Work Text:
Akira keeps his head down as he scrubs the curry pot from the day. His biceps burn as he scrapes at the fond seared to the bottom of the dutch oven. The struggle of styrofoam being wedged into a bag is the only thing that manages to capture his attention as he scours the cookware. Turning over his shoulder, Akira raises a brow at Sojiro.
“What are you doing?”
Sojiro huffs and ties the bag off, shoving it to the center of the counter. “We have a delivery order.”
“Delivery? We don’t have-”
Sojiro unceremoniously thrusts a scrap of paper into his hands and slaps Akira on the back. “Try to get it there by 7:30.”
Glancing at the clock, Akira groans, feeling the ache and exhaustion of the day crawl into his bones. “But we’re closed.”
“7:30, kid. He’ll be giving you cash. Don’t hand over the food without payment.”
With a disgruntled sigh, Akira grabs the bag and shoves his way out the front door, letting it slam roughly behind him as he treks toward the train station. He slots the bag onto his wrist and punches the address into his phone, praying for a quick trip.
The apartment Akira seeks is on the edge of Shibuya – not far enough from Leblanc to warrant delivery, in his opinion. Arriving at the rather small building, tucked within a narrow alley, Akira stops, frowning at the facade. Stains litter the walls of the building, decorating the surface with streaks of leaking water lines. They pair perfectly with the tendrils of vines that dig into the concrete, puncturing the exterior and weakening the structure. Some sections crumble, picked away by time and elements alike. It’s a miserable place, with surprisingly few apartments. Only four options lay before him, all in a single line across the front of the building. Three doors contain vacancy notices, promising a decent living space for only 45,000 yen a month.
Suddenly wary, Akira checks the number he seeks. It’s the only one occupied. He shakes off the unsettled feeling, relieved that Sojiro at least wasn’t pranked into delivering food to an empty apartment.
Taking a few steps forward, Akira knocks on the door.
Seconds tick by, marked by the decreasing sounds of pedestrians outside the alley. No answer.
He frowns and tries again, harsher this time, rapping on the door insistently. A few moments pass with nothing, and Akira decides it’s a bust. As he turns to leave, the door creaks open, the sound of a security chain rattling as it’s tugged taut.
“Yes?”
Akira wheels around, expecting a geriatric customer. To his surprise, a man in his late-twenties peers out at him, flawless skin shimmering in the moonlight, framed by impeccably smoothed tawny hair. Startlingly red eyes zero in on Akira, an odd intensity burning in them.
He seems familiar, and Akira realizes he sees the man twice a week at Leblanc for coffee. He takes his coffee black with a spoonful of sugar, always sipping it silently with his quiet gaze on Akira as he works. Suddenly nervous, Akira lifts the bag containing the curry. “Delivery.”
The young man’s perfect face cracks with a smile before the door shuts. It reopens a moment later, swung wide as he sifts through a pile of money. He plucks a 5000-yen note from the bunch and passes it to Akira as he snatches the bag from his grasp.
“Thank you for bringing this to me. It’s difficult to get out of my house for long enough to enjoy a meal.”
“O-of course.” Akira can’t imagine why, but as looks down at the money, he has more pressing questions. “This is more than double what the food costs. Are you sure you don’t have anything-”
The man shushes him. “Consider it a tip. Perhaps it will make me your favorite customer.”
He says it with such a coy smile, one that curls at the edges and makes Akira’s stomach flip. Akira wonders if his pretty face alone won’t make this man his favorite. He decides it’s worth playing along.
“Does my favorite customer have a name?”
The man’s smile sharpens, his expression darkening into something deeply satisfied. “You may call me Goro.” His gaze slinks down Akira’s frame before returning to his face. “I look forward to seeing you again, Akira.”
Akira nods and waves as the door shuts, heading back toward the station. Only when he’s halfway home does Akira realize he never offered his own name.
Three days later, five minutes to seven, the unmistakable squeak of styrofoam interrupts Akira’s dishwashing. Akira doubts the order Sojiro is packing belongs to anyone other than Goro, and he can’t help but think of their interaction the week prior. Particularly when he left. Heart hammering in his chest, Akira dares to ask the one question he’s been turning over in his head since the first delivery.
“Sojiro?”
Silence as the crinkle of a knot battles Sojiro’s aging fingers.
“Did you tell our customer who to expect?”
“What?”
“Did you tell him my name?”
Sojiro scoffs. “He doesn't need to know your name. He only needs to know that I’m sending a delivery boy.” He pushes the bag forward, pointing at Akira. “And that his order will arrive by 7:30. Hop to it.”
Wiping his hands dry, Akira hooks his apron by the sink and grabs the order. Despite himself, he knows exactly where to go. The image of the decrepit apartment building seared into his memory the moment he first visited. Its tenant’s visage burned even more deeply into his mind’s eye.
It might unsettle Akira how eager he is to do unnecessary work, but he knows what’s waiting for him on the other side of that door. Lately, Akira can’t rest without seeing an audacious smile and vigilant crimson eyes. More than a sliver of him yearns to see that face again – to hear the smooth voice say his name. It sends a shiver down Akira’s spine, pure eagerness rippling across his body.
This time, the door swings open immediately. Akira’s favorite customer leans against the door frame, looking just as eager as Akira. Goro smiles, eyes fixed on Akira’s face.
“I’m glad it’s you again. Sakura-san’s curry just wouldn’t be the same without your touch.”
Akira flushes. “He doesn’t often let me help cook. I’m the coffee boy.”
“You do an incredible job.”
The blush deepens. “Thank you.” He tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “I-I haven’t seen you at Leblanc lately.”
Goro’s eyes widen, delight evident in his gaze. “You remember me?”
“How could I not with a face like yours?” Akira’s cheeks flame, and he resists the urge to run from his own flirtation. “Sometimes I swear I see you in my dreams.”
At that, Goro smirks. “They say people dream of their soulmates.”
Akira laughs. “I hope not. I usually dream of my professors.”
Goro’s smile sours, turning down at the edges with blatant displeasure. Anxiety rises in Akira’s chest, and he scrambles to fix his blunder.
“But they only give me bad grades in my dreams!” He ducks his head. “That’s probably just stress.” Wincing, Akira steps back, feeling foolish. “I should probably go.” He holds out the bag, waiting for Goro to take it. “Please enjoy your dinner.”
A ghost of an expression passes over Goro’s face, something that looks like loss. Despite that, he nods and hands over another 5000-yen note as he takes the food. “Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.”
When Goro doesn’t return to Leblanc for coffee in days and no phoned in orders are made, Akira kicks himself for acting like a fool in front of him. He wishes he could fix his mistakes. Even more so, he wishes he could see Goro again, just to talk to him. The pull in his chest is achingly useless, haunting him during his waking hours as he daydreams about the person who’s strangely become more than a favorite customer.
Answering an unspoken prayer, Sojiro hands him a packaged curry order the next day.
As Akira approaches the apartment, he realizes the front window is open. Music flows from the home – a soft, lilting jazz. The song burrows into Akira’s chest, invoking an indescribable yearning. He feels nostalgic for something he’s never known. Standing by the door, his eyes shut as he sways to the music, oblivious to his task at hand – entirely ignorant of his surroundings.
“Akira…”
Heart fluttering, Akira sighs at the sound of his name, spoken so gently with unfamiliar reverence. The voice speaks again, enticing him.
“Are you going to stand out there forever or would you like to come in?”
Anticipation prickles across Akira’s chest, and he opens his eyes, unsurprised to see Goro watching him. There’s an amused smile on his face. A knowing one that suggests he’s more aware than he lets on. The door swings open. It’s a blatant invitation – a temptation, really. Akira bites his lip, looking into the apartment. It seems safe enough, though he can’t help but wonder if it would be reckless to take such an offer from someone he’s only met a handful of times and spoken to even less. Still… Akira can’t deny the desire buzzing in his fingertips. Nerves flutter in his stomach and a soft pleading in his heart encourages him to take the first step forward.
Goro’s smile spreads as Akira walks past the threshold. Behind him, the deadbolt clicks, snapping him out of his reverie. Suddenly, he’s unsure about crossing the boundary between customer and employee.
“I-uh.” He spins on his heel, shoving the curry into Goro’s hands. “I should go.” He looks toward the door, but Goro quickly steps in front of him.
“You just arrived. Can’t you stay a while?” His eyes soften with the question, almost pleading. As Goro’s hand finds his, Akira finds it difficult to say no, despite his reservations.
He laughs lightly. “I guess I am off shift…” Akira turns toward the apartment, slipping off his shoes as he takes in the bare bones furnishings.
Goro’s hand slinks around his waist and tightens. Contrary to the tension in his grip, Goro’s voice is velvety smooth and deeply alluring. “Make yourself at home.” Goro’s thumb brushes across the small of his back before gently pushing him forward, encouraging him to settle in.
Still a little nervous, Akira silently obeys as Goro takes the food to the kitchen. While Goro rummages through his cabinets, Akira wanders the apartment. Halfway to the singular, threadbare couch, a beam of light strikes his eye. Akira stops abruptly and looks toward where it came from, noticing a half-open bedroom door. He steps closer, seeing something shimmering inside, catching the light of the moon. All too curious, Akira pushes the door open further, glancing back at Goro to see if he notices. He’s thoroughly distracted, busy washing rice for the curry.
Akira takes the chance. He slips into the room, closing the door behind him and fumbling for a light switch. Flicking it on, Akira freezes. He suddenly forgets about the glimmer that attracted him, struck silent by the array of photos and newspaper clippings plastered to the wall. Stepping closer, Akira squints at the pictures, heart racing as he recognizes himself in every single one. Images of him with friends – Ryuji, Ann, Yusuke. Photos of him with Sojiro. Captures from what seem to be restaurant openings where he’s posed with several other chefs. Most of all, there are pictures of him and Goro, wrapped around each other, smiling, happy, and achingly intimate.
Akira’s fingers press against a clipped editorial. It’s a review of a restaurant owned by ‘Chef Kurusu’. Another contains the press release of an opening. More clippings detail specialty items and interviews. They strangely delight Akira, and he wonders where they came from – what it means for him.
That is, until he comes across a cluster of articles toward the corner of the room, plastered near a glimmering mirror – likely what drew Akira in. The image in it wavers before holding still for a moment, repeating its quivering like a pulse. Or a message. It captivates him for a moment before he remembers what’s on the wall, and curiosity gets the better of him.
His eyes scan the photos, and his stomach sinks as he reads, ‘Deadly fire kills beloved chef’. Each article in this area mourns the loss of Akira Kurusu, the backbone of the Yongen-Jaya community. Akira’s fingers go numb with fear. Ice coats his limbs, and he stops breathing when he hears a voice behind him.
“Looking for something?”
Goro leans against the door frame, expression placid. Yet, there’s an edge to it, cutting close to displeasure. It unnerves Akira a touch to see such a typically cordial face appear disappointed.
Akira offers him a tremulous smile and attempts to hide the fact that he was snooping around. He’s desperate to avoid discussing what he’s seen. “I-I saw something sparkling. I love shiny things.”
Goro’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice grows terse. “No, you don’t.”
Akira swallows, unnerved by the confidence of Goro’s assertion, more so troubled by the numerous photos of evidence that suggest he’s familiar enough with Akira to know the truth. “H-how would you know that?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what you’ve seen here, and I know you .” His voice softens. “Intimately. You’re Akira Kurusu. You’re mine .”
Goro rips down a photograph from a string of photos hanging on the wall, passing it to him. His hand curls around Akira’s waist again, drawing him close. Goro’s lips press against the shell of Akira’s ear, causing him to shudder. His heart pounds in his chest as he stares at the photo. It’s him and Goro, dressed in suits and clinging to each other in a loving embrace.
“This-this looks like a wedding.”
Goro hums happily. “It is. Our wedding. We were married for five beautiful years.”
Dread bubbles up in Akira’s chest as he stares at the picture. “Were?”
The grip on Akira’s waist becomes bruising. “You were taken from me.” His voice wavers, filled with fresh remorse. “Too soon. I tore through Metaverse information, hoping to find something to bring you back to me.” Goro strokes his fingers down Akira’s cheek. “And what do I find but another world with you in it. Alive and well.” He presses a heavy kiss against Akira’s hair, breathing in deeply as he does. “Nothing will separate us this time.” Goro glances toward the mirror, walking toward it and dragging Akira along with him. Akira stumbles, catching himself onto Goro for support even as he pushes away.
“Wh-where are you taking me?”
Akira shoves against Goro’s shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, Goro’s arm snakes around Akira’s torso, lifting him as they get closer to the mirror. He marches on, ignoring Akira’s kicking and flailing.
“Back to our world where we belong. Where we will live happily ever after.”
Clawing at Goro’s grasp, Akira’s panic spikes, mind-numbing as his first foot sinks into the icy surface of the mirror. “You can’t do this! I belong here. ”
Goro’s grip grows vise-like around Akira’s ribs as he struggles, making it hard for him to breathe.
“You belong with me. I vowed till death do us part, Akira, and here you are, alive. I won’t take no for an answer. Don’t make this more difficult.” Goro’s voice sharpens, knife-like as it stabs into Akira. “You can live happily beside me as my husband or under my foot as my dog, but one way or another, you’re staying with me.”
The chill of the mirror creeps up to Akira’s thigh, and he feels a weighted sensation on his calf, pulling him toward the other side. Goro pushes him forward, and the room disappears, morphing into the attic of Leblanc. However, this one is different – stacked with supplies and various storage containers whereas Akira’s Leblanc houses his bed and belongings. It’s dizzying to see something so clearly familiar but an echo of what it should be.
Foot landing crooked against the floorboards, Akira’s ankle rolls, and he staggers. To his surprise, he doesn’t hit the ground. Instead, he’s caught by Goro’s firm hand. Akira looks up at the man, confusion superseding the panic in his chest. He cannot rationalize what just happened, but he knows one thing: he cannot stay here. Wherever here is.
Goro reaches into his pocket, producing a polished black tungsten ring. “What do you say, my love?”
Akira’s heart hammers in his chest, as he glances back toward the mirror. Goro looks so expectant, so hopeful, but this isn’t his place. He isn’t the same Akira.
Lifting his hand for the ring, Akira holds his breath. The moment Goro lets go of him to slip it onto his finger, he runs for the mirror full tilt. His palm presses against the glass, bowing it slightly but it quickly grows firm under his touch, shattering as he leans into it. Akira gasps and falls into the pile of shards. He swipes at the mess, a cascade of glittering slivers falling from his fingers. Akira shakes as he tries to comprehend what just happened, frantic energy building inside him with nowhere to go. Snatching up a lengthy piece of the broken mirror, Akira grips it, waiting for Goro to approach.
Behind him, Goro sighs heavily. His footsteps slowly advance, and Akira jumps when Goro’s hand buries in his hair, holding on tightly. Pain lances across Akira’s scalp, and he whimpers. Desperate to free himself, Akira blindly stabs behind him, missing multiple times before Goro kicks his hand away. The shard falls to the floor and fractures into smaller pieces. Without a weapon, Akira attempts to shrink away, but Goro only jerks his head upright, holding him securely in place.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t choose this, but I won’t lose you again. You’ll make a fine pet, Akira.” Goro presses a kiss to his temple. “Welcome home.”