stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

It's not babysitting. I'm not -- it's just... [ Akira looks away, and his hand goes back up to his hair, without thinking about it; his posture is a little hunched over, like he's trying to make himself a little bit smaller without going full meltdown about it. ]

...I was alone, in Leblanc. For awhile. So I just -- I think about you being alone in your condo, with the rest of the world moving on without you because they're all happy, and I don't want that. Even if it's only me, I don't want to move on without you.

I'm used to being unwanted, Kurusu, if you haven't forgotten. It isn't an unwelcome reminder to me that the world turns without paying me any mind. [He's-- frustrated. Akira is frustrating. He wants to care for him and pay attention to him and he doesn't want to "move on without him", but he's not taking into consideration that he may want to be forgotten. All he wanted for years was to be seen, for someone to recognize what he did, and now the idea is soured in his heart and his mind because he had it, he had the attention of all of Japan and some of the whole world, but it was all a lie. It was fake, and he was setting himself up.]

[So he thinks he's allotted some time to be forgotten. Or maybe he'd just like to forget himself.]

[ Akira doesn't flinch, this time; he just gazes, unseeingly, across the cafe. There's a child telling her mother all about her day in preschool; the barista is reading a manga in her downtime; everything looks pastel and warm in the morning light and it makes Akira's stomach twist. ]

...I want you. [ It's quiet, careful; it's honest, and that's dangerous, with Akechi, because Akechi is volatile and likely to throw anything honest right back at Akira like he doesn't care about it at all. Like he doesn't care about him at all. ]

If you want time alone, I... get it. [ Time without Akira, he means. He understands, even if he doesn't like it; the thought of being alone makes his stomach roll uncomfortably, because Akira hasn't been alone in a very long time and it turns out he isn't any good at it anymore. ] But I don't want a world if you're not in it.

And if I said I did?

[Akira is right to fear he'll spit back at him for his honesty. His honesty terrifies him, it makes no sense to him. There has to be a catch, there has to be something for him to be getting out of this. And in anticipation of that unknown, he's terrified of allowing Akira any closer to what he wants. If he wants Akechi, his time and his attention, when he gets it, he'll want whatever it is he expects from him for it. Nothing in the world came free, came without consequence.]

[Akira's honesty makes his spine itch.]

...I know that. [ Akira sounds both biting and tired, which is kind of impressive, all things considered. ]

You don't want to be in this world, or you think you don't deserve to be in the world, or to be happy. I know that. I know you didn't want me to save you back on the ship. [ Akira sighs. He was doing pretty good about pretending he was fine, but Akechi is finding all his weak points to rip off whatever armor Akira managed to scrounge up. He just feels tired again. He can't be proactive about anything when everything is so exhausted. ]

I know you don't want me to love you. I know you think I'd be better off with someone else, or that I'll snap out of it. That maybe if you died I'd wise up and move on. But I don't think I would.

[ He's so tired. ] I can't let you go.

[He grits his teeth and seethes for a long handful of seconds, eyes closed and coffee cup buckling slightly in one hand. He releases it, bringing that hand back to claw backward into his hair and pull on it at the base of his neck, draws in a breath, exhales.]

[Something in the resigned way Akira insists makes him boil over, and he pushes back from the table, standing.]

[Except he stops. He could storm off, he wants to, or he thinks he wants to. But he just stands there, hands curled into fists at his sides, and looks between Akira and the floor a few times. At first he's livid, his expression all harsh angles and furrowed eyebrows, his lips pulled away from his teeth in a snarl and his shoulders drawn up. An attempt at looking larger, to seem threatening. But the first time he throws his gaze to his feet without spitting something-- anything at him, he gets tangled, words dying in his throat and his posture changes.]

[It's realizing that he wants to be angry at Akira, that it's easiest to blame this all on him, to realizing that he can't accept it because he isn't worth it, that Akira hit the nail right on the head about him, and somehow still fucking wants him that draws him in on himself. His arms come up around his ribs and he just shakes his head, and when he looks back up at Akira again he still looks angry, but in a similarly exhausted way to Akira's own state.] You'll have to learn.

Edited 2021-07-19 18:22 (UTC)

[ Akira doesn't flinch against the words, just closes his eyes and breathes, very carefully. He keeps his eyes closed longer than he might, normally, because he's afraid if he opens them and sees that defeated, enraged look on Akechi's face he's just going to cry again, and they're having this entire argument in public.

He finally opens his eyes again; he neglects to make eye contact in favor of running his hand through his hair. They haven't drawn attention -- is that part of the perfect world? It tastes bitter in Akira's mouth. ]

...So I'll go do my errands, and we'll infiltrate this afternoon. [ Akira stands up, pushing his chair back in as he steps away, coffee in hand. He considers it for a moment, and then chugs the rest without really tasting it. It can't taste worse than the emotion he's currently feeling.

It burns a little on the way down. It's kind of nice. ]

I'll let you know if anyone else wakes up.

[Don't leave me, he wants to say. He tastes the words on his tongue like bile. He hates how badly he wants to follow, how badly he wants to allow himself this simple, stupid thing. Akira benefits from it just by receiving it, doesn't he? Can't that be enough? Just his attention, just his companionship. It's never that easy, he's never enough, never has been and never will be, and surely not as simply as just this. So he fights back, because he can't not fight back.]

When are you going to wake up, Kurusu?! For fuck's sake, this isn't-- [He just yells, wordlessly, keeping his voice as controlled as he can manage and folding forward just enough to grip at the sides of his head without having to raise his arms very far.]

[ Akira jerks back like Akechi hit him. It might be easier if he had. Akira's been waiting for it since the previous night, and Akechi just keeps -- not doing it. They're both waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It comes all in a rush: the hot heat at the corner of his eyes, the knowledge that if he tries to speak his voice is just going to break, the way his pulse kicks up a staccato beat in his chest that makes him feel like he's dying. Like maybe he wants to.

Instead, he just steps around the table, reaches out -- falters; looks away. He just barely brushes against the side of Akechi's elbow. ]

Let's -- leave. [ It's all he can manage right now. They're causing a scene and Akira can't deal with it; can't deal with the idea of other people looking at him in their perfect world that he's going to destroy. ]

[He makes a strangled little sound at Akira's hand on him, standing straighter and smearing his hands inward to cover his face, breathing into his palms for a moment. He exhales in a rush and smooths his hands back through his hair again, pushing his fringe off of his face and letting it fall back where it will in complete disarray. He reaches out blindly, holding his breath and hooking his arm through Akira's to drag them out of the cafe. It was a bad idea-- of course it was, he'd suggested it.]

[He forgets to stop walking once they're on the street, on autopilot until they get to the corner and the sharp sound of an adjacent crosswalk light turning green pops the mental bubble he'd fashioned around them to get out of the cafe. He twists, reaching back and taking a more secure hold of Akira's arm, finding his wrist, finding his hand. He doesn't quite grasp his hand so much as he takes hold of the fleshy part where his thumb connects to his palm, pulls it up near his throat.]

[He doesn't find anything worth saying.]

[ Akira stays silent. He talks more with Akechi than he does with most people, but he feels like it's only serving to get him into more trouble, lately -- and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to keep putting more and more distance between the two of them, doesn't want to keep feeling this cold on the inside.

It's strange, he thinks, that he used to feel this way all the time -- aimless, cold, with only a list of things in his head to do to keep him human, back in his hometown -- but now it feels so wrong. He got too used to having people; having the bright effervescence of the rest of the Phantom Thieves, of Morgana at all hours, of everyone being a text away.

It feels terrible to lose it now that he's felt it. He wonders how much of that applies to Akechi.

But it's something to do -- an item on the mental list, something that keeps him moving forward. So long as he has something, he can keep himself upright, so he helps steer them back to the condo, goes without protest when Akechi moves his arm, his wrist, his hand. It's a neon flashing light in his mind saying get to safety, and he doesn't know what comes after that, but he'll figure out something.

He always does. ]

[Akechi never really had friends. Maybe a few, when he was young, but even then he was always Too Smart, and many of his peers picked on him when he chose to read instead of run around and play on the playground. That was evidenced, in some respects, in his shrieking meltdown in the engine room, in the way he howled about keeping their friendships to themselves. So he didn't quite know where Akira was, mentally, having lost the first taste of good friendships he'd ever had, but it was a similar concept of desperately wanting what he'd once had that had driven him forward for so long.]

[He's immediately subdued when Akira takes over pulling them to his condo, taking slow, measured breaths and swallowing down the violent overflow of emotion he nearly displayed in the cafe. As they climb the stairs he digs into his pocket for his key, unconsciously shifting his hand into Akira's as he pulls on his arm to stop his advance.]

[ Akira stops, obediently. He waits until they're inside, until the door is closed, and then -- taking in a deep breath -- he whirls around to face Akechi, twining their hands together a little further. ]

I don't know what this is. [ His voice is suspiciously even. He's keeping it even, because he can't break down into hysteria. Only one of them can have a breakdown at any given time and right now it's Akechi, so he gives into that so that he can survive, so that he can keep his head above water. ]

Do you want me? [ It's not shy or reserved, this time: it's a question, a bold block of text between them, because Akira can't keep beating around the bush. ]

I'm not asking if you deserve me, or if you're ready, or if you can see a future that includes me. I just need to know if -- even if nothing else in that world was real, if that much was.

[ If it wasn't, he'll figure it out. He'll remove himself as much as he can, cut the emotions out the same way he excised panic and regret after his arrest. He'll move on, eventually. He could probably be happy with someone, even if he tries to imagine it and the person in his mind has golden hair and a vitriolic wit.

But that's only if Akechi is pushing him away because he genuinely doesn't want him, and not out of some misguided attempt at guilt or redemption. ]

[He can't breathe.]

[He sucks in a sharp breath when Akira whirls on him, and the barrage of honesty, statement, question, statements to elaborate on the question, makes him hold the breath there in his lungs. Traps it there, like he feels in the genkan of the condo he's lived in for the vague approximation of two years, his shoes still on, and Akira Kurusu asking the simplest and most difficult question of him he's ever been asked in his life.]

[There's a brief moment where he wonders if throwing up on their shoes would get him out of answering it.]

I don't-- know, I don't know. [Now that he's breathing again, he's gasping, and sagging toward the ground. Sit the baby down before he falls on his ass.]

Edited 2021-07-19 20:13 (UTC)

Okay. Okay. [ It's not a no, which -- doesn't mean yes, exactly, but Akira is fairly certain Akechi wants it to be a yes. He can't prove it, but it's enough; he couldn't stomach the idea that Akechi's affection towards him began and ended in a false reality.

Akira thinks he's been in love for months. He reaches out, letting his other hand go to Akechi's elbow again. It's a steadying gesture, and Akira almost automatically toes his shoes off even as he moves to sit them both down on the rise of the genkan. ]

It's okay. That's enough for me. [ Akira's voice is placating and fond, and just a little relieved. He'd find a reason to keep moving forward, if Akechi had told him no, but he - didn't want to. ]

I'll stay with you until you figure it out or you make me leave.

Stop-- God, stop, please stop.

[He sits as he's guided, but coils away as soon as he's low enough to the ground that he can't hurt himself if he falls. He tangles their fingers, stares at their joined hands, cups them with his free one.] I know you're just-- going to repeat yourself, but I can't. You don't-- you're wrong, it's wrong, I can't. [Yeah, okay, he's. He's not okay.] Stop making this so hard.

I can't. I don't want to. [ Akira reaches out, combs Akechi's bangs back so he can see his face even as Akechi tries to hide himself away. Akira moves forward, in Akechi's space, easy and confident even if he still feels like he'll falter if he's not careful. He feels like he'll break if he's not careful. ]

I needed -- something to work towards. I'd rather it be convincing you that you're worth loving. I'll save the world, I'll save everyone, I'll be their leader, but --

Let me be selfish about this. [ Akira reaches out to pull Akechi towards him. It's not exactly the world's most comfortable hug, given that they're both awkwardly crouched in the genkan, but -- ]

Let me need you.

[He makes an ugly sound, pushing at him as he's drawn close. His chest heaves with how hard it is to breathe normally, but he refuses, outright, to sob.]

For fuck's sake, Akira-- I had the chance to have my mother alive again, and I killed her again instead, what about that makes me worth loving? You can't be serious. [Oh.]

If you killed her, then I'm equally responsible. [ Akira shifts, headbutts at Akechi almost desperately. His grip on him is too tight; his voice wavers slightly. He's thought about it: that choosing to go back to reality feels like he's killing everyone all over again, that he's breaking Ryuji's leg and throwing Shiho off a building and leaving half of his friends orphans. He hates it. He hates it more than anything, but it's wrong to stay in this reality --

It has to be, because even this, arguing with Akechi and crying in a genkan, feels more right than anything else. ]

There's a hundred things about you that I love and you won't believe them even if I list them all out, so if I can't believe that I love you then can't you believe that I need you? You're the only one that's ever seen me breakdown. I didn't even cry when they arrested me for assault, for fuck's sake. I just --

It's just you. It's always you, in the end.

[It grounds him, strangely, to be told he's the only one to ever see Akira break down. It confuses him, also, and he straightens up enough to look at him, confused and red-faced but not quite in tears.]

I-- are you stupid? Of all the friends you've had, you choose the asshole who tried to kill you several times?

I'm a little stupid. [ Akira offers him a slightly self-deprecating half smile, because he knows he must be a little stupid to love someone like Akechi, but -- knowing that hasn't stopped it in the slightest. Sometimes it feels like he's betraying Futaba and Haru, but -- he can't stop.

He hasn't been able to stop for months. ]

I tried. When we were having to make a plan because you were going to kill me -- I tried to be angry, or to pity you instead, or anything. But I couldn't. All I could think was how mad you were going to be when you found out. I thought it would be after we took down Shido. I thought you'd punch me in the face for doing it without you.

[It starts to sink in, slowly, that Akira really does fucking love him, for some inane and intensely idiotic series of reasons. Sure, he's attractive, and has wit and intellect sharper than Joker's dagger, but that's hardly enough to bury his transgressions. He sighs, and looks down at their hands again.] You really...

[And all he's shown for it is contempt, and anger, and disbelief. Violence, and calling him names, and spitting in the face of routinely gentle care, only when he thought Akechi might be able to accept it without crumbling.]

[His eyes abruptly burn, wetness seeping from their corners and he recoils, draws away his hands and throws his weight into the condo properly, kicking off his shoes and crawling away from him, uncoordinated.]

[Can't catch me, gay thoughts.]

[ Well, at least it seems to have sunk in. Akira watches him go, and then slowly raises himself back up to his feet to pad in after him. He isn't chasing, isn't even quite following Akechi's path -- just walking into the condo, unhurried. ]

...I'm going to start on the curry roux. [ Caramelizing onions should be a nice break for the both of them, and if either of them have misty eyes they can, quite literally, blame the food. ]

But I'm right here, okay? [ He's not going anywhere. He can't. He just... thinks Akechi might need a little space now. As much space as either of them can get in this cloying, frustrating little reality. ]

[He moves on all fours until he gets to the couch, pressing his face into the arm of it for a long while until he realizes Akira didn't follow him, and his words sink in. He's starting curry roux. He's giving him space. He's--]

[--infuriating.]

[He drags the pillow he had that morning off the couch and burrows into it for the second time that day, not entirely sorting through the last ten minutes of his life because he can't, thank you, but taking in several deep lungfuls of air and holding them to calm his racing heartbeat. After about five minutes, he presses his face fully into the pillow as deep as it will let him press, and yells for a solid fifteen seconds.]

[And then he gets up, puts the pillow back on the couch, and acts like nothing ever happened. Because of course he does.]

[He watches Akira in the kitchen warily, and then wanders toward his bedroom, only to stop at the mouth of the hallway and stand there a while. It blurs, for a moment, between what he's lived in for two years and Maruki's falsified version of it that included his mother, just to his emotion-addled mind. He closes his eyes and pivots again, moving into the kitchen just long enough to claim the small sunflower decoration he'd set on top of the fridge that morning. It gets moved, this time, to the small table at the end of the hallway.]

[It's going to hurt when he doesn't remember it's there and it reminds him of his mother, but it's going to hurt no matter where he puts it. At least this way, it's a small indication of where her room had been. The apartment he lived in with her as a child had been laid out similarly.]

[ Akira keeps an eye on Akechi. It's not hard. Akechi's knives are supremely unused, saved for his toast antics, so Akira makes quick work of the onion and then sets it to caramelizing, letting the smell of cooking onion flow throughout the condo. It's something that's very Akira, and he almost feels bad about the way he's overtaking Akechi's space. It feels a little like blotting out his mother --

But maybe it's just blotting out the false memory of her that should never have existed. She never lived in this condo; she never grew to have that many grey hairs she swept back into a ponytail; she never walked the path to Jazz Jin with Akechi and Akira and commented on the drinks Muhen served them.

None of that was real, so the memory is fake. Maybe it helps to erase it. Maybe it doesn't. Akira isn't sure anymore.

But: onions. They require enough attention that he can't exactly leave, but not so much that he has to baby them. He stirs them, idly, and watches Akechi out of the corner of his eye until Akechi seems to settle a little, moving the sunflower. ]

You like carrots, right?

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