Your body, for better or worse, no longer moved as you wished it to. You laid lifeless on a cold surface, and your eyes were shut so tightly they might as well be glued together. Ever so slightly, a single finger would twitch, aching to touch, to feel something—anything—beyond the ever-expansive nothingness you seemed to occupy.
You couldn't move, but you could still think. You still heard your voice, weak and shaky, within your head. You could see visions of your family, and of your friends. You knew what had transpired before you'd entered this void. So, this was the afterlife—or perhaps you were still falling. And maybe you would fall for all of eternity, shackled within the inaccessible remnants of the Metaverse. You couldn't feel anything, though, so falling forever maybe wouldn't be so bad—it would have been Takuto in your place right now, you remind yourself.
You wondered what befell of Ren and the rest of the team. You wondered what exactly a transition back to the original reality would look like. You even wondered how the Aoyama convenience store would fare without you, the job you hated, of all things. You hoped for the best, of course—after fighting this hard, you'd be real pissed if nothing you wished for came to fruition. Maybe Rumi and Takuto could rekindle what they had, too, and Takuto could find a different and equally meaningful purpose to his life. You weren't there to complicate things for anyone anymore, after all.
You'd once believed thinking of Takuto and Rumi getting back together would irreparably break your heart, so you never allowed the idea to cross your mind: You were wrong. Right now, you feel nothing. Not sadness, nor happiness, nor contentment, nor disappointment. Nothing.
After some time—God knows how long—the seal on your eyes gradually weakened, until you were finally able to flutter them open. The light that poured in blinded you at first.
But then your vision adjusted, and all you saw was nothing.
You also saw everything. It was so chaotic—simultaneously a white void, and millions of shades and hues and tones of colors at once. Both motionlessness and the rapid-fire whizzing of familiar objects around you. Both silence and deafeningly loud barrages of sounds.
Your eyes shifted down toward your feet, as you were still unable to move your head. Even beneath you, there was nothing. You were floating, and your body felt lighter than air.
From the distance, a figure approached you, a stunningly ethereal being. She wore luxurious golden, shimmering, and translucent robes, and her long wavy brown hair was adorned with bright green vines and leaves. Her face and body were full and curved softly, while her eyes were sharp, almost piercing. This woman had a certain familiarity to her—almost like Circe, but younger, more chaotic, yet still wise beyond her years.
She reached her hand out to you, and her skin glowed, like glitter.
"I know what you're thinking." The woman first uttered, "No, this is not the afterlife."
Your throat was heavy. You wanted to reply, but your muscles were frozen in place.
She tilted her head, almost saddened by your lack of response. "Is something the matter? You look like you have something you want to say."
I would say it if I could, dammit!
Immediately, her expression shifted, as if the pieces connected in her mind and she completely understood what was going on...somehow. "Ah, so you can't speak? I'm guessing you can't move either, since you haven't even so much as blinked... It must be because this plane of existence is so overwhelming for you, (Y/N)!"
So, she knows your name and she can read your thoughts. How eerie.
The woman cackled. "You don't recognize me, do you? I'm so hurt. You wound me so." She grinned, a strange light collecting in her hand before she placed it onto your chest. "I am Circe. This is my true form."
Once the light made contact with your body, you took a hearty and forceful gasp of air, your lungs inflating so much you were sure they would explode. The weight you'd been carrying was lifted off your shoulders as a result, and you were finally able to move your body.
"So, (Y/N), like I said: you aren't dead." Circe began to explain as she absentmindedly manifested miniature pig statues from the palm of her hand. "You'd be relieved to hear that."
"O-Of course I am—" you breathlessly sputtered out, "But where are we? Why do you look so different?"
"Ooh, you like how I really look, don't you?" Circe even behaved far differently than how you'd known her previously. "Heh, well, if you insist on knowing...we're in your heart! You're very, very unconscious right now."
"In my heart?" you repeated, the words not quite registering.
"Mhm," she hummed, the miniature pig statue pile growing behind her, "your heart, your soul, your psyche, your subconscious, your id...whatever you wanna call it, but you get the point! While this is where I've dwelled within you, it's also where your desires are held."
"How am I in here?" was all you could think to ask.
Circe was silent for a moment. "If I had to guess, it's because you're about to die."
Your blood ran cold. A moment ago, you had made your peace with dying. But then Circe appeared, breathed life back into you, only to snatch it away again...
"Haha. Just kidding!"
You wanted to slap her for that cruel joke, but she'd probably turn one of those pig statues into an angry bear, or a wolf, or a lion and have it go after you.
"In truth, you've always been in here with me. This is your heart after all. It only makes sense. But for whatever reason, until now, you've never moved an inch or thought a single thought. Not even a little finger twitch. It was like you were dead."
Circe continued on. "If I had to wager, you'll come to soon enough. And when you do...I hope you find him."
His name didn't even have to be said.
"Is he okay?" you immediately asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, I dunno; I live here, and since the Metaverse was so weak, I couldn't see through your body's eyes like before. He was fine while you were falling, so I don't see why he wouldn't be fine now."
Dissatisfied with the ambiguity of that answer, you slowly nodded. "I suppose you're right."
"It's so nice to have you to talk to, though! I've always enjoyed speaking with you in my Persona form. I never thought I'd actually get to speak with you as my true self." Circe actually seemed sincere about this.
Your body relaxed a bit at Circe's calmer demeanor. She was more hectic and mischievous within your heart, but she was still a welcoming spirit. You were compelled to stay by her side for just a moment longer—if only to keep her company. "Thank you for being so patient with me, Circe. Being bound to a soul as indecisive as mine, it must have been so frustrating."
"Oh, well—to be quite frank, yes! It was frustrating. So incredibly frustrating!" her tone was whimsical, carefree. "But your growth was astonishing. You really stood your ground when it counted—when you really needed to. Just like I did, thousands and thousands of years ago."
"I find that hard to believe." you answer honestly. "You're always so sure of yourself. And when you guided me, you never faltered or hesitated."
"Do you think I was always like that, my child?" Circe paused, letting out a contented sigh as she leaned her body toward yours. She took your hands into hers, gripping them firmly, her eyes having not an ounce of reluctance in them. "Listen—I've had millennia to live, and I'll have millennia more to live. In all that time, it's only natural I'd gain some wisdom. But you?" her eyebrows furrowed before she continued. "You only have so much time to learn who you are, what your limits are, and how exactly you can push yourself beyond those limits in a healthy way...and, you know, for 20-something, I'd say you have a pretty good head on your shoulders."
You were speechless at the flow of praise from your Persona. Circe's lips curled into a smile.
"Even if you are a bit of a reckless, hopeless, and scorned romantic—but all of that just reminds me of myself."
She was you, and you were her.
"Hey, Circe?"
Circe nodded, acknowledging the coming question.
"It sounds like you have so much faith in me." you spoke breathlessly, overwhelmed by, well, everything. "On one hand, I'm so flattered to be recognized by you; but on the other, I'm scared of not being able to live up to your expectations. Still, I—I want to at least try . You know, to confront him away from the Metaverse, and away from Personas. Just me, and him, and no one else, so we can be as vulnerable as we need to be."
It seemed Circe already knew this was the path you chose to walk from here. Her smile was an affectionate and maternal one. "That's a good start, (Y/N). When you summon the courage to take that leap forward, I'm certain you'll no longer need my guidance. You'll be full of more conviction than you'll know what to do with."
Your stomach knotted. You'd grown so used to relying on Circe—especially in the past month where you could always sense her presence—that the notion of breaking away from her seemed impossible. Not only that, but you'd grown to view her as a friend, or maybe an older sister, even if she were only a reflection of your rebellion. "How can you be so sure?" I said, your voice shallow.
"I know so. Because, just like you, I'd relied on someone. Perhaps you know him—Hermes? Gods, you see, they take a certain pleasure in giving you the world, and then stripping it away from you as soon as you feel any sort of security; again, you could probably relate. Well, anyway—one day, he'd just stopped aiding me. And I thought I was doomed. But I took matters into my own hands, and I proved I was just fine without him and all his knowledge. I know you are capable of just the same, because you are just as much of a reflection of I as I am of you, my child."
"If you believe in me so much," you sighed as you felt a dull ache in your head, and your body grew lethargic once more, "And if this is the last time I'll be speaking with you like this with the disappearance of the Metaverse and all...I suppose I can't let you down, Circe. Once I can move your body in the real world—I'll find him. And I'll talk to him."
"Good. Again, I have faith in you. More than I had in myself, eons ago."
When you soon regained consciousness, you awoke within the construction site of Odaiba, no longer occupied by Takuto's Laboratory of Sorrow . You despondently held your mangled hand, staring blankly at it, completely desensitized to the pain that tore up your arm. A delicate flake of snow fell onto it and immediately melted upon contact, mixing with the warm blood; it was gone as soon as it had appeared. It melted, still—you were alive, at the very least, warmblooded. In that moment, that exceedingly obvious conclusion was all you could muster. You were numb, despite the little pep-talk your own Persona gave you, but the beat of your heart remained steady; life was gifted to you, though you knew no longer what to do with it.
It was snowing, just as it had in the Metaverse, but the area in your vicinity was scarcely populated—in fact, you were its only inhabitant. From your frigid, hard seat, there were large construction machines, trucks, piles of wood, of steel, of scrap metal; there were debris, pulleys, levers, power tools; there were wired gates covered in a green fabric, warning signs, yellow hard-hats littering the cold cement ground, somehow not blown away by this ferocious wind; and there were also piles of snow beginning to slowly accumulate, piling upon its victims unapologetically, including yourself: you were still as all these things, but breathing—the only thing separating you in this very moment, and it was heavily apparent that you had only a modicum of strength left within you to change that fact.
It was cold—not only in your body and your lungs—but this environment: it was cold. There was no hum of life to be heard nor felt, no barren trees: only concrete, black and orange and yellow machinery. Hopeless; bleak.
You were only wasting time sitting here, you knew that, but, truly, you didn't know what your next steps were. Your comrades were nowhere to be seen—not a footstep, nor a sound to be discovered—the person of your affections, of course, was equally elusive. No...he was always far more elusive to you than anything else had been. And yet, as frustrating, as aggravating, and as stubborn to you as he was, all this time—you were the same to him! And you never stopped desiring him! Not even now, as you were left on your own: defeated, injured, battered, perhaps forgotten by your beloved. Right now, you think, you just wanted Circe; you wanted to rely on her strength, her zeal, and her overabundance of confidence which you always leaned on to cope with your own deficit, and you knew that no matter how many times, no matter how fiercely you called her name, she would not reply back, be that of her own accord or not.
Or, perhaps, She would answer you in her own way.
"Hey! What're you doing here? This area's strictly off limits to civilians!"
A rustling of the metal gates, the crunch of footsteps upon the thin bed of snow, a voice so husky and strained.
"Damn trespassers..." this hum of life clicked his tongue, and he was fast approaching. "Come on, just get outta here, an' we won't have any prob—" he stood in front of you, clad in thick, layered clothing, and a reflective safety vest. You finally lifted your head, strands of hair falling haphazardly across your face: as his eyes fell upon your battered state, his mouth hung agape, and all of his irritation melted away—replaced only with an appearance of concern, or confusion, or, most likely, a mix of both. "Okay, so—um, lemme call an ambulance."
He reached into his pocket, upon which you mustered enough strength to aimlessly bring yourself to your feet, stumbling as you did so. "I'm fine. Sorry. I just needed a moment."
The man before you held tightly to his phone, doubtful of your protests. "Your hand's 'boutta fall off." he said firmly. "I don't even know how you got here in the first place: the gates were shut tight, and you've left no tracks."
You started for the exit, not wanting to be held up any longer—truth be told, however, you were beyond grateful this man was as compassionate as he was. More than anything, a sliver of compassion was what you needed most. "Long story. Listen: I'll get out of your way. We won't have any problems, right?" you weakly muttered, head looking over your shoulder back at him.
"I mean, sure, but—" the man sighed, "It might be a liability issue for us here, ya' know? Not to mention, however you got yourself in here, your hand's beat to hell and back."
"Yeah. Tell me about it." you replied sarcastically.
He hesitated, biting lightly on his lip. He had stubble, just like Takuto. Soft eyes, just like Takuto. "Just sit back down. The machines might be comfier for you than the pavement" he insisted, removing his safety vest before placing it gingerly upon your shoulders. "I won't say how I found you. I just can't leave you here like this." and so, he led you to the refuge of a bulldozer. You wondered why he extended such kindness to a stranger.
"I got a kid around your age." he quietly said, cutting sharply through your silence, "My kids aren't up to crazy things like you are, but...I still hope someone'll do the same for them."
With that admittance, he shut the door to shield you further from the elements before walking off, phone to his ear, sneaking glances at you every so often.
You reached for your own phone.
Turning the screen on, the same date displayed: February 3rd. That revelation was more relieving than you had initially expected—you had, in fact, not been falling for an eternity.
And beyond your best judgements, you had ended up calling Takuto. It rang, and rang, but no answer, of course; you tried again, and again, numb until your ambulance arrived.
· · ·
Between the extensive nerve, muscle, and tissue damage you had sustained and your very near run-in with frostbite, you nearly lost your hand that night. It was salvaged, but you could no longer feel as you once felt: objects would unknowingly slip out of your grasp, you would suddenly be unable to move your thumb, and you would be frequently plagued with painful tingling sensations that were virtually impossible to treat or even ignore. In terms of appearance, it was mangled beyond belief: swollen, bruised red and purple and green, sometimes oozing. You wrapped a bandage around it every morning, regularly changing it at every opportune moment as they would quickly become soiled from pus, so as to not draw attention to yourself.
Further, you had elected to no longer involve yourself with the Phantom Thieves. The mission was done, and though you currently had no idea of Takuto's whereabouts, you no longer wanted to trouble them with your pitiful sorrows. You wanted to hide away—rather, you needed to. Never, in your wildest dreams, did you ever think to imagine how your relationship with Takuto would end up nearly a year later. He walked into your store, and by extension, your heart, as inconspicuous, as unassuming, and as unintentionally-charming as ever—only for him to callously exit without a single utterance of why, or how. And despite this deep sense of betrayal I've acquaintanced yourself with...I'm standing here, in the very same spot he walked into your life, praying and hoping he would walk through those doors again. You are a fool—you know it to be so—but you are an auspicious, still-hopelessly-and-unfathomably-in-love fool.
You would find yourself recommending the very same snacks he came to regularly purchase to new customers. You would buy them yourself to eat during breaks. You would repeatedly read and reread your conversations over text, starting from the beginning every time:
Hey, Maruki Takuto here :] I'm so looking forward to meeting with you!
...Of course, your thoughts would often wander to Rumi. It's more than likely he finally decided to reach out to her again once his heart was stolen—the most simple explanation is often the most true, after all. But you were unashamedly selfish; you wanted Takuto— your Takuto—to yourself. You wanted to shower him in your love and adoration, as you always subtly did before this whole mess. Because in your mind—in your demoralized, disparate, and stubborn mind—you felt only indignation that you were unfortunate enough to not have met him sooner.
These thoughts droned on for months following the siege of his Palace. It was April now, rainy, cool, damp, dark April—and today was no exception. Your shift at the convenience store dragged on, as per usual. On rainy days such as these, customers were few and far between—your responsibilities consisted of mopping up any muddy tracks, and watching droplets of water race down the glass doors of the entrance. You had to commute to class right after work, though your energy for the day had quickly drained from the menialness of your job.
The rain did not let up even as your shift ended, and even as you walked to the Aoyama-itchōme train station.
From beyond the hood shielding your hair from the storm, you caught a glimpse of the bold, red lettering plastered on the displays:
MARUNOUCHI-LINE TRAINS ARE SEVERELY DELAYED DUE TO INCLIMATE WEATHER IN THE BUNKYO, TOKYO AREA.
A deep sigh escaped your lips—you really did not feel like sitting around for this train to school among the growing number of people also waiting for the Marunouchi-line trains to arrive.
Without giving much thought on the matter, you shuffled back outside to hail a taxi. And without much waiting, a taxi, a black one with tinted windows, soon answered your call. You gingerly stepped inside, shaking excess rain off your umbrella before fully entering the vehicle. Setting it to your feet, you placed your backpack on your lap after fastening the seat belt.
"Where to?"
Your heart promptly stopped at the sound of the driver's voice. You were far too scared to look into the rearview mirror, fearful of shattering the one glimmer of hope you may have just caught.
It was such an unassuming question—a routine, practical one for a taxi driver, in fact—however, you knew who that voice belonged to. It was a voice so sweet like nectar and honey and ambrosia, a voice that could melt away your troubles at the drop of a simple syllable, a voice of nostalgia, of better times, a voice which stirred within the very depths of your heart true and unabated joy, and frustration, and anger, and contempt, and love, sweet love, and desperation, and happiness. A voice which belonged to a man so tender, so kind, and so very troubled; a man with a heart of glass, a delicate and uncared for mind, a man so selfless and so selfish; a man who knew of your affections, but could not and refused to return them. This was a man who would rather let himself burn than allow his loved ones to feel a shred of hardship, though he was positively horrible at that. He was a misguided man—a man who felt he had nowhere to turn, no one to fully lean on—a man betrayed by the world, and, eventually, a man who betrayed the world itself; who rejected it fully, hiding within himself, and taking others with him. A man who disappeared from your grasp without a trace over two months ago, seemingly wholly oblivious to the fact that he was in the presence of the person who had poked, and prodded, and pried into his heart like none other.
What were you to do at this moment? Should you engage in small talk, pretending as though none of what had transpired between you happened? Should you berate him for vanishing? Quietly and politely ask him where he's been all this time?
None of the sort could manifest into sound.
"...UTokyo, Bunkyo campus, please."
Even his breathing went silent. He recognized your voice, too, it seemed. You waited on bated breath for his response, still hesitant to lower your hood. Thankfully, the steady click of the car's signal and the heavy thumping of the rain on the hood of the car masked the sound of your own pounding heart.
"It's you." he murmured, quickly turning to face you, eyes glossed over as tears pooled within them from behind his glasses. "It's really you? (Y/N), it's you, isn't it?" Takuto's voice was strained, desperate, and in disbelief. "Is it okay if I can see you, (Y/N)? Can you please take off your hoodie, please?"
At his insistence, you slowly lowered your hood, your eyes refusing to meet his. "And it's you, Takuto..." you murmured, crossing your arms only to lessen your highly apparent anxious shaking. "...It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Takuto breathlessly laughed, turning back to face the road. You had not yet taken off from where he picked you up. "Yes. It's been quite some time." he took a deep breath before setting off, "...I'm—I'm beyond overjoyed to see you again."
Somehow, you were skeptical of that claim. But...you gave into it; you melted into it, even. How could you not? Takuto was happy to see you; still—you had too many questions to brush everything to the side. "Takuto— you disappeared. I tried reaching out to you so many times, but you never answered my calls. Then, you never returned them, or thought to come back to where you knew you would find me. I just...I just want answers. For everything."
Takuto's expression strained. "I don't blame you at all for feeling frustrated." he started slowly, steadily, "I've...done a bit of soul searching, I suppose you could say."
"What kind of soul searching?"
He smiled softly, your eyes meeting through the rearview mirror. "After you stole my heart, I had much thinking to do. I know I betrayed you...I even betrayed Rumi." Your heart sank at the mention of her name; you could sense what was coming. However, he continued: "I decided to quit counseling. Truth be told, I was a horrible and unethical counselor—I went against every single ethical practice I learned in grad-school. I projected my own feelings of insecurity, inadequacy, and beliefs of the world onto my clients. I took advantage of your eagerness to help me, and of your feelings for me, in order to selfishly further my goals to build a reality which was only truly idyllic on the surface. (Y/N), I started over. I can say that I've started over."
Still, you could not shake his mention of Rumi. You attempted to remain light-hearted and supportive, replying only with, "That's good to hear...I'm glad to hear that, actually."
"Thank you, but..." Takuto paused, "I know what you're thinking, (Y/N)."
You feigned a chuckle. "Is it that obvious? Are you still reading my cognitions?"
And he returned with a small giggle. "Well, yes, it is indeed very obvious. No cognition-reading needed, I promise. Listen, I—yes, I did meet with Rumi again."
"...How did that go?" you weakly mustered.
"She's doing great. I met her with our mutual friend from back in high school, Shibusawa, and his fiance. She's happily married with young children."
It would be thoughtless of you to ignore the very apparent strain in his voice—the hitch of his breath, or the shaking of his hands upon the steering wheel—he was so clearly affected by Rumi's "moving on." But...you were relieved. You knew it was a horrible thought, and no matter how much you tried to push it out of your mind, it would come back, persistent and obstinate; even so, you believed you were well within your right to feel this way. With your mind continuing to race, conflicted, yet firmly determined, you could only muster a small, "I see," a slight pause, both of you shifting uncomfortably in your seats; you spoke again, "Did you guys talk about anything?"
"Ah..." he smiled, a graceful smile, content, satisfied, "We did. We spoke at length."
"About what?"
"Nothing you have to worry about, I assure you," his smile did not dissipate, only grew more weary, "She—she still had no recollection of me whatsoever, nor did she remember the fate of her parents. I suppose Azathoth's—or Adam's, maybe—grasp on this world endures, even with the collapse of my Palace." his tired eyes found yours through the rear view mirror once more, visibly easing at the sight of you. "That's most likely because the Metaverse can never truly be eradicated. Cognitions will always become distorted, no matter what..."
"...Have you ever thought about lifting the actualization you placed on her?" you meekly asked as you fidgeted with the hem of your top.
Takuto made a small, hesitant nod. "That was the reason I decided to visit her, but when I called for Azathoth as well as Adam Kadmon, neither of them answered. I just—I only wanted to correct my past mistakes; to atone for them. I felt horrible that I couldn't even do that for her." his voice trailed weakly.
You had, on many occasions, attempted to call for Circe, whether it be for guidance or for a shoulder to lean on through your roughest nights; ironically enough, however, these rough nights were brought on by grief due to Takuto's actions.
"...But, truth be told, I've made my peace with the situation, at least somewhat. She has a happy, thriving family now, and it's no longer my place to meddle in her affairs. I never thought it would be possible for me, but—I'm ready to move on."
This surely caught you by surprise: Takuto's root cause of grief was over his sudden loss of Rumi, and yet...he's moved on? And, surely, he caught a glimpse of your shock through your widened eyes, your raised brows, tensed shoulders, and your hitched breath, because he turned to face you once more. "I know I'm not supposed to encourage this, but—um, sorry, um—is your class too important for you to miss?" Takuto asked, as if he didn't know you would be wholly unable to say no.
And, of course: "N-no. It's not important; i-it's just a lecture I could catch up on later..."
Relief instantly washed over him as he spoke once more, "In that case, um—would it be alright if we went to my place?"
"...What?"
His cheeks flushed a faint pink, evidently embarrassed by his forwardness. "Sorry. Am I being too presumptuous?" he exhaled shakily, collecting himself fully. "I want to catch up and talk with you more than what's possible in just a simple ten-minute cab ride."
You were at a complete loss for words—everything was moving far too fast, too fast for your thoughts to catch up, and too fast for these thoughts to materialize into words. All you could truly process was the sound of your own heartbeat, caught in your throat, drowning out thunder, the steady descent of the rain, and car horn beeps from the congestion of traffic surrounding you. You stared aimlessly ahead, frozen in place, apprehensive, anxious, hopeful. "We—we can do that, Takuto..." you eventually said, only after a heavy veil of unease thickly coated this exchange.
Again, he quickly relaxed. "Th-that's great...really great, actually. I'm glad—so glad." Takuto was breathless, just as anxious as you. "Oh—I moved, by the way: from Ogikubo to Shinjuku. It'll still be a long drive, though, so, um...I won't make you converse with me until we reach my complex."
"Alright..."
And perhaps that was the best decision to make at this moment. Here you two were, two lovers unloved—lost, frivolous wanderers in this disquieting yet tender world; your hearts, fragile, displayed entirely on your sleeves; and your souls, your beautiful souls, enduring, marching on as they always did. You and Takuto were here, alive, immersing yourselves in the comforting, lulling rainstorm: a peaceful evening drive into the unknown—at the very least, unknown for yourself.
You both drove in complete silence, though the tension which so heavily coated your dispositions were all but gone.
· · ·
Takuto's new apartment was the same style as his old one: humble, small, but cozy. It was warm and inviting, with large potted-plants—either belonging to his neighbor's or his own—visible through the balcony glass doors. Some windowsill plants, too, were coated thickly in rain, drops of dew rhythmically falling off little light green buds. Takuto politely escorted you inside, still no spoken word between you. It wasn't until the both of you walked inside his apartment did he speak once more, and even then it was only a small, "Welcome."
His home here in Shinjuku appeared no different from his home in Ogikubo: minimalistic, perhaps even more so now. Upon further, closer inspection, it seemed as though he had trashed much of his old furniture, either replacing it or no longer reserving a place for it entirely. Starting fresh, letting go of memories of the past—it would be remiss to exclude old furniture in that as well. All that was left now was a bare-bones kitchen, an abundance of empty space, and a low wooden table at the center of the living room with small cushions surrounding it. There were a few empty plastic beverage bottles, some energy drink aluminum cans, scattered about atop the kitchen counter, although Takuto quickly disposed of them upon your arrival. Takuto was nervous, skittish—as was I, of course—and paced restlessly about his modest apartment, throwing his white gloves aside, picking up scraps and wiping away any small accumulations of dust as he did. You only stood there at the door, watching him, too hesitant to take another step forward.
"Y-You can come in now, (Y/N). Sorry for the mess, I obviously wasn't expecting guests—and I'm sorry for pulling you out of your classes." Takuto sheepishly commented as he took a seat at the wooden table, patting the spot next to him after removing his glasses.
You did as he said—you gingerly set your backpack down at the entrance, hung your raincoat up, and propped your umbrella at the door. You took the spot where he beckoned you, and you couldn't help but think of how you never sat this close before. You could hear his breath—his steady, quiet breath—and no doubt he could hear yours. You wanted to be closer, your mind and body begged for his touch, his warmth which you could feel even from here.
But he was staring at your bandaged hand, for he knew the cause of the injury. He winced, appeared troubled, a bit lip, narrowed eyes.
"It's healing." you quickly declared, holding it up and moving it with ease to prove this to him.
"It's been healing for months?" Takuto hung his head low for only a moment, where he gazed blankly at his own hands—a form of survivor's guilt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I—I remember that night. I relive it every day, because I know myself to be a fool. I know the danger I put you, and everybody else in. I know it all—I know the mistakes I've made. I know the hardships I've made you, especially you, unfairly endure. And yet...you keep coming back to me—whether of your own volition or not, here you are; here you always are."
Your face went hot, and you could not bear to lift your head to meet the gaze of your beloved. You were utterly embarrassed; you knew it to be true, but for him to admit your persistence—you were stunned. Lips parted for a moment before words departed, you tacitly replied, "I know. I'm stubborn."
Without a moment's hesitation, Takuto swiftly responded, "I love that about you." he shifted, a brief pause cut by a deep breath. Your world had stopped dead in its tracks. "But—that's not the only thing I love about you."
And your world ceased to move completely.
"...I'm not sure what you mean." you said, breathless, barely even able to speak.
Takuto placed his large, warm hand softly atop yours. You could feel his slight tremble, but he was firm, not wanting to let go; you didn't want to let go either, and you didn't want to stop him from inching closer to you, just as he was doing right now. His thumb steadily rubbed across the top of your hand, calluses you previously never knew existed now making themselves heavily apparent. "I—I don't have the right to do this to you. I've put you through hell. I'm sure I've broken your heart countless times."
"...Maybe that's true, but—" you were cut off by Takuto grasping your hand fully now; you didn't pull your hand away, you didn't tell him to stop—you only grasped his back.
"No, (Y/N), it's alright. Please, just let me take accountability. If not now, then I never can. I'm sorry for interrupting you; I'm sure you have so much you want to say, and it's selfish of me to ask this of you, but...can I please tell you, honestly, what's on my mind?"
You made a small nod.
Takuto smiled, his entire body easing. "Thank you," in one swift motion, Takuto had taken hold of your hand with both of his, gently intertwining your fingers with one as he caressed the back of your hand with the other. He seemingly melted into the warmth of your hand, as did you for his comforting warmth. "I—I've been running. I've always been running, too afraid of confrontation. I've even been too afraid to confront myself. I always firmly believed what I was doing was the only correct way. I turned a blind eye to any obvious failings or lapses in my judgements, no matter how severe. And so...I've hurt everyone I fought so hard to protect. I can't apologize enough—because no apology will be enough. But to you, (Y/N), I want you to know how sorry I am. I'm so sorry for stringing you along as I did, for manipulating you, for leaving you behind so many times."
"Takuto..." you uttered, catching a glimpse of the tears pooling in his eyes. You wanted to reach out and wipe them away, but he beat you to it. When his hands returned into the solace of your own, you felt the wetness of his still-drying tears.
He trembled, even more so now. "I was held back, you know? By a pertinacious sense of duty or obligation to Rumi, by bloody and unabashed vengeance, and, most of all, by guilt...It was all guilt. All I could ever feel, for all these years, was guilt in its purest, rawest form. I denied my true feelings, all this time, in order to not betray someone who'd forgotten I'd even existed."
"It's been painful, hasn't it?" you murmured, finally mustering the courage to reach out for him. You cupped his face tenderly in the palm of your hands, and the weight of his head fell fully onto you. He was giving into you, allowing himself to be vulnerable for the first time in what had clearly been years. His cheeks were soft, if not for his fresh stubble rubbing against you. Just as he had done to you, you rubbed his skin with your thumb, steady, wanting him to know you were here for him, listening.
And his walls had fully broken down; the tears which had only pooled in his eyes now fell down his cheeks onto your hand, which you would promptly wipe away. Takuto cried, and cried, but did not pull away, nor did he hide his face—he was comfortable, vulnerable, exposed, but this was his honesty.
In between sobs and sniffles, Takuto let out a quiet murmur, muffled by his tears, his hitched, uneven breaths:
"I love you."
You froze in place.
"I love you. I've always loved you."
He couldn't be serious.
"I've loved you for so long, and I've—I've pushed these feelings away. I've buried them and I'm done hiding. I hurt you. I hurt myself. I love you. I love being with you. I love how you adore me. I love how you've never abandoned me. I love the person you are. I love you."
"T-Takuto, s-slow down..!"
"No, I can't." he took you into his embrace fully, pressing you against him so tightly, evidently afraid you would slip from his grasp. This was everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever fantasized about—his arms around you—it was finally happening, and you didn't know how to respond. Your face was hot, sinking into his chest, your arms placed around him, your body telling him to never let you go. "I can't slow down! I've held this in for so long. I love you."
"B-But," you muttered into his chest, your face nuzzling into the curve of his neck, "If you do...why did you leave..?"
"That's—that's a fair question, (Y/N)..." Takuto, calmer now, if only a little bit, moved to stroking your hair, his slender, long fingers combing through the strands, idly twirling with it at its ends. "It was guilt. I am a coward; no matter how you spin it, I am a man full of cowardice. I was too afraid to seek you out, too afraid of seeing you gaze upon me with resentment, too afraid to face you after what had transpired between us—I'm sorry. But..." his embrace of you tightened, arms firmly around your waist, his lips lightly pressing your temple; they were soft, and full, and on your skin—your mind went blank, "When you just—just appeared before me, purely out of coincidence...I knew I couldn't run anymore. My heart couldn't contain itself, and I—I couldn't pass up this opportunity fate gave to me. I started over somewhat, but that didn't mean I wanted to leave all of my past behind: there was always room for you here," he paused, guiding your hand to rest delicately upon the left side of his chest. His pounding heart could be felt upon the palm of your hand, "in my heart. And...I'm sorry I never cleared out the space for you before."
With your hand upon his chest, forehead pressed firmly on his collar, you grabbed hold of the fabric of his vest—his cute little taxi-driver suit, where he had undoubtedly dressed up far more than his co-workers. You loved him too...you loved him so much it hurt. You've loved him for so long, even knowing you could never have him, and yet, here he was, offering himself to you fully.
You slowly lifted your head to meet Takuto's gaze, your eyes shifty, but eager to see one another. He smiled—a soft, anxious, yet hopeful smile—moving to sheepishly tuck a free strand of hair behind your ear. He wanted to see you, fully, as did you—you did the same, as you've always wanted to; his hair always fell loosely upon his face, covering his sweet, tender eyes.
"Would you have me?" he whispered, a candied whisper, full of mirth, his hands falling warily to your waist.
Thoughtlessly, you drew Takuto toward you, both of your lips waiting like an unwavering, begging question; your face approaching his slowly, shakily, until your lips laid gently upon one another. You pulled him into you—onto you. Your chests pressed together, sharing in your love, your warmth, your tenderness. With your lips already soft, open, you wanted to sneak a glimpse at him—to get a better look at Takuto's face so close to yours, his dark, unkempt eyebrows, to admire how perfectly his smooth, chocolate-brown hair framed his handsome face. But you were tired. And Takuto's lips were plush, full. And no kiss had ever felt like this—so needed, so desired, so aching—before; kisses before were like a back-and-forth pushing of the mouths. And he did more than just not stop you; he kissed you back. He was drawing something out of you, with little clumsy nudges of his nose, gentle jabs of his chin, the way his hands gripped and ran down your torso and waist, down to your hips, taking you entirely. You brought your fingers to the nape of his neck, buried in his hair, and you couldn't open your eyes. For a long time Takuto kissed you, and you were filled with a deep astonishment at how this all ended up—how he ruled you, put you off, lured you back in, leaving you awaiting him desperately.
Breathless, you pulled away, leaving behind a quiet pop of your lips, your foreheads pressed together, your bodies confining in one another, and neither of you never wanted to let go. Your eyes fluttered open, gently, steadily, and we both looked into each other, full of love, full of adoration, of longing, of intense romantic desire. Again, you couldn't resist the urge to steal a kiss—shorter this time, but a loving, passionate kiss nonetheless.
As you spoke next, you made sure to keep his gaze, your thumb lightly grazing his lip.
"I would."