Chapter Text
“I haven’t done anything, Dad.”
Akira was lying on his bed above the Leblanc storefront, scratching Morgana’s ears a bit more forcefully than he intended to. His eyes were staring on the falling rain outside the window, but he wasn’t watching it, not really. That just happened to be the spot his glazed-over expression rested when his father had called. Speaking with the man was always an… ordeal, and being physically separated didn’t change that at all; he’d set the Imperial March from Star Wars as a ringtone specific to Kurusu the Elder for a reason. It wasn’t just a joke about how Akira viewed him; it was a warning, an opportunity for Akira to mentally prepare himself, so he didn’t just pick up the phone and get punched in the face with that asshole’s voice.
“No, I’m not lying!” Akira sounded deeply indignant. He was, of course, lying, because becoming a Phantom Thief definitely counted as something. “I swear I haven’t done anything! If you don’t trust me, just ask Boss— Sakura-san, whatever—” He spat out the word like it was a curse. “Ask him and he’ll tell you the same damn thing!”
“Don’t take that tone with me—“
Click.
That was it. His patience was all dried up. Call over.
Akira actually cursed this time, under his breath, and dropped the phone unceremoniously on the bed beside him.
Morgana had stopped purring, he noticed; before the phone rang, he had been purring. The not-cat wanted to say something, Akira could tell, and he didn’t feel like waiting in that awkward limbo of silence right now. “What?”
“Noth… no, that’s not true.” Morgana’s ears drooped. The small creature rolled over on the bed, cuddling up close to Akira and (as he probably intended) looking him straight in the eyes. Sometimes the feline features were hard to read, but the concern on his face was clear. “Was that your dad?”
“Yeah,” Akira grunted, a scowl etched onto his features. “You can tell ‘cause I said the word ‘Dad’ like fifteen times.”
“Excuse me for being worried, you jerk.” Morgana unsheathed his front claws directly in Akira’s abdomen; it wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it still hurt. “I heard what he was saying— why do you let him talk about you like that? The Joker I know would never tolerate such disrespect!”
“Morgana, I’m not in the mood—”
“No, I’m serious!” the not-cat continued, swatting him lightly (with claws sheathed this time). “He was talking to you like you’re some sort of criminal!”
“I am some sort of criminal,” Akira replied darkly.
“No you’re not!”
“I am as far as he’s concerned.” Morgana could almost smell the venom dripping from his words. “…You know the thing back home that got me sent here in the first place? He still thinks I did it.”
The not-cat’s fur fluffed up in alarm. “Buh…!”
“Yeah.” Akira rolled over, and pulled the covers over his face. “That’s what I said.”