Chapter Text
Akira spins a pen between his fingers effortlessly. From his window seat inside his classroom, he keeps watch over the school’s backyard, as a flock of birds eagerly searches for food. Spring has softened the earth and their endeavor is fruitful: each bird that leaves with a beak stuffed with worms is replaced by another, digging for their portion buried shallow underground.
It’s another peaceful day; one of many and of countless more to come.
Dr. Maruki had kept his word. There was little to no doubt he wouldn’t, yet the extent of his power never ceases to be imposing. He wonders if Maruki’s influence affects more than just people, too. The birds outside must be happy, but he doubts the worms share that same sentiment, being carried to their death and all–do they know this is their last thrill ride? It must be scary to get picked out of the crowd and carried away for the good of something greater; to make somebody else happy. It seems fairer to choose your own destiny.
Happiness is subjective, that he’s learnt over the past two and a half months. He wonders if Maruki knew that from the very beginning; when he had to let go of his fiancée, when his life’s work was taken away from him or when he rehabilitated Sumire–actually, it’s Kasumi now–It must be frustrating to have to juggle these responsibilities, but this is the life Maruki chose and willingly sacrificed himself for; a perfect reality where nobody suffers.
He’s been thinking a lot about Maruki. It’s these questions that keep him grounded, embarrassingly enough.
A quiet call for help pulls him out of his thoughts.
Ann, sitting at the table in front of him, has slightly turned her head his way. She’s looking alarmed and if he has to guess there must be an unanswered question in the room.
As if to prove him right a booming voice rings from the front of class.
“You seem to be struggling, Takamaki-san.”
Mr. Ushimaru stands by the blackboard, big and broad with a book in hand. His face still shows his age and the stress of a teacher, but his voice comes out remarkably patient as he repeats himself.
“Let me put it this way: last week we discussed the definition of poly, as in many, several, etymologically speaking. There’s the polyglot–to which I count myself to–or the practice of polygamy, such as within the daimyō clans and other feudal societies. Polytheism, then, would be to believe in many Gods–more than one at least.
“Now what would be the opposite: the belief in one God, the singular? Think of… maybe a farm that only tends one single crop or, or–perhaps a sound system with a single audio channel if that feels more relatable.”
If this were the real Ushimaru, one student would be seeing the nurse by now for a concussion caused in a chalk-throwing incident. This is the new Ushimaru though–patient, helpful, good with kids, different. He talks more about his life and his young grandkids. He recommends books he’s finished reading over the month. He advises students on extracurricular activities and they have started to call him uncle. He’s one of many subjects he would love to dissect and study; which crucial event in his life turned out for the better or was his personality simply revised?
Akira tells Ann that their teacher is looking for the word monotheism and Ann repeats it like she knew the answer all along but refused to say so.
There’s no way Mr. Ushimaru didn’t notice them whispering, but if so, he does not seem to mind at all. Instead he claps his hands together and proudly boasts: “Well done, Takamaki-san! It’s curious really… While polytheism used to be widespread around the globe, monotheism became the prevalent religious belief outside of East Asia. Which reminds me–”
He goes on. When all eyes return to Ushimaru, Ann looks back at Akira. She mouths a silent thank you before facing class again. It’s a small moment he savors before he returns to his birdwatching.
After class Ann walks up to him, just when he’s done throwing his stuff into his bag.
"You really saved my butt in there.” She grins. “Thanks, Akira!"
“‘course,” he replies.
It’s a no-brainer, but the acknowledgement is sweet. He’s pulling his bag shut when he decides to test his luck. “Are you free later on? I was thinking we could try that new café downtown. They’re notorious for their weird, foreign crêpe combo with cream and–"
She forebodes the disappointment with a smile so bright it illuminates the whole room. “Aw, I would love to join you, but I’m helping Shiho after school.”
Akira responds with a dim smile of his own. "That's alright. Tomorrow, then?"
“Hm.” Ann presses her index finger against her cheek and contemplates. “Not sure, actually. Some of our classmates invited me to a study group thing. English, y'know. Girls only, so you wouldn’t make a great fit."
Akira breaks his poker face just by a bit when he casts his eyes down to his bag. He pulls the zipper once, twice as if to check it’s shut tight.
“Don’t worry. Just hit me up when you get the time.“
“That’s the plan!” Ann says, cheerfully. One quick look at her phone makes her jump. "Shoot, gotta go! See ya, Akira! And I swear I'll call you!"
Akira doesn’t get the time to say goodbye before Ann scrambles out of the room and disappears around the corner.
It only takes a moment for the thought to grab a hold of him. In the few seconds where he watches the rest of his classmates usher out of the room–where he does nothing but stand motionless by his desk–a sense of dread overwhelms him, stark, like being pulled underwater. Despite the cheerful buzz that surrounds him and despite the lack of a criminal record to judge him for, he has not felt this alone since he first arrived at Shujin.
It never occurred to him how possessive he was of his friends.
It doesn’t feel fair to judge. It’s just another day, he has to tell himself. Another day of his friends getting used to their new lives and thriving with purpose. They need to adjust to their new schedules, make time for all the good things that are falling into their laps. There must be… something that would explain their sudden disinterest in him. If he’s even allowed to call it that–not just inconvenience, bad timing or them being too occupied.
Truth be told, he used to keep his confidants waiting. At times he even missed out on responding to messages entirely. If he’s allowed to let that happen, then in all honesty they should, too. Yet it’s hard to deny the fact that he misses Mishima bugging him with interminable reports of every social interaction he’s had with a girl. He misses Ryuji talking smack about his homeroom teacher during class. He misses Haru… Haru calling him at all.
He shoulders his bag, light and swift. He even misses the weight of Morgana inside.
It’s somewhat of a unique constellation. Not often do the three of them (Ryuji, Yusuke and himself) get the time to meet up anymore after school, but Mishima has made it too in tow with his new best friend, Kaneko. What was supposed to be a small catching up turned into a trip to the inner city, late lunch and a shopping spree to get Ryuji a new pair of running shoes that just happened to be on sale. In the evening they try their luck at a popular karaoke spot in the center of Shibuya and as luck would have it, someone has dropped their reservation at the last second.
(Akira wonders why; for something better?)
They’re just in time for happy hour which makes this outing all the better.
Their room is stuffy but not suffocating, furnished with two small tables moved together, a wide sofa that hugs the walls and a TV screen and an audio system that begs for singing. Everything is doused in party and disco lights. Soft drinks are ordered, songs are being picked. Mishima picks the first song and the grinning face of Soryu Asuka graces the screen. Yusuke sings a ballad, entirely one note and only slightly ruined by his lack of rhythm. Ryuji makes it his task to drown the noise from the other rooms and screams his heart out (“LINDA, LINDA!”) that earns him cheers and laughter and a sad score of forty-seven points.
And if the meet-up isn’t exciting enough, Morgana adds himself to the mix.
“It’s so awesome that you guys know Momo,” Kaneko says for what must have been the fifth time tonight but Morgana just bathes in the attention. "You know I always wanted to be an actor like you."
That’s wrong, or–was. Akira recalls the last time they met where he proudly announced he's been looking into becoming a lawyer, just like his father. For a second it looks like Kaneko remembers that too; his eyes glaze over and his face turns distant. Akira thinks of asking him if he’s heard of the recent revision of juvenile court law when Kaneko suddenly sneezes and with that the blank expression disappears.
“Gross, dude,” Ryuji laughs.
Wordlessly, Mishima hands Kaneko a tissue. He hasn’t said much since Morgana entered the room, but hides his dismay more or less behind a polite smile. If he thinks Morgana is going to share the limelight at some point he is unfortunately mistaken.
“Sorry,” Kaneko says nasally before blowing his nose. For some reason everyone keeps their eyes fixated on him like he’s a spectacle, but Kaneko doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite, as he goes on without missing a beat.
“How did you guys even meet?”
“That feels like it was aaages ago…” Ryuji sighs.
“It’s barely been a year,” Morgana corrects.
One of the other rooms starts singing a pop song that Akira can’t remember the name of. Ryuji lets out a deep-seated groan and kicks his legs on the small table. He drops his head back and frowns at the ceiling.
He grunts, “Through Kamo-effin’-shida Suguru, that asshole.”
Kaneko almost spits out his drink. At this point it’s up for debate if he’s always been this excitable or if it comes to flatter others.
“Kamoshida-san–the athlete!? What did he do?” Kaneko asks, aghast.
“Ugh, he’s a total scumbag. Just the worst. He–”
The sentence comes to a halt. As the silence draws out, Akira looks up from the list of songs he’s been studying and finds Ryuji stumped, mouth hanging open. Ryuji looks back at him with a stare that is usually reserved for their Math studies.
“What did he do again?” He asks.
Akira flinches from Morgana laughing out loud. “You’re so stupid, Ryuji,” he says, amused, crossing one leg over the other. “I’d be surprised if you could remember what you had for breakfast.”
Ryuji looks annoyed but keeps it together. “Well?” he asks.
Morgana doesn’t answer.
There’s a beat of silence. Yusuke breaks it.
“Peculiar. I do not remember you ever having mentioned how you ended up in companionship,” he says. “Well, I never felt compelled to actually question–”
“He cut in line at Triple Seven,” Akira interrupts. “Kamoshida cut in front of Ryuji and was being a real dick about it. Ryuji got loud, of course, and things could have turned real ugly, but Mona happened to be there and–and basically stepped in and settled their fight. The guy left and we just started talking.”
Something in the air seems to shift or maybe he's just imagining it. The others look at him like his shirt is on the wrong way around and Akira feels a lump forming in his throat. One by one, though, their faces light up.
“Yeah–! Yeah, something like that!” Ryuji almost shouts.
“And then you didn’t even have enough money for your soda and snacks, so I had to pay for you. Remember that?” Mona adds. “You’re always making such a scene… but I guess you’ve always been a brute.”
“One more insult and you’ll leave this place with your head on backward, Momo.“ He says his name like a slur, but deadpan enough as not to be taken as a serious threat. Ryuji then turns toward Yusuke. “And bro, don’t ever call us a companionship again. It sounds kinda…”
Mishima laughs so shrill it sounds fake–a dire attempt to be noticed and included. Akira empathizes, but he knows there’s no need to intervene; either a new best friend or a rearranged memory of tonight will do. Maybe Kaneko will realize he’s been dismissive and they’ll talk it out later tonight. How lucky.
"That brings me back to our first encounter," Yusuke muses and the sudden crease between his eyebrows is enough to make Akira feel sick to his stomach.
He excuses himself from the table, rushes down the neon lit corridor and pushes himself through the door to the bathroom. His head is spinning and he has to support his weight over the sink. He might start to cry.
He can deal with the major changes, he tells himself over and over again. He can hear the news about Shido’s sycophants donating all their money to charity and move on with his life, impervious. It’s these situations, though, that suddenly make him nauseous; a change of family dynamics mentioned in passing; the loss of a nervous tick he’d noticed on a classmate-he’s gotten way too good at spotting the corrections and to what end?
He doesn’t know how long he can keep this up–walking on eggshells whilst history rewrites itself every second; the constant changes and the question of what he can and cannot say without earning confused glances and flawed anecdotes. Always second guessing things. Blink and you miss it. Akira thinks he’s going to lose his mind.
He doesn’t know how much time he spent away. When he returns the group has moved on to other topics: without shame Mishima and Kaneko argue loudly and playfully over the best anime intro. Ryuji and Morgana made up and are discussing another ballad Yusuke should sing. The mood is bright and chatty and fun.
Akira sits himself down between the two fronts. He doesn’t say a lot anymore for the rest of the evening.
Two weeks have gone by and Ann has not called him.
Nothing else has happened either. The birds still pick at their buffet outside. Another student answers a question correctly. Mr. Iruta waxes poetic in front of the class as a new girlfriend has rekindled a passionate streak of ramblings about beauty and devotion.
Akira is already looking at his phone when a text message from Haru comes in.
‘I'm so sorry, Akira, but I cannot make it today. Father would like for me to join one of our board meetings as it is quite urgent. I would like to support him. Would that be alright?’
He can’t even muster the strength to feel disappointment.
'Don't worry,' he writes. ‘Let me know when you are free. And good luck with the meeting’.
He waits. As nothing follows, he adds, 'I love you'.
‘I promise I’ll make it up to you!’
He buries his head in his arms. His life has come to a full stop. Unengaged and unwanted, he forces himself to entertain the seed of doubt that has started to sprout within him. It’s the only thing he has left, because at this point it all feels like a joke; like a glitch in the system, the odds never stacked in his favor. It doesn’t make sense that he only ever receives the short end of the stick, or does it?
A thought pushes itself to the forefront of his mind. Akira grasps it and after considering it, thinks he might just be desperate enough to try. He leaves the chat with Haru and scrolls to the very end of his recent backlog. It doesn’t take long for him to find it–where it all began.
If he has questions–or concerns for that matter–regarding this reality, why not address the man who created it?
He opens the chat room. A dull feeling throbs in his chest as he sees their last conversation: a few speech bubbles and a 3-minute call. He pushes the memory aside, types his message and sends it off.
‘Does this still work’
Maruki replies within seconds.
‘In fact it does! Can I help you with something, Kurusu-kun?’
A moment’s pause.
'Okay. Didn't see it coming,' Akira replies truthfully. He thinks of what to say, then adds, 'I've got a few questions about this whole new world thing. I was wondering if you could help me out'.
'Of course. Would you like to talk now over the phone or later in person? Ah, but you might be at school right now…’
Akira blinks. He lets Maruki know, in person would be good.
'I can make some time. Does Takeshita Street work for you? Late afternoon, tomorrow?'
Akira stares at the suggestion like it’s a threat. Instinct tells him to back off immediately.
(Or is it fear?)
It should come as no surprise that Maruki’s offer leaves him questioning its sincerity. It’s a relatively new impression–Akira still remembers how he used to talk to him. How he carefully maneuvered himself through counseling sessions, making sure to explain the concept and potential of a subconscious Metaverse just by happenstance and not like he and his friends played dress-up and fought bad guys in there each week. The secrecy was for the team’s own safety but still, at some point Akira felt like he could tell Maruki the honest truth, without repercussions.
It’s a good question why he entertained his research on cognitive pscience in the first place. He cannot deny that he enjoyed mulling over his own beliefs and morals from a different angle. The topics Maruki brought to the table were deep and engaging, and to some extent he found it flattering to be regarded as a subject of academic interest. It only deepened his desire to reform society, like he had to prove him right.
While naive and painfully awkward at times, Akira thought of Maruki as a kind and earnest man, an engaging conversation partner and ally–up until the very point it turned out he was methodically interrogating him for his personal project of brainwashing Japan.
As little sense as that makes, he still wants to trust Dr. Maruki, despite everything. Yes, he was omitting details before, but from then on he played with an open hand. When it came to the realization of his life’s work, most got exactly what they had wished for. Maruki never acted out of ill will, but out of genuine intent to make the world a better place. No more lasting pain, no more hurt; each and every single person could live their dream to the fullest–and Akira permitted it.
And now it's only Akira Kurusu who selfishly struggles with the change. It's on him to manage it.
'Sure,' Akira writes as if unfazed.
'Wonderful! I'll see you then.'
The app says that Maruki has gone offline.
Akira slips his phone back into his pocket. He stares down at his text book, but can barely make out the page. His teacher is still talking yet all the words sound muffled, cryptic.
His mind feels clouded. He struggles to catch a thought.
After class he's going to see Ryuji again. He’s going to tag along with him and the track team, so there’s little chance Akira will even get to talk to him in the first place. Maybe it will give him the push he needs to actually go through with the offer.
For a moment he wonders if Maruki can sense how scared he is.
Time passes by in an anxious blur. Before he even knows it, he’s stepping out of Harajuku Station toward his destination–to see Dr. Maruki again.
Anxiety courses through his veins. Akira manages to keep himself grounded by setting expectations: Maruki will not deliver him a miracle solution, as convenient as that would be. If he could fix his life in an instant, cure him of his woes, he would have already done so–at least he thinks that’s how his powers work. Perhaps all this was no one's fault but his own; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d withstood divine powers.
That’s how far he gets until he reaches the flashy boutique that Ann and him used to frequent last summer. Adrenaline levels spike when he finds him there–Dr. Takuto Maruki, in the flesh, waiting for him in front of that busy showcase window.
He looks exactly how he remembers him; at least, how he remembers him fondly.
Maruki is not wearing the white suit of his Palace or gelled back hair, nor is he exuding authority with that look of iron conviction. Instead, his posture is poor and his fringe hangs loose over his forehead whilst he fiddles with his phone. He’s wearing a simple blue button-up, together with a comfortably worn thin jacket and jeans. The moment he turns toward him, Akira recognizes the warm glint in his eyes. Without a doubt Maruki still is the same man as when they first met–the only difference being that his face has been treated to a clean shave.
He looks great, Akira concludes. Happy and more lively than ever. Just like everybody else.
"Kurusu-kun–!" He sounds excited. Maruki smiles from ear to ear and extends a hand. “How long has it been, a month? Two?”
Out of politeness Akira shakes his hand and even manages a smile of his own. He doesn’t know if the question was asked in earnest, but he answers it anyway. “Three,” he corrects him. “Three months.”
The grip around his hand loosens and for a second Maruki looks baffled.
“That’s–woah. Time sure flies.”
It’s like nothing changed, no time passed at all; all of his mannerisms remain. He’s clearly the same man he got to know over the course of last year, yet Akira can’t help but feel on guard–the memory of last winter still pulsates hot red.
If Maruki can sense his unease, he doesn’t let it show. Maruki proceeds with a, “Well, anyway…”, and lets go of his hand. “I was thinking we could quickly hit the hardware store and then maybe grab some lunch, what do you think? You have to tell me about everything that’s going on. About your friends as well.”
“Why the hardware store?” Akira asks.
“I need a small portable TV,” he says, a tinge of joy in his voice. “To have some noise playing in the background mostly, and I need to have some sort of normal connection to the outside, ha. I want to know what’s going on.”
Akira hardly believes he needs that, but doesn’t have any other valid arguments against–not that he would mind the distraction. It beats another day at the arcade, that’s for sure.
He nods and Maruki’s face brightens before he leads the way.
It’s like Maruki knows Akira still is not all that comfortable, thus he takes it upon himself to fill the silence. Maruki talks about the weather and his latest food cravings, comments on new stores having opened up and asks if it’s always been so crowded here. Akira’s replies are one-note, non-committal, but they keep Maruki talking as they walk down the shopping mile and enter the next best store.
“Sorry for blabbering,” Maruki says during checkout; he’s already talked his mouth dry. “It’s been so long since I had anybody but myself to chat with.“
Akira smiles empathetically. “I can imagine. It must be rough.” He partially shares the experience.
When they leave the store and think of somewhere to go, Akira mentions one of the new cafés of the Okumura family having opened around here recently. Maruki hums with interest and asks how his friends are doing. Akira tells him they’re fine.
"That must take such a weight off your shoulders," Maruki says.
“I guess…” Akira answers, tugging at the sleeve of his school uniform. It’s not exactly the response he’s looking for.
This whole thing is going nowhere. The novelty of speaking to the creator of this reality wore off quickly. Before, Akira would enjoy being the listener, but weeks of quietly observing and avoiding certain topics, has rendered him into a compliant bystander. It’s like he's forgotten how to lead a conversation or unlearned that it’s okay to include himself.
To a certain degree he feels guilty taking time out of Maruki’s busy day–for nothing, really.
“How do you even manage all of this,” Akira says, rubbing the back of his neck. He doesn’t mean for it to sound rude, but he can’t help the irritation slip into his voice. “Don’t you have anything better to do right now?”
Maruki doesn’t mind the tone, as he answers in kind: “It’s not a problem for me, Kurusu. You could say I’m actually working right now. I don’t think–I don’t think I can really turn it off at this point.”
He draws his eyebrows together and for a second Akira believes he seems a little overwhelmed.
“What do you mean?”
Maruki mutters something that sounds like a laugh. Akira assumes he’s about to change the topic, but then he clicks his tongue and says, “Well, there’s the Palace first of all. It turns out it functions as its own entity; even when I’m outside of it, it continues to sift through the collective unconscious and collects thoughts and wishes; data. My assistants also don’t disappear and keep working without a break, so when I come back I usually only have a lot to review, hah. But I guess I don’t really have to do that either…”
By assistants he must mean the Shadows. Akira watches him think; Maruki looks as if he is considering his words carefully while speaking, to test if what he is saying seems correct.
“Secondly, and that is the crazy part, I don't think I'm ever fully severed from the Metaverse. I still… feel the pulses of the masses in the back of my head and I can push and pull when I really need to. I know I could do something like this before, but on a much, much smaller scale. This–this is much different.”
For a moment he seems to be somewhere else, but he shakes it off fast with a smile. "Basically, I’m doing 'work' right now as we speak."
“Isn’t that bothersome…?”
“Quite the contrary, it feels good to help. And I believe if this weren’t the case I would never leave Odaiba.”
He laughs at his own joke. Akira just cracks a smile. Akira didn’t need him to elaborate; he knows he loves his job, but it’s weird to think of the man standing next to him as the very center of the universe. Maruki is connected with everyone in this crowded street, able to change their lives in a heartbeat. He wonders if his conundrum would be a priority among a sea of problems. Would he deserve a personalized salvation more than anyone else?
“Now that I've talked a lot of hot air, don't you want to share what's on your mind? You've been so quiet.”
By that he'd be correct, though after this talk, Akira’s problems have started to feel comparatively small against the needs of Japan’s entire population. His eyes drift away and he pretends to study a book shop they’re passing.
"It's okay. Just talking is nice."
"No, it's not." Maruki says and his voice loses all humor. He steps outside the pedestrian flow and halts which forces Akira to follow. "What's on your mind, Kurusu-kun?"
Wouldn't you be able to sense it? Akira meets Maruki’s stare defiantly and repeats the thought louder in his head. As nothing changes in Maruki’s expression, Akira languidly deflates.
"I wanted to ask you… Could you–could you tell me if the Phantom Thieves happened in this reality?"
Maruki’s first response is a frown which sends an immediate weight down Akira’s gut.
"Oh, that's..." Maruki begins to say, but it fades out. He frowns deeper and curls a finger around his chin. "That's a tricky one. In theory, yes. The Phantom Thieves do exist and you and your friends met through your escapades. Practically...
"Practically, there is no reason why you were out on your adventures to begin with. I purposefully left these memories blank, in case this might interfere with your friends’ cognitions. I realize now that this might cause confusion..."
Maruki leaves these words hanging in the air while he quietly observes Akira. "Why? Has something come up?"
So it’s true. Akira stares past Maruki and fights that numbing feeling spilling from his guts to his limbs.
"Well, it's..." Akira opens and closes his mouth. He doesn't know how to word it; in fact he's embarrassed to. It seems impossible to wrap his head around the core issue. "I'm not sure how to talk to my friends anymore. Every time I bring up something about our past or wanna suggest activities we used to do, it feels like I’m reminding them of something they don’t want to remember, or can’t…”
He tugs at a lock hanging in his face and looks at Maruki cautiously. "It all just feels... fragile? Your reality I mean."
Maruki gives him a thoughtful hum. "I can very well imagine this being the case. To be fair, I've been trying to keep changes to a minimum when it comes to your surroundings and the Phantom Thieves. For your comfort as well as theirs. I don’t think it would be good to meddle with them further…"
Akira looks at him expectantly, waiting for a 'but'. Something, anything that could give him clarity.
His stomach turns when it doesn't happen. He reluctantly asks, "And?"
"I'm sorry," Maruki says.
Wonderful, just wonderful. So he can’t talk to his friends without giving them an identity crisis, he can’t reach out to others due to his own shortcomings and now God himself can’t even help him. The noise and bustle of the crowd morphs into a heavy, suffocating mass that threatens to crush him. What is he supposed to do then–? Live life as an afterthought? Move away from here, find a new group of friends he won’t be a dreadful reminder to?
Every option he comes up with just makes him feel worse, helpless and asphyxiated. He’s stuck in a world of smiles and happiness that he for some reason cannot partake in. It appears even Maruki can’t explain it.
"Kurusu-kun,” a voice says softly. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking, but please know your happiness is just as important as anybody else's. I don't want to meddle with your affairs or look inside your head. That... that wouldn't be alright. It wouldn’t make you you anymore."
Akira doesn’t understand. What does he mean by that?
"But if you like–" The voice reaches through the fog. It wavers for a split second. "How about we continue with our counseling sessions?"
Akira looks at him.
Hesitantly delighted at gaining a reaction, Maruki continues: “I–I mean it! If I can be so brash, I feel like there’s a lot more you are struggling with that you’re not telling me… which makes sense, because I rattled on for quite a while today.
"But you made this,” Maruki gestures around him, “possible for me. The least I can do is support you until you find your footing. After all this is still my job–in a lot of ways."
Maruki's tone is serious, but with a lighthearted edge. He lets his words settle, before adding: "Getting help is nothing to be ashamed of. Great life changes of any kind are prone to trigger anxiety and depression… I don't want you to succumb to it. Not here."
"I–" Indecisiveness flares up. Akira stomps it out quickly and aggressively. He's sick of feeling this way; that a few bad months molded him into such a pushover. That’s not him, that’s not Joker, and he reaffirms this with confidence.
"I would like that."
"Then it's a deal!" Maruki grins before he falters just a little. "I-if you can call it that. Since I'm not asking anything of you, except for your time, it would just count as proper counseling. I'll make sure to hopefully not chew your ear off either."
Akira chuckles–genuinely–for the first time this week. He might have received one of the most distressing news of his life, but the pep talk is doing its magic. He wants to be optimistic. He’s made it through worse to get here.
He feels calm as he looks at Maruki.
"And you know what,” Maruki suddenly interrupts. “I'm going to buy you that shirt you've been ogling before. The jacket, too."
Akira looks surprised, questioning if Maruki really can read his mind or if he's just that obvious.
"You don't have to..." He says, a little sheepish.
Maruki waves it off. "It's the least I can do."