Chapter Text
Akira thought a lot about how his first kiss with Akechi might go.
Perhaps Akechi would be sweet and shy, living up to his Detective Prince namesake. He would come in for a chaste peck before retreating with soft laughter and pink-tinted cheeks. It would be a short, magical moment between the two of them. A little treat sneaked in between their chaotic lives, and a non-spoken promise for more.
Akira has also imagined another side. Akechi, full of rough edges and barely contained passion, smashing their lips together like he is trying to swallow Akira whole. They would be fully entangled, unable to really determine where one ends and the other begins. It would be the first strike of sparks growing into a raging bonfire of desire, one neither can escape.
Reality ends up a little different, though no less gratifying.
His grip on Akira’s hair is firm, leaving no room for interpretation that his desires are in any way platonic. With his manhandling, one would expect his kiss to be fierce. Admittedly, it is at first: a rough press of lips against Akira’s own that leaves him utterly pliant. However, Akira can admit that he quite likes it. And when Akechi doesn’t sense any resistance, the movement slows into something more indulgent, like he wants to properly savour a delicacy he’s been waiting ages for.
Akira finds he likes this too.
In this everlasting moment, they remain pressed closely together. Akechi’s hand on Akira’s waist is gentle, contrasting with the insistence of his mouth.
Akira tries his best to match that enthusiasm, but with his rapidly depleting oxygen supply and sky-high heart rate, it’s becoming difficult to fully process everything. Still, he wraps his hands around Akechi’s neck, closes his eyes, and leans fully into the kiss.
Before he passes out (from suffocation or lovesickness, he doesn’t know), Akechi pulls them apart. They are both gasping for air, and although Akira doesn’t have any proof, he is certain that he is as red as Akechi.
“God damn it,” Akechi repeats. He rests his forehead against Akira’s shoulder, burying his face in the crook of Akira’s neck. “I had a plan, you fucking tease. But as always, you had to go and mess everything up.”
“A plan— ah?!” Akira tries to ask what Akechi means, except he isn’t given the opportunity. Suddenly, he is once again rendered breathless when lips are pressed just below his collar and sharp teeth dig into skin.
His brain malfunctions, the light, throbbing pain shooting sparks across his nerves like fireworks. None of his prior ideas seem to hold any importance now. What was he talking about again? The only thoughts his feeble mind can grasp are ‘Akechi’s lips are on my throat’ and ‘I may be getting mauled but I can’t see myself complaining.’
Akechi eventually loosens his bite and slowly sucks on the sore spot. After a tongue runs across it, he leans back, admiring his work with barely hidden satisfaction.
“Bwah…?” Akira stupidly says. Amazing, the first word he can get past his parched throat and it's basically nonsense.
Akechi stops his staring and tilts his head. His blown pupils make his gaze akin to staring into the abyss.
“You asked for this.” Fingers trail past Akira’s neck and towards his nape. “Are you complaining?”
Akira resolutely shakes his head. “How could I? That was–wow. But, uh, does this mean you like me too?”
Akechi levels him a deadpan look and drawls, “No, I decided to kiss and mark you because I hate you.”
Akira laughs, leaning down to rest his head against Akechi's chest. With an ear next to Akechi’s heart, he can feel the accelerated rhythm pulsing nearly in sync with his own.
“Then I better be your most hated partner.”
Akechi wraps his arms around Akira, a hand gliding up and down Akira’s spine.
“Ha, the worst and only.”
They stay together like this since none of them feel the need to break apart. At least, Akira certainly doesn’t. He is on cloud nine right now, soaring into the skies through the power of joy and elation alone. Despite the odds, his love is mutual. No victory could feel sweeter than this.
“So we are dating now,” Akira muses as he plays with a loose string on Akechi’s sweater. Immediately, all of Akechi’s movements halt.
“Akira,” he states gravely. Akira can only stare as Akechi gently pushes some distance between them.
“I–” Akechi looks away, his emotions shuttering behind a grimace. “Make no mistake, I truly value you and long for a deeper connection, but with my status, I’m afraid this will be...”
And just like that, Akira falls right back down to earth.
“Oh.”
Feeling painfully stupid, Akira slowly begins backing away. Akechi’s grip monetarily tightens as he leaves, but the next instant, his hands let go entirely. They sit on opposite ends of the couch now, the awkward silence stifling the air.
Akira stares down at his skirt, finding it difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat. Of course this would happen. What was he thinking? Akechi stated himself that he needs his celebrity status to achieve his dream. Why would Akechi put years of hard work at risk for this?
Akira balls his shaking hands into fists, “Right, I should’ve been more considerate–”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” Akechi hisses. Akira’s confusion must be evident on his face, because the next second, Akechi slumps against the arm rest with a tired sigh and drags a hand over his face. “Fucking shit…”
Akira’s concern overrides his previous disappointment as his put-together friend collapses into an exhausted heap. He shuffles forward with a worried frown. “... Are you angry?”
Akechi gives him the stink eye. “Furious. But not at you, if that is what you’re concerned about.” He straightens and stares at Akira’s face, his gaze holding an unnatural intensity. “Let me clarify this again, because this is not a decision you should commit to half-heartedly. Are you serious about your confession?”
The unasked question hangs in the air. Is Akira willing to stick to his words despite the many secrets and half-truths between them? He holds Akechi’s stare and raises his chin, not willing to be intimidated by this ominous warning.
“I am.”
Akechi lets out a sardonic laugh. “Of course you are… Then, would you be willing to wait a bit longer?”
That’s… that’s not a ‘no’. Right? Akira chews on that question, finding it difficult to give a response. Usually he would agree easily, but he can’t tell whether Akechi really means that or if this is a way of passively letting him down. “How long?”
“Late November, beginning of December at the latest. I will be announcing my departure from the public light around that time,” Akechi answers. He then looks away, his brows furred. “We can discuss whatever you like then.”
Akira perks up at that new piece of info. If Akechi is willing to discard his celebrity status, then it must mean he no longer has a need for it. His dream must be within close reach, and it is more likely Akira will hear about it if it has already been achieved. By the end of November, they could not only grow closer, but even be together.
One month is barely long at all.
“Okay, I can wait.” Akira does his best to keep his tone normal and not too eager. If his tail were real, it would be swishing around like an inflatable wacky tube on a windy day. That is to say, vibrating with excitement.
“Good,” Akechi says curtly, crossing his arms and keeping his gaze to the side. Despite the assumed great news, he appears nervous and guarded. It almost makes Akira worried he misinterpreted the reason for Akechi's sudden decision to leave the spotlight.
Suddenly, Akechi stands up, holding out a hand. “If we remain seated here, our meal will get cold.”
Akira takes that offered hand and follows Akechi to the dining table. Their food has been sitting out for a while, so they do need to use the microwave before they start. After that is complete, they quietly sit down and work their way through their plate.
It’s silent, but unlike the time at the Student Council, there is an underlying tension in the air. Akechi is fixated on his food, not willing to meet Akira’s eyes. Unfortunately, when Akira rolls over all his possible dialogue options to end this stifling atmosphere, he comes up completely blank. While Akechi is usually the initiator, Akira has become more comfortable with being more active in a conversation. And yet, looking at his troubled friend, he finds himself losing every bit of confidence he earned.
*buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz*
Akira’s phone chimes multiple times. Both of them glance at the device buzzing loudly on the living room table. Welcoming the distraction, Akira sends Akechi an apologetic smile and then goes to retrieve it.
Futaba: Heyyy ummm
Futaba: U working yeh?
Futaba: Mona got stuck in the spices jar
Futaba: In the cafe
Futaba: We need you back ASAP!!
Well, that is certainly not what Akira expected.This type of reckless behaviour is unlike Mona, but it isn’t like Futaba is giving the full story to explain how this happened. If this is true, he should probably make sure his friend is freed from his self-inflicted and/or externally-inflicted confinement.
“Something the matter?” Akechi asks, keeping his voice light and distant.
Akira returns to his seat and rubs the back of his head awkwardly. “‘Taba said that Mona got stuck and needs my help.”
“In that case, I don’t believe there will be any issues ending your shift here. You should pack up your leftovers and get changed.” Akechi gives Akira a side-eye, but immediately jerks his head forward with a flush. “... And I should procure a scarf.”
Before Akira can question anything, Akechi immediately strides to the bedroom, leaving Akira alone at the table. At once, a very small part of him regrets looking at his phone. He wanted to stay here a bit longer so that, at the very least, he could pacify Akechi’s stormy mood. Instead, he gave the exact excuse needed to get kicked out.
Sighing, he sends Futaba a quick reply and grabs a container for the remaining half of his dinner. This isn’t the best way to end things off, but it certainly isn’t the worst result. A tentative ‘yes’ is still progress, which is what he tells himself as he heads to the bathroom.
After Akira is back in his old clothes, he catches a glimpse of the mirror and nearly squawks in surprise. Inching forward, his reflection makes his condition all the more clear.
Wow, it looks like he did get mauled. There is a dark red bruise on his neck contrasting vividly with his otherwise pale skin. In the absence of a cat collar, that specific spot is more prominent than ever. His v-neck certainly isn’t doing any favours. He carefully brings his fingers to touch it, shivering slightly at the explicit sensitivity.
It really is a hickey. Akira stares hard at the counter, his face heating up as a low simmering burns in his gut. Even though Akechi’s actions took him by surprise, Akira… actually enjoyed it. It’s a visible brand showing who he belongs to, proof that he is wanted just as badly in return. It is a shame this will heal in about a week. Perhaps he can ask Akechi for a new one once this disappears…
His extreme neediness nearly causes him to hide his face in his hands. He will never live this down if someone–god forbid a confidant–hears his thoughts.
Tugging at his neckline, he realizes that they may not need to gain mind reading powers to be scandalized. There is a good chance Futaba and Mona will notice given he is going to meet them at LeBlanc soon. That worry does help him regain his rationality, so after a quick splash of water to his face and some cold water to help bring down the swelling, he grabs his stuff and exits the room.
Akechi is already by the apartment door, leaning against the wall with a thick plaid scarf draped over his arm and Akira’s coat on the other. He tilts his head, eyes roving over Akira’s form before staring at that specific spot. Obviously, the cold water was not very effective.
Akira slaps his hand over the hickey and looks away, all his embarrassing thoughts replaying in his head.
“Hmm, it seems I made the right call.”
Without any warning, Akechi steps forward and carefully wraps the knitted fabric around Akira’s neck. Near the collarbones he ties a simple knot and adjusts it till all the incriminating evidence is covered. Right afterwards, he holds open the coat and continues to assist in this unexpected dress up game. It makes Akira feel like a princess being dolled up for a ball.
“That should be satisfactory,” Akechi finally says, stepping back with a hand on his chin.
Akira glances downward to give himself a good look, noting that the scarf actually matches quite well with his fall jacket. It feels really nice too. Soft–with a gentle warmth lingering from Akechi’s body heat. Bringing it up to his nose, his lungs are suddenly filled with a strong scent of pine and a slight, nearly unnoticeable, metallic edge. Sort of similar to gun powder? Whatever it is, it is wholly Akechi and that fact alone brings a unique sense of comfort.
“What on earth are you doing?!”
Akira looks up, confused by Akechi’s outburst.
“It smells nice. It smells like you.”
“This–! You-you–! First the–now this–! Infuriating–!” Full on sputtering, Akechi tries valiantly to form full sentences before giving up and letting go of all his frustrations with a full body sag. “You will be the death of me, you menace."
Akira can’t help the small smirk rising to his lips. “Your menace.”
Akechi lets out a huff at that, turning away to open his apartment door.
“As enlightening as this conversation is, I do recall that you have an urgent matter to attend to.”
“Not that urgent–”
“Akira.”
The menace snickers as his future boyfriend grumbles. Feeling bold, on his way out he gives Akechi a quick peck on the cheek. Akechi whips his head around just as Akira escapes out of arm’s reach.
“See you later, Akechi.”
Past Akira would have trouble identifying the reason for Akechi’s soft smile, but the current him would like to think of it as simple, pure affection. It makes his pulse flutter helplessly.
“Yes… Goodnight, Akira.”
With the chilly wind, Akira feels even more fortunate to have an extra layer of insulation around his neck. Autumn has arrived far too early, and for someone with poor blood circulation, the accompanied drop in temperature is not appreciated.
He puts his hands in his pockets to keep them out of the cold, but pauses when he feels something sharp but fragile brush against his right hand fingers. He takes it out, revealing a bright white envelope. The dying sunlight is just enough to expose thick bills inside.
Worriedly, he goes to a secure corner and counts the concealed cash. The fact Akechi tried to hide this is already a bad sign for Akira’s sanity.
Just as expected, he was paid the full amount with a 50% bonus on top, despite the fact he left early. His phone comes out not a second later.
Watson: I am never leaving you with my coat again
Sherlock: Is this about your paycheck?
Watson: I left early
Watson: its too much
Sherlock: I can assure you that I am only fulfilling my spoken obligations. Additionally, the early departure does not detract from full service provided during your time here.
Watson: still too much
Sherlock: Have you not been educated on hiring bonuses? It’s a customary practice for eager companies that wish to provide a good first impression.
Watson: we already know each other
Watson: you don’t need to impress me
Sherlock: But we had not interacted within this capacity. I insist you accept this payment as proof that I have no intention of taking advantage of you. After all, I will be reaching out for your assistance again in the future.
Akira presses his phone to his chest as a smile threatens to creep onto his face. For some reason, any acknowledgement that Akechi wants to see him again is enough to make his stomach implode with butterflies. He really is like a school girl with a crush. Slightly shaky, he returns to the chat and tries to act cool. Cool as a cucumber.
Watson: wish you would take advantage of me ;)
Nailed it.
Akechi’s texting bubble goes in and out for the next minute or so before ultimately disappearing without a single message sent. Akira takes this as a sign of the conversation ending and continues on his way back to the cafe.
Although his aim was to convince Akechi to take back some of it, it looks like the other boy isn’t budging on his odd desire to gift/pay him increasing amounts of cash. This gesture does evoke feelings of uncertainty and unworthiness, but Akira wants to push past his own insecurity. He agreed to this, and Akechi doesn’t appear to hold any negative feelings about the arrangement.
It’s also a bit late for Akira to regret his choices now. This amount should be the final payout needed to fully equip the thieves with the best weapons and armour Iwai has to offer. When they finally send Haru’s father the calling card next week, he can be rest assured that he did everything he could to prepare his team and keep himself in good shape for the fight. All thanks to Akechi.
His future boyfriend is really so amazing. Akira is so incredibly lucky to have him in his life.
As gratefulness blooms in his chest, he finds that the walk back isn’t as cold as he remembers.
LeBlanc’s doorbell chimes, signalling his arrival.
“Finally! Good thing your job let you out early.” Mona bounds towards Akira’s feet the moment he steps inside, his tail waving with barely suppressed energy.
Akira slowly closes the door, tilting his head as he processes the scene. “You aren’t stuck?”
“Stuck?” Mona echoes back. His wide, questioning eyes scrunch up a moment later. “Ugh, what did Futaba tell you? You know what, nevermind, just make sure to get up here pronto. Emergency Phantom Thief meeting.”
Not waiting for a response, he turns around and runs up the stairs to Akira’s room. Akira sends Sojiro a raised eyebrow, in which the old man simply shrugs. “All your friends are upstairs already. They said something about keeping the cafe closed today. Let me finish cleaning up here, so you can go do whatever it is you need to do.”
Since there aren’t many other options for answers, Akira heads to the attic. Looks like he is keeping his coat on until everyone leaves.
Boss is right that all the Phantom Thievies are present. Ann and Ryuji are by the shelves, whispering to each other as they give the rest of the team confused glances. Yusuke is on the couch, sketch book discarded to the side as he observes everyone. Beside him is Haru. She is looking up with knit brows towards Makoto, the latter standing up with crossed arms and a frown etched onto her lips. Finally, Futaba is sitting in the corner, both of her feet are on the foldup chair, face half hidden in Mona’s fur.
When everyone takes notice of Akira’s presence, Makoto lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay, it seems we can start now. Erm, Futaba? Would you like too…?”
His sister vigorously shakes her head, clenching tighter to Mona’s body. Although Mona is probably uncomfortable being a glorified stressball, he doesn’t complain, putting his paw on her knee.
Makoto gives her a sympathetic look and then steals her shoulders. She makes sure to meet everyone’s eyes before landing right on Akira.
“I have an important announcement to make.” She pauses and takes a big breath.
“Goro Akechi is the Black Mask.”
…
…
… Huh?
With that single sentence, Akira’s world shatters.
“No way!”
“Are you for real?”
“Oh my.”
“This is…”
Most of his friends voice their surprise loudly, their expressions showing various levels of shock. Only three people don’t seem too phased by this news: Futaba, Mona, and Makoto herself.
Akira’s vision narrows down to his teammates, the fluorescent lights suddenly feeling too harsh for his eyes. Finger nails dig into his clenched hands, thankfully kept within his coat pockets where no one can see. The envelope scrunches up in response. It might be giving him paper cuts, but not even a sword through the chest could impair his focus now.
“Your proof?” He does everything in his power to sound calm instead of on the verge of a breakdown. Makoto takes out her phone, and dread falls into the pit of his stomach as she presses on her screen. He wants to slap it out of her hand and throw it into the sun. He desperately yearns for an escape, he knows–
“...Then, I’ll guide the police into her Palace and have them catch the Phantom thieves in the act. That will be the only time to arrest them given their methods. I’ll deal with them after that. Let me see… We could say their leader stole the guard’s gun and committed suicide during his imprisonment… How about that?”
–he knows he can’t keep avoiding the truth.
Akechi’s voice crackles through the speakers, clear enough to counter any doubt of a shitty doppelganger. It sounds terribly odd hearing him speak so callously about the Phantom Thieves’ demise. There is a lilt at the end of his sentences, so similar to when he was proposing ideas for the student council. Only now it's about Akira’s murder.
“How did you obtain this?” Yusuke asks, leaning forward to scrutinize the recording.
She pockets it and glances back at Futaba. “This evidence is thanks to Futaba’s hardwork. She planted a bug on his phone and has been investigating his actions since.”
“You can do that?!” Ryuji exclaims.
“Umm, sort of?” Mona answers for her, seeing as she is still submerged in his fur. “She can’t just listen in on anybody’s conversations. From what she explained, she needs to physically plant the malware herself.”
When would she…? Then all the pieces click together. He stares at her, mumbling his revelation.
“Before the aquarium...”
Futaba finally looks up, eyes wide with panic. “I–I didn’t think this would…! Remember how, ah, I said I would look-look out for you t-too? Hacking abilities and all? Well, I thought making sure the guy you were going out with wasn’t a creep or cheater would be a great first quest! So when I saw the opportunity to ask for his phone, saying it’s to send him the sleeping pictures, I just… did it?” She groans, flopping back into Mona so the rest of her explanation becomes muffled. “Foun’ really sus transactions… thought just some shady, celebrity deals, that I could clear it with a little help…”
“That is why she informed myself and Mona during the Hawaii trip,” Makoto interjects. It stings a bit, knowing his sister didn’t talk to him about this. But he can’t blame her, not when he was so obviously infatuated with their suspect. “I assisted her with identifying the source of these shell companies while Mona went into Mementoes to find his shadow. Except, the more we dug, the more questions we found. None of his sponsors were related to his celebrity or detective work, and Mona could not locate his cognitive self. We kept monitoring his activities until finally, we overheard this conversation.”
Mona excuses himself from Futaba’s arms and jumps on the coffee table, head held high. “Everything is circumstantial, but when you look at it together, it all lines up. He wouldn’t have a palace or shadow if he were already a persona user. He would be getting secretly paid out by people who benefited from the mental shutdowns if he were the one doing them. And since he can easily eavesdrop at school, he would know who we are and have a reason to try to get close with our leader!”
“That eff’ing asshole!”
“H-Hey, maybe there is a good explan–”
Ryuji brushes aside Ann’s attempt to calm him down. “Explanation? Are you kidding me? We caught that bastard red handed! This entire time he was using Akira and pretending to be his friend— all to bring us down!”
Akira barely manages to hide his wince and the crack in his heart, every muscle in his body seizing.
“But who was he speaking about? He mentioned “her”, not our current target,” Yusuke moves along to ask.
Makoto’s face falls into a grimace. “It’s my sister. After framing us for Okurama’s death, he would persuade us to target her next. They plan to arrest Akira on November 18th.”
Late November…
“My… father’s death?” Haru mumbles, horrified. “Mako-chan, why didn’t you–”
The room falls in disarray. He should do something to calm everyone down. It’s his job, and yet, he might as well be submerged under a freezing ocean. All the physical pain he experienced, whether that be attacks from magic spells or gigantic weapons, pales in comparison to the agony he feels now.
There has to be some sort of contradiction. He knows Akechi better than anyone in this room, surely he has an important detail they are missing. Except, the deeper he delves into his memories, the more guilty Akechi seems. The initial, unexplained interest, Akechi’s desire to stay close, his finesse with a gun, the mention of “Loki”, and how he left right before their principal was killed– all nails being added to the coffin.
This entire confrontation is more like a confirmation of Akira’s unease than a true surprise. But he would still do anything, beg to any god that exists, to make this just be a cruel dream.
Seconds pass, his nails break through skin, and nothing changes. This is his reality.
“Everyone, quiet!” Makoto eventually shouts. They stop talking immediately. “I understand that we are confused and angry, but what is most important now is that we plan our next steps. Akira–” He stills as all eyes fall onto him. “–you are our leader. What do you suggest we do?”
His tongue sits heavy in his mouth, weighed down by his responsibilities to his team and his swirling emotions for the detective. He can’t stay silent, and he knows what the right answer is.
“We have to stop him.”
But why is doing the right thing never the easy decision?
At the very least, his team looks relieved at his words. That’s good, because right now he wants to throw up, the whole meal he lovingly made with Akechi now sitting like poison in his stomach.
Mercifully, Makoto takes back the reins. “Any objections?” His friends observe each other, but no one speaks up. “Then it looks like we are all in agreement. We already did some brainstorming and have a few ideas for how we can go about this–”
The conversation drones on. It seems to last both long centuries and brief moments. Not that it matters, he is disassociated with the whole plan, as if watching his body and mouth move on autopilot.
They have some security for Haru’s father, and while Akira may hold no positive emotions for the corrupt business man, he is at least glad his friend will not become an orphan. If it works, that is. Their plan relies on each step going smoothly, leaving no margin for error. When they mention something about the police and using Akira as bait, that fact should horrify him, but it barely bubbles his already turbulent mind.
Eventually, they come to an agreement, and one by one, all his friends leave. A few give him pitying looks, Futaba even stutters a quick apology, but he can only nod, throat too tight to answer.
Finally, it’s just him and Mona. The emptiness is almost worse, leaving him at the mercy of his own thoughts.
“You were pretty quiet there…” His little friend says, both his words and steps towards him careful.
Akira doesn’t answer. He changes, heads to bed, and lets his unconsciousness take him far, far away.