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“Skull and Crow, I want you to focus on physical damage from here on out,” Akira orders, watching the Orlov floating in front of them. Such a cutesy ghost-like creature shouldn’t have the power to leave his entire team struggling, but here he is, nearly drained of all his magic as he feels the rush of destructive energy that comes with summoning Rakshasa. He mentally sends over an order to buff up Ryuji even as he talks. “Queen, you’re supporting us. Got it?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Ryuji calls out, giving him a silly salute that would have made Akira laugh any other time. His bad leg is clearly bothering him based on the way he’s standing, but he welcomes the buff washing over him with a huge grin, toothy and wide, as he cracks his knuckles. “Captain Kidd! Come on, slam into ‘em, dude!” he calls, summoning his Persona out to smash into Orlov with a vengeance.
“I’ll do my best,” Makoto says, a bit drowned under Ryuji’s victory cries when Orlov takes a significant hit from the attack.
Akira feels the healing energy washing over him, closing his eyes for a moment to relish in the feeling. He opens them immediately after, watching the Orlov carefully. There’s something off about how the Persona is moving, but he can’t put a finger on it just yet. “Crow?” he asks again, glancing over to their newest recruit.
Goro simply nods at him, the mask following the movement and looking sharp enough to cut through human flesh if he would turn on them. It’s eerie and blood-red, something that needs getting used to. “You can rely on me, Joker,” he says smoothly, like he’s a knife cutting through butter, and there’s a moment where Akira hates him for it. That ease of movement, the leader-like qualities that come to him like it’s nothing. It disappears quickly, though, as Goro calls, “Robin Hood, to me!” and his Persona appears at his call.
Akira turns his attention away from Goro to watch the attack, brutal and merciless, but he feels uneasy when he notices Orlov still floating and staring at him with those wide, glowing yellow eyes as if unaffected. “This is a tougher enemy than usual,” he comments, frowning, as he calls Rakshasa back out. “Again,” he says, nodding to Goro this time, and waits for his Persona to fulfill his buff request. He clenches his fist, waiting impatiently to see if his instincts are right.
Orlov’s eerily glowing eyes land on Ryuji and in the same breath, Akira throws himself in the way of a staggeringly strong psychic attack that drops him to his knees in front of him. He winces, gripping his head as he tries to fight off the ringing in his ears to get up and help his team. He tries to listen to his team as they crowd him, not even one of them caring as Orlov escapes in the chaos, but it’s hard to hear over the dial-up noise going on upstairs.
“…to retreat…” Goro is saying, his words muffled behind that annoying beaked mask, kneeling in front of Akira and snapping his fingers in front of his eyes when there’s no real response besides a groan of pain. “Joker?” he asks, louder this time.
Akira shakes his head, trying to get rid of the ringing as he blinks his eyes open slowly. “What…?” he asks, confused, trying to follow the thread of the conversation but unable to focus when Goro appears in doubles before him. He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to resist the pressing need to vomit.
“…’im good… what do we…” Ryuji is saying, though he sounds as if he’s talking from a distance.
“…Crow’s right… take over…” Makoto answers him, sounding firm even though she’s clearly as unnerved as the rest of them.
Goro’s saying something to the others, but at this point it’s hard to listen to them talk and try to stay conscious at the same time so Akira misses the words. All he can tell is that there’s a hand resting on his back, quickly followed by a swipe under his knees before he’s being picked up in a ridiculously unnecessary princess carry.
Akira cracks an eye open, just enough so he can blearily glare at Goro, and demand, “A princess carry? Really?” He quickly drops the eye back shut, a pounding headache pressing at the base of his skull that throbs in tune to the blurry fall festive mess of colors that he can see. White, brown, red, black, all the colors mashing together makes him nauseous.
“It’s not like you were moving, man,” Ryuji says, sounding sheepish. Probably for having to side with Goro for once since that basically invalidates the bro code. “You got knocked off your feet hard. And your face was all kinds of pale.”
“It does fit the theme to Crow’s outfit, though,” Futaba’s voice pops out, staticky through the connection provided by her Persona. “He cuts a princely figure in that red and white. Pretty sure if Panther was in your group, she’d be squealing.”
Goro chuckles, the sound reverberating against Akira’s skull in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant from where his face is pressed up against his shoulder. “I’m not sure if I’d consider Joker princess material, though,” he says.
Makoto sighs, that way she always does when she feels like she must be the most mature member of the group. It happens a lot. “Should we really be aggravating the injured like this?” she asks them.
“What? It’s not like he’s dead,” Futaba says, voice pitching up higher in her outrage and resulting in Akira trying to shove his head even further into the junction between Goro’s shoulder and neck with a groan. “Sorry, Joker,” she says, talking more softly.
Goro adjusts Akira in his arms, the movement oddly gentle considering their status as probable mortal enemies. Must be a part of the act. “I’m starting to reconsider on my stance,” he says.
“You try getting crazy amounts of psychic damage to your head and come out of it feeling great,” Akira mutters, wary of talking too loudly. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, knowing he won’t see much anyway with how he’s positioned himself. “And I’m not a princess. We have Noir to fill that role up perfectly.”
“She’s not the one getting carried,” Goro says, probably just to be a bitch. Still mortal enemies, then.
Akira huffs, feeling his face flush behind the mask. He’s grateful for the fact that he can hide it. Having skin this pale is a pain. He wonders how much worse it is for Futaba, considering she hasn’t seen the sun in the past who knows how many months. “If it’s too difficult for you, Crow, just hand me over to Queen.”
“Yes, Crow,” Makoto says, the way her voice dips into low, cruel tones almost beautiful. The casual hatred that threads between the two is incredible to watch, every single time, because neither of them seems to know what it means to be honest about their feelings. “If the strain is too much on you, I’ll gladly take Joker off your hands.”
Goro laughs, that little prissy laugh he does whenever he’s secretly pissed off and contemplating stabbing someone’s eye out with that goddamn beak. “He doesn’t exactly weigh much,” he says. “Which is admittedly a surprise. I always see him attempting that burger challenge.”
“Stalker,” Akira bites out.
“You post it to your social media,” Goro says, his voice lilting upward almost musically in his smugness.
“Oh,” Akira says, struggling to hold up with their usual conversations. All the subtle jabs threaded into a polite conversation. “Is it possible to be concussed without a blow?”
“Well, it is the Metaverse,” Futaba says, speaking up again through their connection. She sounds a little less calm now, the concern clear in the speed that she speaks. “Crow, you better hurry it up. It’s not the best being in Mementos on a good day, let alone if he is somehow concussed from psychic damage.”
Goro sighs, sounding long-suffering as he speaks, “I’m trying to do so.”
“Then try harder,” Futaba says in that voice where it’s best not to mess with her on it. Her Persona has tentacles, so who knows whether Necronomicon would try to eat one of them or not if they ticked her off?
Akira groans again.
***
Akira curls up around his pillow, feeling Morgana pressed up against his back and trying to breathe through the pain in his skull. He can see flashes of colors behind his eyes, dancing around. It makes him want to be even dizzier than he is. He listens closely, hearing footsteps leading up towards the attic.
“Your friends,” Goro says, almost testily, “are very childish.” He’s speaking quietly, voice barely above a whisper, and it’s a soothing relief on his aching head.
“Nose goes is a valid game,” Akira mumbles, feeling Morgana press a paw against his head affectionately before retreating. “You going with Futaba tonight, Morgana?” he asks, words slurring together as his eyes weigh down heavily. Fighting off sleep seems harder in the attic, even though this place should be as starkly cold and strange to him as Mementos considering he’s here on probation.
“Everyone said it was a good idea,” Morgana says, hopping down from the bed. “But if anything goes wrong, Futaba and I can watch through the monitors. So, don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”
“Paws,” Akira says.
“Please don’t pounce on him,” Goro says tiredly around a sigh.
“You’re lucky you’re hurt,” Morgana says irritably, then pads out of the room with near-silent steps.
Goro sits down on the edge of the bed, completely silent now that Morgana’s gone.
Akira tenses, wondering if Goro’s going to murder him while he’s vulnerable. He starts to hate nose goes more than anything, along with the fact that he’d sworn himself to silence on the Goro situation along with Morgana and Futaba until they were very sure of what to do. He cracks an eye open. “What?” he asks.
Goro’s looking down at him with a flat expression, his eyes burning cold as they drive right into Akira’s only open eye. Despite the way he looks, though, one of his hands snakes out to cup Akira’s cheek, thumbing at the skin there. “Do try to stay awake,” he says. “Considering you refused to go see that doctor of yours.”
“She’d just poke and prod at me,” Akira says, flushing under the gentle touch. He hates the way that Goro’s eyes on him make him feel, like he’s smaller than he is. Like he’s not the leader of the Phantom Thieves. “She likes to call me her guinea pig, so I’m not sure she wouldn’t give me something untested for the pain.”
Goro pulls his hand away, looking down at it like he’s not sure how it got there with narrowed eyes. Weirdo. “Well, if you can easily sleep while I hover here watching you, then I’m impressed. Most would be disturbed by that, or so I’d think.”
“Not if you like books about vampires,” Akira says around a yawn, the jaw-cracking type that makes his head explode in pain once again. He winces, curling up against the wall and turning away from Goro in the process. He feels uneasy about that, darting his eyes back to try to take a glance at him but unable to see without turning his head oddly enough to be suspicious. He groans, both because of the sudden pain and how stupid he can be.
“You’re being incredibly dramatic,” Goro says, as the bed seems to shift underneath his knees. “Let me see you, make sure you aren’t bleeding out of your nose,” he says, reaching out again and turning Akira’s head towards him with a hand holding his chin. He inspects him, even as Akira gives him a flustered glare for the manhandling.
“If you have to worry about that, I’m not being dramatic,” Akira says, an overdramatic pout forming on his face. He shifts until he’s more comfortable again, tucking his face into his pillow with a mild sound of indignance. “And if you’re gonna hover all night, get in here.” He wonders why he said that. “I’m wondering why I said that,” he says.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were concussed,” Goro mutters, face dusting pink beneath the faint lighting in the room. He lies down on his side, looking distinctly uncomfortable to be there. “But I suppose if I am to be here all night, observing you and making sure you don’t die, it’s for the best I’m comfortable doing it.”
Akira shoves as much of his face into his pillow as he can, unwilling to meet Goro’s eyes. His face feels hot. “You’re just lucky tomorrow’s Sunday,” he says. “This is not the way I expected to make a person lose sleep,” he tacks on, foolishly.
“Just… be quiet,” Goro hisses, voice tightly controlled like he’s trying not to raise it. Surprisingly thoughtful, so maybe it’s back to wondering if they truly are mortal enemies or not. “I’m reading on my phone about concussions, just to be safe. It seems like you can sleep if I wake you every hour.”
“Cool,” Akira mutters, eyelashes fluttering as he glances at him. He goes to say more, but then his head’s aching again and he thinks nothing at all as his eyes drift closed again. Before he knows it, he’s asleep.
***
Akira wakes up a bit later, the throbbing in his head forcing him back awake, and he makes a grumbling noise in his throat before shoving his face back into his pillow. He stills, feeling the way that said pillow seems to be rising and falling, rhythmically, like a chest. He scoots back a bit, face burning, and looks up to meet Goro’s eyes. “Oh,” he says.
Goro doesn’t look any better, his ears pink. “You must’ve thought you were lying with Morgana,” he says. “Because you rolled over and… latched onto my arm.”
Akira wonders if it’s possible to damage his brain more to forget this moment. “Oh,” he says again, unsure if it’s possible for his face to get any redder.
Goro snaps his fingers in front of Akira’s face again, snapping him out of the internal screaming that’s just started. “Are you still aware?” he asks, though he keeps his voice soft, gentle, and it makes that internal screaming rise in volume.
Akira winces, trying to block out his own mind’s attack. “Yeah,” he says. “Just feeling so, so awkward. I want to be murdered.”
“You’ll survive,” Goro says, but his eyes are hardening at the words and they look a duller color, like he’s going somewhere in his mind that involves plotting of an unpleasant sort.
Akira goes to push himself back but finds resistance. He looks down, seeing an arm around his waist. He stares for a long time, silent.
“I didn’t mind so much,” Goro says eventually once the silence goes on for too long.
“Oh,” Akira says again, gaze drifting back up towards Goro’s face. He looks into his eyes, seeing more warmth there than usual. He considers how much he’ll regret this, even as he pushes upward and presses a kiss to Goro’s lips.
Goro kisses back, turning what had been a gentle kiss into a much more aggressive affair. He cups the back of Akira’s head with his hand, holding it there. He massages it with his fingers, making Akira release a sigh against his lips.
When Akira pulls back, he’s staring with wide eyes. He licks his lips, thoroughly abused, and then bites down hard on them to make sure this isn’t a weird concussion dream. “Um,” he says, at a loss for words.
“If I knew it’d be easier to make you shut up by kissing you,” Goro murmurs, still so close that his breath ghosts across Akira’s lips, “I’d have done it sooner.”
Akira pushes him back, giving an irritated expression. “You ruined the mood. I’m going back to my concussion sleep now.” He rolls over, ignoring the huff of laughter at his back, and not minding when he feels Goro pressed up against his back as much as he should. He hopes, just for now, that he’s not going to get stabbed in the back. He pushes back the ache before it can bloom, sighing as he lets Goro hold him and drifts off back to the oblivion of sleep.