Shinjiro Aragaki (荒垣 真次郎) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
themortalhalf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
destinystrings2013-03-12 06:31 pm
themortalhalf) wrote in destinystrings2013-03-12 06:31 pm
Entry tags:
Be An Original [Closed]
Who: Shinjiro Aragaki (themortalhalf) and Minako Arisato (greatseal)
Where: Shinjiro's room in the Iwatodai dorms
Summary: Minako confronts Shinjiro over a personal issue he'd rather not deal with.
Warnings: Mentions of Shinjiro's suppressant drug use. Shinjiro is also a warning in himself.
It surprises Shinjiro sometimes how easy it had been to fall back into his previous routine. It had almost been too easy to go back to his steady day-to-day activities that had been normal a month ago, before he had arrived in Animus. In a few days after his return, it's easier to look at Aki again, and not see the other Aki in him that Shinjiro had to leave behind. It's easy to go back to coming into and leaving the dorm at random intervals, feed the stray animals in Sagittarius, walk Koro-chan to the shrine, and start to go back to the habit of filling the dorm's refrigerator with food that isn't packaged, unhealthy shit that he's grown tired of seeing. He's also replaced the pills he's sure Minako had discarded, but keeps them hidden elsewhere, though he still hasn't said anything about the issue. Ain't no reason for him to. He doesn't want to talk about it, and if she's smart, she'll drop it. He'll pretend if she will.
Today hardly varies from his set routine. He returns to the dorm later in the evening, carrying a sack full of groceries he had suddenly discovered he needed. (Damn cookbooks he still doesn't need, giving him ideas.) He shelves them, eats, figures his other teammates are in their rooms or are out seeing to their own business—it ain't the Dark Hour yet at least—and returns to his room. He's almost gotten used to the changes he finds there upon turning on the lightswitch, though it won't ever not feel odd, suddenly having stuff in his room that had never been there, and never would have had it not been for some strategic meddling.
He settles for picking one of the cookbooks on the shelves, one he hasn't finished reading yet—not as self-conscious about it as he had been a few days ago—settling back onto his bed and flipping to where he had left off the day before.
themortalhalf) and Minako Arisato (greatseal)Where: Shinjiro's room in the Iwatodai dorms
Summary: Minako confronts Shinjiro over a personal issue he'd rather not deal with.
Warnings: Mentions of Shinjiro's suppressant drug use. Shinjiro is also a warning in himself.
It surprises Shinjiro sometimes how easy it had been to fall back into his previous routine. It had almost been too easy to go back to his steady day-to-day activities that had been normal a month ago, before he had arrived in Animus. In a few days after his return, it's easier to look at Aki again, and not see the other Aki in him that Shinjiro had to leave behind. It's easy to go back to coming into and leaving the dorm at random intervals, feed the stray animals in Sagittarius, walk Koro-chan to the shrine, and start to go back to the habit of filling the dorm's refrigerator with food that isn't packaged, unhealthy shit that he's grown tired of seeing. He's also replaced the pills he's sure Minako had discarded, but keeps them hidden elsewhere, though he still hasn't said anything about the issue. Ain't no reason for him to. He doesn't want to talk about it, and if she's smart, she'll drop it. He'll pretend if she will.
Today hardly varies from his set routine. He returns to the dorm later in the evening, carrying a sack full of groceries he had suddenly discovered he needed. (Damn cookbooks he still doesn't need, giving him ideas.) He shelves them, eats, figures his other teammates are in their rooms or are out seeing to their own business—it ain't the Dark Hour yet at least—and returns to his room. He's almost gotten used to the changes he finds there upon turning on the lightswitch, though it won't ever not feel odd, suddenly having stuff in his room that had never been there, and never would have had it not been for some strategic meddling.
He settles for picking one of the cookbooks on the shelves, one he hasn't finished reading yet—not as self-conscious about it as he had been a few days ago—settling back onto his bed and flipping to where he had left off the day before.
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"So you think I haven't done a damn thing for two years." That everything he's done so far has been nothing but useless. That nothing he's done has changed a thing, except to maybe make things worse than they were. "Good to know."
He takes a single step forward, but his hands never leave his pockets. "Now move."
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"No... You did what you could. What you had to by yourself. I don't blame you for what happened or for how you reacted."
If she had to be brutally honest with herself, her coping methods are no better. She's never had to turn to drugs but she's never experienced anything close to what he had. Even with Akihiko there, she can't blame him for pushing away and doing what he felt he had to on his own. He probably did it for Akihiko's sake, too. Not burdening anyone else with his mistake.
But. (He knew this was coming.) "But things have changed since two years ago. You're not on your own now - I won't let you be." ('I don't want to be alone.') "We know more and you have other options. This is a different world and our Personas have even changed a little."
She didn't know if his was really different enough, but it might be. Enough to convince him to try.
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"And what other options do I have?"
Because so far, he doesn't see one.
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She's not sure how to bring up the other part of what she's thinking - that learning to be happy again and forgive himself would go a long way to achieving that control. But maybe it's better to work on that quietly, day by day, like she's been trying to do all along. In the end, she only says something vague. "You don't have to like fighting, senpai... I just want you to like yourself."
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Though he supposes it may have also been because he was young and not used to having a Persona, and was therefore unable to recognize the warning signs when he felt them, because no one knew anything and there wasn't any precedent. But he can't say anymore, and doesn't want to make excuses. It's a big unknown, and that is probably part of the problem: he doesn't know. He could be fine for months, and then something would make him snap again. If everything seems okay, how is he supposed to know if he can even control Castor when it matters? The only way he'd know for sure is if Castor broke down again, and he was somehow able to hold him—it—back.
...But that's a chance he's not sure he wants to take. He doesn't want it to happen again. Doesn't want to feel it. Doesn't want to have to second-guess himself. Maybe he's a coward for not wanting to seize a possible opportunity where he wouldn't have to take suppressants anymore, but…
He suppresses a sigh. Stares at her as she continues to block the door. He might have tried to badger and push his way through Aki, but she was different. "You don't know if that will even work."
He knows she's only trying to help, and that she thinks any other option that might work is worth taking no matter how slim the possibility might be, but he'd rather stick with what's been proven sound. He doesn't need to like himself. He doesn't have to be okay with the part of him that would lash out and violently kill someone else for no reason.
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"You don't know that it won't," she answers.
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And he's never been all that lucky. His luck's shit. If it did work, then, sure, that'd be something. Course it would. She could be all proud about it. But if it didn't and something went wrong again, as it probably would, because very few things in his life have ever gone right, then hell knows what he'd do. That could be in weeks, months, longer.
"...There are some things I can't handle twice. I can't."
He'd barely handled it the first time. The first time had been hard enough, and that had left a woman dead and a kid without a family that cared. It happening a second time is distasteful and frightening enough that dying sounds like a far better deal. He just ain't cut out for it. He can't get back up every damn time. One of these days something's going to come around and hit him, and he's going to stay down.
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There are things she can't handle twice either. And though she can't bring herself to use it in an argument, the image of him slowly dying in a hospital bed again is one of them.
She can't say that, but her legs carry her forward anyway. She wraps her arms around him, his coat, and his tensed posture trapped in its attempt to frighten the entire word away. She can't look at him, so her head ends up resting right above his surgical scars.
"You're different, too." He may hate himself, but the recklessness that had brought on tragedy was one thing that he'd conquered. "I know you're scared. But that's why I also know it won't happen again."
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It makes things harder than they need to be. He would rather her be angry. It's easy to counter anger, fight it back twofold with its own kind. Anger makes you stubborn. Not that they're not already both stubborn people, that part's engraved in the genes that made them, but you rarely feel like conceding ground when you're angry. You dig your heels in and stay fucking put, and that's what he should be doing. Because this matters.
Anger is what makes confrontations with Aki easy. Aki doesn't know how to deal with most of his problems without getting physical, as if hitting something will knock all his problems out for the count. He can't always keep his emotions in, and his fists fly faster than his mouth does. It's easy to stay stubborn then, react—maybe fight back if he has to—then leave. As long as Aki stays angry and fights, it's easy. It's when he starts crying that's the problem. Shinjiro still doesn't know how to deal with that. That's usually when he lets Aki beat the hell out of him and concede whatever ground he thought he was holding, his little island of personal ideals.
It's the same with Minako. He doesn't like seeing her unhappy, and knowing he's the cause of it certainly doesn't make his day; it just reminds him that all he does, no matter how hard he tries, is hurt other people. He might be different, but in the end, very few things ever change. It's nice that she's able to believe in something, but he thinks that's being too optimistic, and she's not being as careful enough as she should be. The damage to his body might already be done anyway, so she might not be keeping him from anything and just buying him time. He always knew what he'd do if things got worse, and that's find his way back home so she wouldn't have to see him die. He'd keep his promise that way, be able to keep an eye on Aki for a little while (make sure he doesn't even try any of that caped crusader bullshit), and then gradually exit from existence. And who knows, maybe he'd get pulled back here again. But he hasn't had to contemplate using those options yet.
And it's at times like this he doesn't know what to do. He'd like to give her everything she wanted if he could, just like he wished he could see to it that Aki could live the kind of life they had wanted as kids (within reason), just like he had always regretted not being able to properly give Miki that doll. He hadn't been able to, and this time he's not sure he has any ground to give her. Maybe fear's a part of it, but fear keeps you from doing things that might end up being the true death of you.
He releases the sigh he hadn't realized he had been keeping in. Tries to think and void out the human warmth against his chest. "…Even if I did what you wanted me to do," he says, "I'd still need them."
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"If you don't try going without them you won't know if you need them or not." She interpreted his sentence as 'I'll train but only if I keep taking the pills.' Which isn't a solution at all.
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Instead, all he sees is that night in October. He sees his potential to mess up and hurt someone again. That all he'll turn into is a loaded gun with an only illusory feeling of control. He may not be like Strega, but he's not like Minako and the rest either. They've never had problems with theirs that he knows of, and they've been in equally stressful situations. He's the dangerous, statistical exception.
He doesn't want to argue with her, even though he had often imagined this moment before, practiced it in his head, but it always played out differently. She certainly can't stop him from taking them. She can throw them away all she wants, but he can get more. But that won't make her understand. She's operating on a point of view so different from his own that she can't see what he sees. All she sees is an idealistic outcome where things play out happily. She decorated his room because she wants to stay and not have her life be constantly uprooted. She wants him to stay and her brother to stay. He can't blame her for wanting that outcome. It's something he'd like to see. But the future is intangible, and very few things last long or turn out as happy as you'd like them to.
His mouth thins, and though she hasn't yet let him go, all he feels is cold and dread-like anxiety, because he doesn't want this. But this is all the ground he can give. "I'll try that, if that's what you want." But he doesn't like it, not taking them. "But I'm not just throwing them away." Because he needs them, for when something goes wrong. At least he might be able to stop Castor from trying to tear his world down when his own sense of will and control proves to be worthless shit again. And then maybe she'll see a little more of what he sees.
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Not knowing about the pills wasn't an excuse. She was supposed to be good at reading people, but she'd really failed this time.
She still can't look him in the eyes, so she just holds him a little tighter as the silence begins to grow.
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He still wants to leave, but for now he doesn't move. He's just as responsible as she is for the newfound silence. The only thing he can do now is finally let his arms wrap around her in return. The embrace feels awkward, and it's just as hard for him to look at her as it is the reverse. But he eventually manages a quiet "...I'm sorry."
Not for the pills, he doesn't regret that, and he's not apologizing for them. But for making things difficult, and not as perfect as she imagined things to be. For having a lot of baggage and problems that she has to involve herself in because that's how she is. And for upsetting her, even if that part was inevitable.
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"Don't be."
She already knew he was difficult, and she can handle things not being perfect. Really, having only one real fight in six months of being together wasn't bad at all. (The balcony issue didn't count.) She'll be okay with this compromise. It's not enough to scare her away.
But him apologizing does make her feel better.
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But for now, he falls silent. He stays where he is, unsure of what to do or even how to feel. He's not going to break contact when she doesn't want to let go. He should be better than this. He should be more resolute over the things that matter, even if that makes him stubborn and cold, so that maybe he'll stop making mistakes at every turn because of some new variable he hadn't counted on. He's always been at odds with the person he's trying hard to be.
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"It'll be all right, Senpai." She doesn't know how she can prove that to him right now. But she believes in him, even if he won't.
But finally she pulls back. He's agreed to listen to her, sort of, so right now he needs some space. "I... should probably go. It's getting late."
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It's all he can think to say as he lets his arms drop stiffly to his sides while his hands worm their way into his coat's pockets. Now he's close to finally being able to leave like he had wanted to do. Go and take a very long walk. True space, to him, is more than just a few flights of stairs. It's in hours spent in quiet, dirty alleyways and old apartments, where distance can be measured with your legs as you walk. They both need space, and he'll give her both her share and his for awhile. Until another day besides this one dies, at least.
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"Then I'll see you later."
But she can't just leave it at that. Despite the strain and the tension and the space he needs, she leans in for one last imposition - a light kiss to his cheek. And then she's gone, not stopping to check where he goes, or what he does with the bottle of pills she leaves behind.
He's made a commitment, so she's going to trust him to keep it. Even if it means things will be tense for a while.