Author's Notes: Takes place before the *GIANT SPOILER* and after Emperor Confidant Rank 10
Akira Kurusu is a walking contradiction and far beyond Yusuke's comprehension.
As a student, he's ordinary looking. Average, even. The mass of unkempt curls and slouched posture betray a kind of indolence common among high schoolers; the wrinkles in the Shujin uniform further hint at a lack of self-grooming, or perhaps a lazy act of defiance toward authority. Nonetheless, he blends in perfectly – yet another thread in the bland, colorless fabric of society.
As leader of the Phantom Thieves, however, there are splashes of color to him. He's still reserved, still quiet: a silent figure that observes the team's reactions with mild passivity. Yet, when he speaks, all eyes turn to him, and everyone listens. Sometimes it's a biting quip, sometimes an off-the-wall comment that no one anticipated, and sometimes – oftentimes – it's a poignant assertion, so keen and blunt and full of hope, that the team stands taller, firmer in their resolve.
In the Palaces, in Mementos: now that is where Akira truly shines, full of color and brighter than gold. Amidst the brutal swings of Haru's axe, the sheer ugliness of Ryuji's nailed bat, and the cruel, searing heat of Ann's Fire magic, there is beauty in the way his leader fights. The flips and somersaults and jaunty taunts – the ordinary boy comes alive as Joker, brown eyes gleaming playfully under the bird-shaped mask. He is every inch a leader then, in the way he barks instructions and negotiates with unruly Shadows during combat, in the way he pores over maps and chooses the best route for the team.
And every time Joker tugs at blood-red gloves, soft lips quirking into a smirk, so smug and arrogant and different from Akira, Yusuke feels something ignite deep inside him.
Something that feels akin to desire.
In his pursuit of truth and passion, Yusuke discovered the duality of humanity, and the beauty that can be found within its hideous depths. He never expected to find that same duality in Akira, much less be so drawn to it, like a moth to the flame.
He wants to understand Akira; learn more about the other boy.
What makes Akira pull at a loose curl, brown eyes darting to the ground? What makes him rub his neck like so, glasses slipping down the small nose? What makes his lips tug into a smile that makes him glow in soft pastels, light and gentle as a watercolor painting?
And what makes Joker look at him the way he does in Palaces and Mementos, intense and penetrating, as though Yusuke holds the answers to all his questions?
Yusuke wishes he can spend every waking moment in Akira's presence, to study his habits and analyze his thoughts, but he knows the other boy is not his to possess. Several times he has caught his leader with the other members: strolling down Central Street with Makoto, waiting for the train with Futaba, stepping into the gym with Morgana, ever present in his school bag. On occasion, he sees Akira with people he does not recognize – adults, mostly, and even a young elementary school student.
Yes, Yusuke knows: a rare and exquisite spirit like Akira should never be held down, chained to the confines of any one relationship. He belongs to the world, where he can spread his wings, his influence, and his light to others.
But Yusuke's desire is strong and so overpowering that he sometimes fears it may consume him whole, tainting his persona and leaving him as empty as when he first opened his eyes to Madarame's avarice.
So he captures Akira the only way he knows how.
"Don't move," Yusuke says sharply. "Return to your previous pose."
Brown eyes flicker to him in surprise. And then they soften, and there's a quiet exhale of breath through the small nose; an amused huff of laughter.
Yusuke's vision erupts with an explosion of color, and his fingers twitch, smudging charcoal across a corner. He should have brought his set of graphite pencils; a charcoal sketch may be enough to capture Akira the ordinary student, but black alone is hardly sufficient in capturing his leader's true essence: light and darkness and everything in between.
"I'm not sure what I was doing before," Akira says. He crosses one leg over the other, and tilts his head slightly to the right. "Something like this?"
"Your expression was different."
"Ah. I hit an interesting paragraph, so…" Lifting the book in his hands, he furrows his eyebrows in a contemplative look. "Like this?"
Yusuke feels his heart swell: only Akira obliges his demands with such patience.
To think he had been so superficial as to have chosen Ann as his model; truly, he was a naïve fool.
"It's all right," he hears himself say, "Please, be yourself. I will endeavor to find you, always."
Suddenly, it's Joker who is looking at him now, boring into his soul with a piercing gaze.
And then the features soften, and Akira turns back to his book, lips curving.
An hour later, his sketchbook is filled with pages and pages of charcoal drawings, but he's nowhere closer to comprehending his leader. None of these sketches compare to the real Akira. Worse, each sketch grows more intimate in detail, his ugly desires conveyed in the angle of Akira's parted lips, the harsh shading of Akira's jawline, the nakedness of Akira's collarbones.
Yusuke grits his teeth, frustration gnawing at the fringes of his composure. He hasn't captured Akira, but his own unsavory passions instead. It's as though he has learned nothing in his past lessons about desire and beauty.
Glancing up, Akira spares him the tiniest of smiles. "Still searching?"
Yusuke sighs, "I'm afraid so." He crosses his arms, staining charcoal on his sleeves. "I cannot seem to strike a balance between the real you, and the you in my perception."
"Oh?" Akira stretches out a hand. "May I?"
For the first time, Yusuke feels oddly… embarrassed. He's not ready for Akira to witness his true feelings, so plainly etched in his works. Clutching the sketchbook to his chest, he shakes his head. "Perhaps when they are of better quality," he lies.
Akira pauses. Then, he lets his hand fall, nodding. "You'll have to keep trying then," he says softly.
"Yes," Yusuke breathes, emotions melting into tendrils of warmth. "Yes, I will."
For a moment, it's just the two of them – no team, no evil to defeat, no world to save. Just them: smiling shyly, and waiting; though for what, Yusuke is uncertain.
Morgana enters then, complaining loudly about hunger pangs and being forced to wander the streets because of stupid teenage hormones. Yusuke's about to ask the cat what he means, but Akira chooses that moment to clap his book shut and rise to his feet, announcing his intention to cook dinner.
"Boss is out tonight," he appends.
As Akira starts toward the stairs, his shoulder brushes against Yusuke's, and a bolt of electricity shoots down Yusuke's spine.
"Don't find me too soon," Akira whispers, and Yusuke sees the mask, the red, red gloves, the leather gliding into shadows, stretching taut across thick thighs. "I'd hate for this to end."
Then he's gone, shoulders folding in, Morgana's lecture about timely meals bouncing off the walls of the attic.
Akira Kurusu is a walking contradiction and far beyond Yusuke's comprehension.
And Yusuke can't imagine it any other way.
Notes
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