Hey everyone! This is a rewrite of the one-shot I posted almost three years ago that grew far larger than I anticipated. But if you decide to stick around, you'll be in for a ride.

Beta read by my lovely friend 'Nate.

"it's the faintest hints of feelings that stir within my chest"

Akira leans back into the familiar seat on the train by the window. It shouldn't—couldn't—be familiar but it is. The fabric was stiff but forgiving enough to make the ride home comfortable.

Morgana lays sprawled out next to him, hidden away in his bag so that no passersby could catch a glimpse of him. Even now Akira could feel the faint connection from Morgana's Arcana, the Magician hanging just out of view. It's complete now, their bond fully realized and the collar resting deep within his pocket, but he didn't know how long it would stay this way. Even after all this time he could never determine exactly when these cycles ended.

All endings were murky, the moment where everything resets differing even between similar endings. He wonders if it was cruelty or compassion that gave him this variety. Anything beyond a certain point was only half-remembered in his next cycle anyways, so he grew to become ambivalent with the variability.

The endings may be faded and a bit moth bitten, but he could remember the rest of the cycles with sharp clarity. And everything that he couldn't change.

He is forced onto a path that he has to traverse through every iteration of the cycles. Any attempts to deviate ends the cycle abruptly, shoving him into the next cycle so quickly he can still hear the ringing from the last one. The first time that it happened his ears were ringing with an unexplainable headache, vertigo from hanging bent over the end of a roof twisted in his gut, and his hands tingled with the brush of someone who was just out of reach.

It's safe to say that he didn't try that again for some time.

He also quickly learned that there were multiple endings that he could achieve; he personally categorized them into: good, bad, and true endings. Through some unexplainable feat, he managed to achieve the so-called true ending on his first cycle. A part of him, a part of him that he attempted to quiet and sequester, whispers that he just may not remember anything before that ending. That it was the true ending that unlocked this endless cycle.

He wonders if it was more merciful when he couldn't remember anything beyond the faint sense of deja vu that settled in his bones.

At first the repetition was alarming but not unwelcome. He thought that he had a second chance to right what he couldn't previously.

(He didn't even consider that there wasn't going to be an end. That he would repeat the year over and over again until he didn't even want to wake in the morning.)

There were Arcanas that were left empty, the untethered end floating aimlessly in the space that spans between others, people that he should've met but didn't. One Arcana rests at his fingertips, a remembrance of being full-being completed-sitting just out of reach. He wonders how long that Arcana stayed empty for it to hold to echo of being full despite the reset. How many times he ignored them or was ignored for it to be remembered through everything he's forgotten.

It's painful, losing all of the bonds that he's forged. He holds onto the trinkets and memorials that they've given him throughout the cycles—ever only one of each, no matter how many times he's completed a bond—but they can't stop the ache in his chest. It's a vast, gaping hole within him, the place where every Arcana he's held rests. But, despite how painful it is to keep the Arcana, he can't stop himself from forming the bonds.

He can't stop from wanting to feel full despite all the emptiness inside.

It's hidden behind his smile, this emptiness, and between words filled only with pleasantries and fluff. No one remembers so no one knows that something is off. Part of him—the same part that viciously whispers about the timelines that he couldn't remember, the part that he doesn't like to look at—wishes that someone would say something. He longs for a person to sit him down, rip away all his mask and address the festering emptiness inside of him.

But no one does because no one remembers what he was before.

Sometimes he wonders if he could even remember.

The cards Maruki gave to him cut into his palm and he realizes just how tightly he'd been holding them. He loosens his grip, thin beads of blood dotting his hand. The cards were crumpled but he isn't too concerned. The originals sit in the bottom of his bag, tucked away safely in a folder with the rest of the memorials he's collected over the cycles. They are crisp and flat but the corners are worn soft with his touch. He remembers Maruki's words, what Maruki was striving for. Sometimes it doesn't seem so bad.

Sometimes he accepts Maruki's offer.

It had taken him a few runs, a few bad runs to be more accurate, to even consider the option. The thin grin behind a silver gun twinkling, gleaming in the harsh artificial light with shaded eyes was worse than seeing it twisted into a grimace and the eyes shining with betrayal from a boy who's been betrayed all his life.

So he denies him the life of freedom that he strives for and accepts Maruki's proposal.

These runs are by far the hardest to remember. He sits in a booth in LeBlanc, sipping long cold coffee and watching the rising sun filter in through the windows. He doesn't leave, his phone rings with unanswered calls and buzzes with unopened messages. They eventually stop and he wonders if they entered the Palace. They trusted him to make the decision and he hopes that they'll follow it even if they don't agree.

He doesn't doubt that Akechi has already stormed through the Palace, willing to cut away anything that will stop him from reaching his goal. Their relationship might've been a unique one, a bond between two people who seeked to fill the emptiness within their own hearts, but it wasn't immune to change. Akira could feel it fade and flicker, the faint connection between them disappearing by the second.

When it finally snapped, he didn't know if he was relieved or remorseful. It left a gorge, a space in between all the other threads of his Arcana that couldn't be replaced. The thread wasn't severed cleanly, it was frayed and burned and he knew that Akechi fought with all his might to break it.

Even if this doesn't pan out the way he wants it, the cycle will end and everything will be reset back to the way it was, no worse for wear.

(It should concern him that he has become so reliant on the endless nature of the cycles but it doesn't. Emptiness has already consumed him, what's left of him that feels concern?)

But the world around him ripples, and for a moment, everything is crashing together. He is unconcerned, drinking his still-cold coffee. Once everything stills, Maruki comes to visit him, sitting across from him in the booth. A smile is on his face, weary on the edges but proud. For a moment, neither of them speak, the silence after the birth of the new world deafening.

But it's Maruki's world, so he's the one to end this silence. "You made the right decision. Everyone will be happier this way."

Akira knows that no matter what he says will be erased when Maruki places him in his role in this world. "What about you? We've both been through your Palace. Are you pleased?"

The smile didn't fall from Maruki's face, it just grew strained. "There will be no more pain, no more suffering. How can I not be happy?"

There's an edge in Maruki's voice, thin and carefully veiled but clear as day to Akira. It's the same tired acceptance that he has regarding the cycles. If you are unable to change what's happening, then you have to ride the waves until the water's calmer. And if the water's never calm, well, that's something he's still trying to figure out.

Akira brings the cup to his lips, now full of a drink that is steaming and just what he's looking for: mild with the faintest hints of bitterness. "You're right." He agrees because he knew that his chance to fight has long since passed. "What about my friends? Have you dealt with them?"

Maruki's expression flickers, a bit of annoyance surfaces but is quickly removed. "While 'dealt' is a bit strong of a word, I have granted them a place in this world. Even Akechi, despite his attempts to fight to the end."

A smile tugs on Akira's lips, the first true one in a multitude of runs. "Thank you."

"Of course." There is an aged quality to Maruki's voice, a joy not gained from victory but mutual agreement after years and years of fighting.

He wonders, for the first time, if Maruki can remember too.

But the world around him flickers and fades and everything he's thinking is lost.

He remembers bits and pieces, snapshots of the life Maruki created for them. It's so perfect that it's edging on the sickening sweet of white lies and half-truths. Everyone is exactly how he remembers and complete strangers all at the same time. It hurts in a way that burns; the pain of knowing that this is what could be but couldn't have devours him far more viciously than any emptiness inside of him.

He's still lonely, despite the ideal world that Maruki's created for them, a heavy feeling of wrongness resting over him, settling on the edges of his vision. He should be happier, he is happier, but he can't shake that this is something that shouldn't be.

Seeing Maruki sparks something within him—not that he even knew that the man was Maruki in the run—an age-old, timeless fatigue that rests heavy on his limbs. After taking a picture with everyone—Everyone? Akechi asks, a thin gleam of a smile resting on his lips. I'm glad that everyone is here—the run ends.

The next one, Akira wakes up on the train crying for a world that he'll never know.

If you've gotten this far, please comment and favorite! Chapter 2 will be up next Thursday.

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