[Sorry, give him a sec, he’s still reeling over here. It feels like his whole world just jerked on its axis, violently spinning the opposite direction, bringing everything crashing to the ground. He never knew Akechi carried that kind of pain, never figured someone like Akechi could. He always seemed so aloof, so above it all, like he was born better than everyone else and delighted in letting the world know, basking in the adoration heaped upon him for his achievements.

But it was all a facade. Window dressing, an attractive coat of paint over the towering walls he’d erected around himself to keep all the pain inside.

It almost makes him angry to think about it. Why didn’t he let anyone in? Why did he have to shoulder it all alone, right until the bitter end? Could he have been saved if someone listened, if someone believed him…? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Ryuji doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until he tries to speak, hearing his own voice crack. He muscles through the tears, the lump in his throat, doing as he’s told. Doing it right this time. If anything, this might be the one thing they actually have in common: hating their fathers.]

When my dad wasn’t beating the shit out of me, he was beating the shit out of my mom.

[He can feel his nails digging into his palms, hands knit into fists so tight it makes his arms tremble, muscles alight underneath his skin.] He was a mean drunk. Anything bad that happened in his life was our fault, somehow, and w-we had to pay. I watched him throw my mom against the wall one time, started kickin’ her when she went down. I p-put myself between them so he’d beat me instead. I was seven. [His breath hitches. He can’t look at Akechi anymore.] We did that a lot. Stepped in for each other 'cause we couldn’t stand seein' him beat up the other. Never told each other that, but… we knew.

Then one day, he left. Just like that. Like we didn’t even matter. Mom was in pieces. I… [Ryuji clenches his teeth, unable to continue.]