Twilight Starr

The world is blurry as he slowly blinks away the haze. He doesn’t feel like he’s still all there. After being sent flying and landing squarely on his stomach a good few feet away from where their fight just took place, Akira isn’t sure if he will ever be all there. No, he’s pretty sure this is where their journey ends if the victor doesn’t care to show them mercy. And, why? When they’re so close, why does it have to end here?

And, why? Why didn’t he side with them? Why couldn’t Akira convince him? What did he miss? What did he—

In his mess of thoughts, he hears someone swear, their executioner. But the words he says make Akira wonder if he’s genuinely hearing him at all.

“...Not this time either, huh? Am I truly so overwhelming?”

None of the disdain from before. The hatred dripping from everyone — no, the emptiness, the futility in his tone makes that all seem so far away. A mask.

Akira blinks again and tries to look at his friends. It hurts to move, but he has to. He has to know if they’re okay. Right across from him he can see Ann and Ryuji unmoving, a pain shoots in his heart. He needs to summon a persona and heal them before it’s too late. Agonizingly slow, he manages to turn his head more to look around. Makoto fidgets a little and Futaba releases a low groan. Morgana begins to push himself up a little, muttering Akira’s name before collapsing once more. Haru and Yusuke remain silent on the opposite side of him just like Ann and Ryuji. 

How did he fail them so badly?

Akira hears footsteps behind him and knows full well that it’s him. Despite his body screaming at him to not move, he forces himself up and pushes his body off the ground. He tries to stand as he turns to face him, red mask fixed squarely on his face, movements slow, almost like he’s tired, but not from their fight surely. Akira doesn’t think he broke a sweat — they barely lifted a finger against him. Once on one knee, Akira grabs his dagger and tries to push himself up on the other leg but in the process loses his balance — he’s too weak; his legs are giving out on him. For a moment, it looked as if this shocked him — Crow, Akechi, Goro — and he almost seemed to reach out to maybe stop the inevitable fall, but Akira collides with grounds once more, squarely on his back this time and he stares at the ceiling. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have.

The footsteps grow closer and now Akechi is in his sights, looming above him. He would be a menacing presence — no, he still is even though Akira is terribly attracted to him for god knows what reasons. Even as he plays the role of Death for them, Akira can’t help but think about how much he meant — no means to him. Why?

Why didn’t he join them?

What was Akira missing?

What—

His broken thoughts shatter and stutter to a stop when he realizes that Akechi is now much closer to him, straddling him and a gloved hand rests slowly around his throat. Is he going to strangle him to death? It certainly feels cruel to do so when Akira can see the gun on his hip, but he feels the hand tighten ever so slightly, before relaxing and certainly feeling the way Akira swallows beneath him. He’s terrified and he’s ashamed to admit it. But as he’s certainly the only one who remains conscious and maybe the only one left alive now, he supposes it doesn’t matter what he feels when it’s inevitable. 

But he feels so warm as Akechi’s thumb swipes across his throat and he swallows once more, nervous — is he searching for his pulse point?

“I hate you,” Akechi says suddenly, but his voice cracks as he says it. “Why does it have to be me? Why, you? What is it about you…?” He shakes his head and Akira wants to ask what he means, but his voice doesn’t work. Then, Akira is looking at his handsome face as broken and somber as it is — empty yet devastated — he removes his mask so effortlessly and his brown hair falls into his eyes. A face Akira could never forget. “I hate you so much,” yet he gives the most terribly beautiful, yet heartbreaking smile Akira has ever seen from him. Those burgundy eyes filled with such a flurry of emotions. And as he leans further down and his hair is suddenly touching Akira’s mask, a quiet “Diarahan” leave his lips. Akira is too focused on the feeling of his lips against this to truly realize what’s happening — the life returning to his body, the feeling so intense that Akira truly feels the heat of the connection — what he would have missed with the growing numbness of his originally dying body.

Yet, when he parts from Akira, the feeling of his lips still lingers. He wants it again. Why now?

“Goro,” finally, his voice works. “Goro,” he repeats.

Akechi shakes his head, “It won’t matter. What you say won’t matter.” He drops his mask to the ground. “It won’t to you. It’ll be irrelevant. Don’t waste your breath and certainly don’t waste any more of my time. Not again. Fucking figure it out already.” But Akira doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

“What are you talking about?” Akira mutters reaching for the hand on his throat and it’s removed so easily that he knows there was no ill intent there. That he never meant to kill Akira that way — certainly not after healing him so.

“If you don’t know, it doesn’t matter,” Akechi replies simply, voice raw. 

“I love you,” Akira states it so plainly that he sees Akechi freeze. 

“You don’t— you can’t,” Akechi forces out. “I hate you.” He doesn’t though. Who kisses someone they hate? Who heals someone through a kiss if they wanted to kill them?

“But I do.”

Yet, it’s at that moment that Akira realizes that maybe the healing didn’t completely awaken his brain or his reaction speed. Even as he sees the gun pulled out from behind his back, even as he squeezes Akira’s hand ever so gently, even as he sees the gun pointed at his head, Akechi’s head, he doesn’t truly register what’s happening until it’s just too late. 

“Sleep and wake up again. Just as you always do.”

Shooting up, Akira reaches forward eyes wide with panic and fear—

Akira jolts up clutching his chest. It’s tight and he feels like he can’t breathe. There’s a name he wants to shout at the tip of his tongue but nothing comes out but an angry, sorrow-filled scream. He swallows and feels the faint lingering pressure of a hand on his throat, of something on his lips. Yet, even as Morgana calls out to him in concern, Akira feels like he’s so far away. An unnatural relief fills him that Morgana is there breathing, alive, and not dying, but he doesn’t know why he feels that way.

He doesn’t know why he’s so desperately reaching for his phone. It’s nighttime, but he’s searching through his phone. Scrolling through his contacts. Looking for a name he can’t remember. Looking for a number he certainly wouldn’t recognize. Looking for… 

The screen is blurry and it’s only when he feels a wet drop hit his thumb and another one land on his phone does he realize it.

He’s crying.

For who? For what?

What was he doing? Who is he looking for? And why does his heart feel so broken he can’t breathe?

Morgana’s cries for concern grow louder.

So do the cries in Akira’s heart for a thing he can’t remember. There’s an emptiness he can’t explain, but he knows it hurts. A pain that can’t be cured.

The last one hurts the most because it is truly Akira’s biggest fear. It’s what drove him down a spiral of depression for a long time. He refused help — didn’t want it, nothing would bring him back. Yet, when given a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth chance by some whimsical god, Akira did everything he could to make sure they all make it out alive and relatively happy.

So if, in the time that Akira has taken his eyes off of him, he perished in some way shape, or form, devastated wouldn’t ever be able to fully encapsulate the feelings Akira has.

Because despite everything, Akira loves him. He feels like maybe he’s still too young to understand that concept. Yes, he lived a time after all of the events of their high school. Yes, in all technicality, despite being in the body of a 17-year-old, mentally he should at least be over 20. He doesn’t feel like it though. He’s still figuring himself out. Trying to understand what it means to be Akira Kurusu. He spent so much time trying to be nothing to get through his probation. Wearing these glasses that, at this point, he just likes them more than anything else. Keeping his hair messy, a low profile — Akira’s will exists but he feels like he still doesn’t know who he is.

It sucks.

The bell rings and Akira looks up immediately from his phone. Morgana, who had been taking a nap on the stool beside him, opens one eye as an ear perks.

“Oh, he’s here is he?” Morgana asks as the figure walks towards him.

“Sorry,” Akechi says and Akira can only smile in relief. “Why do you look like that?”

“Thought something happened,” Akira answers honestly.

Akechi shrugs, “I had to take care of some things with Sae and I lost track of time.” He looks at Morgana before taking the seat on the other side of Akira. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I know your time is ever so precious.”

“Yes,” Akira smirks. “Time is fleeting — especially my time here.”

Akechi manages a small smile, “Why did you call me out here?”

“I wanted to say goodbye,” Akira answers softly. “I’m heading home.”

“You are?” Akechi straightens a little at that. Akira nods. “I see.” Akira supposes that maybe he should have prefaced this meeting with that. So he knew of Akira’s plans and intentions. “Well, safe travels then.”

It annoys him a little with how dismissive Akechi is about all of this. Does he really mean nothing to him after all of this? Everything they’ve been through together. Those little moments… the moments where they did truly confess their feelings to one another — is that nothing now that they’re out of the loop?

“I’m thinking, Akira. Something you tell me I do too much of apparently,” Akechi reads his mind and runs a hand through his hair. He’s gotten good at reading his mind — after so many attempts, so many small moments together — it seems that Akira isn’t quite as unreadable as previously believed. At least, maybe to Akechi right now. “After everything, it feels surreal that we’re out, yes? Five tries and we’re out… And now you’re leaving.”

“I don’t want to,” Akira confesses. “I’d rather stay.” His gaze shifts to where Morgana was, but he seems to have vanished at some point during this conversation. “I want to be with my friends. With you. I won’t be gone forever, I’ll visit, maybe even come back and stay after finishing high school.”

“You want to work here for the rest of your life?” it’s in jest, but it’s something Akira has seriously considered.

"Maybe," Akira answers honestly. "What are you going to do?"

Akechi hums for a long moment. He stares off and Akira realizes that maybe he should fix him a coffee one last time before he has to head home. He walks behind the bar and begins working on a cup — just for Akechi. Akechi watches him work for a moment before shifting his attention off to the side somewhere.

“I’ll stay here for a little,” he answers. “Then, I might consider doing some traveling. I’ve always wanted to after all.”

“For what? To where?” Akira asks curiously.

“Maybe somewhere in Europe,” Akechi elaborates. “Not sure where.”

“Europe?” Akira swallows. “I at least thought you were going to stay in Japan.” Akechi only shrugs again. “Well, take me with you if you go.” Akira focuses on the coffee he’s making, but he hears Akechi snort in amusement.

“Sure, I’ll just abscond with you to Europe. I’m positive I’ll get away with that,” Akechi shakes his head. “Your friends would never let you go anywhere with me alone.”

Akira doesn’t think that’s true. Not anymore. They’ve gotten over that a bit. Slightly. There’s still a lot of work to be done. However, he doesn’t think they would have Akechi’s head if Akira chooses to go somewhere with him — he’s capable of making his own decisions after all doesn’t need a babysitter to do it.

Akechi takes the coffee carefully and blows gently, “I think you underestimate how protective your friends are of you. Especially when it comes to me. They don’t like me Akira.”

Akira wants to argue that point, but he genuinely doesn’t know if that’s the case or not. He doesn’t want to speak for them — he just knows that if anyone hates him still it would be Futaba and he already knows he’s going to have to have a bunch of conversations with her regarding not having to associate with Akechi anymore. Akechi doesn’t want anything to do with them after all so Akira thinks it’ll be easy.

Relatively.

Maybe.

“Don’t be a stranger if you do though,” Akira mumbles after a moment staring at Akechi intensely. Akechi looks up from his coffee and frowns a little under Akira’s intense gaze. “I don’t expect you to bring me with you even if I wished you would. Just… don’t forget I exist. Not after everything, please.”

“I…” Akechi clears his throat. “I won’t. Couldn’t if I tried. Seeing as you weaseled your way into my life with no signs of leaving.”

Akira laughs and sees Akechi manage a small smile. He will miss this. The small moments that they can have together. Akira will be going back home to finish his final year in high school, Akechi will be moving on with his life as a detective, and the others… well, he knows that he’ll be trying to spend as much time with them as possible. His best friends that have through all of this with him — the craziness that was the loops…

Hopefully, that’s it.

Akira leans over and gives Akechi a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Promise me, you won’t be a stranger,” he whispers as he pulls away. Akechi has the nerve to look annoyed at the sign of affection — as if Akira hadn’t done this before to him. “Akechi?”

“Fine, yes. I promise,” Akechi grumbles. “Just stop looking at me like that.”

Akira doesn’t know what way he’s looking at him, but if it’s what gets him to be sincere, Akira will have to remember it some more.

Carefully, as the sun sets outside, just as this chapter ends — the loops — Akira takes Akechi’s hand in his and gives it a slight squeeze. The brunette sighs and gives him a small smile. Not used to this kind of sincere affection — something he’s never been granted in his life. Akira hopes that this isn’t the last time. They had to have been given this second — or fifth chance — for a reason.

Right?