[ 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
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?