Work Text:
Clutching his pounding forehead, Akechi watched numbly as a thick puddle of coffee soaked into the carpet. A distant notion suggested that he should get a towel and clean it up, and yet he continued to sit, watching as the fallen mug ceased its rolling.
“Is everything alright?” Yusuke asked, peering into the living room. “...Ah, I see.”
He returned moments later toting a bundle of dish-towels, settling on hands and knees to dutifully blot the mess.
“It’s my carpet,” Akechi pointed out.
“I spend time here as well.”
“No one is forcing you to.”
“I care about you.” Yusuke gazed up toward Akechi, still seated on the couch. “Perhaps you should go lie down.”
“I’m fine,” Akechi insisted.
If he didn’t give in, the pain couldn't win. It was as simple as that. The doctors had found nothing physically wrong, following a battery of tests. It was simply all in his head. If he couldn’t even lift a coffee cup properly, what was even the point of surviving death at the hands of his own doppelganger at all?
Setting the wet towels aside, Yusuke pressed a palm to Akechi’s cheek. The touch was damp, and smelled of stale coffee.