[The exchange of Akira telling him he loved him, of the falsified happiness he could never actually had saying he knew, intrudes into Akechi's mind. Coats him like a thick, viscous liquid, like blood that has had time to congeal and thicken. His expression pinches, and he draws his hand away.]

Sleep where you like, then. If you prefer, I don't imagine I act differently while asleep, sharing the bed might let you continue the facade. [Oh.]