Chapter Text
There’s a Lost girl that’s been hanging around outside the dorm. She sits on the ground against the fence that runs along the shrubs. With the full moon approaching the Lost are everywhere, but this one keeps coming back and she’s a little worse every time. She’d been there during the last full moon too, but that time she’d been at least semi-capable of forming words. Now her laboured breathing is the only sign she’s not dead.
Minato sits on the front steps, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee as he watches her. The steam curls up, warming his face and the underside of his jaw. There’s nothing in her dull eyes. She’s just staring somewhere across the road with her mouth hanging open. Minato takes a small sip of coffee.
“You’re creeping everyone out, you know,” he tells her, looking down at his feet. There’s a flier trapped under his shoe so he reaches down to pick it up. “They think you’re weird.”
It’s for some local bands he’s never heard of before, playing at some small club. He gets handed these sometimes by people with piercings dotting their faces because messy blue hair makes them think he looks like one of them. The kind of person who goes to these shows.
“That doesn’t even bother you, does it?”
A distant shout catches his attention and he looks across the street at a loud group of teenagers walking together. They’re laughing, teasing one of their number, but he’s laughing too. From watching people in school, Minato’s noticed there are friends do that. Somehow, it’s different than the bullying he’s seen over the years and done nothing about. ‘All in good fun,’ people always say.
“Maybe they’re right. You’re not how people are supposed to be. They’re supposed to laugh and cry and get mad and…”
Those teens across the road – people his age, people he should be able to relate to – they look like the kinds of people who would go to one of those shows.
It’s not that Minato’s not. He’s heard some good unsigned bands before, but he’s never been to see any play. Not for lack of interest, but more a lack of friends. Showing up alone is embarrassing and even if he did, being surrounded by loud and screaming people, pressed in close and sweating together – there are few things he hates more than Tartarus but that would be one of them.
“You ever go to concerts and stuff? Or were you some loner shut-in?”
Minato rests his chin on his hand. The girl makes a noise. It’s an excess of spit or something rattling in her throat. She shifts and drool starts trailing from her mouth. Minato stares at her, lip curling in disgust, then he gets to his feet and walks over to crouch before her. Coffee cup dangling between his knees in one hand, the other reaches up and uses his hoodie’s sleeve to wipe the spit from her chin.
“This is really fucking gross,” he complains, but he doesn’t stop. “How much of a fight do you put up every time the Shadows come for you? Or are you just kind of secretly hoping…?”
The way his arm presses against her, it upsets the small amount of balance her neck was providing and her head rolls onto her shoulder. He stares for a moment before taking pity on her and fixing it. He’s fallen asleep with his head angled like that before and it’s never comfortable.
“Hey,” he whispers, “how good are you at keeping secrets?”
Minato sits before her and crosses his legs. He takes another sip from his coffee. The caffeine’s not making him any less tired; all it’s doing is speeding up his heart. But it’s not like he’s about to stop drinking it.
“Don’t tell anyone but I don’t really want to be here.” Being here means fighting – with each other, with Shadows, with himself. He doesn’t want to fight and he definitely doesn’t want to lead. But he’s got no choice. “I mean, don’t get me wrong - they gave me the option to say no, but what kind of person would take it? Whatever else is wrong with me, I’ve still got a set of morals.”
The Lost girl, she makes no noise and blinks once. Minato stares. And stares and stares.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He looks over his shoulder. Shinjiro’s standing at the foot of the stairs with a brown paper bag in his arm, full of food.
“Making a friend,” Minato intones.
“Christ…”
He takes another sip of coffee. “You got anything in there I could give her? I don’t think she’s eaten for a while.”
Shinjiro frowns and shakes his head. “Just call the hotline. They’ll come pick her up, find her family.”
Minato makes a doubtful noise and turns back to her. He can hear Shinjiro shuffling and scraping his shoes against the concrete as he walks, then he appears at Minato’s side holding out a hand.
“C’mon, idiot, let’s get inside. It’s cold as hell out here and you’re gonna get sick if you keep sitting on the ground.”
“It’s not that cold,” Minato mumbles. Shinjiro’s hand is still there, so he tilts his head until he can’t see it, resting his cheek against his palm. The weight of his head smooshes his mouth to the side so his words come out a little slurred. “What if she doesn’t have any family?”
Shinjiro sighs so quietly he can barely hear it. “Does it matter? What can we do about it?”
Minato almost smiles. It’s nice that Shinjiro doesn’t bullshit, doesn’t offer any false confidence; he likes that about him. He likes that ‘we,’ too. He reaches up and takes the hand still being offered. Shinjiro makes to pull it away as soon as he’s on his feet, but Minato tightens his grip and won’t let him. Only two tugs and Shinjiro gives up, instead readjusting their fingers into something more comfortable.
“You know, if I couldn’t summon a Persona, I bet that would be me sitting there.”
“But it’s not. Stop thinking about unnecessary shit. Didn’t think I’d have to tell you that.”
Then Minato really does smile, which Shinjiro just looks confused about. He’s tugging on Minato’s hand again, halfway through saying something – what, Minato isn’t listening, he doesn’t know – but he interrupts whatever it is with an, “I like you.”
“You –” Shinjiro sighs again and turns his head away but his blush is plain as day. “I know that. You told me that before.”
“Yeah.” But it's important. But he doesn't say that.
Instead Minato shrugs and finally lets himself be led up the stairs, until Shinjiro stops on the top step and turns to look at him. There’s something tight about his face, something sad as he lets go of Minato’s hand and shifts his grip on the groceries. He pushes Minato’s hood back a little, brushes his bangs out of the way, and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I’m only gonna say this once, but you’re a fighter. Give yourself more credit.”
It’s not a compliment he feels he deserves but he closes his eyes and accepts it anyway. Up close, Shinjiro smells like nothing special; just laundry soap, deodorant, and whatever body wash he uses all mixing together to make a scent that’s him. A scent that Minato thinks he might equate with home if he knew what a home smelled like.
He turns his head as Shinjiro presses a second kiss to his cheek and his eyes fall on the girl. She still hasn’t moved at all.
“Let’s go inside,” Minato mumbles, lifting his hand to rest against Shinjiro’s jaw and rubbing his thumb against the faintest trace of stubble. “We should call that number. And… I guess I’ll let everyone know we're going to Tartarus tonight.”
“You sure you’re up for that? You look like shit.”
“Heh. I’ll be alright. The next full moon’s, what, on the 4th? That’s soon, so,” Minato shrugs and wears a sardonic smirk, “gotta be ready, right?”
Minato barely tries keeping the bitter listlessness out of his voice and Shinjiro must pick up on it because he grabs his hand again, firmer this time and with a frown. Minato half expects him to say some shit about sucking it up and persevering, it's what a fighter would do, but instead he's surprised by Shinjiro sighing and mumbling, “Look, just - just for tonight, we’ll stay in. You look dead on your feet, so… I’ll cook you something good for energy. Then we’ll just relax. Spend some time together or - or something.”
“Hmm.” It’s surprising to say the least but Minato's not about to put up a fight against an offer like that, so he smiles and nods. “I’d like that.”