stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

[ Akira is quiet for a long moment. What does he say? What is he supposed to say to that, when he knows the answer and he can't give it? When he can't be the one to break this fragile illusion? ]

Maybe it's just stress. [ Akira wonders who it was. It couldn't have been the dream of killing him, but he knows Akechi has killed dozens of other people before that -- it could have been anyone.

Any one of those deaths would be upsetting to this Akechi. Akira wonders how upset Akechi was the first time he killed someone. How upset he let himself be. ] Like dreaming that you're naked, but instead it's murder.

[He manages to laugh, this time, even if it's a little damp, and shuffles until the phone is up between his ear and the pillow. It lets him speak quieter, his voice lower.]

Embarrassing as it may be, I'd much rather have nightmares about public indecency than murder. I hope it's just stress-- I don't know what else it would be, it just... It felt so real. [He closes his eyes, sees Wakaba falling in front of Futaba again, hears her screaming, and flinches, sucking in a startled breath.]

[ Akira shouldn't ask. He shouldn't, because it upsets Akechi -- but more accurately, because anything he asks offers a chance for Akechi to wake up out of this fake reality.

Does Akira want that? He thinks he does. He thinks he does, but he can't quantify why, except that he feels like he's completely, utterly alone in a way that he hasn't felt since he first arrived into the city, with the bustle of a thousand people around him and no one that believed in him. ]

...Was it someone you knew? I'm not really a dream interpreter, but it might mean something.

[ Akira keeps his tone careful; level; doesn't let anything in to betray that he knows the kinds of things Akechi must be dreaming about. ]

[He's quiet for a long time, apart from the way his breathing gets stilted again. He leaves his eyes closed, lets Wakaba's expression burn itself into the backs of his eyelids, and only opens them to make Futaba's scream stop echoing in his mind.]

--Wakaba Isshiki. [He knows her full name, obviously, but his tone is-- harsh. It's almost like normal, for a moment, and then he's quiet again, taking ragged little gasps as he amends the statement, less severely.] ...Futaba's mother.

[ The first one, then, if what Akira knows is correct. Wakaba was the first, Akira thinks; the first one Akechi killed and now the first one he remembers having killed. Wakaba is alive and well, in this reality, and Akira knows it -- he saw her earlier; watched the way she and Sojiro and Futaba all seemed to fit together seamlessly into a family unit -- and Akira wonders if it's better or worse.

The people they are now -- isn't it because of the things they've all gone through? Is Futaba the same person; is Akechi; is Ryuji? If it's so easy to break through Maruki's reality, then everyone is bound to do it eventually. Maybe they don't need Akira at all. ]

If it helps, she'd probably have an in-depth cognitive psience explanation for the psychology of dreams, if you've got about an hour to spare. [ Akira keeps his tone light, because he's taking it seriously, but he's still afraid to engage too deeply. He doesn't want to be in another house when Akechi finally remembers. ]

I don't know her nearly well enough to approach her asking her to explain the psychology of a dream in which I killed her, and that is not how I plan to change that.

[He sounds tired again.] ...thank you, for talking to me. I'm... I woke mom up, but I told her to go back to bed. I feel like a child, being so rattled, but... My arm hurts, from the recoil of the Nambu. [He goes quiet again. Why does he know the name of the gun he used? And...] ...Nambu? Those ceased production in the 90s, only the police use them now. Why did I...?

Didn't you watch sentai when you were younger? [ Akira does not point out, graciously, that he is absolutely certain this Akechi also still watches it now. ]

They probably used old guns in those. [ It's a weird thing to do, to reassure Akechi without outright lying to him. Akira knows better than to do that more than he has to, because he knows Akechi is going to remember all of this when he snaps out of it, and "I wanted you to be happy without worry for a little longer" is just going to make Akechi want to throttle Akira.

Which Akira might deserve, he thinks. ]

If you can't sleep, you can stop by for a morning cup of coffee. [ Akira maneuvers through the conversation like he's in a black ocean filled with sharks. ] Being around people usually helps.

I still watch Featherman with Futaba, you know that. [But it's a reasonable statement, even if he can't think of an instance in which a Nambu is specifically used. They're mostly fantastical-looking laser guns and things. The visual of a particular, gold-colored gun flashes across his mind's eye and he flinches, startled by it, curling further into his sheets.]

[He's absolutely going to punch Akira once he wakes up from this, but... There will eventually be a degree of understanding. He did want this enough that Maruki was able to cherry-pick it from his subconscious and present it to him on a platter, after all. Akira was only displaying misguided kindness in trying to let him keep it.]

[He makes a vaguely disquieted sound and sits up, taking his phone with him.] ...Leblanc won't be open for another three hours, Akira.

I'll make an exception to our hours for you. [ Sojiro won't mind -- Sojiro in this world seems to like Akechi. Wakaba and Sojiro both speak highly of him, even if they don't really know him, and why wouldn't they? An upstanding member of society who befriended both Futaba and Akira, polite and intelligent to a fault...

God, Futaba's going to be pissed as hell too, isn't he? She's going to cry. Akira tears his thoughts away from it, because he still hasn't really made his mind up. If he helped Maruki, then this reality -- ]

It's not like Boss minds if he comes in and everything is already done for him.

There are no trains running at this hour, [He's quiet, knowing his argument is largely moot. He could bike to Leblanc in the same amount of time it would take him to take the trains, had done it a number of times in cooler months. He just had a strange reluctance for Akira to see him the way he currently was.]

[What way was that?]

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.

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