[Week 5, Friday: Yang]

[purrtagonist]

[Akira vanishes when the investigation is finished]

[of course he does. he isn't really sure what to do with the suddenly very empty, very spacious hole in his chest. he wants to grieve. he wants to mourn. not because he doesn't think he'll ever see them again (he will, he'll make damn sure of it), but because of the desecration to the corpses of two people he respected the most]

[it hurts. it burns and he feels like he's on fire, he feels like he could yell and scream and rage and unleash the fury that is Satanael without a second to think of restraint. but he has no outlet. he has no Persona. he has no Metaverse. he has no Joker]

[Yang can find him in the mattress shop, sitting on the edge of one of the beds, a piece of paper in hand. his head is bowed, glasses masking his expression. the peaceful demeanor with which he sits is a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm in the pit of his stomach]

[approach?]

Comments

[sonnen]

[ > approach
> don't approach

> approach.

That is, Yang sits down on the corner of the bed, keeping him firmly in her vision. It squeaks a little, giving under her weight. ]

... Hey.

[purrtagonist]

[he jumps when the mattress suddenly sags under her weight, immediately sitting up straight and rubbing at his eyes with one hand]

Ah-- hey.

[. . . he stays turned away from her, still scrubbing at his face]

[sonnen]

Look, about today...

[ She needs to say this now, or she never will. She'll sit on it, like a coward, fear in the growing unknown. She can't - she can't take her mother's path, eschewing faith and loyalty and everything messy that comes with it, out of cowardice. ]

I knew what he was going to do.

[purrtagonist]

[he freezes, hand still pressed against one eye, back still towards her. he feels his stomach sink, not in anger, but in dread]

[he drops his hand, and slowly turns to face her, expression carefully neutral]

. . . how did you know?

[sonnen]

[ She meets his gaze. Somehow. Without wavering. Yang Xiao Long is a lot of things but - when it comes down to it - a coward has never been one of them. Despite her concerns. ]

He told me... last week.

[purrtagonist]

[he doesn't--]

[he doesn't know how to feel. angry? no, that's not right. upset? . . . perhaps a little, but that may be vestiges of his raw grief. he exhales a puff of breath, and lifts one hand to rub at his forehead]

[why didn't you tell me? he wants to ask]

[but, instead?]

I-- [he swallows. he knows he can't blame her. it isn't. . . it isn't her fault. it never has been. it never will be. his next words are a quiet whisper, yet still tightly wound, as though ready to snap]

. . . I wish I had spent more of my efforts protecting them instead of myself.

[sonnen]

[ If he says, that nebulous why, he'll get an answer. Yang won't shy away from that much. It isn't petty revenge for his lie - she had been hurt, yes, but she would never leverage that pain against the lives of others - rather, she had been too wary to show her hand too broadly.

There's a way to save the Erased, she reminds herself for the nth time, watching him wilt. ]

There's a way to get them back. ... You're not going to fail.

[purrtagonist]

I-- know.

[he knows. he can't fail. he won't fail. he made that decision a long time ago, when he went from simply existing in the Game to actively trying to survive]

[(but it was his attempts at survival that cost Makoto and Ichigo their lives. and even if there's a way to save the Erased, was that worth it?)]

[he shuts his eyes, something in his chest coiling and tightening. he's already cried a little bit, away from prying eyes, away from anyone calling him out on his grief. he doesn't want to cry any more.]

But that doesn't. . . that doesn't make it-- [fuck] God damn it, Yang, I became so worried about my own life I completely. . . ignored the fact that the ones I love might've gotten caught in the crossfire.

That's inexcusable.