Work Text:
Useless.
Unnecessary.
Weak.
Boring.
Not even strong enough to be a Phantom Thief.
Mishima Yuuki’s face is taut and pale as he examines himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes have made themselves prominent and seem to complement the dead-eyed look he is giving his own reflection. In short, he looks like hell – and feels like it too.
With the steadily-increasing popularity of the Phantom Thieves, Mishima has been working himself to the bone collecting requests and passing them onto Akira, but as of late he finds himself questioning more and more just why he doesn’t have the capability to join them in their quests. It hurts. He just wants to be useful in a way that doesn’t involve hiding behind a screen and never jumping into action. He wants to be strong.
He feels like a coward.
The main issue, he corrects himself mentally, is not that he can’t help to change hearts, but rather that everybody acts like he’s a drag to be around. It’s difficult to try to accept his own shortcomings when the Thieves don’t even acknowledge him as part of their missions. Was the Phansite not enough? Were the poll questions somehow wrong? Was he not doing it right after all?
It was only after he felt something hot and wet fall onto his hands, still clutching the sink like a lifeline, did he realise he was crying.
Stop crying. You’re weak enough already. Don’t give them more reasons to think you’re useless.
Some part of him was thinking that maybe he was overreacting, that maybe he did mean something to the Phantom Thieves, but years of bullying and misplaced trust taught him that he should never fully put his faith in others, in case they decide to take advantage of his weaknesses for a few cheap laughs.
Mishima splashes some water into his face to try to dispel the dark veil clouding his headspace along with the rosy remnants of his breakdown still glaringly evident on his face.
‘Calm down, Yuuki,’ the boy thinks to himself, ‘you can’t let Akira see you crying like this.’
What would Akira think of him now? He was just beginning to come to terms with his feelings for the boy and couldn’t afford to taint Akira’s view of him. He’d already witnessed his middle school bullies pick on him.
Akira, with his sculpted jawline, his delicate features, his lanky build, his soft-looking hair, those eyes…
He’s too beautiful for a runt like Mishima. Too beautiful to think of him as anything more than ‘that guy who’s overly enthusiastic about the Phantom Thieves’. Too beautiful to even fully comprehend.
Mishima is aware he’s a little overbearing at times, but he really doesn’t mean to be. He’s still coming to terms with the fact that his first ever crush is on a boy - the new, aloof boy with an alarmingly bad reputation and a criminal record to boot. He expected menacing glares and curling snarls, but got wry smiles and witty comebacks, and he initially didn’t know how to react.
He still doesn’t, really.
Akira was also one of the only people to show him any compassion throughout Kamoshida’s abuse. Combined with his charm and good looks, Mishima knew he was done for.
It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, then, when Mishima had zoned out in class one day and started to daydream about Akira. He was just on the other side of the classroom, but thoughts of holding him, kissing him, loving and being loved back suddenly made their way into his mind. He crashed back to Earth with a startled gasp, attracting the attention of several students nearby and causing a fiery blush to explode behind his skin.
From that day on, it was becoming increasingly harder to get through a single day without thinking of the raven-haired boy. Maybe it would have been easier had they not been in the same class, but it’s hard to say. Akira’s charm is hard to resist when one realises he’s not a malicious criminal like the rumours say he is.
He doesn’t know how to deal with this.
How are you supposed to act around crushes? Shy and demure? Flirty and obvious? He has no idea. He can take requests to fix relationship problems on the Phansite without a problem, but navigating the world of romance is far too daunting.
No one has ever been this kind and understanding to him before. Combined with the past cases of malicious intent directly towards him, this makes for a feeling of clinginess and a need to be close to the other boy as much as possible. Like a starved puppy claiming loyalty to a human leaving it food and showing it affection. He knows it’s annoying, but right now Akira is the only thing he has to cling to - a makeshift lifeboat. He can't handle the thought of him being in danger or under threat from other organisations. The very idea of the person he considers to be his salvation getting hurt causes his chest to cave, phantomly choking on wilted flowers blooming and getting caught in his throat like some sort of Hanahaki victim.
He doesn't want this lifeboat to sink. He wants to be the one to patch it up again when things go wrong. He’ll prove he's an asset to the team, even if he doesn't completely believe it himself.
It’s at that moment that his phone buzzes, alerting him to the text notification on his phone.
From: Kurusu Akira [12:30pm] Could you come over to Leblanc today? I need to discuss targets with you.
Upon noticing the sender’s contact name, Mishima’s face becomes dusted with a light pink glow. Akira seldom texted him first, if ever. If he’s like this just at the sight of Akira’s name, how is he supposed to talk to him? Sure, he’d done it before, but it has become substantially harder after coming to the realisation that he had a raging crush on the other boy. After a solid five minutes of zoning out and imagining romantic scenarios with him (not for the first time), Mishima realises it would probably be a good idea for him to actually respond to Akira’s text message. He fumbles with his phone, typing clumsily with sweaty fingers, and it takes another two minutes for him to actually decide what to say.
To: Kurusu Akira [12:37pm] Sure thing. What time do you want me? :)
Mishima instantly regrets sending the text as soon as he presses the button. ‘What time do you want me?’ Now Akira might figure out his crush and out him and everyone will reject him as a social pariah and he’ll get bullied even more and—
Okay, calm down Yuuki, he mentally scolds himself, it’s probably not even that deep. He just took it as you questioning what time to meet, so chill.
Just as he’s calming himself down, his phone vibrates again, indicating a new text.
From: Kurusu Akira [12:38pm] Around 3pm is best for me. See you soon.
From: Kurusu Akira [12:38pm] :)
When his phone buzzes twice in a row, he’s a little surprised, but upon noticing the smiling emoticon his heart leaps to his throat. How is he so cute on top of having literally every other good quality ever? The dark fog previously casting a shadow on his mind dissipates minutely, but he still can’t shake the insecurity entirely—with good reason, really.
Mishima splashes some more water on his face and exits the bathroom with the tiniest hint of a smile. If he has no chance with Akira, the least he can do is spend some time with him.
Three o’clock comes all too slowly for Mishima. His agitation makes itself evident in the tapping of his foot and the biting of his lips, already permanently raw from anxiety. Grabbing his bag and toeing his shoes on, Mishima hastily makes his way to the train station. He had never been to Leblanc before, but Google Maps can be a lifesaver when you’re too anxious to send another text asking for directions.
The train ride is uneventful, though he does manage to get a seat since it’s significantly less busy than usual. Mishima spends it reading a volume of his favourite manga and it calms him down exponentially. By the time the train is set to arrive in Yongen-Jaya, the petit boy is ready. Pulling his phone out of his pocket as he walks, Mishima checks the list of requests he’s collected from the forum, all stored neatly in one document on the ‘notes’ section; he just wants to make sure he’s not fumbling like an idiot when he gets to Leblanc.
All too soon, he finds himself standing in front of the unfamiliar building. He gulps and knocks weakly on the door before pulling it open, expecting to find Akira on the other side—
And oh.
Oh.
What he finds is not only his crush, but also that cat he carries everywhere, Ryuji, Ann, the student council president, and several other people he’s not totally familiar with, presumably the rest of the Thieves. Along with that, he finds that green streamers are draped haphazardly from the lighting fixtures and matching balloons litter the floor, all of varying sizes as though everyone had taken part in blowing them up and had different ideas as to when they were acceptably full of air. On one of the tables sits a white cake with pale green icing, ‘Thank You Mishima’ written messily on top in Akira’s handwriting with a marzipan mask decorating the top.
The first thing Mishima can think to do is cry.
He tries so hard to fight it, but that familiar sting pricks his eyes and tears well up to the surface faster than he can think. He’s never felt so loved before in his life and all of the pain and paranoia he’s been harbouring about the Phantom Thieves secretly wanting him gone disappears in a heartbeat. He feels loved, appreciated, cherished - emotions he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“You guys…” he manages to croak out in a voice laden thick with emotion, looking down at the floor to try to conceal his tears.
Suddenly Akira speaks up. “We wanted to do something to show our appreciation for you and all that you do for the Phantom Thieves… we have Yusuke to thank for the cake.”
“Oh, it’s nothing at all,” chimes in the blue-haired boy he doesn’t immediately recognise. “Mishima here does so much for us, so it was only fitting that I attempt to pay some of that back in the form of edible art. It will be a shame to see it go, though…”
Mishima giggles weakly in response, still finding himself unable to respond well to compliments or positive reinforcement without turning into a blushing mess.
“Yeah, Mishima! You totally earned all of this! Without you we wouldn’t be able to change the world like we do, or punish any shitty adults!” Ryuji hollers, pumping his fist energetically with the force of his words.
“O-oh, I just do the boring background work. You guys are the real heroes...you’re so awesome!” replies the shorter boy, beaming through his tearstained face.
“We may do a lot of the physical labour, but there’s no denying that we couldn’t do it without you, Mishima,” Makoto reminds him with a kind, gentle smile.
Mishima finally gives in, to their delight, and picks up his phone to take photos of the cake before taking the knife laid next to it.
“I know it’s not your birthday or anythin’, but you should totally still make a wish!” exclaims Ryuji - he never really did know how to maintain an inside voice, but right now that’s the last thing on Mishima’s mind.
So he obliges, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and clasping his hands together, trying to think of a wish, but the only thing that comes to mind is Akiraakiraakira. He cuts the cake floating a foot off the floor.
As soon as he makes the first cut, Ryuji snatches the knife and hastily cuts the cake into uneven slices in his rush to eat. Mishima thinks he can hear that cat meowing in protest, or some disapproving remark from Niijima, but all he can focus on is the raven-haired boy who’s caught his eye and is now having an impromptu staring contest with Mishima, the glint in his eye making it all too obvious that he’s not going to back down anytime soon. The shorter boy is eventually the first to look away after what feels like hours, feeling rather like if he blushed one more time the pink-tinted glow would take up permanent residence on his face. He tucks into his slice of cake, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious. The second he takes his final bite, though, he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“Hey, Mishima, think I could talk to you upstairs?” asks the familiar, butter-smooth voice that he’s come to know and love.
“S-sure,” the boy in question manages to stammer out, shuffling out of his seat at the booth and trailing hot on Akira’s tail all the way upstairs. Realistically it’s only about fifteen seconds but it seems like a lifetime - he’s alone with his crush, after all. He notices the taller boy shut the door behind him and take a seat on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him with enthusiasm. Mishima reluctantly perches down next to him, struggling to maintain eye contact from such a close proximity and taking interest in a particularly interesting exposed floorboard.
Akira takes a deep breath and begins.
“So, uh, as you know I’m not the best with words, so I’m just going to come out and say it. At first I thought I just really appreciated everything you did for us Phantom Thieves, but I’ve come to realise it’s about more than that. I really like you, Mishima, and I get the impression you like me too.”
The blue-haired boy’s eyes widen more and more with each word spoken. He can’t believe his ears - he always thought birthday wishes were bullshit, but he’s starting to think that maybe they have some substance after all.
And that’s when it happens.
Kurusu Akira, infamous delinquent and all around Tough Guy, leans over and kisses him tenderly on the mouth.
It’s explosive, it’s emotional, and it’s exactly what he’s needed his whole life.
One long-fingered hand reaches up to stroke soothing lines into his cheekbone, the other coming down to tangle with the smaller one in between them. Mishima’s fingers are shaking, he can tell, partly from nerves but mostly from complete, unadulterated relief. He’s wanted this for so long he finds himself wondering if he’d fallen asleep in class again and this was another unattainable dream, but the hand intertwined with his own and the other resting gently on his face ground him and force him to accept the reality that the coolest boy in school likes him back. Pushing those thoughts out of his head, the smaller boy focuses all of his energy on kissing back with enthusiasm matching Akira - he seems really into this and how did he not notice the taller boy’s smouldering gazes before?
Finally, Akira pulls away slightly to rest their foreheads together and grey eyes meet brown. There’s a new kind of tenderness Mishima had never bore witness to before, and it turns his insides to jelly and his face an endearing shade of red. He likes to think he’s looking back at Akira with that same smitten look.
“Hey, Mishima. Will you go out with me?” the other boy asks, leaning into him slightly with that same terrible posture he’s always had, sagging into the bed as he presses their heads as close as the space will physically allow. Mishima, on the other hand, sits stock-straight, afraid of making the slightest movement for fear of ruining this perfect bubble they’ve carefully constructed - right now, nothing exists outside of this moment and there’s no way Mishima is going to let even the slightest pinprick ruin the almost-unreachable thing he’s been pining for for so long.
“I-I’d love to, Kurusu-kun,” he chokes out, speaking softly and carefully to still preserve this silent utopia, and then it’s him who’s leaning in, inch by inch, closer, closer, until their lips meet again and Mishima can taste his new boyfriend’s - wow, doesn’t that feel good to say - cherry chapstick, along with faint traces of some kind of coffee with a pumpkin undertone. All of the flavours shouldn’t work together in theory, but they do and it’s perfect. Just like the boy himself.
Then, one of Akira’s hands snakes back up towards the smaller boy’s face, holding his chin up with his index finger and smirking at him, though the soft, loving look behind his eyes betrays him.
“You can call me Akira, Yuuki,” he whispers, breath fanning the other boy as he leans in to kiss him for a third time, and Mishima doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this - being with the other boy in such an intimately personal way, along with the subsequent warmth in his stomach and the fireworks behind his eyelids. Then, he thinks he hears the taller boy whisper something against his lips, and had they not been in such close proximity the bluenette wouldn’t have quite caught it.
“I may be a Phantom Thief, but this time you stole my heart.”
Fighting a groan, Mishima smiles and lets himself get lost in the kiss once more, falling impossibly deeper, harder, for the boy…
And then both boys hear a crash sounding from the shop downstairs, followed closely by the sound of a shrieking cat and Ryuji’s voice shouting “Eff, don’t tell Akira!”
Both of them pull away from one another abruptly, equally a little disgruntled at having their moment cut so short. Ryuji was never very good at being subtle - or getting along with Morgana, for that matter.
“Ryuji doesn’t seem to get along with your cat much, huh…” Mishima giggles, turning to stand up from his position on the bed.
“Nah, not at all,” Akira laughs out, a melodic sound that leaves butterflies blooming in Mishima’s stomach and he can feel them working their way up to his throat, preventing him from saying much more. “We should probably go and see what happened, though.”
The taller boy stands up as well, taking Mishima’s hand in his and smiling at him once more, so full of love and light. They make their way down to the staircase, still gliding, almost floating, and Mishima thinks this must be the most perfectly imperfect thing to ever happen to him. It’s not a fairytale first kiss or a dream party - just a dingy attic and a poorly-decorated coffee shop - but it’s enough, and it’s home.