Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Naoto Shirogane, as a rule, did not tend to look on the bright side.

He would have called it an occupational hazard, but he had learned a long time ago that even the most satisfying forms of justice could grate, and that was something universal. Quietly watching the shadowed visage of his would-be successor through the one-way glass, Naoto allowed himself an exhale, and it only grated a little bit.

“Detective,” the guard to his right said quietly, and Naoto turned in his direction as smoothly as he could, tracking the guard’s gesture towards the door. Naoto nodded and consciously did not steel himself before pushing his way into the cell.

He heard the door shut softly behind him. Akechi did a good job of pretending not to notice, but Naoto saw the way his fingers twitched minutely.

Naoto took his time surveying him now that they were in the same room. His hair hung lank in front of his face, obscuring a flat expression that might have been mistaken for boredom or apathy or even rage, but all Naoto could see was a face schooled against any outward display of fear.

“So,” Naoto finally said after deciding that enough tension had built in the silence, “Enjoying your stay?”

Akechi’s gaze jerked up, and nobody, least of all Naoto, could miss the spasmed twitch of a scowl that lit up his features for an instant before shuttering again. “You’re far from home,” he said coolly, voice gravelly with disuse.

Naoto suppressed a wry smile, suspecting that it would only incense Akechi. “Nobody seems to know what to do with you. When I received the call, the warden seemed bewildered that you were even here at all.” It was a phone call that Naoto would not soon forget—the chilling way that the warden seemed to continually forget what he was asking mid-sentence, unable to latch onto Akechi’s name as if his existence was something contingent on his direct and immediate presence.

Akechi bared his teeth, eyes in shadow. “Nobody has ever known what to do with me,” he said, voice dripping acid.

“Then, this should be refreshing for you,” he said, delighting in the way that Akechi’s gaze sharpened as Naoto plucked a nonexistent piece of lint from his coat. “You’re coming with me. To Inaba.”

It was an eternity before Akechi said, “what.”

“You’ve been released to my charge,” Naoto said, allowing himself a beat of satisfaction.

Akechi lurched to his feet, hands balling into fists. “I’m a murderer,” he hissed.

“And yet, nobody remembers this.”

“You seem to,” he ground out, voice very quiet.

“Curious, isn’t it,” Naoto said softly.

Akechi stayed silent, staring at Naoto like he was the precipice of some great fall, blank and enraged and terrified all at once.

“You can stay here and remain forgotten to rot if you prefer,” Naoto said, “but I have something different in mind.”

Standing in the dusty room of a life left behind, Ren tried not to shrink around the way it just didn’t fit him anymore.

Morgana sniffed warily at his empty hamper, and with an ache so acute, (and so, so clichéd) that he could barely breathe around it, he missed the stupid attic, which had also been dusty, but in a different way.

“This sucks,” he complained, and Morgana gave him a look.

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” he said half-heartedly. “The bed seems more comfortable, and at least there’s no draft.”

Ren sighed as loudly as he could, dumping his bag on the floor with a tangible puff of dust. He’d bet anything in this moment that Morgana was wishing he’d stayed with Futaba.

“I’m sure you’ll fit right back in here as soon as school starts back up!” Morgana said with false cheer, leaping up onto the bed.

Ren didn’t bother with a response. “It’s late,” he said quietly.

“Sure you can sleep before cleaning?”

Ren nodded, even though the dust was already making his eyes water. He’d slept through much worse.

“Alright, if you’re sure…”

They settled down, and Ren listened to Morgana’s breathing even out as he stared at the ceiling. There was dust in his eyes that he couldn’t blink away.

Peeking over the covers to make sure that Morgana was really asleep, Ren hesitated before cautiously retrieving the item that constantly lived in his pocket, nowadays, examining it in the muted moonlight.

He couldn’t remember why he had a singular leather glove. He’d found it on his person shortly before leaving the city, and he’d spent a good afternoon frantically but silently scrounging the attic for its missing, matching half to no avail. Now, he let his fingers ghost over the material, which was nicer than even Joker’s gloves had been.

Ren sighed, resting the glove’s fingertips absently against his lips for a moment before returning it to his pocket.

His parents had been on a business trip the evening that Ren had returned with Morgana in tow, so when they arrived the following afternoon, Ren surrendered to their hugs and found himself awkwardly twirling his chopsticks at a very quiet family dinner.

They weren’t bad parents, really—they’d just never known what to do with Ren, especially after his arrest. If anything, his year away had only worsened things, but Ren was nearly an adult now, and he didn’t need anyone to take care of him.

“We’ve spoken to your teachers, and you’ll be welcome back when classes resume,” his mother said with a sunny smile.

Ren’s gaze flicked from her face down to his meal, trying to ignore the twisting of his gut.

It was only a year, after all. How bad could a year be?

It was almost midnight when Ren decided that he needed to get out of the house. In Tokyo, he would’ve just texted one of his part-time jobs and found a way to keep himself busy for a few hours, but here, he could only walk aimlessly, eventually finding himself in the tiny downtown area. He glanced around morosely at the mostly darkened shop windows, wondering if any of them were hiring. If any of them would hire him.

He tripped over an uneven crack on the sidewalk, then flailed his arms, trying to catch himself on a bench before he could faceplant.

“Shit,” he murmured, reaching for his glasses and staring dejectedly at the new tear in the sleeve of his blazer, too big to be passed off for acceptable wear. His palm was bleeding from where he’d caught himself on the bench’s arm, just a little bit.

“Ouch,” a deep voice said, and Ren jerked his gaze around to find a giant of a man watching with sympathy from the doorway of the shop he’d been passing. “Unlucky. Here, come inside. I can fix that for you.”

Ren’s attention darted to the shop’s awning. Tatsumi Textiles. “Oh,” he found himself saying, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. He stood, following the guy inside.

“Toss me your blazer,” the guy said, sitting down behind the counter. Ren shrugged it off and passed it over, watching as the guy put on reading glasses to examine the tear. He hummed to himself, briefly ducking down to grab some supplies. “I’m Kanji Tatsumi,” he said as he started to work. “I run this shop.”

Ren nodded slowly, even though Tatsumi wasn’t looking at him. He felt like his heart was in his throat. He couldn’t introduce himself back. Tatsumi might recognize his name, might rescind his kindness once he realized who Ren was.

Tatsumi didn’t seem bothered by Ren’s silence. “What’re you doing out so late anyway? I know classes are over, but still.”

“What’re you doing open so late,” Ren grumbled back flatly, self-consciously, and Tatsumi just laughed, shooting Ren a bright, scheming kind of expression.

“My boyfriend’s coming back from a work trip tonight,” he said with a shrug. “He wanted to meet here, but his train was delayed.”

“O-oh,” Ren stuttered out, embarrassed despite himself.

A few minutes passed in relative quiet as Tatsumi finished stitching up Ren’s sleeve, and then he ran his thumb over his work with a satisfied little sweep. “Good as new.”

“Thanks,” Ren said quietly. He reached out to take it from Tatsumi, but Tatsumi’s eyes immediately zeroed in on his hand, still bleeding a little bit.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, ducking back down and rooting through supplies before emerging with a first-aid kit. “Come here, kid, before you get blood all over my floor.”

Ren flushed, mortified, but elected to rest his hand, palm up on the counter. Tatsumi cleaned the cut with practiced ease, and then wrapped it in a bandage. He gave Ren a nod, seeming pleased. “Better?”

“Better. Sorry,” he said, glancing down and noticing the drop of blood that had gotten on the floor.

“No worries. I did way worse when I was your age.”

Ren winced. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t be an idiot, kid.”

“But—”

“Seriously.”

Ren worked his lip between his teeth for a moment of indecision before deciding, to hell with it. “If you, um… need help around the shop. I have some retail experience.”

Tatsumi’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Is that so?”

Ren nodded, keeping his eyes on the counter.

He heard the creak of Tatsumi leaning back in his seat. “Alright. A part-time job—I dig it. I’ll get started on the paperwork, but you can come in whenever, though I’ll need your name.”

He steeled himself. It didn’t matter if this changed things, he told himself. It didn’t matter. “Ren Amamiya.”

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Ren glanced up to meet Tatsumi’s eyes. His face was the picture of stoic consideration, and it seemed clear as day that he’d recognized the name. Ren dug his fingernails into his palms, his cut stinging through the bandage. “Alright,” Tatsumi finally said, and Ren must’ve hallucinated the softness in his tone. “I mean it—that you can come in whenever.”

Ren tried not to sag with relief too obviously. “Thanks,” he croaked, offering a weak smile.

The bell over the door jingled as someone pushed inside. “Kanji?” Ren heard someone say. “Why are you still open?”

Ren turned to watch the newcomer enter, glancing between Tatsumi and Ren with an arched brow, and Ren’s stomach swooped. “You’re the Detective Prince,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, then felt instantly mortified with himself.

Behind him, Tatsumi laughed. “I got a part-time employee.”

Naoto Shirogane arched an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

Ren rubbed the back of his neck. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d known that the Detective Prince had a permanent residence in his hometown, and he didn’t know why his entire body felt jittery, why this seemed so important all of a sudden. He’d never really cared before. “Yeah,” he managed.

Shirogane was looking at Tatsumi, though. “Before we head home, I need to talk to you about our houseguest.”

Ren glanced at Tatsumi, distantly fascinated by the way his expression flattened into a little disconcerted frown. “Yeah, alright…” he said quietly.

Ren grabbed his blazer. “Sorry,” he said, not quite sure what he was apologizing for. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Probably.”

Tatsumi offered a little smile. “Yeah, whatever. Get home safe, kid.”

As Ren ducked outside into the chill night air, he heard Shirogane start to say, “He’s not responding to—” before the door shut and cut off sound. His exhale was shaky, and he tugged at his curls, blinking hard.

He started the walk home.

RYUJI: sucks that the time difference is so lame

ANN: You’re just jealous I’m going to parties and you’re not 😊

RYUJI: tf. rude

RYUJI: ren back me up bro

ME: It has been hard to set up calls…

ANN: I miss you guys too <3

RYUJI: whatever shut up

Ren stared at the messages with a wry twist of his lips. It seemed starker and starker every day that his friends were really pursuing their dreams, that even though the group had dispersed in every sense of the word, they were all happy. The persistent ache in his chest throbbed, and he thought of Maruki, briefly and vaguely.

“They really are happy, aren’t they?” he mused to Morgana, who was still staring at the texts.

Morgana curled his tail around Ren's arm, almost in consolation. “I guess so.”

Tatsumi taught him how to sew.

Work at his shop was pretty slow, as was probably to be expected from a small business in a small town, so instead of having Ren sweep already-clean floors and re-organize already-organized shelves, he taught him to sew.

“So you can fix shit on your own if I’m out, for whatever reason,” Tatsumi had explained when he’d offered on the first day.

He was a surprisingly patient teacher, especially given that Ren was not naturally inclined for needle-work. By the end of his first week, though, he’d managed to stitch a relatively straight line of thread on his practice fabric.

“Nice,” Tatsumi said, grinning. “I’m gonna go get us some ice cream. You’ve earned it!”

While Tatsumi was out, Ren leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing his work. He knew that the only way to get his hand to stop trembling while doing such careful work was through practice, and he thought he might use his first paycheck to buy some stuff to do so at home. It’d be nice to stay occupied.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, really too soon for Tatsumi to have gone to the ice cream store and back. Ren looked up.

He made eye contact for a split second before the customer’s face drained of blood, and then turned on heel, leaving.

Ren stared. His head felt… weird, like his mind was full of something fuzzy and staticky—a fever dream. His heart hammered in his chest, and he watched as the guy disappeared from view. He’d looked about Ren’s age, or… He blinked, head pulsing with pain. He’d looked…

When Tatsumi returned, Ren was looking blankly at his line of stitches. “All quiet?” he asked, passing Ren his ice cream cup.

Ren yanked at his curls. “Yeah,” he said, frowning. “I…” He blinked hard, eyes watering. “Yeah.”

He dreamed of cold hands and a vicious, intoxicating smile. The details slipped from his mind before he could gain consciousness. He woke up shuddering, his cheeks wet. He really needed to dust his room.

The next morning, when Ren arrived at work, Tatsumi wasn’t alone.

Ren stared at the boy sitting in his usual seat, scrolling miserably on his phone. His eyes jerked up to meet Ren’s when the door jingled, but his mouth only tightened as he returned to look at his screen.

“Morning, Amamiya. This is Goro Akechi,” Tatsumi said, watching Ren out of the corner of his eye, but Ren was still looking at Akechi.

“You came in yesterday,” Ren said with sudden awareness, and why was his throat so dry? Why were his hands shaking? He must have had his coffee on an empty stomach or something.

Akechi was staring at him with a face so blank that Ren nearly twitched. “I did,” he said, and his voice was a graveled wreck of a thing.

He could feel Tatsumi still watching him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. “Akechi’s gonna be in your class when school starts back up. He’s new to the area—figured you might get along.”

So, he was someone who didn’t know his past (yet, at least). Ren summoned a weak smile. “I’m not the best company,” he said self-consciously, rubbing the back of his neck. “You could probably do a lot better than me, social-life-wise.”

“I’m not interested in being friends with anyone,” Akechi said sharply, shrinking down further in his seat. His eyes were on his phone screen, but it did little to indicate that his attention wasn’t on Ren.

Ren finally looked at Tatsumi, uncertain. Tatsumi just rolled his eyes. “You two, go down the street and pick me up some coffee,” he said. Akechi straightened in his seat, looking like he was about to perhaps violently protest, but Tatsumi just shot him a look. “Go.”

Bristling with anger, Akechi stood, not looking at Ren as he stomped outside.

“Um,” Ren said, and Tatsumi just shrugged. Ren hesitantly turned to catch up with Akechi.

“What,” Akechi muttered when he noticed Ren staring as they walked.

“I’m sorry,” Ren said. “You really don’t have to hang out with me. You shouldn’t, probably.”

Akechi stopped in his tracks so abruptly that Ren stumbled. He was giving Ren his full attention now, hands shoved in his pockets. Ren studied the way that Akechi’s hair fell into his face, a little bit dizzy. Akechi’s “why?” startled him more than it had any right to.

“Oh,” Ren said, casting his gaze downward. “People here don’t like me very much. Even if you’re not interested in making friends with other students, teachers might notice.”

Akechi’s attention was like a gravity well, yanking Ren’s gaze slowly, inexorably, painfully back to his. “People don’t like you,” he repeated, enunciating his syllables with a distant sort of something that made Ren squirm.

Ren tried for a laugh. “It’s better if no one else gets caught up in it.”

Akechi blinked very slowly, and Ren noted that his stance was lined with tension, brittle enough to break. He gave a very controlled exhale, eyes flicking down and back up. “You’re buying the coffee,” he finally said, sounding almost bored. “I’m broke.”

“Okay.” He winced as Akechi turned and began walking again, wishing Morgana was here, wishing he was at Leblanc, wishing that—

“Come on.”

Akechi was quiet in the coffee shop, watching while Ren ordered three drinks. He knew Tatsumi’s order by now.

Once they were ready, he wordlessly passed Akechi his drink, and Akechi took a long sip, eyes shutting briefly.

Shirogane was waiting in front of Tatsumi Textiles by the time they got back, glancing between Akechi and Ren like they were two lines of bugged code. “You’re late,” Akechi complained, voice thrumming with just-leashed fury.

“No,” Shirogane said, and his eyes were on Ren, “I’m not.”

Chapter Text

“What the hell was that?” was out of Akechi’s mouth almost before Amamiya closed the door.

Naoto’s eyebrows shot up, and he watched Akechi clench and unclench his fists. “Just testing a hypothesis.”

“And making me look like a fool.”

Naoto studied Akechi for a long moment, and all at once, he remembered that he was a teenager. Something within his chest loosened, though he hoped it didn’t show on his face. “You knew him, right? Kanji said—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Akechi interrupted hoarsely, looking away.

“Except in every way that it does.” He took a step forward, and Akechi jerked to look at him again. “And investigating him has to be your responsibility.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said, almost too quiet to hear.

And what was Naoto supposed to say to that? What show of force could fracture that hollow, hopeless glare? His throat felt thick around empty platitudes and emptier threats.

Akechi had been living in his house for just over a month, and Naoto still couldn’t get a grasp on him. Incomplete questions begot shoddy answers, and Naoto didn’t even know where to begin in questioning Akechi, though something told him that this moment was a damn good place to start.

He sifted through the words very carefully before allowing them to surface. “Why did you agree to help me with this case?”

Akechi shoved his hands back into his pockets, and Naoto was reminded of the empty expression he’d worn on that first train ride to Inaba, staring out the window. He wasn’t naïve enough to expect a truthful answer, now, but even a lie was a place to start.

And if Naoto knew anything about him, he knew that Goro Akechi was a skillful liar.

“Loose ends tend to grate,” he said, voice smoothing into his pleasant lilt. “I think I deserve to understand my circumstances, as vile as they are.”

Naoto nodded, not satisfied, but placated. “Then understand them, detective.”

Ren took a dejected sip from his water bottle and nearly fell out of his seat when someone dropped their lunch on the desk across from him, sitting down in silence.

He stared. Akechi kept his eyes down, a line of consternation between his brows, and did not acknowledge Ren’s presence.

Ren glanced around. Everyone in their homeroom pretended they hadn’t been looking, and the white noise of conversation resumed. Ren looked back at Akechi, bewildered, but Akechi steadfastly refused to look at him.

Ren ducked his head and decided not to question it—right now, at least, in front of all their classmates.

Akechi packed up his school supplies quickly—much more quickly than Ren, who lingered, slowly shuffling his notes before putting them in his bag. The classroom emptied out, most students heading to their clubs, but Akechi stayed, eyeing the clock on the wall.

“What are you doing?” Ren asked faintly.

“I thought that was rather obvious.”

Horrifically, it was. Akechi was waiting for him. It just didn’t make sense. “Why, though?”

Morgana would probably know if he were here, but Ren hadn’t been able to sneak him inside a week ago, during his mandatory meeting with the administration before classes started back up, so he hadn’t tried today. He fidgeted with his sleeves, but Akechi only gave him a look that indicated he thought Ren was the biggest idiot in the world.

Feeling light-headed, they walked outside together in silence. “I’m going to work a shift, now,” he blurted out after a moment.

Akechi shrugged. “Alright.”

“Aren’t you going to join a club or something?”

“Not interested.”

Ren shoved his hand into his pocket, finding the glove there, and he suddenly felt so annoyed and confused that he could hardly breathe around it. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it stops now,” he snapped.

“I beg your pardon?” Akechi said icily.

“I told you to leave me be.” Ren blinked hard, feeling very childish but unable to stop himself. “And I don’t need your—your—your pity, or—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Akechi said. “I don’t do pity. In fact, I have a feeling that you deal much more frequently in pity than I ever have.”

“The fuck is your problem?”

A flicker of something passed through Akechi’s eyes, too quickly to understand. “Should you prefer your miserable isolation, I’ll leave you be, but to put it simply… I find you interesting.”

Ren blinked. There was blood rushing past his ears, and the words sounded ancient, like a forgotten battle cry or a lost declaration of war or love, and… His breath hitched. “Fine,” he managed, throat working, and he tried to imagine any other response that didn’t feel like a surrender or a prayer. He couldn’t.

Akechi flashed a rather smug smile that made Ren’s skin prickle. His phone buzzed, and he shot Akechi an uncertain look before retrieving it from his pocket.

FUTABA: did ur first day suck as much as mine did lol

He hesitated, wincing when Akechi offered him a judgmentally arched brow for no apparent reason.

ME: I’ve had worse days

FUTABA: oh real fuckin high bar 🙄 mr. almost murdered

ME: :/

ME: Why did your day suck?

FUTABA: ah y’know the usual

ME: I’ll call when I get home tonight

FUTABA: ok loser

“Sorry,” Ren said, returning his phone to his pocket, but Akechi was watching him with this funny little furrow between his brows that Ren didn’t know how to interpret.

“You do have friends,” he said accusatorily.

“Oh. Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was in Tokyo last year, and I made some friends.”

“My, my,” Akechi drawled. “How ever did a small-town boy like you manage in the big city?”

Despite himself, Ren snickered at the flat look on Akechi’s face, thrilling in the smile that twitched over Akechi’s lips all-too briefly. “I did okay,” he said, wry.

“For some reason, I find that hard to imagine.”

“Hey,” he protested. “What’s so hard to imagine? I’ll have you know, I worked, like, eight part-time jobs.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me of your success?”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up. It was way better than here.” He glanced at Akechi, curiosity winding its way around his throat like a vice. “Why did you move here anyway?”

Akechi’s eyelashes fluttered around a blink. “I’m assisting Detective Shirogane on a case.”

“Oh.” He supposed that explained the Detective Prince’s presence the other day. “Anything interesting?”

“Hardly,” Akechi scoffed.

The textile shop was coming into view. “You’re living with them?” he asked idly.

“They’ve been very hospitable.”

Something about his tone rendered the concept of it ridiculous. He imagined Akechi asking Tatsumi for pancakes and couldn’t help his smile.

“Stop that,” Akechi said. “Why are you making that face?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cut it out.”

But he couldn’t. Not when Akechi left him at the entrance to the textile shop, not when Tatsumi asked what the hell was up with him, and not even when Morgana accidentally swatted him in the eye with his tail.

“I just kinda wish I’d decided to go to Shujin,” Futaba grumbled. Ren could hear the clacking of the keyboard in the background. “New people are lame.”

“I get it,” Ren said.

“Liar,” Futaba grumbled, but it was fond. “Anyway, I’ve been complaining long enough. Need me to doxx anyone at your school? How was your day?”

Ren rolled his eyes. “No. It was… fine.”

“What’s with the pause?”

He tugged at his curls. “I think I made a—friend?”

“You did, or you didn’t?”

“I didn’t. Well—maybe.”

She laughed. “So indecisive.”

A stab of pain lit up his left eye, and his ears rang as he tried to clear the disorientation.

“… Ren? I was just joking.”

“I’m okay,” he said, and his voice sounded shaky to his own ears. God, his head hurt. “What—what were we talking about?”

“Your friend or lack thereof,” Futaba said, a little bit too gently for his taste.

“Right. He’s kind of mean, but I think I like it.”

“TMI, dude.”

He shut his eyes, relieving some of the pain in his head by massaging his forehead. “Have you and Sumire been hanging out?”

“Yeah. And Yusuke. It’s a very classy and elite new squad.” There was the sound of some fumbling, a muffled shout, and then Futaba said, “Oh, Sojiro made dinner. Gotta go.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

“‘Kay, loveyoubye.” The line went dead before Ren could respond.

Morgana poked him in the cheek. Ren cracked an eye open, realizing that he’d nearly dozed off after dropping his phone on his chest. “You good?”

“Good,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “I’m good.”

He fell asleep with his glasses still on.

“I think I had a dream about you last night,” Ren said casually, a few days later while Akechi walked him to Tatsumi Textiles. It had become something of a routine.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You died.”

Akechi examined him out of the corner of his eye, and his lip curled humorlessly. “I appreciate the concern, but as you can see, I’m clearly fine.”

“Obviously,” Ren muttered, though he couldn’t stop his embarrassed flush.

“Huh,” Akechi said, head tilting in morbid fascination. “It bothered you. It’s still bothering you.”

Ren just shook his head, and he only froze when Akechi stopped walking, tugging on his sleeve to ensure that Ren stopped with him. “What—”

“You can tell me about it. If you want.”

Ren finally took a moment to look at him.

There was something about Akechi’s bearing that constantly defied logic. After that first real encounter, he’d pretty much exclusively been the picture of polite yet attentive interest, but Ren couldn’t shake the conviction that something more volatile lurked just beneath the surface of his placid expression and his dignified outfit and his graceful posture. In this moment, Akechi’s interest bordered on something that he couldn’t quite call hunger. But it pulled him in just as much as it repelled him.

As he watched Akechi place his gloved hands behind his back, carefully securing the picture of the perfect listener, Ren jerked back against the sudden inescapable desire to put two hands on Akechi’s unwrinkled shirt and shove him as hard as he could.

And this was something not-quite new—this compulsion to find any point of weakness and strike it or sooth it or just… His head felt heavy, and he blinked.

“What were we talking about?” he murmured, mostly to himself.

Akechi’s brow furrowed. “Your dream.”

“Oh…” He waved a hand. “It wasn’t a big deal. I can barely remember it, anyway. It was just… I couldn’t reach you.”

There was a torturously long pause before Akechi said, “oh,” very delicately. He cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, gently placing a gloved hand on Ren’s bicep. Ren stared at it. “You can reach me now.”

He smothered the hysterical laugh that tried to force its way out of his throat, instead shooting Akechi a weak, semi-horrified smile. “Obviously,” he tried to joke, but his voice came out too quiet, too nervous. Eager to shift the focus away from him, he cocked his head and asked, “Do you ever get bad dreams, Akechi?”

Akechi’s answering smile was all teeth. “Now and then.”

Ren had leaned in, caught in orbit again, and when Akechi’s gaze flicked down and back up, he jerked back, alarmed with himself. “Sorry.”

Akechi shook his head, bemused. “Are you so irrevocably thrown off by my nonexistent demise?”

“Guess so,” Ren agreed, scrambling to run with the first feasible excuse.

“You don’t have to worry, Ren. I mock at death.”

“Hah-hah.” He rolled his eyes, shrugging the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder as he finally turned to resume their walk. “Keep up, asshole.”

He tried not to smile when Akechi sputtered indignantly.

It wasn’t that Ren was damaged by the things that had happened to him. All things considered, he thought that he was doing a pretty decent job of going through his days, of living in his skin, of facing his tomorrows.

There were moments—small moments, really—that just tended to grate. And they didn’t happen every day, or even every week, he was certain.

He remembered a day shortly after his arrest (his second arrest), in which Ryuji had barreled in too quickly for a hug, and he’d covered his head on pure, panicked instinct. He’d been able to laugh it off, but his heart had hammered out of his throat all night.

There’d been a moment where a teacher snapped at him for being late, and Ren hadn’t been able to move his rigid, locked limbs for the rest of the class, and then a few moments longer.

And once, he’d been walking home at night, past a man and a woman having an argument, and he must have imagined that it’d been in that same spot as that stupid night, so long ago, but he still couldn’t quite recall the details of how he had reached his bedroom.

So, really, honestly, they weren’t terrible, and they were small. The moments came, and they went, and Ren went through his days and lived in his skin and faced his tomorrows.

It was hard to rationalize that, though, in this moment, and he remembered that when he was in them, these moments seemed to eclipse the rest of the world, like there had never been anything before them and there would never be anything after them. His hands shook, but he otherwise stayed quiet and still.

“Hey, kid?”

He couldn’t make himself look up and respond when Tatsumi called his name, and when he laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, a great gulping, gasping breath tore itself through Ren’s lungs, and then they wouldn’t stop, and it felt like breathing itself was ripping his chest to shreds, and he couldn’t see, and—

The shock of something icy cold around the back of his neck startled him enough that his breath stilled, and for an instant, he could see that Tatsumi was crouched in front of him, and he could understand that there was an ice pack on his neck, and he could visualize the end of this moment.

He raised a trembling hand to the side of his neck, resisting the urge to dig his nails into skin. He shuddered.

“Can you talk?” Tatsumi asked quietly. Ren shook his head. “That’s okay. Just look at me. Breathe with me. Okay?”

As the minutes crawled on, Ren’s tunnel vision started to lessen, and sensation returned to his hands. He slumped back, exhausted, bringing both hands up to the ice pack to keep it in place while he shut his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Tatsumi said. “You’re fine here.” Ren cracked an eye open, watching Tatsumi fidget with a piece of fabric between his hands—Ren’s practice fabric. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing,” Ren managed, the beginnings of shame starting to creep up on him. “Really, it was nothing. I just pricked myself.”

Tatsumi’s gaze sharpened. “You’re hurt?”

“No,” Ren whispered, shoulders shrinking. “No, I’m okay.”

Tatsumi sat back on his heels, expression unreadable. “Is this the first time something like this has happened to you?”

“No. It’s okay. It’s always over fast.”

“Kid.”

“I’m okay now.”

Tatsumi was still for a long moment, and then he exhaled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “A friend of mine used to get them a lot,” he said. “When you’re ready to talk to someone about it, you should.”

Ren looked away, jaw working.

“I’m gonna get Akechi to walk you home, okay?”

“Fine,” Ren said, even though the idea of it made his stomach roil.

He watched despondently as Tatsumi stood, keeping an eye on Ren while he brought his phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said, frowning. “I need you to walk your friend home. I don’t care. No. I don’t care. Now.” He hung up shortly after, frown deepening. “Fuckin’ high maintenance,” he muttered, but it almost sounded fond.

Ren sighed dizzily, examining the tiny, puckered dot of skin on his wrist where he’d accidentally pricked himself with his needle. Stupid. “I can walk myself home,” he said extremely belatedly.

“Kid, I’m on your team, but I need you to cool it and accept the help.”

Ren scowled.

“Akechi will be here soon. Sit tight for now. I’m gonna grab you some juice.”

Before Tatsumi could turn to look in the back office, Ren haltingly said, “uh,” and he gave him his full attention. Ren squirmed. “Your friend. From before,” he forced out.

“Yeah?”

“They’re okay now?”

Tatsumi’s expression gentled. “Yeah, he’s okay now. He asked for help.”

Ren scrubbed a miserable hand across his eyes. He missed Leblanc. He missed when the most fragile he ever felt was after a botched fight in the metaverse, never because of some stupid incidental casualty of going through a normal day. He missed the faces he wore when people relied on him.

Tatsumi tossed him a juice box, and Ren fumbled to catch it, ducking his head when Tatsumi offered a little smile.

He stared blankly into space while he sipped at the juice and nearly jumped out of his skin when Akechi banged on the front door. Tatsumi must’ve locked up when he’d realized that Ren had checked out.

Coming inside, Akechi was all scowls. He glared at Ren, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. “Are you sick?”

Ren glared back, getting to his feet, and didn’t bother responding. He grabbed his bag and shoved past Akechi, out the door. He tried not to hear Tatsumi say, “Go, oh my god,” as the door swung shut behind him.

He took a moment, gasping in the chill night air and blinking rapidly. He felt his muscles knotting, and for a second, he let himself loathe this town and everything that came with it.

When Akechi joined him, Ren didn’t acknowledge him for a long time, breathing raggedly, teeth gritting, hands clenching. Akechi whispered, “I don’t know where you live,” and Ren felt something very tenuous within himself snap.

“Stop pretending to care,” he choked out, turning burning eyes on him, and finally he seemed to have genuinely caught Akechi off guard, though he looked more enraged than shocked at it.

“And what exactly have you decided about how I feel?” he demanded, voice dripping acid.

“You hate me. You’ve always hated me. I was an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.”

Akechi’s eyebrows shot up. “Ren, you—”

“You said, and I—” Ren shut his eyes, hissing in pain, brain filling with fog. “I—” When he opened his eyes, the world returned to him in slow, swooping curls. His hands were in his hair. His bag was on his shoulder. Goro Akechi was standing in front of him, looking like he’d been slapped. “What’re you doing here?”

“Ren,” Akechi said uneasily. “What do you mean?”

“I…” Everything was so far-off, and his head was killing him. “You weren’t here,” he said, kind of pathetically.

“Tatsumi called me,” Akechi replied, tone too quiet.

“Right.”

“Are you sure you’re not feeling ill?”

And here was the fucking crux of it all. Goro Akechi made no sense, except in all the ways that Ren seemed to be able to make every bit of sense of him. He knew that it didn’t make sense that Akechi would be lying about thinking he was genuinely sick, but he also knew that he was lying, and there was no way he could’ve really known that at all.

But he only shook his head, casting a dejected glance at the juice box he’d dropped on the sidewalk. “I need to go home.”

He heard Akechi sigh. “Lead the way, then.”

It took Ren a moment longer to reorient himself, glancing around at the shops. He dropped his hands as loosely as he could to his sides, and he turned, heading in the direction of home. He wished Morgana had come to hang out outside the shop today, and he ground his teeth at every graceful step Akechi took at his side.

“There’s a place, in Tokyo,” Akechi whispered as the downtown area dwindled around them, “called the Jazz Jin. Have you ever been there?”

Ren shut his eyes, and he could smell leather and feel the dim haze of lights staining his eyelids, and he said, “I don’t know.”

“I used to go there often with… a friend,” Akechi said, and it almost sounded like a confession given equal weight of murder.

“Sounds nice.”

“It could have been.”

Ren tipped his head back, tracking the spray of stars above them. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

Akechi elbowed him, a little bit too rough to be friendly. “I can’t simply find you interesting?”

Ren shook his head, throat closing around any words that would accompany the denial.

“Fine, then.” When Ren gathered the courage to glance at Akechi, he found him with a flat expression, staring off into the distance. “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal,” Ren echoed.

“I believe that you have some sort of connection to the case that Detective Shirogane is currently investigating,” Akechi said smoothly, and Ren felt his muscles relax almost at once. This made sense. This, he believed. “I would like, once a day, for you to answer one question of my choosing with complete truth, and I will do the same for you.”

Ren considered this. “And if I agreed, would that start today?”

“Yes,” Akechi said.

He weighed his options. The odds that Akechi would ask about the Phantom Thieves were miniscule, and if a question put any of his friends in danger, he knew he’d be able to find a loophole. And something within him was scrabbling, seething at the opportunity to scrape any truth from the liar at his side. “Fine.”

Instead of firing a question off immediately, as he’d almost expected, Akechi just nodded and let them drop into silence. Ren saw his house come into view, seeing that the only light on was in his room. His parents still weren’t home, then.

“You can come inside for a minute, if you want,” he offered, toeing off his shoes. To his surprise, Akechi followed without comment, glancing around his kitchen as if taking in a whole new universe. Exhausted, Ren shuffled to the electric kettle to start preparing two cups of tea.

Akechi sat at his counter, and the sensation of rightness in Ren’s chest made him choke on his next breath, eyes watering when he poured the hot water into the cups and passed one to Akechi.

“Are you sick?” Akechi finally asked, tapping one gloved finger against his mug.

“No,” Ren answered. “I just had a minor freak-out and got sent home.”

Akechi hummed, not reacting otherwise.

There were a million things that he wanted to ask in turn, but the thing that spilled out of his mouth was, “Why do you wear gloves?”

Akechi paused, like this was somehow interesting to him. “I bite my nails if my hands are uncovered,” he said after a moment.

Ren wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that, for whatever reason.

They shared the silence for a while, drinking their tea and stewing in the wake of Ren’s meltdown. He rubbed the back of his neck, starting to feel really embarrassed, starting to think that he should figure out a way to apologize for the way he’d blown up at Akechi for what was really no reason at all.

“Hey,” Morgana called, jumping down the stairs. “You’re home early. I was gonna—”

Morgana stood still in front of the counter when he saw his guest. Ren looked at Akechi, whose lips had parted. “Do you like cats?” Ren asked. “This is Morgana.”

“What the f—” Morgana started to say, but Ren reached down to scoop him up in his arms. “Hey!” He pawed at Ren’s face, trying to shove his way onto the counter.

Akechi was still gaping at Morgana. “Oh,” he said. “I’m allergic. Really, I must be going.”

It struck Ren as a lie, but he’d already cashed in his moment of truth for the day, so he didn’t push, watching as Akechi scrambled to the door. “Hey!” Morgana yowled after him. “Don’t you dare run, you—”

“Good night,” Akechi said faintly. “Feel better.” And then he was gone.

Ren finally released Morgana onto the counter. Morgana whirled around to face him. “How did this happen? Where did you find him?”

Ren’s eyebrows jumped up. “What are you talking about? I met him at work.”

Morgana blinked at him, then did that weird thing where he made a kind of human expression as a cat, wincing. “Ah… right…”

“You’re being weird,” Ren declared, turning to the refrigerator. “Have you eaten? If you have, I’m going to sleep.”

“Oh, no, go to sleep. I’m good. You should rest.”

Ren shrugged, putting the mugs in the sink. “Fine.”

He felt Morgana’s eyes on him as he walked up the stairs. He didn’t know why it made his skin crawl.

Chapter Text

Akechi walked into the kitchen, slumped into his usual seat, dropped his forehead onto the table, and groaned rather shrilly.

Naoto exchanged a glance with Kanji, whose eyebrows had climbed up his forehead in alarm.

“You good, kid?”

“The cat,” Akechi said in despair, “recognizes me.”

Naoto looked back to Kanji, but the line of consternation between his brows was something to investigate later. Before he could turn to properly question Akechi about whatever the hell he was going on about, though, Kanji said, “How was Amamiya?”

“Fine,” Akechi grumbled into the table, tilting his head to squint at them. “Fucking impossible. Exhausting. But fine.”

Kanji’s mouth twitched unhappily. “Was he—”

“He was verbal when I left. He made us both tea. He was tired but well,” Akechi droned, and Naoto watched Kanji relax. He was distantly aware of Kanji’s growing soft spot for his part-time employee, but the evidence before him made him pause. He smothered the urge to reach for Kanji’s hand, knowing that now wasn’t the time.

“And what of the cat?” Naoto asked, eyebrow arched.

Akechi shot him a glare, almost as though he’d hoped that Naoto would’ve forgotten he’d said anything. As if he could. “He has a cat,” he offered begrudgingly.

Kanji drummed his fingers on the table, eyes flicking to Naoto and then back to Akechi before he very hesitantly said, “The cat that talks?”

Naoto blinked.

Akechi sat up straight, as if he was a marionette and his strings had been yanked. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve met the cat. The cat talks.”

Akechi’s focus lasered in on Naoto, and he helplessly took in an expression he had not yet seen on his face: his eyes were blazing, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction, and he hissed with righteous accusation, “You’ve been to the metaverse.”

“What the fuck is the metaverse,” Kanji muttered, but Naoto’s mind was whirling. Of course. Of course.

He leaned back. He smiled. “Well, well. This changes things immensely.”

He watched Akechi narrow his eyes, but they all knew that there was no taking back the information that had just surfaced. Akechi clenched his hands into fists on the tabletop.

Naoto stood, rightness settling into his spine. “I’d like to tell you a story,” he began, “about something that happened in this town when I was younger than you, and then I’d like to show you something that’s lingered.”

Kanji reared back in alarm. “You don’t think—”

But Naoto only nodded, grave, and he turned to Akechi, who for once was giving Naoto his full, unreserved attention. “It began with something we called the Midnight Channel.”

Ren slept through all of his alarms the next morning, and Morgana didn’t have the decency to wake him. When Ren shot him a panicked, betrayed look, Morgana just swished his tail and claimed that he wanted to let Ren rest.

He’d slept for, like, fifteen solid hours, though.

Cursing, he blearily reached for his phone and called the school. When he said, “This is Ren Amamiya,” whoever had picked up replied, “Oh, you sound awful.”

He blinked. Okay. Whatever. He could take a sick day.

He flopped back down in bed and stared at the ceiling. His head was fuzzy with sleep. The previous day slowly filtered back to him, and he exhaled miserably. He’d have to make some apologies to Tatsumi and to Akechi especially.

He was aware that Akechi brought out something… ugly in him. He’d never been inclined to lash out at people, to lash out at all, unless he counted his vigilantism, which seemed like a stretch of the definition. He cringed at the memory of his own pathetic voice, and he knew that he could ostensibly blame his behavior on his little episode in Tatsumi Textiles, and it was true that he’d been—on edge—but that wasn’t it, either.

He fished out his phone, mouth twisting unhappily.

ME: What are you doing right now

ANN: Why aren’t u in school omg

ME: Ann

ANN: Gimme one second and I’ll call

ME: Thanks

The call came through a few minutes later, and Ren shut his eyes as he answered. “Hey.”

“Hey! It’s good to hear your voice,” Ann said, and she sounded tired but happy. “You alright?”

“I’m,” Ren began, and then cleared his throat. “I had a bad day yesterday.”

“Aw, Ren,” Ann said, and he heard something like a door closing. “What happened?”

“Do you ever… Do little things ever make you feel like the world’s ending or something?” he whispered, hating the words as soon as they left him.

“Oh. Yeah. One time a coworker offered me a ride home, and I just lost it for no reason. He’s nice, too, and I don’t think he’d ever—well. Yeah. I know what you mean. Or at least, I think that’s what you’re talking about? If it’s not, oh my god, please ignore that. I probably jumped to conclusions and—”

“That’s what I was talking about,” Ren interrupted, smiling in exhaustion. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Ah,” Ann said, laughing nervously. “It’s nothing to what Shiho is going through…”

Ren frowned. “That’s not quite fair to you.”

“Well.” She sighed. “What happened yesterday?”

“It was so dumb,” he grumbled. “I stabbed myself with a needle while sewing.” The fact that it hadn’t even been anywhere close to his neck, to the injection site, was testament to the idiocy of it all.

“Oh, Ren. I’m sorry.”

He scrubbed at his eyes. “It was dumb,” he repeated lamely.

“I’m glad you told me,” she said, and her tone had gotten all quiet and gentle. He heard her shift, and he imagined her drawing her knees to her chest. “You were so calm after everything, and I know you’re a quiet guy, but you were so quiet.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“No, it’s not for you to apologize, it’s just—I want to be there for you. You’re, like, one of my favorite people in the whole world.”

“Me too,” he managed, but only just barely. He inhaled shakily. “I miss you.”

“Yeah… same here.”

“My new boss is nice to me, though,” he continued, eager to provide even a small amount of levity. “And—and I have something like a friend here.”

“Oh?”

Ren swallowed the bitterness that rose up his sternum like bile and instead just said, “He said I’m interesting.”

“Ohh,” Ann cooed. “Like, interesting?”

“Stop,” he whined, flushing. “No.”

Ann laughed. “Sure.”

Ren hesitated. He wanted to talk about Akechi, about how infuriating he was, but the thing that came out of his mouth was, “Have you ever heard of a place called the Jazz Jin?”

Ann was silent for a long moment. “I’ve never been there,” she said very carefully. “Why do you ask?”

Ren tugged at a curl unhappily. “No reason. Somebody asked me about it.”

“Ren…”

He didn’t know what to make of the way her voice wobbled around his name. It made his insides squirm with discomfort. “I’m taking a sick day,” he said abruptly. “Tell me about New York?”

“Okay,” Ann agreed, and he got the impression that he was absolutely transparent to her. He listened to her talk for a long time, and he felt his muscles slowly start to relax, his racing thoughts slowing.

Eventually, Morgana poked his head into the room and immediately perked up. “Is that Ann? I need to talk to her.”

“Morgana wants to say hi,” Ren said, putting his phone on speaker and laying it on his chest while Morgana jumped on the bed.

“Hey, Mona!”

“Lady Ann,” he replied, sounding very solemn. His eyes flicked to Ren. “We have a… crow situation.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Ren demanded, puzzled but amused.

“You—” Ann stuttered, sounding shocked. “What?”

“He’s here.”

“What?!”

Ren looked between his cat and his phone, and it wasn’t as though they were being subtle, but they clearly were not talking about birds. He opted to stay quiet for now, listening as Morgana haltingly said something about how he was monitoring the situation.

When they finally hung up, Ren turned on Morgana. “I hope you won’t insult me by assuming that I’d think you’re literally dealing with a crow problem.”

Morgana looked away guiltily.

“Well?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Now, he was worried. “Why not?” He sat up straight.

“Just trust me, okay!”

Ren reared back, shocked by the vehemence of Morgana’s rather frantic tone. “I—okay. Is anyone in danger, though?”

Morgana looked grim. “I don’t think so.”

“You have to tell me if that changes, okay? If you have any respect for me at all.”

Morgana’s ear twitched in irritation, but he said, “Fine,” so that was that.

His phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Where are you?

Ren frowned.

ME: Who is this?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Akechi

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Who the hell else would it be

Ren huffed in annoyance, inputting the contact.

ME: Taking a sick day

AKECHI: Ok

Ren waited, but there were no text bubbles. He shook his head, finally deciding that he needed to eat something.

Late in the afternoon, there was a knock on the door.

Ren exchanged a glance with Morgana before shuffling downstairs to see who his visitor was, and he wished he was surprised to find Akechi glaring through lank strands of hair at him.

He shoved a container into his arms, and Ren stumbled back a step.

“Tatsumi made you soup.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

There was an awkward pause where Akechi continued to glower at him and Ren rubbed the back of his neck.

“Do you… want to come inside?”

Instead of responding, Akechi just pushed past him, going to sit at the counter after toeing his shoes off.

As Ren put the soup in the refrigerator, he watched Akechi fiddle with the post-it note his parents had left on the counter, informing him that they’d be out of town until the weekend.

He should have been apologizing. He should have thought about it more than in passing dread. But now that Akechi was here, Ren found that he really didn’t feel that sorry at all for losing his composure with him.

“You look terrible,” Akechi eventually said, all pleasant boredom. He propped his cheek on his hand, gazing at Ren with detached interest.

“I slept in,” Ren said like that was an explanation. Akechi rolled his eyes.

Morgana gave a very cat-like hiss, startling them both as he jumped down from the top of the refrigerator (when had he even gotten up there?) onto Ren’s shoulders. Akechi scowled at Morgana like he was made of poison or something.

“Hey, can I use my question now?”

“By all means,” Akechi said, but he seemed distracted by making very aggressive eye contact with his cat.

“Why’d you lie about being allergic to cats yesterday?”

His gaze jerked back to Ren’s, and Ren tried and failed not to feel too smug about it. Akechi shook his head, lip curling in a wry sort of expression torn between amusement and loathing. “I had a feeling that we wouldn’t get along.”

Morgana curled his tail protectively around Ren’s collar, and Ren knew that his hackles were raised. “Are you for real, dude?” he muttered.

Ren decided to be comforted by Morgana’s wariness instead of annoyed.

“This is unfeasible,” Akechi snapped under his breath, completely nonsensically if anyone was asking Ren. He lurched to his feet, raising his chin in challenge. “You need to get out of the house, and I need to get away from this cat.”

“Good god, dude,” Ren said, taken aback. “Morgana may hate you for no reason, but he’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Morgana echoed, enraged. “I died for you!” Ren scratched beneath his chin as consolation.

“I don’t actually want to leave the house at all,” Ren added. “I’m enjoying my day of hibernation. And I bet if I asked really nicely, Morgana would leave you alone while you’re here.”

Ren and Morgana made eye contact, Morgana glaring with every fiber of his being. Ren tilted his head to the side a bit. Finally, Morgana yowled. “Fine! Fine! But no funny business! And if I hear anything out of the ordinary, I’ll scratch his dumb eyes out!”

Akechi descended into a rather violent coughing fit, eyes wide. He coughed again, once, and was his mouth wobbling on a—was he smiling?

Ren shook his head in mute wonder. He was surrounded by a bunch of weirdos.

He convinced himself that he imagined Akechi sneering triumphantly at Morgana as he stalked into another room. Deciding he’d had enough of whatever the hell was going on there, he grabbed Akechi by the wrist and dragged him to the living room, where he flicked on the TV and tried not to laugh when Akechi sputtered at being yanked down to sit on the couch. At the end of the day, he and Morgana weren’t really actually that different.

They watched the gameshow channel for a while, and Ren tried to ignore Akechi’s eyes on him when he cackled at some of the events, which became very difficult when they accidentally made eye contact.

“You have a nice laugh,” Akechi said, and Ren covered his face with his hands.

The sun went down, painting the room in long shadows and the longer glow of the quiet TV. They’d stopped paying attention to whatever show was on as Akechi had gone into a delightfully vivid recap of the events of the day.

“…and then she claimed that I’d copied the answers to the problem set, even though I obviously—Ren, are you even listening? This is important.”

“Yeah,” Ren said, smiling from the other side of the couch.

“Good.” Akechi waved his hands emphatically, brow furrowed in irritation as he continued his tirade. Ren was glad there was no one else here to call the expression on his face dreamy or something embarrassing like that. Akechi’s rants were simply a wonder to behold, and he was only human, after all. “To conclude—” who even said shit like that in real life?— “all she could do was go forth with some bullshit, trivial threat so that I’d—Ren?”

Ren frowned. “What did you say?” He felt dizzy.

Akechi’s eyebrow jumped up. “That she attempted to threaten me?”

 Ren pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, not sure why he was feeling some phantom cold. “Some bullshit, trivial threat on your life?” he mumbled, not even sure what he was saying, the words flying out of his head as soon as they materialized. God, he was cold.

“Not… quite so dire. Ren?”

There was a hand on his arm, and no, this was different than how it had happened, and he wasn’t supposed to be sitting down, was he? He was supposed to be standing, half a meter and half a lifetime away from his rival, cold set deep in his bones, and he was supposed to say something that wouldn’t show Akechi just how spineless he was against threats on his life but how could they be trivial? He was supposed to say something, anything, and Akechi would say something like your indecisiveness is a betrayal, and he would leave. He would leave.

“Ren,” Akechi said, and this was wrong. They were sitting, and Akechi was too close. He was holding his arm. “You’re shaking.”

He almost recognized the sensation of fog filling his head, and it almost made him panic, and he reached for Akechi in any way that mattered, hands bunching into the fabric of his sleeves. “Stay,” he said, gasped. “Stay, please.”

“I…” Akechi began, and Ren felt like he’d been forgetting him his whole life. It was so fucking cold. “Okay.”

He sagged forward helplessly, the crown of his head hitting Akechi somewhere in the region of his collarbone. He’d exposed the back of his neck to him, and somewhere he knew that was a terrible idea, but Akechi only settled an uncertain, gloved hand there, almost gentle. “I didn’t betray you, did I?” he said into Akechi’s shirt, voice thick, and he didn’t even know what he was saying.

Akechi didn’t reply, but his grip on the back of Ren’s neck tightened just a little bit.

“Don’t leave,” he added nonsensically.

“Ren,” Akechi whispered, shifting them so that Ren’s head was on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about right now?”

None of it made sense. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, winding an arm around Akechi. “You didn’t stay. Before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t—I don’t know.”

“I’d like to use my question now,” Akechi said after a moment. “Okay?”

Ren nodded, eyes shut.

“Do you remember the metaverse?”

His spine went rigid. The cold took on a more distant quality. There was a ringing in his ears. “What?”

There were fingers on his jaw, and they were too gentle as they guided Ren to look up, to look Akechi in the eyes. He sucked in a pained breath, eyes watering, and Akechi brushed a thumb beneath the hollow of his eye. “The metaverse, Ren.”

“How do you—”

“You’ve already used yours for the day.” Akechi cocked his head. “Though, I suppose your reaction is an honest answer enough.”

All at once, Ren withdrew from their tangled embrace, shakily getting to his feet and turning away. He couldn’t look at him. He felt his shoulders knot. His head was heavy, like he’d been hanging upside down for half his life and only just righted himself too quickly.

There was a touch at his sleeve, and Ren bowed his head when Akechi wound his fingers in a light circle around his wrist. He gave a little tug. “Ren.”

The way Akechi said his name rang too true and simultaneously very hollow, almost false. It always had. Ren had never known what to make of this careful, crafted intimacy between them, and that didn’t change now, in the muted glow of a television program about boats, in the wake of a plea he’d told himself he’d never voice.

“Ren,” Akechi said again, quieter but somehow a little bit less empty than before, “Do you trust me?”

“No,” Ren said immediately, brokenly. “How could I ever?”

Almost heedless of his response, Akechi said, “I need you to do something.”

And that was just—god, that was typical. Ren turned, letting Akechi, still on the couch, settle into his periphery. Because he could deal with him out of the corner of his eye. He could be with him if he didn’t look directly at him. And everyone needed something from him, especially Akechi, and this made a sick kind of sense.

Akechi was standing and tugging at his arm because he knew that Ren would heed to his stupid wishes. Because he couldn’t trust him, but the awful, inexpressible devotion that had wound its way around his limbs was a trap he wasn’t even sure he’d ever wanted to escape. “We should’ve called you Anglerfish or something,” he said incomprehensibly.

“I quite liked the name you chose,” Akechi replied, and they were facing each other now, Akechi holding both of his wrists as he drew him close to the TV, which was just terrible. The TV seemed to weirdly be playing nothing now, half static and half glow. Akechi’s grip slipped to his hands, then his fingertips. Ren shivered. “Trust me just this once, okay?”

Something dark must’ve possessed him to nod.

“Okay,” Akechi said, back lit up by that almost hypnotic glow.

Then he fell backward and pulled Ren after him into the fucking TV.

Chapter Text

Ren collided with a pile of limbs that assorted themselves into the tangled, winded amalgamation of Goro Akechi.

“Fuck,” Akechi gasped, shoving Ren off of him so that they laid side by side, catching their breaths. They both stared up at the vaguely unnatural sky, and Ren’s thoughts looped irrevocably and unproductively around the one sticking point.

“You pushed me into a TV!” he exploded.

“Not to be unnecessarily pedantic,” Akechi mumbled, “but I did pull you.”

“How the hell did you know this would happen? Are you insane?”

“I tested it last night.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Seems you’re finally feeling a bit more like yourself,” Akechi said, popping himself up on an elbow to gaze down at Ren with a tired little quirk to his lips.

Ren scrambled to sit up, fuming. “You are not allowed to be charmed by this, you dick.” Akechi just shrugged. “Where are we?”

Ren took a moment to truly survey their surroundings. A hilly meadow stretched out in all directions, mist curling gently at the ground. His glasses were fogging with it, and he wiped them on the end of his shirt, though he froze when he saw something that looked like a shadow amble mildly between a grove of trees.

“This is a cognitive reflection of Inaba, as far as I understand it,” Akechi explained. “Detective Shirogane claims that all the shadows are… friendly.”

“And you brought me here because…?”

Akechi gave him a grave look. “I’m testing a hypothesis. Your memories have been tampered with in a way that reflects something afflicting the most of general population. I thought bringing you here might trigger your memories.”

Ren spread his arms incredulously. “Not having any grand epiphanies here.”

“I can see that,” he snapped.

“Mad you got it wrong?” Ren seethed.

“I’m not wrong yet.”

“You’re so stubborn! God forbid you encounter a problem that might benefit from a collaborative approach. God forbid the perfect prince spend a second thinking about how his decisions might affect other people!”

Akechi’s eyes were wide. “What did you just call me?”

“What does it matter? Are you even listening?”

“I always listen when you’re talking.”

“Liar,” Ren choked out, vision blurring again. He wiped his glasses furiously, though it didn’t help much. “You’re such a liar.”

Akechi looked like he was about to reach for him or something stupid when a new voice cried, “Ah, you two must be here for the shadow!”

They both whipped around as fast as they could to face… a giant bear-thing. Ren made an involuntary noise of distress in the back of his throat, and Akechi just blinked like the stupid immovable asshole he was. “Shadow?” he demanded, eyes narrowing.

“All the people who live in Inaba technically have shadows, though most of them aren’t strong enough to take on a human form,” the bear-thing explained. “Yours, though.” He whistled.

Ren’s eyelashes fluttered. “Are you talking about… me?”

“You better bear-lieve it!”

“Persona users can’t have shadows.”

“I don’t know where you’re from, but they can and they should.”

“Detective Shirogane mentioned something about encountering his own shadow when he was in high school,” Akechi supplied helpfully. “I think that the Midnight Channel, as they call it, differs from what we know as the metaverse in various but important ways.”

“Great,” Ren groaned. “Just great.”

“Ohh, you know Naoto?” the bear-thing asked Akechi.

Akechi glared.

Unbothered, the bear-thing said, “Anyway, I’m Teddie, and I’ll be your guide tonight. This place can be im-paw-ssible to navigate, and I actually just saw your shadow a few hours ago, so I have a pretty good idea of bear he is.”

“Did you just say—”

“Onward!”

Ren and Akechi exchanged bewildered glances as the bear-thing—Teddie—started strolling happily down the idyllic hill they’d landed on. After a pause, Akechi just sighed and started to follow. Ren took a moment longer.

He thought of the first real shadow he’d ever encountered, thought of the vile things Kamoshida said and did, thought of the pathetic way he withered after his treasure had been stolen, and he clenched his fists. This day sucked.

He focused all his anger on the point between Akechi’s shoulder blades, his posture perfect even after their fall, which had left Ren pretty bruised, and he hadn’t experienced two collisions in the course of their fall. Who does he think he is? he thought bitterly, half-hysterical. He wished Morgana was here.

The landscape of the Midnight Channel was infinitely less creepy and infinitely more gorgeous than the metaverse had been, but as they walked, Ren reflected that there was something very off about its beauty, just shy of real. The flowers didn’t cast shadows in the moonlight, or he couldn’t pinpoint the source of the moonlight because there didn’t seem to be a moon, or the mist smelled like cookies he’d made with his mother, back when his parents had liked him.

Akechi paused so that Ren would fall into step with him, and Ren briefly debated stopping in his tracks before he could catch up but ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth it. When he drew near, Akechi nodded at a cherry tree on the next crest of the hill. “Teddie said that your shadow should be just beyond that.”

Ren frowned and looked around. “Where did he go?”

“Who gives a shit?”

Ren shivered. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Likewise.”

Ren’s stomach turned the closer they got to the tree. He saw an unmistakable mop of black curls before anything else, and he almost turned on heel. But he wasn’t a coward. And he was already here, wasn’t he?

His shadow was leaning against the tree, gazing off into the distance, but as they approached, he turned yellow eyes on them, and his eyebrows jumped up. Ren was distantly surprised that he was wearing normal clothes. “Oh, wow. I did not expect you to ever come looking for me.” His gaze flicked to Akechi, and he smiled wryly. “Though, I guess I didn’t account for this exact scenario.”

The shadow’s voice, though distorted, wasn’t mean or mocking or anything—he sounded like Ren whenever he was teasing Yusuke for something that went over his head. “You know me?” Akechi asked quietly.

Ren watched in horror as his shadow’s smile went all soft. “As much as you ever let me. As much as you know me.” He shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

Akechi shifted in discomfort. “Well…”

Ren had had enough of this. He stepped in front of Akechi so that he and his shadow were totally facing each other and tried his best to ignore that Akechi was even there at all. Ren’s shadow watched him with a resigned expression. “I’d ask if you want this,” he murmured, “but that’s never been important before.”

Ren swallowed around the lump in his throat. But he liked to think that he’d gotten fairly decent at dealing with shadows, so he forced his way past the roiling panic in his gut and said, “What part of me are you?”

“I am every piece of you that has ever felt like we were left behind.” He flashed a grin, teeth bright. “It’s no wonder I’m only here, in Inaba.”

“You have something that he’s missing,” Akechi interrupted coldly. “We need you to give it back.”

“Oh, you need me to give it back,” the shadow repeated incredulously. He shared a commiserating look with Ren. “It’s always need with him, isn’t it? We need to be better, we need to disband the Phantom Thieves, we need to keep our promise, he needs us to say that we’ll sacrifice his life as if it isn’t the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do.”

Ren shut his eyes.

“Not that it matters,” the shadow went on. “We like being useful. Makes it harder to get rid of us.”

Akechi made a noise of anger behind him. “If you’re quite—”

“Stay out of this,” Ren snapped, opening his eyes to make eye contact with his shadow, who had drawn very close.

“You won’t want these back,” the shadow murmured gently.

“When has that mattered?” Ren said.

“Very well.”

Calloused hands came to cradle either side of his face, and Ren’s breath stuttered,

and

he

remembered.

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

It was February 2^nd, but it always seemed to be February 2^nd in Ren’s mind.

“You think dangling my life before us is going to affect our decision?” Akechi demanded, all venom, and so entirely himself that Ren couldn’t breathe around it.

Maruki’s incredulity, pointed at Ren, echoing Akechi to ask what he wanted—

Ren felt like the axis of the world reoriented. Ren and Akechi were alone in the freezing doorway.

And he wanted. He wanted Akechi to stay so badly that he could barely speak, could barely breathe, and he could see that Akechi knew, and that it wasn’t enough, that it couldn’t matter, that it could never matter.

But what Maruki hadn’t understood—and what Akechi understood all too well—was that a reality where Akechi was forced into a position without say was a reality without Akechi in any way that mattered.

So, it was February 2^nd, and Akechi left while Ren crumbled.

⁞

That had been their goodbye, really. The next day had been little more than a formality. Ren told himself this when Akechi vanished between one moment and the next, unacknowledged, as natural as the sun rising.

⁞

“Everything will return to how it should be… Everything,” Lavenza said, and her sympathetic wince made Ren want to crawl into a hole for the rest of his life.

He felt like he was in an infinite amount of places at once, or nowhere at all.

“You have our utmost respect and gratitude, Ren Amamiya.”

He stayed silent. Igor shifted something on his desk, casting a glance around the panopticon. “This Velvet Room will fade,” he said ponderously. “It’s curious.”

Ren offered him a bleak, blank stare.

“Your hearts are shared, reversed. I have never before seen the Velvet Room support two guests in this way.” Igor gestured vaguely. “You have sacrificed much for the sake of this unkind reality. I wonder if the disappearance of this room might assuage some of your pain.”

Both of the Igors spoke in riddles, it seemed, and Ren was too tired to try and understand what that might mean. He stayed silent.

“Take heart,” Igor said as Ren began to regain consciousness, “few of our guests secure a happy ending.”

⁞

When he was released from prison, one of his friends mentioned, in passing, “…sucks that Akechi really did die…” and fog crept into his mind as he tried to internalize the words, but they were ephemeral things, and the thickness of his throat was all that he had left of him.

⁞

There was a glove in his pocket. He could not find the matching pair. This sent him into a hysteric search of the attic, and he only came out of it when Makoto grabbed both of his wrists in a vice-like grip. She’d appeared out of nowhere. Run crumpled.

“I can’t find it,” he gasped.

“You really miss him?” she asked, and he knew she was trying to keep the judgment from her tone, and he was grateful for it, really.

His head was so fuzzy, but it made sense for him to nod, at least.

Makoto didn’t say much else. Ren kept the glove in his pocket.

⁞

“Bet Akechi would’ve loved this,” Ryuji said kind of mockingly—not meanly, though—as they dug into some pancakes.

Ren’s ears were ringing. “What?”

“That pompous asshole really knew how to grate on you, huh?” Ryuji went on. He sighed. “I gotta admit, I kinda thought I could’ve grown to like him, in the end.”

“What are you talking about?” Ren murmured, pain bursting behind his eyes.

“Dude,” Ryuji said, alarmed. “You okay?”

“I can’t think,” Ren said. “What are you saying?”

Ryuji looked really genuinely concerned now. “Akechi wasn’t the absolute worst?”

Ren stared at him, blank, confused, a little bit scared. This conversation was slipping between his fingers like water. “What?”

Ryuji felt his forehead. “I’m gonna call the others.”

⁞

Igor had once said something like you have half a heart. Something like that. It rang true. It felt right.

⁞

Sumire brought him a mini chess set before everyone dispersed, her eyes very sad. “Something tells me you might want this.”

Ren took it with shaking hands. “Thank you,” he said, smile cracking around the edges.

She gave him a hug, and he hugged back too tight, and she let him. He pretended not to notice when she wiped her eyes.

⁞

Ren sat down on the train to return home, and he felt okay. He felt fine. He might’ve seen something of the metaverse in his reflection for half an instant, like a loose end that would inevitably fray into a million myriad loose ends. His friends were all pursuing their dreams, given clarity and direction in the wake of Maruki’s reality, and he was going home. He felt okay.

⁞

He kept the glove in his pocket.

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

⁞

Ren’s shadow was gone when his vision cleared. Goro Akechi stood before him in all his falsity, alive and righteous and vicious, perpetually forgotten and perpetually mourned, and Ren remembered.

Something that had been wavering within him since December went still.

He did the only thing he could and turned his back.

Chapter Text

“Your kid’s still not home.”

Naoto gave Kanji the side eye from where he had just finished brushing his teeth. “He is not ‘my kid.’ I believe that he is eighteen.”

Kanji shrugged. “Do you think he’s doing something dumb?” He put his hand on his hip from where he was leaning on the doorpost of the bathroom. “Isn’t he supposed to be on curfew?”

“Yes,” Naoto said to both questions.

Kanji’s expression twisted into contemplative commiseration, a little crooked in the way that made Naoto want to go soft in a boneless, warm sort of way. But his thoughts lingered on Akechi. “I know we agreed to treat him like a regular teenager, but he still somehow caused all those mental shutdowns and psychotic breaks. He’s still… dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Kanji said quietly. “Do you think he went to the Midnight Channel?”

Naoto stared. “Well, now I do.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Jeez. Hope Teddie’s there today.”

“I can ask Yosuke.”

Kanji was still watching him, and now Naoto fully turned his back on the bathroom vanity, leaning against it. He tilted his head in question.

Kanji sighed, eyes skirting away. “What’s the endgame here? With your kid.”

Naoto reached out, and Kanji shuffled closer, grabbing his hands loosely. “More than anything, I think he deserves a second chance. I met him when he was starting out, you know—when the public started calling him the second Detective Prince. He was so young.” He thought of Akechi’s file, of his testimony against Shido, and he suppressed a shiver. “For whatever reason, it seems that you and I are immune to whatever makes everyone else forget him. I think we can help him.”

“As long as he doesn’t decide to murder us,” Kanji teased, tugging him closer.

Naoto rolled his eyes, dropping his head against Kanji’s chest. “You’re a hopeless pessimist.”

“Love you, too.”

“Ren?”

“What?”

They were back in Ren’s living room, cast in the glow of the show about boats once again. Akechi was sitting with his legs crossed at the very edge of the couch, and Ren was staring at the TV, hands shaking.

The return from the Midnight Channel had been blessedly silent, Akechi (for once) apparently sensing that talking would only make things worse.

It appeared that only could last so long, though.

“You remember everything.” It wasn’t a question.

Ren felt his jaw tighten. “I do.”

“And you have nothing to say?”

His reticence was only making Akechi incensed, which would have been a disaster back before December, but now it felt right, almost comforting. “What do you want me to say?”

There was a dangerous, heavy pause. It reminded him of the pause before Akechi said, I hate you. He stared at the TV.

With a sinking feeling, he listened to Akechi say, “I would have your honesty,” in his best Detective Prince voice.

“You got what you wanted,” Ren replied very quietly. “And I’ll tell you what you need to know for your—case. But not right now. I think you need to leave right now.”

The silence behind him was a living thing, all tangled up in the mutuality of their own unspoken hurt with each other, and Ren let it sit. He heard Akechi stand. “Very well,” he said, his voice plastic. He started for the door. Ren shut his eyes, and the grief that welled up from his chest, knotting around his throat, was sudden enough and intense enough for his vision to completely blur, enough to choke his rationality, enough for his anger to burst through the surface just as he heard Akechi gently open the front door.

He stormed outside, slamming the door shut behind him, and grabbed the glove from his pocket, flinging it at Akechi. “And take this with you,” he managed, throat thick.

Akechi had fumbled to catch it, and he was staring at it like he’d been punched. His lips parted. He looked up at Ren, and his expression didn’t change. “You had this in your pocket just now?”

Ren clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

“Which means that you had it in your pocket before you remembered?”

“Yes.”

Akechi gaped. “Why?”

“Why do you think, Akechi?” Ren muttered, and he felt so, so exhausted. He scrubbed at his eyes, leaning back heavily against the door while Akechi continued to look between him and the glove.

“Goro,” he finally said.

“What?”

“You can call me Goro.”

Ren smothered the ancient, childish urge to soften. “Fine.”

“You look tired,” Goro whispered, taking a few steps closer until they were inches away. “Not in your right mind, entirely, which I suppose is to be expected.” He fiddled with the glove for a moment before reaching out to put it back in Ren’s pocket, which was just—Ren felt like an entire volcano had been lit up on his face. “Keep that until you can think of a real rematch. I expect better from you.”

“I think I need a day or two before I should talk to you,” Ren said rather than respond to anything else. “But I don’t want you to—I don’t want you to—” his voice cracked, and to his horror, his vision started to blur again.

Goro’s stance went all rigid before him, and Ren watched him flex his hands before he seemed to make some kind of choice, and then suddenly Goro’s arms were around him.

Ren sort of… buckled, letting Goro take on pretty much all of his weight as he returned the embrace, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“You’re shaking,” Goro whispered, and Ren supposed that he was. He recalled how, earlier that night—god, that had all been tonight—Goro had sort of held him, prisoner to Ren’s confused clinging babble, and he felt just slightly sick with himself. This didn’t stop him from bunching his hands in the back of Goro’s shirt, in continuing to cling.

In the wake of the cruelest decision he’d ever made, rendered hollow yet righteous through its culmination, Ren had stood outside his cell in the panopticon, and Igor had said, Your hearts are shared, reversed. He wondered what that meant on a practical level now, in the dust and debris of it all.

Goro pulled back just a little bit, and Ren found the herculean strength within him required to lift his head and meet his gaze. Goro touched the side of his face, swiping a thumb beneath his eye, and Ren tried not to lean into the touch too obviously.

And then he withdrew all at once. Ren felt cold.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Goro said, taking several steps backwards.

“See you,” Ren repeated raggedly, watching as Goro tore his gaze from his, turning around to continue down the road.

Ren let out an exhausted gust of an exhale and wearily went back inside, sitting down with his back against the front door when it was shut.

Morgana was watching him from the staircase. When they made eye contact, he guiltily leapt down to the ground level to approach Ren. “He hurt you?”

“No,” Ren said, which was only kind of a lie. It wasn’t a hurt that Morgana had any reason to care about. “But you can stop tiptoeing. I remember who he is now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Morgana exploded. “That was getting difficult.”

“Your crow problem,” Ren mocked.

“Hey, I was under stress!” Morgana approached, booping his head against Ren’s hand. He obligingly started scratching his ears. “How’d you remember everything anyway? Anytime any of us mentioned Akechi or something to do with him, you always got really blank and confused.”

“He took me to meet my shadow.”

“What the hell?”

Ren explained what had happened to the best of his ability and as briefly as he could. Morgana seemed disturbed but grudgingly seemed to accept the story.

“You gotta tell the others, though. I think Makoto was campaigning for some of them to come down here and tell Akechi off.”

Ren winced. Imagined that scene for a moment. “I’ll take care of it.”

He shut his eyes, his body feeling very heavy. He felt like his life stretched out as an eon behind him, endless and untouchable. He didn’t know how to move with its weight, how to be.

“Hey,” Morgana said, and his voice gentled just a little bit. “If you’re going to sleep, you gotta get up.”

“I can’t,” Ren said a little bit pathetically.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Ren hissed as he slowly forced himself to his feet, stumbling dizzily as he righted himself. He didn’t process much of his trip to bed, only remembered flinging his glasses off before collapsing face-first onto his sheets, falling asleep before Morgana could even join him.

When he woke up, he stared at the ceiling for a long time, not thinking anything in particular. He stewed in the confused cocktail of emotions dragging at his mind, and he sat up very slowly when his alarm finally went off.

He called Makoto as he was throwing together some breakfast.

“Everything okay?” Makoto asked, sounding almost hilariously worried. She’d picked up on the first ring.

“Akechi hasn’t murdered me in my sleep, so yeah,” he said flatly.

“You—what?”

Ren shook his head, tired but fond. “I can hold my own against him, you know.”

“You remember.”

“Yeah.”

Makoto huffed, and he could picture her eye roll. “I never doubted that you could hold your own. You just shouldn’t have to.”

Ren shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “He’s like how he was in January, mostly.” He decided not to mention the new dimension to their relationship—the tentative gentleness that both of them seemed to fear so much. It felt… fragile and private, somehow. “I’ve never been scared of him.”

Makoto hummed, and he tried not to be offended by the doubtful tone of it. “How did you remember everything anyway? We tried a bunch of different things, back before you left.”

“It involves cognitive stuff. Kinda boring,” he lied, but he didn’t feel like telling the story again.

“If you say so.” He heard her shift some papers around on the other line. “Did you ever find out why he’s in your town? It seems so weird to me. Is he following you?”

“He seemed like he’d seen a ghost when he first ran into me, so I doubt it. I’ll get some answers the next time we talk. He’s staying with Naoto Shirogane, though.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, as long as you’re okay. That’s the most important part.”

“I’m okay.” He yanked at his curls. “How’s Haru?”

“She’s okay. She’s still sleeping. We both miss you.”

“I miss you guys, too.”

“Vacation can’t come soon enough.”

“Yeah.”

They shared the silence for a moment, and Ren wanted to disappear into it. He didn’t want to face the day, didn’t want to face his tomorrows.

“Crap,” Makoto said softly. “I have to get going to class. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” he said again.

“Okay. Sending my love. We’ll talk soon.”

“Yeah.”

“Bye.”

Ren stared at his phone for a long time.

Ren stopped in front of Goro’s desk after school let out for the day, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. Goro watched him warily out of the corner of his eye.

“Why are you repeating this year?” he finally demanded. It had been bothering him all day.

Goro made a face. “Oh, that.” He waved a hand airily. “I never actually graduated, and I imagine asking for my records would only lead to some idiot’s terrible confusion, so… This seemed easier.”

Ren tilted his head in question.

“No one remembers me,” Goro said slowly, like this should somehow be obvious to someone who had not known to ask around about him for months. “Almost no one,” he amended.

Ren frowned. “Shirogane?”

“Nearly anyone who’s been to the cognitive world, it seems.”

“Huh.”

Goro stood from his desk rather abruptly. “Are you going to work?” Ren nodded. “I’ll walk you.”

The silence was heavy between them, but that was nothing new, really. Ren wasn’t sure that he was ready to ask him questions, nor was he ready to freely offer any information. He’d never been a talkative person, but right now his silence felt like it was bolted to his limbs, like he would fall to pieces without it.

A little bit hesitantly—more hesitantly than he’d seen him since well before November—Goro glanced at him and began, “If you’d like me to keep my distance after this, I understand.”

The uncomfortable cocktail of emotions within him roiled. “Do you want to leave, then?”

“I…”

“You got everything that you wanted, Goro. Shido is entirely humiliated and disgraced. Your future is yours to control. Nobody remembers you, so you have a fresh start. You can have anything,” Ren said, and even he could hear the exhaustion dripping from his tone. “There’s no reason for you to spend your time in a no-name town unless you’ve suddenly developed a taste for it.”

“I’ve been thinking about your shadow,” Goro said after a small pause, apropos of nothing.

Ren scowled. “Why?”

“Why do you think, Ren?”

Ren’s scowl deepened.

“As I was saying: I’ve been thinking about your shadow, and it makes sense that your missing memories would produce some kind of distortion, but that’s not what it said. It said that it was your fear of being discarded. So tell me, Ren—do you feel as though you’ve been discarded by your precious friends? By your parents? By the gods? By me?”

“This is your problem,” Ren snapped. “You never know when to quit while you’re ahead. Don’t go trying to dig all this up. I never wanted you to see that in the first place. I never asked for you to be there, to make me do that.”

“You’ve seen me at my lowest,” Goro said with a stiff sort of fury. “Why should you be spared from that reciprocity?”

“This is how it’s always going to be, isn’t it? You can’t do this.”

Goro’s eye twitched. “What am I doing?”

Frustrated, Ren yanked at his curls. “You can’t make this a game. This isn’t a game. Not anymore, anyway.” And it was true. They both had to find a new way to be.

“Then, perhaps I will leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s clear how much you resent me.”

Resent him. God. “And what else have you decided about how I feel?”

Goro got this horrible, dangerous look in his eye. “You forget that I know you as well as you know me.”

They were nearly at Tatsumi Textiles now. For once, Ren dreaded the work. He dreaded the inevitable end to this conversation. He dreaded the fallout.

He stopped just before they came across the bench where he had first tripped and met Tatsumi, turning to face Goro. Goro waited, and it was a little bit like chess. He’d missed the glint that Goro would get in his eye when he was expecting to be challenged ruthlessly, delightedly, entirely.

“I think you know that you hurt me,” Ren said. “I don’t think you know why.”

King in check. Goro looked away, unwilling to move, unwilling to concede.

Ren sighed, exhaustion returning in a great sweeping sensation. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Goro said, and if it sounded like a million half-voiced promises, Ren wasn’t enough of an idiot to buy into them.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

“Do you remember the whole Phantom Thieves thing that was going on a few months ago?”

Across from him, Rise screwed up her face, fiddling with the straw of her drink. “Kind of?”

Naoto quirked his lips. “Take a look at this.”

He carefully slid a print-out of a photo across the table. Rise picked it up and examined it with a little frown, quiet for a moment. They were just finishing up lunch, and Naoto cast his gaze to the street, eyes lingering on the awning of Kanji’s shop. They’d opted to sit outside, and the weather was just chilly enough to make them slightly on edge.

“Who is this?” Rise asked.

Naoto took the photo back. “The alleged leader of the Phantom Thieves and, coincidentally, Akechi’s only friend.”

Rise’s eyebrows jumped up. “Your kid has friends?”

“Don’t be rude.”

“It’s just, from what you said, he sounds like a loner. Kinda like how you were before we all became friends.”

Naoto let himself feel the pulse of fondness that came with Rise’s little smile. “He is a loner,” he admitted. He blinked. “Speak of the devil.”

Rise turned in her seat, and they both watched Akechi stalk away form Tatsumi Textiles, looking like he’d just shouldered the weight of the world. Naoto waved, and he watched his expression flatten entirely as he reluctantly changed course to come by their table.

“Hi,” Naoto said. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Akechi said stiffly, eyes flicking to Rise.

Rise propped her head up on her hand, beaming up at Akechi with far too much enthusiasm. “School just let out, huh?”

Akechi regarded her suspiciously. “…Yes.”

Naoto was still looking toward the shop and—yes, there was the mop of dark curls passing by the window. He turned his attention back to Akechi. “Did you have a fun and safe time with your friend?”

Akechi’s eyes widened in something like horror. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I’ll see you at home,” he snapped, stalking off without another word. Naoto stared after him.

“Oh my god, he’s adorable,” Rise said.

Naoto thought about how Akechi had played jazz music at a frankly ridiculous volume until two in the morning last night and stayed quiet.

“You’ve got a soft spot for him, huh?” she teased. “It’s cute.”

Naoto made a face. “He has a lot to answer for,” he said vaguely. But it was true. In more senses than one.

Rise gave his hand a little pat. “You’ll figure it out.”

Naoto nodded, but as he watched Akechi’s retreating back, he had to admit that he wasn’t so sure.

He turned to Rise, summoning a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Tatsumi was teaching Ren how to mend a ripped seam.

“You’re getting the hang of it nicely,” he observed quietly, a pleased little smile on his face.

Ren ducked his head. “Thanks.”

There was a stretch of silence as Ren continued his careful work. Next to him, Tatsumi shifted. Cleared his throat. “You know, uh. The kid’s been in kind of a mood. And so have you.”

“Have I?” Ren said idly, flatly.

Tatsumi sighed. “Look, I get teenage drama. I was a teenager once. But, like…”

“It’s complicated,” Ren grumbled, feeling his mood sour. “I’m waiting to cool off a bit before I talk to him.”

“Cool, cool,” Tatsumi said, faux-casual. “If you ever, uh… need to talk… And you know, uh, I don’t think anger is necessarily always an unhealthy response to things, so…”

Ren eyed him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be touched by the jumbled offer. “I’m not… angry.” He exhaled, putting his supplies down so that he could tug at his curls. “We hurt each other.”

“Ah,” Tatsumi said quietly. “That does sound complicated.”

Ren sighed. “It’s cool. I’ll suck it up and talk to him tomorrow. We both have questions that… really deserve to be answered.”

Tatsumi gave him a hesitant little pat on the shoulder. “Don’t put yourself through it if you’re not ready, kid.”

Ren stewed in that for a while, glaring at the seam he’d mostly mended. “Hey, um—” Tatsumi turned to look at him immediately, and Ren shrunk away a bit. “Uh… when you started… dating Detective Shirogane…” God, his face was on fire. “Did you ever…” This is why he never talked. “…get into fights?”

Tatsumi blinked at him. Then, his entire demeanor seemed to soften, and he said, “Yeah, of course. It’s hard to figure out how to love someone. Can be even harder to figure out how to be loved by someone.”

“Okay,” Ren said. He stared at the counter very resolutely.

“Talk to him,” Tatsumi said gently.

“Yeah.”

He finished mending the seam in silence.

They walked out of school without exchanging a word the next day, and when they reached the edge of the property, Ren said, “I’m ready to talk,” even though that was possibly very far from the truth.

Goro nodded, placid, like nothing could surprise him. “Come home with me?”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t a long walk. Ren spared a moment to feel faintly jealous of that as Goro toed off his shoes in a cramped entryway. Ren looked around, morbidly fascinated. The house was small, and it seemed to host a strange melding of two styles. He stared at a cutesy bear-shaped espresso mug that had been left on the kitchen counter, and then looked at the austere cluster of filing cabinets in the next room over.

“They shouldn't be home for an hour or so,” Goro said, dropping to sit in a chair with some visible exhaustion. “For obvious reasons, I haven’t told them that you’re involved with the Phantom Thieves, so…”

“Were,” Ren said belatedly.

“Sorry?”

“I was involved with the Phantom Thieves. Can’t be involved with something that’s gone.”

Goro’s mouth tightened. “I see.”

Ren wanted to press his knuckles to the fractures in Goro’s mask until it splintered off completely, permanently. He wanted to exist in the space between his cloak of fury and his plastic smile, and he wanted Goro to look at him and understand that every second of every day dragged his limbs down until he could not see the horizon—any horizon. He sat down next to him heavily.

“Why Inaba?” he finally asked, unwilling to voice the most obvious question first.

Goro shrugged. “Shirogane lives here.”

“I don’t understand why that’s such a huge factor.”

Goro gave him an odd look. “I was in prison when reality returned.”

Ren turned towards him sharply. “What?”

Goro lifted a rather miserable shoulder. “Nobody could remember me. Sae looked straight through me once. It was… not dissimilar to your condition, I believe.”

Ren’s fingers twitched, but he kept them in his pockets. His throat felt tight.

“One day, Detective Shirogane approached me with an offer to come with him to Inaba. He remembered me, at the very least.” He offered a wry, feelingless smile.

Ren furrowed his brows. “Why did you agree?”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t want to put his confusion into words. He’d never been great at that sort of thing. He shook his head. At Goro’s blank, expectant look, he sighed. “You chose prison, in a sense, in one reality. Seems like you had less of a choice in agreeing to leave. Wasn’t that—the whole point?”

Goro was silent for a long moment. He leaned back. “Why am I even surprised when you surprise me anymore?”

“Part of my charm?” Ren joked kind of pathetically.

“My testimony wasn’t even used against Shido. Nobody remembered it. I doubt he even remembers me. Had you considered that?” Ren let himself succumb to the force of Goro’s furious gaze. “People keep insisting that the public’s inability to recognize me is a good thing, but how could it be?” he hissed. “There should be real consequences for what I did. If I could choose anything in this garbage fucking world, I would choose to face true justice. Rotting in a cell without even Sae Nijima to look me in the eye and say, how could you—why would I ever choose that?”

Ren shut his eyes. “Maybe that’s your perfect punishment, then. Ever considered that?”

“You infuriating piece of trash,” Goro snarled. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

They both knew it wasn’t. Ren shrugged.

“Do you…” and now Goro’s voice sounded uncertain enough that Ren opened his eyes to look at him again. He cleared his throat. “Do you know why you forgot me?”

Ren’s stomach turned.

This was the moment he had dreaded since his shadow had cradled his face and given these unwanted memories back.

He nodded very slowly. Goro’s attention felt like something incredibly dangerous, but it always had.

“The metaverse disappeared,” he said, and then he stopped, desperately hoping that this would be enough for Goro to connect the dots. But Goro just stared. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Did you ever go to the Velvet Room?”

Goro’s nod was hesitant. “The panopticon.”

Ren rubbed the back of his neck. “It was ours.”

“Right.”

“A… reflection of our hearts.”

Now, Goro looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Right.”

“And it disappeared.”

Goro frowned.

Ren looked away. “I forgot you gradually. I forgot you every second of every day. I…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“So it was only you.”

“It was only me.”

A line appeared between Goro’s brows. He’s thinking, Ren thought, and then he inexplicably had to choke back tears as Goro murmured, “I wonder why I didn’t forget you in turn.”

“Your cosmic punishment, not mine.”

“Are you so certain?”

No, he wasn’t. “Igor… implied that it was a gift,” he whispered.

Goro rolled his eyes. “Typical interfering fucking gods.”

Ren laughed, kind of hysterically. “But it was,” he managed. “I wanted to forget.”

Goro flinched. “Pathetic. Maruki would be so proud.”

“You were dead, Goro.”

“Clearly not,” he seethed. “And why should you be exempt from the pain of loss? Why should you get to move on with your life without consequence?”

“Goro, you literally met me while my memories were gone. Did I look like I was spared from my grief?” Ren demanded. “I just couldn’t remember who I was mourning. Or why.”

“I expect better from you,” Goro said, and his voice sounded somewhat thick. “You said that you wouldn’t fold. You promised me.”

Ren’s eyes widened. “Oh, you want to go there?”

Goro’s jaw tightened.

Ren stood. “I’m not talking about February 2^nd with you.”

Sensing he had the upper hand, Goro followed. “Your shadow said it was the hardest thing you ever had to do, didn’t it?” he mocked. “Did you shed a tear in the cold for the lost cause you finally couldn’t save?”

“I’m not doing this—”

Goro took a step forward. “Did you dream of a world where we had been allies from the start? Did you pity the bastard orphan undeniably beyond your reach? Did you wish you’d had the chance to redeem the murderous, cold-blooded—”

“I wanted you, you asshole,” Ren exploded. “You make me selfish. You always have. And it didn’t—it doesn’t—it’s never mattered.” Goro seemed to have been shocked to silence, but it was like a dam had burst, and Ren babbled on, “I never would have chosen Maruki’s reality because you couldn’t have existed there in any way that mattered, but—but, god, Goro, for once, I just wanted.”

“Ren, you—”

“So that’s why forgetting you was a gift, of a sort,” Ren managed. “I know it makes me weak or pathetic, or it shows that the world is fucking unfair, but I couldn’t do it.”

The silence between them was like nothing Ren had ever experienced before. He worked his jaw, trying to decide if he wanted to take his words back, if he could, when Goro whispered, “I never asked for you to want that.”

“Tough,” Ren said hoarsely.

He watched Goro clench one fist very slowly. He wondered what it would take to beg Sojiro to take him back in the attic. He wondered if the disappearance of the metaverse and their panopticon meant that this connection had been rendered meaningless and inconsequential. He wondered if wanting so much should inexorably lead to nothing.

Goro unclenched his fist.

“I have no way of knowing how I survived Shido’s palace,” he said. “But I know this: every part of me that mattered was left behind there.”

Ren found the glove in his pocket and closed his hand around it.

Goro shifted, forcing them to make eye contact. “I’m all that’s left, Ren. You can’t want that.”

His throat closed. But he’d never been a wordsmith. He reached out a hand almost blindly, ended up awkwardly grabbing the lapel of Goro’s jacket. Goro gave him a bleak sort of stare, anger reduced to something just shy of a simmer. “Goro—”

“I’m home early,” Shirogane’s voice came from the front hall, sounding distracted. “What do you want for dinner?”

Ren released Goro as if he’d been burned, staggering a hasty step back just in time for Shirogane to walk into the kitchen and Goro to smooth out his jacket, looking as unruffled as ever. Shirogane hid his surprise well when he saw Ren.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“Yes,” Goro said at the same time that Ren said, “Uh—”

They locked eyes. Ren looked away first.

“Yes,” Goro said again.

“Well!” Shirogane said. “I’m making stir fry.”

Goro made a face as Shirogane turned to set his own jacket aside, and Ren forgot for a moment that they’d been—arguing. “Thank you for having me,” Ren mumbled when it seemed like nobody else was going to say anything. Shirogane offered an absent little nod.

Sitting back at the table felt kind of like defeat, so when Ren did, Goro gave him a glare but came to join him, chair scraping against the floor. Ren yanked at his curls, trying not to think about their conversation or how it had ended, trying not to think of anything at all.

“So,” Shirogane said casually, “How did a contract killer and the leader of the Phantom Thieves become such close friends?”

Ren stared at the table, numb. He wished he were more used to people guessing his secret. Before he could think of a proper response, Goro snapped, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ren joked, feeling like every piece of his body was being slowly torn apart, like he was made of hastily, poorly mended seams, “It’s not like we’re really friends.”

Goro kicked him under the table. Hard.

Even Shirogane was rolling his eyes. “Alright,” he said dryly. He seemed to have finished gathering his ingredients for dinner, and he turned to face them fully, putting his hands on his hips. “Look, I just want all the information.”

“Well, don’t bother,” Goro grumbled, sinking down into his chair. “We essentially just figured it all out.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Goro,” Ren said.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Only those who have been to the cognitive world can remember me, as is likely my cosmic punishment for being a shitty person.”

Shirogane frowned. He looked at Ren.

“I forgot for a while,” he mumbled, unwilling to expand upon it.

“Alright,” Shirogane finally said. “If that’s your conclusion, Detective.” Goro scowled. “Come help me cut these vegetables.”

“Can I help?” Ren asked.

“No,” they said at the same time.

Ren watched them work together in sullen silence. Goro wasn’t as skilled with a knife as he had been with guns, so it was fascinating to watch him carefully line up his vegetables and attempt to chop them with precise care, but he was clumsy with it. Shirogane seemed slightly more comfortable in the kitchen, though not by a significant margin.

Tatsumi arrived just as dinner was finishing, and he glanced at Ren with his eyebrows raised. Ren just shrugged, feeling a little bit more relaxed when Tatsumi joined him to sit at the table.

“You good?” he whispered, probably not as quietly as he thought, but Ren nodded anyway. Tatsumi leaned back in satisfaction, looking up as Shirogane put a plate before him and pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

Ren glanced away hastily.

“So,” Shirogane announced as they all began to eat, “I was right.”

“About what?” Tatsumi asked while Goro’s eyes narrowed.

Shirogane jerked his head between Goro and Ren. “They met during the whole Phantom Thieves thing.”

“Oh, bud,” Tatsumi said, and Ren frankly wasn’t sure who “bud” was in this case.

Ren stabbed at a green bean kind of violently. “You’ve both been to the Midnight Channel, then.”

“As it seems have you,” Shirogane said, shooting Goro a small glare. Goro scowled, hunching his shoulders, eyes on his mostly untouched meal.

Tatsumi cracked a smile at Ren. “Remind me one day to regale you with the tales of my youth.”

Shirogane coughed to hide a laugh.

“Great,” Goro snapped. “Now that everything’s out in the open, can we be done with this?”

“For tonight,” Shirogane said. “I still have some questions.” He pointed at Goro’s bowl. “Eat your dinner.”

To Ren’s shock, Goro complied. He had a different sort of relationship with Shirogane than anything he’d seen from Goro before. It was almost brotherly, almost parental, even, but also almost like they were boss and employee, or teacher and student, maybe. They seemed horrifically comfortable with the dynamic, though, so Ren figured it wasn’t his place to judge or anything. After all, it wasn’t like he had a normal relationship with Sojiro.

“Good stir fry, babe,” Tatsumi said after a moment.

“Akechi helped.”

“Good stir fry, kid.”

“Whatever.”

Ren watched them all make idle talk about their days and felt surprisingly not uncomfortable. He even found it in him to laugh at one of Tatsumi’s dumb jokes. But he could feel Goro watching him out of the corner of his eye the whole time, and it made him feel like his skin was lightly afire.

Ren helped clear the table with Tatsumi, but before he could offer to wash the dishes, Goro was grabbing his arm and dragging him to a nondescript door just off the kitchen.

“Leave the door open,” Shirogane called as Goro pushed Ren into what had to be his room.

“I’m not a child!” Goro shouted and emphatically slammed the door behind them. He leaned back heavily against it, rubbing his eyes.

Ren glanced around the room. There was a small desk by a small window with papers and books neatly strewn about. The bed was made with tight corners and not a wrinkle in the blanket. There was a narrow dresser on the far wall. And that was it.

Grief welled up within Ren for seemingly no reason at all.

“I didn’t mean for them to find out about the Phantom Thieves,” Goro said, still leaning against the door. His attention was quiet in its intensity.

“I know,” Ren said.

Goro made an aborted move to seemingly reach for Ren before he flexed his fingers, dropping his hand to his side. “I don’t understand you.”

“I know,” Ren said again, and he stepped close to Goro, reaching out to push his hair behind his ear, mostly just to see what it would feel like. Goro’s breath hitched, and as Ren moved to put his hand back in his pocket, Goro grabbed his wrist.

Ren stared down at the point of contact, then slowly made himself make eye contact. He thought he saw something like fear in the corners of Goro’s expression, but he could never be sure. He thought about the fragile softness that so badly seemed to want to establish itself between them, and he thought that they’d been on the fulcrum of something for a long time.

Ren remembered the cold of January. He remembered the way that it had lingered, the way that he sometimes still felt it. He remembered when Goro had bitterly called him on his brainless sentimentality, and he remembered the way he had not looked back on February 2^nd.

Goro’s grip on his wrist tightened, almost as if echoing his thoughts.

“Tell me to leave,” Ren whispered.

Goro shook his head wordlessly.

“Goro.”

“Stay,” Goro said, voice raw, grip tightening almost painfully. “I want you to stay.”

They met each other halfway.

Goro kissed like he fought—not necessarily in that it was brutal or violent or anything, but in that he threw himself into it with single-minded and almost deliriously focused intent. He wound one arm around Ren’s neck and pressed his other hand to the small of Ren’s back, and Ren’s hands ended up at Goro’s waist, and the kiss was clumsy. It tasted like dinner, and it felt like victory and defeat tangled together in a paradoxical sort of exhilarated resignation, and Goro’s lips were chapped, and he was using his maybe two centimeters of height against Ren, and Ren wanted to live in this moment.

Goro grabbed his face, pulling back to look him in the eye, but Ren took his time letting his eyes open, letting his brain return to his body. “You lack sense and self-preservation,” Goro declared bluntly.

“No, you,” Ren said incoherently.

Goro blinked. And then he let out a thin, high-pitched laugh, dropping his forehead onto Ren’s shoulder. “I hate you,” he said, muffled.

Ren pulled him closer. “Sure,” he said. “Can I kiss you again?”

Goro didn’t have to answer verbally.

Ren walked home late, unfocused and untethered. He didn’t bother sorting through his thoughts, didn’t want to digest the events of the day with anything remotely like clarity.

He didn’t sleep well. He watched the sun rise with dry eyes and a blank, fuzzy head.

He shut his eyes against the brightness.

Chapter Text

“Good morning!”

Naoto looked up bleakly from his coffee, not awake enough to fully process Akechi’s preening little smile as he bustled to put together his own breakfast. Naoto glanced at his watch. Not even six in the morning yet. Good lord. “Morning,” he mumbled.

“Ohh,” Akechi said, “Is the coffee still hot?” He poked at the pot, then beamed, pouring himself a cup.

Naoto stared in bleary confusion while Akechi hummed his way through his morning routine. Kanji shuffled into the kitchen grouchily as they were both drinking coffee, and he gruffly asked, “Did the kid get home safe last night?” after seeing Akechi awake.

“Oh, yes!” Akechi said, offering a sunny smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes.

Naoto continued to stare. There was something off, here.

Kanji crossed his arms, leaning back against the refrigerator with a frown. “Hm,” he said. “Do you need the talk?”

The silence that followed could have cracked glass.

Ah, Naoto thought in removed horror as Akechi’s expression shuttered.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Because,” Kanji went on, heedless, “Y’know, just from experience, my mom is the greatest woman in the world, but she’s got, uh—blind spots. So, like, if you have any questions, we could probably save you from some pain.”

Naoto realized in growing dread that Kanji was implicating him in this. He felt frozen.

“I—” Akechi sputtered. “I don’t—”

Kanji held up his hands. “Take it or leave it. Offer’s open. We just want you to be safe and happy.”

Akechi dropped his forehead onto the table. “Fuck off,” he said weakly.

Naoto gave him a commiserating little pat on the arm. Akechi let out a sigh.

Just before Naoto had to leave for work and while Kanji was back in the bedroom, he stopped by Akechi’s shoulder and said, “Just be careful.”

And for one paralyzing moment, Akechi looked very vulnerable and very frightened as he gave a little nod.

Naoto squeezed his shoulder before leaving.

Ren had Ryuji on speakerphone as he was cleaning his room.

“…just saying, it’s pretty effin’ lame that Yusuke is visiting Haru and Makoto before me,” he was grousing. “Ugh, whatever.”

“Was probably a cheaper train ticket.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right… Whatever, though, he’s dead to me.”

Ren rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, has it been weird having Akechi there? What the hell is he even doing in your town?”

Ren hummed. “Finishing school.”

“Has it been awkward with you remembering and stuff? Do you guys just, like, ignore each other in the halls? I think I’d pay to see that.”

“No,” Ren said hesitantly, and he stared kind of blankly out the window as a lump formed in his throat. Ryuji had dropped into an expectant sort of silence, born from experience of figuring out which of Ren’s monosyllabic responses were incomplete thoughts. “I…”

“You good, dude?”

Ren glanced at Morgana, who was mostly not paying attention to the conversation, idly swiping his tail along some of Ren’s math notes. “I’m glad he’s here,” he finally said, and it felt weak and way too honest.

Ryuji waited.

Ren sighed, collapsing to sit on his stripped bed. “He’s… I don’t know—we have a connection.”

“Yeah, dude. It’s weird as hell,” Ryuji said cheerfully. “But we all knew that, come February. Hell, come March. Did your freaky little soulbond and the power of friendship bring your memories back?”

“Sort of,” Ren muttered.

“Rad.” There was a little huff, like Ryuji had fallen back onto his mattress. “And, y’know, all of us are glad he’s alive, really. It sucked, what happened to him. I think I was just starting to kind of maybe like the dude, too.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I mean. He’s a dick, but so are Yusuke and Makoto. Hell, so are you. And the murderin’ stuff… I dunno. It’s not like it’s my place to forgive him, and if I could, I don’t think I would, but—I think we could’ve been friends in another life.”

Ren cracked a wobbly smile. “I miss you so much,” he said thickly.

“Yeah,” Ryuji said. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, me too.”

“Do you want to walk with me to school?” Ren asked, finally forcing himself to finish making his bed.

“Sure!” Ryuji said. “I didn’t even tell you about physical therapy yesterday. They said—”

Something in Ren’s chest loosened as he continued to listen.

Ren stared at the entrance to school. He was going to be late if he lingered any longer. There was a buzzing in his ears. He wished that Morgana had accompanied him on his walk this morning, but he hadn’t felt like listening to Ryuji.

He took a deep breath. Didn’t move.

“Ren?”

Of course.

Ren turned, watching Goro stride up to his side with a quizzical furrow between his brows. “What are you doing?”

Ren shrugged. Goro elbowed him gently. “Guess I’m nervous,” he finally mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Goro blinked. “For… class?”

Ren stared at him.

He watched Goro flush, casting his gaze away kind of skittishly. He fiddled with his gloves. “I see,” he said.

“Why are you so late?” Ren asked—because this was late by Goro standards.

Goro stared resolutely at something just to the left of Ren’s head.

“Ah,” Ren said knowingly, trying for a smirk.

“Whatever,” Goro said. He hesitated visibly before steeling himself, grabbing Ren’s hand to pull him along into the building. “Don’t slow me down.”

Goro’s gloves were warm, like they’d been yesterday. Ren wanted to disappear into the ground a little bit as he let himself be tugged along to their homeroom.

He wished that he was brave like his friends. He wished that he understood the growing pit of despair in his chest, wished he was brave enough to even try to understand it. Goro let go of his hand as they reached their room, and the cold didn’t just come for his fingertips. It settled into his bones and diffused through his chest like the oldest friend he’d ever had. He shivered.

A week ago, a lifetime ago, Goro had asked if Ren trusted him, and Ren’s instinctual, hopeless response had been, How could I ever? He studied Goro’s profile instead of taking notes, and he thought about the way that Goro had said, I want you to stay, and the way that he had said, You think dangling my life before us is going to affect our decision?

He thought of his own shadow, leaning against a cherry tree in the too-sweet mist, telling him that he would not want his memories back.

“What do you think it means to have a shared heart, reversed?” Ren asked out of the blue on the walk to Tatsumi Textiles. They weren’t holding hands. They weren’t even walking that close to each other.

Goro slid a glance his way. “Sorry?”

“Igor said that.”

Frowning, Goro said, “And it bothers you.”

“No…” Ren hesitated, trying to put words to the feeling in his chest. “I knew what it meant before the metaverse disappeared.”

Goro’s expression twisted into something ancient and bitter. “Back when the gods yanked at our strings like paltry puppets in some kind of sick game of chess?”

“Yeah, that.”

“So why would you presume that such a declarative retains any meaning now that we’re supposedly free to determine our own fates?”

Ren tapped his fingers against his thigh. “You think it’s constricting.”

“I don’t like when people tell me what I should be. What I should feel. Not even you.”

“I know,” Ren said, unable to entirely leech the warmth from his tone. “I just…”

“Ren,” Goro said, and then he stopped. His expression was unreadable. “You should play hooky from work today.”

His eyebrows jumped up.

“I’ll text Tatsumi. He’d understand.”

“I…” Entrapped by the intensity of Goro’s gaze, he said, “Okay.”

Goro smiled, and it was every bit as private and mean and sharp as it had been in his forgotten dreams.

“Detective Shirogane showed me this spot when we first arrived in town,” Goro said when they came to a stop on the hill that overlooked the town.

Ren leaned against the railing, glancing at Goro, who stood with his arms clasped behind his back, gazing out at the horizon. “You know, this is like. A date spot.”

Goro’s eye twitched, but he said nothing. So, he knew.

Ren grinned, tossing a look out at the town. “You make a guy feel real special.”

“Would you shut up?”

It was quiet up here. Ren hadn’t been to this spot in a while. It was easy to forget that Inaba had a sort of beauty to it when you were in the middle of it. He wondered how it looked to Goro, who had never been outside of Tokyo until a month or so ago. His throat felt thick.

“So, what does Igor’s declarative mean to you?” Goro asked into the silence, and his tone was serious but insistent, like they were back at the jazz club having a thinly veiled philosophical debate again.

And that was the question, wasn’t it? Ren drummed his fingers against the railing. “I’d like it to mean something.”

“And that is?”

The sun was painting the town in pretty, golden hues, and Ren thought of his friends pursuing their dreams, feeling fulfilled, or like they would feel fulfilled, eventually. “I don’t want to say.”

Goro rolled his eyes. “You never do. Talking to you is like pulling teeth,” he said, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. “Tell me.”

Ren kept his hands on the railing, his eyes ahead. “I thought that it was… a rebellion against destiny, that we became friends. That we…” he trailed off, already embarrassed. “I think that was my dream. To keep betraying fate, with you.”

“Oh,” Goro said.

“That’s what I wanted our shared, reversed heart thing to mean, anyway. I don’t know.”

There was a tentative touch to the back of his hand, and Ren looked at Goro. He was cast in the golden light, too. “As far as delimiting factors go…” he tilted his head, “that’s not bad.”

He debated letting the conversation die there. It was a nice note to end on, after all, and Ren always had loved to bask in Goro’s little concessions to his perspective. But there was too much between them—they’d hurt each other too much, or they’d given each other too much, or all of it was tangled up in their wanting and its resulting nothingness. And Ren was so, so tired of being tired, of feeling like nothing.

He twisted his hand to grip Goro’s, probably too tightly, but Goro didn’t flinch. “You said that every important part of you was left behind in Shido’s palace, but I don’t believe that.”

Goro’s expression blanked. But Ren wasn’t finished.

He took the glove from his pocket and almost reverently pressed it into Goro’s other hand, making sure their eyes stayed locked. “Here is my challenge to you,” Ren whispered lowly.

Goro’s fingers were already curling around the fabric.

“Let’s fight for our own futures, against fate, against the world. Let’s face our tomorrows.”

Their fingers tangled as Goro’s grip on the glove tightened. Ren watched his jaw work for a moment before steel came into his expression, born of his unwillingness to lose, his unwanted devotion to Ren, every ounce of his misplaced righteousness, and he said, “I accept.”

The yawning despair in his chest didn’t disappear, but it did feel suddenly very removed beneath the golden light of the waning day.

Ren pressed a slow, gentle kiss to Goro’s mouth, neither of them letting go of the glove or their hands. “You have to promise,” Ren murmured against him.

“Don’t push your luck, Ren,” Goro whispered back, nudging their noses together. “But if it will appease the seemingly endless bounds of your moronic sentimentality... then, I promise.”

Ren shut his eyes in relief. “Thank you.”

In the waning, golden light on the outskirts of a town that did not want him, pulled into the arms of the most infuriatingly unreachable person he had ever met, Ren let himself fleetingly revel in the vicious, selfish reach for his tomorrows.