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Goro Akechi’s eyes fluttered open.
His vision blurred as it tried to focus. He stared upward at a seemingly endless expanse of blue just a shade too unnatural to possibly be the sky. He blinked once. Twice. His vision did not clear.
He rolled his head over to the side, his cheek pressing against the blue cushion of the sofa he lay on. His blurry eyesight made out a figure perched on a seat next to him. The figure’s head turned to look at him.
“Oh,” said a voice. Male. Entirely void of any sort of emotion. “You’re awake.”
“Where- Where are we?” Akechi managed to croak out. His voice was weak, and it rasped against his throat like barbed wire.
Black spots danced in front of his eyes. He didn’t know if the person sitting beside him answered. Akechi lost consciousness before he got the chance.
When Akechi woke next, he found himself in the same position. This time when he blinked, the blurriness in his vision faded. He looked to his side and found the same figure as before. He was coherent enough to make them out.
It was a boy. At the most, he was Akechi’s age. More likely a year or two his junior. He sat in a comfortable looking chair with a padded backrest. It was the same shade of blue as Akechi’s couch, the same shade as the endless ceiling above their heads. The boy’s legs were crossed, folded carefully beneath him. His elbow was propped up against the armrest. His chin rested on his hand.
He wore headphones. His head bobbed slightly to a beat Akechi could just barely hear if he strained his ears, a tinny cadence spilling from the device covering his ears. It interrupted the ethereal silence that hung over the room. It was too normal. It felt unreal in such a place.
The boy’s hair was as blue as everything else in the room. But even that was dark and unassuming. He had a nondescript face. Attractive, if you looked close enough to pay attention, but nothing that would ever prompt you to do so.
If Akechi had passed by this boy in the street, he never would have spared him a second glance.
And yet, he did not seem out of place in the strangeness of this room.
His eyes opened and he looked at Akechi. He did not seem surprised to see him awake. He removed his headphones from his ears and let them rest around his neck. Akechi could hear the music louder now.
His eyes were blue too.
Akechi wondered how long it would take him to get sick of the color.
“Hello,” said the boy. Akechi stared at him, and he simply stared back. He offered no explanation for their surroundings.
“Where are we?” Akechi asked. He pushed himself up so he could sit upright. The boy did not stop him.
“I answered that last time,” he told him.
Akechi gritted his teeth, annoyance flashing hot in his chest. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Oh. We’re in the Velvet Room.”
At this Akechi paused. He looked around. The room was empty, save for the single sofa and chair. The walls were void of anything to define the space, though he could see a door directly across from him. There were no cells, no chains, no long-nosed man sitting at a table with a maniacal grin.
“It looks different than what I remember,” said Akechi, voice skeptical.
The boy nodded. “That’s because the guest’s contract was completed. The Velvet Room takes a shape that reflects its guest’s journey. With no guest, the Velvet Room has no shape.”
Akechi frowned. “I’m not a guest?”
The boy shook his head.
“I remember being told that I was.”
“You were.”
Akechi’s frown deepened. “If I’m not a guest, then what am I?”
The boy looked at him as though it was obvious.
“You’re a resident.”
Time passed strangely in the Velvet Room. Akechi’s grasp of the concept slowly began to slip away. He could have been trapped in this place for an hour or a year – he simply could not tell.
He was never alone. The boy remained. He listened to his headphones, or read books that he procured seemingly out of nowhere.
Akechi’s memory of what brought him to this place began to return and fit together like pieces of a disjointed puzzle. He remembered Kurusu and the Phantom Thieves. He remembered their sympathy, their pity. He felt broken bitterness weld together beneath his sternum like a toxic steel sculpture. He hadn’t wanted this. He didn’t want to be trapped in this empty place. He had wanted to die in the truest sense of the word. And yet here he remained, stuck in a shapeless prison somewhere in between, with nothing but resentful memories and a quiet cellmate to keep him company.
Akechi had wanted to keep his mouth shut out of spite. He had wanted to sit there and seethe silently about his inability to even die properly. It worked, for a time, but while Akechi was a patient person, he was not built for inaction. Eventually, his boredom won out, and he found himself giving in to his curiosity about his silent companion.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
The boy looked up from his book.
“Minato Arisato.”
Arisato was not good company.
Akechi’s boredom seemed to expand exponentially. Arisato had no problem sitting in an endless silence, but Akechi’s mind itched for some sort of stimulation. Attempts to prod Arisato into any sort of conversation fell short. Akechi found himself pacing the room in aimless circles, his generous well of patience entirely dried up.
Arisato said nothing. In fact, he had the audacity to steal Akechi’s spot on the couch. He sprawled out. He was short enough that he managed to fit entirely without having to bend his knees.
Akechi’s frustration reached his peak, and he snarled at Arisato like a caged animal.
Arisato raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. For a moment Akechi’s vision blurred, and it wasn’t Arisato watching him. He had unruly black hair, gray eyes framed by unnecessary glasses, lips curled upward in a knowing smirk.
No. No. That wasn’t Kurusu.
He blinked and he saw Arisato again. He wasn’t smirking. Akechi wondered if he was capable of any sort of smile. But his eyes were glinting in a way that reminded him of Kurusu, and Akechi understood where he had seen the resemblance.
“Are you done?” Arisato asked. He didn’t sound annoyed. He didn’t sound like anything.
“No,” Akechi snapped. He wanted to throttle him. “Why the hell am I even here?”
Arisato just placed his book, still open, over his face. “I don’t know. Ask Igor. I’m taking a nap.”
Akechi snarled again. “Do you see Igor anywhere?”
“Try the door,” said Arisato as if it was common sense, his voice muffled by his book. Akechi paused. He supposed that it was.
Akechi tried the door. It was locked.
“It’s locked,” Akechi said, frustration mounting again.
“That’s too bad,” said Arisato with absolutely no sympathy in his voice.
“Would you let me out?” Akechi hissed.
All he got was a snore in response.
Arisato slept on, so Akechi entertained himself with seeing how much he could poke at his companion before he woke up.
First, he plucked the book from his face. Arisato’s brows furrowed slightly, but otherwise he did not stir.
Akechi got braver.
He slid Arisato’s headphones off. He pulled his mp3 player off from around his neck. He stared at it for a moment. It was old. Old enough that Akechi could barely remember seeing a model like it before. He wondered just how long Arisato had been living in the Velvet Room.
He shrugged, deciding to investigate later.
Akechi put Arisato’s headphones on and pressed play. Jarringly loud rock music blared to life in his ears. Akechi winced and turned the volume down. Normally he would hate this kind of music, but something about the guitar and the drums appealed to him after the boring monotony of the Velvet Room.
Arisato woke up to Akechi sitting in the chair across from him – wearing his headphones, listening to his music, and reading his book.
“You stole my stuff,” said Arisato, a hint of- was that actual emotion in his voice?
“Yes,” said Akechi, turning a page.
“That’s rude,” said Arisato. Akechi could definitely hear the accusation in his voice. He felt a bloom of petty triumph.
He gave him the finger.
Arisato tolerated Akechi commandeering his stuff for longer than Akechi expected. Eventually though, Arisato voiced his annoyance.
“Give it back,” said Arisato.
“Give what back?” Akechi asked innocently, twirling the wire of the stolen headphones around his finger.
“My player. And my headphones.”
“Not the book?” Akechi asked.
Arisato shrugged. “You can keep that.”
Interesting.
“Let me out of here,” said Akechi. “Then I’ll give them back.”
“I can’t,” said Arisato.
Oh really?
“You can’t let me out?” asked Akechi.
Arisato shook his head.
“Why not?”
“The door will open for you when you’re ready.”
Akechi blinked. “But I am ready. I want to leave.”
“It’s not about wanting,” Arisato told him.
“What is it about then?”
“Being ready.”
Akechi was going to kill him.
“Why are you here?” Akechi asked. He had given back the headphones and the mp3 player after the music began to give him a headache.
Arisato shrugged. “I died, I guess. Same as you.”
Akechi swallowed. “So I’m actually dead then?”
“Not really.”
Akechi sighed. “That’s not an answer.”
“The Velvet Room is somewhere between existing and not existing at all,” said Arisato.
“So you’re saying we’re halfway dead?”
“Sure.” Arisato didn’t seem to care much either way.
“Why did we end up here though?” Akechi pressed.
“Probably because we’re both wild cards.”
Akechi froze. “What?”
“You can summon more than one Persona, right? That makes you a wild card. I can do the same.”
Akechi was reeling. “Does that mean everyone who is a wild card ends up here?”
Did that mean he would have to see Kurusu again? The idea made him feel sick.
“I don’t know,” said Arisato. “I haven’t met anyone else who was other than you.”
Akechi pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re useless.”
“Thank you,” said Arisato, voice dry, and for a moment Akechi thought he was sitting across from Kurusu again.
“You didn’t die a good death, did you?” Arisato asked.
Akechi’s back went ramrod straight. “Why the hell would you think that?”
“You don’t seem very at peace,” said Arisato.
Akechi snarled. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Arisato was as unbothered as always. “My point stands.”
Akechi bared his teeth. “What about you then? Are you happy with your death?”
“I used to not care either way,” Arisato admitted. He fiddled with his mp3 player. “Now, I don’t think any death is good.”
The tension drained from Akechi. “You wish you were still alive, then?”
“I do,” said Arisato. “But my death saved a lot of people. I don’t regret it.”
Akechi stared at him. He wondered what it would be like, to not regret anything.
“I died to save someone too,” said Akechi. He thought about Kurusu’s wide eyes as the wall slammed down between them.
“Did you?” Arisato asked. “Or are you just using that as an excuse?”
His blue eyes were all too knowing, and Akechi said nothing at all.
Akechi finished Arisato’s book, but it wasn’t the end of the story.
“Where’s the sequel?” Akechi asked, eyes fixed on the last line of the last page.
“I don’t have it,” said Arisato.
“How can you not have the sequel?” Akechi bitched.
“The author never wrote a sequel. He died before he got the chance.”
Akechi blinked at him. “Why would you get this book, then?”
Arisato stared upwards at the ceiling. “We might be like him. We never finished our stories. We died too early to see the end.”
Akechi stared at the book in his hands. “I thought you didn’t regret dying.”
“I don’t,” said Arisato. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”
“How can I possibly get ready to leave in here?” Akechi asked. “Nothing changes.”
Arisato shrugged. “We do.”
Akechi’s frustration surged again. He seemed to have more of that than patience in this room.
“How do they want me to change in here?”
“I don’t think Igor cares either way,” said Arisato.
“What?”
“It’s about what goes on in your head. You aren’t letting yourself leave.”
Akechi scowled. “How is that possible? I don’t want to be in here.”
“I don’t think you want to be anywhere. That’s the problem.”
Akechi opened his mouth. Then he closed it.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You wanted to die, didn’t you?” Arisato was perfectly calm. His voice steady and his face blank. Akechi felt fury bubble up, the stronger emotion amplifying his already burning frustration.
“Of course I did!” Akechi snarled. “What good was I alive?!”
“I don’t know,” said Arisato.
Akechi lunged forward, hands fisting into the lapels of his stupid blue coat. It was the same shade of blue as his hair, as his eyes, as this whole fucking room and Akechi was losing his god damn mind.
“You don’t understand!” Akechi practically screamed. “There’s no way you possibly could!”
Arisato’s expression remained impassive. Akechi shoved his face closer.
“Have you ever killed someone?” he growled. Arisato’s eyes widened. Finally. Finally Akechi had gotten him to react like a normal fucking person.
“Personal space,” Arisato complained, leaning away. Akechi let go of him and took a few steps back. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest, and he didn’t bother contain it. He threw his head back and he cackled.
“Do you get it now?” He asked, eyes wild. “I’m better off dead. The world is better off without me!”
Arisato watched him. His face was grim. “You’re okay with that?” he asked.
“That has nothing to do with it!” exclaimed Akechi.
“You are the one that decides your reason for existence. The world doesn’t decide for you.”
Akechi just laughed again. “You didn’t live my life!” he spat. “You have no idea what the world gave me!”
“The world gave me two dead parents and a depressive disorder,” Arisato countered. “You’re not the only person who suffers.”
“You don’t think I know that!?” Akechi yelled back. “Why do you think I despise myself!? They were just like me! But I was the only one who became a murderer! There’s no- I have no excuse!” Akechi’s breath stuttered and his knees buckled. He let himself fall to the floor. He gripped his hair with his hands and tried to ignore the way his eyes burned.
“I had a friend who killed someone.”
Akechi’s head jerked upward, but Arisato wasn’t looking at him.
“I don’t think he stopped beating himself up about it. He ended up dying too. I don’t think he got a second chance either, not like you.”
“What are you saying? Are you telling me to make up for it?” Akechi asked. He laughed at the thought.
Arisato shook his head. “I’m asking you if you’re okay with this. Is that how you want to be remembered by those you care about? As a murderer who died to escape what he’d done?”
“I don’t care about anyone,” said Akechi, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“I think you do,” said Arisato. “You told me you died to save someone.”
Akechi grinned. It was unnerving how dead his eyes looked. He remembered pulling a trigger. He remembered blood splattering across a table. “I killed him too.”
Arisato paused, unsure of how to respond to that. “Is he dead?”
“No. He outsmarted me.” Akechi’s laugh was less wild and more bitter this time. “But he would be dead if he hadn’t. Do you get it now? I don’t deserve this second chance.”
Arisato said nothing.
Akechi reread the book. Once. Twice. Three times. Eventually, he lost count.
Arisato slept on the couch while he read. He did not stir when Akechi restarted for the second time, or for the third. Time was bizarre in this place. It seemed perfectly feasible to Akechi that he could read an entire novel over ten times in how long it would take Arisato to wake up from his nap.
Each time Akechi reached the end, he only got more bitter that he would never see the end of the story.
He watched Arisato while he slept. His face was peaceful. He was undeniably a good person; the same way Kurusu was. He had died for his friends in an act of unadulterated selflessness – not to escape his past mistakes like Akechi. He wondered why Arisato didn’t just get up and walk out the door. He deserved the second chance. He deserved to reunite with his friends.
Arisato stirred. He woke and caught Akechi watching him. He said nothing, just rolled over so Akechi was staring at his back.
“Why don’t you leave?” Akechi asked him. The book was worn down now; the spine covered in cracks, the cover torn.
“I can’t leave the Velvet Room,” said Arisato. “If I do, the reason why I died will be undone.”
Akechi scowled. “That isn’t right. Why is it okay for me to leave and not you?”
Minato – when exactly, did he become Minato to Akechi? – gave him a smile. Akechi blinked. Minato had smiled. “I chose this. My reason for existence was to save my friends.”
“Why are you here with me, then?”
Minato didn’t stop smiling. “I think I’m here to save you.”
“Raison d'être,” Akechi blurted out.
“Hmm?” Minato asked. He was reading the book now. Akechi was listening to music.
“It’s French. It means reason for being.”
“Oh really? So my,” Minato paused, “raison d'être was to die.”
Akechi frowned. “That’s a bit dark.”
“Have you listened to yourself speak?”
“Fair enough,” said Akechi.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Have you figured it out?” Minato asked.
“Figured out what?”
“What your own raison d'être is?”
Akechi sighed. “No. But I’d like to have one.”
Minato looked at him. He smiled. Akechi was becoming more accustomed to seeing the expression on his face, but it was still a bit jarring.
“I think you could leave now, if you wanted to.”
Akechi stared at the book in Minato’s hands. “Would I see you again?”
Minato shrugged. “I don’t know. You better give me my headphones back before you leave.”
Akechi raised at eyebrow at him. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“I have my priorities.”
Akechi rolled his eyes.
“It’s not going to be easy, you know,” said Minato. “Whatever you do, you’re going to struggle.”
“Great pep talk, thanks.”
Minato laughed. Akechi stared at him. He'd definitely never seen him laugh before.
“I’m saying that you don’t need to leave. You could stay here and become an attendant of the Velvet Room.”
“With you,” said Akechi.
“With me,” Minato agreed.
Akechi thought about it. The idea was… nice. It was easier than leaving, than staring the Phantom Thieves in the eye and admitting how wrong he was. And yet…
“I think I need to leave,” said Akechi.
Minato only nodded. “I knew you would say that.” He held out his hand. “Headphones and mp3 player, please.”
Akechi snorted and passed him his things. In exchange, Minato pressed the tattered book into his hands.
“Write your sequel,” he told him. He pushed him gently towards the door.
Akechi walked up to the door. He paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. He turned back to look at Minato, at his blue hair and blue eyes that were the same shade as the room around them.
“Go, Goro,” said Minato. Akechi felt his cheeks turn red. No one had called him that genuinely since his mother had died.
He took a deep breath and nodded. He turned the doorknob, and it clicked open easily under his hand. Goro Akechi stepped forward into an unforgiving world, determined to make something out of it this time around.