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It was just like Maruki— Joker thinks, stomach twisting in uncomfortable knots— to pull out the big guns last. To try and save him the humiliation. He was kind like that.
Joker might not forgive him.
“Akechi,” he tries. His mouth is dry, and what the hell is that? Joker isn’t a child. He knows the words to say. “…Wait a second, will you?”
Akechi faces the door, dominant hand resting on the window-pane. Joker can’t see his expression, but his shoulders tensed up. Joker’s good at math. And where was Akechi going? Out? Out of Leblanc, out of Joker’s home, out of Joker’s life—
No, shut up.
They have a deal.
“Second thoughts?” Akechi asks. He doesn’t turn around. “…I thought we decided to win this.”
“Shut up, it isn’t that.” Joker knocks his fingers against the wooden counter of the bar, staccato onetwothreefourfive. Again. Onetwothreefourfive. “We need to talk.”
“We already did.”
Onetwothreefourfive.
“Shut up ,” he whines, because— fuck this, he was allowed. He was warranted. “You— you. You knew.”
No movement. “I told you, I’m not stupid.”
“You knew that I—”
fuck.
“I made…” the hand on the window spasms violently. Death throes of dignity, Joker supposes. “…a guess. A deduction, we’ll call it.”
Onetwothreefourfive.
Stop.
Joker slides his palm flat on the counter, slouches back against the wood like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Well, isn’t it? He’s done harder! Joker’s done harder! Add this to his resume: can’t even have a reasonable fucking discussion with his Rival Slash Partner Slash…
This is so, so fucking dumb.
“Care to share, Detective?” At least banter hasn’t failed him. Cut the filter and let his mouth do the talking, float above the fiasco like he’s watching someone else do the work. Someone who knows what he’s doing-- and Joker knows what he’s ( why isn’t he) doing, of course, of COURSE, it’s just…
What the hell.
“Tcht.” Joker realizes Akechi’s turned back towards the café after he’s done it, like the tape skipped when he wasn’t looking. His chin’s tilted down, expression hard to decipher—but Joker’s good at math. “Make me a coffee, will you?”
“That’ll be 800 yen,” Joker says, brushing past the counter. “Akechi-san . ”
“No deal for a regular?”
“That’ll be 1,000 yen, Akechi-sama.”
Akechi slides into his usual spot by the bar while Joker’s occupied by the minutiae of brewing. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s July again: they’re just getting to know each other. August, and it’s a date. September, October… November.
November.
“Do you really want me to say it?” Akechi’s voice is soft, every inch the Detective Prince— Joker is reminded, abruptly, of a conversation they once had at the jazz bar. ‘ All I could think of when she confessed was how to reject her …’
Something like that.
Don’t be stupid. The situation couldn’t be more different if they’d actually tried.
Be easier if it wasn’t.
“Yeah.” Joker holds the filter steady, hot water running gently from the kettle through the grinds. “Go for it, dude.”
Akechi Goro does not and never will appreciate being called ‘dude’, but he brushes off the distaste admirably. Oh, shit. “...you.”
“Me.” Joker pulls a mug from behind the counter; pours the coffee (Akechi’s favorite) with steady hands. Still got something going for him— besides how sexy, and charming, and cool he is, always, obviously. “Congrats.”
Akechi exhales sharply. Annoyed. Better then soft any day , if he matched this with pity Joker would throw himself off a roof and be done with it— he meets Joker’s eyes as abruptly as he decides to do anything. “You like me. Is that right?”
Hnnnnnnnnnnmaybe.
“Of course I do,” he says, sliding Akechi’s mug across the counter. Not a drop out of place. Boss would be… well, pissed he was ruining the atmosphere, but besides that. “You’re my best friend, you know?”
He fucked up.
“That’s your cat,” Akechi growls, tone dropping. Joker tips backwards, twists at the hem of his jacket below the counter where he can’t be seen doing it. “And we both know it. Why am I here, if you don’t want to--”
“Okay.”
Joker’s stomach would hurt less if he actually stabbed himself. Which is a fact! The metaverse made injuries as cheap as prayer beads, which is a bad metaphor, because it turns out good prayer beads aren’t cheap at all, not if you really want them too...
Aha. Stop.
“Don’t laugh at me, okay?” Joker refuses to be the one who looks away first, eye to eye over the counter, SUCH a pain in the ass when Akechi’s every inch a competitive bastard. Unreadable asshole. “What did you say? That meeting me was fate?”
“...something like that.”
“You’re the most important person I’ve ever met,” Joker says, like a fool. “ I don’t want to live in a world without you in it.”
The tape skips-- again-- Akechi’s hand tight around Joker’s right bicep like a vice. It’s his dominant one, the left, Joker... pulled flush against the bar by the grip. Akechi must be uncomfortable. The counter always digs painfully into Joker’s ribs when he stretches across the side, and they're practically the same size.
Somebody’s pissed.
“I thought you said we had a deal,” Akechi hisses.
“We do.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to be a coward .”
“I’m not.”
“You THINK--”
“I think,” Joker replies. He thinks it’s been awhile, since Akechi touched him. He missed it. And that’s needy… but, whatever. If Joker’s self-aware about anything at all, it’s his own capacity to be a brat. Look. “It’s fine?” Wrong tone. “We’re going to beat him.” Closer. “You don’t have anything to worry about.” Maybe. “...you were right , okay? I’ll say it. I like you like you meant it.”
Aha. Too much!
Akechi agrees, drops him like a fad, and without the death grip supporting him Joker slides down the bar until his elbows are the only thing keeping him upright. Morgana would chastise his posture— it’s not comfortable, but. Akechi looks away first, newly freed hand clawing at the bridge of his nose.
Joker won!
How humiliating.
“You don’t touch me anymore,” he says, digging himself deeper. Whose this kid that’s talking? Why can’t he shut up? “...I’m sorry, that isn’t what I wanted to say.”
“...you know that I literally shot you, right?”
Obviously.
“Oh, no, wasn’t that the other Detective Prince?” As if Shirogane Naoto didn’t have better things to do. Akechi— the ‘second coming’ himself— takes the L, scowling face tilted just so to avoid eye-contact. “Of course I do.”
What, no response?
“You are so fucking stupid, I can’t stand it.”
There it is.
The tape skips (sort of, maybe) and where’s Akechi? Joker can’t see him anymore, but he must be around. He’s still talking. Saying, “—how dare you say stuff like that , after EVERYTHING that happened.“
“For the, uh, record,” the fool replies, “I don’t think you get to tell me how I feel about that.”
“I should.” A hand on his shoulder. For a second, Joker forgets how to breathe. “I will. You have so many— things, people, going for you. I’m not… good, for you. And you say— you don’t want to live without me—”
“Well.” Akechi’s grip tightens, a squeeze that could mean a lot of things, actually? Joker leans into it. Needy. Not part of the deal, but not not allowed . “...it’s not like I want to die, or anything.”
“Tcht.”
“I don’t! You’re not even dead, don’t tcht me.”
“...Joker…”
Oh, no, no no no. Absolutely not.
“Wakaba was dead,” Joker says, “Okumura was dead, et-cet-er-a. And you know what they did?” He can’t snap his fingers without letting go of the counter, so he kicks the base instead. Boss would have his hide if he could see him abusing the poor cafe, but he can’t, so whatever. “Poof. You didn’t vanish, you’re not dead, get over yourself.”
“Have you considered that I might only still here because you’re too stubborn to accept the truth?” Akechi’s tone is sharp— sends the stupidest little shiver down Joker’s spine. Not the time. “Don’t rest your hopes on a pipe dream. Reality isn’t so kind.”
“It’s a promise.”
“What?”
“I said, it’s a promise. Not a pipe dream.” Joker pauses. Akechi’s hand is warm on his shoulder, even through the layers of fabric-- real? Imagined? Lupin wouldn’t think about it. “Do I look like the kind of guy who breaks promises?” Lupin wouldn’t hesitate.
Joker pushes himself off the counter before the idiot piloting this body can think better of it, tucks his head into the junction between Akechi’s shoulder and his neck. Akechi shudders-- freezes-- doesn’t stop him, hand still clutching at his shoulder. Joker inhales. Recognizes the perfume as something he bought Akechi, almost three months ago.
“This is stupid,” Akechi says, not pushing away. “...and. Mmm. Yes, you do.” Joker opens his mouth to refute filthy lies when Akechi cuts him off with a low chuckle Joker can feel in his chest, pressed up against Akechi the way he is. It’s cute-- a lot of things about Akechi are cute. Like a small, feral animal. “But I know you don’t.”
So does Maruki-sensei. Not the time.
Joker burrows deeper into Akechi’s stiff embrace, savoring what he can before the bubble pops. Akechi’s coat is soft-- it’s simple to tuck his hands into the pockets, press in. It takes most of his willpower to ignore the discovery of two half melted candy bars, but he manages: mocking mister ‘oh, I don’t really care for sweets ’ can wait.
...maybe.
“Hey...“ Akechi whispers. His mouth is right by Joker’s ear, so he doesn’t have to talk loud to be heard. And-- he doesn’t push away. Does the opposite, actually, settles his free arm around Joker’s waist. Hugs him. They’re hugging. “Joker…?”
It’s nice. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t say, before.”
“Say what?”
Akechi huffs. “I… care about you too.”
Okay.
Sweet.
Joker is pretty sure he can vibe with that.
“Joker?!” Oh, right, Akechi’s talking to him. “You can’t just--” hm. “--are you even here right now.”
That’s a stupid question. Of course Joker is here right now, he has his hands in Akechi’s melted candy bar pockets and everything. He wiggles his fingers to prove the point, tapping out a onetwothreefourfive beat on Akechi’s ribcage. Akechi twitches-- Joker lifts his head out of the little spot he’d tucked it into and kisses him, quick on the lips, before Akechi can think of something dumb to say. Again.
Of course. Of course.
“Of course,” he says. Akechi’s eyes are wide-- alarmed? Weird. Joker wonders what he looks like, to him. “Akechi, can I do something for you?” Was that really the right thing to say? “I want to do something for you.” Wait a second. “...Goro.”
Akechi doesn’t say a damn thing.
Okay. “I won’t call you-- sorry.” Alright. “Can I do. Something. For you, though.” He could kiss him again. “I could kiss you again.” Joker would like to kiss him again, so that’s a good deal. He kisses him again.
Akechi still doesn’t say a damn thing.
He must not, Joker thinks, want to be kissed. Okay. “Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry, I get it.” Does he? “I’ll--”
“Joker,” Akechi says. “Please shut up.”
Joker shuts up.
Leblanc is-- so fucking cold, if he thinks about it. Did Sojiro cheap out on the heat? And Akechi doesn’t want to be kissed, and Akechi wants him to shut up, and maybe he should just
“Let’s sit down,” Akechi says. “We’re sitting down,” he repeats, and then he slides down onto the floor of the cafe, on his knees with the dirt and the coffee grinds, and Joker follows because his hands are still in Akechi’s coat-pockets and he can’t think of anything else to do. “Okay, good.”
Joker tries to say something. His mouth doesn’t cooperate.
“I’m not… good at this.” Akechi extracts his hand from its death grip on Jokers shoulder. Ah-- but Akechi’s just moving it up to the back of Jokers head, burying it in his hair. Joker tucks his chin down and bites his lip and. doesn’t. think. for a second. “Christ, how are you worse than me. ”
Aha. He’s petting him.
Akechi’s gonna get his hand stuck in there.
“I better not get my hand stuck in here,” Akechi huffs. He holds Joker closer, reorganizes himself until he isn’t on his knees and gently nudges Joker into doing the same-- Joker is, if he’s paying attention, practically sitting on Akechi’s lap. “Uh. Breathe?”
Joker is breathing.
“ With me .”
Rude. Akechi inhales, exhales, deliberate and deep-- Joker decides that he probably saw this on youtube once, and also that he isn’t very good at it, but follows along anyway. Akechi’s still got his hand in Joker’s hair; wraps his free arm tighter around Joker’s waist. Squeezes.
Hn.
“Keep breathing,” Akechi demands. “I’m not talking to you until you calm down.” Stupid thing to say. Joker is perfectly calm and cool and sexy and just. Vibing. On the floor. Because he wants to. “Joker, I’m— please, just. Breathe.” Can’t a guy vibe in peace.
Joker breathes.
“Thank you.”
Keep breathing.
“I’m going to kill your therapist,” Akechi hums, conversationally. Understandable. Maruki is— not— Joker’s favorite person right now, maybe. Shows him what he gets for ignoring red flags, like an idiot.
Aha. He’s shivering. Joker thinks (again?) that the insulation in his attic is bad, but the cafe…? Sojiro MUST have cheaped out. Or Akechi left the door open. Or—
Third options.
“Sorry,” Joker mumbles into Akechi’s chest. How embarrassing . The word jumbles into itself. Is that coherent. Does he sound like a fool.
Akechi continues to stroke Joker’s hair, so at least that’s still…
happening.
“Don’t,” Akechi says, “apologize.” He mutters something under his breath that might be a curse and holds Joker tighter, which Joker is. Perfectly fine with, honestly. It’s nice to be held. Something about pressure, or warmth, or that weird feeling you get when you’re close to someone else and you can tell their heart is beating.
Yeah.
“No, really,” Joker says, “I’m sorry. This sucks.”
Akechi ceases hair stroking long enough thwap the back of Joker’s head. “Don’t,” pause. “ Moron ,” he adds, which is better. “Do you want me to stop.”
“...”
“Right.”
The only clock in Leblanc is tucked out of sight-- the liminality would put him off, usually (you don’t form a criminal network by being off schedule ) but for now, it’s nice. Time is a construct. Society is an illusion. Akechi is warm.
Soft.
It’s probably at least (maybe) been a half hour, when Akechi speaks up. “I’m going to talk now. Tell me if you need to stop again.”
Hn. “Deal,” Joker says, to make it official— but, fuck.
Akechi drops his head so that it rests on top of Jokers. “I have had,” he exhales, “almost a month to come to terms with the fact that I am most likely dead. Shut up and let me talk . ”
Ah.
“...almost a month,” he continues, “to come to terms with that, and how you most likely felt about me.” Joker winces. “And how I felt back.” This is not getting easier. “For the record, I was never going to tell you, but you… have already gathered that. Our partnership is equal . I want us to be equals . And if you’re going to… if you’re kissing me out of obligation, or because you’re trying to hurt yourself— even a little, fuck you— you can keep that shit to yourself .”
Akechi’s voice cracks. Joker can’t see his face and doesn’t have too. He’s good at math. “It’s not that,” he says, “never that. I didn’t-- mean-- I didn’t want to--”
hurt you.
Joker doesn’t have to finish the sentence. “You did,” Akechi says, and he doesn’t drop Joker. He doesn’t. “...do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.”
This is a really funny conversation to be having tangled up on the floor.
“Good,” Akechi replies. “Tell me, next time, if you’re in the middle of fucking wigging out . I swear to god.”
Next time.
“Next time,” Joker says.
Can a hug be uncertain. “...Ah. Well.” Akechi hums toneless nonsense into Joker’s hair. “You’re the optimistic bastard, aren’t you? If we get out of this mess… I doubt this is the last time your severe allergy to emotions is going to come up. If you want them to. I would be open to the possibility.”
Uh huh.
“You’re the one who kissed me.”
That is correct.
“I’m not-- this isn’t new information, I’m just repeating a sentiment.”
Joker removes his hands from Akechi’s pockets-- slips one of the hidden chocolates inside his own pocket in the process, haha, score-- and extracts himself from beneath Akechi’s chin in the startled gap between action and (Akechi’s) reaction. Akechi’s face is soft to touch, and the kiss Joker plants on his cheek is as chaste as it is stolen.
“Was that the sentiment?” Joker asks.
Aw. He’s red. “...it might be,” he replies, big, pretty eyes blown wide. “Are you…?”
Good question. “I’m not wigging out.” Joker brushes his thumbs against the ridge of Akechi’s cheekbones, slides his hands down to the back Akechi’s neck to play with his hair. They’re so close Joker can feel Akechi’s breath on his face. “...uh, mostly.”
If he’s being honest.
“Let’s be honest, then,” Akechi says. “I am going to kill your fucking therapist. ”
Uh.
Okay.
Is he repeating himself? Understandable, but, “I think-- he’s more of a counselor?” What’s up with that.
“I don’t care.”
At least Akechi’s hot when he’s pissed. Not something Joker has much experience seeing like, two centimeters from his face, but he can roll with it. “Maruki-sensei...”
“Is a manipulative PIECE OF SHIT who pulled the fucking rug out-- all at once , I had a damn month-- because he knew you wouldn’t take it well and he--”
“--tried very hard to not do that,” Joker interjects. Oh, that’s a face. Akechi definitely does not want to hear that. Joker doesn’t even want to hear that. Why are they doing this, right now. “Can you not make me defend him right now .”
“Make you…?” Akechi repeats that to himself, lips moving silently. Make you . “Joker, what the hell are you talking about.”
Joker tilts his head forward those spare centimeters and bonks Akechi’s forehead, the force sending Akechi (and him, fingers tangled in Akechi’s hair) tumbling forward. Akechi’s on his back. Joker’s on top. Not how he expected the night to go, least of all because Akechi’s fat head is crushing his fingers.
“Joker,” Akechi wheezes, “what the fuck ??”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” Joker tugs at his hands. No dice-- better to resign himself to a fate of snuggling uncomfortably on Akechi’s chest while his hands go numb from the lack of circulation, woe is him, etc. Akechi just looks pissed. “Now you’re swerving.”
“...I am not .”
He totally was.
“Whatever you say, widdle pwince .”
Akechi groans. Joker has re-collected… at least half of his shit from the floor, it’s good to be funny again. “Do not. Just. Call me Goro. You can call me Goro.” Akechi bites his lip, anger melting out of him-- just a little, he’s still pissed. Looking away isn’t really an option in this position. So. He doesn’t. “You asked that, earlier. This is my answer.”
Joker blinks owlishly at Akechi. Goro. He has virtually no recollection of asking that, not that he doubts the idea that he would have… probably had. Did. “Okay, Goro.” The smirk creeps up on him when he isn’t expecting it, not the usual order at all. “Goro.”
“Yes.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Goro snorts. “It’s my name..?” he ventures, question trailing up somewhere near the attic.
Yeah, exactly. “So it seems,” Joker muses. “....Goro.” He can’t think of anything else to say, at least, nothing that he’s letting escape his filter, so he settles for another stolen kiss-- this one somewhere next to Goro’s ear, by the hairline. Oh, wait. “...you never paid for the coffee.”
“What.”
“The coffee,” Joker repeats. “The one I made you. It’s probably cold by now.”
Goro glares at him. Says, flat, “...I told you to warn me if you’re wigging out again. I literally cannot handle that twice in one night.” Fair enough. He’s not, though. “Joker.”
“Goro,” Joker responds, because he can. “No, I’m fine. You’re the one defrauding poor Futaba’s college fund.”
Goro opens his mouth. Closes it again. “Joker,” he asks, “how did we get here?” It’s a pretty good question. Joker wouldn’t mind the answer himself. He settles for tugging on his fingers, again, after which Goro finally ( finally ) shifts so that Joker can free them. Owch. Joker curls up on Akechi’s chest in retaliation-- can hear his heart beating through even the fabric of his coat-- and because he’s tired.
Aha. It’s late.
“It’s late,” Goro sighs.
Tomorrow… is going to be a long day. “Come upstairs with me?” He burrows deeper into Goro’s chest, at which point Goro rests his hands gently near his hips. “...sleepy,” he clarifies. It’ll be a cramped fit, but. Well. “Mona can stay at Futaba’s.”
“...are you…?”
Sure?
Of course he is. “Duh,” Joker says. “We have to get up first, though.”
Goro inhales. “Okay,” he whispers-- and Joker is struck, like a bullet, by the knowledge that all of this had been extremely new to Goro, too. That he’d pushed himself through it anyway, for him . And. Wow. That’s a fucking concept. “Joker, get your ass up.”
“Right,” Joker replies. He gets his ass up. “...to bed?”
“To bed.”
Goro takes Joker’s hand when it’s offered, and in return Joker swings him back up onto unsteady legs. He feels pretty unsteady, himself-- they’ve been on the ground for a while, probably. The clock is out of sight, out of mind, and he is not going to check his phone.
Checking his phone means acknowledging that Futaba might have been spying on them the whole time. What a sideshow .
Joker is knocked out of the thought-- mortifying! terrible!-- by Goro, squeezing his hand. He hasn’t let go since Joker swung him off the floor. “Are we going, or not,” he grouses-- steps forward, into Jokers space. “Stop thinking.”
He isn’t really expecting the kiss, when it happens. Goro just… presses his lips against his, faster than Joker can really think to react. It carries him up the stairs-- Goro tugging him along a blindingly confidant march to Joker’s awful lumpy mattress.
Tomorrow’s another day.
Joker smiles.