing is wildly out of proportion to Junpei’s observation.

Unless, of course, he had hit a nerve.

Eyes squeezed shut, Mitsuru pinches the bridge of her nose. Sanada is rubbing his forehead as though fighting off a headache. Aragaki glares at the ceiling and looks for all the world like he’s praying for a God Hand to come crashing down on him.

So much for keeping the lid on that worm can.

This is honestly painful to watch. If something comes of these three finally acknowledging the messy cat’s-cradle of red string knotted between them, Minato will be happy for them. Really!

But he doesn’t particularly want to actually bear witness to the untangling process. So he turns towards Junpei and Ryoji and, channelling Aragaki, does the sensible thing.

Without allowing the opportunity for any arguments, Minato about-faces and hooks his arm through Ryoji’s. Junpei mirrors him, and together they drag him away towards the stairs.

The silence left behind when Mochizuki’s protests have faded into silence is elephantine.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Mitsuru turns the corner back into the kitchen and her steps slow to a halt at the picture she finds: Shinjiro, with the sleeves of his coat haphazardly shoved up to his elbows as he washes one of the teacups. He doesn’t seem to notice her approach, oddly– she would have thought that the click of her heels would give her away. Perhaps he’s just as lost in thought as she is.

He stands slightly hunched over while he works– the sink hadn’t been installed with someone quite so tall in mind. The cup looks almost comically dainty in his hands. The whole space seems too small for him and yet– he fits here perfectly.

It strikes her, as it had when Shinjiro had brought her tea only a week ago, how easily this moment could have never come to pass. How easily the words Shinjiro had fought to say as he laid bleeding in Mitsuru’s and Akihiko’s arms could have been his very last, just as it had been with Chidori.

There is, perhaps, a world in which that had come to pass; a world where the mundane sight of him washing dishes can only exist in the realm of memory or impossible fantasy.

Terror throttles her heart suddenly, leaving her weak-kneed and shaky. For one horrible instant he seems like an illusion; a phantom doomed to vanish if she so much as blinks. The notion is ridiculous, she knows this– but knowing does nothing to soothe her.

Shinjiro dries the last piece of the tea service and sets it aside. With a sigh he straightens and rolls out his shoulders and neck. For a moment he simply stands there, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, drawing one, two, three deep breaths.

He nearly startles out of his skin when he turns and catches sight of her. 

“Thought you were headin’ to bed,” he mumbles, his eyes sliding off to the side, his mouth thinning into a tight, embarrassed line.

She doesn’t answer. She can’t seem to find her voice. Suddenly she understands the way Akihiko had been looking at her just before he had pulled her into that embrace, what he must have been thinking.

Shinjiro’s expression softens, mortification giving way to concern. “Hey. What’s–”

Just as Akihiko had, Mitsuru gives in.

Closing the distance between them, she slips her hands under his coat and wraps her arms around his back, clinging. Shinjiro goes very still, as if she’d called up Artemisia and frozen him solid. Even his breath stalls within his ribs. Heedless, she nestles close into his chest and listens.

His heart beats gently under her cheek. She hasn’t yet learned its rhythm well enough to be able to tell for sure whether it’s faster than normal, but that will come in time. Time that he has. Time that they have.

Slowly Shinjiro lets go of his held breath, posture relaxing. His arms come up to encircle her, solid and steadfast, warm and real.

However close their brush with it had been, the world in which Shinjiro is no longer with them doesn’t matter. That world where he’ll never again look so incongruously at home in this tiny kitchen is not the one she lives in, and it has no power over her.

They haven’t lost him. He’s still here. He won’t end up like Chidori, or… or her father. The Dark Hour has taken so much, but it hasn’t laid claim to Shinjiro.

“Listen,” he murmurs, so softly that she may not have been able to understand him if her ear wasn’t laid directly against his chest. “It’s like I told you before, okay? I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not without putting up one hell of a fight.”

The assurance resonates through her body like infrasound. He leans back against the counter and Mitsuru allows herself to wilt against him by a small degree, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater. The heel of his hand rocks gently between her shoulderblades.

“Promise me.” Her voice wavers. She’d be ashamed of herself for this behavior in any other circumstance, but–

“I promise.” Shinjiro tightens his hold on her, his cheek settling against the crown of her head. His palm forms a careful cradle at the base of her skull. “I’ll keep it this time.”

A feeling of intense, nearly blissful contentment wells up within her– the sheer magnitude of it is almost frightening.

She could all too easily drift off just like this, in the security and sanctity of his arms, and to hell with her original intention of herding him upstairs to sleep in a real bed.

“You really oughta go up and get some rest,” he says eventually, sounding as reluctant as she feels. “Probably wouldn’t be a good look for Miss Student Council President to sleep through her alarm and show up late to class.”

Despite her exhaustion, Mitsuru cannot help but smile.

“There is no school tomorrow,” she says, amusement warming her voice. “The campus is closed for Labor Thanksgiving Day.”

There is a very lengthy pause before Shinjiro hums a brief, singular note of acknowledgement.

“Imagine the damage done to your fearsome reputation if you’d shown up at school on a holiday as though you were excited to be there,” Mitsuru presses, merciless. The scoff that lightly stirs her hair sounds suspiciously– and presumably in spite of Shinjiro’s best efforts– like laughter.

She hoards one more moment of their embrace before she forces herself to withdraw.

“I suppose your point about needing to rest does still stand,” she sighs. Shinjiro only shrugs, as though to say ‘it happens now and then.’

They make their way upstairs in silence, only speaking again to bid one another goodnight at the second floor landing.

When Mitsuru lays down, sleep comes for her quickly. She dreams, amusingly enough, of washing dishes.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

As the good humor softens, so too does Shinjiro’s expression. His gaze skates off to the side, growing distant. Mitsuru and Akihiko catch one another’s eye. Akihiko leans over and checks Shinjiro lightly with his shoulder.

Shinjiro gestures vaguely in a way that appears to indicate ‘everything,’ which elucidates nothing.

Briefly Akihiko matches his gaze with Mitsuru’s once again, and she has a feeling that their thoughts are closely aligned:

Usually Shinjiro demonstrates far more subtlety when he tries to hide something.

Akihiko folds his arms and scoffs.

Ah, so he does have a timestamp, after all. Akihiko looks a little too stunned to call him out on the lie this time.

He averts his eyes.

The implication hangs heavily in the air. Akihiko seems to decide, wisely in her opinion, against dwelling on it. Mitsuru opts to jump back to a topic that may be slightly less fraught.

Shinjiro glowers down into his lap, his mouth thinning into a tight, sheepish line. Evidentially he’s only now realized what he’d let slip.

He continues to pointedly avoid eye contact with either of them. There is most certainly more that he isn’t saying– Shinjiro’s ability to maintain his trademark opacity truly does seem to have abandoned him this evening. Mitsuru will hold off on probing further into it for the time being. She’s already demanded a great deal of vulnerability from him throughout this conversation.

He sighs, world-weary as always.

His tone is no different than any of the other, numerous times he’s used that nickname to underline his exasperation with her, but…

Context makes all the difference, it seems. And this context has Mitsuru’s heart leaping into her throat, her pulse suddenly rabbit swift.

At some point she had begun to dig a fingernail into the skin of her thumb. Thinking of Shinjiro’s admonishment before the trip, she folds her hands in her lap, thumbs tucked under her palms, to try and quell the restless urge to fidget.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Akihiko is less than fond of how familiar it’s starting to feel, shuffling into the dorm in silence with the spectres of death and defeat hovering close behind them.

The juniors and Koromaru march in listless unison towards the stairs. Even Aigis is dragging her feet. Arisato and Takeba still hold Junpei propped up between them, sagging a little under his deadweight but grimly uncomplaining.

Akihiko slows to a stop just over halfway through the lounge. Mitsuru and Shinji linger beside him. They both look as wrung-out and weary as he feels, and he wonders if it’s also the same impulse overriding their exhaustion as it is for him.

He just isn’t ready to separate quite yet. The idea of being apart from either of them right now makes his blood ice over with dread, like they might vanish the moment they leave his line of sight.

It’s irrational, probably to the point of being stupid, but–

At least it doesn’t seem like he’s being irrational alone.

Akihiko and Shinji accept the offer silently, following Mitsuru into the kitchen. She settles into a meditative state as she prepares the tea, but Shinji continues to look tense, his expression stormy. Akihiko wants to ask about it, but for the moment he holds his silence. Mitsuru hands him his cup, and he lets the heat soak through the china and his gloves to warm his palms before he takes the first sip. It’s only then that it feels right to speak.

He berates the version of himself from three weeks ago, who hadn’t thought to ask that question when they’d believed Jin and Takaya had leapt to their deaths. There might be no love lost between Shinji and Strega now, but that didn’t mean that was always the case.

Shinji takes a long drink of his tea instead of responding. Mitsuru follows suit, so Akihiko does too. When they lower their cups again Shinji glowers into his like there’s some kind of answer inside that it’s withholding from him.

He sighs.

Silence ebbs over them again. There’s nothing else to be said, really. Nothing that could make what had happened tonight feel any less senseless and unfair.

They nurse their cups, huddled close enough for their arms to brush nearly every time one of them moves. Akihiko drinks in their nearness as much as he does the tea, lets it fortify him.

Soon enough there’s nothing left of their tea but the dregs. Akihiko still doesn’t want to go their separate ways, but the feeling’s jagged edge has been smoothed away, softening anxiety into sentimentality.

Shinji volunteers to clean up the kitchen, taking the empty cups from their hands with that gentle and incredibly fake brusqueness of his. Akihiko rolls with the sudden impulse to lean in and kiss his cheek as thanks– he is feeling sentimental, after all.

There’s no bite at all to the words and the color that’s burning at the tips of Shinji’s ears doesn’t fade even a little. Akihiko can’t help grinning, and Mitsuru politely pretends that it’s a yawn she’s hiding behind her hand instead of a smile. Deciding to be merciful, he and Mitsuru head for the stairs together.

They both slow to a stop at the landing. Akihiko eyes the shadowy impressions of the furniture in the lounge area, then glances back at the kitchen. It’s all too easy to imagine Shinji crashing on one of the couches instead of climbing the stairs to his actual bed.

When he looks back to Mitsuru, her gaze is returning from the same direction.

The smile Mitsuru offers is warm and genuine but utterly exhausted. He’s nearly overwhelmed by the urge to cradle her face in his hands and try to kiss the brittle edge of fatigue from her mouth; the impulse so strong that it makes his throat ache and his head swim with static.

He could. Just like with Shinji (less than twelve hours ago– almost twelve whole, entire hours ago), there’s nothing really stopping him. But…

It just isn’t the right moment. Not after everything that’s happened tonight.

There’s also the issue of the circumstances around their “technical” first kiss, and how regrettably, shamefully far from ideal they’d been. He can’t do anything to fix that, but he can at least try to make sure he gets it right this time. He wants more than anything to get it right this time– to create a memory that isn’t complicated and fraught.

Maybe that’s maudlin of him. Shinji would definitely say so (as if Shinji wouldn’t make the same choice for the same reasons in Akihiko’s shoes).

He reaches out and takes Mitsuru’s hands, squeezing gently. She had taken off her gloves to prepare the tea, and some of its warmth still lingers in her fingertips. He shifts his hold so that both of her hands are folded together in one of his, and wraps his arm around her shoulders to draw her close. Mitsuru settles against him as lightly as falling snow.

He can offer them both some comfort like this, at the very least.

His voice is slightly muffled by her hair. The warmth from his breath stirs up a faint scent of lilacs, the last echo of her perfume. She frees one of her hands and winds her arm around him in return.

He’d be content to stay just like this for the rest of the night, Akihiko thinks– but he really does need to get some sleep. There may not be any classes tomorrow, but he still has work to do for the boxing team. Mitsuru will have quite a bit to take care of too, no doubt. The world keeps marching onward, as oblivious as it had been to the last two life-altering disasters their team had endured.

Before he lets her go, Akihiko works up the nerve (or gives into the temptation, he can’t exactly tell which) to nose into Mitsuru’s hair and brush his lips against the crown of her head. When they pull apart her gaze is warm and the curve of her smile is a little less tense.

For the moment, that’s all he could ask for.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Fuck– shit fuck goddamnit, what is his fucking damage?! He should know better than anyone else not to mouth off at a guy with a goddamn gun. And once again, he’s not even the one paying for his stupid mistakes.

Yamagishi lets out a terrified sob and clings to his sleeve. Out of the corner of his eye Shinjiro sees both Aki and Mitsuru grab Amada by a shoulder each to stop him from charging forward. Aigis has her own guns armed and Takeba has an arrow half nocked against her bow, but it’s already too late. The shot’s been fired.

His focus isn’t on any of his teammates anyway– it’s locked on Takaya’s gun.

The memory of the alleyway layers over his vision like a double-exposed photo. He’s still on his feet but he can feel the cold bite of the asphalt against his elbows and back. His own heartbeat thunders so massively in his ears that it drowns out every other sound. He’s not even sure where Takaya was aiming–

Until Junpei drops like a sack of bricks, face first to the pavement. He doesn’t move again.

Yamagishi wails Junpei’s name almost directly into Shinjiro’s ear, but her anguish still barely cuts through the ringing in his head. There’s no way– there’s no way this is actually happening right now.

Chidori looks unphased, even serene as she reaches for Junpei’s– for Junpei. His blood soaks into her dress as she rolls him onto his back and his head lolls around like a ragdoll’s. She draws it to rest in her lap like he’d just fallen asleep.

She smoothes the back of her fingers along his cheek and the gesture is too excruciatingly tender for Shinjiro to even look at. He probably ought to consider it a blessing that he can’t see her expression anymore.

She touches the bullet wound and her hand is just barely large enough to completely cover the horrific width of it. Light pools under her palm, then bursts into the air like fireworks.

No one moves. Even Jin and Takaya hang back, watching.

Junpei opens his eyes.

Junpei opens his fucking eyes.

Shinjiro can barely believe it, either. He’s been on the receiving end of Chidori’s healing abilities before– he already knew they blow anything else he’s ever seen right out of the water. But this?

Doubt bubbles in the rear of his thoughts, souring any potential celebratory mood even as he watches a dead man sit up and smile. Yamagishi seems to feel it too. Her grip on his coat tightens.

Chidori returns Junpei’s smile and collapses.

Junpei catches her and cradles her against his chest, their roles from just a moment before reversed. Her warrant’s already signed, and she’s clearly aware of it even if Junpei doesn’t seem to have realized it yet. But she still lingers for a long, long time in Junpei’s arms.

He can hear most of what Junpei says to her, but only bits and pieces of her side of the conversation. He wishes he couldn’t hear any of it.

Bleeding nearly to death has left his memories of that night a little fuzzy, but–

Hadn’t he said almost the exact same thing?

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

There isn’t time to dwell on it much more past that, but Shinjiro would hardly say that’s a blessing. Chidori’s hand falls away from Junpei’s cheek and her whole body goes limp and impossibly still.

Junpei howls.

All Shinjiro and the rest of the team can do is stand by numbly and bear witness.

The condescension dripping from his tone has Shinjiro seeing red and his jaw clenching so tightly that it aches, but Junpei beats him to the punch when it comes to reacting.

Junpei carefully sets Chidori down and stands, almost calm until he starts roaring curses and draws his evoker. Shinjiro isn’t quite sure how to wrap his head around what happens next.

When Junpei summons Hermes, a second figure shimmers into existence right alongside him.

Hermes and Medea reach for each other, pulled forward into the point of contact between their hands, blending and blurring together into something new.

It isn’t anything like his own second awakening. That lightshow had been private, entirely inside his own head. This plays out in front of them like they’re guests at some kind of strange, ghostly wedding rite.

Shinjiro barely gets a glimpse of what Hermes and Medea have become before Junpei sends it hurling forward in a surge of flames. Jin dives in front of Takaya to take the hit like a good little martyr and goes sprawling to the ground. Junpei drops as well, his breath labored and ragged.

Takaya spends a moment seemingly weighing the merits of continuing to pick a fight just for the sheer enjoyment of it, but in the end he decides that his so-called ‘greater purpose’ is more important, after all. He gives one last pompous little speech, and then before any of them can react Jin’s already thrown down one of his homemade ninja toys. By the time the burst of acrid smoke has cleared, he and Takaya are long gone.

Shinjiro and Aki both lunge for Junpei at the same time, grabbing him by the arms before he can lurch back to his feet and try to give chase. He tries anyway, thrashing against their grip so hard that he almost manages to break loose.

Junpei makes a noise like he’d just been shot again and the fight drains out of him all at once. He slumps and suddenly they’re holding him up instead of back.

Once they’re sure he’s not going to make another break for it, they lower him gently the rest of the way to his knees and let him go.

The Dark Hour ends with the same lack of fanfare as always. Mitsuru starts making calls. No one else speaks. What could there possibly be to say, anyway?

Junpei kneels on the ground with one of Chidori’s china-doll hands pressed between his like he’s trying to keep her warm, and he doesn’t move an inch until the ambulance rolls up. The sirens are quiet and the lights are off. Just like last time, there’s no hurry.

Shinjiro half expects that they’ll need to drag Junpei bodily away from the scene, but he lets Arisato and Takeba pull him to his feet and start leading him in the direction of the dorm without a fight or even a word.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Guiding Shinji through his physical therapy exercises today had been going really well for all of fifteen minutes, until Shinji apparently decided that making Akihiko’s life as difficult as possible sounded like a better use of his time.

So naturally, the PT session has devolved entirely into a wrestling match on the floor of Akihiko’s room, as though they’re still eight years old.

Akihiko wins handily. Too handily– it’s the easiest that he’s ever gotten Shinji pinned down during one of their bouts. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

An easy victory is never especially rewarding anyway, but against Shinji– someone who he could normally always count on for a challenge? It feels especially unsettling.

Equally unsettling is that despite all of that, he still finds something… compelling about the position they’re in: the tangle of their limbs, looking down at Shinji’s face from this angle, even the scowl Shinji is aiming at him.

It isn’t even that any of these things are brand new experiences; he’s been both the victor and the defeated countless times before. But it’s never led his thoughts in the direction they’re running off in now.

And alright, sure, lately he’s been having those kinds of thoughts about Shinji more frequently than ever before in general– but in this context, which is otherwise so familiar, so normal? It feels unfair.

Somehow he’s ended up in that damnable cat experiment again; a new and bizarre version where the dynamic between himself and Shinji exists impossibly in two mutually exclusive states at once:

Everything is the same as it’s always been, but everything is also different now. It’s going to take him a long time to get used to it.

“Yo, Aki. You fallin’ asleep up there?” Shinji’s expression has shifted from sulky to smug, like he knows exactly what’s got Akihiko so distracted.

Because of course he does, the bastard. Akihiko retreats, sitting back and hauling Shinji up by the forearm to sit as well.

“You know, it would be so much easier to get through these exercises if you would cooperate even a little,” Akihiko grouses. Shinji is outright grinning now, not the slightest bit chastised.

“Yeah, maybe. Be a lot more boring, though.”

“I am so glad that one of us is enjoying themselves, at least.”

“You know, I think being a sore winner might be a first from you.”

“So is you willingly admitting to a loss.”

Shinji scoffs, still smirking, and shakes his head. The elastic he’d used to tie back his hair had slipped down over the course of their impromptu scuffle, and it falls out entirely now. His hair immediately flops forward into his face, and Akihiko has to fight off the impulse to bury his fingers into it and card it back.

…Does he have to fight off the impulse, though? Is there an actual reason that he can’t lean into it other than being in the habit of denying himself?

After all, everything is different now.

Shinji is his– he and Shinji are together. That kind of thing is allowed, isn’t it? Encouraged, even.

So Akihiko shifts closer and threads his fingers through the hair on either side of Shinji’s face. Shinji’s eyes widen a fraction, but otherwise he doesn’t react.

Shinji’s hair has never exactly been soft, even when they were little, but Akihiko is pleased to find that its texture is less comparable to straw than it had been the last time he’d felt it just over two weeks ago.

Close to his scalp it’s slightly damp; whether that’s from the exercises Akihiko had actually managed to lead him through or from the tussle that had followed is anyone’s guess.He catches the smell of clean sweat as he continues to comb through, chased by the echo of soap. (Is it weirder for him to find that scent pleasant if it’s only Shinji’s that he enjoys, or if it isn’t? Maybe it’s best not to dwell on that question.)

“You having fun, Aki?” At some point he must have stopped paying attention to Shinji’s face, because he has to refocus on it, and he finds himself surprised by how intense Shinji’s expression has become despite the light tone of his voice. Akihiko’s throat suddenly feels dry.

“I might be,” he says, slightly hoarsely. “But if you want me to stop, I–” He loses the rest of whatever he’d meant to say, because Shinji has shifted forward and he’s very close. His breath is warm on Akihiko’s face.

“No,” he says. Even though his expression hasn’t lost any of its intensity, his voice has gone quiet and almost breathless. “I don’t.”

And then Shinji leans the rest of the way in and kisses him.

Akihiko's mouth drops open as he gasps and he jerks back in pure startled reflex. Immediately he lurches forward to close the gap again. He seizes a fistful of Shinji's sweater to hold him in place, because he doesn't want Shinji to get the wrong idea and he absolutely doesn't want Shinji to stop kissing him.

The hand in Shinji’s hair tangles itself deeper as Shinji grabs him by the waist, dragging him closer. Akihiko hasn’t got much of an idea what he’s doing, but Shinji sure seems to, and it’s easy enough to follow his lead. Besides, he has always prided himself on being a quick study.

Shinji’s teeth sting his bottom lip and the feeling rockets all the way down his spine. When he nips back experimentally and Shinji hisses into his mouth, the sound jolts along the same path. His stomach swoops like he’s freefalling. Shinji curls a hand around the back of Akihiko’s neck, his thumb digging into the soft hollow behind his ear. It doesn’t quite hurt; Akihiko isn’t sure what he would call the sensation, but it’s– really appealing, whatever it is.

Akihiko is suddenly and distinctly reminded of a fight. Not of being in the ring– this isn’t like that at all– but it’s very much like the kind of bouts that he and Shinji have been having for nearly all their lives.

It’s the same rhythm of push and pull, gaining and ceding ground, trading the upper hand back and forth– but there’s no win condition here, except maybe to keep this going for as long as possible.

And if there’s no way to win, there’s no way to lose either, so it doesn’t so much as scratch his pride for Akihiko to let Shinji move his head around and manhandle him into whatever angle he sees fit without complaint or pushback. There will be (he wants there to be) plenty of opportunities to turn the tables in the future.

It’s not like there’s anything he’d complain about anyway, because– wow, goddamn does Shinji know what he’s doing.

To his surprise, it’s Shinji who ends up tapping out first; though considering the heavy way he’s breathing, maybe Akihiko shouldn’t be all that surprised. At this point Shinji has dragged him nearly into his lap, and he hasn’t released his grip on the back of Akihiko’s neck, although it has softened considerably. Akihiko is more than content to stay right where he is, so he just leans his forehead against Shinji’s and tries to catch his own breath.

Shinji’s lower lip is flushed red and shiny with spit and Akihiko can’t tell if it’s Shinji’s or his own. Or no, it’s probably both of theirs. He would have thought he’d find that kind of gross outside of the heat of the moment, but– he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. The sight makes him feel almost dizzy, and the lowest pit of his stomach clenches in a way that trips along the line between pleasant and uncomfortable.

Is this… normal? Do people normally feel this turned on just from kissing? He has no frame of reference for this.

The image of Mitsuru’s hair fanning over velvet sheets flashes across his mind’s eye and he feels like he might choke for a second.

Alright– mostly no frame of reference. But surely that can’t count considering– well, considering that entire situation.

“Smoke’s comin’ outta your ears, Aki.” Shinji’s voice buzzes against the underside of his jaw in a way that makes Akihiko feel like that statement could easily become very literal. “You’re thinking too much.”

Akihiko laughs. He sounds absolutely punch-drunk. “That’s definitely not something you’ve ever accused me of before.”

Shinji scoffs. Akihiko shivers as it feathers warmly over the skin of his throat. God, he already wants to kiss him again. If this is how it really feels, no exaggeration or bullshit– how does anyone handle it? How is he supposed to get anything done?

“I guess getting you to do any more exercises today is probably a lost cause,” Akihiko says, because the idea of speaking out loud any of the things that he’s actually thinking about (or over-thinking about, according to Shinji) is too mortifying to even consider.

“Yeah, probably.” Shinji sounds downright chipper about it. Asshole.

Well, if they both agree today’s physical therapy session is already beyond saving, then–

Akihiko brackets his hands against Shinji’s jawline and closes the gap between them again. He’ll try not to let either of them get as carried away this time.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Chidori is standing in front of the steps up into Tartarus, just where Fuuka said she’d be, wearing the same white dress as the day he’d first seen her. She almost doesn’t look real, more like a ghost or a fairy– the kind from the old, scary versions of the stories that you didn’t see in Destiny movies.

‘Talk to me’ he says, like she hasn’t refused to say a word to him in weeks. He knows he’s a screwup, just in general, but even he can’t have blown things this badly. There has to be something else going on, something he’s not seeing–

But if there is, she’s not telling. He pleads and pleads with her but it does about as much good as everything else he’s tried to get her to just say something to him again.

An axe whistles through the air close to his ear. He’s pretty good at dodging, but is he that good at dodging, or– maybe, just maybe she had thrown a little wide on purpose?

Chidori still doesn’t say anything. Fuuka and Sanada-san practically beg him to back up and stop trying to get through to her. He almost doesn’t listen, except– they sound just as scared for him as he does for Chidori.

She presses the barrel of her evoker under her chin.

The Persona that appears behind her really is the same one from back in September– the one that tried to strangle her while Junpei could just stand there and watch. If Aragaki-san hadn’t been there it could have killed her, but she still calls its name like she’s seeing an old friend for the first time in forever. He feels like he’s going to be sick, or cry.

They don’t let him fight. Minato and his A-team wall him off from the battle and Aragaki-san says something about helping him watch out for Fuuka, but that might as well be a joke. The only thing Junpei’s paying any attention to is Chidori.

Maybe it’s a good thing they’re keeping him off the front line. Just hearing her like this already hurts just as much as anything her axes or Medea could do. He doesn’t want to think about how bad it would feel if he had to attack her head on– if he could even do it. He probably couldn’t.

At least it doesn’t go on too long– Chidori’s healing is crazy but it’s still seven against one, and her head’s not in the fight. Maybe her heart isn’t, either.

She drops heavily to the ground and finally the others let Junpei past to get to her. He crashes down in front of her and both of his knees are probably going to have some really nasty road rash later, but honestly he can barely even tell that they hurt. He reaches for her– he wants so, so badly just to wrap his arms around her, and hold her, and tell her everything is going to be okay, but…

Right now that’s probably the last thing she wants. But she’s talking now! That’s a good sign, right? Maybe–

She does, but Junpei isn’t sure he gets it. She’s scared– but he’s having a hard time understanding what she’s scared of. She’s so upset and terrified and he doesn’t know how to help–

Fuuka cries out from behind him, sounding frightened, but he can’t take his eyes off Chidori.

And sure enough, there they are: Takaya and Jin, looking like they hadn’t jumped off a bridge just a few weeks ago. What the hell kind of sense does that make? The door to Tartarus closes behind them all dramatic, and the sound echoes loudly through the silence of the Dark Hour.

Takaya doesn’t say anything right away. He glares down at Chidori like he just stepped on a bug, and she’s the gunk left on the bottom of his shoe or something. It makes Junpei’s skin crawl– he can’t look at Chidori like that! Aren’t they supposed to be friends?

Jin and Takaya look surprised to hear Aragaki-san’s voice.

They really didn’t know Aragaki-san was still alive? That means Chidori must not have told them, right? Junpei doesn’t know if that means she just didn’t think about it, or if she purposefully kept it from them, because it’s not like he hadn’t kept her updated about it. Junpei hopes that it’s the latter.

Takaya lets out a single laugh, like they’re just telling jokes and he hadn’t almost killed Aragaki-san less than two months ago. Like anything in this situation could be funny.

The greasy little smirk slides off his face pretty quickly, but the judgy, disappointed look that replaces it isn’t much better.

He even clicks his tongue at her, like he’s a dad telling off a little kid for doing something stupid. Junpei’s blood boils. He rockets back to his feet– his whole body is shaking.

Takaya pulls the gun from his belt. Moonlight flashes off of the metal.

There’s a loud bang, but not actually as loud as Junpei expected. The gunshot he’d heard back in October seemed like it was a lot louder even though it had come from far away.

Who had Takaya even shot, anyway?

Sanada-san had yelled his name, hadn’t he? From where Junpei’s standing, it does kind of look like the gun’s aimed at–?

…

He opens his eyes– they were closed? He’s in a hospital bed, which is weird but not important.

The important part is that Chidori’s here. The sunset coming through the window has her all lit up and golden like an angel, and she’s smiling at him like he hasn’t seen in weeks. He couldn’t care less about anything else.

Especially when she comes right out and says that she wants to be with him. Junpei’s never wanted to hear anything more– he’s got to be dreaming, right? It’s too good to be true. 

But if it is just a dream, he wouldn’t mind staying asleep just a little while longer.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

When Minato returns to the dorm from the shift he’d picked up at Be Blue V, he’s greeted with the lingering scent of fry-oil, golden and appetizing.

The only people in the lounge are Aragaki and Mitsuru, sharing one of the couches, but Minato can hear running water and the gentle clatter of dishes being washed coming from the kitchen. If he had to take a guess, he’d say it’s probably Sanada in there.

They both look up at the sound of Minato’s arrival.

Ryoji was here? Minato is surprised at how forceful his disappointment is at missing the chance to see him. They’d been in the same room all day at school, and they will be again tomorrow, and again for every weekday after that. It isn’t as if they’re going to run out of chances to spend time together.

It’s unnerving to miss someone so bitterly when their separation is only going to last a matter of hours. And it’s very, very unlike him.

But he is not going to unpack that tonight.

Mitsuru sighs.

Minato can feel one brow arching up ever so slightly on its own. It’s ‘Shinjiro’ now, huh? They may not be drawing attention to it, but between that and the way they’re sitting with the minimal amount of space between them to avoid being scandalous, clearly something has changed.

Well, good for them.

Of course, whether this new development improves the situation with their unsubtle– and apparently mostly unpurposeful– flirtation, or actually worsens it, remains to be seen.

Mitsuru delivers a somewhat less than award-worthy performance of exasperation.

Okay, hoping for improvement with regards to the flirting situation was probably a bridge too far, but ‘as bad as ever’ is still technically better than ‘getting worse.’

Although, if this kind of thing carries over into Tartarus if-slash-when Aragaki starts going on expeditions again, Minato thinks he may just let the next Gatekeeper Shadow eat him. He’d welcome the reprieve with open arms. It’s fine.

Minato nods. That had already been his plan. They’re close to the next border floor according to Fuuka, so one more visit should be enough to get them there.

If there’s another roadblock waiting for them there, he has no idea how they’ll handle it without a lock to pick in the form of another Big Shadow.

They’ll climb over that gate when they get to it, he supposes.