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Summary
“Do you know who speaks Latin?” Akira asks, not waiting for Goro’s answer. “Dead people. There’s a reason for that too—maybe it should stay dead. I get it, you get off to being smarter than everyone else, but for the love of the almighty god, can you at least not quote Latin at the breakfast table when I’m absolutely hungover and can’t even think clearly in Japanese?”
Goro takes a sip of his coffee, seemingly calm, but Akira doesn’t miss the way his fingers grip the cup—frankly, he’s quite surprised the delicate porcelain is still intact. “To be fair, you always found it hard to think in Japanese or any other language for that matter. And that hangover is your own fault.”
In which Goro Akechi is a disaster and Akira Kurusu is his obnoxious roommate.
yuletide 2020: first snow