stealhearted | are you hurting the one you love?

[He pops two of the vertebrae between his shoulders, sighing softly as he does, and then opens his eyes to Akira looking strangely plaintive and asking after his own coffee-making. In the dull, pleased tingling of having released some of the constant pressure in his spine due to ~~the stick up his ass~~ his stiff posture, he decides: all right, I'll bite.]

[He brings his arms back up, settling his elbows on the bar and clasping his hands together in front of his face.] Why don't you make me a cup, and I'll see if it's on par.

Challenge accepted. [ He sounds a little like Futaba, but all of his friends have rubbed off on him in their own ways. He's grateful for the excuse to busy himself again, and he sets about making another cup. He's pretty sure his coffee is on par with Sojiro's, these days. He learned from the best, after all.

Whether or not Akechi gives him that win is another story.

He still remembers what Akechi likes, though; he remembers how Akechi takes his coffee, and it becomes apparent which of the two cups he's preparing is for who relatively quickly. ]

[Watching him fall into the same habit he got relatively used to seeing from a different seat at the bar makes Akechi's insides go sort of cold. Nothing about this was right. Akira was busying himself to have something to do, and Akechi was only sitting still because he couldn't do much of anything else. He closes his eyes again, lacing his fingers together and slowly tightening their grip on one another until his knuckles under his gloves went white and his wrists shook. He stopped watching Akira make the coffee, stopped watching anything, really, and tried to focus on keeping his breathing even.]

[He was supposed to be dead. For all intents and purposes, he should still want to be dead. But the familiar smell of brewing coffee makes the chill under his skin flood warm, and drops his forehead onto his hands and presses them apart so they stop shaking, leaving his fingers woven together to give him something to rest his face against. For as long as he thinks he was unconscious or sleeping (because he doesn't really remember), he's baffled by how suddenly exhausted he is by his own existence.]

[ Akira doesn't make a move, at first. He just watches Akechi's body language, the way he shakes and then shrinks in on himself. Akira can't get inside Akechi's head, but he understands that kind of feeling. Knows what it feels like to be out of place in your own reality, in your own skin.

He waits until the coffee is done, and then he sets it down in front of Akechi. He moves back around the counter, sitting down next to Akechi again. He knows that Akechi hates to show weakness. He knows that Akechi must hate how much Akira knows; how much he's seen.

But... Akira's already seen it. So, really, maybe it won't matter. ]

I'm glad to see you again because I thought it wasn't supposed to end that quickly. [ Akira's voice is quiet. He doesn't like speaking this much; he doesn't like giving this much insight when it's easier to let people come to their own conclusions.

But Akechi had come to the wrong ones for so long. Akira doesn't want to risk that any longer. ]

Even if it's self-serving, I wanted you to live. I wanted to see what you would do next. I wanted to know who you would become.

[Akira's understanding is as soothing as it is causing the problem, and it's putting Akechi in this nauseating loop of wanting sincerely to let the former thief in and wanting now more than ever to shut him out. He draws in a breath and counts backward from ten as he exhales when he hears the coffee placed in front of him. It gives Akira the chance to sit down before Akechi is leaning back from his hands, and he places them on the counter on either side of the cup he's presented with slowly. He feels like a hunted animal, moving slowly so as not to be noticed, even when he knows, he knows he's never been safer. He struggles, with himself and with Akira, really, him being so close and him drifting around following Akechi's whims like they really were friends.]

[And really, how terrible would it be if they were?]

[His hand shakes when he claims the cup, but he ignores it, and he hopes for both of them that Akira ignores it, too. He brings it to his lips, breathes in the smell, tastes the flavor even before he tips it and takes a sip. It's just as good as he remembered, and Akira somehow knew just how he liked it, still. After all this time (how much time?). He sets the cup down again after just that one sip, carefully filling his lungs and counting backward again before he angles his head. He doesn't look at Akira-- he doesn't think he can, right now. But he inclines his head just enough to acknowledge him, even if there was no one else there for him to be talking to.]

You thought wrong, [It should be a scathing statement, the words bitten off and spat at him, but he sounds as tired as he looks. As he feels. Still, it's the one thing he absolutely cannot relinquish-- if he gives up that his choice to die was the right one, what is he? If the one choice he was able to make for himself was wrong, he has literally and completely nothing.] And I'm still not sure why you are so particularly interested in "who I would become" when you've already seen what I am. [What, not who.]

[He picks up the cup again, cradles the air under it with his other hand, and turns a harsh smile that doesn't reach his eyes toward Akira.] What was it Yoshizawa called me? A ruthless sort of person. [He'll carry that one for a while, too.]

The only one who doesn't believe you can change is you. [ Akira's voice is firm as he says it. He knows that the rest of his friends may not particularly like Akechi -- he has a surprisingly high rate of killing their parents -- but they also see the same things that Akira does in him. Akechi seems to think that he's only one thing at a time: a calm lie of a detective prince, or a completely derailed and ruthless killer.

Akira thinks the truth, like with most things, lies somewhere in between that. ]

Even if... you don't change, and you go back to who you were before we met you. I still want you to have that chance.

[ Akira reaches out, carefully, and drops his hand onto Akechi's head. He doesn't really know how to give comfort to people, but Futaba's mom used to pat her on the head, and he thinks it's about all he can do without risking getting completely knocked away and probably off the seat at the bar. ]

I'll like you either way. [ Because the truth is that Akechi has already changed. That period of time in January -- that period that he clearly remembers -- he changed. He worked with everyone else, he supported everyone else. There was scathing commentary, sure, and a lot of maniacal laughter that Akira is pretty sure was at least partially an attempt to keep everyone at arm's length.

But he worked, for the future, for the good of everyone else, without a reason other than things being altered so much bothered him. He worked towards it knowing he'd die again.

Akechi is a better person than he gives himself credit for. ]

[He doesn't quite flinch, but Akira's gesture of good faith in trying to comfort him with his hand on his head doesn't make any kind of sense to Akechi. So he watches the hand as it reaches out, squints upward as it settles, and then fixes Akira with an uncomfortable sort of grimace, taking a careful sip of his coffee.]

You have atrocious taste, [He offers, posture stiff as he tries to stay still and still drink his coffee. He doesn't especially want Akira's hand on him, but swatting it away with disrupt the cup in his hand, and a much quieter part of him finds the weight strangely soothing.] But I suppose your coffee is decent.

Thanks. [ Akira will take that as a high compliment, all things considered. He lets his hand drift down Akechi's head, a gentle pet like Akechi is some sort of cat. It's kind of habit, given Morgana -- and Futaba -- but Akechi's hair is silky and soft, so it's also a little self-serving.

He withdraws his hand after a moment. ]

Oh. You think you'll fit my clothes? [ You know, since while Akechi is stubborn enough to sleep in his jacket and gloves, Akira doesn't particularly want to let that happen. ]

[He takes impeccably, obsessively good care of his hair, though he supposes he's never really had anyone interested in actually feeling it to give him feedback on his success. He'll take the way Akira's hand lingers, drifting down the side of his head, as some form of positive reinforcement, at least enough to let him deem his hygiene sufficient. His expression remains pinched, and he tilts his head when the hand frees his range of movement.]

...why does it matter, if we're going to my apartment tomorrow? I will survive wearing this until then.

You can't sleep in that. [ Akira is absolutely certain that Akechi is going to insist on taking the couch as it is, so he doesn't need to be uncomfortable on the couch and in his full day outfit. However, knowing that Akechi has about as much self-preservation as Akira himself, he aims for the more practical approach. ]

It'll get wrinkled. [ And Akira doesn't own an ironing board. Or an iron. Or anything related to laundry, actually. ]

I absolutely can, but potentially shouldn't, [He corrects mildly, turning back to face the bar head-on and sip at his coffee. He does fully intend to take the couch if the options are it or sharing Akira's bed with him (or displacing him, which he's simply hoping Akira won't even suggest), but he would probably at least take off his coat and gloves and just sleep in his shirt and pants.]

[He does look a bit more pressed by the concept of his things getting wrinkled, but only briefly, giving Akira a withering glance.] Of course they will, I'm not stupid.

I've got clean spares. [ Freshly washed and laundered, thanks to a maid service that Akira will have to be more cautious about calling. He doesn't think Kawakami and Akechi are the sort to get along, given Akechi's penchant for scathing commentary and Kawakami's insistence on wearing the outfit of her last part time job. ]

There's no reason to be more uncomfortable than you have to be. [ Akira finds the concept of sleeping in his clothing much more uncomfortable than the idea of sleeping in someone else's, but his concepts of personal space are, perhaps, a bit different than Akechi's. ]

I am not uncomfortable in my clothing. [Which isn't a lie, but it's pretty clearly his attempt at not addressing or even really entertaining what he thinks of wearing Akira's clothing. Somewhere in his mind he understands that loungewear is loungewear for a reason, and that is that it is more comfortable to sleep in, and frequently warmer as the body naturally lowers its temperature during sleep, but that certainly does not mean he plans to wear Akira's sleepwear, clean or not, like this situation is some kind of happy little sleepover.] I am not a child, I don't need pajamas to be able to sleep.

...Okay. [ Akira won't push. He thinks it's silly, and there's a genuine chance that he's going to wake up to drape extra blankets on Akechi over the course of the night, but he doesn't think he's going to get anywhere just yet, no matter how high his charm is.

Akechi has always seemed pretty immune to his charm, which is deeply unfair, because it works on everyone else. ]

Then... we can go upstairs whenever you want. [ Or stay downstairs -- Akira isn't picky. He doesn't think Akechi is going to be terribly content in either situation, but he'd still rather leave the choice in his hands. ]

[No, Akechi is just weak to Akira's charm and absolutely refuses to let him see that, so he is horrendously ugly and hateful whenever he's hit with it point-blank. He finishes his coffee, slowly, and frowns slightly at the bottom of the cup, making a thoughtful sound and sliding off his seat. He slides toward Akira, for whatever reason, claiming the cup and saucer as he goes.]

Let me clean this, [It's a statement, not a question-- if he's staying here, he won't let someone else do his cleaning. He already hates being in Akira's debt-- Sojiro's, too.] And from there, just... Behave as if I am not here. I will follow you to ensure this strange arrangement isn't aggravated, but I would prefer if you carry on with your business without specific consideration for my having to be a part of it.

Sure. [ That sounds fine to Akira. He's usually the sort to favor companionable silence over a lot of conversation, and it'll probably give them both a chance to get their bearings.

Truthfully, Akira hadn't been planning on doing a whole lot; making coffee and curry is already more productive than he expected to be, and he'll probably just sit down and play a videogame or read a magazine. ]

You're welcome to use my stuff, if you get bored.

[He pauses in the entryway to the small kitchen space, giving it a solid once-over before moving to the sink to wash his cup, finding a place to set it to dry when he's through and shaking his hands before drying them. He turns around and is sort of... assaulted with the gravity of the situation and his posture shrinks inward, his hands pressed together and fingers tangled in front of him.]

...at best, I may borrow a book.

Sure. Most of mine's nonfiction. [ He's been dabbling more in the practical side of book reading than anything else, so his selection of fiction is small. It's fine; he can't imagine Akechi trying to read through one of Ryuji's shoujo manga anyway.

He waits for Akechi to move before he starts to head upstairs. It feels different, to have Akechi alone in the space of the attic. The storefront of Leblanc was a public space, and Akira has gotten used to people in and out of it at all times -- but the attic has only ever belonged to Akira and a lot of storage items.

At any rate, for all that Akechi is alone with his own thoughts, he can't imagine he'll want to sit there and stare at the wall for hours. ]

I believe we've lived enough fiction that neither of us should ever need to read it again.

[He minces carefully around the edges of Akira's space, trying to make sure he doesn't stray far enough to walk into any invisible walls but also doesn't get too close to be seen as friendly, and it mostly results in him loitering slowly around the space and just... inspecting things with a dull interest that is pretty clearly put-upon so he has something to do that isn't attempting conversation. Eventually he makes his way to the couch, and it's odd to be in this area of the room in such a drastically different context than he's used to, so he just sits stiffly and inspects his clothes.]

[ Akira's room hasn't changed much since the last time Akechi saw it. There's a few more gifts here and there, another doll on top of the work bench and a particular glove on the shelf of mementos from his friends, carefully folded and stowed next to a set of Featherman figures that are clearly from Futaba.

Akira doesn't bring any attention to it, of course; he just drops down on the couch to sort through his options for videogames and movies. He's trying to finish everything before he has to go back home, though...

That might not happen now. He'll discuss it with Sojiro later, in as much as he can have a private conversation when Akechi is stuck five feet away from him.

He shoots Futaba a couple texts about the situation and is unsurprised when the group chat starts to immediately pop off. He looks at his phone for a minute, then back up at Akechi. ]

Everyone wants to know if you still have your phone.

[It's a dull sort of ache he can't quite put his finger on when he recognizes that glove, and he moves away from the shelf and stays away from it the remainder of his curious wandering. Once Akira is seated on the couch as well he tries to look at anything but him, but winds up jolting every time his phone buzzes and makes that pleasant little jingling sound from his texts. It very nearly doesn't stop at some point, and he glances over with a grimace in time to recognize the group chat he was once a part of, feeling his insides plunged into cold again.]

[He slowly pats himself down for all his pockets, and stills when he reaches a breast pocket of his coat. He pats it twice, then reaches inside the coat to extract none other than his cellphone, and he looks about as bewildered by its existence as he looked about his own when he first walked through the door of Leblanc. He turns the same bewildered look to Akira, holding it up and then shaking his head.]

[He's not ready for anyone else to be contacting him, even remotely.] Undoubtedly uncharged and staying that way.

[ Akira relays this to the group chat, and then turns the phone onto silent for the sake of Akechi's nerves. ]

When you feel like charging it, they're putting you back in the group chat. [ Akira knows that Akechi doesn't really believe that the Phantom Thieves -- former, he supposes -- are happy to have him back, but he's seen their disappointment. It was a hard decision for everyone, to let Akechi die -- to stay dead -- and they're all excited and confused in equal parts.

Of course, Akechi has no reason to be working with them now, save that he's stuck in Akira's personal bubble, but... Well. That doesn't mean they don't all want to work with him. ]

[He knows better than to argue, because it won't get him anywhere when Akira may as well already be speaking in past-tense, so he just fixes his phone with an apprehensive frown and puts it back in the pocket of his coat.] I'll be sure to find the mute function as soon as I'm able for the sake of my sanity.

[He can't understand it, and at this point isn't sure he has the stomach to try anymore. Surely they'll tire of him eventually, when he stops being a required member of the group due to his unfortunate tethered state to their precious leader.]

That won't save you. [ Akira says this with complete certainty, because there are few forces in this earth that can stop the group of friends he's made from doing something after they put their mind to it.

Also, they know where Akechi is living, for the moment, which means he's helpless to escape the onslaught. Akira is only willing to help so much, given that he, also, wants Akechi to join his group of friends.

Everyone had been planning to move on, in their own ways. Akira wonders if the idea might be easier to handle, the idea of the group being fractured and long distance.

On the other hand they all want to invade Leblanc immediately. ]

[He grumbles, folding his posture inward again and carefully nudging his shoes off in favor of pulling both his legs up onto the couch and holding onto his ankles.]

I ask this plaintively and with absolute seriousness: please, don't let them come over for a few days. [The tone he uses is... surprisingly honest.] I'm barely prepared to deal with you right now, and I wasn't able to choose it.

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this icon is inaccurate i just like using it

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