Chapter Text
Akechi’s phone vibrated. He ignored it, since he was, as usual, doing all the work required for a group presentation, and he still hadn’t exactly decided on how he would revenge himself on his useless classmates. It vibrated again, and then again.
Akechi sighed and checked his phone. He saw Yusuke’s name and almost put his phone back down before he realized that the messages hadn’t been sent to the group chat.
I have found myself unable to leave my dorm.
Due to illness, of course.
A stomach bug. No, perhaps food poisoning.
Akechi tapped out “okay”, then deleted it. He tried “What does that have to do with me”, and deleted that too. He paused halfway through “why are you telling me” and raked a hand through his hair.
He hadn’t gotten very close with the other Phantom Thieves yet. Ren, as always, was different - he wouldn’t have been able to avoid Ren even if he wanted to. But interacting with the others always made him feel uncomfortable, unwanted on the bad days and guilty on the good ones. He didn’t like feeling guilty. That made him feel human, and that always made him feel worse.
Akechi swallowed his snarky comments, dug his fingers into the corner of the table, and sent a new message.
What do you need?
Yusuke replied within seconds, as though he’d already drafted a message and was just waiting for Akechi to agree. Akechi supposed that it was almost flattering that Yusuke had expected that much of him. Still, Yusuke was arguably the most delusional Phantom Thief, so he wasn’t sure that it was saying all that much.
As it turned out, Akechi had agreed to “make a small trip” to Yusuke’s favorite local convenience store, and pick up “a few products,” including very specific brands and flavors of easy-to-digest foods and Gatorade.
Akechi rolled his eyes. He respected the audacity, and noticed that Yusuke had made no mention of repayment.
Kosei (and the convenience store) was about a thirty minute journey, and Akechi privately suspected that he wouldn’t be working on “his” presentation any further that day. He turned off his laptop, turned out the lights, and stuffed his phone into his pocket before he could ask Yusuke why he hadn’t asked literally anyone else. He suspected that he already knew the answer. Yusuke had asked everyone else before Akechi, and none of them had been available. Ren was of course no longer in Tokyo, and since school was still in session anyone who still attended Shujin would be in classes. Since Akechi, Makoto, and Haru were in college, their schedules were naturally more variable, but Haru’s business obligations meant that she was rarely available. That left Makoto, and while Akechi didn’t have her schedule memorized, he suspected she had simply been in class.
The subway trip to the store was almost agitatingly uneventful, and Akehci alternately tried to read and drummed his fingers on his thigh as he stared out the window. Once he’d arrived at the convenience store, he pulled out his phone to reference the list Yusuke had sent. Gatorade was obviously a must - Akechi didn’t know the specifics of Yusuke’s situation, and he didn’t want to know them either, but if he’d been getting sick, dehydration could obviously be a very real concern. He grabbed a couple of bottles. He’d asked for Saltines, a specific brand of instant rice, and Jello cups. Akechi was able to find all that too.
For good measure, he added some stomach medication, which Yusuke had neglected to ask for but surely didn’t have. Yusuke was chronically unprepared for every situation, Akechi had noticed, and it would have to fall on Akechi’s shoulders to remember anything that was actually important. After some deliberation, he also added a box of ginger tea.
As Akechi was checking out, he realized he actually hadn’t had a single bad thought about Yusuke or his list of demands the entire time he’d been shopping for him. Akechi had to admit, that was pretty unusual for him. Akechi wasn’t - usually - delusional, and he knew that he was easily irritated, short-tempered, and generally disinclined to participate in this sort of inconvenience. But right now, Akechi found that he mostly felt…bad for Yusuke.
Akechi was familiar enough with Yusuke’s situation to know that he’d reached out to the Phantom Thieves for help because there was no one else in his life that he could ask. He was an orphan of the particularly unlucky variety, and his only caretaker was not only a piece of shit, but also in jail. Akechi, on a technicality, was not an orphan himself, but he could still relate.
Managing every injury and illness yourself was like walking across a tightrope with no safety net. A trip to the grocery store for Gatorade might not mean a lot to someone like Futaba, but Akechi suspected that was far from the case when it came to Yusuke. Despite himself, Akechi sympathized. God knew he’d dealt with his share of stomach bugs alone.
Akechi reminded himself firmly that this was annoying, and far from how he wanted to be spending his day. Then, he reminded himself that thinking relatively kind thoughts about the people he considered his friends actually wasn’t a bad thing.
Supposedly.
With supplies now in tow, Akechi walked over to Kosei. Yusuke kept him waiting in the lobby for far longer than Akechi found appropriate, and he felt the relatively kind thoughts of before slipping away as the heavy bag began to cut into his fingers. The receptionist at the desk of the dorms was giving him odd looks, and Akechi didn’t feel like turning on the charm. He would if he had to, of course, but he really just wanted Yusuke to come down. Still, he was sick, and he was probably just moving slowly, and even though it sometimes felt like nails on a chalkboard, Akechi would give him the benefit of the doubt.
When Yusuke appeared from the elevator bank and he actually did look terrible, Akechi was glad he’d convinced himself to think kindly. Yusuke’s usually immaculate hair was tousled and oily looking, hanging in front of hollow eyes. He actually was moving slowly, hugging a trash can in front of him like a shield. Akechi winced, wondering if Yusuke felt as humiliated as he would in the same situation.
“You look terrible,” Akechi said by way of opening, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d meant it to sound worried, or at worst, neutral. He was supposed to be good at managing people, so why did the Phantom Thieves make everything he did come out wrong?
Yusuke, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to notice. He shuffled over, waving one languid hand at the receptionist, and peered into the bag of supplies Akechi was still clutching.
“You brought tea,” Yusuke announced. Akechi couldn’t tell if he was surprised, excited, or maybe for some reason displeased.
“I did,” Akechi agreed. “Are you running a fever?” Close up, Yusuke’s face was pale and blotched with red spots. Akechi could almost feel the heat radiating off of him.
Yusuke frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t own a thermometer.”
Akechi should have expected that. Stupid.
“Thank you for the food,” Yusuke said, sounding a bit fainter than usual. He broke off, swallowed delicately, and continued. Akechi noticed he was clutching the trash can tighter. “Alas, my wallet seems to be empty. You see, I noticed an exquisite vase….”
“What a surprise,” Akechi said, before he could stop himself. He paused and forced a smile. “Let’s call it my treat, shall we?”
Yusuke had the good grace to look surprised, and maybe a little grateful. “If you insist. Now-”
“I have a thermometer at my apartment,” Akechi interrupted. He hadn’t known he was going to, and shocked himself almost as much as Yusuke.
This seemed to throw Yusuke for a loop. Akechi supposed it would be a surprising offer at the best of times, and when one had a fever, one’s brain wasn’t necessarily at its sharpest. “Your…apartment…?”
“Besides, look at you,” Akechi said. “I really don’t think I can leave you alone in such a state. You’ll die.”
“I can’t go with you,” Yusuke said. “I can’t leave.”
Akechi’s fingers flexed on the plastic handle of the shopping bag. The receptionist was still staring daggers at them. Akechi refused to feel bad - this was Yusuke’s dorm, and he was perfectly allowed to be here, and besides, this was probably the most interesting thing that had happened to her all morning. “I can call us a taxi, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No, no, that will never work,” Yusuke said definitively. “You see, I have an assignment I need to finish up.”
Seeing as Yusuke was in art school, it was difficult for Akechi to imagine what sort of assignment was pressing enough that it would require Yusuke to stay at the dorms. “An…assignment? Is it a painting?”
“Yes,” Yusuke said. “And it’s due tomorrow. Due to my current situation, I’m unfortunately rather behind. I’ll need to spend a significant portion of the day working on it, or I won’t be able to finish.”
Akechi sighed dramatically, then wondered if that was rude. “I suppose I can stay here then, if I must. You really don’t look well.”
A pained expression crossed Yusuke’s face. Akechi briefly wondered if he was going to be sick, then realized that Yusuke was actually just considering his offer. Eventually, he nodded. “I suppose you can come upstairs. I don’t have anything much to offer you though. As I’ve said, I’ve been busy. And quite ill.”
Akechi resisted the urge to start yanking his hair out in clumps. “I’m not here for a social call. I’m trying to help you. Can you just sign me in?”
Yusuke nodded solemnly, and turned unsteadily to the receptionist. She looked understandably nervous about someone this ill getting this close to her, and Akechi did have the sudden wish that he’d thought to bring a mask. His immune system wasn’t as strong as all that, and sitting through the cesspool that was college classes certainly hadn’t helped matters.
“Are you going to get me sick?” Akechi asked, as Yusuke lurched further over the desk and the receptionist leaned away slightly. Perhaps not very polite, but he did want to know.
Yusuke waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. I suspect it’s food poisoning. I was experimenting with cheese-”
“With…what?”
“Cheese, yes. Or rather, with how far one can push cheese before it becomes inedible.”
“You ran out of food.”
“Not at all. I still had the cheese. And rice, although I had left it to cool all day while I was painting-”
“Okay, cut this short and sign me in,” Akechi snapped, wishing he wasn’t thinking about Yusuke’s ancient cheese. He supposed that Yusuke was at least right, and there was very clearly little chance of him being contagious.
Finally, Yusuke finished with the receptionist. He collected his trash can and turned towards the elevators, hesitating. “You know, I can get quite motion sick on elevators.”
Akechi grimaced, resisting the urge to bolt for the stairs. “You have your…trash can. You can always use it, if you need to.”
Yusuke sighed and called the elevator. “It dampens the creative spirit to vomit. And I do have my painting. You won’t interrupt, will you? I assumed you enjoyed the visual arts, but I’m forced to confront the reality that we really don’t know you very well….”
Akechi wasn’t surprised that to Yusuke, his biggest betrayal seemed to be a possibly manufactured interest in art culture. As it happened, Akechi did enjoy art, but not in the context he was currently experiencing it.
“I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be,” Akechi pointed out. He kept his tone measured, and he was proud to note that he sounded only mildly annoyed. Forget infiltrating the Phantom Thieves - this might be the true performance of a lifetime. “Just…drink a Gatorade, and if you’re not puking your brains out a few minutes later, maybe I can leave.”
“And I can paint.”
“Whatever,” Akechi said, as pleasantly as he could manage. They rode the elevator in silence. Yusuke did look slightly paler and queasier by the end of it, but he at least wasn’t using his trash can. He stumbled out when the doors opened, turning towards the end of the hall.
“If you’re here anyway, I’ll need your assistance,” Yusuke told him, still managing to sound slightly ungrateful.
The mere idea of Yusuke having Akechi assist him with a painting was so patently ridiculous that Akechi could only assume that wasn’t actually what he was talking about. Akechi remained silent as he trailed after Yusuke, hoping that Yusuke would correctly interpret his silence as displeasure and vague sarcasm. They made their way down a hallway of identical wooden doors, until Yusuke paused outside of a particular one and spent a moment fumbling in his pocket for his key. This caused the trash can to tip precariously, but luckily it seemed to be empty.
Once that was done, Yusuke swung the door open and stepped aside to allow Akechi in. Akechi spent the briefest moment marveling over the fact that he was - as far as he knew - the first person from the group to actually see Yusuke’s dorm. He was allowed to sign people in, obviously, but he’d made it sound like that was a special permission to be reserved for situations that actually merited it, and besides, there were about a thousand better places the team could meet then a cramped dorm room.
The room itself looked about the way Akechi would have expected. It was a single, which was lucky, with an unmade bed pushed against one wall and a cluttered desk in the corner. Most of the room was dominated by an industrial-style shelf crammed full of painting supplies, and an easel with a tarp spread below it.
Somewhat distractedly, Akechi noticed that there was no bathroom. It must be shared then. Unfortunate, for one who had spent the day getting sick.
“This is the painting in question,” Yusuke said, taking a few unsteady steps to stand beside it.
“Alright,” Akechi said. He dropped the bag of supplies on the floor with a hollow clunk. “Do you have a fridge or something? Any sort of electrolyte drink is going to be better cold. I don’t know if you want to start with that or tea, but-”
“I think we should start with the painting,” Yusuke said faintly. “I have the rubric somewhere around here. If you wouldn’t mind taking a look at that, and then I can show you what I have so far.”
“Kitagawa-”
Akechi wasn’t sure what to say. Yusuke was so clearly ill, and painting was so clearly idiotic. But at the same time, Akechi had never been one to let his own physical health get in the way of…well, anything. Single-minded focus wasn’t something he really had the right to pass judgement on. Throwing stones at glass houses and all that.
Yusuke shoved a piece of paper into his hands. Despite his best instincts, Akechi’s fingers closed around it.
“‘Painting on a theme of the artist’s choice….’” Everything on the rubric seemed horribly vague to Akechi, and he was suddenly glad that at least he’d never been expected to do anything remotely artistic.
“I’ve chosen ‘friendship,’” Yusuke announced, with a glimmer of pride.
Akechi rolled his eyes. He put down the rubric, and looked up at the painting.
“What do you think?” Yusuke asked anxiously. “I can’t say that I’m pleased with what I’ve done so far.” He broke off and put a delicate hand over his mouth. Akechi watched him nervously, wondering if he should make a dive for the trash can.
“I think you should try to drink some Gatorade.”
“About the painting, I mean.” Yusuke’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms. “If you are considering holding back to spare my feelings, please refrain. I assure you, I am my own harshest critic. And I don’t feel that I’ve been painting at my best….”
“Probably because of the food poisoning,” Akechi said sardonically.
“The painting, Akechi.”
Whether or not Akechi had the right to judge Yusuke for his current behavior, he couldn’t help doing it. If Yusuke said one more thing about his stupid painting, Akechi was going to consider screaming.
Swallowing that back with some effort, Akechi looked at the painting with fresh eyes. He did enjoy art, but he wasn’t anywhere near an expert of - or even much of an enthusiast for - the kind of modern art that Yusuke tended to produce. Most of Yusuke’s paintings simply looked like paint, albeit usually very beautiful paint. This one, which was clearly unfinished, looked like half-done paint.
“It’s uninspired,” Akechi said flatly, hoping that the feedback would finally result in Yusuke moving on, drinking Gatorade, and letting Akechi go home.
Yusuke put a very dramatic hand up to his forehead. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he confessed. “I’m just not sure why. Obviously, the problem cannot be the theme. Friendship is very near and dear to my heart, after all.”
“The problem is the food poisoning!” Akechi snapped. “If you drink Gatorade, maybe you’ll feel well enough to do your stupid painting!”
“You haven’t looked at the rubric,” Yusuke said mournfully. “It’s due the day after tomorrow, and as you can see, it’s absolutely nowhere near complete.”
“Sit on your bed, and stop talking,” Akechi demanded.
“I don’t have time.”
Yusuke moved gingerly across the room, and began busily washing a stack of palettes with a paper towel and a cup of water. He seemed to have no intention of paying further attention to Akechi, and seemed to be assuming Akechi was looking through the rubric. Akechi had absolutely no intention of doing that, at least for the time being.
“When did your symptoms start?” Akechi said. If Akechi could confidently verify that what Yusuke was suffering from was in fact nothing more than food poisoning, he probably didn’t have to stay long. Obviously, he would help Yusuke clean up, and make sure he didn’t need Akechi to purchase anything else for him. He would make sure that Yusuke got some liquids down too. But he certainly wouldn’t be helping with the idiotic friendship painting.
“This morning,” Yusuke said, still folded over the stack of palettes.
“And that was-”
“Well, last night, if I’m being more specific.”
“Okay,” Akechi said. “So…did it start this morning, or last night?”
“When I woke up this morning, things were quite dire,” Yusuke said. “I didn’t feel well at all. But I suppose, now that I’m thinking back, I didn’t feel completely normal last night either. Perhaps that’s why my painting is-”
“I get it,” Akechi snapped. “Sick to your stomach?”
“Something like that.”
“But you have been throwing up?”
Yusuke pulled a face and momentarily stopped scrubbing. “We don’t need to get into too many details.”
“I am…very clearly…just trying to help you,” Akechi said. “Have you been able to eat or drink anything?”
“I had some rice this morning. But it didn’t improve things.”
Akechi sighed. “Have you had any water? Isn’t water your favorite thing to drink?”
“Water just hadn’t seemed appealing.”
“Okay, stop cleaning that. Damn it. I’ll clean it if I have to. Go…sit down on the bed, and drink some damn Gatorade. I’m pretty sure you’re going to die of dehydration if you don’t.”
“Die? No, that can’t be-”
Akechi snatched Yusuke’s palette out of his hands and whirled on him. “Go. Sit. On. The. Bed.”
Yusuke blinked at him, then sagged slightly. “Fine. I suppose as long as the washing is done, it doesn’t matter who does it. And taking a brief rest does sound nice….”
Akechi ground his teeth and shoved the plastic under the water, which immediately got in his eye. He ground his teeth some more, then paused as he actually got a good look at Yusuke’s retreating back. He was still moving so slowly, and although he was being almost impressively aggravating, Akechi got the sense that he still didn’t feel well enough to put up as much of a fight as he usually would.
Yusuke made it to the bed and hovered over it before slumping gracelessly down onto the mattress. He winced, and Akechi almost felt bad for being so hard on him. There had been plenty of times when he’d felt sick, and had no choice but to keep working. He’d even had to go into the Metaverse once or twice. If someone had been around to help him, he probably would have acted even worse than Yusuke.
“Make sure you get every scrap of paint off of that palette,” Yusuke said anxiously, and Akechi’s fragile calm shattered.
“Make sure you drink the fucking Gatorade,” Akechi retorted.
Yusuke lapsed into a wounded silence, and Akechi watched out of the corner of his eye as Yusuke fished one of the Gatorades out of the plastic bag.
“It’s blue,” Yusuke said after a small pause.
Akechi felt his shoulders tighten, and he had to force his fingers not to squeeze the palette hard enough to snap it. That would be mortifying.
“You may not know, but blue is actually my favorite color,” Yusuke told him. “Perhaps I should add more blue into the painting…. No, that might throw off the balance….”
Akechi’s shoulders untensed. He thought he saw a smile flickering across Yusuke’s face, which was stupid, but at least Akechi hadn’t managed to also somehow screw up something as simple as selecting a Gatorade flavor.
“I don’t want to hear anything else about the painting until after you drink some of the Gatorade,” Akechi said. “I just won’t respond to it.”
“You’re barely responding now.”
“I’ll throw your palette out the window.”
Yusuke’s eyes widened in horror, and he uncapped the Gatorade. He took a few tentative sips, and did not immediately vomit them up. He didn’t look like he exactly enjoyed them either, but that wasn’t Akechi’s problem. The Gatorade didn’t need to make Yusuke happy. It just needed to make him not die.
“Take slow sips,” Akechi said. “You need to stay hydrated, but this isn’t a race. You’re not going to keep it down if you drink too fast.”
Akechi had, as far as he could remember, never taken care of someone ill before. The last person who had taken care of Akechi himself - at least in a situation where death wasn’t a possible outcome - must have been Akechi’s mother. She had died ten years ago. Care felt unfamiliar in Akechi’s mouth. With an uncomfortable jolt, he realized he was mimicking families from tv shows. Parents on tv told their children not to drink too fast when they were feeling nauseous. Akechi wasn’t even sure if it was actually true.