[ic] and it flew into the dark

[pheasantboy]

Shibuya Station is probably the part of Tokyo Akechi knows the best. He goes through there several times a day. It's the main hub between Kichijoji and anywhere else he might want to go, after all—the studio in Akasaka, the shopping districts in Ginza and Shibuya itself, his high school in Nagata-cho, the Public Prosecutor's Office in Kasumigaseki. And Shido's office, which, of course, is also in Nagata-cho.

But he never used to visit for the sake of it. He's fairly sure of that.

It's as if something draws him down there. Something he can't look at too closely. Something that leads him to the steps, to stare down as if into an open maw. And then to take a step down. And another.

A keen observer—say, one with long familiarity with the dead—might be able to tell that this rather dazed-looking boy was dead, at one point. Or perhaps he wasn't. It's a little unclear.

Comments

[paysforall]

"Myself personally? No, that's not my trick. Mine is making people blurt whatever is on their minds at the time, regardless of whether or not it's a thing they'd normally say or the appropriateness of the situation."

Eyebrows raised; you do have his interest, now.

"Why? Is there something you've forgotten recently?"

[pheasantboy]

"I don't—" But he breaks off. How is he supposed to know? How many times can he explain that memory just works differently, where he's from; that it's normal?

"Everybody here says I have. They seem so sure. As if I should be like them, and it's a crime that I'm not."

[paysforall]

"Well, put aside the opinions of others for a moment."

It's the sort of thing that's not easy, he's aware. Some of the casualness of his posture disappears.

"If there was something there, would you want to try? To remember it?"

[pheasantboy]

He doesn't fade; just looks up—up, is that right?—at yet another other-him. All of them so similar, and him the outlier. The question feels weightier than the other times he's been asked it.

"... it depends. What I want is to go home. My friends are there, not here. I belong there." That wound through the core of his being, leaking futile hope into the ether. "Assuming I have forgotten, what would I do when I return? I wouldn't belong any more."

[paysforall]

He does in fact have six or seven centimeters on the younger Akechi; even death can't prevent him from beanpole.

"Hmm. Well, to continue this hypothetical - would your friends reject you, if you didn't 'fit' anymore?"

[pheasantboy]

"They wouldn't reject me. Not exactly. They'd just—leave me behind." It's one of the things he's retained, that speaks to the deepest parts of him—that connection between how he is now, and how Ren is at home.

"Not on purpose, of course"—he hastens to add this. "But there are people it's hard for us to see, for too long. We forget them. We try to help, but... they just aren't there.

"You can tell me it doesn't make sense. I do understand how it is for all of you." And there it is, understated but almost Akechi acerbic. The boy is in there somewhere after all.

[paysforall]

"What about reaching out to those people, then?"

He doesn't comment on the fucked uped-ness of that statement. It goes in the box to process later. He's good at that.

(He can almost see how this could happen, if that box was just... gone.)

"People who 'aren't right' tend to band together, whatever their circumstances are. They find each other and build their own communities and ways of living - make groups that march close enough to the beat of the same drum that they can march together."

[pheasantboy]

And that is the thing that makes him go—not for long, not dramatically, but there's a noticeable shimmer of his awareness, of silk and pearls, as that mention of outcasts finding each other is managed away to nothing.

He blinks, remembering part of the conversation but none of the trigger. Awkward—he's tried to talk around the issue, and made it worse. "To be honest with you, there's only one person I know who's like that. I'm not aware of anyone else, though it strains credulity if there aren't any others.

"We've been trying to help him. It's just..." He hesitates, testing the concept. "Someone else here suggested he views us the way all of you view me. As wrong. But I don't want to believe that."

[paysforall]

Now that is some interesting data - and not the blanking out bit.

Just one person who sticks out? That's a cause, or a potential catalyst, or something to be worth noting. Someone who, perhaps, knows the truth.

"Just the one? You're right, it does strain credulity."

If the other him has said it, then saying it back to him isn't going to set anything off, right.

"But it could also be that something happened to this person in the past that makes it difficult for them to relate to others. If everyone around you is happy - it doesn't matter if it's 'real' or otherwise, that can be very isolating. Humans form bonds based on shared experience. If there's no one you can share that experience with..."

He trails off, half to see if it triggers something else, but if it doesn't - to see if the other him can fill in the gaps.

[pheasantboy]

... and it does. It hits the same trigger, or as near as; the loneliness that ate him up like acid. Again, though, he resumes the conversation at an earlier point.

"I'm afraid I find that hard to believe too. But that's one of the things it hasn't paid to discuss. People have got quite irate about it, and I'd rather avoid that."

If other-Akechi is looking, he may see a hole where a text message should be, and Inaba-Akechi's attempts to explain that you just can't tell people their mother died because it was her time to die.

[paysforall]

"That's the thing I would find hard to believe, I'm afraid. I'm far too used to seeing things that look happy and sweet to outsiders that are rotten on the inside."

Not saying that that must be what happened here, but not denying his own perspective either. He can see why the others find this exhausting, but he's not ready to abandon this yet.

[pheasantboy]

"Well, but isn't it the other way around?" Something gleams in his eye, in the depths of his mind; something that can still be convinced to anchor to a problem. "In my case, my situation, my home, looks rotten to all of you. But I'm an insider.

"Whose word, apparently, counts for nothing." But his face falls. "The only problem being my friend, of course. I know he's not happy, like the rest of us. That's the problem."

[paysforall]

"Whether your world in general is legitimately happy for you or not is of less interest to me than what happens to the outliers," he says, mostly honestly.

The detective smile goes back on. "When faced with a mystery, it's the things that don't line up that usually prove to be critical, wouldn't you agree? To me, figuring out what makes your world different is a puzzle to solve."

[pheasantboy]

... and he goes so blank that it looks as if he's zoned out, though he hasn't. He's just been hit with more cognitive dissonance than he usually survives. He replies slowly, thinking about it.

"You mean it's so different that you find it fascinating? I wish I shared that experience. As you say, being an outlier isn't fun. But I suppose I see the appeal." He does like puzzles, though he's forgotten that that—as well as a healthy dose of hate and obsession—was what made him a detective. A little crease has appeared behind his eyes.

"To be honest with you, I get a headache if I try to think about your worlds too much. It's hard to imagine living that way." It really is—he's not allowed to think about it too much.

[paysforall]

"I could say the same about yours - I may be the oldest of us here, but I won't pretend that I got here along an easy path. A peaceful life isn't something I can readily comprehend."

Nor something he's entirely sure he wants to, but he can keep that thought from reaching the surface. Instead, he says, "I know that the point of departure with one version of us is that he found a foster family who actually wanted him, which wasn't my experience. And one of the Rens told me that his world's version of us still has a living mother. So keeping track of the divergences and what they result in is becoming a bit of a hobby for me."

[pheasantboy]

But no; he blinks. That might have been nice, if it had been that way. There's a tension in the pit of his stomach that he doesn't like.

"There's a version of me whose mother is alive? Really?" He hasn't met that Ren, yet.

[paysforall]

"That was essentially my reaction." Which about person might phrase as RIGHT???, complete with audible extra question marks. "I didn't even try to disguise my disbelief, or my envy."

So even in a 'perfect' happy world, his mother remains dead.

[pheasantboy]

He drops back against the tile wall, thinking about it as the trains race through. "Imagine that. I..."

Though his past is misty, he knows he doesn't want her in his present. "Imagine her living with me all the time. I'm sorry, is that a terrible thing to say?"

[paysforall]

"Of course not."

On this he's firm. Even if it's only the faintest hints of darkness, it is something real, and he wants this version of himself to know that he won't be punished for it.

"'Grief is the love we didn't get to give.' I read something like that somewhere once. My partner tends to batch-buy philosophy books if I leave him unsupervised long enough." There's a faint fondness as he shakes his head just enough to flick his bangs out of his face. "I'd argue that it goes for every emotion, not just love, but in this case..."

[pheasantboy]

"Inaba Akechi—the one in the Shujin uniform, yes? He tried to tell me that if you didn't feel grief, you could never feel love. I disagreed, of course. I don't think that's the case." The idea that most of what he feels is paper-thin will elude him.

"You have a partner? I suppose that's your Ren, or Akira?" He's caught on to that commonality, though the idea of being that way with his own Ren puzzles him.

[paysforall]

"I would almost say it's the other way around, personally." Not that he's going to point out that the person opposite him doesn't have strong feelings of any sort, and that that's what grief comes from. "You can't grieve without losing something you care about."

Which is probably why the Akechi in front of him doesn't understand it. No loss, no grief.

But to the question, he shakes his head. "No, though I can't blame you for the guess. We could have been, if the world had been different. Though not the same kind of partner." He winks. "No, Asch and I met through work, and our relationship is more like police partners than anything else."

[pheasantboy]

The wink makes him a bit pink and sad and discombobulated; his Ren's not like the Akiras, just as Akechi himself isn't like the Akechis, though they share a name. "Oh, I see. And this is for your training game, in Shibuya?

"Speaking of outliers, then. You won't mind if I say that sounds... quite dangerous? What about the people in Shibuya? Do they know what's going on?"

[paysforall]

"It's no danger to bystanders unless things go disastrously wrong." That much he can say without lying. The dead can't affect the living in normal circumstances, after all. "And isn't it also dangerous to have teenagers with psychic powers running around untrained and unchecked?"

With that question posed, he folds his arms. "There's no truly safe options in my world, so we make the best of it."

[pheasantboy]

And there he goes, finally: teenagers running around untrained and unchecked.... But it's quick; he blinks and returns. It's almost like a computer rebooting, with a bit more self-disgust than before until it pulls itself together, and forgets.

"I... disastrously wrong, you said, yes? But surely that's always a possibility?"

[paysforall]

"It's also a possibility when driving a car, washing the windows of a tall building, and any number of other things that still have to be done."

Admittedly, usually those things don't go wrong because some weirdo gets it in their head to erase the individuality of an entire district of Tokyo, but the point stands. He's not going to bring up that difference when the other Akechi is already blanking out at him a little bit.