Archive of Our Own

Hero and villain. I have been both.

With the winter brings a hunt for comfort.

It is only natural, Akechi Goro thinks, that when the weather is cold, people search for warmth and oftentimes this warmth is metaphorical in a sense. People search for closeness to other people, to friends and family and colleagues and so on and so forth. Affection spreads a special kind of warmth from the pit of people’s stomachs that blooms to the tips of their fingers and the crowns of their heads. He sees the way it works; sees how tenderness makes a human’s facial expression soften and how it comforts others.

And it makes the inside of Akechi Goro’s chest cavity ache. It makes him want to break his fingers.

He observes people holding hands, leaning against one another, hunting for that metaphorical relief from the cold as he boards trains and walks down streets and sits in parks. There is nothing he can do except hold onto the sore sensation inside his chest and smile airily to himself, almost in a trance.

He has been doing that a lot more lately. Going about his daily life in a blissful trance. Watching himself speak and eat and sleep from a distance far, far away.

On another note, during the winter Akechi Goro feels particularly inclined to drink coffee much more so than usual. He has his own little machine in his apartment but often finds himself making up pitiful excuses to visit Leblanc. Today, his excuse is that he would like to pick up sleeping pills from Takemi, which is at least partially true. He is running out, as he uses them far more than he should. In the clinic, Takemi tells him this verbatim and gives him a significantly less amount of pills than she had last time.

Goro steps out of her clinic, wrinkling his nose as a sharp gust of wind scrapes against his face. He heads off to Leblanc, keeping his head down in an attempt to shield his skin from the freezing cold, and opens the door rather hastily when he arrives. It is empty, as he hoped it would be.

He sits down on his usual stool and sighs. After coming here so many times, Sojiro doesn’t need to ask Goro what he would like to order, and instead, silently places a cup of coffee in front of him while he ruffles through his bag, feeling around for his book with his fingers.

Goro finds the page he left off on and picks up his drink. Part of the reason why he takes so many sleeping pills probably has to do with the large amount of caffeine he tends to consume after 20:00, but he likes to pretend that has nothing to with it.

“Jeez, it’s so windy today.”

He looks up from his book. Sojiro doesn’t usually make conversation with him, especially when he’s reading, but after a glance outside he is in definite agreement. “Yes,” Goro says. “I was freezing on my way here.”

“I’m not looking forward to walking home.” Sojiro scratches the back of his neck, staring out the door window. The sound of wind permeates the quiet cafe like a prescience of change.

“Oh, am I keeping you? I can leave, if —”

“Nah, that’s all right. Akira cleans up for me on Mondays and Thursdays when he brings me groceries. He should be here soon.”

“Ah.” Goro curses himself. He had forgotten today was a Thursday. Truthfully, he had noticed a while ago Akira’s schedule of cleaning the cafe and tries to visit sparingly on those days. He feels unprepared now, but shoves the thoughts aside and returns to his book. It would be awkward if you left so suddenly , he tells himself. Another excuse.

Halfway through his third cup of coffee, the door opens with a soft jingle. Goro doesn’t look, but knows that Akira is there holding multiple bags of groceries, because there are a lot of loud noises that sound like paper bags shuffling around. He pretends to continue reading while he watches, from the corner of his eye, Akira dump the groceries on the edge of the counter with a huff. “So heavy. My hands are freezing.” A pause. “Hey, Akechi.”

Goro puts down his book that he was fake-reading. His stomach is full of spiders. “Hello, Kurusu-kun.” He stares blankly while Akira puts away Sojiro’s groceries, moving about from the refrigerator to the cabinets and everywhere in between. Goro thinks for the three hundredth time of his life, dully, that Akira has very nice long legs.

It would only be further pain towards himself if Goro were to deny that he didn’t like Akira — still. Still, after two years have gone by. Still Goro thinks Akira has lovely hair, and a kind smile, and intimidating eyes, and nice legs and a strong voice and soft skin and —

He still thinks all that. Goro wonders if he is cursed, sometimes; cursed for the rest of his lonely life to walk in a snowy haze trying to grab for something that is floating away on an iceberg. Just out of his reach, just out of his sight. It worsens his perpetual nausea to see Akira because he knows how much that boy plagues his sick heart. He knows, yet Goro can’t help himself.

There is something almost comedic about that.

He swallows down the horrible lump in his throat and focuses back on his book, eyes looking at the words but not making sense of them. For show he turns the page.

“All right, I’m heading home,” Sojiro says, making his way to the door.

Goro looks up. “Good night, and thank you, Sakura-san.”

Sojiro waves his hand. Akira waves a goodbye as well, suddenly standing across the counter from Goro’s seat. It makes him nearly jump off of his stool. He really is unprepared today.

The door closes behind Sojiro, and after a quiet moment, Akira asks, “Reading something good?”

“H-huh?” Goro blinks at him.

“Your book. Is it good? You were reading it really intensely.”

“Oh. Um, yes, it’s very good.”

He bookmarks his page and scratches his knuckle.

Akira moves to the back of the kitchen, hunting through the cabinets for something, flitting around like a fly. He takes out a small bag and carries it over to the coffee brewer. “What’s it called?”

He continues scratching his knuckle.

“ Slaughterhouse Five. ” Goro then decides, for the sake of not appearing disinterested, to elaborate. “It’s by Kurt Vonnegut. It’s about the bombing of Dresden during World War II.”

“Dresden?” Akira asks, while making what seemed to be coffee.

“Yes. Not many people have heard of it. It’s a very… hm, beautiful, is the word, I suppose — a very beautiful book.”

The skin where he’s scratching flakes off, leaving a shiny red spot underneath.

“I would ask to borrow it when you’re done, but I probably wouldn’t end up reading it.” Akira pours whatever he’s made into two mugs and sits them both down on a booth table. “Come sit with me,” he says.

Goro doesn’t say anything, only nods, picking up his book and shoving it into his bag. He leaves it on the counter and sits across from Akira at the booth and takes the mug into his hands. They’ve long grown cold since his last coffee, and the heat rising off the mug is much welcome. The mug doesn’t look like it’s one that’s for the cafe. It’s purple and has a print of a cartoon cat all over it. For some reason, it makes Goro sad. He takes a sip of his drink — only to find that Akira had not made coffee.

“Hot chocolate?” he asks, setting the mug down. The sweet taste blooms out from his stomach. His muscles are gelatin.

“Yeah. It’s too late for coffee. I wanted to make you something sweet,” he says. “And I wanted some too, of course.”

Akira made him hot chocolate. Goro wants to cry, wants to tear out his hair. He doesn’t say anything and has another sip, taking in the flavor, feeling it warm his body. Underneath the table he pinches his thigh in hopes of squashing the panic rolling through his esophagus.

He puts down the mug and clears his throat. “It’s really, really good.”

“Oh! I’m glad you think so. I was worried it was too sweet, so…”

“No, it’s perfect.” His hands tighten around the mug, holding onto it for dear life. “I didn’t know you had hot chocolate here.”

“Yeah, it’s mostly for Futaba and myself,” Akira admits, touching the ends of his hair.

“Well,” Goro says after another sip, “I feel honored, then.”

Akira grins. “ I feel honored too.” He downs the rest of the contents in his mug and folds his hands together. “You can finish, I’m just gonna clean up.”

Goro doesn’t like this. He comes to Leblanc a lot, yes, and sometimes Akira is there, but never before has this happened. In the years since the Phantom Thieves disbanded, Goro has made a conscious decision to spend minimal time around Akira while still allowing himself some conversation here and there. Lately he’s been careless. Longer conversations, opening up too much.

He cannot do that. He cannot become closer to other people. It’s terrifying, fosters too many uncertainties. It makes his skin itch.

Goro is grateful for Akira and the rest of the Phantom Thieves, because when they left Shido’s palace and found him sleeping peacefully in a pool of his own blood on the sidewalk, they didn’t leave him to die. They let him dream as they carried his ragdoll form to the clinic. He dreamt he was a child.

Despite that — despite him saving them, them saving him — he tells himself it’s best for everyone if he keeps his distance for the rest of all time. He will smile if he passes one of them on the street, sometimes have the whole how are you? I’m good, how are you? type conversion before walking away.

Only with Akira does he talk more. He lets himself speak before thinking and more often than not ends up revealing too much about himself, showing how he feels.

If he becomes too close to Akira, though, Goro knows he will revert into the mindset of constant worry. Constant worry and fear that he will say something wrong, that he will misstep and seem a failure and drive Akira away. The fear eats away at his long bones, nestles in every crook of his body.

And Akechi Goro thinks that if he were to be abandoned anymore he would have to kill himself. So his best solution is to not become close to anyone at all. He lets himself swim in a pool of grey loneliness.

He finishes the hot chocolate and stands up, placing the mug on the counter. “Thank you,” he says, suddenly extremely self conscious. “I mean it when I say it was very good.”

Akira takes the mug and puts it in the sink with the other dishes he’s washing. “I’m glad you liked it. I’ll make it for you again next time I see you.”

Goro smiles shakily. He touches the red blister on his knuckle before sliding on his gloves. “I have to get going now, before the trains stop running. But I’m sure I’ll see you again, as I come by here so often.”

As he heads for the door, bag slung over shoulder, Akira blurts, “U-Uh, do you want to exchange contact information? Again?”

Slowly, Goro turns around. “Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do?” Akira says, waving his phone around.

Friends. For a moment, Akira’s face is covered in blood. Goro rubs his eyes.

He sighs and gives in, because the howling wind outside is telling him to. He leaves the cafe and heads home, closes his eyes on the train and focuses on the sound of people around him speaking. They talk about their pets and gossip about their neighbors. It calms Goro down.

Once he reaches his apartment, shoves in the key and locks his door and puts his bag down, Goro lets out a long and heavy sigh. He changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth and paces around the joint living room-kitchen area too many times. Back and forth his feet take him, tip-tapping against the floor as he thinks. His phone is still in his bag. He doesn’t want to look at it. In fact, he wants to smash it.

Goro cannot allow himself the luxury of becoming close to Akira. He cannot become close to the person he tried to kill, because he knows he does not deserve it. If he could, Goro would tear his eyes out. Even though his life was saved, Goro still feels as though he is condemned to a life of loneliness. This time around, however, he is doing it out of his own will; he surrounds himself in a sphere of loneliness because it’s all he knows, even though he understands that he has an opportunity to change things.

Even if he were to become close to someone, it would only create a new canvas of panic. Accepting pure love, untainted, is uncharted territory. Love for Akechi Goro has always come with stipulations.

He takes his phone out of his bag. After about ten seconds of standing still, he turns off the lights and heads into his bedroom. Only once he’s taken a sleeping pill, swaddled into a massive bundle of blankets and lying down comfortably does he look at his phone.

Kurusu Akira (22:43) : i know sojiro said i’m only at leblanc on mondays and thursdays but i’ll be there tomorrow night around 19:00 since he’s leaving early
Kurusu Akira (22:45) : so if you wanted to stop by i’ll be there!

Goro stares at his phone. His fingers type a message and send it before he can think about it.

Me (22:59) : Sure, I’ll come by
Kurusu Akira (23:00) : ok great! see you then
Kurusu Akira (23:00) : goodnight akechi :*
Me (23:01) : Goodnight, Kurusu

He drops his phone on the bed and curls up as tightly as his body allows him to, trying to become as small as possible. He wishes he were an infant, sleeping in a bundle of blankets, instead of an adult hiding in them.

He squeezes his eyes closed, attempting to concentrate on the wind blowing outside. It has a lullaby-like effect to it; it is an abstract mobile hanging over a crib.

It lulls him to sleep.

- X -

In Akechi Goro’s dream, he is standing in front of his bathroom mirror brushing his teeth. He is wearing a black pair of pants and a white shirt. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

He puts down the toothbrush, spits in the sink and stares at his reflection before reaching into his mouth and snapping one of his teeth out. Then he does it to another. And another. And another. And another. Blood leaks onto his nice, white shirt like water pouring from a rain gutter. He tosses the teeth down the drain and looks up.

There is nothing else to do but laugh.

- X -

The next evening, Goro heads over to Leblanc like he said he would. Instead of bringing his book, he decides to bring his notes instead. He settles into a booth rather than his normal seat so that he can spread out his papers.

He cannot regret coming tonight. Akira didn’t force him to come, he offered politely, and Goro had accepted politely. Instead of feeling angry at himself, he has elected to try and make as little conversation as possible while still coming off as respectful.

A short while into his studying, Akira places a cup in front of him and upon further inspection Goro finds that it is coffee, not hot chocolate. He tries not to think about that too hard and continues to busy himself.

Later, once all the customers have cleared out and Akira has flipped the open sign to closed, Goro finally feels that familiar panic tighten around his throat. He glances furtively at the black-haired boy using the coffee brewer. Since he’s made such a big show of studying all evening, he knows it would be rude to continue while it’s only Akira and himself in the cafe and puts away his notes.

Akira sits across from him at the booth and slides Goro the same mug he had last night.

“Studying all night, huh?” he asks.

Goro sips at his hot chocolate. Makes eye contact with Akira. Just talk. “Yes.”

Akira looks over the notes from his spot. “What is all this?”

Goro is taken by surprise by his interest. “A grab-bag of things all mostly relating to history. Things about rituals and art and culture from various time periods and places around the world.”

“That’s interesting. I didn’t think you would be studying that type of stuff. I thought you would do math or something.”

Or something. Goro wrinkles his nose. “I think math is boring, truthfully. I didn’t want to do… detective work anymore, so I just found something interesting. I… study it mostly for myself. Because of what happened, I couldn’t… the entrance exam...” He waves his hand around and prays Akira understands.

“Oh. Wait, you’re doing all this studying just for yourself? That’s pretty dedicated.”

“It’s nice to have something to do. Hopefully I’ll get the chance to put it to use someday, for something. Work in a museum. I don’t know.” He doesn’t know anything and he is desperate to change the subject and scrambles for something else to talk about. “Thank you for the hot chocolate again, by the way.”

“Hey, you’re welcome. Actually, I forgot we had it in the cabinet until I saw you yesterday. Whenever Futaba’s upset I’d make her some and you seemed, er, tense yesterday. And then I remembered it.”

All the air is painfully vacuumed from Goro’s lungs. He cannot believe Akira’s observation skills. The fact of the matter is that he was tense because of Akira — what a funny twist of irony. He tightens his grip on the mug, unable to formulate an immediate response.

“Um, speaking of, are you okay? You look tired today.” Akira shifts in his seat.

Goro thinks back to his lovely nightmare and nearly laughs. “Yes, I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Maybe it’s all the caffeine,” the black-haired boy says, resting his chin on his hand.

“That might be part of it, but I don’t want to acknowledge it.”

Akira draws circles on the table with his index finger. “I really think you should take better care of yourself.”

Goro’s body is turning to lead.

Usually, he would be able to throw out a remarkably witty comment in response to this. But as he searches the empty air, desperate to dispel the personal direction the conversation is going towards, he finds he cannot think of anything, because it is the truth. He does need to take better care of himself.

And so he sits there, staring at the table, silent — which says enough in itself.

“Sorry, that was a little out of line, maybe,” Akira says quietly.

Goro needs to go home. He is helpless while panic wraps its hands around his neck and tries to asphyxiate him. There are no machines to pause time and allow him to compose himself. You look pathetic, he thinks. Here he is in such agitation and terror over Akira being nice to him.

“It’s all right,” he manages.

As if reading his mind, Akira then ventures, “You don’t have to feel guilty when I say things like that, though. I think you deserve better than what you give yourself.”

The hot chocolate is cold by now. Goro lets go of the mug and grips his knees under the table. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to apologize. I keep pushing the subject.” A pause. “Can I walk you to the station?”

No. “Sure.”

Akira stands up and does a little stretch. Goro slowly follows suit. He waits by the door while the other boy cleans their mugs and wipes off the booth with a dishrag. Once he’s finished, they step outside into the chilly night and Akira locks the door.

“Let’s get going,” he says, shoving the key into his pocket. Goro can see his breath in the wintry air when he says this.

It may be his unfortunate imagination, but Akira seems to be quite close in proximity while he walks alongside Goro. Every time their arms bump together he wants to both shove him away and cling to him at the same time.

Goro is so embarrassed. He made a complete spectacle of himself in front of Akira and shut down every part of his brain merely because the boy was expressing concern for him. Not only is he embarrassed, but he also feels as though he ruined what could have potentially been a nice night.

If only he was capable of accepting Akira’s kindness rather than sensing it as a danger.

Logically, he understands that there is no danger at all. Akira holds no malice towards him anymore. He made hot chocolate because he was worried, he asked for his phone number, he gently inquires about the books he reads and so on. But the small, black-sludge covered demon perched on Goro’s shoulder tells him to be cautious, to be afraid — because that is how it has always been.

He thinks back to the third foster family he had. We’re so happy you’re part of the family, they had said, smiles and all. We love you so much. We’re here to help you from now on.

They taught him that people lie so easily. People and parents and acquaintances play pretend, like in fairy tales, dancing on their tiptoes. They created the demon on his shoulder.

For a moment, he is no longer in Yongen-Jaya, walking to the train station, and instead, is in a living room that is not his, sitting on a couch that is not his, being hissed at by parents that were never his in a house filled with no love. He wishes the couch would swallow him whole; prays that the room will melt away before these parents that were never his grab his arm and confine him to his room.

“Akechi? Hey?”

Goro shakes his head out of the fog and realizes they’ve made it to the train station.

“You all right?”

“Yes, I was just — thinking about something.” It’s not a lie. It’s the truth, thoroughly coated in sugar.

Suspicion flashes across Akira’s face, but he is kind enough to let it go. His hands are shoved so far down his pockets it’s as if he’s restraining himself.

They stand there a moment, in the cold, looking at each other, telepathic messages flying in all directions but never connecting. The street lights watch curiously, shining on their hair, jackets, shoes.

“I was thinking,” Akira says slowly, “Would you want to come over to my apartment on Sunday? I, um… I ordered a new dresser and I need help building it. Ryuji’s gone for the weekend, so he can’t help, and, you know. You’re smart.”

Right. Perhaps Akira takes him for being oblivious, but Goro knows that plenty of Akira’s friends are perfectly capable of helping him build a dresser, and plenty of them are probably available on Sunday as well. He sees what Akira is trying to do; his circumspect attempts at getting closer to Goro are not going unnoticed.

“I’m free on Sunday,” he says before he can stop himself. Maybe, Goro thinks selfishly, this has the potential to be okay. Maybe he can allow himself this.

“Okay,” Akira says. “I’ll see you Sunday. I’ll text you.” One of his hands frees itself from his pockets and he touches Goro, ever so softly, on the arm. He flinches to the touch. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Goro swallows, turning into the train station with shaky posture.

His arm burns like a coin in an electrical outlet where Akira had touched him.

- X -

Saturday passes in a sweetly routine fashion. Goro spends majority of the day cleaning around his apartment, and once he’s done that, he rearranges his closet unnecessarily to give himself something else to do. During the evening, he finishes his book, and on top of it, he forgoes making coffee, less so in an effort to help himself sleep but more so out of laziness.

He falls asleep early once he’s taking a sleeping pill and burrowed himself underneath a mountainous pile of blankets. Shortly after midnight he wakes up, sweat-covered and crying. His memory has oh-so-kindly forgotten whatever nightmare snuck itself into his brain; he has a drink of water and lays back down, listening to the sound of the wind hammer against the windows.

The emptiness of an apartment in the dead, early morning is harrowing. The lonely silence beckons him, croons at him, tucks him into bed with affection.

- X -

“My room’s back through here,” Akira says, leading Goro down the hallway. “Ryuji’s is next to mine, and the bathroom is across the hall, if you ever need to use it. I already dragged the box with the dresser into my room.”

“I see,” Goro says, hands on hips, looking around Akira’s room. It is very him. Little trinkets and posters and other odds and ends litter the shelves and walls, and there is a section in the corner adorned with photographs of his friends. The bed is unmade and a lamp next to it is switched on, despite sunlight pouring through the windows. A large cardboard box — which must be the soon-to-be-built dresser — leans against the wall.

Before arriving, Goro made the decision to go about today in a more relaxed manner than he normally would. Being in Akira’s apartment for the first time leaves plenty for him to be wary about, and he feels that the only way to not set himself into alarm is by taking the day minute by minute, action by action. Constantly anticipating something will most likely only throw him into a bigger panic. All he’s doing is building a boring dresser. If something unprecedented arises — well, he’s going to deal with it when it happens, then.

Purposefully unprepared is what he might call himself. Purposefully unprepared, because he doesn’t know how else to approach today.

Though, it doesn’t mean he’s letting his guard down completely .

“You can sit on the bed or wherever,” Akira says. He stabs a pair of scissors into the cardboard box so he can open up the flaps. It makes Goro’s heart overheat.

With minimal trouble, Akira opens up the box and pulls out the pieces required for assembly along with a bag of nails and a directions pamphlet. He scans the pamphlet, then hands it to Goro. “Read this and sort this stuff into four drawers,” he says, then places a few of the pieces on the bed.

Goro looks down. Akira has the pieces to the body of the dresser, and he’s placed the pieces to the drawers on the bed. He begins to separate the drawer parts by category while Akira puts together the body. Feeling a bit adventurous, he asks, “Why didn’t you ask one of your other friends to help with this?”

“What do you mean?”

A huff. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand. Even though Sakamoto isn’t home, you have tons of other people you could have asked that you are far closer to for help with this. Why didn’t you ask one of them?”

“Oh, well — I don’t know. I just wanted to spend time with you. Is there something bad about that?”

I just wanted to spend time with you. An interesting phrasing. “No, I just wanted to know. I’ve sorted the parts into four drawers, by the way. Do you want me to assemble them?”

“I don’t have any more screwdrivers besides this one,” he says, waving the tool around carelessly. “Could you hold this?”

And it’s like this for a while. Goro holds a part in place, Akira assembles it, they talk about stupid things like coffee and the weather and stories that have been on the news. It is shocking how smooth the day is going — though, there isn’t much that can go wrong while building a dresser. Still, Goro can’t help but feel guilty for being around Akira. His kindness is of a different quality; it is unwavering, so painfully genuine, even when he isn’t trying to be.

And it makes Goro’s heart ache with sadness.

Opening up to others is something Goro has never, never given himself the permission to do, but this boy continues to crack down his walls of defense brick by brick. He hates it. Hates that he is still weak to Kurusu Akira, hates that he wants to let himself succumb to this weakness, hates that Akira can forgive him but he cannot forgive himself. It’s unfair. He is a mess — a mess of contradictions and uncertainties and oil and water.

As the assembling progresses, Goro has ended up moving to the floor beside Akira. He rests on his knees, holding the final side of wood in place while the black haired boy screws it in place. The sun has begun to descend on the horizon, splashing colors across the sky and consequently altering the lighting in the room.

Akira hoists the final drawer into place with an overdramatic sigh. “FInally,” he says, leaning back on his heels. “My wrist was starting to hurt.”

“Was it?” Goro muses.

“I’d never lie about something so serious,” he says, standing. “Since you helped me build this stupid thing, let me make you dinner. You can’t refuse, because I was planning on doing it since you had arrived.”

“Um — sure.” Then he adds, “Should you really be calling a piece of furniture you purchased with your own money stupid?”

“It was a pain to build. Come to the kitchen and stop making fun of me.”

Akira holds out his hand and Goro reaches for it, allowing himself to be pulled up to stand. On the way to the kitchen he clenches and unclenches his hand, unsure what to do with the sensation of Akira’s touch that lingered there like a stamp.

“You can sit at the table. It won’t take long. I’m gonna make curry — you’re not gonna freak out since it’s spicy, right?”

“I’ll manage,” Goro says smugly. He sits down and lets his eyes wander. Akira’s kitchen is rather unremarkable, bearing similarity to his own. The only thing that stands out in particular are the massive amount of papers, post-its, and photos taped to the refrigerator. Nearly the entire appliance is covered in stuff. There is a calendar on there as well, but it’s from last year.

“Need a new calendar?” he asks, tapping an index finger against the table.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting to buy one. Actually, Ryuji’s supposed to buy the calendar this year, so I guess it’s his fault.”

“What’s it like?” Akira looks back at him, eyebrow raised, when he asks this. “Living with Sakamoto, I mean.”

“It’s fine. He’s pretty messy but it’s not unbearable or anything. And we split paying for stuff most of the time, so it’s fair — it’s just that he gets forgetful about buying little things. Like calendars. And napkins. Stuff like that.”

Goro notices the empty napkin holder on the table and says softly, “That sounds like him.”

“Reminiscing?”

“Oh — no. I couldn’t, aha. But based off when I was around him… it sounds very in-character, what you’re describing.”

“I guess so.” Akira chops something green and thin on the cutting board. “Not to sound like someone from a soap opera, but you really don’t have to act so guilty when you talk about the past, you know, Akechi?”

Ah. Here comes something he’d anticipated but is not ready for. He holds his hands tightly together under the table, almost painfully, to keep himself steady, to keep himself from slipping off the planet, and picks at the old red spot on his knuckle he’d made a few days ago. ”I… know. I can’t help it.”

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but you don’t need to force yourself to act distant around me anymore. It’s kind of obvious when you do it.” He pauses. “We’re friends now. So it’s okay.”

Goro digs his nail so hard into his skin that it bleeds. A bead of blood blooms on his knuckle, and he’s about to reach for a napkin but realizes that there are none. Reluctantly he wipes it on his pants. “I’m trying,” he then says honestly, voice cracking stupidly.

“I know. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have come over. Uh… you know, since you have my number, you can just text me whenever about anything, right?” He coughs. “Anyway… I’m finished with the curry. We can sit on the couch and eat it.”

Akira’s words have left his blood feeling curdled. You can text me about anything. Such a subtle way of saying I’m here for you. It terrifies Goro; it turns his insides to jam.

They take a seat on the couch. Akira pulls the coffee table closer and turns on the television; flicks through the channels absentmindedly until he stops on a movie. Goro doesn’t recognize it.

“Try my curry,” he says.

Goro does as he is told. It’s very good, truthfully — not too spicy, just the right amount of each ingredient. He gives a thumbs up while he chews. Akira gives him a thumbs up in return, and Goro wants to drive a knife into himself.

For the most part, they eat in silence, pointing out something about the movie every now and then. Sometime into the second movie they decide to watch, Akira takes their plates back to the kitchen and pushes the coffee table back to its original position.

During a particularly boring scene, Goro sits up a bit and turns to Akira. Nervously: “Why are you just recently inviting me to do things?”

Akira bristles. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve been to Leblanc plenty of times while you’ve been there, and we’ve talked. But only a few days ago did you finally invite me out with you — twice in one week. What changed?”

He scratches his neck. “Does it really matter?”

“Just humor me and answer my question.”

“Nothing really changed.” Akira looks at the couch, perhaps to organize his thoughts. Goro braces himself. “I wanted to hang out with you for a while. You… you’re still so lonely, even now. I think you do it to yourself on purpose. Because of that I knew that you would be reluctant to do anything with me other than sit across from me at a counter. I had to, I don’t know, gain your trust really slowly. Though I’m sure I still haven’t gained it.”

“Why do you want to gain my trust?”

“You’re so persistent.” He sighs and leans back. “Because… I like you! And I want to be friends with you! Is it really that hard to accept it, Gor — Akechi?”

He smirks. “Interesting that you insulted me by calling me lonely and now you’re calling me by my given name.”

“You know I wasn’t trying to insult you. And speaking of — I don’t mind if you call me Akira. I forgot to mention that.”

Goro doesn’t say anything; he fidgets with his hands. This is taking a lot of processing and his brain hasn’t caught up yet.

“Sorry, I said a lot. There’s one thing I want to ask you, though.”

“Oh?” It comes out strangled.

“Earlier… why did you say ‘only a few days ago did you finally invite me out’ — were you waiting for me to ask you?

“H-How did you remember that detail?” Goro sighs. He’s sitting on Akira’s couch. He built a dresser with him. They had dinner together. They’ve watched two movies.

He may as well give it up and be sincere.

“I suppose… that I was. Part of me doesn’t want to spend time with you, but another part does. You’re very good at reading me, you know. I am making myself lonely. I do feel guilty. I don’t think I deserve your kindness. I don’t think I deserve to be here. I — “

“Hey,” Akira says softly, reaching out to hold Goro’s hand. He didn’t realize just how much he was shaking. “Calm down. You’re working yourself up with all this degradation. I didn’t mean for you to get upset, sorry.” He shifts to face Goro, legs criss-cross. “You know that I can’t change your opinion of yourself. Only you can do that. I just… hmm.”

“‘Hmm?’”

“I just want you to be happy now. It’s not fair to spend your whole life lonely. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Ah.”

His eyes flit down to his hand, still being held by Akira. The amount of things going on in his head make him exceedingly nauseous, moreso than usual. It’s clear that the other boy has many more things to say to him and Goro is thankful he’s giving him a moment to think and assess the situation.

Though there isn’t much he himself wants to say, and decides on: “Your hands are very soft.”

“Your hands are very dry,” Akira says simply. “You’ll have to try better than that, Akechi.”

“You’re killing me, Kur — Akira.” He sighs. “Your hands are very soft, and they’re very nice to hold. And you can call me Goro.”

“That’s better,” the other boy whispers. With an uncharacteristically trembling hand, he reaches out and places it on Goro’s cheek, rubbing the skin kindly with his thumb. Time has begun to move in slow motion, strangely, and the space surrounding the couch suddenly feels devoid of atmosphere. He must look particularly frightened, because Akira asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he breathes. Not until this very moment has Goro realized how incredibly touch-starved he is. There is no combination of words that can properly articulate the tender sensation he feels — nothing to describe the warm, pink and comfortable emotions flooding his body. Ironically, it makes him want to cry.

And cry he does.

“Please — please,” is all he manages. Before he can stop it, stupid, hot tears fall down the side of his face like an awful leaky faucet. He gasps for air, desperate to smother the sobs he knows are coming, desperate to make himself stop.

Akira moves himself closer and embraces Goro, a protective shield, a silent promise, and Goro doubles over in tears. He hides his face in Akira’s shirt, dizzy and embarrassed and disoriented, as he purges every poisonous emotion he’s chained to his heart and lungs and ribcage for the past lifetime.

All the while Akira waits, running his fingers through the back of Goro’s hair, like a message of patience.

It takes Goro a minute to steady his breathing once he’s tired himself out, and he rests his forehead against Akira’s shoulder, shuddering and inhaling and exhaling like he’d taught himself long ago. He sits up and wipes the tears off of his face with his sleeve, feeling vulnerable as ever, like he’s been caught in a wired fence.

He looks at Akira, lays his hands on the boy’s cheeks and kisses him on the mouth.

For once, it appears as though he has taken Akira by surprise. It takes him a moment to pull Goro closer, nearly sitting on top of him; it takes a moment for him to kiss him back. His hands roam around a bit before settling around the brown haired boy’s waist. The movie plays on the television benignly, despite being abandoned.

They peel themselves away from one another, lips shiny and fuzzy and bright pink. Goro is worried he’s going to have a heart attack, but he can’t let go of his hold on the other boy, absolutely desperate for touch, for warmth. Akira kisses up the side of his jaw, languidly and open-mouthed. “Stay with me tonight,” he says. “The trains are going to stop running soon. Stay with me tonight.”

“Yes,” Goro says again, helpless. His stomach feels syrupy, cottony; surely his insides are floating. The thought makes him giggle. He wonders if it sounds hysterical.

Akira sits back. “Wait — you don’t have to, though. There’s still time to make it to the station. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“No, I want to,” he says, dazed. “Please keep touching me.”

The movie plays, far away in the distance.

“Take that pillow there,” Akira instructs. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Goro moves the nearby pillow against the arm of the couch and lets himself be pressed down against it. “Watch the movie,” Akira whispers, kissing his neck, “This is my favorite part of the whole thing.” He moves to Goro’s mouth, prodding it open a bit by touching the side of his cheek. Their tongues slide together unhurriedly; before he can help himself Goro moans softly.

Akira lets one hand wander about Goro’s abdomen, sneaking underneath his shirt and finally resting on his ribcage. His other hand rubs lazily along the inside of Goro’s thigh, too far away, nearly too close. He kisses him everywhere he can reach. Goro feels like he is at sea, sleeping in a bed and taking in the gentle movement of a boat. His eyes slip shut; the world is only him and Akira and the movie and the couch and soft, sighing breaths. There is nothing overtly sexual about it — only tender, fond, emotional, as they touch skin with fingers and lips with lips and tongue with tongue.

“Don’t fall asleep,” the boy above him mumbles a while later. He’s entangled like a rose bush against Goro, fingers threading through his hair.

“Okay.” He opens his eyes. “I wasn’t, really, I promise, it’s just that nobody has ever been like this with me and I — “

“I know,” Akira says. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty about it, by the way. I want to take care of you.” He kisses the corner of Goro’s mouth, his neck, the spot beneath his ear.

“Okay,” he says again, breathily.

Akira sits up. “Will you come see the sunrise with me tomorrow morning?”

Goro furrows his brow. “What?”

“The sunrise. You know, when the sun comes up in the morning. There’s a spot near my apartment where it’s really pretty to look at. I want to show it to you.”

“Oh, um, sure.” His head feels so, so fuzzy. “I was lying earlier, just so you know. I’m very tired.”

“I know that too.” Akira sits himself up, stretching his back like a cat, then clicks off the television and clambers quite ungracefully to his feet. “Come on, sleepyhead. I’ll loan you some clothes.”

As he changes into one of Akira’s sweatshirts and a pair of his sweatpants, Goro can’t help but do a bit of thinking. He wonders what caused him to give in so easily tonight. For years, he had promised himself he would never, never surrender to his feelings for Akira — he would toss them aside. He would make them an afterthought. Why had he given up that up now?

He thinks back a few days ago, a few months ago. He had always assumed Akira was too far away from him for any true relationship — friendship or otherwise — to develop. The space between them felt colossal, but now Goro has realized he was creating that space. It wasn’t Akira at all. By shackling himself up, he was making it worse, not better.

He feels so stupid.

And that’s why tonight shattered his internal code — because Akira held his hand. Akira touched his cheek. Akira, Akira, Akira, who had never really been out of his reach at all, who makes hot chocolate and needs a new calendar, who smells like drugstore cologne and berry shampoo. He was there all along, being driven away by a territorial crow. Goro was blind.

“I can hear you thinking,” Akira says, kicking his clothes to the corner with his foot.

“I’m sure you can.” Pause. “Where should I sleep?”

The other boy deadpans. “Is that a serious question? We just laid on the couch for like, two hours. Sleep here.”

“Well, I was just being polite.”

Akira raises his arms, exasperated. “Unbelievable.” He throws back the comforter, toes his socks off and climbs onto the bed. “Are you gonna go to sleep standing up, or laying down, baby?”

Goro blinks, dumbfounded, says, “baby” in a quiet voice and crawls in next to Akira. He reaches over and switches the lamp off. “You’re going to need a new lightbulb if you keep it on all the time like that.”

“I forget about it sometimes,” Akira says stupidly. “Leave my lamp alone.”

With that, he rolls onto his side and encircles his arms around the brown haired boy, tucking his chin near his neck. Their legs entwine with one another and Goro can’t help but feel like he’s in a cheesy romance movie shot.

“Goodnight,” Akira whispers.

“Goodnight.”

Goro falls asleep without a sleeping pill.

- X -

They walk in the cold still of the morning, coffees in hand, up an unfortunately long hill. Japan is asleep, for the most part — only a few lights are on in the apartments they pass. The wind is especially strong today and it stings Goro’s face, even with his scarf up to his nose, as he hikes up the hill.

Tears blur his vision. “I can’t believe I agreed to this,” he says, voice muffled through the scarf.

“Don’t be grumpy. I thought you’d be more of a morning person. And look, we’re here anyway.”

Their destination is apparently a very plain lookout spot. It has a stone wall and a few stray weeds poking out from the cracks of the sidewalk and that’s all that there is to it. The sun hasn’t risen yet, either; the only thing to look at are the weeds. Goro counts them in his head.

“I know it’s underwhelming,” Akira says after taking a sip of his coffee, “But just trust me. Wait five minutes and you’ll see.”

Goro pulls his scarf down to drink the coffee Akira had made and leans his arms against the stone wall. The wind mercilessly whips his hair in all types of directions. It’s times like these where he wishes he’d just get a haircut — or at least start bringing something with him to tie it up with.

As he’s counting the weeds on the ground for the fourth time — there’s either 16 or 17 of them — Akira lightly jostles his arm and says, “Look now.”

He looks up. The sun is slowly emerging from the horizon, groggily, lazily, and it casts rays of pale pinks and yellows across the sky and through the clouds. The whole world seems to have fallen silent as it makes way for the sun to rise. Goro can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way that time and nature appear to have stilled for this moment makes him feel weightless, almost. It’s like witnessing a perfect good omen. He can hold everything he has in his thin fingers.

Perhaps, he thinks, he feels this way because he has never stopped to do something like this. To look at the sun rise, to notice how different things are in the morning, to truly see from a bird’s eye view. It has always been work, work, rush, keep pushing ahead for Akechi Goro, no stops allowed. Thinking about it makes him sad and angry and relieved he’s finally through with that regimen all at once.

“Pretty, huh?” Akira says, barely a whisper, as if it’ll take away from the scene.

“Yeah.”

“I discovered this place when I went for a walk really early once because I woke up from a bad dream,” he confesses, “And since then, I try to come here every now and then, even though I have to wake up early for it. It’s nice to be reminded… how peaceful things can be.”

Ah, what a sap. It’s so hopelessly endearing. “The world has stopped,” is Goro’s only reply.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” A bird caws, far away. “Hey, Goro…”

“Hm?”

Akira frowns. “No, never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

As the sun extends itself higher into the sky, they decide to make their way back. Akira offers to buy something for breakfast at a cafe they pass by that’s already open. Once they’ve placed their orders, Goro shoves himself in front and pays instead.

“So sneaky, jumping in front of me in line like that,” Akira says, sitting down at a booth. “Sit next to me, not across. We’re past that now.”

Goro rolls his eyes and sits down. “You’ve already made me a ton of food and drinks, so it’s only fair for me to buy something for you.”

“Hmmm. I guess so,” Akira says, resting a hand on Goro’s thigh. “Thanks for waking up early to come with me.”

“Ah — you’re welcome. Thank you for inviting me. Thank you for letting me stay overnight, too.”

“I didn’t mind at all,” he says, a grin on his lips.

Halfway through his excessively syrupy french toast, Goro turns and says, “What do your friends think of me?”

“What do you mean? They tell me you say hi to them sometimes; wouldn’t you think that means they like you?”

Goro stabs a piece of toast. “Maybe. But you know all too well people can put on quite the mask around others.”

“I can’t say that they all feel the complete same way, but I don’t think they hate you.”

“At least you’re honest.” A bell jingles from the corner of his ear as someone enters the cafe. “I don’t really know how to act around them. I’m not sure what’s too friendly and what’s too aloof.”

“Too friendly? I don’t think it’s possible to be too friendly around them. Even if you come off too strong, I think they’ll appreciate that you’re finally talking to them instead of running away. It’s not like you have to get emotions involved, either. As long as you seem sincere, it’s going to mean something. Also,” a yawn breaks his speech, “They know.”

“They… know?”

“They’ve watched you ogle me for the past two years, and watched me less conspicuously ogle you back. I think they’ve probably made bets.”

“Bets,” Goro says flatly.

“Yeah. And I outright told Futaba that — uhh, it feels so awkward to say this — that I wanted to date you.”

“You’re so sly all the time but can’t say you want to date someone aloud?”

“That’s not it! I just feel like I shouldn’t be saying it at breakfast is all.” Akira isn’t making eye contact now. It’s funny to see him this way, Goro vaguely thinks.

“Okay, then, Akira — I guess I’ll say it for you. Would you go out with me?” The blood in Goro’s veins and arteries is flowing at a vile, fast pace. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it does feel a bit dense saying it over breakfast, while he’s waving a fork around.

“You’re scary when you’re so assertive,” Akira mumbles. “I’d love to, honey .”

“Hmm,” he hums, pleased, then reaches up and wipes a crumb off of the boy’s cheek. “All right then.”

- X -

Two relatively peaceful weeks pass, and Goro spends them, for the most part, with Akira. Ryuji came home in the evening the day they had gone to see the sunrise — bringing Morgana home with him — and found the two of them asleep on the couch with the television on. He’d called Ann, who then called Makoto and Haru, who both contacted Futaba and Yusuke. Goro woke up to someone roughly shaking his shoulder and found himself face to face with all of the Phantom Thieves, all of whom had seen him sleeping with Akira’s arms snug around him.

It was awkward, to say the least. Awkward, but a good icebreaker , is what Futaba had said.

After that, he found it much easier to talk to all of them. He felt good; he felt better, less nauseous, more clear headed.

Those two relatively peaceful weeks pass, and now Akechi Goro is laying in his bed. To be more specific, he is sleeping, he is dreaming. In his dream, he is sitting at a kitchen table in a square room with grey walls. There is a glass of water in front of him, but that’s it.

He waits and waits and waits for something to happen.

The walls of the room seem to slowly get closer to him. Dully, rather than fearfully, he realizes that the room is shrinking and sits in the chair and watches. He watches until the walls reach the edges of the table and crack the wood in all sorts of places, sending pieces flying as it is crushed together more. Finally he stands and fully examines the horizontal hydraulic press of a room. Something feels heavy in his pocket.

He reaches in and pulls out a shiny, mocking gun. As he spins the cylinder idly, the kitchen table suddenly snaps into two. The glass of water shatters on the ground and unimaginably begins to flood the room.

When the water reaches his knees, his points the gun at the wall and shoots. Nothing happens. It keeps shrinking, the water keeps flowing, the world is ending. He points the gun between his eyes. It clicks. The water touches his chin. He inhales, and squeezes the trigger a bit, and exhales.

Something is waking him up.

He’s twisted in the bedsheets, flailing wildly, trying to breathe, trying to get out of the bed and go somewhere, anywhere. His hands grab for the sheets and move in all sorts of contorted directions. In a panicked movement, he lurches out of the bed, focusing on his inner voice telling him to get up. There isn’t a specific place he feels he needs to go, as long as he gets out of here, then he’ll be all right. Then it’ll be over.

A pair of hands grab him from behind and pull him back onto the bed against a body. He screams, disoriented, tearing at his hair — he needs to leave, he can’t be hauled back.

“Goro,” a voice says, so many miles away, “You don’t need to run anywhere. You’re awake. Come back to me.”

“I’m sick,” he mumbles, and it’s almost incoherent. “I’m sick and you shouldn’t touch me.”

“You’re not sick,” the voice says, but it bounces off his glass exterior.

He doesn’t like the feeling of being restrained while he has the urge to jump out of his skin. It’s as though a seat belt is holding him back as its car sinks underwater. The horrible part is that he knows Akira is there, and he isn’t really being restrained, but there’s something that makes it hard to comprehend that.

It’s been a very long time since he’s had a nightmare like this one. In all the nightmares where he’s holding a gun up to his head, once they’re over, waking up this way is typical. The dreadful, indescribable need to run as far away from his room as possible latches itself onto his stream of consciousness and does not let go without a fight. It hurts his head and his eyes and ribcage and makes his tongue feel like a stone.

He is so, so mortified that Akira is witnessing this.

“I don’t want to force you around too much, but I really need you to lay down, Goro,” the voice says. He feels the arms around him shift and push him onto his back. “Just breathe for a minute. You don’t need to run away. It’s safe here.”

There is something about Akira’s kindness that Goro continuously finds himself giving into. Even with his body demanding otherwise, he allows himself to close his eyes, hiding his face in his hands, and lie still. He’s had nightmares before — they both have — but they don’t usually involve him trying to rip his hair out. Vaguely, he wonders if Akira might have gotten up and left, because he’s not holding onto him anymore.

He feels a hand smoothing his hair and flinches. “Sorry,” the voice says. It definitely sounds like Akira’s this time around and not a stranger’s. “I didn’t want to touch you for a few minutes. I was worried it would freak you out more.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, opening his eyes, “Okay.”

“What happened?”

Goro shakes his head. “Just a dream. This doesn’t happen often anymore.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

He sits up and sighs. “Not particularly. I want… I don’t know. I don’t think I can fall back asleep, though.”

“That’s all right. It’s almost six, so I don’t mind getting up that much.” Apparently deep in thought, he taps his finger to his lip. “You have a coffee machine, yeah?”

Goro nods, and Akira smiles like honey in response and says he’ll be right back . His figure disappears out of the doorway, footsteps padding against the wooden floor until he’s too far away to hear. Goro leans over and opens up the blinds. Pale sunlight streams in, only slightly so, and dusts the blankets.

Sometimes Goro worries that he is taking too much from Akira and never giving enough back. No matter how much reassurance he receives, he will never be able to free himself from the guilt he fetters to his heart. He thinks that he will most likely die with that guilt — it’s too far entwined in his muscles and veins. His emotions are unchanging when he thinks about his attempt on Akira’s life.

Back then, he was neutral about killing him at first. Akira was simply another person he had to take down in order to get closer to Shido. It wasn’t until he spent more and more time with him — in Mementos, in Leblanc, texting him, holding meetings — that something foul crawled its way up his throat. It was something foul and sickly yet sweet all at the once. There was no denying how much he admired Akira, no denying how much he had wished they met years earlier or perhaps in a different lifetime. It made Goro hate himself. It made him hate Akira from every corner of his wretched heart.

And so he did the one thing he did best — pretend. He put on a show, put on his plastic smile and used his plastic dialogue in hopes that it would quash how he felt. Goro wanted to stomp all his feelings into the ground and purge himself from the weakness that emotions brought along.

It didn’t work, though. In his mind, as he had held that gun up to Akira’s head, he told himself that it had worked. He told himself he felt nothing, despite the vomit prodding at his throat.

And when he fought Akira again in that godforsaken engine room, he told himself the same thing, over and over, up until the people he had betrayed showed him sympathy and sliced his heart in half. Akechi Goro didn’t know who he was. Akechi Goro didn’t ever know who he was, really. Maybe it was because he had turned himself into a black hole.

He wipes at the tears beading from his eyes and covers his face in his hands again. Such an unfortunate thing to think about so early in the morning.

“I’m back,” Akira says, and it makes Goro’s head snap up in surprise. There are two mugs in his hands.

“Welcome back,” he replies pitifully.

Akira sits next to him and drapes a leg over the brown haired boy’s knee. It’s charming how fast he’s caught on to Goro’s near-obsession with being touched.

“Try and relax. Your face is all scrunched up from thinking about too many things.” He hands over one of the mugs. “For you.”

“The level of patience you have is disturbing,” Goro mutters, curling his hands around the porcelain. “Thank you.”

“It’s not that I’m being super patient, really. To be honest, you scared me this morning — I thought you were trying to strangle yourself with the sheets at first.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Perhaps he was trying to do that, but he can’t remember now. “I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” His empty hand floats upwards to play with Goro’s hair. “Drink my drink. I worked very hard to make it.”

The sarcasm is pacifying. He touches the mug to his lips and sips. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yeah. Remember what I told you last time? Why I made it for you in Leblanc? You were upset. I thought I’d do it again.”

Once again, Akira’s compassion makes him want to cry. It makes him feel like a child, and he knows it’s silly, but there is something about the way Akira treats him — with humor and care and assertiveness — that has his stomach clenching.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Akira kisses the curve of his jaw in earnest. “You’re welcome.”

They sit in silence for a short while, Akira scrolling through something on his phone, as a brighter sunlight cascades into the room across their legs. Birds sing outside quietly. Once again, the world has stopped.

“What’s the nicest dream you’ve ever had?” Akira suddenly asks as he stretches over and places his mug on the side table.

Goro leans back on his arms and thinks. He has a lot of average dreams and a lot of bad dreams, but not so many good dreams. Thinking of the nicest one he’s ever had requires a lot of carding through his memory.

All at once, he remembers a contender. “When I was little — around eight, probably — I had a dream where I was sitting in a very big field. I could see a ton of bright green valleys in the distance. The sun was so warm. It was as though I could feel the grass and everything around me. Nothing else was happening other than that.” He grimaces. “It’s pretty boring.”

“No, it sounds nice. Sometimes things like that are the nicer dreams.”

“What’s yours?”

“What?”

“Your nicest dream,” Goro clarifies. He places his mug on the floor and tugs Akira down onto his back with him; he rests his head against the boy’s shoulder before pulling over a blanket.

“Agh! You’re really cold.” Akira shifts around to make himself more comfortable. “I like when you take initiative.”

“Just tell me your dream,” he says.

“Okay, okay. It’s probably this one I had three years ago. I was in a hotel, and I think I was the only person there. The room I rented was unrealistically big — you could have fit at least seven beds in it. Oh, and there was a balcony that I could walk onto from a door in the room, and in the dream, I was looking up at the sky from the balcony. It was night time, but the sky looked more purple than dark blue. It was so quiet.” He makes a face. “All of these things — the really big room, being the only person in the whole hotel, how quiet it was — they made me feel so lonely. But while I was on the balcony, a red balloon floated past me and I grabbed on and it just … took me up into the sky. I could see the whole city below me, full of lights and color, and it was … I don’t know. It was just so, uh, freeing, I guess?” His eyes look like they’re glimmering. “It made me think… nobody in the world is really alone.”

Goro gapes at him. Something is aching in his chest, burning in his lungs, dancing in his stomach.

“I love you,” he says. The words spilling out like oil.

Akira’s whole body tenses, and instantly Goro regrets what he’s said until the other boy sits up and looks at him with big, glowing eyes. “I love you,” he repeats back, and then: “I do. I’m glad you’re alive and I’m glad I met you.” He rests a hand against Goro’s cheek and lays back down on his side.

“Ah,” is all Goro manages, wrapping his arms around Akira. “You stole my heart after all.”

Akira laughs sweetly. “That’s so awful. I can’t believe it.”

Even though Goro feels like crying again, it is different this time. The radiant pulse in his heart threatens to burst and flood the entire apartment. ‘Giving in’ to Akira’s kindness is not a weakness, he realizes. Despite what he had taught himself before, showing kindness at the right times doesn’t make him weak at all. The thought dawns on him like a lightning strike.

He doesn’t want to torture himself for the rest of his life. He never, never wants to go back to the lonely and grey universe he had lived in before, where that black sludge demon on his shoulder fed him commands and reverse praise. Even if it makes him feel guilty for having that thought, it’s something he wants to fulfill anyway.

Goro hopes he can let himself live a happy life. He wants to be free. His soul will always be tainted, but he doesn’t want it to haunt him. There is no need for a barrier when a barrier is far, far in the past, in an engine room that doesn’t exist anymore, on a ship that doesn’t sail anymore.

There is only the real sea now.

Akira stands suddenly, pushing himself off the bed and tapping something on his phone. Music is playing. Goro isn’t sure what he’s doing.

He holds out his hand to the boy on the bed, true morning sunlight painting their hair and legs and the walls and their lips and the blankets. “Please,” he says, “I know it’s silly, but dance with me.”

Akechi Goro takes Akira’s hand in his and stands.