Chapter Text
Move-in day comes without a hitch, for everyone that isn’t Akihiko. In fact, the fact that he’s even moving at all hits him like a sack of bricks just two weeks before it’s set to happen. He wakes up, looks in the mirror, grabs his toothbrush, and thinks to himself Huh. I should really start packing.
It’s something that he probably should’ve done – hell, should've at least started – a lot earlier, but life has been hectic enough that it’s hardly even crossed his mind. Finals stress, apartment listings, Shinji’s physio appointments – he's had a lot on his plate to worry about. Something was bound to slip through the cracks.
And, unlike Shinji, who has essentially nothing to take with him outside of the spare cookware he bought while living at the dorm, Akihiko has a lot of things. All sitting around his room, pending his judgement like lambs to the slaughter.
His trophies, metals, supplies, books; frankly, there’s too much for him to pack and too much for him to bring. Akihiko is reasonable enough to know that the apartment is small enough as is between the three of them, so he mournfully pawns off his punching bag to one of the juniors on the team and downsizes his training equipment to just a bench and some weights.
Not without a fair share of grumbling, or whining if you asked Shinji, but it had to be done.
The remaining fourteen days post-realization but pre-moving are spent doing all the things he’s been dreading about the act: freeing his bolted-down equipment, dismantling his cabinets, and cramming everything he owns into manila-coloured boxes.
It’s tougher work than he expected, which makes it hard not to regret shelving it for so long. Ends up being a workout all on its own, each day that he spends clearing out his closet and sweeping the floor, all in attempt to tidy up his room enough to make it look a little more like the way it did when he first moved into it. A task that, minus the host of new scuff marks on the floor, he thinks he did an okay job at. Thinks.
Not that it’s a fun process by any stretch of the imagination, he always hated it when it was his turn on class cleaning duty and this feels alarmingly similar in its begrudging necessity, but well, he’s the sucker that put it off this long.
Between the three of them, he’s the only one who bought his own furniture while at the dorm – which makes sense, he’s the only one who actually lived there for longer than a year – but if you told him how tedious it’d be to actually move out, he would’ve kept his room as empty as Shinji’s. He doesn’t even need a day to get his stuff out, and Ken takes less than a week.
Ken is a decent middle-ground between them, all things considered – not all the bells and whistles of Akihiko’s room, but also not nothing, like Shinji’s. He packs his necessities, of course, but also his manga, stationery, games, and all of his weird milk-carton contraptions, which Shinjiro takes one look at before huffing out something close to a laugh.
(“Huh.” he had said, specifically – “So that’s why we kept running out.”)
Everything else, everything ‘nonessential’ – Akihiko’s speakers, the awards strung up on his walls, even the dumbbells that had made themselves a permanent fixture of the corner of the room – is all lugged down to the lounge for holding.
He wakes up each morning in an increasingly barren shell of his old room, sifts through the duffel bag on his desk, and throws on one of the only four outfits not sealed away in a taped-up box.
And every day, it – moving out, graduating, starting this weird, new, post-Nyx chapter of his life – starts to feel a lot more real.
Move-in day is expectedly a long one. The truck shows up outside the dorm at nine, and they spend the better half of an hour hastily fitting everything into the cargo bed with only a few scratches worse for wear. The drive to their apartment is slow and fraught with traffic and clammy in the cramped backseat, with too weak of circulation from the AC and too little room to get anywhere close to comfortable.
Unfortunately, Shinji’s superior height gives him shotgun priority, so it’s him, Ken, and Junpei all wedged into the back. Junpei’s not a necessary addition, no, but he offered to help in place of a costly moving crew and lends a hand in unloading and bringing in boxes once they finally pull into the complex.
Between them, it takes five trips to and from the truck to fully empty it, leaving them with a near-barren apartment that Akihiko will probably spend the rest of his savings on filling with the various fixings of daily living.
Near-barren is probably an exaggeration, anyway. It’s got the essentials, at least. A little faux-leather couch in front of a round coffee table; a stove and microwave in a pearly partitioned kitchen; and a laundry unit tucked away in the closet at the end of the hall.
It’s certainly much smaller, its layout more tight and compact than what he was used to at the dorm. Just a tiny bathroom and closet slotted in by the front door, a kitchen and living room illuminated by the latter’s full-length window, and two empty bedrooms on opposite sides of the apartment.
It may not be exactly semi-furnished like the flyer insisted and has a strange fusty smell to it, but it’s a good start. Manageable.
Once everything is inside, they take a much-needed break to cool off. Ken runs off to investigate each room, Shinji flops against the sofa, and he and Junpei step aside to chat in the kitchen. Mostly about the transition into the ever-elusive adulthood and how terrified Junpei is to be graduating highschool, an entire year before that’s even set to happen.
But one o’clock hits eventually, and after Shinji writes him thorough enough directions on how to get to the station from their building, Junpei leaves with some well wishes and a scribbled-on napkin.
From there, the rest of the day is spent unpacking. Or, well, not exactly unpacking – it’s triaging boxes by order of necessity, sorting out what will go where, and making a list of what they’ll need to buy. Things that Akihiko has never once considered needing to, like dish soap and router cables and spare blankets in the event their heater breaks or they have a guest over. Not that they even had room for one.
He’s never had to worry about anything like that, before. Everything Akihiko ever needed back at the dorms was always already magically there, in the cabinet under the sink or on the shelf beside the fridge. It all came packaged with his yearly housing fee, he assumed, or maybe it’d all been the product of Mitsuru’s status as heir to the company that owned the school. He really doesn’t know. He never thought to ask.
But point is the dorm had amenities, and a lot of them. Probably too many to give a highschooler access to, because despite his very humble roots, his parents pampering and two years of borderline luxury has made Akihiko just a little out of touch.
After all, the freezer there made its own ice. Its own ice! While Akihiko is just now realizing that most people use trays, that he’ll have to buy trays if he wants ice in his smoothies, and that oh my god they don’t even have a blender to make his smoothies in yet.
Akihiko scribbles that down. Remembers that hey, they’ll need to get some laundry detergent and oh yeah, he ran out of conditioner a few days ago too – in between opening and sorting through boxes of stuff he does have. Which feels decidedly like a lot less than he remembers.
It’s a process, and a lengthy one at that. He surrenders his room’s boxy TV to the living room and hooks up the video game console he never used to give Ken something to do while he and Shinji argue about who gets the dresser and who gets the closet.
That particular dispute is ultimately settled by going halfsies on each, but there’s a number of petty arguments like that speckled throughout the Saturday afternoon, mostly pertaining to how much space Shinji was taking up in the mirror cabinet or whether or not Akihiko was using the right screw while reassembling his bookshelf.
Their bickering has the unfortunate consequence of making their first day in their new home a lot less productive than perhaps Akihiko would’ve liked, because by the time Ken walks in and timidly asks Are we, um, going to have dinner at some point…?, he’s not even started unpacking his trophies.
But the sun’s already setting, and Ken raises a good point, incidentally calling attention to the grumbling stomach he's been woefully neglecting.
Obviously, there’s nothing to be found in the fridge, so going out for a bite is in order. It’s still Tatsumi Port Island, though it’s a little more north and a bit further east from the Tatsumi Port Island that Akihiko was familiar with, so Shinji takes the lead once they step out onto the street and silently shepherds them to a nearby ramen shop.
They’re on the coast still, but past Naganaki Shrine, and far enough away from Gekkoukan that Akihiko can’t quite make out its shape in the skyline. There's something vaguely unsettling about the newfound unfamiliarity, but in exchange he finds it more picturesque, either because there’s a nicer view from this side or because Akihiko simply never noticed how… pretty it all was, before.
Which isn’t possible, really, because Akihiko’s lived his entire life on this island, and he would’ve definitely noticed the tiny harbourside houses before, the iridescent evening clouds, the way the sun reflects off the waves and the stony wharf to which they crash upon, the repeating din perhaps not as grating as he used to find it.
It must just be this side.
It’s pleasant out on their short walk to the restaurant. Makes him want to stop and take a picture, even though he realizes that that’d be stupid, that both the people he’d end up showing it to are already there on either side of him, anyway. Other than maybe Mitsuru, but he’s sure she’s seen far grander oceanviews than what you could find on Port Island. Would probably just send him back a question mark in response.
So he slips his phone back into his pocket. The camera quality is terrible on it anyway, and wouldn’t do the view any justice. Instead, he nudges Shinjiro’s side, and gestures his head vaguely in the direction of the sea.
“What?” he asks.
“It’s nice.” Akihiko replies with, but Shinji just scoffs back, looking pointedly away and trudging on ahead until Ken complains about the change in pace from behind them, and he slows down again.
Dinner is pretty good. The restaurant is close to Hagakure in terms of quality, though Akihiko wonders if it’s just the nostalgic factor that still gives Hagakure the edge.
He does have a lot of memories there, though. Most of them with Shinji. And the atmosphere there was good, too, but he supposes he could get used to the new place, even if it’s a lot less shabby of an establishment, and the lights aren’t just a little dim, and the seats are less tattered and far enough apart so he and Shinji’s knees don’t touch anymore when they sit side-by-side.
But – that’s probably for the best, anyway. Shinji always used to complain whenever he’d start bouncing his leg.
They pay their tab, and head back outside. The pleasant air of spring has soured in their absence, and the quick, consuming night brings a chill in the wind. It’s cold, Akihiko will admit, and even Shinji is without his usual coat, which he grouses about missing on the entire way back.
He speed-walks ahead, while Akihiko falls back. Lets his eyes wander back to the shimming ocean, to the quiet bustle of the sidewalk, then to Shinji in front of him, with Ken clutching at his arm trying to keep in step.
And Akihiko smiles, strangely enough. Wonders if maybe he could get used to life on this side of the harbour.
“S’nice having my own shower again.” Shinjiro says to him later that night, emerging from the hallway dressed down to a fleecy long-sleeve and a baggy pair of grey sweatpants.
“How…” Akihiko starts. He’s sitting on one of the stools next to the kitchen island. He clears his throat, redirects his attention back down at the list that he’s been slowly penning into being – this one bearing the eloquent title Food after briefly forgetting the word Groceries.
“Uh. How were you doing that anyway…? Before.”
“Mm.” Shinji hums, plopping down on the seat next to Akihiko. His hair is, expectedly, wet, with one of their only two presently-owned head towels slung around his neck. “Had a connection at the bathhouse that let me use the showers after closing.”
Akihiko looks up. His brows wrinkle together as his mouth slowly forms the words. “So you never…”
“Went back? Not once.” Shinji answers with an affirming grunt, “Didn’t need to.”
Akihiko stills, his pen stops moving, and Shinjiro’s mouth twists into a scowl.
“They’re doing fine, Aki. Don’t bring them up.” he sighs.
“Not that.” Akihiko says, with a slanted frown. It’s not like Shinji would know anyway. “It’s just – all this time, you were homeless?”
But really, what had Akihiko been expecting? That Shinjiro had a place to stay? That he’d been doing okay for himself, all this time?
“Well yeah? Where’d you think I was staying?”
“I don’t know.” he confesses, tapping the pen against the page, “You’ve been working, then?”
Shinjiro rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Aki, I’ve been workin’. Gotta eat somehow.”
“Where?” And then softly, in the back of his mind, as if it mattered at all anymore – Why didn’t you tell me?
“T’hell’s up with all these questions?” Shinji huffs, but at Akihiko’s inquisitive glance, he relents, lets his shoulders down a little. “Fuckin’ anywhere, really. Hagakure, Escapade, even that record shop for a bit.”
His eyes flit subtly down the hall – to where Ken’s room is – the door just as closed as it has been since they got back from dinner.
“Starving wasn’t really how I wanted to go.”
Akihiko’s stomach lurches. Sloshes around with something sharp and caustic, and suddenly he doesn’t want to pry any further. Feels like he’s already gone too far, pressed on bruises, opened up wounds. He didn’t realize he was tredding on shaky ground, but there’s nothing left for him to say now, no step he can take back to safety.
And he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize before. Of course Shinji would’ve been homeless. He was sixteen when he left the dorm, when he cut off contact with even Akihiko. Of course he wouldn’t go to back to the parents he’d only known for two years, of course he wouldn’t have somewhere to stay, of course he’s just been rotting away on the street all this time because that’s what he thought he deserved –
Akihiko wants to say something. Apologize, maybe, but the air feels too brittle, the words too foreign on his tongue, so he just keeps his mouth shut instead. Figures it’s probably for the better.
He scribbles eggs down on the grocery list, and sits there musing about what else they’ll need until Shinjiro leans over the silence to see what he’s actually written.
There’s really not much there. Mostly just raw ingredients: milk, yogurt, frozen fruit, stuff Akihiko could throw in a blender or grab on his way out each morning.
“Should’ve figured,” Shinji scoffs from over his shoulder, “You don’t even know what goes into the shit you eat?”
The first week comes with about as many hitches as you’d expect out of them. A lot of fumbling, finagling, and not a lot of sleep on any of their parts. Other than maybe Koromaru’s.
Due to some admittedly poor planning on his part, Akihiko starts his first day at college a whole three days after they’ve moved in, and forgets to stop by the pharmacy on his way home that afternoon, incurring Shinji’s wrath when he steps in the door with no detergent in hand.
But, after dealing with that tirade, and making a quick trip to the convenience store the next block over, the issue is resolved easily, as are all the other little hiccups they have while getting settled into their apartment.
It’s April, and between Ken already griping over his science homework and Akihiko stumbling into the living room everyday for his morning jog only to be jumpscared by Shinji’s sleeping form strewn across their couch, it goes about as well as he could’ve hoped.
At first, it barely feels real. It’s so different from the life he was used to at the dorms, the mechanical routine of eight AM wake-ups and afterschool club meets. More like a temporary living situation, like being on vacation. Except their apartment’s not a hotel: Akihiko’s still making his bed each morning, still doing laundry every night, still waking up Ken for school, and still tripping over himself trying to get his shoes on each morning because it’s dark outside and he doesn’t want to wake Shinji up by turning on the lights.
But slowly, surely, they find a routine. Days turn to a week, and a week turns to two. Ken figures out that putting his alarm clock across his room will actually get him out of bed, Koromaru learns not to bark when Akihiko wakes him for their early morning runs, and Shinji fashions together a makeshift bed out of their living room couch with a few supplementary pillows and a nice duvet he finds for cheap and tucks beneath the cushions.
It’s a combined effort on all their parts, but they all get a little better at the whole living together thing over the course of the month.
It’s at dinner one night that it all finally starts to feel real. Or well, it’s after dinner, after they’ve all cleaned up, after Akihiko’s done washing the dishes because Shinji cooked, while Shinji’s sitting at the table with Ken.
He’s hovering over the homework splayed out over the glossy tabletop, squinting at it because math was always his worst subject but he insisted he could figure it out anyway. It’s only sixth-grade level material, but Shinji’s a highschool dropout that hasn’t done basic arithmetic in over two years.
So Akihiko leans over him, tells him the answer is that x equals three, and slips into the chair beside him. He wipes his hands dry and watches as Shinji grumbles his way through the next problem, waiting to pitch in with more help for when he and Ken both inevitably get stuck.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be a smartass about it.” Shinjiro dismisses, shooting him a look in exchange for the overly-pleased grin on Akihiko’s face as Ken scribbles down the solution.
It feels – too good to be true, to have his Shinji back. And on some level, it is. The Shinji he has now will never be the same Shinji he knew a year ago, and he’ll never be the Shinji from when they were freshmen, young and naïve, the one Akihiko wasn’t there for and didn’t even realize he’d lost.
That Shinji skipped town in the smoke and rubble of the Amada home, and Akihiko never even got to say goodbye.
He has scars now, ones that Akihiko never gave him. The one on his lip is more faded than he remembers, besided by marks on his jaw and a long cut across his nose. There’s a pock on the back of his right hand that looks a lot like a cigarette burn, and faded dark scores on each of his knuckles.
And it makes Akihiko wonder how much he doesn’t know. The alleyway behind the station was just a train ticket away, and yet it’s like they lived a world apart. And he might’ve visited him, sure, but it was only ever to ask him to come back. Never to ask How are you? Never Are you eating well?
He wonders if that would’ve made a difference.