stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

[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.

[He's perched carefully on the end of the same booth seat Akira left him on working on his coffee, and tips the cup back to finish it as he returns with toiletries and clothes to borrow. He stands, moving carefully, a bit like he isn't sure of how to step. There's so much that's odd and confusing to him, half-conscious and out of sorts.]

[He claims the items, nodding, but still doesn't say anything, hugging the clothes to himself for a moment. He looks from Akira to the bathroom door and back, wordlessly asking if he should, or possibly even if he can, use it to change.]

Morgana's still in the attic, so that's your best bet. [ Morgana, who is most of the reason Akira decided that sleeping in a booth was a better alternative -- Morgana, who has been slightly moody ever since Akira made an offhanded comment about him being a cat.

At least he's been careful not to call Akechi a murderer.

For Akira's part, he doesn't mind changing upstairs -- so once Akechi is ensconced in the bathroom, he dodges up to do exactly that. He doesn't need to do much to his hair to be vaguely presentable, so he's back before Akechi is out, helping Sojiro portion up some food. He remembers how Akechi eats, so his portion is less curry and more rice with some furikake; delicate seasonings, given that he's so stressed his stomach is probably less than happy. ]

[Please don't slip up and call him a murderer, now that he's got it in his head he will react so badly.]

[He ducks into the bathroom and changes slowly, staying away from the mirror and taking his time to ward off the lingering ache from his dream. He circles around a few times from trying so hard not to think about it that he can't stop thinking about it, winds up dry-heaving over the toilet for a while, sitting with his back pressed to the wall to cool off his overheated skin. His hair is more or less a lost cause, but he combs it into as much submission as he can, even if some of it sticks to the back of his neck.]

[He exits the bathroom looking more or less alive, even for being pale and a little shaky, and lingers near the stairs in favor of sticking to Akira rather than chancing trying to talk to Sojiro.]

[ Sojiro takes one look at them and then: ]

「 Kid, you're taking a sick day. 」

[ Akira opens his mouth to protest, and Sojiro just gives them both a look, because Sojiro is the last person to ever advocate skipping school -- but this Sojiro likes Akechi; this Sojiro has never had a need to dislike the good influence on Akira's life, the prim and proper honor student that has been playing at teenage love for the past several months.

Akira lets his hand drift closer to Akechi, letting it fall reassuringly onto his back. Maybe it will be better to wake Akechi up. His Akechi -- the real Akechi -- he's already gone through this guilt, hasn't he? He's already put it behind him.

But... ]

I'll study with you, if you're worried about missing class. [ Akira reaches out to gently brush at Akechi's bangs. He doesn't say it, but Akechi still looks a little like shit. He's still a radiant beauty in Akira's eyes, but one that's gone through a violent wash cycle in a laundry machine. ]

I-- can't miss class, this close to exams, [He says it suddenly and his voice cracks, and he's hoarse and it really only cements how much being Akechi Goro sucks right now? He clears his throat but doesn't try to fix the disaster of a sentence, straightening his shoulders when Akira puts his hand on his back.] ...I can't miss, [He says it quieter, this time, and doesn't dissuade Akira's hand from his hair. That alone should say plenty.]

You wouldn't be able to concentrate on learning anyway. [ Akira knows Akechi, and knows even this one is still concerned with appearances -- he'd be so busy trying to make it seem like he was fine that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else, and so he might as well just save himself some grief and skip the acting. ]

「 You want to give me your mom's number? 」

[ Akira is mildly impressed that Sojiro can tell so easily that Akechi is the sort of kid who doesn't like anyone else to do anything for him -- he asks for the number instead of simply doing it -- but Akira figures Sojiro's pretty used to being surrounded by a bunch of stubborn kids.

Huh, this time none of them even have PTSD. Yet. ]

We can have a study group when you're feeling better. I'll invite Makoto. It'll be like you never missed class.

Edited 2021-07-05 02:30 (UTC)

[He looks to Akira, opens his mouth like he's considering protesting, but he's right, so he doesn't. He closes his mouth again, and then turns to Sojiro with a bit more fear in his eyes and his posture.]

I-- it's okay, she knows I'm here. I texted her before I left...

[He's confused by how suffocated he feels by their care. He's always been relatively independent, if a complete Mama's Boy, but something about this feels far worse than it should. He feels like he's pressed between two large inflatable objects that are still being filled with air, and they're compressing him between them steadily. He shakes his head with a startled intake of breath at the mention of Makoto.] It-- it's fine, I'm--

[The bell above the door chimes and Futaba bursts through the door, and Akechi blanches nearly white when her mother trails in after her.]

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