Coming to you live from a very steamy journal post~
Why, hello there, kittens! I'm Kanji, esteemed reporter of all things fabulous and ever so delightfully naughty, and I'm here with a most special update for a fandom just beginning its long, hard... journey into adulthood~!
SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: PERSONA 4 KINK MEME
In this scintillating post of mine, you can comment anonymously with any pairing ( Read more... )
SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: PERSONA 4 KINK MEME
In this scintillating post of mine, you can comment anonymously with any pairing ( Read more... )
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Naoto is nothing if not a master of detail. It’s the essence of what she does.
The details serve as a distraction. The precise texture of the wall scraping against her back; the taste of rusted metal on her tongue; every painful movement of her chest and stomach - hers again, soft and undeniably female - as she inhales, exhales. And distraction is crucial, because otherwise she can’t file this away; can’t scribe it mentally in a long list of things she refuses to think about. Can’t ignore the sense of loss, and it’s ludicrous really, because rationally it’s impossible to lose something you never truly had.
She’s still crying, but it’s mindless. A simple reflexive action. It means nothing at all, because she won’t allow it.
She almost convinces herself, until Kanji puts one hand on her arm and her shoulders start heaving.
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He finds her on the floodplain shore one evening, lying on her back with her head against the rocks. Gonna get sand all over her uniform, he thinks, then realizes that’s the sort of thing she should be saying to him because Kanji’s the one supposed to be dumb enough to lie around on a cold riverbank in the middle of December; the one who does stupid shit and secretly grins like an idiot when Naoto calls him on it, because it’s Naoto and because maybe now he only does half that stuff to provoke a reaction.
"Dumb place to sleep," he tells her. They’re the first words either’s spoken to the other in three days. He’s never had a sense of occasion.
Naoto says nothing, does nothing. Doesn’t even turn her head. The dim light from the path above casts shadows on her face the color of bruises; he wonders if the real ones are still on her stomach. He sits down next to her, legs stretched out. She looks exhausted.
Kanji's sure he looks the same; he hasn’t slept properly since they made it back. He’s haunted by his own face, harsh and brutal, and it’s the eyes that really bother him. They’re cold and hateful and he’s terrified that he has it inside him to look that way. Twice now he’s stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to capture that same look. Felt like an idiot, but he had to make sure. He can get about twenty different shades of anger, but he can’t get that one specific expression - and while that makes him feel better he still wonders if it all came from Naoto or if it’s something inside him too, buried beneath the surface.
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There are wet tracks on his face too, but they’re not his; just an echo of her presence. He pulls her towards him and wraps his arms around her so tight she can hardly breathe. The difference between them in size is more obvious than ever.
Obtaining a valid conclusion from an illogical hypothesis is impossible. Naoto’s entire premise was that she could contradict reality; any deductions made from the consequences are therefore meaningless. The newly acquired knowledge of her failings - of the complete inadequacy of her pretence - shouldn’t bother her. It’s irrelevant. This is no consolation.
Kanji’s large, ungainly hand is stroking the small of her back. Naoto hates it, hates him, because now she knows exactly how it feels and the knowledge will never leave. It’s impossible to un-know something and when your attention to detail is impeccable it becomes even worse; a stream of sensations and images, trapped on endless repeat. It’s his fault, and she can’t stand it. This doesn’t stop her from hanging on to him like she’ll drown if she lets go.
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