[Maruki doesn't leave through a doorway or in a battle meant to end Akechi's life. He leaves the situation with a laugh.
It lacks the same wild mania that tinged Akechi's own volatile, unprovoked laughter. It's soft - comforting and calm. A voice heard through a shared wall, over a counter, in the living room while they both scroll posts and look over one another's shoulder to judge the stupid shit said.
Akechi stares at him - Maruki Takuto. Visions of his corpse at the forefront of his mind still - his imagination filling in gaps from scenarios that jump, jump, jump around, but-
There's a thin layer of static drowning out the thump of a car hitting body, body hitting floor, muffled shot in a room where the walls reverberate every noise, like sharpened bullets, until his ears feel full of bleed.
Furious. Angry. Maruki hasn't fallen to anything he's spewed out - Akechi has more. Can go all night. Tenacious in his skill of pushing away, ripping apart, tearing everything to pieces. Only an idiot would fall for the ploy of I won't change you because the Detective Prince is necessary for others.
'Have I ever tried to change anything about you since we've known each other? Why would I start now?'
But not for Maruki, who picked at threads of Akechi Goro until it unraveled in quiet moments alone and now-
When he picks at the frayed, thin, short strands of Akechi that feel impossible to pinch to between fingers, but he does.
No movement towards the pillow. Towards anything. Akechi keeps his hands pressed tight against his side, no longer full of the same dramatic flair used to prove his nonchalance, his innate cruelty, how little he cared about every life lost in his goal.
It's quiet - silent. The first time in awhile. In that emptiness, Akechi becomes -
Acutely aware at how his voice was bouncing around the walls. A clarity returning like a flickering, shitty flashlight in slowly dissipating fog.
It's quiet. No movement. He blinks, for the first time in awhile.
The thin stands of light that were painting Maruki's face vanish. A man tired - confident and-
Persevering.
Maruki wants Akechi Goro. Akechi. Hates the Detective Prince. Shido. It could be a trick, but for all of Maruki's lies, a fire brewed, raged, devoured in that man's vision at Shido's appearance. A gaze that rivaled his own. Bitter, unresolved anger. An eruption brewing, all because of Shido.
Even Akechi couldn't incite that fire to burn.
It's quiet, until it's not. Akechi doesn't move, until he does. Exhausted. Tired. Hungry. Sick. Dizzy. Nauseated. His shoulder hits the wall and-]
My plan is mine alone. In the end, I'm sure I'll pay for everything I've done with the same amount of blood I've spilled from others. There's more than Shido behind the scenes - any number of his pathetic, sniveling sycophants will fill the power vacuum and tie up loose ends.
[A shift. His back presses against the castle wall - the shared one. The tip of his foot touches the corner of the pillow, but he doesn't care. A gun's there. He ignores it. Robin Hood tempers. Loki protects. Both nestle and fit into spurs and tightly coiled wire around his heart.]
I don't plan to roll over and die by any means. I'll fight, but I don't care about 'getting away with it'. That's hardly relevant. I want the world to see that disgusting man for what he is, what he's done, and have him die for good under my heel.
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It lacks the same wild mania that tinged Akechi's own volatile, unprovoked laughter. It's soft - comforting and calm. A voice heard through a shared wall, over a counter, in the living room while they both scroll posts and look over one another's shoulder to judge the stupid shit said.
Akechi stares at him - Maruki Takuto. Visions of his corpse at the forefront of his mind still - his imagination filling in gaps from scenarios that jump, jump, jump around, but-
There's a thin layer of static drowning out the thump of a car hitting body, body hitting floor, muffled shot in a room where the walls reverberate every noise, like sharpened bullets, until his ears feel full of bleed.
Furious. Angry. Maruki hasn't fallen to anything he's spewed out - Akechi has more. Can go all night. Tenacious in his skill of pushing away, ripping apart, tearing everything to pieces. Only an idiot would fall for the ploy of I won't change you because the Detective Prince is necessary for others.
'Have I ever tried to change anything about you since we've known each other? Why would I start now?'
But not for Maruki, who picked at threads of Akechi Goro until it unraveled in quiet moments alone and now-
When he picks at the frayed, thin, short strands of Akechi that feel impossible to pinch to between fingers, but he does.
No movement towards the pillow. Towards anything. Akechi keeps his hands pressed tight against his side, no longer full of the same dramatic flair used to prove his nonchalance, his innate cruelty, how little he cared about every life lost in his goal.
It's quiet - silent. The first time in awhile. In that emptiness, Akechi becomes -
Acutely aware at how his voice was bouncing around the walls. A clarity returning like a flickering, shitty flashlight in slowly dissipating fog.
It's quiet. No movement. He blinks, for the first time in awhile.
The thin stands of light that were painting Maruki's face vanish. A man tired - confident and-
Persevering.
Maruki wants Akechi Goro. Akechi. Hates the Detective Prince. Shido. It could be a trick, but for all of Maruki's lies, a fire brewed, raged, devoured in that man's vision at Shido's appearance. A gaze that rivaled his own. Bitter, unresolved anger. An eruption brewing, all because of Shido.
Even Akechi couldn't incite that fire to burn.
It's quiet, until it's not. Akechi doesn't move, until he does. Exhausted. Tired. Hungry. Sick. Dizzy. Nauseated. His shoulder hits the wall and-]
My plan is mine alone. In the end, I'm sure I'll pay for everything I've done with the same amount of blood I've spilled from others. There's more than Shido behind the scenes - any number of his pathetic, sniveling sycophants will fill the power vacuum and tie up loose ends.
[A shift. His back presses against the castle wall - the shared one. The tip of his foot touches the corner of the pillow, but he doesn't care. A gun's there. He ignores it. Robin Hood tempers. Loki protects. Both nestle and fit into spurs and tightly coiled wire around his heart.]
I don't plan to roll over and die by any means. I'll fight, but I don't care about 'getting away with it'. That's hardly relevant. I want the world to see that disgusting man for what he is, what he's done, and have him die for good under my heel.