[Persona 3 Portable] Empty
Mar. 3rd, 2012 05:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lassarina posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rose_in_winterCharacters: Shinjiro/Akihiko[/FeMC]
Rating: G
Contains: Endgame spoilers
Wordcount: 367
Notes: Written forareyougame
Betas: None
Summary: Her shadow lay always in bed between them.
He's slept lightly ever since his Persona awakened, a habit that was useful on the streets and that he hasn't discarded, even now when they're "safe" (safety shouldn't have cost her life) and the Dark Hour no longer occurs.
He sleeps lightly, and so he wakes immediately when Aki sits up in bed. He wakes, but he doesn't reach out. He might have, once, but that was a long time and a bullet wound and Minako's death ago. He doesn't know if Aki would accept it or shrug him off, and he's not willing to risk it. He's afraid—yes, he'll admit it to himself, he is afraid—of losing one of the only two people left to him.
But he's not such an asshole that he'll ignore Aki, so he sits up too. "Aki?"
Aki shakes his head, shoulders slumped and hands balled into fists—he should know better than to have his thumb tucked in like that, and he does know better, and the fact he's doing it anyway sends an icy chill down Shinjiro's spine despite the heavy wet heat of an August night.
Lightning cracks outside and thunder booms loud enough to startle them both (though they would both deny they jumped), and in the brilliant flash of light Shinjiro sees something glisten on Aki's face, something suspiciously like tears.
He reaches out through the empty space between them, the space where she should be, and though nothing's there he almost feels like he's pushing through something. He rests his hand on Aki's shoulder, damp with sweat, and squeezes. He doesn't have words for this. Neither of them do and they haven't for five months.
Aki rubs his hands over his face and lies back down, but slowly enough that he doesn't shrug Shinjiro's hand off. He doesn't say anything, still, but his other hand comes up and pats Shinjiro's awkwardly. Shinjiro holds on tighter; he's not letting this go, even if he doesn't know how to make it better.
It's a long time before they fall back asleep, with the wide empty space in the bed between them, barely bridged by Shinjiro's arm and echoing with her absence.
Rating: G
Contains: Endgame spoilers
Wordcount: 367
Notes: Written for
areyougameBetas: None
Summary: Her shadow lay always in bed between them.
He's slept lightly ever since his Persona awakened, a habit that was useful on the streets and that he hasn't discarded, even now when they're "safe" (safety shouldn't have cost her life) and the Dark Hour no longer occurs.
He sleeps lightly, and so he wakes immediately when Aki sits up in bed. He wakes, but he doesn't reach out. He might have, once, but that was a long time and a bullet wound and Minako's death ago. He doesn't know if Aki would accept it or shrug him off, and he's not willing to risk it. He's afraid—yes, he'll admit it to himself, he is afraid—of losing one of the only two people left to him.
But he's not such an asshole that he'll ignore Aki, so he sits up too. "Aki?"
Aki shakes his head, shoulders slumped and hands balled into fists—he should know better than to have his thumb tucked in like that, and he does know better, and the fact he's doing it anyway sends an icy chill down Shinjiro's spine despite the heavy wet heat of an August night.
Lightning cracks outside and thunder booms loud enough to startle them both (though they would both deny they jumped), and in the brilliant flash of light Shinjiro sees something glisten on Aki's face, something suspiciously like tears.
He reaches out through the empty space between them, the space where she should be, and though nothing's there he almost feels like he's pushing through something. He rests his hand on Aki's shoulder, damp with sweat, and squeezes. He doesn't have words for this. Neither of them do and they haven't for five months.
Aki rubs his hands over his face and lies back down, but slowly enough that he doesn't shrug Shinjiro's hand off. He doesn't say anything, still, but his other hand comes up and pats Shinjiro's awkwardly. Shinjiro holds on tighter; he's not letting this go, even if he doesn't know how to make it better.
It's a long time before they fall back asleep, with the wide empty space in the bed between them, barely bridged by Shinjiro's arm and echoing with her absence.