[ There wasn't ten scattered notches on his ceiling. There never was. He saw them anyway, everywhere, no matter what room he was in.
The whole apartment was pristine, perfect and new. There weren't ten broken splinters ripping his room apart. Maruki made an ideal world for a few and Akechi knew he wasn't among the special group considered when he threw himself across his bed, looked up. There were no splinters and God would have created at least one from his heart. God played favorites and he wasn't among them. Akechi knew that long before that nobody came into power. Thought he beat it when Loki formed behind his beating heart.
The room was perfect. Akechi didn't have it in him to brew more anger. He was full of it already - that's another grievance to tack on as he-
Doesn't really sleep. He can't sleep. He should be dead and he can't sleep. He filled afternoons and evenings and early mornings with researching a man that didn't exist outside off hand remarks in academic papers and wandering town to find people who shouldn't be alive acting as if the world was still theirs for the taking and watching the thieves fill a groupchat constantly constantly they constantly spoke about nothing, everything, yapped about a future they didn't see until Akira snapped each one out of dream.
He slept-
For a minute, maybe, when that sense of nothing consumed everything and-
He sleeps for far longer now, more comfortable than he's ever been. There aren't ten notches in the machiya ceiling, but there isn't supposed to be. Here, there shouldn't be. Here, it's a home that doesn't have it and-
His eyes are open. Of course they are, but they don't burn hot with weeks of exhaustion trying to force his eyes shut and a mind incapable of rest fighting against it every second.
No, his eyes are open because he did sleep. He was comfortable. Tucked in with a quilt he didn't pull over himself and the offender that did it inches away from his extended body.
Maruki's asleep. Of course he is.
He's asleep and it's a weak point. Akechi's said it time and time again. Azathoth may protect him, but someone could do extensive damage before it activates. They're enemies-
Allies. They're allies. They're still allies and Maruki proves it by sleeping next to a man who would have done anything to slit his throat less than a day ago.
Akechi watches. Considers it. Thinks and listens to a near silent snore that's as familiar as his own heartbeat. He counts how long it takes for Maruki's chest to rise, fall and realizes a second too late his own breath matches it.
He didn't miss this. Didn't miss him.
But he might have missed the sensation of waking up warm - covered in a multitude of blankets instead of the single thin comforter that came with his apartment. He might have missed the clarity that comes with a night of actual rest - it only happened here. Only sometimes. Only next to a man whose dangling hand would smooth his hair, only next to someone that cover him with his arms all night long. This quilt doesn't rival it.
So he doesn't move. Doesn't get up to try his hand at slitting a throat with the nothing he carried with him to that final battle. A phone with a train pass and nothing else. It's not like he needed a way back on home.
So he keeps watching Maruki breathe and breathe and breathe and assess the uncomfortable way he's pressed into the smallest corner of the couch. Backache - he can hear the complaint and he can't recall what world it stems from.
He can't remember if Maruki is a heavy sleeper. Memories too fluid, too mobile. It was here, somewhere else, everywhere else and not there.
But he doesn't care if that man wakes up anyway.
So he pulls himself off the couch in the pitch black machiya. It must be midnight, one, maybe two and-
He lays the quilt loose over Maruki's body. Mindlessly thrown, of course. Tossed to the side and it so happened to get on him and-
He pushes that slumped over head back so Maruki's chin no longer touches his chest. Just a little, with the palm of his hand, so he won't need to hear him complain about a neck ache too.
And he watches and listens and tries to stop his own breath from mimicking a man who found him on New Years and watches and listens to the sounds of a familiar home and watches and listens until Maruki stirs and he finds something else to occupy his time one level up, back in an untouched room. ]
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we wrap when i say we wrap. NOW WRAPT. YOU DIE.
The whole apartment was pristine, perfect and new. There weren't ten broken splinters ripping his room apart. Maruki made an ideal world for a few and Akechi knew he wasn't among the special group considered when he threw himself across his bed, looked up. There were no splinters and God would have created at least one from his heart. God played favorites and he wasn't among them. Akechi knew that long before that nobody came into power. Thought he beat it when Loki formed behind his beating heart.
The room was perfect. Akechi didn't have it in him to brew more anger. He was full of it already - that's another grievance to tack on as he-
Doesn't really sleep. He can't sleep. He should be dead and he can't sleep. He filled afternoons and evenings and early mornings with researching a man that didn't exist outside off hand remarks in academic papers and wandering town to find people who shouldn't be alive acting as if the world was still theirs for the taking and watching the thieves fill a groupchat constantly constantly they constantly spoke about nothing, everything, yapped about a future they didn't see until Akira snapped each one out of dream.
He slept-
For a minute, maybe, when that sense of nothing consumed everything and-
He sleeps for far longer now, more comfortable than he's ever been. There aren't ten notches in the machiya ceiling, but there isn't supposed to be. Here, there shouldn't be. Here, it's a home that doesn't have it and-
His eyes are open. Of course they are, but they don't burn hot with weeks of exhaustion trying to force his eyes shut and a mind incapable of rest fighting against it every second.
No, his eyes are open because he did sleep. He was comfortable. Tucked in with a quilt he didn't pull over himself and the offender that did it inches away from his extended body.
Maruki's asleep. Of course he is.
He's asleep and it's a weak point. Akechi's said it time and time again. Azathoth may protect him, but someone could do extensive damage before it activates. They're enemies-
Allies. They're allies. They're still allies and Maruki proves it by sleeping next to a man who would have done anything to slit his throat less than a day ago.
Akechi watches. Considers it. Thinks and listens to a near silent snore that's as familiar as his own heartbeat. He counts how long it takes for Maruki's chest to rise, fall and realizes a second too late his own breath matches it.
He didn't miss this. Didn't miss him.
But he might have missed the sensation of waking up warm - covered in a multitude of blankets instead of the single thin comforter that came with his apartment. He might have missed the clarity that comes with a night of actual rest - it only happened here. Only sometimes. Only next to a man whose dangling hand would smooth his hair, only next to someone that cover him with his arms all night long. This quilt doesn't rival it.
So he doesn't move. Doesn't get up to try his hand at slitting a throat with the nothing he carried with him to that final battle. A phone with a train pass and nothing else. It's not like he needed a way back on home.
So he keeps watching Maruki breathe and breathe and breathe and assess the uncomfortable way he's pressed into the smallest corner of the couch. Backache - he can hear the complaint and he can't recall what world it stems from.
He can't remember if Maruki is a heavy sleeper. Memories too fluid, too mobile. It was here, somewhere else, everywhere else and not there.
But he doesn't care if that man wakes up anyway.
So he pulls himself off the couch in the pitch black machiya. It must be midnight, one, maybe two and-
He lays the quilt loose over Maruki's body. Mindlessly thrown, of course. Tossed to the side and it so happened to get on him and-
He pushes that slumped over head back so Maruki's chin no longer touches his chest. Just a little, with the palm of his hand, so he won't need to hear him complain about a neck ache too.
And he watches and listens and tries to stop his own breath from mimicking a man who found him on New Years and watches and listens to the sounds of a familiar home and watches and listens until Maruki stirs and he finds something else to occupy his time one level up, back in an untouched room. ]