Work Text:
The sound of the bustling Shibuya streets was quickly overtaken by the rain, water crashing down like thunderous applause with every step Sumire took. She quickened her pace, eager to reach her destination before she was soaked completely. Thankfully, the pitter-patter of the rainstorm dimmed as she took shelter in the subway station. It wasn’t long until the Phantom Thieves’ next meeting at LeBlanc, but Sumire couldn’t stop herself from visiting before then. There was something about that little cafe, nestled in the midst of lively Yongen-Jaya, that felt like home.
Home.
It was awkward living now as “Sumire” instead of “Kasumi.” Even stepping foot in her own home felt like an invasion of Kasumi’s privacy. Not that she hadn’t already invaded Kasumi’s privacy with cognitively-induced therapeutic identity theft, though.
Sumire shook the remaining raindrops off her raincoat, cleaned the fog off her glasses, and smoothed out her hair. Humidity always made it curl up at the ends, no matter how much she straightened it. I wonder how Amamiya-senpai takes care of his curly hair, Sumire thought to herself. On second thought, she realized, he probably never does anything to his hair. The very image of her senpai trying to keep his curls flawless with hair gel made her laugh.
“Yoshizawa-san.”
“Huh?!” Sumire whirled around, her hair whipping the face of the mystery person greeting her. Standing before her, just tall enough to block out the gleaming station lights behind him, was Goro Akechi. He stared at her, eyebrows raised, his shock at her bizarre reaction just poorly guised.
“Uhm… hello, Akechi-san!” Sumire bowed, pretending that he did not just get a faceful of damp hair. She looked like a mess all the while, but she hoped that her sudden politeness would distract him enough that he would pay her sloppy appearance no mind.
Akechi played along. Not out of kindness, but out of the pure (and very much correct) belief that if he didn’t, Sumire would probably go home, bash her head into the wall out of embarrassment, and then avoid him for the next three days. It was a hassle, and he certainly didn’t want to add her to the list of Thieves that wanted him dead for one reason or another. “Right, hello. I saw you from across the station and wondered if you were on your way to LeBlanc.”
“Oh, yes, how did you know?” Sumire asked, smoothing out her hair a second time.“I stopped by the record store just after school, so I’m heading to LeBlanc right now.” She straightened her glasses and got a better look at Akechi. He had no bag with him, nor was he equipped with the suitcase she’d seen him with last time in Kichijoji. “Akechi-san, did you not go to school?”
“I’m on break,” he said. “I’ve been exempt from school because of my detective work. There’s not much to do in this reality anyways, so I’ve just been studying at home. More convenient, anyways” he said, almost bored.
It seemed like Akechi lived up to his reputation as a high school genius.
“Then… if you aren’t busy after this, would you like to come to LeBlanc with me?”
Akechi did not hide the surprise on his face this time. “I didn’t expect an invitation from you, Yoshizawa-san. I was planning on heading there regardless. I suppose there is no harm in us going together.” He nodded ahead, and the two of them began walking together.
Akechi was unreadable as always, and the others were awfully quiet about him. She didn’t know what sort of history they’d had together, but she knew it predated her career as a Phantom Thief. In a way, they were both outsiders, Akechi and her. One was kept at a polite distance, the other politely included. Neither of them was privy to the information that the other was.
Sumire looked at him curiously. It’s true that Akechi was… different from the princely character she’d always seen him as. He was still respectful (albeit blunt and much less patient), and treated her with some sort of camaraderie that she had not seen him extend to the other Thieves (Ren aside, of course). Perhaps it had to do with their past meetings at the television station—though they hadn’t done anything but exchange pleasantries in the past. Nevertheless, there was something that set her apart from the other Thieves— enough for Akechi to not ignore her like he did the others.
Sumire did not pry, however, because Akechi did not pry about her either. There was an unspoken companionship between the two of them, one held together by the adhesive called Ren Amamiya, and neither of them wanted to cross a line that would insult the other.
She looked around the platform. The station was crowded. A sea of brown and black coats washed across the platform every few minutes. Occasionally, she’d catch a glimpse of the red plaid of a Shujin skirt, or a flash of blue from a worker’s tie. They all had the same blissful happiness etched into their faces. The thin lines of their lips were stretched into crescents, reaching upwards unnaturally. It was painful to look at, knowing she was in that same situation just recently.
Akechi clicked his tongue at the sight. Sumire used this chance to strike up conversation.
“Um… Akechi-san…” Sumire began. She fiddled with the hem of her coat, her eyes downcast. Uncertainty flooded her voice. “Do you believe that Dr. Maruki is truly a bad person?”
Akechi kept his gaze trained on the crowd, his expression cold and hard as always. It’s not easy getting used to this “true” Akechi-san. A few seconds passed, the silence between them painfully heavy.
Sumire felt her face redden from embarrassment. Did he think her question was so stupid that it wasn’t even worth answering? She gulped back the ache in her throat and continued.
“I-I mean, it’s unfair of him to force his reality on others without their consent, but I don’t think he’s a bad person. I was the one who asked him to let me live as Kasumi, so…” the words “he was just doing his job” trailed off into oblivion. It was hard making small talk with Akechi. Akechi stood upright, his posture so straight it made him seem taller than he already was. Sumire, on the other hand, was so painfully conscious of her small stature, accentuated by her hunched shoulders. She felt like a pathetic little speck of dust next to Akechi, and his absolute disinterest in everything made every moment with him suffocating. How did I even talk to him before?
“It’s not as simple as good and bad, Yoshizawa-san.”
“Uh, right. Of course.” Sumire said, baffled by the sudden response. “My apologies.”
Akechi turned to look at her, his gaze narrowed. “Listen, Yoshizawa-san. Don’t start agreeing with things you don’t understand.” Akechi kept his eyes trained on her, his expression so void of warmth that Sumire thought she would pass out from hypothermia. “What I mean is…”
Sumire did not hear a single thing the man said to her after that. She kept her mind working, trying to remember how she’d talked to Akechi before. They’d exchanged pleasantries at the TV station in the past, but that was out of politeness and nothing more. And there was that time at the cafe… but she’d only talked to him with Ren. And as Kasumi, too…
She felt a cold dread wash over her, the kind of uneasy disgust that accompanied every thought of how she’d lived the last year disgracing her sister’s memory. Sumire felt her stomach drop at the mere thought of it. She didn’t even have it in her to talk to her ally as herself.
Akechi cleared his throat, drawing Sumire away from her wandering thoughts and back to reality. “I’ll repeat what I said, Yoshizawa-san, so I hope you’ll listen this time.”
Ouch, Sumire thought to herself. He’s scary. She nodded frantically anyways.
“You cannot categorize a person so easily. Morality is subjective, and what is right to you may not be right to me. Like impersonating your dead sister, for example.”
Sumire bowed her head even lower, fighting back hot tears. Akechi pretended not to notice.
“Nevermind that, it was just an example. I of all people would prefer not to preach about righteousness. What I mean to say is this: Maruki’s reality is not helping anyone at all— especially not you. Letting you live as another isn’t a coping mechanism like he so desperately wants it to be. It’s cowardice, Yoshizawa-san, and he thinks of you a coward.”
“Coward…” Sumire whispered to herself. She’d known it all along, but to hear Akechi say it aloud was… scarring, to say the least. She didn’t want to be so pathetic, but it was all that she’d ever be.
“I’m not saying you’re a coward,” Akechi clarified, sparing her a glance. “I’m saying he’s treating you like you are. Maruki doesn’t think you can change; he doesn’t want you to change at all. To accept his “salvation” (he spat this word, Sumire noticed, with an air of contempt and immense dislike) means to choose the easy way out, to devoid yourself of responsibility. To those of us who wield the power of Personas, we still have a choice. To the masses who remain ignorant of the Metaverse and its workings, this imagined fiction is forced upon them. Maruki does not think anyone to be capable of overcoming suffering. He wants to infantilize them by creating a world in which misfortune doesn’t exist at all.
“So what I’m trying to say, Yoshizawa-san, is that you are capable of change. A Persona is born from the will of rebellion within its user, and that will is proof in and of itself that you are not a coward. So choose the reality you truly want, and stop trying to pity the man taking it away from you.”
The train arrived at the platform. A flood of office workers stepped off and dispersed, their typical weariness replaced by uncharacteristic positivity. Sumire saw Akechi’s eye twitch at the sight of it. She followed him silently onto the train and stood beside him, staring straight out the window just as he did. His cold demeanour seemed to have softened a bit, but his eyes were as wary as ever. The slightest reminder that he was living in Maruki’s reality must have disgusted him, yet he still answered her question instead of berating her for her stupidity.
“Um… Thank you, Akechi-san.” she said, less afraid than before.
“What for?”
“For the advice. It strengthened my resolve a bit… I think.” she added, uncertain.
Akechi scoffed. Sumire took it as a reluctant "you're welcome."
“I never realized you would be so insightful about things like this. As expected, you really are an ace detective. I guess titles like that are rightfully earned, huh.”
To this, Akechi did not respond. Sumire guessed that Akechi didn’t take compliments as well as he did on TV. Or that there was a reason he’d dropped his detective prince facade entirely. But the Phantom Thieves all had an unspoken agreement on Akechi’s odd personality— one she was not privy to, and one she was too afraid to ask about regardless.
They stood in silence, the tranquility so fragile that Sumire was afraid to puncture it.
She did so anyway.
“Um, pardon my curiosity, but is there a reason you’d want to stay in Maruki’s reality, Akechi-san? I know you’ve already made up your mind, but is there really nothing that’s holding you back like the rest of us?”
Akechi turned to face her. His gaze lingered on the frames of her glasses for a second too long. It seemed like he was looking at her, but Sumire could tell that his thoughts were preoccupied by something— no, someone else.
“There is nothing,” he said. “I want to leave this hellhole as soon as possible.”
“I see,” Sumire said. She could tell that he wasn’t being entirely honest with her, but she didn’t press further. Everyone had a few skeletons in their closet, after all. Yet, why did he look so unsure about his words?
They rode in silence the rest of the way.