Work Text:
“i heard he killed someone.”
“there’s no way our principal would let him come to our school if he did, dumbass. i heard he--”
yeah, yeah. akira kurusu stabbed someone. akira kurusu punched someone in the face. endless rumors.
no one really knows what he did-- the only thing people know is his name and the fact that he has a criminal record. other than that?
nothing.
he keeps to himself most of the time. he’ll answer when called upon, go to the library and study diligently, just normal things-- but he’s usually alone. you feel a little guilty, but you definitely know that he has a record for something-- and that something is significant enough to prevent him from attending other schools.
so are you a little wary? yeah. you try to keep an open mind, though.
you sit near him in class-- next row over, one seat behind. it’s another normal day and you’re frantically jotting down notes, silently praying that the teacher doesn’t call on you again ( let’s be real, you don’t comprehend half of the material most of the time ). pages and pages later and this history lecture has gone way over your head, and at this point, you’re thinking about akira again.
it’s a quick glance in his direction and--
he has a cat in his desk.
he has a cat in his desk.
maybe you stare too hard or something-- you don’t know, but akira looks over his shoulder for just a brief moment, taking note of your shocked expression. it’s two seconds ( though it feels like much more ) of awkward eye contact before his gaze shifts down to the cat, and then you notice that the cat is staring at you.
“is there something you’d like to share?”
the teacher’s sharp tone breaks your confused, yet very intrigued stare, and you can already tell without looking that he’s speaking to you. with a shake of the head, you focus on the chalkboard again.
by the time class ends, you’ve learned absolutely nothing. all your attention is on that damn cat. you have too many questions-- since when has that cat been there? has it been there from the start? and why is it in his desk?
the noisy shuffling of your classmates going to lunch does nothing to deter your puzzlement. it’s only when akira turns to you that you freeze up.
“i-- did you know there’s a cat in your desk?”
ah, yes. his first impression of you. beautiful.
as much as you try to ignore the rumors you’ve heard about him, there’s a hint of anxiety that settles in your stomach at his possible reaction. no, he’s not going to hurt you, but you’ve heard he’s got a pretty scary gaze.
but no, he does nothing remotely frightening. he just smiles-- and if you heard correctly, he let out a little laugh.
“this is morgana.” he says, eyes searching the classroom to make sure no one else is paying attention. the cat blinks at you a few times as you give it a small wave. “and i’m akira kurusu. i’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
“yeah, a few times.”
. . .
so you never got to know why he brings his cat with him every day. lunch ended before you could even ask, and though you want to, you’re not really sure what answer to expect. why else would someone bring their pet with them to school? to help them cheat?
a sigh escapes your lips, fingers gently massaging your temples as you stare down at the textbook before you. you’ve been studying in the library for an hour now, reviewing the history lesson that you hardly listened to due to the odd discovery of the cat. it’s the weird murmurs that suddenly fill the air that capture your attention; you try to block it out, but it only seems to grow in volume.
“--can i sit here?”
and when you look up, there he is-- akira kurusu, ever so slowly pulling out the chair besides you as he waits for an answer. you can hear the students beginning to gossip, and you swear that you heard someone say that you’re both probably in the same gang or something.
“sure.”
“you’re reviewing history?”
“trying.” you answer dryly, tuning out the whispers and strange gazes. “i didn’t really get much of the lesson down that day.”
he adjusts his glasses for a moment before leaning over, skimming the text. it’s a flicker of curiosity, followed by brief confusion, then realization.
“that was when you found out about morgana.”
he almost smiles when he realizes how distracted you were.
“i can teach you, if you’d like.”
“are you sure?”
“it was our fault, after all. we owe you.”
he notices the way your brows narrow slightly when he doesn’t solely refer to himself; he nods in the direction of the bag that sits between you, and lo and behold, there’s morgana. you almost choke when you see those bright, blue eyes staring happily up at you.
while you have no idea what akira has done to get a record, you can’t possibly imagine that it’s something terrible. you just laugh when you see morgana, petting him briefly before he pops his head back into the bag.
“you’re weird, akira.”
. . .
study sessions have become a regular thing with akira, you’ve noticed. sure, the rumors still go on, even after months and months, but lately, with the whole phantom thieves fiasco, there’s been more talk of the group. you review your lessons together most days, meeting at the library or at the diner.
it’s a nice routine; you’ve grown to learn more about him, though there’s still much left you don’t know. he’s not necessarily a shy person-- quiet, but not shy. you’ve heard his snarky remarks here and there, and even worse, his terrible jokes ( sometimes he says them with such a serious face, you don’t know how to react ). morgana’s become fond of you, popping out of the bag frequently when there’s few people around you.
you still don’t know what happened in the past that got him here, but it’s not your place to ask. while you’re curious, there’s just something about akira that makes it hard to believe he’s done something criminal. with someone as kind as he is, you would have never known that he was capable of doing something of that degree.
“you’re distracted again.” he nonchalantly points out your lack of focus as he cleans his glasses. “is there something on your mind?”
maybe you’ll never know what he did. maybe he’ll tell you one day. but right now, you’re just glad that you’re able to call him a friend, as naive as that may be.
“no,” you say, “i’m just glad you ended up here.”
morgana meows when he hears that, ears perking up. sure, it’s a weird thing to say in the moment, but you’re grateful to have met him. despite all the gossip surrounding akira, had you not noticed morgana, you probably would have kept your distance.
akira studies you for a moment; there’s a hint of surprise that adorns his features, though it quickly turns into one of contentment.
“i’m glad, too.”
. . .
it’s the fifth time you’ve gone to his house and you still get thrown off. it’s not a real home-- it’s an attic, actually, but he seems settled in. you walk in together as usual, greet sojiro, but this time, you notice akira’s eyes focusing on the television.
phantom thieves.
it’s no surprise to see them on the news. they’re the talk of the town; you’ll hear about them on the subway, in restaurants, everywhere. you’ve been intrigued by them, naturally, but you’ve yet to talk about it with anyone. you’re not sure how it all works, what, with the whole “stealing hearts” thing.
“same old nonsense again.” sojiro sighs, turning the TV off. “better get to studying. don’t cause any trouble while you’re up there, alright?”
and you do just as he says. long periods of silence followed by the occasional questions, then a random conversation.
“do you believe in the phantom thieves?”
he doesn’t usually initiate-- that’s one thing that shocks you. another thing is the question itself; he’s never really shown much interest in them, so you’ve never talked about them. you suppose it’s just a simple thought that’s come up, considering what you overheard on the news.
“i don’t know. maybe.”
“why?” you continue, a teasing smile growing on your face, “are you gonna steal my heart, akira?”
there’s a faint flicker of surprise that settles on his features and a strange gentleness that you’ve always found comfort in, then a humble smile.
“would you like me to?”
it’s not the response you expect, but it certainly is something he would say. you just laugh it off.
“i don’t think i’d mind that too much.”
morgana meows.
( he’s secretly cheering you on. not that you could understand. )
. . .
“do you want to go on a date with me?”
it’s 8pm and you’re still hanging out at the diner, books and notes scattered about on the table. you almost spit out your tea when the question is asked.
“a date?” you freeze up again, just as you did the first time you talked to him. “like, at the library or something?”
the amusement in his eyes is crystal clear, and in that very moment, you wish you could throw yourself into the void. nothing has happened since that last conversation about the phantom thieves; you did think it was a little weird, but you thought little of it, despite the romantic hints that lingered within the interaction. that was different-- you honestly thought he was joking-- which is why you were able to answer without being such a mess.
“no, somewhere else.”
he can tell that you’re still trying to register this whole situation.
“you said you didn’t mind if i stole your heart, right?”
and just as he expects, a faint red tints your cheeks the moment he speaks those words. you bury your face in your hands, silently wishing that you really were in the void right now. it’s not the fact that he’s asking you out in particular, it’s just the way he’s doing it. he’s not even trying to be suave-- he just is.
“god, you’re so weird!” the response comes out muffled; you can’t see his slightly smug expression behind your hands, but you know it’s there.
he takes that answer as a yes.
( yes, that was you accepting the date. you’re not very good at this stuff. )
. . .
despite your very flustered, terrible acceptance of the date, you end up feeling more relaxed than ever when you’re with him. the circumstances are different this time-- you’re well aware of that, but everything feels the same-- almost cozier, in a strange way. you talk just as you normally do, banter back and forth, and make those dumb jokes.
it’s a comfortable date. nothing out of the ordinary-- a nice movie, then a walk in the park.
you sit on the swings with him.
it’s late afternoon; it’s much quieter without the kids running around on the playground, so for the most part, it’s just you and him in your own little world.
“do you believe in the phantom thieves, akira?”
it’s a genuine question; you’d meant to ask it when he asked you the same thing, but considering where the conversation went, it didn’t feel appropriate. he isn’t thrown off by it; his visage remains neutral and he gives a little shrug.
“are you going to steal my heart?”
his tone holds amusement and slight arrogance when he repeats your very own words. if he wasn't your friend, you would have sworn he was mocking you. that teasing look only makes you embarrassed ( though you’re taking it much better than when he asked you about the date ), but you just roll your eyes in feign annoyance, patting morgana’s head affectionately.
it takes all the confidence in the world for you to finally gather the words--
“if you’ll let me, yeah.”
it’s not the smoothest thing to say, honestly-- it’s not smooth at all. you’re ninety percent sure that your face is heating up by now.
“alright, then. go right ahead. i’m sure i can steal yours first.”
“that sounds like a challenge, akira.”
he laughs at your remark, and you can’t help but laugh with him. you would have never imagined talking to him-- but you suppose you have morgana to thank for your strange introduction.
( truth be told, you stole his long ago. )