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“Just make sure he rests today and takes his painkillers every six hours. He needs to replace the cotton in his mouth when it gets bloody. Keep ice on both cheeks to reduce the swelling for as long as he’ll tolerate it. Think you’ve got it?” The doctor asks him.
“Yeah, I think so,” Akira says, looking over at Akechi, who seems to be in another world. He’s sitting up in the operatory chair, eyebrows furrowed, eyes lidded, looking around in confusion. His cheeks are swollen, and his mouth is slightly agape. Akira makes a mental note to take pictures later.
The nurse nearby helps get him to his feet, and Akira steps over to pull one of his arms over his shoulders. He’s surprised at the lack of talking from Akechi so far -- he usually loves to fill silences.
He’s wondering if perhaps Akechi will just be docile and sleepy, and spend the afternoon napping. Maybe this would all be easier than he thought.
He’s buckling Akechi into the car when that thought disappears.
“Is my...tongue gone? Did they take my tongue out?” Akechi asks, his speech slurred and impeded by the cotton and swelling, but fully understandable nonetheless.
“Your tongue…? Uh, no, your tongue is still in your mouth. They took your wisdom teeth out, remember?”
Akechi stares at him suspiciously.
“Oh,” He says finally. Akira shuts the passenger door and walks around to the driver side, gets himself situated, and starts the car.
Akechi is quiet as they pull out onto the highway. He starts to reach toward his mouth.
“Akechi, don’t touch it, don’t touch,” He says, moving one hand to push his hand down while keeping his eyes on the road.
“I have to,” Akechi insists.
“No, leave it alone, silly. There’s no reason to touch it.”
“I have to find...my tongue,” Akechi says.
“It’s in there, I promise you. You’re just numb and you can’t feel it.”
“Thirsty,” Akechi says, his train of thought having apparently changed entirely.
“Okay, I’ll get you a drink when we’re home. Do you want me to make you a smoothie, or a milkshake?” Akira offers, focusing on watching traffic to make a turn.
He hears a soft splash, and turns to look at Akechi. He’d grabbed Akira’s tumbler of water from the cupholder, and missed his mouth entirely, pouring water all down his front.
“I wan’ milkshake,” Akechi says. Akira just shakes his head, laughing slightly, and nods.
Akira makes his turn, and Akechi speaks up.
“Why am I all wet…?” He asks, touching his wet shirt. “Did they have to hose me down?”
“...Uh, yeah. That’s how they clean you after they take the teeth out. Just take you out in the back and spray you with a garden hose,” He replies, not missing a beat.
Akechi nods in understanding. “Thought so.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and Akira soon notices out of his peripheral that he’s drooping down in his seat, his torso bent forward.
“Akechi? You okay?” He asks, stealing a glance his direction as he stops at a red light.
“Yep,” Akechi says, and sounds pretty convincing. Akira turns his eyes back to the road, right as Akechi falls forward and hits his forehead on the dashboard.
“Shit,” Akira says, taking his hands off the wheel to push him back upright.
“Ow,” Akechi says, sounding disoriented. “I...smashed them.”
Akira pushes his back against the seat, and pulls on his seatbelt to lock him in place. He hits a button and reclines the seat back slightly.
“Akechi, hold still. Just lie back til we get home. I’ll get you some ice.”
“I smashed them,” Akechi repeats as Akira notices the light is green and continues driving.
“What did you smash, detective?”
“All of my...brains,” He replies.
“Unfortunate.” Akira says. “We’re almost home, we’ll fix your brains there.”
“Okay,” Akechi says. Thankfully, he seems to follow instructions and lie back for the remainder of the car ride.
They make it back to their apartment, and Akira goes to the passenger side to unbuckle him and help him inside. He’s dragging his feet, his gait wobbly.
Akira gets the door unlocked and brings him straight to the couch, laying him down. He unties his shoes for him and pulls them off, discarding them on the floor. He notices the wet shirt, and realizes he’ll need to get him a new one, along with some ice.
“Hey, I need to go get some stuff. Can I trust you to lay here by yourself and not get up?”
“I’ll miss you,” Akechi says, sounding surprisingly genuine. It takes him off guard. “Don’t wanna be all alone.”
“...I-I’ll miss you too,” He says. “I’m gonna be right back.”
Akechi nods.
Akira heads down the hall to their bedroom, and pulls his dresser open. He finds one of his t-shirts, oversized and soft. Akechi likes borrowing his clothes, so he figures that if he happens to notice, it’d make him happy. He looks around the room, thinking of what else he should bring him.
He grabs the blanket Akechi often gravitates towards, as well as the pillow he likes, just in case. He heads back out to the living room, and stops in his tracks at what he finds.
Akechi has emptied his briefcase on the floor, with papers and photographs and pens everywhere. He’s sitting on the floor with his back to him, looking down at all the papers.
“What are you doing?” Akira asks, amused.
“‘Tective,” Akechi mumbles.
“What?” He asks.
“It’s ‘tective...detective...work,” He says. “Investigating.”
“You don’t need to do detective work right now, you need to lie down so we can ice your face,”
“No...found a clue,” Akechi says. “Have to...compare to my other evidence, and…”
“What clue?” Akira asks, stepping forward.
Akechi points to a few drops red liquid on the floor and on his papers and turns to face Akira. He’s bleeding from his mouth, and it’s dribbling down his chin.
“Blood!” Akechi says. “It’s usually...really big clue...”
Akira puts down what he’s holding and grabs paper towels from nearby and walks towards him. He wipes his chin and wipes the floor off.
“No, that’s your blood! Your mouth is bleeding. We have to replace that cotton.”
“I don’t...have any...cotton,” Akechi says, confused.
Akira puts his arms under Akechi’s and pulls him up to his feet, and leads him back to the couch. He’s again laid down, and reaches to touch his mouth while Akira digs the cotton pieces out of the bag they’d been given. He reaches in his mouth and pulls out a wad of blood-soaked cotton.
“Akira, my tongue came out,” He says slowly, eyes wide.
“That’s what you get for talking so much right after having oral surgery,” Akira teases.
“My tongue just fell out, not the time to make a joke! ” Akechi says in a garbled whimper, holding his ‘tongue’ in horror and staring at Akira.
“Let me see it,” Akira says calmly. He grabs a tissue and uses it to take the cotton from Akechi’s hand, and calmly reaches in his mouth to pull out the soaked cotton from the other side.
Akechi gasps in alarm.
“You said they didn’t amputate my tongue!” He cries, his voice barely understandable.
“Relax, they didn’t,” He holds up the new, clean wads of cotton to show him before positioning them in his mouth. “That was just cotton that got all bloody from your incisions.”
Akechi stared at him wordlessly, and Akira could practically see the wheels turning in his drugged-up brain as he tried to make sense of everything.
“Oh,” He says finally, and deflates a bit. “...Ow.”
“Let’s get you fixed up,” Akira says. He gently pulls Akira’s wet, lightly bloodstained shirt off, being careful around his head so he doesn’t further irritate his sore jaws. He wipes Akechi’s face and hands clean, and puts him in the clean shirt he’d brought from their room.
“Lay still. I’m gonna get you ice. Don’t move,” Akira instructs firmly as he heads towards the kitchen. Akechi makes no move to disobey him, and he figures perhaps the drugs and pain are finally beginning to get to him.
He fills two small bags with crushed ice, and wraps them in paper towels. He’s about to walk back over when he remembers Akechi had requested a milkshake in the car.
He makes quick work of it, pulling out their mini blender, ice cream, and milk, and makes him a vanilla milkshake. He pours it into a cup and pokes a big straw he finds into the mixture, and brings everything out to the coffee table.
“Milkshake?” He offers. Akechi’s eyes sluggishly move towards him.
“Mmm,” He says.
Akira helps him sit up, removes his cotton from his mouth, and helps him to take sips until he’s mostly done and has lost interest.
Once he’s finished, he replaces the cotton, puts the cup in the kitchen, and returns with the blanket he’d retrieved earlier. He lays it over him, and picks up the ice packs as he sits down on the couch. Akechi lays his head in Akira’s lap, and he presses the ice gently to his cheeks.
“I can tell I have my tongue now,” He says, voice muffled. “Because I can talk.”
“Good deduction,” Akira says, smiling.
“...Can I have a kiss?” Akechi mumbles forlornly after a few minutes, surprising him. “Need it.”
Akira bends down and kisses his forehead. “There. I don’t want to kiss your bloody, tongueless mouth right this minute.”
“Understandable,” Akechi says, shrugging. His voice is becoming progressively more drowsy.
Akira smiles to himself, holding the ice in place as Akechi drifts off to sleep, head in his lap, breathing softly.