Archive of Our Own

He was dreaming. He could tell from the way the road was lined with an eerie green light, one that he hadn’t seen in close to four years, now.

He glanced around, trying to gather his bearings. There was blood by his feet, and a crumpled mess on the floor. Takaya was scowling, Ken was screaming, and that mess…

“Shinji!” he yelled. The name burst out of him, reactionary. He would not lose his best friend again, would not lose his best friend again. Not even in a dream, a dream that was unrealistic and unbelievable.

But he was too late this time. Takaya fired the gun again and disappeared, leaving him with only Shinji’s corpse and Ken’s bleeding body.

“Please, don’t die. Both of you, you can’t die,” he sobbed, begged. He was a failure, a gods-damned failure, and what else was he good for? Nothing, nothing at all. He lowered his head and screamed.

And then he woke up in a cold sweat, the covers tangled in his limbs. Distantly, the hair dryer droned on. He wiped his brow and swallowed dryly. He was alright. It was all over.

“It’s alright,” he murmured.

“Did you say something?” Mitsuru asked. Moments later, the hair dryer stopped. She rounded the corner, appearing from the bathroom, and approached the bed.

“It’s nothing,” he managed to say, although regretted it as soon as he saw her eyebrows furrow. He pulled her in to kiss her softly, and the frown slowly left her face.

“You have lipstick on your mouth,” she commented before standing and smoothing out her jacket. “I’ll be going now. Don’t be late for work. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. Take care.” When the front door closed, he leaned back and sighed.

It was Miki this time. He hadn’t dreamt of her death since he gave that rabbit doll to Minako. He thought he’d gotten over it when he laid it to rest in Minako’s casket.

Clearly, he hadn’t.

Smoke clogged his senses, and he coughed violently while screwing his eyes shut. “Miki!” he tried to shout, but he just couldn’t stop coughing. Dimly, he wondered it this was how Miki had felt when she died.

When he forced himself to look up, he was greeted with the familiar sight of a burning orphanage. The structure was collapsing in on itself, wood disintegrating into ash before his eyes. He didn’t dare to close them (just as it was in reality), trying to make out a silhouette in the eye-scorching flames.

There it was. A tiny black blur amongst the raging fires, a child that barely reached his thigh as he stood at twenty-one years old. That was how small she had been when she died.

“Miki!” His throat felt raw, and not from the smoke.

The flames cleared away. The black silhouette morphed and stretched and—oh.

Shinji stared back at him, eyes guarded. Beside him, Minako waved.

He understood, now, what this nightmare was tormenting him about.

“Don’t leave!” He yelled, but of course they didn’t dare listen to him. They had their own fates to follow.

Shinji glanced over at Minako, who smiled up at him and took his hand. Akihiko tried to move, tried to stop them, but his foot were rooted in the ground.

“Don’t go!”

They looked over at him, staring with owlish eyes. Akihiko reached his hand out; the only thing in his mind was to save them, to stop them from leaving.

They disappeared, flecks of darkness crumbing like ash. He choked hoarsely, forcing himself to hold back his tears.

Just let it be over. He was begging the cruel gods above. Let it be over. Let his suffering end, let it all be over—

The ashes swirled and gathered, gaining the form of another person. This time, he couldn’t help but let out an agonized scream.

No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t. But he was screaming without even thinking.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go—“

Her lips were moving, mouthing his name. The fire ate her up, melting her shadowy figure away. She was ice and that was fire and now she was gone, mouthing, calling, screaming, screaming—

“Akihiko!”

Mitsuru’s voice startled him out of his dream, and the cold hand she placed on his cheek helped pull him back into consciousness. He forced his eyes open, finding that he was heaving for breath.

“...A nightmare?” she asked gently, carding her nails softly against his scalp. He covered her hand with his, leaning into her touch, and simply nodded. He was too terrified to even try and hide it at this point. “Would you like to talk about it?”

He shook his head, taking ragged breaths. Rhythmically, she ran her thumb along his cheekbone.

“You’re alright,” she repeated coaxingly, “you’re alright. Breathe, Akihiko. Breathe.” Akihiko swallowed dryly, trying to clear his head. Mitsuru combed her hand through his short hair, whispering comforts in his ear.

“Mi—” he started, and then screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t even say her name without thinking of her silhouette, consumed by fire.

She shushed him and kissed his cheek. His hand fell between them and she took it in hers, running her thumb along her knuckles.

“Mitsuru,” he tried again, and managed to get it out. She was staring at him when he opened his eyes, silently urging him to speak. “Do you,” he said, and then swallowed to clear the rasp from his throat. He could smell smoke rising in the distance, and shook it away. “Do you ever feel like, no matter how hard you try, the people you want to protect always leave?”

She stared at him and then let out a breath. “Oh, Akihiko.” She slipped her arms around his neck, pressed his back onto the bed, and kissed him. Her hair fell around them, as if shielding him from the nighttime terrors he had faced.

When she pulled away, she settled on top of him and crossed her arms, propping herself up.

“Have you ever heard,” she began with a steady voice, “about the myths pertaining to Ariadne?”

“Who?” he asked. It was all a ploy to distract him, he knew it, but he didn’t care. Anything to get his mind off of that god-damned nightmare.

“Ariadne. The goddess of the labyrinth, vegetation, fertilization, snakes, and passion.”

“How do you know this?” he asked breathlessly. Her thumb brushed over the slim scar that intersected with his left eyebrow.

“Surely you must have been curious about your Persona’s origins when you first awakened it, non?”

“I was a rambunctious teen, Mitsuru. Food for thought didn’t really exist back then.”

“Is that so?”

He raised his hand up, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Mhm.”

“Well, I took up an interest in Greek mythology sometime into our first year of high school due to our Personas and their origins. That’s when I first discovered the tales of Ariadne.”

“What happened to her?” Akihiko asked, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Interested, are we?” Mitsuru chuckled. Her thumbs pressed down against his eyebrows before her fingers flitted down, a trail of warmth left in her wake.

Akihiko just smiled and she smiled back, kissing him gently on his forehead. “Maybe,” he responded with a soft voice.

“Well, if you’re so interested,” Mitsuru began, “the myths say Ariadne was once a mortal before she ascended to goddesshood. She was the daughter of King Minos, the first King of Crete. She was the one who helped THeseus defeat the Minotaur and escape the labyrinth. They eloped some time after, although Theseus did not truly love her and so abandoned her on the shores of Naxon, where Dionysus found her and offered his hand in marriage.”

“That’s… that’s how she became a goddess?”

“Indeed. Although, if it makes you feel better, Theseus was later trapped alongside Pirithous, his brother, in Hell by Hades for attempting to kidnap Persephone.”

“Good. He deserved it.” Akihiko combed his fingers through her hair. “Am…” he began, a tentative breach into the subject at hand. “Am I supposed to be Ariadne in this situation then?”

Pausing, Mitsuru frowned and then shrugged. The motion sent locks of hair tumbling over her shoulders and spilling onto his chest. “I suppose, although in that case I would be Dionysus.”

He knew what her answer would be, but he couldn’t help the sigh of relief that spilled out of him. She shook her head, laughing softly.

“Akihiko, you know I would never leave you.” Her tender words, so often left unspoken, shook him to his very core. He took her face in his hands and pulled her down to kiss her firmly, hoping she didn’t notice the forming of tears in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured when he pushed her away gently, “I know.” Unable to think of anything else (words always seemed to elude him when he was with her), he blurted out, “Tell me more.”

Mitsuru blinked. “About Ariadne?”

“Yeah. The Minotaur… what was that about?”

“You’ve never heard of the Minotaur?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to start from the beginning, then. The Minotaur was half-human and half-bull, born from the union of a mortal woman and the Cretan Bull. Because of this…”

Akihiko could feel his eyelids fluttering, growing heavy with sleep. She always made the world seem safer. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t afraid.

Mitsuru was still speaking, her voice like a soft song—dimly, he recalled the lullaby his mother used to sing to him and Miki before they were left to the care of the orphanage.

She was saying something about Ariadne, now. He let out a drowsy “mhm” and closed his eyes.

He felt a drowsy smile curl his lips up when he opened his eyes.

The sun had barely risen, stray beams of sunlight barely slipping past the curtains. He must have shifted in his sleep, because he was lying on his side. Mitsuru was too, although she was facing him. She smiled slightly.

“Good morning,” she greeted. He raised his hand and cupped her cheek, smiling back.

“Morning,” he replied, and shifted to tuck his head on top of hers. His arms circled her, and after a moment she laughed softly and hugged him back.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “...Sorry,” he managed to say after a moment.

“Is this a common occurrence that has gotten worse? Or is it new?”

“New,” he replied, sighing. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“You’ve apologized twice now,” she pointed out. “You needn’t apologize at all, Akihiko.”

“I—” An icy stare from Mitsuru cut him off.

“It’s not your fault, Akihiko. Having a nightmare is not something anyone ought to take blame for.”

He’d said those words to her before, when they were more than friends but less than lovers, toeing the line so very cautiously.

He opened his mouth to argue back, but all that came out was a soft “thank you” and a wheeze. In hindsight, arguing with Mitsuru was not a good idea.

She smiled softly. “I’m sure you want to say something else, Ariadne, but you ought to take your asthma medicine first.”

He felt his cheeks flush red. “Call me Ariadne again and I’ll make us both late for work.”

Mitsuru, in turn, kissed him chastely, pulling away when Akihiko’s phone began to ring. “I’ll get it,” she murmured, sitting up and answering the phone. “Detective Kurosawa?” Akihiko propped himself up on his elbows, watching her. “No, he’s alright… Are you sure? ...If you say so. Yes, I will tell him. Thank you. Take care, now.”

She hung up, and he frowned. “What was it?”

“The detective decided to give you the day off. He said you had been coming in these past few days looking very tired, and thought you might benefit from some rest.” Mitsuru placed his phone on the nightstand table and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “I believe he made a very good decision.”

“But the case—” Akihiko attempted to protest, sitting up.

“He said he will handle it,” Mitsuru cut in. She pushed herself off of the bed and dug through the nearby drawers. “Do you need water?”

“No, I’m okay.” Mitsuru popped open the cap and poured out a pill, handing it to him as she climbed back into bed.

“I love you,” he said.

“All I did was get you your medication.” Still she smiled, her eyes lighting up with glee.

“What, am I not allowed to tell my fiancé I love her?”

Mitsuru covered her laugh with her hand, attempting to hold onto her serious demeanor. “Just take the pill, Akihiko.”

He swallowed the pill and drew an arm around Mitsuru, pulling her closer; she leaned her head on his shoulder and a fountain of warmth bubbled to life in his heart.

“When are you leaving?” he asked, brushing a hand through her hair.

“I’ll stay home today,” she said after a moment of silence. “After all, Ariadne needs her god.”

“Don’t just say that so casually. You know I’m just going to deflower you the entire day, don’t you?”

“Why, of course. Don’t you remember what Ariadne was the goddess of?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It begins with a ‘p’.” A snicker escaped his lips, and she laughed. “You’ve been around Junpei too much.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I’m still not—wait, wait. Wait. Oh my god, Mitsuru—”

“What is it?”

“You’re a genius. You’re… I love you. I love you so much.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mon amour.”