Chapter Text
The door to the cafe closed behind him and the bell chimed overhead. It was just like every other time. As far as he could tell, there were no new customers. Not at this time of evening. It wasn’t as though he had been actively checking, though. He only had made it a few steps into Leblanc before he stopped, body unresponsive.
Akira wasn’t sure what he felt.
He knew he felt nauseous. He felt much too heavy for his own bones and regrettably empty. The urge to cry was cracking at his resolve and even if he felt like wanting to do nothing else, he knew he wouldn’t.
When he looked up and over the dimly lit cafe, two sets of eyes were on him. Sojiro looked concerned, but it was Tatsuya’s heavy gaze he couldn’t look away from. Akira knew that look, that specific and subtle way his brows furrowed and frown curled his mouth down. Tatsuya knew. Akira still wasn’t sure how to sort what he was feeling.
“You look like something happened,” Sojiro said. It grated against Akira’s ears and he felt guilty for having that reaction. Akira trusted Sojiro. But Tatsuya stood from his stool and Akira found himself being silently ushered upstairs. Sojiro’s eyes were at his back and Akira heard a sigh. He was grateful Sojiro hadn’t asked for more. Akira would explain later. He knew he barely had it in him to explain to his dad. Tatsuya’s hand was warm on his back.
Akira set his bag on the table by the stairs and Morgana carefully crawled out. Even he was quiet. Jumping down from the table, Morgana settled himself by the running space heater and curled up tight. Akira didn’t blame him.
His body hurt. The breaths he tried to keep even have been shallow since the group had left the Metaverse. Deep breaths make his bruised ribs burn. Akira realized there was no part of his body that does not radiate pain in some way and he wanted to curl up tight in bed. He wanted to ignore the burning frustration and anger boiling just under his skin.
It had always been such a goddamn thin line.
“Stop clenching.”
Akira let his breath go in a soft gasp at Tatsuya’s soft command and realized how hard he had been digging his nails into his palms and sinking his teeth into his already aching lip. The wound hadn’t reopened at least. His hands ached from the prolonged tension, though. He could feel them shaking. Akira didn’t want to think of it.
Tatsuya sighed as he stood closeby. There was hesitancy in his stance and Akira didn’t blame him for being unsure. There was no right answer for what a father should do in this situation. Akira’s hands felt numb and powerless.
“Sit.”
Akira hesitated. He knew he pushed himself too far today. He hadn’t felt it at the time, but his exhaustion and overexertion had come crashing down on him the moment he stepped back into the real world. So did his repercussions.
Tatsuya motioned to the couch and Akira relented. There was nothing to be done about his aching ribs, but some of his bandages would need replacing.
Akira stepped forward to the couch and peeled off his black jacket and gray hoodie to toss towards the table by the stairs. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his white undershirt as he adjusted it and took a seat. He was stiff and the air bit against his cold skin. Akira didn’t feel it much.
A small medical kit had been provided from Takemi with both medication and dressings. Tatsuya dug through where it sat by the bulky TV. There were fresh wrappings and disinfectant in his hands when he sat beside Akira. He held out a hand and Akira stared at it. He breathed before offering out one of his. His dad’s hands worked meticulously as he unwrapped the old bandages around Akira’s wrist and gently wiped down the tender skin with a disinfectant wipe. Akira couldn’t help but think that he was working like he had done this before. He wondered just how often he had to patch himself or old friends up when he had been younger. Akira lingered on that thought.
The first wrist was carefully bandaged back up and Akira offered out the other.
“What was it like?” Akira asked, voice dull. His head felt clouded as his skin sizzled just underneath. He wanted to ignore it and focused on watching his dad’s hands work.
“What was what like?”
“Losing part of what you were fighting for.”
Tatsuya’s hands stilled.
It hadn’t dawned on Akira how insensitive and abrupt the question was until it was out of his mouth. When he looked up to Tatsuya’s face, his dad was still looking down at their hands, disinfectant wipe hovering over bruised skin. His mouth started to open as though he was going to speak, but it closed with a sigh. Tatsuya went back to wiping down Akira’s wrist silently.
Akira could see how Tatsuya’s brows knit together and his own frustration with himself was tense. His hands were still gentle, but there was conflict maring his face. Akira wished Tatsuya could forgive himself more often. It was out of his control and words were never either of their strong suits. But Tatsuya was a waiting game and Akira was still patient.
“It almost killed me.”
Tatsuya did not look up as he continued his careful work of cleaning Akira’s wrist. Despite the hesitancy in his voice, Tatsuya’s hands were still steady. Akira envied that conviction. His eyes slid down and Akira watched his dad’s hands. From underneath the black sleeve of his shirt, Akira could see the black brand wrapping up around Tatsuya’s wrist. Akira carefully leaned into the back of the couch.
The space heater buzzed in the dark attic. Tatsuya started to rewrap his son’s wrist.
“It eats at me,” Tatsuya continued, as gentle as the orange glow cast on him from the heater, “It’s something that I… never really stop thinking about. There’s… a lot I think about. And I’m not sure I’ll stop thinking about it.”
Once Akira’s wrist was bandaged, Tatsuya placed his hand over it. Akira wasn’t sure what it was he wanted to hear, but it makes his heart pound painfully in his chest like a surge. His eyes stung behind his glasses.
Maybe it wasn’t conviction, but more a desperate hold for some semblance of control.
“Akira…” Tatsuya sighed when he cuts himself off. He was fighting for the right words once again and somehow his dad’s fumbling was the most comforting and normal thing in the world. “If you…” he stopped, and tried again, “You can talk to me.”
Akira sunk a little deeper into the couch and his chest felt fit to burst. It felt like an offer and also a warning. He placed his free hand over top Tatsuya’s.
“Akechi is dead.”
They both stared at each other. Akira still didn’t want to acknowledge what it was he was feeling, but maybe this was exactly what Tatsuya meant. Akira’s lungs felt as though they were on fire, and the rest of his body was turning to burning char. He didn’t mean to dig his fingers into his dad’s hand. Tatsuya didn’t mind.
“What happened?” Tatsuya asked. Akira shook his head and just the thought of it made his stomach turn. Tatsuya didn’t push. Another time.
“He was a lying snake who wanted us all dead and he—” Akira had to stop himself as he remembered he needed to breathe. He took his hand back and ran it through his hair. Tatsuya sat with him patiently. “He was exactly the kind of person we were fighting to give hope to. The ones tossed aside, the ones ignored, and stepped on and abused and he was the one person I couldn’t help.” His throat closed up.
He knew Tatsuya didn’t fully understand. He knew he was leaving out too many details but he can’t bring himself to say more. Tatsuya kept waiting. Akira tried to take a deep breath and steady his breathing.
“He was so angry. Not just at us. Not just at Shido. But just… society in general. I look at who he had become and… I see myself. I can’t help but think if it wasn’t for everyone… if it wasn’t for you and Jun, I could have ended up like that.” He felt the way his dad was watching him. He hadn’t expected Tatsuya to say anything. He didn’t know what he wanted to hear.
All Akira knew is that he was heavy. It felt like grief. His body was exhausted and he knew he’ll need to take a few days just to rest. He would need a few days to process and let the raging fire inside of him die down. He needed control again. Even if he felt completely justified, Akira couldn’t let this boil down to simple revenge. He wouldn’t let himself be blinded.
“Jun was right.”
Tatsuya looked to him, a question in his concerned gaze. Akira ran a hand up his arm at the dark chill that crawled up his spine.
“Anger is so dangerous.”