Escalator Poems

Never being a heavy sleeper, Akira doesn't feel particularly surprised when something pulls him out of his slumber, and his eyes blink at the darkness of the attic. For a moment he doesn't move a muscle, determining what has awakened him, and then—

Then all events of past dozen or so hours come back, Madarame's self-righteous chuckles turning into begging, seas of black paint washing over Akira's teammates to his horror, and Sayuri's secretive smile. And Morgana — he's still asleep, that bastard, sprawled out right by Akira's head — taking one look at withdrawn Yusuke, then demanding he stays at Leblanc for the night. Ryuji was quick to question that, but Ann gave him a discreet kick in the shin before he could get any word out. Akira gave her a grateful nod, then gently steered Yusuke towards the train station as raindrops started shattering on the concrete sidewalk.

They gave so little noise when they burst, were barely audible. Just like the sound coming from the blanket bundle on his couch. But it's still recognizable.

"Yusuke?" Akira calls softly. After a few seconds of silence (is he holding his breath?), he pushes Morgana away slowly enough not to wake him, then heaves himself up, the duvet pooling around his feet, and repeats, "Yusuke." His voice is less sleep-blurred this time, but the carefulness hasn't left. It's a bit like reaching out to a fearful animal, in a way, and that makes Akira sick.

"D-do accept my most... sincere apologies for interrupting your rest," Yusuke says finally, and his intonation is breaking apart, "w-with my foolishness."

Akira thinks about getting the lights on, but, in the end, decides against it, and palms around his bed until he finds his phone. He taps it on, and faint shine fills the room. The clock on the lock screen says it's barely past four in the morning. Has Yusuke been awake since they got home roughly nine hours ago? Has he been... Has he been alone with his thoughts for so long, when Akira was right there and blissfully unaware?

"Hey, crying isn't dumb," Akira mutters and throws off the covers, stirring till his feet hit the cold wooden floor. The sudden sensation washes off all the remains of sleep.

"Even so, I am... deeply sorry." Akira sees him get up too, his face turned away from the light, but after many hours spent in Mementos ' shadow, his dark vision has sharpened enough to let him see how terribly Yusuke is shivering, and how his long fingers clutch tightly to his blanket. Fuck. If Madarame is stupid enough not to confess before the deadline, Joker will pay him a nice visit. A nice long visit leading to a nice long talk that'll surely cover quite a lot of topics.

He breathes out, trying to calm his boiling blood, looks at Morgana — he's still out — then clears his throat. "You don't have to be. Still, would you like to talk?"

Once again, Yusuke takes a while to compose a proper answer. Akira waits patiently, watching the long, straight lines of his body, and how the sudden burst of moonlight plays with his dark hair, catching in the strands when Yusuke bows his head. One beam falls on a small patch of his skin, just underneath his right eye, and lays down on the tear track. So he was... was crying, with such careful quietness that can't be anything else than a deeply rooted habit. Akira clenches his fist and drives his nails into the soft flesh for one, two, three heartbeats, until he's sure his sparkling anger won't color his actions, then perks up when Yusuke speaks.

"How pathetic..." Yusuke's voice is barely above a whisper. "I assured myself that with the end of Madarame's wicked activities my own fears would dissipate too, yet I seem to be proven incorrect."

"This will stay," Akira says, weighing each word. "That trauma won't go away like that." He smiles, and it's his smile, small and a little awkward, not Joker's confident smirk. "Just like us. We're going to be there for you." He stretches out his fingers, adds as an afterthought, "You're a part of the team now." The team of outcasts, weird unfitting kids, looked down by the society, but loyal to each other. Being there for each other, be it in a battle or on busy Tokyo streets — and maybe that's unavoidable, this sense of kinship, after seeing their hidden depths being pulled out in the open and embraced, their Personas arousing from the rawness.

"Is that so?" Yusuke turns to him, finally, and, with his bangs falling into his eyes and puzzlement shaping his expression, he looks young. Wounded.

"Yes. You're not alone anymore, I promise," Akira manages, barely holding onto the projected serenity. Yusuke runs his fingers through his hair, biting his lip, then— Then laughs, but it's not like with Madarame, vicious power replaced by tired sorrow. "What's so funny?" Akira cocks his head in surprise. Were his words taken as a joke? No, it couldn't be, he made sure to fill them with sincerity... So why—

Out of lately honed instinct, Akira moves in a flash to catch Yusuke when the other boy drops like a stone kicked off a cliff, his lean body somehow both limp and rigid. His forehead rests against Akira's shoulder despite him being the taller one.

"Yusuke?" Akira calls hesitantly. "Are you feeling well?" No answer. "Can you hear me?" He shifts, toes scraping against the carpet, and finds Yusuke's wrists, going to check his pulse.

Then Yusuke nods minutely, and says, "Forgive me. I... I am very tired, Akira." This small confession seems to be the droplet to spill an ocean over a dam. And Yusuke lets go of his composure as he chokes on dry, wracking sobs which shake his whole frame so much Akira tightens his hold around him, scared that if he let go, Yusuke would shatter into even smaller pieces.

They stay like this, holding each other, heartbeat to heartbeat, half-tangled in discarded blankets, until the break of dawn.