Work Text:
“Mocha” denotes that the coffee was exported from Mocha, a port town in the Republic of Yemen Mocha Matari has a complex spicy and chocolate flavor profile with a heavy, “winey” body to compliment it.
Goro never believed in ghosts. He found that the living haunted him much more frequently.
At the moment, he was being haunted by the one and only Akira Kurusu. In the literal sense, he was currently the one haunting Kurusu’s home, but in the metaphorical, Akira was plaguing his every waking hour. Today’s meeting had been a mutual agreement, but the thought of it had lingered on Goro’s mind all day.
For a moment, he wondered if Kurusu had similar problems, if thoughts of Goro plagued him, if he had to fight his own mind to get it to change the subject every once and awhile.
It was all so pretentious, just thinking about it was giving Goro a headache.
Across the bar, Ren smiled at him. Steam from the coffee he was brewing for a couple of regulars was fogging his glasses.
He hated him. He wanted to be him. Most of all, he wanted to kick his perfectly straight teeth in.
Goro’s lips curled into a smile in return, taking a sip of his coffee. It was heavy in his mouth, sweeter than he would have preferred, but the cup had been prepared without his say in the matter. He’d simply shown up, by request no less, and had been presented with the cup within moments. Akira, it appeared, was getting more and more adventurous with his brews.
LeBlanc was quiet, the sounds of soft jazz playing over the radio while the regulars seated at the booths talked quietly to each other.
Akira nodded towards the coffee. “How is it?”
It’s disgusting. “It’s good. It has a kick to it that I wasn’t expecting.”
“That’s what Sojiro said,” Akira said, as if Goro gave a damn about the old man’s opinion. “He said it was spicy, but maybe I’m just not cultured enough to see it.”
Goro bit back a snotty response. He was good at that, at hiding his bitter and horrible thoughts; trading what little amount of sanity he had left in service of maintaining his public image. He settled for saying, “I can’t imagine what would make him say that.”
Kurusu’s lips twitched at that, the slightest sign of amusement that Goro knew he wouldn’t have seen if he hadn’t been looking for it.
He drummed his fingers lightly on the counter, absentmindedly keeping them occupied. If they weren’t, he feared he might reach over the counter and strangle Kurusu or do something even worse, like tuck the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes out of the way. The thought of such a tender gesture made him want to gag.
“I haven’t seen anything about Mika in the news lately,” Kurusu said, He said it casually, as if he were simply discussing the weather and not a brutal murder case.
Goro took a long sip of his coffee before answering. “No, I imagine you wouldn’t. The police couldn’t find any leads. Rather unfortunate for them, if you don’t mind me saying, but these things happen, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” Kurusu answered. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Goro loathed. He hated to think that they agreed on something like this; that they were both happy to see Mika remain a free woman after ruthlessly murdering her abusers. It was unfortunate to see eye to eye with the attic trash on anything. At least, that’s what Goro thought the twisting in his gut meant.
He took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t really lower his raging heart rate the way he’d been hoping for, but no matter.
He glanced down the bar aimlessly, almost wondering where that annoying cat had gotten to. His eyes caught of the chessboard, carelessly strewn at the other end. It had probably been sitting their since their last match. He didn’t think that any of LeBlanc’s regular customers had the patience (or intelligence, for that matter) to play.
Kurusu must have seen him eyeing the chess board, because he asked, “Want to play a match?”
Goro nodded. He rather enjoyed chess. He liked the control it gave him over the game and could always plan his next move three in advance. It was like fighting in the Metaverse and, he felt, was rather similar to the way he lived his life. “Are you sure Sakura won’t mind you playing on the clock?”
“If he wants that sort of commitment, he’s going to have to start paying me,” Kurusu said cheerfully, moving to the end of the bar so he could drag the board over to him.
Goro bit back another rude comment. “Black or white?”
Kurusu hummed. “White.”
Always on the offensive. Always thinking he was one step ahead of everyone else. Goro hated him. He hated himself, too, for how deeply he analyzed such a simple choice.
“Very well.”
Kurusu moved his first pawn.
The game started fairly slow, as all chess matches did. They were evenly matched, these days, a fact that drove Goro to the brink of madness. It was hard to keep his eye from twitching each time Kurusu claimed one of his pawns. He had improved since the last time they’d played. Goro almost wanted to ask if he’d gotten a teacher in the time since, but he would rather die than pay him such a compliment.
It was quiet in the cafe now that they were focusing on the match; the sounds of the alleyway rarely louder than the soft TV Sakura always had on.
After a particularly clever move, Goro found that he was now missing his knight after losing both of his bishops. He only had one of Kurusu’s bishops to show for it. He met Kurusu’s eyes with borderline amazement, angered to see the satisfied look he was given in response.
“Did you go and find another chess partner while I was away?” he asked. He decided that the knowledge was worth the boost he was surely giving to Kurusu’s ego. Besides, he reasoned, he needed to play nice with him if he wanted to infiltrate the Phantom Theives.
“Never,” Kurusu answered, propping his chin on his palm as he studied the chessboard. “But I have been playing a lot of shogi lately.”
Goro decided not to ask him to elaborate.
On the TV, Goro could hear his own voice chiming in about the Phantom Theives. It was a repeat segment, the one where he claimed that they weren’t murders. Of course they weren’t murders. They were all too fucking spineless. He tried to imagine Sakamoto killing anyone and the mental image alone was almost enough to make him laugh.
“I can turn it off,” Kurusu offered.
He shrugged, “It doesn’t bother me. Although it is a bit embarrassing.”
Kurusu muted the television. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“What you said about the Phantom Theives.”
Goro moved his queen. “Of course. I have no reason to lie.”
Kurusu hummed in response to that. “Everyone else thinks they’re guilty.”
Goro countered his move, taking the last of Kurusu’s pawns. “I’m not everyone.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Besides,” Goro continued, “There’s no logical reason to jump to conclusions. The Phantom Theives have never been shy about owning up to their crimes to this point. Why wouldn’t they claim Okumura’s murder, too?”
“But they were targeting him,” Kurusu pointed out.
“Yes, they were. But Okumura wasn’t special. If they had intentions to murder, I believe they would have done it far sooner.”
“Maybe they just realized they could get away with it now.”
Goro was fairly certain that Kurusu was messing with him now and he was tempted to strangle him where he stood for it. “Maybe. But if they’re just, like you seem to think, I doubt that that’s the case.”
Discussing this felt like pulling teeth. He was tired of playing spokesperson for the Phantom Theives, even though he knew he had to. At times, he was sure that he’d rather openly admit to pulling the trigger on Okumura himself if it meant that he could save the five seconds of breath that he’d be wasting on defending them.
He moved his queen, triumphantly declaring, “Checkmate.”
“You won,” Kurusu agreed. He sounded defeated, but he was smiling. It wasn’t a smile that Goro had ever seen him wear before. It wasn’t the easy one that he often had around his friends, nor was it the cunning one he’d seen on him when discussing the Phantom Thieves. This smile was something else entirely, something soft and vulnerable. Goro wanted to smack it off his lips.
Goro was aware that he was staring at Kurusu’s mouth, but for some reason, he couldn’t get his eyes to look anywhere else. His heartbeat seemed to quicken, but he refused to think about why it might do that.
Why was Kurusu smiling at him like that?
The chime over the door sounded and both boys turned to see who had entered, whatever moment they might have been having shattering around them like glass.
It was just Sakura.
“What are you kids up to?” the old man asked, dropping his coat on the stand. “Don’t you have anything better to do than hang around this dusty old place?”
“You asked me to watch the shop,” Akira reminded him.
“Well, go on and scram before my evening regulars get here,” Sakura huffed.
“I’d better get going anyways,” Goro said quickly, before- god forbid- he could be invited anywhere else, “I’m a bit behind on my work. But the coffee was wonderful as always.”
“Let me walk you to the station,” Akira offered, already starting to remove his apron.
“You really don’t have to,” Goro said, desperately trying not to grind his teeth on the words. “I know the way.”
Akira shrugged, “I need to stop by the flower shop.”
Goro had to forcibly unclench his jaw, but he nodded anyways. “Then we should get going.”
He’d never taken his coat off and he was glad for it as he stepped out into the chilly autumn air. The streetlights of Yongen were beginning to make up for the season’s lack of daylight and a breeze blew his hair into his face. When Kurusu laughed about it, Goro scowled at him, but that only made him laugh harder.
The station was close to LeBlanc, thankfully, so he was more than happy to listen to Kurusu prattle on about his friends’ happenings while they walked. Normally, he would have tuned it all out as useless chatter, but Goro found himself listening with an embarrassing amount of interest.
He was gathering information, that was all. They’d be teammates soon; he needed all the information they could get.
The station was crowded, the end of rush hour approaching. It was a struggle to push through the walkway, and despite both of them knowing the way, they somehow found themselves meandering through the underground mall for several minutes, too, eyeing the different shops with varying amounts of interest.
When they finally found themselves standing at the platform, several unbearably long and insufferably awkward moments passed between them. Normally, Goro could handle this sort of situation. He always had something clever to say, some sort of smalltalk tucked in his back pocket. But when his eyes caught on Akira under the stations’s fluorescent lights, he found that he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
There it was again- that tender smile that made his blood boil in his veins.
Of course, Kurusu caught him looking. His smile only widened when he realized that Goro was looking at him and, once again, Goro had to fight the urge to smack it off his beautiful face.
“For you,” Akira said, holding out a single red rose.
“When did you-”
“I nicked it when we passed through the mall earlier. She won’t mind.”
Goro took the flower, forcing himself to study it with curiosity. He wanted to throw it to the ground with a huff and smash it’s dainty petals under the heel of his boot. He wanted to laugh in Kurusu’s face for presenting him with such a ridiculous present, wanted his words to bite into his easygoing demeanour until he trembled under the weight of them.
He wanted to hold the flower against his chest and count each of it’s beautiful petals as a treasure.
“You always manage to surprise me,” he managed to say. He could barely recognize his own voice as he said, softer than he’d ever spoken before. It sounded like nails scraping down a chalkboard to his ears.
Goro wanted to drain the blood from his own veins, if only to stop the ridiculous blush spreading across his cheeks.
“I have to keep my favorite rival on his toes,” Akira answered casually. His hands where back in his pockets and his eyes downcast, but Goro could still see that god forsaken smile.
“Oh? Do you have other rivals?” Goro asked.
Akira faltered at that, smiling softly and shaking his stupid head. His ridiculous curly hair bounced in front of his eyes, catching the terrible platform lighting.
He looked like he had something to say.
The headlights of the oncoming train momentarily blinded Goro. He’d almost forgotten where he was. It was a mistake he didn’t plan on making again.
He sighed and said, “This is me.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Akira said, despite the fact that they had made no such plans.
“Yes,” Goro agreed, even though he would rather knaw his own arm off than spend time with the attic trash, “You will.”
And as he stepped onto the train, Goro considered throwing the flower out the window and abandoning it to the depths of the underground subway.
But, when he opened the door to his apartment nearly twenty minutes later, he found that he was still gripping it tightly.