Work Text:
11/22, evening
Sojiro was still closing up when Akira finally came back downstairs. He paused with his hand on the cash register and looked his charge up and down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Bathhouse,” Akira said.
Sojiro raised an eyebrow. “The drugs still messing with you, kid?”
“I’m not going to drown.”
Sojiro sighed. “That’s not what I meant. Look, the other patrons will probably notice…” He gestured at Akira.
Akira understood. “The cuffmarks.”
“Among other things,” Sojiro said. “I’m almost done cleaning up here. Why don’t you take a bath at my place? It’s private, and Futaba usually doesn’t use the tub until long after I’m asleep, so it’s no bother to us.”
Of course. The Sakuras had a bathroom. He’d even seen it once. Akira usually used the public bath at night, or freshened up in LeBlanc’s customer washroom before it opened in the mornings. Somehow, despite having been over several times to spend time with Futaba, it had never occurred to him to ask Sojiro about using the bathroom at his house. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem for me. Just let me finish up here, and you can come back with me. You want to bring a change of clothes?”
Akira nodded and turned to go back up the stairs. His legs still felt like they were weighed down with sandbags, but it was easier on the way up than on the way down, for some reason. Morgana was out that night, so he decided to leave a note, just in case the cat got worried he’d been captured. After writing down where he was going on a sheet of paper from a school notebook -- who knew when he’d go back to Shujin -- Akira threw his pajamas and some underwear into his backpack. He didn’t have a second pair of sweatpants, but he supposed that by the time he came back to LeBlanc, he’d just want to collapse back into bed, even without Morgana’s urging.
By the time he came back downstairs, Sojiro was done closing up and was leaning against the door, phone in hand. “I already checked with Futaba, and she says she doesn’t plan on using the bath until later. You ready?”
Akira nodded. “Let’s go.”
When they reached the Sakura house, Futaba slid down the hall to greet them in the fuzziest socks Akira had ever seen. “Hi Sojiro. Hi Akira. It’s good to see you,” she said, not smiling.
“Hi Futaba,” said Sojiro. “Do anything fun today?”
“Not really,” said Futaba. “I tried to do some more research on...you know, but I didn’t find anything seriously incriminating online. I think we’ll have to hold some kind of a meeting soon.” She paused. “Are you feeling any better Akira? You really did make like a tree and slept like a log!”
Akira shrugged. “I’m alive, so I guess I’ve been worse.”
Futaba and Sojiro were silent for a moment, and Akira wondered if he had said something wrong. “Too soon?” He asked.
Sojiro sighed. “Looks like you’re feeling well enough to joke about it. Now, into the bathroom with you. Futaba, why don’t you show him the way?”
“He doesn’t know where it is?” she asked in surprise.
“Nope, sorry,” said Akira.
“Alrighty then!” Futaba turned on the lights, and led Akira past the stairs to a painted door. “This is the one. The bath area gets really steamy, so you should probably leave your bag in the toilet room.”
Akira nodded. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Futaba. She turned to head back up to her room, then stopped. “Hey, Akira?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
Before he could answer, Futaba was gone, up the stairs in those enormously fluffy socks.
Closing the door behind him, Akira sighed heavily. He unzipped his jacket, pulled off his shirt, wincing as the sleeves tore past the raw skin on his wrists and when the collar got briefly caught on his chin. It wasn’t as bad as changing out of his uniform the previous afternoon, he told himself. At least you got some sleep. Besides, you stink.
He really did stink. The odors of sweat, blood, cat, and something sharp and inorganic had permeated his clothes, replacing the coffee smell that was usually so hard to get rid of. The smell of his own sheets had been what had driven him out of bed in the first place. That and the taste in his mouth. Something inside it had started bleeding again, and the pain in his teeth scared him too much to look. So you can face up to Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro and the rest with no problem, leap into a police ambush with a smile, spend months playing nice with the person planning to kill you, prepare to take on a politician powerful and evil enough to order a hit on someone in police custody like it’s nothing, but you can’t even look in a mirror in case you don’t like what you see? Get it together, kid!
He opened the door to the bathing area and stood, naked, in front of the shower, to turn it on. The cold, high-pressure water burned, and Akira instinctively pulled back and began to run the tub while he waited for the shower to heat up. He wanted the bath to be hot. Almost boiling. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to wash the past two days off of himself, to boil off the exhaustion and aching, to come out fresh and ready to succeed in whatever lay ahead of him.
By the time the tub water was full enough for him to stop up the drain, the shower was also warm enough for him to use. It wasn’t hot by any means, but it was good enough. The water still stung though, and, Akira realized suddenly, he didn’t have any soap. He scanned the cabinet on the inside wall and grabbed a clear plastic bottle of amber liquid, which, upon closer inspection of the label, turned out to be shampoo. He supposed washing his hair would come first.
When Akira opened the bottle, he was pleasantly surprised by the smell. Lemons. It was so far away from the smells of sweat and blood and his own spit. He poured some out into his hands and rubbed them together. White, sweet-smelling froth bubbled out between his bruised fingers. He ran it through his hair, then held the shower head to the back of his head, gripping it tightly, trying not to think about something else that had been pointed at his -- that wasn’t even really you! Why are you freaking out like this! You’re alive! You’ve lived to fight another day; be grateful for it! God the lemon shampoo smelled so good.
Akira didn’t get up from the shower bench. Instead, he stayed and poured out another handful. This time he washed his neck, chest, and underarms, forgoing the scrubbing brush hanging on the wall, just letting the foam in his hands do all the work in all the places where his skin was still tender. Akira turned down the water pressure before he washed his legs, which still hurt like a motherfuck and were covered in purple and orange bruises, but he lathered them with shampoo and sprayed them with the shower, gritting his teeth. He was the leader of the phantom thieves. He had chosen this. He could take it. The pain meant he was alive, so it was better than the alternative, right?
Akira touched the tub’s water and found that it had cooled down too much, so he let out the plug and added more water, now hot enough that the faucet fogged over and steam rose from the surface. Then something occurred to him. He grabbed the shampoo bottle, and poured some into the tub, right underneath the faucet’s stream. The result was exactly what he had hoped for. Huge masses of white foam rose up and spread out across the bath, and the whole room smelled like lemon soap. The steam was so thick that Akira could barely make out the walls. Finally, the bath was ready. Akira shut off the water and stepped over the porcelain walls, splashing water and foam alike out over the tile floor.
He sat down in the dizzyingly, beautifully hot bath and rested his head on the side of the tub. His knees poked up above the thick soap bubbles, and he rested his hands there, just barely touching the warm mass of foam. The hot, lemony steam rose up around his face and his wet hair clung to the wall tile. His eyes felt heavy. You were just asleep! Don’t fall asleep in the Sakuras’ bath! You’re acting like a child! Come on, wake up! You’ll never get anything done like this. If your friends could see you like this, you’d be letting them all down.
Akira moved to splash water on his face, but when his hands entered the steaming water, he shouted involuntarily. His wrists had been rubbed raw by the handcuffs, and the hot water, which was so relaxing to the rest of him, felt excruciatingly painful on the red bands of injured skin. Looking at them, Akira found himself picturing the handcuffs again, remember the way the cold hard metal had pressed against his once-brown wrists. They were smaller, much smaller if he remembered correctly, than the marks they had left. But they’re not as big as the manacles in your velvet room! What are you complaining for?
“Why do I have to wear handcuffs in my subconscious too?” Akira said it aloud into the thick and silent steam. “Why do I have to wear them in the bath?” He didn’t answer his own question. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he had had to just let the police beat and drug him. It wasn’t fair how badly everything still hurt. It wasn’t fair that he’d had to risk his life. It wasn’t fair that he had to be imprisoned in this fake death for who knows how long. It wasn’t fair that they lied and claimed it was a suicide. It wasn’t fair that even now, everything he’d been through still hadn’t solved their current problem. There was so much left to do, and he had to be the leader, the strong one, the one who wasn’t afraid of anything, the one who pretended to be ok with playing dead alone in the attic. It wasn’t fair that he would have to hide from his friends too. It wasn’t fair that he was a still a prisoner inside his own self.
So what are you going to do about it? Are you going to cry, like a weak little child? Are you going to be an embarrassment to everyone and cry?
The pain in his face changed, and suddenly, Akira was sobbing, heaving, tears streaming hot and wet down his cheeks. Bloody spit and snot dripped down from his chin onto the mounds of white foam, tunneling through to the water. It had been a long time since he’d cried, and he’d forgotten how physical it was, the way his body shook and gasped for breath. He’d forgotten whether or not there was a way to make himself stop.
By the time the storm had passed, the water was cool enough that Akira could comfortably submerge his hands. The white shampoo foam had dissolved into a fine film around the edges of the bath. The water was a dull and opaque. He splashed some on his face. It stung, but he was almost too tired to care. He didn’t feel clean. He felt battered and exhausted and lonely. Isn’t that an insult to the Sakuras? They invite you into their home and you still have the nerve to feel lonely? They’d all be so disappointed in you if they knew.
Akira shook his head. Nerve wasn’t it. He stood up and climbed out of the tub. The steam had dissipated somewhat and he found himself shivering. This wasn’t nerve, guts, whatever you want to call it. He pulled out the plug and watched as the gray water swirled away down the drain. Once it was all gone, he put the plug back in and began to run the water again. He felt like he could bathe a thousand times and never be able to wash out the aching in his legs, wrists and face. One more bath would have to be enough for tonight. This time he didn’t let the water get so hot. He didn’t pour in the shampoo either. Instead, Akira simply lowered himself into the lukewarm water and closed his eyes.
The nagging inside his head continued, but Akira decided to push the limits of his guts. “Shut it, I’m tired,” he said to himself. A volley of insults followed, just as he expected, but they were unable to bind him. He lay back, his feet pressed against one wall of the bath and his head against the other. Fine. Maybe he was weak. Maybe it was ok to be weak, as long as it was a secret. As long as no one else could see.
It wasn’t very long before he got out of the bath again. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and the room was starting to get uncomfortably cold. When Akira pulled the plug for the third time, he noticed that a grayish ring had formed right around the water line and cringed inwardly. He’d have to bother Sojiro about where the cleaning supplies were kept before he went back to Leblanc. He had hoped he could just get back home without giving the Sakuras any more grief than he already had. Causing trouble for people again? You’re supposed to be the helpful one.
“Yeah, I am,” Akira muttered as he returned to the outer area of the bathroom where his towel and fresh sweatpants lay atop the toilet. Whatever. He just had to deal with this. He would push through this embarrassment of a night.
Akira finally left the bathroom a few moments later, in fresh sweatpants, the zipper of his sweatshirt cold against his otherwise bare chest. He had meant to put his shirt back on after the bath, but he had bloodied it again while undressing, and the thought of putting it back on made him sick.
To his surprise, Sojiro was waiting for him, sitting on the stairs. He got up when Akira closed the door behind him.
“Say, kid, have you had dinner yet?” Sojiro asked.
Akira shook his head. “I’m fine,” he added, quickly.
“Futaba and I ate already, but we have a lot left over. Nikujaga doesn’t keep very well, so really you’d be doing us a favor.”
Akira vaguely wondered if Sojiro had made extra on purpose, but it had been more than twenty-four hours since he’d eaten, and much, much longer since he had eaten something other than coffee or curry. “Ok.”
Sojiro smiled. “Alright. I’ll heat it back up for you.”
The two of them headed towards the kitchen, Akira trailing a few paces behind Sojiro. Akira felt somewhat lightheaded, maybe from the heat of the bath, maybe from hunger, maybe from some residual effect of the drugs. Maybe from crying so hard earlier. Maybe Sojiro heard you, he thought. Maybe that’s why he’s offering you dinner. He heard you crying and now he thinks he has to take care of you like you’re a little child.
When they arrived at the kitchen, Sojiro turned on the stove under a large pot that had been left there. “Sit down, make yourself at home,” he said to Akira, gesturing towards a small wooden table with four chairs around it.
Akira walked over but he didn’t sit down yet. “Where do you keep cleaning supplies?” he asked.
“Cleaning supplies?” Sojiro blinked. “In the cabinet under the stairs, next to the bathroom. Why?”
Before Akira could answer, Futaba walked in. “Hey Akira. Hey dad.” She leaned over one of the chairs and rested her elbows on the table. “What’s going on?”
“Hey Futaba,” Sojiro answered, beaming. “I’m just heating up some of the Nikujaga for Akira. Do you want seconds?”
Futaba shook her head. “No thanks, but can I have cocoa?”
“Sure thing. I’ll get it set up while this heats up,” Sojiro said. “Take a seat, both of you.”
Futaba climbed over the back of her chair and crouched on the seat, and, after a pause, Akira sat down across from her.
“‘Sup?” he asked. “Not much. I was playing 3v3, but I couldn’t really concentrate.” She bit her lip.
Akira nodded. “I feel that.”
“Yeah.” The two of them were quiet for a moment.
Suddenly Futaba leaned across the table on her elbows and took a sharp inhale. “Did you use my shampoo?”
“What?”
“My shampoo,” Futaba insisted. “You smell like floor cleaner.”
“I didn’t know it was yours,” said Akira.
“It’s fine, as long as you left some for me.” Futaba pulled back to her chair.
“I drank it all, sorry.”
“You have four hours to live,” Futaba answered, completely deadpan.
Akira shrugged. “I guess I can’t expect to cheat death twice.” He was back in his comfort zone, joking around, playing it cool, making other people smile.
Except Futaba wasn’t smiling anymore. She stared at Akira intently. “Really, it’s ok. I’ll just get new shampoo. It can be replaced,” she said after a moment’s pause.
“Sorry,” said Akira.
Sojiro turned around. “You ready to eat, kid? The nikujaga’s pretty hot.”
“Yes please,” Akira answered.
Sojiro slid a steaming, fragrant bowl across the table towards Akira.
“Here you go. I’ll grab you some chopsticks.”
“It smells delicious.”
Sojiro grinned. “Just wait ‘til you taste it.” He tossed Akira a pair of striped plastic chopsticks. They clattered to the table beside the bowl.
“Thank you, Mr. Sakura.” The nikujaga tasted even better than it smelled. Maybe it was the most delicious thing Akira had ever eaten. Maybe he was just hungry. Sojiro was watching him eat, so Akira made sure to show his enjoyment.
“Should I make my own cocoa?” Futaba asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m already up, so I’ll take care of it,” said Sojiro. “By the way, you mentioned something about cleaning supplies earlier, Akira?”
Akira finished chewing. “Yeah. I might have made a mess in the bathroom. I’ll clean it up before I head back tonight, but I don’t know where you keep the rags and stuff.”
“Wait, he’s not staying?” asked Futaba. “
It’s fine, I can go back,” said Akira.
Sojiro pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s after 22:30. You might as well stay.” He paused to replace his phone, then spoke again. “Besides, I’m not sure if I’m ready to leave you on your own yet.”
Akira cocked his head to the side. “I was fine last night.”
“Niijima Sae stayed over last night in Leblanc. We can’t take you to a hospital or anything, but she suggested that we keep you under observation, at least until we can be sure the drugs have worn off. I’m sure you’re out of danger, but I’d rather you stay here tonight, just to put my mind at ease,” Sojiro said.
“You’re worried about me,” Akira said. It wasn’t a question. He was just disappointed. What a weak child you are. You’re supposed to be the leader. The joker you should be wouldn’t let other people worry about him.
Sojiro sighed. “I’m your probation officer. And now that I know you and Futaba are phantom thieves, I’m your accomplice too, I guess. As the adult here, and as Futaba’s guardian, my job is to worry about you kids.”
“I’m sorry,” Akira said.
Futaba shook her head. “No, I’m glad you’re staying. It feels like--” She paused, then started again, more quietly. “I always wanted a brother, you know.”
Akira started. “Huh?”
Futaba shook her head. “Nevermind.”
There were a lot of things Akira wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for her loneliness, that he would stay, that she was the younger sister he had never knew how badly he wanted, that he wanted to be the best older brother in the whole world, that a sister like her would be the greatest honor he could imagine, that he would do anything and everything to earn that honor. But he let it slide. He wasn’t the best brother in the whole world yet anyway. He was a coward and a nuisance who had made a mess of the bathroom, and thoughtlessly wasted Futaba’s shampoo. He was making her take care of him instead of the other way around. She deserves better than you. She deserves someone who never lets her doubt his strength and--
Futaba brought Akira out of his reverie. “Hey where’s Sojiro?”
Akira looked around. A cup of what he presumed to be cocoa sat beside the stove, but the man who made it was nowhere in sight.
Akira shrugged.
“Maybe he’s going to bed now?” Futaba asked.
“Maybe,” replied Akira. He pushed back his chair, and tried to stand, but the sudden wave of pain in his legs made him gasp.
“I’ll go find him, don’t worry,” said Futaba.
“No, I can do it. You should have your cocoa before it gets too cold anyway.”
“Oh, right, cocoa,” said Futaba. She paused. “That was actually an excuse to stay and talk to you.”
Akira smiled. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“Yeah, it’s always weird to be sitting with someone who’s eating if you don’t have anything,” Futaba replied. “Anyway, there’s no way Sojiro left the house.”
“Right,” said Akira. He supposed Sojiro must be exhausted. The past few days had been horrible for him too and you sure aren’t making things easier. Akira sighed, steeled himself, and stood again. This time he was ready, and he managed not to say anything aloud. He walked over to the stoveside counter and brought Futaba’s cocoa over to the table. “Here you go.”
“Oh! Sorry!” Futaba said.
“It’s fine. I’m gonna go make sure Sojiro’s ok,” said Akira. And apologize to him if he’s awake or let him rest if he’s asleep. And then come back to clean out the tub and do the dishes. And then go home and come back when I can be strong for them again.
“He’s probably just changing into his pajamas or something,” said Futaba, but she didn’t stop him. He had already made up his mind.
Akira walked back down the hallway towards the staircase, but stopped before he got there. The toilet door was open and the lights inside were on. Someone was humming.
Akira walked in to find the bath open too, and inside was Sojiro. Sojiro was leaning over the edge of the tub, scrubbing. He didn’t seem to notice Akira watching.
“I was going to do that,” Akira said.
Sojiro looked up. “Hey there, Akira. Thanks for the offer but I’m just about done. Also, why aren’t you eating dinner?”
“Finished.”
“Huh. Well, it wasn’t that big of a mess, and I’ll be using the bath later, so I figured I might as well. You think you’re feeling well enough to help with the dishes?” Sojiro asked.
Akira nodded.
“Alright.” Sojiro stood up. “By the way, Akira, you don’t have to go home tonight. It’s up to you, but don’t feel pressured. You haven’t been imposing or anything.” Sojiro stepped out into the hall but didn’t return to the kitchen.
Akira could feel heat rising in his face. “You don’t have to lie.”
Sojiro sighed. “Look, it’s not that I’m lying to you. It’s that I want to help. You and Futaba and the rest of your friends are doing something hard and dangerous, and to be honest, if I could stop you I would. But I can’t. No one else is going to go after Shido. So I’m doing the next best thing I can do, which is support you. And don’t pretend you don’t need it.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all Akira could say.
“I want to do this. Giving you a bath, a hot meal and some company isn’t too much. Hey, don’t make that face--it’s ok to accept things other people offer. You aren’t doing anything wrong by being here. Besides, like I said before, I’d worry even more if you were at LeBlanc alone.”
Akira opened his mouth to apologize again, but the stinging heat in his cheeks had reached his eyes, so closed it. Don’t cry, no, not here.
“There’s no need to apologize for being human. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It’s just that you’ve been through a lot lately, and you have a lot more coming, so for now, I want to be here for you.”
Akira felt something warm and heavy on his shoulder and he flinched away before realizing what it was. Sojiro’s hand. He still wanted to apologize. He still wanted to go home. He still wanted to hide his weakness from them. But wanting wasn’t going to imprison him.
“Thanks, boss,” he said.
Sojiro smiled. “No problem. I’m heading back to the kitchen to get started on the dishes. If you want you can come too, but take your time.”