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Akira is sitting in front of a large fireplace, the flames flickering and dancing and filling the room with a delicious warmth. He’s wearing soft flannel pajamas, and the other Phantom Thieves are in their winter pajamas too, laughing and joking nearby.
Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
He turns to Akechi, who is sitting by his side with a mug of coffee in his hands, his long elegant fingers curled around the white porcelain.
“This is lovely, darling,” Akechi says, and smiles.
Akira grins back at him, then glances at Futaba, who is fidgeting while Yusuke attempts to sketch her by the firelight. Nearby Ann and Ryuji are slow dancing, and Ann is smiling despite Ryuji’s embarrassed complaints. Makoto is lying on a nearby bench with her head in Haru’s lap, reading a thick hardback book. Morgana is in his Metaverse form, but still looks like a cat, dozing peacefully on a blanket near Akira’s feet.
It’s all so nice, so cozy, so perfect, that Akira wonders—
“Wake up.”
Akechi’s hands are on Akira’s shoulders, shaking him, and Akechi’s tone has gone from adoring to frosty in the span of a few seconds.
“Wake up, Akira.”
Akira opens his eyes, blinking blearily. He’s in bed, in LeBlanc’s shadowed attic, light falling upward from the cafe below.
Akechi leans over him, eyes glinting in the dark.
“Good, you’re finally up.”
Akechi lets him go and straightens. His tone is all business, his manner brusque. Nothing like the incredible dream that Akira is, unfortunately, no longer having.
Akira groans, sitting up. “What time is it?”
“It’s 1:17 am. We don’t have a lot of time to waste, so get dressed already.”
Akira rubs the sleep out of his eyes and stretches, reaching over to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. Akechi is no warmer even with the gentle golden glow filling the room, his eyes hard and flinty and complicated.
“Okay,” Akira groans, pushing the blankets back and letting the cold night air rush over him. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out,” Akechi says tersely. “Dress warmly, Akira.”
With that he strides back downstairs to wait. His footsteps are solid and even on the creaky stairs, reassuring Akira that he’s not a dream, not a ghost, not a phantom conjured up by the force of Akira’s grief.
He’s real, and he’s back. And Akira already knows what he’s going to do.
He’s going to put his bare feet on the cold planks of the attic floor and walk over to the dresser and shiver while he quickly pulls on as many layers as he can. And then he’s going to go downstairs and follow Akechi literally anywhere he wants to go. Because despite all this “rivals” bullshit, Akechi is like true north, and Akira can’t will his compass to point in any other direction.
Down in the cafe, Akechi is checking his watch impatiently when Akira hurries down the stairs, twining a scarf around his neck as he goes.
His expression softens as he looks Akira up and down.
“I figured,” he says, and tosses a small package at Akira. “For you.”
“Is this...a gift?” Akira asks, clutching the package tighter than he really should.
Akechi looks away. “You can think of it that way if you like.”
Akira’s hands tremble a little as he opens the plain cardboard box. Inside is a pair of very nice winter gloves.
“I knew you wouldn’t have gloves,” Akechi is saying, when Akira looks up at him, wide-eyed. “I’m just being practical.”
“Practical.” Akira clears his throat. “Right. Thanks, though.”
Akechi gives him a brusque nod and heads for the door. In a move that surprises neither of them, Akira follows without being asked. As he does, he tugs the fine, soft gloves over his hands, admiring the rich crimson fabric for a moment before they step out into the darkness.
It turns out the trains are still running, because it’s New Year’s Eve. Well, technically it’s New Year’s Day, if just barely. When they reach Shibuya, it’s not quite two a.m., and the night is cold and vibrant with the energy of an entire city celebrating the New Year.
At Shibuya, Akira follows Akechi through the station. It’s not empty, but it’s not crowded either, and there’s a certain serenity to the crowd that surrounds them. No one jostles or yells or scrambles for a train. It’s weird but they all seem perfectly content to be wherever they are in that moment.
Except Akechi. He strides aggressively past groups of happily chattering people, leading Akira to a train they just barely catch, headed towards an unfamiliar station.
The train is surprisingly empty, and it’s easy for Akira and Akechi to find seats together, by a window. Outside, the lights of Tokyo blur past, comforting shades of yellow and green and white, as the train picks up speed.
Akechi sits quietly, his hands in his lap, and looks out into the darkness. Akira stares at Akechi’s black leather gloves and wonders what it would be like to hold his hand.
Probably Akechi would murder him.
There are so many things he wishes he could say. He thought Akechi was dead, and he’d carried that grief around with him like the chains that bound him in the Velvet Room, until Christmas Eve when Akechi had appeared from nowhere, perfectly alive and not even happy to see him.
Watching Akechi walk away with Sae, off to take the fall for Akira’s crimes and start a jail sentence that might take up the best years of his life, Akira’s heart had ached madly with longing and a different kind of grief. In the days since, he’d tried to put Akechi out of his mind, but he’d never been good at that, not even in the beginning when Akechi was just the cute celebrity who seemed to think Akira was special.
“I thought you were in jail,” is what he finally comes up with.
The corner of Akechi’s mouth twitches into a sneer. Even so, he’s disarmingly attractive.
“I was.”
“What happened?”
Akechi shrugs. “They let me out.”
That sounds like a lie, but Akira’s not going to push him for the truth. If he murdered a guard and ran, maybe Akira would rather not know about it.
Or maybe he would, so he could help Akechi hide.
Another long silence lingers between them, until the words that have been coiled on the tip of Akira’s tongue since he first saw Akechi’s face finally spill out.
“I thought you were dead,” he says.
Akechi glances at him, sly as a fox. “I can’t believe you had so little faith in me.”
“I heard the gunshots.” Akira doesn’t find this funny in the slightest. “Futaba watched your signal on her scanner fade away to nothing.”
Later, Akira had interrogated her about it. Pushed her and pushed her, trying to get her to admit she might have made a mistake, that her Persona might have missed something. But deep down he had known the truth. Akechi was truly gone.
And now here Akechi is again, upsetting everything.
“Do you really need to know?” Akechi says, a little softer this time. “Isn’t it enough that I’m here?”
Akira grins like a helpless fool in love. “It’s enough. Of course it’s enough.”
Akechi looks away with an exasperated huff, but Akira catches the hint of a smile on his lips too. He looks nothing like a fool in love, but it’s good enough.
“This is us,” Akechi says, getting to his feet as the train slows, approaching an unfamiliar station. They’ve been riding for about forty-five minutes, enough for the dense lights of Tokyo to give way to the more sporadic lighting of the countryside.
“Mount Takao?” Akira follows him towards the train doors, waiting beside him for them to slide open and let the darkness in.
Akechi doesn’t glance behind him as he strides into the cold air. Like he knows that Akira will follow him regardless. “I want to see the sunrise from the summit.”
“Oh.” Akira hurries to catch up to him. “Is that like, a thing?”
Akechi’s sideways glance is amused, almost fond. “Yes. Watching the first sunrise of the New Year from Mount Takao. It’s very popular among people here. I always forget that you’re not from Tokyo.”
Sometimes Akira forgets that too. Tokyo suits him; Yongen-Jaya feels like home. He likes the anonymity of the crowds, watching all the different people go by, each person intent on what seems to them like the most important task in the world.
“So we climb the mountain?” Akira asks.
Akechi nods. “There’s a tram, but I want to do the hike.”
Now the gift of gloves makes more sense. Akira still feels a little giddy whenever he looks at them.
“Have you ever done it before?” he asks.
Akechi shakes his head. “I’ve never actually hiked up a mountain before. Bouldering is generally something I do at the gym—I never have time to leave the city.”
Akira suppresses a smile. “So you don’t know how to do this.”
“We’re going for a walk,” Akechi says, narrowing his eyes. Beneath the bright lamp post beside them, his eyelashes seem very long, his features shadowed and severe. “How hard can it be?”
“We’re climbing a mountain at night,” Akira says. “We at least need some equipment and water.”
“Well.” Akechi’s expression softens. “That does seem reasonable. Have you done this before?”
“Sure,” Akira says. “I grew up in the mountains. I used to go hiking and camping with my friends, before…”
Before your dad sued me for assault and I found out none of them would stand by my side anymore.
“I see.” As usual, Akechi is so in tune with Akira that he doesn’t even need to finish his thought. “Well, lead the way, then.”
Not surprisingly, the stores at Mount Takao’s base are well equipped for city dwellers come to hike to the summit on New Year's Day. They acquire a few water bottles, two headlamps, and handwarmers. Akira spends a few long moments studying the large map at the entrance, memorizing the different trails that twine up the mountain’s slopes. On a whim, he chooses the waterfall trail, even though in the dark the waterfall might not look like much.
Akechi doesn’t say anything as he follows Akira to the trailhead in a reverse of their earlier positions. Akira can’t deny the small thrill it gives him to have Akechi at his back.
“Keep your eyes on the ground as much as you can,” he says, as they set off. “It’s a pretty easy hike, but in the dark it can be tricky.”
“I’m not a child,” Akechi says irritably. “I know that much.”
Akira grins at him and begins the trek. The moon is full and bright above them, a perfect pale white. Even at the mountain’s base, the air is crisp and clear, an almost dizzying contract to Tokyo’s perpetual smog.
“It’s a little strange that no one else is on this trail,” Akechi says thoughtfully. “I had thought this was a very popular New Year’s tradition.
“Maybe we’re just lucky,” Akira says.
Akechi makes a noncommittal hum, like he does when he’s thinking about a case. Akira lets him be. If there’s some flaw to this perfect night, he doesn’t want to hear about it. Having Akechi all to himself like this, on a beautiful night beneath the full moon, is a wish come true if he’s ever had one.
As they make their way up the wide wooden stairs set into the path, Akira’s headlamp illuminates tall, slender trees standing like knobby sentinels along the side, bark colorless and pale in the harsh spotlight. A crust of white snow remains in the shady areas, beneath the branches, but the stairs are clear, sturdy beneath his weight.
It’s not long before the roaring of water in the distance announces the waterfall this trail was named for. The cascade of water reflects the moonlight, fracturing it into ever shifting patterns. Akira stops for a moment to take it in, and Akechi comes up beside him.
“It’s beautiful,” Akechi murmurs, and for the second time tonight, Akira thinks of taking his hand, but refrains.
“It is,” Akira agrees, fingers closed over his own empty palms.
“My mother promised me she would bring me here when I was old enough,” Akechi says. His voice is clear and cool, easy to hear even above the din of the waterfall.
“Did she?” Akira asks, though he already knows the answer.
“She died when I was seven,” Akechi says. The headlamp casts severe shadows over his face, making his usually soft features look angular, haunted. “So no. We never came here.”
“You’re here now,” Akira says, hoping to be comforting. He knows better than to let Akechi see how deeply this makes him feel, how he wishes he could have taken that lost child into his arms and protected him from everything in the world.
But to Akechi, a desire to protect him from the horrors of his childhood would come across as a rejection of the man who was shaped by them.
Akira’s careful expression works; Akechi’s frown softens into something a little easier. Disdain, rather than grief.
“She must have liked to go hiking. She was always talking about how much she loved nature, how the city felt like a prison. Although…” Akechi looked around with a wry, bitter smile. “I must admit I don’t see the appeal.”
“Just wait until the sun rises,” Akira says. “I promise you will.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Akechi says sternly, and Akira bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely.
They continue down the path, and in his mind’s eye, Akira traces their steps against the map he memorized before setting out. That’s how he knows they’re supposed to turn left at the bridge and take the stepping stones half sunk into the dark creek up the slope.
Akechi, however, did not memorize the map ahead of time and so does not agree.
“That’s not even a path,” he says for what must be the tenth time, gesturing to the stones shining slickly in the moonlight. “That’s a river.”
“It’s not a river. It’s just a creek.” Akira glares at Akechi’s stupid know-it-all face. “Are you afraid you’ll get your shoes wet?”
“All I’m saying is, that is a river. Creek. Whatever. With some stepping stones in it.” Akechi gestures wildly in the opposite direction. “This, however, is a man-made bridge that leads to an established path. Of course it’s the right way to go.”
“I’m following the map,” Akira says. He pulls his headlamp off and runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. They’ve been on this topic for at least fifteen minutes, and they’re getting nowhere.
“So you say,” Akechi continues blithely. “Yet you have absolutely no proof.”
“You’re just gonna have to trust me,” Akira says, gritting his teeth against the urge to shout. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You’ll excuse me if I’m not going to fall in line like all those sycophants you call Phantom Thieves.”
For all his cold sneering, Akechi’s face is flushed, his hands clenched into fists. In short, he’s just as pissed as Akira.
“Those ‘sycophants’ are my best friends,” Akira growls. “You wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“No. I wouldn’t.” Akechi’s voice is as cold as the lace-like frost edging the narrow line of the creek. “And I prefer it that way. They are all incredibly annoying—you most of all.”
Something in Akira snaps. It’s one thing to insult him—but to drag his friends into it is more than he can handle. A kind of rage roils in his belly, not an unfamiliar feeling, but one he rarely allows himself to experience.
“If I’m so fucking annoying, then why don’t you just shoot me, Akechi?”
Akechi goes very still, his head bowed so that the harsh light of the headlamp obscures the features shrouded in shadow below it. He makes a soft sound that might be a sob, then another.
Akira is just about to apologize, reaching his hands out in a blind panic, when Akechi looks up at him, eyes full of laughter.
“I always knew you weren’t such a saint,” he says, with the most genuine smile Akira has seen all night. “You’re angry at me for what I did to you, aren’t you? Just admit it, Akira.”
All the fury drains out of Akira, his hands hanging limply at the ends of his arms.
“Yeah,” he says softly. Like a confession, whispered in the dead of night.
“Good.” Akechi sounds quietly satisfied, turning away in the direction of the creek. “You should be.”
“It’s not like that,” Akira says quickly, scrambling after him. “I understand why—”
“Don’t.” Akechi’s voice is firm and decisive, quickly cutting off anything Akira might say. “I made my decisions. Don’t pretend like I’m helpless.”
He steps carefully onto the first of the stepping stones that lead up the creek bed.
“And be careful. These are slippery.”
“Right.” Akira clears his throat and follows Akechi up the gentle incline. The stones are slick and unsteady beneath his feet, and he has to pay careful attention to each step.
Near the top of the path, he hears a soft curse and looks up to see Akechi stumble. Without thinking he lunges forward, his boots splashing in the cold creek water, and catches Akechi before he can fall.
Akira’s not sure how long he stands like that, his heart hammering frantically but his mind somehow perfectly calm. Akechi’s headlamp has fallen to their feet, and in the soft moonlight he looks like an angel, sweet and deceptively pure. His body is firm and warm, clutched to Akira’s chest like some kind of precious treasure.
“Thank you,” Akechi murmurs, and Akira reluctantly releases him. He straightens, then reaches down and picks up his headlamp.
“Your boots are soaked,” he says, frowning at Akira. “Your feet are going to get cold.”
With an angel in his arms, Akira had barely felt the cold. But now it comes rushing in, along with the unique discomfort of wet socks. He quickly steps onto one of the broad flat stepping stones.
“It’s fine,” he says. There isn’t much to be done about it anyway.
The creek eventually gives way to a small trail, which gets wider and more established the further they go. By the time they reach another row of wooden stairs, set into the earth at long intervals, it’s clear Akira’s path was the correct one.
He thinks about rubbing it in, but settles for a smug silence and a cocky smirk when Akechi glances at him. Akechi rolls his eyes, looking away, but Akira catches a trace of fondness in his expression he’s not able to hide.
There’s more snow this high up, a spotty collection along the edges of the path, stained darker where it meets the soil. The little drifts are four or five inches high in sections, more than enough accumulation to cause some trouble with.
Akira, trailing behind Akechi, slips off to one side towards a snowy expanse, breaking through the thin icy crust to reach the powder underneath. He molds it into a ball, then hurries towards Akechi.
“Hey Akechi,” he says. “Think fast!”
Akechi turns swiftly and in a single graceful motion, catches the snowball before it can collide with his chest. It breaks into a cascade of shimmering powder at the impact.
“Very mature, Akira,” he says, but he sounds amused.
“I bet you’ve never had a snowball fight,” Akira says.
Akechi laughs. “I’m not a child .”
“You used to be, though. Didn’t you?”
Akechi’s smile fades into something more pensive, thoughtful. “I had more important things to worry about. And it’s not like I’ve ever had anyone I would do such a thing with.”
Even though his heart aches for the child Akechi once was, Akira grins.
“You’ve got someone now.”
Beneath the bright of the headlamp, Akechi’s eyes flash wickedly. “Is that a challenge, Joker?”
“Only if you think you’re up to it, Crow.”
The second Akechi dashes to the side, leaning down to scoop up some snow, Akira is doing the same. He barely feels the uncomfortable squish of his socks in his soaked boots, or the cold mountain air that bites at his face, because they’re both laughing, running and dodging and throwing handfuls of snow like a couple of kids set free on a day off from school.
It’s hard to keep score in a snowball fight, but they’re both panting by the time they finish, Akira’s jacket covered in glittering white crystals where a snowball exploded against his arm, a similar spot on the back of Akechi’s coat.
“I win,” Akira declares, for no reason at all except to irritate Akechi.
“A likely story,” Akechi snorts, returning to the path. “Here. You’ve got snow all over you.”
He leans in and brusquely brushes away the ice clinging to the front of Akira’s coat. And then he looks up. Their faces are inches apart, the cool mountain air suddenly charged with the electricity that’s always been between them.
Akechi is the first to look away. Another victory for Akira, though this time he doesn’t feel like much of a winner.
“Let’s get going,” Akechi says. “How much further do you think it is?”
“So you admit I do know the way,” Akira says, preening dramatically.
“I allege that you might.”
“Don’t worry, Detective.” Akira winks. “It’s not far now.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Akechi says, but Akira catches his fond smile before he can turn his face away.
It’s around four a.m. when they reach the summit, a wide expanse of open space with soba shops and vending machines.
“How strange,” Akechi says, looking around. “A place like this should be packed with people on New Year’s Day.”
Akira shrugs. He’s glad it isn’t. There are people around, murmuring quietly and radiating an air of complete contentment, but there’s plenty of space, unoccupied benches where they can rest. It gives the area a comforting feeling of anonymity—no one cares who they are or what they do, and it’s unlikely anyone will recognize Akechi like this. He holds himself like an entirely different person, his smile edged like a knife and his eyes bright and cold and clever. Nothing at all like the charming, inoffensive Detective Prince he once was.
Akira likes him much better like this. There’s a feeling of danger in every graceful movement, a ruthless cunning in the way Akechi looks around the open space, like he’s checking for threats, or searching out prey.
They get bowls of hot soba, which does wonders to banish the chill collected on the hike up here. The food is rich and savory, and Akechi devours it like he hasn’t eaten in days, his usual decorum forgotten.
“Jail food is hardly what you’d call gourmet cuisine,” he explains, once he’s drained his bowl.
They find a stretch of railing away from the crowd and lean against it, looking out over the vista and waiting for the sun to rise.
“They held me in jail for a few days, you know,” Akira says. “After I was charged, before I was released on probation. It sucked.”
Akechi nods seriously. “It most certainly sucks.”
“You didn’t have to turn yourself in,” Akira says miserably.
“I know. I wanted to.”
“Why?”
Akechi is quiet for so long Akira thinks he’s not going to answer. Finally, he says, “I have my reasons. Maybe someday I’ll tell you, but not today.”
Akira nods. He’s probably lucky he got that much of an answer. Only an idiot would pry further. And he wasn’t lying to Akechi earlier. This is enough. Whatever Akechi is willing to give him is enough.
It doesn’t stop him from wanting more.
“It’s beautiful,” Akechi says, looking down at the city lights. “From up here you could almost forget how ugly it is up close.”
“It’s not all ugly,” Akira says. “Tokyo...feels like home. It’s the first place that ever has.”
“Well. I suppose you run in very different circles than I do.”
Akira catches Akechi’s eye and they both start laughing. It’s an understatement if there ever was one.
“Maybe you should run in my circles more often,” Akira says.
“Hmm.” Akechi’s gaze sharpens like a bird of prey spotting a mouse. “I don’t think so. I’m not interested in your “crew,” and I’d rather not share your attention.”
Akira fights to hold down the grin that stretches across his face and fails completely. “You don’t wanna share my attention, huh?”
“You are a fool.” Akechi huffs, turning his face away.
They fall quiet, watching the city lights. People are milling about quietly, mostly couples, holding hands or leaning into each other and laughing. There are a few families, moms and dads huddling around their children, but none of the kids scream or shriek or run around disobediently. All of the people here seem happy enough just to wait for the sunrise.
They’re not nearly as interesting as Akechi, who has taken off his headlamp now that there are a few electric lamp posts around, casting a bright silvery light over the mountainside. He looks tired, dark circles evident beneath his eyes, and his mouth is set and cold instead of turned in a flattering smile.
Akira can’t make himself look away from Akechi. Even the view of Tokyo, glittering beneath them like a fabulous gemstone with a thousand different facets, can hardly compare.
“Look,” Akechi says, gesturing.
The very edge of the sky, on the eastern horizon, is just barely beginning to brighten. There’s no glimpse of the sun just yet, only a lighter shade of darkness that heralds the sunrise to come.
Again, Akira thinks of taking Akechi’s hand. Again, he doesn’t.
“There should be more people here,” Akechi says, leaning back against the railing and glancing around. “This is a very popular tradition.”
Akira shrugs. He doesn’t really know anything about it, but he likes it when Akechi goes into detective mode, carefully eviscerating everything he sees with his relentless intellect.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” he says, and Akechi glances at him, startled. “This is really nice. Being here, with you.”
Akechi doesn’t smile. “You were angry before,” he says. “You should hold onto that. It will keep you from falling into this foolishness.”
“I am still angry.” Akira holds Akechi’s gaze, a cool challenge. “I can feel two things at once. But anger is just an emotion. Our friendship will last a lot longer than that.”
“I’m not sorry,” Akechi says, sudden and fierce. “You should know that.”
“I don’t expect you to be.” It’s the truth. Akira doesn’t require repentance—he’d much rather just move forward. He doesn’t want to force Akechi to be anything he’s not.
“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Akechi says, so softly Akira has to lean in to hear him. “But...if I let myself start to feel remorse…”
It would never stop. It would tear you apart.
“I know,” Akira murmurs. “It’s okay.”
Akechi goes quiet, and Akira takes that to mean their conversation is done. He leans against the railing beside Akechi and watches the sky get lighter.
Everything is perfect, Akira thinks, looking at the serene scene all around them. Every person here is nestled under a blanket of calm, perfect contentment. Everyone except Akechi. He’s the flaw in the gemstone, the tear in an exquisitely woven tapestry. The break in the serene happiness all around them. And Akira can’t keep his eyes off of him. He realizes he would rather have one turbulent night climbing a mountain at Akechi's side than a lifetime of perfect contentment.
“Akira.” Akechi turns to him, watching him carefully. “I don’t want you to forgive me. Do you understand?”
It’s too late for that.
“Why not?”
“Because I want you to stop me, when I can’t stop myself.”
All of the breath leaves Akira’s chest in a rush when Akechi leans in towards him and takes his hand, cradling it between both of his. Akira wishes they weren’t wearing gloves, so he could feel the warmth of Akechi’s skin on his own.
“Tell me no, Akira,” Akechi says, leaning even closer. “You can’t possibly want this. You can’t possibly want me.”
Despite Akechi’s urging, Akira melts into the kiss Akechi presses to his lips. It’s sweet and soft and gentle in a way they have never been with each other, and Akira thinks he’ll never get enough of it, not if they do this for the rest of their lives.
Akechi pulls away too soon, turning his face away.
“Look,” he says.
Akira follows his gaze out into the distant horizon. There, at the place where the land meets the sky, a bright disc is just beginning to slip into sight, casting golden rays over the mountainside.
“Happy New Year,” he whispers to Akechi, his heart thrumming with gladness. It’s going to be a good one, he just knows it.