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writetomyheart2021-05-26 09:22 pm
end_alls) wrote in writetomyheart2021-05-26 09:22 pm
Entry tags:
[TEAM ONE] - WIP
Persona 5, Akechi/Protagonist, ~600 words, T
That was probably when he’d realized how fond he’d become.
Of too many things. The unkempt hair begging to be combed. The rakish glint in his eyes whenever theirs happened to meet. The smell of coffee whenever he leaned forward to pretend he’d found a speck of dust on Goro’s sleeve—a blatant excuse to touch him in public.
Goro had actually begun to believe he could keep him, like the ratty black cat he’d made a bed for under the stairs at one of his foster homes. The one the neighbor children had found and—
Each and every time he’d gotten close to anything, anyone, it had ended in some cosmically-determined disaster. What business did he have thinking this, of all things, would be any different?
“Hey,” Akira says, and Goro can hear the grin in his voice, “wanna bet I can’t make a three bullseyes in a row?”
Goro’s first instinct is to balk at him—Akira didn’t know how to hold darts a few minutes ago when Goro had instructed him—but he stops himself. By now, he’d learned not to bet against Akira Kurusu unless he intended to lose. It didn’t matter what the wager was—he’d never met anyone so impossibly, irreverently lucky in his entire life. He would have hated Akira for it if his thoughts weren’t so occupied with the hope that maybe Akira’s luck was the key he’d been waiting for. That the unlucky, wretched prince might have his curse broken by a kiss from a pauper favored by the gods.
“What are your terms if I lose?” Goro ventures cooly.
Akira grins at him. “Oh, you know.” He casually lets the first dart fly—bullseye. “Nothing we’d both be against, I’d wager.” He looses the second one—this time while standing on one leg. A second bullseye.
Goro hands him the last dart. “And yet how am I to agree when I haven’t read the fine print?”
“Dunno.” Akira focuses his aim on this one, biting his lip ever so slightly in concentration. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
“Fine,” Goro says, because he does.
Akira guides his hand back, then flicks the dart forward with all the grace of a seasoned card shark dealing the table new hand. Bullseye.
The pride in Akira’s eyes as he turns back to Goro sets something ablaze in his chest—like the warmth off the hand-me-down clothes he’d lit on fire in an empty lot when he left his final foster home for the last time and abandoned his pitiable former self.
“Looks like you won,” Goro says, more lost for words than he’s accustomed to.
Akira’s smile meets his minute smirk with force enough to break it into a begrudging grin. “Beginner’s luck,” he says with a shrug, a phrase he’s no doubt used countless times. He starts to pull the darts from the board—Goro quickly steps over to help him. “You ready to go then?”
“Yes,” Goro says. He is beyond ready to go. “I have no interest in finding out what more I stand to lose when you attempt that a second time.”
Akira’s eyes flick to him, then back to the darts in his hands. “You think I could do it again?”
“Naturally.” Goro takes the darts from him. “I’d describe your luck as borderline disgusting.” His mouth tightens. That was too harsh a turn of phrase to use here. He’s about to correct himself when Akira says,
“You have a lot of faith in me.”
That was probably when he’d realized how fond he’d become.
Of too many things. The unkempt hair begging to be combed. The rakish glint in his eyes whenever theirs happened to meet. The smell of coffee whenever he leaned forward to pretend he’d found a speck of dust on Goro’s sleeve—a blatant excuse to touch him in public.
Goro had actually begun to believe he could keep him, like the ratty black cat he’d made a bed for under the stairs at one of his foster homes. The one the neighbor children had found and—
Each and every time he’d gotten close to anything, anyone, it had ended in some cosmically-determined disaster. What business did he have thinking this, of all things, would be any different?
“Hey,” Akira says, and Goro can hear the grin in his voice, “wanna bet I can’t make a three bullseyes in a row?”
Goro’s first instinct is to balk at him—Akira didn’t know how to hold darts a few minutes ago when Goro had instructed him—but he stops himself. By now, he’d learned not to bet against Akira Kurusu unless he intended to lose. It didn’t matter what the wager was—he’d never met anyone so impossibly, irreverently lucky in his entire life. He would have hated Akira for it if his thoughts weren’t so occupied with the hope that maybe Akira’s luck was the key he’d been waiting for. That the unlucky, wretched prince might have his curse broken by a kiss from a pauper favored by the gods.
“What are your terms if I lose?” Goro ventures cooly.
Akira grins at him. “Oh, you know.” He casually lets the first dart fly—bullseye. “Nothing we’d both be against, I’d wager.” He looses the second one—this time while standing on one leg. A second bullseye.
Goro hands him the last dart. “And yet how am I to agree when I haven’t read the fine print?”
“Dunno.” Akira focuses his aim on this one, biting his lip ever so slightly in concentration. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
“Fine,” Goro says, because he does.
Akira guides his hand back, then flicks the dart forward with all the grace of a seasoned card shark dealing the table new hand. Bullseye.
The pride in Akira’s eyes as he turns back to Goro sets something ablaze in his chest—like the warmth off the hand-me-down clothes he’d lit on fire in an empty lot when he left his final foster home for the last time and abandoned his pitiable former self.
“Looks like you won,” Goro says, more lost for words than he’s accustomed to.
Akira’s smile meets his minute smirk with force enough to break it into a begrudging grin. “Beginner’s luck,” he says with a shrug, a phrase he’s no doubt used countless times. He starts to pull the darts from the board—Goro quickly steps over to help him. “You ready to go then?”
“Yes,” Goro says. He is beyond ready to go. “I have no interest in finding out what more I stand to lose when you attempt that a second time.”
Akira’s eyes flick to him, then back to the darts in his hands. “You think I could do it again?”
“Naturally.” Goro takes the darts from him. “I’d describe your luck as borderline disgusting.” His mouth tightens. That was too harsh a turn of phrase to use here. He’s about to correct himself when Akira says,
“You have a lot of faith in me.”