[You told him you kept the glove, Akira. He may have not given it to you, it may have not exactly been a gift, but nothing really is, coming from Akechi.]
[He makes a very strange sound, then-- You didn't have an obligation to tell me you were okay. It catches him off-guard, and his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline, his jaw dropping about a centimetre as tries to make a derisive little snort while the rest of him is too stunned that Akira was bold enough to say that to his face. It results in what is best described as a squawk, brief and quiet, his figurative feathers ruffled and puffed to at least three times their usual size by the sheer offense he's been dealt.]
[For starters, he had to wonder what about his coming to Leblanc gave Akira any sort of idea that he was okay. Let alone that it was to tell him as much. He stretches his fingers toward the floor, closes his eyes, fills his lungs, and curls his hands into fists so tight his arms shake, just barely. Blunt fingernails leave little half-moon indentations in his palms while he holds the breath, and then releases it, letting his fingers stretch back toward the floor. This happens twice before he opens his eyes, raising his head and smiling. It isn't an honest smile, but it isn't the ugly, cruel little quirk of his lips he was more prone to recently.]
Then I'd say you haven't a reason at all, let alone a good one. [More than anything, more than Akira and his stupid accommodating kindness and his cozy little cafe loft and more than the entire Phantom Thieves, collectively, Akechi loathes that he can't hide the shake to his voice.]
1/2 because it be like that
[He makes a very strange sound, then-- You didn't have an obligation to tell me you were okay. It catches him off-guard, and his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline, his jaw dropping about a centimetre as tries to make a derisive little snort while the rest of him is too stunned that Akira was bold enough to say that to his face. It results in what is best described as a squawk, brief and quiet, his figurative feathers ruffled and puffed to at least three times their usual size by the sheer offense he's been dealt.]
[For starters, he had to wonder what about his coming to Leblanc gave Akira any sort of idea that he was okay. Let alone that it was to tell him as much. He stretches his fingers toward the floor, closes his eyes, fills his lungs, and curls his hands into fists so tight his arms shake, just barely. Blunt fingernails leave little half-moon indentations in his palms while he holds the breath, and then releases it, letting his fingers stretch back toward the floor. This happens twice before he opens his eyes, raising his head and smiling. It isn't an honest smile, but it isn't the ugly, cruel little quirk of his lips he was more prone to recently.]
Then I'd say you haven't a reason at all, let alone a good one. [More than anything, more than Akira and his stupid accommodating kindness and his cozy little cafe loft and more than the entire Phantom Thieves, collectively, Akechi loathes that he can't hide the shake to his voice.]