personavelvetroomdr | my montage of lost things, my shining trinkets of grief

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my montage of lost things, my shining trinkets of grief

((cw: hallucinations, panic, the general poor mental state of someone with a Palace))

Ren is not exactly at his most presentable. Like, yeah, he's clean and dressed, but that's about all you can say for him. His hair is a snarl of tangles, his skin is unhealthily pale, he holds himself rigidly, and the shadows under his eyes are so dark that it looks like they might never leave. And he knows he looks bad, but by now he's beyond caring. With everything that's happening to him, someone judging his hair is the least of his fucking concerns.

He doesn't usually like to go out, these days. A lot can happen when he's out of his apartment. Too many things he can't control, and too many places that remind him of home, which lately is to be avoided at all costs. But his apartment isn't much better. There's nowhere he can look where he hasn't seen Shido, or Akechi, or Shido and Akechi, or his parents or his orphanage directors or fuck knows who else. There's nowhere he can sit where he hasn't heard their voices. And when he's not hallucinating, he's alone with his thoughts, which is worse.

All that is to say, there was a whole thing earlier where he felt like he couldn't breathe, and it sucked, but it's over now! He's fine. Still, it made him want to get out of his apartment. So here he is, out in Shibuya. And outside has turned out to be as vertiginous and full of danger as he was afraid of, but, well. At least it's different.

1. all the things that i ran from i now bring as close to me as i can

He stands with his back to the wall of a storefront and searches the constant stream of passing cognitions. His expression is fraught. He knows he hasn't really been seeing people from his past, he's not stupid, but the idea of being blindsided by a hallucinatory Shido or orphanage director amidst the crowd is terrifying enough to keep him rooted in place, watching endlessly.

2. gripping hotel sheets with gritted teeth

He's finally escaped the crowds. Curled up on the grimy concrete in a Shibuya alleyway, his knees to his chest and his back once again pressed to the wall, he tries to calm down. Akechi made him breathe, that time when he freaked out in his Palace. He tries to match the rhythm he remembers, but it just makes him think about the Palace, so he abandons that plan almost at once and goes back to waiting out the terror. He'll be fine if he just grits his teeth and endures it. That... usually works, anyway.

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"Maybe he thought you had inherent value." Goro grins in the dark, there and gone again, missing his friend as he does a dozen and more times each day, still.

"Do you know there were two Makoto-kuns in my old homeroom, and it still seems weird now that... well, it's weird she isn't here." Though he thinks he knows why. If Makoto was here, the two of them would have had this place sewn up inside of a week. Probably.

"She'd agree with me." He doesn't sound mad about it. "Remember when she got mad because I wouldn't give you Kaneshiro for free?"

"Vividly." His voice darkens, becomes further away. "But she'll be fair to you. More fair than you are to yourself. What you've done won't go away, but... Makoto knows the difference between you and, as it turns out, Shido, as well as I do. I'd put money on it."

"Yeah? How much?"

Because Ren is happy to take that bet.

It's a good question. He thinks about it, and then answers, softer than anything he's said yet. "All I have."

After all, if Ren slips through his fingers, if Goro fails him... what life would he have left worth living?

...Ren shifts a little, not pulling away but turning so he can see Akechi's face better. For a second, the closeness of it robs him of words; then he collects himself.

"I'm worried about you."

It takes Goro a moment to reply as well. It's like they're one being, somehow, sitting there. "That's not how this is supposed to work."

It's a joke, but.

"If you don't want me to worry about you, maybe you should take better care of yourself, Akechi. I don't want all you have."

That's a lie as big as any he's ever told. But he delivers it well enough.

It is a lie, and he knows it for one. Don't you?

The words burn in his lips; they scream to be spoken. He's forgotten to breathe. Ren's hand is still in his. "Maybe"—his mouth is dry; he swallows. "Maybe, if you think I need taking care of, you should stick around to make sure I do it."

This again. But Ren is finding it hard to be angry, or even concentrate, when Akechi is this close. He licks his lips and tries to remember what he wants to say.

"Why, uh. Why can't you—"

A silent gunshot blows a hole through the middle of Akechi's forehead. Ren jerks back with a strangled noise as blood starts to trickle down over his eyelids, his sharp cheekbones and his clever mouth, his slack jaw. Beside Ren, half-unseen, a ghost of himself removes a suppressor from a gun with steady hands and tucks them both into his jeans. Then, stepping forward, the other Ren twists and morphs into Shido, looming larger than life, with a tailored suit and tinted glasses and a familiar, cruel smile as he turns to face Ren. Without breaking eye contact, Shido tilts his head towards Akechi's corpse. Take a look at your work.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to. He wants to—to run, to turn the gun on himself so he never has to see it again—

His eyes slide back to Akechi. Blood obscures half his face, now. Ren can see into his head, past jagged edges of bone to what was Akechi's brain once, probably. He doesn't know. He's never seen brains before. He didn't imagine so much blood.

Unfortunately for Ren, the corpse has seen him jerk back and cry out; has seen him stare aghast like he's looking at his own death. It leans forward with a lurch, reaches out with one bloodstained hand to seize Ren's shoulder.

Ren, it says with Akechi's voice, slow and slurring. Reeeeeeeeeeen—

The hand on Ren's shoulder is steady and warm.

"Nonononono—no, he isn't—"

Ren's hallucinating. Shido isn't even fucking here. Akechi isn't—and if he was, he wouldn't be able to—

But it's so real, in a way none of the others have been. Trembling, Ren flinches away from the hand on his shoulder, but then—Stop being a fucking coward, you useless piece of shit—swallows hard and reaches for Akechi's face. If he can just feel it, then maybe, one way or another...

The corpse comes closer, leaning into Ren's face, jaw hanging, eyes blind, caked in black blood and pink matter from the hole in its head. It takes Ren's hand in its own—its warm, perfectly dry hand—and presses it into the mass of blood.

It feels like skin. Warm, living human skin. Akechi's hair brushes Ren's hand, soft as silk.

it's me ren it's me i'm here

It's not enough. Ren could be in denial, or his fingers could be numb, that's been happening lately, or—it's just the corpse is right there, inches from Ren's face. All his nightmares made real, everything he would have done and will still do if he stays.

It takes a moment for him to summon the courage to touch the bullet wound, but he does. If the wound is there, he should be able to... poke it. Push his fingers inside it. Right?

His fingers brush over smooth, unbroken skin. They come away red, but when he rubs them against each other, they neither stick together nor slide against each other as though coated in liquid.

"What the fuck," he mumbles. "What the fuck. I've finally lost it." He squeezes his eyes shut. He can't bear to look at the ruin of Akechi's face anymore.

"That's right," Goro says, as quiet as he's been all along; he knows, from the pressure on his forehead, what Ren is seeing. "Close your eyes, Ren. Come to me."

And he reaches to pull Ren close with one hand, and to cover his eyes with the other. He'll stay here all night.

He curls up into a tight ball and covers Akechi's hand with both his own, pressing it against his eyes until colors swirl behind his eyelids. Akechi's pulse beats under his fingers, but no matter how hard he tries, Ren can't stop shaking.

So Goro holds him, and he holds him. It's not new; there have been other times like this, though none as bad. He cradles Ren against him with one arm, and he lets Ren hold his hand against his eyes, and he talks.

"I wonder how you'd feel about visiting the baths, once we're out of here. This alley's not exactly warm. I could join you, if you'll have me, or you could go in alone. You'd be welcome to spend the night at Leblanc, if you'd like, or you could go home. As you choose." Not that Goro thinks Ren should be alone, after this.

Slowly, slowly, Akechi's voice starts to sound less like the groan of a corpse and more like the quiet tones of the living person. The Akechi, the important one, the only one who's really real. The idea of separating from him makes Ren want to puke. If he's not in sight, how can Ren be sure he's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere?

But he doesn't say so, nor does he remove their hands to see if Akechi's face has stopped looking like it did. "Akechi," he whispers against the warmth of Akechi's neck. "Ace. I can't do this anymore."

He goes still. Tears sting his eyes; he presses his cheek a little against Ren's matted hair, as he turns. "No?"

All his determination went into saying it the first time. He shakes his head mutely, curling his fingers tighter around Akechi's hand.

It's not that he wants them in his Palace. But there's no point in pretending like he's not getting worse. He doesn't know what he'll do if he's at risk of seeing that forever; after just one time, the memory of it already fills his mind.

And he presses his face to Ren's hair, matted or not, heart pounding. This was the point, the centre of the operation: to let Ren deteriorate, so he'd have no choice but to ask for help. That was the cold, cruel core of it.

I'm sorry, he thinks inanely. I'm sorry I'm sorry I take it back. Perhaps he really is just as bad as his father. "I, um," he manages, dry-mouthed. "All right. If you still want this tomorrow morning, I'll tell the others. And we can begin, I suppose."

He doesn't say anything like it won't be as bad as you think.

Okay, he wants to say, which is inane, insufficient, pathetic—and then he can't even open his mouth to say that much. Slowly, he loosens his grip on Akechi's hand until he's no longer pressing it against his face. He doesn't dare to open his eyes yet; if anything, they squeeze tighter shut as he stops protecting the barrier of Akechi's hand.

In the aftermath of finally giving in, he feels a strange, dull relief. No matter what else happens, at least that's one thing he can stop fighting. He slumps against Akechi in silence.

Goro closes his arm tighter against Ren. This really isn't how he saw them fighting it out, back in the distant past of ... two months ago, in another world. He doesn't blame Ren, though, not when there are so many others who did this.

"Do you think you could make it back to your flat?" he asks, quietly, his breath settling against the top of Ren's head. "Better there than here, after all."

The image of Akechi's corpse waits for him. He can feel it, lingering at the corner of his mind. He hasn't seen the last of it, if Akechi leaves him alone with himself. You said I could stay at Leblanc, he thinks, like a whiny toddler, but he doesn't come close to saying it. After all, it's no surprise Akechi changed his mind. Look at Ren, curled up like a kicked dog. Worthless.

After a moment, he nods. How hard can it be to get back? His legs aren't broken.

But Goro knows, feels Ren wilt against him like a sprout in high summer. "I'll come with you," he adds. "Or you can come to Leblanc. You're welcome, you know."

He traces the back of Ren's head with his hand. It's hard, still, to silence that instinct: he doesn't want to be with me.

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gore, suicidal ideation

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