#in the group calls eachother by their first names (except Akechi himself whos exclusively goes by his surname)

[quillheel]

@tenebriism // yusuke & akechi!

the contact was something unfamiliar with him.

perhaps that is why he was so insistent on saying something, even when a sluggishness unable to be hidden in precise carnelian eyes, dexterity faltering in what is often used by such precise hands, a darkness discoloring the undersides of skin like cheap, shiny decoration — paint applied with a sensitivity often lost on Akechi, but one that was not so easily when it applied to the flesh; attention unending, monitoring, almost clinical.

perhaps it was that then, the unexpected from someone he has learned what to expect from, that championed him onwards like a curse he was bound to — eternally, Akechi was cursed, or at least that's often how he thought he was. how strange it was, for that moment of pinpoint notice, the contact an unfamiliar heavy pressure 'pon his shoulder, then; clumsy compared to the specific phrasing Akechi was talented in puppeting to prompt it, more natural than he ever was; its removal & its explanation. — if Yusuke had explained it sooner, Akechi hadn't been listening.

Initially, Akechi does not understand ; a thing he hates. he bites back the part of him that, impulsive, hears the reason & motive and calls Yusuke foolish. Uncomprehending, a white-hot moment of unwillingness to try met with the unkillable part of Akechi that denies the mocking, as if he is better than Yusuke, his eternal knowing he is not ; before he sets himself upon the task of seeing it through the lens of something he better understands. critical eyes scanning the lines, the progression, nipping at the edges of strokes of graphite or ink in his effort to understand why this mattered, why this was worth it.

Akechi is leaned forward, the worn booth of Cafe LeBlanc shifting as if moving to follow Akechi's lead hovering above his shoulder in one of the fewest times Yusuke is harbored within it's walls, as he shifts closer to examine. the same one might examine wounds, understanding the hands that made them, understanding what they were at all. ( Akechi struggled with the concept that Yusuke, or anyone at all, and himself were at all alike, however to say they were not similar in such a manner as this would be untrue. Goro's attention artistic in of itself, in the intensity his eyes always have. perhaps that is why Yusuke liked him. maybe Yusuke didn't like him at all. )

a perfectly trimmed finger-nail nips at the barest edge of a line at the bottom of the page, not tearing at the medium used to apply it, but rather only a pressure to it; as if by sinking his claws in, he could know it. — know it better.

"that is…" intrigue begins to strike him, rattling up into his nerves. his nail indents deeper into the fiber of the paper, never breaking through, only pushing it down. he understands it in the way detectives understand evidence, the way Akechi understands everything, the way he has to. "interesting."

he reels himself in, realizing that for all his intrigues, he is still expected to be the reasonable one. Yusuke was eccentric, blindingly intelligent in the ways Akechi took time to fully know just beneath the surface, but depravation and exhaustion were just the same regardless. human things, unhealthy in their intentional pursuit. what kind of friend would he be if he allowed this to persist? ( not friends. never friends. the way he always hesitates. ) — how hypocritical of him.

"By all means." a hand waved, eyes glancing to Yusuke's in his familiarity with the request before finding themselves back at the page "How long have you been conscious, Yusuke-san? However in-depth, and fascinating this study is, your health is a vital priority."