stealhearted | after me comes the flood;

[ Akira makes a noncommittal noise, like he agrees but can't quite make himself believe it, which is -- about how he feels about the entire situation. He can't quite get over this dark curl of guilt in his stomach.

Akira pulls his knees up, carefully, falling just short of completely folding in on himself. He lays his head back against the wall and then, softly, very carefully: ]

Were you happier?

[ He still doesn't know if what he's done is right. ]

[He puts away the items of the first aid kit in tense silence, clicking it shut and sighing, letting his shoulders sag.]

That isn't a fair question. [Of course he was happy to have his mother alive. Of course, not having been orphaned and passed around through the foster care system like an unwanted time bomb, only to extricate himself to hatch a plan of revenge that started and ended with blood on his hands was a "happier" life to lead, by default. But it was fake. It wasn't real, and he lived under the rule and thumb of a man who had decided for him what would be best for him, what would make and keep him happy. Even in his usual life of anger and a myriad of situations no one should have to face, let alone a child, he had always fought for his own agency. He wanted, if nothing else, to control his own fate.]

[So was he happier? If Akira wanted to hear it to be upset he couldn't make the world a painless utopia as Maruki had, yes. He was "happier", with his mother alive and his university entrance exams the biggest stress point in his life. But it wasn't his truth.]

I was worried that you were remembering because of me. [ Akira sounds a little distant, a little removed, a little dissociated from the entire situation. His gaze is flat against the opposite wall as he takes in the minor details of the differences. The baseboards are dusty. Were they dusty before? Did Maruki's illusion go that deeply? Did he account for a mother that was terrible at cooking but good at housekeeping?

Was that life the kind of life that Akechi's mother wanted? Did Maruki have to twist her emotions; did he change some fundamental part of her, or did her mind simply slip away from the topic every time she thought about her depression, about Shido, about dying?

It was never going to last. Akira tells himself that and wonders if it's true. ]

I know I should have tried to wake you up sooner. [ But everyone really was so happy, even if it wasn't real. ]

I knew it was wrong the first morning I woke up in a better-furnished condo with my mother alive. [He idly rubs his thumb along the gauze on his palm.] I just couldn't entirely access why that was wrong. Whether or not you played a part in my true consciousness breaking through the facade isn't worth stressing over.

[He rearranges himself carefully, shifting into a crouch and picking up the first aid kit. He pauses and scrutinizes Akira, sees the fragile exterior of calm barely concealing his trauma over the situation.] I appreciate you letting it happen on its own. You know I prefer to handle my own struggles.

You wanted to have a choice in things. [ Akira looks at the ceiling again, instead, and then raises a hand to push blearily at his eyes. His days are running together: he's been meeting with everyone, dropping hints that they should wake up. They haven't, yet. He watches them stutter and then start back up like a skipping CD, and he wonders if that's their choice, if they're making it consciously or not. ]

The palace is in Odaiba. He said we should all "take some time" to decide if we really want to defeat him.

[ Akira leaves it hanging in the air -- that he couldn't make the decision himself; that he didn't want to. He's been paralyzed with indecision, which is unusual, for him, but it felt like he was on a thin road and on either side of the road were endless ravines of additional trauma. There was no good choice. He didn't want to make any of them. ]

And I didn't, here. [He says it firmly, still scrutinizing Akira as he inches ever closer to his own catastrophic meltdown.]

There's no question, there. We'll see if the rest of your friends have the capacity to understand the importance of their own free will.

[ Akira keeps waiting for anger that hasn't come yet. He's waiting -- for Akechi to tell him he didn't do it fast enough, for Akechi to tell him he must have liked the other one better, for Akechi to do -- anything -- to blame him.

But Akechi hasn't, yet, and so Akira doesn't know what to do with all of the guilt he has inside of him. ]

I think they're happy. [ Akira says, inconclusively. And then, fainter: ] None of them remember how they met me.

[ Because they hadn't been phantom thieves. Because they'd just been -- students -- who had become friends despite being different people. There'd been no shared trauma; there'd been nothing to overcome. The bonds feel fragile. ]

[He isn't angry with Akira, because nothing about this situation had been his choice or his fault. He was an easy target for most of his rage when he didn't have a clear path to direct it in, but in this situation he was much, much readier to funnel his incandescence into a needle point to drive right through Takuto Maruki's right eye.]

[Besides, Akira being such a lost puppy about everything made him hard to be vicious with. It was a little frustrating.]

Don't decide that for them. You're no better than Maruki if you do.

[He stands, moving to the bathroom to replace the first aid kit and then standing at an angle to continue to watch Akira as he astral projected on his bedroom floor. It's not exactly concern he's feeling, he thinks-- he's grateful, overall, that Akira was the one to remember and despite that, he still gave Akechi the chance to wake up on his own. He just doesn't like that it's left him bereft of his confidence and the spark of his personality that first made him alluring.]

[There are a few ways to fix this, he thinks, and they all require Akira to purge the stress and the self-hatred, the assumed blame, from his system. His eyes narrow, and he moves back out into the bedroom.]

We both need rest. Do I need to escort you back to Leblanc, or is cohabitation for the time being an acceptable compromise?

[ Akira really does not want to be in Leblanc right now, with the sound of Wakaba's voice periodically drifting upstairs. Even the curry is faintly different -- Wakaba's had several more years to help make changes to it, after all. He can barely look at Morgana these days, and he's worried the smile on his face is starting to get too plastic. ]

...it's fine. I wasn't really expecting to go back tonight. [ In part because he was expecting to get socked in the jaw -- or manage to prevent something, maybe -- or something along those lines. He lets out a breath, slowly, and stands up. ]

You should eat the curry, if you can stomach it. [ Akira knows Akechi hasn't been eating, thanks to Akechi's mother. ]

[He turns his attention to the tupperware as it's mentioned, regarding it for a long moment.] ...I'll refrigerate it for later, my current priority is sleep.

[He picks it up and starts moving toward the doorway, but takes two steps to the side instead, reaching up and setting his hand just below one of Akira's ears. His fingers curl carefully into the hair at the nape of his neck, his thumb resting at his tragus.] I know you aren't skilled at being open with things, but bottling up your current turmoil will only impede us, especially if we wind up having to do this alone. You aren't leaving until you're functionally presentable again.

[ Akira gives a startled sort of laugh that's considerably more wet than it should be, all things considered. He meets Akechi's eyes, but he can't do it for long; the fact that he can't nearly makes him sick. He closes his eyes and breathes in, carefully.

This is stupid. He's been paralyzed and hasn't done anything for two weeks, all the while waiting for someone else to take over. Wasn't he a leader for a reason? What did it matter if he collapsed when it counted? ]

I don't actually know what I'm doing. [ Akira's voice wavers slightly before he gets control of it. ] You've always had more of a plan than I ever did.

It's much easier to plan selfishly than it is to plan for the world, Akira. [He makes a point of using his first name, still staring steadily at him with an impassive frown. That he's willing to admit he doesn't know what he's doing is-- something, at least. It gives Akechi something to work with. To work toward. He could handle taking the reins if Akira couldn't manage it, so long as he could come out of this funk enough to be support. But it's a lost battle before they even try if they go into it as they are.]

[ There's nothing Akira can say. What is he supposed to do -- tell Akechi that the reason he didn't want anyone to wake up was because they might realize they didn't need Akira at all? That Akira helped them, and they don't need him anymore? That he's terrified of going back home, to parents that are coldly clinical, to a town that doesn't care about him? He'll be surrounded by people he can't be himself around, and he'll lose himself all over again, giving away too much for too little because it's all get can get.

He remembers how bitter he was when he arrived in Tokyo; he wonders if that anger will come back. He wonders if he should be angry right now.

He can't say any of it to Akechi. How can he, when Akechi has already said that Akira has everything Akechi wanted? Akira is terrified of losing what Akechi has always done without. It'd just be salt in the wound. ]

...I'll feel better after I get some rest. [ Maybe. ]

[The exchange of Akira telling him he loved him, of the falsified happiness he could never actually had saying he knew, intrudes into Akechi's mind. Coats him like a thick, viscous liquid, like blood that has had time to congeal and thicken. His expression pinches, and he draws his hand away.]

Sleep where you like, then. If you prefer, I don't imagine I act differently while asleep, sharing the bed might let you continue the facade. [Oh.]

[ Akira does flinch, this time. He thinks he'd prefer if Akechi really had just hit him. He might feel better. He takes in a breath, slowly. ]

...I'll take the couch. [ One of the first things Akechi had said, after all, was not to touch him. Akira doesn't intend to violate that unless Akechi explicitly says otherwise. ]

I don't expect you to pretend. [ Because Akira likes this Akechi better, anyway -- he does -- but he imagines it won't come across that way. ]

Then you'd have preferred it stay that way.

[His tone is-- harsh. Hollow again, like before, but harsh this time. He walks past him into the hall.] Take the bed, I won't have my savior putting himself out when he's already done so much. [That... that was downright vicious.]

[ Akira would very much like it if Akechi would just punch him, actually, because with the way things are going Akira thinks he might be sick. He reaches out, automatically, to catch the edge of Akechi's sleeve, almost desperate.

He doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know what to say-- ]

I haven't done anything. [ It's almost like a plea, because Akira doesn't feel like he's done... anything. At all. He found out that Maruki is the center of this -- congratulations, a small child could have figured that out given that his palace was in the middle of fucking Odaiba. ]

I only wanted to stay in that reality because I thought you were happy in it. [ Until Akechi's nightmares had started, anyway, and it had been clear that Akechi couldn't let himself have nice things under any circumstances.

Which, to be fair, Akira understands. ]

You keep saying that like it means something.

[He wrenches his sleeve out of Akira's grip, turning on him.] What is it you want me to say, Kurusu? Yes, take me back to fabricated sweetness that I've known I could never really have since I was seven? Return me to what no one would but upset about regaining? A dead parent, the source of the only real love I've ever experienced-- oh, wait! You loved him, too, didn't you.

I love you! [ Akira's voice rises, because he can't help it -- it almost feels good, to be able to feel something other than the overwhelming anxious churning in his chest. There's something like anger, and a spark of determination he hasn't felt in weeks, a stubborn dedication to trying to make Akechi understand, even if it's only a little. ]

That's why I wanted you to be happy! Nothing changed for me, Akechi! I didn't -- get parents that suddenly gave a shit, or have my criminal record erased! I just got -- friends that were happier without me -- friends that didn't need me -- and you were the only one that -- and I still couldn't keep you there! Because it was hurting you -- because I missed you -- because I knew you'd --

[ Akira breaks off, thumping back against the wall again. The fight is starting to go out of him as quickly as it started, and he brings his hands up, nudging his glasses back out of the way so he can press his palms to his eyes until he can get a grip on the hysteria. ]

-- because I knew you'd be able to make a plan even if I couldn't. I didn't decide to let you wake up on your own. I was just too weak to make a decision in either direction, so you did it by yourself.

[ Because Akechi always does everything by himself, and never lets Akira help him, and maybe that's because --

Maybe that's because Akira isn't as helpful as he thought he was. ]

[He flinches, only just, at Akira's raise in volume. He lets him shout, soaks up the information hurled at him like terribly aimed projectiles. Watches him thump back against the wall, press his hands into his eyes.]

[He strides forward and reaches out, pulling his hands by the wrists away from his eyes.] Do you remember what I told you in the engine room, you fool? You really are stronger than me. You take what's given to you, terrible hands and all, and you continue. You've always persevered. My weakness has always been that I don't know how to handle the shit hand I've been dealt, so I react disastrously. I lash out. I kill people, in case you've forgotten.

[He shifts until he can walk his hands up Akira's wrists to his palms, lacing their fingers, albeit his left being a loose grip to keep from agitating the gauze wrapped around his palm.] You're the only one here who can place the pieces to the puzzles your friends are trying to solve. They're happier because they don't know any better, and they need you to show them that they can't understand happiness if they haven't ever experienced sadness.

[ With his hands removed, Akira can't hide the fact that his eyes are wet; he blinks as he listens and tries to keep the lump out of his throat enough that he doesn't dissolve. He can't break down here. He made it through his entire sentencing with like, one single breakdown, and even that was angrier than anything else -- so why is it so hard now? ]

You're the only one who... you're the only one where your perfect reality had a place for me. You're the only one that wasn't completely happy. [ Akira doesn't know how to fix that. If it's a failing on his part, that his friends could move on so quickly in this reality -- if it's just Maruki interfering. ]

I know... that they'll be angry with me for thinking that they don't need me, but -- [ But what if they don't.]

I know we have to wake them up, and I know we have to defeat Maruki, and I know what the choice I have to make is, but it feels so far away. You feel like the only thing that's real.

[He looks him over carefully-- critically.]

...I think you're wrong to assume you were completely unaffected. The nature of your abilities likely meant Maruki could only scratch the surface of your desires. I can't speak for the others, but-- however he was learning of what we supposedly wanted seems superficial. It seems shallow. And for you, it seems he didn't take into account that your happiness rides on the coattails of the happiness of everyone around you, but with the integral point of you helping them achieve it.

The powers I have at my disposal are like a diluted form of your own. [Not surprising there, given their respective track records.] So it makes sense that I woke myself up with minimal interference. [He stands a little straighter, releases one of Akira's hand to use his left knuckles to bump his face toward him, force him to look at him.] ...so what you need to progress here, is to let go of the stress he's poisoning you with. There's nothing perfect about this reality. That includes that your friends are superficially happy without your influence.

Isn't it selfish? [ Akira can't let himself have this. He wants to -- he does -- but he's as bad as Akechi when it comes to letting himself have something he doesn't think he deserves, and he doesn't think he deserves to get off the hook so easily. ]

I can't just be happy because they're happy, I have to -- [ Akira sighs, too heavy. He's not sabotaging them. He's always been supportive of them, and if he wants reality back that's just because it's real, but -- it still makes it all feel so fragile.

At least he can make eye contact now.

Akira raises his hand, slowly -- reaches out to touch the ends of Akechi's hair. He remembers comforting him after the nightmares. He remembers wondering how much of this was his fault. ]

I've always... said the things that people need to hear. I don't mind that. I've never minded being the person that people need, but -- if no one needed me, then I didn't know who I was.

[ A beat, and then: ]

But I've never had to try and be someone else with you. [ There's a vague attempt at a smile. ] I can never say the right things with you.

Tenacious, aren't you? [He follows his hand with his own to the ends of his hair, curling just the ends of their fingers together in his hair.] This isn't about me.

It is. [ If there's one thing that Akira knows, it's that. That this is as much about Akechi as it is about Akira. ]

It's been about you for a long time, for me. There's just been a lot in the way.

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