Work Text:
03:26.
The digits glow a dim red. In the darkness, she can make out a dresser with a smattering of trinkets and photo frames atop, a big coat tossed carelessly over the back of a chair. She's in the apartment she shares with Akira, not, not back with—
Goro tears herself out of her girlfriend's tangle of limbs to sit up. The thick winter blanket falls from her chest, allowing the cold winter night to chill her feverish skin. She gasps for air as she digs her nails into the flesh of her arms, using the sting to ground herself.
The ghost of his fingers linger on her skin even now that she's awake. She can still feel his breath on the nape of her neck, prickling all the nerves on her back so much so that even the pillow's presence behind her makes her uneasy.
Next to her, Akira turns, mumbling unintelligibly. Goro finches and shuffles a little further away.
Fuck me, she thinks, exasperated at herself for getting so wound up over a nightmare. It's a good thing that Akira is such a heavy sleeper. She turns the points of her manicured nails inward, pressing harder into her skin than is sensible. The digital clock on her bedside says that it's now 03:31, but it feels like it's been a lifetime since she's woken.
It's early enough to go back to sleep and get a few more hours before work, but Goro is no stranger to this kind of rude awakening, and she knows that she won't be able to sleep like this.
She slips out of bed, curling her toes when her feet hit the cold wooden floor. She doesn't bother getting changed—it's too dark to put anything cohesive together, and she doesn't want to risk waking Akira. Instead, she opts to stop by the living area first, stealing one of the throws on the couch to wrap around herself as she makes her way to the balcony.
It's even more frigid outside. Their apartment is on the outskirts of Tokyo, not quite bustling with nightlife, and definitely not the sleepy countryside that Akira showed her in the brief visits they've made to visit the younger girl's parents. The noise of traffic and the blinking neon is comforting for Goro; there are so many lives out there, so many stories that she won't ever be privy to, and to each of the souls out there, she is just as insignificant. Nobody knows who she is or what she's done, too wrapped up in their own selfish narratives to care that she's killed people and gotten away with it. Maybe she isn't even the only one—statistically, there are other murderers in the midst of the sea of people, though probably not serial killers like she is.
A sneeze escapes, and she wraps the throw around her shoulders a little tighter. The bitter air has helped to ease her mind back into her skin, but now that she's feeling less frazzled, the cold is starting to seep into her bones. She sighs and watches her foggy breath drift lazily away, imagining that it is the memory of her nightmare being scattered by the breeze.
Behind her, the balcony door slides open again. Goro frowns; she's woken Akira after all. Warm arms embrace her as Akira sprawls over her back. The black haired woman has had the foresight to put on a sweater, and her short unruly hair tickles Goro's cheek as she buries her face into the crook of her girlfriend's neck. She's taller than Goro now, and filled out from the scrawny second-year that charmed Goro on live television. The ex-detective has changed too, growing gracefully into her mother's delicate features, but on nights like these, she feels like her own body is an ill-fitting suit, too damaged from a reckless youth to be anything but a broken puppet.
"Go back to bed, Akira," Goro mumbles, lifting a hand to scratch the other woman's head, the way one would pet a cat.
"Nooo..." Akira whines, her arms tightening around Goro's waist. "I want my teddy bear."
Goro laughs softly. "I'll be with you soon," she says, ever the liar.
The song of the city replies in lieu.
Goro suppresses a sigh; this was always going to be the issue of allowing someone to know her, and all of her bad habits.
"Come back inside with me," she murmurs, tugging at Goro gently. "I'll make you a drink."
"Yeah," Goro says, casting one last glance over the sparkling city below them before turning to face Akira at last, her dusky gaze meeting starlight. "Okay."
Akira walks her to the kitchenette, plopping the brunette down at the table. She hums as she fills up the coffee machine, the same poppy earworm that's been stuck in her head for the past week. Goro doesn't have the energy to be annoyed by it.
She thinks about her younger self, a scared girl who was never planning to survive long enough to even graduate high school. Now, she has a degree, an apartment, and friends she considers family. It's a little overwhelming, honestly, just how far she's come.
The scent of fresh coffee cuts through the air as it brews—a smell that Goro associates with home—and she feels the nightmare fading like sand tumbling down an hourglass.
"For my best customer," Akira bows as she slides a mug in front of Goro. Caffeine at such an early hour is inadvisable for people, but Goro has never really been one for sweet drinks like hot chocolate, and she's not going to be able to get back to sleep anyway. It's become something of a ritual for them, though the nights like these have gotten rarer as the years roll on.
"Hmm." Goro takes a sip of the bitter drink, savouring the rich flavours on her tongue. "Adequate," she says, smirking when she sees Akira puff up in indignation.
"Liar," the woman hisses, leaning over and stealing a sip. "It's your favourite blend, brewed just the way you like it."
"Maybe your taste buds just haven't woken up properly," Goro sniffs, pulling the mug closer to her chest.
"That's not how it works and you know it," Akira pouts, but she is laughing as well, staying attached to Goro's shoulder in a half embrace.
"Your ego is big enough as it is," the older woman scoffs.
They lapse into silence. Akira's questions hang in the air, waiting for Goro to make the first move and start talking. They've come a long way from where they started as two people who had no idea how to open up—Goro with the sledgehammer approach, who would push and push until something broke, and Akira who would ignore the steadily climbing temperature until they were both drowning in scalding water.
Now, Akira coaxes Goro into communicating by giving her time to gather her thoughts and making her more comfortable. It's disgustingly effective, and by the time she finishes her drink, she's feeling less like a frayed knot.
She puts down her cup with a clink. Akira, ever the attentive girlfriend, stiffens slightly and stops picking at the threads on Goro's tank top so she can pay attention.
"... It's Shido's execution next week."
The fridge hums in the background. Akira is quiet. Goro's heartbeat is in her throat.
She doesn't know how she feels. Every few years, she hates herself enough to see him, and every time it's been disappointing at best and an utter waste of time at worst. He's a shell of the man that had lured her in with the promise of revenge and just the prospect of being acknowledged. He took advantage of her at her worst and played her like a fucking fiddle to do his bidding. She had hated him, sure, but looking back, she was also intoxicated by the power he had over so many people, how quick sheep were to throw themselves at his feet. She sees that in herself these days, demanding respect from her peers, and it makes her sick how good it makes her feel.
You're lucky you're nothing like me, he had said on one of her last visits. You're just like your mother. She thinks it was supposed to be a compliment—her mother was beautiful—but she is dead, and Shido is not.
Well, not for much longer, and hasn't Goro always wanted to see him suffer as he draws his last breaths?
God, she's so fucked up.
Even if Goro hates him, his blood still runs in her veins, and he has shaped her to who she is today. Maybe she wants to show him how far she's come. Maybe she wants to laugh, throw a party, whatever the fuck—
"Hey, Goro."
Goro jolts violently; Akira. Heart hammering in her chest, breaths on the precipice of a panic, the lightest nudge snaps Goro back into her body like a rubber band. Between her knees, Akira is crouching on the floor—when did she move there?—looking up at her with wide, worried eyes.
"Hey, darling," she smiles, gentle and fond.
"Hey yourself," Goro whispers, trying to match Akira's energy, but it's a shaky thing. She takes a deep breath. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me, I—"
"It's okay," Akira says, stroking her knee comfortingly. "No wonder you've been out of sorts; I don't think anyone would blame you for feeling this way about it."
"I don't even know what I feel about it— or him." Goro scowls. "I know I hate him. But... I don't know. I don't know."
When she was younger, she wanted to be loved. Now, at almost thirty years old, she is, and she's still pining for the affection of someone who is incapable of reciprocating. Shido has never loved her, and in his post-change of heart state, she isn't sure he's capable of feeling anything other than guilt, but that didn't stop her from fantasising that one day...
"This is stupid," she growls, hands tightening into fists on her lap. "I knew from the very beginning my father wouldn't love me, and yet—" She cuts herself off with a snarl, hating herself for wanting.
Akira takes her hand, coaxing her to relax from stubbornly digging crescent shaped divots into her palm. She's still tense, but she's a millimetre calmer when she speaks again.
"When he dies, that's it—there's no coming back, no matter how impossible it would have been."
"I mean," Akira interrupts, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky smile.
"Okay, well, my circumstances were different," Goro amends. She's winded, like Akira's input has spiked her down to earth, and her runaway train of thought has left the station without her. "Fuck," she says, with feeling. "I feel like I don't know anything anymore."
Akira hums, rubbing circles into the backs of Goro's hands. "Well, I wouldn't say that..." She tilts her head to the side, putting on a show of thinking really hard. "For starters, you know that I love you."
Goro can't help but roll her eyes, even as the corners of her lips twitch upwards. Trust Akira to be awkward about how she's chosen to word things.
"And, you know that you love me," Akira continues.
"I didn't mean it like that," Goro mutters, pouting.
In front of her, Akira pulls the most pathetic kicked puppy face she can muster. It's embarrassingly effective. "So you don't love me?"
"Don't be stupid," Goro snaps, hating the way Akira can still make her blush like a teen. "I would hardly be still living with you if I didn't. Of course I love you."
"So that's two things you know then," Akira grins. "That's already not everything."
Goro can tell that she's pleased with herself, like she's figured out some kind of loophole when they both know Goro was being hyperbolic, but... she would be lying if she said it wasn't helping.
"What else do you know..."
"I know you're a pain in the ass," Goro grouses, smirking when Akira gasps in mock-affront, but it quickly turns into a leer.
"Well, I can certainly be a pain in your ass—"
"Okay, enough," Goro announces, pushing a laughing Akira away. "I don't not know anything," she concedes.
"The great Detective Akechi admits defeat!" Akira cheers. "Although, rumours say that it won't be Detective Akechi much longer—"
"Shut up," Goro groans, though she is laughing as well now. She twiddles the ring on her finger, just to reassure herself that it's there and that it's real—it is, and Akira's matching band glitters in the artificial light of their little kitchen.
A tidal wave of affection sweeps over her, knocking the air from her lungs. Akira's laughter is bright and full, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Goro loves this woman—she loves her so much. Against all odds, including a literal god pitting them against each other, they've built a life together, and it's a good life; a home, friends close enough to call family, and each other.
Goro never planned to survive her revenge, but she's so glad she did. And she's so glad that Akira stayed by her side through all of it. Beautiful, kind Akira, who has the uncanny ability to charm everyone she meets, and she picked Goro.
"Shit," the brunette curses, blinking away tears. Akira's expression immediately turns to worry, which only makes Goro more emotional. She isn't sure what she did to deserve this, but she's always been too selfish to let go. "I'm okay, I—" she cuts herself off, laughing wetly. "It just hit me how different life is now."
Akira's face softens, and she stands to give Goro a proper, crushing hug. "We've really come quite far, huh," she mumbles, as if she isn't quite believing it herself.
That's right; Shido kick-started Akira's journey, and the fallout from the false accusations was what led her to spending that year in Tokyo. In a roundabout way, he was the one to bring them together. He ruined Akira's reputation, even if the charges were overturned, and Akira suffers the scrutiny of the public security sector to this day.
And yet, he was still just one man—he was just as much of a pawn as Goro for Yaldabaoth. His change of heart was not the end of the game, even after Goro had conceded. While she may no longer be a detective anymore, feels like she needs closure—some kind of definitive, water-tight proof that he will not be released, that the game is over for good.
"I want to go," Goro says, quiet but firm, and a little muffled by her girlfriend's chest. "Not for him—for me. To finally see him out of my life forever."
"Okay," Akira nods. She pulls back, thumbs caressing Goro's cheeks to swipe away her tears. "You can still change your mind, okay?"
"I won't." Goro sniffs. "Probably."
She doesn't think her feelings will change closer to the date—the idea of seeing him for the final time is still a wobbly and terrifying thing in her chest, and she's always been good at prodding at wounds until they bleed.
Akira tilts her chin up with a finger, pulling her from her thoughts before they can begin to spiral.
"Is there anything else I can do?"
Goro chews on her bottom lip. "I don't know. I think I just... to stop thinking about this for now."
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
Goro's eyes flick to the oven, where the time is displayed in faint red digits. She squints, unable to make out the numbers—it's unfair that she needs glasses while Akira with her fake lenses still has almost perfect vision. Not that she's going to admit it to Akira, though.
"It's too late to get more sleep," Goro says, frowning lightly. She realises what she's said almost as soon as it's out of her mouth, when Akira's grin turns sharp, catlike, and she scoops her girlfriend up from the seat into a bridal carry.
"I can think of a few other things we could do in bed to take your mind off of things," she says as Goro squeaks from the sudden upheaval.
"I can't believe you," Goro admonishes, but there's no real venom in it.
After all, Akira's right; it would help.
Goro sighs, putting on an act of resignation, as if she has no choice but to agree. She tucks herself into Akira's chest, shamelessly nuzzling against the younger woman's breasts, because she deserves it.
Akira laughs, kissing the top of her head as she carries them to their bedroom.
On the way, a picture on the wall catches Goro's eye—it's from a few years ago now, of all the Phantom Thieves stuffed into a booth in Leblanc. Goro is half-smiling, squished between Sumire and Akira, who has stuck two of her fingers above Goro's head like bunny ears. There are many photos like this dotted around their apartment, each documenting snapshots of a life that Goro once thought out of reach.
She twists the ring around her finger again.
"I love you," Goro says as Akira lowers her onto the bed.
"I love you too," Akira says, her voice just as full of affection.
When she leans down, her lips capturing Goro's, they are a culmination of the love they've warmed over the years, and it tastes like home.