Inside, he'd find an oasis. Different from the one at the bathhouse he used to frequent (dirty, Akechi had always thought), but with the same relaxing vibe.

The tub was full, and giving off pleasant heat: either Akechi had predicted when he'd be back, or else he'd continuously refilled it. All bets on the former-- Joker didn't phase him, and rarely surprised hi, even though he was glad every delicious time he managed to.

...Which, admittedly, was much more often than other people.

Sprinkled on top of the bath would be a scattering of blood-red rose petals, giving off a sweet, sticky scent. And on the rim of the tub? A rare luxury, almost heinous for someone Japanese: a sweating tall cup of iced coffee, brewed not so long ago.

Akira was always filthy these days. It was a bummer to sleep next to someone who smelled like metal and dirt.

This was much more fitting. After all... image was everything.