Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“In the dream I don't tell anyone, you put your head in my lap…”

— Richard Siken, Crush

Akira doesn’t really know what to expect from Akechi’s apartment. He mistakenly assumes it will be furnished at the very least. As he waits for Akechi to unlock his door, bouncing from one foot to the next, he imagines something minimalistic, but warm. A place he could see Akechi in.

Instead, when the door is opened, the sight that greets him is much different. Spartan-like. The walls are bare. The lights are off. When Akechi flicks them on, the overheads are only a touch away from fluorescent. A couch, a single television, and the kitchen space is not much better.

Akira steps inside. Akechi is undoing his scarf. He hangs his coat up on a peg with his briefcase set beneath it.

“Wow, and I thought Leblanc’s attic was sparse.” Really, attic-trash? While Akechi was living like this? Alright.

Akechi rolls his eyes. “Coffee?”

Akira hums in response and Akechi leaves for the small kitchen area. Akira runs a hand along the couch. The fabric was scratchy, worn even. How many late nights has Akechi had?

The beeping of a microwave interrupts his musing. Akechi is dumping instant coffee packets into two cups. Akira’s mouth ticks up into a smile.

He has the thought to take out his phone, swiping for the camera app. “Strike a pose.” Akira takes the photo before Akechi can react. It comes out well, in his opinion, even if he wasn’t any Yusuke when it came to the aesthetics of composition.

In the photo Akechi is at his counter, leaning over two steaming mugs. His face is blank, apart from a little furrow in his brow Akira can recognize as concentration. Even in the harsh lighting, it looks… nice.

“Delete that,” Akechi grumbles. His arms are crossed, set on the counter. “If you have any more candid photos of me, I’m finishing what I started back in November.” 

Akira ignores this, laughing and pockets his phone. He takes one of the mugs. It smells good. It doesn’t taste like bad instant coffee either, but it wasn’t Blue Mountain or anything. Still, he savors the cup, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic.

“Why? You look nice in it.” Akechi glares at him. It would be more scary if they weren’t in his apartment drinking instant coffee together, planning to infiltrate Akira’s old school therapist’s Palace together in the morning.

Akechi shakes his head, taking up his own mug. They sit in silence, but it doesn’t feel bad. It’s nice. Calm. Better than the off-kilter, sick feeling Akira’s been bathing in lately. Ever since Maruki’s “reality” came into existence.

“You can take the couch,” Akechi sets down his mug. The last dredges of his coffee grounds stick to the white ceramic like mud. “I have extra clothing if you need to change.”

“A shower?” Akira asks.

Akechi nods. He leaves and in the time it takes for him to come back, Akira has finished his own cup of coffee. He likes Akechi’s choice in instant coffee. Better than the kind Akira used to drink back home. Akechi is carrying a bundle of clothing in his arms.

Akira takes the offered sleeping clothes. Akechi’s extra few centimeters of height really showed through in their clothing sizes. He’s given what he thinks is a band shirt of all things and sweats.

“I’m going to sleep,” Akechi says. He’s changed into different clothes as well. A worn shirt with a print Akira can’t make out has replaced his past undershirt. Akira thinks it looks good on him.

He clears his throat. “Right. I’ll take my shower.”

The shower calms whatever was left of his panic from the week. He turns it up warm, then cold, and then warm again. Feeling guilty about Akechi’s water bill after what has to be at least an hour, he turns off the shower.

He towels off and dresses. There are blankets and pillows on the couch when he steps out. Akira lets a warm, silly feeling settle over him before setting up a makeshift bed. Akira switches the lights off and falls asleep.

*

The morning after is very similar to the night before. Akechi makes two cups of instant coffee. They drink them in silence. The morning is cold and Akechi tells him that his heater has been broken since the beginning of January. Akira offers to fix it.

They spend an hour in each others’ company doing just this. Akira lets the act of fixing something carry his thoughts. He finds himself missing Morgana during it. Usually, his friend would be here to point out areas of improvement or changes to his work for cleanliness’s sake.

Unfortunately, his Thieves are currently indisposed.

There’s the sound of a camera shuttering and Akira looks up from the screw he’s replacing. Akechi has his phone in hand, level with Akira’s face.

“Did you just…” Akira starts.

Akechi hums, clicking off his phone and pocketing it. “Are you done yet?”

Akira sputters. “You just took a photo of me!”

“Oh dear. Turnabout. Whatever will you do.” Akechi rolls his eyes.

Akira stares. He throws his screwdriver at him and Akechi’s eyes narrow. Soon, they’re rolling around in the ground. Neither of them get a good enough grip to hold each other down for long.

Akechi gets a good punch in and Akira elbows him in the neck. They silently return to their repair job.

The heater is plugged back in and flashes triumphantly to life. Akira grins, looking down at his handiwork. Akechi crouches down next to it, his hands outstretched.

He looks soft in the warm glow of the heater. Akira sneaks his phone out and takes a photo. He ignores the death glare Akechi sends him in response to crouch down and warm his own hands.

He’s kicked out of Akechi’s apartment soon after, but his hands are warm and the photos in his camera roll have a goofy smile tugging at his lips.

It makes walking back home a bit easier, even if his friends aren’t the same when he’s back.

Akechi sends him the photo from earlier. He’s sitting criss-cross with the heater propped up against his side, removing a screw with his tongue out. Akira looks stupid in it.

Akechi captions it with, ‘You look stupid in this.’

Akira sends him the two photos he’s taken. Akechi leaves him on read.

The warmth of the Jazz Club does indeed help against the chill of late January. Akira scrolls through his phone. He hasn’t ordered yet. He’s waiting on someone.

He sends Akechi a photo of the club. The singer is close to the microphone, her face soft but pinched in emotion. He likes this one, her voice is warm and baritone.

*

Kurusu Akira

Attachment:12646480006.img

ur late

Akechi Goro

Stop sending me photos.

I could care less.

Akechi Goro

On my way. 10 minutes.

I got caught by one of your friends.

Kurusu Akira

Attachment:12646480002.img

which one???

*

Akechi leaves him on read again. Akira sighs, clicking off his phone. The singer quiets down and pages are flipped. A new song begins to play. It’s softer.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Akechi arrives. He slides into the seat across from Akira. His face is red around the cheeks and he has that twitchy expression that makes him look pissed.

“Kind of you to finally grace me with your presence,” Akira says, smiling, and he locks eyes with the owner.

“I was… busy,” Akechi clears his throat. He turns his gaze downward, looking at the menu. “Have you ordered yet?”

Akira shakes his head. “I wanted to wait. It’d be rude if I had a drink and you didn’t.”

There’s a few warm options on the menu. Akira doesn’t trust the coffee here, but they do have hot chocolate. Which he finds odd, for a club, but it’s also cold and he wants something sweet. A rarity for him.

“How about I order for us?” Akechi raises his eyes from the menu. “Well,” Akira shrugs. “You usually order for us. I want a turn.”

Akechi takes a moment before he leans back in his chair. He still looks tense. “I— whatever. Just… nothing stupid. I don’t need this place ruined by you as well.”

Ouch. Ow. Okay, painfully put. Thank you, Akechi. Akira greets the host when he comes over. He orders two hot chocolates and Akechi gives him a look.

“Ah, nice to see you two order something childish for once,” the host nods, stepping away to go prepare their drinks. Akechi looks offended. Akira snorts into his hand.

“Come on, Akechi. Don’t tell me you hate hot chocolate?” Akira wiggles his eyebrows.

There’s silence. Akira does his best not to sweat under the glare he’s receiving. It doesn’t take much effort. Akechi wouldn’t start that big of a fight here.

Akechi clears his throat. “I’ve never tried it before. We will see if your pick is any good. If it isn’t, we go back to my choices on the menu.”

Akira frowns a little, picking his smile back up when Akechi raises a brow. It was just… really? Not even once? Hot chocolate. Never?

“See, that’s messed up though. How come I get a single chance when I’ve disliked…” Ah, he hasn’t disliked any of Akechi’s drink choices. The jerk in front of him must know this because he’s got that predator smile beneath his scarf.

The host saves him this time. Two cups of hot chocolate are set between them. Akira thanks him and the host just shrugs, a smile on his face. Akira wonders what he thinks of the two of them.

Akechi is eyeing the beverage like it will kill him. Was it the childish comment that had him on edge?

“Y’know, Sojiro made me and Futaba hot chocolate. He even drank it himself, but he doesn’t really like sweet things.” Akira takes a sip of his drink. It’s done well. It’s thicker than Sojiro had made it, but it feels comforting and yeah, like he’s a kid again. “Just try it, Akechi.”

Akechi sighs, moving to collect his cup. Akira watches him drink, well, until he starts to feel embarrassed about watching Akechi drink something he ordered. He doesn’t miss the slight softening of Akechi’s features or how he doesn’t put the cup down for a while. The rim is still touching his lips as he speaks.

“It’s… acceptable,” Akechi continues to drink his hot chocolate, watching the singer and the brass behind her perform. He looks nice in this lighting, his face less world-weary than usual. Akira thinks he’s always been like that here.

He takes a photo of him. There’s a bit of hot chocolate on the corner of his mouth. His hair is slightly tousled from the winter winds. He looks both tired and… content with his cup in hand. 

It makes Akira’s heart ache.

He should not have it this bad for a guy who tried to kill him. Regardless, Akira looks away when Akechi levels his stare on him after he hears the camera shutter.

“What are you doing?” Akechi sets his cup down.

Akira shrugs. “I scrapbook.”

Akira is so lucky there’s no silverware on the table.

They finish their drinks in silence, but the conversation has to start up again at some point. Akechi is fiddling with his cup.

“Ann stopped me on the way here. Any idea why?” Akechi’s cheeks are pink again and Akira doubts it’s from the cold.

“Um,” Akira tugs at his bangs. “Depends on what she wanted to talk to you about? I mean, they know I’m hanging out with you.” He holds up his phone and wiggles it. “Group chat, remember?”

Akechi nods. “Quite. You are all very annoying, both over text and outside of it.”

Akira snorts. Whatever. Akechi had joined in with some of the good-natured ribbing. Akira has screenshots and Futaba has logs. 

“So, what did Ann want?” 

The blush on Akechi’s cheeks couldn’t be a yearning Akira hallucination at this point. “She asked about… you. That’s all. Wanted to know what we were doing.”

“She’s probably worried about me. They all are. I’m acting weird to them, running around and asking if their relatives had died or if things happened that haven’t happened in this reality,” Akira rubs at his neck. “We’ll see if I even got through to them. Haha.”

“Right,” Akechi clears his throat. His expression changes, it’s harsher now, more of a frown than neutral nothing or a genuine smile. “Well, don’t get your hopes up. I assume they would rather stay in Maruki’s false reality rather than go back to the real world. They’re weak-willed comparatively.”

Akira shakes his head. They’ve had this argument… discussion… whatever it was before already. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“I suppose so.”

Their visit in the club with each other ends soon after, but Akira walks with Akechi to the station. They’re going the same way. It makes sense.

Akechi’s hands are in his pockets. He sort of looks like a fluffed up bird in the cold. A fluffy crow. Akira laughs to himself and Akechi just stares at him. He sobers up quickly after that.

“The…” Akechi shakes his head. “The photos, Akira. What’s with them truly?”

I realized I don’t have any of you from before. I realized I missed you and there was nothing I had of you to remember you by apart from old equipment and I didn’t want my last memories of you to be those of violence. I realized I missed you. I really missed you.

“I have photos of everyone, but I didn’t have any of you. I need more stupid shots for my scrapbooking, remember?” Akira grins, but it hurts a little.

“Oh, good. I expected some other sentimental reason that was worse than the one you just said.” Akechi rolls his eyes. “Well, I expect to see your scrapbook. ”

“Sure,” Akira turns to watch the train stop. They have to get on different routes. He has to leave Akechi.

Ignore it. It’s not the same.

Metal door. He can’t get to the other side. This is fucked up. This is fucked up.

Ignore that. His heart hurts.

There’s the sound of a camera. Akira raises a brow, turning to Akechi.

“You look stupid in this one too.” Akechi pockets his phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll send it to you. For your scrapbook.” There’s a small smile on his face. Similar to the competitive ones he gets when they’re playing darts or billiards.

Akira tries to ignore the desperate voice inside that wants to grab and kiss Akechi. He’s just lonely. That’s all it is. He just misses his friends.

“Good, I need more photos of myself. I’m beautiful.” Akira raises a hand under his chin, grinning.

Akechi shakes his head with an air of distaste. “You are incredibly unserious, Kurusu.”

“I strive to be.”

Akira takes his train, waving goodbye to Akechi. Akechi who stands there, in the cold, waves back.

*

Akechi Goro

Attachment:idiot.img

For your scrapbook.

Kurusu Akira

thx

appreciate it

i am very good at it

trust

Akechi Goro

I will have to make those judgments myself.

Maruki’s Palace tomorrow. 9am. Sharp.

Kurusu Akira

u want me to skip school??

i mean ok

but wow, mr prince detective

Akechi Goro

6am. Sharp.

Kurusu Akira

wtf

fr

akechi

hey

hey

man

You suck.

Attachment:12646480009.img

The Palace is… not hard for the two of them, but it’s taxing. Akira stumbles into a newly found safe room and downs almost twenty sodas in quick succession. 

Akechi is shoving packaged mochi into his mouth with the angriest expression Akira has ever seen a person eating mochi make.

If only his phone camera worked in the Metaverse. He would be so powerful. Sadly, Akira settles for tracing the image of Akechi with his eyes, smiling when he gets a look.

“We’re close to finding Maruki again,” Akechi says. He wipes a hand across his mouth. There’s still flour on his cheek. Akira stops his thoughts before they go anywhere… erm, lower.

“Yeah.” Akira rolls his shoulders. There’s an ache, building up regardless of the soda. “Yeah, we should be good to go.”

Akechi hums. He stretches his arms before leaning against the wall. His helmet clunks when it hits. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t need you becoming a liability in the fight ahead.”

Akira shakes his head, standing from where he’d flopped to the floor to drink his copious amounts of soda. “I won’t be.”

“Good.”

*

They’re booted out of Maruki’s Palace forcefully. Akira pushes down the nausea that swells when he lands on the concrete. Akechi rolls to his feet beside him.

Kasumi… Sumire… he wasn’t giving up on her. He let his heart ache a bit for his underclassman. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. She didn’t deserve the way Maruki used her to further his research either, no matter how badly she wanted it.

She’s on the ground. At least he’d succeeded in something. He misses the rest of the Phantom Thieves.

“That sucked,” Akira pulls himself to his own feet, stumbling a little when he realizes how exhausted he is. It’s more work when there’s only one other person to rely on… but then again, Akechi usually has nobody.

Akechi is on his phone, aggressively typing away at something. He barely looks up when Akira speaks. Akira slowly pulls out his phone, wincing at sore muscles, and takes a photo.

Akechi looks tired. Really tired. It softens his face in a way that makes his scowl look sleepy.

“Hey,” Akira clears his throat. “Your place is closer?”

Akechi finally looks up. He looks almost startled before that expression is folded away under a neutral stare. “Are you really that tired?”

A deadline looms over them. Akira has to fight yet another god. He feels sick. The person in front of him died a month ago. He’s hopelessly in love with the guy who tried to kill him and then sacrificed himself instead.

Yes, he’s fucking exhausted. It must show on his face because Akechi just blinks and starts walking. Akira trails behind, picking up Sumire via piggyback.

“February 3rd,” Akechi says, but it’s stilted and more of a reminder than any invitation to talk.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Akechi crosses his arms. “Your teammates haven’t come to their senses yet.”

No, Akira thinks, they haven’t. It feels a little like abandonment. A little like when his parents shipped him off to Tokyo. A bit like when they left on trips and didn’t come back for months and months.

It’s not the same, but the cramping in his stomach feels like hunger because he was six and he couldn’t cook over the stove.

“They will.” Soon. Soon, just later.

They take off their shoes. Akechi hands him a change of clothes. Akira places Sumire down on the couch, tucking her in. Akira showers. Akechi showers. 

“You can sleep in my bed,” Akechi says, drying his hair. Akira ignores any other connotations to that. He’s tired. They’re both tired.

Akira curls up under Akechi’s sheets and they each take a side. It’s comforting sleeping next to another person. He misses Morgana. Akira falls asleep before Akechi does.

Akechi doesn’t kick him out in the morning. He just sits at one of the stools by his counter. Sumire is still asleep. Akira assumes she will be for a while.

Akira sleepily approaches the fridge. There’s nothing in it. He opens the freezer. There are a couple of nasty freezer meals inside and Akira just looks at Akechi, who shrugs.

“Leblanc?” Akira asks. “I also have a… doctor we can take Sumire to, no questions asked.”

Akechi obliges. They take the train to Yongen-Jaya together. It’s cramped and they’re forced to huddle up against one another. Sumire is placed on a seat nearby, she looks like she’s napping. Akira takes a moment to memorize the freckles across Akechi’s cheeks.

They depart from the train and walk the short distance to Leblanc. They drop off Sumire by Takemi’s as they do. She just raises a brow and tells him that she’ll keep Sumire until she wakes up. Akira wishes he knew Sumire’s parents’ phone number.

The door chimes as they enter Leblanc, Sojiro greets them with a smile, and Futaba waves at them from the counter. She’s shoveling curry into her mouth. Wataba isn’t anywhere to be seen and a part of Akira is grateful for it.

Akechi seems to relax a bit. They take their seats at the counter. Sojiro sets down cups of coffee and plates of curry. Akechi tries to pay and Sojiro just rolls his eyes.

Akira eats his curry. Akechi just stares down at his plate.

“Not hungry?” Akira jostles the other with his shoulder. Akechi blinks, grabs his spoon and mechanically takes a bite of his food.

Futaba gives him a look and Akira just has to shrug and smile back. She raises a brow.

“You didn’t come back last night, Akira?” Futaba grins.

She better not be implying what he thinks she’s implying. Because… erm, well as much as Akira wouldn’t mind , per se, Akechi definitely would.

“Ah, yeah. We were out and about for a while. I crashed on Akechi’s couch.” He slept in Akechi’s bed actually. Which.. was weird. It’s a weird thought. He’s having trouble coming terms to it. So, he ignores it.

“You and Akechi have been hanging out a lot lately, huh?”

“Yep,” Akira sticks a spoon of curry in his mouth. 

Akechi finally joins the conversation. “We were discussing entrance exams.”

Akira nods. He hasn’t thought about entrance exams since his first year of high school. Maybe he should be. Thinking about them that is, but compared to killing god, his ideas about college were… 

“Just entrance exams? Really. Yeesh, you two are boring.” Futaba has given him an out.

“You’re not even in school.”

They fall into easy discussion and fake arguments and Sojiro has to tell them to quiet down multiple times. Akechi stays quiet throughout it all.

The sound of a camera shutter. Akira looks over. Akechi is busy storing his phone away. Futaba has gone, citing something about hanging out with her mom. Sojiro is in the back.

“It looks like I’m ahead of you, Kurusu.” Akechi grins, taking a sip of his coffee.

Akira laughs. “Is this a competition now? For my scrapbook?”

“We’re rivals, aren’t we?” 

Akira wants to kiss that stupid grin off his face, but Sojiro is in the back and Akechi is too busy drinking coffee. “Right, rivals.”

He picks his phone up from its place on the counter and wiggles it around. “You won’t be in first place for long.”

“Well,” Akechi says, his voice taunting. “We’ll just have to see.”

Chapter Text

“Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now?”

— Richard Siken, Wishbone

Akira invites Akechi for darts. Akechi accepts. He allows the quick flutter of butterflies for a moment before walking down to the station.

Akechi greets him and they head inside. Akechi chooses the 701 like always. Akira, who has spent around six months practicing darts in his off time and spending money on books and sets, throws three consecutive triple twenties.

Akechi raises a brow and does the same. Akira continues the pattern.

Down to 161.

Akechi hits three bullseyes. Straight in the middle of the dartboard. Akira takes a photo of him. Right as he’s throwing his third dart.

His arm is outstretched and Akechi looks unbothered. The only outward sign of concentration, a small furrow in his brow. 

The lighting in the building may be a tad sterile, but it doesn’t exactly wash out Akechi’s skin. It just makes him look even more natural in this environment.

“Really, Kurusu. A photo of me playing darts?” Akechi moves away, allowing Akira to take his place.

“Hey, I’ve got one of everybody else.” He doesn’t. He has a couple of group photos from playing darts, but nothing one-on-one. He pockets his phone.

He throws a single 11. It’s a quick game. They end up playing two more before it’s boring.

Parting ways doesn’t feel much like a goodbye anymore. Akira will end up seeing Akechi  tomorrow anyway.

Sumire is awake. She wakes up on the coldest day of January, back at home thanks to the emergency contact Takemi found in her wallet. It’s quiet for the next few days. 

Akechi refuses to stagnate their progress in Maruki’s Palace and Akira… doesn’t have much else to do, so he tags along each time.

There’s a week and five days until the deadline. Akira’s day-to-day life has become a blur. He’s not really sure when the last time he talked to someone other than Akechi properly was.

Eventually though, Sumire asks to meet up.

They end up walking around Kichijoji’s shops together. It reminds him of red frames and warmer temperatures. He wishes he ran hot, but his lanky frame does him dirty in that regard. At least he can bundle up.

“Senpai,” Sumire turns to him. Her hair is down now, glasses on her face, and Akira can see himself reflected in them. She looks more like herself somehow. “You and Akechi-san… you’re still going to defeat Maruki?”

Akira nods, leaning back on his heels. “Yep. Can’t do much else.”

“I see.” Sumire falls quiet again. That’s something he’s noticed at the very least. Sumire is very quiet. Akira doesn’t mind it. He’s pretty quiet himself, but he’s used to the cheery disposition from before.

He isn’t sure what Sumire wants from him. Just that he knows it was… wrong for her to continue living a lie, even if she had desperately wanted it. Was it wrong of him?

Sometimes he thinks the only thing the Phantom Thieves have done is impose their will on others. Akechi wasn’t wrong about a lot of things, but… Akira had to stick to his justice. Otherwise, what was the point of it all?

“You can join us, like before,” Akira says.

Sumire shakes her head. “Not yet… I need some… time. To figure out who I want to be first. Sumire… I need to find who I am.” Sumire does a sad little smile. “Is that alright, Senpai?”

Akira returns the smile. As much as he misses another pair of hands. Misses just one more person to turn to. He won’t force her to recover early. “Of course. Take your time.”

“Not too long though,” Sumire hastily corrects. “I want to help you and Akechi-san. I just need to figure things out first!”

He thinks he can understand. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He’s waiting on a lot of people. Ah, wait. “Hey, Sumire…”

She hums, an inquisitive frown on her face.

“Smile!” He takes a photo of himself holding up a peace sign, and Sumire, she’s got an embarrassed grin in it. The shops in the background are bright against their attire. It looks almost happy.

It reminds him of New Year’s, where something was slightly off. He keeps it.

Sumire spends a little bit looking at the photo before backing away. “What was that for, Senpai?”

“Ah, I’ve got this thing with Akechi—,” speak of the devil; his phone chimes. “Just—”

*

Akechi Goro

Mementos. Tomorrow. 4pm.

Attachment: idiot2.img

Kurusu Akira

would it Kill you to be slightly nicer

hey

stop leaving me on read

Attachment:12646480012.img

sumire woke up

*

Akira rolls his eyes and Sumire tilts her head.

“Just… nothing,” Akira sighs. “Akechi being Akechi.”

Sumire hums. “I’ve been wondering… Senpai, you and Akechi-san are quite close. Why do you still use each other’s last names?”

Because Akechi has a hang-up about getting too close while simultaneously getting close to me. Because Akira is a coward and doesn’t want to lose the one person on his side right now.

Because he can’t bother making it about him right now. He can’t be selfish.

“We need to maintain a sense of decorum,” Akira says. “We’re rivals after all.”

Sumire doesn’t look convinced. In fact, she looks downright doubtful. Cool. Great. Maybe his acting skills are getting rusty. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore.

“Rivals?”

Akira shrugs. “Yep.”

“Oh, alright then, Senpai,” Sumire says, her voice airy and almost teasing. “I’m sorry to have kept you for so long then.” Akira thinks it’s a bit of an odd choice of words, but… this is Sumire. Regardless of Maruki’s meddling and her stubborn belief in a lie, she’s a genuine person.

“No worries,” Akira stretches his arms out overhead. “It was nice to spend time with you. Uh, want me to walk you home?”

Sumire ducks her head with a rosy blush. “No need! I’ll be fine on my own!”

“Okay. Stay safe.”

Sumire nods, bowing once before leaving. Akira stands alone in the street. It’s cold. He hadn’t really noticed while talking with Sumire, but his fingers feel itchy. That’s probably not a good thing.

He brings them to his mouth. His lips are warm, almost achingly so against his hands.

For a moment, when people pass by him, he’s swept into the crowd. Another body in a moving machine. Akira feels like he’s drowning. Just a bit. Enough to feel uncomfortable.

His phone sits heavy in his pocket. He wonders, momentarily, if it’s dragging him further down. 

*

Kurusu Akira

hey

r u free

Akechi Goro

Not until the evening.

Why? 

We went through the plan while I triumphed over you at darts.

(He had not triumphed . What a braggart.)

Kurusu Akira

bored

so

wanna meet up

Akechi Goro

What’s in it for me?

As I truly do not care about your boredom of all things.

Kurusu Akira

has anyone ever told you 

that you sort of talk like an old man over text

Akechi Goro

And you speak like an infatuated toddler.

Kurusu Akira

ow

it was a joke 

we can get dinner at leblanc

?

Kurusu Akira

ik you have nothing better to do

cmon

do u rlly wanna eat a freezer meal

we even have feathermanx on cable

Akechi Goro

That is acceptable.

I will be there around 7pm.

Kurusu Akira

:)

*

Akechi takes a photo this time. When he sends it later, Akira can’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

He’s making coffee in it. He hadn’t really known what he looked like doing so, but the way Akechi has framed it looks… fond almost. Wistful, but that may just be the lighting Leblanc has. Warm tones, dark wood accents.

It leaves him thinking of before. Akechi’s ahead of him by one point.

There’s something about Maruki’s Palace that unsettles Akira greatly. This remains the same when he and Akechi journey down to the new growth in Mementos. It’s a bit like a living beating heart. You can feel it moving under your feet. 

Maruki’s additions to Mementos have them climbing up rather than descending further. 

Akira wonders if it has something to do with getting better. Something about moving up, towards something more. He also thinks he needs to stop finding so much meaning in actions from people who’ve lost their critical thinking skills. Or who have developed personality disorders.

He’s tired of god complexes and hero complexes, and all the complexes, but if he voices that aloud Akechi would tell him that Akira has one of those too. He isn’t sure what he has. Probably a mix of everything.

Somehow, he’s still the leader. A leader of one. Akechi trails behind him. God, why can’t he win in this as well? Everything else but this. 

He thinks maybe he’d taken Makoto for granted. Trusted her to do the mental legwork after a while. He doesn’t bother to plan. Things just have to get done.

Whatever.

They trudge up another floor. He misses Morgana.

The bright white walls combined with the sterile fluorescent lights are giving him a headache. They’re on one of the rest floors. Akira continues walking. Akechi raises an eyebrow, but follows.

If he was tired, Akechi would stop. Akira doesn’t have to baby him. Does he baby the others? Or is he too harsh on them? Is that why they’re not here yet?

He doesn’t bother to grab the stamp. It’s not like they’re coming back after this. They continue up a floor. And then another. And another.

Eventually, when they reach the end, and there’s a monitor room that has Akira’s head swimming, he stands back.

Akechi steps forward. 

Akira watches the destruction that Akechi unfolds. Maybe it’s cathartic somehow. He doesn’t know. Instead, he takes the time to rest his head for a bit, leaning against the wall.

He doesn’t feel too great. It’s becoming less of a habit to check in with himself, but when the room powers down and the lights finally flicker off, the immediate relief he feels is almost embarrassing.

“Well, that appears to have worked.” Akechi says. Akira can hear him step forward. “What is wrong with you?”

Akira snaps his eyes open. “What do you mean?” There’s a little twist in Akechi’s expression from what he can make out in the dim room. Is he… worried?

“That dumb look on your face,” which doesn’t help describe the problem. Akechi rolls his eyes. “I don’t care. Just don’t let whatever… this is,” Akechi gestures towards him, “interfere with our goal.”

Right. 

Akira blinks lazily. They got through fifteen floors in record time. They hadn’t encountered the Reaper. They succeeded. Akechi wasn’t making any sense.

Has he been… off?

“Sorry?” Akira settles on apologizing, but it seems to be a poor answer considering Akechi just scoffs.

“Whatever.” Akechi pushes past him. “Like I said, I don’t care.” Akira repeats this in his head a few times. It almost sounds like a lie, but he doesn’t call Akechi out in it. He just lets it settle between them awkwardly.

Akira hopes he never has to step foot in Maruki’s Mementos again.

He takes a nonstop approach to Maruki’s Palace. They don’t have anything blocking them from progressing now and he needed to be done with this. Akechi doesn’t complain. In fact, from what Akira can tell, he enjoys it.

Akira has never really taken mirth in infiltrating Palaces, but the way Akechi flings himself into battle has his heart racing. It’s interesting: the performance they put on together.

It was born first out of necessity, but somewhere between then and now, the cognition changed. It feels more fluid. It’s easier with Akechi somehow. He’s never felt this synchronized with anybody else. Not even Ryuji. 

It’s easy. That’s what he’s trying to wrap his head around. He doesn’t think it should be easy. Easy to picture lips on his or a hand on his chest. 

It feels wrong almost, when Akira’s time around Akechi is primarily when they are fighting (shadows or each other), to feel good around him. It feels wrong that he’s attracted to Akechi the most when he’s got a weapon in his hands.

The last shadow goes down with a well-placed shot. Akira holsters his pistol. Akechi readjusts his arm cuffs. They’re both panting; the blood from battle wicking away along with the shadow. 

He could kiss him right now. That dumb helmet is in the way, but Akira could kiss him. Pull him down by the collar or grab his face. Could frame a photo of him, but his camera doesn’t work here.

Something about the idea of kissing Akechi in Maruki’s Palace feels… nauseating. He’s felt watched ever since stepping foot into it, as if Maruki already knew what they were doing.

There wasn’t as much resistance as Akira was used to. It made the Palace almost like a daze. Like wading through deep water. Not an issue, but tiring. Taxing. An inconvenience. A trial.

“Stop fucking staring.” Akechi is glaring at him. Akira looks away. His face itches underneath his mask.

He’s not really sure when it happens. The days all blend together at this point. He can’t look at a calendar without having to do loops to remember the date.

All he knows is that it never feels like enough time. Three days. Three days and the time for preparation is over. Sumire hasn’t called him. He figures she won’t. No one else has.

He wonders that if the rest of the Phantom Thieves were here, Sumire would be as well. If they could push through a nicer, kinder, softer reality to instead live freely outside of control… that Sumire would find recovery easier. 

Akira hasn’t given up hope. He was simply revisiting his expectations.

He probably shouldn’t be musing about this while the boy he’s been fantasizing about has his lips on Akira’s.

The warmth of Akechi’s— Goro’s(?) what were they anymore?— lips grounded him at least. He usually feels floaty these days, like living in a daydream, but that makes sense. Maruki’s idea of reality is a daydream.

He lets Akechi have his way with him. That’s not to say he doesn’t participate. He does, enthusiastically even. 

Akira thinks of stars. On a visit to the planetarium once, there was a showing about stars. It’s almost like a grand finale. They’re crashing into one another.

Their mass is mixing together, pulling into one small point. Akira exists under pressure, in pressure. He’s sure Akechi does too.

Small stars die quietly. The larger ones create supernovas.

The medium stars die differently from both. It’s a but like torture. To die and to be done with it; to then come back. 

But the bit that comes back isn't the same and it doesn’t stay for long. It’s just a haunted echo of the former self that putters out.

Akira wonders which one they are, together or separate. He hopes it’s quick.

He wakes up in a bed that isn’t his own, but one is familar with already. The freckles he has memorized greet him when he rolls over. The arms around his waist shift.

He traces a hand along Goro’s jaw. He doesn’t remember when he fell in love with him.

Is it love? Is it infatuation? Codependency? Does he have anybody else?

He rolls over again, staring up at the ceiling. Goro’s apartment is so… sad. Are living spaces a reflection of the inhabitants? He rubs circles into the arm trapping him on the bed.

His phone is on the nightstand. It doesn’t take much effort to grab it. It doesn’t take any effort to take photos of the dozing lump beside him.

Goro’s face is soft in sleep. Every other expression is like a mask, but in sleep his face slackens. He looks eighteen. He doubts Goro feels eighteen.

Akira feels young and old at the same time. He wonders if Goro understands this. Likely, as they’re more similar to one another than any other person Akira has known.

Akira swipes through the photos he’s taken. He thinks that even if Goro takes more, towers over him in sheer volume, that he’s won the competition.

He doesn’t think he needs more than this. He likes being held. He closes his eyes and allows himself to feel normal for once during the new year.

In a terrible, awful, gutless and selfish moment , he’s tempted by Maruki’s offer. By his reality. By his promises.

But then, when he locks eyes with Goro, he can’t follow through on his desire.

He wants to laugh. He thinks he should probably cry. He’s gotten his answer.

They push forward. What’s a bit more grief? Akira shoulders everything anyway. He had a job to do. A mission to complete.

Death.

What a fucking joke.

Maybe he should take a picture and commemorate the moment. He should be used to this by now.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” It’s quiet in the safe room. The last one right before a faux-Eden, before Akira kills his… partner. Boyfriend? Lover?

Why doesn’t he get more time?

Goro looks out of place somehow now that Akira knows he shouldn’t be here.

He’s dead. He’s been dead. Was it fun kissing a corpse on the mouth? He doesn’t know. He wants to kiss him again. More. Always more.

His parents always saw him as greedy, but Akira can’t recall when he ever took more than he needed. He doesn’t need much. Really.

“Does it matter?” Goro asks.

Does it? It was the truth from the beginning, Akira should have known the minute Goro stepped into Leblanc.

But… still. “Of course it does,” his voice sounds painful, even to his ears. He hasn’t cried about it yet. Why does he sound hoarse? “Why wouldn’t it matter? Why don’t you matter?”

Goro doesn’t respond.

The silence isn’t awkward. It just hurts.

“We should get going,” Akira says. “We have a job to do.” His mask at least, is a comfort. He’s running out of those.

It’s bittersweet when his friends show up, last minute, but there . He laughs with them and shrugs off late apologies, but something in it grates on him. That it took this long for them to show up.

Not enough to hold a grudge. Grudges never come easy for him. He’s just happy to have them back. It mixes with trepidation and grief and the sickness of Goro’s stupid omission.

They’re confused when Goro snaps at them to pay attention to the matter at hand, but Akira reassures them. He hasn’t been working alone. (He wasn’t sure he could.) They seem to understand this.

He hasn’t seen Maruki since yesterday, but the soft, pitying look hasn’t left. They fall into a fight, like always. It follows a pattern.

Until it doesn’t. Maruki’s Persona evolves.

The same emotions from fighting Yaldaboth resurface easily. Anger, fear, and excitement. Simple, but an effective mix for a fight.

He’s not sure which is a harder fight. Just knows that when his teammates put their lives on the line to finish it, he will.

Futaba’s voice echoes in his ear as he lands on Adam Kadmon’s face. His hands find his pistol, his finger the trigger, and it’s just a game of chess.

Warm night, rain pouring outside, and a chessboard in front of him with Goro looking over it. That’s all this is. An act of love.

“Checkmate.”

Akira pulls the trigger.