madimpossibledreamer

I got real life in my iso fic. (warning: covid mention)
Shunsui and Shun Akiyama actually do have a lot in common, personality-wise. It’s kind of a cool coincidence. (He is, by the way, lying about the origin of the name, but it’s a story he came up with while he was creating the character.) Early Shunsui also has things in common with early Tony Stark—desperate and almost angry to prove himself against his father and everyone else who thinks he can’t do it, but also living down to their worst expectations.
EDIT WHOOPS I FORGOT TO CHANGE THE SUMMARY MY BAD

( He's difficult, but he's her brother and she loves him dearly. )

         Tatsuya’s the type of guy who will die for his friends.  He refuses to do this, to lose it all again.  People will think he’s selfish, himself included, but even if he feels guilt, hates himself, has to be killed for the sake of the next world, he’d rather die with the memories.  He remembers what it was like before, being the living dead, no hope, no life, just a seemingly endless existence.  It’s no way to live, no kindness.  They’ll all live and die with him, Jun’s shy smile and desperation to be forgiven, Ginkgo and Eikichi’s bickering, Maya’s looking them over like a proud mother and her “Always think positive!”, Yukiko with her no-nonsense attitude and, ironically, teaching him how to be the best delinquent he can be.

            Despite what they all say, it’s easier than they think to keep Peter and Jason separate.  See, Peter’s the better one, of the two.  Jason sleeps with more people than he should.  Jason’s an ass.  Jason gets drunk far too often.  Jason’s not a hero.  Jason’s not even a person that people enjoy being around, all that much. 
            Peter’s a romantic, playing the long game.  He really does like Tawny, though Gwen doesn’t seem to get it’s not just something Jason’s doing because she’d be a new notch on his bedpost.  He’s not sure about himself (he’s not sure about a lot of things about Jason, honestly; knows Taggart better than he knows himself), but Peter?  Peter really does like her.  Sure, Peter kisses and flirts a lot, but between himself and the writers they’d agreed that he’d only had sex offscreen with five of the various ladies of interest in the show, and two of them were friendly exes, so he’s not sure that even counts.  He’s patient; he’s willing to wait forever in unrequited love if he has to. 
            Peter can be an ass, but he’s the lovable kind, the one who’s poking something with a stick to see if he can make it move, but he doesn’t mean any harm.  In fact, he’d be hurt if he thought he had brought harm to anyone.  He can keep his head in the game when it counts (which, to be fair, Jason can do with acting; he puts more thought into Taggart than Alexander probably thinks is even possible for him, but hey, if he’s got a crush-slash-wants-to-be-Taggart like everyone else then that’s his damage and he’ll own it).  Jason’s not quite—okay, not even close to—the professional, sometimes.  He can be, when it’s important, but he’s pretty sure his definition of important and others’ definitions of important don’t quite coincide.  Peter is the consummate professional, with more respect for his superiors than the total Jason will ever have over the course of his entire lifetime. 
            He’s much more nuanced, more real, more courageous and thoughtful and charming and caring than Jason could ever hope to be.  Jason’s just the loser that brings him to life, but every second he can pretend he’s Peter is a moment to be treasured, and if there’s one redeeming thing in his life, it’s the fact that he could play the guy and bring that to the imaginations of all the fans.
            He’s pretty sure the others don’t get that he’s hogging the stage not quite because he wants to but because Taggart really is that big of a personality, and he just wants to be Peter.  It’s kind of pathetic, but he comforts himself a little in that they all are, a little, in their own ways, so that makes him one of them.  Right?

        “You wanted to see me?”
        Gibbs starts and turns.  There’s the kid with an eyepatch, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.  Blending in.  “Were you covert ops?” he asks incredulously, and the brunet snorts.
        “Just…having trouble dealing.  But I’m not the only one.”  The look is pointed, and Gibbs feels guilty.
        He has a grown-up son.  The loss of his wife and daughter still feels fresh, even though it’s been fifteen years, but he has a grown-up son.  “I’m sorry.”
        The stare is…searching.  Disappointed, maybe.  And then the kid—Alex, he thinks—speaks again.  “I think someone would have something to say about saying sorry, but then, pride is an issue, too.  I’d appreciate it if you don’t let it happen again.”  A short pause, then a laugh.  “And, believe it or not, you’re still better than that bastard Mom married.”
        Gibbs nearly dives on that question, thirsty for answers, despite the pang that feels like a knife, and then notices…Of course.  His son’s hurting.  “Enjoying this, aren’t you?”
        The look instantly turns into confusion, and he elaborates though he wishes he didn’t have to, “Hurting me.”
        It instantly clears up, and that pained chuckle returns.  “That obvious, am I?”  A sigh.  “I try to be the good guy, but sometimes when I’m hurting I just lash out and hurt the people I care about.  And I am.  Hurting.  That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to see you in pain, Dad.”  It’s the first time since he’s woken up and looked at the kid with such confusion in his eyes that Alex has said that word.  “Yeah, I’m getting used to this.  And you will too, because I’m pretty sure I got my stubbornness from somewhere, just like my tendency to verbally attack.  I’m not going anywhere, and you aren’t either, no matter what you think.”
        Gibbs snorts and they both ignore the wetness in each others’ eyes as a matter of common courtesy, and Gibbs realizes as he goes to the refrigerator that the kid was a lot sneakier than he thought because all the alcohol was missing (not something he really enjoys, but as a man who would go to the depths of hell for his family, sacrificing booze to save his son from bad memories is almost no sacrifice at all) and there’s a pot of coffee brewing instead, judging by the smell.  Sitting in comfortable silence, cups in hand, feels almost like a new beginning.