stealhearted | are you hurting the one you love?

[He barks a sharp sound, vaguely laugh-like, in the way he would sometimes make unhinged howling sounds that resembled laughter in the Metaverse. He wants to think of Maruki Takuto as little as humanly possible, the mere mention of him making the anxious nausea in the pit of his stomach roil, and he closes his eyes eyes, forcing himself to take one solid gasp of air.]

I think I am past festering, I'm decayed and rotten. [His tone is quiet, wobbly and when he picks his head up to lean away his face is blotchy and red and his eyes are damp, but he's managed to not tip himself fully into sobbing meltdown number 346.] I need to sit down.

Come on. Let's go upstairs. [ Akira steps away, but he still doesn't quite let go of Akechi's hand. Especially not now, when Akechi is so jagged around the edges, his emotions too raw and open. He looks... vulnerable, and it makes Akira feel a strange combination of affection and the desire to protect Akechi at all costs, which he can never tell Akechi, probably. ]

You're not rotten. You're fermented. Or maybe pickled? Like an umeboshi.

Your viewpoint is biased, [At least he can still snark back? He withers when Akira steps back, his grip on their joined hands shifting so that his arm is held stiff, like it's helping to keep him upright, but he nods anyway.]

[As they move toward the stairs, he remembers to grab his soda, somehow.] Though I suppose umeboshi works well enough, they tear your mouth up if you eat many of them at once.

They're a strong taste that grows on you, right? I used to put them in onigiri whole. [ Akira, once, was a terrible cook, but mostly he's going to tease Akechi about being a vinegary substance that Akira still absolute enjoys. Because -- honestly, it's a pretty apt metaphor.

The attic, at least, is brighter than the cafe was, lit up by the lamp and made a little more homey by all the decorations, the stars on the ceiling glowing gently. ]

I forgot to take the seeds out once.

One of my foster brothers hated them, he'd barter with me that he'd give me his umeboshi if I gave him some of my rice, because I didn't eat much and liked them. [He manages a weak chuckle at Akira forgetting to take the seeds out of his umeboshi once, nodding.] I never even tried cooking until after I met you.

[A beat.] ...it didn't go well, so I stopped about immediately. [He pulls Akira by their joined hands over to the couch, staggering a bit as he goes and sitting, only to immediately curl over sideways and grasp the edge of the cushion with his free hand.] I regret allowing my body to remember how to have emotions.

I'm glad you did, if it means you can like me. [ Not tolerate or enjoy Akira's company as a rival or whatever, but like him, as someone that enjoys holding hands and kissing under the moonlight. ] That might be selfish.

[ Akira's not really sure anymore, but he sits down regardless. Akechi's always been quick to flinch at extra contact when it's unexpected, so Akira makes sure he can see his hand well before it settles down on Akechi's shoulder, rubbing in a soothing sort of circle. ]

I can teach you to cook. Or just cook for you.

It's so much at once, like a constant migraine. [He doesn't mind Akira being selfish about it, though-- not that he says that. He watches his hand warily but allows it, closing his eyes and relaxing a little in his awkward curl on the couch, slowly figuring out how to breath like less of a hummingbird.]

I don't want to set Leblanc on fire.

You wouldn't set it on fire with supervision. [ In part because Akira knows Akechi is mildly terrified of Sojiro, which -- entirely fair. Akira empathizes. ]

I promise, though. I'll help you through whatever happens. So at least you'll have me. [ Akira can't help but think he's not the greatest consolation prize, but -- to have one person stand by you, that's important, he thinks. He needed that, once. He found it. He wants Akechi to find it to.

He's pretty sure it's the first step to Akechi managing to make human goals and long-term aspirations again. ]

[He shuts right up when Akira reassures him again, his fingers curling tighter still into Akira's as his throat closes up and his eyes get hot again, and he turns inward to press his face into the couch cushion.] You've got to stop saying things like that without warning me. [He exhales and it shakes, as does the rest of him for a moment while he regulates. It's okay. Akira is just going to be obnoxiously supportive, and he's going to have to get used to that.]

[He's not used to it yet, though, and when he tries to draw in a careful breath again it hitches, and he curls further against the couch.]

Sorry. [ Akira does not sound sorry at all, but he keeps rubbing those little circles into Akechi's arm, comforting and rhythmic, and doesn't do much else than that. ]

The upside is you never have to go back to highschool, so at least you will avoid the turmoil of what amounts to teenager jail with your newfound emotions. [ Like, sure, he'll hang around the roof of Akira's school, potentially, but that's world's better than actually attending class as the detective prince with emotions and guilt and shit. ]

You are not.

[He groans at that, slowly shoving himself up onto his free elbow, red-faced and obviously irritated by it.] Small miracles, I suppose. [Sitting up the rest of the way, he mashes the heel of his hand into his eyes, and then drags his hand back through his own hair.] This is exhausting, I would like to return all of these emotions.

Sorry, no return policy without receipt. [ He says it in his best "I work at a convenience store" customer service voice, casual and chipper. He reaches up to smooth his hand across the side of Akechi's face, feeling the heated skin and pressing his bangs back. ]

[He just grumbles again, pressing into Akira's hand just enough to be felt, keeping his eyes closed.] What if I was never given a receipt, isn't that on someone else.

Oh, they never give gift receipts for those. [ He rubs at Akechi's temple. Akechi is still flushed, the heat of tears that are only barely held back on the height of all the emotion they've been through. Honestly, Akira thinks they're going to need to make more trips to the bath house at this rate, because he's pretty sure the crying alone is going to make Akechi feel gross. ]

You're just stuck with them.

That sucks, [Petulantly.]

[He squeezes Akira's fingers, again, and then lets them go, in favor of moving slowly to his feet. He glances over the collection of his things still spread out on the table, remembering the toiletry bag Sae left him. It's strange to realize that happened earlier this same day.] ...I'm going to wash my face. Do you mind if I borrow your night clothes again...

That's fine. [ Of course it's fine, but Akira doesn't mind reassuring him. It makes sense that Akechi would want to double check, because as much as Akira insists that Akechi has free reign of things, Akechi still can't let himself feel like Leblanc is home.

Akira imagines that kind of thing is terrifying for him right now. ]

How many steps is your skin care routine?

[He's never been great at considering much of anywhere home, but these are particularly extenuating circumstances. He's quiet, nodding when granted permission to borrow his clothes again, only to frown at the question.]

...five, normally.

That's not too bad. Ann's is eight. [ Akira shoots him a grin, finally standing up as well, taking a step away to give Akechi some space. ]

Just figuring out if I needed a bigger bathroom caddy. [ Since obviously he can't leave his things downstairs in the public bathroom. ]

Oh. It's fine, I don't... have most of my things, anyway. They expire. I can get something to put them in. [He knows Akira isn't telling him to, isn't suggesting he should. He's trying to include him, and it's terrifying.]

...eight, what on earth does she do.

She was dividing it up for me on "actives" and "topicals" and things like that. I didn't understand it. [ Then she'd been furious when she discovered Akira's skin care routine was "wash face with soap once per day", so. ]

I know you're not trying to be the detective prince anymore, but being able to have as much of your old routine as you can is probably going to help.

[A withering frown.] Of course not.

[He wrings his hands together idly, finally tugging off his gloves by individual fingers and setting them on the table.] Makes enough sense. I'll... be back. [And he meanders downstairs, winding up staying down there longer than he meant for, because he washes his face and then has to sit on the floor and freak out again, so he washes his face again. Forgive him for taking too long in the bathroom, Akira.]

[ Akira doesn't mind the wait. He takes the opportunity to tidy a little -- he doesn't put away Akechi's things, but he does move everything towards the bookshelf he's designated as Akechi's, and folds up Akechi's laundry into the basket to be taken tomorrow, which creates another small sneezing fit.

Then he just changes into his loungewear and flops into the bed to check up on the group chat. ]

[He steps out of the bathroom and stands there for a long time, looking over the cafe and specifically the door. Outside of these circumstances, he would have been using Akira's trust in him to flee by now, if he hadn't already. Outside of these circumstances he wouldn't still be here at all, he thinks.]

[He climbs the stairs slowly, testing his weight on each step to find where they creak, making a note to avoid those areas, and pauses at the top of them to look over his things organized like they belong there. He struggles with it a moment, but sets the bag of toiletries from Sae on the shelf and pulls away from it quickly, as if he could pretend he'd never done it. That leaves him with trying to decide where to go next-- Akira, who had already informed him he'd be making him sleep in bed with him again because it was cold, or the couch to keep some semblance of distance.]

[A brief chill skims his skin, either from a drafty window or the general reminder that he wasn't allowed to keep his distance, and he winds up flopping longways beside Akira and rolling into his side from the dip his weight makes in the thin mattress.] ...would Sakura be offended if I replaced this terrible mattress?

I don't think so. I don't know... where this came from, actually. [ Akira hasn't really upgraded anything in the attic because -- he's not sure. He thinks he was afraid to personalize it too much and make it home, because he knew he'd have to leave someday.

But he's not sure he's leaving anymore. He pauses for a moment, setting his phone down and looking at Akechi. ]

If we're not going anywhere, I should probably finally upgrade a few things, huh? [ He knows better than to ask if Akechi wants to stay long term, if they'll stay together, anything of the future right now. He doesn't think Akechi would be able to answer.

But this -- a temporary fix, a temporary solution -- he thinks he could manage it. He thinks Leblanc really is home. ]

[The mention of "we" is overwhelming enough as it is-- he knows why it's there, knows it's true, he is hopelessly entangled in Akira's business, at present, with neither of them able to do much of anything about it. That doesn't mean it doesn't make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he burrows closer so he doesn't have to look at Akira's face.]

By all means. A real bed would be my first suggestion. And possibly discussion of a door.

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