stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

[The gentleness of it unseats him, just enough that he breaks eye contact. The memory of his mother's hands being cold surges forth, and he curls his hand tighter into Akira's.] ...okay.

Okay. [ This smile is real -- and warm. He squeezes Akechi's hand back, comfortingly -- if not very hard, given that Akechi still has a gash in his hand that bled pretty extensively, even if Akira wasn't in a state to really process it.

He takes a breath, and feels a little like himself again, for whatever "himself" counts as. Which means it's a little easier to tug Akechi back into the bedroom, even if he's a little unsteady about it.

They'll regroup tomorrow.

Akira sits on the edge of the bed, and then, carefully: ] Thank you.

[The weight of his false reality self having not slept in entirely too long crashes into him all at once, and he drops to sit beside Akira without ceremony.]

I've done nothing worth thanking me for.

Thank you anyway. [ He knows Akechi can never see what he's done for Akira. Akechi is blind to all his good qualities, and Akira understands, because Akira is coming off a multi-day breakdown about how terrible of a person it turns out he might not have been the whole time.

But still. Akira likes him. And he helped. Akira peels his jacket off, finally, considerably later than normally polite, and then just swings it over the top blanket on the bed like it's a second layer. It would add some color to the room if it wasn't, you know. Grey.

Akira doesn't try to cuddle too much -- there's a lot they haven't talked about, after all, and he's pretty sure Akechi just put off processing the bulk of what happened in the other reality by dealing with Akira -- but he does reach out, automatically seeking Akechi's hand. ]

[He makes a disgruntled sound, but exhaustion is a hell of a thing and he feels like his head and each of his limbs weigh half a ton, and soon after he drops sideways into the bed and Akira adds his jacket to the weight over them he's struggling to grasp even the dregs of consciousness.]

[As a result, he's not entirely aware that he asks, plaintively and so, so quietly:] ...you'll still be here when I wake up, right?

Yeah. [ Akira squeezes Akechi's hand, just enough to signal that he's still there. ]

I'll be here as long as you want. [ He promised the other Akechi that, too, and it was just as true. Akira wants to be around Akechi. He always has. Even when they're both... not at their best. ]

[He makes a soft sound, but his eyes are already closed, and Akira probably isn't as familiar with how light of a sleeper he is normally, here. Such is not the case, here, and he drops off into a sleep so deep he doesn't move.]

[ Akira stays awake long enough to watch Akechi sleep, and then scoots in a little closer, falling asleep with his arm pressed close enough to Akechi's chest that he can feel his steady heartbeat.

It isn't enough to stop the nightmares, of course -- his world swirls in and out of an incoherent narrative, full of Akechi dying on a ship; of Akira dying in an interrogation room; of an Akechi turning to look at him with no memory of who Akira even is.

It's a fitful sleep, all things considered. ]

[He isn't used to another person being near him when he sleeps, so while it happens slowly, Akira's fitful sleeping rouses him. He's horribly fogged from only getting a fraction of the rest his body is trying to force him into after forcing himself awake for so long, but turning his head to see Akira tense and not resting makes him roll forward. He swings his arm over his shoulders and mumbles, and none of it feels entirely real when he does it, which is probably why he doesn't question curling close enough that their knees knock and his nose winds up in Akira's hair.]

Shhhh, Akira. Shh.

[ And Akira settles down. Akechi's voice is enough to penetrate into his mind, even as asleep as he is; he internalizes it like the beginning of an alarm being worked into a dream. The dream shifts: it's soft colors and muted light and the two of them tangled together on a couch watching something on a television that changes whenever Akira looks at it, as dreams are prone to do.

He exhales, slowly, and burrows in a little deeper. ]

[And impressively, then, between the two of them they rest. Akechi may even say he hasn't had sleep that good in years, but of course, it's short-lived. He wakes up slowly with sunlight filtering in through the window, warm and comfortable and tangled in a boy he can't figure out what to think of, and his brain stays about a day in the past. He gets up carefully, extracting himself from Akira's limbs and pulling the blanket back up over him as he pads out of his room.]

[It starts to dawn on his half-conscious mind when he's disoriented by the layout of the condo, and when he gets into the living room and sees the drab state of it all, the dust and the lack of pictures, he physically feels his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. The gash on his palm throbs and he turns his wrist outward to look at it, pressing his thumb into the gauze until it bleeds again. He sucks in a sharp breath and lets it hitch, withering his way down to sit on his uncomfortable couch and curling around a stiff pillow that doesn't match.]

[ It takes Akira a minute to rouse. Akechi was there, and then he wasn't -- Akira processes him disentangling himself, but only partially, in the way he only partially processes it when Morgana jumps on him in the middle of the night. It's the lack of Morgana and the lack of any coffee and curry in the air that finally gets him to wake up, and he shuffles out of the bed with a yawn.

He slept okay, he thinks. Probably slept harder given that yesterday was a little emotional. Today he'll probably have to fight Maruki... best not to think about it.

He steps out into the living room -- and then stops, hesitantly, looking at Akechi. The curry never got put away. Akira debates what to do for a long second, and then: ]

... do you keep coffee in your kitchen?

[He flinches, and stays still in the pillow for a moment while he tries to figure out how much face he can save. When he realizes the pillow beneath him is damp and so are his eyes, he realizes "not much" and sits up, scrubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes.]

Just-- instant, garbage. Give me a minute, there's a convenience store with decent brews this early on the corner. [He manages to keep his voice steady, somehow, but once he's done talking he settles with the heels of his hands in his eyes for a moment, swearing under his breath.]

[ Akira steps over to Akechi. Reaches out to cup Akechi's face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along the line of his jaw. ]

I can go get some. I -- [ Akira takes in a breath, because the impact of last night -- of the past two weeks -- can't just vanish that easily. His smile is a little crooked when he manages it, but it doesn't matter, because Akechi isn't looking right now anyway. ]

-- I'll feel better if I can do things for you.

[He draws in a breath and holds it, exhales with only a slight tremor, and moves his hands. He's a wreck.]

And I would really prefer you didn't, [He offers, in as much of a harsh tone as he can muster with wet eyelashes and red-rimmed eyes.] Just... give me five minutes, I'll wash my face. I forgot to put up your curry, so we'll need something to eat, too.

At least let me buy your coffee. If you have to drink coffee that isn't mine, you can at least have it for free. [ Akira steps back, releases his grip on Akechi. Akechi is -- the same; he won't accept the offer of comfort, but he doesn't reject it quite as readily as he once might have.

Akira wonders if it's because Akechi is realizing that Akira is, actually, not quite as put together as he seems.

Akira steps back to fetch the abandoned curry before stepping over to throw it away. Akechi's trash is very diligently sorted, and Akira wonders if that was him or his mother. ]

I'll wash this out.

[Both, really-- he learned the habit from his mother when he was young. He stays seated on the couch while Akira claims the forgotten container and dumps it in the compost, smudging his hands over his eyes until they itch less.]

[Truthfully, he's not sure why he's less spiteful at Akira, now. It's possibly in some small part because of his near-breakdown, or of his own current one, or the fact that they're both in a state of disrepair that really only the other fully understands. He doesn't want to be understood, not really, but... Coming from someone like Akira, who is possibly just as fucked up as he is, it's less of a blow to his pride.]

Sorry, I meant to put it up.

It's fine. I'll ... cook you dinner, tonight, maybe. Depending on how everything goes. [ Which is to say, if no one else wakes up from the fake reality, Akira really, really does not want to be in Leblanc. More than that, when he isn't in Leblanc, it doesn't seem like he's really missed, either -- a text here and there about whether he'll be back, but no one bothers him. No one worries.

He supposes that's the "perfection" of this world, but it's mostly just the freedom to stay in the safe space of Akechi's apartment. ]

[He hugs the ugly pillow back to himself a moment.] I don't... have much in the way of cookware, you might find that difficult.

I'll buy you a stock pot. You've gotta have a knife. [ Surely even Akechi has to cut things, right? Outside of the Metaverse, at any rate: he's certainly got the pointy object niche covered as far as that goes, given the way his fingers are blades half the time.

Which Akira actually thinks is kind of hot, and that thought trail is how he knows he's avoiding his problems. Cool, cool, cool. Neat and cool. ]

I can't... be in Leblanc until everyone else remembers. So I'll just have to bring the curry and coffee to you. [ He says it with a smile that clearly says 'please don't kick me out'. ]

[He angles himself to look over the back of the couch at him, and points to a knife block in the corner.] It was... a Christmas gift, one year, I believe. Someone at the precinct said I looked like a foodie. I occasionally use them to put jam on toast.

You are a foodie, you're just not the kind that cooks for yourself. [ He's read your blog. He has your photos saved to a folder on his phone labelled FUTABA NO that she usually, usually respects and does not look into, but sometimes she does and it's usually to make fun of him.

He goes over to inspect the blades, since he's done washing out the curry container and setting it to dry. They're... they could be in worse shape, given they're used to put jam on toast instead of actually cut vegetables. ]

That's why you know me.

I disagree, but you are correct that I don't cook for myself. Unless you include the microwave. I'm lucky to live in a condo with a decent kitchen at all, but it goes a bit to waste.

[He folds his knees up and curls around them and the pillow in his grasp, entirely forgetting he planned to wash his face so they could go get konbini coffee.] But if you're offering to cook for me, I suppose it wouldn't be right to refuse your presence.

You've been pretty emphatic about refusing it up to now. [ Akira -- likes, Akechi; he likes being able to spend time with him, he likes being able to listen to him, even if he's being caustic and insulting, but Akechi seemed so intent on removing even that. Killing Akira; dying; being in jail -- he was steadily removing every avenue of contact Akira could get to him by.

No wonder Maruki gave him Akechi-lite, honestly. ]

... I'm more jealous of the bathroom, though. [ Yeah, he'll just skirt around the subjects that hurt him, apparently. ]

So much that a false reality provided you with a me who relied on you too much. [Sorry for your attempt to skirt away from that one, Akira.]

[Akechi... doesn't really know what he thinks of Akira, in all honesty. It's been an ugly tangle of raw emotions for a long time, and between shooting him in the head, nearly dying, and throwing himself bodily at turning himself in to face the consequences of what he'd done, he hadn't made time to unravel any of them. He needed Akira functional, specifically for the purpose of them fighting Maruki, and especially under the pretense that it might only be them, but beyond that it was hard for him to quantify his view on the guy.]

[He was interesting. They'd been rivals. Then abruptly, Akira had gotten too close too fast, and Akechi was still reeling from how hard he'd backpedaled trying to get away.]

[He sets the pillow aside and stands.] Don't be jealous of anything here, I never chose this space nor did I ever really claim it as my own. I live here because it wasn't conducive to what I was trying to accomplish to defy what was provided for me.

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