Disclaimer: Not mine, fo realz.

a/n: This is not meant to be taken as something I wrote in order to seem clever or creative or top anyone in the mad skills department. This is just something I wrote for the sake of writing it, so really, the end result was as much a mystery to me as it is to anyone else. Nothing special, pretty rough, a whole lot of things left unsaid.

Setting wise, this is from the love hotel scene early on in the game, when the party blacks out and each member winds up being emotionally manipulated by the Shadow in separate rooms. Yukari and the main character wake up together, so this explores what could have happened to Mitsuru and Akihiko in turn. Also, totally named after a proverb on love. Go figure.

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To Both Follow and Flee
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I should have noticed something about that mirror...

It's the last coherent thought to go through her mind before everything fades into a warm, soft darkness. Mitsuru hardly notices. For some reason, there's no alarm, no fear, just a soothing voice in the back of her mind that urges her to open her eyes and enjoy herself.

Pleasure, that's what everyone wants for themselves, isn't it? To feel good, to feel wanted. Desired. To experience that pleasure at least once in such a cruel world. Right?

In the comforting dark that exists just before waking, Mitsuru's body finds itself agreeing. Yes, that would be nice. Perhaps to have a moment to herself. Hot water and soft bath bubbles, that's what comes to her mind when she thinks of pleasure. The Dark Hour takes its toll on everyone--those kinds of luxuries are simple and yet hard to come by sometimes.

Even better. Massages, maybe? Do you like massages, Mitsuru? Skilled hands on your body, touching you gently?

Mitsuru's eyelids flutter. Her mind is foggy and sluggish, but somewhere there is the slightest bit of dissention to be had with the voice's suggestion. Massages... That brought back memories of her home, in a way. A stranger touching her body simply because he or she was providing a service. That doesn't quite fit her definition of pleasure. Truthfully, she prefers the idea of genuine intimacy... perhaps that's why there is no one to hug or touch her gently... There is no one in her life like that.

It doesn't have to come from a stranger... You have all the time in the world. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy each other. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

The voice has grown softer, more reassuring, and Mitsuru finds herself agreeing again. Her mind's eye is filled with dreamlike images of being warm and safe and cozy in the room she's found herself in, half-formed and more like sensations than anything she can actually see. She is admired from up close rather than far away, and found to be worthwhile and pleasing even when all of her guards have been brought down, revealing Mitsuru. Just Mitsuru. That makes her happy.

Then take it.

With those three short words, the voice is gone, leaving her feeling fulfilled as though it had left behind its phantom promises to prepare her for things to come. Mitsuru's eyes open. She's much more awake now, but the indolence of her mind hasn't left with unconsciousness. She doesn't mind the feeling; everything seems like a dream, a rare good dream. She'd rather not have it abandon her just yet. Sitting up, she brushes hair from her face and realizes she's on a bed. Where...? This didn't seem like the same room she'd been in with the others... Somehow she knows this is a private room only for her and her companion, and she's almost glad to know that there is time yet before they have to leave and continue on. After all, the bed is so soft and yielding under her, and the room itself is warm and secure.

She reaches up to run her hands over the back of her neck and sweep her long hair out from her collar, only to discover she's wearing a bathrobe. Twisting her hair loosely and leaving it to fall over one shoulder, Mitsuru then runs her hands over her chest, wondering. She didn't remember changing into this... but there are her clothes, folded neatly on a chair nearby. Hmm. Her hands continue downward until they reach the belt, and she tugs it experimentally. An expensive robe, to be sure. It's very soft against her bare breasts.

For someone who has never found much time to relax like this, Mitsuru finds she likes it. She's not embarrassed to find it only stops at mid-thigh when she stands up. It feels good and fits her perfectly, and there's no reason to hide her naked form. Why, the room is at just the right temperature to take it off without feeling chilled.

She doesn't, though. Mitsuru has the vague feeling that it's not for her to do.

Stretching lazily, she pads across the carpet, awaiting her partner. A moment later, the shower starts up, and she finds a smile stealing across her face. Ah, there. A part of her suddenly thinks, some else? Who? But then she has to remember she's not alone, she never was. There's no point to coming to a place like this alone. Not at all. Hotels like this made their money from couples, not lonely, single souls.

A spark lights in her belly at the thought.

No, that's not true, because even before she'd awoken there had been a slow-burning desire in her, something that smouldered softly in her veins at the very edge of perception. But now it grows more and more as she approaches the bathroom door. Excitement, and a nameless itch that makes her bite her lip. She hasn't put words to it before, not entirely, but today's she's going to. Because she can't wait any longer, she knows that. Steam washes over her when she quietly opens the door and enters. There's a pile of clothes on the floor; part of her feels a surge of fondness at seeing the haphazard mess. A bad habit of his. She can't help but scoop up the shirt before she makes herself known.

Ah, Mitsuru's always loved that scent... It's nothing she's ever experienced in full, only through brief contact. She's never been with a man, and it's a man's scent. Musky. Familiar, but only just.

I'm ready to know it better, she thinks.

Another soft surge of desire runs through her, and she puts the shirt aside. The silhouette behind the shower curtain is her destination. She wants to surprise him and perhaps see that smile of his. Would he enjoy having her company in there...? She thinks he would. Hugging him from behind in the shower and letting her damp hair slide over his smooth skin... Mm, yes, just like that.

But she doesn't want to let the heat escape and ruin the hot shower for him, so slowly, coyly, Mitsuru pulls the curtain aside just enough to get a glance at the smooth, pale skin of his back, running seemingly for miles... He's always been so tall. She drinks in the lines of his muscles, drawn to stark perfection as the water slides down him in rivulets. Boldly, almost too boldly, Mitsuru's gaze trails over his buttocks and along his legs. She loves this body. She loves what he does with it, how he fights with it, how he moves with it, gestures with it... even the flaws and scars found here and there on the canvas of his skin. She knows, she's treated many of them through the years. Now perhaps she could put her lips to them and ease away some of those memories.

In one moment, she is thinking and feeling all of these things, and in the next she is looking up into his eyes, the color of her favorite kind of storm. Wet hair sticks to his brow. Her gaze is drawn to it--she wants to brush it aside.

And then his lips form her name. Silently, at first, and then once more.

"Mit... suru?"

Mitsuru isn't sure what jars her at first, whether it is the question on his lips, or if it was when he first turned his head and looked at her at all. And his eyes... there is an answering softness in them that warms her all over, but as she watches, a glimmer of confusion grows in them.

In her own, too, she bets. Her mouth opens in response. "Akihiko!"

When she speaks, things to start to break. His eyes widen further, and although there is nothing but surprise in them, Mitsuru finds herself responding with a deep-seated alarm and.. and shame. At her actions, at how she must surely look, with the shower curtain pulled aside and clutched in her hand. What she is doing?

She staggers back, one hand reaching up to clutch the bathrobe closed over the tops of her breasts. Her hip hits the counter and when her eyes instinctively squeeze shut in a wince, it is enough to remind her that she must stop looking at--

At Akihiko when he's in the shower. Akihiko...

He says her name again, worriedly, and somehow that only makes things worse. When she opens her eyes, she can see him turning to step out towards her, realization beginning to dawn on him as well. She can't ignore the sight of him, of his broad, muscled chest and... It is perhaps the most palpable experience of all. Akihiko must also realize what he's doing and looks down at himself, only to hurriedly reach for a towel. By that time, Mitsuru is turning and stumbling out the bathroom door with none of her usual grace.

The spell is unravelling faster and faster.

Gods, and--! Mitsuru's hands are over her mouth, out of nothing more than reflex, and she finds herself hurrying in no particular direction, not knowing what to do. To think or feel... Oh, gods, her clothes! She lunges for the chair, her trembling hands dropping her brassier to the floor before she can get her actions under some semblance of control, enough to tear the bathrobe off and pull her clothes on with a desperate urgency. Panic is crashing in her mind like the tide against the rocks.

The mirror. The mirror and the Shadow. The room in the Love Hotel and the blackout...

By habit, Mitsuru's hands are finishing tying the bow around her neck when Akihiko emerges. Her back is to the door, and when he speaks, she stiffens.

"Mitsuru... That was..."

His voice is painful to her. Her mind blanks on the last loop of the knot, and her first thought is How do I tie this again? Her knees are close to giving out on her. How horrifying. How horrified Akihiko must be. She had thought all of those things, done all of those things... The fact that she can still feel the echo of heat in her abdomen makes it all the more unbearable. Could that really have been her? Deceived so easily?

Manipulated?

She adjusts her skirt with an insistent and equally unsettled tug. Perhaps total manipulation isn't the right way to describe things. The fact that she could not easily pull apart truth from lie made it all the more worse. "I--I apologize--" Mitsuru scoffs then, because a simple apology is not nearly enough to atone for this. "I... I believe I was under the Shadow's spell. I would never have... I was not strong enough to fight if off." Turning slightly, she can see Akihiko standing in the bathroom doorway in the periphery of her vision. She doesn't have the courage to apologize to his face, and for that, she feels like a coward. She is. That was not her doing, but the Shadow's. How stupid of her, to mistake that voice to be anything but the enemy's.

"No, I..." Akihiko brings one hand up to his head. He's fully dressed again. His clothes are rumpled. It makes her bite the inside of her lip. "It wasn't just you, I don't think. I..." He's never been verbose at the best of times, and it must be even more difficult for him.

Mitsuru feels even more at fault, if only for that. Putting Akihiko in such a spot with her.. her actions.

Out of responsibility, her guilt makes her face him. She looks him in the eye so that she can apologize once more. How unsightly. How unacceptable. "I'm so sorry, Akihiko... Truly." At that moment, though, she remembers that this cannot be just about herself and Akihiko. "Oh--the others!" Akihiko's brow remains furrowed slightly, his lips pressed tight. He doesn't try to speak, but his expression takes on a look of surprise, one that must mirror her own.

Takeba and Arisato... Had they... As well?

For a moment, there is a deep and uncomfortable silence. Once again, she lowers her gaze, and so has no idea how Akihiko must look. She wants to press the heels of her palms into her eyes simply for holding the sight of Akihiko with damp, dripping hair in her mind's eye. Foolish. How could she have...

Then: "We should regroup as quickly as possible. We must deal with this Shadow before it has a chance to do anything else," Mitsuru says, her voice made firm only by the sheer force of her will.

Without further hesitation, Mitsuru picks up her saber and reaches for the door leading to the hall. She will take point this time. She must, in an attempt to make up for... this. As she steps into the hall, there is a delayed moment where she thinks Akihiko had been about to say something, but she is already too far out the door to stop now. She passes her free hand over her eyes while she is out from under Akihiko's scrutiny before straightening and holding firm to her weapon.

She had no way of knowing that Akihiko had only opened his mouth to try and say something--anything--in response to seeing her hand clench into a fist and tremble while she had been trying to apologize.

To tell her not to try and carry it all on her shoulders as she would try to do.

That her pulse wasn't the only one to have raced, that she wasn't the only one to still have the sound of their own blood pumping loudly in their ears. That she wasn't the only one to have...

But he lost the chance.

He, too, had no words for her. Like Mitsuru, he had never considered certain acts before, like what it must be like to touch some of her hair when it was damp from steam, when she was looking at him with such a warm, honest glow to her expression and a flush beginning at her cheeks and ending somewhere near the tops of her breasts... Not before a Shadow's voice crept into his mind and body and told him it was within his right to have while he found himself in an unfamiliar shower with half-formed fantasies of caresses and kisses. That the woman in the room admired him as much as he admired her, that there was pleasure to be found between them, that there was nothing wrong nor shameful in it.

Grabbing his gloves from the nightstand, Akihiko pulls them on and exits behind her, pulling the door closed with him. He takes up the rear with only a nod. At that time, in that moment, he wouldn't know what to do to if he gave in to such thoughts.

Neither of them did.

Perhaps that was the most unnerving thing of all.