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The door to Leblanc jingles right on time and Goro looks up, but the charming greeting he has prepared dies on his lips when he gets a look at Akira’s face.
“What happened to you ,” Sakura says from behind the counter, and Goro forces himself to exhale.
Akira ducks his head, hair falling into his eyes, but even that can’t hide the darkening circle around one eye, the cut high on his cheek, the split lip. His glasses are missing and Goro can see a scrape across the knuckles of one hand before Akira stuffs it in his pocket.
Akira lifts one shoulder. “Disagreement.”
Sakura sighs, although it’s tinged more with worry than exasperation. “Well, you know where the first aid kit is. Go on, get upstairs.”
Akira nods, meeting Goro’s eyes briefly. He gives the barest of shrugs as he passes by, and Goro turns, watching him disappear up the stairs.
“I’m just going to - I’ll just -” Goro doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Sakura glances at him and huffs.
“Go on,” he says, waving at the stairs and turning away, but not before Goro can see the smile pulling at his mouth.
It’s fine. He’s just - he’s just checking on a - a teammate. That’s what Akira is. That’s what Goro has to make Akira believe he is. Any good teammate would gently settle his cup on the counter, as if to make too loud a sound would draw unwanted attention; surely any of Akira’s friends would slide off the stool and slowly, quietly, follow him up the stairs.
Apparently he’s a little too quiet because he catches Akira with his shirt over halfway over his head, school jacket discarded on the little sofa and suspenders hanging loose around his thighs. Morgana meows, hopping up on the boxes near the top of the stairs as Goro hesitates, one foot still on the top step; Akira turns, shaking his head as he frees it from the turtleneck. He freezes when he catches sight of Goro, shirt still wrapped around his arms, and Goro scrambles for something, anything to say.
“I’m certified in first aid,” is the first thing he grabs on to.
Akira blinks at him. “Good for you?” he says, holding his shirt in front of his chest.
Goro can do better than that. “I thought I could - I thought you might -” This is not better. He takes a half-step into the room. “A second pair of hands might make things easier.”
Akira stares at him for a long moment, then shakes the shirt off his arms and tosses it aside, and now Goro can see what it was covering, the red marks blooming on Akira’s chest and side. Goro takes another step, and then another, and when Akira doesn’t tell him to get out he closes the distance between them. Akira’s face looks naked without his glasses, but his gaze feels heavy, watchful without frames to hide his eyes.
Goro half-reaches out, but pulls his hand back before he can make contact. “Where’s your first aid kit?” he says instead, curling his fingers against his palm.
Akira nods toward the makeshift workbench, which upon closer inspection is surprisingly well stocked with bandages, gauze, ointment and the like. Goro supposes it makes sense, given what Akira gets up to in his free time.
“Does Sakura know you’re this well stocked?” Goro asks mildly as he selects what he needs. When he turns back Morgana's tail is disappearing down the stairs and Akira is seated on the bed, elbows on his knees.
Akira huffs. “Sojiro’s idea of a first aid kit is a band-aid and a bottle of aspirin.” He pauses. “I just like being prepared.”
Goro hums, setting the supplies down on the bed. He tears open the pouch on an antiseptic wipe, letting the wrapper fall to the floor as he steps up between Akira’s legs. Akira’s eyes are dark on his as Goro sets his fingers beneath Akira’s chin, tilting his head up.
“This is going to sting,” he advises, and Akira’s mouth twitches like that’s funny.
The cut on his cheek isn’t bleeding anymore, but Akira still hisses, jerking back in Goro’s grip as he swipes the pad across it. Goro tightens his grip and does it again, holding Akira’s head still as he carefully cleans the wound. Akira’s chest heaves once but then he holds still until Goro’s satisfied, tossing the wipe on the floor with the wrapper and reaching for the antibiotic ointment. It glides on smoothly under Goro’s thumb, and Goro places the bandage gently over it. Even the light press of fingers makes Akira wince, and Goro finds himself tracing the circle around Akira’s eye before he can help it.
“Disagreement about what?” He hears himself say, and Akira licks his lips before answering.
“A guy in Shinjuku thought he was tough. I disagreed. I didn’t throw the first punch, though,” he says, like that’s an important distinction.
Goro snorts. “And what did you say to make him throw the first punch?”
Akira’s grin is sly and self-satisfied. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. Give me your hand,” Goro says, and Akira complies.
There’s not much he can do about the bruising, so Goro focuses on cleaning and binding the scrapes on Akira’s hands, wrapping gauze carefully around his knuckles and securing it with medical tape. Akira’s hand flexes in his and Goro’s grip tightens; he forces himself to let go, thumb dragging over Akira’s palm as he sets his hand down. The only thing left is the split on Akira’s lip, and Goro takes Akira’s head in his hands and tilts it to inspect the damage. It’s red and angry, but the swelling is already starting to fade.
“What’s the verdict?” Akira says, jaw moving underneath Goro’s hands.
“You’ll live,” Goro replies, dropping his hands away from Akira’s skin. His fingers flex but he forces himself to keep still, stepping back and kneeling to gather up the bits and pieces on the floor.
A hand falls heavy on his shoulder, and Goro looks up to find Akira staring at him determinedly from inches away.
“I don’t regret it,” Akira says, and that could mean anything, could mean far more that Goro is prepared to deal with at the moment. “And - however it works out, I won’t regret this, either.”
Goro feels frozen in place as Akira leans forward, and even with the split lip his mouth is soft and warm against Goro’s, and he can’t help but lean into it, to chase that heat. Akira makes a little sound as he presses forward and Goro is reminded that Akira was recently punched in the face but his hand is also fisted in Goro’s jacket and his lips are moving sure and firm against Goro’s so maybe that’s...incidental.
When they break apart Goro keeps his eyes shut for a long breath, unwilling to leave this moment behind. When he opens them Akira is watching him with a soft smile Goro’s never seen before, and maybe he’s been reading too much manga but Goro could swear that his traitorous heart skips a beat.
When he feels like he can breathe again, he clears his throat. “You really need to be more discreet.” Akira’s face starts to close off and Goro picks up his hand before he can get the wrong idea, wrapping his hand firmly around Akira’s bandaged knuckles.
“I won’t always be around to patch you up, you know,” he says, lifting Akira’s hand to his lips, and maybe it only feels like a lie because of how much he wants the opposite to be true, but the grin spreading across Akira’s face as Goro brushes his lips over the back of Akira’s hand is blinding enough to set that aside, for now.
“I promise to only get punched in the face when you’re nearby,” Akira says demurely, and Goro laughs against Akira’s skin.
“Good enough,” he says, and it’s nowhere near what he wants, but he wants too much, he’s known that since the beginning, and this will have to be enough, it will have to be.
It will have to be enough to pull Akira’s face back down to his, and this feels like a promise that he knows he can’t keep but he leans into it anyway, letting the taste of blood and iron and the small hurt noise Akira makes against his lips drown out the sensation that he’s running out of time.