𝓵𝓪𝓫𝔂𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓶 ❀ 𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓸𝔁

[girlybruiser]

ＩＮＢＯＸ 𝕥𝕖𝕩𝕥 💬 ✦ 𝕒𝕦𝕕𝕚𝕠 📞 ✦ 𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕠 📹 ✦ 𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 🎬 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥

Comments

cw: death mention

[girlybruiser]

[ The weight of the smaller blade in her hand feels foreign, disappointing, distracting—

It's not the familiar comfort of her axe and how it afforded her some distance in battle once the sharp edge of it was held to a Shadow's neck. It was safe, impersonal and—

Nothing like this at all.

Ragged, heavy breathing as her brown eyes bore into his, the knife inching just barely when she feels his wrist pushing hers back, trying to keep the edge of the blade away from his neck.

For a short spell, the pressure slackens, she doesn't expect it. Her hand might've pushed forward if she wasn't too hyper aware of where their hands sat, how their bodies mangled into one another as she sat atop him, the full weight of her trying to keep him on the floor.

And for a moment, she thinks she likes this sight beneath her. To see him at her mercy, to see him grasp who she's become, because Akechi Goro could no longer see how far any of them have come.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips, but then...

"His signal is gone."

She's pulled back into Shido's ship, in the engine room, a heavy metal wall barricading her and the others as gunshots go off opposite them. They can't do anything, so they listen with heavy hearts.

Joker says something to Akechi, it doesn't make sense to Haru. There's something between them she will never fully grasp.

It makes her a little mad.

But it fills her with that sense of pity all over.

Shido's victim, just like Akira, whether he wanted to accept it or not. Now here he is, telling her to end it. She wonders what kind of life he could have had if he had met them all earlier, but on the other hand, maybe she would have been the one pinned to the floor, knife at her nape and ordering the mercy shot had things been different for her.

Her grip tightens on the handle, knuckles white as she angles her elbow, as if she might push the blade into Akechi's throat, but she takes a deep breath instead. ]

No.

[ Haru pulls the knife away and releases his hair, some loose strands entangled between her fingers. ]

I am not my father, nor am I like yours.

[ Her body feels heavy, tired. ]

... and I am not like you, Akechi-kun.

[ She slides herself off him finally, onto the blood-splattered wooden floor, too tired to move just yet. ]

[enteloki]

[ It's in her erratic, desperate breath that his own pounding, pounding, pounding heart finds solace.

No. She isn't her father. She isn't Shido. She isn't Akechi Goro in all his vile wants.

She isn't Akira. Joker. And for moment, he thinks-

She isn't meant to be a thief either.

How many would push their blade to his neck? Only Joker, whose own place on the team holds him back. And how many would stop short of exacting revenge? Few. So few. Akechi can't pull another name, in that moment.
It's not strength nor virtue. She isn't any better for it. Won't gain anything because of it.

A father's corpse isn't worth another. A mother's is.

And he pushes himself up to sit, a thin burning line on his neck, a gaping wound against his shoulder. From across the room, her own injury feels like a mirror. He hopes it hurts.

With his back against a wall, he staunches a bleeding mark with a palm. Lets his head crane back to rest against it. If she didn't slit his throat a moment ago, she won't now. ]

You can act as high and mighty as you want with a team behind you, but look how quickly you turn when you're alone. You're not as different as you think you are.

[ And he wants a goddamn minute to himself, so he jets a thumb towards the door. Doesn't bother turning his head to see if she follows. ]

Go heal yourself, genius. They can call for a nurse.

wrapped 💝

[girlybruiser]

[ Haru's heart hasn't stopped racing.

Even as they face opposite one another, nurturing their wounds, laboured breathing as they try to catch a moment's reprieve against the lessening tension, it still permeates the air.

She stares back at Akechi, as if he might get a second wind and aim for her throat this time.

But nothing happens.

And she should be glad for it, as there's a part of her nauseated over how violent this encounter had become. Even when she shuts her eyes, she can smell the blood and sweat tainting the air, the faint breeze entering through an ajar window hopeless against deep bloodstains on the mattress, the floor, her dress—

And further down, where her fingers barely grasp it, there's a piece of Haru that doesn't feel nauseated enough. She should be more disgusted, more appalled at the frenzy.

She isn't.

"You're not as different as you think you are."

She shakes her head. It's different. Necessity. What was a girl to do alone in a room with someone whose only language was violence and threats? When she had tried to make him see—

That they weren't all that different in the end.

Her stomach sinks. ]

... we are not the same in ways you think.

[ Her voice is level again, but there's a hiss that follows when she slides his knife back to him across the floor with a shoulder that's feels it's been through a shredder. The knife clatters forward, some light red splatters trailing it, leading from one survivor to another.

She gets to her feet, her knees weak and shaking, clutching her shoulder.

As she walks past him toward the door, she stops in place before him, looking him over. ]

I hope you have come to an understanding, however. I am not the girl I used to be... and I am not afraid of you, Akechi-kun.

[ Her hand turns the doorknob and as she steps out: ]

If you come for me again in such a way, I will be ready.