Crossover, Final Fantasy XII/Persona 3, Basch/Akihiko, in the name of training
Akihiko is sometimes frightened by how much he's changed since getting thrown in here. He's gotten harder...had to. As many good people as get thrown down here, there are just as many bad. There are a lot of predators and liars in Nalbina, all too willing to take advantage of a kid with a soft heart.
He's rather pathetically grateful that one of the first people he ran into was Basch and not someone worse. Basch has his own issues, comes with his own baggage, but Akihiko can't regret throwing in with him. It brings Akihiko a lot of grief from the other prisoners, but it's worth it to have that good a friend, that good a...a companion.
It's worth it, even when the fight organizers think that it's hilarious to put them against each other in the pit "in the name of training". Both of them know better. It's cruel and cheap and ridiculous, but Basch and Akihiko have to do it. No sparring match this time, no pulling punches. The guards jeer and cast Libra, the bastards, so they'll know just how hard they're hitting.
The fight is long and grueling. Akihiko is faster, landing more hits, but Basch is stronger and his punches, when they connect, rock Akihiko back and make him curl around broken bone. It doesn't matter, Akihiko tells himself, as he feels something in his hand break, as he feels Basch's shoulder go out under his palms. It doesn't matter.
In the end, they are both bleeding and barely able to stand when Basch's fist connects one more time and Akihiko finds that he can't get up. The crowd's yells blur into a rapidly receding wall of noise, and Akihiko goes with it, closing his eyes, hoping that the darkness descending on him isn't the final kind.
He opens them to a green, tingling taste on his tongue and nearly chokes on the potion that Basch is still tilting down his throat. "Easy. Easy, lad." Basch's voice is gentle, his face, still bloodied and bruised, swimming into focus. He can feel Basch, holding his neck in the crook of his arm.
"Don't...don't waste it all on me...." Akihiko says, trying to push away the bottle with a healing hand when Basch moves to give him more.
Basch's chuckle is thick. "What do you think I've been saving it for?"
Akihiko sighs and swallows obediently, feeling the queasy slide and snap of bones healing and strength returning to his limbs. He allows himself the luxury of rest for a long moment before rolling away to his own pallet of rags. He glances about, but their corner is fairly deserted. He still makes sure that he's shielding what he's doing from the rest of the room when he pries up the stone over his hiding place. For one horrible moment he thinks that it's empty, but then he feels the cork and snags the rest of the bottle with his fingertips.
"You don't--" Basch tries to say, when Akihiko presses the potion into his hand.
"Just take it," Akihiko says, then stops, words failing him. Maybe the way he looks away at all the damage he's done is eloquent enough. Akihiko breathes deep, concentrating on not throwing up the potion he just drank.
Basch nods and pulls out the cork with his teeth, downing the liquid.
Akihiko has to look away when Basch's shoulder pops back in.
Later, they'll be able to talk about it. Basch will be able to critique Akihiko's technique, and Akihiko will be able to listen. They'll be able to spar again, confident in their own and each other's skins.
But now they just sit together and breathe, feeling the bone-deep bruises that the potion never quite touches, trying not to think about how those bruises are in the shape of each other's fists. And when night comes and the darkness presses in more than usual, Akihiko is the one to reach out this time, pushing away clothes, finding skin, running his hands over every remembered strike. Basch's hands find him in the darkness, doing the same, but too gentle, like he's afraid that Akihiko is going to break. It makes Akihiko restless, wanting, and he grips harder, rolls them, presses against Basch with unmistakeable, demanding intent. Basch's arms come around him, pulling him close. There are no words between them as they move, reassuring each other with the gentle scrape of teeth, the heated movement of flesh into flesh, and soft, swallowed cries in the dark.