stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

They start running soon. [ Akira doesn't know if he's trying to convince Akechi or not. He kind of is, he thinks -- he wants to see him; wants to be able to reassure himself that he's still... Akechi, somewhere underneath everything. That the difference isn't bad.

God, Akira doesn't know what he's doing. ]

I guess your mom might worry if you left. [ It's an out, if Akechi wants it, even though Akira thinks his mom is the sort of mom to accept 'went to not-boyfriend's house at 3am' as an acceptable note left on the fridge. Akira doesn't really have experience with that sort of parenting, but it's about what he'd do with Sojiro. ]

[He's quiet for a long time, setting his phone down and deliberating over the idea of seeing Akira. He realized, in a dull way, that he was the only person he was truly comfortable around, and that would do wonders for his rattled state. He didn't really think he wanted coffee at this hour, but the smell of Leblanc was always soothing, and he could change his mind. Akira would likely let him nap upstairs if he got tired enough...]

[But something about it felt wrong. Felt... dangerous, in an abstract sort of way. It was the same distant sort of feeling as immediately knowing the gun he'd used to shoot Wakaba with was a Nambu. It felt foreign.]

...I can take my bike and be there in an hour. If that's all right.

Yeah. I'll be ready. [ He'll have to roll Morgana onto the actual bed if he wants him to stay asleep and let him have any time with Akechi, but that's -- easy to do, even though Morgana weighs significantly more now. Akira tries very hard not to think about it. He thinks Morgana has already been tripping over the false reality: he's caught him looking curiously at Akira's bag whenever Akira leaves, looking in confusion at the train like he's realizing he has no idea how to buy a ticket, and failing entirely at the art of using chopsticks.

It's only a matter of time, Akira tells himself. Maybe it's better if everyone wakes themselves up. Maybe that's their decision and he shouldn't take it away from them. From him. From Akechi.

Akira steps out of the bathroom, flicking on the Leblanc lights. He might as well make himself some coffee, at this rate. ]

[Strangely punctual despite his frayed mental state, Akechi arrives in almost exactly an hour, parking his bike outside the cafe and hesitating outside the door. He doesn't want to just walk in, even beyond not being sure if Akira unlocked the door or not, so he just lingers by the door and texts him.]

I'm here.

[ Akira opens the door immediately. He's turned on all the lights -- the shop sign still says closed, but it's only because the only person he's allowing in is Akechi. The warmth of Leblanc is still comforting to Akira even now, and even moreso when Akechi is there to walk inside.

If nothing else, this bizarre alternate reality is clearing up a lot of Akira's own problems. He's starting to realize a lot of things he might not have otherwise.

It probably isn't too late.

He isn't wearing his glasses, and he looks a little more vulnerable without them, a little worn out under the Leblanc lights. ]

I've got coffee, but I figured you might be a little anxious, so I actually made you hot chocolate. [ It's not exactly instagram quality in terms of presentation, but it's still a steaming mug on the counter in Akechi's normal seat. ]

[He looks-- terrible, really. His hair isn't fixed, beyond a rudimentary finger-combing that was mostly undone by the bike ride over, his skin is pale and faintly clammy. He doesn't look up to meet Akira's eyes when he lets him in, but the circles under his eyes make him look paler still.]

[He makes a soft sound, affirmative in nature, and steps into the cafe with his fingers tangled together in front of his ribs.] Sorry, to make you get up so early for me.

I don't mind getting up early for you. [ He refrains some saying anything more mushy than that -- he's already stated his interest in Akechi; now is hardly the time to press it. Akira steps closer, once the door is closed again; he reaches up to comb his fingers through the strands of Akechi's hair, because this Akechi will let him.

He doesn't know if he'll get to touch Akechi at all outside of being punched once this is all over, so if he can give a little bit of comfort while inscribing everything in his memory, then -- good. ]

[He crumples inward at the contact, simple as it is, and lets the tremors that have been rattling his body since he woke up drop him forward against Akira's collar bone. He tries to excuse it as exhaustion that does it, that makes him fold and makes his voice thick, but at least he's hiding.]

It felt so real, Akira, why would I have done something like that? It's-- I was glad, when I woke up there was this rush, like I'd finally done something right, like I was heading in the right direction. What's wrong with me?

[ Akira doesn't know what to say. It feels -- invasive, to hear how Akechi must have felt when it happened originally. To see how this Akechi is unfolding, dissolving around the edges with all the guilt he doesn't know what to do with. Akira feels like he's watching it fill every crevice left in Akechi when all his anger disappeared.

It's wrong. It's wrong to see, and Akechi is going to hate that he ever let Akira see this, but -- but he's the only one that's needed Akira in the slightest since this all began. Everyone else is doing so well, and Akira is happy for them, he is, he is, but they've made nothing but smalltalk and they're all so busy living their lives without him.

With an acrid swallow he wonders if the reason Akechi is having breakthroughs at all is Maruki's fault, too. Does Maruki know that Akira needs someone to take care of? Is he making Akechi need Akira? Is he -- making him like--

Akira cuts off the train of thought before it consumes him entirely. ]

I've dreamed about killing someone, too. [ Akira is still careful not to lie to this Akechi, even if reality is becoming more and more entwined with this false one. ]

Maybe there was a reason in the dream, but you don't remember what it was. Dream logic doesn't make sense.

I don't want there to have been a reason-- [His breath hitches and he pulls away abruptly, hands over his face. He pivots away from Akira, despite how he'd like to just curl against him and fall apart. He can't, and that's strange, too, he thinks. It's not like he has a great many things to have sudden crying fits over, but the fact that his heart has suddenly burst into molten distress that drags fire up his throat and out his eyes, making his neck and his fingers feel too hot, is something he absolutely cannot display to Akira.]

[Why? Akira is the closest thing he has to a best friend, or a brother. So why...?]

[His back turned, his hands thread into his hair and he pulls, sucking in gulps of air and holding them as long as he can in his lungs until they inevitably shake their way out in short sobs.]

[ Akechi would never be this vulnerable with him; Akechi is falling to pieces in front of him. How much of this is real and how much of this is scripted? How much is meant to be a lure to make Akira choose to stay in this reality forever?

Akira steps forward, because even if Akechi hates him for it later -- even if Akechi hates him for it now -- he can recognize the beginning of a panic attack when he sees one. He's been around Futaba enough.

He reaches out, not to turn Akechi towards him but to put a hand on his back, a careful touch at the junction of his neck and spine. He steers him to one of the booth seats instead of the bar seats, because it's a better option to curl up on in misery, which Akira knows both from personal experience and from witnessing it on others. ]

It helps if you count while you breathe. Sets of threes are nice.

[He doesn't think he's ever really lost his grip on himself this completely before. It feels something like being trapped inside of his skull while it fills with water, and something is tied around his left ankle so he can't make for the bit of bone that's been broken away that would allow him to keep breathing. If he thinks about it, Akira is the gap in the bone, and his own hand is around his ankle, every so often letting go so he can start to swim only to grab him and yank him back again.]

[It's disorienting, and he isn't counting while he breathes, so he's hyperventilating a little bit.] I don't-- I don't want this, I don't want to be this. [Is that this Akechi, or the real one? Does he not want to be this fake, does he not want to be a murderer? He folds up in the booth, knees drawn to his chest and not at all helping that he isn't breathing right, and buries his face into them, pressing against his eyes until his vision whites out. It doesn't stop him from crying, unfortunately.]

[ Akira doesn't know what to do. He can't think about what Akechi does or doesn't want to be right now, can barely handle what Akechi is right now, so he just --

turns off the part of his brain that's been roiling with anxiety for the past two days. There's something he needs to do, so he'll just turn off his emotions until it's done, as simple as that.

It's one of the things that he shares in common with Akechi, even if neither of them are quite aware of it. ]

Goro, hey. You have to breathe, okay?

[ It's dangerous, using his first name like that, because Akira doesn't want to get used to it, but --

He sits behind him, carefully slotting into place to pull Akechi back against him. He lets Akechi face away, lets him have that little bit of dignity, like he can possibly pretend that he isn't having a breakdown. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

Akira reaches up, tugs on Akechi's hands just enough to try and relieve the pressure; he spreads his own hand over them. ]

Hey, what's the name of the new Featherman season again?

[ Listen, redirection works really well on Futaba. ]

[He makes a sound that isn't quite words, immediately resisting Akira's contact but only briefly. He stays tense until his hands are claimed, and he's told to breathe and he makes another sound, stops, tries again.]

Sorry-- I'm sorry. [He can't pinpoint what he's apologizing for, the breakdown or something else, because it feels like there's more to apologize for but there shouldn't be. He doesn't know of anything outside of this current moment that he has to apologize to Akira for. But it's pressing, it's like the need to apologize is clawing it's way out of his chest with the tears he can't convince to stop.]

[He angles himself oddly at the Featherman question, makes a curious sound that's too thick and stuck in his throat, swivels a little at the waist and gives up. He reclaims his hands in favor of snaking his arms beneath Akira's, curling into him at a strange angle and letting his knees lean against the table. It's not comfortable at all, but he needs the warmth, he thinks.] R, Phoenix Ranger Featherman R. [He thinks he understands why Akira is asking, so he latches on to the question and takes great care in keeping his voice as clear as he can when he answers. It's important, somehow.]

[ Akira shifts slightly to make it a little more comfortable for Akechi, but he knows that comfort isn't exactly the highest goal right now. Not physical comfort, at any rate.

Akechi is warm, though -- too hot, the panic attack radiating out through his skin like it can escape if it tries hard enough, and Akira rubs across Akechi's wrist, almost idly. It's the easiest to get to, given the awkward positioning. ]

Does the R stand for something, or is it, like, aesthetic? Futaba yelled at me last time I asked.

[The mention of Futaba douses him in a cold sweat and he sucks in a breath, holding it a moment and mashing his face into Akira's collar bone.] I don't-- I can't think, I'm sorry. I don't think it does, I don't...

[He trails off and just mumbles for a spell, not quite crying anymore so much as he just shakes and his breath hitches. When he does speak again, his voice is quiet, small.] Akira I'm tired.

[ Akira reaches up, hesitating only briefly before he lets his hand drift comfortingly down the back of Akechi's head, combing through his hair. Akira's parents never did this kind of thing for him, but he's always imagined it anyway; he knows enough to know that it's the kind of comforting thing that most people are used to.

That this Akechi is probably used to, which is a thought he doesn't want to roll over for very long. ]

You can stay here. There's enough room. [ Akira will always make room for Akechi, he thinks. He wonders if Akechi is going to dream of killing him before this is over. ]

[He grumbles softly, a bit of the petulance of normal timeline Akechi shining through.] There really isn't, there's barely room for you and your cat.

[A beat, and he sits up, startled.] Except you don't have a cat. I must be more tired than I feel... [He scrubs at his eyes, rearranging himself to be somewhat more comfortable. It involves folding his legs to be under the table where they belong, and also slotting himself up against Akira like he belongs.] ...can you stay here for a bit?

...Yeah. [ It's still a few hours until Sojiro's going to come open Leblanc -- and in this reality, even if he did walk in on them like this, Akira has a pretty good idea that Sojiro wouldn't do anything but usher them upstairs. Sojiro likes Akechi, after all. Wakaba likes Akechi.

Akira shifts himself, moving backwards on the bench until he can fit his back against the wall and let Akechi cushion himself on his chest. ]

I'll stay as long as you want.

[He sags where he sits, relieved even if he knew Akira wouldn't deny him. He follows him when he shuffles against the wall, pillowing him along the front of Akira's body carefully, folding his legs to tuck under his. He relaxes, entirely, and it's obvious even while he's bunched up in a little pretzel shape because Akechi was never entirely relaxed.] ...thank you.

[ It feels wrong, in some ways, but Akira can't focus on that when Akechi's weight is leaning back against him. The dishonesty -- the lie of this reality -- pales in comparison to the warmth against his chest, nothing but smooth lines and slowly relaxing angles.

It's easy to wrap an arm around Akechi, careful and secure, and allow himself to drift off when Akechi's own breathing stills back out.

Akira opens one eye, a few hours later, when Sojiro drops a blanket over the two of them; Sojiro offers a small shh gesture and a knowing wink, and then the sounds of the cafe ramp up slow enough that they're little more than the sounds of morning.

Sojiro is the one who reaches out to gently shake them both awake, eventually. ]

「 You kids probably wanna head upstairs before we open. If you get dressed and come back down, I'll get you some breakfast. 」

[ When Akira looks deeply affronted at the concept of being awake, Sojiro just hands him a cup of coffee like he'd anticipated it, and Akira stretches the arm that had fallen half asleep out to accept the cup. ]

[The worst part about being as pale-skinned as he was, and whatever in his mother's genetics gave him his honey-blond hair, was that it was horribly obvious for hours after the fact that he'd been crying. He forgot about that irritating little detail, so he's startled when he wakes up to the quiet drone of Sojiro Sakura's voice, and a blanket laid over him where he had completely passed out asleep against Akira's chest. His face goes redder, and he's confused until it occurs to him how terrible he probably looks.]

[He turns his face into Akira's collar to hide, mumbling several apologies when his mouth unsticks from the abject fear of being perceived at that specific moment.]

[ Sojiro waves him off entirely, passing him a cup of coffee before he goes to take up his habitual spot with the newspaper. He opens it directly to the crosswords. It's too early to deal with teenagers and current events.

Akira, for his part, downs half the cup of coffee and blinks into a real existence. There's a part of his brain that still whirrs vaguely as it tries to orient itself and completely fails to do so -- this isn't the reality it's meant to be, no matter how used to it he might be getting -- and it's not helped by the fact that he's not used to waking up downstairs with a bruise on his back and a kink in his neck.

He yawns. ]

C'mon. You wanna wash up?

[He'll apologize for the bruise and the kink if he finds out about them. You should have said it was uncomfortable, Akira.]

[He breathes carefully for a while to settle his heartbeat, curling forward and claiming his own cup of coffee. He drinks about a third of it before looking across the cafe to Sojiro for a moment, trying to put his brain into a state that he can say something. He fails, so he just huddles back around his coffee and scoots out of the booth, nodding to Akira.]

[ Akira would rather die than tell Akechi any part of getting to hold him while he slept was remotely uncomfortable. There are just some things in the world that Akira will take to his grave, and that is absolutely one of them.

Akira, for his part, slinks out of the booth like he's the one that's part cat, stretching out as he sips his coffee. ]

Okay. I'll grab some stuff for you. [ The only bathroom is still the Leblanc one, but Akira runs upstairs -- taking them two at a time -- to grab his admittedly basic toiletries and a change of clothes that doesn't scream 'slept in', since he's pretty sure that's not the vibe Akechi is trying to give off.

Akechi's a little more filled out in this reality, but Akira is pretty sure they'll still fit. Also, he wants to see Akechi in a v-neck. ]

Here.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject