Chapter Text
Akira is on a train.
This would be normal, except he vividly remembers being erased from existence.
Was it a dream?
No, no. Maybe it was. If it was then it’s okay. Everyone’s okay if it was a dream.
He takes out his phone, ready to look back at texts, ready to make sure–
April 9th greets him on the lockscreen.
No.
There’s no plethora of contacts. No familiar names. Just “Mom” and “Dad” and messages weeks old. None of his friends, his team, not Takemi or Iwai or–
It’s his stop.
Akira hurries off the train, into the Scramble crossing, and–
His phone buzzes.
The app appears, just like before.
Arsene appears, just like before.
No.
The flames soothe his panic long enough to get to Leblanc, long enough to get through the rough introductions with Sojiro, long enough to–
He’s on the couch, sitting there despite the dust, and–
Akira
Falls
Falls against the panic building in his chest.
Falls into breathing, into shaking, because–
He can’t.
This is a dream.
He can’t be alone again.
He can’t.
He’s falling and falling and–
“Kid?”
Akira’s head snaps up as Sojiro walks in, and looks at him.
He can’t speak, he can’t.
He doesn’t know what Sojiro sees, but he sighs. “I’ll leave some curry in the fridge for you, alright? Don’t expect it all the time.”
He nods.
He can’t do anything else. Can’t say thank you or Got it boss or I could help cook sometime, can’t ask how’s Futaba because he isn’t sure she’s real, now.
Did he dream it?
Did he die?
This is death. Leblanc and loneliness.
(Caroline and Justine, at least, are familiar. Igor as well. None acknowledge the strangeness of a second meeting on the same day, but at least something else is the same).
Akira stands in the cafe, staring at the plate of curry before him.
“Please,” barely a whisper in his throat. Tears unshed. “Please. I can’t do this alone.”
A murmur, soft within his head,
Were your previous decisions mistakes?
Even as he shakes, even as he fails to eat for the anxiety tying his stomach in knots, he grits his teeth and says, “No.”
Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice, thy vow will be reforged when it comes time. Though thou be chained to hell itself, thou art not chained alone.
“Arsene,” he replies, soft. Fire does not trail up his arms, his clothes do not change, but warmth resides in his heart.
(It’s foolish, it’s so foolish, to whisper the name to himself in this shop. It is never just to himself. Futaba is safe, though. Safe to hear stolen moments, safe to know that something is strange)
I will always be with thee, Trickster. Our vow is not yet forged, but thou shalt never be abandoned by thine rebel soul, lest thou forsake it.
There is still panic in his chest, and he doesn’t think he can eat, but–
He will anyway.
Sojiro left it for him, he has to prove that he appreciates it.
(He manages most of it).