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Lethargy

Summary:

"Soon enough, you find your days blurring together, just going through the motions enough to survive. Waking up, going to school, coming home and staring at the ceiling until you fall asleep."

Akira trying (and failing) to cope with moving back home.

Notes:

i'm gonna be honest, i've been wanting to write for a while but couldn't motivate myself. like, the main reason i even wrote this is because i read canti's fic "tsunami" and i latched onto the depressed akira train of thought (surprise surprise) so uh. enjoy this unedited fic that i decided to churn out in the middle of the night instead of sleeping

Work Text:

Adjusting to being back to your old life is quite a change of pace, to say the very least. Especially while coming down from the busiest, most hectic year of your life so far.

It’s easy enough to go through the motions at first. Wake up, wander around town for a while, video chat with at least one of your friends, play some video games on the little retro console that you bought in Yongen, sleep, rinse and repeat.

Once school starts, things get a bit harder.

You knew people would talk. Yasogami High has always been full of rumors, and you grew accustomed to the stares and whispers quickly, considering how often it happened when you first transferred to Shujin. That’s the easy part to deal with.

The hard part is the less frequent video chats, the less frequent texts from everyone else. Rationally speaking, it makes sense. Makoto and Haru have their hands full with university, Futaba is getting used to being back in school after being out for so long, and the rest of you are third years trying to figure out your plans for the future while still making an attempt to keep grades up.

That doesn’t stop your brain from supplying an endless stream of what if’s , wondering whether they only put up with you out of obligation.

At first, you spend your free time studying. It keeps your mind occupied, it keeps your parents from bothering you about your grades and your future (on the occasions that they are home - they’re both gone from the house even more frequently than before you got uprooted from your quiet life originally, something that you didn’t even realize was possible until after you settled in a bit). It’s numbing, it’s easy enough for you to do.

After visiting Tokyo for Golden Week, things change. You’re unsure if it’s because everyone’s too focused on cramming for midterms or if it’s because leaving your friends for the second time somehow hurt more than the first.

(Deep down, you know the answer, but you avoid thinking about it.)

It’s after midterm grades are posted that things take a turn for the worse. You see your name sitting right in the middle of the list and wonder what the point of studying is if your grades are mediocre in the end regardless, so you stop spending the evenings studying after that.

You don’t answer Ann when she tries to video chat that night, using some vague excuse that you barely remember giving.

You’re surprised at how easy it is to just… not respond to anyone. More texts are left unopened, more calls unanswered. Your friends brush it off easily (perhaps too easily), likely assuming you’re busy preparing for entrance exams.

To be honest, you haven’t thought about your plans after you graduate yet.

Morgana picks up on your self-imposed isolation quickly. “Why don’t you just talk to them?” he asks one night.

“I’m tired,” you respond, leaving the conversation at that.

Soon enough, you find your days blurring together, just going through the motions enough to survive. Waking up, going to school, coming home and staring at the ceiling until you fall asleep.

You sleep a lot more than you used to. You try to convince yourself it’s because you’re not constantly making plans with friends, with confidants, with part time jobs and Phantom Thief business.

Eventually, you stop talking to Morgana too, much to his annoyance. He spends more time wandering around the neighborhood at night to make up for it, leaving you completely alone with your thoughts. So you sleep more to avoid thinking, until you wake up one night unable to breathe, pure fear running through your system.

The worst part is, you don’t even know what dream you had to cause that.

(Maybe it was the thought of having to go through another day that has your chest tightening and your body shaking, you wonder.)

(You try to ignore that thought too.)

Somehow, you make it through your first semester of your third year, despite spending half of it in a haze that you barely remember.

Summer vacation is harder. Your phone goes off even less often than it did during school, much to your surprise (and disappointment, though you can’t blame anyone but yourself for that). You don’t leave your house for days at a time, and only come out of your room when you absolutely need to.

You vaguely notice that you haven’t been eating much, either.

One day, when your parents are home, your mother trying to have a conversation about your plans after graduation. Despite everything that happened following your initial arrest, she somehow still has hopes of you becoming a doctor, or a businessman, or a lawyer or some other well-paying job.

When she finds out about your final grades for the semester, that’s when any attempts at conversation turn into a lecture about how you should really be trying harder, about how you should care, about how you should have some sort of plan for your future.

Normally, you would argue, saying you’re at least trying (though that’s a complete lie at this point, you don’t have the energy to try), but you know it’s pointless so you stay quiet through it all. Eventually, she gives up, and your parents leave again.

The rest of that night is a blur, up until you’re brought back to reality by Morgana yelling something at you and you look down at your hands, noticing how the sheets in your hands are half tied together in a shape that is so comforting that it makes you feel guilty.

(You wonder how long it would take for someone to notice if you didn’t wake up.)

It all comes to a head when a few days later (maybe a week, maybe more, you’re not sure anymore) you hear a knock on the door while you’re downstairs getting some food for Morgana.

When you open the door, it’s Futaba. Looking behind her, you see a familiar car in the driveway: Sojiro’s.

The only word that comes out of your mouth is why , barely a whisper.

“It’s summer vacation,” she says. “You said during Golden Week that you wanted to come visit.”

Right. You probably did say that at some point, when you had the motivation to talk to your friends (if you even had the right to call them that at this point).

When you look past her and meet Sojiro’s eyes, you realize neither of them are going to take no for an answer.

“We’ll get some things packed and be out soon,” Morgana says, knowing full well you have a suitcase full of clothes you never unpacked from when you originally moved back.

Sojiro tries to start a conversation with you, but gives after a few attempts with minimal response. The rest of the ride to Tokyo is in silence.

Once you arrive at your destination, you’re ready to bring your things to the attic of Leblanc, but Sojiro stops you.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh.” You don’t give more of a reply.

He shakes his head. “We have a spare room for you to stay in here. No need for you to sleep in the attic again.”

You blink in surprise. You had just stayed in the attic during Golden Week, so why is it a problem now?

“Here, I’ll show you the way,” Futaba says, grabbing your suitcase out of your hand. You follow her absentmindedly, Morgana close behind you.

Once the three of you are in the guest room, Futaba closes the door. “We’re worried about you,” she says.

Your chest tightens in response, a surprised “oh” escaping from your lips.

“Mona figured out how to message me last week and from what I got from it, you haven’t been doing well lately.” Huh, so it had only been a week after all.

“I’m fine,” you lie, mostly as a reflex. “Just tired lately.”

“Tired enough to not talk to any of us even once for over a month?” A pang of guilt shoots through your stomach. “Honestly, I was worried I was being too annoying or something, until the others said they hadn’t heard from you at all either. And then when Mona sent that message, I just… I was scared, okay?”

“Why?”

“Why?! I care about you and I didn’t want you to end up like how I was before!”

“I…” You’re speechless. It makes sense that Futaba would be the first one to realize how much you’ve withdrawn, but still. You still can’t get past the fact that they’ve been worried about you this whole time.

“You’re so stubborn and it scares me because I-I don’t want to lose you! You’re like a brother to me!”

“...I’m sorry,” you whisper. When did you start crying? You frantically try to wipe whatever tears you can away before Futaba notices, but she pulls you in for a tight hug before you get the chance.

“I missed you,” she chokes out, and you realize she’s crying too. “We all did. We all do.

The two of you stay like that for a while, until you’re both tired from crying, and once you’re calmed down she leaves so you can get some sleep.

(For the first time in a little while, you aren’t woken up in the middle of the night filled with a sense of dread.)

You don’t come out of the room the next day, but when you open the door to let Morgana out you’re greeted with a plate of curry and rice on the other side.

Over the course of the next few days, you begin opening up again, albeit quite slowly. You eventually respond to Ryuji texting you, once he finds out that you’re back in Tokyo for a while. You make plans, the first ones that you have made in a long while. Admittedly, you're nervous - you have no idea how it's going to go, or if you can even rekindle the bond you had with your best friend.

When the two of you meet up, he greets you with a bear hug and a mumble of "I missed you, man." You try your hardest not to cry, and if a couple of tears do fall, he doesn't say anything about it.

After hanging out at the arcade for a few hours, the two of you part ways, and you feel a little bit of weight lifted from your shoulders.

It’s not perfect, but at least it’s a start.