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Akira had barely even closed his eyes, his thin blanket already tossed to the side in the oppressive summer heat, when his phone vibrates with a cheerful sound.
At this time of night…?
He digs it out from beneath his bony frame, tired fingers scrabbling over the screen, and as he brings it up to his face he winces at the sudden bright light.
Yusuke: If you don’t have any plans tomorrow, might I steal some of your time?
Yusuke: I have acquired a fascinating new tome on the wonders of art, and I have been saving the chance to devour it at my leisure.
Yusuke: Your attic is also much cooler than the dorms, which may save my creative senses from being smothered to death in this awful heat.
Akira blearily watches the three dots appear, pause hesitantly, and disappear. They appear again for only a second, as if Yusuke had typed in but a letter or two before changing his mind. Akira types clumsily, slowly fixing his typos as he goes, but manages to reply despite the weight pulling at his eyelids.
Akira: Sure. Come over whenever you like. Bring your wondrous tome.
He puts his phone back down, but he doesn’t hear it buzz again as he closes his eyes. He imagines Yusuke, somewhere across the city, beyond all the bright lights - his long legs curled up to fit on his dorm bed, sheets tangled, his fingers dancing hesitantly across the screen. He can almost see the furrow in his brow as he deletes and rewrites his messages, erased by the light that always flares in his eyes when Akira indulges him.
He dreams of a small flame, encased in a cloudy crystal, that he shelters with shaking hands.
He wakes to the sound of the door bell jingling, some clear footsteps, and Yusuke’s ever-polite good morning, Boss.
“Hey, Yusuke’s here.” Morgana says, flicking Akira with his tail, “Hurry up and get changed. I’m going to go wander around for a bit today.”
Akira nods, watching Morgana spring from his bed to the floor, paws tapping hurriedly as he scampers down the stairs.
“I see the Sayuri remains as exquisite as ever in your care.” He hears Yusuke’s voice say quietly, beneath the sound of a cup meeting its saucer, “I have expressed as much before, but I am very glad I left her here. At least one of us has found their true home.”
“Not a problem, kid.” Sojiro replies, and Akira can imagine the scene downstairs clearly as he wriggles into his last clean shirt. Yusuke always makes the same face when he sees the Sayuri hanging in Leblanc, awed and rapturous but with grief pulling at the corners of his eyes - and Sojiro, too, will have that same face he always makes when one of Akira’s friends says something a little too sad.
“Might I trouble you for another cup? I may wish to bask in her beauty a little longer.” Akira stumbles a little as he puts on his pants, barely awake and off-balance, and the thump resonates through the floor.
“Oh, good, he’s awake. Your friend is here!” Sojiro calls, but continues quietly to Yusuke before Akira can reply, “On the house, kid. Here you go.”
Though Akira is always endeared to the way Yusuke looks at the Sayuri, like he could spend the rest of his life beneath her benevolent gaze, it pales in comparison to the smile that greets him when he finally makes it down the stairs.
“Good morning!” Yusuke says, placing his steaming cup back into its saucer, “I apologise for intruding so early, but I could feel the pages calling to me from the moment I awoke.”
“Could you teach this guy a thing or two about politeness while you’re at it? See, this is how you should be acting.” Sojiro waves a hand at Yusuke, giving a disapproving look over his glasses at Akira’s slightly dishevelled appearance, though there’s a telltale glimmer of humour in his eyes, “Please and thank you make the world go ‘round, you know.”
Akira opens his mouth, ready for a smartass reply, but Yusuke beats him to it.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly try and change a single thing about him. He has been an irreplaceable friend to me, and I find him truly one of a kind.” Yusuke’s eyes are wide and earnest, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks, and Akira’s words die in his throat. He snaps his mouth shut, clearing his throat as Sojiro’s disbelieving eyes travel back to him, and hopes his glasses will hide the flare of red blooming on his cheeks. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to play it as cool as he can.
“You brought that book, Yusuke?” The customers will start coming in soon, and Akira wants to get away from Sojiro’s very piercing gaze. Yusuke lights up again, almost bouncing in his seat as he turns further towards him, and Akira congratulates himself on a successful distraction.
“Oh, yes! And some snacks, as well, so that hunger does not cloud our minds. Shall we begin delving into its mysteries?”
The sun filters through the front window, a halo of light behind Yusuke’s thin frame, and Akira thinks he wouldn’t change a single, strange thing about Yusuke either.
“Only if you explain them for me so I can keep up.” Yusuke hops out of his chair, stretching to his full height, and Akira tilts his head to watch the smile broaden on his face.
“Of course. This shall be a journey we embark on together.” Yusuke pats the bag under his arm, his long fingers gentle as they brush the surface, and Akira nods at him again.
“C’mon, let’s leave Sojiro to it.” He waves Yusuke upstairs, ignoring whatever Sojiro grumbles at him.
“Thank you for the coffee, Boss.” Yusuke says over his shoulder as Akira ushers him upstairs. The attic instantly feels smaller and awkward when anyone else except Morgana is there, and Akira needs a moment to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of his tiny space being evaluated by another’s eyes.
But Yusuke pays no mind to the still half-bare shelves on the wall or the slightly wilting plant, heading straight to the worn couch and folding himself into it, legs bent at an odd angle to make himself comfortable. The book slides out of his bag into his welcoming arms, cradled against his chest with one hand as he pats the cushion beside him with the other.
“Come, join me.”
The couch isn’t quite big enough for the two of them, but Akira squeezes himself in beside Yusuke, their shoulders bumping together as he adjusts to be out of the way of Yusuke’s bony elbow. Spindly fingers spread like spiderwebs over the dark cover of the book, running over the edges as if Yusuke can barely contain the urge to open it.
“Go on.” Akira urges, and Yusuke slowly opens the cover, like he’s already trying to savour the moment.
“Kitayama,” Yusuke begins, his voice low and soothing in Akira’s ears, “was a period named for the place it grew, just north of Kyoto in the golden pavilion of Kinkakuji. It was there that both Zen Buddhism and the growing influence of Chinese ink painting left their mark…”
Akira, truthfully, doesn’t really listen. He lets the words wash over him in Yusuke’s lilting cadence, eyes lazily scanning the words on the page without truly taking them in. Yusuke reads slowly, pronunciation precise, like each word deserves its own recognition before it is discarded into the warm summer air.
Sweat trickles down Akira’s back despite the cool breeze that flows from the open window, and he wonders if it’s truly cooler here than back at the dorms. It’s difficult to concentrate on the actual words Yusuke is saying, although he wants to listen - it’s far more compelling to focus on how he says it, the parts that make his voice pick up in excitement, and even when Yusuke begins to point at the pages Akira’s eyes find themselves stuck on the long, elegant movements of his hands rather than the ink beneath them.
“What do you think of this?” Yusuke nudges him, Akira’s delicate ribs once again a victim of the notoriously sharp elbows, but he leans in further without complaint. There is a large picture of a scroll, text above a black and white mountain that would look almost like it was painted by accident if it didn’t form a distinct shape, chaotic splashes and swipes of black ink carving a landscape out of paper. Akira studies it in silence.
“It’s…lonely.” He says, carefully not watching Yusuke’s reaction out of the corner of his eye, “Or sad. It’s like a bit leftover from a dream you don’t remember.”
“Lonely…” Yusuke is staring down at the page when Akira finally lifts his head, expression unreadable, “I had never thought of it as such before. It is widely considered to be the work of a master, a monk who embodied the principles of his Zen path so utterly that he could create such a work in so few, deliberate strokes, and yet not seem to have thought about it at all. A moment of true inspiration in a clear mind, something any artist would yearn for.”
Akira shrugs, feeling the fabric of Yusuke’s shirt crease from how their shoulders were still wedged together.
“Ah, don’t take that as criticism!” Yusuke finally looks back at him, eyes wide, as if Akira could have been hurt by his words, “The feelings that such art inspires in a layman are just as important as those who have devoted themselves to the study of art. Perhaps blanketing oneself too much in theory blinds you to the raw feeling of a piece.”
One day, Akira thinks, he will love something like Yusuke loves art. There’s a passion in his voice that makes it shake with excitement, a drive that pushes him forward day after day in pursuit of bettering himself. These moments feel like Yusuke handing him a piece of his heart, his love almost tangible, and trusting Akira not to crush it in his hands like so many others had done.
“Well, tell me more about him. Was he lonely?” Akira asks, pointing at the picture of a man beside the ink scroll.
“Well, in truth…hm. Now that you mention it, perhaps you are not far off. There has been some debate about whether he was truly the person he presented himself to be, or if this manifestation of pure Zen was part of an image he wished to present, craving validation from his peers. There came a point where his life stagnated…”
Akira leans further into Yusuke’s shoulder, letting the vibrations of his deep voice travel through their joined arms. There’s a part of him that wants to freeze this moment in time - perhaps ask Yusuke to paint this mundane, extraordinary day, if only he wasn’t such a key part of it. The time passes in a haze of summer heat, the gentle narration broken only when Yusuke pauses to reach into their pile of snacks, nibbling on them delicately so crumbs don’t fall between the crisp pages.
“Do you want to try painting like this?” Akira asks when Yusuke finally reaches the last page, closing the book as reverently as he had opened it. The minimal brushstrokes and monochromatic ink hadn’t seemed much like Yusuke at all, but the way he was drawn in by the simple figures was clear in his eyes.
“Hm, perhaps.” Yusuke hums, tilting his head to each side and stretching his neck, “Though it is not my preferred style, I can find myself falling victim to the temptation to have too much in each piece. In terms of composition, there are many things I can learn from such minimalist approaches.”
“Not by becoming a monk, I hope.” Akira frowns, staring at Yusuke’s profile, the way his hair had fallen more into his face to brush against his chin, “I like your hair.”
Yusuke looks up, startled, eyes wide and pink crawling across his pale face.
“I..thank you.” He looks down again when low, uncontrollable laughter crawls out of his throat, “I will not be shaving my head. Have no fear.”
“Good.”
Something about this whole day has felt like a fairy tale - like he would wake up to it being Sunday again, only without the dreamlike haze they’ve been in all day, where the world consists only of him being enraptured by Yusuke’s presence, hours lost to his evenly measured words. It makes Akira feel bolder, like nothing he can do will have a consequence when he wakes up from today, and perhaps it’s that which brings his hand upwards, brushing the wayward hair out of Yusuke’s face and tucking it behind his ear. Yusuke stays very still, the pink flush high across his sharp cheekbones intensifying, but he keeps his eyes averted away from Akira’s even gaze.
“Hungry?” Akira asks, standing and putting his hands in the worn pockets of his jeans. He shifts his weight to his other foot as Yusuke looks up at him, something unreadable hidden behind the bright gaze.
“If you are making curry, then how could I ever refuse?” Yusuke says sincerely, and Akira pushes his glasses up his nose, feeling a little emboldened as he leads Yusuke back down the stairs. He had studied under Sojiro’s tutelage and was now the curry master, as all his friends had learned.
Sojiro already had his hat on and was halfway out the door, and Akira abruptly realises the time.
“Don’t you boys stay up too late, all right?” A stern gaze pins both of them in place, “You’ve both got school tomorrow.”
Akira nods, watching Sojiro leave the store in silence as Yusuke takes a seat. Leblanc feels cozier when it’s just the two of them, the warm lights circling Yusuke like a halo.
“He worries for you.” Yusuke’s voice is quiet, and Akira picks up an apron without looking at him.
“Feeling adventurous tonight?” He asks instead of answering, peering into the well-stocked fridge as he ties the apron around his waist. Yusuke’s fingers drum thoughtfully on the table, the sound echoing in the empty cafe.
“I will leave it to your capable hands.” Yusuke finally says, and Akira looks over at him only so he can wink, quick as a flash, before busying himself with the fridge. Yusuke makes a sound a bit like clearing his throat as Akira begins balancing boxes of ingredients in his arms, carefully carrying them over to the bench that holds the stovetop, “Although perhaps you could warn me what the adventure will be.”
“I can’t give away all of Sojiro’s secrets.” Akira retorts, fighting the urge to smile that tugs against his lips, “I made a blood vow, you know.”
“Oh!” Yusuke sits up straighter, blinking quickly, “I didn’t know that Boss was that kind of man…”
Akira stops what he’s doing, turning to look solemnly into the wide eyes.
“Yusuke,” he says, “I’m joking.”
His face cracks into a true smile, and he watches Yusuke start to laugh uncontrollably, burying his face in his hands.
“Forgive me.” He says when he composes himself, “I find it difficult to tell, sometimes. You have an absolutely impenetrable poker face.”
Akira twirls a knife between his fingers, a smile that’s more Joker’s than his own on his face as he begins to chop the potatoes in rapid-fire flashes of steel.
“It’s my secret talent. Maybe I should have been an actor instead of a phantom thief.” Yusuke laughs again at that, but lets a comfortable silence fall between them, his eyes tracking the repetitive motions of the knife as Akira adds vegetables to the large pot.
“Akira,” he says, his voice different from before - almost hesitant, if Akira had to place it, “are you lonely?”
Akira pauses where he’s begun to stir the sauce, unsure how to react. He feels foolish, just standing there in silence, but anything he could say in the moment feels like the wrong thing.
“Perhaps it’s odd to ask,” Yusuke continues, “and if you don’t want to answer, I will not press the topic. But I wondered why you saw loneliness where others saw profound simplicity and beauty.”
Akira picks up the spoon again, stirring slowly, adding a sprinkle of cocoa powder to the pot.
“Loneliness, to me, is like an old friend I have grown apart from.” If Akira looked up, he would see Yusuke looking very intently at him, and so he keeps his eyes trained on his task, “A constant companion in my youth, until I could barely conceive of its absence. And yet now I have you - and Ann, Ryuji, Makoto…and now I know how it feels to be without loneliness. So when it finds its way to me still, when I am on the subway home at night after we infiltrate a Palace, or after leaving Leblanc, I find myself unsure what to do with it. Something that used to be so mundane has become an intruder in my heart, something I must dispel as soon as possible with your company.” Akira’s movements are steady, adding the exact amount of yoghurt into the mix, still not looking at Yusuke, “Perhaps there will be a time when I revisit this painting and can see the same sadness that you did.”
“It’s almost ready.” Akira says, tone level, “How hungry are you?”
“Very.” Yusuke says with an odd note in his voice, and Akira busies himself with making a small mountain of curry on Yusuke’s plate. It wobbles ominously as he carries it over to a booth, but manages to stay intact as Yusuke descends upon it, gaze intent.
“Ah, you have crafted a feast for me! The scent alone is stimulating my senses…” Yusuke slides into the booth, eyes fixed on the plate as Akira fetches his own, divesting himself of his apron as he sits down, “Thank you for this meal.”
“Dig in.” Akira says, waving his spoon imperiously at Yusuke’s plate, and Yusuke wastes no time.
“Th’s d’shus!” Yusuke says around a huge mouthful of rice, making Akira crack another smile.
“There’s more if you want seconds.” He finds himself barely interested in his own food despite the growling in his stomach, because watching Yusuke eat is captivating. He treats the curry like his very first and last meal all at once, each bite its own journey, and it’s a genuine delight to watch someone so visibly enjoy something Akira made with his own two hands.
Their chatter turns to idle matters, schoolwork and the goings on in the parts of Shibuya that Yusuke frequents, and as the moon rises further overhead Akira abruptly realises he doesn’t want the day to end. A new day brings school, studying, Mementos, all his jobs, the different people he fills his time with, and the thought of the hectic rush of his usual life only makes that desire stronger. Even as the silence falls between them, conversation exhausted, he can’t bring himself to make the first move - to stand up, to signal an end to their time together, to bring this peace to its inevitable end.
“Akira.” Yusuke says, “May I confess something to you?”
Yusuke’s voice sounds like a memory Akira doesn’t have, like secrets that you tell each other at sleepovers when you’re both staring at a dark ceiling, the soft veil of night making you feel vulnerable enough to tell truths that never saw the light of day. His first instinct is to make a joke, pretend to be a priest like he did with Caroline and Justine, but something about facing these quiet words with levity feels wrong, more of a sacrilege than making light of the church.
“Yeah?” He replies, just as quiet. Yusuke takes a deep breath, then lets it out, pushing his empty plate to the side and clasping his hands on the table.
“You scare me, sometimes.” His voice is barely above a murmur, and it’s so unexpected that Akira can only blink as Yusuke pushes onwards, “Isn’t that strange? The shadows we fight fear Joker, but I think Akira is far more terrifying.”
Akira swallows, his throat suddenly unbearably dry.
“Why?”
“There are two reasons. The first is that I cannot predict you.” Yusuke’s thumbs rub against each other anxiously, “I know what Joker will do in a palace. Here, in the real world…” He looks lost, eyes darting around to catch on anything except Akira’s own gaze, “If I were to try paint the essence of you, commit you to a canvas, I’m not sure where I would begin.”
“That’s people for you, Yusuke.” Akira interrupts, as gently as he can, “We try to understand each other and live with the uncertainty.”
“There is another reason.” Yusuke swallows visibly, thumbs still stuck in their repetitive movement, “It is far more potent in my mind, though it feels more ridiculous for me to say it out loud.” There’s a hint of laughter trailing at the end of his sentence, but it’s bitter rather than humorous, “I fear the absence of you.”
His hands spread wide, like a helpless shrug, as if to show the empty space that Akira could leave in his life - and Akira, against his better judgement, reaches out to take one of the thin hands in his own. The fingers are colder to the touch than he expected, feeling delicate even compared to his own, but they curl obligingly around his hand, the other falling back to the table.
“When I thought of leaving here,” Yusuke continues, his grip tightening on Akira’s hand, “of taking the subway by myself back to the dorm…I felt paralysed. Not just because the dorm is too hot, or because people only acknowledge me when they need new things to gossip about. It is because you will still be here, and not there.”
“Yusuke…”
“And even when I am with others, part of me is counting the hours until we are reunited.” Yusuke is staring at the tabletop now, brows furrowed and a frown etched on his face like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing Akira has ever heard in his entire life. The air feels too warm on his skin, everything in the world around them suddenly in sharp focus, like the moments before they ambush a Shadow, “It’s foolish, isn’t it?” A note begins to creep into his voice, one that Akira recognises bitter humour that always surfaces when Yusuke gets upset with himself.
“It’s not foolish.” Akira says, and he knows it comes out too bland but he’s still processing, thoughts spinning rapid-fire through his head. Fragments of memories flit through his mind - an older woman’s voice he hasn’t heard in years, I can never tell what you’re thinking Akira-kun, and you never open up to anyone. He thinks of his mother, always assuming he had secrets instead of little to say, all too eager to be rid of him when she thought she’d finally been proven right. He thinks of Yusuke’s face in profile a few hours ago, when Akira had wished the day would never end, his voice moments before murmuring I felt paralysed.
In moments like these, he wishes he could have his mask outside of the Metaverse. But for all his talk of fear Yusuke was being braver than Akira right now, so all he could do was try answer in kind.
“Can I confess something to you, too?” He squeezes Yusuke’s hand, but doesn’t wait for a reply, not meeting the clear gaze, “I’ve been sitting here wishing today wouldn’t end.”
When he finally looks up a fragile grin has blossomed on Yusuke’s face, so sincere he can’t help but smile back.
“Well, time will simply have to bend to our whims, then.” Yusuke looks hesitant, like he might take his hand back any second - you scare me, sometimes, his voice echoes, I cannot predict you - but Akira doesn’t loosen his grip.
“You could paint us.” He suggests softly, “Then today will last forever, even after time’s gone on.”
Yusuke looks up, craning his neck at the ceiling, following the lines of wood across the surface. His eyes trail down the light fixtures, across the chips in the benches, a light of wonder burning in them as if he had never seen Leblanc before.
Akira knows what he should do.
He slides out of the booth, slowly, trying not to alarm Yusuke as he stands. He ghosts his fingers over the back of Yusuke’s hand when he lets it go, and Yusuke’s eyes follow the movement, tracing the line of Akira’s arm all the way up to his eyes, which he meets for only a second before ducking back down to watch the hand sliding away from him.
“Akira-” Yusuke begins, but he’s silenced by a slight smile and a quirk of Akira’s brow. The hand that was on the table finds its way to Yusuke’s face, cradling his jaw as one thumb sweeps delicately across his cheek.
“I’m gonna make you a promise.” Akira says softly, shifting forward a little closer. Yusuke is so tall that even seated, they’re nearly eye to eye. Another step forward takes him as close as he can go, knees bumping into the edge of the seat, and as he tilts Yusuke’s head up he pauses. There’s trepidation in the clear gaze that finally meets his, but Yusuke doesn’t make a sound as Akira slowly leans in, closer, giving him as much time as possible to back out. He stays so very still, barely even breathing, like a sculpture if not for the way he seems unsure where to look, eyes darting away from Akira’s face every time they manage to look up. Akira pauses again when his mouth is but millimetres from Yusuke’s, their foreheads touching, the moment of anticipation seeming to last a lifetime as both of them remain silent.
Akira finally closes the last distance between them, kissing Yusuke as gently as he can, mindful of how Yusuke remains so perfectly still. His chapped lips drag over Yusuke’s soft skin, and he wonders if anyone has ever kissed him before, or if Akira is the first person to be so lucky. He’s as still as a statue and so Akira kisses him like he’s a work of art, reverent and fleeting, their lips parting as tenderly as they had met. When he steps back Yusuke looks lost, a slight tremble in the hand that still rests on the table, so he takes the hand from Yusuke’s face and uses it to tuck his hair behind his ear again.
“I’ll make you a coffee before you go, okay?” Akira says, but when he steps back further Yusuke makes an aborted movement, like he wants to reach out but isn’t sure he should. His mouth opens and then shuts again in silence, and Akira makes sure his smile remains warm as he turns away, picking up his apron and retreating behind the counter. Yusuke stands and follows as if he’s on autopilot, sliding back onto the stool with a deep furrow between his brows, watching Akira go through the familiar motions without a word.
“What are you promising me?” He finally says when the cup is pushed in front of him, staring into its depths as the steam swirls into the night air. Akira leans against the counter casually, keeping his body turned towards Yusuke.
“You don’t have to be afraid.” Akira replies quietly, looking down at the ground and scuffing his feet against the floor, “Of me..not being around, I mean.” There’s a clink as Yusuke picks up his cup, taking a considering sip, and then places it back in its saucer. He rotates the cup in its place until the handle reaches an angle that satisfies him, the crease between his brows lightening but not subsiding entirely.
“Is that all?” There’s a note creeping into his voice that makes Akira really grin, running his hand through his hair sheepishly.
“Well, it can be whatever you want it to be.” He feels a little embarrassed now, because it shouldn’t be this hard to say, “But…I always wanna be by your side, however you want that to happen.” Part of him winces internally, the suave air that he wears so easily as Joker having abandoned him in his time of need. But Yusuke nods, a determined glint entering his eyes as he stands, coming around the counter to loom at his full height before Akira.
“You have illuminated the darkness of my world in ways I could never have imagined.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a thread of steel in his expression, a glimmer of something Akira usually sees in Fox, “So I believed that to desire any more would be the very height of selfishness. But…” And Akira watches a true, beautiful smile blossom like an unfurling flower, half joyful and half mischievous, “Well, if you insist.”
And Yusuke grabs Akira’s face with both hands, dragging him closer to kiss him back.
It’s a little awkward, their noses bumping together uncomfortably - and Yusuke’s still a bit stiff, like he’s not sure what he’s doing, and the thought flashes through Akira’s mind that wow, I really am that lucky. He worms his arms around Yusuke’s bony waist, bringing him closer, until the need for air becomes too much and he has to break away, burying his face in Yusuke’s shoulder instead. He laughs, breathless, and Yusuke’s hands very hesitantly fall from his face to embrace him in return. The silence falls again, both of them reluctant to part, until Akira pats Yusuke’s back.
“Finish your coffee before it gets cold.” He says into Yusuke’s shirt, and he can feel how Yusuke quietly gasps.
“Oh, how rude of me!” He disentangles his arms, sliding back around the counter to stare back down at his cup, the steam having now mostly subsided, “It is delicious, as always. You truly are learning a lot from Boss.”
Akira pushes his glasses up his nose. Yeah, he was pretty good. He stands there behind the counter, watching Yusuke savour the coffee he made, the cup held delicately in one hand and the other open on the counter. He reaches out, taking the cold fingers in his own once again, playing loosely with them as Yusuke finishes his drink.
“What are your plans next Sunday?” He asks when Yusuke places the empty cup back down, rotating it again to its perfect angle - and if there’s a hint of cheekiness to his grin, there was no one else around to see.
“Well,” Yusuke places his chin in one hand, pretending to ponder the question, his other hand still left to Akira’s restless mercy, “I have a fascinating movie that we have to watch for my art history class, and as of yet I haven’t had a chance to view the tape for myself. You do have a video player, don’t you? Perhaps…”
Akira’s grin brightens, and he watches Yusuke return a smile in kind.
“I’ll look forward to it.”