Chapter Text
Akira hunches over his desk. He could have easily worked at home today, but he’s been doing that too often these days, and the last thing he’d want is to raise some kind of suspicion amongst his coworkers; instead, he just sips the strong coffee that he made ten minutes ago, stretching out his arms to try and alleviate some of his back pain. The pen that he grips tightly is running out of ink, but he can’t bring himself to stop writing - finally, he’s in the throes of inspiration, and he fears that if he stops for even a second, he’ll lose his motivation to carry on.
Joker wouldn’t feel this way. Akira stares at the page, the way Joker’s effortless heroism seeps into the air around him, and he almost hates himself for it, for being able to create a character who suffocates him in his own insecurity. They always say write what you know, but Akira knows nothing about saving people, as much as he wishes he could be the hero that he frequently pens into his journal. In truth, Joker is much more than the protagonist of the comic he’s writing, he’s the person that Akira wishes he could be - brave, daring, helpful to others, even if it comes at the cost of his own happiness. That kind of self-sacrifice cuts deeply into Akira’s own hero-complex, but there’s nothing he can do except keep writing, waiting for five ‘o clock to roll around so that he can go home and stare at the ceiling, hoping that he’ll be someone else in his dreams.
Still, he’s never been one to let his own depression stop him from writing, and he scribbles frantically across the page, mapping out dialogue between Joker and the villain of his story, a man wearing a full-face mask. He’s yet to decide on the name of the antagonist, but he knows that he resembles Akira’s own father more than he’d like to admit. Write what you know, write what you know, write what you know.
His phone, beside him, buzzes with a text message.
Sojiro Sakura, 14:01: Not many customers today. Lots of leftover curry. Help yourself when you get home.
Akira smiles. Since he moved to Tokyo, he’s been living with a friend of his parents, occupying the space above a little cafe, rent-free. Sojiro told him, when he moved in, that he owed some kind of debt to his mother, but Akira is beginning to suspect that he’s just a lonely, middle-aged man who - after losing his girlfriend - needs all the company he can get. Akira feels sorry for him, knowing that the kind of company that he provides must be nothing more than a last resort.
Shaking himself out of his self-deprecating thoughts, he gets back to writing. In this scene, Joker is pulling off a heist in an art museum, stealing an original Da Vinci in order to blackmail the museum curator into admitting his fraud of other, lesser paintings. It’s not the strongest plot he’s ever come up with, but there’s something about the Phantom Thief Joker that carries any story with reckless grace. Still, it might not get published at all - he went out on a limb even pitching this comic to his boss, but he seemed to put some faith in Akira; now, he has to follow through on his promises of creating ‘the next best thing’, even if it means sacrificing his own mental health for the foreseeable future.
And, speaking of getting the Joker comic into production, Akira looks up from his work to see his boss standing over him, observing his writing in a way that Akira finds himself a little more than uncomfortable with. But he’s never been one to complain, at least out loud, and so he simply sets his pen down and makes as much eye contact as he can without giving away the tiredness and sadness that show on his face when he doesn’t quite manage to conceal his emotions.
“Akira,” his boss says, “working hard on Joker, are you?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“Good. Because your idea has promise. In fact, it’s not something we want to keep on the back burner. So, I’d like you to meet your coworker,” he gestures to a man next to him, or, rather, standing a little behind him, a polite smile plastered on his face, “Goro Akechi.”
“Nice to meet you,” Akira says.
“Ah,” the man - Akechi - says, “it’s a pleasure.”
“Akechi is an artist,” his boss continues, “and I’ve contacted him to create the art for your comic. I’ve briefed him on how we work in this office, but I’ll leave it to you to tell him the details of Joker and what you expect from him.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” Akechi says, but his smile looks forced.
“Me too,” Akira replies. He’s not exactly about to tell Akechi that he prefers to work alone, and that he would rather the Joker comic remains a draft than be compromised as a two-person job. Instead, he just shakes Akechi’s hand and waits for his boss to leave.
Akechi takes a seat at Akira’s desk, instantly picking up some of the discarded drafts and looking over them. As much as Akira wants to justify himself, and tell Akechi that his scrapped ideas aren’t reflective of the final work, he finds that it’s easier to just be silent and let Akechi read over his work.
“Hmm,” Akechi says, after he’s read a few pages, “so your character - Joker - is a Phantom Thief?”
“That’s the idea,” Akira replies.
“I like that. It’s a premise that hasn’t been done right in almost a century. Would you mind giving me a few details of Joker’s appearance, and I’ll prepare some panel sketches?”
For some reason, this question throws Akira. Simply because Joker… looks like him. He’s Akira, if Akira wasn’t so flawed; he’s got the same curly black hair, the same thick glasses (only, Joker must wear contact lenses), the same gap between his front teeth. It seems all too pathetic to describe his ideal self to Akechi - from what Akira has seen so far, Akechi is perceptive, and he’d undeniably catch onto the character that Joker is evidently portraying.
“Ah,” Akira says, “I never really thought about it much.”
“Really?” Akechi replies, “I thought you’d have a solid picture in your mind of what Joker looks like. The way your - our - boss described this comic, it sounded like a true passion-project for you.”
“Well, it is. I just place more value on plot than appearance.”
“That may be quite troubling, considering that we’re producing this as a comic. Of course, I wouldn’t want to step on your toes during the artistic process. It’s your story, after all, I’m just here to draw.”
“Well, it’s yours, too,” Akira says, swallowing down his misplaced pride, “and we’ll both be equally credited.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’d ideally like to get some sketches drawn before the end of the week, and we can work from those, if you’d like. Perhaps we could even come up with a design for Joker together?”
“No,” Akira says, a little more abruptly than he’d intended.
“Ah, I apologise. Evidently, this story means something to you. Like I said, I’m just here to illustrate your vision.”
“Well, I suppose we could work together.”
“I understand your hesitation,” Akechi says, picking up a pencil and a spare piece of paper, “after all, letting people have a say over your dreams is… troubling. And I must admit, working in this environment does seem to dull my spirit. Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but would you like to accompany me for dinner after we finish? I think discussing our - I mean, your - comic in a more relaxed space might help the flow of ideas come more naturally.”
“I’m free. Actually, I live above a café, and my… the man who owns it just told me we have lots of leftover curry. You’re welcome to accompany me.”
“That sounds wonderful. I look forward to working with you. I’m sorry - our boss told me your name, but I’m afraid it’s slipped my mind.”
“Kurusu. Akira Kurusu.”
“Wonderful. I look forward to our later discussion, Kurusu.”