hide me from the world

          Beautiful, yes                But even moreso        we are terrible                 don't you know?

Fated partner.

The years of time apart had taken it's own toll on the detective, bearing down on him not like a weight but as a suffocating pressure, Akechi left at the mercy of his own what if's and why's until the unknown was left to drown him. It was not until now, until he was here tangled in Joker's arms, lungs full of iron and something that is so distinctly Akira that he felt like he could breathe again.

It frustrates Akechi, makes his fingers twist together into his rival's hair in a way that's almost angry - 'absence makes the heart grow fonder', such drivel, what a disgusting idea that this boy's influence on him was really so strong that he'd fall so quickly to his own need. Had he not so pointedly left the rest of the world behind? It was so simple then, so why not now?

The fingers across the nape of his neck draw a shudder from him, the sound it draws getting lost against Joker's mouth, heat prickling up his spine, old warning signals that tell him to pull away. Maybe if things were softer, maybe if they weren't caked in blood and gore and rage Akechi would be able to ignore it, but it's been too long and it's all too much - at one point Joker was able to skirt around these feelings like Akechi was just another palace to rob, ducking through all of his well-placed traps and locked doors until the phantom thief could pull that crooked heart free from it's vault.

He does not listen fully to the screaming in his muscles, only lets them lead him far enough to break away from the kiss, breath coming in a soft pant. At one point, at one point the fire in his mind could have been snuffed out so deftly, but time has not mixed well with suspicion, had not mixed well with all the thumbtacks and spools of thread connecting dots across the cork-board that had lead him to the conclusion that he was truly no longer human, and Joker...

Heart-red eyes flick upwards to lock with stormy grey, Akechi's brow furrowing, twisting his expression that, while soft, is undeniably angry. Not with Joker, no - not anymore. When he had been sitting on that bed the anger had been for his rival, yes - fury mixing with uncertainty to draw it's claws across his ribs and through his thoughts - but after the trigger was pulled and Akechi had seen those same stormclouds drenched in confusion and fear he had gained the answer that he had needed, assured him that...

"I thought..."

The words come through clenched teeth and he can feel himself beginning to shake. Even after all this time, it's difficult to talk about him with grace.

"That you had gone the way of that goddamned doctor."

When everyone had been returned to their true reality and Akechi had found himself still very much alive ,  what else was he to assume? It was up to Joker to finish the job and he had been Joker's wish , after all - It made sense that his resurrection was tied to his rival but...

That was all that had made sense. It had to be tied to the Phantom Thief, but what else would there be as an answer other than treachery? Akechi had become like a ghost, avoided the other while he tried to put the pieces together, but every time he had tried to take a proper look at the puzzle it made his stomach turn to knots. How close had he let his rival, how much of himself had he allowed Joker to know, how much _trust_ had he given, only for it to seemingly be tossed away? It made him sick, but even moreso it had left him furious.

"But I know now, I could see it on your face - you don't know any better than I do, do you?", he scoffs, a soft and bemused noise, "I was foolish of me to assume that you'd ever do something so selfish with that loathsome bleeding heart of yours. Still..."

The ache in his chest lingers where words stop, Akechi's glare sliding away from Joker's eyes to focus elsewhere. He isn't sure what to say, how to make the phantom thief understand that the idea of betrayal_had been a very real possibility in his mind, how even the chance of it left a scar across his being. It was vile, the weakness that came with the concept, but even worse was the idea that Joker would feel any sort of pity for him over it.

He expects to tremble, to shake, for a chemical surge to set his body quaking with  something something something - anything to make the step feel taken, to make the smell of smoke and blood and coffee real in his mind, anything to make it feel real.

Instead everything is frozen, Akechi barely breathes as the seconds tick on, eyes locked on the seep of red, trails of life spilling onto the floor painting patterns on the wood and all he can think about is how he's going to have to clean that up now, is that really important? There was that paper you read once about near-death experiences, how people's 'final' thoughts can tend to be silly, can that be the same if you are merely near the dying?

Never before now, never on the dozens of hits and executions and pulled triggers was there ever a pause like this - But it wasn't any of those, was it? This was no simple murder, the shots were a question, this was only that feeling that's left after something is asked, drawn out longer and longer yet with each of his rival's rasping breaths. Part of Akechi wonders if he should have put a bullet between Joker's eyes - it's almost funny, wouldn't that be just like old times? The first hint of movement he can manage is the twitch at the corner of his mouth that the thought draws, but even then it can't form into a smile, or even a sneer - the former Detective Prince remains like a statue, like a photograph, preserved in this moment until it is either the ending of an era, or the beginning of something new.

Joker chokes on his words and it makes Akechi part his lips to speak in turn - when it was the two of them it was usually up to him to fill the silence, to spin a conversation together until Joker saw fit to commentate. It was something the former detective had always enjoyed about the other - even back when he had seen the other man as nothing but an enemy, Akechi couldn't deny that speaking with Joker had a way of making one feel very listened-to. But no sound escapes his throat. He manages to tear himself out of the paralysis gripping him long enough to lower his weapon, resigning himself to the nagging feeling of failure when his mouth shuts without uttering a sound. If anything there is just too much to say and, in the suffocating darkness of Leblanc's attic, just not enough room to say it in - the words don't come because Akechi can't pull them from his own thundering mind. Is this what it is to be truly speechless? It's unfamiliar and therefore resented, this loss for words - how stupid is it to be left with nothing to say after all this time.

A step is almost taken back when Joker draws nearer, simple instinct nudging Akechi to maintain distance that's snuffed out by how much he does not care right now, even as Joker comes within arms reach, even at the first brush of fingers across his shirt. His eyes bore down into the thief with all the intensity that one would expect of a predator watching a dying thing - it isn't until he notices an ache that Akechi realizes he has not blinked since the trigger was pulled. This was too important, he couldn't miss a moment, couldn't allow these last few minutes of the phantom thief's life to be lost lest his own answers be allowed to slip away after such a risk.

'Even now..                      You're.'

There's something about the look on Joker's face that makes his jaw clench, thoughts roiling up to a fever-pitch to pry away at petty details - All that huffing is going to get blood on his clothes--

'Beautiful.'

It snaps something, tension releasing long enough to draw Akechi's expression into that sneer that escaped him earlier - Typical, how typical of Akira to waste so much effort on such pointless words, to try and romanticize the bullets bored into his chest. It's so spring-coiled in Akechi's mind that he almost spits it out, throws the thought into Joker's face, but the former detective finds himself mired in that same silence that seems to plague him here, unable to pull his gaze away from that expression that's gone from making him angry to making him sick.

How long has it been since he's been spoken to in sign?...

Not since they were last together, Akechi realizes, and it is something about that that draws that self righteous anger driving the former detective, - once prince, ex-thief - back like a wave that has crested, drawn back out to sea where it can wait for the next tide. The paralysis thats had him frozen melts away with the breath he didn't realize he had been holding for so long, the sneer that just finally tugged itself free wavering away, leaving him looking less predator and more like what he truly is - mostly tired, and lost.

'I'm so glad'

"Akira..."

His own voice sounds distant, unreal. For a moment he almost apologizes, maybe he would have if there was more time , but the phantom thief is slipping away too fast, and what point would an apology serve at this point? There is no undoing the time lost with words alone. Instead he stays, sinking to one knee as Joker slips to the floor.

The silence is deafening. He keeps an eye on his watch the entire time Joker is still, but in truth the numbers seem to lose meaning in his mind as the seconds tick on and on and on. This was the moment, the real moment, the thing that would determine whether he was right or wrong. Right or wrong, not a mistake - no matter how it turned out this was not a mistake. He expects to get caught up in some kind of an analysis about the possibilities, to think over his actions from here if things ebb one way or the other, but all that he can think of now, between the passing seconds, is how strong the smell of blood is in this tiny space.

Then, just as quickly as the shots that took his life, the former leader of the phantom thieves snaps and convulses. Akechi had theorized that this would happen, but all the theories in the world do nothing to spare him from the shock of it - it sends him springing back to his feet, pupils blown before focusing down to pindots locked onto his trembling rival. Fear and awe and curiosity all weave together at the sight of Joker's body mending itself - it was amazing, it was an answer , and more than anything it was a relief. The years of not knowing, the mystery surrounding himself - the details were unclear for now, but at he was not alone in it.

Joker was no longer human. But neither was he.

Maybe they never were, maybe 'human' was only ever meant to be the start for them - vicious rivals, clever tricksters, destined to play a game of tug-of-war with their very own red thread until the universe was forced to buckle around their straining.

For once being the winner is far from his mind - Joker's words are equally entertaining and insulting , drawing a scoff from the ex-detective who carelessly tosses his weapon aside as he speaks, tone sharpened by years of mulling the concept over.

"You call this 'winning'? With you coming back to life again? I've won nothing."

There is no true resentment behind the words, they are harsh but simply meant as a reminder - the situation is odd, but the objective of their game had always been a straightforward one, and not one that Akechi took lightly.

"Though we're going to have to revise some rules, aren't we? Or should we consider this one new, and our last game a draw? After all, with the old rules I think we'd find ourselves at a stalemate."

It's soft and tired, the subtle implication of I am just like you left to hang - elaborating would feel like stating the obvious, Joker is one of the few others whom Akechi trusts to understand him.

His rival leans into him and for a moment there's that needle-sharp jolt of adrenaline that typically makes Akechi jerk away, but it's batted aside. It's only Joker, he's safe - even though it's slight, the weight of the other Being pressed against him draws an ache through his chest. It disgusts him on some level, the way he wants for this contact, but for once it is the disgust that's pushed away so that he can bring himself to move, to slide a gloved hand into the dark tangle of Joker's hair.

He lowers himself once more, down onto his knees like he would before no other God - it's only because they are both so alone in this moment that Akechi is able to allow himself this, this closeness. It's selfish, he can't shake that thought, selfish of him to be so greedy for the other's touch after spending so long allowing Joker to believe him dead. Fingers twist in hair, his other arm snakes it's way under joker's and around the thief's back - it's excruciatingly tender, not for the sake of the physical wound but for something deeper, unseen.

"You've been running..."

Blood is soaking into his clothes where he's kneeling and where Joker has slipped too-close-not-close-enough, still sticky warm and clinging iron, but Akechi no longer cares about keeping himself clean, let him be stained by the other's life as he's earned. What better way to renew an oath than by blood?

"You promised me that you would never run from what you really are."

We promised each other.

He wishes it was something more than greed, wishes he had the same knack for making things so sentimental when he pulls the thief closer, closes the last breath of distance between them to press his lips against Akira's bloodstained own, coffee and copper overtaking the last of his senses and maybe Maybe it isn't so selfish, so many years apart, is this not the perfect way to say that this time he'll keep the promise as well.

He had no intention of going to Mementos.

There's a small part of Akechi that feels almost bad about it. He had sent those messages known - no, relying - on the fact that Joker was desperate for the interaction, so setting him up like this only to stand him up...

Well, it certainly wouldn't feel good on Joker's end. Almost undoubtedly so the former leader of the Phantom Thieves would be left with a deep heartache, but as far as Akechi figured it would only be a temporary one. What does it matter if the hurt was just for a brief time - like a bandaid it would sting for a moment, tears would be shed, and then it would be over before anyone had time to really think about it.

He had given Joker a twenty minute head start before approaching Leblanc, slipping up to the cafe, picking the lock, and letting himself in with the casual air of a customer entering during a lazy afternoon. There was no need to be worried - he had no reason to think that Joker would leave his false invitation dangling, and the few people puttering around the alleyways of Yongen-Jaya didn't seem to pay him any mind. This wasn't something he left up to chance - over the first year of his returned life and the past two spent observing his rival, Akechi had more or less come to terms with the fact that the world seemed to simply not notice him anymore unless he made the effort to be noticed. As long as he didn't actively draw attention to himself, the former detective was sure that he would be able to break into the cafe without being bothered.

Any sense of nostalgia or longing for days gone was nipped in the bud as soon as he crossed the threshold - it felt any number of ways to be back inside of Leblanc's cozy interior, but none of those feelings would make a difference in whether or not he got the answers that he came here to get. The familiarity did however provide the positive of muscle memory, and even in the dimly lit near-dark of the cafe Akechi found that he barely had to pause for breath before he was up the stairs and into the attic - no, room - his room.

Not his own but his rival, the leader of the group that ended up taking him and his hard-fought image down, his ...

Friend?

It's only now, mid-stride on his way to sit on the edge of the bed, that he slows, footsteps drawing to a stuttered halt. For a brief moment Akechi this stands there, staring down at nothing in particular. His mind is stuck on the word while his eyes are left to pick at dust motes, slivers of gentle false-orange evening light, the texture of the blankets - is this really the same one? The light makes it hard to tell, but that really is just like Joker, heart so set on keeping things around for sentimentality's sake. He scoffs, a soft barely-there puff, before turning to face towards the mouth of the staircase and takes a seat.

The pistol is heavy in his hand, heart-red eyes now busy scanning the details of the weapon, admiring the way the light catches on the texture of the silencer.

So set on keeping things around. Friend.

The words curl up inside of his chest like brambles, this could be sorrow if he allowed it to be, but instead it just sears and sears and sears the inside of him until the only thing that keeps his shoulders from trembling is experience - this is simple anger, it was not yet hate. It was not yet hate because he still didn't have his answers, it was stuck as anger because Akechi did not know.

He didn't know why he was back. Would Joker really bring him back again after all they had spoken about? After he had fought so hard to be dead again, tore the reality from everyone else's hands for the sake of it not being true? Stupid, it had been stupid of Akechi to assume that it would be any different with him, trust had been such a novel idea, how quaint it is that Akechi had thought to trust that anyone else would truly hold their word, let alone keep a promise.

It isn't until a door creaks below that Akechi realizes that now he is trembling, something that stops with a drawn, calculated breath.         It couldn't be. There must be something else going on.                                                          Footsteps across the floor below.                                       There is more to this, Joker is going to give him answers.                                                                                        at the foot of the stairs.                                                                          And if he doesn't have the ones Akechi needs                                                                                                                         coming up them now Then he's about to win anyways.