[ It's honestly one of the longest speeches Akira has ever given in his life. Most of the time, Akira is content to sit back and listen to other people. He hears their problems and their worries, and he strikes down at the very center of it to help them grow and move past it, without even meaning to do it as well as he does, but they don't usually need speeches.
They don't usually need -- him. Other people need words and confidence and temporary friendship. It isn't as though his bonds with everyone else are temporary, but they're a steady thrum instead of the white hot blaze that Akechi is whenever he thinks about him. Akechi, who doesn't have the things that everyone else has. He doesn't have parents to turn to, teachers, friends, any of it.
But he has Akira. Akira doesn't know if that's enough. He doesn't know if he can be enough for someone, much less someone as white hot as Akechi is, someone who could blot out the sun and Akira might not even notice the sun was gone --
But god, he hopes they can be what each other needs.
Akira doesn't even have to think about it. He goes when he's tugged, and his lips slot against Akechi's entirely too easy, one hand going behind Akechi's neck and the other staying with his fingers splayed at Akechi's throat.
On a literal level, Akechi doesn't taste like anything except the salt of tears, but to Akira, he tastes like everything Akira has needed his entire life and never had a word for. ]
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They don't usually need -- him. Other people need words and confidence and temporary friendship. It isn't as though his bonds with everyone else are temporary, but they're a steady thrum instead of the white hot blaze that Akechi is whenever he thinks about him. Akechi, who doesn't have the things that everyone else has. He doesn't have parents to turn to, teachers, friends, any of it.
But he has Akira. Akira doesn't know if that's enough. He doesn't know if he can be enough for someone, much less someone as white hot as Akechi is, someone who could blot out the sun and Akira might not even notice the sun was gone --
But god, he hopes they can be what each other needs.
Akira doesn't even have to think about it. He goes when he's tugged, and his lips slot against Akechi's entirely too easy, one hand going behind Akechi's neck and the other staying with his fingers splayed at Akechi's throat.
On a literal level, Akechi doesn't taste like anything except the salt of tears, but to Akira, he tastes like everything Akira has needed his entire life and never had a word for. ]