Chapter 9 – how fragile we are

"How fragile we are under the sheltering sky. Behind the sheltering sky is a vast dark universe, and we're just so small."
~The Sheltering Sky, by Paul Bowles

Akira stared at his hand, bending his fingers with a deliberate slowness. Callouses littered his palm like scars, and Akira stretched his hand past the stiffness that came in the early mornings.

"Hey," Morgana hissed, tail attempting a pitiful whack from his position in the desk. "What's gotten into you lately?" Akira shrugged.

Well, he knew what was wrong, but he still hadn't been able to bring himself to tell Morgana yet. With the formation of the Phantom Thieves, every sense of privacy had been lost. Aside from having Morgana practically attached to the hip, he had to watch everything he did. Every action, every facial expression, every word—would they give him away? When he spoke to someone outside of their group, did they know? Since Makoto joined them, the sudden absence of pressure from outside suspicion left a gap in his façade. One that had him looking behind his back even during classes.

And then there was whatever the hell was happening with the Shadows they fought. There wasn't anything unusual about those run of the mill creatures, but the boss battles, the demons… When Akira closed his eyes, he could still replay Kaneshiro Junya's own memories. He hadn't mentioned anything to Morgana or the others yet. Akira didn't like to think about the implications during the day but…

What if Morgana didn't know? If this abnormal thing was so far out of his new definition of 'normal' that no one else could explain it. Would that mean he was going crazy?

Akira clenched his fist, slowly, before unfurling his fingers once more. Morgana's tail waved at him again, large eyes watching in worry.

"Akira, is this about those letters?"

Ah, yet another problem to add to his ever-growing list.

His brother was his business, and his alone. For now, at least. Akira knew he'd have to tell the others eventually—probably soon, honestly—but it was nice, having this one thing completely to himself. He didn't know where he wanted to go with it yet, but he was content to just let it follow its own course.

Or he would, but Yu hadn't replied to his last letter.

His mind was working overtime trying to figure out why. They'd just started some semblance of a normal conversation. Had something happened? Was he suddenly busy with his college stuff? Was he… (And Akira would never admit how much it terrified him to entertain this thought.) Was Yu sick of him? Had he seen the broken mess that Akira really was and decided he didn't want to deal with that?

"Akira?"

He blinked, looking down at the paw sitting atop his fist. Morgana watched him carefully, eyes wide and unsure. Akira fastened a facsimile of Joker's façade in place, as if the persona could hide the yawning hole in his heart.

"Sorry, Morgana. I'm just a little tired."

Morgana opted to stay behind as Akira took a shopping trip out in Central Street. It would be easier lugging everything back without an extra cat-shaped weight to add on.

First stop, as always, was Untouchable. Iwai, as always, didn't question where he'd gotten the things he was pawning, though a brow was raised at the rusty but gold-encrusted pocket knife. (That had been a night, but let it never be said that pickpocketing yakuza was a worthless business.) Akira just offered the man a cheeky grin.

Turned out the knife was worth a pretty penny, and Akira walked out with a full wallet, whistling quietly to himself. He needed to work at the Beef Bowl Shop tonight, but there were still a couple hours left before then. He'd upgraded a couple things for the Thieves, discreet paper bag tucked under his arm. He could get a free dinner at the shop before work, and if he set aside enough for medicine from the clinic…

The mental shopping list in his head was interrupted as Akira felt a smaller body smack into him with a grunt.

"Oh, sorry." He blinked, readjusting the bag in his arms as he looked down at the girl rubbing her nose.

She looked up at him with startlingly blue eyes and a frown. "What are you, made of brick?" Her voice was muffled by the hand still covering her nose, and Akira offered her an apologetic smile. The glasses served a dual purpose, and his eyes flicked down, analyzing the potential threat.

She was wearing a school uniform—tan peacoat, black skirt, striped tie—short brown hair just a couple inches longer than Makoto.

"Sorry," he said again, just on reflex, "Do you go to Seidai?"

The girl stared at him dubiously, arms crossed. "Yeah, why? You a fan of Akechi-senpai?"

Akira chuckled sheepishly. "Something like that."

She continued staring for another moment longer before something shifted, and the girl nodded her head, as if reaffirming some kind of internal decision. She stuck a hand out. "Shimori Ai."

He blinked, shook her hand. "Kurusu Akira, from Shuujin."

Shimori grinned, then tightened her grip on his hand—it was surprisingly small—and turned and started walking. Akira stumbled, bewildered at the smaller figure dragging him down the street. "Uh—"

"Just call me Ai, Akira-kun." She grinned at him, but didn't explain anything, continuing to drag him with her until they reached the diner down the street.

Ai manhandled him into a booth, waving the waitress away after ordering for both of them. Once the waitress left, the brunette turned to him, blue eyes pinning him down knowingly. "Alright. Talk."

"Uh… What?" Not very eloquent, but Akira felt it was fair for the current discombobulated state of his mind.

Ai huffed, leaning back in her seat. "Talk it out," she kicked him in the shin from under the booth, "Talking is supposed to help when you're stressed."

Akira blinked. "How do you—"

"You look like Shouta does all the time. And there's a wrinkle right here." She pointed to the space between her brows for emphasis.

Akira was getting more and more bemused by the second. "Shouta?"

"We're here to talk about you, not me." She frowned, and Akira gave her a cheeky grin as he began to relax a little.

"Well that hardly seems fair." Ai downright scowled, and Akira's grin widened. "How about a deal? I 'talk it out,' and you tell me about this Shouta guy."

Ai rolled her eyes, and they were interrupted briefly as the waitress returned with a coffee for Akira and a nostalgic steak and tea for Ai. She dug in, clearly not wasting time with manners. Akira sipped at the coffee as he waited. "Ugh, fine. What do you want to know about him?"

"Is he your boyfriend?" The question evidently caught her off-guard, and Ai nearly choked on her steak. Akira laughed as she guzzled her tea.

"Ew, no!" She kicked him again, harder this time, and Akira hid a wince. "He's my—my older brother." Akira didn't miss the hesitation there.

"…Are you close?"

She didn't answer, and the silence between spoke volumes.

"My older brother seems to have opted for radio silence." Ai looked up at him, eyes wide. Akira smiled, softer than before—they were kindred souls, in a sense. He didn't know her exact circumstances, and she didn't know his, but they could relate to each other.

She understood this too, he knew, because she didn't ask why. "How so?"

Akira sipped at his coffee. "He hasn't responded to my last letter yet, and he never goes this long without sending something. I'm…" His mouth twisted into something ugly, a crack in the mask. "…worried."

Ai was quiet for a long time.

"I think…" She halted, and for the first time in the last hour or so, her voice, her expressions—they were uncertain, devoid of that confidence she so readily displayed. "I think you just need to trust him. Trust that he'll… be okay. And if you're really that worried, maybe send him another letter. Remind him that he's not alone anymore."

Akira smiled, and the pieces that held him together felt a little less jagged. "Thanks, Ai."

Ai grinned, back to her confidence and sure-fire attitude, finishing off the half-eaten steak before her. "You can thank me by paying."

Tonight was a bad night.

The ever-present stress of school had been replaced by a new source in the wake of summer, and he wasn't dealing with it particularly well.

His phone pinged again, and Akira put it on silent. The others were still pestering him to talk to the boss about his daughter. (Was that the right term in this case?) But how was he supposed to interrogate the only man willing to take him in? After the court hearing, Yoshiko had basically kicked him out, and dad always succumbed to her wishes, in the end. (He doesn't resent the man, no matter what the dark parts of his mind whisper.) He owed a lot to Sojiro; coming to him not as Akira but as Joker… It felt wrong.

He'd managed to postpone the confrontation a little longer, however, by convincing Morgana to let him go out on his own tonight. The cat was probably the only member of their group with some sense of Akira's dilemma; he let him go without an interrogation for once.

There weren't a lot of people or shadows out tonight; Akira hadn't yet decided whether or not that was a good thing.

Joker's bloodlust was strong, the ever present bubbling currently a boiling dangerously close to overflowing, and there was nothing to take it out on. His fingers itched; the gun would stay untouched tonight.

Akira fumbled with the lighter and the half-used box he'd stolen from the last unlucky victim to pass by. He took a deep drag from the cancer stick, coughing only once this time. Smoking was arguably as bad a habit as pickpocketing was, but it also helped calm Joker down a little. Besides, he tried not to do it often enough to actually get addicted.

"Pretty sure you're too young to be smoking."

Joker glanced up leisurely to stare at the hero watching him from atop a balcony. Jiraiya was perched casually on the railing, legs swinging back and forth freely; a kunai spun in one hand. Joker was too wound up, too eager for a fight, so it was Akira that grinned cheekily up at the other Persona user, a thin façade of Joker on his face.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking ash off the end. He tried to pretend his hands weren't shaking. "You gonna tell the police on me?" To his surprise, Jiraiya barked out a laugh, jumping down to ground level.

"Nah, don't feel like it." The hero made a gesture, and Akira handed over a cigarette and the lighter.

He watched the other breathe in deep, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Some hero you are," the comment slipped out before he could stop it, and Akira tensed, waiting for the hero to start acting his part.

But Jiraiya just shrugged, staring at the smoke dissipating into the air. "Heroes are supposed to help people, right? And the way I see it, the only one around here that needs help is you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Joker slipped out in the brief moment of surprise, but really, Akira was going to ask the same thing anyway. Perhaps this would be a little more believable if it were one of the other heroes, but Jiraiya had always been rather vocal about his dislike of the Thieves. Akira took another drag, keeping one eye on the other Persona user.

Jiraiya sighed. "I've been thinking. I don't… I don't approve of your methods." A scowl crossed his face—at least, from what was visible from underneath the black mask—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "But… You helped a friend of mine, so let's just say I owe you a favor, yeah?"

Akira paused for a moment. That was… unexpected, but nice. His lips quirked up in a smile almost unbidden. For the first time that night, his hands had stopped shaking.

"Just because we're playing nice right now doesn't mean I'm gonna tell you my secrets."

Jiraiya gave him an exaggerated groan, and Akira's smile became a full-blown smirk. "Not even a hint?"

"Nope," Akira popped the 'p' for effect.

"Can't blame me for trying."

They started walking aimlessly down the street, Jiraiya crushing the cigarette under his boot after a few more minutes. He hadn't gone through even half of it, and Akira was beginning to suspect he'd only asked for one to set some kind of truce between them.

"So where's the rest of your crew? Don't you guys usually patrol in groups?"

Jiraiya shrugged, "I could say the same of you."

They weren't too far from a Mementos entrance, and Akira stopped in front of it, contemplating. "Sometimes I like to just blow off some steam on my own." Jiraiya followed his gaze to the subway entrance.

"Well I can never say no to some good ol' shadow bashing." The hero pulled out one of his kunai, twirling it with a grin. Akira shrugged noncommittally, but Joker grinned, and the hero tugged the headphones around his neck over his head as he lead the way down the stairs.

...

Joker wasn't entirely sure how he ended up here, fighting Shadows alongside one of his enemies. Or rather, what was supposed to be his enemy. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure where they stood anymore.

He flipped away from the yaksini's slash, watching as Jiraiya attacked from above with his kunai. The shadow disappeared in a hiss of darkness. Joker wouldn't say he was impressed, even if Jiraiya was far faster and more acrobatic than any of the Thieves.

"You know, you'd make a good Thief."

Jiraiya scoffed. "You know, you'd make a good hero." Joker rolled his eyes, but continued ambling down the tracks in search of the next inhuman victim.

It was a strange experience, to say the least, to walk around Mementos without sitting in Mona's vehicle form. He'd gone out fairly often on his own, but he could never get completely used to it. Jiraiya seemed to notice his discomfort.

"Hey, why don't we use that truck or whatever? I know you guys have one." Joker shrugged, watching apathetically as a Leanan Sidhe and several pixies began charging towards them.

"Can't." Jiraiya narrowed his eyes at the response, but nonetheless pulled out a kunai and blocked an attack.

Despite the temporary truce, they both had yet to call upon their Persona. Joker preferred to stick to the higher levels of Mementos when he didn't have Mona to make a quick getaway, and after having gone through so many levels, the first couple floors were practically child's play at this point.

He pulled out his pistol and shot the pixies down in one go.

Things continued on in this fashion for some time, until Jiraiya decided it was time for them to call it quits. They returned to the first floor, just inside the cover of Mementos, away from the real world. The Shadows wouldn't come this far up either. Jiraiya pulled his headphones back down, and this time they were close enough for the Thief to make out an upbeat tune.

Jiraiya moved towards the entrance, turning just before he stepped foot back into the real world. "So, feeling better?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Joker got the distinct impression the jerk was rolling his eyes. "Fine, don't tell me. But consider this me repaying the favor." Jiraiya tapped the sole of his shoes against the cement ground in thought for a moment. "I don't know if this was all about that crap with Medjed or what, but you should consider talking to someone about it. It's certainly a better habit than smoking."

"What if I don't have anyone to talk to?"

It was Akira's voice that spoke, small and unsure. Jiraiya looked at him, reaching for his mask—for a minute, Akira thought he'd take it off, but he pulled down the scarf around his neck instead, allowing Akira to fully see the sincere grin on his face.

"Well that's what heroes are for, right?"

The hero offered him one last wave before disappearing into the night.

Once again, Akira found himself not in the Velvet Room, but the Velour Room.

He sat up from his spot on the bed, finding the bedroom around him to have changed once more. The bookshelf appeared to have gained a few books, and a chair now sat before the desk. As usual, Gabriel was sitting atop the desk, legs crossed and arms resting on his knees. A fist propped up his head, golden eyes watching Akira with a disgruntled look.

"Welcome to the Velour Room, Kurusu Akira."

It seemed to be just Gabriel again; Akira couldn't help but be a little upset by it. Just once, he'd like someone who would actually answer his questions without insults or some cryptic shit.

"Are you going to answer my questions this time?" He rose a brow, but the kid ignored the jab. (Was he really a kid though? Were Caroline and Justine really kids?)

Gabriel rolled his eyes, looking almost bored. "You want to know what this place is so badly?" Akira nodded, perhaps a tad too eagerly. Gabriel huffed. "This is your salvation."

"Sal… vation?"

Gabriel picked up a photo from the desk disinterestedly, but his inhuman eyes looked past his skin and bones straight to Akira's soul. "My Master will repair what was broken by the False God." Gabriel turned to the photo. He wouldn't supply any more information for now.

"Hail is the whitest of grains.
It whirls from the heavens,
and tossed by gusts of wind, it turns to water."

Gabriel straightened up, and he opened up his fisted hand, revealing a rune. Carved into the wood looked to be an H. "The symbol of Hail, Hagalaz indicates the coming of a crisis and a loss of control. Limitations will throw life into disorder. When Hagalaz is in play, take stock of current events and prepare to weather the coming storm. Protect yourself; hail may soon turn to water, but at times you will have crisis after crisis. You may need to make some changes to break the cycle; but with this rune, change may come anyway." The rune was placed beside him on the desk. "Shimori Ai turned a crisis of the past into a chance to follow her Dreams. Learn from her heart so that when change comes, you can make an opportunity of the storm."

The Velour Room warped with the oncoming migraine, as everything around him began to fade. The pain was more intense than the first two times, and Akira collapsed back on the bed as the world around him went white.

"I suppose you'll visit again soon enough."

It was a slow day in the shop, and Akira went about mindlessly fluffing and rearranging the flower bouquets as time passed like molasses.

"Oh, Odaki-san! You're back!" Akira turned at Hanasaki's words, trying not to look too eager for something more exciting. (All those adrenaline-filled nights may have been taking their toll now, leaving him restless.)

True to her words, Odaki smiled bashfully as he ducked into the shop. "Hello Hansaki-san, Kurusu-kun," he nodded at the both of them. His dark hair was matted down, the coat on his shoulders wet. It must've started raining. "Any more deliveries?" Odaki looked at Hanasaki, who averted her eyes not so subtly as she went for the ledger on the counter.

Akira resisted the urge to roll his eyes; these two were so obvious. He wished they'd stop pining for each other and just go out already.

"Sakai-san's bouquet is all that's left."

Odaki nodded, eyes glazing over in thought. "Right, that's today." Seeming to have made a decision, the taller man turned to the part-timer. "Kurusu-kun, you wouldn't mind handling this last delivery for me, would you?"

"…Are you sure?"

Odaki grinned, all cheer, and nodded. "I heard you did a good job last time. Besides, you can head straight home from there."

Akira turned to Hanasaki for confirmation, but she seemed to agree, handing him a small envelope. "I think you've earned the trust. This is your pay for the day, including a little extra for the delivery." Murmuring a small thanks, Akira took off his dirt-stained apron and grabbed his bag, sans Morgana. (The traitor got bored and wandered off some time ago. Akira hoped he got caught in the downpour outside, wet fur and all.)

Hanasaki handed him a large bouquet of orchids and asters, and Akira thanked them before heading out.

Ducking into Nikkou Homes another thirty minutes later had Akira thankful the boss had bugged him into taking an umbrella. The clerk at the desk smiled—she must've recognized him—and gestured in the direction of the elevators. "Do you remember where to go?"

Akira nodded, following his memory to room 301. He adjusted his hold on both his bag and the flowers to knock; unlike before, a soft and thready voice called out for him to enter. Akira did, placing the flowers in the same empty vase as before.

The older woman was sitting by the window again, but she was different, somehow. Less fragile. She was watching him, a faint smile on her thin face. Akira hesitated when he noticed, bowing awkwardly.

"Um, it's good to see you again."

Her expression faltered for a moment.

"I'm sorry, have we met before?" Akira blinked, and she hurried to correct herself. "I apologize; some days are rather hazy."

Akira shook his head, offering a placating smile. "It's alright. I was only here once."

She nodded to herself, frail hands gesturing him closer. Akira hesitated before complying. Her arms stretched wider, taking his face in both her glass hands the way she had the first time. There was something less disturbing about it compared to before; her hands were a little warmer, her eyes a little less cloudy.

"You really do look like my son," she sighed wistfully, releasing him. "Please, stay a while. I don't get many visitors."

He sat down in the armchair across from her, and Sakai-san began telling him little stories about her son. Akira didn't particularly mind listening—it was something he did fairly often, seeing as gossip was a great way to obtain information—but more than that, it was the way Sakai-san looked when she spoke about her son.

Her eyes lit up in a way he'd never seen before, the clouds clearing away and the warmth melting the ice. Her glass-like hands moved with an energy he had yet to see in her, and the worried wrinkles that had aged her face before became laugh lines, sending her back in time both mentally and physically. When she smiled, time turned back the clock and all those years spent wasting away disappeared.

Akira was content to listen for a while longer when Sakai-san suddenly cut herself off, bony fingers clasping loosely in her lap. The clouds returned to her eyes, and the years returned like falling snow.

"Ah, but I'm sure you don't want to sit here much longer and listen to an old woman ramble." She smiled; it lacked the warmth of her previous ones. "I'm sure you hear enough of it from your own mother."

"I don't." The words fell out his mouth before he could even think of them. Akira wasn't really sure why, but there was something about the way her shoulders bowed and the life seemed to seep away from her then, as if she couldn't handle the weight that the world had given her. Sakai-san looked startled by her outburst, and Akira rushed to backtrack. "I mean, I don't… I never really knew my mother."

And he didn't. He remembered nothing of her; the closest he'd get were dad's stories or his stepmother's cool distance. But if the old letters Yu had sent to dad held any weight, he wasn't really sure if he even wanted to know her.

The old woman's mouth twisted, and a great sadness consumed her.

She stood—Akira had begun to think she couldn't, and he jerked at the realization that her spindly legs could withstand her weight—and too thin arms encircled him gently. Akira froze, but Sakai-san only tightened her hold, on hand beginning to rub slow, soothing circles between his shoulders. He hadn't realized how tense he was. But this was a hug, wasn't it? It wasn't the life-threatening squeeze from Ann or the headlock from Ryuji, but it was a hug. The kind normal people did.

Akira hadn't realized how long it had been since someone had held him like this. Before he got arrested, he supposed.

(Shit, he was supposed to hug back, wasn't he?)

Awkwardly, Akira reached up and wrapped his arms around the older woman. She really was thin. He felt like he could shatter her in his grip like glass, like ice.

It was some time before she pulled away again, eyes suspiciously bright. Akira left in silence.

...

He exited the elevator with a sigh, the lady at the reception desk smiling at him briefly. She drew the attention of the men and women in scrubs around her, and Akira shoved his hands in his pockets, curling in on himself a little at the attention. After what happened, he felt strangely vulnerable.

A young woman in particular perked up at the sight of him, the bun atop her head bouncing at the movement. "Ah, you're Akira-kun, right?"

Akira nodded suspiciously, shifting where he stood. Had Odaki spoken of him?

The woman seemed to understand, shrugging. "Sometimes Mrs. Reiko speaks of you. She's really taken to you; I haven't seen her this lucid since her admittance."

Another staff member, a middle-aged man, nodded in agreement. "That's true. You should visit more often; I'm sure Mrs. Sakai would appreciate it."

He remembered something she said, a passing thought. "…She doesn't get a lot of visitors, does she?"

The woman with the bun smiled sadly. "She was admitted here by her husband after their son died. Since then, she's kind of… pulled away. We've tried talking to her, but most of the time she just ignores us."

The man nodded in agreement. "The rest of the time, she's in hysterics."

Akira's mouth twisted; there was something about the way they spoke of her that was… unpleasant. It reminded him of Shuujin, of the gossip in the halls and the sideways looks. He tried not to let the discomfort show on his face.

"Are you sure it's alright for you to tell me this? Isn't there like… patient confidentiality or something?"

The two looked thoroughly chastised if their expressions were anything to go by. The third person in scrubs—an older lady who'd been speaking with the clerk until now—turned and spoke up. "Pay these two no mind," she cast them a stern look, and both staff members went scuttling off. This old hag must've been the Head Nurse or whatever. Her hardened expression softened as she turned it to him. "Regardless, they were right. That poor woman's been through a lot; it would do her some good having someone like you to talk to. Lord knows she needs more good things in her life."

The nurse touched his arm, an oddly gentle gesture from such a stern woman, before grabbing a clipboard off the reception desk and walking off briskly.

Absently, Akira wondered who her husband was as he left.

Akira,

I know this isn't the response you wanted, or expected. I'm sorry if I worried you; a lot has happened recently.

I suppose I should give you a little background. Our mother is the oldest of three children. Uncle Dojima is the middle child; he lives in Inaba right now. The youngest was Aunt Miho. She and her husband died in a car accident many years ago. You have never met them, but they left behind two children, both older than I.

The reason for my lack of response is that I recently received a letter from Aunt Miho's daughter, Hamuko. I haven't seen her in over ten years, and we met the other day while she was in town. Her brother Minato…

For lack of a better word, he died.

I'm sorry.

Yu

The interaction between Jiraiya and Joker went very different from how I initially planned it whoops. I was actually super tempted to start a Runes link there? But like, that would mess up many things, so yeah. Also, these chapters are probably going to get progressively longer because I hate myself hahaha.

Looking back, I realize that Jiraiya (AKA Yosuke) had kind of a 180 in his attitude towards the Thieves? Not that there's been much interaction shown between them anyway. That's very likely to be addressed in the future, and if not, in a side story at some point.

Can I also just say like, a Persona and Boku no Hero Academia crossover? It would be? So perfect? I was rereading my first chapter and was just like, holy shit, writing that crossover would be sooo much fun. Especially if we throw in the Thieves and P5's whole theme about justice and such. I'm thinking about doing that? Maybe?

Fun Fact: I chose Seidai as the name of Akechi's high school cause I was trying to keep with the homophone play off that the developers used with Shuujin and Kousei. Shuujin is an oral play on words with shuujin meaning prisoner, though the school itself uses different kanji. Kousei can also mean rehabilitation, in keeping both with the homophone thing as well as the overall themes of the game. So in line with that, I used Seidai, which can also mean justice. I won't go into exact kanji given that I'm not fluent in Japanese and it was super late and I was tired, but yeah. There you have it.