Plain. Typical. A mild mannered man falls for a hot headed woman - it follows conventional tropes. A meaningless backdrop for the sentimental and given where this story ends up-
What a load of good that 'greatest luck of my life' did for him, as he recounts a story meant to end in bloodshed.
But he listens with rapt attention - because he asked, because he's curious, because he can feign interest and retain information on the mundane before the real focus comes to life. Rumi isn't like his mother - Rumi was loved, adored and surrounded by people who hold her memory close. She doesn't need one more with Akechi.
It's easy to feign care, at first. People crying at his feet while they collect crime scene information of a case Akechi knows the solution for, listening to the woes of those in the throes of interrogation - he can fake it for as long as necessary.
There are hitches in Maruki's breath. Uncomfortable shifting. Akechi keeps himself steady in the background, as a statue meant to observe and nothing more. The love story didn't matter, but-
Then it breaks.
A scene explained and confirmed - questions anyone would ask when faced with the brutality of a random attack, a sudden loss with no explanation. A vision of that home reignited with Akechi's own closed eyes. One categorized and sorted through with efficiency. Two corpses - one disjointed across the floor, a man turned to organ and blood. The death of two people done with a practiced precision that makes him second guess a random robbery - a cold day, a cognitive researcher, a warning.
But Shido isn't sloppy. His people aren't idiots - too smart, almost. They would never mistake an elderly couple for the young cognitive researcher and his fiance. The connection between his niche field and their deaths not clear enough to be a morbid warning.
Shido doesn't warn. Akechi would have been sent to finish any job left undone. The cleaners don't mess up.
Then Maruki's tone shifts - the memory clear in the water when he opens his eyes, when he looks at Maruki at They attacked her and -
Anguish. A raw, primal force that would call forth a god itself.
It makes sense, suddenly, why his persona is strong, why 'it was dangerous for me to be near her' feels like a calling card. 'It was dangerous for me to be near her' and now-
He's dangerous to be around. The ironclad control on his soul the only reason why Azathoth didn't become Azathoth and-
Whatever his version of Loki would be.
A voice turned neutral, a feigned sort of protection against the unpleasant. Akechi allows it with only a glance back to the water.
He thinks about their conversation under the newly flickering starlight, pressed back against grass and a force unlike anything he's ever seen hovering over him. Loss is a powerful driving force shared in the quiet moments after battle feels more appropriate than ever.
I've heard that she's doing much better now, and that's all that I can ask for. It's all he can ask for. She's doing the best she can. A connection severed for the good of another. He did the right thing and -
I vowed to pursue my work in cognitive psience to find a way to heal traumatic emotional wounds like Rumi's, no matter what. It's a bomb. A ticking clock. Nothing about this field will cure another. It will kill. He opens his mouth to say-
Something.
To warn, in a way Shido would never allow, to provide a kindness not afforded to anyone in this world and-
Shuts it, just as fast. Loss is a powerful driving enough to spurn the life of a entity beyond all reason. Logic. Enough to press a gun to someone's head again and again and again.
A warning wouldn't stop Maruki and-
That strength of will is the reason respect formed between them, in the warped, twisted little ball it has. He wouldn't insult him by implying a teenager's vague words would be enough to end his love for Rumi. Rumi, with a murdered family. Rumi, who will be easy to find in police databases. Rumi, who-
Everything I've done– everything I do even now is for her. Everything. gave life to a man lost, even in her absence.
Akechi doesn't care about Maruki. Rumi. The intensity of the story enough to spur his own paranoia and adrenhiline with knowledge of a darker world behind scenes, but-
When he sees that hand drop, his body slump, his voice quieter than he's ever heard-
It feels like settling into a cozy cafe chair, too cheap to be comfortable, with the scent of too spicy curry coupled with a fresh cup of coffee he never has to ask for and-
It's Akechi's turn, for once, to press that piping hot cup into a lost hand.
He shouldn't care. Doesn't. A part of him staunch in its refusal to let his heart waver beyond taking in information with a clinical, cold sort of accuracy required for reports and paperwork. Man reports death of a couple, a woman injured with pinpoint precision of the scene over people.
Akechi slinks into the water himself, then slides back up.
Slides over. Close, but not quite. It's what a detective prince would do, but-
He isn't a detective prince with Maruki. Isn't Crow. Isn't even Akechi Goro in full, but he's-
Akechi.
And Akechi doesn't care about serving empty platitudes or feigned condolences. How many times has he heard 'I'm sorry for your loss' 'I'm sorry about her' 'I'm sorry about-']
You did the best you could.
[Quiet. The frayed edges of his words grasping at what little sincerity remains in his heart. His back settling against he same wall as Maruki is against, even as he remains an arm's length away.]
To turn your life into one meant to serve others, to cure them of their own wounds -
[Thoughtful and soft-he doesn't want her back. Wants others to avoid the same brutality of a life ripped apart. An impossible task, when the world is so unrelenting.]
She would be proud of you and what you've accomplished, but not for the reasons you think. Of course, I'm simply posturing, as I don't know her at all. This is only from what I've gleaned.
[A fiery, hot headed woman and a distorted love torn.]
Your fight against an unjust reality and for the broken lives in it is an uphill, unwinnable battle, but-
[His hands raise from the water, palms up, mock surrender and compliance.]
I find myself wanting to put my faith in you regardless. Isn't that funny? Perhaps it's the strength of your will that's won me over a little bit. Rumi must have seen that in you before anyone else. Some people are simply like that - they can tear down a mask before you're even aware one is on your face.
[A beat. Hands lower. Maruki's dream is so goddamn stupid. His goal impossible, but just like Joker-
There's a flicker of life he can't deny, a will impossible to ignore.]
It's fortunate you were able to meet someone who gave you freedom.
cw: MURDER cont
Plain. Typical. A mild mannered man falls for a hot headed woman - it follows conventional tropes. A meaningless backdrop for the sentimental and given where this story ends up-
What a load of good that 'greatest luck of my life' did for him, as he recounts a story meant to end in bloodshed.
But he listens with rapt attention - because he asked, because he's curious, because he can feign interest and retain information on the mundane before the real focus comes to life. Rumi isn't like his mother - Rumi was loved, adored and surrounded by people who hold her memory close. She doesn't need one more with Akechi.
It's easy to feign care, at first. People crying at his feet while they collect crime scene information of a case Akechi knows the solution for, listening to the woes of those in the throes of interrogation - he can fake it for as long as necessary.
There are hitches in Maruki's breath. Uncomfortable shifting. Akechi keeps himself steady in the background, as a statue meant to observe and nothing more. The love story didn't matter, but-
Then it breaks.
A scene explained and confirmed - questions anyone would ask when faced with the brutality of a random attack, a sudden loss with no explanation. A vision of that home reignited with Akechi's own closed eyes. One categorized and sorted through with efficiency. Two corpses - one disjointed across the floor, a man turned to organ and blood. The death of two people done with a practiced precision that makes him second guess a random robbery - a cold day, a cognitive researcher, a warning.
But Shido isn't sloppy. His people aren't idiots - too smart, almost. They would never mistake an elderly couple for the young cognitive researcher and his fiance. The connection between his niche field and their deaths not clear enough to be a morbid warning.
Shido doesn't warn. Akechi would have been sent to finish any job left undone. The cleaners don't mess up.
Then Maruki's tone shifts - the memory clear in the water when he opens his eyes, when he looks at Maruki at They attacked her and -
Anguish. A raw, primal force that would call forth a god itself.
It makes sense, suddenly, why his persona is strong, why 'it was dangerous for me to be near her' feels like a calling card. 'It was dangerous for me to be near her' and now-
He's dangerous to be around. The ironclad control on his soul the only reason why Azathoth didn't become Azathoth and-
Whatever his version of Loki would be.
A voice turned neutral, a feigned sort of protection against the unpleasant. Akechi allows it with only a glance back to the water.
He thinks about their conversation under the newly flickering starlight, pressed back against grass and a force unlike anything he's ever seen hovering over him. Loss is a powerful driving force shared in the quiet moments after battle feels more appropriate than ever.
I've heard that she's doing much better now, and that's all that I can ask for. It's all he can ask for. She's doing the best she can. A connection severed for the good of another. He did the right thing and -
I vowed to pursue my work in cognitive psience to find a way to heal traumatic emotional wounds like Rumi's, no matter what. It's a bomb. A ticking clock. Nothing about this field will cure another. It will kill. He opens his mouth to say-
Something.
To warn, in a way Shido would never allow, to provide a kindness not afforded to anyone in this world and-
Shuts it, just as fast. Loss is a powerful driving enough to spurn the life of a entity beyond all reason. Logic. Enough to press a gun to someone's head again and again and again.
A warning wouldn't stop Maruki and-
That strength of will is the reason respect formed between them, in the warped, twisted little ball it has. He wouldn't insult him by implying a teenager's vague words would be enough to end his love for Rumi. Rumi, with a murdered family. Rumi, who will be easy to find in police databases. Rumi, who-
Everything I've done– everything I do even now is for her. Everything. gave life to a man lost, even in her absence.
Akechi doesn't care about Maruki. Rumi. The intensity of the story enough to spur his own paranoia and adrenhiline with knowledge of a darker world behind scenes, but-
When he sees that hand drop, his body slump, his voice quieter than he's ever heard-
It feels like settling into a cozy cafe chair, too cheap to be comfortable, with the scent of too spicy curry coupled with a fresh cup of coffee he never has to ask for and-
It's Akechi's turn, for once, to press that piping hot cup into a lost hand.
He shouldn't care. Doesn't. A part of him staunch in its refusal to let his heart waver beyond taking in information with a clinical, cold sort of accuracy required for reports and paperwork. Man reports death of a couple, a woman injured with pinpoint precision of the scene over people.
Akechi slinks into the water himself, then slides back up.
Slides over. Close, but not quite. It's what a detective prince would do, but-
He isn't a detective prince with Maruki. Isn't Crow. Isn't even Akechi Goro in full, but he's-
Akechi.
And Akechi doesn't care about serving empty platitudes or feigned condolences. How many times has he heard 'I'm sorry for your loss' 'I'm sorry about her' 'I'm sorry about-']
You did the best you could.
[Quiet. The frayed edges of his words grasping at what little sincerity remains in his heart. His back settling against he same wall as Maruki is against, even as he remains an arm's length away.]
To turn your life into one meant to serve others, to cure them of their own wounds -
[Thoughtful and soft-he doesn't want her back. Wants others to avoid the same brutality of a life ripped apart. An impossible task, when the world is so unrelenting.]
She would be proud of you and what you've accomplished, but not for the reasons you think. Of course, I'm simply posturing, as I don't know her at all. This is only from what I've gleaned.
[A fiery, hot headed woman and a distorted love torn.]
Your fight against an unjust reality and for the broken lives in it is an uphill, unwinnable battle, but-
[His hands raise from the water, palms up, mock surrender and compliance.]
I find myself wanting to put my faith in you regardless. Isn't that funny? Perhaps it's the strength of your will that's won me over a little bit. Rumi must have seen that in you before anyone else. Some people are simply like that - they can tear down a mask before you're even aware one is on your face.
[A beat. Hands lower. Maruki's dream is so goddamn stupid. His goal impossible, but just like Joker-
There's a flicker of life he can't deny, a will impossible to ignore.]
It's fortunate you were able to meet someone who gave you freedom.