Archive of Our Own

They were already waiting for him when he arrived at the dorm, suitcase in tow (provided by the Kirijo Group, of course. The orphanage wouldn’t even spare him three cents to buy a new backpack, let alone a suitcase).

Kirijo was sitting in the lounge. Next to her was a man in a gray suit. Both Kirijo and the gray-suited man stood at the same time when they saw Akihiko.

“Sanada Akihiko?” The man asked. Unable to find his voice, Akihiko just nodded. “I am Kirijo Takeharu, Mitsuru’s father. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Can I ask you something?” Akihiko blurted out. Kirijo’s father hesitated for a moment before giving him a firm nod. “Why does this happen? The Dark Hour, Tartarus. Everything.”

Kirijo’s gaze flitted up to her father’s face—was that a hint of nervousness in her eyes?—and stayed there, but her father’s expression didn’t change.

“Sit down, both of you,” was all he said.

“Sanada?”

He swallowed and gargled out a weak “here”. A sense of terror painted over his mind, and he braced himself for a series of questions. Kirijo had never seen him take medication before. Gods above, spare him from an interrogation. He knew she could worry like a mother hen sometimes. He wish she didn’t.

“What—oh.” She was standing in the kitchen door frame. He followed her gaze to the bottle of pills in his hand. In the pale moonlight, he knew she probably couldn’t make out what it was. “Is it for your asthma?”

“How did you know?”

“We asked you to fill out a medical form in order to move you into this dormitory, Sanada. Of course I know.”

“Oh.” He felt like an idiot. “Yeah. It’s not that bad. I only have to take them once a week. I don’t really mind. It’s just… whatever. I’ve gotten used to it.” Saying that, he capped the bottle and stored it away in the open cabinet. “Anyways. The mission.”

“Yes, the mission. We will be going out on our first residential mission tonight, and so my father sent me a message. It appears to be a list of advice.”

“That’ll be useful. We should probably read it before—”

The lights short-circuited, and everything became tinted with green light.

“—that happens.”

Kirijo sighed heavily and left her phone on the kitchen counter. “I suppose we will have to go out without that advice.”

Akihiko blew out a long breath, rolling his eyes. “Yeah.” Silently, they left the dorm. He stared up at the moon. It was beginning to grow, becoming full slowly yet steadily. He tore his attention away guiltily and turned to Kirijo. “Find anything?”

(The moon looked like that when the fire happened, some part of his mind whispered treacherously. He shoved it down and forced himself to stay calm.)

“The Dark hour just started, non? Give me a moment, Sanada.” She closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead. After a moment, she breathed, “there’s a civilian. They’re near… the Paulownia Mall.” Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. “Let’s go.”

He nodded mutely and followed after her.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find out that civilian was Shinji.

“Shinji!” Akihiko called, waving his hand. Shinji’s head shot up from where he was sitting on the bench by the fountain. Akihiko hurried to his side.

“What the hell’s going on?” Shinji asked as soon as both Akihiko and Kirijo were in earshot, standing up quickly. His hands were clenched at his side, the only sign that he had been ready to fight the strange creatures he’d no doubt seen crawling around.

“It’s called the Dark Hour,” Kirijo stated as she grabbed her Evoker out of her holster. “Take this.”

“Wh—”

“It’s not a gun,” Akihiko reassured. He shifted his weight. “We’ve gotta get going, Kirijo.”

“Aragaki, stay with Sanada. Do exactly as he says.”

“What about you?”

“I can act as support without my Evoker, Sanada. Do not worry about me.”

Shinji gave the two of them a strange look that Akihiko pointedly ignored.

“I’m not worrying about you,” he said instead, and found that it wasn’t a lie.

Mitsuru’s father paid them another visit the next week, and brought with him an Evoker and a man in a brown suit. They all gathered in the command room, the air tense and stiff.

“Aragaki Shinjiro?” Shinji started and nodded. “This is for you. Thank you for your cooperation.” Shinji took the suitcase and sat back down beside Akihiko. Kirijo bowed slightly to the other man.

“Ikutsuki-sensei. It has been a while.”

“You know him?” Akihiko asked.

“Indeed. He is Ikutsuki Shuji, one of the scientists that worked with my grandfather. He now works to help my father with the Dark Hour.”

“My apologies for coming by without giving you a notice beforehand,” Takeharu said. “However, this was an important decision that should be told to you all.”

“An important decision?” Akihiko echoed, frowning.

“Takeharu-san and I have decided that, in order to keep suspicions from rising on the school board, we will file you all under a club by the name of the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad. Quite a mouthful, isn’t it?” Ikutsuki chuckled. “Let’s call it S.E.E.S. for short. In doing this, we will be able to justify the seemingly random combination of students that end up living in the dorm.”

“But we’ll be a school club,” Akihiko pointed out, frowning. “Doesn’t that make it so that anyone can join?”

“We can put it down as an application-only club,” Kirijo replied, “and choose not to publicize it.”

“Exactly what I was going to say, Mitsuru.” Ikutsuki smiled. “As for the advisor, I will fill the role. This does mean, however, that Takeharu-san will not be visiting as often.”

The comment, Akihiko could tell, was directed at Kirijo. Out of the perennials of his eyes, he saw her sit up straighter before nodding.

“Very well.” Her voice didn’t shake. “And the president? This is a school club. There must be a president.”

Akihiko and Shinji both pointed at her. She glanced at their accusatory fingers before nodding.

“Very well. I will serve as president then.”

“My sincerest thanks to you all,” Kirijo’s father said. Akihiko tensed up as Kirijo’s father’s gaze swept over the inhabitants of the dorm, only to relax at the glimmering in his eye. Any sense of positive emotion from the head of the Kirijo Group equaled a success in Akihiko’s books.

“Now then,” Ikutsuki began, smiling, “why don’t we all start with a little ice breaker? Today, I will be performing my top ten jokes…”

The S.E.E.S members fled the room at Kirijo’s terrified mouthing of the word, “run”.

Akihiko was awoken by hurried knocking on his door. Outside, he heard Shinji mutter, “Screw this,” and his door opened.

Akihiko sat up when Shinji shook him, groaning. “What is it?”

“Hurry up.”

Akihiko took in the (now familiar) green tint to his room, and the red band attached to Shinji’s arm. Something clicked in his head and he scrambled out of bed, searching for his uniform. The distinct clacking of heels outside his room told him Kirijo was pacing in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Akihiko asked as he pulled on his dress shirt. He fumbled with the buttons, but Shinji threw Akihiko’s pants at him.

“Don’t have time for that shit. Fix it later.” Shinji jerked his head towards his door before leaving. Akihiko pulled on his pants and threw his red vest over his shoulder, taking a moment to strap his red S.E.E.S. band around his arm.

Kirijo was already going down the stairs, and Shinji followed her as soon as Akihiko left his room. He managed to get himself fully dressed before he made it downstairs, and Kirijo shifted her weight impatiently when he appeared.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

“I sensed something very… abnormal.” There was, for once, a glimmer of worry in her eyes. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “It was a large Shadow, in a residential area near here.”

“How large?” Akihiko asked.

“I don’t know. However, I believe it would behoove us to look into it.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “It is still there. Come with me.”

The two boys followed after her, Akihiko on her heels and Shinjiro trailing behind. In front of the dorm was Mitsuru’s motorcycle. He was about to mutter some joke to Shinjiro about how she was going to try and ride the thing around, until she actually pulled out her keys and started up the motorcycle. It hummed with power.

Akihiko stared at her with wide eyes. “It… works?” A glance at Shinji made him see that his friend was just as confused as him.

“The Shadow is down that way,” Kirijo said, pointing down the street as she mounted the bike. “We can use my motorcycle to travel.”

“That’s not gonna fit all of us,” Shinji pointed out bluntly. Kirijo smirked.

“It’s not meant to.” Her gaze turned to Akihiko, and he forced himself to suppress a shiver. “Get on. Aragaki will act as bait.”

Shinji scoffed, but Akihiko could see the glimmer of excitement in his friend’s eyes. “Fine. Where’m I leadin’ it?”

“Lead it over to the shrine. Sanada and I will hide and ambush it there.”

“Why can’t I be bait?” Akihiko wondered aloud.

“The enemy has an affinity for ice,” Kirijo responded, cutting in before Shinji could say something and they started an all-out fight. “I believe it does, at least, but it is best to be safe than to be sorry.”

“Oh.” His mind raced for another question (he wouldn’t be lying if he said he was a little jealous). “Wouldn’t it be best if you—oh, wait. Then… what about Shinji?”

“What about me?” His friend asked. “I’m not the one with an ice weakness, you dumbass. Get on the bike.” Shinji jerked his head toward Kirijo. Screw Shinji and his sixth sense for whenever Akihiko felt reluctant.

Kirijo pulled him up onto the motorcycle and handed him a helmet. “It’s my father’s, so it may be a little large.”

Akihiko shrugged and put it on. She was right, but it didn’t matter. Kirijo nodded at Shinji before revving up her motorcycle. They darted forward, and Akihiko suddenly didn’t believe in the laws of motion

“Holy shit,” he gasped, hands gripping tight around Kirijo’s waist. “Who taught you to drive, Kirijo!?”

“My father.” Because of course the multi-millionaire man who wore an eyepatch would drive a motorcycle like he was being chased down by the police. They hit a sharp turn, and he screwed his eyes shut.

“Kirijo, slow down—son of a—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Sanada.” Still, she slowed down marginally; Akihiko let out a sigh of relief. Sometimes, he swore she was going to be the second coming of his asthma problems.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

She stayed silent for a moment before glancing over her shoulder at him for a moment. “Why do you worry so much over my driving?”

“For one thing, you’re twenty miles over the speed limit. The other thing…” He didn’t want to answer.

“Your father.”

The world compressed around him; when he took his next breath, it hurt. “How’d you know?” The question came out much more accusatory than he meant for it to be.

“It gives me no pleasure to say this, but… the rumors in middle school.”

“...Oh.” His hands twitched slightly. If she felt it, she didn’t say anything. “Yeah. They were all true. I’d known for a while, but one of the kids at the orphanage decided to spread it as a rumor as revenge for not being able to join the boxing team. He thought it was my fault.” Spilling his heart to a near stranger was supposed to feel weird, but it didn’t. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“...I see,” she murmured. He could feel her shoulders tense up under her blouse. He cast his eyes out to the road and almost yelped.

“Kirijo, watch out—” he was cut off as she turned the motorcycle, hitting a sharp turn.

”C’est magnifique, Sanada!” she exclaimed as they skidded to a stop outside the shrine.

”Oui,” he responded breathlessly. It was all that was coming to mind. He didn’t expect her to laugh.

It sounded nice.

He wasn’t sure where it all went wrong. Maybe it was when the breath was almost knocked from Kirijo’s lungs after an unlucky Hama landed, or when Shinji began having trouble hitting the target.

It was one of those Shadows, those large and aggressive ones that threatened the peace of Tatsumi Port Island that they were trying to uphold. Kirijo gave it a quick analysis before the battle, but all they knew was that it was of the Moon Arcana and that it repelled light attacks.

One moment, he was casting Dia on Kirijo. The next moment, she was shielding him from whatever had happened to Shinji.

The Shadow lay in pieces on the floor. There’s blood. When Akihiko swallowed down the bile in his throat, he looked up and saw the mangled body of a person beside the Shadow. Shinji? No, Shinji was on the floor over there. Then whose…? Oh gods, there was a coffin missing from the side of the road, there was one but now there were none and no, it couldn’t be—

“Aragaki…” Kirijo breathed, and then coughed violently. Akihiko started and rested a hand on her back, only to stare at it when it came back blood-stained. The back of her blouse was torn. The pale skin beneath was covered with fresh blood.

“Shit…!” Akihiko pressed his hand down again and forced his mind to calm down, blurring out Polydeuces’ chattering. “Kirijo—”

She slumped onto the ground and he focused on the thrumming race of Kirijo’s heart, focused on directing Dia after Dia into her system. He watched the flesh of her back slowly stitch itself together, and exhaled with relief when she sat up gingerly, brushing a stray strand of hair covered in blood out of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered before jolting away from him and standing up. He swallowed and stood as well, ignoring the black dots that swamped his vision.

Kirijo was surveying the heap of damage. The Shadow was already fading away, dissipating in clouds of black, but the body on the street…

“What happened?” he managed to ask.

“Aragaki… he lost control.” Her voice was nothing similar to what he’s used to hearing it sound like. It was supposed to be confident, charismatic, mature. Instead, it was uncertain, unnerved, and unhappy.

“What does that mean?” he breathed. Kirijo opened her mouth to answer but a voice cut her off.

“I’m leavin’,” Shinji mumbled from his place on the ground, his eyes cast up at the green-tinted full moon of the Dark Hour.

“Shinjiro,” Kirijo said, and that surprised all of them into silence. “You don’t have to,” she said when she managed to find her voice.

“Kirijo’s right,” Akihiko added on, “it’s not your fault, Shinji.”

“Stop lying. It’s my fuckin’ fault, Aki. Just go. I ain’t coming back.”

“Shinji—”

“Just go. I can handle myself.” Shinji was right. He always was a minimalist—Akihiko was more than certain he’d be in and out of the dorm in less than an hour. Still, his heart throbbed at the thought of losing someone precious to him.

Kirijo turned away and nodded to Akihiko. “...You heard what he said,” she said, in an attempt to lead. “Let’s go.”

“...Okay.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Gods, what if he lost Shinji too. It would be like Miki all over again, gods, what if, what if Shinji—

Kirijo pulled him by his arm. He stumbled mindlessly after her, following her to her bike. His mind was still racing when she took out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, hitting one before offering her phone to Akihiko. He stared blankly at it.

“Sanada,” she murmured, “I understand that you are in shock. However, I need you to call my father. Could you please do that?”

He swallowed back the panic taking over his mind and nodded. She helped him up onto the bike before climbing on. The motorcycle rumbled as they rolled forward at a surprisingly normal speed. Akihiko had half a mind to thank her for not driving like a madwoman, but his mind was quickly devoured by worried and self-deprecating thoughts as he listened the ringing of the phone in his ear.

No matter what he did, his mind kept going back to Shinji. What else was someone supposed to do when the closest thing they had to a brother basically up and left them? It hurt to even breath. This really was going to like Miki all over again, he was going to be painfully powerless and, and—

“Mitsuru?”

Akihiko cleared his throat. “No. Sanada,” he mumbled.

“Is something the matter?” Kirijo’s father questioned.

“We had an incident.” He tried to report the happenings with the most neutral voice he could, although he knew it was taking quite a lot of effort on his end. He could feel a breakdown coming. Not now, he berated, not fucking now. “Shinji lost control. There was a citizen casualty.”

“Where’s Aragaki?” Kirijo’s father asked.

“Gone. Said he’s going to leave.” His hands were trembling. Kirijo suddenly pulled the motorcycle over. Akihiko glanced up and saw the Iwatodai Dorm, highlighted in the green tint of the Dark hour. She took the phone from him and put it up to her lips, setting it on speakerphone.

“Father,” she murmured as she turned around to face Akihiko. He stared blankly at her face. “Will you handle the casualty?”

“I will. Say nothing of this to the school, do you understand? Do not tell them that Aragaki has left.”

“And what of S.E.E.S.?”

“Continue on. I will not expressly forbid you from certain tasks. However, you must know your limits now as a two-person team rather than a three.” Akihiko squeezed his eyes shut at that. A cool hand rested on one of his shaking ones, and cooled the tingling pain in his lungs.

“I understand.”

“Mitsuru, Sanada,” her father said. “Will you be alright?”

Akihiko could feel Kirijo’s gaze on him, and he cleared his throat, opened his eyes before averting them off to the side. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “We’ll be fine.”

“Very well. Explain the situation to Ikutsuki when you return.” Takeharu hung up. Kirijo put her phone away before squeezing his hand.

“It’s going to scar,” he mumbled. He didn’t know why he thought of that just now.

Kirijo was still for a moment before her fingers moved, tracing over the veins of his hand. He was almost terrified by how well she could map out the scars beneath his gloves. He’d only shown her once. “My wound?” she inquired.

He nodded. He could sense that she wanted to talk about his wound, the invisible wound that would also leave a scar in his heart. He knew her better than he thought, he realized distantly.

“I know we have not been the best of friends,” she murmured, and he wanted to roll his eyes and say, no shit, but he knew she’d scold him and ask if the only words he knew in English were curses (they weren’t), “but you do not have to bear the burden by yourself.”

He stayed silent, only turned his gaze up to the dorm and felt pain continue to prick his lungs. He made to get off the motorcycle. Kirijo pulled him back down.

“Akihiko,” Mitsuru said, and his hand tightened. “I am here.”

He wasn’t sure what he tried to reply with, because when he opened his mouth he felt his eyes sting with tears.

It was two-twelve in the afternoon. The first bell had rung six hours and eighteen minutes ago. Kirijo—Mitsuru, he corrected—hadn’t woken him. There was a protein shake on his nightstand, and a note attached to it. Of course she didn’t just text him.

Please come to school if you feel up to it. If not, I will tell the teacher you are sick.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, laughing darkly. His chest hurt when he stopped. God, Shinji would’ve kicked his ass if he found out Akihiko was skipping school because of him. Shinji was never a coward.

Akihiko always was one.

Not for the first time, he wondered what Miki would have said if she saw him right now. He swallowed down the painful memory and clambered out of bed, searching his closet for his winter coat. He fished through the bathroom cabinets for a cough mask as he brushed his teeth. He wasn’t about to blow the cover Mitsuru had set up for him—mainly because he knew she would kick his ass if he did. And besides, he was feeling kind of sick.

He shoved his hand into his coat pocket and shut the dorm behind him, locking it with his key.

And then he was gone, his wandering feet leaving everything behind as he began to run. He ran as if hoping desperately that he could outrun the ghosts of his past, as if he could run from reality even though his reality was something straight out of a fantasy tale.

When he finally stopped to catch his breath, wincing every time his chest heaved, he found he had run right into his regrets.

He drew a one hundred yen coin from his pocket, dropping it into the offering box of Naganaki Shrine. This had been the place of their first major victory, he reminisced bitterly as he rang the bell and clapped his hands together.

“Oh gods,” he began, and already he could feel himself tearing up. He clamped his mouth shut and continued the prayer in his mind; yet, he felt his attention slipping and his lungs aching. Hurriedly, Akihiko finished the prayer and turned away from the shrine. Crap, crap, crap—

He managed to make it to the bench beside the playground, collapsing into it before the tears began again.

He was a failure, a god damn failure. The power to protect? As if. He’d never be strong enough, never was strong enough.

He wiped his eyes and let out a sigh, standing and climbing to the top of the jungle gym. Distantly, he remembered Miki’s laughing face and Shinji’s hidden smiles. He stared out at the horizon, wiping the streaks of tears off of his face and trying to find that perfect angle where he could breathe and not hurt. Gods, he hated himself.

A blur of red caught his eye, and he turned his gaze towards it.

Mitsuru was wearing the whole Gekkoukan uniform, which was a rare sight. She didn’t get cold very easily: the main reason she went without the blazer. Strangely, although he’d seen her torn shirt draped across the couch earlier, there was a white dress shirt peeking out from under the blazer. He wondered, dimly, where she had gotten that.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Student Council?” he asked.

Mitsuru pulled herself up the jungle gym with strong arms and confident steps, although she paused for a moment at the last rung. It was hard to navigate, even as a first-year in high school.

“Here.” He offered his hand and Mitsuru took it, letting Akihiko help her up. She took a seat next to him.

“I’m allowed to miss a meeting or two, especially when my dorm mate is nowhere to be found. You left this at school yesterday.” With gentle hands, she pressed his asthma pills into his hand. He held back a shiver as her fingers lingered on his palm for a moment before she pulled away. “Hiding from your fangirls?” She asked, but there was something soft in the words.

“No, but now that you mention it, I might as well be. Now I’m terrified that they’ll find out I’m not actually sick,” he replied, managing a smile. “I was praying.”

“For your sister?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t praying; he was wallowing in his failures, that was what he was doing. Gods, he hated himself. “Did anyone say anything about your uniform?” He asked, in an attempt to delay the inevitable conversation.

“I did receive a few strange looks, but no one said anything.” As if able to sense his next question, she continued, “This is actually your dress shirt.”

“...What?” For a second, all the terror and panic and anxiety that had been plaguing his thoughts fly out of his mind. He’d read about this before in those romance magazines he’d snuck into the dorm, and it really was as terrifying as they made it sound.

“My apologies. I meant to tell you in the note, but I… I fear I was running late.” There was a shy smile on her lips as she tugged at the collar of her (Akihiko’s) shirt—shy. Mitsuru and shy didn’t belong in the same sentence.

“You were?” His eyebrows shot up. Today was full of surprises, apparently.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and chuckled. “I was. Is it that hard to believe?”

Yes, he wanted to say, because he’d only just begun seeing her as a real friend, but instead he just nodded mutely. She smiled. There was a bittersweet sensation in the motion.

“I have heard that I give off that impression.”

Akihiko pursed his lips and turned his face away. He could feel her intense gaze resting on him.

“Tell me about Aragaki,” she murmured. “What was he like as a child?”

“Pretty much the same. He was hot-headed and arrogant and headstrong and too nice for his own good, even if he didn’t act it. He…” Akihiko swallowed, “he was like another brother to Miki. Wherever I couldn’t do something, he was always there to pick up the slack. I…” he paused, attempting to collect his words, “I know it’s dumb that I’m talking about him like he just died but I… I feel like I just lost Miki again!” He was yelling now, pouring out his soul. “I… I feel so powerless.”

“You are not.” Mitsuru’s voice was firm.

“Yes, I am,” he retorted bitterly.

“Akihiko, this incident is not your fault.”

“Stop lying, Mitsuru. It was my fault. If I was strong enough, I could have stopped him. Maybe I could’ve saved that woman. I could’ve stopped this whole thing.”

“If that is the case, then this incident is also my fault.” A wave of surprise caused him to turn his eyes onto Mitsuru. She returned his gaze with steadiness. “Have you heard the Kirijo family’s creed before?”

“I… maybe?” He might have heard it in passing, but there was nothing immediately coming to mind.

“My father used to recite it to me and make me repeat after him: ‘Two in harmony surpasses one in perfection’.” Her hand rested on his knee. “You needn’t bear the burden by yourself, Akihiko,” she whispered. “I may not be the greatest companion, or the person you wanted to become stuck with, but… you must know that I am here if you need me.”

“...Yeah. Thanks.” He didn’t have to force this smile; instead, he had to force back tears as he covered her hand with his. “We should get going.”

Mitsuru hummed in agreement and took a tentative step down the side of the jungle gym before leaping off. He followed suit, but didn’t miss the wince her regrounding elicited.

“Hey, don’t strain yourself,” he commented, reaching out to rest a hand on her back—just over the wound she had received last night.

“If you had not made me climb up there, I would not have had to strain myself,” she responded, gently pinching his arm. Still, she smiled gratefully.

He chuckled. “Point taken.” He followed Mitsuru away from the shrine, not bothering to look back at the offering box he’d been standing in front of his entire morning. “Want to stop by Chagall Café?”

“Akihiko…”

“Hey, if you’re going to ditch, might as well have fun doing it.”

“...Fine,” she relented, but he could tell she was enjoying this. “I’ll pay. If anyone spreads rumors, however, I expect you to fend them off.”

“Physically?”

“Akihiko, non.”

“Aw.”

Without a warning of any sort on a random August day of their second year, Polydeuces reared up in the back of his mind, kicking and screaming.

Akihiko forced himself to stay still, but took a cautionary glance around the classroom. Mitsuru met his gaze from across the room. His eyes drifted to the door and caught a glimpse of a girl in a pink sweater passing by their classroom. He turned his gaze back to Mitsuru and nodded. She stood and left the room, and he, in an attempt to keep a calm and collected image, returned his attention to the English textbook in front of him.

“Sanada-san, are you studying?” The questioner was a girl. Vaguely, he thought he’d heard her voice before. Was she friends with one of his classmates, or perhaps just one of those girls that chased aimlessly after him? He elected to keep his head down.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear? We have an English test today. I bet Sanada-san will be fine though.” Another girl piped up. He recognized her; she had been one of his classmates since middle school and often showed up to his boxing matches.

“I’m studying,” he informed mildly. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to catch the hidden message in his words.

“Why bother, Sanada-san? You’re super smart, I bet you’ll be fine.”

“Right? I—”

“Excuse me.” He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in when Mitsuru interrupted the squealing of the girls. They sputtered out apologies and hurried off, leaving Mitsuru staring at Akihiko. He stood and followed her into the corner of the classroom.

“So?” he asked softly, leaning against the wall.

“She is a first-year. I believe her name is Takeba Yukari. She has quite a bit of potential, to tell the truth. Penthesilea can sense it.”

“Do you know why they both reacted like they did?”

“I believe it may have something to do with her resolve. It was similar with you, Akihiko. She holds a resolve to get stronger, and so the Persona within her is struggling to be free. I believe, as a result, her Persona has reached out to those near her…”

“And we are the only people able to help her awaken, as we are Persona users,” Akihiko finished. Mitsuru nodded.

“Keep an eye out for her. We should have her transferred into our dorm as quickly as possible, for safety purposes. Then… we can explain to her.”

It had been close to a year since Shinji had left. Polydeuces hummed contentedly at the thought of another companion. He brushed his hand over Mitsuru’s as he headed back to his seat and felt Penthesilea chirp in his mind for a split second.

Mitsuru made a phone call to her father that night. As Akihiko listened to the low tones of their conversation, he wondered—for the first time in a while—what having a father would be like.

It was their third night in Yakushima when Mitsuru’s father called Akihiko into his office.

Akihiko knocked against the large office door.

“Come in.”

He opened the door and bowed. “Excuse me,” he murmured softly before closing the door behind him.

A lot had happened since Akihiko had last heard from Mitsuru’s father. The last time Akihiko could distinctly recall hearing directly from Mitsuru’s father was almost two years ago, when Mitsuru had called to inform him of Yukari’s potential. Now, they had assembled a team of Persona users strong enough to tear through Tartarus with little trouble, and could even afford to choose which members went on the missions.

“It has been a while, Kirijo-san,” he greeted. Mitsuru’s father did not spare him a smile, only nodded and gestured to a seat in front of his desk.

“Have a seat.”

Akihiko did as requested, running a hand self-consciously through his hair.

“I wished to speak with you about a few things.” Mitsuru’s father shuffled through a stack of papers. “I understand that you must be tired by this kind of talk, but I wanted to discuss your future.”

Akihiko forced himself to stifle a groan and nodded.

“Well then, I shall get straight to the point. The Kirijo Group would like to support you throughout college. It is our way of repaying the work you have done, and the wish to see you accomplish all that you have potential for comes from myself and Mitsuru.”

Well. This wasn’t how he had expected this conversation to go. He opened his mouth, and then shut it in silent contemplation.

“Really,” Akihiko began, “you don’t have to—”

“Do you wish to go to college?”

“Well, yes, but I… I don’t know what I would study. I just don’t want to go and realize that I wasted all your money. I’m still uncertain about college.”

“Mitsuru has pushed me many times to offer this to you, Sanada. Mitsuru has never expressed a wish so fervently, aside from this one.”

Akihiko’s voice became caught in his throat when he tried to speak, and he averted his gaze onto the faint moonlight beams streaming into the room from the large windows. Mitsuru had said so? Mitsuru, the elegantly terrifying Kirijo Mitsuru had done that for him? Oh, he was so screwed, he was so fucked—

“I do not believe you will be a waste of our money, as you believe you will be. In fact, I believe this will be an investment.”

“...Okay,” Akihiko responded, nodding. “I… thank you very much, Kirijo-san.” He stood and bowed deeply.

“Sanada,” Mitsuru’s father said as he took a seat again. “I am sure you are aware of Mitsuru’s duties as the next head of the Kirijo Group.”

“Yes, I do.”

“...What are your feelings about her?” Akihiko choked on his next breath and coughed, thumping his chest. “As I thought.” He did not like where this conversation was going anymore, he quickly decided.

“I—no, it’s not like that—”

“I can see that Mitsuru whole-heartedly trusts you, and vice versa. If you are to carry on your friendship as it is, it will inevitably reach a point in which it changes. I can see it in both of you. My question, now, is whether you are willing and ready to accept the responsibilities that you will face.”

Akihiko’s mouth was dry. “I…” For someone who had been put in an arranged marriage, he thought dimly, Mitsuru’s father sure knew a lot.

“Father?” Mitsuru’s voice echoed through the door, saving Akihiko from possible demise to angry father.

“Come in,” he said. Akihiko turned around as the door creaked open.

“My—Ah, Akihiko. There you are.”

“What’s the matter?” He asked, standing.

“It’s nothing serious, but I was wondering if I could speak with you in private. It’s about Aigis.”

Akihiko glanced back at Mitsuru’s father, his silhouette illuminated by the rising moon.

“Go on, Akihiko.” Takeharu smiled—the first one Akihiko had ever seen. Akihiko couldn’t help but smile back.

Mitsuru didn’t even try to fight him when he picked her up from beside her father’s corpse. Gently, he drew her into a one-armed hug and stood. She clung tight to him, still shaking with sobs. Her tears stained his shoulder as he held her, but he paid it no mind.

Wordlessly, they trudged out of Tartarus. Mitsuru’s tears had stopped by the time they left, but her weak steps and staccato breaths told him she was not ready, not yet.

They picked their way through the eerily lit streets, a group of teenagers too tired and terrified of the world’s cruelties. Minako glanced back at them, a pain-filled expression in her gaze. He recognized that expression—he was sure he also had the same fire of emotions reflected in his own eyes. It was that feeling of helplessness or self-hatred, of one or the other or both because they knew what it felt like but couldn’t do anything except help Mitsuru learn to walk again.

No one had anything to say when they returned to the dorm. Ken and Junpei trudged upstairs without another word. Yukari took a moment to look over everyone in case of injuries, and then went up to her room alongside Fuuka. Aigis collapsed onto the couch, and Minako stared at Akihiko.

“Explain to them,” Akihiko nodded towards the coffins in the lobby, “when the Dark Hour ends. Have them go pick up Takeharu’s—” he cut himself off then, the word “body” on the tip of his tongue. It didn’t feel right to say it. He wet his lips and took in a (pain-filled) breath. “Takeharu,” he corrected.

Minako nodded wordlessly, while Aigis simply stared at the two coffins with glassy eyes. He refocused his attention on Mitsuru, who was still clinging onto him. With a gentle push, they made their way upstairs, Koromaru trailing behind them patiently. Her steps were slow and her gait was staggering; by the time they made it to the second floor he could feel her trembling with tears now that they were away from the eyes of others.

He turned her toward the hallway, and when she didn’t protest he led her to his room. Koromaru padded forward and sat diligently outside his room, refusing to enter even when Akihiko opened the door to invite him in. Akihiko laughed gently and pet Koromaru’s head. Mitsuru stumbled blindly into Akihiko’s room, although he thought he heard her murmur a “thank you”.

And then he shut the door behind them and they were alone and she was crying, sobbing, letting it all out because there was only one man left in her life and it was him.

They were silent sobs—so fitting of Mitsuru—but they racked her entire body and made her shake with the force of a thousand stars. He held her with gentle arms, slowly rocking her like he would rock Miki when she used to have nightmares. Distantly, he was aware of the old wounds simply begging to be reopened.

“Akihiko.” His name was a breath on her lips, a warmth against his shoulder.

“What is it?” But not now. Besides, those old wounds were scars. They could not be reopened, only remembered.

“...May I stay?” A request. He knew how rare it was for her to make one. He brushed his thumb over the space between her shoulder blades, over that scar from when he had lost Shinji and almost lost Mitsuru, and held her closer.

Akihiko swore softly under his breath as he searched across the floor scattered with packed and untouched boxes alike. Something hard hit his arm, and he started.

“I believe you were looking for this.” His asthma pills rolled to a stop beside him, and he snatched them up, dumping them into a nearby box before standing.

“Thanks.”

“Akihiko,” Mitsuru began scoldingly, and he rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know. I’ll take care of myself, I promise.”

Mitsuru looked over the room. “It doesn’t seem like you packed much,” she commented.

“Well, I’m going to the local college. I don’t need to bring much. If I don’t like the dorms there, I can always move back in here.”

“That’s not allowed, Akihiko.”

“You can bend the rules for me.”

“Akihiko.”

“I can bend the rules myself, if you want?”

That comment elicited a laugh from Mitsuru, and got him chuckling as well. “I was wondering if you had a moment to spare.”

“What’s up?”

“I wished to speak with you before leaving.”

“Walk with me?” he suggested.

Something flickered in her eyes, and he tensed up. And then she smiled and nodded, whispered a “yes”, and he was seeing stars. Even after all this time, she still made him breathless.

The night was pitch black; over the horizon, he could see the moon rising. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he followed Mitsuru out of the dorm.

“Did my father ever tell you anything?” She questioned suddenly. It took a moment for Akihiko to find his voice again.

“Yeah. He told me lots of things.” A pause. “He was a great man.” Great was an understatement.

“Did he?”

“Most of it was to help me. Advice and such from his own life experiences.”

“Is that so?”

”Oui.”

“What did he say to you?”

Akihiko opened his mouth to respond, but laughed instead, laughed at the memory of Takeharu sitting in his office chair, talking with him until Mitsuru came looking for Akihiko.

“What are you laughing about, Akihiko?”

“Nothing,” he snorted, and stopped to catch his breath. She stopped beside him. After a moment, he reached out his hand.

Mitsuru met him halfway there, her fingers mapping out the network of scars beneath the black gloves. He turned his hand over, gripping hers. She paused for a moment, and he softened his grip. Had he crossed a line?

She pulled him closer and hugged him around the neck. He froze before hugging her back, arms wrapped tight around her waist.

“I still feel such guilt over forgetting,” Mitsuru confessed.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I know. Me too.” A pause. “You’ll come back, right?”

“Do you doubt me so, Akihiko?”

He laughed. “Nah, I was just wondering.”

“Of course I’ll come back, Akihiko. I…” she paused. “I could not leave you now.” Not after everything they had been through, everything they had suffered through side-by-side.

He just brushed his hand over the space between her shoulder blades; she just intertwined her fingers with his when she pulled away.

“...Mitsuru—” he started, and then stopped because his words had never spoken best for him.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, and then repeated it, “la lune est belle, n'est-ce pas?”, and “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” She hadn’t said it by mistake. He knew her better than that.

“Yeah,” he murmured, and squeezed her hand, “oui. Yes.”

They held onto each other during the walk back. Distantly, the memory of a boy with stuttering breaths and tears spilling down his eyes appeared in his mind. The moon, he observed, was growing. Just like when the fire happened.

It didn’t hurt to take another breath.