Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leaning out the window of the cab as he drives, Takuto Maruki gulps down a desperate lungful of Tokyo’s wet, night air. Fat raindrops bounce off the brim of his cap, pelt his cheeks, and run unpleasantly down the back of his neck, but it's hard to care. What's a little water, after all? Compared to the cloying, sickly sweet smell of the puddle of vomit left by his last customer in the back seat.

It's not the first time it's happened, and it definitely won't be the last, but at least the man had been apologetic about it, Takuto thinks, as he turns the corner and pulls into the self-service car wash. Plenty of customers aren't – a particularly nasty one a couple of weeks back had tried to blame his being sick on Takuto’s driving, and then actually demanded compensation for ruining his own shoes – but this customer hadn't even kicked up a fuss when he brought up the soiling charge.

So maybe he can try to put a positive spin on it and say that he got lucky this time, by comparison, especially once he's parked and out of the car, and has a chance to properly survey the damage.

It's not nearly as bad as he was expecting.

Most of the mess is actually on the outside of the door and splattered across the wheel arch, and after sprinkling some powder cleaner over the lumpy pile on the seat, he goes to grab the hose that's hanging on its hook beside the air tank.

Standing there, in the dark, and the rain, hosing what's left of someone else's dinner off the back door of the car, he takes a second to be glad that he decided not to wear his sandals today.

Something he's less happy about, though, is the bento he knows is still sitting on the passenger seat in the cab. The one he'd picked up at a convenience store just before his last fare. The one that he was looking forward to going home and tucking into once he was finished up.

There’s no way he’s going to be able to eat it now.

Not with the way his insides are churning.

Tilting his wrist to angle the jet of water over the rear wheel, he watches a thick, undigested noodle slip free of the rest of the splatter and get pulled into the stream of water. It looks grey in the almost darkness, blue neon light from the sign above him reflecting off its shiny surface when it twists and spins in the current, folding over itself as it gets dragged towards the drain set into the concrete beneath his feet.

Pointedly, deliberately, he does not think about tentacles.

Takuto closes his eyes as his stomach flip-flops again.

***

Each day has started to bleed together.

Waking up at seven, folding and putting away his futon, turning on his coffee machine and then flipping a coin about whether he should shower or just wash his hair over the side of the bath while it brews. All before he puts on his uniform and heads out in the cab.

There’s the guilt, too, of course. A constant, steady hum in the back of his mind that increases to a roar (one that he doesn’t seem to be able to work through, or rationalise away, no matter what he does) whenever he has more than a couple of minutes to himself.

Which is – well, it’s not fine, but maybe it’s right.

This morning is shaping up to be just like any other, as he pours coffee into his thermos with one hand and scrubs a towel through his still-damp hair with the other, but then his phone starts buzzing loudly, with enough force that it actually shimmies a couple of centimetres across the counter beside him.

Nobody calls him this early in the morning. Nobody really calls him at all anymore, in fact. Not since he started making excuses every time Shibusawa tries to invite him somewhere, at least. He's pretty much convinced himself that it can't be anything more than an early-bird telemarketer as he sets his towel aside to grab the phone, and then almost drops it again when he sees the name flashing above the number on the screen.

'Tokyo Metropolitan Matsuzawa Hospital'

The psychiatric hospital that used to treat Rumi.

The hospital that she’d been discharged from, once his actualisation had altered her cognition enough for her to be released into the care of her grandparents.

He'd checked in on her (from afar, of course) after what happened with the Phantom Thieves at the start of February, and maybe it was because he’d changed things for her before he awakened to his persona fully, but the loss of his powers certainly hadn't seemed to have had any real impact on the new life she'd built with her surviving family.

Despite all of the mistakes he made, he thought that Rumi, at least, was still happy and safe.

But then, if that was truly the case, why is the hospital calling him now?

It feels like his heart is in his throat as he lifts the phone up to his ear and answers. "Hello…?"

"I apologise for disturbing you, Maruki-san, particularly this early in the morning-" A woman's voice. One that he doesn't recognise. "-but there's been an incident, and you're the only available emergency contact on file for, ah-" There's the sound of rustling paper. "-for one Rumi Terui."

He knows better than to try to ask for details over the phone – already hurrying to the door and slipping his feet into the shoes he’d left out to dry last night. “I’m on my way.”

***

A ‘regression’.

That's what they're calling it.

He shifts uncomfortably in the expensive chair he’s sitting in, listening to the doctor summarise what happened and explain treatment plans, while the woman he spoke to on the phone earlier watches him from behind her intimidatingly large desk.

Almost exactly two weeks ago, Rumi's grandmother slipped in the bathroom, fell, and hit her head so hard that she was dead before the ambulance arrived.

Then, this morning, the stress of the loss of his wife, dealing with the funeral arrangements, and being faced with the reality of having to care for his granddaughter by himself had obviously caught up with Rumi's grandfather.

The poor man had a heart attack.

He's in intensive care, but it's not looking good, and Rumi's fragile mental state hadn't been able to weather losing another set of parents.

Understandably.

"-it was her grandfather's wish that she be returned here if he was no longer able to care for her, Maruki-san, but the NHI can only cover so much, and I'm sure you understand that we need some assurance that the rest of her fees can be paid in a timely manner before we consider taking her on as a patient again."

There had been a time when something like this – the way they're so cavalier about holding another person's medical care hostage – would have made him angry.

All he really feels now is resigned.

If this is what Rumi needs, then he’ll figure something out.

He'll have to.

Takuto exhales, removes his glasses, pulls the grubby square of microfiber cloth from his pocket and starts wiping at the lenses.

When Rumi was a patient here before, her fees had been covered by a combination of her national health insurance and the money left to her by her parents. His plan, back then, had been to find himself a position as a legitimate cognitive psience researcher with a decent enough salary to take over paying them himself once Rumi's inheritance had run out.

Of course, it hadn’t worked out that way.

What he earns now, driving the cab, hardly leaves him with enough for groceries after he's finished paying his bills and rent. Even with some of the cost being offset by the government, there's still going to be tens of thousands of yen that need to be paid each month, and he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to find that kind of money.

Not in the long term, anyway.

It’s not much, but he does have savings. Enough to buy him the time and space he needs to figure out something more sustainable (more permanent), at least.

"I'll take responsibility for the payments," he sighs, sliding his glasses back into place. "Where do I need to sign?"

***

Putting himself back out there, career-wise, isn't easy.

Research positions are rare enough as it is, and even when he does come across one that looks promising, he knows that the vast majority are only being advertised as a formality – that nepotism within most departments means that they only really recruit and promote from within.

Which is a hurdle that a lot of applicants have to overcome, obviously, but Takuto’s situation is made worse by his sparse list of references. The circumstances under which he’d left his university (being pushed out and discredited by Shido) had resulted in a lot of bridges being burned. And then, any remaining credibility or goodwill that he might have still had there had probably been stomped out in December, when he went to visit his old department head to gloat and rub his finished paper in his face. Sure, it felt good at the time, but in hindsight, it might not have been one of his better ideas.

(Not that, these days, he feels like he’s ever actually had too many of those.)

Even if he gets lucky and does manage to find a potential employer that’s happy to look past all of that, there’s also the fact that his résumé is definitely lacking in ‘relevant experience’ for the kind of positions he’s applying for. His brief stint working as a counsellor (not to mention driving a cab) doesn't quite make the cut.

Expanding his search criteria to include work that’s more people-facing would probably help, of course – he remembers just how many schools and colleges had been recruiting for similar roles when he’d decided to apply for Shujin's counsellor position – but even just looking at jobs that would put him in direct contact with patients makes him uncomfortable.

It’s something he’s hoping to avoid entirely if he can.

Azathoth doesn’t speak to him anymore, and Takuto can’t feel its presence in the back of his mind, but that doesn’t seem like much of an assurance when he knows that some of the early cognitive alterations he’d made (both with Rumi and Yoshizawa) had happened before he had any real concept of what a persona was, let alone that he was the one actively making those changes happen in the first place.

With that in mind, it feels dangerous and irresponsible to put himself in a position where he’s interacting with vulnerable people on a regular basis.

So, yes, he’s still trying to find something in research.

For now.

And at least his hours are flexible enough that he can still drive the cab between interviews.

***

It's been two months.

He’s had a handful of callbacks and first round interviews, and he could potentially be in the running to cover for a neuroscience researcher in Todai who’s going on maternity leave next month, but that’s only a short-term contract, and (if he’s honest with himself) not even close to being a sure thing.

But it's okay, he still has time, his savings can probably cover two more months of hospital fees, and maybe even stretch a little further than that if he’s smart about it. If he cuts as many 'non-essential' purchases out of his grocery shopping as possible, and avoids turning on the air-conditioning in his apartment unless it’s really necessary.

And borrowing money is always there as a last resort, he supposes. Even if his credit rating isn't the best, he knows that there are always options for someone who really needs a loan.

Staying hopeful is easier when he's in the elevator on his way up to visit Rumi.

The doctors had described it as a regression – a step backwards – in the beginning, and he can understand why they might refer to it that way when they were measuring her current mental state against how far she’d come while living with her grandparents. They have no way of knowing that it’s not really a fair comparison, for obvious reasons, but if they were to take into account what her condition was, before her cognition had been altered, back when she'd been barely verbal and only a stone’s throw away from catatonic?

The elevator doors open with a ‘ding’ and he heads down the hallway, coming to a stop in front of the last door on the right. He knocks twice, gently, and waits until he hears the familiar, soft ‘come in’ before turning the handle. Rumi is sitting on the edge of the bed, a well-loved book open in her lap. She looks tired, and her eyes are red-rimmed, but she smiles brightly at the sight of him, and it’s like the entire room lights up with it.

A regression?

No.

This is progress.

***

They haven't spoken about how much of her past that she recalls – either regarding what happened to her family, or the nature of the relationship that they used to share – and Takuto agrees with the doctor that it's probably not a good idea to push.

Still, there are hints here and there, as they spend more and more time together.

It's a small thing, but Rumi definitely remembers that they've known each other since high school – always quick to joke with him about their old teachers and friends, and she's never hesitated to call him by his first name either.

Takuto doesn't know if she still has feelings for him.

And that's fine.

He's more than happy to just be able to stay here with her like this.

***

"-like a good kid."

"Ah?" Takuto looks up from the email app on his phone, distracted momentarily by another politely-worded rejection. "Sorry, Rumi, I didn't catch that, could you say it again?"

"Takuto… Are you okay?” she asks, concerned, and he realises that he must not have been doing an especially good job of hiding his frustration and disappointment.

"I'm fine, just a little tired." Rumi doesn't look convinced, so he reaches out to cover her hand with his own and squeezes it gently. "I promise. Please, tell me again."

"It's probably nothing, really…" she laughs, small and self-conscious. "There's a new orderly working on this floor. He's just a kid, and he seems really nice, but…"

Takuto frowns. "But?"

"He keeps asking about you."

It takes a couple of seconds for what she said to actually sink in. "M-me?"

"Yes, he, um – well, he comes across as one of those people that’s just always talking, you know?” she says, and Takuto nods for her to continue. “Honestly, he asks me about a lot of things – normal small talk stuff, mostly. Did I enjoy my lunch? Did I see the movie they played in the rec area last night? That kind of thing… And I didn’t really think anything of it until the third or fourth time it happened, but he seems more, I don't know – intense? – every time you come up. He’s asked me what your name is, how often you come, how we know each other…"

In Takuto's mind's eye, he sees a gawky, awkward kid with a crush, just like the ones that used to hang around the nurse's office when he was still working at Shujin Academy. Normally he’d say that it’s probably harmless, something that will fizzle out and resolve itself with time… but he knows that would be an easy thing for him to say. It’s not quite the same thing for a woman to have to entertain an unwanted admirer, even a well-intentioned one.

There’s no way to know just how innocent this guy's motives are, but the fact that he’s been persistently asking about Rumi's visitors seems like it could be the beginning of jealous, possessive behaviour.

A red flag, for sure.

"What did you tell him?"

Takuto had forgotten that he was holding her hand until she pulls back a little, just enough to change the angle of her wrist and lace their fingers together.

"Just that I'm very lucky to have someone so kind – someone who's happy to come and spend so much time with me."

"Rumi…" he breathes, feeling tears prick at the corner of his eyes, even while that anxious, concerned feeling continues to bubble away unpleasantly in his stomach. "Are you worried about this kid? Do you want me to bring it up with hospital management?"

"No, um, I think he might just be a little strange… or lonely. Maybe…" Rumi chews her lip and looks away, out the window beside them. "I don't want to get him into trouble when all he's really done is be nice to me."

He wants to leave it at that, he really does, but by the time they say goodbye and the elevator doors close behind him, the seed of worry in his chest has sprouted and already grown enough to feel like it's choking him.

***

Finding himself standing in one of the more rundown electronics stores in Akihabara, Takuto stares down a line of 'discreet' nanny cams and wonders if he's about to make another terrible mistake in what’s already been a long, long line of terrible mistakes.

***

"It's so cute!" Rumi exclaims, holding the teddy bear up in the air and tapping its nose with her index finger in a happy, affectionate gesture that makes the guilty pit in his gut widen.

"I'm glad you like it…" he says, swallowing thickly. He hopes that she doesn't notice the way he can't quite meet her gaze, or how the smile on his face is more of a grimace.

At least, he thinks, as he watches her set the bear down on her bedside table (tucked in beside the last bouquet he bought for her), the camera is mostly angled towards the window and not in the direction of the bed. Listening in on a little of their conversations, and maybe catching a glimpse of this orderly as he closes the curtains in the evening, is all that Takuto should need to be sure about whether this is someone to be worried about.

The absolute last thing he wants is to end up spying on Rumi like that, as if he were exactly the kind of creep he's trying to protect her from.

***

Four days later, and after his next visit, he returns home with the tiny memory card burning a hole in his pocket.

Hands clumsy and shaking with queasy anticipation, he sets his laptop down on the kitchen counter and tries to slot the memory card into the appropriate port on its side. He misses completely the first two times, and then almost loses the little plastic rectangle down the narrow gap between the counter and the side of his fridge when it slips through his trembling fingers as he tries for a third.

Eventually, though (and after several deep breaths), he manages to get the card where it's supposed to be, and the folder that contains the video files open.

Taking a moment to be glad that Rumi's counselling sessions aren't held in her room anymore (he has a feeling that the temptation to listen in would be too great to resist), he reaches out to grab a box of crackers from the cupboard beside him, shovelling a handful of them into his mouth as he opens the first video.

Sifting through days worth of footage is a larger (and more boring) task than he'd anticipated, and he quickly finds himself fast forwarding through the dead periods, only resuming normal playback when he notices someone other than Rumi walk in front of the camera.

They’re all doctors, nurses, and orderlies that he recognises – the vast majority of whom happen to be women – and nothing particularly suspicious jumps out at him.

Not until he reaches the second half of the sixth video, when an unfamiliar (and distinctly male) body moves into frame.

Takuto jumps to click pause so fast that his half-empty box of crackers gets knocked to the floor and spills everywhere, but he hardly notices – too distracted by the rush of finally getting some kind of result. He can only see the guy from the back, but it's already clear that he's completely different from the scrawny, geeky kid Takuto assumed he was dealing with. A little taller than average, slim, with his hair gathered into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. It's only when Takuto catches himself frowning at the flash of defined bicep that he can just see peeking out of a short uniform sleeve that he realises, while his concern for Rumi has been nothing but genuine, there's a good chance that at least part of his discomfort with the entire situation has been coming from a place of insecurity.

Which, well, it's not great, honestly, but it also seems like a good enough reason to pretend that it’s a couple of hours later than it really is and grab a beer from the fridge.

Knocking back half the bottle before he leans back over the laptop, Takuto takes a deep breath as he unpauses the video again, freeing the mystery man from his frozen-mid-curtain-pull pose and restoring the audio in the process.

"-pity about the rain, Terui-san, I heard they had to cancel today's outdoor activities."

The voice coming through his speakers is polite, friendly, and downright chirpy. It might also actually be familiar? Maybe…?

Feeling a little like he has the name of a song right on the tip of his tongue, Takuto pauses the video again, takes another swig of beer and tries to chase the itchy, almost-recognition buzzing in his head. Unsure if he actually does know his voice from somewhere, or if he's just confusing this boy with someone else.

And he is just a boy from the sounds of things – Takuto would honestly be surprised if he's even out of his teens – and he's not proud of it (or of much anymore, for that matter), but a wave of relief accompanies that new piece of information.

It wouldn't really be any of his business if Rumi were to end up in a relationship with someone else, of course, but Takuto knows that she wouldn't get involved with someone so young.

(No matter how toned his arms are.)

Although, now that he thinks about it, what if this kid's age might actually help to narrow things down a bit? It would be a funny coincidence, but it's not outside the realm of possibility that he could be a former Shujin student… A connection like that would certainly make for a more innocent reason for him to be asking after Takuto. It’s easy enough to imagine the boy finding himself stuck in the same kind of 'Where do I know that person from?' loop after catching sight of Takuto in the hallway…

Or something along those lines.

Well, one thing’s for sure, sitting here and speculating wildly doesn't seem to be getting him anywhere, so he clicks play again.

"What a cute bear," the boy coos, turning away from the window at last, but moving so quickly that Takuto doesn't get more than a blurry glimpse of his face before it's out of frame again – his height making it so the top of the video cuts him off at the neck. It’s something that might be frustrating, under different circumstances, but it’s hard to focus on anything else when what he can still see of the boy is rapidly approaching the camera. Takuto tenses – almost bracing for impact – and is just thinking about how irrational he’s being when the kid leans down, right into frame, and Takuto suddenly feels like the bottom's dropped right out of his stomach.

It's Goro Akechi, and he's very much alive, and he's staring directly into what was supposed to be a hidden camera, and he's been in and out of Rumi's room for weeks!

All the blood drains from his face at the thought, and it’s like the floor underneath his feet pitches sideways – like the very earth tilts on its axis – and Takuto has to grasp at the edge of the counter in front of him with both hands so that he doesn't end up on the floor with his crackers.

Akechi is still talking (saying something about how ‘the bear's eyes really seem to follow you around the room’, just to make doubly sure that Takuto knows that he knows), but it all sounds very far away all of a sudden. Distant and wobbly, as if the words are being filtered through water.

Standing there, frozen in place, and still hanging onto the chipped, faux-marble laminate in front of him like his life depends on it, Takuto only snaps out of his daze once Akechi starts to pull back from the camera. It’s like somebody snaps their fingers in front of his face, and the reality of why he was watching this video in the first place (and what’s potentially at stake if he isn’t paying attention) comes back to him in a rush. Yelping, he jolts in place, scrabbling for the trackpad on the laptop in a rapid, fitful movement that makes the cursor jitter across the screen in an echo of the tremor in his hands.

Once the video is paused again, he takes a couple of wobbly steps backwards. Heart pounding in his ears and thumping against the back of his breastbone as he collapses onto the single, solitary chair in his small kitchen.

"H-how…?" he asks the empty room, the question coming out in a disbelieving rasp of a whisper as his brain stutters and then, finally, manages to kick into overdrive. Desperately, urgently, he tries to make sense of what he just saw. There has to be something that he missed, some piece of the puzzle that will help him understand how exactly a dead boy came to be at Rumi's bedside.

The memories he has from last winter are a confusing jumble, both because there are two versions of events coexisting in his head – neither one feeling more or less real than the other – and because being directly connected to the hopes and desires of so many people at the same time had made everything about that time feel distant, and slightly cloudy.

Still, there are some things that just stick with you.

Like suddenly being able to bring the dead back to life.

Or finding out that it was far, far easier than anyone could have ever expected it to be.

Nothing more than a simple matter of reaching into the collective unconscious, gently pulling on the web of cognitive threads associated with a specific deceased person, followed by some careful stitching to sew them back together in a way that fit with the dream he was currently fulfilling.

Quick, straightforward, and surprisingly uncomplicated for what was, essentially, turning one of the most basic natural laws on its head.

And it was something that had only become easier as January wore on, and the roots he had planted in Mementos burrowed deeper and deeper.

But that first time?

When he brought Akechi back?

It hadn't felt the same.

It was a difference that he'd simply chalked up to nerves, or first-time jitters, once he'd resurrected more people and had enough data to look back and make the comparison. Later, though – once Takuto realised that Akechi seemed to have that same inbuilt resistance (but not immunity) to cognitive tampering that Ren Amamiya had, he hypothesised that it might have been an anomaly related to the fact that both boys had more than one persona. That, perhaps, they possessed a sense of self that was too volatile, or adaptable, to be guided and contained in the same way as everyone else's.

Certainly, the idea that any discrepancy in the ease of the resurrection process had been caused by Akechi not actually being dead had never even begun to occur to him.

Why would it have, when even Akechi himself was convinced of exactly the same thing?

Confirmation bias at its finest.

It’s why he’d been so confident, sitting across from them in Leblanc, as he'd tried to convince Amamiya that the only way he could save his friend – the only way that any of them could be truly happy – was by accepting Takuto's new version of reality.

Guilt and disgust roll together in a familiar twist in his stomach. He exhales shakily as he sets his glasses aside on the table, and then covers his face with his hands.

He knows that he’s in danger of backsliding here, of spiralling, and that’s something he can't afford to do when Rumi might be counting on him, so he does his best to push past it – to refocus.

It makes sense that Akechi might want to seek him out, given their shared history, but even taking that into account, there doesn't seem to be any reasonable (or benign) explanation for him to have done it through Rumi.

Takuto might have moved to a smaller apartment not long after his defeat at the hands of the Phantom Thieves, but he'd left a forwarding address with his previous landlord (and the new tenants), and he hasn't changed his phone number in over a decade. Someone like Akechi – even if he doesn't have access to the resources he once had – shouldn't have had any trouble finding him.

More significantly, he shouldn't have had to involve Rumi in this.

Takuto might deserve anything that Akechi wants to throw at him, but she doesn't, and a bright flash of protective anger flickers and sparks alongside the sickly mess of uncertainty and anxiety in his chest.

It's enough to get him on his feet and back to the laptop again.

Akechi continues his move back from the camera, once Takuto resumes the video, crossing the room again and leaning casually against the wall beside the window. All while obviously going out of his way to stay in view. There's some more small talk – exactly the kind of normal, innocuous stuff that Rumi had mentioned before – but then Akechi's eyes slide back to the camera again, and the hairs on the back of Takuto's neck stand on end.

"You mentioned before that you attended Keio University, Terui-san?"

The university that they had both attended, together, before Rumi had to leave, after what happened to her parents.

It's no surprise then that she sounds more than a little shaken when she answers. "Yes, I, um – I did."

"I've been thinking about taking the entrance exam-" Takuto feels the frown on his face deepen. What exactly is Akechi getting at? "-I'll be visiting the campus each day this week, in fact – and I was wondering if you could recommend anywhere nearby where I'd be able to study and maybe get some lunch?"

Ah.

He's letting Takuto know where he'll be.

Because he wants to meet.

What for? Takuto couldn't say, at least not for sure.

Akechi seeking closure seems the most likely option, however, and presents him with the perfect opportunity to sit down and speak with the boy properly. Whether Akechi wants to achieve that closure by actually having a constructive conversation with him, or if he's just looking to vent his (justified) anger, will remain to be seen. Either way, it sounds like just the thing to make sure that the boy's resentment stays exactly where it should be: on him and off of Rumi.

Back on the screen, there's movement. Akechi holds his phone out to Rumi (probably with his map app open) and Takuto watches her pale, shaky hand reach out to take it.

He already knows where she's going to recommend.

"It's nothing special, but there's a Frostbucks I used to go to wi-ith-" Her voice cracks on the last syllable, and she tries to cover it with a small cough. Takuto's heart clenches in his chest. "-with my, um – with my friend."

"Thank you very much, Terui-san," Akechi says, smiling brightly as he slides his phone back into his pocket. "I'll definitely take the time to check it out while I'm in the area."

Akechi looks into the camera again, to really drive the point home, and Takuto's grip on the edge of the kitchen counter tightens.

Chapter Text

The next day, just before twelve, Takuto takes his cab and does a couple of runs up and down the street the Frostbucks is on. Slowing down to a crawl each time he passes the café, he does his best to peer into the interior, while also making sure he doesn't clip any of the other cars or pedestrians going about their business around him.

Unfortunately (and no matter how many times he tries), the bright, midday sun prevents him from seeing past the handful of tables that are right up against the window.

Akechi isn't at any of them.

If he’s even in the café at all.

Feeling resigned and slightly foolish, he turns the cab around again and drives back up the street to find a parking space. After pulling in and turning the engine off, he sits there for a moment, drumming his fingers along the arch of the steering wheel, and tries again to reason through Akechi's possible motivations for wanting to meet him here.

Not being completely in the dark about the nature of the kind of work Akechi used to do for Shido (and a handful of other powerful, terrible men) means that Takuto is under no illusions about what the boy is capable of. Still – and perhaps he's being naïve – he doesn't think that things are going to turn violent. Not physically, at least. Not when they're meeting in a public place, and in the real world rather than the Metaverse.

And if violence is unlikely to be on the cards, then the one possibility that he keeps coming back to – the one that first occurred to him last night, and the one that seems the most likely, given the circumstances – is that Akechi really has invited him here because he's looking for some kind of closure. Seeking an opportunity to vent any anger he might still be feeling at Takuto, either so that he can start to move on, or just so he can feel like he's taken back a little of the control he lost.

One thing that Takuto knows for sure, regardless of Akechi's intentions, is that it needs to be made clear to him that Rumi shouldn't be involved in any of it.

Leaving his driver's cap and gloves on the passenger seat, he takes a deep breath, gives himself one last look in the rearview mirror to psych himself up, and gets out of the car.

It's disorienting, walking down this street and stepping into this specific Frostbucks for the first time in years. The layout and decor of the café are still similar enough to be familiar, but simultaneously different enough to feel strange and wrong.

Although, it's difficult to tell just how much that's contributing to the unease he's feeling, when he's also dealing with the prickly, unpleasant sensation that comes with being watched.

And sure enough, once his eyes have adjusted to the interior lighting, he sees that Akechi really is here. Sitting at a four-seater table in the very back of the café, tucked right into the corner.

No wonder he hadn’t been able to tell he was here from outside.

Dressed similarly to what Takuto remembers from the one time he saw him outside the Metaverse at the start of the year, he's wearing a dark-coloured (navy this time, rather than deep green) sweater vest over a white button-up. An unusual choice, considering it's the beginning of June, and not exactly chilly out. There's even a thick coat draped over the bag on the seat beside him, and brown, leather gloves on his hands.

Takuto smiles and waves without really thinking about it, wanting to at least acknowledge Akechi as he moves to join the line of other customers at the counter. It isn't much of a surprise that the boy doesn’t return the gesture, or that he opts to just continue watching Takuto with a neutral, disinterested expression on his face. One that's somewhat betrayed by how intense his stare is, as he lifts and takes a slow, deliberate sip from his cup of coffee.

Only feeling slightly self-conscious (working at a high school for half a year means that he's become more than a little accustomed to teenagers rebuffing his attempts to be friendly), Takuto shrugs and slips his hand back into his pocket, jangling the keys in there absent-mindedly as he turns away and squints up at the menu board behind the register.

He's had the same order for years, long enough that he's seen the price increase to almost double what it was the first time he bought a Frostbucks matcha cream frappucino, so he doesn't actually need to scrutinise the list of drinks the way he's pretending to.

No, it's just a nice excuse to break eye contact.

From what he can still see in his peripheral vision, though, he's pretty sure Akechi continues on regardless. Attempting to unnerve and intimidate him by staring him down.

Honestly, the fact that Akechi's trying so hard to come across as threatening should probably help to settle his nerves.

It doesn't.

Which is why, once he's finished at the register and has to move to the side to wait for his order (he decided, on a whim, to grab a chocolate chip cookie to go with his coffee, and then another, just in case Akechi is also feeling peckish), he orients himself so that a group of college students are between him and the boy who still seems to be so very determined to bore a hole into him with his eyes.

They’re here right at the start of the lunch rush, so he's surprised and slightly dismayed when the girl behind the counter calls his name after only a couple of minutes. Thinking of Rumi (and the fact that Akechi seems to think that she's fair game) as he collects his coffee and snacks, Takuto swallows his anxiety, and starts walking.

"Good afternoon, Akechi-kun," he says, as he reaches the table. Being relatively confident that Akechi is probably planning on making things as awkward as possible, he takes a seat on the other side without waiting for an invitation to do so. "It's good to see you."

Despite his apprehension, and the circumstances, it’s the truth.

While waiting for his order, he’d wondered if Akechi would be content to just sit there, continuing to look for all the world like one of those surly, troubled kids who used to get marched down to his office by frustrated teachers at the end of their rope. The boy surprises him, however, by going in the other direction entirely. Smiling politely and returning his greeting with enthusiasm.

"And you, Maruki-san – thank you for coming at such short notice."

Takuto tilts his head to the side in mild confusion (and more than a little curiosity) at the abrupt change in the boy's demeanour. Unsure why he'd bother after being so openly hostile before. Particularly when even just the polite honorific sounds strange coming out of Akechi's mouth – totally at odds with the way Takuto remembers hearing his surname snarled and shrieked from the other side of the battlefield.

Perhaps this is a coping mechanism?

An attempt to catch him off guard?

Or just a simple desire to avoid making a scene?

"I don't think that anyone here is paying attention to us, Akechi-kun," Takuto starts, not quite able to help himself. He gestures with one hand at the bustling crowd around them while he slides a still-in-the-plastic cookie across the table with the other. "Why the act?"

Irritation flickers across Akechi's face, but it comes and goes so quickly that Takuto couldn't say for sure what it was about, specifically.

It could just be genuine dislike coming to the surface (it's not as if that's something Takuto would blame him for feeling), or – if his earlier guess was correct – a reaction to having a (possibly unconscious) strategy for coping with awkward social encounters called out.

Or maybe he just really doesn't like chocolate chip.

The only thing that's clear is how much Akechi doesn't want to be here, even though he was the one that arranged this meeting in the first place.

Takuto watches him take another long sip from his coffee. Probably a stall. Either to give himself time to find his composure again, or just to get back on script.

He doesn't know this boy well enough to be confident about the best way to proceed, so he decides to go with his gut.

And his immediate instinct is to try to keep Akechi on his toes.

"How is Amamiya-kun?"

The reaction is less extreme than Takuto was expecting: just a brief tightening of the fingers threaded through the handle of his cup, and a small quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Interesting.

If Amamiya isn't a sore topic for him, then that gives Takuto more than a little reason to believe that the two boys have already been back in contact.

That's good.

For many reasons.

And one of them, by far, is more relevant to his current situation than the others: Amamiya would never condone dragging an innocent person like Rumi into something like this. Not in a million years.

Would that be enough to influence Akechi’s own moral compass? It’s hard to say for sure – not when he’s still so unclear about the motivations involved – but still, the posturing around Rumi is starting to feel less like an immediate threat and more like a bluff.

"Ren is fine," Akechi says, all but confirming that they have been in touch. Still being polite, his tone stays light, conversational, but there's something hiding there, just underneath.

Protectiveness, perhaps?

Which is understandable, particularly given the feelings he knows they were both harbouring for each other. He hopes that they’ve made some progress on that front, now that they’ve been given the opportunity.

"I'm glad to hear that," Takuto says, genuinely. The urge to press a little more seems like a harmless enough thing to indulge himself in. "He must have been delighted to see you again."

“Of course he was,” Akechi snorts, a small, derisive sound that shows how little he thinks of this line of questioning. Tugging at the cuff of one of his sleeves, he smiles, knowing and humourless. "What's next? Are you going to ask how that makes me feel?"

Caught.

Takuto chuckles self-consciously and scratches at the scruff on his chin. "Maybe?"

Akechi doesn't look amused. "This isn't a therapy session, Maruki." Oh, and there goes the honorific. "I do not need – nor do I plan to – answer any of your personal questions."

Well, this is less than ideal.

Making sure that Akechi leaves this meeting feeling like he's resolved things (or resolved them enough that he'll leave Rumi alone, at least) is going to be more than a little difficult if he won't actually talk to him.

Less importantly, he's also disappointed that he's not going to be afforded the opportunity to ask Akechi about how exactly he's able to be here at all. A question of that magnitude being left up in the air is disheartening to say the least.

Though, born from that frustration, an idea comes to him.

A different angle he can try to take.

Akechi is being uncooperative and standoffish in his anger, understandably eager to retain control of their conversation. But Takuto knows that, underneath the hostility, he's also an incredibly bright boy, and with intelligence comes curiosity. That is something Takuto can appeal to.

If he can just get the ball rolling again, maybe they can still work through some of that anger.

"Ah, well, you know what they say about old habits…" That earns him another disdainful snort, but he presses on. "What if we evened the playing field a little? You must have questions that you've wanted to ask me?"

A long, tense moment passes, and Takuto feels a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck while Akechi appears to weigh the pros and cons of his offer.

"Alright," he sighs, eventually, and makes a show of checking the watch on his wrist. "I am still on the clock, technically, but if you're so intent on us catching up like this, Maruki, then I suppose that our other business can wait." What 'business'? Takuto wants to ask, but Akechi is still talking, and he has an inkling that he wouldn't get a straight answer, anyway. "That interrogation – the one that I sat through in December, just before the police let me go without so much as a slap on the wrist. What exactly was the point of that?"

"A-ah, well, I- Hmm," Takuto stops to clear his throat, trying to hide how thrown he is by the revelation that they're here for something other than Akechi seeking closure. The opportunity to talk shop with someone who actually understands is something that he's sorely missed, however, and it's hard not to jump at the chance. "Well, you see, the idea that you would be arrested was firmly implanted in Amamiya-kun's cognition, as well as in Prosecutor Niijima’s, once you stepped in to take his place."

Immediately (but reluctantly) engaged, Akechi leans forward in his seat. "You're saying that I needed to be arrested – despite the scope of your abilities – simply because it was what was expected?"

"Precisely!" Takuto feels his enthusiasm for the subject trying to run away with itself, and he hurries to rein it back in. "In the beginning, I had to work within the boundaries of other people's subconscious assumptions."

"Why not leave it at that, then?"

Takuto frowns. "I’m not sure that I follow…"

"The arrest, I mean," Akechi elaborates, surprisingly patient. "Why follow it up with an interrogation at all? Having a suspect released immediately after they confessed to multiple murders is something that seems somewhat incompatible with maintaining the status quo of humanity’s subconscious assumptions. It doesn’t make sense…" He pauses, and the thoughtful look in his eyes is joined by something piercing and intense. "Not unless there’s something you’re not telling me."

Ah, he knew the boy was sharp, but he still hadn't counted on him catching on quite so quickly.

"You really are incredibly perceptive-" Immediately, the expression on Akechi's face turns dark and thunderous, clearly having taken his genuine praise as condescension. Takuto scrambles to get back on track. “A-and, ah, of course, you're right. Just having the police detain you for a couple of days would probably have been enough to satisfy everyone’s expectations. At least until-”

“Until you’d mustered enough power to simply force the issue?”

It’s said in a sarcastic ‘gotcha’ kind of way, but that’s fine. As long as they’re still on-topic.

“That’s, um – That’s certainly one way to put it, but yes, essentially.”

“And the interrogation?”

“In the interest of fostering an open dialogue,” Takuto starts, ignoring how the boy scoffs under his breath, “I’ll admit that allowing the police to question you after your arrest wasn't just some oversight on my part. Truthfully, it was an opportunity. A chance for me to – ah, how should I put this…? Find an in."

"An 'in'?" Akechi asks, frowning and tilting his head to the side.

"It’s a concept that I’m sure you’re more than a little familiar with, Akechi-kun – how altering the cognition of the average person is surprisingly easy when you have the right tools. Interacting with them directly isn’t even necessary, in most cases. Just having access to their shadow is enough." Takuto pauses to drink a mouthful of his own coffee, and tries not to smile at the impatient way Akechi's eyes follow the movement of his cup. "Persona-users, on the other hand, are a different matter entirely."

Akechi squints at him suspiciously. "You didn't seem to have any issue brainwashing the rest of the Phantom Thieves, though, did you?"

Grimacing at the use of the word 'brainwashing', Takuto doesn't try to correct him. There's no point in getting bogged down in semantics.

Particularly when it really isn't all that far from the truth.

"Yes, well, you see, there was an initial… miscalculation – a variable that I failed to take into account, when I placed you at Shibuya Crossing on Christmas Eve,” Takuto sighs, and reaches up to readjust his glasses, where they’ve slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. "I already knew that you had the same power as your friends, of course, but at the time, that hadn't seemed like much of a concern. Accessing their subconscious desires was difficult, but not impossible, and I made the assumption that the same would hold true for you."

"An assumption that proved to be incorrect, quite clearly," Akechi mutters, stroking at his chin with his thumb. "Though it pains me to say it, I can see how you arrived at that conclusion. What was the variable you failed to account for?"

"Ultimately, it all came down to cognition,” Takuto chuckles, tapping his temple with his index finger twice for emphasis. “I realised that the reason I'd had more success with your friends was simply because I'd already sat down with each of them, one on one, and been given, ah, permission, as it were… I thought that if I could just get you to open up, even if I had to frame it as a police interrogation…" he trails off with a small shrug, letting the boy fill in the blanks.

"You'd have your 'in'," Akechi sneers, his scowl deepening when Takuto nods. Even now, with his anger reignited, there's still a bright spark of interest clear in his eyes. "If you had everything so figured out, why didn’t it work?"

Takuto pushes at a cookie crumb absent-mindedly with his knuckle. It slips into an old crack in the wood of the table. “I can’t say for sure…”

“But you have an idea?” Takuto nods again, and Akechi raises his eyebrows in an unimpressed, but still clearly expectant, way. “Let’s hear it then.”

“My current working hypothesis is that it has something to do with possessing more than one persona. It's the only thing that would account for why Amamiya-kun was similarly unaffected by my actualisation," Takuto explains, becoming more and more lost in theory with each word that leaves his mouth. "If we assume that an individual's shadow is a manifestation of the self, and a persona symbolises the acceptance of – or the ability to harness – that same self, then it follows that someone in possession of multiple personas might be more resistant to cognitive suggestion. Particularly in the beginning, when my power wasn't quite as, ah, potent."

Akechi blinks at him a couple of times and then grins, wide and vicious. "It's funny, I don't think you even realise what you just admitted to."

Bewildered, he opens his mouth to ask for clarification, but Akechi beats him to it.

"Ren – as determined as he always is to see the good in everyone – is so quick to give you the benefit of the doubt. I, on the other hand, have never been quite so convinced, and with good reason, apparently! To think, you made it seem like you were presenting him with a choice out of respect, but really, the only reason you didn't force him – force all of us – to submit from the very beginning is because you couldn't!" Akechi slaps the table with his palm to punctuate the last word, making the coffee cups jump and clink against their saucers, and Takuto can't help but also jolt in his seat. "All that talk about us taking a few days to 'experience all that the new reality had to offer', ostensibly so that we could make a more informed decision, was just some bullshit stalling tactic! Keeping us busy – buying as much time as you could – all while you grew fat on the public's desires-"

This is rapidly spiralling out of control, he needs to do something. "Akechi-kun, th-that's not-"

"Oh? I thought that we were having an open dialogue?" Akechi throws a lilting, jeering mockery of his own words back at him, effectively steam rolling any argument he might have made in favour of changing the subject. "If you were being genuine, then you'll allow me to finish, surely?"

Trapped, Takuto swallows and gestures for the boy to continue.

"Tell me then, Maruki, if there had been no battle to decide things – if, let's say, Ren had refused outright to fight – what would have happened when we reached your deadline?"

It's a loaded question, one that he isn't sure how to answer. Not when the truth of the matter is one of the many things that still keeps him up at night. "Am I to assume, in this hypothetical, that Amamiya-kun would still be quite adamant about returning the world to its unmodified state?"

Akechi rests one elbow on the table so that he can prop his chin up with the heel of his hand. He’s smiling again, only this time it’s indulgent and deceptively sweet. "Naturally."

It's difficult to put it into words – hampered by the disconnect that comes with knowing that he would have done something so readily that he now finds entirely and completely repulsive, but they’ve come this far, and Takuto knows that he has to try anyway. For Rumi, yes, but also for all the others that he's hurt. Akechi included.

“It’s no excuse, of course, but given my, ah, mental state at the time, I-” He pauses to swallow another mouthful of coffee, trying to shift the lump that's formed in his throat. “I imagine that I would have tried to rationalise the difference in our opinions as being a direct result of his age – that his youth was what was preventing him from truly being able to see what was best for him, or for everyone else, and having amassed the power necessary to do so, I would have taken matters into my own hands…”

“You’d have ensured that the silly little boy made the 'right' choice, regardless of whether he actually wanted to or not?"

Takuto's eyes drop to where his hands are folded on the table in front of him, and Akechi takes it for the admission that it is, letting out a short bark of laughter that sounds equal parts appalled and amused.

"You know, maybe there actually is something to your particular brand of prying, after all, Maruki. Certainly, this conversation has been far more enlightening – or therapeutic – than I was expecting it to be."

It's a far cry from how Takuto wanted to get here, but the conversation has still been productive, in its own way. If nothing else, Akechi seems to be enjoying himself.

"Is that so…?"

"Yes, it is – and actually, why don't we really lean into the therapy angle and have a talk about some of your other issues? I'm sure it'll do wonders for you – to be able to get everything else off your chest."

The sarcasm doesn't really feel necessary, but the opportunity to revel in his misery seems to be the only attractive thing that he's brought to the table, so he goes along with it. "I'm more than happy to answer any other questions, Akechi-kun. If you have them."

And he definitely has them, Takuto thinks, as he watches the boy hum thoughtfully and tap his finger against his chin, as if there isn't already something (probably unpleasant) burning on the tip of his tongue.

"Hmm, I think we should start with how, in your ideal reality, you made sure to rehabilitate all of the shitty assholes that had their hearts changed by the Phantom Thieves. Well, almost all of them…" He pauses, presumably for dramatic effect. "I can’t imagine it was an accident, leaving the one that had wronged you personally to rot in prison, while all of the others went free."

"You're right," Takuto sighs and holds up his hands. It’s another thing he's spent a lot of time thinking over himself, and it's true. There's no point in denying it. "I'd never have admitted it at the time, of course, but I wanted Shido to suffer for my own selfish reasons."

Akechi falters slightly at his easy acknowledgement, mouth twisting unhappily at the corners, probably more than a little disappointed that he didn't get another overtly emotional reaction, but he regains his composure again almost immediately.

It makes Takuto wonder just how many of these barbs he has locked and loaded, and if, maybe, he should have acted like this one affected him more.

The next might not be so easy to shrug off.

His suspicions are confirmed the second that the boy opens his mouth again.

"It was all over your Palace, so I know what happened to Terui-san. Such a terrible tragedy, truly…" Akechi sounds genuinely sympathetic, but there's still something bright and sharp dancing in his eyes. "I do have to wonder, though, what a more competent mental health professional might have to say about the way you projected onto Ren so hard that you tried to turn me into his version of her? A helpless victim-" Akechi spits the word. "-for him to save?"

It feels like the temperature in the café has suddenly plummeted. "That's not exactly how I would have phrased-"

"But it's true, isn't it?" Akechi cuts across him, words coming out in a poisonous hiss. "You wanted Ren to have what you couldn't, and it didn't matter in the slightest how I felt about it!"

Takuto winces and stares balefully back at the angry, seething boy in front of him, thinking about how he should probably try to reel things back in a bit… but as his mind bounces from de-escalation technique to de-escalation technique, he realises that he can't think of anything that wouldn't also probably make the situation worse.

"For what it’s worth, I'm sorry," he says anyway.

Akechi's upper lip twitches, hitching up into a silent sneer as he looks away and brings his coffee cup up to his mouth again. Either to try to hide how he's feeling, or just to disengage.

It seems to be the latter. Things go quiet after that, and it doesn't feel like a good idea to try to push again, so Takuto just takes another bite of his cookie and waits.

Even though they both know several deeply personal things about each other, Takuto really can’t claim to know this boy very well, but nevertheless, he still has the distinct impression that Akechi isn't the type of person who can just sit comfortably in silence. In fact, he realises that he remembers Rumi saying something similar – about the orderly that turned out to be Akechi – and it's only minutes later when they’re both seemingly proven right.

"You know," Akechi starts, and he sounds calm again, conversational, with almost no trace of the simmering rage that had been threatening to bubble over only a few moments ago. Despite how stressful and unpleasant things are right now, Takuto finds his professional curiosity piqued again. It really is fascinating, just how easily this boy switches between hot and cold anger – the way he appears to be able to turn his control on and off like a tap. Superficially, at least. "I've come to realise something, in the time that I've been speaking with Terui-san."

Rumi's name being brought up for a second time is enough to break through his musings, and remind him that there might be more at stake here than just his feelings.

"Please, can’t we leave her out of this?"

He knows how hypocritical the words are, even as they leave his lips, and the way that Akechi's mouth has turned up at the corners in a cruel, humourless curve means that he's probably thinking the same thing.

"Oh, don't worry," he says, with a quick, dismissive wave of his hand. "It's not Terui-san's character that I'm planning on calling into question here. It's just that, well, after spending the time that I have with her, I can't help but notice just how much she and Yoshizawa-san look alike… Would you say, perhaps, that you have a type?"

Takuto recoils in his seat, feeling the blood drain from his face and then come rushing back in just as fast. "How dare you insinuate-!"

And Akechi is laughing at him. A harsh, uneven sound that’s only a stone’s throw away from a cackle. "Oh, if only you could see the look on your face!"

Takuto is left reeling with the shift – anger spluttering and stalling like an old lighter, as confusion and nausea rush in to take over instead.

"I wasn’t being serious – do you honestly think that Ren and I would have left her in your Palace if we actually thought you were some kind of disgusting pervert?" Akechi laughs again, dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a napkin, and Takuto has to imagine that some of the people in the café around them must be staring by now. He feels too sick to care. "Good for you, though! You can still get angry, after all! I wasn't sure if we'd scooped that out of you, along with all your drive and ambition, when we changed your heart."

Heart pounding in his chest, pulse blaring in his ears, Takuto tries to remind himself that all that's really happened here is that he stumbled directly into a trap that he'd happily helped Akechi set for him. But even with that rationalisation, it still takes a long moment before he feels like he can speak again.

"Are you done?"

The boy across from him looks incredibly pleased with himself, eyes sparkling with mean-spirited amusement. "Quite."

Wary of saying anything else that might blow up in his face, Takuto just exhales slowly and waits. Watching as Akechi finally picks his neglected cookie up off the table, and how he unwraps it carefully – almost obsessively so – before breaking a piece off and popping it into his mouth.

Maybe it’s the sugar, but Akechi’s expression noticeably softens as he chews, and when he opens his mouth to speak again, the worst of the nastiness seems to have dissipated.

"I didn't actually come here to torment you, Maruki," he says. "Despite how enjoyable it’s been, and how much we both know you deserve it."

Honestly, with everything that's happened, Takuto had almost forgotten about the 'business' that was mentioned earlier. "Why are we here, then?"

"The job market is especially difficult to navigate at the moment, I’ve heard. How have you been finding it?" Caught off guard again, Takuto goggles at him, mouth agape, and Akechi blinks back at him in false surprise. "Oh, it's been going that well?"

"No – no it hasn't," he manages, once his brain catches up, and he finds his voice again. "And I can see that you already knew that… somehow…" Then he remembers how Akechi mentioned, earlier, that he was 'still on the clock'. "Who exactly do you work for, Akechi-kun? Not the hospital, clearly."

"No," he chuckles, "not the hospital."

"Then who?"

"We'll get to that, don't worry," Akechi answers, cryptically, as he reaches into one of the pockets of the jacket beside him and pulls out a smart, leather wallet. Slipping a business card out of one of the plastic windows inside it, he makes no move to pass it to Takuto, setting it face-down beside his almost-empty cup instead. "I have an offer to make you, on behalf of my employer. It would not be an exaggeration to say that it's generous enough for you to be able to afford Terui-san's fees. Easily, and for life."

"For life?"

It sounds too good to be true, Takuto doesn't say, but it's like Akechi hears him think it anyway.

"I didn't recommend you for this position out of the kindness of my heart, you understand? There is something that I will need from you in return."

"If it's for Rumi, I'll do anything."

"I know," Akechi says, smiling as he flips the card over and slides it across the table. Takuto recognises the logo in the corner as belonging to the Kirijo Group, but honestly, that just raises more questions than it answers. "I'm counting on it."

Chapter Text

Goro is just sliding his shiny new key into the old (and decidedly less shiny) lock on the outside of Leblanc's door when his phone starts buzzing.

Shifting the thick manila folder he's carrying into the crook of his arm, he shimmies his phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his face in the dark as he turns the key.

Flashing insistently at him, in time with the phone's vibration, is Sae's name.

No surprise there.

After dragging the green icon up the screen to answer the call, he wedges the phone awkwardly between his jaw and one shoulder, and pushes the door open with the other.

"Hello?" he says, wincing as the café's bell jangles loudly above him, unnecessarily announcing his arrival to the empty building. This is only his fourth night staying in Leblanc as Sakura's new ward, but he already wants to ask if there's some way to disengage the annoying, tinkly thing outside business hours.

"How did it go?" Sae asks, not even bothering to return his greeting. Straight to the point as always.

"Kirijo-san certainly is a force to be reckoned with, isn't she?" he chuckles, and Sae laughs too – a soft huff of breath that's full of fond understanding. Goro slips into the booth closest to the door (not wanting to risk navigating the stairs when his hands are so full), and sets the folder down on the table. Readjusting his grip on the phone, he reaches up to loosen his tie with his now-free hand. "She was quite, ah, insistent."

And not in a desperate way either, no. She’d made it seem like his working for the Kirijo Group was a foregone conclusion – an inevitability – a question of when rather than if. And while he couldn't say exactly what his expectations were, going into that dinner meeting, Mitsuru Kirijo had still managed to subvert them entirely.

Perhaps his opinion of people born into money had been too skewed by the gaggle of wealthy sycophants that used to trail behind his father. None of their unearned titles, or riches, had ever prevented them from whining and begging at Shido’s heels for scraps of the validation their own parents never truly gave them.

The only exception to the rule, in his experience, has been Haru Okumura, but even then, she’s always been clearly out of her element. Stepping up to run Okumura Foods out of a desire to make things right, rather than out of any genuine aptitude for business, or its cut-throat nature.

An idealistic girl thrown into the deep end and left to sink or swim with all the big fish.

By comparison, and even after only one meeting, Goro can easily see that – superficial similarities aside – Kirijo couldn’t be more different.

That not only is she one of those big fish, she’s a fucking shark.

"Mitsuru only gets like that when it comes to something that she really wants," Sae says, and Goro thinks about how much sense it makes that these two women became friends. Their backgrounds might be different, but they both possess the same drive, the same ambition, and all the focus needed to follow through. "You must have made a good impression."

Goro knows he did – of course he did – and he says as much (an assertion that earns him an exasperated, uncharacteristically inelegant, bark of a laugh), but he has a sneaking suspicion that first impressions might not have actually been all that important. That, even if he had come across as a crass buffoon, it wouldn’t have made a significant difference to how desirable he was. "Kirijo-san didn't come right out and say it, but I think they need people."

“What makes you say that?”

During the meeting, Kirijo asked him if he had ever heard of something called 'the dark hour', and, after declining to elaborate any further when he admitted that he hadn't, she’d then gone on to explain how Palaces and Mementos are relatively recent additions to the cognitive realm.

"The Metaverse used to be quite different from its current form, apparently… It's only logical to assume that any recent hands-on experience would make an applicant more attractive."

“I see…” Sae mutters, making an unhappy, thoughtful sound as she trails off, and Goro wonders if she's also thinking about the fact that they're both personally acquainted with several people that fit that description. One of which, obviously, is her younger sister. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"I told her that I needed time to think about it."

"And that doesn't answer my question, Akechi-kun."

"No, I suppose that it doesn't," Goro sighs, and opens the folder on the table in front of him, running his thumb along the edge of the stack of papers inside. His contract of employment is on top, still unsigned, and he knows there’s also a lengthy non-disclosure agreement underneath. “It’s too good of an offer to pass up, we both know that.”

Genuinely. The salary outlined in the contract is almost suspiciously generous (more than most college graduates in Sae’s field make), and he's been promised more, depending on his performance.

Whatever exactly that entails.

“But you still have misgivings?”

Goro closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose.

It would be difficult to explain to her why he doesn’t feel like he really has much of a choice in the matter, or even the specifics about why he’s so sure that throwing his lot in with the Kirijo Group is his best (and perhaps only) bet when it comes to regaining access to the Metaverse.

Sae might have some understanding of the general mechanics of the Metaverse now – after everything that happened last November – but even so… The fact that his decision-making is being heavily influenced by a vague tip from the mystical bellboy that appears in his dreams (and on a bizarre, blue version of the TV set in Akasaka Mitsuke no less), seems like a good way to convince her that he’s gone completely and utterly insane.

"Just nerves, I think," he lies, rather than even trying to get bogged down in the ludicrous-sounding details. Ultimately, it's not as if his reasoning matters. The end result is the same. "Do you think we can meet to go over the legal documentation?"

Sae hums thoughtfully, like she's turning her calendar over in her head. "I should be free before dinner time tomorrow – let's say four o'clock… Should I meet you at Leblanc?"

It's not as if he has anywhere else to be.

And that's just one more thing that makes the contract in front of him more appealing than it probably should be. Goro has no plan, no strategy, not even the slightest wisp of an idea about what he's going to do with himself going forward.

(Planning for a future that he never thought he’d live to see hadn’t exactly been a priority.)

Higher education is still something he'd like to pursue – now that he's been given the opportunity – but he doesn't want to have to settle for the one law school he took the entrance exam for last year. Which means he's stuck treading water until January, when the bulk of the other universities hold their exams.

There are plenty of other, far more mundane, jobs that he could apply for, he's sure, but he also knows that working as a sales assistant, or a barista, or something else equally normal and boring, wouldn't be enough.

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t miss the Metaverse, or that he isn’t champing at the bit to test out his new abilities, but even without that proverbial carrot dangling in front of his nose, Goro can’t help but be tempted by the simple promise of a challenge.

The past couple of days have seen him do nothing more ambitious than clean the café, fail spectacularly at brewing a cup of coffee, and exercise himself into a coma.

It's already driving him crazy.

"Yes, I'll be here. Thank you, Sae-san."

***

Once again – and almost exactly one week later – Goro's phone comes to life in his pocket just as he's about to open the front door of the café.

The similarities to the other night end there, however. His hands aren’t anywhere near as full, for one thing, but more importantly, while he is always happy to talk to Sae, he's far more enthusiastic about the fact that his caller ID shows Ren's name this time.

Already grinning like the lovestruck fool that he is, Goro hurries to answer the phone as he turns the key in the lock. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Ren says, soft and simple. His voice is stupidly deep and rich in person, but it's something that's always been accentuated when it’s being piped directly into Goro’s ear. At least now, he doesn’t have to twist himself into knots to try and explain away the butterflies in his stomach when he hears it. "How was your first day, Mr. Salaryman?"

"You're ridiculous," Goro scoffs, equal parts fond and derisive, "and wrong – given the fact that ‘salaryman’ is a term used to describe a white-collar worker. I hardly think that what I'm doing now falls under that umbrella. Well, not officially, at least."

There’s a note on the bar, the corner of it caught under the edge of a book, and it flutters a little as Goro passes it on his way to the stairs. He doesn’t need to stop and read the (surprisingly elegant) loop of Sojiro Sakura’s handwriting to know – with some degree of certainty – what it says. It's not the first time the man has left such a note for him, after all. Each one of them a small and inexplicably thoughtful reminder that he’s free to help himself to whatever’s in the fridge.

As long as he doesn’t touch the ingredients meant for tomorrow’s curry.

Or attempt to cook with anything other than the newly-purchased microwave.

(A fair request, given what happened the last time he tried.)

"Mm-mmh, yeah," Ren hums. "All I'm hearing is that I used the right term. Officially."

Goro snorts under his breath as he steps up into the attic-proper. "Touché."

The floorboards creak under his feet as he makes his way to Ren’s old ‘bed’ (number one on the list of things he plans to replace once he receives his first paycheck), and sits down heavily on the edge of the sagging, uneven mattress.

"Really, though… how was it?"

"Fine, I suppose?” Goro replies, leaning down to unlace his shoes with his free hand, and taking a second to consider the question as he toes them off absent-mindedly. “My expectations were low going in, so it wasn’t exactly difficult to exceed them. I wouldn’t describe filling out paperwork and being pressed for details about my experience with the Metaverse as particularly difficult.”

Or even unfamiliar.

It’s almost exactly the same thing, in fact, that he’d done a hundred times for the benefit of the cognitive psience people that worked under Shido.

“Did they give you a way to get into the Metaverse?”

It’s asked casually, offhandedly – Ren is the master of nonchalance, after all – but Goro can still hear the giddy excitement hidden underneath the question all the same.

Adorable.

It’s such a pity that he’ll have to disappoint him.

“No, not yet.”

"Oh…" A pause. "That sucks."

“Yes – yes, it does,” Goro chuckles, and lies back on the bed, deciding as he does that he’d rather change the subject to something more interesting. “And when you've put it so eloquently, I really must insist we switch to video-”

“Yeah?”

“-so that we can revise, and hopefully expand, your vocabulary.”

“Oh, I definitely need some intensive tutori- Shit, wait, Morgana’s asleep under the blanket at the end of my bed-” Goro hears some rustling, and then the muffled sound of the cat grumbling (‘I’m going! I’m going! Jeez!’) as he’s shooed out of the room. When Ren comes back on the line, his voice is full of barely-contained laughter. “He’s pretty steamed that I woke him up – you don’t actually want to study, right?”

Running his fingers over his belt buckle, Goro hums thoughtfully. “You’ll just have to turn your camera on and find out, won't you?”

***

After having to double back over himself twice, Goro finally swipes his rail pass across the scanner on the turnstile and half-jogs down the concrete stairs that lead to his platform. He’s not running late, as such – or he wouldn’t be, if half the goddamned station hadn’t been blocked off this morning for emergency maintenance work.

The smooth sole of one of his dress shoes squelches and skids in a puddle of something on the last step. The only thing that saves him is reflex, shifting his weight to his other foot and using the momentum to regain his balance and keep moving. It’s still a close thing, though, and the warning twinge that shoots up his leg as he turns on his heel tells him that he's probably lucky that he didn't wind up with a twisted ankle.

Even so, there’s no time to stop.

Not even to examine (and catalogue, for any complaints he might need to make) whatever slop he almost went ass-up in.

Because his train is already at the platform.

He has to dip and weave through the other commuters to do it, but just manages to squeeze through the doors as they slide closed. Feeling extremely fucking frazzled, he runs a hand through his hair and looks around the car as he tries to catch his breath. There are no seats available (unsurprisingly), but it’s not too crowded otherwise, and he’s able to secure a favourable spot to stand, right beside a handrail.

Bruised ankle and potentially ruined shoe notwithstanding, the important thing is that he made it.

Tardiness is unacceptable at the best of times, but it’s particularly egregious, Goro thinks, when you’ve only been working somewhere for… What? A little over a month?

Has it really been that long already?

He tots up the dates in his head – yes, almost five weeks of gainful employment.

And his ticket back into the Metaverse has yet to materialise.

Still, Goro can’t quite find it in himself to mind. Not when working for the Kirijo Group has continued to be both far simpler and less morally repulsive than he'd feared.

At least so far.

It helps, of course, that it’s also been surprisingly intriguing.

Back when he was still working with Shido's conspiracy, the academic side of cognitive psience, as a field, had never particularly piqued his interest. Truly, he’d been far more concerned with the practical, life or death side of things.

For obvious reasons.

Some of that indifference had been, at least in part, down to how unpleasant most of Shido's people were to work with, but also because – even if he had wanted to – he was never really afforded the opportunity to engage with the researchers in any meaningful way.

Unless they absolutely had to, Shido didn’t want them talking to each other. Not freely anyway, preferring to use middlemen and paperwork to enforce a distance that Goro had, originally, chalked up to simple paranoia on Shido’s part.

In hindsight, however, he wonders if it was to ensure that he didn't get wind of whatever conditioning they were putting Shido through to twist his cognitive version of Goro into a nasty little snare.

A snare that would have been easily shrugged off under normal circumstances, of course, but its effectiveness had certainly increased when, to protect Ren, Goro had happily looped it around his own neck.

…

He blinks and realises that his hand has gone to his chest of its own volition, applying steady pressure to the centre of his breastbone, as if he were nursing a sudden and particularly unpleasant bout of heartburn. Or, he imagines, that must be how it looks, given the way he’s being watched by the two young women on the other side of the car. Both of them eyeing him with a mixture of concern and hungry hopefulness that makes him pray to any god that will listen that they don’t decide to approach him.

A smile pulls at the corners of his lips, small and rueful, as he allows himself to imagine the looks on their faces if he were to tell them the truth. That the only pain in his chest is a ghost, a phantom – a mismatch of memory that requires the occasional affirmation that he hasn’t somehow missed the ragged bullet wound that should, by all rights, still be in the centre of his chest.

It wasn’t his intention, necessarily, but some of how he’s feeling must be outwardly obvious (either in his expression, or his overall body language), because while the pair of women continue to whisper conspiratorially to each other about him, there’s also an air of wariness about them now. An understanding, perhaps, that he might not be as receptive to their advances as they had assumed when they first laid eyes on him.

One of the many bonuses that comes with no longer having to simper and coyly bat his eyelashes for the benefit of the general public.

Crossing his arms and turning away from them for good measure, he thinks about whether what happened in the engine room might be worth bringing up at work.

Weaponising an individual's cognition as a sort of internal security system certainly seems like the kind of thing they'd be interested in.

***

The first time that the idea of bringing more persona-users into the fold comes up (from one of Mitsuru Kirijo’s aides, rather than the woman herself, thankfully), Goro fobs the suggestion off by trotting out the little speech he and Sae prepared together for that precise situation.

Standing there, making a case for why Ren and his friends should at least be afforded the opportunity to complete their education before being headhunted, Goro can’t help but think that he's still not sure if he necessarily agrees with Sae's take on things. She’s of the opinion that the others should avoid signing up for anything at all, if they can. An unrealistic expectation, probably born from the fact that she doesn’t know just how difficult it is, readjusting to a normal life, after being in the Metaverse – but still, he has to admit that it does seem prudent to wait until they have a better idea of the exact nature of the work that’s being done here before he starts collecting those generous referral fees.

By the time he gets down off his soapbox (summoning righteous indignation regarding something he doesn’t actually have any strong feelings about is a skill that still comes easily to him), the aide seems suitably chastened, and doesn't try to push the issue any further.

This time.

No matter how convincing his (or Sae’s) argument was, Goro's sure the restraint won't hold forever.

It's only a formality, after all. There's nothing stopping them from approaching any of the Phantom Thieves directly themselves, other than, perhaps, Kirijo's own affection for Sae.

It’s only that evening, as he gets ready for bed, that it occurs to him that there is actually a third option available. Another candidate that fits the bill. Someone who not only has a persona and recent experience with the Metaverse, but also a background in cognitive psience.

Takuto fucking Maruki.

To say that it’s not a welcome realisation would be an understatement.

And one that, for the moment, he resolves to keep to himself. Right up until he gets pulled into the Velvet Room and is made very aware of the fact that it’s not, apparently, going to be his choice to make.

***

“Let me get this straight-“ Goro pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, while Theodore smiles politely and apologetically at him from across the deep blue TV set. “-your master – to whom I owe a great debt – is not recovering the way that you had hoped he would?”

Theodore nods.

“And you feel that the best way to help him is to find ‘the one who temporarily held The God of Control’s power’, yes?”

Theodore nods again.

Goro feels his eyebrow twitch. “And that just happens to be Takuto Maruki?”

“That is correct.”

“And then what?” he snaps, only realising that he's crossed the line from 'peeved' to outright 'antagonistic' when Theodore becomes flustered and starts trying to smooth things over.

“It is not ideal, I know-"

What is it about this fucking place that makes him so shit at hiding how he's feeling?

Forcing himself to relax – outwardly at least – Goro lifts a hand to stop Theodore’s scrambling, then schools his expression into something suitably contrite. “I’m sorry for reacting so… poorly,” he says, and even means it. Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to help anything. “My anger is not directed at you, and I shouldn’t have behaved as if it was.”

“That is quite alright, my treasured guest,” Theodore smiles, almost indulgently. “Some emotional distress is more than understandable, given what is being asked of you.”

Oh great, now he’s being pitied.

"That’s the thing, you see, I’m not entirely sure what you’re asking of me."

“Only that you bring the man to us-” Theodore gestures with one hand towards the usually-empty chairs in the audience, and Goro comes very close to jumping in his own seat when he sees that the other attendants are suddenly sitting in the centre row. Elizabeth even waves cheekily at him. What the fuck? Have they been there the entire time? “My sisters and I will take care of the rest.”

“Forgive me, Theo,” Goro starts, pushing through the shock to actually turn what Theodore said over in his head. “But I’m still unclear on one important detail… How exactly am I to achieve that? I have no means to reach this place of my own accord, and even when I’ve been summoned here, it’s never been outside of my own dreams. Surely, you can see how that presents a problem with your request?”

Back in March, when Goro had first woken up here, Ren escorted him back to reality through a door that only he could see. Entering and exiting the Velvet Room at will is obviously possible.

They just haven't seen fit to give Goro the ability to do it.

For whatever reason…

He's trying not to read too much into it – particularly when he's sure it's a privilege that he's about to be granted – but it's difficult, even now, not to feel somewhat bitter.

“You have yet to give him a key, Little Brother?” Elizabeth all but jeers, gloved hands cupped around her mouth to amplify her heckling.

“I-I was just about to get to that, Sister…” Theodore has turned crimson. The colour clashes terribly with his outfit. “If you would only give me a moment.”

Goro watches him reach into his jacket – hand trembling with embarrassment – as he retrieves something (presumably the key that Elizabeth just mentioned) from the inside pocket, and then proceeds to fumble it so badly that it almost falls to the floor.

It’s hard not to derive some amusement from just how badly he’s fucking up a reveal he, in all likelihood, spent an age preparing for. Still, showing it would probably be poor form, so Goro brings a fist up to his mouth, clearing his throat into it and hopefully covers the mean-spirited laugh that wants to come up instead.

Even Lavenza seems to be having trouble keeping her composure, and Goro can remember just how stone-faced she had been, the last time he saw her.

(Until Ren had shown up, of course.)

Seeming somewhat deflated, Theodore places the key down on the table between them.

It’s deceptively normal looking, all things considered, and Goro realises that he was half expecting some ornate, old-fashioned thing. That, perhaps, the item’s mystical nature would be reflected in its construction in some way, but no – the only thing that makes it stand out from every other key that Goro has ever had on his keychain is how it catches the light.

Something that only becomes more apparent when he picks it up and turns it over in his hand, watching as the otherwise unremarkable copper plating takes on a distinctive blue hue.

“How do I use it?”

“There are, ah, doors dotted throughout your realm,” Theodore says, having regained enough of his composure that he only stammers slightly as he does. “This key will allow you to perceive – and more importantly – access them.”

Yes, that certainly goes a way to explaining how Ren had been able to walk them right through a brick wall.

“So, just to be clear, I have to bring Maruki to one of these doors-”

“You do not have to,” Margaret corrects him, and that should probably leave him feeling annoyed again, but well, there really is something about her that makes him think of his mother. It's difficult to take her interruption as anything other than a sincere attempt to help. “It is important that you undertake this task of your own volition.”

“With all due respect, Margaret-san,” Goro replies, choosing his words carefully. “I have never left a debt unpaid, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Very good,” she says, smiling warmly. Something twists in his chest. "I am impressed with the strength of your conviction."

Turning back to Theodore (before he does something embarrassing, like becoming noticeably misty eyed), Goro tries again to hammer out the details. "Once I have – of my own free will, of course – brought Maruki to one of these doors, I just – what? Leave him in your capable hands?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"It would be remiss of me if I didn't inquire as to what exactly it is you're planning to do with him…" Or more, Ren would probably be quite unhappy with him, if he didn't at least try to find out what's involved in the process before he hand-delivers Maruki right to these beings. "Is that something you can tell me?"

There's a pause, one in which a normal group of people might share a look – or even stop to confer on the matter – but if any of the attendants communicate in any way, Goro doesn't see or hear it.

Even so, and despite the fact that he addressed the question to Theodore, it's Lavenza who stands up and speaks. Like Margaret before her, the little girl's voice carries far too well for someone so far away from the stage. Normally a microphone would be required, but of all the rules broken in this space, this seems like a relatively minor one.

"Yaldabaoth took a great deal of our master's power for itself when it sealed him away. Power that should have been returned to him upon the God of Control's defeat. However-"

"It was transferred to Maruki instead," Goro prompts, slightly impatient. He appreciates that sometimes things need to be repeated for the sake of context, but still, this seems unnecessary.

Lips pursed disapprovingly, Lavenza nods. "Then, despite already being in possession of a Palace, that man fully awakened to his persona."

Elizabeth picks the explanation up without missing a single beat. "An impossibility in the Cognitive Realm's current state. One that has allowed him to retain a remnant of our master's power, even after having his distorted desires excised."

"It lies dormant within him still," Theodore continues. "Yet, you need not worry – extracting it will cause him no harm, to either his physical body or soul."

Goro's not quite sure if he's disappointed or relieved.

"He will, however," Margaret adds, her grave tone implying that she's about to announce a particularly dire consequence, "lose the ability to ever access his persona again."

Oh.

Well, isn't that something?

Biting the inside of his cheek to stop the grin that's trying to form on his face, Goro blinks and frowns in what he hopes looks like sincere dismay.

"That is unfortunate, truly, but if it's what must be done to save your master, then it is a sacrifice worth making."

***

Waking up the next morning, filled with a sense of purpose that he hasn't had in weeks (or even months), Goro sets about working through the details of what he'll need to do to coax Maruki to one of these doors.

He no longer has the comprehensive set of notes he'd compiled while investigating Maruki in January – given that, technically, he never actually wrote them down in the first place – but regardless, he still recalls most of the important information.

How much of it is still relevant will remain to be seen, but Maruki's apartment seems as good a place to start as any.

And if the man is actually there?

Well, there is, of course, the non-zero chance that he could just approach Maruki outright, frame things as an opportunity for him to atone, and resolve the entire thing in an afternoon.

But, he thinks, as he warms up for his morning cycle, where exactly would be the fun in that?

Chapter Text

That evening, after work, Goro gets on a different train than usual – one that goes in the exact opposite direction of Yongen-Jaya – and, after a moment's deliberation, pulls his phone out of his pocket. Bringing up his call history, he taps the third number down the list.

The phone only rings twice before it's answered. "Leblanc."

"Good evening, Sakura-san. I wanted to let you know that I'll be back late today."

"They're really workin' you hard, huh?" Sakura asks, with a small and sympathetic chuckle. "Just make sure you take some time to eat – I don't want to have to drag your ass over to that doctor if you pass out in the middle of my café, you hear me?"

Still unaccustomed to the simple fact that someone actually gives a shit about his well-being (and trying, unsuccessfully, not to think about the fact that he still doesn’t understand why Sakura cares), Goro has to swallow around the lump in his throat before he trusts himself to answer.

"Of course, Sakura-san. I'll see you in the morning."

***

One short train journey later, Goro finds himself pretending to browse a crate of sad-looking vegetables in the discount bin outside a small convenience store. It's a good vantage point, one that leaves him with an unobstructed view of the outside walkway of the apartment block across the street, and most importantly, the row of doors that open out onto it.

The last one on the left is Takuto Maruki's apartment.

Or, more accurately, it was his apartment.

If the pair of young women that just unlocked the door and walked inside are any indicator, at least.

And well, that certainly narrows down his list of options going forward, doesn't it?

Leaving the bruised turnips to decompose in peace, he crosses the street, scales the steps at the side of the building, and half-jogs up to the door.

The shorter of the two women answers when he rings the doorbell. Probably somewhere in her early twenties, and even more diminutive up close, it's no surprise that she's wary, or that she's elected to keep the chain on the door engaged as she peers up at him.

"I'm very sorry for disturbing you," he says, smiling his very best, most disarming smile. "I was wondering if you could help me with something?"

"With what?" she asks, sounding unsure.

It's not at all difficult to come up with a cover story on the spot, particularly when Maruki's background provides him with, essentially, the perfect material to work with. "My school counsellor used to live here, you see, and his advice got me through an extremely difficult time. I was hoping to speak with him again, but I can see that he doesn't live here anymore… His name is Takuto Maruki. I don't suppose you happen to have a phone number, or even a forwarding address for him?"

Dropping Maruki's name seems to have done the trick. Most of the suspicion on her face has given way to a general anxiousness that might very well just be this woman's default disposition.

"Hang on, just – um, just give me a second."

And she shuts the door in his face.

Trying not to be too offended (it's understandable, he's a strange man at their door after dark, after all), he waits patiently for her to come back.

When the door opens again, both women are on the other side. The taller one starts to pass him a slip of paper through the gap allowed by the security chain, but she pulls it back again when he reaches for it.

"Maruki-san is a good person – and I'm getting a weird-" She makes a vague, circling motion with the hand holding the piece of paper in Goro's general direction. "-vibe from you… You're not, like, a cop, or something?"

"I think he's probably too young for that, Yumi-chan," the shorter woman whispers loudly, and he does his best to lean into the assumption.

"Genuinely, I'm simply a university student-"

"No, I'm sorry," she says, cutting across him. Her expression has turned mulish and stubborn on top of sceptical, and he knows he’s not going to get anywhere with her now that she’s made up her mind. No matter how much (or how well) he argues his case. Shit. "I just don’t feel comfortable with this – how about, instead, you leave your name and number, and I’ll make sure he gets it the next time he drops by to collect his mail?”

He should have just grabbed the piece of paper out of her hand when he had the chance.

It’s less than ideal, but he was prepared for this eventuality. Swallowing his annoyance, Goro holds his hands up and laughs self-consciously. “I’m the one that should be sorry – disturbing you like this – and so late, too! Of course, I’d be more than happy to leave my details for Maruki-sensei. Do you have a pen and paper?”

At least he’s spared any more awkward, pointless, waiting, because they do actually have a notepad and pencil on the end table just inside the door. And he notices, as she retrieves them, that there also happens to be a conspicuous stack of unopened mail on the table too. It comes as no surprise to find that the letter on top (and, presumably, all the ones underneath it) is addressed to the man he’s looking for. The pile is already so tall that Goro has to assume that it will either be collected soon, or that Maruki doesn’t actually come by all that often… Although, on closer inspection, the logo printed in the top right corner of the envelope leaves him inclined to believe it’s probably the latter.

Plain and professional, the small, black stamp is innocuous enough that most people probably wouldn’t give it a second thought.

Goro, however, knows better.

He’d learned to recognise it, and what it meant for his mother’s mood, long before he even knew what a debt collection agency was.

Interesting.

What kind of trouble has Maruki gotten himself into?

And can it be used to Goro’s advantage?

Pad and pencil in hand, the one called Yumi moves into his eyeline. “Your name?”

Not sure how much time it will actually buy him, he smiles and says, “Ah, yes, it’s Ryuji Sakamoto – that's spelled with the kanji for-”

***

Back on the train again, empty-handed and far earlier than he was expecting to be, he thinks about what doors, if any, remain open to him after that embarrassing failure of an interaction. There must be something he can use to iron out this particular wrinkle in his barely-formed plan...

Mementos would have been his next stop, once upon a time. Shadows, as a rule, tend to be far more forthcoming than their real-world counterparts.

(Particularly when they're begging for their lives at the sharp end of his sword.)

It's not an option now, for a variety of reasons, and his current inability to enter the Metaverse is only one of them. His other traditional fallbacks (police resources, both legitimate and otherwise, and Shido’s little black book of various powerful people that were either on his payroll or in so deep that they might as well have been) are also non-starters. Obviously.

A more conventional approach is still an option, technically, he supposes. He could arrange a meeting with Mitsuru Kirijo in the morning, let her know about a potential new hire, and then allow her to take care of the details from there. There's a problem with that idea, however, and it’s one that goes beyond him being deprived of the opportunity to fuck with Maruki a little before closing the deal.

Goro's already heard enough gossip around the metaphorical water cooler to know that Kirijo's methods are often less than… discreet.

The stories about her arriving at understated business lunches in helicopters and stretch limousines, and resolving a disagreement about a merger by challenging the other company’s CEO to a fencing match, have to have been somewhat embellished, he's sure. But even the most ridiculous rumours tend to have a grain of truth buried somewhere within them, don't they?

And there's more at stake here, ultimately, than just his professional reputation. If the Kirijo Group scare Maruki off, then Goro will have fallen at the first hurdle when it comes to repaying his debt to Igor.

It’s too risky. He needs some kind of guarantee that Maruki will actually be receptive to the offer before he approaches Kirijo about making it, and with that in mind, keeping things small and low-key still seems like the best course of action.

If he must involve other people at this early stage, it really should be the absolute bare minimum.

It's fortuitous, then, when – after getting off the train and walking through Yongen’s backstreets – he finds that the lights are still on in Leblanc, despite the fact that he knows Sojiro Sakura would have closed up and gone home at least half an hour ago.

***

Makoto has been tutoring other students, in some capacity or other, for quite some time now. Originally because it was the closest thing to a part-time job that Sae would allow, and later, because she ended up making several friends that desperately needed her help when it came to managing their time and general study technique.

But even with all that experience, playing tutor to Futaba since she returned to school has been more than a little strange.

Of course, a large part of that strangeness comes down to the simple fact that most of their study sessions still take place in Leblanc, and the familiarity of their surroundings makes all of the differences stand out more than they might have otherwise. Between Ann spending the semester abroad in Italy, and Ryuji transferring to a school on the other side of the city (to be closer to his physical therapist), their meetups have been unusually and almost unnervingly subdued.

Even when it isn’t just Makoto and Futaba alone together (Yusuke has joined them a handful of times, as has Sumire, and Haru comes along too, to help out, when she has the time), it's just… Well, it's just not the same.

The absence of Ren and Morgana is like something physical in the air here, and she's constantly catching herself waiting to hear boots on the stairs, and then the sound of them chatting away together (Ren quietly and Morgana less so) as they come down to join the rest of their group.

Makoto sighs, takes a sip from her cup of coffee (after politely declining any payment for her tutoring services, Boss seems to have decided to compensate her with unlimited refills instead), and watches Futaba's pen dance across the practice test on the table in front of her with the kind of confidence that Makoto can only ever recall seeing from her when she's sitting in front of a computer.

It's not that Futaba's ability is surprising, as such (there was a reason, after all, that the administration at Shujin hadn't put up a fight when Futaba requested to start as a second year and skip her missed first year entirely), it's more that, sometimes, Makoto finds herself wondering why she's even here at all.

Or she did, in the beginning, because it's become more and more obvious, as each session passes, that there's a pattern to their small talk. One where Futaba, more times than not, will bring up some social situation or other – some interaction with another student that has left her anxious and second guessing herself until her head is spinning.

It's school life, essentially, that's giving her trouble, not the schoolwork.

And of course, that's what she's really here to help Futaba with – now that Ren has returned home. Even if Makoto's never quite had the heart to tell her friend that it's not an area she's ever felt especially confident in herself.

“Done! Finito!" Futaba cries, pulling Makoto back out of her thoughts. "Mission complete!” And pushing the worksheets away from her with one hand, she does a small fist pump with the other.

Glancing over the sheets as she tidies them into a neat stack, Makoto can already see that she won't be making much in the way of corrections (bar, perhaps, for neatness and general legibility), so she decides to gently bring up the 'homework' she'd assigned at the end of their last session.

"So… Have you finished preparing for your class field trip?"

Shujin's second year students are attending the aquarium in Shinagawa next week, and, unfortunately for Futaba, Sumire has a gymnastic meet that day. In the spirit of progress, Makoto suggested she take the opportunity to reach out to, and connect with, some of her other classmates.

(Of course, Makoto herself had spent her own second year trip with nobody to speak to other than her homeroom teacher, but that hadn't seemed like an important enough detail to include when she made the suggestion.)

The grin that was on Futaba's face doesn't falter the way Makoto was expecting it to, actually widening instead. "There's a coupla' kids in my class – I've been working with them on a project in biology – and they, um, they asked me to h-hang out with them at the aquarium! Said I make the boring stuff seem fun!"

"That's wonderful news, Futaba," Makoto beams, incredibly proud. "You really have come out of your shell so much these last few months, it's impressive!"

Futaba's eyes drop to the table, suddenly bashful, but still smiling wide. "S'all thanks to you guys…"

"Don't go selling yourself short now, Futaba," Sakura says, as he steps out from behind the counter. "Sure, you might have had help, but it's still progress that you made."

He's pulling his jacket on. Makoto frowns and picks her phone up off the table to check the time, surprised that it's already late enough for him to be closing up.

Somehow, it's already 7:58p.m. Almost a full hour later than she thought it was. They haven't even covered everything that was on her lesson plan. "Do you need us to pack up?"

Sliding his fingers along the brim of his hat to get the angle just right, he makes a dismissive sound through his teeth. "There's no rush, Akechi'll be back in a couple of hours…" Futaba makes a face. "He can lock up whenever the two of you want to head back to the house. Ah, and that reminds me – you're always welcome to stay the night, Makoto-chan, but I know you made your own way home last time-” She had class first thing in the morning, and it would have taken far too long to get there from Yongen-Jaya. “I can drive you home later if you need to get back, just give me a holler. I don't like the idea of a girl your age taking the train alone at that time of night."

Futaba laughs, shadowboxing the air in front of her. "Last time a dude tried something on the train, Makoto broke three of his fingers! Wah-tah!"

"Futaba!" Makoto hisses, mortified. "And it was only two!"

Blinking down at the two of them in surprise, it takes him a second to recover. "Ah… Well, still – the offer's there."

"Th-thank you, Boss. I appreciate it, but I think I'll just sleep over with Futaba tonight.”

"Good," he snorts, heading for the door. "She actually goes to sleep at a normal time when you're there."

"Hey!" Futaba squawks, and then deflates again almost immediately. "Wait, actually, yeah, that's fair… G'night Sojiro!"

"Night, girls. Don't work too hard."

Alone again (and after taking a quick snack break), Makoto passes Futaba another practice exam and gets back to her own essay. Half an hour passes, approximately, as they work away in companionable silence, before Makoto's focus drifts, and she finds herself thinking back to how much her friend looked like she bit into something sour when Akechi’s name came up earlier.

“How has it been? Having him living here?”

“Who? Akechi?” Futaba asks, and then frowns thoughtfully when Makoto nods. Taking a second to think the question over, she chews the end of her ballpoint pen absent-mindedly. Makoto tries to ignore the unpleasant sound of the plastic creaking between her teeth. "It was super weird at first, yeah – but uh, I guess it hasn't been too bad?"

"What about the, um… Well…" Trailing off, Makoto gestures weakly in the air with her hand. It's something she's spoken at length about with Haru, but even so, she's still unsure of the best way to bring up this particular elephant in the room.

"Oh, the whole ‘murderer’ thing?" Futaba waggles her fingers and makes her voice wobble and tremble as she says the last two words, like it's nothing serious – like the whole thing is just silly and spooky.

Makoto, of course, was referring to one specific murder in particular, but she's not going to push the issue, especially when Futaba clearly wants to keep things light. "Yes, that."

"It's not like I never think about it, y'know?" Makoto nods when Futaba looks up at her expectantly. "But, um, it's getting easier, and I dunno… Maybe he's not terrible n' annoying all the time?" She grins then, wide and cheeky. "Doesn't hurt, y'know, that he's also really, really lame."

It's a genuinely funny thing to say, and it even shocks a small laugh out of her, but Makoto can't help but feel a little self-conscious at the same time. A lot of the things that make Akechi 'lame' in the eyes of her friends (fussiness, placing a lot of value on academics and, sometimes, being a bit of a stick in the mud) are also large parts of her own personality, after all.

"Is that so…?"

"Like you wouldn't believe!" Futaba almost cackles. "Get this – the other day, he managed to destroy one of Sojiro's best, uh, coffee things – I dunno, uh, I don't remember what it’s called… But! He forgot to take the beans out of the bag beforehand! Got all defensive when Sojiro called him out on it and said, 'The instructions failed to include that step', like a complete goober!"

Chuckling despite her earlier insecurities, the sound catches in Makoto's throat as the bell above the door jingles behind her.

Leaning across the table, cupping her hands around her mouth, Futaba whispers conspiratorially, "Speak of the doofus, and he shall appear."

Makoto bites her lip.

Don't laugh! she thinks – half at herself and half at Futaba – and tries to force her face into something polite as she turns in her seat to greet him.

Akechi beats her to it.

"Ah! Good evening, Makoto, Futaba," he says, using their given names easily and without any trace of awkwardness – a gesture that Makoto is still struggling with remembering to return. (And one that Futaba seems to be making a point of not returning.) "I wasn't expecting anyone to be here so late-" He pauses then, in the middle of shrugging his coat off his shoulders, and regards them for a long moment. Eyes narrowed, and with more than a little suspicion. Obviously, she hasn't done a very good job of hiding the fact she's trying desperately not to dissolve into fits of giggles. "Having a good time, are we?"

Makoto clears her throat. "I'm just helping Futaba study."

"And my brain needs Sojiro's curry to function!"

Seemingly mollified, Akechi takes his coat the rest of the way off and folds it neatly over his arm. "Well, don't mind me. I just need to get something to eat, and then I'll be upstairs and out of your way."

It's awkward, but not painfully so, as Akechi moves behind the counter and starts rifling through the fridge. Still, it feels like she and Futaba release a collective breath when he finally leaves the kitchen nook and heads for the stairs.

But then, he stops, just after passing the door to Leblanc's small bathroom, and turns back towards them. "Ah, actually, now that I think about it, there's something I'd like to talk to you about – both of you – if you'll indulge me."

There's something wooden, or even theatrical about the way he says it – like it was rehearsed beforehand – but, in her experience, that isn't necessarily unusual for Akechi, so she might just be reading too much into it.

Looking to Futaba for her cue, Makoto just gets an unimpressed shrug in return, and that's as much a go-ahead as anything else, she supposes. “Of course, Ake-" Too late, she catches herself. "Goro-kun… Is it something to do with Ren?”

“Oh?" he says, sounding mildly surprised (and smiling in that fake-polite way that means he thoroughly enjoyed the fact she had to correct herself), as he makes his way back to the bar. "No – no, it’s work related.”

They watch him take one of the stools beside them, sitting sideways on it, so that the bar is on his left and their booth is to his right. He sets his plate and bottle of water down on the polished wood, grabs his sandwich and pauses to add an enigmatic “Technically” onto the end of his last statement, before taking a bite.

He knows what he’s doing, Makoto thinks. She was already intrigued, but she needs to find out what he’s driving at now, and it looks like Futaba does too. So much so, in fact, that she actually prompts him first.

“What would’ja need us for?" Futaba snorts, shifting in her seat so that she can pull her legs up to her chest. "You work for a ‘trading company’, right?”

Makoto is thrown, first by the sarcasm and then by the way Akechi’s smile widens at the implication.

"The internet conspiracy theorists are still whispering amongst themselves about the Kirijo Group, I see?"

Futaba pushes her glasses up her nose. "It's mostly crazy, paranoid junk out there, yeah – of course it is – but when someone who calls themselves a whistleblower starts throwing around terms like 'anti-shadow weapon'… Well, you know it's not all garbage."

"'Anti-shadow' weapon?!" Makoto gapes.

What on earth?

As a company, the Kirijo Group is ubiquitous, their name seems to be on everything – TVs, computers, household appliances, and even medical equipment and pharmaceuticals.

Of course, outside of that, Makoto also knows the name because her sister was close friends with their CEO in college, and, until now, she'd assumed that Akechi had been offered a position there because of that connection and nothing else. It seems highly unlikely to be a coincidence, though, doesn't it? For them to hire him when they also happen to have connections to the Metaverse...

And if Akechi's surprised by what Futaba said, he doesn't show it. "If such a thing exists – and, of course, I can neither confirm nor deny whether it does – it would fall well outside the purview of my current role, I assure you."

Unimpressed by the diplomatic non-response, Futaba rolls her eyes. "Yeah, sure, okay,” she scoffs. “What falls inside of it then?"

"I don't have any particular reservations about filling you in on the details, personally – what's a little non-disclosure agreement between thieves, after all?" He punctuates the joke with a self-satisfied flex of his eyebrows, and Futaba makes a 'blegh' sound under her breath. "Sae-san, however… Well, her opinion on the matter is a different story entirely."

So distracted by the fact that someone has been, apparently, manufacturing actual weapons to fight shadows, Makoto almost misses that same old jealousy creeping up into the back of her throat. The childish resentment that used to feel like a constant presence back when Akechi was still working with Sae in the SIU, and how it reared its ugly head every time Sae called to cancel their plans while Akechi’s voice had been clear in the background, asking (deliberately, she's sure) about where they were going to go eat.

And here he is, essentially gloating about the fact that he has a shared secret with her sister – a shared secret that Sae wants kept from her.

Twisting the hem of her skirt under the table in her fists, she counts backwards from ten. Thinking of the twentieth of November as she does it. Remembering how they’d entered her sister’s Palace for one, very specific, last-minute task: chasing down and incapacitating Sae’s cognition of this boy. It’s a grounding memory, even if it is petty, and one that she finds herself visiting more and more these days, now that he’s becoming close with her sister again.

It’s also not the first time she’s found herself wondering if, maybe, this is a little like how it would have been to have had another sibling (albeit one that’s improbably close to her in age), both jostling and vying for attention and affection from the same source.

"I am not a child, Goro-kun," she says, firmly, and ignores the way his ostensibly friendly smile quirks sharply up at the corners – like he's holding back a sarcastic comment. "If you need an excuse, you can tell my sister that I twisted your arm." Thinking again of how the Akechi-cognition almost cried when they tied him up, Makoto finds herself adding, "Figuratively or literally – it's your choice."

Eyebrows shooting up and disappearing behind his bangs, he blinks at her, wide-eyed, for a second, and then laughs. Sounding genuinely amused, and maybe even begrudgingly respectful, he says, "I'll keep that in mind."

And so, she and Futaba sit through his quick (and most likely still edited) summary of the kind of work he does for the Kirijo Group (assisting with their Metaverse research, mostly, it seems), and more significantly, the fact that he wants to find Takuto Maruki, and recruit him on their behalf.

Shock aside, there's a buzz in the air as he finishes, as if just the very mention of the Metaverse might make reality bend and warp around them.

Makoto's fingers itch with the desire to pick up her phone, wanting to see if the Nav has magically reappeared on her home screen.

Distracting herself by thinking back over what he just told them instead, she decides to press him on what he’s not saying. “You still haven’t answered Futaba’s question, though, Goro-kun – about why you’d need us.” She watches him closely for a reaction, but his poker face is second only to Ren’s, and he only continues smiling inscrutably at them, not giving a single thing away. “Or more, I can imagine, easily, how Futaba might be able to help you find him, but I don’t see how – or where – I might fit into the equation.”

Crossing his legs, he rests his elbow on one knee, and then props his chin up with his palm. Literally looking down his nose at her, Makoto already knows she’s not going to like what comes out of his mouth. “Do you want the honest answer, or the flattering one?”

She grits her teeth. “The honest one.”

He shrugs – a motion that says 'suit yourself' as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud – and starts explaining. “This evening, I visited Maruki’s apartment – or, given the fact that I saw the new tenants with my own eyes, what was Maruki’s apartment. Which is, well, that’s where Futaba comes in, obviously – I need his-”

Futaba, who can always be counted on for her enthusiasm about this sort of thing, sits up straight in her seat. “His new address? Easy-peasy.”

Only slightly thrown by the interruption, he continues, “Yes, his new address. Thank you, Futaba. The next problem, you see, once I have that information, is that Maruki’s current profession makes tailing him quite difficult-”

“He’s a cab driver, not a secret agent,” Futaba snorts, and then looks thoughtful. “Wait… unless…?”

They both ignore her. Akechi opens his mouth to continue what he was saying, but Makoto’s joined the dots now, and she doesn’t give him the chance.

“You don’t know how to drive.”

“No,” he admits, with a small, pained grimace. “It wasn’t a priority, and I’ve always preferred the, ah, versatility of cycling – but even I can’t keep up with him on a bike as he drives all over the city… I need your help, Makoto.”

Frowning, she starts rearranging and tidying the pages that are still on the table in front of her. It's transparent, she knows, but she needs an excuse to avoid eye contact while she thinks his request over.

She has her licence, of course, and she’s relatively confident behind the wheel, but she doesn’t actually own a car of her own, which means she’d need to rent one – and then there’s the legality of the situation – of essentially stalking-

“I can see that you’re concerned,” he says, surprisingly gentle, like he’d anticipated her struggling with this side of things. “But following someone in a public place is a relatively grey area, legally-speaking-” And yes, clearly, he knew exactly what she was thinking. “The individual being pursued needs to be able to prove it, first of all, but they also have to have a credible reason to believe you mean them harm, and even then, it’s not something that’s usually taken seriously by law enforcement.”

“That's…" Sighing, she wrings her hands in her lap. "Well, it's just not the reassurance you think it is.”

“I understand – your integrity is important to you," he says, but moves on so quickly that she doesn't have time to try and figure out if he's being sincere or mocking her. Which might actually be for the best. "Allow me, instead, to explain to you the other reason I need to track down Takuto Maruki, or, at least, allow me to attempt an explanation.”

“What does that mean?” Futaba asks, impatiently, and Makoto, feeling just as perplexed, waits for him to answer.

“In January, before we defeated him, I met with all of you at Shujin – in the nurses' office – and there was a small girl-”

Futaba cuts him off. “Lavenza, yeah, we remember.”

“None of you seemed surprised by her in-depth knowledge of the Metaverse – or the fact that she appeared out of nowhere, for that matter. Ren has given me a summary of what happened on Christmas Eve… but how much, exactly, would the two of you say you know about the Velvet Room?”

Makoto does her best to summarise (with occasional interjections from Futaba) what she remembers from that day. How she and the other Thieves had temporarily been erased from existence, and how afterwards, they’d found themselves imprisoned in the Velvet Room by Yaldabaoth. And then, finally, how Ren freed Igor and Lavenza, saved them, and then led the charge that had culminated, ultimately, in Yaldabaoth’s defeat.

After sitting and taking a moment to mull the new information over, Akechi takes a long drink from his bottle of water and says, “You know, already, that the Velvet Room is where I ended up – after the, ah, unpleasantness in Shido’s Palace, but I haven’t mentioned the fact that I’ve been back there, several times, since…” He trails off and then chuckles ruefully. “Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I haven’t been able to mention it. Until now.”

Makoto frowns. Futaba frowns back at her. Then they both seem to have the same lightbulb moment simultaneously.

“Oh! Ren told us before, didn’t he?”

“Y-yeah!” Futaba agrees, nodding furiously. “That he wanted to talk to us about the Velvet Room before we all got dragged in there, but he couldn’t – said the words got stuck in his throat when he tried!”

“That is the precise feeling, yes,” Akechi says, wincing slightly as he takes another (suddenly telling) sip of his water. “Even now, I can only speak with you about it in broad strokes – within the parameters of what you already know. What I can tell you, however, is that Igor needs my – our – help, and unfortunately, finding Takuto Maruki is the first step towards getting him that help.”

Futaba hums, scratches under her chin, and looks across the table at her. “Seems like this is really important, Makoto.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she sighs, and turns back to Akechi. “When do you want to get started?”

“As soon as possible – individual schedules allowing, of course.”

***

And that's how Makoto finds herself playing chauffeur to Akechi. Driving him, first, to the run-down neighbourhood from the address that Futaba found (hopefully through at least semi-legal channels), and, once they've found him, they set about tailing Maruki's cab around Tokyo.

The silence, as each day of surveillance passes, is almost unbearable.

It would be one thing, she thinks, if Akechi was the kind of person who could just let her focus on driving and keep to himself otherwise, but – and she knows it's silly – whenever he's quiet for any extended period of time, it feels like he's literally vibrating so hard in his seat that the small car they're in is shaking with it.

So, they keep trying, and so far, the list of topics they've had to retire – once they devolved into Akechi being unbearably condescending or straight out arguments – has included: the criminal justice system (and the reformation thereof), the ideological merits of revenge (and whether there actually are any), and even just whether the creamy, sugary, coffee she ordered from the drive-through that one time could really be called coffee at all.

Ren, and how he's doing, have been safer subjects to pursue – to a point – as has general small talk about the other Phantom Thieves, but it still feels forced, like they're both reading from a stilted, awkwardly-written script.

To say that they've gotten off to a shaky start would be an understatement.

Things are, marginally, easier when Futaba is also here with them (or well, as much as she can be when she's on speakerphone), because while her relationship with Akechi is still abrasive, it's in that fun, teasing sort of way that Makoto could never hope to replicate.

And, unfortunately, today is the day that Futaba has her field trip, which means it's just Makoto, Akechi, and the quiet.

But then, while they’re parked, just around the corner from the gas station that Maruki is currently refuelling at, Akechi mutters the date (the third of May) to himself as he fills out the corresponding box on a form, and Makoto has an idea.

"You know, it's my sister's birthday soon."

Rudely, he doesn’t look up. "Oh?"

Trying her best not to give him the satisfaction of showing just how much his lack of engagement bothers her, she presses on. "On the twelfth – I, well, we usually go out together for a meal. This is the first year when I’m in a position to treat her, and while I haven't reserved anything yet, I've decided that I’d like to bring her somewhere different than usual – somewhere nice enough to celebrate her striking out and starting her own firm, as well as her birthday.” Particularly now that, since leaving the prosecutor’s office, her sister has far less in the way of disposable income. “I know that you used to visit a lot of restaurants for your blog…" Both Ren and Ann used to follow it religiously, she remembers. Albeit for very different reasons. "Do you have any recommendations?"

Having apparently caught enough of his attention now for him to remember his manners, Akechi sets his paperwork aside, sits up straight, and takes a second to think it over. "Hmm, back then, I mostly visited cafés and the like… Not really the sort of establishments where you would take someone out to dinner… Still, there might be a place – or two… depending on your price range…" He picks his phone up and unlocks it. Tapping away quickly and precisely until Makoto's own phone buzzes in her pocket. "There – I sent you a link to the relevant tag on my blog. The reviews posted there should give you an idea about whether any of the restaurants suit your needs, just, ah…" Pausing to turn mostly away from her and scowl out the window, he clears his throat awkwardly. "Just don't take the tone they're written in too seriously, please."

Confused, it takes her longer than it probably should to realise that he means the reviews were written in-character, as the Detective Prince. And, oh, that's – Well, it's endearing, isn't it? In its own way. To see him feeling so self-conscious about something, instead of just sarcastic or smug.

It’s that glimpse of vulnerability, probably, that has her opening her mouth, and (before she can think better of it) asking, "Do you think you might be free that week? I can make a reservation for three."

Clearly caught off guard by the question, he turns back around in his seat and stares at her like she's lost her mind. Makoto doesn't really blame him – she's half wondering the same thing. "You would, willingly, arrange for us to spend more time together?" he asks. Rhetorically, she assumes, because he ploughs on ahead before she has a chance to actually answer. "I've appreciated your help in this matter, Makoto, but let's not pretend that the rapport between us has ever been anything other than dire."

"I'm well aware," she laughs, softly and in almost as much disbelief. Then, surprisingly, he actually joins in. It's a rare moment of fellowship. As if, maybe, they'd both nearly convinced themselves that the other thought that everything was going swimmingly, and they're only now realising that they've been on the same, awkward page all along. "But it – well, maybe that's something we can work on? Sis is a very busy woman, after all, and I'm sure she'd appreciate the efficiency of being able to, at least occasionally, spend time with both of us simultaneously."

"Hmm, you do make a convincing argument," he admits, still smiling, and she can't help but notice that the expression seems far more genuine than it usually does. "And if we were to pool our resources, I imagine that we could afford to treat her to something far better than either of us could alone… I'll check my calendar, just to be sure, but I don't think there will be an issue-"

Maruki's cab pulls out of the gas station then, and, after sharing a look that's at least fifty percent less hostile than usual, Makoto nods to Akechi and turns the key in the ignition.

***

They follow him to a large building, one that the map app on her phone tells them is the Tokyo Metropolitan Matsuzawa Hospital. Opting again to park just around a corner a little further up the street, she twists and adjusts the rearview mirror so they can watch as he gets out of his cab and disappears inside the building.

Akechi hums. "I'm not alone in thinking that this is the hospital featured in those tapes from his Palace, yes?"

"I believe it is," she agrees. "What reason would he have to be here, though? His fiancée was supposed to have been discharged after he, um-"

"Brainwashed her?"

Makoto frowns. "Yes, after that."

"We don't know how far-reaching the effects were – of changing his heart, I mean. Perhaps the cognitive tampering he subjected her to has worn off?"

"If it had to wear off at all,” she muses. “Maybe the changes he made to reality at the start of the year weren’t the only things that were undone?”

"That is certainly a possibility…" he trails off, stroking his chin and peering thoughtfully at the hospital’s reflection in the mirror. "Regardless, I can't imagine that we'll be able to make any further progress until Futaba is free to help again. I'm going to need patient records, at the very least – maybe a list of staff too… There could be a weak link there that we can exploit."

Not sure exactly when it started, dread has settled over Makoto like a thick fog, one that only gets thicker and more difficult to ignore as she watches Akechi get completely lost in plotting something that she has serious misgivings about involving her only-just-sixteen-year-old friend in.

She needs to say something.

"If he's as desirable to the Kirijo Group as you think he is," she tries. "Maybe you could go to them about this, rather than asking Futaba to do something that's definitely on the black side of the 'legally grey' spectrum?"

Appearing genuinely surprised, it looks, for a moment, like he's going to argue the point, but then he seems to think better of it and sighs deeply. "No – no, you're right. I have more than enough to bring to Kirijo-san now, and I sometimes forget that, comparatively-speaking, you have very little experience with this kind of work in the real world. You've both done more than enough, it’s only fair that I take it from here."

That oppressive, awkward feeling is back, and (somehow) it’s even worse than before.

Shifting in her seat, she thinks about driving him back to Leblanc for the last time.

About things going back to normal.

About just going back to college, and studying.

Day in, day out.

"They're going to pay you a referral fee for recruiting Maruki-sensei, right?"

"Hmm? Yes?"

"Would you like to double it?"

He barks a laugh, hoarse and unrefined, and when he speaks again, Makoto thinks that he might even sound impressed. "Sae-san is going to be very unhappy – with the both of us."

"It's a good thing we're treating her to dinner, then, isn't it?"

***

Cutting another thin and precise slice off his obscenely expensive steak, Goro watches Sae open her sister's gift.

Under the (admittedly nice) wrapping, it's just some cheap, ratty-looking thing. An ancient stuffed animal that, he assumes, must hold some kind of emotional significance for the two of them, and the way that Sae smiles brightly at the sight of it makes something green and nasty squirm in his chest. His own gift (an elegant pair of earrings that Ann had helped him select from dozens) didn't elicit anywhere near the same response.

He's being ridiculous, he knows he's being ridiculous.

And petty.

Catching himself thinking about skewering the vaguely-mammal-shaped toy with his knife, he exhales through his nose and sets his cutlery aside, preoccupying himself instead with chewing the (suddenly tasteless) meat in his mouth. Makoto is launching into an anecdote now – one that will, no doubt, explain the significance of the present – and he tunes her out as best he can, only paying enough attention to make sure he smiles in all the right places.

The animosity he’s still feeling towards Makoto is almost funny at this stage, honestly. Particularly when, on paper, she should – out of all of Ren's friends – be the one he finds the easiest to tolerate.

In practice, however, it's never quite worked out that way, has it?

Until recently, if pressed, he'd have probably said that he simply finds her general outlook to be too idealistic, or, if he was feeling uncharitable, he might say that it’s because she’s just so laughably naïve that it’s almost painful. Underneath that, of course, he knows that there’s also always been the non-insignificant issue of the pernicious, poisonous envy her relationship with Sae provokes in him.

Spending the last few weeks together, however, has given him the time and opportunity to reflect on the matter, and he’s reached the conclusion that her idealism and his jealousy are not the real – or at the very least, not the only – reasons he consistently finds himself wanting to jump at the first opportunity to be nasty whenever she opens her mouth.

No, if he’s being honest, he'd have to admit that he’s starting to realise just how difficult it is to not see a ghost of his own innocence in her – of the boy he used to be before he had every single shred of it kicked out of him by a cruel and unkind world.

Hadn't he, after all, also wished to grow up and join the police force – to be the one with the power to save those that needed saving? Exposing and resolving all that nasty corruption along the way too, of course. As if Japan's justice system was just a tree that required a little pruning, rather than needing to be pulled up by the root.

A foolish dream.

A child's dream.

One that had, in his case, developed while he was sitting in front of the television with his mother, enraptured, as they watched her home-made compilation of Naoto Shirogane's interviews over and over again.

And he's sure, if he were to ask her, that Makoto had some similar seed in her own childhood (through, no doubt, her father's work with the police department), only hers had been allowed to blossom and grow. Shielded, as she herself had been, by simple virtue of the fact that she was lucky enough to have an older sister there to protect her from the worst of what life had to offer.

While he had no one.

Ah, and there’s that Sae-related jealousy, rearing its ugly head again.

So, is it any wonder, really, that he can't quite help himself whenever he sees a flash of weakness in Makoto? He has to sneer and scoff, resentful of how she's managed to get to this point in her life – experienced everything she has and seen everything she's seen – and still remain so… soft.

Even now, when he should be enjoying Sae's birthday meal, he's spent far longer than he should, thinking about ruining the entire thing by casually mentioning the status of Makoto’s application to Kirijo's R&D department. Could he play it off as an accidental slip of the tongue? Probably not. Not when he’s already promised, at Makoto’s explicit request, to allow her to break the news to her sister on her own terms.

An additional betrayal that would, honestly, just be the icing on the petty, contemptible cake.

It’s not something he’s actually going to do, vindictive fantasies aside, but just the simple fact that it's sitting there, under his tongue, waiting to spill out like poison and spoil their evening, says all that needs to be said about how much he really shouldn’t have been invited to share in this moment with them in the first place.

Although, perhaps, he thinks – as he listens to the two women across the table from him share another in-joke that goes completely over his head – his hang-ups about Makoto's background are just one more justification he's concocted for his innately destructive nature. Why else, after all, would he be so quick to revel in the idea of using her as a blunt tool to bludgeon the fledgling respect and trust he's found, both with her and with Sae?

God knows, he's already terrified that he'll be possessed by exactly the same nasty, self-sabotaging impulses whenever Ren finally comes back to Tokyo. Determined to destroy every good thing in his life because deep down he knows that he doesn't truly deserve-

“Were you planning on ordering dessert?” Sae asks, snapping him out of his spiral so fast that he almost reels in his seat. There’s colour high in her cheeks, and he has to wonder just how many glasses of wine she’s had. “You’ve hardly touched your dinner…”

It’s true, he realises, looking down at his plate.

How rude of him.

He hopes the chef doesn’t take it personally.

“Are you feeling okay?” Makoto chimes in, ever the concerned do-gooder.

“Ah, yes, I apologise… I’m just a little preoccupied,” he says. “With work.”

Sae makes a sympathetic humming noise in the back of her throat and tips her wine glass towards him in solidarity. The golden liquid inside sloshes dangerously and very nearly spills over the rim and onto the table. She’s always been a lightweight, but even so, this is a little ridiculous, and he finds himself returning the long-suffering, but still fond, look Makoto sends in his direction.

The noxious cloud that was hanging over him has cleared, slightly – enough, at least, that he realises that he almost forgot about his trump card for this evening. “Dessert-wise, I actually had something prepared and delivered to the kitchen earlier – I do hope that you’re still as partial to strawberry shortcake as I remember, Sae-san?”

“I am,” Sae says, smiling wider than he thinks he’s ever seen. Is that the alcohol, he wonders, or is she actually that happy with him? “I want to thank you – both of you – for making this happen…" She raises her glass in a toast, and some of her wine definitely spills this time. "I think this is the best birthday I've had in a very long time."

Had he ordered the cake to make Sae happy? Yes, of course. Had he also hoped to make Makoto feel inferior in the process? One hundred percent.

But, perplexingly, she only seems to be happy on her sister's behalf.

And even stranger, he realises that, maybe, he doesn't actually mind.

***

Two days after her sister's birthday dinner, Akechi calls her.

"Do you still have the car?"

"Yes," she says, double-checking the calendar on her wall. She'd changed the weekly rental plan to a monthly one, once it became clear that Akechi was going to require something more long-term. "Although, I am supposed to return it at the end of this week."

"Can that be extended, if needs be?"

"It can, yes, but the, um…" Makoto hesitates. Trying to broach such a delicate subject as money has never been easy for her. Even when the standard has already been set, like it has here. "The expenses?"

"A non-issue," he says, breezily. Easy enough to tell which one of them is working full-time. "Forward me an estimate and I'll reimburse you. Now then, if you're free, could you drive me to that hospital? I might not need to tail Maruki now, but I fear that using public transport to get there might be too conspicuous."

She'll need to ask Haru to reschedule their trip to the movies (which, actually, is something of a relief – given how little sleep she got the night after watching the last film her friend chose for them), but otherwise she's free. "Of course, I can be there in half an hour."

"Perfect, I'll see you then."

***

Akechi's wearing a thick coat when he gets into the car, but Makoto can still see the uniform underneath – not quite scrubs, but something that definitely screams healthcare worker all the same – and when he reaches up to grab his seatbelt, she catches a brief glimpse of a laminated card pinned to his lapel.

An ID badge.

A very official-looking ID badge.

"Should I ask where you got all of that from?"

"Not until you're officially on Kirijo-san's payroll, no," he says, matter of fact. "Ignorance is probably your best defence in a case like this."

Swallowing thickly, she forces herself to relax – suddenly very aware of the fact that she's gripping the steering wheel like she's trying to squeeze the life out of it. "Right, yes, of course it is."

***

"Not that you would know it from how she was portrayed in Maruki's Palace, but Rumi Terui is actually a very interesting woman."

It's the first thing that Akechi says, as he gets back into the car, hours later, and Makoto isn't quite sure how to respond. "Oh, um, really?"

"Yes, really," he says, pulling a thick notepad out of the bag he'd left on the floor in front of his seat and, after grabbing a pen and flipping to the first empty page, he starts scribbling a series of bullet points down. Makoto can't make out everything he's writing (both because of the angle and his terrible penmanship) but it seems to be a summary of the topics Terui brought up in conversation with him.

Then, strangely, he writes one word at the bottom, separate from everything else, and underlines it three times.

Unable to help herself, Makoto asks, "'Tower'?"

Jolting slightly in surprise, as if he'd managed (in the two minutes since they last spoke) to forget that he wasn't alone. Akechi looks up from the page, then back down at it, and then mutters something to himself under his breath.

Even without context, she can tell that he's struggling to find the right words – and that's not exactly something that Akechi, of all people, is known for. "It's Velvet Room-related, I take it?"

Visibly relieved by the fact that he doesn't have to keep trying, he sags backwards in his seat. "Yes…" Turning back to her and peering at her curiously, he asks, "Does the word 'priestess' mean anything to you?"

"No," she answers, immediately, but then finds herself second guessing it just as fast, because there is something about that word that feels significant to her, isn't there? Even though she can't quite say how, or in what way. It's a strange feeling, and more than a little unpleasant. "Why…?"

Frustratingly, but also understandably, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighs in resignation – clearly unable to clarify. "Believe me, I wish I could tell you."

***

Almost two weeks pass without any real progress – or more, that's how it appears to Makoto, as she drives Akechi to and from the hospital (when she can fit it around her college classes and tutoring sessions), and he remains deliberately vague, the entire time, about what he's actually been doing in there.

It's for her own benefit, she understands that, but that doesn't quite stop her from feeling completely and utterly exasperated with being kept in the dark at the same time.

And now, she's waiting in the car, as usual, in one of the five different parking spots they've been rotating through (in the hopes that it will make the car less conspicuous), incredibly bored, and doing her best to distract herself by going back over some of her notes, when she sees Akechi leave the hospital and cross the street at a jaunty half-jog.

Even without the new and uncharacteristic spring in his step, she’d have known that something was different the second he opened the passenger-side door of the car and (quite literally) hopped in.

"Good day…?" she prompts, and then tries not to flinch when he turns, and she sees the downright manic gleam in his eye.

“You could say that, yes,” he grins, and, genuinely, Akechi looks as if he just tore through a group of shadows single-handedly and already has his eyes on his next target. "I've been waiting for an opportunity – for the best way to make contact – and Maruki just handed it to me on a silver fucking platter!"

Frowning at, but not commenting on, the profanity, she presses him for details. "What’s the plan? Where do we go from here?"

"As of tomorrow? Not to this hospital…" he says, commandeering the rearview mirror as he pulls the elastic tie out of his hair and starts ruffling and shaking it loose with both hands. "We've got a new location to stake out.” Looking away from the mirror, he smirks at her. “If you're up for it?"

Despite his frightening intensity (or, perhaps, even because of it) Makoto finds herself getting excited too. "Of course. Just give me the address."

***

Goro enters the Frostbucks that Rumi Terui recommended to him just before eleven o'clock in the morning.

Greeting the staff behind the counter with a smile and a small wave, he peers up at the wooden menu on the wall, and on a whim, orders the creamiest, most syrupy drink listed there. Leblanc has ruined him for proper coffee, so he might as well indulge himself while he’s here, instead of being disappointed by whatever burnt garbage they're peddling as their house blend.

(Or, at least, that's how he's justifying it to himself. Certainly, he hasn't had a drink like this on his mind ever since he saw what's apparently Makoto's standard order.)

Obscenely sugary 'coffee' in hand, he sets about finding himself somewhere strategically advantageous to sit. The café is longer than it is wide, with a mostly glass front, and after ensuring that it's still close enough to the window for him to be able to see the road (and any taxis that might be driving on it) without being easily visible from the outside himself, he settles on a table that’s tucked into one of the back corners.

And waits.

***

Four days in, and the baristas have started preparing his order without him even having to ask.

Goro sighs and pulls the heavy sheaf of paperwork out of his bag. Setting it down on the table in front of him, he tries not to think too hard about the date as he writes it in the corner of the first document.

The first of June.

Tomorrow is, of course, his birthday.

Not a day that he's had much reason to look forward to, not in a long time.

Not since his mother died.

But this year?

This year is different.

Ren is coming back to Tokyo for the first time since he left in March, for three entire days, and even though Goro isn't exactly thrilled about having to spend a sizable chunk of the first one at the surprise welcome-back party that Ren's friends are planning for him, he would like to spend it staking out this café even less.

And birthday or not, it's starting to look unavoidable. This part of the job, after all, is not exactly something that can just be postponed. Particularly now that he’s looped the higher-ups in and has the full weight of the Kirijo Group (and their expectations) behind him.

Schedule-wise, Goro was aware that he was cutting it close when he left the message for Maruki, but finding that camera in Terui's room had forced his hand, and, truthfully, he had assumed that a working week would be plenty of time for the man to find, and act on, his invitation. A foolish thing to have taken for granted, clearly, because he should have known that Maruki would make it difficult for him. That he'd turn out to be the kind of lunatic that goes to all the trouble of setting up a nanny cam to spy on his former fiancée and then doesn't check the stupid fucking thing!

As tempting as it would be to take the days of inactivity as a sign that he should be safe to go off and enjoy himself with Ren this weekend, it would be just his luck, wouldn't it? For Maruki to wait until the second he left his post to finally get off his ass and actually show up.

But then, flying in the face of his pessimism, a cab drives past the window. Something that’s not unusual, in and of itself, but the way that it’s driving (conspicuously, and almost comically, slow) most certainly is.

On the table, his phone buzzes and lights up, an incoming text message from Makoto on its screen.

He doesn't need to open it to know that she's confirming the obvious.

Maruki is here.

It's go time.

Clearing his paperwork away, Goro exhales through his nose, steady and slow. Pushing down and locking away the vicious anticipation that's already buzzing through his veins, covering it instead with something more presentable – something more usable.

It's impossible to say how this meeting is going to go, but he knows what the outcome needs to be.

And most importantly.

Goro also knows that he's the one holding all the cards this time.

Chapter Text

"-commissioned you for one thing and one thing only, Inari! And it wasn't fuh-freakin' body horror!"

Divided into six smaller rectangles, the video chat window on Ren's monitor is looking pretty crowded. He and Morgana are in the box on the top left, Ryuji's in the next, then Makoto and Haru (sitting together on the couch in their apartment) are on the right. Underneath them, Yusuke, Futaba and Sumire are all crowded around one of Futaba's laptops in a booth in Leblanc, and Goro is at his (new) desk upstairs in the attic above them, pretending (Ren is pretty sure) to work while the rest of them talk.

Standing out amongst them all, even more than usual, is Ann – sitting out on a balcony overlooking Milan. She's using her phone for their chat, holding it in one hand while she lazily sips the brightly coloured smoothie that's in the other. The Italian sun shining high in the blue sky behind her sure does make for a stark contrast with how dark it already is here in Japan.

It's the first time, Ren thinks, that they've all managed to be on a video call at the same time since he went home, and it's about as chaotic as he might have expected. Even before Futaba started ranting about the fan comic thing (porn, Ren is almost positive that it's porn) she paid Yusuke to draw for her booth at some upcoming anime convention.

"The art style you wish for me to replicate is bland, banal, prosaic – viewing the concept you requested through an abstract lens instead is-"

"I can't bring th-th-this to the con! Look!" Futaba squawks, holding the sketch up to the camera so they can all see the weird mishmash of arms, legs, and, uh – way more dicks than Ren was expecting for a drawing that's definitely supposed to be of only two people.

One, two, three, four – Ren counts at least five, and there's something suspiciously veiny in the background that could be another…

Or maybe it's some kind of weird, roided-out forearm.

There's a lot going on, it's hard to tell.

But, just like everything that Yusuke creates, it's also weirdly… compelling?

The stunned silence that follows the reveal is broken when Ryuji laughs so loud that it actually makes Ren's speakers go all crackly, and he hurries to turn the volume down before one of his parents comes up to complain. Ann, Sumire and Haru all seem to be sitting somewhere along the same embarrassed and slightly horrified spectrum (Sumire's extremely red face is just barely visible through her fingers), and Makoto looks like she's about to have an actual stroke.

"Yeesh, I should have just stayed in bed…" Morgana grumbles, crouching low on the desk and covering his face with his paws. Ren pats his head sympathetically.

Yusuke, of course, isn't bothered in the least by their reactions. Other than, apparently, taking it as an opportunity to explain exactly why he made the artistic choices that led to them all being more than a little traumatised. "Do you not see the beauty in it? These two men have become enmeshed! Inexorably connected! Something that exceeds the intimacy of the sexual act!"

Goro has spent the entire exchange looking slightly off camera, like he's incredibly invested in something he has open in another window, but his indifferent frown is definitely twitching at the corners. Time to push it over the edge.

"I think," Ren starts, stroking his chin thoughtfully and doing his very best Art Snob impression. "That the head to, uh, head ratio might be slightly off, Yusuke."

And – bullseye! Goro's expression turns from disinterested to despairing, and, as the rest of his friends start laughing and squabbling again, he looks directly into the camera and raises one perfect eyebrow.

"Proud of yourself for that one, are you?"

"Maybe." Ren grins and shrugs. "A little."

Futaba breaks off mid-tirade to make a panicked spluttering sound. "Hey, hey, hey! Ren! Akechi! Wait until the rest of us have logged off before you start-"

"Start what? Speaking to each other?" Goro snipes back, good-naturedly, and Ren finds himself smiling even wider.

It's hard not to feel reassured every time he sees signs of the budding maybe-friendship between his boyfriend and the girl that's the closest thing to a sibling he's ever had.

Especially when you take into account the, uh, history there.

Futaba pulls her lower eyelid down with one finger (it's no accident, Ren's sure, that it's the middle one) and sticks her tongue out cheekily at the camera, before turning to push the sketchbook back into Yusuke's hands. "Anyways – I want a refund!"

Yusuke flinches as violently as he would have if she'd actually slapped him with the book. "Futaba, please! See reason! I-I-!"

Sighing deeply, Makoto asks what they’re all thinking, "Yusuke, have you already spent the money?"

The way he blanches at the question is answer enough.

"Yusuke-kun," Haru says, soft and diplomatic. "What if I were to commission you myself? I would absolutely love to see this piece reproduced on a larger canvas."

Immediately brightening, Yusuke leans forward so that his face takes up almost all of the window he's supposed to be sharing. Ren hears a dull, repetitive sound in the background, and wonders if Futaba is slapping his back to try and get him out of the way. "I always knew that you were a woman of taste as well as means, Haru! We shall have to speak in private once this chat has concluded."

Haru's nodding enthusiastically, eyes sparkling, and wow, Ren completely misread her earlier. What he'd taken for horror was apparently enchantment. Beside her, Makoto looks… Well, if Ren thought Yusuke seemed pale earlier, it's nothing compared to how white Makoto's gone now.

"Haru, we can't – we, um, we don't have room-"

"I'll find room, Mako-chan," Haru chirps, either unconcerned or oblivious. "Oh, isn't the composition simply wonderful?"

"Isn't it just?" Goro adds, saccharine and so, so shitty. "Once it's finished and on display, I insist on tagging along with Sae-san on one of her visits, Makoto. I imagine that your sister's reaction to the piece will be something to behold."

"Dude," Ryuji says, barking a disbelieving laugh. His eyes are darting back and forth, probably between Goro's smirking face and Makoto's definitely less amused one. "Are you tryin’ to get punched?"

Ren knows that Goro and Makoto have been spending more time together recently (something to do with Goro's job… Although, Ren doesn't know what exactly. They're both being weirdly cagey about it), and honestly, he's kind of surprised that they haven't come to blows already.

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, Ryuji," she says, primly.

Huh, maybe Ren wasn't giving her enough credit.

Ann interrupts whatever it was that Goro was going to say in response by making a loud humming sound under her breath.

Ren's disappointed, but it's probably for the best.

"Sorry, guys, I have a late lunch thing – or early dinner thing, I guess? – with an agency rep soon, so I'm probably going to have to go… What time is it there? Late, right?"

Ren's eyes flick down to the clock in the corner of his screen.

10:56 p.m.

He opens his mouth to answer, but Sumire beats him to it. "It's almost eleven o'clock, Ann-senpai.”

Ren watches her (not discretely) elbow Futaba in the side and give her a look, and wonders if he's still the only one in their group who knows what's going on between them.

"Uh, y-yeah, it's suuuuuper late," Futaba says, flustered all of a sudden. It's cute. They're cute. Ren's very happy for them. "C'mon, Sumire, let's go back to the house-"

"Are you forgetting about me?" Yusuke asks, oblivious to the fact that Sumire and Futaba are planning to have the kind of sleepover that he would definitely be unwelcome at. "You promised to let me stay-”

“That was before you scarred me for life, Inari!" Or before Sumire decided to stay the night too, Ren thinks. "And besides, Akechi’s got a perfectly good couch upstairs in the attic, why don’t you go bother him instead?”

Dumbstruck for three hilarious seconds, Goro eventually manages an indignant "Excuse me?!", before Makoto steps in to add more fuel to the fire.

“That does seem more appropriate, doesn’t it?”

Yusuke, for his part, seems to come around to the idea almost immediately – probably already hoping to be treated to some late-night curry (not something that's likely to happen, though, Ren knows. Even if Goro was so inclined. Given that Sojiro’s barred him from touching the stove) – and nodding sagely, he says, “I am in your care, Goro.”

“Now, hang on just a fucking second!” Goro moves to get up out of his seat so quickly that he actually stumbles. Ren probably shouldn’t be laughing as hard as he is. “I never agreed to-”

***

After saying goodbye to everyone, and leaving Futaba and Goro to argue about where Yusuke is going to spend the night, Ren shuts his computer down, and then thinks about how he should probably also start thinking about getting ready for bed. There's one problem, though – he made the mistake of sitting down for their video chat without any snacks, and that was more than three hours ago.

Just the idea of trying to get to sleep on an empty stomach makes it gurgle and growl loudly.

So, Ren stands up, stretches, and asks Morgana (who's already half dozing beside his keyboard) if he wants to go down and get something to eat.

When it comes to food, his friend doesn't usually need to be asked twice, and tonight is no exception – going from sleepy ball to bright-eyed and bushy tailed at just the suggestion. Ren huffs a small laugh, holds out his arm, and Morgana uses it as a springboard to jump up onto his shoulder.

Downstairs, Ren can hear that his parents are in the kitchen.

He finds his dad at the table, reading something on his old, clunky tablet, and, over by the fridge, his mom is humming tunelessly to herself as she gets the stuff she needs together to make lunch for tomorrow.

Ren smells the beer before he sees it.

They both have an open bottle within reach, and, over by the sink, there are already five or six empties on the draining board.

Chewing his lip as he sets Morgana down, Ren finds himself wondering (not for the first time) if that's a normal amount to be drinking on a Sunday night. It seems like a lot – to Ren – especially since his parents both have work tomorrow. Then again, he also remembers Kawakami-sensei complaining about being hungover on more than one Monday morning, so… maybe this really is normal enough? For some people, at least.

The only thing – and he feels like it's kind of a big thing – is that, other than at weddings, his parents never used to drink at all before he got arrested.

And he only seems to be finding more and more bottles in the trash now that he's home.

Bringing it up with them would be a disaster, though, he knows that, so he swallows his worry and goes to grab a can of tuna from the cupboard above the chopping board – where his mom is getting ready to start cutting the tamagoyaki she just made into pieces.

He watches her fumble with the knife (and nearly stick herself with it) for only a second before stepping in. "It's my turn to make lunch, remember?" he lies, gently taking the knife from her hand and replacing it with the tuna. Hopefully she's too tipsy to think to check the chore wheel. "Could you feed Morgana for me instead?"

If he was asking her to do anything else, she'd probably argue, but his mom has a massive soft spot for Morgana, and she's always happy to be given an excuse to feed him something and scratch behind his ears.

Maybe a little too happy, actually.

Even if Morgana didn't spend a lot of time on Ren's shoulder (or in the bag slung over his shoulder), he'd have to be blind to miss how much heavier (and rounder) his furry friend has become over the last couple of months.

She blinks up at him and then down at the can in her hand. "Oh? Sure thing, honey…" The words come out sweet but slightly slurred, and once she spots Morgana on the floor at their feet, she switches to full-on baby talk. "Aww, are you hungwy-wungwy, Mona-chan?"

"Am I ever!" Morgana trills back up at her, like he doesn't get four square meals a day and just as many snacks in between.

"I swear," his dad says, chuckling. Unlike his mom, the only thing that gives away the fact that he's drunk is that it comes out a little louder and a little rougher than usual. "Sometimes I think that cat understands you, Nadeshiko."

After sharing an amused and knowing look with his friend, Ren leaves them to it, only stopping to check the rice cooker to make sure that there's enough leftover from dinner for lunch (just about), before he starts slicing the omelette into bite size chunks.

It kind of sucks, he thinks – as the knife goes through the fluffy egg so cleanly it's like he's cutting air – that none of them have ever been very good at getting up in the morning with more than enough time to inhale their breakfasts before running out the door. Lunches are always better when they’re made fresh – and by a wide margin – but well, he shouldn't really complain. A slightly soggy bento that's been sitting in the fridge overnight is still better than trying to get through the second half of his school day on some pre-packaged yakisoba pan and a soda.

"I bumped into Hitomi Aizawa at the grocery store this afternoon," his mom says, coming up beside him to rinse the fork she used to serve Morgana's tuna at the sink. “She’s such a nice girl, and the two of you seemed like a good match... What happened?”

Setting the knife aside, he looks up from the chopping board and takes a deep breath. It's fine. He figured this was going to come up sooner or later. “Hitomi didn’t speak to me for an entire year, Mom.”

Crossing her arms, she just looks back at him in an unimpressed, almost detached, sort of way.

A wordless 'What's your point?', basically.

No surprise there. Hadn't his parents done exactly the same thing to him themselves, more or less?

Trying to argue from this angle feels pointless, so Ren switches tactics – deciding to handle this conversation the same way he'd handled it with Hitomi herself a few weeks ago. “I also met someone else while I was in Tokyo.”

Surprised, but in a happy way, she breaks out in a big grin and slaps his arm playfully with the dishcloth in her hand. "Oh, you rascal! You should have told us sooner!"

"Is that why all the universities you've been looking at have been back in Tokyo?" his dad asks, as he passes them on his way to the fridge.

Ren turns, so his back is to the countertop and he's facing both of them properly, shrugs his shoulders and smiles sheepishly. "Yeah…"

It's also because that's where all his friends are, of course, but he'd be lying if he said that Goro isn't the biggest reason he can't wait to get back to the city.

Fresh bottle of beer in hand, his dad grimaces sympathetically and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. “Long distance is tough, though, kiddo. This girl must really be something special.”

Smile freezing on his face, Ren swallows, bites the inside of his cheek, and looks away, eyes dropping to the faded linoleum under their feet.

All he needs to do now is keep smiling, nod, and accept their well-wishes. Leave things as ambiguous as possible. It's not like his dad just hit him with some armour piercing question, after all, right? Shrugging it off should be easy – especially when he'd already kind of prepared himself for this conversation – but, for whatever reason, it's not.

There's suddenly this pit in the bottom of his stomach, and it only widens when he imagines letting the assumption slide.

He can't even blame them for it, not really – he's already had a girlfriend, after all, and even the most progressive people from his parent's generation would probably have assumed the same thing – but it rankles him all the same.

Maybe it’s just not sitting well with him because he's still kind of pissed at the way his mom just waved off the fact that they pretty much abandoned him for a year, but, whatever the reason, he mutters a correction under his breath.

(Half hoping they'll just ignore it, and half hoping they'll push.)

"Hmm, what did you say, son?"

Okay, they're doing this.

Like he read his mind, Morgana looks up from his bowl and, low and soft, says, "Ren…"

It could be a warning, or Morgana might just be reminding him that he's here – that he has his back – but whatever it is, Ren's made his choice. He lifts his chin, looks his parents dead in the eye (his mom first and then his dad), and repeats himself. More loudly this time.

"It's not a girl."

They both just stare at him for several shocked seconds, long enough that Ren feels a bead of sweat slip down his spine, before his mom laughs. And, logically, he knows that it's probably just because she's feeling nervous and awkward, but the sound of it makes his stomach twist again, and – before they can try to play it off as a gag or something – he doubles down.

"I'm not kidding."

It comes out more forceful than he meant it to – more Joker than Ren – and he sees the fearful flicker in their eyes before the annoyance at being talked back to overrides it.

His mom laughs again, but it's mean now – derisive – the way she used to laugh when he was barely a teenager and tried to join in when they were talking about something on the news that he didn't really understand.

“Oh, baby," she coos, condescending to the core. "You spend one year in the big city, and you decide you’re gay?”

It's actually kind of funny, he's stood up to so much worse, but the way she's looking down her nose at him now – like he really is just some dumb kid – is enough to make him lose his nerve. He might as well be twelve again. “I didn’t – and I’m not – and-”

“So, what?" she prompts, eyebrows raised. "You’re not gay?”

Ren turns to his dad for support (he doesn't know why, though. It's not like he's ever stepped in to help Ren before), but he just looks away, frowning and rubbing at the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb. "You're the one who brought this up, Ren…"

That's not really true, but it's also not not true, so Ren sighs, twists a lock of his hair around his index finger, and tries again. "It's not as simple as that, I guess…? I still, uh, I still like girls."

His parents share another look, but this time, weirdly enough, there's obvious amusement mixed in with the surprise.

“Oh,” his mom breathes, shoulders sagging in relief, and now they're both kind of laughing – like there's some joke here that Ren doesn't get. Leaning in and whispering (loudly) in his dad's ear, Ren hears her say, “This is usually more of a middle school thing, though, right?" And when he nods, she turns back to Ren. "You got there a little later than most, sweetie, but those kinds of feelings are totally normal when you’re a teenager.”

Clearing his throat, his dad adds, “Sometimes you find a friend that means a lot to you, and you get – well, you get confused. But once you’re a little older, and more mature, you’ll realise that all you really want to do is settle down with a nice girl.”

Ren gapes at them. "You think this is just a phase?"

"I know it doesn't feel that way, honey," his mom says, one hundred percent sincere – sympathetic, even. It’s kind of worse than when she was being condescending. "But – well, we'll let you in on a little secret – your father and I might both know what that's like."

There's a lot more going on here than just a joke that went over his head, Ren realises.

His dad chuckles self-consciously, and his mom joins in, like they both just admitted to dabbling in underage drinking or something. "Believe me, it'll resolve itself with time."

This is an incredibly weird and really shitty way to find out that the fact that he's into both guys and girls is an 'apple not falling far from the tree' situation. Stunned, he hardly reacts at all when his mom crosses the short distance between them to stroke his hair and peck him on the cheek.

"It's late, you should finish up the lunches and get ready for bed – you're up early for school in the morning."

So, still reeling internally, that's exactly what he does.

And when Morgana asks him if he's okay, after his parents have disappeared into their room and closed the door, Ren doesn't know how to answer.

***

Two weeks pass, and the subject of his sexuality (or the fact that he has an actual boyfriend) isn't brought up again. Not even when a conversation turns in a direction where it probably would have come up naturally, under normal circumstances – ones where he either never said anything, or his parents weren't obviously repressing a bunch of weird unresolved issues about their own pasts.

The three of them seem to have come to an unspoken agreement to just sidestep the issue entirely. And sure, Ren would have preferred that his parents had been supportive, but this is probably still better than them being dismissive and patronising like they were when he first told them, so it's fine.

Mostly.

He just has to focus on the fact that he really does only have less than a year left here before he can move back to Tokyo for college.

And college is exactly what's on his mind tonight – or more, entrance exams (and how he can use them to get out of Kanbara for a couple of days) are.

"You've never seemed particularly interested in law before, Ren," his dad says, peering down at the brochures from the law school that Ren just passed across the dinner table.

And he's not interested in it now, either, but this particular school holds their exams outside the traditional window – on the day after Goro's birthday, in fact – and he'd waste three hours doing almost anything if it meant he could get back to Tokyo in time for it. "Niijima-san left a lasting impression on me, I guess."

"The same kind of impression she leaves on most boys your age, I'm sure," his mom giggles and winks at him, and Ren comes very close to asking if she has the hots for his friend's sister.

But that's the kind of sass that might negatively impact the decision-making process, so he looks away and rubs shyly at the back of his neck instead, letting them fill in the gaps whichever way they want to fill them. “The exam's being held early on Saturday morning, so I figured I'd get the train up to Tokyo on Friday, after school, and come home on Sunday,” he says, and then, just to cover all his bases, adds, “I’ll take an afternoon train home too, so I’ll be back with plenty of time to get ready for my classes on Monday… If that's okay?”

His mom hums thoughtfully and drums on her chin with her fingers, but she's still smiling, and Ren knows that he's already won her over. "Taking an entrance exam is a good enough reason to miss one day of school, I think. Right, Fujio?"

His dad sighs and slides the brochures back across the table. "If your mom's on board, then I'm on board. Just make sure you keep that nose clean, kiddo."

Ren grins at them, genuinely, and for what feels like the first time in months, or maybe even years. "Thanks, Mom – thanks, Dad-" He jumps up to start clearing away the dishes. "I'll bring back souvenirs!"

At the sink, he rinses their bowls out quickly, and, pulling his phone out of his pocket, opens the group chat and starts typing.

-🎭The Thieves Den🎭-

25/05/2017

7:22.p.m.

Ren: They said yes!

Phone already buzzing with everyone's happy replies, Ren runs upstairs to wake Morgana up and tell him the good news.

***

'Now arriving at Shibuya – Shibuya-'

Up out of his seat and waiting for the train doors to slide open before the tinny, cheery voice finishes calling out his stop, Ren is already buzzing with nervous energy. The cloud of butterflies in his stomach dipping and swooping as he steps out onto the platform at Shibuya, and he feels like it turns into an actual butterfly tornado when the sea of people parts, and he finally sees him.

Arms crossed, standing ramrod straight by one of the concrete pillars, and dressed way too warmly for the weather, is Goro Akechi. He's searching the crowd – just like Ren was half a second ago – and when their eyes meet, it's like the world falls away around them.

On slightly shaky legs, Ren takes a step forward – then another – and Goro's moving too, until they're both crossing the distance between them at a half-jog. They meet in the middle in a hug so fierce that it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs – a hug that Ren is sure is earning them all kinds of stares and dirty looks, but he doesn't care. The only thing that matters right now is the solid, real feeling of Goro in his arms.

"Video chat really isn't quite the same, is it?"

Ren nods and snorts a wet-sounding laugh into his boyfriend's collar. Inhaling the warm scent of his cologne and- "You smell like coffee."

He feels Goro nosing discreetly through the hair just above his ear, and Ren breaks out in tingly gooseflesh all over. "And you don't – it's strange. We'll have to do something about that…"

"Are we gonna roll around in some beans? I don't think Sojiro'd go for that."

"I was more thinking that I'd put you to work behind the counter, once we get back to the café. I have missed having you serve me."

Taking that jab in the horniest way possible, Ren coughs a laugh and nuzzles closer into the crook of Goro’s neck. "Oh, yeah?" The way the hands on his back tighten possessively – fingers digging sharply into his shoulder blades – tells him that they’re on the exact same page. And, well, they have a lot of stuff to do before he can make coffee for Goro (hopefully wearing nothing but an apron and a smile) again, and they’ll never get there if they just stand around here, so he says, "We should probably get going then, huh?"

"Before the scandalised group of housewives over there try to report us for existing? Yes, probably."

Nose gliding along Goro's cheek as he pulls back, Ren's heart almost stops when their eyes meet again.

God, he wants to kiss him so badly.

But Goro wasn't exaggerating about the women clutching their pearls and giving them the stink eye, and it'll only be so long, he's sure, before a station attendant turns up to chastise them and ask them to move along. So, reluctantly, they separate, falling into step with each other as they walk along the platform.

Ren reaches out to tug on the cuff of his boyfriend's coat sleeve. "Happy birthday."

And, without missing a beat, Goro hits him with a line so slick that Ren almost slips and skids onto the train tracks. "It is – now that you're here."

Oh, that is cheesy – and also probably something that he prepared in advance (which should make it even more ridiculous) – but Goro makes it work, somehow. Saying it so earnestly that Ren feels his eyes start to burn again, and, through a throat that feels too full, he says, "I love you."

It's been months – months of texting the words to each other and whispering them down the phone – but Goro still seems just as surprised now as the first time Ren said it. His mouth twists at one corner for a second, like he has to suppress a rueful smile before he answers. "I love you too, Ren."

The question – the 'why won't you believe that I care about you as much as you care about me?' – is sitting right on the tip of his tongue, but he catches it with his teeth and swallows it back down. He has a good enough idea about what the answer is (and how it's also complete bullshit), but dragging it out in the open in the middle of Shibuya Station doesn't seem like a good idea.

(Or something that he should really try to approach at all before he's back in Tokyo full-time.)

Also, he's kind of hoping that if he just keeps showing Goro how he feels, that maybe it'll finally sink in. "I got you something, you know – for your birthday."

Surprised, and clearly happy to have moved onto a different subject, Goro blinks at him and then peers suspiciously at the bag on Ren's shoulder. "Oh?"

"No, it's not in here – I had it delivered to Sojiro's. Futaba's been keeping it safe for me."

"Well, I look forward to it," Goro says. "And actually, Ren, I also have a surprise for you – for before we head back to Leblanc."

It's Ren's turn to be suspicious. "Yeah…?"

"Yes," Goro smiles, pretty and opaque. Not giving anything away.

"I'm pretty beat from the journey, though," Ren tries, angling for a clue and not really trying to hide it. "I'd be more than happy to just go to bed."

“It’s barely dinnertime,” Goro snorts, one eyebrow raised. “And your train journey was only an hour long, if even.”

Ren bumps his shoulder against Goro’s and grins. “Yeah, but I wasn’t really planning on sleeping once we got there – not right away anyway.”

“Unfortunately, Leblanc is probably already overrun with Phantom Thieves…” Ren knew that, of course, but he still kind of wishes there was some way for him to steal a moment with Goro before the party. “And I can't imagine that they'll be happy to wait around while we-" Goro clears his throat. "-catch up."

"I like living on the edge," Ren says, with a wink.

"Mmm, yes, the edge of my nerves."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who suggested we get down and dirty while Sojiro was downstairs-"

The bag on Ren's shoulder starts wriggling, and then grumbling. Oops, Morgana's awake.

"Geez, did you guys forget that I'm here…?"

"Not at all, Morgana," Goro says, smoothly. So smooth, actually, that Ren wouldn't be able to tell that he was bullshitting if he couldn't also see the flush creeping up from under the collar of his shirt. "In fact, the surprise that I have in mind for Ren is something that you'll probably also enjoy."

Fledgling fantasies of being whisked away to a love hotel well and truly dashed, Ren still finds himself feeling intrigued, wondering now if they'll be stopping to get something to eat before catching the train to Yongen-Jaya.

Morgana must be thinking the same thing because he meows excitedly (and loudly) in Ren's ear. "Sushi?" he trills. "The freshness of the fish in Kanbara is tough to beat, but Tokyo sushi has its own charm-"

Goro cuts across him. "It's not sushi, or-" He looks back at Ren, smiling enigmatically as they step out into Station Square. "-any other kind of food."

And before Ren (or Morgana) can ask what that actually means, the world around them starts to shimmer.

It's never as obvious when you're not expecting it, and especially when you're not particularly close to a strong distortion, but it still feels like every hair on Ren's body is suddenly standing on end, and when he blinks, Station Square is completely empty. Nobody but Goro, Ren, and (a suddenly much larger) Morgana.

They're actually in the Metaverse!

Hopping down from his shoulder, Morgana looks down at his now-bipedal form and then up at Goro. "How did you-?!"

"You got it?" Ren almost gasps.

Justifiably smug, Goro holds his phone up in one hand. "I got it." The app that’s open on his screen looks different from the Meta-nav, but Ren figures it must work in pretty much the same way.

They just stand there for a long moment, grinning at each other. Ren's head is suddenly full of thoughts about how they're way more alone than they were only seconds before, and the glint in Goro's eye says he's probably thinking the same.

Hell, he planned this whole thing, so Ren's sure he's thinking the same.

Morgana sighs a long-suffering sigh. "I'll just – yeah, I'll just go scout around… While you guys do – you do…" he trails off awkwardly, and scratches at his ear. "...Whatever."

Of course, he hadn't even needed to ask – Morgana has always known when to give them some space. Ren smiles down at his friend. "Thanks."

Watching until Morgana disappears into the shade of the covered smoking area, Ren turns back to Goro, but he's already way ahead of him. One hand grabbing a fistful of Ren's shirt and the other already in his hair, Goro crowds him back against the nearest wall and pulls him into a kiss so deep that it nearly makes him forget about the whole Metaverse thing.

Nearly.

Ignoring the fact that he's already half-hard (and how he can feel that Goro is too), Ren tries to come up for air, but only really manages to redirect Goro into sucking on his neck instead. "As much as I want to jump you too- ah!" Ren gasps and shivers as sharp teeth do a little more than graze his skin. Man, he hopes Morgana is far enough away to be out of earshot by now. "Maybe I'm – hah – not the only one?"

"The only one who what?" Goro asks, voice muffled by the fact he's still trying to suck Ren's blood.

And then a thigh slips in between his and right up against his dick and – holy shit! – what was he trying to say again? Oh, right. "The only one who wants to jump you."

Goro pulls back enough to look at him like he's a complete madman, and Ren thinks that there are probably choice parts of his body that would agree with that assessment. "What are you talking about, Ren?"

"Shadows? They, uh, jump… It was a better joke before you bit me, I swear."

The truly withering look he gets in response shows just how little Goro believes him, but he gets the point anyway. "I've only been in the Metaverse once since being given the ability again – this morning, in fact – but the vast majority of the shadows I encountered were still concentrated down there-" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "In what used to be Mementos."

Oh, it really is gone then. "Used to be?"

"Well, the structure itself is still there – the tracks – the tunnels – all of that," he makes a dismissive, impatient motion with his free hand (the one that's not still tracing distracting circles in the hair at the base of Ren's neck). "But the shadows behave differently – they aren't as frenzied, or driven – they don't seem to be as motivated to try and make their way deeper underground. And that energy that used to be in the air – the thing that let you know, instinctually, that there was something dangerous lurking somewhere in the darkness at the bottom – has disappeared."

"Huh..."

Exasperated and amused, Goro flicks the tip of his nose. "Do you really want to discuss this now?"

"Sorry, I got distracted," Ren laughs, and leans in to seal the apology with a kiss that Goro snaps at playfully – his teeth dragging across Ren's bottom lip and leaving his brain feeling all fuzzy. "It won't happen again."

"It wouldn't want to," Goro snorts, and – pulling Ren with him – steps back and away from the wall. "Morgana might have been gracious enough to give us some privacy, but let's retreat further into the station, just in case."

"Just in case," Ren repeats, and happily allows himself to be led by the hand, deeper into the eerily-empty building – through the first set of turnstiles and around a corner.

"It is a pity," Goro tuts, as he gets right back to being handsy and pushy – immediately shoving Ren up against the nearest wall again. "That our clothes don't change up here – I must admit to wondering, more than once, what it might be like to have Joker on his knees, choking on my cock."

Eyes going wide, Ren's breath catches in his throat as his dick throbs almost painfully at the barrage of images suddenly in his head.

Imagining the dangerous glint of the Black Mask visor above him, claws in his hair as his mouth is fucked, rough and fast – or, maybe, instead, being treated to the contrast of having the prim and proper Detective Prince hold his head in place as he struggles to breathe around the dick pressing relentlessly against the back of his throat.

Man, there is no way he's not blushing. He can feel the blood burning in his cheeks (and can see the victorious and absolutely predatory look on his boyfriend's face), but he manages to recover well enough to play along.

"I wouldn't go without a fight," he smirks, even though he wants nothing more right now than the feeling of Goro's dick on his tongue. Well, almost nothing – the fiery flash of challenge in Goro's eyes, and the way his nostrils flare is definitely pretty great too.

"I wouldn't expect – nor would I want you to," Goro replies, soft and dangerous. "You still owe me a rematch, after all."

Grinning, Ren grabs him by the lapels of his coat and pulls him into another sloppy, aggressive kiss that very quickly turns into an actual scuffle. Pushing and shoving at each other, one minute, and then grinding on each other the next. Goro bites Ren's lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but when he swipes his tongue over the same spot, the flesh is barely tender. They might not be in-costume, but this is still the Metaverse, and Ren can feel the power buzzing underneath his skin – crackling like electricity in the air around them – just waiting for one of them to let go – to let loose.

And he wants to – knows that Goro wants to too – but personas aren't exactly discreet, and breaking them out is exactly the sort of thing that would have Morgana rushing back to check on them. So, reining the desire back in (even though he really wants to see if he can summon Raoul when there's no mask on his face), Ren allows Goro to get the upper hand.

And boy, does he ever – it happens fast – so fast that it feels like Ren hardly has time to blink before they go from being nose to nose, and on equal footing, to Goro being behind him. There's a strong, gloved hand at his throat, dragging them back against the wall, leaving Ren facing outwards – staring up the walkway and right at the spot where he used to always meet Yusuke. Goro's other hand drops to his belt, and when Ren moves to turn, the grip on his neck tightens, a steady, firm pressure against his jugular that would probably make him swoon on his feet if he wasn't literally being held up.

Raising his hands in surrender, he pants, "Okay, you got me."

"Oh, Ren," Goro hisses in his ear, as he undoes Ren's belt in a quick, violent motion and then gets started on his jeans. "Later, once all your little friends have gone home, and we come back here again – you'll see just how much I've got you."

In the context of whatever weird game they're playing, it's clearly supposed to be a threat, but there's such an obvious current of fondness underneath that Ren can't help but spoil the illusion a little. Letting as much of the tension bleed out of him as possible, he leans back against Goro's chest and reaches up carefully, sliding gentle fingers around the wrist hovering over his collarbone and caressing the bare skin between glove and shirt sleeve. Tilting his head back, he twists just enough in Goro's grip for them to be able to share an awkwardly angled, but still tender, kiss.

Or, at least, that’s how it starts. A soft, wet slide of lips and tongue, with Ren's pulse fluttering under Goro's fingers like a butterfly waiting to be pinned. The menace creeps back in slowly, steadily – a hot tap left on in the bath – going from warm and comfortable to scalding so gradually that you don't realise until you're already burned. What was soft a moment ago has turned sharp again, teeth biting and tugging at his lips, and then his jaw, as Goro pushes down the front of Ren's underwear and catches the waistband underneath his balls, leaving him completely exposed.

Ren wouldn't say that he's the kind of person who gets easily flustered – and he knows, logically, that (except for Morgana) they're as alone here as they'll be tonight, in Leblanc's attic – but the cool air on his skin only makes him more aware of how the tips of his ears are on fire. It feels like his heart is trying to thump its way out his ribcage as his hands flex and twitch while he fights with the urge to cover himself. Swallowing thickly, and feeling the way his Adam's apple moves against Goro's palm as he does, he waits. An almost-anxious thrill prickling over his skin, from the tips of his toes all the way up to the crown of his head, joining the excitement thrumming and buzzing through his veins. It only increases when Goro finally wraps his fingers around his dick and squeezes.

And, oh – he might have put a lot of thought, over the last year, into what Goro's gloves might feel like on his dick, but he wasn't prepared. The leather is simultaneously smooth and rough as it glides over his skin, catching just enough to burn a little, but not enough to chafe, and Ren shudders bodily when Goro starts to pump him properly, in firm, steady strokes that make him feel like his knees are going to buckle.

Really, he has to give it to Last Night Ren – making the decision to lock himself in the bathroom and jerk off three times in preparation for today – because it's the only reason he doesn't just come in two seconds. Still, even so, he’s already kind of close, but then, just as he starts to feel the first pleasant twinges in his gut, Goro whispers in his ear.

"Can you see them?"

"Hu-huh?" Ren manages, between pants. So confused that he slips right back from the edge. "See w-who?"

"Why, the rest of Tokyo's commuters, of course." Ren can't see his face, but he can hear the sweet and deadly smile in his voice all the same. "We might be in the Metaverse, but they're still all around us."

Ren's ability to think about anything other than the fist tugging on his dick has been severely compromised, so it takes more than a couple of seconds for him to really understand what Goro just said. But when he forces himself to focus, and squints a little, he realises that he's right – he really can see the people around them, even though they're only faint. Hardly more than after-images.

A ghostly group of office workers passes by them, terrifyingly close, and Ren bites his lip against the groan that rumbles in the back of his throat when Goro twists his wrist and starts jerking him faster.

"It does seem as though we're invisible to them – but what if it's not so clear-cut, hmm?" Goro continues, conversationally, even as he grinds his hips in a rough circle against Ren's ass. "What if, tonight, each one of them dreams of you here – cock out, beautiful, and filthy – practically begging for me to fuck you over the nearest railing?"

Ren doesn't think that's how it works – he hopes that isn't how it works – but, shit, he might be even more messed up than he thought he was, because just the idea is enough. The molten spring coiled in the pit of his stomach contracts, then releases, and his eyes roll back in his head as he comes. Toes curling in his boots, breath coming out in ragged, desperate pants, he shudders and sags backwards against Goro's chest as he's worked through it.

Shivering in the aftermath, Ren whines through his teeth as Goro fixes his underwear, grazing the underside of his balls as he tucks him back in gently and carefully.

It takes him a second to realise why Goro's doing it all one-handed.

"Oh, uh… did I ruin your glove?"

"Perhaps," Goro says, sounding unconcerned as he pulls the glove off at the wrist – turning it inside out in the process – and then bundles it up with the other one before slipping them both into his pocket.

Ren knows they're stupid expensive, though (he looked up the brand on the tag inside the one he still carries around everywhere, and nearly died when he saw the price tag), and he doesn't think they're the kind of thing you can just throw in a washing machine, either.

Oops.

Should he be offering to buy him a new pair?

Goro speaks again before he has the chance to ask. "I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me."

Okay, yeah, that he can definitely do.

Turning around fully, Ren grins, sleepy and satisfied, and kisses Goro again. "Oh, I'm planning on it."

His knees still feel wobbly, and like they might give out any second, but hey, that's just the perfect excuse to drop to them, right? And he's pulling back to do just that, when Goro speaks up.

He sounds (and looks) very serious all of a sudden. "Ren, I – I know what I said earlier-"

Ren waggles his eyebrows. "What? That you like the idea of me choking on your cock?"

How Goro manages to look embarrassed now, after he said the exact same thing with a straight face earlier (and whispered all those mean, nasty things in his ear only a couple of seconds ago too) is a mystery.

A very funny, very cute mystery.

"I was – I don't actually expect…"

Ren's done his homework – and he's sure that Goro has too – he knows that you can't really go from only giving one blowjob ever to suddenly being able to deepthroat dick like a pro.

These things, unfortunately, take practice.

And that's okay. They'll get there.

Eventually.

"Goro," he says, kissing the side of his mouth, and trying very hard not to laugh at the situation. It would definitely be taken the wrong way, and having his boyfriend get blueballed by a misunderstanding doesn't sound too great, honestly. "Just follow my lead, okay?"

Sighing shakily, Goro nods, and Ren drops into a crouch, bracing one hand against Goro's thigh and enjoying the sound of him sucking a sharp breath between his teeth when Ren leans forward to nuzzle the obvious bulge in his pants. Reaching up to grab the buckle of his belt with his free hand, Ren undoes it quickly – eyes going wide as he unzips Goro's fly, and comes face to face with the massive wet patch on the front of his briefs.

The fabric is literally glistening where it's stretched over the head of his dick.

Seriously, if he couldn't see how hard he still is, Ren would think that he'd actually already come.

"Wow," he breathes, genuinely awestruck. "You're soaked."

And Goro goes stiff, spluttering the start of something embarrassed and indignant that Ren doesn't give him the chance to finish. Leaning in to mouth and suckle at the slightly sticky fabric, he hums happily at the salty twang of sweat and pre-cum that blooms on his tongue and makes his own dick stir hopefully again.

"Fu-uck," Goro groans, hips jerking forward in a short, reflexive thrust that Ren meets with his tongue. "Ren – I, ah – if you don't want this to be over before it's even – hah! – begun-"

Wow, okay. "Got it – got it," he chuckles, although the sound gets caught in his throat when he finally pulls the front of Goro's briefs down and watches his dick spring free.

Holy shit.

He knew that Goro's dick was perfect, but neither his memory nor the handful of sneaky, dirty video calls they've managed to fit in over the last couple of months have done it justice. Like, at all.

Looking back up at Goro’s face – which is just as beautiful and red as his aching dick – Ren whispers, "I love you."

Goro gasps a breathless, incredulous laugh. "Who was that for? Me, or my cock?"

Ren's first instinct is to make a joke ('Can't it be both?' or 'Do I have to choose?'), but he knows that Goro would probably appreciate something a little more sincere. "You, of course, I love you-" Ren watches, rapt, as Goro's dick twitches as he speaks, another pearly bead of pre-cum forming at his slit. "-more than anything."

"Show me then," Goro almost pleads, his voice thick with emotion and desperation.

Maybe if Ren was more sadistic, he'd hold off a little longer, see if he could actually get him to beg the way he knows Goro would do to him if their positions were reversed. But he's not, and he also thinks that he might die if he waits another second.

Grasping Goro's dick at the base, Ren angles it towards his face and places a wet, open-mouth kiss on the tip. Goro gasps and moans at the contact, and even more pre-cum floods Ren's mouth. Lapping it up greedily, he runs his tongue along Goro's slit and in a circle around the head of his dick, making sure that he gets every last drop.

Very aware of the fact that Goro's breathing is becoming steadily more ragged, and the way the muscles in his thighs are already twitching, he decides to lean into it and speed things up a little. Opening his mouth, he takes in half of Goro's dick in one go, stroking the underside with the tip of his tongue on the updrag, before sinking back down even further this time. Not quite all the way – but close – and he's just thinking about pushing his luck and seeing if he really can go the extra half-inch, when one of Goro's hands leaves his hair and cups the side of his face, tracing a trembling, affectionate path across his cheekbone with his thumb.

Ren blinks and looks up, almost forgetting to breathe when he sees just how beautifully wrecked Goro looks. Eyebrows drawn together, mouth slack, eyes unfocused but still full of so much wonder – so much love – that Ren can't help but think back to how different this is from the first time, in Leblanc. When Goro had been so angry and so embarrassed – wound tight as a bowstring and nearly gnawing his own finger off to try and hide how much he was enjoying himself.

He's still trying to be quiet now, of course, but it's not because he's hiding from Ren. The soft grunts and gasps and babbled curses are getting louder now, increasing in speed, and when Ren reaches up to cup his balls – palming them roughly – the next sound that leaves him is closer to a sob.

"Ah – hah – fuck – shi-iit – I-I'm-" Goro's words dissolve into a choked, strangled sound as he shakes and trembles over the edge.

And Ren's there to catch him – hands going to Goro's ass as the first shot of cum hits the back of his throat – drawing him in even closer as he keeps working him with his tongue. Savouring the way Goro's dick twitches and pulses in his mouth, Ren shudders and moans along with him, and god, if he hadn't already come earlier, he'd probably be creaming his jeans right now.

It's only when Goro's dick starts to soften – when the only noises he's making are weak, overstimulated mewls – that Ren pulls up off him and gets ready to-

Goro's fingers flex against his jaw. "Wait-" His eyes are dark and unreadable, but Ren knows exactly what he's going to ask anyway. A thrill zips up and down his spine. "Open your mouth."

And Ren does as he's told, opening wide so Goro can see the cum pooled in the back of his mouth and on his tongue.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Goro slides his thumb along Ren's bottom lip, his lower incisors, and then presses lightly on the tip of his tongue. "Now," he says, as he withdraws slightly, slipping his middle and index fingers underneath Ren's jaw to gently and firmly push it closed. "Swallow."

Ren doesn't even have to play up how eager he is, eyelids fluttering in blissed-out satisfaction as he swallows greedily.

But, okay, yeah, maybe the way he licks his lips afterwards is done mostly for the reaction – for the high-pitched noise (one that he'd definitely object to being called a whine) Goro makes at the sight.

His mouth feels tingly and kind of numb, the back of his throat's all gooey, and his thighs ache from crouching for so long. There's no reason now for him to stay down here, so, using Goro's hips as leverage, he pulls himself back to standing, wincing as his back-with-a-vengeance boner gets caught at an awkward angle. Ren reaches into the front of his jeans to adjust himself and traps his dick against his stomach with the waistband of his underwear. At least now it's not getting bent as well as squashed.

Eyes following the movement, Goro huffs, amused and incredulous, as he finishes buckling his own belt. "Already?"

"What can I say," Ren shrugs. "I kind of like blowing you."

Tugging and straightening the lapels of his coat, Goro quirks an eyebrow at him. "Oh, only 'kind of'?"

"Well-"

"Joker? Crow?" Morgana's voice echoes through the empty station, bouncing off the walls and making it almost impossible to tell how far away he actually is. Ren nearly jumps right out of his skin. "Are you guys okay?"

Tense, frozen in place, he and Goro just stare at each other for a moment, wide-eyed and totally caught off guard, before they both crack up at the same time.

"Say what you will about Morgana," Goro laughs, wiping at the corners of his eyes, "his timing is always impeccable."

Imagining how awkward (and how much of a mood killer) it would have been if he'd come looking for them even a few seconds earlier, Ren has to agree.

But, hey, at least the shock seems to have scared his boner away.

Ren steals one more kiss before he grabs his boyfriend by the hand and pulls him away from the wall. "C'mon, let's go."

Goro smiles at him. Wide, crooked, and heart-achingly sincere. "Lead the way, Ren."

Chapter Text

On the morning of his nineteenth birthday, Goro wakes up, as he does on most mornings, just before his alarm goes off, at 5:26 a.m.

Not one to linger in bed in general, he's even less inclined to do so today.

Getting up, the first thing he does (after a brief detour downstairs to empty his bladder and brush his teeth) is to launch into his usual pre-cycle warm up. Running through the simple and familiar stretches – interspersed, where appropriate, with squats and lunges – on autopilot before changing into his cycling gear.

Ready to go, he pauses to retrieve the small, foil bundle he'd left in the fridge last night, before heading for the door. And, after making sure the café is locked up securely, he then walks the short distance to the rack of rental bikes near Yongen-Jaya's train station.

It's warm out, even with how early it is – over twenty degrees Celsius already – but Goro's always run cold, and it's not until he's actually on the bike and really picked up some speed that he starts actually noticing it. Hair clinging to his forehead and his temples in a sticky, sweaty mess as the wind whips around him.

Out of necessity, he's been making a daily visit to the bath house across from Leblanc once he returns from his morning workout, but it truly is cumbersome, and having access to a proper shower is probably the only thing he really misses about his old apartment.

But it's a minor inconvenience, in the grand scheme of things, and one that he pushes out of his mind as he stops at a set of traffic lights and double-checks the map app on his phone to make sure he's following the most efficient route. Normally, it wouldn't matter, he'd simply pick a direction at random and just continue on for approximately half an hour before doubling back and returning home.

This morning, however, is different – he has a set destination in mind, and getting there is going to take slightly longer than the usual thirty minutes. So, regardless of the heat, he needs to push himself if he wants to stay on schedule.

Forty-seven minutes later (a full eight minutes less than the estimated time on the app), and more than a little out of breath, he pulls up to the bike racks outside Inokashira Park. And, after leaving the rental bike tied safely to one of them, he enters the park and makes his way to the old and familiar tree near the water's edge.

His forearms break out in prickly gooseflesh as he steps out of the sun and into the sprawling, dappled shadow of the tree, and it only worsens when he kneels on the still slightly damp grass. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation on his bare shins, he reaches into the pocket on the front of his zip-up, and pulls out the foil parcel, letting out a small, relieved sigh when he confirms that it survived the journey relatively unscathed. The citrusy smell of the two thin slices of lemon cheesecake inside rises up immediately to tickle at his nose as he unwraps them, making his still-empty stomach rumble hopefully.

Using the small plastic fork he'd packed alongside them to separate the two slices properly, Goro thinks (as he does most years) about how it's probably somewhat self-centred of him to have selected his own birthday as the date to celebrate his mother's memory.

It's more traditional, he knows, to mark the anniversary of a loved one's death (which, in his mother’s case, is in the first week of April), but that’s never felt right to him, for whatever reason, and neither has her own birthday – not when she never went out of her way to mark the occasion herself when he was growing up.

Goro's birthday, however? She'd always made time for it – made an occasion of it – always ensuring they had cake to share, and that he had some kind of gift. No matter how dire their financial situation in that particular year had been.

So, yes, he's well aware that his choice of date might seem egotistical to some, but still, it's always felt more appropriate to celebrate when she would have wanted to – if she were still here with him to do so.

Another non-traditional aspect of this yearly tradition is the location. This park does hold some sentimental value for him – for them – of course, but truly, his being here is mostly a matter of pragmatism.

Goro would visit her grave, if she had one.

He'd pray to, and leave an offering for, her ashes if he knew where they were.

But he doesn't, and he can't, so coming to a place that she loved – a place that they spent more than one of his birthdays picnicking in – is the best that he can do.

Looking out over the water, he can see a young couple walking with a stroller on the other side. Arms linked at the elbow, coffee cups in hand, he assumes that they're only out and about so early because of their baby's fitful sleep schedule. And, with the day that's in it, it's hard not to wonder if his own mother did something similar. Just one more small, simple sacrifice in the mind bogglingly long list of sacrifices she made for him. There had been no note, when she took her own life, so Goro can't say for certain whether she considered that last act to be one too – if her perception had been so warped by her illness that she thought that leaving him all alone, just two months shy of turning thirteen, was a sort of kindness.

Her motivations are something he’s agonised over for the longest time. Torturing himself with shitty worst case scenario after shitty worst case scenario one moment, and then kicking himself for being so uncharitable it was borderline disrespectful the next.

This is his seventh birthday without her, and one more birthday than he thought he'd ever have, and now, he supposes, he needs to find a way to accept the fact that it's just not something he'll ever know.

Cutting a sliver off his slice with the side of the fork, he takes it into his mouth and lets it sit on his tongue for a second, contemplating and cataloguing the taste and the texture the way he used to force himself to do for his food blog. Being left in the fridge overnight has left the base soggier than he'd like, but the cream cheese is still light and airy, and the interplay of sweet and sour has a certain undeniable charm.

Goro has never been particularly partial to lemon-based anything, but his mother was, and personal taste notwithstanding, he can't quite find it in himself to mind.

And well, hasn't there been a lot of that going around lately?

It's not exactly unpleasant, finding himself without the very specific, single-minded rage and drive that has fuelled him for the last three years, but it certainly is jarring. The difference is only made all the more obvious in this tradition, where previously (at least on the last three times he's come here), he choked down his slice of cake, left hers for the birds, and then, with renewed resolve, threw himself back into pursuing the revenge he'd convinced himself was entirely for her sake.

A stupid thing, really, when he understands why she decided to bring him into this world about as well as he understands why she decided to leave it.

One thing he does know, however, is that Hanae Akechi was a stubborn woman. Strong-headed to a fault – almost to the point of mulish – she had always seemed to try and do the exact opposite of whatever someone told her to do.

Smiling to himself as he remembers one time in particular – he must have been only about six years old – when their upstairs neighbour had come down to bang on their door and complain about the volume of their music. And how, once the woman had gone back to her own apartment, his mother had turned to him, eyes full of bright and vindictive mischief, and asked if he wanted to help her come up with a new game. One that, unsurprisingly, was intended to be far, far louder and more annoyingly disruptive than the music ever was.

With memories like that in mind, he's often found himself wondering if the only reason she'd decided to go ahead with the pregnancy was specifically because Shido, or perhaps even her soon-to-be-estranged parents, had pressured her to abort. The idea that his existence is only the result of his mother's inbuilt, knee-jerk tendency to give the finger to anyone who dared to tell her to do anything grates less than he thought it would.

It's a more comforting thought, certainly, than thinking that she could have been in love with someone like Shido. Or that she might have been so foolish as to seriously believe he would actually stay with her if she bore his child.

Surely the intelligent, determined woman that he remembers couldn't have been so naïve?

Even if she had only been barely nineteen herself when she found out she was pregnant.

Shovelling another piece of cheesecake into his mouth – one that he barely tastes – he thinks about how he still doesn't know nearly enough about what her life was like before he was born. Other than, he supposes, the record of an arrest he'd found in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police database (once, that was, he'd stopped being too much of a coward to look up her name). The arrest had happened about a year before he was born, and was part of a larger scale bust of some seedy little soapland that had been employing underage girls – some of whom were far younger than his mother had been at the time. Unsurprisingly, the charge on her file had been for solicitation.

He remembers surreptitiously scrawling the case number down on a scrap of paper, and then bringing it with him the next time he had access to the filing room. Using his, ostensibly legitimate, casework as a cover while he pulled her file.

And what a bizarre experience that had been, coming face to face with the mugshot of this girl – because that really was all she'd been at the time – when in his blurry memory of her she always seemed so adult. The set of her jaw had been familiar, though, hadn't it? As had the look in her eyes. Even if it had been somewhat difficult to tell if that familiarity was born from referencing a genuine memory, or just from how similar her features were to what he saw each morning in his own mirror.

Pocketing the smaller version of the photograph attached to her file had been risky and more than a little stupid, but he's glad to have it in his wallet now. Tucked safely inside the lining, where he knew it was never at risk of being accidentally flashed to Shido, any other members of the conspiracy, or even to one of his nosy fans and their perpetually poor understanding of the concept of personal space.

It, along with the model raygun, are the only things he has left of her. Other than memories that only become more vague and more murky with each passing day. Each passing year.

Spearing the last piece of his slice of cheesecake with the plastic fork, he brings it to his mouth, and pauses. "Shido is behind bars," he whispers, so quietly that he can barely hear it himself. "I don't know if that's enough, but I think that, perhaps, it's going to have to be."

Goro's only answer, of course, is the wind, along with the distant sound of the flock of ducks out on the water squabbling amongst themselves, and the baby in the stroller as it hiccups and begins to wail.

***

Later that morning (after returning to Yongen, washing and making himself presentable faster than he thinks he ever has, and then just barely catching his train), he arrives at the Kirijo Group's Tokyo office.

His phone is in his hand, the email that he's been obsessively picking over for the entire train ride still open on the screen. It's from one of Mitsuru Kirijo's assistants. Not something unusual, in and of itself, but the fact that it's so short and no nonsense certainly is. Just one, seemingly innocuous, line requesting that he report to the R&D department first thing this morning.

It's been less than twenty-four hours since he met with Maruki and passed on Kirijo's offer, so he can't say how likely it is that the man has been in contact already, but it's difficult to avoid drawing a line between the two events. Connecting Maruki’s recruitment (and any potential reward or privileges Goro might receive for it) with this early morning summons.

Still, Goro reminds himself, as he gets into the elevator, swipes his ID card, and presses the button for the basement, it would probably be in his best interest not to get his hopes up.

But when the metal doors slide open, revealing the sprawling, open-plan lab that takes up what must be the entirety of the basement floor, the department head (a diminutive, deceptively ditzy woman by the name of Yamagishi) is actually waiting for him, and he has to admit to himself that he's almost literally buzzing with anticipation.

"Akechi-kun, good morning!" she says as he steps out of the elevator. Cheery and bright, her attitude stands in stark contrast with the subdued researchers dotted around the lab behind her.

Still unsure of where exactly on the chipper spectrum he wants his new work persona to fall, he decides to play it safe by smiling back politely but not quite meeting her energy. "Good morning, Yamagishi-san. I was asked to stop by here this morning – to see you, presumably?"

Another smile and a nod are the only acknowledgements he gets as she turns to pick up a tablet from the desk beside her, and then taps her way into a document that he can't quite read from this angle.

"The information you've given us about the app you and the other Phantom Thieves-" Goro bites his tongue – correcting people about his membership (or the lack thereof) in that particular metaphysical vigilante group never seems to stick, for whatever reason. "-used to access the Metaverse has been immensely helpful. Honestly, I think that we'd have been looking at a development window of three to five years without it."

Information that had come, almost entirely, from Futaba Sakura, of course. And although Goro has always maintained that his reports on the matter have been based on nothing other than his own assumptions and observations (to leave Futaba with a safety net of plausible deniability), he's sure the people working in this lab are at least vaguely aware of the fact he's using an outside source. Particularly when Goro has never made any attempt to pretend that he has the technical knowledge or know-how to back up any of the information he's passed onto them.

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, carefully. Still trying not to read too much into how excited she seems. "Can I ask, then, what the current development time is?"

"We're ready to move into the testing phase, more or less…" she trails off. Her hair is tied into a long side-braid, and she reaches up with her free hand to twist it around her fingers while she collects her thoughts. "Mitsuru thinks that, once we've completed an initial trial, you should be given free access to the prototype."

Goro has to remind himself to breathe. "Do you disagree, Yamagishi-san?"

Her mouth drops open in surprise before she remembers herself and shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, that's not what I meant," she says, laughing self-consciously. "Out of all our operatives, you're the one with the most relevant experience, Akechi-kun…"

"But?"

"Well, I'd prefer to conduct the initial trials in a more controlled environment, for one. Secondly, sending you in on your own – even though I've read enough of your reports to know that you're comfortable working solo – seems irresponsible." At least her hesitation doesn't seem to be rooted in doubting his capabilities. Good. "Mitsuru, though – she prefers to dive right in with most things," Yamagishi sighs, fond and exasperated. It's an attitude that's completely at odds with the borderline fearful respect that most of the employees here seem to hold Kirijo in. Needless to say, if Goro didn't already know that these two women were old friends, it's something that would have been confirmed for him now. "And I can't say that we don't need the raw data… It's just, well…"

He watches her chew her lip and start fidgeting with her hair again. Clearly, she wants to push back and approach this more cautiously, and Goro respects her reasoning, technically, but the opportunity to regain the ability to enter the Metaverse today, of all days, is far too attractive to be allowed to slip through his fingers. Particularly when Goro can already picture the look on Ren's face when he springs the surprise on him.

He needs to do everything he can to convince Yamagishi that proper practice might not necessarily be best practice in this one, singular scenario.

"The app itself is safe to use, yes?"

"Oh? Yes – yes, of course."

"Would you say that your primary concern is related to my entering the Metaverse without adequate support?"

"It's not my only concern, but yes, you're right, it is the main one…"

"Makoto Niijima," he starts, and hopes – if she ever finds out – that Sae can forgive him. "She's someone I've worked with previously, and I understand that her paperwork has recently been cleared-" Frowning, Yamagishi opens her mouth, as if she means to interrupt him, but he presses on. "And her persona is also a capable healer – something that can only help to allay any fears you might be having, I’m sure.”

After searching the ceiling for a long, thoughtful moment, she sighs and then starts typing something rapidly into a box on the screen of the tablet. “Alright, Akechi-kun, you’ve convinced me. I’ll let Mitsuru know that we’re ready to move forward.”

Well, that was even easier than he was expecting it to be, Goro can hardly believe his luck. “Thank you, Yamagishi-san. I cannot overstate how much I appreciate being given this opportunity.”

“No, Akechi-kun, it’s really us who should be thanking you…” Her round, pretty-side-of-plain face has been open and friendly for the entirety of this exchange, but it’s like a shadow hangs over her expression now – something closed-off and sorrowful. This isn’t the first time he’s been left with the distinct impression that something terrible must have happened here in the past. “Now, please, follow me – I’ll get the app all set up on your phone. We can discuss how we’re going to handle the initial test while we’re waiting.”

***

That's how, less than an hour later, he finds himself standing in Station Square, with Yamagishi, as they wait for Makoto.

It’s not particularly awkward, thankfully. Yamagishi has fully returned to her usual cheerful and amicable self, and Goro has had more practice making banal small talk than most people twice his age, so it's not particularly difficult to keep the conversation flowing.

Still, it’s a relief when Makoto finally turns the corner and comes into view – harried, windblown, and clearly, obviously excited.

“Niijima-chan,” Yamagishi says, as Makoto jogs up to them. “I’m Fuuka Yamagishi – I oversee the Kirijo Group’s primary R&D department. Thank you for coming at such short notice-”

Tuning out the rest of the introductions and pleasantries, Goro allows himself to indulge a little in the fantasy of just how potentially useful Metaverse access will be for when Ren arrives at this very station later. Only snapping out of it and back to reality again at the sound of his name.

“And Goro-kun, thank you as well,” Makoto says, still sounding slightly out of breath. Goro knows she’s no slouch when it comes to cardio, so she must have really pushed herself to get here on time to be still so winded. “For recommending me.”

In absolutely no rush to admit that he only really looped her in for his own benefit, Goro simply replies, “Of course – think nothing of it, Makoto.”

And he isn’t sure (certainly, he hadn't noticed it during his conversation with Yamagishi earlier), but he thinks that he might catch her flinch slightly now, almost imperceptibly, from the corner of his eye.

At the sound of Makoto’s name.

Interesting.

“Well,” Yamagishi starts, and yes, there definitely is a shaken quality to her cheeriness that wasn’t present only moments before. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

The three of them move to a relatively empty spot behind the lottery kiosks, and Makoto takes the opportunity to pass the plastic convenience store bag she's been holding to him.

Honestly, he'd almost forgotten about the last-minute errand he sent her on. No wonder she seemed so out of breath.

"Ah, were you able to-?" he starts and then bites his tongue as he pulls out and gets a proper look at the cheap, toy sword. The blade (if it can even be called that) is foam, narrow and flimsy. The hilt is no better (made from thin, injection-moulded plastic), and to make matters worse, it's shaped like an incredibly oddly-proportioned cartoon dragon.

Dangling jauntily from its tail is the three hundred yen price tag.

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch.

Christ, Ren will have an absolute field day if he ever sees this monstrosity.

There's nothing else in the bag – she must not have been able to source anything in the way of ranged weapons for them to use. Which, considering the sword, is probably a blessing in disguise.

Makoto smiles at him weakly. "It was the only thing I could find on the way here… Sorry."

"It's fine," he grits out, and reminds himself to relax his jaw before he starts actually grinding his teeth. "After all, it's not as if I gave you much in the way of notice."

Having written, in great detail, in more than one report, about how the power of cognition can transform novelty weapons and other trinkets into useful Metaverse equipment, Goro can't say if that's why Yamagishi seems entirely unsurprised by Makoto's offering.

Or if, perhaps, it's because she's had some more hands-on experience with the process at some point.

"I'm sorry, that's my fault," Yamagishi says, punctuating her apology with a shallow bow. Though, in actuality, they all know that it was Goro who pushed for them to do this today. "Do you have a weapon for yourself, Niijima-chan?"

"Only these," Makoto says, smiling self-consciously and holding up her fists. "I practise aikido in my spare time."

Ignoring the way Yamagishi coos and fawns over how impressive that is, Goro slips his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and hovering (slightly impatiently) over the new Meta-nav icon with his thumb while he waits for the go-ahead.

Eventually, and after Yamagishi has jotted down several quick bullet points in the notepad she’s carrying, she looks up and gives them both a solemn nod.

The world shimmers and bends around them immediately when Goro opens the app – apparently not requiring either a location or keyword to begin navigation. The sensation is almost refreshing in its familiarity, despite the slight disorientation that comes along with it.

Once things have settled, they take a moment to assess their surroundings, and, at first glance, the Metaverse version of Shibuya seems the same as it always has.

A ghost town, essentially.

Although, that comparison might be more apt now than it ever was before.

All around them, transparent to the point of being almost invisible, is the same crowd that had been in the square before he activated the app.

"Do either of you see what I'm seeing?" he asks.

"The people?" Makoto responds, and Goro nods. "Yes, I see them too… Just barely."

"That's unusual, then?" Yamagishi asks.

Curious, Goro reaches out as a tired-looking businessman walks past them. His fingers pass through the man's arm without a hint of resistance, and the three of them watch as he continues on about his day as if nothing happened at all. "You could say that, Yamagishi-san, yes."

"Over there…" Makoto points across the square, in the direction of Shibuya crossing. "Is that a shadow?"

Squinting through close to a hundred people is a bizarre thing to find himself doing, but Goro sees that she's right. In the distance, he can just make out a small, dark shape, wriggling low to the ground. It’s difficult to tell from this far away, but strangely, it seems as if the shadow's body consists of little more than a pair of long arms and a head.

It continues crawling sluggishly for another moment before dissolving and disappearing in a small cloud of black particles.

"Don't worry, some changes are to be expected," Yamagishi says. "In my experience, the cognitive realm becomes more weak and malleable after a big distortion has been resolved."

That makes sense, Goro supposes. Although it is disconcerting to know that a lot of things he's come to accept as hard facts might be less set-in-stone than he's used to.

Yamagishi continues on. "In your reports, you mentioned a place that the shadows were drawn to, in-" She quickly flips through her notes again. "Um… down in the underground? That seems like the best place to start our test, I think."

***

The entry point at the mouth of Mementos is the same as it had been the last time he was here in early December. There’s no sign of the tentacles that Maruki used to exert his power over the masses here now, either on the walls or the ceiling above them – only the usual red and black tendrils creeping along each surface like mould in a Petri dish.

Moving closer to the escalator that leads down, Goro feels the blue flames lick at his cheek bones – his shoulders – the tips of his fingers – as his appearance starts to distort and change. Hardly having even a second to think it over, he concentrates on making it so the white prince suit and red mask are the ones to settle over him.

It's always prudent to put one's best (or least threatening) foot forward, he thinks.

Blinking at him from behind her own mask, Makoto says, "Oh, you're-"

And Goro cuts across her. "It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes," she says, clearly getting the message. At least he can always count on her to read between the lines, unlike some other members of the Phantom Thieves that shall remain nameless. "It really has."

Yamagishi has been scribbling away furiously the entire time, intermittently lifting pages of the pad to compare her notes with another document that's paper-clipped into the back. A document that Goro can see enough of, even in the gloom, to recognise that it's written in his own messy handwriting.

When she finally looks up again, it's to stare at his mask for a long moment, seeming simultaneously bewildered and amused.

What is that about?

"These masks," she starts, gesturing with the end of her pen at Goro and then Makoto's faces in turn. "They're the focal point you use to channel the power of your personas?"

They both nod.

"And the, um, costumes… is there any meaning, do you think? Behind their appearance?"

Makoto speaks up. "My understanding has always been that they're supposed to be a reflection of our own internal image of what it means to be a rebel."

An easy enough thing for her to say, Goro thinks, when she's currently decked out like an S&M biker.

It wasn't intentional, he's sure, but it also leaves him in the slightly awkward position of trying to explain why he looks the way he does if they're supposed to be embodying the spirit of rebellion.

"I understand why Makoto has come to that conclusion," he says, and tries not to sound too condescending about it while he does. Mostly because he doesn't want to make a bad impression on Yamagishi. "However, I don't think it's necessarily so clear-cut… My own outfit is modelled after a far more traditional hero archetype, wouldn't you agree?"

Even the mask covering half her face can't quite hide just how annoyed Makoto is by what he said – or, more likely, the way in which he said it. Particularly when they both know his other outfit matches hers (and her hypothesis) far better. "I suppose you have always been an outlier, Goro-kun."

Slightly flustered by the suddenly tense atmosphere, Yamagishi clears her throat. "Ah, well, it's – it's interesting. The method used to summon a persona seems to be quite fluid – cognitively speaking. This will be the third unique way to do it that we've recorded."

"Oh?" Goro and Makoto both say, almost in unison.

"Yes, we've worked with another group of persona-users in the past. They needed to physically destroy a tarot card each time-"

Images of the cards he's seen in the Velvet Room flashing through his mind, Goro can't quite help himself. "Forgive me for interrupting, Yamagishi-san, but could you tell me what colour these cards were?"

"Um…" Her eyes go to the ceiling as she thinks it over. "I'm almost positive that they were blue… Is that important?"

Probably not, he thinks, but it's information he's glad to have regardless. "Perhaps."

And, honestly, he'd prefer to have at least a few more minutes to mull it all over, but Makoto seems to be eager to get back on track. "Can I ask what the other method was, Yamagishi-san?"

"Oh!" Yamagishi starts in place and then reaches into the sensible purse that's slung over her shoulder. "Yes, it's, um… it's using one of these…"

Goro's sure that Makoto is just as surprised as he is to see the shiny semi-automatic pistol in Yamagishi's hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" Yamagishi says, sounding even more flustered and genuinely apologetic.

"A gun can be used to summon a persona?" Goro asks, incredulous. "How?"

"It's not really a gun – despite how it looks – but, um…" she pauses and then hums thoughtfully. "It would probably be easier to just show you."

The penny drops.

Makoto says what they're both thinking before he has a chance. "Does that mean that you have a persona too, Yamagishi-san?"

"It's been a while since I've summoned her, and even longer since I actually used an Evoker to do it… But, um, yes, I do."

Just how many persona-users are in Mitsuru Kirijo's employ? Goro wonders.

(And, more significantly, might the woman herself be counted among them?)

Yamagishi continues. "Most people find it quite distressing when they see this for the first time, so don't worry. I promise that – no matter what it looks like – I really will be fine."

The words seem completely at odds with her actions, as Goro and Makoto watch her bring the gun – no, the Evoker – to her temple. Even Yamagishi herself seems nervous as her finger curls around the trigger.

Taking a deep breath, she calls out, "Persona!"

The bright light that follows is so blinding that Goro couldn't say if he actually saw her pull the trigger at all, but he heard the gunshot, and then something else that sounded like glass shattering. More worryingly, he didn't miss the way her head jerked unpleasantly to the side, as if a bullet really had punched its way through her skull.

It's somewhat difficult, however, to focus on anything other than the large glass dome that's beginning to form around her.

Assuming, for a second, that her persona is going to turn out to be something non-human and inorganic (like Futaba's), he quickly realises that it's not quite so simple. Atop the dome is the upper half of a distinctly female body, as if the not-quite-sphere encircling Yamagishi is actually the bell of an elaborate, glass ball gown.

"Wow…" Makoto gasps, sounding truly awestruck, and Goro doesn't blame her.

"This is Juno," Yamagishi says, and her voice has a strange tinny quality to it now, as if they're actually hearing it through a speaker. "Neither of us are much use in a fight, but we can support you from here."

Ah, Goro thinks, it would seem that her persona is similar to Futaba's after all.

Even if it does appear to be significantly less mobile.

***

"I don't sense anything," Makoto whispers as they reach the bottom of the first escalator that leads into Mementos-proper. "The air feels-"

"Dead?" Goro offers, as he kicks at a shrivelled tendril that's coming away from the wall beside him with the toe of one of his polished boots. It crumbles partially at the contact, dissolving into a chalky dust that would normally be picked up and carried away by the wind down here. What it does, instead, is fall directly to the floor. The air around them is far too still and stale…

Makoto sounds slightly spooked when she answers, a distinctive wobble in her voice. "Ye-yes…"

This better not be a problem.

"Akechi-kun, Niijima-chan?" Unlike when Futaba speaks to them, Yamagishi's voice sounds less like it’s coming through an earpiece and more like it’s being piped directly into his brain. It's disconcerting and more than a little uncomfortable. "Can you hear me?"

Unfortunately, he thinks.

"Loud and clear, Yamagishi-san," he says.

"I have a good view of pretty much everything you do, even from up here – but it would still be immensely helpful if you could both describe what you're seeing, and how it compares to your previous experience."

And that's precisely what they do, for the next half hour or so. Going over the top two ‘paths’ of Mementos with a fine tooth comb, cataloguing any differences they notice as they do, and then relaying them back to Yamagishi.

The most immediate and obvious deviation from the norm (or their norm, Goro supposes) is in the behaviour of the handful of shadows they encounter. Each one of them is small, quick to flee, and so fast that catching one seems like an impossible task when they're on foot.

(They might be on slightly better terms now, but Goro still never would have imagined that he’d find himself wishing that Morgana were here.)

It's only when they reach the first floor of the third path (Chemdah, if Goro recalls correctly) that they finally come across something larger and more substantial.

Makoto falls into step with him as he breaks into a run and gives chase, pursuing the hulking, dark figure that started shuffling away the second it saw them. It seems that he needn't have worried about her resolve earlier, and ultimately, that’s all that matters. She can be as afraid of their environment as she likes, as long as it doesn't impact her ability to engage with the enemy.

Swinging his sword in a wide arc across the shadow’s broad back, Goro can already feel the anticipation singing in his veins – rising and reaching a fever pitch as the monster explodes in a familiar fountain of black muck.

The excitement, however, quickly curdles and sours in his stomach, replaced with nothing but bitter disappointment, as the ooze coalesces into something solid and tellingly small.

The lone Pixie quivers and quakes before them, already begging and pleading for its life.

Not exactly the kind of opponent he was hoping to test his newfound strength on.

"Well, this is hardly even worth our time," Goro sighs.

Yamagishi hums in their ears. "It is disappointing, but I would still appreciate a demonstration of your abilities."

Makoto seems to agree. "Data is data, after all," she says, with a shrug.

Well, if Yamagishi wants a demonstration, he supposes he can give her one.

It’s the very definition of overkill, but he reaches for his mask anyway. Wondering, as he does it, which persona he should actually summon. He can feel all three of them there, jostling impatiently to be freed. Robin Hood, of course, would certainly fit with the image he's trying to project, but he can't say that he hasn't also missed Loki, and Hereward.

It's a decision he's spared from making when the Pixie cries out again, even louder this time. "Wait! Please! You! With the nose! I think I know you!"

Forgetting, for a moment, all about coming across as unthreatening to Yamagishi as possible, he snarls, "What did you just say?"

The Pixie whimpers but flutters even closer, tears sparkling unnaturally in the corners of its eyes, and his hand goes back up to his mask again reflexively – all set to turn this little shit into fucking pixie paste.

"Gor-Crow, wait," Makoto says, and he hardly has time to think about why she's switched to codenames before the next one that comes out of her mouth makes it obvious. "Doesn't this remind you of what usually happens with Joker?"

And fuck, she’s right, isn’t she?

Ren hadn't always had to wait until they'd beaten a shadow into submission before it attempted to speak with him.

Honestly, Goro could almost slap himself for not recognising this for what it is sooner.

Not that he isn't going to pretend otherwise.

"Of course, Queen, but caution is still prudent here, wouldn't you agree? There's no guarantee this will play out exactly like it does with Joker."

"No, I suppose you're right..."

"This, um, Joker…" Yamagishi says Ren's codename awkwardly, clearly self-conscious. "He's the leader of your team, yes?"

Makoto shoots him a look over the still-pleading Pixie's head. A question. 'How much do they know?'

Mitsuru Kirijo is aware of Ren's (and everyone else's) true identity, he's sure, but he hasn't seen anything that would lead him to believe it's common knowledge in the Kirijo Group. Even among the high ranking researchers he's spoken with. Yamagishi included.

Makoto was right to use their codenames. Too much about all of this is still up in the air.

"Joker is indeed the leader of the Phantom Thieves, Yamagishi-san," Goro answers, carefully. "I'm sure you'll understand, however, if we refrain from giving you his real name."

"Oh, yes – yes, of course!" She almost stammers. "But, um, could the two of you explain what you're talking about? What exactly would happen in this situation if he was here? I've never heard a shadow of this kind speak so directly to anyone."

Which is understandable. A year ago, before meeting Ren, he would have said the same – that only the shadows associated with specific real-world people were ever inclined to be this chatty.

Makoto looks to him again for confirmation, and Goro nods. There's no point in hiding it if he might be just about to do the same thing, is there?

"He'd negotiate with it," she explains. "Sometimes bargaining for money, or supplies, but he can also convince shadows to join him – turning them into personas – so that he can use them himself in battle."

The Pixie whines, high-pitched and piercing. "Are you guys just going to ignore me?!"

Yamagishi, at least, seems to be content to do just that. "And you think you might be able to do something similar, Akechi-kun?"

"Hypothetically…" he says, looking the shadow up and down. The Pixie flinches and makes another whimpering sound. God, he hopes it isn't able to piss itself. "This would be my first opportunity to test it."

"It seems nervous," Makoto adds. "Oracle would say that you should-"

Goro doesn't wait for her to finish. Staring down at the tiny being, he asks it the only question that really matters. "Do you want to live?"

"Ye-yes!" it squeals, wings beating so fast that they're little more than a blur. "I'm sorry for what I said about your nose earlier! Please, have mercy!"

Fuck, he really wants to kill this thing.

"Join me, then."

It’s as if the fear evaporates out of the Pixie entirely, and instantly, it regains the cheeky, annoying demeanour that Goro remembers from his early Metaverse days. Back when a shadow like this would have been an actual threat.

"I'm Pixie!" it says with a giggle and a wink, as if Goro didn't already know that. Flying into the air above him, it does a pirouette before it starts to flicker and shimmer. "From now on, I'll live inside your heart!"

Dissolving into, what appears to be, a ball of pure energy, it comes rushing at him at high speed – right at his face – and the only reason that Goro doesn’t flinch is that he's already witnessed the same thing happen to Ren hundreds of times.

The essence of the shadow melts into his mask, and Goro feels it slip into place beside Robin Hood, Loki, and Hereward. Noticeably and understandably weak by comparison, like a candle trying to hold its own in the face of three roaring fires, there’s still a definite thrill that comes with the sensation. A pleasant, pleasurable tingle that zips up and down his spine and leaves the hairs on his arms standing on end.

Goro can only wonder at how much better it might feel if he were to take in something stronger – something more powerful.

Jogging back to his side (and pulling him back out of his thoughts), Makoto peers up at his mask. "You really did it… Just like Joker."

Unable to stop the smirk from spreading across his face, he’s all set to gloat as much as he can without actually gloating, when Yamagishi speaks before he can get started.

"Did you absorb it?! That's so different from-" She stops abruptly, obviously coming close to saying more than she means to. "Um, from the data we have on file."

If the way that Yamagishi summons a persona is any indicator, it comes as no real surprise to hear that her experience with this side of things is also, apparently, quite different.

And he might have even been inclined to push a little, see if he could convince her to go into more detail, but he's almost vibrating with the need to do it all over again. Or, at least, to see what it feels like when he tries to draw on the Pixie’s (admittedly paltry) power in battle.

He can't imagine doing anything right now, other than insisting that they push on.

Unfortunately, his desire to sink his teeth into an actual, proper fight doesn’t make Mementos any more generous, and, several unsuccessful attempts to catch the tiny, wispy shadows that seem to be the new standard here later, Goro is left feeling somewhat crestfallen.

Something that’s not helped by the fact that traversing these floors feels more difficult now, and not just because they don’t have Morgana here to cart them around. They’re only approaching the fourth path, but Goro feels like he’s done twice that – even without entering any real combat – and he can see that Makoto is in the same boat.

It comes as no real surprise then, when they stop at a rest area to catch their breath and stretch, to see her look down tellingly at her wrist.

He watches her shake her head and tut to herself when she’s clearly reminded that the watch she was expecting to be there has been temporarily obliterated by the force of cognition. Goro can sympathise, he's almost done the same thing more than once.

"Do you need to be somewhere?" he asks, as she takes out her phone to check the time instead.

She frowns slightly at the question. "Well, I am supposed to be organising the welcome back party for later, remember?"

Ah, yes. Goro had been so caught up in his own plans for welcoming Ren back to Tokyo that he'd almost completely forgotten about the little get-together with the Phantom Thieves in Leblanc afterwards.

Not something he's looking forward to, truthfully, but it's for Ren, not him, so how Goro feels doesn't really factor into it.

And without Makoto there to keep them relatively in check, who knows what kind of shitshow the others will have thrown together?

"Yamagishi-san?" he says, realising that he feels slightly foolish doing so when she hasn't addressed either of them first. Like he's talking to himself.

Goro has to assume she's still engrossed in taking notes because she sounds distracted when she answers. "Hmm? Yes, Akechi-kun?"

"What would you say to us trying just one more floor before we start making our way back to the entrance?"

"Oh, um, right!" she says, caught off guard, it seems. "Yes, I think that sounds like a good idea. It is almost lunchtime."

***

The next floor doesn’t appear to be any more fruitful than the last, but Goro still finds himself hoping, as they turn each corner, that the next shadow they come across will manifest in the familiar, hulking, and (most importantly) slow, form that he used to take for granted.

And perhaps it’s cognition at play, but, as they round the last bend, he actually gets what he wants. Another shadow. Standing still as a statue and all by itself on the tracks in the tunnel ahead of them. The massive, hunched figure twitches slightly as they approach, though it doesn't try to run away – unlike ninety percent of the others they’ve encountered today.

It also doesn't move to attack them.

Curious.

Raising his sword as a precaution, Goro signals to Makoto to skirt around the side of it – hoping to truly catch it off guard if they come at it from behind.

That’s when they hear the rattle of chains.

Makoto’s eyes are wide behind her mask – not quite panicked, but rapidly getting there – and they both wince as Yamagishi’s voice suddenly blares in their skulls.

“I sense death!”

The shadow they were about to engage shudders and dissolves, but Goro hardly notices – he can’t quite keep the smile off his face, in fact.

Oh, this is perfect!

Of all the enemies they could have encountered down here, they’ve finally found one that will actually pose some sort of challenge.

“We need to leave,” Makoto whispers frantically, looking over her shoulder. The chains rattle again, sounding far closer than they did only a handful of seconds ago. “We’re not prepared to fight that thing.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Blinking back at him in surprise, it looks like she’s only just realising that he isn’t in as much of a hurry to get out of here as she is. “You can’t be serious?!”

“Joker and I fought it alone in January, Queen.” He tests the strength of his blade against the edge of one of the tracks beneath their feet and frowns when the foam-turned-metal bends worryingly. Not ideal, but it should be fine, he doesn't really need it anyway. “It’s not the insurmountable task you’re making it out to be.”

“I’m not Joker-”

“Believe me, I’m well aware-”

“-and neither are you!” she hisses, exasperated as well as frightened now.

Bristling, Goro opens his mouth to say something that’s almost certainly as unwise as it is unkind, but then Yamagishi is speaking to them again – her words coming out in a rush.

“I’m sorry, this place is all down instead of up, and, um, it took me longer than I thought it would to pinpoint your position, but I’ve got you – just – just hang on-”

It’s the only warning they get before they suddenly – jarringly – find themselves standing back at the entrance, Yamagishi’s persona towering over them for a moment before it's dismissed.

Sagging in clear and obvious relief at the sight of them, she launches immediately into checking Makoto over and asking if she’s alright, and is probably only seconds away from doing the same to him. Goro doesn’t give her the chance – already moving – barely hearing himself mumble something about needing a moment, as he pushes his mask up and off his face and puts some much-needed distance between them.

Once he reaches the corner furthest away from the two women, however, he realises just how immensely ridiculous he must look – like a bad-tempered child that's put himself in time-out. And now, feeling immensely stupid on top of everything else, he goes over everything that just happened in his head.

He’s loath to admit it, but Makoto was right – more or less. Fighting the Reaper here and now would have been a stupid, foolhardy thing to do. Particularly when their current equipment is less than substandard, Goro doesn’t have anywhere near the amount of personas at his disposal that Ren normally would, and they can’t say for sure if the battle would have even played out the way that they’re used to.

Fuck knows, nothing else down there seemed to be behaving the way it should.

Unfortunately – and despite all that – he’s still fucking furious.

They were so close!

He was so close!

Clenching his fists, he exhales through his nose and focuses on suppressing the urge to kick out at the wall in the front of him.

This is his job.

He needs to get his shit together.

…

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

“Goro-kun…?” Makoto asks, approaching him warily. “Are you-? Oh! Your, um, your outfit…”

Confused, he looks up from the spot on the ground in front of his feet. She’s staring at the hand he’s still holding the stupid, shitty sword in, and, more significantly, to the way the cuff of his sleeve has lost its clean edge. How the deep, red colour of the fabric has already started to give way to blue and black stripes.

Immediately and absolutely horrified by such an obvious and outward loss of control in the face of – what really should be – something relatively minor, he hurries to rein his wayward clothing back in.

“I don’t know-” what’s wrong with me, he almost says. Watching as his outfit finally does as it’s fucking told and re-solidifies into what it’s supposed to be, he takes another deep breath and tries again. “Never mind – that doesn’t matter. The important thing is that I need to apologise to you. I was behaving foolishly.”

“It’s fine,” she says, unconvincingly. Looking over her shoulder to where Yamagishi is waiting for them, Makoto returns the wave the woman sends their way before turning back to him. “Perhaps you’re just feeling anxious about Ren coming back this evening?”

And what exactly is he supposed to say to that? Because while he doesn’t agree, it’s not exactly untrue either, is it?

Despite how much he's been trying to avoid thinking about it.

How would she react, he wonders, if he came out and told her that, deep down, he’s almost suspicious of how well things have been going with Ren? That some – most likely illogical – part of his psyche is convinced that he’s being built up, piece by happy little piece, until fate decides it’s time to pull the rug out from under him. Sending everything crashing down, and leaving him just as lonely and broken as he used to be.

As he deserves to be.

…

And to think, he’d started this morning out on such a positive note.

Coming very close to laughing, Goro manages to turn the sound bubbling up in the back of his throat into something dismissive and curt instead. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t think so,” she shrugs. “Ren’s been gone for months and I know that I'm anxious about things not being the same – we all are, to an extent – I think – and I can only imagine it would be more, um… intense, for you.” And then, clearly taking his lack of response for a lack of understanding, she adds, “Given your relationship, I mean.”

Rolling his eyes, he actually does laugh this time. Although, it’s not entirely unkind. Her clumsy attempts to comfort and commiserate with him are amusing enough to have taken some of the edge off how he’s feeling. “I understand what you’re driving at, Makoto, you really don’t need to spell it out for me.”

“Oh, um… alright…”

“Still, I appreciate the effort,” he sighs and smiles. It's even mostly sincere. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” She peers at him for another moment, still seeming equal parts confused and concerned. “Yamagishi-san has offered to treat us to lunch. Are you ready to go?”

Taking one last deep breath for good measure, he nods.

***

The diner on Central Street is just as busy, and the crowds just as loudly obnoxious, as Goro remembers.

It really would be incredibly rude of him, but he's still sorely tempted to ask Yamagishi if they can actually go somewhere else entirely – his nerves still feel extremely fucking frazzled, and the atmosphere here is anything but soothing. But, etiquette notwithstanding, he also has a feeling that she's chosen this particular establishment specifically for its ambience. Most likely thinking that the background noise will work as a cover, so they can discuss what they need to without being overheard.

Certainly he knows that the Phantom Thieves had held more than one meeting here for similar reasons.

It’s not a particularly effective way to ensure they can speak in private, though. An interested party would only need to keep their head down and take one of the booths next to them, or loiter in the area that leads to the bathrooms, to successfully eavesdrop. Even with the screaming children around them.

And Goro should know.

He’s speaking from personal experience, after all.

Although, he thinks – as they order their food and hand their menus back to the harried waitress – not having someone as loud as Ryuji Sakamoto with them increases their odds significantly.

“Now, first things first,” Yamagishi starts, clasping her hands together. “I know that you’re disappointed that we had to cut things short today, Akechi-kun.”

If he truly has managed to only come across as disappointed (instead of like someone who was so petulantly angry he was about two steps away from throwing a tantrum on the spot) it's an immense fucking relief.

“It was the right call, Yamagishi-san. I apologise for getting carried away.”

She smiles at him then, soft, nostalgic and knowing. “I have an old friend who’s the same way. Even now, it’s still almost impossible to convince him that resting and regrouping is often the best battle strategy.”

The worst part of all of this is that Goro isn’t even like that, not normally – he’d have been dead a thousand times over if he was – but there was just something about today that was different.

Something about today that is different.

It feels like his phone is burning a hole in his pocket. He already can’t wait to go back.

“I think I was just excited to be, ah, back in the saddle, so to speak,” he laughs, hoping it comes out as disarming and, more importantly, believable as he wants it to. “It won’t happen again.”

Seemingly satisfied, Yamagishi turns her attention to Makoto. “Niijima-chan, do you think you might be able to join us again on Monday? I know that your contract is only part-time, so don’t worry if it conflicts with your college classes – we can reschedule if you need us to.”

“Oh, no, it shouldn’t be a problem! I only have one lecture in the evening that day.”

“Wonderful!” Yamagishi chirps, shuffling some of the loose pages back into her notepad so that they aren’t spilling out of the cover haphazardly. “I’ll speak to Mitsuru about making sure that you’re both more battle-ready – now that I know what kind of equipment you need and what we might actually be dealing with.”

With that out of the way, she finally flips the pad open, and they move onto discussing the contents properly. If asked, Goro would have to admit that it is actually nice to have someone else here with him who has experience with his version of the Metaverse – someone to bounce points off and fill in gaps where needed. It makes the entire process far more streamlined as well as accurate, and ultimately, he’s sure some of those same improvements will later translate to greater efficiency in the field.

Once they’ve gone over everything and finished eating, Makoto excuses herself to use the restroom, and Goro is obsessing over whether he should actually be offering to pay for his own meal – it’s not as if he’s still awaiting his first paycheck, like Makoto is, after all – when Yamagishi speaks up again.

“I was serious, earlier – about you reminding me of my friend.” Confused about why this is coming up again, Goro watches as she slides her notes into her purse and retrieves her wallet, and waits for her to continue. “That’s how I know that there’s no point in telling you not to go back into the Metaverse before Monday.”

It’s only through well-practised, dishonest reflex that Goro doesn’t react and give himself away entirely. The bewildered “Pardon, Yamagishi-san?” that he responds with, however, isn’t exactly his best work.

“It’s okay,” she says, smiling and huffing a small, amused laugh. “Mitsuru might have moved the timeline of things forward as a reward for your work yesterday-" And there's the confirmation that Maruki has already acted on his referral. "-but she wouldn’t have set any of this in motion if she didn’t trust you – or have confidence in your abilities.”

“But?” he prompts, carefully. An echo of their conversation in the lab this morning.

“But none of that means you won’t overextend yourself, does it?" She doesn't wait for an answer, which is probably for the best. Goro doesn't think he knows any other way to approach a task he's set his mind to. "All I’m asking is that you don’t go in there alone – you have Niijima-chan as backup, and I'm sure that she wouldn’t want to see you hurt. Can you promise me that?”

He has no plans whatsoever to invite Makoto to join him in the Metaverse before they’ll, apparently, be diving back in on Monday, but even so, he can still comply with this request.

Technically.

And, as Makoto already pointed out, Ren is far better equipped to fight the battle they ran away from earlier anyway.

“You have my word, Yamagishi-san.”

Chapter Text

The strange sense of agitation that's been hanging unpleasantly over Goro since his stint in Mementos this morning has yet to properly resolve itself, even after meeting Ren at the train station. But, particularly after their quick (and delightfully dirty) detour into the Metaverse version of Shibuya Station, it's certainly lost its edge.

Now, they've just arrived at Yongen-Jaya, and he feels it ease off a little more.

In the almost three months since Goro has started living in Leblanc, Yongen’s backstreets have become reassuring as well as familiar, quiet and comforting in a way that the manicured, modern neighbourhood he used to live in never was.

It's somewhat bizarre, then, to walk them now with Ren. Feeling more like he's intruding on his boyfriend's territory than returning to his own home.

Not that the sensation is necessarily unpleasant, as such; Leblanc will always be ‘Ren's’ in his head, he thinks. But it is still something that stands out to him, particularly when they actually reach the café and see the many, many silhouettes in the window, illuminated by the warm light inside – each one of them here to see and celebrate Ren.

Cementing the idea in his mind is the small sign taped to the door, written in Sojiro Sakura’s looping, elegant hand.

‘Closed for family function.’

Beside him, Ren makes a snorting sound under his breath – so quiet that it almost gets swallowed by the wind – but Goro catches it, and when he turns, he's not surprised at all to see that Ren’s eyes are wet.

“You're not going to last five seconds if this is already getting to you,” Goro scoffs, fondly, and then reaches out to squeeze Ren's hand. “Come on, let's go. After all, I’m sure that there’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary waiting for you inside.”

Laughing softly, Ren gives him a look – just as they push open the door and enter the café – one that says he knows well what's waiting for him on the other side. A fair assumption, given how transparent the preparation for this ‘surprise’ party has been.

But that was, of course, the entire point, and Goro watches Ren closely – watches as his expression changes from happy and faux surprised to happy and genuinely surprised as he finds the extra face in the bouncing gang of Thieves that crowds around them the second they come through the door.

"Ann?!" Ren manages to gasp out while being almost tackled off his feet by Ryuji and Futaba.

Morgana’s fur is standing on end (out of sheer excitement, Goro assumes) as he wriggles out of Ren's bag entirely to perch precariously on his shoulder. “Lady Ann!”

"Yep!” Ann winks, sticking her tongue cheekily out of the side of her mouth as she flashes them a peace sign. “I'm back for a couple of days too!"

Wearing a dress that Goro immediately clocks as bespoke, she looks genuinely amazing. Particularly given the fact that she's only just come off the second plane that ferried her home from Milan.

And when she swans over to pull Ren into a hug herself, Goro gets his own happy surprise when it only makes him feel the smallest, almost insignificant, pang of jealousy.

“Hiiiiii, Goro!” Ann chirps, her voice muffled both by Ren’s shoulder and the fact that Morgana is rubbing his cheek all over hers.

“Hello, Ann.” And he surprises himself all over again when his arms open to her, seemingly of their own accord, as she releases Ren and moves for him instead. “You're looking well,” he says, into the fashionably messy bun piled on top of her head.

She squeezes him affectionately around the ribs. “You too.”

It’s a nice moment, truly, but all good things must come to an end, and he can't help but feel some of that insecurity from this afternoon creep in again when Ann pulls back and gets absorbed into the rest of the mob that is also rapidly surrounding Ren.

Accidentally cutting Goro out of the picture entirely.

Or, at least, he's sure it's accidental.

Certainly, it would be insanely paranoid of him to even begin to entertain the idea of it being anything otherwise.

Skirting the group, he makes his way to the far end of the bar and takes a seat. "Good evening, Sakura-san," he says, returning Sakura’s nod.

Goro sits.

He sits, and he waits.

He sits, and he waits, and he listens.

Of course, he could not care any less about all of Ren's friends filling him in on everything that’s been happening here in Tokyo. Particularly when so much of it is not even new information – most of what they're saying has already come up in group chats and video calls before. Clearly, they're all just so overcome and happy that they've lost the run of themselves.

It's annoying, yes, but it's not as if he can really blame them for their enthusiasm.

The soft clink of ceramic against ceramic pulls him back out of his thoughts, as a cup of coffee is placed on the bar in front of him.

“Ah, thank you.”

Eyebrows raised, Sakura peers at him over the top of his glasses. "You're looking awfully gloomy for a kid whose boyfriend just came back to town."

"I'm not – it's just-" Goro sighs, stops, recalibrates. "Perhaps I'd simply forgotten how loud they can be when they're all together like this."

And he's sure that Sakura isn't quite convinced, but it probably rings true enough for him to accept the excuse anyway. "You can say that again," he huffs and then brightens as Ren finally manages to break free from the rest of the group and comes over to join them. "Welcome back, Kid. You hungry?"

"Hey, Sojiro," Ren says, as he takes the stool beside Goro and reaches out to squeeze his knee. See? Goro thinks. Everything's fine. "I'm starving."

"Well, dinner's on me-" The chorus of cheers that follows is so loud that Goro is surprised it doesn't rattle the windows. "-tonight – you kids'll have to feed yourselves tomorrow."

***

“Nah, man, I'm still not hitting anywhere near my old records yet…”

“Progress is progress, Ryuji-senpai!” Yoshizawa says with force, leaning forward in her seat and nearly dragging the ends of her long hair through what’s left of her third serving of curry. “Have you been trying those stretches I recommended? I can run through them again with you now, if you like?”

“Huh? Sure, thanks, Sumire!”

Swallowing the last mouthful of his coffee, Goro plants his elbow on the table, rests his chin on his palm, and watches the two of them move into the relatively open space near the doorway to start warming up. Catching Futaba's eye from across the table, he asks, “That doesn't bother you?”

She blinks and then squints at him like he's grown a second head. “Uh, no?”

“Stop trying to stir the pot, Goro,” Ren chuckles, gently jabbing him in the ribs with the point of his elbow.

“It was merely a joke,” Goro half-lies, as Futaba rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him. It would probably be in everyone's best interest if he gets up now and finds something to do, before he ends up saying something uncharitable for no reason other than knee-jerk pettiness. So, taking Ren's empty plate and stacking it on top of his own, he turns to the beautiful obstruction beside him. “Let me out, Ren. I'll clear the tables.”

“Oh, uh, sure…” Ren scoots sideways along the booth seat, and stands up. “Hang on, I'll help too-”

"Sit back down," Goro laughs, collecting more plates and glasses as he gets his own feet on the floor and steps out of the booth. "Let me take care of the one job that I seem to be able to do here without also causing some sort of disaster."

“Okay, if you're sure…” Ren shrugs, “I have to go take a leak anyway.”

Then he leans in, kisses Goro on the cheek, and almost makes him drop every extremely fragile thing he's holding.

Spluttering and swearing under his breath, Goro only flushes more deeply when he hears a hoot and a wolf whistle from somewhere to his left. And then, to make matters worse, Sakura's voice comes from the kitchen, clear and resigned.

“I swear, Kid, if you break any of those dishes, I'm going to have to start billing those Kirijo people directly!”

Trying to set his asshole of a boyfriend alight with his eyes, Goro calls out over his shoulder. “That won't be necessary, Sakura-san!”

Ren winks at him, brazen as anything, and hops out of reach, despite the fact that they both know Goro isn't in a position to retaliate in any meaningful way when his hands are so full. Having to settle instead for glaring after Ren until he disappears into the bathroom.

Back at the now-mostly-empty booth, Futaba adds another couple of plates to the pile and grins up at him, sharp and mischievous. “Hey, Akechi?”

Ah, he has a feeling that he might be about to find out just how much that jab regarding Yoshizawa and Ryuji actually bothered her. “Yes, Futaba?”

"What gives, didn't you say a while ago that washing dishes is for sissies?"

Shocked, confused, and far more affronted by the idea than he probably should be, Goro baulks, "What? I said no such-!" Realisation hits him like a wet fish across the face. "Ah! I think, Futaba, you'll find that what I actually said was that the act of washing dishes is – by its very nature – a Sisyphean task."

"Yeah, I know," she says, snickering through an even wider grin. "I just wanted you to admit that you said something that lame yourself."

Face truly burning now, Goro turns to look for Ren, hoping that he hasn't already reappeared and overheard this particular, additional humiliation. But no, there's still no sign of him. Good.

But then, Goro realises that he can't see Yoshizawa anywhere either.

Or Ann, for that matter.

What the fuck?

Futaba, however, is still speaking. "And Ren asked me to keep you talking for a second anyways."

It's a ridiculous thing to feel, but worry dances its way up his spine regardless. "He what?"

Then, suddenly, everyone around him seems to cry out in unison. "Surprise!"

Goro jumps in place and nearly drops the stack of plates he’s holding for the second time in almost as many minutes. Utterly perplexed, and more than a little shaken, he looks behind him just in time to see Ann and Ren (had his trip to the bathroom been a complete ruse?) coming out of the kitchen nook. They're holding a large serving plate up between them, and it takes Goro far longer than it probably should to realise why there's a cake on it.

Yoshizawa's right behind them (had her stretches with Ryuji also been a complete ruse?!), a stack of sparkly party hats in one hand, and a smaller plate (with a smaller cake) in the other.

"Happy birthday!”

And Goro knows he's gaping, but despite this knowledge, he still can't quite seem to stop.

"Ren-kun told me that you're not actually especially fond of sweet things," Haru says, suddenly right beside him, and at least Goro manages to close his mouth when he turns to face her. "So I went with a coffee cake with a dark chocolate ganache – it should pair nicely with the house blend. Though, I have also made a more traditional chocolate cake, if you really would prefer something sweet."

"I-I-" They're all watching him – waiting for a reaction – and he thinks that, for the first time in his life, he might be genuinely speechless. Setting the plates down on the table beside him (and pointedly ignoring how badly his hands are shaking), he brings a fist up to his mouth, coughs into it, and tries again. "I, ah – truly, I wasn't expecting this."

"Yeah, that's kinda what a surprise is, man," Ryuji laughs, entirely too close. "Betcha' didn't think we'd pull one over on you too!"

He's reaching out like he's going to clap Goro on the shoulder or, perhaps, to pull him into one of those one-armed (and painfully heterosexual) hugs he's always giving Ren, but Goro isn’t oblivious or stupid. He clocks the gaudy fucking party hat in Ryuji’s other hand at the last second and knows immediately what his game is.

"Don't even think about it," he warns, and Ryuji just grins wider and shrugs, putting it on top of his own head instead. Goro watches him wince in pain when he accidentally snaps the elastic band that's meant to keep it in place against the underside of his chin.

Serves him fucking right.

"Hey, I'm wearing one…" Ren – the treacherous, ridiculous, wonderful bastard that he is – is not only sporting one of the hats already, but it's sitting atop his messy curls at an absurdly jaunty angle. "And I think it'd look cute on you."

Oh, that is underhanded.

But, Goro reasons, it wouldn't do to be the odd one out, would it? Particularly when, apparently (and perplexingly), this has all been done for his sake.

Squaring his shoulders, he grits his teeth and holds out his hand. "Fine, give me one."

Someone makes a noise like the crack of a whip under their breath as he accepts the flimsy, cardboard cone from Ren, and Goro comes very close to crushing it in his fist. Turning to (hopefully) stare the culprit down as he puts the hat on his head, he watches the group carefully for a reaction. He has two primary suspects already, but it's quickly narrowed down to a list of one when Futaba doesn't immediately roll on Ryuji.

Yusuke steps into his eye line then, spoiling his attempt to make her feel as self-conscious and uncomfortable as she seems to be so intent on making him.

"Managing to still come across as intimidating with such a frivolous accessory on one's head is impressive in its own way…" Yusuke says, looking him up and down thoughtfully.

Visions of a painting portraying him as some kind of petulant Pierrot flashes through Goro's mind, but he isn't given any real opportunity to dwell on it. Ren is already grabbing him by the arm and leading him to stand by the cake.

Ann, fittingly enough, is the one lighting the candles – managing to coax a strong and consistent flame out of one of Sakura's old lighters, as if her affinity for fire persists, somehow, outside of the Metaverse.

They flicker prettily in the dim light of the café.

All nineteen of them.

"Don't forget to make a wish when you blow them out!" Ann says, as she steps back, and Goro stares down at the ring of candles as Ren gently pushes him into the spot she just moved from.

The tiny flames dance valiantly and defiantly against the breeze kicked up by the too-large group of teenagers that are all pushing and jostling against each other to find a space in the semicircle forming around the cake.

A wish?

It's not that serious, he knows. Just another superstitious tradition that doesn't really mean anything.

But still, it gives him pause.

Looking up from the cake, and around the room, at the people who he still defaults to thinking of as Ren's friends, all while he can feel just how much that's changing with each passing day. And while he still can't say that he understands why, the fact remains regardless – they've all worked with Ren behind his back to surprise him. In almost exactly the same way they'd gone out of their way to celebrate Ren himself.

A year ago, it would have been impossible for him to admit, but isn't this exactly what he used to hope for? Back when he was still being passed around from home to home – when his birthday inevitably came around and not one person remembered or desired to mark the occasion with him.

How desperately he'd wanted somewhere to belong. To have people who actually cared about him, and a purpose.

What exactly then does he have left to wish for?

Bar, perhaps, for his mother to be here – for her to see how far he's come – how much he's changed – but that's… Well, that's the kind of wish that can't ever, and should never, be granted.

Ren is at his side, where he belongs, and to him, Goro whispers, "I don't think I have one."

***

Pleasantly full (both in his stomach and his chest), Goro decides, on a whim, to seek Haru out after they've finished. Out of all the Phantom Thieves that still live in Tokyo, she's the one he's seen the least of, since returning to the land of the living in March.

The assumption he's been operating under is also the most obvious (and understandable) explanation – that she's simply been avoiding him because he murdered her father.

But then, why would she go out of her way to bake him a cake? Two cakes, in fact! And not only that, ones that she'd clearly put a lot of care and effort into preparing, even down to making sure to cater for his specific tastes – essentially discounting the idea that she'd only done it as a favour to Ren.

Perhaps it's none of his business. Perhaps he should just leave well enough alone – allow her to approach him in her own time, if she even wants to at all.

Letting things be has never exactly been his strong suit, though, has it?

It doesn’t come as much of a surprise to find her with Makoto, both of them sitting together in the booth closest to the door. He catches a little of their conversation (something college-related, he thinks), but nothing substantial, since they both immediately go quiet as he approaches.

Makoto smiles and nods up at him, and he returns the gesture absent-mindedly, far more focused on the girl sitting beside her.

“Oh, Goro-kun!” Haru says, and the kind smile on her face is only marginally stiff. “What did you think of the cake?”

“It was truly delicious, Haru,” he says, and means it. “You were right about it being a good match for Sakura-san’s coffee.” A surprise, honestly. He'd been half-convinced the combination of coffee cake and actual coffee would be overwhelming, but no, they'd complimented each other nicely. Just as she said they would. “I can't thank you enough.”

“Oh, I'm so glad,” she says, sighing in (what appears to be genuine) relief. “I really struggled with getting the balance just right – it’s difficult when you’re aiming for something more bitter than sweet.”

Goro laughs his best small-talk laugh, smiles politely, and, as the awkward silence settles over the three of them, tries to remember why he thought this was a good idea.

Because he really does not know where he stands with her, not even slightly.

The only real point of reference he has is the manner in which he interacts with Futaba, but that's always come easily enough – he understands Futaba. In a lot of ways she’s not dissimilar to Ren, preferring to dance around and deflect using humour and teasing, rather than tackling any potential issues head on. And as the weeks have gone by, Goro thinks that they’ve managed to reach a point where they can, more or less, meet each other in the middle.

But maybe it's just that simple – does he have any real reason, after all, to assume that Haru wouldn't be receptive to the same thing?

So, hoping that the fact that it’s his birthday will earn him at least a modicum of grace if he turns out to be entirely off base, he says, “A flavour profile that works particularly well when it comes to masking the taste of other ingredients, I imagine. Bitter almonds, for example.”

Both clearly surprised, she and Makoto blink up at him for a long (slightly worrying) second, but then Haru laughs. Dark, genuine amusement dancing in her eyes as she hurries to cover her mouth with one dainty hand. “Yes, so I've heard.”

Perhaps he understands her more than he realised.

Makoto, on the other hand, frowns. “Bitter alm-? Oh!” she gasps, finally getting it, and with the realisation, her frown turns from confused to long-suffering. “I see, it's a joke about cyanide… Of course it's a joke about cyanide.”

It looks like she wants to admonish one of them for encouraging the other, but can't quite decide which one of them to actually scold. Ultimately, she settles for sighing and shaking her head instead.

From behind him, a hand gently taps his upper arm, and he turns just enough to see that it's Ann trying to get his attention. “Ren asked me to come get you,” she says. “He's bringing your present out now.”

“Oh?”

In all the commotion, Goro had nearly forgotten that Ren mentioned something about a birthday gift earlier. And now, as he looks over Ann's head, he spots Ren at the far end of the bar, near the coffee syphons, watching him expectantly.

A box sits on the polished wood beside him, wrapped in simple, dark grey paper and tied with a black silk ribbon.

It's far larger than Goro is just realising he was expecting it to be.

“Tada!” Ren says, when Goro crosses the café to join him, and the somewhat anxious scepticism must be showing on his face, because Ren feels the need to add: “It’s not a bomb, I promise.”

“Well, isn't that exactly what you would say if it was?”

Ren laughs. “I guess so, yeah. But you know I'd never blow up Sojiro’s café. Where else would I get my coffee and curry fix?”

“Damn right,” Sakura grunts.

Now everyone's laughing.

Goro uses the few extra seconds he's been granted to see if he can glean any clues about its contents from the outside of the box.

If it were smaller, he might be able to convince himself that it contains something like jewellery, or a tie, or an awful pair of novelty socks. But, no, it's too large for that – about the size of a microwave – and, unfortunately, he truly cannot even begin to guess at what it might be.

So, with far too many pairs of eyes on him, he reaches out and begins to unwrap it. Undoing the ribbon first (of course), he then peels the tape that's securing the paper away, slowly and carefully, making sure not to tear it in the process.

When he's removed enough of the wrapping to expose the logo on the corner of the item’s box, his hands freeze – hell, time itself might as well freeze.

Because he'd know that logo anywhere.

It would be impossible not to when the raygun he has displayed in the attic above them sports the very same one.

Goro knows that the toy he has upstairs – the one his mother bought him for his seventh birthday – was re-released (along with a reboot of the once-obscure Featherman spin-off it was actually from) last year. But this – this is the original packaging, from the original line.

From twelve fucking years ago!

And the thing about that original release (and unlike the rehash from last year) is that the gun was actually part of a matching set.

One of them white, with red and blue accents.

And the other black, with a bold white stripe up the side, and a fierce splash of red around the barrel.

With a trembling hand, he peels back a little more of the paper, and the lights above him confirm it. Bouncing off the dark, shiny plastic that’s just visible through the display window on the front of the box.

“How…?” Goro whispers, afraid to look up – afraid to move – lest he does something horrifically embarrassing, like dissolving into floods of tears. Or turning and bolting out of the café – the café that he lives in – entirely.

Ren's voice is soft and incredibly gentle when he answers. “It took a while to find, and I had some help-” From Futaba, Goro assumes, which is just one more perplexing fact to add to the list. “-but it was worth it, right? Now you've got both of them.”

Goro looks at the gun, looks up at Ren, and then looks back down at the gun again.

Eyes stinging, his vision swims worryingly.

“Ren, I-” he starts, but it's as if there isn't enough air in his lungs to actually get the words out. And, far worse than that, the burning that's been building at the corners of his eyes seems to have reached its natural and terrible conclusion. The first tear slips free and slides down his cheek. “Fuck!”

“Hey, language!” Sakura admonishes, but there's no real bite to it. For some reason, that just makes the vice around Goro's chest wind even tighter.

And Ren is there now, arms around his shoulders, soft, sweet words in his ear, and cool lips against his forehead.

Funnily enough, no one seems to be in a hurry to joke about it this time.

God, he's ruined the evening entirely, hasn't he?

“Hey, it's okay,” Ren whispers, pushing the hair back from Goro's face – which is just inconsiderate, really. Now he can see (and be seen by) everyone else around them, something he was actively trying to avoid. “I'm sorry, we should have done this in private – I didn't think…”

“No, it's – it's fine,” Goro manages, laughing a wet, self-deprecating laugh. It is the absolute furthest thing from fine, but that's his fault – not Ren's. He turns to the rest of the group, each one of them watching him with the same awkward yet inexplicably sympathetic look on their faces. “You must all be sick of seeing me like this by now. I apologise for making a scene. Again.”

“You're not making a scene, dummy!” Futaba cries, her hands balled into fists. Beside her, Yoshizawa nods once, firmly. “Well, uuuuuhh, I guess you kinda’ are… But that's okay too!”

Then Ryuji claps him so hard on the shoulder that he almost headbutts Ren in the mouth. “Yeah, man, s’what friends are for!”

And, perhaps, Goro thinks, Ryuji has a point (not that he’s in any hurry to admit it), as he notices the box of tissues and fresh cup of coffee that have appeared on the bar beside him. Even Morgana, an individual that Goro has never had a particularly good relationship with, jumps up onto the stool beside him and cranes his neck forward to bump his head against the side of Goro’s hand.

“Would you like another slice?” Haru asks, already moving to cut one from what’s left of the coffee cake.

Swallowing thickly, Goro allows Ren to guide him onto the nearest vacant stool. “Yes, please – thank you.”

***

An hour passes, approximately, and while the atmosphere is more subdued, Goro finds that it was somewhat foolish and reactionary of him to think that he’d damaged things beyond repair. Everyone still talks, and jokes, and laughs – and when things naturally wind down, they also all pitch in to take care of the tidying up this time.

Once they’re done, and the café is clean and ready to receive tomorrow's customers, they start gathering their things and heading for the door.

Yoshizawa is, apparently, returning with the Sakuras to their home for the night, while Ryuji, Yusuke, Ann and Morgana are planning to camp out in Makoto and Haru’s tiny living room.

In only a couple of moments, he and Ren will finally be alone.

That's not to say that Goro isn't immensely grateful for (and still bewildered by) everything that these people have done for him today, but the entire affair has been incredibly fucking taxing, and he will very much not be sorry to see the back of them.

"Ah, boys," Sakura says, as he pulls on his jacket. "There's something I need to talk to the two of you about before I go."

Nosy as ever, the chattering group that was just about to walk out the door suddenly stops and goes quiet, seemingly having found an excuse to linger and listen.

Goro turns to Ren, hoping for some kind of clue about what might be happening, but the only response he gets is a confused shrug.

"Is something the matter, Sakura-san?"

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Sakura scratches at his beard and searches the ceiling for a moment before looking Ren in the eye. "Akechi here might come pretty close to paying me actual rent, but I'm not his landlord, and this isn't an apartment – it's my place of business. And we need to set some ground rules-"

"W-we really should be going- mmf!" Makoto starts, but then she makes a muffled squeaking sound and goes quiet almost as quickly. Goro thinks he might have actually seen a hand go over her mouth before she disappeared behind Ann and Haru.

"Listen,” Sakura continues, “what the two of you get up to in the attic when the café is closed… Well, that's none of my business. But down here? Off-limits. And when we're open – when I have customers here – there's no funny business at all, ya hear me?"

Goro has gone through a lot in his life, sat through some of the most unpleasant conversations, with some of the worst fucking people this country has to offer, but this?

This is actual torture.

It's so bad, in fact, that he can hardly even appreciate how uncharacteristically embarrassed and flustered Ren is, too.

Red all the way to the roots of his hair, Ren stammers out a reply, "U-uh, yeah, Sojiro, o-of course… Message received."

Sakura looks to him then, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Unclenching his jaw (and every other fucking muscle in his body), Goro does his best to keep his own voice steady as he answers. "Understood, Sakura-san."

Seemingly satisfied, Sakura nods and pulls his hat down firmly onto his head. "Good…" He turns to face the group of teenagers (and one cat) still clustered at the door – to Futaba in particular – and says, "I don't know what you're laughing about, I need to have a talk with you on the way home too."

Shit-eating grin immediately wiped off her face, she goes white as a sheet and then red as a beetroot in about three seconds flat. "W-w-wh-what?!"

Goro feels a surge of petty vindication, but he does still spare the smallest crumb of sympathy for poor Yoshizawa – who, all of a sudden, looks about as grim and resigned as someone being marched towards the gallows.

“Does Futaba have a boyfriend?!” Ryuji squawks, and then yelps and winces when Ann punches him in the arm.

“Ryuji! Oh my god!”

“What?! What’d I do?”

"I'll see you boys in the morning…" Sakura sighs, deep and resigned, as he waves to them without looking back. "C'mon, kids, move it. You're a goddamn fire hazard, all hanging around the door like this."

Finally, they start filing out through the door, each one saying goodbye as they go – some amused, some embarrassed, almost every one of them on Goro's shit list – and then, after only a few seconds, he and Ren really are completely and blessedly alone.

Exhaling explosively, Ren drags both of his hands back through his hair. "Well, that was-"

"Fucking horrendous?"

"Yeah," he laughs, bright and surprised. Goro thinks that there aren't many sounds in the world that he holds more dear. "It really, really was."

"We can't blame him for wanting to set some boundaries," Goro says, "particularly when we've already crossed them at least twice."

Ren grimaces. "Do you think he knows?"

"About what happened between us down here?" Goro asks, his eyes unconsciously going to the specific spot by the bar where they had done things that, if Sakura were to ever find out, would probably result in them both being made to scrub the café from top to bottom with nothing but a toothbrush between them. Ren nods, so he continues. "I don't think so, no – but we did come down quite late the following morning, and it's not outside the realm of possibility that he might have heard something…" Ren looks like he might be sick, so Goro decides to steer into white lie territory instead. "Or, he could simply be putting himself in our shoes. Sakura-san certainly likes to allude to his own boisterous, energetic youth whenever the opportunity presents itself."

"He sure does," Ren snorts.

Having alleviated Ren's worries as much as he can by dancing around (what's most likely) the truth, Goro feels that a change of subject might be warranted. And, taking Ren by the hand, he asks a question he already knows the answer to. "Do you still want to go back to Shibuya tonight?"

"Back to the Metaverse? Hell yeah."

"Not just yet, though – we'll need to let the others get far enough away that we won't also need to worry about accidentally dragging any of them in with us." Ren's lips quirk up at one corner, probably imagining exactly that. "What would you say to making me that cup of coffee while we wait?"

***

If he wasn't literally checking his phone every two seconds, Ren would be convinced that the train journey back to Shibuya is taking three times longer than it usually does.

Still, it's probably good to have some time to go over the details before they actually get there.

It's not like he's going in completely blind – Goro told him about some of it earlier, when he first showed off his shiny new Nav. Ren knows that the Metaverse is different now. It's just that he hasn’t really had a chance to stop and think about it yet. Between fooling around in there, going back to Leblanc for his welcome back party (that was actually also Goro’s birthday party), and all the other stuff (like giving his boyfriend a birthday present that was so good it made him cry, but also being too dumb to realise that they should have done it somewhere private because it was so good it would make him cry), it’s been a pretty packed day.

At least, Ren thinks, he came prepared.

The bag on his shoulder is definitely way lighter for not having Morgana or his clothes and toiletries in there, but it's not exactly empty either. This morning, just as he finished packing his stuff for the weekend, he'd had this feeling – or instinct, maybe – that it might be a good idea to bring some of their old equipment. Just in case. Ren smiles to himself when he remembers the way Goro jumped to make fun of him about it (“Oh? A little presumptuous, aren't we?”) when he unrolled the sweatshirt they were hidden in to show him.

(Though, some of that teasing was definitely more about the tube of lube that may or may not have also fallen out of the bundle when he first unwrapped it.)

Equipment-wise, he hasn't packed anything too flashy, just the basics, but Ren's glad for that spur of the moment decision. It's left them with something to cover their asses if things go sideways.

Of course, if he was really worried about doing this safely or responsibly, he would have looped everyone else in too.

But, y'know, it's probably fine.

“-might all be for naught anyway,” Goro says, and Ren hurries to try and make it seem like he was listening instead of off in his own head.

“Huh…?”

Okay, that didn't come out sounding anywhere near as engaged as he hoped it would.

Thankfully, Goro seems too caught up in what he's talking about to really notice – probably thinking that Ren just missed the last thing that was said, and not that he wasn't paying attention at all. “I did tell you already – the way the shadows behave has changed. More specifically, almost every one of them ran away from us so fast that we didn't have a hope in hell of catching them.”

Maybe they should have invited Morgana after all. “But you still caught some of them, right?”

“One of them,” Goro corrects him, “and that was more down to luck than it was anything else.”

Grinning, Ren gives his boyfriend's shoulder an affectionate bump with his own as the train finally reaches their stop. “Good thing you've got me with you, then, huh?” He throws in a wink for good measure. “Luck's basically my middle name.”

***

As they actually take the stairs down into Mementos, though, Ren finds himself feeling a little less confident.

The air, and even his arms and legs, feel heavy. Like they're wading through chest-high water. Each step – each movement – seems to take twice the effort it normally does.

"Wow, uh, it really is different…"

Goro hums in agreement. “Watch this.” He reaches out and jabs at one of the vein-things on the wall beside them with his index finger. It cracks and then crumbles at the touch, like it's all dried out.

“Huh… weird.”

“Indeed,” Goro snorts, rolling his eyes, “my thoughts exactly.”

Looking to his left, Ren freezes in place, as he immediately comes face to face with the next worrying change.

There's no sign of the door to the Velvet Room.

Is that just because he doesn't ‘need’ it right now, Ren wonders, or does it have something to do with how quiet and empty Mementos feels?

Either way, it would probably make sense to make some time tomorrow to check around the city for the other doors…

An idea pops into his head. “Goro?”

“Hm?”

“Over there…” Ren tips his chin in the direction of where he's used to seeing Lavenza (and Caroline and Justine before her) waiting patiently for him. “Do you see anything?”

Because they have the same power now, right? Just because Ren can't see it doesn't mean that Goro can't.

Hands on his hips, Goro squints over at the corner of the platform for a moment and then shrugs with one shoulder. “No… Should I?”

Okay, it's not just him then.

“Usually there's, uh, a door…” And talking about anything to do with the Velvet Room is normally hard, making his throat feel tight and constricted, even with Goro – even though they're both guests there. But the words come easily now, for some reason. “To the Velvet Room.”

“Let me show you something,” Goro says, as he reaches into his pocket, roots around a little, and then pulls out his keys. Separating one out from the others, he holds it up for Ren to see. The key shines blue, even under the red light. It looks almost identical to the one in Ren's own pocket – the one Lavenza gave him after they defeated Yaldabaoth. “A recent gift from Theodore – but even with this, I've yet to actually see one of these doors for myself. I have a working hypothesis about why that is, but I'm not sure I would have expected it to also apply to you…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, how would you say Igor has seemed,” Goro starts, “on your most recent visits to the Velvet Room?”

Thinking back, Ren realises that, even though he's spoken to Lavenza a couple of times (while he was asleep) after going home to Kanbara, he hasn't actually seen Igor since March. Not since he'd woken up in the Velvet Room and found Goro there too. “I don't know… I, uh, I haven't seen him in months.”

“Ah, well, in this we are the same, it seems,” Goro says, and then, he goes on to explain Igor's whole deal now – how he's weak and apparently needs Goro's help to get stronger again.

And, wow, between Goro's work with the Kirijo Group and now this? Ren doesn't think he's a jealous person, not really, but he's definitely dealing with a serious case of FOMO right now, that's for sure. “Huh…”

“Essentially,” Goro continues, “given what we know about Igor's condition, I think that our access might be being restricted for the moment – either as a protective measure, or simply as a way to conserve energy. I imagine that it will only be granted again when it's considered truly necessary.”

And that does make sense, right? Ren thinks, as he wanders over to the edge of the platform and reaches out to brush some of the dust off one of the turnstiles.

It took a little longer than it usually would, but Ren shivers as a soft rush of air kicks up around them, crackling with energy, like he just tripped a proximity alarm powered by static electricity. The feeling is followed by the familiar flash of blue, metaphysical fire that leaves them both in their Metaverse outfits.

Looking down at himself, Ren shakes out his long coat so it swings and billows around his legs, and then takes a second to appreciate the creak of the leather when he tugs at the cuffs of his bright red gloves, one at a time.

This, at least, feels the same.

Beside him, Goro makes a quiet, but still clearly puzzled, sound under his breath.

“What’s up?” Ren asks, kind of absent-mindedly, because he gets distracted the rest of the way from feeling all crappy and left out when he turns and realises that he's going to be able to openly appreciate just how good Goro manages to look in that weird onesie-thing now.

(Maybe, if he's lucky, he can finally find out how all those belts work too.)

“Well, when we enter the Metaverse and our clothes change,” Goro starts, and Ren reluctantly pulls his eyes up from the sharp line of his hip to actually pay attention to what's being said. “I can choose what I’d prefer to wear – either out of necessity, or on a whim.” And then (to prove his point, Ren figures, or just to brag), his clothes flicker and almost instantly morph into his fancy, white and red suit.

It's only for a second, though, just a brief glimpse before he turns it back into the stripey bodysuit again.

“Yeah, I know, it’s a neat trick. What about it?” And, wow, okay, that came out way snappier than he meant it to. Maybe he is a little jealous after all. Because, sure, his Joker outfit is cool as hell, but he does still kind of wish he could mix it up sometimes, like Goro does.

But if Goro notices his accidental snarkiness, he doesn't show it. “Just now, when we first changed, something was… different.”

Actually starting to feel kind of worried, Ren frowns and tilts his head to the side. “In what way?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that – it's nothing serious,” Goro chuckles, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. Ren forces himself to relax. “I noticed, this time, that there seems to be another option available to me – one that wasn’t there before.”

Already imagining something you'd see on one of those brooding anti-heroes from the old 80s comics his dad keeps in a box in the attic at home, Ren asks, “Do you think it’s one that matches Hereward?”

“Hmm, perhaps…?” Goro hums and brings his hand to his chin, stroking at it thoughtfully. And, man, does that look extra ridiculous (and also extra cute) when he’s all dressed up as the Big Bad Black Mask. “It would be preferable, certainly, to the only other possibility I can think of – a possibility that has the potential to be, ah, somewhat embarrassing.”

Cogs turning in Ren's brain, he starts a little in place when it all suddenly clicks. “You got a new persona when you were down here earlier?” Goro nods, and Ren is honestly too excited to even be disappointed that he missed it. “C’mon, you have to show me now!”

It's hard to tell, behind all the metal and spikes, but Ren thinks that Goro might be blushing. “Alright, but get a good look while you can – if this goes the way I think it's going to, I don't plan on staying that way for long.”

Can it really be that bad? Ren wonders, as he watches Goro’s outfit start to change again. It's only when the black and blue striped bodysuit is completely replaced with something that looks more like one of Sumire's leotards that he realises that he knows exactly which persona Goro managed to get his hands on.

And why he was so worried about it.

Just like with the Pixies Ren's more used to seeing it on, the neck of the one-piece swimsuit-looking thing comes up high, almost to Goro's jaw. A modest neckline that really contrasts with the high cut around his hips, and how that leaves the skin there and the tops of his thighs exposed completely.

That is, y'know, until the stockings start.

Goro clears his throat awkwardly. “I think this is when I say something like ‘my eyes are up here’, yes?”

Picking his jaw up off the floor, Ren looks up, and, wow, Goro's new mask is like a butterfly – or like Pixie wings, he guesses – all shimmery and sparkly. The nose of it, just like both of Goro’s other masks, is long, but it curls in at the end like the feeding tube (what are they called again? They learned about it in biology – Oh, yeah, a proboscis!) that butterflies and moths have. And trailing behind him, from his shoulders, is a short cape that looks like it's made from the same sheer material as the mask. Flatter and less stiff than the real deal, but still clearly meant to look like another pair of wings.

“Holy shit…” Ren breathes, when he finally finds his voice. Unable to help himself, his eyes dart back down to the crotch of the costume, and, uh, to say it's a little on the tight side might just be the understatement of the century.

Red all around his new mask and down the visible part of his neck, Goro chuckles self-consciously, and then, sadly, changes back. “Thank fucking Christ, you were the only one here to see that.”

“You didn’t have to change,” Ren pouts, and sure, he's playing it up, but he is also genuinely disappointed too. “It's not like the one you're wearing now really hides much more, you know?”

Giving him a flat, unimpressed look, Goro deadpans, “Half of my ass was literally hanging out.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

Dodging the pinch that would definitely hurt a lot more when Goro’s got those spiky gauntlets on, Ren thinks again about how much he wishes his outfit did the same thing.

"Why doesn't that happen to me when I get a new persona?"

"Hmm, perhaps you're simply not trying hard enough?"

Huh, could it really be that easy?

“Hang on, give me a second…” Ren says, closing his eyes, he reaches inside himself and out to the handful of personas he has with him. Trying his best to concentrate on what they look like, and how that might be translated into something he can actually wear himself.

…

But, no – five minutes and several unsuccessful attempts later, he has to accept that he really is a one-costume kind of guy.

Which really sucks.

Goro's been watching him struggle the entire time – all smug, while pretending not to be – and now, when Ren gives up and sighs in defeat, he asks, "You really can't do it?”

"You don't need to seem so happy about it…"

"I'm sorry." And surprise, surprise, Goro does not sound sorry. Not at all. "But, well, perhaps it's nice to be able to do something that the Great Joker cannot."

"Ow, okay," Ren huffs, clutching at his chest dramatically. "Hurtful."

Ignoring him, Goro walks up to the first step of the escalator that leads down. “I'm sure you'll find some other way to show off once we're downstairs – you always do.”

Ren moves to follow him, already grinning, because, hey, that sounds an awful lot like a challenge, doesn't it?

Chapter Text

Goro watches the shadow in front of them do precisely the same thing the one they stumbled into before it did: fleeing immediately at the sight of them and moving far, far too quickly for either of them to ever hope to catch up.

After this morning, he wouldn’t say that it's unexpected, but still, they're not exactly off to an auspicious start.

“Perhaps we should split up?” Goro suggests. “A pincer formation might be more succe-”

There's a muffled click from beside him, followed by a metallic whirring sound – as if something is suddenly and rapidly unspooling – and Goro jumps as Ren's grappling hook goes sailing past him, cutting through the air to hit the creature dead-centre.

“Nah, it's good,” Ren calls out, already pulling himself towards the shadow by reeling the line back in. “I got it!”

Ah, yes, he'd forgotten all about that little gadget.

Begrudgingly impressed, Goro jogs after him, assuming his position just as Ren backflips away from the shadow, and it erupts into its true form.

He's concerned, for a moment, that they'll be in for a repeat of this morning – that, once all the muck has cleared, all they'll be left facing down is one, laughably weak enemy. But, as the shadow coalesces and solidifies into three individual, and considerably more interesting, shapes, Goro realises that he needn't have worried.

Hovering before them now is a trio of yellow and black demons. Angry and distinctly vespid in nature, they look like large, humanoid hornets that, for some inexplicable reason, also happen to have the wings of a bat.

What are these things called again? It's right on the tip of his tongue…

Ren beats him to it. “Byakhee, huh…? I don't think I've ever seen one of these guys outside of Maruki-sensei’s Palace…”

Goro hasn't either, but that hardly seems to matter. What's important here is that – while he remembers them being some of the weaker, lower-ranking shadows in that man’s Palace – each one of them promises to pose a far greater challenge than a lone Pixie.

Or could, more significantly, make for a more useful tool.

“How do you want to do this?” Ren asks.

Slowly, is his first thought, as he tightens his grip around the handle of his sword. However, and despite the urge to let loose, he knows that they need to be careful here. After all, this encounter will be of no real use to him if they just kill all three of them outright. “We need to take at least one of them alive.”

Smiling enigmatically, Ren nods, hand going up to his mask. Goro almost asks if he was actually listening to what was being said at all, but bites his tongue when Ren manifests the bright, multicoloured Dionysus, and the unmistakable, energising pulse of a Heat Riser settles over him.

The power prickles over his skin, like pleasant pins and needles. Goro flexes his fingers and sighs. “Ah, thank you…”

Ren gives him a look, something soft and knowing, before he turns back to face their enemies. “Well, Crow – I'll follow your lead.”

And, trying not to puff and preen too obviously at that, Goro clears his throat and focuses on the task at hand. Digging deep, he thinks back and attempts to recall any specific strengths and weaknesses that might be relevant here.

The first thing that he remembers of these beasts is that they boast an immunity to both curse and fire skills. Unfortunately, only one of their weaknesses comes to mind (to bless damage, specifically), and he also remembers how that susceptibility was anything but consistent. Having changed at least once, in the time between their first encounter with the creatures in front of them (during the fight where Maruki had twisted and controlled Yoshizawa’s persona) and when they came across them again later, deeper in the Palace’s recesses.

With that in mind, it seems prudent to avoid jumping to conclusions about what might work here.

Goro could test it, of course. Easily. All he would need to do is call on Robin Hood and unleash a bright, blinding Kougaon that would, fittingly enough, shed light on the matter in seconds.

However – and he knows it's somewhat foolish of him – he doesn't want to potentially get it wrong now.

In front of Ren.

And, given the fact that he can't remember any of the other weaknesses these shadows might have, that means that he needs to find a different avenue to explore – a different and more definite vulnerability to exploit.

His eyes flick to Ren – to the way he's waiting patiently for Goro to make the first move, or give the first order – and the best course of action comes to him immediately.

There's more than one way, after all, to knock a shadow off its feet.

“Put them to sleep, Joker!”

It comes as a pleasant (and more than slightly thrilling) surprise to see Ren comply with a speed and willingness that Goro hasn't seen outside of their more… intimate moments. Immediately summoning Raoul, he casts a spell that envelops the battlefield, and their enemies, in a thick, shadowy shroud. Ren laughs while he's doing it, too. A deep, throaty, theatrical thing that makes Goro’s fingers twitch with the need to wrestle him down to the ground right here in the middle of the fight.

Later, he thinks, and refocuses – taking aim and firing off a shot that knocks the nearest sleeping shadow to the ground.

With one incapacitated and earmarked for recruitment, he turns his attention to the others.

And, when it comes to selecting a persona for the job? Well, it's hardly a choice at all.

“Come! LOKI!”

The rush is immediate and intense, and, grinning so wide it hurts, he brings Loki's massive blade down in a wide, vicious arc that obliterates the next Byakhee in one hit. The Laevateinn hits the ground so hard that it reverberates through the concrete under their feet and makes his teeth rattle in his skull.

Fuck, he'd forgotten how good that feels.

Selfishly hoping that he won't be taken up on the offer, Goro turns to Ren and asks, “Do you want the other one?”

“Nah, I'll keep an eye on this guy.” Still being unusually accommodating, Ren points his gun at the first shadow, ready to threaten it into submission if it tries anything. “You go ahead, I'll just stay here and enjoy the show.”

“Well, who am I to refuse such generosity?” Goro chuckles, feeling the sound turn to gravel in his throat as the anticipation starts building again. “I'll be sure not to disappoint you.”

While that last kill was satisfying, it was also over far too quickly. So, readying his blade, he advances on the last expendable shadow, hoping that a more hands-on approach might prolong the experience.

And the shadow might not die when he first sticks it with his sword, or when he digs into the wound with the claws at the end of his fingers – tearing and crushing whatever crude approximation these things have instead of actual organs – but it doesn't last. Disappointingly, and even with the handicap, the shadow still dissolves and disintegrates before he feels like he's had a chance to really sink his teeth in.

“Wow…” Ren says, sounding slightly breathless, as Goro rejoins him. “I'd say that was overkill, but that kind of makes it sound like I'm complaining, and uh, I'm not.”

“Well, you did ask for a show.”

At their feet, the remaining Byakhee is curled in on itself, vibrating in place, in what's probably its bizarre, alien version of trembling. Goro stares down at it, and when a handful of seconds pass without it suddenly becoming as talkative or forthcoming as the Pixie was this morning, he realises he's unsure of the best way to proceed. There are multiple avenues he could explore here, of course, being no stranger to using intimidation tactics during an interrogation in the Metaverse. Though he's also used to applying his skills to something more human (and therefore more predictable) than what he's dealing with here, and this shadow is far too valuable to leave things up to chance.

Particularly when he doesn't need to.

“Recommendations, Joker?”

Fully expecting Ren to milk this opportunity for all it's worth, Goro is not surprised in the least to hear him make a small, amused noise through his nose before he answers. “You know… if I'm showing you the ropes like this, don't you think you should be calling me ‘senpai’?”

Making no effort to hide how unimpressed he is by the suggestion, Goro just stares back at him until he gets the message.

“No?” Ren chuckles, not only unbothered by the icy reception, but also quite clearly enjoying it. “Yeah, okay, didn't think so…” Gesturing with his gun in the Byakhee's general direction, he finally answers Goro's actual question. “This one's not that strong, and it's scared. You can try to reassure it…” A last resort if Goro ever heard one. “Or scare it even worse.”

Well, that just brings him right back to square one, doesn't it?

If hurting the shadow until it complies is off the table (the chances of it being destroyed in the process are far too high), then verbal coaxing or intimidation really do appear to be his only remaining options. Even if they come with their own set of risks, given his audience. It's far too easy, after all, to imagine the annoyingly quippy comment he'll be subjected to if he fails and-

Ah.

The answer is suddenly so obvious that he could almost kick himself. It’s literally right in front of him. In his left hand, more specifically.

Shifting his aim from the shadow itself, Goro points his gun at the concrete directly beside it and pulls the trigger.

The Byakhee jumps like someone lit a fire under it as the shot rings out, making an awful distorted screeching sound before, finally, it speaks. “M-m-mercy!”

Unpleasant and unnatural sounding, its voice is simultaneously deep and high-pitched, like a horde – or a hive – consisting of hundreds of individuals all speaking at once. Revulsion rolls sickly in Goro's stomach, and he realises, suddenly, that he's never put any real thought into how distasteful and outright disgusting some of these creatures truly are. Particularly now, when he's supposed to be more than willing to take this one into himself.

But, he reasons, Ren has been doing this for more than a year, hasn't he? And while Goro would never describe him as normal, the process certainly doesn't seem to have done him any harm.

Ultimately, however, it's all moot. The only thing he likes less than the idea of allowing that disgusting monster into his soul is the idea of letting Ren win.

“Join me,” he sneers, bringing his gun back up to rest the barrel against the Byakhee’s head. Ren's eyes are on him the entire time, burning hot and intense. “And you'll see just how merciful I can be.”

Things, as they often do, take a turn for the worse quickly and without warning.

Initially, it seems as if events are about to progress just as they had with the Pixie this morning, but where he'd experienced a pleasant thrill in the aftermath of that recruitment, this one feels like it culminates in nothing less than a sucker punch.

Whatever the shadow was saying as it dissolved into energy is lost in the buzz – the fucking roar – that's suddenly in his head, almost knocking him off his feet the second it enters his mask.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He's never had a seizure, but he does have a clear memory of when another child suffered one while he was still in elementary school – the way the little girl's limbs had stiffened and trembled uncontrollably, as if she was being electrocuted by her own body – and he wonders now, in a detached sort of way, if it felt anything like this.

Every one of his nerves – from the tips of his fingers to the very depths of his actual fucking brain – feels like it's shaking, vibrating so violently that he imagines the branching, spiderweb pattern of his nervous system must be visible through his skin. Or even his clothing. If he could only open his eyes long enough to actually look.

Each excruciating wave of energy that rumbles and scorches through him is so unbearably intense that it drowns out any and all other sensory input. Distorting his sense of time along with everything else, and making what must only be seconds warp and stretch into what feels more like hours of torture. But, eventually, the deafening, overwhelming din begins to ease off. Slowly, steadily, but not entirely, until it settles into a still-uncomfortable hum.

The first thing he becomes aware of, as he regains his senses, is the sound of Ren's voice.

“-row?! Goro, please-”

Able to force his eyes open at last, Goro finds that he's now down on one knee and has (apparently) been clutching at his head with both hands. Ren is directly in front of him, crouched just as low and holding onto his shoulders so tightly that if he wasn’t already shaking Goro, he must not have been far off. The white mask is pushed up and off his too-pale face, nestled in his dark hair, allowing Goro to see just how full of panic and worry his eyes are.

“Codenames, Joker,” Goro rasps, and then tries to follow the weak attempt at humour with a laugh, though he couldn't say how successful or convincing it is.

Convincing enough, it would seem, given that Ren sighs explosively and almost collapses backwards in relief. It only lasts a moment, however, before he rocks forward onto the balls of his feet again, and right back into Goro's space, peering at him in a way that's far too intense for when he still feels like there's a circular saw spinning in the centre of his skull. “What was that? Nothing like that's ever happened when I-”

“I don't know – but it's still happening-” He desperately does not want to snap at Ren (or worry him any further), but it's proving to be extremely fucking difficult. “-so please, can you – please, just lower your voice.”

“Sorry…” Ren says, closer to a whisper this time, and the extreme overcompensation would almost certainly be amusing under other circumstances. “I tried healing you a couple of times, but I don't know if it worked…”

Well, something had to have shifted the worst of his pain and discomfort, so perhaps it's worth testing. “Try it again.”

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Ren mumbles, and then shifts his weight back onto his heels so he can reach up for his mask without falling over.

Both cool and warm at the same time, the healing spell washes over Goro in a soothing wave that’s the complete antithesis of what he was feeling earlier. He sighs with an almost tearful relief as it does exactly as he’d hoped it would – smoothing away the worst of the sharp, frayed edges of his nerves.

Ren reaches up to open the clasps at the side of Goro’s mask, gently and carefully, and then pushes the points of the cumbersome beak the front of it makes apart, exposing his face fully. Cupping Goro's cheeks in warm, red leather, Ren looks into his eyes, deep and searching. “Did that help?”

God, what did Goro ever do to deserve him?

(The answer to that question, of course, is not a thing.)

“It did, Ren, yes. Thank you.”

“Hey, codenames, remember?” Ren laughs, although it’s little more than a soft, quiet huff, and then kisses the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

His immediate impulse is to say yes – the pain is gone, after all – but he realises that it's also not exactly true. “I still feel, ah… strange.”

And only stranger with each passing second.

“Strange how?”

That is the question, isn't it? Because Goro feels agitated again, like he did after recruiting the Pixie earlier, only it's been magnified by at least a factor of ten – like he needs to get up and move – like he-

“I need to-” stab – bite – kill- “-fight something.”

He's expecting Ren to protest, to make the very reasonable counterargument that they literally just did that, and how it's also exactly what led to him being saddled with the Headache from Hell in the first place.

But Ren doesn't – in fact, he looks like something just occurred to him instead. “I think I know what's going on now.”

Distracted for a moment, worryingly, by the tantalising flutter of Ren's pulse he can see through the thin skin just above the collar of his vest, Goro swallows and forces himself to look away. “Please, do enlighten me.”

“The first couple of times I absorbed a persona, I felt weird too – like there was too much energy in me, and it had nowhere to go.”

That certainly sounds similar to what he's currently experiencing. Additional disturbing urges notwithstanding. “And what did you do about it?”

“Well, we were in Kamoshida’s Palace then, so, uh, I don't know… We were fighting anyway, so I guess I just took it out on the shadows there until I felt normal again?”

“You didn't have any unpleasant side effects? No headaches or-” Or what? Fury? Bloodlust? How should he phrase this so he doesn't come off as completely insane? “Or, ah, general malaise?”

“Other than feeling like I was bouncing off the walls? No… I didn't… But I think I have an idea about that too.”

Goro just raises his eyebrows and waits for Ren to explain himself.

“I was still pretty weak back then, you know? But so were the shadows I was recruiting – by the time I got to ones like that Byakhee…”

Goro watches him shrug as he trails off, something that would be incredibly frustrating if he hadn't already figured out exactly what he’s driving at. “You’ve been gradually eased into the process, while I've essentially found myself suddenly dropped into the deep end – is that what you're saying?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Ren says, making another vague and non-committal motion with his shoulders, “it would explain why a little Pixie wouldn't make the same thing happen, right?”

It's as good an explanation as any, Goro supposes. “Well, it’s certainly something I'll need to keep in mind the next time I'm down here for work.”

“Yeah…” Ren sighs, and then gets this far-off, melancholy look on his face. Probably thinking about how he won't be there himself. “At least you'll have Queen with you, though. Y'know, if something does happen.”

Ah, yes, he's sure Makoto will be absolutely thrilled about having to play nursemaid to him until he gets the hang of his new abilities.

But that's something to worry about on Monday. Right now, at this moment, he needs to move.

Goro pulls back from Ren enough to get both of his feet under him again, and as he stands, he's relieved to find that he doesn't feel weak or light-headed at all. No, if anything it's the exact opposite. He feels energised. His heart is pounding in his chest, adrenaline burning in almost every muscle and coursing through his veins, and even the strange heaviness that seems to be a permanent feature of Mementos now appears to have vanished for him entirely.

He needs to find something to tear into before he loses his fucking mind. “Let’s look for another shadow, then, shall we?”

Standing up himself, Ren’s mouth twists into a worried, thoughtful line. “I don't know if that's such a good idea… I get that you're feeling better now, but if you recruit another one…”

“What?” Goro snaps, and barely has the presence of mind in the moment to even regret it. “You said it yourself, that's how you dealt-”

“I didn't say you shouldn't fight at all,” Ren counters, and Goro isn't sure when it happened, but he's suddenly all smirks and easy bravado again. “Just that I don't think it should be with a shadow.” And then, as if what he was saying wasn't immediately fucking obvious, he waggles his eyebrows to really drive the point home.

But understanding what Ren is suggesting isn't quite enough to stop Goro from having to goggle at him for a long, shocked second before he manages to actually find the words to respond.

“That sounds like a truly terrible idea,” he scoffs, and fucking means it.

From a logical standpoint, at least.

He has also developed the beginnings of a rather telling erection at just the mere suggestion, however, so who the fuck knows what he really wants.

Ren shrugs. Again. Goro thinks about pinning his arms behind his back. “It’ll be fine if you just use the Byakhee, it's not strong enough to really hurt me.”

“That's not quite the same thing as it not being able to hurt you at all, though, is it?”

“No…” Ren taps his chin with his finger and looks up at the ceiling. “I guess it's not.”

Incredulous, and so bewildered he's almost come back around to awe, Goro asks, “What is wrong with you?”

“I don't know,” Ren laughs, and then winks cheekily, “but you love it.”

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, he supposes) for the both of them, Goro very much does. “Alright, Joker, I suppose we can try this your way.”

***

After making their way to the exit of the floor they're on, they choose the relatively defensible position of the platform for whatever-the-fuck-it-is they're about to do.

“Okay, so…” Ren starts, spinning his dagger lazily in his hand. “Ground rules?”

Even now, as excitement rumbles and twists somewhere deep inside him, it's impossible not to think back to the last time they were in this position – to the time they fought each other in Mementos in November.

During that fight, Goro had wanted so desperately to let go – to pull Loki from the depths of his soul and watch as the fear (he remembers well just how much he'd obsessed over the idea of seeing the dawning comprehension in Ren's eyes give way to terror), and the shock, wiped the smug indifference off Ren's face.

And fuck! Goro doesn't want to feel that way about Ren anymore! No matter what his treacherous libido and the disconcerting churning in his gut suddenly seem to be so set on.

He really should put a stop to this.

But when he opens his mouth, all that tumbles out instead is: “Not trying to kill one another certainly seems like a good place to start.”

Ren snorts under his breath. “Yeah, probably…” Goro watches him roll his neck and sigh prettily when something clicks, and god, he wants to grab Ren right now and sink his fucking teeth into him. “Like I said, if you just use your new persona – or the Pixie, if you want, I guess,” he adds, with a laugh, “it shouldn't be a problem.”

“And you just expect me to attack you until I feel better?”

The idea should (and would, if he was in his right mind) piss him off a lot more than it does. It feels too much like pity – too much like something he can imagine Ren doing for a fledgling Phantom Thief recruit who needed to be eased into the job. Particularly when he's spent a not-insignificant amount of time in recent months indulging in the much more acceptable fantasy of the two of them being able to have a genuine rematch.

Having Ren just stand there and take it is the exact opposite of what he actually wants.

But now? When his hindbrain seems to be all but consumed with the idea of channelling this new power? With, more specifically, channelling it at Ren?

It's far more attractive than he'd like to admit.

And Ren, oblivious to it all, just smiles and shrugs. “I think it's worth a try, yeah.”

So that's it then.

The window for Goro to express his doubts (or to come clean about the exact nature of how he's feeling) passes, and they take up their positions on opposite sides of the platform. Once Ren has had a chance to use Heat Riser again, on himself this time, Goro stares across the distance between them – at the cocky, beautiful boy he loves more than anything – pushes past the last of misgivings and reaches for his mask.

Switching to the Byakhee makes the hum in his brain increase back to a buzz, but it doesn't hurt this time. No, this sensation, he's just realising, is almost identical to how it feels to be caught off guard by a shadow and then inflicted with rage.

The most significant difference here being, of course, that he's still in control of his faculties.

More or less.

Ren takes the first Agigyne Goro sends his way with grace, only really needing to squint against the bright light that comes with it, and he dodges the next one easily.

But, even so, the fire feels like it's in Goro's actual veins, even more than it's on the battlefield, and when his third attempt not only connects but actually makes Ren flinch and gasp, he nearly fucking moans.

Shame squirming in his gut alongside several far baser urges, Goro shakes his head – trying to clear it. Skirting the line between pain and pleasure when it comes to Ren has almost turned into a game for Goro, but ever since the nature of their relationship changed, he's always been in control of it. Always kept the desire on a tight, short leash.

Now, that control feels tenuous at best.

None of this feels right, but he doesn't feel like he can stop either.

Perhaps if things weren't so one-sided he wouldn't feel like he was falling back into old, extremely unhealthy, habits.

Perhaps what he actually needs is to be stopped.

“Joker!”

“What's up?” Ren asks, grinning like the mad fucking masochist that he is. “Feeling any better?”

“I want – no, I need you to fight back.”

Smile faltering slightly, Ren looks unsure. “Do you think that'll help?”

“Do I think-? Just fucking hit me with something, damn it!”

“Okay, alright!” Holding his hands up in a gesture of appeasement, and also getting right back to grinning like a lunatic, Ren says, “I don't have any weak personas with me, though… It's gonna hurt.”

Good, Goro thinks, surprising himself.

(And, certainly, it's a sentiment he should probably avoid expressing out loud.)

“Show me then!” he snarls instead, moving to attack again, but it's more of a feint – a ploy intended to make Ren act.

It works.

Perhaps a little too well.

The air around them drops several degrees, and Goro manages to think something about how he's about to have his memory of Byakhee's elemental weaknesses refreshed after all, before the Bufudyne smacks into him and lifts him clear off his feet.

And, yes, he might have asked for it, but that doesn't make the humiliation any easier to deal with.

Cursing under his breath (and rubbing his bruised tailbone), Goro pushes his mask up and off his face in an angry, bad-tempered movement that obscures his vision just long enough for him to be surprised to find that Ren seized the opportunity to rapidly close the distance between them. Now standing over Goro, there's a small, but still infuriatingly clear, smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, and something wicked shining in his eyes.

"Your weaknesses also change when you change your persona," Ren says, smirk widening as he holds out his right hand – offering, at least, to help Goro up. The bare minimum, really, after knocking him on his ass. "It took me a while to get used to it, too."

"Noted," Goro grits out, between clenched teeth. His own right hand is balled into a tight fist against the ground beside him, but he pushes past the turmoil that's still bubbling and raging inside him enough to be able to reach up to Ren with the other.

But then, just as he's about to grab hold and pull himself up, Ren withdraws his hand at the last second. A childish fake-out that makes Goro really see red.

Oh, never mind everything they said earlier, he's going to fucking kill him! "Very funny."

Ren slides his hands into his pockets – effectively withdrawing the offer of help entirely – and just continues to loom over him. "I thought so, yeah." Then he takes a step forward, into the space between Goro's spread legs, and it's like the air shifts around them.

Caught off guard again, Goro’s eyes snap down to the boot tip that's only an inch away from his balls and then back up to Ren – no, to Joker – because that's who's standing over him really. The personification of mischief and danger, with none of Ren's usual sweetness obvious in the eyes glittering behind his mask.

He knows what Ren likes – what Ren needs. To be handled in a way that's simultaneously rough and firm. Pushed and coaxed until he's nothing more than a quivering, shaking mess, safe and sound in the palm of Goro's hand.

This, however, is unknown territory, and, while it's not exactly what Goro was planning when he invited Ren back here tonight, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in seeing where it might go. In fact, if the devilish gleam in Ren's eye is any indication, it could potentially be just the thing to chase away the churning strangeness that's decided to keep the insecurities he was already struggling with company.

"What's your game, Joker?" he asks, and spreads his legs a little wider, feeling a surge of vicious satisfaction when Ren's nostrils flare.

The reaction is vindicating, but also expected (Goro knows that the bodysuit he's wearing is doing very little to hide the fact that their short fight has left him painfully hard). What happens next is very much not.

Wide-eyed, and in complete and utter disbelief, Goro watches as Ren lifts his foot – the toe of his boot pointing upwards, at an almost ninety-degree angle – and then slowly brings the ball of it down again to rest against the bulge in Goro's suit.

A tense second passes, one in which Ren is probably giving him the opportunity to back out (Ren wouldn't be Ren, after all, if he wasn't also managing to be infuriatingly conscientious. Even in something like this), but they both know that's not going to happen.

Goro just sets his jaw and glares back up at him defiantly.

Smiling, Ren shrugs, and leans forward, shifting his weight into the movement, and steadily increasing the pressure on Goro's cock.

And, oh – oh fuck!

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, Goro fights with the urge to cry out, hands spasming against the ground with the effort, and making the sharp points at the end of his gauntlets scrape loudly and jarringly on the concrete.

Ren presses down harder, almost unbearably so, and a white-hot spike of pleasurable pain lances through him. Even through his clenched teeth, an embarrassing strangled sound manages to escape, so strained that it’s nearly inhuman in its desperation. The pressure on his cock eases then, marginally, but instead of relief all Goro feels is a sudden, mindless panic. Both of his hands shoot out to scrabble at the loose material of Ren's pant leg in a fitful, jerky motion that he himself isn't quite sure of the intention of – simultaneously trying to push back and pull Ren closer, wanting to rut up against him despite being essentially pinned in place.

Still breathless from their brief skirmish, Goro feels light-headed, as if each stuttering, ragged breath he takes doesn't quite pull enough air into his lungs.

He can't move – can't do anything about the throbbing, pounding, need that's rapidly narrowed his perception down to nothing but the push and release of Ren's sole against his cock.

“Jo- Joker!”

A dark, dangerous silhouette above him, Ren tilts his head to the side. “Crow?”

“I can't-” he tries, but then hisses through his teeth when Ren pushes down again. Sliding further upwards this time, the toe of his boot catches and then skates across the head of Goro’s cock. “Fu-uck!”

“If you need something, you just have to ask, you know?”

“Let me up-”

Ren chuckles, deep and velvety. “Well, maybe not that-”

Making an angry, petulant noise in the back of his throat that he's not at all proud of, Goro snarls, “Then just hurry up and fuck me into the ground already!”

And that, at least, makes Ren's eyes go wide behind his mask, a fleeting crack in the veneer of bravado, even if it does only last a second. “Sure, Crow, I can do that – if you do one thing for me first.”

Assuming that he's going to be told to ask nicely – to beg, whimper and plead (it's what he would do if it was Ren on the ground underneath his boot, after all) – Goro gets ready to swallow his pride. Already so fucking frustrated, so fucking desperate, at this point, that he knows he's not going to refuse Ren anything he asks of him.

“What – what do you want?”

“Change back,” Ren says, and Goro frowns and blinks up at him in genuine confusion. “Into what you were wearing earlier – the Pixie thing.”

Thrown, Goro laughs – a harsh, derisive bark of a sound that's spoiled immediately and entirely by the groan that's pulled out of him when even such a tiny movement makes his hips twitch upwards again, right into a particularly hard press of Ren's boot. “You – hah! – you fucking pervert.”

Shrugging, and not looking self-conscious in the least, the boy above him just smiles. This one's softer, cheeky and familiar, a little more Ren than Joker again.

It's a subtle shift, but one that makes Goro realise something that should have been immediately obvious to him (and probably would have been under less fraught circumstances). He knows that Ren doesn't have a sadistic bone in his body – not in the same way that Goro does, at least – and that means that all of this has, most likely, been entirely for his benefit.

Goro might have been the one to goad him into fighting back, but Ren had seen right through him – saw his demand for what it truly was – and flipped their usual script as he zeroed in on what Goro actually needed.

And fuck it, if what Ren really wants is to be a freak about that stupid fucking outfit, then Goro is all too happy to return the favour and indulge him.

Particularly if it means being freed from this pleasurable torment.

Concentrating like this is no easy task, but Goro digs deep, tugging at that feeling from earlier until it catches. It's with a grim acceptance that he watches the striped fabric on his legs flicker and fade, before his clothing settles, and what he's left looking down at are blue stockings and the bare skin of his upper thighs instead.

And, unfortunately for Goro, it’s rapidly become clear that the crotch of the skimpy leotard he's now wearing was not made (as much as these things are made at all) with accommodating an erection in mind. All of the places it felt snug before are far closer to just being uncomfortable now, cloth bunched and stretched so tight over and around him that it's pulled his balls right up against his body. It's only worse in the back, where the material is wedged so far up his ass he might as well be wearing a fucking thong.

But Ren, for his part, looks like the cat who got the fucking cream.

Goro watches him pull his lower lip between his teeth – watches his chest almost heave with the deep, shaky breath he takes – as his eyes rove, greedily, over every exposed inch of him. The openly hungry look in his eyes is almost enough to distract Goro from how mortified and humiliated he's feeling, particularly when Ren finally lifts his foot and releases him from the maddening pleasure-pain vice he's been trapped in for who-the-fuck-knows how long.

But Ren doesn't give him time to recover – already moving, he descends upon Goro like a shadow made of leather coattails. And, as he finally kisses him, Goro can't help but think about how lucky it is that his mask was already pushed up off his face, when the much shorter, blunter nose of Ren's digs into the meat of his cheek.

“Get that-” Goro reaches up to essentially slap it out of the way. “-stupid fucking thing-” Ren laughs into his mouth, hardly flinching at all when the heel of Goro's palm glances off his cheekbone as he knocks the mask aside. It hits the ground somewhere beside them with a dull clatter. “-off your face!”

Feeling uncharacteristically clumsy – so much so that he's almost shaking – Goro blindly fumbles with the button and zipper at the waist of Ren's pants, while Ren yanks and pulls the crotch of Goro’s ridiculous outfit to the side (something that shouldn't be possible with how tight the fabric is, but this is the Metaverse, and thankfully, that doesn't seem to matter). Until, fucking finally, they're both free enough to be able to grind against each other properly, skin on skin.

It's rough without anything other than pre-cum to lubricate things, more of a drag than a slide, and it burns – hell, it's nearly painful – but, fuck, if it isn't also almost exactly what he needs.

So much so, he's worried that if they continue on like this it might all be over before they've had a chance to do what he actually wants to – or more, what he wants Ren to do to him. And, cursing his own lack of forethought, Goro pulls back enough to be able to speak. “Did you bring lube?”

Grinning wolfishly down at him, Ren reaches back and into one of his seemingly-bottomless pockets, and then holds up the tube he finds in there like a prize. “I told you earlier, I came prepared.”

God, he's so fucking ridiculous. Goro loves him more than life itself. “That you did.”

Watching as Ren first removes his gloves, and then unscrews the cap of the tube and squeezes some of the clear gel onto his palm, Goro waits. Only speaking up again when a cool, wet finger nudges gently (too gently) at his hole and then presses inside.

“Wait, I-” want it to hurt, he almost blurts out, but, catching the words with his teeth, he scrambles to try and turn them into something Ren will be more likely to agree to. “It’s fine, I'm ready, just-” And Ren still looks too concerned, so Goro lays it on even thicker. “Please, I need you.”

The worry doesn't quite leave Ren's eyes, but it's clearly fighting a rapidly losing battle, and Goro isn't going to give it the opportunity to regain any ground.

Once Ren pulls back enough to coat his cock with the lube – two short, sharp pumps of his fist that make him bite his lip and tremble beautifully – Goro seizes the opportunity to shift into a more advantageous position.

Planting his left hand firmly on the ground, he lifts his right leg up to rest the back of his knee on Ren's shoulder, making it so he has the best angle and as much leverage as he possibly can from down here. Both things that allow him to push up and into the shallow, gentle thrust that Ren goes for when he starts to enter him, taking in more than half of his cock in one go, instead of what was probably only intended to be the first inch.

Feeling like the air has been punched out of his lungs entirely, Goro groans, broken and ragged. His spine tries to arch, to pull away from the sudden intrusion that feels like it's literally spearing him open, but he has nowhere to go, and fuck, this is it – this is what he wanted. For it to hurt so sweetly that he can hardly stop to think about why he wants it this way at all.

“O-oh!” Ren gasps, wide-eyed, pupils blown – his shoulders and back stiff with the shock of the sudden and unexpected shift. “Am I-” He shudders bodily then, sinking in another half-inch in the process, and makes a wretched, beautiful sound when Goro reflexively clenches around him. “Am I hurting you?”

Yes, and it feels fucking amazing.

“No, Ren,” Goro whispers instead, pulling him down into a kiss. He wants the closeness that comes with it, of course, but it's also the only way he can think to hide the water trying to escape from the corners of his eyes.

And, Ren, unsurprisingly, seems to be content to stay like this – waiting, probably, for Goro to give him the green light – so, once again, he takes matters into his own hands. Hooking his other leg around Ren's ass, Goro uses his heel to pull Ren's hips down as he rises to meet them with his own, swallowing the last few inches of cock into his body with a delicious stretch and burn that almost makes him come right then and there.

“Oh fuck, Ren, that's- uu-uuh!” Goro just about nearly bites through his own tongue, because Ren’s already pulling out again, slowly – almost all the way – before he pushes right back in.

“You could have – hah – just told me…” Ren pants a breathless gust of a laugh against his cheek as he withdraws once more. “That you wanted it rough.” He punctuates the last word by fucking into Goro again, hard and deep – wrenching a noise out of him that's, mortifyingly, far closer to a squeal than it is to anything else. “You know I get it.”

And Ren does, Goro knows he does, but it's still not quite the same, is it? When what Ren really wants is to simply cede control, while Goro is more looking to… what?

Be punished?

For what, though? Wanting to hurt Ren earlier? Or is it some kind of karmic rebalancing act to make up for the fact that people were actually nice to him today?

And, goddamnit, Ren is not doing his fucking job if Goro's still able to string two thoughts together well enough to actually think about this. “Shut up and fucking do it then!”

Unfazed, Ren gives him a look that says ‘you asked for it’ almost as clearly as what he does next. Shifting just enough to grab Goro behind the knees, Ren pushes them up and back, nearly bending him in half, and leaving him with his toes almost touching the ground behind his head.

And, yes! That’s it! That's fucking perfect! The new angle compresses his ribcage and pushes Goro’s shoulders painfully down into the concrete, and its rough, sandpaper texture scratches and pulls at his skin through the thin fabric of his costume as his body jerks with each firm thrust into it. Burning all over, struggling to catch his breath, all while being fucked to within an inch of his life, is overwhelming, overpowering, and exactly the fucking thing he needed.

When Ren next leans down to kiss him, hungry, sloppy, and crushing him even further into the ground, the punishingly deep thrust that comes with it catches Goro by surprise, dragging harshly against his prostate and making him twitch and gush even more pre-cum onto the front of his already-tacky leotard.

God, neither of them have even touched his cock since they started actually fucking, but he really is so close – something he didn't even think was possible – and there’s no way he's going to let it slip away now. “A-ah! Right there! Don't – don't you fucking stop!” he snarls, snapping and biting at Ren's lips in what's either a threat or a plea to be put out of his misery.

“O-oh?” Ren gasps, sounding just as surprised as Goro is by what seems to be about to happen, but that doesn't matter – the important thing is that he does as he's told and doesn't stop or hesitate, not even for a second. “I’ve got you – come on-”

And, somehow, Goro does. The fire that's been burning low in his gut flares, catches, and then ignites into a roar, leaving him trembling, shaking and moaning helplessly as it hits him like a fucking truck. Distantly, he hears himself swearing and growling and whimpering as he comes, essentially untouched, all over his own stomach and chest. Each pulse of his cock an echo of the clench and spasm of his bruised, tender hole around the rhythmic push and pull as Ren continues to pound into him.

Boneless and, most importantly, wonderfully, blessedly thoughtless in the aftermath, Goro looks up through bleary eyes at the beautiful boy still moving above him and feels a pleasantly warm ache bloom behind his breastbone to match all of the ones he has everywhere else.

“Oh, Ren,” Goro whispers, reaching up to cup his face in both of his hands, “I love you.”

The look of almost-pained concentration on Ren's face crumples and then breaks – his hips stuttering, once, then twice, before they snap forward one last time – and Goro sighs in bone-deep satisfaction as Ren buries himself deep and empties into his body with a low, shaky moan.

“I love – ah! – I love you too, Goro,” Ren gasps, still breathless, and between soft, slightly clumsy kisses. “I love you so much.”

And wonder of wonders, not only does Goro's treacherous psyche not jump to question why Ren feels the way he does (or, at least, with the depth that he does), he realises that strange frantic buzzing feeling is also finally gone.

Now that his brain is no longer addled and completely clouded with aggressive single-minded arousal, he's left with nothing to distract him from just how uncomfortable this position truly is.

It was what he wanted, of course, but fuck, he really does hurt all over. “Ren – ow! – I need you to move.”

“Huh?” Ren slurs, sleepily, as if the idea hadn't even occurred to him – as if taking a nap on top of another person on the dirty floor of the collective unconscious is a perfectly normal thing to do. (Not to mention the fact that Goro is essentially still folded in half, or how Ren is also still very much inside of him.) “Oh, uh, sorry…” He keeps Goro's hips propped up on his knees, at least, giving him time to adjust as he starts to pull back, slowly and carefully.

Breath hitching and catching in his chest as the cock slips out of his ass, Goro jolts and then actually yelps when Ren decides to immediately follow it with a soft slide of his thumb. Right across his poor, abused hole.

“Oh, you look so sore…” he whispers, sounding guilty – or at least partially guilty. Goro knows him well enough to hear that there's definitely something else there too. As if just the sight of what he’s done to Goro's body is getting him all riled up again.

A sentiment that Goro can empathise with. After all, he's still waiting for a proper opportunity to mark up all that pretty, pale skin on Ren's neck again.

(It really is a pity that everything they do to each other down here just disappears the second they leave the Metaverse.)

“Well, yes, I think you'll find that was the entire poi-” The rest of what he was going to say is lost in a broken, surprised gasp when Ren presses down with the tip of his thumb and slips it back inside of him. Staring down with wide, rapt eyes while he nudges, gentle and shallow, at the still-extremely-fucking-tender ring of muscle.

Trying (and failing) not to squirm, Goro grits out, “What are you doing?”

And Ren actually smiles shyly down at him, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, suddenly demure. “I can see my, uh… y'know…”

Flushing all over, Goro realises that he's misread the situation entirely – that what Ren's actually enjoying is watching the cum leaking back out of his ass.

The valiant, hopeful twitch that his thoroughly spent cock manages at just the idea definitely undermines what he says next. “Christ, you really are a complete and utter pervert.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ren shrugs, unbothered, as he gives Goro's asshole one last affectionate caress with the pad of his thumb before withdrawing and carefully pulling the damp leotard back into place. Ugh, fuck, the material feels disgustingly cold and sticky against his skin. “But you are too, so it works.”

Sighing, Goro thinks about the long list of strange things that have happened between them, even just today, and has to agree. “It does, doesn't it?”

“Mm-mmm,” Ren hums, kissing the inside of Goro's ankle and then his knee, before starting to ease his hips back down to the ground.

Wincing at the way his spine tingles and creaks as it's straightened out, Goro looks up at the grimy ceiling above them and tries not to think about how his clothes (and he himself) aren't really in any better shape. “If I ask you to help me sit up, will you actually do it? Or am I going to have to deal with another one of your ‘hilarious’ pranks?”

Ren laughs, bright and surprised, and then crawls the short distance from Goro's feet to his side. Grinning, he holds his hand out for Goro to take. “Hey, I was pretty proud of that-”

“You really shouldn't be.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ren snorts. “And you totally didn't enjoy any of the stuff I did afterwards either, right?”

Gripping Ren's hand in his own, tighter than he probably needs to, Goro winces again as he's pulled up to sitting. “I suppose that I didn't hate it.”

“Is that why you came without either of us-” Grinning even wider, he makes a crude, masturbatory gesture with his fist. “-actually doing anything?”

Wrinkling his nose as he watches Ren's hand jerk up and down, Goro sneers, “Are you fucking twelve?” But there's no real malice in it, despite how it sounds. They both know it's really an attempt to distract from the fact he's gone completely red again. “And, ah…” He clears his throat. “I certainly wouldn't say that you didn't do anything.”

Ren's cheeks are flushed now too. “I didn't even know that was something that could happen, though…”

And well, Goro has seen it in porn before, but honestly, given his own limited hands-on experience, he'd always assumed it was being facilitated by some kind of trick behind the scenes.

(Not that he could say exactly what that would even entail, mind you.)

“Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are.”

“Maybe it was because of how you were feeling? With all the new persona stuff...”

It certainly had added a certain ‘edge’ to things, hadn't it? “Ah, perhaps?”

“Hmm…” Ren scoots closer so that he can sit beside him properly, so they're shoulder to shoulder, and scuffs at the ground in front of their feet with the toe of one of his boots. Goro wonders idly if he's ever going to be able to look at the stupid, pointy-toed things the same way again. “You should probably get all this out of your system before Monday, right? Because, uh, if you get like that again, I don't really think that Makoto is going to be able to help.”

Shuddering at the idea of being caught down here with anyone other than Ren when his brain is basically caught between the two extremes of kill and fuck, he grimaces. “No, when you put it like that, neither do I.”

“It really did only take a couple of times for me to feel normal – back at the start.” Ren leans in slightly, just enough to rest his head on Goro's shoulder. “You might even already be okay.”

“Are you saying you'd like to come back tomorrow?” Goro asks, knowing full well what the answer is going to be. “Just to be sure?”

“Yeah, just to be sure,” Ren laughs, so soft that Goro feels it through where they're touching more than he hears it. “And, uh, I also kind of want to see if I can make you do that again… ”

It would be a sign of weakness if he were to reach up and cover his face with his hands, wouldn't it? “O-oh? Is that so…?”

“Yeah, I mean, it was pretty amazing – and impressive – especially after you accused me of being the show-off.”

“What?” Goro laughs, incredulous. “And you are a fucking show-off!”

“Takes one to know one.”

“And, apparently, you also really are fucking twelve- ugh,” Goro cuts himself off with a disgusted groan, as the wet material of the leotard shifts against his skin again when he tries to move into a more comfortable position. Having to admit that it’s a lost cause, he swears under his breath and finally looks down and confronts the absolute mess all over his chest, stomach and crotch.

And Ren, of course, seems to think it’s hilarious, laughing softly as he reaches down to button his pants back up (Goro can't help but notice that his outfit has emerged from their pleasant tumble almost entirely unscathed. Which is just fucking typical). “Do you think that'll all get cleaned up if you change again?”

God, he fucking hopes it will. “There's only one way to find out, I suppose.”

“Yeah, guess so…”

Lifting his arms above his head and stretching until he feels some of the stiffness bleed back out of his spine, Goro focuses again. Deciding, as he does, that it will probably be best to go with something a little less skin-tight this time.

Something that might also be slightly more forgiving, colour-wise, if all these stains really do persist.

And, thankfully, his white prince suit appears to be just as clean and pristine as it's ever been.

On the outside, at least.

“Huh, would you look at that…” Ren says, reaching out to run a hand over his chest – right across where the bulk of the mess had been only seconds before. “Good as new.”

Goro snorts. “Why do you sound disappointed?”

Ren opens his mouth, closes it again, and then makes a thoughtful noise like he's giving the question serious consideration – or, more likely, trying to think of a way to twist his answer into some quip or other. Hell, Goro's in a good enough mood now that he might even actually laugh at it.

But before Ren has a chance to actually say anything, they both hear the sound Goro's been secretly hoping for since they got here.

The rattle and clang of chains echoing and bouncing off the walls somewhere on this floor.

Fresh excitement prickles over Goro's skin, the last of his post-orgasm brain fog immediately dispelled by a new surge of adrenaline, and even better, when he turns to look at Ren, he finds exactly the same thing dancing in his eyes.

Goro grins, sharp and wide, vindication and relief joining his already-feverish enthusiasm. He fucking knew they'd be on the same page in this!

Smiling back at him, Ren pulls his gloves on, and then points over at the wall beside the doorway that connects the platform to the rest of the floor. Their best and nearest point of cover.

Once they're in position – Ren with his back against the wall and Goro crouched near his feet – Ren whispers, “It's funny.”

And Goro is currently trying to listen out for their enemy, but he really is feeling indulgent. “What is?”

“This is the second time today we almost got caught-” The Reaper chooses that exact moment to come around the corner at the end of the tunnel in front of them, and they both pull in closer to the wall, waiting for an opening. Torn rags billowing ominously around it, it sways and floats towards, and then past, their hiding spot. Despite its proximity, Ren, apparently, is still dead set on finishing whatever inane thing it was he was going to say. “First with Mona, and now there's this guy.”

The flippancy must be contagious. “Oh, Joker, surely you're not suggesting we stop fucking in the Metaverse?”

“Nah,” Ren says, winking as he twirls his dagger in his hand, “I’ve always liked seeing how far I can push my luck.” Then he's moving, running swift and silent along the tracks – a predator hot on the tail of its prey – and Goro can only shake his head in fond, awed disbelief as he draws his sword and follows.

Chapter Text

Letting yourself get distracted in the middle of a fight is never a good idea, Ren knows this. And when the fight in question is against the Reaper, he also knows that he's just being straight-up dumb on top of careless.

But it’s hard – hard not to feel a little goofy and spacey when, like a beacon in the gloom, Goro is a bright spot on the battlefield. Both literally (because that white suit really makes him stick out like a sore thumb down here) and in the way that Ren just can't seem to keep his eyes off him for more than a couple of seconds at a time.

What he's saying, basically, is that it's a good thing he's gone up against this thing as many times as he has. Having a solid idea of how it fights and what it can dish out has saved his ass multiple times already.

And, like it read his mind, the Reaper lurches forward now, the sheer energy coming off it as it gears up to attack again making the air around them shimmer and ripple like a mirage. Ren refocuses, anticipation tense in every muscle, and gets ready to dodge whatever it's going to throw at him.

Or at them, Ren thinks, as it unleashes a Vorpal Blade that bursts outwards from it like a wave.

Switching from Raoul to Shiki-Ouji just in time – right as the attack hits – allows him to shrug it off. More or less. The force of it only pushing him backwards a couple of feet and ruffling his coattails instead of knocking him on his ass. Goro, on the other hand, doesn’t have a persona that can resist these kinds of attacks (yet), but he’s still covered by the Heat Riser Ren used on him a little while ago, so he dodges the attack well enough to avoid the worst of it.

Ren watches him jump nimbly out of the way and spin on his heel as he lands, using the momentum of the almost-twirl to put a little extra oomph into the sprint he breaks into. Vicious and beautiful, he runs up to Ren, panting and laughing through a smile that’s all teeth.

Goro doesn't need to say it, Ren knows what he’s here for. Pulling a Metaverse-charged candy bar from deep in his pocket, he presses it into Goro’s outstretched hand and closes his fingers around it with a quick squeeze. “Heads up, that’s our last one.”

“Better make it count then,” Goro says, eyes flicking to the Reaper as it begins to recover from the recoil of its own attack.

They probably have all of three seconds before it comes at them again.

Ren smirks. Plenty of time.

Drawing his gun, he takes aim. “Ready, Crow?”

Goro tuts under his breath and smiles even wider. “Always.” And then he’s off again – making a break for his earlier position on the opposite side of their enemy.

The Reaper shudders, its chains clanging together loudly as it raises one of those massive guns and points it right at Goro. Ren’s faster, though – squeezing the trigger three times in rapid succession, each of his bullets hit the monster in the chest. Making it flinch, groan, and lower its weapon again.

Watching and waiting for it to bounce back (Ren needs to be sure that it’s paying attention to him before he moves), he thinks about how, if someone were to ask, he'd say that he's having kind of a hard time nailing down the best part of this trip to the Metaverse.

Sure, it's great to be back at all – great to have Joker’s coat and mask and all the confidence that comes with them – and it really is hard to beat the feeling of reaching deep and pulling on the string in his soul that matches a specific persona, letting its power flow through him so easily that it might as well be his own.

But even stuff like that still has some serious competition, because there was also, y'know, the sex! And the Pixie costume! And while Ren still thinks he can't really take a whole lot of the credit for it, he also managed to make Goro come with just his dick.

The big one, though – the one he keeps coming back to, even more than everything else – is that, for the first time ever (Ren's pretty sure), Goro said ‘I love you’ first.

Yeah, that's definitely playing for first place.

Smiling dreamily to himself, lost again in the memory of Goro underneath him – all breathy, flushed and heart-achingly sincere – Ren almost misses the way the wind has started kicking up around him.

Almost.

Cartwheeling out of the way of the massive Garudyne at the last second, Ren hits the ground running, feeling like there are wings on his feet as he sprints in a tight arc around the Reaper – a mirror image of the route Goro took earlier. His gun is still in his hand, ready to fire off another shot if the monster decides to take a page out of Ren’s book and let its attention drift. But, nope, it looks like he's going to be able to save his last bullet. Even without any visible eyes, it still tracks his movement closely, floating and rotating in place, and (most importantly) turning away from Goro's position.

It's kind of a risky tactic, and doesn't really buy them a whole lot in the way of time, but it should still give Goro enough of a window to finish eating their last snack and prepare some kind of counterattack.

That's what he's hoping, anyway.

Boots pounding over the last couple of feet of concrete, Ren dives forward as he reaches his target, tucking his arms and legs in against his body to roll past Goro and – yes! – right under Hereward. Still mid-dodge, Ren doesn't get to watch the persona take aim with its bow, but he comes to a stop and turns just in time to see the Rebellion Blade hit. He also hears the bloodthirsty cackle that sounds like it rips its way out of Goro's throat at the same time, sending a prickly shiver across Ren's skin and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Hereward disappears again and Ren watches closely, holding his breath, as the Reaper teeters and reels dramatically.

When it sags in on itself this time it stays that way, raggedy robes going all droopy and sad (reminding Ren, for a moment, of the long-leafed lettuce he helped Haru harvest that one time after a really bad frost), and he knows that they're almost there.

This is the final push.

Which, honestly? Might be for the best.

Ren is having the time of his life, don't get him wrong, but fighting the Reaper always takes forever. Even when he’s got a full team at his back. And right now, of course, not only are there only two of them, but they're both nearly out of ammo, and Ren also feels like he's running so low on gas that he probably couldn't even wring a measly little Dia out of one of his personas if he tried.

So, yeah, definitely time to finish this.

Springing neatly back to his feet, he takes his place beside Goro, shoulder to shoulder – his right to Goro's left – and feels a zippy little thrill when they both raise their guns and aim at the monster's head at the exact same time.

Ren's finger tightens on the trigger.

“Checkmate.”

The pair of holes that punch their way through the bloody bag pulled over the Reaper's head are so close together that they’re almost overlapping (one dead centre and the other slightly to the left of it) and only visible for half a second before it slumps backwards entirely. Twitching and shuddering as it disintegrates in a black, sooty cloud.

“Nice shot,” Goro says, voice still rough from all the crazy (hot) cackling he was doing during the fight. He bumps his shoulder against Ren's and smiles, the expression still lopsided and savage for a moment before it mellows into something sardonic instead. “Such a pity that you missed the bullseye by a fraction.”

Now, Ren isn't sure which one of them actually ‘missed’ (let's be real, though, it was probably him), but he's not going to let a little thing like the facts get in the way of throwing the possibility that it was Goro back in his face.

“Nah, I think your bullet was the one that went wide,” he says, and only just manages not to laugh when Goro immediately switches from smirking to glaring at him with the force of a thousand extremely offended suns. “I mean, it makes sense, right?” Frowning thoughtfully, Ren taps his chin with his fingers. “You're probably still weak in the knees after earlier. That would throw anyone off their game.”

Wide-eyed, furious, and suddenly as red as his mask, Goro makes a weird, choking noise in the back of his throat, and seems (for all of five seconds, at least) to be actually, genuinely speechless.

After composing himself (more or less), Goro crosses his arms and clears his throat. “It would be pointless, I know, for me to attempt to question your earlier, ah… prowess-” And Ren does laugh this time because they both know that there's no arguing with results. Goro somehow goes even redder. “-but I resent the insinuation that I would ever miss my mark,” he continues, still acting all haughty despite how embarrassed he is. It's really cute. “Some of us are skilled enough to still perform perfectly under the most extreme of circumstances.”

“I thought you weren't questioning my performance?”

Barking an exasperated, disbelieving laugh, Goro throws his hands up in the air. “Oh, fuck you-”

Ren takes a handful of pre-emptive steps out of grabbing range before cutting Goro off. “Maybe later?”

Making another incredulous, begrudgingly amused sound, Goro says, “You must be exhausted from all these gymnastics, Joker – mental and otherwise.” His voice has gone all soft and deceptively sweet. Oh yeah, Ren's definitely in trouble now. “But how about we find out if you can run all the way back to the entrance?”

“If you think you can catch me-” Ren starts, but breaks off into a surprised yelp when Goro literally lunges at him.

Only just managing to dodge the pair of strong arms that almost wrap around his midsection (and the pointy mask that nearly takes his eye out), Ren turns on his heel and starts running just as fast as he did when they were fighting the Reaper.

***

All things considered, Ren thinks he's doing pretty well.

For the first two floors, anyway.

But where he's been kind of lazy about staying on top of working out since going back home to Kanbara (mostly because Morgana's been too busy enjoying being a fat, pampered house cat to hound him about it), Goro still cycles every single morning, rain or shine, and it shows.

Ren's head start bought him an extra couple of seconds, sure, but he knows his luck's run out just as the next escalator comes into view. He can nearly feel Goro's breath on the back of his neck as he comes right up behind him. And while Ren’s scrambling to think of the best way to shake him off his tail (wondering if, maybe, there’s somewhere at the top of the escalator that would work as a good anchoring point for his grappling hook), Goro grabs him by the coattails and yanks. So hard that Ren stumbles backwards and nearly goes right on his ass.

“I'm disappointed, Joker!” Goro calls out, bright and already victorious, as he takes the lead. Ren doesn't know how, but he hardly even sounds out of breath. “I expected more of a challenge!”

Honestly, Ren thought that they were playing a weird, horny game of tag, but apparently, it's just a straight-up race now. And, given that he's already kind of running on fumes, there's pretty much no way he can win.

Still, he thinks – as he plants one foot on the first step of the escalator, shakes himself off, and gets right back to running – that doesn't mean he's going to give up, either.

***

Ren wakes with a start and a gasp.

He can't breathe.

Dazzled and disoriented, he flinches away from the bright lights above him and almost tips forward out of the plastic chair he didn’t know he was sitting in.

A long, confused, panicky second passes before his eyes adjust enough for some of the colourful noise around him to start making sense. The row of seats across from him, the handful of tired-looking people sitting there, the ads on the walls, and the night sky rushing past the windows set into them.

Brain finally catching up, Ren exhales shakily.

He's just on the train.

Ren's fingers are cold and clammy where they're clutching at his right wrist – where he was expecting it to be swollen and bruised – and he can feel an echo of his thundering heartbeat fluttering under the thin skin there.

He's just on the train.

Standing over him, already out of his own seat, is Goro. He's smiling – or he was smiling, Ren figures, because the stiff, concerned grimace on his face definitely looks like it started out that way.

No surprise there, though, right? Ren would be pretty worried too if their positions were flipped. But the thing is – the thing that's weird – is that he also looks kind of guilty.

Still feeling confused and kind of groggy, Ren blinks up at him, and then down at how one of Goro's hands is hanging awkwardly in the space between them – like he was just pulling back when Ren woke up – his thumb and forefinger still set in a loose, pincer position.

The last piece of the puzzle slides into place and Ren groans a shaky laugh. “Did you wake me up by holding my nose? Seriously?”

Wincing self-consciously, Goro shoves his hand deep into his pocket, like he's trying to hide it. “You were fast asleep – we’re almost at our stop, and-” He stops, probably realising how defensive he sounds, and sighs. “I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd react so, ah, explosively… Are you alright? You're white as a sheet.”

Ren scrubs both of his hands over his face and then shakes his head a little, hoping to get rid of the last of the memory-nightmare hybrid that’s still clinging to him like a big nasty cobweb. “Yeah, I'm good, just – I just got a little spooked, is all.”

It's the truth. More or less. He'll be fine in a minute.

He usually is.

Goro doesn't seem convinced, though. Something sharp and calculating has joined the worry in his eyes, and Ren knows that he's about two seconds away from connecting the dots and realising why he got as freaked out as he did.

But then, saved by the bell (or the announcer), the speaker above them comes to life.

“Now arriving at Yongen-Jaya – Yongen-Jaya-”

“C’mon, let's go,” Ren says, reaching out to catch Goro by the arm – first to use as leverage to pull himself to standing, and then to herd his boyfriend towards the door.

By the time they've left the station and gotten out into the warm, night air, Ren's feeling pretty much normal again. Other than being seriously exhausted.

And if Goro's still turning what happened on the train over in his head, he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to bring it back up.

For now, at least.

***

Finally back in Leblanc, Ren loiters awkwardly near the bottom of the attic stairs while Goro locks back up again. It makes him feel weird (and kind of useless?), watching Goro take care of something that used to be his responsibility.

“All done?” Ren asks.

Goro stops just short of the stairs – in front of the bathroom door. “You go on ahead,” he says, waving a hand at Ren in an absentminded shooing motion. “I need to make use of the facilities.”

Ren nods sleepily and turns to go. Clomping up two stairs before he freezes in place, blinks, and takes a full second to make sure he actually just heard what he thinks he did. Already cracking up, he needs to reach out and grasp the bannister beside him so he doesn't fall back down the couple of steps he'd managed to get up before he really clicked what was said.

“Oh, shut up, it's not that funny,” Goro huffs, sounding embarrassed but also like he's trying really hard not to start laughing too. “Would you prefer that I be crass?”

The question’s probably rhetorical, but Ren answers it anyway. “Oh? Maybe?”

Making his ‘I smell a challenge’ face, Goro takes a breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re wide and bright, and just as fake-earnest as Ren remembers from last year. It’s impressive (and definitely also kind of freaky), he might as well be watching the Detective Prince on TV again.

“Please, Ren, do go on ahead, I won't be long…” Pausing for dramatic effect, he frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and then does one of those cutesy little winks that used to be on all the posters plastered around Shibuya. “I just really need to take a fucking piss.”

And they're both laughing now – the kind of giddy, nearly hysterical wheezing that steals your breath away and makes your eyes burn and leak.

Knees weak, chest burning, Ren takes a big gulping lungful of air, and, after holding it in for a second, lets it out again in a long sigh. “S’nice.”

Goro’s leaning against the frame of the bathroom door for support, patting delicately at the wet skin under his eyes with the pads of his fingers. Raising an eyebrow at Ren, he asks, “What is?”

“When you goof around like this…” Ren shrugs. “I dunno, I just like it – it's fun.”

“Well, you have always had quite the knack for making me behave foolishly.”

Grinning, Ren pushes away from the bannister and hops back down out of the stairwell, almost skipping across the short distance between them to steal a kiss.

And Goro indulges him for all of two seconds before he pushes Ren away again gently. “As lovely as this is, I really must insist you go upstairs – I've already mopped this floor once today, and I really would prefer not to have to do so again.”

“Huh? Oh! Right, sorry…” Ren backs up, hands raised. “I'll see you up there…” Watching Goro open the bathroom door, Ren waits until he’s almost completely inside before he cups his hands around his mouth and adds: “After you've finished making use of the facilities!”

The grumbled string of half-hearted curses he gets in return is cut off when Goro shuts the door firmly behind him, and still grinning, Ren finally heads up the stairs.

Sure, he might be feeling more than a little dead on his feet, but he still finds himself getting a little excited again, as he makes his way up into the attic that used to be his room. Wondering just how much Goro’s switched things up in the three-odd months since he started living here.

It’s not like Ren hasn’t seen any of the changes. He’s caught bits and pieces, here and there, from the other end of his webcam and his phone, but nothing concrete. The one time he asked for a video tour, Goro outright refused, telling Ren that he needed to wait until he was here again to see it for himself.

Which was disappointing, sure, but it also wasn’t a big surprise. Ren knows that Goro is weirdly messy (on top of, somehow, also being insanely organised), so he just figured that the attic was probably too cluttered and grubby to show off at such short notice.

But now? Wow.

Not only is the place spotless, it's nearly unrecognisable.

Ren knew that his old mattress and the milk crates that held it up would be gone, but seeing the actual proper bed (the one that, at least in part, has featured heavily in many, many video calls) sitting in its corner still feels kind of strange. The bed is big (probably king-size? Ren can’t really tell from here), and the colour of both its wooden frame and the bedspread are sitting somewhere on the same understated, stylish-grey spectrum.

The shelf he used to keep all his souvenirs on has been moved down a couple of feet (to make space for the bigger bed, Ren figures), but is otherwise where it's always been. It's also filled to the brim now with so many books and binders that he's actually kind of surprised the floor can support the weight of it. Taking a step forward, he spots a small locker tucked away in between the shelf and the bed. And on top of it, he can just make out a display case, along with the white, red and blue raygun that's sitting proudly inside.

Goro’s probably going to have to find somewhere new to put it now, right? Since he has two of them-

The toe of Ren's boot bumps up against the edge of the thick rug on the floor. Grimacing, he steps back quickly, and then sighs in relief when he sees that, no, he didn't manage to track any dirt or mud onto it. Now that he's actually looking at the rug, though, woah. It's so big that pretty much the entire right-hand side of the attic’s floor is covered.

Why didn't he ever think of doing that when he was still living here? Ren wonders.

Not having to worry as much about splinters and the nasty drafts that come up between the floorboards in winter must be nice…

Eyes wandering again, he has another weird, disorienting moment when he sees that his desk (the one he used to craft all his infiltration tools at) has also been replaced with a sleek, modern equivalent. Goro's laptop is on the new desk, closed over, and beside it is a Newton's cradle (its line of shiny, metal balls reflecting the light from the bulbs on the ceiling), along with an actual desk calendar.

Basically, it looks like Goro's turned this corner of the attic into an office cubicle from the 90s. Ren thinks about buying him one of those motivational posters with the cat hanging onto a branch (or was it a rope?) for dear life.

Maybe he could even get Morgana to pose for one?

Shaking his head and laughing to himself under his breath, Ren walks towards the (also brand-new) couch beside the desk, planning to find out if it's actually as comfy as it looks, when he gets distracted by the chest of drawers and wardrobe combo that he almost passes on the way. It caught his eye because it looks like it's made of real, actual wood, instead of being some kind of flimsy, particleboard thing.

Ren’s parents are really into this sort of stuff, so he knows that it must have cost a bomb.

And he's just reaching out to touch the front of the top drawer (to see if it's actually just a convincing veneer or something), when he hears Goro coming up the stairs beside him.

“I can't say that I didn't know you were a pervert, Ren, but I never imagined I'd catch you just about to rifle through my things.”

“I mean, I wasn't,” Ren says, grinning as he turns, his arms going up instinctively to rest on Goro's shoulders as strong hands squeeze his hips. “But can you really say anything about boundaries, Mr. Used-to-tail-me-around-the-city?”

Leaning in to kiss the skin right under Ren's ear, Goro hums, and the sound of it feels like it vibrates all the way into his brain. “Hmm, do you think that, perhaps, your position on that high horse might be somewhat compromised by the fact that you had Futaba watch me through my own laptop? There's a reason I make sure to keep the camera on my new one covered when I'm not using it, you know.”

“I barely even needed to ask, she does that with everyone anyway,” Ren jokes, breezing past the fact that they both know that her spying was the thing that, y'know, saved him from getting shot in the head.

By the very same boy that's currently nuzzling into his neck.

For probably the fiftieth time since Goro came back, Ren thinks about how it's something they should probably sit down and talk about.

At some point.

Not now, though, he really is too tired.

And also, he just noticed something.

There's a big, freestanding mirror where Ren's scale model of the Skytree used to be, but he's more focused on the empty space beside it. “Hey, where's my plant?” he asks, and shivers at the ticklish sensation when Goro snorts against his skin. Ren can't let that distract him, though, he didn't sink thousands of yen’s worth of fertiliser into that plant just to find out that Goro's thrown it out or something.

“I hadn't realised I was expected to keep it…” Oh man, he really did dump it somewhere, didn't he? “But don't worry, it's safe.”

The exaggerated way Ren sags and sighs in relief is definitely played up, but it's not totally fake either. “Yeah? Where is it?”

Pulling back just enough to make eye contact, Goro gives him a puzzled but indulgent look. “Sakura-san took it home with him weeks ago. According to Futaba, the scraggly thing is sitting happily in their entryway now…” Goro arches an eyebrow at him. “Is it really that important to you?”

Ren shrugs. “I didn't think it was, but yeah… I guess…?”

Chuckling, Goro leans in and presses a warm kiss to his forehead. “Sentimental fool.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ren says, and then smiles a small, knowing smile. He might have missed them the first time, but the fact that his plant has gone AWOL isn't the only thing that caught his eye over Goro's shoulder. “But it's not like I'm the only one.”

The tip of Goro's nose twitches, his brow crinkling up in mildly offended confusion. “And what, may I ask, has led you to that conclusion?”

All defensive already, he probably thinks Ren's going to bring up the raygun on his bedside table, but while Ren's aiming for something in that general area, the gun isn't his target. “I can see my glasses – the ones I gave you just before I left,” Ren grins. “Over there, beside your bed.”

Pink in the cheeks, Goro tuts under his breath and looks away. “Yes, well, they were a gift. It would be rude to just leave them to gather dust in a drawer somewhere.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Ren laughs and then hurries to tuck his face in against Goro's shoulder as a yawn sneaks up on him. “Uh, sorry…”

“Don't be, we've both had quite an eventful day.”

They sure have. “I know it's still kind of early and all, but I'm really beat… Is it okay with you if I get ready for bed?”

Goro checks his watch, and Ren isn't sure of the exact time, but he did look at his phone when they got off the train, and knows it’s probably not even eleven o'clock yet. “I wouldn't say it's that early, really. Particularly when you have your exam in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah…” Ren really wishes he could just skip it, but that seems too risky. What if the school sends a letter home about him missing it or something? Yeah, that would be exactly the kind of thing that could make his parents reconsider letting him come back here for summer vacation. “I should probably set my alarm…” he says, trying to figure out the latest time he can get away with sleeping until. If the exam is at nine, then-

Goro makes a dismissive sound through his teeth. “Don’t bother, I’ll wake you up when I get back from my morning cycle. We can have breakfast together before you go.”

“Oh? That’s – yeah, that sounds nice,” Ren says, smiling. Sure, he’s gonna miss out on at least half an hour of broken sleep while he mashes the snooze button on his phone, but getting to eat together in the morning sounds like it’ll definitely be worth it.

(And he still has Sunday morning to try and convince Goro that staying in bed sometimes, especially on his days off, won't actually kill him.)

After gathering all the things they need to get ready for bed (toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, and Goro's frighteningly large toiletry bag), Ren follows Goro onto the stairs.

“I know this entrance exam was just about having a suitable enough excuse to come back to Tokyo,” Goro says, as they walk, “but it occurs to me that we've never really spoken about what you want to do – after you finish school.”

“Uh…” Ren's glad that having to walk single file and behind Goro means that he doesn't have to explain the grimace on his face. “I don't really know, honestly…”

What he should have known, though, is that Goro would still twist around to goggle back at him anyway. “You've no idea? Not at all?”

“No, I – I dunno, it's just not something I'm really interested in…”

“Ren, I've seen your test scores-”

“Okay, wow-”

“Yes, yes, it comes as an absolute shock, I'm sure, to find that Kobayakawa was all too happy to hand your file over the second I asked for it,” Goro sneers half-heartedly, rolling his eyes as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Then he peers at Ren, thoughtfully, like he really doesn't understand the idea that not everyone is as ambitious and single-minded as he is, but he's going to try anyway. “Assuming that you haven’t let things slide, academically, since returning home, you could probably have your pick of colleges. Surely you don't want to let that go to waste?”

“I just… I guess it's not really this big priority for me?” he sighs and rubs at the back of his neck. “As long as it's in Tokyo, and the hours are flexible enough that I can help Sojiro out here sometimes… that's, uh, that's all I really want...” Reaching out to squeeze Goro's hand, he hopes it'll help the next part get through. “Can we just leave it at that?”

And Ren can see that Goro wants to keep pushing (it's written clear as day in the pinch of his brow and the way he’s chewing his lip), but after making a mildly sour face, he squeezes Ren's hand back. “Alright, if you really don't want to talk about it, I suppose we don't have to.”

“Thanks.”

“Even though it is my birthday.”

Laughing, Ren pushes him, gently, towards the bathroom. “You'll survive.”

***

Teeth brushed, faces washed (and in Goro's case, moisturised and treated until his skin is almost literally glowing), they head back upstairs.

Wandering sleepily to the foot of the bed and stopping just short of where the rug starts, Ren leans against the windowsill so he can keep his balance while he unlaces his boots and kicks them off. He’s stretching sleepily and scrunching his toes into the deep pile of the rug when something on the ceiling catches his eye. Looking up, Ren realises that – even though Goro's replaced pretty much everything else up here – the beam above the bed is still haphazardly dotted with his little constellation of star stickers.

“Hey, you kept my…” Ren starts and then forgets what he was saying entirely when Goro moves into his eyeline.

Sure, Ren knew he was getting undressed too, he just wasn't really prepared for the reality of how good he was going to look in only his dress shirt, socks and those tight little boxer briefs. Dumbstruck, Ren watches as Goro lifts one foot up to rest on the edge of the bed and then starts unbuckling the black, strappy thing (it's called a sock garter, Ren remembers, faintly) that's fastened around his calf muscle.

“For someone who was so quick to make fun of me for wearing these,” Goro says, smug and knowing, as he sets the first one aside and gets started on the second, “you appear to be quite captivated now.”

And while Ren still doesn't really understand why you'd ever actually need to wear something like that (his socks, at least, seem to stay on just fine by themselves), he might be starting to see the appeal of them in a less functional kind of way. “Maybe I, uh, judged them too harshly?”

“Mm-mmm, maybe,” Goro chuckles, setting both of the garters aside onto the bedside table and moving to begin unbuttoning his shirt. “Now, I thought you were tired. Are you going to get undressed? Or are you content to just stand there with your tongue hanging out like a moron?”

Surprised, Ren laughs. God, he really is such a bitch.

It's probably kind of weird that being talked to like that just makes him feel all warm and fuzzy, right? Shrugging internally, he grabs the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it up, eagerness and sleepiness working together against him to make the entire process a lot clumsier than it normally would be. But once he’s free, he turns the bubbly, happy feeling in his chest into words. “Hey, Goro? I love you.”

His boyfriend is, by now, on the bed, and looking ridiculously hot lying back against the headboard in nothing but his underwear. Ren's going to get distracted all over again if he stops to take that in properly, so he focuses instead on how obvious it is that Goro was staring just as much as Ren was a second ago.

Blinking in mild surprise, his eyes snap up from where they were glued to the general area around Ren's navel. “And I love you too, Ren – but I do wish you would hurry the fuck up and get over here.”

Okay, yeah, that does sound like a good idea, so Ren does as he's told – shimmying quickly out of his jeans, tugging off his socks, and then crawling up the bed. The mattress doesn't sag or creak at all under his weight. “Holy cow, this is comfy,” he gasps as he flops down into the space between Goro and the wall. Ren turns onto his side, just as Goro does, so they're facing each other, and adds: “And before you say it – I mean that it's comfy compared to my bed at home. Which has a normal base, with springs and everything.”

Mouth twisting wryly at the corner, Goro looks a little disappointed that Ren spoiled whatever jab he was one hundred percent just about to make about the sad mattress-and-crate situation that used to be up here. “Given that I spent the majority of my first paycheck on it, it would want to be comfortable.”

How much does Goro actually make? Ren wonders. Not exactly pocket change anyway, he knows that much – it couldn't be when Ren's seen how much he's willing to spend on gloves-

Snapped back to reality by the feeling of Goro's thumb grazing his cheek, Ren shivers happily as a hand slides around the back of his neck, into his hair, and then pulls him in for a soft, open mouth kiss that’s warm, wet, and still minty fresh.

Making a small, content sound in the back of his throat, he reaches out to run his hand down Goro's bare side, appreciating all that soft skin and the subtle yet noticeable way he's filled out since Sojiro's started making sure he gets at least a couple of proper meals a day. He feels more solid now, stronger, like maybe if he pushed Ren down, it might be kind of hard to get away…

Just the thought has him gasping a soft moan into the kiss, one that only becomes more desperate when Goro takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth. And the deep, languid drag of it makes Ren feel like he's going to melt into the mattress beneath them.

But the thing is, while his dick might have suddenly developed a very strong opinion about slowing things down, Ren knows, realistically, that they probably shouldn't try to go any further than this right now. Not when he’s genuinely kind of worried that he might actually fall asleep in the middle of anything more, uh, active than making out. And he's trying to push through the sleepy-horny fog in his brain enough to figure out the best way to actually say that, when Goro's phone starts ringing, vibrating loudly against the surface of his bedside table, and making them bump noses when they both jump at the sound.

“Who the fuck-” Goro hisses as he rolls away to grab it (in a bad-tempered, tantrumy kind of way that's more than a little funny), but once he's actually lifted the phone up and looked at the screen, he goes quiet. Pensive.

The angle’s awkward, Ren can't see from here, but he's not about to be an asshole and try to duck down to see for himself, so he just pushes a little instead. “Who is it?”

There's this weird, faraway look in Goro's eyes that's making Ren start to feel kind of worried on top of just curious, but then the phone is turned for him to see, and he takes a big ol' serving of confusion to go along with all the other stuff.

Because it's just a withheld number. Not something that should be a big deal, right?

“It's strange,” Goro starts, before Ren can ask what's got him looking so rattled, “I don't usually answer calls from unknown numbers… In this case, however, I feel almost compelled to?”

Yeah, no two ways about it, that is weird. Just like how the phone is still ringing, even though Ren feels like the call should probably have timed out by now. “Are you gonna?”

Goro frowns, nods, then swipes his thumb up the screen and brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he answers, brusque and clipped. Ren watches him listen to whoever-it-is on the other end of the line, and then how it makes the slightly anxious expression on his face turn into something that's both relieved and annoyed at the same time.

Huh?

"I'd ask how you got this number, but the fact that you're able to call me – or anyone at all, for that matter – is surprising enough." Who is he talking to? Ren strains his ears and thinks he hears a man's voice, but that's it. "What can I do for you, Theo?"

Theo…?

Oh! Theodore – Velvet Room Theodore.

Yeah, he used to think it was really weird whenever Justine and Caroline called him too. He guesses he just kind of got used to it by the time it was Lavenza doing it instead.

"Can't it wait? I was hoping to, ah, take care of that on-" Goro's eyes flick to Ren before he catches himself and deliberately looks away. "-Monday."

Whatever they're talking about, Goro obviously wanted to wait until after he'd gone home to deal with it.

Huh.

"That isn't what we discussed – well, a lie of omission is still a lie, I think you'll find – no, no, it's fine – yes – I'll see you then. Good evening."

Goro hangs up the phone and swears under his breath.

"What's up?" Ren asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, Goro sighs. "You know already that I've been running a little errand on behalf of the Velvet Room." It's more of a statement than a question, and Goro isn't even looking directly at him, but Ren nods anyway. "And, well, it seems that they need me to take care of something sooner than I’d planned – tomorrow afternoon, in fact."

So, probably after Ren's done sleepwalking his way through that entrance exam. "What do you need to do?"

"It's more a matter of what we need to do, actually – apparently your involvement is required. Although that fact was not disclosed to me until just now."

"Oh?" Ren sits up, suddenly feeling way more awake than he did a few minutes ago. "Metaverse stuff?"

Goro winces and starts chewing at his thumbnail. "It's not quite so simple, I'm afraid… Let me fill you in on the details…"

Ren listens carefully as Goro first goes back over what he told him earlier – all the stuff about how Igor's weak and isn't getting any better – but then, after all that, they get to the new part.

The reason that Igor’s still so weak is because his power got stuck.

Somewhere.

"Like in a shadow?" Ren prompts.

"No, not in a shadow," Goro sighs, chewing his lip now instead of his nails. "If Yaldabaoth co-opted Igor's power originally, then it follows that-"

The penny drops. "Oh, it's Maruki-sensei…"

"Yes."

"Is that why you didn't tell me until now?"

Looking away, Goro's lips twist bitterly. "You know that it is."

Honestly, Ren's kind of confused. He's definitely missing something here. "But why?"

Goro pushes himself up to sitting and huffs loudly through his nose as he crosses his arms – posture closed off and defensive. "I was fucking worried, of course!” he almost snaps. “Which, you don't have to tell me how stupid that is – believe me, I can hear exactly how it sounds even as I say it. I know that you're more than capable of handling yourself – that you've already proven that you can stand strong in the face of whatever manipulation or-"

"It's okay," Ren soothes, reaching out to tug gently at Goro's arms until he relaxes enough to allow Ren to take both of his hands in his own. "It doesn't have to make sense – I get it."

Squinting suspiciously at him, Goro asks, "You do?"

"Yeah," Ren laughs, soft and quiet. "And that's why I wish you'd told me sooner – you shouldn't have to go talk to him alone-" Goro’s eyes drop to the mattress, and Ren's stomach follows. "Oh… You already did, huh?"

A muscle jumps in Goro's jaw. "I did, yes."

Suddenly imagining everything from a weirdly civil meeting to an outright beat down, Ren takes his hands back so he can drag them down his face. "When?"

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday," Ren repeats, thinking about the texts they sent back and forth during the day – about the phone call before they went to sleep – all of the times that Goro could have said something. Anything.

"You're annoyed with me."

It isn't a question.

"No," Ren says, but that's a lie, so he starts over. "Yeah, actually, Goro, I kind of am – you didn't want me to know what you were doing because you were worried about me, but you didn't stop to think that I might be worried about you – going to see him by yourself? After everything?"

"Of course I thought about it, that's why I didn't tell you," Goro bites out, through clenched teeth.

This isn't going to get them anywhere.

Exhaling through his nose, Ren counts backwards from ten. The best thing to do right now, probably, is to switch gears – move on just enough that when they come back to all of this later, it'll be with (hopefully) clearer heads.

Calmly as he can, he asks, "How did you find him?"

Goro blinks back at him, thrown. His reflexive anger fizzling when he doesn't get the pushback – the escalation – he was expecting. For a second, he looks ashamed of himself, before he covers it back up and answers Ren's question. "How did I find him? With some good old-fashioned detective work, to start…” He smiles then, tight and humourless. “And, of course, I had help.”

So Goro isn't the only one who's been keeping this from him, huh? "Futaba?"

"And Makoto."

"Wow, okay, I – wait, hang on – I thought that the reason the two of you have been hanging out together so much recently was because of your job?"

"Well, it's all actually one and the same, you see,” Goro explains, still smiling ruefully. “After agreeing to help Igor, I found myself in need of a reason to approach Maruki. And then, in a string of happy coincidences, I learned that not only is the man in an extremely precarious financial position, but my employer also just so happens to be constantly on the lookout for people with his exact skill set.”

There's so much to unpack in what Goro just told him, Ren almost wouldn't know where to start… Except there is one thing that stands out, isn't there? "You're going to be working with him?"

"Not closely – I made sure that Kirijo-san is well aware of the fact that there's some… history there."

"Great, sounds like you've got all your bases covered," Ren says, way more sarcastically than he meant to, and immediately tries to walk it back. "Uh, sorry, that was uncalled-for."

Goro huffs a dry laugh. "That was hardly anything."

Staring across the room at nothing in particular, while he tries to sort through and actually understand everything Goro's told him, Ren's eyes are drawn to the old scorch mark on the wall above Goro's new desk. A souvenir from one of the first times he was practising with his soldering iron, after Morgana jumped up to check his work and accidentally swept a bunch of slag everywhere with his tail. It's probably kind of a weird memory to find himself being grounded by, but thinking about the way they'd both freaked out about nearly burning the café down kind of does the trick anyway.

With some of his worry (and just plain shock) settled now, Ren has to admit to himself that he's also kind of curious about what actually happened yesterday. "What was it like? Seeing him?"

"It was… fine, I suppose – cathartic even – I may have, ah, let myself get carried away."

Uh-oh. "In what way?"

"Of the two of us, you're still the only one who's had an actual fist fight with him, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh…" Ren flops back on the bed. It really is weird, looking up at the familiar beams with a mattress that's actually comfortable underneath him. "That's good."

Following his lead, Goro lies back down too.

Ren watches from the corner of his eye as he settles back down onto his side, and then how he moves to reach out, hesitates, and balls his hand into a fist before starting to pull back. Yeah, there's no way Ren's letting that happen. Catching Goro's hand, he pries it back open, firmly and gently, until he can lace their fingers together properly.

Goro stares down at where their hands are joined for a moment, frowning, before he swallows loudly and begins to speak again. "You know, he wanted me to be angry with him."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not sure if he was trying to get me to 'work through my rage'-" Goro rolls his eyes, his upper lip twitching in disgust. "-or if changing his heart has simply left him that masochistic, but yes, that was definitely the impression I came away with."

The idea that Goro found the meeting cathartic is suddenly starting to make a lot of sense. "I'm guessing you gave him what he wanted?"

“Oh yes, and more.”

And Ren isn't sure how to feel about that.

Just like he still isn't sure how he feels about Maruki in general.

Because he thought that they were friends, y'know? Or he thought that they understood each other, at least. And maybe they still are, and maybe they still do, but it's not clear-cut after what happened at the start of the year.

If it ever really was to begin with.

Not wanting to think too hard about all of that stuff right now, or the fact that he can't decide if he thinks Maruki deserved to have Goro lay into him, Ren moves on – back to the reason this all came up in the first place. “So… what did Theodore want?”

“Tomorrow – not long after you've finished your exam actually-” Goro makes a face that says ‘And, well, isn't that convenient?’ just as clearly and with all of the intended sarcasm that it would have had if it was said out loud. “We'll need to bring Maruki to one of the Velvet Room doors.”

Huh…

Ren supposes that means he probably doesn't need to worry about the one in Mementos being missing when they were there earlier, at least. Now he's just worried about how exactly Lavenza and her family are going to go about getting Igor's power back out of Maruki.

Man, he sure hopes it doesn't involve any guillotines or electric chairs.

“What are they gonna do to him?”

“Oh, nothing serious.” Goro's mouth twitches at the corner, like he's trying not to smile. The reason for that becomes pretty clear once he continues. “They're just going to remove his ability to summon a persona.”

Wow, if Ren thought he felt conflicted before, it's nothing compared to how he's feeling now.

A persona is part of you, right? Part of your actual soul?

It's hard not to think about how flat and dull life was for him before he awakened to Arsène.

The idea that it could all just be taken away – probably from any one of them – makes something panicked jump and flutter in Ren's chest, and he hurries to push it back down quickly, before it grows and becomes too hard to ignore.

Changing the subject, at least a little, seems like the best way to do that. "So… Even if it's not together together, Maruki-sensei is really going to be working at the same place as you?"

"It does seem so, yes. He's already accepted Kirijo-san's offer, and I don't blame him – it's incredibly generous."

"They're not going to let him be a therapist, are they?” Ren asks. “Because I read up about it afterwards, and it turns out that he, uh, wasn't very good at it – even without the brainwashing.”

"No – no, that's not – I, hmm…" Goro trails off, peering up at the ceiling, like he's imagining just how much of a disaster that would be. "I have to assume that Kirijo-san will find a place for him in the cognitive psience research department…or something similar. That is his actual field of expertise, after all."

"I guess so, yeah…"

Things go quiet between them again after that. It's not awkward – not really – but it's not comfortable either, and, for once, Ren doesn't wait for Goro to be the one to break the silence.

Thinking both about the way he hid the panic attack he nearly had on the train earlier from Goro and how all this Maruki stuff just got dumped in their laps, he says, “We're kind of, uh, bad at the whole talking thing, huh?”

And Ren knows he's been taken up wrong when Goro – well, he doesn't quite bristle, but he does go stiff, and when he answers he sounds guarded. All defensive again. “Granted, I know I don't have much experience in these matters, but I would have said that went quite well.”

“No – no, it did,” he says quickly, because the last thing he wants is to bring back that anxious, insecure look that had been in Goro's eyes when he thought he couldn't reach out for his hand. Sighing, he tries again. “I meant, uh, that we probably shouldn't be only finding out big important things about each other because someone else dragged it out in the open.”

“Ah…” Some of the tension bleeds back out of Goro’s shoulders as understanding sinks in. “Such as with an inauspiciously-timed phone call?”

“Yeah, ‘such as’,” Ren chuckles, and then, before he loses steam (or before he can chicken out again), continues on, “And I do it too, y'know? I tell myself that I'll bring something up with you, but then I find some excuse to kick it down the road...”

Snorting under his breath, Goro looks at him like he just said something really, really dumb. “I'm well aware.”

“You are?”

“Yes, Ren, I would have to be extremely oblivious or self-absorbed to miss just how quick you are to deflect any question about your home life that goes beyond surface pleasantries.”

He has one, shameful, second where he’s relieved that Goro didn’t bring up what happened on the train, before he just feels embarrassed. Thinking back to all the times he thought he'd been pretty slick about changing the subject to something ‘safer’, Ren grimaces. “That obvious, huh?”

“Incredibly so, yes,” Goro says. “It's been… frustrating, to say the least.”

“Okay, so – you agree with me? We need to talk more about this stuff?”

The pinched, pained expression that's suddenly on Goro's face kind of reminds Ren of how he'd looked, months ago, sweating bullets at the bar downstairs while he stubbornly choked down way more spicy curry than he needed to. It would be funny if it didn't kind of seem like he's also scared, underneath it all. “Ren, I – I don't like to make promises I don't think I can keep. Not anymore. Not to you.”

Ren's heart clenches in his chest. “But I'm not asking you to promise, just to try,” he says, as soft and soothing as he can. “And we'll do it together – I suck at this too!”

The fact that there's something in it for him as well seems to finally register (Goro's always had a hard time resisting a good deal), and even though he clearly still has his doubts, he puts on enough of a brave face to make a show out of tutting and rolling his eyes at Ren’s choice of words. “I think you'll find that at no point did I say that I ‘suck’ at this-”

“No, but I did-”

“However, if you can accept that it won't happen overnight… then yes, I can certainly try to be more, ah, open with you… Assuming, of course, that you hold up your end of things as well.” Goro rolls onto his back then, raises his eyebrows expectantly, and holds out his left hand.

To shake on it.

Grinning so wide it hurts, Ren reaches out and takes his hand. “Sounds good to me.”

Objectively, it's a pretty weird moment – lying there, half naked, and shaking hands like they just closed a business deal – but it doesn't feel weird. It feels like meeting in the middle. And even though the idea of actually talking about all the stuff that he usually kicks into the darkness in the back of his brain is scary, Ren thinks that maybe it doesn't feel impossible. Not when Goro's there to do it with him.

Goro tightens his grip, pulls, and Ren goes without a fight – only a surprised yelp of a laugh – more than happy to be guided into using the chest he lands on as a pillow.

Warm, comfy, and still so tired he can barely see straight, Ren closes his eyes. But then, just as he starts to feel himself drift, something pops into his head, and he opens his mouth again without really thinking.

“Goro?”

“Hmm?”

"Was this our first fight?"

"Ren," he sighs, despairing and defeated. "You do remember that I have tried to kill you before, yes? More than once, in fact."

Ren's cheek is still pressed flush against Goro's breastbone, and through it, he can hear an echo of each word he says. A pleasant, comforting rumble right in his ear.

It's nice. He should try to keep him talking. "Yeah, but that doesn't count – I think this was our first real couple fight.”

“You sound delirious,” Goro scoffs, and then pulls him in even closer, squeezing him tightly – kind of too tightly actually, but Ren thinks that there are probably worse ways to go than being crushed to death against your boyfriend's chest. “Go to sleep.”

And, once he's able to actually breathe again, that's exactly what he does.

***

Takuto wakes up on Saturday morning with an optimism that he hasn't felt in quite some time. It's an emotion that's made somewhat fragile by the weight of the guilt he still carries on his shoulders, but even so, it's there. Feeling just as real and tangible as the spring in his step while he tidies his futon away.

The short meeting he had with Mitsuru Kirijo yesterday had felt right – it felt like progress – an opportunity for him to continue the work he's sunk years of his life into.

An opportunity for him to potentially do some real good.

Humming tunelessly to himself, he shuffles into his kitchenette, pausing as he passes the fridge to run an affectionate finger over the bent corner of the photograph stuck to the front of it. The couple in the picture are smiling happily, surrounded by friends and family at their engagement party, completely unaware of how they were only weeks away from having their lives turned upside down.

Takuto has often thought that there's very little of the young man in that photo left in him, but now, this morning, he thinks he might recognise some of the hope again.

Given that he's finally found a way to properly provide for Rumi.

Akechi really hadn't been exaggerating when he said that she would be set for life if Takuto accepted the offer.

Sitting on top of the small table beside him is a copy of his contract, and he reaches out for it now, flipping to the last page, where the clause that guarantees that both Rumi’s healthcare and accommodation will be covered indefinitely is detailed. The only stipulation (outside of Takuto taking the job), is that she be moved from the hospital she’s currently staying in, to the small medical wing in the Kirijo Group’s Tokyo office.

Takuto had his misgivings – though he hadn't voiced them, of course – but Kirijo surprised him by being refreshingly upfront about how her proposal was intended to be more than just a signing bonus. That her staff being given the opportunity to study Rumi's condition while treating her would make the arrangement into one that was mutually beneficial.

So, yes, he’s feeling tentatively optimistic about how things have turned out. All things considered. And, after filling and turning on his coffee machine, he thinks about how he should probably go out today and buy something less worn-out to wear for his first day of work on Monday. There's not a whole lot left in his bank account, but he can probably put together something halfway decent if he's smart about it and shops around.

What was the name of that store Shibusawa recommended again? It's been months, but he's sure he still has the site open in his phone's browser somewhere-

Takuto's train of thought gets interrupted as he unlocks his phone and sees that there's a text waiting for him.

It's from a number he doesn't recognise.

Strange.

Or it would be, if the identity of the sender didn't immediately become obvious the second he opens the message.

080-XXXX-XXXX

03/06/2017

07:25.a.m.

Unknown: It's time we followed up on the matter we discussed on Thursday.

Unknown: Station Square.

Unknown: One o'clock.

Unknown: Do not be late.

Reading the text back over twice before tapping the number at the top of the screen with a slightly shaky thumb, he types Goro Akechi's name into the blank field, and then hits the check mark at the bottom to save the number to his contacts.

After all, they're co-workers now, aren't they?

Takuto almost laughs, but the dreadful anticipation that's already bubbling unpleasantly in his stomach turns it into more of a raspy hiccup. Removing his glasses to rub at his eyes with the heel of his hand, he does his best to set the feeling aside.

Yes, he hadn't expected Akechi to come to collect on his referral so soon, but it was only a matter of time.

He knew it was coming.

The coffee’s finished brewing, so he pours himself a cup. And, as he takes his first sip, he realises that some of his earlier optimism has returned, tempered with acceptance and determination.

Rumi's future is secured, and no matter what his true motivations turn out to be, Akechi was unquestionably the driving force behind making that happen.

There's nothing he could ask of Takuto that would be too great.

Chapter Text

Having taken the ‘do not be late’ at the end of Akechi's message to heart, Takuto makes sure that his Saturday morning errands are taken care of as quickly as possible. The idea being to leave himself with a healthy buffer of time before their meeting.

Unfortunately, timekeeping has never been his strong suit, and he clearly overestimated how long his shopping would actually take, because he's finished now, and there's still almost half an hour left before he's supposed to be at Station Square.

It's far too little time to do anything else substantial, so he resigns himself to the fact that the only thing that really makes sense for him to do now is to head to Station Square early and wait.

When he gets there, however, his spirits are immediately lifted. A talented young girl is busking near the Teikyu building entrance, and the air is filled with music. Takuto isn't a superstitious man, but it feels like a good omen, and he chooses a spot nearby (only a handful of feet away, really), so that he can listen to her play while he waits for Akechi.

As she transitions to her next song, the busker picks a slow, beautiful melody out on the strings of her acoustic guitar, and Takuto feels something twist and stir in the back of his mind in response. Something buried deep in the murky depths of the second set of memories he has from earlier this year.

Ah.

He knows this girl.

Trying not to be too obvious, he takes his phone out of his pocket and pretends that he's looking at something on it while he sneaks a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She’s probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, short as well as slight (something that makes her guitar seem comically big by comparison, almost as if it's the same size as the girl herself), and her brown hair is gathered into two (slightly messy) buns just behind her ears. He's almost tempted to dismiss the déjà vu he's feeling as being down to the months he worked at Shujin – surrounded, as he had been, with hundreds of young people her age – but he knows, deep down, that's not where he recognises her from.

Like so many of the details from that time, her surname is lost to the fog in his head. Her given name, though… it feels like it's right on the tip of his tongue… Maki, maybe? Or Maiko? Something like that, at least…

Her wish, however, is a different matter entirely. Takuto remembers that well enough. And while the desire to have her (not inconsiderable) musical talent recognised by a scout had been genuine, he knows that it had also concealed something far more earnest and childish: a hope that her newfound fame and success would be the thing to finally reunite her estranged parents.

…

If this really is an omen of some kind, Takuto thinks, then it probably isn't a good one after all.

This isn’t the first time he's come across someone whose life he’d, ah… dabbled in, in some way or another. Driving a cab around the city has made it almost a weekly event, in fact. But it never gets any easier. To know just how much someone yearns for something and how unlikely it is that they'll ever get what they want.

He hopes, as she starts singing again (her voice sweet, high, and clear), that her dream, at least, really does come true. Even if only in part.

Ten minutes (and another three songs) pass, give or take, and while Takuto isn't trying to hide, being somewhat out of the way (on top of being rather early) is probably why he isn't spotted by Akechi when he comes out of the station exit right next to him.

Then again, it could just be that the boy is too preoccupied with the person he's walking with.

Because it's Ren Amamiya!

The unexpected appearance of his young friend is a happy and welcome surprise, of course. For many reasons.

Potentially having the opportunity to catch up is one, unsurprisingly, as is Amamiya acting as a sort of friendly buffer to Akechi's more acerbic nature, but the thing that has Takuto reaching up to cover the fond smile forming on his face is the way in which they’re walking together.

Even here, in public, where they're obviously trying to be discreet, and when they've also yet to realise that Takuto is (unintentionally) watching them, their body language is incredibly telling. Relaxed. Loose. Familiar. A far cry from the unresolved tension he recalls there being between them in the memories he gleaned from both boys and their friends. Also, where most teenage boys tend to go out of their way to ensure there's always as large a distance as possible between them, Akechi and Amamiya are walking less than an inch apart, shoulders bumping gently and deliberately off each other with each step. Takuto thinks he even catches their fingers tangle briefly together before they settle on a spot to wait for him, over by the Buchiko statue.

They both seem so different from what he remembers. Lighter, somehow, even while still being clearly anxious about their impending meeting.

Another pang of deep-seated regret throbs in the centre of his chest at the thought. Of course they seem lighter compared to when he last saw the two of them together. Nobody is backing them into a corner and forcing them to make the kind of decisions that no one should have to make, let alone two boys barely on the cusp of adulthood.

Or, at least, he hopes that the stakes aren't quite so high anymore. He doesn't know why he's been called here today, after all.

They're both facing away from him – in the direction he would be approaching from if he'd only just driven into Shibuya and come straight here – and Takuto watches as Amamiya leans in, reaches up to tuck some of Akechi’s hair out of the way, and then whispers something in his ear. It’s an intimate moment that, embarrassingly, makes Takuto flush (like he’s regressed to being half his actual age) and leaves him feeling, suddenly, as if he's actively intruding.

Hurrying to look away, he fumbles clumsily with his phone until he manages to press the button on the side of it so that he can check the time.

12:46 p.m.

Still fifteen minutes, essentially, before their agreed upon time. It's not ideal, but he really can't just keep standing here like this.

So, he pushes away from the wall he was leaning against, turns – hoping to duck back into the station and disguise the fact he arrived first – and walks directly into the upturned guitar case the busker beside him has been using to collect tips.

Stepping backwards only makes things worse. He stumbles and one of his feet comes down directly on the side of the case, making it jump and almost flip over, spilling half the coins inside out onto the pavement.

The music, understandably, comes to an abrupt stop.

“A-ah! Sorry, I-!” Takuto stammers at the same time that the girl cries, “Seriously?!”

Still babbling an apology, Takuto drops to his hands and knees on the ground and starts gathering the scattered money. Scooping shaky fistfuls of coins up and dumping them back into the case as quickly as he can.

A pair of legs appear beside him, clad in faded blue jeans and black leather boots, and Takuto is too harried and focused on fixing his mistake to give them more than a fleeting glance – assuming that some good Samaritan has simply decided to stop and pitch in with the clean-up. But then, the person crouches down, into his eyeline, and, well, Takuto wasn't wrong, technically, but it's not quite as simple as that either.

“Need a hand?” Ren Amamiya asks, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a small, clearly amused smile.

He's not wearing his glasses, Takuto notices. Strangely enough, it makes him look both older and younger at the same time.

Over Amamiya’s shoulder, only a handful of feet away, Akechi is standing with his arms crossed, looking down his nose at Takuto with the same mean-spirited glee on his face as when he'd made that awful joke about what his intentions were regarding Sumire Yoshizawa.

His stomach clenches at the thought.

The young busker jumps in before Takuto can recover well enough to answer Amamiya’s question himself. “Oh? Thanks, I appreciate it!”

Between the three of them (Akechi makes no attempt to help out at any point), Takuto, Amamiya, and the girl make short work of the mess. And once they're done, he apologises again, fishes out the single bill that's left in his wallet, and adds it to the pile of coins in the guitar case.

“Wow! Thanks, mister!” she says, grinning wide and in happy disbelief when she realises that it's 5000 yen.

Not something that he can afford to lose at the moment, honestly, but it really is the least he can do.

***

Takuto follows the boys back towards the Buchiko statue. “It's so good to see the two of you again.”

“You too, Maruki-sensei,” Amamiya says softly, matching the wistful smile that Takuto can feel on his own face.

Akechi, for his part, tuts, rolls his eyes, and looks at Takuto the way he would something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe. “Have you heard from Terui-san, or the hospital, this morning?”

Ice-cold panic immediately lances through Takuto’s chest. “No, I – No, I haven’t,” he says. “Should I have?”

Making another clipped, annoyed noise through his teeth, Akechi pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts rapidly tapping the screen. “Give me a moment,” he says, bringing the phone to his ear as he steps away.

“Amamiya-kun, what’s going on?” He needs to stay calm – he knows he needs to stay calm – panicking never helps in these situations – but he can already feel every possible worst case scenario trying to override that rationale. “Is Rumi in some kind of danger?”

Amamiya leans back against one of the waist-high walls next to the statue. “She’s fine, don’t worry,” he says, so calm and unruffled that Takuto does actually feel himself relax. Slightly. “I only just found out about all of this myself, so I’m still kind of hazy on the details… but she’s supposed to be getting transferred soon, right? To some Kirijo clinic?”

“Ah, ye-yes…?” The dots are trying to connect in Takuto’s brain, but he feels as if he’s still missing too many pieces of the puzzle to make any real progress. “Is Akechi-kun trying to have her moved today instead?”

“Yeah, just in case.”

“In case of what?” Takuto asks, and then watches the boy beside him grimace and shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Sorry… I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“It’s a cognition thing, I think?” Amamiya sighs, seeming mildly frustrated, and when he speaks again it sounds as if he's physically having trouble getting the words out. “It’ll all make sense once we get to – uh, where we’re going, though, I promise.”

A ‘cognition thing’?

Some kind of subconscious block?

Takuto wants to push more, but he also trusts Amamiya – if he says that he can't explain, then Takuto believes him. “Rumi is safe, though? This is just some kind of precaution?”

Amamiya looks him in the eye, steadfast and serious, and nods.

Sagging in on himself with relief, Takuto sighs deeply. “I have to admit that I’m surprised that Akechi-kun would go so far out of his way to help someone close to me, honestly.”

“Well, uh, I think he kind of hit it off with Terui-san?” Amamiya huffs a small laugh and shrugs. “He likes her.”

‘Unlike you’, Amamiya is too kind to say.

“Ah,” Takuto chuckles weakly, “that makes more sense.”

For a handful of comfortably quiet seconds, they just stand there together, watching Akechi pace back and forth on the other side of the square. Unfortunately, he’s just out of earshot, so Takuto can’t hear what he’s saying on the phone.

Eventually, though, Amamiya speaks up again.

“I’m sorry. About Thursday, I mean. Goro told me he kind of laid into you.”

“Oh, that’s – no, it was fine, really,” Takuto says. It’s not the entire truth, of course. Sitting down with Akechi in that Frostbucks might have been interesting and enlightening, in its own way, but it was also incredibly unpleasant. Then again, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have it coming. “He has every right to be angry with me, after all.”

“If I knew you guys were meeting, I would’ve…” Amamiya trails off, shoves his hands into his pockets, and shrugs. “I don’t know…”

It had been subtle enough, on Thursday, but Takuto definitely came away with the distinct impression that Akechi seemed more defensive – more protective – whenever Amamiya’s name came up between them. If Akechi has also been going out of his way to keep his friend (his boyfriend?) in the dark… Well, it’s not hard to figure out what’s going on.

“Have you tried explaining to Akechi-kun that you want to be able to protect him too?”

The boy sighs, smiling a little ruefully. “Yeah, I – we’re trying.”

“That’s good. Communication is important,” Takuto says, and then, just to get it out of the way (and into the open), adds, “in both platonic and, ah, romantic relationships.”

Amamiya barely reacts, just a small flex of his eyebrows as he continues to stare in the general direction of Akechi’s increasingly-impatient back-and-forth. After a long moment, he asks, “Did you know? Before?”

If it were the other boy asking the question, Takuto would be sure (particularly after Thursday) that it was a trap – a way to trick him into admitting that he’d used how much they cared about each other as leverage – but it’s harder to say with Amamiya. “Well, I, ah – honestly, Amamiya-kun, I had an inkling about how you felt from our sessions alone. I can still remember just how much you would light up whenever the conversation turned to Akechi-kun – far more than when we spoke about any of your other friends.”

He doesn’t look self-conscious, as such, but Amamiya’s hand has drifted up to fidget with his bangs. It’s an endearing tic, Takuto has always thought so. “That was still just a guess, though, right? I meant, like, did you know?”

Well, it might not have been a trap, but he’s clearly looking for an admission all the same.

“Yes, I did.”

Amamiya sighs again, soft and defeated this time. “Okay, yeah… I guess I figured as much…”

“I’m sorry… For what I asked of you – for, ah… for all of it.”

It’s difficult, when the memory of that meeting with Akechi is still so fresh, not to compare their reactions. Where his attempt to apologise had only made Akechi angrier, Amamiya just seems… sad. Resigned. “Yeah… I know...”

Swallowing thickly, around the regret that seems to have manifested as a physical lump in his throat, Takuto opens his mouth – to say what, he isn't sure – but whatever it was will need to be set aside for the moment.

Akechi has finished the last of his phone calls and is making his way back over to them.

“Alright,” he says, brusque and no-nonsense, as he slips his phone back into his pocket, “everything should be proceeding as planned now. You can expect to hear from Kirijo-san, or – more likely – one of her aides, by the end of the day, Maruki.”

This isn't how he wanted to do it. Takuto had planned to sit down with Rumi and talk her through the move beforehand, to reassure her – to make sure she knew that everything was going to be okay. It's unfortunate, yes, but it really is hard to focus on anything else when he’s just so incredibly relieved.

“Thank you, Akechi-kun,” he says, sincerely and emphatically. And then, thinking back to what Amamiya said earlier, adds: “For thinking of Rumi.”

“Yes, well, she shouldn’t have to suffer for your sins, should she?” is what Akechi comes back with, and it’s not as if Takuto can exactly argue the point. Turning to Amamiya, the boy continues, “I think it would be best if we take care of this as quickly as possible. We don't want to be late for lunch.”

Takuto tries not to let his disappointment show. Now that he knows that Rumi is safe, he really would have liked an opportunity to catch up with Amamiya properly, even with Akechi accompanying them. “Oh? Are you the two of you meeting up with the rest of your friends?”

Amamiya opens his mouth to answer, but, suddenly seeming about two seconds away from actually stepping between them, Akechi speaks before he has the chance. “We'll be sure to give them your regards,” he says, superficially dismissive (Takuto can clearly see that knee-jerk defensiveness again, though, underneath), and then, to Amamiya, he says, “Let's do this, shall we?”

Shrugging, Amamiya sends an apologetic (but quite clearly amused) look his way. “You ready?”

And Takuto still has no idea what's happening, so he isn't, not really, but he also doesn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. “Lead the way.”

***

As the three of them leave the square and approach the crossing, Takuto trails behind the boys, somewhat awkwardly. Again, he finds himself thinking about how different it would be if it were just Amamiya here with him. How they could engage in some light small-talk, maybe, or even just walk together in comfortable silence. Akechi, however, seems to be entertaining himself by actively going out of his way to block Takuto from walking beside them. Having twice now left enough space for Takuto to move into before quickly and smoothly closing the gap again once he actually tried to.

He gives it up as a lost cause altogether when that second failed attempt almost results in him stumbling and tripping again.

Still, childish posturing aside, Takuto's not so far behind that he doesn't catch a few snippets of their whispered conversation.

“-near Iwai's?”

“Is that the nearest one after-”

“The one in Mementos? Yeah, it’s-”

Mementos? Are they going to be entering the Metaverse?

But why?

Without the proper context, none of this makes sense, and Takuto only finds himself becoming even more confused when they turn off Central Street and into a dingy alley that smells of stale beer and old urine.

Honestly, and against his better judgement, he's starting to feel slightly nervous on top of bewildered.

Perceptive as ever, Amamiya hangs back, allowing Akechi to walk slightly ahead, before he turns to Takuto. “Relax, we're not gonna beat you up,” he chuckles. Then, to himself (so quietly that Takuto almost doesn't hear him), he mutters, “Well, if Caroline was still here, maybe…”

And Takuto might be inclined to ask him directly about what that means, if he hadn't just noticed something far more perplexing.

Akechi has come to a stop ahead of them, where the alley bends, and he's very much alone – there's not another soul in sight – but, despite that fact, he's also very clearly talking to someone.

Thinking that he must have somehow missed part of the picture – missed the phone, or earpiece, or some other type of communication equipment that would explain away what he's looking at – Takuto removes his glasses to wipe at the lenses.

He realises, as he slips them back on, that Amamiya is watching him with a bright and open curiosity.

“Can you see them?”

Even more confused, Takuto asks, “Them?”

“Huh…” Amamiya tilts his head to the side and chews his lip. “Okay, it'll probably be easier to just show you.”

And he walks away, without elaborating any further, towards where Akechi is waiting for them, deeper in the alleyway. Leaving Takuto scrambling to follow. “Show me what, Amamiya-kun?”

He doesn't get an answer. “Hi, Lavenza,” Amamiya says instead, to no one, and then he turns slightly and nods, at – from Takuto's perspective, at least – one of the trash bags piled against the grimy brick wall of the building beside them. “Theodore.”

It's bizarre, possibly even more so than everything else so far, to watch both Amamiya and Akechi obviously listen to something that Takuto can't hear, said by someone that he also can't see.

“No, uh,” Amamiya starts, after a moment. “He said he can’t… and I don’t think he can see the door either…”

Akechi glances at Takuto, eyebrows raised. “Is that true?”

“Ah, yes…?”

They both pause to listen intently again, nodding occasionally. When they're done, Amamiya holds his left hand out to Akechi, flexing his fingers pointedly until the other boy takes it, and then reaches out towards Takuto's shoulder with his right.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“O-oh? Sure, go ahead,” Takuto says, and feels the beginnings of some kind of understanding finally starting to form in the back of his mind.

Is physical contact required here, he wonders – to overcome whatever barrier or block that had prevented Amamiya from explaining himself earlier (and that is, presumably, what’s causing all of this strangeness now) – or is this simply more cognition at play? A solid, tangible representation of a connection to kickstart, or trick, his own psyche into perceiving something it normally shouldn’t be able to.

That last-second rationalisation is probably the only reason that he doesn't immediately yell or stumble backwards when Amamiya grasps his shoulder and two people (a young man and a little girl) really do just appear out of thin air.

Stunned, Takuto gapes at them, blinking rapidly as his eyes jump from their serene, patient faces to their incredibly strange clothes, then to the door (it seems to be more of a freestanding rectangle of blue light, rather than a door in the traditional sense) behind them, and back again.

“Well, I'd say that did it,” Akechi chuckles. “He looks like he's seen a ghost.”

The eerie, unnatural appearance of these two people – particularly the deathly pale colour of their skin, and the way their yellow eyes glow slightly in the dim light of the alley – makes Takuto wonder just how far that might be from the truth.

Amamiya squeezes his shoulder one more time, firm and reassuring, before letting go. “Maruki-sensei, this is Lavenza. She helps me out with my personas.”

The little girl dips into a deep and formal curtsey. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Takuto Maruki.”

“Ah! A-and you,” Takuto stammers, realising, as he does, that there's something – something about this small, strange girl that's familiar. Not in any obvious or tangible way, like her appearance or her voice, but more in her presence…

Or in how the blue light coming from the door behind her makes the shadows on the alley’s grimy walls dance and jump around them.

Suddenly, it clicks.

At the end of December, when Takuto had first been able to reach out to touch Amamiya’s subconscious properly, he'd felt something else there. A power. Something that fluttered and flickered in the depths of his young friend's mind. Something that had, more significantly, guided Amamiya away from him.

Something that had actually been someone, it would seem.

“And this is Theodore,” Akechi says, pulling Takuto back out of his thoughts. The blonde man beside them smiles and bows in acknowledgement. Just as proper as the little girl had been.

“He-hello,” Takuto starts and then pauses to clear his throat. “I'm not entirely sure why I'm here, or, ah, what's happening at all, honestly.”

“Your confusion is understandable,” Theodore says, calm and patient. “If you would be so kind as to come with us, however, I promise that all will become clear.”

Lavenza smiles up at Amamiya. “Trickster, your presence is also requested.”

“As is yours, my treasured guest,” Theodore adds.

Even now, even while he's still completely and utterly out of his depth, Takuto doesn't miss the amused questioning look that Amamiya sends in Akechi's direction.

(Or the sour, slightly embarrassed one he gets in return.)

Before either boy can start teasing each other (as Takuto is sure they are only a matter of seconds away from doing), both Theodore and Lavenza stand to attention and step aside, so that they’re flanking the rectangle of light. It’s done in a smooth, uniform movement that's almost military in its precision. Takuto thinks he might have even heard them click their heels together as they assumed their new positions.

It's an obvious invitation.

One that's only driven home when the door makes a sound, a soft click, as if opening. Despite this, its appearance doesn't change – remaining so blindingly blue that it might as well be opaque.

Unsurprisingly, neither Akechi nor Amamiya seem anywhere near as uncertain or thrown as he is by all of this, and Takuto watches Akechi walk confidently into the light without looking back. Swallowed immediately and, seemingly, without a trace.

Amamiya, at least, pauses to give him a small smile and a thumbs up before following.

The anxiety is overwhelming, yes, but Takuto can’t deny that he also wants to know what’s on the other side of that door. With a depth of desire and an intensity that he hasn’t felt in months.

And so, leaning into that feeling, he takes a deep breath, braces himself, and steps forward.

***

Queasy, disoriented, and already so captivated that he’s almost bouncing in place, Takuto reaches out to the wall beside him (the surface of it dusty and covered with a dense, plush fabric that, for some reason, strongly reminds him of the scales on a butterfly's wings) to steady himself, as he looks around the tiny room he’s suddenly found himself in.

The bare cot bolted to the wall.

The seatless toilet that he thinks he might have come very close to materialising on top of.

And the bars surrounding the (thankfully open) door.

All things that point to this being some kind of prison cell, of course.

The hulking television camera (the kind that are so cumbersome and awkward that they need to be mounted on a dolly to be moved) that’s taking up nearly half of the already-cramped room, though… Well, that muddies things somewhat.

The camera also happens to be between him and the door, and, after giving it a quick once-over (one in which he realises that he doesn't really know what he's even looking for), Takuto has to squeeze past it to have any hope of seeing what's outside.

For a moment, he's met with only darkness. The small bulb in his cell not able to make even the smallest dent in the shadows beyond. But then, lights, from somewhere high and out of sight, flicker and suddenly come to life. Blazingly bright, they’re so strong that even scrabbling to shade his eyes with his hand and squinting reflexively doesn’t prevent him from ending up completely dazzled. Colourful dots dance across, and interfere with, his vision as his eyes struggle to adjust well enough for him to make sense of what he's looking at.

The couches are first. Two of them. Side by side, and tilted slightly towards each other at a wide angle. The low table that’s in front of them is next, and he’s only just managed to make out that there appears to be some kind of book on top of it when what’s directly behind all of the (seemingly normal) furniture swims into focus.

The swooping lines of the wooden prop walls, along with the rings, stars and smaller, dimmer lights they’ve been decorated with, are immediately familiar.

It would be impossible, he’s sure, for anyone not to recognise the set of Good Morning Japan.

Even if the entire setup has been painted a deep blue instead of the cheery, canary yellow that he’s used to seeing on his TV screen.

And in the gloom, just outside of the reach of the intense studio lighting, are more cells. Takuto counts at least fifteen of them before he gives up, and he’s sure that there must be even more obscured behind the props. The circular pattern they’re arranged in means that their doors are all pointed inward, focused on the set, as if they’ve replaced the audience.

Fascinating.

Through the wall to his right, presumably in the next cell, Takuto hears Amamiya's voice (too soft to make out what it is he actually says) and then Akechi’s, clearer and obviously amused. “It would appear that our rooms have been combined, Ren.”

‘Their’ rooms? Is he referring to the cell they're sharing now, or the greater space around them?

If it's the latter, Takuto reasons, then this mishmash of TV set (based on one he knows Akechi used to be a regular guest on) and prison (given Amamiya’s arrest and subsequent probation) is starting to make more sense.

Is this place similar to a Palace, then?

If its appearance is informed by a specific individual’s cognition, it would certainly seem that way…

Cautiously, he steps through the narrow doorway, just as Amamiya comes out of the one beside him.

“-didn’t even know yours was different from mine,” he’s saying, over his shoulder. He sounds mildly annoyed (understandable if this is another thing Akechi hasn’t been open and upfront with him about), but switches gears when he notices that Takuto is waiting for him. “Oh, Maruki-sensei! You made it through in one piece.”

Akechi doesn’t say anything, as he comes out of the cell behind Amamiya, but the look he sends in Takuto’s direction does a good enough job of conveying the ‘unfortunately’ that he’s almost definitely thinking.

“Ah, yes, it would seem so…” Takuto starts. “Where exactly have we ‘made it through’ to, though?”

Someone clears their throat then, and Takuto almost jumps out of his skin. Whipping back around, towards the centre of the room, he finds both Theodore and Lavenza standing there, even though he's sure that there had been no sign of either of them only a second ago.

“Welcome to the Velvet Room,” Theodore says, and with one hand on his chest, he bows and gestures to the couch next to him with the other. “Please, if you could all come and take your seats.”

Just like in the alley, Akechi is the first to start moving, striding purposefully forward to claim a place for himself in the centre of the left-hand couch. A position that was, presumably, chosen specifically to make sure that he’ll be between Takuto and Amamiya.

Huffing softly to himself in what sounds like (mostly affectionate) exasperation, Amamiya follows at a more measured pace, and Takuto hurries after him.

It's only once the three of them are seated that Theodore and Lavenza also move to sit down.

Takuto can't help but smile at the way the little girl's feet don't quite touch the floor, leaving her black, patent shoes dangling cutely as she fixes her skirts and then folds her hands in her lap. He'd say that the serious look on her face only adds to how adorable the entire picture is, until she turns those piercing yellow eyes on him and starts speaking.

“Takuto Maruki, how much do you recall of the moment you received the God of Control's power?”

***

While Maruki tells his story to Theodore and Lavenza, Ren lets his eyes wander around the Velvet Room. He's already heard (or seen, he guesses) all of the important parts before, back in January, on one of those old tapes they found hidden around his Palace.

It's kind of cool, and also more than a little romantic, right? The way his and Goro's rooms have gotten all mixed up together like this. Ren likes it. Likes that it sort of mirrors how being in a relationship has made them all mixed up together in lots of other ways too.

Lots of messy, knotty ways, that are only mostly fun and sexy.

Take how weirdly Goro's been acting about all this Maruki stuff, for example.

For someone who's usually fine with (or more than fine with, actually) Ren throwing himself face-first into dangerous situations, he sure is going out of his way now to try and protect him from a man who, honestly, is looking a lot more like a sad, stray dog than the demigod they all fought at the start of February.

No, really, Ren's actually kind of having a hard time processing just how different he is – even compared to what he was like before, back when Ren used to meet up with him after school. Maruki has always looked a bit like someone who just rolled out of bed, but his clothes are so badly rumpled and creased now that it looks like he's actually been sleeping in them. Or trying to, Ren guesses, since the bags under his eyes also make it seem like he hasn't been getting a whole lot of sleeping done. And probably not for a long time.

He's lost weight, too – his cheeks gone all hollow and sucked in where they weren't before. And, last but not least, there's the smell. It wasn't really obvious until Ren had to get close enough to touch him earlier, but he's gotten too used to catching the same musty, boozy smell off his parents (after they've been up most of the previous night drinking) to have mistaken it for anything else.

Maruki's been having a rough go of it, basically, and while Ren wouldn't say, necessarily, that it's undeserved, he's also never really been big on kicking people when they're down.

Unlike Goro, apparently.

Still, he understands, kind of, what’s going on – how much more personal it is – for Goro specifically – but, while the Overprotective Boyfriend shtick is kind of funny (as well as actually kind of nice? At least in small doses), it's also just starting to feel like a bit much?

Honestly, Ren's nearly expecting, any second now, for Goro to stand up, unzip his too-expensive chinos, and start marking his territory.

…

Oh man, it would probably be bad to start laughing now, right?

Thankfully, he's pulled right back from that giddy ledge when he realises that the conversation has shifted to something new. Or new-ish, at least.

“My siblings and I requested that you be brought here today so that we may attempt to reclaim what is left of our master's power from you,” Lavenza explains. “It is important, however, before we continue, that you understand the consequences involved.”

“Oh? Sure, yes – yes, of course,” Maruki says, sounding caught off guard. Ren really wishes he could have told him some of this stuff before they got in here. Even just to soften the blow a little. “Go ahead.”

“You are aware, by now, that some humans are born with an inbuilt potential,” Theodore starts. “A potential that even fewer go on to realise by harnessing their true selves and becoming persona-users. Yours, Takuto Maruki, has become, ah, entangled with something that should never have been able to be given in the first place.”

“Your master’s power?” Maruki asks.

“Yes, precisely,” Theodore smiles, almost proudly, like a teacher who’s been working a kid through a difficult problem and is finally starting to see some progress. “And yet, you are not obligated in any way to comply. It is important in this – as it is in all things – that the choice be made of your own free will.”

“I'm not quite sure that he understands the concept, Theo,” Goro chuckles, sarcastic and mean. He also completely no-sells the soft jab Ren aims at his ribs with his elbow. “Other than, perhaps, in how to suppress or override it.”

Maruki flinches, eyes dropping away from Lavenza and Theodore and down to where his hands are clenched together between his knees, white-knuckled and trembling.

Ren sticks Goro with his elbow again, a little harder this time. Finally, he gets a reaction – though it's only for Goro to turn and mouth the word ‘what’ at him impatiently.

‘C’mon,’ Ren mouths back, ‘lay off.'

Rolling his eyes, Goro turns away again. Still, he must have taken at least a little of what Ren said to heart (or maybe he was just done being a bitch anyway), because he doesn't say anything else while they all wait for Maruki to make his decision.

After a long moment, he speaks up. “I see, this is why you were so concerned for Rumi, Akechi-kun…” He pauses to remove his glasses and drag his hands over his face. “This power that I've had – all this time – I assume it's the only reason her actualisation hasn't faded entirely?”

And, yeah, that is pretty much it. Goro told him a little bit about it this morning, over breakfast – about the spying, the tailing, the going through Maruki's ex-fiancé just to get at him. Not that any of that's really sunk in for Ren yet. It's hard to think about Goro and Makoto (and sometimes Futaba) playing spy games while he was sitting back in Kanbara with his head up his ass.

“She was the first,” Lavenza says, gently. “The one person you wished to be able to help above all others. It is only natural for you to have continued to protect her, even subconsciously, with all of the power that was available to you.”

Goro shifts in place, and Ren braces himself, convinced that he's about to jump in with something else nasty, but all he does is reach across the short space between them instead. Searching blindly for Ren’s hand for a second before he tangles their fingers together and then squeezes, once, firmly.

Oh.

Okay, maybe Ren's starting to get a clearer picture of what's got Goro so rattled and grumpy.

“And now?” Maruki asks. “What happens to Rumi if I lose this power?”

“Rumi Terui’s connection to the collective unconscious shall be restored to its natural, unaltered state…” Theodore answers, just as careful and gentle as Lavenza had been. “As will your ability to access and harness your true self – your persona.”

Maruki jerks slightly in place, like someone reached out and pinched him. (Ren can’t see Goro’s other hand, so who knows, maybe someone did.)

“Azathoth…? I didn’t think… I wasn’t aware, I mean – it’s still there?”

He sounds, Ren realises, afraid.

“You didn’t know?” Goro asks, incredulous, and while Ren’s not on the same distrustful page as his boyfriend, he is also kind of finding it hard to believe what Maruki’s saying. That’s not how personas work – not in his experience anyway. “Can’t you feel it?”

“No, I – no… but I couldn’t before either, back when it first…” Maruki whispers, shaking his head and swallowing loudly. Then his posture shifts, suddenly stiff, like something really awful just occurred to him. “Oh, god, wh-what if I’ve been doing it again? What if I-”

The air in here is calm, still – like it always has been – but, even so, it's as if something ripples through it now. Goro tenses up beside him, suddenly ready to move. Ready to fight. And Ren has this terrible, dreadful second, where he’s convinced that this is the real reason the two of them are here. That Maruki’s going to lash out in his panic, and he and Goro are going to have to be the ones to step in and stop him.

Then Ren looks up, across the table, and finds that neither Theodore nor Lavenza look especially concerned. Lavenza isn't even holding her grimoire. The book is just sitting, closed and unassuming, on the cushion beside her.

“You need not worry,” she says, simple and firm. “Without a distortion to feed upon, it is harmless.”

Just as suddenly as it started, the tension in the room pops and then dissipates, like it was just some big bubble and Lavenza's got the world's largest pin hidden up one of her poofy sleeves.

“Please, Lavenza-san, Theodore-san… Please, just – just take it…” Maruki sighs, and it comes out in a shaky, exhausted rattle. “Akechi-kun has already made sure that Rumi is in the best place that she can be… and this power – this persona – it’s brought me, and the people I care about, nothing but misery.”

Both Theodore and Lavenza stand at the same time.

“Wonderful,” Theodore says, cheerfully, like Maruki didn’t just nearly have a nervous breakdown two seconds ago. “I am sure that you have all noticed the book on the table in front of us, yes?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I would ask that the three of you stand now, please. My sister and I will show you the specific positions you need to take, along with what exactly is expected of you.”

***

Standing in front of the low table, Takuto stares down at the book, and the blank (bar for a single, dotted line) page it’s been opened to, with grim determination.

There’s a pen in his hand, although he couldn’t quite say when it got there, and Amamiya and Akechi are directly behind him. Each boy making the lower points of the strange triangle Takuto has found himself the head of.

“I just need to sign my name?”

Lavenza smiles up at him. “That is correct.”

He bends down, wondering briefly why the table is so low if he was always going to be expected to do this standing, and brings the tip of the pen down to the start of the dotted line. Things start out normally enough, as the pen glides over the paper, through each of the familiar strokes that make up his signature. It’s only when he finishes the final character of his name that his fingers spasm. Suddenly locking around the pen like a vice, as what feels like a current of electricity bolts through him.

Back in February, out of sheer desperation, he relinquished control and allowed Adam Kadmon to take over. He can still remember exactly how it felt when one of its tentacles punctured the flesh and bone at the base of his skull and then slithered into his spine. But now – now, it feels as if the opposite is happening. Something is being drawn from him. Pulled. Like a rotten tooth, or a tumour. Something with a deep, insidious network of roots, hidden so far beneath the surface that he wasn't even aware they were there.

Abruptly, the sensation stops, and the change it leaves in its wake is as instantaneous as it is stark.

The guilt – the guilt is still there – it's almost a relief to reach out and find that constant whisper in the back of his mind – but he also feels like he can finally breathe.

God, how long has it been?

Months, at least.

Knowing that a physiological response to remorse is normal enough, expected even, Takuto has been operating under the assumption that the persistent tightness in his chest has been nothing more than that.

A physical reminder of all that he's done.

All that he almost did.

In the face of all that, he can scarcely believe it – but it really has eased now.

***

The actual reason that he and Goro are here, it turns out, is a lot less exciting and also a lot less messed up than what Ren was worried about a few minutes ago. It’s kind of like what they needed to do out in the alley, actually, when they had to make a connection so that Maruki could see Theodore and Lavenza. This time, they don’t even have to touch, just stand back here, behind Maruki, and let themselves be used as parts of some big cognitive battery.

Ren watches Maruki lean forward to sign the book. Watches the way he goes stiff. Listens as he hisses sharply through his teeth, like he's in pain.

Then he feels it. It only lasts for a couple of seconds, but the weird pulling, scooping sensation – like someone decided to take a melon baller to the inside of his head – is awful. And when it finally stops, Ren digs deep in an almost panic, only relaxing again when he finds the warm, reassuring pulse of Raoul and his other personas, where they always are, nestled safely in his chest.

Did it feel like that for Maruki?

Or was it even worse?

Beside him, Goro makes a small (very pleased, very vindictive) sound in the back of his throat, and Ren doesn't need to turn and look to know that he's probably thinking the same thing.

Or how much he's enjoying himself.

(He guesses he's glad that someone is.)

Then Maruki gasps loudly, stumbles a couple of steps backwards, and Ren moves without thinking, catching him by the arm to help keep him steady.

Goro's eyes are on him. Ren can feel them. And, yeah, he's probably pissed, but Ren isn't about to let the fact that it might bend his boyfriend's nose out of shape stop him from helping someone who needs it.

“You okay?”

“Ah, yes… Yes, Amamiya-kun, I'm fine,” Maruki says, smiling a wobbly but grateful smile as he reaches out for Ren’s shoulder, using it to anchor himself while he straightens back up again. “I actually feel…” He pauses, like he needs to confirm something in his head first. “Better…?”

Goro's beside them now, and he's staring at the hand on Ren's shoulder like he wants to break every single finger on it.

Uh-oh.

“Well, isn't that wonderful news?” he says, smiling wide and with way too many teeth. “We wouldn't want anyone to have to live with the consequences of their actions, would we?”

“Goro…” Ren starts, but just ends up trailing off again when he realises he doesn't actually know what to say. Goro sounds like he's being a hypocrite, yeah, but he isn't really. Not when he'd been actively looking to turn himself in – hoping to use himself as bait to lure out whatever was left of Shido’s conspiracy – just a few months ago, and the only thing that stopped him was the fact that he literally couldn't.

And Maruki, who doesn't know any of that, winces, laughs awkwardly, and says, “Akechi-kun, I would have thought you'd be more receptive to the idea of rehabilitation, given your own circumsta-”

Goro takes another step forward, and Maruki closes his mouth again so fast that Ren hears his teeth clack together. It doesn't look like he's afraid of Goro, not really, but it definitely seems like he thinks he's only a couple of seconds away from having to take one on the chin.

“The difference between the two of us,” Goro snarls, jabbing an angry finger in Maruki's direction and then back at his own chest, “is that the people I have wronged are all either dead or too fucking nice to hold it against me! And, unfortunately for you, I am neither of those things!”

Okay, Ren should probably say something now.

He could try to get in between them, but let's be real, that probably wouldn't go down very well.

Also, he has a better option anyway.

“Lavenza, did that do it? Is Igor okay now?”

Frowning, she exchanges a look with Theodore. Ren doesn't think he's ever seen her look unsure before, let alone worried. Whatever’s going on, it definitely caught her off guard, and that’s… Well, it’s actually kind of scary.

“Trickster… If we could have your attention for a moment.”

“What's up?”

Immediately on-task again, Goro looks from Lavenza to Theodore. “Is something the matter?”

Theodore fidgets with one of his cufflinks. “Unfortunately, it would seem that less of our master’s power was retained by your companion than we had hoped.”

“Where’s the rest of it, then?” Goro asks.

Ren’s pretty sure he already knows what the answer’s going to be before Theodore gives it.

“We cannot say.”

Yep, right on the money.

Goro, who doesn’t seem to have learned this particular Velvet Room rule yet, tuts through his teeth and asks, “As in, you can’t tell us, or you don’t know?”

The small, almost identical, and clearly unhappy frowns on both Theodore and Lavenza’s faces seem to say that it could be either.

Or both.

Chapter Text

After being more or less shooed from the Velvet Room, Goro is so caught up in his own thoughts (mostly in relation to the – slightly worrying – fact that events seem to have played out in a way that neither Theodore nor Lavenza had anticipated), that he doesn't even think to protest when Ren suggests they walk Maruki back to Station Square.

The man in question is still noticeably shaken, clearly and obviously thrown for a loop by all that he's seen and experienced this afternoon, and once they’ve reached their destination, Goro hangs back slightly, allowing Ren and Maruki the space to exchange some final pleasantries as they work their way up to actually saying goodbye.

Not that it's something he's doing out of the kindness of his own heart, mind you. It's more that Goro is very aware of how poorly he's been hiding how he's feeling since all of this started, and while he really couldn't give any less of a shit about how that might have impacted Maruki, he does care about how this lapse in control reflects upon him, personally. Particularly when so much of his petty testiness had leaked out in full view of Theodore, and Lavenza, and yes, even Ren. Ren, who might be the most patient, understanding person he's ever met, but still, even he must be beginning to find Goro’s behaviour somewhat tiresome.

So, here he is, standing awkwardly to the side. Keeping his distance. Lest he loses the run of himself yet again, and says or does something to make even more of a fool of himself.

Really, it's fortunate that they're just about to go to lunch. He has to imagine that the veritable cornucopia of food available at the Wilton Hotel's buffet will feature something strong enough to mask the bad taste in his mouth.

Goro prides himself on being adaptable. In his experience, mental flexibility can, quite literally, mean the difference between life and death. But even so, he wouldn’t say that he’s particularly fond of surprises. He likes them even less when they interfere with a plan that he’s spent a not-insignificant amount of time and energy on the construction of, and Theodore’s little phone call last night might as well have been a wrecking ball for how much it completely and thoroughly fucked everything up.

First of all, of course, Goro wasn’t supposed to be meeting with Maruki today.

Secondly, Ren wasn’t supposed to be here with him.

And finally, Goro sure as shit wasn’t supposed to have to examine the fact that Ren doesn’t appear to be even slightly angry with the man that almost lobotomised the entire fucking human race!

Though, he supposes, that last one shouldn’t really have come as a surprise at all, should it? Why would Ren hold what Maruki did against him, when he’s also so readily and happily left his heart in the hands of the person who tried to murder him?

Blood, metallic and sickly sweet, suddenly blooms across Goro’s tongue, mingling unpleasantly with the bitterness that’s already there. Ah, he's been worrying at the inside of his cheek with his teeth without realising it. Exhaling through his nose, he unclenches his jaw, and prods at the newly-tender spot in his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

Obsessing over how things should have played out is a pointless exercise, he knows that.

It’s done.

For now, at least.

In a matter of minutes, Maruki will be gone, and then he and Ren can finally get back to enjoying the rest of their weekend.

“Goodbye, Akechi-kun,” Maruki calls out to him, with one hand cupped around the side of his mouth, as if they were standing miles apart, instead of what’s almost certainly less than fifteen feet. “We’ll probably see each other again soon, in, ah… the office.”

Why don’t you spare us both the trouble by stumbling directly into the path of one of the trains inside, you clumsy piece of shit? Goro thinks, as he opens his mouth to answer. “I’m sure we will, yes.”

Ren is watching him expectantly (though for what sort of reaction, specifically, Goro couldn’t say), and so – still daydreaming about Maruki meeting his untimely and sticky end in a colourful and varied array of public transport-related mishaps – he smiles politely and adds: “Have a safe journey home.”

Maruki, seeming just as relieved as he is oblivious, smiles back at him. “Well then, I suppose I should let you boys get to your lunch…”

And then, finally, he’s leaving. Heading off to catch his train, or to find that shitbox of a cab, or, honestly, who gives a fuck – the point is, he’s gone.

Looking for all the world as if he's trying with all his might not to burst out laughing, Ren turns to him. “Don't you ever worry about your face getting stuck like that?”

It would be easy enough for Goro to play along – to slip into their usual back-and-forth – defusing any remaining tension with some light-hearted banter. But any attempt to do so, at least initially, would be just as false and affected as the smile Ren is currently making fun of him for, wouldn't it?

And, more importantly, haven't they only just resolved to make an effort to be more honest with each other?

“Ren, I…” Goro starts, and watches as the amused twinkle in his eye is immediately replaced with something soft and concerned. “I need to apologise to you.”

Seeming genuinely surprised, Ren tilts his head to the side. “For what?”

Goro checks his watch. They're not running late, per se, but they probably will be if they stay here much longer. Particularly when the Wilton is too far away from here to get to on foot. “Let's talk while we walk, yes? We still have a train to catch, after all.”

“Oh? Yeah, sure…” Ren falls into step with him as he makes a beeline for the station entrance, but (with it being lunchtime) quite a crowd has formed, and they don't really end up in a position to actually speak to each other again until they've reached their platform. “So…” Ren says, as they find a place near an old magazine stand to wait, “what's up?”

Already slightly regretting bringing this up in the first place, Goro sighs. “As I was saying… I need to apologise, for how I acted, back there, in the Velvet Room. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me, and I…” he trails off and sighs again, louder this time, and in genuine frustration. He’s rapidly realising that he doesn't actually know how to put the way he’s feeling into words – or, at least, not into words that will sufficiently convey just how ill at ease losing control like that has left him.

Ren reaches out to take his hand. Goro suppresses the urge to look around and make sure no one's watching them. “Look, I won't say that I don't think you could have gone a little easier on Maruki-sensei…” he says, rubbing a soothing, repetitive line across the back of Goro's knuckles with his thumb. “But you were just worried, it's okay.”

Is it, though? Goro wants to ask. Is it ‘okay’ to have to pacify yourself with increasingly violent fantasies just so you don't end up bodily attacking a man for existing in the same space as someone you care about? But Ren is still speaking, so Goro bites his tongue.

“And you probably think I don't get it, right? But-”

This time, Goro can't help himself. “No, I know for a fact that you don't ‘get it’, Ren.”

Snorting under his breath, Ren graces him with one of his exceedingly rare eyerolls. “Let me get this out, okay? You've gotta at least let me make my argument before you start trying to rip it to pieces.”

And Goro would very much beg to differ, but at the same time, he also knows that he's really only champing at the bit to interrupt again as a last ditch attempt to delay the very conversation that he himself started. Which is more than slightly pathetic, on top of being ridiculous. “I'm sorry, you're right. Go ahead.”

“I've been thinking about it,” Ren continues. “And I guess that, maybe, being around Maruki-sensei probably makes you feel like I did, back when I fought Shido – or how I'd feel now, if we both had to make a deal with him for some reason…”

Shido, as a topic, has almost come up between them several times over the last couple of months. Something, however, has always seemed to get in the way – some excuse or other that, ultimately, boiled down (in Goro's case, at least) to a simple desire to avoid dragging whatever conversation they were having at the time into such loaded territory.

With that in mind, this seems like an absolutely bizarre time to finally address it, but Goro isn't immediately seized by the urge to change the subject, as he usually would. If anything, it feels as if his vision has narrowed. The world around them might as well have fallen away for how important it feels in the face of this.

Maruki (and even his own attempt to apologise for his behaviour) forgotten almost entirely, Goro leans forward and asks,“And how did you feel, Ren? When you fought Shido?”

Mouth twisting at the corners, Ren's nose wrinkles up in the (more than slightly adorable) way it does whenever he has to debase himself by drinking coffee from any establishment that isn’t Leblanc. “I was – I was so angry…” he says, voice barely more than a whisper. “For Futaba and Haru, yeah…” Goro knows, from experience, that it would be an exercise in futility to point out that Shido cannot exactly be considered the only guilty party in the murders of Futaba and Haru's parents, so he keeps that little correction to himself. “But Shido, he – what he said – what he did, to you…”

Clearly, Ren is distressed. Goro can almost see him replaying every single unpleasant thing that happened in that cursed engine room in his head, in fact. If their positions were reversed, he thinks, this would probably be the point where Ren would step in and attempt to reassure him, perhaps even going so far as to tell him outright that he didn’t need to continue.

Unfortunately for Ren, if he was hoping for a similar ‘out’, Goro’s not going to be the one to give it to him.

He needs to know what’s going to come next.

After a beat, Ren exhales shakily and continues. “His shadow disappeared, you know? At the end. We found out afterwards that he had his guys do something to try and stop the change of heart… but for a second there, we really thought we messed up – that we actually killed him.”

Rendered completely and genuinely speechless, Goro can only gape at him.

“Then his Palace started collapsing, and we had to run, and then we kind of thought Ryuji died-”

That’s the thing that unsticks his tongue. “What?!”

“Yeah, it was – it was this whole thing,” Ren laughs, small and self-conscious, and scratches at his cheek with the tip of his index finger. “But after all that, I thought about how I would have felt if we really had been responsible for Shido having a mental shutdown…”

“And?” Goro prompts, as gently (and as calmly) as he can.

“You remember what I told you about what happened with Kamoshida? How we didn’t really know if what we were doing was going to make him confess, or if it might have killed him, or like, left him as a vegetable…?” And, well, it’s not as if Goro could ever forget hearing about just how blasé the original band of Phantom Thieves had been when it came to a rule that ended up becoming the very centre of their personal philosophy, so he just nods for Ren to continue. “I really wouldn't have been all that beat up about it, if either of those things really did happen to him, you know? But I wasn’t hoping that they would, either…” he says, so softly now that Goro probably wouldn’t be able to hear him if they weren’t, essentially, standing right on top of each other. “But, with Shido, for a second at least, I did. I hoped that he was going to die – I wanted it…”

Feeling almost light-headed, Goro thinks back to one particular night in November. The two of them standing together outside Penguin Sniper – when Goro, so sure that it was never going to actually happen, proposed that Ren abandon his friends and join him instead. He’d known what the answer was going to be beforehand, of course, but he had still, in his most private (and weakest) moments, allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of what could have been. Of what it would have felt like to go on to collect his pound of flesh from Shido while also having Ren standing firmly at his side.

In light of everything he’s just been told, it’s almost a miracle that he manages to catch the incredulous laugh that immediately tries to jump up and out of his throat. “Ren, did you really just say that killing my father, intentionally or otherwise, would have been an acceptable – or even desirable – outcome for you?”

Grimacing, Ren looks away, seeming suddenly and completely preoccupied with a wad of old chewing gum that's been flattened and crushed into the ground near their feet. “Yeah, I know. I know it's messed up…”

“Messed up?” And Goro can't help himself, he does laugh this time. A harsh bark of a sound that's just as manic as it is breathless. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?”

Ren's eyes snap back up to his again, and after a millisecond of confusion, Goro can actually pinpoint the exact moment comprehension punches through the cloud of guilt and shame he seems to be so intent on smothering himself in. There's a reluctant, disbelieving smile starting to pull at the corners of his mouth when he asks, “Are you getting off on this?”

“That's a somewhat reductive way of putting it…” Though it's not entirely untrue either, and it seems more than pointless to start splitting hairs, so he doesn't try. “Perhaps I simply think that the lofty pedestal you've found yourself upon suits you far better when it isn't quite so pristine.”

Making a small, slightly unhappy, humming noise, Ren says, “You’re saying it's okay that I feel – felt – like this?”

Yes, is what Goro wants to come back with – simple and true – but he has an inkling that Ren would probably prefer a more nuanced (and more guilt-assuaging) answer, so he goes a different way. “I'm saying, I suppose, that it's normal – or, at least, some measure of normal,” he starts, and tightens his grip on the fingers that are now only loosely curled around his own. “As much as I’ve thoroughly enjoyed hearing about all of this, and while I also appreciate the sentiment – you didn’t kill him, you didn’t even try to kill him... You might not be a saint, Ren, but perhaps you still need to be reminded to stop holding yourself to the standards expected of one.”

Frowning, eyebrows pinched together, Ren opens his mouth as if he means to argue the point, but then he relaxes again and sighs, his features smoothing back out into something that’s sitting far closer to amused than guilty on the spectrum of micro-expressions that Goro has become so intimately familiar with. “I can’t tell if you’re actually trying to make me feel better, or if that was just a really long-winded way of calling me a dumbass.”

Their train is finally here, and as they turn and take their places, waiting with the rest of the crowd in the general area of where one of the carriage doors will open, Goro says, “Well, I have always been quite proficient when it comes to multitasking.”

Ren snorts and mumbles something (affectionate-sounding, but still almost certainly at his expense) under his breath that Goro doesn’t quite catch – unsurprising, given that they both suddenly become quite preoccupied with actually getting onto the train. And he doesn’t seem to be inclined to repeat himself once they’ve found an acceptable spot to stand over by one of the windows, their fingers overlapping discreetly where they’re both holding onto the handrail that’s directly between the two of them.

Still, though, Ren is the first one to speak up again as the train starts moving. “You know, it’s funny…”

Knowing full well just how unlikely it is that he’ll agree, Goro asks, “What is?”

“My arrest,” Ren says, perplexingly. “Shido – or his shadow, I guess – forgot all about it, and I guess I just kind of did too? I didn’t even think to bring it up there, when I was listing all of the things he did to make me mad…” he trails off, seeming to have finally noticed the way Goro is staring at him. “What…? What’s up?”

Last year, Goro had read Ren's file so many times that he thinks he could probably recite it from memory – even now – and there had been absolutely nothing in it that would have connected what happened in that little podunk town to his piece of shit father.

There had been no name listed in the victim impact statement, of course, but that wasn’t actually all that unusual – at least when it came to those with the means and influence to grease the appropriate palms. Rich, powerful assholes typically wanted to avoid potentially having their names dragged through the mud, particularly when the party they were accusing also happened to be a minor. So had it actually been some member of the conspiracy then? Certainly, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Shido had used his influence with the police to get someone he felt might be useful to him into his pocket.

There is another possibility, though, isn’t there? Even if it is so supremely ridiculous that he’s almost inclined to dismiss it outright…

Ultimately, all this speculation is getting him nowhere. He needs more information. “What on earth does your arrest have to do with Shido?”

Wide-eyed, Ren blinks back at him, stunned for a full second, but then, once he’s recovered, he actually wheezes a fucking laugh. “You didn't know? Seriously?”

“Obviously,” he grits out, through something that certainly started as an incredulous smile, but is now rapidly approaching chagrined. The list of things that Goro hates is extremely long and varied, but feeling as if he's been left out of the loop has always held a place very close to the top. “Please, just answer the question, Ren.”

“It was Shido,” he says, voice still full of breathless, disbelieving amusement. “I was walking home from a friend's house that night, when I just sort of stumbled into him – though I didn't realise who it actually was until, like, December last year. He was trying to force himself on some woman he was with, and when I stepped in to tell him to back off, he was so drunk that he just, kind of, fell on his ass in the gutter instead…”

The fact that Shido was off in the middle of nowhere and behaving like some drunken lech doesn’t exactly come as much of a surprise. Goro had, unfortunately, witnessed many women be on the receiving end of his unwanted advances, and he’d only ever become bolder and more demanding when there was alcohol in his system. No, the thing that’s shocked Goro into a temporary and uncharacteristic silence is the sheer level of coincidence involved here.

Just one more move in the sick, twisted game Yaldabaoth was playing against itself.

Ren laughs again, and Goro focuses on the sound of it instead of the unmoored, wrong-footed feeling in the pit of his stomach. Though he’s sure, from the sound of it, that Ren’s amusement is about to turn to full-on teasing. “Sorry, I just – you really didn't know? I thought, for sure, you’d have gone over my record with a fine tooth comb while you were still working with the police…”

And, yes, there it is.

Unlike earlier, when they were still at the square, he’s happy to lean into it.

Now, he could just try to breeze past that presumptuous (and accurate) little dig entirely – or to twist it, perhaps, into his own jab about Ren’s ego – but his professional pride is starting to feel somewhat… bruised, on top of everything else, and he suddenly needs to make it clear that his lack of knowledge here wasn't down to some kind of incompetence on his part. “Well, you see, any sufficiently influential victim's attorney can push to have their name omitted from-”

“So you did look,” Ren interrupts, still grinning, and not seeming at all interested in anything other than the confirmation that Goro actually had spent time poring over his file. “I bet you had my mugshot pinned to a dartboard and everything.”

An unwelcome flush creeps across his cheeks as he’s immediately reminded of every less-than-savoury thing he had done with a copy of Ren’s mugshot – the one that, thankfully, had been well hidden in his mountain of, otherwise innocuous, casework when the Phantom Thieves helped him pack away everything in his old apartment all those months ago.

Goro opens his mouth, scrambling for something – anything, really – to forcefully redirect the conversation.

He should have known, however, that Ren would see right through him before he actually had the chance.

“Oh, hey, I know that look,” Ren smiles – no, Ren fucking leers. “Let me guess… you were using that picture of me for target practice, but it wasn't darts you were shooting all over it?”

Mortified (and fucking caught), Goro hears the leather of his glove creak loudly against the metal of the handrail as his grip tightens around it. “If you think I won't choke the life out of you simply because we happen to be in a public place, Ren, you are sorely mistaken.”

Waggling his eyebrows lasciviously, Ren just leans in closer. “Oh, yeah? Promise?”

It suddenly feels as if the cool, air-conditioned train car has heated up considerably.

Ren having a masochistic streak a mile wide isn’t exactly a secret, and given Goro’s own tendencies, he’s always been more than happy to indulge him. However, this specific aspect of things – the idea of coming as close to holding Ren’s life in his hands as he possibly can (when they’re in the real world and not the Metaverse, at least) – isn’t something that's ever been discussed between them. Goro's had his suspicions, though, of course. And if they hadn't been confirmed for him yesterday (when sliding his fingers around Ren's throat had elicited almost the same depth of reaction as when he'd wrapped them around his cock), then they certainly have been now.

Goro's eyes, of their own accord, flit down to Ren's collar bone – where it's exposed by the swooping, low neckline of his t-shirt – and then linger on the tantalising dip at the hollow of his throat for a long, hungry moment before he forces them back up again. “God,” he breathes, in something far closer to awe than frustration, “you are such a fucking freak.”

And, still seeming entirely unconcerned, the only thing the beautiful, ridiculous lunatic in front of him has to say is: “That doesn't sound like a no...?”

***

Ryuji only realises that he's scuffing the shit out of the expensive carpet under their table with the toe of his sneaker when he notices a woman at the next one over giving him some serious stink-eye. Ah shit, he thinks, as he forces his foot down flat onto the floor, they've only been at the buffet for about twenty minutes and there's already at least one judgemental asshole acting like they're not supposed to be here.

And they haven't even had a chance to grab something to eat yet.

Because Ren and Akechi still aren't effin' here.

Haru, Makoto, Ann and Sumire all went to the bathroom a little while ago (doing that girl thing where they all go in a big group), and even Ryuji understands that between him, Yusuke, Futaba, and the Monamona bag on the chair beside them, they’re standing out way too much.

Futaba huffs loudly. “If Ren and Akechi still haven’t showed by the time the others get back, I say we just start without them! I'm starving! And – don't tell her I told you – but Sumire is too! She's just too polite to say so.”

“I must admit to feeling quite ravenous myself,” Yusuke adds, and Ryuji wonders how long it's been since he ate something. Once they actually can get stuck in at the buffet, he'll need to make sure his friend's plate is really stacked. “Although… I don't think that necessarily justifies us breaking etiquette in such an egregious manner.”

Yeah, it sucks, but Ryuji's on the same page as Yusuke (or he thinks he is anyway). “This is s’posed to be a thing for everyone, right? And sure, we mighta’ got Ann back from Italy, but it's not a real reunion with just her- ah!” Yelping and flinching in place, he reaches up to cover the sore spot on the top of his head where Ann just bonked him with the bottom of her purse.

“Gee, thanks, Ryuji,” she pouts, dropping back down onto the seat beside him. One of her pigtails nearly hits him square in the face when she tosses it over her shoulder. “I really missed you too.”

“C’mon, you know that's not what I meant…”

Sumire, Makoto, and Haru (probably the only reason they haven't been kicked out yet, let's be real) all sit back down again as well.

“They really are quite a bit late, aren't they?” Haru says, frowning a little as she checks the fancy, delicate-looking watch on her wrist. “I do hope they're alright.”

Morgana pokes his head out of the bag. “Ren would never be this late if I was with him, you know.”

“Well, to be fair, Goro-kun isn't usually known for being late either…” Makoto sighs, shifting in her seat. “It's hard to say which one of them, exactly, might actually be responsible…”

Everyone goes quiet.

It's like there's this big shitty cloud hanging over them.

Ryuji picks his phone up off the table and unlocks it. The last four messages in his chat with Ren are all from this morning (and also all from Ryuji), and even though they've been marked as read, he still hasn't replied. “Man, I know they're together n'all, but Akechi can't keep hogging Ren-”

Futaba snorts loudly. “Huh, is that what they're calling it now?”

Ann starts giggling, Sumire joins in too, and then it just kind of snowballs from there, until they're all laughing. So hard that the weird, tense atmosphere doesn't even stand a chance.

Ryuji doesn’t miss that the assholes at the next table are glaring at them again, and seriously thinks about leaning into it and flipping them the bird. In the end, though, he just pitches them a little salute and grins instead, smiling even harder when they all hurry to look away.

After they've all calmed down and got their shit together again, Makoto catches his eye from across the table. “I agree with you, Ryuji,” she says. “Particularly when it's not as if they wouldn't still be spending time together. We invited both of them here today, after all.”

“Yeah! Exactly! It's not fair, right?”

Not bothering to look up from her phone, Futaba makes a ‘pffft’ noise. “You're just jealous because you're not getting laid, Ryuji.”

And she's just trying to get a rise outta him, he understands that, but it's like his mouth doesn't really get the message. “Hey, you don't know that! I could be!”

“Who d’you think you're talking to?” she laughs. “I'd know.”

Feeling his face heat up, and avoiding looking in Makoto's direction again (he doesn't know if he's more worried about her reacting to his lack of game with disappointment or relief), Ryuji shakes himself off and stands up. “Man, whatever… I gotta go take a leak anyway, be back in a sec.”

And it's true, he does – but he also figures that the bathroom will be a good place to try and actually call Ren's phone. Because, sure, his best friend can be a bit flaky about replying to texts sometimes, but he always picks up when Ryuji calls.

He ends up in the same bathroom he went to with Ren the last time he was here (back when he had to puke his guts up after eating so much meat he felt like his stomach was gonna explode), and it's just as big and fancy as he remembers. All white marble, and gold fixtures, and so many urinals and stalls that Ryuji can't imagine they've ever all been in use at the same time.

(Maybe that's the point? He can't really picture a bunch of rich assholes waiting in line to use the john...)

And, just like last time, it's also pretty empty – only one stall at the very end of the row looks like it might have someone in there. Though he can't hear anyone like, shitting, or anything, so maybe not…

After he's done at the urinal and washed his hands, he takes his phone back out of his pocket again, pulls up Ren's number, and hits the call button.

Then (so loud that Ryuji probably would have pissed himself if he hadn't literally just gone) a crackly recording suddenly starts playing from the other end of the bathroom. From that stall at the end of the row.

And it's not just any recording, either – Ryuji stands there, mouth hanging open in disbelief, as he listens to a loop of his own freaking voice!

“Yoooooooo, man! What's booooonkin’?! Yoooooooo, man! Wha-”

Then it cuts out.

Last year, one time when they were goofing off between classes, Ren recorded him saying a whole bunch of stupid shit. And then, later on, showed him how he'd set one of them as the ringtone that would play whenever Ryuji called him.

“What the – Renren?!” he laughs, jogging up the line of stalls until he reaches the end, and then leans back against the sink directly across from it. “You coulda’ just told me you were in the john, man!” He looks back up the row again – double-checking that they're all empty… and, yep… sure looks like it. “I guess I musta’ missed Akechi on the way u-”

Ren starts talking before he can finish. “Ryuji, just – just hang on… Give me a sec…”

Frowning, Ryuji tilts his head to the side. Ren sounds really… weird? Croaky and strained, and kind of out of breath… maybe even like he's actually in pain or something…

They didn't eat anything strange yesterday, right? Just cake and curry – and, he figures, if something had been wrong there, then they'd prolly all be feeling lousy today.

Though, that doesn't mean Ren didn't catch something on the train, or even off someone back home… and he is the kind of guy who’d get the shits and just try and power through instead of staying home and resting.

“Hey, man, if you're sick, you know we don't gotta do this today-” Ryuji starts, but that's when he looks down – down to the big gap at the bottom of the stall door – and ends up just about choking on his own spit. Those are Ren's boots down there, yeah, sure – Ryuji'd recognise them anywhere – but there’s another pair of shiny, fancy shoes right next to them! Already spluttering and gasping as he cracks the hell up, he wheezes, “Hooooly shit, you guys! In the – in the effin’ bathroom?!”

The stall door shakes and rattles as one of them bumps into it, probably losing their balance and nearly falling over while they pull up their pants, or – nah, actually, he’s not gonna think about what's going on in there too hard… (And Ren’s gonna tell him all about it later anyway.) Then there’s another couple of seconds where he can just hear them whispering a bunch of stuff to each other (too fast and low for him to actually understand what they're saying), but after that, finally, the door opens a crack. Just enough for Akechi to shimmy out.

Ryuji cranes his neck to try and get a look into the stall before the door closes again, but Akechi actively blocks him, and he just ends up with an eyeful of his face instead. And, woah, other than the couple of times Ryuji's watched him choke down something too spicy for him to handle, he doesn't think he's ever seen Akechi this red.

He's also got this pinched, prissy look on his face. All disapproving. Like Ryuji’s the one that just got caught screwing in a hotel bathroom.

“Ren needs another moment,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he reaches up to close the button at his throat that Ryuji hadn't noticed was undone. “To, ah, make himself decent.”

What does that mean? Ryuji wonders. Does Ren just need to get dressed? Or does he, like, still have a hard-on or something?

The thought makes Ryuji's eyes, without him really meaning them to, jump from Akechi's face and down to the front of his pants. The relief he feels when he doesn't immediately come face to face with his best friend's boyfriend’s boner is so strong that he actually slumps backwards against the sink behind him.

Okay, he musta' got here just after they were, uh, finished, or whatever…

(Or, maybe, getting interrupted just spooked Akechi so bad it went away by itself – that's sure as shit what happens to him whenever his ma forgets how to knock and just barges right into his room when he’s jerkin’ it.)

Ryuji knows he’s still grinning his head off – he can't help it – but he's actually kind of proud of himself for not just straight up laughing when he opens his mouth again. “Okay, yeah, sure…” he says to Akechi, and then, in the direction of the door, he adds: “Take your time, man!”

Ren laughs, small and awkward (and still kinda raspy). “Uh, thanks… But unless one of you has a spare shirt with a higher collar than mine… I don't think I can do anything to cover all this up.”

Confused, Ryuji watches Akechi go even more red and then make a frustrated tutting sound through his teeth as he looks down at his own clothes. And, hey, Ryuji might not really understand what's going on, but he can still help, and that's all that really matters.

“Sure, dude, I got ya!” he says, quickly shrugging his hoodie off his shoulders.

When he actually has it in his hands, though, he just kind of ends up standing there, not sure whether he's supposed to pass it over the top of the door himself or-

Akechi holds his hand out, palm up. “Give it here,” he says, and then flexes his fingers impatiently when Ryuji doesn't move right away.

Woah, okay.

“Don’t gotta be a dick about it, dude…” Ryuji huffs, still kind of half-laughing as he hands it over.

Akechi’s eyebrows come together, his mouth twisting into something bunchy and sour, before he sighs and starts actually folding the hoodie. (Honestly, it kind of looks like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.) “No, I really don’t, do I?” he admits, with a wince (like it actually hurt). Then he raps the front of the stall with his knuckles three times, passes Ryuji’s hoodie through the small gap that Ren makes when he opens the door a crack again, and says, “Thank you, Ryuji… Both for the hoodie and your understanding.”

Huh.

A lot of the time, Ryuji thinks he doesn't really get what Ren sees in this guy.

Sure, Akechi’s pretty enough (for a dude), and yeah, he’s low-key shredded (if that’s, y’know, what you’re into), and he can be pretty funny too, sometimes (in a bitchy, mean way), but he also really is just kind of an asshole. Dealing with that all of the time, like Ren does, just sounds like a pain. But then, there’re the times like this, where he lets his guard down a little, and Ryuji thinks that he might actually understand after all.

Maybe.

“S’nothin’,” Ryuji grins, and decides, eff it, he's going for it – holding his fist out for Akechi to bump. “You guys are kinda’ freaky, huh? I guess I can respect that.”

Looking kind of like he’s constipated, Akechi’s face goes back to being all bunched up and tight. And, honestly, Ryuji's about to shrug it off and just give up, when Akechi suddenly relaxes again, sighing a defeated-sounding laugh, and reaches out to bump their fists together. “This is ridiculous.”

The stall door finally swings open. Ren has Ryuji's hoodie zipped all the way up to his chin, and he's not anywhere near as red as Akechi was when he first came out of there, but he's still blushing pretty hard.

Doesn’t stop him from jumping at the first opportunity to give them shit. “Aww, are you two bonding?”

Ryuji laughs (ignoring the way Akechi snorts under his breath and rolls his eyes), and reaches out to punch his best friend lightly on the arm. “Renren, man, what the hell?”

Grinning right back at him, Ren wiggles his fingers up and over the zipper on the hoodie, like he’s getting ready to do a magic trick. “You wanna see?”

“Oh, for the love of-” Akechi snaps, throwing his hands up in the air. “Did you not just put that on so he wouldn't?”

“I don't want the others to see, Goro, yeah. But this is Ryuji.”

Something warm and fuzzy swells in Ryuji's chest. “Yeah, man, we're bros,” he adds. “S’just different.”

Making a face like he just got a nose full of the worst fart ever, Akechi holds one angry finger up in the air and opens his mouth – like he's actually gonna start lecturing them or something – but then, after a second, he just shrugs and tuts through his teeth. “You know what? Whatever, I just realised that I don't actually give a shit… Meet me outside in the hallway once you've finished acting like a pair of moronic twelve-year-olds.”

Then he's walking away, and they both just kind of watch him go for a second, before Ren calls out after him. “Love you!”

“Unfortunately,” Akechi grumbles, as he pushes open the bathroom door. “I also harbour similar feelings for you.”

Once it's closed behind Akechi, Ren’s eyes slide away from the door to meet Ryuji's, and then they both, pretty much immediately, lose their shit! Hanging off each other, wheezing and spluttering, and trying really, really hard not to do any of it too loud. But that – like it always does – just ends up making it even funnier, and Ryuji thinks he musta' busted something deep in his guts by the time they actually manage to pull themselves back together.

Taking a big deep breath, Ren steps back – all dramatic-like – and unzips the hoodie.

Ryuji feels his eyes bug right out of his head.

Because, holy shit!

On the side of Ren’s neck, there’s this big cluster of red and purple bruises. Some of them even have actual teeth marks around them! And the skin around the base of his throat is all pink and blotchy too – in a kind of, like, band? It’s pretty wide and already fading (for sure, there’s no way it’s gonna hang around the way those bites definitely will), and that makes it kind of hard to figure out what it actually is. Then he realises that the four pink lines he can just make out on the left-hand side of the mark actually kind of look like fingers, and it suddenly clicks. They look like that because that’s what they are – kind of – impressions left on Ren’s skin by someone’s fingers. Akechi’s fingers. Because he was… what? Strangling him?

And Ren was getting off on it?

Or Akechi was…

Or they both were.

“Damn, you're so freakin' weird, dude,” Ryuji laughs. In disbelief, yeah, but also because he’s actually sort of impressed? “Does that kind of stuff actually feel good?”

Zipping the hoodie back up again, Ren huffs a small laugh and starts walking towards the door. “Like you wouldn't believe.”

“Uh, yeah…?” Ryuji shakes his head and follows after him. “I guess I'll just hafta’ take your word for it, man…”

“If you ever actually ask Makoto out, maybe she can show you?” Ren teases, winking at him as he pushes the door open. “Did I ever tell you about the time I challenged her to an arm wrestling match? It was, uh – let's just say her grip strength is no joke.”

Feeling like his face is on fire, Ryuji hurries to push away all the weird and very confusing shit that’s suddenly bouncing around in his head.

“Ah, c'mon, man, don't say stuff like that…” he whispers, or tries to anyway. He figures that he didn’t actually do a very good job of it, though, because they’re back out in the hallway again and Akechi doesn’t look all pissy anymore – nah, he’s actually grinning at them, looking like some kinda shark that’s just caught a whiff of blood in the water.

Yeah, there’s no way he didn’t hear enough to know exactly why Ryuji’s gone as red as a tomato.

“Come now, Ryuji,” he says, all friendly, “don't look so glum. I’m sure that if we all put our heads together, we can come up with a way to have you throttled by Makoto before the day is through.”

Blushing so hard now that he actually feels kind of dizzy, Ryuji squawks, “How did this even happen?! You guys are the ones who should be embarrassed right now, not me!”

Ren gasps (really loud and really fake), clutches at his chest, and then stumbles a few steps to the side so he can sag against Akechi, like he's the one that’s about to faint. “Goro, Ryuji thinks we should be ashamed of ourselves…”

“Yes, truly,” Akechi says, flatly – still playing along but not putting anywhere near the same amount of effort in as Ren. “I never imagined that one of your friends would be so homophobic.”

And, same as that time with Futaba earlier, Ryuji knows he's being made fun of – knows it isn't that serious – but he still gets this shitty, heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach anyway. He has to actually make sure. “Hey, don't – I'm not – you guys know I'm not, right?”

Suddenly serious, Ren hits him with this look, all warm and understanding, and the knot Ryuji's guts have twisted themselves into loosens again. “Yeah, of course, man – I was just kidding around.”

“If anything, you could probably stand to be a little less supportive,” Akechi snorts, and, after pushing Ren back up to standing, starts walking away from them – down the hall and towards the elevators. “Now, shall we?”

As they walk, things go kind of quiet, but it’s not awkward or anything, and Ryuji's mostly thinking about the food downstairs (and how much he can eat this time without having to go puke half of it back up again afterwards), when the elevator doors open with a ding and something else pops into his head.

“Hey, Ren, remember what happened the last time we were here? When Shido and his goons cut in front of us and started throwing their weight around?”

“Huh, oh, yeah…” Ren says, and then laughs and shakes his head. “I guess that was Shido… I totally forgot...”

It’s weird, Akechi kind of looks like he's about to have a stroke – or maybe like he's gonna start choking Ren again, but not in a weird, horny way this time. Probably. “Ren, what the fuck? How many times have you actually run into that asshole?”

“Uh, that's all of them? I think…?”

“You think?!”

They only just got into the elevator, and the doors are still open, so Ryuji takes a quick step backwards, right back out into the hallway. “Yeah, I'm gonna catch the next one-”

“Ryuji! Don't abandon me!”

“Sorry, man,” he laughs, holding his hands up in the air as the doors start to close. “I'll see you down there!”

Chapter Text

Flopping down, face first, onto Goro's mattress, Ren groans and thinks about the jokes Futaba used to make about him only having enough action points to do two things in one day.

He knew he was going to be busy – coming back to Tokyo for the weekend – but today especially was kind of, uh, packed.

First, there was his exam, and while it wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, he’s still feeling pretty confident for someone who only put two nights’ worth of study in beforehand (and he isn’t planning on actually going to that school anyway, so it’s not like it really matters). Then there was all the Velvet Room stuff, seeing Maruki again, and the, uh, detour that he and Goro made before meeting up with the other Thieves at the buffet – when Ren found out just how different it was to think a stranger has walked into the public bathroom you’re being jerked off in versus realising it’s actually your best friend (the first one being really, really hot, and the second just being kind of embarrassing).

After all that, though, came their actual lunch.

They’d all been together for the hybrid welcome-back/birthday party yesterday, sure, but so much of that had been about catching up, and surprises, that they hadn’t really had time to just hang out. So, after he’d dodged all the questions about why he was wearing Ryuji’s hoodie (just one of his friends knowing that he kind of likes to get choked by his boyfriend is more than enough, thank you very much), that’s exactly what they’d been able to do. Just laugh together, and joke, and poke fun at each other, while they all ate way too much.

It felt good.

It felt like home.

Ren would have been happy to spend the rest of the day there, but even Haru’s clout hadn’t been enough to save them when one of the staff finally caught sight of Morgana and firmly asked them to leave.

Honestly, he was already flagging at that point, but he happily let himself be dragged through two arcades, more stores than he could keep track of, and then to Kichijoji, to round things off with darts and billiards.

It was only when they’d all said goodbye, and he sleepily followed Goro into the nearest convenience store (and watched him throw all their Metaverse staples into a basket), that he remembered that it wasn’t actually time to go home (and pass out) just yet.

So, feeling a bit like a zombie, he and Goro made their way back to Shibuya – to Station Square, and hopped back into Mementos to make sure that Goro’s got his whole murderously horny thing under control before Monday. Monday, when Ren won’t be here, and Goro will be in the Metaverse with Makoto and probably some poor, unsuspecting Kirijo Group people.

And it was definitely the right call, because things had been just as, uh, intense, at first – right after Goro recruited Yamata-no-Orochi and had only paused just long enough to make sure that Ren was on board before he actually jumped him. But, after that (and after Ren had been treated to the sight of him coming untouched again – the sharp edge of his sword at Ren’s throat as he bounced on his dick so hard and fast that they’d probably both be dealing with some serious chafing if it had happened anywhere other than the Metaverse), they found him Moloch, Lilith, and Uriel, and with each one, the effect became less and less obvious.

Yeah, by the time they were done, Ren would say that they can be pretty confident that Goro is firmly in control again, and will only be showing exactly as much of how much he enjoys himself in a fight as he wants to.

It’s good. He’s glad. Even though he is kind of starting to have to admit to himself that he’s definitely also more than a little jealous. Not of Goro, or Makoto, no – but of the opportunity. He still doesn’t have the first clue about what he wants to do, college-wise, once he’s finished high school and can come back to Tokyo, but he already knows that the very first thing on his agenda will be rocking right up to the nearest Kirijo Group office and slapping his résumé on every desk he can find.

Ren hears the stairs creak and knows that Goro’s on his way up after finishing all of his skincare stuff, and that usually takes the guts of half an hour, so he must have been lying here, trying not to doze off, for a lot longer than he realised.

Oops.

“Ren?” Goro’s voice comes from somewhere above him and to the side, soft and amused, as he slides a warm palm up Ren’s back to gently shake his shoulder. “Are you still awake?”

Leaning into the touch when the hand resumes its journey and ends up in his hair, Ren sighs and manages to mumble, “Nope, don’t think so...”

“I can sympathise with being tired,” Goro snorts, “but you could have at least attempted to get undressed before passing out, don’t you think?”

It takes two tries before Ren can roll over onto his back and squint blearily up at his, surprisingly patient, boyfriend. “I knew I was forgetting something…” And he’s just reaching down to start unbuckling his belt when Goro slaps his hand away and takes over, like he somehow heard Ren thinking about how patient he was being and decided to prove him wrong. “Hang on,” Ren laughs, “I’m way too tired – if you try anything else now, I think I might actually die.”

Goro makes a huffing sound, the one that usually means he finds something funny but is pretending not to. “Luckily for the both of us, you have proved to be exceedingly difficult to kill,” he says, fondly, and then tugs the waist of Ren’s now-open jeans upwards. “Now, hush, lift your hips.”

Trying his best to make things as easy as possible, Ren does as he’s told, shivering at the ticklish feeling of the jeans being pulled down his legs, and then laughing again when his left foot gets a bit stuck and Goro has to really yank to get them fully off. “Well, you know me, I’m a bit like a cockroach – only way more handsome.”

Goro’s saying something – something devastating and cutting, probably – but Ren's eyes are closing again, and it's lost to the fuzzy fog of sleep.

***

When he wakes up, Ren finds himself immediately disoriented by one: how dark it still is outside, two: the fluffy, fresh-smelling duvet that's tangled around his legs and making him feel like he's being boiled alive, and three: the fact that he's pushed right up against the rough, bare brick of the wall, with his right arm half trapped underneath him.

Still groggy and confused, he flops over onto his side, having just enough time to wonder why the mattress is so bouncy before his nose connects with something hard and bony.

Ow! Shit…

Ren groans softly and brings his hand up to slot in between his face and the sharp elbow that's pointed directly at him, cradling his poor, sore nose, while he waits to see if he managed to wake Goro up by kind of forgetting that he was there in the first place.

A beat passes.

Goro doesn't move.

Okay, phew. Looks like he's in the clear.

This might be Leblanc's attic, but this isn't Ren's bed. It's Goro's. And while it's also probably more than twice the width of what Ren is used to sleeping in, that doesn't really count for much when his boyfriend’s preferred sleeping spot seems to be right in the middle of the bed.

He's not mad at it, though.

Not really.

Because, so far, every time they've gone to bed together, Ren always seems to fall asleep first, and then, in the mornings, Goro wakes up before him. Which all means that he hasn't actually seen what Goro looks like when he's sleeping.

Now’s his chance.

Gently, carefully, he reaches out to move Goro's arm – getting that pointy elbow down, away from his face, and (most importantly) out of the way.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

There are a lot of words that come to Ren when he's looking at Goro normally. Hot (for sure), pretty (so pretty), cute (way more than Goro would probably think, or be happy about), and just straight up beautiful (because c'mon!), but right now? Right now, he just looks goofy. His hair's a mess, all stuck up in the back and plastered across his forehead at the front, and when Ren reaches out to brush some of it up and away from his eyes, Goro's face scrunches up in a bad-tempered frown and he makes this weird snorting-snoring noise through his nose.

Trying really, really hard not to burst out laughing, Ren bites his lip and then hurries to cover his mouth with his hand when it doesn't quite stop a small squeaky sound (like the air being let slowly out of a balloon) escaping. He doesn't know what time it is. It's still dark outside, and his internal clock is being no help. And he really doesn't want to wake Goro up when it might still be too early, even by his boyfriend’s insane standards.

He could just snuggle down and try to go back to sleep, but Ren's actually feeling pretty awake now.

Taking an elbow to the face will do that to a guy, he supposes.

His phone is on the windowsill, plugged in to charge, and Ren rolls over again, back the other way, to grab it and check the time.

5:13 a.m.

Holy shit, that's – he was expecting it, kind of, but, yeah, that is just way too early.

But, Ren thinks – a plan already starting to form – it's also close to when Goro normally wakes up, isn't it?

He'd missed his chance yesterday morning, having slept right through Goro's alarm, as well as through whatever noise he'd made while he was getting ready to go cycling, but this time, Ren's already awake. He's already awake, and it's Sunday. Which also happens to be his last day here before he has to go home again, and that has to count for something, right?

***

Hand shooting out to grab his phone before the first note of the tinny jingle of his alarm finishes, Goro taps the button to silence it quickly. Ren had seemed particularly exhausted last night (quite literally falling asleep in the middle of having his t-shirt pulled over his head), and Goro doesn't want to take the fact that he usually sleeps like the dead for granted. Not when he quite so clearly needs his rest.

Honestly, he knows their day was somewhat on the hectic side, but it wasn't that bad, was it? Perhaps he should suggest that Ren has a blood panel, or some other battery of tests, done? For someone so inclined to backflipping around the battlefield, he really does seem to run out of energy at an alarming rate sometimes…

Goro rubs at his eyes with one hand and absentmindedly runs the other through his hair, teasing some of the larger knots loose (and smoothing down the worst of the bird’s nest it tends to turn into whenever he manages to sleep even slightly soundly), while he looks down at the boy beside him and feels that niggle of worry gnaw at him again.

Granted, he wouldn't say that he's woken up beside Ren enough times to really know what's normal and what isn't, but where, in his experience, Ren's sleeping face is usually calm and relaxed, right now it seems more… pinched? Or tight around the edges?

He hopes he isn't coming down with something.

Sitting up carefully, he swings his legs out of the bed, sets his feet on the floor, and is just about to stand up, when the mattress dips slightly behind him and arms snake their way around his midsection.

Surprised and slightly dismayed that his attempts at stealth were apparently ineffective, he glances back over his shoulder. Ren is still horizontal, his eyes still closed, looking for all the world like someone still sound asleep. If not, of course, for the fact that he's latched onto Goro like an overgrown sloth.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” he sighs. “Go back to sleep, I'll-”

“S’fine, don't worry about it,” Ren cuts across him, his voice a rough, sleep-heavy rumble that reverberates pleasantly through Goro's side and into his ribcage. “Been awake a while… I've just been waiting to get the drop on you.”

Ah, Ren's sleeping face had apparently seemed so unnatural because that’s exactly what it was.

Goro can't believe he was actually worried something was wrong.

Equal parts relieved and amused, he reaches down to pat at one of Ren's forearms in slightly exasperated affection before moving to extract himself so that he can actually get started on his morning routine.

Ren, as he often does, appears to have other ideas.

“What are you doing?” Goro chuckles as the grip on his waist tightens drastically. “Are you not satisfied with having ambushed me?”

“Nah, I figure, now that I've got you, I'm just gonna keep you here,” Ren says, nuzzling sleepily into the skin above his hip, and then adds: “C’mon, you can skip one day.”

Perhaps it has something to do with how accommodating Ren himself has been over the last couple of days (particularly on their trips into the Metaverse), but Goro finds that he isn’t necessarily against the idea. It’s not something he’d make a habit of, certainly, but this isn’t exactly a normal morning, is it? And while he has no desire to actually go back to sleep, he had been planning to fuck Ren absolutely stupid when he got back anyway, so it doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to say that all that's really happened here is his schedule’s been shuffled forward an hour or two.

However, just because he’s decided to stay, that doesn't mean he won't make Ren work for it.

“Hmm, with how out of breath our race in the Metaverse left you the other day,” he starts, “I must admit to being more than slightly suspicious that this is the first step in an elaborate plot designed to result in me letting myself go the way you so clearly have.”

“Hey, I haven't let myself go-”

“Oh, really? You'll have no trouble stopping me then, will you?”

Goro is expecting it to be difficult to stand – he has something heavy, unbalanced and actively trying to keep him in place attached to his core, after all – but, even though he really should know better at this stage, he hadn't quite accounted for how wily his adversary would be. Instead of trying to hold him down, Ren moves with him as he shifts his weight onto his feet and begins to rise, and Goro only realises his mistake when he turns just enough to see Ren get his knees under himself properly before he's suddenly yanked backwards.

They go down in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter that rapidly dissolves into a messy tussle, grappling and wrestling, with each of them trying to pin the other to the bed. Ren is strong, but Goro knows that he's stronger – even if only just – he should have the advantage here. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to matter. Ren is like a cat, quick and lithe, and every time Goro thinks he has him, the slippery fucker always seems to find a way to twist and wriggle out of his grip.

Intending to finally make him stay still, Goro reaches for that messy mop of black hair (it isn’t exactly sporting, yes, but when has that ever stopped him?), but his fingers close on nothing but air when Ren dodges at the last second. Throwing himself sideways, towards the end of the bed, in an evasive manoeuvre that inadvertently leaves a much more vulnerable part of his body unguarded.

And, oh, he doesn't think he's ever heard Ren make a noise so deliciously high-pitched as the surprised yelp he lets out when Goro slips a hand up the leg of his boxers, fingers ghosting threateningly over his balls before wrapping around his rock hard cock instead.

“Come on, that's cheati- ah!” Perhaps unsurprisingly, Ren very quickly seems to lose track of what he was saying when Goro gives him a firm squeeze.

“I don't recall any rules being set out beforehand,” Goro says, feigning innocence as he caresses the head of the hot cock in his hand with the pad of his thumb, tracing it in lazy circles that make Ren shiver and tremble in the most lovely way, “so I can't see how this could possibly be considered cheating.”

The extent of Ren’s retort is a laugh that turns into a hitching gasp when Goro tightens his grip again, hips twitching forward in a reflexive plea for him to stop teasing and tug on his cock properly. Goro might even be inclined to oblige if he hadn't just realised what a potentially interesting position they've ended up in.

Ren is stretched out lengthways, with his back almost against the wall and his feet near the head of the bed, while Goro himself is kneeling in front of him in the centre.

“Take these off,” he says, tugging at Ren’s boxers pointedly as he slides his hand back out of them and reaches for his own briefs, “but stay put otherwise, do you understand?”

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Ren grins, already shimmying out of his underwear. As quick to do as he’s told as he ever is when there’s more blood in his cock than his brain. “Whatever you say.”

***

Ren’s in the dark about what Goro has in store for him for all of two seconds before it becomes very clear that he's about to have number sixty-nine crossed off his list of fantasies, with his boyfriend lying down beside him so that they’re both pointed towards opposite ends of the bed, and also, more importantly, both have a face full of dick.

Mouth already watering, he grabs Goro by the hips and dives right in, peppering his balls and the length of his erection with wet, open mouth kisses. Lapping up precum and huffing up the clean-musk and slightly salty smell of Goro’s skin into his lungs on each inhale like a drowning man coming up for air.

He hears Goro chuckle, deep and rough and mean, and is expecting (maybe even hoping) to be made fun of for being too eager, when a warm, wet tongue drags up the length of his dick and flicks teasingly at the head.

“Oh, shi-it – that’s,” he gasps, pulling back just enough so he can actually see what Goro’s doing down there – the way his lips wrap so perfectly around him as he takes Ren's dick properly into his mouth, and the pretty hollow of his cheeks as he sucks. “That feels so good...”

Snorting softly through his nose, Goro pulls back up off him, sends an unimpressed, haughty look his way that pretty much says, ‘yes, and?’, and then actually says, “Don’t you think there are better things you could be doing with that mouth of yours? Or have you missed the point of what we're doing entirely?”

Ren thinks for a moment about pushing his luck, to see if, maybe, he can goad Goro into rolling them over and forcing the issue, but even just the idea is going to make him finish in about five seconds flat (and Ren might kind of get off on being bullied by Goro, but he really doesn't want it to be for something that lame), so maybe he should just keep his mouth shut.

Figuratively speaking.

Turns out, blowing someone while they’re also sucking you off at the same time is actually kind of hard – especially when you enjoy doing it as much as Ren does – but hey, he’s a fast learner, and he’s always been great at multitasking.

And usually there's this kind of imbalance, right? Where one of them (usually Goro, let's be real) is more in charge than the other, but right now it feels like they're on more equal footing, and that makes Ren want to win. To do that, he needs to outlast Goro here. Though, he has to admit that he doesn't know how realistic he's being when every time he tries one of his usual tricks – the ones he knows make his boyfriend’s toes curl – he ends up having to deal with how good it feels to then have Goro literally moan around his dick, the sound of it vibrating its way right into his balls.

But still, he's doing okay – he's keeping it together – more or less – and he even regains some much-needed ground when something falls to the floor up near Goro's end of the bed with a jarring ‘thunk’. He doesn't know what it was (and also doesn't really care, honestly), but the distraction helps to pull him back from the edge.

It's only when, a few minutes later, one of Goro's fingers circles his asshole, and it's so wet and slippery that it can't be covered with anything other than lube, that Ren realises what was going on. That the noise he heard was something getting knocked over when his apparently-just-as-good-at-multitasking boyfriend was grabbing the little tube off the bedside table, without even breaking rhythm.

He wasn't really being serious when he accused Goro of cheating at their little game earlier, he thinks – somewhat helplessly, as two deft fingers work their way inside of him – but this? This just isn't fair.

Ren has to say something, so he pulls back enough to catch his breath and ask, “What? Afraid I was gonna win?”

Goro Akechi is a liar, nobody knows this better than Ren, but still, he's caught off guard by the sheer ballsy magnitude of this next one – when Goro takes a break from suckling so nicely on the head of his dick to blink back at him in bright, false surprise and say, “Oh? At what? I wasn't aware that we were competing.”

Ren barks a disbelieving laugh, or at least he tries to, because that's when Goro hooks his fingers just right, and the sound turns into more of a pained wheeze.

Yeah, no, he's cooked – stick a fork in him, he's done.

And Goro, of course, knows it – languidly licking and mouthing at Ren’s dick through the widest, shittiest smirk. “I'm almost flattered to have rendered you so entirely and utterly useless, Ren,” he gloats, and curls his fingers again. Spots bloom and dance in front of Ren's eyes. “But you haven't forgotten your manners, have you?”

Yeah, he is kind of supposed to be doing more than just hanging onto Goro's thigh for dear life while he tries not to just immediately lose it, isn't he? Swallowing thickly, he eyes the ridiculously perfect dick that's still twitching demandingly in his face, and grabs it by the base. Time to get back to work. He opens his mouth, presses his tongue flat against the head, and is just starting to slide back down when Goro’s hips hitch forward impatiently at the same time, gliding down his tongue and going so deep he actually hits the back of Ren’s throat.

Flushing hot all over, he tries to cough – can’t – gags instead – and – and – oh – oh, shit! Through the roar of blood in his ears, he thinks he might hear Goro start to apologise before he cries out in surprise as Ren’s dick goes off in his hand, and then feels how he hurries to get his mouth back over him after probably taking the first two spurts to the face.

Moaning around the dick that's still throbbing and leaking precum in his mouth, feeling his ass flutter around those sneaky, clever fingers, Ren shivers and shakes as Goro works him through it with his tongue.

Once he can see straight again – and while feeling the weirdest mixture of blissed-out and embarrassed – he croaks, “Sorry… uh, did I get you?”

“Two centimetres to the left, and it would've been in my eye,” Goro answers, simple and unconcerned. Ren looks, but can't see anything other than the light sheen of sweat on his boyfriend's beautiful, flushed face – that sucks, he must have already wiped it off. Goro sighs then, sounding theatrically put upon, and moves like he's getting ready to change up their positions. “Aren’t we lucky you have such a short refractory period?”

Head a whole lot more clear than it was only a second ago, Ren’s back on his game, and there's no way he's going to just take that lying down. Goro is starting to sit up, and, taking advantage of the fact it's left him slightly off balance, Ren shoves at his chest, knocking him down onto his back. Before he can react, Ren gets him by the hips again and digs his thumbs in, putting all of his weight into pinning him properly to the mattress.

“What are-?!” Goro yelps, already trying to buck him off and roll free. He deflates and relaxes pretty quickly, though, when Ren swallows him back down.

The back of his throat still feels kind of uncomfortable, so Ren doesn’t push it like he usually would. Mostly working the base of Goro’s dick, and his balls, with his hands while he sucks and licks at the head. And even though, only a moment ago, Goro was acting all cocksure and like he was still totally in control, it probably takes all of three minutes before he's swearing and trembling and spilling into Ren's mouth with a rattly moan.

Swallowing happily, Ren smiles up at his boyfriend and places a cheeky little kiss on the sharp line of his hip bone. “You were saying?”

“Ugh... shut up…”

…

They kind of have to start over again after that, but, Ren supposes, that’s the one (and probably only) benefit of getting up so early. They still have plenty of time. Lying face down on the bed, he stretches languidly, shivering a little when Goro settles between his legs and starts lazily fingering him open again.

The thing is, Ren doesn’t really feel like he needs it – feels like he’s more than ready to move onto the ‘main event’, so to speak, and he says as much. Goro doesn’t stop, though, or seems like he's in any hurry to move, just making a thoughtful humming sound under his breath as he slips in a second finger.

“Hmm, we could… but, you know, I’ve been thinking…” And, well, this is either going to be very good or very bad for Ren. He can't decide which one he wants more. “You’ve been so gracious – and so very humble – about being able to make me come using only this-” Ren groans and bites his lip as Goro presses down on that spot inside of him that makes his thighs shake and his vision go all blurry. “Well, I can’t really allow you to return home without also returning the favour, can I?”

“I don’t know if I even can-”

“Nonsense, I’ve done some reading on the subject, and-”

“What?” Ren laughs, incredulous, as he imagines Goro sitting up in bed last night, hunched over his phone, all-serious, as he hoovered up every little detail he could find online about prostate massage.

“And, while it might take a while, you know that I’m nothing if not dedicated.”

More like obsessive, Ren thinks, but it’s not like he doesn’t love it, so he just shrugs and settles in. “Okay, sure, show me what you’ve got.”

Time goes a bit loose around the edges after that. Ren's perception reduced to nothing but the sound of their breathing, the push and pull of nimble fingers, and a melting, almost unbearable heat spreading slowly through his gut.

But it's… it’s not enough. Maybe it would be if they started with this, but Ren needs – he needs something – anything – it’s not – he can’t-

Desperate, he rolls his hips down against the mattress, mindlessly searching for some kind of friction, and then cries out in surprise and pain when teeth suddenly sink into his ass cheek.

“Get your hips up,” Goro snarls, slapping his ass this time instead of biting it. The next curl of his fingers is way rougher than before, like he's so pissed he's going to try and pull Ren up off the bed himself with them. “I didn’t think I’d have to explain to you that humping the mattress like a bitch in heat wasn’t acceptable.”

Ears burning, Ren pushes himself up onto wobbly elbows and knees. He doesn't think he's ever felt so exposed. With his ass in the air, and his dick hanging, heavy and useless, between his legs. Biting back a whimper, he buries his head in the pillow to try and hide how red he knows he must be.

“Much better,” Goro almost coos, humming appreciatively as he runs his free hand – firm, affectionate, and possessive – over the skin of Ren’s thighs, his ass, his lower back. “If only you could see yourself, Ren. You really are so beautiful like this.”

“Please, Goro,” he tries, hoping that if he asks nicely, maybe his boyfriend will take pity on him and put him out of his misery. “I need… I-I…”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Ah! Yes…”

“Do you want me to ruin you?”

“Yes!”

“Then you can tap into a little of that famous Joker adaptability and come on my fingers first, can’t you?”

It’s the kind of jab that Ren would usually find funny, but all it does now is make him feel even more desperate – and humiliated – and, somehow, also determined. He bites his lip and focuses again on the feeling burning low in his belly – it’s almost enough, like all he really needs is for Goro to run a finger up the length of his dick at this point for him to lose it.

Warm lips caress the sore spot where he was bitten earlier, whispering soft, sweet words of encouragement against his skin between kisses, but Ren knows it's only the calm before the storm. Those sharp teeth come out again, sinking hungrily back into his flesh, and finally – finally – the confusing combination of love, and pain, and the fingers still stroking relentlessly at his insides, all come together just right, and Ren’s world turns to hot, blurry static.

Goro bites down even harder for a second, making an almost animalistic sound of triumph between his teeth before he growls, “I knew you could fucking do it!”

Elbows buckling, Ren pitches forward into the pillow – a quaking, moaning mess – his eyes rolling back into his head as the weirdest orgasm he's ever had crashes over him in waves. It's intense, and disorienting, and it just keeps going – feeling like it stretches on for forever – his asshole spasming around Goro’s fingers while his dick jumps and pulses in time, dribbling a steady, weak stream of cum onto the mattress beneath him.

He feels like he's been hollowed out when it's finally over, groaning deeply as he collapses back down onto the bed completely. Sprawled out on his stomach, Ren feels so much like his brain's come out his dick at this point that he hardly even cares that he's lying right in the wet patch that he just made. All he can really do is shiver and moan weakly when Goro straddles his hips and slides the head of his dick across his hole – pushing down just enough to catch at the rim, but not enough to actually press inside.

“Are you still with me?” he asks, chuckling softly. He sounds calm, but even if he wasn't still grinding, slowly and insistently, against Ren, the way his fingers are digging into his hip would be a dead giveaway that he doesn't have it anywhere near as together as it seems.

More importantly, though, he's also checking to see if Ren’s good to keep going.

Coming three, or sometimes even four, times in a row isn't something that Ren usually has too much trouble with, but they literally only just went four rounds in the Metaverse last night, and that last one, just now, really took it out of him.

None of that means he's ready to tap out, though.

“I don't think I'll be able to, uh, get there a third time…” Ren manages, “but I said it earlier, right?” Or more, Goro made him say it, but that's definitely a ‘six of one, half a dozen of the other’ situation, and also so very not important right now. “I want you to fuck me.”

And he really would have liked to play that up a little bit – give Goro a sexy little look over his shoulder maybe – but, honestly, he doesn't think he could move if he tried. Still, though, he hits his mark. Making Goro grind down a little harder and suck in a sharp breath between his teeth.

When Goro slides in, he does it slowly, like he's being careful, but Ren is so lubed up and basically boneless at this stage that his body doesn't fight the intrusion at all – just opens up and takes everything Goro has to give.

Sleepy, satisfied, and so full he can hardly string two thoughts together, Ren makes a pillow for himself by folding his arms under his chin, inadvertently turning his head to the right in the process, and then immediately finds himself coming face to face with their reflections in the standing mirror across the attic.

And, okay, wow. Feeling it is one thing, but it's something else entirely to be able to see it all at the same time – how Goro is basically doing the filthiest press-ups over him, each one ending in him bottoming out fully in Ren’s body. His thrusts are fluid and insanely controlled, a smooth, dirty grind that makes the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex so beautifully that Ren’s dick seems to forget all about how it's supposed to be down for the count, twitching hopefully against the damp sheet beneath him.

It only gets worse – or better – when Goro leans down to start kissing and biting at his shoulders and the back of his neck, and every oversensitive, raw inch of Ren starts filling back out again.

He braces one knee against the mattress, giving him enough traction to push back into the next thrust as best he can. Goro laughs in surprise – manic and breathless – only stopping what he's doing just long enough to shift his weight back onto his knees at the same time he gets both of his arms under Ren’s armpits and pulls. Eyes going wide, Ren feels his spine bend like a bowstring for a terrifying, thrilling second before he’s dragged fully up off the bed, drawn in close, until he's flush against Goro’s chest. His head lolls back against Goro's shoulder, a groan rumbling somewhere deep in his chest when a hand comes to rest at the base of his throat, applying just enough pressure to keep him there as Goro fucks back into him.

And the angle’s a little awkward now, but Ren’s still watching it all in the shiny, polished glass across the attic.

Goro notices. “Where are you looki-?” he starts, but then their eyes meet in the mirror and a nasty smirk creeps its way across his face. “Is this why you're hard again – even after coming twice already? You like watching me use you like this?”

Ren can't answer, he can't even nod, all he can do is moan, and then nearly sob when his prostate gets nailed on the next thrust.

The Goro in the mirror’s eyebrows come together, concern flickering across his face, and the hold he has Ren in loosens slightly.

Hurrying to reassure him, Ren gasps out, “No, it's – feels good – don't stop – don't – ah-ah!”

Watching him in the mirror now with something approaching awe, Goro releases his arm and grabs a fistful of hair to keep him steady instead. “Touch yourself – hah-” The commanding, steady tone he's usually so good at holding when they’re like this finally faltering when Ren’s body clenches and shudders around him in response to the bright pain sparking across his scalp. “I want – fuck – I want to see you come again.”

“I can't, Goro, I ca-”

“You can – I know you can!”

Hand fluttering shakily to his dick, Ren hisses through his teeth when the first tug makes something spike through him that hurts almost as much as it feels good. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to stop and begging him to keep going at the same time – to chase the pleasure that feels like it's dancing somewhere just out of reach.

Goro is fucking into him even harder now, whispering a steady “Come on, come on, come on,” into the back of his neck as he suckles and bites at the skin there.

And, Ren doesn't know how, but he does – shaking and crying out in surprise as much as pleasure as every muscle in his lower body seems to spasm and contract at once. It feels incredible – it feels like dying – his dick pulsing and throbbing so intensely that it's nearly unbearable. The cum that streaks across his trembling fist is watery and almost clear, and an odd sense of pride swells in Ren's chest along with the satisfaction and the bone-deep relief. His body has nothing left to give, but it doesn't matter – it's doing it anyway, because that's what Goro wants.

“Oh, Ren, look at you – fucking magnificent – I told you – I told you – I – fu-uh-uck!”

Goro buries himself even deeper, making a wounded sound into the side of Ren's neck as he empties into his body with a long, drawn out shudder.

Probably the most exhausted he's ever been in his life, Ren almost tips forward, but strong hands are there to catch him – to come around the front of his chest and ease him down instead, until he's facedown on the bed again. So fucked-out and dopey that he nearly doesn't notice when Goro slips out of him and flops down onto the bed too.

Letting his eyes slide closed, he feels gentle fingers brush some of the hair back from his face and then the soft press of lips to his forehead. “You haven’t fallen asleep again, have you?” Goro asks, and then laughs when Ren only manages to grunt in response. “Though, it is still early… perhaps you should.”

“Mmmm… maybe…” Ren hums, and has to work very hard not to just drift off at the suggestion. “Stay with me…?”

Huffing another soft laugh, Goro scoots closer. “I'm not going anywhere.”