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Another day, another painstaking 24 hours to get through. It was routine at this point.
First was waking up at the ass crack of dawn, dragging himself into the shower looking like a rotting piece of runover roadkill and coming out looking like a rotting piece of runover roadkill, before stepping out into the world and down to the station.
Some might say that each day of a one-year probation based off of a false assault charge would be nothing but Hell on Earth— when in reality, it was quite the opposite.
At least, after the first week, it was.
Instead of the big city of Tokyo coming at him with bared teeth and sharp claws, Akira Kurusu has more than made this city his bitch. He ran this town from beneath the surface and he knew it. No longer did the voices of the gossip mill spread false rumours, and no more did he turn his ears to listen in.
Oh no, they weren’t all false rumours anymore. Some might say that revelling in the fact hailed something villainous, but really, Akira couldn’t give less of a fuck anymore.
He thrived off the just-barely-legal (and sometimes even wholly-illegal) mischief that he caused.
But of course, he didn’t do it alone. You don’t just walk into Tokyo a mere mouse and emerge as the cat that caught the canary.
Speaking of which, here came the Skull and the Panther.
“Morning,” he waved, lips stretched wide across his cheeks as the two blondes joined him outside Aoyama-Itchome Station.
Ryuji flung an arm around his shoulders, walking in-step to his left.
“Mornin’ man!”
Likewise, Ann gave him a single wink— nothing that meant anything.
“Hey Akira. What’s on the plan tonight?”
“Boy’s night,” Ryuji replied for him, grin growing wider as they looked to Ann.
“Ah, right—” Her bottom lip stuck out a bit. “Friday.”
“We’re just heading out into the subways later,” Akira shrugged, and yet the devious look in his eyes never wavered, “Maybe get to the back of the Diet Building if we have enough time.”
Ann huffed as she walked a bit further in front of them, arms crossed over her chest before she turned and walked backwards.
“You guys are seriously going to get caught one day, I swear”—she pointed a perfectly-manicured nail in Akira’s face—“You are way too ballsy. You’re on probation, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Still, though, the grin spread across Akira’s lips was easy, nonchalant.
“It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always sa—”
“Takamaki!”
In one, quick second though, the smiles on all their faces dropped.
A familiar, white car slowed to a stop beside them— and with it, one of the most disgusting faces that just about ruined all of Akira’s morning whenever he saw it.
“The school’s still a long walk ahead. Want a ride?” Suguru Kamoshida, local resident P. E. teacher and paedophile asked, his head sticking out the window.
Akira wondered how quickly he could slash those tires before Kamoshida ran after them.
“No thanks,” Ann responded curtly, casting a brief glance towards he and Ryuji, “We’ve got enough time.”
“Wouldn’t you get tired though?”
God , take the hint already.
He was coming dangerously close to actually slashing those tires, his infamously-long patience already running thin.
Suffice to say, Ann’s resilience was something else.
“We’re really fine. If anything, you’re slowing us down and making us late.”
And by gods, if that didn’t make one corner of Akira’s lips quirk up— more so as he saw Ann smiling sweetly at the man as she said it, eyes closed and all.
Kamoshida, with just a hint of annoyance crossing his features, only shrugged before he pulled himself back into the car, a low “alright then..” muttering from beneath his breath. Leaving them, he sped off once more— and once Akira saw him near the corner to school, he ducked out of Ryuji’s arm and to a flower bed near them.
It was easy enough finding a big enough rock, but just as he was about to aim and throw, he felt a hand on his chest.
Ann gave him a look.
“No,” she warned, voice low and threatening.
But that was all before she took the rock from his hand.
“Let me.”
“Gladly,” Akira chuckled, watching as Ann took a running start before throwing the stone.
CRASH
It landed on one of the car’s tail lamps, glass trailing as the car skidded to a sudden stop.
Ryuji whistled, impressed.
“Nice aim.”
Ann only grabbed them by their arms before she dragged them into the nearby alleyway in a mad dash.
“Yeah but we gotta run before he finds out it’s us—!”
The rest of the way to school was spent laughing as they rounded corners and nearly slipped on puddles. Just the slightest bit sweaty and heaving, they ducked into Shujin Academy just as they saw that white car out in the distance.
Even stepping one foot into the school prompted the voices to start talking again, but Akira strode in as casually as he always did: Hands in his pockets, hunched by the tiniest bit, and not really making eye contact with anyone as he looked to nowhere but ahead. Ann and Ryuji beside him, though— they talked and exchanged banter as any other day, and the small, joking insults thrown at each other made Akira smile.
They only separated come the second floor, with Ryuji heading down the right hall for his classroom and with Akira and Ann turning left.
They still had some time before class started, as miraculously as that was with Kamoshida’s intervention. Ann went inside as Akira opted to stay out just by the door for a bit, as a tall, familiar figure approached him.
“Hey,” he greeted, smile set back onto his lips as Yusuke (Fox) stopped by him, looking snapped out of his thoughts.
“Good morning, Akira. I have the cans, in case you were wondering.”
“Good”—he chuckled, just a bit—"Ryuji can’t be caught with them, and it wouldn’t be suspicious if you of all people were seen with spray paint, mister prodigy artist.”
Something like humour coloured Yusuke’s eyes.
“I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be an insult or a compliment,” he retorted, just bluntly in the way he always did.
“Trust me— It’s a compliment.”
That made a small laugh bubble from Yusuke’s throat, deep like his voice and silken smooth.
“I appreciate it but your charm isn’t going to work on me, Joker.”
Akira shrugged, eyes darting up ever so slightly as the bell chimed.
“It was worth a try. Anyway, I’ll see you on the rooftop, alright?”
“But of course.”
From within, Akira already heard his and Ann’s homeroom teacher (a nice-enough lady named Kawakami) start the day.
“Good morning class!”
“Shit, I gotta go—”
“Go ahead,” Yusuke prompted, hand gesturing to the door beside Akira as he nodded, “Until then.”
And with a final salute out to the taller boy (who was surprisingly everyone’s junior, despite his tall stature and matured features) he ducked within the classroom— keeping his body crouched low to the floor as he sneaked onto his seat.
The school day went as it normally did— with Akira sometimes texting in class and hitting perfect marks on the sudden questions the teachers singled him out on.
Though he was branded the delinquent transfer student that (and quote) “killed a man”, he was actually quite adept at figuring out the most likely possible answer and bullshitting his way through the rest of the class. One might suggest that his smarts and snarky attitude—the one that he never really unveiled at a hundred percent until he was with his group of equally-beautiful and equally-dangerous friends—would stir nothing but trouble, but well..
Akira knew that combination worked. He knew that mixture could land him in deeper shit, too, so he played down the act— became quiet and hid his eyes behind the too-long fringe that went far past the frames of his fake glasses when he was in Shujin.
Even with the spectacles, though, he could never really hide the sharp slants and sharper look of his eyes. Perhaps it was the one thing he couldn’t stop the school from judging him for.. And it might’ve been the fact that he didn’t want them to.
Students were scared of him, that much was obvious—though he did know that the few of them that he managed to talk to outside of his group were, for lack of a better word, charmed by his good looks and better words—but even with the quiet nerd persona that he put up, he made sure no one crossed him.
Even if it was with just one glance.
Up on the rooftop, his glasses sat folded-up within his pocket. All Akira did as he waited for the rest of the boys to come to him was to stare up at the sky.
It was nice up there, with the occasional breeze blowing past the curls of his dark locks, with the vast sky clear above him, with the black cat that sometimes came and went to stare at Akira as he lounged about. The rooftop was a prohibited place for students especially, but has a locked door ever stopped Akira Kurusu before?
The answer may (not) surprise you.
Besides, when you had friends in high places (or in his case, friends in the student council) you could get away with pretty much anything. Understandably so, though, they never made it public that they were all assholes and assholes together— especially with the pretty brunette of a vice president that had a commanding, condescending voice and a nice ass to boot.
Akira would never admit it, but Crow was exactly his type.
And since Goro Akechi never made any move to even indicate that Joker was anything more than the bad influence in his life (a very hot bad influence, if Akira could say so himself) all Akira did was treat him as he treated all of his friends.
But with more flirting than usual.
And more winks.
And a hand lingering on the brunette’s shoulder, more than a couple of times.
Goro never shrugged him and his (subtle) advances off, though, and it was what kept Akira playing this game of charade with him.
Speaking of the devil..
“Where are the others?”
Akira simply shrugged from where he stood, back against the chain-link fence as he continued to stare up at the sky.
“Yusuke’s probably getting the cans from wherever he hid them— Ryuji, I don’t really know.”
“We have a few minutes then.”
From his peripheral, Akira saw as Goro made his way to one of the nearby desks scattered around the rooftop, setting that stupidly-shiny briefcase down onto its surface. The clicks of its locks being undone reached Akira’s ears, all as he finally spared the brunette a glance, a lasting look— one that caught on the vice president’s gloved hands skilfully undoing the secret compartment hidden within that dumb, logo-branded briefcase he always carried around.
“Not gonna share?” Akira snickered, his words laced with the ever-present teasing (read: flirty) tone he always used with Goro.
Goro merely chuckled back at him as he plucked out the metallic case from within the secret compartment, thumb quick to press the button that unclicked its lock out of place.
The black of his gloves so contrasted the stark, white stick he pulled out of the cigarette case—the prim, proper, and perfect Detective Prince of Shujin Academy holding something that was associated with bad boys and worse decisions—and that contrast, Akira could admit, always made his dick hard.
When the vice president reached out with his case though, Akira played it cool— took a cigarette for his own, stole Goro’s lighter while he was at it.
Smirking, flames burned the end of his stick, while desire licked at the edges of his pitch-black irises.
“Give it.”
But Akira did not, in fact, return the lighter back to Goro— oh no, not even as the other boy’s hand lunged towards Akira’s own. Instead, he shoved the device into his pocket, grin wide on his lips even as they wrapped around the cigarette. He knew it made him look more devilish than he already was, and he knew that there was always something sparking in the brilliant crimson of Goro’s eyes when it did.
Taking a puff in, Akira kept one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his stick between his fingers. Smoke floated from its burning tip, the same, toxic cloud blowing out through his nostrils as he did naught but stare Goro on.
“Kurusu,” he demanded, voice caught on the rough and commanding edge he always used with his vice-presidential duties. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes dead-set on Akira’s own as he returned the challenge.
“Mm.. No.”
And then Akira returned the cigarette back to his lips, pushing off the fence completely to get closer to Goro—much closer than what was appropriate—as Goro all but huffed out, clearly irritated.
The longer Akira kept him from getting this one break from everything in his life, the closer Goro got to just stealing the lit cigarette sticking out from Akira’s lips— Indirect kiss be damned.
But, perhaps, an indirect kiss was much too tame for what Akira had in mind.
He leaned towards Goro, the ends of their sticks just inches apart. His hands slithered around the brunette’s hips, holding him in place, and it was all while Akira’s cigarette neared Goro’s—close, almost touching, but not quite there yet—as it waited.
With fingers held around his unlit smoke, there was another, more annoyed sound that hummed out from behind Goro’s lips, all upon the realisation of what Akira wanted him to do. His eyes held a sharp-edged glare as he leaned closer—closer—until the end of his cigarette met with the flame upon Akira’s own, and finally, he felt smoke flow into his mouth once he inhaled.
“Asshole,” he muttered, smoke burning in his lungs yet still very much pressed close to Akira.
Akira gave him a wink, the same, shit-eating grin splitting his face in two.
“Guilty as charged.”
Goro was the first to pull away, though Akira knew that it was in no attempt to retreat; It was, as a matter of fact, Goro being done with giving Akira a taste of him.
And Akira didn’t mind, not at all. It would just make devouring Goro Akechi all the sweeter once the time came.
After days, upon weeks, upon months of all their teasing and games, the bowstring-tightness of tension constantly pulling taut around them was close to snapping, he just knew it. It was really only a matter of time (perhaps a single moment, a single hour— a single breath) before it all, inevitably came crashing down around them.
But, for now, he was sated with just this: A pause with Goro Akechi, shared between clouds of smoke and the colours of late afternoon painted in the sky above them.
When their sticks had burned to their filters, and they’d made quick work to dispose of them in a zip-lock plastic bag that Goro always carried with him, Ryuji and Yusuke joined them on the rooftop— carrying naught but a single bag of spray paint. As if to assist Yusuke somewhat, Ryuji held one of the artist’s larger sketchbooks, carefully hugged between his chest and his school bag.
Soon, they left the school, the sun dipping beyond the horizon behind them as they slinked over to the station. The quadruplet took trains going everywhere and nowhere, only changing into the spare clothes they brought whenever boy’s night came— for they were delinquents, sure, but it didn’t mean they were clueless on how to play their cards right.
For anyone to catch them in their school uniforms was one thing, but it was another matter entirely when the cops were involved— even if (and especially because) Goro Akechi, police-affiliated high school detective, was with them.
Walking amidst the train tracks now (hidden under the dark tunnels of Tokyo’s massive network of public transportation) Akira led the way with a flashlight in his gloved hands— red, fingerless, and made of leather built to last. It didn’t take long before they found a spot just close to the end of the tunnel, and it was there that Yusuke and Goro pulled out the cans of paint.
While they worked on spraying that wall, Akira and Ryuji hopped over to the other side to face their own canvas— a vast expanse of grey that lacked just a touch less red than Akira liked.
A smirk split his face in two as he began dragging the paint this way and that, running just a bit further down the tunnel to spread his colours with the can in his hand. It was a back and forth between the four of them, each slowly painting their messages across their seemingly-endless page, tossing their cans to and from one another across the tracks and sticking to what they each wanted to get out there.
Yusuke, being the fine artist that he was, was in the process of leaving something abstract, a little bit traditional. From what Akira could see of it before Yusuke’s own flashlight left on the ground, it was a myriad of black, and golden swirls, with bits and pieces of white dotting the piece as it to highlight the mesmerising vortex of its centre. Some red petals bordered the corners of the painting, and predictably, Yusuke was the slowest of them at finishing his masterpiece.
Ryuji, meanwhile, was the complete opposite to Yusuke. Though the blonde had never displayed much of an artistic bone in his body, Akira still found his smile widening at the stretches of more traditional graffiti Ryuji had written on the walls— twisting and distorted letters were left in the wake of wherever he walked, in the signature electric-blues and shades of lightning-yellows similar to his hair. Running his eyes over them, Akira made out “BOY’S NIGHT” and “PHANTOM THIEVES”, as well as some curses and profanities spray-painted intricately across the walls.
Goro, as always, had an agenda to his wall-art: They were bold, red and in your face, almost angry with the strokes he made. Somehow, he’d already drawn on a multitude of Masayoshi Shido (the current leading candidate in the prime minister elections) caricatures, crossed the faces off with black spray paint and littered words like “LIAR” and “TRAITOR” around them, as well as a few, colourful profanities that could only come from the depths of Goro Akechi’s mind. Aside from his (almost trademark) anti-Shido art, Goro had also drawn on a flock of black crows almost attacking the faces he’d already crossed off, intricate in detail and so lifelike that Akira was almost tempted to hop over and brush his fingers across the paint to see if they were soft, like the bird’s feathers— see if they’d make a pass at plucking at his fingers if he were to touch their beaks.
Akira himself was already near having his fill of spreading graffiti across the walls. He was (more than) a bit of a doodler in class, and it was more often than not that he translated his little sketches into full-blown pieces sprayed on the walls. As always, he drew his group’s logo (a little thing he and Yusuke collaborated on) which was a top hat that spewed flames from the domino mask hidden beneath on one side, and then raced a few, dazzling stars in white around it— all of different sizes and different levels of intricacy put into spraying them.
Around him, though, Akira had made an attempt at drawing a demon’s wings spread out, large and intimidating with the black feathers and the curves at the corners as it flapped, suspended in time. It was a little thing he’d been seeing in his dreams lately, coming to him late into the night and deep within the depths of his subconscious. Aside from so, there were little, blue butterflies scattered here and there— and though the reason he felt like drawing them had always escaped him, Akira still kept them there.
It was like his signature, in a way— If the large “STEAL YOUR HEART” wasn’t enough of a trademark of his already.
All was well and fun, and Akira was sat on the edge of the platform with a cigarette to his lips (that he, once again, bummed from Goro) as he watched his friends finish off their works, examining their graffiti with a (not-so) keen eye and a laughter bubbling from his throat.
But then he heard it— and the sound was faint, distant, but Akira’s ears were too sharp for him to mistake it for anything else.
He threw the rest of the cigarette onto the tracks, quickly pulled himself (and his legs) back up to the platform, before he whistled to get his boys’ attention.
“Masks up!” he shouted, voice commanding as he pulled the black mask up to cover the lower half of his face, the hood of his dark hoodie coming over his hair next. Quickly, the rest of them followed his order, for they already knew to trust Akira and do what he asked of them.
After all, he was their leader— and really, all he wanted was for the best of them.
Because soon, as they gathered their cans of spray paint once more into the bag, the ground shook and the sound rang in Akira’s ears. The headlights of the leading train car soon shined onto the tracks, and by that point, they were already running out the tunnel as fast as their legs could take them— laughter howling and echoing through the walls as they dashed right next to the speeding train.
It was only when they’d made it out of the tunnel—finding themselves under the shine of the moonlight and the chill air of night around them—that they heard sirens blare out in the distance.
“Oh shit—”
Akira was laughing anyway.
This was where the real fun began.
They continued to run—dash and climb over fences and hop over the cars on the street—and they wouldn’t stop, especially when they heard footsteps not their own trailing after them.
He had to admit, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police were quick to respond to threats— but they’d find, time and time again, that Akira and his team were faster.
It was deep into the city did Akira give the signal to split up, with Ryuji now leading the chase as he was their fastest.
The boy was always eager to play decoy, and Akira knew it was because his parkour skills were unparalleled amongst them, knew that his history in the track team was more than enough reason for him to know that he could outrun the cops any day.
So, at Akira’s mark, they all turned in different directions once making it to the outskirts of Aoyama-Itchome once more.
Akira kept his mask on though the hood had long flown from his head. He climbed up apartment staircases, reached their rooftops, and it was from there that he began to jump and scale the neighbourhood as he made his attempt at evading the two cops on his tail. Still, though (because he was the notorious leader of their little group) he turned his head, a little wink leaving him as he saluted to the cops that had him cornered on one rooftop.
“See ya!”
It was from there that he hopped straight into a tree four storeys below, easily catching himself on a branch and jumping the rest of the way below.
What he wouldn’t expect, though, was to find Goro sitting amongst one of the branches and keeping himself hidden beneath the canopy of the tree and the darkness around them. (Truly, he embodied the codename Crow, all too well.)
He only made himself known once Goro sounded out to him, nodded towards the school in the distance.
It truly was uncanny how they managed to read each other’s minds— because once Goro nodded to him, he hopped down and only cushioned his fall via Akira catching him in his arms easily, and from then, he and Goro sprinted to the back of Shujin Academy just as Akira caught the two officers after them scaling their way down the apartment building’s staircases.
“Hurry up, holy fuck—” Akira whisper-yelled, voice quiet yet filled with the high of adrenaline still very much pumping through his system. In his chest, his heart beat in double-time and his head buzzed with the energy. Goro was rifling through the ring of keys he’d pulled out of his pocket, was finding the spare key the teachers had lent to him for Student Council duties.
God fuck was having the vice president on their team a gigantic plus.
From the corner of his eye, Akira already saw the flash of the cops’ flashlights, and his grin widened more and more as he watched Goro find the key and shove it into Shujin’s back entrance. Hurriedly, the brunette pushed it open, dragged Akira in by the shirt he wore, all before closing it behind him with a loud SLAM echoing amongst the empty halls and quiet school.
Locking the back entrance shut once more, they continued to run throughout the school— all before their travels found them on the rooftop.
There, Akira slumped against the entrance, sweat dripping down his forehead and slicking his neck, shirt sticking to him in more places than one. His breaths were finally (finally) evening out, slowing down and coming out deep and laboured as he told himself that he could relax now.
The cops wouldn’t be able to get to them there.
Slipping out of his hoodie, Akira only stalked over to Goro as he pulled out his phone, sending a quick query to their group chat (jokingly/affectionately named “The Boys™”) to ask if the rest of them made it out safe.
He pocketed it again once Goro fished out his cigarette case.
“Alone at last..” Akira half-joked, words laced with the barest hints of flirty as he settled beside Goro on the desk he leaned against. A familiar click reached his ears, and he found himself watching Goro blow out smoke through those lips— Plump, pink, and so very seductively wrapped around the cancer stick.
There was still leftover adrenaline flowing through his veins, that mask of Joker still very much settled onto his features even as he’d already pulled the face mask down to below his chin.
He was a ballsy kid, he knew that— so when his hands made for the hem of his shirt, Akira could only smirk as he saw, for just the briefest of moments, Goro glance at him— all before he’d slipped the article clean off his frame, allowed the cool night’s breeze swipe over the sweat stuck to his chest.
Goro raised a brow at him, cigarette held between his fingers and propped just inches away from his chin.
“I’m hot.”
Akira knew Goro knew he meant it in more ways than just temperature-wise.
Which is perhaps why, after he’d taken another hit of the cigarette before promptly throwing it onto the ground, all Akira saw next was Goro leaning close (so close, not close enough) towards him, lips slotting against his as Goro blew the smoke into his mouth.
Akira accepted it readily, breathed the toxic cloud as he felt it flow into his lungs, all before he’d exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.
Like that, so easily, their kiss turned hungry, hot, and Akira knew that the tension finally snapped.
And it was all within a breath.
There was a moan there, just muffled between the press of their lips. Their hands soon wandered to places never before wandered, places he just knew they were both aching for months on end to explore.
He craved Goro Akechi like Goro craved a break from it all with his cigarettes— it just so happened that that break was now named Akira Kurusu.
When Akira’s hand roamed to smack one of Goro’s glorious asscheeks, he heard the other boy take in a sharp breath, a squeak just barely there— on his tongue, but never quite dripping.
Because he’d felt it— and he was sure that it was going to come handy for what was bound to come next.
Amidst their moans, groans, and whispers of “Kurusu..” and “Goro..”, they’d tangle— and maybe, perhaps, if they were both more aware of their surroundings and not solely focused on each other, they’d notice how the entrance to the rooftop screeched open, all before closing entirely within a split-second.
Yusuke’s artbook was sitting on the desk right next to Haru’s flowerbeds, and the boy himself wondered how long it’d be before he could sneak into the rooftop and retrieve one of his most treasured belongings.