Chapter Text
The door jingles as Akechi enters a small shop on his way back from work. It’s an annoying sound, but one he became well-accustomed to it in the last couple of years.
The warm air and a loud “Welcome!” of the elderly shop owner makes him stop for a bit, but he continues going around his business, giving her a courteous nod. The lady recognizes him every time, of course, asking him about work, complementing his new haircut. He replies half-heartedly, not feeling up for the conversation, but at the same time, he has no reason to be rude. He’s been shopping here for a few years now, but they don’t know each other all that well, he realizes.
Yet, they talk almost every day. She doesn’t even know his name, but she’s smart enough not to pry. He likes it here more than other stores in the area, since this one for some reason is almost always empty, save for a few stragglers in the rush hour. He mostly buys the same stuff over and over again to avoid staying in one place longer than necessary. This time is no different. He chooses the ingredients carefully, weighing each and every single one of them in his gloved hand. He looks at perfectly packaged vegetables, and his gaze wanders off briefly to a nearby shelf packed with sweets. There’s a banner with a familiar character in a dynamic pose, pointing its sword right at him. A famous brand of chocolates is having a collab with Featherman, each one containing a limited sticker, he reads in a description.
“My grandson loves tokusatsu!” The owner tells him, clearly watching his every step. “I find them a bit scary, but I can’t help but feel some of his excitement when he tells me about every new episode! I’m actually going to buy him one of those Featherman toys for Christmas. My daughter tells me I’m spoiling him, but he’s my only grandson, it’s only right that he’s spoiled by his grandmother.”
“Indeed,” Akechi smiles briefly and with hesitation, reaches for the chocolate. He grabs some essentials on his way back to the register and passes her the shopping basket.
“You’re a healthy young man,” she points out. “That’s good, you youngsters forget about food way too often! Always eating those microwaved foods and burgers… But it’s fine to let yourself go sometimes, you know.”
“I’ll remember that,” he says with a polite bow. He doesn’t mention he used to be one of those youngsters himself. He pays the bill and accepts the groceries from the owner. To her surprise, he hands the chocolate back to her.
“For your grandson. Merry Christmas.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but…”
“I’m a fellow Featherman fan,” he says softly. “It’s nice that kids still watch this show. Besides, I don’t like sweets. A kid should eat his fair share of chocolate, though.”
She hesitates, carefully studying his face.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you if you don’t mind an old lady being rude.”
“Do I know you from somewhere, dear?” She furrows her eyebrows, trying to remember. “I swear I know this face, I’ve been thinking that ever since you first walked into my shop. Were you on the telly?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he smiles wryly. “I get that a lot, though.”
She nods. He’s sure she doesn’t believe him.
“Please remember what I said about letting yourself go. I hope to see you again soon.”
I might not be here, he thinks. He thanks her politely and wishes her a good evening before she asks him any more questions.
It’s cold for the first time this year. After a surprisingly warm November, December comes almost unnoticed. To Akechi months fade into months. Last time a co-worker asked how old he was, he actually had to count the years quickly in his head. He’s twenty-five now, yet he barely feels any different. He only celebrated his birthday when he was still a celebrity since he had to put up appearances for the sake of the public. There was also that one time when He sent him a text and…
Akechi snorts to himself almost choking on the cold winter air.
Of course, He would.
He pushes his hands deeper inside the pockets of his long dark coat. He doesn’t stand out from the crowd much, but occasionally he sees women his age passing him interested glances in public transport. He’s wearing black, top to bottom, something he’d never wear in his detective career. It was all about showing his princely charm, back then, after all. He didn’t particularly care about clothes. Black clothes made it easier to blend in with the crowd of a busy businessmen during the rush hour, that was the point, after all.
He looks over the other side of the road to see a construction site, most likely working on another apartment building. There are more and more buildings being remodeled to accommodate the growing population, and the neighborhood has gotten increasingly popular over the past few years. Tokyo is ever-changing, like a hyena ready to jump at whatever dying small business it sees, he concludes in his head. It’s only a matter of time before the old woman’s shop is replaced by another convenience store.
Well, that doesn’t concern him. He doesn’t care about this city that much anyway.
There’s a big billboard featuring an ad for a new clothing store, and he sees Ann Takamaki’s familiar face smiling at him from the picture. It wasn’t here yesterday, but the city has a life on its own, new things showing up randomly every morning. Ex-Phantom Thieves seemed to be doing well. It was only a month ago that he read in a newspaper about Yusuke Kitagawa’s grand success abroad. He wonders if any of them would recognize him now. He sincerely hopes they wouldn’t.
His keen eyes notice a black car hidden right in the backstreet to the left of Ann’s poster. He sighs, letting out a puff of air. So they’re still at it? He turns quickly, opposite of the direction he was initially heading towards, the bag of groceries hanging heavily on his arm. He doesn’t know where to go. It’s getting colder and colder and he just wants to get back to his apartment to get some sleep.
“Sir, you dropped something.”
A voice stops him. He doubts there’s anything he could have possibly dropped, so he half expects to see someone else besides him on the street.
When he turns around, there’s no one here but him and Akira Kurusu.
They both freeze.
Akechi’s instincts tell him to run, but he can’t do that with the mysterious car still just around the corner. He doubts Akira would let him run, anyway. Before he can come to a decision, Akira speaks again.
“Akechi? Is this really you?” He takes a cautious step towards him as if approaching a wild animal. Akechi doesn’t move.
“Please say something. Tell me I’m not seeing things.”
“Come on,” Akechi tells him, his eyes still watching the car. Akira’s gaze follows his own, and he seems to comprehend the situation rather quickly. “Let’s get a move on. It’s better we’re not seen together outside like this.”
“I know a place we can go to,” Akira nods.
Akira’s presence at his side feels like having a heavy stone dropped inside his stomach. He follows his quickstep, too scared to open his mouth in case he might say something he’ll come to regret. They walk in silence for quite some time. Finally, Akira stops in front of a small bar, one of those places that seem to grow out of the street like an odd mushroom. Akechi would most likely never even notice it’s there, the placement seeming almost accidental. He could swear to himself that despite living in the neighborhood for quite some time, he never heard about the place, not to mention seeing it. A weird thought crosses his mind that the place only appeared because Akira took him there in the first place.
“We’re both adults so… I think you’ll enjoy the atmosphere,” Akira says, almost nervously.
The bar is dim-lit, a soft jazz tune playing as background noise more than the main event. It’s still nice though. It seems mostly empty, a few customers sipping their drinks in complete silence on the high bar stools. It fondly reminds him of the one place in Kichijōji. Akira takes off his jacket and Akechi follows suit almost automatically. That’s when he notices he doesn’t have his groceries. Did he drop them on the street? But surely, he’d know if he did.
“Did you by any chance…”
His voice stops as Akira leads him by the hand to one of the tables near a window. He forgets about the groceries immediately, his hand burning under Akira’s touch. Akechi tries to protest, eyeing the window suspiciously, but Akira just shakes his head.
“You can see what’s happening from the inside. But they can’t see us from the outside.”
“That seems…”
Improbable? Weirdly elaborate?
“Whatever,” he sighs. “It’s only fair, you of all people would know of a place like this.”
“It belongs to a friend,” Akira specifies, sitting down. “I help out. So feel free to order whatever you want.”
True enough, when Akira goes away to buy their drinks, he chats amicably with the bartender for a while. Akechi briefly considers running for it, but a part of him can’t help but be curious about the weird twist of fate that had them both run into each other in the middle of an empty street in Tokyo.
Empty except for that one car, he realizes. Wasn’t that strange in itself? Akira didn’t seem all that surprised about the ordeal either. You’d think a strange black car would make him nervous, and yet here he was acting all casual.
“Sorry about the wait,” Akira hands him his drink and Akechi accepts it with a small nod. He takes a careful sip. It’s surprisingly good.
“Your style is different from what I remembered,” Akira tells him in a weak attempt of small talk. “You look…”
Akechi takes this opportunity to look at his reflection in the window.
He’s wearing a black turtleneck, tightly hugging his body. His hair is neatly trimmed – he did get a haircut just three days before – in a short bob-like shape. His bangs fall into his eyes just a bit, but it’s not long enough to be really annoying. His face seems even younger now that he decided to go back to shaving every morning. He expects himself to look tired, but his own eyes seem different too, wide and focused, a complete opposite of what he saw this morning in the bathroom mirror.
So Akira still had that effect on him.
“I look…?” He raises an eyebrow at him.
“Old-school,” Akira decides. “Tall.”
“Tall.”
“Unapproachable. Fashionable. Dare I say handsome?”
“You’re just listing random flattering adjectives, Joker.”
“Unapproachable is flattering…?”
“Depends on the person,” Akechi muses. “And yet, as unapproachable as I may seem, you did approach me. How very unfortunate.”
“I barely recognized you,” Akira cocks his head, his eyes searching. “I feel like… Something inside me knew before my eyes did. That’s why I called out to you.”
“You had too much to drink already.”
“Oh, this?” Joker shakes his glass, watching the ice smash about in the liquid. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
“What’s the point of inviting someone out for a drink when you don’t drink?” Akechi asks, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“What’s the point of pointing it out?” Akira retorts, a smile barely visible on the corner of his lips. Something about that smile makes Akechi shiver.
“It makes me feel more vulnerable. Mine actually has alcohol in it, so you have the upper hand.”
“I hardly think one drink makes you vulnerable out of all people.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Akira ignores him.
“So how do I look? It’s only fair after I sent so many flattering adjectives your way.”
Akechi forces himself to take a good look at Akira. His face is a bit slimmer than the one in Akechi’s memory. Yes, he realizes. He definitely lost some weight. His eyes look the same, sharp and yet kind, ever infuriating. There are some dark circles under them, probably barely visible to people with less trained eyes. He’s wearing a comfortable black blazer with a dark vest under it, nothing out of ordinary, yet strangely deliberate. The kind of annoying style of someone who seems not to care much about fashion, but somehow always ends up looking like a model. There’s more to that, he realizes. It looks strangely similar to his Metaverse outfit, except less flashy and a bit more elegant. His hair is the exact opposite of Akechi’s – curly, slightly longer than his old high school haircut.
He studies Akira’s face a bit longer to discover the most obvious detail that somehow escaped his attention.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he comments out loud. Judging from Akira’s satisfied expression, it’s the right answer.
“Indeed,” he takes a sip of his non-alcoholic drink, his eyes never leaving Akechi’s. “It took you a while to notice.”
He tries to understand Akira’s words. Somehow the entire exchange seems more meaningful than it looked at the first glance, so Akechi weighs his words carefully.
“I’m not sure how to talk to you,” he ends up saying. “It’s exhausting.”
“Because it’s been so long?”
“You seem different and yet strangely familiar,” Akechi shakes his head. “And I don’t mean the glasses. You’re talkative. You’re expressive. Playful. More like Joker than Akira Kurusu.”
“The mask hides the man underneath it.”
“No. It’s more like you’ve merged. And I’m not sure who I’m talking to right now.”
“Does it matter, Crow?”
Akechi sighs. He’s too tired for this. This is not how he imagined this day to end.
“Listen, Kurusu. I want to wrap this up as quickly as possible, so please don’t make it any more painful than it has to be. Yes, I am alive. No, I don’t know how. Yes, my memory seems to be intact. No, I don’t think it’s more of Maruki’s type of interference. Yes, it is strange. No, I don’t need your assistance. No, I don’t want to see you again. No, I’m not interested in how your friends are doing. Does that answer most of the questions you were going to ask me?”
“Almost.” To his surprise, Akira’s still watching him calmly. “One more question and I promise I’ll let you go.”
“Great,” Akechi grits his teeth. “Make sure not to waste it.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Akira replies a bit dryly. “So if you don’t mind, answer me this – why are you sitting here?”
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Akechi snorts. “Because you invited me. And I’m leaving right now.”
This time Akira moves, his pale hand catching Akechi’s wrist. Their eyes meet again and something about that gaze makes Akechi sit back down. He can feel anger, the kind he hasn’t felt in year slowly bubble in his chest.
“I forgot how much I hate you,” he spits.
“Yet, you’re still here,” Akira points out, letting go of his wrist. “Must have been a rough couple of years to make you enjoy spending time with me.”
“I always enjoyed spending time with you.”
He doesn’t know why he says that, but it’s true. Akira’s quick-witted, sarcastic, funny. All the traits he could possibly enjoy about a person. He’s probably the only person in his life Akechi didn’t have to force himself to meet up with. Perhaps, in a different scenario, they could have even become friends.
“Spend a night with me,” Akira says unexpectedly.
“I just told you I don’t want to see you again. Not to mention…”
“I never said I want to have sex with you,” he clarifies. “I want to spend a night with you. In your apartment, talking. Seems fair after all the times I invited you out in the past, don’t you think?”
“What’s your game?” Akechi narrows his eyes. “We run into each other, and yet you’re acting as if no time passed at all. You’re barely surprised that I’m still alive. And you’re all but forcing your way into my private life.”
“If you were dead, I’d know about it.”
“How very romantic,” Akechi can’t stop mockery from slipping into his tone. “You’re dodging the question.”
“If it helps, think of it as means to an end,” Akira rests his chin on his hand, playing with the straw of his drink absent-mindly. “I think a night together would prove beneficial to both of us. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” Akechi repeats, snorting.
“You’re backing down from a challenge then?”
“I never said I did. But unlike you, I tend to look before I jump. Being a murderer kind of makes you realize the importance of such tiny details.”
“And hopefully tonight won’t end up with murder,” Akira says, already grabbing his jacket. “By all means, feel free to try. But it does seem like a tragic waste of your precious time.”
He’s already out the door, cold winter air blowing through the open crack. Akechi grabs his coat with a sigh and leaves the bar with Akira. Joker doesn’t even look back to check if he follows, ever the natural leader. It’s almost as if he knows where Akechi lives, despite Akechi not mentioning anything about his apartment. He only stops to look at the sky briefly and Akechi finally catches up with his quick pace.
“It’s going to snow soon,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Akechi doesn’t ask why it matters.
When they reach his apartment, Akechi comes to the conclusion that this is all part of a strange dream. It has to be. Or maybe he was finally completely losing his marbles. He feels weirdly lightheaded, none of his own decisions making any semblance of sense. It was almost like being led by a weird thread, pulling at his hands, and forcing his feet to move forward. Right before the entrance to the building, Akira stops again.
“I saw you.” He says unexpectedly. Akechi just puts up with it, too.
“When did you see me?”
“Years ago. Spring, my second year of high school. Right before leaving Tokyo. You were on the platform and my train was about to depart. It was just a glimpse, and I could never be sure. I guess I should have started by saying just that but… I’m glad you’re still alive, Akechi.”
“Just come in before I change my mind,” Akechi rolls his eyes unsure if Akira’s words make him happy or angry.
They ride the elevator to the seventh floor. The building is old and the elevator is creaking terribly, but if Akira notices, he refrains from commenting on it. None of them says anything. The elevator stops abruptly and Akechi watches the door open, once again wondering why on Earth he agreed to all of this. Akira remains silent, patiently waiting for Akechi to make his move. He follows Akechi this time, so quietly that by the end of the hallway, Akechi is forced to look back to see if he’s still there. Akira meets his eyes with a smile. Akechi wants to punch him in the face.
He fumbles with his keys, and finally, Akechi opens the door, letting Akira come inside.
The apartment is small and mostly bare. If it wasn’t for a coffee mug in the sink, and some unopened letters on the kitchen table, one could think no one lives here. It’s nothing like his previous place. He doesn’t know what happened to his old apartment and all the stuff in it. After being captured by the government officials, he traveled a lot, helping to dig up dirt on Shido’s old accomplices. It was part of the deal to keep him out of jail. After he exhausted his usefulness, someone else took care of his university enrolment papers and got him a part-time job. He was placed inside this very apartment, and seemingly left to his own devices. He got to keep some of his clothes and a few books that he placed in a box in his bedroom, but he never spared them a second glance.
Since then, he managed to graduate from university, mostly out of sheer boredom, and partly out of fear of the unknown. He wasn’t stupid. Years of being a hitman taught him well enough to know when he was being watched. The mysterious car he saw only proved he was right all long. He was sure the moment he’d stop showing up to his classes, the government would intervene, putting him back in his cell. So he put up with it. For a while.
He turns the light on and takes Akira’s jacket, almost involuntarily. He never invited anyone over, so he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He lets Akira walk around his flat like a curious tourist, wondering if he acted the same way when Akira first invited him to his attic.
“Do you still live in that dump?” He asks to make small talk.
“You mean Leblanc?” Akira turns around, casually going through his mail. Akechi doesn’t stop him. “No, I moved out some time ago. I’m renting out a cheap place, pretty far from here. Before you ask, I was here to visit my friend, I had no idea I’d run into you. Leblanc’s still run by the chief, I’m sure he’d love to see you again. It’s even less busy now, so Futaba’s using the attic as her temporary office.”
“An office? What is it that she does?”
“I could answer that, but it could possibly get us arrested. Or killed.”
“Could be worse.”
“I guess it might seem irrelevant to someone receiving such a vast amount of death threats,” Akira turns towards him holding an envelope in his hands. “What the hell is this?”
“A death threat, like you said,” Akechi answers calmly.
“Akechi, this is serious. Did you show it to the police?”
“I’m a murderer, Kurusu.” Akechi snorts. “I can imagine how happy they would be to help me out with anything. Besides, I can’t believe I need to explain it to you out of all people, but what is it that they can do anyway? Police are even more useless without me saving their asses as a detective.”
“Granted, you were the culprit behind some of the cases,” Akira points out. His hand is still squeezing the envelope.
“And I have no regrets,” he says honestly. “In any case, this is just what happens. As long as people are sure they will stay anonymous, they are bound to say all kinds of things. Wasn’t it the same with that Phansite of yours? They can badmouth me all they want, telling me how they want my head displayed in front of the Imperial Palace. They all talk big but doing anything about it would actually require some effort. They just want to see me dead but not kill me. And if they change their minds, well… Persona on my hand or not, I can still defend myself. I don’t care either way.”
“Still, I’d at least move if I were you. How do they know you’re here anyway? I thought you were presumed dead.”
He’s well informed, as expected. Probably courtesy of Sae.
“The government pays for this flat,” Akechi says with a shrug. “They keep an eye on me. And it’s probably the government that released a certain rumor online. Akechi Goro, fallen Detective Prince and a murderer, presumed dead, seen just a few stops from here. People aren’t stupid. They can connect the dots.”
“Hence the haircut?”
“The haircut has nothing to do with it,” Akechi plays with his bangs. “My hair got way too long. It got annoying. That’s all there is to it. I let my hairdresser do what she wanted, and this is the result. Why is the haircut important again?”
“You look cute,” Akira compliments. “You’re right, perhaps the haircut isn’t important. Hope I didn’t hurt your precious pride.”
“You couldn’t if you tried. Don’t call me cute.”
Akira sits down on the only chair Akechi owns, leaving him to lean against the wall with a sigh.
“Did you really mean it?” Akira breaks the silence. “About not having regrets?”
Akechi clenches his fists involuntarily.
“Ah, again with your stupid faith in me. Nothing changed, Joker.” Somehow the nickname almost sounds like a slur in his mouth. “Would I wish for my life to be different? Would I wish to have my mother alive and happy? Would I wish to see my piece of shit of a father dead? That might very well be true. Maybe those would be the very things Maruki would be able to sway me with. But with things as they are… No, I don’t have any regrets. I’d do all of it again. Including the murders. Including killing you.”
“You didn’t kill me,” Akira points out. “I’m right here.”
“But I was convinced that I was in fact murdering you,” Akechi smiles bitterly. “And trust me, I was happy to see your pretty little brain decorating the wall of that interrogation room. Don’t worry, I have no reason to murder you now. And I don’t think it would make me happy anymore. I’m a retired murderer if you will.”
“A retired murderer is still a murderer.”
“What’s your deal?” Akechi feels himself losing control again. “You barge in, you go through my stuff like you own the place, you spit out some cryptic bullshit faster than I can begin to reply, and then you make it sound like you’re here to announce your final judgment.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Akira says calmly. “I guess I didn’t expect things to go so smoothly.”
“This is smooth? I’m this close to murdering you.”
“You’re talking to me,” Akira leans on the table. “That’s already more than I expected. I act cocky, but I assure you, I didn’t hope tonight would go so well.”
“You make it sound like you knew you were going to see me today after all.”
“I didn’t,” Akira shakes his head. “You’re tired of puzzles. Fine, I’m tired too. I’m also just as confused as you are, and I’m trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. That’s all.”
“Does something feel off to you?” Akechi questions immediately.
“No, that’s the thing. Nothing feels off. And that in itself, seems off. The fact that we met today is nothing more than a coincidence, and I think both of us have a hard time accepting it. Hence, I decided it would be best if we spent the night together. To see if something strange does happen. And perhaps to answer any doubts you and I might have about what happened a few years ago.”
Akechi hates to admit he’s right out loud, so he just nods.
“I’ll start first. You said your memory is intact. But you wouldn’t know if something was missing, would you? So let me ask you, what happened after Maruki’s battle? Why did you vanish if you didn’t die?”
“I remember the battle with Maruki clearly,” Akechi confirms. “I remember you two were alone and Morgana… He turned into a helicopter, as hard as I find it to believe. We got separated, and I got kicked out of the Metaverse. When I came to, I was in a cell. I asked the guard about the date. It was the next day following Maruki’s deadline. After that, some black suits came in, offering me a deal to keep me out of prison. They said I already graduated from high school, resigned from the police force, and announced my dismissal. They took care of everything. They said however that I’ll be dead to the public come spring, and they will release the information about who was behind the incidents to pin it all on a dead man. For some time, I was helping them clean up Shido’s mess. Then they placed me here under a fake name and signed me up for a university. They even got me a part-time job. Does that convince you?”
“Why would they want you to finish university?”
“The initial plan was to use my detective skills, and I needed a higher education to be of any use to them. I’m not sure why they still haven’t contacted me. Things are eerily quiet.”
“Except for the car.”
“Except for the car,” Akechi agrees. “I guess it won’t be much longer.”
“Thank you for your honesty,” Akira nods. Akechi doesn’t like his tone. He can’t help but think it all begins to sound more and more like an interrogation.
“How do you know I’m not lying?” He challenges.
“You have no reason to lie to me.”
“Can’t think of any reason to tell you the truth either.”
“Lying takes some effort,” Akira points out. “Besides, you want answers just as much as I do. That being said, this works both ways. So is there anything you want me to clarify?”
“I’m not interested in your personal life,” Akechi shrugs. “Seems pointless to ask you about what happened since if you knew something, you’d already say so. You came here to get some answers yourself.”
“Then ask about something else.”
“I suppose there’s one thing you can tell me,” Akechi admits. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me coming back from the dead, though.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t say it’d have to be.”
“I want to know what happened after we separated in Shido’s palace. I still don’t remember anything between the engine room and waking up in Maruki’s reality. And since you took my revenge from me, you owe me at least that.”
“That’s quite the story,” Akira agrees, but he hesitates before sending Akechi an annoyed look. “You intend to stand there glaring the entire time?”
“There isn’t anywhere for me to sit. I don’t think I’ve ever had guests here, so there isn’t much furniture.”
Akira looks around helplessly.
“What about your bed?”
“Kurusu, I swear if you’re going to…”
“We’ll sit opposite of each other,” Akira promises. “All civil, fully dressed. No need to act like a prude.”
“Not a prude,” Akechi groans, but he’s already on his way to the bedroom. “I just don’t have time for this. Let’s make this quick.”
They sit on the bed facing each other, just like Akira described they would. He can’t help but think they like two kids home alone, about to tell each other ghost stories. In a way, they are going to do just that. Akira starts his tale by explaining how Akechi’s signal vanished from Futaba’s sensors. Akechi once again confirms he doesn’t remember much of what happened, he just remembers a gunshot and then... His hand instinctively moves to his chest, Akira’s eyes immediately on him. If he’s suspecting anything, he doesn’t say a word, continuing his story. He tells him of his battle against Shido. Ryuji almost dying. That part barely concerns Akechi, but he doesn’t dare to interrupt. Unless… He places a hand on his chin, deep in thought.
“Other than Ryuji and me, was there anyone else miraculously coming back to life?”
“Ryuji didn’t miraculously come back to life, he was never dead, to begin with,” Akira clarifies. “I think we can safely cross him out of our list. Anything else?”
“You mentioned you don’t sense anything off. But something does seem off to me.”
Akira raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
“What’s with the cross-examination?” Akechi asks. “You’ve been interrogating me since the moment you saw me.”
“You don’t like the role reversal? Me being an inspector?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Out of the two of us, you’re the criminal, Mister Detective,” Akira snaps. “Besides…”
His eyes grow wide.
“Morgana.”
“Morgana is a detective now?”
“No, you asked me if anyone else miraculously came back to life. Morgana did.”
“Think you can ask him?” Akechi feels his heart race.
“There isn’t much to ask,” Akira sighs. “He thought he was going to vanish, and then he woke up in the middle of Tokyo. Morgana isn’t human. I don’t think his case can tell us much about yours.”
Sensing Akechi’s confusion, he summarizes the battle in Mementos, and the details behind’s Morgana’s existence. He tells him of God of Control, a man named Igor, a girl called Lavenza, and the Velvet Room. Wild cards, arcana, the two of them pitted against each other in a game set up by a god… All of it makes Akechi’s head spin but he figures it’s all too stupid for Akira to be making this up.
“So, God of Control,” he repeats. “What are the chances you didn’t get rid of him?”
“Slim. You seem weirdly calm.”
“I’m too tired to question anything that you said. And about the Velvet Room… You said it didn’t manifest since our battle against Maruki.”
Akira nods.
“So we decided it’s not Maruki,” Akechi sums up. “It’s not God of Control. It’s most likely not the residents of the Velvet Room. I doubt the government has anything to do with it either.”
He rubs his eyes, pressing his fingers against his eyelids as hard as he can. A part of him hopes Akira will be gone when he looks up again. He isn’t. Akechi suddenly feels tired.
“Let’s stay in touch over the next couple of days,” he decides. He doesn’t want to see him again, but if Akira’s suspicions turn out to be true, it could be serious. He can wait a few days with everything he has planned. “Let’s see if we notice anything out of the ordinary.”
“And if we don’t?”
Akechi lies down closing his eyes.
“Then we’ll just have to accept that I’m a walking miracle and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Akira hums in agreement. He feels the mattress shift slightly as Akira lies down next to him, but their bodies don’t touch, the distance between them ever-present.
“It’s pretty ironic,” Akechi says suddenly, looking at Akira. “You, out of all people, fighting him on a cruise ship.”
“Are we back to Shido? You’ve been there, you knew it was a cruise ship.”
“I never got to comment on it.”
“I guess, you were preoccupied with losing your mind. Anyway, ironic how?”
“Your persona, Arsène,” Akechi elaborates. “You know the books about The Gentleman Thief, I assume. One of them takes place on a cruise ship. Right before Arsène Lupin gets caught.”
“I don’t think I’ve read that one. Mind telling me about it as a bedtime story?”
“The narrator is one of the passengers,” he begins, fighting the urge to throw Akira out of his apartment. He’s too tired to bicker anyway. “In the middle of their journey, the Captain of the ship announces that he got a message from the police through a telegraph. They are convinced that the famous Arsène Lupin is one of the passengers on their ship. But the message cuts off due to a storm. All they know is that Arsène Lupin is blond, has a wound on his forearm, and his name starts with the letter R. It’s not hard to come up with the list of passengers who fit the description. The narrator decides to exclude passengers who travel with companions, as it’s not likely for Arsène Lupin to keep someone close. Among the passengers, there’s a beautiful woman…”
“There’s always a woman,” Akira smirks.
“…that the narrator promptly falls in love with,” Akechi finishes with a faint smile. “They start their investigation together. Soon one man, in particular, catches their attention, and so he’s captured by the crew as a suspect. Except, he too becomes a victim of Arsène Lupin. Things get hectic. One of the passengers claims her jewels were stolen by the thief himself, and she shows them his signature calling card as proof. The panic continues. Once the ship finally reaches America, they’re greeted by Inspector Ganimard who devotes his life to catching the thief. The narrator and his female companion can’t shake their excitement. Soon they will learn the truth. One after another, passengers leave the ship. They all pass through Ganimard’s control, including the suspicious man. Finally, the narrator gives his camera to the woman and decides to leave the ship as well. Just as he’s about to sneak out, Ganimard grabs his arm, and the narrator howls in pain. It turns out he was the thief all along.”
“How does the story end?”
“The beautiful woman realizes that the jewels stolen by Arsène Lupin must be hidden inside the camera. And so, she’s holding the very evidence that could make Ganimard’s case. The narrator knows as much as their eyes meet for the last time. She approaches the gangway… and pretends she’s about to trip. She drops the camera into the sea. And then, she vanishes in the crowd without looking back.”
“Despite his lies, she wouldn’t betray him,” Akira sums up. “That’s quite a story.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t know it.”
“Oh, I did know it,” Akira sits up a bit, to look at Akechi’s face. “I just wanted to hear you talk.”
“Then why did you ask me how it ends?”
“Maybe I wanted to make sure I remembered it correctly.”
“I really don’t understand you,” Akechi sighs.
“You really don’t have to.”
Akira’s shoulder brushes against his side. He could let himself enjoy it, he could just ignore it. But it bothers him.
“We’re not in high school anymore,” Akechi tells him. “You can tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I told you, I’m tired of games. I’m too old for footsies, avoiding each other’s glances, innuendos, or whatever teenage drama tropes you decide to play out next. Just tell me what you want so I can decide if I want to give it to you.”
“Too old?” Akira actually laughs. “You’re twenty-five.”
“Joker.”
“You and I both know, I can’t want things from you,” Akira says seriously. “Maybe that’s why I enjoy our verbal footsie. As immature as you claim it to be.”
“So there is footsie.”
“There might be.”
They fall silent.
“How badly do you want to kill me,” Akira asks suddenly.
“Is this another question? I feel like you still owe me some.”
“No one’s keeping score, Crow.”
“I’m always keeping score when it comes to you,” Akechi retorts and it makes Akira smile. “And it fluctuates. At the moment I’m too tired to kill you. Besides, you’re useful to me. To answer your next question, no, I didn’t kill anyone since we last saw each other. I don’t even know why I care what you think of me, but you should stop assuming I enjoyed murdering all these people. It was all means to an end, using your own words. Killing you, or attempting to at least, wasn’t much different. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else, Shido wanted you dead. And I wanted to… I don’t know what I wanted anymore. If that helps, watching you die was a strange experience. I’ve never killed anyone outside of the metaverse without using my Persona. Well, as it later turned out, even that happened within the Metaverse. It felt real enough, though.”
He doesn’t know why he’s blurting out his feelings like that. Perhaps, it’s because none of it feels real even now. He can convince himself Akira isn’t even here. Or maybe, he’s not as resistant to alcohol as he thinks he is.
“I’m glad I was special,” Akira muses, immediately making Akechi regret saying anything in the first place.
“I’m glad you think this is a joke,” he spits.
“You have the right to enjoy watching me die. I get to keep my right to enjoy outsmarting you back then. It’s only fair.”
Akira takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
“I don’t think this is trivial,” he tells Akechi. “I never did. I had all of these complicated feelings for you. I wanted to believe so badly you weren’t the man behind the black mask. I wanted to believe so badly you wouldn’t betray us. I liked you. I enjoyed our talks, I liked fighting with you by my side. And I could tell that despite all the false pretense, you enjoyed yourself, too. You told me things that could have been lies. But they weren’t. We both know that in the end, we’re the only ones able to understand one another.”
“You’re about to run some psychological analysis on me? This is stupid.”
“I think kindness starts eating at you like a disease,” Akira says his eyes not leaving Akechi’s. “You’re afraid of kindness. You’re afraid of moving forward. You’ve reached an impasse. And I think it’s the same for me. That’s why we met today.”
“I’ve never been kind,” Akechi snorts. “I’ll leave kindness to you, leader.”
“It’s been a while since someone called me that,” Akira chuckles bitterly. “You know, you always tell me how much you despise me. The truth is, I can’t stand you sometimes. You talk big, you pretend to be cold, you pretend to know everything about me. I think you’re full of shit.”
“You knew that already. Nothing changed.”
“Losing you hurt like hell,” Akira looks tormented and it makes Akechi look away. “I spent the last few years wondering if I made a mistake saying no to Maruki. Thinking that maybe I never should have listened to you even if you ended up hating me. That maybe, a life in forced happiness is better than no life at all.”
“All my life I’ve been forced to play a part someone else set up to me,” Akechi says, wondering why he even attempts to make Akira feel less guilty. “You did the right thing. I can’t say I comprehend all of that God of Control bullshit you told me about, but it seems like no matter what I’d do, it was always going to end this way. What good has come from me being alive? I don’t know what to do with my life. Shido’s out of my reach. My mother’s dead. I don’t have friends or family. I can’t continue my career as a detective.”
“Impasse.”
“Impasse,” Akechi repeats. “Things really must be off if I end up agreeing with you.”
“You seem to enjoy our conversation.”
“I don’t talk to people much, so it’s not like you have any competition,” Akechi shrugs. “Also, I did have a drink, an alcoholic one unlike you. I fully intend to use it as an excuse for all the bad decisions I made so far.”
“Like inviting me over?”
“For one,” Akechi looks back at Akira’s tired face. He looks young despite all of that, and at that moment, very vulnerable. There was a time he’d enjoy seeing him like this, but it wasn’t the case now. “You always do this. You say random things and then people end up giving you their backstories, sharing their fucking feelings like you’re the local therapist. Like they’re under some spell. You and Maruki seem to be alike.”
“You’re not under my spell, Akechi.”
“What is it about you then?” He insists. “Why are you here to haunt me? You and I both know this little investigation leads to nowhere. We won’t find out anything useful. Metaverse is gone, we don’t have our Personas, nothing’s out of ordinary. For all I know, me being alive is just a cruel gift left by this god of yours to torment me even further.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Akira sits up. “Maybe we should just let matters rest. But you’re not the only one who hasn’t felt alive in a long time. I haven’t felt like this in such a long time. I miss it – the adrenaline, my friends, being Joker… We share a bond, whether you like it or not. Our lives were ruined by Shido, we were both chosen by the same god for one purpose. I understand you. But I hardly think it’s fair to blame all your poor decisions on me.”
“We’re not similar at all,” Akechi defends. “I told you once, we’re thesis and anti-thesis. We do share a bond, but it was always meant to end in a disaster.”
“Fuck your Hegel.”
“Excuse me?”
Akira’s not smiling anymore.
“I’m not here to tell you what you went through was worthless. I can’t begin to understand what happened that someone so young developed the pure hatred that I saw in Loki, or that things ended up the way they did. But blaming everything on a cruel twist of fate? Come on, I thought you had more balls than that.”
Akechi is speechless.
“You never confronted your own hated,” Akira continues, looking right through him. “And you can’t confront your own need for love, for being appreciated. You’re so stuck on your own negative feelings that you can’t let anything else in. That is why things happened the way they did in Shido’s palace.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you and your stupid friends interfering with my plan!” Akechi doesn’t realize he stood up until he sees Akira looking up at him in shock. “You should have stayed dead. I should have killed my father and then, maybe then I’d find some semblance of peace. I don’t care about this stupid world! I don’t care about some god leading it towards ruin! No one asked me if I wanted to be a part of this game, no one helped me as they helped you! Maruki never asked me about my happiness! So tell me, Joker, how is that fair? Who are you to tell me what I should feel when it’s always been about you?”
“You had a choice, you cocky piece of shit!” Akira spites angrily. “I had a choice, Ryuji had a choice, Ann had a choice, Yusuke had a choice. All my friends, we all had a choice! We were all hurt! We were all lost! But only one of us decided to turn into a murderer. Only one of us betrayed us for petty revenge! And you can’t know how many times I considered killing someone off, the way you did. Killing someone within the Metaverse takes no effort at all, don’t you think? You don’t even see blood, they just vanish like a bad dream. Like Haru’s father. And then…”
Akira clenches his fist.
“I almost killed Shido for you. And I can’t unsee it. I can’t stop feeling angry. I can’t stop thinking about how helpless I felt all that time. I watched you die. I went along with your wishes to stop Maruki. Everything happens outside of my control, so how are we different?! Who are you to tell me how to feel?!”
Akira catches him off guard, pushing him hard so that Akechi’s back is pressed against a wall.
“I guess I’m scared I’m slowly turning into you,” he says in the same cold tone. “If you can’t handle your own kindness, then I can’t handle my own anger.”
It’s the first time Akechi heard Akira yell, he realizes, and Akira seems to come to the same conclusion.
“I’m sorry, I…” He takes a step back, mortified. “I don’t think I’ve ever… I don’t know what came over me…”
Akechi kisses him.
It’s not an easy kiss, nothing about them is. Their feelings melt together, anger and longing, confusion, and relief. After every push comes to a shove. One moment it’s him pressed against a wall, the next it’s Akira pressed against the mattress. Akira’s fingers reach for his neck, the very movement making him jump, but all he does is pull on the fabric of his turtleneck, biting and kissing Akechi’s exposed skin. A part of him hopes it will leave a bruise, but he’d never admit it out loud. He rolls his hips into the warm body trapped under him, enjoying every sound Akira makes. He feels him thrust back weakly, the feeling more satisfying than he expected. He grabs Akira by the chin, forcing him to look at him. Akira’s pupils are blown wide, lips red, his chest struggling to catch a breath.
He can almost taste the madness he’s always felt within himself. He opens Akira’s mouth forcefully, pushing his tongue inside, and that only causes Akira to grow harder against Akechi’s hip. He’s getting off on it just as much as he is, he realizes with the same satisfaction. They really are the same. They both hope for their mutual destruction. They rut against each other until they’re both spent, Akira’s hands leaving marks all over his back as he comes, in a way that’s sure to draw blood. Akira really does enjoy scarring him in all the ways possible.
He forces himself to let go of his body, catching one last hungry look hiding in his eyes. That one look makes him push all the regrets to the back of his head for now. His pants are sticky but he feels too lightheaded to move an inch. Akira doesn’t say much for a while, rubbing his chin where Akechi’s fingers were holding him. Perhaps he’s not the only one who’s going to end up with a bruise, but he can’t bring himself to feel remorse.
“Thank you,” Akira says surprisingly. Akechi looks at him again, but Akira’s eyes are already closed, a small smile playing on his lips.
“For what?”
Akira sighs and leans over. He gives him a long kiss, his hand pushing down on Akechi’s chest, holding him in place. It’s slow and deliberate, and for some reason, Akechi can’t bring himself to kiss him back. Something about the kiss feels final.
“Answering one of my questions.”
He doesn’t remember anything else about that night. He vaguely recalls Akira moving to the kitchen, a quiet hum as he makes himself a cup of coffee and a sigh, as he complains about its quality. Akechi can no longer keep his eyes open, he pushed away his exhaustion for far too long. The room grows brighter as the dawn approaches. He thinks he can see the sunrise, lighting up Akira’s silhouette in his kitchen. He no longer feels watched.
When Akechi wakes up later in the morning, Akira’s long gone. He’s wearing his sweatpants and, as he quickly realizes, a fresh pair of boxers. Yet, if it wasn’t for a lonely coffee mug abandoned on the table, he’d be inclined to believe everything that happened last night was nothing but a dream.