Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2022-06-23 03:58 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2022-06-23 03:58 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Rewrite (Persona 5 Royal)
I can't believe Persona 5 Royal took a game I already loved and introduced weird memory bullshit, my favourite thing. Of course I immediately dropped my playthrough to write this.
Title: Rewrite
Fandom: Persona 5 Royal
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2,100
Summary: Fine. Ren's accepted this new reality. Akechi won't.
Ren was the one person who remembered; they’ve been relying on each other for assurance that their memories are real. They’re enemies, yes, but Akechi wasn’t expecting to be betrayed on this.
It had occurred to Akechi that Maruki might defeat them. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ren might accept the new reality, might leave Akechi with nobody to confirm his own memories.
Idiot. He’s always been alone. A few days working together with Ren; was he enough of a fool to think that made them friends?
He doesn’t need Ren. He doesn’t need anyone.
Which is just as well, given that he’s now the sole person holding on to the true reality. He’s more entirely alone than he’s ever been.
-
He’s not powerful enough to defeat Maruki, of course. Even so, the battle is over humiliatingly quickly. If he’d had allies—
Akechi grits his teeth, tasting the blood in his mouth. Allies? That’s not the problem; anyone else would have slowed him down. He wasn’t strong enough; it’s as simple as that.
He’s on the floor, breathing ragged. Bile in his throat, the remnants of Maruki’s last magical attack crackling painfully through his lungs. He looks up at Maruki and waits to die.
“We don’t have to fight,” Maruki says.
“I don’t want any part of your world,” Akechi rasps out. “If I can’t stop you, kill me here.”
Maruki shakes his head. “You could be happy in this reality.”
“I won’t be happy anywhere.”
Maruki raises a hand, and Akechi braces himself. Light surrounds him, and—
It doesn’t hurt. It’s – it’s soothing. Maruki is healing his wounds.
“No,” Akechi says.
“I want to save everyone,” Maruki says. “Why wouldn’t that include you?”
“You’re an idiot. Do you think I won’t kill you?”
“You can be happy,” Maruki says. “I promise.”
-
Akechi finds himself on the pavement outside the construction site. His first instinct is to go straight back into the Palace, challenge Maruki again, but—
But it would be foolish. He’s not strong enough; he knows that for a fact. He needs to train.
If Ren hadn’t given in, if Akechi had had his support in that fight—
No point thinking about it. He was stupid to rely on anyone else in the first place.
For now, there’s not much to do but head home. Or back to his apartment, at least; the word home doesn’t mean much in this false reality.
-
He runs into one of Ren’s little friends on his way back. Makoto, the younger Niijima, in front of Shibuya station.
“Oh, good evening, Akechi-kun,” she says. “I was just about to call you, actually.”
To call him? “Did something happen?”
Makoto shakes her head. “Everything’s fine. I just – you remember you were saying we should study together?”
He does vaguely recall, now that she mentions it. They go to different schools, of course, but that could add an interesting extra dimension; they might learn some new things, even if they won’t necessarily be tested on them.
“I have some time right now,” Makoto says. “We could go to the diner, if you’re not busy?”
It sounds a pleasant enough way to spend the evening. But he’s a little tired, after—
After what? What has he been doing today?
“I don’t know if I have the focus for studying,” Akechi says. “Perhaps just tea?”
Makoto smiles. “Of course.”
They’re halfway to the diner when something shimmers in the air and it hits Akechi – what is he doing? He and Makoto Niijima don’t take tea together; they aren’t friends. He doesn’t have friends.
He wheels around and stalks back the way they came, ignoring Niijima’s concerned call of “Akechi-kun?” after him. He won’t give in to this nonsense. He isn’t going to forget who he is.
-
Maruki’s influence is getting stronger. His fingers in Akechi’s mind, in Akechi’s past and his present, rearranging and rewriting.
Akechi can’t give up the times he can remember who he is. Every time he falls asleep, he wakes up believing in the false world they’ve ended up in. It’s harder every day to regain his own sense of identity.
So he can’t let himself fall asleep.
He spends his nights in Maruki’s Palace, battling Shadows. Making himself stronger, so he can face Maruki and defeat him, as alone as he’s always been. No Ren, no Yoshizawa.
They were weak. He’s never needed them.
He pants, trying to claw himself back to his feet.
Making himself stronger. What a joke. He’s exhausting himself. He’s probably going to die here, without even another opportunity to fight Maruki for his life back. He needs a month’s worth of training before he’s ready, at a conservative estimate; does he think he can stay awake for a month?
But he’ll kill himself trying before he accepts this.
-
“Whoa, nice,” Ryuji says. “How’d you get so good at darts?”
Akechi twirls his third dart between his fingers. “That’s a secret, I’m afraid.”
He throws. He’s been aiming for bullseyes, as a reliable strategy, but Ryuji’s compliment has made him slightly more inclined to show off, and he strikes the triple 20 directly in the centre. Ryuji whoops and cheers, and Akechi steps back, with a small smile.
“Right!” Ryuji jumps to high-five Akechi. The jump is entirely unnecessary; they’re the same height. “My turn. I’m gonna finish it here.”
Akechi folds his arms to watch. Ryuji’s throwing is better than he’d expected; he doesn’t come across as a person capable of much precision, but evidently he’s more skilled than he appears at first glance. Ryuji’s skill has taken him by surprise before, in fact, when they—
When they were fighting to the death in Shido’s Palace.
It’s a realisation so sharp it’s almost painful, and Akechi hisses between his teeth, bringing a hand to his temple.
“Hey, dude, you okay?” Ryuji asks.
How did he get here? Why is he—
It’s the false reality. He’s living in Maruki’s lie. How long has – it’s been days, he hasn’t been training, he’s been wasting time believing in this sham of an existence—
“Akechi?” Ryuji asks, ducking his head to look into Akechi’s eyes.
Akechi straightens up, breathing hard; he’d almost doubled over. He grabs his coat and makes for the exit.
“Hey!” Ryuji calls. “We haven’t even finished yet!”
Akechi wheels around. “I refuse to waste my time with you.”
“The hell?” Ryuji – no, Sakamoto – asks. “Why’re you bein’ like this?”
“I am not being like this,” Akechi snaps. “This is who I am. We’re not friends.”
“Uh, obviously we are, dude,” Sakamoto says. “We’ve been hanging out for, like, half a year. We’re friends. Even if you’re kind of being an asshole right now.”
Akechi nearly chokes on it. People supposedly want him around, they’re acting like they care about him even when he’s pushing them away—
But it’s not real. He knows what reality is; he knows the world isn’t nearly so kind. He can’t lose himself to this illusion.
-
He stays awake as long as he can, now that he’s regained himself. Training is tempting, but it’s too risky; it wears him out too much, it’ll just mean he ends up falling asleep faster. He might even pass out in Maruki’s Palace, to become food for the Shadows there.
So he stays in his apartment, scribbling down everything he can remember about the reality Maruki stole from him. It’s probably a habit worth getting into. If he writes about the true situation whenever he can remember it, maybe he can keep himself grounded there; maybe he can look back and remind himself when he forgets.
And then what?
Training wears him out, means he falls asleep, means he forgets his goal here. But, if he doesn’t train, how is he going to defeat the man holding his strings?
He’s been cornered. He’s losing more of himself every day. He’s not strong enough to fight the source, and he can’t get stronger, not when it takes all his time and attention just to hold on to who he is.
He won’t lose. He refuses to lose.
-
“I apologise for intruding,” Akechi says. “I came to see Ren-kun.”
“He should be home soon,” Sojiro says. “Coffee’s on the house if you want to wait.”
The television in the café is on, and the news is reporting on another glut of lottery winners. It grates on Akechi’s nerves for reasons he can’t place. “Thank you, but I’d like to wait in his room if I can.”
“Not a problem,” Sojiro says, “but I’m not bringing the coffee up to you. You want me to call you down when it’s done?”
Akechi shakes his head. “I’ll pass on the coffee. Thank you.”
-
Akechi’s always been exceptionally skilled at wearing a mask. He plays the respectable young detective, and Sojiro Sakura allows him unsupervised into his charge’s bedroom.
But... no, his thoughts aren’t making sense. Akechi is the respectable young detective. Why wouldn’t Sojiro allow him in here? Why would there be any reason to think he’s a danger?
The shelves are full of mementos, bowls and toys and ornaments. Akechi wants to hurl all of them against the walls. But Sojiro will hear.
He could quietly, methodically break everything here. A tempting thought, but it feels somehow less dignified than an outright destructive rage would be. What sort of person breaks someone’s possessions in cold blood?
He doesn’t know where these ideas are coming from. Ren is his friend. They’ve never fallen out, as far as Akechi can remember. Why would Akechi want to hurt him?
Something is wrong. It’s an itch under Akechi’s skin; he can’t say how long it’s been there. He can’t put it into words.
He ends up sitting in silence by the stairs, listening for Ren’s return. Trying to piece together why he came here at all.
Eventually, there’s the tinkle of the shop bell from downstairs, followed by, “Ah, you’re back. One of your friends is up in your room. The detective kid?”
One of your friends. It rings oddly, for some reason.
“I guess I’ll wait down here,” Morgana says, and something about his voice always bothers Akechi as well.
Footsteps on the stairs, and then Akechi and Ren are looking at each other. Ren waiting for him to make the first conversational move, as always.
“I’ve forgotten something,” Akechi says. “I need your help remembering.”
Ren cocks his head to one side. “Forgotten what?”
Trying to pin it down just leaves him with a void in his skull and a sick feeling in his gut. “Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have forgotten it, would I?”
“Why come to me?” Ren asks, as infuriatingly calm as ever.
It’s a fair question. If he’s forgotten something so completely he doesn’t even know what he’s forgotten, why would he assume Ren specifically could help?
But he knows, somehow, that it’s useless to ask anyone else. It’s probable that nobody can help him. But, if anyone can help, it’s Ren.
“You were the only other one who remembered,” Akechi says. “And you threw it away.”
He doesn’t understand the words coming out of his own mouth, and it’s clear that Ren doesn’t understand them either.
“This is your fault,” Akechi says, quietly furious. “You did this to me.”
“I did what to you?” Ren asks.
The question just makes Akechi angrier, because he can’t answer it.
-
Akechi blinks, looks around. He’s at his desk.
Did he fall asleep here? He’s been sleeping well, as far as he can remember; it seems strange that he keeps losing time.
There’s a pen in his hand, a sheet of paper pinned under his wrist.
They’re not your friends, it says. His own handwriting, but uneven, jagged, like it was written in a hurry. You don’t have friends.
Your father abandoned you. Your mother died. You’ve always been alone. This isn’t the person you are.
He doesn’t remember writing it.
Was he working on a novel, perhaps? He’s never been particularly given to creative pursuits, but it’s hard to think of another explanation.
It sticks in the back of his mind; he keeps going back to read it. But it means nothing to him.
-
There’s still a faint chill in the air outside, but Leblanc is warm and comfortable. Futaba is chattering away to her mother at the counter; Ryuji and Ann are having a lively argument in one of the other booths. It’s pleasantly familiar background noise as Akechi surveys the chessboard laid out between himself and Ren.
Akechi thinks he might be happy. It’s a strange realisation; it’s an emotion that sits uncomfortably in his skin, like he was never really designed for it.
But he has all these friends. He has a place where he’s wanted, where he belongs. Why shouldn’t he be happy?
He keeps catching himself gritting his teeth, hard enough to hurt.
Title: Rewrite
Fandom: Persona 5 Royal
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2,100
Summary: Fine. Ren's accepted this new reality. Akechi won't.
Ren was the one person who remembered; they’ve been relying on each other for assurance that their memories are real. They’re enemies, yes, but Akechi wasn’t expecting to be betrayed on this.
It had occurred to Akechi that Maruki might defeat them. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ren might accept the new reality, might leave Akechi with nobody to confirm his own memories.
Idiot. He’s always been alone. A few days working together with Ren; was he enough of a fool to think that made them friends?
He doesn’t need Ren. He doesn’t need anyone.
Which is just as well, given that he’s now the sole person holding on to the true reality. He’s more entirely alone than he’s ever been.
He’s not powerful enough to defeat Maruki, of course. Even so, the battle is over humiliatingly quickly. If he’d had allies—
Akechi grits his teeth, tasting the blood in his mouth. Allies? That’s not the problem; anyone else would have slowed him down. He wasn’t strong enough; it’s as simple as that.
He’s on the floor, breathing ragged. Bile in his throat, the remnants of Maruki’s last magical attack crackling painfully through his lungs. He looks up at Maruki and waits to die.
“We don’t have to fight,” Maruki says.
“I don’t want any part of your world,” Akechi rasps out. “If I can’t stop you, kill me here.”
Maruki shakes his head. “You could be happy in this reality.”
“I won’t be happy anywhere.”
Maruki raises a hand, and Akechi braces himself. Light surrounds him, and—
It doesn’t hurt. It’s – it’s soothing. Maruki is healing his wounds.
“No,” Akechi says.
“I want to save everyone,” Maruki says. “Why wouldn’t that include you?”
“You’re an idiot. Do you think I won’t kill you?”
“You can be happy,” Maruki says. “I promise.”
Akechi finds himself on the pavement outside the construction site. His first instinct is to go straight back into the Palace, challenge Maruki again, but—
But it would be foolish. He’s not strong enough; he knows that for a fact. He needs to train.
If Ren hadn’t given in, if Akechi had had his support in that fight—
No point thinking about it. He was stupid to rely on anyone else in the first place.
For now, there’s not much to do but head home. Or back to his apartment, at least; the word home doesn’t mean much in this false reality.
He runs into one of Ren’s little friends on his way back. Makoto, the younger Niijima, in front of Shibuya station.
“Oh, good evening, Akechi-kun,” she says. “I was just about to call you, actually.”
To call him? “Did something happen?”
Makoto shakes her head. “Everything’s fine. I just – you remember you were saying we should study together?”
He does vaguely recall, now that she mentions it. They go to different schools, of course, but that could add an interesting extra dimension; they might learn some new things, even if they won’t necessarily be tested on them.
“I have some time right now,” Makoto says. “We could go to the diner, if you’re not busy?”
It sounds a pleasant enough way to spend the evening. But he’s a little tired, after—
After what? What has he been doing today?
“I don’t know if I have the focus for studying,” Akechi says. “Perhaps just tea?”
Makoto smiles. “Of course.”
They’re halfway to the diner when something shimmers in the air and it hits Akechi – what is he doing? He and Makoto Niijima don’t take tea together; they aren’t friends. He doesn’t have friends.
He wheels around and stalks back the way they came, ignoring Niijima’s concerned call of “Akechi-kun?” after him. He won’t give in to this nonsense. He isn’t going to forget who he is.
Maruki’s influence is getting stronger. His fingers in Akechi’s mind, in Akechi’s past and his present, rearranging and rewriting.
Akechi can’t give up the times he can remember who he is. Every time he falls asleep, he wakes up believing in the false world they’ve ended up in. It’s harder every day to regain his own sense of identity.
So he can’t let himself fall asleep.
He spends his nights in Maruki’s Palace, battling Shadows. Making himself stronger, so he can face Maruki and defeat him, as alone as he’s always been. No Ren, no Yoshizawa.
They were weak. He’s never needed them.
He pants, trying to claw himself back to his feet.
Making himself stronger. What a joke. He’s exhausting himself. He’s probably going to die here, without even another opportunity to fight Maruki for his life back. He needs a month’s worth of training before he’s ready, at a conservative estimate; does he think he can stay awake for a month?
But he’ll kill himself trying before he accepts this.
“Whoa, nice,” Ryuji says. “How’d you get so good at darts?”
Akechi twirls his third dart between his fingers. “That’s a secret, I’m afraid.”
He throws. He’s been aiming for bullseyes, as a reliable strategy, but Ryuji’s compliment has made him slightly more inclined to show off, and he strikes the triple 20 directly in the centre. Ryuji whoops and cheers, and Akechi steps back, with a small smile.
“Right!” Ryuji jumps to high-five Akechi. The jump is entirely unnecessary; they’re the same height. “My turn. I’m gonna finish it here.”
Akechi folds his arms to watch. Ryuji’s throwing is better than he’d expected; he doesn’t come across as a person capable of much precision, but evidently he’s more skilled than he appears at first glance. Ryuji’s skill has taken him by surprise before, in fact, when they—
When they were fighting to the death in Shido’s Palace.
It’s a realisation so sharp it’s almost painful, and Akechi hisses between his teeth, bringing a hand to his temple.
“Hey, dude, you okay?” Ryuji asks.
How did he get here? Why is he—
It’s the false reality. He’s living in Maruki’s lie. How long has – it’s been days, he hasn’t been training, he’s been wasting time believing in this sham of an existence—
“Akechi?” Ryuji asks, ducking his head to look into Akechi’s eyes.
Akechi straightens up, breathing hard; he’d almost doubled over. He grabs his coat and makes for the exit.
“Hey!” Ryuji calls. “We haven’t even finished yet!”
Akechi wheels around. “I refuse to waste my time with you.”
“The hell?” Ryuji – no, Sakamoto – asks. “Why’re you bein’ like this?”
“I am not being like this,” Akechi snaps. “This is who I am. We’re not friends.”
“Uh, obviously we are, dude,” Sakamoto says. “We’ve been hanging out for, like, half a year. We’re friends. Even if you’re kind of being an asshole right now.”
Akechi nearly chokes on it. People supposedly want him around, they’re acting like they care about him even when he’s pushing them away—
But it’s not real. He knows what reality is; he knows the world isn’t nearly so kind. He can’t lose himself to this illusion.
He stays awake as long as he can, now that he’s regained himself. Training is tempting, but it’s too risky; it wears him out too much, it’ll just mean he ends up falling asleep faster. He might even pass out in Maruki’s Palace, to become food for the Shadows there.
So he stays in his apartment, scribbling down everything he can remember about the reality Maruki stole from him. It’s probably a habit worth getting into. If he writes about the true situation whenever he can remember it, maybe he can keep himself grounded there; maybe he can look back and remind himself when he forgets.
And then what?
Training wears him out, means he falls asleep, means he forgets his goal here. But, if he doesn’t train, how is he going to defeat the man holding his strings?
He’s been cornered. He’s losing more of himself every day. He’s not strong enough to fight the source, and he can’t get stronger, not when it takes all his time and attention just to hold on to who he is.
He won’t lose. He refuses to lose.
“I apologise for intruding,” Akechi says. “I came to see Ren-kun.”
“He should be home soon,” Sojiro says. “Coffee’s on the house if you want to wait.”
The television in the café is on, and the news is reporting on another glut of lottery winners. It grates on Akechi’s nerves for reasons he can’t place. “Thank you, but I’d like to wait in his room if I can.”
“Not a problem,” Sojiro says, “but I’m not bringing the coffee up to you. You want me to call you down when it’s done?”
Akechi shakes his head. “I’ll pass on the coffee. Thank you.”
Akechi’s always been exceptionally skilled at wearing a mask. He plays the respectable young detective, and Sojiro Sakura allows him unsupervised into his charge’s bedroom.
But... no, his thoughts aren’t making sense. Akechi is the respectable young detective. Why wouldn’t Sojiro allow him in here? Why would there be any reason to think he’s a danger?
The shelves are full of mementos, bowls and toys and ornaments. Akechi wants to hurl all of them against the walls. But Sojiro will hear.
He could quietly, methodically break everything here. A tempting thought, but it feels somehow less dignified than an outright destructive rage would be. What sort of person breaks someone’s possessions in cold blood?
He doesn’t know where these ideas are coming from. Ren is his friend. They’ve never fallen out, as far as Akechi can remember. Why would Akechi want to hurt him?
Something is wrong. It’s an itch under Akechi’s skin; he can’t say how long it’s been there. He can’t put it into words.
He ends up sitting in silence by the stairs, listening for Ren’s return. Trying to piece together why he came here at all.
Eventually, there’s the tinkle of the shop bell from downstairs, followed by, “Ah, you’re back. One of your friends is up in your room. The detective kid?”
One of your friends. It rings oddly, for some reason.
“I guess I’ll wait down here,” Morgana says, and something about his voice always bothers Akechi as well.
Footsteps on the stairs, and then Akechi and Ren are looking at each other. Ren waiting for him to make the first conversational move, as always.
“I’ve forgotten something,” Akechi says. “I need your help remembering.”
Ren cocks his head to one side. “Forgotten what?”
Trying to pin it down just leaves him with a void in his skull and a sick feeling in his gut. “Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have forgotten it, would I?”
“Why come to me?” Ren asks, as infuriatingly calm as ever.
It’s a fair question. If he’s forgotten something so completely he doesn’t even know what he’s forgotten, why would he assume Ren specifically could help?
But he knows, somehow, that it’s useless to ask anyone else. It’s probable that nobody can help him. But, if anyone can help, it’s Ren.
“You were the only other one who remembered,” Akechi says. “And you threw it away.”
He doesn’t understand the words coming out of his own mouth, and it’s clear that Ren doesn’t understand them either.
“This is your fault,” Akechi says, quietly furious. “You did this to me.”
“I did what to you?” Ren asks.
The question just makes Akechi angrier, because he can’t answer it.
Akechi blinks, looks around. He’s at his desk.
Did he fall asleep here? He’s been sleeping well, as far as he can remember; it seems strange that he keeps losing time.
There’s a pen in his hand, a sheet of paper pinned under his wrist.
They’re not your friends, it says. His own handwriting, but uneven, jagged, like it was written in a hurry. You don’t have friends.
Your father abandoned you. Your mother died. You’ve always been alone. This isn’t the person you are.
He doesn’t remember writing it.
Was he working on a novel, perhaps? He’s never been particularly given to creative pursuits, but it’s hard to think of another explanation.
It sticks in the back of his mind; he keeps going back to read it. But it means nothing to him.
There’s still a faint chill in the air outside, but Leblanc is warm and comfortable. Futaba is chattering away to her mother at the counter; Ryuji and Ann are having a lively argument in one of the other booths. It’s pleasantly familiar background noise as Akechi surveys the chessboard laid out between himself and Ren.
Akechi thinks he might be happy. It’s a strange realisation; it’s an emotion that sits uncomfortably in his skin, like he was never really designed for it.
But he has all these friends. He has a place where he’s wanted, where he belongs. Why shouldn’t he be happy?
He keeps catching himself gritting his teeth, hard enough to hurt.