Work Text:
Minako’s funeral is a small procession, just the members of SEES and nobody else. It feels a little strange, because Minako was so bright and friendly, always reaching out to people. But the absence at her funeral says enough: just because Minako was so kind didn’t mean she gave away her love so freely. She must’ve only given it to people worth her time, her heart. To be specific, all of SEES. To be even more specific, Shinjiro. Which, plaintively, was really stupid. Not that he can tell her that, now. She won’t be able to listen.
While Yukari cries and Junpei stares blankly and Akihiko lingers near Mitsuru, Shinjiro mostly stays quiet. Hands fisted in his pockets, a few feet behind the others. It’s strange, but he doesn’t feel like he has the right to grieve with them. He was asleep for too many months; missed too many missions, too many memories. The only memories he has now are the ones before he fell asleep, and the one where she died after he woke up. A trade-off. Not one that he particularly enjoys. He clenches his jaw, trying to ignore the impulse to run.
He should not be here. He should not be standing in the sunlight, and he should not be breathing, and he should not be here when Minako should be. It’s wrong how this turned out, especially since he’s going to die soon enough. What was the point? Minako is dead and he should be dead and instead he has the weight of grief on his shoulders. What was the point?
Shinjiro wants to leave. But he knows Minako would never forgive him if he did, and the truth is, he’s not sure if he would be able to forgive himself. So he stands there, staring hard at Minako’s picture, and feels grief cloak him like a stranger.
+
The matter of it is this: Shinjiro Aragaki is going to die young.
He’s known that for awhile now. In his dreams, all of his ghosts flooded around him and whispered a prophecy, hanging by the thread: Shinjiro Aragaki is going to die young. Shinjiro Aragaki is not destined to live. Shinjiro Aragaki cannot live much longer.
And here’s the thing: Shinjiro was okay with it. He was. It was better than living the way he did: like he was already dying. His hands shook too much, his body burned up from the inside, his heart wouldn’t stop withering. It was painful. Death would be a reprieve.
Except death seems very keen on avoiding him. If Shinjiro is standing in the middle of the street, death is a truck that keeps swerving to avoid hitting him, even if it means causing an even bigger accident. And now Shinjiro is sitting here, with more time on his clock than he wanted, and someone else is dead. Minako is dead, and he’s still here. Tick, tock.
He’s never felt more stupid. He’s never felt more lost.
+
“What’re you gonna do now?”
Akihiko raises an eyebrow, still slurping his noodles. “Dunno,” he says, around the food in his mouth. “College. Boxing. Who knows.”
Shinjiro rolls his eyes. Makes sense, in all actuality. Akihiko was a boxer before everything. It’s what caught Mitsuru’s eye. Even without SEES, there’s no way Akihiko would give it up. He doesn’t need the Dark Hour to be a fighter. Although, he might get beaten up more without Mitsuru hanging around to yell at him.
“I’m not going anywhere yet,” Akihiko says, as if reading Shinjiro’s mind. Can he still do that? Shinjiro honestly isn’t sure if he’s able to read Akihiko. Feels like he lost that language, or something. “Shit, dude. I don’t wanna say goodbye yet.”
A lump hardens in Shinjiro’s throat. Stupid, he thinks. So damn stupid. It’s Aki. Akihiko, who would cry while sinking his fist into Shinjiro’s jaw, who gave Ken piggyback rides in Tartarus when he was tired, who ruffled Minako’s hair the same way he did Miki’s. It’s just Aki. He can say goodbye if he needs to. He’s practical like that.
“Whatever,” Shinjiro mumbles. His bowl is still steaming in front of him, but he’s not hungry. “What’s Mitsuru gonna do?”
Akihiko pauses, his chopsticks hovering in the air. “I don’t know. Work at her company?”
“How do you not know?”
Akihiko’s face reddens. He stuffs more beef and noodles in his mouth, which he probably thinks is a dignified answer. It’s cute that he still tries. Good to know not too much has changed.
“Graduation just happened,” Akihiko says, setting his bowl down. “We’ve got time.”
Shinjiro is definitely not hungry anymore. He slides his food over to Akihiko without comment, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. Time, he thinks. They’ve all got time now. But Shinjiro still feels like he’s living on a borrowed clock, stolen from someone else. He drops his hand in his pockets, feeling the weight of his pocket watch. It still works, somehow. The clock’s hands match his heartbeat.
“Yeah,” Shinjiro says, closing his fingers around the pocket watch. “We got time.”
Akihiko raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. Just takes Shinjiro’s bowl and starts chowing it down. It probably won’t take him more than ten minutes. Shinjiro’s timed it once.
He’s glad Akihiko does not ask him what he’s going to do. He doesn’t know if he has enough time. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He doesn’t know.
+
Shinjiro doesn’t really remember his dreams. He never has, really. Most of his dreams twisted into nightmares, and they slipped easily between his fingertips. Better to avoid them. Better to not think about them.
But locked in a coma, he had nothing to cling onto but his dreams. In each one, he was slumped in the alleyway. In each one, blood was dripping down his hands. In each one, blue butterflies swirled all around him. In each one, Minako was standing before him, Evoker at her side, headphones pulled down on her neck. She seemed too real to be an echo of a memory. If anyone could jump inside dreams, it would be Minako Arisato.
Senpai, Minako had always said. She crouched next to him, holding out her hand. Shinjiro-senpai, come on. You can’t die here.
The stupid thing is this: Shinjiro always took her hand. Why, he didn’t know, and he still doesn’t know. What he did know was that he was dead, and Minako shouldn’t waste her time trying to pull him back to the light. The world’s going to end, he should’ve shouted. Save yourself. Don’t waste your goddamn time on me.
Except none of that has ever worked on Minako. Shinjiro had tried, and tried, and tried, and failed to push Minako away. Every defense he built up, she managed to shatter with one small smile. Maybe he knew, even in his dreams, that he would lose.
So Shinjiro always took her hand. He let her drag him to his feet, and this is where the dream branched off: sometimes a blue butterfly would try to lead them out, sometimes Minako would pull him towards the mouth of the alleyway, sometimes she transformed into a red butterfly and tried to guide him. But the ending never changed; they never made it to the light. The truth is, Shinjiro never expected them to do so. Maybe he just wanted to see her again, since he knew he never would again. And, yeah, that turned out to be true, but in the sickest way possible.
Because Shinjiro finally dragged himself into the light, just as Minako threw herself into the abyss. So now he’s stuck here, standing in an unchanged world, not knowing where to go. And when he reaches his hand out, Minako is not there to guide him.
+
Because it’s better than the alternative, Shinjiro agrees to move in with Akihiko. Only for the spring, Akihiko explains, because he took entrance exams for college and then he’ll probably be gone.
“But she’ll let you stay,” he adds hastily, moving as if to clap Shinjiro on the shoulder. At the last second, he pulls back. Probably because he thinks that might hurt Shinjiro. “Y’know, if you wanna.”
Shinjiro, actually, does not want to. While Akihiko’s foster mother is sweet, he still feels like an intruder in the house, an unwanted presence. A ghost dragged from the grave. Hell, Aki thought that way, and he’d been staying there for years now. How could Akihiko expect Shinjiro to just make himself comfortable?
But Shinjiro can’t tell Akihiko this. Ever since he died and came back, things have felt unsteady, off-kilter. Akihiko has never tiptoed around him. Akihiko has never thought of him as weak. Akihiko has never looked at him apprehensively, like he might keel over and die at any moment. Things have changed now, evidently. They used to be like mirrors, acting like the same soul in separate bodies. Now Shinjiro is only half-alive, and Akihiko can’t understand the dead parts inside of him. To be fair, it’s not like he understood it when all of Shinjiro was dying. It’s not exactly new, but it still hurts like hell.
“Thanks,” Shinjiro says instead. He sits down on the—his—bed, trying not to take up too much room. It creaks under his weight.
Akihiko shifts uncomfortably. “Hey—Shinji—can I tell you something?”
Aki never would’ve asked in the past, Shinjiro thinks scathingly. He nods.
“You seem…different,” Akihiko says. He fiddles with his gloves almost nervously. “I don’t know for sure, but you’re just…quieter. I mean, you’ve always been quiet, but…I don’t know. Fuuka and Ken say you’ve been avoiding them, and I dunno, it’s just…different. Not you.”
A prickle of irritation slides down Shinjiro’s spine. Different, he thinks. Different. You try falling in love with a girl you know you’re not supposed to touch, and then dying a week after you gave in. You try having a bullet and a half lodged in your chest, the other half jammed in your stupid, unbreakable pocket watch. You try falling into an endless dream, where the girl you love weaves in and out like a ghost, asking you to come back to them, to her. You try waking up and finding out that girl is dead and you’re still here, and you’re still dying, so nothing’s really changed. You try it, Aki. Just try it.
But the truth is, nobody could come out of that experience the same; something is bound to have changed. So Shinjiro really can’t fault Akihiko for thinking that. Maybe he is different now, and he just doesn’t know it. Adjusting back to living is harder than anything he’s ever done.
“I’m fine,” Shinjiro says. Akihiko narrows his eyes, which—yeah, that’s a familiar Aki response. “I…I gotta go.”
Akihiko’s eyebrows shoot upwards. It’s kind of reminiscent of Mitsuru, actually. “Where?”
Anywhere, Shinjiro wants to say. Not here. But it’s too cruel, even for him; he and Akihiko had always gotten into scuffles, always fought with their fists. But he knows those words would slice deep to the bone, and he can’t—do that. Can’t come back from the brink of dying and hurt his friends. Minako wouldn’t like that. She wouldn’t recognize him. And honestly, he wouldn’t recognize himself.
“I gotta go,” Shinjiro repeats. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be back.”
He’s not sure if Akihiko believes him, and he doesn’t blame him if he doesn’t. Everything he says sounds like a lie now.
+
Koromaru is with Junpei, for some reason. “Only for right now,” Junpei explains, when Shinjiro knocks. He’s sheepish, tugging on his hat. “We’re tight and all, but he’s usually with—”
He stutters off abruptly, as if coming to a stark realization. Shinjiro’s not an idiot, though. He knows who Junpei was talking about. Something cold clenches his heart like a fist, drowning out every other feeling. He doesn’t like it.
“Can I walk him?” Shinjiro asks quietly. It comes out lower than he intends, and softer. Junpei blinks at him, startled. A long time ago, Shinjiro would’ve cared about his response. Now he doesn’t.
“Uh, yeah, sure, senpai.” Maybe Junpei thinks this isn’t a good answer, because he suddenly brightens. “I can come if ya want! We can scope out girls. Er, well, you can, ‘cause Chidori is the one for me, but—”
Shinjiro takes Koromaru’s leash and slams the door in Junpei’s face.
Port Tatsumi is the same as it always has been: warm and bright, the clouds drifting lazily across the sky. Butterflies soar through the air. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom. Everything seems so serene, so perfect, that Shinjiro instinctively wants to punch the world. This isn’t how it should be. This isn’t right. Minako gave herself up for the world, and it’s only here because she isn’t, and nobody knows. Nobody cares. How is that fair?
Shinjiro’s legs start to ache. Well, it starts in his legs. Then it spreads slowly through his body, like a fever; it settles in his lungs, his heart, his head. Koromaru looks back at him curiously, tilting his head to the side. Shinjiro tries to smile, but he’s long forgotten how to do that.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Don’t worry.”
Apparently, Koromaru does not think he’s fine. He tugs Shinjiro towards a park bench, and with little will to do anything else, Shinjiro follows him. Dog’s always been smarter than he lets on. At the park bench, he sits down obediently, forcing Shinjiro to take a seat too. Good dog. Smart dog. Shinjiro ruffles his ears absentmindedly.
It takes him a moment to realize that they ended up at a playground. He’s been here a handful of times, but only late at night; he and Minako had the place to themselves. Minako had sat on the swings, her feet scraping back and forth on the ground. Why are you here, Shinjiro had thought, and Minako had answered, as if he’d asked aloud: I like being with you, senpai. Truthfully and easily, the answer slipping off effortlessly. It’s how she always talked. But it had made his heart go warmer than he wanted to admit.
He studies the playground now. In the daylight, it’s not that different. Children are climbing all over the monkey bars, laughing and jumping. The swings are creaking, the way they had under his own weight. The sky is so bright, so blue, that it hurts to look at. Yes, Minako would love this. Shinjiro doesn’t care much for it, but if he was with Minako, then he would find a way to appreciate it. Except Minako isn’t here, so he can’t find anything to appreciate, except for the dog sitting before him. The children’s shouts seem to resonate in all the empty places inside of him. Despite the sun, a shiver runs under his skin.
Koromaru whines, as if sensing his thoughts. It’s sad and low, like a hum of grief. Shinjiro reaches forward to scratch his ears again.
“I know, buddy,” he says quietly. “I miss her too.”
+
So here’s the other thing: Shinjiro Aragaki fell in love with Minako Arisato. Which was definitely not supposed to happen.
It fucked everything up, to put bluntly. Because Shinjiro was okay with dying; he’d already accepted it. Leaving Aki behind was going to hurt, but Aki wouldn’t accept death unless it struck him right in the face. Maybe that was for the better. Shinjiro had seen what Miki’s death did to him, how it rotted him inside out; maybe another death would finally wake Akihiko up. Something like that. As for his own feelings, it didn’t matter. Death was fine. He was supposed to die.
But then he met Minako. And like a shitty cliché, like those stupid stories he used to read to Aki and Miki, he fell in love with her. And then he didn’t want to die, because dying meant less time with Minako. But it was too late to stop; he’d already been barreling down the road of death, long before Minako had turned to him and smiled. Maybe if he met her earlier, he could’ve pulled out sooner. Maybe they would’ve had more time.
It didn’t matter. The cards were already set in motion. And Shinjiro had known he shouldn’t have spent as much time with her, shouldn’t have let her break down his defenses, because that meant he fell deeper. And that meant saying goodbye would become a lot more painful. But he couldn’t help it; killing time with Minako felt good, because she made him forget about the pain in his body, the guilt he choked on every night. Minako was many things—beautiful, bright, bold. It didn’t feel right that she wanted to spend time with him. But he didn’t push her away, even though he knew it was only going to make things worse. So he was selfish for once. So he fell in love with her. So the world didn’t like that. Well, screw the world. He wanted this; he wanted her.
Seeing Minako’s face before he died wasn’t much of a reprieve, because she was holding his hand too tight and she was crying harder than Shinjiro had ever seen her. But at least she was the last thing he ever saw. That was like those stupid stories, too. Some fairytale bullshit. A tragic ending, to which Miki had demanded a better one, so Shinjiro had crafted one for her. And then the princess saved the boy and he woke up and they lived happily ever after. The end.
Except in his story, he only woke up. That’s the thing: he woke up. That damn pocket watch saved his life, and it wouldn’t have saved his life if Minako hadn’t found it. And if Minako hadn’t found it, maybe she wouldn’t have died, because the day he rejoined the real world was the day she took her last breath. Maybe if he stayed dead, she would’ve lived. Maybe if he stayed dead, she would’ve been with him. But no, they had to go with the worst option of all: Shinjiro still dying, and Minako forever dead.
What a fucking joke.
+
“Did you ever. Uh. Want it to be me?”
Akihiko stares at him. “You’ve gotta be more specific than that, Shinji.”
Shinjiro slouches down his seat. Well, shit. He’s got to spell it out for him. In front of Mitsuru, no less, because she insisted on tagging along to their beef bowl outing. Apparently, while Shinjiro was clinging to life in the hospital, Minako convinced Mitsuru to try a burger, and all sorts of other foods she’d never had before. Now she wants to come to all their outings. Shinjiro’s kind of surprised Akihiko never took her out on his own, but whatever. Maybe he did, when Shinjiro was in the hospital. There’s a lot Shinjiro still doesn’t know.
“What do you mean?” Mitsuru asks, tilting her head to the side. Shinjiro cringes, already regretting broaching this topic.
“You know.” He drums his fingers on the table. Lately, he’s been doing a lot of that—little fidgety movements, like he can’t stand to live in his own skin. “Instead of. Minako. What if she was here, and, uh. I wasn’t.”
He doesn’t need to piece the rest of it together. Akihiko understands, because his mouth freezes mid-chew, his face turning bright red. Bad sign. Definite bad sign. He swallows, hard enough for Shinjiro to wince, and then slams his hands on the table. It rattles the surface. Akihiko doesn’t notice.
“What the hell, Shinji?” his voice is so loud that Shinjiro wants to shrivel up and die. “Why would you say that?”
This is exactly why Shinjiro didn’t want to spell it out. He tries not to squirm in his seat, but it’s hard; both Akihiko and Mitsuru are staring at him like he’s offered them a betrayal. It’s strange. Uncomfortable.
“Just, you know.” The room is too hot. He yanks on the collar of his coat. “She was…the leader. She wasn’t all messed up. She’s…” Words are hard. He’s getting choked up. “Better.”
Akihiko stares at him in utter disbelief. “Man, if you didn’t just get out of the hospital, I’d beat the shit out of you.”
In spite of himself, Shinjiro’s mouth twists upwards in a pale imitation of a wry smile. “What’s stopping you?”
Akihiko starts, moving like he’s going to get up. Mitsuru, however, lays a hand on his shoulder and forces him back in his seat. She turns to Shinjiro, eyes dark and narrowed. Shit. Whatever she’s going to say, it’s going to feel like a stab to the gut.
“Nobody wishes it was you,” she says, gentle but firm. “And it’s foolish of you to think that we would want anyone dead in the first place. I thought you were smarter than that.”
She has a point, of course. She always does. Mitsuru’s always had a talent for making Shinjiro feel stupid. It’s selfish of him, to even believe that. But Shinjiro has always been selfish when it comes to Minako, so it’s to be expected. He wonders, not for the first time, if Minako would’ve been disgusted by that.
Akihiko and Mitsuru are still staring at him. Akihiko looks like he wants to punch him. Mitsuru looks like she’s constructing an argument for whatever Shinjiro is going to say. She’d win, so he won’t even try. Apparently, Shinjiro Aragaki always loses everything: his watch, his life, his love. He can’t take another, no matter how small it is.
“You’ve been off, Shinji,” Akihiko finally says. Blunt and straight to the point. “I don’t know what your deal is, but man…you know we’re here for you, right? All of us. I know you’re avoiding the others. Ken says he never sees you anymore.”
Shinjiro slouches in his seat. “So?”
“That is no way to live, Shinjiro,” Mitsuru snaps. She sits tall and poised, like she’s in the middle of an important interview. “It’s important to value your connections to other people. Do you not realize that?”
That’s rich, coming from Mitsuru. Shinjiro really wants to throw that back at her, wants to yell that he knew how important it was, that he let Minako come close and she ended up dead, that Mitsuru never did that so she could never know, could you, Mitsuru?
The words are already crawling up his throat, but he can’t—he can’t quite spit them out. Not because it would hurt Mitsuru, or because Akihiko would hit him for it, but because it would mean admitting a deeper truth: Minako is dead. Nobody has said it out loud. To speak it would be to harden it in a fact. Saying nothing means it’s only happened in his head, then. Means everything is just hanging by an unspoken balance.
“I realize plenty,” Shinjiro grumbles. Akihiko and Mitsuru exchange a sharp glance, concerned at the edges. It irritates him. It’s too familiar. Now he’s the outsider in this unspoken language.
“Come on, Shinji,” Akihiko says, leaning forward. “You’re not dead, so quit acting like a ghost. You’re better than this.”
Shinjiro grits his teeth. They don’t get it. Never have, never will. He’s supposed to be dead. Minako is supposed to be alive. And yet here he is, sitting in a restaurant, his two closest friends failing to understand that half his body is damaged beyond repair. Dying. Dead. Only Minako would understand, and that’s because all of her is dead.
“Whatever,” Shinjiro finally says, bracing his hands on the table. “We’ll see.”
He slides out of the booth slowly, trying not to let it show that his body is trembling. To the living, he’s just taking it slow. Recovering. To the dead—which Minako could understand now—his body is crumbling from the inside. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, considers giving Akihiko and Mitsuru a smile. It comes out as a grimace when he tries it. To hell with it.
“I’m gonna go find a better place to haunt,” he says wryly, and then feels like punching himself. Akihiko blanches, like he’s seen a ghost. Mitsuru narrows her eyes.
“Shinjiro—”
But Shinjiro is already gone.
+
Science has never been Shinjiro’s strong suit. It’s never been Akihiko’s, either, but Mitsuru excelled in it, because she’s Mitsuru Kirijo and she’s pretty much a genius. One time she sat down and tried to help them understand the material, but Shinjiro still didn’t grasp it. It’s not anything important, he’d snapped, and Mitsuru had huffed and turned towards Akihiko for the rest of the session. So, he hadn’t really bothered to understand, and he still doesn’t now. It’s not like it mattered, anyway, when his body started to wither up and die. School didn’t matter.
But Minako did. And Minako—probably in an attempt to make Mitsuru like her—understood science very well. Sometimes she talked about it, because she found it fascinating, and Shinjiro listened because he found her fascinating.
The butterfly effect, Minako had said once, her eyes bright, her fingers entangled in his, means that even one flap of the wings could change the universe. Maybe it’s not the exact terminology, but Shinjiro didn’t know enough to correct her. Besides, if Minako said it, then it was probably right.
So maybe that’s why he’s here when Minako isn’t. Butterfly effect. Flap of the damn wings. If she hadn’t found that pocket watch—then would she have lived? Did she exchange her own time for his?
But the sad, sorry truth is that Shinjiro doesn’t know what, exactly, killed Minako. All he knows is that she was dying, and he watched death tear through her body, and then his friends wouldn’t tell him what happened or why it happened. So Minako died, and he did nothing. Could do nothing.
And yet—maybe if he woke up earlier. If he fastened his pocket watch around her wrist. If he found a butterfly and brought it to her, let the wings flutter against her feeble heart. Would she be alive? But he didn’t know then. Still doesn’t know now. And Minako is just dead.
+
Shinjiro doesn’t know where he’s going.
That’s not anything unusual, to be fair. But after he came out of the hospital, the first thing Akihiko had told him was be more careful. So, Shinjiro had wanted to honor that promise. Of course it hasn’t taken him long to break it. At this point, they should all know he’s just shitty at keeping promises.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. The world’s biggest threats are gone, apparently, because after Shinjiro half-died, Minako saved the world with her own two hands. So, yeah. Nothing to fear. He could take on anything he wanted to, anyway. Or maybe he couldn’t, but whatever. Doesn’t matter.
His footsteps are as quiet as a ghost’s. Shinjiro only registers the sound when it’s gone, and it’s then that he realizes he’s standing at the very place where he started dying: the alleyway. In the daylight, it looks unassumingly innocent. No shadows anywhere; sunlight is pouring down the walls in a bright, yellow wave. Shinjiro shields his eyes against it.
He can’t see his blood on the ground. Maybe the concrete absorbed it, swallowed it whole. Maybe it disappeared the moment he opened his eyes in the hospital, all the way across town. He’s no longer dead, so maybe all traces of his death vanished. But a strange ache opens up in Shinjiro’s bones, spreading through his body like a fever. It’s suddenly—too much. To stand, to breathe. He’s so tired.
Shinjiro lets himself fall against the wall, slumping his shoulders. His body feels too heavy. He thinks it might be the pocket watch, but he’s too tired to take it out. Just lets it sit in his pocket, ticking in the silence. He could’ve died here, he thinks. It could’ve all ended here. Thanks to Minako, he didn’t. Stupid, stubborn, loyal Minako. She wouldn’t let anyone die, not if she could help it. That’s why she saved the world. That’s why she’s dead now.
Shinjiro shuts his eyes. If he was a changed man, he’d tilt his face towards the sun, let the warmth bask over his skin. But the last thing Shinjiro wants is an altered memory, a new image colliding with one involving Minako. He buries his face in his hands and breathes in deep.
Time keeps rolling forward.
+
Shinjiro’s best memory with Minako was when they were talking on the park bench.
Well, maybe not that one. The best one was when she was in the dorm, when she let the words I love you tumble past her lips like the truest confession she had. But the one that Shinjiro actually remembers the best is the one on the park bench, because they were alone together, and his heart had cracked and spilled open with warmth.
She was talking about butterflies again. Not the butterfly effect, though. Just butterflies. She liked them, she’d said. They were her favorite. One day, she wanted to see butterflies migrate south for winter, even if it was for a second. Fleeting and beautiful, swelling in the sky.
“Butterflies don’t migrate,” Shinjiro had said. Stupidly, too, because it turned out they did; they couldn’t survive in winter. But Minako had just laughed, intertwining her fingers with his. Her hands were cold. She should’ve worn gloves.
“Okay, but imagine it,” she said, inching closer. “Imagine looking up and just seeing a thousand butterflies, all headed for the same destination. Just this…cloud of colors. Wouldn’t you want to see something so pretty?”
I already am, Shinjiro had thought, I’m looking at you. Then he wanted to throw up, because he’d never thought of something so stupidly cheesy in his life, and also because he realized that he was in love with her and he definitely shouldn’t be. It was too late to take the realization back, though. It had erupted in his chest, like wings unfurling to take flight. Damn it.
“Senpai,” Minako prodded, jolting him out of his thoughts. She flashed him a bright smile, one that made his heart race. “Wouldn’t you want to see it?”
Shinjiro tightened his grip on her hand. “With you,” he said, “yeah, I would.”
It felt like—too much. Like he was carving up a piece of his heart and handing it to her. Like she would figure out what he really meant, and then he’d be doomed. But Minako, bless her, just smiled and inched closer. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. Her fingers were entangled tightly in his.
“Okay,” she said simply. “Then we will.”
Shinjiro knew better than to believe her. But—Minako had this thing, this talent, for making everything seem like a truth. She just wasn’t a liar. So in spite of everything, in spite of his stupid heart, he believed her. He really thought they would make it.
The wind tried to slice open his heart. But it was powerless against the warmth flooding through his bloodstream.
+
“Shinjiro-san?”
Shinjiro cracks an eye open, half-expecting to see Minako before him. Instead, Koromaru’s bright amber eyes stare into his, his tongue lolling out of his mouth sideways. Shinjiro adjusts himself slowly, wincing at the soreness in his muscles. There’s a crick in his neck that wasn’t there before. The sunlight has vanished, but it’s not quite dark yet. Damn. He must’ve fallen asleep.
Koromaru whines, drawing attention back to himself. Shinjiro attempts a smile, and then gives up immediately. He settles for placing his hand on Koromaru’s head.
“Hey,” he mumbles, stroking Koromaru’s ears. He’s only half-awake; part of him is caught in dreamland. In death. In limbo. “Who taught you how to talk?”
Koromaru tilts his head to the side, ears pricking forward. Great. Even the dog looks at him like he’s stupid. But really, of course Koromaru didn’t talk. Aigis and Minako had tried to teach him, and failed each time. So who called his name?
“Shinjiro-san?”
Shit.
Ken Amada appears at the mouth of the alleyway. He seems hesitant on going further in, as if he’s afraid the past will replay in front of them. Click, bang. Shinjiro dead on the ground. At this point, the details come back faded and groggy. Whether or not it’s because Shinjiro has just woken up now or because back then he was, well, dying, remains uncertain.
“Hey,” Shinjiro says, a little too gruff for his own good. Ken deflates. Shit. He tries softening his tone. “What’re you doing here?”
Ken shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Akihiko-san was looking for you,” he says. “He said you…ran away from him earlier. He wanted to look for you, but he thought you’d run away again if you saw him, so I said I’d look for you instead. But Akihiko-san didn’t want me to go by myself, so I took Koromaru.”
Koromaru barks happily, wagging his tail. Shinjiro sinks his fingers in his fur, trying to ignore the guilt swelling in his chest. Akihiko-san said you ran away from him earlier. Yeah, that’s true. He did. He couldn’t take it. So why does it hurt so much, hearing it from Ken Amada’s mouth? Why does it sear deep in his bones?
(The answer, of course, is simple enough. Akihiko is not the only person he’s been running away from.)
Ken stares at him, eyes wide and curious. Beyond that, Shinjiro senses something else. Hurt. Grief. Confusion. Maybe Shinjiro isn’t the sole reason for all of those feelings; Ken has to be grieving too. But it still makes him uncomfortable, so he crawls steadily to his feet, using the wall as support. Twice he sways and nearly crumples. It’d be easy to fall again. He grits his teeth and tries not to.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Ken blurts out, right as Shinjiro manages to stand upright. This, of course, sends him careening against the wall again. Ken doesn’t notice. “Shinjiro-san…”
Shinjiro flinches. “Don’t.”
What he means is that Ken should not say his name like that. Shinjiro-san, concern strung in the syllables of his name. The last time Shinjiro saw Ken, he’d been screaming out his grief, all that pent-up rage exploding in one moment. Shinjiro hasn’t seen him since, and yeah, that’s a fault of his own. But he’d thought Ken wouldn’t want to talk to him again. Why would he? Shinjiro was supposed to die for him, not come back. To hear Ken speak his name so softly is—wrong. Jarring.
“You told me to live strong.” Ken’s voice does not waver. He sounds less like a child and more like an adult and—that’s so messed up. “And if I kept going forward, I’d be okay. And…you told me not to waste my life, and…and…why aren’t you taking your own advice, Shinjiro-san?”
Shinjiro grunts, propping himself up with his elbow. “Can’t,” he mutters, more concentrated on getting the right footing. “Sorry.”
“You’re not dead.” Ken’s voice takes on a note of impatience. “Why do you act like you are?”
Shinjiro stops, keeping his arm propped on the bricks. Ken is staring at him, small hands furled into fists, eyes narrowed in anger. Shinjiro has seen this look only once before, seared deep in his memory: Ken, yelling at him to die. Ken, poisoned by grief and guilt. Ken, standing at the crossroads of revenge, almost going down the same path Shinjiro had been on. But now that anger has dried into something wiser, a little more mature. No, Ken won’t be anything like Shinjiro. That’s a damn good thing, too.
So of course, when he repeats what Akihiko had been saying, it hurts almost as bad as a bullet. It also means Shinjiro owes him an answer, because he could never truly run away from Ken Amada. He could try, but he wouldn’t end up anywhere.
“I’m half-dead, Ken,” Shinjiro forces out. He watches Ken’s eyes widen, and it almost makes him laugh. “I have the right.”
Ken stuffs his hands in his pockets. It’s an eerily familiar move—did he pick that up from Shinjiro? That’s strange to think about. Touching, but heartbreaking. “But…you’re still alive, Shinjiro-san. And you’re not alone.”
Shinjiro thinks about Minako on the roof, her eyes fluttering like butterfly wings. She wasn’t exactly alone, but everyone’s faces showed a range of guilt to horror. He grimaces.
“Tell that to my broken body.”
“Shinjiro-san.” Ken’s lost his patience. Childish hurt and anger surges through his tone, and all Shinjiro can do is listen. “I…I understand if you hate me. I completely understand. But you can’t just…avoid everyone else because they cause you pain. There has to be good memories underneath it all. You and Akihiko-san grew up together. You helped Fuuka-san with her cooking. And—and—we were Minako-san’s friends too, you know. Isn’t it kind of selfish to push us away and act like her death only affected you? Do you think she’d want that from you?”
It’s a low blow. It’s also completely true. Leave it to the kid to make Shinjiro feel some kind of guilt. He sighs, peeling himself away from the wall. It’s not just Akihiko, then. Everyone thinks he’s acting selfish, which means Minako would also think that, too. Damn it all. The things he does for a dead girl.
“I don’t hate you,” Shinjiro tells Ken. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I promise I don’t.”
Ken blinks. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”
Because it’s easier, Shinjiro could say. Because I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. Because I’m the reason Minako isn’t here, aren’t I? She probably never told you, but she liked to talk about the butterfly effect a lot, and I know I’m that damn butterfly and I know that’s why she’s not here. Maybe I’m wrong, but nobody told me otherwise. Guess it doesn’t matter, though, because you’re right, Minako wouldn’t want this. Minako would hate me for this.
“I’m sorry,” Shinjiro says instead. It’s not an answer, but he really means it. “I’m really sorry, Ken. For everything.”
Ken squeezes his eyes shut. Koromaru, who has been silent this entire time, nudges Shinjiro with his hand. His eyes are wide and pleading. Kind of like a kid’s. Shinjiro scratches his ears again.
“That doesn’t tell me why,” Ken says, opening his eyes. “Shinjiro-san…”
Shinjiro glances at the sky. The sun is slowly fading, the moon taking its place. He’s half-expecting a sickly green color, a festering sickness to sweep over the world. How startling it is to see a pale white moon instead. Clear and bright.
“You gotta go home, bud,” Shinjiro says. He picks up Koromaru’s leash, winding it between his fingers. “I’ll tell you on the way there, ‘kay?”
Ken blinks. “You…you’re gonna come with me?”
Shinjiro shrugs. “Aki doesn’t want you to go alone.”
Ken stares at him. His emotions are bared out on his face, easy to read: surprise, confusion, guilt. Underneath it all, a thin layer of delight. It doesn’t make Shinjiro feel better, exactly, but it does make him almost smile. Maybe it’s not too late to fix this. Maybe he can do something after all.
“Okay,” Ken says. He stands a few feet away from Shinjiro, but doesn’t scurry away when he comes closer. “Let’s go.”
They walk out of the alleyway together. Strange how this ended up, Shinjiro thinks. The last time he walked in, Ken’s grief had swallowed him whole. The last time he walked in, he didn’t walk out. Someone had probably dragged his body. Maybe it was Minako. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, he’s able to pull himself out of the alleyway this time. In some places, they call this growth. In this place, Shinjiro just hopes Minako would be proud of him.
+
By the time Shinjiro arrives back at Akihiko’s house, the sky is dark. All the lights are off except for one in the back—the guest room. His room. The light is dim but warm, unspooling softly through the window. There are two shapes cast against it, like ghosts. One is sitting on the bed, head dropped in their hands. The other is just standing there silently.
Shinjiro slips in quietly. Kicks his shoes off by the door, pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders, tries not to make any noise. The thing about being half-dead is that he’s perfected the art of acting like a ghost. It comes in handy sometimes. Like: when he doesn’t want Akihiko to know that he’s home, that he’s okay, that he’s awake. He’s just—tired. Just coming to a resolution.
The door is half open. Shinjiro skulks in the shadows, peeking through the cracks. Yes, Akihiko is in there. His presence is quite noticeable; he could never be a ghost if he tried. The other person has their back to him, but he can tell it’s Mitsuru, thanks to the sweep of her long hair. She’s Akihiko’s favorite, after all. The only one he would allow in the walls of his home, his life.
“He’s not picking up.” Akihiko. Definitely. “I’m worried about him.”
“Amada is doing much better now.” Yeah, that’s Mitsuru. Logical and precise, simply stating facts. “And he has Koromaru. He’s okay.”
“I’m not talking about Ken.”
A pause. Shinjiro slides his hands in his pockets, absently pressing his thumb against the pocket watch. He’s surprised it hasn’t given him away yet. When all else is silent, the pocket watch fills it.
“Neither am I, Akihiko,” Mitsuru says, so softly that Shinjiro recoils. He had no idea Mitsuru could sound like that. No idea she could allow herself to be that kind. “And you know it.”
Akihiko is silent. Shinjiro barely feels like he can breathe. He grips the pocket watch tighter, feeling the uneven ridges dig into his skin. It doesn’t even hurt. He’s too used to pain.
“He’s not himself.” Akihiko’s voice is so quiet, so unsteady, that Shinjiro’s heart twists. Aki was never like this before. “I know…it was hard for him. It was hard for all of us. And it’s not like he could walk out of the hospital feeling like a champ, or whatever. But something’s off. I can’t…I think he blames himself. But he won’t tell me anything, and I can’t…I don’t…I used to understand him. Now I don’t understand anything. Did I do something?” Desperation hitches on his tone. “What happened?”
Shinjiro’s face feels hot. I died, Aki, he thinks, the words springing bitterly to his mind. That’s what happened. He was untranslatable because he was dead. That’s what it was. But Akihiko didn’t know that. Stupid, stupid Akihiko had to blame himself, even when Shinjiro was the one to leave him behind. To die and come back and fuck it all up.
Ken’s voice swims in his head again: you’re not dead. For some reason, it blends with Minako’s. Shinjiro takes a deep breath. No more hauntings, Shinji. Time to rejoin the living, for real now.
When he pushes the door open, Akihiko and Mitsuru both spring to their feet. Akihiko looks shocked, and then scared, as if he’s afraid Shinjiro heard all his secrets. Mitsuru just looks relieved.
“Shinji,” Akihiko breathes. It spills out of his mouth easily, which is good. Some things haven’t changed. “Hey—where’ve you been?”
Shinjiro looks at him. Looks at Mitsuru. Nowhere, he wants to say. Everywhere. It’s a simple question, and it should be a simple answer. But summoning words is so tiring. He doesn’t even know where to begin.
“You look tired,” Mitsuru states, blunt like the edge of an axe. It’s not—cruel, though. It’s kind at the edges, almost comforting. She doesn’t step closer, but her gaze is very gentle. “If you need sleep, we can leave. I was about to go anyway…”
“No.” Shinjiro’s voice is ragged, like he just crawled out of the grave. He swallows, taking a breath. Tries again. “No, it’s okay. Stay.”
Akihiko and Mitsuru exchange a glance. Shinjiro tries to interpret it. It either means, he’s lying or something is wrong with him. The latter is definitely right. Shinjiro has known that for quite awhile now.
Slowly, he takes an unsteady step forward. Another, and another. His legs tremble with every step. Yet he pushes forward, trying to close the distance between them. Mend the gap. It’s a lot harder than he thought it would be.
“Shinji,” Akihiko says. Hesitates. Take the plunge, Shinjiro wants to tell him. Be the Aki I know. But he knows better than to rush him; that might shatter whatever balance they’re working towards. He waits instead, trying to ignore the unsteadiness of his body.
“Shinji,” Akihiko tries again. He swallows, and this time he takes the leap. “Are you…have you been crying?”
Well. That is not what Shinjiro was expecting. He blinks, stunned. “Huh?”
“Do you want to cry,” Akihiko rephrases, which incidentally means something completely different. Stupid Aki. Of course he thinks it means the same thing. “You…I mean, I know you’re strong and all. But. You haven’t really…I mean, I haven’t seen you grieve…since Minako…”
He glances warily at Mitsuru, as if unsure whether or not to go on. She hesitates too, clearly out of her depth as well. Shinjiro scuffs his foot on the ground. His turn now. Be brave, Aragaki.
“Died.” His voice scrapes over the word too harsh; it grates his ears. He holds back a wince. “Since Minako died. That’s what you mean. She’s dead. I…” his voice catches in his throat. “She…”
The impact of his words hit him too late. Minako is dead. Gone. It sounds like a theory out of his mouth, something that hasn’t been proven true, but it is. Minako saved the world, and all of its possibilities. Butterfly effect. Quantum theory. Parallel universe. Minako saved it all, but she had to die to do it. And now she’s dead. Theory solved. Case closed. Shinjiro has all the facts now. God, does he hate them.
It’s too much. All of it. Shinjiro’s much weaker than he was before; he’ll freely admit it. He falls to his knees again, bracing his hands on the floor. Still holding himself up. Still in this wretched world, the one Minako had saved for everyone else. God, Shinjiro is such a bad person. He couldn’t have done that. His gaze starts to waver—is he dying? Is he losing his vision? No, something wet slides down his cheek. A tear. He hasn’t cried in years now, and that only makes him feel worse. He ducks his head down, trying to suppress it, but it’s no use. The tears won’t stop. The world feels like it’s crushing on his shoulders. Damn Minako for saving it. Damn her and her stupid, beautiful, selfless heart.
“Shinji? Oh, man—Shinji—"
Shinjiro digs his fingers in the floor. No, he wants to shout. Don’t look at me. He can’t face them like this. Not Aki, who has always looked at him as a pillar of strength. Not Mitsuru, who tolerated tears from nobody. It’s embarrassing; it’s shameful. Yet his head moves of his own accord, and his gaze shifts from the floor to his friends’ faces. It’s hard to read their expressions, but he can imagine it perfectly. Twin sympathy. They’re like mirrors.
Something warm grabs onto his shoulder. Shinjiro startles, almost recoiling, but there’s nowhere to go. It’s familiar, anyway. Something he could fall into. But he doesn’t realize it’s Akihiko until he hears Akihiko’s own sobs echo his own, feels Akihiko’s arms wrap around his back. It’s just Aki. It’s just Aki, and Shinjiro has never needed a defense against him. He slumps against his body, giving up. Giving in. He can’t bear this weight all alone, this grief he’s held for ages. It’s rotted out his body. He can’t let it fester inside of him anymore.
So he buries his head in Akihiko’s shoulder, twisting his fingers in Akihiko’s shirt. Dimly, he’s aware of Mitsuru wrapping her own arms around him as well, acting as a second shield. The circle is complete. They’re all here, holding him, helping him. And like a little kid, Shinjiro curls against them and cries, and cries, and cries.
Nothing is okay, not yet. But for the first time in ages, he finally feels safe.
+
Later, they tell him that Minako died because death was burning up inside her. That she died to save the world, which he knew, but she’d been dying before that, which he didn’t. In hindsight, he probably should’ve. Her Persona was Thanatos, of all things. It was just another part of her. She’d probably been dying before Shinjiro even met her, but he doesn’t want to confirm that. Anyway. It’s not his fault, like he thought. Couldn’t have been.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Akihiko tells him. They’re in his room now, lying on the floor. Mitsuru isn’t there; she had plans with Yukari and Fuuka. Eventually, Shinjiro will tag along too. He’ll need to talk to them as well.
“Sorry,” Shinjiro says now, staring at the ceiling. “It’s kind of a reflex.”
Akihiko looks at him, raising an eyebrow. It’s kind of hard to read his expression. “Even if we were all blaming each other…you’d get the smallest portion, you know. Hell, you’d get none.”
“‘Cause I was dead for nearly all of it?”
Akihiko scowls. “No, Shinji. Because you were there.”
“For the last two minutes of her life.”
“But that’s the thing.” Akihiko’s voice drops to a shaky whisper, like he’s going to cry. “You knew. You woke up, and your first thought was Minako. You still remembered her. Me…Mitsuru…we weren’t like you, okay? I don’t…I didn’t know she was…but you. You made it. You went back to her.”
Shinjiro doesn’t know what to say to that. He looks up instead, trying to make shapes out of the cracks in the ceiling. One kind of resembles a gun. Another, a heart. There’s probably a metaphor here, he thinks. Too bad he doesn’t know what it is.
“Minako really loved you,” Akihiko says, his voice clearer now. Steadier, too. “So…you being there…it was all she wanted. She just wanted to see you again.”
Shinjiro’s eyes start to sting again. It means he’s going to cry, probably. Shit. He drags his arm over his face, breathing in deep. Minako really loved you. He really loved her, too. Still does. And if he loves her, then he can’t blame himself. She wouldn’t want that.
“What am I gonna do now?” It sounds childish from his lips. Frightened, too. Akihiko shifts to look at him, surprise fluttering across his features.
“Huh?”
Shinjiro swallows. “I…thought I was dying,” he explains, feeling stupid, which he hates. He’s always hated sounding stupid in front of Akihiko. “I spent so much time thinkin’ I was gonna die, and now…here I am. And I guess I can’t sit around and wait for death to hit me in the face again. So. What do I do now?”
He half-expects Akihiko to go silent, to contemplate this question, to be as unsure as he is. Instead, Akihiko just stares at him like he’s lost his mind.
“That’s easy, Shinji,” he says, kinder than Shinjiro has ever heard. “What would Minako want you to do?”
It’s really a testament to how shitty Shinjiro has been feeling, considering he hadn’t even thought of that. Shame creeps up his spine, crawls into his bones. What would Minako want you to do?
“Live,” he whispers, quieter than his heartbeat. Live.
+
Minako’s grave is located on the far side of town, right where the sea slams itself against the cliff. In hindsight, it’s fitting. She deserves a beautiful place, somewhere she can rest forever. She probably would’ve loved it there.
Shinjiro doesn’t really care for that. He crouches before Minako’s grave, unsure of what to say. Admittedly, he’s avoided coming here. That makes him a really shitty boyfriend, he knows, but Minako isn’t really there. Her body is six feet underground; her soul is holding up the universe. So there was no point in going, and there still isn’t, really. But Shinjiro does, because now he’s ready to talk to her, and this is the closest he’ll get.
“Hey,” he says awkwardly. “Been awhile.”
No response, of course. Shinjiro shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He didn’t bring any flowers, which was also shitty of him, but what was the point? Flowers wither and die. Besides, someone else already brought some: red roses, wreathed around her grave like a crown. It was probably Yukari. Or Fuuka. Maybe even Ken.
“I got a job,” Shinjiro says, mostly to fill the silence. “Workin’ at that beef bowl place. Don’t know what I’m gonna do after that, but. Well. It’s something. Aki says the food has only gotten better, but you know him.” He rolls his eyes.
The sea throws itself against the cliff, spraying the air with sea salt. It carries over in the breeze. Shinjiro closes his eyes, letting the wind caress his face. He can almost pretend it’s Minako. It’s warm, like her hands. He smiles grimly.
“Not much has changed,” he admits. “Except for maybe me. That’s weird, right? It’s real weird. I don’t know how much time I got left, but I’m not wasting it anymore. Spent too much of my life doing that.” He laughs, the sound sharp but no longer bitter. “I really wish you could see me—us—now, but, well. Mitsuru says you’d be proud of us. I think she’s right.”
This is really stupid. It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a stranger, except the stranger is a brick wall. But Shinjiro kind of likes it, in a strange way. He can’t explain it. Carefully, he pulls out his pocket watch, letting it dangle in his grip. Weird that he’s been carrying it around, but he hasn’t actually seen it in the daylight, not since he died. It’s marred at the edges, uneven. The bullet screwed it all up. But the sunlight still catches its face, gleaming bright. He closes his fingers around it.
“I’m not a good person,” he admits. “If I was, I’d give this to you. Put it here, or whatever, and hope you’d take it. But, hell…I already gave you one, and I kinda want to keep this one. It reminds me of you, and I…I really miss you. So I’m gonna keep it. That okay?”
He takes the silence as a yes. Dragging in a sharp breath, he drops the watch back in his pocket, feeling that familiar weight. At least he can bear that one.
“When I come back, I’ll have something for you,” he promises, getting to his feet. “Something better. Just…wait for me, alright? It might be a bit. But I’ll be there. I just wanted to tell you…I miss you. And I’m sorry. I’ll see you again soon.”
No response, but at least he wasn’t expecting one. Shinjiro stuffs his hands in his pockets, curling his fingers around the pocket watch. It’s familiar. It steadies him.
He turns on his heel to go, and that’s when he sees it: a lone red butterfly, fluttering steadily across the sea. The sunlight illuminates its wings, giving the distinction that it’s on fire. Yet it does not falter; it just keeps going. It’s so pretty, so breathtaking, that Shinjiro just stands there and watches it fly towards the edges of the world. Towards the unknown. It may not make its destination, but Shinjiro has a pretty good feeling that it will. His mouth twists upwards in a smile.
See that, Minako? he thinks, watching the butterfly glide elegantly through the air. Wings steady, flapping gently in the breeze. It soars in the sky, beautiful and fleeting, before disappearing into the horizon.