The first hospital visit doesn't go very well, considering.

Oh, he acts perfectly normal when she's there, but Akiyama recognises the wary flicker in the old man's expression, the stiffness in his smile; and the second the door clicks shut and she leaves for school, he turns to him and warns, watch your back, boy; they'll use her to get to you, you know.

It's not even like Akiyama has had a lot of practice meeting the fathers of cute sort-of-girlfriends, but even he knows that when it starts with a warning, it's probably not going to end well.

"She'd be better off without you," he continues; it's not meant to be offensive, it's stated in a manner that is merely matter-of-fact. Akiyama grits his teeth, because, dammit, he knows, he knows -

"I know," he says. "Don't worry, sir," he vows, "I'll protect her with my life."

The old man sighs, as though he'd already known the answer, and when Akiyama leaves, he thinks he hears him murmur:

"It's not her who needs protecting."

:.:

That afternoon, when Nao doesn't return from school, he understands what her father had meant.

But it's not till the Liar Game officials have entered his rather depressing apartment – a residence, as the official called it, only in the broadest sense of the word – and presented him with the information: a surprise qualifier, that he realises how careless he'd become.

He lets his guard down around her, see.

"It's not her who needs protecting."

He's not even surprised when they tell him that, no, Kanzaki Nao, as the winner of the previous round, would not be participating.

Dread pools in his stomach, in his chest, in his lungs; he can't breathe, and when he tries to gasp for air, he finds that there is none.

:.:

The qualifier, would, ordinarily, be of no concern to him. As with the previous qualifier, all but one of the players would go on to the next stage.

It's not a terribly difficult game - a poisonous, large-scale replica of the traditional Monopoly, carefully orchestrated, as usual, to cause the maximum amount of psychological distress to the players - but he's distracted enough so that he's hardly paying attention throughout the game, and when Yokoya announces his triumphant victory through some master-plan or another, his only response is a bleary, "Huh?"

The transition of the other player's attitudes towards him is evident; the murmurs quickly change from I bet he's got a master plan, he's gonna turn the tables anytime now, to maybe he's sick, no, maybe he's just got a screw loose.

Akiyama rather agrees with the latter.

The game carries on for two more days, and he finally escapes the game with a rather depressing ranking of 7 out of 10, earning him a few vaguely concerned are-you-feeling-okays and a look of utmost disgust from Yokoya.

It's a miracle in itself that he didn't end up dead last, it really is.

It's not until he he's about ten minutes into the journey back home when he realises that he'd left his phone behind, too.

( To his credit, the dealer does agree to retrieve the phone and mail it back to him - "unfortunately, however, Akiyama-san, the postage costs will have to be covered by yourself" - amidst much sniggering from his fellow players. Akiyama briefly contemplates why the universe seems to hate him. )

:.:

He arrives home to a teary-eyed, vaguely panicky, overcaffeinated explosion of worry who flings herself at him and alternately yells at him for making her worry and repeatedly asks him if he's okay, are you sure, you don't look sure, are you really, really -

"Nao," he finally intervenes emphatically. She momentarily pauses in her barrage of anxious enquiries.

"I'm fine," he tells her. "It was just a qualifying round, nothing big -"

"The lawyer," she interrupts, looking stern and almost accusing, came over yesterday and told me you were doing really badly."

It's an informant society, it really is. He flinches.

"Well," he tries, and fails. "Well, yeah, I kind of - you know." He mumbles something vaguely intelligible and mostly nonsensical.

Nao raises an eyebrow, evidently not fooled. He's not sure whether to feel happy or irritated that she's learnt to doubt people, because, honestly, in cases like this, it's seriously inconvenient.

"Come on," she says with a slight, almost knowing smile, "I'll make you some tea."

He follows her, because let's face it; he always has been, and always will.

:.:

After the last game, he tries to take her father's advice; tries to pull away.

He ignores the little voice in his mind that says, well, it's not like you can do any more damage than the game already has; and it's not like they can use her against you anymore, right, now that it's all over - and tells her, straight to the face, that maybe they should, you know - go separate ways.

"You'll be better off without me," he repeats the words that her father had told him, what seems like an eternity ago, "you could do better."

"And you?" she asks, her expression unreadable.

He gives her a tight smile.

"I'll live."

She laughs. "Don't give me that, Akiyama-san."

He persists; "You deserve better, you know. You could find someone who could keep you safe, protect you -"

She smiles, and it's a very different reaction to the one he'd been expecting.

"It's not me who needs protecting, Akiyama-san."

Her fingers catch his, mid-swing, and so does her response; he lets down his guard around her, see.

He considers this.

"Maybe...we could give it a try, I guess," he supposes.

She gives him a smirk, which he realises is a replica of his own - that knowing, careless curve of the lips that says, yeah, I know, you don't have to hide it.

He internally notes that it looks much better on her than it ever would on him.

Well, whatever. Maybe, anyway, he'd known all along that she was always part of his happy-ever-after.

And if happy-ever-afters don't exist; well, maybe this - her warmth pressed against him, her hair tickling his jaw and his neck, their fingers laced together - at least, is enough, for now.

For now, just for now; all is well.