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"I don't want it to seem like I'm holding Akechi-kun's life hostage-"
The thing is - it almost looks like he means it. Like the fact he'd figured out what Akira wanted almost before Akira did - certainly before he could have admitted it - isn't an important part of the consideration.
Like he genuinely doesn't think he's blackmailing anyone here at all.
Akira kind of wants to throw his drink in Maruki's face, see if it washes away that disarming smile.
He'd been so relieved at first; maybe all he really needed was his team, safe and happy. Which -he can do that. Sure, he can't exactly bring the dead back - and he'd hardly want to; Wakaba Isshiki miraculously alive was great for Futaba, even if it couldn't last, but Kunikazu Okumura not only alive but suddenly Father of the Year was more unnerving than anything - he feels less conflicted about that, at least.
He'd never even questioned Akechi's presence.
Of course, even after this, Akechi manages to make things worse. After all - how foolish of Akira to assume they were done with keeping things from each other.
Akira's going to let it go. Maruki made his desires clear enough, and that Akechi's prepared to leave without even addressing it- well, that's answer enough in itself. Isn't it?
He swallows back a bitter, biting comment about how clearly Akechi's wishes are the only ones worth considering, and-
He can't do it.
Akechi wears all his emotions more subtly these days- though that doesn't mean Akira ever missed a single one (in hindsight, perhaps the wonder isn't that Maruki noticed at all, but in how everyone else didn't.)
It's gone almost as soon as it appears, a brief flash of surprise fading back into the same mask of disaffected amusement he's worn all semester, in the same way he'd covered everything up with polite smiles and a pretty face as the Detective Prince.
A tiny furrow of confusion at Akira's hand still caught on his sleeve- it feels good to catch Akechi off-guard, even slightly. Even now.
"Kurusu?"
Oh, to hell with it. After today, Akechi won't even be here to hold him to account for this-
He tugs on Akechi's sleeve, then that dammed red scarf to pull Akechi closer, for one final, desperate first kiss.
He's expecting to be pushed away (but at least then he'd know, right?) or if not then an awkward kind of tolerance, not encouragement.
He doesn't expect Akechi to welcome it, and yet-
The moment he realises what's happening he steps closer, into the kiss, until Akira's fully backed up against Leblanc's countertop, one gloved hand curling into the hair at the nape of Akira's neck, the other pulling them closer together by the lapel of Akira's coat, hauling Akira into teeth and tongue and the same amount of desperation he’d felt in himself since the first time he’d looked at Akechi and thought oh no, he’s hot.
Across the café, Morgana makes a high-pitched sound of mortification; Akira elects to ignore both that and the equally shrill 'What the hell, Joker?!', which follows, in favour of more kissing.
Until Akechi pulls back like he's been burnt.
"You're making this harder," Akechi snarls, flushed and furious and beautiful, "why would you-"
"I had to know."
"And now you do." Akechi's lip curls in derision, "Does that make your decision lie any easier, Joker?"
Out the corner of his eye, a flicker of brilliant blue, and Akira hopes-
“This changes nothing, you realise?”
He’s taken a single step back from Akira – but Akechi might as well have put himself across the room; the distance feels just as insurmountable, his expression returned now to carefully neutral, like none of this matters.
Maybe not to him, Akira thinks, slightly unkindly.
And maybe he’s right after all, maybe all this achieves is that he’s made it infinitely harder to step willingly forward into a world where whatever this is between them is nothing but a dead end.
“It changes everything-” Akira snaps, “-but I won’t let it change my decision.”
Tension bleeds out of Akechi’s frame,
“I’m glad to hear it.” he concedes, like they’re discussing matters much more pleasant than signing his death warrant.
They’ve already had the argument about the trivialities of a life, of Akechi’s life, and Akira isn’t about to reprise that just because Akechi didn’t believe him well enough the first time – he's not that much of a masochist.
Another flicker of blue – and this one is brighter, more real - enough that he turns to it, hope stuck firmly in his throat.
“Lavenza?”
For a split-second the expression on Akechi’s face shifts, and beneath the cracks there’s a raw, desperate kind of longing, a perfect mirror of his own.
At the foot of the stairs the air -shifts-, unnerving in the way the Metaverse hasn’t quite stopped being, and then Lavenza is in front of them, looking concerned. Relief hits Akira like the Reaper’s Megidolaon, and he falls back against the countertop; a puppet with the strings cut.
“Trickster,” she greets him with a nod, then her attention turns to Akechi, “-I am sorry.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
Some part of his mind idly notes this feels a lot like bargaining – ironically, something else he’s learnt from Maruki – but he can’t quite stop himself.
He can feel Akechi’s focus on him, but keeps his own firmly fixed on Lavenza; not wanting to give Akechi any room to reject any help she might offer.
“We do want to help-” the glance she shoots Akechi at this is wary, the same one he’s seen from Sumire, from most of the Phantom Thieves. Akechi either doesn’t notice, or more likely doesn’t deign to react. Possible reasons for that snarl something painful in Akira’s chest, something which had only just started to unravel when Akechi, against all expectations, kissed him back.
It doesn’t sound like good news – there's a caveat, or a complication somewhere. More evident even when she doesn’t immediately finish what she was saying.
She looks at both of them, for one long, drawn-out minute. Akira doesn’t breathe. Next to him, Akechi freezes, stiff as a statue.
She steps forward, holds out her hands palms facing inward, and the blue of the Velvet Room pulses around the three of them.
“Our reach is finite Trickster, especially in this reality.”
Next to him Akechi, more gently than anything Akira’s ever heard from him, says “Kurusu.” and Akira's heart sinks.
“However - the bond between two Wild Cards is uniquely potent. There may yet be something we can do.”
“Anything,” Akira chokes out, pointedly ignoring Akechi’s incredulous scoff, “Lavenza - please.”
“We can reset this bond, take it back to its initiation. With the memories of what is to come – who knows. Perhaps you would find a way to change your fate.”
Akechi doesn’t offer a comment.
This should be easy- even with how unpredictable Akechi can be; neither of them wants this to be where the road leads them.
“So, we’ll both reset?”
Lavenza hesitates, “Ah-” damnit, there’s the catch, “well - as the other Wild Card isn’t really-”
Akira doesn’t want to hear her finish that, “Got it.” he says, tightly.
“Then you’re sending him on a fool’s errand.” Akechi snaps, stepping back into Akira’s space for the first time since he tore away from him earlier. It feels like an almost impossible challenge not to lean back into him. “We’ll just end up here again, only all the worse for that wretched little carrot you’re dangling in front of him-
I wouldn’t have made any different choices without this knowledge.”
Akira gives in to the temptation to lean in, just slightly, rests his hand over Akechi’s. The leather of his glove is soft and skin-warm. Akechi’s still stood stiff and ramrod-straight, making the minute hight difference between them slightly more pronounced when Akira’s still mostly slouched against Leblanc’s counter. He tips his head back to look up at Akechi.
“I have to try, at least.”
Akechi pulls his hand back sharply, “Suit yourself,” he growls “I can’t truly stop you, I suppose.”
His jaw tenses, then slips back into the same expression he’s worn all evening. Akira kind of hates it. “As long as you’re not going to concede to that madman, I won't begrudge you the attempt.”
Akira grins at him, bright and sunny. Akechi scowls. “That’s all I need.”
“Let us hope it is enough.” Lavenza finishes for them both. “Come, Trickster.”
By the foot of Leblanc’s staircase, the bars to the Velvet Room’s cell shimmer into view.
Akira starts after her, then pauses, one final thought hanging between them; “Akechi, I-”
Akechi turns away with a grimace, eyes closed. For an instant he looks younger, vulnerable. Like Akira has the power to hurt him with this, when anything else between them glanced off his masks without landing a blow.
“Don’t,” he interrupts, voice low, “not now.” A pause, then, just before Akira forces himself back into motion, “-save it for a better ending to this mess.”
Akira nods, short and sharp, and summons all the conviction Joker ever had.
“I promise.”
Then he turns and steps through the bars into the Velvet Room once more.