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Goro kept busy during the day. Whether it was legitimate detective work, school, or one of Shido’s requests, he nearly always had something with which he could occupy his mind. This was very much by his own design, because when he didn’t have anything to distract him from his own thoughts, his mind would wander – always to a thoroughly unpleasant place.
He was good enough at keeping himself distracted that nowadays it usually happened only at night, during the short period of time between lying down to bed and actually falling asleep. Then he was faced with a conundrum: if he tried to keep his mind occupied, he would toss and turn fruitlessly for hours until exhaustion caused him to pass out, but if he tried to relax, his thoughts would inevitably turn inward, a direction Goro tried not to look if at all possible.
Some days, however, the world just didn’t want to work with him. As serendipity would have it, today he managed to finish up a major case report well ahead of schedule, leaving him with two hours left on the clock and nothing in particular to do. As he sat at his desk idly sorting paperwork, he could feel his attention drifting, and his most recent TV appearance wormed its way into his mind. He drummed his fingers on his desk before curling his hand into a fist, digging his nails sharply into his palm.
People liked him. He knew that, but he still couldn’t help but scrutinize every word that came out of his mouth. Goro took the phrase “you are your own worst critic” to its logical extreme, watching and re-watching his interviews in some kind of twisted ritual: he’d listen to himself, think of what he should have said, how he could have said it better. And if he made a mistake? Slipped up from his TV-perfect smile for even a second? It’d stick with him for days. He saw every crack in his own mask, and it sickened him.
Surely, others had noticed. But no one said anything.
Anxiety curled in his stomach. The shit he had said… the memories tightened like a vice around his chest so that every breath he took was painful. It was impossible to calm down when he got like this, and the tension just made the pain worse, a self-perpetuating cycle of anxiety, tension, pain, anxiety, and more pain. It was all he could do to excuse himself from the office, throw himself onto his bike, and ride blindly until he was somewhere devoid of passersby and out of sight from well-meaning coworkers.
It was a hot, cloudless day, and Goro was hardly a block from the police station when he started to work up a sweat, but still, he found this preferable to the alternative. It was something of a running gag regarding him now that when given the choice, Goro would always, always ride his bike around town – something that fans and news anchors alike loved to tease him about. If he was pressed, he would always say that biking helped keep him fit and active, or that it was good for the environment, or that it let him feel more in-tune with the city, and maybe those things were all true. The real reason, however – the thing he couldn’t admit to – was that when he rode the subway, he could see Mementos.
It had started a few months after he first awoke to his power. Back then it was barely noticeable: a subtle red glow to the interior of the train cabins, or a scattering of black flecks flying through the air, carried away on invisible air currents. Gradually, it began to grow more obvious; out of the corner of his eye, he would notice a splash of red… paint… on the walls, or perhaps he would find himself passing by a lumbering, hunchbacked shadow standing behind a row of salarymen, patiently waiting for the train to arrive.
The turning point occurred on a miserably rainy night when he was returning home from a lengthy and thoroughly unpleasant trip into the Metaverse. It was nearing midnight when he finally arrived at the subway station, and all around him, the air tasted stale. The whole place was bathed in a hazy red fog, while every advertisement he passed had turned to static, and black tendrils crawled over the posters, the walls, the harsh fluorescent lights, and then there were the pillars, even the trains themselves – every dark crevice he could see, everything was covered in those fleshy red masses that pulsated in tune with Goro’s heartbeat. It was as though he had never left that other world.
He couldn’t be sure why this particular instance got to him so badly. Maybe it was because he had been so tired, or it was the ramifications of what he had just done, or maybe it was just the sheer intensity of the illusion, but whatever the case, it caused him to turn on his heel and run home in the torrential downpour, soaked to the bone and freezing cold by the time he finally reached his apartment. His attaché case was ruined – along with every paper inside of it – but he didn’t care, and from that day on, he would wake up two hours early and bike the whole way to work rather than take the train into town. He was sure he wouldn’t go near Shibuya station at all if his favorite bakery didn’t happen to be located in the mall underneath.
It was a concession Goro was will to make, though, because if there was one thing that could distract him from the monstrous anxiety permanently dwelling in the back of his mind, it was dessert. This was one of the only vices Goro had that he could call singularly his own; the murder, the lies, the blackmail, he liked to believe these were things he wouldn’t have done had circumstances been better, but sweets he knew he would love regardless.
Indeed, he was starting to think he had classically conditioned himself to crave sugar when he got anxious, because today – without ever intending to – his legs had taken him to Shibuya station. Goro sighed, coasting over to a grassy area and glancing at his watch. It was close enough to the end of his shift that he might as well just stay gone, and if he was already here, well…
So Goro locked up his bike, took a moment to neaten his hair and clothes, and made his way into the underground mall. He was starting to feel better now; the bike ride had left his muscles feeling springy and just a little worn out, and the mall was loud enough that it could almost drown out his own thoughts… almost.
The anticipation for something sweet was doing wonders for his mood, as well. Goro always bought the same thing when he visited the bakery: an éclair-style roll stuffed with whipped cream and topped with shredded coconut. He’d tried plenty of the goods Yon-Germain had to offer, but he had fallen so in love with the subdued sweetness of this particular item that he was hard pressed to ever get anything else.
Once he had paid, Goro stepped off to the side of the bakery, leaning against an unoccupied section of wall where he could enjoy his pastry without troubling anyone else. If he kept to himself and stood somewhere unobtrusive, Goro found it was unlikely that he would be recognized, even in a place as busy as this. It seemed the public assumed he would always act like he did during interviews, all bubbly and personable – this quiet boy standing unceremoniously against the wall couldn’t possibly be the Detective Prince they were expecting.
The first bite he took was like a welcome rainstorm after a drought, the sugar chasing away his disquieting thoughts and granting him a brief moment of reprieve. He knew he’d end up crashing in just a few hours, but that was a small price to pay – almost as small as the actual price of the éclair.
Goro savored the taste of his pastry and watched the throng of strangers all around him. It was crowded down here, and he noticed dozens of students all wearing the same crisp white tops and black-and-red plaid pants. It looked familiar; hadn’t he seen it just the other week? At the television station… that was Shujin Academy’s uniform. Given the time of day, classes must have just ended.
As he cast his eyes around, one person in particular caught his attention: another Shujin student from the look of his uniform, but one who had a familiar face hiding underneath a nest of unruly black curls. Goro hummed. What was his name, again? Kurusu… Akira, if he recalled correctly. Yes, that was the one who had so thoroughly impressed him back at the TV station, speaking clearly and calmly with a conviction his appearance belied. Was he headed home from school now, as well?
With how intently Goro was staring, he shouldn’t have been surprised when their eyes met, but he still startled when Akira’s steely grey eyes honed in on him. Akira tilted his head, glancing to his left and right and then back at Goro, who stood up a little straighter and kept eye contact, silently accepting his offer. Despite Goro’s request to keep in contact, they hadn’t run into each other again since that day, and while Goro didn’t feel much like conversation right now, if it was him… it wasn’t an unwelcome thought.
Akira slipped through the crowd with the grace of an alley cat, narrowly avoiding collision without so much as a second thought.
“Ah, it’s you,” Goro said once he arrived.
“It is.” Akira’s posture was relaxed; he leaned his weight to one side and adjusted his messenger bag casually as he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here… I wanted to say hi.”
“Well, I’m glad you decided to speak to me. I, um… was able to get off work early today,” Goro said, a shred of social awkwardness compelling him to explain his behavior to this near-stranger. “I rather enjoy this bakery, so I thought I’d come here to relax.”
“Yeah?” Akira looked at the pastry in his hand. “I’ve passed by plenty of times, but I’ve never actually bought anything.”
“Well, I highly recommend it,” Goro said.
Akira gave a closed-lip smile that somehow managed to spread all the way up to his eyes. “Then I’ll have to try something,” he said.
It could have been the end of the conversation, as Akira evidently intended to try something right now, but he as he approached the bakery, he looked back over his shoulder at Goro and asked, “How have you been?”
Lousy, Goro thought, but that wasn’t the conversation they were having. “About the same as usual,” he said instead, trailing behind Akira, who studied the selection of baked goods and eventually selected the same pastry Goro had just finished eating. “But I’ve had no shortage of interesting work, at least…”
“Oh yeah?” Akira asked. “You were investigating the Phantom Thieves, weren’t you?”
“That’s right, though since Madarame’s public confession, things have been relatively quiet on that front. In the mean time, I find myself wondering about their next move… and about their motives.”
Akira took his time before responding, chewing thoughtfully on his newly-purchased sweet. “Is motive important?”
“Certainly,” Goro said. “There’s a world of difference between someone who steals to feed their family and someone who steals for pleasure, wouldn’t you say?”
“The police don’t care about why someone broke the law, though, only that a law was broken,” Akira countered. In an instant his relaxed composure disappeared, and Goro was reminded of when they first met: Akira had the same spark in his eyes now. “The thieves you just described would be punished exactly the same way, wouldn’t they?”
“You’re not wrong,” Goro admitted. “…Perhaps it’s simply for my own sake, then.” He shifted uneasily on his feet. He hadn’t meant for the conversation to go this way; now they were treading into waters that hit dangerously close to home for him. “I… I suppose I want to believe that there’s a difference between the kind of person who breaks the law because they feel they have to and an unrepentant criminal.” He trailed off, laughing nervously. “Ha ha… but I guess that’s rather naïve of me, isn’t it?”
Akira licked a few shreds of coconut off of his fingers, and shook his head.
“No, I can respect that,” he said.
They stood and talked about idle things until Akira had finished eating, and then even longer than that, until Goro’s legs ached from standing in place. By the time the two of them parted ways, Goro felt almost normal again, the churning anxiety in his gut replaced with something much more fluttery and pleasant.
Goro ran his hands through his hair, balling up his fists and squeezing until his scalp burned.
It was nothing hard enough to tear the skin or pull strands of hair from his head – that is, it was nothing noticeable – it was just enough to distract him from the stabbing pain in his chest. He repeated the action twice, tugging harder each time, until he nearly pulled a strangled yell from his throat, and then at last he withdrew his hands. He took a few long, shaky breaths, and while he couldn’t stop his body from trembling, he felt a little better now that he could feel the beginning of a headache starting to form. That was a nice, dull pain – a predictable pain, and therefore a manageable pain.
This week had been hell. In light of Kaneshiro’s public confession, Shido was scrambling to cover his bases – Kaneshiro had been a particularly rich vein of income, after all – and he was taking his frustration out on Goro, sending him to the Metaverse every other afternoon to rough up the shadows of other potential income sources. And while Goro was strong, easily stronger than any targets he’d been assigned, his body was still only mortal. The grueling schedule was getting to him.
So it wasn’t a surprise that he wanted something sweet.
It was sort of a fucked up reward system he’d created for himself, and he knew he couldn’t indulge himself as often as he wanted – if he did this every time he felt anxious, he would have long since lost the slender build he had, and his wallet would feel even lighter than it already was – but he didn’t really care. Sweets just made him feel good.
Shibuya station had an oppressive atmosphere about it today, with inhuman silhouettes mixing seamlessly into the crowd of mall-goers; Mementos and reality always seemed to blend more strongly on days when he’d already visited the Metaverse. Goro ducked his head and picked up his pace. He would simply have to make his purchase as quickly as possible and take his leave – the sooner he got back to the surface, the better.
He was gunning for Yon-Germain with single-minded focus when a voice called out to him, saying, “Hey, you’re back.”
Goro stopped short and whipped his head to the right, where he found Akira, standing just where he and Goro had met up a few weeks ago. He was holding a round puff pastry about the size of his fist, with a sizeable bite mark already taken out of it.
“Ah, indeed I am,” he said, hesitating for a moment. He couldn’t allow himself to be drawn into conversation with Akira right now, but to say nothing would be rude, and the thought of alienating Akira was one he did not want to entertain. So he took a steadying breath and asked, “Is this a habit for you now?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Akira replied. He smiled, and Goro could see a light dusting of sugar clinging to his lips. “You must like sweets, huh?”
“I do,” Goro said.
“I’m a pretty good baker, you know,” Akira said.
“Oh? I didn’t know that.” Internally, Goro chastised himself for egging Akira on. He shouldn’t have encouraged it; Akira’s voice was casual, like he was talking about the weather, but Goro knew a conversation hook when he heard one. He just wished they were anywhere but here…
“Akira, who’s there?”
Goro blinked. Were his ears playing tricks on him now, too? He could have sworn he’d heard something, but he and Akira were relatively alone in this part of the station. The only other voices he could hear were distant and indistinct.
A second later, his question was answered when a little black cat’s head popped up over Akira’s shoulder. It swiveled its big, blue eyes around until they landed on Goro, at which point it opened its mouth and said, “Oh, it’s just him,” and then disappeared back into Akira’s messenger bag.
A dizzy spell hit Goro, causing his sight to swim and blur. There was no doubt now that his delusions were getting worse, because while it was one thing to see flashes of Mementos around here – the place was a mirror of the subway station, and given his power, it was to be expected – seeing something that existed in neither world was a step beyond. He swallowed hard and wondered if he should consider visiting a doctor, or a psych ward.
Vaguely, he heard someone calling his name.
“Akechi?” Akira asked, and Goro finally snapped back to reality. When his vision focused, he found Akira looking at him, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Ah, yes, I…“ A hot wave of embarrassment washed over him. “My mind was elsewhere. I apologize; that was terribly rude of me.”
“It’s fine,” Akira said, though his expression did not change. “You were zoning out pretty hard. You look like you could use a break… or some coffee.”
“Ha ha…” Goro gave a feeble smile. “Yes, both of those things would be rather welcome right now.”
Akira smiled back. “Well, if it’s coffee you want, you should come by Leblanc some time,” he said. “That’s the café where I live. I’ve been learning how to brew coffee myself, too…”
“Is that so? How nice,” Goro said. “I’m afraid I already have plans this afternoon,”
(He didn’t.)
“…but if I find myself in need of a caffeine boost in the future, I’ll be sure to look you up.”
(He wouldn’t, but Akira didn’t need to know that.)
Goro left the station empty-handed.
Unfair. The word sat on the tip of Goro’s tongue. This whole thing was unfair, from the way the public had taken so readily to the Phantom Thieves, to Shido’s inane plan to boost their popularity to even further heights (at Goro’s expense, of course), to the mere fact that the Thieves existed in the first place – that someone else had invaded the space that was supposed to be for him.
And the worst part was, he was starting to suspect Akira was one of them. He couldn’t be sure, of course – he hadn’t even been able to get close enough to the Thieves in the Metaverse to hear them, much less suss out their identities – but the last time they’d run into each other, Goro could have sworn he heard that cat of his talking again, and if that wasn’t proof, what was? Either Akira was a Phantom Thief – and his cat was, too – or Goro was losing his mind.
He wrapped his arms around himself, letting his hands slide up underneath his short sleeves, tensing his fingers and squeezing. He could feel his skin start to give, his strong, perfectly-cut nails threatening to tear up his flesh, and he forced himself to stop. Marks would fade in mere hours, but a tear would last for days, and he couldn’t have that.
They had been getting worse lately, his Metaverse delusions, and today he found heavy, wriggling growths covering half the lights, leaving the halls unnaturally dark, while to his left, there was a lone shadow creeping along the far wall. When he saw it, he stopped short of turning the corner into the underground mall. If he could see shadows this far out from the subway, then perhaps he should just go home…
“Akechi?”
Damn, Goro thought, shutting his eyes and taking a quick breath. He counted to five, and then he stood up straight and turned to face – who else? – Akira, who was holding a large shopping bag in one hand.
“Kurusu-kun,” he acknowledged. He couldn’t bring himself to hold his smile for long, and he let the expression drop. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I won’t make very good company today.”
Akira frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Goro felt a horrible buzz run through his body. Yes, of course that wouldn’t work on Akira. It was strange, though… something about him made Goro want to tell the truth. “Work. I’m… it’s been a difficult day.” He clenched one hand into a fist. “A difficult week,” he corrected himself.
“I saw you this morning,” Akira said, “when I was walking to the train station. You looked pretty down then, too. Here…” He paused to rummage in his shopping bag, pulling out a small, white box with Yon-Germain’s logo printed on the top, which he handed to Goro.
“For me?” Goro asked. He took the box from Akira, gingerly sliding a finger under the lid and popping it open. Inside was his usual pastry, delicately placed on a bed of white parchment paper to keep it from sticking to the box. “O-oh, thank you, Kurusu; you didn’t have to—”
“It’s your favorite, though, right?” Akira cut in.
“Um, yes. That’s right…”
“I did well on my exams,” Akira said with a shrug, “and Boss gave me some spending money.”
Embarrassment colored Goro’s cheeks. “And you’d spend it on me?” he asked.
“Well…” Akira shook his shopping bag and grinned sheepishly. “Not just on you.”
Goro’s chest grew tight. He looked back to Akira and opened his mouth to speak, but his thanks got stuck in his throat when he caught sight of that shadow again, which looked as though it was staring right at them both. But that was impossible, Goro reassured himself. They were in reality, and while the shadow might have been able to see Goro (he could see them, after all), it certainly couldn’t touch him. They were on different planes of existence.
But...
But the crawling horror looked frighteningly solid and hefty, like it had a real weight to it, like it wasn’t simply an illusion. It kept getting closer, and there was rage in its eyes, and Goro briefly entertained the notion that because he had a persona, this shadow might be able to hurt him, even here. He wondered how best to make a graceful exit from this conversation without simply running away as fast as he could.
“…I’m glad I caught you,” Akira added, filling the silence Goro left. “I’ve actually started to sort of look forward to seeing you here.”
“Oh, yes… I have, as well,” Goro said.
He wasn’t looking at Akira, his eyes still glued to the shadow behind them. It was close now, actively coming their way, and based on its posture, it was hostile. Goro quickly realized, however, that he wasn’t the creature’s target – it was shuffling straight towards Akira. Goro watched the shadow inch closer and closer until it was within striking distance, watched as it pulled its huge arm back, winding up, preparing to swing, and then Goro lurched forward, hoping to – what? Shove Akira out of the way of an invisible danger?
But before the shadow could land its blow, it was repelled by a bright blue flame that suddenly flared to life behind Akira’s back. The shadow shriveled up and died, and in its place stood a humanoid creature with a fiery void for a mouth and massive, jet-black wings, which hung around its body like a feathery cape. It had too much personality to be a shadow, but it was unlike anything else Goro had ever seen: partly translucent, it looked even less solid than the shadow it had felled, but it had an imposing presence that made it feel more real than the very floor on which they stood.
It turned its head and stared at Goro.
No, Goro thought quickly, not at me – through me. It can’t see me… there’s just no way.
He’d nearly convinced himself that was the truth when the creature lifted one of its long, clawed hands to its top hat, tipped the brim politely, and smiled at him. Then, in a small puff of flame, it was gone, leaving the underground mall completely untouched, as if none of it had been there in the first place.
Terror seized Goro by the throat.
That… thing had seen him, acknowledged him – had looked right at him. It knew he was here, and without his persona, Goro was completely defenseless – it could have hurt him easily. He tried to take a deep breath, but it came out shallow, and he felt suddenly dizzy.
“Akechi?”
“I need to leave,” Goro managed to say. It was embarrassing, shameful, the way that he was falling apart now – he was sure he was visibly trembling – and he wished desperately for Akira to just laugh at him, to walk away and leave him scattered on the ground like shards from a broken mirror.
But instead Akira nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Grounding him.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
Goro wasn’t sure.
Akira gave him an encouraging nudge and Goro stumbled forward. He could walk, it turned out, but he had no mind to navigate, so he let Akira guide him. They bobbed and weaved through the faceless masses and the next thing Goro knew, he was standing on a subway train alongside Akira.
This line, whatever it was – Goro hadn’t been paying attention when they boarded – was mostly above-ground, and his Mementos delusions seemed strongest when he was underground, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but Goro’s mind was a wreck, and he couldn’t take more than short, hiccupping gasps of air.
He grabbed a fistful of his jacket and squeezed. He wanted to claw at his skin, tear open a hole in his body and let the air flow in freely, but before he could do anything, Akira pried his hand away and placed it on his own chest, squarely over his lungs. Goro looked up.
“Breath with me,” Akira said.
Then he took a long breath, holding it for a second before slowly exhaling, making sure to really puff out his chest. It was an easy enough motion for Goro to follow, and despite himself, he started to mimic Akira’s breathing after a few tries. Slowly, slowly, his erratic heartbeat grew calm, and soon they were breathing in sync.
Goro closed his eyes, opened them again. Everything still looked the same.
Before he knew it, Akira was leading him off the train and back onto solid ground. They emerged from the station into a quiet little residential backstreet where a few older couples and young parents milled around, though it was otherwise empty. It was a place completely unfamiliar to Goro.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Yongen-Jaya,” Akira said. “Sorry. I didn’t know where you lived and I thought you’d want to go somewhere quiet for a while…”
Goro couldn’t deny that sounded nice, and he allowed Akira to lead the way down the street for a short while, until they reached a small store with a red and white awning over the door, which identified the location as “Leblanc”. Akira let go of Goro’s hand and opened the door, holding it back and implicitly inviting Goro inside.
The café was cluttered in a sort of homey way: dozens of jars filled with coffee beans lined the back wall, while the rest of the room was taken up by large booth tables, and all along the windowsills sat a handful of potted plants, which added a splash of green to offset the warm wood paneling that covered most of the walls. It was… nice. Rustic, but comfortable.
Like he was in a trance, Goro walked to the bar and sat down in an unoccupied chair. The employee standing behind the counter, an older man wearing a black and white pinstriped apron, gave him a smile. He had a little grit to his features, Goro thought, like he was someone who had seen troubles during his life, but his smile seemed honest.
“What’ll it be?” he asked. His voice was as gritty as he looked.
“Oh, I…” Goro stammered, glancing up at the menu hanging from the wall. There were plenty of options, and he hadn’t given it any thought – he hadn’t even known he was coming here.
“He wants the special,” Akira said, stepping behind the bar himself and pulling on an apron.
The old man laughed. “Is that right?” he asked.
“Ah… if it’s what you recommend, I’ll gladly take it,” Goro said. He was in no mood to protest.
The special turned out to be a plate of curry and a mug of coffee, both prepared fresh for him specifically. The food was warm and hearty, spicy but not overwhelmingly hot, and deeply filling in a way he wasn’t expecting; the coffee complemented the curry perfectly, and he surprised himself by cleaning his entire plate. He didn’t usually have such a strong appetite.
A full hour must have passed before Goro stood up from his seat. Akira, who had been cleaning glasses behind the counter, set down his drying rag and approached him, taking away Goro’s dishes.
“Heading out?” he asked.
“Yes,” Goro said. “Oh, how much do I owe you…?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
Akira simply shook his head. “I pushed this on you without even asking, so… I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
First the pastry, and now an entire meal… Goro shook his head.
“Thank you for the respite, Kurusu… I’m in your debt,” he said.
That just made Akira laugh. “Come back sometime,” he said. “I’ll make you something new.”
“Okay. I’ll do that,” Goro said, and he absolutely meant it to be a lie.
But he was back at Leblanc two days later.