stealhearted | are you hurting the one you love?

Convince you that I liked you. That I wanted you. That I'd find a way out -- that we'd fight Shido ourselves, that we'd help you, that we'd do whatever you needed. I was scared that I'd die and you'd be alone and--

And you'd hate yourself for it and there wouldn't be anyone to stop you. [ There wouldn't be Akira; there wouldn't be the Phantom Thieves; there wouldn't be anything. And then Shido would probably have killed Akechi, and it would have all been for nothing, and it aches to think about, to think about Akechi alone in that kind of a world, even if it was because of his own deeds.

Akira lays underneath him, almost listless until he reaches up, until he pushes his hands through Akechi's hair and then grips on it, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to keep him in place. ]

I was scared of dying, and I was scared of leaving you, and I was scared of how helpless I felt. [ Of how helpless Akechi must have felt, even if he wouldn't admit it. ]

[He never handles sincerity well. Maybe that's why he's always been so weak to Akira. He takes a handful of short little breaths, holds them, swallows them almost, flinches at each point Akira makes, bunches inward with every statement. His hands splay and lay flat, and his fingers slowly curl at his shoulders until he's gathered a bit of his shirt in each hand, and for the first time he really tries to hear him.]

[It doesn't work as well as he thinks it should, maybe, but he's staying put and allowing Akira's hands in his hair to ground him.] I already hate myself, [He's quiet and almost deadpan about it, but manages a slight laugh.] It..., you never should have worried for your own life because of me. You should worry about your own life because you want to live.

[ Akira is quiet for a long moment, because the conversation is churning up thoughts that he's tried not to think. Thoughts that he's never voiced outloud, because he was afraid it would give them too much power. ]

Before... Tokyo. I thought... I didn't think anyone would miss me. And if there wasn't anyone that would miss me, and if there wasn't anything that I cared about, then -- [ Then was he even really alive at all?

He wonders, sometimes, if he hadn't tried to save that woman, what would have happened? Would he have just continued on, in that lonely house, in that school where no one really wanted to know him past his appearance, in that small town? ]

But I wanted you. I wanted to help you. I wanted--

[ And then it clicks, suddenly, and Akira lets out an exhale, slow and steady,trying to stabilize himself, trying to catch on the parts that he normally only thinks about when he's up too late and the darkness presses in on him like flies buzzing inside of his skull. ]

I wanted to save you, so you could save me. So that we wouldn't be alone anymore.

[ Akira laughs, a little, which doesn't quite match up with the look on his face at all. ]

You thought I'd hate you because you think you're rotten inside, but I thought you'd be bored of me when you realized I'm empty inside.

[Akechi thought it would take forever for him to understand Akira's construct of love. That he would never really get it, that he'd just tolerate it, give in to his own loneliness enough to let him have his affection sometimes. He didn't really think he was capable of love, anymore. Not of receiving it, certainly not of giving it. Akira was right when he said he thought he was rotten inside, because he was-- he felt like the flesh of a rotten peach, beneath the hardened skin he'd built up through his teenage years, through stomaching working for Shido. Too soft, it gave way too easily to anything, and you couldn't even eat it anymore, and the smell--]

[But as Akira exhales, slow and steady as he does, as he continues-- he wanted to save Akechi, so Akechi could save him --Akechi inhales, and a bit of the rotten, sickly-sweet flesh around his heart throbs. He realizes he was just lying to himself, again. He never had to suss out the details or cross-reference any notes, because he already understood, he just wasn't allowing himself to see it.]

[One of his hands unfolds from around the fabric of Akira's shirt at his shoulder, travels downward, and splays directly over his heart. He can't really tell if he's smiling or just grimacing-- it could be either, but he can't see straight anymore, anyway, closing his eyes around the easiest tears he's ever cried in his life.]

You-- really are a fool. You aren't empty, Akira. You're just too full of what everyone else wants, you took this long to decide what you wanted. Or-- at least, to admit it to yourself. [As he says it, he realizes he's saying the same words to himself, and it's a bizarre sort of epiphany. He's not really rotten, he's just rotting, because he's let himself ignore what he's wanted for so long, the same as Akira has. Except Akira just hollowed, because at least he knew, he just couldn't act, whereas Akechi rotted, because he was the poison destroying them both.]

Stay still.

[He leans forward and kisses him again, and it's a lot less desperate than it was in the alley.]

[ Akira feels empty, most days. It's different when he's around people, but he thinks that might be worse, sometimes, the way he changes to fit the situation and the relationship, the way he can remember a thousand details about his friends but offers up so little of himself. They never pry into it, never pry into him, and he --

He wishes they had, maybe.

Akira doesn't move when Akechi kisses him, just lets the buzzing off his mind slowly settle back down into a dull roar so he can focus on the moment, on the feel of Akechi's lips on his. His hands are still in Akechi's hair, and he looses his grip, nails scraping through Akechi's scalp as he contemplates the merits of never letting him go again.

Akira has wanted nebulous, vague things; concepts more than anything else, for most of his life. A family like the ones he could read about in manga. A relationship like he saw reflected in other people. He'd built on it in Tokyo, built up from the ground, built friends that fought for him when he was in jail, that believed in him, that trusted him, that knew him as deeply as he'd allowed.

But wanting Akechi is different entirely, because it's like a lightning strike inside of him that jerks his focus onto Akechi whenever he's nearby. It fills up all the parts of Akira that Akira thought were only ever going to reflect what others needed, and Akechi --

Akechi was still there.

Something in Akira relaxes, just a little. ]

[Akira feels like a fever, Akechi decides. He's heat and he's disorientation, makes the tips of his fingers feel numb and the bends of his elbows sweat, and he doesn't think he likes it all that much, but he can adjust. He thinks.]

[So he keeps kissing him, slowly easing to lay down alongside him, slotted to him and perched up on his chest, letting his hands wander their way up into his hair and trace patterns into his scalp. Akira's fingernails against his own elicit a soft sort of rumble of sound, because that feels strangely pleasant, and he draws away a moment later because his lips have gone numb, he thinks.]

[He's still crying, a little, but it doesn't feel like it. It doesn't feel like the horrible dam-breaking pressure release it does when he gets too tangled up in himself, it's just... Tears. And he only notices because he's gotten Akira's face damp, and as he licks them his lips taste like salt, but only dully. They mostly taste like Akira, and he can't really determine just what Akira tastes like, yet, but he likes it.]

You aren't empty.

...Not when I'm with you. [ Maybe not ever, but just like it's a slow sort of descent for Akechi to allow the idea of someone loving him, it's the same thing for Akira. It would be nice to do it in leaps and bounds, but he's found that it's rarely ever that simple -- which is unfortunate, but that seems to be how these things work. He learned enough about therapy to know that you'll make as many losses as you will gains with this sort of thing.

For a moment, Akira's genuinely not sure which one of them is crying, because it feels like it could have been him. It might have been him contributing to it, but it's more apparent on Akechi, so he just reaches up to wipe underneath Akechi's eye, to think about the amount of concealer he's going to have to use if he wants to look at all presentable tomorrow.

Maybe they can stay in all day. ]

You'll make me feel less empty, and I'll make you feel wanted. Maybe that's how it works. [ Akira sounds almost distant, because he's really very new to this whole relationship thing that they're both not quite sure they're doing yet. ]

[He's going to look like a puffer fish tomorrow, he is not leaving this attic unless it's in sunglasses and a hat, and he's reasonably sure they have neither. He would suggest one of Sojiro's, but not only would he look horrendous in a fedora, he doesn't want to have that discussion even a little.]

[He purses his lips and then tsks softly, sighing and settling down to lay on Akira's chest again, grumbling softly. Ineffectually. He shifts, craning himself at an angle to kiss the line of Akira's jaw, absently.]

I think we've both broken how anything is supposed to work, at this juncture.

[ Akira leans into the attention like a very large cat, wrapping his arms around Akechi a little more securely than he needs to. No, that's a lie -- he does need to, right now, more than anything. He can't keep pretending otherwise. He's pretty sure Akechi will punch him next time. ]

Then we'll remake it. Better. Stronger. Uh... Smarter. [ Something like that, anyway. Whatever they break, they'll repair in their own way, because Akira thinks they might both already be broken, and they're being repaired like a favorite cup, repurposed instead of replaced. ]

[Akechi allows it-- he veered to the side of overstimulated a bit, before, but he's starting to realize that sometimes his disinterest in being touched is more due to the intensity of the roar in his brain than his actual distaste for contact. Akira, at least, is pretty consistently an acceptable form of affection.]

[It helps that he gives off enough heat for like six people, he thinks.]

[A snort, and he rolls his eyes, jabbing Akira in the chest with his chin.] It is not necessary to punctuate every difficult moment with your stupid humor, you realize.

It's not necessary, but it's fun. [ And familiar in a way that doesn't make Akira feel like he's smothering in the intensity of his own emotions, which -- not great. Definitely understands why Akechi keeps crying. As much as Akira wants to wade through all of Akechi's issues and fix them, he knows it's not that easy, and moreover he knows that now that Akechi knows about Akira's issues --

Well, turnabout's fair play. ]

Huh. We were supposed to be watching things again. [ Akira is starting to think he'll never finish this season of the X-Folders. ]

Your sense of humor is beyond me.

[But he allows it, because he's registered that it's a defense mechanism. He won't always put up with it, but they've both had a rough day. He shifts, rolling onto his back but staying close enough to be touching, squinting.]

...can I make a request, first?

Always. [ Akira won't always actually obey the requests, he thinks, but it's good for Akechi to say them anyway, to get a grasp on each other. They both need to have boundaries in place before they can start breaking them --

It's possible they're doing things in reverse.

Akira lets Akechi roll away, letting his hands trail across Akechi's chest with the movement, and then he just leaves them resting there, almost absently. ]

[He breathes in and sighs the breath out, relaxing and trying to memorize the sensation, but turns his head to give Akira a slight frown.]

Coffee. Otherwise my eyes may just seal shut and never open again.

[ Akira snorts. ]

You're in the right place. [ He lets his hand drift up to drag his knuckles across Akechi's temples in a gesture that's little more than a loving caress, and then he slowly moves himself upright and scrubs at his face. ]

Okay. Sure. Wanna stay up here?

[He sits up with him, but pretty promptly folds his legs up to his chest and holds onto them at the knees.] ...I'll likely have to sit by the stairs, but if you wouldn't mind. [He doesn't want Sojiro to ask why he looks like a pufferfish.]

Yeah. That's fine. [ Akira stands, stretching like he's entirely limbs and has no actual joints, save for the ones that crack under the strain. He makes a quiet little mmph noise when he does it, like he's simultaneously releasing the built up strain of laying down and also the emotional roller coaster they keep unintentionally riding. ]

I should grab us food, anyway. [ Akira does the bare minimum to make sure he's presentable before he starts downstairs. ]

[Akechi watches, his eyes about half-closed, and uncurls from his spot on the bed to wander after him, sitting on the landing as Akira descends.]

[And while he's down there, he listens-- just in a general sense. It's not specifically aimed to be eavesdropping, he just appreciates the ambience of Leblanc, but doesn't really want to exist in it right at this moment.]

[ There's quiet discussion when Akira descends, but it's just about the normal cafe things -- the sounds of Akira putting on an apron, helping around the cafe as he brews some coffee. Sojiro telling him not to stay up late in an exasperated tone; that kind of thing. Every so often there will be a long draft of semi-silence, broken by the television or someone's quiet laughter.

It's peaceful. Akira enjoys it, quietly working to make curry and coffee both while Sojiro periodically advises him. Akira doesn't really need the advice, anymore, but it's nice to have it. Akira understands it's basically Sojiro's way of caring, so it's a welcome change, these days.

The only thing of any real note that might drift up is Sojiro murmuring something about taking in another stray, and Akira advising him that after the number three he can probably get the next one on discount.

Akira heads back upstairs after a little while, hands smelling like dish soap, two bowls of curry and cups of coffee balanced precariously on a serving tray.

He offers the coffee over, first. ]

It's not your usual blend, but I think you'll like it.

[Akechi watches him climb the stairs and climbs his way back to his feet, walking backward and offering his hands out to take something-- don't throw things on the floor on your way up, sir, you could have asked for his help. He accepts the coffee and immediately folds both his hands around the cup and curls it close to his body, humming as he breathes in the aroma.]

Mmn, I'm not sure I've tried a coffee here I don't like. [Even if he usually does get the same thing.]

I don't think Sojiro has bad coffee here. [ Akira offers over the curry plate next -- notably, there are more carrots in it, and the carrots are all cut into little flower shapes. ]

Don't drink it without eating something. [ Given how emotionally wound up they've been, Akira's pretty sure they'd both be begging for ulcers. ]

[He shifts the cup to hook on two fingers and takes the plate, not looking directly at it for a moment. So as he's walking back across the room he stops, looking down at the plethora of carrots and the fact that they're cut into little flowers. He's... stunned. He's not sure what to do with that.]

[So he just stares at the plate a while, and then looks back up at Akira from across the room, to the plate, back.] What is...?

I promised I'd make it with extra carrots. [ Akira genuinely doesn't even think about the carrots being cut into cute shapes as weird, because he's so used to doing it for people he likes -- the girls all love it, Yusuke compliments the beauty, and Ryuji doesn't even notice because he's busy inhaling the food, generally. ]

That's okay, right? [ Akira is suddenly nervous that he has completely misread the situation and Akechi actually hates carrots or something. ]

[He nods, making a vague sort of sound and moving to perch on the couch-- he remembers Akira being a little odd about drinking coffee in bed, before, so he doesn't want to assume it's fine to eat and drink, there. He keeps right on staring at the plate, clearly a little compromised by it, and balances it on his knees with the cup of coffee still hooked around his fingers.]

It's... yeah. It's fine. [He didn't really expect him to remember, or... Just, mostly is overwhelmed with the gesture. He's pretty easy to overwhelm with pleasantries meant solely for him. He's smiling, just barely.]

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1/2 because, reasons.

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