Akira Kurusu (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stealhearted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-06-15 05:03 pm
stealhearted) wrote in deercountry2022-06-15 05:03 pm
Entry tags:
(closed) blow a kiss
Who: Akira & Akechi.
What: Akira is having nightmares. Akechi is tired in more ways than one.
When: Mid-June.
Where: Persona House, the Living Room.
Content Warnings: Dream violence/murder and graphic descriptions thereof.
Akira isn't sleeping.
This is unusual largely because Akira normally keeps to a relatively normal schedule, like there's still a cat telling him to go to bed constantly. (There isn't, but he's caught Maurice giving him some smugly judgemental looks a few times.) Lately, though, Akira's been going to bed earlier and earlier -- and waking up earlier, too, downstairs making coffee before anyone else gets up. Before the sun. Looking steadily more and more tired, until there's bags under his eyes and he wears his glasses to try to make them less noticeable.
It categorically does not work.
He seems to drift off into micronaps every so often before he jerks back awake, rubbing his eyes and making more endless amounts of coffee, going through his stash more quickly than he would usually.
It culminates in him sitting in the living room, reading, until he suddenly isn't reading anymore. He's sleeping. It's not an unfamiliar dream, now: it's the interrogation cell, except this time Akira has the gun, holding it in bruised and shaking hands, and he's the one who shoots a surprised looking Akechi, except the pain wraps back around until Akira feels a gaping hole in his own head and then everything after that is an incoherent, adrenaline-filled blur of blood on a ship floor and the smell of metal against metal against metal, the feeling of handcuffs, the chill of a February day and reaching out for someone that's disappearing before his eyes--
Akira wakes up with a yell, this time, on his feet before he even fully processes what's happening, heart pounding in his chest and his skull aching like he really was shot, heat filling spots on his ribs -- on his wrists -- on his cheek, bruises blossoming back out into the memory of former injuries that should have healed months ago.
That did heal, until the nightmare brought them back.
What: Akira is having nightmares. Akechi is tired in more ways than one.
When: Mid-June.
Where: Persona House, the Living Room.
Content Warnings: Dream violence/murder and graphic descriptions thereof.
Akira isn't sleeping.
This is unusual largely because Akira normally keeps to a relatively normal schedule, like there's still a cat telling him to go to bed constantly. (There isn't, but he's caught Maurice giving him some smugly judgemental looks a few times.) Lately, though, Akira's been going to bed earlier and earlier -- and waking up earlier, too, downstairs making coffee before anyone else gets up. Before the sun. Looking steadily more and more tired, until there's bags under his eyes and he wears his glasses to try to make them less noticeable.
It categorically does not work.
He seems to drift off into micronaps every so often before he jerks back awake, rubbing his eyes and making more endless amounts of coffee, going through his stash more quickly than he would usually.
It culminates in him sitting in the living room, reading, until he suddenly isn't reading anymore. He's sleeping. It's not an unfamiliar dream, now: it's the interrogation cell, except this time Akira has the gun, holding it in bruised and shaking hands, and he's the one who shoots a surprised looking Akechi, except the pain wraps back around until Akira feels a gaping hole in his own head and then everything after that is an incoherent, adrenaline-filled blur of blood on a ship floor and the smell of metal against metal against metal, the feeling of handcuffs, the chill of a February day and reaching out for someone that's disappearing before his eyes--
Akira wakes up with a yell, this time, on his feet before he even fully processes what's happening, heart pounding in his chest and his skull aching like he really was shot, heat filling spots on his ribs -- on his wrists -- on his cheek, bruises blossoming back out into the memory of former injuries that should have healed months ago.
That did heal, until the nightmare brought them back.