#obvs set before like shit gets hella real with akechi

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  Would you consider writing for persona 5 since you like akechi x akira? If so can I put in a request for akira taking a nasty hit for akechi, but they're all out of healing items and are drained of energy. So they're desperately driving back to the entrance of mementos with akira in the back of the car and akechi holding his hands over the wound trying to keep him awake and realizing just how much he cares about Akira Of course dont feel obligated to write this!

Akechi operates daily on a plan. Every move taken, every word said all fit into a single, calculated, overarching plan that leaves no room for error, no room for emotions. Everything must play out crisp and precise, and this, Akechi thinks, his mind operating far too fast for his liking, this is not according to plan.

They’re fighting an archangel in Mementos, something familiar, something they’ve fought multiple times before, and Akechi didn’t mean to get distracted for just a breath of a moment, eyes briefly flicking to Akira when the leader stumbled after blocking a hit. He didn’t mean to avert his gaze, but in the second he did, the archangel turned to him, moving wickedly fast, too fast for Akechi to even begin to evaluate a counter-attack or block.

He only managed a gasp, a whispered “shit,” before something long, black, and flowing jumped in front of him, protecting him, taking a sharp hit from the archangel’s sword. No, Akechi concludes as Akira drops to ground in front of him, this is one-hundred percent not apart of the plan.

“Joker!”

“I’m out of healing items!”

“Me too!”

Their voices sound distant to Akechi’s ringing ears. He can just barely make out the desperation clinging to their tones, and without meaning to, he chases it, he moves with his racing heart until he’s crouched down, hands hovering over Akira’s limp form, unsure of how to act, unsure if he should assess the situation logically or emotionally.

“Crow, get him out of here! I’m calling Panther for back-up!”

That makes sense. Logical sense. It’s the best course of action, and Akechi clings to the clarity as he slowly helps Akira to his feet, arm snaking around Akira’s waist when the latter sways on his feet. Akira groans against the movement, his gloved hand moving instinctively to his abdomen, and Akechi follows the shaking motion, frowning at the blood that blends in with Akira’s glove.

He guides the leader back toward Morgana’s bus, helping Akira climb into the back seat with careful, steady hands. Even in the dim bus lighting, he can see the stark pale complexion that blends in frighteningly with Akira’s white mask, making the black around his eyes appear darker than before.

Akechi holds a hand up to Akira’s eyes, a defensive sign that Akira nods weakly at, and slowly, he removes Akira’s mask, frowning at the pain that pulls at Akira’s face and coats his eyes. Sweat’s beading at his forehead and sliding down his temples, yet he’s shaking slightly, and Akechi swallows back against a lump molding to his throat.

“You are a complete idiot,” Akechi mutters under his breath, pulling his attention toward the gash that’s ripped across Akira’s abdomen, blood pooling out past his red gloves. “Do you hear me? You are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.” His voice is shaking slightly, but he pushes past it, gently prying Akira’s hand from the wound to further inspect it.

It’s, as he expected, bad, really bad. The skin is broken, swollen and red around the edges. The blood loss is frighteningly impressive, and Akechi takes a small moment to consider that this should have been him, not Akira. He can heal on his own and still work through his extended plan, but Akira getting hurt... for him. That’s different.

He can hear the others running back to the bus after successfully killing the archangel, and Morgana revs the engine, a sign to hurry the others. He needs to put pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding, and it would be ideal for Akira to lie down. But that wouldn’t leave room for the others, so he scans the backseat bench for a moment before sighing.

“Can you scoot forward a little?”

Akira locks eyes to his, and there’s so much trust pushing past the pain that Akechi has to look away and clear his throat. His heart is still racing, though the adrenaline from before has been slowly replaced with a muted, gripping fear that he wants so desperately to ignore.

Akira slides forward, not without hissing sharply against the pain that Akechi can only imagine is unbearable, and once he’s on the edge of the seat, Akechi very carefully shifts around until he’s seated behind Akira, legs spread so that Akira has room in front of him.

“Lean back against me.”

Akira complies, leaning heavily against Akechi’s chest, his energy fleeting. Akechi moves his mask up away from his eyes, resting atop his head, and he slips both arms around Akira, pressing both, gloved hands to the wound. Akira hisses once more, a wince pulling at his face, and Akechi frowns when Akira’s head rolls tiredly to the side.

“Stay awake, Joker,” he mutters into Akira’s ear. “This is not your time to die.”

“What if it is?”

There’s no fear to Akira’s tone, no hesitation, just quiet acceptance that has Akechi’s muscles going rigid.

“It’s not,” he spits out. “Morgana,” he growls, and Morgana revs his engine again, harder this time, and the others come piling in soon after.

“How is he?”

“That’s a lot of blood!”

“Drive, Morgana!”

Everyone’s shouting, all worried for their leader, and for the first time, Akechi gets it. There’s a pit growing in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s pulsing along fear and anxiety, and right now, he cannot do a single, damn thing to fix the situation. That, he thinks, is the most frustrating part.

This should have been him, he reminds himself. Everything would be easier if he had taken the hit. He presses his hands tighter to the wound when he spots Akira’s eyes fluttering.

“I said no sleeping.”

“You’re... bossy.”

Akira’s voice is breathless when he speaks. It’s weak, yet it still holds a hint of familiar sass that only slightly eases the concern gripping at Akechi’s heart.

“That’s nothing new,” Akechi replies, pulling his attention briefly to the others, who are calling out quick directions, guiding Morgana back to the entrance. They are making good time despite the ride being rough. They’re getting closer, and Akechi’s heart is hammering against his ribs painfully.

“We’re almost there,” he whispers to Akira, who can only hum weakly in response.

His hands are beginning to shake against the wound, feeling for the first time tonight that they are working against a rapidly ticking clock. He’s never considered Akira dying before...

He shakes his head to rid his thoughts, for just a moment, of his plan. His eyes drift toward the entrance, and soon enough, Ryuji and Makoto are pulling Akira from his arms, helping him out of the bus, and Akechi looks down at the blood splattered against his Crow outfit, bright red painted across white and gold. He feels sick. It’s too much. Akira will--

“Akechi?”

Ann’s at his side, a gentle hand on his shoulder. He pulls his gaze away from his bloody gloves, unsure of how long he’s been frozen in place.

“Akira. Is he--”

“--Makoto and Yusuke have already started patching him up.”

Akechi frowns at this, looking over Ann’s shoulder to see Makoto and Yusuke working together to wrap a large bandage around Akira’s abdomen while Akira munches on a Devil Fruit. He tilts his head in silent question, keeping his eyes locked to Akira’s bare, bloody torso.

“We keep a small bag of supplies at the entrance. For situations like this.”

He nods and slips out of the bus, surprised out how weak he feels. His legs are shaking, but then he meets Akira’s half-lidded gaze and Akira, fucking Akira, smiles at him, a warm, soft smile that squeezes Akechi’s heart.

“Are you okay, Akechi?”

He only nods to Ryuji as he wills his muscles to cooperate and move to Akira. “I’ll escort you home.”

The others look toward him, a few questions come his way, but Akira mutters “okay,” and everyone falls silent. Makoto and Yusuke finish bandaging Akira’s wound, and they leave Mementos, exhausted, beaten, but alive.

It’s late when Akira and Akechi walk into Cafe Leblanc. Sojiro’s already gone for the night, and, Akechi thinks, that’s probably for the better seeing as Akira cannot walk without support. He helps Akira up to his room, frowning when Akira drops to his bed with a groan.

“It’s still bothering you.” They’re both back in their school uniforms, but Akechi can’t get the images of red from his mind. He frowns and crosses his arms, unable to pull his eyes away from Akira’s stomach, where he knows the bandaged gash is underneath his uniform.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will be,” Akechi scoffs lightly, running a hand through his slightly tangled hair. He sighs at the uncomfortable silence between the two, resting heavy in the air, pending words neither knows how to speak.

“I’d do it again.”

Akira’s voice penetrates the silence like a gust of howling air that Akechi blinks wordlessly at. “Excuse me?”

“You said I was dumb. For what I did. But, I would do it again. I would do it a thousand times over if it means you stay safe.”

Each word sounds so unbearably genuine. Akechi thinks he may no longer be able to take this, to handle Akira. The plan...

“You’re thinking too loud,” Akira gripes out, kicking off his shoes and easing his legs fully onto the bed with a wince. “I said I’ll be fine, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m not worrying,” Akechi bites out. A lie, but, well, lying is what he does best unfortunately. “Rest,” he mutters. The air in the room feels suffocating. He needs to leave. He needs to breathe, to will his heart to slow back down to a steady pace. “No Mementos until you’re well.”

He turns to the door, but Akira mutters his name, his first name, “Goro,” in such a quiet, almost desperate tone, and the small word is enough to have Akechi freezing, hand hovering above the doorknob.

A shaky sigh slips past his lips, and he turns to look over his shoulder, doing his best to keep his expression calm and composed despite his stuttering heart.

“Yes?”

“Stay. It’s late anyway.”

Akechi turns back to the door and considers the request. It is late. It would take a while to get home, and he’s exhausted, both physically and mentally. He’s not sure just how much sleep he’ll actually get with Akira slow close by, but then again, he doesn’t trust Akira to actually rest like he needs to. Sighing once more, he nods and turns away from the door.

“Fine, but we both rest.” He drops his bag by the couch before sinking down onto it, his muscles giving into the exhaustion gripping at his very core.

“I wouldn’t suggest anything but,” Akira responds through a yawn, and Akechi watches as Akira’s eyes flutter closed, still in his uniform and still in his glasses. That wound, Akechi thinks, must be taking more out of him than he’s letting on. Typical of his leader...

He frowns at his attachment as he lies down. He needs to take a day, he thinks, to reevaluate his plan, to factor in these new, growing emotions, to assess how to deal with them. But for right now, for just this one night, he’ll forget about everything other than what’s in the now.