#I like to apply both quotes to Akira Kurusu

[oddlybitter]

Another excerpt from upcoming Sporting Life chapter - Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong

CW: Swearing, Abuse mention, Internalized Homophobia, Injury, Drinking, Child Abuse mention, Drinking mention.

please note that this does talk about trauma that both Akechi and Futaba have, so please keep that in mind as you read! it’s a little heavy. (if there is anything else you want me to tag, please let me know)

If one had to spare the details, Goro spent the next hour getting hammered on shitty vodka that tasted like candy. However, if one had a wealth of time on their hands, then the full story would reveal how he got drunk and a few more catalysts that would eventually add up to make the Worst Hangover Goro Akechi Would Get, Ever. 

It really started as he pushed off the wall, leaving Haru behind in a sea of people that he didn't really like, marching into any other room he could find. Somehow, Makoto's restraining wasn't enough to keep Ann from the party, and she waved at him as she expertly carried out the maneuver for a physically perfect kegstand. Her girlfriend watched on in disgust, admiration, and quite possibly (but inexplicably) attraction. 

"I'm very impressed. Mildly scared, but impressed." He said, watching Ann remove an arm and wave to someone in her gathering audience. 

Makoto took a long gulp of her beer, and nodded dismally. "Tell me about it. I have to deal with this when the party's over." 

The cheers reach a crescendo, and Ann, somehow coherent, did a little cartwheel onto her feet. "Yeah! Beat that, Iida-from-AP-chemistry!" 

Iida-from-AP-chemistry did not, in fact, beat that. 

Traipsing over to Makoto and Goro, Ann flicked her pigtails over her shoulder and scanned the linebacker's face with an eerie stare. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing is," He cleared his throat, encapsulating his next words with air  quotes, "'eating me.'" 

Shrugging, Ann made a noise of half-hearted agreement. "Fair enough, keep your cards close to your chest. Though some card games are played better with two, am I right?" 

Makoto rolled her eyes as Ann's face shifted into a mischievous smirk. "Ann..."

"What, babe? I'm just trying to help things along for our dear Joker." She said, nuzzling her face into the crook of Makoto's neck like a tired cat.  

Tired of her antics, Goro stormed through to the next room, the lights a different color than the others. It felt a little like walking through the layers of Hell. Still, he proceeded through all of them, looking for an empty one, taking a small bottle of alcohol as he went. 

Finding another wall to slump against and brood, Goro watched the glistening pool in the Takamaki's back yard, taking off the bottle cap with his teeth. The look on Haru's face as he left, the sound of the quiet whimper of fear from Futaba as she sat outside his door when he was upset, the way he felt when Akira fucking Kurusu looked at him through his eyelashes, all of them felt like consecutive punches to the gut. Goro's head hit the back of the wall with a dull thud, and through the darkness of the room, he could see the reflection of the water on the ceiling. 

After finishing off the bottle, Goro knew he should probably have given Futaba a message about how much fun he was not having. Futaba's chat icon stared up at him, a tiny cat in a frog hat, and the worst thing he could possibly think of doing was letting her hear his voice. He knew Shido didn't have an issue with alcohol, and he was more or less still coherent enough to pass as only slightly tipsy. It didn't help that on the night of his anniversaries with Wakaba and Goro's mother, Shido broke out the heavy bottles, and they sparkled like dangerous jewels behind the glass cabinet he kept locked. Slurring words and biting tones were all Futaba needed to hear to start shaking, twisting her shirt in her hands, and cowering away from any sharp movements. Goro had too many memories of applying bruise salve to her face, and on quite possibly the worst night of their lives, the dark, hand-shaped bruise that clasped around her neck. 

So instead of calling his sister, Goro spared the pain and texted her. 

"There you are." A voice called out, a tall silhouette standing in the doorway. "Was wondering where the introverts' room was." 

Goro snorted, knocking back another bottle and leaving it by the other one. Checking again, he found that yes, there were two bottles there. How he got his hands on that other one was beyond him, but the fact he was actually inebriated really sunk in then.

Walking into the cold light reflected from the pool, Akira walked over to him, a can of beer in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket. "Can I join you?" 

Waving his hand in indifference, Goro made a noncommittal noise. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Akira crouched down next to him, poking his cheek.

"Yikes, you look like you could use some fresh air." He slid his shoulder underneath Goro's arm, pulling him to his feet. "There we go, up and at 'em, champ."

"Don't call me champ. It makes you sound old." Goro frowned, believing he could walk just fine without Akira's assistance, leaning away from him and opening the door to Ann's balcony. 

Placing a hand between his shoulder blades, Akira hissed sharply. "Shit, be careful. We don't need any casualties at a Takamaki party."

Rolling Akira's hand off his back, the linebacker gave him a sour look. "I'm perfectly capable of moving without your assistance."

"Looks like you sobered up enough to be smart-mouthed." The dark-haired boy snorted. 

Goro sighed, watching the rippling lines trace the underside of Akira's face, playing across his skin like liquid moonlight. His chest tightened painfully, and he looked away, instead choosing to run a hand through his hair. At one point, he was sure it was tied back, pulled out of his face, but it hung loose, just brushing his shoulders. Akira hummed a noise that Goro couldn't decipher the tone of. 

"Your hair," He stated, "it's long." 

Giving him a slow clap, Goro nodded. "Ever considered a job in, say, the detective business? They could use a sharp brain like yours." 

Akira laughed, somehow taking Goro's scathing insults like water to a duck's plumage. "I meant it in, like, a nice way. Long hair suits you. Makes you look pretty." 

The wry smile immediately fell from Goro's face, and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. The way his chest was fluttering was simply, irrevocably wrong. There were rules he had to play by, and letting himself get swept up into Akira's charming whirlpool of "nice" was breaking every single one of them. 

"I probably need to cut it, then. Gets in the way, you know." He mused, ruffling the back of his head.

Suddenly realizing that Akira was close enough for Goro to smell the scent of his fruit-flavored beer, his fingers twisting through the longer strands of his hair, a hot flush crept up the back of his neck. Almost as if he was transfixed, Akira's hand stayed at the base of Goro's neck, the heel of his palm barely touching his jaw. Distractedly, Akira's grip tightened, and Goro sucked in a breath, leaning into the touch. 

As if struck by lightning, they sprung away from each other, attempting to regain their composure by leaning against the balcony railing. 

"Sorry," Akira muttered, taking a sip of his beer. 

Goro made a face. "What even is that? Smells like melted candy." 

A short laugh left Akira's lips. "Says the guy who inhaled two bottles of Ann's disgusting lime vodka." 

"Well, that's entirely the point," Goro explained, "it's disgusting, so obviously, I want more." 

Throwing his head back with laughter, the quarterback leaned his head on his hand. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

A beat of silence fell between them, the summer night's breeze running across Goro's skin like water. Guiltily, Akira turned around, leaning his  elbows on the railing, and giving Goro a look that read "sad puppy." 

"So, hate to bring this up again, but you and Haru, huh? You're really broken up?" He asked, training his eyes on the doors. 

Scowling, Goro gave him the iciest look he could muster. "Oh, of course. That's why you're here. Trying to make a good impression on your new conquest's ex? She's not a fucking vase, Kurusu. She doesn't need my  permission to do anything, much less my approval." 

Sighing, Akira ran a hand through his hair, a pained expression on his face.  "No, that's not why I'm here. It's not even why I brought you here. I wanted -" 

Anger flared like a snare drum in Goro's bones, and he snapped his head around to properly look at the dark-haired boy, clenching the railing of the balcony tightly. "That's all you do, isn't it? Want everything, ignore everything you already have, pretend that what you're asking for is trivial."

"That's not -" 

"You will never, ever understand," He finished, "that you already have everything." 

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the only sound between them was the quiet whirring of the pool's chlorinator and the hollow sound of bass-boosted music. 

Breaking the silence with an equally fragile voice, Akira didn't even look at him. "I wanted to tell you that it was never about Haru. I'm sorry if that got mixed up, but honestly, I could never see her that way. I guess it backfired." 

"You fucking asshole." Goro hissed. "You really dislike me that much that you literally tear me away from -"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the quarterback turned on his heel, standing up straight. "If you would just let me finish speaking, you'd hear that I don't hate you! Not in the slightest." 

Helplessly lost, Goro pushed off the railing to stand in front of Akira, glaring furiously at his face. A mere inch separated them, and he could smell the sweet scent of that stupid beer on his breath. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

"For someone so smart, you're so fucking stupid." Akira breathed. 

Then, sliding his hands into Goro's hair, he cupped his face and leaned in, kissing him.