Chapter Text
August 29th - Miura Beach
Moonlight skips delicately across the indigo sheet of water before him. Languid waves stretch over the coast, some deigning to wash cold water against the raven haired boy’s feet. Akira isn’t precisely sure why he’d stayed when all the other thieves had left. He’d enjoyed his time with them, that was certain, but no matter where he went he always had one voice tugging at the back of his mind in a valiant attempt to keep him from moving. He didn’t often indulge it but tonight was just one of those nights.
Sitting here with the moon rising across from him is nice, as if the ocean is some giant chessboard and every night they each furthered the game by one move, a full moon adding grandiose into the culmination. He’s always preferred watching the moon to the sun, it’s calmer, quieter. It provides an atmosphere of solace that the sun simply can’t match. He does enjoy granting the sun the attention it so clearly covets, but the moon just feels more like him.
One other thing he greatly appreciates about this beach is the fact that he can see stars . It’d been months since he’d seen stars. He always loved stargazing as a kid. Always known somewhere within that when an uncaring world had become too much and he sought an escape wherever he could find one the stars would be there for him. They shone resolutely in the night sky, only ever disappearing through sheer theatricality (which he’d always loved), solemn burnout (which he’d always understood), or human interference (which he’d always hated, if he’s honest).
As a kid he used to think that the sun and moon never saw each other (his mother called him an idiot when she found that out, his father simply ignored them, he wasn’t sure which he hated more), as though they were always across from each other, and he thought it was nice that they could both see the same stars in the distance even if they couldn’t know each other. All they saw of each other was what they would end up replacing. Lights would turn on as the sun rose, and it would wonder what exactly the moon was doing that had made everyone so quiet, so open. People were always more actively themselves at night time, more willing to show themselves to an uncaring void instead of an intensive sun. Maybe that was the point.
The feeling of cool water against his feet is as nice as anything else, a much needed reprieve from the sweltering heat the day had oh so kindly cast upon the beach’s denizens. Seeing the chilled sands now aglow in the moonlight imposes the idea into his mind that it may have become past closing without him realizing. It was rare for him to get lost in thought this heavily, he usually liked when it happened it was just… rare.
In any case, vigilantism may have gotten him this far in Tokyo, but potentially violating his parole in any way, shape, or form that was actually verifiable in the real world just reminded him of unflinchingly cold steel around his wrists and downright malicious treatment into his mind. It was never difficult for him to be Joker, never difficult for him to don that mask, and wear it well mind you. No, the difficulty would always arise from the fact that he didn’t exactly choose when it happened.
Outside of the metaverse he was really just Akira Kurusu, perfectly average, perfectly unassuming. Your typical case of a high schooler having all his potential prospects stolen away from him and being kicked out of a town full of people who never liked him but never had a reason to get rid of him. Best believe, however, that as soon as they had that reason it was both the first and last nail in the coffin.
He thinks the arrest must have felt heaven-sent for some people, primarily his parents. Silent prayers answered, disappointing boy gone in the blink of an eye. He almost wishes he could consider it an example of the monkey’s paw curling, wishes he could picture his parents feeling horrible after realizing what they’d done, but he can’t really imagine that they’d actually regretted it since then, it was all just a wish anyway.
Akira found that pieces of Joker’s monochrome mask would occasionally slip on, if momentarily. He’d flash a smile so arrogantly magnetic that people would just have to follow him. But it was rarely an active decision, more-so… intuition. Not necessarily bidden or unbidden, just a gut feeling that all his problems will be solved if he simply reaches out and takes hold, renewing his visage. Yet, despite all this, any time the police were involved that mask wouldn’t deign to grant him even an inch of itself. It was as if his rebellion would outright refuse to act against the primary force that had created it. He’d almost be able to appreciate the irony if it wasn’t so wildly irritating. In moments like these he’s glad he can look over it all with a manner of objectivity, picture the fear in his eyes at the sight of an officer, let himself understand slightly more about the person he was meant to be.
He feels like the oddest thing about this effect is how detectives, well one detective specifically, inspire the exact opposite.
He never feels stunned when facing Akechi, he never feels like that mask was too far out of reach from cuffed hands, quite the opposite really. Akechi inspires within him every fragment of that rebellion, engenders the latent justice he holds so close to his heart and lets it all burn away into something new, reform itself in entirety. He’s not the type to properly respect the judicial system, this isn’t exactly surprising due to his complicated past with it. Yet, Akechi always fires up that chaotic good part of him even more, Akechi makes him crave the idea of taking the entire world into his own hands before setting it to a perfect balance, light shining equitably upon each and every living being.
He misses that boy dangerously at the best of times.
It’s a weird feeling to have about the absurdly suspicious rival who’s also hunting him down, whether that’s shared information or not. But he really does miss him way more frequently than he feels he has any right to. Akira's only known him for 2, almost 3, months, but even on that first “official” day when the unfamiliar detective made an impromptu paraphrasing of Hegel it’d caused Akira’s brain to become a one track mind til he fell asleep that night, constantly looping the thought of “I want that devastatingly handsome nerd to be mine yesterday.”
He hadn’t considered himself possessive beforehand, he doesn’t really consider himself to be possessive now even, he’s always let everything and everyone come and go however they’d pleased. But he thinks that if he was ever given the choice of “If you could have any one thing in the world, what would it be?” He’d snap call Akechi faster than the boy could come up with a snarky remark. Still, it’s just nice to think about him.
Many times in the past couple months Akira had found himself ruminating over the other boy’s… well anything really. He’d found himself lost during meetings or class or any piece of time he had where it wasn’t completely vital for him to pay attention (and even in those situations he’d lost himself quite a bit, a few new scars from the metaverse made that perfectly evident). So considering all that, it’s nice for him to just sit for a while, free to think, whilst appreciating the moon and stars that he rarely had time to appreciate more.
He doesn’t really understand why his schedule’s been so packed lately, always something to do or someone to talk to, always improvements to make in himself and others. It’s almost overwhelming how nice it is to just take a step back and sink into a rare notion of tranquility. He does like the bustling streets of Shibuya, the lurid tone of Shinjuku, the modestly classy feeling of Kichijoji (he liked that one a bit more than the others, but regardless), and the loud peace of Yongen-Jaya, but he hadn’t been able to find a proper semblance of the scant few pieces of his hometown that he really did appreciate in any of them. He thinks tonight he’d managed to though.
Time passes slowly, its typically indiscriminate continuance seeming to take a break for Akira’s sake, most definitely kind of it. Thoughts continue to flit through Akira’s mind, mainly of Akechi but really anything else that wishes to worm its way into his brain too, he’s treating these thoughts as he does people, letting it all pass betwixt his emotions without letting himself catch on any of them.
He’s embarrassed to admit that he loses track of time upon the sands. He never realized how much he’d started relying on Morgana to get him where he’d needed to be, and since the “not a cat” cat had gone home with the rest, well, his poor time management skills had doomed him once again. At this point he figures enough is enough.
He forces himself to stop being so overwhelmingly contemplative and get up. The feeling of chilled soft sand against his palm is a kinder sensory experience than most he’s had in Tokyo so far.
After he properly rights himself, posture as casual as it’s ever been, he wipes a bit of excess sand off his hand and looks up.
He’s suddenly stunned at the sight of the star of his ceaseless reverie strolling down the beach. A bit higher up where the sand isn’t quite so soft. This image feels so absurdly out of place he wonders if he’s dreaming, he knows he’s not, but he still wonders. The famous Detective Prince on an evening perambulation down a closed beach in that same old outfit. It’s a bit odd really, okay, maybe more than a bit odd.
He’s somewhat far away, hasn’t seen Akira yet seemingly, just staring down at the sand in front of him before taking each step. He seems… unhappy. Maybe disappointed is more apt. Body language unbefitting that of someone who so commonly finds themself within the public eye. Akira would never be disappointed at this sight though, quite the opposite.
He’s known full well for months that the “Detective Prince” veneer was largely a ruse. He wasn’t entirely sure of its purpose, just that it was in fact some facsimile sewn together, an amalgamation of something real and something much further from real. Something hungry, starved, even, and Akira found that that was the part that his own mask had mirrored. He’d felt hungry too, he’d craved so desperately to see this completely undefinable boy’s masks crack, to see all pretense removed from the situation. He wanted to see how he’d act really, when there was nothing between them but air and a shared promise that they could be themselves.
This was a common setting of Akira’s daydreams. Sometimes he considered Akechi to be angry, snide, or hurtful, snark overshadowing all else. Other times he considered him to be as genuine as the sun in the sky, unflinching, determined, tenacious, absolutely devoted towards fulfilling his own justice. He was a fan of both these idealized interpretations, but neither of them felt like the full picture. Akira figures that if he would ever get a chance to see the full picture, well, then this would be it.
He meanders his way up the beach a tad, just so he’ll properly be seen within Akechi’s peripheral, they’re about five feet apart before he’s sensed, and upon noticing him the boy startles, confusion paints across his face.
“ There’s my cue. ” Akira thinks to himself.
He gets one step closer to Akechi, attempting to hook himself in before the confusion can be replaced with the prim and proper pastiche of the righteous Detective Prince.
“Come here often Mr. Celebrity?”
…Okay so it wasn’t his best line. There’s a moment of silence between them, he hopes the moonlight backlighting him is helping his appearance or else he’s 0 for 2 in some of his strongest areas. He really just needed anything he could find at the moment though. It seems to have worked too, at least somewhat. Akechi’s look of confusion was apparently only exacerbated now. He must be really tired for the mask to not have glided over his features already, and that thought causes Akira to feel maybe a little bit bad.
He didn’t exactly want to pester his massive crush until something gave way beneath him, but it’s the only way he could think of at the moment, and in an opportunity like this any plan sounds like a good one.
“Not typically, Kurusu-kun. Is that truly the best you have?” Well this is fun. He’s more bratty when he’s tired. A new piece he can add to the puzzle. He doesn’t really care that he’s got maybe 3 pieces and it’s out of who even knows how many but hey long as he can keep going, right?
“Sorry detective, I’ll try harder next time.” He flashes Akechi a wink and the elicited expression is so precious he wishes he’d brought a camera. He thinks of the finger framing gesture that Yusuke does and before he realizes what he’s doing he’s already brought his hands up in front of his face and taken inspiration from it, configuring his fingers into a format that resembles someone about to take a picture.
Akechi’s expression shifts slightly, looking more confused than the half flustered half tired mess he’d had on before.
Akira’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but he continues regardless, “Uh…” and along with an exaggerated finger motion he says “...Click?”
Boy he really is on fire today, if he says anything more stupid than that he might just have a nice skip on up to the nearest pier and jump off.
“Kurusu-kun what the hell are you doing.” Yea that’s fair. It’s a difficult question though, primarily due to the fact that he himself didn’t fully know the answer. Though, if there’s one thing he’s always been good at, it’s coming up with whatever he needs on the fly.
“What, is there a problem?” The cheekiest grin possible flashes along his face with this. He’s frankly a bit surprised Akechi hasn’t left yet, turned on his heel and walked off, attempting to will any memory of this interaction out of his mind before it even has a chance to settle in. And yet, he still hasn’t left, he just stands there looking slightly exasperated, nearing the end of his rope.
So Akechi lets out, in a tone that starts as an admission but quickly turns up into something a tad more sinister, “I suppose not. Did you get a good photo?” The disdain practically drips from his voice by the end, although Akira doesn’t really consider it to be genuine. Maybe it is genuine who knows, but Akira doesn’t consider it to be, and that’s the point.
He doesn’t immediately respond, just smiles for a moment, a smile far removed from any games between them. Akechi just stares, expression slowly shifting from mildly condescending to slightly confused, as if a relationship outside of these games is simply incomprehensible.
“ You’re playing by his rules.” The thought comes mostly unrequested, as if his subconscious just really wants this exchange to go one specific way. He may be a rebel, but he also implicitly trusts whatever his brain tells him to do when it comes to the boy in front of him, otherwise he’s operating off instinct alone and that was evidently some kind of mistake.
He throws that foolhardy smile back on, “I think so, the moonlight really brings out the red in your eyes.” Akechi’s expression shifts, calculation coating his features. Akira thinks he may have lost. Although the next moment returns to him just a little bit of hope.
After looking him up and down, eyes scanning as though Akira were some type of prey (he’d certainly started to feel like it at this point (not like he minded though)), Akechi seems to resign a tad. Posture dimming and face easing up, not into anything necessarily pleasant, more a slight shift from guardedly masked to simply tired.
“What are you doing here?” As much judgement within as genuine curiosity. It was one of the nicest things Akira had ever heard him say. That low voice, questioning tone, Detective Prince pretense falling away piece by piece, and this time seemingly not due to Akira’s attempts at removing it by force.
If there were ever a request for Akira to not be a smartass, then this would be it. “I was here with some friends earlier. Stayed late to enjoy the atmosphere and then I sorta lost track of time.” He’d turned a bit sheepish by the end but oh well. The look on Akechi’s face made it seem as if he were eating this all piece by piece, digesting every part individually in a search for the most remote possibility of elusion. Akira can be earnest though, he just hopes Akechi can believe it.
There’s a long moment, it’s probably not actually that long at all, but standing here next to quite literally the boy of his dreams as his every movement is analyzed tends to make Akira anxious, and thus, it does feel that long.
The boys continue trying to read each other for what would be way too long if they were anyone else, but it’s them, it’s a game. Akira loves games, loves transforming any interaction possible into one, seeing what makes people and things operate and then betting on them in whatever weird way he can find. He’d always get bored though, he’d always figure someone out and then mentally move on, searching for something slightly higher stakes just to get a rise from his blood pressure. But with this miracle boy in front of him he never got tired, he can’t even imagine it as a possibility. Everything always so equal, every game so perfectly reciprocated, every challenge matched in earnest and willing contention.
Akira looks down momentarily in thought, then he casts his gaze back out over the endless ocean, moonlight catching on every wave and sinking deep into the horizon.
“Do you want to come sit with me? I have a towel by the water and a spare pair of sandals if you’d like them.” He knows it’s a bit of a stupid question, knows he should be leaving soon anyway. The trains might be stopping in the near future after all. Though he’s not even sure of the time so that thought’s ignorable for now. The anxiety of potentially violating his parole is far from his mind at this point too. All that exists in his head at this exact moment are thoughts of the moon and thoughts of the beautiful detective beside him.
He notices, in his peripheral, Akechi garnering a confused expression, as if Akira’s request were outside the realm of possibility. Although if the roles were reversed he’d imagine that he’d think the same thing. An unbearable eternity falls into time between them, illuminated by moonlight and coated in salt water. He finds he can’t turn back, he’s unable to move at all actually, his heart’s keeping him perfectly still, and when he notices nothing but stillness in his peripheral as well, he wonders if Akechi’s experiencing something similar.
For the first time in a little while, the boy speaks, “You should be getting back soon, no?”
Strange that it started as a statement. If you remove the last word it fully would be, the tonal uptick in the end offered Akira the only real chance at staying here much longer than he already had.
“I have time.”
Akechi’s expression softens at this, delicate, Akira considers him to be the picture of grace despite the clear weariness washed over him. He’d say what he said a thousand times over if it made Akechi soften that way at every utterance.
“I suppose… I have time as well, then.” The hesitance doesn’t come as a shock, frankly it’s expected. Nothing could ever be easy with Akechi, but he doesn’t even know if he’d want it to be in the first place. He wants to utterly disentangle the mess inside the boy’s head, take it all apart and reconstitute him piece by piece until a clear picture is available and then Akira would savour it for the rest of his life.
As he begins on his way back to the edge of the water he gestures to beckon Akechi along, “Come on.” Tone soft, almost cloying.
The boy accepts.
They sit by the water, one speck of humanity dotted along the intermediary between land and sea. Neither of them had spoken since they’d started, Akechi replaced his footwear in silence and set himself down with care and deliberation.
Objectively, the atmosphere was just as nice as before, moonlight perhaps even more striking against the waves, now hung higher in the night sky but reflecting so specifically along the water it almost looked like beacons caught amidst the tide. Subjectively it was infinitely better. The breathing of the boy beside him was intoxicating to listen to, the sound of the sea breeze and winding waves fade into the distance in comparison.
He’d been a tad surprised that Akechi had agreed to sit close enough to the water to the point where the end of broken waves had a chance to reach his feet. He would never complain though, the sound of the detective’s breath hitching any time freezing water made contact was nauseatingly addictive. He’d live in it if he were ever given the chance.
After what could have been hours, probably hadn’t been but it could have, Akira decides they’ve had enough time to settle in and he should say something.
“So, what are you doing here?” He’d be lying if he said he isn’t overwhelmingly curious, he hopes that feeling hadn’t bled into his words but he feels like it almost definitely had. Akechi stripped his masks better than anyone else after all.
Moments pass with no response, so Akira looks to him and wow that was decidedly either the best or worst decision of his life. Everything besides himself and the boy next to him dim into nothingness. His attention consumed and his mind enraptured by the perfect visage that his eyes would struggle violently to separate from. If he’d wanted them to anyway. He didn’t.
He really wasn’t kidding earlier, Maroon eyes accented by pale blue moonlight laid the foundation for the most beautiful profile he’d ever seen. An expression of readable uncertainty is cast across it all, but underneath he feels like he sees comfort, and, whether delusion or not, he loves to see it. Soft lips sway smoothly with every breath, at least he thinks it's every breath, he’s too caught up to really consider. Deep honey hair lies delicately and deliberately along his features, framing his face perfectly, only one lock is out of place against his expression.
Akira realizes mid-motion that he really needs to start using his brain, but at this point it’s a bit too late. His hand’s already reaching out (okay maybe he could have stopped it but, c’est la vie). Akira gently pushes that loose strand to the side, fingers making the faintest touch of contact, he can practically feel the skin turning rosy beneath them.
This is when he’s hit with recognition.
Akechi had been speaking whilst he was entranced. Now here he is, not having heard a single word, fingertips still gently scraping against Akechi’s face with every breath either of them take, and he’s still undeniably staring.
It feels like hours before either of the boys move, Akechi’s gaze remains locked on the horizon, clearly entirely uncertain what he’s supposed to be doing at this moment. Akira finds himself incapable of really doing much of anything at all.
After a few more beats, he gingerly pulls back his hand, not too sure about the movement itself (the motives behind it are entirely forged off hesitation instead of desire after all), and offers an extremely apologetic, “Sorry… what were you saying?”
Now Akechi turns to look at him and wow this is way worse. How could he ever pay attention with those eyes burrowing into his own. He manages to keep himself from getting completely lost in that maroon maze but it’s a violent fight. Akechi’s still just staring at him, not appearing to make any attempts at re-stating whatever he was talking about before, not pulling back, maybe even, if anything, leaning ever so slightly forward. Well that’s something.
Akechi narrows his eyes, not necessarily out of judgement, maybe concern actually, which is kinda the opposite so that feels nice.
“Kurusu, are you feeling alright?” It’s a good question.
He realizes his hand is still sorta just hovering in the air so he lowers it down and rests it on the beach towel, maybe a bit closer to Akechi’s than it had been before.
Was he feeling alright? Who knows. He’d never admit that though.
Donning that mask and flashing that trademarked grin he replies, “Never better detective.” partly cheeky, partly genuine, a fool throughout.
Akechi responds in kind, replacing his concern with narrowed eyes and a manner of condescension, now that was judgement. He kinda liked it though, liked that he could say the stupidest things and Akechi would just grin as though Akira were a meal he’d been craving for years. He liked saying stupid things after all, especially to Akechi, it’s like it fueled him.
“Well, are you going to be able to pay attention then? Instead of getting “trapped in my eyes” or some other such line I’d expect you to toss out haphazardly.” Hit the nail on the head really.
It sounded so cheesy coming from Akechi, then again it probably did coming from himself as well. Then again , if Akechi had used that line on Akira instead of himself it wouldn’t have sounded cheesy in the slightest. This game was advancing in a way that was far more beautiful than anything he could’ve dreamed of. That’s saying something too because he dreams a lot .
He may as well keep the game going right? Couldn’t hurt. “Oh detective I promise you, I put the utmost care into anything regarding your eyes.” Said eyes widen at this, pupils dilating to the nth degree, the faintest pink flickers across Akechi’s expression.
Akira begins to absent-mindedly move his hands up, same as he had earlier and- “Kurusu if you do that camera thing again I’m going to leave.” Dropped honorific, maybe he’s getting somewhere.
He puts on a nervous smile, a light chuckle slipping through it, and sets his hand back down, a little closer to Akechi’s than before.
“Would you like to actually hear the answer to your prior question now?” Akira nods softly, and Akechi’s face returns to the water. Akira doesn’t follow the boy’s gaze, he’d rather stay staring for as long as he’s allowed. “It’s not exactly an interesting story, at least not in my perspective. I was invited along by some friend of some friend of some employer of mine and I figured it may have been a good opportunity for my image.”
He pauses for a moment, an inkling of hesitance slips into his mannerisms, just enough to make known that he’s considering how honest he should be. Akira doesn’t think that Akechi’s ever completely honest. Likely not even once in his life. He can’t exactly judge the boy for this however, he himself is the exact same way. Every word Akira speaks is covered in part by a mask, sometimes far more thickly painted on than other times, but always somewhere. At no point in his own life did he think he’d ever been fully honest, maybe some long lost memory from ages past. Hard to say really.
Despite his own introspection, Akechi continues on, a little more disdain in his tone, “To be frank, I didn’t exactly want to spend more time around that party than I felt necessary. When everyone else was preparing to leave I decided to hang back and catch a train instead. Unfortunately, I neglected to consider the schedule.” Akira perks up at this, wondering what he meant by “neglected to consider the schedule”.
Evidently his quizzicality has made its way into his expression, as Akechi glances over with an eyebrow raised.
“Oh, were you not aware? I figured you must have known, considering you’re here after all.”
He pauses for a moment, a cruel pause knowing that Akira was hung on his words in a way that overtly stated “no I did not know please continue so I can figure out my evening plans”.
After deriving enough pleasure from Akira’s bated breath, Akechi continues, “All trains have been delayed, they’ll start up again at ten tonight.” Well damn, alright, throws a bit of a wrench in his plans of getting home at any reasonable time. The train ride from here to Yongen-Jaya would be at least two hours. Morgana’s going to be furious.
Akechi clearly notices the dire expression, turning his face a tad to more clearly glance at Akira. “I apologize, I’d figured you had some alternative transportation. I would have told you about this sooner if I’d known you were out of the loop.” The words come out with that trademarked Detective Prince condescension, just enough plausible deniability to make him unaccusable. Akira figures it must be payback for his own prior actions. He doesn’t mind though, it’s just a part of playing the game, he’s always quite liked that blunted sharpness anyway.
He figures he should make his move in kind, same as he’s been doing up til now, never given a reason to stop. His version of the Detective Prince discourtesy is Phantom Thief charm, always the cat and mouse relationship with the two of them.
“Well, well, detective, trying to use me for a ride were you?” The words arrive honeyed and suggestive from his knowing grin, accusatory in that same playfully “Joker” way.
In actuality, he really didn’t care one way or another if that was the intention, he’d help the boy beside him through hell and high water if he were ever given the opportunity. In fact, he’s surprised, he’d never expected the opportunity itself to be the difficult part, maybe that was the point. He can’t imagine he’d struggle heavily with whatever demons Akechi had hiding in his closet, unable to handle himself. Akira does have a variety of tactics outside the expected realm of causality after all. He doesn’t mean this in any way that diminishes Akechi’s issues, just that the actual issues likely pale in comparison to the boy’s persistent denial of others reaching out.
Akira loves reaching out. Loves assimilating every new person into his web of masks, each one carefully decorated depending on the individual it belonged to. What always felt strange with Akechi is that he never did know which mask was right.
Joker’s always felt the most accurate, but really only within that game between them. Whenever Akechi has genuinely opened up the Joker mask felt almost disrespectful, and nothing else worked. Maybe that was the point. Akechi’s own masks lift and for once Akira doesn’t have the idea to take them for himself, instead he just wants to follow along.
It’s almost disconcerting, really.
This habit he’d built up of always being whoever he was required to be is suddenly rendered useless around the one person he can’t stop thinking about. Maybe it’s the other way around, actually. Maybe his own maskless self is addictive to him, something he never gets to experience enough, always desiring to truly know who he is without pretenses asserted by others. The boy beside him capable of serving as a catalyst for him to understand himself.
It sounds almost exploitative like that, it’s a tad gross. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s using Akechi, because he knows that’s far from the case. It’s more a mutual relationship based on actually understanding each other and themselves, more than anyone had before.
The first donning of the Joker mask in quite a while and it brings this much introspection. He doesn’t know what it is, but Akechi’s doing something to him, that’s a definite.
Akechi’s thoughtful yet frantic tone snaps him out of whatever the hell he’s thinking about, “I assure you it was nothing like that.” The words are sincere, which is nice, but they provide an implication that Akira wants to pull at like a loose thread.
He’s not exactly sure if it’s the best idea, but none of his ideas are the best idea, so what’s the difference?
His next words come curious and a tad bit cheeky, coated in dramatics, “Oh really? Then I just have to ask, what was it?”
He’s not exactly expecting a serious answer, frankly he’s half expecting the largest non-answer of all time, knowing Akechi. That’s why his foolish expression fades upon hearing the boy’s reply.
Akechi gazes back out to the sea and his voice comes out quiet, admissive, Akira would say desperate if he felt like using that adjective wasn’t absurdly condescending. “I…” he pauses for a moment, seeming to consider, “I felt hopeful when I saw you. For the first time in the past few days, really.”
The words were unexpected but Akira tries hard to stifle any type of reaction that could be taken negatively. He craves for the other boy to continue, carry on with these solemn admissions of feelings. It was so rare for Akechi to admit to feelings, and if he had it was always in some backhanded compliment or guised phrase that left Akira wondering what the exact hell he meant. Only ever speaking in pieces of the truth that were scattered wildly among many more pieces of any falsehood imaginable.
Apparently his will had manifested in reality, as Akechi continues, “Today was… difficult. So I’m glad that I found you on this beach. Some stroke of blind luck apparently.”
Oh. Well alright then. That isn’t exactly easy for Akira to parse. They were words that he’d never expect to hear from that mouth, dancing over the shared beach towel between them and into his ears. In his peripheral he notices the gloved hand of the other boy inch closer. Inch is likely the wrong word actually. It would probably be more accurate to say it was either a natural readjustment, a byproduct of one’s breathing slightly moving their body, or even a hallucination. But when it comes to this absurdly beautiful boy beside him there really is no choice but to read as much as possible into every micro micro-movement.
Their hands are close enough to touch at this point, no way to do that surreptitiously though. It’s always easier to edge closer and closer to the thing you want without ever making an overt statement that could potentially cause you to crash and burn. Though, Akira never did like taking the easy path.
He stretches his fifth finger out just a touch, enough to make contact with the other boy’s and no more. Upon contact he notices Akechi flinch, the tiniest thing. Notices his breath hitch and his irises dilate and sees his eyes flick down to look at their hands, to make sure it was actually happening maybe, that’s what Akira’d do anyway.
After a tense moment, a moment where Akechi’s breathing and feeling were the only things on his mind, the boy slowly looks up at him. Looks up through impossibly gentle hair. Akira notices another strand that’d fallen out of place sometime between now and the last time he’d been stupid, so why not be stupid again.
He reaches up with his other hand, body rotating slightly to facilitate the movement, thus facing more towards Akechi.
Maybe this is too intimate actually. Oh well, he doesn’t have time to care.
His hand contacts the boy’s face and feels the soft flinch this time, sees his eyelashes flutter a tiny bit. He almost thinks he can hear the boy make the tiniest contented humming noise but considers it equally as likely to be wishful thinking on his part so he sets the thought aside for now.
He gingerly brushes the wayward strand back into order, letting his hand linger a bit afterward, forefinger and middle finger delicately pressed against the side of his face. He doesn’t really want to remove them but he’s not sure how selfish he can be before Akechi’s sensibilities take over. Surely the tiniest length of a couple fingers wouldn’t be enough to completely break him. Greed is good.
After a short moment where they don’t do much but stare at each other, Akira flashes him a stupidly earnest smile and says, “I’m glad you found me here too.”
At this, Akechi’s face flushes wildly. His head nods down slightly, probably in embarrassment, but his eyes remain transfixed on Akira’s own.
He’s not sure where to go from here. Akechi hasn’t exactly reciprocated any of his extremely obvious cues, but he also hasn’t turned them away. Additionally, he worries that if he pulls away himself it’ll be read by Akechi as an active disinterest instead of hesitation.
This situation isn’t one where he can don Joker’s mask and act with a familiarly detached debonair attitude, he doesn’t think he could even find that mask right now regardless. It’s not so much that it feels muddled or lost, it feels unwilling. As if it’s commending him on getting this far by removing itself from the equation altogether. He’s more thankful than not that he doesn’t have the mask right now anyway, a crutch that would likely only make things worse.
He remains in this limbo for quite a while, particularly unsure what the right decision is. He most certainly wants Akechi to make the decision for him, but when it comes to acting on positive emotions it’s clear that it’s out of the detective’s wheelhouse. At least, as long as it’s something he has control over.
Akira figures he’ll cover his bases and do something that's the best of both worlds. He ever so lightly feathers his fingertips down the side of Akechi’s face before beginning to pull his hand away. He’s mildly startled when the other boy makes a disagreeable murmur. It’s probably one of, if not the, most adorably magnetic noises he’s ever heard. In response, he stops retracting his arm and instead returns it to where it’d been resting moments before, maybe a bit more assured now.
Akechi slowly leans into it, closing his eyes in the process. It’s hard for Akira to tell exactly what’s happening inside his own mind right now. It’s extremely nice that he’s managed to comfort (at least he thinks that’s what’s happening) the pained person he can never stop thinking about. But he also doesn’t exactly have a firm grasp on the situation. He finds he’s nearly out of ideas on where or how this will go. He’s rarely been on the backfoot whilst on such steep ground. He knows for a fact he’s doing absolutely nothing until Akechi does something first though, right now that is the only thing he’s here for. Greed may be good, but comfort is enough.
It feels like hours pass at this point. Time is falling into pieces, unsure of how to completely progress, continuity severed almost entirely, all Akira can do, all he wants to do, even, is sit, watch, and feel. Eternally.
The beautiful boy’s face is absurdly warm against his hand, that same deep honey hair fading between Akira’s digits. It really was ridiculously soft, it’s impossible to say that enough.
He starts absent-mindedly toying with a strand, mesmerized by how it looks between his fingers, how it flows along his skin. This fidgeting elicits a soft and delicate hum, it breaks against his palm. At this, Akira feels assured in resting a little more of his hand against the boy’s cheek, fingers almost caressing now, so so gently.
He’s somewhat startled from this trance when Akechi leans in and presses his lips against Akira’s palm, a soft chaste kiss, indelible against skin.
Akira’s eyes widen, this was about the furthest thing from expected. Apparently Akechi thinks so too, as soon as he realizes what happened his eyes shoot open. It’s hard to say from what, maybe a mixture of fear and shock, unsureness, questioning if it was allowed either by Akira or even himself. Akira knew he allowed it, knew he didn’t mind it, knew he loved it, actually. But he doesn’t think that Akechi would ever believe that to be the unadulterated truth.
Akira tries to do something, really anything, that will prove “hey I liked it please do that again please never ever stop doing that in your life actually if that’s something you want to do”. He ends up moving his other hand, the one that’d been lying on the towel for an unknowable amount of time. He flits his fifth finger along the other boy’s own and then ends in resting it over top. He definitely thinks this is a good idea, definitely thinks that if anything will say what he really wants to say that that’s it.
He doesn’t really get the chance to figure out how it’s received, though, as a rogue wave, bigger than any before, crashes against the beach in front of them. Freezing sea water coats the ends of his legs and he’s almost scared to look down to see how high it’d gone up the cuffs of Akechi’s pants. He finds he doesn’t really need to look down to find an answer, or at least some semblance of one, as Akechi near instantly shoots up. The contact between them is broken in a fragment of the time they’d taken to create it, a pity.
Akechi begins throwing together some such facade of whatever he can find and says, “I think the trains are running again.”
Oh well, you can really only ask for so much in one night.
Ever the yes man, Akira nods and asks “You want to head back?”
He’s barely finished his question before Akechi nods himself, far more firm than Akira’s was, and replies resolutely, “I do.”
It’s a dangerous game, scratch that, it’s an extremely dangerous game to push Akechi any more than he already has, but he has to let some of that Joker mask slip back on, and if Akechi’s going to act like none of this happened, he’ll find whatever way he can to undermine that.
“Do you want to head back, together ?”
There isn’t much subtext beneath this, of course you could infer however much subtext you want, Akira really is just asking if the boy wants to spend a bit more time together, even if on some potentially crowded (although it was more like 11 now, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad) train. He imagines that Akechi might take it to mean “do you want to spend the rest of our lives together” and then tell him that he’s an idiot and walk away, but it’s a risk worth taking (especially if he derives that meaning and still says yes (Akira should really stop playing games, this cannot be good for him)).
It’s hard to know what exactly the boy is thinking, he’s sort of just standing there, processing, establishing himself to be more than what he has been, letting his masks all return as pretense is regained and the game of cat and mouse can continue. It really was nice to be rid of it for however long it was, Akira lost track of time ages ago. Who needs to pay attention to time when the most beautiful boy in the world is next to you.
After a few moments of mild staring, Akechi comes to his conclusions, letting out a long-suffering “ Fine .”
Akira’s never been happier.
It’s not a long walk from where they were on the beach to the station. Akechi had replaced his footwear so he truly was that same old Detective Prince once again (despite some water damage) and Akira himself was content in his own sandals and beach-faring outfit. They must have made quite the image. Detective Prince dressed to the nines (at least comparatively), same as he’d ever been, and scruffy teenage nobody in a graphic tee, swim shorts, sandals, and carrying a towel. Quite the image indeed.
They haven’t spoken since they’d started making their way off the beach, simply walking alongside each other in silence. It’s quiet tonight. Not a lot of ambience past the ever present undercurrent of city noise. The wind is loud, it isn’t particularly strong nor striking, it’s just loud. Like it wants to be heard whenever possible and Akira’s just another person giving it the opportunity. He’s found that he’s good at that with people, why not with wind too. He struggles to piece together what this uncharacteristically ruffled detective is thinking about, but it doesn’t matter too much, they have time.
Their hands brush against each other every so often, and every time Akira glances over and sees the other boy’s expression be unchanged, and every time he gets a tiny bit disappointed before brushing it off. In those moments, the thing he always notices before parsing the lack of emotion, is the moonlight bouncing off his eyes, the moonlight getting caught in his hair along with the salty ocean breeze, a barely present residual touch of rosy pink found on his cheeks, especially vibrant on the tips of his ears. He thinks that’s cute every time before turning his head back and carrying on.
Akira’s going to miss the stars when he gets back tonight, going to miss how bright the moon had been over the water, how its light had bounced off many things he thought of so dearly. But he also finds that night time isn’t everything, that he’s looking forward to the sun now too, excited to see its face in the morning and maybe someday see its own special light illuminate the face of the boy walking alongside him. More than anything else, he’s glad he doesn’t have the same belief as that kid he used to be. He’s glad the sun and moon got to meet.
He wouldn’t want it any other way.