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Achoo!
Akechi shrugged on a sweater, still sniffling from the cold. Apartment heating was ever so unreliable, and even more so during winter. The strata of comforters on his bed brought little warmth to him. Maybe putting his bed next to the window wasn’t all that great of an idea. He liked looking down on Tokyo, though. But some petty sense of superiority wouldn’t get rid of the numbness in his hands and feet. He pulled apart his curtains and, with great effort, shut the windows, stiffened with frost and cold. The urban city nightscape hadn't changed since he’d gone to sleep. The vast sky remained unlit by stars, shadowing slivers of lights from apartment buildings across the city. Akechi pulled away from the view and shut the curtains again.
Maybe a snack would do him some good.
Disoriented and drowsy, he stumbled through the dark. His fingers skimmed the wall until they caught on the kitchen light switch. The kitchen was illuminated by an uncomfortably bright light, intensified further by the stark white countertops. “Ugh, shit,” he grumbled, blinded by the light. He slapped the switch off instantly. Akechi sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was tired. So, so tired. He wanted to pass right then and there, but he couldn’t. No one would come to save him if he did, and he didn’t fancy a concussion either. He planted his hands firmly on the counter and steadied himself. He stood there, eyes shut, waiting for the dizziness to subside.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Akechi opened his eyes and looked around. He began to wonder if he was hallucinating the sudden noise.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The ticking noise reverberated in his skull. He couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. Was it the clock in the living room? He didn’t remember changing the batteries. The clock had stopped working since September, when he was still working with Sae. When he killed Okumura. How was it still running? Maybe it was a side effect of Maruki’s perfect reality. So perfect that clocks don’t need batteries.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Akechi was not fond of the clock. It was a gift from someone he could not remember. It was a decorative piece, if nothing else. Something that made his empty apartment a little more homely. The incessant ticking only made it less homely, though.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The ticking was getting louder, louder, louder, as if it were mocking his efforts at stability. It echoed in his heart, his lungs, the essence of his soul. It felt like he was running out of time. Time, time, time. There wasn’t enough of it. Of time. Of air. Of warmth. Everything was cold. His vision blurred, his hand slipped.
Akechi collapsed.
* * *
“Goro, Goro, come here now,” a voice called sweetly.
He turned around and ran into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder. Warmth enveloped him. A soft hand brushed away his tears.
“Don’t cry now, Goro,” she whispered, patting his hair. “You’re a big boy now, aren’t you? Don’t mind the bullies at school. You’re going to be a hero, aren’t you?”
“But they say it’s my fault I don’t have a dad!” he wailed.
“Don’t listen to them, they don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m here, right? Your mama loves you very much, Goro. Always remember that.”
He sobbed, louder and louder. Everything was okay now, because his mother was here.
* * *
It would be some time until Akechi woke up. He ran his fingers through his hair, searching for any sign of injury. Seemed like he’d avoided a concussion for today. He gingerly picked himself off the floor, limbs aching from laying stiff on the tiles. How long had he been lying there? There was no one to pick him up off the floor and carry him to bed– maybe his mother would have done that, but not anymore. Maybe Sae would have given him a day off if he’d collapsed at work. Maybe the Thieves would have…
No, he thought. He didn’t entertain the thought further.
Slowly, he steadied himself against the counter once more. What time was it? He looked around the apartment. The lights were off. Dawn poured in from the window, weaving its way around the silhouettes of sleeping buildings. The apartment wasn’t entirely illuminated, though. He walked to the living room to find the clock. A teal-rimmed analog clock sat above the mantelpiece, gold numbers shining on its face. The ticking had stopped. Annoyed, Akechi tore it off the wall and threw it on the carpet. Sure enough, it had no batteries in it.
“What the hell?” he said aloud to no one in particular. Not only was the clock ugly and entirely unsuitable for his aesthetic, but it was also empty? What kind of cursed object was this? None of my business, he thought to himself. I needn’t concern myself with it any longer.
Akechi returned to his bedroom. He tossed aside layers upon layers of blankets and clothes until he found his phone. 6:46. Who would be up at this hour? Akechi was beyond exhausted, and every inch of his body begged for rest. It was too late to sleep, however, and the morning melancholy would get the better of him if he stayed alone any longer. He threw on his coat, tied his scarf, and locked the apartment door. His gloved hands fumbled with his phone for some time.
“Hello?” asked a groggy, slightly distorted voice on the other side of the line..
“It’s me. Can I come over?”
“...Akechi?” There was a pause. “Oh my god, Akechi. Calling me so early in the morning? How scandalous! Your fans would throw a fit!” Ren cackled.
“Ren,” he said, his tone hovering somewhere between somber and stern. Was the loneliness in his voice too obvious? The phone went silent. For a second, only the rustling of sheets could be heard.
“...Come on over, Akechi. I’ll unlock the door for you.” Ren said quietly. “I’ll be waiting.”
Akechi pocketed his phone and made his way towards LeBlanc. He boarded the train and sat down, allowing himself the briefest moment of rest. Just this once, he thought. Just for today. He took out his wired headphones and put them into his ears. A smooth instrumental rang out, overlaid by harmonious vocals. The singer’s hypnotic voice lulled him into a trance. He loved jazz. It was a pitiful attempt to cling to his mother’s memory, but it brought about a comfort he couldn’t find elsewhere. Exhaustion crept up on him, threatening to whisk him away into darkness again. He shook away his sleepiness in an attempt to stay alert. There was too much to think about, and sleeping would solve nothing.
People come and they go, some people might stay with you though…
He was feeling a bit hungry. Perhaps some curry would suffice for breakfast? Ren’s cooking was steadily improving.
I am all alone tonight… and I kept on asking myself questions…
He watched a mother and child board the train, walking in tandem. The woman held a cup of coffee in her hand, carefully shielding it away from the child excitedly tugging at her coat. Maybe his mother might have done the same at one point.
Conceited I was at the time, I never really doubted myself…
A thought popped into his head, almost suddenly. Would Futaba be at LeBlanc as well? He knew she’d frequented LeBlanc at odd hours, Phantom Thievery aside. He didn’t want to see her. Not today, at the very least. Not when he was dreaming about his mother. Not when he’d taken away hers.
But tonight got me thinking ‘bout it all…
He couldn’t remember whose idea the suicide note was. Such a demented idea could only be Shido’s, but there was no doubt that Akechi himself took part in writing it. How awful it must have been. Losing her mother and blaming herself for a death she had no part in. Surely Futaba would have known it wasn’t really her fault, but guilt isn't rational. Not hers, and not his. They both burdened themselves with guilt and grief, begging to be forgiven by the ghosts of their mothers– mothers that did not ask for forgiveness.
He got off the train and headed for Yongen-Jaya.
If I am the fool, or whatnot…
Could Akechi say he felt guilty about Wakaba Isshiki’s death? He killed her, yes, but he could not remember if he had truly wanted to. Maybe he sobbed alone at night and complied with Shido’s wishes the very next day. Maybe he’d taken the task upon himself with pride. Maybe he’d heard her cries, her pleas for mercy, and shut them out. Maybe he was a monster no better than his father: a certified mother-killer. What would his mother think if she was still alive?
I do not regret my choices, I’m rather proud…
He shook his head. Guilt, resentment, what-ifs… it was no use worrying about them. He was neither martyr nor saint. He won against Shido, albeit with some outside help. He lived a bad life, and chose all the wrong turns. But they were right at the time. Akechi had only lived for himself. He would live and die under his own control, free from the opinions of others. Perhaps his mother would hate him for what he’d done. Perhaps she’d blamed him for her miserable life. Yet, she had only showered him with kindness and love. If nothing else, he would live for himself– to protect the life she had protected herself. He thrived off of his desire for revenge; it permeated every inch of his body. It was a part of him. Wasn’t Loki proof of that? So why should he be ashamed of doing what he needed to survive?
Yes, I know I won’t change anything because I can only be me. So…
He pushed open the door to LeBlanc. A cup of coffee lay on the counter, as if it were waiting for him all this time. Ren stood in the kitchen, plating breakfast. He turned to the door and smiled.
“Welcome home, Akechi. You’re back awfully late.”
“Honey, I’m home,” he replied sarcastically. The cafe was empty except for the two of them. It was comforting– the tranquility, the rich scent of coffee, Ren Amamiya. He would play along with this silly scenario, just for now. Just until it was all over.
So, Akechi thought to himself. No more what-ifs.