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rose_in_winter2018-10-01 01:01 pm
lassarina) wrote in rose_in_winter2018-10-01 01:01 pm
[Persona 5] Comfort
Characters: Ann/Shiho
Rating: PG
Contains: Spoilers for Ann's S.Link. Content note for Shiho's past.
Wordcount: 1300
Notes: Written for Press Start 2018.
Betas: N/A
Summary: Shiho goes to Shujin for one last visit before leaving it behind her. Ann comes with her.
The visit to the rooftop leaves her shaking. Not just physically, as muscles and tendons unused to the strain complain by trembling violently (and Shujin isn’t built for people who aren’t in the best of health), but also short of breath, despite her brave face to Ann. Shiho sinks onto the bench at the front to wait for Ann, and she has to focus on her breathing, the way she learned in physical therapy. She can feel the air moving too fast through her lungs, feel how it makes her light-headed. Her legs hurt in a way they haven’t since her first few sessions on the bars—almost like when she was lying on the ground, not so far away from here.
She realizes, with dismay, that she’s not sure she’ll make it to the train to go home with Ann.
She makes herself breathe, and leans forward to carefully massage the muscles of her thighs. Fortunately, there are no Shujin students passing by to stare at her; those headed straight home have already left, and the clubs are still meeting. Shiho breathes past the pain, and reminds herself that she made it through Kamoshida and physical therapy, and she was the one who insisted on coming here.
She is not going to fail now.
Ann comes racing out the front door, a tangle of color and enthusiasm, and looks around. When she sees Shiho on the bench, a slight frown creases her forehead, but she smiles as brightly as ever and rushes over.
“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”
It is nice, for November. It’s a rare warm day, and the sun feels good. Shiho nods.
Ann drops onto the bench next to her. “Let’s enjoy it for a few minutes before we have to leave for the train.” She rests her hand on the bench, close enough that Shiho could touch her without it having to be obvious.
The thing about Ann that people never see, because they don’t want to, is that under the model looks and the brash enthusiasm, she really cares. Shiho is glad that Ryuji and the others have finally started to see that, even if she’s a little bit jealous about sharing Ann with them; for so long, Ann’s been like a secret she could treasure, someone who relied on her as much as she did on Ann.
Ann breathes deep. "Are you ready to say goodbye?"
For a moment Shiho thinks, irrationally, that Ann means between them, and her heart sinks all the way down to the floor. Then she realizes that Ann means Shujin, and she has to turn it around in her mind before she can answer. She looks around the courtyard and feels nothing but a vague regret for all the times she allowed this place to crush her, to inflict pain on her, because of what she had thought she wanted. That bench over there is where Kamoshida stopped her, midway through their warm-up run, to tell her that he wanted to talk to her after practice. She stood under that tree in the spring, shredding leaves in her fingers while she tried to work up the nerve to climb up to the roof. She stared up at that cracked gutter under the eaves while the medical personnel buzzed around her and everyone’s whispers filled her ears with a roar like the sea, when everything hurt and she was angry, so angry, with herself that she hadn’t even succeeded at death, the one thing everyone managed to do at some point.
Ann's hand is warm and undemanding on hers, and it's the only connection to this place that she wants to keep.
“I’m ready,” Shiho says.
“I’m dying for double chocolate crepes.” Ann’s eyes sparkle, and the way her lip curls up at the corner makes Shiho want to touch it, feel the stickiness of pink lip gloss on her fingertips and the warmth of Ann’s smile. That’s too much for being in public like this. She folds her fingers around Ann’s hand instead.
“I thought you were taking modeling seriously,” she says.
“I am! But you deserve a treat.”
That’s always been Ann’s excuse, not that she needed one. Once a week just like clockwork, they would get crepes after Shiho was done with volleyball practice. She can imagine the dark richness of chocolate on her tongue, like the time Ann snuck a crepe into her hospital room after therapy. It was crushed and sticky and cold by then, but it tasted like friendship, and Shiho wants to have that taste again before she leaves.
“So do you,” she says. “Let’s go.”
Ann helps her to the train station, letting Shiho lean on her when her legs protest, and soon they’re crammed into a tiny table, their knees touching, with their crepes in front of them. Ann’s is double chocolate as always, Shiho’s chocolate and strawberry. It’s sweet and rich on her tongue, this memory, and she closes her eyes to taste it better.
When she opens them, Ann blushes and looks away, and Shiho stares, fascinated, at a smear of chocolate on Ann’s upper lip. It’s rude, yes, but after how they became friends, maybe that’s what they are to each other. Shiho wants to kiss Ann, and she settles for reaching out with a napkin to dab at Ann’s lip. Ann catches her hand in a feather-light grasp, her fingertips warm against the veins on the inside of her wrist, and smiles a little. “You’ve got some too.” She dabs carefully at the corner of Shiho’s mouth, and her fingertip touches Shiho’s lip before she draws back, flushing a little.
“Will you try out for the team at your new school?” Ann asks after a short, awkward silence.
“No,” Shiho says, and it’s a relief to say it out loud. She doesn’t want that burden anymore, and just looking at her trophies makes her feel so ill that she boxed them all up and shoved them back in a corner of her closet. She can’t throw them away, not yet anyway, but she can’t see them either. “I think I’ll try the art club.”
“So you can insult someone else’s painting?” Ann asks, laughing.
“Yeah.” Shiho grins. “I’m sure there’ll be at least one person who’s terrible.”
Something flickers behind Ann’s smile. “I guess you’ll find a new best friend,” she says, and it’s falsely bright in a way her modeling photos never are.
“Ann, there are a lot of terrible paintings in the world, but yours was unique,” Shiho says, and she even manages to be mostly straight-faced about it. “No one could replace it.” She has to take a deep breath before she can say the next words. “Or you.”
The smile that breaks across Ann’s face is like the sunlight after a storm, and Shiho basks in her light like a cat on a warm bench. “I’ll miss you,” she says, and squeezes Ann’s hand.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Ann says, flicking her hair back. “I know you need time to get settled at your new school, but next Sunday, we’re going shopping.” She leans over to tap the brace on Shiho’s elbow. “How can you not have any stickers on this? It’s practically a crime.”
“We can’t have that,” Shiho says. “The Phantom Thieves might come for me!”
For some reason that makes Ann choke on her water, and Shiho wonders why, but she knows Ann will tell her eventually. She always does.
“No, we can’t have that,” Ann says, after a pretty impressive coughing fit. “So we have to do something about that.”
Shiho’s watch buzzes to remind her that her mother is expecting her home, so they head toward the train. There’s a warm comfort in Ann’s hand in hers, invisible in the folds of Ann’s loose jacket, and Shiho clings to that as much as to her friend. You should be grateful, the nurses told her, over and over again.
She thinks she finally is.
Rating: PG
Contains: Spoilers for Ann's S.Link. Content note for Shiho's past.
Wordcount: 1300
Notes: Written for Press Start 2018.
Betas: N/A
Summary: Shiho goes to Shujin for one last visit before leaving it behind her. Ann comes with her.
The visit to the rooftop leaves her shaking. Not just physically, as muscles and tendons unused to the strain complain by trembling violently (and Shujin isn’t built for people who aren’t in the best of health), but also short of breath, despite her brave face to Ann. Shiho sinks onto the bench at the front to wait for Ann, and she has to focus on her breathing, the way she learned in physical therapy. She can feel the air moving too fast through her lungs, feel how it makes her light-headed. Her legs hurt in a way they haven’t since her first few sessions on the bars—almost like when she was lying on the ground, not so far away from here.
She realizes, with dismay, that she’s not sure she’ll make it to the train to go home with Ann.
She makes herself breathe, and leans forward to carefully massage the muscles of her thighs. Fortunately, there are no Shujin students passing by to stare at her; those headed straight home have already left, and the clubs are still meeting. Shiho breathes past the pain, and reminds herself that she made it through Kamoshida and physical therapy, and she was the one who insisted on coming here.
She is not going to fail now.
Ann comes racing out the front door, a tangle of color and enthusiasm, and looks around. When she sees Shiho on the bench, a slight frown creases her forehead, but she smiles as brightly as ever and rushes over.
“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”
It is nice, for November. It’s a rare warm day, and the sun feels good. Shiho nods.
Ann drops onto the bench next to her. “Let’s enjoy it for a few minutes before we have to leave for the train.” She rests her hand on the bench, close enough that Shiho could touch her without it having to be obvious.
The thing about Ann that people never see, because they don’t want to, is that under the model looks and the brash enthusiasm, she really cares. Shiho is glad that Ryuji and the others have finally started to see that, even if she’s a little bit jealous about sharing Ann with them; for so long, Ann’s been like a secret she could treasure, someone who relied on her as much as she did on Ann.
Ann breathes deep. "Are you ready to say goodbye?"
For a moment Shiho thinks, irrationally, that Ann means between them, and her heart sinks all the way down to the floor. Then she realizes that Ann means Shujin, and she has to turn it around in her mind before she can answer. She looks around the courtyard and feels nothing but a vague regret for all the times she allowed this place to crush her, to inflict pain on her, because of what she had thought she wanted. That bench over there is where Kamoshida stopped her, midway through their warm-up run, to tell her that he wanted to talk to her after practice. She stood under that tree in the spring, shredding leaves in her fingers while she tried to work up the nerve to climb up to the roof. She stared up at that cracked gutter under the eaves while the medical personnel buzzed around her and everyone’s whispers filled her ears with a roar like the sea, when everything hurt and she was angry, so angry, with herself that she hadn’t even succeeded at death, the one thing everyone managed to do at some point.
Ann's hand is warm and undemanding on hers, and it's the only connection to this place that she wants to keep.
“I’m ready,” Shiho says.
“I’m dying for double chocolate crepes.” Ann’s eyes sparkle, and the way her lip curls up at the corner makes Shiho want to touch it, feel the stickiness of pink lip gloss on her fingertips and the warmth of Ann’s smile. That’s too much for being in public like this. She folds her fingers around Ann’s hand instead.
“I thought you were taking modeling seriously,” she says.
“I am! But you deserve a treat.”
That’s always been Ann’s excuse, not that she needed one. Once a week just like clockwork, they would get crepes after Shiho was done with volleyball practice. She can imagine the dark richness of chocolate on her tongue, like the time Ann snuck a crepe into her hospital room after therapy. It was crushed and sticky and cold by then, but it tasted like friendship, and Shiho wants to have that taste again before she leaves.
“So do you,” she says. “Let’s go.”
Ann helps her to the train station, letting Shiho lean on her when her legs protest, and soon they’re crammed into a tiny table, their knees touching, with their crepes in front of them. Ann’s is double chocolate as always, Shiho’s chocolate and strawberry. It’s sweet and rich on her tongue, this memory, and she closes her eyes to taste it better.
When she opens them, Ann blushes and looks away, and Shiho stares, fascinated, at a smear of chocolate on Ann’s upper lip. It’s rude, yes, but after how they became friends, maybe that’s what they are to each other. Shiho wants to kiss Ann, and she settles for reaching out with a napkin to dab at Ann’s lip. Ann catches her hand in a feather-light grasp, her fingertips warm against the veins on the inside of her wrist, and smiles a little. “You’ve got some too.” She dabs carefully at the corner of Shiho’s mouth, and her fingertip touches Shiho’s lip before she draws back, flushing a little.
“Will you try out for the team at your new school?” Ann asks after a short, awkward silence.
“No,” Shiho says, and it’s a relief to say it out loud. She doesn’t want that burden anymore, and just looking at her trophies makes her feel so ill that she boxed them all up and shoved them back in a corner of her closet. She can’t throw them away, not yet anyway, but she can’t see them either. “I think I’ll try the art club.”
“So you can insult someone else’s painting?” Ann asks, laughing.
“Yeah.” Shiho grins. “I’m sure there’ll be at least one person who’s terrible.”
Something flickers behind Ann’s smile. “I guess you’ll find a new best friend,” she says, and it’s falsely bright in a way her modeling photos never are.
“Ann, there are a lot of terrible paintings in the world, but yours was unique,” Shiho says, and she even manages to be mostly straight-faced about it. “No one could replace it.” She has to take a deep breath before she can say the next words. “Or you.”
The smile that breaks across Ann’s face is like the sunlight after a storm, and Shiho basks in her light like a cat on a warm bench. “I’ll miss you,” she says, and squeezes Ann’s hand.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Ann says, flicking her hair back. “I know you need time to get settled at your new school, but next Sunday, we’re going shopping.” She leans over to tap the brace on Shiho’s elbow. “How can you not have any stickers on this? It’s practically a crime.”
“We can’t have that,” Shiho says. “The Phantom Thieves might come for me!”
For some reason that makes Ann choke on her water, and Shiho wonders why, but she knows Ann will tell her eventually. She always does.
“No, we can’t have that,” Ann says, after a pretty impressive coughing fit. “So we have to do something about that.”
Shiho’s watch buzzes to remind her that her mother is expecting her home, so they head toward the train. There’s a warm comfort in Ann’s hand in hers, invisible in the folds of Ann’s loose jacket, and Shiho clings to that as much as to her friend. You should be grateful, the nurses told her, over and over again.
She thinks she finally is.