Persona 3: The World Was Ours (Akihiko/Shinjiro, 1/1)
Author: Chiara (stonemarionette, zephyrian)
Pairing(s)/Main Character(s): Akihiko/Shinjiro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,100 words
Disclaimer: Persona 3 is property of Atlus.
Spoilers: Through September.
Thanks: SecretBox!
Summary: You know, Aki, up here-we're kings.
Winter had cracked the surface of Port Island, staining skies grey and leaving the leaves to bleed mahogany into the ground. It was getting cold already, even though the very first morning in October had barely begun. The sun had just started to peek out over the horizon; from their vantage point among the jungle gym’s red bars, two boys watched.
Shinjiro picked at the peeling paint, watching it stick under his skin and enduring the resulting pain with an almost detached annoyance. He shook the sting from his thoughts and turned back to the orange glow at the city’s outskirts, leaning back a little into the tangle of cold iron.
“You remember when we used to do this, you and me and Mitsuru? All of us, together.”
Akihiko barely ducked his head in reply. He didn’t look down from the cloud-strewn sky, too focused on picking shapes out of the roiling grey masses. He winced as they were tinged yellow-pink in the new light, and huddled closer, pulling his knees to his chest. “I remember,” he said, finally. He wouldn’t admit it, but the question had surprised him-he didn’t see Shinji as the type to bring up fond memories.
And Aki couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t know this man, this stupid, troublesome punk, his best friend, just a little better.
Shinjiro ran his tongue over his lips, peering out of the corners of his eyes at his motionless companion. He shifted a little, fiddling with the collar of his overcoat-a nervous gesture, and they both knew it. “She’s changed,” he said, the way someone else might’ve said it’s cold today. “She’ll barely look at me anymore.” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “It’s weird. Two years ago, we were…” A shrug replaced the mistake he might’ve let out.
“She always hated you.” Akihiko didn’t look up, and he closed his eyes as the statement passed his lips. He felt Shinji jerk beside him, as if he’d been hit.
There was a long silence; Aki wanted to think he could hear the gears turning in his friend’s head, the machinery whirring as it struggled to take in this new piece of information. When the punk finally spoke, his voice was level and lined with bitter laughter. “I figured,” he said, and chuckled aloud with a glibness that came off a little strained. “She told you?”
Akihiko shrugged. “I knew. Always did. She didn’t have to tell me.”
He listened to Shinji lapse into silence beside him. Then, “You’ve changed, too.”
The boxer looked up, squinting in the light of the rising sun and allowing a tiny smile to slip across his narrow face. Stretching back languidly and settling in a position similar to Shinjiro’s, he declared, “Bullshit.”
“Didn’t change, my ass.” The older boy snorted. “Two years ago, you didn’t even curse, for one. You were absolutely scandalised every time I spoke.”
Aki laughed, maybe just a touch relieved that the tension that had been hanging thick in the air had finally dissipated. They fell into a companionable quiet once more; eventually, the silver-haired senior murmured, “Sun’s up.”
Shinji shot him a sideways glance. “You wanna go back?”
Akihiko sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the feel of the cold air twisting inside of him like a snake wrapping around his heart. He shut his eyes again and leaned back further, until he was lying flat. He coughed, once, and said, “Not really.”
Shinjiro smiled, privately, at the sight of the boxing champ lying spread-eagled on the top of a child’s jungle gym. He knew the family that took care of Naganaki Shrine would arrive soon; the old man would undoubtedly shoo them away with his broom-until then, though, he was content to sit and watch the sun climb further into the lightening sky. “Good,” he said. “I was beginning to think that you’d lost interest in this little tradition.”
With no warning whatsoever, he leapt up, his booted feet clanging against the iron below. It startled Aki into wakefulness, his eyes shooting open to observe the delinquent standing over him with his arms outstretched to the skies, head thrown back. The boxer blinked in confusion, but his query died in his throat when Shinji looked down again, grinning.
The sight stole Akihiko’s breath away. It had been a long time-too long-since he’d seen Shinjiro smile like that, his whole face lit up, chest thrust out, beaming for all his miserable soul was worth.
“See this?” Shinji said, motioning wildly about him.
Aki sat up and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the dawn. “The shrine?”
“No, you stupid shit!” He was still grinning. Shinjiro waved his arms about emphatically; it wasn’t long before his boots slipped a little on the cold red iron, and his gestures turned to frantic wheeling as he struggled to keep his footing, keep from falling to the hard pavement so far below. Akihiko was half up and ready to catch him when the punk regained his balance, laughing, and said, conspiratorially, “The city! The city below us!”
Aki frowned and peered down at Port Island-it looked the same as it always did: dirty, cramped, and crawling with the Lost. Even now, a pale and bleary-eyed young woman was dragging herself up the stairs to Naganaki Shrine, her footsteps slow and sleepy, one leg lagging behind the other. The boxing champ’s confused frown was quickly demoted to a scowl. “Are you trying to tell me what a failure we are?”
For all of five seconds, Shinji looked bewildered. Then he followed Akihiko’s gaze and shook his head. “You idiot,” he said, but there was no bite to it. “Do you always have to be such a pessimist?”
Aki snorted. “Says you,” he began, but the punk held up a hand and he promptly shut his mouth.
“I’m talking about the city. Our city.” Shinjiro threw his hands up. “Up here, Aki-up here, this world is ours.” He was laughing again, breathless, excited. “Up here, we’re kings.”
Akihiko shot his friend an incredulous look. “You’re batshit,” he said, swallowing his own smile. “I don’t remember you being this crazy in the morning.”
But his words didn’t stop him from jumping to his feet, grabbing a hold of Shinji by the neck, and tugging the taller boy into a kiss.
Pairing(s)/Main Character(s): Akihiko/Shinjiro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,100 words
Disclaimer: Persona 3 is property of Atlus.
Spoilers: Through September.
Thanks: SecretBox!
Summary: You know, Aki, up here-we're kings.
Winter had cracked the surface of Port Island, staining skies grey and leaving the leaves to bleed mahogany into the ground. It was getting cold already, even though the very first morning in October had barely begun. The sun had just started to peek out over the horizon; from their vantage point among the jungle gym’s red bars, two boys watched.
Shinjiro picked at the peeling paint, watching it stick under his skin and enduring the resulting pain with an almost detached annoyance. He shook the sting from his thoughts and turned back to the orange glow at the city’s outskirts, leaning back a little into the tangle of cold iron.
“You remember when we used to do this, you and me and Mitsuru? All of us, together.”
Akihiko barely ducked his head in reply. He didn’t look down from the cloud-strewn sky, too focused on picking shapes out of the roiling grey masses. He winced as they were tinged yellow-pink in the new light, and huddled closer, pulling his knees to his chest. “I remember,” he said, finally. He wouldn’t admit it, but the question had surprised him-he didn’t see Shinji as the type to bring up fond memories.
And Aki couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t know this man, this stupid, troublesome punk, his best friend, just a little better.
Shinjiro ran his tongue over his lips, peering out of the corners of his eyes at his motionless companion. He shifted a little, fiddling with the collar of his overcoat-a nervous gesture, and they both knew it. “She’s changed,” he said, the way someone else might’ve said it’s cold today. “She’ll barely look at me anymore.” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “It’s weird. Two years ago, we were…” A shrug replaced the mistake he might’ve let out.
“She always hated you.” Akihiko didn’t look up, and he closed his eyes as the statement passed his lips. He felt Shinji jerk beside him, as if he’d been hit.
There was a long silence; Aki wanted to think he could hear the gears turning in his friend’s head, the machinery whirring as it struggled to take in this new piece of information. When the punk finally spoke, his voice was level and lined with bitter laughter. “I figured,” he said, and chuckled aloud with a glibness that came off a little strained. “She told you?”
Akihiko shrugged. “I knew. Always did. She didn’t have to tell me.”
He listened to Shinji lapse into silence beside him. Then, “You’ve changed, too.”
The boxer looked up, squinting in the light of the rising sun and allowing a tiny smile to slip across his narrow face. Stretching back languidly and settling in a position similar to Shinjiro’s, he declared, “Bullshit.”
“Didn’t change, my ass.” The older boy snorted. “Two years ago, you didn’t even curse, for one. You were absolutely scandalised every time I spoke.”
Aki laughed, maybe just a touch relieved that the tension that had been hanging thick in the air had finally dissipated. They fell into a companionable quiet once more; eventually, the silver-haired senior murmured, “Sun’s up.”
Shinji shot him a sideways glance. “You wanna go back?”
Akihiko sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the feel of the cold air twisting inside of him like a snake wrapping around his heart. He shut his eyes again and leaned back further, until he was lying flat. He coughed, once, and said, “Not really.”
Shinjiro smiled, privately, at the sight of the boxing champ lying spread-eagled on the top of a child’s jungle gym. He knew the family that took care of Naganaki Shrine would arrive soon; the old man would undoubtedly shoo them away with his broom-until then, though, he was content to sit and watch the sun climb further into the lightening sky. “Good,” he said. “I was beginning to think that you’d lost interest in this little tradition.”
With no warning whatsoever, he leapt up, his booted feet clanging against the iron below. It startled Aki into wakefulness, his eyes shooting open to observe the delinquent standing over him with his arms outstretched to the skies, head thrown back. The boxer blinked in confusion, but his query died in his throat when Shinji looked down again, grinning.
The sight stole Akihiko’s breath away. It had been a long time-too long-since he’d seen Shinjiro smile like that, his whole face lit up, chest thrust out, beaming for all his miserable soul was worth.
“See this?” Shinji said, motioning wildly about him.
Aki sat up and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the dawn. “The shrine?”
“No, you stupid shit!” He was still grinning. Shinjiro waved his arms about emphatically; it wasn’t long before his boots slipped a little on the cold red iron, and his gestures turned to frantic wheeling as he struggled to keep his footing, keep from falling to the hard pavement so far below. Akihiko was half up and ready to catch him when the punk regained his balance, laughing, and said, conspiratorially, “The city! The city below us!”
Aki frowned and peered down at Port Island-it looked the same as it always did: dirty, cramped, and crawling with the Lost. Even now, a pale and bleary-eyed young woman was dragging herself up the stairs to Naganaki Shrine, her footsteps slow and sleepy, one leg lagging behind the other. The boxing champ’s confused frown was quickly demoted to a scowl. “Are you trying to tell me what a failure we are?”
For all of five seconds, Shinji looked bewildered. Then he followed Akihiko’s gaze and shook his head. “You idiot,” he said, but there was no bite to it. “Do you always have to be such a pessimist?”
Aki snorted. “Says you,” he began, but the punk held up a hand and he promptly shut his mouth.
“I’m talking about the city. Our city.” Shinjiro threw his hands up. “Up here, Aki-up here, this world is ours.” He was laughing again, breathless, excited. “Up here, we’re kings.”
Akihiko shot his friend an incredulous look. “You’re batshit,” he said, swallowing his own smile. “I don’t remember you being this crazy in the morning.”
But his words didn’t stop him from jumping to his feet, grabbing a hold of Shinji by the neck, and tugging the taller boy into a kiss.