this is something he has been holding a secret from his friends. this ongoing investigation he is sure that would make them question his sanity. the pitiful stares he would get, the gentle hands that would set on his shoulder, the quiet words that would offer no help. 'it's been two years, akira. it's time to move on.' they would utter, and he would eventually explode, say something he would regret. and then they'd continue looking at him with that sorrow βΒ so no, no one in akira's circle knows about this. he has made sure.
the sterile smell of the hospital makes the nervousness weighing down on his chest worse, one hand buried in the pockets of his jacket, tightly wrapped around a lone glove. it's been so long, it feels unreal that this is happening. the mirage on the train's window, the tuft of brown hair that would plague the corner of his eyes, the dreams that wouldn't end. he would turn, and there would be no one there. his mind, playing tricks on him, this urge in his chest that never let him give up. he had picked on a loose thread, and another, then another βΒ and here he is.
it was his psychology professors and the connection he had with them in the last year that finally led to this breakthrough. his footsteps echo in the empty halls, and akira feels more afraid than he ever did staring up at a god. will akechi remember him? is he alright? does he even want to see akira, after everything? one of the nurses leads him down a corridor, and once the door is pushed open, he feels like someone punched the breath out of his lungs. "akechi." it's him, alive, in one piece. it doesn't feel real.
quietly, as if afraid to break something that isn't already broken, he sits down on the chair next to him. "it's- me. how... how are you?"
