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Apr. 26th, 2020 01:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fabricationsIt starts off with a pair of gloves.
Or rather, it starts off with a singular glove, one missing its mate. Mid June finds Akechi in the middle of moving, packing up his meager belongings in order to move out of his current apartment and into a a significant upgrade, an apartment closer to his university and one where he can more easily separate is sleeping and work spaces. It turns out that freelance work, while rarely as interesting as assisting Sae and the police, is a lot more lucrative even without the regular stream of interviews and appearance fees to keep him afloat.
It also turns out that most of what he has to pack is clothing, and it's in the middle of shuffling through the closet that he finds the lonely glove. He goes looking for the other one for a moment before he remembers, oh yeah. He gave it to (threw it at) Akira, who never got a chance to give it back.
If thoughts can be derailed then surely they can also collide, and a veritable train wreck occurs in the wake of that realization. Akira 'never got a chance' to give it back? No, that doesn't make sense. Akira 'had chosen not' to give it back. Right?
Right...?
It doesn't feel right. Akechi picks up the glove and wanders away from his task, turning the glove over in his hands and his thoughts over in his head. Half of him is going over the many logical reasons Akira still had the other glove. The challenge had never been settled, not really. Even if they're dating now it's not over yet, and likely never real be. It was a symbol, a promise, a reminder, and Akechi expected Akira to hold on to it for the rest of his life.
But the other half of him just can't get past his earlier assumption. 'Never had a chance'.
Even once Akechi returns to the mundane task of packing the thought sticks with him, bouncing around his head until he feels nearly sick with it. It's small, but it's all it takes, and he thinks he must be going insane as his reality starts to fall to pieces around him. He ends up cancelling his date with Akira that night, claiming he feels unwell. It's not a lie, though rather than any sort of physical illness he's only exhausted from piecing together the scraps of memory that are finally starting to come back.
It's harder than it used to be to lie to Akira and the rest of the (former) Phantom Thieves over the next couple of weeks, especially when each new memory he manages to claw out of the fog surrounding him brings a fresh wave of anger. He thinks he does okay but he's certain that Akira, at least, can tell that something is off. He's preoccupied and moody and he's spending less time with his friends (they're not his friends, he ends up viciously reminding himself one day) beyond what can be explained away with a mere preoccupation with work.
He still feels like he's missing big chunks of his memory - his real memory - when he finally goes digging through his things for the lockbox where he stores his handgun. A 'gift' from Shido that he'd never gotten rid of, even once keeping it was pointless. Was that caution, he wonders, or his subconscious reminding him of who and what he really was?
It doesn't matter. He has the gun, he has the silencer, and he has more than enough bullets to take care of some stupid therapist, should the need arise. Part of him, a big part, really hopes it does.
It's pouring down rain the day Akechi decides to break into Maruki's apartment, and he ends up having to take a few extra minutes to make sure his umbrella is properly wrapped and his shoes are completely dry before he enters the building. Getting the front door open is easy (thanks Akira), and finding a spot where Maruki won't see him until he's passed it and turned around doesn't take much time either. Remembering to not take off his shoes upon entering is harder.
But the hardest part is waiting - and convincing himself to not just shoot Maruki the second he sees him. He should at least ask a couple of questions, first.
Or rather, it starts off with a singular glove, one missing its mate. Mid June finds Akechi in the middle of moving, packing up his meager belongings in order to move out of his current apartment and into a a significant upgrade, an apartment closer to his university and one where he can more easily separate is sleeping and work spaces. It turns out that freelance work, while rarely as interesting as assisting Sae and the police, is a lot more lucrative even without the regular stream of interviews and appearance fees to keep him afloat.
It also turns out that most of what he has to pack is clothing, and it's in the middle of shuffling through the closet that he finds the lonely glove. He goes looking for the other one for a moment before he remembers, oh yeah. He gave it to (threw it at) Akira, who never got a chance to give it back.
If thoughts can be derailed then surely they can also collide, and a veritable train wreck occurs in the wake of that realization. Akira 'never got a chance' to give it back? No, that doesn't make sense. Akira 'had chosen not' to give it back. Right?
Right...?
It doesn't feel right. Akechi picks up the glove and wanders away from his task, turning the glove over in his hands and his thoughts over in his head. Half of him is going over the many logical reasons Akira still had the other glove. The challenge had never been settled, not really. Even if they're dating now it's not over yet, and likely never real be. It was a symbol, a promise, a reminder, and Akechi expected Akira to hold on to it for the rest of his life.
But the other half of him just can't get past his earlier assumption. 'Never had a chance'.
Even once Akechi returns to the mundane task of packing the thought sticks with him, bouncing around his head until he feels nearly sick with it. It's small, but it's all it takes, and he thinks he must be going insane as his reality starts to fall to pieces around him. He ends up cancelling his date with Akira that night, claiming he feels unwell. It's not a lie, though rather than any sort of physical illness he's only exhausted from piecing together the scraps of memory that are finally starting to come back.
It's harder than it used to be to lie to Akira and the rest of the (former) Phantom Thieves over the next couple of weeks, especially when each new memory he manages to claw out of the fog surrounding him brings a fresh wave of anger. He thinks he does okay but he's certain that Akira, at least, can tell that something is off. He's preoccupied and moody and he's spending less time with his friends (they're not his friends, he ends up viciously reminding himself one day) beyond what can be explained away with a mere preoccupation with work.
He still feels like he's missing big chunks of his memory - his real memory - when he finally goes digging through his things for the lockbox where he stores his handgun. A 'gift' from Shido that he'd never gotten rid of, even once keeping it was pointless. Was that caution, he wonders, or his subconscious reminding him of who and what he really was?
It doesn't matter. He has the gun, he has the silencer, and he has more than enough bullets to take care of some stupid therapist, should the need arise. Part of him, a big part, really hopes it does.
It's pouring down rain the day Akechi decides to break into Maruki's apartment, and he ends up having to take a few extra minutes to make sure his umbrella is properly wrapped and his shoes are completely dry before he enters the building. Getting the front door open is easy (thanks Akira), and finding a spot where Maruki won't see him until he's passed it and turned around doesn't take much time either. Remembering to not take off his shoes upon entering is harder.
But the hardest part is waiting - and convincing himself to not just shoot Maruki the second he sees him. He should at least ask a couple of questions, first.
