Chapter Text
Seven years after concluding his career as a Phantom Thief and departing back to his hometown, Akira had settled into a life of insulting normalcy.
After slinking meekly through his final school year at his hometown, Akira returned to Tokyo to take up a career in journalism. He had gone to university to get the relevant qualifications and, thanks to Ohya nudging a few ribs and dropping his name here and there, landed a job with a reasonably well-off yet mundane newspaper, slowly cultivating a reputation as a stubborn do-gooder reporter notorious for sticking his nose into awkward places and unearthing scandals and truths.
Compared to skulking into people’s hearts and stealing their distorted desires, such a life was positively boring , even if it followed parallel to the righteous trajectory of his earlier career as a Phantom Thief.
Goro wasn’t sure what to make of it.
He sipped his coffee as he thumbed through the short profile, his gaze lingering on the out-of-date mugshot tucked into the far corner. He wasn’t supposed to have this - the Shadow Ops kept tabs on Akira just for being a Wildcard, even if he wasn’t selected as a potential recruit currently, so it was all very hush-hush - but when Goro had booked his winter leave and had decided to return to Tokyo for the first time in years, well…
It was by impulse. One he was starting to regret now.
Literal years. Literal fucking years since he last saw Akira in that false reality. The memory of it was painfully stark - the glitter of tears clinging to Akira’s dark eyelashes, the way he whispered ‘I love you’ when Goro tried to leave in a vain attempt to make it easier for them both, the heartbreak on his face when Goro told him, quietly yet firmly; ‘it’ll pass’ and-
Well, it didn’t matter anymore. The fact was if Akira had any sense he would have moved on by now. Goro crashing into his life now would cause nothing but embarrassment and awkwardness for both sides, reopening old wounds for no practical reason. It was best to evade and avoid for both their sakes.
you’re being a coward, a tiny little voice whispered in the back of his mind, you want to see him again.
it doesn’t matter if i do, he thought back irritably, and viciously stashed Akira’s profile in his open briefcase, it’s better that we don’t, for both our sakes.
So, it made sense that only an hour after his decision to not see Akira that he literally walked into him at the subway.
It had happened too quickly for him to even try to avoid it: a familiar form darting around a slow-shuffling couple in front of Goro and slamming right into his shoulder, sending him stumbling to one side with his briefcase clattering on the floor. He only realised who it was when Akira stopped to apologise and pick up his briefcase for him, grey eyes meeting his own as he straightened up and…
Well.
The late afternoon crowd moved around them irritably as they stared at each other in mute surprise. Goro didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak, unwilling to break the chilling silence between them as Akira’s open shock slowly darkened into something more grim-lined and narrow eyed. He heard the creak of leather as Akira’s gloved hand tightened around the handle of his briefcase, fingers flexing as if he was only just holding back the urge to smack him with it.
Akira wasn’t wearing his glasses, Goro observed belatedly, confused and flustered in equal measure at this realisation. His old rival’s furious eyes were in plain view, their devastating beauty no longer contained behind an unstylish layer of false glass and dorky frames. Combined with the sharp, mature cut of his jaw and cheekbones, Goro realised that time and adulthood had been very good to Akira, refining the unpolished diamond that he had been into a true jewel.
He felt sort of annoyed about it. Did Akira really need to become even more attractive? It was unfair.
“Seven years,” Akira finally said, snapping Goro out of his half-dazed staring, “And you couldn’t even send me a text to say you’re alive.”
There it is.
“Why, hello to you too, Joker. It’s nice to see you again after all these years,” Goro said flatly and held his hand out expectantly. He wanted to teleport out of this situation entirely, wanted to escape before this whole reunion became an actual, legitimate reunion, and not some unfortunate random encounter that lasted less than thirty seconds, “My briefcase, please.”
Akira tucked the briefcase closer to his side, just out of reach, “Seven years, Akechi.”
“Yes, yes, it’s been a while,” Goro growled irritably, dropping his hand when he realised his briefcase was going to be held hostage until he had this out with him. Shit, “You really want to do this here?”
Akira opened his mouth and for one horrifying moment Goro really thought he was going to cause a scene, right there, in the middle of Shibuya station - but thankfully, Akira stopped and scowled at him instead, jerking his chin towards the Fukutoshin Line.
“Let’s go to the Crossroads,” Akira said tensely, “I think you owe me a drink, anyway.”
Goro hesitated, clenching his jaw until pain throbbed between his temples. He could just tackle him and wrestle his briefcase back - but that would probably just end up with him getting the police called on him by a well-meaning bystander, and he really couldn’t afford that, but, god, he couldn’t afford seeing Akira again either because-
well, too late now, he thought angrily, akira knows i exist again. he won’t rest until he gets what he wants.
And Akira’s journalistic career, which Goro totally did not obsessively follow, proved that he was very very good at ferreting out information from the unlikeliest of sources.
“Fine,” he snarled out, “As you wish.”
He shouldn’t have come back to Tokyo.
After an extremely uncomfortable train ride brimming with silent unresolved tension, Goro sulked after Akira into the Crossroads. This early in the evening, there weren’t many customers, but the woman at the counter greeted Akira in a husky voice warm with familiarity, most likely the bar owner. When her gaze landed on Goro, she frowned, looking between the two of them as she picked up on the taut air between them.
“Who’s this?” the bar owner asked suspiciously, “Another ex?”
another ex? Goro thought in bewilderment as Akira said; “Something like that.”
“This better not be messy like the last one,” the bar owner said, “I’ll throw you both out if you start a fight.”
“We’ll be civil, Lala,” Akira lied through his teeth, and with a curt motion of his hand, gestured for Goro to follow him to the booth furthest from the bar. It was right in the corner, as private as it could be, but Goro hesitated to sit down as Akira slid into his seat, resting the briefcase on the table in front of him.
“Another ex?” Goro asked blankly.
“Yeah,” Akira grunted, “You know, all part and parcel of making a new life for myself after you apparently died.”
Goro wasn’t sure what to say to that. He should’ve been pleased, really - it showed Akira had moved on, that his ‘love’ had been nothing more than a school boy crush after all. That in the end, it really hadn’t been anything substantial. It really had passed like he said it would and he was out there, meeting new people and getting into relationships (however rocky they may be). That was good. Good.
He should be pleased.
(he wasn’t)
“Goro,” Akira said, clearly growing tired of Goro standing awkwardly next to the booth, “Sit down. Please.”
He sat down.
Nothing was said for a long, awkward moment. Akira was peering at him closely, almost hungrily, as if memorising Goro’s face in case he vanished again - which, well, was a legitimate fear. After this Goro was going to get an international job in Europe or something to put as much physical space between him and Akira as possible. Almost ten million people in Tokyo and Goro ran into him. It was absurd.
He clasped his hands together on the table, lowering his gaze. Staring at Akira’s face was making something long-buried clench almost nauseously in his gut. He ruthlessly crushed it, squeezing his fingers until it hurt.
Another ex. Fuck, why couldn’t he stop thinking about that?
“I thought you were dead,” Akira began, his tone very soft.
“Mm.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Akira asked, and Goro unwisely looked up, met those sad, devastated eyes. It was like the false reality all over again. He could almost hear the whispered ‘i love you’ and felt a shudder prickle up his spine from the memory of it. He remembered how it had made his heart hurt, sweetly and agonisingly, and he didn’t want to go through it again.
“Because I needed space to sort my own shit out,” Goro said honestly, “Away from Tokyo, Shido… you.”
“Me?”
Ugh. He didn’t want this talk.
“I didn’t want…” Goro paused. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words, how Akira’s affection and budding love terrified the shit out of him, made him feel just as trapped and confined as Shido and the Detective Prince persona had ever been. Goro hadn’t wanted to claw out of the false reality only to have his new, raw self defined by Akira. He wanted to be free, completely, and that included the choking, wing-clipping bond of love that Akira tried to snare him in. If he had stayed… would he have ever managed to muster the strength to find his own way out of Akira’s shadow?
“Didn’t want what?” Akira demanded shortly, disrupting his thoughts.
Goro bristled at the sharp tone and snapped impulsively; “I didn’t want you suffocating me.”
“Excuse me?” Akira looked stunned, “Suffo- I never suffocated you. I decided to let you go after Maru-”
“Oh, how kind of you, to give permission for me to decide my own fate,” Goro growled, “But that’s exactly what I mean. That.”
Akira’s jaw visibly clenched, “What.”
“You- you decided everything,” Goro hissed, leaning forwards, pressing his hands hard against the edge of the table, “I let you decide everything. I wasn’t sure how much- if I could…”
He leaned back, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He didn’t continue.
“...did you trust me that little?” Akira asked quietly.
i was frightened of you, Goro did not say, frightened at how much power i willingly let you hold over me.
“Yes,” he said instead, staring hard at the table between them, “You- you had your own… expectations. For us.”
“Oh,” Akira said. It was a quiet little noise, an incredulous exhale of a painful realisation, “You thought I’d… try to control you too?”
“You already were,” Goro murmured, “Not intentionally, but…”
“Still,” Akira said, “That didn’t mean you had to ghost me-”
“If I told you I was alive, you would have wanted to know where I was, who I was with, if I was safe,” Goro snapped, “You wouldn’t have moved on, you would have waited for me- would have kept telling me that you were waiting.”
Akira didn’t reply. The guilty look said everything.
“Unintentionally or otherwise,” Goro said, “You would’ve pressured me into wanting to… to go back to you, to just… I couldn’t. Akira, I couldn’t. I needed to get away . Do you understand?”
“I…” Akira looked conflicted, “If you told me that, I would’ve given you space.”
“That’s what I mean, Akira,” Goro said tiredly, “I wouldn’t have told you that. I didn’t… know what I wanted, then.”
The only reason he managed to ‘ghost’ Akira in the first place was because bouncing from the hospital to prison, and eventually, to the Shadow Ops didn’t leave him with much opportunity to reach out to the remnants of his past life. His second chance had come with a long list of draconian conditions, and it was only now, seven years later, that he was trusted to walk around as a free man without supervision, a brand new life for a brand new person.
Honestly, it was the best damn thing to happen to him.
“So, does that mean…” Akira sounded breathless, a little like he was about to start crying, even though his expression was impressively neutral and his eyes dry, “Is this you saying that you don’t want anything to do with me anymore? For us to go our separate ways and, what, forget about each other?”
It’d be easier for both of them if Goro said ‘yes’. If this had been over text or even over the phone, Goro would’ve been able to muster the coldheartedness to say ‘yes, never contact me again’. But, face to face? Looking at Akira and seeing his neutral expression waver, to see his open heartbreak crack open as if his entire world was ending once more - Goro couldn’t stand it.
Fucking- weak, sentimental piece of shit-
“As if I could ever forget you, Joker,” Goro muttered bitterly, looking away from Akira and saying to the wall; “I was planning on contacting you eventually, on my terms, but…”
“Fate had other ideas,” Akira murmured thickly.
“I’m not the same person I was,” Goro warned, finally looking back at him with a severe expression, “I doubt you are too. We… what we had, I doubt we can pick up from where we left off.”
“We’ll just start over then,” Akira said, and something strengthened in his tone, “From scratch?”
Goro exhaled heavily, rubbing his forehead. He really shouldn’t have come to Tokyo.
“Fine. Yes, from scratch,” Goro caved, and frowned when Akira held out a hand across the booth, “What?”
“Kurusu Akira, journalist,” Akira introduced himself, his expression bright with a Joker-esque smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Really?” Goro deadpanned, but… well, fine, he’ll indulge the symbolic gesture. With only some hesitation, he reached out and clasped Akira’s gloved hand. His grip was firm and warm, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of their first meeting, years ago, at the TV station…
“Akechi Goro,” he returned, letting the grip linger, caught up as he was in nostalgia, “Agent.”
“What - really?” Akira boggled a little before laughing, “Agent. Like an idol manager or…?”
“Shut up, Kurusu,” Goro sneered, squeezing his hand harder. He smiled thinly when he felt Akira retaliate by clenching back, the both of them staring challengingly at each other, waiting to see who would wince first from the crushing handshake.
“I did wonder about the suit,” Akira purred, his gaze becoming heavy-lidded as he scrutinised Goro’s outfit. It was the standard black suit and tie that most Shadow Operatives wore when out in public, the thin kevlar vest deftly concealed beneath the black jacket, “A secret agent, then?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a secret if I just told you,” Goro murmured, “You’re a journalist, aren’t you? Investigate.”
With that, Goro loosened his grip on Akira’s hand. Reluctantly, Akira did the same, and they pulled away from each other. There was an odd tension between them now, but not a negative one. Just two half-strangers, half-old friends sizing each other up, trying to see where the differences and similarities were.
“I like your hair,” Akira said suddenly, gesturing towards his own head, “The ponytail suits you.”
“It’s a pain to deal with,” Goro said, but inwardly he preened at the praise, curling his fingers to stop himself from fiddling with his hair like a stupid school boy complimented by their crush, “I see yours is still a lost cause.”
“People like my curls,” Akira said self-consciously, reaching up to play with his forelock. He still had that nervous habit, huh.
“Yes,” Goro hesitated before just going for it, “Your past exes, for example?”
Akira made a face, lowering his hand, “You really want to talk about that?”
“I’m curious,” Goro said simply, even if his interest wasn’t simple at all. He wanted to know- well, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but, if he had to deal with random exes coming out of the woodwork being all awkward, he wanted to be forewarned. Also maybe snoop on them a little too, to see what kind of idiot would fuck up a relationship with Akira, of all people.
(he pointedly ignored the fact that he was one such idiot that fucked up a relationship with Akira, but he was technically an outlier and shouldn’t be counted)
Akira drummed his fingers on the table, chewing his bottom lip before saying; “It’s not important.”
“Hmm.”
“How about you?” Akira continued, “Any, uh, exes or...?”
That was clumsily direct, “No, none.”
“Oh,” Akira didn’t bother hiding his relief, “Cool.”
Silence lulled between them. It was slightly awkward.
“I should go,” Goro said, grabbing his briefcase set on the table between them, “I have-”
“Wait,” Akira gripped his wrist, halting him, “You’re just leaving?”
“I was in the middle of something,” Goro lied. Truth be told, he needed some time on his own to process this… mess. Maybe grapple with the overwhelming urge to cut his visit to Tokyo short and flee to China or something for the rest of his leave, “My life no longer revolves around you, Kurusu.”
“Right- I mean, yeah, I know,” Akira still didn’t let go of his wrist, his gaze uncertain as he peered up at Goro from beneath his eyelashes, “But, can we exchange numbers or…?”
Oh. Right.
“Give me your phone,” Goro said shortly.
A few minutes later and phone numbers were exchanged. Akira said nothing as he inputted his number into Goro’s sizable contact list - he had made friends amongst the other Shadow Operatives, a clear sign that he was living a full life entirely separate from Akira. In contrast, Akira’s contact list was full of familiar names and surprisingly small. He hadn’t moved much beyond his Phantom Thief days, hm?
i would’ve thought he’d have a legion of new friends, considering his career, Goro thought to himself, feeling concerned.
“There,” Akira said, and turned Goro’s phone around to show him the background image, “Who’s this?”
“Hm?” Goro looked up after locking Akira’s phone, and smiled when he saw Koromaru’s grey-muzzled face smiling from his screen, “Oh, that’s Koromaru. He’s quite old now, though.”
“Never thought you’d be a dog person,” Akira said, something strangely wistful in his tone, and they exchanged phones. Akira fidgeted with his, “Or, uh… looks like you know a lot of people now, too.”
“As I said, I’m not the same person I was seven years ago,” Goro said carefully.
“Yeah,” Akira fidgeted with his fringe, rubbing a lock of hair between his forefinger and thumb, “Yeah, I’m getting that.”
Was that good or bad? He was quite hard to read.
Goro stowed his phone back into his pocket and stood up from the booth, taking his briefcase with him. This whole encounter had launched him off-balance, and once again he cursed his fucking luck. Ten million people and he still ran into Akira when he didn’t feel ready.
i never would’ve felt ready, Goro admitted to himself.
“I’ll be around for the next two weeks,” he said, adjusting his grip on his briefcase, “If I’m not busy, I’ll… be free to catch up. With you.”
Ugh. Smooth. Idiot. Dumbass.
Akira’s gaze lingered on his face, his phone held loosely in his grasp. Goro’s contact profile was plain to see on the screen.
“I’ll message you soon,” Akira said, like he was swearing a solemn promise.
“Of course you will,” Goro sighed, unsure if he was resigned or fond, “I’ll be waiting then.”
He lingered for a moment longer, the pair of them just staring at each other. It should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t - or maybe it was, and Goro was just numb to it now. Akira’s eyes were just as hypnotic as they were seven years ago, drawing him in and making it hard to break eye contact first.
But he managed it, eventually. He looked away with a small scoff at himself, and resolutely walked away.
It felt a little like that last night in Maruki’s reality. It also felt different. Goro couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling in his gut as he left the Crossroads. It was both a bad and good feeling, and he honestly could do without it.
God. This was why he hated Akira.
Goro lasted about three hours after his fateful encounter with Akira before succumbing to the urge to cyberstalk.
He hunted down Akira’s social media and stormed through his mutuals and timeline with a grim focus. He had only kept tabs of Akira’s professional life before, and even then it had been through the safe buffer of the Shadow Ops’s regular reports on a stray Wildcard’s movements and activity. Goro hadn’t wanted to know anything about Akira’s personal life because-
Well, why would he? Perfect fucking Akira who everyone loved, who got sprung out of jail and his criminal record expunged because he somehow amassed an army of bloodsworn loyalists that moved heaven and hell for him, who tripped into happiness again and again and again while Goro had to beg and claw for his fucking scraps- no, why would he want to know? Why would he want that comparison as he reforged the broken fragments of his life into something useful?
Goro hadn’t wanted to know - and he was starting to realise that willful ignorance might’ve been a mistake.
Akira’s social media was worryingly sparse. He didn’t post often, his friend count was tiny - the few mutuals he had were the rest of the Phantom Thieves (Morgana even had an account, though Goro had a feeling it was probably managed by Akira for him) and a handful of other people - some which Goro vaguely recalled: Hifumi, the Shogi player (what a random acquaintance) and someone called ‘Shinra’. Akira followed some other accounts - mainly news accounts and one that solely posted cute cat images - but aside from that…
Feeling an irritating niggle of concern, Goro scrolled through the most recent posts on Akira’s timeline. It had been over three days since he last updated, and it was mostly about how he was taking a break from work for a week. Ann, Ryuji and Makoto liked the post, but aside from that there was no further interaction.
“This isn’t right,” Goro said aloud. The reality had completely obliterated his bitter expectations of Akira’s happy ending, and he really didn’t like it. He’d rather stew over Akira’s popularity than worry about his reclusiveness.
He dug deeper. He went to the very beginning of Akira’s social media - a month after he left Tokyo, according to his earliest post - and proceeded to scrutinise.
It started out encouraging enough. Plenty of interaction with his friends, plans for the future, for meet ups, interspersed with several pictures of Akira and Morgana existing happily. There were a few other photos as well of the rest of the Phantom Thieves, them at the beach, at a fancy restaurant (courtesy of Haru no doubt), dwindling over the years from the full group to trios, then pairs, and then…
what am i doing? Goro asked himself in a sudden bout of clarity.
He sat upright from where he had been hunched over his laptop, greedily scrolling through Akira’s social media, and scowled in disgust at himself. Was he really digging through seven years worth of social media for Akira? Not even a fucking day after running into him and Goro was already forcibly contorting his new life around him without even thinking about it.
He slammed his laptop shut and picked up his phone, determined to distract himself from the ‘Kurusu Black Hole Phenomenon’, as he had dubbed it back during his days as a teenage assassin.
One of his chat groups was active. He checked on it.
Y.H: im not sayin i hate fish im just sayin that there’s a limit to how many iceboxes full of trout i can take
S.S: You can Never have Too Much trout
Y.H: why do u capitalise random words like That
S.S: You Know Why
K.A: how much trout counts as too much trout?
Y.H: 2 iceboxes
S.S: 5 icebox
Y.H: what r u gonna do with 5 iceboxes of trout?
S.S: the cats won’t feed themselves
Y.H: do u see what i have to live with ken. do u see
K.A: at least you’ll never starve?
G.A: what the fuck are all of you talking about
S.S: trout
K.A: how many iceboxes of trout is too much goro?
G.A: it depends what you’re using it for. If it’s for feeding the neighbourhood cats, which is what i suspect Souji is doing, then you can never have too much trout. From the moment you feed them the first morsel, an insatiable horde of cats will descend upon you, growing in number by the day, begging for more and more until all of your waking hours are dedicated to sating their infinite hunger.
Y.H: dude
S.S: my wildcard senses tell me you are stressed about something
G.A: i am Not Stressed
K.A: is your vacation not going well? Do you miss koromaru? :c
G.A: my vacation is going Fine and of course i miss koromaru
S.S: doubt
Y.H: sus
G.A: fine
G.A: i. Encountered. an old friend with Complicated Feelings attached
Y.H: akira
S.S: akira
K.A: akira
G.A: im fucking blocking you all
He didn’t block them, but he did throw his phone onto his bed in disgust. He couldn’t even escape Akira with his co-workers!
Though, what did he expect? The Shadow Ops had known about his whole sordid relationship with Akira - well, parts of it - and as the years rolled on by and his restrictions had eased once his rehabilitation was completed, he would get occasional comments and prompts on what to do about the ‘Akira Thing’.
Akira Thing. There was no thing!
Or, maybe there was now. Goro didn’t know. Seven years and Akira still managed to fill him with deep, intense emotional turmoil just by existing in his general proximity.
His phone buzzed, and Goro eyed it warily before moving over to pick it up. He cringed when he saw the message that flashed on his screen.
N.S: HAVE U SPOKEN TO UR OLD FLAME YET? Y/N PLZ RESPOND
Why were Shadow Ops full of relentless gossips!?
After sending a very curt message saying yes, he had spoken to Akira, his RIVAL and it was all very platonic and not at all saturated with intense unresolved sexual tension, Goro rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed from the very depths of his soul. He knew, he knew, he should’ve gone to Europe for his vacation.
His phone buzzed again, and Goro very cautiously peeked at it. It was Akira.
A.K: hey, do you want to go out with me tomorrow?
A.K: as in a date go out
A.K: not go out out
A.K: fuck
A.K: you know what i mean
Goro found himself smiling at the bumbling awkwardness - and quickly schooled his expression. No, he was meant to be pissed off.
G.A: No, I don’t think I do. Could you clarify what you meant?
A.K: asshole
A.K: Goro Akechi, oh handsome Agent, will you please go out with this lowly creature tomorrow if it pleases you?
G.A: Well, since you asked so nicely…
G.A: Let me think about it.
It was a little mean, but Goro wanted some level of control over this whole thing. He already knew his answer would be yes, but let Akira sweat a little. He deserved it for sending Goro into such an unpleasant emotional upheaval.
A.K: I await with bated breath.
Goro narrowed his eyes. The fucker already expected him to say yes, didn’t he? Or was he bluffing confidence?
G.A: Try not to suffocate.
The glove was thrown into the ring either way.
(he found himself smiling again)
Goro accepted the invitation in the morning - after he spent the entire night staring at his ceiling.
i thought a vacation was meant to be relaxing, he grouched to himself as he got ready for the day. While he no longer dedicated himself to the insane beauty ritual he had tortured himself with during his Detective Prince days, he still put some effort into his morning routine, so it was a good twenty minutes before he walked out of his bathroom looking less like a corpse, and more like the roguish Shadow Operative he had rebuilt himself into.
He picked up his phone to check if Akira saw his reply (he did) and frowned at the time and location his old rival sent him.
“Leblanc?” Goro said aloud, surprised Akira would choose such a… divisive location. He was certain Sojiro would have more than a few words for him if he dared to stick his traitorous snout through the door of his cafe. While they had reached a very cool truce during the days of Maruki, Goro wasn’t sure if that still held considering… everything.
He did ghost Akira for seven years. It stood to reason the rest of the Phantom Thieves might view that as yet another betrayal.
Or - it was a betrayal. It was a betrayal! What was Akira thinking, trying to reconnect with him when Goro made a habit of storing his knives in his back?
He stared blankly out of his hotel window, not even seeing the Tokyo skyline as he anxiously gnawed over his decisions and choices. He could take back the invitation, or he could gently rebuff Akira after this one pity date, or he could just leap feet first into this disastrous idea and have a front row seat to it exploding in their faces like Pompeii. He found himself equally petrified of all three prospects.
Wasn’t Goro meant to have his shit together by now?
He sighed and stowed his phone, picking up his briefcase. He had foregone his Shadow Ops uniform with its comforting layer of kevlar, and instead wore a black turtleneck sweater with a pair of dark dress trousers. He thought he looked rather handsome when he inspected his reflection, but he looked so far removed from the Goro Akechi of seven years ago. He was an entirely different person.
good, he thought viciously to himself.
He travelled to Leblanc not long after that. Walking through the streets of Yongen-Jaya filled him with a bizarre sense of wistful deja vu, noting that while some stores had closed, others remained. His pulse jumped the closer he drew to Leblanc, his gloved hand tightly gripping the handle of his briefcase until his palm itched with sweat.
Akira waited for him outside of the cafe. Wise. Sojiro is less likely to murder him out here.
“Akechi,” Akira greeted. His smile was reserved, but Goro could see a heavy tension ease out of his shoulders the moment he saw him. Did he think he wouldn’t come? “You’re here.”
“I am,” Goro said, drawing to a cautious halt just out of arm’s reach, “Hello.”
An awkward silence bloomed between them. Akira was staring at him like he expected him to vanish into smoke if he blinked.
Goro cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the weight of that gaze, and looked away, “I’m surprised you called me out here. I would’ve thought I’d be unwelcome.”
“What?” Akira refocused on the present, “Oh. Well. Uh, I wasn’t planning on us staying here.”
Of course. Goro felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe a small part of him had hoped Akira would say ‘oh, well, Boss forgives you’ , no matter how unrealistic it was. Leblanc held a special, fond place in his heart, even when mired with… the whole Phantom Thieves shit.
“Where are we going, then?” Goro asked.
“I was thinking we could go for a walk, revisit some old haunts,” Akira said, fidgeting with his fringe. There was a strange smile playing about his lips, nostalgic and fond and very nervous, “Jazz Jin is still open, if you can believe. We can finish our day there, if you’d like.”
It sounded like a very unstructured, spur of the moment plan - not Goro’s cup of tea. But he looked at Akira’s face and found he didn’t have the heart to criticise. Akira looked so anxious and hopeful, like something in him had grown brittle overnight. Goro had an urge to press down on an emotional pressure point until it snapped, to see that teary-eyed face from seven years ago, so open and raw and
...
He carefully folded up those thoughts and tucked them away to examine in disbelief later, because what the fuck.
“That sounds fine,” Goro said quickly, to cover up his delayed response, “Where to first?”
Akira brightened up considerably, and he dared to move closer to him, one hand hovering as if it wasn’t sure if his touch would be welcome, “How do you feel about smashing balls for an hour?”
Goro knew immediately what Akira meant, but he still found himself slowly raising his eyebrows at his old rival, his mouth curving into a wry smile, “Is that a euphemism?”
“What- no, no, I mean,” Akira’s cheeks went red, “Batting cages.”
Goro chuckled, “I knew what you meant, don’t worry. That’s fine. I could really hit something right now.”
Akira’s hand, carefully, rested on his bicep. Every nerve in Goro’s body lit up like a damn firework, and it took everything he had not to flinch away from the touch. Akira held his gaze reverently.
“Yeah,” Akira said quietly, “I thought you would.”
His fingers trailed from Goro’s bicep to his elbow, all the way down to the inside of his wrist. Goro didn’t move, just held Akira’s stare, barely breathing.
The moment between them yanked taut, electrified, then Akira pulled away with an odd smile.
“So, yeah,” Akira said, “Batting cages.”
“Batting cages,” Goro repeated like an idiot.
The Kurusu Black Hole Phenomenon was in full effect, he noted distantly. It was hard to resist, Goro finding his attention sliding to Akira like a satellite trapped in the gravity well of a collapsing star. He resented him for it, but he also felt settled, like something that had been missing inside of him had finally clicked back into place.
co-dependency is bad, Goro told himself as they set off for the batting cages, co-dependency is bad. co-dependency is bad .
Maybe if he said it enough times, he’ll build a resistance to Akira’s hypnotic charms.
(yeah, one could dream)
The batting cages were virtually unchanged from the past seven years - maybe a little more rundown, but the bats were serviceable and the ball machine was still a demon in disguise. Goro regretted wearing the turtleneck now, but he just rolled up his sleeves and endured the stifling heat of swinging a bat. At least he tied his hair up.
“I swear,” Akira said breathlessly after they went through twenty swings together, “You weren’t this good before. Have you been practicing?”
“In a way,” Goro said, not at all winded. Akira didn’t seem as physically fit as he used to be, “There’s a batting cage near where I live in Nagoya. I vent my frustrations in it often.”
In fact, his therapist had told him to find hobbies that were physically taxing to help work out his pent up aggression. Initially he had let Akihiko coax him into ‘training’ with him, but after limping away from one too many gruelling sessions that left his bones feeling like they’d been pulverised, he eventually settled on something less fatal like the batting cages at Junpei’s suggestion.
He wasn’t going to be an amazing baseball player any time soon, but he sure could slam a ball with every atom of his rage and send it soaring skyward.
“Oh? So that’s where you are now?” Akira asked, pausing to swing at an incoming ball. He hit it with a solid ‘CRCK’ , and it went flying just below their target height, “Nagoya?”
Ah, fuck. Well, Goro supposed Akira would’ve gotten it out of Futaba eventually. He was surprised she hadn’t doxxed him yet.
“Yes,” Goro confirmed.
Akira didn’t reply. They lulled into a companionable silence, striking balls until they ran out of time. Goro felt considerably more relaxed when they left, if a bit loose and sweaty, and redid his hair tie while Akira openly watched him with an unreadable look.
“Do you like it there?” Akira asked abruptly, “Nagoya?”
“I wouldn’t have lived there for four years if I didn’t,” Goro replied, tucking a loose lock of hair behind his ear. Akira’s gaze tracked the movement.
“Where were you before?”
In a medically induced coma, then prison, then rehabilitation; “Port Island.”
“That’s in Tokyo.”
Goro ignored the unasked question. How could he explain he had been essentially under house arrest with the Shadow Ops? It had been, admittedly, a very kind and bewildering sort of house arrest, where punishment had been replaced with genuine rehabilitation, and therapy, and a whole lot of painful self-reflection. Goro was still amazed Mitsuru had looked at the feral, wounded creature he had been and seen something worth salvaging in that pathetic mess.
“Sorry,” Akira said quietly, “I won’t push.”
He always did that, Goro thought. Akira was not a confrontational creature, even with Goro. He certainly had a spine and he used it when provoked and furious, but otherwise, he prodded then retreated, always frightened to push too hard in case…
Seven years ago, Goro always thought Akira so mysterious and complex. Now he realised that they had been too similar to understand each other
“Akira,” Goro said, hearing his old rival’s breathing hitch at the name, “I didn’t escape punishment for what I did under Shido. I’m still paying off that debt now.”
Akira looked at him. There was a familiar glint in his eyes; an echo of Joker, but defanged, “What do you mean?”
“I’m saying this second chance of mine did not come free,” he smiled wryly, “They never come free.”
They stopped near the old cinema. The doors were bordered up. Shame. He had fond memories of coming here with Akira.
“But I don’t regret my decision to rebuild myself away from you,” Goro continued, giving Akira an intense look, willing him to understand, “I hated the person I was back then. I would’ve stayed as him, if I never left.”
Akira’s face, as always, was difficult to read; “I loved the person you were.”
Goro’s heart did a pathetic squeeze-thump that made him hate-love Akira more, “Did you really?”
“Yes,” Akira stepped closer, until he was almost standing on his toes. His eyes were bright, “My feelings didn’t pass, Goro. They didn’t.”
They had. Akira just didn’t realise his love had fossilised into an idealistic fantasy of loving him.
“Hm, then you might find it difficult to fall in love with me,” Goro murmured, turning away from him, “If your heart belongs to someone long dead.”
Akira grasped his forearm - his hold was hesitant, like he was afraid Goro would pull away if he dared to grip too hard. His touch felt like a hot brand, too intense and too intoxicating at the same time, dragging Goro’s gaze back to him against his will.
“ You’re not dead,” Akira said with a terrifying sort of intensity, low and hoarse and brittle, “You’re still here.”
The unease that Goro had tucked away last night came creeping back in the face of this… he didn’t know how to describe it. Desperation? Some sort of slow-cooking mental breakdown only just breaching the surface of Akira’s stoicism? Everything about his old rival seemed simultaneously too still and too trembling, and again, the urge to press that brittle pressure point reared up in him. Could he make him cry, right now?
Akira’s hand on his forearm slid down and pressed his fingers against the inside of Goro’s wrist. He could feel his pulse throb from the pressure.
“I am,” Goro finally settled on saying, his tone carefully neutral. He couldn’t look away from the hint of devastation lurking behind those too-bright grey eyes, “I’m still here. I’m not dead, Akira.”
It took three long-slow unsteady breaths for Akira to absorb those gently spoken words. His death-grip loosened on Goro’s wrist.
“Right- yes,” Akira said, and let go. He took one large, jerky step backwards, hands cramming deep into his pockets, “Yes, I know. You’re here.”
“Yes,” Goro said, a bit inanely, scrutinising his old rival before letting the strange behaviour go. He wasn’t sure how to approach it, and the storm had seemingly passed.
Akira gave him a weak smile before turning away, “We should get something to eat.”
Not the smoothest of topic changes, but Goro let it slide, “Any specific place in mind?”
Akira glanced back at him, and his smile was more him, less melancholy and pained; “Miel et Crepes? You took me there before, remember?”
“I remember you assaulting me and making me look like a moron, yes,” Goro said flatly, but he followed Akira as he led them towards Yongen-Jaya station, “You’re seriously in the mood for crepes now?”
“Hey, trying to keep up with you made me hungry,”
“All that sugar…” Goro muttered, but it was mostly for show.
They slipped into a conversation that could tentatively be called comfortable as they journeyed to Miel et Crepes. Every so often Akira’s arm would brush against his, or his fingers would gently curl around his wrist, fingers pressing into his pulse point, too quick and too sudden for Goro to really react to it before the fingers pulled away. The fourth time it happened, he understood what Akira was doing. Against his better judgement, he pretended not to notice.
He pretended not to notice a lot of things, as their ‘date’ wore on.
He pretended not to notice Akira staring at him hungrily, and at times, worriedly, like he expected Goro to vanish into nothingness if Akira didn’t pay him enough attention at all times. He pretended not to notice how Akira had so little to discuss about his life, only eager to talk about Goro. He pretended not to notice how Akira rarely spoke about the other Phantom Thieves, despite them all being bloodsworn friends by the end of everything. He pretended not to notice how brittle and lonely Akira seemed to be.
Goro merely logged everything away, quietly, building a profile of the Akira of now. It wasn’t a flattering one.
“You okay, Goro?” Akira asked him as they meandered from Miel et Crepes and went window-shopping. Even when a shell of himself, he was still damnably observant, “You’re a little quiet.”
“Fine,” Goro lied, meeting Akira’s gaze and giving him a smile, “Just thinking.”
The terrifying thing was: Goro was doing better than him. Emotionally, mentally, physically, Goro was in a better place than Akira, who was lagging behind, chained to the past and dully watching everyone leaving him behind. It was- it was wrong. Akira shouldn’t be so stagnant, so lifeless. He was Akira. He was who drove Goro to be better when Mitsuru fished him out of that prison cell and offered him a chance. In case their paths did cross again, Goro didn’t want to be the pathetic loser drowning in Akira’s shadow. He wanted to be his equal.
Instead, Goro had raced so far ahead he could no longer see Akira behind him.
It wasn’t right. He needed to- to do something.
He needed to get his Akira back.