Work Text:
"You know, don't you?"
"Is this what you asked me over here for?" Akechi raises an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the leader of the Phantom Thieves. "What did Maruki say?"
"I think you know exactly what Maruki said." Akira takes a seat at Leblanc's counter, motioning for Akechi to take the seat beside him. "And I have to wonder if you were ever planning to mention it."
Akechi takes the offered seat.
"I wasn't."
"Why?" Akira barely looks up from the counter. He doesn't bother turning his head, even as it raises. Instead, his eyes focus on the pots of coffee beans on the opposite wall. Countless labels that Sojiro had insisted he memorize meet his vision, and he wishes he could focus on that instead.
"Does it matter? We can't stop now."
"We can."
"Don't you dare.”
Akira almost jumps. It's a familiar tone. The sound of calm rage brings him back to a cold and quiet interrogation room, with the very boy sitting just inches away holding a silenced pistol to his skull.
"Akechi–"
"Don't patronize me, Kurusu. I know exactly what's going to happen when we go through with this. You think I don't?"
"We need to at least talk about it. Were you planning to just die without a word to anyone about it!?" Akira doesn't know where the anger comes from. The tight feeling in his chest and something pulling at the corners of his eyes, as though trying to draw tears. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"
"Tell me, Kurusu, when did I die in Shido's Palace? What day was it?" Akechi is the first to turn his head. To move to look at Akira, even as Akira refuses to look at him.
"December 14th." Akira thinks that the date comes to him all too easily.
"Goro Akechi died on December 14th, 20XX." Akechi states it simply, as though he isn't talking about his own deathday. As though it's some trivial matter that barely even affects them. "I was meant to die that day. I lost the game, and that was my fate."
"Akechi–"
"And that bastard Maruki thinks my fate is his to tamper with."
Akira's mouth snaps shut.
"I've spent far too much of my life under the thumb of these corrupted bastards. I don't know about you, Mr. Thief of Justice, but I've had enough. And, frankly, I don't give a damn if it means my death. I will not live my life in a fantasy world as a means of running from the truth." Akechi slams a hand onto the counter of Leblanc – the sudden shake of the counter almost makes Akira jump – "Goro Akechi died in Masayoshi Shido's Palace on December 14th, 20XX. He died a pathetic death that saved no one and helped nothing. It's a simple, miserable reality. But it is the true reality," Akechi takes a pause. Long. Quiet. Almost contemplative and pained, and Akira doesn't know if he's meant to interrupt it or wait for the ex-detective to come out of it on his own. "If you intend to deny that reality, then we may want to rethink the truce we have formed."
Akechi stares right into Akira's eyes, intense brown irises almost intimidating, combined with the known history of violence in those eyes.
Akira simply stares into those eyes and waits for the move he's meant to make.
"For now, though. We have a treasure to steal tomorrow. I'll be off to get some rest."
Akechi stands. Abruptly and simply and with no fanfare. He stands from the bar and walks right out of the café, leaving Akira staring after him with even less of an idea on how to proceed.