stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

[He oozes, more than anything else, into a slumped position against Akira's front, about halfway to sliding into his lap.] Yeah. I still need to catch back up on Featherman, Futaba's going to kill me.

She downloads them all onto my laptop for me. [ Remotely, because Akira doesn't actually fully understand how torrenting works or how to use a VPN. He just lets Futaba do what she will, and periodically watches Featherman while studying. ]

C'mon. [ He shifts a little, moving to wiggle over so he can grab the laptop off the desk without fully detaching from Akechi. ]

Don't kill me if I fall asleep, though.

I won't, [He mumbles, wiggling a little until he's on the outside of the bed.] L'mme... stay over here, I don't wanna trip over you if I get up.

Okay. [ Akira sets the laptop up. There's a desktop folder titled WATCH ME NERD that contains all of Featherman, including several seasons that are, at the least, considerably outdated. ]

Which one did you leave off on? [ He settles back against the wall, next to Akechi, letting the laptop rest on both of their legs in between the two of them. ]

Sixteen of season eight, I think, [His eyes are closed, and he's not even really directed at the laptop, but it's fine.]

[ Akira turns it on. He keeps the volume and the screen brightness both low, to help ward off any of the headaches. He wonders if it's the same episode in both realities? He'll have to check, when... if they ever get back to the real reality.

He shifts slightly to wrap an arm around Akechi. He isn't exactly encouraging him to lean against him, but -- no, that's a lie, he totally is. ]

[He mumbles something unintelligible, either about Featherman or maybe about Akira's unsubtle bid for cuddles, but he doesn't deny them, either. He drops sideways into him and buries his face in the side of his neck, his skin too hot and his breathing and heartbeat both erratic for a while until combined effort of Akira and Featherman lull him into a healing state of unconsciousness.]

[And things were okay for a while, after that. Akechi continued to have strange dreams, but he decided to not talk about them. It was a strange impulse, at first, because the second one he woke up from shouting and had to push past his mother's concern to be violently sick, he decided while hunched over the toilet that he would maybe not tell Akira immediately because of how stressed he'd been about the first one. His mother's hand on his back was cold in a really disorienting way, and at the same time he realized her hands shouldn't be cold, a part of his brain clicked into place that told him he could under no circumstances trust Kurusu with the vulnerability of being up at 2am vomiting nerves over a nightmare about killing Okumura Kunikazu.]

[His brain wandered between being alarmed that he was having multiple dreams about killing his friends' parents, being confused that he called Akira by his family name, something he hadn't done in years, and wondering why his mother's hands were always cold from that point onward.]

[Independently, his mother had reached out to Akira. She called Leblanc on the yellow phone on the counter instead of texting him-- she had his ChatID because she was friendly, and Akira was extremely important to her son, but it wasn't something she wanted Goro to be able to come across, even if by accident. So she called, and she spoke to Sojiro for a bit before asking to speak to Akira, and asking if she could trouble him to find a reason to stay over for a few nights. Goro hadn't been sleeping well, and in a drastic response had chosen to not sleep at all a night or two, and she didn't know how to help him. She knew he and Akira were close, and she didn't bother to ask how close, but she knew if anyone could convince Goro to sleep, and potentially soothe him enough to sleep a full night through, it would be Akira.]

[Akechi, of course, was nonethewiser, running at 47.5 hours since he had last slept, trying to ignore the way his hand shook as he picked up his third mug of coffee in as many hours.]

[ Akira knew this was going to come. He knew it was going to happen, so he was prepared for it, in a way: he hears himself make promises to Akechi's mother and calm excuses to Sojiro; he brushes off their concern as he sets out. Things have been steadily breaking, and he's waiting for the moment everything cracks -- he can see it happen, in the way Morgana looks at his hands too long in confusion, in the way Futaba will look at her mother with a stricken expression, in the way Ryuji's leg sometimes gives out for no good reason.

So he was waiting for this. He leaves his bag at home. It feels too light without Morgana inside of it, and there's nothing he needs to bring when Akechi is clearly not in need of any coffee. He does bring a container of curry and rice, but it's more to placate Akechi's mother than anything else.

He doesn't think Akechi will be eating.

He gets to the door and inhales, slowly, glancing at the chat as Futaba says it's weird that Morgana doesn't have a chat ID, right?. He turns his phone off and knocks, offering Akechi's mother a smile and an easy platitude before he steps in to see Akechi. ]

... hey. [ Is all he offers. ]

[He looks... terrible. Truly. His skin is sallow and his eyes are sunken, he hasn't brushed his hair in the better part of a day, and with the way he keeps scrubbing a hand backward through it, it's sticking up in at least four directions at any given angle. He nearly drops his coffee mug at the sound of Akira's voice, dropping his pen in favor of setting it down not too hard, and there's a brief, almost glitch-like flash of viciousness in his expression when he looks up.]

K-- [He flinches, exhaling and looking at his mug, then his mess of papers all over the table, and when he looks back up he looks even more tired, somehow.] Akira?

[His mother steps briefly into view behind Akira, and Goro's eyes shift to her-- the guilt in her expression undoes any covertness she managed up until that point with asking Akira over. His stomach drops.] ...oh.

Hey. I brought you dinner. [ Akira hears the way Akechi falters when he addresses him; sees that flash of viciousness in his eyes for a brief moment, and there's something almost -- comforting, about it? Akira's smile is a little tight, because it's bittersweet; it's like looking straight at an oncoming train without trying to move out of the way when you're planted on the tracks. ]

Do you want to talk? [ Akira knows the answer is "no", but he doubts this Akechi is going to turn him away. This Akechi, who is just refusing to sleep rather than dealing with the negative turmoil of emotions.

Akira wonders if Akechi went through all of this the first time he killed someone. If he dealt with it alone, while keeping up his image, without letting anyone know.

It makes Akira's stomach turn to think he's making Akechi relive it. ]

[He remembers telling his mother, while she rubbed his back even after he was done being sick, that he didn't want to tell Akira. That he worried, last time, that he was so upset, that he'd tell him later, but not yet. That she'd gone and told him at least enough to make him come over, and talk so gently to him felt like a betrayal, but his eyes just got hot and he looked away from them both. He shuffled his papers, carefully stacked them and slipped them back into a folder, shaking his head but getting up anyway.]

[He leaves his coffee on the table, gesturing down the hall for Akira to go ahead and go into his room. As he turns to follow him, a deep-set ache settles into his bones when he fixes his mother with a look that belies how betrayed he feels. The memories and voices buried deep in his heart and the back of his mind scream at him for it, but he can't help it. The slivers of the real Akechi Goro splintering their way in fractions up through his skin howl in dismay, knowing it would be the last time he looked at her, but the Akechi Goro of Maruki's twisted reality has no understanding of why he feels so ill about it, and closes his bedroom door behind him.]

[He's not entirely aware of the tears that make his vision distort as he stares at his feet, leaning against the door. His voice is a shattered whisper.] Why are you here?

[ Akira doesn't reply for a long moment. He looks at the bedroom -- it shifts under his gaze, like a safe room, giving a glimpse into that unlived in bedroom that Akechi actually lived in. Instead of this -- this room with books, with a blanket that must have been purchased from his mother, with a very modest collection of Featherman merchandise relegated to a single shelf so as to not be too embarrassing, with trinkets and gifts and books and things that make it look like someone exists. Like someone was happy here. ]

... you should tell her you love her. Don't let her think you're mad at her for caring about you.

[He does not, in fact, tell his mother he loves her.]

[His jaw slides closed with an audible click, and he clenches it a moment, snapping his head up and directing his-- anger? Confusion? He doesn't know what he's feeling right now, really, except that he's rubbed raw like an open wound.] Why, am I going to dream about killing her, next? Akira, you know what's going on, or you wouldn't be here. Just tell me.

Please. [ Akira's voice cracks on it, because it's a plea -- he feels like it's the one thing he might be able to do right, the one thing he might be able to do right in this entire mess. He's never been able to do anything meaningful for Akechi. All he's done is cause him more and more pain. ]

If I tell you, it's going to be too late, so --

[ It's already too late, Akira thinks. He waited too long. ]

Is-- is that why I'm scared of you? You keep... making it sound like something's going to happen.

[He looks down at his feet again, then brings his hands forward, looking at them and then back up at Akira.] And it... involves you? And my mom? [Between Akira's pleading and the strange horrified snarling that's getting harder and harder to ignore in his own head, he reaches one hand back toward the door handle, but doesn't turn it.]

You're -- scared? [ Akira looks -- sick at the thought, and he can't make eye contact. His hand squeezes together into a fist before he manages to make it relax, because this isn't how any of this should be going. He looks up at the ceiling of Akechi's bedroom. It's very clean. ]

That's fine. It's fine, so -- before it's too late, tell her -- [ Akira can feel the pressure building as Akechi starts to connect the pieces, and Akira has never before wished that Akechi wasn't as smart as he is. ]

Not-- it's, more like I don't trust you like I'm used to. I keep thinking of you by your family name, and I haven't called you that in years, and I don't want to tell you things-- [He flinches again, the hand on the doorknob wrenching away from it in favor of gripping the side of his head.]

[The sound of pain he makes is very distinctly Loki.]

[ Akira's eyes sting. Akechi isn't going to do it because of course he isn't; the Akechi that he knows -- the Akechi he fell in love with -- never does the things Akira wants him to do, never does the things that are in his self-interest, so why would he do this? Why would he make this easy? ]

Because they weren't dreams. [ Akira sets the curry down before he drops it, either when this reality finally shatters or when Akechi inevitably punches him. ]

I didn't want to wake you up if you were happy, but you can't -- I can't -- I can't make the decision for you --

[ Akira blinks hard, looking away from Akechi again. ]

You're going to hate me even more, huh.

[He always has been something of a bifurcated person when it comes to what he wants and what he does. How he thinks that acting one way will push away all the things that can hurt him, when he's also pushing away all the things he wants at the same time. He makes another animalistic yowl of sound, throwing his weight backward into the door behind him and gripping at his head, still.]

[His mother's voice calls out to him in concern, and it's oddly distant. He raises his head from his hands sharply with a gasp, and if Akira looks, it probably hurts more still that the usual sharpness and exhaustion is there, but the sincerity of the fear in his eyes mixes into it. Her voice calls out again, closer this time. Akechi struggles to make himself use Akira's given name.] Akira,

[The doorknob rattles behind him, and he shifts his hand to hold it still. She calls out to him again, rattling the doorknob a little harder. Clarity claims his features, and he turns sharply, whirling in place and turning the doorknob to wrench the door open.]

[The reality shatters, and with it, his mother.]

[ It's probably the last time Akechi's going to call him Akira, and Akira can't enjoy it because all he can hear is the fear in Akechi's voice, and then the door is open and --

Akira looks stricken. He wanted Akechi to be able to say goodbye, he didn't want -- he didn't want that. It spans outwards from her, like a crack under pressure: the warmth of the condo is removed, cozy yellows and browns giving way to harsh blue and grey, the minimalism of Akechi's former life in stark contrast to what it was with his mother there.

It's so much more empty. ]

... I'm sorry. [ Akira's never sounded quite so broken. ]

[He must have reached for her, and it's strange because being that it was an augmented reality, none of what was in it should have been able to affect the true reality once it was reset. He chalks it up to psychosomatics, then, that the sudden shift in the capacity of his condo from the augment to the truth caused just enough of a rift in something that it sliced open his palm as if on a piece of shattered glass.]

[He drops to his knees unceremoniously in the doorway, and like everything else in his condo, he's just strangely still.]

[Eventually his palm itches, and he raises it to turn it outward and scratch the source, not stunned enough by the gash across it or the stark pool of crimson. His voice is extremely hollow.] ...Kurusu, there's a first aid kit in the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, I'll need you to bring it to me.

[ It's something to do. It's something he can do, so it helps; he blinks away the heat in the corner of his eyes and pushes his glasses up to scrub at his face with his sleeve. It isn't his place to be upset by this. It isn't his place at all when Akechi is the one --

He jerks forward, going to the bathroom automatically to get the first aid kit. The curry he'd brought looks starkly out of place, now, the tupperware bright and cheerful on a backdrop of depression made manifest.

When Akira gets back, he drops down to his knees, too. ]

... let me see.

[He looks up and shifts his hand into Akira's line of sight, moving slowly like his limbs are leaden. Looking back to his hand, he bends each of his fingers, stiffly to make sure he hadn't cut deep enough to cause nerve damage-- it was his left hand, he needed it functional. When he's met with motion and sting and the pool of crimson getting darker from compressing the cleaved layers of skin, he looks back to Akira.]

Don't touch me, just put the kit down.

[ Akira does. He doesn't quite flinch, but there's a tension in his frame that gives away his emotions. It's always been his body language that has more tells than anything else -- and there's none of it right now, which is the biggest tell of all. He just sets the kit down, then sits, automatically, letting his back thump against the wall. It isn't like there's anyone else to disturb in the condo now.

Akira doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know what to say. The right thing? He never knows the right thing when Akechi is involved. He's never once been able to save him, save for tackling him at the right moment in the depths of a ship and both of them getting lucky.

Akira's posture is probably very familiar to Akechi -- it's the posture of someone trying to make themselves appear smaller than they are. ]

[He takes a moment to focus on his hand, opening the kit with his right and rifling through it. He stems the blood flow, gives it a cursory wipe in an effort to kill any bacteria on the surrounding skin, and then wraps it with gauze until his palm somewhat resembles a mitt. It should take some time for it to bleed through that, and if he's smart with it, maybe it will scab over before it gets to that point.]

[As he wrapped his hand, he took note of Akira's silence and shrunken posture in his peripheral. A piece of medical tape applied to keep the gauze from unraveling, he raises his head to actually look him over.]

Stop looking so distraught, it was only a matter of time. You said it yourself, you couldn't make the decision for me.

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