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Akechi wakes up in a haze, as if climbing out of a deep tunnel.
It takes a minute for him to remember where he is. He’s sick, and has been sick ever since waking up in a gutter in the real world after the metaverse shutdown. It had taken him some days to reconvene with the Phantom Thieves, and to reunite with Akira. There had been a mutual confession of feelings between them, which was cut off rather abruptly when he slipped into unconsciousness midway through kissing his now-boyfriend.
Akira has now been graciously staying with him as he rots in bed. It’s been getting better: he’s conscious most of the time now, but he’s still dizzy, fevered, and weak. Too weak. He'd die if he went into the metaverse like this.
Akechi shoves the thought away and rolls over, opening his eyes. The attic looks exactly the same as it has the past few days. There's a lofty wooden ceiling above him, wooden beams across it. Morgana has taken to sleeping there out of protest for Akechi taking up his side of Akira's blankets at night. The room is messy in a comfortable, lived-in kind of way. Akechi is nestled in Akira's bed. The mattress is a little springy, in places, but as long as he avoids those spots, it's much more comfortable than his own.
As he wakes up fully, becoming more conscious of his body, he becomes aware of an urgent feeling in his lower torso. He has to piss. He knows, though, that he hasn’t been able to make it across the floor by himself in recent days, nevertheless down the stairs.
Akira has had to help him down to the bathroom several times already in the past few days, but Akira isn’t here right now. He’s out getting medicine. He decides to try and go back to sleep until his boyfriend returns.
It’s a somewhat fitful rest, but he manages to get back to sleep, dreaming an odd dream where he has to dance with the phantom thieves to save the world. He wakes up a few hours later, according to the clock on the wall, with still no Akira in sight, and lets out a hissing breath through his teeth as the sensation of his overfull bladder hits him. The desperation is worse now, and it seems like his brain woke him up just before he would have probably pissed the bed in his sleep.
He tenses his body reflexively, grasping at his crotch and trying to get himself under control as his bladder spasms, but a little piss slips into his shorts anyway.
They're the pajamas he’s borrowing from Akira, and this is the last straw. He refuses to get his boyfriend’s bed wet. He can't wait any longer, so he has to get up and get downstairs on his own. Akechi gets out of bed, steadying himself on the metal shelving next to it as his head spins with vertigo before making his way across the room towards the stairs.
He makes it a few feet out of pure will, but his dizziness overwhelms him and he finds his head magnetically drawn to the floor, his body impacting the wood with a thud. He curls in on himself as his bladder lets out a long leak from the impact. It takes all his concentration to stop the stream, teeth gritted and muscles straining. His hands grip at his cock so hard it hurts, his legs squeezed together.
He’s trapped like that on the floor for several minutes, panting, as his bladder continues to let out small leaks of piss that he can barely stop before the next one starts. The wet spot on his shorts grows larger, and while Akechi knows that he’s not going to make it to the bathroom in this state, he hangs onto what little control he has as the spurts get longer, starting to form a small puddle underneath him.
Eventually, he can’t get the flow to stop at all. His bladder empties itself onto the floor in a gushing stream, and the attic is quiet except for the trickle of the puddle growing and Akechi's strained breathing as he tries desperately, fruitlessly, to stop.
Because of his curled position, the urine soaks into everything: Akechi’s boxers, his shorts, his hair. Akechi is repulsed with himself, and with the situation. He finally manages to cut off the stream, but his hair and clothes are already disgusting. He feels disgusting, and useless. There's not even an element of relief to it: he still has to go, a bit, and his abused bladder aches even with only a small amount still contained in it.
He can’t summon the strength to get up, or even move out of the puddle- he tries to at least get on his hands and knees, briefly, but ends up slipping and falling back into his piss. He lies there, stewing in his self-hatred. He doesn’t know for how long he’s in that position, curled up on the floor like the filthy fucking garbage he is.
The trance is broken when he hears Akira’s footsteps on the stairs. He's awake and aware, and he doesn't want Akira to find him like this, but he doesn't have a choice. He lies there, stilled by his shame and embarrassment and anger.
Akira calls out a partial, "Honey, I'm ho-" that is cut off when the man sees him on the ground. Akechi can see the switch flip in his brain as the ex-phantom-thief goes into a protective stance, scanning the room for threats, a knife pulled halfway from his pocket. He turns on the light, and sees nothing but Akechi in his puddle of piss, and his expression goes from focused intensity to soft concern. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be gone so long. You must have really had to go, huh?" He helps Akechi to sit up and move onto the couch, and his touch is soft and gentle even though Akechi is bad and gross and dirty and getting the couch wet by sitting on it. "Did you hurt yourself at all when you fell? Tell me how I can help."
Akechi's head is flooded with things he should say- a layer of polite, sugarsweet tv-detective apologies, and a layer of fuck-you-don't-you-dare-pity-mes, but what comes out of his mouth as he leans into Akira's chest and his voice cracks is "I need a shower."
"Of course. Give me just a second." Akechi's boyfriend thinks for a moment before speaking again. "I'll talk to Sojiro, and then we'll walk you over to his place and get you cleaned up. No one will see you: we'll cover you in a blanket. The neighborhood's used to Futaba walking around looking weirder, they won't think anything of it. Does that sound okay to you?"
Akechi nods. He's tired and overwhelmed, too much so to force any words out of his mouth, to tell Akira that he still has to go. He can finish emptying his bladder at Sojiro's place. Surely he can make it that far.