Archive of Our Own ^beta

The problem, Akira thought as he waited for Ryuji to get back from the bathroom, was that Akechi Goro had a point.

Akira disagreed with it, of course. And he’d made that clear enough – on live television no less – but he understood Akechi’s argument. It wasn’t hard to imagine what someone unscrupulous could do with the kind of power the Thieves had. Akechi didn’t know anything about them: their motives, their morals, or their intentions. He had every right to consider them dangerous.

Well. Akira shifted against the wall, glanced over his shoulder at where Morgana was peering out of his bag, watching the crowd. Akechi in theory didn’t know anything about them.

But Akira kept thinking about that conversation yesterday. About Akechi’s parting comment, the one that had confused them all. It was possible he was misremembering, but he was almost sure that the only person to mention pancakes had been Morgana. And Akechi – like everyone else around them – wasn’t supposed to be able to hear Morgana talk.

None of the others seemed to have spotted it, not even Morgana himself. And Akira wasn’t certain enough of his own memory to raise it with them just yet. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been thinking about it.

What had Morgana said, exactly, back when Ann joined them? That to hear him talk in the real world, someone had to go to the Metaverse? No, it was more specific than that. They had to know that Morgana could talk in the Metaverse, thus changing their cognition so that they could hear him talk in the real world, too.

So if Akira was right – if Akechi had been unwittingly responding to Morgana’s comment – then he not only knew about the Metaverse, had not only been there, but must also have seen and heard the Phantom Thieves at some point.

Madarame had mentioned a person in a black mask. It wasn’t hard to join the dots. And it explained why Akechi was so willing to accept the existence of the Phantom Thieves, and their ability to change a heart.

Assuming Akira was remembering that conversation right, of course. Assuming he wasn’t jumping at shadows, constructing an elaborate theory about Akechi with no hard evidence. Could he be completely sure that none of them had replied to Morgana, that none of them had repeated the word pancakes? He couldn’t remember exactly what everyone had said…

“Oh, it’s you!”

For a dizzying moment, Akira felt like Akechi must have known exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he suspected. Why else would he be walking up to Akira so purposefully? Why else would he have that intent look in his eyes?

That expression vanished as Akechi dived into conversation, disappearing behind the effortless charm that he’d displayed in the interview. He was more than a little pretentious, more than a little arrogant, but he gave off the air of someone who knew that, and was a bit embarrassed about it, but didn’t quite know how to tamp it down. It made him seem strangely approachable, unexpectedly relatable: a contradictory blend of confident and awkward.

And Akira wasn’t convinced it was real.

He’d played it down, but he’d known who Akechi was the moment he’d walked around that corner yesterday. Over the last couple of months he’d found himself more and more interested in the rising star detective, even seeking out interviews and magazine articles online. He hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on why he was so drawn to him, but listening to Akechi talk now, studying his face, Akira suddenly understood.

It was because Akechi was wearing a mask. It was invisible, and very nearly lifelike, but it was a disguise just as deliberate as Akira’s glasses, as the mask he wore as Joker. And Akira wanted to know why, and what was underneath.

“That’s why I believe, if a truly powerful opponent were to corner them, they would flee without a second thought,” Akechi was saying.

And just for a second, that look was back in his eyes. Sharp. Intense. Fully focused on Akira.

This is a challenge, Akira thought. And then, immediately: He knows. I wasn’t wrong about what happened yesterday.

“They wouldn’t run,” Akira replied, meeting Akechi’s gaze squarely.

He saw the faintest flicker of response, the slight widening of Akechi’s eyes, something that might have been anger or might have been delight, strangely enough. Akira could kind of understand that. This whole conversation felt like a duel, like they were assessing each other as competitors in a game with high stakes. It should have been putting Akira on edge.

Instead, he felt the same rush of determination and fierce joy as when he summoned Arsène.

Maybe it was the same for Akechi. Or maybe he just wanted to keep Akira under surveillance. Either way, Akira wasn’t going to turn down his overtures of friendship. It was strange clasping Akechi’s hand through the black glove. The leather was warm, to the point where it almost felt like touching skin, but not quite. Another kind of mask.

Neither of them let go as quickly as they should have for a simple handshake.

And Akira made up his mind, even before they exchanged contact details, that he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. Even though the thought made his stomach twist and his palms a bit sweaty.

“Actually, what are you doing after this?” he asked.

Akechi blinked, seemed taken aback and slightly flustered. Which was kind of funny, given how strong he’d been coming on a moment ago, how determined he’d been to get Akira’s number.

“I– well, I have a lot to do– I was going to study, as a matter of fact.”

“I’ve got homework to do as well,” Akira replied, which was true enough. “I know a good place for it, a diner in Shibuya. Free refills, not too busy, not too quiet either. If you’d like to continue our conversation?”

It was a challenge, and he saw Akechi realise it, saw the flash of that dangerous intensity in his eyes, the way he started to smile and had to quickly tame it into something small and polite instead of whatever it would have been otherwise.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Akechi said, with a hesitation that was almost convincing. “I’d likely distract you, and someone might recognise me…”

Akira could do flattery too. He smiled, let it be honest and open and show that he was nervous, didn’t try to hide how much he wanted Akechi to say yes.

“I doubt it. It’s a small place and if we’re lucky we can get a table in the back. I’d appreciate the company.”

(Ryuji was going to kill him, he realised belatedly. They’d had a tentative plan to hang out after this, one that had definitely not involved homework.)

Akechi hesitated a second longer, then laughed softly, dropping his gaze from Akira’s, but nodding at the same time.

“All right, then. I would like to talk to you more. Can you wait while I finish up here?”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Akechi shot him another of those sweet, too-perfect smiles, and slipped away to speak to the assistant director.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Morgana asked from over his shoulder. “What he said about a detective’s intuition… spending time with him might be risky.”

This would be the obvious moment to tell Morgana about his suspicions. They could hatch a plan to observe Akechi together, with Morgana the spy he’d never suspect.

Akira couldn’t exactly justify why instead he said, “I think it would be useful to get to know him. Do you mind going home with Ryuji?”

“Of course I mind!” Morgana protested. “You can’t leave me with that guy! Why can’t I just stick with you?”

Because, Akira thought, I don’t want you to figure out he can hear you, not yet. And I want…

Ryuji chose that moment to come back from the bathroom. Akira braced himself, and told him his plans had changed.

To his surprise, Ryuji took it well. He scowled a bit and muttered about Akechi calling them criminals, but he approved enthusiastically of the idea of getting more information out of him.

“Dunno if I could put up with him for that long,” Ryuji added, glaring at Akechi, whose back was fortunately to them. “If you need to bail, shoot me a message. I can call and pretend to be your mom or something.”

“Thanks,” Akira said, while trying not to imagine Ryuji’s impression of anyone’s mother. “I think it’ll be fine. He’s kind of interesting.”

“He’s kind of an asshole,” Ryuji muttered. “But whatever. You’re good with people.”

“I still think I should go with you,” Morgana grumbled.

“It’ll be boring for you,” Akira told him. “You won’t be able to talk at all, or come out of the bag. He’s too observant to miss it if I react to something you say.”

And of course, Akechi might react to something Morgana said, and while that would confirm Akira’s suspicions, it would also blow everything wide open. Lay all their cards on the table before Akira was ready. Before he’d had a chance to figure out Akechi’s play. Before he’d had a chance to get to know him.

“I guess so,” Morgana conceded. “Ugh. Ryuji, you better not have your smelly gym socks in that bag.”

“Where else do you expect me to keep them?”

“Urgh.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Akira said. “You’d better go, everyone else is leaving.”

Morgana transferred himself reluctantly to Ryuji’s bag, complaining all the way. Ryuji rolled his eyes, shot Akechi one more disgruntled look, and then gave Akira a thumbs up as he turned to leave.

“Good luck. Lemme know if you need a rescue.”

“I’ll be fine,” Akira insisted. “You know I can get myself out of trouble.”

“Yeah, but you can get yourself into it, as well,” was the last thing he heard from Morgana as Ryuji took off.

Goro almost expected Kurusu to be gone by the time he returned. Almost thought that the unexpected invitation would turn out to be meaningless, just something Kurusu had said on impulse and would have had time to regret.

But no, he was still there, leaning against the wall, absorbed in his phone, occasionally reaching up to brush his hair out of his face.

Goro took a moment to study him. Of the four Phantom Thieves – well, five, if you counted that strange little creature they seemed to have as a mascot – Joker was the one who’d most intrigued him as they worked their way through Madarame’s Palace. He was both bold and cautious, restrained and impulsive, a natural leader and at the same time able to fade back during conversations, listening quietly while the others talked.

He was also disgustingly good in battle for someone who’d only recently awakened his Persona. Goro couldn’t understand how he had such a range of different powers. He’d never managed to get close enough for more than a glimpse of the Phantom Thieves’ Personas, but the other team members were exactly what he expected in combat: they had one set of skills and strengths, tied to the way their willpower manifested. Only Joker seemed to be able to adapt on the fly to whatever enemy they were facing: only Joker presented anything close to a challenge.

Goro had wondered more than once if Joker was… like him. If perhaps he had a second Persona. But even with that theory in mind, he hadn’t been able to narrow down Joker’s abilities to two distinct sets. He itched to take him on directly, to see what Joker was capable of, and to demonstrate his own mastery of his powers, show him how far he still had to go.

The last thing he’d expected had been for three of the Phantom Thieves to cross paths with him in the real world by complete chance. He’d been startled yesterday when he’d rounded the corner and seen who was talking so loudly in the back corridors. And today, well…

Joker – Kurusu – had met his eyes from the audience and challenged him in front of everyone. Goro couldn’t let that go. Especially since he genuinely couldn’t tell if Kurusu had done it on purpose, or if he’d just been speaking his mind. Especially since he couldn’t decide if he wanted Kurusu to do it again, or if he wanted to demolish his every argument until he had no choice but to back down.

Talking to him was invigorating, and a little bit risky, and Goro had been sure he was making the perfect opening move, approaching Kurusu to get his number, setting up what he intended to be a slow, careful infiltration of his life.

And then Kurusu had countered with staggering confidence, raising the stakes with a smile that could have meant he knew exactly what he was doing, or that he had no idea at all. It was maddening that Goro couldn’t figure out which. He was used to dealing with deception, with people who chose their words carefully to project a certain image. Kurusu, by contrast, almost seemed to weaponise his honesty. Presenting himself without artifice, forcing Goro to figure out his truths instead of his lies.

It was utterly fascinating. Goro didn’t regret changing his plans for the afternoon in the slightest. Kurusu was worth his full attention.

“Ah, you’re still here,” he said as he approached. Kurusu looked up, and smiled again: that slight but genuine smile that seemed to come so easily to him. “Shall we head to Shibuya, then?”

Kurusu straightened up from his slouch – though not entirely, Goro noted: he slumped his shoulders a little at all times, as if he were trying to make himself less visible – and pocketed his phone as they fell into step.

“You must be pretty busy,” Kurusu said. “I feel like you’re always on TV recently, and you’re working and studying at the same time…”

Ah, so Kurusu was more familiar with Goro’s career than he’d let on at first. Goro smiled, the careful smile that hinted at embarrassment, that suggested he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his celebrity status.

“It’s a lot to keep balanced,” Goro replied, leading the way out of the studio and towards the subway station. “But it’s worth it to do something meaningful in the world.”

That was one of his standard interview answers, and one he often used when approached by his fans. It usually got him admiration and respect, not to mention a chorus of sighs from the girls who begged to take a photo with him.

Kurusu laughed, half under his breath.

“Wow, do you practice that in front of a mirror?”

“Excuse me?”

“No offence,” Kurusu went on easily, as if he couldn’t imagine he’d given any. “I’m sure you’re doing great work. But you don’t strike me as the sort of person who’d dedicate yourself to something you don’t enjoy.”

Oh, now that was alarmingly perceptive. Goro took a moment to compose himself before replying.

“You’re very observant,” he said. “The truth is, I love solving mysteries. Tracking down all the pieces, seeing the whole thing come together, closing the net around a target… it’s a rush, I’ll admit. It’s worth the hard work.”

He was slightly surprised by his own words. He hadn’t meant to be quite that honest.

“I can understand that,” Kurusu replied with a nod. “There’s something amazing about finding out what you’re good at, isn’t there?”

Now that was a loaded question, though of course Kurusu had no way of knowing that Goro would pick up on its subtext.

“Indeed. However, we have to be careful not to justify doing whatever we want that way, don’t we?”

“Ha.” They’d reached the station, and Kurusu glanced at him as they swiped their travel passes over the scanners and walked through the gates. “That’s true. People can convince themselves they have a right to pursue their desires as far as they like, even if it means warping their whole view of the world to make it fit.”

Of course, he’d seen the Palaces, hadn’t he? He knew how distorted someone’s cognition could get. Goro couldn’t help a certain selfish satisfaction that Kurusu, too, had seen the wretched underbelly of humanity. That no matter idealistic he might be, he couldn’t pretend ignorance of how grotesque a person’s internal landscape could become.

“Still,” Goro said, “I sometimes wish I hadn’t attracted attention so quickly. It helps my work, but it’s tiring, to say the least.”

They were on the platform now, and Goro was automatically checking for anyone who was watching him, reacting to his presence. An office worker and her friend were glancing over and whispering, probably having the usual conversation about whether it was really him and if it would be rude to approach. More worrying was a large group of girls in the Shujin uniform who had probably been in the audience for his interview, and were already hissing at each other to be quiet while shooting unsubtle looks in his direction.

“Yeah,” Kurusu said, and Goro realised he’d spotted them too, must have been scanning the crowd just like Goro was. “I bet it is. It’s bad enough when they’re avoiding you, must be exhausting if they’re trying to get your attention instead.”

He sounded resigned and just a little bitter. Goro narrowed his eyes, his attention fully on Kurusu again. Hard to accurately read his expression with those glasses reflecting the overhead lights, but his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were taut. He was still looking at the Shujin girls. After a moment, he glanced at Goro, saw he was being watched, and ducked his head, shrugging away the tension.

“You should be okay for now. They’re probably more worried about what I’m going to do to you.”

It was clearly supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t land; Kurusu’s heart wasn’t in it. Goro studied him thoughtfully, leaning back on his heels and bringing one hand up to cradle his chin. It was a pose he’d perfected for the benefit of the cameras, but it had become so unconscious these days that he sometimes caught himself doing it even when he was alone.

“Do to me?”

“Oh, yeah, I should probably have told you,” Kurusu replied, and this time he managed to hit the teasing note perfectly, a self-deprecating grin on his face as he glanced up through the hair that hung into his eyes. “I’m a delinquent. Not safe to be around. Killed a man in Ueno just to watch him die.”

Goro snorted with laughter before he could stop himself. He covered his mouth quickly with his hand until he could wrestle his expression into something more controlled.

“Did you just come up with that?”

“No, I’ve been waiting to use it for almost a week,” Kurusu admitted, his grin widening. “I kept hoping Ryuji would give me an opening, but I could never quite make it work.”

“And how did you come by this fearsome reputation, Kurusu-kun?”

At that, some of the laughter faded out of Kurusu’s eyes. Goro almost regretted asking. He’d been so alight, so ridiculously pleased with his stupid joke, so uncaring of anyone else’s opinion of him. Goro found himself trying to calculate how he could make him look that way again.

“It’s a long story,” Kurusu replied. He paused, then frowned, then looked away. “Seriously, though – I do have a criminal record. I’m on probation. Is that going to cause you problems – if we’re seen together?”

Goro knew about Kurusu’s record, of course. He’d already carried out a preliminary investigation into the three Shujin students he’d identified as Phantom Thieves. He hadn’t had a chance yet to dig any further, to trace Kurusu’s history back to his hometown or to uncover the exact details of his crime. It hadn’t surprised him, at the time, that someone calling themselves a Phantom Thief would have fallen foul of the law already.

He found that it surprised him now. And he was oddly touched, that Kurusu would disclose his record to a near-stranger – one associated with the police, no less – rather than risk putting him in a difficult position.

“Not at all,” Goro said, with more force than he’d intended. “I decide who’s worth my time. No-one else gets to dictate that.”

Kurusu jerked his head around to stare at him, and something about the angle meant that for a moment his glasses weren’t reflecting the light, and Goro could see his eyes clearly. They were wide, and surprised, and – compelling, Goro found himself thinking – long, dark lashes and deep grey irises that reminded him of a summer stormcloud.

Goro was the first to look away, pretending to adjust his gloves and his grip on his attaché case.

“And anyway,” he went on quickly, dropping into a more teasing tone, “if you’re that much of a troublemaker, it only makes sense that I should keep an eye on you, doesn’t it?”

Kurusu laughed. It wasn’t quite as uninhibited as earlier, but it was a good look on him anyway.

“So that was your cunning plan all along, was it? You profiled me as a criminal and decided to put me under surveillance?”

Goro gripped his case tightly, forcing his smile to stay in place.

“Naturally,” he said. Kurusu had no idea that he’d essentially hit the nail on the head, and Goro wasn’t going to give him any hints. “Is that our train?”

Kurusu turned to look.

“Yep. Looks like we’ll be standing.”

“Ah well. It’s not so far to Shibuya.”

“My feet disagree,” Kurusu muttered as they pushed their way into the carriage. “I wonder why they even bother putting the seats in. It’s always packed.”

“Spoken like a true country boy.”

Kurusu shot him a sharp look, and Goro kicked himself for the slip. But then Kurusu’s expression slid into something sheepish and he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really,” Goro said, grabbing one of the handles overhead and resigning himself to having someone uncomfortably close to his back for the duration of the journey. “But I am a detective, you know.”

“No way,” Kurusu replied, deadpan. “You should have said.”

This time when Goro laughed out loud, he didn’t have a free hand to cover his mouth, so all he could do was duck his head and hope no-one but Kurusu was watching.

Luck seemed to be on Akira’s side today. His favourite table was unoccupied – the one tucked away at the back – and there were no Shujin students in the diner. It was just busy enough that they didn’t stand out, and not so busy that it would be too loud for studying.

… Assuming either of them could stop talking long enough to pay attention to their books, which was by no means guaranteed. It was Akechi’s fault, Akira was pretty sure. He’d started talking about justice again on the train, and while Akira hadn’t read any of the incredibly pretentious-sounding philosophy books Akechi kept quoting, he’d developed some strong personal opinions on the subject recently.

And it turned out arguing with Akechi was almost as demanding – and thrilling – and satisfying – as fighting shadows.

“But there has to be such a thing as objective truth,” Akechi was saying, far more passion in his voice than he ever allowed to slip through when he was on TV. Akira wondered when he was going to notice that he’d jabbed his pencil down on his notebook enough times to wear a hole in the paper. “Otherwise there can’t be any concept of truth at all. You can say that different people have different experiences of the truth, but you can’t say that there is no truth at all – unless you want to subscribe to anarchy.”

“It depends what you mean by truth,” Akira retorted, smothering a grin at the way Akechi narrowed his eyes at him. “If you’re talking about whether or not something exists, or what exactly happened somewhere, then yeah, maybe – but when you get right down to it, most moral questions are about what’s going on in here.”

He tapped the side of his own head in illustration.

“It’s not just about what you do,” he went on, “it’s about why you do it–”

“Intent doesn’t change outcome.”

“But it changes how we see the outcome.”

“Which is exactly why we need to rely on a system of rules rather than each making our own judgements–”

“But the rules are written by people making their own judgements in the first place, and they can’t account for every situation.” Akira held up a hand to stop Akechi interrupting. “Can you seriously tell me you think there’s no difference between someone who kills a guy in self-defence, and someone who plans a murder in cold blood?”

Akechi stilled, face suddenly wooden, eyes opaque. Akira blinked, surprised by the reaction. Akechi looked away, reaching over to press the button for service, and not coincidentally giving himself a moment to recover his composure.

“In terms of the way they should be treated by the legal system?” Akechi shook his head. “I don’t believe the first case should be handled the same way as the second, no. It makes no sense to punish someone harshly for an act they are unlikely to repeat, whereas it’s imperative to stop someone who will kill again otherwise.”

A waitress appeared at their table, smiling shyly in a way that suggested she recognised the Detective Prince, and took his request for more tea with a blush that Akechi didn’t even seem to notice. He was already turning back to Akira.

“But in terms of the immoral act they’re committing?” Akechi went on as soon as she’d departed. “They still caused the death of another human being for their own gain. Even someone acting in self-defence made a choice to value their own life over another’s. And believe me, most killers don’t have such noble motivations.”

Something in his voice struck a chill into the depths of Akira’s chest. All at once, the conversation didn’t feel like a theoretical argument. He supposed Akechi must have seen some awful things in the course of his police work. For that matter, if he’d been in the Metaverse, he must have heard the ugly truths whispered by people’s shadows where they thought no-one could hear.

… but it felt more personal than that.

“I don’t agree,” Akira insisted. “I think it matters why they did it. If they wanted to do it. If they had any other options – or thought they didn’t have any other options. And if they regret it, afterwards. If they know that what they did is wrong.”

Akechi laughed, low and bleak, staring down at his notebook with eyes that clearly didn’t see it.

“It’s naive to assume that knowing the difference between right and wrong is enough to prevent someone from choosing the latter. People can always find a way to justify their actions. There are very few people in the world who acknowledge their sins with open eyes and choose to commit them anyway.”

Are you one of them? Akira wondered. Or at least, is that how you think of yourself?

He didn’t like how still Akechi had become, as if he were controlling every muscle in his body with conscious intent, refusing to allow a single scrap of emotion to escape his wall of silence. He didn’t like how the energy of their argument had somehow drained away into this dark and dangerous place.

“Bet you that waitress gives you her number.”

Akechi looked up with a start, eyes flying to Akira’s, a little wrinkle of confusion appearing between his brows. He really was unfairly attractive, Akira thought: no wonder he’d become such a darling of the morning talk shows. Handsome, clever, and dedicated to fighting crime: Akechi was too good to be true.

Which was sort of the problem.

The waitress returned with Akechi’s tea before he could respond. She took her time setting the tray down, putting the cup in front of him, fussing like there were white tablecloths and silverware involved rather than a slightly battered table in a cheap Shibuya diner. Akira made a point of checking his phone, and watched from the corner of his eye as she took advantage of his ‘distraction’ to slide a carefully folded scrap of paper between the pages of Akechi’s notebook.

Then she fled like she was being chased by wild dogs. Akira didn’t bother to hide his smirk as he looked back up at Akechi.

Akechi made a face that definitely did not belong on the front of a magazine. He fished out the paper and crumpled it up without even looking at it. Akira hoped the waitress couldn’t see them from where she’d gone to hide behind the counter.

“I wish they’d give me tip-offs, instead,” Akechi muttered. “I’m not some sort of idol.”

There was real frustration there, Akira noted, although Akechi was as quick as ever to smooth it off his face and shoot Akira a small, apologetic smile.

“Ah, forgive me, that was… ungracious, wasn’t it? I should be glad that the attention is all so positive.”

Akira shrugged, finally reaching for his textbook and starting to page through it looking for this week’s lesson.

“It kind of sucks when people are more interested in who they think you are than actually getting to know you,” he said. “Especially if who they think you are isn’t anything like the real you.”

He heard Akechi lift his cup and sip his tea before he answered.

“Is that what it’s like for you at Shujin?”

Akira nodded, then shook his head, then made a face at his own indecision.

“It’s what it’s always been like for me,” he admitted after a moment. “Since I started junior high, at least. My…”

He hesitated. He’d made a point of keeping his past and his family to himself since he arrived in Tokyo. He’d been determined to leave it behind, since they were so determined to see the back of him. He hadn’t even talked to Ryuji and Ann about his life before his arrest.

“My father is the principal of my old high school,” Akira plunged on. “It’s a small town, and my junior high was on the same campus. Everyone knew who my dad was. So I didn’t have a lot of real friends… but people tried to suck up to me.”

“I can imagine,” Akechi replied quietly.

“At Shujin, it’s the other way around. People avoid me. Thanks to Kamoshida, everyone knows about my record…”

“Kamoshida?” Akechi’s voice was suddenly alert. “The teacher whose heart was changed by the Phantom Thieves?”

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer complete bastard,” Akira replied, grabbing his soda and raising it in imaginary toast. “If you knew some of the things he’d done…”

“I believe I have a fair idea.” Akechi leaned forward, and there was no hiding the sharpness of his gaze now. It was almost funny. He wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was. “I’ve reviewed the case files. He deserves everything the legal system can throw at him. But did he deserve to be brainwashed into confessing his guilt?”

“Is that how you see it?” Akira asked, raising his eyebrows. “Brainwashing?”

“It’s hard to see it any other way. By all accounts he was a completely different person after his heart was ‘stolen’.”

“Maybe,” Akira conceded. He couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been unnerving to see Kamoshida fall on his knees and wail his remorse to the whole school. He also couldn’t pretend he regretted it. “But you could argue that the Phantom Thieves only removed his distortion. That the Kamoshida after his heart was stolen was the real one, and the person he’d become before that was worth destroying.”

“Then you acknowledge what the Phantom Thieves do as destruction? As essentially killing someone’s former self, and replacing it with a different person?”

Akira put his drink down slowly. Watched the bubbles edging their way past the ice cubes and clinging to the inside of the glass.

“When you put it like that…”

“Don’t get me wrong.”

There was an edge to Akechi’s voice now. Another challenge, Akira thought, as he looked up. Akechi had both elbows on the table, both hands under his chin, was studying Akira as intently as if he were a newly discovered species, or a piece of forensic evidence.

“Perhaps it was necessary,” Akechi continued levelly. “If destroying the old Kamoshida and creating a new one put a stop to his crimes and saved future victims – perhaps that was what had to be done.”

He reached for his tea again, drank from it slowly before continuing.

“But I won’t see it excused as anything less than what it is. The execution of the self, to make way for a version more palatable to society.”

The execution of the self. Akira’s thoughts flew to the Velvet Room, to the gleeful way Caroline and Justine had urged him to sacrifice his Personas to create new and better ones.

“I can’t say you’re wrong.” Akira was surprised by his own words, and by how low and flat his voice had become. “But would you have done anything different? If justice had failed, if no-one was willing to hold him to account, if he’d driven a girl to suicide and didn’t even care–!”

He bit his own tongue to stop himself from talking. Akechi held his gaze for a long, long moment, then looked away.

“I can’t say you’re wrong,” Akechi murmured, echoing Akira’s own words with obvious intent. “But I wasn’t the one who made that decision.”

Then all at once, he was carefully pushing aside his tea, frowning briefly at the hole he’d made in his notebook, smoothing a thumb over it like he thought he could repair the paper that way.

“We’re supposed to be studying,” he said, as if it had only just occurred to him. He flashed Akira a perfect, self-effacing smile. “I told you I would distract you.”

“I think it’s been more like mutual distraction,” Akira countered, smiling despite how shaken he felt. “And I’m pretty sure I’m okay with it.”

To his surprise, a faint flush of pink spread over Akechi’s cheeks, and he became very intently focused on his notes.

“Well, let’s see if we can manage to behave ourselves for a bit, shall we?”

Akira felt his smile broaden. Akechi’s eyes darted briefly to him, then returned purposefully to his homework. Akira couldn’t tell if his blush deepened, or if he was imagining it.

“Race you,” he said, and was rewarded with one of those laughs that Akechi tried to smother behind his hand, with a quick, sharp, appraising look, and the faint narrowing of Akechi’s eyes that meant he’d accepted the challenge.

“Loser pays the tab?” Akechi suggested.

“Sure.” Akira grabbed his pencil and calculator with renewed determination. “I promise not to order anything too extravagant.”

“Hmm.” Akechi was smirking, Akira was almost sure, though he turned his head quickly to hide the expression, reaching again for the service bell. “I shall make no such promise.”

Akira considered the contents of his wallet, winced, and hastily started copying out the equations he was supposed to be solving.

Akechi laughed again, and it sent a thrill down Akira’s spine. There was nothing TV-perfect about that laugh, nothing demure or self-effacing. It said, I like this as much as you do, and I won’t hold anything back.

This time, Akira was fairly certain that he was the one blushing.

Goro should have won. He should have. He’d just needed a minute more to refine his thoughts into a coherent conclusion to his essay. He’d given Kurusu a headstart, even. It was quite clear that he should have won.

He forced himself not to scowl as he pulled out his wallet to pay. The fact that Kurusu had stuck to his promise – and the free soda refills – only made it worse.

It was also quite clear that this should be the end of their unexpected excursion. Goro should make a few more polite remarks, bid Kurusu farewell, and retreat to gather his thoughts and plan his next move.

“Do you play billiards?” he found himself asking instead.

Kurusu paused in the middle of packing his homework back into his bag.

“I’ve played,” he said, tilting his head to one side curiously. “Why?”

“Ah, someone was handing these out.” Goro pulled the free tickets to Penguin Sniper out of his wallet. “I was thinking about going. If you still have time?”

“I have time,” Kurusu replied, reaching out for the tickets. He didn’t take them from Goro’s hand, just bent them so he could read the text. “Oh, I know that place. It’s in Kichijoji, right?”

“That’s right. Are you familiar with the area?”

“Not really. One of my friends got free tickets too, so we went and played darts last week, but we didn’t look around.”

Perfect. Goro knew Kichijoji like the back of his hand; taking Kurusu there would feel like being on his own home ground, even if it gave him no real tactical advantage in a game of pool.

“Ah, you’re missing out! It has a wonderful atmosphere, a blend of the modern city and the old. There are all sorts of out-of-the-way spots, the kind of places people don’t visit unless they already know about them. I like to go to–”

He cut himself off, dismayed by his own rush of enthusiasm.

“I live in the area, so I often spend time there,” Goro corrected quickly. Even that felt uncomfortably personal, despite how large the district was and how impossible it would be to track down the exact location of his apartment from the information. He stood up. “Shall we?”

Kurusu flashed him a lopsided smile and followed him out of the diner.

The subway was even more packed than it had been earlier. They ended up crammed side-by-side into a corner, uncomfortably close; pressed together shoulder to hip, in fact. Goro disliked physical contact at the best of times, but he’d learned to endure it on the train, so he wasn’t sure why it was making him feel so jittery and irritable on this occasion. He found it hard to maintain casual conversation as a result, and only realised the silence had lasted for several minutes when Kurusu broke it.

“Aren’t you hot?”

Goro frowned, automatically turning to look at him and then almost flinching back when he realised how close Kurusu’s face was. His eyes were… certainly something, up close. More intense than they seemed at a distance, and with more subtlety of colour. Was that a hint of silver at the rim of the irises, or just a trick of the subway lights? He remembered his earlier thought about stormclouds. It seemed even more apt now. You could almost imagine the lightning building behind that shifting grey…

“Ah–” Goro tore his gaze away hastily, pretending to look down and adjust his grip on his briefcase. He was too hot, as it happened, but also glad of the layers of fabric that prevented his skin from directly touching Kurusu’s. “It’s always hot on the subway, I find.”

“Yeah, but I mean – didn’t your school switch to the summer uniform yet?”

“We did, but I prefer to wear this for interviews. It helps to maintain a consistent image on television.”

And it made him look more serious and mature, he thought: the combination of a full tie and the pale, double-breasted blazer could almost be mistaken for a tailored suit. Which was fully intentional: his small, elite private school very much wanted its students to be seen as highly-paid professionals in the making.

He swallowed a brief surge of bitterness. He’d technically qualified on his own merits for a place, acing the entrance exams, but he knew he would never have been accepted if it weren’t for Shido’s influence. The satisfaction he’d felt when he’d first arrived had faded very quickly when it became apparent that the same was true for all the other students. Oh, they were smart, to be sure, but not one of them had ever had to fight for what they were owed. Not one of them deserved to take pride in their acceptance. And so, he’d found, his own pride had swiftly rotted away.

“What about the gloves?”

“What about them?”

“Are they part of the image too?”

The thing was, Goro had answers for this question. He’d been asked about his gloves before. He had an innocent, charming reply – poor circulation – and a slightly more playful one – I know too much about fingerprints these days, aha – and finally the coy, oh, am I wearing them? Sometimes I forget.

He had no idea why he chose honesty instead.

“Yes. Truthfully, I only started wearing them because they’re easier to cycle in than knitwear. It’s become a habit now, and people seem fascinated by them, so…”

He trailed off, flustered and angry with himself, but Kurusu just laughed softly, and bumped his shoulder against Goro’s like they were co-conspirators.

“Gotta have that detective mystique, right?” And then, before Goro could come up with a suitably scathing retort. “That’s kind of why I wear these.”

Goro glanced sideways in time to see Kurusu tap his glasses with one finger.

“Not the mystique part – well, okay, maybe kinda–” He laughed again self-deprecatingly. “But after I– uh– at my old school, people kept saying I had scary eyes, so I thought… when I transferred, I started wearing these.”

He sighed, the amusement fading out of his voice.

“Not that it helped.”

“Your eyes are quite striking,” Goro said, and then immediately wanted to swallow his own tongue. “Ah– I mean– but I wouldn’t say there was anything particularly terrifying about them.”

He didn’t dare glance at Kurusu in the ensuing pause. Then Kurusu, to his relief, laughed under his breath.

“Somehow I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

“You’ll have to keep wondering. This is our stop.”

They fought their way out of the packed carriage. Goro sighed with relief when they reached the surface and the cool evening air hit his overheated face. He noticed that Kurusu looked just as flushed. Apparently short sleeves didn’t do much to mitigate against the sweltering subway.

Penguin Sniper wasn’t particularly crowded, and they claimed a pool table with ease. Goro noted immediately that Kurusu handled his cue uncertainly, and felt a little thrill of competitive delight.

“You said you’ve played before?”

“Yeah, but with the triangle, usually.” Kurusu nodded to one of the other tables, which was set up with the standard fifteen balls, before casting a doubtful glance at the nine Goro had arranged in a diamond pattern. “How does this one work?”

“This is a bit different,” Goro explained, trying not to let his delight show. Kurusu didn’t know what he’d let himself in for, did he? “There’s only one set of balls, numbered one through nine. Both players are trying to pocket the 9-ball. The first to accomplish it wins the game.”

Kurusu frowned.

“What’s the catch?”

“Ha, well spotted.” Goro found a piece of chalk and carefully prepared the tip of his cue. “You can’t strike the 9-ball directly, at least not at first. You must always strike the lowest value ball on the table. Anything else is a foul.”

“So you have to work your way up through the numbers, like with normal pool?”

“Oh, no, that’s the beauty of it. You want to sink the 9-ball as soon as you possibly can. You just have to get… creative… about how you do it.”

He saw the exact moment Kurusu realised the extra layer of complexity. Goro half-expected him to cry off, but instead, his eyes narrowed as he glanced first at Goro, then at the balls on the table.

“That doesn’t sound so hard,” Kurusu said nonchalantly. “Do you want to break?”

Goro had been planning to let Kurusu break as a show of magnanimity, but faced with such a brazen response to his challenge, he couldn’t resist the competitive spark that surged under his skin.

“Why, thank you, Kurusu-kun. I’ll show you how it’s done, shall I?”

He bent over to hide his smirk, but made sure to glance sideways through his hair to catch the look on Kurusu’s face. Perfect. Goro lined up his shot, taking extra care, drawing on all his experience, and then moved the cue in a single, sharp motion. To his intense satisfaction, the break went exactly the way he’d hoped: the 9-ball disappeared into the far left pocket before Goro had even finished straightening up.

“… did you just win?” Kurusu demanded incredulously. “With one shot?”

For a second, Goro basked in it, the way Kurusu was looking at him, the disbelief and faint irritation on his face.

Then it hit him all at once that he’d fucked up.

“Ah– a fluke, of course.” Goro smiled his most disarming smile. “Let’s not count that one. I don’t like to win based on pure chance.”

Kurusu gave him a long, assessing look, then shrugged and began retrieving the sunk balls from their pockets. Goro let him set up the rack this time. It gave him a moment to compose himself.

He’d been so wrapped up in trying to… to show off… that he’d forgotten the cardinal rule of any game of skill he’d ever participated in: never let them see just how good he really was. It made him enemies, fostered resentment, led to people walking away from the game and finding other ways to get back at him, ways he couldn’t easily counter.

… it made them dislike him. It would be… inconvenient if Kurusu disliked him. Goro needed to remember why he was doing this, why he was bothering with Kurusu’s company in the first place.

It gave him a strange sort of jolt. He… had actually almost forgotten the point of this excursion. He’d been so fixated on getting Kurusu back for winning their race in the diner…

Goro stepped back to let Kurusu break, and quietly transferred his cue to his right hand at the same time. It would be easier to keep himself in check if he played that way.

Kurusu didn’t make a bad effort, sinking one ball and therefore getting a follow-up shot, which he promptly missed. Goro made a sympathetic noise, and was delighted when it earned him a knowing eye-roll in response. He forced back a smirk, circled the table to find the best angle, and bent to line up his shot.

“Wait,” Kurusu said suddenly. “Aren’t you left-handed?”

Goro jerked upright before he could control himself. Somehow he turned his scowl into a sheepish laugh.

“Ah… you noticed that?”

“Why did you switch?”

“I’m actually fairly skilled with both hands. Though you’re right, my left is dominant. But it seems a little unfair to use it against you when you’re just starting out…”

“Wow, a pity handicap? Really?” From anyone else it would have been resentful, but Kurusu was… Kurusu was grinning. “No way. Don’t you dare. Give me everything you’ve got.”

The rush that went through Goro at the frank, unabashed challenge was dizzying.

“Most people don’t even notice.” He twirled the cue absently in his right hand and then tossed it back to his left. “You… aren’t like most people, are you?”

“I just watched you write with your left hand for two hours,” Kurusu replied with another of those irritating, charming, fascinating smiles. “Come on. Aren’t you going to show me how it’s done?”

Oh, Goro thought, with another heady rush of delight, I absolutely am.

He realised too late that he was smirking openly in response. All he could do was duck his head and bend to take the shot.

He would have loved to sink the 9-ball again, just to see the dismay on Kurusu’s face, but unfortunately, shot after shot, he couldn’t quite find the right angle. All the same, he managed to sink five balls in a row before he missed and was forced to cede the table.

“You are good,” Kurusu muttered, stalking past him to assess the terrain. “So I’ve gotta hit the 3-ball before anything else, right?”

“That’s correct.”

Kurusu circled the table three times, intent and fluid, like a cat stalking its prey, before he settled on a position. Goro was reluctantly impressed: his chances of sinking the 9-ball were slim-to-none in this configuration, but he had at least identified the only angle that offered him a chance. Nonetheless, Kurusu’s shot went wide, and he groaned as the 3-ball settled into a position that gave Goro a clear opening to pocket the 9.

Every one of Goro’s finely-tuned social instincts was telling him to find a way to mess up the shot. That keeping Kurusu’s goodwill was more important than winning right now. But Kurusu’s gaze was so intent on him he could almost feel it, and the memory of that challenge was still pumping his blood too fast, and he…

He wasn’t quite sure, in this moment, that he could fool Kurusu.

So he took the shot, and sank the 9-ball, and allowed himself half a second to savour the noise of disbelief and reluctant admiration that Kurusu made.

“I did warn you–”

“Again,” Kurusu insisted, already fishing the balls out of the pockets. “Unless you’re getting bored?”

Goro had never been further from bored in his life.

“This can’t be all that rewarding for you.”

“Are you kidding?” Kurusu shot him a grin that took Goro’s breath away. He didn’t even know why, until it dawned on him: up until now, he hadn’t seen that look on Kurusu’s face. He had, however, seen it on Joker’s when he leapt in to fight a particularly troublesome Shadow, bold and fearless and exhilarated by the battle rush. “Most people I’ve played pool with get bored halfway through and start sword-fighting with the sticks. You actually know what you’re doing.”

Goro couldn’t help it: he was temporarily not in control of his own mouth.

“That makes one of us, at least.”

And Kurusu laughed – snorted inelegantly with such an unrestrained combination of amusement and indignation that he had to duck his head, pressing a hand to his mouth to calm down.

“Your turn to break,” he said. Then, with a smirk. “Think you can pull off that trick shot again?”

Goro narrowed his eyes and reached for the chalk.

Akira thought he might be in trouble.

Not with the pool – though yes, he was absolutely in trouble with that, he hadn’t won a single game so far – but with Akechi in general.

It was the way the mask kept slipping the more Akira egged him on. The way the perfect plastic smile had given way to something with a wicked edge to it. The way he’d stopped even trying to hide his smug satisfaction every time he beat Akira soundly. The way that fierce glint in his eyes was a really, really good look on him.

The way he made Akira want to live up to his expectations with an intensity that started his heart pounding every time their eyes met.

Akira had never thought he was particularly competitive. Somewhere after the third or fourth game, when he’d finally warmed up enough to make the set last longer than five minutes, he’d realised with a shock that he was wrong. There was something in him that wanted to win more than anything, even though he could already tell he had a long way to go before he could beat Akechi. And it didn’t feel like a new thing, either.

More like something he’d buried deep, convinced there was no point in indulging it when nothing he did would ever be enough…

All the same, there were only so many games of pool you could lose in a row before frustration kicked in.

“How about we switch to darts?” Akira suggested. That last game hadn’t been bad: he’d made Akechi work for it, at least. “My back needs a break.”

Akechi hesitated, glancing at the clock over the bar. Oh, right. They’d already been hanging out longer than Akira had anticipated. Akechi probably had a hundred other things to do. Akira had made a good start on getting to know him, and he had his number now, so there was no need to rush…

He opened his mouth to let Akechi off the hook, and to his own surprise, what came out instead was, “And anyway, it’s my turn to win for a bit.”

Akechi’s eyes snapped to his.

“Oh? What makes you think that you would be the one winning?”

“You can’t be good at everything,” Akira insisted with a grin. “And I’m pretty good at darts.”

He always had been, but it turned out that two months of running around the Metaverse with a grappling hook and a collection of ranged spells had done wonders for his aim. Unless Akechi was as improbably skilled at darts as he was at pool, Akira felt confident he could beat him.

That confidence wavered slightly when Akechi smiled one of those smiles with sharp edges and dangerous undercurrents, a world away from the practised perfection of the TV station.

“We’ll see, shall we?”

… all right, so it turned out Akechi could, in fact, be good at everything. Or at least the subset of everything that contained the two specific games they’d played tonight. He had an uncanny knack for directing the darts to exactly the spot he wanted them in – usually the bullseye – and the intensity of his focus as he took aim made little prickles run over Akira’s skin.

Akira just barely won their first game, and the rush was like taking down a whole group of Shadows in one hit. Better, maybe, because he turned around just in time to catch the look on Akechi’s face before he schooled his expression into polite congratulations, and it sent a shudder down Akira’s spine.

“It seems you weren’t exaggerating your skill,” Akechi said with a too-sweet smile. “I’m impressed.”

“Another round?” Akira suggested innocently.

Akechi was already moving to retrieve the darts from the board.

“Of course. I think I’ve seen enough to have the measure of you now.”

Akira felt himself flush. He turned around and pretended to be studying the bar menu while he willed it to dissipate. He wasn’t sure quite why the words hit him so hard. Maybe because they reminded him of the other game they were playing, the one where they had veiled conversations about the Phantom Thieves.

Or maybe just because of the implication that Akechi had been watching him closely. Just like that unexpected comment earlier about his eyes.

… his face still felt too hot.

“I’m getting a drink,” Akira said over his shoulder. “Do you want anything?”

“Ah… iced tea, please.”

He was almost grateful that he had to wait in line for a few minutes. He made a point of checking his phone and not looking in Akechi’s direction, even though he kept wondering if Akechi was looking at him.

This was… not exactly where Akira had imagined things going when he’d suggested they spend time together. Interesting though he’d found Akechi from a distance, he’d pretty much expected the perfect Detective Prince to be insufferable in person. And Akechi was insufferable, absolutely maddening, but not…

Not in the ways Akira had expected.

He hadn’t expected the sharp tongue, the swift retorts, the piercing looks. He hadn’t expected to feel so thoroughly and constantly challenged, and at the same time unexpectedly comfortable. He usually watched his words around his friends, made sure he didn’t say anything too blunt or too sarcastic in case they were hurt by it, but with Akechi he seemed unable to hold back.

Maybe because every time he slipped, he could see how much Akechi liked it.

Just as Akira finally reached the bar to order, he heard Akechi’s voice. He glanced over to check if he was being called, and saw instead that Akechi was speaking with two girls wearing the Kosei uniform. They had a certain starstruck look on their faces that told Akira all he needed to know about whether these were friends or fans.

He watched, slightly amused to see Akechi pulling out all the stops, the picture of sweetness and light, expression tinged with a faint, endearing surprise that they had recognised him. The fact that Akira now had an idea of how fake it was only made it more fascinating. Akechi had such perfect natural poise, Akira thought, watching the graceful way he accepted a notebook and pen from one of the girls and signed it with a flourish. The specifics of his public image might not be honest, but the underlying charisma was very real.

The server handed him their drinks. Akira thanked her and headed back towards the darts machines.

He expected the girls to be gone by the time he got there, fleeing their brush with celebrity and giggling over their bravery in approaching in the first place, but they were still lingering as he approached. One of them was shyly clutching her notebook and looking like she wanted to slink away, but the other seemed to have shaken off her nerves and was talking eagerly to Akechi like she thought they were friends now. A tiny flicker of irritation went through Akira, remembering their conversation in the diner. And he didn’t think he was imagining the way that Akechi’s pleasant expression had faded slightly, or the tension in his shoulders.

“… would never have expected to see you in a place like this,” the girl was saying as Akira came up to them. “Are you here alone, Akechi-kun?”

“No,” Akira interrupted, handing Akechi his iced tea, “he’s with me.”

His ears only caught up to his mouth when the girls stared at him wide-eyed, and he sensed more than saw Akechi jerk slightly, spilling a couple of drops of tea.

No, wait, not like that, Akira thought, feeling his ears burn. All the same, he didn’t try to clarify, taking a sip from his soda to hide his blush. They could think what they wanted. The point was to get them to back off.

Unfortunately, the bolder of the two girls seemed determined not to take a hint when the prospect of spending time with a celebrity was on the table.

“O-oh, well then– would you and your, um, friend like to play teams with us, Akechi-kun?” she plunged on brightly. “All the other machines are taken, so it would really help us out…”

“Teams, hmm?” Akechi glanced at Akira. The intent in his eyes was unmistakable. “What do you think, Kurusu-kun?”

What Akira thought was that he should probably feel bad for what they were about to do to these poor unsuspecting fangirls… but he really, really didn’t.

“Sounds good to me.”

Goro had never had much interest in team games of any sort. He hated adjusting his pace to fit other players, hated being held back by someone of lesser skill, hated that his triumph and their failure would both be shared.

He’d expected to hate it just as much this time, but yet again on this strange whirlwind of a day, he found himself surprised: this time, as much by himself as by Kurusu.

They played well together even from the start, but after a couple of rounds, it was like they found the trick to it – fell into sync, or found the right rhythm – and after that, they were unstoppable. And Goro discovered that there was a different kind of challenge to playing with a partner: a requirement to give and take, a need to consider where to leave the score for a clean finish.

The girls gave up after two games, but by that point some of the other players had taken note. A couple of guys – who didn’t seem to recognise Goro at all – challenged them to 701, and Goro hardly even had to glance at Kurusu before accepting.

They played five games and won all of them. Their opponents weren’t gracious about it, scowling and muttering accusations of cheating, but unable to escalate under the watchful eyes of the small audience that had collected around them. Goro gathered from snatches of overheard conversation that the pair were would-be pros with an overinflated opinion of themselves, which only made victory all the sweeter.

Unfortunately, an audience meant an increased number of people who did know the Detective Prince on sight, and Goro had no desire to spend any more time indulging his fans. They bored him at the best of times, even while he was basking in their praise, and right now there was someone far more worthy of his attention.

“You want another drink?” Kurusu asked, grinning as their challengers stormed off, loudly telling each other that those machines weren’t real darts anyway.

“Yes,” Goro replied almost without thinking. He went on quickly, “Ah, but perhaps not here? I know somewhere a bit quieter.”

“Fine by me.”

Which was how he found himself leading the way out of Penguin Sniper and heading for Jazz Jin while he panicked quietly about what the hell he thought he was doing.

Jazz Jin was one of the very few spots he could truly relax in, a place where his fans never seemed to venture, and – if he was honest – somewhere he felt… safe. And content. And all of that relied on his being there alone. What was he thinking, showing it to Kurusu, of all people? Kurusu who he’d only just met, who was his rival in the Metaverse and a threat to all his plans!

Partly it was just that they would be undisturbed there, of course, but partly… he hardly even knew how to put it into words, but there was a part of him that just… wanted to show Kurusu this place he liked so much. Wanted to see if Kurusu appreciated it, if he would feel how special it was the same way Goro did.

It was confusing, to say the least.

His silent spiral was interrupted by the realisation that they were being followed. He glanced in a shop window to confirm it, then at Kurusu to see if he’d noticed.

Kurusu was watching him, Goro discovered with a start, even though neither of them had been talking. There was no particular intent on his face, just a thoughtful, curious expression like looking at Goro was a thing worth doing in its own right. He jumped slightly when Goro met his gaze, hurriedly directing his attention to some blinking signboard or other.

“So where are we going?”

“Hmm.” Goro remembered why he’d looked at Kurusu in the first place. He pretended to adjust his collar so he could sneak another look over his shoulder. “That depends on whether or not we can lose our tail.”

“Our what?”

Kurusu started to turn – like an amateur – so Goro grabbed his elbow and kept him facing forward as he changed direction, heading for the network of smaller alleyways that threaded through Kichijoji.

“I believe it’s that unsavoury pair we just humiliated at darts.”

Kurusu’s shoulders stiffened, but he was a quick enough learner not to give any other sign than that.

“Really sore losers, huh?”

“Evidently.”

Goro considered their options. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have been above slipping into the Metaverse to get away, but obviously that was out of the question with Kurusu here. They could step into a shop and he could make a call to one of his colleagues, have them radio a beat cop to head in this direction, but it stung Goro’s pride to imagine that story going around the precinct.

They could confront the duo. Goro was confident that he would win a physical scuffle – two years of fighting Shadows counted for something even in the real world – but he also didn’t particularly want that story to get out. The Detective Prince, caught brawling in a back alley… not the kind of image he was going for.

No, there was really only one effective avenue of escape, and although it lacked dignity, it was less likely he’d be recognised along the way.

He didn’t bother warning Kurusu. Just tightened his grip as they approached a junction of several alleys and murmured, “Keep up with me.”

He launched himself forward without waiting for Kurusu’s reply, keeping hold of his arm to make sure he got the message. Kurusu stumbled and yelped in surprise, but found his feet somehow and tried to match Goro’s pace. They dodged through the crowds, Goro taking swift lefts and rights as he wove his way through the maze, secure in his mental map of the area.

And Kurusu kept up with him. Beautifully, in fact, once he’d grasped Goro’s intention: he had a way of moving through crowds like a dolphin cutting through water, barely leaving a wake, and he was ready for every turn, changing direction as smoothly as if it had all been pre-planned.

They lost their pursuers easily, but Goro kept going for a few more minutes for the sheer fun of it. The startled faces of the people they raced past, the delight in darting so swiftly in and out of alleys, the thrill of evading capture… by the time they slowed to a stop, Goro found he was laughing, breathless and exhilarated, not even caring that his hair was in his face and his shirt was damp with sweat.

One look at Kurusu showed that he was pink with exertion, chest heaving, glasses crooked, and that his eyes were alight with the same reckless glee that was pounding through Goro’s veins. They crammed into a narrow gap between buildings, peering out at the passing crowds.

“Think we lost them, detective?” Kurusu managed between gulps for air.

“Looks like it.” Goro leaned against the wall to catch his breath. “You’re very fast, Kurusu-kun.”

“So are you.” Kurusu grinned lopsidedly at him and made a futile attempt to shove his own sweat-damp hair out of his eyes. “We should race sometime.”

Oh, Goro liked that idea. He smirked right back at Kurusu, not even trying to soften it into something more fitting his public image. Kurusu’s grin widened fractionally, and Goro felt suddenly breathless all over again, even though he should have regained his equilibrium by now.

An image flashed through his mind’s eye of the way Kurusu moved in the Metaverse, the way he made such easy, impossible leaps, the way he flitted from cover to cover until he could launch himself fluidly at an unsuspecting Shadow. What would it be like to race him there? Both of them dropping the act, pushing each other to their limits, maybe even facing off with their Personas…

Kurusu’s gaze drifted upwards and he laughed under his breath.

“Come here a sec, you’ve got–”

Goro didn’t have time to react as Kurusu leaned right into his space and suddenly there were hands in his hair. It was only for a few seconds, barely time for Goro to become excruciatingly aware of his own heartbeat, and the heat in his face, and the shivery prickle that ran down his spine as Kurusu’s fingertips combed across his scalp. Kurusu was very, very close, his expression one of amused concentration as he set Goro’s hair to rights – so close Goro could feel his breath on his own lips.

Kurusu’s eyes flicked to his then, catching and holding for a second that seemed to stretch into hours, and Goro was fairly certain he stopped breathing entirely.

Then Kurusu jerked back from him with a wide-eyed look of something close to panic.

“You, uh– your hair was– anyway, looks fine now.” Kurusu coughed, backing off as far as the narrow alley would allow, face flaming as he looked anywhere but at Goro. “So, uh… do you still want to go somewhere?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Goro managed, straightening up from the wall and adjusting his tie reflexively as he groped for some sort of understanding of what had just happened. “This way.”

Okay, Akira was definitely in trouble.

The last place he’d expected Akechi to take him was this half-hidden basement bar with its dim lighting, soft background music, and absurdly colourful non-alcoholic cocktails. He was so off-balance that before he knew it, Akechi had paid the cover charge for both of them.

Not that Akira had been anything but off-balance since that whirlwind dash through the backstreets. Since he’d looked up from catching his breath to see Akechi with his hair wind-whipped and his cheeks flushed and his eyes burning with the same fierce joy Akira felt when he threw himself from platform to platform in the Metaverse.

Since he’d been hit with a want so potent that it was still sending aftershocks through his whole body.

It wasn’t like it was the first time Akira been attracted to someone. Not even the first time it had been a boy, honestly, though he’d never told anyone that. He’d had a girlfriend briefly in his last year of junior high, before she went to a different high school. He’d liked kissing her, but it had always felt a bit… performative, somehow. Like they were playing their required parts, like neither of them would have done it otherwise.

Other crushes had come on gradually, over a period of wistfully watching someone and wondering about them. And it had always been at a distance. A fantasy tantalisingly – but, in some ways, reassuringly – out of his reach. Something to cradle close and never think of acting on.

Akira had never imagined he could be swept away by his feelings. Until he found himself with his hands in Akechi’s hair and about half a second from kissing that surprised look off his pretty face.

It was probably a good thing Morgana wasn’t here to see him making an idiot out of himself. On the other hand, Akira thought as Akechi led him to a table next to the piano, Morgana might have stopped him getting to this point by reminding him of why he was spending time with Akechi in the first place.

… so it was a good thing Morgana wasn’t here. Because it turned out that Akechi Goro was exactly the kind of trouble Akira couldn’t resist getting into, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to try and talk him out of it.

(Would Akechi have let Akira kiss him? It had certainly felt like – there’d been a breathless tension between them in that moment – and Akechi had been watching him all evening – but was it for the same reason Akira couldn’t take his eyes off him? He was a detective, after all… he might just be investigating a suspect… but did detectives usually look at their targets the way Akechi had been looking at him for those brief few moments back in the alley…?)

“Has anything caught your eye?”

Akira stared at Akechi for a second. He must have had a certain deer-in-the-headlights look about him, because Akechi laughed – the polite laugh, not the real one – and gestured to the drinks menu in front of them.

Oh. Right.

“I honestly have no idea where to start,” Akira confessed.

“Hmm. Are there any soft drinks you dislike?”

Akira shook his head.

“Then perhaps you’d let me order for both of us?”

Akira wondered if this was another challenge, if he was supposed to insist on choosing his own drink, but right now he was more than willing to cede some ground to Akechi if it bought him a bit of time to collect his thoughts.

“That’d be good. Thanks.”

Akechi’s face brightened ever so slightly as he turned towards the bar and raised a hand. Perhaps not a challenge, then. Perhaps a genuine desire to choose something he thought Akira would like.

This was clearly somewhere he came to a lot, Akira noted, as a server strolled over – no, not just a server, the owner, by the sound of it – and exchanged a few pleasantries with Akechi while taking their order. It wasn’t the kind of place he would have expected the Detective Prince to gravitate to. But then, Akira was rapidly accumulating evidence that the real Akechi – the one who fascinated him – wasn’t much like his public persona at all.

Persona. An appropriate choice of word, maybe.

“So, is this your secret detective hideout?” Akira asked once the owner – Muhen, Akechi had called him – had gone off to get their drinks. “You meet your shady underworld contacts here?”

Akechi actually looked a little bit offended, which was way funnier than it had any right to be.

“Jazz Jin isn’t shady. It’s a perfectly respectable establishment.”

Akira laughed, some of his confidence coming back with the thrill of making Akechi frown like that.

“Nah, I can see that. It’s more like… cosy, once you’re inside. Do you come here often?”

… he hadn’t meant that to come out sounding quite so much like a pick-up line. Fortunately, Akechi didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes. It’s… a good place to be alone with my thoughts.” Akechi paused, and glanced away. “I’ve never brought anyone here before, as a matter of fact.”

There went Akira’s hard-won equanimity, shattered again by the quiet, almost surprised honesty in Akechi’s voice.

“Oh. I… guess I’m honoured, then. To be your first. I mean, the first—”

God, what even were words? Fortunately, Muhen came back with their drinks. Akira peered at the frothy green liquid with concern. In his experience, things that were as brightly coloured as this tended to be sickeningly sweet. He took a cautious sip, and was surprised and delighted by the sharp, refreshing taste.

“Do you like it?” Akechi asked, watching him like a hawk. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“It’s really good,” Akira replied, taking another sip. “Wow, seriously. What’s in it?”

Akechi’s eyes lit up. He launched into an explanation that Akira only half-listened to, though he gathered that something called bitters was involved in counterbalancing the sweetness of the other ingredients.

Akechi was cute like this, Akira thought helplessly. A bit pretentious, just like he had been at the TV station, but also genuinely caught up in sharing information he found interesting. Somehow the explanation of this particular drink had turned into a miniature lecture on mixing cocktails in general. Akira wondered if Akechi had ever actually made his own drinks, or if he’d just read up on it obsessively at some point. He seemed like the type to hoard information he would never put to practical use.

“It reminds me of coffee blends, a bit,” Akira said when Akechi paused for a sip of the cocktail he’d been rhapsodising about. “It’s the same kind of thing, balancing not just the flavours but the acidity and so on… I’m not great at it yet but it’s a lot of fun to try things out.”

Akechi shot him a curious look. He rested his elbow on the table and propped his chin up on his hand.

“I’m rather a fan of coffee myself,” he said. “But I’ve never tried making my own blend. How did you get into that?”

“Kind of comes with the territory,” Akira replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh – I actually live above a cafe. Sojiro – my guardian – has been teaching me.”

Akechi blinked, then leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

“A cafe? How did that come about?”

Akira hesitated. The last thing he’d intended had been to bring up the topic of his move to Tokyo and what had precipitated it. It was a sore enough subject even with people he knew well and trusted, let alone…

But he remembered how Akechi had reacted earlier, when he’d confessed to his criminal record. I choose who’s worth my time. He hadn’t shown any sign of changing his mind yet.

And maybe Akira felt like he owed him a little honesty, given that he was trying to figure out Akechi’s secrets.

“You know how I said I’m on probation?”

Akechi frowned, but nodded. Akira took a deep breath.

“So… I was coming home from my part-time job one night last summer…”

It took Goro longer than it should have to identify the emotion twisting around in his stomach as Kurusu finished telling his story.

Anger. Seething, poisonous, barely-contained anger.

It shouldn’t have been hard to name. It was the same force that drove him on day after day in Shido’s service, the power that bubbled out of him when he called on Loki to drive a Shadow berserk.

He just wasn’t used to feeling it on someone else’s behalf.

Kurusu related the events that had brought him to Tokyo with quick, cool detachment, like they were just facts in a case he was laying out for Goro to solve. To someone less observant – or to someone who hadn’t been studying Kurusu intently for hours now – he probably would have sounded like he didn’t care all that much. Like it was in the past, and he bore no grudges.

But Goro could see it: in his eyes, in the way some of his words were clipped and rushed. Anger. Defiance. Outrage. And a refusal to take any of it lying down, no matter how many times he was shoved to the ground.

It wasn’t just the miscarriage of justice – and Goro found that he believed Kurusu’s version of events, believed that he had done nothing to deserve his conviction – it was all the rest of it. Kurusu didn’t say much about his parents, his friends, his school, but Goro could fill in the gaps all too easily. It was a familiar world, one he’d spent his whole life in. A world of shitty, selfish people who’d turn on you in a second if you let down your guard. A world where nothing was ever fair, and no-one could be trusted.

He almost didn’t understand his own anger. Kurusu had had it good for most of his life, that was obvious enough. He’d had a rude awakening, and now he lived in Goro’s world. There was no particular reason to find what had happened to him any more outrageous than the rest of Goro’s experience.

Except.

Except maybe – somewhere deep down – maybe Goro had always sort of believed that the things that happened to him had been… because of him. That there was something fundamentally unlovable in his nature. That he was the kind of cursed child who would always bear the brunt of the world’s cruelty.

There was a comforting sort of ache in seeing even a fraction of his own suffering reflected in Kurusu Akira’s eyes.

“Anyway,” Kurusu was saying, with a shrug that didn’t hide the tension in his shoulders, “I guess it turned out okay. I like living at Leblanc, and I like Tokyo. I’ve made friends here. Better friends than I had back home.”

A stab of something close to envy went through Goro. On that front, their experiences diverged sharply.

“Ah, I met them yesterday, didn’t I?” The blonde girl and the loud one, who’d been so openly announcing their identity as Phantom Thieves to anyone happening to pass by. “Those two from Shujin.”

Kurusu smiled an unrestrained smile, warm with affection.

“Yeah. Not just them, though. Turns out there are more good people in the world than I thought.”

That certainly wasn’t a sentiment Goro could share. But he did find the thought creeping in on him that there were apparently more interesting people in the world than he’d thought.

One more interesting person, anyway.

“You should come to Leblanc sometime,” Kurusu added, out of nowhere. “So I can show you my brewing skills.”

“You think you can impress me?” Goro countered automatically, raising an eyebrow and keeping his expression sweet. “I have expensive tastes when it comes to coffee.”

“Oh, you should definitely stop by then,” Kurusu replied with a grin. “If one more person orders that cheap crap they have at Frostbucks I think Sojiro is going to throw in the towel. Or maybe throw the towel at them.”

God, how did he keep making Goro laugh like that – too loud and too graceless and too real? He quickly covered it by taking a long drink from his cocktail, absently brushing the drops of condensation off his gloved fingers afterwards.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Kurusu-kun.”

He was glad he was still looking down: it gave him a moment to control his face in the wake of realising what had just come out of his mouth. What was wrong with him? How did Kurusu make him feel so – so raw, and eager, and like he wanted to spill parts of himself that had no business seeing the light of day?

“You know,” Kurusu said quietly, after a moment of hesitation. “You can call me Akira.”

Goro looked up without intending to, caught off-guard yet again. Kurusu was fiddling with the napkin under his drink, eyes on the little paper square like it contained something more fascinating than Jazz Jin’s logo and phone number.

“I’d prefer it,” Kurusu went on. “Honestly, Kurusu-kun just makes me think of all the adults who talk down to me.”

Goro stared at his own napkin, absently tracing the numbers with his eyes.

“For me, it’s the other way around,” he found himself saying. “Almost everyone who’s ever called me by my given name has been condescending to me. It’s… something of a personal triumph that no-one uses it now.”

And something of a shield, as well. A way of separating himself – his true self – from the image he’d spent so long crafting. A way of reassuring himself that no-one really knew him, just the way he wanted it.

“I can understand that,” Kurusu said. His voice held no disappointment that Goro hadn’t offered him the same privilege; just an easy acknowledgement, a quiet moment of connection. Then he grinned suddenly, and Goro was immediately on alert, recognising the teasing twist of it now. “Besides, you’ve got to keep up the brand, right?”

He nodded at Goro’s briefcase sitting on the empty chair opposite him. Goro rolled his eyes and didn’t even try to hide it.

“That’s the idea, yes.”

Kurusu – no, Goro thought with a small shock, Akira – laughed openly at him.

“Do you have stationery? Pens? One of those snowglobe things?” Akira’s eyes lit up with unholy glee. “Do you have fan merch?”

Goro had never been so annoyed with anyone, or enjoyed it so much.

“No,” he snapped. Then he grimaced, remembering something Sae had teased him about a few weeks back. “Well. Not officially, but…”

Akira made an undignified snorting noise as he tried to smother another laugh behind his hand.

“Tell me there are t-shirts.”

“Why, do you want one?” Goro gave Akira his best TV smile. “I had no idea you were such a fan.”

“I’d be tempted, just to see the look on your face.”

“To the best of my knowledge, there are no t-shirts,” Goro told him. It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t have to mention that there were definitely home-made patches and pins, or that some of the students at his school had started wearing them. “Besides, my logo is trademarked. I’d have to sue anyone using it on a large scale or I’d lose the rights to it.”

For some reason, Akira found that so hilarious that he crumpled forward onto the table, head buried in his arms as he tried to keep his giggling down to an acceptable volume. Goro was torn between intense irritation – it was a serious concern! He’d spent a lot of time reading through intellectual property laws! – and a weird, misplaced pride that he’d made Akira laugh so hard.

While Akira was composing himself, someone came to sit at the piano and began running a few practice scales to test the tuning. Goro frowned, trying to remember if tonight was a live music night. He usually made sure to sit a bit further away on those occasions. He didn’t think anything was scheduled, but Muhen had plenty of friends in the jazz scene, and was easygoing about anyone who might want to indulge in a jam session or some solo improv. Goro normally enjoyed those – but then, he normally wasn’t trying to have a conversation over the background noise.

The pianist settled into something mellow and pleasant, but this close it was loud enough that Goro didn’t hear Akira’s question when he finally raised his head.

“What was that?”

Akira opened his mouth again, glanced at the piano with a frown, and then scooted his chair over so he was closer to Goro.

“I wondered if it was your real name, actually,” he said once he was settled. “It just seems a bit too perfect, you know? Detective and all.”

He was grinning again, but there was a little hesitation in it. Like he guessed it might be a more personal question than he intended.

Goro had answers for this one, too, though by and large interviewers had stopped asking it, more interested in prying into other details of his personal life. Good, quick answers that moved the conversation on without revealing anything. A light joke about how the coincidence of almost sharing a name with Akechi Kogoro, Japan’s Own Sherlock Holmes, must have made him destined to take up the mantle.

He couldn’t seem to remember any of those answers right now.

“It’s my real name,” he admitted. Akira leaned in closer to hear him. “My mother, ah… well, she was a fan of the books. She used to read them to me. She always said… that those characters were the only family she had left.”

Somehow he cut off the flow of words, mortified and feeling the same sweep of pain that went through him any time he was stupid enough to think about his mother.

“She’s not around anymore?” Akira asked after a moment. His voice was soft with understanding.

“No. She died when I was eight years old. She…”

What was it about Akira that made Goro so unable to hold himself back? What was it that drew these confessions out so easily and so naturally, as if they’d only been waiting for the right person to listen to them?

“She… had a hard life. At least after giving birth to me. My father–” He couldn’t keep the venom out of the word, concentrated and refined by the time he’d spent learning that Shido was even more despicable than he’d ever imagined. “–abandoned her as soon as he found out she was pregnant. Her family disowned her before I was born. I’ve never met any of them. I hope I never will. She… took her own life, in the end.”

Akira had shifted even closer as Goro’s voice dropped unintentionally. Close enough for Goro to hear his swift, soft intake of breath, and to cringe inwardly at the flood of ugly truth that had just spilled out of him. He braced himself for the inevitable pity, or some empty cliché like I’m so sorry for your loss.

But of course Akira would find a way to surprise him again.

“Have you been on your own since then?” Akira asked. There was no pity in his voice. In fact, his tone was closer to… not exactly admiration… perhaps the right word was respect. “You’ve done all this by yourself?”

He gestured vaguely at Goro’s briefcase, as if it encompassed everything that Goro had achieved since he’d started high school. As if, for all his teasing, Akira understood why it meant something to Goro to insist on waving a flag of identity at all times.

Maybe Akira did. It was a terrifying, enthralling, intoxicating idea.

“Ah, I… had a couple of lucky breaks,” Goro said. He glanced sideways at Akira, was thrilled by his rapt attention. “It’s only been in the last two years that I’ve made it to where I am now. Before that, I was just… an unwanted child in the system.”

“Two years?” Now it was admiration, pure and simple and as good as a drug straight to Goro’s veins. “That’s amazing.”

Akira paused. Goro was about to laugh modestly and wave off the praise, when Akira blurted out, “You’re amazing.”

Goro didn’t mean to look at Akira then. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do, because all at once he seemed to have no control over his own face, like he’d been stripped bare of every mask he wore.

But he couldn’t help himself. It was like an invisible hand jerking his chin up, turning him to the side, urging him to seek out Akira’s eyes and check that he wasn’t – that it wasn’t mockery, or some sort of trick, or–

Once again, Akira was closer than Goro expected, leaning almost into his personal space so that they could hear each other over the piano. There wasn’t a trace of a lie in his dark eyes, no hint of a joke, and no hiding the intensity of his gaze.

No-one had ever looked at Goro like that. It made him feel like something molten had been poured under his skin, a rush of heat and heaviness that started in his throat and seeped down through the rest of his body like hot wax filling a candle mould. It was such an intense feeling that it almost hurt, stole his breath away like he’d been punched in the solar plexus. It left him frozen helplessly in place: desperately, wordlessly wanting…

It couldn’t have been more than a second in real time. They were caught between the notes tumbling from the pianist’s fingers, an eternity shared in an instant, and Goro felt dizzyingly like he was falling.

Then reality snapped back around them. Akira swayed back like he’d suddenly realised he was right on a cliff edge, face reddening. He fumbled for his half-finished drink and promptly knocked it over, spilling it right onto his white shirt.

“Shit!” Akira reached for his napkin, realised it was now soaked through, and surged to his feet instead. “I’ll just, uh– I’ll be right back.”

He rushed off in the direction of the bathroom so swiftly that Goro was left staring at the place where he’d been, as if he’d simply vanished on the spot.

Goro’s heart was racing, his breathing shallow and fast. He was far, far too hot: he tugged his gloves off automatically and moved to unbutton his blazer, only to find that his hands were trembling. He stared at them, confused and betrayed, then folded them tightly in his lap and willed himself to calm down.

He didn’t know what to do with what he was feeling. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know how to make it stop.

He didn’t know if he wanted to make it stop.

He wondered if it felt like this for Akira, too. If Akira had experienced the same emptiness and frustration Goro had always known, the feeling that no-one was ever quite on the same wavelength…

Goro shook himself. No, that was ridiculous. Akira was positively dripping in friends, after all. He’d even found people who would go with him into the Metaverse. Of course he wouldn’t be as pathetically affected as Goro by the novelty of… of whatever this was.

The surge of shame gave him some clarity back. Akira was charming and a good listener, that was all. He was probably like this with everyone; he must know the effect he had on people. In fact… he might even be deliberately trying to catch Goro off-guard, mightn’t he? He’d been the one to push for spending time together straight away. Perhaps the charm offensive was part of his strategy. Perhaps Akira knew exactly what he was doing.

Well, Goro also knew how to wield charm as a weapon. He’d allowed himself to become distracted, to let the conversation turn back to him one too many times. The key was to refocus on his target, to ask seemingly harmless questions that would tell him more about Akira. And some not-so-harmless ones, too, to put him on the spot. Yes, Goro could see a clear path of action for the rest of the evening.

It was still too hot in here. His hands had steadied now, so he unbuttoned his blazer, shrugged out of it, and folded it carefully on top of his briefcase, slipping his gloves into one of the pockets. It would be good to change into the summer uniform: the weather seemed particularly warm today.

Akira had no idea what he was doing.

At least the cocktail hadn’t stained his school shirt: whatever provided the green colour in the drink had washed out with soap and water, and the hand dryer had taken care of the leftover wet patch with remarkable efficiency.

He still hadn’t left the bathroom, mostly because he couldn’t seem to get his face to go back to a normal colour.

He splashed water onto his overheated cheeks for the third time and then ran damp fingers through his hair in a futile effort to tame it. A glance at his reflection showed that all he’d achieved was a look best described as cat after being dragged through a damp hedge, backwards. He sighed, stuck his head under the hand dryer for a few seconds, and tried again.

That was probably as good as he was going to get. Not that it mattered. No amount of impromptu hair styling was going to conveniently erase the last few minutes of him making an utter idiot out of himself. He supposed at least he hadn’t spilled his drink all over Akechi. He might have had no choice in that case but to climb out of the way-too-small bathroom window and flee the country.

He rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror. Get a grip, Joker. You’re hardly the first person to embarrass yourself in front of the hot guy you want to make out with.

Putting words around that last part, even just in his head, brought him back down to earth a bit.

The hot guy you want to make out with, who is also the detective who wants to arrest you, Akira reminded himself. Who’s also probably been spying on you in the Metaverse.

He flashed himself a wry smile. He almost thought he could hear Arsène laugh somewhere in the back of his mind.

What have we gotten ourselves into?

He checked one last time that there was no trace of the spill remaining on his shirt, threw himself his cockiest Joker wink in the mirror, and headed back out.

His confidence lasted until the exact moment he reached their table and found that Akechi had removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeves, but by that point, it was too late to flee back to the bathroom for another round of cold water to the face. At least the piano covered the unfortunate gulping noise he made.

“I took the liberty of ordering us both another drink,” Akechi said when Akira sat back down. He smiled – a different smile, one Akira hadn’t seen before – and it sent a pleasant shiver down Akira’s spine. “Since you didn’t get to finish your first one.”

He looked… softer, without the outer layers. Even the tie looked less formal – had he loosened it? – and Akira was oddly fascinated by his gloveless hands. His fingers were long and slender without the leather shrouding them, and his nails were as perfect as a girl’s, though lacking any sign of nail polish. Akira kind of wanted to hold his hand, thread their fingers together and see if his skin was as soft as it looked.

He had no idea what he was doing. He should’ve brought Morgana. He should’ve brought Ryuji. He should’ve gone home by now, given himself time to cool off.

But when their drinks arrived, and Akechi took both glasses off the tray and then slid one over to him with another of those smiles, Akira was really glad he hadn’t done any of those things.

Akechi had ordered them something different this time, a pale blue concoction that shaded into violet towards the bottom of the glass. The taste was quite distinct from the first, but it had that same sharpness beneath the other flavours, something that cut through the sweetness just enough without turning the whole thing sour.

It was a lot like Akechi himself, Akira thought haphazardly. Like that smile: sweet but not too sweet, sharp without breaking skin, neither the polite mask nor the flash of danger. He couldn’t tell if it was more or less real than Akechi’s other smiles, but it made him feel breathless and warm.

“So,” Akechi said after they’d both tried the drinks, “am I to understand that you don’t live with your guardian?”

Akira blinked, thrown by the non sequitur. Akechi seemed to realise how out of left field it was and laughed self-consciously.

“Ah… sorry, I was just thinking about what you said earlier. That you live above the cafe your guardian owns. It didn’t sound like you were talking about an apartment block…”

“Oh. No, it’s just a small place in Yongen-Jaya. I’m living in the attic.”

Akechi frowned.

“He offered to take you in, but couldn’t find space for you in his own home?”

Akira stared down at his drink. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the same thought.

“I’m not sure he offered, exactly. My parents are paying him. A friend of theirs set it up... I think. It was all just… arranged without telling me, and then they put me on the train to Tokyo.”

He felt the familiar twisting in the pit of his stomach, the sense of vertigo and helplessness that had filled him when his parents told him to pack his things. And when he’d first walked into Leblanc and seen the dusty, neglected space he was expected to live in. And when he’d arrived at Shujin and everyone had already been whispering about him…

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “The attic was… kind of a dump when I got here, but I’ve cleaned it up and it’s… nice to have my own space. I wish I had a bathroom, but…”

“You don’t have a bathroom?”

“I mean, there’s the restroom downstairs, for customers. I use that. But I have to go across the street to the bath house if I want a shower.”

“Hmm.” Akechi’s voice had hardened; he was trying to hide it under extra sweetness, but Akira could hear the contempt threaded through it. “So he’s taking your parents’ money and providing you with the bare minimum in return? I wish I could say I was shocked, but…”

“No, it’s not like that,” Akira replied quickly, feeling a spike of guilt. Yes, the first week at Leblanc had been rough, but Sojiro wasn’t nearly as cold or uncaring as he wanted people to believe... “He didn’t have to do anything for me at all. I’m grateful.”

Akechi scoffed audibly.

“For a few scraps of consideration? Frankly, I have to wonder why his name hasn’t appeared on that website yet.”

Akira stared at him.

“What?”

Akechi met his gaze with a dangerous intensity in his eyes.

“Surely you must know, since you’re such a fan of them? The Phantom Thieves apparently take requests. Why don’t you ask them to change your guardian’s heart so that he treats you better?”

It felt like having a bucket of icy water dumped over his head, or walking into a wall that he hadn’t seen coming. Akira actually flinched, reeling from the idea of— they couldn’t, not to Sojiro— he was gruff on the surface, and yeah he could have done more to make Akira welcome, but Akira was already sure that he wasn’t the sort of person who—

“No,” he said forcefully. “No way.”

Akechi’s eyebrows rose in surprise that might or might not have been genuine.

“Why not?”

“We… I couldn’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Akechi leaned forward fractionally, so focused on Akira that it felt like there was no-one in the room but the two of them.

And like Akira should have his hand on his dagger.

“Deserve it? If the Phantom Thieves act in the name of justice, then surely anyone who acts unjustly deserves to be corrected.”

“This isn’t about justice—”

“Isn’t it? Would you say it’s fair, then? The things that have happened to you? The way you’ve been treated?” Akechi’s eyes were burning with something either very hot or very cold. “Is it justice that you’ve been tossed into a stranger’s attic like so much trash?”

Akira shook his head, not disagreeing so much as trying to corral his scattered thoughts.

“Isn’t this the opposite of what you were saying on TV—?” he started… and stopped. Remembered how he’d thought earlier that Akechi had a point. Remembered what they’d discussed in the diner.

Suddenly, his head was clear as he found his footing again in the duel they’d started under the studio lights.

“No,” Akira went on slowly, studying Akechi’s face with dawning understanding, “this is exactly what you were saying, isn’t it? It’s not even about abusing that power. It’s… where’s the line, and who gets to draw it?”

A flicker of surprise – of satisfaction – crossed Akechi’s face before he smoothed it out with a smile and bent forward to sip his drink, pushing his hair out of the way with one hand.

“And you think it should be the police,” Akira continued, unable to keep a thread of anger out of his voice. “Or the court system. Or the government. The people who sent me here.”

Akechi straightened up, his smile gone, his eyes dark.

“I didn’t say that.”

Akira leaned forward, narrowing his own eyes, trying to read Akechi the way Akechi seemed to read him so effortlessly. Akechi held Akira’s gaze for an handful of taut seconds, like he was counting them off in his head, before he looked away with forced nonchalance. He took hold of the straw in his glass, but instead of bending to drink again, he began to stir it in swift, vicious movements, like his fingers were too restless to do otherwise.

“Then who?” Akira asked.

“Perhaps we each have to serve our own justice,” Akechi replied, voice deceptively soft around words like knives. “And perhaps we must accept that it makes villains of us all when we do.”

Maybe it was a trick of the low light, but Akechi suddenly seemed all edges, like he’d been cut out of the world and pasted inelegantly back onto it. Like every trace of the charming Detective Prince had for a moment been obliterated, leaving this sleek, sharp, deadly creature wielding a plastic straw like a bladed weapon.

Like this was someone who shouldn’t be touched. Whom no-one in their right mind would touch. Who should be left profoundly, painfully alone.

Akira reached out and caught hold of Akechi’s wrist, stopping him mid-stir. Akechi startled, eyes flying to Akira’s face. He didn’t try to pull his hand away.

“You messed up the colours,” Akira said, looking at Akechi’s drink: the careful gradient had smudged into a dull blue-grey. “Does that change the taste?”

“I have no idea.”

“One way to find out—”

Before he could even think about what he was doing, Akira leaned over, tugging Akechi’s hand so the straw tilted in his direction, and sucked in a long sip of the drink. He let it sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallowed.

“Huh. I think it actually tastes better that way,” Akira said as he straightened up again, letting go of Akechi’s wrist. “The flavours are more balanced, even if it doesn’t look as pretty.”

It belatedly occurred to him that he should probably have asked before drinking from Akechi’s glass.

“Oh. Uh. Sorry, I didn’t— I’ll get you another straw.”

“No, it’s… fine.” Akechi ducked his head – not quickly enough to hide the blush once more staining his cheeks – and took a sip of his own. “Hmm. I think you might be right. How… unexpected.”

“If cooking’s taught me anything, it’s that things that look nice can taste awful and things that look awful can taste amazing,” Akira rambled, trying not to think about how Akechi’s tongue had darted out to lick his lips as he let the straw slip out of his mouth. “I mean, half the time my curry comes out just looking like sludge but it tastes pretty good…”

“You cook for yourself?” Akechi sounded genuinely surprised, even intrigued. “Real cooking? Not just microwave meals?”

“Not always, but…” Akira rubbed at the back of his neck. “I like it. It’s satisfying to make a good meal. Especially if it’s for other people, but even when it’s just for myself… I don’t know, I feel like it clears my head. Gives me time to think.”

“Really? Perhaps I should try it, then.” Akechi frowned, an endearing little furrow of impatience. “Though… I’m, ah… I’m embarrassed to admit it, but when I have attempted to cook, it… hasn’t gone well. Even when I have detailed instructions to follow. I just don’t seem to have the knack.”

Was that the first time Akechi had freely admitted to being less than perfect at something? It gave Akira the same kind of fluttering sensation as when they’d talked about his childhood: a feeling of being trusted with something precious and fragile. Like a butterfly cupped in his hands, frail wings beating too fast like Akira’s heart, poised and ready to take flight at the first sign of a threat.

“It takes practice,” Akira said. “Having someone to teach you helps. It’s hard not to give up when you have to eat the half-burned omelette you’re scraping off the ceiling.”

Akechi blinked, then smirked.

“That’s a very specific example.”

“I thought I could flip it like I saw on TV,” Akira replied, making a face at the memory. “But I was thirteen and the pan was too heavy… and I couldn’t start over because we’d run out of eggs.”

“You were cooking for yourself even when you lived with your parents?”

“Ah…” Akira never liked to talk about his home life; he didn’t like the way pity crept into other people’s faces when he mentioned the things that had been normal for him growing up. “Not all the time. Just the weekdays, when they came back late. My mom would leave me stuff to eat, but it was always… those prepackaged bento, you know? The same kind I had for lunch. I just got really tired of them, and I was always still hungry after, so…”

He risked a glance at Akechi. To his relief, he didn’t see anything that looked like pity. In fact, Akechi was nodding, like he understood perfectly.

He probably did, Akira realised with a sudden pang. He’d called himself an unwanted child earlier. If he’d been abandoned to the system after his mother’s death, he no doubt knew exactly what it was like to be hungry, and for no-one to care.

And there was more than one kind of hunger, wasn’t there? Maybe that was why Akira felt like there was this connection between them, even though they’d only just met. Maybe Akechi was starving in the same way Akira had been until he came to Tokyo: not for food, but for recognition, affection, friendship. For someone to care about him enough to ask if he was okay.

“Anyway,” Akira went on, not quite wanting Akechi to ask any more questions about his family, “that’s how I got started. My standards were low enough back then that I kept on doing it even though I sucked. After a while I figured out that it’s, uh… beyond the basics, you kind of have to improvise, but you have to know when to improvise and when to stick to the recipe. If that makes sense.”

“Like jazz,” Akechi mused, glancing at the piano, where the player was still rippling over the keys. “Improvisation is an integral part of the music, but even then it requires adhering to a certain structure, otherwise the result is discordant. It’s exhilarating to listen to so much complexity coming together into something almost… organic. I never would have thought of cooking as being the same way.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that about jazz.” Akira listened to the pianist more carefully for a moment or two. “Is that why you like it?”

Akechi’s eyes lit up the way they had when Akira had asked him about the cocktails.

“Yes – it’s like learning another language. It takes time to appreciate the depth and nuance of the different forms, the way individual musicians use the same concepts completely differently… listening to it is like solving a puzzle. It’s far more engaging than other styles of music.”

Akira generally listened to music because it sounded nice, but he nodded anyway. He might not get it exactly, but he understood what Akechi meant. It actually did sound kind of similar to figuring out the right balance of flavours for a meal.

And maybe he found himself with a sudden interest in getting to know more about jazz, for that matter.

“And of course, live music in particular,” Akechi was saying, gesturing at the piano, “is always a unique experience… especially when several people come together for a jam session, all improvising on their own initiative, and yet somehow from the chaos comes… synchronicity. It’s breathtaking – no matter how many times I hear it happen, I almost can’t wrap my head around it.”

Akira found himself thinking of the Phantom Thieves, of how they were learning to fight together in the Metaverse. Yes, he was the leader, and yes, he gave orders, but most of their battles were… just like that. Each of them playing their own melody line, but reacting to each other and the situation, learning intuitively when to strike and when to pull back, passing the baton at just the right moment.

Maybe it was that, as much as everything else, that had made Akira feel so much less alone.

“Do you play an instrument?” he asked Akechi.

Akechi’s eyes widened slightly.

“Me? No, I’ve never had the time or opportunity. Do you?”

“No, the closest I’ve come is rhythm games at the arcade.” Akira grinned. “I can play a mean fake guitar. And you don’t want to challenge me to a dance-off.”

Akechi’s eyes narrowed. Akira barely stifled a laugh. God, he was so competitive, wasn’t he?

“Don’t I?”

“Oh? Are you secretly the Tokyo arcade champion, too?”

“I—” Akechi visibly wrestled with himself, before folding his arms defensively over his chest. “I’ve never been to one, actually.”

“You— seriously? You’ve never been in an arcade?”

Akechi huffed and fiddled absently with his rolled-up sleeve.

“Again, I’ve had neither time nor opportunity. Video games have always struck me as a frivolous waste of time.”

He sounded as pretentious and judgemental as someone’s grandfather, and Akira had no idea why he was finding it so adorable. Maybe because he could sense the undercurrent of curiosity, could guess that the condescension was self-defence.

Maybe because it plucked at his heart a little, as he thought again about hunger, and all the ways a child could be starved.

Akira grabbed his drink and gulped the last of it, then pushed back his chair.

“Everyone needs a bit of frivolous time-wasting. Come on, there must be an arcade around here somewhere, right?”

Akechi made a startled sound, eyes gone wide again and that slight, tantalising hint of pink settling back into his cheeks.

“Wh— are you serious? Right now?”

“Right now,” Akira confirmed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the jazz club – actually he thought he could spend hours here, especially in present company – but the idea of introducing Akechi to video games was way too tempting to pass up. Akira would bet good money that he would be an instant addict. “I can’t let you go another minute without knowing what you’ve been missing.”

“What makes you think I have any desire to—”

“Also,” Akira interrupted, playing his trump card with no qualms whatsoever, “it’s gonna be hilarious watching you be bad at something for once.”

Akechi stiffened, his eyes sharpening fiercely, as Akira had known they would. There was no way he could back down from that sort of taunt. From that sort of challenge.

Akechi picked up his own drink, finished it in one smooth swallow, then got to his feet and collected his briefcase and blazer.

“We’ll see about that, shall we?”

Walking into this arcade, Goro thought, might be the worst mistake he’d ever made in his life.

Not because he’d allowed himself to be distracted again – not because Akira had once more taken him by surprise and swept him off in a different direction – but because he never wanted to leave.

He’d always vaguely imagined arcade games as glorified gambling – slot machines for kids – or some pointless exercise in jumping from platform to platform until an arbitrary number of lives had been exhausted. And it seemed like there were machines in here that matched that description, but there was also this one. This game with its relentless pace and its detailed and responsive graphics and its incredibly realistic gun controllers, so true to life that Goro’s Metaverse instincts transferred seamlessly, even with the added layer of abstraction from looking at a screen.

He wouldn’t ever call it as satisfying as destroying Shadows, but the fact that the game was keeping score – that he could see Akira’s name stuck firmly below his at the top of the screen, unable to quite regain the lead he’d held at the start – was its own addictive thrill. The only thing that could make it better would be an audience; a shame the arcade was deserted apart from the two of them.

“I thought you said you’d never played before,” Akira whined, trying for a high-value target and missing the shot, putting him even further behind as Goro smoothly took out three enemies before reloading. “This is unbelievable.”

“I promise you, I’ve never touched a game like this in my life,” Goro replied, revelling in the look on Akira’s face as they reached the end of the level and the screen declared Goro the winner. “Are they all this easy?”

“Oh my god,” Akira muttered, shoving more coins into the machine and hitting the restart button without even asking Goro first. “Okay, come on, this time I’m ready for you.”

He wasn’t.

“How are you doing this?” Akira demanded after two more rounds, both of which Goro won by a handful of points. “I thought I was good at this game.”

“Hmm, beginner’s luck, perhaps?” Goro suggested, idly twirling the imitation gun around his fingers. It even had the right weight and balance. “Or perhaps you’re not as good as you thought.”

Akira frowned, watching the showy little manoeuvre intently, and Goro felt a sudden prickle of alarm, realised how reckless he was being just as Akira spoke.

“Or… you’re used to handling a gun, even if you haven’t played this sort of game before.”

Goro stilled the controller and held it loosely, more like a TV remote than a weapon, making sure to smile through the surge of panic and self-recrimination at his slip.

“Aha, you caught me. It’s something I’ve had some experience with in the course of my work.”

Akira’s eyebrows shot up.

“They give high school detectives guns?”

“Of course not,” Goro said, rolling his eyes. “They don’t even give adult detectives guns. But understanding how they’re used is an important skill when analysing a crime scene that involves ballistics, so I’ve had some training.”

It was a bald-faced lie. Goro had never actually been allowed to work on violent crime cases, outside ‘solving’ the psychotic breaks, which he’d always claimed to do via deductive reasoning rather than forensics. And even the disgustingly corrupt SIU wasn’t about to hand a teenager a pistol. All his experience came from the Metaverse. He was an idiot for letting himself get carried away.

“Perhaps we should switch to another game?” Goro went on, before Akira could think to ask any questions about what sort of training had taught him to aim for the head rather than the centre of mass. “I didn’t intend to come in with an undeclared advantage.”

Akira gave him a look of such frank disbelief that it was all Goro could do to keep his face straight. There was something invigorating about the way Akira kept calling him out on his bullshit, whether in words or with actions. And something irresistible about the smile that crept onto Akira’s face each time – that was sneaking in right now, in fact – as if he liked that side of Goro.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Akira said, putting Goro instantly on alert. “Let’s try co-op story mode.”

Goro frowned, glancing at the screen, which was currently running through its intro movie again.

“That’s… playing against the computer? I’m not sure how much of a challenge that would be.”

He didn’t trust the grin that took over Akira’s face.

“It’s a different kind of challenge. You’ll like it.”

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” Goro said, glancing suspiciously between Akira and the screen.

“Oh, all sorts of things, detective,” Akira replied, his grin only widening. “Shouldn’t you be doing your job and figuring them out?”

Time did that strange thing it had done back in Jazz Jin, seeming to slow and stop and hold the two of them in between breaths, something pulled tight and thrumming between them. Akira’s expression was teasing, but his eyes were fierce and focused. He still had his own controller in his hand, and though he didn’t have Goro’s expertise, he was as confident with it as he was with the weapons he used in the Metaverse.

What was the test here? Akira had seen that Goro could beat him consistently; he wouldn’t have proposed this game mode if there wasn’t something about it that would give him the upper hand.

“What makes you think I haven’t figured you out already?” Goro asked, matching Akira’s grin with his own cool smirk. “I could know everything. I could just be giving you enough rope to hang yourself with.”

Akira studied him intently, the slightest frown creasing his brow, mouth falling into something more neutral and serious. Goro suddenly couldn’t draw breath, feeling like the moment was balanced on a knife-edge, could topple either way or be sliced in half if too much pressure was applied.

“That seems like a waste of good rope,” Akira said. Then, before Goro could even begin to fathom what that was supposed to mean, he’d turned back to the game and was dropping more coins into the slot. “Let’s see what you can do with a different set of rules.”

The game started. This time there was some sort of framing narrative that Goro tuned out, mind racing as he tore the preceding conversation to shreds and examined it from every angle.

How badly had he slipped? Had he made Akira suspicious of him? Akira should by all rights be suspicious of him by default, but only because he knew Goro was investigating the Phantom Thieves. He should have no idea that Goro already knew he was one of them, much less that Goro himself had access to the Metaverse. But Goro had been talking too much all afternoon, all evening. Had been forgetting over and over again that he was stalking a target, not… not making a friend. Had let his guard down in ways he hadn’t in years, and for no better reason than because it felt good to let someone see him.

To let Akira, specifically, see him.

The level began. Goro started shooting, still running loops in his own mind as he worried at the question of whether he’d given himself away, and if so how badly…

Barely thirty seconds in, a warning klaxon sounded from the game.

“Wait, Akechi— stop, you’re gonna—”

Before Akira could even finish speaking, the scene froze, greyed out, and was replaced by a big, stark GAME OVER screen. Goro stared at it in confusion.

“What—?”

“You shot the hostage.”

“The what?”

“The win condition for this level was keeping all the hostages alive.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Goro that there could be a goal other than shooting as many people as possible in the allotted time. He could feel his face heating up with chagrin and a childish anger at being caught out.

“Well, that… that should have been made clearer!”

Akira was grinning, shaking his head as the game over music continued to mock Goro with his failure.

“It was at the top of the screen the whole time. And in the cut-scene at the start. Weren’t you paying attention?”

No, he hadn’t been paying attention at all. Of course he hadn’t. He had far more important things to worry about than this stupid game with its stupid rules.

“Evidently not,” Goro said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps we should—”

Akira hit a button and the game over screen faded out into the level intro. Apparently this wasn’t the sort of game where one failure kicked you out.

“We know the layout now,” Akira said. “You take that alley to the right, I’ll loop around to the left. We can get them in the crossfire in the main square without hitting any of the civilians.”

“Fine,” Goro muttered, unable to tell if he was more annoyed by Akira casually giving him orders, or by the fact that he couldn’t think of a better strategy. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah it will,” Akira replied, far too cheerfully. “The computer’s a cheating bastard. You’ll see.”

After fifteen levels and twice as many game over screens, Goro did, indeed, see.

“Akechi! Behind you!”

“Shit—!” Goro’s character died in an explosion of cartoonish gore. “That motherfucker teleported, I swear to—”

“We’ve still got a respawn, hurry up and get back here before— hey, what the hell, I hit that guy, why didn’t he— shit, I’m dead.”

The screen faded to grey and Goro let out a snarl of frustration. Akira made a sour face as the menu popped up, demanding more money, but the expression didn’t last long. Instead, he looked at Goro and started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Goro demanded.

He was suddenly conscious of how sweaty he was, how vigorously they’d both been moving while absorbed in the game. His shirt was sticking to his back again, and his hands were cramping from gripping the plastic gun so tightly.

“Did you hear yourself?” Akira asked, with that cocky Joker grin of his, alight with mirth. He’d taken his glasses off somewhere around the fifth level of the game: without them, his eyes looked sharper, his gaze almost unbearably intense. “It’s a good thing there’s no-one else here. I don’t know if your fans could handle that sort of language.”

“I—”

“Told you you’d like it.”

He looked so smug and so pleased that Goro was caught between the overwhelming need to take him down a peg and the even more powerful desire to keep that look on his face. Akira was flushed and ruffled like he had been in the alley, emotive and vivid, completely lacking the careful neutrality he pulled over himself like a veil. He was a burning brand, lightning cutting through a stormy sky, a spark to start a fire to raze a city to the ground.

And Goro had liked it: he was furious, frustrated, and sweaty, but he’d loved every second of it. The co-op levels weren’t just glorified shooting galleries, they were essentially puzzles: the key to winning was figuring out how to achieve the victory conditions without triggering any of the failure modes, and you had to do it under the pressure of gunfire and a clock running down. It was the most fun Goro had had in… maybe ever. He was already itching to start another round, to see if they could crack that next level, to keep on playing for as long as it took to beat the whole game.

But even stronger was the need to keep Akira’s eyes on him, to push him and feel him push back, to revel in how easily they slipped into synchronisation. It was like when they were playing darts, but taken to a new level: not just an intellectual grasp of each other’s strategy, but an intuitive flow of give and take.

It was like jazz music, Goro realised with a rush: improvisation meeting structure, chaos and order meshing into a perfect balance.

“You were right,” he found himself saying. He was startled by the note of… wonder in his own voice. The echo of his amazement that Akira could understand him so well. He cleared his throat quickly, slipped on an abashed smile. “Ah, I’d better not make a habit of this, though. As you say, it could… tarnish my public image.”

Akira’s grin had settled into a smirk. He leaned against the game cabinet, the gun controller dangling absently from his fingers, all his attention on Goro.

“Don’t you ever feel like it could use a bit of tarnishing?” he teased. “Don’t you want to give them all a shock sometimes?”

Goro felt his smile pull into something sharp and predatory.

“Timing is everything. There’s no sense in pulling the trigger before your sights are set.”

He didn’t know what made him do it; he was still riding the giddy adrenaline rush of the game and the even more potent high of the way Akira was looking at him. It felt easy and natural – and thrilling – to raise the plastic gun and place its muzzle in the centre of Akira’s forehead.

Akira’s eyes went wide and his breath caught, but the look on his face wasn’t surprise or irritation. It was something Goro instantly wanted more of: Akira’s lips parting slightly, cheeks flushing redder, eyes locked on Goro’s and full of the promise of a storm.

Akira straightened slowly, not trying to push the gun away. Goro let it follow him, kept it pressed right above his eyes, hand steady but heart beginning to pound in a way that was like the thrill of a fight, only… not.

“But why would you set your sights on me, detective?” Akira asked, all mock-innocence and tantalising half-smile. “What have I done?”

A frisson of danger filled the air, a whisper in the back of Goro’s mind that they were once more treading too close to truths he had no intention of voicing, that he was once more teetering on the edge of giving too much away.

And still, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Apart from starting an argument with me on live television?” Goro let the plastic weapon drift down the length of Akira’s face, sliding below his jaw and tilting his chin up with the tip of the barrel. “Maybe I just like how you look with a gun to your head.”

“Yeah?” Akira reached up and took hold of the fake gun, wrapped his fingers around the barrel and pushed it aside in one smooth motion. He stepped forward at the same time, suddenly in Goro’s space, and this time with a purpose that hadn’t been there when it had happened accidentally earlier in the day. “You like what you see?”

Goro suddenly couldn’t breathe. His heart had leapt to his throat and was pounding there like he’d swallowed something that was kicking to get free. He was drowning in a feeling he couldn’t name, with how close Akira was, with a wanting so fierce and urgent that he could barely grasp the shape of it. He felt the tremor that passed through his hand to the controller they were both still holding, knew Akira felt it too as a faint vibration under his own fingertips. Knew by the way Akira bit his lip, eyes darting down to Goro’s mouth; knew by the way they both swayed closer together…

There was a burst of raucous laughter, getting suddenly louder as the arcade doors slid open and a group of young men surged inside. They were fortunately too busy teasing each other and jostling for space to notice two high school students recoiling from each other like magnets that had suddenly flipped to repel. Face burning, Goro turned to fumble the game controller back into its holster on the machine, his whole body feeling clumsy and two sizes too small for the sensations surging through it.

He heard Akira gulp down a hitching breath as he shoved his own controller back into its holder.

“There goes the neighbourhood,” Akira murmured around a breathless laugh. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, let’s,” Goro managed.

He didn’t look at Akira as they gathered their things, dared not even glance at him, caught in a whirl of realisation and panic so profound that he was dizzy with it.

He had never wanted to kiss someone before.

He hadn’t even known that was what he wanted, until it had almost happened without his conscious input.

He’d never really understood why his classmates were so obsessed with such things, what they were experiencing that made them sigh and stare and occasionally sob into a friend’s shoulder. He’d told himself that he was simply more mature and focused than they were, above those base instincts and hormonal urges.

Finding out that he was wrong was more than just a blow to his pride: it was terrifying. It felt like being possessed; it felt like losing control. Was this how people felt when he used Loki’s power on their Shadows? Goro clamped his hands tightly together on the handle of his briefcase as they headed for the door, squeezing hard enough to hurt, breathing in deep through his nose and out through his mouth and refusing to be swept away.

As with most of the threats he’d faced, it didn’t take long for the fear to transmute into anger. Anger at these chaotic emotions, first of all, for daring to crowd into his body like this, for clouding his thoughts and robbing him of his dignity. Anger at himself, then, for letting it happen. For such an inexcusable failure of willpower.

And finally, inevitably: anger at the source, a tight fury that wrapped around his ribs securely and pulled his shaken-loose heartbeat back into a steady, purposeful rhythm.

There was no room in Goro’s life for this sort of weakness. There was certainly no room for it with Akira – with Kurusu – with the leader of the Phantom Thieves who had so dramatically and infuriatingly encroached on Goro’s turf. What the hell did Akira think he was doing, spending hours with Goro under false pretences, offering up those smiles and those moments of connection that made Goro for some reason spill out parts of himself he thought he’d buried?

(What the hell did Akira think he was doing, looking at him like that, like he wanted Goro? When if he had the slightest idea of who Goro really was, he’d be reeling away in horror?)

It was time to end this, obviously. Goro needed to get out of here and clear his head, refocus on what was important, purge the malady from his system. Needed to ruthlessly hunt down every last one of these aching, confusing desires that had crept into him and carve them out without remorse.

They stepped out of the arcade. The air was cooler now, but nowhere near enough to ease the heat still pulsing through Goro’s body or soothe his flushed face. He was a mess: sweaty from the game, blushing redder than a stoplight, hardly able to think straight… how dare Akira see him like this…

“D’you want to get something to eat?” Akira asked, as easily as if nothing had just happened, as if he hadn’t upended Goro’s world and laughed over its tumbled pieces. “There’s that steamed bun stall just around the corner—”

“No,” Goro snapped, cold and curt, every syllable under total control. “It’s late. I need to go.”

He heard Akira’s stride falter, knew even without looking that Akira had turned to stare at him.

“Akechi? Are you—”

“Thank you for the engaging conversation, Kurusu,” Goro cut in. “Perhaps we can do this again some time.”

He had no intention of doing this again. Ever. Oh, he’d need to stay in touch with Akira, would need to play at some shallow facsimile of friendship, but from now on he would be controlling every aspect of their interactions. He would measure every word and plan every conversation. He would never, ever let Kurusu Akira distract him from his purpose again.

“Akechi?” He heard Akira take a breath that caught on something in his throat. “I… okay.”

There was a pause, but before Goro could turn it into a final farewell, Akira rushed on: “I’ll walk you home.”

Absolutely not. Why had he told Akira he lived in the area? There was no way in hell Goro was leading him right to his own door.

“I’m not going home,” Goro lied. “I have some other business to attend to first.”

Akira refused to take the hint.

“We can walk to the station together, then.”

“Fine,” Goro ground out, setting off at a punishing pace. “If that’s what you want.”

Akira didn’t understand how things had gone wrong so quickly. Why Akechi had flipped so suddenly from flirting back – from looking at Akira like he wanted to eat him alive – to snapping at him like he was the last person on Earth he wanted to be around.

If it had been anyone else, Akira would have backed off. Would have taken the rejection on the chin and given him space to cool down. But Akechi…

Akira had a very strong feeling that if he didn’t figure this out now, he would never have the chance. That Akechi would retreat behind his walls and stay there, taking his secrets with him. And Akira couldn’t risk that. Couldn’t let this slip out of his grasp, this day that felt like it had been stolen from his wildest dreams, this incredible person who’d crashed into his world and made him feel like he knew who he was for the first time in his life.

Akechi was walking so fast that Akira had to push himself to keep up, mind racing frantically. The station was only a couple of minutes away. He needed more time.

He glanced sideways, felt his heart flip unhelpfully at how pink Akechi’s cheeks still were, the way his hair was ever-so-slightly dishevelled from the number of times he’d pushed it out of his face while they were playing. The excuse about other business was completely unconvincing, but Akechi was stubborn enough that he’d probably stick to it…

“So what is it you need to do at—” Akira fumbled his phone out of his pocket just long enough to glance at the time. “—ten in the evening? Did something come up with your work?”

He knew it couldn’t have – he was sure Akechi hadn’t checked his phone since before they went to the arcade – but what was it he’d said earlier about giving someone enough rope to hang themselves with?

“Yes,” Akechi replied immediately. “A case I’m working on. I need to stop by the precinct.”

Got him.

“Oh, so you’ll be changing at Shibuya? Great, we can stick together until then.”

He saw the way Akechi forced back a scowl, was careful not to grin at his success.

“I suppose so.”

Okay, Akira had bought himself some more time. Now to figure out what to do with it.

Kichijoji Station was still busy despite the lateness of the hour, but the train itself wasn’t crowded for once. There were even seats available. Akechi ignored them, tucking himself into a corner by the doors in such a way that Akira had no excuse for getting any closer than arm’s length.

“What sort of case?” Akira asked, leaning one shoulder against the wall of the carriage. “Something to do with the Phantom Thieves?”

He was pushing way too hard, he knew, but all the moments so far when Akechi had dropped the mask had been because of Akira pushing his luck. And he was almost sure that if he could just get back to talking to the real Akechi, the one who spat curses at video games and gunned down digital terrorists with mesmerising ferocity, he could fix whatever he’d fucked up by leaning in for that kiss.

(But Akechi had been leaning in too, right? It hadn’t just been Akira, had it?)

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of my work,” Akechi replied snottily.

“You were literally talking about it on live TV earlier.”

“That’s— different.” Akechi looked directly at him for the first time since leaving the arcade, though it was only to glare. “That was just fluff for the audience. The Phantom Thieves aren’t a real case anyway.”

“They’re not?” Akira raised a hand to push his glasses up, only to realise that he’d never put them back on. He felt suddenly exposed under Akechi’s intense scrutiny. “So you’re not serious about pursuing them?”

“I am deadly serious,” Akechi snapped. A shiver went down Akira’s spine. “But dealing with them will be easy enough.”

He… sounded so sure. Akira was reminded all at once of his suspicions, of the fact that there was more at stake here than his interest in Akechi as a person. A surge of guilt rose in his chest for losing sight of the threat that Akechi posed to the Phantom Thieves, whether as a detective or as… someone like them.

“What makes you say that?” Akira asked, quiet but unable to keep some of Joker’s steel out of his voice.

Akechi’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but as ever, he couldn’t back down.

“They think they’re heroes,” he said, scorn dripping from the words, eyes boring into Akira’s. “As long as they have their little fanclub, they’ll keep playing at being knights in shining armour, but as soon as the world turns against them, they’ll slink off into the shadows.”

“Knights in shining armour?” Akira repeated, barely stifling an incredulous laugh. “You think that’s how they see themselves?”

“Oh, please. Of course they do. Why else make such a performance of it? Calling cards, public confessions—”

“That’s not—” Akira bit his tongue and considered his next words carefully. “Perhaps they have other reasons,” he said. Then, before Akechi could retort, “Anyway, isn’t that kind of hypocritical, coming from you?”

Akechi went very still.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re always on TV,” Akira plunged on, aware of how thin the ice was beneath his feet, thrilling a little at the danger. “Always playing the good boy detective, when that’s not who you are at all. I don’t even think it’s who you want to be. But it makes people like you, right? It makes them think you’re a hero—”

“I am long past that sort of childish delusion,” Akechi snarled, face twisting, eyes suddenly wild with something almost like hatred. Akira froze, stunned by the change. Yes, he’d wanted to rile Akechi up, bust past those walls again and get at the truth, but he hadn’t imagined anything like this. “I know exactly what I am and exactly what I have to do, and if pandering to the simpering public gets me where I need to be—”

“Which is… where?”

Akechi stiffened, reining himself in with visible effort, but unable to completely suppress the rage that was so close to bubbling over.

“The right place, at the right time,” he bit out. “There’s something that only I can do, and I won’t let anything… anyone… get in my way.”

Something that only I can do… Akira remembered how they’d come to the decision to change Kamoshida’s heart, knowing that there was no-one else willing or able to intercede. Remembered how lonely it had felt to have the weight of it on his shoulders, even with Ann and Ryuji and Morgana there to share the burden.

“Maybe the Phantom Thieves are the same,” he found himself saying. “Maybe you have more in common with them than you think.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akechi hissed.

Overhead, the train speakers crackled to life.

“Shibuya,” the recorded announcement said cheerily, “Next stop: Shibuya.”

Akira was out of time. His pulse was thudding in his throat and his palms were sweaty and he knew this was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t fold now, couldn’t let Akechi walk away from this. He had to gamble on playing his cards and hope like hell he hadn’t misread Akechi’s hand.

“Don’t I? Because I think you know a thing or two about wearing a mask. Who is Akechi Goro really, behind the persona?”

Several things happened then.

First: Akechi’s eyes went wide, shock and comprehension flooding his face, chased by a flicker of panic. Almost before Akira could register the expression, it was burned away by a white-hot fury that destroyed the last vestiges of the pleasant Detective Prince.

Second: Akira hadn’t spotted Akechi slipping a hand into his pocket, but he saw him yank it out again, thumb jammed against the unlock button of his phone.

Third: Akechi snarled, “Mementos,” and the world fell out from under them.

Goro had never tried entering Mementos from a moving train, but some part of him anticipated the fall, was prepared for their plunge into the familiar, dimly-lit tunnels. He landed on his feet with a jarring shock, his black helmet forming a comforting cage around his face, Loki leaping eagerly into readiness in the back of his mind. From Akira’s yelp of surprise and the ensuing sound of him crashing down onto the rails, he hadn’t been so lucky.

Goro drew his sword and stalked forward.

Akira was on his back, just beginning to lever himself up on his elbows, staring up at Goro in shock. His eyes were very wide behind his white mask. He didn’t even attempt to go for his weapon.

“Does this answer your question?” Goro snarled, whipping his sword around to press the tip of it to Akira’s throat.

He knew. The bastard knew. He’d known— had he known from the start? From the moment Goro approached him? Was that why he’d pressed for more? Because he’d been one step ahead the whole time, making a fool of Goro, letting him run in circles for hours?

Akira froze. Blinked. Then – for some reason – laughed, albeit shakily.

“Wow. Yeah. Yeah, that’s– that answers my question. Holy shit. I don’t know what I was expecting, but… wait, are those claws?”

Of all the stupid, irrelevant details to fixate on…

“Do you realise the position you’re in?” Goro demanded, so angry it was all he could do to keep from screaming. “You know too much, Joker. What makes you think I’ll let you leave here alive?”

Akira’s eyes widened again, but he seemed more surprised than afraid.

“You know my codename? You really have been spying on us.”

“How the hell do you know about that?”

“I didn’t, until yesterday.” Akira peered down at the sword blade, going almost cross-eyed in his attempt to look at it without lowering his chin onto its point. “Get this thing out of my face and we can talk about it.”

“You’ve talked quite enough.”

Goro tightened his grip on the hilt, nudged the blade forward just enough that Akira had to flinch back from it. He still didn’t seem frightened, and it was only making Goro angrier.

“Do you really want to kill me?”

“What I want has nothing to do with it!”

“Why not?” For some reason, Akira’s voice and face softened. “When was the last time you did what you wanted?”

Goro hesitated.

“Maybe I can help you,” Akira continued, so earnest that the words seemed to reach into Goro’s chest and twist. “Don’t you feel like… we’re kind of the same?”

Akira had no idea what he was offering. No idea what sort of person Goro really was. The same? Ha! They couldn’t be more different. When had Goro ever been so hopelessly naive, so painfully trusting? He’d clawed his way out of the hell he’d been born into, battled his way through the Metaverse and into Shido’s graces, paid and paid and paid for it all in blood and sweat and bitter tears, and here was Akira, just… walking in and taking whatever he wanted. Hearts, friendships, the shallow adoration of the fickle masses…

“Get up,” Goro growled.

“Uh–”

“Get up!”

Goro swung his sword away from Akira’s neck in a wide arc, twisted his wrist, and stabbed back down again in a blow that would have speared Akira right through the chest, if he hadn’t rolled out of the way and sprung to his feet like a cat.

“Wait–”

“You think we’re so alike?”

Akira spun and ducked away from the next blow.

“Akechi–”

“You think you can win against me?”

This time Goro managed to slice a ragged gash in that stupid coat as Akira backed up even further.

“For fuck’s sake, Akechi, I don’t want to fight you–”

“Then you can die!” Goro pressed one clawed gauntlet to his mask and let his rage loose. “Come, Loki!”

Finally, finally, Akira seemed to grasp that Goro was serious. He shoved himself off from the wall, dodged under Loki’s blast of power, danced back enough steps to put some real distance between them. That flashy little dagger had appeared in his hand.

Loki spun in midair, cackling as Goro prepared his next attack. Akira’s expression settled into reluctant determination, and he reached for his own mask.

“Arsène!”

Joker’s Persona wasn’t quite what Goro had expected. Not that he’d spent a lot of time speculating, beyond wondering how it had such a vast range of skills. But when Goro had thought about it at all, he’d imagined something like Robin Hood: a childish manifestation of misplaced pride, a hollow imitation of nobility.

Instead, Arsène spread black wings wide like he intended to block out the light. His style was flamboyant, just like Joker’s Phantom Thief costume, but he was all sharp edges and wicked curves, claws and teeth and shadow and fire, the furthest thing from anyone’s idea of a hero. He made Goro think of a fallen angel, or a cornered beast, or some spirit of elemental fury.

He made Goro think of Loki.

Akira was fast, and Arsène was fairly strong, but Goro had been doing this for a lot longer, and the gap in their experience swiftly began to tell. Akira dodged as many attacks as he could, but the ones that Goro landed sent him staggering back, whilst Goro could grit his teeth and withstand everything Akira threw at him.

Akira realised it too. He threw out a weak attack as cover, buying himself a few seconds to reach for his mask and–

“Archangel!”

–and summon a new Persona.

I knew it. Goro couldn’t tell if the emotion that surged through him was fury or elation. I knew he was like me!

Except… this Persona was familiar. Not a Persona at all: Goro recognised a form of Shadow he’d fought many times, an armoured angel wielding a heavy sword. How was Akira using it the same way he’d used Arsène…?

Maybe he wasn’t like Goro at all. Maybe he was just a different kind of freak.

It didn’t matter, there wasn’t time to dwell on it. The fact that Goro had fought this Shadow before was an advantage he wasn’t about to pass up. Akira had taken a huge gamble: Loki’s curse magic would hit this one hard enough to stagger it. On the other hand, it possessed the ability to return the favour, striking at Loki’s weakness to holy spells. Akira was banking on getting a devastating attack in before Goro could do the same thing, and with his split-second headstart he might well be able to pull it off. Loki was still winding up for his next attack.

But Goro had another trump card ready and waiting.

“Robin Hood!”

These days, Goro’s costume didn’t shift when he switched to his first Persona. He had a feeling he could force it to change if he really wanted to, but he was long past the point of seeing himself as that overly-sanitised, princely figure. It would only be another lie. And he much preferred the way the black helmet and visor covered his face entirely, the way the black bodysuit let him move so freely.

All the same, it always felt a little strange to call out Robin Hood’s shining silhouette from under his own inky armour.

Akira’s attack struck Goro full-on, powerful enough in its own right to knock him back a step, but losing most of its bite to Robin Hood’s innate resistance. And now he had an opening to retaliate.

Even more of an opening when Akira froze in place, shock and something close to awe written all over his face.

“You’re like me,” he breathed. “You…”

Goro hated how familiar the emotion in Akira’s voice was, how it resonated with something in him that yearned for recognition.

“I’m nothing like you!” Goro snarled, and unleashed as much power as Robin Hood could channel.

Akira went down hard, his Persona vanishing as he hit the tracks again. Goro rushed forward, sword raised and ready to deal the finishing blow, barely taking in Akira’s wide, dazed eyes as he–

– as he grabbed his mask again and gasped, “Shiki-Ouji!”

Another Persona. Another Shadow that Goro recognised – too late. His sword rebounded off an invisible shield; his attack was reflected back at him with staggering force. Goro reeled backwards, winded and aching and– blind, why couldn’t he see–?

His mask, he realised: his own sword had struck his mask and cracked it down one side, warped the helmet with the force of the blow. His head was still ringing with it, and he couldn’t see…

“Protect me!” he ordered Robin Hood, fumbling one-handed with the clasps at his neck and backing up even further. It took a few frantic seconds, but he managed to get the broken helmet off and toss it aside, immediately casting around for his opponent.

Akira was back on his feet. He looked the worse for wear: strain showed in the set of his shoulders and a bruise was blooming on his cheek under the mask, but he– he hadn’t followed up the counterattack, Goro realised. He’d seen that Goro was blinded, and waited for him to recover.

The utter idiot.

“Akechi. Stop this.” The words were a little bit pleading, but there was also a force behind them, the same authority Goro had heard him use when commanding his team. “Please, just calm down–”

Calm down, Goro-kun, he’d heard so many times, condescending and dismissive. You’re old enough to control your emotions. You’re old enough to know better. If there’s something you want to say, take a deep breath and say it politely, or not at all.

(But there were some things you couldn’t say politely. And it wasn’t like they were going to listen when you did.)

There was a spell he rarely used – it was exhausting, and seldom necessary – a burst of white light and a wave of pressure that nothing could withstand, nothing could reflect. It always felt like a part of Goro’s truest self exploding out of him, ripping through enemies without remorse, a wordless roar that left him shaken and spent. It felt the way he used to feel as a child, helpless against his own emotions, being told over and over that the louder he screamed, the easier he was to ignore.

“Megidola!”

He almost didn’t need to give Robin Hood the order. The searing chaos broke the surface like it had barely been restrained in the first place. Goro’s ears were ringing again, this time with the high-pitched hum of electricity, and he was blind again, his vision whiting out from the miniature sunburst.

When it cleared, Akira was on the ground. This time he stayed there, flat on his back and unmoving, his mask knocked askew.

Goro tensed, waiting to see if it was a trick. Akira didn’t so much as twitch. Goro sheathed his sword and drew his pistol, training it on Akira’s still form before beginning to stalk slowly forward.

Akira didn’t react at all. His eyes were closed. From this distance, Goro couldn’t even see if he was breathing.

It hit him all at once that he didn’t know what happened if you killed a real person in the Metaverse. He’d only ever fought Shadows that dissolved into dust when he landed the final blow. Even knowing that the death of someone’s Shadow would doom them to a mental shutdown, it had always seemed… remote. Unreal. Something he could tell himself he didn’t care about, especially when so many Shadows were so utterly repulsive, when so many of his targets were despicable scum.

Akira was just lying there. Goro couldn’t see any blood, but it could be pooling beneath his body, hidden in the darkness of Mementos, soaking into that black coat. Was his face just pale, or had it begun to go grey? Would his skin already be cooling if Goro touched it?

Were his eyes closed forever?

Goro’s careful advance became a rush forward without any conscious decision on his part. He dropped to his knees by Akira’s side, dropped his damn gun without even thinking about it, tore off his gauntlets and fumbled desperately at Akira’s neck in search of a pulse.

Akira’s skin was still warm under the high collar, and Goro felt the throb of his heartbeat at the same time as he caught the uneven rise and fall of his chest. Goro drew in a shaky breath of his own, so off-balance and adrift that he just didn’t know what to do.

So of course Akira chose that moment to blearily open his eyes. For a second they just stared at each other. Then awareness slammed back into Akira’s face. He started to shove himself up on one elbow, but the movement was enough to yank Goro back to himself, remind him that he needed to win.

In an instant, he’d shifted to grip Akira’s throat and hold him down. He snatched his gun back up with his other hand, and in the same movement, swung a leg over Akira’s body so he could pin him down with his full weight. The muzzle of the pistol settled against Akira’s forehead, nudging his mask fully aside, giving Goro an unimpeded view of his stormy grey eyes with their impossibly dark lashes.

For a moment he was dizzy with a wave of déjà vu, drowning in the memory of the arcade, the playful, unintended foreshadowing of their current position. Goro’s heart was racing and his chest was still heaving from the fight, and that same intensity was back in Akira’s eyes.

It felt yet again as if Akira was seeing him.

Akira sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to speak. Goro eased the pressure on his throat to let the words out.

“You’re amazing.”

Goro stared at him.

“That’s… that’s what you have to say? Now?”

The faintest hint of a smile began to tug at Akira’s lips. It was like he didn’t even care about the gun still pressed against his skull. But not, Goro thought, because he didn’t appreciate the danger he was in. Not because he didn’t see Goro as a threat. Not because he didn’t understand which of them was better.

“You are,” Akira said softly. His voice was a little hoarse, but there was no hesitation at all. “How long have you been doing this? I’ve never even seen half those moves.”

“I told you before,” Goro found himself saying. “Two years.”

Akira’s eyes widened again.

“That long?” He paused. It was just like that moment in Jazz Jin: the same open, honest admiration. “By yourself?”

Goro tried to sneer, but it wouldn’t quite sit right over the swell of prickly heat in his face and chest.

“I don’t need anyone else.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Akira breathed. “And you can– you’re like me? You have more than one Persona?”

“I have two.” Goro hesitated, but curiosity won out. “You… seem to have more than that.”

“Only one of them’s really mine. Arsène. The others are– I can talk them into helping me out, but they come and go.”

“They look like Shadows.”

“They are, pretty much. They… forget themselves, but if I can remind them who they really are, sometimes they’re willing to join me.”

“How did you learn to do that?”

“I don’t know. It just… came naturally.”

Goro laughed, low and humourless.

“Of course it did. Everything comes naturally to you, doesn’t it? It all just falls into your lap–”

For the first time, Akira’s expression darkened into a scowl.

“You’re saying that to me? After I told you what happened? How I ended up here?”

His hand flew up and grabbed Goro’s wrist, wrenching the gun away from his face. Goro yanked his arm back, ready to fight, but Akira just let him go, didn’t try to throw him off. Goro found himself lowering the pistol, letting his hand fall limply at his side. The leftover adrenaline from the fight was leaving him. He felt shaky and sore and tired. For the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing someone else would take charge, that he could just follow their lead and trust that they wouldn’t steer him wrong.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through to get where I am,” Goro said finally. It sounded almost fragile to his own ears. Almost defeated. “What I’ve had to do.”

Akira’s hand drifted down to settle lightly on Goro’s hip, an oddly comforting gesture that nonetheless made him feel as if he were the one pinned down, as if Akira had all the power in this situation.

“I’d like to know,” Akira said. “If you’ll tell me?”

“You might not like what you hear.”

“I don’t think there’s anything about you I haven’t liked so far,” Akira replied: far too honest, far too raw, his eyes still boring into Goro’s. “Even the part where you kicked my ass.”

His mouth quirked again at that, something between a smile and a smirk, like it was a shared joke and not a frenzied attempt on his life, like it was no different from pool, or darts, or dashing through the back streets of Kichijoji, or competing for the high score in the arcade.

Something snapped.

Goro dropped the gun. Fell forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and crashed their mouths together without finesse. He was pretty sure their teeth clacked against each other awkwardly, but it didn’t matter when Akira made a noise against his lips, when there was a hand on his back pressing him down, closing the last gap between them. When Akira was kissing him back, artless and urgent and perfect, the taste and scent of him so thrilling, so unexpectedly addictive.

Both Akira’s hands were on his back now, and then for a moment they were gone – so Akira could take his gloves off, Goro realised when fingers plunged into his hair and sent a shudder through his whole body. Akira tilted his head slightly, found an even better angle and licked into Goro’s mouth with exploratory boldness, and Goro heard himself make a sound he’d swear he’d never made before, something like a whine that couldn’t quite escape his throat. One of his own hands was fisted tight in Akira’s collar; the other had somehow worked its way under him to grip desperately at his back, trying to pull him up and even closer against Goro.

It felt like… nothing he’d ever felt before. Snatching half-breaths in between frantic kisses, hearing and feeling the way Akira responded, drowning in a surge of such intense sensation and heat and want that he was barely aware of their surroundings…

… barely, but still aware. Aware enough to register the low, ominous rattle of chains.

“Shit!” Goro sprang back, cast a horrified look into the darkness of the tunnel, then scrambled to his feet and hauled Akira up after him. He only just remembered to retrieve his pistol on the way. “We need to go, now.”

“Huh? What–”

Akira sounded so dazed, it made something surge pleasantly in Goro’s stomach, but there wasn’t time for any of that, how could he have been so stupid…

“We’ve been here too long, it’s coming. Move!”

He grabbed Akira’s arm like he had in Kichijoji, then turned and sprinted in what he fervently hoped was the opposite direction from the approaching nightmare.

“What’s coming?” Akira demanded, falling into stride with Goro, as fluid and swift as ever. “A Shadow?”

“No ordinary Shadow. If you haven’t encountered it yet, count yourself lucky. We don’t know where the platform is and if it catches us… trust me when I say that we don’t stand a chance.”

“Shit,” Akira muttered. “Right, Mona mentioned something like that…”

“Save your breath for running!”

Akira’s arm twisted in Goro’s grip, breaking free, but before he could be alarmed, he felt fingers grabbing and lacing with his own.

“Race you,” Akira said, squeezing once and then letting go.

And despite himself, despite everything, Goro laughed.

By the time they reached the exit, Akira had a newfound appreciation for the Monabus and a newfound terror of the sound of chains. Akechi hadn’t explained what exactly they were running from, but Akira had glanced over his shoulder once and seen something looming out of the darkness in a red haze. It had been enough to convince him not to look back a second time.

As soon as they were back in the Shibuya underground, Akira collapsed against the nearest wall, trying desperately to get more air into his heaving chest. His legs felt like lead, his shins and calves burning. God, he was going to be sore tomorrow. Not to mention all the scrapes and bruises from his fight with Akechi…

… right. Akechi.

He was a couple of paces away, bent over with his hands braced on his knees, hair a mess as it fell into his face. His briefcase and blazer had materialised on the ground next to him, just as Akira’s schoolbag had reappeared on his shoulder. Akira had always wondered exactly how that worked. Where did they go? Did Akechi know? He obviously knew a lot about the Metaverse…

… wait, no, there were more important questions to focus on right now.

Akechi seemed to realise he was being watched, because he glanced over at Akira, then straightened up hurriedly and took a step back, like he thought Akira was going to pull a weapon on him. Which was pretty funny, given how hard Akira had been trying not to fight him earlier.

“What are you grinning about?” Akechi demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It’s been a weird day,” Akira replied. He shoved off from the wall to stand up straight, but didn’t try to get any closer to Akechi. “Truce?”

Akechi scowled at him. Wow, he really wasn’t even trying to keep up the goody-two-shoes act right now, was he? He looked ready to stab someone – probably Akira – with a mechanical pencil, or whatever else he had in that briefcase. Maybe an actual knife, come to think of it.

“I suppose so,” Akechi agreed reluctantly. He sighed, animosity draining out of his face, to be replaced with wary consideration. “Do you still want to talk?”

The question was disdainful, but Akira thought he could hear real uncertainty in it as well. Like maybe Akechi thought everything Akira had said in Mementos had just been a way to get out of the situation alive.

“Yes,” Akira told him firmly. He glanced around; the underground walkway was emptier than usual, but it was hardly private. “Let’s go somewhere else, though.”

“Such as?”

Akira hesitated, but… he’d already gambled everything, hadn’t he? No point in trying to back out after the fact.

“Yongen-jaya. Boss will have gone home by now.”

Akechi blinked, his expression turning incredulous.

“You’re… inviting me to your home? Are you insane, Kurusu?”

“There’s no way you wouldn’t figure out where I live from what I’ve already told you. And I asked you to call me Akira.”

Akechi stared at him, lips parted endearingly, looking somehow lost. Then he snapped his mouth shut and turned away in a huff, retrieving his case from the ground, absently refolding his school blazer.

“I don’t understand you at all,” he said.

“Don’t you?” Akira asked softly, before he could help himself.

He could feel the connection between them. Even when Akechi had attacked him – even when he’d had his hand on Akira’s throat – the thing Akira had found himself fighting for hadn’t been his own life, so much as the desperate need not to snap the thread tying them together.

He was fairly sure that was messed up. He probably wasn’t going to tell Morgana – or anyone else – about it.

Akechi didn’t look at him, but Akira noticed how he tightened his grip on the briefcase handle.

“Let’s go.”

The journey to Yongen-jaya passed in silence. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but Akira wouldn’t call it comfortable, either. Now that he had breathing space, his thoughts were racing. There was a lot to take in, and he needed to be ready for anything if he was to stand a chance of getting Akechi on his side.

… so it would be really, really helpful if he could stop fixating on that kiss.

Really. Any time now.

But, god, he’d never felt anything like…

No. Focus.

Leblanc was locked and dark when they arrived. Akira spared a moment of gratitude that his curfew had been lifted a few weeks back. Sojiro really wasn’t a bad guy, not even close.

Akechi’s attention was on the other side of the street as Akira searched for his key.

“Is that the bath house you mentioned?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Akira paused, suddenly conscious of how much sweating he’d done in the last couple of hours. “Actually, do you want to go?”

“Wh-what?”

“I feel pretty gross right now,” Akira admitted. “We could clean up before we talk. Or while we talk, if there’s no-one else there.”

He tried very hard not to think about the fact that he was proposing they get naked together. It was a bath. Everyone did it, and there were usually old men in there trying to boil themselves alive, it wasn’t a big deal.

Except this was someone he’d just been kissing and really wanted to kiss some more, so it was maybe slightly a big deal.

“I’d have to put my dirty clothes back on afterwards,” Akechi said.

There was just enough hesitation there that it didn’t sound like a no to Akira.

“There’s a laundromat right here too. You can put your shirt in the wash while we’re in the bath and I can lend you something to wear while it’s drying.”

A pause long enough for Akira to finally find his key and unlock the door, and also resign himself to staying sticky and self-conscious for the rest of the evening.

“All right,” Akechi replied unexpectedly. “A bath does sound good.”

Akira nearly dropped the key. He covered it up by yanking open the door and flipping on the lights as he stepped into Leblanc.

“Okay. Give me a second, I’ll grab a couple of t-shirts.”

He took the stairs two at a time, half-convinced that Akechi would be gone when he got back. He dumped his bag on the way and grabbed an armful of clothing.

He was back downstairs inside of a minute. Akechi was still there, hovering just inside the door, his briefcase and blazer placed neatly on the nearest booth table. He was looking at the jars of coffee behind the counter, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, a gesture Akira hadn’t seen from him before: defensive and vulnerable at the same time.

“It’s… surprisingly cosy,” Akechi said. Despite the phrasing, Akira had the impression he genuinely meant it as a compliment. “I suppose it has a different atmosphere when it’s busy.”

“I’m not sure I’d ever call it busy…” Akira muttered, ushering Akechi back out of the door and across the road.

He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry to find the bath house deserted apart from the bored attendant, who knew Akira well enough by this point to barely glance up from her book as she took their money. On the one hand, it meant they could talk.

On the other hand, it meant they could talk.

Akechi was already in the bath by the time Akira had ducked back out to the laundromat and returned. It made him excruciatingly self-conscious as he washed quickly under the showers, even though he couldn’t tell if Akechi was looking his way. Certainly by the time Akira joined him, he was staring intently at the wall as if it had occupied his full attention the whole time, and the heat made it impossible to read anything into his flushed face.

The hot water was exactly what Akira’s sore muscles had been crying out for. He shuddered in relief as he felt himself relaxing into the bath. For a minute or two, neither of them spoke.

“Do you know what happens when you kill a person’s Shadow?” Akechi asked.

Okay, so they were getting right into it. Akira sank a little lower in the water and rested the back of his head against the lip of the tub.

“They die, right?”

“Yes. But not immediately. Without their desires and motivations, they fall into a lethargic state, and then eventually their brain just… stops. A mental shutdown.”

The phrase rang a bell in Akira’s memory. He’d heard about something like that, hadn’t he? A string of strange deaths… and a string of strange crimes… people who suddenly keeled over for no reason, people who suddenly went berserk…

He hadn’t paid much attention, too preoccupied with the strange turn his own life had taken, but the pieces fell into place now with horrifying clarity.

What could you do to someone’s mind, if you had access to the Metaverse and no-one to hold you accountable?

“You have no idea what I’ve been through to get where I am. What I’ve had to do.”

“So that’s it,” he said quietly. “You’re the one who’s been causing all those incidents.”

He remembered the subway crash and felt a chill despite the heat of the bath. Then something else occurred to him and he sat up straight, peering at Akechi, who was still determinedly not looking his way.

“Wait, didn’t you solve some of those? The rampages?”

Akechi laughed: a brittle, choking sound that held no amusement at all.

“Yes. It was how I got the police to take me seriously as a detective. Amazing how I could track down the culprits when the crimes were so random, so senseless. Obviously I have a gift for deduction.”

The bitterness and self-mockery could have cut through steel.

“But why?” Akira asked. “You… you’re so smart. You’re smart enough to do it for real. Why cheat?”

“It was the quickest way to get noticed, to get… acknowledged.” Akechi ducked his head, his damp hair falling forward to curtain his face. “And it was… part of the deal. If I was the one investigating, I could steer attention away from any… connections between the cases.”

Akira could see the tension in his shoulders, how tightly his jaw was set. It only took a moment for him to understand what Akechi was telling him.

“You’re taking orders from someone else,” Akira said slowly, feeling out the shape of it, slotting it into the other things Akechi had said. “You’re not going after these people because you want to.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Akechi replied darkly. “Most of them deserve everything they get. Almost all my targets had Palaces, or were so distorted they were close to forming them.”

Almost was a very loaded qualifier there, Akira thought, studying Akechi’s downturned face and trying to reconcile it with the word murderer.

“Why do you change hearts?” Akechi demanded, before Akira could respond. “I read the file on Kamoshida. He was disgusting. Why didn’t you just kill him? He certainly deserved to die.”

“No,” Akira retorted, scowling at the thought, “he didn’t deserve to get off that easily.”

“… what?”

“He has to live with it now,” Akira went on. “Not just the consequences – not just going to jail and losing everything he had – but he has to feel it. That’s what a change of heart means. It takes away all the lies he was telling himself, all the reasons he came up with to justify what he was doing. He feels guilty now, and he knows he can’t ever fix it.”

He could hear how his voice had dropped, could hear the faint tremor of vindictive satisfaction in it. He paused to take a breath, staring at the opposite side of the room without really seeing it, before speaking again.

“It’s nothing compared to what he put people like Shiho through, but if he’s feeling even a fraction of what they felt… that’s what he deserves.”

Akechi made a strange, choking sound. Akira couldn’t tell if it was the beginnings of a laugh or a sob. He turned just in time to see Akechi fold forward, bringing his knees almost up to his chest as he wrapped his arms around them and hid his face. He took a deep, shuddering breath that made his shoulders shake.

“Akechi?”

Akechi stayed curled in on himself, fingers digging into his own skin like he was holding on for dear life. Akira hesitated, then slid around the tub to get closer to him. He stopped when he was within arm’s reach, not knowing how to offer comfort or if it would be welcome.

“How?” Akechi asked, voice muffled. “How did you know you could do that? Did it… did that come naturally to you as well?”

The scorn wasn’t enough to hide the envy.

“No,” Akira said. “We met someone. In the Metaverse. He taught us how to use our Personas, and how to change a heart. It was… it was kind of just luck. He was in Kamoshida’s Palace the first time we went there.”

“Luck. I’ve never… had much of that.”

Akira started to reach out, unsure if he was going to touch Akechi’s shoulder or try to pet his hair, but needing to give him something.

“Don’t.” Akechi jerked his head up and shook it once without looking at Akira. Akira let his hand fall back to his side. “Just… just listen.”

He took a shaky breath, and began to talk.

Akira had felt good about the way Akechi had confided in him earlier about his childhood, his mother, his struggles. He understood now, as Akechi stumbled his way through a torrent of words and rambling sentences, that it had been the barest tip of the iceberg.

It was… a lot. Akechi couldn’t seem to make up his own mind whether he refused to be ashamed, or whether he loathed his every choice since he’d awakened his Persona. And those choices had been… well, Akira couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t horrified.

But he couldn’t say he didn’t understand it, either. The desperate need for revenge on the asshole father who’d ruined Akechi’s life as well as his mother’s. Then that asshole father turning out to already know about the Metaverse, to be the keeper of the knowledge Akechi needed to understand his own powers… the slippery slope from information-gathering to blackmail to psychotic breakdowns to mental shutdowns… the realisation, far too late, that he was in too deep to get out, that if he stopped now, it would make every awful thing he’d done meaningless.

Not that Akechi said most of that out loud. He seemed to intentionally present his own actions in the worst possible light, insisting on his own agency and refusing to acknowledge the impossible position he was in, or the malignant influence of the adults around him.

It reminded Akira painfully of how Ann and Shiho had both blamed themselves for Kamoshida’s abuse. Of how Ryuji still talked himself down sometimes about how he ‘ruined everything’ for the track team. Of how Yusuke had spent the days since Madarame’s change of heart apologising over and over for his inability to accept the truth about his sensei.

It reminded him of how badly he’d needed to take control of his own life when he’d come to Tokyo. Of how awakening Arsène had filled him with a certainty and sense of power that he’d never known.

He wondered what he would have done with that power if he hadn’t found friendship and guidance along the way.

Guidance. Meeting Morgana had been chance, but… Igor had summoned Akira directly. He was cryptic and laconic and Akira didn’t know what he was talking about half the time, but he’d been appearing in Akira’s dreams even before they first entered Kamoshida’s Palace…

Akechi seemed to have run out of words. He sat stiffly, not looking at Akira, knees still pulled up to his chest.

“Have you ever been to the Velvet Room?” Akira asked.

Akechi shot him a confused, irritated glance.

“The what?”

“It’s part of the Metaverse. I think.” Akira frowned. What had they said? This place is a reflection of your heart. “It’s… there are people there. Or… beings, I guess. They’re not human. I think they’re the ones who gave me the Metaverse Navigator. And they’ve been showing me how to use my Personas and get stronger.”

Akechi scoffed and looked away again.

“Of course you got a welcoming committee. Why am I even surprised?”

“No, but that’s just it – why didn’t you?” The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. “You’ve got the Nav too – you’ve got the same powers as me – if they’re the ones responsible, why didn’t they help you?”

Akechi flinched, just barely noticeable.

“I don’t need help, I—”

“That’s not the point!” Akira shook his head. “It isn’t fair.”

Akechi barked a harsh, disbelieving laugh.

“Only children believe the world is fair.”

“Then what’s the difference between you and me? Why help one of us and not the other?”

Akechi laughed again, quieter this time, but just as cutting.

“Perhaps you’re simply a better person.”

“I don’t think I am.”

Akechi turned a sceptical look his way. Akira seized the opportunity to hold his gaze, leaning forward a little, trying to convey his earnestness.

“I really don’t think we’re that different at all,” he said. “We were just… started off on opposite sides of the board.”

Akechi stared at him, emotions flickering across his face too fast to count. He swallowed and dropped his eyes, a faint tremor running through his shoulders and down his back.

“I wish I’d met you sooner,” he whispered.

“I’m glad I met you at all,” Akira replied at once, something aching under his ribs at the idea that they might never have crossed paths. “You’re… I’ve never…”

Akechi’s eyes flew back to his.

“Glad? After everything I’ve just told you? You… you should be running in the opposite direction—”

He couldn’t seem to get the bite back into his voice. He looked lost, and more than a little afraid.

“I told you earlier, didn’t I?” Akira couldn’t help swaying closer, couldn’t help the way his pulse picked up even as his voice softened. Akechi took a shaky breath. He didn’t try to move away. “I told you I wouldn’t run.”

Akechi’s eyes fluttered closed as Akira leaned in. This kiss couldn’t have been more different from the one in Mementos. Akechi let him take the lead, let Akira cup his cheek and kiss him soft and slow, parted his lips with a hitching sigh so Akira could press deeper.

They broke for a moment for air, still close enough that their noses were touching and all Akira could see were Akechi’s half-closed eyes and the little droplets of condensation on his long, fine lashes.

Then Akechi surged forward, recapturing Akira’s mouth with a ferocity that almost hid the way he was shaking. Akira melted into it, eagerly tangling his fingers into Akechi’s hair. He felt Akechi’s hand, hot from the bath, grasp the back of his neck; rivulets of water ran down his back and made him shudder in turn. Akira reached for Akechi’s waist with his other hand, wanting to pull him closer.

He touched bare skin, and suddenly remembered that they were both extremely naked.

And in a public bath. Which Akira was going to have to keep using for the rest of the year, so he probably shouldn’t get himself banned from it.

He pulled back, despite the intoxicating way Akechi’s grip tightened on his nape and the little whine of protest he made.

“We should, uh—” Akira paused to swallow, startled by how low and rough his own voice was. “Get out of here.”

Akechi blinked his pretty eyes open, adorably dazed, and seemed to take a moment to consider that proposition.

“Oh. Ah… yes. Yes, that would… that would probably be for the best.”

Akira couldn’t resist kissing him one more time… right on the tip of his nose. Then, while Akechi was still reacting – a sputtering, indignant protest – he waded over to the other side of the tub and hoisted himself over the edge. He was glad he’d left his towel where he could grab it immediately and wrap it around his waist. For… no particular reason. At all.

There was something dream-like, Goro thought, about sitting here in this half-lit cafe after hours, watching Akira make coffee. Maybe part of it was the unfamiliar stretch and pull of the t-shirt Akira had loaned him, and the way he felt so drained and cut open, but oddly at peace.

He’d always scoffed at the idea of getting something off your chest, always believed that his secrets were his strength, not a weight holding him back. But he felt lighter than he had done in a long time.

Or maybe it had more to do with the person he’d chosen to tell. The person who’d whispered, I’m glad I met you, after listening to Goro confess his every act of twisted malice over the last two years.

Akira still hadn’t put his glasses back on. It was unfairly distracting, along with the way his damp hair was beginning to curl again as it dried, and how soft he looked in the dim light, the wide neck of his t-shirt hanging low enough to show his collarbone, his face still pink from the bath. The way he focused with endearing intensity on making the coffee, like he was determined it would be the best he could possibly offer.

“There.” Akira placed the cup in front of him with a grin. “I’m gonna guess you’re a milk-no-sugar kind of guy.”

A petty part of Goro reflexively wanted to deny it. Another, utterly ridiculous part – somewhere in the region of his chest – quivered at being understood on even such a trivial level.

“That’s correct.”

Akira went to the fridge and came back with a small jug of milk. Goro found he wasn’t particularly surprised when Akira splashed some into his own cup as well. Just enough to take the edge off the bitterness; not enough to erase it completely. Exactly the way Goro liked it.

He took a sip, letting it scald his tongue so he could taste it properly. He wasn’t disappointed.

“It’s good.”

He expected a wink or some other cocky acknowledgement, but instead, Akira just smiled. There was something soft about that, too, and about the way he didn’t say anything in response, just picked up his own cup to take a long sip.

Goro blew on the surface of his coffee, then drank again. Then he placed the cup carefully back in its saucer.

“What now?” he asked.

As much as anything, it was a way to restart the conversation, but Goro found he also… kind of meant it. That he didn’t know where to go from here, and that Akira might be the only person in the world right now from whom he’d be willing to take directions.

“Hmm.” Akira put his cup down too, leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bar. “We could change his heart.”

“What?”

“Your father.” Akira met his eyes, all that devastating intensity and purpose fixed solely on Goro. “I know you’ve got your whole complicated plan, but… that’s what you really want, right? You don’t just want to take him down. You want him to feel it.”

“I—” Akira wasn’t wrong. God, he wasn’t wrong. Everything Goro had done for the past two years, all of it had been with the aim of making Shido rely on him – making him trust him – so that the eventual betrayal would hurt him even a fraction of the way he’d hurt Goro’s mother. “I can’t just… stop now. I’ve… I’ve come too far… it would make everything I’ve done meaningless…”

Akira just watched him, let him trail off, let him hear his own words and recognise how hollow they were. Goro closed his eyes.

“Do you know what the sunk cost fallacy is?” he found himself saying. Then, before Akira could reply, he hurried on, “It’s an economic principle of behaviour. It’s what makes people fall for scams and keep on gambling until they’ve lost everything. Once we’ve invested a certain amount of money into something, we’re more likely to keep investing more, even if it’s a losing prospect, because we can’t stand the idea that the money has been wasted.”

“Mm. Yeah, I get that.” Goro heard Akira’s cup scrape on the saucer as he put it down. “That’s how I ended up sinking five thousand yen on a crane game one time.”

Goro opened his eyes to stare incredulously at Akira.

“Five thousand—?”

“I really wanted that limited edition tamagotchi, okay?” Akira laughed self-consciously. “Also I was… I dunno, nine or something. Too dumb to realise I could probably buy it online for less.”

“I’ve always believed that I’m smarter than that,” Goro blurted out. On any other day, it would have come out snide, an unsubtle put-down. Today he could hear his own bitter honesty. From the look on Akira’s face, he heard it too. “But then, I never had that kind of money when I was a child, so how would I know? I never had anything. Except the idea that one day, I’d make that bastard apologise to her. And that’s been impossible since the day she died.”

His voice cracked shamefully. He picked up his coffee and drank from it quickly, swallowing down the shakiness. Akira didn’t say anything as he put his cup back down and cleared his throat.

“Did you get it?” Goro asked. Akira’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The tamagotchi.”

“Oh. No. Pretty sure it was rigged. Pretty sure I knew it was rigged after the first thousand yen, but I couldn’t go back to my parents and tell them I’d spent so much with nothing to show for it…”

Akira shrugged, tried to laugh again, but it didn’t quite come out so effortlessly this time.

“They nearly killed me when they found out. They stopped giving me an allowance after that. Never started again, either. If I wanted something, even snacks or whatever, I had to ask them to buy it for me. They usually said no. That’s why I’ve had part-time jobs since junior high.”

Akira stopped talking abruptly, ducking his head like he hadn’t meant to say all that. It filled Goro with a weird mixture of triumph and relief to realise that he wasn’t the only one finding it too easy to share things he hadn’t intended.

“Have you thought about changing their hearts?”

“I’ve thought about it.” Akira fiddled with his cup, twisting it around on the saucer like he was trying to line it up with some invisible mark. “But I’m… too much of a coward to try their names in the Nav.” He breathed a heavy sigh. “Because… what if they don’t have a distortion? What if they just… don’t want me?”

“Then they’re fools,” Goro said, quiet but furious. Akira’s head jerked up, his eyes finding Goro’s. “You are… you deserve so much better.”

Akira reached out and covered Goro’s hand with his own. Goro shivered despite himself, eyes still locked on Akira’s.

“So do you,” Akira said.

The moment stretched out between them, taut with emotion and promise, warm and heavy and full of electricity. Then Akira broke into one of those wide, cocky grins that were halfway to a smirk, and squeezed Goro’s hand tightly.

“Wanna help us reform society?”

Goro barked out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, but something in his chest was beating urgently like trapped butterfly wings, begging for release.

“One heart at a time?”

“If that’s what it takes.” Akira’s expression turned more serious. “Or maybe we go right to the top. It sounds like your father’s in it up to his neck. If we change his heart, maybe some of the rot goes with him.”

Goro shook his head.

“They’ll close ranks. Cover their own asses. Turn him into a scapegoat and pretend they never knew what he was doing.”

“Hmm. Might be harder for them to do that if someone could dig up proof that they were involved.” Akira leaned forward, mouth pulling sideways in a lopsided, teasing smile. “Y’know, like some sort of detective or something.”

Goro opened his mouth to retort, then slowly shut it again.

He’d never really cared about Shido’s conspiracy. Its agenda had been an opportunity to prove his worth to his worthless father, and it had provided him with plenty of targets who were themselves so despicable he didn’t lose much sleep over taking them out. Other than that, he’d seen it as simply more of the toxic adult trash that had tried to bury him all his life. Taking Shido down had been his only goal. Goro had long since abandoned any foolish notions of being a hero. Saving the world was a childish dream. What was even in it that made it worth saving?

But Akira didn’t think he was saving the world. He was just determined to take out as much of the trash as he could. And he’d started with the mess he was standing in.

Maybe that… was something worth doing.

“What will your teammates think?” Goro realised as soon as the words left his mouth that he’d as good as said yes; the way Akira’s face lit up confirmed it. “I doubt they’ll be so… understanding.”

“You might be surprised,” Akira replied. “But even if they aren’t, they’ll listen to me.”

There was confidence in his voice, but more than that, there was trust. Goro swallowed his doubts, took a deep breath, and nodded.

Akira surged forward, grabbed his face in both hands, and kissed him so hard Goro almost fell off his chair. The coffee cups between them clinked and sloshed warningly. They broke apart for a second, laughing, as Goro got his balance back and Akira shoved the cups aside, and then Akira’s hands were in his hair and Akira’s mouth was pressing hungrily back against his.

Goro still couldn’t process how good this felt, thrilling and urgent but strangely soothing, as if easing an ache that had become almost unbearable. He couldn’t separate out how much of it was physical, and how much was the heady awareness of how badly Akira wanted it too. He’d wondered before how you learned to kiss someone, what was involved in mastering the technique, but now he found that a lot of it came naturally: chasing what felt good, what made Akira feel good, what made him gasp and shiver and press in even closer. It was clumsy – sometimes too wet, sometimes awkward – but none of that felt like it mattered.

Bold now despite his hammering heart, Goro worked Akira’s mouth open and slipped his tongue inside. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure what to do with it once it was there, but Akira moaned softly all the same, fingers tightening in Goro’s hair and sending a storm of sensation through his scalp. It was Goro’s turn to moan, a sound he’d never heard himself make, breaking off the kiss to gasp as shivers ran down his spine.

Akira was far too quick on the uptake, huffing a laugh against Goro’s lips and tugging on his hair again. Goro felt like he was going to melt, his bones rapidly losing all structural stability. His head drooped automatically towards Akira’s shoulder, and he saw his opportunity for retaliation in the wide collar of the t-shirt Akira was wearing.

The noise Akira made when Goro’s mouth found his neck was nothing short of wanton, head tilting back to give him better access, chest heaving and skin rapidly flushing up under Goro’s attention.

Then his hands were on Goro’s shoulders.

“Ah— wait, Akechi—”

Goro pulled back at once, heart in his throat, but Akira immediately leaned in to capture his mouth again in a brief but passionate kiss that dispelled his sudden fear.

“Let’s… go somewhere else,” Akira whispered, leaning back just enough that Goro could see his blown pupils turning his dark eyes even darker.

Goro swallowed hard and nodded. Akira let go of him long enough to dart around the end of the counter; he was already there to catch him when Goro half-fell off his stool. His legs were like jelly, and he felt almost as lightheaded as he had in the bath.

“I— changed my mind,” he blurted out, barely able to grasp the thought behind the words.

Akira froze, dismay all over his face for just a second before Goro’s ears caught up with his mouth.

“No! No, I don’t mean—” Goro sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to find some scrap of dignity beneath his own stammering. Despite his best efforts, his voice sounded very small even to himself when he went on. “I’d like… you should… call me Goro.”

The pause after that went on long enough that he opened his eyes again, only to find himself looking at Akira’s flushed, soft-eyed expression and kiss-reddened lips.

“Are you sure?” Akira brought a hand up to stroke Goro’s cheek lightly; Goro couldn’t help but lean into it. “I remember what you said before. I don’t mind if you’d rather I didn’t.”

“I want you to,” Goro insisted, surprised by how certain he was. “I… it’s my name,” he went on in a rush, some unexpected torrent of feeling springing up from a place where he’d buried it deep. “I want it back.”

He wasn’t sure that even made sense, but Akira – god, of course Akira just got it. Of course Goro saw the understanding flash into his eyes, of course he nodded, of course he leaned in to kiss Goro again, hard and urgent like a promise.

“Goro,” Akira murmured when they parted, like he was trying it out. It sent a shudder down Goro’s spine almost as intense as when Akira had pulled his hair. “Come upstairs with me?”

Akira could have asked him for the moon right then and Goro would have tried to get it for him. He could manage some stairs. Probably. Even if his legs were still acting like they didn’t belong to him.

It still felt like a dream, Akira taking his hand and leading him into the shadows at the back of the cafe. But maybe Goro was owed some good dreams, after too many nightmares to count.

If Akira had known when he got up this morning that he was going to end the day making out with an almost unbearably attractive boy, he would have made more of an effort to tidy up before he went to school. As it was, he had to hope that Goro was too distracted to notice.

Akira himself was certainly too distracted to care for more than a few seconds. He’d intended to lead Goro to the couch like a suave, confident host, but he couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, and Goro wasn’t helping, with the way he kept grabbing handfuls of Akira’s t-shirt to drag him closer. Somehow they ended up stumbling over to the bed, which Akira only registered when the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he half-fell, half-sat, blinking up at Goro as he tried to find two coherent thoughts to put together.

Goro looked down at him uncertainly for a moment, before the bravado was back in his eyes and he was climbing into Akira’s lap, knees sliding easily to either side of Akira’s hips, hands already finding purchase again in Akira’s t-shirt as he brought their mouths back together in a rush. He was such a blend of contradictions, so confident and so nervous at the same time, seeming to know exactly what he wanted and yet have no idea how to get it other than rushing blindly forward.

It was cute, and sort of hot, and not all that different from how Akira was feeling right now.

But they… probably ought to slow down a little. Even though Goro’s weight in his lap felt so good Akira just wanted to drag him even closer.

He managed to get Goro to stop kissing him for long enough to speak.

“D’you… what do you want to do?”

Goro just stared at him, looking so dazed that Akira wasn’t sure if he’d parsed the question, but after a moment of hesitation, his eyes snapped back to sharpness and he smiled that dangerous, confident smile that did things to Akira’s stomach.

“I could ask you the same question.”

Akira snorted, too amused to put any real impatience into it. Of course Goro would turn this into another kind of competition.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t into it.

“I asked first.”

Another tiny hesitation, then Goro was leaning forward so that his mouth was right by Akira’s ear. Akira was fairly sure it wasn’t a coincidence that the movement also hid his face.

“What do you want me to do, Akira?”

That… wasn’t playing fair. The way Goro hummed his name… was it the first time he’d actually used it? He lingered over the syllables like he liked the way it sounded, the way it tasted. Akira shivered, and Goro leaned in, grazing the outer rim of his ear with heated lips.

Fuck.

Akira wrapped his arms around Goro and tipped backwards, pulling them both onto the bed. Goro flailed, caught by surprise, and Akira used the moment of confusion to roll him over and push him down against the pillows. Goro’s eyes widened, but he smirked up at Akira, clearly pleased with himself for the successful distraction.

Well, that’s what he thought. Because fun as it was to push each other harder and faster until they both stopped caring about appearances, Akira had no intention of messing this up through miscommunication.

Which unfortunately meant he was going to have to bite the bullet and answer his own question. He didn’t think he’d get an honest answer out of Goro otherwise.

And somehow – somehow – this was the first time all day he’d felt truly nervous, the first time he was a little bit afraid that Goro would think less of him.

“I haven’t really done this before,” Akira admitted, trying to make it sound casual. Like he wasn’t self-conscious about it at all. “Just… so you know.”

He wasn’t expecting Goro to look so surprised.

“You… haven’t?”

“Nope.” Akira hung onto the pretence of nonchalance even though he could feel his face burning. At least there wasn’t any scorn in Goro’s expression. Akira managed the ghost of a teasing grin. “Some of us aren’t super-popular celebrities.”

Goro laughed incredulously, which gave Akira a bad couple of seconds, until he saw the way Goro bit his lip and avoided his eyes afterwards.

“Popular?” Goro murmured. “I suppose, in the abstract…”

It only took Akira a moment to understand.

“Oh,” he said. Then, “Oh.”

Then he didn’t know what to say after that, because he almost couldn’t believe it, but he didn’t know how to express that without embarrassing Goro, and he couldn’t put words around the starburst of emotion he felt on realising that they were on an equal footing here as well.

So he just kissed Goro again. And discovered almost at once that kissing someone when they were lying underneath you was a whole new level of intensity. Especially when Goro arched into it with a quiet, breathy moan, shoving his hands up the back of Akira’s t-shirt and pressing possessive fingertips into his skin. Especially when Akira shifted and wriggled instinctively to get closer, and it became impossible to pretend they weren’t both hard from this.

That was kind of a relief, too: knowing that Goro was just as affected even though they’d hardly started.

And kind of, maybe, really hot.

Akira wasn’t sure how much time passed after that. It all blurred into a haze of kissing and touching, slowly figuring each other out. Akira discovered that sucking on Goro’s neck made him whine, breath coming short and fast as he scrabbled at Akira’s back. Not long afterwards, Akira also discovered that he liked it a lot when Goro rolled him over and pinned him to the mattress to return the favour.

“Take this off,” Goro ordered, once Akira was a panting mess. He was tugging at the hem of Akira’s t-shirt impatiently. “Come on.”

“Say please.”

“No.”

Akira rolled his eyes and shoved Goro back far enough to pull the stretchy fabric over his head and toss it onto the floor.

“You too,” he insisted, before Goro could act on that hungry look that had come into his eyes.

Goro huffed theatrically but did as he was told. Akira swallowed hard. Yes, he’d already seen Goro in the bath, but this was different: this was Goro dropping the borrowed t-shirt somewhere and then leaning over him, hair tickling Akira’s nose, eyes bright and intense and focused entirely and only on him. This was Goro kissing him like he couldn’t help himself, sinking down into Akira’s arms like he couldn’t hold himself up, his skin hot and smooth and sensitive under Akira’s hands.

Time slipped away again, the quiet of the attic broken only by little gasps and murmurs of pleasure, by the sounds of increasingly urgent kissing. Then, subtly, something changed, like they’d both reached some sort of limit. Akira found himself rocking up against Goro with desperate intent, hands sliding lower to grab his ass and pull him closer. Goro moaned against his mouth, breaking off to pant shakily into Akira’s neck.

“Akira…” Goro’s voice was deliciously rough, underscored with a needy whine. “I— I need—”

He fumbled for his belt buckle. Akira tried to help. They mostly got in each other’s way, but somehow at the end of it, despite a few misplaced elbows, the rest of their clothes were on the floor and Akira was losing his mind at the slide of skin on skin as Goro slotted their hips back together.

It felt incredible. They writhed against each other, finding a rhythm as easy as breathing. Akira’s half-formed thoughts of doing anything more complicated went out of the window: he knew straight away that this was going to be enough.

And that it wasn’t going to take very long, either.

“Oh, fuck,” Goro moaned. “I’m—”

“Me too,” Akira slurred, wrapping his arms tightly around Goro’s back and kissing him, open-mouthed and messy. “Don’t stop.”

“Please—”

“Goro—”

Like Akira saying his name had been a command, Goro shuddered and shoved hard one last time with his hips, moaning helplessly into Akira’s neck as he spilled between them. Akira was so close it was almost painful, and for a confused, panicky moment he didn’t know how to get there; then Goro’s hand was on him, tight and fast, and Akira bucked up into it and tumbled headlong over the edge.

Everything went warm and hazy for a little while. Akira was happy to drift in it, drugged on afterglow and the heavy, boneless weight of Goro still half on top of him. He could almost have fallen asleep like this, except that before long he found he couldn’t really ignore the need for clean-up.

He nudged Goro off him and leaned over the edge of the bed, feeling around until he located a half-full box of tissues.

When he rolled back over, Goro was watching him, eyes sleepy but with a hint of uncertainty that twisted something in Akira’s chest. He’d intended to pass Goro the tissues; instead, he grabbed a handful himself and started wiping gently at Goro’s stomach. Maybe it was stupid, but it felt like it meant something, even when Goro squirmed ticklishly and grumbled about needing another shower.

And it felt like it meant something that, as soon as Akira was done cleaning them both up, Goro wrapped around him like an unexpectedly cuddly cat, curling into his side and pressing his face against Akira’s shoulder. Akira hummed contentedly, enjoying the opportunity to run his fingers over Goro’s skin, then to card through his hair. He felt the little shivers that followed each time.

He wondered how long it had been since anyone had really touched Goro.

Everything was quiet, inside the attic and out. Akira didn’t like to think about how late it must be. Getting up for school tomorrow was going to be painful. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret any part of the reason for it. Not when Goro’s breath was warm against his neck, his hair sliding silk-soft between Akira’s fingers.

“You’re staying, right?” Akira said.

“I suppose,” Goro mumbled, like he was doing Akira a favour, even as he burrowed closer. “I should leave before your guardian arrives in the morning, though.”

Akira shuddered at the thought of trying to explain things to Sojiro over breakfast.

“Yeah.” He curled his fingers around the nape of Goro’s neck, stroked gently with his thumb. “I’ll talk to the others. We’re meeting tomorrow. I’ll let you know what they say.”

He felt the way Goro tensed, but he nodded against Akira’s shoulder.

“You know,” Goro said after a moment, voice deceptively mild, “you still haven’t told me how you knew I was watching you.”

Akira bit his lip against a grin. Oh, Goro was going to hate this. And Akira was going to enjoy it.

“Stop it,” Goro muttered. “I can feel you smirking.”

Akira smirked harder.

“You’ve figured out who all the Phantom Thieves are, right?”

“Of course. Sakamoto calls himself Skull. Takamaki goes by Panther. Kitagawa is Fox. And you’re Joker, for reasons that initially escaped me, but are becoming clearer by the hour.”

Akira snuffled his laughter into Goro’s hair. Goro pinched him in retaliation. Hard.

“Ow, hey…” Akira swatted his hand away. “But there’s five of us, you know.”

Goro paused.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “There’s that… creature. The one you call Mona.”

“He’s a cat,” Akira explained. Then, “Wait, no, don’t tell him I said that. Uh. He’s not a cat, but when he’s in the real world, he looks like a cat.”

“… what?”

“He can still talk, but most people just hear meowing. You can only understand him if you’ve heard him in the Metaverse. It changes your cognition in reality.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with—”

“I usually carry him around with me. He was in my bag at the TV station earlier today. And yesterday, when we first met you.”

Goro stiffened. Akira could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

“And right before you walked around that corner,” Akira went on, completely unable to keep the glee out of his own voice, “he said something about pancakes—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Akira threw back his head and cackled as Goro shot up onto one elbow, glowering down at him with such malevolence that Akira would have been alarmed, if he wasn’t also currently naked in Akira’s bed.

“You gave yourself away,” Akira managed to gasp around his mirth, “all because you got excited at the idea of dessert—”

“I don’t even like pancakes!” Goro howled. “I was just trying to make your stupid friends like me!”

Akira had no option at that point but to roll over and bury his face in the pillow to muffle his laughter.

“I hate you.” Goro sounded more despairing than anything else. “You’re so… so…”

Akira rolled sideways just enough to peek up at Goro, swallowing down the last few giggles.

“It kind of worked out okay, though,” he pointed out.

Goro glared at him for a few more seconds, then flopped down onto the bed with his back pointedly turned. Akira wriggled around so he could slide a hand up his spine, stroking the length of it as a sort-of-apology.

“I suppose it did,” Goro said finally. He sighed. “This… isn’t going to be easy. You know that, don’t you? I can’t just… walk away without consequences. And the people you want to go up against are powerful and unscrupulous. And then there’s the question of these entities who’ve been guiding your actions…”

“I know,” Akira replied softly. He scooted closer, sliding an arm around Goro’s waist and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “But it’ll be easier if we do it together.”

Goro’s hand found his, hesitantly entwining their fingers.

“Yes,” he said. “I… think maybe it will.”