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Akira loved his friends. He loved them more than anything else in the world. If he was given a hundred years to describe the depth of that love, he knew he still wouldn’t be able to articulate just how much he adored them. He wouldn't be capable of writing down something that did any of them justice, and he couldn't even begin to describe how much each of them had done for him since he had been sent to Tokyo for his probation. They’d changed his life, Akira thought, saved it, even. They’d brought him out of his shell, and had made him feel comfortable enough to grow from someone shy, quiet, and distrustful, and into what the Phantom Thieves now described as a “snarky theatre kid”, or a "chaotic show-off”.
Akira loved his friends so, so much…but they were really starting to get on his nerves.
It had been a few days since he’d returned from the underground bunker and lived to tell the tale. He was covered in still-healing bruises that were spattered across his skin in obvious, varying shades of yellow and purple. He had scars that were still on the mend, and he was still wrapped in so much gauze and bandaging that it looked like his recovery had made no progress at all. He knew he was a horrific sight, so much so that he tried to avoid his own reflection, whether in Leblanc’s downstairs bathroom or even in his phone screen when it was on sleep mode. He understood why the others looked so pained, so stricken, at the mere sight of him, why they were so hesitant to let him get out of bed, let alone insist on heading into Shido’s Palace. He looked like shit. He felt like shit.
But, as of late, it seemed that a small, budding irritation towards his friends was beginning to overshadow his anxiety. It was something of a relief to feel something other than impending doom or overwhelming anxiety whenever he stepped foot outside of Leblanc, but it didn't feel right. Akira hated that he was starting to get angry at his friends, such an idea flooded him with crushing guilt, but he just couldn’t help it. Since he’d returned to Leblanc, they’d all treated him like he was about to break, or snap, or both. The Phantom Thieves tiptoed around him like he was made of glass, doing their best to ask him, a million times a day, how he was, how he was feeling, how his injuries were, if he’d been sleeping and eating okay since he’d come home. The first few times, he’d understood their concerns, and had been grateful for it, truly, but to be asked the same questions, over and over again, every time he saw them, was beginning to drive Akira insane.
More than that, his friends were so insistent about spending as much time with him as possible, and, in the first two days or so, he’d thrived on that closeness. Having everyone stay over in the attic had done wonders for him, had helped him get the first precious few hours of uninterrupted, nightmare-free sleep since he’d returned to the cafe after the interrogation. Then, it had been heaven. Now, it was suffocating. Someone was always in the attic with him. Morgana had been there every day since the start of the year, but now Futaba rarely seemed to leave his side, and one or two of the other Phantom Thieves always seemed to be around, and then, every half day or few hours, they would swap out, like they were doing shifts, like he needed multiple people keeping an eye on him at all times. It made the attic feel like less of a safe haven and more like a psych ward.
It was insulting. It started to feel infuriating. But what could he do? What could he say? On their end, his friends had just almost lost him. It was all still as fresh as Akira's bruises. Of course they wanted to be close to him, to make sure he was alright, especially given the state he’d returned to them in, battered and bruised and bloodied. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like from their perspective, terrified for days on end until the news finally broke of his alleged suicide, and they’d scrambled to Leblanc as fast as they could, not even sure if he was still alive until they laid eyes on him in person. He understood why they looked at him the way they did now, why they stuck close to him, why they insisted on telling him how much he would’ve been missed if their plan hadn’t worked, how much they loved him, and he appreciated all of it, really, he did.
But he had not had a single moment by himself to process a single thing that had happened to him. Not really. Bathroom breaks didn't provide that much solace when someone knocked on the door if he'd been in there for too long. Morgana even came along to the bathhouse for every visit, just in case. At first, he'd dreaded the idea of being alone. Now, it was all he wanted, all he needed.
He wanted to scream, to cry, to curl up under the covers and stay there for hours without someone being on his case about it. He wanted to be by himself and to finally have a moment to breathe and to think about it all, without someone watching his every move and panicking the moment his expression was anything other than positive or neutral. It was exhausting. He felt like he had to be okay, to put on a show of a more-composed person than he was. His friends needed that, and deserved that, especially while the world kept on turning whether Akira was ready to rejoin it or not, and Shido was still out there, ruining people's lives. He needed to keep it together. That was his job. He was the one who stayed firm, unshaken, an anchor, a rock, whatever his teammates needed. But he was close to losing it, and he didn’t know what to do.
He needed space. He just wasn’t sure how to ask for it in a way that wouldn’t break their hearts.
It sucked that he was awful at asking for time and space away from his friends because he was so grateful to have them around. Every time someone wanted to stay later at Leblanc before all of this, for coffee or curry or video games or even sleepovers, he’d never even had the thought of saying no. It was much worse now, especially with Morgana. They lived together, so even if he had space from the others, it wasn't like Morgana could just be kicked out. So, no matter how he tried to go about it, Akira thought the entire conversation would be pointless. The others would leave, and he would stay. He'd be on Akira's ass, as always, about his eating habits, how much sleep he was getting, if he needed anything for his wounds, and Akira would be back at square one, exhausted as ever.
Akira let out a quiet sigh as he ruminated.
“You okay?”
“Mona,” Akira sighed, beyond tired of it, “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Morgana prompted, as concerned as ever.
Akira rolled his eyes and shoved his face back into his pillow, turning over so his back faced the others in the room. He felt as if he were holding his breath for the long pause that followed, begging whoever was listening to get them to drop it, and leave him alone. His social battery was beyond fried at this point, and that was something he was trying to get used to.
Eventually, the moment passed, and Futaba and Morgana returned to what they'd been discussing. It was hard not to eavesdrop on the only sound in the attic, even if their voices were beginning to get on Akira's nerves. He feigned sleep for as long as he could, hoping that he would drift off belong long. It was a stupid wish, he thought. Sleep evaded him as much as comfort seemed to.
After several minutes, Akira's interest, however, was piqued. He heard Futaba start to jokingly complain, while she hugged a squirming Morgana to her chest, mumbling about bringing him over to Sojiro’s for a sleepover at hers, once Akira was done “hogging” him.
Akira's eyes snapped open at the prospect, and he was glad to see that the others had all gone home for the day, their bags gone as well. Perfect. He thought. Finally. His prayers had been answered.
“You should go.” Akira tried to play it off as light-heartedly as he could, propping himself up on an elbow. "You know how lonely Futaba gets."
"Hey!" Futaba gasped. "Rude!"
Morgana chuckled, then shook his head. "Then who will look after you?"
Akira’s heart dropped into his stomach, and, in that moment, his desperation won. “Actually, can you go?" He blurted out. Then, he winced, hurrying to add something to soften the blow, "…Please?”
“What do you mean? Why?” Morgana looked hurt, and Akira’s stomach twisted.
“I just…I need time to myself. To think.” Akira said at last, a half-truth. “I need to…” He took a shaky breath, glancing over at his glasses. They sat on the shelves to his left, an eyesore compared to the gifts his friends had given him. He hadn’t put them back on since they’d been smacked off his face in the interrogation. The lenses were cracked, now. “I haven’t had time to— to process everything.”
Morgana’s eyes went wide, and Futaba’s filled with tears. Both knew what it meant that Akira was being the one to bring up the interrogation, even more so to finally admit he wasn’t handling it well. Hell, mentioning it at all was huge, let alone the fact he was being open about needing to process it.
“O-Okay.” Futaba said, blinking back her tears. She felt awful for tearing up in front of Akira about Akira’s own trauma, but whenever someone mentioned what he went through, whenever she imagined what had happened to him, what had caused all those barely-fading bruises, she couldn’t help it. “O-Of course. I- I mean, if you need space, then, yeah, Mona can come stay with me.”
“For as long as you need.” Morgana was quick to add. “Really. We can even tell Boss that you want to be left alone. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind-”
“Guys.” Akira shushed them gently, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s alright, it’s not a big deal, just…” He ran a hand through his hair, and Futaba couldn’t help the wince that came as she caught a glimpse of half-healed, yellow bruises spattered across his temple and around his forehead. “…Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Futaba said. “And I mean it, anytime you get sick of Mona, just text me and I’ll come grab him!”
“Hey!” Morgana exclaimed, hurt. “You don’t have to be rude about it!”
He seemed a little less upset at the sound of Akira’s laughter, however, a rare sound these days.
Futaba and Morgana spoke with Sojiro about the situation downstairs while Akira, for the moment, enjoyed the silence. He laid back in his bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars he and Yusuke had scattered across the ceiling, and felt a bit lighter for the first time in a while. He hadn't expected them to go along with his request, but it seemed that Futaba and Morgana were eager to make up for whatever time he'd needed to himself by getting the ball rolling straight away, and explaining everything to Sojiro. He knew that likely meant that they were telling Sojiro to give him some space, but it was Sojiro's café he was living above. He didn't expect the man to not open it in the morning.
…Surely they wouldn't go that far, right?
Before long, Futaba and Morgana returned, looking sheepish and almost…nervous?
"So, um…" Futaba wrung her hands together, her voice small. "Do you need anything…?"
"Futaba," Akira beckoned her over with a hand, "c'mere."
She did without a second thought, crossing the space between them in no time at all. She buried her head in his shoulder, shuddering a little as he closed his arms around her. She always felt so small, and it broke his heart at how much she seemed to shake at the mere thought of losing him.
"I'm going to be fine." He assured her. "I just need time. I'm not going anywhere."
"I know." She sniffled. "I do, I just… I can't lose you, too."
"You won't." Akira pressed a kiss to her temple. "You'll never lose me. I promise."
She stayed there for a little longer, and Morgana leapt up onto the bed to show his affection through a few gentle nudges with his head, and loud, comforting purring. Akira freed an arm to pat his head, and he was content to just enjoy the moment.
Then, it passed. Futaba grabbed her things, swept Morgana into her arms, and smiled softly at Akira.
"You sure you won't get lonely?" She asked, ever-conscious of how packed Akira liked to keep his schedule pre-interrogation. His social calendar had been filled with meeting one confidant or another whenever he had a spare moment for so long that now, when he rarely seemed to leave the café, the difference in who he had been and who he was now seemed so apparent, so worrying.
"If I do," Akira replied, "I'll text you, okay?"
Futaba grinned. "I'll hold you to that." She said. "Have a good weekend, okay?"
"Okay." Akira nodded, and he waved them goodbye as the two descended the staircase.
Not long after he heard Leblanc's front door swing shut behind them, Sojiro came upstairs.
"Hey, kid." Sojiro smiled at him warmly. "I've stocked up the fridge downstairs with some extra food, so you won't have to worry about feeding yourself for the weekend. I'm glad you're having some time to yourself, but I'll be frank with you, I have a few conditions."
Akira grinned. "Yeah?"
"I want to see photographic evidence that you've eaten at least two meals a day, every day." Sojiro said with a serious note. "And I want you to promise that if you need anything, anything at all, you will call or text either Futaba or myself as soon as possible. Can you do that?"
"Yeah, Sojiro," Akira gave him a teasing salute, "I promise."
Some of the concern in Sojiro's brow seemed to disappear at those words. "Good." Then, he smiled. "I'll see you on Monday, then. I'll still be opening up shop over the weekend of course, but Futaba has made me vow to leave you alone." He chuckled, shaking his head. "So I will. Look after yourself?"
"I will."
"That's all I need to know." Sojiro sighed with relief. "Alright then, Monday it is."
Akira waved goodbye, and, when he heard Leblanc being locked and left alone for the night, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. He curled up on his side, releasing a long, relieved sigh. Everything was quiet, still. He was alone.
Such a thought had never felt so comforting before.
Akira let out a quiet, shaky sob, and, for the first time, allowed the tears to come.
The idea of having time to himself, a whole weekend, at that, was so strange. Ever since mid-April, Morgana had been a constant presence in Akira's life, accompanying him anywhere and everywhere save for the rare occasisons where a friend wanted one-on-one time, often amusing himself someplace nearby while Akira hung out with whoever he was seeing that day. Then, like always, he and Morgana would meet up and head home together. It was like clockwork. They'd eat together, head to sleep together, and head to school the next day together. Morgana sat through all of his classes, his lunch breaks, everything.
It was strange not having Morgana around. Akira had become so used to it, that even now, he expected to find him lazing in a sunbeam somewhere, especially with how cold it'd been lately.
Ever since Futaba had joined the Phantom Thieves, there had been a few nights here and there she'd steal Morgana, and once Haru had become part of their team, she had done the same. It wasn't as if Akira having a day or night to himself was unheard of, but it was still so rare, especially now, late in the year, where he had been fortunate enough to befriend so many different people. But now, after faking his death, Akira hadn't found the strength to leave Leblanc as often as he once had.
He hated feeling trapped in the attic, but was so fearful of venturing outside and blowing his cover. He felt claustrophobic in his room, and at the same time, he felt so, so safe. Perhaps that was part of why having his friends come over so often had been gnawing at him. He was terrified they were making it too obvious that he was still alive. If they were under surveilance from Shido's goons or the police, the Phantom Thieves would look strange visiting their dead leader's empty bedroom on a daily basis, especially when it seemed like none of them were in mourning. He thought about bringing it up, not for the first time, but worried that the others would view him as paranoid. He didn't want them to think he'd changed after his interrogation and become someone so much more fearful and skittish than they knew him to be.
At the same time, he wondered if they saw right through him.
Akira had only left his bed to have something to eat, and, once he'd snapped a photo of his empty plate and sent it to Sojiro, he'd returned to bed. He was curled up under his thick winter blanket, and figured he wouldn't venture out again until he needed the bathroom, or grew hungry again. The latter didn't seem to be much of an issue. He'd struggled with eating full meals since he'd returned to Leblanc, certain it was because of his nerves. His stomach felt sick, twisting itself into knots with each nightmare, each panicked thought or recollection. He knew Sojiro was aware of this as well, so Akira hoped that his guardian would take pity on him about the whole "two meals a day" promise. Sojiro would understand, surely.
Akira pulled the blanket over his head, blocking out the afternoon's fading sunlight. It'd been growing colder, lately, and not in a way that Akira was used to. His hometown experienced winters without snow, so he was excited to see it in person, but not so sure he was going to be able to handle the weather in the same way his Tokyo-born friends did. Still, he was bundled up in his warmest sleepwear, and curled up under the warmest blanket he had, so he would have to make do for tonight. He thought about called Sojiro and asking for some warmer bedding, or perhaps even a small heater for the attic, but at the same time, Akira hesitated.
He didn't want to be a burden.
It was a quiet, desperate thought. He'd been so lucky to have surrounded himself with so many people who were so devoted to him and ensuring his happiness. But, at the same time, their care and affection made him feel sick to his stomach. His friends had spent so much of their spare time with him that he was genuinely worried about their grades, their homework, their extra curriculars, and everything in-between. He knew for a fact that Makoto had skipped student council meetings to check with him. He knew that Yusuke had a painting due next week that he hadn't started. He knew that Ann had put off photoshoots for him, rescheduling time and time again. Haru had missed multiple meetings with investors that were important for her future. It wasn't even comforting that Ryuji, Futaba, and Morgana had less responsibilities than the rest of their friends, not when they were spending so much of their free time to check in with Akira, swapping out afternoons like Akira-watch was an unpaid job.
Even still, Ryuji had homework, even if he acted like he didn't. Futaba had to prepare for coming back to school next year. And, if Akira was honest, he didn't even care if he couldn't come up with an engagement or important task that Morgana had to get back to. It didn't matter. His friends deserved to have lives outside of him. They deserved to do whatever they wanted without worrying if Akira was going to make it through the day without a breakdown.
A wave of fatigue washed over him, and Akira burrowed further into his blankets, teeth chattering, shivers racing through him. It was beyond cold, freezing, even. But he'd be fine. He wouldn't call Sojiro or Futaba. He didn't need to. He wouldn't bother them for something as trivial as him being cold. It was winter. Of course he was cold. He just needed to get some sleep, and, if it was colder in the morning, and he really couldn't deal with it, he'd talk to Sojiro before he locked up Leblanc for the afternoon. He just needed to get some sleep, and see how things were in the morning. If anything, the plan was oddly comforting. He liked the idea of waking up to an empty bedroom for once. He liked the idea of having a full day to himself.
Akira closed his eyes, wrapping the blanket even tighter around him. The exhaustion that crept over him was almost a blessing in its own right. He hadn't had a solid full-night's rest in so long. He buried his face in his pillow and welcomed sleep like an old, dearly-missed friend.
Outside his window, which had been cracked open for the fresh air, it started to snow.
When Sojiro awoke, he was delighted to see the first snowfall of the year.
He'd shivered as he made his way to the kitchen, turning up the heat and busying himself with a cup of coffee while he waited for the temperature to rise. He didn't expect Futaba to be up for quite some time, knowing that she loved to sleep in and how she adored nothing more than a lazy day during the winter. Sojiro took all the long, usual steps to make himself his favourite blend, even though he was at home. It was just how he'd always done it, he mused. There was an art form in taking his time, he thought, and in ensuring that he'd bring out any and all hidden flavours in his roast of choice for the day. Futaba never listened to any of his ramblings about the different types of beans and their acidity or anything to do with it, but she'd happily wolf down any plate of curry he placed in front of her, so it wasn't something he'd fault her for.
Perhaps that was the reason why he'd eventually warmed up to Akira, Sojiro wondered to himself. He'd definitely taken more of a liking to the alleged teenage deliquent in his attic once the kid had shown an interest in learning how to make coffee. He'd been awful at it in the beginning, of course, but he'd kept at it. He'd paid attention to all of Sojiro's lectures, no matter how long or dull most kids his age would find them. He'd spent hours after school practicing with different types of techniques, different beans, and different ways of presenting various cups of coffee. He'd turned out to be a real prodigy, and Sojiro thought that if he'd leave Leblanc to anyone, it'd be Akira.
Sojiro took a sip of his coffee, returned his gaze to the serene snowfall outside, and, all of a sudden, let the mug slip from his hands and shatter all over his hardwood floors.
Akira.
Akira, who was living in the attic that had never been insulated.
Akira, who was injured, alone, and without any source of warmth in a snowstorm.
Sojiro scrambled for his phone, and opened his conversation with Akira. The kid hadn't checked in since the mid-afternoon, despite promising to update Sojiro on what he'd had for dinner. He hadn't checked in this morning, either. Sojiro cursed under his breath, abandoning the mess on his floor, calling Akira's phone, and placing it on speaker. He darted around the kitchen in a frantic search for his keys while his phone sat on the counter, ringing and ringing and ringing while Sojiro, for the life of him, could not find his keys to Leblanc.
"Come on, kid," he muttered as he hurried around the house, throwing cushions aside just in case he'd left them on the couch by accident, "pick up, pick up, pick up…"
Click. "Hey, it's Akira. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you!" Beep.
Sojiro redialled, then resumed his search.
"Hey, it's Akira-"
Sojiro redialled.
"Hey-"
"Shit!" Sojiro barely refrained from throwing his phone at the wall in frustration. He finally managed to find his keys, wedged between the couch cushions, and the relief that followed was enough to push him onward with a vengence. In no time at all, he'd grabbed his phone and surged for the front door. He didn't have the time to leave Futaba a note or a message. He'd call her later, but, for now, Akira came first. He didn't care about wading through the snow, no matter that he'd forgotten his coat in his mad dash for the exit. It didn't matter.
Akira.
Akira mattered.
Nothing else did.
Sojiro barrelled his way into Leblanc, charging up the stairs with everything he had.
He barely stopped to breathe, surging ahead to rip the duvet off the bed to see what state his kid was in.
Each breath was a small, slow puff of white. Akira's skin was paler than Sojiro had ever seen it, verging on a slight, bluish tinge. He was curled up on his side, his hands pressed against his lips. Sojiro was struck with the horrific image of Akira bringing shaky fingers to his mouth, blowing on them in one last, desperate attempt to warm them up. Then, Sojiro saw the true state of his hands, and fell to his knees, the wind taken out of him. Akira's fingers were bright red and swollen.
It was as if the floor had fallen out from under him. Sojiro wished it would swallow him whole.
Frostbite. He thought. Second-degree frostbite.
Frostbite, under his watch. Hypothermia, under his watch.
It had to be hypothermia. It broke Sojiro's heart, but it had to be. Akira wasn't even shivering.
Shame and fear in equal amounts brought tears to Sojiro's eyes. He took out his phone and dialled Takemi's number, leaving it on speaker as he had before just so he could cradle Akira's face in his shaking hands. He didn't know what else to do. His mind raced. His heart ached.
Was he supposed to warm him up with more blankets? Did he need warmer clothes? A hot bath? Sojiro didn't know, and he cursed himself for his inaction, for just sitting there-
But Akira's skin was ice-cold, and it was the only thing he could feel other than the agony that was consuming his every thought.
"Kid," his voice was hoarse, desperate, "please, please wake up."
The only sound in the room was his ringing phone, and his own laboured breathing. Sojiro would have done anything to hear Akira's voice, or his laugh, anything at all.
His breathing was so quiet, so slow, Sojiro despaired. He was so still.
"Pick up," Sojiro begged for the second time today, "for the love of god, pick up-"
"Takemi's Medical Clinic, how can I-"
"Takemi," Sojiro blurted out, cutting her off, "it's Sojiro. It's an emergency. Please-"
"Leblanc?"
"Yes-"
"I'm on my way."
Just like that, she'd ended the call. Sojiro heaved a sigh of relief.
"It's going to be okay, kid." Sojiro assured him, even though his pleas fell on deaf ears. Akira didn't stir, no matter how much Sojiro raised his voice or shook him. "Just hold on, okay? You're a strong kid, yeah? You've been through worse than this."
Against his pale skin, Akira's bruises looked more stark than ever. It was just another sign of Sojiro's failure as a guardian, another reminder, ever-present. Akira had almost died twice now, on his watch, in his care.
What kind of father was he?
Takemi entered the room and shoved him aside without so much as a word. He barely even registered it. All he saw was his kid. She barked orders at him that Sojiro couldn't fathom, but he understood enough to help her get Akira to her clinic in record time. She slammed the door in his face after he'd done his part, and he was fine with that. He deserved worse.
Sojiro sank into a chair in the waiting room, bowed his head, and allowed the tears to come.
It felt like a lifetime had passed before the door next opened.
Sojiro's head shot up in the same moment, and he shot to his feet, "Is he-?"
"He'll live." Takemi said flatly, and he wasn't surprised at her scowl. "Come with me." She turned on her heel and headed outside, and, without question, Sojiro followed her.
The two of them stepped out into the snow, which had slowed and lessened into nothing more than a few flakes here and there. Sojiro wasn't dressed for it, of course, and neither was Takemi. She had brought him out here to prove a point, he thought.
"I don't have to tell you that he almost died. Again." Takemi spoke after a moment, her tone scathing. "That attic you have him tucked away in…what were you thinking?"
Sojiro couldn't bring himself to answer her. He didn't want to make excuses. He'd told himself, long ago, that everything he'd done to Akira had been for Futaba's sake. To some extent, that had been true. But she had been happier and healthier in the last few months in part because of Akira, and Sojiro had never returned the favour. He had never shown him the gratitude he'd deserved. He had never done anything to improve Akira's living situation, something entirely in his power, something that was entirely his responsibility.
He'd just left him there, hidden in an uninsulated attic that had almost killed him.
"You couldn't have even bothered to buy him a heater?" Takemi went on, louder, angrier than before. "What about some actual bedding? What about a real bed? He has nothing but a shitty mattress on a stack of crates, Sakura. What the hell is wrong with you? He's just a kid."
"I know—"
"That's rich." Takemi snapped at him. "You have no idea. You got paid to house a kid, and you couldn't even buy him a bed. You couldn't bring yourself to get him a bedroom with a door, or walls that are even insulated. Criminal record or not, he was always just a kid."
"I know." Sojiro choked out. "I know, Takemi, I just—" He had no excuse. There was nothing he could say that would make up for any of this, or justify any of his choices, regardless of the excuses he had made regarding Futaba's condition. "…Will he be alright?"
Takemi nodded. "He'll be fine. I'll give you a list of instructions once I discharge him." She shot him a glare. "But make no mistake. I'm more than tempted to have him put in my care. He's the kid of my college classmate, after all. If I'd sorted out my work with the clinic sooner…"
"I know." Sojiro sighed. "His father had you as his first pick."
She nodded, then sighed. "Let's go back inside." She said. "I know you're dying to see him."
"Thank you." Sojiro blurted out before she opened the door. "Thank you for saving his life. I'll make this right. I'll take care of him, like I should have from the start."
Takemi smiled, just a little. "Start with a bedframe," she instructed, "and go from there."
Sojiro chuckled, but took the words to heart. He followed her back inside, and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders when Takemi led him into the examination room where Akira slept. There was more colour in his face, his hands were bandaged thoroughly, and there were heat packs over various parts of his body. Sojiro noted the IV as well, and the sight of it caused another pang in his chest. He did his best to commit the sight before him to memory. He vowed to never forget what he'd put Akira through. He'd never allow himself the luxury.
At Takemi's encouraging nod, he took a seat beside Akira, and tentatively took one of his swollen, bandaged hands. Sojiro took a deep breath, and watched Akira sleep, beginning to plan all the ways he would make it up to him, all the ways he'd care for him in the future.
Futaba was, understandably, inconsolable when Sojiro called her to fill her in on what had happened. All she'd known was that Sojiro had made a mess with his coffee and had left the front door wide open in his desperation to get to Leblanc. She arrived at Takemi's with Morgana in tow, and, while anxious and scared for Akira's wellbeing, she seemed comforted with Takemi's gentle and patient explanation of Akira's condition and recovery plan.
When Takemi deemed that Akira was alright for the moment, and just needed to rest and finish his IV, she stepped out to deal with other patients. Once the door had clicked shut behind her, Futaba's gaze snapped to Sojiro, and he knew he was in for it.
"You should've let him come live with us months ago." She sniffled. "You didn't even offer."
"I know." Sojiro sighed, knowing she was right. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He was so ashamed of himself for that. The guilt ate at him, relentless and even more overpowering with each glance he spared Akira. His kid, stuck in the closest thing there was to a hospital bed with his faked death, all because Sojiro was more selfish than he had ever admitted to himself. "I should have offered months ago. I should have done better by him when it came to…well, everything." He hung his head. "I want to make it right."
"You will." Futaba said, her voice shaking slightly. "I know you will. But, until then…" She took a breath. "Sojiro, I'm—I'm kind of angry at you." She seemed upset to admit it.
Sojiro chuckled, though there was no real humour in it. "I deserve that." He said, meaning every word. "Hell, I deserve more than that. He almost died." Again.
"When he's better," Futaba added, "he should move in with us."
"He should." Sojiro agreed. "The kid deserves a real bedroom." And a real bed, his mind scolded him. Whatever grievances you had with him in the beginning, how could you think that was fair? How could you think that was a normal place for a sixteen-year-old to live in?
He wasn't sure. He had a lot of explaining to do to himself, and to Akira. He'd get to that after the apologies, he decided. He'd do anything to make this right, and he would make this right.
There was a quiet groan, and Sojiro was on his feet in the time it took Akira to open his eyes.
"Kid," He breathed, and Akira's lashes fluttered as he stared up at him, looking confused, "you're in Takemi's clinic." Sojiro rushed to explain. "You—you're not well, kid. It's my fault."
"Sojiro—" He whispered.
"We'll talk more about it when you're better," Sojiro went on, "but for now, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I put you through that. I put you through so much you didn't deserve."
Akira smiled, squeezing his hand. Then, his sleepy gaze shifted to Futaba, and she stood up, too. She went to the other side of the bed, and took Akira's other hand, causing Akira's smile to widen even further. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"We love you." She said through a sob. "You know that, right?"
"I know." Akira said, holding her gaze to make sure she knew he meant it. Then, he looked to Sojiro, and his eyes creased at the edges. "I know."
Sojiro pressed a gentle hand to Akira's head, pushing his curls back from his face, and told himself that he would take care of both of his kids, no matter what.
In the following days, Sojiro did his best to make up everything.
He bought Akira a heater that warmed the whole attic, and a whole new set of bedding made for the winter. He replaced the old crates with an actual, solid bedframe that he assembled himself. And he made up the spare room in the house that should have always been Akira's.
Once Akira had recovered enough, he'd said that he was grateful for the offer to move into the Sakura residence, but wanted to keep his room in the attic. It had been his home for over six months now, and he wasn't ready to part with it just yet. So, they compromised. Akira could stay in the spare room whenever he wanted, which he decided would be every other weekend, and keep living in the attic like he wanted to. It wasn't a large change, but it was nice for him to come to the house for dinner, and to stay the night every so often, getting a glimpse of the life he would have had if the circumstances had been different.
Akira and his friends had a long, honest discussion about his needs, and he was able to voice his concerns to them about everything, as well as him needing them to hover less. It had taken some time for them to adjust, especially with everything that had happened, but the Phantom Thieves were happy to give him the space he needed, space that he was now comfortable with asking for. The daily visits stopped, and were replaced with more infrequent hangouts that resembled their usual routines before Akira's death scare, and it did him a world of good. Futaba and Haru also did their best to kidnap Morgana from time to time, to give Akira a night to himself at least one or two times a week, something he deeply appreciated.
All in all, Akira felt that everything had improved more than he'd ever thought it could. His bruises were healing, and his hypothermia and frostbite was almost a bad memory. He felt like his bonds with his friends were stronger than ever now that he had the strength to voice his much-needed boundaries, and he felt more prepared than ever to take on Shido's Palace.
Still, Sojiro was a little distant, despite everything. Akira wanted to fix that.
He was smoking on the patio outside after dinner, and that was when Akira chose to ambush him.
"Hey, Sojiro." He said as he stepped outside. "Still brooding?"
Sojiro shook his head. "You're too forgiving, kid."
"It's been what, a week? Even Futaba's not mad at you, anymore." Akira teased.
Sojiro didn't take the bait. "You got hypothermia and frostbite under my watch." He huffed. "And I'll never forgive myself for it. I shouldn't forgive myself for it."
"I could have called you." Akira replied. "But I put it off, remember? I could have helped myself, and I didn't."
It was something that had broken Sojiro's heart when he'd first heard about it. His kid, thinking he was too much of a burden to ask for help. Things were a lot better now, especially when it came to Akira's mental health, but it was something that was always in the back of Sojiro's mind. He never wanted Akira to feel like that ever again.
"That's not on you kid." Sojiro insisted. "You never should have been in that situation to begin with. I should've taken better care of you."
"But I forgive you." Akira remarked. "And that's what matters, right?"
Sojiro softened at that. "I don't deserve it."
Akira shrugged. "Doesn't matter." He nudged him with an elbow. "Actually, want to make it up to me?" At Sojiro's curious stare, Akira smiled. "Put out that cigarette, and we're good."
At that, Sojiro cracked a real smile, and relented. "Anything for you, kid."
Akira grinned. "Come on," He beckoned him with a grin, "we're picking out a movie."
Sojiro smiled as Akira headed back inside, and he paused for a moment, watching Akira and Futaba talking excitedly about whatever animated film they'd managed to dig out of Futaba's extensive collection. He stood there, feeling his heart swell with nothing but affection for two kids that weren't his own but felt so much like they were his. He had that thought again, the one that was so present, so insistent, one that had been there since Futaba had come into his care, and had become ever louder since Akira's interrogation.
I'll do better. It repeated it like a mantra. I'll be better.
As his kids waved at him through the glass, eagerly gesturing for him to come inside, Sojiro smiled warmly, and told himself to take it one step at a time. He'd make up for all of it, for not taking care of either of them like he should have months ago, for not being the father both of them needed. He'd become the one that they deserved, Sojiro promised himself.
It was the least he could do to thank them for the honour of being their dad.