Work Text:
“What's up with you tonight?”
Akira nearly didn't understand he was the one being addressed until he felt a nudge against his left arm. He'd been staring holes into his drink for a while now, not having touched it for quite some time, while everyone else around him was getting drunk and merry.
It was just one of those days where he felt like a shadow of his former self. The glory of the Phantom Thieves lay long forgotten in a distant past, and while Akira loved the rare get-togethers the gang would hold at least once a year, it would sometimes tug at his heartstrings in a way that made him want to bawl his eyes out.
Of course he was happy to see his friends. Though everyone was really busy these days, they’d make sure to clear their schedule for that one Saturday once in a blue moon, and nobody was allowed to skip out unless a family member died or was horribly injured–in which case the gang would get together anyway, just differently. Usually, Akira and his friends would meet up at Leblanc, but the location would change depending on the group voting, and this time, they were gathered at one of Ann's many condos, music playing loudly in the background as glasses clinked together and bottles were emptied as the night went on.
Everyone was happy. Drunk off their asses, of course, except maybe for Futaba, because she never liked alcohol, though Akira caught her sipping some champagne with Sumire earlier. Point was, Akira was the odd one out, because the longer he regarded the scene, the more he missed the mundanity of the old days; of a past that was no longer here, of daily meetings that made yearly reunions seem trivial.
“Hey.”
Akira felt yet another nudge against his elbow, but he ignored it. Whoever was getting all up in his space seemed determined, though; kept nudging him until he was forced to respond in some way or another.
“Did you hear me? I said you have an odd look on your face. Is there something on your mind?”
“I’m fine. Just a little tipsy, but–”
Akira’s words died on his tongue when he locked eyes with a most unexpected person. It wasn’t Ryuji, or Makoto, or even Ann who had addressed him; instead, a pair of garnet eyes that haunted Akira in his dreams hefted on him.
It was Akechi. Akechi Goro in the flesh, not a phantasm conjured up in his mind because that one could never compare to the original, and for a moment, Akira could do nothing but hold his breath.
His brain belatedly reminded him that Akechi had been joining their get-togethers for a few years now, even if he rarely ever joined physically. It was more likely he’d cancel spontaneously a few hours prior, but he actually did make it to their reunion before–the first time when everyone found out he was still alive six years ago, and the second…the second was just a year ago, actually.
Nobody wanted to force him to reconnect, of course; Akira was happy enough to know Akechi had joined the force again, working alongside Sae to bring down the last of Shido’s remaining network. He chatted with Akechi often enough over LINE, but something always held him back from asking Akechi out to a one-on-one meet-up, and so, it was only natural of him to be startled right now.
Of course, there was more to this than just being startled over Akechi’s appearance. There was the fear of Akechi finding out about the foolish crush Akira had been unable to get over since he was seventeen, the many daydreams and regrets he carried with. The undying urge of wanting to throw himself into Akechi’s arms and demand why he never bothered to show up sooner, even though Akechi owed him nothing.
They weren’t lovers. They weren’t all that close after breaking apart eight years ago either, with Akira being forced to believe Akechi was dead for two years until the truth came out, and Akechi awkwardly rejoining the squad. He was less cold but more distant than before, and he rarely interacted longer with Akira than past some mundane pleasantries.
So how come that very same Akechi was suddenly nuzzling up against his side on Ann’s couch, inquiring about his well-being? That couldn’t really be right.
Akira spotted a bunch of empty bottles a few feet away from Akechi. Considering the dark, red flush of Akechi’s cheeks, the slight dilation of his pupils, and the crooked grin on his lips that kept switching into a pout before falling back into a smile, it wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. Akechi was drunk; to think that Akechi, who would avoid their get-togethers like the plague, got drunk and was very much vulnerable right now was something Akira wouldn’t have imagined happening in his wildest dreams.
Or maybe he had. Especially that first time six years ago.
“You’re drunk,” he muttered, shrugging lightly in an attempt to brush Akechi off–to no avail. If anything, Akechi was nuzzling up further against his side, rubbing his face into the crook of Akira’s neck, and Akira nearly dropped the drink he was holding onto the ground.
Since when was Akechi a touchy drunk? Actually, since when did Akechi even drink at all? Akira was pretty sure he remembered Akechi turning down every offer of alcohol or wine whenever he showed up, because Akira couldn’t help but observe him every waking minute whenever he had the chance.
“So what if I am?”
Akira was granted a dazzling, roguish smile that would have swept him off his feet if he was standing; instead, his heart nearly sprung out of his chest, and something hot started to swirl inside his gut.
Any doubt that Akechi might have been putting on an act for unknown purposes went flying out of the window, and Akira gulped as he averted his eyes from a sight that would surely have him screaming into his pillow later.
“Dunno if you’re just messing with me or if you’re actually drunk, but either way–maybe you should…”
Akira motioned at Akechi to move away, but that just made Akechi’s expression turn sour as he nuzzled up even further. Akira felt a thread snap.
“You want me to move away?”
Akira wasn’t a teenager anymore. He knew how to handle drunks; knew a bunch of drunken antics, knew well how to deal with his friends once they had one shot too many.
But he hadn’t had too much experience with a drunken Akechi yet. Though part of him was very much aware Akechi wouldn’t just move away if he was told to, drunk or not, part of him thought it was still worth trying.
Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to shove Akechi off, yet felt compelled to say or do something so his actions wouldn’t fall under the category of morally gray choices.
“Yes. I’d very much appreciate it if you considered personal space and respected that–”
Akira felt another thread snap when Akechi pulled a face upon hearing those words. Suddenly, he was swinging his legs over Akira's lap under a loud groan.
“Heave-ho,” Akechi said, causing Akira's brain to short-circuit.
By the time he got back to himself, Akechi was planted on his lap–earning Akira a few hollers and cheers from his friends mingling in the background. Akechi's legs were bracketing him in left and right, folded around his knees, and Akira tried very hard not to focus on the multiple points of contact because he'd risk going insane otherwise.
“You.”
Akechi leveled a glare his way, pointing his finger at him.
“I'm definitely–” A hiccup cut into Akechi's words. “–not moving away until you tell me what’s up. And if I annoy you by sticking too close–ha, even better!”
Akira let out a curse when Akechi’s arms suddenly swung around his neck, and Akechi bumped their foreheads together. The smell of an expensive cologne wafted into Akira’s nose as a myriad of sensations came raining down on him, his brain finally processing the situation, and promptly triggering emergency mode.
But instead of putting a healthy amount of distance between them, Akira felt paralyzed as he caught Akechi's gaze.
Akechi’s eyes had always been pretty, but Akira never had the chance to regard them up close like this. For a moment, he found himself getting lost in the maze as memories came flooding in; long lost desires of wanting to kiss his rival under the moonlight, of proving him how worthy he was, of showing him he was indeed worth a chance.
Akira barely noticed his drink had been knocked onto the ground, staining Ann’s likely expensive carpet.
“Who cares if I’m drunk?” Akechi slurred, and alarm bells went off inside Akira’s mind, yet he sat there utterly frozen in panic–or perhaps, hope. “You still haven’t answe’d–answered my question.”
Garnet-red eyes stare at him, roaming over his face; taking in every twitch of his eyebrows, every rattled intake of breath.
“What’s up–” Another hiccup. “–with you? Hm? You’re not—usually this detached.”
Akira knew very well that when Akechi raised his hand, it was high time to push him off and bring him back to his senses. Instead, he watched with bated breath as Akechi suddenly reached for one of his locks–he’d grown out his hair over the past few years–twirling it around his finger with an adorable pout on his lips.
“Aren’t you usually so–dunno, sociable? Really thought you’d pester me day and night. Instead, I have to find out you’ve grown out your hair during an annual meeting I barely even attend.”
Akira could barely hear Akechi’s voice over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.
“Really thought–” Yet another hiccup. “–that when you first met me again after that stupid therapist was gone, you’d be all over me. But…you didn’t even bother looking for me.”
Akechi tugged at Akira’s lock as he suddenly leaned in, bringing their faces closer together. Akira could feel his hot breath fan against his face; the faint stench of alcohol clinging to it.
“I don’ really care. If you’re happy with us being two strangers to one another, I’m fine with that. But what I can’t stand is that miserable expression on your face.”
Akira suppressed a flinch as Akechi suddenly tugged on his cheeks, making him grimace.
“Aren’t you supposed to be annoyingly happy right now? Aren’t you going to rub me in the face how happy you are to see your damn friends, how happy you are to have found your place in life, a loving family, a sister-figure–”
Akira slumped forward, burying his face in Akechi’s shoulder. His eyes felt wet as his hands settled on Akechi’s waist, the last of his former iron will shattered apart by the words of a drunk.
That was how weak he had become. Or perhaps, it was only thanks to Akechi he could acknowledge his own shortcomings. After all, Akechi had always been the best at making him realize his own flaws, and made him strive to become someone better.
Except this time, Akira wasn’t sure he still had that youthful hope still in him.
“I’m just–tired.”
“Tired?”
Akira swallowed when arms circled around his back, keeping him close. A hand settled on the back of his head, carding through his unkempt raven hair. Akechi must have drunk enough for days; he was acting completely out of character, and instead of being responsible, of being a good friend and pushing him away, Akira gave in to the temptation of finding comfort in Akechi’s arms.
Akechi made him weak like that.
Akechi began to pat him as a surge of tears welled up inside Akira’s eyes, though he refused to let them fall. Did Akechi usually comfort people like this nowadays? Had he matured so much he’d basically turned into another person, and the sarcastic, bitter boy Akira knew as a teen had disappeared completely, taking with him yet another part of the past Akira had so desperately, furtively tried to cling onto?
The mere idea shattered his heart. But instead of putting an end to his self-inflicted torment, he found his fingers digging into the material of Akechi’s soft shirt, pulling at the hem.
“Yeah. Tired.”
“Of the party? Or are you simply sick of everything?”
“You figure it out. You were always so good at that. Don’t tell me aging up made you lose your skills.”
Akechi looked almost offended. “Did not! But you’d know that if you hadn’t been running away from me like a coward!”
He sounded far too much like his sober self, or at least, what Akira thought Akechi’s adult, sober self would sound like. Truly, he’d thought about it a lot; of reconnecting with Akechi, of carving a place inside his heart now that they were free of any shackles.
But he’d always been so afraid of rejection. Especially now that he wasn’t Joker anymore, but just the average Joe with no real skills to show off.
“You’re supposed to deny that, idiot,” Akechi murmured, once more sounding far more sober than Akira thought him to be, but instead of questioning how many drinks Akechi truly had tonight, Akira nuzzled his face into the crook of Akechi’s neck, inhaling his scent.
There was no trace of the boy he once knew, just the faint traces of an expensive, adult-oriented cologne; and that brought tears to Akira’s eyes once more.
“Could it be true?” Akechi murmured lowly into his ear, pulling him closer. “Is the once great and infallible leader of the Phantom Thieves just a shadow of his former self?”
Before Akira was able to think of a response, a drunken giggle reached his ears.
“That’s cute.”
Next thing he knew was that Akechi was booping his nose, giggling and falling over as he repeated how cute Akira was over and over again. It almost made Akira laugh with him; if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t recognize the look in once so familiar red eyes.
“Hey, you.”
Akechi poked his cheek with his finger, looking very unamused.
“You wanna make out?”
“Huh?” Just the mere suggestion made Akira’s cheek flush. He had no idea where this was coming from; and once more, jealousy stirred in his chest at the thought of a drunken Akechi going around at parties and asking for a hook-up.
“You know. Smashing lips ‘n stuff. It’s supposed to release…uhh…morphin?”
“Endorphins. You’re supposed to–”
“Yeah, right, whatever.” Akechi waved him off. “Anyway, that thing. You wanna do it?”
“If you were sober, you wouldn’t suggest making out with me.” Akira swallowed harshly. “I really don’t think agreeing to this is a good idea–”
“But what if you were also drunk.”
Akira did a double take. “Sorry?”
Though those eyes on him felt unfamiliar, Akira could feel something stir inside his chest the longer he fell victim to that intense gaze.
“If two drunks got together and made out…well, nobody’s at fault, then, right?”
“Akechi–”
“But I’m not letting you get drunk in this…this piss-poor apartment.” Akira suppressed a snort. “I want something…classier to make out. Wait! I have an idea.”
Akira knew this was his last chance to back out. His last chance of acting like a responsible, mature adult–
Akechi reached for his hand, and dragged him off the couch.
“Let’s go to my place.”
Akira should have said no. Akira should have shaken his head and torn himself off Akechi, but instead, he remained quiet as someone yelled at Akechi where he was trying to take Akira, only to receive a ‘None of your fuckin’ business!’ in response.
Akira stared at their intertwined hands. Their interlaced fingers; felt the weight of Akechi’s hand in his.
And when he was met with that charming smile, Akechi giving him a conspirative wink, he felt himself cave.
“I’m kidnapping your leader!”
With that, they were off; heading straight into the cold of the November nights. But before Akira could so much as suffer from a light shiver, a coat was hung around his shoulders, and a drunken Akechi attempted to secure it by knotting the sleeve ends together.
“Gotta make sure–you’re all hot and bothered. You know? For our make-out session.”
Akira was very sure the Akechi he knew would have never given him that merry smile, nor let his touch linger for longer than necessary. Akira was well aware that Akechi would knot those sleeve ends so tightly, he’d choke on them, and not make him feel all warm and tingly inside.
Akira should have revolted at the sight of a crooked grin being tossed his way; of being dragged into a corner of the street, secluded from prying eyes as he was cornered against the wall.
The old Akechi would have tried to kill him here. The old Akechi would have whispered death threats, or asked him for his last regrets, and not whispered sweetly,
“Come on. For once, just give in,”
before placing a kiss on his cheek.
Frankly speaking, Akira was in no position to say no.
***
“Wine or beer?”
Akira missed the question, too distracted by several pictures hung up in Akechi’s hallway. His heart ached terribly at the sight of an obviously awkward feeling Akechi held in a chokehold by a grinning Sae, followed by several other pictures where Akechi was surrounded by a bunch of strangers.
Clearly, they didn’t feel like strangers to him. He was smiling, or scoffing playfully at them, and frankly, Akira suddenly felt like coming here was a horrible idea.
He was about to turn tail and run when a hand came to cover his eyes, and a pair of unfamiliar lips traced along his jawline.
“Just ignore that,” the devil whispered into his ears, but how could he, how was he supposed to–”Okay?”
The hand on his eyes disappeared, giving way to the sight of one frowning Goro Akechi.
“I’m still me,” he said, as if he’d pried Akira’s skull open and realized exactly what was going on, “Don’t forget that.”
Akira couldn’t do this. Akira didn’t feel like he was strong enough to make out with a stranger who resembled the love of his life so much, but had changed irrevocably, turned into someone he didn’t know; he couldn’t stand the sight any longer, he had to–
“Hey.”
Hands cupped his cheeks; forced his gaze, making him stare into a pair of cursed garnet-eyes he could never forget. They were gleaming at him now; sparkling with a fire Akira didn’t know, and he suppressed a sob as he was confronted with the fact that the past was no more all over again.
“Deep breaths.”
Akira was dragged into the living room, barely able to shrug his shoes off in time. He was shoved onto a generously sized couch, barely able to get a word of protest out until Akechi was suddenly back on his lap, studying his face as if he was a riddle to solve.
“I don’t have any beer. Wine it is, then,” he said, as if that explained anything, as if Akira wasn’t seconds away from having a panic attack, watching Akechi lift a bottle of red wine and bring it to his lips–
Lips that were suddenly crashing down on his seconds after Akira blinked.
It wasn’t the kiss that caught Akira off-guard; it was the drizzle of wine spilling past Akechi’s lips, suddenly running down Akira’s chin before he eagerly opened his mouth to welcome the drink. But by then, any liquid had already spilled over his skin, dripping onto his collarbone and Akira was confronted with the taste of his lost love; keening when Akechi’s tongue licked across the roof of his mouth.
Akira heaved for air, but all he inhaled was Akechi’s scent; his taste fresh on his tongue, invading his lungs. His mind spinned as Akechi’s lips moved against his, frantically, desperately, as though they were running out of time, kissing like they were dancing on the cusp of death’s edge; and before Akira was able to react, the moment was over, and he was forced to mourn the loss of touch.
Akechi held up the bottle with a challenging look in his eyes.
“Tasted like shit,” he muttered, “Wanna bet on who can finish this faster?”
Akira stole the bottle from Akechi’s hands, a witty retort on his lips. But it died down the moment he spotted something akin to a soft glint in Akechi’s eyes, all the strength leaving his bones.
Next thing he knew, Akechi helped him bring the bottle to his lips; telling him to drink, to drink and forget, and to just live in the moment. It was bad advice. It was horrible advice, actually, but when Akechi told him ‘Who gives a shit?’ and made him drink up, Akira stopped caring so much, and fell down the deep end.
The bottle soon fell onto the ground with a loud thud, Akira’s hands tangling into soft, chestnut-brown hair. He groaned as Akechi’s lips brushed against his, letting out an embarrassing noise when Akechi chided him for finishing all on his own.
“How about leaving some for me, fucker,” Akechi cursed, but there was no heat to his words. Akira burned up seconds later anyway, when Akechi’s lips crashed against his own, body singing in anticipation.
“Well, I suppose there is some left.”
Akira felt like he’d been downing shots all night the more he fell victim to Akechi’s touch. But even through the haziness of his mind, he made sure to focus; to burn the feeling of Akechi’s lips into his soul, to brand his skin with the sound of his voice.
But just as before, the moment was over before Akira was able to truly capture the essence of heaven, and his eyes ripped open in fear of what had happened.
He held his breath at the sight of Akechi drawing his bangs back, splotches of red tainting his fair skin; resembling freshly spilled blood splattered over a white canvas. Akira did that to him. Akira made him look like this, Akira was the reason Akechi was ringing for his breath, and shit, Akira never thought he’d get this far.
“How’s the wine?” Akechi asked nonchalantly, while Akira’s mind went blank; how could it not, spotting an array of piercings adorning Akechi’s left ear.
“Uh–good?”
“Just good?” Akechi crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have you know, that was the oldest wine I owned.”
“Doesn’t speak for the quality, does it,” Akira mindlessly responded, staring at Akechi’s piercings.
“Are you stupid? The older the wine, the better the taste. The more expensive, too, of course.”
Akira’s gaze trailed towards the ceiling, avoiding the thrall in Akechi’s eyes. “I dunno. Maybe that’s just…a rumor people made up many years ago.”
“To give value to the past, you mean.”
Akechi’s hands trailed around his neck, caressing the skin. Akira’s eyes fluttered shut as Akechi’s lips descended on his neck, kissing his way upwards until their lips met once again, and Akira was drawn right back into Akechi’s world.
Resistance was futile. No, that was wrong–Akira was very much capable of putting an end to this, he just didn’t want to.
“Well, I, for one, agree with those old farts. The older the wine, the better the taste.”
Akira let out a snort as he was guided onto his back, soon lying horizontally on the couch. Akechi hovered above him, bracketing his head between his arms, not looking like he was willing to let him go; a predator on the hunt.
“You’re allowed to think differently, of course.” Akechi tugged on his collar, running his fingers along Akira’s exposed collarbone. “But perhaps it’s all that thinking that makes you miserable.”
For the first time during this miserable night, Akira let out a snort. “Oh, really. You know, if teenage you heard you say that–”
“Yes, I’m very well aware what that immature brat would think.”
Akira gasped as Akechi suddenly yanked at his collar, his clothes digging painfully into his skin. His shirt wasn’t sharp enough to cut his skin; Akechi’s gaze, however, cut sharper than a knife.
“He would think you’re pathetic, clinging onto the shadows of a past that is no more. He’d think I’m pathetic, for clinging onto you– a fragment of a nightmare I better let go of.”
“But here you are–”
“Here we are,” Akechi cut in, razor-sharp, eyes blazing in a way that could set entire worlds on fire, “Hanging onto the last remaining threads of a fucked-up game. Of predetermined endings, of so many things, none of them the ideal–”
Akira’s eyes closed shut as Akechi let go, making his head fall back with a thud.
“–but here we are. And what’s so wrong with that?”
There was a lot Akira had to say regarding this.
But none of that made it past his lips as he was dragged into a violent kiss, all-consuming, all-demanding. He barely had time to breathe; barely braced himself in time before the next kiss devoured him whole, and he quivered underneath Akechi’s body, torn between wanting to run and remain caged like this evermore.
“If kissing me makes you feel good,” Akechi growled against his lips, his hands everywhere and nowhere all at once, “What’s so wrong with that?”
“The fact that you’re drunk–”
“Oh, come on,” Akechi hissed, “Don’t give me that crap.”
“But I’m kissing a stranger–”
Akira held his breath as he felt Akechi’s eyelashes flutter against his skin, reverent kisses raining down on him.
“Because I was gone for so long? I thought you would have held onto my glove and treasured our bond–”
“I did,” Akira wheezed out, “I did, but what use was that when I knew you’d think I’m a pathetic, sentimental piece of shit the moment I’d confess!”
The tension in the air was palpable.
“...Akira.”
No.
“I know you don’t want to hear this.”
Please, don’t.
“But I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
Akira’s tears finally burst free, and a pathetic sob ripped itself straight out of his soul. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear; this wasn’t what he came here for.
“I shouldn’t have left you behind,” Akechi muttered, his words piercing like needles through Akira’s skin, “Look what I did.”
“Akechi,” Akira begged, tears running down his cheeks in rivulets, “Please–stop–”
“No.”
Akira didn’t believe Akechi would have it in him to grow mad at him; not when he was basked in so much gentle affection before.
“Stop chasing the damn boy from the past who is no more. He’s not gone, Akira. He just changed–”
“I don’t care,” Akira suddenly yelled, rising up to butt their heads together in a most painful way, “I loved him. I loved him! I don’t want someone who thinks he’s a better version of him, I loved him, and if loving him meant he was going to stay away from me for the rest of my life–”
“And make you absolutely miserable–”
“–then so be it!”
Akira’s fingers dug into the soft material of the couch as a new batch of tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Who cares if loving him makes me miserable for the rest of my life? Who cares if I can’t have my happy ending with him. He’s the only one I want. You don’t have the right to take that away from me–”
“Sure I don’t.” Akechi scoffed. There was a noticeable change in his tone. “But my rival was never so spineless he refused to face the truth, and I do have the right to call him out on that.”
Akira swallowed harshly. His mouth felt dry, heart pounding wildly in his chest as heat spread from his cheeks all across his body.
“What do you mean–”
“I haven’t disappeared, Akira. Just because I matured, just because I grew doesn’t mean I’m an entirely different person.”
“That’s what you think,” Akira hissed, surprised when he was suddenly subject to a glare. “What?”
“Even if I were, which, again, I am not,” Akechi growled, “That doesn’t mean you get to avert your eyes from the truth and twist reality to your liking.”
“I don’t understand–”
“No, you do understand,” Akechi hissed, “I’m just as terrified of this as you are, Akira. But that doesn’t give you the right to deny reality.”
Suddenly, all of Akechi’s touches fell off him.
“If you don’t like me, fine. That’s okay. If you just like me as a warm body keeping you hot at night, that’s fine, too. But I’m not letting you use me as an excuse to continue wallowing in misery. At least be adult enough to say that’s just your own selfish want.”
Fear jolted through his bones when it looked like Akechi attempted to get off the couch and leave. “W–wait,” he heard himself cry out, his hands tangling into Akechi’s clothes, desperately trying to keep him back, “Please, wait–don’t leave me behind again!”
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I’d hate that,” Akira cried out, “Please–”
Akechi seized him by the collar, dragging him into a hot, possessive kiss. Nothing about him tasted sweet and mellow anymore; he kissed like he wanted to consume Akira, like he was here to pick a fight, eager to see who’d come out on top.
But he didn’t back away when Akira succumbed, melting into the kiss as tears ran down his cheeks. He didn’t call Akira weak; didn’t tell him to get his shit together like Akira expected him to.
“I won’t,” Akechi promised against his lips instead, “If you tell me all about what's going on in that thick head of yours.”
Akechi held him close as he began to sob, complaining about how lonely he felt because all his friends had moved away, leaving him alone and stranded in Tokyo, safe for Morgana. But even the cat would be away more often than not, joining Haru on her tours, and it wasn’t like having him around made things so much better.
Akira cried about the fact that he wanted their heated rivalry back; that he missed the nights at Jazz Jin or competitions at Penguin Sniper, that it just wasn’t the same to go play with literal strangers. But he was so afraid of rejection, of being shunned, that he had never dared to ask, let alone approach Akechi, and the regret burned in his throat stronger than the sting of a shot.
He cried over the fact that all of this felt wrong; that he knew he was better than this, that he had been a daring young man once but felt like a bitter coward now, and he didn't know how to change that.
He braced himself for the lecture he was about to receive. He deserved it; needed to hear it, perhaps, to get his shit back together and get back on track.
He did not expect the gentle kiss descending on his cheek, nor the warm hug he was suddenly drawn into.
“Well, isn’t that to be expected?” Akechi whispered before placing reverent kisses onto Akira’s knuckles. “To feel this dejected after sharing so many strong bonds before. To mourn the past where you felt like you had the world in your hands. You're dealing with this way better than I would have, because looking glum at a yearly get-together beats turning into a sarcastic fuck."
“But–”
“Want me to share a secret with you, Akira?”
Akira didn't think the right choice here was to nod along, and find comfort in Akechi's arms, being held tightly to his chest.
He nodded anyway, and buried his face in the crook of Akechi's neck, nosing along his throat.
“Part of me is happy to see you so miserable. Part of me thinks I've finally won our little game, and achieved victory evermore. Because clearly, I’m way happier with my life than you are right now.”
Akechi gently wiped away a stray tear running down Akira's cheek.
“Another part of me wants to ruin you even more. Watch you descend into madness, clinging on to a part of me that has ceased to exist.”
Akira remained still as the pad of Akechi's thumb swiped over his lips.
“But a larger part of me hurts seeing you like this. Aches at the thought of losing you to the loneliness that has you in a chokehold. You were made for greater things than that. I know it.”
Akechi pressed another kiss to the back of Akira's hand, gaze softening when he heard Akira hiccup.
“I'm the only one you're allowed to lose to. So I refuse to stand by and watch something else claim victory over you. What else did I work so hard these past few years for? Whoever did I become my best self for?”
A featherlight kiss descended on Akira’s lips, and his eyes fluttered shut on instinct.
“Since when have you turned into such a smooth talker?”
“Ever since I realized your damn friends weren’t lying about you being single.” Akechi kissed his eyelids. “But then again, most people aren’t into their would-be-murderer, traitor of the group, and unhinged manic with daddy complexes, so forgive me for not making a move on you before.”
The wet sound that made itself past Akira’s lips did not sound like a sob for once, but more like a chortle.
“To be fair, murder looked very good on you. And contrary to what you may think, people are very much into traitors nowadays. Especially traitors who are good at handling knives.”
Akechi narrowed his eyes at him, but the look in his eyes remained soft; tender, even. It sent a shudder down Akira’s spine. Something Akechi clearly noticed, because in the next moment, Akira was crushed tightly against his chest.
“Are you sure you’re not just projecting?”
“Maybe.” Akira took a shuddery breath, inhaling Akechi’s cologne. “Would that be a no-go?”
“Being into knifeplay?” Akechi let out a chuckle, the sound reverberating within Akira’s ears, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. “No, Akira. I’d be more than happy to indulge.”
A kiss landed on his cheek, and Akira curled up against Akechi’s chest.
“If you give me a chance, that is. Because I’m still waiting for your answer.”
“What kind of answer?”
Akechi brought Akira’s hand to his chest, making him feel the erratic beat of his heart.
“If you want to tackle this new future you’re so afraid of. Whether you’re going to stop chasing someone who’s not shackled by the past anymore, and start walking side by side with the one who’s finally embraced his own shadow.”
Akechi placed a kiss on Akira’s ring finger, knocking all the breath out of his lunges.
“I can’t promise you this new journey will make up for all the pain you’ve suffered through. But I can promise I’ll be my best self. And my worst; because you always bring out the worst in me, and make me strive to become someone better.”
Akira watched as Akechi nipped at his ring finger, searing teeth marks into his skin.
“What do you say?”
If you asked Akira, the answer was obvious. But if he was to trust Akechi’s words, then the time to speak in riddles and omit true meanings was long gone.
“Do you really–want to go out with me? Like–become my boyfriend–”
Akechi rolled his eyes at him, gently flicking him against the forehead. “If that’s what you want. Then yes.”
Lips descended on his, casting an enchanting spell on him.
“But if you think I’ll settle for that in the long run, you’d be mistaken.”
Akira feels himself melt in Akechi’s embrace, a fresh batch of tears streaming down his cheeks.
“O–okay,” he sniffled out, before the urge to cry overtook him once again, “Okay, let’s–let’s date.”
“Congrats on snagging a boyfriend, then,” Akechi chuckled, “Also, what do you expect me to do when you’re bawling your eyes out?”
“Comfort me?”
“Don’t turn your answer into a question,” Akechi huffed, his tone nothing but fond, “And tell me more about what’s making you spill your precious tears. I don’t think what you told me earlier was all there is to this.”
But it was so much. So many things that made Akira want to cry, and he didn’t think Akechi was patient enough to listen to all the drivel spilling out of his mouth.
He was wrong, of course. Akechi proved him so by staying by his side all night long, until Akira had poured out the last of his well-kept secrets, of the many things that made him feel miserable.
It was enough to make him fall in love all over again.
And when Akira woke up the next morning to the sight of Akechi standing in his kitchenette, trying and failing to make an omelet for him; distantly remembering how Akira had complained about needing to cook for himself, he nearly ended up crying his eyes out all over again.
“You know,” he whispered as he engulfed Akechi from behind, feeling the warmth of the morning sun tickle his skin, “I should have known better than to try and escape you. I really–really needed you back.”
Akechi turned around, the look in his eyes knocking all the breath out of Akira’s lungs.
“Then make sure I never run from you again.” He cupped Akira’s cheek, a sly grin slipping onto his face. “I can’t promise I’ll wait for you another eight years. Not when life is only so short.”
“Don’t worry.” Akira closed what little distance remained between their lips. “I don’t plan on messing up like that again–”
“But if you do,” Akechi whispered, “I’ll come and knock some sense back into you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
A part of Akira withered and died the moment Akechi pulled him into a kiss; became a part of the past he was so scared of letting go.
And he didn’t; let go of it, that is. He embraced it, grew from it day by day as he and Akechi fumbled through the awkward beginnings of a new journey, never letting go of the past they treasured so much.
It was as Akechi said. It was fine to yearn for it, to want it back; but with each day that passed, it was a new past Akira mourned, until he stopped to mourn and lived each day to the fullest.
Needless to say, he did not take this newfound love for granted, and made sure to reciprocate in kind.
That was indeed the only fitting end to the trickster and his cawing crow.