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[???]

He doesn’t know when Joker appeared, or rather more honestly: he doesn’t remember when Joker became someone different from him.

Akira Kurusu is a studious, honest and sometimes hard working student who spends free time reading books and playing video games. Shy, not quite used to having so many people who enjoy his company, but sarcastic and quick-witted; like jagged edges being smoothed out to a polish, where the ends don’t draw blood when you approach. Natural distrust - and dislike, to an extent - of adults. Proficient and adaptable, anxious habits born from simple escapes from the real world, and it’s become second nature to flip a pencil in his hands - or rather, a knife.

Joker is a complete opposite: gutsy and cocky, smugly smirking and oozing with confidence. Charming enough that it makes you want to punch him and then kiss him, or it’s the other way around--either way people are drawn to him. Not an ounce of kindness in those eyes, though, always grinning like a demon as he brutally rips the mask off another shadow, using far too much force than necessary. Fighting is a thrill, killing shadows even more so; power courses through his veins and Joker buzzes with adrenaline in anticipation of the next kill.

Bloodthirsty is a good way to describe it, Akira thinks, tapping the tip of his pencil to his cheek repeatedly. Joker’s bloodthirsty, using an outlet in fighting to release the pent up anger inside.

At first, donning Joker’s mask had become something so simple. A way to focus on the present and the currently pressing matters, an ability to let his past worries go and to let his mind stay focused. No anxiety, no worrying about needless things, no self-loathing or anything of the sort; all he had to do was stay focused, stay on task, and protect his team. Do or die. Fight or die. Anything that lets them survive or die. The Metaverse was pretty straightforward with that, actually, the more he thinks on it. Summoning Personas only became another way to struggle with the world that wasn’t in their favor.

If only he could have Arsene out in his normal life, his student life, everything could be so much easier. So much better. Even though Akira could feel him - and the other Personas, naturally - in the depths of his heart, it would feel better if he could have them with him when he struggles with reality instead of cognition-reality. Or something. He wishes the Metaverse world -- Metaworld? -- was as simple as reality, then he could get by the days easier. Shadows amount to nothing when placed next to exams and staying on his “best” behaviour.

Now, slipping on Joker’s mask and stepping into his shoes has just become a coping mechanism, a place where his mind is unburdened by his anxious thoughts or his nightmares, a place where he can exist and not have to do anything. Where a curious idle thought of dying didn’t ring as comfort but instead a cold emptiness and stirs only the need to survive. Joker lashes out as if his life depends on it, always stuck in the fight-or-flight mode of life.

That’s funny: where Akira does not fear dying, Joker does. Maybe Akira does fear dying, in a small part of him. If Akira doesn’t fear dying and Joker does, what does it mean? Is he afraid of dying or not?

He’s not sure how this kind of complex situation works out; two halves of the same body different yet alike, but distinct in their personalities. Is this normal? He doesn’t know.

(We’re not normal, says the speak of the devil, all teasing in the tone that he speaks in. Joker is always teasing when he speaks to Akira. In case you haven’t noticed that, by the way. Summoning various gods and otherworldly beings isn’t something a normal high school student can do every day.)

High school student, right. That’s what Akira was: a sixteen - almost seventeen, in a few weeks - year old boy who’s trying to save the world and pass finals, trying to avoid suspicion, trying not to break his probation, trying to keep up an honest life. Or well, as honest as a phantom thief can get, really. Akira is a sixteen year old boy who’s just sitting at his desk currently staring at the looming essay question before him, definitely not questioning the morality of himself and his actions, and most certainly not lamenting over the fact that this world is crueler than he already knew it to be.

Who knew? A boy falsely accused of assault and his parents send him away from home without a second thought and the world can be even shittier.

“Hey,” Morgana says, voice thick with exhaustion and drowsiness, but succeeding in drawing Akira out of his stupor. “Aren’t you tired?”

Shit. “I’m finishing up my homework.”

A heavy, drawn-out sigh. Morgana doesn’t see through the lie, but Akira won’t take his chances. “Hurry it up, I’m tired.”

“Then just go to sleep,” Akira laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t have to wait for me to lay down.”

“And what? Leave you unsupervised? No way! Who knows what you’d do without me around!”

Morgana says that, but all Akira hears is: I’ll be lonely! Do you want me to be lonely, Akira?!

“Alright,” he sighs, relenting. “Give me a few more minutes to finish up these problems.”

Social studies isn’t hard, and he practically knows all the answers off the top of his head, writing them down as slow and neatly as possible if only to delay the sleep that awaits him. He’s not tired, not really, not when Joker’s a constant thought in his brain that surfaces with only questions and grasping little answers to his own internal struggles. Is it weird to have something like in place? To separate yourself from reality so literally so that your real life can be a little bit more normal? It’s just--it’s a way to protect himself, that’s all it is. Joker’s someone he can be that isn’t himself. Akira doesn’t have to be weak or pathetic in the Metaverse because Joker happily picks up his slack with a smug smirk, red eyes, and gloved hands clenched around the hilt of a dagger.

Morgana hops up onto the desk with impatience in his eyes, glancing down at the half-written report then back to Akira. Wasn’t he just laying down?

“What’s wrong---”

Morgana headbutts him. “You’re taking too long! It’s been ten minutes! You can’t honestly expect me to believe you aren’t tired!”

[APRIL]

“The destination has been deleted.”

They all unceremoniously crash back into the alleyway where they had first left, and Akira can feel Ann’s elbow in his side, Morgana’s claws on his leg, and his backpack full of schoolbooks painfully stabbing him in the back enough that it might almost bruise. It’s not everyday you run for your life because a castle in another fucking world decides to start collapsing on itself because some teacher finally realized “hey, maybe what I’m doing is actually shitty and inhumane”. Who knew all it took was little old beating someone’s ass with mythological beings that you can summon by ripping off a mask in a world purely made of cognition all while stealing their distorted desires made manifest.

“Holy shit,” Ryuji breathes, almost a laugh but not quite enough air in his lungs. He’s on the opposite wall, leaning his head back against the concrete and taking in deep breaths. He looks as ragged as Akira feels inside. “Did--did we actually do it?”

“It looks like it,” Morgana replies. It takes a moment for him to detach his now cat-claws off of Akira’s school pants, but he stretches when he’s done. I need to get a lint roller now. “Now, all we can do is wait.”

“But, did we change his heart?” Ann’s voice is forced, controlled, holding back a whirlwind of emotions. Akira’s only half-surprised she didn’t gut Kamoshida’s shadow when she had the chance. He knows he wouldn’t have held back. “Will that bastard pay for what he’s done?”

Morgana sounds only half-hesitant when he speaks again. “Most likely. Now we just need to wait for the change of heart to occur?” The statement is more of a question than anything; it doesn’t help Akira’s fragile nerves.

Ryuji stiffen, then snaps: “Dude! Mine and Akira’s lives are on the line!”

“Technically, it’s your academic lives, but don’t worry: I’m sure the change of heart will happen before the board meeting. I mean, the Palace collapsed!”

“What do you mean ‘ I’m sure ’ you little bastard?!” Then to him; “Akira, ain’t you worried?!”

He grimaces, trying to pull some confidence from earlier into his words. He must not look the part because even Morgana winces when he speaks. “We just have to wait it out.”

Easier said than done.

If he gets expelled, it means he fucked up his probation and if he fucks up his probation that means Sojiro’s going to get shit, and that also means he’s going to go to juvie. More concerned about Sojiro losing his shit first and foremost; the man’s a better father figure - even with all his condescending attitude - than his actual father has or ever will be. But then going to juvie for however long his fucking false charge of assault is seems pretty important too. Since, well, he doesn’t want to go to juvie at all for a crime he didn’t technically commit.

Why can’t he feel as confident as he did when he fought against the shadows? Why must he feel trapped and unsure, ready to lash out like a cornered wild animal?

Ryuji sighs, drops his head to his chest, and Akira can’t help but be sympathetic. He feels like that too, anyway. “Guess we’re just hoping and praying now, huh?”

“I guess so.”

Ann’s cheerful voice doesn’t reach her eyes. “C’mon guys! Have a little bit more faith. I mean, Morgana’s led us this far.”

“Oh, Lady Ann, thank you for trusting me,” Morgana purrs, tail swishing back and forth in delight.

“And we’ve already gotten this far, and we can’t go back, so we really do have to just wait it out, okay?”

Mother’s voice, shrill, angry: I wish we never had you! The pain against his face iron-hot and shameful, the unshed tears that he bite back, bile rising in his throat. Father’s disapproving look, the sound of the front door slamming, the silence of a dark house he was going to have to leave. Problem child, mistake, failure, problem child, problem child, problem child --

“Uh, Earth to Akira, you okay there?” Ann asks, uncertain, concerned. Her mouth is in a tight line with her brows furrowed, probably with concern as she looks him over. It's bad, he knows, worrying people. He doesn't want to do that. He doesn't want anyone looking after him anymore. Not again.

“Fine,” he lies. Nothing is fine and his insides feel as if someone is putting them through a meat grinder, twisting and turning and feeling generally unpleasant. The thought of being thrown into jail causes the world to tilt slightly, adding to his rising nausea  “Let’s just wait it out like you said. Everything will be fine.”

[MAY]

Whatever God that’s listening to their rushed prayers in the morning delivers because Kamoshida confesses to his crimes - during the school assembly, of all things - and, well, there’s no expulsion for them. Which means that Akira doesn’t have to go to juvie, and also that Ryuji and him are allowed to still go to school. Which leads to that Sojiro won't try to kill him in his sleep and that he's not going have to deal with the shitty corrupt police anymore. And still be phantom thieves, on that account as well. As long as he gets to continue studying and helping people, Akira’s happy by all accounts. Grateful, really, that something out there must’ve listened to his constant prayers. That the change of heart actually occurred and that Kamoshida is going to go to jail and hell for his sexual harassment, abuse, and all the other shitty things adults like him do. It's dangerous trying to work with the unknown, and if Morgana could've been a bit more confident in everything and instead of letting Akira deal with all the problems and the anxiety in the air, well, that would've been nice.

May comes and goes with little incident, except that it doesn’t.

If little incident means: changing the heart of a corrupt artist who’s just a money grubber and has no real talent, then, yes, May went by with little incident. They meet Yusuke several times over the course of Ann’s ‘modeling’ for him, almost get thrown out of Madarame’s shack - a house shouldn’t look like it’s rotting for someone who’s so famous - along with getting the not-so-cops called on them, rack up a bit more cash and save some more people in Mementos and change Madarame’s twisted and corrupted, greedy heart.

Mishima's texts are something he's starting to look forward to, and Mementos is always nice to throw yourself into; the repetitive pattern of move-attack-move-attack is as easy as breathing, or just as easy as marching in step. Left, right, left, right. Joker's mask slips on and the stress and anxiety of the real world falls away.

Oh, and Yusuke’s another addition to the team.

Score one for Phantom Thieves.

A part of him is almost… excited? Giddy? Eager? It’s easier on his mind to not have to cover all the bases they’re sorely missing, and Yusuke’s an important addition with how weak the Shadows are lately with ice. Maybe it’s the summer heat that’s starting to get to them? Morgana did say the weather had an effect on Mementos, but maybe that also extended to Shadows themselves? Or not. He wasn’t the resident expert on the Metaverse. He kept track as much as he could with what shadows were weak to what; notebooks upon notebooks filling up with their general description, what they were weak against, what they were strong against.

Akira Kurusu was always prepared for the worst.

Now, at least he needed to just focus on covering the Nuclear and Bless spells that no one else could cover. Psy, too, but that was such a rare element that he almost forgot about it until Caroline or Justine would say something about it. For a sea of souls that dwells within him, he’s really thinking that he doesn’t have enough space for all this now.

There's a difference between being a jack of all trades and being an underpaid babysitter watching after three - four, if he wanted to count Ann - self-destructive children - they're not children, but it fits his metaphor - in the Metaverse. The first step he takes out of Mementos is always the hardest when he's used up all his energy trying to fill in the cracks in their strategy.

“Yeah,” Akira mutters to himself, thinking more out loud and stuck in his head than he was aware of his surroundings or his teammates. He was pretty tired of having to use a space in… whatever it was to cover that element. More room for Persona’s who can heal now, just in case. Nuclear or Bless be damned, he couldn’t do much if his teammates weren’t there for him.

They’ve been taking more hits than usual, and while he knows it’s not intentional, he’s wearing himself out quicker than the rest of them just to keep them standing, or breathing, or any form of just still being alive at this point. It’s starting to feel intentional.

If he takes into account the amount of shadows they've fought so far and what their general weakness is, then it would make sense not to cover Nuclear or Psy just yet. Akira doesn't remember running into a Shadow that was particularly strong or weak to it yet, save for the special ones that just ran; if anything, what they have now should last them a little longer, right?

He bites on his lower lip, brows furrowing. It's also come to his notice that the shadows in Mementos reflect the shadows in the Palaces that they've fought a lot; the first area of Mementos had similar shadows to that of Kamoshida's Palace, the second with Madarame's. It makes him wonder, a lot actually, if the Palaces that collapse add to Mementos. Are the leftover shadows filling the places that they're inevitably going to go through? Or do they spawn from the bottom of Mementos, at the very core of the human subconscious, crawling their way up only to fill in the Palaces as they spawn?

This is too much to worry about. Every answer only spawns more questions, and then it's an endless loop of staying awake at night, wondering, wondering, wondering what the fuck is really going on.

(Get a Bless-based Persona , the Joker part of him says internally. It’s not like when Arsene speaks, where his voice echoes through his brain and down through his bones; his is like an idle thought, passing by unnoticed unless you were carefully listening. It’s not too weird to talk to yourself, is it? He’s just thinking strategically. Arsene is curse-based, but skill cards for Bless attacks would be a waste on him.)

It takes a moment for him to think, drifting through memories. “Archangel?”

(Kaguya would be stronger. If what the Twins boast about are true, then she can cover the Bless aspect that we’re missing and can heal as well. Two birds with one stone. You will need all the healing you could get if Ryuji and Yusuke are going to continue being focused.)

“Kaguya, okay--Kaguya. Velvet Room. Need that Persona.”

A long thin shadow stands before him, enough that he stops immediately in his tracks to look up away from his phone; one of the street poles stands in front of him, barely a few foot away--had he not stopped, he would’ve walked straight into it. Akira turns around, mouth opening with a question, since he was very much so relying on his teammates to guide him through the busy streets of Tokyo at this time, too busy being lost in his thoughts to properly keep track of everything that's going on around him.

Only that when he looks at them, Ryuji is glancing at him questioningly, and oh--they’ve all stopped walking a few paces behind him, no longer heading towards the sweets shop that Ann was dragging them all towards. In fact, they’re all looking at him questioningly.  Morgana, who had jumped to Ann’s bag directly after Mementos - because of course he did - glances at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing. Concerned. Ann, again, has her mouth in a tight line like when she's worried about him; Yusuke merely looks... quizzical. He's new to the team, and thus new to Akira's muttering.

“Dude,” Ryuji says, breaking the silence, “are you talking to yourself?”

“What’s a Velvet Room?” Ann follows up quickly after that.

Akira panics. Heat burns in his face and on the back of his neck, and the hands in his pockets clench momentarily. Summer heat’s really getting to him or maybe he’s just embarrassed beyond all hell. Why couldn't they just have ignored him? Why did he start talking out loud? He definitely sounds like an idiot, or a madman, or both. Sooner or later, they're going to toss him off to the side for being weird, creepy, or having no use to them and-- “Sorry, just thinking out loud.” Kind of the truth. I think.  "I do that, uh, sometimes."

Yusuke, sweet beautiful blue-haired artist angel, comes to his rescue without knowing. Or maybe he does know. The others called him weird too. “What were you thinking about?”

This, he can answer truthfully: “Which Persona I should get since I don’t need to cover the Ice front anymore. The shad--Persona. The Persona's have names and certain abilities.” Akira shrugs nonchalantly. "I just like being prepared, y'know?"

“That’s our leader!” Morgana says, pride beaming in his voice. Don't take all the credit, cat. “Always thinking ahead of the game! And our enemies, too. It's so nice having a reliable assistant."

“And thinking ahead of us,” Ann sighs, forgetting her earlier question, which he's grateful for. “We’re going to a sweets shop and you’re worrying about Personas?”

“Hey, give him a break. It’s just in his nature. Overthinkin' and what not.” Ryuji laughs, tossing an arm over Akira’s shoulder. “It’s kinda useful how you can get all these new Persona’s though, yeah?”

He’s not wrong. It's--well, it's be rude to assume such a thing, but it's probably the only reason they've been keeping him around. Being useful. (The word problem child screams around in his head, bouncing off the walls, but is ultimately silenced quickly after.) Akira laughs nervously, shrugging as much as he can even with Ryuji’s arm around his shoulder. “It’s helpful.”

(I'm helpful.)

[JUNE]

On June 20th, Makoto Niijima becomes a vital asset to the Phantom Thieves - and, well, Akira wouldn’t be lying if she wasn’t important to him, really; who else would help bear the burden of leadership? Now he doesn’t have to try and bark out orders as much; Morgana tries, but he’s needed more on the scanning front than on the advising front. Makoto fills the role with ease and her insights are smarter than even Akira himself, but he doesn’t complain. She's even more vital as they go through Kaneshiro's palace, and even when they face against the man's shadow himself, it's Makoto that takes the brunt of everything, that calls a majority of the shots. It's, well, it's fine. She knows more than him; Akira knows when to fight and when to bow his head, when to not get into trouble and when to keep his mouth shut.

(This is not one of those times, but past memories breed fear and ah, well, he's not good with bringing up his issues with people.)

The help is nice, after all. She could probably pummel him into next week if she really wanted to. If that’s a pro or con, he hasn’t figured it out yet completely. But she catches on quicker than he can, and Morgana and her work together to form strategies when Joker's trying too hard to stay alive, or in more common cases: to deal more damage. He can fight or he can think, he can't really do both at the same time. It's why when the feeling of uselessness blooms in the pit in his stomach, he squashes it down as much as he can, teeth gritted and determined to bury these feelings with him to the grave.

“Joker, be careful!” Morgana yells out, loud enough even though he’s distant from the main party. His voice draws Joker out of his stupor. “Your health is getting low and the enemy seems to be charging for another attack!”

“Got it,” he says, breathing heavy. The gash on his side isn’t bothersome, not when he has this much adrenaline to keep him going, to block out the pain for now. It’s definitely concerning, but Ame no Uzume is in his arsenal with Diarama ready; he’s not too concerned. Not yet. He could go on another round as pure offence before he gives out.

If Ann were here, which she’s not, she could help heal. Damn, he really needs to start thinking these things through. He digs through his pockets until he finds one of Dr. Takemi's medicines, and then takes the whole thing in one go.

It's not a quick solution to his wound, but it feels like it stops the bleeding for the moment, and that's good enough for him to keep going.

He watches as Makoto lashes out with a Freila, then for Ryuji follows it up with a Ziodyne, and finally Yusuke hits all the enemies with a Mabufula; Joker’s head is spinning when he tries to keep up with all the energy in the air. His own Persona's aren't adding into it, which is good, but also it makes him feel left behind. Useless. There's a pit in his stomach and he ignores it. Swaps his mask back over to Arsene, almost laughs at the feeling of comfort that envelopes him. He’s quick to bark out a strategy.

“Queen: keep using your area of effect abilities! We can force them down all at once, but don’t get too caught up in it to wear yourself off. Skull: focus on shifting back and forth between electricity attacks and physical attacks. If one of them gets shocked, Queen I want you to follow it up so we can deal more damage. Same goes for if Fox freezes one of them. If they’re frozen, hit them as hard as you can with your weapons. Fox: just keep launching ice at them! Got it?!”

It’s hard being stuck on dodging left and right as the enemies rightfully focus on him, sending curse attacks and brute swings his way, but he’s weaving as gracefully as he can; it’s harder now, with Mementos seemingly tilting on its axis and disorientating his vision. (Weather. It's got to be the weather. I didn't get hit by one of the status ailments. Did I?) Three against four, but the Shadow’s lack of mobility is made up for in brute strength; it’s why he’s having a hard time standing up straight now. Slow but strong, definitely fitting for a Strength Arcana.

No , he shakes his head. Now’s not the time for speculation.

He’s struggling to find an opening with this oppressive offense. It’s fucking frustrating too because he’s never been forced on the defensive this hard before, has never felt like his energy and life are being sucked out of him with every harsh and heavy breath that he takes. A dull static is in the air, and it's like he's the only one that can feel it. His hands are aching to bury the knife in his hands into one of the shadows, but--

(There!) An overextension of the Shadow’s arm, too slow in drawing it’s sword back. Joker rushes, ducking under the limb while the Shadow is defenseless, putting forth more power in his double underhanded slashes against its chest. He ignores the concerned shout from Yusuke, and brings all his might down into the overhead slash before launching himself backwards with the momentum. Quick and easy, just how he likes it. The fighting makes the blood rush in his ears all the more louder, the grin on his face a bit wider. It feels good being able to slash at things, releasing even an ounce of his frustration against not-so-living things. Feels good to just let loose.

“Alright, nice counterattack!” Morgana cheers, just as Joker lands on his own two feet from jumping back out of harm’s way. “That’s our leader! But, be careful! Two enemies remaining!”

Makoto and Ryuji immediately move to form an almost-barrier near him, nearby enough to be ready to step in the way of harms danger, but far enough that they aren’t crowding around him like overbearing friends and blocking him from moving. He watches as Yusuke goes completely on the offensive, slashing out with his sword and calling down ice with Goemon. Joker almost scowls. So much for listening to my directions; I don’t need to be protected.

“Joker,” Makoto says, glancing over her shoulder at him. She shouldn’t be taking her eyes off the enemies, even in a guarded stance. He almost wants to chastise her. (Bad idea. She's already angry.) “You’re wounded.”

“I’ll live,” he shrugs, almost regretting the action immediately.

“Not for long with something serious as that.”

Joker narrows his eyes, though his mask doesn’t give that away. Another point for the security the Metaverse brings him. “Focus on the battle. I took one of our healing medicines. I'll live."

Makoto--Queen--retorts. “Focus on yourself.”

“Guys!” Morgana snaps. “Two enemies remaining and--oh no .”

Joker looks over his shoulder to where Morgana is stationed neatly and safely behind what counts as cover - it’s more like a distorted part of a desk morphed with a wall. Horrifying, but it gets the job done. But, no, his senses focus past that; he hears Ryuji's triumphant laughter, the sound of metal - probably his weapon - smashing into something and then into the ground. The clean sound of Yusuke's sword leaving its sheath, the guttural scream of a shadow dying. No, that's not what scares him down to the core, that's not what freezes his body in place entirely, going pale enough that anxiety almost takes over his instincts.

The distant sounds of chains clanking and rattling doesn’t escape his notice.

“Reaper!” He yells, immediately. Ryuji and Yusuke stop their celebration for a moment, look between Makoto and Akira before they dash to Morgana's side for the quick getaway. Everyone knows that noise, of what it brings. They look worse for wear, but time is crunching and Joker snaps at them all as if it puts more emphasis on his point: “Mona! Transform! Yusuke and Ryuji in the back! Makoto, Ann, tend to everyone's wounds, I’ll drive. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“R-right!” Morgana says, and in a flash there is the familiar bus that he knows and loves.

“Are you sure you can drive like that?!” Makoto yells, moving towards the now-transformed Morgana. "You're wounded!"

Internally he groans, cursing out a storm. Just give it up, Makoto. She raises a valid point, but there's--he doesn't want to deal with the Reaper again. “Ann, the moment we get to a safe room, dig through the bag and see if we have a Goho-m!”

“Right!”

"Joker!" Makoto snaps, before her mouth shuts and he knows he's in for it later, but there's no time because you don't need an ability to scan to sense the Reaper's presence. The suffocating cold feeling that climbs up your chest, like chains wrapping around your neck, threatening to pull you down, down, down until you are nothing more than a spec of a shadow, waiting to be blown away from the wind of the passing subway. Funny enough, Makoto's angry glare at being ignored feels like that too. (It's fine , says his inner voice. Just make it up to her later.)

--

Too close, he almost says as they crash out of Mementos and back out onto the busy subway walkways. It's a bit awkward in the way that they all fall onto each other, even more so when people shoot them weird glances at they past; but this is Tokyo and no one really bothers to think twice about this lot of teenagers in the underground walkway. That's one perk of their teenage rebellion, at least.

Akira groans, body pressed up against the tiled wall while Ryuji’s elbow is digging into his side while the blond is trying to help support Ann; there’s also angry cat claws digging into his back. He’s pretty sure that’s Yusuke leaning against his arm as they all catch their breath. Makoto must be the last one in their dogpile. Now if only he could stop being shoved against this damn wall.

“That was, ah, a bit.” Yusuke pauses, trying to find the word. He's moving away from Akira, there's no longer a warmth against his arm. There’s a need to sigh in relief, but another one to pull him back close. He pushes the last one away. “Close. For my liking.”

“You said it man,” huffs Ryuji, unlodging his elbow from Akira’s side and standing up straight with Ann now. That only leaves Morgana angrily clutching onto Akira’s shirt lest he falls. And, well, Akira’s trying hard not to throw up his lunch. Claustrophobia always shows its face in the worst of times. “I didn’t even know we were in there for so long.”

From a few feet away, there's the student council president: “The jingling chains… Morgana, you said that was a special shadow in Mementos called the Reaper, correct?” (Just like Makoto, already gears rolling in her head.)

Yusuke pries Morgana off enough for Akira to straighten out his back, hissing with clenched teeth as a pain - dull, but still painful - burns over the entirety of his side. (Stupid , comes Joker’s analysis. You didn’t even heal yourself properly before you left.) When the subway stops tilting in his vision, Akira makes as much comfortable distance as he can away from his friends to catch his breath. Ann looks at him in pity.

“Yup!” Morgana replies cheerfully, now being gently shoved into Akira’s bag by said blond. “We don’t usually run into him but--”

“We did, one time,” Ann interrupts, “we thought, hey this is just another shadow, it can’t be that bad, right? Except, well, the Reaper is insanely strong and I’m pretty sure we were all close to dying--”

Akira pales. He was the one close to dying. “Ann.”

“Oh, right--sorry.”

Makoto’s attention shifts to Akira then, eyes narrowing and arms being crossed, now taking attention of their leader. Over the weeks of getting to know her, Akira has attributed that body language to something akin that he’s about to be killed in his sleep; she’s angry enough that her nose is also scrunching up. It’s a bit cute.

(Don’t say that to her face, Joker laughs. She’ll definitely kill you then.)

“Akira,” she says sternly with a scrutinizing gaze. Testing the ice. “How are you feeling?”

Dizzy. Nauseous. He might pass out sometime soon. “Only a bit sore, Makoto. Don’t worry too much about it." he adjusts his glasses - a nervous habit. "I'll even go to a doctor if you're that worried."

Her eyes narrow even more. A cold chill goes down his spine. “Next time, don’t forsake your health just to hit the enemy again, got it? It was reckless, not to mention stupid."

(If looks could kill.) “I know, Makoto. It won't happen again."

Ryuji snickers off to his side while Ann just beams in pride at Makoto, Morgana's saying something behind him but he's not really paying attention. Who’s the real leader of the Phantom Thieves? Akira’s scared half to death of Makoto; not to mention that one stern look of hers has his hands shaking in fear, only for a few seconds at least. He doesn't even feel qualified to lead them through anything anymore, since Makoto's definitely smarter than him.

Maybe they should put it to a vote, trying to find a new leader. The only reason it's worked so far with Akira is because of pure dumb luck, and the fact that Ryuji and Ann haven't abandoned him since Kamoshida's Palace; Morgana helps too, but his wisdom is mostly cryptic and once Akira gets the hang of one thing, then it's like another skill he's had all his life. He almost feels like he's done this before. Joker's on a one-track mind. Once he's given a goal and a deadline, then it's a constant push for victory, health be damned.

Makoto and Ann balance it out, one with fiery words and concerned glares, and the other with a forced smile, a hand on his shoulder. Ryuji's the same like him, and Yusuke keeps their pace slow - in a good way. They're fitting pieces of a puzzle, slowly working through the awkward parts of the beginning of having an actual team. Akira's pulling himself apart trying to fit in the gaps, to keep himself around for as much as possible, just so he won't be thrown away again.

"Well," he clears his throat, shoving away all of his thoughts. He’ll live up to the title of leader even if it kills him. "Let's head home for today, yeah?"

[JULY / AUGUST]

Futaba Sakura is an enigma and he is determined to figure her out.

(Sojiro almost kicked him out of the house when Akira - Joker, really, he had to channel Joker to get the courage to do it - pushed and poked and prodded for information, all smug smiles and cocky smirks when determined to play the long game. An apology at some points, when he almost pushed too much, stoking the fire into something so much more, into something so big that it would've burned him too; he did his work at Leblanc, listened, and waited, all while doing Alibaba's requests. Joker laid his cards on the table and waited.

Akira, however, panicked at the thought of being exposed to the world. Carefully concealed under his usually indifferent scowling face, but there was a storm of anxiety and a mess of thoughts that refused to be ignored. It made his voice stutter and stammer under pressure, his hands shake when no one was looking. When the deadline was getting closer, when they were hardly making any progress, that's when it was getting to him the worst of all.)

"You know," says Futaba, glancing at him like someone trying to solve a crossword puzzle. Her eyes are twinkling with something that could only be mischief. "You seem so aloof and mysterious when everyone is around."

Akira continues stirring his coffee, determined to get it right this time, only raising as eyebrow as the ginger girl speaks. He hums as a reply. (If he were Joker, then he would be leaning forward on his elbows, determined to solve the riddle in her head. It's better when no one understands him. Easier.)

"You're just a nerd in reality though," she says, a grin pulling at the edge of her lips when Akira almost knocks over his cup of coffee. "I mean, c'mon. Every time I see you, you're just reading! And plus you've got all those old games up in your room and a bunch of weird knick knacks--"

"--Gifts, Futaba. People gave those to me."

"--which only makes you more of a nerd! Really, who keeps their gifts out on display like that? And plus, you're always running around buying soda and junk food too, I mean, you're like me! Except, well, I'm much more cooler."

Akira grins. He’ll play this game. "What? Can't I be the second coolest?"

"Ugh, lame. Just saying that demoted you to the third most."

He laughs, shaking his head fondly as the bell above the door rings. The smell of coffee grows a bit stronger, and neither of them need to look to see that it's Sojiro who just walked in. Without a word, Akira slides the extra cup of coffee that he had been preparing over to the seat next to Futaba, already beginning the routine of cleaning up. (You should probably make some extra coffee , Joker suggests. It'll be an extra boost for energy in Mementos.) It's a good idea, Akira's got to admit, leaving the leftover coffee off to the side, pretending that yes, he will in fact drink half a pot of coffee in the next two hours without dying. No, he is serious about this.

Sojiro sits in the seat next to Futaba - she's too busy typing away on her phone to reach over and hug him - and takes a tentative sip. Akira shifts, feeling anxiety constrict in his chest as he waits. Really, the only reason he's able to make coffee like this is because Sojiro took pity on him (pity, Joker thinks, it has to be pity) and mostly because he had to pull his own weight, working at Leblanc when Sojiro was too busy or when he could use the extra help of hands. (Problem child echoes in his brain for a moment before it is snuffed out like a flame). Akira's pulling his own weight, he's making himself useful. He refuses to be thrown out again.

"Guatemalan SHB?" His guardian questions, and Akira nods like a giddy child. Sojiro's got the start of a smile on his face. Akira has got to be getting better at this for that to happen. He has to be. "The coffee beans are grown at four thousand and five hundred feet above sea level, which is why it has a citrus-like acidity but a fruity, chocolate flavour. You did well roasting and blending it." Akira nods, letting Sojiro continue. "Make sure not to rush it though, kid. Do it too fast and it'll just end up tasting like those cough drops everyone hates."

"I understand," Akira says with a smile on his face. "One day I'll make a good enough cup of coffee to rival yours, Sojiro."

Sojiro barks out a laugh, slapping a hand on his knee. "Only when I'm too old to keep working here, kid. Still, you're a quick learner. Can't believe I didn't have you working in the shop sooner."

(Joker sighs: Maybe because you didn't trust a problem child like us. You weren't the most receptive guardian.)

Akira forces himself to swallow the lump of anxiety in his throat, pushing Joker out of his head. "Guess we can make up for lost time then, old man?" It's a challenge, almost. Futaba laughs as Sojiro straightens up, mimicking the grin on Akira - Joker's - face. No deadline, but the challenge is there. Inviting.

(What they have is something more solid than what Akira and his real father had; Sojiro fills the spot well, even if he doesn’t mean to. When he thinks of father and home, there’s a grumpy old man in a coffee shop and that thought gives him comfort, almost.)

"You bet we will, kid."

--

Morgana is asleep at the top of his bed, nestled between all the pillows and blankets while Akira sits awake, notebooks laying out all over the desk while his phone is on, the group chat open. He is determinedly writing as much as he can, focusing on the shadows in Mementos, the shadows in Kaneshiro’s palace; trying to find a connection, a middle ground. What are they weak against? Strong against? What can he do to prepare his team?

-- 2 new messages --

Akira groans, runs a hand down his face and grabs his phone. The numbers [11:23PM] burn into his eyes before he realizes that he’s yet to unlock his screen yet. Ryuji’s name and icon flashes on the screen for a moment and that alone sets fire to the feeling in his chest, one that Akira can’t put a name to. He logs on as quickly as possible.

[RS]: yo dude
[RS]: are u still awake

(Figures, says Joker. We’re going to Mementos tomorrow and he decides to stay awake. Irresponsible.)

“Shut up,” Akira mutters. “Don’t talk about Ryuji that way.”

[AK]: What’s up?
[RS]: nothin much
[RS]: kinda rare for u to be up this late
[RS]: was just curious to see how ur doin
[AK]: I’m fine.
[AK]: I’m just writing down what the Shadows from Kaneshiro’s Palace were like.
[AK]: And Futaba’s palace, too.
[AK]: In case we go farther in Mementos, I’d like to see if the shadows are the same.
[RS]: sounds uh
[RS]: interesting?
[RS]: dont we have futaba for this
[RS]: i mean
[RS]: u dont gotta do everything dude
[RS]: futaba remembers p much everything so u dont gotta stress over this
[RS]: dont overwork urself if u dont gotta if u get me

The pen stops tapping the top of the notebook. Behind closed eyelids is the beginning of a headache; mostly, it’s because he’s done nothing but drink caffeine today and has hardly slept or ate at all this week. It’s--he’s not overworking himself. Studies and school and making sure everyone is well-prepared is just getting to him; he’s not overworking himself, he’s just preparing. That’s all. Akira sighs again, letting the pen drop and reaching up with one hand to massage his temples while he types out a reply.

[AK]: I’m not.
[AK]: I’m just keeping us well-prepared.
[RS]: if u say so
[RS]: yo if u ever need help just like
[RS]: i mean i know im not as smart as u but like
[RS]: ill help u out man no matter what
[RS]: ive got ur back u’ve got mine
[AK]: Thank you. You should get some sleep though, Ryuji.
[AK]: We’re heading to Mementos for the better part of tomorrow.
[AK]: Don’t waste all of your energy playing video games.
[RS]: dw dude i’ll be rdy as hell tmrw!!!
[RS]: but make sure u sleep too alright?
[RS]: wouldnt do good for our leader 2 just drop asleep in the middle of driving lol

Akira grins even if his face flushes a little. He only almost fell asleep during Mementos twice, at most. It’s not his fault the patterns in Mementos are usually the same, straight lanes, save for the easy slow turns. It’s too easy to fall asleep.

[AK]: It wouldn’t, would it? There goes my plans.
[AK}: I’ll sleep soon. Thank you for the concern.
[RS]: well heh kind of my job to keep an eye out for you
[RS]: not sayin that u dont take care of urself but uh
[RS]: uve walked into a lot of poles so
[AK]: I’m going to bed.
[RS]: NO WAIT AKIRA
[RS]: I WAS JUS JOKIN
[RS]: goodnight tho i guess
[AK]: Goodnight, for real, Ryuji.
[RS]: night

-- Ryuji Sakamoto has gone offline. --
-- You have logged off. --

After clicking the lock button on his phone, Akira watches with exhaustion as the screen turns to black and the only thing he sees is his reflection staring back at him; cocky smirk and narrowed but bright, blazing yellow eyes, the outline of a mask imprinted upon his skin. The telltale flap of his Metaverse coat’s collar against dulled out skin.

He blinks. The reflection is gone.

“It’s fine,” he tells himself, pushing away the pit feeling in his stomach. “I’m just tired. I didn’t see anything. I’m just tired.”

Akira tries to think nothing of it, climbing under the covers as Morgana huffs and resettles at the base of the bed. He tries not to let it consume his thoughts as he stares up at the dusty ceiling, tracing patterns with his eyes, even though he is burning with questions. If this is a problem, then he wants to get it over with quickly; if this is a problem about himself, then he wants to deal with it alone. It’s slowly start to take over his sanity, a bit, wondering about the other voice in his head and the masks in his heart.

He grabs his phone. Taps the red-eyed icon. “Search candidate: Kurusu Akira,” he whispers.

“Candidate: Not found.”

Akira breathes a sigh of relief. It should make sense, right? Morgana said those who have accepted their rebellious soul can’t spawn Palaces; but Akira is the exception in everything. Where everyone has one Persona, he has, well, a lot of them. Would the rules bend differently for him?

The text stares at him: [CANDIDATE: NOT FOUND] and then below that, [TRY AGAIN?]

He sighs, shuts off the app and places his phone under his pillow.

It was going to be a long night.

(You shouldn’t worry , says Joker in the back of his head as he starts to drift off to sleep. I’m here to protect you.)

[SEPTEMBER]

“Dude, we’re going to Hawaii!”

“Yes, Ryuji,” Akira said with a fond smile on his face. “You’ve said that for the past twenty minutes.”

Ann laughs off to his left. “Yeah, and here I was thinking I was the most excited.”

They’re walking home--to Leblanc, they’re walking to Leblanc; one eventful school day after learning sophomores would be traveling to Hawaii for the next few days. It’s, well, it’s exciting because Akira never had the chance to do anything like this or to leave the house and travel somewhere. Ryuji’s excitement is contagious, and the three of them - four, really, but Morgana can’t really smile so - are just bumping shoulders and laughing to themselves.

In some ways, coming to Shujin and Tokyo was better for him overall than staying back at an empty house and a school with people who used to want him, who don’t want him anymore. It’s fine, though, really, because he’s got friends and a family here who care about him and joke with him and actually enjoy being around him. Sojiro fills the role of a parent without even needing to, and the Phantom Thieves slip into his life enough so that one day without them changes everything; they’ve wormed their way into his heart, for better or for worse. Even his other confidants, all of them hold a heavy and important place in his heart and soul that it’s almost suffocating when he has to think of moving on past them.

(It’s good , says Joker. Akira can almost picture the smile with the voice. They won’t forget you. Don’t panic. They won’t forget about you, I promise.)

“Yo, Akira, how you feelin’ about all of this?” Ryuji nudges him with an elbow into the side, a bright grin on his face.

Nervously, he fiddles with a lock of his hair. “Well, I’m excited as well. I’ve never left the country before.”

“Really?” asks Ann, blinking at him in surprise when he looks over. “Huh, well that’s just… man, I really took you for the out-of-country type of people, honestly. You look the type.”

“Do I?” Akira laughs awkwardly, still fiddling with a lock of hair. “I never really traveled, actually. Coming to Tokyo was actually the first big trip I’ve ever had.”

Ann and Ryuji share a look that he can’t decipher. Did he say something wrong? Did he say the wrong thing? Should he have just played along? Anxiety burns under his fingertips, trying to find something to occupy himself with lest he starts to panic.

Abort, abort, abort. He stared intently at the ground, focusing on the scuffles of his shoes against the pavement, on the ambient noise of the people around them, the way Ann’s jacket bounced when she skipped a little, or the way Ryuji’s slouch affected his walk. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth, this was a bad idea, why did I do that?

(Stop it, Joker shushes him. Why do you assume the worst so quickly?)

“I don’t know,” he whispers under his breath. “I don’t know, okay?”

“You know,” pipes up Ryuji. Akira’s vision wavers for a moment in the speed of how quickly he swung his head upwards again. “That’s the first time you’ve talked about your home life since you’ve been here.”

(Okay, yeah, Joker says. Abort the mission.)

“Yeah,” adds Ann, smiling a bit as if she doesn’t see the way the conversation is starting to making him anxious. She probably doesn’t. Akira’s gotten really good at hiding his emotions. “Kinda weird, but I’m sure you have a reason!”

His mouth is dry; the noises around him are too loud, the lights of the streets and building are too bright. “It’s just really boring back home. I don’t have anything to talk about.”

(Good enough, I guess.)

Ryuji shrugs, dropping the topic, while Morgana pokes his head out of the bag. “Hey, Akira! We should stop by the convenience store and pick up some sushi.”

“You want convenience store sushi?” he questions, tilting his head to the side.

“No way dude,” Ryuji shakes his head immediately. “We’re not stoppin’ to get you some sushi. Yusuke’s waitin’ at Leblanc for us.”

There’s an angry meow, but Akira shifts his bag enough so Morgana can’t claw at Ryuji when the blond is in range. The subway station appears in sight as other students begin to embark home as well. It’s a little crowded, and there’s definitely an elbow in his ribs a lot of the way home, but Akira wouldn’t have it any other way.

Quietly, as Ann and Ryuji walk ahead of him to Yongen-jaya’s backstreets, he says: “I’ll get you some sushi before dinner, okay?”

He’s pretty sure Morgana just laughed.

--

Yusuke and Akira are sitting on one side of the booth, shoulders and thighs touching, while Ryuji and Makoto sit opposite of them; Futaba’s hanging off the back of the booth behind him, messing up his hair even more so, and Ann’s sitting in one of the bar chairs. Morgana, like always, sits next to her, elevated so that he can see eye-to-eye with everyone. If Yusuke notices the way he’s grinning every time they bump shoulders, well, that’s their business.

“So, Hawaii, huh?” Morgana muses, tapping a paw on the wooden chair. For a cat, he looks really lost in thought. “It’s a shame I can’t go with you all.”

There’s always next time , he goes to say, awkwardly shutting his mouth afterwards. You can’t just… smuggle a cat onto an airplane and claim it’s because of your probation and how the cat helps keep you in check. That’s just--that’s not a thing he can do, really. It’s against health code on airplanes, probably.

(Not with that attitude, Joker laughs.)

“You’ll be stuck here with me!” Futaba laughs with a wicked grin on her face, drawing out the ‘me’ part for a good seven seconds. “Oh, we’re going to have such a fun time, Mona!”

Morgana nervously looks to Akira. “I-is there anyway you can smuggle me with you--”

(Yes, says Joker.)

“No,” says Akira.

Makoto, ever the voice of reason, quietly puts down her book while laughing. (He notices the title, recognizes it--it’s a book about Arsene Lupin, famous thief. That thought makes him flush, just a little bit. He read books about the figures their Persona’s were named after, or are. It doesn’t surprise him Makoto might as well.)

“Morgana,” she laughs again, and he decides he likes it when her eyes light up like that. “I’m sure you’ll be fine without us for a couple of days. We won’t be gone that long.”

“Yeah!” Ann cheers; the grin from earlier still hasn’t left her face. “We’ll even bring you back a souvenir, so it’ll be like you were with us this whole time!”

Makoto’s face drops for a moment, and everyone notices her expression grow serious. “However, I am chaperoning on this trip. You all are going to be on your best behaviour, correct?”

The way she phrases it is as a question, but they all know it’s a statement. No one fights with Makoto about anything.

“Yes,” they all stammer out in unison.

(Akira can hear Joker laughing in his head.)

--

Four days, sixty-seven photos, and four-thousand yen later the trip is over just like that. A plane trip back and they’re right back in the familiar busy streets of Tokyo, as if nothing had happened. Somehow, Yusuke’s plane also got delayed and Akira would be lying if he said he didn’t spend a majority of his free time on the trip hanging out with the artist. Mishima and Ryuji could get over it.

Akira wishes he didn’t come back from the trip at all, for how quickly things went downhill from there.

His room is quiet, empty. No Morgana laying on his bed, or sitting on his desk, or lounging on the couch. Nothing. There’s an ache and hole in his heart he’s not quite sure how to fill, a need for words that he wants to say, but there’s no one here to say them too.

Morgana’s gone. Morgana left them.

(It’ll be okay, Joker shushes him, comfortingly. We’ll find him. We’ll bring him back. We’ll tell him how much we need him, and miss him, and that we can’t do this without him.)

If only it were that easy. Morgana’s got it rooted in his head that he’s useless, that he’s not really apart of the team, that he’ll never become human, or that he’ll never move forward if he stays with them. It’s the most bullshit that Akira has ever heard in his life, and he’s heard a lot of bullshit. (The courthouse flashes in his mind, the sentencing, but Joker pushes it away, just like he pushes away the anxiety that those memories bring.) The worst part is that Akira doesn’t know how to convince him, or where to look to find him. He’ll try, though. He’ll try.

The clock on his work desk reads [12:05AM]. His eyes are burning by the time he collapses into his bed.

(Sleep , Joker says--commands. Go to sleep.)

--

It’s a fucking--

“Spaceport,” Yusuke says, dumbfounded. “His palace is a… spaceport?”

Makoto is bristling with anger next to him, fists clenched and shaking. If he squints, he swears there’s a red aura of pure hot fury surrounding her as they take in the scenery. Haru fares no better. Her anger is quiet, laced with regret, despair, and disappointment. Makoto burns with a hot, angry fury; Haru is cold and quiet. Two opposites. Both equally terrifying.

This was her own choice , Joker reminds himself. Takes a long look at everyone’s faces. Haru chose to save her father.

“He thinks of… his workers like this?” Haru whispers, hands clutched at her chest. There’s a frown that crosses Ann’s face as the blonde places a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her as best as she can. “This is--this is… horrible.”

The gut-wrenching feeling hits him, but he pushes it down. She has to face this - the truth - she has to, or she’ll never grow and learn from it; to distance herself from ever becoming her father. He knows it’s illogical, Haru - sweet and kind and soft-hearted from how much he knows of her - could never be like her father, but Joker knows how people change. He knows how quickly personalities can be flipped. Haru has to face this.

Morgana saunters up in front of them, sizing them all up and down - it’s good to have him back, a hole in his heart fixed, but there is always the threat of cracking again - before clearing his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “I know this is like anyone else we’ve ever faced,” he glances at the original trio as he speaks, “but his distortion of the world, and his workers, is that of a corrupt and a greedy man who wants nothing but profit and gain, sacrificing the well-beings of those who work under him and those who are close to him.” Morgana glances at Haru sadly, before beginning to pace in front of them. “For someone like him to have a distortion this big is sickening, and many people are suffering because of him. So, Phantom Thieves: are we ready to change this evil man’s heart?”

Haru’s voice, quiet but firm in her resolution. “I am.”

The other’s join in with their determined voices, their solid resolutions, the firm grasp that their justice is just.

(Joker’s jaw clenches. He imagines putting a knife between Kamoshida’s ribs, burning Madarame to a crisp with Arsene, a bullet between Kaneshiro’s head; he imagines this, and feels the tremor in his hands. The shadows in Mementos, sickening and scum of the Earth--he imagines putting them out of their misery, wiping them away one by one.)

There is worth, in saving them. Watching them beg for forgiveness for the rest of their lives. It doesn’t sate his need for revenge, for them to suffer what they dealt to others tenfold. He doesn’t want to feel like this, but he is angry.

A smile forces its way on his face. “Alright,” he says, bowing his head. “Then let’s do this.”

[OCTOBER]

It goes so well, and then so wrong so quickly.

Okumura, choking and dying on TV; the Phantom Thieves being blamed, the cries of the public going from positive to negative, now they cry out for the murderers to be apprehended, that the police should do it’s job correctly. The cause of death is a heart-attack, officially, but they all know the truth. No heartattack makes a man bleed from his eyes. Mishima’s texts now - something he so fondly and excitedly looked forward to before - only send a panic down his spine and causes his hands to shake.

“No more bad news,” he prays, sitting alone up in his room as the cafe bustles with people. He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes and tries not to scream, or cry, or lose control. “No more.”

(We’ll fix this , Joker says, his presence causing a mixture of comfort and more anxiety to bubble in Akira’s chest. Breaking down fixes nothing. We’ll fix this.)

“He’s dead, ” Akira chokes out, pressing down so that his tears stop. The only effect is that he starts to see stars behind his eyelids. “He’s dead and it’s our fault.”

(We did everything the same. His Shadow was going to dissolve, to return to his real self--we did everything the same, Akira. We don’t know the details yet. It’s not our fault unless one of us admits we slipped up and did something different.)

“Is it just that easy for you?” he says angrily, keeping his voice down not to attract attention. His throat hurts from trying to bite back his words. His eyes continue stinging. “Is it just so easy to focus on the main thing? People want our heads now. We went from underdog heroes to murderers in one night!”

(Joker is silent, musing. He has to be. How do you think Haru feels? )

Oh god, he hasn’t even tried thinking about Haru’s feelings in all of this. What if she believes that they actually killed her father? What if she rats them out? What if---

(Stop , Joker sighs. You’re doing it again.)

“Excuse me for thinking rationally,” Akira replies, letting his hands fall down to his chest before rolling over, burying his face in his pillow.

(Thinking rationally , comes Joker’s snarky reply, would be to remember the steps of everything that happened and find the problem therein. You’re just overthinking and becoming clouded by your emotions. Stop letting your anxiety about everything mess you up. It’s only making you react worse.)

“Shut up,” Akira mutters into his pillow. “Stop telling me how to feel.”

(That’s why I’m here, you know.)

“Where’s the off switch to make you shut up.”

(What went wrong in the plan? )

“I just need you to shut up for like ten minutes.”

(Was it before we confronted his shadow or before? )

“Ten. Minutes.”

(How are you going to fix this? )

“I don’t know!”

The room goes silent, the cafe noise drowned by the sudden noise stopping on the stairs - near the top, of all things - before it continues, going past the stairs and into his room, then even further until there’s a dip in the bed, a small weight pressing itself onto Akira’s back. Paws kneading into his tense muscles.

“It’s not healthy to yell at yourself,” Morgana says with a sympathetic voice. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened okay, Akira?”

“I’m fine,” he lies, turning his head so he can open one eye at Morgana. “We’re going to fix this.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to catch who did this.”

“Yes,” Morgana nods. “Yes we are.”

--

“I look forward to working with you all,” Akechi smiles, eyes closed and a hand wrapping around his briefcase. Akira - Joker, too - has never wanted to punch him more in his life. Then he’s walking out of the room, obviously pleased and grinning and beaming with confidence that makes Akira sick to his stomach.

The room clears out. Morgana and Akira stay behind.

“I hate him,” Akira says, immediately.

Morgana gives him a questioning look. “I agree but, uh.” An awkward pause. “‘Honey, I’m home’ didn’t sound like you hated him before.”

He shakes his head. “I hate him now.”

(Joker’s voice, knowing: Do you? )

“You heard it too, though, right Akira?”

“Yeah,” the boy sighs. “Yeah, he knows.”

Morgana’s paw comes up to his mouth, imitating a laughing child, eyes squinting as the gears in his head rolls around. Akira knows that he’s already coming up with a plan, and that itself calms him nerves a lot. Leave it to Morgana to know how to get them out of tight spots. What would Akira do without him?

“Then let’s start planning,” Morgana laughs. “I’ve got an idea.”

--

Morgana’s idea is, well, nothing short of a working miracle if it goes according to plan.

“That could work, yeah, but it’d take a lot of time for me to even be able to set it up,” Futaba says, rocking back and forth idly in his computer chair. “I’ll think of something though, don’t worry! I wanna get back at this slimy bastard as much as you guys.”

Akira smiles, pats her head. “Thanks, Futaba.”

“Ohoho, don’t thank me yet. Just you wait till you see what I’m cooking up!”

--

He starts seeing Joker by shop windows, in the mirrors, in the reflection of his phone. Cocky grin, narrowed yellow eyes, and the thief attire that he wears in the Metaverse, red gloves the most prominent of it all. When he washes his face in the morning, staring intently into the mirror, Joker stares back unblinking and knowing. Akira clutches his hands against the rim of the sink and breathes out, trying to keep his heart rate stable, to keep his nerves bundled.

“I’m fine,” he chants to himself like a mantra, staring at the familiar yellow eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I’m just seeing things. I’m just tired.”

(Are you? Joker asks, and the reflection in the mirror smiles. Are you just tired? )

--

Akira wakes the same way a bubble pops.

Chest heaving, he bolts uprights, sweat pouring down his face and his back, blinking rapidly to adjust to the night lamplights outside the window of Leblanc. He checks his phone, stares at the black screen and makes out what little of the reflection that he can.

Messy hair, distraught face, and furrowed brows.

The face in his reflection is his own, and that has never made Akira want to cry so much before in his life. He clicks the lock screen, sees the texts from Akechi and Hifumi, asking for a moment of his time -- Would you like to go somewhere tomorrow?

One free hand clutches the blanket covers tight in his hand, breathing in and out in a four-seven-four breathing pattern that he taught himself to stay calm when his parents had a fight. Inhale. The scent of coffee the lingers in the shop, the TV playing quietly downstairs, Sojiro humming along to music on the radio when it plays in the afternoon -- he focuses on all of these instead of the other memories that linger in his head. Exhale. He imagines living in Tokyo, tries imagining himself to ask to stay with Sojiro, anxiously explaining his situation at home. Tries to imagine what he’d do if he says yes, Akira, you can stay here . Prepares himself for the inevitable no, kid, you’ve gotta go back home.

The clock on his phone says it’s three in the morning, but his nerves don’t care. When he lays back down in bed, Akira tries to match his breathing to Morgana’s and hopes he doesn’t look dead in the morning.

--

“Crow, Fox, and Queen -- you’re with me for today’s Mementos run.” Joker adjusts the fabric of his gloves, stretching out his hand and adjusting again. A nervous habit, but not one anyone cares to pick up on. Gloves are always so finicky. “Skull, you lead the backup team should anything wrong happen. Mona, if you’re not transformed, then you can guide him. Everything clear?”

“One question,” Akechi says, glancing around the subway tracks of their Mementos safe room. “You said that Mementos was the… collective subconscious of everyone’s thoughts and desires?”

(You already know this.)

“More so or less,” Akira shrugs, stretching now as everyone else checks their gear. “It’s basically what happens if you try to get two hundred people to agree on the same thing. You get this horrifying subway that feels only like Silent Hill  except it’s real life.”

Akechi tilts his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.”

(Liar.)

“Yes. You were correct in your assumption,” Akira sighs, dropping the joke. “Everyone’s desires are here, manifesting and twisting in the lowest part of Japan. Sometimes, when a desire is too strong, their shadow appears in a separate plane apart from this. Connected, but separated from the mindless shadows. From what we understand, that’s when the desire is strong enough to stand out from everyone else, but too weak to form a Palace of it’s own. Probably because the person doesn’t have a distorted view of the world, just a specific person or thing.”

“Fascinating, truly. I feel like I could stay in Mementos for days and learn new things I’ve never thought about before.”

(You’d say that, wouldn’t you?)

Akechi smiles, following in Akira’s example to start stretching. “So, if I may ask, what are we down here for exactly? I know you said that the PhanSite usually gives you requests but--how do you sort through them all? How do you choose which ones are the most pressing?”

(You’re not getting that information out of me.)

“Whatever resonates the most with us,” he shrugs, keeping his face neutral as possible when he lies. “We all sort through the PhanSite on our own time. “If it comes with a name and a specific distortion or problem, then we bring it up at meetings and vote on it. It’s why we’ve got a lot of requests now.”

“And what does finishing these requests do for your benefit?”

Joker grins, teeth baring. “Practice, really.” When he sees Akechi blink in surprise as the shift in behavior, he continues: “The shadows that are somewhat separate of Mementos are usually stronger than the normal ones we drive by. It’s good training, and we help a person along the way. It’s a win-win situation.”

Akechi hesitates. “I… see. That’s interesting, indeed.”

--

“So,” Akechi mutters. “She truly does think of her work as a place to win.”

Makoto is stiff, staring out in shock as the bright casino lights flash before them all. It’s a--it’s a huge distortion, Akira can’t lie. For someone like Sae Niijima to hold a distortion like this within her heart, to believe so truly in this; it’s a wonder Makoto’s not freaking out more. Akira would be losing his mind. Probably is, if it weren’t for Joker keeping his thoughts and nerves bundled neatly together under the mask. Joker keeps him sane, keeps him breathing ; he’s relying more and more on the courage and confidence of the person who wears the mask to get through real life more these days.

He reaches out, a tentative touch on her forearm. Joker does not do well with comforting others, just like Akira does not do well when reaching out to others. They exist like that, distancing themselves from the outside world. “We’ll save her, Queen,” he says quietly, putting aside the need for violence in his heart. “We’ll change her heart.”

I won’t let another situation like Okumura happen.

Akira’s heart feels like it’s being held in a visceral grip, burning the air out of his lungs when they think of Okumura, of everything that happened after. Even now, he still can’t help but glance at the Phantom Thieves’ approval rating when he has free time. It doesn’t make him feel any better. It never has. It plummets like his mood, or when it’s rising, Akira’s waiting for the inevitable pindrop, to send them spiraling to prove their innocence.

It just, well, it happened quicker than he thought it would.

“I know,” Makoto says - he ignores the sniffle that he hears, only squeezing her arm in a comforting manner. “I know we will. I trust in you guys.”

Trust. The word that makes his heart leap up to his throat, Joker or Akira - it matters not.

He swallows past the lump in his throat, pushes the pit feeling away again and smiles. “Thank you,” he says quietly, “for trusting in us.”

[NOVEMBER]

“I can’t do this,” he says to no one in particular. The empty room stays silent and still as he speaks, sitting like a statue on the edge of his bed, save for the bouncing of his leg. The others are long gone. This plan solely relies on him. Tomorrow, everything rests on him. “I can’t do this.”

(You have to, Joker replies. You’re the only one who can do this.)

Akira wrings his hands together, breathes in twice, before he pushes himself off the bed to resume his pacing. He can’t organize his thoughts if he doesn’t know how to. He can’t get himself under control when he can’t get past the first blockade in the road; Joker can do this, sure, but Akira never asked to die. He didn’t ask for a lot of things that were given to him: the court ruling, being moved to Tokyo, Arsene and the other personas, and even Joker -- he never asked for any of this. Maybe this thinking is a result of his anxious and terrified mind working overtime, spilling a million thoughts a minute.

Joker only existed to protect himself from the judgement of adults, he was a defense mechanism made so much more.

“I can’t,” he says. There’s an anxious undertone in his voice when he speaks again. Fear is a good motivator, sure, but he’s not ready for this. “What if I mess up?”

(What if they win? Joker counters, and Akira can hear the frustration in his tone. It’s hard, because he’s right and Akira’s wrong and he - Akira - hates it. What if they win, and we can’t do anything?)

He swallows past the lump in his throat. The truth is hard to face. “Why does it have to be me?”

(They both know the answer: Because you’re me.)

“And if I don’t want to be?” I don’t want to be a leader, I don’t want to march to my death, I don’t want to be thrown away, I don’t want to die. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I don’t.

(Joker says nothing to that.)

--

Leblanc’s lights are too harsh, too bright against his eyes; the noises of everyone rushing to greet him again are too much, almost sending him toppling over and collapsing on himself if it weren’t for Ryuji’s arm around his neck. (Even that stings, brings out the dull ache of a body so tormented he doesn’t know how to move properly.) The makeup can only hide the bruises so much, even with Yusuke’s perceptive gaze. He will find something out, against the mis-matched colors of the foundation and his skin tone.

He has to be careful around him. Around Morgana and Futaba too. They’ll most likely be the ones to find out first.

They’re talking excitedly about how their plan won, that they won. That their first major blow against their enemy - whoever they may be, they haven’t figured Akechi’s employer out yet - worked and that they actually have a chance? Well, Ryuji’s yelling so loudly with Ann cheering that it’s causing the migraine in his head to act up, wincing against the bright lights of the cafe, wincing more when they all cheer and act excited.

Sae asks him a question, but he heard nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, muttering into his hands. The noises die down. “I don’t--I don’t really remember.”

Sae sighs, and he can imagine her shaking his head. “That’s alright. They drugged you up pretty hard. Please, don’t stress over trying to remember every little detail.” Then quietly, where he barely hears it: “It may be better if you forget some things.”

“Shit man,” Ryuji curses, banging a fist on the table and looking extremely apologetic when Akira jumps, eyes wide and terrified. Yusuke’s quick to calm Akira down, while Makoto glares at Ryuji, talking to him under her breath and he nods--terrified, but understanding. “Sorry man I didn’t--I’m just--I can’t believe they did that to you. Those shitbags.” He scowls. “If I ever get my hands on them, I’m gonna make them regret being born.”

“I know how you feel,” Yusuke says, voice oddly detached and cold. It’s quiet, but Akira can feel the underlying anger in his words, even when his hands brush across the hidden bruises on his wrist.

He knows, Akira panics for a moment, tensing up. He knows. He knows. He’s going to tell them and then they’re all going to panic and get angry and it’ll be my fault and--

(Stop.)

He does.

(Stop panicking. If he noticed, then he would’ve given you a look. This is Yusuke. He didn’t notice. Stop panicking or he will notice.)

Yusuke doesn’t give him a quizzical look, but he backs off when he feels Akira stiffen and tense, apologizing for intruding on his space and Akira--he shakes his head, tries to fix the situation, tries to assure Yusuke that no, it’s fine, he just caught him off guard.

Makoto leads the conversation, staring at her sister. “What… what kind of drugs did they--”

“It’s a truth serum,” Sae tells her, “usually they only use it when their desperate. But given the state Akira was in when I went to speak with him--”

“He looks fine, though,” Haru notes, tilting her head. “I’m surprised they didn’t do anything to you. N-not that I’m upset about that! I’m very glad you’re okay, Akira. I was incredibly worried about you.”

He and Sae share a look, but he speaks up before anyone else notices the silent conversation passing between him and the prosecutor. He tries to forget the throbbing pain in his head, the bruises on his chest, his ribs, his legs, his wrists; the pain of a bone threatening to snap, the man’s voice--

“I need your hand, but I’m not afraid to take your leg to get you to sign.”

Akira freezes. Joker’s voice, words unintelligible but comforting, slowly brings him back to reality. He’s reciting the date and time under his breath when he feels like he’s in control. Everyone is glancing at him with concern. He can’t have a panic attack here, he’s Akira Kurusu--Joker, leader of the Phantom Thieves. He who fucking ruined Goro Akechi’s plan with a smirk on his face.

“Sorry,” he mutters, keeping his gaze on the table. “I’m tired.”

--

He tries to sleep on his bed in the ceiling that night, climbing up the stairs long after everyone is gone.

“Akira,” Sojiro’s voice calls out. He’s not even made it up a step on the stairs before his guardian speaks, but Akira turns his head as much as he can. There’s a look in Sojiro’s eyes that he can’t decipher - again, but this time he’s blaming it on the drugs and not on his lack of social interaction with adults - but it’s… calming, almost. “You think I’m gonna let you sleep here tonight with you know.” Sojiro must’ve figured out that Futaba’s got the place bugged because he’s shrugging vaguely.

His breath catches in his throat. Fear. Is he sending him to the hospital, to the curb? He doesn’t have anywhere else to go and it’s--

“Look, I’ve got a spare bedroom in the house and, well.” Sojiro’s rubbing the back of his neck. “I would’ve let you stay there in the first place but Futaba and all, but, I already moved some of your stuff in there. It’ll be easier to watch over you and easier to hide in.”

Akira releases his breath, feeling his eyes sting but a smile creeps on his face.

“C’mon kid,” Sojiro sighs. “Let’s go home.”

--

Masayoshi Shido is the name of the man who ruined his life.

Masayoshi Shido is the name of the man who’s behind it all, killing Okumura, giving Akechi the names of people he wants dead. He’s the name of the man who had Haru’s father killed, Futaba’s mother killed. So many other innocent people murdered.

Masayoshi Shido is the name of the man who took away the relationship Akira had with his parents, the ruling of his court sentence didn’t destroy just his life--it took away his relationships.

Masayoshi Shido is the name of the man who Joker’s going to kill; of who Akira’s going to change his heart. To make him grovel for forgiveness and humiliate himself in front of national television.

[DECEMBER]

Shido’s distortion is the size of Japan. A floating ship with those he has deemed worthy, useful. Your life in exchange for loyalty, and when your usefulness is up, Akechi comes in and kills you. They clear the Palace as humanly possible in the first day, getting past the pool deck before Queen begged him to call it quits, that they were all running low on energy and health, that it would be suicide to continue.

So, here he is, hands clenched and head bent as the chatter of the saferoom continues on around him, everyone attempting to dress their wounds before returning to the real world.

“Joker,” Makoto says as quietly as possible, touching his wrist to draw his attention. “We--we all want to talk. To you.”

He raises an eyebrow, this time actually seen since his mask rests on the table in front of him. He almost kicks his legs up on the table too. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” Futaba admits. “With you.”

Fear. The sound of his mother’s voice again, shrill, loud, hateful: I wish we never had you! Problem child! Then, his father’s voice, disappointed, distant, cold: You should’ve just stayed out of it. It seizes his heart, his throat locking up as he nervously looks around. They’re going to throw him out, call him useless, claim that he’s unfit to fight, to lead, to follow. They’re getting rid of him. Just like his high school friends did, just like his parents.

Joker is silent. Akira deals with the problems.

He tries for a smile, joking, one edge of his lips pulling up higher than the other side. “What’s up?”

Makoto takes her seat next to him, Ryuji taking the one opposite from her, then Yusuke and Ann, to Haru and Futaba, and Morgana sits at the end of the table -- opposite completely from Akira. They’re all looking at him expectantly.

Makoto is the one to speak up first. “You’ve… changed. When we’re in Shido’s Palace. You change.”

(Joker is quiet, observant. Akira tries to push him away, to push his anxiety down.)

“Yeah?” he manages to get out.

“Yeah. A lot.” Ann’s speaking up this time. “You--you act kind of like me when we were up against Kamoshida’s shadow.”

Relentless. Bloodthirsty. Hellbent on revenge.

“I know that Shido ruined your life, Akira,” Makoto tells him, reaching out to touch his hand again. It’s comforting, almost, if not for the dread it settles in his stomach. “I mean--who wouldn’t be angry?”

“But, you’re acting like you want to kill everything in sight.” Ryuji adds, crossing his arms. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you have every right to act like that but…”

“Killing’s not what the Phantom Thieves do,” Haru smiles, “we always try to change people for the better.”

Akira’s free hand clenches into a fist. So they don’t trust me?

“You’re trying to ask me if I want to kill him or change his heart,” Akira says, watching as sadness flickers over everyone’s expressions. “Because you don’t trust me.” Regret and guilt now on their expressions. “And because I might be out for revenge.”

A long pause. The air is thick with tension. He could choke on it if he breathes wrong.

“Yes,” Morgana lowers his head.

(He hurt us--he destroyed our lives! Why shouldn’t we be angry!?)

“I…” Akira struggles to find his words, closing his eyes and drawing back his hand away from Makoto’s. “I want to… change his heart. I do.”

“But it’s hard,” Yusuke finishes for him. “After what he has done to you.”

Ryuji follows up on that. “All you wanna do is beat his shitbag face in and make him pay, right?”

He exhales, part of his tension bleeds away. “Yes, he--he ruined everything. My life. My relationship with everyone. After my arrest, I was… isolated? Hated? The problem child of my town.”

“Akira,” Ann whispers.

“No one wanted anything to do with me after. Even my parents were all too happy to send me off, out of their sight and out of the way.” His hands clench, shaking slightly. Ryuji and Makoto take notice of this. “Not one call or text from them all year.”

Futaba shifts uncomfortably.

“I know I’m… unhinged, I guess, right now. But I don’t want to stoop to his level. I don’t want to have the satisfaction of killing him. I want him to suffer.” His gaze locks with Ann. “I want him to beg for forgiveness for the rest of his life, knowing that he’s hated by everyone around him. I want him to have that fate worse than death.”

Morgana looks at him in pity. “Akira…”

“I hate him, but I don’t want to kill him.”

The room is silent. Everyone stares at him, his words sinking in; it must not be easy, really, because he’s on the verge of crying and that’s got to make it worse for everyone.

(Joker is bristling with anger on the inside, Akira knows this. He’s hyperaware of the tension in his mind and body, two sides opposing each other. Joker wants death and blood, he wants Shido to die and burn in hell. He wants vengeance.)

If we kill him, Akira thinks, staring at his fists, hoping that Joker listens to him, we wouldn’t be any better than him.

(I don’t want to be better , Joker snaps. I want him to pay.)

Wouldn’t it be better to see him in court, locked away for life? The sight of Masayoshi Shido, a proud man, on his knees begging for forgiveness is almost a pleasant thought. If Akira never has to see his face after this, then it would be better.

“Okay,” Makoto smiles, shakily, and it looks like she’s the one who’s almost crying. “We’ll change his heart.”

“If I start to--”

“Dude,” Ryuji laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll stop you.”

“And then we’ll knock some sense into you,” Ann grins.

“And preferably tell you why going out for blood is a terrible idea.”

“Inari, you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I think we’ll be just fine now,” Haru laughs. “We were all really worried about you, Joker.”

Morgana stares at him, almost unconvinced. They’ll be talking later, Akira knows.

“Alright, team,” Akira smiles, pushing his chair back to stand up. “Let’s go home.”

--

The engine room is cold, and not for the reasons that make sense. Akechi, garbed in black, desperation and anger in his (cold, soulless) red eyes, focusing only on Akira. Loki behind him, Arsene behind Akira; everyone else is too afraid to pierce the static in the air, to start the inevitable avalanche that will befall them.

“I’ll save you,” Akira promises, eyes flaring with determination, hands tightening around his knife.

“I’ll kill you,” Akechi promises, keeping a death-like grip on his gun, and there is an endless pool of hate in those eyes.

--

A gunshot goes off. It doesn’t hit Akira but it feels like it does, carving a hole the size of Akechi’s mask in his heart, drowning him in grief. The sounds of the Velvet Room filling his ears, a bond fulfilled to its maximum potential. A voice, unknown, one he has never heard: “ The vow has turned into a blood oath. ”

It wasn’t worth it, Akira cries, one hand banging against the metal of the wall that separates him from Akechi. I promised to save you, you bastard.

Yusuke’s hand on his shoulder, Makoto’s gaze on his back; everyone else is too in shock to say something, to move. (Joker cries vengeance like the wolf on a full moon.)

“Let’s go,” he says, voice neutral. His eyes sweep over everyone as they snap to him. There is no room for emotion right now. “We’re going after Shido.”

--

Shido’s Palace is collapsing. They don’t know if they’ve won. Akira’s heart is in his throat, Joker’s trying to grab control, to save him, to save them. They’re running for their lives, but they’re running out of places to go with water rushing in all around them.

“What do we do?!” They’re panicking, desperate for an answer. It can’t end here, it can’t end here!

The rest passes in a blur. Ryuji’s running for a lifeboat, the fastest out of them all (why, why, why--) and then they’re waiting, watching, hoping to get to him in time. It can’t end here. It won’t end here!

The flames and heat of the explosion burn his face, even as he stares blankly ahead searching for that spec of blond, of red, of black against something-- anything. He’s so desperate, ignoring the way that his eyes are burning, that his hands are shaking; ignores the sobs of Ann and Futaba, the whispered denials of Makoto. They’re--they’re wrong. He’s not gone. He’s not dead. He’s not.

(Joker screams out, a violent storm struggling to be contained: I should’ve killed him! We should’ve killed him! We let this happen!)

--

He almost wants to kiss Ryuji the moment he shows up, but the angry glares of Makoto, Ann, and Futaba stop the blond straight in his tracks. (His hands haven’t stopped shaking. Joker has not stopped screaming. It is a storm locked in his head. Akira doesn’t know how to bear it.) He’s laughing with tears in his eyes by the time the blond is on the ground, dazed and unsure of what the fuck just happened.

That’s okay though. Akira’s not sure either.

--

“Why the fuck are they ignoring what happened to Shido?”

“What--it’s like nothing we did mattered!”

“They’re not even remembering the Phantom Thieves…?”

“No way, even after everything we did!”

--

Mementos is, oddly enough, a calming place to be. Even though they’re here to fulfill the requests of the PhanSite and make some lives easier, there’s a distinct calm that he feels when he’s here, the ability to figuratively shrug off his burdens and escape to a place where it’s simply fight and survive. Drive, too, but that’s an Akira--a Joker -only kind of thing. The swirling red and black scenery, followed by the sharp - and he knows this only because Mona complains about it so much - train tracks that derail them, literally and mentally. All of it is too creepily familiar and peaceful. Like a second home he never wanted in his entire life.

(Funny, Joker muses. His tone is teasing, Akira can make out that much. You never liked Mementos before.)

Akira shrugs, adjusting the bright-red gloves of his Phantom Suit. It’s a habit, that, fixing his gloves, trying to constantly find a familiar thing to grasp onto. It’s like he’s scrambling for threads that’ll tell him that this is real, that he’s real; the suit is of real material, and he constantly runs his hands over it to try and convince himself he’s not losing his mind from the sheer insanity of this entire situation. Because, let’s face it, what kid can summon various mythological beings out of thin air and fight the incarnations of society’s demons like it’s business as usual?

He likes the suit, though. It’s nice and well-fitting.

He hates it, also, because it’s Joker and not him . Akira doesn’t wear this suit, Joker does, and Joker exists where Akira doesn’t. Where does the line of Akira end and Joker begin? Do they overlap with each other? They’re the same, sure, but they’re not the same.

“Mementos always gave me the creeps,” he replies under his breath. He’s standing far away from the sitting area in the safe zone to be, well, safe, but he can’t take any risks. It’d be hard to explain why he’s talking to thin air. “It’s just…” He trails off.

(It’s safer with everyone around, Joker finishes for him. You feel safer.)

Akira lets out a quick sigh. “Yeah, that.”

The safe room is the place where Akira steps back into the picture, where his fussing becomes another character trait; Joker is focused and unburdened, sure, but Akira knows when his teammates aren’t.

They’re traveling down to the depths of Mementos at Morgana’s insistence, and with every level they ascend deeper into this never ending whirlpool of cognition, the heavier the feeling of suffocation settles within himself. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to go further down. Any extra second they waste here is another second for the Reaper, for the Shadows, for--for-- someone. He doesn’t know who, exactly, but they’re here. And waiting.

Akira clenches his fists momentarily, takes in a sharp breath, and stares at the fabric again.

(You wanted to save him , Joker knows.)

The fabric is nice, thick and tough as well; it’s not chiffon, or well, it could be but he can’t tell, cashmere wool, maybe? He’s no expert in fabric, not like his--well, there’s no need to dig up old memories. He’s pretty sure it’s chiffon, though. After all, it’s smooth and the pockets are--

(You saw yourself in him, didn’t you? )

“Shut up,” Akira snaps.

Mona’s head snaps up, he can see it out of the corner of his eye, and the cat-not-cat tilts his head quizzically. “Did you say something, Joker?”

“Nope,” he replies quickly, letting Joker take over. “We ready to go?”

Ann’s voice is cheerful, and he envies that. “Yup! We’re all raring to go!”

“It’s not that much farther,” Futaba says, tapping the oversized goggles on her head. “About twenty more levels.”

Joker smiles. “Then let’s not waste time.”

--

Dying is a lot of drowning.

It’s not coincidence Akira is the last one to go, watching his friends dissolve into nothing beside him, screaming in pain, in agony. (Joker is like a wild beast, trapped down by the confines of Akira’s mentality, these iron bars can’t hold him for long though.) His heart stops, blood rushes to his ears, tears welling up in his eyes, a thousand prayers for a thousand miracles. He wants this to stop, to save his friends. He’ll die for them if he has to.

--

“You failed.” The words haunt him, echo through his head as the three of them stare at him in disappointment. A sneer on their faces, looking down on him, looking at him like he’s a toy to be thrown away, just like his mother, just like his father--

“Execute him.”

His hands grip the iron bars so tight his knuckles begin to turn white, a thousand upon a million snarls sitting upon his tongue.

I’ll kill you, Joker screams. I’ll kill all three of you if it’s the last thing I do.

--

He doesn’t. They remember. By some miracle, they remember.

Two girls don’t stand before him. Only one.

Joker stares at the face of a God and promises vengeance. Akira stares at the face of a God and wants only his friend’s safety.

“I can offer you a deal,” Yaldabaoth says, intertwining his hands.

“Go to hell,” Joker and Akira say as one. Lavenza smiles.

--

One by one, he saves them. One by one, they remind him why he’s their leader. One by one, they save him. Only some of them cry as he helps them realize why they’re fighting; he definitely doesn’t cry every time when they promise to help him fight a fucking God.

One by one, they stand in the middle of the Velvet Room, bonds strengthened by the horrors they saw, the horrors they triumphed over. They look so happy and alive that Akira’s heart could burst, even Joker settles down because Akira’s heart is swelling. One by one, it takes a moment for him to realize:

“Where’s Morgana?”

--

Lavenza stares at him like someone solving a puzzle. Piercing gaze, tilt of the head, lips turned upwards in a slight smile. She is unblinking as they stare at each other, barely five feet that separates them, but Lavenza feels miles ahead of where he is. Though, it must be like that with him and the Velvet Room in general; all of them are so aware of the world and what exists beyond its borders. Personas, Gods, and yet they place their faith into mere humans, letting them awaken to dormant power most likely long forgotten from an age past. He doesn’t know whether to feel honored or humiliated.

Then again, he’s technically died twice now and keeps coming back.

Around them, the world falls to pieces, an angry god roars overhead. Joker does not feel afraid.

“You often wonder,” Lavenza notes, head still tilted to the side. He can feel everyone’s gazes burning into his back, but Lavenza seems to stare straight into his soul. “If you are doing the right thing. If you have made the right choices.”

Akira’s mouth feels dry. Joker is vying for control. “I do.”

“Misdirection from a God, rehabilitation to break the chains around your heart, around your soul,” she muses, unblinking. “You change the hearts of evildoers, but yet you falter in your step, hesitation has snaked its way into your soul. You are unsure of this path you are walking, but you walk it anyway. I wonder why.”

His teammates are listening earnestly, he knows this. He would be too, if he were a passerby. “Not all of my choices have been correct.”

“You are referring to your counterpart?”

Akira nods. “Goro Akechi.” Two sides of the same coin.

A sad smile settles on Lavenza’s face, and the same on his own; Akechi was not a subject he approached, and never one willingly. Not after what happened.  “Do you regret meeting him?”

“No,” Akira shakes his head. “I regret not being able to save him.”

“You often throw away your own safety for the others,” Lavenza says. “But he had done you wrong, had he not? Yaldabaoth’s own playing piece in this game; had he won, the world would have fallen into ruin. Yaldabaoth would have won.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t human. That he didn’t matter.”

“Of course not,” she agrees. “You…” She straightens her posture, runs a hand down her dress to smooth out the fabric, and pulls the grimoire to her chest. Her gaze is still unblinking, still piercing, and yellow has never looked more menacing and sad at the same time. “You… only wish you could have done more. In the beginning. Or perhaps maybe you wish you had been able to talk him out of it. Is that correct?”

So she really can see into my soul.

“He was too far gone, on the ship I mean. I don’t think he would’ve listened to me when he was intent on taking my head home as a souvenir. He desperately wished for Shido’s praise all while planning his downfall. I only wish he’d let us into his heart.” He clenches his fist, letting them hang at his side still. “He’s responsible for the death of Futaba’s mother, Haru’s father, and countless other people all because he was ordered to. He even tried to kill me several times.”

“You still feel responsible for him despite his wrong doings.”

“I do.”

“Then, please forgive me if my assumption is incorrect, but…” The gazes still burn onto his back, like the afternoon sun of summer, and his hands shake more with barely controlled restraint. He is Joker, leader of the Phantom Thieves, he who would take the world, who would dare strike a God or die trying. There is no room for weakness.

“But,” Lavenza continues, closing her eyes. “You find familiarity in him.”

Hook, line, and sinker. If he wasn’t so focused on the gazes on his back, or the red sky in the background, or the miasma that surrounds them all, then maybe he would have faltered.

No, he is faltering, hands shaking freely now as his jaw clenches in tightly-wound anger. A dance of control internally now, because Joker is falling apart and Akira’s already in pieces and--and--and there is no hiding from this truth. No letting a cognitive double take a bullet with his name on it. There is only him, and Lavenza, and his teammates and there is no Akechi, no hope that this is all a bad dream; no, there is only him and Lavenza and the horrible truth that she is right.

She’s right and Joker’s right, and Akira’s the one who’s behind the mask, falling to pieces. Joker had mused that he had saw himself in Akechi, and he was right, so horribly and sickeningly right that Akira lost his appetite for the next few days.

(Joker’s voice, serious and teasing, Mementos swirling around him: You saw yourself in him, didn’t you?)

“Yes,” he chokes out, guilt and regret lacing his tone.

If he was alone back at Kamoshida’s, at Madarame’s, at Kaneshiro’s--at all of them, there would be no mistaking it: he would’ve killed them without hesitation, because Joker is bloodthirsty and merciless, and he would’ve drove himself into self-righteousness believing that the world did not need scum like them to exist. He wouldn’t have cared at all, either, knowing he was responsible for deaths. As long as scum like them didn’t walk the Earth, as long as shitty adults who exploit the system weren’t around anymore, he wouldn’t have cared. It would’ve felt like justice to him, paying the world back for what it did to him.

So, yes, horrifyingly enough, he almost feels sympathetic to Akechi, if he had been alone and angry and in his shoes.

It doesn’t justify what he did, though. None of it does. He only wishes that he had saved him for the other to pay and atone for his crimes.

“You understand his actions but do not accept it,” Lavenza continues. “Where you had your friends to guide you from the wrong, Akechi did not. Where you were saved, Akechi was forsaken. Two sides of the same coin.” Her smile feels like one off of a porcelain doll -- so out of place. “Your empathy is what saved you. His apathy cursed him. A Wild Card should always strengthen the bonds that one has, and he chose to cast away that, he closed himself off so that no one could hurt him. A foolish notion, in some retrospects. He only ended up hurting himself the most.”

Above them, the roaring red chaos swirls, the sounds of screaming.

Lavenza’s eyes close for a moment, her grimoire glowing, before she smiles. “Go, Trickster. Save this world from its ruin.”

(Make Yaldabaoth pay for everything, Joker says darkly. Make him pay for everything--for Akechi.)

Akira nods. “I will.”

--

“Come, Satanael!”

The chains of his regrets, his pasts, everything that held him back; it is the faith and belief of the people, of friends and confidants and those he has saved--they help him find his true calling.

Joker holds the gun in his hands, above him, Satanael’s shadow as he mimicks his body posture. His eyes narrow, glancing at the giant form of Yaldabaoth.

Joker holds the gun, but Akira is the one who pulls the trigger.

“Begone, fiend.”

--

Morgana looks happy, even when they’re all screaming and desperate to reach out to him--to save him. Akira doesn’t even care that he’s crying, shaking from the dread of losing one of his closest friends. (Joker is screaming too, but this is raw grief, instead of anger. They have never been good at losing and letting go.)

“Thank you,” Morgana says, “for everything.”

Akira’s voice is choked up even as he screams. “There’s a place for you here too, you idiot!”

Morgana fades away into the bright blue sky, a smile on his face as he says: “I know.”

--

Sae catches him off guard, when his friends disappear one by one, fading into the background of Tokyo noise on Christmas Day. He’s too busy standing in the middle of the street, underdressed for the weather and staring up at the sky, wishing, wondering. Morgana, he wonders, why couldn’t I save you?

“It’s not often you see the hero of Tokyo alone,” Sae jokes, a smile on her lips. There’s gratitude in her eyes. It makes his heart swell and ache at the same time. Morgana should’ve seen this. “But I have pressing matters to talk to you about.”

--

Solitary confinement. He could give himself up and save his friends. It’s not a bad deal when he thinks about it; the cost of his friends to be free and happy and smiling is worth anything. He has died and will die for them time and time again, hell, he faced a God just to see them again. At this point, Akira has nothing to lose.

Sae looks at him expectantly. His phone goes off; it’s the Phantom Thieves group chat, he suspects, but he checks anyway. Sae waits.

-- 11 new messages --

[FS]: hey akira me and sojiro are waiting to pick you up where are you at
[FS]: i guess the old man really wanted to make sure we were okay and everything
[FS]: well i guess i should be asking if ur okay
[FS]: u were the one closest to morgana and all and idk
[FS]: just text me back okay? Sojiro’s getting antsy
[FS]: hey are u even LOOKING at ur phone u havent even replied to anyone in the group chat
[FS]: akira?
[FS]: akira???
[FS]: hey are you okay?
[FS]: dude we’re all worried
[FS]: its been 10 minutes answer me or im hacking ur phone

Akira forces a smile. Looks at Sae and says, “Give me one minute to reply.”

[AK]: Don’t worry about me.
[AK]: Just go ahead and go home.
[AK]: I’ve got a ride, but we’re busy talking.
[AK]: I’ll see you all in the morning.
[FS]: okaaaaaaaaay not suspicious at all
[FS]: sojiro says u better call
[FS]: he’s fussy
[FS]: at least reply to the group chat too
[FS]: even a simple ‘hey im not dead dont worry!’
[AK]: I’ve got to go.
[AK]: See you tomorrow.
[FS]: DUDE

Sae merely gives him a quizzical look as he pockets his phone, but then her expression changes, softening as she looks him over. It’s not pity in her eyes, he sees, but… just pure gratitude. “Are you ready?”

(You don’t have to go, says Joker.)

He’s not. “I’m putting my life into your hands,” he jokes, forces a smile. “I’m ready.”

I don’t have a choice.