Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I guess this is it,” Joker says almost cheerfully, and possibly inappropriately for someone who’s currently trying to keep his insides from spilling. “But we did come quite far.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Goro says, spitting out something that may or may not be his tooth. “I’m thinking. Let me think.”

“There’s no way out of this,” Joker observes in a gentle tone, like he doesn’t want to scare Goro away. “You should—”

“I could fucking kill you,” Goro snarls at the implication. “I almost wish I killed you back then. It would be a far kinder death than to have you bleed out like a goddamn animal.”

“Almost?” Joker gives him a faint smile. “Well, that’s a start. It’s almost like hearing your confession all over again. How romantic.”

When Goro whips his head around to look at him, Joker lets out a laugh that turns into a cough. “Don’t make that face. You always say you want to kill me when you just want to be held.”

Joker expects the fear to kick in any second now, but he feels surprisingly calm. It shouldn’t end like this. Not for him, not for Goro. The burning feeling inside him is stronger than fear. Goro deserves to have another chance. Goro deserves to live.

To hold on to that wish is much easier than to be scared of death.

“This is precious to me,” Joker makes a ball-like shape with his hands. “All of it right here.”

“You’re delirious,” Goro says, trying to put Joker back together like he’s just a couple of chess pieces scattered all over the board from a careless movement of his shaking hand. “You should stop talking. It’s just a bunch of nonsense.”

“It’s your heart,” Joker says like it’s the most obvious thing. “Your desires, your hopes, your fears. I’ll carry them with me always. My little snow globe.”

Goro stops applying the pressure, looking both angry and helpless. He clutches at his shirt, tracing over his ribs, like he’s checking if his heart is still there. “Nonsense. Like I said.”

His hands are redder than Joker’s gloves.

And that’s when out of nowhere, a voice, so quiet that it might belong to either, or neither of them rings through the emptiness of the room:

This is absolutely devastating. Truly, the worst possible outcome.

The first time he wakes up, he inhales a beach's worth of sand and passes out.

The second time he wakes up, someone’s there with him. That much he can tell before passing out again.

The third time must be not too long after the second time, and it seems like someone’s persistently nudging him. Goro figures he must really be dead, otherwise, he would have suffocated by now.

“Whatcha doin’ here, kid?” A nasal voice that might be God, or Satan, or both of them combined asks.

“Sunbathing,” Goro tries to answer, then fails, and inhales more sand. A strong hand grabs him by the back of his shirt to pull him up, and Goro tries to appear as dignified as he can, while coughing and leaving snot all over his very expensive clothing.

The man in front of him doesn’t seem to bear any traits characteristic of a deity, but then again, Goro’s never been an expert on the divine. There might be something poetic in the fact that Mighty-Forces-Above decided to send a plain fisherman to greet him, but he’s not that keen on poetry either. He’s handed a tissue, which he gratefully accepts, and only attempts to speak when he returns to being—or at least, he goddamn hopes so—more presentable.

At that point, Goro Akechi realizes that he has no idea what day it is or how he managed to find himself on a beach, on a cloudy day at that.

Having determined that dead or not, there is no way to ask a question in a way that doesn’t make him sound like a lunatic, he clears his throat and opens his mouth, yet no sound comes out. The fisherman watches him struggle with the face of someone who’s seen way too many nutjobs to consider someone truly odd and then reaches for his bag. Goro’s handed a bottle of water, which again, he accepts with far less grace than he wishes to have. Only with half of it emptied, his throat decides to cooperate.

“Where the hell am I?” he asks in a voice so raspy it might as well belong to someone else. Covered in snot, he half-wishes it did.

“You lost?” The man asks rather than answers, and Goro takes a wild guess that he might be in the circle of hell where people only reply with stupid questions or riddles. However, the next thing the fisherman says seems to quickly ruin his theory.

“Kids like you should be at school around this time,” he says carefully. “Are you a delinquent? A runaway? Should I be calling the cops?”

“No cops,” Goro says automatically, briefly entertaining the idea of being reborn as Akira Kurusu, but his expensive clothing would suggest otherwise. “I just need to get out of here.”

Wherever here even is.

“Alright,” the guy exhales, and a part of Goro thinks he’s almost relieved. “So where are you headed?”

“Shibuya,” Goro says with unshakeable certainty. “Tell me how to get to Shibuya.”

The words are out of his mouth before he realized he’d actually said them. Shibuya, yes. He has to get to Shibuya. Because it’s back then that he—

No matter how hard he tries to reach for the memory, it’s gone, slipping through his fingers like a mirage made out of the fog.

With that in mind, he checks his jacket for his phone and wallet, but there’s nothing there— which means, he has no means to confirm his whereabouts. Which means he has no way to contact…well, who exactly would Goro Akechi call anyway? It’s not like he calls people whenever he’s in trouble. People call him when he’s needed, never the other way around. More importantly, however, it means he has no cash or documents, so he can’t exactly use public transport or anything other than his own two feet.

Luckily, Goro has accumulated enough spite—equal only to the amount of sand still accumulating in all the spaces left between Goro’s skin and his clothing—to last him whatever distance necessary. “I’m going to have to walk, so just point me in the right direction,” he decides suddenly. “If you would be so kind.”

The other sentence is almost an afterthought. He should at least try to be polite if he wants people to cooperate.

The man’s eyes narrow, like he’s trying to parse the state of Goro’s mental state. Well, frankly, how ridiculous he must seem, a young man with a bad attitude in the middle of fucking nowhere, claiming to be able to walk whatever distance necessary. For all he knows, he could be on the other side of the country.

“That might be too far for a walk,” the man says. “But my son will come by this afternoon, I’ll see if he can give you a ride.”

He eyes Goro suspiciously. “As long as you promise you’ll go back straight to your parents.”

Goro has to suppress the eye roll, but somehow he manages a tight smile. “Cross my heart.”

Hope not to die. Again.

“So,” Goro clears his throat, and decides to ask again but be nicer about it this time. “I don’t think I recognize this neighborhood. Could you tell me where exactly are we?”

The man looks at him like their encounter is some sort of heavenly punishment. Maybe it is, for both of them. “Kid, we’re in Yokohama.”

“Yokohama,” Goro repeats grimly. “Well, close enough.”

*

The distance between Tokyo and Yokohama is hardly big enough to prepare Goro for facing the fact that apparently, it’s April again, and he has to live through the worst year of his life. The fisherman’s son is kind and quiet, and he asks Goro if he needs to open the window. Even if Goro says no, he pulls out a bottle of water and tells Goro to look straight ahead, and tell him if Goro wants him to stop. He probably thinks it’s motion sickness. Goro thanks him, slipping easily into his practiced princely persona, and the man’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses. He reminds Goro of Akira, except he’s much older and lacks his air of confidence. Thinking of Akira makes something sink in his stomach, or maybe Goro has motion sickness after all.

He takes a deep breath to clear his head. If he plays it nicely, the man won’t ask about his parents and leave Goro alone, which needs to happen as soon as possible if he wants to figure out whatever the fuck is going on. It’s not like the old man forgot to flip the calendar. Goro saw it clear enough where he was waiting in the small dingy living room, as they ate the nastiest meal Goro’s ever had in his life, including his own attempts at cooking. April, last year. The month Akira arrived in Tokyo. The month the wheels of fate were put into motion. It shouldn’t be surprising that this is the month he’s doomed to repeat. And yet—

Why the hell would he out of all people get a second chance?

Goro closes his eyes, feigning sleep to keep his thoughts from spinning. There’s a song on the radio that used to be popular that particular spring. Goro met the band during one of his interviews at the TV station. He hated them but told them he was a fan. Supposedly, the word got out, and the sales jumped as his devoted fans decided to follow in his footsteps, pushing the band to the very top.

Goro can’t stand the idea of being popular again. He doesn’t want his old life back. He wants…Well, what exactly does he want?

So he knows for a fact that he died. And it would make sense for him to die in that engine room, and yet Goro’s brain rebels against the thought. There’s clearly more to it but he won’t find the missing pieces in the middle of nowhere.

When he opens his eyes again, he can more or less recognize the familiar buildings of the city where everything started.

The traffic is bad and they’ve been stuck at the red light forever. If there’s ever been a good moment to escape, it has to be right now. His hand reaches for the car handle. Goro thinks the man smiles.

“Do you need money?” he asks unexpectedly. “I don’t have much, but should be enough to get you where you want.”

Goro scoffs as he opens the door. “How silly of you to assume I still have a place to go.”

The man should look surprised but he doesn’t—Goro is not the typical runaway kid, and the man doesn’t look stupid. It bothers Goro in a way he can’t parse, but if he wanted to ask him about it, he would likely lose the one chance he had to get away.

He’s already out of the car when his body stops against his will. His fingers grab the door, torn between slamming them shut and getting back inside.

There’s at least one more thing he should say.

“You and your father,” Goro says reluctantly. “You were kind to me. Not many people are. Thanks.”

It’s clear to him that they don’t know about the Detective Prince, and didn’t want anything out of it. Goro is not used to genuine kindness. He finds kindness is just an excuse people use to rope others into doing their bidding at the most convenient moment. In his world, it’s nothing more than a commodity.

He smiles because it’s the only way he can repay the favor, and Goro Akechi always pays his debts, no matter how small.

He leaves before the man manages to stop him.

*

Even if he’s wearing clothes he got from the fisherman, the attire consisting of an ugly raincoat and a baseball cap, Goro looks around nervously, hoping no one can recognize him. He feels tired and dirty, and he would love to go back to his apartment, but there’s still one thing he has to take care of.

His memories aren’t the only thing that is missing. By this point, Loki feels like part of his body. Walking without him by his side is less like losing a limb, and more like spending your whole life with chronic pain, only to be suddenly rid of it.

He probably misses Akira for the same masochistic reason.

Of course, he has no means to enter Mementos without his phone, and even if he’s grasping at straws, he tries to recall that day.

Loki would bring the missing pieces back. He’s as good at scattering Goro’s brain all over, as he is at putting it back together. He knows Loki well enough to make their meeting place meaningful.

And so Goro looks at the Hachiko statue.

He’s not a cat person. He always liked the statue because it reminded him of the dog that would always lie down in front of the bathhouse Goro used to frequent. Pachi was nicer to Goro than his classmates. Pachi was always patient when Goro would cry his eyes out into his fur.

The first time Goro crawled out of Mementos, he puked right there under Hachiko’s feet. It was the middle of the night in a city where lights never die down, and Shibuya is hardly ever deserted. Still, Goro held on to the statue, sobbing and shaking as the people around him looked everywhere but the strange crying teen, who was probably some sort of delinquent.

That day was the first time he heard Loki’s voice. He never cried again.

He closes his eyes. The sound of the street dies down until he hears it. The sound is steady and calm, almost like his own heartbeat—calling out to him always, even without the stupid app on his phone, like the constant staccato at the back of his brain.

Loki nestles in, filling in the missing gaps in his memory. Goro’s head is finally clear.

First of all, the new life he was given doesn’t even belong to him. For all he knows, he might not even be himself.

Second of all, he’s been brought back for a reason. And Goro’s very much done being other people’s puppet, happily suffocating with his strings in front of their very eyes.

The plan is clear enough, Loki concludes—kill the only person capable of bringing him back, and destroy whatever selfish plan Akira Kurusu carefully designed for him.

“If I’m going to be reborn just because you loved me,” Goro mutters, hoping no one but Akira hears him. “I will use this borrowed life just to find you. And this time, I’ll make sure you won’t leave that interrogation room alive.”

He smiles because, for the first time, everything feels just right. Were they fools for trying to defy fate? How silly. He was always meant to kill Akira. Goro’s chest shakes in uncontainable laughter, the realization filling his lungs with the reluctant joy of being alive, like a breath of fresh air. How treacherous the simple phase turned out to be, how costly the privilege of having the oxygen poison his bloodstream with this unwanted gift. His ribcage feels heavier, ready to poke holes through his body, sharper than bullets that should have pierced through it.

The fact that he’s still breathing might have been Akira’s choice, Goro rationalizes. It is only fair that Akira’s last breath should belong to Goro.

*

It’s the landlady who lets him in.

Goro’s apartment looks pretty much the same way he remembered it. If its thin walls could speak they would tell the following story:

Every morning Goro Akechi wakes up at 5 am. He waters the plants and eats the over-cooked rice. He spends one hour making sure his hair and makeup are impeccable. He makes several phone calls that can only be done in the privacy of his own home. He makes sure he’s done his homework, and then he packs the necessities—some files, an emergency make-up kit, the empty lunchbox, and when a situation calls for it, a gun. He checks his reflection in the mirror to make sure his smile reaches his eyes. He comes home and falls asleep immediately. Most days he dreams of nothing at all.

For the first time, he sees his apartment for what it really is—empty coffee cups piling in the sink. The bad smell of trash that should have been taken out a long time ago. Piles of books he hasn’t touched out of lack of time. It looks lonely and for the first time, Goro feels like a stranger in his own apartment.

Still, from the state of it, Goro assumes he couldn’t be missing for more than a couple of days. He finds his phone and wallet on the kitchen table. There are a couple of missed calls from Sae, but none from Shido. The last message he sent is from two days ago. He checks his bank account but he doesn’t find anything that would suggest he was planning to take a vacation. His only suitcase is empty.

So how exactly did he get to Yokohama?

He calls the school to tell them he has to take a few days off due to his detective work. He then calls his agent to tell him he has to cancel the interviews to catch up with school work. He doesn’t call Sae because he can’t fucking stand her, and the sentiment appears to be mostly mutual. He calls someone at the station and hopes they get the message through.

Lastly, he leaves a message with Shido’s secretary that he caught a nasty cold, which would be a lame excuse in every other scenario, except for when dealing with politicians. First of all, Goro never takes days off so his fake illness should buy him some time since no one has any reason to doubt him. Second of all, Goro’s been part of Shido’s world long enough to realize a simple truth. If there’s anything men in power are afraid of, it’s illness—unpredictable, unforgiving germs and viruses that can’t very well be threatened with a gun. Goro could probably kill his father just by sneezing in his general direction. In the end, maybe it would have been more efficient.

All the girls Shido’s ever been with were clean and healthy. Goro’s mother was of course no exception until he was done with her.

The secretary wishes him a quick recovery and ends the call quickly like she’s scared the germs will get to her through a phone call. She’s Shido’s current favorite. Her underwear is black and expensive, and when she moans she sounds like a little bird. Goro walked in on them more times than he can count since Shido doesn’t bother to be careful around him. Goro’s just a stupid brat, after all, but he’s still useful for some things. That’s why he keeps an eye on all of Shido’s fucks, past and present.

The secretary’s daughter Hana, age six, goes to school in Aoyama. The woman’s husband takes her there dutifully every morning, and they drive a white Toyota. Hana excels in math but is a little behind in reading. The husband earns half of what his wife does but he never questions the extra income. The company promised lifetime employment, but the truth is, the president got into some financial problems and he’s thinking about letting people go. The secretary of course knows, the man is indebted to Shido. And so her husband keeps his job, and little Hana gets to continue her private piano lessons. It’s Goro’s job to know all of that and more just to keep them all in line.

He used to think information is the only thing that has value—he planned, he schemed, and yet, all it took was a single wildcard to make everything come crumbling down. In the past life, Akira’s involvement with Shido went under Goro’s radar. Would it help if he had known? Would he have been able to somehow earn Akira’s trust?

It’s only now that he’s reborn that Goro realizes he’s tired of knowing things.

He cleans up the apartment, opens all windows, and makes sure nothing is missing. He finds a bottle of whiskey, so he keeps it by his bedside just in case.

After that, Goro falls asleep for two days.

He wakes up now and then to take in his surroundings, flinching at every loud noise. For these two days, he just is. The bedsheets feel rougher against his skin than he remembers them being. His skin itches with unknown fear. Goro doesn’t remember feeling that scared before, and yet the fear remains, boiling under his skin. It’s only when he wakes up on the second day, looking at his phone to check the time, that he places the source of his anxiety.

It’s the day of the subway incident, and he’s not there.

Goro gets up and spends the day watching the news attentively. Surely, puzzles must fall into place. If he doesn’t do what’s required of him, fate will find a way. Would Loki force him to leave the house? Would Shido contact him and ask whatever the fuck is wrong with him? Would it be possible for another culprit to emerge?

He sits in front of the small TV until it gets dark, drinking every word from the presenter’s mouth—a car accident in Roppongi, a baby panda born at the zoo, a military conflict in some far away country.

And still, the world doesn’t end. People don’t die. Shido’s men don’t barge into his apartment to kill him on sight. No one even calls to check on him.

Disappointingly, nothing happens at all.

Goro sits motionlessly, unaware of just how long he’s been staring at the now dark TV until the sun begins climbing back up over the horizon. The possibility that he doesn’t have to do anything is scarier than everything he’s ever known. He spent all his life reshaping himself into someone else. He did all of that and more to endure. He did all that and more to be loved, to be admired, to live the life he deserved all along. He did all of that and more to get closer to Shido, and yet, the thrill of the chase doesn’t appear as appealing as it used to be. And so the question emerges, scary, but somehow thrilling—just what exactly would happen if he decided to do nothing at all? What would happen if he had changed his plans?

What would happen if he had met Akira sooner?

It’s then that Goro decides to start his experiment. After all, he only has his second life to waste.

*

On the third day of his self-administered isolation, Goro sits cross-legged in front of the mirror and takes himself in. His mother’s eyes stare right back at him like it’s yet another challenge. He doesn’t like his face without makeup. It’s not a face he planned for himself. His hair already looks tired due to a lack of proper care. With the dark circles under his eyes, he looks even more like his mother on her worst days.

Reinventing yourself is not an easy task but Goro Akechi finds it’s even more difficult to just be himself. Outside of being a celebrity, his father’s bastard child, he never did wonder just what exactly made him himself.

After he’s done inspecting his features, Goro stands in front of his closet and considers what he wants to wear. To his surprise, he realizes he doesn’t like most of his clothes. They’re all expensive brands, he doesn’t deserve anything less than that. They’re hardly comfortable though, and he doesn’t have to play his part anymore, does he?

He spends the day online browsing for new clothes and shoes. It’s always been fun to waste Shido’s money, especially when he gets pissed about it. But even though Goro knows his spending is being carefully monitored, something tells him he doesn’t have to be scared of Shido anymore. He doesn’t have to be scared of anything.

He always goes for the expensive brands. New life or not, it’s not an excuse to look like a slob. Besides, he has someone to impress even if that person always did so little to repay the effort. He thinks of the way Akira dressed when they were alone together—a casual t-shirt, a pair of jeans, a cheap jacket. The view of his ass as he’d bend over to—

Goro’s hand slips and he almost knocks the laptop off the table.

Would Goro even look good wearing jeans? Would Akira still enjoy looking at him if he dressed plainly?

Does he actually care or did somebody force him to?

It’s an intrusive thought that emerges ever since he got back. He’s scared of not being who he was, but he’s even more scared of being controlled into being someone new entirely. It’s the only reason why he’s doing all of this—to prove to the very person that brought him back that he’s still very much in charge.

He gets some comfortable-looking sweaters, hoodies, a couple of t-shirts, and two pairs of jeans. When the package arrives after a day or two, Goro wastes no time trying out his new clothes, turning his already messy apartment into a mess of fabric and cardboard boxes.

Goro can’t tell anymore if he looks nice. The fabric is soft. He doesn’t need to think about wrinkling his clothes. He’s not too warm and not too cold. Overall it’s a pleasant experience. The jeans hug his ass in a way that doesn’t make wearing them uncomfortable. He looks better than Akira did. Despite the low effort he still looks good.

His hair is slightly curly when left unattended. He hated Akira for so long for not even bothering to use a comb when Goro spent half of his savings on hair products. But now that he looks at himself, he finds that he doesn’t really mind.

He looks at his reflection in the mirror and for the first time sees no one but himself.

It’s a bizarre feeling to realize that’s what it must be like for a vast majority of people on Earth. They know themselves and they know what to expect. Goro never had the time to think about his likes and dislikes. Most of the time, the line separating the two is at best blurry. He loved the attention but he hated his fans. He liked Akira but at the same time wanted him dead.

There’s a childish wonder, unlike anything he’s ever experienced in his everyday discoveries.

He likes jazz. He spends his entire Sunday listening to the old records just to make sure. He likes alcohol, probably too much. He doesn’t like smoking, but it does make him feel more in control, more mature.

He doesn’t like sweets. He likes coffee. He enjoys reading the books he found in his apartment.

Somehow it comes off as a relief. There are so many things he invented for himself that proved to be real.

For the first time in his life, Goro finds himself unable to take another measured step.

It’s the best feeling in the world.

*

It’s been two weeks since his beach adventure, and he still finds sands everywhere. On that particular day, he finds more sand on the tiles and he somehow manages to slip on the bathroom floor. As he beholds the ceiling, by far the most interesting sight he’s laid eyes on in over a week, Goro briefly wonders whether it’s a sign of anything remotely significant, but he’s only half-convinced the sand is even there.

He’s also very much drunk. No one contacts him and so he drowns the growing feeling of anxiousness in bottles of whiskey. Even if there’s nothing wrong with the way he was brought back to life, there clearly is something very much wrong with the world around him. He watches the news but other than the things he’s done, everything is pretty much the same. And yet, there are no consequences for his impromptu sabbatical. Shido is almost polite about his absence.

It’s not just a second chance he was given. It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card.

And for what exactly? He never asked to be alive in the first place. Not his mother, not Akira. If there’s anything he plans on doing differently is to be smarter about the way he kills Shido. He doesn’t regret anything, and yet there’s no divine punishment. Akira doesn’t contact him either but then again, they won’t meet until June. But wouldn’t Akira keep his memory intact especially if he’s the one behind all of this?

He still hasn’t figured out why he was brought back but for some reason, the fact that Akira is the one who made it happen feels almost certain. He realizes the only way to confirm his suspicions is to confront Akira himself, but he’s not ready to see him just yet. Enter, bad decisions. Enter, more whiskey.

The problem with alcohol is that it does the very opposite of making him forget about Akira, and all the Akira-adjacent activities Goro somehow grew to miss.

So Goro Akechi likes sex.

He doesn’t enjoy other people. He doesn’t even like talking to them. But sex made everything feel far away. And sex with Akira was probably still the best attempt they’ve made at actual communication.

It’s difficult to parse what they had together. They didn’t have time to fall in love too deeply, but even if he had feelings for Akira, Goro wouldn’t hesitate to kill him for bringing him back. It’s not like he misses Akira. He misses the way Akira would whisk him away, as if every time they hung out together, they would travel into a different reality. Sex with Akira made him forget he was only there for a short while.

He suddenly remembers he only bought his first lube and the dildo about a month after meeting Akira. He stopped using the dildo around September. October had him occupied with murder, and sitting on Akira’s cock. He pissed away most of November by failing to kill his not-boyfriend, and then he died in December. All in all, he did not need the dildo. It was tacky and uncomfortable anyway.

He’s so fucking horny he could probably masturbate with sandpaper.

The only semi-oblong object in his room is his hairbrush. He looks at the thick handle carefully. Then he looks back at his hands. The alarm on his bedside politely reminds him it’s now four am, and there he is, standing butt-naked in his bedroom with his almost-boyfriend stuck on the other end of Tokyo. He feels lonely and not drunk enough to be having an emotional breakdown.

So he just came back to life, his past self is yet to discover the many joys of masturbation, so there’s no lube in his drawer, and he’s running out of alcohol. He takes a deep breath. He won’t put a fucking hairbrush up his ass even when he’s pissed drunk.

He tries to think of something unpleasant. Dead animals. Dead people. Blood. Bloody corpses wearing glasses. Corpses with surprisingly attractive facial features and moppy black hair he could probably run his fingers through and end up with blood on his fingertips. He thinks of Akira again, which only rekindles the idea of shoving the hairbrush handle up his ass.

Fuck it. Goddamit, fuck it all.

Still hard, he shoves his face into the pillow, refusing to masturbate to his humiliating thoughts. Unsurprisingly, lying in his bed waiting for sleep to come proves just as fruitless as it did in his previous life. He spits on his hand and tugs on his cock miserably. It feels neither good nor bad. It feels like a failure. His hand tastes salty and overall disgusting.

He wants Akira’s hand in his hair. He wants Akira to fuck him so well that Goro won’t have a choice but to kill him.

In the end, it all comes down to that choice. The past two weeks proved that he doesn’t have to play by the rules. There’s no punishment, no consequences. He could break Akira’s heart sooner, or he could have more time at his side. He could kill him right now, or fuck him stupid on the Leblanc floor. He doesn’t have to wait until June. He can do anything.

There’s still a chance Akira has nothing to do with all of this after all.

Goro’s instincts rebel against the very idea.

It only takes a few more days for his will to break.

*

“Welcome,” Akira says, a small smile playing on his lips in acknowledgment of Goro’s presence but nothing else.

He’s not used to receiving customers yet, Goro can tell. His eyes leave Goro’s immediately, looking away to stare hard at the clean counter. Goro knows he must have spent the whole day scrubbing it more than it was necessary. The current Akira plans to stay out of trouble. The current Akira is too afraid of angering Sojiro by breathing too loudly in his general direction. The current Akira doesn’t know yet, he should hold everyone’s gaze with his head up high, setting a challenge with every look he casts over the fake glasses. He will learn to love the theatrics. He will learn to love being seen.

He will make all the worst possible choices, as his friends do nothing to save him.

For all these reasons and more, eventually, he will fall in love with Goro Akechi. Truly, the most unfortunate outcome. But it’s not like Goro should be held responsible for other people’s self-destructive tendencies.

More importantly, Goro realizes that Akira has no idea who he is.

It took Goro long enough to sober up and even longer to make himself presentable. He knows for a fact he’d never looked this good, so when Akira refuses to meet his eyes it feels like a travesty.

“Uh,” Akira clears his throat. “You should probably take a seat. Unless you want to continue staring at me, and you’re welcome to do as you please. But in that case, I might charge you extra. Or force you to order something.”

The moment his eyes take Goro in it’s as if someone flipped the switch. His shoulders relax, leaning over the counter, his body language reaching out toward Goro like a grapevine.

Goro takes a seat. “I would pay you extra. Assuming you keep me entertained.”

“I’ll do my best then,” Akira’s tone finally starts leaning towards flirtatious. “I’m short on cash at the moment.”

“You’re new to Tokyo,” Goro says like it’s only a guess. “That shows.”

“And you’ve been terribly unlucky,” Akira says because he’s probably Satan, and therefore able to read Goro’s mind at any given moment. “You poor thing. But at least now you’ve found me.”

“That counts as being unlucky,” Goro argues. “This place is hardly the most frequented café in Tokyo for a good reason. The service here is actually quite atrocious.”

“I’ve been neglectful,” Akira admits with a sly smile. “But you did come here a few minutes before closing. What can I get you?”

“There’s nothing you can get me that I could possibly want,” Goro says just to wipe the smirk off Akira’s face. “I only came inside because it started raining.”

“I think some of your wishes are more complicated than others,” Akira states matter-of-factly. “But right now you just want a drink. Or rather, you just want to stop drinking alone.”

“You’re a barista,” Goro reminds him. “Not a bartender.”

“As of now, I’m neither,” Akira says looking at the clock. “I’m not supposed to let people linger after closing.”

Goro’s lips twist in a mocking smile. “Do you care?”

Akira hesitates for a moment, but it’s still there in the way his hand moves to fiddle with his glasses. Goro lets out a dry laugh, “Your boss won’t come back.”

“You make it sound like we’re up to no good,” Akira accuses. “We’re just having a casual conversation, are we not?”

His voice sounds hopeful like he wants Goro to deny it. Akira used to thrive in the up-to-no-good spectrum of life. Goro never thought it would be his turn instead to engage in mischief.

“Casual conversations,” Goro says. “Lead to the most dangerous outcomes. Sometimes a single handshake is all you need to set the whole world on fire.”

“Then maybe we should stop,” Akira says. He’s been biting his lip for a while now. It’s bleeding. Goro wants to deepen the cut with his own teeth. “It’s getting late.”

He’s not even flirting, he’s genuinely worried, Goro deduces with some amusement. He never knew that before they met Akira was such a tame creature. He probably hasn’t awakened his Persona yet. It’s only a matter of time then.

“A word of advice,” Goro snorts. “People are too preoccupied with their shit to look your way twice. You’re not as important as you think you are. You don’t leave an impression. The only person who cares about the way they see you is you alone, so you might as well stop trying to please them.”

Akira doesn’t know him yet, so he can’t call Goro out on bullshit. Then again, unlike Goro, he didn’t die and then got reincarnated only to eat some dirt and sand. Goro deserves that share of wisdom that comes from reliving the same miserable existence.

Akira seems to be measuring his words, not sure what to make of it.

“I lied to you by the way,” he says suddenly. “I’ve only ever made instant coffee. The boss doesn’t let me touch anything around here. I’m just here to wash the dishes and keep an eye out on the place when he’s not around. I can’t serve you anything, so if that’s what you came for, there is no reason for you to linger.”

Goro of course knows all of that, and he’s almost disappointed with Akira for not keeping up with the charade. Is he not interesting enough? Does Akira want to get rid of him so quickly?

“We’re all liars,” he says to keep the conversation going. “We all lie until we suffocate with the truth.”

“Are you saying you’re already having trouble breathing?”

“Are you?”

“Tokyo is stuffy,” Akira says like it explains it all.

“That’s why it’s the city of liars.”

Akira smiles like he enjoys every word of it. “Then I should fit right in. I’m a delinquent actually.”

“You don’t say,” Goro chuckles. “And what fiendish acts are you up to these days?”

“I have booze in my room,” Akira grins mischievously like it’s the greatest crime of them all. The Akira he knows shot a god but the absolute criminal in front of him keeps a few cans of beer under the mattress—how very scandalous. “It’s a little warm and gross. But from my experience, the drunker you get, the less it matters.”

Eventually, they do get the booze and the conversation runs smoothly after that. They end up in the booth, with Akira leaning comfortably against Goro’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for ages. Goro can’t bring himself to push him away. Akira tells him about his past—he talks about his feelings more than the Akira he knew ever did, but maybe it’s just the alcohol talking.

“So that’s my story,” Akira says. “Care to tell me yours?”

“There’s no story to tell,” Goro’s finger traces around the rim of the glass. The alcohol is warm and cheap just like Akira warned him but it does the job.

“City of liars, huh?” Akira’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. The Akira he knew never smiled like that around Goro. “What’s her name?”

“His name,” Goro corrects him automatically. “It doesn’t matter. We…broke up. He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

He really doesn’t remember, Goro realizes not for the first time. The pity in his eyes could never be faked. Akira he knew would never pity Goro.

“His loss,” Goro says. “You know, I spent months trying to teach my boyfriend to be decent at sex and now I have to start over. Seems largely unfair, wouldn’t you agree?”

And he was really getting good at it too.

He doesn’t even notice how easily the word boyfriend slipped out of his mouth.

“Start over?” Akira cocks his head to the side. “You mean with someone else?”

“Something like that,” Goro mutters into his glass.

“And you’re confident you were all that great?” Akira smiles gently. “These things tend to work both ways.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing at all,” Akira shrugs. “You just don’t seem like the type to enjoy sex with other people.”

Goro almost chokes on the alcohol. “Excuse me?”

Akira leans over the counter, grinning. “When was the last time you got off?”

This morning. Thinking about killing you.

He hasn’t said the words out loud. He knows he didn’t. And yet, Akira still smiles, his eyes predatory for the first time that night. “Thought so. Maybe you should stick to getting off, rather than getting involved with people if you’re not willing to do the work.”

“Pretty bold thing to say coming from a high schooler.”

“Well, neither of us is a typical high schooler, or am I wrong?” Akira shrugs. “I’m good at reading people, trust me.”

“Are you now?” Goro chuckles. If he really was, he would chase Goro out of the café the moment he stepped through the doorway. “And what is your impression of me so far?”

Akira’s response is immediate, like he’s had the line prepared for him from the moment Goro showed up in Leblanc. “You seem pretty anhedonic.”

“Anhedonic,” Goro repeats mockingly. “You’ve known me for an hour. What makes you think I’m anhedonic?”

“We’ve been talking for two hours,” Akira dangles his phone in front of Goro to show him the time. “And you’ve yet to have sex with me.”

Goro doesn’t know what to say to that which seems to be the exact outcome Akira was anticipating because he gives him a bright smile.

“How drunk are you?” Akira asks.

“Not very.”

Akira searches his face like he expects to find something more than Goro’s words can offer. “Okay. Then I won’t feel bad doing this.”

They kiss like it’s all part of Akira’s script as well. It’s a very bad idea, so of course, Goro goes along with it. He wasted his previous life making all the choices that felt right at the time, and he’s done pissing away his best years. As for Akira, maybe he’s just drunker than he cares to admit. Or maybe they’re both playing a game of who can seduce the other faster. Goro never wanted anything more than to break Akira’s heart. It’s only fair when he stole his.

It doesn’t feel like any kiss they’ve shared before. With his eyes closed, he might as well be kissing a completely different person. Akira’s hungry for it, and he’s clearly experienced—one of his hand’s already undoing Goro’s belt, while the other slips under his shirt to brush against his nipple.

At the time, their first kiss was clumsy, and it was the first time for both of them. They shared all their firsts whether they liked admitting it or not. Naturally, Goro’s body doesn’t share those experiences, but he can’t exactly call himself a virgin.

Still, Akira shouldn’t have this much experience.

He must feel him tense up because Akira pulls away with a worried look. “Have you done this before?”

“Yeah,” Goro says a little breathless. “You?”

Akira looks hesitant for a moment. “Yeah. I think so.”

“You think so?”

Akira just laughs. “Come on. Let’s take this upstairs.”

Akira’s careful as he undresses him, admiring every inch of Goro’s body as he goes. His eyes are hungry like he’s trying to commit every inch of Goro’s skin to his memory. Goro isn’t as careful with Akira but he’s relieved to find his body hasn’t changed. He still feels the same as they slot against each other, the familiar smell of cinnamon and curry filling his nostrils. Goro kisses the mole, the one near Akira’s collarbone, like he’s welcoming it back. That one was always his favorite, and he can use that moment to rest his head over Akira’s chest to feel his heartbeat. He’s not sure if he’s happy to hear it again, but when Akira’s hand rests on Goro’s chest, he realizes just how much he missed being alive and beating against someone else’s body.

Akira lifts him by the chin to kiss him again and Goro says something that may be Akira’s name. He doesn’t ask why Akira looks heartbroken because he doesn’t look like he wants him to know.

“I want to blow you,” Akira whispers. “Is that okay?”

When Goro nods, Akira wastes no time placing himself between Goro’s spread legs. He kisses the inside of Goro’s thigh, leaving a hickey so gently like he wants to make sure Goro never has to suffer from any pain.

Carefully, he teases the tip of Goro’s cock. He’s not fully hard yet but it doesn’t take long for Akira to stroke him into full hardness. It’s only when Goro lets out a satisfied sigh that he fully takes him in and swallows.

So it turns out the Akira of this reality is actually good at sex.

Every lick of his tongue is deliberate, like he came into the bed with a carefully drawn map for every spot that drives Goro absolutely insane. He laps against the slit, making sure there’s more than enough spit covering Goro’s cock. Goro’s legs wrap around him while Akira’s hands reach out to hold his waist in a calming gesture. Akira bobs his head to take Goro deeper in, and he moans like he wants Goro to know just how much he enjoys doing it.

The whole time Goro’s been stifling his moans but even if it bothers him, Akira doesn’t urge him to be louder—it’s like he doesn’t need the encouragement to know he’s good at it. He dips his fingers into the plump flesh of Goro’s ass, urging him forward. When Goro instinctively halts his hips to a stop, Akira pulls off his cock with a wet sound that makes something ugly stir in Goro’s stomach. “It’s okay. You can fuck my throat. I promise I’ll like it.”

A stubborn part of him doesn’t want to do it just because Akira likes it.

Unfortunately, the overwhelming part of him is still a teenage boy on the other end of what must be the best blowjob he’s ever had, and his hormones win the battle easily enough.

Akira bobs his head, Goro’s cock nudging at the back of his throat. When that happens, he simply swallows again, and even if he chokes, the sight of his tear-filled eyes is the most beautiful thing Goro’s ever seen. His hips move on their own accord. Akira’s nails dig into his flesh like he wants to forget Goro’s not that fragile.

“Stop,” Goro says suddenly.

His cock slips out of Akira’s mouth with a soft pop. He grabs Akira’s hair and yanks him back up, moaning at the taste of himself in Akira’s mouth. He makes sure to be loud this time, because Akira deserves this much praise. It took him all the perseverance not to come down Akira’s throat.

This is also the first time this body is having sex.

It’s a bizarre feeling.

“Do you have a preference?” Akira asks suddenly.

He doesn’t but he wants to see how well Akira will do.

“Just fuck me,” Goro says. “I’m probably more experienced so it’s easier that way.”

Akira hesitates like he wants to disagree. But then he just nods. “Okay. Fuck, okay. Hold on, let me get the lube and condoms.”

“You’ve certainly come prepared,” Goro snorts, hoping he makes up for the nervousness with bravado. “Did you hope to score in Tokyo?”

“I just had a feeling,” Akira says elusively, squirting some lube on his fingers as he brushes against Goro’s hole. “But it seems like I wasn’t the only one.”

Akira Kurusu’s smile is the most dangerous sight the world has to offer. He’s not gentle as he shoves to fingers into Goro’s ass, clearly enjoying Goro’s gasp for air, but if anything Goro’s more surprised than he is in pain.

“Did you stretch before coming here?” Akira asks like he doesn’t already know. “You are quite presumptuous.”

“Why would I stretch before coming here specifically?” Goro grits his teeth as Akira’s fingers change their course, curling against his prostate with practiced ease. He can’t be a virgin. Goro wants to kill him just for that.

“I guess you wouldn’t know this would happen,” Akira says more to himself than to Goro. “Still, it makes me sad. I would have enjoyed taking my time with you.”

“I don’t want you to take your time,” Goro groans. “I just want—”

To get it over with. To get over you.

“I want you to make me feel good,” he avoids Akira’s gaze as he says that. “Do better than he did.”

“Is that so?” Akira teases. “And so far, am I doing better than your ex?”

He adds another finger just to prove his point. Goro needs a second after that just to gather his thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Akira smiles, like he’s genuinely happy to hear it. Or more like he’s genuinely happy to see Goro enjoying himself. His eyes crinkle and it makes something stir in Goro’s heart even if Akira has no business being so smug about it. It should be familiar but it’s not. “I want to be the best you’ve had.”

Akira seems to enjoy pretty much everything. He can see it from the way he takes his time stretching Goro’s ass, even though he doesn’t need to. He enters Goro like he’s something precious that can be broken with a mere touch.

Whatever nervousness he’s felt, it’s replaced by the simple familiarity of just being.

The clock might skip forward, it might be rewound—their bodies fit like they were meant to be. Akira’s mind might be a mystery, but his flesh doesn’t lie. It comes as a relief—even if both of their memories were wiped, they would still end up here at whatever point in time. Goro could kill him, but he would never stop craving him. How can he not melt into him, when their souls were already intertwined?

He may not love Akira but they would always belong together—in love, in hate, in whatever scenario that brings them back together.

Goro expected an evil mastermind, a plan, but what if he really was given a second chance?

He’s really here. Akira’s kissing him, he’s alive, they both are, and for once, it seems like the best possible outcome. He doesn’t have to wait until June. He can forget Shido, forget the damn Phantom Thieves, and take Akira somewhere far away and fuck him every day for the rest of their lives. This new reality doesn’t come with consequences. They can just be.

But deep down, he knows he’s going to have to destroy it.

He looks away unconsciously and of course, Akira’s quick on the uptake. “Did I hurt you?” He asks in a worried tone. “If you want me to pull out, I’ll—”

“No,” Goro says, meeting his eyes with more confidence than he actually has. “You can’t hurt me.”

He couldn’t, not ever. Goro does a fine job of doing that himself.

That’s when it finally dawns on him.

He’s having sex with a stranger. The Akira he knows might as well be dead. This person might grow up to be someone else entirely. He already feels different. Farther away, more mature, more dangerous than anything Goro’s ever faced.

Goro’s dick softens a little, but the way Akira pushes against his prostate is more than pleasant. “Just keep going,” he tells Akira when he senses him tense above him. “You can jerk me off after.”

It’s almost soothing, the way their hips rock, the way Akira’s arms are wrapped around him protectively. Goro taps Akira’s shoulder, urging him to lie down on his back. He quickly mounts the dick that slipped from inside him, feeling more at ease as he looks down on the helpless body beneath him, and sees his victim so pliant and full of trust he can’t help but smile. Back then, Akira would never look at him like this. He knew better than to let Goro have complete control.

Goro always liked riding Akira, quick and to the point, nothing but a means to a rather pleasant end. For whatever reason, this time he takes his time. Each movement of his hips is careful and deliberate, like he’s trying to show Akira he’s not the only one with a map of his body.

Back then, Akira would always keep his hands on him like he wanted to contain him, like he wanted to keep himself safe. Goro could strangle him. He fantasized about doing so more than once. And every time, Akira’s gentle hands would stop him, like he knew what was going through Goro’s head.

But right now—reborn and so very bare, Goro Akechi feels completely unstoppable.

He wraps his hands around Akira’s neck experimentally and squeezes. Akira’s big innocent eyes blink at him sheepishly, and the look he gets, so full of love, makes Goro’s hips halt as his hands slide down from Akira’s neck to find an anchor on his chest instead.

“Don’t stop,” Akira says. “You’re amazing.”

Goro feels sick. His hands slip from Akira’s neck to grip his shoulders instead to make himself steady.

“Did you do this to me?” Goro wants to ask. “Did you revive me, reshaped me into someone you could easily love? Am I perfect enough for you now?”

“Hey,” Akira’s voice is demanding, yet calming. Truly a leader even when they’re alone together. “Come back to me. We need each other for this.”

His fingers are warm where they wrap around Goro’s hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the inside of his wrist. His touch is so gentle, and it still feels like Akira left a searing mark on his skin. For the first time in a long time, Goro feels trapped as if Akira’s about to put him in chains and throw away the key.

Akira flips them over, placing Goro’s wrist above his head, squeezing once before letting go. “You looked tired. Do you mind if I take over?”

“Go ahead,” Goro says hoarsely, and this time he can’t blame the crack in his voice on the sand. He’s vaguely aware he’s been moaning Akira’s name like a little fool, but Akira remains strangely quiet.

It’s not because he’s not enjoying themselves, Goro realizes. His eyes are focused, looking for all the signs of Goro’s body, remapping and recalibrating with every move. It feels like it doesn’t matter that they’re here together. At that moment, the only thing that seems to matter to Akira is that Goro is there, in his bed, gasping and moaning. To Akira, his own pleasure is almost an afterthought. It’s Goro’s pleasure that only ever mattered.

Deep down, he knows Goro Akechi is not anhedonic.

All his desires are trapped right here, in Akira’s warm embrace.

“You’re so good for me,” Akira babbles into his neck. “Always, always, so good for me.”

Goro doesn’t have the heart to tell him they don’t have an always. They probably never will.

*

For once Goro is the one to sneak out of bed like a thief.

In this reality, Akira Kurusu gets to sleep soundly. His chest rises and falls in even intervals, his face completely unperturbed by future worries. He smiles gently, a pleasant dream undoubtedly unrelated to Goro. They’ve only known each other for a few hours at best. Goro hates him for that and more.

His bare feet barely make a sound on the wooden floor. He knows the attic better than Akira does at this point. He knows how to be careful not to make the floorboards creak, having so many times observed Akira’s attempts not to wake him through half-closed eyelids. Akira would then bring him freshly brewed coffee. Goro would pretend to wake up. Akira would smile because he knew Goro had been watching him the whole time. Goro’s heart sang in acknowledgment.

If Akira woke up just now, Goro would simply smile apologetically and say, “Sorry about last night. I thought you were my ex.”

Akira’s face would twist in poorly hidden pain. “That’s alright,” he’d say. “We can talk about it over a cup of coffee.”

The Akira of this reality wouldn’t know Goro hates sugar in his coffee. He would go light on the beans, as if not to offend, rather than prepare Goro’s favorite cup capable of destroying the taste buds of anyone not used to the bitterness.

Goro would thank him for the coffee. He’d apologize again for last night. He’d never mention his ex is currently staring awkwardly across from him with no recollection of their relationship. With a polite nod, Goro would stand up and leave.

With one last look at Akira’s sleeping face, Goro decides to skip the coffee and leave as soon as possible.

He doesn’t think about how it’s the first good night of sleep he’s had since coming back to life.

He’s already passing the grocery store when Akira’s voice stops him.

“Wait!”

He didn’t put his shoes on, and he’s wearing a wrinkled oversized t-shirt Goro doesn’t recognize. He hopes he at least put on some underwear. The people on the street are staring at them, some less openly than others. It has to be more than clear what they were up to last night. Akira’s hickeys have to be visible pretty much from the orbit. Goro must look pretty much the same if not worse. The ghost of Akira’s breath feels even more suffocating in the daylight.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Goro says, even if he’s not. He wants to get out of here as soon as possible, already devoted to the idea of spending his life without Akira at his side. “I suppose I—“

Akira shakes his head, smiling like he already knows what Goro is going to say. “Don’t sweat it. I think I wanted to imagine you were someone else too.”

It’s all in the way he says it—like he wants to understand Goro. Like he wants to be understood in return. Even if he barely knows him, Akira seems ready to accept Goro’s everything.

He never knew Akira could be so kind to him.

Maybe it’s because back then they skipped past the friendship, and became lovers first. They couldn’t trust each other, not really. The Akira of his reality would never drop his guard around Goro. Even when they were together, he would keep Goro at arm’s length. They were reluctant allies, but never teammates. Lovers, but never friends.

There was no doubt in Goro’s mind Akira would never sacrifice anything for Goro. Goro wouldn’t respect him if he had.

But it still stung. That Akira would always choose his friends over Goro, that he was less than an equal to them. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? They were his precious friends. Ultimately, Goro has only ever been a tool to be used by those he let get too close. He craved Shido’s attention, but even now he can’t exactly tell what exactly he wanted from Akira.

Everything, a cold voice in his head supplies. You’ve only ever wanted everything.

And Akira could only want something. It feels unfair when Akira had no one to compete against for his place in Goro’s life. He was the only one, so even if it wasn’t love, he was Goro’s everything.

But now the brand new Akira has nothing. Goro can shape him into anything.

They could shape each other into something.

The concept seems both terrifying and oddly tempting.

“There’s a reason I ran after you,” Akira’s voice pulls Goro out of his thoughts. “I think the rule behind one-night stands is that you never talk about them ever again, but it still feels bad to do this with you not knowing my name.”

It’s a lame excuse, and he can tell Akira knows from the slight flush of his cheeks.

Goro opens his mouth to say he doesn’t need Akira’s name because he already knows so many things about him. Goro closes his mouth because he can’t say it. Instead, he clears his throat and opts for the safer variant, “Isn’t that the point? That we don’t know each other’s names?”

“Still,” Akira grins. “Even if you’re getting over someone, it’s rude to call me by their name. One-night-stand or not, you should keep your mouth in check. Well, when it matters at least.”

His tone is playful but even Goro understands it’s not a joke.

What?

Goro doesn’t know what kind of expression he makes, but it must be enough to make Akira worry because he takes a step closer as if he wants to hold him. He doesn’t.

“You kept calling me Akira,” he explains. “And I just let you, since I assumed it’s your ex’s name…But my name is Ren. Here.”

He takes Goro’s hand into his to write the name on his palm, with the gentleness of someone unaware he just destroyed everything Goro thought was true.

“Lotus,” Goro realizes. “That’s very…nice.”

Akira, no, Ren gives him a warm smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

And Goro understands, he really is glad.

“You don’t need to feel bad about it,” Ren continues. “I should apologize as well. I wasn’t acting like myself last night. Believe it or not but I’m not usually so open around strangers, and I don’t do one-night-stands. Maybe for a moment, I did become your Akira?”

He laughs nervously, because he’s shy and cares about Goro’s opinion of him. He wants to see Goro again.

Goro doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Don’t be stupid,” Goro says. “There’s no reason for you to become him or anyone else for that matter.”

He wants it to sound mean. Somehow it doesn’t.

Before Goro can react, Ren leaves a sweet kiss on Goro’s mouth, and Goro realizes he almost forgot he could kiss someone without feeling their blood on his tongue mixed with his own. He lets the kiss linger. At that point, he hopes that other people are watching.

“Someday,” Ren says, fixing Goro’s jacket for him. Goro didn’t even realize he missed a button but he was in a hurry to get out. Akira’s hand would linger on his chest. Ren’s doesn’t. “If you decide to call my name instead of his, you know where to find me.”

He turns around like he doesn’t particularly care for Goro’s reaction.

“Tell me your surname?” Goro grabs him by the wrist to stop him. “So I don’t have to ask after you by your first name.”

Ren shoots him a surprised look over his shoulder as if the very thought Goro might call him by his surname, was downright shocking.

“Amamiya,” he reaches out for Goro’s hand to write the kanji, one, then the other. His touch always lingers, leaving warm tingling on Goro’s palm. “Do you like it?”

Goro doesn’t know why it matters to Ren whether or not he should like his name. And yet still, he allows himself to be pulled into this foreign game, “When I think about you, rain always comes to mind.”

His first kiss with Akira.

Clinging onto each other’s heat when they were both shivering, telling themselves it was all from the cold.

The stubborn creaking of Akira’s floor as the rain pours down outside.

Akira’s laugh, cutting through the storm.

Then the rain from last night put him in this situation in the first place.

Ren’s eyes grow impossibly wide at that. He doesn’t expect himself to be thought about, they’ve only met last night. Something flickers in his eyes, but he doesn’t remember. That much Goro is sure of. The person in front of him is not the same boy he knew. It’s just a poor imitation wearing Akira’s face. Whatever reality he’s been put into, his Akira didn’t come with him.

Even knowing all that, something else strikes him as strange.

“I’ve never introduced myself…properly,” Goro realizes. “And you’re not asking for my name.”

Ren cocks his head to the side. He has that look on his face again, like he can break Goro with a few words, but decides not to do it out of kindness. “Didn’t I just say?” His voice is gentle like he’s talking to a child. “You know where to find me. So I believe that once you’re ready, you’re simply going to let yourself be found. And then I’ll have your name. Maybe I’ll have all of you if you let me.”

The way he switches skins—both shy and deadly dangerous. Well-mannered, but capable of ripping Goro’s beating heart straight out of his chest.

It’s a lot like his own experience.

“Amamiya,” the surname already feels oddly familiar on his tongue. “Do you always talk like that to people you just met?”

“No,” Ren smiles. “Only those that make me feel like I’ve known them for years.”