Chapter Text
Akira dreams.
He’s in Leblanc, the café illuminated by the soft and warm colors of the sunset filtering through the windows. Despite still being a couple hours from closing time, the café is silent except for the gentle whirling of the coffee machine and the steady ticking of the clock.
Sojiro had left to get groceries, so Akira raises his eyes to look at the only other person in the place. “What are you reading, detective?” he asks, his voice sounding too loud for the stillness of the café, yet not loud enough to drown out the heavy thumps of his heartbeat.
Akechi jolts slightly at the noise, but gathers himself quickly and gives him a small smile. “The Hero with a Bow,” he says, tilting the cover in Akira’s direction. “I thought it’d be a good idea to do a little reading since I’m the newest member. I wouldn’t want to slow the team down.”
Akira remembers the way Akechi had flipped through the air and defeated two enemies mid-air just earlier that day, the way Akechi sometimes twirls his gun around dramatically before shooting Shadows in the face, and thinks that Akechi’s continuous desire to prove himself is just a little bit endearing and a whole lot unnecessary, because the Phantom Thieves all know that he’s planning to betray them in a couple days, and because the Phantom Thieves all know that their leader somehow knows all this and is enamored with the detective anyway.
Akira wipes his hands on his apron and leans on the counter. “What’s the book about?” said leader asks despite having read the exact book on the way to school just a week ago.
“Hm,” Akechi says in a way that makes it obvious that he has a lot of opinions on the matter. “I’m not that far into it, so I’m not sure how accurate of a summary I could give.”
“Anything’s fine,” Akira shrugs, and he means it, because it’s not like he’s going to pretend that listening to Akechi’s voice isn’t the goal of this whole thing. “Serenade me, detective.”
Akechi hesitates for a second, but then launches into a passionate ramble which is honestly impressive for someone who seems to have only read the first quarter of the book. Akechi’s voice normally has a tint of snark when he’s in public that is noticeably absent when he sits in Leblanc and drinks Akira’s coffee and serenades Akira with tales of filling out paperwork, and the sound never fails to make Akira smile.
He’s still smiling with he gets the sudden feeling of Futaba’s listening bug somehow radiating waves of disappointment and disapproval in his direction, so he shoots a half-hearted glare somewhere in its general vicinity and goes back to staring dreamily at Akechi’s mouth as it moves to form unintelligible syllables.
A couple minutes later, Akechi finishes making all his points and takes a deep breath, face a little flushed. He looks at Akira expectedly. “What do you think, Kurusu?” he asks.
Akira blinks at him, and Akechi stares back patiently. It is a good thing that all his friends have come to understand that sometimes it takes him a little while to respond, which comes in handy in this situation as his mind scrambles to pick a suitable answer despite not comprehending anything that has been said.
“I think,” he says after a bit, drumming his fingers along the counter. “That he was a hero, in the end.”
“Interesting,” Akechi says, putting down his empty cup and folding his hands, resting his chin on top of them. Akira wants to reach out and hold them. “Many people would say that he’s a villain, no?”
Akira shrugs nonchalantly, stirring the coffee pot just to have something to do with his hands, but he makes sure to meet Akechi’s eyes when he says, “You can be both a hero and a villain at the same time, can’t you?”
Akechi stares at him in surprise for a couple moments before letting out a small laugh. It’s not the laugh that he does on television, all sweet and lovely and superficial, but it isn’t the self-deprecating laugh that he does when he talks about his past either. Akira hasn’t heard this laugh before, and wishes, not for the first time, that they had more time together so that he could decipher it.
Outside, the remaining sunlight filters through the window, the sun setting on yet another day counting down to the deadline of Sae Niijima’s palace. To the day of the Phantom Thieves disbandment. To the day Akechi shoots him in the face.
But inside the café, time seems to have frozen, the dim lighting of Leblanc illuminating the soft edges of the two boys comfortably conversing near the counter. Akira leans down slightly and copies Akechi’s pose, receiving a small quirk of the lips in return, and wishes just this once, to any god that might be listening, for this moment to last just a little bit longer.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Akechi says, smiling slightly. “You really are fascinating, Kurusu.”
And then he snaps the book shut and slaps him across the face.
Akira blinks his eyes open and sees Akechi peering down at him in disapproval. “Don’t slow me down.”
He can still feel the sting of the slap on his left cheek, the hollow emptiness as the peaceful dream of Leblanc disappears from his mind, and he manages a crooked smile. “Going easy on me, detective? Thought you said you’d use your left hand from now on.”
Akechi narrows his eyes and opens his mouth, but whatever he had been planning to say gets cut off as Sumire launches herself into his field of view.
“Senpai!” she calls, and Akira notes with vague disappointment that Akechi has turned to retreat to the safe distance away from the group that he often holds himself at while they’re not in battle. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he yawns, feeling the remaining traces of the sleep spell still lingering in his body. “Sorry about that. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“He didn’t have to slap you that hard,” Ryuji mumbles behind him. It reminds Akira of the time when Ryuji had barely dodged a brainwashing spell only for Akechi to slap him in the face by instinct anyway. There had been a lot of stink eye on the way back home.
Akira hides a fond smile behind his hand.
Ann hops over and nudges him gently in the ribs. “Good dream?” she teases. “You were asleep for awhile.”
“Leblanc,” he shrugs, not really in the mood to reiterate his sad fantasies about a certain detective while said detective was only a few paces away, and that seems to be a good enough of an answer for her anyway.
They continue through the palace, the white rooms starting to blend into each other. They’ve made decent progress today. Akira does a quick sweep around and notes that the rest of his team has started lagging a little. He wonders if the endless monochrome feeling that makes the palace seem too eerily perfect is starting to wear on them a bit.
“This is why you should never use light mode,” Futaba murmurs under her breath, eyes darting around. “Joker, there’s a safe room ahead.”
“Got it,” Akira nods. “Let’s check this area one last time and then call it a day.”
A chorus of agreement meets his statement, the rest of the Phantom Thieves already chatting excitedly amongst themselves, discussing plans to do after they get back to the real world. Akira sighs tiredly and tries not to think of easier times, when Goro Akechi was just a smiling and interesting detective who just happened to be plotting Akira’s murder, compared to the layers and layers of complex feelings masquerading as a human being that he was now.
Akira scans the area and notices a well-hidden treasure chest behind a couple of bookcases. He gestures to the rest of the team, and without looking behind him to check who is following, makes a beeline for it. He wants to get this over with, and he won’t admit it to anyone other than himself, but the palace has been draining him to the point where he’s gotten careless enough to be hit by low level sleep spells.
Whether it’s from the immense relief he feels every time he sees Akechi not dead, or the crippling guilt he feels when he sometimes sees the Phantom Thieves stare vacantly at nothing and mourn what they could’ve had—what Akira stole away from them—he’s not sure.
He kicks the treasure chest open and feels a presence hovering near his left shoulder, close enough to touch but never touching. It’s Akechi, then. Akechi, who used to say that he was the most amazing and interesting person in the world at least five times a conversation. Akechi, who used to do a rather endearing little stilted dance every time after a powerful attack, and then pretended not to notice the rest of the Phantom Thieves rolling their eyes behind his back.
Akechi, who no longer pretends anymore and is staring at him with narrowed eyes as Akira fishes out the treasure from the chest. “I’m amazed you saw the chest from all the way over there,” Akira hears an Akechi from the distant past say, all flowery. “You always exceed my expectations.”
“Are we done here?” is what Akechi really asks, looking bored and disinterested.
“Yeah,” Akira hums. And then tacks on, “Jazz club tonight?”
Akechi lets out a huff that sounds way too annoyed for someone that has been accepting the invitation every night anyway. He opens his mouth, probably to ask like he does every night if Akira really has nothing better to do, but then he notices the treasure that Akira’s still clutching in his hand.
He grabs at Akira’s wrist and stares down at the pair of ruby earrings. “That’s,” he says, his voice sounding rather forced. His mouth snaps shut.
“Akechi?” Akira prods worriedly. There is a look in the other boy’s eyes that Akira isn’t sure he likes. It’s not sadness, but it’s not exactly… pleasant, either.
“Akira,” Akechi says. He still hasn’t looked up from the earrings. “I—”
Whatever he was about to say gets cut off by a loud yell behind them. “Shadows!” he hears Futaba yell, and Akira feels himself effortlessly melt back into his Joker persona. The hand on his wrist falls away as he pulls out his daggers and jumps into the fray, already barking out orders.
The fight doesn’t last very long, thanks to the combined efforts of Haru and Makoto dealing the final blow. Akira watches the two girls laugh and hi-five each other and feels an overwhelming amount of pride well up inside him, at all of them, who had lost so much yet kept fighting.
“Joker!” Morgana’s poking at his leg, his eyes shining excitedly. “What was in the chest? Was there anything good?”
“Yeah, these.” He holds out the earrings for Morgana to coo over. “Hey, Akechi, are you oka—”
He turns around and stares at the pile of Akechi’s clothes laying on the floor next to the bookcase. There’s something squirming inside, and Akira can see a small tuft of brown hair peeking out from above the opening of the shirt.
“Akechi?” he says a little too loudly, catching the attention of the rest of the thieves. He ignores their hushed questions and walks over a little too fast to be considered normal. “Are you hurt? Why are you in regular clothes again? Are you—”
Akira stops dead in his tracks and stares. Behind him, he can hear the other thieves gasp in surprise when the pile of clothing squirms around some more and a small head pokes out.
“Hello,” the boy says, looking no older than eight. He is absolutely swimming in Akechi’s clothes. His eyes dart between all of them, fear evident behind his gaze, and does his best to give them all a wobbly sort of grin. Akira has worked with enough children to know that it is a telltale sign of someone trying to appear brave.
“Hello!” Ann recovers first, her voice coming out too loud and forced. Akira frowns as the boy noticeably flinches, his eyes watering up. “What’s your name?”
The boy looks down at the black gloves that form a blanket over his small hands. “I’m Goro,” he says softly. “W-where am I? Are you Mom’s friends?”