Work Text:
In hindsight, Akira is sure that Sojiro simply forgot. After all, the topic of Akira's transition rarely comes up, if only because Sojiro is one of the few people who keep that secret without caring in the slightest bit about what it could change. To Sojiro, Akira is just a boy without any indications of how he came to that conclusion attached to his name, exactly how it should be in an ideal world.
And while Akira loves him for it, right now he wants nothing more than to run back to Leblanc, naked as he is with those flimsy towels wrapped around him, and scream into Sojiro's face that this was the worst idea he has ever suggested.
He's in a bathhouse, alone with Goro Akechi, handsome, dangerous, interesting Goro Akechi, who is about to see Akira's mastectomy scars because no way can he keep that towel around his chest even while in the water.
"Kurusu? Are you done? I'm gonna head in already," he hears Akechi's voice coming from the shower room. It elevates his panic and it takes all Akira has to not shout back that he's feeling sick or something and heading home.
"Yeah, give me… a moment."
On one hand, he's glad that Akechi seemed almost more embarrassed about his naked body than he himself, throwing his clothes off as soon as possible and hurrying into the shower rooms without looking back once. On the other hand, he should probably brace for the inevitable moment Akechi sees, makes conclusions and brings up the topics he dreads but has to talk about time and time again. Maybe he would even use his newfound knowledge against him?
Akira quickly banishes that last thought. As sharp-tongued as Akechi can be when he’s not busy upholding the pretence of a pleasant detective prince, he's sure that he wouldn't desert him for this or hold it against him. If so, he's not worth his time anyways. That's at least what his friends would say—Akira knows that judging from how many nights he lies awake, restless because of maroon eyes and fake words full of promises, it would take months for him to get over Goro Akechi.
How would he ever find another boy who is so desperate for contact that he reveals his cards the same moment he meets him, yet alluring enough to capture his interest with secrets kept behind sturdy walls like treasures just begging to get stolen? Who calls him his rival because he's too afraid of the word "friend", or, dare he claim, "equal"?
Akira's thought process doesn't make the situation the slightest bit easier. Not even hearing the rattling of chains in Mementos gives him unease of this kind.
Like a man approaching the dinner table for his last meal before his execution, Akira slides open the door to the showers, breathing out in relief as he sees that it's entirely empty. He cleans his body with machine-like motions—practised and without a thought, his head blissfully empty for now, yet body rigid with fear.
His trance breaks when his hand sweeps over the scars below his chest and he stills. Looking down, he inspects them once again, gently tracing the thin, pink lines that tell more stories than all his other scars ever could.
It hasn't been long and he's still learning to regard them with pride. It's a sacrifice he was willing to make, one that took a literal weight off his chest and let him breathe easier than he has in years. Akira was always sure that he could just as well learn to live with breasts, but he only noticed once they were gone how he has never truly felt comfortable in his body with them. Bless Takemi and her connections—he's not sure how hard he would have had it with any other doctor. Who knows, maybe he wouldn't even have gotten continued hormone treatment here in Tokyo, instead hearing the same things about waiting and waiting and waiting and then some more about not being enough of a boy. Been there, done that.
Akira turns the water off. The following silence is almost deafening, the rhythmical dripping of the shower nozzle the only thing tethering him to reality and this bathhouse.
This is it, he thinks. It’s time for either a stealth mission or blatantly fake confidence. Akira is used to both.
Keeping the towel in place, Akira pushes open the door to the public bath and is immediately hit by a familiar wave of steam that he welcomes. The bath is entirely empty save for Akechi, who could be the picture of serenity like this, sitting in the bath with his back turned to Akira, if not for the stiffness in his posture.
Akira smiles bitterly to himself. That makes two of them, at least. He doesn't think he'll come back here with another person so soon after today.
Akechi doesn't acknowledge him as he steps into the water, doesn't even turn around to him, staring ahead with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking deep in thought but at the same time as if he's desperately trying to only seem that way.
Gathering up all the courage he has, Akira slides the towel off and immediately sits down in the water to at least hide that other traitorous part of himself. His arms instinctively come up to mirror Akechi's position, but as he catches himself, he hesitates. Wouldn't it draw more attention to them to assume such an obvious position? After all, eyes tend to follow motions and his hands are anything but still now, fidgeting with anything possible which is in this case his own fingers. But if he were to drop his arms, Akechi would just have to throw him one stray glance to see the scars. Maybe he could slide deeper into the water? But then he risks Akechi seeing his lower body, and that's a can of worms he doesn't want to open today.
Torn between decisions, his arms uselessly hover in front of his chest, crossed together like wobbly jenga blocks he doesn’t dare remove in fear of everything collapsing. Akira doesn't know what it is, but something compels him to turn his head and look at Akechi, if only to acknowledge him or say something awkward to get the silence the other usually so readily fills to disappear.
What he sees makes his blood freeze despite the hot temperature around him. Akechi is staring straight at his chest, his expression downright mortified.
Something in Akira dies on the spot and he feels hot embarrassment crawling up his cheeks, making him tremble and stare back uselessly. As soon as he gets home, he will pack his three shirts, two trousers and Morgana into his bag and flee the country, assume a new identity and never visit a public bathhouse with his crush ever again.
And just as he thinks he can't possibly make it worse, his traitorous mouth blurts out: "Like what you see?"
Because if Akira Kurusu has no control over one thing, it's his shameless flirting that doesn't nearly get him into as much trouble as it should with Akechi.
As if Akira dumped ice cold water over his head instead of just throwing his next best flirty thought at him, Akechi's eyes widen and he finally tears his gaze away from the other and stares straight ahead. "I… wouldn't have guessed, Kurusu."
It doesn't sound terribly bad. It doesn't sound hateful, at least. Akira is about to retaliate with something that's probably even more stupid when Akechi's arms sink down into the water, making Akira's eyes immediately follow the movement and in the process gliding over- oh.
Suddenly, this whole situation makes so much more sense.
Akira stares at the thin scars below Akechi's pectoral muscles without having any thought left for shame. The scars Akechi is willingly showing him right now, even if his face seems to get redder and redder, not just from the hot bath alone.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything to acknowledge the situation, but the air feels far too tense and the moment too fragile to disturb with words.
So instead, he throws his head back and laughs—a hearty, full laugh that lifts all the stress off his shoulders.
Soon enough, Akechi lets out a snort and joins him and Akira thinks his real laugh is the most beautiful thing he might have ever heard.
When they calm down, Akira wipes the tears from his eyes and turns so he’s facing Akechi, who has an expression on his face that’s equal parts amused and disbelieving.
“Well, that makes two of us,” Akira chuckles.
Akechi nods and looks away, a small, secretive smile on his lips that Akira will treasure forever. “I always thought I… was the only one.”
Would it be too much to take his hand? Akira has no chance to think about the consequences for any longer because his fingers already dive down into the water and curl around Akechi’s.
The other boy’s head shoots up, his eyes fixating on their point of contact, but he’s not pulling his hand away yet.
Akira smiles at him. “You’re not alone.” When he sees Akechi’s eyes turn wide and his lips quiver, close to saying something to shut himself off once again, he squeezes his hand and adds: “Wanna talk about it?”
Akechi’s expression relaxes. “As long as nobody else comes in here, it might prove… interesting to hear your perspective on things.”
This might be the first time Akechi is completely honest with him, bare without any masks to hide behind, not just in the literal sense. Akira feels warmth bubbling up in him and before he can think about it, the words tumble out of his mouth: how he has always felt like being seen as female was just a mask to hide behind, what labels he has experimented with during his early transition, how his body has never felt right until Takemi offered him to find a doctor who would perform mastectomy on him.
Akechi listens intently, never once interrupting him, his expression soft and his eyes holding an emotion Akira has never before seen on him. He soaks it up and treasures it close to his heart.
"I… wouldn't have minded keeping them,” Akechi starts once it’s clear that Akira is done, “but in the end, I had to eliminate this potential source of vulnerability lest I wanna risk a scandal damaging my career.”
Akira is tempted to ask many things. He wants to know how Akechi came to be the person he is today, what hardships he had to overcome, where he managed to get hormone treatment and surgery so early that no record of his previous appearance exists anywhere.
Instead, he settles on a thought that’s much closer to his heart: "They look beautiful, you know. Your scars."
Akechi stills and looks at him in surprise before a smile appears on his face, small and fragile. "I... know." The confidence in his voice is wobbly, but tells much more about his journey than any words ever could.
Akira's heart beats quicker. This moment is private and destined for him only.
"Do you think you will ever regret it?" Akira finds himself asking.
"Honestly?" Akechi laughs. "No. I don't concern myself with my body apart from the image it conveys. In the end, what you do with what you're given is important."
It sounds like a lie he had to convince himself of first. Akira thinks he might understand Akechi a bit better now, even if he doesn’t share his way of thought.
Only when Akechi separates their hands does he notice that they never once stopped holding onto the other.
Akira wants to ask if he wants to get out or if he overstepped somehow, but then he sees the thoughtful expression on Akechi’s face and promptly shuts up. The other looks deep in thought, sorrowful and mourning, but Akira knows it isn’t necessarily directed at him.
And then Akechi starts talking about his mother and Akira’s heart aches. He trusts him with things Akira would have never expected him to, telling him about all the times he was ushered to the nearby bathhouse and about how there’s nothing more in the world he wants than to make his father pay.
“I’d see my mother in pain and wish to be stronger for her,” Akechi mumbles. “A strong, masculine hero who can protect her from all these men she had to... submit to.” His face then turns to Akira, a sad smile on his lips. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s my only reason for all of… this.”
“If you’re not faking it,” Akira finishes for him on instinct.
Akechi nods and tilts his head curiously. The question in his eyes is easy to see.
So Akira answers: “I understand.” And before Akechi can say anything to that, he takes his hand back into his, out of the water, and holds it close to his chest. “If it’s any good, to me you’re pretty damn heroic, with or without scars.”
It might have been too much to say as he sees how Akechi’s face shifts through a myriad of emotions, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, not even when the other male pulls his hand away and for the first time tonight puts his mask back on, albeit with trembling fingers.
“That’s awfully kind of you, but I’m afraid you don’t know much about me,” he says, his voice pleasant and his smile empty.
“Let me find out more,” Akira counters and shifts closer, leaning right into Akechi’s space, not caring that they are naked together in a public bath right now, “and then I’ll judge.”
Akechi stares at him in bewilderment, but there’s also something in his eyes that Akira recognises as curiosity and defiance at the same time. It’s like he’s torn between flinching away or challenging all Akira is.
“Sometimes I wonder where your seemingly boundless empathy ends,” he mumbles, staying in place, his hand resting on the bath tiles right next to Akira’s shoulder.
A challenge, then.
Akira leans in further, spellbound. “It’s not just empathy. You’ve said it before, didn’t you? You and I, we’re the same. We don’t just share bodily scars.”
“The same, huh?” Akechi repeats. “Yet so terribly different. A detective and a Phantom Thieves supporter. I wonder what it would take for us to clash.”
There’s tension in the air by now, tension that Akira feels isn’t just them disagreeing, but something else that has always been there between them with no outlet.
“I could provide you with plenty of reasons,” the words come out of Akira before he can evaluate their consequences and he reaches out and lets his fingers wander up Akechi’s arm, then ghosting over his scars and making him shiver. “Like the fact that those are beautiful and shouldn’t have to be hidden.”
Akechi catches his wrist. “You’ve become awfully bold.”
Akira is flustered for a second, but then a smirk steals itself onto his face. He doesn’t even try to escape the firm grip. “Too bold to handle, detective?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Akechi smiles sweetly—dangerously. “You’re playing with fire, Akira, and you’ll only end up getting burnt.”
It’s not lost on Akira that this is the first time he has used his first name and his heart makes a traitorous leap forward. “What if that’s exactly what I want?” he asks, not backing down, meeting his intense gaze head on.
This situation is new and exciting. It feels like the culmination of months of flirting, yet like it’s something entirely new now that they share a secret as intimate as theirs.
Akechi stares at him without reacting, but the grip on Akira’s wrist gets tighter.
“What is it that you’re thinking about?” Akechi finally asks, leaning in, the water rippling around them. “What answer are you hoping to get from me?”
The next breath Akira lets out hits Akechi’s face and everything in him screams in anticipation, all his nerve endings alight. He could just lean forward, take control and finally take until there’s nothing left of Akechi to hide behind.
“How would you like to burn, Akira?” Akechi whispers against his lips, and before Akira can let himself fall forwards into the fire, the other retreats, leaving him cold and shivering in his wake.
He definitely lost that one and judging from Akechi’s innocent smile as he stretches his arms behind him, the other knows.
“Ah, we should really get out soon, I’d hate for you to get dizzy,” he teases him with an amused glint in his eyes. “Don’t go overheating on me now, Akira.”
Akira doesn’t know how he manages to feel both cold and hot at the same time. All he knows is that he never yearned for something more than to scoot over to Akechi and show him what exactly his so-called rival is capable of.
And just as he is gathering his confidence and leans into his space again to drape himself over Akechi’s lap and throw a comment or two about heating up back at him, he hears the door to the shower room slide open.
They both flinch and turn their heads simultaneously to see a small group of older men walk into the bath, talking amongst themselves and luckily oblivious to the tension they walked into just now.
Both of their arms come up again. It’s almost comical how they share this first instinct.
Akira meets Akechi’s eyes. “We’re not done here,” he whispers.
It earns him a seemingly innocent smile, a facade hiding so many more promises.
“I’d hope so.”
“This is the first time I’ve taken a bath like this,” Akechi says in the locker room.
The tension between them has mostly lifted by now and left Akira feeling comfortably warm, if not even a bit light-headed. The yogurt in his hand provides good enough cooling to make him stay grounded.
Both of them aren’t wearing any towels around their chests. Akira’s pulse quickens at the realisation that this is a shared secret between them now for no one else to know. His eyes glide down to Akechi’s chest again and he wonders if the other regards him with the same curiosity and feeling of trust when seeing Akira’s own.
“I’ve never told anyone else about my family situation, either,” Akechi continues, oblivious to the thoughts going on in Akira’s mind right now. “I wonder why I told you? Curious indeed.”
“Because we’re similar,” Akira responds.
Akechi chuckles. “Maybe we are pretty similar deep down. We are both victims of the adults who unfairly impacted our lives.”
Akira wants to agree, wants to tell him that he has never felt as understood as when Akechi saw him for who he was and not just on the outside. But he holds back and saves it for another day. He has a feeling that those are words that would rather scare the other away than lure him in further.
So instead, he says: “Can I put my clothes back on or do you want to look a bit longer?”
Another chuckle escapes Akechi, but this time it sounds darker, like a promise. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind if you’re offering. Let’s get dressed, shall we?”
Akira burns the image of Akechi like this into his mind: Open, honest and with his heart on his sleeve. Content and with a warm flush on his face, baring himself to Akira only at this moment. He never wants to forget it.
When Akechi calls him later and says that it’s nice to spend the day as Goro Akechi for once rather than the Detective Prince, Akira feels a smile come to his lips.
“I suppose you’re the only one who sees that side of me,” Akechi muses. “Nobody else particularly needs to, anyway.”
“I’ll be glad to treasure it, then,” Akira replies honestly.
There’s silence on the other end of the line and then a laugh. “Honestly, though, I just can’t figure you out, no matter how I try. It’s intriguing.”
Akira grins. “You’re welcome to try, detective.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do if you’re offering?” Akechi’s voice is mischievous. “The more I get to know you, the more it makes me think. I wonder why that is.”
Akira’s heart skips a beat, but before he can say anything, the other continues.
“Ah, now I’m veering into strange territory. I should let you go for now. See you.”
He hangs up without waiting for an answer and leaves Akira standing there, blinking and wondering if he just imagined the words.
With a frustrated sigh, he plops down on his mattress and stares at the dark screen of his phone.
The last few hours feel like a fever dream, words and touches and declarations swimming together into a pleasant heat that spreads through him and leaves his cheeks flushed. Only in his wildest dreams would Akira have dared to imagine what happened today.
Akechi is special. In the way he carries himself with an aura of confidence and always has a pleasant smile to spare, in how he knows where exactly to steer a conversation to reveal just enough of his hand to let you know that he has you figured out, in his desperation shining through when he starts to talk about more than he wants to.
Akira is even more sure of it now: Deep down, they are the same, just like Akechi said. He wonders how many more secrets he can unearth. It feels like they barely scratched the surface today, like they left something hanging between them.
Akechi’s words echo in his mind. Strange territory, huh?
He wants to know even more, throw himself right into Akechi’s fire and let it consume him wholly.
Akira unlocks his phone and calls him back.