o1.

Out of the Storm

Under the gentle influence of the late-night breeze, Shinjiro's knees buckled, and he fell to the cold, hard surface of the alley, the full moon spilling over him. Shrieking, he curled into a ball, and his arms clutched his legs in a desperate attempt to regain some order and control. His pupils were dilated, and his iris was irritated. But most importantly, there were coffins surrounding him in all directions. And upon further inspection, they were oozing blood.

"Hey. Come on." A hand stretched out, and silver hair blazed lime beneath the eerie green luminescence. "You're going to be alright."

Dark eyes met grey, and then Shinjiro was pulled up, an arm slung around his shoulder.

"Everything is going to be okay."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As he made his way over to the porch of the dorm, his hat plastered with rain and his coat drooping with cold, sticky rainwater, he saw her. Her also-wet hair shone red and brilliant while her amber-brown eyes glowed radiantly. "You're Aragaki, aren't you? Shinjiro?"

"Yeah," he gruffed, looking away quickly as he felt his face grow warm. "And you're a Kirijo." He didn't look at her face as he stepped onto the platform in front of the door. He wanted to push his way inside, but it was his first day, and he didn't know where to go. And of course Aki was out to dinner with his teammates. So it was just him and little Miss Kirijo.

Everyone knew about the Kirijos. Owning nearly everything on the damned island, they were the family and the business. From computers to hospitals to power plants to high-tech testing centers, they were the authority on everything. And he bet that future CEO knew it.

So when he finally looked up at his companion and saw the quiet yet powerful twinkle in the pit of her eyes, he wasn't surprised. Not in the least.

"I am a Kirijo," she said, her voice low and soft yet assertive and appealing. "My first name is Mitsuru. It's a pleasure to meet you, Shinjiro Aragaki."

When she held out her hand and smiled, her teeth pearly white and completely straight, Shinjiro was a bit taken aback. Prissy heiress wanted to touch his filth? He stared at the finely-polished, manicured hand before shoving his hand inside its grasp, pausing to take in its smooth, cool texture. It was what he expected, and it disgusted him. She seemed to be "perfect" in every way, like a true Kirijo.

"Please come set your things inside," she then offered, reaching down for Shinjiro's torn, matted suitcase. He felt her hand grasp the handle he was clutching, and though he resisted, he felt her strong grip and slight pull. He then released his hold and watched as she took his dirty, germ-infected luggage into his new, cleanly home. He couldn't believe she would do that.

"I'm afraid that it's a tad cluttered in here," she said when he entered. Shinjiro closed the door behind him and turned to gaze at the castle before him. "As I'm sure you know, Akihiko isn't the most tidy, and I've been too busy with school and Student Council to thoroughly clean."

"It's fine," he grunted, eyeing the pathetic pile of Aki's clothes that must have been the "clutter." If she thought that was clutter, she'd sure have a reality check after Shinjiro got settled into his room.

"Would you like something warm to drink?" Turning around, Shinjiro saw her face in the light for the first time. It was slightly flushed from the sudden heat of the dorm, but with her shining hair and sparkling eyes, it looked almost better than it did pale. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she wasn't a hag. Not at all. And for some reason, that thought made his stomach give a nervous jump along with a growl.

"I'll take that as a yes," she mused, not waiting for him to answer as she strolled over to the kitchen area. "I'll also prepare you some cake. Please take a seat and dry off."

Okay, boss. Whatever you say. As he fell down on the couch and shrugged out of his boots and soaking peacoat, he couldn't help feeling awkward and irritated. Where he came from, people took care of themselves. No one carried others' baggage, no one offered to make hot beverages, no one got out cake; no one ever cared about anyone but themselves. So coming into a posh dorm with a posh girl dressed in a regular uniform splashed with designer accessories, Shinjiro felt out of place and wrong. As he listened to the rain and of her clinking around in the kitchen, he couldn't stand it.

But deep down inside of him, almost hiding, he felt a little flattered. Sitting back and relaxing, his eyes slowly closing, it sort of felt nice. If anything, it was relieving to not have to worry about himself for the next five minutes or so.

And when she came back with the tea and cake, she was very gentle and respectful. She set the plate and mug down on the coffee table, and she noiselessly sat down on the armchair to his right. When he opened his eyes and began to plow everything down, she watched, and she waited.

"Not bad," he said when he was done, letting out a belch. "You make that cake?"

"Yes. It was for Home Economics class."

"Huh. Well, it's alright."

"Thank you." And even though he never came out and complimented her, she smiled just like he had. Glancing sideways at her, Shinjiro grabbed the rim of his mug and shoved the rest of his tea down his throat. Why did she have to be so genuine and thankful? Weren't rich snobs supposed to be snooty?

"Well, now that you're fed, I suppose it's time to talk about your living arrangements." She waited for him to comment, and after he didn't, she resumed. "This dorm has four floors, and two of them are reserved for resident housing. The second floor is for males, and the third is for females. Akhiko has the second room on the left on your floor, so you may have any of the remaining four."

"Are they all the same?" He didn't look up from his mug. He was trying to absorb all of the lingering warmth.

"Yes, they are. Yet nonetheless, you can look at all of them and see which one feels the best."

"I'll take the one across from Aki," Shinjiro said, lifting his head to stare at her. "He's all I've got, and I wanna be right there with him."

Mitsuru nodded, and for a moment, Shinjiro caught a bit of sympathy enter her neutral, thoughtful gaze. As his body bristled and his mind blared with defensive, threatening retaliations, he thought about it for a minute, and then he stopped. If that really just happened, it proved that Miss Loaded had a heart. And if that were true, it would utterly confuse Shinjiro and his experience with rich folks, and it would totally make it hard to look at her the same as he looked at all the others.

"Shall we?" Mitsuru asked, picking up his suitcase. Looking at her in her sleek black skirt and slightly-wrinkled yet still fancy ruffled blouse, Shinjiro still could not believe it. He nodded, and then they were off, Shinjiro trudging along in Mitsuru's elegant wake.

"Here we are," she said a minute later, placing his baggage on the ground and folding her arms across her chest. "There's a bed, closet, sink, desk, table, and bookshelf inside. Restrooms are on the ground floor, and the kitchen is as well. There's also a small library and extra computer."

Barely nodding to her, Shinjiro grabbed his suitcase and then shuffled inside, stopping to stare at the space that was to be considered his. It was larger than anything he had ever lived in, and as he stared around at the actually nice and clean furniture, he felt a lump form in the back of his throat.

"Is there anything else that you need?"

"No," he coughed, trying to clear his throat and his ridiculously clouding emotions. He waited for some kind of pleasant farewell and unconditional offer of service, but as he stood there, he heard none.

"Akihiko will be home in less than an hour," is what he heard. He then heard her voice fading down the hall. "Rest well so we can start training."

Turning around to stare at the place she had just been standing, Shinjiro let his face settle into a grimace and his hand move to scratch the top of his forehead. She was so different yet so typical. How could that be? What did it mean?

Grunting, Shinjiro kicked his luggage aside and then fell on the bed, which was strikingly soft and warm. His boots and coat were back down in the lounge, but it didn't matter to him. He wasn't going anywhere, and no one was going to steal them. For the first time in his life, he could lay down on a feather-light bed and allow himself to drift off to sleep with his things scattered around the building.

And as he slept, the rain continuing to pound against the double-paned surface of his window, he dreamed of dripping ruby hair, sparkling amber eyes, shiny leather boots, and moist vanilla cake.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Persona Series.

Thank you for reading the start to my little drabble of what might and could have happened between two of our favorite senpai! Please let me know what you think! I hope I didn't mess up Shinjiro's character! :)