Wanting to get off work pronto because I have so many ideas swirling in my head for both Kogami and Zero …
I won’t elaborate on it but I won’t take ANY criticism on Psycho-Pass when Kogami Shinya is a walking version of Top Gun’s volleyball scene.
(breathes heavily as I resist posting 10000 consecutive posts about single dad Kogami)
THEY HAVE MY HEART
I’m obsessed with single dad Kogami … he’s so mindful of his influence on people, and how his loved ones end up / the path they take, and he’s so patient and nurturing I just want to beat him to death
you just had to be in that psycho-pass: the movie room where me and Chris ogled over kogami’s curvaceous form.
“Don’t give me that shit!” So true king so hot you’re so sexy oh my god are you free this evening
The best dynamic for a group of characters: every single one of them is the weirdest person you will ever meet, but in wildly different ways. Every time you think you’ve identified “the normal one” they casually reveal that they don’t think birds exist, or they fistfight grizzly bears on the weekends, or they collect human skulls, and you realize again that none of these people are remotely normal.
Also they’re found family.
“ i'm not going anywhere. “ + “ you'll always have me. “
fluorescent yellow gnaws at the walls, skin jaundiced with the same shade. She thinks her neck is stiff, that her shoulder hurts, that maybe she slept on the wrong side, and it’s showing now. Lean back, the armchairs here are molten, misshapen shades of red, and the leather has cracked. They ought to have this side of the building remodelled, but they leave it be, a museum for the dead, for the ones who won’t return.
They return to his departure, the way wandering eyes always return to the car that’s crashed, the flames licking white snow. He’d left - without a word, nothing to tell her, and Akane knows she wouldn’t have let him go if he had told her, but would it have been easier, would the wound have bled less, she’ll wonder.
The lights buzz, and she glances towards him.
She’s back here, she’ll be kept here, and him - she knows she doesn’t hold it against Kogami, she knows that she is happy for him. He won’t have to lead a life like he used to, won’t have it forced onto him. And she is back here, a different position, what then?
What about him?
‘ i’m not going anywhere,’ he tells her, and she smiles, thin, absent-minded, her fingers slipping between flaking leather, pulling away, red sticking to skin, to the underside of her nails. Another absent thought - she’ll need to have them cut.
“ it’s not - i know you won’t. ” A furrowing brow, but it smoothes out, the thought already slipping past her. She’s honest, and she holds back her thoughts less, and yet, she pulls away from them more around him.
You dance around the final goodbye with enough small talk, you say it, you leave, you meet someone new, rinse, repeat. He tells her he’s here to stay, and it’s not like them to lie to each other. ( She knows what she keeps from him; he knows what he had kept from her. )
She doesn’t doubt him, doesn’t want to, will never let the thought cross her mind, but she keeps her request for his reassurance muffled and unspoken. A part of her hoping, hoping, that he won’t pick up on it, that he pull that seam and let this come undone. But he knows, doesn’t he, how it’s a kind of longing that eats you to the bone, leaves your body a country of vacant homes and moonlit windows.
“ i know i sound selfish, but it’s not the act of leaving that hurt. it’s what was left of you when you did, that - ” hurt. She never quite completes it, but she asks, somewhere between pauses, did I ever haunt you the way you haunted me?
She glances down to her fingers, coated with flakes of red, her breath caught in her throat, tripping over vocal chords. But she keeps her composure, upright, never quite wavering.
‘ you’ll always have me. ’
Quieter now, and she looks up, finds him under bright lights. How many nights had she wondered, if he was well, if he was safe. How many times had she learned to forgive him, tried to move past him, but never left behind her? How many times had she believed him, how many more times would she believe him? ( Always, she wants to say. But it’s always, with reservations. )
She breathes in, her gaze meeting his, a clearer, still quiet “ i know,” leaving her.
She’s sincere, still.
“ this is where you’ll always find me, i guess. ” Her eyes flicker up, brighter than bright lights. She lets this go unspoken as well: you’ll always have me, too.
fragile, he says, like the world holds itself together with some inner, hidden seam that is waiting to be pulled and undone, and what then – what happens when it all falls apart? A question that is best unanswered, but there could be others who know what that kind of world would look like. She catches sight of him in the glass, trying to place what he tells her. Will it always be this way : a conversation that strips away the rest of the world for a moment, just a moment, the way she nearly forgets why she is here. Or maybe she hasn’t, the thought lingers somewhere in the back, folded and fresh, but she lets it be.
They would offer their hearts as they are told to, cold and unthawed and numbing, and it is chewed, then spat out, but then they stop one day, and the system stays starving and wanting and unfed. Nothing to take, nothing to give, how long before it’s another forgotten relic? She wonders if it realised its own fallacy, with all its emptiness, the way it isn’t any less mortal than the rest of them.
The way human beings have a habit of persisting,
and coming to their own conclusions, and moving on.
Change : inevitable, constant, it’s human nature.
The carpet muffles her footsteps when she moves. A miracle, she thinks, the way he managed to fit in so many shelves in the first place. The names are ones she barely recognises, and she’s still assured, this feels like him, how she remembers him to be. One surprise, the next, and now he tells her that he intends to cook; nostalgia runs fresh, and she dimly wonders what else is different, how else he plans to make what she knows of him to shift, change, make space for what is new.
It’s odd, isn’t it – how you can remember someone, how memory can cut, heal, pass right through you, reaching into you and leaving you at the same time.
She laughs. It’s like glass breaking, three rooms away. Muffled, easy to miss if you don’t pay attention, but distinct. She knows he’d have heard her, even from the kitchen ( or so she assumes ). A year, and he intends to keep being here. A bit more.
“I don’t know – I don’t think I expected anything in particular when I entered.” The opposite, really, unsure of what she would find when she got to blinking away the spots trailing her vision. “But it’s somehow not surprising that you would choose to live somewhere like this. Almost like I knew you would. Do you think you would have done the same before? Lived in a place like this, I mean.”
( I haven’t forgotten much about you, have I? )
A cupboard cracks open, sighing, something is scrapped, then – then, the sound of liquid rising, falling, simmering like rain drowning the streets. Something shifts, she thinks she hears the lazy murmur of something frying. Familiar, too familiar, how long has it been since she had something cooked by hand?
The kitchen doorway stays lit, a beacon in the half-lit corridor.
“Fitting another shelf in here sounds more like a challenge than it should. But you would add more if you could, wouldn’t you?” Dry, not disapproving, the smile that comes through lifts off a cutting edge. She should know better: he’ll still find a way to make it fit in, even if it means not having enough space for something else. Her eyes travel to the top shelves, realising that she’s only looking at a quarter of what he has.
Take one, this one is far from unread, well-read, loved in a way, and she smells grass, cinnamon: curious how old books pages, isn’t it. She can break it down, reason why, but she stares at words, unrecognisable, still enticing.
“I’ve never heard of them before,” she says, placing the book back, drifting to the next row. She asks, he answers, an old tune that she thinks they’re familiar enough with. “Some of these are – you’re not going to find them here even if they were translated, would you?” Another, and another, yet another. “You make it sound like they are close to being lost pieces of another time.”
And they are, the words sit in her throat. They are. How much of this have they all missed, how much are they choosing to ignore, to not see?
- and, no, you won’t see me dance.
The question stalls, she turns to the direction of the kitchen, her lips still curling up. “Does that mean you know how to, and you’re refusing to, or that you don’t know how to?”
Somehow, she has a hard time believing that he doesn’t.
The question comes unbidden, and she thinks, she feels, her breath catch in her throat for a moment. Easier, hadn’t it, keeping the conversation away from what she means to bring up. The bureau. Stop, wait, she hasn’t forgotten, and she answers like she had always expected the question.
“I kept them were they were for as long as I was there, and I don’t think anyone took up your quarters after you left.” Coincidence, but there had been some part of her that wanted it to stay untouched. Not wanting to go back there, not until a year had already passed. “There were some minor renovations, so I think some things were shifted around. That was two years ago.”
She presses down the urge to swallow.
“I’m not so sure about now, though, after I-” She breaks off, unintentional, still thinking, aware of what has changed, vague outlines, at least. “I can have someone check on them, if you’d like.”
“I think about that a lot myself, and I’ve never been able to come up with a straight answer.” A fresh out of training Inspector Kogami Shinya would have scoffed at the idea of living in the suburbs again; an Enforcer him, didn’t foresee himself living outside of those assigned enclosures, let alone for much longer after he defected. But at his older and wiser age… he has come full circle, and makes the peace and quiet sacred. He’ll take the sweet elderly neighbors, the family-owned convenience shop, and the antique bookstore around the corner. “Yes, because it’s as close to the old world as I can get around here without being too far from work, and, no, because I didn’t foresee myself living long enough to have this.”
Kogami remembers enough of Akane’s preferences to know she’d enjoy noodles, but his pensive gaze lingers over the jar of peppers he bought specifically for this recipe ( that was as easy to mess up as it was easy to cook ) . He thinks back to Akane’s own cooking for a point of reference, and doesn’t notice the smile that creeps onto his face when her curry comes to mind, and the bold outlines of everyone else’s reactions towards it – did she still like it like that? ( Would he get the chance of having it again? ) The wok’s impatient sizzling snaps at him to rush his decision, so he couldn’t hover over the options for long, and tosses in four peppers to crush and stir fry in. He cuts the heat after a few, final stirs, and he steps back to admire his complete work; enough for the both of them and some leftovers– cooked through, no burn in sight, though the spices tickled his nose enough for him to turn away and sniffle.
Kogami lifts the wok from the stovetop and cautiously tilts it so the noodles slide onto the plates he set on the kitchen island. It looks edible, but unsightly, as it is. That won’t do.
— Wait, why does this matter to him all of a sudden? It’s just her, she’ll think having a meal in general is fine. But it’s her, so ‘fine’ isn’t good enough for him.
He extracts a couple of more things from his fridge, and makes an effort to garnish her plate as prettily as possible. A couple of slices of lime there, a sprig of mint in the middle.
Oh, this seems silly.
The conversation they have is distracting enough for him to not fall too deep into his perfectionistic vices — he’s already adjusted that one sprig of mint five times. “I’m never one to back down from challenges. The hardest part about all of it is the assembly. I haven’t worried about putting furniture together in over ten years.”
He smiles, when he guesses where she is looking.
“It’s what compelled me to collect and write down them for myself, knowing it may have been my last time to see or read them, either if I died, or if I came back. It’s what they deserve.” Most everyone knows how he feels about physical copies of books (
part pretentiousness, part practicality ) ; but the foreign stories are the first of which he’s transcribed for himself, and when time takes him, too, he hopes someone will make sure the books keep carrying on, until their pages crumble; to know that they lived.
Kogami guffaws. “Are you pulling my leg?” He likes to think that he can dance well enough to save his life if the slim, but not impossible, chance of it called for it, but his pride would kill him before any threat of the like could. He’d never admit it, though. “I’m afraid that if I were to give this dance my own spin, it’d be utterly disrespectful to who I’m trying to emulate.” He fondly regards the memory; twilights spent resting in the refugee camps scattered across the Southeast Asian region. He’d written about it in one of his journals he intends to show her – the way some of the older women invited him to dance and raised their voices in song, despite his best efforts to distance himself. A man blew a flute to match their melodies, and they pulled him into sways and swings that made him feel like his legs were too long, and hands and feet were too big to match their poised motions. “I’ll strike you a deal. If you dance with me, I’ll do it.”
He considers calling Akane to the kitchen to eat there once he’s certain there’s nothing else he could do to her plate. But when she’s exploring his shelves, he decides to meet her halfway so he won’t pull her away, and bring the tray out to the common area.
“I hoped that my books would go to you, or someone who’d have made use of them. You don’t have to worry about making sure they’re alright… it wouldn’t surprise me if they ended up recycling the paper in the end.” I suppose, I just wanted to see if there was a part of me that lingered around there.
Kogami set the tray down on his own plate and silverware from the tray first, leaving the prettier of the two for her.
“I can’t guarantee its taste, since it’s something I learned how to make during my travels. It’s popularly eaten with alcohol, but I’m sure they want me to deposit you back to the MWPSB completely sober.”
He settles back at one end of the couch, and pokes at his noodles, waiting for her to take the first bite,
even though he’s too self conscious to watch.
“… tell me what you think.”
what time do they usually go to bed and wake up?; if they could meet/talk to one person, dead or alive, who would it be? what would they say to them?; favorite family member? why?; do they have anyone in their past they would like closure from? who and why?
kogami sleeps approximately four hours a day (+cat naps throughout if, if possible); so, he only sleeps when it’s appropriate for his schedule. when he worked for the MWPSB’s CID, he preferred a night shift, and he’d sleep at 12 pm, then wake up at 5 pm for it. for a day / morning shift, he’d sleep at 2 am, then wake up 4 hours later at 6 am. it’s another story after he’s left japan; at that point, he sleeps when he’s not behind the wheel when he’s on the move, or exclusively within refugee camps / government housing. most of his ‘rest’ can be called napping during this timeframe; how he manages to maintain good form with those sleeping habits + his smoking is a mystery.
tenzing. he left in a really fucked up way, without so much of a good bye (how many times would this be that he’s done this?), and he thinks about her a lot, since he saw her as a daughter figure that he can’t help but wish he had more time with. he would’ve given her a better goodbye – the same as kagari and masaoka, really, if he knew what was going to happen, since he feels like he would’ve never been able to stop what happened to them.
if we count his found family: don’t ask. but, if we limit him to his biological family, he’s always had a soft spot for his mother, kogami tomoyo, who, even into his adulthood, he tries to maintain good communication with, especially after he’s home again. she raised him with a lot of affection and a hands-off parenting style, since he exhibited a strong will and independence as a child, and it’s something he thanks her for since he thinks that it helped him be a little bit more than the 'average citizen’. she’s supported his hobbies ( reading + sports ), and his endeavors in school ( showing up to his athletic and academic competitions, etc ) and work ( as worried as she was that he decided to become an inspector ). he puts a surprisingly big amount of consideration in how he lives his life if any of it affected his mother; you wouldn’t guess it from looking at him, but if you’re someone with a keen eye for profiling, it’s pretty obvious.
the people he seeks closure from have actually followed him into the present; akane, whom he worries he may have been a bad influence on with his wrathful pursuit of justice; gino, who he thought abandoned him (when it had also been very much the other way around), tenzing who he’d let down like so many of the other people he’s come to love in his life before her. everyone else knew he’d been far gone in some way, but those people he hopes he can give closure to.