Archive of Our Own

[ pov ; 3rd person ]

“You've never been loved. I can tell.”
The words struck with the force of a hammer, blunt and unyielding. They cut through the air like a blade, slicing right into Minnie’s core.
Her face fell, the usual lightheartedness draining from it as if someone had flipped a switch. For a moment, she was silent, a deer caught in the headlights, too stunned to react.
She tried to muster a response, something to deflect the impact, but all that came was a weak laugh.

It was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth, a mere ghost of the humor she often relied on to mask discomfort.

Her hand drifted to the back of her neck, rubbing it awkwardly as her gaze darted to the floor, anywhere but at Akin.
But Akin was unrelenting, her focus sharp and unwavering. Seated in her wheelchair, she traced the curve of the armrests with her fingers, almost absently, yet her eyes never left Minnie's face.

There was no malice in them, just a steady, piercing clarity that saw straight through the defenses Minnie had been so carefully constructed.
“And yet you still push everyone away,” Akin continued, her voice carrying an almost accusatory edge, but tinged with something else—concern, perhaps, or understanding.

“You push everyone who cares about you away because you can't handle dealing with your emotions because you've never been taught how to. Right?”
Minnie shifted uncomfortably, her feet shuffling on the ground as if she could physically escape the words that were hitting too close to home.

Her mouth opened, a retort forming on his lips, but Akin was quicker. She wasn’t finished, and she wasn’t about to let Akin off the hook.
“That's why you hurt people who get too close,”

Akin pressed on, her tone firm yet not without a trace of compassion.

“You think if you push everyone away, or hurt them before they can hurt you, that’ll protect you. Because that's how you think it works. Well, newsflash, it doesn’t work that way.”
The truth of the words hung between them, undeniable and heavy.
Akin’s gaze softened just a fraction as she leaned forward slightly, still holding Minnie in sight.

“You're just being a bully, [I hate that word omg] Minnie. Cruel, even. But you’re not doing it because you want to be, you’re doing it because you’re scared. You need to give people a chance to help you, to show that we all care about you. But instead, you’re selfish, self-sacrificial. You think you need to be a hero, but you don’t. Not in your own story.”
The silence followed was thick, charged with the weight of Akin’s words. Minnie could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as she stood there, trying to process everything that had just been laid bare.
The scar wasn’t wrong—every word had hit the mark, stripping away the mask Minnie had hidden behind for so long.
But what did that mean?
Where did she go from here?
The fear, the pain, the instinct to protect herself by any means necessary—they were still there, deeply ingrained and hard to shake.

et Akin’s words lingered, challenging her to rethink, to reconsider. To realize that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face everything alone.
“You wanna go home, but you don't know where home is. Do you?” Akin's voice was steady, almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the weight behind her words.
She adjusted herself in her wheelchair, her eyes fixed on Minnie with a mix of concern and understanding.

The words struck deep as if Akin had reached into Minnie's very soul and pulled out the truth she'd been too afraid to admit even to herself.
Minnie’s breath hitched, her heart clenching as she looked away, her gaze flitting around the room—anywhere but at Akin.
The walls, the floor, the ceiling, they all became suddenly fascinating as she tried to find something, anything, to distract her from the conversation at hand.
She didn’t want to hear this.
Didn’t want to face the gnawing emptiness inside that Akin had just put into words.
“You feel like the group chat is your home, sure,” Akin continued, her tone softening, though it remained direct.

“We welcomed you here with open arms when you were abandoned by your old world. Sure, we don’t know the full story of what happened, but that doesn’t matter.”

She waved a hand dismissively as if to brush away any doubts or excuses that might have bubbled to the surface.
“You want to go home.” She repeated the words with a certainty that left no room for denial.
Minnie felt the truth of it like a punch to the gut.
She slowly exhaled, the breath shaky as it left her lungs, her eyes still darting around, refusing to settle on Akin.

The tears were threatening now, stinging the corners of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back.

But it was no use. The words were already forming on her lips, pushed out by the overwhelming tide of emotions he could no longer suppress.
“I... I do,” she finally admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of the confession. The words came out strained as if they were being dragged out of her against her will. “I want to go home.”
As she repeated the words, they grew softer, more fragile, until they were barely a whisper.
“I wanna go home.” Her voice trembled, trailing off as the first tear escaped, sliding down her cheek [heh.. Which cheek?~]. The tears were hot, burning with the pain she’d kept buried for so long.

It wasn’t just the physical place she missed—it was the feeling of belonging, of being somewhere where everything made sense, where she could let down her guard and just be.
Akin hesitated, the moment catching her off guard. She wasn’t used to seeing Minnie like this, so vulnerable, so raw.

But seeing the tears, seeing the usually composed Minnie unravel in front of him, stirred something deep within Akin. She looked at Minnie, her own heart aching for her friend [more than a friend./hj], and without a second thought, she wheeled her chair closer.
“C’mere,” Akin whispered, her voice soft and filled with compassion. She opened her arms, offering the comfort Minnie so desperately needed.

It was a silent invitation, a lifeline thrown to someone who was drowning in their own emotions.
Minnie didn’t hesitate.
She practically collapsed into Akin’s arms, her body trembling as he clung to him.
The dam had broken, and the tears flowed freely now, soaking into Akin’s shoulder as she buried her face against her.

Akin held her tightly, but carefully, mindful of Minnie’s fragility in this moment. She could feel the shuddering sobs wracking Minnie’s body, and her heart broke a little more with each one.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Akin murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she gently rubbed Minnie’s back.

The repetitive motion was soothing, an anchor in the storm of emotions Minnie was experiencing. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”
Minnie’s grip tightened as if she feared Akin might disappear if she let go. But Akin stayed right there, her presence a steady, reassuring force.

The room was quiet except for Minnie’s soft cries, but something was healing in that silence, in the simple act of being there for each other.
For the first time in a long while, Minnie didn’t feel the need to be strong or to push anyone away. In Akin’s arms, she found a moment of peace, a small escape from the emotions bottled inside.
And yet, Minnie’s thoughts still spiraled out of control as the words repeated over and over in his mind.
Home.
She didn’t even know what that meant anymore, but the need to find it, to feel it, consumed her.
The more she thought about it, the more the longing twisted inside her, tightening her chest until it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Her breath hitched, sharp and erratic, as the crushing realization settled in—she didn’t know where home was.
But she wanted to go home.
She needed to go home.
The thought echoed in her mind, growing louder and more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to feel safe again, to return to the place—or the people—who had once made her feel whole.

But when she tried to picture them, all she could see were vague, blurry faces, like ghosts drifting at the edge of her memory.

She couldn’t remember their names, couldn’t grasp any clear image of who they were, and that terrified her more than anything.
She hated it.
She hated the emptiness, the sense of loss that she couldn’t even fully understand.
She wanted to go home, but she didn’t know where that was.
The desperation clawed at her, each breath becoming a struggle as her chest constricted further, her lungs refusing to cooperate.
The tears that had started as a slow trickle turned into a torrent, and her breathing grew more frantic, more uneven.

She was gasping now, each breath coming in short, shallow bursts that did nothing to fill the void in her lungs.

Her vision blurred as panic set in, her mind racing, searching desperately for something to hold onto, but finding nothing.
Akin felt Minnie’s body trembling in her arms, the way her breath hitched and caught in his throat, and she knew immediately what was happening.

Minnie was spiraling, the overwhelming tide of emotions dragging her under.

Akin’s own heart pounded in her chest, but she forced himself to stay calm. Minnie needed her right now—needed someone to pull her back from the edge.
“Min, listen to me,” Akin said softly, her voice steady and firm, though her heart ached to see her friend like this.

She tightened his hold on Minnie, grounding her with the warmth of her embrace. “You need to breathe, okay? Just focus on your breathing.”
But Minnie couldn’t hear her, lost in the chaos of her mind, the word “home” repeating in a frantic loop that drowned out everything else.

Akin could feel the rapid, shallow breaths against her chest, the way Minnie’s body was tensing up, and she knew she had to do something—anything—to help her break free from the panic gripping her.
“Hey, hey, Min, look at me,” Akin urged, her voice a little louder now, more insistent, though still gentle.

She pulled back just enough to cup Minnie’s face in her hands, tilting it up so that their eyes met.

Minnie’s eyes were wide, filled with fear and desperation, the tears streaming down her cheeks uncontrollably.
“Breathe with me, okay?” Akin said, keeping her voice calm and steady, trying to anchor Minnie in the present moment. “Just focus on my voice. In… and out. Slowly. You can do this.”
She took a slow, deep breath, making sure Minnie could see and hear her do it. “In… and out.”
Minnie tried to follow, but her breaths were still shallow, and shaky, each one a battle against the tightness in her chest.

Akin’s thumbs gently brushed away the tears on her cheeks as she continued to guide her.
“That’s it. Just keep going. In… and out.” Akin’s voice was a lifeline, something for Minnie to cling to as she tried to force her lungs to cooperate.

She focused on the rhythm Akin was setting, trying to match it, but it was hard—so hard—when her mind kept screaming that she needed to go home, needed to find that place where everything would be okay.
But Akin didn’t let go.
She kept her hands on Minnie’s face, her eyes locked on Minnie’s, offering nothing but steady reassurance.
|
“I’m right here. You’re safe, Minnie. Just keep breathing with me.”
Slowly, painfully, Minnie’s breathing began to even out, the frantic gasps giving way to deeper, more controlled breaths.

The tears still flowed, but the overwhelming panic began to subside, replaced by an aching exhaustion that left Minnie feeling hollow.

She leaned heavily into Akin, her body limp, her breathing ragged but steady as she clung to the one person who hadn’t let her drown in her despair.
Akin didn’t say anything else for a long time, just held Minnie close, her hand continuing to rub soothing circles on her back.

The two of them sat there in the quiet, the storm of emotions slowly receding as Minnie’s breathing evened out, leaving behind the raw, aching need that had driven him to the brink.
Eventually, Akin spoke again, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We’ll find it together, Minnie. Whatever it is you’re looking for… we’ll find it together.”
Minnie nodded weakly against her, too drained to respond, but somehow, Akin’s words offered a small comfort.

She didn’t have to figure it all out alone. She didn’t have to carry the burden by herself. For now, that was enough.
Akin’s hands moved with a tenderness that was almost reverent as she gently wiped away Minnie’s tears with his thumb.

The motion was slow, and deliberate, as though Akin feared that any sudden movement might cause Minnie to break apart completely.

Her touch was light, almost feather-soft, as if she was handling something fragile, something that might shatter like broken glass at the slightest pressure.
Minnie’s breath was still uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves, but the panic that had gripped him earlier was beginning to ebb away, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that she couldn’t hide.
Her eyes, still wet with tears, searched Akin’s face, finding a calm reassurance there that anchored her, even as the remnants of his breakdown lingered.
Akin kept his gaze locked on Minnie’s, her eyes filled with warmth and care that spoke volumes.

There was no judgment, no impatience—just an unyielding sense of compassion that enveloped Minnie, offering her a safe space to fall apart without fear of rejection.

Akin’s thumb brushed away another tear, her touch so gentle that it was almost like a caress.
“You did so good, Minnie,” Akin murmured, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words were spoken with such quiet conviction that they seemed to wrap around Minnie like a comforting blanket.

She blinked, more tears welling up in response to the kindness in Akin’s voice, but these were different—not born from fear or pain, but from the overwhelming emotion that came with being truly seen and understood.
“You’re breathing,” Akin continued, his tone encouraging as he kept his hands resting lightly on Minnie’s face, her thumbs gently stroking her cheeks.

“You’re calming down. That’s not easy, but you did it. I’m proud of you for that.”
Minnie swallowed hard, trying to steady herself as the words sank in.
She felt a warmth spreading through her chest, a small flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a long time—pride.

Not just in the act of calming herself down, but in the simple fact that she was still here, still fighting, still living.
“And most of all,”

Akin said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, filled with a depth of emotion that made Minnie’s breath catch again, “I’m proud of you for living, Minnie. For making it this far. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. That’s something to be proud of.”
The words hit Minnie like a wave, crashing over her and nearly overwhelming her with their sincerity.
She’d never thought about it that way before—had never really allowed herself to acknowledge the strength it took just to keep going, to keep surviving.

But hearing it from Akin, feeling the truth of it in the way Akin held her, in the gentleness of her touch, made it impossible to deny.
Minnie’s vision blurred again, not with panic this time, but with the weight of Akin’s words, the genuine pride that shone in her eyes.
She tried to speak, to say something in return, but her throat was too tight, choked with emotion.

Instead, she leaned into Akin’s hand, letting the warmth of that simple contact seep into her, grounding her in the moment.
Akin seemed to sense the flood of emotions running through Minnie, and she responded by pulling her into another embrace, wrapping his arms around Minnie with a careful but firm hold.

She didn’t need words to convey her support; the steady beat of her heart against Minnie’s chest said everything that needed to be said.
“You’re strong, Min,” Akin whispered into her ear, her breath warm against Minnie’s skin.

“Stronger than you know. And no matter what, I’ll always be here to remind you of that.”
The words settled into Minnielike a balm, soothing the ache that had been gnawing at her for so long.

She felt the tension in her body start to release, her breathing finally evening out as she let herself be held, let herself be comforted without resistance.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Minnie allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t as alone as he’d always feared.

That maybe there was something worth fighting for, something worth living for.

And at that moment, with Akin’s arms around her and those quiet words of praise still echoing in her ears, Minnie felt a small spark of hope ignite in her heart.
And that, more than anything, made her feel like she was finally finding her way back home.
Minnie stayed in Akin's embrace for what felt like an eternity, each second stretching out as the warmth of Akin’s presence seeped deeper into her bones.

For the first time in a long while, Minnie allowed himself to simply exist at the moment, to feel the comfort of being held, of being cared for.

She wasn’t used to this—letting someone else see her so vulnerable, so broken.
But somehow, with Akin, it felt okay. Safe.
Eventually, Akin pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Minnie’s face. Her eyes scanned Minnie’s expression, searching for any sign of lingering distress.

When she saw that Minnie’s breathing had evened out, and the tears had finally stopped, she gave him a small, reassuring smile.
“There you are,” Akin said softly, her voice filled with quiet relief. “You’re going to be okay, Min. I promise.”
Minnie nodded, though her mind was still a whirlwind of emotions. She wasn’t sure if she believed Akin completely, but for now, the promise was enough.

It gave her something to hold onto, something to strive for. She wiped at her eyes, feeling the lingering dampness on her cheeks, [heh..] and took a deep, shuddering breath.

It felt like the first real breath she’d taken in a long time.
Akin seemed to sense Minnie’s need for space, and with a gentle pat on her back, she slowly released her from the hug.

Minnie hesitated for a moment, almost reluctant to let go, but then she straightened, trying to regain a semblance of composure.

She still felt raw, like an exposed nerve, but there was also a strange sense of calm settling over her, a quiet after the storm.
Akin watched her carefully, still keeping close, ready to offer support if Minie needed it.

Her eyes were soft, filled with understanding, but she didn’t push Minnie to speak or explain herself.

She knew that sometimes, the hardest battles were fought in silence, and she wasn’t about to force Minnie to say more than he was ready for.
After a few moments, Minnie finally found her voice, though it was quiet, almost hesitant.

“I… I don’t know what to say, Akin,” she admitted, her words halting as she struggled to express the tumult of emotions inside her. “I just… Thank you. For being here. For everything.”
Akin’s smile widened a genuine, warm expression that seemed to light up the room.

“You don’t have to thank me, Min,” she replied, her tone light but sincere. “That’s what best friends are for, right? We look out for each other.”
Minnie nodded again, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and something else—something that felt a lot like hope.

For so long, she’d carried the weight of her pain alone, afraid to let anyone in, afraid to be seen for who she was. But now, with Akin by her side, that burden felt just a little bit lighter.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, both of them taking a moment to simply breathe, to let the intensity of the past few minutes settle.

Minnie let his eyes wander around the familiar surroundings of Akin’s base, taking in the details with a new sense of clarity.

It was a safe place, a sanctuary, and for the first time in a long time, Minnie allowed herself to feel like she belonged there.
As she sat there, still close to Akin, Minnie’s thoughts began to shift.
The overwhelming need to find “home” was still there, but it didn’t feel quite as desperate, quite as unattainable as before.
Maybe, just maybe, home wasn’t a place at all.

Maybe it was a feeling—a sense of belonging, of being cared for, of knowing that there were people who would stand by you, no matter what.
Akin’s voice broke the silence, soft and contemplative. “You know, Min, I think… home isn’t always where we think it is. It’s not always about where you came from or where you’ve been.”

“Sometimes, it’s about the people you’re with, the ones who make you feel safe and cared for. The ones who stick with you, even when things get tough.”
Minnie looked at Akin, her heart aching with the truth of those words.

She didn’t have all the answers yet—didn’t know exactly where her journey would take her next—but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t alone anymore.

And maybe that was enough.
Akin seemed to read the emotions flickering across Minnie’s face, and she gave a small, encouraging nod.

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said gently. “We’ve got time. And you’ve got us. We’ll help you, Minnie, every step of the way.”
Minnie felt a lump rise in her throat, but this time, it wasn’t from fear or sadness.

It was from the overwhelming relief of knowing that she didn’t have to carry her burdens alone anymore.

She wasn’t just a visitor in this world—she was a part of it. And that made all the difference.
“Yeah,” Minnie finally said, her voice soft but steady. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Akin’s smile returned, bright and full of warmth. “That’s the spirit!”
They stayed like that for a while, side by side, the silence between them now comforting rather than heavy.

It wasn’t the end of Minnie’s struggles—she knew that much—but it was a new beginning.

A chance to find her way, not just back to the idea of home, but to something even more important: a place where she could truly belong.
And as she sat there, with Akin’s comforting presence beside her, Minnie felt the smallest spark of hope begin to grow, a light in the darkness that had consumed her for so long. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her going.
It was enough to start again.