This is the route he wants to take. Wants to stand there, stare him down and pretend he knows everything about him because they sat across tables sharing crafted secrets to pull trust out string by string for their grander plans. Because they had moments that could have been friendship in another life - moments arranged as a picture perfect mockery of what could have been.
Moments of complete stillness are interrupted at 'agreed work with me' when his fingers grip the edge of the counter until they're numb. His body twists at 'because you trust-' and there's venom pulsing behind his lips when that 'me' leaves Akira's own.]
You know me so well, do you? Does that make you feel good? Did the savior of the world need one more ego boost before his final battle? Does the amazing leader of the Phantom Thieves need everyone in his life to trust him?
[The words are loud, pitched on the edge of mania. Heart racing. Mind scrambling and decoding the truth in Akira's words to make them palatable. He decides the truth and the blunt, quiet ferocity displayed by his rival isn't it. It can't be it. It's not it and he will rip the facade from its hinges, tear it like the frayed pieces of reality around them, findmakedestroy the truth because Akira's is full of shit.
His gaze doesn't relent, looking more like shark than man as he circles around the counter until his feet hit the front of the fridge, the worn fingertips on his glove sliding against the countertop as he moves. He settles there, making himself less of a silent threat and more of a looming one.]
Make no mistake - I don't need you for the reasons you've concocted in that delusional little mind of yours. Get it out of your head. I worked with the most vile, disgusting person in Japan to get what I want. There was no trust. You think you're any different?
[Another step. Another rip. He hates Akira. Hates the candid words. The feigned care. The need for his pathetic little life to weave together fake bonds to satisfy his own ego.
Wanting to stay was a mistake. Akira letting him was a bigger one.]
You're not. We're working together out of convenience and necessity. That's all it is and all it will ever be. You are-
[Strong. Stronger than him. Powerful enough to take down gods and Shido and-
Weak. Weaker than him. Weak enough to see it in others and pounce on it like a predator smelling prey.
Honest. More honest than he ever was and it makes him want to rip the words straight from his throat, coat them in crimson liquid and viscera that's easier for Akechi to see honesty in.
Another strangled laugh passes his lips - softer, but teetering against the edge of knife to sharpen itself for a fight.]
[ Another critical hit, then. Akira expected that, just like he'd expected the venom gushing out of Akechi in response.
But expected isn't quite the right word. The venom isn't a surprise, but there's no way he can say he expected it when the emotion rushing through him in response is relief. He'd been ready for much worse. Akechi could have walked out, but he didn't. Akechi could have stayed in his seat, but he didn't. Akechi could have stood and stayed on the other side of the counter, but he didn't. He's staying and he's standing and he's drawing closer.
Even better, the lies have stopped. Not verbally, of course. Even if Akechi lived to 100, Akira doesn't think he'd ever manage to get out from under the habit of doublespeak, of lies by omission, of half-truths. But there's honesty in violence, and sincerity in hatred. It's still not the whole truth, he's certain of that, but it's closer to it than he usually gets. To get such a reaction, how could he not be relieved?
Akechi is undoubtedly a deeply disturbed and fucked up person, but Akira's certain there must be something wrong with himself, too.
But while those illogical feelings of relief are good cause for someone to question Akira's intelligence, he's not actually an idiot. The threat in Akechi's approach and posture are clear as day, and Akira tucks his hands in his pockets in response. The stance is as deceptively casual as ever; he's ready for a fight, even if Leblanc doesn't make for a terribly appealing arena.
But Akira isn't the only one landing accurate verbal blows. When Akechi compares his arrangement with Akira to his arrangement with Shido, Akira narrows his eyes and presses his lips together; it's just the barest shift, but it's enough for the cool annoyance running through him to be evident in his expression. The comparison is another lie, but Akira can't tell if it's a deliberate attempt to hurt him, or something Akechi actually believes.
The answer doesn't matter, though. The important part is that it's enough to make Akira tired of simply holding his ground and waiting for Akechi's approach. He steps forward, closing the gap between them. There is, of course, no chance that he's going to shut up. ]
You're contradicting yourself.
[ Though the traces of annoyance remain in Akira's expression, his tone remains steady and blunt. He knows there's no point in convincing Akechi that he trusts Akira, and in the end it doesn't even really matter if that's true or not. Only one of them needs to think differently for the relationship to be different. ]
If my sentimental nature is enough to get me hurt one day, then it's enough for me to trust you.
[Detective's intuition - that's what the mindless idiots around the office used to call his ability to pinpoint and notate small details. A talent. An innate skill.
It's nothing like that - it's cultivated from years of watching. Of reading expressions, gestures and changes in tone and tempo in voices. Sometimes directed at him, more often not.
Akira's face changes and only when it's referencing Shido. All the vile he's spewing out and it's Shido and it's always Shido and not even in a perfect idealized world can Akechi get a break from coming second to him. It doesn't matter if it hit the mark. Doesn't matter if Akira's shift in body language means he won because it's fucking Shido that did it.
It's infuriating.
Worse when Akira steps up to him in pure defiance. Better because of it. His rival isn't one to fall from words alone and challenges are a dance for them. One that he will offer again and again and again until he's satisfied. Until Akira falls down to his level and snaps.
But he doesn't.
He keeps talking in that steady, calm manner that makes him want to vomit. Focused on him. Looking at him. Talking to him. Trusting him.
Akechi laughs - manic and raw. Strangled from his throat like his own fingers are twisting the life out of him. Like those words rip the life out of him.]
How idiotic can you be? So desperate for what? You're so pathetic - it makes me sick.
[Fabric twists against his fingers instead of the cool countertop - he hadn't realized he was gripping Akira's shirt, nails digging into skin when he can, as if his body is trying to make the decision whether to toss him over the counter or throw him to the floor without input from his mind.]
I would set up your friends again. I would set you up again. I would kill you again. I would do all of that to ensure Maruki's reality is destroyed and you're going to stand there and say you trust me?
[Even if he had sat over a toilet stool for hours, drenched in blood of the only companion he ever had, vomiting up contents of his stomach until all he could think about was the invisible gore embedded in his fingertips.]
Even if you're willing to sacrifice yourself for that foolish shit, are you willing to risk your precious friends lives on that notion?
[The sickening truth is known to both. Friendship is everything, friendship is blahblahblah. He's nauseated at the thought, throat dry when he speaks again. ]
Please. I know you far better than that. Don't think you can placate me with that garbage. I don't need it. I don't want it.
[ Akechi grabs him and Akira finally lifts a hand. He doesn't do anything as reasonable as try to break Akechi's grip on his shirt, though. He just curls his fingers around Akechi's wrist, fingers pressing gently into the fabric of his coat and the leather of his gloves. ]
I know you would. And you're right, I wouldn't risk their lives over it.
[ There's no sense in arguing the point because Akechi is dead on in his assessment. Akira knows—intuitively, logically, from experience—that Akechi won't stop until he's dead, and that the mere threat of death won't be enough to even slow him down. But there's also no point in arguing because... ]
But I also know it's not going to happen.
[ Because he knows that he's not going to waver; and he knows that Akechi isn't going to waver; and even if Akechi doesn't want to admit it, Akira is certain that Akechi knows neither of those things will happen, too. But getting Akechi to agree out loud to that, or even convincing him to believe it privately...
Well, that's probably not possible. Not with words, at least. If Akechi ever believes him, it'll be once Maruki is dealt with and Akechi is gone forever. If Akira's being honest with himself, he's known convincing him isn't possible since the start of this conversation. It would have been nice if it was, though, and realizing that makes the rest of his thoughts all click into place and neatly align with one another. Akira closes his eyes for just a moment, just long enough for him to reorient himself with the smell of coffee lingering in the air, the sound of the refrigerator humming away, the feel of his hand around Akechi's wrist.
When he opens his eyes again his gaze is clear, steady, and unflinching. The tension around his eyes and brows has melted away entirely. ]
It's alright if you don't believe me. I just wanted you to hear it from me.
[There are plenty of reasons to hate Akira Kurusu.
Despite the ideals and preaching of his retinue of bumbling idiots - a group of people who would always, without fail, go to bat for their leader at even the smallest insult, it doesn't change the truth.
Akira Kurusu is detestable.
Exhausting confidence, unflappable demeanor and even in the most emotionally charged moments, he grips it tight. Presses fingers into the pulse of his wrist in a way that infuriates and grounds him. The mental struggle between tossing him to the ground or pushing him back into those organized cannisters is gone. If he had a weapon to plunge into him, Akechi's certain he would use it right now.
It's not going to happen he says, like it's a fact. I just wanted you to hear it from me, like it's the truth.
He hates Akira. Hates Joker. Hates the phantom thieves and Maruki and every twisted variation of human that walks this fake world.
His ire isn't gone, but it diminishes into tense annoyance and a raised chin to stare down this newfound determination. To intimidate. To gain ground lost when Akira took those steps between them.
But even he doesn't want to spend his last night alive in a frothing rage at some homely cafe in the middle of Tokyo. The knuckle white grip on his shirt ends and both hands drop to his side with the intent to pull him off his wrist by force of gravity alone.]
You're a complete idiot, but if all you care about is saying your piece, then you did. Congratulations.
[Said with all the mirth and joy of someone about to lay down in sewage drain during a downpour.]
I heard it. Are you satisfied? Are you content? Will hearing me say that stop all this bullshit spewing from your mouth?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
This is the route he wants to take. Wants to stand there, stare him down and pretend he knows everything about him because they sat across tables sharing crafted secrets to pull trust out string by string for their grander plans. Because they had moments that could have been friendship in another life - moments arranged as a picture perfect mockery of what could have been.
Moments of complete stillness are interrupted at 'agreed work with me' when his fingers grip the edge of the counter until they're numb. His body twists at 'because you trust-' and there's venom pulsing behind his lips when that 'me' leaves Akira's own.]
You know me so well, do you? Does that make you feel good? Did the savior of the world need one more ego boost before his final battle? Does the amazing leader of the Phantom Thieves need everyone in his life to trust him?
[The words are loud, pitched on the edge of mania. Heart racing. Mind scrambling and decoding the truth in Akira's words to make them palatable. He decides the truth and the blunt, quiet ferocity displayed by his rival isn't it. It can't be it. It's not it and he will rip the facade from its hinges, tear it like the frayed pieces of reality around them, findmakedestroy the truth because Akira's is full of shit.
His gaze doesn't relent, looking more like shark than man as he circles around the counter until his feet hit the front of the fridge, the worn fingertips on his glove sliding against the countertop as he moves. He settles there, making himself less of a silent threat and more of a looming one.]
Make no mistake - I don't need you for the reasons you've concocted in that delusional little mind of yours. Get it out of your head. I worked with the most vile, disgusting person in Japan to get what I want. There was no trust. You think you're any different?
[Another step. Another rip. He hates Akira. Hates the candid words. The feigned care. The need for his pathetic little life to weave together fake bonds to satisfy his own ego.
Wanting to stay was a mistake. Akira letting him was a bigger one.]
You're not. We're working together out of convenience and necessity. That's all it is and all it will ever be. You are-
[Strong. Stronger than him. Powerful enough to take down gods and Shido and-
Weak. Weaker than him. Weak enough to see it in others and pounce on it like a predator smelling prey.
Honest. More honest than he ever was and it makes him want to rip the words straight from his throat, coat them in crimson liquid and viscera that's easier for Akechi to see honesty in.
Another strangled laugh passes his lips - softer, but teetering against the edge of knife to sharpen itself for a fight.]
Just shut the hell up.
no subject
But expected isn't quite the right word. The venom isn't a surprise, but there's no way he can say he expected it when the emotion rushing through him in response is relief. He'd been ready for much worse. Akechi could have walked out, but he didn't. Akechi could have stayed in his seat, but he didn't. Akechi could have stood and stayed on the other side of the counter, but he didn't. He's staying and he's standing and he's drawing closer.
Even better, the lies have stopped. Not verbally, of course. Even if Akechi lived to 100, Akira doesn't think he'd ever manage to get out from under the habit of doublespeak, of lies by omission, of half-truths. But there's honesty in violence, and sincerity in hatred. It's still not the whole truth, he's certain of that, but it's closer to it than he usually gets. To get such a reaction, how could he not be relieved?
Akechi is undoubtedly a deeply disturbed and fucked up person, but Akira's certain there must be something wrong with himself, too.
But while those illogical feelings of relief are good cause for someone to question Akira's intelligence, he's not actually an idiot. The threat in Akechi's approach and posture are clear as day, and Akira tucks his hands in his pockets in response. The stance is as deceptively casual as ever; he's ready for a fight, even if Leblanc doesn't make for a terribly appealing arena.
But Akira isn't the only one landing accurate verbal blows. When Akechi compares his arrangement with Akira to his arrangement with Shido, Akira narrows his eyes and presses his lips together; it's just the barest shift, but it's enough for the cool annoyance running through him to be evident in his expression. The comparison is another lie, but Akira can't tell if it's a deliberate attempt to hurt him, or something Akechi actually believes.
The answer doesn't matter, though. The important part is that it's enough to make Akira tired of simply holding his ground and waiting for Akechi's approach. He steps forward, closing the gap between them. There is, of course, no chance that he's going to shut up. ]
You're contradicting yourself.
[ Though the traces of annoyance remain in Akira's expression, his tone remains steady and blunt. He knows there's no point in convincing Akechi that he trusts Akira, and in the end it doesn't even really matter if that's true or not. Only one of them needs to think differently for the relationship to be different. ]
If my sentimental nature is enough to get me hurt one day, then it's enough for me to trust you.
no subject
It's nothing like that - it's cultivated from years of watching. Of reading expressions, gestures and changes in tone and tempo in voices. Sometimes directed at him, more often not.
Akira's face changes and only when it's referencing Shido. All the vile he's spewing out and it's Shido and it's always Shido and not even in a perfect idealized world can Akechi get a break from coming second to him. It doesn't matter if it hit the mark. Doesn't matter if Akira's shift in body language means he won because it's fucking Shido that did it.
It's infuriating.
Worse when Akira steps up to him in pure defiance. Better because of it. His rival isn't one to fall from words alone and challenges are a dance for them. One that he will offer again and again and again until he's satisfied. Until Akira falls down to his level and snaps.
But he doesn't.
He keeps talking in that steady, calm manner that makes him want to vomit. Focused on him. Looking at him. Talking to him. Trusting him.
Akechi laughs - manic and raw. Strangled from his throat like his own fingers are twisting the life out of him. Like those words rip the life out of him.]
How idiotic can you be? So desperate for what? You're so pathetic - it makes me sick.
[Fabric twists against his fingers instead of the cool countertop - he hadn't realized he was gripping Akira's shirt, nails digging into skin when he can, as if his body is trying to make the decision whether to toss him over the counter or throw him to the floor without input from his mind.]
I would set up your friends again. I would set you up again. I would kill you again. I would do all of that to ensure Maruki's reality is destroyed and you're going to stand there and say you trust me?
[Even if he had sat over a toilet stool for hours, drenched in blood of the only companion he ever had, vomiting up contents of his stomach until all he could think about was the invisible gore embedded in his fingertips.]
Even if you're willing to sacrifice yourself for that foolish shit, are you willing to risk your precious friends lives on that notion?
[The sickening truth is known to both. Friendship is everything, friendship is blahblahblah. He's nauseated at the thought, throat dry when he speaks again. ]
Please. I know you far better than that. Don't think you can placate me with that garbage. I don't need it. I don't want it.
no subject
I know you would. And you're right, I wouldn't risk their lives over it.
[ There's no sense in arguing the point because Akechi is dead on in his assessment. Akira knows—intuitively, logically, from experience—that Akechi won't stop until he's dead, and that the mere threat of death won't be enough to even slow him down. But there's also no point in arguing because... ]
But I also know it's not going to happen.
[ Because he knows that he's not going to waver; and he knows that Akechi isn't going to waver; and even if Akechi doesn't want to admit it, Akira is certain that Akechi knows neither of those things will happen, too. But getting Akechi to agree out loud to that, or even convincing him to believe it privately...
Well, that's probably not possible. Not with words, at least. If Akechi ever believes him, it'll be once Maruki is dealt with and Akechi is gone forever. If Akira's being honest with himself, he's known convincing him isn't possible since the start of this conversation. It would have been nice if it was, though, and realizing that makes the rest of his thoughts all click into place and neatly align with one another. Akira closes his eyes for just a moment, just long enough for him to reorient himself with the smell of coffee lingering in the air, the sound of the refrigerator humming away, the feel of his hand around Akechi's wrist.
When he opens his eyes again his gaze is clear, steady, and unflinching. The tension around his eyes and brows has melted away entirely. ]
It's alright if you don't believe me. I just wanted you to hear it from me.
no subject
Despite the ideals and preaching of his retinue of bumbling idiots - a group of people who would always, without fail, go to bat for their leader at even the smallest insult, it doesn't change the truth.
Akira Kurusu is detestable.
Exhausting confidence, unflappable demeanor and even in the most emotionally charged moments, he grips it tight. Presses fingers into the pulse of his wrist in a way that infuriates and grounds him. The mental struggle between tossing him to the ground or pushing him back into those organized cannisters is gone. If he had a weapon to plunge into him, Akechi's certain he would use it right now.
It's not going to happen he says, like it's a fact. I just wanted you to hear it from me, like it's the truth.
He hates Akira. Hates Joker. Hates the phantom thieves and Maruki and every twisted variation of human that walks this fake world.
His ire isn't gone, but it diminishes into tense annoyance and a raised chin to stare down this newfound determination. To intimidate. To gain ground lost when Akira took those steps between them.
But even he doesn't want to spend his last night alive in a frothing rage at some homely cafe in the middle of Tokyo. The knuckle white grip on his shirt ends and both hands drop to his side with the intent to pull him off his wrist by force of gravity alone.]
You're a complete idiot, but if all you care about is saying your piece, then you did. Congratulations.
[Said with all the mirth and joy of someone about to lay down in sewage drain during a downpour.]
I heard it. Are you satisfied? Are you content? Will hearing me say that stop all this bullshit spewing from your mouth?