#engine room

His feet hit the floor. A second later he tucks into a roll to mitigate the impact on his knees before he’s up again, heart in his throat. Both Akechi’s stare at him in open shock. Something aching and raw settles on his Akechi’s face, while the other’s twists into a sardonic sneer that curdles whatever’s left in Akira’s stomach.

“That was incomprehensibly foolish.” Akechi snarls.

The cognition rises from where he’d stumbled after Akechi’s shot, assessing each change to the situation, eyes glittering with a kind of manic energy that only makes the panic gripping Akira’s chest constrict further. Then there’s still those shadows to worry about. They haven’t moved during all the chaos, instead they linger there. Waiting on a command to slaughter.

“Foolish or desperate?” Cognitive Akechi asks. That gleam in his eyes is electric as he coos, tone mockingly sweet, “Or perhaps he wanted to play the hero.”

Akira’s mind races to beat the cognition’s. He can’t start a fight, not right now. Akechi’s in no shape to defend himself, and Akira isn’t fast enough to fight everything off before one of them gets a lucky shot in at Akechi. Plus, if he’s being honest, he too isn’t in the best shape himself. Akechi hadn’t gone down easily.

Akira flashes him a Joker smile, sharp and wicked. “Couldn’t let you two have all the fun. That’s just not fair.”

The cognition laughs, a bitter hollow noise. “Oh, it will be so much more fun with you here, Joker. I was almost growing bored with the situation.”

So far he hasn’t made a move to raise his gun again, which is a relief. Neither Akechi has moved much at all. From what Akira can tell, his Akechi is using this as a chance to catch his breath, dragging together the ragged edges of himself in case he needs to fight. Akira’s not going to let that happen, but it’s nice he’s preparing.

No, what he needs to do is end this quickly and efficiently.

Joker shrugs. “It’ll be nice to have a real challenge myself.”

Cognitive Akechi grins. “Tell me, did you come here just to banter?”

“And if I did?” Joker winks at him, heart racing as he comes up with an idea. A stupid, foolish, absolutely bonkers idea.

He strolls forward. “You’re worth exploring after all.”

The cognition lets him get close enough he can lean forward and add, voice layered with a want he doesn’t feel. Not for this version of Akechi. It’s a lie he has to make real, in order to keep the one he does cherish safe. “So much more interesting than someone who breaks at the first sign of failure.”

“Flattery looks good on you, Joker,” The cognition purrs, then turns a mocking smile on Akechi, “See? Even Joker prefers the superior version of you.”

He hears Akechi’s sharp hiss of breath from a distance, and has to ignore it. He hopes Akechi did it to help sell Akira’s act. But he can’t be sure, he can’t even look back to check or at least reassure him of the falsities he’s spilling. He can’t falter here. Not when he’s found an opportunity to save them both.

Akira hums, letting the affection he holds for Akechi show clearly on his face. If he pretends for just a minute the one in front of him is real, pretends like they’re back at the entrance of Mementos both their pulses still alight with the fire of a fight well fought. Pretends he gave into the urge back then to kiss Akechi rather than hold back and wait for the chips to fall on the twentieth. If he pretends all that, he knows his look will win him what he wants.

“That’s not all that I’m good at.” He promises, voice low.

And there it is. A matching hunger in the cognition’s eyes. He’d thrown his disdain for Akechi’s need to be loved at him like daggers aimed straight for his heart. The words meant to cut and sear as he’d attacked reality’s version of himself. As if he too didn’t harbor those very same needs. After all, if Shido believes Akechi to be that desperate then there has to be a part of the cognition that wants it too. And much like Akira’s Akechi, it will be his undoing.

“Show me, then.”

Akira closes the distance between them, reaching a hand out to cup the cognition’s cheek as he leans in for a kiss. His other is carefully by his side, hovering just within reach of the dagger he keeps there.

He wasn’t planning on making the kiss deep or long, or doing much more than royally distracting the asshole, but then Cognitive Akechi loops his arm around Akira’s waist and drags him forward, deeper into the kiss.

He is teeth and anger, biting and hungry almost like he is trying to devour Akira alive. It steals his breath for a moment and forces his brain into a recalibration. He’s wanted this so long, is this what kissing the real Akechi might be like?

It’s that thought that reminds him exactly what he’s doing here.

He drops his hold on the cognition’s cheek in favor of grabbing the back of his head to keep him from seeing his other arm. With that he snatches the dagger from his belt, and in a motion, sinks it into the cognition’s back, right where he knows his false heart beats. Not that it would take that much to kill him. Akechi did plenty of damage with his shot earlier.

The cognition gasps, and jerks back, deeper against the hilt of Joker’s dagger. With shocked eyes he falls apart, dissolving into nothing as Joker sucks in air, his heart hammering against his chest, a little dizzy from everything. The shadows the cognition summoned disappear too, their existence shattering alongside their master.

After a beat, he turns to face Akechi, his Akechi again. He’s pretty sure he looks fine, and not rumpled, not that it matters. Akechi watched the whole show from his place by the bulkhead door after all. He knows exactly what happened.

Akechi stands there, frozen like a statue, open shock on his face. Shit. Akira thinks of that startled gasp he’d heard. It wasn’t an act on Akechi’s part. He’d hoped that Akechi would pick up on the gambit of it all, but he looks like someone had just taken a bat to his sternum. And that’s saying something considering how rough he looks. Two lost fights have left him in bad shape. It’s a wonder he’s even standing.

In an attempt to diffuse the situation with a little humor he tosses Akechi a cocky smile. “Come on, Crow. As if I’d be into that guy.”

Akechi’s expression shutters. “You can leave now,” His tone is as chilly as the look on his face, throwing Akira for a loop, he’d just—had Akechi missed everything that had just transpired? Surely after a moment’s thought he can understand what Akira was doing, and why?

“What? Do you need validation now? Well fine. Congratulations Joker,” Akechi all but spits his name, venom so sharp it burns, “You’ve done it. You swooped in and saved the fucking day again instead of letting me die for the rest of you fools.”

“Wh—” Akira doesn’t even get the word out before Akechi continues, each word clipped, furious, and hurting.

“Or are you going to rub my nose in it too? Like you did with that cognition? Tell me how much you care only so you can do me in yourself?” Hysteria lines the edges of his voice, “I told you it would be better to get rid of me. And here you are, with the perfect opportunity. Your little thieves never even have to know. You can stroll out of here free of everything that’s ever plagued you and—”

Akechi’s voice breaks. He scowls for a moment, before snarling, and then shoves both hands against his face. Or as much as he can with a broken mask. An echoing thump resounds through the room as Akechi falls back into the bulkhead door, leaning into it. Akira can see how his breathing has picked up, hitching gasps slipping out even as he tries to stay silent. Even his arms are trembling.

The smallest of sounds escapes his lips at last. “Just go.”

It takes far too long for Akira to piece together just what went so wrong with this whole situation. When he does he feels like the biggest fool in existence. It’s been a mess of a day for Akechi, from trying to kill them to his breakdown, everything the Cognition had said, almost dying, his rival kissing his cognition, then telling him he’s a fool to think he might have a shot (Akira has to tamp down the thrill of realization that Akechi’s reaction means it’s reciprocal).

Because of course Akechi would take his words and twist them in completely the wrong direction. He is nothing if self destructive. Hadn’t Akira just averted one disaster of the same making?

He steps forward, letting his boots make noise on the ground so he doesn’t startle Akechi. Right now he seems like a deer, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. Not that he has anywhere to go. They’re quite stuck until Futaba can figure out a way to get the door open. The group’s muffled chatter has faded at this point, probably to let her work. Or maybe she has figured it out but knows better than to interrupt.

His voice is completely sincere, without a single trace of Joker’s mirth as he says. “Hey, listen. I don’t hate you.”

His own heart flutters against his chest, this isn’t really how he’d thought this particular confession would go, but now isn’t the time to worry about that. Akira reaches out a careful hand, slow but steady to grasp one of Akechi’s, the gauntlets are cool even through his glove, deadly and as beautiful as the rest of him. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

Akechi jerks back as if he’s been burned, shoulders slamming back into the door, the echo louder this time, his free hand grabbing at his mask ineffectually. It can’t cover everything up as a single wide and terrified red eye meets his. Akechi’s lips part ever so slightly as he drags in air, the speed of which increases rapidly until he’s all but hyperventilating.

“Hey,” Akira’s voice is firmer, “Akechi, it’s fine. Listen, please.”

All Akechi does is tear his hands both away from Akira and from his head to grip at his torn jumpsuit in what Akira recognizes as an attempt to calm down. He’d done it himself often enough during the trial and in the few days he’d had in Tokyo before Morgana had become his companion. Akechi’s gaze is so distant, Akira’s sure he’s not picking up on anything at all, so lost to the panic taking him.

“Shit,” He murmurs, mind racing. He’s fairly certain if he tries to touch Akechi again, let alone give him the hug he needs he’s going to get shredded as a result. And words are not going to get through at all.

There’s really only one thing to do. He just hopes Akechi will forgive him for it.

Before he loses his nerve, he pulls his hand back and slaps Akechi across the face, thankful for the moment that half his mask is shattered and he didn’t have to avoid getting stabbed to snap him out of it.

It works. Anger flashes behind Akechi’s eyes, hot and clearer than anything he’s shown since Akira managed to spook him. In fact, it works a little too well.

Akechi flings himself at Akira with a furious snarl, those claws grabbing Akira’s shoulders so tightly he can feel it as they dig into his jacket. He’s too shocked by the sudden change in Akechi’s response that he doesn’t stop them as they crash to the ground.

His back connects with the strange not-metal of the palace’s floor so hard his breath is shoved from his lungs in a painful oof. He dosen’t have much time to recover. Not as Akechi’s grip tightens and those claws do finally pierce skin, voice little more than furious hisses and an almost incomprehensible string of words. Akira thinks he might be saying something about hate, or Akira —whatever it is, Akira chalks it up to another form of Akechi’s rising panic.

“Enough of this,” Akira reaches out and grabs Akechi’s suit by the front and hauls him off to the side with some effort. His muscles are already screaming, exhausted from the earlier fight, so it’s not fun. But he’s not going to get killed right after saving Akechi either.

He ends up rolling along with Akechi, since his rival refuses to let go of his shoulders, and ouch his claws only seem to dig in further. He knees him in the ribs instead, jerking his leg up with such force Akechi instantly lets go when he connects, gasping for air.

Akira has about a second of relief before Akechi is at him again, feet and hands and teeth, everything scrambling to get a hold of Akira, to fight him tooth and claw. They struggle, scratching and hitting each other before Akira ends up under Akechi again. His rival snarls down at him, face a mired mask of fury.

Irritation that things can’t go right even when he’s trying to save the stupid idiot rises in Akira’s own chest. He grabs for Akechi’s wrists, catching one and missing the other as he drags it past Akira’s face, claw catching his cheek in a startling line of pain. Akira returns the favor by wrenching his captured wrist, twisting it until Akechi yelps, yanking himself up and off Akira. He lets go of the wrist so he can instead barrel into Akechi’s now exposed chest, headbutting him with the full force of his weight.

They go back down, and finally it’s Akira on top of Akechi. His chest is heaving as he drags in ragged breaths, and he notices Akechi is too. Neither should be doing any of this. Akira’s arms and legs feel a little like jelly at this point, despite the fight being so short. He’s not sure how long they’ll hold up, and honestly? He doesn’t want to keep the fight going.

Rather than enacting further violence against the boy he’d just confessed to (even if the confession had gone unheard), he lets himself drop, using his body weight to still the struggling assassin below him. He’s doing his best to shove Akira off, but he’s getting nowhere, Akira can hardly feel the pressure.

“Stop, just stop,” Akira pants, “I’m still beat from our last fight. Just give me like, a second.” He’s exhausted, sue him. This is his third fight with Akechi today. That’s not even counting the ones required to get to this point. Shido’s stupid ship is crawling with shadows. And the cleaner hadn’t been easy to take down at all.

Akechi goes still, almost too still in fact and blinks up at him, eyes so wide he once again resembles wildlife caught in the beam of oncoming headlights. Akira ignores it in favor of letting his head drop to be pillowed on Akechi’s chest, rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His voice is so much calmer now, genuinely baffled and far less frenzied. Who knew it would take confusing the heck out of Akechi to get him to settle down at last?

“Taking a break,” Akira hums, nuzzling his face further into Akechi’s chest, “I’m rather comfortable here.”

Another ineffectual shove is aimed at him. “Get off.”

Akira shakes his head, feeling Akechi’s suit beneath his cheek, it’s weirdly soft, and he’s so warm. Warm and alive. Despite his best efforts.

Akira had almost lost him. If he’d been a second slower, if he hadn’t caught onto the scheme in time— There is an edge of panic to that thought, one that threatens to make him spiral if he looks at it too long. Instead he focuses on the rapid heartbeat below him, and the grumpy face staring at him, rumpled but no longer mired in fury.

“Nope,” He pops the ‘p’, Joker’s smugness inching its way back into his voice, “I think this is almost the perfect angle to get you to listen.”

He shuffles a bit, so he’s not suffocating Akechi with his full weight, but leaves himself laying half over Akechi’s chest, unworried about a repeat fight starting. There’s little in Akechi’s expression to hint he has any intention of starting another scuffle.

Once he’s settled, he decides that this angle is just right. Akira pillows his arms under his chin and grins at the other boy. The action makes his cheek hurt a little as the grin pulls at his new cut, not that it really matters. He has more important things to worry about, like how Akechi’s right there, quiet, baffled, and a little angry. Hopefully Akira can fix that.

“Now then. I was telling you something before you decided to pick fight over flight when I scared you. Not that I blame you, you can’t really run, not with a bulkhead door blocking the only good exit.”

Confusion turns into a death glare. That is also fine. Akira knows it for what it is: a defense mechanism.

He evens out his tone, so he can assure Akechi he’s serious. “I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier. I’m sorry. All this has been a lot to handle, way too much for one day. But I need to clear something up before we go any further.”

Akechi’s glare slips. There’s fear on his face now, not open. Not like it had been when he hadn’t been able to stop it. This is guarded, hesitant. Like he’s trying to shield hope with a lie and it’s not quite working.

Akira sits up a little so he can reach a hand out and cup Akechi’s cheek. He keeps the other clearly folded under his chin promising that there will be no surprise knives this time. “I don’t hate you.” Every bit of tenderness, and yearning he’s felt for Akechi over the course of their relationship slips into his voice as he makes the next part clearer than he had the first time, “I love you, you idiot.”

Akechi’s mouth drops open in a little ‘o’. It’s terribly cute. And Akira gets to lay there watching the gears in his brain turn and turn, all the puzzle pieces slotting into place as he decides just what he’d like to do with this information.

He loves that it’s what he’s said that has caused Akechi to short circuit like this. He wants to find all the ways to make his mind race, make it go blank. Wants to figure out everything about the person in front of him, and make sure he never has to have a day like today again. Especially now that they’re past betrayal and anger. With all the nasty truths laid bare between them, he thinks he will have the chance to learn all those things.

It doesn’t take long, Akechi’s sharp as a tack, and decisive to boot. He pushes himself up on his elbows, upsetting Akira’s comfortable position. Not that he’s got the brain to think about that at all, because the next moment it’s Akechi who’s closed the gap between them, lips crashing against Akira’s. Totally forgoing words in favor of actions.

And oh. The cognition had nothing on the real Goro Akechi. He tastes like sweat and coffee and the sharp iron of blood. The cognition hadn’t tasted like anything. He’d been fierce and angry, but ultimately intangible. His Akechi is a burning fire, roaring, and alive.

His kiss is like iron too, molten and eager to meld itself into Akira. It’s mean, peppered with a hundred little bites as he drags his canines against Akira’s lips, his teeth nipping at him. His hands reach up, one to grip Akira’s arm and pull him closer, the other to rake through his hair. The pinpricks from his claws scrape lightly against his skull and send a shiver down Akira’s spine.

Akira does his best to catch up with the lead Akechi has, but kissing Goro Akechi is a little like drowning in the ocean. All encompassing and vast. Except he doesn’t want to come up for air. Not with the way Akechi presses into Akira, eagerly slipping his tongue between his lips when he squeezes one Akira’s arm hard enough the claws prick pain, making him gasp. His hands scramble to just hold onto Akechi, one staying where he’d put it against his cheek, the other pressing deeply into his chest, fingers wadding up his suit in a desperate grip.

He devours Akira, like he can’t get enough of him. Like he needs him, like he will die if he stops. Except, he does, pulling away to scowl at him, before he bites at Akira’s lips again, so forceful he draws blood.

He loses himself to it, hands shifting to wrap around his neck, eyes closing so he can feel everything. It’s the kiss of someone who has had and lost and has again. Of second chances and bitter irony.

Akechi pulls back after his mask bumps against Akira’s one too many times, jarring them. He rips both masks off, flinging them off who knows where. Akira blinks down at him, lost in how hungry Akechi’s gaze is. He’s stalled so long Akechi growls, deep and possessive, surging up to flip them again.

And wow. This angle is even better. Akira has daydreamed about kissing Akechi so many times and yet the reality is so much better than anything he could come up with. It’d be picture perfect if Akechi’s hair was loose. He reaches a tentative hand up as those wine red eyes stare down at him. Akechi lets him push the rest of his helmet back, freeing his hair to fall forward in a curtain around them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Akira’s voice might be hoarse already, but it’s also filled with awe.

He leans up to restart the kiss, taking the lead this time. He is gentle where Akechi was fierce, pouring every ounce of his adoration into the action. Each shift, sigh, and every release is only so he can pepper kisses across Akechi’s forehead, cheek, and the corner of his mouth, then catch his lips again is a promise. His solemn vow that he’s not going to leave. That he cherishes everything Goro Akechi is, was, and will be.

Something warm and wet drips against his cheek, and another, raindrops in a room that should be water tight. Akira pulls back, then reaches a hand up, thumb brushing at the tears under one of Akechi’s eyes.

“Sorry,” Akira murmurs, “It’s a lot. I know.”

It’s like he’s given Akechi the permission he needs to let everything out. Tears run faster down his face, his nose getting red almost instantly the color racing across his cheeks. Akira’s brain registers that Akechi is most certainly an ugly crier, and decides that’s one of the best things he’s learned all day before it hits him; he should do something to fix this.

He scoots back, out from under Akechi to sit up properly, and drags his rival into his chest. Akechi lets himself fall, curling into Akira as he offers sanctuary from the tidal wave of emotions crashing through him. He wraps his arms around him, and holds him close.

Akechi’s tears don’t last very long. Akira thinks he should have let himself go longer, but Akechi has never been one to fully let go of anything in his life. Especially his composure. With earlier today being the exception (one Akira can’t even fault him for). Still, he doesn’t bother to move from where he’s resting against Akira, half in his lap, head pillowed on his chest. He lays there, and breathes, shuddering every so often, his eyes so heavy Akira’s surprised he’s still awake.

After a moment he speaks up, voice quiet, face still buried against Akira. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Akira says, altering his hold a little to tangle his fingers in Akechi’s hair. It’s smooth and silky. Akira wants to get to know every strand intimately. To learn what it looks like without hours of preparation, messy and tousled from sleep. He pulls his fingers through, and then runs his hand through again, soothing motions even and slow.

Akechi sighs into him, shifting a little so his cheek is against Akira’s chest. He’s fighting exhaustion, eyes blinking the way Akira’s watched toddlers do when they refuse to give into the sleep they so desperately need.

“Hey,” Akira prompts.

Akechi’s eyes look at him at last. He looks ready to drop. That vibrant red is dazed, pain clouding the usual clear color. All Akira wants to do is get him home. Just as soon as that stupid door opens. For now, he’ll settle for getting Akechi to sleep.

Akira smiles, gentle, full of love. “You can rest now, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

A look passes over Akechi’s face, surprised for a moment, and then he smiles, not as wide as Akira’s, something tiny, full of hope. He lets his eyes drift closed at last, and drops the rest of his guard.