[It's about what Akira expected, but the path up to the front of the house is full of ice and slurry. Before he leaves he'll stop to clear it; for now, he has a lot more ahead of him today.
It's not in a bad way, though. He waited through all of his classes impatiently so he could come here. He doesn't have to worry about club anymore, either; he hasn't gone in months. Neither of them have.
At the entryway he shakes out the spare key from the third pot in the row, a long-dead geranium plant. Back in early November, Akira had stubbornly brought it inside to try and overwinter it, to keep it alive... He'd even had help, too, because it isn't an unknown fact that Akira hates seeing plants die needlessly. But every time, it was ignorantly returned outside.
Children don't know how to take care of things, after all.
A quiet "I'm back" is whispered in a voice just starting to deepen as he swings open the door - as if it's his own home - stamping out his boots before and while walking onto the genkan. There is no answer in reply, but that, too, is about what Akira had expected. At least this part is a relief.
The house is dark as he picks his way to the kitchen, dropping off the non-perishables on the counter and the rest in the fridge. One thing goes in the freezer. The rest he crinkles as quietly as possible up the stairs with him. It doesn't matter that there's no lights on; Akira's spent nearly every day in this house for the past six years.
The bedroom is too small for someone still growing, but Akira similarly knows how to navigate this space. He knows each pile of books and manga, the chessboard and Famidrive console painstakingly saved up for between two sets of allowances and part-time jobs. He knows every knickknack that he filled this room with over half-hearted protests, unable to bear seeing it so empty as its owner would've left it. He knows the lovingly folded pile of superhero capes and Featherman Ranger t-shirts tucked into the corner, too small for either of them to wear but too heavy with memories to part with. He knows where the low lamp is, too; his fingers find it, lighting up the shelf lined with origami swans and cat faces that Akira made himself, a line of defense against the textbooks that are a grade above him. It's his little paper tax that he's left behind for reading them all, making him the best student in class.
He wants next spring to come. His last year of junior high has been his worst one yet.
But even so, he knows the lump on the bed, covered with so many blankets, the best of all.
Quietly, a bag is set down. A face mask is plucked up from a box. A closet is slid open, seeking out replacement bedding so he can wash what's already in use.
He pauses. Sees a particular sheet of paper pinned to the wall inside the closet by a dart, the only safe place that it can remain in this room.
A lover's umbrella, the kanji for Goro on the left and Akira on the right.
For his first two years of junior high, when Goro kept getting them in his locker as pranks it was almost funny. In the past year, it's stopped being funny entirely. And yet, Goro had still pinned it to the wall and called it their badge of honor.
He hadn't smiled when he said it, but the fierce pride in his glare had made Akira feel every heartbeat in his chest.
Akira doesn't like the unspeakable thing, the wordless shape, the space that has cropped up between them. He doesn't like the look that he notices in Goro's eyes when he watches the news sometimes. He doesn't like the way that people look at them now. He doesn't like all of the changes in the world that interacts with them, and he likes the changes happening between the two of them even less.
But the thing that Akira hates is the way that when his own hand goes for a natural movement - like now, like pulling the blanket back and brushing his hand through Goro's hair... but jerking back his hand in an almost panicked movement before it can reach Goro's neck.
He still doesn't want to think about it, though. He puts a hand on his shoulder instead and squeezes lightly.]
Goro. [His voice is quiet, but he's speaking to the one person that always hears him.] I brought things to make okayu. Wake up so I can give you medicine and do laundry.
[It's a command but it isn't. It's teasing but it's gentle. They're all little things that have been part of his friendship with Akechi Goro when he moved down the street in 2006, full of city and too many gossipy neighbor's eyes on him, but it's been a year and a half of a sort of strangeness that's wriggled through the spaces between clasped hands.
It will not stop Akira from clinging on, selfish and greedy for the only person that looks him in the eye and sees him. The one person that Akira thinks of as his. And it won't stop him from taking care of him, either.]
im losing my mind im losing my mind im LOSING MY MIND IM LOSINGDJGSM Y MIND
One, two, three small fingers wrapped around one, two, three longer ones. She was still warm when he did. Body shuddering chills from only one didn't come until that night. Didn't take over until the room went pitch black and her hovering, limp body became absorbed by the flickering streetlight outside the window, in a room they shared more often than not. Akechi had his own at that point, small as it was. He rarely used it. Liked being with her and she would always oblige. It may have been guilt. Exhaustion. A bone deep agony she couldn't express to a boy that only wanted to catch her eyes.
He couldn't catch them that night. Thought everything was fine when her fingers became a vice grip around his hand, ice cold and punishing. He promised to get her gloves. He knew were they were. Both sets of winter clothes stacked together, folded up and rolled into a bin too small. She only has one pair of gloves now, placed neatly over his two - one featherman themed, the other meant for actual winter weather.
She didn't let go, so he pulled himself free with visceral, painful crunch and -
The many years after when a boy stepped into his line of sight and Akechi saw color bloom for the first time in years. Fluffy black hair in front of a sun just rising, Akechi was still young enough to speak and move with childish freedom. Desperate for anyone, anything, and it was handed to him in a single moment. Something inside him ignited. Something in Akira's eyes mirrored it. An eternity went by in the single second it took to exchange names. They knew each other for a lifetime in seconds after.
They played tag on the way to a shared school, matching uniforms marred with grime from the few times they got too rough. Akechi's never laughed harder. Akira's eyes crinkled with a masked joy that had yet to fully unravel. One that did in the years after, as their personalities started to form and fill the gaps in each other's lives.
A man appeared that first day - tan coat, a hat covering his face. He may have worn glasses. Akechi remembers thinking Akira should get some too. Bland. Seen once, and never again. He shooed them off to the school with a good natured warning about being late. About making a decision. Akechi remembers wanting this, Akira seemed to falter. They moved away from a storefront television showing the first half of the newest Featherman episode, everything forgotten behind them.
Both of those moments play, vivid and colorful behind his eyes. The memories distract from a body shaking cough, a too empty home - Akechi's been with this foster family for many years and barely knows what they look like. Akira has somehow made it a home in their near-permanent absence. He doesn't mind. Likes it better.
Until a hand brushes his hair and a shield's removal forces him to face the dim light filling the room. It's Akira because the room is brighter. It's Akira because the room is warmer. It's Akira because every tired muscle in his body turns to face him without a second thought.
He reaches for the pulled away blanket - a short, raspy cough from moving too fast keeps him from tugging it back up.]
Make it. You know where everything is. [Murmured, low enough to not irritate the permanent tickle in his throat. Voice trailing towards the end to-]
This bedding's fine. I'm not moving.
[And this shared petulance is theirs too - Akechi will relent before long, Akira will put up with the inevitable standoff until then.
But he does give in with an outstretched hand, ready for some kind of medicine to be plopped into it.]
[His face twists - not into anger like it could from some adults, but into an indescribable fondness. Medicine isn't what lands in Goro's hand - it's the face mask that was retrieved from the desk.]
I'm going to. But these still need to be washed while I do. [His hand softly lands atop Goro's on the blanket, just a little bit too warm to the touch.] I already got out new blankets. You know I'll be quick replacing it.
[Petulant. Funny. Endearing.
Cute?
Akira already expected this, so he doesn't budge. Doesn't falter, not in his smile nor in his actions. It's so commonplace for them to wear each other down like whetstones polishing each other to their best shine, it doesn't bother him at all. It's simply another piece of who they are.
"Who they are" has become something so important and tenuous lately, so Akira takes every chance he can to relish in it.
It's why he pushes down every bad feeling knotted around a paper umbrella handle like an omikuji, forces his fingers back into movements that have and always will belong to them, and slips them under Goro's. Gently links them together.]
Please, Goro?
[He doesn't plead with him like this often, but...
Well. Goro doesn't usually have a fever, either.]
Edited (i forgot my subject line it's 5 am leave me alone) 2025-01-12 13:06 (UTC)
[Touch has been a right reserved for only Kurusu Akira for years now. Akechi can't place when that happened. Knows it was somewhere in the throes of recognizing being an unfulfilled child and no amount of coddling could ease the ache in his young heart. Knows it was before the murmurs around school halls, the unwanted notes in shoe lockers.
Fingers loop against his hand and Akechi's heart pulses through his chest, up to his throat, in the back of his skull. It replaces the migraine there only seconds ago. He doesn't fight it. Meets it, almost, with a twitch of his hand that leaves the fabric by instinct, finds purchase in the warmth of the boy over him instead.
He doesn't stir from his spot in the moments that follow. The paper mask is lead in his palm.
Becomes lead around his mouth as he loops it around one ear, then turns his head to meet the other, and finally sits up from his blanket hovel.
It's silent as he adjusts to being upright. Quieter still when his eyes fall on their joined hands and there's no visceral reaction to pull away. A few days from now, he'll blame it on the delirium if the unspoken affection ever comes up. Knows it won't because enough moments like this have been split between them to become comforting, inevitable and untouchable.
He slides his hand free - replaces it by focusing on his own own head, pressing strands of frizzy brown hair behind his ears. ]
You know I'm not a child. [Hoarse, gruff and ending with an attempt to clear his aching throat.] You don't need to do this. You're bound to get sick too.
I know you aren't a child. [His hands are already moving, a gentle squeeze given before he releases Goro and starts sweeping up the used bedclothes into his arms. He only pauses enough to look him right in the eyes for what he says next.] And you should know that I won't just leave you alone while you're feeling like this.
[Akira knows his foster parents. Has for years. He already knows not to expect better from them, and he knows that Goro knows that, too.
Blankets are tossed to the side, quickly replaced as Akira tucks fresh ones around him. His hands are quick and practiced, the movements of someone that's had to do housework for a long time.]
I'm fine right now. If I get sick, that'll be a problem for tomorrow. [He tilts his head to the side, not smiling, but with mischief flickering in his eyes.] If I get sick, will you come take care of me too?
[He's joking about it; he doesn't expect it, and knows he'll be okay even if he does come down with something.
There's no comparing their situations, and Akira would never dare to do as much. But his own house is empty more often than not, too. He knows how to take care of himself if he falls ill.]
He would make an excuse to his homeroom teacher - ask one of his wandering guardians to call him out of class for one of his famous migraines. Go to Akira's house after unmissed texts are never read and walk into a home that's always as empty as his own.]
We'll find out, I suppose.
[He watches from the side of the room, against the frame of his own door. It's hard to speak without coughing, but he manages well enough. A hoarse throat hurts more than anything.]
There's oronamin in the kitchen. Take one before you leave today.
[Whenever he says that, what he really means is...
So you'll come after all, huh? A smile is tucked into his sleeve as he turns to pull the cold medicine out of the bag. A bottle of water and a thermos with a multipurpose lid are plucked out right after.]
Thanks. I'll make sure I grab one on my way home.
[Goro will need to eat first, so... For now he leaves the objects to the side, easily grabbable for afterwards. The only thing the laundry needs is to be put in the machine, which he can make a stop for before he goes to the kitchen. So the only thing left is...]
Do you want an egg on your okayu?
[Honestly, he'll be surprised if he says no. But it's a good test to see how poorly Goro is actually feeling.
He brought more toppings than that, of course; Akira's hungry, too. But that's the easiest of them to swallow by far.]
[ Does he want an egg? The thought makes his stomach revolt and what little's in it threatens to come up. He needs more than the microwavable rice he's been plucking in during rare bouts of hunger though. It's less of a want, more of a necessity. ]
I do.
[ Akira came as prepared as ever. Akechi watches each and every item get pulled out. Says nothing until it sounds like he's going to wander off and- ]
I'll help you carry the bedding. [ Spoken louder than he intends to compensate for a scratchy throat. ] Take what you can and I'll get the rest.
[He freezes where he had just started bending over.]
...You don't have to. [He doesn't push on it as hard as he could, but there's a furrow in Akira's brow.] It's not a big deal for me to carry it on my own.
[It's true that it isn't. Akira does most of the laundry at his own home, too.
But he also isn't pushing harder, specifically because he knows Goro must hate being idle while Akira is doing this. It isn't for quite the same reasons, but Akira can understand the feeling. He'd hate it, too, if their positions were reversed.
It's probably unwise to say this, but...]
...Just a little of it. Promise me you'll tell me if you feel dizzy?
[His voice is wholly pleading, but Akira's also ready to swoop in and snatch up the entire bedding even if the pile of it is probably taller than him. He's fast.]
[ That final question earns a look that might have been scathing any other day. It lacks the sharp, caustic bite it's meant to have. It doesn't stop him from trying, but all that happens is his head drops and tilts to rest against his own shoulder, annoyed. As if physically trying to roll his entire head instead of his eyes. Akira's care is as taxing as it is wanted - Akechi will never get used to it, no matter how careful and delicate his friend is giving it.
The result of the short discussion ends in his favor, so Akechi lets it go. Straightens his body and balls sheets and pillowcases into his arms against Akira's will. He can carrying the comforter. Akechi isn't so weak as to be bested by a few stairs and vertigo. He's better than that. ]
I watched a trailer this morning. They're remaking Cure.
[ An unsent draft to Akira sits on his phone. Akechi can't remember if he fell asleep or got distracted after. His scattered mind is the worst part of this. ]
And alongside it, they're promoting the movie with a marathon of the company's best horror titles.
[ He lists off a few as they walk down and Akira works his launderer magic in that small room.
The last and most brutal title among them muffled by a hacking cough and an attempt to clear his throat after. ]
[It's only for a second, but Akira's hands lock and freeze on the soap.
He's been watching Goro in his peripherals as he loaded the machine, but for the first time he's distracted. Heart beating fast, pounding out a rhythm in his eardrums. The thought of watching a movie with Goro didn't used to do this to him, but now...
His face isn't hot, nor are the tips of his ears. His back of the neck, a little bit, but maybe it isn't noticeable. It's not as noticeable as the other two when they blush, so he'll hope for the best.]
...Thank you. [You aren't worried about people from school seeing us together? It clogs in his throat. No. Try again.] What day are we going?
[Even with the way his stomach knots with anticipation and something else, something that he can tell if it's good or bad, Akira already knows that he'll go with him. There isn't any question about it. The moment Goro said he bought tickets, Akira's acceptance was already solidified between them.]
[ Illness is a boon in this moment. Any color on his face can be attributed to fever - and it is.
There's nothing odd about going to a movie with your best friend. They've done it often enough.
He chokes on the next words - a lung deep cough reverberating through his chest and body, shaking him. As if he's trying out shake the washing machine churning in front of them.
It's the longest he's been upright in days. He holds up a hand before Akira can make any sort of comment about his condition. Clears his throat before continuing, hoarse and quiet. ]
Saturday. So don't let yourself fall ill before then. I won't forgive you if we miss the marathon.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
remember what u said u wanted in 2025
It's not in a bad way, though. He waited through all of his classes impatiently so he could come here. He doesn't have to worry about club anymore, either; he hasn't gone in months. Neither of them have.
At the entryway he shakes out the spare key from the third pot in the row, a long-dead geranium plant. Back in early November, Akira had stubbornly brought it inside to try and overwinter it, to keep it alive... He'd even had help, too, because it isn't an unknown fact that Akira hates seeing plants die needlessly. But every time, it was ignorantly returned outside.
Children don't know how to take care of things, after all.
A quiet "I'm back" is whispered in a voice just starting to deepen as he swings open the door - as if it's his own home - stamping out his boots before and while walking onto the genkan. There is no answer in reply, but that, too, is about what Akira had expected. At least this part is a relief.
The house is dark as he picks his way to the kitchen, dropping off the non-perishables on the counter and the rest in the fridge. One thing goes in the freezer. The rest he crinkles as quietly as possible up the stairs with him. It doesn't matter that there's no lights on; Akira's spent nearly every day in this house for the past six years.
The bedroom is too small for someone still growing, but Akira similarly knows how to navigate this space. He knows each pile of books and manga, the chessboard and Famidrive console painstakingly saved up for between two sets of allowances and part-time jobs. He knows every knickknack that he filled this room with over half-hearted protests, unable to bear seeing it so empty as its owner would've left it. He knows the lovingly folded pile of superhero capes and Featherman Ranger t-shirts tucked into the corner, too small for either of them to wear but too heavy with memories to part with. He knows where the low lamp is, too; his fingers find it, lighting up the shelf lined with origami swans and cat faces that Akira made himself, a line of defense against the textbooks that are a grade above him. It's his little paper tax that he's left behind for reading them all, making him the best student in class.
He wants next spring to come. His last year of junior high has been his worst one yet.
But even so, he knows the lump on the bed, covered with so many blankets, the best of all.
Quietly, a bag is set down. A face mask is plucked up from a box. A closet is slid open, seeking out replacement bedding so he can wash what's already in use.
He pauses. Sees a particular sheet of paper pinned to the wall inside the closet by a dart, the only safe place that it can remain in this room.
A lover's umbrella, the kanji for Goro on the left and Akira on the right.
For his first two years of junior high, when Goro kept getting them in his locker as pranks it was almost funny. In the past year, it's stopped being funny entirely. And yet, Goro had still pinned it to the wall and called it their badge of honor.
He hadn't smiled when he said it, but the fierce pride in his glare had made Akira feel every heartbeat in his chest.
Akira doesn't like the unspeakable thing, the wordless shape, the space that has cropped up between them. He doesn't like the look that he notices in Goro's eyes when he watches the news sometimes. He doesn't like the way that people look at them now. He doesn't like all of the changes in the world that interacts with them, and he likes the changes happening between the two of them even less.
But the thing that Akira hates is the way that when his own hand goes for a natural movement - like now, like pulling the blanket back and brushing his hand through Goro's hair... but jerking back his hand in an almost panicked movement before it can reach Goro's neck.
He still doesn't want to think about it, though. He puts a hand on his shoulder instead and squeezes lightly.]
Goro. [His voice is quiet, but he's speaking to the one person that always hears him.] I brought things to make okayu. Wake up so I can give you medicine and do laundry.
[It's a command but it isn't. It's teasing but it's gentle. They're all little things that have been part of his friendship with Akechi Goro when he moved down the street in 2006, full of city and too many gossipy neighbor's eyes on him, but it's been a year and a half of a sort of strangeness that's wriggled through the spaces between clasped hands.
It will not stop Akira from clinging on, selfish and greedy for the only person that looks him in the eye and sees him. The one person that Akira thinks of as his. And it won't stop him from taking care of him, either.]
im losing my mind im losing my mind im LOSING MY MIND IM LOSINGDJGSM Y MIND
One, two, three small fingers wrapped around one, two, three longer ones. She was still warm when he did. Body shuddering chills from only one didn't come until that night. Didn't take over until the room went pitch black and her hovering, limp body became absorbed by the flickering streetlight outside the window, in a room they shared more often than not. Akechi had his own at that point, small as it was. He rarely used it. Liked being with her and she would always oblige. It may have been guilt. Exhaustion. A bone deep agony she couldn't express to a boy that only wanted to catch her eyes.
He couldn't catch them that night. Thought everything was fine when her fingers became a vice grip around his hand, ice cold and punishing. He promised to get her gloves. He knew were they were. Both sets of winter clothes stacked together, folded up and rolled into a bin too small. She only has one pair of gloves now, placed neatly over his two - one featherman themed, the other meant for actual winter weather.
She didn't let go, so he pulled himself free with visceral, painful crunch and -
The many years after when a boy stepped into his line of sight and Akechi saw color bloom for the first time in years. Fluffy black hair in front of a sun just rising, Akechi was still young enough to speak and move with childish freedom. Desperate for anyone, anything, and it was handed to him in a single moment. Something inside him ignited. Something in Akira's eyes mirrored it. An eternity went by in the single second it took to exchange names. They knew each other for a lifetime in seconds after.
They played tag on the way to a shared school, matching uniforms marred with grime from the few times they got too rough. Akechi's never laughed harder. Akira's eyes crinkled with a masked joy that had yet to fully unravel. One that did in the years after, as their personalities started to form and fill the gaps in each other's lives.
A man appeared that first day - tan coat, a hat covering his face. He may have worn glasses. Akechi remembers thinking Akira should get some too. Bland. Seen once, and never again. He shooed them off to the school with a good natured warning about being late. About making a decision. Akechi remembers wanting this, Akira seemed to falter. They moved away from a storefront television showing the first half of the newest Featherman episode, everything forgotten behind them.
Both of those moments play, vivid and colorful behind his eyes. The memories distract from a body shaking cough, a too empty home - Akechi's been with this foster family for many years and barely knows what they look like. Akira has somehow made it a home in their near-permanent absence. He doesn't mind. Likes it better.
Until a hand brushes his hair and a shield's removal forces him to face the dim light filling the room. It's Akira because the room is brighter. It's Akira because the room is warmer. It's Akira because every tired muscle in his body turns to face him without a second thought.
He reaches for the pulled away blanket - a short, raspy cough from moving too fast keeps him from tugging it back up.]
Make it. You know where everything is. [Murmured, low enough to not irritate the permanent tickle in his throat. Voice trailing towards the end to-]
This bedding's fine. I'm not moving.
[And this shared petulance is theirs too - Akechi will relent before long, Akira will put up with the inevitable standoff until then.
But he does give in with an outstretched hand, ready for some kind of medicine to be plopped into it.]
spins ur mind like it's in the salad spinner
I'm going to. But these still need to be washed while I do. [His hand softly lands atop Goro's on the blanket, just a little bit too warm to the touch.] I already got out new blankets. You know I'll be quick replacing it.
[Petulant. Funny. Endearing.
Cute?Akira already expected this, so he doesn't budge. Doesn't falter, not in his smile nor in his actions. It's so commonplace for them to wear each other down like whetstones polishing each other to their best shine, it doesn't bother him at all. It's simply another piece of who they are.
"Who they are" has become something so important and tenuous lately, so Akira takes every chance he can to relish in it.
It's why he pushes down every bad feeling knotted around a paper umbrella handle like an omikuji, forces his fingers back into movements that have and always will belong to them, and slips them under Goro's. Gently links them together.]
Please, Goro?
[He doesn't plead with him like this often, but...
Well. Goro doesn't usually have a fever, either.]
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IM SPINY
Fingers loop against his hand and Akechi's heart pulses through his chest, up to his throat, in the back of his skull. It replaces the migraine there only seconds ago. He doesn't fight it. Meets it, almost, with a twitch of his hand that leaves the fabric by instinct, finds purchase in the warmth of the boy over him instead.
He doesn't stir from his spot in the moments that follow. The paper mask is lead in his palm.
Becomes lead around his mouth as he loops it around one ear, then turns his head to meet the other, and finally sits up from his blanket hovel.
It's silent as he adjusts to being upright. Quieter still when his eyes fall on their joined hands and there's no visceral reaction to pull away. A few days from now, he'll blame it on the delirium if the unspoken affection ever comes up. Knows it won't because enough moments like this have been split between them to become comforting, inevitable and untouchable.
He slides his hand free - replaces it by focusing on his own own head, pressing strands of frizzy brown hair behind his ears. ]
You know I'm not a child. [Hoarse, gruff and ending with an attempt to clear his aching throat.] You don't need to do this. You're bound to get sick too.
here u go spiny
[Akira knows his foster parents. Has for years. He already knows not to expect better from them, and he knows that Goro knows that, too.
Blankets are tossed to the side, quickly replaced as Akira tucks fresh ones around him. His hands are quick and practiced, the movements of someone that's had to do housework for a long time.]
I'm fine right now. If I get sick, that'll be a problem for tomorrow. [He tilts his head to the side, not smiling, but with mischief flickering in his eyes.] If I get sick, will you come take care of me too?
[He's joking about it; he doesn't expect it, and knows he'll be okay even if he does come down with something.
There's no comparing their situations, and Akira would never dare to do as much. But his own house is empty more often than not, too. He knows how to take care of himself if he falls ill.]
crying throwing up die
He would make an excuse to his homeroom teacher - ask one of his wandering guardians to call him out of class for one of his famous migraines. Go to Akira's house after unmissed texts are never read and walk into a home that's always as empty as his own.]
We'll find out, I suppose.
[He watches from the side of the room, against the frame of his own door. It's hard to speak without coughing, but he manages well enough. A hoarse throat hurts more than anything.]
There's oronamin in the kitchen. Take one before you leave today.
? just don't die
So you'll come after all, huh? A smile is tucked into his sleeve as he turns to pull the cold medicine out of the bag. A bottle of water and a thermos with a multipurpose lid are plucked out right after.]
Thanks. I'll make sure I grab one on my way home.
[Goro will need to eat first, so... For now he leaves the objects to the side, easily grabbable for afterwards. The only thing the laundry needs is to be put in the machine, which he can make a stop for before he goes to the kitchen. So the only thing left is...]
Do you want an egg on your okayu?
[Honestly, he'll be surprised if he says no. But it's a good test to see how poorly Goro is actually feeling.
He brought more toppings than that, of course; Akira's hungry, too. But that's the easiest of them to swallow by far.]
what if? i die
I do.
[ Akira came as prepared as ever. Akechi watches each and every item get pulled out. Says nothing until it sounds like he's going to wander off and- ]
I'll help you carry the bedding. [ Spoken louder than he intends to compensate for a scratchy throat. ] Take what you can and I'll get the rest.
consider: u live
...You don't have to. [He doesn't push on it as hard as he could, but there's a furrow in Akira's brow.] It's not a big deal for me to carry it on my own.
[It's true that it isn't. Akira does most of the laundry at his own home, too.
But he also isn't pushing harder, specifically because he knows Goro must hate being idle while Akira is doing this. It isn't for quite the same reasons, but Akira can understand the feeling. He'd hate it, too, if their positions were reversed.
It's probably unwise to say this, but...]
...Just a little of it. Promise me you'll tell me if you feel dizzy?
[His voice is wholly pleading, but Akira's also ready to swoop in and snatch up the entire bedding even if the pile of it is probably taller than him. He's fast.]
je refuse
The result of the short discussion ends in his favor, so Akechi lets it go. Straightens his body and balls sheets and pillowcases into his arms against Akira's will. He can carrying the comforter. Akechi isn't so weak as to be bested by a few stairs and vertigo. He's better than that. ]
I watched a trailer this morning. They're remaking Cure.
[ An unsent draft to Akira sits on his phone. Akechi can't remember if he fell asleep or got distracted after. His scattered mind is the worst part of this. ]
And alongside it, they're promoting the movie with a marathon of the company's best horror titles.
[ He lists off a few as they walk down and Akira works his launderer magic in that small room.
The last and most brutal title among them muffled by a hacking cough and an attempt to clear his throat after. ]
I bought us tickets.
? it's non-negotiable
He's been watching Goro in his peripherals as he loaded the machine, but for the first time he's distracted. Heart beating fast, pounding out a rhythm in his eardrums. The thought of watching a movie with Goro didn't used to do this to him, but now...
His face isn't hot, nor are the tips of his ears. His back of the neck, a little bit, but maybe it isn't noticeable. It's not as noticeable as the other two when they blush, so he'll hope for the best.]
...Thank you. [You aren't worried about people from school seeing us together? It clogs in his throat. No. Try again.] What day are we going?
[Even with the way his stomach knots with anticipation and something else, something that he can tell if it's good or bad, Akira already knows that he'll go with him. There isn't any question about it. The moment Goro said he bought tickets, Akira's acceptance was already solidified between them.]
shuts my eyes
There's nothing odd about going to a movie with your best friend. They've done it often enough.
He chokes on the next words - a lung deep cough reverberating through his chest and body, shaking him. As if he's trying out shake the washing machine churning in front of them.
It's the longest he's been upright in days. He holds up a hand before Akira can make any sort of comment about his condition. Clears his throat before continuing, hoarse and quiet. ]
Saturday. So don't let yourself fall ill before then. I won't forgive you if we miss the marathon.