Akira considers Akechi's words, the corner of his lips twitching upward into a wry smile. At the mention of Joker being the "default nickname," a genuine chuckle escapes him—light and airy. "Still bummed about losing it due to first-come-first-serve basis. It was my gamer tag for years."
He draws his arm back, flicking his wrist with practiced precision. The dart sails through the air, landing dead-center on the triple 20. A perfect 60. He grabs another dart, his focus only breaking when he glances at Akechi and catches his expression—somewhere between a pout and an indignant scowl.
For a second, Akira freezes, his smirk faltering. The light in his eyes shifts, warming like a campfire sparking to life. The way Akechi’s brows furrow and his lips press together—it strikes something familiar in Akira, something achingly personal. It’s almost funny, how the smallest things can remind him of his own Akechi.
“Hey.” His voice softens as he sets the second dart loose. Another triple 20. “You are a delight to be around. Seriously. I mean it.” His tone has shifted too, as if he's talking distinctly from a world where he knows how much his own Akechi would want to hear it. "If it weren't for the whole multiversal madness I would say that to everyone here but well- rumors will follow me around everywhere so I keep to myself."
He doesn’t look at Akechi right away, instead focusing on his final dart. “In my world, you’ve kept me out of so much trouble, more than I care to admit.” He exhales slowly, releasing the third dart, which lands cleanly in the triple 20 again.
Akira exhales and leans slightly against the dartboard frame, tilting his head to glance at Akechi. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—not quite envy, but a wistful kind of longing—as he continues, “And, hey, I think it’s nice that you’re close to your Futaba. She’s got a good eye, you know. Knows who’s worth sticking around for.”
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He draws his arm back, flicking his wrist with practiced precision. The dart sails through the air, landing dead-center on the triple 20. A perfect 60. He grabs another dart, his focus only breaking when he glances at Akechi and catches his expression—somewhere between a pout and an indignant scowl.
For a second, Akira freezes, his smirk faltering. The light in his eyes shifts, warming like a campfire sparking to life. The way Akechi’s brows furrow and his lips press together—it strikes something familiar in Akira, something achingly personal. It’s almost funny, how the smallest things can remind him of his own Akechi.
“Hey.” His voice softens as he sets the second dart loose. Another triple 20. “You are a delight to be around. Seriously. I mean it.” His tone has shifted too, as if he's talking distinctly from a world where he knows how much his own Akechi would want to hear it. "If it weren't for the whole multiversal madness I would say that to everyone here but well- rumors will follow me around everywhere so I keep to myself."
He doesn’t look at Akechi right away, instead focusing on his final dart. “In my world, you’ve kept me out of so much trouble, more than I care to admit.” He exhales slowly, releasing the third dart, which lands cleanly in the triple 20 again.
Akira exhales and leans slightly against the dartboard frame, tilting his head to glance at Akechi. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—not quite envy, but a wistful kind of longing—as he continues, “And, hey, I think it’s nice that you’re close to your Futaba. She’s got a good eye, you know. Knows who’s worth sticking around for.”