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you will not take my heart alive

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Goro Akechi is halfway out of class and glancing down at his phone to check for messages when he sees it. The calling card is his lock screen.

He freezes in the doorway. The rest of his classmates buffet him cluelessly out of the way until he’s just standing by the door in the hall, but he barely feels it, can barely even take in the words blazed across the screen. We will take your distorted desires without fail.

The phone buzzes in his hands. A text. A photo message, Akira fucking Kurusu, who he shot, who he watched die, making a peace sign with one hand and holding up today’s newspaper with the other, the tiniest smuggest smirk on his face.

It feels like a joke. It feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest. Or in the back - and here he thought he was the treacherous one. Impossible, impossible, impossible that this could happen, that Kurusu could be alive, that he could be shown up like this by those fucking kids. (And how could it be possible? Never even mind Kurusu being alive - Goro has a Persona, he has two, the cat said… Maybe they were only trying to scare him. But there was no precedent for them doing something like that, and if Kurusu was okay who knew what they could pull off?)

They must have been laughing at him the whole time. His entire body is shaking so hard he thinks he might drop the phone.

The thought occurs to him of just... just taking his gun and going straight to Leblanc, before they can go through with it. But they would have thought of that, why else would they send him this at the end of the school day? They wouldn’t even be at Leblanc by the time he got there, or outside his Palace. (He should know what his Palace is, but somehow he can’t even begin to start guessing. It’s like his brain is wading through sludge. Goro’s never felt so goddamn stupid.) And anyway, even if he did catch them in time, how’s he going to cover up an unplanned multiple homicide in Yongen-Jaya?

All he can see is Kurusu’s face. He wants to scream. He wants to snap his phone in half. One of his idiot classmates is saying something to him and he can’t parse the meaning of her words because all he can think about is that he’s ruined, and he’s ruined because he can’t hold a candle to Akira goddamn Kurusu.

But. It hasn’t happened quite yet. He’s his own last defence. He knows the inside of his own mind, he knows he’s miles better than any of their previous marks. And he’s not going to wait around to be executed.

 He takes a breath. Smiles at his classmates and says something meaningless, and then types with trembling hands.

Goro Akechi: I’m going to kill you I’m going to kill you I’m going

Stops. Deletes it. (Don’t get sloppy now, Akechi.) Starts again.

Goro Akechi: Good luck, Joker.
Read, 3:39 p.m.



He leaves school. Finds a quiet, unoccupied alley where he can think. Opens the navigation app.

Place. Keyword. It’s so hard to make himself focus, hard not to think about how much he needs to pull this off, how violated he feels by the idea of them getting into his head in the first place. (How much do they already know? They’ve been infiltrating the place for days at least - no. Stop.) Where to even start? He doesn’t… he’s never felt any mastery or connection to any one place, never belonged anywhere.

He tries his apartment, the National Diet Building, the police headquarters. Fucking Shido’s fucking house. He even suggests “The hearts and minds of the Japanese people” to the Nav as a gag. None of them are hits, of course. Hmm.

He needs to be methodical about this. He tries every special ward he’s ever spent time in, and then the rest of them too. (For a moment he genuinely fears Ni-chome will be a hit, just to bring him as much mortification as possible, even though he’s barely set foot in the place.) Goes from there and expands: Tokyo, Kanto, Honshu, Japan-

And that’s the one. Okay. He’s getting somewhere. And the location is broad enough that he should be able to get in from here, once he has the rest of it.

A keyword. What is Japan to him? A shitty fucking backwards garbage dump of a country, but that’s not a Palace, now, is it, so concentrate. A… a contest. A television show? No. A competition. What kind of competition? How do you make a competition a place?

A warzone. A battlefield.

Maybe he’s being too literal. Come on, you dumb piece of shit, they figured this out.

A colosseum. A sports arena. An arcade.

“Beginning navigation,” chimes the app.

Really? Huh.

(Okay, let’s be honest: he’d loved arcades once, saved every coin he had for them. Every Sunday, when she could, when she wasn’t working or having one of her bad days, his mother would take him to the one in the mall by their apartment. But then she died, of course, and his first foster parents told him he needed to grow up. He hadn’t understood at the time but they were right. Some people just can’t afford to waste their time like that.)

The world shifts in front of him. Not dramatically - the world goes a bit dimmer, like an overcast evening; the rumble of traffic and conversation muffles, the familiar sense of strangeness sets in. Nothing else, yet. His bike is still here, which is convenient.

When he glances down at himself he’s in blue and black. He has no time to waste but he can’t help pausing, startled. This means - what, that he’s a threat to himself? But that makes no sense, given what he’s here to do. And he can’t even will himself into his false costume, which normally he can do as easily as blinking. Not that he needs to change his outfit right now, but still. He’d appreciated the sense of total control it gave him, to know that his clothes would always be whatever he needed them to be in the cognitive world. Bizarre. Annoying.

He really doesn’t want to be thinking about any of this. He gets his pistol and holster from his briefcase, checks that the gun’s loaded. He feels better with the weight of it in his hand. More secure, more focused. He can do this. He’s going to do this.

He leaves the alley. Looks around. There’s a new building, a tower, a kilometre or two north of him, taller than even the skyscrapers surrounding it. It’s pitch-black and its silhouette is shifting like fog, the way things in the cognitive world sometimes do. He holsters the gun and gets on his bike.

The building, when he gets to it, says ARCADE DEL PRINCIPE in vivid red roman letters above the entrance. Ugh. Subtle.

The inside is nothing like a real arcade, of course. It’s darker than real ones are, cavernous and empty. There are no statues, nothing ostentatious like he’s seen in other people’s Palaces; just endless arcade machines and neon-on-black and a deep background murmur - just like Mementos, right down to the firm sense that the voices are all whispering about him. There’s probably something meaningful on the game screens blaring at him, but the thought of that makes panic flutter fast in his chest, so he’s not going to stop and look, he can’t, he’s going to kill the Phantom Thieves for doing this to him and get out and it’ll be fine.

He meets a guard, finally, at the top of the first set of stairs he finds. “Master Akechi,” the masked demon says, “what are you doing here? I thought you were taking care of the intruders!”

He doesn’t have time for this. “I’m working on it,” he says. “Where are they? Up?”

“Of course,” says the demon, “but weren’t you-”

“Can you get me there any faster than I can get there myself?” Goro says sharply. (To be honest, he’s always appreciated talking to demons. He doesn’t have to hide the ice in his voice.)

“Oh,” she says. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Then shut the hell up and get out of my way.” Something occurs to him, though, before he leaves- “Why weren’t there any guards downstairs? Are they taking care of the intruders?”

“The downstairs is empty,” says the demon, blankly.

“Yes, I know, WHY.

“It’s just empty,” she says, and this is pointless, so he just keeps going up the tower.

There are so many stairways. More and more guards as he goes higher, at least. The paths twist and turn but he feels like he knows the layout of it by - ha - by heart, already, the way you know a place you’ve never been in a dream. And even if it weren’t for that, he’s sure he could find the way by just following the trail of opened gates, or the shattered display cases where Joker’s bafflingly infallible sixth sense for loot had clearly led him.

In a dark lobby area on the fifth floor he finds… not a statue but a cheap-looking cardboard standee, just a touch larger than life, under a lone spotlight. It has a black silhouette printed on it, clearly him in the Robin Hood garb, posing like he’s on a movie poster. In tacky neon bubbles next to the image, it says:

The REAL Detective Prince!
The Bastard Rook of Tokyo!
Goro Akechi!!

Fine, he thinks. Sure. Whatever. Heaven fucking forbid his Palace have an inch of class to it.

He’s lost count of which floor he’s on when he turns his head and sees a woman alone in the bend of a hallway.

She’s turned away but he knows who she is, instantly. He knows every detail of her, the faded second-hand sundress and the length of her hair; the way her jaw curves like his. The way she’s lit too bright and cold for her surroundings, colours too brilliant and shadows too dark; the way she looks in the old photo he kept, the one that over the years has somehow fused with every memory he had of her.

She looks at him. Or, no - she's looking past him, into the empty corridor, like she's searching for someone else in a crowd.

He’s missed her for so long. And he knows this isn't her, he knows where he is, but something compels him anyway to call out to her. She looks straight at him when he does, and his breath catches - but then her expression changes, her eyes widen. Some kind of recognition… and she takes a step back.

"Wait," he says, hating the desperation in his voice. He can’t read the look on her face; apprehension, fear? He holds his hands up placatingly, like he’s approaching a skittish animal. Takes a few steps forward. "Wait, please." He just wants to hear her voice again. He just wants her to smile at him.

But even as he speaks she's turning away, walking quickly, glancing over her shoulder at him. She rounds the corner. He can't help himself - he runs after her.

She's completely gone by the time he gets there, of course. But after all, she was only an echo, a creation of his cognition, not even a ghost. He shouldn’t want to see her; there was nothing she could tell him that wasn’t already in his mind.

Goro pulls one of his gloves up and digs his teeth hard into the flesh of his wrist until he feels calmer.

Then he looks around. He’s getting closer to them, he knows it; there’s still time. Fucking focus. There’s another staircase here, and, on the top landing, a single arcade cabinet and a closed mechanical gate. Every other gate he’s seen has been wide open; maybe the Phantom Thieves had missed this area (although given Kurusu’s insistence on thoroughness that didn’t seem likely), maybe it had just shut itself behind them. Who cares? As long as it kept taking him upstairs it didn’t matter.

The machine, like all the rest of them, looks like it’s some bootleg Star Wars rip-off, all starry speckles and primary-coloured lasers over black, just off-brand enough to maybe avoid litigation if it were in the real world. He walks up to it. It’s cycling through attract mode but seems to react to his presence as he approaches - the screen goes black, and then flashes a top scores display.

It’s not like a real one. There’s only three entries, three names fully written out next to pixel art representations:

  1. Akira Kurusu        \(★^∀^★)/
  2. Masayoshi Shido    (ノ_<。)
  3. Goro Akechi        (ಥ﹏ಥ)


For a moment Goro is just fucking done. He’s had it, had it with Joker being alive, had it with this Palace, the idea of his enemies tramping through his subconscious. He feels unsteady, he’s been too focused for too long; he feels like he’s on the verge of absolutely losing it. But he doesn’t have a choice, so he steps forward, steels himself.

The floor shakes. Once. Twice. The screen goes blue. “No,” he says, “no no no no no -”

The world falls apart.



After the fight, after the armoured monster that was Akechi collapses and dissolves, all that's left is Akechi's Shadow, on the ground, sobbing like a little kid.

They stand there for a minute in shock, watching him, before Ann says, "This sucks.”

Akira turns and looks at her. She’s staring at Akechi with the expression of someone who’s just smelled rotten milk, her arms folded tight. "This all just freaking SUCKS,” she says. “We shouldn’t have wasted time on him. He's been killing people! For years! He murdered Haru’s dad just WEEKS ago and now he's just snivelling on the floor. Haru and Futaba were right, we don’t need his help, he’s PATHETIC."

Before Akira can say anything - and what is he going to say, he gets her point, but he feels... - before that, Akechi (though it's not Akechi, he reminds himself, it's just a twisted echo of his desires) lets out what might be a sob or a laugh and says, "You're right."

Akira looks at him. His hair is in his face, his nose running, a bruise raising under his eye. He speaks like he’s spitting blood. "I'm a monster, a miserable rabid beast. I'll do anything if you don't stop me. Just kill me and let it end." He laughs again, clearly definable as a laugh this time, though it's hoarse and loud and nothing like the way his laughter sounds in real life, and adds, "I'd do the same for you."

"Oh my god," says Ryuji. "Oh my GOD, dude, we are OBVIOUSLY not going to do that, are you KIDDING."

Akechi... looks at Akira. Desperately. Like he thinks Akira might do it, or has the power to, what, authorise it? It's disturbing.

Akira says, as firmly as he can, "We're definitely not doing that. We’re sticking to the plan," and moves to go get the treasure, the rest of the group ahead of him. But as they leave, Akechi grabs his coattails and says in a thick whisper, "Please, Joker."

Akira doesn't know what to say. He looks down at him. The rest are ahead now, they'll notice that he's lagging behind in a minute. Akechi looks small, terrified, so much like a lost child. It's strange to realise that he's never seen a genuine expression on Akechi's face in real life. Never seen a genuine expression on Akechi's face, ever, because this isn't Akechi, but it feels so much like how he must actually be.

"Please,” Akechi says, “don't do this, I'll have nothing left if you do this."

Akira shouldn't want to talk to him but he finds himself kneeling next to him anyway. "If we do what?" he says, softly, so the others won't hear. He's not sure why he cares. "Get you to start treating people like people?"

This close, he can tell that Akechi is trembling hard. He can hear the ragged intake of his breath. "My whole life," he says, "was about - proving everyone wrong - getting strong enough to make everyone who discarded me regret it - but they were right, you were all right. I..." He trails off, and then repeats, staring straight Akira's eyes, his voice cracking, "I'll have nothing. I'll BE nothing."

Their faces are so close. Akechi's Shadow's eyes are inhuman and frightened and huge. "You didn't have much to begin with, if that's true," says Akira, as gently as he can.

Akechi’s face contorts into the most miserable smile Akira’s ever seen. “No shit, asshole,” he says, but not aggressively. “That’s WHY I’m - I'm fucking begging you, don't do this to me." He grabs Akira's hand suddenly with both of his. His palms are clammy and his grip is far too tight. His face is soaked. "You know we're the same, you have to see it too, you must understand what this will do to me. Please just kill me, please."

Akira feels frozen in place.

"Joker, we have to hurry it up," comes Morgana's voice from ahead of them. ("What's he even doing?" he hears Ryuji say. "Shh," says Makoto.)

Akira takes a deep breath and pulls his hand out of Akechi’s grip. "I'll help you,” he says. “It'll be fine. I promise." He expects... something positive, at least, but instead Akechi's eyes narrow in suspicion. He recoils, curls up in on himself, and stares cold and hard at Akira.

The last thing Akechi's Shadow says to Akira is, "You're so full of shit, Joker."

Akira swallows hard. Then he stands up and walks away and doesn't look back.



Goro lands on his ass in the same alley he’d come in from, painfully but safely and completely alone. He’s in the real world. They’d done it. He’d failed. He hadn’t even seen them.

He looks at his hands, watches them tremble. Clenches them. Hits the ground once, twice, again, as hard as he can, harder, so hard it feels like his bones will shatter, until he can’t do it anymore and then he covers his mouth as firmly as he can and he screams.

Then it passes.

Since Goro was a child, he felt, sometimes, removed from the world. Like his eyes can’t quite focus right, like he’s been separated from everything by a pane of glass only he can sense; like nothing outside him is real, no matter how bad it is. (Like nothing inside him is real, either; he’s only a camera, recording everything without emotion, waiting it out.) It used to frighten him but he learned to welcome it. To use it.

So, now: he feels distant, and disoriented, and shocked. That’s all.

He makes himself stand up. Wavers unsteady on his feet. Thinks, suddenly, although he thought he couldn’t think when he was like this - of petty cruelties, lives ruined and lost, stupid twisted scheming. All he’d ever been.

Ah. It’s starting, then.

Goro watches himself vomit on the ground and stagger to his bike. He goes home.



It’s the next morning when someone starts banging on the door to Goro’s apartment.

He doesn’t move. He’s been huddled on the floor in front of the television all night, letting the sound drone meaninglessly. He’d turned it down when the neighbour banged on the wall, turned it up again when he heard her leave for work; it doesn’t make him feel better either way but it beats being left alone with the litany of offenses that keep parading through his head.

His gentleman caller doesn’t seem dissuaded by the lack of response. “Akechi,” he says from the hall, “I know you’re in there, I can hear the TV. Open the door.”

Goro thinks about the last time he saw Kurusu’s face. (What he’d thought was Kurusu’s face.) The absurd amount of blood in a human head. The strange, cold mix of satisfaction and disappointment he’d felt at the time - that this was it, it was over, they were done with each other. He feels sick again.

Kurusu must be just delighted to have pulled all of this off.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

Goro does not want to see that smug fucking face but something compels him to stumble over to the door anyway. Maybe it’s the only way to get rid of him. He leaves the chain on the door, opens it a crack, and says, “You won, so leave me the hell alone.”

He tries to slam it, but Kurusu has already wedged the toe of his shoe into the gap. Goro sees him wince delicately at the pressure but all he says is, “I brought you curry.”

Of course he did.

Goro closes his eyes, leans into the doorframe, and tries to modulate his voice. “Why are you here, Kurusu? To rub my nose in it?”

“I needed to talk to you. And I wanted to see if you were okay. It… didn’t seem like you had anyone else who’d do that.” His tone is almost sympathetic. Goro can see the line of a mostly-healed cut on his cheek from the interrogation.

“Go to hell,” says Goro. He didn’t think he could feel even more humiliated, but here he is. He says, more to himself than anything, “I can’t believe you’re alive. I shot you.”

Kurusu just smiles - smiles! - and says, “If you let me in I’ll tell you how I did it.”

And what can he say to that? It’s a bit insulting to assume that Goro couldn’t figure it out himself, that he’s just dying to hear how cleverly he’d been hustled, but, well - he didn’t figure it out, although he would have if he hadn’t had more pressing problems. And he does need to know. So Goro stares at him for a moment (and Kurusu stares back, of course, that steady dark gaze behind almost-definitely-fake lenses, his face as inscrutable as ever) and then sighs in irritation. “Is it just you?”

“Just me,” says Kurusu, and holds his bag open in front of the door as proof. Not a magic talking cat to be seen. Great.

Goro bites his tongue hard and gives in. “Move your foot and I’ll open the door.”

He has lost so completely.



He watches Kurusu taking it all in - the tiny, sparse apartment (smaller than that awful attic of his - not unusual for Tokyo, but still, Goro had never wanted Kurusu to know about it) lit only by the blue glow of a screen and the sunlight leaking through the closed window shade. Goro’s uniform jacket is lying wrinkled on the floor next to a pile of used tissues. Goro himself must look pathetic, too: his eyes feel swollen and gluey, his nose running and raw. He wonders exactly how many of his worst secrets Kurusu must be thinking about when he looks at him.

How did you kill yourself, he finds himself wondering, without making anyone clean up after it? A river, maybe. A cliff over the sea. What else could he do to atone, to make up for it, to escape the way the world would look at him when they realized what he was?

Kurusu flips on a light and heads over to the kitchenette, pulling a plastic container out of his bag. Says, “Do you want the short version or the long?”

Goro winces in the sudden incandescent glare and says, “The short, obviously.”

“Could you turn off the TV?” says Kurusu.

“No.” Kurusu gives him a look, so Goro adds, more feebly than he likes, “I’m watching it.”

Kurusu looks flatly at the screen. “I didn’t take you for a big baseball fan.”

He’s not. The sound of it, the gentle predictable patter, makes him feel less like he’s trapped alone with his worst enemy. Second worst. Although maybe Kurusu surviving his own murder has shifted the rankings a bit. “Yeah, well. Go Swallows, right?” It’s good to know he can still lie, at least, but he can’t seem to harness the right tone anymore. His voice sounds like it’s on the verge of cracking.

“Sure,” says Kurusu, sounding deeply doubtful.

Goro slumps back down onto the floor, rests his forehead on his palm. “Just tell me.”

Kurusu gives him the whole story while he gets the meal ready. His voice is flat and calm the entire time; he doesn’t even sound a bit like he’s bragging, which makes it worse. And besides that, it’s a bit hard to concentrate on it all - not because of the stupid baseball game but because he can’t stop himself from thinking about how Akira Fucking Kurusu is currently discovering that Goro’s kitchen cupboards contain, in total, two plates, one set of chopsticks, a spoon, and two travel mugs. But he gets the gist.

The phone. The phone and the goddamn pancakes. He’s such an idiot.

When Kurusu’s done narrating, he sets a steaming plate on the table near Goro’s head, and sits down sideways in Goro’s desk chair. He hasn’t (presumably because of the chopstick situation) served any food for himself.

It smells incredible. And of course, because this week needed to get worse, something about that - maybe the impact of hearing what a fuck-up he was; maybe the indignity of this small kindness on top of everything else, like a consolation prize - makes something snap in him. He can feel his face contorting and tears, actual tears, start to brim. He covers his face with his hands in horror.

Don’t, not now, don’t FUCKING do it. The Phantom Thieves really have destroyed him. He hasn’t cried in front of another person since he was eight. He wants to wring his own neck.

“Oh,” says Kurusu behind him, because of course he noticed. “Oh. Um. Akechi-” A tentative hand on his shoulder. Goro pulls violently away and snarls, “Don’t touch me!” and then that’s it, he’s actually sobbing, doubled over and gasping for air. Everything has gone so monumentally wrong, his life is so monumentally wrong, and now all he has is the boy he’s hated and lusted after for months, back from the dead, feeding him home-made, microwaved curry.

Kurusu pulls back, hands up, apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Seriously,” Goro chokes out, “I don’t want you here. You shouldn’t want to be here, you moron, what is wrong with you? I...” He scrubs at his face furiously with the back of his hand. “All I can think about when I look at you is seeing you die, do you get that?”

Kurusu sits on the floor next to him. His voice is so, so quiet. “I do.”

“And I’d rather be brain-dead than feel this bad about it while you sit in my apartment, WATCHING.”

Kurusu doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t even understand how you did it,” Goro adds miserably when the silence becomes too unbearable. “None of you have Palaces, I checked, and the goddamn cat said you couldn’t have one if you had a Persona, so I thought I had to be fine. I thought I was so clever.” He laughs, harsh for once, the way he actually laughs when no one’s listening. It turns into a hiccup.

“It…” Kurusu sighs heavily. “We don’t know how it worked. It confused Mona a lot, if that makes you feel better. What we think happened is that… a Persona is supposed to be your true self, right? A version of you that you’ve accepted and, like, integrated into yourself. But there are some people - like me, and, I bet, you - who have more than one mask. Which means there’s other parts of your true self. That can become distorted. If that makes sense.”

Goro blows his nose, loudly. Fuck propriety. “It doesn’t. You sound like an idiot.” It’s hard to sound as withering as he’d like to, given that he’s still crying, but he gives it his best.

Naturally, Kurusu just smiles a little and shrugs. “That’s the best I’ve got.”

“Of course it is.” And honestly, it’s a pretty decent hypothesis, but Goro’s not going to tell him that.

After another silence, Kurusu leans forward and says, “Look. You do deserve to feel this bad. I’m sorry, but you do.”

Another bitter laugh forces itself out of Goro’s mouth. “Okay.”

“But you don’t deserve to be alone while you deal with it. So I’ll leave now if you want me to, but I’m coming back tomorrow. All right?”

Goro wipes his face with his sleeve and glowers at him: Great Akira the Moralizer, who knows exactly what everyone else deserves. Perfect, beloved Akira. “If I say no, will you bang on my door for an hour anyway?”


Goro sighs as dramatically as he can. “Fine. Get out.”

Kurusu nods solemnly and stands up. He looks like he’s about to say something else, or lean over to give Goro a masculine, heterosexual pat on the arm or some shit; but then he looks Goro in the eye and seems to decide against whatever it was, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Goro looks away, at the TV screen. Someone’s - scored, or whatever. Hurray.

He wants to sleep for a decade.

“Hey, Akechi-”

He turns his head just in time to see Kurusu throw Goro’s phone straight at him; somehow he manages to catch it, instead of it landing directly on his face, but it’s close. He’d turned it off and flung it at the wall hours ago, because it kept buzzing and he absolutely couldn’t deal with that. He’d kind of been hoping the impact had just broken it for good, but no such luck, of course.

Kurusu has the grace to look a bit apologetic about tossing it directly at his head, at least. He says, “You really should keep your phone on.”

“Just go,” says Goro.

He goes.



Akira: i’ve never seen anyone get meaner after their heart was stolen before btw
Goro: What can I say? I’m talented.
Akira: lol
Akira: you’re just not bullshitting me anymore. it’s interesting
Akira: see u tomorrow
Goro: I really wish you’d learn to type like a grown-up.
Akira: lmao
Akira: nite 😉
Goro: Fuck you.



For months before it happened, Goro daydreamed about killing Akira Kurusu. Not the way he was actually going to do it - the way he wanted to do it, secrecy and practicality be damned. It went like this:

You’re friends. You act like you’re slipping bits of information about yourself to him, bat your lashes and give him the big sad orphan eyes. (Everything you tell him is a lie, of course. If he knows anything real about you, that’s it, you’ve already lost.) You always stand a bit too close, lean a bit too far in, put your hand on his arm casually, like you don’t realise that it might mean something. You invite him to the movies or some shit.

And then, when this has been going on for - well, long enough, fantasies don’t really need an explicit timeline - you make your move. You find a way to be alone in that miserable attic with him and tell him something like Oh, Akira, you’re sooo special, the fact that you’ve never used a comb just turns me on so much, I can’t live with this secret eating away at me! I’m just so desperate for juvenile delinquent dick! Take me now!

(Maybe sometimes this part was a bit more earnest than that, but that’s awfully close to actually planning some kind of confession, don’t you think?)

But here is an essential part: before the idiot manages to stutter out an answer, you act all wounded again -oh Akira what was I thinking, you’d never want someone like me, I’m not worthy of you and anyway you definitely seem straight, how foolish I’ve been! Et cetera. Twist those heart strings, make him think about how bad he feels for you. Lean in just far enough that when he kisses you, he thinks it was his idea.

Don’t let it go too far yet. Leave him there to jerk off over the thought of you. (Something about this detail always got to Goro, made his toes curl.)

Play it out for as long as you want after that - you can fill in the details at your leisure. What it comes down to is the ending: straddling him on that sad little mattress, his cock deep inside you, and just as he’s about to come you wrap your hands around his throat, stare him straight in the eyes, and squeeze.

Don’t say anything. Hold him down. You’re almost the same size and build but you have surprise on your side; he’ll fight back, leave you with bruises to remember him by, but that’s part of the fun. Feel the vibrations of his larynx under your palms, watch the colour of his face change and the anger turn to fear. Let him spend those long final seconds looking at you, knowing that you beat him.

Usually that’s where it ended, but Goro let it go a bit longer sometimes: imagined Morgana, coming back from… wherever Goro’s imagination has banished him, whatever, who cares - coming back and finding him naked and stiff in his own bed. The shock and pain on his idiot friends’ faces. He could play up his own distress, maybe join the investigation? Maybe. Maybe that was a bit much.

It was overall a deeply adolescent fantasy, but hey, even Detective Princes have needs, right?



Kurusu comes by the next afternoon, like he said he would. Goro doesn’t get up when Kurusu starts knocking - thinks, bitterly, of making him wait at the door, to prove that Goro still has something resembling power in whatever this relationship is - but then it turns out he hadn’t actually locked his goddamn door the day before, so that’s a wash, and Kurusu just strolls right on in. At least it means Goro doesn’t have to get out of his futon.

Kurusu peers around the folding screen, the ugly one the previous tenants had left, down at Goro. “How are you feeling?”

He feels like he’s drowning in memories. He feels like bashing his own head in with a rock. He keeps thinking how fucking stupid he was, to convince himself that becoming Masayoshi Shido’s attack dog, his pet, doing his dirty work, was ever going to get him anything, ever going to make his life into something worthwhile. He’d felt so tangibly close to pulling off the long con, felt invincible; but why would he ever expect something to work out the way he wanted?

“I’m great,” he says. “Peachy. How are you.”

Kurusu’s doing that thing where he taps at the ground with one foot, so absently it seems like he’s not aware of it. “I got melon pan on the way here, if you want some.”

Goro is so, so tired. “Stop acting like I’m some… some wounded animal you have to feed until I get better.”

Kurusu looks at him. Goro feels like he must be thinking, Aren’t you? He says, “I told you yesterday what you wanted to know. I want to know how you’re doing. Seriously.”

“So you can report back to your little friends about it?” says Goro darkly.

Alarmingly, Kurusu seems to give that statement serious and measured consideration. “Partially,” he says after a moment. “Mostly because you’re a mess.”

Goro stares at him. Sits up. “You’re a total asshole when you want to be, Kurusu, do you know that?”

Kurusu tilts his head to the side a little. “I really don’t mean to be,” he says, and honestly that’s hard to fucking swallow, but. Well. Remember who he’s talking to.

Goro rolls away onto his side and covers his head with his pillow, as pointedly as he can. After a moment he hears the sound of Kurusu’s footsteps moving away. Good. Fuck off.

He wants to try to go back to sleep, but he knows there’s no point; he could barely sleep all night, despite how desperately he wants to. He’s not going to be suddenly able to relax now that Joker of all people is wandering around doing god-knows-what in his apartment. Even normally, he can never fall asleep when anyone else is around.

Still. It’s not like he wants to get up, either. So he closes his eyes and keeps thinking about Kurusu.

Goro has wondered a lot - more than he probably should have - what could have possibly made Kurusu the way he is. Not just what made him an intolerable busybody, so convinced that there's a right side to justice and he's on it (though Goro certainly wonders about that too), but - where did that preternatural calm come from, the cool predator stare? Goro knows a thing or two about facades, and as far as he can tell, that part of Kurusu isn't one. He’d made that clear in the interrogation room: take Joker’s mask off and you’ll still have Joker.

No wonder Kurusu saw through Goro so quickly. Goro had thought he was so special, the smartest guy in any room, a real life chosen one, but the idea seems so ludicrous to him now; he'd only ever grasped a fraction of the strength Kurusu so nonchalantly wielded. (Because Goro's pathetic, a monster, disposable trash -)

So how does a person, a child, get that way, in small town Kanto, with two parents? What could they possibly think of him? They’d sent him here - were they relieved to be temporarily rid of this strange force of nature in a teenager's body? Was he just a nuisance delinquent to them, ruining the family's reputation? Or did they actually love him?

And what the hell is he doing in Goro’s kitchen?

He gets up, follows the sound of running water into the kitchenette. To see-

“Are you doing my dishes?"

Kurusu turns around and says, “It was my fault they were dirty.” Which is true. “I kind of tidied up, too. I hope you don’t mind.”

Goro doesn’t have enough things for his apartment to get messy, which is sort of the point of not having things. Still. His sad little pile of tissues is gone and his jacket has been hung up, and everything else looks a bit more… arranged. It’s… nice? Really invasive and completely unnecessary. But it was nice of him.

So. Maybe he should try a bit harder. He leans against the cupboards.

“What happened to your hands?” says Kurusu - absently, but in a calculated sort of way, like he’s been waiting to bring it up. Goro looks down. They look better than they’d looked the day before, but they’re still a bit bruised and scraped from hitting the ground. He hadn’t realised it was very noticeable to other people.

“I fell,” he says, which is the most transparent shit in the world, but what is he going to say, I tried to follow you into my Palace and failed utterly and then lost my shit about it like a toddler? God. No. Absolutely not.

Kurusu looks a bit concerned but doesn’t pursue it, and maybe that’s what makes Goro decide to answer his question. “You… you wanted to know how I’m feeling,” he says.

Kurusu puts the towel he was holding down on the counter, and nods.

Goro takes a deep breath. He’s only saying this because there’s no one else in the world he can talk to, and because he feels so awful that if he doesn’t talk to someone he’s going to throw himself out of a window. He’s not saying it because he thinks Kurusu gives a shit about him or could possibly understand.

“When I was… when I was a kid, one of my foster families…” He’s not sure how to put it. He sighs and starts again. “They were pretty good, actually, but the woman, her father was a drunk. The nicest old man you’ve ever met when he was sober and the absolute meanest when he wasn’t.” He looks at Kurusu. He’s nodding again, which is incredibly annoying. “God, I’m not comparing myself to that part. What I mean is, he’d say all this shit one night and then the next day if anyone told him what happened he was just horrified. Legitimately, I think. Couldn’t remember it or understand why he’d said it, even though he clearly meant every word at the time.”

Kurusu says, “You feel like that.”

“Yeah. Except I remember everything I did.”

Kurusu looks thoughtful for a moment. “That was a good foster family?”

Well. What did he think was going to happen if he told anyone that shit. “Yeah, Kurusu, that’s it, you’ve figured me out. Great job. You’re the real detective here. You know that wasn’t my point.” He rubs the bridge of his nose miserably. “Shit, you’re just going to tell everyone that whole story, aren’t you.”

Kurusu says, “I’m good at keeping secrets,” like he’s fucking twelve years old and had been entrusted with the name of Goro’s first crush or something. “When I said I’d report back, I meant… generally. And I was kind of joking, too.”

Goro can’t help smiling a little. “You have a terrible sense of humour."

“No, I’m really funny,” says Kurusu, very solemnly. Goro snorts. “Are you sure you don’t want the melon pan?” he continues, holding up his bag. “I’m gonna eat it if you don’t.”

Goro’s already out of bed and talking to him, so. “Fine. Give it here.”

It’s really good. He’d barely touched the curry the other day. And apparently they’re just… hanging out in Goro’s kitchen, now, so with as much dignity as he can muster he hops up onto the empty countertop by the fridge. Watches Kurusu finish cleaning the plate and set it aside to dry. It’s not a bad sort of silence. He doesn’t mind it.

Then Kurusu turns to him and says, “I need you to tell me about Shido.”

Goro feels momentarily winded. He knew it. He knew it. Kurusu isn’t here to hear how he’s doing or keep him company. He just wants something from him. He’s exactly like everyone else in the world and Goro should know better than to be disappointed.


“You don’t need me to do anything,” he says, drawing himself up cold and stiff and as imposingly as he can. “You’re the big mastermind here, aren’t you? Figure it out yourself. You probably learned more than enough traipsing through my head, anyway.”

Kurusu’s expression has gone very still. “Calm down,” he says.

“No,” says Goro, and instantly regrets how childishly petulant he sounds, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “You just ruined my life, I’m not helping you with anything.”

“Well, you tried to kill me, so I think we’re about even.” Kurusu stands up straight from his slouch. His expression is obscured behind hair and lenses. He sounds like he’s being very careful about every word. “I’d think you of all people would want to help with this.”

Goro knows he deserves it but it sucks, it sucks, to have the murder attempt thrown in his face, like he could possibly forget that he’s a monster. It’s not even close to the worst thing he’s done. His jaw is so tense it hurts.

Kurusu says, “Whatever, dude. I thought…” He shakes his head minutely. “Whatever. We can talk tomorrow.”

He leaves. Or Goro thinks he does, until Kurusu adds from the door, sounding the most annoyed Goro’s ever heard him, “If this is your bike in the hall you’d better move it before it gets stolen.”

Goro looks at his balcony. His bike isn’t there. Shit.


“I’m coming,” says Goro, and stalks over to the door. Apparently he’d just thrown it against the hallway wall when he got back. He really doesn’t remember the process of getting home from his Palace at all. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“Why do you think?” says Kurusu. He sighs, heavily. “Look. I get that this sucks for you. I really do. Just… could you try to think of other people for once?”

Akira Kurusu is the most self-righteous, condescending, insufferable son of a bitch Goro’s ever had the misfortune to meet. “What, like you do?” Goro spits out. “Give me a fucking break, Joker, you don’t care about people. You just want to feel superior to them.”

Kurusu looks a bit taken aback. Good. “That’s not true,” he says.

“Really?” He moves forward, gets in Kurusu’s face, exploits what little height advantage he has as much as he can. Kurusu just stares at him and doesn’t blink. “No one forced you to try to get famous off this shit. No one needed to ever hear about the Phantom Thieves, you could have done everything completely in the shadows and you didn’t. And don’t blame your goddamn friends for that, we both know who’s in charge of your little operation. Do you really, seriously think you’re all that different from me?”

Kurusu squares his jaw and says, “I’m trying to be.” He takes one deliberate step back - I’m not intimidated by you, that movement says, I’m just done with this. “See you tomorrow, Akechi. Bye.”

Chapter Text

Akira: hey
Akira: can’t make it today after all
Akira: rly busy
Akira: hope not having to see me cheers you up lol
Akira: pls think about the shido thing
Akira: you KNOW it’s more important than how much you hate me



When Goro Akechi was almost sixteen, he dreamt of a royal blue crypt. It was cold, and drafty, and empty and not empty at the same time.

The memory of it tried to slip away from him when he woke, as dreams do, but something about it seemed special, different. So he clung to it as best he could, tried his hardest to piece it together: luminescent golden eyes, he remembers; a certain tune; a butterfly so black that it seemed like a hole in the world. And a voice that said, “You will find yourself in Mementos.”

He had been following his father for months at that point. He was still in the Metropolitan Assembly in those days, and most afternoons, after school, Goro would head down to where his office was, to do his homework in the cafe across the street and wait to see Shido emerge. He learned his habits, his subway route (Shido still took trains back then; Goro relished the few times he managed to get in the same car as him, overheard him complaining about colleagues on the phone). He learned where he lived. He didn’t know what he was going to do with any of this information yet, but he was smart. He’d figure it out.

One evening, waiting for his train home from the Assembly building, Goro found a strange app on his phone. Felt strangely compelled to open it. Thought of the word from his dream.

You know how this goes.

In the depths he met a man. He looked like the owner of the cafe Goro frequented, except his eyes were wrong. The man told Goro that he hated his wife, that she had their child to trap him, that all he thought about every day was beating both of their heads in until they shut the hell up for good. He said, how fucking dare you look at me like that, kid.

Something about him made Goro think about everyone he’d ever loathed, everyone who’d ever touched or hurt or abandoned him. The way he and his mother were treated like trash by everyone in the world, used and thrown away. The way she’d just accepted it. She’d thrown herself away, she’d finished the job. She hadn’t even had the decency to take him with her.

Which meant he was still here. He didn’t have to be the same.

The man shifted and changed. His mouth opened too wide.

The voice in his heart said, I’ve awaited thee for too long. Promise thyself to me, and thou wilt never again be held by the bonds of despondency. Yes. Good. I am thou and thou art I; and now we shall mix the mead of these men with malice.

It hurt more than anything else in his life. It felt like his brain was being wrenched out of his skull through his eye sockets. He was screaming and bloody and then he was stronger than he’d ever imagined was possible.

Loki defended him. He defended himself. He wanted to kill the man but Loki laughed and said, Thou canst do better than that; and so Goro reached out and took hold of something delicate inside the man’s heart and twisted it.

The man screamed for an eternity and then dissolved into shadow.

He got home far too late that night, but his foster father’s anger didn’t even matter because he knew he had been blessed. The next day at the cafe, he heard the waitresses say that their boss had been into an accident, driven his car straight into a moving cargo train; and Goro couldn’t stop himself from smiling because now he finally knew how to make his father learn his name.



It’s dark on the fourth day after Goro’s heart was stolen when Kurusu next shows up at Goro’s door. He knocks three times and Goro opens it because, well... he hadn’t loved being alone. He doesn’t say anything, though.

Kurusu doesn’t act like he’s still pissed, even though he must be. He says, “Hey,” very normally, and sprawls sideways in Goro’s desk chair again, and yawns wide. “Sorry,” he says when he’s done. Smiles sheepishly at him a little, takes a long swig out of the travel mug he’s carrying. Goro leans against the wall. He knows this act, he’s been feigning untouchability for years, and Kurusu knows he knows it, so what the hell is he trying to pull?

“How can you be ‘busy’ when you’re clearly not going to school?” Goro says after a moment, eyeing the hooded sweatshirt Kurusu’s wearing under his jacket. It’s sloppy and ordinary but somehow it kind of works for him. Or maybe Goro just likes seeing the dip of his clavicle.

Kurusu shrugs and says, “It’s a gift.”

“Hm,” says Goro. Crosses his arms. “You’re only skipping school to maintain the ruse of being dead, correct?”

“Correct, detective,” says Kurusu, although not mockingly - he sounds entertained, almost… fond.

“I could have called Shido and told him you were alive, you know. You could be totally wasting your time.”

Kurusu smiles big and dazzling at him. “You didn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t be bringing this up as a hypothetical if you’d actually done it,” he says, “and anyway, I don’t believe you’d do it to begin with, even if I hadn’t changed your heart. You always wanted to deal with me yourself. It’d ruin the game if you brought Shido into it directly. Right?”

Of course he’s right. He’s always right, isn’t he? Acting like he figured that shit out himself when he’s seen inside Goro’s head is fucking cheap. Goro glares at him and then blurts out, before he realises what he’s doing, “I need to shower.”

“Oh,” says Kurusu. “Okay.”

“I was about to,” he adds, “before you showed up.”

Kurusu shrugs a little. “Don’t let me stop you.”

He wasn’t actually about to shower but he does need to. Maybe he announced it because he wanted to get out of this weird conversation, which feels so much like the mid-stages of the cat-and-mouse game they used to play. Maybe he just feels like shit, being seen by Kurusu in the same clothes he’s been wearing for days with grease in his hair.

He doesn’t know how to leave the conversation gracefully, though that used to be a talent of his, so he just goes straight into the bathroom and locks the door. He turns just the cold water on and lets it go until he feels too numb to think. You’re going to make yourself sick, he thinks in his mother’s voice after a while, sharp and annoyed, and makes himself get out.

When he turns the water off it occurs to him that, well - he’d sort of thought, if he was ever undressed this close to Akira Kurusu, it’d be a bit more exciting, more of an… occasion, you know. Ha. Figures.

When he goes back into the main room, towel wrapped high like a girl for modesty’s sake, he intends to go straight behind the folding screen and get changed, but he can’t help looking over at Kurusu. Just to make sure he hasn’t started sorting Goro’s books in gojuon order, or something equally intrusive and bizarre.

What he finds is that Kurusu has moved the chair just far enough to lean back against the wall, using one hand as a cushion for his head, with his eyes shut firm and his glasses tucked into the neck of his shirt. Goro can’t imagine how he could possibly be able to doze off like this, in the home of his literal enemy, no matter how declawed that enemy might be. But then, he’s pretty sure he once saw Kurusu sleep standing up on a packed subway platform and jolt to full attention the moment his train arrived.

His face looks naked, without glasses or a mask; bare and young and frustratingly attractive. He has the longest eyelashes Goro’s ever seen on a boy.

Kurusu shifts. Opens his eyes and looks straight into Goro’s, blinking lazily at him like a cat.

Goro turns his head immediately, as if that would disguise the fact that he’d been staring at Kurusu in a towel like a total lunatic, and walks briskly but not too briskly behind the folding screen. Pulls it completely closed. Sits on the floor and buries his face in his hands.

The day before had been… bad. The worst day he’d had since this bullshit started, which was saying something. He’d been mostly holding himself together until Kurusu had cancelled, and then it had hit him that there was absolutely nothing else in his life anymore. Just himself, and his past, and his gun, and a phone that keeps ringing which he can’t bring himself to answer.

He has to fucking get it together.

He stands up and puts on the first shirt and khakis he grabs, and towels his hair until it stops dripping. Reaches automatically for his cologne, but it’s the one Shido bought him (or rather, gave him a 10,000 yen note and told him to buy, because he didn’t want to work with anyone who smelled like a drugstore), so… maybe not. And maybe it’s weird, anyway, to put cologne on when you have someone over, especially if you have a fraught relationship with that person. He imagines it: Kurusu instantly just assuming that Goro put cologne on for him because what else could it be for, it’s not like he’s left his apartment recently. Yeah, no. None of that, thank you.

And then he goes back into the main room with as much dignity as he can muster and says to Kurusu, who’s drinking from his travel mug with one hand and holding his phone in the other, “How much do you know about Shido?”

Kurusu looks up at him. Puts the phone down on Goro’s desk and swallows his coffee hastily. “Um,” he says. Counts out each point on his fingers. “He’s popular. He’s been rising in politics for about a decade. He’s a litigious rapist.”

Goro wants to punch him in the throat. “That’s not funny.”

“I know it isn’t, I’m not joking.” Kurusu looks exasperated. “I’m sorry if that sounded glib. I’m just tired. And it is the literal first thing I ever learned about him, you know.”

Ugh. Okay. “And?” he says.

“And he’s your father,” says Kurusu, a bit reluctantly, like it’s just occurring to him that calling someone’s dad a rapist to their face is a minefield. “And he was using you.”

“I was using him,” says Goro, as firmly as he can. It’s true. He needs it to sound true.

Kurusu says, “Okay. Sure.”

“What does that mean?”

Kurusu looks as tired as Goro feels, which is kind of satisfying, at least. “It means sure, Akechi. I’m trying really hard to get along with you today, man, can we please just have a normal conversation for once?”

Goro hugs his arms and wishes he had more than one chair, or that Kurusu would stop taking his. “I don’t-” he begins, and then his phone, on the desk next to Kurusu’s, vibrates. Insistently. It’s ringing.

Kurusu looks at it and looks at Goro and a light goes into his eyes. He says, very quickly, “He’s been calling you and you haven’t been answering.”

“Yes,” says Goro, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Kurusu grabs it, holds it out to Goro, suddenly fast and alert. “You need to answer it.”

“I do not need to-”

“You do, he’s dangerous and now he’s pissed at you. Do it.”

“I can’t talk to him when I’m... when I’m the way I’ve been,” Goro says. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to return calls to his stupid school.

“Crow, you are the greatest bullshitter I’ve ever met, you have to answer this phone.” And Goro knows he’s only calling him by his stupid codename to be manipulative, to remind him of when they worked together, to make him feel like part of his team-

He takes the phone. Takes a deep breath and answers it. “Hello.”

“It’s about time, Akechi,” says Shido. “Do you seriously think I have time to be chasing after a kid who won’t return my calls? Do you think that’s my priority right now?”

“No, sir,” says Goro. His throat feels thick. “I’m sorry. I’ve been sick.”

“Let me tell you something about the real world, Akechi,” says Shido. “In the real world, no one cares if you’re sick or miserable or if your leg’s just been sawn off. You still show up to work and you return your damn calls. If you were half as mature as you pretend to be you’d already know that.”

“Yes sir,” he says, and gestures frantically at Kurusu to get out of his fucking chair before his legs collapse. Kurusu stares blankly at him for a moment before getting up, and Goro falls into the chair with cold relief. “I’m really sorry, sir.”

“Now,” says Shido. Sighs. “I need you to do another favour for me.”

“Oh,” says Goro, and closes his eyes. “Wh-what might that be?” That stutter. Awful.

“It’s about the loyal customers of our… business,” he says. “How about you take care of all the ones that seem suspicious? As many as you need to.”

Everyone who’d wanted someone out of their lives. Well, honestly - they’re all suspicious. Although he means any that are potentially threatening to him, of course. He says, stupidly, “Right now? With the election coming up?”

“Yes, the sooner the better,” Shido says.

That’s so many people. He wants him to kill so many people. “But- wouldn’t it look fishy, sir, if a large number of people were… were taken out of commission just before-”

“Are you,” says Shido smoothly, “talking back to me?”

Shit. “No, sir,” he says, fast. “I’m just concerned about how this might affect your chances. I understand why you might be-” Don’t insult him, for the love of God don’t accidentally insult him- “-uneasy, but surely it would be less risky to wait until after the election, when things calm down.”

Shido is silent for a moment. Then he says, “You disappear for days and then you argue with me. Interesting. Have you become some kind of campaign advisor while you weren’t answering your phone? Are you an elections expert now?”

“No... sir.”

“No,” says Shido, and laughs and adds, “you’ve never even voted.”

Goro laughs too, as accommodatingly as he can. “This will be the first time, sir, you’re right.”

“So maybe, Akechi, you should listen to your elders and take your damn orders. Do you have any other opinions you want to share with me?”

“No, sir,” says Goro. His chest hurts. “I’m, ah - again, I’m very sorry. Consider that favour done.”

“I should hope so,” says Shido, and hangs up.

Goro lets the phone fall onto the desk. Presses a hand to his mouth.

Kurusu says, from very far away, “Okay. Okay, that was good. Hey.” He’s half-kneeling in front of Goro now, so that his face is just below eye-level, and carefully takes Goro’s free hand in one of his. Goro looks down at him. Tries to get him into focus. “Hey,” Kurusu repeats, “that was really good.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Goro says, and hates how strained his voice sounds. He hopes it wasn’t like that when he was talking to Shido, he thought it wasn’t, he used to be so good at being in control, but...

“I’m serious, Akechi.” Kurusu smiles. “From one bullshitter to another, that was fantastic.” Goro must still look dubious, because he adds, “If it was me… I just deny things, act all vapid, you know? And I’m really good at that but I can’t really hold a conversation like you just did.”

Goro can’t think of a response to that for what feels like far too long. Eventually he says, “You held conversations with me.”

“You’re a special case,” says Kurusu.

Goro’s not in the mood for deciphering Joker’s weird deadpan bullshit. He looks down at their hands. Kurusu’s grip is so light he can hardly feel it but his thumb is stroking the back of Goro’s hand.

“Do you... usually react like this after you talk to him?” Kurusu says, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Goro snorts, doesn’t quite look him in the eye, and pulls his hand out of Kurusu’s grasp. “No, because usually I haven’t had all this...” He gestures vaguely, as if he can encapsulate it all in a hand movement. “This shit going on.”

Kurusu makes a soft, thoughtful noise.

Goro hesitates. Admits it. “Sometimes I do. But, I mean.” He tries to force his voice to sound calm, dismissive. It only half works. “Usually, it’s fine. It’s just... well. No one likes getting yelled at.”

“That’s definitely true,” says Kurusu, a smile in his voice, which makes Goro feel a bit guilty. But that’s not the most pressing issue.

“He wants me to kill more people, Kurusu. A lot more. Even before I wouldn’t have wanted to.” He wasn’t a psychopath, or at least he probably wasn’t. He’s thought about it a lot, and not just in the past few days. It’s important for Kurusu to know that he’s probably never been a psychopath.

“Okay,” says Kurusu. He doesn’t look surprised, but he doesn’t look very collected either, for once. He looks like he’s thinking very hard. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?” says Goro. “He’s going to keep calling me. Me, not ‘us’.

Kurusu says, “Meet with the rest of us. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so after school. Leblanc. The sooner we deal with Shido the better, especially if he’s getting paranoid; we can all help each other.” He’s seconds from falling into the faux-concerned counsellor voice Goro remembers from after his mother died. Help us help you.

Still. Maybe it’s worth a try. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It seems more likely that it’ll be a fucking disaster, but what else is he doing with his time now? He nods, regretting it even as he does.

Kurusu beams. “I’ll come pick you up,” he says, like it’s a date.

“You know I know where Leblanc is,” Goro says flatly.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure you actually show up,” says Kurusu, still smiling. “No offense.”

“Right.” Because he’s a child who needs to be chaperoned. A dog who needs to be kept on a leash. Great.

Maybe he’s just always going to be someone’s dog. Maybe he just has to deal with that.



The first thing Goro says when Kurusu arrives the next day is, “This is an awful idea, Kurusu, haven’t you thought about it?”

Kurusu gets a look on his face like he thinks Goro is just being dramatic, or trying to get out of it, but Goro continues, pacing around the room. “Someone’s going to recognize me on the street. They always do. And if they recognize me they’ll look at you, and - and even if they don’t, someone’s bound to take pictures. The pair of us will be all over the internet.” He snaps his fingers. “Instantly. And then we’re both fucked.”

“Oh,” says Kurusu. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m not suddenly stupid now that I’m- I’m like this.” He feels stupid all the time now, actually, like the biggest moron on the planet, but he can’t stand the thought of Kurusu agreeing with that.

“I didn’t think you were,” says Kurusu - genuinely, not in annoyance or obligation. He presses a finger to his lips thoughtfully for a moment, and then says, “Do you own a hoodie?”

Goro stops pacing and stares at him.

Kurusu laughs a little. “Right. Stupid question. Take mine.” And then he takes his jacket off, unzips his grey sweatshirt. His t-shirt is a bit bunched up underneath it, and Goro catches a glimpse of the pale skin of his abdomen for a second before Kurusu adjusts it and holds out the hoodie. He says, “Come on, Akechi. It has to be something that’s not your style, right?”

“I suppose,” says Goro, not reaching for it. “You’ll still be noticeable, though.”

“I’ll just be a kid who looks a bit like the dead Phantom Thief. Weird but not inexplicable. I wouldn’t pay all that much attention to that if I was just a member of the public - would you?”

“Hm,” says Goro. “I hope you’re right.” He takes the sweatshirt. Puts it on, self-consciously, over his button-up.

Kurusu looks amused by his reluctance. “You must have worn a hoodie before, Akechi. You weren’t born in a school uniform.”

“You don’t know that,” says Goro, but smiles. “Of course I have, it’s just... not something I was going to waste my clothes budget on.” Because the first money of his own he could ever spend on clothes was from Shido, and he had to be professional, and anyway it’s not like he wanted to keep wearing sloppy third- and fourth-hand clothes if he didn’t have to. He needed as much distance between himself and that part of his life as possible. So.

He zips it up. Says to Kurusu, who’s looking at him appraisingly, “How bad is it?”

“What? Not bad at all. I’m not going to insult you for wearing my clothes, dude.” He walks over to Goro and moves in a bit too close, but all he’s doing is pulling the hood up over his head, adjusting it a little. Gently nudging strands of Goro’s hair back. The fabric of the hood smells intensely like coffee, and also like teen boy, but not in a bad way. “There,” Kurusu says, not stepping away, one hand resting on Goro’s shoulder like he’s forgotten it. He smiles. “Seriously, it looks good on you. You can keep it if you want, I have another.”

“Maybe,” Goro says. He’s not sure what to do with this, with how unnecessarily kind Kurusu is being, with how comfortable it is - has been lately, even when Goro’s fucking furious; maybe always has been - to talk to him. Kurusu’s face is so close to his. He could lean forward and kiss him so easily, he’d barely have to move. He won’t. It’d be a nightmare if he did. But he could.

Kurusu tilts his head. Gets a look on his face, the I just figured out how to get past this locked door look. Says, “Actually -” and takes his glasses off and holds them out.

“Are you kidding?” says Goro.

“I just want to see,” says Kurusu. He slips the glasses onto Goro’s nose, and Goro reaches up to help adjust them because, well, what else is he going to do? Their fingers brush but Kurusu doesn’t seem to react so Goro tries not to either.

The lenses are exactly as fake as Goro’s always suspected. Kurusu steps back a little and looks absolutely delighted with himself.

“You’re an asshole,” Goro says.

“No, I promise I’m not making fun of you. You look cute. You should take a look.” And Goro could think about this damn boy calling him cute, or he could go look in the mirror, so he goes into the bathroom.

He looks… fine. Goro wouldn’t call it cute, himself, but that’s not a descriptor he particularly cares for in general, so whatever. He mostly thinks he looks uncomfortable, and like he needs either a nap or several litres of coffee, but he doesn’t… hate it. And he doesn’t look much like he does on TV, which is the important thing.

Something occurs to him. He says, loudly so it carries into the main room, “Wait - did you have these on in your mugshots?”

Kurusu appears in the doorway. “Oh. No, I didn’t.”

“You should keep them, then.”

“Good thinking,” says Kurusu, though he sounds a bit disappointed.

The weather that day is crisp and sunny, though cold enough that Goro regrets not wearing his gloves, cold enough that Kurusu hunches over and shoves his hands in his pockets even more than usual. Goro feels like he’s missed a huge part of the change of seasons, even though it hasn’t even been a week since this all started. Everyone else’s lives kept going and he just... stayed inside and thought about death and waited for Kurusu to show up at his door. It’s so fucking pathetic, when he lays it out like that. He’s so pathetic.

Maybe he should just think about how nice it is to be on the train, with Kurusu, and with no one recognizing him. He feels a bit like he’s some paranoid, aging ex-celebrity, actually, with the absolute lack of attention he’s getting - like he was being absurd to worry in the first place. Maybe he’s just a total has-been loser now. Maybe he was just so good at curating his public image that no one could possibly imagine him in casual clothes, so this is actually an accomplishment. Whatever.

A huge group of middle school girls are in their train car, so they don’t get seats; but the crowd presses Kurusu’s shoulder lightly against Goro’s back, and they listen to the girls chat about their teachers, and test scores, and boyfriends, until they reach Yongen-Jaya.

“Hey, Akechi,” says Kurusu as they leave the subway station. “Since you have more than one Persona-” (he says this so confidently, even though Goro’s positive he never confirmed it to him; his Shadow clearly had one hell of a blabbermouth) “-you must have met…” He draws his fingers in front of his face, like he’s indicating a long nose. What? Is this a weird joke about his mask?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Goro blankly. And beyond that... when he tries to think about what Kurusu just said, it feels like his thoughts are slipping away from him, like water off a steep roof.

“Oh,” says Kurusu, and shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Of course not. Never mind.”

Leblanc is closed when they reach it. Before Kurusu opens the door, Goro takes the hood off and finger-combs his hair until it feels presentable. “You ready?” says Kurusu, smiling a little.

Of course he isn’t. He pats his hair down one last time and says, “Let’s just go in.”

It’s only Takamaki, Sakamoto, and Morgana, sitting at one of the booths. Sojiro Sakura isn’t there. The three of them were clearly in the middle of a conversation, but the instant the door opens they go quiet and stare. At Goro, mostly, of course. Goro can’t read their expressions. He stands, uncomfortably, by the door.

“Hey,” says Kurusu, striding behind the counter. “You guys want coffee?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” says Takamaki, a bit too perkily, not taking her eyes off Goro. “Cream and sugar.”

“None for me,” says Sakamoto, and holds up his can of cola, and now really isn’t the time for Goro to let himself get annoyed over absolutely nothing but good god, the guy has the palate of a six-year-old, what on earth does Kurusu see in this guy? What about him could be remotely appealing to someone like Joker? How did the Phantom Thieves end up with a dumb punk like him a central part of their stupid fucking group?

“Akechi?” says Kurusu. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” he says. “Black.”

“I know,” says Kurusu.

“You can sit down, Akechi,” says Morgana, who’s standing on the booth table between Takamaki and Sakamoto. “We won’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” says Sakamoto, and laughs, and says “No, dude, I’m kidding. Sit down.” Goro hates him. But he feels stupid standing by the door like this, so he sits uncomfortably at one of the high bar stools at the counter, facing towards the group. They probably wanted him to sit at the booth, but that’s not his problem.

They sit in silence, listening to Kurusu make coffee. Eventually Goro says to Kurusu, because someone has to say something, “Sakura’s not here?”

“Boss and Futaba-chan decided they didn’t want to see you, so they went to the movies,” says Takamaki, even though he clearly hadn’t been addressing her. “Um. No offense.”

“Right,” Goro says. That’s fair. That’s a bit of a relief, in fact, even though it stings. The thought of seeing Futaba Sakura and Haru Okumura has been making him feel genuinely nauseous.

“Sorry, Akechi, we’re way early,” says Kurusu from behind the coffee machines. “I factored a bit too much time in for getting here, I guess.” He must have been expecting Goro to make even more of a fuss than he did, which is humiliating. “Everyone else should be here soon.”

There’s another painfully long silence. Kurusu sets a cup of coffee on the counter for Goro, and another on the table for Takamaki. He watches her pour extra cream and sugar into her cup until it’s not coffee-coloured anymore.

“So uh,” says Sakamoto. “You feel… different?”

“That’s a stupid question,” says Goro. “Would I be here if I didn’t?” Kurusu sits on a stool too, with his own cup, not next to him but one over.

Morgana looks up from licking his front paw and says, “I thought you were here because Akira twisted your arm.”

He doesn’t… like the idea of Kurusu talking about him with them. At all. He knew he must, that’s what people with friends do, but he still can’t bear it. He snaps, “I’m here because apparently you idiots need help doing your own fucking jobs,” and takes a pointed drink of his coffee. It’s superb, which is unsurprising but irritating.

Takamaki and Sakamoto exchange a long glance, and then Sakamoto says, “Dude, the real you is super rude, huh?”

“I thought it was just your Shadow,” says Takamaki in surprised agreement. The irony of the hooligan and the American (or... whatever she is) thinking he’s bad-mannered, no matter how correct they might be, doesn’t escape him.

“I did tell you,” says Kurusu, lightly.

Goro’s jaw seems to involuntarily clench. “Did you,” he says. He looks at them, their wide-open expressions. Looks at Kurusu, who has his blank face on. “Should we go over exactly how much you’ve said about me?” He can imagine it. You should have seen him cry, guys. Shido called and he looked like he was about to shit himself. Every time I touch him he’s SO into it, he practically loses his mind, it’s hysterical. He knows this is uncharitable, unlikely, but… but still.

“Oh,” says Takamaki, just cheerfully dismissive enough for it to sound suspicious, “he really didn’t tell us anything, Akechi.”

“Yeah, dude, he’s a closed book.” Sakamoto doesn’t sound like he’s bullshitting, at least. Morgana makes a noise of agreement.

Kurusu finishes a long, unperturbed sip of coffee and says, “I told them you’d probably be pretty hostile, but you’re just like that. And you don’t really mean most of what you say. That’s all.”

“It’s just a surprise, actually seeing it in real life,” adds Takamaki, the way you talk about seeing an animal in the wild for the first time. “You know?”

Goro doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just kind of huffs and drinks his coffee. He feels strangely hurt, though he shouldn’t be; it’s not like Kurusu was going to tell them, Oh, he’s a delight to be around.

At least they all seem earnest. That doesn’t mean they are, but they’re doing a good show of it, at least.

The bell at the door jingles. They all turn to look in sync. It’s Okumura, alone, looking drawn and anxious and tiny in that huge pink sweater of hers. “Oh no, am I late?” she says, very softly, not looking directly at Goro.

“These guys were all early,” says Morgana. “Come sit down.”

Takamaki pats the empty booth cushion next to her. “Did you see Makoto or Yusuke?”

“Makoto said she’d be running late. Um, something about college acceptance, I think. I don’t know about Yusuke-kun.” Okumura gives Goro a very wide berth when she moves to sit next to Takamaki. He watches Takamaki intertwine her arm with Okumura’s and squeeze her hand reassuringly, watches Morgana hops up onto her shoulders.

They wouldn’t be acting like that if Goro wasn’t here. Why is he here? They all know he’s not needed. All he’s doing is making this girl, who he barely even knows, completely miserable. Because he’s the monster who killed her dad without blinking. Who, he remembers suddenly, still has the video of her father’s death saved to his laptop, what the hell is wrong with him?

He should definitely just leave.

The girls chat for a little bit, uncomfortably, about mundane things - school, college applications. Goro isn’t really listening. And then there’s another extended pause, and Okumura says, “Akechi.”

He looks at her. She’s still pale and tense but she’s looking directly at him now and her jaw is set very firm. She says, “I… I didn’t want them to change your heart. I thought I’d changed my mind, which is why they did it, but I haven’t. I wish you’d died. I’d trade your life for my father’s in a second.”

“Haru…” Morgana begins, sounding alarmed.

“No, I’m not done,” she says. He wonders if she’s rehearsed this. Probably. She’s pausing between every sentence to take a breath, like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded, stopping her from screaming. “I was so excited to finally have a real relationship with my father, even if he was in jail. And then you ruined it. For your father. They told me that was why. But I don’t… I just don’t care, Akechi. I don’t care what your reasons were, I don’t care if you feel bad now, and I don’t want to work with you. Akira-kun thinks there’s good in you and maybe he’s right but I do not care.

No one moves for a moment.

Goro feels like ice. He takes a deep breath and hears himself say, flat and cold, “I don’t care about a spoiled rich brat mourning her tyrant daddy, so I guess we’re even.”

The others’ voices raise suddenly in protest, but Okumura just stares at him. She looks so sad. It’s not… satisfying. He didn’t even mean it. So he stands up and adds, bitterly, “I wish I’d died too, for the fucking record,” and goes out the door.

He’s only a few metres from Leblanc when Kurusu catches up to him. Of course. The guy’s ninety percent leg, did Goro really expect to outpace him?

“Akechi, wait.” He grabs Goro by the wrist, forcing him to stop so he can flinch out of Kurusu’s grip.

“Oh my god,” Goro says, turning to face him, “could you please just leave me alone for five minutes?” The weird old man with the radio who’s always there is staring at them.

“No, I can’t,” says Kurusu, very tensely. “What the hell was that?”

That was something that was obviously going to happen if you put us both in the same room, genius,” he says, but this flare of anger makes him feel awful too. He needs to calm down before he loses it again, so he says, as carefully as possible, “Look. I don’t want to talk to you about it in the middle of the street. Go take care of your friend. Bye.” But before he can turn and leave, Kurusu has actually grabbed him by the shoulders and is pulling him through a gate in the wall leading to - a laundromat? Really? This was here the whole time? How had he never noticed?

“There,” says Kurusu, standing pointedly between Goro and the doorway. He’s nearly in full Joker mode, unruffled and authoritative and the most righteous bastard on the planet. Goro can’t fucking stand it. “We’re not in the street. Tell me why you think talking to Haru like that is okay.”

Goro just says, “I knew this was a bad idea,” and smiles joylessly wide at Kurusu. “I knew it, Futaba Sakura knew it, I’m sure Okumura knew it, but you had to do it anyway, didn’t you? What kind of point are you trying to prove? I don’t have anything to add, Kurusu. We’re not friends, I’m never going to be part of your group. I’m just a fucked-up psycho who never means anything he says, right? So I don’t know what you expected.”

Kurusu is just staring at him. He’s so tired of being looked at.

“I’m leaving,” Goro says, softly. The way he learned to speak quietly, to make people lean in and pay attention, in his old life. “Let me past.”

Kurusu shakes his head and says, “No, we’re still talking-”

“Let me past.” He does his best to push by Kurusu but the guy is like a mountain, unmovable; all he does is put his hands on Goro’s shoulders again (Goro hasn’t been touched this much by anyone in - well - this isn’t like those times, but -) and hold him back, gently, paternalistically. So Goro shoves.

Kurusu stumbles back, hits the doorframe hard with his shoulder. Looks up at him. There’s a sudden hot glint in his eye, and then, taking Goro completely by surprise, he shoves him back, hard.

Goro doesn’t fall but it’s close. The laundromat is too small for him to go very far anyway - he just ends up struggling to catch himself on the dryers. His wrist twists painfully on impact. Kurusu’s stepping towards him and he looks angry, legitimately furious, finally; and Goro can’t help himself, he starts laughing from the sheer relief of actually getting a reaction out of him, the honesty of knowing he’s being looked at like the scum he is.

He reaches out and steadies himself on the lapel of Kurusu’s jacket. And then -

And then something comes over him and he pulls himself close and kisses Kurusu hard on the mouth.

Kurusu goes very, very still. They stay like that, for a long ridiculous moment, Kurusu’s lips soft and closed under Goro’s, until Goro pushes himself violently away. He hears himself start laughing again, high and hysterical, like it’s a different person. He’s done it, he’s figured out how to get Kurusu to leave him alone and all he had to do was tear his own heart out and let Kurusu stomp on it. He finds himself staggering backwards, leaning against the dryers again.

“What is wrong with you,” Kurusu says, finally. He’s lifted his fingers to his lips self-consciously, like he’s trying to wipe Goro away. Goro can’t see his eyes under that thick shock of hair. “This isn’t funny.”

Goro presses his hands to his own mouth, tries to will himself to stop cackling. It kind of is funny, though, is the problem.

“What’s going on?” says a voice from behind Kurusu. Kitagawa, peering in alarm over his shoulder. Sakamoto and Niijima-the-younger are with him. They can’t have seen what happened, though. The rest must still be inside, talking to Okumura.

Kurusu just stands there, hand at his mouth, unmoving. Staring at him.

Sakamoto says, in what he probably intends to be a whisper, “Look, dude, he’s completely unstable.” Something about that sets Goro off again, though it’s not funny, none of it is. His stomach muscles are starting to cramp and his eyes are watering so hard he might actually just be crying. They all keep looking at him like he’s a feral dog that might bite. Unstable is right. Dropping his voice a bit more, Sakamoto adds, “I don’t think… there’s no way we can do the Palace with him, is there?”

“Akira, what happened?” says Niijima Junior.

Kurusu shakes his head minutely and turns to his friends and says, “Ryuji’s right. We should just go in tomorrow. We can figure it out.” He looks over at Goro again and says, “Akechi...” but he doesn’t seem to know how to finish the thought.

What a mess he’s made. It’s long past time to make an exit. Goro wipes his eyes and says through giggles, as flippantly as he can, “I’m going to go. This was a fun afternoon, kids. See you later.” None of them protest, of course.

When he stands up straight they all practically scramble to get out of his way, except Kurusu, who just moves as languidly as ever to the side of the doorframe. He’s still a bit in the way, so Goro bumps his shoulder roughly on the way out, just to make a point and... Goro might be wrong, it’s a tiny, tiny movement, but he could swear he sees Akira Kurusu flinch.

Took him long enough.

Chapter Text

Haru: I'm sorry I said all that, Akira-kun. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it first. I didn't think I was going to actually say it but then I just saw him there drinking coffee with us like it was normal and all I could think of was the way my father died.
Haru: Akechi is a murderer. He killed my father and Futaba's mother. He shot you in the head and then he went on a talk show. How is that okay with you?
Akira: it obviously isn't but that doesn't make saying you wished he was dead okay either
Akira: that's such a messed up thing to say to someone haru i don't get it
Haru: I really am sorry.
Haru: I just miss my father so much all the time.
Haru: I don’t know what to do.
Akira: i know. i’m sorry.
Akira: but like
Akira: you miss him because you believe he was a good person underneath, right?
Akira: maybe akechi's the same. maybe he deserves a second chance too
Akira: are you still there?
Haru: He can have a second chance far away from me. You wouldn’t have social calls with Kamoshida or Madarame, right? Because they hurt your friends. And I thought I was your friend too.
Haru: Sorry.
Haru: I just think I need a break from this, Akira.

Akira: did you mean it
Akira: about wanting to be dead i mean
Akira: akechi answer your texts
Akira: dude come on
Akira: i know you’re reading these
Akira: akechi
Goro: That’s the part you want to ask about, huh?
Goro: Of course I meant it. People mean things like that all the time. Don’t act like it’s shocking.
Goro: And stop texting me.



Goro puts the TV on immediately when he gets home, but Shido is everywhere today. Interviews, news segments. And it’s not like Goro has cable. So he digs out his old VHS of The Phantom Menace, because, look, sometimes you just need to watch something, and remembering that he stole it from his first foster family when they got rid of him always cheers him up. And honestly, everyone’s wrong, it’s a pretty okay movie. It took him a very long time to figure out how to connect his second-hand VCR to a normal television, back when he got this apartment, but it was worth it. He likes the way the tape has degraded from being watched so many times, the way the music is slightly out of tune.

When he finally falls asleep on the floor to the sound of the VCR rewinding, Goro dreams of the crypt again.

It feels strangely real for a dream, genuinely cold and musty, but the light is an unreal blue. And she’s there, sitting on a stone slab amid the urns in her sundress, her feet bare and filthy. “Good to see you again, my little killer,” she says, and smiles. “It’s been a while.”

“Mom?” he says, before he can stop himself.

She tilts her head. “What do you think?”

Goro hesitates. Then says, “No,” though she seems so real, far more than the cognitive version of her did. There’s something wrong in more than in her language. Maybe her smile is too untroubled. “You’re something else.”

“I knew you were a clever one, Goro Akechi,” she says, sounding pleased.

“Stop wearing her face,” he says, mouth dry. “It’s cruel.”

She laughs. Something about her appearance shifts, only a little at first and then all at once; and she's Masayoshi Shido, and then Akira Kurusu, and for a second between each form there's just shadow. Not a Shadow like the things in Palaces, but empty deep blackness. A void.

"Stop it," he says.

The thing shifts one more time, and then it's him, Goro Akechi, looking coiffed and confident. It smiles wide with his mouth. "How about this? Oh, but this one is the worst, isn't it? You don't want to see this face. But it'll have to do."

Like Goro wasn’t already having a shitty day. This dream is terrible. And he doesn’t fucking believe that a creepy dream shapeshifter is mysteriously only limited to forms that will rile him up, but whatever. “What do you want?” he demands.

The thing leans forward and steeples its fingers. “I knew a child like you once, Goro Akechi. So angry, so lost, so in love... so consumed with daddy issues,” it adds, and laughs a little when Goro grimaces. It’s using his TV laugh, the affable chuckle he practiced for hours. “You see my point.”

“No,” Goro says. “No I fucking don’t, are you planning to get to it any time soon?”

“So vulgar,” the thing purrs. “He wasn’t like that. It’s very transparent, little lion, don’t you realise? No one will ever respect you again if you keep going around talking like that.” Goro opens his mouth, but the thing continues, “Oh, but you’re so hurt, aren’t you? You’ve been so wronged, you have no time for any kind of pleasantries. There’s no point in being polite to anyone if it won’t get you anything, eh? Though you haven’t even found out if I have anything to give.” It pauses. Shakes its head. “But I digress. My point, my defanged little killer, was that he, the other one, let me down, when we knew each other. But the similarities got me thinking.

“Let me spell it out for you, little fox. Some colleagues of mine are… testing humanity, as my colleagues are wont to do. As for me… call me an interested third party. A retired sportsman who still follows the game from time to time. I thought I knew how things were working out - and they were quite in my favour, actually - but your little friend went off-book. For you. Which is nauseatingly sweet, don’t get me wrong, but now…” It shrugs. “Well. And then I looked at you. Looked at where you’re going.

“There are so many paths you have walked, Goro Akechi. So many ends. In most of them, you die at your father’s hand - through the creations of his heart or via one of the dogs he keeps in addition to you. Poetic, perhaps, but a waste. In others, you stagnate and despair and finally choose to follow your mother. Even more of a waste; and not a road even you want, though you may tell yourself you do.”

“Why,” says Goro, “are you telling me this? What are you?”

It smiles. “I’m a lot of things. The Crawling Chaos, they called me once. A bit melodramatic. But all I want is to keep you in the proverbial race, my dear. Just think of this as a pep talk. Now - tell me, little lion, what are the desires these Phantom Thieves have stolen from you?”

Goro blinks in the sudden silence before realising the thing is expecting a genuine answer. “Uh,” he says. “The… the desire to kill people? Obviously?”

“Oh come on,” it says, “didn’t I just say you were smart?”

Goro thinks, and says, “My ambition,” and as he says it, it feels like he’s known it the whole time. “Ambition for revenge.”

“Mm,” says the thing. “That’s the one. Only that, really. Oh, sure, the first one too, but they’re connected, you see. It’s not so great a loss as you seem to think. And similarly, you think your Joker -” and it chuckles again, as if at some private joke - “you think he’s got so much more than you, but you’ve had the same powers all along. You’ve been too myopic to even notice.

“You are more than a defeated pawn, is what I’m trying to tell you. I tire of pawns. I prefer, ah…” It pauses. Grins wide. “Wild cards.”

"You're mixing your metaphors," says Goro. He feels… annoyed. Overwhelmed. "I don't understand any of this.”

"I work entirely in metaphors," the thing says, "it comes with the territory. But I apologise, little lion, for the lack of clarity. Look. You've been so focused on being a tool - ah, there I go again - but... you've always had a choice about where to align yourself. You made it, once, to be the tool of order. It never suited you. You can make it again. Will that choice be stagnation, or being the tool of your Joker - or something else?"

Goro opens his mouth, though he doesn’t know how to answer. Then he wakes up.

He stumbles blearily over to his futon. When he falls asleep again, a few minutes later, it’s a blissfully dreamless stupor.

Sunday comes. Sunday passes. He sleeps. He wakes up a few more times, but there’s no reason to get out of bed now, none at all, and it feels like he’s making up for years of sleep deprivation. And if he lets himself wake up for real, he knows he’ll start thinking again; and he definitely doesn’t want that.

Eventually, though, his phone rings. He’d left it in his pocket, which meant it had gotten slightly lost in his bedding while he slept, but he scrambles after the buzz in half-awake panic. He doesn’t even read the name on the screen before he answers. “Hello?” he says, and realises immediately that he’s being rude. Rushes to correct himself - “Sorry to keep you waiting, what can I-”

“Akechi-kun?” A woman’s voice? He’d been positive it would be Shido. Thank god.

“Speaking,” he says, trying to sound normal and awake. What time is it? “I’m sorry, may I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s Sae Niijima, Akechi-kun.”

Oh. “I see,” he says, and lets himself relax. It’s just Niijima. He can be as curt as he wants. He can let her carry the conversation.

“I, uh,” she says, which is incredible. He’s never heard her stumble before. “I heard what happened. I was wondering if you’d be willing to come talk to me.”

Which part of what happened, he wonders, but for some reason he agrees to go. She sounds relieved, like she’d expected more resistance. Maybe, Goro thinks after she hangs up, that means she’s heard quite a lot about what happened on Saturday.

Would Kurusu have told everyone what he did? He can’t have. He wouldn’t. But that’s the sort of thing you tell your friends about, if you have friends, isn’t it? If you’re a normal person? People on TV dramas tell their friends that sort of thing all the time. He thinks about texting Kurusu, to find out. To beg him not to, if he hasn’t yet. But you can’t really follow up “Stop texting me” with anything, can you? You can’t re-initiate a conversation you ended.

He gets dressed and heads down to the Public Prosecutors’ Office. (On the train, he changes his mind and texts Kurusu, What does everyone know about what happened on Saturday, no question mark to make it clear he’s being serious, he’s not asking, he needs to know. He regrets sending it immediately.)

Sae Niijima is still in the awful, tiny office he remembers, of course. When he knocks at her half-open door, she’s eating her lunch at her desk, typing simultaneously with one hand. She gestures him in. Looks at him hard.

Goro doesn’t like many people but he’s always honestly liked Niijima - not dissimilarly to how he’s always liked Kurusu, though of course in a significantly less complicated way. She’s brusque and dismissive, and he’d gotten endless thrills out of outplaying her, screwing her over - but she’s clever and hard-working and ambitious, and unflinching in the face of a profession that clearly didn’t want her there. They have a lot in common. And she never asked him about his personal life at all, which he appreciated. She treated him like a colleague.

When the door’s closed, she says, “I thought you’d look different, somehow. You look exactly the same.”

“Different from...?” he says as he sits in front of her desk. There’s so little room that he barely needs to move the extra chair from the corner.

“You know what I mean,” she says. “Don’t play dumb.”

She could mean “from before they stole your heart,” but more likely it’s “from before you shot two people.” They’d seen each other since Kurusu’s interrogation, of course, they worked in the same sphere, but she’d been so busy. He’d wondered if she knew something, was avoiding him on purpose - but dismissed it. She couldn’t know anything, and if she did she couldn’t prove it. And of course she was busy, the leader of the Phantom Thieves had just died in police custody, everyone was busy.

He’d been so absurdly cocky.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Niijima continues, very calmly, when he doesn’t reply to her. “Makoto says you were… erratic, when you met with them.” She’s avoiding saying 'Phantom Thieves', he notices. The walls must be thin. He likes that she trusts him to figure that out himself.

“Makoto wasn’t even there,” he says.

“Well, ‘Makoto said everyone else said’ is a bit of a mouthful,” she says dismissively. “Do you mind if I keep eating lunch, by the way? I’m pretty swamped.”

“Of course, go ahead.”

She nods and shoves a rice ball into her mouth. Says behind her hand as she chews, “I heard you stopped going to school. You need to go back, he must have noticed.”

He forces a smile and says, “Is that what you called me here to talk about, Sae-san?”

“No, but I don’t trust a bunch of teenagers who hate you to tell you to make responsible choices.” She pauses. Shakes her head a little. “Look, Akechi-kun, I just don’t understand how you could have done… what you did. Any of it. I mean, I understand how, more or less. But why? You’re just a kid. And…” She sighs heavily. She looks genuinely very sad. “I always thought… well, I thought you were a bit of a shit, honestly, but a well-meaning one. I liked you. You’re too smart to have gotten wrapped up in this.”

Goro doesn’t know what to say to any of that. He looks at his hands. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but, well, one thing at a time.

Niijima lets the silence hang, and then says, calm and business-like, “So what are you going to do? Confess? I can help you with that, if you want. The circumstances are so unusual that I can’t begin to promise any kind of result, but I can try to make sure you’re only tried as a juvenile.”

The idea is… alluring. Get it over with. Never deal with the Phantom Thieves and their bullshit again. Never play nice with his father again.

His father. “He would ruin me,” he says, matching Niijima’s earlier intonation, and thinks of what the thing in his dream said, about dying at Shido’s hand. “He’d make sure he was completely clean. I’m sure he’s already got a plan in place that makes it look like I did everything completely on my own.” At best he’d play it like Goro was some deranged stalker. Which… well. That certainly wouldn’t be a difficult spin.

Niijima nods. “True. So we’ll wait until they’re done with him, then. His confession will likely get you sympathy, based on what I know of the circumstances. That will help. And I could… I don’t know, I could ask around in the meantime. Find you someone to talk to. I know a lot of really good court-appointed-”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupts. He loathes therapists, their false detached sympathies, the way they want to know all your business. And there’s no way he could explain any of what’s been going on, anyway. They’d think he was - god, the fucking irony - completely psychotic.

“It might help, Akechi-kun. I’d be discreet. No one would have to know.”


“Okay. Well…” She sighs again. “Just lay low for now, I guess. And go to school, will you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.” But the idea of ‘laying low’ bothers him. He hates it, actually, the thought of just waiting around alone for Kurusu to pull it all off. When it comes down to it: Shido was his mark.

He stands up. Niijima says, “Wait. Did you… did you know he was using you, Akechi-kun? Do you know that now?”

He almost just shrugs, but that seems unfair to her. He says, “I… I was using him, too.” It sounds as feeble and ludicrous as it did when he said it to Kurusu. She frowns a little. He thinks, and then corrects himself, very carefully. “No. I always knew. I just thought it was worth it to take him down. That’s all.”

It was more than that, it was the best he’d ever felt, tricking everyone - Shido, the public, people like Niijima - into thinking he was worth something. Walking around knowing that for the first time in his life he was the most dangerous person in any given room. But that all seems difficult to explain. He’s not even sure if Niijima knows exactly what his relationship with Shido is, and he’s definitely not going to bring that up unprompted.

She considers that. “I wish you’d talked to me. Maybe I could have helped you, before things got… as bad as they did.”

The thought of that is comical, honestly. “Why would I have talked to you about it?” he says, as kindly as he can. “Would you have, in my position?”

She doesn’t say, I would never be in your position and we both know it. Instead she just smiles sadly and says, “I know. I just… well. I guess things worked out as well as they could have.”



The first person Goro ever directly killed wasn't important. It wasn't Wakaba Isshiki, or anyone significant in city politics; it was Shido's assistant, and it was an accident. He was still only sixteen, after all. Shido wanted to see what he could do.

The assistant’s warped desires were… insignificant. He was in Mementos, not his own Palace. The whole setup was so much like the cafe owner that Goro thought it would be exactly as easy - easier, now that he had Loki and knew what to do. And he had the gun.

A week after Goro went to Shido and told him he could drive people's hearts mad - and he summoned Loki as proof, which was a ridiculously foolhardy move, he hadn't even practiced to make sure he could do it in the real world, or do it without attacking anyone, for that matter; but there he was, a real demon in his real father's office... A week after that, Shido called Goro in again and gave him the handgun. Silenced, sleek, surprisingly heavy.

"A loan," Shido said. "I'm trusting you. Prove that I should trust you. And know that if you do anything foolish with that, you’ll be dealing with the consequences alone."

Of course. He wasn't stupid. And Goro knew better than to ask where it came from. (It solidified a lot of what Goro had only suspected about his father. And that was the point, surely: to make him think, if he gives me, who's nobody to him, an illegal weapon - what else can he do?)

He could have shot Shido in the head right fucking then. But again: he's not stupid.

So. The assistant, in the depths. It happened so easily. Goro readied a finishing blow and then the demon that had been the assistant leapt at Loki, and Loki - no, Goro - Goro hit back, and the demon fell hard, and became a man again. Looked Goro straight in the eyes and said, sounding frightened, "Is this Shido? Are you his?"

He meant, Goro realised later: are you his employee, his assassin, his dog. At the time, Goro thought: he knows I’m his son, he sees it somehow. He didn’t know yet the distinctions between what Shadows knew versus what real people knew; so he thought, this man could say absolutely anything about me if his heart is driven mad. He could give the whole thing away.

The man repeated, with dawning realisation, "You're his," and Goro, sick with panic, pulled out the pistol and shot him point blank in the face.

It was louder than he expected, despite the silencer, and cleaner. The man just dissolved like smoke. It wasn’t until the next day, when he met with Shido and he told him that an unresponsive body had been found at the assistant’s apartment, that he understood what he had done. But Shido was… intrigued. Not pleased, because this wasn’t what he’d asked for, but not particularly angry either. Interested. He started talking about his research - cognitive psience, Jungian archetypes, the collective unconsciousness - like Goro was almost his equal.

And Goro found that he didn’t mind what he had done, not really. The assistant was no one to him, after all. People die all the time. It hadn’t even seemed real.

(He wonders, after the Phantom Thieves take his heart, if that was the moment he became a monster; or if something in him had broken sometime long before that, and he just hadn’t noticed.)



Kurusu had texted him back while he was talking to Niijima. i didn’t say anything about the thing you’re worried about. i’m not that much of a jerk, he said.

Goro isn’t sure whether he wants to say Good, or Thank you. He doesn’t know if he wants to be talking to Kurusu at all.

He realises, though, as he looks at his phone, that it’s already Monday. He’d somehow made it to Monday. Which means the election is coming up faster than he’d thought. What is Kurusu doing?

He thinks about it, on the walk back to the subway station. His options. Go to school, play at the good student again, pretend he’s someone with a future, when all his plans for years had only revolved around his father. Wait until it’s the right time to - what, be arrested? Tried? Go to juvie or prison or death fucking row? Let the media thrive on his downfall, again. It’ll so much worse this time.

And on the other side of that: a bunch of teenagers who hate him.

He switches trains at Shibuya and goes to Yongen-Jaya.

If they went into the Palace the day before, then Kurusu won’t have gone in today, that’s how he always works, because he’s a slacker and a moron and the luckiest person on the planet. How did the Phantom Thieves ever get anywhere, Goro wonders for the thousandth time. How are they so undisciplined and childish and still so much better than him at everything?

Leblanc is nearly empty, because it’s Leblanc - there’s only one normal customer, an old man in his 50s or 60s slowly sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. He’s probably been there for hours and only spent ¥200. Futaba Sakura is sitting in one of the booths with Morgana and her laptop. She looks up in silence. He doesn’t pause in his stride, not even when Sojiro Sakura says, “Hey, wait-”

Goro just says, “Is he home?” and when Morgana says, “Yeah, but-” he keeps going.

He goes up the steps two at a time and says to Kurusu, “You need me.”

Kurusu’s sitting at his desk, fiddling with tools and some kind of wire. He turns and says, “You could have texted.” He looks…

“Joker, you look like shit.” He looks exhausted, in fact, and his hair is even more stupidly unkempt than normal. His glasses are perched on top of his head and there are dark half-circles under his eyes.

“Yeah,” Kurusu says, very heavily. “That sounds about right. Why are you here?”

“Oh,” Goro says, “does it bother you, having someone just walk into your home unexpectedly? Do you not like it? Does it seem kind of rude?”

“Yeah, all right, I get it.” Kurusu pauses, and then says softly, “I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried.”

“I’m always okay,” Goro says.

“Right,” Kurusu says, instead of pointing out how absurd that statement is, which is nice of him.

“Kurusu,” Goro continues, annoyed that he’s been distracted from the speech he’d been planning on the way there, “I’m serious. You need me. I’m the smartest person you know. I know Shido and his associates better than any of you. Forget what happened with us, you’re running out of time and I can help you more than anyone, and if you don’t get your shit together Shido’s going to be prime fucking minister. The only thing stopping him from hunting your friends down is this election - you do realise what kind of connections he has, don’t you? I was the tip of the damn iceberg.”

“I know,” says Kurusu. “I..” He sighs. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No,” says Goro.

“Dude, I promise I’ll still remember you’re taller than me if you sit down.” He gestures to his hideous little couch. “Please. This is a weird conversation to have with you yelling at me from across the room.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” Goro says, and reluctantly sits on the very edge of the couch. He’s always surprised by how comfortable the ugly old thing is. “Why do you think everything I say to you is yelling?”

“Sorry,” says Kurusu. He rubs at one of his eyes and props his head up with a hand. “Anyway. You’re right. I’m screwed. I completely screwed everything up. I… I thought…” He laughs a little, very darkly. “I thought I could help you, and you’d be okay once you got over the shock, and then Shido would be easy. But your Palace was so much more difficult than I thought-”

A surprised bark of laughter escapes Goro’s mouth. It had seemed pretty simple when he was tracing Kurusu’s footsteps.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like to hear that,” Kurusu says, and smiles momentarily. “There was this awful game… Anyway. Then it took longer than we expected to figure out Shido’s Palace, and then… then all that stuff with you happened, and the rest of us keep getting into arguments, and now we’re so behind. And it’s completely my fault. And I keep thinking… I keep thinking that if you kill yourself because of this, that’ll be my fault, too.” He says it so frankly.

Goro thinks about that. “For a criminal mastermind,” he says finally, “you’re an absolute fucking moron sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kurusu says, and smiles sadly again.

“No, I mean…” He doesn’t know how to say this. He doesn’t want to sound like people did when his mother died - the more they said This isn’t your fault, the less he believed them. He goes for, “My actions are my own. They’re nothing to do with you. That should be obvious.” And it’s not like it would be a loss, if he did it. The world would be better off. But he knows Kurusu doesn’t want to hear that. It’s not the sort of thing you’re allowed to say.

“I just wanted to help you,” Kurusu says, running a hand through his hair. “I know I pushed you too hard but I really just wanted to help. I thought you’d feel better if you were out of that apartment, talking to people, doing something.” He’s smiling but his voice cracks a little. Fucking hell. Goro absolutely is not capable of dealing with any of this.

“Maybe you should talk to your actual friends about this, Kurusu,” he says, uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Kurusu is silent for a moment, not quite looking directly at Goro. He seems to be collecting himself. Then he says, “You can call me Akira, you know. I think we’re past surnames, don’t you?”

“If you want,” Goro says, a bit confused by the non sequitur. There’s a pause. Joker looks expectant. “Oh god,” says Goro, “are you waiting for me to say it back?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” says… Akira.

“You can call me whatever you want. I honestly don’t give a shit.” That isn’t true, of course. Hardly anyone’s called Goro by his given name since he moved out of his last foster home. He hasn’t heard it used kindly in a long time. He feels uncomfortable, out of his depth, like he’s letting Joker see his real self even better by letting him use it. Which is ridiculous. It’s just a name.

“Okay. Goro, then,” says Akira, sounding a tiny bit more cheerful. “You are my actual friend, Goro. Or you’re… someone I want to be friends with. Honestly.” The use of ‘friend’ seems very pointed. Not that Goro was expecting anything else.

When Goro doesn’t reply, Akira says, “Do you know why I wanted to change your heart in the first place?”

Goro says, “Because you’re incapable of minding your own business and obsessed with the idea of fixing people?”

“Well, yeah, that’s obviously part of it,” Akira says breezily. “I meant more specifically. The whole time we were in Sae-san’s Palace… well, for one thing, you were so capable it made me feel kind of redundant, which was weird. That’s a compliment, by the way. But also, I kept thinking, how is this the guy who wants to kill me, he’s just an intense nerd who likes Star Wars too much.”

Goro grimaces and leans back on the couch. “I do not.”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t. I don’t, you know, read the books or any of that shit.”

“Too busy with Hegel and Jung, I guess,” says Akira. He says it with a hard J and a long U. It’s weirdly charming.

“No, it’s a yu sound,” he corrects, although the idea of letting Akira just completely mispronounce Jung for the rest of his life is temptingly funny. “Yu-n-gu, more or less. It's a Germanic name. And what do you know about Jung?”

“Nothing, honestly, I’ve just been looking at your bookshelf.” It makes sense that he’d butcher the pronunciation, then; the spine of the book Goro owns is in roman letters. “Anyway,” Akira continues, “it’s interesting that you’d know there are Star Wars books, if you don’t like Star Wars that much.”

“Well,” Goro says, and changes tactics. “Every asshole in the world likes Star Wars, everyone knows that. That doesn’t make anyone a good person.”

Akira chuckles. “My point is, I really… liked you. Spending time with you, I mean.” (Is that another calculated dismissal? Is Akira just straight, is that what’s going on? He sure as hell doesn’t seem straight, but he is best buddies with Ryuji Sakamoto, the most heterosexual person on the planet, so what the fuck does Goro know about anything. There are so many reasons why Akira wouldn’t want anything to do with him besides orientation, anyway.) “And you seemed to like us, I thought. Or me, at least. But then after all that, you still went through with it. You still shot me.”

“Yeah,” says Goro quietly. “I did. I’m a really good liar, Joker. That’s all that was.”

“If you say so,” says Akira. He hesitates, his slate-coloured eyes flickering back and forth across Goro’s face. Then he says, “Weird that you’d kiss me, though, if that’s all that was going on.”

“Oh fuck off,” Goro says, and stands up.

“Sorry,” Akira says quickly. “We don’t have to talk about that.”


But then Akira says, “Are you… was that, like, a weird power thing? Or…”

Jesus. “We’re not talking about it.”

“Sorry,” Akira repeats, sheepishly.

Goro sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. He should leave it there. They should never speak about it ever again. But… “Why would you think it was a ‘weird power thing’,” he says, miserably. “What did it accomplish. I’m not that incompetent.”

“Well,” Akira says, “it’s… you. No offense. But I just assume most things you do are weird power things. That’s why you used to… to flirt with me all the time. Right?”

Goro laughs and turns away and says, “Sure,” because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’d always thought of it as… a way to occupy himself. A cat playing with a mouse. A very attractive, tricky, surprisingly fascinating mouse. And maybe that fits the definition of ‘weird power thing’, after all. “Whatever.”

Akira says, “I’m sorry. We can leave it.”

But now that it’s been brought up, they need to see this awful conversation through. Goro turns back to him and says, “Maybe I just did it because I’m crazy, Joker. I mean, that’s me, isn’t it? I’m… I’m erratic and unstable and a mess. And crazy people just do things for no reason. That’s it.” It hurts to say it. It really hurts to think Akira might believe him. But it’s easier than No, you idiot, I just made a stupid spur-of-the-moment decision because I’m obsessed with your stupid face.

Akira frowns at him seriously and says, “I don’t think you’re crazy. Don’t say that about yourself.”

Goro’s never felt so simultaneously relieved and frightened. He says, “Everyone else thinks it. I know you all think it.”

“You just scared us, the other day,” Akira says. “But I really don’t think you’re… anything that you’ve been saying. You’re clearly not irrational. Dude, you’re not,” he adds when Goro snorts. “You obviously do things for a reason. You’re just going through a hard time right now. And it seems like you have been for a while.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” Goro says. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been going through.”

“No. I guess I don’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Goro rubs his temples irritably and sits down again. “I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“I know,” Akira says. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

Akira opens his mouth, visibly stops himself, and says, “Okay. So do you… really want to help? Or do you just feel like you need to.”


“I mean… I want you to help us, Akechi. Goro. I really do, and we definitely could use a hand. But I don’t want to just make you miserable.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” says Goro.

“I don’t want to make it worse. Again. And I mean, everyone else whose heart we changed… at this point, with them, they weren’t really capable of doing anything. Futaba just slept for like, two weeks straight. I thought the fact that you were up and talking to me the whole time meant you were ready, but-”

“I’ll be fine,” Goro interrupts. “Stop telling me everything you did wrong, would you, it’s really fucking annoying.” Then he adds, because he should probably at least try to be less of an asshole all the time, “I understand you meant well. Please, just give it a rest.” He maybe shouldn't have said that in the same tone as the first part, but, look, he's trying.

Kurusu looks a bit surprised, which is also fucking annoying. He nods. “Okay. Um. You’ll have to… well, actually you might not have to see Haru, because I don’t think she wants to be my friend anymore.” Interesting. Unfair, since it’s not like anything she said to Goro was wrong, but unlike some people Goro’s capable of minding his own business about it. “She didn’t… she didn’t call you or text you or anything, did she?”

“Of course not,” Goro says. “Why on earth would she? I killed her father.”

“Right,” Akura says. “I just thought, maybe… Well. Anyway. You’ll have to see the rest of us, including Futaba.”

“I know that, Kurusu.”


“Whatever. I know I’ll have to see your stupid friends, I’m not an idiot. I’ll live. I’ll even be nice. It’s fine.” And he adds, “You already know I’ll do anything to destroy Shido. If this is the only way it can happen, now, I want in. I need to be part of it.”

A startled smile appears on Akira’s face. “Okay. Good.” He holds out his hand. “Shake on it, then, Crow.”

Goro takes his hand and says, “Don’t make me regret this, Joker.”

He goes downstairs, Akira at his heels. Morgana and both Sakuras are in a hushed conversation at one of the booths. They all look at him again. Morgana says, “How’d it go?” and Akira gives him a thumbs up, which is an extremely optimistic reading of the conversation they’d just had, but okay.

Sojiro Sakura gives him a long, steady look and goes behind the counter. Goro thinks about Wakaba Isshiki, how she’d been - what, Sakura’s lover, probably? Why else would he have adopted her kid? He hadn’t really paid attention at the time, though he’d read the obituary so many times he used to have it memorized. He’d been so struck by the sense of power, untouchability. The sense of being the only one who could do what Shido needed. He hadn’t thought about anything else. (Except, well: it had occurred to him, bitterly, that if Isshiki’s orphan daughter had someone who'd take her in, she was far better off than he had ever been.)

Morgana stretches languidly and says, “Akechi, come talk to us, will you?”

He looks at Akira, who makes a little shooing motion with his hands. Goro walks over to the booth and says in a hiss, so the one normal customer doesn’t notice he’s talking to a cat, “I shouldn’t. I should just go.”

“Look, are you helping us or what?” Futaba Sakura says without looking at him. She has her knees pulled up to her chest.

“I am,” he says. “If… you’re okay with it.” If the sight of me doesn’t ruin your day, except it must be doing that right this second. Just as much as it ruined Okumura’s day. Should he say any of that? Maybe not.

She shrugs and types something and says, “Whatever gets the job done.”

“Right,” Goro says. “Well. I’ll be out of your life as soon as it’s done. I know you must hate me.”

Sakura wraps one arm tightly around her knees and stares at her laptop screen and says, “I mean, sort of, yeah, but watching everyone beat the crap out of your Shadow kinda made me feel better about it. To be honest.”

“I see,” Goro says. “That’s fair.” Then, since he's here, he says, carefully, “About your mother. I’m really…” Sorry? Sorry sounds absurd, like it was some fucking accident. Oops, I tripped and murdered your parent, sorry! He goes for, “I wish I hadn’t done it. And I know that doesn’t help anything, at all. I know nothing I could possibly say will help. But I… I’d undo it if I could.” It all sounds so trite and meaningless.

She doesn’t turn her head but she looks at him. Then she blinks quickly a few times and says, her voice sounding tight and high, “Okay. Um. Thanks. Thank you for saying that.”

This is awful. He’d rather be yelled at. But he feels like he owes her this conversation, even though it feels like he’s very slowly pulling every single one of his teeth out with pliers. “I know it’s not something… I mean, when my mother…” He clears his throat, uncomfortably. Is he making this worse? He’s definitely making it worse. “Sorry, you probably-”

A voice behind him says, “Goro Akechi? You’re Goro Akechi!” He slowly turns his head. It’s the old man, looking both ecstatic and, as Goro looks at him, a bit embarrassed. A fan. There is one person he doesn’t know in this entire damn cafe and it had to be an elderly creep with the worst timing in the world. He shouldn’t have reacted to his name, he should have done the “I’m not him, but I hear that we look alike all the time, it’s so flattering” bit. Too late for that. He rearranges his face into a gracious, symmetrical smile and says, “I’m afraid I am, yes.”

“I’m sorry to be a bother,” the man says, self-conscious now. Goro hates the way people always drag this shit out.

“Not a bother at all,” he says, sunnily. “May I help you with something?”

“It’s my granddaughter, you see-” big fan, obsessed, going to be a detective when she grows up, blah blah blah blah blah. It’s not me who likes you, it’s her, never mind that I’m the one harassing you right this second. “She’s practically got her wedding to you planned out!” Ugh. Goro really hopes this girl is six and not sixteen.

“That’s amazing,” he says, and digs through his pockets for a pen, so he can get this over with. “It’s so incredible to hear that I’m making a difference to people. Now-”

“I can’t say how much we admire you, especially after the time you’ve had,” the man says, conspiratorially. “It must have been so hard, all that Phantom Thieves nonsense, having your name dragged through the mud.”

“Oh,” he says, and feels his smile get a bit more fixed, “well, that’s all water under the bridge now, you know? Justice won out in the end.” Futaba Sakura makes a noise in her throat like she’s suppressing a laugh. He doesn’t dare look to see what Akira’s expression must be, he needs to stay in character. This is so much more exhausting than it used to be. “Could I sign something for you?”

“Oh, uh - I thought - Mariko-chan would just love to see a picture of Grandpa and the Detective Prince, so maybe your friend could…?” He holds up his phone, looks hopefully back and forth from him to Futaba.

“Uh,” Goro says, and feels his mask of calm start to slip. He does not want to be on anyone’s fucking Facebook or Instagram or whatever while he’s avoiding both Shido and his entire academic career, especially while he’s standing literally in Leblanc. That could get back to Shido so quickly, and how do you find an explanation for skipping school to hang out in the dead boy’s house and pose for pictures? (Niijima was right, he really does need to go back to school, no matter how much he doesn’t care about any of it. Fuck.) He makes himself laugh and say, “Well, I don’t know, I don’t think I really look up for it-”

The man says, “Don’t be ridiculous, son, you look great! You look even better in person!” Which is such a bald-faced lie, he’s looked like absolute garbage all week and he definitely needs to re-dye his roots. He’s pretty sure this disingenuous little asshole is going to go home and say, “Let me tell you, that TV makeup makes such a difference.” He almost can’t remember why he used to love this shit. He feels like he’s on the verge of snapping.

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out quickly in relief. A text, from Akira: “you should pretend this is something important and bail. i’ll talk to you tomorrow”. Thank fuck for Saint Akira. He could kiss him. He needs to never think about that again, but he really, really could.

He says, “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be rude but I really must take this call. Police business, you know.”

“Ahh, crime never sleeps,” the man says, absurdly. Goro’s a high school student with a weird job, not a goddamn Phoenix Ranger. And it’s three p.m.

“So true. Here,” he adds, and grabs a napkin and scrawls his name and a smiley face on it. Smiles apologetically and says, “It was so great to meet you.” He fake-dials his phone as he heads out, puts it to his ear, hopes like hell it doesn’t start ringing. Glances over his shoulder as he goes. Akira gives him a lazy wave.

Akira texts him again when he’s outside.

Akira: u still got it, mr popular
Goro: Never lost it.
Goro: God what a pain.
Akira: it worked out. it’s fine
Akira: c u l8r detective
Goro: Stop typing like an idiot. I know you only do it to annoy me.
Akira: sorry it’s just really funny that you hate it so much
Goro: No it’s not.

Futaba: hey thx
Goro: Thanks? For what?
Futaba: apologizing
Futaba: friggin duh
Goro: It didn’t change anything.
Futaba: also duh
Futaba: so we’re not like bffs now or anything but
Futaba: i’m sorry about your mom too
Futaba: i know it super sucks
Goro: Yeah. But you really shouldn’t be apologizing to me about anything.
Futaba: it’s what you say to express sympathy dummy
Futaba: btw do you know that you text like a grandpa
Futaba: like an actual senior citizen
Goro: Yes.

Chapter Text

One morning, when he was in first grade, Goro woke up his mother and whispered, “I have to go to school and I don’t have any lunch money.”

His mother didn’t get out of her futon, but she lifted her head a little and said, “I just gave you money. Don’t tell me you already spent it all.” It was hard to see her, in the hazy early light filtering through the windows. She didn’t like him to turn the lights on in the morning when she was sleeping in; and she always slept in, now.

“You gave me that last week,” he said, carefully. He didn’t want to whine. “I only have thirty-five yen left, you can’t buy anything for thirty-five yen.”

She rolled over and let out a low groan of frustration into her pillow and Goro’s stomach dropped. When she looked at him again her gaze was icy. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have wasted what I gave you,” she said. “You need to be more responsible, Goro, do you think I don’t have to eat too? You know we don’t have any money!”

He knew he needed to be grown-up about this but he felt his eyes start to well up anyway. He’d tried so hard to make the money last. “I’m just hungry, Mom,” he said. “You never even get up to make breakfast anymore.”

She looked at him like she hadn’t seen him there before, like she’d thought she was talking to someone else. Her face fell. “Oh no, baby, please don’t cry,” she said, and she didn’t sound mad anymore but rather like she was begging him, and something about that just made the tears spill down his cheeks anyway. “Goro-chan, I’m sorry, okay? I really am. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I didn’t mean any of that. I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow, I promise. Oh, sweetie, come on. Come here.” He moved closer to her, and she sat up fully and took his face in her hands. Her palms were very soft and cold. “Baby,” she said, wiping away his tears with her thumbs, “you can’t go to school crying. Do I go to work crying?”

Goro sniffled as quietly as he could and said, “You don’t go to work.”

She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, in and out, and then opened them and said, “Well, do I go to job interviews crying?”

He shook his head. She usually cried afterwards, but he knew that wasn’t the point she was trying to make.

She stroked his hair, pushed it out of his face, and said, “People like us have to be tough, Goro-chan. It’s hard and it’s not fair but we have to.” Then she sighed, and said, “Can you get me my purse?”

He got it for her. She counted out all her loose change on the floor and then gave most of it to him and said, “When I get this next job, I’ll take you out for the biggest dinner you’ve ever seen. It’ll be great. Just wait for that, okay?”

She’d said things like that before. He nodded anyway, and she smiled a little and hugged him very tightly. She smelled like she needed a bath.

He looked back at her, before he left for school that day. She was under the covers again, and he could see her shoulders shaking but she wasn’t making a sound.



When she was happy, his mother would say, sometimes: “You’re my best friend, Goro-chan.”

On worse days, she’d say: “You know you’re all I have, don’t you? You’re the only thing that keeps me going.” She’d take a long drink of convenience store sake from the bottle, and wipe her eyes with her sleeve, and say, “Doesn’t that matter to you?”

He’d always say, “Yes, of course,” because she wanted to hear it, and because it was true. He’d tell her, “We’ll be okay as long as we’re together,” and she’d laugh and tell him that he sounded like one of his cartoons with all that cliched bullshit, but he knew she was never actually mad about it.

The good days, though: the evenings she plugged her iPod into the speaker and danced around the apartment with him, picked him up and twirled him around and sang along to the pop songs very softly because she was self-conscious about her voice. The weekends when she took him to the arcade. The mornings when she got up on time and cooked them both breakfast, and drew pictures on his omurice with ketchup. Even before she was gone, he knew that those moments were special. He hoarded them safely in his memory.

She was all he had, after all. All they had was each other.



The evening before she killed herself, Goro’s mother painted her nails a vivid pink. “Do you like them, Goro-chan?” she asked, and held out her thin hands for him to see.

“Yeah,” he said, honestly, watching her nails glimmer in the reflected blue light of the television. “They’re really sparkly.”

“Your daddy would hate them,” she said coolly, and curled her fingers inwards to look at them. “They’re unprofessional.” She smirked a little, but something about her expression still seemed sad and distant, the way it always got when she talked about his father.

He needed to distract her from that, so he said, “Do mine too,” and that made her laugh.

“You’d get in so much trouble at school, baby,” she said. “I can’t do that to you. But…” She hummed, thoughtfully, and then said, “I could do your toes, if you really want?”

He nodded happily and took his socks off. She painted his toenails with him in her lap on the apartment floor, careful dots of sharp-smelling colour, and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head when she was done. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she murmured. “They’ll be mean to you.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have, even if she hadn’t told him not to. Not only because he knew boys didn’t wear nail polish, obviously, but because it was a gift from her, a secret, a sign that she really did love him. A sign that they were the same.

The next day, he came home from school to find a thick whispering crowd outside his apartment building. He slipped through them, unnoticed. Saw a pale slender arm on the ground, the joint bending the wrong way. Saw the pink shine iridescent in the sunlight. And then someone said, “Oh my god, that’s her kid,” and a strange pair of arms whisked him up so quickly that he started crying from confusion and shock.

He left the polish on for months, until it finally flaked completely off.



He used to imagine, sometimes, that it was all a sham. Her death was fake, a show, the only thing she could do to escape her endless grown-up problems, and she’d started a new life somewhere. Someday in the future he’d be leaving school and she’d be waiting at the gate with a new haircut and big sunglasses and those nails still neon-bright. She would say something cheesy like “Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did, but I had no choice,” and then she’d explain it all to him, explain that the body he’d seen was just some kind of prop, not worth any of his nightmares; and then he’d go with her to their new home, far away from this city, and it would all be okay.

He always knew it couldn’t be true. He wasn’t a baby. And after a while, pretending there was even a chance of something like that happening just made reality hurt more; so he stopped, he put away childish things and buried the memory of her deep within himself. She was still there, of course, in his heart, in the photo he kept, even there in the mirror as his features started to thin out and solidify. (He had her nose, her jaw, those eyes that made them both look sweeter than they were. And yet, he’d eventually notice something inescapably like his father in his expressions.) He just stopped thinking of her as some magical force that could have saved him from the world. She couldn’t even save herself, after all. Though maybe if he’d been a better son, a stronger person, if he’d just tried a little bit harder…

And then he saw his father on the news, one day when he was fifteen. Just some government official, not saying anything important - but the sight of him made Goro feel like he’d been kicked in the face. So many years had passed since that man had created him and broken her, and now Goro was alone and his mother was dead and that vile piece of dogshit had just been out there the whole time, living.

He knew, then and there, standing in his foster family’s messy living room, that he’d ruin Masayoshi Shido’s life if it fucking killed him.

But of course. Of course it couldn’t happen, not the way he wanted. The Phantom Thieves stole his heart, and with it every last piece of the plan that had consumed his life - but still he has that old, immeasurably deep hatred. It feels like it’s all he has left, sometimes. Hatred, and fear, and guilt. He misses knowing what to do with any of it. He sees his life now from a distance: a litany of failures, and his future just a cliff face he can’t stop himself from driving towards. Beyond it, only a long fall to the sea.

But he’s still here. The old consolation, the old affront: he’s still here. All he can do now is help this fucking boy, this strange reflection of everything he failed to be, pull this last job off. Join his little cabal of followers genuinely now, watch him scheme and dazzle. And then Goro’s father will say sorry and that will have to be enough. The dead will still be ashes. He will still have nothing.

In Goro’s dream, that night, the thing wears Akira Kurusu’s face, with a neat round hole right in the center of his forehead. It says, “You’re moving again. Good. Now show them, little killer, what you’re made of.”

Chapter Text

Goro goes to school the next morning with a doctor’s note he’d forged the night before, and bows and apologizes effusively to the faculty. His homeroom teacher says, “I know these things happen, and of course we all understand you have unique circumstances, Akechi-kun, but you really should have communicated with us. Or a parent or guardian should have-” and he sees regret flicker over the teacher’s face after she says “parent”.

He says, “I know. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.” And he’s a model student, a goddamn celebrity, so they accept that, even say that they’ll make sure it won’t affect his scholarship, since he’s been such a good representative for the school. It’s only the last half of his last year, anyway. Not that he expects he’ll be seeing graduation, no matter what happens.

The day seems so long. He’s so tired. He’s pretty sure he’s never going to feel fully rested ever again, at this point. And he can’t stop thinking about how meaningless it all is. Who cares about chemistry, literature, fucking philosophy class?

He also can’t stop noticing the cold silent interest of all his classmates, as they watch him and wonder where the school’s golden boy could have gotten to. None of them ask him anything directly, of course. He’s always been cordial with them; polite and pleasant, but never friendly. They never seemed to question it very much, especially for the past year or so, when he’s had the excuse of his career and being busy with the media. After a while, the only people in his school who tried to make more than small talk were starstruck transfer students, and they always backed off eventually.

At the end of the day, there’s a man he almost recognises at the school gates, wearing a very neat black suit and carrying a small briefcase. He says, “You’re back, eh?” to Goro, too familiarly, and falls into step beside him.

“Yes,” Goro says. “I’m sorry, have we…?”

“We have a common employer,” the man says, of course. “What did you have, anyway? The flu? Mono? Mono gets around real fast with kids your age, I’ve heard.” He smiles unpleasantly.

“The flu,” Goro says. “Excuse me, I need to catch my train.”

“Of course,” the man says.

Goro walks halfway to his usual station, and then doubles back and walks the long way to another one. It doesn’t seem like he’s being followed, but he can’t start underestimating Shido now. When he’s mostly sure no one is watching him, he digs Akira’s stupid ugly hoodie out of his bag and puts it on, just to be safe. It still smells like him, makes Goro think of that subway ride with Akira pressed against his back. Cool. Great.

While he’s waiting for his transfer at Shibuya to Yongen, a voice says, “Is that you, Akechi?” He takes his phone out so he can look appropriately distracted and doesn’t turn around.

“Akechi, it’s just us,” another voice says, closer now. He glances over his shoulder. It’s Niijima Junior and Takamaki. He stares at them flatly and then looks back at his phone screen. Sometime during the school day, Akira had put him in the Phantom Thieves group chat. (Or perhaps it’s another decoy, like they must have had before, and they’re still talking about him behind his back in a real one. Or… or maybe he’s being paranoid. He’s pretty sure they’re not actively trying to deceive him anymore, but that doesn’t mean they trust him, does it? They certainly shouldn’t.) The conversation is flooded with chatter and emojis and truly horrific grammar mistakes. It’s practically illegible.

“Akira-kun said you’re going into the Palace with us today,” Niijima says, awkwardly.

“Uh-huh,” he says, and thinks about how he shouldn’t have ever told Akira he’d be nice to these people. God. It’s not like they have anything to talk about. He says, “I’m just helping out. You don’t have to pretend to be my friend. I certainly don’t want to be yours.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly,” says Takamaki. “Jeez.”

He scrolls aimlessly up through the chat without reading it.

“My sister said she-” Niijima begins, and interrupts herself with, “Oh, hey, that’s our train.” They push on - he thinks about going into another car, but that’s a lot of effort given the crowd, and pointlessly rude besides. Niijima keeps talking into his shoulder as the train gets going. “She said she talked to you the other day, and you seemed, uh-”

He looks down at her. “I seemed...?”

“Well - quiet, mostly,” Niijima says, peering up through her bangs at him. “You know you can talk to her, right? I know it can be hard to tell, but she’s really worried about you.” Worried? Sae Niijima thinks he’s worth worrying over? Oh god, he hates that.

“Yeah,” Takamaki says, “Sae-san’s actually really nice.”

“No offense,” he says, “but I don’t need to talk to anyone. I just need to get this done.”

The girls look at each other, and that’s the end of the conversation. He purposefully walks very slowly behind them as they head through the backstreets towards Leblanc, single file through the alleys. Tries to let some distance grow, despite his longer legs. It had been sunny when he’d left school but the sky has turned a grim pale grey since then, and the early winter air has a bite to it.

He’d told Akira, in a text, that they should all just meet in Chiyoda. (Obviously Shido’s Palace is the Diet Building. Where else would it be?) That him coming out to Yongen again was both unnecessarily dangerous and a waste of everyone’s time. But Akira said, “if you’re doing this you should be part of the team, and that means coming to the hideout again at least this 1 time,” so… here he is.

‘Hideout’. God, that’s so infantile. Why be so desperate to make meeting up in accessways and attics sound cool? Goro would put money on Sakamoto being the one to have coined that shit, but the rest of them going along with it is just embarrassing.

Akira looks up from behind the counter and smiles when the three of them walk in. Sojiro Sakura has vanished again but the rest of the Phantom Thieves are already there, minus - of course - Okumura. It feels like he’s stolen her spot in the team, like he’s bullied his way in. He feels immensely guilty about it.

Morgana stands on the counter with his tail very straight in the air and says, “Gotta say, I seriously wasn’t sure you’d come back, Akechi.”

“Well,” Goro says, watching the rest of them crowd into the booths, “I did.” He folds his arms and leans uncomfortably against the counter. He needs to stay cool this time. He needs to pretend he’s still the charismatic detective from TV, who doesn’t flip out or yell at anyone, ever. He’s untouchable and powerful and if anyone fucks with him he will smile and react to it later.

Niijima Junior claps her hands together like she’s a fucking nursery school teacher and says, “Okay. Everyone’s here. Who wants to fill Akechi in on how we’re doing? Morgana?”

The stupid magic cat jumps over to the table and clears his throat theatrically. “All right. Shido’s Palace, as I’m sure is obvious, is based at the National Diet Building. It’s in the form of a cruise ship.” Oh, of course. He’s been into that stupid ship metaphor for years, endlessly talking about where he’s going to steer this country, how it’ll be when he takes the wheel. He never even seemed to notice he was doing it. Goro had always pictured it a bit more rising sun than deluxe western luxury, but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. “We need to get five letters of introduction before we can get into the Representative Chamber, from five VIPs. Or, uh, four VIPs and a cleaner, I guess?”

“We were wondering, actually,” says Kitagawa, “if you knew the importance of this ‘cleaner’.”

Goro says, “What, like a fixer?”

“Wh-” says Niijima, and then, “Oh.”

Goro stares at them. “Don’t tell me you thought…” They’re all either looking down at their feet, or looking like it’s just dawned on them. Holy fucking shit. “Are you serious?” he says, and feels himself start to grin. “You took down a mafia boss a few months ago and that was too obscure terminology for you? Haven’t any of you seen a movie before? God, you really are just the sweetest little criminals on the planet. Seriously, Kurusu, even you didn’t figure that out?”

“It’s Akira,” says Akira. “Uh. In our defense, we’ve been spending a lot of time as mice, lately, it’s been kind of distracting.”

Goro knows he needs to be good but this is just the funniest fucking thing. “You could have asked your sister, you know,” he says to Niijima. “Or one of you could have googled ‘cleaner’ and ‘crime’, perhaps?”

“Okay, we’re morons, we get it,” Futaba Sakura interjects. “Move along.”

Anyways,” says Sakamoto, “do you know who this guy is? Like, you’ve met most of Shido’s contacts, right?”

Goro, through a great force of will, doesn’t roll his eyes even a little. He forces his expression to go back to neutral, and says, “I couldn’t give you a name, no. Do you think he would have been introduced to me as ‘the cleaner’? It’s not like his hired killers were all in a union together.” He must have met this man at some point, though. At a dinner, or passing each other in a corridor. Or outside his school.

The group nods, slowly. “Were you truly hired? Technically?” asks Kitagawa.

“That’s completely irrelevant and you know it,” Goro says, too testily.

“We’re allowed to ask you questions, man,” says Sakamoto, sprawling back in his seat. “You get that your entire life is really weird, right?”

Goro forces down the sudden wave of anger as hard as he can, like he’s packing a too-full suitcase. He smiles the way he used to, sweet and even, though he doesn’t give enough of a shit to make it reach his eyes, and says mildly, “And I’m allowed to not want to answer your stupid questions about my ‘weird life’.”

“Guys,” says Akira, all long-suffering. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” Goro lies. “I just don’t like being insulted for no reason.”

“Why are you talking to me,” says Sakamoto, stone-faced, “when Yusuke’s the one who asked you the damn question in the first place?”

“I was only wondering,” Kitagawa murmurs, looking down at the napkin he’d been doodling on. “I didn’t think it’d be an issue.”

Goro says to Kitagawa, trying to hide the irritation in his voice, “I wasn’t exactly salaried, but I was compensated. That’s how I got my apartment. Happy?” The apartment, and decent clothes, and anything else Shido decided he needed. Goro had tried to pretend, for a while, that it was Shido’s single paternal instinct making itself apparent, rather than just another way he could control Goro, make him be what he wanted him to be. Make him owe him things. So forgive him if he gets a bit touchy, talking about it.

“Can we get back on topic?” Niijima says.

“Please,” says Goro.

Kitagawa’s expression had gotten a bit keener at the word apartment (which Goro understands better than he wants to admit; there’s nothing like being an impoverished orphan to turn you into a crass materialist) but he nods and says, “Of course.”

“Actually, that’s about it,” says Morgana, sounding a bit embarrassed. “We should have been nearly done by now, but…”

Akira says, “I’ve been over it with Goro,” just as sheepishly. With a kind of distant horror, Goro watches the room react to hearing his given name being used so casually - heads turn, eyes flick from Akira to Goro and back again. None of them say anything, but they’re taking note.

“So how far in are you?” Goro says, as if he can distract them. “How many of these letters do you have?”

“Uh,” says Morgana, and looks at Akira.

“Two,” says Akira.

Two?” Goro repeats. “Are you kidding? You’re not even halfway?”

“You don’t have to be rude about it,” says Kitagawa.

God, now he’s being lectured by the spacey closeted weirdo. Goro hasn’t even started with rude. He bites his tongue hard, and then says, “Well, maybe you don’t need them. I mean, I’m as inner circle as anyone can get. I might be able to just vouch for the rest of you.”

They all look at each other. Niijima says, “That’s a good idea, but… they’re more like key cards, honestly. I don’t think it would work.”

“Ah,” he says, feeling stupid.

“And that would draw a lot of attention,” Akira adds, very calmly.

“Yes, I get it, I’m not a total idiot,” Goro snaps. “Let’s just go, then. We can’t keep wasting time here.”

They pack up their things. On the walk back to the subway station, Akira falls behind the group with Goro and elbows him gently in the ribs. Goro just barely stops himself from recoiling and says, “What?”

“Thanks for talking to Futaba the other day,” Akira says, very softly. “It was nice of you.”

“Oh,” Goro says. “Well. I did completely ruin her life.” He adds, as quietly as he can, so that the rest won’t hear, “It wasn’t nice of me. It was literally the least I could do.” An apology is barely anything, a bandaid on a gaping wound.

Akira says, “Don’t be dumb. You didn’t have to talk to her and you did. You’re doing good.”

“Uh-huh,” says Goro, more sardonically than he means to. “Sure.”

Morgana sticks his head out of Akira’s bag and says in a loud whisper, “Are you just completely incapable of taking a compliment now? He’s being nice.”

Goro crosses his arms, annoyed. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he says, and then before he realises it he’s kept going. “Honestly, if you really want to know, I just think it’s a pretty pathetic thing to be complimented on. You realise what you’re saying is,” and he pitches his voice unflatteringly sweet, though he still keeps it quiet, “‘Wow, Akechi, you said sorry, that’s incredible, you’re almost on the level of my rapist gym teacher.’”

“Why,” says Morgana, staring at him, “are you being such a jerk about this? He was thanking you. All you had to say was ‘It was nothing’.”

Akira adds, sounding exhausted, “This is why it’s remarkable that you’d apologize, Goro. Your entire reaction, just now.”

“Don’t you two gang up on me,” Goro hisses. He needs to stop this but the fucking cat just gets under his skin, and Akira is being unbearable, again, and anyway he knows he has a reasonable point. “All I’m saying is that I haven’t done anything remotely meaningful and it’s transparent and insulting of you to pretend I have. You don’t have to fucking baby me.”

He realises, suddenly, that they’ve all stopped walking. The rest of the group is staring at them. Kitagawa says, delicately, “Is something the matter?”

“Yeah, wanna fill the rest of us in on this weird whisper fight you’re having?” says Sakura. She doesn’t sound uncomfortable but she looks it, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

Goro rearranges his face back to placid and says, “No. It’s nothing. Sorry.”

“It’s really nothing important,” Akira adds, smooth as ever.

“Mister Murderer here was just being an ass,” Morgana says, very crankily, and he disappears back into Akira’s bag. Akira frowns, jiggles the bag sharply on his shoulder. It’s nice to see him get pissed at someone besides Goro for a change.

Akira is blissfully silent for a while, but as they wait on the platform, he says, nearly right into Goro’s ear, “You don’t have to be so dedicated to putting yourself down, you know.”

Goro does roll his eyes to the ceiling this time. “I’m just being realistic, Kurusu. Sometimes those things go hand in hand. Though I get that you’re a perfect angel of morality, so maybe that’s hard to grasp for you.”

“You think I’m perfect?” says Akira, with so little inflection that Goro can’t tell if he’s amused or objecting.

Goro says, “My point was that you have a criminal record for being too good a person. Pardon me if it feels like we don’t have all that much in common.” He folds his arms and squares his shoulders and walks away to the other side of the platform. When the train comes, he purposely lets a few strangers wedge themselves between him and the rest of the group. He’s not angry or anything, really. He just needs a break.

Maybe he can’t do this. Maybe he should have at least waited longer to go back to school, instead of doing it today, because he’s already on his last nerve and nothing’s even happened yet. He’s such a useless asshole that he has a hard enough time just being civil to Akira, one-on-one, for an extended period of time. And he likes Akira, for a certain complex value of 'like'.

He can’t be like this. He needs to try harder. It’d be helpful if the rest of them tried not to be obnoxious little brats, too, but obviously that won’t happen, so it’s on him.

Behave, he thinks like a chant as they arrive in Chiyoda, as he falls into line behind them again. Behave behave behave.




Takamaki groans and lies her head on the table in Kurusu’s room and says, "Why are Akira and Mona so laaaate. I'm boooored."

Her voice gets so goddamn grating sometimes. Goro looks up from his work, smiles, and says, "Now would be a pretty good time to get some homework done, don't you think, Takamaki-san? Sakamoto-san?"

"Dude," Sakamoto says, "I wasn't the one complaining."

"He does have a point," Niijima-the-younger says. She's been working on her own schoolwork next to Goro. "You'll be regretting it if you try to do it the morning before class again, Ann."

"I don't do that nearly as often as you think, Makoto," says Takamaki, but starts digging through her school bag, looking exaggeratedly sulky about it. “I'm just so sick of school right now,” she says, “it's so hard to concentrate on." Boo-fucking-hoo, Goro thinks, though honestly he can sort of empathise. But it’s not like whining about it will do anything besides get on everyone’s nerves. “And also,” Takamaki continues, apparently desperate to do anything besides open her textbook, “it's not fair that Akira has Morgana with him all the time, I'm positive Mona helps with answers."

What? Honestly? Goro takes a second to compose himself, bite back his anger, and then says, all flustered little good boy, "Does he really?" Takamaki nods. God, Goro thinks, no wonder he does so well on exams. What a conniving little shit. Incapable of doing anything under his own power, so fucking reliant on other people to the point of literally cheating at academics. He should be better than that. It's infuriating. Killing him is going to be the most satisfying thing Goro has ever done in his life.

He says, still with his why-I-never face on, "That's pretty dishonest, isn't it? Couldn't he get in trouble?" Okumura, bless her pampered little heart, nods emphatically, even though it’s not like she works for her results, either, really. People like her only get good grades because they’ve had professional tutors since they were two years old.

Takamaki frowns and says, "Well... not really? In trouble for bringing a cat to school, maybe, but that's it." She looks like she’s about to say something else, or she was and thought better of it.

Niijima says suddenly, "Oh, Akechi-kun, you're taking third year chemistry too, right? I can't remember how to do this-" and she pushes her paper on top of his work, which is… strange. A bit too aggressive, for her. But... he has a facade to maintain, so he swallows his suspicion and walks her through the calculations (which, to her credit, are actually fairly complex).

“You see,” he says when he’s finished, “It’s honestly pretty simple,” and beams politely at her. Niijima just frowns down at her work. God, maybe she wasn’t doing anything weird after all, it seems like she really did just need help. And she’s the smart one. Incredible.

There’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Kurusu at the top of them when Goro turns. His hair is damp from the rain, clinging to his cheeks, his glasses a bit foggy. He seems a bit exerted, like he’d been running, his breath coming quick through slightly parted lips.

Goro tears his gaze away and tucks his schoolwork back into his bag.

Kurusu says, “Sorry, guys, the time got away from me. But I come bearing gifts.” He drops the Mona bag onto the table, and then a plastic shopping bag next to it. Morgana climbs fluidly out of the bag and starts cleaning himself as the rest of them, except Goro, lean in, start going through the weapons (because of course it’s a pile of toy weapons, they should have known to expect it - Kurusu had spent the entirety of their last trip into Niijima’s Palace swindling demons for cash like the little con artist he is) like excited children.

“Not interested, Akechi?” Kurusu says, sounding amused. Goro looks at him again. He’s leisurely wiping his glasses dry with the bottom of his shirt, gazing thoughtfully at Goro.

Goro says pleasantly, “It’s hardly as if they’re going anywhere. Here, take a load off.” He doesn’t like sitting with the group of them, anyway, it makes him feel crowded and vulnerable; but he did really need to get as much schoolwork done as he could before they went into the Palace. These kids are running him ragged.

“What a gentleman,” Kurusu says, deadpan, but then he smiles as he takes the seat, and Goro feels his own smile threaten to turn into a full-on crooked smirk as he stands behind him. He worries sometimes, that he’s not being careful enough, that Kurusu might somehow twig to something being wrong - but that look on his face right now is so trusting. Surely he wouldn’t be turning his back on Goro like this if he suspected him at all.

Still. Goro needs to remember to watch himself. He’s been doing so well, he can’t fuck it up now.

Kurusu grabs something from the bag and passes it backwards to Goro. A fake ray gun. Well, not that there’s such a thing as a real ray gun. “The proprietor wanted to know if I had a little brother,” Kurusu says, dryly, draping an arm against the back of his chair. Looking up at him through his lashes.

God, he thinks he’s so fucking funny. “And what did you tell him?” Goro says, and takes the gun. He’s always surprised that they don’t feel like toys - it doesn’t have the heft of a real one, but it’s not that far off. He twirls it a little, flips it in the air and catches it. He’s showing off a bit, he knows. Kurusu shows off endlessly; maybe it’s contagious.

Kurusu says, “I said, a guy has to have some secrets,” and grins. Ha. No kidding. Goro gives him his most angelic smile and slips the new gun into his briefcase, next to his real one.



The ship that is Shido’s Palace is huge, lush and opulent, with none of the calculated minimalism of Shido’s home. Goro thinks about an iceberg tearing a hole in it from bow to stern.

On the deck, while the girls review a map on Sakura’s laptop, Sakamoto says to him, “Dude, your real Metaverse outfit is kinda fuckin’ terrifying, huh?”

“That’s the point, yes,” Goro says without looking at him. Where the hell did Akira get to? Oh - off in a corner, doing that… thing that’s hard to think about. Goro tries to focus on him. He’s facing away from them all, strangely silhouetted by a blue light coming from nowhere. Goro feels like if he just concentrates enough, he’ll get it, he’ll understand what Joker’s doing, why Goro almost hears… the voices of children? And under that, another voice, deep and unintelligible like the rumble of bass-

Kitagawa interrupts his train of thought with, “It’s an intriguing motif. Quite similar to your Shadow, in fact.” He’s leaning a bit too close, alight with academic interest. Goro steps backwards. “The armour theming in particular. And the stripes, attention-getting yet distorting-”

“Oh, I get it,” says Morgana from the ground, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, it’s incredibly deep,” Goro says flatly, before they start explicating the themes of this stupid costume. Rude little shits. “Way to go. You’re geniuses.” He looks over at Akira again. Still just standing there. How the hell does this work, he wonders. Thinking about it feels like he’s fighting a heavy current. Akira does… that… and then he has more Personas, even ones he’s never spoken to? He thinks of the thing in his dream. The same powers, it said. Does that include…

Sakamoto says, “So, like - doesn’t that helmet mess up your hair?”

Jesus fucking Christ, why won’t they let him think. And yes, it does, obviously. A while ago, he’d seriously considered cutting his hair short again just because going home with helmet hair was humiliating, but he really didn’t want to look anything like he did in middle school. And anyway, his hair eventually became an essential part of his image, so he just started packing a comb. “Please leave me alone,” Goro says.

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” Sakamoto says, sounding a little put-out.

“I understand that. You can talk to literally anyone else.”

“Oh my god, Akechi,” says the cat, and throws up his little paws in frustration like a person and goes over to the girls instead. Goro watches him leave sourly. He said please, didn’t he? What more do they want?

“Are we good?” says Akira from very close behind him. Goro doesn’t flinch in surprise, but only because he’s spent a lot of time training himself out of flinching. “Sorry about that, had to get some stuff out of the way.”

Goro almost turns to him and says, What stuff, what were you doing, I need to know, but- then the rest of them are there, chattering and moving, and he’s lost the thread, lost his fight against the current. It’s like forgetting a dream. He was thinking about something

He looks around the deck as the rest of the group heads into the fake Diet Building. It feels like there’s someone there, but he can’t see anyone at all; just the pristine deck, and the apocalypse beyond it.

Akira hangs back again and says to him, “Are you good?”

Goro says, “What do you think?” Akira shrugs, all How am I supposed to know? Which is ridiculous, it’s not like Goro’s exactly a mystery to him at this point. “I am so sick of your friends already, Joker. I know I told you I’d be fine but you’re all just so fucking…” He can’t think of a way to sum up cloying and obnoxious and kind of making me realise how much of a bitter unlikeable freak I am in comparison, so he just leaves it.

Akira sighs. “Look. Just… loosen up, all right? Relax. Can’t you pretend this is just like before, in Sae’s Palace?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Goro mutters.

“Sorry. I meant it more as like… a helpful, friendly suggestion.”

Goro groans and looks out one last time at the wildfire-coloured skyline. The flooded skyscrapers remind him of a bad disaster movie he saw on television once. All Shido’s ambitions, the bullshit ideology that had become his life for two and a half years, summed up as a shitty dubbed blockbuster. Funny. He says, “You know I wasn’t relaxed at all in Niijima’s Palace, right? And when I was, it was because I was thinking about how great it would feel to murder you all?”

When he looks back at Akira, he’s smiling, because of course he is. “That tracks,” he says. Goro waits for him to add something else, but nope, that’s it. That’s all.

“God, you are no help, I hope you know,” Goro says. “You are the polar opposite of helpful. Let’s just fucking do this.” And he walks past him through the doors, after the rest.



In Niijima’s casino, he’d been surprised at the ease with which he’d fallen into the Thieves’ battle rhythm. He’d quietly resented every command Joker issued, of course; but as much as he hated to admit it, the kids had good strategic heads on their shoulders. They were sharp and aggressive, and flexible, too, able to correct any missteps so fast they made it all look easy. You wouldn’t know that they didn’t have nearly as much practice as he did. (Although they were a bit too focused on looking cool, he felt; that he couldn’t seem to quite keep up with.)

And now… now it isn’t all that different. He can use Loki as well as Robin Hood, which is a relief; and all of the Thieves except Akira stand a bit further away, seem a bit more taciturn than before. And of course Okumura isn’t there, Akira taking over for her psychic attacks. Maybe he’d never especially liked her, but Goro had certainly always found her secret reserve of aggression hugely entertaining. Found it familiar, too.

Goro hates every inch of this Palace, every luxury and floorboard and snivelling minion. It helps fuel him. And it makes him feel a bit better to be fighting again, to have an outlet, especially now that he doesn’t have to hold himself back to fit in. He’s good at this, he remembers now. He’s always been good at this. And isn’t Robin Hood proof? Loki had come to save him but he’d gotten Robin with his sheer tenacity, by taking every blow and returning each one so doggedly that in the end, Robin had volunteered his services. And he’d done it alone.

After Goro takes out a group of demons in one particularly decisive blow, Akira says, “I’d sure hate to get on your bad side, Crow.” No one laughs, but Goro smiles despite himself.

When they stop for a break in a safe room, Akira says to him, “Make sure you don’t wear yourself out,” but he sounds impressed. He hands Goro a plastic container of… cooked vegetables? Carrots.

“Sorry, what on earth is this?” Goro says.

“They’re from Noir,” says the cat. “We figured out some stuff since Sae’s casino.”

Sakura says, not looking up from her laptop, “They taste kinda gnarly, but they’re really good for keeping your stamina up.”

He gives them a try. They do taste pretty damn weird, even with most of the flavour boiled away. Morgana is just eating a raw one, which is the most bizarre thing he’s ever fucking seen, a bipedal cat monster acting like a cartoon rabbit. Goro says, “Can cats even digest vegetables?”

“I’m not a cat,” the cat says archly, “so I wouldn’t know, would I?”

As they stretch and snack and talk, Goro switches quickly to the Robin Hood outfit, because eating with his helmet on is a pretty awkward endeavor, and again finds himself the object of everyone’s attention, even though he’s standing as far from them as he can get, against the wall. “You can just do that?” says Niijima, wide-eyed. “Whenever you want?”

“Obviously,” he says. Looks at her like, Can’t everyone?, even though he knows he’s only doing that to be a jackass. Winding her up is just so easy, is the problem.

“How?” says Sakamoto.

Goro shrugs, feeling a tiny bit smug. At least he has one thing they can’t do, one single solitary thing that’s only his, even though it’s basically just a party trick. “It’s like flexing a muscle,” he says dismissively. “Metaphorically speaking.” Like how you don’t really know how you move your arm, you just do it. He switches to the black, and then the white again, just to show them.

“Cool,” Akira pronounces.

"I wish I could do that," Takamaki says sourly, and looks down at her catsuit.

He almost says, Oh, so you DON’T want to look like a whore? Could have fooled me. Swallows it before it comes out. Fuck. Why would he even consider saying something so pointlessly cruel? He needs to have his mouth literally stapled shut. The thing is, it's... it's the kind of thing Shido would have said. Maybe not to a woman's face, but under his voice to the man next to him, so they could laugh while she stood there, knowing she was being talked about. The words just slipped into his mind so easily.

Unfortunately. Unfortunately Takamaki is looking right at him now from where she’s perched on the table, and she says, "What is that face supposed to mean?"

"I'm not making a face," Goro says.

"Then stop staring at me," she says, and pulls the top of her suit a bit higher over her chest, self-consciously.

"I wasn’t staring at you." Though maybe he had been, a little, or at least he’d just… zoned out in her direction. He'd been thinking about Shido, anyway, not her.

"No, she’s right, you definitely were staring at her," Niijima pipes up. "Like, in a really weird way?"

What the hell is their problem? "I’m wearing a mask, you don’t know what my expression was. And I'm allowed to look in her general direction, you know.”

"Yeah, but you don't have to, like, leer," Takamaki mutters.

This is absurd. Goro says, "I promise I am the last guy here who'd be leering at you, sweetheart. Get over yourself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Takamaki snaps, her voice very high now, at the same time Niijima says, "Could you stop?"

"I didn't do anything," he says, bewildered, and turns to the boys for support.

They all just stare back at him, even Akira. Sakamoto says, "Don't look at us, man. You should probably just apologise." He sounds kind of like he's enjoying it.

Goro turns back to Takamaki, whose face is turning the same colour as her outfit under the mask, and gestures to Sakamoto in disbelief. "You spend time with him," he says, "him, and that fucking creepy little cat, and you think I’m leering at you? Do you have any awareness of the world outside of yourself? Let me guess, you think Kitagawa's overwhelmed with lust for you, too, huh?"

"Ann," Akira says suddenly, "can I talk to you for a second?"

Takamaki hops off the table and approaches him, bristling like, well, a cat. “Not until I beat the crap out of this - this nasty narcissistic little serial killer-"

Goro just laughs in her bitchy little white girl face. “I would love to see you try, you stupid-”

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that,” Morgana yowls, which is honestly proving Goro’s point. He wants to dropkick that fucking animal out a window.

Akira gets between them, whispers something in Takamaki’s ear. She immediately looks even more angry and says over Akira’s shoulder, at the same volume as before, "Then why didn't you just say so?!"

Goro says, with his teeth bared in something resembling a grin, "Excuse me but what the fuck did you just tell her?"

"May I suggest you all calm yourselves?" Kitagawa says from somewhere to the side. "You're giving me a headache."

"Great idea," says Akira pleasantly, and puts a hand on Goro’s sternum for a second, like he thinks Goro is actually about to get violent. Goro takes a quick step back. "Everyone, please, just chill."

"Oh, fuck you, Kurusu," Goro says.

"Stop talking to him like that!" Niijima snaps. "It's not okay! Just because Akira's too nice to tell you to stop doesn't make it acceptable!"

Goro feels incandescent with rage. Ablaze with it. "You think Akira's nice? He's a self-centered, cruel little smartass-"

"Yes, I am," Akira interrupts, his face very still, "but so are you, so how about we all calm the fuck down for five goddamn minutes and then use our indoor voices."

They're all quiet for a moment. Then Goro says, softly, "Language, Joker."

Akira very smoothly grabs him by the wrist and drags him out into the hall, slams the door behind them and says in a hiss, "You told me you’d try to be nice.”

Goro pulls his arm free and hisses back, "What did you say to her about me?"

Akira is visibly struggling to stay calm. "I told her you weren't leering at her because you're obviously gay, since-”

“I’m what?”

“-Since,” Akira continues firmly, “as far as I could tell, that's what you were trying to get across but refusing to actually explicitly say out loud.” God, sometimes Goro wishes Akira had just fucking stayed dead. “And like, I'm sorry, I know that's super personal, I get that, but you didn't have to drag Yusuke into it too, you know? You can't be mad at me for telling her about you when you were on the verge of-"

Goro says, "I think there's something really wrong with me, Akira."

Akira stops. Says, "What do you mean?"

Goro laughs, briefly, humourlessly, and leans back against the corridor wall. It feels like everything that just happened is finally sinking in. "You think this got bad?” he says. “I almost said something so much worse, for absolutely no reason. It just... I honestly can't control myself. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be around anyone."

"What do you mean, 'shouldn't be here'," Akira says, slowly, staring at him.

"Oh god, you're obsessed with that, aren’t you? That's not even what I was saying. I just mean... shouldn't I be getting better? Becoming a better person? Instead of just..." He shakes his head. "Maybe there's a limit, to changing people's hearts. I think I'm just inherently like this."

Akira rubs between his eyebrows. "Okay. So. First of all, you didn't say whatever it was you thought, so clearly you can control yourself. Second. Everyone thinks shitty things sometimes. If you recognize that it was shitty, and didn't want to say it, then that seems like a step forward to me. Right? I mean, what would you have done a month ago?"

"Uh," Goro says. He would have rephrased it and said it with an innocent smile, just nicely enough that she'd dwell on it for weeks. "Okay. But-"

"Third," Akira says, "as far as I could tell, that entire argument was you and Ann misunderstanding each other and then you both getting upset and defensive. That's all that happened. It's not a sign that you're innately evil or anything, dude."

Goro really wants to disagree, but he’s not sure how. So he says, reluctantly, "Okay."

"Okay," says Akira.

Fucking obviously gay, though. Goro sinks down to the floor and mutters, hating every word as it comes out of his mouth, "I could be bisexual, you know. It's not so outside the realm of possibility."

"All right," Akira says, "but is that what you want me to tell Ann?"

Goro breathes out in a huff, wraps his arms around his knees. "I'd have preferred that you hadn't told her anything."

Akira tilts his head and says, hesitant, "Are you, though?"

"No." Obviously not. “But you didn’t know that.” He picks at the carpet a bit and then says, "Why, are you?" He tries to make it sound aggressive, like he's not really asking, he's just throwing the question back at him to make him think about how intrusive it is.

Akira says, "Uh. Maybe?”

Goro looks up at him.

Akira says, "I'm going to go back inside. Come in when you want. Holler if any demons come by."

Goro says, "Wait,” and stands up again. When Akira looks at him, he says, "I don't really think you're... entirely cruel. Or self-centered."

Akira leans against the wall next to him, a bit closer than he’d been before. "But you do think I'm a smartass."

Goro raises his eyebrows very pointedly, and then remembers he’s wearing a mask and says, "Yes, Joker, because you are."

Akira chuckles. "True. Well, same back at you. I just got frustrated."

"No kidding. And that language. I'm clearly a bad influence."

Akira grins. "I'd never heard a bad word in my life before we stole your heart. Think of my sweet little criminal ears." Then he says, "Are you mad, that I told her?"

'Mad' maybe isn’t the word. "Well, I'm not... happy about it. But that was what I was implying, too, so... I'm..." He sighs. "I don't know. It's still pretty shitty. But I feel bad all the time, so whatever. It's fine."

He sees Akira actually wince under his mask. "You don't have to say it's fine when it's clearly not."

"Would you rather I started yelling at you again?” Goro says. “Because that could be arranged."

"That's a false dichotomy, dude, and you know it."

Cute. "Look at you and your big words."

"Look at you, deflecting everything I say," Akira says. "I'm really sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted everyone to stop yelling. Especially before you, uh...”

“Outed your friend?”


Goro bites his lip, and then says, carefully, “You didn’t have to do the same thing to me, then.”

Not that he exactly has the moral high ground on, well, anything. He expects Akira to say something along those lines, but instead he just groans and looks at the ceiling and says, “God, I’m such an asshole.”

Goro laughs in surprise. “Yeah, well, I’ve been saying that, haven’t I? Welcome to the club.” He claps Akira on the back affably, to let him know he’s not actually angry or anything; and then realises as he does it that it’s a bad fucking idea, he definitely should not be initiating physical contact with him of all people. He tears his hand away, too fast. Folds his arms very awkwardly because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. Akira just fucking watches.

After a moment, Akira says, “Do you really think Fox is…?”

“You nosy little shit,” Goro says, amused. “God, yes, clearly. Not that I’m an expert, but I mean, how am I more obvious than-” Akira tilts his head a little, and Goro interrupts himself. “Don't you dare answer that.”

“Okay,” says Akira, grinning. “But, um… I mean, I…”

The door to the safe room opens before he finishes the thought, and Takamaki peeks out. Goro wants the ground to swallow him. She says, “Can I talk to you?" to him, very tensely.

Akira gives Goro a gentle pat on the shoulder and goes inside before Goro can stop him. Takamaki opens her mouth as he passes, gets out, “Hold-” before the door closes, and then makes a face. Which is about how Goro would feel if he had to be alone in a corridor with himself too, honestly.

Takamaki leans against the wall across from Goro and doesn't look directly at him, her arms crossed over her chest again. After what feels like a very long silence, though it was probably only thirty seconds or so, she says, “So I get that you weren’t looking at me. I’m sorry about that part. But guys talk to me like that all the time. I don't give a crap if you're…” she drops her voice, like she’s saying a bad word: “gay, or whatever, I really don't, it still makes me feel like... like I'm just stupid and shallow and useless. And I'm sure you all think I was just being a bitch but you were being really mean.”

"Yes, I was," Goro says. Although she was being kind of oversensitive, too. But maybe so was he. "I... I’m sorry. Too. For the record." Oh god, that was dire. Will he ever be able to genuinely apologise for anything in his life without it feeling agonisingly forced? He’d been fine at school. What kind of person is he, that he can he only say sorry like a normal human being when he’s lying?

Takamaki nods, and continues, “You could have just, like... been like," and she goes soft and breathy, "'Oh gosh, Takamaki-san, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, it just turns out that the real me is a weird jerk who can't interact with people.'"

Goro almost laughs. "Is that supposed to be what I sound like?"

"Yeah, that's your old fake detective voice."

It really isn’t, but he says, "I'll make sure to say that next time I'm being a weird jerk.”

"Good." She fidgets, and says, "I'm sorry I called you a serial killer."

He grimaces. "Well. It is technically true."

"I… I guess,” she says, “but it's still crappy of me to bring it up like that. I mean. I assume. To be honest, it's hard to tell how you feel about anything? You're just kind of like, low-level bitchy all the time, now."

"'Bitchy'," Goro repeats.

"I mean... sorry, I'm not saying that because you're..."

Ughhh. This is one of the many, many reasons why he didn't want to fucking say it. And it is extremely unfair that Akira’s not suffering through this conversation with them. He says, "I was bitchy all the time before, too, believe me. I just was better at keeping my mouth shut about it."

She laughs a little at that. “I kinda figured.” She’s playing with a strand of her pigtail, twisting it thoughtlessly between her fingers. She says, “Do you get that people are still scared of you, Akechi? Crow, I mean. Like, Joker’s not, but he’s not scared of anything. And I’m not saying this to be mean, it’s just to say that if we’re kind of on edge… like, I know you’re different and all now, that’s obvious, but you’re still… you know, the guy who…”

“Yeah,” he says, before she can start listing the things they both know he’s done. A month ago all he wanted was to be the scariest bastard on the planet. Now he just feels bad. God. Maybe it’s that he’s not even trying to be scary, anymore. Funny, that all he needed to do was be his fucking piece of shit self. “Well,” he says as lightly as he can, “it’s not like I’m going to do anything now. All bark.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s just going to take a while to sink in. And maybe you could be a bit… less bark?”

“Maybe,” he says, because pointing out that he’s been fucking trying and failing all day is going to make her realise that he’s a lost cause. He hesitates, and then makes himself say, "Could you just pretend Joker never told you that thing about me? Please."

She blinks at him. "It's not a big deal. No one will care."

Like she didn’t care, huh? And anyway, he cares, so deeply, about anyone knowing anything about him he hasn't controlled. He wants to scream every single time he remembers that the Phantom Thieves, all of them, were in his goddamn head. He'd more or less gotten used to the idea of Akira getting in there, but the rest of them...

What he says is, "Have you met Sakamoto?"

"Oh, god, he's just a dumb boy, who cares about his opinion. Seriously, Crow. Anyway, I'm not as much of a gossip as you clearly think."

"I didn't say anything like that,” he says, frustrated. “Give me a fucking break.”

She lets out a big sigh, mutters something that doesn’t sound like either Japanese or English under her breath, and then says, “Look, dude, why are you so rude now? Is it like, the vulgarity switch got flipped in your brain with the other stuff? You’re worse than Skull. It’s really immature.”

And that’s a blow to the ego. He bites his tongue, hard, and then says, as calmly as he can, “You’d prefer me to be, what, the same as before?”

“God, of course not, it’s obviously way better to act like a human being than that… creepy robot detective you used to pretend to be. I’m just saying, you don’t have to be so touchy all the time. We all have to get used to not being enemies anymore.”

“Hm,” he says.

“And I mean… isn’t it exhausting? To be like that literally all the time?”

“Everything’s exhausting,” Goro says, and laughs a little. “God, you can’t even imagine how tired I’ve been lately.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be if you were nicer to people,” she says, as if it’s that simple, but she does sound a little sympathetic. She stretches her arms above her head and adds, “We should go back inside. And I won’t tell anyone your big dumb secret. I promise.”

It occurs to him, as she goes inside ahead of him, that she hadn’t asked how Akira had known to tell her. Which was… actually, was it good? Did it mean she was genuinely minding her own business, or didn’t care? Or that she had very quickly guessed something closer to the truth? He thinks of his Palace again. There’d been a cognitive version of his mother, so there must have been - oh no, not a cognitive Joker. Fuck. Why hadn’t he thought about that. He’s so stupid.

Maybe, if Akira had needed to tell Takamaki that he was… tell her his really unnecessary and inappropriate assumption, that meant it hadn’t been so bad. Hadn’t been too obvious. At least not to everyone. Maybe it hadn’t even happened, he doesn’t know for sure. But… he does know what Palaces are like, and where his mind’s been for the past half year.

Maybe this explains why Akira kept fucking touching him, that day, before Goro lost his shit at Leblanc. He knew what Goro wanted. He knew exactly how to coax him into it.

But he can’t start trying to unpack that, not here, not if he wants to get anything done. He needs to bury it, with all the other things he needs to not think about. Bury it and hope like hell it stays buried instead of bubbling to the surface, the way things keep doing now that his brain is all fucked.

The group inside goes silent when they appear. Akira looks like he was in deep conversation with Morgana. Takamaki says, too chipperly, “Okay. Sorry about all that. We’re good.”

“Mmhm,” Goro adds, and hopes they can leave it there.

The others look at each other, and then Niijima says, exhaustedly, “Look, the thing is, this can’t keep happening. Akechi, you were fine earlier. I mean, you were pretty grumpy, but nothing like this.”

“I didn’t start it,” he says, feeling like he’s a preschooler being lectured for pulling someone’s pigtails. He sounds like such a goddamn baby but he keeps talking anyway. “I didn’t start it with Okumura and I didn’t start it this time. And look, I talked to-” what’s her stupid fucking codename again- “Panther, we both apologised, it’s fine.”

“Not if you keep escalating every single fight,” Niijima says. “I mean - guys? Back me up?” She’s always been so insecure, Goro thinks, in the clinical way he used to, like it’s something he can squirrel away for future use.

“He could afford to chill out a little,” says Sakamoto, which is such a lackluster show of support that Goro feels a little offended on Niijima’s behalf.

“Look,” Sakura says suddenly, and Goro realises it’s the first time he’s heard her speak since the arguing started. “I agree that that stupid fight was totally awful, but it seems like he’s okay one-on-one. I mean, right? You basically got along with me, Crow, even though it was in like, a super uncomfortable way, and you seem fine with Joker and Panther now.”

Goro glances at Akira, who could very easily say, Actually, he’s a total jackass to me absolutely all the time, but he’s just nodding.

“Yeah,” says Takamaki. “Like, maybe he just doesn’t like being ganged up on.”

“God, stop talking about me in third person, I am literally right here,” Goro says. “Look, Niijima. Queen, rather. If it happens again I swear to god I will leave and never come back and you won’t have to deal with me ever again.” He sees Akira, in the corner of his eye, turn his head to look at him sharply.

“And we did have a really good talk,” Takamaki adds earnestly. “Didn’t we?”

“We did,” Goro says, and stomps down the urge to qualify that with something shitty. “Actually.”

“Okay,” Niijima says like a sigh. “Joker? Anything to add?”

“Me?” Akira says, sounding startled to be addressed. “Uh. Not really.”

“He is here because of you,” says Morgana, an edge to his voice. Trouble in fucking paradise, huh. Again. Great. He really does ruin everything he touches, Goro thinks detachedly.

Akira looks around at all of them, no expression readable behind his mask. “I honestly just think we need to keep moving,” he says. “Things are as solved as they’re going to be for now, hashing them out won’t do anything.” Excellent pep talk, Goro thinks but doesn’t say. Real inspirational leadership right there. He’s right, though.

“All we’re doing is wasting time,” Goro adds. “And I’m sorry for that-” wow, that one actually sounded normal; maybe he’s improving - “but we need to make up for it, and that’s not going to happen if we stay here.” He switches back to the black outfit to punctuate that, and realises as he does it that he’d spent the entire goddamn fucking argument and hallway confessional sessions with helmet hair. It shouldn’t matter. It’s not like he has any dignity left anyway.

“I know we can do this,” Akira says, very firmly, and Goro wonders if he’s trying to convince himself.

Chapter Text

Akira had thought he’d gotten pretty fit, in the past seven months or so, but Akechi’s Palace was making him reconsider that.

“How effin’ tall is this tower,” Ryuji groaned when the group stopped at a landing to catch their breath. The game cabinets were gone this high up, like the arcade was only a front operation. Which, presumably, was the point. Up here it was locked door after locked door, stair after stair, and posters on every surface of Akechi in that strange dark costume they’d never seen. “Holy shit. This is getting stupid.”

“I never want to see another staircase in my life,” Yusuke added flatly.

“The map says we have another ten floors to go,” Makoto said. “Ugh. Talk about male insecurity.”

Morgana frowned up at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Ann sighed and said, “Don’t worry about it, Mona.”

It was a funny take on the situation, but Akira didn’t know if that was really what was going on. He thought of Chihaya, the card that kept coming up in her tarot spreads. “What does that one actually mean?” he’d asked her casually the other day, pointing to it. He’d been wondering for a while, and it’s not like Igor or the twins would give him a straight answer. “The… maison de… diu?”

Dieu,” she said, looking suddenly delighted. “The house of God. The Tower of Babel. It means, well - ambition and pride before the fall, you know. Destruction, and ruin. You know the story, right? Man’s hubris struck down by God’s unknowability. Laypeople think it’s the Death card they should worry about, but it’s really this one that’s a problem.”

“You sound really cheerful about that,” Akira said, “considering you keep drawing it for me.”

“I’m just happy that you’re interested,” she chirped. “But it also just means that change is coming. The aftermath of destruction isn’t always bad. Besides - since when do you worry about your fate?”

In the present, Haru said, “Is there a safe room nearby? I would really like to sit down.” She sounded uncharacteristically miserable, like she’d been the whole time they’d been in this Palace. Akira needed to sit down privately with her at some point, to say, You don’t have to do this one, no one will blame you - but he hadn’t been able to find the time, it kept slipping his mind. She hadn’t actually said anything about not wanting to be there, but of course she wouldn’t, Akira probably wouldn’t if he were in her position either. She was the newest member, after all. She wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.

“There should be,” said Makoto. “Joker, do you…” She turned, but not to him, to someone behind them, and then froze in place like she’d seen a ghost.

The rest of them turned too, and then let out a chorus of yelps. Another Akira was just standing there among them, in his school uniform. He was half in shadows but Akira could still see that his face was covered in blood, matting down his bangs and staining his turtleneck a deep rusty crimson. Akira thought of horror movies, special effects. Thought of how all of this was nothing more than warped ideas in a miserable teenager’s mind. That was all. (Except - except this stemmed from a memory of Akira’s death that only Akechi had.) “Hey, guys,” the cognition said, completely expressionless.

“What the hell,” said Ryuji, very softly. “What the hell.”

“I guess we should have expected this,” Morgana muttered. “How long have you been there?”

The other him just shrugged, his hands in his pockets. His face was swollen and bruised under the gore. “I knew you’d all show up eventually. So does he, I bet.”

“You know who we are?” Yusuke asked.

“Of course,” the fake said, and looked around at them all, and smiled contently. “You’re my friends. So many friends. It’s incredible, isn’t it, how people like me can just have friends, no matter what I’ve done? It’s so easy.”

God, Akira thought. He’d been kind of thinking that something like this might happen, would actually have been surprised if it didn’t; but he hadn’t realise how unsettling it would be, that the other him would be this grotesque. “Oracle,” he said quietly, “this guy’s not hostile, right?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Futaba said in their heads. “He’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen, but he seems friendly.”

Akira nodded. “Hey, uh, Joker,” he said, “we are getting close to the treasure, right?”

The fake looked at him like he was seeing through him, inside him. He wasn’t blinking. “You are. You’re doing well. You’re so close to giving that son of a bitch-” he really leaned into that, suddenly disturbingly vicious - “what he’s been asking for. I can’t wait. I’ve never wanted anything more than to see his pathetic little life destroyed. It’s all he deserves.”

Ryuji said, “Man, I get that you ain’t real and all, but you’re being pretty harsh.”

I’m not real?” the cognition said, and he tilted his head the way Akira did in real life, rubbed the back of his neck. It felt strangely predatory, the sheepishness of the gesture calculatedly false. “He’s the one who isn’t real. I figured it out, you know, I’ve been waiting to tell you all. He’s not a person, he never has been.”

They let that hang. “What is he then?” Akira asked, finally, when no one else spoke up.

“A simulacrum,” the cognition said, like it was obvious. “A bootleg replica. That’s all. You know, I thought he was real too, so don’t feel too bad. I thought he could be my friend. But then-” He pushed his bangs back, showed them the neat round hole in his forehead, sluggishly leaking blood like a faucet that hadn’t been turned completely off. Akira realized, in sudden horror, that he really didn’t want to see the back of the other him’s head. “I saw it in his eyes,” the fake continued. “The last thing I ever saw before I died. I knew him.” He laughed a bit - laughed not at all like the horror movie apparition he looked like, but completely normally, which somehow made it worse. “And I knew he couldn’t beat me, not really, not even by killing me. No one like him ever wins anything. He doesn’t want to admit it but he knows that too. Trash will always be trash, no matter how well you clean up for the cameras, right?”

“No,” Akira said, though of course there was no point in arguing with a cognition. “Of course not. I don’t think that.”

“We know you don’t,” said Futaba. Her voice sounded a little strained.

The other him just smiled and shoved his bloodstained hands back into his pockets and said, “My parents love me.” At least one of them was confident about that, Akira thought wryly, and then remembered where that must be coming from for Akechi, based on what they knew now, and felt sudden remorse. “My friends love me so much, I’m surrounded by love, all the time. A complete stranger will take me in and even though I’m a convicted criminal he will learn to love me! Do you think any of that could happen to someone like Akechi? Can you even imagine it?”

The cognition took a step forward, gazing intensely at Akira. He was so bloody it was even in his eyelashes, it was getting on his teeth as he talked. Akira wanted him to blink so badly. “And that has to be because there’s something in me that he just doesn’t have. Maybe he was born without it, or it died. Maybe that’s what he wanted from me - he thought he could rip it from my heart and make it his. But instead he just murdered it, and now he’s alone again. It’s funny, isn’t it? You should laugh. I do.”

“That’s…” Haru said, but she didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“That’s really fucked up,” said Ryuji.

This, Akira thought, was what Akechi thought of himself? Or, no - this is what he thought Akira thought of him, in those moments before he died. In the very last seconds. Which meant… which meant the cognition might not be telling the truth. Maybe. Trying to understand this felt a bit like talking to Akechi in person, struggling to work out whether any of the friendliness or weirdness or vulnerability was even slightly genuine. Layers upon layers of artifice.

The cognition chuckled a little, and then wiped at the corner of his eye like he was brushing away tears. His fingers came away crimson. He looked at them in cold curiosity and then smeared them on his school pants. Beamed sunnily at them.

“Uh,” Morgana said finally. “We… should get going. It was nice to… meet you.” The rest of them nodded, too hastily, and moved to walk away. The cognition followed them, and stopped when they stopped.

“Look,” Ann said, “uh, Joker. You seriously can’t come with us. No offense, or anything, you just… you can’t.”

“But you need me,” the cognition said, sounding genuinely confused. “You’re nothing without me. We all know I’m the only one with any talent.”

Okay, that was a lot closer to what Akira had been expecting from this. It was kind of a relief. “I’ve got it under control,” he said to the other him. (Ryuji muttered, “You don’t have to sound like you agree with him.” Akira pulled a quick apologetic grimace and continued talking to the cognition.) “Why don’t you, uh - keep an eye out here for us? As backup?”

“I’m the leader,” said the fake, like he was talking to very small children. Akira wondered if he should say, No, I’M the leader. But maybe that would make the cognition’s constructed equivalent of a brain short out or something, like a trick logic puzzle making a robot lose its mind in a story. He wasn’t even sure if the cognition understood who he was, though he - it? - certainly seemed to recognise something in Akira. Trying to parse out the exact mechanics of this didn’t seem especially helpful at the moment, anyway. He’d ask Morgana about it later, maybe.

“That’s true,” Akira said. “But, uh - that’s why you shouldn’t be risking yourself on the front lines. Right?” He looked back at the group, widened his eyes a little to say, Help me out, here.

Haru looked a bit sick, but she said gamely, “That’s true. One doesn’t put a general on the battlefield.”

The cognition frowned a little, and then seemed to realise something. “It’s because you love me. You want to keep me safe.”

“Uh - yeah!” said Ann, nodding emphatically. “Definitely!”

“That’s precisely it,” Makoto added. “We’ll scout ahead, and then regroup with you and form a plan for the… the final push.”

The other him smiled, angelic. A bead of blood dripped off his chin and onto the floor. “Okay. You guys do your best.” His tone was so condescending. Akira didn’t really sound anything like that, did he? “I’ll be here for you when you need me.”

“Thanks, man,” said Akira, and they hightailed it out of there. When Akira glanced over his shoulder one last time, the cognition raised a hand in a lazy wave.

In the safe room they found around the corner, Morgana said, “I knew he’d be here somewhere but I didn’t think he’d be so… so…”

“Dead?” Akira provided, doing his best to sound flippant.

“I suppose it makes sense,” said Haru. Her voice was very thin. “That’s the last thing Akechi remembers of you.”

“That was… highly unsettling,” said Yusuke. “How can you be so calm about this, Joker?”

Akira didn’t feel calm. He felt like he was going to see the other him every time he closed his eyes. Good thing he was a liar. He said, steadily, “It wasn’t real. Just remember that it wasn’t real.” And then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he said, “You guys ready for curry?”

They stared at him, and shook their heads, so he got out the coffee thermos instead.

Before they moved out again, Haru came over and sat next to Akira and whispered, “All those things the cognition said, about how Akechi’s missing something… what if he’s just a sociopath? Do you think this will still work?”

“Of course,” Akira said firmly. “Everyone’s heart can change. If there’s anything this whole thing has proven, it’s that. And I really don’t think Akechi’s a sociopath, Noir.” He didn’t think that was what the cognition had been getting at, either, though he wasn’t sure he could articulate why he felt that way. “He’s just a kid. Like us.”

“If you’re sure,” Haru said, but she didn’t look convinced. “I’m just not positive those things are mutually exclusive.”



Goro and the Thieves find the TV station president in the entertainment hall, engrossed in slots. Goro’s always thought that gambling is a strange hobby for the rich - it isn’t as if earning or losing the money would have any impact upon their lives - but maybe that’s the appeal. If you have enough money you can just throw it at anything you like. Maybe winning at slots is like a classy version of getting a high score in a video game, for these people, but with a bonus thrill from the illegality of it. There’s three of them, two lackeys and then -

Goro says, “Oh god, it’s just Watanabe. I thought it might be one of the difficult ones.”

“You know more than one president of a TV station?” says Niijima, and then, “Oh. Of course you do.”

“I should have guessed it was him,” Goro says. “Real boot-licker, convinced he’s this great evil mastermind. I’ll handle this.” He switches back to the white outfit; he needs to go for a refined look, right now. Takes his mask off and presses it into Akira’s hands. Akira takes it without hesitating. Then Goro puts on his brightest ace detective smile for them all and says, “Wish me luck.”

Morgana says, sounding genuinely disturbed, “It’s really creepy how easily you can start acting like that, Crow.”

“It was my job,” Goro says pleasantly. It’s good to know it seems easy to other people. Now he just has to maintain it. But this should be fine. He refuses to let Watanabe - not even the real Watanabe, an entirely imaginary one - get the best of him.

“Good luck,” says Akira, very calmly.

Goro takes a deep breath and saunters past the slot machines, does a very careful, deliberate double-take. Says, “Watanabe-san? Is that you, sir?”

Watanabe turns, looking annoyed at the interruption, but when he sees Goro he brightens. “Akechi-kun! What are you doing here, my boy? I thought you said you didn’t care for all this racket.”

He said-? Oh, god, he must mean the cognitive version of him that has to be lurking around here somewhere. If that little bastard’s presence ruins this act… Goro walks over and says, “I’m just passing through, Watanabe-san. But how are you? How’s lady luck treating you?” Shift the conversation to him. Everyone loves to talk about themselves, especially affluent middle-aged fools.

“I’d say my luck is better than ever,” Watanabe says, smiling and looking him up and down a bit too blatantly. There’s the difference between this Watanabe and the real one, Goro supposes. At least the real one has heard of discretion. (And this means, of course, that Shido has noticed the way Watanabe acts around him, which is… well. He can’t start thinking about that right now.) “Why don’t you sit down, son?” he says, and gestures to the seat next to him. The lackeys move out of his way so Goro takes it, leans his body in towards him in false interest. “I was looking forward to seeing you, actually,” Watanabe adds. “You hurt this poor old man’s feelings earlier.” He pouts exaggeratedly, and then chuckles.

Goro says, “I’m sorry. Things have just been so busy, lately,” and gives him a big apologetic smile and hopes what he said made sense, given… whatever the fuck the cognitive him had done.

Watanabe seems to accept it. He leans against the slot machine and says, “You recall that whole mess with Okumura?”

“Who could forget?” says Goro, and laughs a little.

Watanabe laughs too, longer. “All that funding he gave us, and in the end, we got to broadcast that mental shutdown of his. Our ratings have been through the ceiling. Give Shido-san my best for that, eh? And you - ha. I can’t say I understand how you do it, but well done.”

A part of him snarls, You think I’m an afterthought in this? It wasn’t Shido who actually did it, it was MY goddamn operation. Like it’s something he can still be proud about. But he smiles through it, the way he would have smiled through it before. (And, well, let’s be honest here - even now, it’s hard to care that much about Okumura’s death. He regrets doing it, of course, regrets the pain it caused that sweet, vicious little daughter of his; remembers the sheer joy he’d felt, watching it, with horror. But it’s hard to be that sorry that there’s one less abusive rich fuck in the world.)

Goro says, faux-modest, because these guys always seem to get a kick out of that, “I did what I could. It seemed to work out.” And indeed, Watanabe laughs again. Goro adds, like he’s only just now remembering it, “Oh, actually, Watanabe-san - I was wondering if you’d be able to do me a quick favour.”

“And what might that be, Akechi-kun?” Watanabe says, because men like him don’t rise to the top just agreeing to favours before they know what they are, even though he sure as hell owes Goro a few.

Goro tilts his head down, like he’s embarrassed, and then looks up through his lashes. Oh, Watanabe-san, I’m so confident on TV but I’m just a shy little boy at heart, thank god there’s a big competent man here to take care of me. Goro hates himself every fucking time he pulls this act but that’s never once stopped him from doing it. He says, “Well… would it be possible for you to give me a letter of introduction?”

Watanabe leans a bit closer and says, “That shouldn’t be a problem, but… honestly, son, why on earth would you need one of those?”

This part is the gamble. “It’s for my friend. This is a bit embarrassing, but she lost hers.” He looks down and to the side. All sheepish about talking about a girl.

Watanabe bites. “She, hm? Oh my, look at you.” He smiles, though his expression is still hungry. “Well done, lad. Shido-san always thought you were a bit, ah… a bit of a nancy, to be entirely honest with you. But I said, no, he just needs some time to blossom. And so it is!”

If anyone else talks about his sexual orientation today Goro will kill them, probably, change of heart be damned. At least this is helping him understand what Shido does and doesn’t know. He says, “I wouldn’t say it’s anything serious, sir. But, you know… I’d like to show her around.”

“I bet you would,” the prick says, a laugh in his voice, and starts digging through his pockets.

Goro keeps talking, to make sure he stays buttered up, goes as earnest as he can without it verging into parody. He lets his fingers just brush against Watanabe’s knee. “And Watanabe-san… I did want to thank you for being so supportive. You and your station helped make me what I am. I never could have gotten as far as I did without you. No, I mean, we, Shido-san and I, couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, stop, you sweet-talker,” says Watanabe, smiling. He pulls out a small envelope, but instead of handing it to Goro he reaches over with his free hand, uses it to tilt Goro’s chin up. Gets very close. Goro lets it happen, keeps his face pleasant and engaged, and thinks, distantly: Now you’ve done it, Akechi, you idiot. This is what you get for being such a goddamn whore. People are watching this. Akira is watching this.

The real Watanabe is discreet, but still - one time, after a dinner party, he’d gotten too drunk and pulled Goro onto his lap in front of everyone. He’d kept his composure even while scrambling to his feet, but somehow that made it funnier to them all, the child among men acting so unfazed by it. But at least Watanabe’s not that bad. He’s certainly better than that vile old inbred noble, the one who’s always thirty seconds away from talking your ear off about either women he’s borderline-assaulted or how the eugenics movement was really just misunderstood. Goro wonders sometimes if there’s ever been a powerful man in the history of the world who hasn’t been a pervert.

But now, Watanabe just looks him deep in the eyes and then says, “You’re like a son to me, Akechi-kun. I hope you know that. Have a good time with that girl of yours, eh?” And he lets go of Goro’s chin and holds out the envelope in both hands politely.

Goro tries not to look surprised, or relieved, or disturbed at the implications of that particular statement. (That’s a topic he needs to stay the hell away from thinking about, anyway.) He takes the envelope, stands up and bows deep. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, sir,” he says. “I’ll make sure that Shido-san hears how kind you’ve been.” And Watanabe grins wide at that, and Goro realises that that was his only real goal here, after all. Goro was fun to play with but ultimately just a means to an end. And since Goro got what he wanted, and obviously isn’t going to say shit to Shido, that means he won this one. He should be happy.

They say some more meaningless shit to each other, Goro promising to stop by his office next time he’s in the area, yada yada. As soon as he turns, he sees a number of heads duck behind the pillar he’d come from. He heads over at a forcedly normal pace, holds himself carefully while he’s still in Watanabe’s field of view.

“There,” he says when he reaches the Thieves, and shoves the letter into Akira’s hand. “It’s done. Now let’s get out of here before I go back and stab him in the throat.” The kids all stare at him. “Not literally, you morons. It’s a figure of speech.”

“I don’t believe it is,” says Kitagawa.

“Yeah, that’s a new one to me,” says Akira. He’s giving Goro one of his thoughtful looks. “Thanks for doing that.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Goro says, and folds his arms very tightly. “Give me my mask back.” Akira passes it over, a bit hesitantly, and Goro snatches it impatiently from his hands.

The cat says, “Are you going to flip out if we try to ask about any of that, Crow?”

Well - given his recent track record, that seems fairly likely. Goro puts his mask on and says, “What’s there to ask about? He’s a creep. I knew he was a creep so I took advantage of it. There you go, end of discussion.”

The Phantom Thieves, for once, don’t seem to have much to say about that. They just look at him, or at their feet. After a moment, Kitagawa says, “Are all these people like that?” He sounds a little aghast.

“Not specifically like that,” Goro says. “But none of them are nice.” He feels suddenly compelled to make this particular situation a bit clearer. He says it all as indifferently as he can. “It’s not as if Watanabe’s an actual predator, you know. He just gets a rush out of messing with the boss’s toys. It’s incredibly easy to manipulate if you know what you’re doing.” They need to know he was in control of all that, the whole time.

“‘The boss’s toys’?” repeats Sakamoto. “That’s a seriously fucked up way to talk about yourself, dude.”

Well, Goro thinks wearily, if the shoe fits. He says, “It was a metaphor. Don’t strain yourself overthinking it.”

Sakura says, slowly, “Have you met that noble guy? The really creepy one?”

“Oh god, you all had to deal with Nijou?” says Goro, and then laughs at his own surprise. “Of course you did. Shit. Better you than me. How did that go?”

Most of the group seems to be looking very pointedly at Sakamoto, who says, “Look, I said I was sorry about that. But sending the girls worked, didn’t it?”

“Wait, hold on,” says Goro. “You sent the girls to deal with Nijou? Are you kidding? I wouldn’t make a woman I hated go within twenty feet of that fat prick.” These fucking idiot kids. Not that any of the Thieves would be in any actual danger, but regardless.

“We didn’t know he’d be that awful,” says Akira, though he sounds immensely guilty.

Goro tries to sound sympathetic, so Akira will listen to him. “You should have known to expect it. Just think of how you met Shido, Joker. Did you think that was aberrational? This is what the adult world is like. I would have thought you’d all have figured that out by now.” Akira, especially, should have worked that out. Goro knows he’s cleverer than this.

Akira looks at him very seriously and says, “Your father’s conspiracy ring isn’t the entire world, Crow.”

Goro says, “It’s cute that you think I was only talking about that.” And depressing. They really don’t live in the same world at all. He starts walking forward, because none of the others seem like they’re going to. They need to get out of here. They need to stop wasting time.

From behind him, Sakamoto says, “Look, fuck those assholes. But you can’t just act like all that’s normal, Akechi. You can’t just accept shit like that.”

This conversation feels so dangerous. Goro would very much rather shoot himself than discuss any aspect of his shitty childhood, or his shitty adolescence for that matter, with Ryuji goddamn Sakamoto. He stops, turns his head but not his body, and says, “The world must look pretty good from that high horse of yours, huh, Skull?”

“No, dude, it doesn’t, that’s my point. If people are shitty around you all the time, you gotta get mad about it!”

Goro’s not going to lose it again. He said he wouldn’t so he won’t. He turns around fully and says, calm as the goddamn doldrums, “I have been nothing but angry since I was seven and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it hasn’t exactly worked out for me so far.” Maybe that’s a significant oversimplification, but it’ll do, given that none of this shit is anyone else’s goddamn business. And if he’d spent all his time consciously mad, dwelling on it, he’d… he’d have been a lot like he’s been since his heart was stolen. Which hasn’t been a particularly useful, productive state, has it?

“Guys,” Niijima says, and if she’s about to chew him out for this too, a conversation he absolutely didn’t want or initiate or even get that upset about… But she just says, “The middle of a Palace is a terrible place to talk about this.”

“Agreed,” says Akira.

Sakamoto ignores both of them. “Crow,” he says firmly, “I’m not trying to start anything with you, I’m being serious here. I know messed up shit happens, and I know it stays with you forever. I know that.” Goro loathes the way he’s talking to him, as if they have anything in common, when every dumb punk in the world has been smacked around by someone from time to time. When Goro tried so hard for so long to drag himself out of the same gutter Sakamoto seems to have willingly dove into. “But you had other options besides your whole - batshit insane revenge plan, you know? No one made you join forces with your shitty evil dad! I mean, you coulda just done this-” and he holds out his hands, gesturing to the entire Palace - “ages ago, dude! We would’ve helped you!”

“Skull,” says Takamaki, “we just stopped fighting, give him a break.”

Goro says, though he can hear the frustration rising in his voice, “I genuinely don’t understand what you want me to say, Sakamoto. I did what I did, and being lectured about it now isn’t going to change any of that.” And besides, he didn’t even know you could change someone’s goddamn heart until the Phantom Thieves showed up. And by that point - well - he had too much blood on his hands to change his mind, even if he’d wanted to.

“Codenames, Crow,” says Akira, gently.

“Your codenames,” Goro snaps, “are stupid. You people do realise that, right?”

“Says the guy who wanted to be called ‘karasu’,” says Sakamoto, who just refuses to shut up. “Was that a bit, by the way? You were trying to make us think you were too dorky to be evil?”

“Clearly,” Goro says, although it wasn’t.

“Why do you call me Joker in real life all the time, if you think they’re stupid?” says Akira.

Just once he wishes Akira would back him up. Maybe he just thinks changing the subject is the same thing. Goro glares at him and says, “Can we please go? I really need to hit something.”

They acquiesce, and go on in silence for a while, only speaking when they get into battle. At the end of one fight, Kitagawa says, like the conversation is still ongoing, “It can be difficult, you know, to recognise that one’s situation is unjust. And… shameful, to know that others can discern it. So it feels as though there’s a dignity in isolation, but I… I don’t believe there is. Not really. One is merely alone.” Goro turns to look at him and Kitagawa looks a bit flustered and adds, “In my experience.”

“Yeah,” says Sakura in their heads, very, very quietly.

Goro thinks about saying, I’m not going to be nice to you just because you said some pretty words about how pathetic you think I am. Thinks about saying, It’s not exactly unjust if you actively sought those situations out, if you walked into the lion’s den and thought being smarter than the lions would keep you safe; so keep your empathy to yourself.

He says, “Right.” And then, uncomfortably, “Thanks.”



One night, long before Goro was even slightly famous, Shido dragged him, along with Watanabe and a few other men Goro didn’t know, to a hostess club, orchestrated it (the way he seemed to be able to orchestrate everything) so Goro could get in without being carded. He thought he’d hate it. He did hate it, part of it anyway - the men guffawing into their overpriced champagne about their wealth, their power, their petty little accomplishments. The way they looked at the girls like they wanted to devour them whole.

But - the girls. The women, really, they were certainly all older than he was. They were incredible, cold calculating mirrors who knew exactly how to fawn and flirt and appeal to a scumbag’s ego. It was hard to talk to the one he was supposed to be talking to, he was so busy watching the rest of them work. But she seemed to pick up on that too, listened to the others’ conversations and said to him, “Don’t you think...?” to get him involved. Real professionals, every one of them.

The girl whispered in his ear, after a while, “Are you doing okay, hon?”

“Me?” he said, and smiled at her. Woozily. He would need to make sure he didn’t actually drink, if this ever happened again - the champagne was hitting him harder than he expected. He tried to fake it like the girls, but everything he said came out a bit too honest. “I’ve just never been somewhere like this. You’re all… you’re really good at your jobs.”

“Aw, thank you,” she said. “I just wasn’t sure if you were just quiet or having a bad time. Or… if you don’t like me?”

He liked her. He didn’t remember her name, but he liked her, her careful artificial sweetness, the honey-blonde of her dyed hair. He could even imagine maybe kissing her, if he really had to. He said, “Sorry. Just quiet.”

“I know this place is a lot, if you’re not used to it,” she said, smiling apologetically.

He nodded and held up his champagne flute and said, “Uh - cheers?”

She giggled and said, “Cheers to what, Akechi-san?” She remembered his name, which was her job but still made him feel guilty. How did they do this job and drink? With every customer? He wondered if she had a sobriety trick, if she’d teach it to him.

He said, “Cheers to you, obviously,” and she beamed at that terrible line like he’d given her a diamond ring, and clinked their glasses together. Fucking amazing. Get the woman every acting award she could carry. “Ahh, young love!” said Watanabe, and everyone at the table laughed, the girl next to Goro most of all.

She said in his ear, “How old are you, hon?”

“Twenty,” he said, of course.

She whispered, “No, how old are you really? You won’t get in trouble, I know they paid off my boss. I’m just curious.”

He hesitated, and then whispered back, “Sixteen.” He wanted to say sixteen and a half, but that would just make him sound even more childish.

She said, “Is one of these guys your dad?”

He thought about just telling the truth - all he’d have to do was nod, and she’d be the only person in the world to know - but that would be such a stupid move. “No. More like… my boss.”

She nodded, playing it like a sixteen year old going to a hostess club with his boss was totally normal. Maybe it was, in some circles. “You like your boss?” she asked.

He glanced over at the others to make sure no one was paying too much attention to them. Watanabe’s eyes lingered a bit too long on Goro sometimes, but between the women surrounding them and the way the glass Shido was pouring was threatening to overflow, all the men seemed otherwise occupied. Goro said, “No. Do you?”

“Uh-uh,” she said, and grinned. Tapped her glass to his conspiratorially while a waiter sped past them with a towel. “To shitty bosses,” she murmured.

He smiled, and drank, and whispered, “How do you do this? All the time?”

“This job, you mean?” she said. He nodded. She said, “I like it. Honestly, Akechi-san, I do, I get paid to mostly just sit down and talk and drink all night. It’s like I’m a different person here. I’m what they need me to be for a shift, and then I go home and be me again. And it beats working at a grocery store. Why, you thinking of a career change?”

He said, “But how do you know…” The champagne was making this difficult. “How,” he repeated carefully, hoping starting the sentence over would give him more time to think it through, “can you know that the… the person you are when you go home is real? If you can be both people easily?”

She just laughed and said, “That’s a bit too philosophical for me, sweetheart.” He wondered if she meant it.

It was a real hostess club, the no touching type of hostess club, but somehow they ended up with the women in Shido’s limousine anyway. Shitty bosses, Goro thought as the girl kissed him, as he let his hand rest gingerly on her left breast for an audience too busy to notice. Just tolerate it, and then they’d both go home.

It got a bit hazy after that, but at some point the girl hustled him out of the limo, and then he keeled over and puked all over the sidewalk. She held his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said afterwards, staggering to his feet. “Did they see?”

“Probably not,” she said, wiping at his mouth with a tissue. “And these things happen. If they did notice they’ll think it was funny and then forget it, I’m sure.” She paused, and then said, “You okay, kid?”

He nodded. Mumbled in a slur, “I’m sorry I… in the car. I didn’t want to.” He wasn’t sure which part he was apologising for, the act itself or the lack of desire.

“I know,” she said gently. “It’s not a problem. Look, I don’t normally do this, but if you ever just want someone to talk to, you can call my work cell, yeah? The number’s on my card. And my name’s not Risa, it’s Linh.”

“Someone to talk to?” he repeated stupidly. He was pretty sure he’d lost her business card hours ago, but that wasn’t the issue. The real problem was that he’d somehow fucked up so spectacularly that this strange woman felt sorry for him, was concerned for him. It was bad enough that she’d just watched him heave his guts out in the street.

She said, “I’m a good listener, even when I’m not being paid for it. Just, if you need any help…”

He wondered suddenly and coldly what she thought was exactly going on with him and his ‘boss’, exactly how lurid her assumptions were. How dare she. How dare anyone think of him like that. So he pulled himself up to his full height - he wasn’t as tall as his father yet but he was getting close, and she was tiny even for a girl - and he said, every syllable carefully enunciated to make up for his sluggish drunken tongue: “I don’t need the pity of some trashy foreign whore.”

She let real emotions show on her face for a second, a flash of startled wide-eyed injury - but only for a second, and then she wiped it away. A class act to the last, this woman. A real fucking inspiration. “Do whatever you want with your life, then, kid,” she said, and put on a calm, neutral smile. “It doesn’t matter to me. Have fun with your boss.” And she turned and went back inside, her heels clicking on the concrete.

He should have felt victorious but really he just felt like he was going to be sick again, so he leaned against the limo until one of the windows rolled down, and Shido said, “What the hell are you doing out there, Akechi? Where’d your girl get to?”

“She was a bitch,” he said, because he knew that was what Shido would want to hear, and because saying it made him feel a little better; and Shido laughed and pushed open the door for him.

“That’s women for you,” he said, as Goro climbed back in. All the hostesses exited as if they’d been signalled by the open door, adjusting their dresses and giggling a little, uncomfortably, as they went. None of the men were bothering to adjust anything. “What was her name? I’ll get her fucking… fucking fired.”

Goro sat down. He knew this was petty, too cruel for such a small slight; but then he thought of the way she’d spoken to him, like he was too pathetic to take care of himself. “Risa,” he told Shido, and smiled, though his mouth tasted like stomach acid. “She said her name was Risa.”



Time went by. Goro developed an alcohol tolerance, learned to lie and flirt while shitfaced like the best of them. Better than the best. Even Shido went nearly honest after a few too many drinks; Goro couldn’t afford to do that, so he didn’t. And Watanabe kept watching him every time they met, until Goro finally decided he might as well capitalize on it.

It happened like this: there was a party at Shido’s, as there often was (so many stories from the past two and half years of Goro’s life start, there was a party-), and Watanabe had been hounding Goro all evening. Not hounding him overtly but enough that it was impossible to not notice - keeping a penetrating eye on him in every room, homing in on him for conversation and refilling his wine glass. He kept it up until Goro just thought, Fine. Why not. If I fuck you, you’ll owe me. Maybe it was even blackmail material. Not that he’d ever publically degrade himself by actually using it, but Watanabe didn’t know that, now, did he? And it was late enough that Shido had vanished somewhere with some girls, so he wouldn’t have to know about it.

He threw his head back and finished his glass, grabbed another for courage, and weaved his way through the crowd. When he found Watanabe standing alone at the appetizers table, Goro said, quietly, “It’s awfully busy, isn’t it?”

Watanabe looked a bit surprised to see him there. Pleasantly so, though, naturally. “It certainly is,” he said.

Goro wished he could just say: I know what you want and I’m feeling charitable so let’s just get it over with. Instead, he said, “You can barely hear yourself think. I was wondering if we could go somewhere a bit less… populated? I had some business questions I thought you’d be able to help me with.” And he smiled, charmingly and wholesomely, and took a long sip of wine without dropping his gaze.

Watanabe smiled too, but he said, “What would people think, of a lovely thing like you sneaking off with someone like me?”

Good fucking god, did he want to do this or not? Goro made himself go slightly embarrassed, said, “Oh - my, I didn’t even consider-”

Watanabe said, sagely, “When you’re in a position like mine you have to consider these things. However, there… there is a guest room on the second floor that’s often free. Do you know it?” Goro did, so he nodded and tried not to look impatient while Watanabe laid out a fairly standard you go there and wait for me plan.

This didn’t need to be such a production. Absurd. But, he thought as he went upstairs, having the pervert on his side would be great for ensuring future media saturation, wouldn’t it? Shido would be thrilled.

He sat on the side of the bed and sipped his drink and tried to decide what to do with himself. Watanabe was taking his time coming upstairs and there wasn’t much to do in Shido’s deeply generic guest room. He wasn’t going to get undressed right away or anything, of course. He wasn’t some common tramp. (Because fucking your father’s business associate was a completely normal, non-trampy thing to do, wasn’t it, Goro? But, well, that was how things went sometimes, wasn’t it.) After a bit of deliberation, he set the glass down on the bedside table, undid his tie and the top button of his shirt.

Watanabe showed up like he thought he’d be arrested if anyone saw him enter the room, quick and furtive. He locked the door and then looked at Goro and said, “Business questions, eh?”

Goro leaned back a little, smiled coquettishly at him, and said, “Business questions.”

He’d kissed worse people than Watanabe. That was all shit he didn’t want to think about - this was so bland and dull that it wasn’t worth thinking about. This was just an ugly old man with a crush. Unappealing but entirely harmless. Watanabe kissed down his neck and then whispered into his ear, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“I’ve noticed,” Goro said, but nicely, like he was teasing. And - “Wait, careful. Don’t leave marks.”

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you, Akechi-kun?” Watanabe said.

Goro said, “When I want to be,” and tried to smile, but then Watanabe was on him again, his tongue in his mouth, so ferociously it was actually funny. He was fumbling with the buttons on Goro’s shirt with one hand, the other on his ass. Goro undid Watanabe’s shirt too, much more smoothly, just to be polite, and then said when Watanabe took a break from shoving his tongue down Goro’s throat, “What do you want me to do, sir?”

He had a feeling Watanabe would be the type who really got off on being called sir in this sort of context, and he wasn’t wrong. Watanabe looked like he was expecting to wake up any second now. He said, “Good lord,” instead of answering.

Goro was going to have to hold the guy’s hand for every step of this, wasn’t he. He reached over and finished his wine off in a few quick gulps, and Watanabe added, “What… would you be willing to…?”

Goro swallowed, and smiled, and said, “Do you want to fuck me?” Just to make it clear that he wouldn’t go much more unsanitary than that.

It was more than enough of a suggestion for Watanabe, who said, softly, “Please.” Aw. This was so much more pathetic than he’d been expecting. It was almost touching. He said, “Wait, don’t we need… equipment?”

Goro went digging in the bedside drawer for what he knew was there - condoms and packets of lubricant. (Shido had told him about that once, early in their partnership; said he shouldn’t hesitate if a girl ever took his fancy while he was here. Hilarious.) He held them up and said, sweet as cake, “Shall we?”

He was hoping Watanabe was the doggy-style type, so he wouldn’t have to keep his expression lusty, but of course he was the sit in my lap type instead. Creepy. When Goro lowered himself onto his extremely average dick, Watanabe groaned and said in his ear, “God, you’re so tight,” like they were in a porno. “You’re so tight for such a little slut, Akechi-kun.”

Well. So much for the charming pathos of horny old men. Good thing the rooms in this house were well soundproofed, at least. Goro made himself bite his lip and moan, even though he wanted to break Watanabe’s nose for speaking to him like that. Wanted to smash his head through a pane of glass and grind his face in the shards and tear the sense from his heart while he was at it. He thought of the man’s face in ribbons, his mind a gibbering wreck. Someday, perhaps. For now he had to let it slide, but someday.

Watanabe kept going with the revolting dirty talk, so Goro did his best to tune it out. He’d definitely had way worse sex than this, he decided. This was actually totally fine, apart from Watanabe being disgusting. Goro was kind of proud of himself, at how totally fine he felt about it. He knew taking the initiative was a good idea.

He tilted his head back in feigned ecstasy and thought of those kids he’d seen in Madarame’s Palace, earlier that week. Thought of him, the leader, that black-clad dazzler in gentleman-thief drag with that incredible, ridiculous tangle of hair. With that power. How could anyone like that just be an ordinary student, with an ordinary name like Akira? Somehow ‘Joker’ suited him much better. He needed to find out the guy’s surname so he could do some real research. Maybe there was a way to get it from Shujin Academy’s records. He’d have to make some calls. Shadowing those kids around the city in the hopes that someone would say Akira’s surname was pretty amateurish for a guy who had the connections Goro did.

He’d have to say hi at some point, too, play with him a bit. Make sure Joker knew who he was. And then - then he would crush them. It was a cute little game that those kids were playing, this ‘Phantom Thief’ bullshit, but they were in his way. He could even humiliate them in front of the entire nation, if he played his cards right.

Speaking of which. He said to Watanabe, “Put me on TV again. I’ll be so good for your ratings.”

Watanabe laughed, his face bright red, and said, “No kidding.”

Goro laughed too, rocked a bit harder, and said, “I’m serious, sir. It’d be a mutually - beneficial - partnership, oh god-” and then groaned like he’d never been fucked so good before. It was maybe a bit much, but you do what you have to do.

Watanabe said, between heavy breaths, “You’ll have to vouch for me to Shido-san.”

“Consider it done,” said Goro. He reached down and took himself in his hand and thought of the leader of those kids, Joker, Akira - the fluidity of his movements, the sight of his ass in his plaid school pants - and from then on, he didn’t hear a single filthy word that Watanabe said.



Being a mouse is awful. Awful, and incredibly fucking on-the-nose of Shido’s subconscious. Not that any Palace has ever been subtle, but - maybe Goro had higher expectations of Shido than he thought. He knew what Shido thought of the public, of women. He didn’t realise that scorn extended so universally to the denizens of his ‘ship’.

After what seems like hours of navigating the hallways, they come onto the side deck, blissfully human, and a man in a burgundy suit approaches them. “Akechi-kun,” he says. He looks a little familiar, in the same way the man outside his school did. His eyes are flat like a shark’s. “I thought you were downstairs. What are you doing with the riffraff?”

“Well,” Goro says, and then realises he hasn’t thought of a cover story. He thinks, childishly, of Star Wars, of pretending he’s escorting the prisoners or… or whatever. The prisoners on a cruise ship, though, Goro? Really? That’s a terrible idea, and would be even if it wasn’t from a forty year old movie everyone knows.

“He was just showing us around,” Niijima pipes up.

Goro says, in hopes of distracting the man, “I’m sorry, where do we know each other from?” He smiles, and adds, “I have such a terrible memory for faces, I’m afraid.”

The man doesn’t smile back. “From here and there,” he says. “And I think you met a subordinate of mine recently. Real sorry to hear about that flu of yours, Akechi-kun. The boss has been concerned, actually.”

“That’s kind of him,” Goro makes himself say. His mouth is very dry.

“Is it?” the man says. “Maybe you should watch yourself, Goro Akechi. Don’t make him think about you so much. Just some friendly advice. And, pardon, I must have missed it, why are you showing these people around here again? Who are they?” The courtesy in his voice sounds entirely mocking.

Akira steps up and says, smoothly, “Our parents know Shido-san. But when we realised Akechi-san was here - we just had to meet him. And he’s been very kind to us.”

“I’ve never met a celebrity before,” Takamaki adds, very cheerfully. Her voice is a touch too loud.

The man looks at them, and then back at Goro. “I didn’t realise there were any children besides you on this ship. But a boy has to have playmates, I suppose.” He studies the group, and then nods to himself and says, “I’ll see you later, kiddo. Be good.” And then he turns and walks off, just like that.

When they can’t hear the man’s footsteps anymore, Morgana says, “Who was that, Crow?”

Goro says, “I’m not sure. One of Shido’s dogs, I assume. Killers, I mean.”

“The cleaner?” Kitagawa asks.

“Maybe. I don’t know for sure.” He feels sudden cold regret. If it was him, they should have taken advantage of it. It would have been a huge time saver. “Sorry,” he says, “I should have thought of that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says. “Whoever he was, he was obviously threatening you, so it was probably good that we didn’t start anything without having more information.” Something about that makes Goro feel a disarming jolt of affection for him out of nowhere. Akira looks away, down the deck, and then says, “Why don’t we go back to the safe room and then call it for today?”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in hours,” says Niijima.

Goro says, “No. Absolutely not. We barely got anywhere, we need to keep going.” Though he’s not sure if he can. He feels half dead on his feet, has been feeling increasingly sluggish and stupid, no matter how much of Akira’s coffee he drinks between fights, and the man they just met has left him feeling antsy on top of all that. But that just means he has to buckle down and force himself to focus. To try harder. That’s all.

“Maybe you can do that,” says Akira, his hands in his pockets now, “but I can’t.” Which might be bullshit, but he does sound worn out. “We have the whole rest of the week, I’m sure we can do it. We did great today.”

“You did say you were tired, Crow,” Takamaki adds.

Goro says, more awkwardly than he likes, “I meant… more… existentially.”

“Big mood,” says Sakura, inexplicably.

Goro decides to ignore that, and says to Akira, “We can’t afford to screw around with this. We have to get this done as soon as possible.”

“If we force ourselves to keep going today we will get injured and sick,” Akira says, firmly, “and then we’ll really have a problem.” Goro wants to protest that he’s done this shit while ill before, but ‘I killed Wakaba Isshiki while I had a sinus infection’ is a monstrous thing to say to prove a point. And he would like to get out of here, think about something other than this hellhole for a while. “We have another letter, we’re really close to getting the next one, and most importantly we’ve more or less figured out how to work with each other again. That’s progress.” He smiles and says, “I swear, Crow, we’re doing fine.”

God, Akira’s whole authoritative act is somehow getting less annoying and more attractive every time he does it. Goro is absolutely hopeless. He mutters, “Well, don’t come crying to me when the new prime minister sends his hitmen after all of us.”

“You could try to have a little faith in us, you know,” says Morgana. “It’s not like we’re new at this.”

Goro sighs in exasperation. “I’m just concerned, all right? I’m not actually trying to wound your delicate little egos every minute of my life.”

“Then don’t,” says the cat, “be a jerk every minute of your life.”

“Dude, we get it, you don’t like him,” says Sakamoto. “Weren’t you the one who was all ‘Guys, Akira’s the one who nearly got shot, if he wants to help Akechi we should listen to him’ a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, Mona, you’re being really fickle about this,” says Takamaki. “Especially considering you’re kind of a jerk too.”

Morgana’s eyes widen. “I- I am not!” he says, his voice going even higher than usual. “Lady Ann, do you really think-?”

“A huge jerk,” says Sakura authoritatively. “Massive.”

“I’ve heard that people dislike in others the thing they most dislike in themselves,” Kitagawa adds.

Niijima says, “Guys. No more hallway chats. Safe room. Now.”

These kids, Goro thinks as they walk, listening to them continue to bicker. These kids and their childish ideals and their good intentions. He hates to admit it, especially since they’ve basically been insulting him all day, but they’re kind of growing on him. Like they were in Sae Niijima’s Palace. He’d thought he’d just enjoyed the casino because he liked the con of it, the joke; liked being the only one (he’d thought at the time) who was ready for the punchline. Maybe he’d admitted to himself, too, that he liked being around Akira, or at least that he liked looking at Akira, but - but maybe it was all of them. Maybe they weren’t completely intolerable.

It’s getting late, when they get back to the real world, nearly quarter to ten, and they walk too fast to the station, most of the group whining excessively the whole way there. He doesn’t really blame them. This has always been the worst part of going into the cognitive world; coming back, the wave of exhaustion that hits you, the way you feel suddenly graceless and heavy. He thinks of times he returned from that world, in his old life, stumbling to the subway station feeling exhausted and vacant with screams echoing in his ears. Texting his father to tell him it was done and telling himself: those people didn’t matter. The fact that it was so easy to do proved that they didn’t matter. And nothing they said in that world, nothing anyone did, was even real, anyway. Just metaphors.

Goro grits his teeth at the memory and gives Kitagawa, who’s been quietly digging through his pockets with an expression of increasing distress, a few ¥500 coins, in order to prove to himself that he’s not entirely a piece of shit. Doing good things just to make yourself feel better is what shitty people do, admittedly, but cash is cash and Kitagawa looks like he’s just been handed the keys to the Louvre. It doesn’t make Goro feel much different.

The group disperses as they go, going to different lines or off through the tunnels - Sakamoto and Takamaki making frantic apologies on their phones to their parents - until finally they’re at Shibuya Station and the only ones left are Goro and the Yongen-bound crew. He doesn’t have any reason to be hanging around with them, of course, and is too tired to come up with a coherent explanation should anyone point that out. He just… wants to put off being alone for a little longer, maybe.

Sakura groans and says, “I’m going to pass out before we get on the train if I don’t get some caffeine in me,” and goes over to the nearest vending machine. “You guys want anything?”

“I’m good,” says Akira.

“You’ll never be able to sleep if you have caffeine this late, you know,” says Goro.

“Didn’t ask, psycho,” says Sakura, in the same tone she uses to call Kitagawa ‘Inari’. For some reason Goro actually laughs at that, a little. When he looks at Akira he’s smiling, too; not that predatory smirk he wears in the Palaces but genuinely and brightly, like he’s never heard anything as wholesome and charming as that exchange. His face actually lights up when he smiles like that. Goro’s never smiled that honestly at anything in his life.

He should come up with something clever to say, some witty parting jab Akira will like, but he’s so fucking tired. So he says, “Well. My train’s-” and gestures, woodenly, over his shoulder.

Akira says, “Okay. Uh, actually, before you go. Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“The Palace,” Goro says, pointedly.

“Yeah, no, tomorrow morning, I mean, while everyone else is in school.”

Goro’s still wearing his uniform jacket, but with Akira’s hoodie over it. A part of him feels a bit aggrieved that Akira hasn’t looked at him hard enough to figure out why he’s wearing his school jacket, but then, it is the only jacket he wears most of the time. And it’s perfectly reasonable for Akira to have assumed that Goro was still being a miserable layabout shut-in during his downtime, as much as he hates to admit it.

If Goro were responsible, he’d say, I have school and hours upon hours of make-up work and exams I’ve barely thought about and my currently spotless reputation can only grant me so much leniency. Instead, he says, trying his best to sound as if he’s not very interested, “Why do you ask?”

“We have something of yours,” says Morgana from the bag, archly. Oh. The treasure, presumably. Right.

“I thought you could come over, maybe,” Akira adds, not quite making eye contact. “If you want to.”

Goro does, of course. But. “Sojiro Sakura hates me, doesn’t he? For good reason? I should probably spend as little time on his property as possible.”

Futaba Sakura wanders back with a large can of green tea and stands a little behind Akira. She does it casually, not like she’s hiding behind him, but… she is still very much hiding behind him. Which Goro can’t blame her for. Her voice is normal when she speaks, though. “He only hates you a little. Don’t even worry.”

Akira nods. “He said, quote, ‘I do feel bad for the little shit’.”

“Well, that’s a rousing endorsement,” Goro says flatly.

“He called Akira a little shit for like the first three months, every time he talked about him, and he loves Akira,” says Sakura. “I’m serious, dummy, you’re fine.”

“Why,” says Goro, suddenly suspicious, “are you being so nice to me today, Sakura?”

Sakura shrugs and drinks her tea. Then she says, “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re really not as hateable as you think you are.”

Goro thinks of the many, many people in his life who’ve disagreed with that, one of whom is currently in Akira’s bookbag, and says, “Hm.” Although - he’s a bit relieved she’s being dismissive of the question, honestly. He wasn’t actually ready to have another goddamn Phantom Thief heart-to-heart.

Akira says, “Look, dude, do you want to come over or not?”

“Sure,” Goro says. Fuck it. One more day out of school won’t matter when he’s in prison. (God, he hates the thought of that so much that considering it even jokingly makes his stomach clench, makes him wonder about the logistics of high ledges.) “Uh-” His voice cracks, embarrassingly, and he clears his throat and tries to pretend it didn’t happen. “What, uh, time?”

“Uh, eleven-ish? Ten thirty? I’ll need to run some errands in the morning, but they won’t take a lot of time.”

“Okay,” Goro says.

“Okay,” Akira says. “Cool.” God. They’re both being way too weird about this. Goro’s been at Leblanc so many times, in Akira’s shitty little attic so many times. It’s not a big deal. They’re just going to hang out, like normal people with friends do, and then Goro gets to find out whatever his treasure was and probably be humiliated by it, and Akira can say something like Just in case you were wondering, I wasn’t implying anything about us when I said I wasn’t straight, because I have zero attraction to violent douchebags with body counts.

Sakura says, “We should get our train, Akira. Sojiro’s gonna be worried.”

Akira nods, and says to Goro, “See you tomorrow.”

Goro smiles like he’s lying, because his real smile would make his feelings a bit too obvious, and says, “I suppose you will.” That was good, he decides as he heads over to his platform alone. Not perfect, but good. It sounded like he wasn’t too invested, which was the important thing. He can’t afford to let himself think too hopefully about this.

In those first few difficult years after his mother died, Goro decided that the reason good things never happened to him was because he thought about them too hard. Imagining them was bad luck, so he thought about the worst case scenarios instead. When he got a little older, of course, he saw that that was bullshit, magical thinking. (And by that point he’d realised that maybe good things didn’t happen to him because he just didn’t deserve them.) Goro had to be an adult, and what adults do when they want something is they work for it. You pick a goal and you point yourself at it and force yourself to work on nothing else until it’s yours. Your grades, your reputation, your father’s grudging respect. He’d even gone after Akira that way, a little bit, brute-forcing his way into his life.

But - but when he thinks about Akira now, thinks about wanting him, he feels that infantile superstition creep back in; like if he yearns for it in a way that isn’t clear, absurd fantasy, the way that half-boiled old ‘plan’ of his was, he’ll ruin what little chance he may have of anything happening. Even though, of course, he ruined those chances years ago, when he shot his father’s assistant; or maybe when he tore the sanity from the heart of that very first man. Or maybe it was further back: the first time someone saw what he was, saw that he wasn’t a person but an object, and used him like one.

Besides, Goro knows what this is, this game Akira’s been playing. Goro wants it to be something deeper but it’s just this: Akira is spending time with him because he feels responsible, because he’s infatuated with the idea of moral rehabilitation, and because he likes to think he’s a good person. Sometimes things are as simple like that.

Still, Goro thinks as his train pulls into the station. There are worse things than seeing him every day. And now that Goro’s more or less over the shock and the fury, if not the embarrassment, of learning about it, he has to admit it: Akira being alive is the luckiest break Goro’s ever received.



Akira: futaba wants you to call her futaba and didn’t know how to ask
Akira: since sakura is more sojiro’s name than hers
Goro: Would she accept ‘Isshiki’?
Akira: definitely not from you, she says
Goro: That’s understandable.
Goro: Futaba it is.
Goro: Tell her I don’t want her to call me Goro. And I’m honestly not saying that to be rude. It’s already weird enough that you do it.
Goro: Not that it’s terrible from you. You can keep doing it if you want to.
Goro: I mean
Goro: I don’t know what I mean. I’m more tired than I thought it was.
Goro: Please don’t read all these messages to her. Just the first two sentences.
Goro: Are you still there?
Akira: yes hi
Akira: sorry
Akira: fell asleep for a sec
Goro: Impressive.
Akira: futaba says she’s never going to call you goro and honestly it’s weird to think you have a given name at all
Akira: and i would have figured out which ones were for me instead of her lol but thanks for clarifying
Goro: Good.
Akira: i’m really glad you two are getting along
Goro: I don’t understand why.
Goro: Must be my winning personality. I’ve been so fun and easygoing lately, after all.
Akira: it’s those celebrity charms of yours. you’re irresistible
Goro: Ha.
Goro: I’ll see you tomorrow morning. If you’re so tired you’re falling asleep on the subway you should go to bed as soon as you get home.
Akira: thx mona
Goro: What?
Akira: dumb joke. don’t worry about it. nite goro
Goro: Goodnight, Akira.

Chapter Text

A while after Goro started working for him, Shido brought up the idea of the detective scam, how much more they could get away with if only Goro could investigate his own crimes. It sounded laughably implausible at first - Goro cleaned up damn well but still, he was in high school - but Shido said, “Remember that case out in the country, a few years back? The kid detective everyone loved?”

Goro didn’t, but he went home and looked it up. The kid’s name was Naoto Shirogane - and how had he gotten so popular? He was just some stiff, weird little nerd. Cute, Goro supposed, looking through old interviews, in a scrawny, sexless sort of way; but maybe girls liked that, what did he know? He’d have to look into it. The kid had dropped out of public awareness more or less instantly, once the big serial murder case he’d been investigating had wrapped up. Goro couldn’t find anything more recent than 2012. But back when people liked him, they really liked him.

Could he, Goro, do this? He thought about it nonstop for a few days. Shido could pull strings for him with the police, so that part was handled. He’d have to be… smart, which he obviously was. Charming, which he knew he could be when he tried - maybe go for charmingly awkward, just to smooth over any rough edges. That would make him seem real to people, relatable. He should go a bit more idol than Shirogane had - not that that would be hard, since all that was required to outdo him on that front was to not look like you’re actively suffering every time someone takes a picture of you. Easy. He’d been refining his fake smile for years. And he’d spent so much time learning how to avoid talking about himself, his life situation, directly, so he should be okay with that, too.

He liked the idea of there being news articles about him. Positive ones. Fluff pieces, interviews, photo ops. He thought of old foster families seeing them, seeing that he was finally wanted. The satisfaction of the con he was pulling on Shido writ larger than he’d ever imagined.

And the thought of a murderous bastard like him working with the cops - well. That was just too goddamn funny to resist, wasn’t it?



Goro spends more time than he should getting ready, before he goes to Leblanc, even though in the end he’s pretty sure he still looks just as much of a mess as he has since his heart was stolen. His hair’s been too long in the back for months to begin with - he’s been so distracted - and he keeps forgetting to do something about his roots. None of it’s anything he can fix in an hour or two, unless he wants to risk taking scissors to the back of his head or show up at Leblanc smelling freshly of ammonia.

“Fuck it,” he says, crankily, to his reflection, and puts his hair up in the small ponytail he wears at home sometimes, for lack of any better ideas. He hadn’t even slept well, despite feeling absurdly worn out by the time he’d gotten home. Worn out from one day at school and in a Palace. Pathetic. He misses his old endurance, the Goro Akechi who could do anything without complaining and then look flawless under TV lights the next day.

Anyway, he’s overthinking this. It’s not like fixing his hair will magically fill Akira with enough desire to make him forget that he’s a murderer, or even make him forget about seeing him crying like a child on the floor. The thing is - the thing is, he can’t remember the last time someone invited him to their place like this, if you discounted time spent at Shido’s, which Goro firmly did. He must have been a child at the time.

No, he realises while he pulls on his gloves - he does remember. When Goro was eleven, he went over to his classmate’s house and kissed him in his bedroom. The classmate just thought it was funny, but his mother saw, and didn’t. That was the last time, probably. Goro doesn’t remember the boy’s name but he remembers obsessing over him for months before that happened: over his hair, his smile, even the careful way his mom packed his bento boxes. (Although perhaps that part was just jealousy.) Shit. The more things change, huh?

One more anxious turn in the mirror before he forces himself out the door. By now he should have figured out a better way to be vaguely incognito than wearing Akira’s awful sweatshirt, but he hasn’t. It still looks ridiculous on him, and still smells like coffee. He really ought to buy a jacket that isn’t part of a school uniform at some point. Still - even at his worst, he’s more attractive than most people, surely. Pretty much everyone in this city over the age of puberty wants to fuck him, after all. He shouldn’t care so much about one single infuriating boy.

When he gets to Leblanc, he hesitates in the lane outside. He thinks about just going in, like he used to, smiling placidly at Sojiro Sakura. Thinks of the cold look in Sakura’s eyes the last time they saw each other, of how the elderly morning regulars will probably try to make conversation with him. And Goro’s early, so Akira’s probably still running whatever errands he had to do - pawning shit he’d purloined from Shido’s Palace, presumably.

He texts Akira, asks if he’s home. There’s no immediate response, because that would make all this far too easy.

The issue with Sojiro Sakura isn’t even that Goro’s self-conscious about being hated, it’s that he just feels so bad about everything. Has felt a bit bad about it all since they’d met, honestly, though he’d buried the guilt as deeply as he could, smiled through it. He’d been so miserable, the first few times he’d actually stepped into Leblanc. He’d thought he was tough enough to be bulletproof by that point, but the public backlash after the Medjed thing had been staggering, more vicious than he’d been prepared for. He couldn’t go anywhere in public, and at home all he did was work himself into wrathful frenzies, refreshing social media and chewing on his fingers and thinking about the increasingly grisly, impractical things he’d do to Shido someday for putting him through this. (Though it was his own fault, too, he’d let the attention get to his head and been too aggressive, Sae Niijima had even warned him, everything was always his idiotic goddamn fault-)

So he went to Sakura’s cafe. The first time was just to see Kurusu, because maybe fucking with him a little would cheer Goro up, or at least make him feel like he had control over his life again - but instead he’d found himself looking at Futaba Sakura in person for the first time and talking about his mother. Maybe he wanted Futaba to know that they had something in common, though he knew this would only make them all hate him more if the truth about him ever came out. Or maybe it was just that aura Akira has about him, that inexplicable something that makes you want to tell him your secrets. Either way, it wasn’t like Goro had anyone else to talk to.

He’d regretted every word the second he left the cafe, of course. But he still went back, and it wasn’t entirely just to see Akira again. Sakura, he discovered, kept being kind to him. He wasn’t patronising, or dazzled by Goro’s celebrity, or even remotely interested in talking about the goddamn Phantom Thieves, unlike everyone else in the country. Just… kind. In a brusque way, which felt honest. And Goro didn’t deserve a word of it.

If Sojiro Sakura wants to beat the shit out of him for what he’s done, Goro thinks wryly, he won’t stop him. He won’t even resist. The idea is a little alluring, actually, in a fucked-up sort of way. Maybe it would be cathartic for both of them. Hell, maybe someone could film it and send it to Okumura. Not quite eye-for-an-eye, but close enough that she’d probably get at least partial satisfaction from it. She seems like she’d get a kick out of that sort of thing, even if she’s too prim to ever admit it.

Kind of a strange fantasy, that one. But Goro’s had stranger.

An elderly couple leaves the cafe, so Goro turns away from them and pretends to be very interested in his phone. Still no response from Akira. The old people don’t seem to notice him, which is fortunate. When they’re out of sight, he leans over the potted plants outside to look through the front window. Normally there’s a semi-translucent curtain up, but it’s not pulled down all the way today, so if he really bends over and uses his hands to block the reflections… He doesn’t see Akira there, or Futaba. Or even any other customers - just old Sakura, cleaning the table nearest to the window. Then Sakura looks up, and their eyes meet.

Goro freezes. Sakura just stares at him for a long few seconds. Then he drops the rag and moves out of sight. Goro kind of hopes that’s it, but as he straightens up and steps back from the window as smoothly as he can, the door opens with a chime and Sakura says, flatly, “Can I help you with something, Akechi?”

“I’m just waiting for Kurusu-san,” Goro says, with a sheepish little half-laugh. How funny, that you caught me, the teenaged detective murderer, creepily peering through your window. It’s just one of those silly little things that happen sometimes. “He’s not home, is he?”

“No,” says Sakura. He looks deeply unimpressed. “Don’t you have school?”

“No,” Goro says, like it’s obvious that he doesn’t have school, like he’s a bit surprised to even be asked that question.

“God,” Sakura mutters, apparently more to himself than to Goro. Then he says, a bit reluctantly, “Come on in, then. You won’t do anyone any good if you freeze out there.”

“It’s really not that cold, Sakura-san,” Goro says, because it isn’t. “I’m happy to wait out here.”

Sakura sighs. “If you’re going to be here, you might as well pay me for it.”

Goro laughs a little again, more genuinely this time. “I can do that,” he says, and follows Sakura in.

Akira texts him back just as he sits down at the counter, of course.

Akira: omw
Goro: Please use real words.
Akira: My esteemed colleague, I hope this letter finds you well. Morgana and I are not currently at our residence but shall be arriving there shortly thanks to this good city’s remarkable but very smelly public transportation network. Yours faithfully, Akira Kurusu
Goro: So you’re bored on the train, is what you’re telling me.
Akira: yuppp
Akira: almost there though we’ll see u soon

“Is that Akira’s?” says Sakura suddenly, setting down Goro’s coffee cup in front of him.

Goro looks up. “Pardon?”

“The sweatshirt. It looks like Akira’s.”

“Oh, no,” Goro says automatically, and then regrets the lie, because the denial will just make it seem even weirder if Sakura finds out that he’s wearing Akira’s clothes. Still, he has to roll with it now, doesn’t he? “Just something I had lying around. Trying to keep a low profile, you know.”

“Hm. You didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d own something like that.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Goro says pleasantly.

Sakura gives him a very sharp look and says, “Don’t do that.”

Goro thinks he knows what he means, but he blinks at Sakura innocently anyway. “Don’t do-?”

That. Your sweet little detective act. If you’re going to come to my establishment, after everything you’ve done, the least you could do is show enough respect to not bullshit me. I’m not stupid, Akechi.”

Ha. Fair enough. Goro lets his face go flat and neutral, and raises his chin. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Then don’t act like it.”

“All right.” He hesitates, and then says, “I hope you know I was never lying about liking it here, Sakura-san. It really is a pity this place isn’t more popular.”

Sakura says, “Have you ever said anything nice in your life that wasn’t a veiled insult?”

Goro looks down into his coffee. “Sorry,” he says. He hadn’t even meant it like that. It had just come out. Though honestly, he’s said a lot of genuinely nice things about Leblanc, he’s pretty sure. (And meaner, too, but those were mostly only in his head.)

Sakura sighs again and lights a cigarette. Starts doing a crossword. Good. That’s much better than talking. Though the scent of tobacco smoke always makes him uncomfortable, reminds him of Shido - smell and memory are linked, of course, he knew that before he read it in some book or other. So many times, a certain cheap, popular perfume has made his head turn in a crowd, made him feel seven years old again.

He picks up one of the books shelved neatly on the counter, because his other options are the news on the TV or the hellhole that his email inbox has presumably become while he’s been neglecting it. The book is hard to concentrate on, and not about anything he cares about anyway - just some clearly fabricated nonsense about ghost sightings. If he lent Akira something actually worthwhile, Goro wonders, would he read it? He really ought to at least have the basics of Jungian archetypes down, all things considered. (If that takes, he’ll have to go through his philosophy texts. Akira would probably like some of the ones Goro abandoned for being saccharine hippie drivel. They might as well go to someone who’d appreciate them.)

Goro’s only a few pages into the stupid, stupid book when the bell over the door dings, and Akira steps inside. He’s been wearing a black sweatshirt under his jacket lately, ever since he lent Goro the grey one. It suits him much better. Akira says, “Hey, I’m back,” and smiles, just a tiny bit. That smile that makes you feel like he’s sharing a secret with you, some intimate joke. “Glad you weren’t just lurking outside the whole time, Goro. I like your hair like that, by the way.”

Goro holds himself very still. Smiles a little back, pleasantly. “Thank you. Errands go well?”

Morgana hops up onto Akira’s shoulders, and then onto the counter, and says, “We won ¥2000 in the lottery.”

“Oh,” Goro says. “Uh, congratulations? Is that impressive?”

“No, but it’s better than nothing,” Akira says with a shrug, and walks over to the little nook behind the counter that constitutes a kitchen area.

“Tell Mona to get off the counter,” Sakura says without looking up from his crossword. He sounds a bit beleaguered, like he’s getting tired of saying this.

“Tell him I can understand him,” Morgana says in a very similar tone, and jumps down to the chair next to Goro. “It’s not like I’m dirty, you know. I’m the cleanest person here.”

Goro says, “I mean no offense, Mona, but you are permanently slathered in your own saliva.”

“Oh, no,” Morgana says, glowering up at him, “nuh-uh, if we’re not in a Palace you don’t get to call me Mona. Mona is what my friends call me.”

“It’s your fu-” Goro remembers that Sakura is there, that he’s trying not to get himself kicked out of the place, and hastily adjusts his politeness level to slightly rude instead of extremely. “It’s your codename, genius. You’re the ones who insist on making me use that nonsense.”

Morgana lashes his tail a little. “Yeah, like I said, when we’re working. In real life it’s like a nickname, so you don’t get to use it.”

“I notice you’re not addressing my original point.”

“This is a very strange argument to watch,” Sakura interjects calmly. “I hope you both know that.”

Akira emerges with a glass of tap water and says, “Glad you two are still getting along. We should go upstairs and give Sojiro a break, Goro.”

“Is the cat coming?” Goro says. More annoyance seeps into his voice than he likes.

I’m going to hang out with Futaba,” the cat says haughtily. “Someone open the door for me.”

Goro rolls his eyes and gets it for him, because he’s the closest and he’s not a complete douchebag. He even bites back any comments about how much easier Morgana’s life would be if he had thumbs. Akira had better fucking appreciate how nice he’s being.

He goes back to the counter and finishes his coffee off too quickly, because Akira’s right, there’s no point in loitering down here any longer than he needs to; watches Akira sip his water, and then bus both cups back into the kitchen area. He never would have thought, when he saw Akira for the first time, that he’d be so comfortable in a mundane job like this. It feels - homey, still, to be here. Even though Goro’s ruined it. Even though he ruined it before he ever stepped through the door that first time.

He follows Akira upstairs. There’s a cardboard box on the ugly little couch. Akira goes directly to it and starts digging through it. “Don’t you ever wish you had a bedroom door?” Goro says, just to make conversation.

“Not as much as I wish I didn’t have a permanent roommate,” Akira says cheerfully, and then looks suddenly stricken. “That’s not true. Mona’s basically my best friend. I really do like having him around.”

“I suppose it’d be rough if you didn’t,” Goro says.

“I just wish I had a bit more privacy, sometimes.”

Goro says, “I’m sure.” Goro shouldn’t think about Akira needing privacy.

“You can sit down, by the way,” Akira says, and gestures to his bed. Goro opens his mouth to protest, but Akira keeps talking before he can make a sound. “Sorry, I was positive I put it in this box, that’s why I had it out-” and then he goes and grabs another box from the shelves by the stairs. Goro sits delicately on the very edge of the bed and tries not to stare at Akira’s ass while he bends over this one. God, his mind has one single, solitary interest today, doesn’t it? He needs to get the hell over this. Maybe in another nine years he’ll have forgotten Akira’s name, the way he forgot the name of that other world-consuming crush of his. (As if he’ll ever forget Akira, back from the dead. As if he’ll be around in nine years.)

But he’s only looking. It’s hard to resist. It’s a surprisingly nice ass, given how lean Akira is. It’s muscle from running around in the Metaverse, presumably. He’s thought about it a lot.

Goro makes himself say, “I take it this is my Treasure?”

“Mmhm,” says Akira.

“And you couldn’t just tell me what it was earlier because…?”

Akira turns his head (Goro hastily adjusts his gaze) and says, “Because I’m trying to be dramatic. Obviously. I was going to give it to you here after we met up on the weekend, but, you know, that… didn’t work out. Aha!” He holds up a moderately-sized beige paper gift bag and turns around. “Happy… when’s your birthday?”

“June,” Goro says, not moving.

“Happy… very late, or very early birthday,” Akira says. “Come on, Goro, humour me.”

“Please just tell me what it is,” Goro says.

Akira gives him a very long look, and then walks over and sits down next to him on the bed. “I promise it’s nothing you need to be worried about,” he says, so kindly that it practically makes Goro’s skin crawl. “We did look at it, and I’m sorry if that was intrusive, but we just wanted to know what it was.”

“Nothing is worth this much buildup, Kurusu,” Goro says. “You’ve ruined it now.” He sighs, and then holds out a hand. “Fine.”

Inside the bag is a slim, cheap photo album. Hundred-yen-shop level cheap. “Ah,” Goro says. Right. Of course. He hasn’t seen this thing in years. He doesn’t have to open it, he knows what will be there, but he does anyway. The photos are mostly just goofy ones, ones he’d taken with his mother in photobooths. Only the first few pages have anything in them. They look good together, though. They both look happy. Goro says flatly, “Like I said. Not worth the buildup.”

Akira says, “Oh. Sorry.”

Goro closes his eyes for a second and tells himself: he doesn’t need to be an ass about this. Akira’s being nice. Goro’s just being defensive. So he says, “No, I’m sorry,” and it comes out sounding very normal, which is a good start. “I do appreciate it.” He looks down at his mother, pressing a kiss to his five-year-old cheek. He adds, detachedly, “They are embarrassing, though.”

“They’re cute,” Akira says. “That’s not embarrassing.” He pauses, and then asks, “Why didn’t you keep these?”

Goro thinks about it. He says, “I... kept them for a while. But I was worried someone would find them, in the foster homes, and destroy them, or at least make fun of me. So I took them up to the roof of my old building and eventually just forgot them there. I kept one of just her, though.”

(That is a simplification. The full story is this:

They put a fence up on the roof of their building, after his mother jumped. Not that it was his building anymore, of course. But it wasn’t as if his home was the foster house he was stuck in, or the chaotic group home he’d been sent to before that.

He went up to the roof some days after school, when he thought he could get away with it, climbed the fire escape. He’d sit there, do homework sometimes in the sun. Other times he just thought about her, and what it must have felt like when she fell. Was she frightened? Did she think of him? Or did she just think, I’m done. I’m free. Maybe it was even exhilarating, one last rush before the impact.

No one would mind if he went after her, he thought sometimes. It wouldn’t be hard to climb the fence. Everyone would be relieved, probably. He’d become acutely aware that he cost other people money, wasted their time when he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. Maybe that was why she’d done it. She just wanted to get away from him; so maybe she’d hate him even more if he followed her. Maybe that was his reason to not do it. And besides - besides, he was scared of dying, though he didn’t understand why. He was so scared of it.

He wished he could hate her. Instead he took that photo album and left it there on the roof, in a plastic bag hidden behind the trash cans, like a memorial, a shrine, because he didn’t know what had become of her ashes. Took the one picture of only her home and hid it with his school things - that one was easier to look at, since he wasn’t looking at his own face, thinking about how that younger him had no idea what was coming. And after a while, when he moved homes - when things got a little better for a while, and then worse in a way he hadn’t known was possible - he stopped going up, because it was out of his way, and because it hurt.)

Akira says softly, “I see.” He looks down at the print club photos. “She was really beautiful, when we saw her in your Palace. You look a lot alike.”

Goro frowns suspiciously at him and decides to address the less confusing part of that statement. “She didn’t… say anything to you, when you saw her, did she?”

“No,” Akira says. “She just… looked like she was looking for something, and then she left. That was a really specific question, by the way.”

“Was it?” Goro says, as innocently as he can. “I don’t think so.” Maybe his mother had been mute, or famously taciturn or something. Akira doesn’t know.

Akira leans back on the heels of his hands. “Uh-huh. I just think it’s interesting that you didn’t say, 'What was she like?’ or even 'What did she say?’ And in fact - it’s a bit weird that you haven’t asked me about your Palace at all, isn’t it? If it were me, I would want to know about it. At least conceptually.”

“It never would be you,” Goro says, and closes the album firmly. What would Akira Kurusu’s hypothetical Palace even be like? Certainly he has bad qualities, but bad desires are another story. He just wants to help people too much, maybe. “Have you considered that perhaps I haven’t brought it up because it makes me feel like shit? More like shit, I mean.”

“Hm,” Akira says.

Goro sighs. There’s no point in evading this. “Perhaps,” he says, “I followed you all in when I got the calling card and didn’t achieve anything at all and it was fucking embarrassing. Which is the broad theme of my life now, I realise, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to bring it up if I don’t have to.”

Akira looks at him for a while, and then says, “I see. I’m sorry for fishing, in that case.”

“What on earth were you even fishing for, Kurusu? You just couldn’t let me get away with a completely harmless lie?”

“Pretty much.” He says, sheepishly, “I’m a very nosy person.”

“No shit,” Goro says.

“Nothing I’ve done recently has been to embarrass you on purpose. You know that, right?”

Does he? Goro says, “If you say so.” After a brief silence, he adds, “Do you remember asking about what I did to my hands?”

“Kind of,” Akira says, and looks down at Goro’s gloves, still holding the photo album. His knuckles are still bruised and scratched underneath them, of course. “Is that why you still wear gloves?”

Lately? Yes, sort of. He says, “No, that’s because I don’t want my fingerprints to tie me to your criminal enterprise,” and smiles, so Akira knows he’s joking. Akira just frowns at him a little. “I just got into the habit of wearing gloves. It’s cold out. Anyway-” He pushes his amused tone a little, like he’s relating a funny story from years ago. “I was so furious at you all that when I got kicked out of my own Palace, I did that to myself hitting the ground. Like a completely normal, stable person.”

Akira says, “Oh. Well - Ryuji punches walls and things too, you know. It’s not that weird.”

Why do people keep doing this to him? “Must you really compare me to Sakamoto, Joker?”

“I’m just saying. I mean, it’s not exactly a great thing to do, especially if you’re hurting yourself-”

Goro rolls his eyes. “I did it once. Under thoroughly exceptional circumstances. I was trying to be genuine with you, you know. You don’t have to immediately start being condescending about it.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to say that it’s not…you’re not as abnormal as you think.” He pauses, and then says, “Not in that way, at least. You are the only teen detective conspiracist murderer I’ve ever heard of, obviously.”

“Well, I do strive for originality,” Goro says. “Though who knows what was up with that Shirogane kid, I suppose.”

“Who?” Akira says, bless his seventeen-year-old heart. Maybe this is an unforeseen perk of Goro spending time with people his own age, for a change. Adults always had opinions on Shirogane, wanted to go down memory lane and play compare-and-contrast. Goro usually came out ahead, naturally, but still - he didn’t care to have some other guy’s name come up in every single conversation about his job, even if his job was absolute bullshit.

Goro says, “No one important.” But he loves being able to demonstrate that he knows things other people don’t, so he finds himself adding, loftily, “You must have heard his name in some of the coverage of me. There was this old case - how old were you in 2011, anyway, six?”

Akira smiles and says, “You know perfectly well that I’m not even that much younger than you.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Goro says, and gives him his best smug-dickhead smile back. “Your demeanor just throws me off. The whole 'code-names-and-secret-hideouts’ thing is astoundingly elementary school. Not to mention your whole 'everyone is redeemable’ shtick.”

Akira doesn’t falter for a single second. “Yeah, and clearly nothing is as adult as being a two-faced foul-mouthed nihilist with a toy laser sword.”

“Clearly,” Goro agrees. Akira’s been waiting to pull that out, hasn’t he? It’s somehow incredibly endearing. “Though I have at least three faces, thank you.”

“Ah, pardon.”

“And the swords were intended as misdirection,” Goro adds. “I just happened to decide I liked them.” It’s… sort of true. He decided he liked them before he decided to use them as misdirection, but why worry about petty details?

“Uh-huh,” says Akira, looking unconvinced.

“Anyway,” Goro says, about to start telling him about Shirogane again, but then Akira’s phone starts buzzing loudly in his pocket.

Akira takes it out, and Goro sees his expression shift from dispassionate curiosity to something resembling alarm. “That’s my mom,” he says, sounding startled. “Sorry, she never calls, this could be something important.”

“You don’t need my permission,” Goro says, and keeps his tone carefully light, to imply that he’s not remotely bothered by the fact that other people have living mothers.

Akira looks at him like he’s seeing through that and says, “Are you sure?”

“Oh my god, answer the damn phone.”

Akira nods, stands up, and answers it. “Hi, Ma,” he says, striding to the middle of the room. “Yes - no, I’m not - Ma, is everything okay?” His face relaxes, and then goes slightly annoyed. “Sojiro’s probably just busy. You could have just called me to begin with, if you wanted to check up- no, I’m not sassing you, Ma. I’m just saying. No.” He looks at Goro, pulls an apologetic grimace. Goro just gazes back at him. Akira slouches all the time, but he’s standing a tiny bit straighter at the sound of his mother’s voice. Interesting.

Akira continues, looking deeply exasperated. “No, I know I should call you, but I’ve been busy, and you could - yes. Yes.” While he’s talking, Goro slips the photo album into his bag, closes it firmly. “Look, I have a friend over, can we - a boy, Ma, a friend who is a boy. No, there’s no school today. We’re just studying. Akechi. Yeah, like the guy on TV.” Goro snorts, a little. “Of course I am, I always behave. - No, of course I know it’s not funny. Okay. Are you sure everything’s fine? Mm. Yes. I know. I love you too. Bye.” He hangs up, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

Goro says, “That sounded fun.”

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“Did I mishear, or was she asking if I was your girlfriend?”

“She sure was. God. I just don’t understand why they only ever want to talk to Sojiro instead of...“ He looks suddenly even more guilty. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologising to me for having a mother. I’ve had far more parents than you have, anyway, legally speaking.” He adds, to get the focus off him, “I was hoping you’d have a bit more of a secret country drawl than that, to be honest.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Akira says. “Unfortunately for you, I’m from a completely normal sized town where no one has accents. There’s civilization outside Tokyo, you know. It’s not all mountain villages.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Goro says. Then he says, because he can’t fight his curiosity for much longer: “What are they like, your parents?”

Akira sits next to him again, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. “Incredibly boring, honestly,” he says, but he says it affectionately. “They’re both accountants. My big brother’s in law school in Kyoto, but like, property law, that kind of thing. I have no idea how he does it, it sounds so dull.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” How did Goro not know that? He’s done a lot of research on Akira, obviously - enough that he knew the accountant thing already. The idea of Akira as a younger sibling makes sense, though - he’s so self-sufficient. He’s not the kind of kid who was hovered over.

“He has basically zero internet presence,” Akira says, like he knows exactly why Goro’s surprised. “But yeah, he’s, you know… the good one. I couldn’t have turned to a life of crime without knowing he was there to preserve the family reputation, right?” Goro tries to read his expression, but it’s impossible, of course.

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah, of course,” Akira says. “He’s a lot older, so we’re not close or anything, but he’s still my brother.”

Goro says, “God, you’re so normal, aren’t you? I mean, not personality-wise, but…”

Akira shrugs a little. “I guess.”

Goro looks up at the rafters thoughtfully and says, before he can stop himself, “I’ve always wondered if I had siblings. Half-siblings, rather. It’s not as if my mother was anything special to him, after all. But she may have been the only one stupid enough to get pregnant and keep it.”

Akira says, “There’s nothing stupid about that.”

“Mm, I suspect she would have disagreed.” He smiles.

Akira doesn’t smile back. “How old was she? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Goro does the math quick in his head. “Twenty-six when she died.”

“So when she had you she was - twenty?”

“Nineteen.” He knows that without having to calculate it. She’d brought it up regularly, usually over convenience store liquor during the rougher times. She’d lost her family, her chance at university, her internship - because of his father, she said, but they both knew she really meant, because of you.

Akira nods seriously and says, “That’s so young. I can’t imagine having a baby two years from now.”

“I know. She seemed so grown-up to me, of course, but she couldn’t even vote when she had me. Or drink. Imagine, having an unwanted child ruining your life and not even being able to get legally inebriated about it.” He doesn’t let his smile drop, though Akira looks slightly distressed now. “Don’t make that face at me. It’s true, you know.”

Akira says, “I…” He hesitates, bites his lip. “I know I don’t know anything about her. But the woman in those pictures looks like she really loves you.”

“Hm,” Goro says noncommittally, though it helps to know an uninvolved party can think that; that Akira didn’t just say, Anyone not blinded by sentiment can tell that she obviously regretted your existence for every minute of those seven years. Although, of course, Akira is a liar. “Well. Thanks for the book, Joker. I’m glad you didn’t pawn it, though I suppose you wouldn’t have gotten much.”

“I wouldn’t-” Akira begins.

“I’m kidding, moron,” Goro says. “Honestly. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Akira says softly. “I’m glad you came over.”

“Of course I did,” Goro says. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you did your full-on creepy smile when you left last night, so I was kind of concerned you didn’t mean it.”

“What?” Goro thinks back. “I did not. I did my TV smile.”

“That’s the creepy one, dude.”

“It’s the good one. It’s the one people like.”

Akira says, “I like your real smile. It has personality.”

No one on the planet can possibly genuinely like Goro’s real smile. He’s seen it. One of his foster mothers always said, “Wipe that smirk off your face, you look like a psychopath,” which was kind of funny in retrospect, but she was definitely right. Still, the compliment makes one side of Goro’s mouth pull wryly to the side.

Akira says, “See? It’s cute.”

“Stop calling me cute,” Goro says, and suddenly realises how much closer Akira is sitting to him than before, how his whole body is tilted towards him. Goro should be thrilled, be losing his mind over it, but his chest just feels very tight. He feels his smile falter, but he keeps talking. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“Maybe I want you to have ideas,” Akira says. Their faces are so, so close.

“You really shouldn’t,” Goro says.

Akira looks at him what feels like a very long time. Then he reaches over and gently takes Goro’s cheek in his palm. He has terrible circulation. Goro feels paralyzed. After a moment, Akira leans in and presses his lips to his, very tenderly. Goro keeps his eyes open and lets it happen and thinks: I should want this. This is what I wanted.

He says, when Akira pulls away a little, “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Akira repeats, sounding amused. “I thought it was obvious,” and he leans in for another, but Goro turns his head.

“Oh,” Akira says. He sits back and pulls his hands into his lap self-consciously. “Sorry. I thought you wanted to.”

Why are you doing this?” Goro says, and laughs a little, uncomfortably. He pushes the hair out of his face. “Is it just because you know I want it? Are you just… is this how you’re keeping me on your side? Is this to convince me to be good?” (People will do anything if they’re committed enough to manipulating you. He should know.) “Is that what it is?”

“What?” Akira says, sounding aghast. “No, dude-”

“Stop calling me dude, I fucking hate it.”

Goro,” he says, “maybe I just like you. Have you thought of that? I’m not doing this to… to use you or trick you or anything.”

He reaches to take Goro’s hands, but Goro pulls them away. “I don’t believe you,” he says. His voice sounds brittle.

Akira closes his eyes in what might be exasperation and says, “I know you don’t.” Hesitates. “Is there anything I can do that would help?”

Goro says, “No. I don’t think so.”

Akira nods. He flops out backwards onto his bed and says, “Well. I guess we’re two for two as far as makeout disasters go.”

“Oh god,” says Goro, “could we not keep score, please?” But he looks down at him. Akira looks so good, on his back like that, his sweatshirt riding up just a little, the waves of his stupid hair falling cherubic around his face.

Goro thinks of the old fantasy, of having Akira on this bed. He pictures himself like it’s a film, climbing on top of Akira, confident and happy and in control, and kissing him hungrily. Akira running his hands down Goro’s back, under his shirt. Goro’s hands fitting so, so easily around Akira’s throat.

No. He doesn’t want to do that. He won’t. Except he’s thought about it so many times that it seems like the only place it can go - like if he relaxes for a second it’ll just happen by accident, the way you fear involuntarily walking off a cliff.

Fuck. Of course he’s in here, in this situation, thinking about strangling Akira to death. Is he really that sick, are sex and violence that intrinsically linked for him? He feels staggered by how much he hates himself, physically revolted. He thinks, vividly and longingly, of a bullet in his brain.

Akira props himself up with his elbows, looking a bit concerned. “Do you want to go? I’m not kicking you out, you just look like you want to leave.”

“I don’t know if I do,” Goro says, very quietly.

“Okay,” Akira says. “Um. Do you want to watch a DVD? Or like, play a game or something?”

“No.” He should leave, actually. The stairs are right there. He could just say, We’re done here. I don’t know what you’re trying to get from me but I can’t deal with this. I’ll meet you in Chiyoda. What he actually says is, “Is this why you invited me over?” Even though it’s what he wanted. Even though it’s what he’d been hoping for.

Akira sits all the way up and says, “You don’t have to say that like it’s something offensive. I’m sorry for making assumptions, but… but honestly, Goro, at this point I just don’t understand what the hell you want from me.”

So Akira admits it. He’s doing this because it’s what he thinks Goro wants. The inside of Goro’s mouth tastes sour. He wants to scream, or maybe break something, but of course he’s in Akira’s door-less attic bedroom and there’s an open business establishment under their feet. Besides, he’s Goro fucking Akechi. Stolen heart or not, he needs to keep his composure, needs to prove to himself that he can still do it. He says, “I’m allowed to not want to kiss you, asshole.”

Akira’s eyes go wide. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I was saying. It came out wrong.”

Goro chuckles, soft and miserable. “No, it didn’t.” Maybe he should have just gone with the kiss in the first place, kept his misgivings to himself. He could be having a good time right now. Or having a mediocre time while Akira has a good time, anyway. But the thought of being treated like that by him hurts more than it should, makes him want to hurt Akira back. And why not? It’d be better for them both if Goro scares him off for good. So he says, coldly, “You know what? Let’s do it, then. You want me to kiss you? Or do you want me to suck your dick, so you can really knock me down a peg, really feel that victory of yours-”

“What?” Akira says, of course. “That’s not - that’s not why I-”

“Oh, wait, I see,” Goro says, and floods his voice with false mocking sympathy, “you wanted it to be organic, didn’t you? You wanted to pretend it was romance, and not you brainwashing me and then using me.” He leans in too close, takes hold of Akira’s lapel, the way he did that shitty afternoon in the laundromat. He’s saying all this as unpleasantly as possible but as it comes out he realises he means it, which makes him angrier. Akira is just staring at him. Goro says, “Well, that’s fine. I’ll do whatever you want. And you should know I’m not bluffing, Joker - you were in my head, after all. You know everything about me now, right?”

Akira says, “Goro, stop it.”

He takes his hand back and says, calmly, “Don’t talk to me like I’m a misbehaving pet.”

'I’m trying to talk to you like you’re my friend.”

“But I’m not,” Goro says, in honest disbelief that Akira’s still trying that shit with him. “I’m the bastard who shot you in the face, remember? I mean, that’s an awfully big thing to want to sweep under the rug, isn’t it? And I know that wasn’t real, but me getting you arrested was. I’m the reason the police beat the living shit out of you. Oh,” he adds, as if he’s only just remembered, “and I knew they would, by the way. People in positions of power are so fragile. You caused them so much strife, made them feel so impotent, it was inevitable. You’re lucky they didn’t just kill you before I even showed up.”

“I know that,” Akira says. His face has gone very pale, but his expression is cold and hard. “Are you seriously lecturing me about how shitty cops are? Because I kind of figured that out myself, thanks. I mean, they took you in, didn’t they?”

Goro smiles, genuinely. Now they’re on the same page. “They certainly did. And you’re evading my point.”

Akira says, with an edge to his voice, “Tell me what it was like.”

Goro blinks at him, momentarily puzzled. “What, working for the cops?”

“No,” Akira says. He has that certain intensity to his face now, that electrifying predatory interest, but without an ounce of humour. “Shooting me. I wasn’t there, after all. It clearly made an impression.”

Goro hit a nerve, huh? He can’t help feeling victorious over goading him into a reaction again, over managing to reach into Akira’s perfect little heart and pull out a normal, petty human being. “It was great,” he says. “Best moment of my life. The most fun I’ve ever had.”

“Bullshit,” Akira says.

“Oh, you’d love to think that, wouldn’t you? You really want to believe I’m a good person deep down, that no one could hate you that much. Grow the hell up, Kurusu.”

Akira just says, “Now who’s being evasive?”

He’s good at this. Goro lets his face go blank and intimidating and says, “You really want to know?”

“I asked,” Akira says, staring back at him stonily. They’re still so close to each other. Akira hasn’t backed off an inch.

Goro swallows. He has time to change his mind. Akira can’t make him say any of this. But he snaps, “Fine,” and goes for it. “Before I did it I thought it would make me feel better, I thought getting rid of you would solve all my goddamn problems. And then it happened and it all went according to plan and I felt great for about sixty seconds, but then I just felt disappointed, and empty, and… and fucking sad, okay? And all I could think about, for days, for weeks, was your face, the blood, your eyes staring at me.” He still sees it all the time, like the image was tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. It wasn’t real, but still, he’ll never be rid of it. “You bled so much. I mean, I knew you would, obviously, but I’d never seen it before. Shadows don’t die like that. And even if they did, this was - it was real, or I thought it was real -”

“The other ones were real,” Akira interrupts.

“I know,” Goro says, “I fucking know that, I’m not stupid, but I could tell myself they weren’t. And besides, they weren’t people I knew. You were someone I’d had conversations with.” Someone he thought about, endlessly. Someone he’d spent months planning his life around. And then all of a sudden he was looking at chunks of Akira’s brain on the back wall.

Akira says, in a strange heavy tone Goro can’t quite parse, “I wish you’d figured out you didn’t want to do it before you pulled the trigger.”

“Yes, well,” Goro says. “So do I.”

For some reason - god, maybe there’s just been something wrong with Akira too, this whole time, maybe that’s why Goro likes him so much - for some reason, Akira is still leaning forward, his eyes alight with interest, looking at him so intensely that it’s hard to think about anything else. Goro’s mouth feels suddenly very dry. He licks his lips, and watches Akira’s gaze flicker down to them. Watches him swallow, the quick bob of his Adam’s apple.

“You still want me?” Goro says, though it’s a wonder he can form words at all, the way Akira’s looking at him. “After that? You’re sick, Joker.”

“Birds of a feather, Crow,” says Akira, and smiles like a nightmare, and then Goro can’t take it anymore and he leans forward and kisses him hard, and Akira kisses him back, and lets Goro pin him down on the bed, and it’s so good this time, it’s just so fucking good.

They don’t even do anything, not really. They just make out for a while, ferociously and single-mindedly, like it’s the only thing in the world, stopping only to kick off their shoes. Akira is so… not yielding, exactly, that implies less agency than he’s displaying, but he seems more than happy to let Goro lead, which is maybe not as surprising as it feels. Goro likes Akira’s tongue in his mouth, not especially practiced but not sloppy or forceful either; likes the way Akira ignores his phone when it buzzes in his jean pocket against Goro’s thigh; even likes, somehow, the way his ridiculous fake glasses keep digging into Goro’s face until Akira finally takes them off and drops them carefully onto the attic floor. Goro’s half hard from just this. It’s incredible.

Akira’s throat is so bare and delicate and vulnerable. Goro won’t let his hands near it, but he can’t help nipping a little with his teeth, and hears Akira’s breath hitch, deliciously. Goro thinks of the jugular veins under the surface, the complex internal systems at work keeping Akira alive - all so Akira can be here, on an uncomfortable mattress propped up by cinder blocks, his burgeoning erection pressing against his murderer’s leg.

Goro reaches down to Akira’s fly and Akira says, though it sounds like he’s physically pained by it, “We can’t, Sojiro’s just downstairs. We should, uh… cool off.”

Goro pulls back and looks at Akira, his lips red and swollen, his eyes hazy, and thinks that he’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his life, and says, “Well, it’s your dick.” And now that the idea’s been introduced he realises he really, really doesn’t want to be walked in on, so he sighs and rolls off Akira onto his back.

They both lie there for a while, their heads just barely touching, listening to each other catch their breath. Goro’s never been so entranced by the sound of someone breathing - it usually repulses him, honestly, or at least serves as a marker of time, the intensity level signalling how much longer it’ll be until whatever’s happening is over. After a while, when Goro can trust himself to sound convincingly glib again, he says, “Honestly, I would have told you about that earlier if I’d known that you have such a fetish for it.”

“Shit,” Akira says, like he’s just realising it. “Was that really messed up?”

“Extraordinarily so. I’m actually impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I promise I don’t have a fetish for hearing about being shot in the head,” Akira says, and rolls onto his side, rests his head on Goro’s shoulder. His hair smells like cheap shampoo, clean and brisk. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Joker.” To be frank, Goro suspects it’s more of an honesty fetish than anything else - but that’s far less interesting, and more importantly, much less fun to give him shit over. (Hell, the thought alone is certainly doing a number on Goro’s erection, which is probably fortunate.)

Akira stretches an arm lazily across Goro’s chest. They’re fucking cuddling, now, apparently. What the hell. Akira says, “Do you really think we brainwashed you? Is that what it feels like?”

“I was just trying to be hurtful,” Goro says dismissively, and wonders if he’s supposed to be doing something with his hands. Stroking Akira’s hair, maybe, or perhaps just holding him. But that seems too intimate, far more intimate than kissing him was. “Brainwashing is a bullshit concept anyway, you know. It’s just standard coercion and manipulation packaged up to sound like some kind of magic, to make cults and authoritarian regimes and so on sound more frightening and remote. But…”


But cognitive psience feels an awful lot like magic, sometimes. Goro sighs, and watches Akira’s arm rise and fall with his breath. “I don’t know, Akira, what else can you call it? You went into my heart and saw all my business and then you changed the way I think. And I know I deserve it, I know I’m a heinous piece of shit, but that doesn’t make it feel any better.”

Akira doesn’t argue the 'heinous piece of shit’ thing, which Goro appreciates. He just says, “I see. I’m sorry. But we… we tried the normal way, you know. I certainly tried, when you were working with us. If you’d only…”

Goro’s so tired of people saying things like that. “I know. I didn’t.”

“Ryuji was right, the other day,” Akira says. And then, “Don’t make that face, dude, I’m serious. If you’d asked us to we could have helped you. We would have done it in a second.” When Goro doesn’t reply, he adds, “Didn’t you want help? Even a little? I mean, you seemed so miserable this summer. And that was part of the original plan, right, you getting hung out to dry after the Medjed stuff? Shido actively planned something he must have known would make you feel like shit.”

“It was a necessary sacrifice,” Goro says, though he knows he’s not saying it very convincingly. “I knew it would happen. Maybe my reaction was just an act, and I didn’t give a shit what people thought of me. And besides, we knew everyone would come around. It was just part of the narrative.”

“Give me a break, man,” says Akira.

Goro says, “Can we talk about something unimportant for a change? Please?”

“Okay,” Akira says, and seems to think for a while. “Uh. Who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Something less inane than that.”

“You’re so picky,” Akira says cheerfully. “Was it young Harrison Ford? Since you clearly like dashing rogue types.”

“Fuck off,” Goro says without any venom.

Akira hums to himself thoughtfully, and then says, “Honestly, I’m not coming up with anything much. I’ve basically only been thinking about Phantom Thief stuff for months, even when I was trying to hang out with people. I think the last time I actually relaxed was the school trip.” He seems to perk up a little at that. “There’s a topic. When’s the last time you honestly had fun? And don’t say it was when you shot me.”

Goro thinks about that. Sometime in the casino, maybe - but there’d been that undercurrent the whole time, excitement mingled with sickening dread, of knowing it’d be done soon. So instead he goes further back, to when he didn’t even have a clear idea of what they would do about these kids, just a mixture of fascination and aggravation. “The day I met you, I think. At the TV station. I mean… it’s somewhat tainted in retrospect by what a fucking idiot I was -” and by what he did to get on TV that particular time, but he would rather die than even allude to that - “but it was still… a good day. People wanted to hear from me. I finally got to talk to you.” He considers his own answer, and then nods a little. “It wasn’t bad.”

Shido hadn’t been too happy with him at that point, given the Madarame situation, but he’d liked the way Goro’s interview went, so it essentially evened itself out. So many complications - but Goro’s not sure if he’s ever had a good day that wasn’t contaminated in some way or another. You have to work with what you’re given.

Akira adds, “You got to tell some truly atrocious jokes and people laughed anyway because of how ridiculously attractive you are.”

Goro chuckles. “Shut up.”

Akira grins wickedly, adjusts himself so he’s resting his chin on Goro’s chest. “'Finally’ got to talk to me, huh? How long did you know about us all before we met, anyway?”

Goro gives him his sweetest, least stalkerly doe eyes. “I don’t really remember. A few weeks, perhaps.”

“Oh, that’s all.”

“Well, what was I going to do, walk up to you in Madarame’s Palace and say, 'Excuse me, would you please stop Phantom Thief-ing, I kind of have something I’m working on and you’re getting in the way’?”

Akira laughs and presses his forehead to Goro’s and says, “That would have made things a lot more straightforward.”

“Mm, I suppose,” Goro says, and Akira kisses him again, soft this time. It’s nice. “I thought we were cooling off,” he says, afterwards.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time, I can’t help it.”

The brazen goddamn liar. “No you haven’t,” Goro says. Akira would have reacted differently in the laundromat, if that were true. (Although, well - Goro had been acting like a crazy person at the time, so maybe not. But still, he’s heard that sort of thing before. It’s hard to respond positively to it.)

Akira tilts his head at him and says, “Would it kill you to believe anything I say? You keep projecting the worst possible motives onto me all the time, Goro, it’s really unfair.”

Goro breathes out in a huff. Then he says, “Your phone’s buzzing again.”

“It’s probably just the group chat.”

“Well, mine hasn’t been going off,” Goro says.

He thinks that functions as a very good invitation for Akira to say, Oh, yeah, it’s the other group chat that’s only for actually decent people, and honestly Goro wouldn’t even be mad about that, all things considered, it would just be a relief to know about it for certain - but Akira just sits up and pulls out his phone. “Oh. It’s Haru.”

“Oh,” Goro says, and internally chastises himself for being paranoid again, and sits up too.

Akira reads the messages, his face very serious now. Then he hands his phone over to Goro.

Haru: Hi, Akira-kun, it’s me. Obviously! I know we haven’t really spoken lately but I was wondering if perhaps we could get lunch somewhere? If you haven’t already eaten? I thought perhaps it would be good to talk. I had to miss school this morning to deal with some business issues and I know I should go to my afternoon classes but I thought perhaps we could be delinquents together, haha.
Haru: Perhaps we could invite Akechi. I know I ought to apologize to him.
Haru: I’m so sorry for saying “perhaps” so much! I don’t know why I’m so nervous texting you! Please reply when you see these!

Oh god, she’s so sweet when she’s not openly wishing for his death. Goro feels awful. He says, “You shouldn’t just show other people your texts, it’s really rude.”

Akira says, “Oh. Mona reads all my texts whether I want him to or not, is the thing. I kind of assume everyone knows that when they text me, at least out of you guys. You didn’t know that?”

Goro counts as 'you guys’ now? He says, “No, I didn’t. All of them? - And I’m not Morgana, anyway.”

“My intention here,” Akira says, “was to ask you if you’d be willing to see Haru.”

“I know,” Goro says. “I’m stalling, obviously.”

“Yeah, no kidding. You don’t have to, you know.”

“No, I…” He closes his eyes and sighs. “I do have to. Fuck,” he mutters to himself, and pulls his legs close to him, wraps his arms around them. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Then he looks up and adds, “If I decide to leave you absolutely can’t stop me.”

“Or what, you’ll kiss me again?” Akira drawls. “Oh no, anything but that.”

“That’s not funny,” Goro says.

“Sorry. I won’t stop you, dude. Like I said, you don’t have to do this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Goro says, without putting much energy into making it sound believable, and reaches up to check what his hair’s doing. It’s slipped out of the ponytail almost entirely. He fixes it.

Akira says, “I wasn’t kidding, you know. That looks really good on you.”

“I need a haircut,” Goro mutters.

“Yeah, kind of.” Akira picks his glasses up off the floor, wipes them a little on his shirt. “But I think we all do. It’s been a pretty distracting few months.” Goro wonders if he’s supposed to apologise for that, but then Akira reaches over and straightens his collar a little, which is so strange it entirely diverts Goro’s train of thought. A part of him, a deeply embarrassing part, thinks: Is this what dating someone is like? Not that they’re - they’re not, at all. This is either some very involved ploy on Akira’s part or a one-time-only mistake he’ll be regretting very soon. “So I should tell her we’re coming?”

“I suppose so,” Goro says, and stands up, so Akira stops touching him. “What time is it?”

“Uh - around twelve thirty. Time flies, huh?”

Your hair looks absolutely ridiculous right now,” Goro says flatly. He’s actually really into it, the way it’s mussed and sticking out like he’s just woken up - but Akira definitely can’t walk past Sojiro like that.

Akira pats it down unconcernedly. “Do I look normal otherwise?”

Goro gives him a thoughtful once-over, trying to be objective about it. “More or less. You’re just a bit… flushed, still.” He looks almost the same as he does after a fight in the Metaverse, actually, the colour high in his cheeks contrasting sharply with the dark of his hair. He looks so incredible. He always does, though. So much for objectivity.

“Yeah, you too,” Akira says, and goes looking for his shoes. “Hopefully Sojiro won’t notice. I’m sure he won’t.”

Goro slips his own shoes back on and says, casually, “Why, did he notice when you had girls over?”

Akira says, “Wow, that was subtle. I can see why you have such a reputation as a detective.”

“Shut up,” Goro says with a laugh.

“That’s never happened, for the record, because I’m a good boy who never takes advantage of my host’s charity and trust. And because I have a roommate, and because I’ve been… not very interested in girls, lately.”

Goro says, “Uh-huh.”

“Because of you, I mean,” Akira clarifies.

“Yes, I inferred the subtext, Romeo. It’s very flattering.” It’s a load of obvious bullshit, is what it is, but he’s getting sick of arguing that point, so maybe he’ll leave it for now. And it’s… sweet bullshit. He doesn’t trust it, but maybe he won’t question it, either. At least for a little while.



There’s a joke in the Kurusu family - or maybe not a joke, maybe it’s just an observation - that Akira doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation at all. His dad says it's because he was dropped on his head as a baby, which his ma laughs at in private and thoroughly disavows in public. (That part’s definitely a joke, Akira’s pretty sure.)

For instance: when he was ten he went to a festival with his girl cousins, who were all in their teens at the time, and some drunk college-aged boys started catcalling them, and before he knew it he had walked over to the guys and was trying to argue them out of it, and when they just laughed and asked if he was going to stop them, he said, I shouldn’t have to but I will, and put his fists up like a boxer. He remembers being so scared, the second he did it, but he didn’t waver. The guys thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen, and afterwards his cousins told him they thought so too. You looked like a kitten trying to pick a fight with great danes, one of them said. But it made the guys leave his cousins alone.

That part of him seems to take most people by surprise, when they find out about it. They think he’s either brave, or the stupidest person on the planet. (He heard a lot of that second one from his family, after the arrest.) Akira just tries to tell them he does what he has to do, because someone’s got to do it. But it’s also a thrill, you know? It’s satisfying, to see something wrong and stop it, to push through your fear and be the one who steps up to the plate. It’s always been hard to explain to people, until this year, when he found the others, when it all clicked into place. It’s like… a calling, maybe.

He’s been thinking about that aspect of himself a lot, since he’s been dealing with Akechi. (No, no, Goro - he’s been trying not to let on but it’s hard to get used to using his given name. Akira wants to get used to it, though. And he shouldn’t think of it as dealing with him, the way you deal with a leaky faucet or something - but then, maybe it’s dealing with him the way you make an agreement, a business arrangement. A partnership between two equally capable con artists.) The only real explanation Akira has for being so into the guy who tried to murder him in cold blood, the guy partially responsible for why he tenses up whenever he sees a police uniform, is that there’s something a little off inside him, something a tiny bit broken deep in Akira’s core. He feels like he should mind this fact a lot more than he actually does.

That, and there’s just… something ineffable between them, something that’s always been there, like they’re the last living members of the same species. Akira doesn’t believe in soulmates, doesn’t believe in unchangeable fate, but when Goro’s Shadow told them about Loki, he thought: Of course he has more than one, of course, he’s been like me the whole time. We’re the same. We both knew it, the second we saw each other.

Akira has done a lot of soul-searching about whether this was the way a supposedly straight guy was supposed to like another guy, because that’s far easier to think about than whether anyone, regardless of orientation, should like someone who wants to kill them. (Used to want to. Was coerced into wanting to, though honestly, Goro did have some agency in that decision, didn’t he? It’d be easier to think of him as a complete puppet but that seems like such a cop out. And yet - it’s hard to believe it was entirely his fault, especially when Goro clearly blames himself so much.) Akira came out of that process fairly certain that he wasn’t straight, after all, but no less bewildered about the entire situation. Not that Akira thinks he's even slightly at risk now, after the change of heart, but what happened still happened.

Still. What it comes down to is this: the real Goro Akechi is acerbic, and strange, and screwed up, and Akira has never liked anyone more in his life.

He understands why Goro thinks he’s taking advantage of him, though. Maybe he is, though he doesn’t mean to, didn’t consider he might be doing that until Goro said it. Maybe Akira’s been an awful, selfish person this whole time. But he wants Goro to have something good in his life, something nice for a change, and that can’t be wrong, can it? And besides, besides - Goro’s just so much fun to kiss.

Chapter Text

Goro thought he’d feel different, somehow, if a thing like this ever happened with someone he actually liked. He just feels like the same piece of shit as usual, but now with the vague sense that there’s a neon sign above his head blaring to Sojiro Sakura, I, Your Girlfriend(?)’s Murderer, Just Gay Kissed Your Lodger In A Highly Fucked-Up Context On Your Property. Perhaps if the circumstances hadn’t been so - fraught, if he’d been able to go along with it when it was still sweet, like a normal person, he would have been changed, at least a little. Or perhaps he’s going to feel awful no matter what happens until he dies. He knows that’s a bit melodramatic, but it does seem likely. And thoroughly deserved.

Akira seems unchanged too, of course, but he’s permanently unruffled, recovers from anything within minutes if it throws him off at all in the first place. Goro wishes he could tell how much of that is genuine. It feels mostly real, but people thought Goro’s demeanour was real, too. But Akira’s such a force of nature, not a constructed personality like Media Darling Detective Akechi was. It really is a pity Akira’s too virtuous for a Palace, honestly. Deeply unfair.

They hash out the details of the afternoon a little while Akira relays it to Okumura - she’s already in Shibuya, so they’ll meet there, at the diner. Neutral ground. And Akira asks, genuinely asks without even being particularly pushy about it, if they should bring Morgana, and doesn’t seem at all to mind when Goro shakes his head. He knows he needs to figure out how to deal with the damn creature, but they can do that in the Palace, probably. He can’t imagine Morgana’s presence making the conversation with Okumura anything but worse.

There’s one single customer in Leblanc when they go downstairs. Goro wonders, abruptly, how well sound carries in this building - but Akira’s been hosting Phantom Thief business in his room for ages, hasn’t he, since before Sakura knew anything about it? Goro really should have thought to ask about this, though. He does his best to look casual, to not follow Akira too close or too distantly.

They almost make it to the door, hoods up, before Sakura looks up from his crossword and says, “You two do realise you look like you’re going out to rob a convenience store, right?”

Akira turns around, glances at the customer (who’s typing busily with headphones in), and seems to reconsider whatever quip he was going to pull out in reply. “We’re just getting lunch with Haru,” he says.

“Haru Okumura?” Sakura says, and looks directly at Goro. Goro wants to turn and go straight out the door but that would be cowardice, and rude besides, so he uncomfortably returns the stare. “That seems like a good idea to you?”

“It was her idea,” Akira says. “Don’t worry.”

Sakura studies the pair of them, and then says, “Well, it’s not as if I can stop you.” He sounds slightly bitter about it, like he’s actually talking about something else. The decision to be working with Goro in the first place, perhaps.

“Sojiro…” Akira says wearily, which compounds Goro’s impression.

So Goro says, pleasantly (but not ace detective levels of pleasant, just to make sure it doesn’t ring entirely hollow, and he doesn’t force a smile), “Sakura-san, your problem’s with me, not him, isn’t it?”

“I’d say my problem is with your old man,” Sakura says, “but I’m not a fan of yours either at the moment, no. Although I doubt you want to hold this conversation in-” he nods towards the customer- “mixed company, right?”

“Not particularly,” Goro says. It bothers him that people in the Thieves’ circle just know about his relationship to Shido, now. It probably shouldn’t, but he kept it secret for so long. He hesitates, and then bows and says, “I’m really sorry. About everything. For what little that’s worth.”

Sakura seems to consider the customer, who’s either genuinely not paying attention or doing a hell of a good job of pretending, for a moment. Then he nods and says, “I’m sure you are,” though he sounds a little exasperated. “I’m trying not to hold this against you, kid, but that doesn’t mean I want to discuss it with you right now. Or for a while. I don’t want to say anything I’d regret. You understand?”

“I do,” Goro says. “I…” But what else is there to say?

“We should get going,” Akira says after a while, apparently having realised that neither Sakura nor Goro have anything else to contribute to this conversation. “I’ll be back tonight, Sojiro.”

“Mm. Give that bastard hell from me,” Sakura says, presumably meaning Shido, and goes back to his crossword.



Goro and Akira walk in silence for a little while. Then Akira says, “Good job back there. One more to go.”

“I hate this,” Goro mutters, and for some reason, extends it to, “I hate my fucking life,” and regrets immediately how infantile it sounds. He doesn’t want to be the kind of person who says that sort of thing, who blames, what, fate? He knows why he’s here.

Akira says, “I don’t blame you,” but in a sympathetic way. “You know what Sojiro was getting at, right? Shido put you in this position.”

Goro says, “No, I put myself in this position,” and Akira nods like he’d been expecting Goro to say that, and looks a bit sad, and doesn’t say much else. Goro feels abruptly overcome with exhaustion - at the topic, at being alive, at how after he talks to Okumura he’s going to have to spend all afternoon in Shido’s goddamn Palace. It’s all just so much. He says, more to himself than to Akira, “Everything is just such a mess. Absolutely everything. I thought I was in control of all of it, and then it was as if I looked up one day and…” He realises, suddenly, what he’s doing. Chuckles to hide his embarrassment. “Sorry. I do realise I have no right to feel sorry for myself.”

Akira says, “Goro, don’t be dumb, of course you do.” Which is a ridiculous statement. Goro folds his arms and doesn’t say anything. After a short silence, Akira adds, like he’s been trying to think of how to bring this up for a while, “Uh. Look. While we’re sort of on the subject. You said some… stuff, back there.”

Goro has a pretty good idea of what stuff he means, but he says, “I said a lot of things. I was trying very hard to make you feel bad.”

“Well,” Akira says, “you definitely did that, so good job, I guess.”

Oh god, Goro thinks. He knew Akira wasn’t quite as unaffected as he’s been acting. Goro is such absolute garbage. He says, “I really am sorry about that. I just…” He tries to think of a quick explanation, one that would be okay for strangers to overhear, but he kind of wants to be semi-truthful, too, so nothing comes to him. “Do we really have to talk about this in public, Akira?”

Akira says, “No one’s listening.”

“They will if anyone notices who I am,” Goro mutters.

Akira moves a bit closer to him and says, softly, “Look, the thing is… you keep saying really horrifying things about yourself and then acting like other people are stupid for caring about them. You can’t expect us not to react.” Goro doesn’t know what to say to that, either, so he just looks away, examines the buildings they’re walking past like he’s never seen them before. “If it helps, we really didn’t learn anything in your Palace about… that thing you said earlier. About doing… things.”

Goro looks back at him. On one hand, the statement itself is a deep relief; on the other, hearing Akira awkwardly try to talk around the extremely private information Goro had stupidly half-disclosed for no reason (extremely private information that Akira thinks is horrifying, apparently) is… well. Not especially enjoyable. He says, “Good, because there’s nothing to learn. As I said, I was just being an asshole.”

Akira looks unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

Goro sighs, aggrieved, and reluctantly decides to go the honest route. “I’ve done a lot of shitty things. You know that, surely. Talking about the details is just… it’s like wallowing in my own filth, you know?”

Akira nods slowly. “If that’s how you feel.”

Goro doesn’t care for the implied judgement in that, but it could be significantly worse. He says, “It is. And I’m sorry I said any of it, so could you please just forget it?”

“Sure,” Akira says. “I just think… if you don’t talk to anyone about these things-”

“Oh my god, Akira, please.”

Akira holds his hands up apologetically. “Sorry. It’s forgotten.”

Goro groans and buries his face in his own hands for a moment. He hates people knowing real things about him. He hates it so much. He says through his fingers, “Don’t you get sick of being so fucking earnest all the time?”

“I wouldn’t say all the time,” Akira says. “But yeah, obviously. Why do you think I make all those dumb jokes you hate?”

Goro sighs and drops his hands again. “‘Hate’ is a bit strong. They’re… endearing. I mean, terrible, certainly. But…” God, what the hell is he even trying to say. He gives up. “I don’t know how to do this, Akira. Any of this, I mean.” He hopes Akira gets the gist of that, so he doesn’t have to say, straight out, I literally don’t even know how to have friends, never mind… whatever this is.

Akira just says, very kindly, “You’re doing fine.”

“I’m really not,” Goro says. “It’s kind of you to say, but we both know it’s not remotely true.”

Akira bumps his shoulder gently against Goro’s. “I think as long as you’re trying, you’ll get better.”

Goro doesn’t groan again, or point out how painfully sentimental that is, or anything. He just says, flatly, “Do you mean as a person, or…?”

“As a person, and in… in relationships with other people. Like, real ones, where you’re not just acting. It’s like a skill, right?” He smiles, dazzling. He’s so damn confident that everything will work out. “And the completely civil conversation you and Haru are going to have very soon is a great way to exercise that skill.”

“You are being absurdly optimistic about this, Joker,” Goro says, anxiety rising in his chest again. “Have you also told Okumura how civil this conversation is going to be, at least?”

“Of course,” Akira says. “You’re both very civil people when you want to be. It’ll be absolutely fine.”



Before Goro shut down her brain, Wakaba Isshiki fought him like a maelstrom, like a typhoon. He was sick that week, but he’d thought it would be easy regardless - he’d never dealt with a woman before in the cognitive world but he figured it couldn’t be that hard. Women were so small, so surely their Shadows were pretty harmless too, right?

He realised almost immediately that this was the most asinine assumption he’d ever made. (He blamed the illness, and spending too much time around his father.) It was like a misogynistic joke, actually, how fucking vicious Isshiki’s subconscious turned out to be, how unlike her outer appearance she was. On a better day the fight might have been exhilarating, but his entire face hurt so goddamn much, and she got some really good jabs in right in the ribs, and he had so much homework to do when this was done, so he really just needed it to be over. How unfair of her, he found himself thinking, to insist on drawing this out. How inconsiderate.

But afterwards, instead of striking the killing blow, he found himself staring at her, back in her human form on the ground. The right lens of her glasses was shattered, and blood was running in a thin trail from the corner of her mouth. She wasn’t outright sobbing but her eyes were watering heavily, and something about that stupid, common physiological reaction seemed to hit a chord within him. He felt suddenly disgusted with himself, and a little disgusted with her too, for making him feel that way. He reminded himself of what Shido said about this world - all metaphors, fabrications of the subject’s mind. That wasn’t a real person he was looking at. The real Isshiki wouldn’t feel anything when her mind went, and besides, it wasn’t as if she mattered to him in the first place. But still, he didn’t do anything.

Isshiki said to him, “Is this really worth it? What will my research get you?” Her voice and hands were shaking, but she didn’t look frightened. He recognised that calm in the face of danger, even with your body betraying that calm. Cold dissociated disbelief, perhaps. Strange, that a construct could behave so realistically.

He didn’t speak. She said, “Money? Is that it?”

“Shut up,” he said, but his voice was so ravaged by illness that he regretted it immediately. He wanted to sound menacing, above it all, but what came out was just hoarse and creaky and small.

“So you can talk,” she said, and he should have just shot her right then and got it over with. She looked him right in the eyes, like she was seeing straight through his mask, and said, “You sound too young for this.”

Shit, he thought. He pointed the gun straight at her forehead and tried to ignore the way his own head was pounding and said, “I told you to shut up.”

Isshiki just said, “I’ve been ready to die for this research for years but my daughter isn’t ready for that. Do you know about Futaba? She’s-”

“Don’t start,” Goro said, and he wanted to seem sneering but it came out almost desperate, and he took a step forward-

And Isshiki reached up for his gun. She’d half-wrestled it out of his hand before he realised what she was doing. The next few seconds were a blur, but one of them hit the trigger in the commotion, and though it went off harmlessly against the floor, Goro couldn’t help flinching backwards. So did she, crab-walking backwards on the ground and letting out a quick muffled gasp at the noise. The pistol fell between them. They stared at it, and each other, for one long cartoonish moment, and then Isshiki scrambled for it on all fours.

Goro stepped on her wrist just before she picked it up. Something cracked under his boot. Metaphor, he thought again, like an incantation, and he kicked the gun away from them with his other foot. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, and this time it came out like ice, just the way he wanted apart from the enduring croakiness. Not that the words meant anything, really, since he was going to kill her regardless, but they felt good to say. He felt frightening again, in control for the first time since the fight had began. He felt back on script. “You understand I don’t need a gun to do this, don’t you, doctor?”

Isshiki looked up at him, her expression full of contempt, and he thought unwillingly of her daughter, of the shock and confusion he remembered of early grief. It couldn’t possibly be as bad, though, if it was just a mental shutdown. You just found the body unresponsive somewhere, unoccupied but breathing. That was nothing like a body twisted from a fall. And besides, Futaba Isshiki wasn’t that young, and she had other family. And everyone died eventually. Perhaps it was good, to get this particular loss over with sooner than later. Perhaps it made you tough; and you needed to be tough, if you wanted to achieve anything at all in this world, right?

(He didn’t know where Wakaba was in the real world, didn’t know how her death would be spun. He almost certainly would have still done it, if he’d known, but the fact is, he didn’t.)

So he did it. And then he clenched his hands into fists so they’d stop trembling, and he went home and took too much cold medicine and did an absolutely abysmal job on his schoolwork.

The next day, Shido said to him, “You know something, Akechi?”

“What is it, sir?” Goro said from behind his disposable mask.

“Most people would be more squeamish about this sort of thing. Especially people your age. But you’re…” He waved a hand, vaguely. Smiled at him, calm and patronising. “It’s like water off a duck’s back, every time. Impressive. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Goro thought: This is the bed you’ve made, Akechi. This is what you are. Perhaps you were meant for it. And he thought, too, though he hated that it mattered to him: I impressed him. He needs me. Who else does?

He said, “Thank you, sir. I do my best.”



They travel in silence for most of the rest of the trip, which of course makes the anticipation worse, in addition to giving Goro far too much time to regretfully dwell over how everything that morning had gone. Admittedly it had… worked out, more or less, but Goro said so much awful shit. Akira turning out to be kind of a secret pervert doesn’t make up for that. Goro’s half-assed apology certainly doesn’t make up for that. (And at the same time, a particularly irresponsible part of Goro keeps suggesting that he should convince Akira to ditch the rest of the day’s plans so they can fuck in Goro’s apartment at least once before Akira comes to his senses. He’s not going to try, but it’s nice to think about.)

“You’re walking pretty slow for a city boy,” Akira says when they get to Shibuya Square. “That excited to see Haru, huh?”

Goro stops walking (much to the annoyance of the pedestrians behind him) and says, “We talk about me an awful lot, have you noticed?”

“You’re fun to talk about,” Akira says cheerfully, and takes Goro’s hand before he can stop him. He pulls him a little to the side, as close to ‘out of the way’ as you can get in these crowds. “Endless discussion material.”

Goro snorts and takes his hand back. “Right. And it’s never you steering the conversation that way.”

Akira says, “Maybe you could do some steering to people other than yourself. Maybe you’re just very transparently self-interested. No offense.” He smiles.

Goro frowns at him. There’s some kind of… challenge, there, under the surface insult. Something complicated. He says, carefully, “None taken. Why don’t you like talking about yourself?”

“I’m really boring,” Akira says.

“You most certainly are not.”

I think I’m really boring. And most people do too.”

“Which is what you’re going for,” Goro says.

Akira smiles at him, satisfied. “Yup.”

“But that’s not all of it,” Goro says, warming to the conversation now.

“And what’s the rest of it, mister hotshot detective?”

Goro rests his chin in his fingers and thinks. He says, “Well, it’s clearly not low self-esteem.” Akira chuckles, warm and low. “You like to slip under the radar.” But that was what they’d already established, essentially. “You like to have… it’s not ammunition, you don’t use what you know against people, but you… are driven to cultivate relationships without exposing yourself, for some reason. Uh, metaphorically, I mean. You know as well as I do that most people would rather talk about themselves than others. Hell, you’ve been playing me that way the whole time and I never even noticed until now. But I have to admit, I can’t quite work out why.”

“This is the hottest conversation we’ve ever had,” Akira says with no inflection whatsoever. “I am desperately turned on right now.” Which is just another distraction; so Goro’s a bit surprised when he adds, “I wasn’t playing you. I mean, I was, technically, but - you just kept walking up to me and telling me all about yourself while you were trying to play me. And that felt…” He tilts his head, because of course he does, he’s never been more of a calculating predator than he is at this moment. Goro likes him so much. “I don’t know. Poetic, maybe. I’ve been more of an instigator since we changed your heart, though. You’ve been a lot more guarded.”

Akira looks away, thoughtful, at the passersby for a second. “I’m a really good sounding board, is all it is. I’m great at helping people, and part of that is not bringing myself into the conversation too much. It’s not anything sinister, I just know what I’m good at. So when I’m with other people, we tend to talk about them. And then that way they sort things out, and I get to know them at the same time. It’s nice. I like it that way.”

Goro says, “I know I’m hardly one to talk, but that sounds like a strange way to relate to people.”

Akira shrugs. “I guess it is. But I think we’re both pretty strange.”

“I want to hear about you,” Goro says, before he can overthink it and get cold feet. He wants to know every detail of his life, every meaningless bit of trivia; wants to come as close as he can to understanding what could possibly be happening in that keen, bizarre mind of his. “You’re incredible, you know.”

Akira laughs again and rests his hands on Goro’s hips, lightly but confidently. Looks at Goro like he’s the only person in the world. No wonder Akira’s such a smug little prick, if he’s able to put this much intimacy, this much sexual tension, into so small a gesture. Goro thinks he’s going to burst with affection for him. But they can’t do this here, so he reluctantly pulls back out of Akira’s grip and says, “We’re in public, remember.”

“We’re in Tokyo,” Akira says, and god, he really is a sweet little small-town kid at heart, isn’t he, to think you can just do whatever you want in public if a city’s big enough? Although, well, maybe Akira can, because he’s so unmemorable when he chooses to be. But some people have reputations.

Goro wishes he could have seen those first days of Akira in Tokyo, seen Akira as just another country boy (and honestly, Akira shouldn’t kid himself about that, Goro’s googled his hometown) for the first time faced with the endless anonymous rush of people here. Maybe he’d been out of his depth, like every other newcomer. Or maybe he took to it immediately, because he’s Akira Kurusu and that’s what he does. Either way, Tokyo didn’t know what it was in for, when Akira took those first steps off the inter-city train.

Goro says, “I just don’t want to get publicly outed because someone sees me in some tourist’s Buchiko photo. Especially given that you’re supposed to be dead. Sorry to disappoint.”

Akira says, “No, I understand,” and pulls out his phone. He adds, while typing some reply, “We really should get going. Haru says she’s waiting.”

“This is going to be so bad, Akira,” Goro says.

“It won’t get any better if you keep putting it off,” Akira says, not looking up. When he’s done, he slips his phone back into his pocket and says, cheerfully, “Did you seriously not figure that out about me until now, by the way? Some detective you are.”

“You’re very good at misdirection,” Goro says wryly. “And I am very self-interested.”

Akira says, “I didn’t mean that as an insult, you know. Just an observation. Everyone’s self-interested.”

“I’m aware,” Goro says.



The diner on Central Street is about half-populated in the post-lunch rush, humming low with chatter. Okumura is sitting primly at a booth in the very back with a book and a bodyguard, an honest-to-god bodyguard in a black suit and everything, sitting across from her. Which is… understandable, actually. Maybe it’s just a normal precaution when she goes anywhere apart from school, now. It’s a reasonable thing to do for an heiress after her father’s very high-profile murder. She looks the same as usual, every hair carefully in place, every inch of her clothes pristine. Goro wonders how long her hair takes to do in the morning.

“Sorry about the wait,” Akira says, heading over briskly. Goro hangs back, folds his arms tight.

“Oh,” Okumura says sweetly, “it’s okay, I needed to get this reading done for school.” She looks directly over Akira’s shoulder at Goro for a moment. There’s a certain sharpness in her expression.

Goro is so sick of always being the centre of attention, though he realises that’s highly ironic. He shifts his weight uncomfortably. Then he says, “Pardon me a minute,” and goes into the washroom instead.

Okay, he thinks, pacing around the blessedly empty room. Okay. This will be fine. They are both intelligent near-adults who are perfectly capable of having an unpleasant conversation. Perhaps Goro can just let Akira do most of the talking. That would be so much easier - but he knows how Akira is in groups, how he just sits there and listens and only interjects when he feels he must. Okumura’s not really much of a leading conversationalist either. Goro’s the only one of them who’s particularly garrulous in groups, now that he thinks of it. Shit. They really should have brought the fucking cat.

Oh, and to put a cherry on the proverbial goddamn cake, Goro just noticed that Shido texted him while they were walking, because Goro’s life is a dumpster fire. Call me, it says.

“Fuck you,” Goro mutters under his breath, and makes the call.

Shido picks up quickly, like usual. He doesn’t say hello. “Are things progressing the way I asked?” he asks, cool and clipped.

“I’m on it, sir.” Goro sounds much more normal than he did the last time they spoke, at least. He tries to put a little of his old bravado into his voice, and looks into the mirror, pats his hair down again. “Don’t worry. When have I ever let you down?”

Shido says, “Do you want a list?” and Goro swallows, hard. “Get your shit together. I don’t have time for this.”

“Understood,” Goro says, and Shido hangs up on him.

Well. At least that was quick. His reflection looks more stricken than it ought to, though. He should be used to disappointing people. He does it all the time, after all. And so what if Shido of all people has a problem with him? He doesn’t need to foster that relationship anymore, doesn’t need to make sure Shido trusts him. He is days away from being done with the fucker for good. It doesn’t matter.

When he goes back into the restaurant, Okumura’s bodyguard has vanished, and she’s deep in conversation with Akira at the booth. “-seeing you,” she’s saying, soft but audible. “Since you’re not at school. I didn’t mean… and then you didn’t text me anymore, so I thought...”

“I’m sorry,” Akira says, matching the gentleness of her tone. He’s nothing like he is when he’s alone with Goro, and it’s as if another puzzle piece has clicked into place in Goro’s understanding of him. Goro thinks of personas, the dictionary-definition kind; thinks of Akira’s endless array of masks. “I thought you didn’t want me to text you.”

“I see,” Okumura says. She’s twisting a paper napkin between her fingers. “I was… this is stupid, but it felt like you’d replaced me with - with him. And it… hurt.”

“I couldn’t replace you,” Akira says, and gives her a tiny, rueful smile. “And if I tried, I’d have to pick someone who was a bit less… cranky, wouldn’t I?”

“Akira-kun, you’re not taking me seriously,” she says. “I’m trying to talk to you.”


This is hell. Goro is in hell. He can’t just keep standing here, waiting for them to stop talking about him so he can join the conversation with a minimum of discomfort. The waitress keeps side-eyeing him, a hint of Don’t I know you from somewhere? in her expression, even though he’s trying to keep his face out of her view. He makes himself walk over just as Okumura starts saying, “I just don’t understand why you keep acting like he’s your-” and when he reaches the table she looks up and doesn’t flinch and finishes her sentence. “Problem.”

“Neither do I, quite frankly,” Goro says, and slides into the booth next to Akira.

“Glad you could join us,” says Akira, and shimmies over a little.

Okumura sits a bit straighter in her seat. Then she says, very formally, “Akechi. I owe you an apology. What I said to you was completely out of line.” She stands up and bobs in a bow, made awkward by the table.

“Oh, well,” Goro says dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It was thoroughly warranted, in retrospect.”

“Oh,” Okumura says.

“It kind of wasn’t, though,” Akira says, and lightly pokes Goro in the shin with his foot.

Goro isn’t sure what Akira wants from him. He really isn’t sure what Okumura wants from him. So he says, “I was unnecessarily rude as well,” and bows back a little, and sits down again. Okumura drops her eyes, and nods, and then they all just sit there in silence until the waitress comes over with a salad for Okumura and a small steak for Akira. (Goro almost just orders a coffee, but when he says that, the waitress says, “Really?” with far more hostility than that order deserves, so he gets a salad too.)

“Where’d your - friend go?” Goro asks as normally as he can when the waitress leaves.

“Hm?” Okumura says. “Oh, Ota-san? He just went to wait in the car so we could talk. I really don’t need him to follow me around, but the company insisted.” Her voice is always high-pitched but it’s a bit too high, right now. Goro nods, and they lapse into uncomfortable silence again.

Okumura takes a few thoughtful bites of her meal and then sets her chopsticks down and says, “The thing is…”

Here they go. Goro tries to keep his body language relaxed, his expression open and calm. Pretend it’s just an unpleasant interview. He’s not back at his pre-heart-change levels of bullshittery but he knows he’s getting there, and there’s a certain amount of refuge in that. Akira can obviously see through it, but Okumura probably can’t. He folds his hands delicately in front of him and says, “Mm-hm?”

She folds her hands too. “The thing is,” she repeats softly, “you chose to do all of this. That much was clear in your Palace. It’s difficult to… to be sympathetic to that. I mean…” She shakes her head. “Am I wrong? Am I misunderstanding?”

“No,” Goro says, but Akira says, “Well-” at the same time. Goro shoots him a quick, pointed glower.

Okumura bites her lip. They’re all speaking very quietly, leaning in over the table towards each other, though the booth next to them is empty. “I don’t want to seem cruel, Akechi, I honestly don’t. But I just keep thinking… my mother died when I was young, too, and my father treated me like… like a business asset, and I would still never, ever consider doing anything close to what you did. It’s so completely disproportionate a reaction. You didn’t even hurt him, you chose to help him, as part of - what, that master scheme of yours? I’m sorry but the whole thing is absurd, and - and monstrous, honestly.”

She pauses. Goro says, holding his poise, “That’s true.” Akira’s lightly touching Goro’s leg with his shoe again, which feels tremendously manipulative in addition to being distracting, so Goro shifts away a little.

Okumura says, “And now you feel remorse, but that’s only because we forced you to do so. And I don’t even know if we should be trusting that to be true. You’re a professional liar, after all.”

Akira says, “Haru, we changed his heart. You can’t fake that.”

“Well, I suppose I wouldn’t know,” she says. “I’ve never seen a successful change of heart before, have I? Not outside of the news.” She looks straight at Goro again, calm and regal despite the bitterness simmering under her words. “Are you not defending yourself because you agree? I know this seems like I’m attacking you again, but I am genuinely trying to understand. The explanation I keep landing on is that you’re just…” She drops her voice even more, barely audible. “Some kind of sociopath.”

Akira says, “Look, we talked about this, I really don’t think-”

“Akira, she’s not talking to you,” Goro interrupts softly, and tries not to dwell on the thought of what that conversation must have been like. “I’m not defending myself because I murdered your father, Okumura-san, and I know that’s indefensible. But I’m not a sociopath.” Probably.

“But it makes sense,” she says. “I - I mean -” She takes a deep breath. “You’re callous. And violent, and egotistical, and manipulative, and you never once stopped to think about the people you were hurting.”

“That’s not entirely true,” he says, and eats a bit of his salad, though it tastes like paper. It’s a bit of a relief to know she sees him so clearly. “I thought about it. It just never stopped me. Which is worse, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” she says.

Her expression is so cold. How did she get here from the awkward little girl he saw in her father’s Palace, failing to sell herself as ‘Beauty Thief’? Well - both battle and grief change people, after all. So this is at least partially his fault. Still, Goro feels like he’s been waiting for this conversation for years. He thought he’d be struggling to keep his temper under control but he honestly just respects her for not fucking around, for not pretending to be his friend. It’s easy to understand.

“Let’s say I am,” he says clinically, like they’re talking about hypotheticals. “I disagree, but regardless, I don’t see much point in debating semantics. That doesn’t matter. The issue here isn’t that you dislike me, which is completely earned, of course. It’s that you refuse to work with me. Now - think of me as a gun. I was Shido’s gun, and now I’m yours, and you’re refusing to be the one who pulls the trigger on him because of the people he aimed me at. I’m not saying we have anything in common, Okumura-san, besides this enemy, but - if you miss out on seeing it, on taking him down, I think you’ll regret it. I would.”

He thought that was a pretty good little speech, but Okumura looks even more unimpressed than she did before. “Perhaps I was unclear,” she says. “I don’t need you to try to debate me into working with you. What I intended to ask you is, why did you do any of this?

Goro hesitates. “I...” He finds himself looking helplessly over at Akira, and hates himself a little for it. Akira just gazes steadily back at him. Goro says, “I wanted justice for my mother. And I wanted to have the satisfaction of doing it completely on my own, and I wanted him to trust me first, the way she trusted him. And… and I wanted him to respect me.” He’s never said that out loud before. He doesn’t like the sound of it. “Surely you can understand that, at least, wanting your father to respect you?”

“Of course,” she says, very softly. “But - but all the people, Akechi.”

“I know,” he says. “I just… that other world never seemed real until you all showed up. And… and it was the only thing I had to offer, so if I didn’t do it he wouldn’t need me anymore, and…” And that sounds pathetic. Her expression has shifted from disdain to a detached sort of pity, which makes it worse. He needs to stop talking about this. ”I know these are shallow justifications, Okumura-san. I’m not trying to make excuses, I’m merely trying to answer your question.”

Akira says, “What about you, though? Didn’t you feel bad about it?”

“I always feel bad,” Goro says, and tries to laugh a little, like it’s a joke. “It wasn’t as if I mattered to other people, right? So I didn’t see why they should matter to me.”

“Akira-kun clearly mattered to you, and that didn’t stop you,” Okumura says.

Was Goro’s interest in Akira really that obvious? Shit. Before Goro can fully compose a reply, Akira says, “He and I talked about that earlier today, actually. It’s fine. We’ve hashed it out. Let’s… give it a break.”

Oh thank god. “I just don’t see what purpose stating my reasoning serves, Okumura-san,” Goro says. “I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. Nothing I say to you is going to make that more palatable. And I’m sure you heard a lot of this in my Palace anyway, no?”

Okumura gives Akira some kind of significant look. Then she says, almost sadly, “You’re not a gun, you know, Akechi. You’re just a selfish little boy.” And she starts eating her salad again.

And how do you react to that? Goro looks at Akira, who’s halfway through his own meal. Akira meets his eyes, and quirks his eyebrows inscrutably. Goro blinks at him, and then looks down and picks unhappily at his food.

Okumura says, after a while, “You’re right, though. About Shido. I need to be there. So I’ll work with you.”

Akira visibly perks up. “Excellent,” he says. “Thank you. You can come in with us this afternoon.”

Okumura starts asking about how much further they’ve gotten since she left, and Goro feels suddenly completely overwhelmed, even worse than before. His life is full of nothing but difficult conversations about how awful he is, leading only towards a confrontation with his father that isn’t even what he wanted it to be. Everything he’s ever done has gone sour. Even kissing Akira was strange, exhilarating and incredible but kind of terrible, too, and all the negative parts of it were entirely his fault. He pushes his salad away a little and buries his face in his arms on the table.

The other two stop talking. “You okay?” Akira asks, and rests his fingers gently on Goro’s elbow.

“Fine,” Goro says without moving. “Tired. I didn’t really sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Akira says. “I didn’t realise today would be so busy. Or that things would go… like they did, earlier. I was hoping it would be more of a break, you know?”

“Sorry,” Okumura says, sounding honestly confused, “did something happen?”

“We just got into an argument,” Akira says calmly. “But it’s fine. It worked out.”

“Did it?” Goro mutters, and sits up again, props his head wearily in his hand.

“You’re perfectly welcome to take a nap at my place before we go back to the Palace, if you want,” Akira says. God, he is nauseatingly sweet. Goro feels so fucking awful for goading him earlier, for being in his life to begin with. Akira shouldn’t have to deal with him, or be cleaning up his mess the way he is.

Goro says, “I appreciate the offer but I really am fine.” Sojiro Sakura definitely doesn’t want to see him again, and besides, he’d never be able to fall asleep in a room without a locked door. He used to be able to doze off in difficult situations as a kid, though he slept lightly at the best of times, but as soon as he got used to the security of his apartment, the skill had completely vanished. Goro thinks of saying I’ll sleep when I’m dead, but then imagines the look Akira would get on his face and discards that. “I might just… go for a walk. Meet you all in Nagatacho. If that’s all right.”

“Of course,” Akira says, but he looks a bit unsure, like he wants to be objecting. Maybe he would be, if Goro hadn’t told him earlier to let him leave when he needs to. It’s strange, to be listened to.

Okumura says, “I did want to say, Akechi, that I appreciate how cordial you’ve been. With the way everyone’s been talking about you, I… I mean…”

“Oh,” he says. “Well. Likewise. Not that anyone gossips about you, of course.” Wait. Shit. He hastily adds, “I mean that honestly. It wasn’t sarcastic. Besides,” he says lightly, getting to his feet, “I couldn’t start anything with you if I wanted to, I think I used up all my energy on Kurusu earlier.”

He hadn’t meant that as innuendo, but Akira smiles up at him. “Did you, now?”

Okumura looks slightly baffled again. Then she says, reverting back to her polite little princess mode, “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Please don’t feel you have to leave until you’ve finished eating.”

“I wasn’t very hungry anyway,” Goro says, which is true, and counts out change for the meal. Leaves it in a careful pile by his dish. “Text me when it’s time to meet up, would you?” he says to Akira, trying to ignore the thoughtful way Akira’s studying him, and then he strides out of the diner, composed and calm.

He slips into the first alley he passes, and when he finds it unoccupied, leans against the building wall, gnaws on the finger of his glove a little, and tries to get his thoughts together. He shouldn’t feel as bad as he does. He got through the Okumura conversation with flying colours, more or less. But - but he still finds himself thinking how much easier it would be if he just finished everything. Take Shido out, and then take himself out. One, two. It’d be quick. He’s been thinking about it so much but it’s never been concrete, just yearning unfocused fantasy. It certainly beats waiting for execution after his confession, which really does seem like the most likely outcome. And he always feels better when he has some kind of plan.

But still… still, it’s hard to commit to, for some reason. It’s so final. And he does want to kiss Akira again sometime, kiss him sweetly, even. Not that it would fix anything. It would just be nice to do.

After a while, because he doesn’t know what else to do, he calls Sae Niijima. She sounds concerned when she picks up, which makes sense. He usually never called her when they were working (more or less) together, and when he did, it was generally in the context of Yes Sae-san hello you said you’d buy me lunch and I’ve been waiting alone in this restaurant for twenty minutes. “Hello?” she says.

“I,” he says, stupidly, and then realises he doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “Uh.”

She lets the silence hang for a second, and then says, “Are you okay, Akechi-kun?”

“Yes,” he says automatically. Then, “No. I mean. Clearly not. Everything’s just…” He sounds so childish. “You know what, never mind. I’m sorry for calling you.”

“No, Akechi-kun, it’s fine,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. She sighs. “I’m kind of the worst possible person to talk to about anything personal, but I’m happy to try.” Then she adds, “You remind me a lot of my sister, sometimes, you know.”

“Oh,” Goro says. “I can see that. Although she’s a lot nicer than I am.” In a terrifying sort of way. Just as bossy, though.

“True,” Niijima says, laughing a little. “She’s nicer than me, too. I really admire it.”

Goro thinks of Akira, his sweetness and unfailing moral compass, and also of how familiar Niijima’s casino had felt; and says, “I know what you mean.” He hesitates. “I… I feel…” She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make any noise, neither sympathetic nor impatient. “I ruin everything I touch, Sae-san. I’m making the, uh - that group -” he shouldn’t trust that the phone line isn’t bugged - “actively worse by being around them, I think. As human beings, I mean. They’re such good people, and I’m just… the way I am.”

“Hmm,” she says, thoughtfully. “Well. As someone with an outside perspective, it sounds like you’re, uh… catastrophising a bit. They’re pretty resilient kids. Did something specific happen?”

Haru Okumura’s harshness, for one. And everything with Akira. How does he begin to talk about that? He doesn’t dare. Instead, he changes the subject to the other thing that’s been niggling at him. “Do you think I’m a sociopath, Sae-san?”

There’s a very long pause. Then she says, “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he says. “We’ve spent a lot of time together. I want your honest opinion.”

There’s another pause. Then she says, “You’d be more impulsive, I think, if that were the case. And probably less concerned about whether you are one. Certainly less concerned about whether you’re somehow hurting ‘that group’ by working with them. And as far as I know, you never went after anyone besides your given targets, and those weren’t even your idea.” He could argue that one, though the first two deaths he’d been responsible for hadn’t been intended or premeditated - though maybe that makes it worse? - but she’s still speaking. “Plenty of people are… well, violent, let’s say, without it being sociopathy. I understand the concern, and I’m obviously not a criminologist or a psychologist or anything like that, but… I really don’t think you need to worry about this, Akechi-kun.”

“Perhaps you only think that because you don’t want to admit it,” he says. “Or you’re trying not to offend me.”

“I don’t give a damn about offending you,” she says, sounding amused. “Sorry to let you down. You used to do your best to offend me all the time, after all.”

“Oh,” Goro says. “Right.” She’d never even responded to most of his barbs. He used to wonder if she even noticed them.

“Based on what I understand of the situation, Akechi-kun,” she says, very calmly, “you were just extraordinarily stupid. That doesn’t make any of what you did okay, but it doesn’t make you a monster, either. Maybe save that for the guy who decided to use a kid as a hitman.”

“I’m not that much of a kid,” Goro says.

“You are to actual grownups,” Niijima says. “Trust me. Anyone who acted otherwise was using you. I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but I always thought you knew that.”

Goro did, or thought he did. Perhaps he hadn’t fully grasped the extent. “Were you?”

She goes quiet again. Then, “Maybe a little. I couldn’t stand you at first, you know. You were so arrogant, and constantly kept making these sexist little digs at me. Which I haven’t forgiven you for, by the way. But you always figured your cases out so effortlessly. I know now why that was, but at the time it was… fascinating. I guess I hoped that hanging around you would help me get on your level. And with the Phantom Thieves case, I wanted every bit of information you had, of course. But it was also that… even given the way you acted, you still took me more seriously than any of my actual colleagues. And people dismissed you for your age, and then later for your celebrity, and that felt… similar to my own experiences. So I wanted to try to take you seriously, too.”

Goro nods, slowly, and then remembers he’s on the phone. “I see. I appreciate the candour.”

“I wish I’d realised something was wrong, you know,” Niijima says. “I didn’t think to look for it. I was so focused on my own problems, and you always seemed so capable.”

“I am capable,” Goro says, a bit petulantly.

“You’re too capable,” she says. “That’s half your problem. Sorry, I have to go in a second - I probably haven’t been very helpful, but-”

“No,” he says, and means it. “You were. Thank you.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually thanking me for something,” she says, amused again. “You’ll be fine, Akechi-kun. You know that, right? You have your whole life ahead of you. No one’s a full person when they’re eighteen. I mean, when I was your age I was completely obsessed with this awful boyfriend of mine. And… well, now I’ve been single for six years straight, so I mean, I’m clearly living the dream.”

That’s more than she’s ever told him about her personal life. He can’t imagine a boy-crazy teenaged Sae Niijima. He’d assumed she had just been an even scarier version of Makoto. “Men don’t deserve you, Sae-san,” Goro says, smiling despite himself. He maybe ought to point out that there’s a good chance he doesn’t have his life ahead of him, but he can’t bring himself to.

“Flatterer,” she says. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”



While he’s on the train to Chiyoda, Akira texts him.

Akira: you sure you’re good
Akira: we can cancel today you know
Akira: i bet we can finish the palace in one day if we try
Goro: I’m fine. And you can’t cancel just because I’m a little tired. That would be ridiculous.
Akira: if you’re sure

That seems to be the end of the conversation. Goro flirts with the idea of opening his email inbox, if only because the number of unread notifications is driving him to distraction, but he knows what it’ll be: the media, the police department, the obligations he’s abandoned. He’s pretty sure he isn’t a detective anymore, which is fine, because it’s obviously not useful at this point (and he can't stand cops anyway), but he’s not particularly excited to find out exactly how they've conveyed that information. Then his phone buzzes once more.

Akira: i really do like you you know. i wasn’t lying
Goro: Yes, you’re a closet masochist with questionable taste in men, I get it.
Akira: lmao
Akira: i like em hot and grumpy i guess
Akira: was that all okay? you and me i mean?
Goro: You’re asking me this *now*? Aren’t you still with Okumura?
Akira: she’s doing homework
Akira: i just worry. you’re hard to read
Goro: Well, I do try to be. And it’s difficult to believe you worry about anything.
Goro: It was okay, yes. I’m just sorry it went the way it did.

Goro types, I wish I were a better person. Rewrites it: You deserve a better person. Deletes that, too. Then something else occurs to him.

Goro: Hold on. Does Futaba still have my phone bugged?
Akira: uhhh good question
Futaba: ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )
Futaba: trust me i am undoing that as we speak plz hit pause on this convo for like 2 mins
Futaba: btw never explain this to me
Futaba: i did not want any of this knowledge
Akira: sorry
Goro: You seriously never stopped spying on me? Did you listen to my phone conversations earlier too?
Futaba: uhh well the shido one yeah bc i thought it might be important
Futaba: w sae-san you sounded super sad so i bailed to give you privacy
Futaba: i SWEAR i kept meaning to turn it off i just forgot. you barely use your phone now it hasnt really been on my mind
Futaba: i only saw this bc i had it set up to show your voice and chat conversations on my second monitor automatically
Futaba: and literally the second i figured out what you two were talking about i started undoing it
Futaba: sorry!!!! (>人<;)

Goro’s train arrives at its stop. He wasn’t joking when he told Okumura he was too worn out to start shit, apparently, because he’s not even all that angry about this. Detached, unsurprised, and (always, constantly) unhappy, but not, for once, furious. He leans against the wall of the platform. The conversation had continued while he’d been disembarking.

Akira: really wish you’d told me about this futaba
Akira: uh hey btw where’s mona
Futaba: dw he didn’t see your weird secret
Futaba: he fell asleep in a sunbeam like a real cat lmao
Akira: did you take pictures
Futaba: duh lol
Futaba: theyre cute af ill send them to u when im done this
Goro: Have you only been nice to me because you’ve been reading everything I say to Akira?
Futaba: no im just a rly nice and forgiving person
Futaba: you being hella depressing has nothing to do w it
Futaba: there done im not mirroring anything from akechi’s phone anymore
Futaba: so if u betray us again we’ll never know and it’ll be akira’s fault entirely i guess
Futaba: but now you can sext to your hearts content!! dont talk to me about this ever again byeeeeeeee

God, this is embarrassing.

Akira: so uh
Akira: when did you speak to shido?
Goro: I am very much not in the mood for this, Akira. Go ask Futaba for the details.
Goro: Is she going to tell everyone?
Akira: nah
Akira: but would it be that bad if she did?
Goro: For you, yes. You shouldn’t want people to know about this.
Akira: hm
Akira: i disagree
Goro: Why?

A pause.

Akira: i just do
Akira: i really don’t care about anyone’s opinion on this except yours, honestly
Akira: omg

He sends Goro a picture of Morgana in his real-world cat form, sprawled with very little dignity on his back on a bed. Morgana’s a judgemental pain in the ass in addition to inexplicably being really obnoxiously heterosexual but the photo is, in fact, extremely cute.

Akira: look at mona’s tongue sticking out a little he’s gonna be so mad futaba took these
Goro: Haha.
Akira: is that sarcasm i literally can’t tell
Goro: No. I just like punctuation. You know this about me.
Akira: i certainly do

Goro imagines, briefly, being the kind of person who can… who can maintain genuine relationships, who can have a boyfriend, who can then tell said boyfriend about all his stupid feelings in a normal, healthy way. It’s impossible, out of reach. Honesty is vulnerability, and besides, his honest self is vicious and spiteful and has already caused more than enough damage. And no one likes neediness.

So he doesn’t type anything like, I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone, you know, and that scares me shitless, but he does think about it.



Futaba: rly tho dude
Futaba: akechi
Futaba: rly
Akira: i thought you didn’t want to discuss it
Futaba: well not the horny details
Futaba: im just saying
Futaba: we changed his heart like a week ago
Akira: it’s closer to two weeks
Futaba: oh right that makes it ok then
Akira: i thought you liked him now
Futaba: im being nice to him bc he obviously feels super bad and im trying to be mature
Futaba: not the same thing
Futaba: i mean i dont hate him either
Futaba: anyway you can obvs do what you want it just seems rly fast
Futaba: the guy's clearly not doing great emotionally
Futaba: and honestly he did kinda kill a lot of people
Futaba: i know it was shido’s fault
Futaba: but my mom and haru’s dad are still dead and so are a lot of other people
Futaba: im srsly srsly not mad at you or anything it just feels weird
Akira: i wasn’t exactly planning on you finding out like this
Akira: i’m sorry if it bothers you but it’s my life and my decision
Futaba: i know
Futaba: like i said you can do what you want! it’s none of my business i get it
Futaba: and he does follow u around like the world’s saddest puppy all the time so i guess it makes sense
Futaba: man i thought our group was way straighter than it turned out to be tho lmao
Akira: ?
Futaba: just sayin

Chapter Text

“Hey, Akechi?” Kurusu said, one evening in late October.

Goro had been trying to leave as quickly as he could without coming across as rude - Shido had texted, and Goro wanted to get the conversation over with, felt strangely filled with dread over it, though it would likely just be a routine check-up - but he turned, smiled calmly. Kurusu didn’t smile at all. “Yes, Kurusu-san?”

The cat popped his head out of Kurusu’s bag, set his front paws on Kurusu’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be so formal,” he said. “We’re colleagues now, right?”

They certainly fucking weren’t. “I just prefer to err on the side of courtesy,” Goro said. “It’s etiquette that separates us from the animals, after all.” Then he widened his eyes in false alarm. “That is to say - I didn’t mean -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kurusu said, but Morgana was giving Goro a particularly pointed stare, so Goro dipped his head in earnest-seeming apology. He needed to stop letting himself get petty when he was tired. None of these kids had a damn clue about what he was, he was sure, but Kurusu was clever. It was satisfying in the extremely short term to poke at their insecurities but ultimately just childish and risky and unnecessary. Kurusu continued, “You really are picking this up quickly, you know. It’s impressive.”

“Oh, well,” Goro said, and realised as he said it that he wasn’t entirely feigning how pleased he was at the compliment. “I do my best. And I had a fair bit of practice in Okumura-san’s father’s Palace, of course.”

“Of course,” Kurusu said. “Anyway, Futaba and Mona and I were thinking about grabbing something to eat on the way home, if you wanted to join us? It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but…”

Goro tried not to look startled, or suspicious. He said, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I appreciate the offer, though.” And then he added, “I have to say, it’s a bit surprising.”

“Is it?” Kurusu said. “I thought maybe it would be nice. We’ve been working together, but I feel like we barely know you.”

“Oh, there’s not a lot to know, I’m afraid,” Goro said, but he found himself imagining it. Being known. Saying - not to all of them, of course, but to Kurusu alone - You want to know what I am? What I’ve been doing? He pictured the combination of pity and disgust that would slide into Kurusu’s expression, understated but unquestionably present. He’d never be remotely sympathetic. Goro hated the way these kids lectured people in Mementos, how righteous and preachy they were. The fact that they honestly thought they were making a difference was a little tragic, honestly. All that ever happened when you took out a predator was that another took its place. The only way to stop being victimised was to be the one at the top, any elementary school playground knew that. He said, “I really should be going, now, anyway. I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on.”

Kurusu said, “Some other time, then.”

“Perhaps,” Goro said. “But I am quite busy.” Surely Kurusu knew a polite refusal when he heard one. Goro wanted to beg him to leave him alone, to stop talking to him, to stop being so goddamn magnetic. The end couldn’t come soon enough. He wouldn’t have to worry about Kurusu anymore, about misstepping, about anything distracting him from his goal. Goro would win. He’d feel so much better when he finally won, he was sure of it.

“You really work a lot, don’t you?” Kurusu said, undaunted. “The police department ought to respect your time more. You seem to get messages from them every evening we’ve been out.”

Did he suspect...? No. He couldn’t. “I’m an important part of the team,” Goro said, though he knew full well that hardly anyone at the department actually liked him. He’d heard the words “media whore” drift through doorways more than once. But it didn’t matter. He got results, he had fans, and every asshole uniform wished they could be half as popular and successful as he was. “And I like to stay occupied. It’s not a problem.”

“Really? Because you seem pretty stressed out sometimes.”

This is what happens when you keep running your mouth, Akechi, Goro thought to himself in disgust. He’d told Kurusu a handful of true things about himself because he wanted to have an excuse to look him in the eyes, or because he was being an self-pitying infant in the aftermath of the Medjed situation, or whatever, and now Kurusu thought he had the right to keep prodding. If Goro weren’t such a horny pathetic moron this would never have happened. “No, I’m quite all right, actually. Things got a little out of hand for a while, but it’s fine now. I just need to make sure I stay on top of things. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Out of hand how?” said Kurusu.

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. “Do you really have nothing better to do than give me the third degree?” Goro said, and smiled as sweetly as he could. “I thought I was the detective here, no?”

“Sorry,” Kurusu said. He didn’t sound particularly sorry but, to be fair, he never expressed much affect about anything. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Goro gave him his best chuckle, mild and affable. “Don’t worry. I’m very difficult to bother. But I really, honestly must head home.” He turned to go, but Kurusu wasn’t moving, and Goro really didn’t want to deal with Shido, so he found himself turning back, drawing out the conversation just a little longer. “We did well today, though, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Kurusu said. “I like having you as part of the team, actually. Which I guess is good, given that you didn’t give us much of a choice.”

Hmm. Goro said, “I suppose I should apologise for that. But I…” Fuck it. “I don’t know if that would be honest.” Kurusu’s stare was suddenly penetrating and bright. This was dangerous, but the attention was intoxicating. Don’t slip, Akechi. Stay in fucking character. “That is to say - I’m sorry my approach was unpleasant for you all, but it did its job, didn’t it? And we’re all benefiting. It was for the best.”

Kurusu looked at him in silence for a moment. Then he said, his expression as still as ever, “I hope so. Have a good night, detective. I’ll message you next time we head out.”

Goro called Shido as soon as he was sure the kids couldn’t see or hear him, to get it over with. Shido was convinced texts were riskier than voice conversations, and Goro could sort of see his point, but regardless, it was an extremely old man opinion to have and led to a lot of unnecessary phone calls. After two rings, Shido picked up and said, “Everything going smoothly?”

“Of course,” Goro said. “No issues whatsoever.”

“I never thought there would be,” Shido said, almost warmly, and Goro didn’t need that asshole’s approval, but… but still, he felt a sudden, strange bolt of pride. He shouldn’t have let Kurusu get to him earlier. Everything was going perfectly. Goro was the greatest fucking con man ever born. His father needed him, Kurusu trusted him, and Goro was brilliant and strong and in control of every thread. At last. At last! And even the public loved him again, and he’d make sure, this time, that their love wouldn’t wane. He’d consider every step, every word like his life depended on it; he’d be beloved right up until he finally tore his father’s mind to shreds. The finale was so close he could taste it. He was thrilled, he told himself firmly. He was ecstatic.



Chiyoda is the same as ever. There’s a cafe near the Diet Building that Goro has always liked when he has occasion to be in the neighbourhood - patronised primarily by hard-working office types, the sort of people who generally have a good word to say to Goro but not a lot of interest in striking up conversation beyond perhaps asking for an autograph or two. Good for an ego boost, at least when public opinion is in Goro’s favour, without being too much of a time-sink. Goro shoves Akira’s sweatshirt into his bag and takes his hair down and goes in with a smile.

It occurs to him, while he signs a napkin for one of the baristas, that this really isn’t fun anymore. It’s getting easier again - that man in Leblanc was a blip, perhaps, while he was still getting his self-control back after the heart change - but what’s the point? He’s always been lying through his teeth, of course, but at least it used to feel like the admiration people felt for the charismatic idol detective was still partially applicable to him.

He gets settled by the window, starts absently flipping through an entertainment magazine someone left behind. Apparently he’s dating some female idol he’s never met, and that’s why he hasn’t been particularly visible lately. Who knew? But it’s pretty dull other than that, and insipid magazines only have so much content, so he ends up checking the group chat instead. Sakamoto has announced “were in nagatacho killin time hmu if ur around” to presumably anyone who might see it.

Goro: Who’s ‘we’?
Ann: ur actually using the chat again akechi????? 😲😲😲
Ann: i thought u were ignoring us!!!!
Makoto: It’s myself, Ryuji, and Ann. Are you in the area?
Goro: I’m in the cafe by the station. Why are you all in the group chat if you’re together? You’re a parody of modern youth, you realise.
Ryuji: man why r u like this
Ann: ughhh shut upppppppp 🙄🙄🙄
Makoto: That’s just around the corner! We’ll come meet you.
Ann: that was @ both of u jsyk!!! please try to get along today!!!!

They show up after a few minutes, Takamaki and Sakamoto in the midst of some convoluted argument Goro can’t even begin to follow. They keep going while they’re in line, until finally Niijima seems to get sick of it and goes over to sit across from Goro. “And how are you doing, Akechi?” she says, very wearily.

“Excellent,” he says. “I’ve never been better in my life.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, and props her chin up on a fist. “I really thought changing your heart would make you less of a pathological liar, you know.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s pathological so much as my greatest talent. Why abandon it now?” He smiles at her.

She doesn’t look particularly impressed. “That’s really not something you should be proud of, you know.”

He’s so sick of these kids taking that tone with him. He lets his expression go flat. “I was making a joke. Honestly, Niijima, I’m having a very strange day, and I just want to get through it, so if you have some sort of lecture planned can we just skip it? I promise my reprehensibility has already been extensively discussed today.”

“What?” she says. “Jeez, dude. Okay.” She looks down at the magazine, and then adds, “Mona’s right, that thing where you just switch your whole personality around at the drop of a hat is really creepy.”

“Well, I apologise.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Takamaki says suddenly, appearing with paper coffee cups in both hands. She places one in front of Niijima and takes the seat next to her. “And it’s kinda weird to think that you’ve been…” She gestures to him. “This person the whole time.”

“Is it? I thought you all had my number for a while.”

“Yeah,” says Sakamoto, who’s bought some kind of European-looking pastry, as he sits next to Goro, “but we kinda thought you were this serious Shido megafan. Not rude and sarcastic and sad.”

“‘Sad’?” Goro repeats.

“Like, boo-hoo, not pathetic,” Sakamoto says. “Although kind of that too.” Fucking asshole.

“Your Palace was pretty grim in places,” says Niijima, almost apologetically.

“I really thought Akira-kun would have told you all about it by now,” says Takamaki.

“Great,” Goro says, and looks out the window again. “Can we talk about someone else, now, please?”

“Wait,” Sakamoto says, sounding suddenly gleeful, “are you tellin’ us you don’t wanna be the center of attention? You, of all people. Mister media darling Goro Akechi.”

“Yes, such irony, I get it,” Goro says. “Give it a rest.”

“It’s just really funny that you’re the guy who kept goin’ on talk shows even when everyone clearly didn’t want to hear anything you said-”

“Fucking hell,” Goro mutters, and stares pointedly across the street. The girls chastise Sakamoto for a bit (which is satisfying, at least) and then, awkwardly, shift the conversation to school, once it has presumably become clear that Goro isn’t interested in contributing anymore. It’s all office and government workers outside, well-dressed men and women on their phones and bustling assistants carrying trays of coffee. Then someone catches his attention.

Just another man in a suit - not red, as in the Palace, not ill-fitting and gaudy as in yakuza movies, but a black business suit - but he knows the man’s face from the day before, knows the set of him. A coincidence, Goro tries to tell himself. He’s tired and miserable and paranoid. And yet - people like that don’t let themselves just be seen by accident; he must be making a point. Goro’s been so sloppy. Even if it weren’t for his current company, he let an undead Phantom Thief drag him around the city.

What point is this guy making, besides ‘I know where you are’? What action is Goro supposed to be taking? Getting straight to work, most likely. Getting out of town, if the man’s taking pity on him. Or maybe - maybe it really is a coincidence. Shido’s associates are bound to be hanging around the political district now, after all.

“-Right, Akechi?”

“Pardon?” Goro says, turning his head.

“I was just telling Ryuji,” Niijima says, “that you really can’t get away with slacking off in third year the way he’s been doing.”

“Oh. Well, I miss school all the time and still do fine, but that’s because I’m smart and pretend to be likeable. She’s right, Sakamoto, you’ll be screwed.” He smiles as sweetly as he can at Sakamoto and then looks out the window again. The man seems to have vanished. Goro feels a little nauseated. He considers saying something, but… but it’s his problem, and it’s not like any of them are particularly sympathetic to him anyway. Whatever it is, he’ll handle it.



The rest of the kids arrive in a trickle, one or two at a time. The second-last group to arrive consists of Futaba and Morgana, the cat peeking out of her laptop bag, the girl looking uncharacteristically tense and drawn. Goro wonders at first if it’s something to do with him, if the shock of learning about Akira’s truly abysmal life choices is somehow affecting her that badly; but then the others remark in surprise that she made the trip alone, and she grins pridefully and says, “I know, right? Mona did kinda help, though.” Not everything’s about you, Akechi, Goro tells himself, abashed.

After a while, Akira messages them all, asks them to meet on a nearby street corner. The guy clearly can’t resist any opportunity to be as dramatic as possible. It’s… well, really cute, if Goro’s honest. The whole thing plays out the way Akira had clearly planned - they wait for a minute or two, Okumura shows up with Akira a few steps behind her, and then the rest of the group gasp and yell and envelop her in hugs, like they haven’t seen her in months.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Niijima says, squeezing Okumura’s hands. “Did something happen to change your mind?”

“Well,” Okumura says softly, looking slightly embarrassed at all the attention, “I had a bit of a talk with Akechi and Akira-kun, and Shido did, um, do what he did to my father, so…”

“I mean, technically it was-” Sakamoto begins, and Takamaki elbows him firmly in the stomach. “Ow! Holy shit, Ann, that hurt.”

“You can say it if you want to,” Goro says. “It’s not as if anyone has forgotten.”

“But dwelling on that isn’t helpful,” Okumura says firmly, and holds her chin up. “Or something we should be discussing on a street corner, perhaps?”

“Right,” Akira says. “We should head on in. I think it’ll be a short one today, though, I’m kinda beat. But any progress is better than nothing. Shall we?” No one dissents, so they start heading over to the Diet Building.

Goro weaves as unobtrusively as he can through the kids until he’s next to Akira, and says, “Is this because of me?”

“Is what because of you?” Akira says, very calmly.

“Don’t play dumb. The decision to have today be ‘a short one’.”

“Of course it is. You didn’t want to cancel, so here we are. It’s not an insult, dude, it’s because I don’t want you to go too hard and break anything. And I’m honestly not at my best right now, either. We don’t usually go in several days in a row, remember?”

“You know,” Goro mutters, “you wouldn’t be in this position if you were more disciplined.”

“Taking breaks is a form of discipline, Akechi,” Niijima says over her shoulder. Goro hadn’t realised she was listening.

“It isn’t when it is Wednesday and the election is on Sunday.”

“And that’s why we’re still going in today,” Akira says. “And also why you’re not going to be on the frontline nearly as much this afternoon, so you’ll be able to manage the actual heist. I know we’re pushing it close but we absolutely have this. Trust me.” Then he bumps against Goro’s shoulder and murmurs, “Anyway, you honestly did tire me out a little.”

“Really,” Goro says, just as quietly, trying to keep his expression even. “And to think, I barely even got started.”

“Hmm,” Akira says, and smiles, and then turns his attention back to the group as the Diet Building comes into view. “Everyone ready?” he says in his Leader voice, standing a bit taller already. “Okay. Let’s do it.”



The day goes better than the one before; smoother, with the kids seeming less concerned about Goro’s presence, less awkward around him. Okumura rejoins the group like she’d never left, and they rotate through members at Akira’s behest. It’s a bit dull on the back lines, but not terrible, and whenever Akira calls Goro in to help out, Akira smiles at him like the sun. So maybe Goro goes a bit harder than he should, again. Just a little.

And then: a routine battle goes sour while Goro’s on the frontline. One of those spooky goat demons with the tits gets lucky and knocks Akira to the floor. Akira’s only real problem in battle, Goro has noticed, is that he rotates masks so quickly and so endlessly that he never seems to remember what each Persona’s weaknesses are. Which is fully understandable - Goro kept forgetting that Robin Hood didn’t share Loki’s resistance to curse skills for an embarrassingly long time, and he only had two Personas to keep straight - but every time something knocks him on his ass, Akira looks genuinely startled, like he’d completely forgotten that was even a possibility.

Normally the group scrambles to cover, to heal Akira up and get him back on his feet, but the demon takes Kitagawa out next, and turns its attentions to Goro. Goro dodges, aims a blast of light energy at it, leaves it sprawled out on the ground.

“You got it!” Okumura gasps, delighted, like she’s forgotten who he is for a second. And then Goro thinks of the way Akira negotiates with these assholes, the way Robin Hood volunteered to help him out, long ago; and he pulls his gun and advances.

“What are you doing?” the demon says, its voice deep as bass. Morgana, from the back line, says, “Yeah, seriously, Crow-” but Niijima interrupts suddenly, “No, Noir, help him out.”

“Oh,” she says, and cocks her shotgun, approaches it from the back so it can’t escape. “Okay.” Beside them, Kitagawa gets to his feet, raises his assault rifle.

The demon says to Goro, “You kids are awfully intense. What can I help you with?”

“I want you to join me,” Goro says, as confidently as he can, as if he does this all the time.

The demon laughs, deep. “And why should I do that?”

Goro fires his ray gun at the demon’s feet.

“Interesting argument,” the demon says. “All right. Why not? It was getting boring here anyway.” And then Goro feels - like something inside him has shifted, indescribably, widened and changed. It’s a disorienting rush. He’d forgotten.

“I knew it,” Akira says when Goro turns around. He’s still on the floor but it’s turned into a confident sprawl now, a wide cheshire grin on his face, gazing up at Goro delightedly. “I knew you could do that too. It feels great, right?”

“It feels bizarre,” Goro says, and holds out a gentlemanly hand. Akira takes it, lets Goro pull him to his feet, doesn’t let go quite as quickly as he should. He’s looking at Goro with such unreserved intensity that Goro actually wonders if he’s going to kiss him again right here, in front of everyone - so Goro takes a delicate step back and says, as normally as he can, “If you knew I could do it, why didn’t you say so?”

“If I was wrong we both would have felt shitty about it,” Akira says with a shrug, not averting his eyes. “And people have a hard time following me when I talk about this stuff.”

“Wait,” Sakamoto says, “so can anyone do that? I thought that was like, a freaky Joker thing. Could we all have been chatting up rando demons this whole time?”

“We’ve known for ages that Crow has similar potential to Joker,” Morgana says, walking over to Goro and peering up at him curiously. “I don’t think any of us could have done that. How’d you get your second Persona, anyway? Your Shadow wasn’t particularly clear on that point.”

“He offered to help,” Goro says. “I met him in - uh -” he avoids looking at Futaba - “in Wakaba Isshiki’s Palace, actually. Why?”

“But you’ve never met Igor, right?” Akira’s expression is piercing. “Or seen the prison?”

“What prison? What the fuck are you talking about? - Sorry, Noir.”

“Wait, why is Noir the one person here you’re willing to be polite to?” says the cat.

“I also try to be polite to Oracle, and I dearly hope you can figure out why without me spelling it out,” Goro says.

“Never mind,” Akira says, waving a hand dismissively. “But you never tried that before, Crow?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly hold demons up like you all do when it was just me.”

“Oh, right.”

“Speaking of Crow’s particular abilities,” Kitagawa interjects, “how did you actually find out you could change your outfit in here?”

“Uh,” he says. “I knew I couldn’t be around you all in the black mask outfit, so I thought about it very hard, and then it happened.”

There’s a thoughtful silence from the kids. Takamaki squeezes her eyes shut very hard, and then peeks down at her unchanged catsuit and sighs. “Figures,” she mutters.



In the safe room they find, Futaba walks over and sits next to Goro, clutching her laptop close to her chest in her arms, and says, “So, we’re not exactly friends or anything.”

“So you’ve said,” Goro says, a bit suspicious about where this is going. Most of the others are occupied with their own conversations but Okumura seems to be half-listening, keeps darting her eyes over at them.

“And I wasn’t going to bring this up. Because I really honestly meant to stop mirroring your phone.”


“But now you know I saw all your texts, so like…” Futaba hesitates, looking down at her boots, and then says, “Things can always change for the better. Like, your life, and your feelings and things. I thought that was a dumb lie and then I found out it wasn’t.”

“Oh god, Sakura,” Goro says, and watches Okumura almost-but-not-quite turn her head out of the corner of his eye, “please don’t do this to me.” He said one thing. He said one fucking honest thing how he was doing in his texts, in response to a direct question, because Akira couldn’t mind his own business, and now he’s paying for it. Why on earth didn’t he lie?

“I literally don’t want to,” Futaba says, and she sounds like she means it. “I hate this conversation too. But things worked out for me, and I never, ever thought they would.”

“Well, congratulations,” Goro mutters, though he knows he’s being shitty, and then groans and adjusts his mask (the red one - he feels like the black mask outfit would make things difficult for Okumura, so he’s trying to avoid it) and says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Akira will be so miserable if you… if you do something stupid,” Futaba says. “And then the rest of us will be mad at you for making him miserable. We put a lot of effort into your Palace and everything. So don’t, okay?”

“I really didn’t mean any of what I said in those texts,” Goro says, thinking of grief counsellors he had to pacify like this as a child. (They just wanted to help, they said, keeping him late after school, writing notes about him. The message being: if you behave abnormally, we will treat you abnormally. Keep your shit under wraps like everyone else.) He’s better at it now. “I know how it sounded but I was honestly just having a bad day. I do appreciate the concern, though.”

“Okay,” Futaba says, in a tone very similar to Akira’s ‘That is complete bunk and we both know it’ voice. She takes a long drink of her soda, glances at him briefly and then returns her gaze to her feet. “I kinda thought I caused my mom’s death, y’know. For a long time. And I remember how that felt. So since you, um, actually did what you did… I wouldn’t blame you if you felt similarly.”

“Oh,” Goro says, and feels a wave of shame curdling suddenly in his guts. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

“Shido did it,” Futaba says, and kicks at the floor. She looks so much like her mother, even sounds a bit like her. Goro wonders if she consciously chose a similar hairstyle, if Wakaba Isshiki had the same bizarre, quick intelligence as her daughter.

He says, “May I ask you a question?”

“Go for it,” Futaba says, though she sounds a little disconcerted.

“Why do you keep talking to me? I mean, if I were in your position, I’d… well…”

“Be trying to pull off some two-year treacherous plan to get revenge on yourself?”

Goro chuckles a little. “Mostly likely. I certainly wouldn’t be trying to give myself a pep talk. I wouldn’t want to be in the same room with me.”

“Well,” Futaba says, “the way I’ve been trying to think of it since your Palace is, um… you don’t blame your mom for her death even though she… technically caused it, right? You recognise what the root of the problem was, and that was Shido. Sorry for using this as a metaphor, but…”

“No, I understand,” Goro says slowly. Okumura isn’t even pretending she’s not listening anymore, has turned her head fully and is gazing steadily at them, thoughtful and imperious. Whether Futaba has noticed, or cares, remains a mystery. Goro says, “I think I see your point. Although I don’t know if I… I mean…” He has never said this out loud, not ever. “I think I do blame my mother. A bit. Sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Futaba says, very heavily, and Goro gets it. “But intellectually, you know it wasn’t her fault.”

“I do.”

“Okay. Cool talk, psycho killer.”

“Right,” Goro says, unable to think of any other response to that.

“It’s not a perfect metaphor, though,” Okumura says suddenly, turning fully around in her seat. “I… I understand where you’re coming from, Oracle, but… surely violence directed inwards and outwards aren’t the same thing?”

“Um,” Futaba says, sounding startled at the interjection, “I guess not. It’s just how I’ve been thinking of it. Uhh-” She looks back and forth between them. “I thought you guys were cool now?”

Okumura folds her hands in her lap, squeezes them too tightly, and says, “I’m sorry. We’re getting there, I hope. I’ll, um - I’ll try to think more about what you said.”

“O...kay,” Futaba says, and then picks up her laptop and walks very briskly across the room.

“Oh no,” Okumura says softly as they watch Futaba sit down on the floor in the opposite corner, start typing briskly. “Should I apologise?”

“You’re asking me?” Goro says.

“I shouldn’t have interrupted,” Okumura says, a fretful hand at her mouth. “I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, either, I am sorry about that, I just…” She breathes out heavily, glances at him sideways. “I’m trying to understand her point of view, I promise I am. And yours. I… I worry that I’m a bad person, for not being able to forgive you as well as everyone else has.”

“You don’t owe me forgiveness,” Goro says. “Frankly, I think you’re all too nice for your own good. Besides, I wouldn’t recommend coming to me with issues of morality, Noir. That’s what Joker’s for, no?”

Okumura nods. She says, “He really likes you, you know.”

“Hm.” Okumura is the last person who’d want to hear any of his doubts about that, presumably, so he just says, “He shouldn’t.”

“You might be right,” she says, and smiles at him briefly, before looking across the table, to where Akira is having a hard-to-follow, highly animated conversation with Morgana (they both seem to be referencing Akira’s phone, so it must be about the photos). He looks comfortable, radiant, happy; looks like he’s never worried about anything in his life. “He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met and you did your best to take him out of the world. And he still genuinely cares about you. You’re lucky.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

She stands up, adjusts her hat a little. Smiles down at him again, very sadly. “Thank you for doing all this, Ake… Crow. Working with us, talking to me. I’m sure it can’t be easy. I do appreciate that.” Then she looks away again and says, “Do you think it’d be rude if I went and spoke to Oracle now? What if she just wanted to stop talking to me and I’m making it worse? But I should apologise-”

“Uh,” Goro says. “I’m afraid I’m really not the person you should be asking about this, Noir, I don’t have a clue how to handle this one.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right. I suppose I’ll just go for it, then.”

From the corner, Kitagawa, who had seemed fully immersed in his sketchbook, says, “I apologise for overhearing that, Crow, but… were you somehow faking having people skills this entire time?”

“I have great people skills,” Goro says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”



They have to fight for the next letter of introduction - Goro doesn’t even know this VIP particularly well, it’s that IT guy who never goes to parties, but Futaba handles it surprisingly well, and the fight ends up being more about her nerd pride than anything. It’s satisfying to do something about how shitty Goro still feels about the Medjed thing, though. One left. The goddamn cleaner. They should go for it, but Akira won’t budge from his plan. Tomorrow. “We can actually all get home for dinner, for once,” he says, and most of the group perks up at that.

Goro thinks about it on the way out. The VIPs are some kind of shadow-cognition hybrid, the cat said, so perhaps that means that when they take the cleaner out, he won’t have to worry about the real one? Maybe. Who the fuck knows. He should probably ask, but he doesn’t want to look stupid in front of the Phantom Thieves, and he definitely doesn't want to draw attention to his predicament. He’s already had enough of Akira’s pity for a lifetime.

The group disperses again, leaving Goro alone with the Yongen group again in the station. Akira’s standing close to him, with just enough room for plausible deniability, absently checking his phone. Goro leans against the pillar next to him, looks (pointlessly) at his phone too, that lock screen he still hasn’t changed. He thinks wistfully of his futon. Thinks of Akira there, too, warm and solid. He lets the tip of his foot touch Akira’s, like it’s an accident. “Sneaky,” Akira says softly, and nudges him back with his toes.

Goro sees Futaba gives the pair of them a long look. Then she says, too casually, “Hey, why don’t I take the Mona bag for a while?”

“What?” Morgana says from the bag, poking his head up. “Why?”

“So you can keep me company while I figure out which vending machine has the best stuff, duh.”

Akira hands it off and says quietly, “You’re such a good friend.”

“I’m amazing,” she agrees, “and you owe me.”

“See?” Akira says to Goro as Futaba heads off. “She’s fine with it. Nothing to worry about.” Then he looks down at his phone again, and says regretfully, “Oh man, of all the times for Lala-chan to actually ask me to help out.”

“Sorry,” Goro says, “Who on earth is that?”

“Uh, she runs that bar Crossroads? In Kabukicho. I work there part-time sometimes. She’s really cool, actually, you should be jealous.”

The last part sounds like a joke, so Goro decides to disregard it. “You work part-time at a bar?”

“What are you going to do,” Akira says, slipping his phone back into his pocket, “arrest me?”

“It’s just unexpected,” Goro says, putting his away too. “I know I’m hardly one to be throwing stones at other people’s occupations. By the way, Akira, it’s very important to me that you understand that I actually fucking hate cops.”

“Wow, weird, me too,” Akira says, and something seems to close down in his expression. “Did that start before or after they kicked the shit out of me?”

Well. That’s a bit of an escalation. And surprising, too - Goro had got the impression Akira was deeply uninterested in discussing that unprovoked. “Pardon?”

Akira shrugs, and smiles a little, the emotion behind it unreadable. “I’m just wondering. Trying to get the chronology straight. I assume before, since you knew they’d do it and all?”

“Yes,” Goro says, very quietly.

Akira sighs, looks at the ground. “Sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you.”

“No, you probably should.” It was what Goro had been angling for that morning, anyway. He shouldn’t be surprised to get a reaction like this, even if it’s delayed.

“No, I shouldn’t. I’ve just been thinking, since this morning. It kinda…” He sighs. “I don’t like to directly think about it. And having to think about it… bothered me, I guess. I’d never been actually beat up before, you know. I mean, except in the cognitive world. And that’s so different. I didn’t think it would be.”

“I’m sorry for-” Goro begins, but Akira interrupts him.

“I know you’re sorry. But it wasn’t enough that you caused it and regret it, you then had to bring it up literally just to make me feel shitty. That sucks, dude, and feeling bad after the fact doesn’t change that.”

“I know,” Goro says. “I’ve been saying that the whole time. Apologies don’t do anything.”

“No, they do. They’re a good first step,” Akira says. “They just can’t be the only one.”

Goro sighs. Thinks about it. “An action plan, then. How about if we just promise to never bring it up again?”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds super healthy,” Akira says, but then he winces a little and says, “but with that said, I… would kind of appreciate that, actually.”

“You see? Repression gets the job done.” Goro frames his chin with his fingers cheerfully, gives Akira a big magazine smile. “How do you think I got so far in life?”

Akira laughs, and then actually covers his mouth with both his hands. “Sorry. That’s not funny.”

“No, it is,” Goro says.

“We should probably at least say we won’t talk about it when we’re mad,” Akira says. “That seems slightly less, uh… emotionally constipated of a reaction. No offense.”

“Okay. Well, in that case… would you completely hate it if I said something else about it?”

“Nah, go for it,” Akira says.

“I exaggerated a little, this morning. I never thought they’d go quite that hard on you. I mean, cops are cops, but not all of them are ours - are Shido’s, I mean - so I assumed those ones would at least be thinking about the optics of the situation. Fuckers. I actually kind of felt it’d be for the best, that you wouldn’t have to deal with remembering it, if you were…” Wait. Shit.

“Dead?” Akira provides flatly.


“Okay. Good to know.” It’s hard to see Akira’s eyes under his glasses and hair, but he’s chewing on his bottom lip. “I think I definitely need to stop talking about this now.”

“All right,” Goro says. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. You know it’s not.” Goro looks away, around the sparsely populated station. An old woman has stopped Futaba, is cooing affectionately at Morgana like he’s a real cat. Akira looks over too, and for a second seems like he’s about to bolt over protectively, but Futaba seems like she’s handling it fine. When Akira relaxes a little, Goro says, “I really think you shouldn’t have wasted your time with my Palace. It’s not like you need me for Shido, really.”

“Goro,” Akira says, and takes both his hands in his, forcing Goro to return his full attention to him, “that absolutely wasn’t why we changed your heart. I thought I told you that. I just… liked you. I wanted you to be okay.”

He looks very earnest, now, but the switch in tone is so suspect. Does Akira know that? Does Akira know Goro knows, or does he think Goro is so motivated by lust that he can’t think? Or is Goro being unfair, and paranoid, and pathetic? Akira’s been so persistent all day, so kind, at least considering the circumstances. Goro smiles thinly and lets Akira keep holding his hands and says, “At the moment it seems more like you wanted to get in my pants.”

“Okay, well, first of all, I am a gentleman who would never think of his paramour-” (Goro rolls his eyes expansively) “-in that way, and secondly, if that was all I wanted I bet I could have done it without risking my life in your stupid Palace.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Hmm,” Goro says, since he absolutely isn’t, obviously. “Well. It’s too bad you’re so clearly uninterested in sex, Joker, because I’m one hell of a good fuck.”

Akira turns slightly pink, which is adorable, but he says without hesitating, “Yeah, I bet you’re killer in the sack.”

“Oh, ugh, no. Now it really isn’t happening, I hope you realise.” It’s so easy to flirt with him, so fucking incredible to actually have his flirting be returned. Just relax. Turn your fucking brain off for once in your life and go with it.

“Oh my god,” comes Futaba’s voice from down the hall, “are you guys still talking? Do you want us to just go?”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Akira yells back, and then turns back to Goro. “I know you’re joking but honestly, all I want to do is what you want. As much or as little.”

Akira is a teenage boy so there’s no way that’s true, but it’s a sweet, well-intentioned lie. A little condescending, perhaps, but it’s difficult to fully resent it. Goro says, “Come over tonight, then.”

Akira looks mildly startled for a second, and then smiles, shakes his head. “I’d love to but I don’t think I can. Sojiro will think it’s weird if I’m not there in the morning. And you need to sleep, anyway.” Goro tries not to let any disappointment show, but perhaps something slips through, because Akira adds, “I’ll still like you tomorrow, you know. There isn’t a time limit on this. Besides, this’ll give you more time to think about me, right? That’s half the fun. You can think about how-” he leans in a little, grins wider- “tonight, as soon as Morgana goes to sleep, I’m gonna lock myself in the bathroom and think about you for a real long time.”

Goro’s face feels very hot. He says, “I did wonder how you got any personal time in that attic.”

“I bet you did,” Akira says, standing straight again.

“You’re laying this on very thick, Joker.”

“Do you mind?”

Well. “Not really.”

Akira lets out a low chuckle. “I didn’t think so.”

“Akira,” comes Futaba’s voice again, “seriously, we’re going without you if you don’t hurry up!”

“Just a second,” Akira calls back again, and then squeezes Goro’s hands one last time. “See you tomorrow, man. Have a good night.”



The thing in his dream puts on Akira’s face, expression flat behind the white Joker mask, and says, “He’s using you, you know.” It’s taken Goro’s hand in his, has the other on his waist, is swaying him around the crypt to a tune Goro almost remembers. He doesn’t recall how this started. He really wishes he could go back to having sex dreams like a normal person.

“Why,” Goro says, “am I supposed to give a flying fuck about what some creepy asshole dream entity thinks of my relationship?”

“‘Relationship’?” the thing repeats pityingly. “That’s a bit strong, don’t you think? Think about it. What have you ever done that he would like? I hate to see you in this position, little fox, falling for the same tricks over and over again. Do you realise what a cliche you are?”

Goro doesn’t want to think about this anymore. He certainly doesn’t want to talk about it. “And what do you expect me to do about it?” he says through gritted teeth as they gently circle. “Why are you harassing me again?”

“I want you to stop letting yourself get distracted. You know what you have to do with your father.” The thing leads him in a few very precise steps, forward and back, forward and back. “One, two,” it says in time, and grins Akira’s shittiest grin. “Him, you. Just as you thought before. You wouldn’t have to worry about the guilt of taking him out, that way.”

“I wouldn’t feel guilt over him,” Goro says.

“No, you would, I’m afraid,” the thing says. “And worse than that, they’d be upset with you. Your sweet little master would be so disappointed with you for misbehaving. And then what would you have?”

“And what does this get you?”

The thing laughs. “I don’t like that you were left so in the dark, little lion, I thought I told you that. It’s a cheap, cruel tactic. You creatures always need a little guidance. So here I am.”

“‘Guidance’? You’re trying to talk me into committing a murder-suicide. How stupid do you think I am?”

“All I’m doing is voicing your own thoughts, sweetheart,” the thing says. “I just think you should keep it in mind. I’m sure you’ll come up with something better, though. You’re so clever, after all.” And then it leans in and rests its forehead on Goro’s and says, in an intimate whisper, “Time to wake up. You have a visitor.”

Goro opens his eyes and looks down the barrel of a gun.

Before he can think, he reacts, has Robin Hood throw a wave of physical energy out like he’s in the other world. The cleaner - of course it’s the cleaner - is thrown backwards, falls straight into the folding screen, the gun knocked from his hand, and Goro knew he could do this in the real world but it’s more exhausting than it should be, like he’s trying to run at a normal pace through waist-deep water. He must still be recovering from the Palace, and he’s half-awake, besides. Still - he focuses his attention on the gun, and Robin crushes it for him like it’s a soda can. Goro feels woozy with the effort, stupid and lightheaded.

The man rises from the floor and says, “Pretty impressive hocus-pocus, kid. I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” And he grabs Goro by the back of his hair and slams his face directly into his chest of drawers, once, twice. Goro’s vision is swimming. His face feels warm and wet, but it barely even hurts, though he knows it will if he manages to get through this - and all he needs to do is one more attack, but he can’t seem to manage it, can’t concentrate, and the man kicks him in the ribs for good measure. He hears himself let out a whimper, and the sound fills him with a cold distant fury. Get up, Goro tells himself, but nothing happens. He spits blood on the floor and repeats it, tries to get his limbs to respond. You’re Goro fucking Akechi. Get. Up.

The man says, conversationally, “Here’s the narrative for you, since I hear you like those: the sweet little idol detective, found brutally murdered in his home by a crazed fan. Bad luck.” And a huge arm wraps around Goro’s neck, presses the forearm firmly against his windpipe. Squeezes. Goro flails with legs and elbows, connects with something, but the pressure doesn’t abate. He thinks of action movies, tries to squirm in the man’s grip and butt the fucker in the nose with the back of his head. That one doesn’t make contact at all. The man laughs and says, “Nice try. You really picked a bad time to go rogue, Akechi-kun.”

This is pathetic. He can’t go out like this. So Goro closes his eyes and digs deep inside of himself. Not Robin, not Baphomet - he needs Loki. Loki who’s never let him down, his only constant companion, who’s been in his heart all his life, just waiting to be called upon with the full force of Goro’s fury. It’s so hard to summon him that it hurts but Goro can still do it. He lets out one last, focused blast of power. The pressure is gone.

Goro inhales air greedily and looks around, struggling to make his eyes focus. The man is slumped over against the wall. He can take in details now - the casual clothes, the suppressed pistol warped on the floor.

Goro gets to his feet very calmly, though his heart is hammering. Wipes at his face with the back of his hand. Something about the cartilage of his nose feels wrong, strangely gritty; and his hand, of course, comes away bloody. He wipes it on his pyjama shirt. Something about the pistol seemed familiar, so Goro checks the desk drawer he’d been storing his own in. (It had been stupid to put it there, thoughtless, he could have at least found something with a lock; but all he’d been thinking of was keeping it out of sight for a while.) Empty. Well, it was Shido’s property in the first place, so it makes sense that he’d want it back. It’s probably not worth anything anymore, though.

It’s a bit surprising, he thinks clinically, that he fought back. Things would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t. But old habits die hard, and he’d never wanted to go back to the person he used to be, a person to whom bad things just happened all the time.

Goro goes over to the balcony to get his bike. Puts his coat and shoes on. Remembers at the last minute, like he’s getting ready for school, to grab his bag and phone from his bedside. The man’s breathing, he notices as he steps over him, and then feels deep irritation at his own relief. Thanks a fucking lot, Joker.

Now. Where to go? Well - it’s not like he has many options, is it?

Chapter Text

Everything starts to hurt on the way to Leblanc: a dull throbbing ache centered right on the bridge of his nose, another in his side when he breathes, a shockingly sore throat. Goro’s never biked straight from his apartment to Yongen-Jaya, of course, and though he likes to think he knows his city pretty damn well, he ends up relying on the GPS on his phone more than he expected. Which is difficult, given that he’s also simultaneously trying to hold a handkerchief to his nose and stay on the road, and also given that his eyes won’t quite focus properly. He must look ridiculous. It would have been easier to call a cab, but that would most likely involve answering a lot of questions and having it all relayed to gossip websites within the hour. Anyway, he keeps having to pull over to discreetly dry heave.

Akira was right when he said that getting your ass kicked in the cognitive world wasn’t remotely comparable to the real thing. Goro hasn’t been in a mundane (or mundane-ish, anyway) fight in years; he’d almost forgotten what it’s like. Even when it’s only one man, even when you can fight back - it’s messier in real life, harder. Perhaps part of that is perception, that it’s easy to tell yourself it’s not real violence when it’s a literal angel in bondage gear trying to kick you around rather than an actual human being, when you move like an acrobat without trying. Perhaps it’s just that in real life, you haven’t chosen to be there.

The mental numbness is fading a little. Goro feels like the biggest idiot ever born. Why did he ever think the apartment Shido gave him was safe? Goro’s never been safe anywhere, never lived anywhere that was truly under his own control. He should have remembered that and kept Shido’s request in mind, been more cautious, tried harder to act like nothing had changed. No skipping school, no sulking, no throwing everything to the wind for a stupid fucking boy. Of course this happened, it was only a matter of time given how sloppy he’s been; he practically walked into the cleaner’s fist. You dumb piece of shit, Akechi. You absolute fucking imbecile.

His eyes are watering, he notices. Annoying. He’s shaking, too, but it’s freezing tonight and he only has his school jacket over his pyjamas, so at least there’s a reasonable explanation for that. Still. At least his nose has stopped actively bleeding. When he gets to Yongen, he takes a few deep breaths, wipes crankily at his eyes with his sleeve as he switches to walking his bike. He hadn’t realised how many bars there were, for a residential area. It’s the early hours of a Thursday morning, but there are still pockets of people around, drinking and smoking and not looking particularly interested in him, thank god.

He calls Akira as he weaves up the narrow back streets to Leblanc. The phone just rings for a worryingly long time and then goes to voicemail, so he calls it again, trying to think of a backup plan. The Niijimas? Ugh, no, he can’t stand the thought of biking anywhere else tonight, and anyway, pissing off both Niijima sisters simultaneously by waking them up sounds like a good way to actually get murdered. Sae-san’s never been a morning person, and Makoto’s certainly not his biggest fan. It’s bad enough to be crawling to Akira like this. God, this whole situation is so intolerably humiliating. He really should have just died. He should have- no. Don’t fucking start. Think about the problem at hand and nothing else.

Perhaps he should shower Akira’s window with pebbles, he thinks, staring up at it. Perhaps he should just break in, pay Sakura back for the expense in the morning. There’s no way this place has any kind of security system.

He’s started looking around the ground for rocks when Akira finally picks up. “Akechi?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. “Wha-”

“I’m outside,” Goro hisses into the phone. His voice sounds very hoarse and slightly nasal, but not at all like he’s just been crying, so at least that’s something. “Let me in.”

A pause. “Outside my place?”


“Is this like, a romantic gesture or something, because it’s the middle of the night-” and one of the second floor windows opens, and Akira’s sleep-tousled head peeks out, his face half-concealed under his hair, holding his phone to his ear.

“I was attacked, Kurusu,” Goro says, glowering up at him. “And it is very cold tonight so I would really appreciate it if you’d stop fucking around and unlock the door.”

“You were- okay. One second.” He disappears from the window. Goro hears shuffling noises from the phone, the faint sound of Morgana’s high pitched voice, and then, finally, a light clicks on in the main floor and the front door opens. Akira just stands there for a moment, blinking at him, barefoot and bare-faced, in a dark long-sleeved t-shirt and drawstring sweatpants. In any other context Goro would have been delighted to find out what his pyjamas look like. “Holy shit,” Akira says after a moment. “Is that your blood?”

“Unfortunately,” Goro says, and pushes past him with his bike, leaves it leaning against the counter and heads straight into the bathroom. The cafe is only a little warmer than it was outside. “I think the bastard might have broken my nose.” Oh, it looks bad. Despite having done his best with the handkerchief, his lower face is covered in blood, his pyjama shirt sprinkled with it, and bruises are already starting to blossom around his nose and under his eyes. Goro pokes the bridge of his nose experimentally again. Unsurprisingly, it hurts.

“What happened?” says the cat’s voice from the vicinity of the stairs, drawn and sleepy. “Why’s Akechi here? You guys should be in b-”

“Shido tried to kill me in my sleep, what do you think happened?” Goro snaps, and tilts his head up, tries to get a look at his neck. He can’t quite tell if it’s bruised as well or if he’s looking at shadows, given that this bathroom isn’t particularly well lit, but it hurts like hell. He really deserved that one, though, if he’s honest. Maybe it’s even kind of funny, though Goro won’t be laughing about it for a while.

“What?” Morgana says. “Directly?”

“Yes, that would really fit his established modus operandi, wouldn’t it? Of course it wasn’t directly, he sent the goddamn fucking cleaner after me.”

The cat doesn’t even have a smartass reply to that, which is probably fortunate. A long silence just hangs, until Akira hands him a glass of water from the doorway and says, “So, uh, how’s he doing now? The cleaner.”

Goro rinses his mouth out, spits red into the sink. “I don’t give a shit. Badly, I hope.” Again, until it’s just water. “Wait, are you asking if I killed him? You really don’t mess around, do you? I am about ninety-five percent certain he’s still rational and breathing, if you must know.”

“Okay. I mean, I wouldn’t be that mad if you had killed him, honestly.”

“Good. I wish I’d tried.” Goro doesn’t actually wish that, but pretending otherwise makes him feel a little better, like he’s frightening again, like he hasn’t just been half-beat to a pulp. He’s trying to wipe his face clean with damp toilet paper, but of course it just keeps falling to soggy little pieces.

“Goro, sit down and I’ll get, um, a towel or something. Hold on.” And Goro hears his feet on the stairs again. Goro doesn’t particularly care for looking at his own face in the mirror right now, pale and tear-stained and swollen, so he follows Akira’s advice, goes over to the nearest booth.

The cat hops up onto the table. It’s hard to read his expressions in his real world form, of course, but he seems uncharacteristically tentative in his body language, is looking at Goro with something like concern. “I’m sorry this happened, Akechi,” he says, “but-” ah, there it is - “you don’t have to take it out on us.”

Goro literally bites his tongue, very hard. Then he says, “I know. I apologise. I am having a pretty shitty night, if you haven’t noticed, so if you could cut me a bit of slack for once in your fuzzy little life, I would appreciate it.”

Morgana’s tail is twitching restrainedly, and his voice has regained its usual bite when he speaks. “I’m just sick of you being rude to my friends. Akira’s put a lot on the line for you-”

“Guys, please, could you both chill for at least tonight?” Akira says as he comes back downstairs. “You can go back to bed if you want, Mona, I have it covered.”

The cat looks at Akira, who has bustled over to the kitchen area, and then back at Goro. “Well,” he says, sounding like he can’t wait to go back upstairs. “Maybe. But I don’t want you guys staying up too long.”

“We won’t,” Akira says over the sound of the refrigerator door. “Promise.”

“Okay,” the cat says, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced; and he yawns, jumps off the table, and trots on up the stairs.

When he’s gone, Akira approaches, hands Goro a bag of frozen vegetables and a small terry washcloth, and then goes back behind the counter again. Goro feels like he should apologise for his earlier tone, even though it’s probably his ninetieth useless apology of the past twenty-four hours, but Akira starts talking before he can open his mouth: “You’re lucky you got my ass kicked, actually. Sojiro never buys frozen vegetables for real food, but we got some for my face after that whole thing, and then of course they never got actually used. Great planning on your part, clearly.”

“Clearly,” Goro says, and presses the bag to his nose.

“And I have a huge collection of very questionable pharmaceuticals,” Akira adds, sounding a bit too proud of that. “Oh, speaking of-” He comes back again, this time with a bowl of - hot water, perhaps? - and drops a pair of blue and white capsules onto the table. Goro frowns down at them suspiciously, but Akira’s weird drugs haven’t killed any of them yet and Goro does feel like absolute shit, so he pops them down with his water, privately vows to give Akira a lecture the next day about how he’s probably going to give all his friends addictions to whatever the hell those things are if he keeps this up.

Akira says, “Could you move over a little?” Goro shifts over slightly on the seat, and Akira sits next to him, dips the cloth in the bowl, and begins to very gently wipe at Goro’s face. The water is warm, comforting, and Akira’s knees are pressed cozily against Goro’s.

“You really don’t have to do all this,” Goro says, though he’s too worn out to mind all that much.

Akira doesn’t pause. “I know.”

Goro lets himself press a bit closer into Akira, tries not to be embarrassed about it; tries to just appreciate the musky heat of him, the solidity of his body. He breathes in and says, finally, “I really am sorry for snapping at you both. And waking you up to begin with. I just didn’t see many other options.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says, continuing to wipe at Goro’s face. The washcloth is turning rust-coloured. “I mean, I wish you and Mona hadn’t gotten into a fight immediately, but I’m glad you came here. What would you have done before, if something like this happened?”

“If my father had tried to kill me sooner? Well, I put a lot of effort into making myself indispensable, to prevent this sort of thing from occurring. But… well, I’d probably have gone to his place. To bump up the schedule. Which I’m sure he also would have thought of, and planned for.” Goro smiles miserably.

Akira is looking at him - sympathetically? Pityingly? Probably the latter. He says, “I’m glad you’re okay. More or less. We can go see Dr Takemi in the morning, have her take a look at your nose.”

“Who’s- no, of course you know some obscure seedy doctor, never mind.”

“You’re the one who’s on friendly terms with every crypto-fascist in this city, you cannot judge me for anyone I know.”

“‘Crypto-fascist’, really? Don’t be juvenile.”

“Sorry, I’m sure some of them are just regular fascists,” Akira says, and grins at Goro’s grimace. “Are you making that face at me or am I hurting you?”

“At you, don’t worry.” Goro smiles back at him despite himself. “I really didn’t come here to be fussed over.”

“I know,” Akira says again. “Let me fuss over you. I get that it sucks, but I had to put up with everyone getting worried about me a few weeks ago because of you, so you could at least let me return the favour.”

Hm. Interesting, that Akira doesn’t like this sort of thing either. Perhaps it’s not all that surprising. Goro says, “Well, when you put it like that.”

“Anyway, you came all the way from your place in this state, I wasn’t going to make you keep standing in the bathroom like that. Please tell me you got some sleep before all this happened, at least.”

God, that bullshit in his dream. He’s been trying not to think of it. “A bit. Enough.”

Akira sets the cloth down and says, “Do you really think he was trying to kill you? Maybe it was just to send a message-”

“No, he tried pretty hard to kill me, I’m afraid.” Goro wants to bury his face in his hands, or maybe in Akira’s shoulder, but he doesn’t want to look that pathetic in front of him, and he really doesn’t want to bump his nose. “God,” he says, and tries to hold down the hint of hysteria he can hear rising in his voice, “I am just - I am so tired, Akira, I’m so tired and miserable all the time, and now I can’t even go home, and I keep having the weirdest fucking dreams-”

“It’s fine now,” Akira says, and leans in and pushes Goro’s hair behind his ears, very gently. “You’ll be fine-”

“Nothing’s fine, why do you always say that-”

“I say it because I am trying really hard to believe in positive thinking,” Akira says, “since one of us has to, and it’s clearly not going to be you.” He doesn’t say it in a particularly judgemental way. It’s just a fact. A kind of sad one, maybe, but not one that can be changed. Goro certainly doesn’t want to start ‘believing in positive thinking’, but still, it’s kind of depressing.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be realistic,” Goro says.

“No, not necessarily. It’s pessimism that just doesn’t really work out for me. And I don’t think it’s all that helpful for you, either.” Akira pauses, studying Goro a little, and then says, “I know it won’t actually fix anything, but I bet you’ll feel at least a little better in the morning.” He’s beginning to turn away, moving like he’s about to stand up. “Let’s-”

“Wait,” Goro says, and grabs his wrist, “please, just-” Akira turns back to him, unreadable as ever, and Goro lets go immediately, suddenly embarrassed. He says, as calmly as he can, “Not yet. Please, just kiss me.”

“Okay,” Akira says after a thoughtful pause, and then he does, gentle, one hand on Goro’s cheek. His mouth tastes faintly of mint toothpaste. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?” he murmurs against Goro’s lips.

It does, of course, the ache in Goro’s face gets sharper every time their noses come into any contact whatsoever, but Goro says, “Don’t worry,” and tries to lead Akira into something rougher and hungrier, like before, something that will convince his brain to switch off for a little while. Akira responds more gamely than Goro expected, digs his fingers into Goro’s hair like he’s trying to pull him into himself, then says again, “Tell me if I’m hurting you-”

“Shut up,” Goro says, and Akira’s chuckle vibrates against his cheek. Goro feels himself getting calmer, more confident. A little colder, too, more detached again, but that’s fine for now. He can work with that. He reaches down, puts his hand on the inside of Akira’s knee, feels his leg twitch slightly in response. Then Goro starts running his hand upwards, slowly, delicately. He half expects Akira to stop him again, but he just makes a soft noise into Goro’s mouth, widens his legs a little, which seems encouraging. What have you ever done that he would like? Well - he can do this. It’s an apology, perhaps; for tonight, for that morning, for all the rest of it.

Akira’s already hard by the time Goro’s hand makes it all the way up; Goro teases a little over the fabric, feels the shape of him, pulls fully out of the kiss so he can see what he’s doing. Akira has a look on his face like no one’s ever touched his dick before, which absolutely cannot be true but is incredibly endearing. His breath is coming quick, his cheeks flushed. Goro’s dreamt for months about seeing him like this. He unties the drawstring of Akira’s sweatpants sloppily with one hand, pulls him free and says soft in his ear, “Did you really jerk off about me tonight?”

“Mm,” Akira says, his lids half-lowered as Goro begins to work. “Mmhm. God, Ake- Goro, I mean-”

“Shush,” Goro murmurs, wondering whether he should take Akira slipping up with his name twice in one night as funny or insulting. It’s probably funny. “The cat.” And he quickens the pace of his hand.

Akira is staring straight down at Goro’s hand, his hair in his eyes. Which is cute and all, but Goro wants to see him, so he whispers, “No, look at me,” and Akira obeys so unquestioningly that it might kill Goro, he might die happy just because of that one fucking movement of Akira’s head - or maybe because, when their eyes meet, Akira’s mouth curls slightly in amusement at whatever he sees on Goro’s face. They are inches away from each other, not quite nose-to-nose, so close Goro can feel Akira’s hitching breaths. Goro feels like he needs to commit this to memory, copy down every detail in his mind: the curve of his lips, the trust in his expression. And then Akira’s coming, and he just closes his eyes, squeezes Goro’s shoulder very hard with one hand and presses the other to his mouth, gasps and contorts and doesn’t make a goddamn peep. It’s the best thing Goro has ever seen, probably. The best thing he’s ever done.

What a fucking night, Goro thinks, watching Akira slump back heavily against the booth seat, still trembling. Goro should have died, and he didn’t, and then somehow Akira Kurusu got an orgasm out of it. It all worked out in the end. Roll credits. (He’s using you, you know, he thinks for a second, and then pushes that away.)

“Wow,” Akira says after a while, a laugh in his voice. “Okay.”

“You enjoy that?” Goro says, very casually.

Akira runs a hand through his hair. Nods.

Goro smiles crookedly, looks down at the viscous mess on his fingers. And then, more because he wants to see Akira react to it than anything, he meets Akira’s gaze again and lifts his fingers to his mouth and gives them a good pornographic lick. Semen tastes like semen, so whatever, but Akira’s eyes go huge, which makes it fully worth it, and then Akira suddenly leans forward and kisses him again, a firm painful jostle that’s honestly too funny to mind all that much. After a little while, Goro delicately pushes Akira away with his clean hand, chuckling, and says, “Move, you pervert, I need to go wash this off.”

I’m the pervert?” Akira says, but he stands up to let Goro scoot out of the seat. When Goro has finished washing his hands in the bathroom, Akira is leaning on the booth table, yawning discreetly into the back of his hand. “Do you, um - want me to, uh -”

Goro hadn’t actually considered that he’d offer. “No, I’m fine.”

Akira nods again. “Okay. Um, that’s good, I’m pretty beat. Not that- I do want to, it’s just-”

“Very late. I understand.”

“Yeah. Thank you, though. You didn’t… have to do that.”

“Yes, I’m aware." Why are they both being so awkward about this? It's excruciating. "You don’t have to thank me.”

“I wanted to. It was worth a thank you.” Akira stretches, arches his back, unself-consciously hikes his sweatpants higher onto his hips. “Do you want me to find you a shirt you can borrow for pyjamas? As much as I like the whole… matchy-matchy prep-gone-bad look you have happening right now.”

Goro blinks at him, trying to parse that. “Excuse me?”

“I’m saying your PJs look like they were really cute before you bled all over them.” He grins. “I should have known you sleep in something with buttons and a collar.”

Goro looks down at his blue plaid flannel, which he honestly thought was pretty unremarkable, and says, “Really, you think this is the time to give me shit about my fashion sense?”

“I’m not giving you shit,” Akira says, “I’m just unsurprised, that’s all.” Then he yawns again, very expansively this time. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Uh, I probably should change into something so I don’t leave blood prints on your…” Sheets? Couch? He shouldn’t make assumptions about where he’s going to be sleeping. “Things.”

“Good point. I’ll grab you something. I, uh, I guess I need to change my underwear, anyway. God, I’m so psyched to go back to sleep. Come on.”

Goro follows him upstairs. The room is slightly illuminated from the windows, the sky warm with light pollution. Morgana is curled up right in the middle of the bed, on top of the blanket. Akira turns his phone’s flashlight on and goes digging through a small clothes hamper in the corner, gives the item he’s grabbed a quick sniff, and then hands it to Goro. It’s a plain black t-shirt. “I did wear it, but only for like half a day, so I promise it’s fine. And I can sleep on the couch if you’d be more comfortable.”

“No, you should sleep in your own bed. I’ll take the couch.” Goro unbuttons his pyjama shirt, feeling suddenly awkward, as if he didn’t still have the taste of Akira’s come in his mouth. He turns away a little, even though he knows he’s being stupid.

Akira just keeps talking in a calm half-whisper as he gets changed, neither of them looking at each other. “No way, you can’t have your back and your face screwed up in the same night. We’re being stupid, we can both fit in my bed.” Goro casually looks down at his side where it hurts to see if it’s bruised. It’s so dark that it’s hard to tell. He has the t-shirt over his head when Akira adds, “I think we stopped needing to be weird about sleeping arrangements when you put your hand on my-”

Goro pulls the shirt down hastily and hisses, “The cat is right there.”

“He’s completely passed out. Trust me. Mona. Hey. Mor-ga-na.” Morgana isn’t stirring. Akira grabs a corner of the blanket and pulls, until Morgana awakens, blinks up accusingly at him. “You need to get up for a sec so we can actually get in there.”

“Both of you?” the cat says blearily. “What about the couch?”

“The couch sucks and I really want to go back to sleep,” Akira says.

“Boys and boys never sleep in the same bed in movies,” the cat says, arching his back as he stands. “Isn’t it weird? You weren’t going to do this when Yusuke-”

“We can argue about this tomorrow, man, just move,” Akira says.

“There’s not enough room,” the cat grumbles, but he hops up onto the windowsill, balances there. Akira crawls onto the mattress immediately, pushes the pillow over to the side and rolls up a second blanket to form a makeshift pillow of his own. Goro takes his shoes off (fucking barbaric, that Akira tells all his visitors to keep their shoes on in his bedroom, even if it is just a repurposed storage space), hesitantly climbs in next to him. He tries to leave as much space as he can between them, for the sake of deniability, ends up practically half off the bed.

The cat settles back down onto Akira’s chest, loaf-shaped, and gives Goro one last glower.

“That seems very intimate, you know,” Goro says.

“It’s cozy,” Akira says, resting a hand on Morgana’s back. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Of that furball? Please.”

“‘Furball’?” says Morgana, his ears back flat on his head. “You’re really running low on insults, aren’t you?”

“Everyone shut up and go to sleep,” Akira mumbles, and closes his eyes. Morgana looks at Goro again, and then curls into a ball, facing away from him.

Goro watches the two of them in the dim light as their breathing steadies. It’s creepy to just stare at someone while they sleep, he does fully realise that, but - how can they just drift off like that so easily? Although, to be fair, he did wake them up and one of them’s a cat. Still. Goro feels physically worn out but his mind won’t stop running, won’t stop repeating variations on You idiot, you fucking idiot, you should have let him kill you now that he’s run out of distractions. If he’d died, he wouldn’t have gotten to see Akira’s O-face, but he also wouldn’t have to think anymore, not about his past, or his future, or his father. He would never ever have to think about all the lives he ruined ever again. Never have to deal with the way the words from his stupid fucking dream keep nagging at him, despite how firmly he keeps shoving them aside.

He hates, Goro decides, that animal part of him that fought back, that sad little primate that takes over when your higher facilities switch off. Useless. Maybe he’s glad that he didn’t give Shido the satisfaction, but- but that train of thought is a whole thing on its own, will lead him back to that endless circuitous recital of every misstep he’s ever made. He needs to stop.

Besides all that, being surrounded by Akira’s scent, warm and boyish under the heavy overtone of Goro's own blood, really isn’t helping. Neither is that open stairwell, though the door downstairs is locked, and there are two other Persona users with him, and if anything else happens tonight it’ll just be a repeat of the earlier attack, not anything worse. He wishes Akira had a door, though. He’s incredibly jealous that Akira doesn’t care about not having a bedroom door.

God. Stop it. Shut up. Goro tries to bore himself into sleep by counting his own breaths, but every noise from outside or movement from the other two jolts him back to consciousness. At least the pain isn’t nearly as bad, now. What are in those drugs? Presumably not opiates, because from what he knows about them he’d be having a much better time. The pills might be why he feels so awake, though. Hm. That’s concerning.

After a while he starts thinking about how, if the cat weren’t there, he’d be able to close the tiny gap between himself and Akira, cuddle into him like couples do in movies. Goro probably wouldn’t ever initiate that sort of thing, he knows himself well enough to understand that, but it’s nice to think about. It’d be pleasant, perhaps, to have someone warm against you all night.

He reaches out with a foot. Touches Akira’s. It’s freezing cold, which Goro probably should have expected; and then Akira stirs, opens his eyes and looks over at Goro, and Goro pulls his foot back hastily.

“You’re still awake?” Akira murmurs drowsily. It’s probably only been about half an hour, it’s not Goro’s fault he isn’t a - a sleep wizard like Akira is, but he nods. Akira reaches over with his near hand, clearly being careful not to disturb Morgana, and moves a strand of Goro’s hair out of his face, and then, very solemnly and so gently that it doesn’t hurt at all, taps his index finger on the tip of Goro’s nose and whispers, “Boop.”

Goro stares at him. Then he whispers back, “If you ever do that again I will bite your finger off.” Akira just chuckles. His irises look completely black in the dark, like there’s no difference between them and his pupils, deep pools with only the slightest of reflections. Goro says, “I’m really glad you’re not dead, you know.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead either,” Akira mumbles, and then drapes his arm over his face and falls back asleep.



Goro’s not sure how he manages it, but he does somehow drift off to sleep as well. He even dreams, not of the crypt or the thing but of his mother, in a girl’s Shujin uniform under a sweater, looking out on the cityscape from the roof. She might have said: You turned out just like him. I knew you would. He might have just thought she was going to say it, or remembered other times she said it in dreams like this, got it confused. His face hurts so much he thinks she must have hit him, though he can’t remember it happening, can’t recall her ever doing something like that before. Perhaps it was someone else. He opens his mouth to ask, but she just turns away and steps off the roof like she’s walking into an elevator.

Goro wakes to find himself alone in Akira’s bed, and the weather so overcast that there’s no way to tell what time it could possibly be. His face and throat are killing him and the attic is freezing cold. He stares at the ceiling for a minute, consciously putting the stupid fucking dream out of his mind. Both of them. Gone, who cares, who gives a shit. Then he touches his nose, as if he thinks it could have somehow healed overnight; regrets the decision immediately. Turns his head. His bike has appeared in the attic, leaning against the shelves by the stairs. His phone is… where is his phone? In his jacket, probably, which is… on top of Akira’s laundry hamper. Neatly folded, which Goro is positive he didn’t do himself. Okay. Sure. He sits up, winces at the way his ribs ache. Thinks wistfully about lying back down for the rest of his life, and then forces himself to stand.

According to his phone, which is at an alarming 6% battery, it is 10:37 in the morning. Up until the past few weeks, Goro would have been appalled with himself for sleeping in so long, and he’s not very happy with himself for doing it in someone else’s bed where he can be judged for it, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. He feels like absolute hell, but in an almost rested way, which is better than nothing.

On Akira’s desk, next to his phone charger (which Goro quickly co-opts), he finds a neat pile of clothes with a piece of paper on top that’s clearly been ripped out of a notebook and says “Goro-- these are clean and for you to borrow” with a smiley face at the end. The thoughtful little shit. It’s a thick dark grey long-sleeved shirt and a pair of slim-fit blue jeans that are somehow slightly too long; not a bad pick. Goro gets dressed quickly, checks his face in his phone camera, lets out an audible groan despite himself at the sight of it, and then steels himself and goes downstairs.

“Sleeping beauty arises,” comes the cat’s voice before Goro’s even fully down the stairs.

“Fuck you too,” Goro says, rubbing blearily at his eyes even though touching his face hurts like a motherfucker, and then walks into the cafe to realise that Sojiro Sakura is behind the counter, staring warily at him. “Oh. Pardon the language, Sakura-san.” He smiles.

“Mona kind of deserved that one,” Akira adds helpfully. He’s sitting at the counter with a paperback and a coffee, wearing that short black jacket Goro likes on him over his t-shirt and hoodie and giving Goro one of those slightly amused looks out of the corner of his eye.

Sakura just keeps staring at him, and then sighs and says, “Sit down and I’ll get you some breakfast.” Akira must have filled him in on what had happened, to some degree, anyway. Goro hopes Sakura hadn’t minded too much. Goro looks around. No customers - closed for the morning, perhaps, Goro robbing them of income with his presence - but little Futaba is in the nearest booth with her laptop and Morgana, looking at him with a slight grimace on her face. Goro hadn’t heard a sound before Morgana spoke, as if they were all so comfortable with each other that they were just hanging out in silence without it being a problem. Goro’s jealousy is for once more sad than bitter, a deep yearning. He used to feel this way around the Phantom Thieves, sometimes, if only for an instant before he buried it under resentment.

He needs to stop feeling so damn sorry for himself all the time. He tries to sound casual, chipper, nothing to see here. “Oh, no, that’s all right. I should get going soon anyway.”

Akira puts his book pages-down on the counter and says, “Uh, going where?”

“Yeah, I hate to say it but you probably shouldn’t go home alone,” the cat adds.

“I’m fully capable of taking care of myself,” Goro says, as pleasantly as he can. “Honestly, I’ve already impinged upon your hospitality enough-”

“Just sit down, kid,” Sakura says gruffly. “What did he hit you with, a sledgehammer?”

“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Goro says, but he acquiesces and takes a seat next to Akira at the counter. He doesn’t particularly want to start thinking of the details of the fight quite yet; they’re not especially awful, as these things go, but still, some things just naturally fall into the Do not touch section of your memory.

“Well, I hope so,” Akira says, “because it looks pretty bad.” Futaba makes a mmhmm noise from behind them. “Dr Takemi says she’ll see you whenever we come by, by the way. Do those clothes fit okay? I can find something else if they don’t.”

“They’re fine,” Goro says. “Stop mothering me.”

“I’m not,” Akira says.

“You totally are,” Futaba says without looking up. “You look weird in jeans, Akechi.”

“Yeah, it’s like you’re an actual normal teenager,” Morgana adds.

Goro doesn’t dignify that with a response, though he doesn’t see any normal teenagers in this room, thank you; instead looks at Akira’s book. An Introduction to Norse Mythology, it says under the school library sticker - “Really?”

“It’s very illuminating,” Akira says, passing it over so Goro can take a better look. “Makoto picked it up for me. She loves that I do research.” Goro hates to admit it, but she has a point with that. “Loki’s kind of a jerk, huh?”

“Yes, I can’t imagine what he’s doing with someone as virtuous as me,” Goro says, handing the book back. Akira chuckles a little. Sakura sets down a cup of coffee on the counter, follows it up with a plate of curry, more full than it usually is for customers. Goro says, as it occurs to him, “Oh - I don’t have my wallet on me.”

“I wasn’t going to charge you,” Sakura says, his voice very flat, “but you can pay me back later if you want.”

“I will,” Goro says, as earnestly as he can, because he does mean it. “Thank you.”

“I hope that’s spicy enough for you,” Akira adds casually, just as Goro’s in the middle of lifting his spoon to his mouth. He freezes for a single second. He’d been under the impression that he hadn’t completely embarrassed himself in The Great Takoyaki Fiasco Of 20XX, though it hadn’t been particularly great, either, but… what if he’d actually gotten through it too well? Do they all legitimately think he loves spicy food? If so, he can’t chicken out of this, either, so he braces himself and takes a bite.

After a very long apprehensive pause, it becomes clear that the curry isn’t even slightly spicy. “You’re a prick,” Goro mutters, and takes another scoop, and Futaba and Morgana burst out laughing behind him. “Was it that obvious with the takoyaki?”

“Dude, your face turned so red,” Futaba says.

“You cried a little,” says Morgana, with quite a lot of relish.

“I most certainly did not,” Goro says.

“Honestly, I felt kind of bad, since you were obviously trying really hard to intimidate us,” Akira adds cheerfully. “You didn’t even give us a chance to stop you.”

“Well,” Goro says, and then doesn’t know where else to go with that, so he busies himself with the curry. The warmth of it and the coffee help, though swallowing is kind of painful; still, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. The others seem to settle back to what they were doing before. The TV is very quiet, droning the chatter of an insipid morning show, which, fortunately, seems to have gotten past the actual news and is on a “cute animal videos from the internet” segment. Goro thinks of those long evenings he spent here in early autumn, sometimes dazzling Sojiro Sakura with his precocious intellect, sometimes just quietly working. When Goro’s honest with himself, he likes how no one seems to know this place exists. It’s… well, “homey” isn’t a word he really cares for, but he feels like that’s what Leblanc must be.

“Hey, Goro?” Akira says after a while, and when Goro turns, having just shoveled a slightly too large spoonful of curry into his mouth, Akira is holding up his phone, very clearly taking a picture. “Thanks,” he says after a second.

Goro swallows and says, coldly, “Sorry, what was that?”

“The group chat wants to know how bad it was,” Akira says, completely ignoring Goro’s tone, “so-”

“No, you are not showing them that-” Goro reaches for Akira’s phone, is expertly eluded. “Let me take one of my own, at least.” Goro will- he will not kill him, that’s a bit of hyperbole he really needs to permanently excise from his vocabulary, but he won’t be fucking thrilled if that shit gets circulated.

Akira gives him a very long look, and then passes over his phone. His lock screen is that stupid picture of Morgana from yesterday. Goro swipes over to the camera app, turns in the seat to find the best light, to really accentuate the absolutely appalling state of his face. Is his nose a bit crooked? God, it can’t be, that really would be the last straw. Everything’s so puffy that it’s hard to tell, anyway. He throws up an ironic peace sign, even though that’s not one of his go-to poses, smiles evenly with teeth like he really means it. When he’s done, he goes through the camera roll, finds the best one, and then looks up to find everyone else staring at him. Akira looks amused, the rest of them varying levels of baffled.

“You sure put a lot of effort into that,” Sakura says after a moment.

“If we need to document this,” Goro says, “it might as well be done right. Here, Akira. This one.”

“Thanks,” Akira says, taking the phone back. He says as he’s typing, “I can’t believe how fast that was. You and Ann could teach a course. That pic we sent you with the calling card took me and Futaba like half an hour.” After a moment, he says, “Everyone sends their condolences.”

“I’m sure,” Goro says.

“Ryuji says it looks sick,” Futaba says from the booth.

Ugh. Sakamoto must be loving this. “That about covers it.”

When Goro has finished eating and is down to the dregs of his coffee, Akira buses his plate back to the sink and then comes back into the cafe area and says, “Okay. Ready to go?”

“I’m fairly certain broken noses just have to heal on their own, Akira,” Goro says, though it sounds very feeble. “I’m not sure what the point of this is. And this doctor of yours is going to want to know what happened to me.”

“Oh, come on, Akechi,” the cat says archly from behind him, “isn’t lying through your teeth your favourite hobby? I thought you’d be looking forward to spinning your wicked web for Dr Takemi-”

“Mo-naa,” Futaba says sternly, and then the cat makes an inarticulate noise of protest. When Goro looks over, she has both hands on Morgana’s head, squashing him down a little and apparently trying to literally pinch his cheeks. It seems very brutal, and the cat squirms out of her grip after a few seconds, barrels across the floor and then onto Akira’s shoulder in one incredibly fast, fluid motion. His tail is a little puffed up.

Akira seems completely unperturbed by all this. “Are you coming with?” he says to Morgana, whose balance looks a little precarious.

“I guess,” the cat says, glowering at Futaba.

“Do you want to go grab your coat, Goro? Or one of mine? It looks cold out. Actually, I’ll-” And Akira heads up the stairs with Morgana still balancing on his shoulder before Goro can answer.

The silence in the cafe seems suddenly deeply uncomfortable. Goro pretends there’s still coffee left in his cup, just so he’s doing something. After a minute, Sakura says, without looking up from his crossword or whatever he’s doing, “You can stay for the next few days, Akechi, until this whole mess with Shido gets sorted out, but that’s it.” As if Goro had asked. More likely, Akira had on his behalf, which is why Sakura had agreed. Flawless, loveable Akira, who can get away with anything, even Can a murderer share my bed for a while? I know he’s kind of a life-ruining asshole, but my saintly judgement is unimpeachable, and besides, he gives incredible handjobs-

So Goro would really rather not stay somewhere he’s unwanted, honestly, but what other option does he have? He says, “I’m sure I can figure something else out, if you’d prefer.” Sae-san, maybe. Makoto Niijima definitely hates him slightly less than Morgana does.

“Whatever you want,” Sakura says, unhelpfully.

“We can talk about it,” Akira says as he comes downstairs again, Morgana now with his head sticking out of his bag as usual. He holds up a short, slightly puffy black winter coat. “How’s this? Your school jacket isn’t very incognito, so…”

“I think we’re past needing to worry too much about that,” Goro says, but he takes it. “Thank you.”

“Sorry I keep dressing you up in my clothes,” Akira says, though he doesn’t sound at all like he means it. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I feel worse,” Goro says. “Unsurprisingly.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Akechi?” the cat mutters, as if Goro is expected to be happy about any of this, and then disappears deep inside the bag. Goro meets Akira’s eyes in bewilderment, but Akira just shrugs.



The coat’s a bit heavy for the weather, but it beats nothing at all. Akira had grabbed Goro’s phone while he was upstairs, too (29% battery - rough, but better than nothing), leads him down the road to a narrow staircase across from the movie theatre. Goro feels a lot more sluggish than usual, which is frustrating; he does his best to keep pace with Akira, keep it all under wraps.

Before they go inside, Akira turns to Goro and says, “Please be nice to Dr Takemi. I mean, I don’t think anyone on the planet is capable of hurting her feelings, but I really, really need to stay on her good side.”

“What, or she’ll stop dealing those weird drugs to you?” Goro says, and Akira glances down at his feet, looking sheepish. “Wait. Seriously? I thought you got those from some black market herbal pharmacy or something, Joker, what the fuck. They’re prescription?”

“You’re a fake police officer,” Akira says, like he’s trying to remind him. “And those weird drugs have saved your ass a million times.”

“Well, yes, but so has shit you got from the shopping channel. Are you telling me she just gives you those?”

“He does pay for them,” Morgana says with a bit too much exasperation from inside Akira’s bag.

Goro stares at the bag, and then back at Akira. “That is worse. Are you certain this woman is a real doctor? With a degree?”

“Positive,” Akira says. “She’s honestly really great at her job. And, I mean… you can always ask her about, um - well, anything else you might need to talk about -”

“Oh, like how to get marijuana?”

“You are such a cop,” Akira mutters. “Never mind.”

Goro knows what Akira was getting at, unfortunately, but he’s not going to address it. He’s not going to give Akira the fucking satisfaction. What does Akira expect him to do, anyway, go in and start monologuing about his childhood or various poor life decisions to a stranger? He’d rather jump out a window. He would rather have Akira turn to him right now and punch him in the nose.

He follows Akira up the stairs into the clinic. It’s small but clean, full of cheery posters, with only one occupant - a tiny goth wearing a white coat over an extremely unprofessional-looking dress, doing paperwork behind the glass. A receptionist, Goro assumes, until she looks up at them and says, “Are you serious? That’s who your mysterious friend is?”

“He’s not really associated with the police anymore,” Akira says, while Goro arranges his face to look pleasant and nonjudgmental.

“I am running a legitimate business, so that’s completely irrelevant,” the doctor, or ‘doctor’, or whatever is going on here, says as she walks into the waiting area. She’s one of those people who might be anywhere between twenty and forty-five, and walks in platform heels like she was born in them. “You really could have mentioned this in your texts.” She studies Goro for a few seconds, a hand on her hip, and then sighs and says, “All right. Come on in, detective, let’s take a look at you.” She opens a door, gestures to it: After you. Goro has never trusted a medical professional less in his life, but he heads in, feeling vaguely like he’s willingly walking towards some kind of execution.

Akira tries to follow him in, but the doctor blocks his path, standing pointedly in the doorway. “Are you my patient?” she says.

“Uh,” Akira says. “Not currently?”

“Then you can wait outside, can’t you? Besides, everyone in the country knows the good officer is fully capable of voicing his thoughts. Ad nauseam.”

“Okay, well, that’s kind of why I think some level of mediation-”

“I promise I won’t be too mean to him,” she says, her voice a bit warmer now. “Go sit down. Talk to your cat or whatever it is you do in your free time.” And then she shuts the door, very firmly. Turns to look at Goro with a slightly terrifying expression in her eyes.

Goro takes a seat, smiles very carefully, and says, “May I ask what your alma mater is, doctor? Just out of professional curiosity.”

“Saint Marianna,” she says, and walks over, takes him by the chin and starts rotating his head around so she can look at it. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened to you or do I have to guess?”

Goro gives her his best bashful chuckle. “Oh, it’s such an embarrassing story, actually. I rearranged my furniture the other day, and then last night I got up to go to the washroom and completely forgot I’d moved things around and -” a wave of the hand - “just tripped straight into my chest of drawers.”

“That’s a hell of a fall,” the doctor says. She’s looking at Goro’s neck now, so she can’t have swallowed any of that story whatsoever, but Goro wasn’t really expecting her to. The lie was more to make his position clear: I’m not interested in telling you an inch of the truth and you can’t fucking make me.

“I suppose it was. Did you really attend a Roman Catholic medical school? I have to say, you don’t particularly seem the type.”

“I’m exactly the type,” she says. “Have you ever had a rhinoplasty?”

“Uh, no. Is that relevant?”

“Not really, I’ve just always wondered. You had a very photogenic nose. You still do, actually, from what I can tell. You’re a lucky boy.” She leans in a bit more and says, softly, “I’m going to touch your face now. It’s going to hurt.”

She does, and it does. After quite a bit of prodding and peering, and a barrage of questions that are clearly focused on whether he has any brain damage or not, she finally sits down and says, “Well, you definitely have a nasal fracture, but I don’t think it’s a particularly bad one. Your breathing seems fine and your nose isn’t particularly crooked, so I’m not too concerned. And that chest of drawers didn’t seem to give you a concussion, so that’s good. I’d like you to come back in about a week so I can take another look once the swelling goes down.” Then she leans back in her chair and presses her pen to her lips and says, “Are you okay?”

It takes Goro a second to parse the question. “I thought that was what you were in the process of telling me.”

The doctor actually rolls her eyes. “I know you know that’s not what I meant. You can feed me whatever bullshit story you want, that’s your decision to make, but…” She trails off, frowning. “Did they get you anywhere less obvious?”

Goro carefully doesn’t look exasperated and pulls his shirt up a little.

When she’s done poking at his ribs (just bruising, she thinks, and anyway they, like his nose, are best left to heal on their own anyway, though Goro wonders if he ought to get a second opinion from someone who looks less like they frequent mosh pits), she gives him some very exacting directions about exactly how and when to ice his injuries. Then she starts digging through one of her desk drawers. Goro watches her, bewildered; hears, faintly through the wall, Morgana’s sharp high voice, Akira’s soft rumble. He can’t make out any of the words, but the tones are… are they arguing?

But then the doctor closes the drawer very loudly, holds up an orange pill bottle in front of Goro’s face and says, “If you hadn’t come here with Kurusu-kun I’d never even mention these to you, Detective Akechi, but these really are your best bet for short-term pain relief.” The bottle is labelled, he can just barely tell, Recov-R 100mg. Which is meaningless. What the fuck. Goro reaches for it, and she pulls her hand away. “And if you tell me the truth about what happened, you can have the whole bottle for 10,000 yen. That’s a steal, you know. Your friend out there will tell you the same.”

Ah. Goro gets it now: this woman, in addition to being desperate for gossip, is a quack and a charlatan and probably going to poison him. She’s probably been quietly poisoning Akira for months. He smiles and says, “No, that’s okay. Thank you.”

She seems to find that funny. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” And he doesn’t have money with him, anyway, so even if she wasn’t clearly some weird experimental drug hustler he wouldn’t be buying. But - “May I ask, though, what the active ingredient in those are?”

“Trade secret,” she says, too promptly. “Something I’ve been- well. I guess you’re not interested, are you?”

“I’m just a little concerned for my friend’s wellbeing,” Goro says, very honestly.

“Well, he hasn’t died yet, has he?” the doctor says, and then chuckles at Goro’s carefully frozen smile. “A joke. They’re perfectly safe now.” Now? “Trust me, detective. Any other issues you wanted to discuss, or are we done here?”

“I think we about covered everything,” Goro says. “Am I free to go?”

“You can do whatever you want,” she says, so Goro makes for the door. Carefully, the way you don’t run from a threatening animal.

In the waiting room, whatever conversation that had been ongoing has finished, and Akira seems to be looking through pamphlets with a particularly focused form of quiet intensity, though Goro’s pretty sure he’s not actually interested in learning about (Goro squints) Staying Healthy in Your 50s and Onwards. The Mona bag is on the chair next to him, not his lap like usual. Akira looks up a moment after Goro walks out of the examination room, raises his eyebrows: How’d it go? Goro just pulls a face, gets a pointedly exasperated look in response.

After a few seconds, Takemi emerges from the exam room as well, walks over to Akira and says with her arms folded, “So, speaking of mysterious accidents no one wants to tell me about, your face looks like it healed pretty well, Kurusu-kun.”

“Oh,” Akira says, looking up at her as if he’d completely forgotten his injuries of a few weeks ago. “Yeah, I guess so. That stuff you make really helped.”

“It would have been nice if you’d actually let me take a look,” Takemi says, “instead of just telling me how okay you were and running in the other direction the second you were done shopping for three weeks straight.”

“I mean, I think it turned out fine,” Akira says, and stands. “We should get going pretty soon, right, Goro?”

“Really interesting that you got your friend in here immediately,” adds Takemi. “Fascinating contrast.”

“You know, Akira, it sounds like you ought to have a chat with the nice doctor about this,” Goro says, feeling suddenly much more cheerful. “I’m sure you can talk to her about any problems you might be having.”

“How much do I owe you for the appointment?” Akira says to the doctor, as if he didn’t hear.

She waves a black-manicured hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not every day you get to meet the most obnoxious child celebrity in the country.” Akira turns at that, gives Goro a What the hell did you say to her? look. Goro stares back at him in genuine affronted innocence. He was very nice to this terrifying lunatic and there are a lot of idols who are far more grating than he is, thank you. The doctor says, “Don’t worry, he was very polite. How do you two know each other, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Goro says. Akira is looking at him, a little expectantly. “We just kept running into each other, ended up hitting it off. Very serendipitous, actually.”

“He stalked us for months,” Morgana says, very loudly, from the bag. “It wasn’t even scary, it was just weird.”

“What a chatty kitty,” the doctor says, amused. “I really wish you wouldn’t bring her here, Kurusu-kun, I told you. It’s fine when the place is empty but people do have allergies.”

“Him,” Akira says. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s what you said last time,” she says, and looks down at the pile of pamphlets Akira has stacked next to him. “Are you planning on taking all of those?”

“Sorry,” Akira repeats, and starts putting them back, though he slips one or two into the bag before Goro can see what they are. When he’s done, he says, “Thank you again, doctor. I really appreciate you seeing us.”

“No trouble,” she says, her voice warm again. “You two take care of yourselves. And, here -” She holds out the bottle again, looks Goro right in the eyes. “No charge. Consider it a favour, for a friend of a friend.”

She is relentless. Isn’t this how they get you? But Goro says, “Fine,” and takes it, just to get the whole thing over with. Perhaps he’ll be able to research whatever the fuck these things actually are if he has them in his possession. Or maybe he’ll just take them, since they are incredibly effective and his face is killing him. Fuck it. Whatever.

They head out. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Morgana squirms out of Akira’s bag and jumps down and says, far more aggressively than the actual words merit, “I guess I’m going to spend the day with Futaba again. Right?”

“You don’t have to,” Akira says, very wearily. This must be a continuation of their earlier argument, Goro supposes. “I just thought that since you and Goro don’t get along-”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty clear which of us you’d rather spend time with,” Morgana says, and begins to trot off, his stride particularly slinky and low to the ground. Over his shoulder, he yells, “Make sure she knows I’m coming.”

Akira gazes after him without moving. Goro watches him breathes in, out. Then he pulls his phone out and starts typing. He’s very still but his forehead is a little furrowed, and his jaw looks tense. Goro says, because the silence is killing him, “He’s in a mood today.”

“It’s nothing,” Akira says, and slips his phone back into his pocket. “It’s fine. He’ll get over it. Uh, what do you think about going to your place to-”

“That didn’t seem like ‘nothing’ to me,” Goro says before Akira can fully change the topic.

Akira is quiet for a moment. Goro wonders if he’s trying to pick his words carefully, to avoid acknowledging that Goro is very obviously the cause of this particular conflict. “We’re all stressed, and once you get on Mona’s nerves you’re kind of done for a while. You know how he is about Ryuji. And I guess I have been ditching him in favour of you a lot, lately, but I didn’t realise he minded so much.”

God. This is all completely Goro’s fault. What a surprise. “Do you think he knows about last night?”

“No,” Akira says, but then looks suddenly worried. “I don’t think so. He was definitely completely asleep when we went upstairs. And I really don’t think he understands anything about-” he drops his voice, adorably- “sex, at all, or even the general possibility of, um, gay stuff. And he’s not very subtle when he asks about romance, so…”

“Well, that’s something,” Goro says, studying Akira’s face, as if that’s going to get him anywhere. “And you don’t have any personal feelings at all about this, hm?”

Akira lets out a long sigh, leans against the building wall. “I’m trying not to. I really thought it’d be fine once we got Haru back, and once we all got used to you being an actual part of the team, but he just…” Akira tilts his head up, looks at the sky. “I just think it would be cool if like, a day could pass without something in my life getting worse. Or if something good could happen without three other things going completely off the rails to make up for it.”

“I’m with you there.” God, is he ever.

Akira turns to him suddenly, eyes sharp, grabs Goro’s forearm before he can react and says, “Let’s go to your place. I was going to say some crap about how we need to pick up your things but screw it, we have the morning free, we can do whatever we want. I mean-” sudden uncertainty crosses his face, and his grip on Goro’s arm loosens, though he doesn’t let go - “if you feel up to it - I know you must feel shitty, and I know we’re going fast, but-”

Goro wants to kiss him again so badly, right here in the road, but instead he says, “That is the best idea I’ve ever heard.”


“Yeah,” Goro says. “Yes. Please.” Perhaps it’s a bad idea, perhaps it’s rash, perhaps he’s doing the exact thing he spent the entirety of last night castigating himself for, making idiotic decisions entirely because he’s obsessed with this stupid boy and his perfect face and his honestly really cute dick, but… fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen, someone tries to kill him again?

And Akira says, “I love it when you say please,” and smiles like he’s a little embarrassed to have said that out loud, so Goro really doesn’t have any choice in the matter, does he? Besides, they’re going to a heavily populated apartment building in the middle of the day. No self-respecting professional would risk that.

As they start walking to the subway station, Akira says, “What did you think of Dr Takemi, anyway?”

Goro tries to think of a diplomatic way to put it. Then he gives up and says, “I’m fairly certain she’s going to kill you someday.”

“Nah,” Akira says calmly. “I’m unkillable. Dr Takemi told me once that I have the constitution of a dump truck.”

“Well, that’s what she wants you to think, isn’t it?” Goro says, and that gets one of Akira’s gentle chuckles. Goro adds, unable to hide the affection in his voice, “You really have a thing for domineering personalities, don’t you?”

Akira says, “I have no idea what you mean,” but he doesn’t quite meet Goro’s eyes.

Chapter Text

When Akira summarises the past few days to himself, it all sounds unreal: Goro Akechi, celebrity and assassin and owner of a hilariously vulgar vocabulary, being someone whose hand has been on Akira’s dick. Who seems to want to do it again, even. How did that happen?

Although - Akira can’t pretend full innocence, obviously. He never sat down and decided, This is my seduction plan, but it’s not as if he went into this with his eyes closed. It was barely more than a daydream, for a while, thinking of the way Goro acted when he was faking and trying to puzzle out what it meant. But the way he always looked at Akira - the way, after the change of heart, he let (most of) Akira’s touches linger, the way he never even seemed to realise his breathing turned shallow and fast when Akira got too close - it was real, after all, and Akira found himself ravenous for more.

Stop treating me like a wounded animal, Goro said one of the first times Akira came by his place. Akira had been a little offended at the time, thought of the awful way Goro’s Shadow talked about himself, a rabid beast - but ‘wounded animal’ was what it felt like, honestly, trying to coax him into a genuine human friendship. The metaphor applied to his temper, too, the way he behaved in those first days being so clearly motivated by fear and insecurity that it was near-impossible to take personally. Not that it was pleasant, or particularly mature, or something Akira liked. But it didn’t usually stick with him.

(There’s even a part of him that likes pushing back, sometimes, finds it a thrill, a sort of intellectual sparring session. Goro seems to enjoy being challenged too, in a strange way. None of this is particularly well-adjusted on either of their parts, Akira knows.)

And then Goro kissed him, but in the absolute weirdest way possible. Maybe it was the stress, or a reaction to his perceived loss of control. Probably it just meant he really should have been home in bed, like everyone else was in the week after their heart changed. Still, Akira thought about it, and thought about it and thought about it, until he decided he was sick of thinking, that he wanted to act. To see where this could go. It wasn’t something the old him ever would have done, but it was something Joker could do. And the worst thing between them had basically already happened, after all. Surely it was only up from there.



Goro’s apartment is halfway up a ten-floor building, the kind that’s all shops and restaurants at the base. Not remotely plush, but not particularly seedy either. Akira had been a little surprised, when he first showed up at the address Futaba had given him, that Shido hadn’t found something fancier for his right-hand man; but maybe there’s a reason behind it. Plausible deniability and all that. Or maybe Shido’s just stingy.

It feels kind of exhilarating, to be sneaking off with someone for the explicit purpose of fooling around - a mundane kind of exhilarating, which is actually novel at this point. It’s probably the single most normal thing Akira’s done all month. Definitely the most normal thing he’s ever seen Goro Akechi do. Akira wouldn’t trade his life for normalcy, not in a million years, but it’s still nice to have a break.

Goro gets recognised a few times on the trip, despite his clothing and swollen face - that hairstyle’s like a beacon, apparently - but ignores it most of the time, speeds up his pace on the sidewalk, earnestly tells a man on the subway how flattering it is to be mistaken for Detective Akechi. Akira keeps a very careful straight face at that last one, admires the way Goro’s clearly taking conscious advantage of the hoarseness of his voice. The only major incident is the one that happens in the apartment complex’s elevator, a middle-aged woman who gets on at the last minute and then says, very falsely, “Oh, Akechi-kun, is that you? I was actually just thinking-” Then, apparently having just gotten a clear look at Goro’s face, she interrupts herself, says in a much more genuine tone of shock, “Are you all right?”

Goro, of course, puts on his sweetest mask immediately, smiles as if he’s embarrassed and starts weaving some bullshit story about tripping into his furniture in the middle of the night. Akira’s used to seeing him lie, obviously, but with a mark this credulous he’s in his element. Akira feels like he should be taking notes.

“That must be what I heard last night,” the woman says. “I was going to ask, all that banging…”

How does a fight sound like someone falling, Akira wonders, but Goro says, with a delicate little laugh, “It must have been. I was so asleep, I barely remember, but this morning everything was knocked over-” and she seems to accept that, maybe on his charm alone. Or because the truth is implausible and ridiculous and no one on the planet would ever be able to just guess it. After a while, Goro says, “Now, I’m on strict orders to ice this,” and gestures to his face, and the neighbour, thankfully, seems to grasp that it’s time to end the conversation, gives him her best wishes and heads down the hall. Goro hadn’t offered an explanation for Akira’s presence, but that’s fine. Strangers usually forget him, anyway.

“People are so nosy,” Goro mutters irritably as soon as his apartment door closes behind them. “She’s going to be over the moon when she gets to tell everyone she lived on the same floor as the fucked-up serial killer detective.”

That’s the most Akira’s ever heard him say about his confession - which has to be on the way, right? Akira hasn’t wanted to push it, and anyway, it would suck to lose a part of the team at this point, would suck just generally to have him, well, arrested for murder. It’s awful to think about, actually, though not as bad as thinking about Goro convincing himself that all those deaths were a good idea. And now definitely isn’t the time to be talking about all that, anyway, so Akira just quietly takes off his coat and shoes.

On the ride here, he’d struggled not to think too much about what he wanted to do when they were alone, but now that he’s actually presented with the opportunity he feels strangely reluctant. He’s not very experienced with this stuff, though he’s doing his best to pretend otherwise, to try to keep up, and also… well. There’s the other thing. He knows Goro has some stuff in his past about sex, that’s pretty obvious, but the question is: how can you be careful when you don’t know what to avoid? Akira feels perverse even speculating about it, but what other option does he have? Maybe it’s fine, Goro seems pretty confident, but from him that’s more or less meaningless. And he’s not looking particularly confident right now, stalking around his apartment, checking corners and closets.

“I half expected him to still be here, you know,” Goro says as he emerges from the bathroom, walks over to where Akira’s still standing, by the genkan. “Which I realise is ridiculous. But it was worth making sure.” He moves a bit closer, folds his arms tight, like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “So.”

“So,” Akira says. Then he thinks, screw it, and leans in quickly. Their noses collide before their lips do, though, and Goro recoils with a sharp intake of breath. Shit. Shit. It’s broken, remember. Goro mutters a quick apology, like it’s somehow his fault, and tries to go for it again, but Akira puts a hand on his chest and pulls back out of reach. “Was that your nose? Have I been hurting you this whole time?”

The answer is obvious, but Goro just says, “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” And he puts his hands on Akira’s waist, moves back in, as if sex can distract Akira from the fact that he is actively causing Goro pain. Although, well - that sure had worked last night, huh? If it hadn’t been for the yearning in Goro’s voice, or the look on his face while it was happening, Akira might think Goro had initiated all that stuff the night before for entirely for that reason.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to kiss you.” Goro sounds a little frustrated now. “Obviously. And I still do, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“It matters to me,” Akira says, and for some reason Goro’s expression goes flat. He lets go and takes a step back, folds his arms tightly. He can’t actually be mad that Akira doesn’t want him to be physically suffering, can he? But who knows. It would be really cool if Goro would at least consider telling Akira what he was thinking, though Akira knows he has no room to judge on that point. They make a hell of a pair, don’t they? It’s almost kind of funny.

Goro looks around his apartment. “Perhaps I should actually pack up my things first. And clean up and so on. While we’re here.”

“Oh,” Akira says. “Okay.” He looks around the apartment too. The folding screen is on the floor, with at least one significant hole in it, and the sleeping area is kind of a mess, but it’s not too bad, all things considered. Goro’s minimalist taste - or miserable jail cell of an apartment, if you want to be less flattering about it - seems to have been an advantage.

“Okay,” Goro says, and then heads over to the folding screen, starts hauling it upright. He hasn’t been moving at all like he’s injured, though sometimes when he turns Akira sees him wince.

Akira digs his hands deep into his pockets, follows him. “I thought this place would be way more trashed than this,” he says. “Do you want a hand with that?”

Goro doesn’t look up at him. “Do you honestly think I can’t lift a paper screen on my own?”

Akira notices that he’s tapping at the floor with his toe, and forces himself to stop. “I was just being polite.”

Goro gets the folding screen in place, pushes the hair off his forehead, looks up at it and not at Akira. “I know. Sorry.” Then he looks around the room, picks up his awful wooden desk chair and starts trying to jam it under the handle of the front door. He’s cute when he’s concentrating, gets all sharp and focused, though the fact that he feels the need to fortify the door is pretty depressing. Not great for setting a mood, but then, neither is Akira, apparently.

Akira watches him step back, rest his hand on his chin while he studies his makeshift barricade. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Goro turns his head, looks at him through the corner of his eye. “Of course. You know where it is.” Then, “I-” But when Akira stops, he looks at the door again and says, softly, “Never mind.”



Akira takes a long, deep breath as the door closes behind him. Okay. This is all okay. It’s not anyone’s fault that this is weird. It was a weird thing to propose, and Akira probably should have been more indirect about it, just let things happen naturally, especially given that Goro is a walking bruise right now. But the night before had just been so - nice, so surprisingly uncomplicated. So easy. Akira wants something easy, sometimes. Maybe he should have picked someone else to… date, or fool around with, or whatever it is they’re doing, if that’s what he wants, but he wants things to be easy for Goro, too. He wants to be the one who can make them easy.

He checks his phone while he finishes up. Texts from Mishima - kind of desperate sounding ones, which makes Akira feel surprisingly guilty; he hasn’t even seen the guy since he “died”, he’s been so busy - an apology from Ohya-san for drunk-texting him the night before. He hasn’t seen her for a while, either, which (from what little he could discern) was the general thing she’d wanted to communicate. He hopes she’s doing well, is getting somewhere with her investigation. Two from Futaba that he must have got without noticing on the train.

Futaba: hey whys mona in such a snitfit today
Futaba: what did akechi do now
Akira: existed
Futaba: cmon deets
Akira: i promise it’s not interesting
Akira: is mona reading this
Futaba: nope hes busy licking his butt
Akira: great
Akira: he’s just cranky that i’m not spending enough time with him i think
Akira: and about having an unexpected houseguest probably
Akira: it’ll work itself out

Akira should leave it at that - he normally would, but the weight of, well, everything is getting to him. He feels like he’s going to crack. Still, it’s not like this is a big deal, so he chooses his words carefully.

Akira: kinda sucks though honestly
Akira: i know you don’t want to talk about it but do you think he’d be this way if i was dating someone else
Futaba: wait so ur actually officially dating now
Akira: i have no idea
Akira: probably not
Futaba: :\ cool
Akira: it’s been literally a day
Akira: anyway mona doesn’t know anything about that but he knows who i keep ditching him for
Futaba: my dude
Futaba: you know i adore you but uh
Futaba: even if this wasnt the worst idea u’ve EVER had
Futaba: which it is
Futaba: i wouldnt be qualified to help
Futaba: friend drama and dating: not my strong suits lol
Futaba: and they werent even before i turned into a crazy shut-in
Akira: futaba you’re not crazy
Futaba: nah i am
Futaba: and ur new bf def is too btw
Futaba: its not a judgement its just the way things are sometimes
Akira: you got better though
Futaba: ehhh
Futaba: sorta
Futaba: getting there
Futaba: ok mona wants to watch a movie i gotta go help pick something out
Futaba: im gonna spook him good >:)
Akira: k have fun
Akira: don’t give him nightmares please he kicks like a horse in his sleep
Futaba: hmmmm challenge accepted
Akira: what
Futaba: bye!!


Akira’s not going to tell Futaba this, and he’s definitely not going to tell Goro this, but it kind of hurts his feelings, that she thinks the idea of him being with Goro is so terrible. Not that he thinks any of his friends would receive it well. Still, maybe it could have been better if he’d had a chance to explain it delicately, or at least had a chance for it to actually become a thing first, instead of the cat falling gracelessly out of the bag hours after making out with the guy for the first real time.

He prefers keeping his business to himself, anyway. The only time he dated someone before - which hadn’t exactly worked out - they hadn’t really mentioned it to anyone, and he’d been happy with that. It had been a cozy little secret between them, at first; and when the whole thing finally stuttered to its inevitable halt, it had been like it had never happened, no drama or gossip or concerned looks. A relief. She’d probably spoken about it privately to her friends, it’s not like he’d ever asked her not to, but he never once brought it up with his.

Before Akira opens the door, he pauses. He’d been kind of been thinking about leaving those mental health pamphlets he grabbed from Dr Takemi’s waiting room behind, maybe casually placed on the bathroom shelf next to Goro’s terrifyingly vast collection of skincare products, but it strikes him now as an incredibly passive-aggressive move that probably would not be received in its intended spirit. And anyway, Akira didn’t actually love reading the one about post-traumatic stuff himself, found it a bit too familiar, and Akira’s totally fine, so Goro definitely wouldn’t care for it, he feels.

“Did you get lost in there?” Goro says from the area of the kitchenette when Akira emerges.

“Sorry,” Akira says. “Got a text. Uh, look, I didn’t mean to make this whole thing so high pressure. Why don’t we just…” He trails off as he gets a look at the kitchenette. Goro has climbed onto the counter, is in the process of getting… something… out of the cabinet that Akira was positive contained nothing but a vast collection of instant noodle packages. So much for cleaning. “Sorry, what’s that?”

“Moderately expensive single malt scotch,” Goro says as he hops down gracefully. He shoots Akira one of his careful fake smiles. Akira’s not really sure why he still does those around him, who he thinks he’s fooling; old habits just die hard, maybe. “Borrowed without permission from my father. At great personal risk, I might add.”

“Impressive,” Akira says, doing his best to not look judgemental, though - really? On one hand, the contrast between Goro’s real personality and the whole detective fabrication still fascinates him, but this is alarming, right? “I’ve heard theft is illegal, detective.”

“That’s why I said borrowed,” Goro says, and his smile goes a little more crooked and genuine. “It’s not as if I swiped it from a convenience store, I do have standards.” He looks down at the bottle, which is very small but looks far fancier than anything Akira’s parents have ever bought. “I intended to save this for, you know, celebrating… that whole thing. But that’s off the table now, so why not just celebrate not dying?”

How do you deal with this without sounding sanctimonious? Akira can’t pretend he’s never drank, never thrown up in his friend’s neighbour’s bushes back home (for instance), but there’s a time and a place, and maybe the time isn’t ‘within twelve hours of nearly being murdered and a few hours before going into your mindblowingly shitty father’s subconscious for the second-to-last time’. He says, very carefully, “Aren’t you taking pain meds?”

“Not currently,” Goro says, and takes a quick swig. It sounds like a lie but it’s impossible to tell for sure. Akira tries to remember if he actually saw Goro take anything earlier. He must be miserable if he didn’t - the morning after the ‘interrogation’, Akira could barely move before he took anything, it all hurt so bad. “That alleged doctor of yours gave me no helpful information whatsoever about those things, anyway, which is hugely irresponsible.” Goro looks down at the bottle again. “I knew that shit I read about this having ‘nutmeg undertones’ was garbage. Do you want any?”

Time to be the fun police, which is neither something Akira’s good at nor something he ever thought he’d have to do with a person who owns and willingly wears multiple argyle sweater vests. Where’s Makoto when you need her? “We have the Palace this afternoon, dude. That’s only in a couple of hours.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we get trashed,” Goro says, with deep offense, as if the idea of him making a bad life choice is unimaginable. “And besides, I was assuming you wouldn’t let me fight today, no?”

Well, that’s certainly what Akira’s intention was, but he says, “Since when can I make you do anything?”

Goro laughs at that, though it wasn’t a joke; takes another drink, then holds out the bottle. “You should at least try this. I want to know what you think.”

“This is peer pressure,” Akira says, and takes it. “You are peer pressuring me. I’m going to tell a trusted adult.”

“You do that,” Goro says, and leans back against the counter, watching him with an amused sort of intensity. Akira loves the way Goro looks at him, like he’s trying to peer inside Akira’s skull, trying to develop x-ray vision through force of will alone. It reminds Akira of the day they met, filming that talk show, Goro looking at him like he was the only person in that entire crowd. And he is really curious about what the expensive kind of booze tastes like, if he’s honest. So.

Akira looks at the bottle and says, “Well. Bottoms up.”

It tastes like, well, hard alcohol, which has never agreed with Akira, but he does his best to keep a straight face. Goro raises his eyebrows at him. “So?”

“So,” Akira says, trying to think of how to put it. “Hm. That was… awful? Like sake but somehow worse.”

“Sacrilege,” Goro says, smirking a little. “You’re right, though. All hard liquor is more or less the same flavour of ass. Rich people just like to lie to themselves so they can feel superior.”

Akira puts the bottle on the counter next to him instead of passing it back, watches Goro’s mouth quirk in recognition at what he’s doing. “Do you, uh, drink a lot, or…?”

“I can keep up,” Goro says. “Dirtbag old men think it’s hysterical to keep plying the high school kid with alcohol. I got used to it.” His tone is light but he’s suddenly not meeting Akira’s eyes. He holds out a hand, like he’s asking Akira to pass the bottle back.

Here goes fun police attempt number two. “It’s kind of noon, Goro.”

Goro drops his hand, leans back and folds his arms tightly. “I’m aware. Good lord, you’re high and mighty today, aren’t you?”

God, he is so frustrating sometimes. “I’m not judging you, dude. I just…” Akira takes a deep breath. “You were nearly murdered, you stuck your hand down my pants at two a.m. while you still had your own blood all over your pyjamas, and now you’re drinking in the middle of the day. I’m worried about you.”

Goro has gone very still, but Akira can see the muscles in his jaw working. After a moment, he says, all clipped sharp consonants, “You do recall that you reacted to your friend having a minor temper tantrum by immediately proposing you and I go fuck, don’t you?”

Akira shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “That’s not exactly how I put it.” He definitely deserves the withering look he gets for that one, though. “Fine. You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

Not even slightly true, but okay. “What if we just watch one of your crappy VHS tapes for a bit or something? Try to relax?”

Goro seems to consider that. “Perhaps,” he pronounces after a thoughtful silence. “Although I would argue that every film I own is a work of art.” He sounds very sincere. Oh, Akira thinks. Oh, no, he doesn’t own them ironically or out of a sense of completionism, does he. He genuinely likes the prequels. Oh boy. “Go pick something out, if you like.”

The plan, here, is to give it about ten minutes and then get back to fooling around in, hopefully, a way less weird way. There are a lot of things you can do beside make out. Or maybe they’ll actually just watch a shitty movie. Akira will watch anything with someone who really likes it; he likes what fiction brings out in people, what you can learn about them from how they feel about it.

He’s only just walked over to Goro’s bookshelf, though, when a phone starts chiming. “Shit,” he hears Goro mutter. “Hold on.” And he heads back behind the folding screen. Akira has a sudden bad feeling about who could be calling Goro - most of his phone calls are to or from Shido, they’d learned while they were bugging his phone; he deals with police and media obligations primarily via email and text instead - so he follows him.

Goro’s phone is plugged in on top of his askew chest of drawers, and he’s just standing there staring at it as it goes off, the expression on his face carefully and completely flat. Ah. Akira was right, then. Before he can speak, Goro says, in a very low voice, “Please don’t make me answer him again. It won’t help anything.”

Akira feels suddenly terrible for having pushed him into answering the phone that other time, though it was necessary, surely, and it wasn’t like he knew then that Shido would just end up putting a hit on Goro anyway. Necessary, but cruel, given the state Goro had been in at the time. He’d known it was cruel by the time it ended. So he says, “I won’t,” and Goro nods and turns off the ringer but doesn’t, as far as Akira can tell, actually decline the call.

“What did he say last time you spoke to him, anyway? The other day?”

“I would have thought you got that information from Futaba Sakura,” Goro says, still looking down at his phone.

He’s right, he even listened to the audio she sent, but Akira doesn’t understand why Goro felt the need to keep it to himself, feels like maybe evading the truth a little is the only way to get that information out of him. “I didn’t. I wanted to hear about it from you.”

Goro’s eyes flicker up at him. “Sorry to disappoint, but it wasn’t anything interesting. He said about two sentences to me.” He looks down again. Then his mouth twists into a very unpleasant smile and he says, “I should have known something was coming, though. I’m so fucking stupid.”

This is why Akira shouldn’t lie: he now can’t say that no one could have figured that out, based on what Shido said in that phone call; it wasn’t as if it was intended as some kind of clue. “Did he actually say anything to… indicate that?”

“No, it was… the whole… package, I suppose. The… god, the fucking cleaner, I saw him tailing me yesterday. He let me see him.”

“What?” Akira hadn’t been expecting that. “And you didn’t tell me?” They’d been together nearly all day, surely it wouldn’t have been difficult to mention at some point.

Goro looks a bit exasperated, which is rich, considering how Akira feels about now. “You’re not my…” Then he frowns, switches to, “I don’t have to report to you. Besides, I thought I was being paranoid.”

Akira meant to tell him that he’s not stupid, he really did, but he’s getting really sick of this. “If we’re going to do this, you have to start actually telling me things. You didn’t tell me that, you didn’t tell me Shido called, you lie about nearly everything all the time-”

“I don’t,” Goro says. “Not to you.” He sounds a little wounded, so Akira swallows his indignation at how deeply (ha) untrue that statement is. The fact that he maybe lies marginally less to Akira than everyone else he’s ever interacted with doesn’t make it true.

He says, as patiently as he can, “I just need to know what’s going on with you. So I can help you. That’s all.”

Goro’s looking him in the eye now, holding his chin up the way he does when he wants to exaggerate his height. “I never asked for your help,” he says, steady and calm, and maybe that’s true but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Kurusu, but when it comes down to it, you and I barely know each other, and the only reason you know as much about me as you do is because you broke into a metaphorical construct of my mind. Heaven forbid that perhaps I don’t want to confide in you about every minor detail of my life just in exchange for the privilege of getting to touch your saintly penis. You’re not entitled to any of it.”

Something about that hurts, somehow. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t sound particularly angry, or the creeping sense that he might be sort of right, but it’s also just such a shitty way to say it. “I don’t think I’m entitled to any of that. But I do think you’ll feel better if you try to actually be honest.”

“Don’t try to reframe this as being about my feelings.”

He’s right, though Akira’s pretty sure he’s right, too, when it comes down to it. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. Maybe it makes me feel shitty that you don’t trust me.”

“There you go, Joker,” Goro says, and smiles a little. “And we shouldn’t trust each other. I’m very untrustworthy, remember.”

“I really don’t think that’s true,” Akira says.

“Really?” Goro says, flat and cynical.


Goro looks at him for what feels like a very long time. Then he walks over, close, puts his hands on Akira’s hips and turns him, almost tenderly, until he’s walking Akira backwards towards the wall. He’s looking Akira straight in the eyes so Akira stares back, tries not to blink. The brown of Goro’s eyes seems almost maroon in some lights, deep and rich and unnatural. Maybe the stare would be unnerving if it weren’t, well, just Goro Akechi. If his power plays weren’t so transparent, if he hadn’t, at some point, become the least intimidating person Akira’s ever met. (Akira doesn’t plan on ever saying that out loud. It seems rude. Goro clearly puts a lot of effort into trying to be intimidating.)

When Akira’s back hits the wall, he says, “What are you doing?”

“What you wanted,” Goro says. “We came here for a reason and I’m sick of talking.” And then he drops to his knees.

It’s so hot that Akira feels genuinely light-headed, his breath suddenly racing, but before Goro gets his fly all the way down Akira thinks of the day before, the fear under the vitriol when Goro talked about blowing him like it was the most denigrating thing in the world, and Akira forces himself to say, “Wait, wait, wait-”

Goro looks really annoyed, this time, when he looks up. “What now?”

“I just, um - are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to.”

Goro stares up at him. “I know that. God, first you won’t let me kiss you and now you don’t want a blowjob? For fuck’s sake, Akira, what do you want?”

Akira feels really frigging weird talking to him from up here, so he slides down the wall into a sitting position on top of Goro’s still-unrolled futon, pulls his knees to his chest. Goro leans back on the heels of his hands. “I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, Goro. I just… I don’t want you to be in pain, or be doing something you feel obligated to-”

“But you don’t listen to me,” Goro says, a sudden frustrated explosion. “I don’t give a shit about any of that, I just want to stop fucking thinking and try to have a good time. You’re so - so goddamn-” And then, instead of telling Akira what he goddamn is, he presses his fingers hard into the bridge of his nose and looks away.

It must hurt to do that. It’s a really messed up thing to be doing on purpose. Akira thinks about asking him to stop, but he’s already being too overbearing, so he just says, “Yeah. I know.” And then he adds, though he hadn’t been planning on admitting it, “I’m kind of really nervous.”

“You’re never nervous,” Goro says flatly, but he looks at Akira from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, and that’s why I’ve been trying to act like I’m not now,” Akira says, which gets a begrudging chuckle. “I’ve just… never really done anything like this before. With anyone. And I don’t want to screw it up.” Especially with Goro, not only because he’s terrified of accidentally causing more pain than he’s already experienced but also… also because he just wants to impress him. Doesn’t want to disappoint him.

“You’re joking,” Goro says, dropping his hand. Then he turns his head and looks directly at him. “You’re not. You’re honestly serious?”

“Why would I lie? It’s really embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” Goro says, and then, very quickly and uncomfortably, puts his hand on top of Akira’s. It’s nice. It kind of feels like he learned about intimate human gestures from a manual, but it’s nice. Akira tries to pretend he isn’t surprised by it. “It really isn’t. I simply… would have thought girls would be all over you.”

Now that’s a funny thought. “Everyone at my school still thinks it’s weird when they see the scary delinquent transfer in the library, dude. Or they did when I was still going, anyway. I’m pretty sure all the girls think I’d murder them in an alley if we were ever alone together.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one at Shujin with a thing for bad boys, Joker,” Goro says, smiling now. He has so many theories about Akira’s tastes, and they’re never that Akira actually just likes him. “What about all those country girls? Or boys, even. Surely they need to take recreational breaks from tending the paddies or whatever it is you people do out there.”

Akira laughs. “Right. Okay, so there was one girl-”

“See, I knew it.”

“No, hold on. So we dated for a month last year, right, but it was really awkward, and the most we ever did was… so we were at the movie theatre - which my podunk town does have, by the way - and she, you know.” Akira makes a furtive little jerk-off gesture, trying to act casual about it. “Which was nice of her, obviously. But then this old couple in the same row noticed, even though we were being super discreet, I thought, and they got an employee to kick us out. And then she went home and texted me that she only did that because she was planning to break up with me after the movie anyway and felt bad.” She’d never even specified why, although to be fair it’s not as if he’d asked.

“Oh no,” Goro says, looking deeply amused. “You poor jilted thing.”

“It was very tragic,” Akira says, putting on some suffering dignity. He’d liked her. It wasn’t ever going to be a romance for the ages, obviously, but she was pretty and good at kissing and really good at math. They did a lot more homework together than they did anything else, which in retrospect had probably been a warning sign. “So thanks for not dumping me yet.”

“You’re very welcome. You’re so cute when you’re getting off, she should have stuck around for that alone.”

Akira turns his hand palm-up under Goro’s, weaves their fingers together. “Is that a compliment, detective?”

“I’m afraid it is,” Goro says, and Akira watches his eyes sweep thoughtfully over Akira’s face. Then he moves closer, takes Akira’s chin and tilts his head up - very gently, like he’s handling something fragile - and breathes, “Tell me what you want.”

Akira swallows, and says, “I want whatever you want.”

Goro says, not unkindly, “That’s sweet. Tell the truth.”

“I-” Akira begins, and then falters. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it, it’s that saying things gets so messy if you’re not careful. “I don’t know. I, um-” Then he steels himself, looks deep into Goro’s steady gaze and matches it and says, though his voice is barely more than a whisper, “I do think you’re wearing way too many clothes.”

“Okay,” Goro says, and hesitates for a moment, and then peels his (Akira’s, technically) shirt off. Or tries to. It’s not a very fluid movement, and he gets a little stuck in it, and looks slightly flushed and very uncomfortable when it’s finally off. He holds up an index finger and says, “Shut up.”

“I did not say anything.”

“I’m used to button-downs. And I’m not exactly at my most graceful right now.”

“I promise you’re fine,” Akira says, and wishes he could kiss him until he stops worrying, and looks down at Goro’s bare chest, so close, heaving with every shallow breath, his unflawed skin goosepimpling slightly in the cool air. The sickly dark purple on his ribs. Goro’s sure been pretending that wasn’t a thing.

Akira hadn’t quite grasped the immensity of the attack the night before, he’d been so out of it, and then so… distracted, but he’s been thinking about it all day: Goro could have died. And he didn’t. He chose not to. Not that it means he’s over anything, obviously, but it’s one step forward, one weight off Akira’s back. A sign that he’s helping, maybe.

Goro says, suddenly and haltingly, “You do… actually want this, right?”

“What? Yeah, of course. Sorry. That just looks like it hurts.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt any more than it did a minute ago.” Then he says, “Please let me kiss you again,” and his voice is so soft and plaintive and honest that Akira can’t quite say no, though he should. He nods, once, and Goro moves in, faster than he expected but smoothly, without a single jostle. He always kisses Akira like he’s starved for it, like it’s all he lives for. It’s hard to resist surrendering to it, especially when Goro’s right there, half-dressed and straddling Akira’s lap now, warm and urgent. Still, Akira does what he can to focus on care, delicacy, on not thinking about Goro’s incredible ass hovering centimetres above Akira’s hard-on.

Then his phone rings again. Goro twists out of Akira’s lap, leans over to look at it, and his expression once more reverts to flat. “Motherfucker,” he says. So to speak, Akira thinks involuntarily, and then feels deeply appalled at himself. “I know for a fact he has better things to do.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Akira says, and wraps his arms around Goro’s torso, relishes the heat of him, presses a kiss to the base of his neck. “Just turn it off.”

“It might be important.”

“Uh, how?”

Goro doesn’t say anything in response to that, but he doesn’t reach for his phone, either. Akira nips the corner of his jaw affectionately, lets one of his hands start running down the soft skin of his abdomen. Tries not to think about the insistent ringing. A distraction from thinking, Goro said he wanted - Akira can do that. He says, soft in Goro’s ear, “Honestly, Goro, I wasn’t lying. Whatever you want, I’ll do. Just ask me.” Never mind attempting it the other way around - that didn’t work for either of them. Stick with the tried and true.

“Hm,” Goro says, though he leans back into Akira’s embrace a little. “We both know you’re not really this much of a pushover, Joker.”

“No,” Akira admits, though he’s delighted that Goro sees him clearly enough to know that; and lets his fingers wander lower. “But I like doing what you want.” That’s a kind of weaselly way to phrase it, a word choice made entirely because Akira has a feeling Goro will respond to it the way he wants - but Goro does turn his head at Akira’s words, looks both pleasantly startled and much more focused than he did a second ago. And it is true that Akira likes letting Goro be in charge, likes everything about it: the decisions being taken out of his hands for once, the lack of responsibility. The way it seems safer for Goro, given his mostly-unspoken baggage. The way it makes his eyes light up, too. It’s funny, and cute, and more than a little sexy. And it’s good to see Goro happy.

(All relationships are play-acting to some degree, Akira feels. Some part of the way you act with other people is always going to be a put-on, whether you’re being gentler or braver or more yielding than you really are. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Akira wouldn’t go to Goro’s extremes, of course, tries to centre other people, and anyway he’s never really given a crap about impressing anyone but himself, but - he thinks he understands how Goro ended up the way he did, at least a little. He hopes he understands, because that means Goro must understand him too.)

Akira runs his hand across Goro’s thigh, tries to channel Goro’s confidence from last night. Goro’s looking at him sideways, expression unreadable but his breath rate rising. Good. And then he reaches down, takes Akira’s hand in his - very good - and… places it firmly on the floor. Hm. Okay.

Goro twists around, takes Akira by the shoulders again, pushes him down onto the futon, firmly but not roughly. Straddles him again. Very very good, Akira thinks as Goro looks down at him, all cold intense interest. He’s always been the most unnervingly pretty boy Akira’s ever seen, especially in how that mop of hair seems to give an unearned softness to his features, but he looks, well, killer like this - icy and dominant, despite the way his face is marred and swollen. Maybe the injuries are even adding to his looks, in a strange way. Maybe that’s something Akira really doesn’t want to examine about himself right now.

After a moment, Goro says, as if he’s only just realised, “You’re not even slightly scared of me, are you?”

Akira very carefully doesn’t laugh, but it’s kind of close. “Nope. Sorry. Do you want me to be?”

Goro looks like he’s thinking about that. Then he says, “No. Not particularly. It just seems strange.”

Akira shrugs, awkwardly, from the ground. “I guess. It’s not like you’re going to do anything, though.”

“Hm.” Goro reaches down, pulls up Akira’s t-shirt, slowly at first, his hands warm and tentative against Akira’s skin. Akira tries not to shiver, squirms a little to help him remove it. When it’s off, Goro just stares, runs his hand across Akira’s chest so lightly that it seems like he thinks he’ll get in trouble for it. Then his attention focuses on the faded green-yellow patch on Akira’s own ribs. “We match, Joker,” Goro says, his voice low and tight.

“It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” Akira says, and takes Goro’s hand and presses his fingers into the old bruise, to demonstrate. Goro lets it happen, looks into Akira’s face like he’s searching for hidden pain. “It just looks bad. Don’t worry.”

Goro’s silent for a moment. Then he says, quietly, “You’re hard.”

Akira smiles, feels thankful that he doesn’t blush very easily. “You’re on top of me.” It’s not because of the weird bruise-related intimacy. Or not exclusively, anyway.

“So I am.” Goro pulls his hand gently out of Akira’s grip, gazes at him seriously. “Will you let me suck you off?”

Yes, please, yes. “If you’re sure you want to.”

Goro’s mouth twists at that. “You do realise that I’ve been obsessed with your dick for months, don’t you?”

“Uh, I may have gotten an inkling.”

Akira hasn’t really thought of this happening like this, always pictured it with himself on his knees. He likes to imagine Goro going from commanding and cold to real, undone, begging for it. (Akira, in this fantasy, turns out to be naturally talented, of course, the kind of person who has never surreptitiously googled “gay sex tips” in a private window on his phone and felt slightly overwhelmed by the results.) But if Goro wants it, if this is fine, then Akira’s more than happy to let it happen, and the thought of Goro’s sweet, filthy mouth on Akira makes him actually ache.

Goro runs a thumb over Akira’s nipple, softly. Moves back, until he’s not on top of Akira anymore. Unzips his jeans, pulls them completely off, Akira squirming helpfully again, propping himself up on his elbows. And then Goro sits back, just studies him, like he’s trying to commit him to memory. There’s something strangely sad about his expression, something that makes Akira want to kiss him again, drive him wild until his eyes are blurry with lust instead. Goro says, “You’re so…”

When he leaves that for a bit too long, Akira supplies, “Dashingly attractive?”

A soft laugh. “That too. I was going to say that you’re amazing, but I wanted it to be a bit more… articulate.”

“Amazing’s fine,” Akira says. “I’m happy to be amazing. We go well together.”

Another chuckle. Goro runs a teasing hand over Akira’s boxer-briefs, so light it’s like an active torment; offers him a smile too wide and crooked and thrillingly vicious to be false, and then finally, finally, he pulls the fabric down and dips his head.

He’s good at it. He’s so good at it. Not that Akira has much to compare it to, obviously, but it’s incredible, how good it is. Which is kind of concerning, actually, but it’s hard to think about that given that every time Goro’s eyes dart up and meet Akira’s, Akira thinks he’s going to explode. If that doesn’t get him then he’s going to burst from struggling not to make any dumb noises, from trying not to seem too much like an embarrassing virgin. He keeps forgetting to breathe. He doesn’t want to miss any of this, but he also doesn’t want to humiliate himself, so he shuts his eyes tight, tries to regulate his breathing, and lets his fingers dig into Goro’s incredibly soft hair.

Akira doesn’t last very long despite all that, not even as long as he had last night. Just after orgasm, Akira realises through the contented haze that he probably should have said something before he came, looks up to see Goro grabbing a tissue from a box by his bedside, spitting delicately into it. “Sorry,” Akira says, struck with sudden guilt. “I should have warned you.”

“Well, I’m just glad it wasn’t on my face,” Goro says, too pleasantly. Last night he had seemed amused, kind of smugly accomplished, when Akira finished, but right now he just seems… distant. He’s not looking at Akira at all, either. Akira sits up, reaches out to touch his hand, begins to say, “Are you-”

“Yes,” Goro interrupts, and pulls his hand away, wipes his mouth with the back of it. “I’m fine. Excuse me.” And then he gets to his feet, grabs his phone from the charger, and leaves.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. What even happened? Akira pulls his clothes back on hastily, tries to decide what to do. It might just be because Akira was being thoughtless, but it could also be more than that. So they need to talk about this, obviously, but… maybe not immediately? Maybe that would make it worse? But just leaving him alone doesn’t seem very helpful. People don’t get better when that’s all you do.

He grabs one of Goro’s nine million near-identical button-ups from a drawer before he leaves, for lack of any better ideas. He sort of expected Goro to be in the bathroom, but he’s in the kitchen, not touching the bottle of scotch (though - was it in that specific place on the counter before? Akira doesn’t think it was) but with his phone plastered to his ear. His other hand is pressing firm against his bruised face again, though he drops it the second he sees Akira. After a moment Goro puts the phone down on the counter, reverts back to that defensive posture he uses so often: arms folded, leaning back against the counter. His eyes seem a little glassy. “You were right, as usual,” he says. “It wasn’t important. I don’t know how it could have been.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing but garbage. Acting like me surviving last night was some part of the big picture, to make sure I don’t think too highly of my skills. Trying to get me to call him back without sounding like he’s asking.” His mouth is a flat line. “He thinks he’s so clever. He’s clearly rattled, though, he never normally leaves me voicemails.”

Was this all because of the phone call, then? Did he just have that in the back of his mind? Akira can see how that would be a significant turn-off, obviously. He says, “I’m sorry you have to deal with all this.”

“I did it to myself,” Goro mutters, of course. And he turns around, picks up the whisky bottle and puts it back into the cupboard, starts rearranging and straightening the noodle packages. Then he says, “I don’t give a fuck about his opinion, you know.”

“Okay,” Akira says.

“I don’t. I hate him more than I have hated anyone, and that is saying something. And still I- I-” But he falters at that, goes quiet. After a long silence spent shuffling things around, he says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“You can say whatever you want, Goro,” Akira says.

“It wasn’t anything.”

“Okay.” He kicks at the floor a little, thinks about wrapping his arms around Goro’s bare waist. “Are you doing all right? You seemed kind of… weird, after…” That just gets another silence. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not,” Goro says, and closes the cupboard, opens a drawer a bit too sharply. “You’re perfect, Akira. You never do anything wrong.” Then he seems to catch himself, winces. “Sorry. You honestly didn’t do anything.”


“You shouldn’t worry so much about me, anyway. You have much more pressing concerns.”

Goro is one of Akira’s most pressing concerns, certainly is the one most prominent right now, and Akira hates how dismissive he is about his own welfare. He doesn’t know how to say that without sounding preachy, though, so he just sighs and says, “I brought you a shirt,” and holds it out.

“Oh.” Goro turns at that, seeming a little startled. “Thank you.” He takes it, almost hesitantly.

As he puts it on, Akira says, “It feels kind of unfair that I’m the only one who keeps, um… benefiting from this. I know I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’d like to learn.” Goro seems to be concentrating very hard on doing up his buttons. “Do you… not want me to?” When that doesn’t get a response: “Do you want me to shut the hell up?”

That gets a low chuckle, Goro looking up at him through his hair. “I would have died to get you to talk this much when we first met, you know. You used to drive me out of my mind, you were so quiet.”

Akira knows. It had been really funny. Kind of flattering, too, the way Goro hung on every half-awake word he mumbled when Goro ‘ran into’ him at the station. “I just didn’t have as much to say about the weather as you did.”

“I had to say something. What was the point of waiting for you at the platform if I didn’t?”

Akira feigns shock. “Are you telling me our schedules didn’t actually converge, detective?”

“I said nothing of the sort.” He smiles for a moment, not widely but genuinely. Then it fades and he says, looking down again, “Akira. If we do that again, could you just… not touch my head? Please.”

“Oh,” Akira says, and then understands, and feels terrible. “Yeah, definitely. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s my fault, not yours.” Goro smiles again, and now it’s clearly, unquestionably false.

“It’s definitely not your fault,” Akira says. It’s the fault of someone who deserves to regret it the rest of their life, and who probably ought to be behind bars, but they really don’t have time for a quick dip into Mementos right now, so getting that name will have to wait. “I just… you could have told me if you were having a problem with it. You could have stopped.” As he says it, though, it occurs to him that, well, Goro has always been very committed to following through on all his plans, regardless of the cost.

And Goro says, still smiling, “Perhaps I didn’t want to prove that you know better about my wellbeing than I do.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Akira says. “Why do you think things like that matter?

Goro seems like he’s not going to reply for a while. Then he says, quiet and hoarse, “My entire life is already humiliating enough, don’t you think?”

“I think that’s a matter of perspective,” Akira says, carefully.

A soft, scoffing laugh. “Of course you do.” He picks up a sponge, starts scrubbing at a corner of his kitchen sink. When he speaks again, his voice is very measured and precise. “You seem to have this idea that me confiding in you will solve everything, and perhaps that works for some people, but all it will do to me is dig up things I’ve been trying to escape. And all that will mean is that I’ll feel worse, and you’ll know things I don’t want you to know. And I’m sure you think you won’t judge me for any of it, because you’re such a good, kind person, but you will, and I know that for a fact, because you already do.”

“I don’t."

“You do." He doesn’t even sound particularly passionate about it. Just detached, like he’s a skilled but unenthusiastic debate club member. “You did say I deserved to feel like shit, didn’t you?”

Well- “Okay, but that was because you killed people-”

“I know. I’m not saying you were wrong. My point, Akira, is that I’m not some perfect, helpless victim, and I never have been. In any way. You need to understand that.”

“I promise I never thought you were perfect,” Akira says, and then realises how that sounded and adds, “Sorry. That came out way meaner than I wanted it to.”

Goro actually looks a little amused. “Uh-huh.”

“I just mean…” This conversation seems like it’s about a lot of things Akira doesn’t have the context required to entirely understand, though he wants to. “No one’s perfect. Obviously. And I don’t think… I don’t think whatever stuff happened could be in the same league as you hurting people, as far as… responsibility goes.” Goro is just staring at him sideways, unreadable. “I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” Goro says, and looks down at his sink again. “You never sound like an idiot.” After a moment, Goro adds, “Are you hungry? I don’t have anything that’s actually fresh, but there’s a good takeout place across the street.”

Akira can’t blame Goro for changing the subject, honestly. And now that he thinks of it, he really is hungry. He’d eaten hours before Goro was even up, awoken not, for once, by Mona but rather by the unfamiliarity of another human body in his bed. “I’d be happy with one of those instant noodle bowls, honestly.”

Goro looks dubious. “Are you tired of eating actually good food?”

“Mmhm. Leblanc is okay and all but sometimes I just really crave something that’s been sitting on a shelf for six months.”

Raised eyebrows. “Well, you’re in luck, in that case. Take your pick.”

The allegedly shrimp-flavoured udon Akira ends up choosing is in desperate need of vegetables and spices, or at least an egg, but Goro’s kitchen is what it is, so he lives with it. Food’s food, after all. At least the number of take-out boxes Akira’s seen in Goro’s garbage seem to indicate that his noodle collection is more of an emergency stash than his only staple.

Goro doesn’t make anything himself, but just announces that he’s actually going to pack this time, and then putters around the apartment while Akira eats at the living room table. It’s a nice silence, a comfortable one. After a while, Goro finally sits down heavily on the other side of the table, rests his chin on his folded arms.

Akira puts his chopsticks down. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Goro says, absurdly. “Just sore.”

“You should take those pills.”

“I did,” Goro says, and offers Akira a quick, slightly repentant smile, a Look, I knew you knew I was lying about that. Akira’s not all that annoyed about it right now, so Goro did a good job timing that particular confession. “I should call Sae-san, I suppose,” Goro continues. “To ask about staying with her. Though perhaps I should ask her sister first. I’m sure she’s home a lot more than Sae-san is.”

“Oh,” Akira says, and tries not to look disappointed. “But you can still stay with me.” He’d liked having Goro there, waking up to the warmth of him, seeing his face finally unguarded in sleep. It had felt intimate, adult, even though the three of them in a single bed were a bit of a crowd.

“You need to figure things out with Morgana. My presence isn’t going to help that. And Sakura-san shouldn’t be subjected to having me there.” He adds, looking to the side, “Aren’t you getting sick of me? It’s not as if I’m pleasant to be around.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m dating you, because hanging out is absolute torture,” Akira says, and Goro sits up and blinks at him like he’s said something horrifying.

“You’re- what?”

“What?” Akira replies, innocent, though the word ‘dating’ had actually come out of his mouth completely by accident. He might as well make the most of it. “We like each other and we like making out. What else would you call it?”

“It’s been two days.”

“It’s been two eventful days.” And he repeats, because Goro seems incapable of internalising it, “And I really like you.”

Goro studies him. Then he rests his chin on his folded hands and says, “You just like sex, Joker. But you’re too sweet and well-intentioned to admit it, so you’re convincing yourself it’s more than it is.”

“Do I get to have any input on how I feel about this?”

Goro lets out a soft “Hm,” but he smiles.

Akira thinks, and then says, very carefully, “Do you like sex?”

Goro looks slightly surprised at the question. After a slightly too long pause, he says, “I’m a red-blooded human being, aren’t I? As much as I hate to admit it.”

“That’s not really an answer,” Akira says - softly, like he’s trying not to scare a wild animal.

“No, it isn’t,” Goro says, just as softly. Akira thinks he’s going to leave it at that - which is understandable, which is fair - but then he says, “I like it with you. I’m sorry if it didn’t seem like that.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Goro seems to be considering something. “Do you… does this really make you happy? You and I?”

“Of course,” Akira says, though maybe that’s not entirely true. it also makes him frustrated, worried, all those things couples in romcoms never are once they get together. But plenty of people make him frustrated, and… and none of that is Goro’s fault, Akira knows. And besides, he likes spending time with Goro so much, likes discovering the pieces of him he’s kept under wraps. Not so much the obvious stuff, the crassness or the cynical sense of humour, but things like… that firm moral heart he’s buried under bitterness and anger. The way he sees injustice and hates it, like the rest of them, even though he got dragged into its undertow so deeply he doesn’t seem able to find his way to the surface.

Goro says, slowly and a bit stiltedly, “Don’t take this the wrong way. But it doesn’t for me. Not because I dislike you, or because I have a bad time with you. But it doesn’t… stick. I don’t know if I’m capable of it.”

“Of happiness?”

“Mm. I always end up…” His mouth quirks into a small, joyless smile. “So perhaps this should be it. You and I can just be a few strange days. A blip. And then you can find a nice girl. Maybe give her some nice kids, eventually.”

Akira absorbs that like a blow, pushes down the way it hurts. “Is that really what you want?”

Goro is quiet for a while. Then he says, “No. But-”

“Then shut up. It’s not what I want either.” Akira can’t imagine himself in a million years with someone who’s just nice. He’s not his parents.

Goro just looks like he’s exasperated to keep having to argue this. “I’m going to jail after this, Akira. Or…”

“Or juvie,” Akira says, like he hasn’t thought of the other option. Like he hasn’t spent the past few months hearing strangers talk endlessly about how much he and all his friends deserve to be put to death. Goro heard all that too, must have had it in the back of his mind, known that the vitriol was really aimed at him. And he had no way out except continuing on with his plan.

(Sometimes, when he thinks about Shido, Akira fantasises about strokes, heart attacks. Maybe ones that happened two years ago.)

“You can’t seriously believe anyone would want to charge me as a juvenile,” Goro says.

“Well… Sae-san’s a really good lawyer, right?”

“She’s a prosecutor. She can’t do a fucking thing for me.”

“That’s a bit… pre-emptive, isn’t it? You don’t know that for sure. And Makoto says Sae-san wants to do whatever she can to help. To help all of us, but especially you.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll find out,” Goro says, the cynicism in his voice sharp like glass splinters. “Fuck. Let’s not talk about this, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up. What happens will happen.” He sighs, rests his forehead on his hand. “I should take a shower.”

Wait. That’s it? They’re just leaving this conversation there? Akira watches Goro get to his feet, and then says, “Uh, I’m not actually clear on whether you just dumped me or not.”

Goro looks down at him. “Well, unfortunately for you, I do really like your dick.”

“Dude, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” But he folds his arms, looks away uncomfortably. “We can keep doing this. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Akira says, relieved.

“Okay,” Goro says, and then moves around the table and bends to give Akira a very quick kiss on the temple. Akira thinks of reaching out, pulling him back down onto the floor, getting wrapped up in each other until everything feels okay; but he’s not sure how that’d be received right now, and before he can make up his mind on whether to do anything Goro is already out of reach, heading off to his bathroom in that careful saunter of his, acting for all the world like he’s in no pain whatsoever.



People have reasons behind what they do, Akira’s learned. That doesn’t mean they’re necessarily good reasons, or that everyone who’s hurt other people because they’ve been hurt deserves unthinking forgiveness. Some things can’t be forgiven. But you can understand why they happened, and then you can work past them. You can atone, and grow. Even if you have to be dragged kicking and screaming into it.

Here’s the heart of it, the root of Akira’s sympathies: sometimes he thinks about that first heist, about Kamoshida, and Morgana’s warnings about what could go wrong. It had disturbed him at first, made him want to reconsider the whole bonkers enterprise; Akira doesn’t even believe in the death penalty, at least intellectually, has gotten into more than one blistering argument with his dad about it. (Blistering, for the Kurusu family, means: they both voiced their opinions briefly, icily announced that they should agree to disagree, and then silently stewed for the rest of the day about it. Akira comes by his communication issues honestly.) But then Shiho Suzui jumped, and he saw Ann’s face, tear-stained and devastated, and he thought: it’s worth the risk. Anything is worth stopping this piece of shit from ruining more lives, even that. Even that.

And Goro ruined lives himself, obviously, but Akira remembers the way he spoke about his motivation, about wanting to stop sickening people, and remembers the jolt of kindredship he felt. If Morgana hadn’t been trustworthy, if he’d told them that the only option was a mental shutdown, would Akira have done it? He hopes not. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to live with himself, if it had happened that way. But. Well.

Chapter Text

Over dinner one day - ramen, though Goro had been subtly finagling for Korean barbecue all week - Sae Niijima said to him, “Are you planning to vote, if an election’s called? You’re eighteen now, right?”

Things had been a little tense between them lately - both of them stressed over the Phantom Thieves situation, naturally - but Goro appreciated Niijima’s willingness to try to set that aside, almost as much as he appreciated her buying his meals. So he smiled at her, redirected his focus from trying not to eat too quickly (he’d been so busy that he’d completely forgotten about lunch) to making sure he didn’t misstep, given the delicacy of this particular topic. “I suppose I’d have to. It’s my civic duty, isn’t it?” Although, honestly, he deeply resented the voting age being lowered, because now he had to react normally when people said things like this to him:

“Have you been following that Shido fellow? He seems popular.”

Goro swallowed deliberately, noted the very noncommittal way Niijima had phrased that. Shido’s recent rise was incredible to even Goro, actually; name another domestic politician in recent years who’d caught so much attention, risen so spectacularly. Hell, name another celebrity who’d shot to the top so quickly: the only one who could truly compare in the past year or so was Goro himself. What a fascinating coincidence, ha ha. But everything had gone so much more smoothly than he’d expected, for both of them; hard work and divine providence were a hell of a combination. “Somewhat,” he said. “I’ve been too busy to truly keep track of it, what with work and school, but of course I’m aware of the man. He… seems to have perfected cross-generational appeal. Why do you ask?”

Niijima smiled, a little teasingly, and said, “Just trying to get my finger on the pulse of today’s youth, I suppose.”

Goro smiled back. “You’re barking up the entirely wrong tree if you’re asking me about that, Sae-san. And isn’t it frowned upon to discuss politics with a colleague? Especially a young, impressionable fellow like myself.”

Niijima chuckled softly. “You’re not technically my colleague, and you’re certainly not some gullible child.” That made his smile turn genuine, though of course he kept it restrained and symmetrical. “I’m just surprised you’re not more enthusiastic about all this. You’ll be making your mark on society, after all.”

“I make my mark on society every day,” Goro said, and watched with amusement a quick flash of irritation come over Niijima’s expression for a second. Oh, she wished she had anything like his influence, didn’t she? Poor thing. “Besides,” he continued loftily, warming to the subject, “politicians all seem the same to me, to be honest. It’s just a lot of empty promises. Some of them merely have better justice budgets than others.”

“And that’s your only priority,” Niijima said. “Justice budgets.” She swirled a loop of noodles around her chopsticks, but instead of eating them, said, “You shouldn’t be so cynical at your age, Akechi-kun. Teenagers are supposed to be idealists, aren’t they?”

“The Phantom Thieves are clearly idealists, and look what they’re doing,” Goro said, still smiling. “It’s not as if I don’t have my own ideals, of course, but no politician truly cares about anything besides their own ambitions.”

“Unlike you, of course.” She still sounded amused. Interesting.

He leaned forward. “You know I’m ambitious. I’ve never pretended otherwise. But that’s merely because I honestly believe in myself and my mission. Aren’t you exactly the same?”

She looked at him, serious now, seemed to be giving that genuine consideration. Then she said, “That’s very admirable, to be honest,” and pulled out her phone for what must have been the sixth or seventh time since they’d sat down. “Excuse me a minute, I need to answer this email.”

Sure. Don’t answer his question, feign distracted workaholic. But still, he liked it, turned the word over in his mind with relish, would think of it even as he came home from the cognitive world a little after one a.m. the next morning. Admirable. And of course Niijima wasn’t exactly free with compliments, which meant this one meant something. And he hadn’t even had to lie to get it. He’d treasure that.



Goro is beginning to suspect that Akira, beautiful frightening Akira, is just kind of dumb. Not intellectually or tactically, of course, but in a more… internal way. Why else would he have not taken the chance to run? Though perhaps ‘dumb’ is a harsh way to put it. Stubborn. Foolhardy. Blinded by lust, or by the deeply perverse thrill of hooking up with his own murderer. A combination of all of that, plus… plus the fact that he seems to honestly enjoy the real Goro’s company. Fucking bizarre.

Goro showers briskly, though not as quickly as normal, doesn’t even bother shocking himself into full awareness with the cold water, though that’s what he usually does when he feels himself getting stuck in one of those moods he inherited from his mother. He’s been in one of those moods for weeks, frankly; and it’s winter, and he’s sore and tired and dreading going back into his father’s Palace. Still, it feels like a dangerous choice, as if this one indulgence might turn into another, and he’ll never get out of it.

The thing is. The thing is: Akira’s assurances, his careful kindnesses, keep butting up in Goro’s memory against the feeling of his hand on Goro’s head, firm, like he was trying to hold him in place - though he wasn’t, Goro knows. He could have been, but he wasn’t. Goro trusts Akira about as far as he can throw him, but he knows he’s not like that, knew it even before he followed him into the kitchen, all wide eyes and sweet well-intended words. (Trusts him as far as he can throw him, except… except he keeps having to remind himself that he feels that way, that Joker is just as much of a conniving son of a bitch as he is. Moreso, even, since he’s the victor out of the pair of them. Still, his concern seems real. His self-conscious virginity was definitely real. Using someone and genuinely caring about them at the same time is a very Akira Kurusu move, Goro feels.)

Akira deserves someone who - in addition to having never shot him in the head, which you’d think would be a pretty important factor in choosing a fuckbuddy - can react to things like that normally. Who doesn’t panic because Akira’s hand placement reminds him of something else, or get vaguely menacing phone calls from his sociopathic father, or start drinking in the middle of the day. That last one, in particular, was a terrible choice, if Goro’s honest with himself. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about drug interactions, but because now he just feels woozy and confused on top of feeling distant and miserable, and it’s harder than usual to push away thoughts he doesn’t care for. It feels like his worst memories are circling, smelling his weakness, the blood in the water.

God. Will he cheer up or just get more pathetic if he drinks more? Well, he’s met both of his parents so the answer to that is pretty clear, but hope springs eternal or whatever. Not that he will, anyway. Even if it weren’t a bad idea in itself, Akira’s practically as judgemental as Goro is.

He turns the water off and forces himself through his usual post-shower routine, dries his hair, finds himself perversely relishing how much it hurts to touch his face while he’s moisturising. Maybe it’s a wasted effort, but hell - he might look and feel and act like absolute shit but at least he can still make sure his skin is as close to dewy as it can get, given the circumstances. (While he’s at it, he brushes his teeth hastily to get the semen aftertaste out, because as much as he likes Akira’s cock it’s been sort of really bothering him.) Then he puts his hair up, pulls on his shirt and boxer-briefs, and heads off to find his own pants, weirdly intimate as wearing Akira’s jeans was.

Akira is sprawled lazily on the floor in the main room, looking at his phone with the TV news on in the background, though the volume is nearly inaudible. At the sound of Goro’s footsteps, he tilts his head back to look at him and says, “Did you do that with your hair for me?”

Of course he did. “Really, you’re looking at my hair right now?”

“I can look at more than one part of you at once, you know,” Akira says, the tiniest hint of a cocky little smirk on his lips. He pats the floor next to him. “Come sit with me.”

“Tempting. But I do need to finish getting dressed.”

“Do you?” Akira’s gaze moves very blatantly down Goro’s bare legs and then back up. Goro wants to go straight to him, clamber into his lap and stay there, maybe for the rest of the year, but he also kind of wants to never be touched again. His own capriciousness is driving him up the wall. So he sticks out his tongue, though it’s the sort of thing he doesn’t do (and gets a gentle, surprised-sounding laugh from Akira), and heads behind the screen to pull on some khakis.

This whole thing probably could have been better if Goro didn’t care about the sex at all, if it had just been another case of it being an unpleasant chore, something to be tolerated. But of course he’s wanted Akira for so long, and everything is always different with him anyway, and Goro thought… he thought perhaps this could be as good as it was in his imagination, a refuge from everything; that he’d be able to take pleasure in Akira’s pleasure. Ridiculous, a romantic little fever dream, particularly the last part. Sure, it had worked the night before, but that had clearly been an anomaly. He’s obviously too selfish for that kind of thing.

“I’ve been thinking,” Akira says when Goro emerges again, holding Akira’s carefully folded clothes. “How did no one complain about the noise or call the cops when you were being attacked? I mean, your neighbour heard, other people must have, too. Didn’t someone realise what it was?”

“It’s not as if anyone was screaming,” Goro says, and drops Akira’s things on the table for him. “We’re both professionals, after all. And besides, you saw how well the furniture story worked. Most likely the majority of people who heard anything rationalised it to themselves and went back to sleep.” Tokyo in microcosm, now that Goro thinks of it. The city loves its drama and gossip, but they don’t honestly care about any of it.

Akira’s just studying him. “Do you really still think of yourself that way? As a professional killer?”

So like him, to completely ignore Goro’s actual point. Goro leans against the wall, folds his arms. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

True. "Of course I do. It’s what I am, essentially. I don’t see any point in pretending otherwise.”

“What you are?” Akira repeats. “So you’re just fixed like that? You’re going to be that forever?”

“Again, I don’t recall saying any of that. But I will always have killed people, Akira, yes. On order, for personal gain. What point are you trying to make?”

“I just think that’s a messed up way to think about it. It’s a thing you did, and it’s something awful that can’t be undone, but that doesn’t mean it’s your entire identity.”

“You are reading a lot into what I said,” Goro says, although it’s not as if he’s exactly completely off-base. “What do you think my identity should be, Akira? A Phantom Thief? Your-“ He was going to say ‘your boyfriend’, but stops himself. It seems a little cruel to say it so sardonically, and anyway it’s not a word Goro wants to bring into all this. (Okay, admittedly Akira did say that thing about ‘dating’, but ‘boyfriend’ seems a step past that, doesn’t it? Perhaps it isn’t actually - what the fuck does Goro know about any of this shit, honestly - but it feels like it is.)

“My what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Akira lets that hang there for a second, and then says, “I hate to be the one to break this to you but you are, in fact, totally a Phantom Thief at this point.”

Goro’s trying to be nice, in the hopes of making up for having been difficult over a completely mundane blowjob, so he doesn’t roll his eyes even slightly as he heads into the kitchen. “If that’s what you want to think, I clearly can’t stop you. But Phantom Thievery does require a lot more ideological commitment than I can provide, don’t you think?”

“How are you not a Phantom Thief?” Akira says from his spot on the floor while Goro digs his ice tray out of the freezer, formulates a makeshift cold compress with a handkerchief. “You work with us, you have the same goals as us, you hate adults misusing their power-”

“When have I ever had the same goals as you?” Goro says, pressing the compress to the side of his nose firmly. The feeling of it is like a jolt, almost as distracting as digging his fingers into the bruise was, but obviously significantly more socially acceptable. A relief. “I’m working with you because it’s my only remaining option. And because I have a soft spot for you, apparently.”

Akira throws him a sideways smirk, which even from across the apartment makes Goro’s insides twist pleasantly. “It didn’t feel that soft to me.”

“You are absolutely hysterical.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally realised it.” Akira’s not even doing anything right now and he’s killing Goro with how gorgeous he is, smug and languid on the wooden floor, looking up at him with such unimpeachable confidence and affection. It doesn’t feel like false bravado, even though he’d shown weakness earlier. (Strange, that Akira Kurusu could be embarrassed about something so mundane as lack of sexual experience. Perhaps Goro was more taken in by Akira’s front than he thought he was. Sometimes the fact that Akira’s just another person, not some otherworldly creature fabricated entirely out of self-assurance, gets hard to remember.) “Do you want to watch something?”

“Don’t we have to get going soon?”

“We have-” Akira fishes his phone out of his pocket - “like an hour and a half before school’s even out for everyone else. And you’re pretty much done packing, right?”

“As much as I’m going to be.” The news is running election coverage now, unsurprisingly. Goro looks at the TV screen, his father’s calculated lies in mute, his eyes smiling for the camera; thinks of how he spoke to him on Goro’s voicemail. You needed a little real world perspective. Now, can we finally have a big boy conversation about why you suddenly refuse to do your job, or are you too busy skipping school? Not a big deal, not even slightly as supervillainy as Shido clearly wanted it to be, but Goro can’t get the condescending tone of it out of his head. His father would be nothing without him, still caught in the mire of his own scandals, and yet all the time Goro had spent, all the lives he’d ruined, just made him an annoyance to Shido, a minor but irritating problem. He apparently still thinks Goro going AWOL was simple irresponsibility. It’s infuriating, but something more unpleasant than that too. Goro says, “I’ll watch anything as long as it’s not that.”

Akira turns to look at the television, as if he’d forgotten about it. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He switches the channel to a sentai show, and then says, “It’s your apartment, you should pick what we do. Teach me your nerdy ways.”

Goro gives him a big, exaggerated sigh at that one, and enjoys the way Akira chuckles.

They land on A New Hope, of course, though Goro does his best to make it clear that he honestly does not like Star Wars that much; they might be the only films he happens to own, but that’s simply because he reads books like an intelligent person. (“I read books too,” Akira deadpans in response, “and I’m a dumbass, so I don’t know what point you’re trying to make.”) The plan is to watch the first half and then leave to meet the others. Akira’s seen the movie before, he says, but not since he was little.

While Goro’s fiddling with the wires behind his television to get the VCR set up again, he decides to go ahead and ask something he’s been wondering. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

There’s a short silence from Akira. “Well, if you ask my parents it was getting arrested and throwing my life away, obviously. Why do you ask?”

“You know mine. It’s only fair. And if I wanted your parents’ opinion I would have asked them instead.”

“Wait, which one is yours?”

“I was speaking in plural. But I suppose it’s the train crash.” Or it is from a quantitative point of view, anyway. If he’s honest, Goro probably feels worst about Wakaba Isshiki, though he knows one innocent life obviously doesn’t outweigh those of many. It’s like some particularly obscene variation of the trolley problem, except it’s his actual life. He is repugnant. He digs his nails into his palm and says, normally, “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to think,” Akira says. “Um - okay. I don’t know if this is ‘the worst ever’, but it’s what came to mind.” Goro finishes reconnecting the VCR, turns around. “So… back home, there’s this gay couple who’ve lived across the street from me for most of my life. They’re not like, super close friends with my family, but they were always friendly. Anyway, when I just started middle school, I made these new guy friends, and I didn’t realise yet that they were all assholes. So one time we ran into the couple at Junes and these guys started saying… you know, awful homophobic kid stuff behind their back. Really awful. And really loudly. And I knew it was awful, and I could see that my neighbours heard it, and I still didn’t do anything. I just stood there. I even laughed.”

Goro waits for the rest of it, until he realises Akira is done. “Wait, that’s it? That’s the worst thing? You didn’t even do anything.”

“Laughing is doing something,” Akira says. “Letting it happen when I knew it was wrong was doing something.” Good lord. Goro had thought perhaps asking this would make him feel better, put them on something resembling equal footing, but of course it wouldn’t, nothing a decent person has ever done is on par with even Goro’s more minor transgressions. “It was cowardly. And I was so ashamed of it that I just avoided my neighbours for months.”

“Oh, well, in that case. What a terrible thing to do.”

“Look, you’re the one who asked,” Akira says, frowning a little. “You can’t get mad at me for not having a bad enough answer.”

“I’m not angry with you. Not at all. And I do see your point, but you’re just so… good. It’s not…” He kind of wants to say that it’s not fair that someone could be so good, but of course that’s self-pitying garbage. He admits, instead, “I suppose I’m jealous.”

Akira says, “I’m not that good. I don’t think that’s a thing anyone just inherently is, anyway. I think people just make choices.”

“Yes, but that’s what good people say, you see,” Goro says, though it doesn’t come out as lightly as he wanted it to. He feels like he was born rotten. “God. Let’s just watch half a movie.” He sits down heavily half a metre from Akira, presses the now-very-damp handkerchief harder to his bruises and fumbles with the television remote.

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Akira says, which of course makes it worse, and scoots over, moves in like he’s going to embrace Goro and then seems to think better of it. God. What are they doing, either of them? They are a mess together. They can’t even have a single conversation without Goro somehow ruining it. This shouldn’t be happening.

Goro thinks of Akira’s response when he’d tried to end it, not the thinly-veiled relief he’d been expecting, or some implication that they shouldn’t quit before Akira gets a chance to stick his dick in his ass, but something like… actual emotional injury. The understated kind, because it’s Akira, but still. It had been unexpected. It’s not that Goro actually wants to end this weird extended hookup, but at least if that had worked he wouldn’t have to keep waiting powerlessly for Akira to start thinking with his brain about the whole situation.

But it hadn’t worked. And he’d been relieved when it hadn’t worked. And Akira had also said - unbe-fucking-lievably - that they were dating, and Goro hadn’t explicitly shot that down, even though it was genuinely one of the most absurd things anyone’s ever said to him (Goro’s beginning to suspect that if they ever actually do anal it’ll end in Akira applying for a partnership certificate), so… so. So maybe just accept this whole thing and try to be a good fucking boyfriend, or whatever.

He moves in a bit closer, until their shoulders are touching, and thinks about how stupid it is that this sort of thing is a million times more difficult than sucking his cock was, and makes himself say, “I’m sorry I’m like this. This all should have been… better. You should have something better.”

Akira puts his arm around Goro’s waist, pulls him in even closer. Goro lets it happen. “But this is what I want. I’ve been telling you that.” He hesitates, and then adds, gently, “I really wish you’d try to listen.”

Goro doesn’t have the slightest clue what to say to that. He just sits there, feeling the warmth of Akira’s body, the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage. So bizarre to just sit like that, without doing anything, without Akira’s hands wandering.

After a silence, Akira says, very thoughtfully, “I chucked a shoe directly at my big brother’s face once. I guess that’s technically worse. But in my defense I was five.”

“Did he actually do anything to deserve it?”

“Probably not. Little kids are universally kind of evil, aren’t they? Or at least amoral.”

“If you say so, Augustine,” Goro says, smiling despite himself.

“I also mug demons on regular basis. There’s also that.”

“That doesn’t count. If we started including the things we’ve done to demons we’d be here all day.” Although, now that he thinks of it, he’s pretty sure he’s seen Akira do far worse to demons than Goro himself ever has. Not that Goro’s remotely kind to them, obviously - they’re demons, give them an inch and they’ll be turning your intestines into necklaces before you have time to blink - but Akira’s a different kind of ruthless, seems to start every single fight with a cold quick What can you do for me? calculation. It’s a little terrifying. Goro adores him for it. “We should probably start the film.”

“Mm. Good idea.”

Watching something so familiar with another person for the first time is strange. It’s the same binary sunset, the same consistent story beats, but this time Akira’s arm is around him, and he’s so quiet but Goro can hear his breath change in reaction to the scenes: little huffs at the jokes, a shocked intake at Owen and Beru’s charred corpses. Goro’s a little tempted to just turn and watch Akira’s face, but that’s creepy even for him, and anyway it’s… nice, to just lean into him, to be warm and quiet together. Goro doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t trust it, and it doesn’t make him as happy as he knows it’s supposed to, but something about it does make him feel a little less irredeemable than before. It makes him want to stop overthinking it.

He readjusts himself until he’s more comfortable, rests his head on Akira’s shoulder, and lets himself close his eyes. Just for a second.



The weekend after the subway accident, Goro was euphoric. It was sick, he knew, and if he thought about it directly he felt a little nauseated, but the facts remained: he was getting close to his goal, his imbecile of a father trusted him with his life, practically, and he was untouchable. And everyone was talking about him, whether they knew they were or not. It was thrilling, intoxicating. Tokyo was in the palm of his hand.

So, yes, he got a bit too sloshed at Shido’s that Saturday night. But he knew he wouldn’t slip, he wouldn’t drop the mask for a second, he would just have a good goddamn time like a normal human being. Everyone’s entitled to it. He was entitled to be happy for once in his life, surely.

It went… fine. Nothing remarkable, nothing unpleasant, just listening to a bunch of power-hungry fools talk about themselves while Goro nodded and smiled and drank one glass after another. It wasn’t the way he wanted the night to go, and certainly not the kind of company Goro would have chosen, except… it was the company he chose, wasn’t it? And what did he want? For them to talk about him instead, perhaps. For them to recognise his achievements. He’d worked so hard for this shit.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” Shido said to him sometime after midnight, his voice slurring despite an audible attempt to prevent it. Most of the guests had left already. Most of the guests probably went to bed at ten on the dot, the lazy old rich fucks. “It’s a bit late for a schoolboy, isn’t it?”

“Mmph,” Goro said articulately, trying to sit straight on the couch, and Shido smirked at him. Condescending prick. He’d left his glasses somewhere, and his face looked surprisingly empty without them. Goro smiled back. “I suppose it is. I’ll get going.” His voice sounded okay, he decided, not that drunk at all. Not nearly as bad as Shido’s. A bit too slow.

Shido was trying to light a cigarette. It was taking a while. “I’ll call you a cab,” he said, through his teeth, and then finally managed it.

“No, no, the paper trail,” Goro said, and let himself sprawl confidently, the way he wouldn’t around even the other members of this ludicrous fucking conspiracy. It was nice, to have a break from being the sweet little detective or Shido’s well-behaved right hand man. He wasn’t giving anything away, he felt. He wasn’t even letting his smile go uneven. “Cab drivers notice me now, you know. They want autographs. I’m practically an idol.”

“Good thing it isn’t going to your head,” Shido said, and took a long drag on his cigarette, and then said, “It’s funny, isn’t it? Imagine what they’d all think if they really knew.”

As if that had never occurred to Goro before. As if he were some idiot child. “They won’t find out,” he said - calm, never annoyed. Definitely never hurt. But then an impulse came over him, and he said, “May I have one of those?”

Shido looked at him. Goro expected him to say You don’t smoke, or This shit will kill you, something patronising and adult, but then he just quietly laughed to himself and held out the packet. Goro didn’t smoke, of course, though he had from time to time as a kid; but he liked the idea of it, of having that one single cigarette to celebrate a victory. To remind Shido that they were celebrating his victory.

Shido was just out of reach, forcing Goro to stand up (steadily, smoothly), to walk around the couch. He took a cigarette, and Shido flicked open his lighter, tried to get it lit again: one try, two, three. Was it the lighter or the fact that Shido was a pathetic old alcoholic? Well, who could say. Goro watched without comment, leaned in graciously when the flame was finally steady. Wished he was taller, because he didn’t care for the way Shido was looming over him, though he knew his own height was advantageous in its lack of remarkability. He was tall enough to read as appropriately masculine, not so tall that he was gawky or intimidating or stood out in a crowd. Still. Unfair, that he’d never quite reached his father’s height. Sometimes he’d like to be intimidating.

The smoke hitting the back of Goro’s throat was waking him up a little. Disgusting, honestly, but he didn’t cough. He looked up and met Shido’s eyes, which were blessedly nothing like his own, thought about pettily blowing smoke directly into them; and then he turned his head politely, exhaled in a thin stream. Took a careful, casual step backwards.

Shido just watched him. “Idols don’t smoke,” he said.

“Idols do a lot of things they’re not supposed to,” Goro said, smiling back pleasantly as he took a seat on the arm of the sofa. “Everyone knows that.”

There was a sound on the stairs. Goro had thought everyone had left, but there she was: a girl - a woman, maybe, if you squinted, if you really tried to pretend - her bobbed hair disheveled, her eyes on the floor. Goro thought about quickly putting out the cigarette, but it was far too late for that, so he just shotgunned the remainder of his drink instead and then took another long drag. Being around Shido’s women always bothered him. Obviously. Predictably. He was usually better than this at avoiding them, though.

Shido chuckled low, though whether it was at Goro or the girl was unclear. Then he said to the girl, who stopped at the sound of his voice like she’d been cued, “You know, I forgot you were still here.”

“Did my uncle leave?” she asked. Her voice sounded very small. She was looking at them now but her expression was a certain kind of glazed, Shido’s smile a certain kind of smug. Ah, Goro thought in detached disgust as he put it together, watching the girl pull self-consciously at the hem of her not-particularly-short skirt. Naturally. He really shouldn’t think too much about it. These things happened all the time. Still, he couldn’t help thinking of this city, this country, the world, burnt or flooded or buried. Never born anew. Goro couldn’t fucking wait for the oceans to rise, for the reactors to melt, for it all to finally be done for good. How else could the weak ever truly be saved?

But in the meantime, he had a goal. He had a goal, had been gifted the power of the gods in service of that goal, and he just had to be patient. He was the most patient bastard in the world.

Shido said, unconcernedly, “Seems like it, sweetheart.” He turned his head, looked thoughtfully at Goro, who was keeping his face carefully neutral. “Why don’t you escort the young lady home, kid? Be a gentleman. Have a chat.”

Which meant: clean up my mess, the way you always clean up my messes. Most likely it was also meant as a suggestion to take advantage of the situation, since Shido thought everyone on the planet would behave the same as he did, if they only had the brains, the nerve. He was probably right. Goro wasn’t like that, though. He wouldn’t be even if he liked women. Goro might be a monster to the core but he wasn’t like that.

So he thought very hard about stubbing his cigarette out in his father’s eye, though he felt so abruptly empty that he couldn’t entirely enjoy the image, and smiled as if this was all fine, and said, “Shall we?”

The girl nodded without meeting his eyes, and started walking. Goro followed. Behind them, Shido said, “I’ll call that cab for you,” and when Goro half-turned, meaning to protest, he winked and drawled, “Relax, kiddo. You always come up with something, don’t you? Besides, no one cares nearly as much about you as you think.”


Outside, Goro tried to figure out what to do, but he felt too light-headed to come up with much, so he just sat on the front steps. The girl did as well, a significant space between them. He ground the cigarette butt out under his heel, wished he had another one, though he felt a little sick - the tobacco, perhaps, on top of the booze, on top of the dinner he didn’t really eat. Perhaps he should have just left. He definitely wasn’t going to get in a car with her. Maybe he’d walk, like he’d originally intended, call his own cab once he was out of the neighbourhood. (He ought to buy a bike, he thought. He could do it. He had money now. He needed to be sensible with it, of course, but still, he could just buy things if he needed them. He kept forgetting.)

The girl said, after a while, “Aren’t you- that guy? Why were you here?”

“Me?” Goro said. He wasn’t wearing his school jacket, so he went the plausible-deniability route, trying to channel as much convincing sobriety as he could summon: “I’m no one. I just have one of those faces, I suppose. What about you? How’d you end up here?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly.” He didn’t want her fucking sob story anyway. He didn’t need to feel any worse than he already did. Still, he had a role to fulfill; and perhaps he was the best person for the job, all things considered. He said, carefully, without letting an ounce of irony or bitterness seep through, “Masayoshi Shido is a good man, you know. Your word can’t compete with his. It can’t even compete with mine. I’m not saying this to hurt you but you need to understand it. Things will be much more difficult for you if you don’t.” The girl just wrapped her arms tight around her knees, didn’t look at him. “Treat all this like a bad dream. Nothing more than that. You weren’t really here, just like I wasn’t here.” Build a reality where it never happened, a life untouched. Convince people that that’s the real one. It didn’t fix things, Goro knew, but it kept your life on track.

“I don’t really want to talk about this,” she said.

“I’m trying to help you,” he replied, though he couldn’t quite prevent a hint of irritation from slipping into his voice. Did this girl even realise the kind of trouble she’d be in if she didn’t keep her mouth shut? Yes, no one would listen, but Shido still wouldn’t tolerate it. He didn’t want to deal with that. He added, because if it were him he’d want to know, “And you should fix your hair before the taxi gets here. It’s a mess.”

That only got a long, uncomfortable silence. Perhaps he was being too harsh. Perhaps he was just being a cruel, drunken piece of shit like his father. He wasn’t even lying when he said he wanted to help, was the thing, except… except he didn’t really know how to actually go about it. Be nice. Be genuine. He didn’t think he could be both of those things at the same time, especially without giving himself away, but - perhaps because of the drink - he gave it a shot. “Look,” he said. “Justice will win out eventually. I promise it will. You’ll just have to be patient.”

No. Useless. Just cliches, nothing worthwhile or meaningful. Great for a crowd, a broadcast, but not something like this. Why even fucking try, if it all came out as bullshit anyway?

The girl sniffled quietly and said, though her voice was shaking, “I won’t say anything. I’m not stupid. Stop talking to me.”

And that was understandable, so he did. He waited with her for the cab, though. Before she got in, she turned and said, like she’d been holding it in, “You even smell like him. It’s fucking gross,” and then she slammed the door behind her.



Goro shifts, and blinks. The film has apparently skipped ahead to the escape from the Death Star. Shit. Shit, he didn’t actually-

“Good morning,” Akira says softly in his ear. “You like this movie that much, huh?”

“I wasn’t asleep.” Sure. Convincing. How did this even happen? He doesn’t just fall asleep like this.

He sits up fully, pats at his hair, tries to work out what time it is. It feels like there’s probably a red mark on his cheek from leaning on Akira’s shoulder. Embarrassing, but also… nice, as if he’s stolen a normal bit of romance from someone else’s normal life. At some point he dropped the handkerchief onto the floor, where the ice cubes happily and uselessly melted. Ah well. Goro says, over the dialogue, “Shouldn’t we have left by now?”

“You seemed like you really needed to rest. Fifteen minutes longer won’t hurt anything.” Akira stretches his right arm, rotates it a bit, and then announces, “I have absolutely no feeling in my hand right now.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was totally worth the pins and needles I’m going to get in a minute.” Akira turns, nuzzles into Goro’s neck, the frames of his glasses digging sharp into his skin, and murmurs, “You smell really good, you know.”

That’s sweet, but his head is pounding, and his bruises have all decided to remind him that they exist, and Goro really wanted to spend the last bit of time before going back into his father’s Palace more… productively, though he’s not certain what that would have entailed. He pats Akira on the back a few times, since he’s not sure what else to do. “There’s this thing called body wash, Joker.”

“You city folk and your fancy inventions,” Akira says without moving, his breath hot and wet. Then he sits up and looks straight into Goro’s eyes and says, very seriously, “Thanks for today. Honestly.”

Goro smiles uncomfortably. “It wasn’t exactly worth thanking me over.”

“Yes, it was. It was perfect.”

It wasn’t, obviously, but Goro appreciates the lie.

Just before they go out the door, a sudden weight comes over him, the same sense of premature loss he had when he finally got all Akira’s clothes off and he thought, This is it, you’ll never get anything as good as this ever again. But that’s how things go. He’s already gotten far more than he deserves, anyway. He shouldn’t be greedy.



On the train, once the painkillers abate his whisky headache enough that he thinks he can properly hold a conversation, Goro says, “What did you think? Of the film, I mean.”

Akira hums thoughtfully. “It was fun. I thought I remembered more of it than I did. Stormtroopers are pretty bad shots, though.”

“It’s realistic, actually,” Goro says before he can stop himself. “Real soldiers are inclined to miss on purpose. Modern militaries train their men out of that now, but historically it was a big problem. So presumably Han and Luke are just heartless killing machines.”

That’s a funnier joke if you don’t have a history of also being a heartless killing machine, but Akira just looks amused and says, “You’re such a nerd. How did you even learn that?”

“I read it somewhere and thought it was interesting. That’s perfectly normal.”

“And then you applied it to Star Wars.”

“I don’t wish to insult your originality, but ‘stormtroopers can’t shoot’ is a fairly common talking point.”

“Really? Where?” Oh no, Akira sounds absolutely gleeful. “Do you go on forums?”

The conversation keeps going for most of the trip, cheerful and meaningless. The kind of conversation Goro’s heard other people have, and had no time for; it’s not real, any of it, doesn’t mean anything, won’t get you anywhere. But nothing else in Goro’s life exactly got him anywhere great, and reality feels like a weight on his back, and besides, he does have a lot of opinions on those stupid movies that he’s never actually voiced to anyone. (He doesn’t post on forums, he just used to read them.) And he feels like he could talk to Akira about anything. Perhaps he will, eventually. If…

Well, what happens will happen.



And so: back into the cognitive world, that repulsive palatial ship, Tokyo drowning around them. The Thieves obviously can’t help but gawk at Goro’s injuries, which was to be expected, but they act far more sympathetic about it than Goro was anticipating. Even Sakamoto. Even Okumura, who frowns seriously and says, “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Crow.” Takamaki actually got him a real cold compress, the gel kind from a store, for no reason except that she’s just that nice. It’s completely intolerable. The concept of ‘killing someone with kindness’ has never felt so literal before.

It occurs to him that his best possible future is just this: endless pity, everyone on every side knowing that he doesn’t deserve it, but oh, isn’t he sad, he just has nothing. The whole thing makes him want to be as cruel as possible, so they’ll back the fuck off, but… it’s not their fault they’re good people, so he tolerates it in awkward silence. (And makes a mental note to pay Takamaki back the ¥1000 or whatever it was, to make up for his stilted thank you, which must have sounded completely false.)

And then there’s the Morgana issue. Morgana, who, upon Goro and Akira’s arrival at the real world meeting place, leapt up onto Akira’s shoulders, sniffed at his hair, and then said, “Why do you smell funny?” very loudly in front of the entire group. (“New shampoo,” Akira replied without hesitation.) Who hasn’t said all that much to Akira since then, and certainly hasn’t even acknowledged Goro’s presence, but keeps making more digs than usual at Sakamoto’s expense. Goro actually feels bad for Sakamoto over that, which is an absolutely horrifying development.

Perhaps, though, Morgana’s simply in a bad mood because he’s bored. Well, and also because Goro’s true personality is intolerable, of course, but Morgana’s used to going to school with Akira every day, isn’t he? The major schedule shift would naturally affect one’s mood. Maybe Goro should bring this up privately with Akira. He seems to be taking the whole conflict pretty hard, though of course it’s near-impossible to tell. At the moment, however, Akira’s off doing that… thing… and Goro needs to get his sleeping arrangements sorted out. He feels bad that he hurt Akira’s feelings by not staying with him, and he does want to stay with him, but it’s the right thing to do. (Or perhaps he just wants to limit his own discomfort. Perhaps this is just one more selfish action that he’s trying to dress up as something else, because he’s a selfish, violent, irredeemable asshole who didn’t even have the decency to let himself be murdered. Whatever. Who gives a shit.)

The group minus Akira has huddled around Futaba’s laptop, reviewing her digital copies of the maps. He taps Niijima Junior gently on the shoulder, avoiding the spikes, feels simultaneous amusement and guilt when she actually flinches. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, turning. “Uh. Can I help you with something, Crow?”

“Potentially,” he says, trying to exude his old confidence. “Might we speak in private? Or…” He gestures, awkwardly, at the ship’s railings, and tries to ignore the quiet curiosity on everyone else’s faces.

“Sure,” Niijima says, dubiously, and follows him, even mirrors his stance as they both lean against the rail, looking out, pointlessly, at the ruins of the city. Niijima’s gaze keeps shifting from him out to the water and back again.

Ugh, he thinks, pressing the gel pack to his face, his mask on top of his head for the time being. Just go for it. Deliver it like you have something over her, some level of power, though he obviously has fuck-all in his court at this point. He says, calm and measured, “I find myself in need of a place to stay. Most likely only for tonight. And I have… limited options.”

She looks directly at him at that, frowning. “I thought you were staying with Joker.”

“Mona doesn’t care for my presence. Which is thoroughly understandable. And I did-” well, no reason to dance around it, though of course he drops his voice- “technically murder Sakura-san’s girlfriend. He’s been very polite about it but I can’t imagine he wants to see me at breakfast again.”

“I… what? You did?” She seems bewildered, which makes absolutely no sense - Goro was positive that was common knowledge among them all at this point.

“Yes? I was there, you know, I’m fairly certain it happened.” Her stare is still completely blank. “Wakaba Isshiki? Oracle’s mother? I know you all know about this.”

“Oracle’s mom and Boss weren’t dating,” Niijima says, just slowly enough to be insulting. “As far as I know. They were friends. Sometimes men and women are just friends. You know that, right?”

This was such a fucking bad idea. “Could you cut the condescension and just say no?”

“Yes, I’m clearly the condescending one out of the two of us.” Then she rests her chin on her knuckles, exactly like her sister does, and says, in what sounds like earnest confusion, “Why on earth would you want to stay with me? You hate me.”

“That’s somewhat overstating it,” Goro says, and resists the urge to shift his weight uncomfortably. “You’re the one who hates me, aren’t you?”

“No,” she says, still sounding baffled. “Not at this point, anyway. I mean, I think you kind of get off on being a jerk to us sometimes, but that’s clearly because you need intensive therapy. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Goro tries not to let himself bristle at the therapy comment and says, “I respect your sister. She’s a good woman.” And she doesn’t completely loathe him and he only sort of personally wronged her, which is a step up from the Leblanc situation. “And, again, I have an extremely limited list of options to work from, and I’m trying to stay out of places where I’m completely unwanted.”

“That’s actually really considerate of you,” Niijima says after a thoughtful pause.

“Yes, it’s terribly shocking, I know.” When she doesn’t say anything else, he adds, “I promise this isn’t some devious ploy to kill you in your sleep, Niijima. You’ve all made certain that I’m completely harmless. I’ve honestly never wished genuine injury upon you or your sister anyway, but even if I did, there’s nothing I could do about it now.” He punctuates that with a careful smile.

She stares at him. “Was that supposed to be convincing?”

“Was it not? It’s all true.”

“Well… I mean… it’s not something I thought was an issue until you said all that.” She sighs. “Of course you can stay with us. I’ll text Sis after this, but I’m sure she won’t mind. On the condition-” she holds up a stern index finger- “that you wash your dishes and stop finding unnecessarily threatening ways to tell me how safe you are. And you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Of course. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. She looks out at the water a bit longer and then says, softly, “This is all so weird.”

Goro agrees entirely, but he says, “Which part?”

“Just… you. Being on our side. Being… the person you actually are.”

“You honestly think I’m on your side?” Goro says lightly. God, do they all think that now? When the hell did that happen? “I’m a bit too unnecessarily threatening for that, don’t you think?”

Niijima actually smiles at him. “If it quacks like a duck, Crow,” she says. “Or… or caws like… I mean, you get it.” Quite. Goro smiles politely back, though. She looks past him. “I think Joker wants you for something.”

Akira is, indeed, finished whatever it was he was doing, but is still standing apart from the group, watching them, a hand slightly aloft to get their attention. He smiles slightly when Goro meets his eyes, waves him over. “Thank you again,” Goro says to Niijima, who nods awkwardly and formally, and goes to see what Akira wants.

“So you’re staying with her?” Akira says as Goro approaches.

“So it appears. You needed something?”

“Yeah. Come here.”

When Goro does, Akira puts his hands on his shoulders, rotates him until he’s facing away from the group. It’s far too intimate to do in front of everyone else, too gentle. Why is Goro the only one out of the pair of them to care about that? It’s not as if it’d be a problem for him if any of this got out even more than it already has. He says, over his shoulder, “What are you-”

“Shh. Just look straight ahead and tell me what you see.”

There’s nothing, obviously. “This is ridiculous.”

“Look really hard.” There’s nothing, except… except the light is a bit different, a sharp blue instead of the ruddy gold of the sunset. This feels familiar, like he’s thought about this before, though he doesn’t think he has. Then he hears something, a high voice muffled like it’s coming from another room, and Akira says, “No, I know that, I just don’t understand why.”

Goro turns, looks at the rest of the Thieves (who’re still chatting among themselves, ignoring Goro and Akira a bit too completely), and then back at Akira. “There’s something here, and something’s blocking everyone but you from realising it. And someone. Correct?”

“Right,” Akira says. “The door. You don’t see the door at all? It’s right there.”

“I do not see a…” The noun he’s looking for somehow slips out of Goro’s mind before he finishes the sentence, so he frowns and corrects himself to, “There’s nothing.” He pauses, tries to put his thoughts back together, but somehow it’s all a jumble. Infuriating. He manages, “I don’t forget things this easily. This is doing something to me.”

“Okay,” Akira says. He lets go, steps back, digs his hands sheepishly into his pockets. “Thanks for humouring me, man. We should… go do the thing, I guess.”

He suddenly sounds very tired. Goro says, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, and his whole mood shifts on a dime, making up for the momentary lapse. He stands straighter, smirks wide, his eyes crinkling behind his mask. “Of course. Come on.”

He’s so extraordinarily full of shit, Goro thinks, suddenly distracted from the dread that’s been wedging itself deeper into his guts all day. Does he really think Goro of all people wouldn’t be able to tell? But he doesn’t know what to do about it, so he just lets Akira lead him back into the group.

One more day of this. The calling card, tomorrow. And then that’s it. What happens will happen, Goro tells himself again. Don’t waste your time thinking too much about it.