Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Happiness is a relatively recent experience for Akira. 

It isn't like he's had some sort of miserable existence but there’s a difference between surviving from one day to the next and actually enjoying it. He’d had friends, never caused problems at school, came home at night to both parents under the same roof. What exactly was there to complain about? 

Then Shido came along and gave him a quick refresher course on misery and it turns out there’s actually a whole lot to complain about when those friends are suddenly the ones spreading the rumor around town before you’re even out of the local police station. And that school is looking at your average grades and good attendance and giving you this look of pity before denying your request for a letter of good conduct for the trial. And your parents, who you’ve tried your hardest to never ask for anything and be a decent kid who sits quietly and obey, have already booked you a one way train ticket to Tokyo. 

He’d been so close to calling it quits. The temptation to just head straight to juvenile hall as a big ‘fuck you’ to his parents and friends had been calling him the entire train ride across the country. Parole was just a bullshit punishment excuse to get him out of town and if that’s how they felt might as well go all the fucking way. 

But then he’d been picked up by a man that smelt like coffee and curry in the most bizarrely pleasant way possible and given the biggest bedroom he’d ever seen in the attic of a little café. The anger dissolved quickly and he was left with a gaping feeling of loneliness that made his shoulders tremble and stomach ache. 

And then he’d met Ryuji. 

If Akira ever meets a god that isn’t actively trying to kill him he’d like to personally thank them for the gift that is Ryuji Sakamoto. 

Standing in the aftermath of the betrayal of every person he’d thought he could rely on and facing up against Kamoshida - another corrupt asshole on a power trip – and Ryuji who didn’t even know him for fuck's sake telling him to run. Ryuji, selfless to a fault and willing to help anyone no matter the cost- thinking even broken delinquent Akira was worth something. 

It had snapped something inside him, Arsene breaking free with the fire of rebellion and then there was no turning back. 

Suddenly they had Ann joining their fight then Yusuke and Makoto and somewhere along the way it stopped just being about taking down corruption when planning meetings started turning into Karaoke nights and hotpot sleepovers at Leblanc.  They grew once and then again with Futaba and Haru joining their ranks filling in all the missing pieces they hadn’t even realized were there. 

And of course Morgana, a constant comforting weight on his shoulder full of equal parts advice and ridiculous demands. Never in his life has he had someone he can completely confide in like the cat, someone who knows every aspect of his life and actually wants the best for him instead of a power trip. 

And if in between all of it, his newfound family, his drive to right a world that horribly wronged him and the people he loves – if he somehow started going to jazz clubs and billiards halls with a certain detective with a noticeably vengeful streak. If he had known from the beginning that said detective was bad news and soon after that he wanted Akira dead – yet somehow still susceptible to those grins from across café tables that made his heart beat a little faster and suggestive quips that made his insides boil in the best possible way. 

Well, he’d just have to accept that his happiness is a little bit complicated and leave it at that. 

But now Maruki’s here, a man he’s confided in for the past year, standing up at the pulpit and lecturing him on happiness. On what it truly is.

“This reality is the true reality – all you have to do is recognize it as such. Once you do, you’ll be just as happy as they are.” 

He’s talked to his friends, seen this new reality, and how perfect it is. He watched Ryuji sprint away with the track team, legs strong and limp free. Ann laughing with a healthy and happy Shiho, Morgana in his human body  – the rest getting to live with resurrections of dead loved ones. 

Happiness that has nothing to do with him. 

He’d known this place was more wrong than just a human Morgana – deeply wrong as soon as Ryuji had given him a casual smile when he’d approached like they were just school friends in the same year. Ever since Kamoshida, Ryuji had only ever greeted him with full embraces of arms slung over shoulders or hips checked against one another – physical conformation of the other’s presence and wellbeing. While Ryuji was particularly touchy, there were very little boundaries between the thieves after all the blood sweat and tears they’d experienced, supporting each other in the lowest of lows only to come out victorious.

Of course, blurring memories for happiness sake meant losing all that pain and desperation that bonded everyone so close. 

“You can’t seriously be considering this as an option,“ Akechi hisses, words clipped and stinging as they bring him back to the present. 

“Ah,” Maruki pauses, his heavy gaze leaving Akira to rest on Akechi. “Akechi-Kun, I seem to have done you a bit of an injustice by simply letting you walk free of prison. It seems true happiness for you lies somewhere else entirely.” 

“I believe at this point that would be your cold corpse six feet underground.” Akechi snarls, eyes flashing dangerously and Akira can already feel the rush of power under his fingertips. His connection to the other boy has always been like this, the pull of power between them more instinct than logic letting them predict the others moves in tandem. 

“It’s like the two of you are dancing or something.” Ann had once teased them in mementos. 

They were graceful as teammates. 

They were bloody as opponents. 

“I deeply apologize, it isn’t fair to put this all on Kurusu-Kun and not offer you anything in return,” He smiles kindly, something that once put Akira at ease but now only makes his skin itch. “What is it you’re always asking for? More time?” 

“I don’t need anything from you and your idiotic version of reality.” Akechi sneers, eyes blazing as he meets Maruki’s gaze unflinchingly. A challenge then. 

Which is just like him, Akira takes down one god only for Akechi to go and find them another to make an enemy of. 

“That may be true but your doubts seem to be swaying his decision and I truly stand by what I’m trying to create – a world in which everyone is happy and that includes you.” 

Akechi swears but there’s not enough time to move – to fight , the world seeming to pulse and blaze around them in a kaleidoscope of color before it all fades to black. 

…   

“Joker?” 

Akira cracks a tired eye open, the hauntingly faint ringing of chip coins against metal and electronic slot machine jingles letting him know exactly where he is. God, he hates this place. 

Morgana swims into his vision, casting a strong healing charm that sinks into his skin and helps burn away the fog blurring his mind. Right, Maruki. 

He goes for opening both eyes this time and sits himself up, exhaustion the only thing that feels off to him but one look at the team tells a different story – he must have taken a hard hit. 

“You’re lucky Yusuke still had ammo left, we didn’t even have time to cast anything you two went down so fast.” Makoto frowns, reaching out to brush her fingers through his bangs – a well known front to feel for any injuries. They all know their team mother’s tricks too well at this point and typically he’d try and dodge her touch but - 

He thinks back to seeing Makoto at the mall with her sister, barely looking at him even as she invited him to dinner – like some sort of obligatory invitation he was always expected to say no too. 

He leans into her hand. 

“Two?” He finds himself asking, already caught up in just how true of an illusion this was. Maruki’s powers were more than just creating false cognitions – Futuba’s Mom had been real and physical in Lablanc not some sort of cheap imitation. 

“Yes, we didn’t even what the shadow cast its spell it was so quick. The two of you simply dropped.” Yusuke frowns. “Considering what it takes to down both our Leader and Crow it was considerably distressing.” 

Akira turns before Yusuke is even finished and sure enough there’s Akechi propped up against the safe room wall in his princely costume and looking about as pleased to be in the casino as he was. Ann hovered by his side but didn’t seem much happier, doing her duty of playing good teammate and making sure her magic healed him properly. 

“Heard you dropped like a rock,” He offers to which Akechi rolls his eyes, unimpressed. 

More time he considers vaguely. Akechi offered that as a half assed justification before trying to kill them on Shido’s ship but that had been asking for years not just a few days before he tried to murder him. How exactly is Sae’s palace supposed to make Akechi happy? 

“We’re a ways from an exit, do you think you’ll be able to walk back alright?” Makoto asks but he’s already pushing himself up, not about to half ass a mission now – especially when whatever the hell Akechi’s deepest desires are could be hidden in here. 

“I’m fine, must have been a sleep spell or something.” 

“Dude- chill, you were out for a good few minutes,” Ryuji’s hands are suddenly on his, helping to pull him up and to his feet, and once again he thinks back to that distant smile in the school courtyard. He doesn’t resist the urge to lean into Ryuji’s side and just like clockwork a muscled arm is thrown around his shoulders. 

Akira loves his friends, okay? And when Akechi suddenly gets whatever the hell is supposed to make him change his mind and with the thieves all deciding they’d rather have this new life  -  well Akira is certainly not going to ruin everyone’s happiness just for his own self righteousness. He wants to keep these little moments if they're the last he’ll ever get. 

Akechi is also predictable as he’s currently scowling at him across the room, on his own feet with Ann making a quick retreat for the group table. 

“If we’re going to keep going you both need to eat something – anyone else want a snack?” She asks, pushing up her panther mask to dig through Akira’s duffle filled with energy bars, protein drinks, and fresh fruit courtesy of Haru. 

The masses descend on the table because of course, they’re all starving after several hours of palace heisting – and he assumes it’s been that long judging by the early stage of sweat and fatigue everyone was wearing. 

“Joker,” Haru calls and he glances down to see her holding out a small reusable bag full of strawberries. “I stole them from the bag for you,” She whispers conspiratorially. 

He fucking loves his friends. 

He nods, equally serious as he takes the bag quick and sneaks it into his pockets like a drug deal. He pulls out two strawberries and offers one to her, popping the other into his mouth with a grin. “Whatever your price is I’ll double it.” 

Haru giggles, pressing two protein bars and two energy drinks into his hands. “Then go make sure you and Crow eat all this and I’ll consider throwing in some more for the next trip.” 

The rest of the team tolerates Akechi for the sake of the plan and before that for the sake of Akira and his ‘weird need to hang out with everyone you meet’ as they put it. Haru on the other hand genuinely means it when she orders him to make sure Akechi eats his snacks. 

She knows Akechi is planning on killing him but just like in the bottom of that ship she’s always been able to see the humanity even in the worst of them. Not forgiveness but always acceptance. Haru can’t make Akechi not kill her father but she won’t allow his actions to lower her own morals of treating people with decency. She won’t become her father. 

He’s so proud of her which is also ridiculous considering she’s older than him and running an international conglomerate as a final year high school student. 

“You got it,” He says instead and makes his way over to the back wall where Akechi is brooding while the rest of the team scavenges through the bag for favorites. 

“What a touching reunion,” Akechi says because he’s an ass but Akira hands him his snacks anyway. 

“This is insane, we’re in the past. Or reliving a version of the past Maruki’s made – it’s still insane.” He murmurs, sipping his energy drink. It’s electric blue and goes down a bit like sour skittles but it does the job. “Any deductions yet, detective?”

“I believe Maruki expects me to try and fulfill my dream in someway so we’re going to do the exact opposite to prove his pathetic little experiment a failure.” 

He raises an eyebrow curiously, “What’s the opposite of your dream?” 

“Doing everything exactly as we did it before.” He growls, tearing into the protein bar and taking a bite. 

That’s when it hits him. 

He feels a bit like an idiot because of course, Akechi’s dream is killing Shido, how the hell didn’t he realize it sooner? Getting sent to the past to give him more time to do exactly that without petty distractions like phantom thieves and the knowledge his father was already aware of their relationship and planning to kill him would be a dream come true. Akechi lives for the upper hand and here he was being given a chessboard with all the opponents moves memorized.  

Something must show his face because Akechi glances up from his snack only to pause, brow furrowed for a long moment. 

The Akechi of the past few days has been mostly anger and rage, something Akira appreciates because he’d rather know exactly what the other was thinking rather than fake smiles and infinite guesses. It’s cooled to a simmer for now though, Akechi seeming a bit lost in his thoughts as he meets Akira’s gaze. 

He’s always liked his eyes – well he likes every part of Akechi but especially his eyes. His face can lie all it wants with fake smiles and sharp jabs but his eyes always gave him away if you knew what to look for. Real laughter and surprise were hard to hide and Akira quickly found himself addicted when he managed to bring out a genuine reaction. 

“I feel it’s important to tell you  –“ He pauses, considering his words. “My dream isn’t to hurt you.” 

Oh. 

“I know.” 

Akechi raises an eyebrow, “You know?” He mocks, “Oh do tell me how much you know, Joker considering the two occasions it was very much not so.”

“Just two?” He can’t help it, they need to keep their voices down but sometimes – rather lately - Akechi is just so damn easy. 

“Shut up,” He snarls, fist clenching around his energy drink so hard the plastic crunches. “I’m attempting to have a serious conversation with you – if you fear for your life while we’re down here it will change the progression of the events and I need to prove Maruki wrong.” 

Akira can’t help the slow grin on his face, “So you think I’m planning to tremble my way through this palace and into the interrogation room and piss myself waiting for you to come shoot me in the head?” 

Akechi scowls. Very predictable

“It never even crossed my mind,” He says honestly, shrugging and taking a long sip of his drink. “I know you didn’t want to kill me the first time – shut up let me finish – you wanted to kill me because you wanted to kill Shido and that’s all you had at the time. But me personally? I don’t think you’ve ever really wanted to do that. You’re out from under his spell now, you’ve taken back control even if it feels like you’re aimless.” He shrugs again. “Akechi himself wouldn’t kill me.” 

“I’m getting pretty damn close to it,” He grumbles but his eyes meet Akira’s without flinching. “Good.” 

“Good?” 

“It’s important to me that you know that.” 

“You just yelled at me for saying I know that.” 

“I yelled at you for being an insufferable smartass which will surely happen again very soon.” 

He hums, letting a comfortable silence hang between them for a moment before adding, “You know, I’m also pretty sure someone who’s been traveling into the metaverse for over two years would be able to feel even the most subtle switch over-” 

“Joker, I swear to fucking Christ- !”  

Akechi’s cheeks are bright red as he fists the lapels of his trench coat, drawing him in close. He’s only an inch or so taller than Akira but when he’s like this – raw and unmasked -  that little difference does something to his insides. He’s grinning like a maniac up at him, recognizing the stretch of his cheeks that only seems to happen when Akechi is being particularly humoring of him and god if these past few days haven’t been bringing it out in droves. 

They’re so close, rough ragged breathes ghosting over his cheeks with every exhale and Akechi’s eyes are very much not meeting his but are looking down at his lips instead. 

Ann suddenly clears her throat loudly and it’s only then that he realizes just how quiet the room is and how very loud their little outburst had been. 

Akechi drops his hands and takes a big step back to put some distance between the two and Akira can’t help but groan because while there are some very unhappy faces in the audience Morgana is wearing his full ‘protect the teenage virgin from ravishing’ expression which has a one hundred percent hit rate of killing the mood. 

“So,” He says in his best ‘I’m the leader and we don’t talk about my sex life’ voice to try and outmatch Morgana. “Let’s head out.” 

…

Turns out they had apparently gone down right outside the stupid dark maze – house of darkness or some bullshit. He squints into the unending blackness and sighs, not very interested in fighting shadows with zero visuals again but this was Akechi’s dream and Akira being as miserable as possible is probably just a perk for him. 

“Hey Joker, remember when I asked you if you and Crow had a thing going and you looked me right in the eye and said no? So like, remembering when you were a massive liar?” Ann hums as they crouch together in the hallway, waiting for the shadow to circle back around. His enhanced vision gives him a bit of an edge but it’s still really fucking dark. 

“We don’t have a thing,” He murmurs, tracking the shadow’s pace. Yeah so what happened in the safe room might have been slightly incriminating but he’s not above taking cheap shots, “Remember why he’s here.” 

He’s expecting her to back off but she doesn’t, just rests her chin on his shoulder. “We’re all here for you.” She reminds him softly. “This can’t be easy.” 

He knows she isn’t talking about the interrogation plan. God how fucking tragic is he? It’s a good thing they’d both been too caught up in keeping up their own charades and grand schemes last time to really have time to talk in the palace because his team would have been insufferable with how much pity they would have thrown his way. Akira knows he has a bad habit of not caring for his personal safety and if that habit seems to manifest most in flirting with Akechi – well he’s just a poor victim of circumstance as his lawyer had explained in his trial.

Which he had immediately lost but whatever.  

He glances behind himself at the group, Akechi bringing up the back end because he’s a traitor like that and Morgana purposely gives him an unimpressed hiss from the other wall where he’s crouching with Yusuke. “Focus up, Joker!” 

“I’m just overviewing the team,” He grumbles, ducking his head when the shadows flashlight flickers their way. 

“Let him enjoy the view, Mona.” Yusuke hums easily and Akira shoots him a grin which the artist returns with a fond eye roll. 

“You’re all being way too casual about this, we need to stay focused on the goal – no distractions.” ‘Distractions’ seems to go by another name in Morgana’s book but apparently he isn’t in enough hot water yet to warrant a full call out. The thieves all knew they were close but Morgana was the only one who’d seen their constant text messaging and just how often Akira sneaked out at night to go meet up with the detective. 

“Got it. Focused,” He confirms, jumping out and grabbing the shadows mask, yanking it off only to reveal a Nebiros. 

“Crow, switch with Mona!” He orders on instinct, falling back into formation with the others and it’s then he realizes just how bad of an idea this entire thing is. 

He’s got the same lineup of persona’s at his disposal since they weren’t actually sent into the past and pulling out any of his recent favorites would bring up some serious questions. His team is strong but Akira’s plotted through the depths of mementos, killed a god, and is now set to take on a second. He can’t even remember the last time he’d met a shadow he wasn’t strong enough to take on and Lavenza had opened the entirety of the fusion options to him. 
 
He drums his fingers against his thigh, considering his options but he’s got nothing useful to pull out that wouldn’t obliterate the Shadow and raise too many questions.    

He can, however, take a hit better than the others. 

He inwardly groans, already knowing what he’s going to have to do and summons Principality, having kept her for a future fusion. It was his weakest mask that would at least be familiar to the team. 

“Joker-?” Crow glances his way, eyes on the Persona and from the way his eye twitched Akira can bet he remembers the weakness. 

“Rein it in.” He orders instead, meaning both Crow himself as well as his skills. No one needed to see a bloodthirsty Akechi tear the limbs off the shadow. 

Ann hits hard with a fire attack but it barely stumbles the thing so he has Yusuke follow up with ice. No dice. 

Akechi rocks on his heels, just waiting for his turn and he knows it’s ridiculous to be worried, he hid his true power while fighting alongside them just fine for a month. But that was back when he had direction, something to funnel all that power and anger toward and since Shido’s gone down Akechi has been slightly … aimless with his rage. 

He’s too busy watching him to notice the curse that flies straight into his own chest. 

It knocks him flat, the next breath agonizing as he tries to force air back into his lungs and stand at the same time. It hurts but the actual spell has barely harmed him and he throws a hand to stop Ann from wasting a healing spell. 

“Ever heard of a dodge, Joker?” Akechi asks above him, gracefully summoning Robin Hood who deals a decently punched attack of bless magic, knocking the shadow to the ground. 

The team goes all out to take it down but he stays back, catching his breath as the shadow crumbles to dust.

“You summoned a persona weak to curse skills – may I ask what your thinking behind that was?” Akechi asks casually as they reconvene in the now empty hall. The faux polite and soft tone is strange to hear again, Akira now so used to the dark edge of power in Akechi’s voice - prefers it to this facade. Even in the darkness, he can still make out the smug grin.

“Nebiros is weak to bless,” He says and it sounds about as lame of an excuse as it is. 

“Correct, a skill which I possess and you knowingly brought me into the lineup for. So again, may I ask what your strategy behind the move was?” 

He’s purposely being a dick and Akira scowls at the underlying accusation of his leadership, Akechi knowing full well he can’t say anything to defend his reasoning. “I assumed you’d be able to take it out in one hit and figured I’d draw fire in case you couldn’t.” 

“Assuming is a tactic I like least in a leader.” He says casually, glancing around at the thieves, “but to each their own.” 

“Dude, lay off,” Ryuji snaps, “We beat it and Joker kicks ass every day of the week so fucking chill.” 

“I was merely suggesting – “ 

“If you have a comment or concern feel free to express it at out next hideout meeting. For now, we shouldn’t linger.” Makoto smiles coldly, falling into step next to Akira. 

They don’t have a lot of time for small talk in the maze and with the obvious holes in his fighting style now a weakness to whatever Akechi was trying to do here Akira does his best to move them through stealthy with as little combat as possible. 

“So, since you can’t actually kill me you're just going to make me look like an idiot?” He asks under his breath, Akechi having followed him over to pick a lock on a spotted treasure chest.
 
“I hardly need to do much there,” He says in that dumb TV perfect tone of his. “However, if I do remember properly your team didn’t witness anything suspicious in a safe room the first time around. I decided to try and regain the equilibrium.”
 
Ah, right. Akechi must have heard Panther’s comments and figured he needed to bring the thieves' opinion of him firmly back into the negative instead of the pitiable. 

“You sure do have a way with words,” The lock clicks and he snags the lackluster contents, pocketing them with a sigh. “Any progress on your dream?” 

“There won’t be any because it’s not happening.” 

“Right, and how much longer are we going to have to keep playing the game then? Because I don’t really feel like being kicked around by the police again any time soon.” 

“I suspect Maruki has some sort of deadline so I doubt you’ll have to relieve the full past two months.” 

Akira scrunches his nose, not particularly impressed with the idea of reliving even a few weeks of the past considering everything that’s about to snowball. Still, as much as killing Shido has to be Akechi's dream he's starting to think maybe Maruki wants something a little less bloodthirsty for Akechi considering the lack of any changes so far.

“Your dream is that bad we can’t just go with it until he lets us out?” He says after a long pause, the beaming faces of his friends heavy in his mind. 

“We’re proving a point, Joker. I know you’re tempted to give in to his idealistic bullshit but I’m not going to let that pretentious asshole decide my path. I’m done being puppeted by men behind curtains.” 

Akira nods slowly, some part of home still hoping for the thieves to wake up on their own, that he's not going to be forced to take this away from them. He knows though, knows he'll never be able to live with himself for allowing someone else to decide reality after all they've been through, all they've fought and sacrificed for. “I’ve been fighting a whole damn year to free people from becoming trapped by assholes in power. I’m not going to give it up now.” 

Akechi nods, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “We have a deal, don’t you dare back out on me.” 

Heat flushes across his cheeks and he clears his throat, turning back to the thieves, “Never.” 

…

The battle area is every bit as ridiculous as it was the first time around. 

“What do you mean, One on One battles?” He hears Makoto ask the attendant but he isn’t paying attention, watching the crowd of cognitive gamblers scream cheers that rattle the divider separating them from the arena. Shadow attendants are walking the audience for last minute bets which is pointless in itself – the house always wins so who the hell is deliberating over where to put their money? He remembers the announcer’s promise of an ‘honest and fair’ fight before he’d gone into the arena the first time and the words echoing back in his head when, out of manna and half ready to collapse after two rounds, Thor had appeared in the ring. 

He doesn’t typically take pleasure in taking down shadows  - unlike a certain someone - but damn if getting to pummel these assholes isn’t going to feel good. 

“Joker, are you okay with this?” Yusuke asks, pulling him back to the group.
 
Their worried eyes search his face but for once he doesn’t have to hide behind a facade, giving them a confidant smirk that’s every bit as reassuring as it is truthful. “I’ve got this.” 

“Don’t get cocky,” Makoto warns but she squeezes his arm in what he knows is a wish good luck. 

“Hell yeah you do man, you’re going to wipe the fucking floor,” Ryuji grins and punches his shoulder which has Ann punching Ryuji’s in return. 

“Don’t hit him, he’s about to fight!” 

“Joker’s the most versatile among us, he’s the best choice and there’s no need to worry,” Akechi rolls his eyes at the group, crossing his arms. “Let's hurry this up.” 

It’s a small crack in his facade, Akechi not caring to have the patience or manners to keep up the full charm of the Detective Prince.  

“That doesn’t mean he’s invincible,” Ann scolds, giving Akira’s hand a tight squeeze. “But you’re really close to it so I’m going to be seriously upset if you get hurt, got it?” 

“No getting hurt, got it.” He gently slides his hand out of hers and gives them all a quick grin before stepping through the open gate, the metal grating slamming down behind him and locking with an electronic click. 

“Ah, I see,” He hears the attendant at the desk’s muffled comment from the other side of the gate. “You’re trying to cheat.” 

What? 

He frowns, turning back around to try and see what’s going on but the thick grating makes that slightly impossible. 

“Competitor, step forward!” He heard the announcer prompt but ignores it, dread tightening in his stomach. This didn’t happen before, no one accused him of anything before they started the fight and he hasn’t tried anything different – he hasn’t even started the fight yet damn it. 

“Competitor!” The voice demands and this time he doesn’t get a choice as a shadow guard yanks him by the shoulder and out in the dirt. 

He catches himself on his hands, coughing a little at the kicked up dust lingering in the air from the previous fight. He can smell blood. 

None of that matters though because something’s different this time and he has no idea what. He scans the crowd, shielding his eyes from the blinding stadium lights to try and get a glimpse of the thieves because what if they’ve been taken? If Sae decides whatever cheating they’ve been accused of is enough to be thrown off the floor?

His heart is hammering against his chest, the cold slick hand of fear gripping his heart where it once was filled with nothing but confidence. He’d gotten too cocky, Makoto was right. Even with the future in his pocket, he’d still fallen right into danger because that’s what Akira does – he fucks up. 

“Joker!” 

Akechi. 

The guards yell something but he ignores them, running to the edge of the arena where his friends are pressing against the metal fencing, looking just as confused as he feels. Except for Akechi, who’s gripping the steel fencing so tight his knuckles are white. 

“What happened? What changed?” He asks, his heart slowing at the sight of all of them together and unharmed. 

“It’s by skill level, they have some sort of measuring device to decide what to put you up against. You heard them before, that high rollers hire proxies to represent them like a fucking horse race – but the house always has to win.” Words tumble from Akechi’s mouth so fast he has to fight to keep up, the slow spread of dread crawling its way up into his lungs as he talks. 

“Why is that a problem? It’s an honest one on one fight so of course they’d match your skill level?” Makoto frowns between them.

“They don’t,” Akechi snaps. “Can you really be so blind? They need to know your skill level so they can make sure they crush you.” 

“I thought it’d just be the same three rounds. I thought that was the trick.” He murmurs and can’t help glancing back at the other side of the arena where his opponent would enter, the metal gate still closed and the guards looking strangely … apprehensive? 

They were preparing something. 

The house matches your skill level and then exceeds it and, as he loves attempting to rationalize the craziness of it all, … he’s killed a god. 

Fuck. 

“You need to get out of there,” Akechi demands and Akira has absolutely zero qualms with laying down and listening for once as he scans the fence for any sign of weakness or even just a hold for him to grab. It’s useless though, the perforated fencing only going up six feet before steel slabs extend all the way to the ceiling. He’s caged. 

“I can’t –“ 

“Sorry for the hold up folks! It seems we have a legend in our midst – and by that I mean an idiot.” The crowd laughs, a jarringly greedy sound that has more to do with money in their pockets than finding him particularly funny. “You’re all in for a lucky treat tonight! It’s been a while since we’ve had a real challenger and I know you good people are hungry for a slaughter.” 

His opponents gate starts to lift, the crowd going wild with each inch it lifts off the ground, truly ready to watch a teenager be brutally murdered from their seats. 

It isn’t even halfway off the ground which Futuba shrieks, goggles on as she stares at the gate, “N-No that’s not – that’s not possible – Joker – “ 

The hauntingly familiar clattering of chains fills the arena. 

“Get out! NOW!” Akechi snarls, ordering Akira like he’s being particularly dense. As if his inability to leave is simply down to his own stubbornness and not a locked down stadium doubling as a prison. 

As if he’s always wanted to go one on one with the fucking Reaper. 

Happiness may be a recent addition to his life but fear Akira knows well. Knows its suffocating grip when one the thieves goes down in battle. Knows its icy freeze when his world spirals into the unknown via a rigged assault trial.  

Rarely though does he fear for his own life, his battles usually too tense and filled with worrying for others and strategizing to do much more than wince when he takes a hard hit. Yet standing alone with his teammates protected behind a barrier and nothing between him and the bloodstained creature but dirt he finds himself rooted to the spot.  

For a moment he simply stares, mouth gaping as he tries to work air into into his lungs, chains and blood splattered cloth filling his vision and then the thing roars back its head and screams – 

The sound rattles deep in his bones and Akira’s eyes narrow, legs twisting to find footing in the dirt as everything fades away but the rush of power under his skin. He’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves damn it, he’s not going down without a fight. 

“How the hell do we get in there? We’re not letting him fight that thing alone!” 

“We can’t fight that thing at all, Skull!” 

“Joker, we’ll get you out of there, just hold on!” 

“Oracle, you need to find a weakness in this place –“ 

They’re yelling over each other, desperate to help and he loves them for it but this isn’t their fight. He takes a steadying breath and waits for the Reaper to focus in on him, identifying its target. 

“Yoshitsune!” 

Fire races along his skin as his summons the persona, barely making its appearance before the Reaper launches a vorpal blade attack, the crowd screaming in excitement as it soars through the air toward him. 

Yoshitsune laughs, flinging his hand as the attack reflects back and slashes into the Reapers side, the shadow unprepared for the hit and stumbling back with a low groan of fury.  

Laughter chokes into shocked silence. 

The announcer's voice crackles over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, as we said this was going to be an interesting fight but there’s no need to worry – “ 

Akira ignores them, meeting the monster’s eye before calling up his own attack, managing to slash the reaper eight times before falling back. He’s powerful enough to make it hurt but the thing isn’t showing any signs of stopping, glaring down at Akira before raising one gun into the air and firing. 

He can’t even dodge it’s so fast, one moment he’s preparing to take a hit and the next he’s slammed back into the fencing, head smacking against metal and remnants of a nuclear attack making his skin crackle. His friends are screaming. 

“Crow, where are you – oh my god!” 

His head is buzzing from the hit, the whole world filtering in too loud and too bright and he can barely make out the screams and shouting from the other side of the fence, too focused on the clatter of chains that seems to be coming closer. He has to get up, he knows he can’t afford a second longer on the ground but his body isn’t cooperating and his vision is tilting black - 

“Let’s make a deal,” Akechi says, standing in the tiny rundown Laundromat where Akira scrubs dirt out of stolen armor in the middle of the night. He’s wearing an auburn jacket that makes his hair color standout and god, he’s never noticed things like fucking coats on people before this. Before him. 

“How’re you alive?” He asks instead of answering, doing his best to stay on important topics instead of suspicious deals or coats. 

“Not relevant,” Akechi shrugs and fuck him because yeah, Akechi being alive is kind of the most relevant piece of information to this whole puzzle. 

He doesn’t get angry though because he’s Akira and that means he’s always calm and cool and doesn’t let Akechi have the satisfaction of knowing how he never feels very much like any of those things when he’s around him. 

The detective’s going on about safety and how their teamwork will be able to take down whatever’s caused the reality to shift and he’s just so done with it. He watched Akechi break in Shido’s ship, watched the boy fall apart, crack open, and sacrifice himself over the course of one meeting and even then Akira could do nothing but watch. 

“Can you tell me what happened after … parting ways with me in Shido’s palace?” 

“You mean after I thought you’d died?” 

Akechi flinches but Akira continues, “Because that’s what I thought happened. I thought I’d never get to see you again because you were dead – and then you show up on Christmas like I didn’t leave you at that bottom of that ship.” 

“You didn’t do anything, I forced the barricade closed. It was my decision and I refuse to let you take credit for my own actions.” 

“Dead. I thought you were dead.” 

“I’m getting that, thank you.” 

Something snaps and he presses his hands against Akechi’s shoulders, the urge to touch and make sure this body in front of him is real and solid overwhelming. “You don’t understand – what I felt – “ he breaks off, his thoughts too wild to vocalize properly and this is exactly why he prefers letting others speak and him listening. He is very talented with a well placed nod. 

“I don’t understand what it’s like to think you’re dead? I very much do if you remember. Or is it just that I didn’t feel whatever petty emotion overcame you?” He says calmly and Akechi is so good at this, knows that snapping at him or pushing him off would only rile Akira up more. That the only way to prove his words is with pure indifference to the conversation itself. 

If Akira wasn’t so used to dealing with his manipulation tactics he might even believe it. 

But gloved fingers are digging almost painfully into his own sleeves and Akechi is watching him with a certain expectation he can’t help but rise to meet. 

He thinks of billiards halls and jazz clubs and text messages too late into the night. Of ‘good mornings’ and ‘you always seem to surprise me’ and ‘I’m in the area - do you have a moment?”. The line between emotion and manipulation blurring as both of them attempted to play the other, the necessity of the situation an iron clad excuse for whatever extra feelings seemed to tag along.

He thinks of Akechi’s raw and real smile, too quick and fragile like he knew he shouldn’t be giving it away to the boy he was plotting to kill but did it anyway. 

Everything between them has been orchestrated by men in shadows and gods in velvet rooms, everything except this - 

Akira leans forward, lips barely brushing before Akechi’s fingers fist in his lapel and yank, their mouths meeting in a violent clash that tastes like blood and want and is as graceless as it is desperate. 

“Now? You finally want to do this now?” Akechi manages to growl, hands moving from his coat to thread tightly in his hair, an edge of pain that makes Akira nearly whimper with want. 

He moans something noncommittal instead, too busy trailing his hands under the damn coat and like three of Akechi’s shirts - fuck layers - to get to touch skin. He lets his hands spread out, feeling heat and muscle and can only groan and tighten his grip as he’s bent back over the washing machines. 

“You - “ Akechi hisses between kisses, mouth trailing wet and hot over his jaw. “ - are going to be the death of me.”

“Get up,” 

He feels more than hears the words, hands grabbing and yanking him upward as his vision swims back into focus. He staggers but Akechi grabs him by the arm, keeping him upright as he regains his balance. 

There are dead shadows in the arena. 

At least five are lying dead in front of the entrance he walked through, still sizzling with the burn of a saber and the door sealed behind them only this time an electric field instead of the metal. 

“What - ?” 

“Please, you thought I was just going to let you take all the glory for taking down the Reaper?” Akechi growls but the sting isn’t there, eyes already focused on their opponent. “Neither of us stand a chance alone so swallow a potion and get back in the fucking fight.” 

Akira grits his teeth, pulling his arm away to dig through his pocket for whatever medicine he could reach first. “It’s fast and hits hard, we’ve gotta get out in front of it or else we’re not going to make it through its first attack.” 

Something glints in Ackehi’s face. “I’ve always wondered how this fight would go.” 

The Takemedic leaves a chalky aftertaste but it soothes away the aches and takes back the double vision, leaving him able to see very clearly his friends faces ranging from horrified to murderous on the other side of the fence. Apparently Akechi had moved too fast to be followed and for once Akira is relieved, preferring their safety to an enemy like this. 

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Akechi snaps their way with an eye roll, pulling the red crow mask off with a flick of his wrist and tossing it aside. The Reaper must decide that’s as good as any checkered flag and stalks forward, seeming to have been momentarily intrigued by Akechi’s havoc at the entrance. 

He wants to offer his thieves some comfort, some kind of reassurance but with the monster bearing down on them he has no choice but to focus, figuring they’ll probably prefer him alive to apologize fully rather than distracted and dead. 

“Bit of a change of events here, it seems we now have two contenders in the arena which, I assure you all, is against the rules and all bets will have this taken into consideration - “ 

“Loki!” Akechi summons, interrupting the announcer as his white and gold disguise melts into black, the long wiry expanse of his persona nearly dwarfing the reaper as it swings around on its own sword. 

“A black mask,” He hears Makoto choke but he can’t spare them a moment, adrenalin and power rushing through his own veins as he stands next to Akechi, a feedback loop between them as they stare down their enemy. 

“Obliterate it,” Akechi growls and the arena goes white with Megidolaon. 

Chapter Text

The infiltration is taking too long, they’ve ended day three and have barely managed to get past the main lobby with Yoshizawa dragging their pace with questions and Akira’s constant need to correct and teach instead of just letting the girl learn the hard but effective way. It leaves all three of them exhausted far too early and Akechi is getting restless with the lack of both progress and answers.

They’re in his apartment for a change, this version of Morgana an even bigger annoyance in human form and it’s either here or sleep on the couch while the cat human clings to his

-

His what?

It’s an excellent question and one he still doesn’t have an answer for. Enemy? Rival? Friend?

Everyone else certainly seems to have an answer for him. Shido passed down his grudges to Akechi like family heirlooms; absolutely meaningless but expected to be treasured without question. The leader of the phantom thieves became his hand me down enemy and he pulled the trigger obediently.

He recalls in a haze the blur of November. The midnight phone calls and desperate texts to Akira at all hours asking for meet ups in town - jazz club, coffee shop, hell he once joined him for a trip to the grocery store, anything and everything in a desperate attempt to hoard their time together to the final second.

“I hate him,” He’d thought on repeat, a mantra of a reminder watching Akira’s phone constantly buzz with texts from his friends and confidants during their time together. “I hate him,” as his cat and father figure and pseudo sister greeted Akira with genuine smiles and laughter whenever they walked into Leblanc. “I hate him,” as Akira had gone over logistics for Sae’s palace with all the Thieves, every face in the room holding nothing but support and loyalty for their leader.

“I hate him,” He’d whispered to this same apartment, staring down in horror and disgust at the half composed text message on the screen to Shido. < I won’t do this, you can’t make me kill him, there has to be another way >

It had terrified him. No one was allowed to have that much power of him, that was the entire point of playing the long con and putting up with the hitman tasks and ass kissing to finally get his justice. Akechi wasn’t going to let anyone stop him from killing his father, not even Akira.

He’d held onto that thought all the way though the depths of the police station and right up until he shot the bullet clean through Akira’s skull.

That was the goal. Kill the target, keep himself in Shido’s favor, and wait for next assignment. It wasn’t until he arrived home and reached for his phone on instinct that he realized he’d just murdered the only person he wanted to call.

Akira could never have been his enemy because the only thing Akechi has ever truly hated is himself and the man that created him.

The boy in question is dozing quietly beside him, the same phone that drove him insane all these months is now silent on the bedside table with all the usual suspects now happily occupied. Instead, it’s his own phone now that vibrates, loud and shrill in the quiet of the night.

He tries to silent it quickly but the damage is already done, Akira shifting under the comforter and squinting sleepily into the dark room, “Whoz it?”

“Mine,” He murmurs, wincing at the light of the screen. “Yoshizawa-san is asking about when we’re meeting tomorrow.”

“Why’s she askin’ you and not the chat?”

Akechi snorts at the sleepy bluntness, “Because she has a crush on you which trumps her fear of me and most likely doesn’t want to bother you since most people are asleep at this hour. I’ll say nine.”

Akira yawns his agreement and Akechi sends off a short text to confirm their plans.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

He glances over, the sleep mostly gone from Akira’s voice and his eyes now sharp even in the dark. “I’ve been considering a strategy for tomorrow. As beneficial as a third member is, Yoshizawa-san puts us at a considerable disadvantage when we’re teaching combat basics at the same time as infiltration.”

“She’s a quick learner. I’d rather teach her now than later and run up against something the two of us can’t handle.”

“In the incredibly unlikely event the two of us fail to take down a Shadow, having Yoshizawa-san there to offer a meager bless attack isn’t going to change the course of the fight.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Akira grins and it’s the shit eating version because he knows Akechi hates when he does this. Hates stand alone opinions with no supporting statements or room for debate - hates not being able to see into his head under that stupid mop of dark curly hair.

“Of course you do,” Akechi rolls his eyes and settles himself on his side, drawing up the duvet around his shoulders. Akira waits until he stills before rolling over onto his stomach, their shoulders and legs touching.

Akechi does not cuddle. He does not do relationships. He would not know a gentle touch if it came from the sky and caressed his face.

He does, however, know Akira, and that makes it a little easier to follow the long held desires he’s only recently chosen to acknowledge and seem to constantly burn under his skin. He reaches out a hand, seeming too pale and calloused and rough without his glove and presses it against the dip in Akira’s back.

“Mmm,” Akira comments softly. It’s a warm sound and his own face warms pleasantly in return.

Akechi doesn’t know why he’s thinking of sleep warm Akira or the soft sounds he makes when he’s relaxed and happy or really anything other than the still body that is currently limp against his chest.

They’d been fine - they’d hadn’t been winning exactly but it was under control. Their health was low, their bodies exhausted, but they were keeping up just fine. Akechi is first and foremost a solo combatant, his experience and fighting style all centering around being the only target but even he can admit fighting alongside Joker is a bit of a guilty pleasure.

Perhaps that’s where it went wrong.

He’d been drunk on the thrill, an impossible enemy up against their combined undefeated streak - (Akechi does not count events in the depths of ships because there’s a difference between a loss and a sacrifice and Shido fell all the same). They weren’t winning yet but hell if they weren’t gaining fast.

The Reaper must have agreed because then it had fired a truly desperate shot, too fast and too strong and Akira’s the one with the flashy persona’s, Akira’s the one who has the rotating roster of strengths and weaknesses that make him an absolute bitch of an opponent, Akira’s the one who slams himself violently into Akechi and sends him tumbling through the sand.

Akira’s the one who takes the hit.

Akira has been taking nothing but hits since Maruki decided to toss them into Akechi’s nightmare’s but this one rattles the steel beams of the arena with its force, Akechi unable to even stand in the wake of the paralyzing blowback. The Reaper itself stumbles backward, its gun hanging limply from its shattered arm.

Akira lays still in the dirt.

Not like before. No. Before Akira had been gagging and spitting dust, a nasty glare in his eyes even as he stumbled to the ground, consciousness swimming in and out of focus. He’d been so useless Akechi had to break into the ring to save his sorry ass but the fight had still been there, brewing in those deadly eyes.

Akechi knows this form too, has been haunted by it since it splattered forward onto an interrogation desk a handful of months ago. He’s known the quiet of a corpse since he was fourteen years old and thinks for the second time in his life that Akira is too vibrant to ever lay so still.

Akechi was once bound so tightly by chains of revenge and personal justice that he felt nothing but the hollow echo of uncertainty when the only person he’s ever truly liked died by his hand. After all, loss is an emotion that runs cool to the touch and his blood only knows how to boil.

Now though, now he’s been freed against his wishes with his father a sobbing mess on television, reputation ruined, and above all else very much alive. There’s nothing to hold him back, no higher purpose to fuel his rage and hatred that has been building all these years toward an end goal that is now nonexistent. Akechi has no bonds because there’s nothing left to kill. The Shido of his memory is as good as dead and there’s no satisfaction in killing a man who wants to do nothing but beg for your forgiveness. Akechi’s rage runs rampant like a caged beast accidentally let free.

Fear though, fear is new.

Fear is a liability, a weakness he refused to acknowledge for more than a moment on his first job from Shido and has never looked back since. Fear wastes time and energy, an unproductive emotion that serves to meddle the mind and slow the body, both side effects he refuses to fall to as either a detective or an assassin.

He is currently neither of those things, and perhaps that’s why fear runs thick and icy down his spine as he stares at his  - What? What are you to me, Akira? I need you to tell me you’re so much better at this than I am -

It wasn’t like this before, why is it like this now? Why does he feel like he can’t move or walk or blink or fucking breath. He needs to breath, he needs his chest to expand and take away the hollow ache but he can’t, not when he’s staring at the body in front of him willing his chest to move first.

The Reaper roars in victory and something inside him snaps.

Fear isn’t a weakness he decides, tripping over himself to get to Akira. Fear is a strength. Fear is a power he has idiotically been denying himself. Fear is what brings him to the present, clutching Akira against his chest as he realizes just how far he’s willing to go to keep this stupid boy alive. He’s had a taste of humanity and while Akechi will always be more beast than man he’s not about to let his closest connection slip through his fingers.

His hands shake as they grip Akira tighter, unidentifiable emotion filling him as the boy remains unresponsive. He’s been unconscious for more than a minute, the longer he stays under the more likely the damage will be serious the detective in him says logically, as if logic has any place in this death arena or Maruki’s sandbox. He doesn’t know what the game is here, if these realities can kill as effectively as they can resurrect but he’s not about to take the chance.

“Loki!” He snarls, teeth bared as the Reaper drags itself forward, chains rattling, to finish them off.

Call of Chaos lights in his veins, power coursing through him too hot and too fast as it burns a path through his body from the inside out. It eats at his madness, devouring the parts of him that still bleed until it’s gorged itself fat and swollen on everything broken inside of him. Only then does it transfer, striking the Reaper dead center with a hypnotic burst until its eyes redden and the curse starts to radiate off the thing in a cloudy haze.

It screams, an ear splitting sound of misery but Akechi doesn’t care, he’s heard this song before.

…

Akira has a doctor friend.

He knew this of course, knew he had to have been getting his medicine and some of his more curious health and energy trinkets from some sort of source - most likely not strictly legal judging by the potency and volume of his supply. Still, as much as the back alley doctor stereotype seems to fit, the woman has her own clinic that seems, as far as Akechi can tell, legitimate which is a step up from the revoked license drug dealers he’d imagined.

He’ll have to remember to tell Akira how impressed he is he hasn’t been buying from peddlers in back alleys if he ever wakes up. 

They’re back in Lebanc now, Takemi’s exam room barely big enough for two let alone an entire group of Phantom Thieves and their tag along enemy. Akira is still unconscious on his shitty excuse for a mattress only this time it’s medically induced instead of brain trauma. Akechi really should be going now that he knows his only ally in this insanity isn’t about to drop dead any time soon but he can’t find the energy to move from his spot on the chair by the window.

No one else has made any move to leave either, though they’re all far more comfortable in this space than Akechi has ever been.

They haven’t argued with his presence or said much of anything to him at all since the Reaper turned on its masters in a fit of rage. Sakamoto and Kitagawa had blasted the electrical barrier down in the chaos, Niijima sprinting across the arena to them as Okumura and Takamaki held off the guards to keep the door open.

Sakura had guided them out quickly and there had been no time to try and force a healing potion between Akira’s lips, too little energy from the group trying to keep the shadows at bay to cast a healing spell - their only option was to escape into the real world which left Joker with a nasty concussion, four broken ribs, and a gang of traumatized thieves after being forced to watch their leader fall without them.

He’d been surprised by just how little permanent injury they seemed to take the first time he’d joined them in Nijima-san’s palace. Fighting on his own Akechi is only ever as good as what items he can carry on his person and the idea either of his persona’s are capable of healing magic is downright laughable. Even if they were, it would be idiotic to waste energy healing minor injuries when he had strict deadlines to meet and massive palaces to destroy. 

A group this large is different though, having reserve fighters means healing magic is almost overflowing after each battle. He’s seen bumps and scraps on all of them after a hard fight that linger into the real world but never so much as a broken finger even after battles that nearly took out the entire starting line up.

Which perhaps explains why no one seems the least bit interested in leaving Akira’s side.

It’s childish and illogical. Akira will not be waking up any time soon - he’d blinked at them all sluggishly in the examination room and offered an asinine smirk before falling back into darkness as Takemi’s pain medication had done its job. Pain is a part of the metaverse and if these fools wish to continue calling themselves Phantom Thieves it would be in their best interest to get used to a little injury in their line of work.

He should lead by example but the idea of going back to this reality’s empty apartment with no one but Shido vibrating his phone sits uncomfortably in his stomach. That paired with the odd tightening in his chest that will not dissipate stops any other attempts to flee.

Everyone shifts as the attic stairs creak and a door somewhere down bellow closes with a lock snapping into place. The youngest Nijima appears moments later, looking stuck between exhaustion and worry. “Boss picked up the prescription Doctor Takemi ordered and closed the cafe. He told me to pass on that we’re all free to stay the night.”

The thieves all nod their thanks but Akechi doubts any of them would have left even if Sakura had told them so.

“Which leaves us with the current situation and what our next move should be,” Niijima continues and it proves just how out of sorts he is that it takes several moments for Akechi to realize it’s him she’s referring to.

“I hope for your sakes you aren't trying to kick me out,” He says bluntly, too tried for niceties that will do little to change their opinion of him anyway after what they witnessed.

“We’re a bit more interested in an explanation,” Niijima crosses her arms in an excellent imitation of her sister - or perhaps its just the Nijima genes that come with cold red eyes and the general air of distrust. “What exactly happened back in the arena?”

Akechi has no idea how Maruki’s realities work - theories yes, hundreds of them - but actual concrete evidence to develop some sort of hypothesis? He has nothing. It’s hard to work in absolutes when your opponent is simply willing dreams into reality. This makes it a bit difficult when considering the best way to approach this current reality.

Are these thieves even real? Are they incredibly realistic creations like the resurrected dead he’s seen before? Are they the actual thieves simply brainwashed into believing they’re reliving the past for the first time? Will they remember any of this when they return to the true reality?

He’s very hopefully leaning toward the first option, not particularly interested in having witnesses to his little emotional outburst in the arena. That and he would guess rearranging an entire worlds memories to coincide with a few months ago would be a ridiculous amount of effort just to teach him some obscure lesson. It’s much more likely himself and Akira were simply dropped into this little pocket reality with a supporting cast of convincing fakes.

“You were wearing a black mask,” Niijima interrupts his thoughts, drawing him back to her cold gaze.

“That and we saw you summon a second Persona,” Morgana adds from where he’s curled up against Akira’s chest  - surprise surprise. Akechi’s fingers itch to smack the fur ball off but that will win him no favors in getting to stay in Leblanc.

“You saw correctly,” He says slowly. He has no qualms with admitting any of this since even if these thieves are real and will remember they already know the basics of his crimes. He’s more concerned with having to face Sakura’s and Okumura’s realization that he murdered their parents. That might definitely get him kicked out.

“So you admit it then? You’re that Black Mask fucker?” Sakamoto snarls, leaning forward from the stack of crates that make up Akira’s bed. He’s been positioned there since they arrived, protectively guarding the sleeping occupant from what Akechi knows is the only threat in the room.

“I have a second persona and a second outfit that happens to have a black mask, I’m not admitting to anything. I have a similar power to your leader, that’s the end of it.” He settles on avoidance, a tried and true tactic that leaves all of the thieves just as confused and distrustful but no one moving to throw him out.

He inwardly rolls his eyes. This is what Akira has made him into, someone who avoids conflict in order to stay in a dingy attic.

They all share a look with each other, a silent conversation passing between them all and Akechi actually does roll his eyes this time because he’s had enough of their little ‘bond’ to last a lifetime.

“What is it?” He growls.

“Your performance in the area was considerably confusing,” Kitagawa says easily, the rest of the team still floundering with their thoughts and shoot him a look he pays no mind to. “We were under a very different impression of your relationship with Akira.”

Sakamoto is making a shut up gesture from the bed while Niijima and Takamaki bore holes into Kitagawa’s head. Sakura makes a nervous squeak from somewhere.

This is incredibly painful to watch, both for the thieves who obviously think they’re being subtle and the fact that this is the acting talent that somehow pulled one over on him. His only excuse is that he was a bit preoccupied with getting as much Akira in his life before the end of November he had no time to so much as glance as the other phantom thieves. He needs to put all of them out of their misery.

“You know I’m planning to kill him.”

Sakura really does scream them, a high pitched yelp that frays his nerves. There’s swearing and nervous rambling and even a few weak denials but their surprise means little to him when he’s already seen just how successful this plan plays out.

“Stop,” He orders, voice echoing strong and firm in the room. “I’m aware of the bug on my phone and how much you know. There’s no reason to panic, I will not be shooting your Leader anytime soon.”

“Like we can trust you,” Sakamoto spits.

“You can’t. I highly advise against it in fact.”

“Why are you here then?” Okumura asks in that pillow soft voice of hers.

“I- “ He pauses, not knowing himself the proper answer to that. Akira isn’t at death’s door and from the way the thieves are orbiting the bed that isn’t about to change anytime soon. Logically it would be the best move to leave and further investigate Maruki’s actualization but the idea makes the tightness in his chest suddenly suffocating. “It’s no concern of yours.”

“It is if you try something-!”

“Ryuji,” Kitagawa interrupts, lounging against Akira’s shelf full of what Akechi would very loosely dub paraphernalia as he’s pretty sure half the items were seconds away from the trash can before coming into his possession. “If Akechi was interested in killing Akira I think he would have had a much better opportunity in the arena. Instead he risked his life for our leader - quite boldly in fact, it was absolutely stunning to witness even with the terror racing through my heart - which I believe earns him the right to sit by his bedside considering their bond.”

Ryuji stares at Kitagawa for several long moments before turning to look at Akechi, “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what that means.”

“Are you and Akira fucking?” He accuses crudely, tossing a thumb backwards toward the bed.

Sakura makes yet another sound previously unknown to the human ear, this one pitched slightly higher if that is at all possible.

“Futuba-“ Niijima says exasperated, the younger girl seemingly attempting to burry herself under the blankets on Akira’s couch, her hands firmly over her ears.

“That - we shouldn’t - that is no way to speak about our friend,” Okumura stutters, cheeks as pink as her sweater - Burberry Fall 2014 if he’s not mistaken, the girl at least had taste to go with that heavy wallet.

“I’m not insulting him, I’m askin’ a question!” Ryuji defends.

“So what if they are, I think it’s romantic,” Takamaki grins with a disturbing glint in her eye. She’s also sitting at the base of Akira’s bed but lounging rather than the protective stance of her partner, legs casually tossed over Sakamoto’s lap.

“Romantic?” Niijima repeats dryly.

“Yeah! Akira decided to do things the old fashioned way - seduce the enemy,” She sighs dreamily. “Just like all those spy movies, he got the villain to turn on our side with the power of sex!”

Akechi stares up at the ceiling, considering just how a single group of people could completely shrivel up every ounce of his considerable patience.

“Please, it would take way more than that it get this asshole to switch. He’s gotta be in love with the guy - do you even know how to love Akechi?”

“He most certainly does considering how he risked life and limb to protect Akira in the arena,” Kitagawa adds, tapping the tip of his pencil idly against his chin, a sketchbook already propped up on his knees. “Certainly not the actions of a team member about to switch sides.”

“It is if he was trying to convince us!” Sakura points a shaky hand at Akechi from her blanket pile, a soft green glow filtering out from where she’s smuggled her laptop in. “What’s the best way to make us not suspicious about him hurting Akira? To make us think he has a crush on him!”

He takes it all back, facing Sakura and Okumura for his crimes against their parents seems a downright pleasant option now that he’s faced the alternative that is this personal hell. He can feel Niijima’s smirk from across the room, the sole voice of reason in this idiotic mess and she’s staying silent

They’re all shouting now, any semblance of the somber mood long forgotten in place of arguing over his supposed love life and where his betrayal fit along the time line. So loud in fact, it seems they’ve reached a volume to wake the dead as Akira suddenly groans from the bed.

The thieves move immediately, their argument long forgotten in the face of their leader as they crowd around the bed. “Akira?” Ann asks, running a hand through his hair. The action makes something twist painfully in his stomach - perhaps he should have had that doctor check him out after all.

Akira blinks awake, eyes hazy as they drift over the circle of heads crowding him in despite Nijima’s best attempts to get them to give him some space.

“Did you get the number?”

Sakamoto frowns, gripping tightly to Akira’s shoulder. “What number, bro?”

“The -“ He groans softly, ribs most definitely aching as he comes back to awareness. “The number of the truck that hit me.”

Kitagawa looks mildly perplexed at the new information but Sakamoto just smacks Akira’s shoulder with an eye roll.

“Idiot,” Niijima murmurs fondly, running her hand affectionately through Akira’s wild curls and Akechi knows from experience just how tangled up they can get after a rough fight.

Though not particularly funny the jokes does it’s job, the tension the thieves had been holding onto since they left the place disappearing as they lose all pretense of trying to give their leader space and clamber onto the bed. Kitagawa claims the foot of the bed, leaning up against the window as Sakura scrambles up after him, tucking herself into the space between his legs and Akira’s. Sakamoto and Takamaki snag the spots on either side, sandwiching Akira between them who laughs lightly - his ribs must be making anything more difficult - and presses back against them. Niijima and Okumura both sit down on the side, nudging away limbs in order to make a space for themselves in the group, all eight of them somehow managing to tuck themselves comfortably onto a single mattress, with the exception of Morgana yowling for space on Akira’s pillow.

Akechi stares from his seat at the window, watching as Sakamoto casually noses his face into the side of Akira’s neck and squeezes his shoulders before Takamaki presses butterfly kisses across his cheeks and nose, scolding him for being so reckless.

Okumura holds his hand, Sakura rests her cheek on his knee, Kitagawa links their ankles together, even Morgana curls up next to his head on the pillow.

And Niijima is still stroking his hair.

Akechi has several complaints for Maruki if this is what the actualization of his desires looks like and all of them will be filed using his saber.

“Akechi?”

His heart leaps into his throat at the sound of his name which is about as disgusting as it is pathetic. Since when has he allowed his emotions free reign over his anatomy?

Akira is looking at him and there goes his heart once again, pounding without permission against his chest like it’s life or death. He freezes in his chair by the desk, lost at what his next move should be in front of their audience.

“C’mere,” Akira asks, squirming a hand out from where Sakamoto has it trapped between his chest to reach out for him.

Akechi finds he is now physically incapable of ignoring such a gesture. He’d be more disappointed in himself if he wasn’t currently scrambling to stand next to the bed. He at least has enough pride left to not link their hands together and he pointedly ignores the way his fingers twitch against his slacks.

“Thanks for saving my ass,” Akira grins tiredly.

Akechi scoffs, leaning down toward the bed out of habit and purposely ignoring Sakamoto who’s glaring up at him, “Someone has to when you’re going to behave so recklessly -“

He doesn’t even get to finish his scolding he’s spent the past few hours crafting because as soon as he’s in reach Akira’s leaning up and pressing his lips against Akechi’s.

He vaguely recognizes that Sakura’s vocal range is quite impressive if she can reach pitches that high for the duration of their kiss.

…

It turns out there are worse things than sharing a bed with a cat human and that is sharing one with Sakamoto and Takamaki which is why it takes until nearly noon the next day for him to get to touch his… his - fuck it, to touch Akria.

The thieves make it clear they’ll be checking in as it appears Futuba is still very much convinced he’s been kissing Akira to make the betrayal even more cinematic or some nonsense. The idea of seducing him in order to lull him into a false sense of security is a fine suspicion he suspects Niijima still holds and she is free to think he as good of an actor as to flush on demand as he suspects his face did last night when Akira was slurping messily at his soup through a straw.

He does his best not to cheer when he hears the door shut downstairs, instead celebrating by remaining expressionless as he reads through one of the random books Akira has stored away up here - The Last Days of Socrates, it appears the Boss is an amateur philosopher.

“Sorry, I know they can be a lot.” Akira says as he leans against the railing at the top of the attic stairs. He really should invest in a curtain.

“You should be resting,” Akechi says instead of humoring that with a response. Calling the thieves ‘a lot’ was akin to calling Shido ‘a bad guy’.

“You sound like Morgana,” Akira grumbles and thank god the cat had gone off with Futuba at Akira’s request.

“You have several broken ribs and a concussion, don’t be an idiot and get in your bed.”

Akira sighs dramatically, as is his only way of being, before getting back onto the bed with what some might call a pout. Akechi does not because he’d like to think the boy he’s let into his own bed would be above such childish things.

“Goorrrrooooo-“

Akechi is an idiot.

“You only call me that when you’re after something and I can assure you I am not in a humoring mood,” He says dryly, not looking up from his book.

Akira shoots him a glare - which Akechi pretends not to see because he’s too busy pretending to read outdated philosophy. “Have you figured out your dream yet? Because the sooner we do the sooner Maruki lets us out of here and I can have my not broken ribs back.”

“I have, I believe I’m supposed to shoot you at the first possible convenience instead of waiting for the interrogation room. To put you out of your misery.”

“You’re not funny,” Akira scoffs, “maybe ask me in a day though, going up and down those stairs for the bathroom is going to shove one of these broken ribs into my stomach or something.”

“That is physically impossible but I do hope you prove me wrong,” He says reflexively but the book is already closed on his lap. Akira has a point, the stairs aren’t the easiest to navigate and the bed was already an affront to spines everywhere before his injury…

Plus no doubt Sakura is listening to their every word. Perhaps even has a camera.

“I have a better idea,” He announces, not waiting for Akira’s opinion as he grabs his phone and orders a taxi.

Which is how they end up at his apartment instead of that shitty attic which now seems positively homely with Akira pattering around the kitchen for coffee compared with yesterday’s cold vision.

“Get out,” Akechi scolds, “I brought you here to rest in an actual bed.”

“Really? I thought you just wanted to escape from Futuba’s prying eyes or whatever the hell you called it?” He asks, pouring the boiling water into the french press.

“You’re living in a literal big brother - sister in this case - situation. I don’t understand why it doesn’t bother you in the slightest?”

Akira shrugs, the epitome of casual despite living in a constant surveillance state. “She gives me privacy if I ask.”

“It’s your room, you shouldn’t have to ask,” He grumbles, pressing a hand to his face.

“Believe me, Akechi. She has much better things to do then spy on us - she’s got a Stardew Farm that has fifty slimes.”

“I have no idea what that means,”

“I don’t either but it sounds pretty time consuming.”

Akechi rolls his eyes but lets him make his coffee, knowing better than to try and take over the task. “Coffee then bed?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could take a bath?” He asks, turning back to rest against the counter, hands wrapped around the Good Morning Japan mug he’s claimed as his own for some reason.

“Mm, the real reason you agreed so quickly to come over?”

Akira grins, “The bathhouse is great but I’m a bit hooked on this thing you have over here called doors?”

“A revolutionary concept,” He says dryly before turning and heading down to the bathroom to run a bath.

Steam fogs the room when Akira makes his appearance, looking a bit more awake but all the activity is starting to weigh on his shoulders.

“Sit,” Akechi instructs, nudging him onto the ledge of the bath. He works his arms out of the t-shirt and up over his head without disturbing his broken ribs with clinical efficiency, the deep purple splotches over his chest standing stark against his bare skin as Takemi had instructed not to wrap them.

“Thanks,” Akira smiles gratefully as if Akechi has done anything but the bare minimum for someone unable to raise their arms. He feels the twitching need to punch whomever taught Akira to give away his gratitudes so casually when even someone like Akechi can understand basic human decency.

“You’re incapable of doing it yourself, it would have been pathetic watching you struggle with it,” He says bluntly, pulling down Akira’s sweat pants over each leg and collecting the rest of the clothes in his arms. “I’ll run a wash while you bathe.”

“Sounds good, no promises on how long i’ll be in here,” Akira grins before hesitating, one foot raised to step into the bath and Akechi can already see the pinching pain in his expression.

“Don’t - you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I know, I didn’t even think - ” He sighs, “I’ll just take a shower, sorry about wasting water,” He says which is logical and a fine conclusion for someone who can’t bend properly or put pressure on their torso but Akechi can’t hear anything other than the disappointment in his voice.

“Just wait here for a moment, I’ll put these in then I’ll - I’ll get in too.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can quite think over what he’s saying and his legs are moving out of the bathroom and toward the washer on the balcony. A bath. Right.

For someone who has had his mouth over the entirety of Akira’s body it’s beyond pathetic for him to be getting nervous about sitting in some hot water with him. They’ve shared the bathhouse before, this is nothing different.

He shuts the lid on the washer a bit harder than necessary, stepping purposefully back toward the bathroom. Akira is waiting for him in the same spot, and his nudity doesn’t cause so much as a blush but for some reason his heart wants to skip to double beats when he looks at the water.

He needs to get a hold of himself.

He clears his throat and quickly strips himself down to nothing, idly thinking perhaps he should have waited to start the washer but Akira is giving him one of those half smiles that Akechi’s pretty sure he could look at for the rest of his life so he ignores his lack of efficiency and climbs over into the bath.

It’s a bit of a dance to get Akira in but undoubtably easier than what would have been a painful tumble on his own, Akechi helping him lower himself down into the water without putting weight on his ribs.

“I’ll just - uh - you’ll need the support -“ He manages to stumble out, sitting himself down against the back of the tub.

“Sounds legit,” Akira grins, ignoring the stiffness in Akechi’s body as he settles between his legs, leaning back against his chest.

It’s… intimate.

While he’s bathed with Akira before it’s always been in public with several inches of space between them despite the occasional flirtatious touch they’d both been guilty of. This. This is very different.

The slim expanse of Akira’s shoulders to waist are pressed warm against his chest and stomach, his legs spread to allow the rest of Akira’s body between them. A wet hand draws idle patterns on his knee sticking out of the water and Akechi carefully reaches in front of Akira to link his own hands to rest against his stomach. Holding him.

Akira’s breath hitches slightly but he doesn’t move away- instead letting his full weight rest back against Akechi’s chest, the two sinking slightly into the water as the tension in both of them releases.

“This… is nice,” Akira says, an edge of self consciousness there that Akechi will protect with his life. He enjoys exploiting Akira’s weaknesses to push the golden boy out of his comfort zone but these soft secret sides shared with him and him alone are to be kept as such.

“Indeed,” He says simply, pressing his hands into the warm skin of Akira’s stomach.

The bath is perhaps a bit too pleasant and Akechi can already see how this might become a problem considering Akira’s already talking about coming over just to bathe and Akechi already knows his self control will not be able to keep him from joining.

They towel off once the water goes cold and Akechi pulls Akira into one of his softer pajama shirts and a pair of boxer briefs, taking a bit of pleasure in how the collar hangs wide on his shorter frame.

“So what do you do for fun here?” Akira asks, settling himself down on the bed.

“You’ve made yourself company here enough these past two weeks, why are you asking me?” He scoffs, climbing onto the opposite side.

“Yeah to do two things, sleep with you then on your fancy bed and I doubt you’ll let us do the first.”

“You’re completely welcome to the second,” He offers patiently.

“I’m glad Morgana’s here in spirit.”

Akechi rolls his eyes and digs into his bedside table, pulling out a stack of cards. He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

Which ends up not amounting to much when they realize neither of them know any card games.

“Why do you even have these if you don’t know any games?” Akira asks, laying the cards out on the duvet for something to do with his hands.

“I used to play solitaire while studying. I read about it as a memorization technique but I didn’t see any promising results. You’re the one who has the flocks of friends though, how do you not know any?”

“We don’t sit around playing poker,” Akira laughs, pulling the deck back together and sloppily shuffling it. “Want to see a magic trick?”

Akechi rolls his eyes but gestures a hand for Akira to continue, leaning back against the headboard.

In an impressive feat of basic card counting Akira guesses correctly Akechi’s ace of spades. He lets him bask in his success for a few seconds before breaking down exactly how he did it in a single guess.

“Magic,” Akira argues, shuffling the cards to preform it again.

“Math,” Akechi corrects, stealing the cards and easily mimicking the trick himself.

“Ah, I hand’t realized there was a fellow magician in the room - ow! Akechi! You can’t hit the injured!”

“Your legs aren’t injured,” He says dryly, reshuffling the cards. “I think we can probably handle a game of Go Fish if only to save me from anymore of your magic show.”

“You don’t appreciate talent,” Akira sniffs but nods, eyes shinning with the competitive edge Akechi’s come to recognize in the metaverse. “Deal me in.”

He’s only halfway through dealing after looking up the instructions online when Akira decides to raise the stakes, “Winner gets a kiss.”

“There’s only two of us.”

“Winners all around,” Akira grins.

“Doesn’t sound like much of an incentive. How about if I win you go to sleep?”

“Done. I’ll have you know I’ve been trained by a world class shogi player so it’s okay if you want to quit now.”

“A shogi player specializing in Go Fish? You really do have connections everywhere.” He lays down a book of four kings with a television perfect smile.

It’s a close game, if a low stakes children’s card game can be described as such. Akechi thinks Akira will finally have to take his sleep medication when the boy swoops in with three final books out of his last hand, winning the game in a surprise come back that has him questioning if perhaps this Shogi player might actually be real.

“Pay up,” Akira grins, watching Akechi shuffle the cards back into their box and toss them into the drawer.

“Have a bit of tact, no one likes an obnoxious winner,” Akechi snorts, the bite of loss itching under his skin but it’s soothed by Akira’s bright eyes and excited grin for his prize which is …certainly a first.

“I’m just making sure you’re not trying to short me my prize,” He laughs and the sound is so bright it feels nearly criminal to have it in this cold shell of an apartment Shido gifted him.

It’s sickly sweet enough to give him a stomach ache so he decides to shut that down by giving the idiot what he wants. He leans in with an exasperated sigh and plants a firm kiss on his lips, keeping it short and sweet like any good consolation prize.

He pulls back, an insult of Akira’s low prize bar on his lips - you’re kissed frequently, why the hell did you make this your prize? - but Akira gets there first.

“Don’t make that face, a kiss from my boyfriend is the best prize.” Akira fucking winks because he thinks he’s smooth but Akechi can’t even berate him for the terrible line because his brain has decided to cease operations.

He reacts instinctively, face drawn in a sneer. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Akira cocks his head to the side, always so fucking calm and collected. “What are we calling this then?”

“I- “ Akechi’s words fail him because that is exactly what he’s been asking himself.

“Is this just a sex thing?” Akira frowns and once again his body reacts without his consent, his stomach rolling unpleasantly at the boys reaction. “Friends with benefits- or enemies I guess you would say?”

“Rivals,” He corrects absently but his mind is too focused on the context. Friends with Benefits, as in Akira allows him to use his body for release and vice versa. He remembers one of his superiors at the police station explaining casually to his partner the fucking arrangement he had with a friend from college ‘can fuck her whenever I want and we can both date other people, best of both worlds’. An image of Akira leaving his bed to go on a date with Yoshizawa flashes through his mind - they’d eat some ridiculously large meal and talk about soft things like gymnastics and butterflies and world peace and then Akira would walk her home, leaving her with a chaste kiss on the lips -

The bed sheets fist in his fingers, nails bitting through the fabric into his skin.

“No,” He grits out.

“No?” Akira raises an eyebrow, a smile dancing on his lips and Akechi has to breathe slowly to keep from smacking it off his stupid face.

“We’re not friends with benefits,” He says stiffly.

“Alright. But we sleep together… “

“I’ve slept with many people.”

“And you let me stay overnight,”

“For practical purposes, no point in you going home if we’re just meeting up in the morning.”

Akira grins, reaching out to take his hand and Akechi lets him because pulling away would be childish and somebody has to be the mature one when Akira’s spouting nonsense. “And I like you. As in, romantically? I thought that was kind of obvious with the whole kissing thing?” 

“Shut up,” Akechi growls, staring at his - oh god this is what they are aren’t they? The dates, and the sex, and even Akechi bringing him back to his apartment and the constant fluttering of his heart - “What have you done to me?” He demands.

Akira laughs, squeezing his hand gently. “Nothing you haven’t done to me too.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” He repeats stubbornly but doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Okay,” Akira allows easily, because that’s annoyingly who he is and this is who Akechi has allowed to haunt his every waking moment since their first fated ‘hello’. Perhaps this is inevitable. 

Perhaps he doesn’t hate it.

He'd sooner confess his murders than admit it though so he presses in for another kiss to end this entire conversation but instead of his hands hitting the bed they hit tile, the momentum taking him forward until he’s laying sprawled in the middle of a familiar conference room, his metaverse outfit weighing heavy on his body instead of pajamas.

“So!” Maruki claps his hands together, the sound jarringly loud as it echos in the room. “Have you reconsidered?”

For one terrifying moment Akechi wonders if Akira himself had been a product of the actualization, if his entire dream had been spent alone and his newfound perspective on his relationship only coming from some puppet version.

But no, Akira is laying across from him and his hands are running over his torso - checking his ribs. Akehci has never been more grateful for the injury because now he can focus on slaughtering this asshole.

“You’re pathetic,” He laughs at Maruki, picking himself up off the ground. “Is that truly the best you can do? You think your little dream is going to deter me from tearing this fake world you’ve created apart?”

“You’re looking at is wrong, it’s not a fake world but a perfect one,” Maruki explains kindly and Akechi wants to see what that smile will look like splashed with blood. “A world with more time to pursue your own desires instead of revenge.”

“We said no,” Akira says firmly, falling into step next to him.

Maruki is not impressed, calling on some sort of disturbed power than can corrupt persona’s but it doesn’t matter. Akira stands beside him with Joker’s cocky grin ready to fight against literal madness itself, an impossible task with only the two of them to take it down.

Akira strikes the first blow, sending the shadow flying across the conference hall and Akechi thinks he might just be in love.