#akira would be very flattered lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

salexectrian-heir · 3 years

Text

messages from last night update

chapter below the cut | ao3 link

✧ Oracle ✧

SEPT 1ST 4:57 AM

[Joker] Hi

[Joker] Story time

[✧ Oracle ✧] i see yusuke returned ur phone

[Joker] Aha, yeah. After swearing on my life I would not make any more poor life choices

[Joker] I assume that was your doing

[✧ Oracle ✧] ur welcome

[Joker] Hmm well I might not have sworn hard enough

[✧ Oracle ✧] ???

[Joker] bet you 500 yen you can’t guess where I woke up this morning (without hacking my location)

[✧ Oracle ✧] oh god akira… jail?

[✧ Oracle ✧] again??!

[Joker] No

[Joker] Better

[✧ Oracle ✧] !!?

[Joker] On the catwalk of the auditorium

[✧ Oracle ✧] BRUH

[✧ Oracle ✧] didnt yusuke like walk u home???

[Joker] He did

[Joker] I just didn’t stay home after

[✧ Oracle ✧] (-_-;)・・・

[✧ Oracle ✧] but don’t they lock up the buildings at night….

[Joker] ...

[✧ Oracle ✧] also i’m p sure catwalks are at least fifteen meters in the air??

[Joker] ...

[Joker] I am surprisingly still very dexterous while intoxicated

[✧ Oracle ✧] o m g

[✧ Oracle ✧] what possessed u to sneak out of the dorm, pick a lock, scale scaffolding, and fall asleep on a metal beam is / literally / beyond me

[Joker] Me too, It's all very...fuzzy after getting back to the dorms

[Joker] Maybe I was a cat in a past life

[✧ Oracle ✧] cat!kira

[✧ Oracle ✧] congrats u now have a fursona to add to your growing list of ‘sonas

[Joker] Cat!kira go prrr?

[✧ Oracle ✧] HAHAH a self-drag?

[✧ Oracle ✧] Someone truly is hungover and regretting his life choices

[Joker] Jokes aside, all that flexibility training I did in hs apparently paid off

[Joker] I have no new bruises or injuries that I am aware of so I made it up in one piece. Somehow.

[✧ Oracle ✧] wait hold up I thot all that “training” u’d say u were doing was just like horny akira code for “going to mess around with Sumi after school”

[✧ Oracle ✧] don’t tell me u actually were doing gymnastics with her that whole time

[Joker] Okay

[✧ Oracle ✧] ????

[Joker] You literally just told me not to tell you

[✧ Oracle ✧] but was i right?! i NEED to kno if i was right

[Joker] Haha yes and no

[Joker] We did both

[Joker] is typing...

[✧ Oracle ✧] oKAY OKAY OKAY NO DETAILS (SAVE THOSE FOR ANN)

[✧ Oracle ✧] JUST CONFIRMATION THANK U next

[Joker] You have written fanfic more explicit than anything I could ever tell you I’ve done, AND I PROOF READ IT FOR YOU

[✧ Oracle ✧] ヽ(•//д//•)ノ [ok true]

[✧ Oracle ✧] but

[✧ Oracle ✧] ヽ(•̀//д//•́)ノ

[Joker] Ik Ik, I’m teasing. I won’t corrupt your virginal ears

[✧ Oracle ✧] /anyway/ people r gonna be mad jealous when they find out u dated an olympic gymnast

[Joker] She wasn’t one when we dated though so technically I didn’t

[Joker] She found out she qualified shortly before we went back to being just friends

[Joker] I think we’re both much happier this way

[✧ Oracle ✧] Obviously. you still talk to her??

[Joker] Yeah

[Joker] We caught up before the semester started

[Joker] She said she was nervous, but that’s to be expected when you’re on the global stage. Aside from that she’s fitting in really well with her new teammates. She just wishes Kasumi could have been a part of it

[✧ Oracle ✧] </3

[Joker] Yeah :( </3

[Joker] But she’s good

[Joker] Still calls me senpai though...which idk how to feel about that

[✧ Oracle ✧] lol its ~cute~

[Joker] Hmm leaning towards don’t think so

[✧ Oracle ✧] “oh ~senpai~ you’ll still watch me compete in the olympics on TV right?”

[Joker] ...did you listen in on the call

[✧ Oracle ✧] no

[Joker] “no,” she lied like a liar (I know you still have my phone bugged damn it)

***

The Phantom Thieves of Cats

SEPT 1ST 5:01 AM

[✧ Oracle ✧] *kicks down the door to the thieves den*

[✧ Oracle ✧] INARI U FAILED

[✧ Oracle ✧] GUESS WHERE AKIRA IS

[✧ Oracle ✧] (hint: not where he’s supposed 2 be)

[Fox] Preposterous! He was safely returned to his dorm room. I personally put him to bed.

[Panther] you stayed over in their dorm room Fox… isn’t he in there w/you??

[Fox] is typing...

[Fox] Ah. It appears that I am in his bed and Akira is indeed missing. I was on the floor when we went to sleep. I have no recollection of this transfer.

[Fox] I have awoken Ryuji but all he has done is throw his possessions at me in an attempt to silence my “pestering” so I do not think he will be of any help in this situation.

[Joker] Don’t bother with him Fox. He isn’t responsive until at least 9am after a night out.

[Joker] Also, why aren’t the rest of you sleeping?

[Panther] Joker! you’re alive!!! are you okay???????

[Joker] Define okay

[✧ Oracle ✧] *cackles*

[Panther] where are you?!?

[Joker] You aren’t going to guess?

[Panther] jail?

[Fox] Please let it not be true your detective arrested you last night, and you are suffering in incarceration as we type.

[Joker] Why is jail everyone’s first guess? I was only arrested once!

[Joker] Fuck

[Joker] Also, he is not “my” detective

[Fox] is typing…

[✧ Oracle ✧] u sure about that

[Joker] Oh no

[✧ Oracle ✧] pls reread our messages from last night

[Joker] Oh GOD

[✧ Oracle ✧] *cackles louder*

[✧ Oracle ✧] i can’t wait to hear what inari is about to dish out

[Panther] wait what did akira say to you @ ✧ Oracle ✧?!

[Joker] Futaba please *softly* don’t

[Fox] Last night I had to relieve you of your phone before you texted the detective prince incriminating evidence of your state of inebriation and infatuation. You were adamant that you had to send him a picture of a cat as a token of your feelings, which I objected as the image you selected was not flattering of the cat. I may have just met you a few days ago, so please tell me if I am overstepping my bounds, but I do not think sending hideous pictures of cats is a wise way of winning over this man’s affections.

[✧ Oracle ✧] pls show us the picture he wanted to send

[Fox]

[Panther] Hahahah oh akira

[✧ Oracle ✧]

[Joker] …

[Joker] I’ll be staying at this undisclosed location until further notice

[Panther] no Akira!!! seriously where are you??

[Joker] the_view_is_nice.image

[Panther] :O

[Panther] how did you get up that high???

[✧ Oracle ✧] gymnastics training

[Panther] huh? i didn’t know you were a gymnast Akira!!

[✧ Oracle ✧] im sure he’ll tell u all about it now

[Joker] -____-

[Fox] I cannot believe I failed my first mission as the Chosen One.

[✧ Oracle ✧] i can

[Fox] is typing…

[Panther] @ ✧ Oracle ✧!!!!!!

[✧ Oracle ✧] kek

[Fox] I am an utter disgrace to this friendship. How can I even call this a friendship when I have done nothing but leech from the kindness you all have bestowed upon me. How will I ever be able to show my face among you, those whom I have failed. I must atone for the shame I have wrought.

[Joker] You didn’t fail @ Fox, and you are not a disgrace. It was my fault. I was the shitty friend in this situation. I’ll make it up to everyone, and to you Fox. I’ll think of something.

[Fox] Food would suffice.

[Joker] Dinner for a week it is.

[Fox] Delightful!

[Panther] wow he got over that fast

[✧ Oracle ✧] welcome to being friends with Inari, the path of forgiveness is through his stomach

***

✧ Oracle ✧

SEPT 1st 5:07 AM

[Joker] Slight problem

[Joker] I actually have no idea how to get down

[✧ Oracle ✧] u really r part f*cking cat

***

Regrettably, some of his life choices last night did him no favors.

Mistakes had been made. Limits and Lessons had been learned. Unfortunately the hard way.

After miraculously finding a way down off the catwalk without injury into his dorm shower and a fresh set of clothes, Akira managed to show up for his opening shift at Big Bang Blends ten minutes early.

Haru took one look at him when he slinked into the kitchen and immediately said, “Oh dear.”

Akira spun a damp curl around his finger. “That bad, huh?”

“Uhm.” Haru offered him a wobbling, pitiful smile. “You kind of look like how I would imagine a cat that got caught outside in the rain might feel.”

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle and wandered over to the apron rack. “Fair comparison.” Selecting his off its hook, he pulled it over his head. “I’d add on that the cat also got stuck in a tree and developed a splitting migraine.”

“I know just the thing that’ll sort you out!” Haru hovered over to Akira’s side. “Whenever I--” she paused, considering her words with a finger to her lip, “overindulge,” she settled on with a giggle, “I’ll make myself a cup of my special tea. It instantly clears my head and calms my stomach.”

Akira’s stomach rolled unpleasantly. “ Special tea ?”

Haru nodded vigorously. “It works like a charm! And I’m not just saying that because I drink it, I have a friend--well, I might be overstepping if I were to call him that, we aren’t that close,” Haru sighed, “but I make it for him too when he occasionally stumbles in here in a similar state.”

“Do I want to know what’s in it?” he asked hesitantly.

Haru beamed brightly at him. “No.”

Akira groaned.

“I promise it’ll work,” Haru said, wandering out of the kitchen and over to her collection of loose leaf teas that were displayed in clear, sealed jars behind the counter. She called back to him, “You’ll perk up in no time!”

He gave her a weak thumbs up.

Picking up the task list from the side of the walk in freezer, he resigned himself to his fate of ingesting whatever the fuck concotion Haru was going to feed him. It couldn’t have been worse than what he drank last night. In all honesty, he would have been feeling way, way, worse if Yusuke hadn’t convinced him to drink so much water when they got back. Akira would like to think the fact he wasn’t curled up on the floor in the fetal position on the cafe floor was also thanks in part to the Amazake he had chosen to drink the night prior too. But the thought of the non-alcoholic sake made his stomach churn harder so he stopped that train of thought immediately, and focused on setting up the dining area. His head felt like it weighed five pounds heavier than it usually did, which made moving it a bit of a hassle, but he had the opening sheet to finish before the cafe opened and he’d damn himself if he didn’t deliver.

What his stomach did seem safe to think about was luck stats, and that maybe Futaba was onto something when she had made that off hand comment in their chat last night. Akira was incredibly lucky to have landed two bosses ( three if he counted Sojiro but the man was more like a father than he ever was a boss) who cared more about his well being as a person than as a source of cheap labor. Watching Haru make his tea as he flipped chairs down off the tables only amplified his guilt of showing up before her utterly and unmistakably hungover.

Being the sloppy friend did not sit well with Akira.

He swore to himself as he pushed in the last chair he took down that this was the first and last time he ever did anything as stupid and irresponsible as he did last night. Not to mention, his luck wouldn’t last if he kept this up. He’d make it up to everyone somehow, and Haru in particular now. He wouldn’t let his current state impact his work.

And once he stopped feeling like dogshit and could form a coherent argument, he was going to have a long, hard talk with whichever one of his personas decided it would be great fucking idea to drink so much, scale the interior of the theatre, and fall asleep on a steel beam no greater than sixty centimeters in width. Because honestly, what the fuck ?

Even In high school, his “peak stupidity” years, he hadn’t done anything as dumb as this.

Okay, well, that was a lie.

He had done a lot of stupid, often illegal things (see: petty theft, breaking and entering) in high school that to him, had been justified. He was quite gifted at stealing and knew his way around a lock with professional proficiency, and he had gotten away with it unscathed for a very long time.

Except for the whole getting arrested and put on probation thing , which ironically had been for a crime he didn’t actually commit.

“It’s ready!”

“Thanks, Haru.”

Akira swung by the to-go counter reaching for the mystery tea waiting for him and continued on.

After thirty minutes of sipping on whatever miracle cure Haru brewed as he checked off the morning set up tasks, it fucking kicked in. The mind fog and nausea disappeared almost entirely, settling his stomach enough that he was able to keep down some Advil and melon pan with Haru for breakfast. Akira could handle the headache until the medicine took over.

He just couldn’t move too fast or too sudden (Akira was still a little too off balance for that), or turn his neck sharply (thanks to what he had drunkenly decided to use as a pillow the night before). But he powered through it as he set about stocking the various coffee beans in their containers.

The last item on the task sheet they completed together. Prepping the food items for the pastry case with all of the baked goods Haru had made the night before. In addition to mochi, goma dango, and other pastries one would expect to enjoy with tea and coffee, there was always some kind of cake. Meticulously and lovingly decorated, sliced by hand that Haru showcased in her cake display. Today’s selection was a daring one, a pink lemonade cake with delicately applied ombre pink frosting and topped with candied lemon slices that were evenly spaced, each sitting on an artful dollop of whipped white icing.

“Did you want to try a piece, Akira-kun?”

Akira glanced over from where he was sliding a tray of nerikiri into the case. A plate with a modest slice was being extended to him. Eyeing the color up close, his stomach protested. Apparently still a little too hungover to test the limits of his digestive tract with such an extravagant confection.

“It looks amazing, but I think I’ll stick to the melon pan this time Haru.”

“I can always save it for la--”

A sharp series of knocks interrupted their conversation.

From his position squatting on the floor, he checked the time on his phone. There were still five minutes until the cafe officially opened for the day. Haru had warned him there were always a few people who showed up early and failed to read the sign.

“I’ll get it,” Akira sighed, sliding the door of the pastry case shut. “You finish with the cake. I’ll handle our impatient caffeine addict.”

“Oh don’t worry the cake’s all done, I just cut the last slice.” Haru waved Akira off. “I can get him.”

Him?

He hastily straightened up, brushing a few stray sugary crumbs off his apron and immediately looked over at the entrance. Every muscle in his body seized up. Waiting outside the glass doors was one impeccably dressed and restless looking Akechi Goro. Akechi rolled his shoulder, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag while he checked his phone.

The message Akira sent Akechi last night intrusively echoed in his head the moment the former detective looked up and locked eyes with him. Pocketing his phone into his suit jacket (it had to be custom fit, because there was no way it could have cut his figure that well without tailoring), he lifted his chin ever so slightly. Akechi’s expression twisted wickedly into something that short circuited Akira’s brain.

Oh.

Fuck .

A war waged between two primal instincts in Akira’s body at the sight, the overwhelming urge to run in the face of danger clashing with a tidal wave of lust. The rush coursed through his veins, freezing him in place. Much like prey that had been cornered, his heart began to thrash against his ribs.

Akechi’s grin was sharp and salacious, a stark contrast to the innocent and winsome smile that the T.V. ready Prince so often wore. Akira didn’t know him all that well (... yet ), but God , that smile just seemed to suit Akechi so much better.

Akira got to witness this side of Akechi knowing it was reserved for only him for about two whole seconds before Akechi’s face changed, shifting into his composed, manufactured doll-like mask when Haru made it over to let him in.

The transformation gave Akira something pretty close to whiplash.

Really arousing whiplash.

“Good morning Akechi-san,” she greeted him, holding the door open with a warm smile.

“And same to you, Okumura-san,” he returned politely, stepping past her and into the cafe proper. “Pardon my early arrival, I have quite the busy day planned unfortunately and was hoping to get a jump start.” He brushed aside a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes with a gloved hand. “I hope your morning has been going well.”

“It’s barely started,” Akira muttered, reaching for a to-go cup to start Akechi’s order to busy himself with so he wouldn’t stare at the breathtakingly handsome man in front of him. His heart needed a break already.

Instead of writing Akechi’s name, he doodled a pair of handcuffs with the bold letters A and G within the negative space in each cuff (Akira admired his work for a brief moment and thought Yusuke would be proud). He marked the drink as a caramel latte, recalling what Haru had put down on his cup yesterday. Then proceeded to make a pour over instead.

Haru flipped the sign to open, and then said, “Very well, so far! I tried out a new cake recipe, you have to try it.”

Akechi laughed, and Akira’s stomach clenched--but this time in an all too pleasant way. Akira diverted his attention from grinding the beans for his drink to watch the detective ( Fuck! ) The sound was light and lyrical, and after what Akira witnessed… sounded totally out of place coming out of the same mouth that had held that smug, voracious grin a moment ago.

“As much as I would love to, I must decline. I cannot get into the habit of having cake for breakfast.”

“Then you must take a slice with you!” Haru walked past him and over to her cake display, lifting the glass lid and taking a piece out.

“Alright, if you insist,” Akechi conceded, coming to a stop in front of Akira, who moved on to scooping the grounds into the damp filter. The proximity made it near impossible to keep his eyes off the detective, but Akira somehow managed it, forcing himself to pay attention to his pour.

“Actually, would you mind if I borrowed your barista for a moment, Okumura-san?”

Akira snapped his head up from his preparations and met Akechi’s eyes once more ( God damnit! ). Which was a really dumb idea as a shock of pain spiked down his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from wincing.

A dangerous glint appeared in that maroon gaze that catapulted Akira’s thundering heart into his throat.

“Is he in trouble?” Haru peered over her shoulder from where she was packing a bright pink slice of cake into a to-go container.

“He might be,” Goro murmured just loud enough for Akira to hear, then broke their eye contact to address Haru, “I assure you, nothing of the sort.” He smiled that infuriatingly fake smile at her, complete with an innocent tilt of his head. “I just need to ask him a few questions, in private.”

Haru shot Akira a questioning stare, Do you need me to say no?

He shrugged nonchalantly, or as nonchalantly as someone who was having a very intense internal meltdown over an insanely attractive man could, and said, “It’s fine, Haru.” He continued to pour the scalding water in a circular motion over the coffee grounds in the filter, doing his best to quiet all the alarm bells in his head.

His response must have come off convincingly enough because Haru nodded and said, “Well, I can’t see why that would be a problem.” She hesitantly returned Akechi’s smile. “But I will need him back in a bit when the morning rush hits.”

“This shouldn’t take too long,” Akechi turned and gestured to a table in the corner of the cafe--far away enough from the counter that Haru couldn’t possibly overhear their conversation. Then under his breath he added, “As long as Kurusu-kun doesn’t resist, that is.”

Akira cleared his throat, willing his throbbing heart to drop back into its cage between his ribs. “Go on, I”ll join you when I’m finished.”

Akechi nodded, leaving the yen for his coffee on the counter and sauntered away. Akira topped off the pour over and transferred the liquid into the to-go cup. On his way around the counter he snagged what was left of his miracle tea and took a swig. He hoped it would replenish his mental reserves to handle the upcoming verbal sparring match he was sure he was about to walk into.

Akechi, in his immaculate glory, was leaning back in his chair languidly with one dark clad leg crossed. He watched Akira closely as he wandered over with their drinks. Akira suddenly felt incredibly out classed and underdressed in his usual cardigan-v neck combo he had going on compared to Akechi’s tan suit jacket and pressed button down shirt.

He slid into the seat opposite Akechi and pushed his coffee across the table. Akechi nodded in thanks and brought it to his lips.

Akira pretended he didn’t watch the way Akechi’s throat moved as he swallowed his first sip.

The detective hummed approvingly. “Black.”

“The way you actually like it,” Akira said with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Is it now,” Akechi chuckled darkly against the lid still pressed to his lips. “Sadly, my coffee preferences are the extent of where your knowledge of me ends.”

In the tenuous silence that descended after that statement, they sipped at their respective drinks. Gazes not once wavering off one another.

“I assume you know why I’m here,” Akechi finally said, cutting the tension.

“When I said ‘come get me ’ I didn’t mean ‘corner me at work ’,” Akira hissed over his cup of miracle tea.

He could think of many other, far more superior places he would have loved to be cornered by Akechi in. But Akira kept that part to himself.

The detective leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “You do realize if this were a real investigation and I caught you as unaware as you were this morning, you being at work with your Boss present wouldn’t have deterred me.”

Akira stole a glance at Haru, who was busy writing the specials of the day on their blackboard, then drained the rest of his tea.

Akechi followed his gaze and continued on in a saccharine tone that contradicted the alluring smile his mouth had split into again, “But since it’s not, I highly doubt you want an audience for when I bend you over the counter and take what I want from you.”

Akira promptly choked.

Any lingering doubt Akira may have had about Akechi’s preferences evaporated. Akechi knew exactly what he was saying. He had to have, right? There was no heterosexual explanation for that response.

Point to Akechi, he thought, accepting the fact his face was probably as red as the flowering plant hovering three inches above his head.

“How considerate,” Akira managed to rasp once he got his tea to go down his throat correctly. Swallowing burned like a bitch. Now he had to deal with a sore throat on top of the rebellion being staged by his heart and stomach, and the leftover vertigo from his hangover.

“Will you hand it over now?” the detective asked with a hint of sugar coated venom.

“Hate to disappoint, but you’ll be walking away empty handed this morning. I left it in my room.”

Which wasn’t a lie. In his haste to recover from last night’s escapade and get to work on time, he hadn’t thought to grab the handkerchief. The last thing he expected was this.

“I think you’re sending me mixed signals.”.

“Am I?”

“You tell me you want one thing, then act like you didn’t expect it to come to fruition when I follow through on it so I’m curious,” Akechi titled his head and his hair shifted, shining ethereally in the early morning sun streaming through the window. “What is it you really want, Kurusu?”

For you to fuck my brains out, Akira thought. But admitting that so bluntly to Akechi’s face felt like defeat. So, he kept the stupid illusion of their game going and leaned in.

“I want to see if the Detective Prince is really as good at his job as the rumors say he is.” Akira mirrored the detective’s head tilt and offered him a crooked grin. “I won’t be that easy.”

“If you want me to physically remove it from your person, then I must insist from this point forward you carry it with you. If every time I corner you, you… aren’t ready,” Akechi’s smile grew wider, “then doesn’t that defeat the purpose? And unlike you it seems, my time and attention is limited.”

“Rude.” Akira mimicked the detective’s posture, dropping his chin into his palm. “My time is limited too. I just can’t have you stalking me at work. And--” what Akira really meant to say next was , I cannot possibly work and retain my sanity with you watching me like that all the time. But instead said, “--Think of Okumura-san’s business. You’ll scare away her customers.”

Akechi shot him an unimpressed look. “Somehow I highly doubt that.”

Wow. Cocky bastard.

"Well,” Akira said, changing tactics by imbuing a little bit of truth, “I imagine you can relate to not wanting to be distracted at work, with your fans and all.”

“They can be...rather inconvenient at times, yes.” Akechi studied him intently. “Alright then. Let’s make a deal.”

“Making a deal with the enemy? Akechi,” Akira feigned a gasp, “don’t tell me you’re a dirty cop.”

The detective snorted into his coffee. “I’m going to choose not to entertain that comment and suggest we establish some ground rules.”

“I thought rules didn’t exist in investigations,” Akira said mischievously.

“Like I previously stated, good thing this isn’t one, then?”

They shared a private smile.

“I propose this,” Akechi said, straightening up, hands clasped on the table. “From this point on, you will carry it on your person. I will catch you off guard within the next two weeks and take back what is rightfully mine. Our working hours are exempt from this. Obviously, the common spaces in the dormitory will be too by default. Should you ever need me as your RA, that will come first and foremost, I take my duties seriously. As should you. I think you’ll find these terms agreeable and respectful of each other’s time. Unless there are any other locations you want to deem off limits.”

Akira made a show of considering Akechi’s words, tapping a finger against his cheek. This was literally the most drawn out, intellectually charged foreplay Akira had ever engaged in but he couldn’t say it didn’t excite him. In fact, there was something exhilarating about it.

“No. Everywhere else is fair game.”

“Really?” Akechi inquired, grin breaching that rapacious territory again. “Be careful what you agree to, Kurusu.”

Akira shrugged and leaned back.

“So,” Akechi prompted, “you won’t say no, will you?”

Of course he was going to accept. So Akira simply said, “I think I’ll hold on to your handkerchief.” And then held out his hand. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Hah, excellent,” Akechi smiled and shook it firmly. The leather was soft and warm as it dragged against Akira’s palm. “Otherwise, I will be forced to order a room inspection and somehow I doubt that is how you want this to play out.”

“If you are inspecting the room while I’m in it, then I might be.”

Right after the words left his mouth, the logical part of his brain that wasn’t stuck on being hungover and horny on main finally spoke up and reminded him of the very important, expulsion worthy, major cockblock that was currently being housed in his room: Morgana.

But then Akechi’s mouth upturned devilishly, and suddenly Akira decided he’d cross that furry bridge when he got to it.

“Well, then. I must be off. Thank you for the coffee,” Akechi said, dropping Akira’s hand as he stood up. “I have an interview taping in…” he checked his phone and sighed, “just over an hour. Hopefully the trains are on schedule.”

Akira tilted his head. “Still doing those?”

“Yes, keeping up appearances on behalf of the precinct,” Akechi explained, “I may be officially on hiatus as a full time student, but I still pick up cases from time to time. The media wants to know how I balance it all.”

“Ah. Explains the get up.”

Akechi bristled at the comment, his nose wrinkling ( cute! ) and brows drawing down as he straightened his already perfectly straight tie. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Nothing,” Akira teased with a lilt in voice, “It’s nice, maybe a little stuffy.” He deliberately looked Akechi up and down. “But I bet you’d look better out of it, judging by what I saw you wear the last time you showed up here.” He couldn’t fight the coy smile his mouth twisted into even if he tried. “If you’re looking to show off, those shorts from yesterday would do a better job.”

The call out was meant to fluster Akechi, but the detective’s face remained remarkably even toned. Flawless even. Too flawless.

Could he be... he's totally wearing makeup.

Akira lifted a brow pointedly.

That did the trick, earning Akira a heated glare before Akechi turned his head sharply away. The movement roughly shifted the hair around his face, revealing a sliver of skin previously hidden. To Akira’s rapidly dawning delight, the detective’s neck was rapidly turning pink.

“Shut. Up. Kurusu.”

Oh, so Akechi blushes all the way down when he’s flustered. Fascinating. Akira filed the thought away for… later.

For totally innocent purposes.

Totally.

Akira stood up and slipped in front of Akechi, demanding to be looked at. Giddy with his new discovery. “Oh? What’s this? He can dish it out but can’t take it?”

Akechi’s eyes flashed as he brought himself up to his full height, and stepped into Akira’s space. Scowling down the few centimeters he had on him, he forced Akira to take a step back. “You,” he said lowly, continuing to move forward, making Akira walk backwards until his back hit the counter, “are a brat .”

“Just figuring that out now, detective?” Akira smirked. “I thought that was obvious.”

From this close Akira could see just how gorgeous the detective’s eyes truly were. Flecks of light red dotted the center most part of his eyes, giving off the illusion of glittering in the light. He was close enough that if Akira leaned in a fraction more their noses would touch.

A very polite, soft cough came from somewhere on Akira's right.

The detective’s eyes widened in shock. He quickly put space between them again and turned to face Haru, who was standing in between the kitchen and the counter area looking anywhere but at them.

Akira owed her now a second apology.

“I wish both of you a good day,” Akechi gracefully recovered and turned on his heel. He flexed his shoulders as he opened the door but stopped with one foot out the door.

“Oh, and Kurusu-kun?” Akechi turned halfway to face him, “Be sure to check your email this afternoon.”

And then he was gone.

***

It’s Always Snack Time in Tokyo

SEPT 1ST 8:00 AM

[Takuto Maruki] Hello! I was going to wait until I saw you in person, but I can’t resist telling you the good news! I submitted the paperwork to bring on an official research assistant. The chair of the department should grant me an answer by the end of the week. The position is yours once I get the documented approval.

[Takuto Maruki] That is, if you are still interested in conducting research with me like you did over the summer

[Akira Kurusu] I am

[Takuto Maruki] Even more wonderful!

[Akira Kurusu] Won’t it be unethical if you don’t let other people apply for the position though?

[Akira Kurusu] You can’t play favoritism

[Takuto Maruki] I, fortunately, get to make the rules in this situation and I wrote that I could appoint the position to any student that met certain criteria and showed promise in the field

[Akira Kurusu] You literally wrote the position description so that only I fit that criteria, didn’t you

[Takuto Maruki] You would be correct! :D

[Takuto Maruki] So if you’re free and want to get a jump start on assisting, I was hoping to recruit you this upcoming Friday to proctor an exam.

[Akira Kurusu] An exam? The second week of class? Savage Sensei

[Takuto Maruki] It is a 300 level that meets M/W/F so the curriculum moves fast. This cohort in particular is grasping the concepts at a much faster rate than the other two I teach for this course.

[Akira Kurusu] When is it? I open the cafe Friday mornings

[Takuto Maruki] 2pm

[Akira Kurusu] Okay, I can make that work. I’ll be there

[Takuto Maruki] Wonderful! :)

***

The Phantom Thieves of Cats

SEPT 1st 11:12 AM

[Skull] yo i am not back readin any of that

[Skull] wat did i miss?

�� Oracle ✧ Changed Skull to Edgelord Can’t Read

[Edgelord Can’t Read] I CAN EFFIN’ READ!!!

[Edgelord Can’t Read] i said i wasn’t gonna, not that i cant big difference

[Edgelord Can’t Read] ur the one who cant read

[✧ Oracle ✧] wow gr8 comeback edgelord im so offended. what r we 7yrs old

[Edgelord Can’t Read] shuddup

***

Gotta Go Fast

SEPT 1st 11:28 AM

[Skull] BRO A CATWALK?! WTF?!?

[Skull] how the eff did u get down??

[Joker] My amazing cat-like reflexes

[Skull] bro

[Skull] how u feelin btw

[Joker] You know that feeling you get when you’re about to go over the hill on a rollercoaster?

[Joker] Like that

[Skull] oof

[Skull] ill make u my ma’s soup when ur shifts over, its the best for this kinda shit

[Joker] Why is everyone being so understanding with me today

[Skull] were ur friends man we gotchu

[Joker] alsdjflskf

[Skull] uh did the rollercoaster drop or smth

[Joker] Haha no

[Joker] Thanks Ryuji

***

The Phantom Thieves of Cats

SEPT 1st 2:01 PM

[Edgelord Can’t Read] UH HOLY SHIT EVERYONE CHECK UR EMAILS

[Panther] what?? why??

[✧ Oracle ✧] im surprised u even read ur email

[Joker] Oh.

[Joker] Fuck.

***

To: Shujin Hall_5th Floor

From: Akechi Goro; Niijima Makoto

CC: Kawakami Sadayo

Subject: Violation of Dormitory Rules

Dear Fifth Floor Residents of Shujin Hall,

This is a friendly reminder that there is a strict No Pets Policy in this Residence Hall. A contraband item, a can of pet food, was located on the floor inside the trash room on Friday night. As such, we will be conducting room inspections beginning tomorrow, starting with rooms located in the Girls’ Wing. Let this be an example to all that the consequences for violating this rule will be termination of their dormitory agreement and the loss of their on campus housing status. Any additional charges will be determined by the Residence Hall Director, Kawakami Sadayo.

If you have any further information on this subject, please feel free to contact us.

We hope you have a wonderful rest of your weekend.

Sincerely,

Your Resident Assistants

Akechi Goro

University of Tokyo | Class of 20XX Criminal Justice / Psychology Major | Philosophy Minor [email protected]

Niijima Makoto

University of Tokyo | Class of 20XX Criminal Justice Major | Psychology & Law Minor [email protected]

#akeshu #shuake #akeshuake #goro akechi #persona 5 royal #persona 5 #akira kurusu #goro akechi x akira kurusu

17 notes · View notes

vostara · 4 years

Text

hypnophobia — 03

drei — wherever you bite, black scabs grow

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “You should be focusing your attention on me.”

word count: 6.2k+

title inspiration: tarantulas - akira the don, jordan peterson

A quick, special shoutout to my friend Tati for proofreading this chapter for me. Thank you for listening to me cry for a week straight about how much editing needed to get done for this piece lol.

Please read the author’s notes at the end of this chapter! It contains important information regarding a specific aspect explored in this chapter.

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

... | 02 | 03 | 04 | … series masterlist

Beatrix had left the bar, confident that she would be seeing the return of her lipstick in just a couple of days. But each evening, when she approached the front desk of the Continental, she was told that she had not received any mail. And as each day drew to a close, Eli’s patience with her was falling at a steady, but rapid, decline.

During one of their meetings, secluded in the privacy of his hotel room, Eli had backhanded Beatrix across the face. He had yelled at her. He had screamed that she was wasting not only the client’s time, but his time, as well.

What the fuck are you doing?

Beatrix had uttered a simple, I’m handling it, in response.

Eli had not responded favorably to those words. He had snaked his fingers into her hair and tugged at the roots so hard that Beatrix released a small gasp of pain.

Don’t fuck this up, he hissed into her ears.

But as the clock shifts from 11:59pm into 12:00am, Beatrix enters her sixth day awaiting a response from Santino D’Antonio.

She had planted her seed, hadn’t she?

Left a bait that should be too tempting to ignore.

And yet, she had heard absolutely nothing.

It shouldn’t take this long. It had never taken this long before. People were always a little too quick to jump on opportunities of extreme convenience.

But not Santino.

Has he rejected her proposal? Did she actually fuck up this time? Misread his signals?

But he must know that she would be doing him a favor, eliminating Angelo. It would be easy for him to avoid the blame. She would take the fall and no one would even bat an eyelash in Santino’s direction.

Beatrix needed Santino to be squirming in his seat, impatient for the bliss that will arrive after this thorn is finally plucked out of his skin. She needed him to be ready to have this trigger pulled, to have this headache relieved before it has a chance to bloom.

What had she done wrong? What had she left out? Why was he—

A phone rings, pulling Beatrix away from her thoughts.

The woman blinks.

She lifts her head off the back of the plush gray armchair and shifts her eyes away from the popcorn texturing of the white ceiling. Beatrix focuses her stare in the direction of the bedside table, almost entranced by the constant ringing from the hotel’s black phone. The alarm clock sitting beside it displays a glaring red 12:27am.

After the fourth ring, the woman stands up and approaches the phone. She holds it up to her ear. “Hello,” she answers.

“Good evening, Miss Amsler,” a woman responds. “I am so terribly sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night. However, there is a gentleman here and he insists that he must speak with you immediately.”

Beatrix sighs and rolls back her shoulders. “Could you tell me that man’s name?”

A momentary pause of silence.

Finally, a response. “Santino D’Antonio.”

“Tell him that I will be with him shortly,” Beatrix smiles, “and that I will meet him at the bar.”

“Of course, Miss Amsler. Do have a good evening.” The woman hangs up.

Beatrix places the phone back in its proper position and glances at the open doors of her closet.

~ ~ ~

Dressed in a black pant suit that is trimmed with navy edges, a pair of white high heels, and a fresh spritz of perfume, Beatrix approaches the bar just ten minutes after the phone call. At this time of the night, the bar is far from crowded, but there are several lingering patrons. All of whom are focused on individually squashing away their sorrows with sips of fine brandy or shots of smooth vodka.

Upon entering the bar, her eyes dart straight to Santino. The man is sitting at a small table in the center of the room. His fingers circle around the edge of his glass, which contains an untouched serving of bourbon.

Beatrix flicks her gaze away from Santino, to focus on the table behind him. Ares is occupying the space. Her legs are crossed and her left arm is pulled back slightly behind her, resting on top of the chair. Her right hand is placed on the table, allowing her fingers to repeatedly tap against the dark wood.

Her eyes are focused on Beatrix, analyzing every tiny detail. She notes the woman’s breathing patterns. The way her eyes take a sweeping glance to gauge the room. She notices how Beatrix’s first reaction is to ignore Santino, rather than approach him.

The assassin walks towards the bartender and orders herself a glass of Riesling wine.

After he places the requested glass in front of her, she pulls a gold coin out of her pocket and sets it on the bar. Beatrix smiles at the man and wraps her fingers around the stem of the glass. She steps away from the bar and heads directly to Santino’s table.

The man raises his head as she approaches, locking himself in unwavering eye contact.

Beatrix remains quiet, as she pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from the man. She brings the wine glass to her lips and takes a long sip, before placing it on the table.

The corners of her lips are curled downward, marking her face with open confusion. “When I told you to send me the lipstick,” she begins, “I assumed you would understand my hint of discretion.”

Santino lifts his own glass, and takes his first sip of the bourbon.

“Instead,” Beatrix continues, “you choose to come here in the middle of the night. A location crowded with people that are guaranteed to recognize you. And some of those people are likely to recognize me. Does any piece of this scenario indicate a discrete means of contact, Mr. D’Antonio?”

The Camorra man reaches into the right pocket of his navy dress slacks. He pulls out a familiar tube of lipstick and places it in the center of the table. “Beatrix Amsler,” he says, “it is surprisingly difficult to track down any information about you. Your known resume is barely five years old.”

So that had been the reason for delay. A background check.

“You’ve been researching me,” she states. Beatrix picks up the lipstick with her right hand and twirls it between her fingers.

Santino reaches across the table and wraps his fingers around the top of the woman’s left hand. He gently turns it over, exposing the inside of her wrist to him. His eyes dart down towards the area, focusing solely on the black ink that is etched into her skin. A delicate rose, no larger than a half-dollar coin, is tattooed. In the bottom right petal, an “L” blemishes the simplicity.

“I was under the impression that Lilith didn’t allow her girls to seek out their own contracts,” Santino muses.

Beatrix tries to maintain her composure, but she isn’t able to stop her body from instinctively tensing up. She raises her eyes to look at Santino and attempts to ignore the knots forming in her stomach.

“Lilith also cheats her girls out of proper compensation for their work,” she says.

Santino responds with a soft chuckle. “I don’t imagine your boss would be too pleased to hear those words, no?”

Beatrix lowers her gaze back down to her wrist, distracted by the thumb rubbing against her skin. “Do you plan on ratting me out?”

The man shrugs and ignores her question. “Where is your handler?”

Beatrix does not respond.

“I’ve heard that they tend to keep a very close eye on their girls,” Santino continues. “Should I be expecting extra company tonight?”

The woman blinks and then pulls her wrist out of the man’s fingers. “You should be focusing your attention on me.”

“Is he watching?” Santino questions.

“He’s preoccupied.”

Santino retracts his hand back onto his side of the table. He picks up his glass for another sip and then leans back in his seat. “You’ve arranged a distraction?”

“Are you here for business?” Beatrix questions, with a tilt of her head. “I told you that I was interested in your money.”

“You did,” the man agrees.

“Yet, it seems that you’ve only called me here to sate your curiosity.”

Santino leans back towards the woman, pressing an elbow on the table. “Why take the risk?” He asks, after a prolonged silence.

“You’re much more inquisitive than I anticipated,” Beatrix says.

“Lilith despises me.” The man narrows his eyes. “But here you are, pursuing the man that she hates the most.”

“You flatter yourself,” the woman remarks.

Santino’s lip twitches, irritation bleeding through his calm facade. “How do you think she will feel about you, once she finds out?”

“Does it matter?” Beatrix lifts her glass and swirls the liquid inside.

The man quirks an eyebrow, confused.

“I am the one making this decision,” the woman elaborates. “I am the one choosing to help the enemy of the person who keeps me wrapped, oh so tightly, between their fingers.” She stops briefly, to take a sip of her wine. “Life is just boring, without a little risk involved.”

“Are you really this desperate?” Santino rests his glass on the table and inches his body closer to the woman. “Are you truly so bored that you would risk doing something so profoundly stupid?”

The assassin leans forward and laughs in the man’s face. “Do you really care, Santino?”

He pauses, mulling over his response. “Lilith will do more than kill you,” he says. “She will torment you, ruin you, if she finds out.”

“Is that not where the excitement originates from?” The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “The possibility of if? If I get caught, I’ll certainly be terminated,” she pauses, “in a more permanent manner. But if I don’t get caught, I’ve got quite the little secret hidden in my resume.”

Santino takes a moment to ponder her response. He then raises a hand and snaps his fingers.

Movement behind the man causes Beatrix to dart her eyes away from him. She focuses on Ares, whom had risen from her seat. The woman approaches the table and positions herself next to her boss.

“I need Angelo to disappear,” Santino states, “within the next two days.”

Beatrix glances back at the man. “And the price on his head?”

“That depends.”

“Oh?” The woman raises an eyebrow.

From the corner of her eye, she watches as Ares reaches into the pockets of her dark charcoal colored trousers. When she pulls out her hands, her fingers are wrapped around a couple of knives. The very same ones that she had taken from Beatrix, the night they had met. Ares sets the items gently on the table, right in front of the assassin.

“I see that your loyalty to Lilith is,” Santino pauses, “thin, but will the chord be completely snapped?”

Beatrix reaches forward, brushing her fingers against the handles of her beloved weapons. “Do you wish to break it?” She wonders.

The man sighs. “I won’t deny the truth. There is a certain… convenience in having an outsider perform the tasks that neither I, nor the Camorra as a whole, can be associated with. Should you complete this request, I can provide you with more lucrative opportunities.”

The woman smirks. “You’re turning Angelo into a job interview.”

“An employer should always confirm if one’s skills are up to par.”

Beatrix raises her glass of wine and then brings it to her lips. Throwing her head back, she drinks the remaining Riesling. After setting down the glass, she wraps her fingers around her knives, and slips them into her pockets. She rises from the table and, while staring down at Santino, she says, “I look forward to continued employment, Mr. D’Antonio.”

~ ~ ~

Approximately twenty-four hours later, Beatrix is perched on the same stool she had occupied at this bar, just a week prior. With a glass of Pinot Noir gripped in her left hand, her eyes are glued on her target for the evening.

Angelo Ricci.

A man who refuses to blend in with the shadows.

A man who boasts about his status, who flaunts his wealth. The moment he had entered the bar, Beatrix had focused her attention solely on the man. He had waltzed in, dressed in a maroon three-piece suit, a matching tie, and a collection of chunky silver rings decorating his long fingers. He had strolled by her, failing to notice the assassin, and proceeded directly to his reserved booth. Within moments, he was showered with the finest liquor and several women in skimpy outfits.

As the night progressed, the man had grown more disheveled. Brunette hair, that was once pulled up in a neat bun, had escaped from its place to hang loosely around his face. Shot after shot of smooth tequila had warmed his skin and introduced a red flush to his cheeks. His jacket and tie had been discarded, allowing one of his playthings to unbutton his black shirt and expose the artwork inked on his chest. When Angelo had rolled up his sleeves, a smug smile plastered on his face, the women had thrown themselves all over him, cooing at the newly revealed tattoos.

It doesn’t take long for Angelo to notice the woman observing him. When the blonde beside him plants her lips on his neck to place open-mouthed kisses, Angelo makes a point of meeting Beatrix’s stare. A cocky grin sewn on his lips, he winks at her and lifts his fingers to send a small wave.

And even though the blonde’s hands have traveled beneath the table to slide up the man’s leg, Beatrix maintains her pointed gaze. She brings her glass of red wine to her lips and takes a long sip of the liquid.

Angelo chuckles and shoves the woman away from him. He leans back in his seat, laughing, and shoos everyone out of his booth. The man turns to look at one of his guards and gestures for them to approach the table.

The guard leans down towards Angelo. After the boss shouts something into his ear, the guard nods his head and turns his attention to Beatrix.

The woman sighs and chugs the rest of the wine, as the guard draws near. She places her glass on the counter, before giving him her full attention. “Does Angelo wish to play?”

The guard’s expression remains stoic, unamused. “Mr. Ricci would like to speak with you,” he says.

Beatrix hums. She stands up from her seat and brushes by the guard, walking towards the booth.

When the woman is within hearing distance, Angelo exclaims, “My dear sweet Beatrix!”

“Angelo,” Beatrix responds, with a slight tilt of her head.

The man raises his arms and drapes them beside him, across the tops of the booth. “Come on, baby, relax. Have a seat.” He nods at the empty space on his left side. “It’s been awhile since you’ve spent time in this city.”

Beatrix slides into the booth, sitting just close enough for Angelo’s left hand to brush against her right shoulder. “I was here last week,” she pouts, “but you ignored me.”

“Really?” He enquires. “Not sure how I could have missed you.”

“You were probably too busy,” the woman shrugs, “being a prick.”

Angelo grins. “You’re still upset with me.”

A pause, then, “I’m disappointed.”

“Babe, it’s been, what, five years?”

Beatrix places her forearms on the table and leans into them. “Four years and seven months, actually.”

“You counting the days, too?”

The woman blinks. “Thirteen.”

Angelo smirks and lowers his fingers, rubbing them against the woman’s shoulder. “You are definitely still pissed.”

Beatrix responds with silence.

“Why are you so upset, huh?” The man frowns. “It was all just business, right? You? Me? All of those fun nights between the sheets? Everything was a fucking business transaction.”

The woman turns her head to glare at him. “You fucking shot me.”

“Oh, baby,” Angelo smiles again. “But you’re still alive, ain’t you? Still fucking breathing and shit. Life must feel fantastic, compared to the alternative.”

“Yeah, fantastic.” Beatrix rolls her eyes and shifts her gaze away from him.

One of the bartenders approaches the booth. In one hand, he holds a bottle of champagne. In the other, he carries two glass flutes. Carefully, the man places the glasses on the table. A moment later, he pops the cork off of the bottle and pours the liquid into the flutes. With a nod of his head, the bartender places the bottle on the table, before making a brisk walk back to the bar.

Angelo lifts his arms from the booth and reaches for the glasses. He slides one of them towards Beatrix.

The woman hesitates, and then reaches out for it.

“I mean, it’s gotta be, right? Must be full of some wild fucking shit, if it’s got you waltzing right back into Romano territory.” The man smiles and raises his glass for a toast. “That was one of the hottest things about you. You did whatever you fucking wanted to, babe. Just bat those pretty lashes of yours and you’ve got everyone wrapped around your tiny fucking fingers.”

“It worked on you,” Beatrix comments.

“Might have worked a little too well.” Angelo takes a sip of champagne.

“Not well enough, considering the bullets you sent my direction.”

Angelo shrugs, brushing off her comment. “I missed your vital organs,” he responds.

Beatrix shifts her eyes towards the man. As she raises her own glass to her lips, she notes that Angelo’s eyes are focused on her wrist tattoo.

“Lilith’s rose is untouched,” he says. “You still one of her girls?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

The man gives a slight nod of his head. “I’m surprised the bitch hasn’t killed you, yet.”

Beatrix chuckles and sets her glass on the table. “It’s just a matter of time, really.”

Angelo wraps his hand around the woman’s right arm and tugs her towards him. Using his free hand, he reaches for her and tucks soft strands of her hair behind an ear. The motion exposes a large sapphire gemstone, dangling from a delicate gold chain. “Eli still has you chained up,” he mutters.

The woman inches closer to Angelo, briefly brushing her nose against his. “I doubt that anyone else would want to take me.”

Angelo shakes his head. “Baby, they want you. They just don’t want to start a war that they can’t win. Everyone knows you’re his favorite.”

Beatrix hums.

Angelo presses his hand against her throat, gently grasping onto the soft skin. “Does he know that you’re here?”

Silence. The woman’s eyes shift away from him.

But he’s persistent. “Then what are you doing here?”

Beatrix closes her eyes and sighs into his touch. “Visiting an old fling,” she says.

His grip against her neck tightens. “I’d hardly consider us a fling. You were nothing more than a whore, pretending to love me. I may not have paid you for those countless nights in my bed, but someone else was.”

The woman releases a soft gasp and wraps her hand around the man’s wrist. When he loosens his grip, she says, “Many of those nights were of my own choice. I wasn’t being paid for all of the fun we had.”

“Is that why Eli hates me so much?”

Beatrix smiles. “No, he just thinks you’re an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

The man chuckles and pulls his hand away from her. “Beatrix, you didn’t come all the way to Chicago, just to see me, the man who shot you.”

“I was told to leave New York for a little while,” she says.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the end of October.”

“Clearly,” Angelo scoffs, “you weren’t really missing me that much. Not if it took you nearly two months to get on the damn train.”

“I was,” Beatrix pauses, “seeing someone.”

The man leans back against the booth. “For work or pleasure?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Things didn’t really work out.”

Angelo takes a sip of champagne, examining the woman. “What did you do?”

Beatrix takes the glass away from the man and sets it on the table. She slides herself closer to him and leans in to whisper into his ear. “I shoved a knife straight into his pathetic beating heart.”

“Are you here to kill me?” He grins.

Beatrix moves her hand, resting it against the man’s thigh. “Do you want to find out?”

~ ~ ~

Before the door of the apartment is able to slam shut, Angelo is busy shoving the heavy black coat off of the woman in his arms. His hands dig themselves into her waist, before snaking behind her to tug at the zipper of her ruby dress. The straps slide off of her shoulders and the material descends to the floor. With a hand against her chest, Angelo slams the woman against the black wall. He smiles, as he leans down to capture her already swollen pink lips with his own.

Beatrix slides her hands up the man’s torso, fingers fumbling as she attempts to unbutton his shirt. She sighs into the bruising kiss, and for a single moment, she is able to forgive Angelo for his retaliation against her. The bliss of his lust clouds her memories of the excruciating pain she suffered. Clouds the memories of when the doctor had shoved his tools into her stomach, rushing to dig out the bullet lodged within. She forgets how she had cried until her throat was raw. How even though tears had blurred her vision, she could still see and feel the utter disappointment radiating from Lilith. And how Lilith had ignored the woman's screamed apologies for her failure, ignored her pleas for the anesthesia, that the pain would kill her, that she couldn’t take it anymore, help me please, help—

Angelo pulls his lips away from her, opting to dig his teeth into the crook of her neck.

The woman releases a surprised gasp and melds her body into his. Hoping to accelerate the pace, she rips open his shirt. The remaining buttons scatter across the floor, creating a mess that goes ignored by the distracted couple.

Succumbing to his impatience, Angelo wraps his hands against the back of the woman’s thighs, and lifts her up.

Beatrix responds by instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist. She tugs at his hair tie, releasing his long strands from the messy bun. Fingers bury themselves into his hair, desperately clinging onto whatever they can.

Angelo moans into another heated kiss and proceeds to stumble his way down the dark hallway. When he enters the bedroom, he tosses her onto the black sheets of the king-sized bed. He stops to unbuckle his belt and then climbs on top of her. His mouth dives right back to the side of her neck, determined to leave dark bruises that will linger for days.

Beatrix opens her eyes, taking this opportunity to examine Angelo’s new home. Unlike his previous apartment, this upgrade lacks the charming chaos of his mis-matched furniture and scratched oak floorboards. The current decor is sleek, modern, all black. His dark walnut flooring is spotless. The apartment feels empty, void of any distinctive personality. The black walls are bare of decorations. No pictures. No posters. No fancy tapestries. It feels too perfect, too much like a model home. There is nothing reminiscent of the Angelo she had once known, of the Angelo she had pretended to fall in love with.

Angelo’s hand presses against her bare stomach. As he moves to grip onto her waist, his thumb brushes against a scar he’d never felt before. He pauses and pulls away from her slightly. Holding himself above her, his fingers trace against the edges of the blemished skin. A permanent reminder of what transpired between two false lovers.

Beatrix reaches for the man’s hand and tentatively wraps her fingers around it. She brings it up towards her face, drawing his gaze upwards to meet hers. “I think we should put this on pause,” she says, “just for a few moments.”

“I’m sorry—” he begins.

“No,” Beatrix interrupts, “don’t say it.”

Angelo removes himself from the woman and lays down beside her. Together, the couple stare at the eerily smooth black ceiling. It’s devoid of the cracks, the scuff marks, and the water stains that had permeated his previous bedroom.

After a several minutes pass, Beatrix sits up and crawls to the edge of the bed. “Where’s the bathroom?” She asks, placing her feet on the floor. She leans down to release the buckles that confine her feet inside of the black heels.

Angelo runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the disheveled strands. “Turn right, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.” Beatrix settles her bare feet on the cold floor and lifts herself off of the bed. As instructed, she turns right when she enters the hallway and follows the dark path. Her eyes focus on a large door at the end of the hallway. Three locks are turned to keep the door shut in place.

A back entrance.

When she enters the bathroom, she quietly shuts and locks the door. She reaches towards the sink and turns on the tap for cold water. Taking a moment to compose herself, Beatrix takes a deep breathe, traps the air inside of her lungs, and then releases it. She presses her hands onto the black marble countertop and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She needs to breathe. Needs to calm down. Needs to focus on the task, the mission.

Zwei.

Sieben.

She inhales.

Eins.

Zwei.

And exhales.

Zwei.

Null.

Vier.

During the course of their seven month arrangement, she had examined Angelo’s every move. Beneath his mask of unyielding confidence, resides a budding cluster of paranoia. The man kept a hidden weapon in each room of his home. Weapons that were discrete, but quick and easy to grasp in an emergency. Unless his habits had changed in their years apart, Angelo had a self-defense mechanism somewhere in this room.

Beatrix reaches for the medicine cabinet and pulls it open. Aside from one electric razor and a couple bottles of medicine, it’s empty. She pulls open the top drawer beneath the counter. A tube of toothpaste and a nail clipper. The drawer beneath it also holds nothing useful. She crouches down on the ground and opens the cabinet beneath the sink. Leaning down, she peeks her head inside and scans the top surface of the area.

Just beneath the sink, near the pipes, is an object. It is held securely in place with a couple pieces of tape. She reaches forward, pressing her fingers against it, and feels the cool metallic edge of a blade. Grasping it firmly, she pulls the knife out of its hiding spot. Beatrix rips the tape off, fully exposing the small, but useful weapon.

A knock on the door captures the woman’s attention and she quietly closes the cabinet doors.

“You okay?” Angelo calls.

“Yeah,” she responds, “I’ll be out in a minute.” Beatrix stands from her crouched position and shuts off the tap. Tightening her hold on the weapon, she angles her hand so it is tucked behind her. Certain that the knife is hidden from Angelo’s immediate view, she reaches forward to unlock the door. She wraps her fingers around the doorknob and twists it open.

The door rushes towards her, smacking her in the face. She stumbles backwards and lifts a hand to check her nose for blood.

“What the fuck?” She screams.

But a body barrels its way straight at her. Long fingers wrap themselves around her throat, constricting the air flowing into her lungs. She opens her eyes and she’s confronted by the face of an irritated Angelo. The woman wraps a hand around his wrist, digging her nails into his flesh.

“Babe,” he hisses, “you’re not as fucking unpredictable as you wish to be.” Without easing his grip, the man shoves her back, until she’s pressed against the cold tiles of the wall.

Beatrix lifts her knife, ready to dig it into his jugular. As she swings the knife at him, Angelo wraps his fingers around her wrist and slams it against the space beside her head. She releases her grip on his wrist and shoves her hand into Angelo’s face, attempting to push the man as far away from her as she possibly can. Then she lifts her right leg and slams her knee straight into his groin.

The man’s grip loosens momentarily, but it’s enough of an opportunity for Beatrix to force her body off of the wall. She slams herself into Angelo and he stumbles backwards. When his body collides with the countertop of the sink, Beatrix buries her knife into his left shoulder.

Angelo releases a pained grunt.

Quickly, the woman pulls the knife out of his flesh and moves to stab him once again.

He twists his body, catching her wrist with his right hand. When she looses her balance, Angelo slips away from her reach and forces her body to bend over the countertop. Gripping her hair, he slams her head against the mirror. He pulls her head away from the broken glass and tilts her back until she is staring up at him.

She turns the knife in her hand, repositioning it. But right as she moves to stab Angelo in the face, the man slams her head back into the mirror. Dazed, the knife slips out of her fingers and falls onto the counter.

“Damn,” Angelo wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her off of the ground. “I was really hoping I could get laid first.” He throws her body into the oversized bathtub, before climbing inside.

“What—” Her eyes are blurry and she feels as though the world is spinning too fast. “What are you doing?” She mutters.

Angelo reaches forward, plugging the drain, and then turns the faucet to release the freezing water. “You once told me how you wanted to die,” he says. “That you didn’t want it to be quick, that you didn’t want to experience a death with no suffering. That—”

“I wanted to feel every moment, every emotion, in this once in a lifetime opportunity,” Beatrix finishes. “You remember.” The water creeps towards her and when it grazes the skin of her throbbing skull, it causes a chill to run down her spin.

“Because it’s the only truth about you that I know.”

Beatrix releases a soft chuckle in response.

“What are you doing here?” Angelo asks.

The woman’s smile fades.

“You here for revenge?”

A thin layer of water inches forward, quickly coating the bottom of the tub. Beatrix shivers and goosebumps appear on pale skin. But the chill of icy temperatures helps clear the blurriness clouding her vision. “I didn’t realize you thought I was a petty person,” she says.

A moment of realization erupts on the man’s face. “You’re working.”

“I’d say it’s more a job interview.”

Angelo leans down, reducing the space between them. “With who?”

The woman’s gaze drifts away from his face, in favor of examining the tattoos that cover his body. When they had first met, his collection was small. Just a few random pieces, placed separately apart on his chest and abdomen. But now his torso was painted with ink, tiny splotches of bare skin bleeding through.

Her eyes linger on one piece in particular.

Simple lettering.

Her name.

“Are you going to kill me?” She wonders.

Could he do it?

Would he fulfill those orders he had failed to complete once before? Would he stop her beating heart? Take away the air trapped within her lungs?

He presses his hand against her throat, but not with aggression. Angelo frowns, as his thumb brushes against her jawline. He opens his mouth, but his words don’t escape. Instead, he lifts her head out of the water, and crashes his lips against her own.

Beatrix tangles her right hand into his hair and grips the edge of the bathtub with her left. With Angelo’s help, she lifts the rest of her upper body out of the water. When he pulls his lips away from her, she opens her eyes and brushes her nose against his.

“Angelo,” she whispers with a smile. She tightens her grip on the tub. And using the object as leverage, she uses her right hand to crash the side of Angelo’s head into the tile wall.

He releases his hold on the woman, instinct forcing him to lift his hands to check his head for bleeding.

Beatrix shoves the man, using his distraction as an opportunity to pull herself away from him. Her hands grip onto the right side of the bathtub, allowing her to pull her body out of the space. She presses her feet against the side of the tub walls and uses it to hurl her body over the edge. The woman releases a pained gasp when her back slams against the black marble, but she forces herself to flip onto her stomach. She props up her body on her hands and knees, and takes a moment to breathe, before staggering up onto her feet.

Before Angelo is able to fully comprehend what has happened, Beatrix digs her fingers into his scalp. She pulls his head towards her and then, with all of the strength she can muster, she slams it back into the wall again, and again.

Angelo groans and slumps down into the tub.

Blood coats the walls, sliding its way down towards the water.

Beatrix untangles her fingers and takes a few shaky steps backwards, until her body hits the doorframe. After giving herself a moment to regain her composure, she exits the bathroom and makes her way back to the bedroom. The woman heads straight for the bedside table and pulls the drawer open.

As expected, there’s a gun tucked inside. Beatrix picks up the semi-automatic pistol and makes sure that it’s loaded and ready to shoot. With the gun poised in front of her, she exits the bedroom and reenters the bathroom.

Angelo’s hand is gripping the edge of the bathtub, as he attempts, but fails, to pull himself out of the water. His blood is smeared all over his face, and when he notices Beatrix, an amused smile taints his lips. “I should have fucking killed you,” he says.

“Probably,” Beatrix responds. She fires the gun, lodging a bullet into the chest. Automatically, she repositions the weapon, and sends a shot right into the center of his head.

The man’s body collapses.

Without a moment to spare, Beatrix sets the gun on the counter. She sprints down the hall, towards the main entrance. Spotting a chair in the kitchen, she grabs it and shoves it underneath the handle of the door. The woman twists both of the locks, ensuring that the door is secured in place.

Picking up her discarded dress, she slips back into the material. While pulling up the zipper, she is interrupted by loud pounding against the front door. Beatrix freezes, taking a moment to assess the situation. A voice shouts for Angelo, followed by more fists banging against the door. There’s more than one person outside.

Beatrix glides her arms into her coat and then snatches her purse up from the floor. Racing down the hall, she makes a quick stop in the bedroom, to pick up her shoes, before heading back to Angelo’s body.

She steps around the pooling blood and reaches for the man’s right hand. Beatrix pries off one of his rings, a large silver signet, with a lion’s head etched into the metal. A gift from the head of the Romano family. After placing the ring inside of her purse, she slips the high heels onto her feet and tightens the straps at her ankles.

By the time she steps back into the hallway, the shouting and the pounding of the door has increased in urgency. Quickly, she proceeds down the hallway and unlocks the back door. She slips outside before Angelo’s men ever enter the apartment.

The winter air coats her damp hair with a layer of ice, causing Beatrix to shiver and pull the coat tighter around her body. Her wet stockings become stiff, introducing her legs to the inconvenience of painful chills and the beginning embers of numbness. She fights through the discomfort as she descends the backstairs, heels clattering against the wooden steps.

During her last few steps, she glances at the street. A black car is parked on the other side. Beatrix can see the outline of a person sitting inside. And though she can’t make out any of their facial details, she can sense that they are watching her, studying her every move.

Beatrix pauses at the bottom of the stairs. She reaches into her purse and her fingers grip onto the handle of a pocket knife. She tucks her armed hand into the pocket of her coat, before approaching the car.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Just to throw this out there, in case anyone is curious, I will not be exploring or truly addressing Beatrix and Angelo’s previous relationship. That particular relationship is irrelevant to current events. Though I do want to assure you that Lilith and all that jazz is going to receive further development, which should hopefully provide enough context clues to figure out how Bee got involved with Angelo.

If you happen to be curious about Beatrix and Angelo, you can go ahead and shoot me a message and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have!

Once again, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, it would really help me out if you could reblog, like, and/or send me a message letting me know!

If you would like to be informed when future updates are posted, send me a message and I’ll personally send you a message every time a chapter is posted! :)

The writer’s notes for this chapter will be posted tomorrow, May 24th. You can check out the notes for the previous chapter right here.

anticipated release date for chapter 4 is June 6th.

#john wick fic #ares john wick #ares fic #ares x reader #ares x original character #ares x original female character #ruby rose #ruby rose fic #ruby rose x original character #ruby rose x original female character #film: john wick #john wick #v.writing #fic: hypnophobia #vostara #releasing wayyyyyyy earlier than usual bc #ahhh just felt like it lol #series: she drowns in liquid gold

24 notes · View notes

4nimenut · 6 years

Note

do you have any tips on compositions? your compositions in your pieces are so good!!!

Anonymously or not, ask me something you’ve always wondered.

thank you for the ask! (/ω＼) i’m flattered omg thank you ;v; !

i actually answered a similar question here can you believe it’s been two years already LOL but because it’s been a long time, i’ll try to answer this ask a little differently! also because i took a second look at how i answered two years ago and i… honestly was questioning myself afterwards LOL

and honestly i didnt exactly stick to whatever i preached HAHA sweATS

i’m not the best at explaining things but i’ll do my best!

this is my own personal method of how i usually do things so you don’t exactly have to follow this word for word! it’s really just an explanation of how i see things www….ヾ(・∀・；)

generally none of my methods when planning for a composition hasn’t exactly changed much from what i mentioned two years ago, but i think i’ve learnt a thing or two as well over the years; i hope it shows in my recent art as compared to older art! ;w;

to start the ball rolling, we could start on arrangement! ;0

here’s a visual representation of the differences between the visual space of a landscape and portrait orientation (・ω

i,,, usually go for a landscape orientation for the expansive feeling,, there’s also more room for feels to penetrate the visual space,,, or at least that’s my excuse anyway LOL

a landscape orientation emphasises greatly on a horizontal line of action in your works as well, and if you want to think deeper about it, a horizontal line could generally mean stability, a balance of sorts, peace and harmony, even? you could usually use it to express a sense of tranquility, wideness, etc..

in a sense, there’s no alteration of gravity, everyone’s sitting / standing up straight, etc…

as shown below there’s some ways you could create a horizontal line of action…. actually does this even make sense OTL it’s really there just to show the general flow of things

tl;dr i usually use a landscape orientation + horizontal line of action as my starting base whenever i want to create something with feels (∩´∀｀)∩ imagine the amount of expansiveness your feels can tap upon and make your heart ache more ASDFGDFGH

here we can compare the effects of a landscape and portrait orientation (though it might not be a fair comparison LOL)

as you can see, while the portrait orientation does provide a sense of closeness between both of them, the landscape orientation creates a greater sense of openness and greater balance… or is it just me LOL as compared to the tightness in the portrait version. it works too but i would prefer zooming them out even more to provide a greater sense of openness,,, or perhaps this is more of personal preferences hnngh //w//

usually i’d use a portrait orientation + a vertical line of action to show tension! because of the greater constraint in space as compared to a landscape orientation, you’d tend to feel a greater sense of entrapment, and that’s usually what i hope to tap upon when i want to create intense situations ;w;

or otherwise i just use portrait orientations for zine pieces because i’m too tired to do a spread page so i just try to come up with something LOL

but wait! sometimes when you stick to just a horizontal / vertical arrangement of things in general it can get… very boring because of how strictly horizontal / vertical it is LOL ;;;;SWEATS

so here’s my favourite part of this entire post (LOL); the diagonal line of actiooooonnnnn∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

compared to a horizontal line where equilibrium is largely established, a diagonal line expresses a sense of unstability, and the need for movement — in otherwords more dynamic!

tilting your points of view can also provide you with interesting compositions as well because it doesn’t follow the dead equilibrium norm that horizontal / vertical lines usually set and creates a greater sense of action going on in the picture *w*

psst also, when you take on a more diagonal approach, you can fit in more things in the background LOL since usually a diagonal approach takes up the diagonal length of your canvas, leaving more room for… more dynamic stuff AAAAAAAA—

sooo here we can take a look at what usually happens when you tilt your things LOL

taking on a horizontal approach, this halloween skk piece becomes full blown complete angst instead of being simply lowkey angst in the original post why did i not do that when i was working on it LOL while the more diagonal orientation makes everything look as though there’s something more to it instead of simply dynamic movement — it’s as though there’s this force driving a story — or maybe it’s just me overexplaining things.

also i totally didn’t do it to aggravate the height differences between the both of them. nope. not at all.

to put it in a quick summary:

horizontal approach is usually for the harmony / feels / angst / kill me pls

portrait approach is usually for tension

diagonal approach is usually for more dynamic / action / it usually draws more attention towards the piece

or usually i really just yolo and whack and hope it gives people feels

i believe there’s some examples from two years ago about how detailed i can get when coming up with the composition of a piece, but i’ll briefly touch on it again, and with more detail —

when it comes to what to include in your background and how to eventually draw out your piece, you might want to try consider the following:

what kind of setting do you want it to be? and in turn, atmosphere?

what kind of ideas / central theme(s) do you want your piece to reflect?

is your piece inspired by a certain object / item / concept?

for example, in my PM Week Day 1 submission where the theme i chose was Then and Now, i thought that if i was going to do something about soukoku, then i wanted to create a sense of nostalgia, especially the ridiculous banter that they shared four years ago, and are still sharing right now in the canon timeline. the world that they live in remained relatively unchanged, so i settled for the Yokohama cityscape.

the direct reflection of both of them on the wet surface of the floor reflects how both of them are still the same even after four years, even though Dazai may have switched sides. i chose to keep ADA obscured from view instead of PM Dazai because the idea of Dazai back then has already come to pass and set into stone, and is something that will never change, but the current Dazai may have changed, and that’s why i thought it might be better to leave it to the viewer’s inference on the extent of Dazai’s change, physically and emotionally. he might be showing more emotion on his face right now, but we won’t know because it’s hidden from view, but it’s up to you to determine if he really has changed,,, wink,,,

… or so goes my thought processes about this piece, anyway, ww..

usually when it comes to drawing fanart based on fanfics which i do like 99% of the time, i like to consider any other possible objects involved in that one particular scene / just the overall fic in general and try to make a reference to them somehow in the fanart, and determine the mood from there.

for example, in my Muse (chapter 21) fanart where Akira finally kisses Yusuke in the jellyfish tank, i imagined that one moment to be a rather magical moment, especially since the story is told from Yusuke’s point of view, who views the world in a slightly different manner than the rest, hence i was aiming for the magical, ethereal feeling through the jellyfish; as though they’re wisps of spirits circling around the both of them ;w; the fanart is actually viewed from the inside of the jellyfish tank, but because i chose not to make the distinction of the glass / hard plastic surface of the tank, it feels as though the jellyfish that glows in different colours are actually in the scene with them and lighting everything up ///w///

… or that’s how i hope it goes anyway LOL i feel like i’m just rambling about my own artistic thoughts HAHA.

though, these thinking processes mainly come from my own experience from having taken literature and having to analyse things and stuff, so i hope this entire post provides some insight on how i usually put together my compositions and the like ^q^!!

again, you don’t have to take this word for word, but i hope it’s able to provide you with a better insight on how i do my art—! ;w;

and remember to have fun!! (*´ω｀*)

#asks #anon asks #tutorial #long post #i want to die LOL #i hope this helps somewhat!! ;;w;;#Anonymous

17 notes · View notes

kamvkoma · 7 years

Note

53, shuake

53. “I’m flirting with you.”

sry this took so long lol

They finally caught the leader of the Phantom Thieves.

At first, Goro was more than annoyed that they weren’t going to let him into the interrogation room. It wasn’t technically his case, after all--he was still “just” a high school student who helped the police out from time to time. He didn’t see it that way: the Phantom Thief case was his, and he was more competent at it than anyone else on the case, anyway.

He stumbled upon a lucky break, though. The Phantom Thief leader--Akira Kurusu was his name, as it turns out--wouldn’t talk, and the only thing of substance anyone had gotten him to say was “I want to see Goro Akechi.”

Bizarre, to be sure, as Goro has never met this boy before. But he won’t look his gift horse in the mouth, and readily agrees when they practically beg him to meet with Akira.

He arrives at the interrogation room with excitement buzzing through his veins. The Phantom Thief leader had asked to see him. If he could get him to talk, he would be praised among his colleagues and given the respect and attention he deserved. Hardly anyone in the force seemed to take him seriously, despite the fact that his deductive skills far exceeded theirs. They never would’ve gotten this far without him.

When he opens the door, he sees Akira cuffed to the table, grinning at him. He had already seen photographs of the boy, but none with that devious look on his face. He certainly looked more like “Joker,” his Phantom Thief persona, that way.

Goro smiles politely, intending to charm his way through this conversation, as he does with most others. Before he can speak, however, Akira beats him to it.

“They actually sent you,” he says, with a hint of wonder in his voice. “They must really be desperate to make me talk.”

Goro feels his face twitch minutely, and he hopes his annoyance at the comment isn’t obvious. He walks to the table, sitting down across from Akira, legs crossed. “We’re trying to make you comfortable.” His gaze roams along Akira’s face, finding it unblemished. Sae Niijima must have been assuring that he wouldn’t be treated too roughly. “How are you doing in here?”

Akira shrugs. “It’s not so bad. I’m better now that you’re here.”

Something about the familiar way he says that makes Goro feel a bit flustered, but he decides to ignore it and move on. “Since you asked for me, I assume you know me from my television interviews.”

It isn’t a surprise that Akira would have heard of him from his semi-celebrity status surrounding this case. It is a bit befuddling why he would be a fan, though.

“I may have seen a few,” Akira admits. “But I have to say, you look even better in person.”

He punctuates this statement with a wink, of all things. Goro feels a bit at a loss. He’s used to these sorts of comments, but not from other men--and definitely not men that he is trying to interrogate. He’s also acutely aware that this room is being heavily monitored, and does not want to be made a fool of.

“Thank you, Kurusu-kun,” he responds awkwardly, trying to maintain a pleasant smile.

“Akira.”

“Hm?” Goro blinks, bemused.

“Call me Akira. If you don’t mind.”

“... Alright then… Akira. I’m sure you know what I came in here to discuss with you.”

Akira looks almost triumphant when his name leaves Goro’s mouth, but then his smile dissipates. “You want me to talk about the other Phantom Thieves.”

It was a well-known fact that the Phantom Thieves were a group. They all had their distinct code names, and had even been seen in surveillance footage, but their costumes hid their identities. In the few days that Akira had been in custody, everyone was trying to persuade him to give any information at all about his partners in crime, but he hasn’t said a word.

“It doesn’t have to be them.” Goro leans forward, hoping he comes off as concerned. “If you can tell us about anyone who helped you, it would be very helpful. Both for us and for you. You seem like a good person, and I’d like to lessen your sentence on this--”

“Flattering,” Akira interrupts, sounding faintly amused. “But I’d rather talk about you.”

“Me?” Goro is getting the dreadful impression that he’s just being fucked with here, but maybe if he complies, Akira will give him something in return.

His other option is just throttling the annoying bastard, who’s really starting to try his patience--but there are cameras.

“Yes. You.” Akira nods. “I asked for you because I want to know more about you.”

“I’m not very interesting,” Goro warns.

“I beg to differ. Just answer a few questions for me?”

He’s always reluctant to talk about himself, but he can always lie, like he usually does. “What do you want to know?”

Akira tilts his head, looking contemplative for a few moments. “What do you think of the Phantom Thieves?”

Goro huffs out a laugh at that question. “Surely you know the answer to that from my interviews.” That was all anyone ever asked him anymore, after all.

“I’d rather hear it from you in person.”

After so many interviews, he doesn’t have any issue reciting the same tired lines. “The Phantom Thieves are a serious problem. They think they are just, because they target those they deem worthy of punishment. However, it is not their place to pass judgment on and punish others. That is the role of the justice system, and not individual citizens.”

His words sound very mechanical and exasperated, but Akira doesn’t comment on this. He only raises his eyebrows pointedly and says, “But don’t you think there are more important things to worry about? Like worse criminals?”

“Like the criminals the Phantom Thieves target?” Goro smiles wryly. “Just because there are ‘worse’ criminals does not mean the Phantom Thieves can be excused for breaking the law.”

Akira looks for a moment like he has more to say on the subject, but instead of pressing further, he just smiles, settling back comfortably into his chair. He does look comfortable, strangely enough, in spite of the circumstances. He pauses for a few moments before saying, “I just have one more question.”

“And what is that?” Goro asks. As tired as he is of this line of inquiry, he’s hoping that Akira will give him some information in return for his answers. He seems to like him well enough already.

“What do you think of ramen?”

Goro thinks for a moment that he must have heard wrong. Maybe he was hallucinating--how much sleep had he gotten recently? “What?”

“I know this great ramen place in Ogikubo,” Akira continues confidently, as though what he is saying isn’t at all abnormal. “Would you want to go with me sometime? I’d really like to talk more about this and get to know you.”

Goro has to concede that this is his reality, and not an insomnia-induced hallucination. Apparently, his composure can only last so long in the face of such a reality.

“What the hell are you saying?”

Akira’s expression twists into an unmistakable smirk. “I’m flirting with you, Goro.”

“Flirting--” Goro feels his face blazing, but he can’t tell if it’s more due to embarrassment or rage. He stands up from his chair abruptly, jaw set tight. “I can see this has been a huge waste of my time.”

Akira is silent for a few seconds, his smirk disappearing. He almost looks serious until he says, “So… is that a no?”

“You’re going to prison,” Goro snaps, seething. “I don’t know if it escaped your notice, you moron, but you aren’t going to be getting ramen with anyone anytime soon!”

The smirk is back in full force, looking more amused than ever. “We’ll see about that.”

Unable to take any more, Goro storms out, livid and humiliated. No one dares to say a word to him, stunned by the extreme change from his usual polite and pleasant personality.

It seems the case is far from over.

#idk man #in the sequel tht ill probably never write akira breaks out of jail and he and goro run off together and are gay #the end #kombuchabby

0 notes