Every word spat about Rumi's family strikes, again and again, colossal damage on his weakest point of all. Akechi knows this. He knows Akechi knows this. It's all done with revolting intention.
It's bait.
Maruki uses every trick in his arsenal to not rise to it. Feet planted firmly on the ground, stance tall and unwavering as Akechi twists and hisses and winds himself farther and farther into this frenzy. Breath deep and even, measured, counted. One hand cradling beneath the bowl where the ceramic is hottest, scorching into his palm, keeping him present. Focused entirely on the moment, everything Akechi says heard, acknowledged, passed off so he can do the same for the next tirade. Not stuck in his memories, not thinking of what to say. Mindful.
It's that broken note at the end – why are you so much better than me? – that Maruki thinks might be the most honest thing of all.
A young life altered irrevocably by witnessing his mother's suicide. Years spent in constant flux, without a true home, without anyone stable and solid to provide the care that every person needs. Powers gained, celebrity status forged. On his own earlier than a teenager should be. Alone ever since.
I just want to be acknowledged and valued.
It isn't even pity now. It's such a deep, painful well of genuine care.
How much love has Akechi known?
It's no wonder that he doesn't know how to receive it without trying to destroy it, like everything else was destroyed before he had any control over his life at all.
Maruki weathers it calmly. Moves only to turn and set the bowl on the floor outside the still open door. There's no way any housemates home tonight haven't heard this, he's so loud, so raw.
Turns back to Akechi. Looks at him, undeterred. ]
You aren't inferior to me in any way. Akechi.
[ A step closer. Two. Unwise, potentially dangerous. Maruki doesn't care. If Akechi wanted him to back down, then he shouldn't have taken him through a destroyed city, snarled at him to get to his feet and fight or die.
Maybe there was a version of him that would have already walked away from this conversation, but Maruki hasn't been that man in a while now. ]
I acknowledge you. I value you. Not the Detective Prince. You.
cw suicide mention
Every word spat about Rumi's family strikes, again and again, colossal damage on his weakest point of all. Akechi knows this. He knows Akechi knows this. It's all done with revolting intention.
It's bait.
Maruki uses every trick in his arsenal to not rise to it. Feet planted firmly on the ground, stance tall and unwavering as Akechi twists and hisses and winds himself farther and farther into this frenzy. Breath deep and even, measured, counted. One hand cradling beneath the bowl where the ceramic is hottest, scorching into his palm, keeping him present. Focused entirely on the moment, everything Akechi says heard, acknowledged, passed off so he can do the same for the next tirade. Not stuck in his memories, not thinking of what to say. Mindful.
It's that broken note at the end – why are you so much better than me? – that Maruki thinks might be the most honest thing of all.
A young life altered irrevocably by witnessing his mother's suicide. Years spent in constant flux, without a true home, without anyone stable and solid to provide the care that every person needs. Powers gained, celebrity status forged. On his own earlier than a teenager should be. Alone ever since.
I just want to be acknowledged and valued.
It isn't even pity now. It's such a deep, painful well of genuine care.
How much love has Akechi known?
It's no wonder that he doesn't know how to receive it without trying to destroy it, like everything else was destroyed before he had any control over his life at all.
Maruki weathers it calmly. Moves only to turn and set the bowl on the floor outside the still open door. There's no way any housemates home tonight haven't heard this, he's so loud, so raw.
Turns back to Akechi. Looks at him, undeterred. ]
You aren't inferior to me in any way. Akechi.
[ A step closer. Two. Unwise, potentially dangerous. Maruki doesn't care. If Akechi wanted him to back down, then he shouldn't have taken him through a destroyed city, snarled at him to get to his feet and fight or die.
Maybe there was a version of him that would have already walked away from this conversation, but Maruki hasn't been that man in a while now. ]
I acknowledge you. I value you. Not the Detective Prince. You.
[ Even right now.
Another step. Arms folded over his chest. ]
So tell me. What path are you following, exactly?