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The good thing about cheating death twice is that eventually, the world’s cognition can no longer suspend its disbelief of the circumstances, and it forgets you in order to make up for the cognitive dissonance.
Akechi appreciates that, because he would’ve really hated to have a name change.
(He’d considered the possibility of this being a necessity, and he’d resolved to make it Tanaka Taro just because he thought it’d be amusing to prove Sakura wrong: it isn’t too obvious.)
Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary. Nobody remembers the second coming of the Detective Prince; hell, nobody remembers the first coming of the Detective Prince to begin with. (What is Shirogane Naoto up to, anyway? Isshiki Wakaba’s research did indicate that the Metaverse was somehow involved in his case, too.)
So when Akechi shows his ID to the bouncer at a Western-style strip club in Shinjuku, nobody bats an eye whatsoever. Good, it’s pathetic enough that he is here to begin with.
Apparently the strip club’s main act is a guy dressing up as the leader of the Phantom Thieves. Akechi has no interest in watching a Joker cosplayer strip, of course, but here is the thing— he was advertised as Joker.
The public does not know that codename, which leaves Akechi with two hypotheses.
The person in question is either someone involved in the conspiracy, which means he will have to dispose of them immediately.
Or…
Joker decided to become a stripper?
A rush of rightful indignation did hit Akechi when he considered it: Joker, selling out his justice for easy cash. Would he? Who knows, Akechi hasn’t seen him in forever, and they were playing games every time they’d met.
Honestly, Joker has worked weirder jobs. Akechi shouldn’t care. But morbid curiosity is what it is, and hasn’t it been three years? Shouldn’t Joker be in university or something?
So Akechi steps into the aptly named Club Phantom, taking in the red lighting, the drunk patrons, the fact that he recognizes some of these people from Shido’s business parties. Like Ooe, one of the corrupt politicians he did commit one crime or the other for.
One point in favor of committing more crimes, Akechi supposes.
He quickly finds a free seat, but it is uncomfortably close to the staff room. Not a good place to observe without being noticed.
The drinks menu doesn’t reveal too much about the nature of the club: standard cocktails and, inexplicably, coffee.
It is then that he hears the world’s most exasperated waiter ask, “Hey... Can I take your order? Today’s special is— Akechi?!”
Fuck . Akechi looks up and comes face to face with Sakamoto Ryuji, a man who manages to not have changed at all.
He supposes that that answers all he needs to know about the club, and he should go, but he did already pay the entrance fee, and…
“Sakamoto. What an interesting place to meet you at.”
“Cut the crap. We all liked you better during that January, y’know?” Sakamoto rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “You’re here because of Akira, aren’t you? He said you’d come.”
Akechi raises an eyebrow. “He did?”
“He did.” Sakamoto makes a face. “Said something about how where those people go,” He gestures around the club, and Akechi understands. “You would follow.”
Correct conclusion, wrong reasoning, Akechi figures, but it’s better if Joker— Akira— doesn’t know the truth.
“I suppose.”
“So like, drinks? Two are included in the entrance fee anyway.”
“Coffee, then.”
“He also said you’d say that. Seriously, I told him you’re dead and he should give it up, but he was so convinced we all kinda started to believe it, y’know? That you’d show up. Couldn’t you have told him earlier?”
Akechi props his head up on his hand. “And why would I do that? He seems to be doing fine.”
“Yeah, that’s only since he opened this place. Before that, he—” Sakamoto stops and puts his hand up to his ear, presumably his earpiece. “If you wanna talk to him, talk to him after your performance. I’m not helping you flirt with a dead guy, that’s weird .” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, watch Akira’s performance or I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ll bring you your coffee.”
And with that, he walks off. Belatedly, Akechi notes that his leg seems to have gotten better.
Fifteen minutes into watching politician Ooe’s movements very carefully, Akechi hears Sakamoto clearing his throat next to him.
“What?”
“Can you stop looking at the target this obviously? Anyway, here’s your coffee.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be this loud if you wanted to not be obvious.” Akechi smirks, taking a sip from the coffee immediately. It tastes the same way it did three years ago. “...Doesn’t he have a job? Why did he make this himself?”
“And I thought he was the weird one.” Sakamoto takes out his phone and quickly snaps a picture before Akechi can react.
“Delete that.”
“He said you get infinite refills if you let him keep it.”
Akechi sighs, tired of this act of using Sakamoto as the middle man. “I’m going to the staff room. Where is he?”
“Hell if I know, but the performance starts soon.” Sakamoto pockets his phone again. “Listen, I don’t even work here.”
“You don’t?”
Akechi had assumed this was a weird Phantom Thief-operated strip club made to continue to stop crime or whatever. Like getting the criminals so drunk and horny they confess? That kind of thing.
“Do I look like I fit in here at all? No, it was just overbooked tonight.”
“True, you’d make more of a bouncer.”
“You’re an asshole as usual, glad to hear it.” Sakamoto begins to walk away. “At least Akira will be glad, anyway.”
As if on cue, the remaining lights go out and there is a spotlight shining on the red circular stage in the middle of the club. And from a stage lift, he appears: Joker, in his Metaverse outfit.
Akechi feels a twinge of envy. While he has mixed feelings about the design choices on his Metaverse outfits, having them as a memento would be kind of nice. It would be nice to remember the power he once had.
Joker cartwheels over the stage, the damn showoff, before gracefully grabbing onto the pole, looping around it before jumping up, suspended on the pole like gravity is a joke to him.
(Akira was never non-athletic outside of the Metaverse, but Akechi knows for a fact that he wasn’t able to do this last time they’d met.)
Akechi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He really, really doesn’t want to look, but not looking would mean admitting he is too focused on Joker’s performance, so he looks.
From Alibaba, huh? Akechi does remember Akira saying it was Sakura’s hacking pseudonym. After Medjed, that is.
>> akechi i s2g if we lose ooe because of you ill sign you up for a tv interview about cute dessert trends
>> dont do anything just drool over akira or whatever
<< I’m not doing any of the sort.
>> i literally have video feed
Akechi chooses to ignore the jab and instead deal with the more interesting question.
<< So, do you work here?
>> you can ask akira about the specifics
>> he said if we tell you too much youll just fuck off without talking to us
<< That was my plan, yes.
>> look at him tho he’ll be sad if you don’t
When Akechi looks up from his phone, Joker is making eye-contact with him from the stage, smirking as he shrugs off his coat, revealing the gray vest in its full sleeveless glory under it.
Akechi knows for a fact that the vest was sleeveless in the Metaverse, too, but that doesn’t make it any less shameless. Actually, what is the appeal here? Did Joker really bank on the lack of standards of sleazy old men? Or is the kink here that he is wearing that much clothing to begin with?
Akira licks his lips, sliding down the pole as he pulls down on his vest's zipper. The roaring applause festers in Akechi’s gut, like a reminder that Joker has always been the hero of the masses.
The masses have just gotten more depraved, so Joker has adjusted.
Akechi tries to pretend he is not among those masses when Joker finally takes off his vest, but the gaze he is met with tells him that he’s already lost.
Joker backflips off the pole, tossing his mask in Akechi’s direction. Akechi, of course, catches it. Because why wouldn’t he? This a challenge, this is—
“They say if you catch his mask, Joker will let you into his private chambers.”
“Who caught it?”
“I’m jealous…”
Akechi’s phone vibrates once more.
>> oh my god he compromised the plan because of you
>> ugh fine we will deal with ooe you guys catch up or whatever
<< Could you please refrain from blaming me for your leader’s lack of self-control?
>> i like you better when you’re ruder
Based on this and everything, it’s very obvious that the Phantom Thieves at least remember everything that happened in that fabricated January. Which means they actually mean it when they say they like Akechi when he’s himself.
Is Joker’s emotional masochism contagious?
Akechi has no time to contemplate that, because Joker has closed the distance between the stage and him, leaving other people he doesn’t recognize to the stage.
“Akechi.”
“That’s my name, yes.”
“You absolute asshole.” Joker is trembling, and Akechi would like the look a lot more if he had intentionally caused it. Then he feels Joker’s hand grab his wrist, pulling him towards the staff room.
“You seriously thought it’s okay to fuck off like this and tell me nothing? After leaving that promise unfulfilled?” Joker looks good when he’s angry, Akechi decides. Almost like the rage status, but less artificial.
“I had things to sort out.” It’s an excuse, a filthy excuse to not admit that Joker’s mere presence emotionally compromises him. Akechi sits down on the red couch and crosses his legs.
“Is that why nearly half our targets ended up behind bars before we could act?”
“So that’s how you knew.”
“I was pretty pissed when you got that noble in jail.” Akira is still shirtless, and he seems to be aware of it now, because the tips of his ears are red.
“So that’s what this is? You seduce people into confessing their crimes?”
“Actually, I steal their phones and have Futaba handle the rest.”
“Of course you do.” Akechi rolls his eyes. “And what does that change?”
Akira laughs; it’s an ugly, sad laugh. Not like the laugh he had back at the jazz club at all. “It changes nothing. But I wanted to finish what I started. Ideally without getting innocent people involved, that's why the staff here are mostly unaware.”
“Then why did you let Ooe go?”
“He’ll come back. Futaba’s gonna give him a discount on the next visit. Right now, I’m here for you.”
“Because I’m connected to the conspiracy?”
Objectively, Akechi belongs behind bars. Unfortunately, court decided that the irrelevance attributed to his existence by the universe was enough grounds to dismiss his confession as trauma caused by the horrific media propaganda Shido used him for, which in turn worsened Shido’s sentence. Good enough, at the time, but if Akira managed to apprehend him right now, he wouldn’t try to use underhanded means to get out.
Akira laughs. “Because I wanted to see you.”
“Brainlessly—”
“Sentimental, I know. So, my place or your place? Morgana lives with Futaba now, so that shouldn’t stop you.” Akira leans in, and Akechi’s gaze travels to his collarbone. He wills himself to make eye contact again.
“What makes you think I’m going home with you?”
Akira has that smirk again, and Akechi wants to wipe it off his face. “You’re sober and yet you’ve stared at me like you wanna help me undress for the past hour.”
“How would you know that?”
“Futaba has video feed.” Akechi scowls, and Akira’s smirk widens. “So?”
“What if I left anyway? Unlike you, I have a decent amount of self control.”
Akira pulls him closer by the tie. “Do you?” His gaze wanders downward, to the small but very much present tent that’s beginning to form in Akechi’s crotch area.
Then, he licks his lips again. “I could also suck you off, you know. For old time’s sake?”
Like that time in August, when Akira had insisted Akechi needs to relax. Or that time in November, when Akira had insisted it’s a great team-building exercise. Or that time in January, when Akira pushed him against a wall and just took what he wanted, like seeing Akechi’s true colors made him unable to contain himself.
Akechi swallows, his throat feels dry. “Your place.”
“That was easier than expected.” Akira drops to his knees anyway, a bit less elegant than before, like he hasn’t done it in a while.
Has he not had anyone since Akechi? Did he wait for Akechi? Was there no one who could give him what he wanted more than Akechi—
“Before you ask, no, I haven’t done this in a while. Like around three years and two months? Something like that.” Akira’s grin is all teeth, and he undoes Akechi’s belt before unzipping his pants.
“What, did juvie actually impact your popularity?”
“No way. I just realized I preferred you.” The statement makes Akechi’s cock throb somehow, Akira’s arrogance notwithstanding. He begins stroking Akechi’s cock, holding it against his cheek, like he remembers Akechi liked that look back in the day.
Akechi manages to not moan when Akira licks a stripe along his length. “So you were propositioned?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Akira idly circles his thumb around the head of Akechi’s cock. “Jealous?”
“I can do without your band of sycophants.”
“Peachy as always.” And without preamble, Akira takes in as much of Akechi’s length as he can.
“It seems your friends like it when I’m honest.”
Akira hums affirmatively around Akechi’s cock, and the sensation makes him thrust in shallowly. Akira doesn’t gag, instead takes it deeper; doesn’t break eye contact. Instead, he looks at Akechi— a challenge.
Akechi’s fingers tangle in Akira’s hair, and he realizes the last time he touched it, it was less soft. Maybe having an actual job means he has money for a hair care routine now? It’s an improvement.
Between his legs, Akira has put his hand in his pants, his cock straining against the fabric.
“You can still get off to this?”
Akira moans, and Akechi finally gives in, thrusting into his mouth, watching his throat accommodate Akechi’s length. It’s obscene. It’s like nothing has changed, and they’re back in January, and it’s real this time, and this time Akechi’s looming death and Akira’s feelings can’t stop Akechi from making bad decisions, and—
Akechi comes before he can pull out, and he watches Akira swallow diligently. It’s a pride thing, he knows; Joker had told him as much in Sae’s palace. Akechi understands, he thinks, and he nudges Akira’s hand away with his boot before pressing his boot against Akira’s cock, making rocking motions as he lets himself enjoy Akira’s moans.
“You know, I’m glad you—” Akira bites his lip, suppressing a moan, and Akechi increases the pressure so he can hear it this time. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
Akechi freezes, but it doesn’t deter Akira— he ruts against Akechi’s boot until he comes undone as well, breathing heavily as he looks at Akechi and Akechi alone.
They’ve always orbited around each other like this. It was inevitable from the start, and that’s why they are here again. Why they'll keep crossing paths. Akechi doesn't know why he tried fighting it in the first place.
Akechi grabs a tissue from the table next to him and begins to clean up; his boot first, then Akira. After all, it is quite a sight.
“So. My place?” Akira smirks, but there is a fondness in it that makes Akechi feel the urge to run, once again. He swallows it down.
“Lead the way, Joker.”