Persona 3: Kiss (Akihiko/Shinjiro, 1/1)
Author: Chiara (stonemarionette, zephyrian)
Pairing(s)/Main Character(s): Akihiko/Shinjiro, Miki
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,300 words
Disclaimer: Persona 3 is property of Atlus.
Spoilers: Through October.
Thanks: SecretBox!
Summary: An accident at six paves the way for the next ten years. Several snapshots into Akihiko and Shinjiro's relationship.
The first time was an accident.
They were mere children of six, dashing around Port Island after curfew and delighting in evading their captor-also known as their governess, one of the many mistresses of the orphanage. They instead thought of her as the evil pirate coming to take them away: one that they had to fight off at all costs.
The two boys had wormed their way through the back streets of the island, ducking around trashcans and under railings. They tugged Miki after them. She was hesitant and silver-haired, clutching the giant, brightly coloured lollipop that had been her reward for tagging along to her chest; her blue eyes were wide with bewildered excitement as she called after them endlessly and made them wonder why they’d wanted her to come in the first place.
“Shinji!” she’d squeal, for she had one of those adorable children’s crushes on the older boy and would often cling to his coattails, red-faced and beaming from ear to ear. And he never told her off, though Akihiko never ceased to.
“Miki,” he whined this time, “he’s my friend, not yours!”
She stuck her tongue out at her brother and hugged Shinjiro ever tighter. He was rather puzzled by this, running a hand through his knotted brown hair and smiling like he never would when he was older.
“Your sister’s so cute, Aki,” Shinji teased (though he was scarcely old enough to know how) as he ruffled the shorter girl’s hair and watched Akihiko’s face flame, darkening to crimson in annoyance.
The other boy stamped his foot and stuck his nose in the air, his crossed arms tightening on his chest as he wondered again why his sister had joined them in their exciting expedition, and why Shinji liked her so much, anyway. The fact that he’d invited her to come along didn’t matter, and he met Shinjiro’s amused stare with an angry scowl. “Come on,” he insisted, extending one filthy white-sleeved arm to point emphatically at the empty street behind him. “She’ll catch us if we don’t hurry up!”
Miki giggled, one hand absently playing with Shinji’s hair. Aki noted sulkily that she was the only one who was allowed to do that. “I don’t think so,” the little girl said, thoughtfully. “I think she gave up!”
Shinjiro turned to her, eyes wide with excitement. With his voice lowered, he bent down to whisper conspiratorially in Miki’s ear: “She never gives up.”
The child exploded in shrieks of laughter and wrapped her tiny arms around Shinji’s waist. Akihiko scowled more.
“Come on,” he insisted, cupping one hand to his ear as if he heard something. “I think I can hear her coming!”
Miki gasped and released Shinji at once. “Really?” she said excitedly, skipping over to her brother and peering over his shoulder in undisguised joy. After all, she’d never seen the evil pirate before. “What’s she look like?”
Aki grinned. “Well,” he started dramatically, thrilled to be the one receiving attention for once (even it was from his sister), “she’s got long, scary, pointy teeth, and… and-”
“And big feet,” Shinjiro added helpfully. Akihiko looked a bit put out for a second as Miki whirled around, tiny hands covering her mouth, but then he began to nod approvingly as his friend went on. “She’s wearing a dirty black dress. Her hair’s really ugly too, all long and scraggly, and her face is covered in big green spots, and she’s got this huge nose like a bird’s beak, and-”
“There you are!”
The trio whirled around. Aki wilted with a groan-he’d gotten so caught up in Shinji’s description that he’d forgotten to actually watch and she if she was coming. “Shoot!” he exclaimed, screwing up his face in a terrified grimace that was mainly for show as he turned back to his astounded and eager sister. “She’s gaining on us-come on, let’s go!”
Miki looked completely confused. “That’s the evil pirate?” she said, frowning. “But that’s just Miss Yukishiro!”
Shinji landed a hand on her shoulder and spun her around, tugging the giggling child after he and Akihiko as they sent off down the street. “Nuh-uh,” the older boy said seriously, keeping a careful eye on their approaching tutor as he backed away. “That is the evil pirate. She just looks like Miss Yukishiro.”
Miki shot a fleeting glance behind her, her chubby cheeks blooming red in confusion. “But Miss Yukishiro doesn’t have all those spots or nothing!”
“Boys!” the woman crowed then from the end of the street. The trio kicked themselves into a run as she picked up her long black skirts and scolded them from afar. “Don’t tell me you’ve dragged poor Miki into it this time!”
“No, ma’am!” Shinji called back innocently, pulling the little girl in front of him and clutching for Akihiko’s hand as they raced around the corner and out of sight of their governess. They listened to her yelling for a moment, her voice almost drowned out by her heeled feet clacking over the pavement as she drew near. After looking around desperately for a hiding place and finding none, Shinjiro scowled and offered, eloquently, “Shit!”
Akihiko gasped, looking around as if expecting the teachers from the orphanage to descend upon them, while Miki just giggled, tittering about bad words. Shinji, on the other hand, mulled over the phrase for a second, rolling it around in his mouth and finding that it tasted bitter and foreign on his tongue.
He liked it.
“We should hide!” Aki said finally, sure that Shinjiro’s foul mouth had somehow given away their position. He grabbed at his sister and friend, both of which were still very preoccupied with this new piece of vocabulary, and pulled them behind a nearby cardboard box. As a hiding place, it was rather useless; if Miss Yukishiro bothered to look in their direction, they’d be found immediately.
As luck would have it, however, she ran by them a few moments later and didn’t spare the area a glance. “Akihiko! Shinjiro!” she shouted as she ran by. “Hey, I know you’re around here somewhere!”
Once she was gone, Miki was the first to emerge, wide-eyed and giggling. “The evil pirate didn’t catch us!” she cried, kicking out as she struggled to free herself from the tangle of arms and legs behind the box. When her foot connected with something hard, the little girl gasped and rolled out of the way, turning to stare as apologies tumbled from her lips. The first one was cut short halfway through.
What she’d kicked had been her brother’s silver-haired head.
As Akihiko wasn’t a very coordinated six-year-old, he’d fallen face first on top of Shinjiro. His hands, splayed out to catch himself, had tangled in his friend’s dark hair, and now he was having quite a hard time removing them.
Within a few seconds, Miki had forgotten her embarrassment and begun to laugh. The only part of Shinjiro that she could see-one dark eye-swivelled around to glare at her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. After all, he couldn’t very well berate her for finding the entire thing funny when Akihiko was currently attached to his mouth.
― ¤ ―
The second time was a mistake.
The memorial was over, and the amphitheatre was empty. The matrons of the orphanage had returned to scavenge through the charred remains of one half of their beautiful building, and the parents of children Akihiko didn’t care about had patted him sorrowfully on the head and left with their children. Even his so-called friends had retreated to the playground, incapable of understanding what had happened-like how Aki should have been.
Instead, the eight-year-old could do nothing but sit and stare at the picture mounted above a mountain of flowers. It had been taken the previous year; Miki was smiling as always, all teeth, and waving at the camera, her silvery pigtails blurred with movement.
Akihiko rubbed his arms where bruises would soon rise in the shape of handprints, courtesy of his governess. Weakly, he wiped at the tearstains tracking his puffy cheeks and tottered to his feet. Within a few seconds, he stood before the countless bouquets, and his hands found purchase in the stiff stems of the blossoms. He pulled himself up, grinding chrysanthemums into dust under his sneakers as he grappled at the higher rungs of flora and climbed.
Thorns pricked his fingers and sharp leaves sliced his face as Aki forced himself up and over the mountain of plants that seemed to stretch impossibly high, towards the picture that waited at the top. He didn’t hear the footsteps at the entrance to the outdoor theatre; with one hand outstretched, he reached…
“Aki?”
Akihiko stumbled at the sudden sound, losing grip on the roses he had been clinging too. His fingers just closed around the photo as he began to fall, and he pulled it to his chest as his legs flew out from underneath him.
Instead of hitting the cold ground as he had expected, Aki’s body collided with another’s, and before he knew it the picture was flying out of his hands and his arms were closing around someone’s neck as they both crashed down against the stone. The person beneath him was completely disregarded; Akihiko wasted no time in tearing himself out of the newcomer’s arms and towards the fallen glass frame.
He scrabbled towards it on his hands and knees, hoping against hope that it remained undamaged. His hands snuck forward and grabbed off the ground, lifting it into his blurred vision eagerly.
Behind him, a groaning and swearing Aragaki Shinjiro forced himself upright, now regretting helping the younger child out as he rubbed at his sore skull. “Aki?” he said again, squinting through aching, swollen eyes at the boy hunched over a few feet away. His back had begun to shake, and Shinji’s breath hitched in his throat at the sounds emanating from his best friend. “Aki, are you-”
“It’s cracked,” Akihiko whispered. “I-it’s-” His voice vanished into a whimper as he swallowed a sob and, without turning around, held up the frame. There was a giant crack along the centre, accompanied by bloodied fingerprints that were, without a doubt, Aki’s.
Shinji shot to his feet and stumbled forwards, his calloused hands landing on Akihiko’s bony shoulders out of worry. The younger boy flinched and released the frame at once. It clattered onto the stone, and he forced himself up off his knees. For a moment, Aki just stood there with his back to Shinjiro, hunched over, whole body trembling, and then he whirled around and threw his arms around the older child. Shinji fell back, caught off guard, but when he felt wetness against his neck, he knew that Akihiko was crying.
“It’s my fault,” he hissed, his voice coming out strangled and strained, choked with tears.
Shinjiro’s hands tightened around Aki’s shaking body, and the platinum-haired boy raised his swollen face at the same time that Shinji turned his. For the briefest second, their lips brushed; then they were leaping back, jumping hurriedly, embarrassedly, out of the embrace, as a crushed chrysanthemum from the mountain of flora came to rest at their feet.
― ¤ ―
The third time was a leap of faith.
It was Akihiko’s fourteenth birthday, and he and Shinji had been out all day celebrating, stuffing their faces and escaping the evil pirate that they were eight years too old for as of a quarter past seven o’clock that evening. But when midnight came and went, Miss Yukishiro was the one who finally caught them by the ears and dragged them off to bed.
After half an hour of lying in the darkness and waiting for the sleep that wouldn’t come, Akihiko sat up in his cot, careful not to rouse the boy snoring above him, and hissed, “Hey, Shinji. You awake?” There was a low grumble in response, and Aki smiled into the blackness. “Today was fun, wasn’t it?”
He heard Shinjiro turn over to face the wall. “Sure.”
Akihiko frowned, disappointed that his friend was apparently not as interested in late-night chatting as he was. Dejectedly, he pulled the sheets up to his chin, curling in on himself as he shivered violently in a sudden draft that wafted through the dormitory. “So,” he said, making sure to keep his voice down, “that girl Mio told me you like someone.”
To his amusement, this seemed to spark interest (or anger-in the darkness, Aki couldn’t tell) in Shinjiro, as he heard the boy sit up and growl, “What?”
The silver-haired boy stifled a chuckle and a yawn at the same time, fighting back the exhaustion he’d managed to keep at bay so far. “And I know you wouldn’t tell just anyone something like that,” he continued in a devious sort of voice, “so… is it her?”
Suddenly, he heard bedcovers being thrown aside and footsteps rocketing toward where he lay. Before Akihiko could blink, strong legs were straddling his waist, and an angry voice was hissing right above his ear, “It’s not her.”
Aki grinned, triumphant. “Hah!” he whispered. “It is!”
At that moment, the door opened a crack in the wind, sending a pillar of light streaming in from the golden hallway. It was then that Akihiko saw the way Shinji’s murky gaze was flickering back and forth from his eyes to his lips, and forgot what he’d been about to say.
Before he had a chance to figure out what was going on, Shinjiro’s hands tangled in his pale hair and the boy’s lips crashed down on his in a bruising kiss. It only lasted seconds before Shinji pulled away, gasping and, for once in his life, a little red-faced. There was complete silence in the room before the two young men started laughing uproariously-it was just so awkward that it was funny, right?
― ¤ ―
The fourth time was by no means accidental.
Shinji woke to the Dark Hour when he was barely fifteen, his eyes springing open to the feel of someone else’s hands on his shoulders. He batted them away and jerked upright, sputtering, coughing, and confused, bleary eyes straining to focus on the boy arched over him.
“Shinji!” Akihiko was saying excitedly, over and over again until his own name ran together like a wordless mantra. “Shinji, look! Can’t you see it?”
Shinjiro propped himself up on his elbows and squinted into what should have been near pitch-blackness. Instead, everything was lit with a green glow, and the whole orphanage seemed to have slumped onto its side, as if someone had tilted it a little off-kilter. There was a filmy heaviness about his eyes that would not go away, no matter how hard he rubbed.
“This,” he said, “is some weird-ass dream.”
Aki let out a hoarse laugh, like he’d been holding his breath. “I knew I wasn’t imagining it!” he whispered, pulling away from his friend and looking around. “I-I don’t know what this is, Shinji, but it’s big. This-this is our destiny.”
Shinjiro shook his head, kicking off the covers and rising sleepily to his feet. Over where the rest of the boys should have been sound asleep in their beds, there were rigid black monoliths; Shinji couldn’t help but think they looked a little like coffins. “I think you’re crazy, Aki,” he said, finally, watching as his uncaring attitude wiped the smile from the silver-haired boy’s face. “I must be dreaming. I’m going back to sleep.”
“It’s not a dream!” Akihiko insisted, catching Shinjiro by the arm. “Listen to me-” He shook his head, retreating to his bed on the other side of the room. “Now I know it’s not just in my head, so,” in the blink of an eye, his pyjamas were off and he was shirtless, tugging on a fresh pair of pants with one hand and holding a flawless pair of bright red boxing gloves in the other, “let’s go investigate!”
“Unless it’s just a dream,” Shinji said, hating how his mouth was dry and how his eyes were drawn to Aki’s slim frame as he rummaged around in his suitcase for an appropriate top. “This is fuckin’ weird.”
But there was one sure-fire way to check if he was awake or not.
Shinjiro ran his tongue over his lips, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks. In two long strides he’d crossed the room, and spun Akihiko around. Before the other boy could ask questions, Shinji’s hands were at his waist, pulling him firmly forward, the elder’s face unsmiling and intent. A combination of a crumpled shirt and his gloves trapped Akihiko’s wrists as Shinji leaned over and pressed his lips to the boxer’s.
Aki didn’t pull away. He did nothing but stand there in shock, his body flush against Shinjiro’s, eyes wide. When he didn’t break free, Shinji sighed into his mouth and slid an arm up the silver-haired young man’s naked back to cradle his head in one hand as the punk deepened the kiss.
Now he knew it had to be a dream, because in real life Akihiko would never allow him to kiss him like this.
― ¤ ―
The fifth time was when it led to something more.
They were sixteen-freshmen in the most prestigious school in the area. The orphanage was finally out of their lives, and they hadn’t yet finished settling into their new home: a dorm headed by a daughter of the Kirijo Group. She was the one who had pressed Evokers into their hands, the cold metal fresh and foreign-the one who burdened them with the responsibility that comes with a Persona.
It was the day that they unpacked the very last box that Akihiko whirled on Shinji and said, “See, I told you it wasn’t a dream!”
Shinjiro felt himself grow cold. With a detached demeanour, he set down the short stack of books he’d been helping pile onto Aki’s bookshelves and turned to the boxer, drumming his fingers idly on the nearby desk. “You,” he said, almost offhandedly, “remember-”
Aki froze, realising his slip too late. Without moving, he said to the shelves, “I do.”
“Shit.” Shinji scowled, copper stinging his tongue from where he’d bitten his cheek from the shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Akihiko resumed his unpacking. “You didn’t ask.”
Shinjiro landed one heavy hand on the boxer’s shoulder, spinning him around to meet with a fearsome glare. “You never fuckin’ thought about how I-?” he started, anger dripping from his tone as he struggled to contain himself. “What the fuck were you-”
Aki shook his head in utter exasperation, and effectively silenced his friend when he lifted one calloused hand to graze the punk’s cheek. Shinji stopped mid-sentence, his words slipping away into bewildered silence. “I’ve thought about it every day,” Akihiko said honestly, and all of a sudden his hands were fisting in Shinjiro’s long, messy hair, and they were tripping over boxes and stumbling back against the wall, lips locked together.
Shinji’s hands were rough on his waist, coming up to jerkily undo the buttons on his vest. Aki smiled against his mouth before pulling away, taking the delinquent by the hand and leading him towards the bed. In one sweep of his hand the boxer had brushed the now empty crates off, and he pushed Shinjiro down onto the stiff mattress and framed his face with his hands.
Shinji scowled and averted his eyes as Aki lowered his head to kiss him again. “I,” he said into the silver-haired young man’s mouth, “I think I…”
“Shh,” Akihiko whispered, pulling back with a gentle smile and pressing a finger against the punk’s lips to silence him. He quickly replaced the digit with his mouth, this time needy and rough enough to be bruising as he left a trail of not-so-gentle kisses down Shinjiro’s throat. “I know, Shinji,” he finally said into the crook of the older boy’s neck, feeling the last few clasps on his vest come undone. “I know.”
― ¤ ―
The last was sweet, lingering, as if they knew what the future would bring.
When Akihiko awoke that October morning, the sun was peeping in through the closed blinds and there was an arm slung across his waist. He shivered despite himself and the limb curled around him tightened as its owner let out a sleepy mumble, tugging Aki back against him.
The boxer fought back a yawn, idly playing with the hand resting by his bare stomach. The thought of getting up eventually occurred to him, but that would involve bare skin against the chill air, bare feet against frozen floors; for the past month Mitsuru had steadfastly refused to turn on the heat, and somehow he doubted that was about to change. Instead, Akihiko rolled over and nestled into Shinjiro’s side.
There was a muffled snort against his neck, and then Shinji shifted, stretching out over the bed. “Aki?” he mumbled a moment later, turning his head. His eyes were still closed and his voice was thick and heavy with sleep; he groped blindly for the boxer as Akihiko tucked himself tighter against the larger body in the bed. Shinjiro shrugged and moved to accommodate him, wrapping his free arm around the silver-haired young man to pull him close.
“Mm,” Aki replied contentedly, pushing the fact that he can’t remember when he last lay in a bed with Shinji with nothing better to do than laze around to the back of his mind. “What time is it?”
There was a sleepy mumble, and then the punk replied, “Sunday.”
Akihiko shook his head but didn’t say anything, happy to pretend that was the answer he’d been looking for. For a while they lay there together, under the covers, no sound but their breathing. He had no idea that he’d been drowsing off until Shinji shook him gently by the shoulder and said in his ear, voice low, “Mitsuru’ll wonder where you are.”
“Yeah,” Aki said eventually, pressing his nose against the slope of Shinjiro’s neck. He smelled like sweat and sex and those black cigarettes he smoked when he wanted to look cool.
“Get out of here,” Shinji murmured and then paused, sighed, and turned onto his side to face Akihiko. No sooner had the boxer opened his bleary eyes than one of the punk’s hands was on his jaw, angling his face up for a kiss. It was slow, and sleepy; Aki smiled into it and attempted to wrap his arms around his lover’s neck. Shinjiro managed to duck out of the way just in time, pulling himself from under the blankets and stretching in the cool morning air.
Akihiko stared up at him from the mattress, mouth curved up in a contented smile the likes of which his other roommates never saw, and commented softly, “Operation’s tonight.”
Shinji suddenly scowled and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, averting his gaze to the closed window. Through the blinds, he could see the midday sun shining in the sky. “I know,” he said sourly, and Aki was concerned despite himself.
The boxer sat up with a yawn, setting one hand on Shinjiro’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled, unintelligibly.
Shinji shook his head and reached over the edge of the bed, groping hopelessly for whatever he had dumped on the floor the previous evening. Eventually he emerged with a pair of boxers. After stumbling to his feet, he tugged on the shorts and wandered towards the door. He was halfway there when Aki called out from the bed, “You going somewhere?”
Shinji flinched, as if Akihiko had caught him in the act of doing something really terrible. “Nah,” he said after a pause, bending over to pick another item of clothing off the floor. When he straightened up, grey slacks hit Aki full in the face, and the delinquent attempted a wry grin. “Now get out of my room.”
Akihiko scowled and pulled on the pants, forcing himself up off the mattress and over to where Shinjiro stood. For a second, the older boy looked caught between dashing out the door and staying a little while longer. The boxer smiled at this, mussing his short hair with one hand while the other reached out to his lover. “I guess we should get started,” he offered. “Want to grab some ramen with me later?”
Shinji looked at the floor, at the ceiling, out the window, any place that wasn’t Aki’s eyes. “Can’t,” he said, finally. “I have a bunch of shit to do before the mission tonight.”
Akihiko nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face to hide the hurt. “Okay,” he said, “then I’ll, uh, see you later.”
Shinjiro turned, and for a split second, there was so much anguish in his gaze that it made Aki’s eyes sting. But then he blinked and it was gone, and Shinji was cupping his face and kissing him with a gentleness that he couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. Suddenly desperate for a reason that he couldn’t name, Akihiko clutched at the hand on his cheek and leaned into the embrace; it was over all too soon when the punk suddenly pulled away, his touch lingering, ghosting over Aki’s cheekbones and nose, and disappeared out the door with one last rarely seen smile and a half-hearted wave.
Pairing(s)/Main Character(s): Akihiko/Shinjiro, Miki
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,300 words
Disclaimer: Persona 3 is property of Atlus.
Spoilers: Through October.
Thanks: SecretBox!
Summary: An accident at six paves the way for the next ten years. Several snapshots into Akihiko and Shinjiro's relationship.
The first time was an accident.
They were mere children of six, dashing around Port Island after curfew and delighting in evading their captor-also known as their governess, one of the many mistresses of the orphanage. They instead thought of her as the evil pirate coming to take them away: one that they had to fight off at all costs.
The two boys had wormed their way through the back streets of the island, ducking around trashcans and under railings. They tugged Miki after them. She was hesitant and silver-haired, clutching the giant, brightly coloured lollipop that had been her reward for tagging along to her chest; her blue eyes were wide with bewildered excitement as she called after them endlessly and made them wonder why they’d wanted her to come in the first place.
“Shinji!” she’d squeal, for she had one of those adorable children’s crushes on the older boy and would often cling to his coattails, red-faced and beaming from ear to ear. And he never told her off, though Akihiko never ceased to.
“Miki,” he whined this time, “he’s my friend, not yours!”
She stuck her tongue out at her brother and hugged Shinjiro ever tighter. He was rather puzzled by this, running a hand through his knotted brown hair and smiling like he never would when he was older.
“Your sister’s so cute, Aki,” Shinji teased (though he was scarcely old enough to know how) as he ruffled the shorter girl’s hair and watched Akihiko’s face flame, darkening to crimson in annoyance.
The other boy stamped his foot and stuck his nose in the air, his crossed arms tightening on his chest as he wondered again why his sister had joined them in their exciting expedition, and why Shinji liked her so much, anyway. The fact that he’d invited her to come along didn’t matter, and he met Shinjiro’s amused stare with an angry scowl. “Come on,” he insisted, extending one filthy white-sleeved arm to point emphatically at the empty street behind him. “She’ll catch us if we don’t hurry up!”
Miki giggled, one hand absently playing with Shinji’s hair. Aki noted sulkily that she was the only one who was allowed to do that. “I don’t think so,” the little girl said, thoughtfully. “I think she gave up!”
Shinjiro turned to her, eyes wide with excitement. With his voice lowered, he bent down to whisper conspiratorially in Miki’s ear: “She never gives up.”
The child exploded in shrieks of laughter and wrapped her tiny arms around Shinji’s waist. Akihiko scowled more.
“Come on,” he insisted, cupping one hand to his ear as if he heard something. “I think I can hear her coming!”
Miki gasped and released Shinji at once. “Really?” she said excitedly, skipping over to her brother and peering over his shoulder in undisguised joy. After all, she’d never seen the evil pirate before. “What’s she look like?”
Aki grinned. “Well,” he started dramatically, thrilled to be the one receiving attention for once (even it was from his sister), “she’s got long, scary, pointy teeth, and… and-”
“And big feet,” Shinjiro added helpfully. Akihiko looked a bit put out for a second as Miki whirled around, tiny hands covering her mouth, but then he began to nod approvingly as his friend went on. “She’s wearing a dirty black dress. Her hair’s really ugly too, all long and scraggly, and her face is covered in big green spots, and she’s got this huge nose like a bird’s beak, and-”
“There you are!”
The trio whirled around. Aki wilted with a groan-he’d gotten so caught up in Shinji’s description that he’d forgotten to actually watch and she if she was coming. “Shoot!” he exclaimed, screwing up his face in a terrified grimace that was mainly for show as he turned back to his astounded and eager sister. “She’s gaining on us-come on, let’s go!”
Miki looked completely confused. “That’s the evil pirate?” she said, frowning. “But that’s just Miss Yukishiro!”
Shinji landed a hand on her shoulder and spun her around, tugging the giggling child after he and Akihiko as they sent off down the street. “Nuh-uh,” the older boy said seriously, keeping a careful eye on their approaching tutor as he backed away. “That is the evil pirate. She just looks like Miss Yukishiro.”
Miki shot a fleeting glance behind her, her chubby cheeks blooming red in confusion. “But Miss Yukishiro doesn’t have all those spots or nothing!”
“Boys!” the woman crowed then from the end of the street. The trio kicked themselves into a run as she picked up her long black skirts and scolded them from afar. “Don’t tell me you’ve dragged poor Miki into it this time!”
“No, ma’am!” Shinji called back innocently, pulling the little girl in front of him and clutching for Akihiko’s hand as they raced around the corner and out of sight of their governess. They listened to her yelling for a moment, her voice almost drowned out by her heeled feet clacking over the pavement as she drew near. After looking around desperately for a hiding place and finding none, Shinjiro scowled and offered, eloquently, “Shit!”
Akihiko gasped, looking around as if expecting the teachers from the orphanage to descend upon them, while Miki just giggled, tittering about bad words. Shinji, on the other hand, mulled over the phrase for a second, rolling it around in his mouth and finding that it tasted bitter and foreign on his tongue.
He liked it.
“We should hide!” Aki said finally, sure that Shinjiro’s foul mouth had somehow given away their position. He grabbed at his sister and friend, both of which were still very preoccupied with this new piece of vocabulary, and pulled them behind a nearby cardboard box. As a hiding place, it was rather useless; if Miss Yukishiro bothered to look in their direction, they’d be found immediately.
As luck would have it, however, she ran by them a few moments later and didn’t spare the area a glance. “Akihiko! Shinjiro!” she shouted as she ran by. “Hey, I know you’re around here somewhere!”
Once she was gone, Miki was the first to emerge, wide-eyed and giggling. “The evil pirate didn’t catch us!” she cried, kicking out as she struggled to free herself from the tangle of arms and legs behind the box. When her foot connected with something hard, the little girl gasped and rolled out of the way, turning to stare as apologies tumbled from her lips. The first one was cut short halfway through.
What she’d kicked had been her brother’s silver-haired head.
As Akihiko wasn’t a very coordinated six-year-old, he’d fallen face first on top of Shinjiro. His hands, splayed out to catch himself, had tangled in his friend’s dark hair, and now he was having quite a hard time removing them.
Within a few seconds, Miki had forgotten her embarrassment and begun to laugh. The only part of Shinjiro that she could see-one dark eye-swivelled around to glare at her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. After all, he couldn’t very well berate her for finding the entire thing funny when Akihiko was currently attached to his mouth.
― ¤ ―
The second time was a mistake.
The memorial was over, and the amphitheatre was empty. The matrons of the orphanage had returned to scavenge through the charred remains of one half of their beautiful building, and the parents of children Akihiko didn’t care about had patted him sorrowfully on the head and left with their children. Even his so-called friends had retreated to the playground, incapable of understanding what had happened-like how Aki should have been.
Instead, the eight-year-old could do nothing but sit and stare at the picture mounted above a mountain of flowers. It had been taken the previous year; Miki was smiling as always, all teeth, and waving at the camera, her silvery pigtails blurred with movement.
Akihiko rubbed his arms where bruises would soon rise in the shape of handprints, courtesy of his governess. Weakly, he wiped at the tearstains tracking his puffy cheeks and tottered to his feet. Within a few seconds, he stood before the countless bouquets, and his hands found purchase in the stiff stems of the blossoms. He pulled himself up, grinding chrysanthemums into dust under his sneakers as he grappled at the higher rungs of flora and climbed.
Thorns pricked his fingers and sharp leaves sliced his face as Aki forced himself up and over the mountain of plants that seemed to stretch impossibly high, towards the picture that waited at the top. He didn’t hear the footsteps at the entrance to the outdoor theatre; with one hand outstretched, he reached…
“Aki?”
Akihiko stumbled at the sudden sound, losing grip on the roses he had been clinging too. His fingers just closed around the photo as he began to fall, and he pulled it to his chest as his legs flew out from underneath him.
Instead of hitting the cold ground as he had expected, Aki’s body collided with another’s, and before he knew it the picture was flying out of his hands and his arms were closing around someone’s neck as they both crashed down against the stone. The person beneath him was completely disregarded; Akihiko wasted no time in tearing himself out of the newcomer’s arms and towards the fallen glass frame.
He scrabbled towards it on his hands and knees, hoping against hope that it remained undamaged. His hands snuck forward and grabbed off the ground, lifting it into his blurred vision eagerly.
Behind him, a groaning and swearing Aragaki Shinjiro forced himself upright, now regretting helping the younger child out as he rubbed at his sore skull. “Aki?” he said again, squinting through aching, swollen eyes at the boy hunched over a few feet away. His back had begun to shake, and Shinji’s breath hitched in his throat at the sounds emanating from his best friend. “Aki, are you-”
“It’s cracked,” Akihiko whispered. “I-it’s-” His voice vanished into a whimper as he swallowed a sob and, without turning around, held up the frame. There was a giant crack along the centre, accompanied by bloodied fingerprints that were, without a doubt, Aki’s.
Shinji shot to his feet and stumbled forwards, his calloused hands landing on Akihiko’s bony shoulders out of worry. The younger boy flinched and released the frame at once. It clattered onto the stone, and he forced himself up off his knees. For a moment, Aki just stood there with his back to Shinjiro, hunched over, whole body trembling, and then he whirled around and threw his arms around the older child. Shinji fell back, caught off guard, but when he felt wetness against his neck, he knew that Akihiko was crying.
“It’s my fault,” he hissed, his voice coming out strangled and strained, choked with tears.
Shinjiro’s hands tightened around Aki’s shaking body, and the platinum-haired boy raised his swollen face at the same time that Shinji turned his. For the briefest second, their lips brushed; then they were leaping back, jumping hurriedly, embarrassedly, out of the embrace, as a crushed chrysanthemum from the mountain of flora came to rest at their feet.
― ¤ ―
The third time was a leap of faith.
It was Akihiko’s fourteenth birthday, and he and Shinji had been out all day celebrating, stuffing their faces and escaping the evil pirate that they were eight years too old for as of a quarter past seven o’clock that evening. But when midnight came and went, Miss Yukishiro was the one who finally caught them by the ears and dragged them off to bed.
After half an hour of lying in the darkness and waiting for the sleep that wouldn’t come, Akihiko sat up in his cot, careful not to rouse the boy snoring above him, and hissed, “Hey, Shinji. You awake?” There was a low grumble in response, and Aki smiled into the blackness. “Today was fun, wasn’t it?”
He heard Shinjiro turn over to face the wall. “Sure.”
Akihiko frowned, disappointed that his friend was apparently not as interested in late-night chatting as he was. Dejectedly, he pulled the sheets up to his chin, curling in on himself as he shivered violently in a sudden draft that wafted through the dormitory. “So,” he said, making sure to keep his voice down, “that girl Mio told me you like someone.”
To his amusement, this seemed to spark interest (or anger-in the darkness, Aki couldn’t tell) in Shinjiro, as he heard the boy sit up and growl, “What?”
The silver-haired boy stifled a chuckle and a yawn at the same time, fighting back the exhaustion he’d managed to keep at bay so far. “And I know you wouldn’t tell just anyone something like that,” he continued in a devious sort of voice, “so… is it her?”
Suddenly, he heard bedcovers being thrown aside and footsteps rocketing toward where he lay. Before Akihiko could blink, strong legs were straddling his waist, and an angry voice was hissing right above his ear, “It’s not her.”
Aki grinned, triumphant. “Hah!” he whispered. “It is!”
At that moment, the door opened a crack in the wind, sending a pillar of light streaming in from the golden hallway. It was then that Akihiko saw the way Shinji’s murky gaze was flickering back and forth from his eyes to his lips, and forgot what he’d been about to say.
Before he had a chance to figure out what was going on, Shinjiro’s hands tangled in his pale hair and the boy’s lips crashed down on his in a bruising kiss. It only lasted seconds before Shinji pulled away, gasping and, for once in his life, a little red-faced. There was complete silence in the room before the two young men started laughing uproariously-it was just so awkward that it was funny, right?
― ¤ ―
The fourth time was by no means accidental.
Shinji woke to the Dark Hour when he was barely fifteen, his eyes springing open to the feel of someone else’s hands on his shoulders. He batted them away and jerked upright, sputtering, coughing, and confused, bleary eyes straining to focus on the boy arched over him.
“Shinji!” Akihiko was saying excitedly, over and over again until his own name ran together like a wordless mantra. “Shinji, look! Can’t you see it?”
Shinjiro propped himself up on his elbows and squinted into what should have been near pitch-blackness. Instead, everything was lit with a green glow, and the whole orphanage seemed to have slumped onto its side, as if someone had tilted it a little off-kilter. There was a filmy heaviness about his eyes that would not go away, no matter how hard he rubbed.
“This,” he said, “is some weird-ass dream.”
Aki let out a hoarse laugh, like he’d been holding his breath. “I knew I wasn’t imagining it!” he whispered, pulling away from his friend and looking around. “I-I don’t know what this is, Shinji, but it’s big. This-this is our destiny.”
Shinjiro shook his head, kicking off the covers and rising sleepily to his feet. Over where the rest of the boys should have been sound asleep in their beds, there were rigid black monoliths; Shinji couldn’t help but think they looked a little like coffins. “I think you’re crazy, Aki,” he said, finally, watching as his uncaring attitude wiped the smile from the silver-haired boy’s face. “I must be dreaming. I’m going back to sleep.”
“It’s not a dream!” Akihiko insisted, catching Shinjiro by the arm. “Listen to me-” He shook his head, retreating to his bed on the other side of the room. “Now I know it’s not just in my head, so,” in the blink of an eye, his pyjamas were off and he was shirtless, tugging on a fresh pair of pants with one hand and holding a flawless pair of bright red boxing gloves in the other, “let’s go investigate!”
“Unless it’s just a dream,” Shinji said, hating how his mouth was dry and how his eyes were drawn to Aki’s slim frame as he rummaged around in his suitcase for an appropriate top. “This is fuckin’ weird.”
But there was one sure-fire way to check if he was awake or not.
Shinjiro ran his tongue over his lips, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks. In two long strides he’d crossed the room, and spun Akihiko around. Before the other boy could ask questions, Shinji’s hands were at his waist, pulling him firmly forward, the elder’s face unsmiling and intent. A combination of a crumpled shirt and his gloves trapped Akihiko’s wrists as Shinji leaned over and pressed his lips to the boxer’s.
Aki didn’t pull away. He did nothing but stand there in shock, his body flush against Shinjiro’s, eyes wide. When he didn’t break free, Shinji sighed into his mouth and slid an arm up the silver-haired young man’s naked back to cradle his head in one hand as the punk deepened the kiss.
Now he knew it had to be a dream, because in real life Akihiko would never allow him to kiss him like this.
― ¤ ―
The fifth time was when it led to something more.
They were sixteen-freshmen in the most prestigious school in the area. The orphanage was finally out of their lives, and they hadn’t yet finished settling into their new home: a dorm headed by a daughter of the Kirijo Group. She was the one who had pressed Evokers into their hands, the cold metal fresh and foreign-the one who burdened them with the responsibility that comes with a Persona.
It was the day that they unpacked the very last box that Akihiko whirled on Shinji and said, “See, I told you it wasn’t a dream!”
Shinjiro felt himself grow cold. With a detached demeanour, he set down the short stack of books he’d been helping pile onto Aki’s bookshelves and turned to the boxer, drumming his fingers idly on the nearby desk. “You,” he said, almost offhandedly, “remember-”
Aki froze, realising his slip too late. Without moving, he said to the shelves, “I do.”
“Shit.” Shinji scowled, copper stinging his tongue from where he’d bitten his cheek from the shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Akihiko resumed his unpacking. “You didn’t ask.”
Shinjiro landed one heavy hand on the boxer’s shoulder, spinning him around to meet with a fearsome glare. “You never fuckin’ thought about how I-?” he started, anger dripping from his tone as he struggled to contain himself. “What the fuck were you-”
Aki shook his head in utter exasperation, and effectively silenced his friend when he lifted one calloused hand to graze the punk’s cheek. Shinji stopped mid-sentence, his words slipping away into bewildered silence. “I’ve thought about it every day,” Akihiko said honestly, and all of a sudden his hands were fisting in Shinjiro’s long, messy hair, and they were tripping over boxes and stumbling back against the wall, lips locked together.
Shinji’s hands were rough on his waist, coming up to jerkily undo the buttons on his vest. Aki smiled against his mouth before pulling away, taking the delinquent by the hand and leading him towards the bed. In one sweep of his hand the boxer had brushed the now empty crates off, and he pushed Shinjiro down onto the stiff mattress and framed his face with his hands.
Shinji scowled and averted his eyes as Aki lowered his head to kiss him again. “I,” he said into the silver-haired young man’s mouth, “I think I…”
“Shh,” Akihiko whispered, pulling back with a gentle smile and pressing a finger against the punk’s lips to silence him. He quickly replaced the digit with his mouth, this time needy and rough enough to be bruising as he left a trail of not-so-gentle kisses down Shinjiro’s throat. “I know, Shinji,” he finally said into the crook of the older boy’s neck, feeling the last few clasps on his vest come undone. “I know.”
― ¤ ―
The last was sweet, lingering, as if they knew what the future would bring.
When Akihiko awoke that October morning, the sun was peeping in through the closed blinds and there was an arm slung across his waist. He shivered despite himself and the limb curled around him tightened as its owner let out a sleepy mumble, tugging Aki back against him.
The boxer fought back a yawn, idly playing with the hand resting by his bare stomach. The thought of getting up eventually occurred to him, but that would involve bare skin against the chill air, bare feet against frozen floors; for the past month Mitsuru had steadfastly refused to turn on the heat, and somehow he doubted that was about to change. Instead, Akihiko rolled over and nestled into Shinjiro’s side.
There was a muffled snort against his neck, and then Shinji shifted, stretching out over the bed. “Aki?” he mumbled a moment later, turning his head. His eyes were still closed and his voice was thick and heavy with sleep; he groped blindly for the boxer as Akihiko tucked himself tighter against the larger body in the bed. Shinjiro shrugged and moved to accommodate him, wrapping his free arm around the silver-haired young man to pull him close.
“Mm,” Aki replied contentedly, pushing the fact that he can’t remember when he last lay in a bed with Shinji with nothing better to do than laze around to the back of his mind. “What time is it?”
There was a sleepy mumble, and then the punk replied, “Sunday.”
Akihiko shook his head but didn’t say anything, happy to pretend that was the answer he’d been looking for. For a while they lay there together, under the covers, no sound but their breathing. He had no idea that he’d been drowsing off until Shinji shook him gently by the shoulder and said in his ear, voice low, “Mitsuru’ll wonder where you are.”
“Yeah,” Aki said eventually, pressing his nose against the slope of Shinjiro’s neck. He smelled like sweat and sex and those black cigarettes he smoked when he wanted to look cool.
“Get out of here,” Shinji murmured and then paused, sighed, and turned onto his side to face Akihiko. No sooner had the boxer opened his bleary eyes than one of the punk’s hands was on his jaw, angling his face up for a kiss. It was slow, and sleepy; Aki smiled into it and attempted to wrap his arms around his lover’s neck. Shinjiro managed to duck out of the way just in time, pulling himself from under the blankets and stretching in the cool morning air.
Akihiko stared up at him from the mattress, mouth curved up in a contented smile the likes of which his other roommates never saw, and commented softly, “Operation’s tonight.”
Shinji suddenly scowled and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, averting his gaze to the closed window. Through the blinds, he could see the midday sun shining in the sky. “I know,” he said sourly, and Aki was concerned despite himself.
The boxer sat up with a yawn, setting one hand on Shinjiro’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled, unintelligibly.
Shinji shook his head and reached over the edge of the bed, groping hopelessly for whatever he had dumped on the floor the previous evening. Eventually he emerged with a pair of boxers. After stumbling to his feet, he tugged on the shorts and wandered towards the door. He was halfway there when Aki called out from the bed, “You going somewhere?”
Shinji flinched, as if Akihiko had caught him in the act of doing something really terrible. “Nah,” he said after a pause, bending over to pick another item of clothing off the floor. When he straightened up, grey slacks hit Aki full in the face, and the delinquent attempted a wry grin. “Now get out of my room.”
Akihiko scowled and pulled on the pants, forcing himself up off the mattress and over to where Shinjiro stood. For a second, the older boy looked caught between dashing out the door and staying a little while longer. The boxer smiled at this, mussing his short hair with one hand while the other reached out to his lover. “I guess we should get started,” he offered. “Want to grab some ramen with me later?”
Shinji looked at the floor, at the ceiling, out the window, any place that wasn’t Aki’s eyes. “Can’t,” he said, finally. “I have a bunch of shit to do before the mission tonight.”
Akihiko nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face to hide the hurt. “Okay,” he said, “then I’ll, uh, see you later.”
Shinjiro turned, and for a split second, there was so much anguish in his gaze that it made Aki’s eyes sting. But then he blinked and it was gone, and Shinji was cupping his face and kissing him with a gentleness that he couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. Suddenly desperate for a reason that he couldn’t name, Akihiko clutched at the hand on his cheek and leaned into the embrace; it was over all too soon when the punk suddenly pulled away, his touch lingering, ghosting over Aki’s cheekbones and nose, and disappeared out the door with one last rarely seen smile and a half-hearted wave.