Work Text:
Goro Akechi will never have to go a morning without a litany of texts and attention again. At least, not for a few months more. He swears that Ren has the incessant things scheduled. Every morning, as he pulls himself from his mattress, bones stiff and blood sour from all of his hatred, his phone buzzes with something. Some days, it’s simply a hello, a wish that he slept well, a comment on Morgana’s fuzziness or a new coffee blend he tasted on his guardian’s orders. Other days, there are memes or songs Akechi would never thing to seek out, abrasive noise rock and western hip hop totally unbecoming of an idol’s tastes.
He likes most of it, too, and that almost pisses him off. Not any longer.
The Detective Prince had worried that he’d overstepped some arbitrary line in their battle of wits, that taking it physical would necessitate disgusting boundaries. The silence between them would be Ren’s and not his own, borne of action and not circumstance. Instead of riding the subway back into Kichijoji, Goro had delved into Mementos and torn shadows apart until he was covered in ink-black blood. He’d pulled himself out of the subway still gasping for breath and stifling laughter, stormed into his empty apartment, taken a cold shower to get the metaphysical blood off of his skin (and failed). In his bed, he’d curled up, jerked off, and went to sleep with the urge to drink himself into a stupor, cursing his hormones for ruining something he couldn’t even know was ruined.
If anything it had driven Ren further towards him, made the other boy more eager to chatter with him everyday, asking inane questions and teasing and telling the detective all about his days and experience.
He finds out a few days later that Ren is not only messaging for himself but Ryuji – the middleman for memes and jokes far below Goro’s level.
“I didn’t want to give him ur number…” Ren explains, after Akechi finally asks him about their regularity. “But he was insistent that he could make you laugh.”
Sentimental fools, all of them. Goro is reminded of a period at a foster home, where he finally began to find kindred spirits in a dingy house. They left him behind. Four children were too many to take care of, and one of the younger children had begun to also display as an alpha. That meant that Goro was the least preferable among them, a burgeoning hormonal bastard better cast back to the state.
“He’s failing.” Goro sends back, hoping that the appropriate punctuation carries the implication of disgust. Ren just sends back a heart emoji that Goro doesn’t overthink in the slightest.
The next weekend he’s finally free enough to waste a droll evening at Leblanc, and he leaps at the opportunity. Boss leans over the counter and flips a cigarette up and down with his lip, a hand on his car keys already. For a beta, Akechi notices, he’s quite the playboy.
“You’re back.”
His head whips around to see Ren, messenger bag slung lazily around his shoulder. The omega’s grey eyes are on him, meeting his challenge.
The cat leaps out, sees Goro, and quickly excuses himself up the stairs. Goro catches him muttering something about “stupid alpha contests…” and grins.
“Wonderful. I’m a bit occupied tonight, mind closing?”
“How do you know I’m not going to close up shop as soon as you leave?”
Sojiro gives Ren a small smirk, punches the lanky thief on his shoulder, and flips his lighter from his shirt pocket to his hand. “Does it look like we’re breaking business records? You and the Detective are all I’ve had to keep me busy since three.”
“Boss, I’m hurt. I thought I was wonderful company.”
Ren rolls his eyes while Sojiro jokingly rebukes him, and the silence of the jingling bell tells them they’re alone now.
“You know, I thought about opening with ‘Honey, I’m home!”, but it seemed a bit uncouth.”
Ren just beams at him, all sunlight, all love. It’s senseless. “I would have enjoyed it. Curry?”
“Well, since you’ve offered…”
The omega’s gotten quite adept at managing the shop, tying his apron over his hips and humming a soft tune to himself while he washes his hands in the sink. The kitchenette isn’t visible from the street, he thinks, impulsively. What would Ren do if…
“You know… I’m surprised to see you so at ease.”
“Why’s that? What kind of evidence do you have against me?”
“To blow up my phone with such nonsense…” The Detective-Prince tone stays on, but he leans forward and lets his voice lower into a barely-audible growl. “You’d almost think I didn’t pin you.”
“I think about it every day.” Ren replies. Only a slight tint to his cheeks suggests the depth to which he means that. He slides a plate of curry over the counter, and his hand brushes Akechi’s finger. He holds it in place. Goro has to choose between grabbing his wrist and pulling his digits back. When he moves to snatch Ren by the wrist, to mock him for showing more vulnerability, he realizes that he’s been baited. Ren simply flips his hand around and snatches the alpha by the wrist, jerking with enough force to make Goro’s chest bump the hardwood.
“Oh. Looks like I win this one.” His sharp canines loom just a foot away from Goro’s shoulder blade, and he briefly thinks, with a mating bite from Ren, he might be able to pass as a bonded omega. The boy seems built to inhabit two worlds at once – one mask for the world, and one mask for Goro alone.
“I don’t suppose I could suggest a best of three?”
“Not tonight. I didn’t know that you were coming, actually.” Ren sits up, just a bit, pulls his arm back. “Though…” He throws his unknown enemy a bone – a hand reaches up to tug his scent patch off, and he tilts his head back. Goro gets a few long inhales of his wonderful scent, lets it convert into adrenaline and desire, and then Ren stifles it again. “Let me replace this. Kitagawa Yusuke is coming over tonight for leftover curry and to sketch.”
It helps that he knows the artist is an omega. The jealousy is manageable this time.
“I suppose I should go, then…”
“I’d like you to stay.” Ren tells him, quietly, and leans closer for just a second. “My friends want to be your friends.”
“They want to be friends with a Detective Prince. I’m not unfamiliar with the concept, Ren.”
“No, idiot.” Ren smiles, even though the word choice fit the alpha better. “They want to be friends with you.”
Goro doesn’t know how to swallow that, so he dissociates until he misses the taste of the curry and tunes back in. Ren comes back down the stairs, scent glands obscured again for the sake of deception.
“How interesting…” He notes, quietly. “Is that an interpolation of the Sayuri?”
“It is.” Ren says. “Kitagawa-kun’s mother painted it.”
“She must have been a wonderful artist, herself. And a big fan of Madarame’s. I pity her.”
Ren’s expression hardens for a moment, but he’s subtle. How Akechi longs for his scent, to be able to read the other boy’s deeper emotions through the shifts in sweetness or the addition of bitterness.
“Sometimes, I think those thieves should have done worse than blackmail… or however they do what they say they do.”
Oh, my liege, Robin Hood lights up, How interesting! A kindred spirit.
He still doesn’t want to accept the obvious truth.
“Oh?” Akechi tries to prod him a bit more. “I’m aware that Kitagawa-kun was a pupil. Was the treatment that awful?”
Before Ren can express the radiant rage upon his face, the bell dings, and Goro catches an immaculately clean scent. He doesn’t hate it, but it is overwhelmingly herbal, medicinal, an edge like cilantro.
Kitagawa-kun is stick-thin, but his body still clearly shows his designation. The meagre percentage of fat that his body has stored away is in his hips, giving him an hourglass form even though he’s nearly skeletal. The tight ensemble he’s wearing – white skinny jeans and a purple button up that somehow still sags off of his shoulders – rub it in further.
“Ah, Ren! And… My, is that Akechi-kun?”
His voice is soft, but his eyes dart to Ren three separate times for some sort of reassurance.
“Ah, you’re Kitagawa, aren’t you. I’ve seen some of your work in Kosei’s magazine. Quite impressive, I must say.” He lays on the Prince a bit thick, but Yusuke’s focus is so narrow that he cannot catch the sardonic edge to those words. As he continues, the tone drops. It’s still a bit lighter than his preferred speaking style, the one he allots Ren in privacy, but it’s not the same faux-kindness he throws at Sakamoto.
“Ah, yes… I suppose you ought to be a patron of the arts, yourself. Though, I am regrettably in the midst of a great creative block… Trapped in an omegan hunger for belonging unbecoming of a thing my age.”
He takes a seat in one of the booths, and Ren comes over with a heaping plate of curry – it has to be at least three proper servings. And Kitagawa eats like a starving man – barely even tastes it – eyes still wide and hands trembling as he asks for the last bits of the pot.
“Excuse me, I’m certain this gluttony is not a great impression,” he says, between mouthfuls of rice and curry. “There was a wonderful sale at a small art boutique, and I spent my weekly per diem on a supply of organic mineral paints.”
“Yusuke…” Ren exhales. “We talked about that.”
“We did! That was, of course, before I came across a deal that would not recur.”
Ren sits down in the booth next to the artist, and before Akechi can realize the tingling in his arms is a strange jealously, Yusuke wraps his arms around the dark-haired boy. He cannot get close enough, it seems, and his noses presses into Ren’s neck. It’s a bit distasteful.
“Ren, how I wish you would neglect the patches so I might indulge in your scent. Perhaps that would stir my creative impulses.”
Loki is eerily calm in his left ear: kill him kill him get what’s yours away from him.
But he thinks that Ren is an alpha, too.
“Sorry, should have warned you.” Ren smiles at Akechi, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He understands Akechi’s feelings, at least in part. He’s attuned enough to smell the burnt edge of his scent. “Yusuke is quite touch-starved. He’s always holding onto someone.”
“Ah!” For a split second Kitagawa seems to hav
e some standard of shame – his eyes widen, his expression sharpens, and his hands jerk away from Ren. One of them, though, stays on the other boy’s wrist. “Excuse me! I’m not certain if you’re aware of my… former mentor’s…” He seems to choke out those words. “His indiscretions… One of them was to isolate his pupils when they failed to produce art. I spent my first three heats in total isolation.”
“Touch helps him stay grounded.” Ren concludes, and Akechi wishes that he’d not just threatened that old pervert but shot him in the head like so many others. He deserved the indignity of an unhinged psychotic breakdown courtesy of his benefactors.
“I understand.” Akechi growls, but he means it, even if there’s still a lingering impulse to be defensive. “Please, don’t read my curiosity as judgment.”
“I understand as well!” Yusuke’s free hand is dancing along a page with his pencil. He’s barely even looking at the page, but from what Goro can tell from the stool his freehanding skills are excellent. “I should have been more considerate, Akechi-kun. As another unbonded alpha, would you like physical contact as well?”
“What?!”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Yusuke smiles, and shakes his head liken he fully understands the situation. “Ren is quite the gregarious alpha. Despite the presence of multiple of his kind in our friend group, there have been remarkably few hormonal conflicts.”
“That does interest me…” Goro probes, and while he doesn’t pile into that side of the booth, he takes his fresh cup of coffee with him to the other side. Yusuke compromises by pressing a bare calf against Akechi’s. He’s frigid – frigid enough that the detective momentarily loses his train of thought. Ren is still gently petting the other omega’s arm while he draws. “In my experience… At least at my school, normally most friend groups allot one alpha, or two if one is bonded. I rarely meet individuals our age who can manage dynamic landmines.”
“It is unusual.” Ren smirks. “It’s one reason that both Nijima and I are quite fastidious with our scent blockers. Better to avoid conflicts before they arise.”
“Nijima’s scents are quite commanding.” Yusuke passively notes. Akechi realizes that he’s ended up the subject of the artist’s pencil, his angular face and hair converted into jagged lines and half-finished scrawls. “Though I am thankfully not flustered by them in the same way I could have been.”
“Did you know, Ren-kun, that the older Nijima is a beta? I always find it funny given her demeanor, and her attitude towards the systems at play.”
“Dynamics don’t always mean what people say they do.” Ren stares him down, still smirking.
He wonders passively if Yusuke would just shrug, flip a page, and sketch whatever impulse either of them gave in to if this interaction continues.
“No, they do not. That is a perfectly fair assessment. I hope that was not viewed as offensive.”
“It was not.” Yusuke is biting his lower lip. His hand is moving like he’s running out of time. Thin, spidery fingers on the other hand spread over the table’s surface, and move slightly, used as a proportion guide for his work. “Do not worry.”
But his eyes stay on Ren, until at last the other boy shrugs, and slouches back against Yusuke’s shoulder.
“Would you enjoy a game of chess, detective?”
“Please. You know I always enjoy a good challenge from you. Black or white?”
Ren chooses black, and Akechi moves first. Neither has to say much. Their only ambiance beyond the occasional growl from one of them are the small scrapes of graphite against paper. It’s sickeningly domestic. Akechi finds that he likes can tolerate Kitagawa-kun, even if his notions of decorum are quite crooked. His other foot finds Ren’s warm one under the table, and he appreciates the difference between them.
Yusuke’s nostrils flare. He’s clearly quite a sensitive omega. Akechi’s pheromones are on his mind, flooding his creative impulse. He leans closer to Ren even when that means awkwardly bending his neck.
“Ah. Check. Mate in three.”
“Mate in five, Goro.”
And Akechi cannot see what he means. It’s a bit maddening. His eyes flick over the board again and again, but the moves he intends to play will not make him quite that vulnerable. Ren’s self-assured glare is something else, and he bares his teeth at the omega. It’s not a threat, but a promise. Ren gives it right back to him.
He moves his bishop, abandoning his plan for a more conventional ladder mate, and prepares himself for the frustration of a queen trade. Ren doesn’t go for it at all. He moves his knight, kills a pawn that Goro hadn’t moved since the game began, and prepares to go for a rook. It necessitates action. That action leaves his queen vulnerable. He’s going to lose it without even the satisfaction of taking Ren’s.
“Checkmate in two, Goro-kun.”
It’s inevitable, he thinks. There are only four moves he can make – and Ren has set up a two-front attack on his king. The alpha can close one door but only at the cost of opening another. He growls, harshly enough that Yusuke’s head jerks up and his hand stops against the page. A quick finger tips his king over.
He extends his hand for a shake. “Well played, Amamiya.” When Ren accepts the handshake, he squeezes hard, and digs his nails into Ren’s palm. The other boy lets him, and even seems reluctant to let go.
“I got lucky.” Ren finally admits. “I didn’t have checkmate in five. That was a bluff.”
All the detective can do is grit his teeth, and nod. But his shoulders still relax when Ren laughs, baritone soft and full of warmth. “You’ll get me next time. Won’t fall for it twice.”
“Oh!” Yusuke jolts up, grabs his sketchbook, and stretches. “It’s already been eighty-nine minutes. Ren, my sincerest apologies! I know you must be closing up shop. Come, Akechi-kun, let us depart!”
“Us?”
Ren shrugs. “I do still need to wash the pots and close up, and an omega shouldn’t walk alone…” he hesitates. “I can go with him, actually, sorry to impose.”
“It’s quite alright. I suppose it is getting late.” Akechi stands up, and revels in the way that Ren’s gaze dips down. If his scent were tangible, the omega would almost certainly be tinged with desperation. Akechi likes it that way. He’s almost too sweet without it.
“Excellent. Thank you, Akechi-kun. I am indebted to you.”
“Just looking out for a friend, I suppose.” He smiles, and the fact that he nearly means it makes his teeth hurt. But he endures, swallows that down, and lets the Prince persona blend with someone more muted and authentic. Kitagawa is tolerant enough of quiet that it is a good compromise.
“Get home safe.” Ren tells them, and offers only a wave to Akechi before locking the door behind them. The first thing he does, Akechi notices, is peel the scent patch off of his collarbone.
They’re boarding for Shibuya Central when Yusuke’s hand finds his, only to meet a closed fist. He looks down at the alpha with a bit of unease, and Goro permits him to hold on to his wrist. It’s awkward, but he does it for Ren, because he knows that it is what Yusuke expects from his friends. The contact, however cold, is nice. He tries not to enjoy it too much.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Akechi-kun.” Yusuke exhales. “I’ve indulged some quite-impolite commentary about you. I realize now how incorrect I was.”
“What did you say? Does it relate to my position on the Phantom Thieves?”
“It relates to the blatant artificiality of your television self.” Kitagawa’s words nearly flashbang him. “You seem a shadow of yourself, standing amidst a palace of deception. I am intimately familiar with such an attitude in my own personal life.”
Ren’s right: Kitagawa is so internal of a person that Akechi cannot discern in the slightest if his word choices are intentional, a warning or a test of reaction, or simply his poetic mind grasping for the most apt words for the situation.
“Excuse me. All that I mean to say...” Yusuke closes his eyes, seems at ease. He very much likes to be accompanied, likes to be protected. His attention is wasted on doing it himself. “Is that as a child whose notions of family were entirely dependent on my usefulness… I wish you the freedom to live for yourself rather than for the obligations of those who look down on you. I pity the fans who only know the thing upon the screen.”
“That is best spared for those who deserve it.” Akechi responds, through gritted teeth.
“Of course. Surely Ren is amongst the most deserving. I will forever be indebted to him for his kindness. Without his support and patronage, I fear I would have languished without Madarame. Perhaps in a few years I will offer myself as a mate for him.”
Akechi tugs his arm away, and Yusuke misses the point of that gesture. He seems fine to walk with his hands to himself the rest of the way to the Kosei dorms, occasionally commenting about the shape of a tree or connecting a fire hydrant to a notion of gnostic literature.
Goro has changed his mind. Kitagawa is infinitely less tolerable than Sakamoto.