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When Akira first moved to Tokyo, he instinctively fell into the quieter side of his personality in a sub-conscious effort to stave off attention. Even if rumors flew around him at school, he figured they would eventually die down and that he could live through a peaceful year while on probation.
Maybe that’s why he attracts the misfits—the ones who see the blaring “don’t talk to me” sign above his head and take that as the go ahead to approach him. Getting ostracized by everyone else tends to train one to flock to others like them.
He’d wondered if his new friends were going to be taken aback when he showed more of himself during palace infiltrations.
They hadn’t. They’d treated him the same. Ryuji had been excited actually, cheering and hooking an arm around Akira’s shoulders when he’d downed a shadow with a manic grin and a knife twirling between his fingers.
His friends accept every part of him: the mask he puts on to face an unforgiving and judgemental world and the hidden side he only unleashes in the depths of the metaverse.
Their quick acceptance might be the reason why his bold confidence sneaks out at times in the real world.
Including now, when he can’t stop the smirk curling on one side of his lips as he taps an empty sake bottle, courtesy of Lala-chan, against his shoulder.
Akechi sneers at him. Whether he realizes it or not, he's been letting his own public mask slip off lately.
Akira lets it slide. He knows what it's like.
“While I appreciate the invitation,” Akechi says, drawing out the last word in obvious distaste, “I really must be going.
Akira shrugs. “See you next time then.”
He didn’t think Akechi would accept—not right away, at least. If there’s one thing he’s learned from their outings, it’s that Akechi’s nosiness always gets the best of him.
Joining the circle his friends have gathered around, he rolls the bottle forward and leans back against his bed. Ryuji, slouching next to the chair at Akira’s desk, catches it with a wide grin and places it in the middle. “So, who wants to go first?” he says, stretching his arms above himself.
The girls shift in their sitting positions, giving each other shy glances while laughing quietly. Akira doesn’t know how Ann managed to convince Makoto to join when she looks as if she would rather be designated driver through every sublevel of Mementos.
Ann bounces forward. “Okay, I’ll go!” She sticks her tongue out in concentration before she spins. It’s cute; Akira can’t help laughing into his fist.
The bottle makes a scraping noise as it spins. He winces at the sound and hopes there aren’t any lingering dents afterward.
It stops eventually, rolling off to the side due to the uneven flooring and pointing at Yusuke, who, despite being part of their circle, looks beyond confused. “What do I need to do?” he says, hands full with his sketchbook.
“You’ve never heard of spin the bottle? Whoever spins has to kiss whoever it lands on,” Ryuji says.
“Oh.” Yusuke taps his pencil against his chin once. “I pass.”
“What? You can't pass, man!”
Yusuke raises his eyebrows in response, regarding Ryuji with such nonchalance that the latter backs down immediately with a sigh.
“If you all want to kiss each other, I don’t mind,” he says, waving his arms with flourish. “In fact, it would provide great inspiration for me.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to draw us kissing,” Ann groans.
“Only with express permission.”
Ann shakes her head before picking up the bottle again. “Okay, well…” she says and spins it.
It lands on Haru, who gives a short “Oh!” and smiles brightly at Ann. She places both hands on her cheeks as they lean into each other, both laughing when they accidentally bump noses.
It’s a quick kiss, and they return to their spots without fanfare.
“Then, it’s my turn,” Haru says.
While she spins the bottle with a strong twist of her wrist, Akira’s attention drifts toward the stairs. Akechi’s staring pointedly at his gloves as he adjusts them, one hip cocked to the side in an attempt to appear disinterested in his surroundings.
Akira turns his attention back to the bottle, rattling in place, before Akechi can catch him staring. He hides his smile behind a hand.
Of course he stayed.
“It’s me!” Morgana says, trotting up to Haru on light paws. He angles his head upward, purring louder than he probably realizes when she places a kiss right on his brow.
Endeared by the clear satisfaction written all over his face, Akira can’t help but put out a hand to run through his fur as he returns to his spot. He gets a swat on his fingers for it, but it's done without claws, so he knows Morgana’s secretly pleased.
Considering Morgana’s lockpicking skills, he shouldn’t have been surprised by his dexterity in handling the bottle for his turn. In Akira’s defense, it could weigh as much as a well-fed cat. And Akira feeds Morgana very well, despite his habit to claim otherwise.
Futaba shouts when the tip of the bottle points at her. She approaches Morgana with her fingers curled inward, a mischievous grin stretching across her face.
Morgana’s fur stands on end and he dashes off to hide behind Ann. “Don’t pinch my cheeks!” he shrieks.
Futaba cackles, which means she definitely will pinch his cheeks, and grabs him the instant he peers around Ann.
“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad,” Ann says, raising her voice above his pitiful yowls, as Futaba lays a flurry of kisses on Morgana’s head.
Unable to talk back to Ann, Morgana endures Futaba’s barrage and runs off once she lets go. Only his tail is visible when he returns to his hiding spot, giving Ann the illusion of having a short black cat tail.
Futaba adjusts her glasses as she plops down next to them. “Alright, here we go!”
Her excitement morphs into blushing embarrassment when the bottle lands on Akira. “Wait, wait, wait!” she cries, waving her arms frantically when Akira pushes himself up from the floor. He sits back down.
“I’ll come to you,” she says. Determined, she balls her hands into fists once she’s in front of him—her entire face red and somehow turning redder by the second. The corners of her eyes wrinkle at the force in which she shuts them, and, when she puffs up her cheeks as she pushes her lips out, Akira is reminded of the nature documentary he watched about blowfish.
Akira taps one of her hands as she stays in position. It looks kind of painful when she cracks one eye open.
He turns his head to the side. “On the cheek counts.”
The relief that crosses her face is mirrored by a certain someone watching their game still.
She presses her lips to his cheek, almost falling over in her enthusiasm. Akira laughs as he catches her and pats her on the back.
“Hey, it’s supposed to be on the lips! C’mon, guys,” Ryuji says, sagging against the chair.
“No, that was perfect,” Yusuke says, his pencil scratching lightly on paper. “Expressions of love can be conveyed in numerous different ways. I’ve learned that on our boat ride.”
“Uh… boat ride?”
“It’s my turn,” Akira says, cutting Yusuke off before he elaborates. He looks up, catches Akechi’s eyes, and smiles.
Detective Prince “I Really Must be Going” has drifted closer to their circle in the time they’ve been playing. With his briefcase abandoned on the floor, he isn’t even pretending he’s not watching anymore.
Their eyes remain locked when he spins.
The rattling seems to last for hours—slowly, slowly, slowly losing momentum and quieting as it stops on the next target.
There’s a sharp intake of breath beside him, which means—
It landed on Makoto.
Already having been flustered by witnessing the previous kisses, Makoto’s blush spreads further across the bridge of her nose. It makes a pretty pink tinge high on her cheeks.
She tucks her hair behind her ear and orients herself so she’s facing him. “Well… I guess we should…?” she says, unable to meet his eyes.
Akira’s starting to feel nervous now too. He rubs the back of his neck as his face heats. “Uh, yeah, right.”
“Ohoho! You two need a room or something?” Ryuji waggles his eyebrows, unaware of Ann rolling her eyes next to him.
“Shut it!” she says, elbowing his ribs. “Don’t make Makoto feel weird.”
Akira fiddles with his bangs, tugging at a lock of hair to ground himself. “Yeah, it’s just part of the game.” He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Right, Makoto?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. Definitely nervous then. “Of course. I-I need to know what people my age enjoy doing… I should think of this as one of our outings.”
Akira nods and leans toward her. She closes her eyes, brow twitching as she waits. She really is pretty. Now that he thinks about it, everyone in their group is attractive in their own way. He never noticed before because his dumb hormones constantly hone in on Akechi.
Speaking of Akechi—
Akira glances at him and nearly does a double take. Though he gets that Akechi’s polite act is a facade cracking at the edges, the intense glare directed his way is on a whole other level.
If witnessing PDA bothers him that much, he can leave any time. Personally, Akira’s fine with sharing his first kiss with friends he trusts. He gives him a wink before turning his attention back to Makoto.
He presses his lips against hers for a few seconds. They’re soft, if a little stiff. Considering his own inexperience, he doubts he’s doing that much better in comparison.
He pulls away and opens his eyes, blinking in tandem with Makoto. He huffs out a laugh, which she echoes. Though he hasn’t asked, he thinks it’s probably her first kiss too.
“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” she says, blush still high on her cheeks. He has to agree. It felt kind of nice. “It’s my turn to spin then?” She reaches for the bottle.
“I’d like to join,” Akechi says, hovering behind Ann and Futaba.
A pause, then Ryuji waves his arm. “Sure, dude. Newcomers have to spin though.”
Akechi smiles, careful, clean, and utterly fake. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to impose otherwise.” He holds a gloved hand out.
Makoto gives him the bottle without protest, seeming relieved at the lowered chance of having to kiss someone again.
Kneeling directly across Akira, Akechi stares at the bottle as if he's analyzing its dimensions before spinning it with a precise flick of his wrist. While it rattles in place, which somehow sounds in rhythm compared to everyone else’s spins, he keeps his eyes on Akira’s.
If it felt like hours when Akira spun the bottle, it feels like years now.
Then Futaba snorts. “Someone’s popular today.”
Without breaking his gaze, Akechi gets up, takes the two steps he needs to tower over him, and smiles sharply. “On the lips, correct?”
Akira might be in danger.
“Yup, that’s the rule,” Ryuji says, sounding unsure for the first time since they’ve sat down to play.
Moving with controlled intent, Akechi crouches and comes face-to-face with Akira. The close proximity shocks him into a proper posture, and he doesn’t miss the sudden predatory glint in Akechi’s eyes when his head thumps against the mattress.
He tries to think of something clever to say, but all that comes out is a quiet, “It’s just a kiss.”
Akechi chuckles. “I’ll do my best.”
A hand tilts his chin up and he’s met with the lips he’s been day dreaming of for months. They’re warm and soft, and moving firmly against his own. While Makoto’s kiss was nice, Akechi’s kiss engulfs him like a burning fire.
His head is swimming. He can’t move away with the death grip Akechi has on him, so he kisses back in a daze. There’s a soft smacking sound when Akechi pulls away. But he doesn’t go far, and Akira’s glasses are swiftly tossed away.
“Wha—”
He lets a quiet groan slip when a tongue snakes into his mouth. The hand on his chin moves to the back of his head, tangling into his hair, and tilts him up further to Akechi’s mercy.
He grabs onto Akechi’s arms for dear life, shuddering at a particularly wet slide of their tongues, and Akechi responds with a hard scratch at his neck.
The moaning noises might be coming from him. Normally he would have a sense of decency and feel some embarrassment, but the way Akechi’s licking into his mouth distracts him from forming any coherent thought.
He gasps hard when Akechi finally backs off. A leather-clad thumb brushes at the corner of Akira’s mouth, wiping away the trail of saliva that fell there.
For someone with a blush as luminous as his, Akechi has the most self-satisfied grin plastered on.
“Well, that was as entertaining as I expected,” he says, “but I really should be going.” He straightens out his tie and walks to the stairs, tossing Akira one last smug look before descending.
The air is stifling, and Akira doesn’t blame his friends for falling silent. He wouldn’t have known how to react if he had been in their shoes either.
Ryuji coughs. “I really didn’t need to see that… uh, I guess it’s your spin, dude.”
Akira looks down at the bottle, then up again at the stairs. The obnoxious A on Akechi’s briefcase shines in his vision like a hidden treasure in a palace.
He left his briefcase.
Of course he did, because he knows Akira will chase after him to return it.
“He forgot his, uh—” He takes a stuttering breath. “You guys play without me. I’ll—” He almost trips over his feet as he crosses the room and snatches the briefcase up by the handles.
“I’ll come back soon,” he chokes out and runs downstairs, reaching the bottom step, just in time, to catch a glimpse of honey brown hair slipping out the front door.