#phansitc

Winter has given way for summer, in his universe, and in others. This one seems to be no exception, it’s lightly warm, warmer than Mementos, though the Metaverse was made up of the cognition of others, it always seemed to stay pleasantly cool, it made a good retreat in the summer, but for now, it was not so hot as to be wholly unpleasant outside of it, so he’d given little thought when slipping from his iteration of Mementos to another, it comes so naturally.

Also naturally comes leaving, stepping from Mementos’ halls into reality without so much as needing to lift his phone from his pocket.

Tokyo is as it always is, or at least, it’s familiar to him, even in a universe not his own, he’s always found it funny, how it can be so very much the same and yet likewise so inviting, moreso than his own world. It feels like a pressure has eased in his chest.

He feels the same way about the people. Like the one his eyes have settled upon now, the soft face and slightly wild hair. He tries to think of the last time he saw his own Mishima, that would have been a long time ago, after that fateful year at Shujin. A nostalgia crawls, slow, thick, like tar, into the back of his mind, and he ignores it.

Nostalgia is just another word for sorrow.

He’s by no means hidden, it isn’t crowded here in the red light district just yet, he’s sure it will be once it gets a little later, but the sun is still just creeping below the horizon line. He can’t help but wonder why he’s here, Mishima, that is, his own had been the same, hanging around the red light district or electric town long after most had decided it was too late in the evening to stay out.

And he had never asked, though he perhaps should have.

In any case, he makes no move to hide or stay out of sight or even to hide the fact that he’s watching the other, he was tall even back in school but he’s taller now, a good 5′10″, even if it were crowded, his height being above average means blending into a crowd isn’t as tactical any longer. What does the Joker of this world look like, he wonders, how old is he, what scars does he have, how tall. But those are questions that don’t need answering.

      This creep just doesn’t know when to stop, hm? Yes, Akechi is aware he is in the red light district, he’s aware he’s dressed softly; in the neon light, he is a little blossom of reflected colour in his low-cut blouse of black silk, the pretty scarlet ribbon the colour of Reau’s thief gloves sitting just so to mostly cover the dip of his collarbone. Mostly, if he doesn’t move too much. It leaves his shoulders bare for the neon of a nearby bar’s sign to kiss his bare and pale skin.

So yes, he can understand why the man had approached him presumptive and assuming that Akechi has a price. However, it does not excuse not backing off when Akechi had first snapped at him with the threat of breaking his nose if he said another damn word.

Don’t be that way dollface. The man had crooned C’mon, everyone has a price

Why are you here if y’don’t want attention huh?

Because he’d wanted a fucking drink, initially, that’s why. He doesn’t so much now, but yes, that had been the reason. 

Akechi does not need rescuing, but this man is about one wrong move away from needing an ambulance. Of course, if he hadn’t touched, Akechi may have simply made do with ignoring him. However, he had the gall to reach out, and to grasp Akechi by the bare skin of a shoulder, and what happened next was all blind fury and instinct.

     It hadn’t even been hard, he’d simply whipped a hand up, and grabbed that hand, and pushed it back with a slender, delicate, hand of his own, one which had certainly been in worse fights, until the bones had cracklesnapped, and then there was screaming, and cursing, 

And he’d spat some things back unbecoming of a prince, and then some things were a blur, and then Akechi had hit the ground, he presumes he’d been shoved, and in return he had whipped a nearby bottle at the man’s retreating figure, nailing him square between the shoulders. Served him right really, he was lucky Akechi hadn’t been truly armed; the boy had no issue with murder.

His legs tuck inwards until he is sitting sideways nearly upon his hip, he has a bruise forming on his shoulder where he’d been grabbed and then shoved, which is fine, it will fade, he’s more concerned at the moment with idly picking little pieces of gravel out of his palms where he hit the ground.

     So, he’s in a bad mood, and his eyes burn like the blood their colour so resembles when he looks up at the boy who approaches him.

“What?” he practically spits, hands held palm upwards to keep any stray blood off himself and to avoid getting more gravel in them when he still hasn’t finished plucking what’s there from his skin. 

i support the ryuji army, they must rise up

     Safe? Safe?      Safe? Safe?      u̸n̸s̴a̸f̶e̶

There is a terrible snap of terrible teeth. It closes where his calf had been but a moment ago, that terrible mouth, and he brings the hilt of his dagger downwards with force towards the kelpie’s head, it’s all blunt force meant to stun, and the moment the hit connects, the hand raises, turns, and drives the point downwards towards the creature’s head, which whips up again, and blunt teeth dig into his arm--above the coat, luckily.

It is enough protection to avoid the drawing of blood beyond a few minor cuts, mostly it just hurts and it bruises almost immediately, it sends his hand reeling back so he can clutch it against his chest, turn tail, and flee. He isn’t a bad fighter, he’d simply been ambushed.

The railroad tracks make for awful obstacles, never certain when they would jut upwards or dip down, but he’s incredibly agile, and even outside of his home world’s Mementos, he is still a shadow, and he still knows his way around.

     Tap-tap-tap, his boots against the metal as he allows himself to cross from one side to another, making a swift dodge and preventing those earlier blunt teeth from closing upon his shoulder, he turns enough to lash out with the dagger, leaving a thin, clean line across the Kelpie’s muzzle, but he does not stay to follow up.

He does not see the other boy until he turns the corner, and by then it is too late, his hard, ragged breaths increase in volume, collision course unavoidable, at least not with any manner of turn, instead, he turns at the last second, weight dropping, there is a slide against concrete as he goes screeching along the ground with the speed of his drop, he rolls upon his side once, twice, breath knocked from his lungs.

Pushing himself up on that same bruised arm he’d lamented earlier, he winces, now he’s made a fool of himself, it is not the first time, somehow, he always seems to end up in these situations, the cruelty of fate, or perhaps simply the cruelty of Mementos.

He looks past the stranger and at the Kelpie, who seems to have stopped in the presence of an actual Persona user.

“ Oh -- ! Mishima-kun, do you have a second? ” Ann fixes the strap of her bag as she comes to stand next to him, securing it over her shoulder.  “ I was wondering if you’d wanna hang out sometime? I mean, if you aren’t too busy or anything...? There’s this new cafe I was hoping to try -- and I kind of wanted to talk with you, too. ”

At first, he hadn’t been totally sold on Mishima picking up shifts at Untouchable. Iwai wasn’t exactly looking to make a habit out of hiring boy’s his son’s age, and especially not with his clientele, but damn if Mishima hadn’t gone from a know nothing to one hell of an enthusiast - and quick.

Kid learned fast, and was eager as hell. Sometimes he was better informed than the shop owner himself on some of the newer models, and he couldn’t turn a blind eye to that kind of dedication. Plus, sometimes it seemed like the kid didn’t have much to do. Was offering to design his website, asking about the same models he had the week before like he was trying to stall leaving. None of these behaviors were new to Iwai, not when they were all things he’d done. 

Things he’d done, right before he got involved with the Yakuza.

But, since offering to hire him, he had a star employee. Not to mention, it was nice to have a softer face for new enthusiasts who found Iwai gruff and intimidating. Hell, even Kaoru loved Mishima, getting those same starry eyes he got around Kurusu, definitely starting to look up to him like a big brother. 

All this to say, he’s gotten damn good at reading this kid. His face is a wide open book, and everything about him, right down to the drooped shoulders says bummed out. Could be about anything, considering Mishima’s right in the midst of high school, but never hurt to ask, right?

👀