Morgana
It's cold. The laundromat doesn't have much in the way of insulation, and Akira's breath fogs in front of him. He huddles tighter, back to the wall and knees drawn to his chest as he sits on top of the machine farthest from the door.
He's crying. He knows he's crying. It's already cold and it's only making him colder, but he can't go back to Leblanc because he can't explain to Sojiro and Futaba and Morgana and Wakaba what's wrong without looking like he's lost his mind, and needing to look Wakaba in the eye is really just going to remind him of what he's trying to get Futaba and Haru to do.
It's cold, but it's late enough that he knows the others will be heading to bed soon. He can go back in a little while.
And then the door creaks up. Akira tenses, shoulders bunching toward his ears as Morgana pokes his head in.
"There you are." Morgana sounds relieved, and Akira feels another tiny spike of guilt niggling at the back of his mind. "Figured you wouldn't have gone too far this late at night."
He steps fully into the room to let the door close, and Akira turns away, pressing his shoulder rather than his back to the wall, and begins hurried scrubbing one sleeve over his eyes.
"We all already know you're human," Morgana points out quietly. "You know that, right?"
"It's embarrassing," Akira mumbles into his knees, heels of his hands still pressed to his eyes, glasses shoved into his bangs.
Morgana huffs out a gentle laugh and hefts himself up to sit on one of the machines. "Uh huh," he agrees dryly. "Definitely worse than you scream-singing in the attic."
When he gets no reply, Morgana sobers once again. "So … I don't know what's going on with you the last few days," he says after a moment, "but it seems like a lot, whatever it is?" He leans forward, arms folded over his knees. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asks, looking at Akira sidelong.
Akira shakes his head against his knees, and Morgana's gaze cuts away, even as he says, "Okay. Will you at least go back to the cafe? Everyone else is gone for the night."
For a moment, Akira doesn't reply, until he finally dredges up something that's trying to be a smile and says, "Pretty sure my knees are stuck like this."
Morgana rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh. "Uh huh, sure." He hops down from the top of the machine, plants his hands on his hips, and gives Akira a once over, before he nods once, decisively. "Alright then."
He turns and shuffles sideways, until he's standing in front of Akira. "Up you get, then," he commands, as bossy as ever.
There's a breath of incredulous laughter. "Seriously?"
"C'mon! Your turn!" Morgana lifts a hand, gesturing expectantly.
Akira sighs slowly and reluctantly unfurls, scooting to the edge of the machine before slinging his legs around Morgana's middle and grabbing his shoulders. Morgana steps forward, and the two of them wobble for a second before Morgana reaches back to steady Akira and shrug him more comfortably into place.
It's a weird experience, considering Morgana is … Morgana, but turnabout is fair play.
They start moving, and the door creaks as Morgana shoulders it open. The air outside is barely any colder than the air in the laundromat.