Chapter Text
Akechi wakes up on the morning of May 20th, warm and content. His back is cushioned against Akira’s chest, their legs twisted together under the covers like snakes. In the past week, he’s been sleeping better than ever before. It’s a relief to put his endless reel of nightmares on pause - however temporarily.
The sunlight isn’t bright enough to be annoying yet. It gently dapples his eyelids, unobtrusively whispering that the day will be ready for him whenever he chooses to rise.
For a brief moment, everything is perfect.
Then a paw bats at his nose. And then his cheek, this time harder. Akechi groans and tries to roll over, but his assailant digs their claws into the blankets. Tiny pinpricks of pain shoot up his arms. He struggles with the duvet for a minute more, before giving up with a long-suffering sigh.
Slowly, he cracks his eyes open, frowning blearily up at Morgana’s indignant frown. “Get off me.” He croaks, voice husky.
The cat flattens his ears, agitated. “Fine. Are you awake now?”
Akechi grumbles, rolling his shoulders and slowly extricating himself from Akira’s embrace. “Evidently.” He responds, rubbing his face. “What do you want? Couldn’t this wait for a more reasonable hour?”
“No.” Mona sits up straighter, clearing his throat. He seems glad that Akechi got straight to the point. When he speaks, there’s a rehearsed quality to his words. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a while - but you and Akira have been joined at the hip all week. I couldn’t find the right moment.”
Akechi looks pointedly over at where Akira dozes beside him. “If you were hoping to catch me alone, you’ve failed yet again. Better luck next time.”
Morgana exhales, following Akechi’s gaze. His eyes soften when they land on Akira, already snuggling closer to Akechi in his sleep. “We’re leaving this evening; I’ll take what I can get. He’s probably not going to let you out of his sight until his parents force us to go home, so...” He coughs again, tail flicking from side to side. He’s clearly building towards something but is hesitating over how to say it.
Akechi purses his lips, mildly annoyed by the stalling. He considers telling Morgana to get on with it already, but manages to hold his tongue when he sees how fondly Morgana is watching Akira.
“He looks peaceful, huh.” Morgana says eventually. He smiles, whiskers twitching. “It’s nice to see him happy.” Satisfaction colours his expression, even if awkwardness still lingers in his stiff posture.
A beat of silence passes, before Morgana turns back to Akechi with a determined scowl on his face. “Listen, I don’t know how much he told you about the months you were gone - and I don’t want to spill more than he’d like me to, but... things were rough. He wasn’t sleeping much. He lost a lot of weight and couldn’t think about anything except finding you. He pretended he was just fine to the others - but behind the scenes, it was kinda obvious that his heart wasn’t in it. It got pretty bad.” He shoots Akechi a glare, looking profoundly angry at the memory. “You should feel guilty for that.”
Akechi’s stomach twists. “I do.” He says, and means it.
Morgana relaxes a little at the admission. “Good. That means you know what you did was wrong. Because it was really, really wrong. Honestly, I don’t care about why you left him in the dark for so long, especially when I’m pretty sure you don’t have a good excuse.”
He pauses, studying Akechi. Whatever he finds in Akechi’s eyes must confirm his suspicions, because he nods. “Thought not. Anyway, the past is between you and Akira. What I care about is that you don’t pull this cut-and-run crap again in the future.” He stares Akechi down, with far more intensity than an eight pound cat should be able to wield. “Answer me - and be honest. Do you plan on disappearing the next time things get difficult? Because you need to realise that they will get difficult. I may not be human, but I’ve spent a lot of time people-watching... and I know that relationships are tricky. Especially when one of you has serious attachment issues.”
Akechi bristles without meaning to. It’s a little ridiculous to expect him to accept romantic counsel from a talking animal. “I don’t have serious attachment issues.”
Morgana levels him with an unimpressed look. “I was referring to Akira. But it’s dumb to pretend that you don’t come with your own hefty set of baggage.”
Ugh. Akechi can’t dispute that - but Morgana’s sanctimonious attitude is pissing him off. He inhales, calling on his eminent restraint and reminding himself that Morgana isn’t deliberately provoking him. He means well. He wants Akira to be happy - and isn’t that something they can agree on?
Realistically, Akechi can’t guarantee that he’ll never leave Akira. He doesn’t know what the future holds; there could be all manner of disasters lurking around the corner, waiting to drive them apart. But there is one thing he can promise.
When he avoids Morgana’s gaze, it’s easier to speak his mind. “I know,” he mutters, after a long stretch of reticence. “I’m under no illusion that this will be easy. I know that it will be tough. But... I’m going to try anyway.”
Morgana watches him for a few seconds, assessing his sincerity. Then he nods, folding his paws primly in front of him. “Alright. Good. Because, just so you know, Makoto is a black belt in Aikido. If you take off again without telling Akira, she’ll go Fist-of-Justice on your butt. Ryuji, too.”
Akechi stiffens at the familiar names. They cut through the air like a whip crack, reminding him of everything he’s been very deliberately not thinking about.
He hadn’t forgotten about the other Phantom Thieves per se, but they’d been confined to the back of mind. Six days ago, he’d assumed they’d go the rest of their lives without learning of his survival. They never factored into his constant visions of reuniting with Akira; they were relegated to the status of background characters or scarcely even considered. The only time they appeared in any significant capacity was during moments of self-flagellation, when he pictured Futaba and Haru’s faces crumpling with grief.
Akechi may not be aware of the intricacies of the Thieves’ emotions, but he knows that some of them might not be all that thrilled that he’s alive and kicking. He swallows, chewing the inside of his cheek. “They know I’m...?” He gestures vaguely, trying not to betray his apprehension.
Morgana gives him an even look. “Not yet. Akira hasn’t mentioned it to them - probably because he knows you would freak out.”
Akechi nods, taking that in his stride. He and Akira have talked about everything under the sun in the past week - everything except his teammates, that is. They’ve had plenty of time to discuss it, since Makino-san was generous enough to curtail Akechi’s chores during Akira’s visit. Additionally, Akechi has noticed Akira messaging on the Phantom Thieves group chat - about silly, innocuous rubbish - so he’s had multiple opportunities to raise it with his friends. There’s only one possible explanation: that Akira has been avoiding the subject intentionally.
“He’s going to tell them soon.” Morgana announces, like it’s a foregone conclusion. Maybe it is. “They’re going to find out you’re alive. You can’t be Akira’s secret boyfriend forever.”
Despite himself, Akechi flushes. “I’m not his boyfriend in any capacity,” he corrects, sounding less brittle than he feels. It’s the truth, anyway. They haven’t put any kind of label on their relationship.
Morgana rolls his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me. Look, that’s not the point. The point is...” He fidgets with the blanket, claws emerging. “I think we need to reach an understanding.”
Akechi’s brows furrow. An understanding could mean anything. He stays quiet, withholding his opinion until the feline explains himself.
The clarification starts off on a less than positive note. “To be honest, I don’t like you,” Morgana declares, head held high. “I think you’re aware of that - and from what I’ve seen, the distaste is mutual. I’d like to say that we’ll never have to see each other again... but this situation between you and Akira changes things. Obviously, some close proximity is unavoidable.”
“Hm,” Akechi hums noncommittally. The magnanimous tone irritates him but... He doesn’t disagree with the conclusion Morgana has come to. Overall, the speech is remarkably mature - for him, at least.
“Akira cares about you,” Morgana continues, matter-of-fact. “And I care about him. So, regardless of the way we feel... Let’s make a deal. When the three of us are together, we’ll try to tolerate each other, okay? For his sake.”
The delivery is stilted - but surprisingly, Mona’s earnest conviction shines through. Akechi contemplates it, propping his chin up on his hand. A detente would be convenient. It would be nice not to tense every time Morgana enters the room, or stress about the cat attacking him whenever he and Akira share a moment of intimacy. The sliding doors at the inn don’t have locks and Akechi has spent far too much time worrying about Morgana catching them in the act and throwing a tantrum.
A truce would likely please Akira too. Acting as a mediator between him and Morgana must be quite the burden. Really, it’s Akira who stands to be hurt the most by their hostility - and when Akechi considers that, biting back the occasional insult doesn’t seem too hard.
Morgana’s not stipulating any conditions either, by the sounds of it. Just an agreement founded on mutual benefit. It seems sensible enough to accept.
But before Akechi can voice his decision, Morgana snaps, vexed by the lack of immediate answer. “I’m not saying I wanna be friends or anything!” He exclaims, fur puffing along his back. “But if we’re fighting all the time, it’ll upset Akira! And... And I know you don’t want him to be sad. If we make peace with each other, this stupid affair will be easier for everyone, alright? It’s—”
“Alright,” Akechi interrupts, nodding. It stops the cat in his tracks.
“Oh.” Morgana looks a little confused - like he didn’t expect their negotiations to go this smoothly. “Okay? Does that mean we have a deal?“
“I suppose so,” Akechi affirms, crossing his arms. “I can be civil. For Akira’s sake.”
Morgana almost smiles. Almost. “For Akira’s sake,” he repeats solemnly. Then he tosses his head, preening in the bright morning light. He’s clearly very proud of himself for initiating this exchange, and for once, Akechi can’t fault him for it.
All in all, it’s an oddly happy ending, given their fraught history. However, Akechi still has questions - and he plans to take advantage of this period of good will to ask them.
It’s difficult to know where to start. What’s the most pressing line of inquiry? What does he wish to know most? The answer occurs to him, suddenly obvious.
“Why did you make all of those passive-aggressive comments, back when no-one else thought I could hear you?” He demands, anticipation raking up his spine. After all the chaos it caused him, he feels like he has the right to know.
“Ah.” Morgana shrugs, undisturbed by the abrupt segue. His whiskers twitch as he smirks. “Well, it was funny.”
Akechi blinks, waiting for Morgana to carry on. When he doesn’t, doubt flares. Akechi’s face twists into an incredulous scowl. “That’s it?”
Morgana’s ears flick back. With deliberate nonchalance, he begins cleaning his paw. “Yep, that’s at it.” He confirms, licking his claws. “Your whole fake-perfect personality was annoying. I thought Akira agreed with me, but he kept inviting you to hang out, so... At first, I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure that you could understand me - so it started as an experiment. After that, I was just messing with you. If I was forced to put up with your presence, it seemed only fair to make some entertainment for myself.” He snickers. “You struggling to restrain yourself whilst I mocked you was pretty hilarious.”
“That’s...” Akechi shakes his head, bewildered disbelief washing over him. He’d been certain that Morgana had a further objective; that his taunts were a matter of principle, or for a goal that Akechi simply wasn’t aware of. “That’s ridiculous. You— You are so petty, it’s a miracle you aren’t human. I can’t believe you spewed all those insults because of some immature joke.”
“Believe it, ‘cause it’s the truth.” Morgana shrugs again, padding over to the edge of the bed. “Anything else to ask? I’m getting hungry.”
Akechi opens his mouth, then closes it again. The cat’s audacity has genuinely stunned him speechless.
He grips the sheets, processing the torrent of emotions roiling in his chest. Half of him aches to lash out - to remind Morgana of exactly who he’s provoking. The other half of him just wants this conversation to be over.
He sighs, suddenly tired. Whatever. Mona already agreed to hold his tongue from now on. The upshot is that Akechi won’t have to deal with this bullshit again; that’s what’s important. Morgana’s stupid reasoning isn’t enough to make him renege on their truce. Let the bland, amicable coexistence begin. It’s better than their previous arrangement.
When he looks up, Morgana is watching him carefully. “We should probably wake Akira,” he suggests.
“Probably.”
Neither of them move.
Finally, after several strained seconds, Morgana caves. He leaps over Akechi’s motionless body and pokes Akira. It’s far gentler than his treatment of Akechi.
Akira grumbles, batting Morgana away. Mona dodges the flailing hand and prods more insistently.
“Mmm...” Akira burrows further under the blankets, burying his face in Akechi’s side. “...Smell... nice.” He mumbles, inhaling deeply.
A wave of heat sweeps over Akechi. He’s abruptly glad that Akira is still half-asleep, so that he won’t see the blush painting itself across Akechi’s cheeks. “Akira. It’s morning,” he tries. “Get up.”
Akira burbles something incoherent and splays his fingers across Akechi’s stomach, tugging him closer.
“Akira.”
With a groan, Akira rolls over, rubbing his face. “I’m awake, I’m awake...” His eyes flutter open and he gives Akechi a dopey grin, brimming with affection. “G’morning.”
“You guys are gross,” Morgana states without malice, stretching his legs.
Akira yawns, reaching blindly for Morgana’s head. “Morning to you too, Mona.” His hand finds its target and Morgana reluctantly melts as Akira scratches beneath his chin. “Mm... What time is it?”
Akechi checks his phone. It’s not as early as he thought it was. “Just after ten.”
“Really? It’s not like you to let me sleep late, Morgana. What’s the occasion?” Curiosity sparks in Akira’s irises. “Were you guys chatting without me?”
“No,” Akechi and Morgana say in unison - the definition of suspicious.
Akira raises a brow, mouth quirking upwards. An awkward air descends over the bed, rapidly wearing holes in their new deal. Akechi tries to resist glancing at Morgana.
The seconds drag excruciatingly onwards as Akira studies them.
Eventually, he shakes his head, sitting up to stretch. “It doesn’t matter.” He announces, smothering his delighted amusement. “Thanks for letting me sleep in, regardless.”
“No problem.” Morgana murmurs, nodding with finality. He hops down, landing on the floor with a flick of his tail. Before he leaves, he hesitates and turns to Akechi. “Sorry for waking you earlier.”
It’s pretty mundane, as peace offerings go, but Akechi will accept it - even if it reveals to Akira that yes, they were indeed chatting. “It’s fine. I needed to get up anyway.”
Morgana’s ears twitch. Their truce is still tenuous and Akechi would be lying if he said he felt totally comfortable around the cat... However, things seem far more hopeful than they did a few days ago. Getting along with Mona no longer feels like an impossibility, anyhow.
As soon as the cat prowls away, Akira leans in, winding his arms around Akechi’s waist. Akechi considers pushing him away. Even now, he’s infected with the unmistakable urge to distance himself; to curl up and protect his soft, open core. But he swallows down the itching, instinctive discomfort - and persuades himself that Akira isn’t searching for his weak points. He won’t use this knowledge against Akechi... because he loves him, as crazy as that is.
Akira hums contentedly, nosing into Akechi’s neck and trying to manoeuvre them back under the covers. That makes Akechi roll his eyes and wriggle out of the embrace. It’s difficult, fighting against Akira’s ineluctable magnetic field - but he manages to detangle himself. If his chest clenches as he does so, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
“We’re not spending all morning in bed.” He says firmly, slapping away Akira’s attempts to prolong their snuggling. “It’s late enough. We should do something with your last day, before you leave this evening.”
The mention of his imminent departure sobers Akira. He stops the theatrics and with one final grumble, springs to his feet. “I’m up.” He slumps against Akechi and allows himself to be towed reluctantly into the bathroom.
They get ready in companionable silence. Akira gravitates towards Akechi as they run through their individual routines, stealing touches here and there. When they’re brushing their teeth, Akira places his warm palm on the back of Akechi’s neck, playing with the long strands of hair. Absentmindedly, Akechi starts combing through the rest. He frowns when his fingers catch on a knot in his fringe.
“You’ve got to stop plaiting my hair before we fall asleep.” He announces after washing his mouth free of toothpaste. “It’s always matted in the morning.”
“Sorry,” Akira says, not sounding sorry at all. He probably knows Akechi doesn’t really dislike his restless hands; that he finds it charming how Akira carefully twists his hair into tiny braids when they’re cuddling. He’s always been perceptive like that.
Akechi purses his lips and decides not to pursue it further. After all, this is likely the last time he’ll have to deal with this problem for quite a while. Maybe, in the time they’re apart, he’ll come to miss the knots left by Akira’s fidgeting.
They haven’t really talked about what they’re going to do when Akira returns to Inaba. Obviously, they’ll see each other less. Akira has more free time during the holidays but soon enough, he’ll be buried in third-year responsibilities. University applications, exams and school work will pile up, leaving little room for anything else. Certainly not Akechi, several prefectures away, twiddling his thumbs and waiting by the phone like a needy girlfriend. He should just—
“Hey.” Akira catches his eye in the mirror, stroking his nape gently. “You okay?” His brows are knitted with concern.
Akechi takes a deep breath, letting the feeling of Akira’s fingers, fluttering nervously against his neck, ground him. It takes several minutes for him to calm down. Physical touch is definitely less effective than focusing the mind through pain - but after nearly biting a chunk out of Akira’s hand, he’s trying to turn over a new leaf. Healthier coping mechanisms, or whatever the fuck Akira proposed.
He’s never had the luxury of self-analysis before, since any deeper reflection on his actions would result in a slew of bad dreams and fits of terror. In the past, that kind of spiralling would’ve made it impossible to fulfil his goals; to do what needed to be done. Honestly, he still avoids thinking about a lot of stuff. However, he can allow himself the occasional moment of introspection - and it doesn’t escape him how similar his vision of himself as an abandoned lover is to his mother’s history.
He exhales and reminds himself that he’s not his mother; that Akira isn’t Shido. This connection between them - love, as he now knows it - isn’t a cage. It’s not an entrapment or a restriction. It doesn’t clip Akechi’s wings, in the same way his mother’s love for Shido drove her into a corner. He hesitates to even call her relationship with Shido love, now that he knows what it actually feels like.
He can trust Akira. Akira has seen him at his worst and stayed anyway. Akechi can tell him.
He steels himself, gritting his teeth. “Just thinking about the future,” he mutters, grinding his molars together. “How it’ll be once you’re gone.”
“Oh, Goro.” Akira’s expression softens. He leans in and kisses Akechi, quick and tender. He tastes like mint.
When they part, Akira squeezes his hand. “We’ll still talk and call everyday. Or, uh, as often as you want to.” He falters, chewing his lip. “If you’d prefer not to message daily, that’s fine too.”
“I would like to,” Akechi affirms, before Akira’s qualms can mutate into self-doubt. “But we’re both going to be busy. You especially, with school and university prep. I doubt you’ll have time.”
“I’ll make time.” Akira states, with so much determination that Akechi is tempted to believe him. “I promise I will. It won’t be the same as what we have right now, but we’ll manage. We’ll figure things out as we go. If Makino-san is willing to give you some time off, later down the line, you could come to Inaba. And in the meantime, you’re pretty good at texting. We’ll be fine.”
Akechi gives him a questioning look. “I’m good at texting? Since when?”
Akira tilts his head, playfulness replacing his ardent sincerity. “You don’t remember? Those flirty messages you sent me when we first started meeting regularly.”
Oh. Those. Akechi smirks and turns on his heel, striding back into the bedroom. He knows Akira will follow him.
Predictably, footsteps ring against the wooden floor. “Were your invitations deliberately provocative, by the way? I never figured that out.”
“A few of them were aimed at getting a reaction, yes.“
Akira laughs, yanking his shirt over his head and bending down to retrieve some clean clothes. Akechi watches him openly, drinking in the way the shadows slide over his skin. Sweat glints in the late-morning heat, highlighting the lean muscle of his shoulders and the small of his back.
Seeing Akira like this, relaxed and unguarded, never fails to make Akechi’s heart rate spike. The roof of his mouth feels drier than usual and he runs his tongue over it, considering this inexorable attraction of his. He wants to kiss Akira - so he does, gripping his chin and pushing their lips together. It’s crazy that he can just... do this now, whenever he feels like it. No more agonising over risks and aching for excuses. Just them, without masks or deadlines or constrictions. It’s amazing. Pleasure laces up his spine when he slips his thumb under Akira’s jaw, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse. The friction of Akira’s teeth against his tongue makes the inside of his skull tingle.
Akira huffs when they part, hot and out of breath. “Y’know,” he rasps, continuing the conversation as if nothing happened. “You really had my head spinning with all the mixed signals you were throwing out. I was half-convinced I was imagining the innuendos in your texts.”
“That was by design,” Akechi admits, clearing his throat and forcing himself to withdraw - otherwise they’ll never get dressed. “I wanted to make you double-guess yourself.”
“Well, congratulations, it worked. I nearly lost my damn mind trying to figure out what you meant by I’m alone right now.”
Akechi snorts and changes the subject. “Speaking of texts - do you have any messages from your parents? Do they need you for anything today?”
“Nope, none,” Akira confirms, after checking his notifications. It’s unsurprising, really, given how absent they’ve been all week.
Akira’s parents have been extraordinarily tolerant of Akechi’s presence. Or, no, it’s more like they don’t really seem to care what their son does. They hadn’t even complained when he started spending his nights in Akechi’s room.
Akechi is grateful, in a conflicted way, that their disregard allowed him to spend so much time with Akira. They had a lot of fun... Memories scintillate, flickering through his head like sunlight across water. Akira and him hiking through the nearby forest, lazing under the rich green canopy of leaves. Akira and him eating with the staff, and Akira insisting he enjoyed the side dish that Akechi undercooked. Makino-san and Akira chatting about gardening whilst Akechi swept the floor, listening fondly to their discussion. Akira leaning against one of the screen doors, painted orange by the sunset - lips bitten red and eyes glittering with adoration.
“It’s still so weird to think that you met them.” Akira muses, interrupting the vivid recollection.
“I would hardly say I met them,” Akechi objects, frowning. “We exchanged a grand total of fifteen words.” They’d been polite enough, but extremely disinterested. In the past, Akechi might’ve wanted to grab their attention and prove himself - but now he just returns their apathy. Or rather, he would, if not for the way they ignore Akira. That evokes a special kind of rage.
Akira notices the judgemental undertones. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“No seriously, what?”
Akechi sets his jaw, phrasing it as delicately as possible. “We’ve barely seen them for more than a couple of minutes, in five days. On your apology trip.”
“Uh. Well, they were taking this trip for work anyway. The apology angle was sort of a late-stage addition.” Akira shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, kicking his heels into the tatami mat. “They’re busy. And they’re trying. They let me keep Morgana. I think they’re doing okay.”
Akechi narrows his eyes, mouth twisting into a scowl. Given his initial envy, it should gratify him to know that Akira’s family aren’t falling over themselves to give apologies that Akechi himself could never dream of. It should slake his jealousy and reassure him. But he doesn’t feel satisfied. He feels furious at the mistreatment, anger boiling inside of him. “They sat by whilst you were falsely accused and sent you to the biggest city in Japan to live with a total stranger. Is that ‘okay’ to you?”
Akira chuckles, brushing off the question. “Sojiro wasn’t a total stranger. He was a family friend. They’re... Look. My parents aren’t bad people - not really. They’re just... very non-confrontational.”
“To the point that they’d allow their sixteen-year-old son’s life to be ruined, without saying a single word in his defence? I read the reports; I know they didn’t appear in court with you.”
Akira sighs, playing with his fringe - considering how to diffuse the situation. Frustration engulfs Akechi at the sight, knotting his stomach into bitter snarls of resentment. “They’re spineless cowards, Akira.” He spits, indignant on his behalf. “You deserve better than their neglect.”
Akira shrugs wearily. “What could they do? It wouldn’t have made any difference if they’d tried to fight Shido. Staying quiet kept the peace.”
“Whose peace? Certainly not yours. The point is that they didn’t even try.” Akechi snaps, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Akira has no reply to that. Then he inhales, rubbing his face. “That’s just the way they’ve always been. If I got into a fight with a bully at school and the staff called them to complain, they’d just tell them to punish me. When they’re faced with the slightest bit of authority, they crumple like wet tissue paper.” He laughs suddenly, shocking Akechi into stillness. “Maybe that’s why I got so obsessed with fighting the worst parts of society. Seeing them yield to people doing bad things - just because it was easier - really pissed me off, looking back on it. They’d much rather work around an issue than deal with it directly by confronting their ‘superiors’. Sending me to Tokyo was just an extension of that mindset. It seemed logical.” His throat bobs as he gulps. “Spineless is probably a good way of describing them, actually.“
Akechi nods, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Before he can voice any more criticism, Akira holds up his hands in mock-surrender.
“Goro— Can we talk about this later? Like not today later?” His expression is imploring. “Let’s just enjoy our last few hours together. Please?”
“Fine,” Akechi relents, resolving to pursue this thread another time. He feels a trickle of remorse when he sees Akira deflate in relief. Maybe he should apologise for pushing him - but Akira’s tender smile tells Akechi that he already understands.
They grab Akira’s remaining belongings and cart them over to the suite that Akira was supposed to be sharing with his parents. Locating his suitcase takes minimal effort and they get packing with plenty of time to spare, making small talk as they go. They sort through books, clothes, cat treats and souvenirs, stuffing them in until the hinges strain.
Akechi waits until Akira is distracted by the closing mechanism, then surreptitiously reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out his glove - the same one he hurled at Akira, all those months ago - and slips it into the edge of the case.
His reasoning for doing so is admittedly silly. Better not to scrutinise it. He’s never been one for superstition but... Even if Akira says they’ll visit each other, Akechi’s doubts linger. And the glove has already brought them back together twice; once after the Interrogation Room, and once after Maruki’s reality was destroyed.
On a rational level, he doesn’t actually believe that the glove is what reunited them - but the Metaverse has taught him that there are plenty of powers beyond the reach of human rationality. He isn’t taking any chances. Packing the glove is just... insurance. One last good-luck token to guarantee that Akira will come back. An extra anchor to tug on, should the universe conspire to tear them apart again.
Akira finally gets the suitcase shut with a triumphant crow. “You look pleased with yourself,” he observes as he circles back to sit next to Akechi.
“Do I?” Akechi deflects, twining their fingers together. “Maybe I’m just revelling in your company.”
Akira flashes his canines, grinning. “Maybe you’re—”
A loud gurgle interrupts them. They both stare at Akira’s stomach, simultaneously realising that they didn’t eat breakfast.
Akechi rises, dusting off his trousers and letting go of Akira’s hand. “Kitchen?”
“Yeah, hold on—” Akira grabs the suitcase, hauling it upright. “Help me drag this to the lobby on the way, will you?”
If it were anybody else, Akechi would tell them to do their own manual labour - but because it’s Akira, he complies with only a few huffed complaints.
They bump into Makino-san en route. She clasps her hands together at the sight of the luggage, sorrow dampening her expression. “Kurusu-kun, you’re leaving us so soon?” She inquires, sounding surprised - even though Akechi knows she memorises the durations of all the Inn’s bookings.
“‘Afraid so,” Akira answers, with a slight bow. When he straightens, a smile plays across his lips. “I trust you’ll take care of Goro in my absence?”
Makino titters, adjusting her kimono sleeves. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. I’ll keep him too busy to miss you.” She wags her finger at Akechi, only half serious. “You’re going to be working double-shifts to pay for those plates you broke, young man.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Akechi replies tartly, drawing a chuckle from both Akira and Makino-san.
He’s not quite sure how they became so friendly. Makino seemed to take a shine to Akira from the moment they met, instantly charmed by his goofy wit and botanical expertise. Akechi had expected to resent her for falling into Akira’s gravitational orbit, just like everyone else - but he finds that he enjoys watching them talk. There’s a strange, second-hand satisfaction in seeing the people he cares about getting along so well. It’s not a sensation he’s experienced before and honestly, he’s a little startled by its profundity.
Makino places a wrinkled hand on Akira’s shoulder. “Please come back here when you get the chance, Kurusu-kun,” she entreats him. “Odawara is lovely in winter - maybe you could visit then? Early spring is nice too... The Ume Blossom festival is a sight to behold, I’m sure you would adore it! They light up the Castle towers and serve specialty plum soba all day, and the flower viewing is incomparable.” She twinkles, reminiscing on previous festivities. “Seeing the blossoms at night is like walking through a gathering of beautiful ghosts. I went there with my best friend in high school and it remains a treasured memory to this day. Perhaps next year, you and Goro-kun could go together.”
Akira turns to Akechi, eyebrows raised in question. Shall we? Akechi considers it, picturing Akira, the tip of his nose pink from the chill, framed by a cloud of flower petals. He shrugs and Akira gives him a toothy grin.
“That sounds wonderful, Makino-san,” he answers, nodding. She beams and pats him on the back, then reaches for Akechi’s head. Grumbling, he bends down and lets her ruffle his hair.
“There‘s some rice in the kitchen for you, boys,” she calls as she shuffles away. “Don’t forget to eat!”
They store the suitcase and find a generous portion of leftovers on the kitchen table. Akechi digs out two lunchboxes, whilst Akira prepares the food, humming quietly. He insists on wrapping some onigiri, because they’re a childhood staple and he’s feeling nostalgic. Akechi rolls his eyes and calls him a sentimental idiot - but he prepares a few for himself as well.
They seat themselves in the garden, on two large rocks, and drink in the late-spring greenery. The bonsai are flourishing under Makino’s strict care, forming artful abstract shapes. When the breeze picks up, the yew trees dust them both with pollen, much to Akechi’s chagrin.
In the fields outside of the inn, the crickets chirp in a fractured chorus. The heat sizzles. It’s far too hot for May - Akechi is sweating through his shirt already. He takes a sip of water, leaning back so his face is sheltered by the shade of the veranda. Like this, the temperature is more tolerable.
Akira, unperturbed by the warmth, finishes his lunch quickly. He stands and, when Akechi shoos him away, wanders around the garden on his own. Akechi watches him lazily circle the shrubs, picking at his onigiri. It’s peaceful. He rolls a grain of rice around on his tongue, wondering how long they have left until Akira’s departure.
Before he can retrieve his phone to check, something glints in the corner of his eye. He squints, trying to focus on it, but the sun blinds him. Reluctantly, he gets to his feet, shielding his face with his hand, and walks over.
At the base of the stone shrine, a couple of coins sit, catching the light. Akechi regards them with mild confusion.
Akira saunters over, intrigued by his preoccupation. “What are you glaring at?”
Akechi swallows, shaking his head. “I think the guests have started leaving coins.”
Akira tilts closer, brushing Akechi’s arm. “Like as offerings?“
“Looks like it.”
They study the sculpture in silence, taking in its curved roof and narrow pillars.
“It’s pretty small.” Akira observes. Akechi doesn’t dignify that truism with a response, so he keeps talking. “Is it just ornamental? Or are we supposed to leave offerings too?”
Akechi flicks a bug off his shoulder. “Purely ornamental. Although Morgana’s mostly been using it as a climbing frame.”
Akira flushes, bobbing his head in apology. “Sorry. Sometimes he doesn’t... really get human customs. Religion is kind of a mystery to him. When I used to meditate at the temple in Kichijoji, he would lay on top of me and swipe at my glasses until I was done.”
“That doesn’t sound conducive to effective meditation.”
Akira laughs. “It really wasn’t. But I think he was just bored. He didn’t mean any disrespect by it.”
Akechi waves away the explanation. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m in no position to judge him; I did the same thing when I was unsupervised as a child.”
Akira’s eyes widen. “You did?” He blinks, gaze darting from the shrine to Akechi. “Wow. That’s... a really cute image.”
Akechi snorts, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “My mother certainly didn’t think so. She almost slapped me. Seeing her that angry was very, very rare. It upset me more than the ensuing lecture. In retrospect, I can see that she was just scared my stupidity was going to offend Makino-san and get us kicked out.” He tips his head back, staring up at the sky. A beautiful light blue stretches from the horizon, uninterrupted by clouds; wide and dizzying and endless. “She knew I preferred living in the countryside. Out here, we actually had the space to breathe.” His voice trembles, despite the iron-grip he’s keeping on his feelings. “She was always thinking of me. Always.”
Akira reaches out and links their fingers together, squeezing Akechi’s hand. “She cared about you a lot.” He ventures, smiling softly. “You were very lucky to have each other.”
Akechi’s heart jumps. Affection nearly overwhelms him as he regards Akira’s earnest expression. He’s so fucking good - so kind and smart and selfless. How does he always know exactly what to say? It’s uncanny.
“Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask.” Akira strokes Akechi’s wrist with his thumb, tracing his veins. “Do you have a family grave somewhere? I would really like to go there and... meet your mom, if I can.”
Akechi’s chest swells with indescribable emotion. It floods, overflows and drowns him. He’d love to take Akira to see her, but...
“I don’t know,” he admits, eyes fixed on the ground. “The foster home I was carted off to had a policy of not relaying information about the children’s parents. Supposedly to help us move on. I tried to wring it out of them using my police contacts a couple years ago, but they didn’t even keep the info on file. So I have no idea if she has a grave - or where it might be, if it does exist.”
Akira’s face falls, stricken. “God. That’s— I’m so sorry, Goro. That’s awful.”
It is, he supposes. After so many years, he’s become kind of numb to the tragedy of it. As a kid though, he remembers being furious. He’d cried and sulked and raged and pleaded for the carers to change their minds. Naively, he had believed that if he just made enough trouble, he’d wear the social workers down and they’d tell him where she was buried. Obviously, he’d been wrong; his temper tantrums did little more than brand him as a problem child with behavioural issues.
Since then, he’s been forced to accept it as fact. Thinking of her still hurts him - but reflecting on the details of her final resting place is no longer upsetting. A grave is just an object, after all. What’s important is what it symbolises - and god knows he has more than enough memories to outweigh a slab of rock. His entire existence is a memorial to his mother, from his appearance to the vendetta that defined his adolescence. He’s alive because of her care and when things got bleak, he lived to avenge her suffering. She was everything to him - and it truly is a shame she’ll never get to meet Akira. She probably would’ve loved him.
The thought sends devastation jolting through Akechi’s chest, knocking him off-balance. The future he’s building with Akira, the hope he feels for the first time in years... She’ll never get to see it. She’ll never know how much Akira helped her son.
His throat tightens. He’s— He’s losing control. Layer upon layer of guilt, regret and denial unfurl, leaving him raw. He’s bombarded by images he usually keeps hidden away; things he doesn’t allow himself to recall, because they’re simply too painful.
He sees his mother, giggly and affectionate, calling him my little joy. Goro. Go-ro; all her love bound up in those two syllables. He remembers her bobbly sweaters, caught between his pudgy fingers. Her mouth, painted a brilliant scarlet, mumbling soothing platitudes. Her arms, smooth and smelling of roses, folded around his tiny body - protecting him from the world’s disgust.
But she could never clutch him closer than her grief, and slowly, it devoured them both. She always told Akechi that she never blamed him for his own existence, but he saw the way she gazed at him when she thought he wasn’t looking - towards the end, when the bitterness and despair swallowed her whole. Every glance was a reminder of Shido; of what she’d lost and mourned and hated.
Still, she never took it out on him. Whatever private ambivalence she harboured, it remained inside her head. She kept it contained enough that Akechi could ignore it - had ignored it. He’d lived in innocence, only distantly aware of the issues a bastard child could cause. How was a six-year-old supposed to appreciate the forces that they were contending with? How was he supposed to understand poverty or prostitution or the stigma of being a single mother?
He wishes he’d been a little older, a little smarter. He wishes he could’ve eased her burden, or at least been there for her to talk to. She must’ve been so fucking lonely, with nobody to lean on and nothing to support her. And Akechi was just a useless kid, too immature to see the reality of their situation until it was hanging before him from a noose.
He‘d barely been old enough to comprehend death when he lost her. It had torn him apart. Everything fell to pieces. The world ceased to make sense. How was he supposed to accept life lessons about morality and compassion when she was gone? How was he supposed to believe his carers and the cast of his favourite superhero shows when they told him that those who do good are rewarded? That evildoers will be punished? His mom had been kind and gentle and selfless - and she’d died a terrible death. Meanwhile, his father was out there, thriving and free from consequences.
That realisation had infected him. It sank into his flesh and festered, spreading its roots through every nerve ending - until his entire being starved for revenge. It had been his life raft and his last resort. If he had to kill for it, that was negligible. If he had to submerge himself in iniquity, so be it. Bloodied hands were a small price to pay for justice. Never mind how obeying Shido made him feel. Never mind that he didn’t even resemble the boy his mother had loved anymore.
He takes a deep breath. The words fall from his lips before he can think better of it. “For so long, I thought all I had left was my anger. It burnt up what memories I had of her; it caked them in the dirty, awful realisation of how miserable she was. I know there were genuine moments of happiness, but there was so much pain that I was too young to see. And the pain seemed to eclipse that joy. The rage I felt towards Shido was destructive, I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t. But it wasn’t just destructive. It was a trace of her. It was the knowledge that she was owed more; that she was granted so much less love than she deserved. So even though it hurt me... I held onto it.”
“Shido will suffer in jail.” Akira says quietly, staring down at his feet. “He will spend the rest of his days grovelling and regretting what he did to her - and to you. He’ll never know peace again.”
Akechi manages a weary smile. “He deserves it. He deserves worse. But I don’t think I ever... In all my years without her, I don’t think I ever really accepted that she was gone. That—” His voice breaks and he coughs, gulping back tears. “That she wasn’t coming back, no matter how much Shido suffered.”
Akira moves suddenly, as if by compulsion. He reaches out - then forcibly halts himself. His eyes ask, Can I?
Akechi nods and Akira hugs him so hard that his ribs creak. He clutches Akechi to his chest, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. Akechi buries his face in Akira’s shoulder, clinging to his body for support. A sob claws its way out of his throat and he chokes. His cheeks grow wet. His head aches. His temples are concentrated points of agony and he wonders, vaguely, if he’s going to faint.
He doesn’t know how long he cries for. Minutes. Hours, maybe.
When he comes back to himself, he feels oddly calm. Safe and... relieved, like he’s finally sweated out an indomitable fever. Empty and whole, all at once.
He misses her. He’ll probably always miss her. It still hurts to think about how she’ll never hug him again; how he’ll never hear her laugh or curse, except in his dreams. It stings, like a badly-set break. The exit wound she left is far from healed - but it’s no longer bleeding, at least. That’s something.
Akechi sighs, heavily enough to shift the gravity of the world around them. Gradually, he pulls away from Akira, wiping his eyes. His chest feels a little lighter than it did before.
He pauses, debating how he should proceed. He’s glad they had this conversation, but he’s not sure he wants to talk about his family anymore. He’s weighing up what to do when Akira, as if reading his mind, starts digging theatrically around in his pockets. He produces a couple of five yen coins, presenting them to Akechi on an outstretched palm.
“Do you wanna say a prayer?” He asks, nodding to the stone shrine. He gives no indication that he spent the last ten minutes consoling Akechi.
Akechi shakes his head, sniffing. “This isn’t an actual sacred space, y’know. No offering box or anything. The guests were just being dumb. Probably tourists.”
“Belief is reality, though. This place seems holy enough to me.” Akira shrugs, leaning into Akechi. He nudges their arms together, staying close. It’s comforting; it almost distracts Akechi from how ridiculous his point is.
“How is this garden holy, Akira? Do you see any Shimenawa ropes?”
“No. But...” Akira fidgets, abruptly bashful. “It’s special to you, isn’t it? You and your mom were here. From my perspective, that makes it pretty sacred - with or without Shimenawa ropes.”
Akechi blinks, reluctantly touched... and profoundly sceptical. He doesn’t actually think that praying to a stone decoration will do shit, but... it’s a nice thought, that his memories could somehow sanctify this place. “Fine,” he concedes, presenting his hand. “Giving in to your whims is easier than arguing with you.”
Akira smiles and presses the five yen into Akechi’s palm. They add their coins to the base of the shrine sculpture and clasp their hands together.
Akechi considers what he should wish for, groping incredulously for inspiration... and coming up blank. He’s never really been one for piety. He learned very quickly, as a child, that appealing to a higher power had no effect whatsoever. He could pray all he liked - no food would appear in their barren cupboards. No smile would appear on his mother’s face.
The only time a deity ever listened to him was when Yaldabaoth granted him the strength he yearned for. In retrospect, he understands that the gift was a poisoned chalice; that Yaldabaoth saw him as little more than a convenient pawn, to be used and discarded. Then there was Maruki’s little brush with godhood, which he used to rob Akechi of his agency and leverage him as a hostage. Overall, his experiences with divinity have been deeply disenchanting. It’s no wonder that doubt clouds his mind when he tries to come up with an adequate prayer.
Next to him, Akira exhales, audible over the buzzing crickets. He sounds like he’s concentrating. It’s endearing. Akechi allows that fondness to coat him, softening his skin and sinking past his pores - burrowing into his bones. An impulse, born of affection, surfaces from the conflicted haze of contemplation. His wish crystallises, delicate and indefensibly sentimental.
Akechi squeezes his fingers together and prays that Akira stays by his side - if not physically, then mentally. He prays for devotion and happiness and peaceful repose, for both of them.
Almost immediately, he feels stupid. No power dwells within the stone sculpture; he’s making a fool out of himself by pretending otherwise. With a pointed cough, he turns away from the shrine statue, shaking off his embarrassment and resolving to forget about it.
After a few seconds of delay, Akira follows him, paying no attention to his closed-off expression. “That was quick. What did you wish for?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Akechi states, folding his arms. “Nothing will come from whispering to a garden ornament.”
Akira raises his eyebrows, prompting Akechi to explain his irritation - but Akechi doesn’t take the bait. He tightens his hair tie instead, returning to his spot on the veranda.
Akira joins him, kicking his feet up on the wooden edge. “Well, even if you refuse to take this seriously, I will.”
“Go on then, Akira. Tell me your oh-so-serious wish.“
“Oh. Uh.” Akira tucks his hair behind his ears, cheeks colouring a little. He seems nervous. “I hope you don’t find this strange. Sorry in advance if you do. But... I wished for your mom to be happy. Wherever she is now.”
Akechi stills, staring at Akira. It takes a long moment for the words to sink in - for Akechi to process their meaning. No wish of that sort had occurred to him; probably because he’s never been able to bring himself to believe in the afterlife. The idea is supposed to be comforting, he knows, but it simply doesn’t make sense to him. How is the sketchy, unproven notion of another realm supposed to make him feel better? Even if his mother continues to exist in some distant, immaterial way, she is still gone from his world. She’s still lost, unreachable and silent. If that is all the afterlife can offer, then it makes no difference whether it exists or not.
However, Akira evidently disagrees. He must believe in life after death to some degree, or else he wouldn’t have prayed for Akechi’s mom.
The sentiment is so sweet that Akechi rankles. It’s so kind that his knee-jerk instinct is to dispute it. “Why would you wish that? First of all, it’s predicated on the assumption that an afterlife exists - that she can feel anything - and that’s fundamentally— You didn’t even know her, anyway. What could her happiness possibly mean to you?”
Akira looks at him like he’s being an idiot. “It’d make you happy to know she’s resting well, wouldn’t it? Plus… I may have never met her, but I’ve got to thank her for everything she did for you.“
Akechi clenches his jaw to keep his lip from quivering. “What am I supposed to say to that? You can’t just—” He shakes his head, at a loss.
Akira waits patiently. When it becomes clear that Akechi’s not going to finish his sentence, he speaks. “You don’t have to say anything. It was my prayer, not yours.” He fiddles with his fringe. “Sorry if I overstepped. I wanted to pay my respects - but I understand if you feel like I haven’t, I don’t know, earned that right yet.”
Akechi rears back, stunned. “Earned the— That’s not what this is about.” He’s struck, again, with the urge to lash out; to leave Akira fidgeting on the veranda and walk away from this emotional powder keg. He goes as far as standing to leave - but when Akira stares up at him with alarmed concern, he can’t get his feet to move.
He’s being irrational. It’s not fair to punish Akira for his compassion. He’s trying his best, and that’s far more care than most people have extended to Akechi’s situation. It’s just... weird to think about his mother, somehow preserved in the blank, empty space of the afterlife. If she had lingered in the margins of reality, as a ghost or a spirit or whatever... What would she make of him? Would she even recognise her son?
From his seat on the porch, Akira snags Akechi’s hand, rubbing it between his palms. The warmth and friction drags Akechi out of his head, and he blinks, feeling the glare of the sun for the first time in several minutes. Akira is gazing at him with restless sympathy, gently stroking his fingers. Akechi’s hostility melts away at the reassuring touch. He sighs, wondering how he’s ever going to deserve Akira. The selfless moron’s kindness could power the entire Tokyo skyline.
“Don’t apologise,” he belatedly tells Akira, clearing his throat. He squeezes Akira’s hand and sits back down stiffly. “It’s fine.”
Akira doesn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure?”
Akechi nods firmly. A beat of silence passes, where the only sound is the leaves rustling above their heads. “Some would argue that belief in the afterlife is just an expression of humanity’s inability to accept mortality,” he says, giving Akira a challenging look - switching the format of the conversation to a debate. It’s not exactly changing the subject, but Akechi is glad to retreat into detached hypotheticals.
Akira meets the provocation head-on. “Isn’t there something to be said for the fact that every major religion sees life as continuing after the body dies, though?”
“No, because every major religion is influenced by humans. Of course they want to include an afterlife in their faith; otherwise they’d have to accept the finitude of their lifespans. They’re all biased by their fear of the unknown, so they come up with a mythos to fill the gap.”
“Do you think that maybe you’re the one who’s biased? Against the concept of an afterlife, I mean.”
Akechi pauses, thrown. “Well. Maybe. But when one is trying to argue something exists, the burden of proof is on them. As long as there is no indisputable evidence of an afterlife, my position is epistemically the correct one.”
Akira raises an eyebrow. “Seems like relying on such a strict framework rules out a lot of nuance. We can’t prove the Metaverse existed, but we know it did. If something transcends human understanding - like the afterlife might - then naturally, it won’t fit neatly into our systems of logic.”
“That’s a cop-out. Witness testimony can prove the Metaverse existed.”
Akira grins. “Not indisputably. It’s a matter of whether the person chooses to believe us. Just like anyone can choose to believe in the afterlife or not. I figure that there’s probably something waiting for us after our physical body draws its last breath. I choose to believe it exists - whether it’s heaven, or reincarnation, or spiritual judgement.”
“Then I’ll choose to believe it doesn’t.” Akechi asserts, stubborn as ever.
Akira nods, reclining against the wooden panels. “That’s fair. That’s good, honestly. Healthy relationships are all about balance, according to Vague.”
Akechi’s mind seizes upon the phrasing. He leans forward, casting a shadow over Akira. “Is that what this is?” He asks quietly. “A relationship?” The word makes him feel out of his depth.
Akira tugs at his hair, going a little pink. “I mean... yes? I know we haven’t made anything official yet, so... It’s up to you, really. But that’s what I want. If you want it too. A relationship... with you. So. Yeah.”
It’s so awkward that Akechi has the urge to laugh. They’ve been in far more tense situations before - see: their reunion on the 2nd of January or their confrontation after Akechi blackmailed his way into the Phantom Thieves. Still, Akira has always managed to soldier through them with his incessant optimism. It’s cute that this is what flusters him, after all the crazy shit they’ve dealt with.
Akira’s eyes dart over to him, before returning to the garden. He looks anxious and Akechi realises that he’s been staring at Akira without replying for over a minute.
“I would be amenable to that,” he states eventually, concentrating on keeping his voice even.
Akira’s face lights up. He beams, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Okay. Cool.” The response is rather terse, but the joy he radiates is blinding. He glows with satisfaction and Akechi can’t help but smile back at him.
Akira sits up and shuffles closer, slipping his hand into Akechi’s. He lays his head on his shoulder and when he hums, Akechi feels the vibration buzz through his collarbone.
A thought occurs to him and he snorts. “Since when do you read Vague magazine?”
Akira shrugs playfully. “You had an interview in there once.”
“Stalker.” Akechi mutters, ignoring the spark of pleasure that Akira’s admission ignites.
Akira pokes him in the stomach. “Hypocrite. Anyway, I used to get bored waiting for my laundry to finish. Ann lent me a few issues to flick through and I got hooked.” Akechi scoffs and receives another jab for his rudeness. “Don’t be judgmental. Just because it’s not Hegel or some philosopher doesn’t mean it’s not worth reading. I took Ann to one of the shops they recommended, and she loved it so much she bought me a gift afterwards. So there.”
“Uh-huh. I recall being asked such sophisticated questions by their writers. What’s your type, Akechi-kun? Do you like sweets, Akechi-kun? Where would your ideal first date be, Akechi-kun?”
Akira giggles, muffling the sound in Akechi’s neck. “Mmhm. Do you remember what you picked for the last question?”
Akechi’s brow furrows. That day had been a whirlwind of makeup, lights and simpering compliments. After the first hour of the shoot, it’d all blended together. He’s not sure why Akira is focusing on that section in particular, unless—
Oh. He does remember. A flush creeps across his face, prickling hotly under his skin. He pulls away from the embrace, feeling caught out. “Just because I picked the aquarium doesn’t mean that our outing there was a date.”
Akira gives him a shit-eating grin and says nothing.
Akechi huffs, agitated. “I’m serious, Akira. A place can have more than one purpose - especially if it’s as busy and popular as Shinagawa Aquarium. You just— You just think everything is about you because you’re so used to the world revolving around your special, Earth-saving powers.”
Akira nods along with the spiel of excuses, his smirk not faltering for a second.
Akechi glares at him, embarrassed. He’d just said the aquarium in his Vague interview because it was a popular date spot. And yes, when he invited Akira there he had known it was often populated by couples - but that wasn’t why he gave Akira the spare ticket. He hadn’t even chosen the location; if anything, it was Sae-san’s fault for pawning the tickets off on him.
Akira finally opens his mouth - no doubt to say something humiliating - so Akechi cuts him off before any damage can be done. He grabs him by the chin and presses their lips together, hard. When Akira laughs, Akechi bites his lip in retaliation. The flesh swells between his teeth, wet and sweet like a mouthful of peach. He doesn’t let up until he tastes the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.
Akira winds his fingers through Akechi’s hair, nudging their thighs together. Akechi fists a sweaty hand in his shirt, yanking him closer. He’s dizzy with the lack of oxygen, but he’d rather die than stop kissing Akira.
Unfortunately, he does need to breathe and it would kind of put a damper on things if he suffocated in Akira’s arms. It would be an amazing way to get revenge for the insinuations about his Vague interview, though.
Reluctantly, he breaks away with one last peck. Akira’s bottom lip is smeared with scarlet, but he smiles like he’s never been happier. He leans in to continue the kiss.
A loud grumble from behind them stops him in his tracks. “You guys are ruining the view,” comes a sulky, familiar voice. They turn to find Morgana, sitting on the edge of the veranda a few feet away.
Akechi automatically shifts to put distance between himself and Akira, before remembering their truce. According to the deal, he has no reason to feel uncomfortable - so he tries to relax.
Akira chuckles, still high on the thrill of their kiss. “Oh hush,” he scolds affectionately. “We’re hardly tainting the entire courtyard.”
Morgana’s eyes narrow. “Is that blood?”
Akira wipes his mouth quickly. “Nope.”
“Hm.” Morgana glances sharply at Akechi, then seemingly reigns himself in.
“Everything okay?” Akira asks, tilting his head. “You got breakfast from the cooks, right?”
Morgana dismisses his concern. “Who do you think I am? Of course I charmed some food out of them. They gave me fatty tuna from yesterday’s sushi.”
“Lucky,” Akira pouts. “We got plain rice.”
Morgana grins, tossing his head. “You snooze, you lose.”
“So what are you here for?” Akechi prompts. It comes out snappier than intended and he cringes at his own delivery.
Thankfully, it doesn’t offend Morgana. “I wanted to suggest this to you before we left,” he says, nodding to Akira. “We should take a picture of the courtyard for Haru.”
Akira jumps up, regrettably severing his contact with Akechi. “Right, of course! Thanks for reminding me.” He bends over to pet Morgana and Akechi hears the beginnings of a begrudging purr.
“Why does she need a photo of the scenery?” He questions, hiding his wariness.
Morgana flicks his tail, deigning to explain. “She asked for references of interesting architecture. For the design department of Okumura Foods.”
“She’s planning to open a café,” Akira chimes in, crouching down to get the right angle with his phone camera. “This would be the perfect inspiration for the rooftop garden.”
Akechi watches him wobble on his heels, craning his neck back to fit as much into the photo as possible. He feels weirdly fond, watching Akira go above and beyond to fulfil the request. His enthusiasm is infectious and Akechi gestures to the left of the shrine, deciding to help. “If you take a picture from over there, you’ll be able to capture the bonsai, the yew trees and the sculpture.”
Akira stands, beaming gratefully at Akechi. It takes a while for him to snap a photo that satisfies him. He shows it to Morgana and the cat nods approvingly at Akechi. “Good idea. The ones by the shrine are better.”
“Thanks,” Akechi responds stiffly. Akira looks over the moon at the polite interaction. He sits down between Akechi and Mona, lacing his fingers through Akechi’s and stroking Mona with his free hand.
It’s only then that Akechi realises they’ve been freely talking about Ann and Haru, without the slightest bit of unease. Akira’s friends are no longer a taboo subject. He doesn’t even know if Akira has noticed the change; it seemed to slip out naturally - thoughtlessly. Maybe it’s a sign.
Several minutes pass in silence before he manages to work up the nerve to say anything. He fans himself, waiting until Akira takes out his phone, typing a message to Haru about the photos.
The red background of the Phantom Thief groupchat is instantly recognisable - and convenient. Akechi clears his throat, resolving to be as straightforward as possible. “You can tell them, by the way. That I’m alive. I don’t mind.” The last part isn’t strictly true, but well... he’s trying to seem casual.
Akira freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard. Morgana looks shocked, then hesitantly appreciative.
“Are you sure?” Akira asks, after an extended pause. “I figured you’d want to keep being a hermit.”
Akechi shrugs, shaking the tension out of his frame. “They’re going to find out eventually. Better to get it over and done with.”
Akira nods, eyes bright with disbelief and excitement. “Alright. I’ll text them later today. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“I’ll text you too. Don’t forget to check your messages, okay?“
Akechi rolls his eyes at the repeated instructions - but he squeezes Akira’s hand when he twitches. “Don’t worry, I’ll remember.”
“You won’t be able to text during the school day, though.” Morgana states, settling into a loaf position.
Akira gasps. “Crap, you’re right.” He hangs his head and sighs. “Yasogami’s phone policy is honestly tyrannical. They’re a lot stricter than Shujin.” When he lifts his chin, his expression is determined. “But you can message me during the day, since I’ll have Silent Mode on. Then I’ll reply after four pm, when I can no longer get detention. Deal?”
“Deal,” Akechi agrees immediately. The dull mundanity of the plan grounds him. It makes everything feel more real. He’s suddenly convinced, after days of doubt, that they actually will stay in touch.
He lets Akira snuggle into him, even though it makes the feverish heat harder to endure. He takes a slow sip of water and offers it to the others.
They sit - Akira, Akechi and Morgana - in a loose daisy chain on the veranda. They watch the yew trees shed pollen and wait for the sun to go down; for Akira’s parents to arrive and tear them apart. Somehow, Akechi isn’t dreading the departure quite as much as he was before. He runs his thumb across Akira’s wrist - and pictures everything he has to look forward to in the future.
For the first time in his life, it’s a long list. He smiles, resting his head on Akira’s shoulder, and enjoys the warm contentment.