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“It’s Christmas.”
Akechi Goro, stating the obvious. He’s at his usual spot at the bar— eyes, half-lidded, hands curled loosely around a mug of Sojiro’s best. Joker fiddles needlessly with the dishes. Considers the responses laid out in front of him like a half shuffled deck of cards.
“...What, do you want a cake?”
“No.” He ducks his head lower, a helpless little giggle breaking past guarded lips. “Just wanted to know why
you
got the short straw. Don’t you have a girlfriend you could be,” pause, “what,
canoodling
with.”
God, that’s sad. Akechi is the saddest person Joker knows— sometimes. Usually. But… he can’t help it. “Canoodling.”
“Shut up.”
“No no, tell me more about ‘canoodling’, Detective Prince sir—“
“Shut up!”
Joker shuts up. Beating a joke dead, that’s not stylish at all. “Uh, anyway. No.”
Akechi lifts his head. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, you know.” His hands were gonna get gross, stuck in the dishwater like that. Joker shook off the water and turned on a heel, still in the kitchen. Not avoiding Akechi’s sharp eyes. “The single life is underrated… Akechi-kun?”
“You fucked it up again.”
Not a question. Owch.
General Togo had conceded defeat… what was that, last week? Double owch. She’d had a speech, too. About Joker, natch, and about— about what had happened in the engine room. Makoto has blabbed. Like she didn’t trust him to talk about it! When it, you know, mattered.
Which it hadn’t!
Unkilling Akechi was so much easier than acknowledging he was dead to begin with.
“You’re making assumptions again, Detective.”
Akechi twitched, smug bastard slithering out from under the self pity. “What assumption? You always fuck it up.” He’s such a dick. God, Joker had missed that. “Need I mention… Okumura? Takamaki? Makoto?”
“Sakamoto,” Joker coughs— in for a penny, and the look on Akechi’s face is hilarious. Holy shit, did he not know about that one. “Kitaaaaagewa, but he, uh. Anyway.”
“Wait.“
Joker steps out of the kitchen, forward until he hit the bar and could lean casually on the edge of it. Tucks his fist under his chin. His forearm folds neatly onto the warm wood of the table. If Akechi was put off by the proximity— they’re right across from each other now— he didn’t show it, teeth bared, and Joker still wasn’t dealing with the consequences of looking him in the eye.
“That’s not the only assumption you made, dude. Do you honestly think I can’t just… want to hang out with you. Of my own free will.”
The fight melts out of Akechi like water. “I can hardly think of another reason.” Bang! His head hits the counter. Joker’s too proficient to let him face-plant his own cup of coffee, but it’s a close thing, yanking it out of the way. “I shot you.”
Bang!
Joker is so fucking sick of people telling him how he should feel about that. Least of all Akechi Goro. Absolutely never Akechi Goro. “And you shot you, and we shot God.” Glocked in the face. “We’re friends, shut up.”
Akechi doesn’t move. Mutters, “I don’t understand you at all.”
It’s sort of funny. Joker thinks— Akechi might understand him the best, if he pulled his head out of his ass. He fills the silence with too-sweet coffee. Which, ew. If you can trust Akechi to do anything it’s ruin a perfectly good blend.
...Is that Sojiro talking.
Joker shakes off the thought and takes another sip. Considers the faceless mop of Akechi’s hair.
It’s messier then he’d let it get any other day, but remarkably intact for a guy they unkilled just a few hours ago. He’d looked much worse in Yaldobaoth’s prison, Joker thought. Split ends for days, and the ragged stripes of a prisoner suited neither of them. He dragged his gaze down to Akechi’s hands, curled into loose fists on the table.
They were terribly ugly without the gloves.
He bit them, Joker was pretty sure, gnawed at the flesh and pulled at the nail beds. To be honest... he’d figured as much. Still. What was the point of that. Not the biting, Akechi had his reasons, but throwing him back into the world with everything but one of the masks that separated the honest Akechi Goro from—
“What are you looking at.”
—polite society.
“The second most handsome person in this room. Obviously.”
Joker looks up. They’re close now, Akechi’s sharp eyes peering into him from under his bangs. “...You might want to try a mirror, then,” Akechi says, slowly.
Oh.
OH.
“You can tell a joke!” Joker laughs— and the next move is impulsive, but he makes his best decisions on the firing line, so best go with it. He takes one of Akechi’s terribly ugly hands in his. Akechi squeaks, which is pretty fucking adorable, but Joker is too busy memorizing the feel of him to react appropriately.
“Joker—“ Akechi hisses. Yanks. Not hard enough to pull away, though. “Joker! What the hell!”
“I’m just…” what was he doing. “Making sure I remember. In case we have to unkill you again.” Akechi goes still. “Are you the same? As before, I mean.”
“Oh. Um.” Whatever answer Akechi has expected, it wasn’t that. “I wouldn’t suppose I’d know. I… think so?” He worries at his lip, hard, gaze flicking down at their clasped hands. Joker keeps his eyes on his face. “They were like that before. As far as I remember. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Akechi bites his lip again, harder, hard enough Joker thinks he might draw blood. “No, seriously, you’re fine. I’m just…”
Well. He dug this grave.
Joker strokes Akechi’s palms, carefully, thumbs cataloguing all the broken details. Across from him, Akechi gasped. Shuddered. Neither of them were talking now.
Up to his wrists. He’s wearing the winter uniform, no jacket but long sleeves for miles and that sucks, Joker thinks— that sucks kind of an awful lot. He trails up Akechi’s arms anyway, terrible cup of coffee left on the wayside. Best be scientific.
He’s got stupid broad shoulders. Absolutely stupid. Akechi’s got the aura of a guy who should be a lot twiggier then he actually is. All that, what, bouldering? Billiards. Murder on the side, but Yusuke was skeletal with or without his side-gig as a katana swinging furry.
“Hey, Akechi…?” His face is soft. Joker knows that’s probably the product of mountains of product-- but it’s good to touch. And he’s solid. That’s reassuring. He’s breathing, and that’s so, so reassuring. Joker curls his fingers until his hands frame Akechi’s face, thumbs resting on his cheekbones. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Shut up.”
But he doesn’t move.
Joker’s greatest strength-- if he had to name it himself-- is that he knows what people want. From him, usually, because relationships are a give take take take and he’s always been a giver. Akechi…
“I was upset. When you died. I didn’t want to be in a world without you in it, you stupid bastard.”
Gross. Honesty.
“Shut up,” Akechi says, and oh god. Is he going to cry. His lip wobbles-- Joker can feel the muscles in his face tense-- and there’s something alarmingly shiny about his eyes. Is he going to cry. Is he--
Joker owes Hifumi an apology.
“I mean.” Hnn. “It’s true. You don’t... get... to impose your feelings on me.” If people hated Akechi Goro as much as Akechi Goro hated Akechi Goro, he’d have been dead years ago. “Or die. You don’t get to do that either.”
“Is that an order, leader?”
Smirking came naturally. “Now you get it, Crow.”
Akechi wanted honesty. Joker wanted Akechi to not cry, and Joker wanted-- what Akechi wanted, eyes wide, lip worried between teeth sharp enough to be striking. He’s pretty. Joker likes him. Joker likes him a lot, if they’re all being honest.
But. But, but, but. Joker owed Hifumi an apology. And Ann and Ryuji and Yusuke and Makoto and Haru and and and—
Owing Goro an apology is the third strike, and he won’t get another one. Absolutely not.
Joker tweaks Akechi’s nose and bounces away from suddenly flailing hands. The look on his face? Priceless. The coffee cup that goes flying— less so. He’ll have to clean that up later, before Sojiro notices and hands both of them their heads.
“JOKER—“
He’s so mad. “Let’s get a cake!” Joker laughs. “You and me, c’mon.”
“I— you— I am not paying for that!”
“You’re just bitter I got your nose.”
Furious. “And you’re the most juvenile idiot I’ve ever met!” He can’t hide the smile forever. It creeps up on Akechi when he isn’t expecting it, Joker thinks.
His hands are still warm where he’d made contact. Joker ducks his head— the way he does when he wants his glasses to flash. Akechi splutters, so it must have worked. “The most…? I’m flattered, Detective-kun!”
It’s fantastic. It’s the best Christmas present Joker could have asked for. It’s enough.