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Cranberries.
Cinnamon—just a hint, barely noticeable on Akira’s tongue.
Walnut? Maybe if he just—
Almond. Goro mentioned recently that—
No chocolate. He can’t make it too sweet.
Spices, spices, spices.
Akira prepares the two cups carefully—he’s been at it for two hours now, taking advantage of the fact that the apartment actually came with a rather expensive coffee set. Akira missed coffee and he knows Goro misses it just as much. It’s the perfect Christmas surprise, even better than—
Akira lights up the candles. They’re nothing fancy, not like the scented candles Haru got him for Christmas last year. But that’s good, he doesn’t need them when there's still—
The smell of cinnamon cookies they got from Ann.
(Futaba somehow managed to pinpoint their exact location despite how careful Goro’s been, how meticulously they covered up their trace. Akira supposes nothing can be hidden from the world’s greatest hacker, but he hides it from Goro just in case—with all the teeth-grinding he's been prone to lately he's bound to make some local dentist very rich. Inside the package, Akira finds a Christmas card from Ryuji covered in his messy handwriting, a beautiful abstract winter landscape from Yusuke, sweet letters from the girls, and a colorful card with nothing but a paw print in the middle—courtesy of Morgana, no doubt.)
And then—
Goro’s expensive aftershave.
(“Stop it,” Goro murmurs but he smiles as Akira rubs his face sleepily into Goro’s neck. “You know a good assassin should never use perfume. I can’t be seen, I can’t be heard, I can’t be—”
“Humor me just once,” Akira yawns. “You smell so good.”
Goro rests his hand on Akira’s head. “You really are just—”)
Akira freezes as a soft jazz tune rings through their mostly empty apartment.
(The singer paints a picture of snow so realistically that Akira half expects to find a dream-like winter wonderland right outside his window. Instead, he finds grey concrete and flickering lights of a city whose name he’s long forgotten.)
“Akira?”
Akira turns around to find Goro in the entryway—he must have been standing there for some time now. Akira moves towards him, taking Goro’s coat and scarf when prompted. Normally, Goro would scold him for treating him like a child—instead, Goro watches him with a slightly raised eyebrow. “So?”
Akira stares at him blankly. “So what?”
“You always do that,” Goro says slowly, each word as cold as the weather outside. "You turn deaf whenever someone asks if you’re okay. It’s like you’re allergic to other people caring about you.”
“You were asking if I’m okay?” Akira laughs nervously. He decides to continue making himself busy, needing something, anything to occupy his hands—he hangs Goro’s coat carefully to make sure not a single wrinkle shows on the very expensive coat Goro stole from an abandoned apartment they broke into about a month ago. This one has been vacant for about three weeks, and they've been using it as their hideout—as Akira likes to call them—for about two. It's the longest they’ve stayed in one place—it almost feels domestic. Akira’s gotten used to the big kitchen and Japanese-styled bedroom. A quiet voice in his head tells him he wishes they could stay here longer, while another, quieter one says—forever. From what Goro's been saying, the owners should return in a few days, that's why Akira and Goro are going to move again tomorrow just to be safe. Goro insisted they do so even before Christmas but Akira begged him to give it one more day. Goro begrudgingly complied—he doesn’t care much about Christmas but he knows how much it means to Akira. Especially since—
Goro’s hand stops him from smoothening the fabric one more. “You’ve been at it five minutes now.”
Akira blinks. That much comes as a surprise. “I guess I zoned out.”
“No shit,” Goro snorts. “Care to tell me what’s it all about?”
“By that you mean…?”
Goro vaguely gestures all around him. Akira follows his gaze, taking in the postcard scenery around them—the fairy lights hanging from the windows, the turkey and the Christmas cake they can’t afford placed innocently on the kitchen table, and finally, a neatly packaged gift resting under a small Christmas tree. Naturally, Akira stole all of that while Goro was out on his recon mission.
Goro’s hands are cold where they rest on Akira’s cheeks, keeping him grounded. Akira notes that Goro never removed his gloves. He leans into the leather, closing his eyes as he takes in the comforting smell. “I’ve never realized how important Christmas is to you.”
“It’s not,” Akira’s eyes shoot open. “I guess I just wanted to—”
Goro raises an eyebrow. He’s holding Akira’s face in an iron grip, and Akira can’t look away even if he wanted to. Akira clears his throat. “We didn’t celebrate my birthday. Or your birthday. And we probably won’t celebrate New Year’s Eve either.”
“You’re going sentimental on me now?” Goro chuckles humorlessly. Akira is the only person in the world who can sense the well-hidden warmth somewhere underneath the stone-cold facade. “I thought we were better than this.”
“We are,” Akira nods. “I’m just—”
Useless. Lonely. Bored. Tired.
Goro takes him in for a moment. “We can’t take risks. Not after they spotted you in Osaka. You need to stay put just for now, Joker. I’ll make sure to provide you with all the adrenaline you need when it’s safe for you to go out.”
You're too reckless when you're with me.
Akira knows.
“Safe, huh?” Akira can’t help but grin, even if he knows that Goro’s going to hate him for it. “You really do care about me.”
There’s something—a very faint light shining through Goro’s features, but it’s gone too fast as if someone blew out the candle. The steel gaze Goro gives him successfully stops Akira from reading too much into it. His hands slide from Akira’s cheeks as he removes the gloves with a sigh—Akira needs to stop himself from kissing Goro’s frost-bitten fingertips. “You’re my partner in crime. Caring about you might be the wrong way to put it, but looking after you comes with the job. You’re useful to me. I can’t afford to lose you.”
Lose you. Love you.
Akira speaks Goro’s language too well. Something inside Akira's brain flickers and he leads Goro towards the Christmas tree. He shoves the gift into Goro's hesistant hands.
“You should unpack your gift,” Akira says. “And then we should eat the food before it gets cold.”
Goro scowls. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” Akira stops him with a smile. “It’s nothing big anyway. I tried to keep a low-profile just like I promised.”
“Low-profile for you means the middle of the spotlight for most people,” Goro rolls his eyes, but he accepts the package. He unpacks it slowly and carefully—Akira understands it too well. He remembers what it was like to get a gift from his parents when he was a child. It was rare and he treasured every moment of it. He’d untie the ribbon, slowly, and carefully—he’d slip it into his pocket before his mother threw it away, making sure every keepsake is accounted for. He’d do his best not to rip the paper, as he slips out the gift slowly, carefully—
“A Featherman keychain,” Goro dangles the small figurine in the air. His face remains expressionless, except for his eyes. Akira politely decides not to comment on it. “That's...I don’t have keys, except for the ones we stole.”
“We should steal a car,” Akira suggests. “We need to get out of here anyway.”
Goro looks at him for a moment before nodding. “I suppose it’s not a bad idea. It’s been a while—we can change the plates once we get to Nagoya.”
“Nagoya?” Akira repeats. “That’s close to—”
“We’re coming back to Tokyo for the New Year’s,” Goro smiles faintly. It’s the first smile he’s given Akira in years. “Merry Christmas, Akira.”
Akira doesn’t know what to say.
He feels cold all of a sudden, and he realizes his body must have moved out of its own volition as his knees connect with the tiled floor. Goro kneels next to him, his eyes full of concern. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“I—” Akira clears his throat. “I am happy. It’s just… Isn’t it too soon? We still have to—”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Goro looks away, unwilling to share whatever storm’s raging inside him when he delivers the news. “They’re going to be in Tokyo for New Year’s—all Shido’s goons, gathering together like lambs in a slaughterhouse. We can end it. Finally, we can end it.”
“You mean—” Akira bites his lip. “Do you want to...?”
“I contacted Sae,” Goro says somewhat coldly. “We don’t need the bloodshed. Do you know what it means to me—two years I waited for them to finally slip, to finally have them believe that it’s safe for them to come back. An opportunity like this might not happen again.”
He's avoiding the bloodshed. For Akira. Maybe to save himself.
Akira's glad Goro decided he's worth saving.
“Isn’t that too convenient?” Akira rubs his temples. No matter how much he wants to share Goro’s enthusiasm, his ex-thief instincts tell him to be careful, to always have a back-up plan, to never believe that things are going to go as planned. It’s why Goro has Akira—to stop him when Goro gets too hasty, too blinded by his vengeance. “We spent too much time preparing for this to slip up now.”
“I know,” Goro helps Akira back on his feet and onto the couch, his gestures almost robotic, devoid of tenderness that Akira so desperately craves—so badly, he can feel it between every single one of his bones, digging under his tissue. Goro's touch is so light that it feels like treating an open-wound with a band-aid, but Akira can’t refuse even the smallest gestures of kindness. “We don’t have another choice. You know it as much as I do. It’s the best Christmas gift we can ask for, don’t you think? Their heads on a silver platter.”
Goro’s eyes are bright and heated in the candlelight—any brighter and Akira would think Goro's coming down with a fever. Akira takes Goro's hands in his. Goro’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move away. “Very well. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
“We?”
Akira chuckles. “You think I’ll let you go alone? After everything we’ve been through.”
“I just assumed you’d be eager to reunite with your friends,” Goro says, and Akira can’t help but think he sounds somewhat relieved. “I can do this on my own.”
“You probably can,” Akira admits. “But you don’t want to.”
Goro would never say that out loud, and Akira doesn't expect as much. At least, he doesn’t deny it, his eyes empty like windows of an abandoned building. “I still don’t know why you care so much. You could live peacefully, it’s none of your business anymore. Are you really so desperate to get your kicks from somewhere that you’re willing to go to the depths of hell with me?”
“That’s a bit melodramatic,” Akira points out. Goro rolls his eyes because he is melodramatic. “And you know why I’m doing this.”
Goro slides his hand out from Akira’s grip to place it on his face again. He parts Akira’s lips with his thumb, brushing against Akira’s front teeth, his lower lip, and then barely grazes his upper one. “The food’s going to get cold.”
“I can imagine. Christmas food is overrated anyway.”
Goro narrows his eyes. “I can never give you what you want. No matter how cold you are, I can’t light that heat inside you. Eventually, you’ll burn out. You can’t expect me to stop it.”
“Akechi, just kiss me,” Akira sighs. “Just once.”
Goro does. It’s brief and light—like a snowflake landing on Akira’s lips, melting quickly before Akira can fully appreciate it. Luckily, Akira’s fully capable of lighting the fire on his own—and so he brings Goro closer, pulling at his clothes, until Goro’s body lands on top of his in a mess of limbs, his tongue warm and pleasant, sliding lazily against Akira’s. Akira can see the way the next couple of hours are going to play out—he spreads them out in front of them like a deck of cards, examining each possibility with a keen gaze. Preferably, they’re going to pick the one that allows them to fully take advantage of the vast bedroom—what the rightful owners don’t know won’t hurt them, right?
Goro spreads out his fingers on Akira’s neck like the only thing stopping him from squeezing is one ill-placed sentence. “You haven’t kissed me in a long time.”
“We were busy,” Akira points out.
Plotting. Breaking and entering. False identities, attempted murder. Sometimes stress kills the romantic mood. Goro laughs humorlessly. “You’re insufferable. You know that I—”
“I know,” Akira slides his fingers through Goro’s hair. “Me too.”
Goro doesn’t let his guard down often. Akira will call it a Christmas miracle, while Goro will call it a moment of weakness. Still, he lowers himself on his elbows, curling against Akira's body, his heartbeat steady and comforting against Akira’s own ribs.
“Will you stay with me?” Goro asks, his voice small from where he rests his head on Akira’s shoulder. “That’s all I ask. Just stay by my side as long as you can. And I promise to celebrate Christmas with you every year if that's what you want. Just...stay.”
Akira wraps his arms around Goro’s stiff figure. “It’s a promise, then.”
The jazz singer sings about Christmas in a faraway land. The coffee grows cold where Akira left it on the counter. The Featherman keychain glimmers faintly in the candle light. The frost-covered windows hide them from the world. Goro’s breath eventually evens out and Akira does his best not to disturb the brief moment of respite.
Akira wonders if Goro knows that it was never about Christmas in the first place.
He thinks about that one December, the one he can never erase from his memory.
The day he lost Goro.
The blur of events when he mourned him.
The day Goro returned to him, only to vanish shortly after.
It’s you I celebrate, Akira thinks to himself. It’s all for us.
In Akira's life, December has always belonged to Goro.