Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It really was a boon that Goro Akechi had so few personal belongings.

Before, it had made moving apartments every couple months easier. Always drifting around Tokyo to avoid being pinned down too easily. Now, well, it once again made it easier to move. Though this time, he was moving back to Tokyo, rather than around or from it.

His modest suitcase made it easier to slip on and off trains, maneuvering to each transfer with a solemn and practiced ease. Goro was adept at navigating crowds, but fuck did he sure hate it. The thick cloying stench of sweat, the constant noise of people and static from the announcements, it was overwhelming.

He recited the alphabet backwards as he recoiled away from a man pressed far too close to his side. He was older, and wearing a suit - a cheap one, previously worn by someone else if the misshapen seams told anything - and gracelessly seems to not have even noticed how deeply he was encroaching on Goro’s space. The urge to snarl at him was strong, but he focused on the characters in the back of his mind.

His therapist had suggested counting once, as a way to distract himself until the violent surges of emotion passed. It had not worked, he started with counting up to ten, then twenty, then counting down (that only made it worse, really) until they finally settled on the alphabet. It was the perfect mix of not being easy enough to do without thinking, and not being so difficult it made him frustrated.

Goro had expressed his irritation, once, when they found the alphabet worked for him, “and what shall happen when it ceases to serve its purpose? When I know the letters so easily I can recite them without thought?”

“Then,” Poshva-san smiled and pushed her glasses up a fraction, crow’s feet pinching as she grinned, “we will find something else.”

The man shifted away and Goro could breathe again. Not much longer, he knew. He’s ridden these trains so many times, it would not surprise him to learn he could navigate them blindfolded. He adjusts the box he held in his hand carefully, the other being the only keeping him upright against the pull and push of the train’s rocking.

Its so stupid, whats inside the box. He knows it is. Goro did not trust himself with an animal, when his therapist suggested having something in his small apartment to be responsible for. She agreed but still reasoned that sometimes, when things are bad, knowing you have something relying on you is just enough of a push to keep breathing. Even something as simple as a plant.

Regrettably, like in many things, Poshva was infuriatingly correct. He had decided to at least try, and the little cactus tucked carefully away in the box he guarded had been his only reason to open his eyes more times than he truly wished to admit. So, he was attached to the little thing, loved it, even. He had managed to get it to bloom last year, he was so proud he almost brought the plant with him the next session he had.

And if he had taken to calling the small, round, spiky ball, Feather Red, well, that was a secret between him and Feather Red.

His apartment was small, though given it’s prime location in central Tokyo, certainly not inexpensive. After receiving the keys from the man at the front office, and finishing up the final forms to sign, he left and dragged his suitcase up to the third floor. The door’s hinges screeched unpleasantly as he set foot into his new home.

It was… fine. The scent of mildew washed over him, though that was nothing a proper cleaning couldn't fix, he could easily oil the hinges of his door, and… ah. Who was he kidding. The place was a dump. Rent was cheap though, at least for the area, and it was temporary, one way or another anyway.

The thought stirred his nerves again. Goro left his suitcase by the door, and lifted Red from the box to set him on the windowsill that got the most light, wary of the sharp quills. Goro stole a cursory glance at his watch, he needed a shower and to get his nice set of clothes for the Gallery later today.

He could do this. Start small.

Goro collapsed on the couch in the small living room, separated from the kitchen by an island coming from the far wall. He had paid for it to be furnished before he arrived, just enough that it was habitable. If things went well, he would spend proper money to actually get a nice place to make a home of, hell knows he had more yen to throw around than he knew how to spend. But, knowing he could easily abandon this dinky place were things to go poorly, it was comforting.

A safety net, if one will.

In the time he had been gone, Goro kept careful tabs on most of the former thieves. Following their successes with a bit of muted pride.

Kitagawa was starting to gain the recognition as an artist he deserved, Nijima graduated top of her class and was attending an incredibly prestigious college. Sakura was in her third year and set to graduate herself, Sakamoto had begun taking part in swim competitions and was actually in college himself… Okumura had taken over her father’s company with grace and already the business was blossoming under her care. It had helped that she had fired so many of the higher-ups, corrupt bastards, the lot of them, to be fair. Sumire was still competing herself, and the articles he read boasted her incredible talent (skill, he would have corrected them) and was sure she would make it to an olympic level soon.

When Goro awoke in a hospital, far outside of Tokyo, he was unsure what exactly to think outside of how the hell he was still alive. When he was eventually released, Goro was lost. He had no home to return to, no… no friends to welcome him back. Much less miss him.

But, not for the first time, Goro wanted. He wanted so fucking badly to be missed. To be someone that would hold importance in another’s eyes. Not as The Detective Prince, no, but as himself. Goro Akechi.

Not that it was something he would ever have the right to have.

Goro massaged the bridge of his nose, that wasn't true. Goro did horrible things, probably unforgivable things, but that did not make him less of a person. He still was allowed happiness, allowed comfort.

Therapy had changed him.

Perhaps changed wasn't exactly the right word. It had opened his eyes, maybe. It took several, frustrating, tries to find a therapist that did not make his skin crawl. Several times Goro was ready to just throw in the towel and resign himself to wasting away in some suburb that no one heard of.

But… he refused. He had given up once already, let himself be killed so the others, so Kurusu, could live. He had a second chance, somehow, and Goro would not squander it.

He dragged his phone from his pocket and pursued social media for a couple dull minutes. He never posted anything himself, for obvious reasons, but he did follow Sumire, Takamaki, Sakamoto, and Kitagawa. He would have followed the others, as well, but Nijima had none to speak of, Okumura public one was pure business. To be honest though, Goro didn't think he would have followed her personal accounts even if they hadn't been private. Sakura just had too many.

Kurusu had one. He had seen it mentioned several times in posts, though he… he never clicked. Ah, that was a lie, he had, several times, only to close the app and toss his phone away as though he had been burned. He couldn't.

Kurusu was the only former Phantom Thief he did not keep at least surface tabs on.

Every time he considered it, Goro’s chest constricted and he grew queasy. It was a gross invasion of privacy, and while he didnt care if the others found his (light) stalking vile… he was horrified at the thought of Kurusu finding out.

Whilst never something he planned to speak aloud to anyone but his therapist, and on occasion Red, it was because of Kurusu that Goro had even considered therapy. Much less considered a continuation of his life as a whole.

At the end, when that damn steel came to block the others from being absolute idiots and prioritizing something like him over their mission, Kurusu had screamed for him. Always, no matter what Goro said or did to him, for that fucking matter, Kurusu still met him with a challanging and lopsided smile. He saw something in Goro, something worth keeping.

His final memory before waking up in that cold, sterile room, was Kurusu cussing him out, voice tight with sobs and wrath. Goro would have laughed, had the burning agony in his chest and the black creeping through the edge of his vision not prevented him.

Goro leaned forward and pressed his hand over the scar in his chest, the sharp pain throbbed through his body, but eventually passed. Phantom pains were not an uncommon occurrence, especially when his mind wandered to what he had so firmly believed to be his last moments.

Though he always got a lingering feeling of something happening after that. After his death. It was a thick cloying sensation, ticking in the back of his mind not unlike the rare buzz from his personas. The metaverse wasn't gone, it never would be, so his personas would never truly vanish from him so long as he remained true to himself.

Goro groaned and pushed to his feet, unzipping his suitcase and pulling out some business casual clothes.

It wasn't worth thinking about, he was being foolish.

The gallery, for what it is, was rather small. Or rather the showcase area is. Kitagawa wasn't the only artist displaying their works this week, but Goro could confidently say he was the best known of the three.

November this year had been a bit chillier than most, still no sign of snow, but the month was still young. He adjusted the collar of his dress shirt beneath his scarf, it had a habit of bunching up and stabbing him in the neck beneath the warm cotton.

He didn't put much effort into his clothes, just enough to blend in with the others strolling the gallery. Kitagawa’s exhibit was further in, and according to the traffic prediction for the gallery, this was the slowest time of the day–so the best time for Goro to visit. Best chance for him to not run into anyone familiar.

Goro would face them soon, but he… wasn't even sure where to start. He doubted just strolling into LeBlanc and ordering his usual would go over terribly well.

Kitagawa’s art had only improved since Goro had last seen the paintings in person. He of course had seen plenty of WIPs and pictures of his projects, but seeing them in person was decidedly different. Photos did not capture the brushstrokes, nor the technique used in each piece.

Goro wouldn't be able to name what said techniques were, though, he knew shit about art.

There was a piece that was having its debut at the gallery, one he had spoken about, but not shown on social media. It had prompted him to actually purchase tickets, and gave him an excuse to finally take the leap. He had been going back and forth now for the last six months on when to return, how to return, should he return?

Had Goro not perfected the art of pretending to not be surprised, he would certainly have stumbled over himself when he finally found the new painting Kitagawa had made.

His breath caught in his throat, his hands clammy beneath the suffocating leather of his gloves.

The painting was huge, for starters, commanding its own section from size alone. Yet it was the last thing in his mind as he stared in disbelief… at Joker. But no, it was more than that. Joker had a gun out, a massive four winged persona (was it a persona?) behind him, both lunging at an even more gargantuan beast. The painting was a moment in time, a mere snapshot in a battle that looked too real to not have happened.

Yet Goro didn't know this persona, he didn't recognize the creature they fought against.

The backdrop was a ruined Tokyo, veins not unlike the ones found in mementos stretched over the scene, even being used as a launching point for Kurusu and his mystery persona as they prepared to strike. One red gloved hand was swept behind him holding his weapon but also bringing attention to the others painted in the background. Jumping off the lower tendrils to join Joker in their last stand.

Joker’s other red– wait. Goro’s brows furrowed as he took a moment to get a better look, no, Joker’s other glove was black. The one thrust before him, as though he were calling the charge to battle, was a black Joker never had worn. Both of his gloves were red, they had always been red.

So why… Why was one suddenly the same glove he had hurled at Kurusu in a fit of anguish and rage?

“No one remembers what happened,” a calm voice spoke from beside him, “it was only natural then, for me to immortalize what we had done.”

Goro wanted to crawl out of his skin, but instead turned to Kitagawa with the most charming smile he could muster, “of course. It is truly a wonderful piece, even if the gloves don't match.”

Kiagawa crossed his arms over his chest, his attention still on the painting, “that was a request, you see, of the hero’s… model, let's say.”

“Quite the strange request.”

“Hm, yes,” Kitagawa closed his eyes for a moment, then when they opened, leveled Goro with an unimpressed stare, “but he was grieving the loss of someone truly dear to him, and the mystery only adds to the allure, wouldn't you say?”

There was a crow in the background, small, but unmistakably there. Flying alongside the others as though he were a part of them.

“It's been three years,” Kitagawa spoke again, after the silence stretched far too long between them, “why now?”

“Two years and some odd months, not three yet.”

Kitagawa’s idle frown shifted into something sharper, more angry, so Goro kept talking, “I came to apologize.”

The shock on the man’s face stoked the bit of arrogant pride that still remained in the back of his mind. Goro gave another fake smile, “I’ll have you know I was not doing nothing over the time I’ve been gone.”

“Hm,” Kitagawa seemed thoughtful, “so you’ve come to ask for forgiveness, then?”

“No,” Goro snapped, his tone harsher than he truly meant it, “I came to apologize, I will not ask for your, or anyone’s, forgiveness. Whether or not you forgive me is of your own volition.”

“Why have you not sought Akira out?”

“I am making rounds,” he grunted in response, eyes flitting back to the painting of the Phantom Thieves on the wall beside them, “I’ll get to it.”

Kitagawa had his phone put already, “I’ll let him know of the good news—”

“No!” Goro roared, and jerked his arm, about to take Kitagawa’s phone from his hands and grind the damn machine beneath his heel, but he stopped. He drew in a heavy breath, and let it out, running through the alphabet.

Finally, after a moment, he was calm enough to voice his thoughts without going for the jugular, “please, do not.”

“... Well then.”

Goro did not meet his gaze, despite feeling it pin him to the spot.

“I would like an explanation,” Kitagawa frowned, “you do know out of all of us, Akira—”

“Yes. I know.”

“So…?”

Goro resisted the urge to pull his hair out, and instead settled for stepping into a familiar persona. The Detective Prince was not a role he enjoyed, exactly, but it was familiar and kept the raw and bleeding parts of him safe from prying eyes.

“I would like to be the one to surprise him,” Goro smiled, “if you don't mind. Besides, he is not the only of your troupe that deserves an apology, you know.”

“When?”

“Pardon?”

“When will you face him then? I would like to offer my support.”

Goro’s jaw clenched, “I am flattered, Kitagawa, but I do not need any—”

“Do not misunderstand me,” Kitagawa said, not unkind exactly, but certainly… something, “I am not talking about you.”

By all accounts, Goro should be hurt or even angry by such a blatant dismissal. Yet on the contrary, Goro only feels pride.

Good, he thinks, they still have him.

“When do you plan on it, then?”

“Soon,” Goro’s smile is a bit less fake, “I need time.”

Kitagawa frowned, and glanced down to his phone, then back to Goro. He half expects him to text Akira anyway, the man owes Goro nothing, less than nothing. And yet, the phone slid back into the pocket of his dress pants, “very well, I will not contact Akira… I will contact our mutual friends, however.”

Goro suppressed a flinch, fine. He could work with that.

“Very well, Kitagawa, I must go now, if you do not mind,” he bows curtly, “it has been a pleasure catching up.”

Kitagawa studies him for a moment, then the faintest of smiles forms on his lips, “likewise, Akechi-kun.”

The title Phantom Thieves, denotes a certain amount of stealth, of subtlety even.

And yet, here Goro was, putting a carton of eggs in his shopping basket, being stalked by a member of the former band of criminals. Out of all of them, excluding Kurusu, one would think the fucking cat would be the stealthiest among them. Yet each time he turned a corner, even after paying for his small basket of groceries and leaving the market, Goro could stop the black feline from the corner of his eye.

Perhaps Morgana was not trying to be subtle.

A possibility, perhaps even meant to be construed as a threat. Goro was unintimidated, and aside from the scratching sensation at the back of his throat he always got around cats, unbothered by Morgana’s presence. He did not make any attempt to lose the feline as he walked, paper bags in hand, down the crowded streets of Shinjuku.

“W-wait, is that…” a voice called out, unfamiliar and equally annoying. He continued to walk until his name was actually called, “G-Goro Akechi! The Detective Prince?”

Goro wanted to crawl out of his skin, he schooled what he knew was a sneer into a more pleasant expression and smiled as the girl and her friend bounded up to him. They were young, probably first years, if not a bit younger. Goro didnt have it in him to snap and snarl at two fucking children.

“Ah, hello there. I am surprised I was recognized,” he chirped.

“It is you! Wow, I am such a big fan, after you disappeared… Well, we all thought the worst!” The girl exclaimed, and started to dig for her phone, “um, c-can I have a picture with you?”

“Ah, I’m afraid not. I’m a bit busy, see, and…” Goro’s brain tried to come up with an excuse as to why he didn't want his face plastered over social media, “I’m undercover right now, so I must keep my presence on the down low, can I trust you to do that for me?”

The girl’s brown eyes widened like saucers and she, thankfully, stuffed her phone back in her bag, and whispered, “oh I am so sorry! I won't bother you anymore!”

She tried to whisper. She was terrible at it. He closed his eyes when he smiled, if for no other reason than to hide how badly he wanted to roll them, “thank you Miss, much appreciated.”

The girl blushed and nodded, both her and her friend looking elated as they darted back off into the crowd without further trouble. Goro glanced around, thankful that her tittering had not garnered any further attention.

He continued down the sidewalk, hoping that little delay wouldn’t cost him his train.

A panicked yowl Goro had come to recognize echoed in one of the alleys behind him, followed by the voice of a child, “kitty!”

“I am not a cat! Unhand me!”

Really, Goro should have left the bastard there to suffer, serve him right for stalking him all day. Yet, his feet acted before his brain as he turned into the alley to see a little boy, no older than six clutching a writhing Morgana to his chest. He sighed, a deep, bone aching sigh, and crouched down near the boy, “where are your parents?”

“My sister and her friend ran off after we left the arcade,” he jutted his chin out, “I’m waiting for her to come get me.”

He was nowhere even close to the arcade now. The child must have seen Morgana trailing him and got excited.

“Well, let me help you find them,” he offered, “as thanks for helping me find my cat.”

“Hey!”

The boy nodded and stood, Morgana still hanging awkwardly from his arms. Goro allowed it, if for no other reason than to watch him suffer a bit. Morgana was an ass, no doubt, but not even he would stoop so low as to harm the little boy. The (not) cat did send him a withering glare though.

Goro kept his stride slow, to make sure the child stayed within his peripheral vision, and didn't stray at the sight of another small animal. Sure enough as they approached the arcade, Goro was reminded just how much he is God’s least favorite bastard. The two girls from before were tittering at the entrance of the arcade, looking panicked.

“Are those two who you were looking for?” He asks the boy, who is already walking up to them with a wide grin.

The girl who had approached him initially almost dropped to her knees at the sight of him bumbling over, “Itsuki! There you are! I told you to stay here!”

“I found a kitty!” He beams, “and the kitty's owner helped me find you!”

The girl looked ready to combust when Goro offered a polite smile when their eyes met. She buried her face in her hands with a muffled scream. The girl's friend was far more composed and bowed to him, a short, hurried, action, “thank you so much! We were so worried!”

“It was my pleasure, besides, he helped me find my cat. I did not realize little Morgana here had followed me out of my apartment.”

Morgana looked only a mere breath away from leaping on him and clawing his eyes out. Allergies be damned, he knelt down and gently retrieved Morgana from the child’s arms, and adjusted his grip so at the very least Morgana wouldn't be uncomfortable.

Well, more than he already was, and smiled at the trio, “now then, I must take my leave. Have a good afternoon.”

The two girls fumbled out thanks and apologies in equal turn as Goro walked away. He definitely missed his train, how annoying. When they were far enough, Morgana wiggled out of Goro’s hold, landing on the pavement in front of him, fur raised and teeth bared in a hiss.

“You're welcome for not leaving you, by the way,” Goro frowned, and sidestepped the sputtering creature to continue walking toward the station. The next train wouldn’t show up for another hour, but he had no intention of any further detours.

“How long were you planning on letting us, letting him think you were dead?” Morgana snarled.

“Does it matter?” Goro snapped back, lifting his lip at the feline, “I’m back now, am I not?”

“Too little, too late,” he spat, “we mourned you, asshole!”

That was not what he expected, “mourned me? What a joke, after all I did?”

“Some more than others,” Mogana groused, “but you sacrificed yourself for us all, twice! How can you—”

“I know you’ve never had a proper education, cat, but surely you know how to count better than that.”

“What?”

“Shido’s palace, I do not recall sacrificing myself for your lot before then,” if anything they had sacrificed Kurusu to him. Goro shuddered at the rising bile in the back of his throat, remembering the horrid scene he had walked into, before placing a bullet between two exhausted steel eyes.

“You… You don’t…?” Mogana sputtered, and Goro continued his walk.

Even as he said those words, Goro got the niggling feeling that Morgana was right. Something about February 2nd, something happened on that day, Goro was sure of it but he couldn't… He couldn't remember.

It was part of why he came now, something about that date felt like a deadline. He couldn't let three years pass over that date, he didn't know why. Besides, he had still been in a coma back then, there was no way something could have happened on that day. Physically impossible.

Yet Robin and Loki both buzzed in the back of his mind, angry and confused. He pushed them away and shook off the feeling.

“I assume everyone else knows I’ve returned to Tokyo?” He asked instead of dwelling on the churning in his gut, “I do hope Kitagawa kept his promise.”

“Akira doesn't know yet, no,” Morgana groused, falling in line beside him as Goro kept his pace toward the station, “probably for the best now, at any rate.”

Goro bit back a scathing retort, and instead settled on an idle inquiry, “and why’s that? Are you mad at me for not speaking to him, or relieved? Do pick one.”

Mogana hissed, though it took a bit longer for him to actually speak his mind, “both. Akira is… he’s being stupid right now. I doubt seeing you all of a sudden would help any.”

Being stupid? The fuck was that supposed to mean? He frowned at the feline, “what?”

Morgana made a non-committal sound, then asked his own question, “why are you back, really?”

“To apologize,” Goro grunted, debating if he should chase the topic of Akira’s apparent lapse in intelligence or not, “to everyone. Not just Akira.”

“That's what Yusuke said.”

“Well, I’m not sure what else to tell you,” Goro stopped near the vending machines at the tracks he would be boarding in… forty minutes, “I am sorry, for everything. For hurting you, and for letting you all believe I was dead for almost three years. Do understand though, I was not keeping myself from you all out of a desire to see you suffer.”

“And what were you doing, oh so mighty Detective Prince?” Morgana sneered.

“I was, still am, in therapy. Was in a coma for six months, was in physical therapy for three, spent another four looking for a therapist I didn't want to kill on sight, then, worked on myself,” Goro pulled out his phone, his fingers itching for something to do, something to shield him from the vulnerability cloying at his neck.

“... You're serious.”

“Yes, I did horrible things, I am not proud of what I’ve done. However, I knew I could not return until I was… better. I’m not perfect, I still struggle with my anger and other things, but I’m more or less stable. So, I’ve come to apologize, and like I told Kitagawa, I am not asking nor expecting forgiveness. Whether I am granted it or not is your choice, and yours alone.”

“... Ok, that was weird,” Morgana muttered after a couple minutes of eerie silence, “go back to insulting me.”

Goro stared at the cat in disbelief, “excuse me?”

“The whole emotionally mature Akechi is creeping me out,” Mogana stood from where he had sat beside Goro’s ankle, tail twitching in wide erratic jerks, “I gotta report back to the others.”

“Ah, subterfuge.”

“Precisely. We may not operate as such anymore, but we’re still the Phantom Thieves, whether you like it or not!”

Goro watched the cat for a moment, then turned his attention back to his phone with an only just repressed smile, “good. Beneath it all, I rather liked the Phantom Thieves, you know.”

With the others buzzing around the city, Goro was sure it would only be a matter of time before one of them slipped up and accidentally revealed his presence in Tokyo to Kurusu. He had no desire for one of those morons to beat him to the punch, so to speak.

Hence why three days later, he had spent the best part of an hour pacing the alleyway in front of LeBlanc for nearly an hour, trying to muster up the right words to say.

“Uh hi, not dead? Sorry ‘bout that?”

Ugh, Goro leant against a rickety wooden fence and drew a hand down his face, the leather was cold despite having been worn all day. How could he even begin to tell Kurusu the feelings buried so deep within his chest, they may as well be wrapped around his spine. It was because of Kurusu that Goro even tried therapy, that he even considered becoming a better person.

It had started because Goro wanted to take this miracle he had been given, and become the man Kurusu thought he had been all along.

He changed. Even his personas had changed, subtly, but they no longer longed for blood, for revenge as they had. Even Loki, a persona torn from him by heignous torture, had calmed. Somewhere along the lines Goro stopped going to therapy for Kurusu, and started going for himself. Yet without memories he cradled to his heart of the two of them, being nothing more than the stupid teenagers they were; Goro never would have gotten that far.

Goro knew Kurusu had no obligation to trust him.

“You know he may not forgive you,” Poshva said one session, “what will you do then?”

“He… Is not the type to hold a grudge.”

“Hm, perhaps. Yet you hurt him, deeply, from the sounds of it. Maybe he will forgive you, but you need to understand that he is his own person. Kurusu has been a kind man, but even saints can break. You need to have a plan on how to handle your grief if he doesn't accept your apology.”

“I…” Goro trailed off, staring down at his scarred hands, “I’ll continue forward. Feather Red doesn't have anyone else to care for him, after all.”

Poshva smiled, “good. You deserve to live a full life, Akechi, no matter what anyone else may say.”

“... Thank you.”

Goro drew in a breath and let it out, adjusting his scarf, and smoothing out the lapels of his winter jacket. No matter what happened, he would face it head on. He could do this.

He opened the door to LeBlanc, the bell chimed as cherrily as it did any other time.

Greeted with a familiar warmth, Goro found himself relaxing a bit despite himself. The humble cafe was warm, and the smooth sound of music was a welcome to his ringing ears.

“Wonderin’ when you’d finally walk in,” Boss muttered, barely looking up from his crossword.

Goro must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt, given Boss’ chuckle, “you were pacing in front of the store for an hour kid, I’m not blind you know.”

“Oh,” Goro said, intelligently.

“Take a seat, I’ll get your usual ready.”

“I… Thank you, sir.”

Boss waved him off with a huff that might have been almost fond, if he wasn't sure the man knew all too well the crimes he had committed. Against both of his charges.

He had not expected to see Takamaki when he turned around to gaze over the familiar room, nor did he expect her to be smiling and patting the table she perched at, as though expecting him to join her. Goro sighed, but relented and slid into the booth opposite of her.

“Takamaki.”

“Akechi.”

“Here to give me another shovel talk?” He wanted to sneer, but out of the thieves, he actually rather liked Takamaki. Had they met under a different light, he thinks they could have been close friends.

That's probably why they had sent her.

“Nope,” she chirped, popping the ‘p’ sound, “that’ll be Ryuji and Haru’s job. I’m here to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Please, like Sakura doesn't have all of Tokyo bugged to hell,” he grunted, “I’m sure you’ve already heard from both Kitagawa and Morgana why I have returned.”

“Oh we have, I imagine the whole team is next door now, listening to everything as we speak,” she hummed, Boss set two plates of curry on the table, followed shortly by two cups of coffee, “thanks Boss!”

“Hm,” he eyed Goro, then returned to his post behind the counter.

“Thank you, Sir,” Goro frowned, and wrapped his hands around the warm cup. He took a sip, perfectly brewed, as always, then addressed Takamaki properly, “I am sorry.”

She set her spoon down on her plate, having been about to take her first bite of curry. Takamaki did not seem surprised, though remained silent and interlaced her fingers together, patient, but not forgiving. Goro recognised the lifeline he’d been offered so graciously, and he grabbed it with all that he was.

“I’m sorry for what I have done, how I have hurt you, all of you. I made orphans out of two of you, and I let my anger and hatred blind me from what I’ve become. I wanted nothing more than my father’s death, the bastard that took my mother from me, however indirect as it may have been. And yet, I’ve killed mothers, and fathers, in my selfish quest to get my own revenge. Not caring who I trampled over to get my way,” Goro snarled, “I became the monster they groomed me into. Worse still, I knew exactly what they were doing and I allowed it, I fucking embraced it!”

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn't have gotten this far if I had rolled over and let those bastards take and take without any repercussions.”

Takamaki was utterly silent, her expression was unreadable, or maybe her emotions were all over her face and Goro was just too broken to read them. He tore his eyes away and instead focused on the coffee had in his hands, cooling off but still warm enough to seep through his thick gloves.

There was a ping, and Takamaki pulled out her phone, glanced at it, then set it down on the table. The tension coiled in her shoulders had lessened, not at ease (Goro doubted anyone would be at ease with him again) but she wasn't as on guard as he had been.

“Ok,” Takamaki hummed, then began to dive into her plate of curry as a starving wolf did a dying elk. He watched with what could really be only described as morbid fascination.

“So you’ll stop playing the overzealous warden and let me actually talk to Kurusu now?”

Takamaki snorted, and upon finishing her meal, pulled the napkin from her lap and daintily wiped her mouth, “interesting choice of phrasing.”

Ah, shit.

“Though yes, I guess. I mean, we weren't going to stop you if you found him before we got ahold of you.”

“He isn't here, is he?”

Takamaki shook her head, she seemed a bit pensive, “he doesn't live in LeBlanc anymore, got his own apartment now.”

Goro flexed his fingers, “is he back in his hometown?”

“No, he did go back initially, after… Well, stuff happened that uh, well you don't know about, but whatever. He went back and only a month later returned.”

“Why?” Goro had a feeling, but he needed to know for sure.

“They didn't want him, I guess,” Takamaki grabbed her own coffee and took a tentative sip, “he didn't actually tell us what happened. Didn't even tell Boss the whole story, but I have a feeling they kicked him out.”

“They didn't kick him out,” the man behind the counter spoke, reminding Goro he had been there the whole time. Shame crawled up the back of Goro’s neck, though Boss seemed entirely oblivious to it as he continued, “made his life hell I bet, and gave the kid no choice but to leave.”

“Isn't that the same!?” Takamaki demanded.

“Yes,” Boss sighed, “might as well be.”

“What of Morgana, surely he saw what happened?”

Takamaki twirled a long lock of blonde hair around her finger, “he stayed here. Futaba was just starting school, and Akira thought… He said that Morgana should stay to support her, as he had him during that first year in Shujin.”

Fuck. Fucking… fuck.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes for a moment, relishing in the sting, then pulled back, “alright. Ok. Where can I find him now?”

“Uh, probably Rafflesia? Honestly I can barely keep up with his schedule these days, he is so busy.”

“Very well,” Goro finished his drink and set it down next to his untouched curry, “thank you for the information.”

“Leaving already?”

“Yes,” he placed enough yen on the counter as he passed by it to pay for his drink and untouched meal, “thank you.”

“Your hair looks nice,” Takamaki said, her voice small and almost sad, “short hair suits you”

Kurusu was at Rafflesia.

Goro couldn't face him, so he stayed and poked around the other shops, keeping an ear out for when Kurusu finished work. Also gave him time to process everything. Namely, Kurusu himself. The man had always been on the thinner side, far from starved, but he was lithe and graceful, almost like a model.

Similar to Sakamoto, Kurusu’s muscles were focused around his legs, lending him excellent acrobatic capabilities within the metaverse. Probably outside of it as well, had he applied himself. Built to run, much like the thief he had been.

Yet now… Something was wrong. Goro couldn't pinpoint what, yet the moment he looked at the near emancipated form of who had once been Joker, Goro was sure Morgana’s idle quip about Kurusu ‘being stupid’ was not a mere one-off. Though Goro was irritated the cat had brushed off what very well may be a cry for help as Kurusu being a fool.

He looked as thin as Kitagawa did, when the Phantom Thieves first adopted him into their ranks. When was the last decent meal Kurusu had? He knew the man had to be working at least two jobs to afford an apartment in Tokyo, even an absolute shithole would be more than a single part-time job could allow.

Despite his drastic loss in weight, he seemed… Almost the exact same. Same height, same stupid glasses, even the same mannerisms of a man who wanted so desperately to disappear in a crowd. It was as though Goro and everyone around him had grown and matured, yet Kurusu himself had remained the exact same.

Stagnant.

It was Robin that had put the possibility in the back of his mind, though no, such a thing was impossible. Kurusu had a persona, had multiple, he couldn't have a palace right? Such a thing would be impossible. He shook off the thought, and chalked it up to going through too much too fast with no support.

Well, if Kurusu allowed it, Goro would try his damndest to be the support it seemed he was so short on.

Yet his friends still watched over him, they had to have noticed his change in behavior, right? Or was it truly such a gradual thing, that they didn't realize what was happening until it was too late?

“Get some sleep Kurusu-san!” A woman Goro presumed to be Kurusu’s co-worker chimed, followed by soft words like likely were Kurusu’s own, though Goro was too far away to hear exactly what was said.

He watched from the corner of the clothing store he was in, and waited until Kurusu slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking to follow after him. Goro was unsure when exactly to make his presence known. He had not approached the man whilst he was at work, if Kurusu reacted unflatteringly, the last thing Goro wanted was for him to lose his job.

Kurusu’s path home was winding, perhaps a bit unnecessarily so. He ducked between people he really ought to have walked around, he traversed dark alleys that bred only drugs and knives. It was as if he was trying to get someone off his tail. Did he fear someone following— oh.

“Kurusu.”

The man stumbled forward, nearly face planting against a dumpster in the alley they found themselves in. Kurusu’s shoulders shook, were it not for the jittery movements of his bag, Goro wondered if he would have even been able to tell, the action so subtle.

“I… Well. I had hoped to find a better time for this, uh, more private.”

Kurusu did not respond, didn't even look at him. Shit. He did not think it would have been hugs and declarations of love, sure, but he expected more than this. Were it not for how tense Kurusu was, Goro would have doubted he even heard him at all.

“I didn't mean to alarm you,” he tried, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Kurusu’s tone was an odd one, not something he believed to have ever heard from him. Somewhere between trepid and devastated. Bordering rage and anguish.

“I… It's a long story. Is there somewhere we can go, a bit more private? I know—”

“My apartment isn't far.”

Goro would have suggested LeBlanc, but he was going to let Kurusu control this, “alright.”

Kurusu continued forward, no longer at such an erratic pace, and Goro fell in line behind him. Neither of them said a word. The train was crowded, and he could feel Kurusu’s warmth pressed against his ribs where the man was forced to be beside him. Yet even then, the gray eyes he had become so familiar with never once met his.

Kurusu was furious, and Goro was woefully lost on how to make it up to him. If he could at all.

They left the train about twenty minutes later, and found themselves in one of the bordering neighborhoods of Tokyo. It was dark, the only light coming from the couple street lamps still functioning, and the neon signs of the local grocer and some sort of pub.

There was some distant arguing across the street where Kurusu led him up a flight of what Goro hesitated to call stairs. Rusted and one of the steps was missing entirely, the whole structure seemed to be held together with nothing but a damn prayer.

Kurusu unlocked the door, and gestured for Goro to walk in, “excuse the mess.”

Goro grunted, and kicked off his shoes, blinking to adjust to the sudden flood of light. It was dirty, dirtier than Goro expected from Kurusu, though he’d certainly seen worse. Mostly just some empty bottles of tea and water strewn about, and the odd cup of dollar store ramen.

He could have sworn Kurusu hated that stuff.

“You can hang your coat and scarf up there. If you want,” Kursu gestured to the hooks drilled beside the door, and padded past him, “I’ll… make some coffee.”

Goro did as suggested and joined Kursu in the main section of the studio apartment, taking the time to familiarize himself with the space. Other than the mess, the place was utterly bare. Even in LeBlanc, in that dumb little attic, Kurusu still had things laying around. Little knick-knacks that gave a gateway to Kurusu’s brilliant and elusive mind.

Yet, there was nothing; a cheap tv, an even cheaper couch, his old game system that looked like it hadn't been used since he moved in. He had some small shelves, but they laid barren and dusty. Goro approached one and ran his finger over the cheap wood, narrowing his eyes at the gray that stained his black gloves.

Kurusu’s futon was shoved in the far corner, opposite of the kitchen Kurusu was toiling away in. It looked even more uncomfortable than the milk cartons he had suffered on in LeBlanc.

He helped himself to Kurusu’s old couch, and remained where he was when the man finished their coffee and handed him his, “I… uh, it's not the best. I would have gotten better beans if I… I mean, if I knew you were coming, or uh…”

“It's fine, Kurusu,” he hoped he sounded assuring, “thank you.”

Kurusu frowned, but nodded, and sat on the other side of the couch. He took up no space at all, as though his very essence had shrunk into a mere wafer of it’s intended size. Goro’s chest felt tight.

“So—”

They both began, but Kurusu’s shoulders rose a bit, and gestured for Goro to continue instead. He hesitated, briefly, then tried again, “so. I’m sure you have questions.”

Kurusu made a non-committal sound.

“Right. Well, I am here to apologize first and foremost. What I’ve done, to you and your friends… There is no excuse I can give, I hurt you, deeply, and I am truly sorry for the pain I caused.”

“Ok,” Kurusu grunted, and took a sip of his coffee, making a face, then smoothing back out to the neutral one he donned the entire evening, “so?”

“Uh? So?” Goro fumbled, “I came to apologize. I don't expect your forgiveness, but I… you deserve an apology. For everything.”

Kurusu stared ahead at the wall, and for the first time, Goro got a proper look at him. His gaunt cheekbones were far too prominent for his face, the dark bags under his eyes were only just hidden by the glasses he still insisted on wearing. He looked no better than a shell of what Kurusu had once been, as though his very life had been siphoned out, leaving nothing but his skin and bones behind.

“Alright,” Kursu nodded after a while, “what do you need, then?”

“Uh, what?”

Kurusu’s gray eyes turned to him again, dull and hollow, “you came back for a reason, right? What is it?”

“Yes, I came back to apologize!” He snapped, “that's it. There isnt some deeper meaning, and sure, it’d be nice to be a part of your life again, but I’m not going to fucking force you to forgive me.”

“Why did you come back then?”

“I… excuse me?”

“If you just wanted to apologize, and let me know you weren't dead, you could have just sent a text or email. I don't know,” Kurusu closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the mug he held, “I’m not upset, Akechi. Just, tell me what you want from me, I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy for the usual cat and mouse.”

“Is that what you think this is? Me just coming back t-to use you?”

Kurusu shrugs.

Goro wished he had a table or something to put the coffee on, so he could grab Kurusu and shake whatever nonsense in going on in that stupid head of his out. But there is only the ground, and Kurusu gave him his coffee in a Featherman mug, and Goro will not disrespect that.

“After everything,” Kurusu began, “after what happened with Maruki, when you didnt come back I… I mean, we both knew you were… well. That isn't even true, is it?”

“Maruki? What are you talking about?”

That seemed to light something in Kurusu’s eyes. Unfortunately, that something was anger.

“So you're going to pretend that never happened?” Kurusu snarled, “how fucking dare you. I watched you die asshole! Again! You think that just means nothing, huh?”

Goro put the mug down, prosperity be damned. He would have reached out to him, but Goro had a feeling that would only make the violent tremors assaulting Kurusu’s body worse.

Still, he raised his hands a bit in what he hoped to be a soothing motion, “Kurusu I am not trying to, uh, decieve you? I don't remember anything after I was shot in Shido’s palace. I was in a coma for months.”

Kurusu froze, “you… were?”

“Yes. I can get the hospital documents if you want to see them. I’m not lying. Morgana mentioned something had happened, so did Yusuke, but I have no recollection of anything. I promise.”

Kursu stared at him, analyzing him. Good. Suspicion was better than emptyness, “you were in a coma.”

“Yes. Not the entirety of my absence, most of that was spent in therapy.”

Kurusu flinched, and turned away from him again, “I see.”

“Actual therapy,” he tried, “I recite the alphabet backwards when I get mad now.”

Goro was familiar… ish, with Maruki, he knew the man was a counselor. Sumire had mentioned him here and there, but it didn't take a genius to realize something must have happened in his time away. Goro didn't like him, a deep harrowing hatred simmered in his stomach. Something Goro found odd, as he did not believe he ever met him.

Yet Goro was sure he would recognize the slimeball if he were ever to see him.

He tucked that away in the back of his mind to unpack later. Another mystery to add to the odd empty sensation whenever he thought about his time in a coma, as though something important happened. Which, it seems, did occur, and apparently he had a part in it.

Though Goro imagined the ‘him’ that was present during whatever happened was a mere cognition. Nothing more. Anything else was simply impossible.

Kurusu chuckled, it was a weak fragile thing. Goro wished he could cradle the sound like a bird, fallen from its nest, and nurse it back to health so it may once more soar as nature intended.

“You apologized,” Kurusu said after the sound petered out, “is that all you wanted, then?”

“More or less,” Goro murmured, “I won't ask for your forgiveness. I… You alone can decide if you wish to give it to me.”

“And if I didn't?”

“Then I would walk out that door and you’d never see or hear from me again,” Goro’s chest burned at the mere notion. He would leave though, he’d never contact Kurusu again if that was what he wished. Goro owed the man that much at least.

“... and if I accepted your apology?”

Goro’s head shot up and stared at Kurusu, whilst his face was firmly pointed straight ahead to the ancient television, Goro could tell Kurusu was looking at him. He swallowed, “then if you wanted, I would be amenable to being friends again. For real, this time. No… no secrets.”

Kurusu’s eyes shifted away from him, and down to what remained of what Goro had to admit was the worst batch of coffee he’s ever had from him. His fingers flexed around the black mug, boney fingers tapping out some nondescript tune. Goro remained silent as Kurusu considered his options.

“I need some time,” Kurusu finally said, “let me think. This is a lot at once.”

“I understand,” Goro breathed. It wasn't a no, “my old phone was taken for evidence a long time ago, I have a new number now. I can give it to you, if you want.”

Kurusu shifted his position on the couch and dug his phone out of his black jeans, then passed it over to Goro without further fuss. The home screen was a picture of him, Morgana, and Fubata. They all wore matching bright red hats with the words ‘Get Smoked’ written in garish yellow font; Morgana’s hat covered his entire head, only the bottom of his white muzzle peeking out from beneath. Kursu looked happy in that photo, there weren't any bags under his eyes, yet… his cheekbones were beginning to show.

Goro was swift to exchange contact information, and handed the old thing back to him.

“I should get going,” Goro offered after a couple more minutes of silence. He stood, and took the Featherman mug from the ground and brought it to the kitchenette. The dishes were piled high in the sink, but he worked around them to clean the mug off and set it to the side. If his dithering was annoying Kurusu, he didn't say.

He then leaves for the front door and toes on his shoes, sliding his jacket back on as he did. Even then, Kurusu is silent, though Goro felt his eyes on him.

Once his scarf is tucked in properly, he actually addresses Kurusu, “thank you, for having me, and giving me the opportunity to speak to you again. Even if you do not accept my apology, the fact you were willing to at least hear me out… means a lot.”

“You're welcome,” came the slightly confused reply.

Goro nodded, then left and closed the door behind him.

The stairs screamed as he descended them, and Goro wondered how much longer they had left before they collapsed completely. He shoved his hand into his pocket and took out his phone, only half paying attention to his surroundings as he walked.

He… he wonders.

Surely such a thing would be impossible, right?

And yet, Robin wonders, and yet…

Boss clearly had not expected him to return the following morning. Slightly disheveled, and undoubtedly with a wild look in his eyes. He couldn't be bothered to maintain appearances, not now. Not for this.

“I’ll… make a cup of my strongest,” he offers, hesitant.

“Yes, that would do nicely, thank you.”

He took the time to sweep over the cafe, empty of any customers. Goro had hoped he would miss the morning rush, and it seemed he had. Excellent.

“Sakura,” he called out to the cafe, he knew damn well she didn't have school on Sundays, and she undoubtedly still had the entire place bugged to hell, “call for the other Phantom Thieves at once, it's an emergency.”

“Phantom Thieves?” Boss frowned and set the cup on the counter, “thought you kids were done with that.”

“They were,” Goro frowned, “but this is important.”

Boss walked around the island and flipped the open sign over to closed, and locked the door, a heavy-set scowl on his face. Goro wondered if he realized what’s truly going on, or if he merely was taking precautions for privacy’s sake.

It only takes two hours for everyone who could show up to flood into the cafe. Goro remained at the counter whilst they piled into the booth closest, varying looks of concern, anger, and suspicion directed at him, but Goro ignored them best he could.

Morgana, Takamaki, Sakura, Sakamoto and Kitagawa were there physically, whilst Sakura had Niijima, Okumura and Sumire streamed in on her laptop. Physically unable to be there, but still present in their concern.

Sakura frowned at him, and adjusted some settings on her computer, then spoke, “so, we’re all here, so what do you want?”

Goro wondered if he should go through his apologies and get that whole song and dance over with. No, that could wait. He had a single priority now, and it was to save the man who had given him a reason to live, a reason to try.

Goro pulled the chair he was perched upon closer to the booth, set his phone on the table, and spoke.

“Akira Kurusu.”

“Candidate found.”

Chapter Text

The chaos that erupted in the cafe was as loud as it was painful. Goro flinched back from the noise and swiped his phone away from the thieves as they processed the knowledge dropped upon their naive laps.

“That's impossible!” Morgana yowled and jumped onto the table, “he has a Persona, multiple! He can't have one.”

“Well, that's clearly not effin true,” Sakamoto snapped, “so what gives?”

“Maybe it’s because he can have multiple personas?” Takamaki suggested, and nibbled on the bright red of her nail, “like, I don't know. He’s different from regular Persona users, right?”

“That shouldn't matter! Having a Persona means embracing your true self! You can't have a Palace with a Persona, because the act of embracing your true self would negate the possibility of distorted desires,” Morgana sat down in the center of the table, “if anything, having multiple Personas should make it that much more impossible for him to have one.”

“Akira Kurusu,” Kitagawa spoke into his phone, brows furrowed.

“Candidate Found.”

“It seems, impossibilities aside, our dear Joker has a palace,” Kitagawa set his phone on the table to replace Goro’s, “what are we going to do?”

“We steal his heart! Obviously!” Sakamoto barked, “we can't just let him have a palace!”

“Is having a Palace even affecting him?” Nijima asked, “we aren't in high school anymore—”

“Speak for yourself.”

“We, excluding Futaba, aren't in high school anymore,” she amended, “you all remember how long palaces took to get through, yes? Our schedules almost never overlap.”

“So what,” Sakura hissed, “we’re just going to let him suffer?”

“I didn't say that—”

Sakura slammed her fists on the table, the laptop rattled at the action, “but that's what you mean! ‘Kira is in pain, he has to be! You don't get it!”

Right, Goro crossed his arms, Sakura had a palace once herself. He recalled the others speaking of it in the past, how her trauma at what he did had warped itself so viciously, her subconscious took to creating a whole desert for her tomb.

God Goro prayed this was not another Palace of his making.

“He is not well,” Goro finally decided to speak up, over the suffocating silence, “he’s lost too much weight, and he does not appear to be sleeping.”

“How would you know?” Okumura demanded, “I will not allow you to toy with him again.”

“I’ve no intention of toying with him,” Goro spat, “but I am not blind to what he’s become.”

She scoffed.

Sumire spoke up, her audio was staticy, as she appeared to be outside somewhere, “it couldn't hurt to just take a peak then, right? I’m sure we’d be able to tell from the state of his Palace if he truly is suffering.”

“He is,” Sakura sighed, “you all don't understand what it’s like. You can't- Akira isn't evil! So, if not some twisted desire to, I don't know, take over the world or something, what else could form a Palace?”

“Hm,” Morgana hummed, “Futaba is correct. Regardless of how Akira managed to form a Palace, the fact remains that he does have one. This… well, as much as I’d rather eat my own tail than say these words; Goro is right. Akira is unwell, and he needs our help.”

“I am forever indebted to Akira, he is a dear friend,” Kitagawa nodded, “I will steal his heart with grace.”

“That's the spirit,” Sakamoto grinned, “Kira is my best friend, you fucking bet I’ll take that stupid heart of his!”

“Count me in too,” Takamaki chirped, “I owe him this at least.”

“It’s only fair I return the favor,” Sakura muttered, “a heart for a heart.”

“I’m um, not much of a thief, but I’d like to help Senpai too. He’s been there for me so much I… I want to be there for him too,” Sumire added.

“It will be difficult to sneak away from business,” Okumura said, “but you all are right. Akira has given us all so much, I never want to see someone I love suffer so.”

“... Yes, you're right, Haru. All of you are,” Niijima sighed, but she did not seem terribly upset, “of course I will assist in stealing Akira’s heart.”

“Well,” Sakamoto prompted, as the group fell silent, “what d’ya say, Crow?”

Goro stared at them, sure his expression mirrored the shock that rattled him to the core, “what?”

“You know the rules,” Sakura grinned, a wide, feral thing, “we can't take on a target unless the whole team agrees.”

“I’m not part of your little team,” he sneered before he could stop himself, “or did you forget how I betrayed you all?”

“Oh no,” Niijima hummed, “we are well aware. But we also remember your sacrifices that led to our victory in the end, and the apology you gave. We may not forgive you, but you are one of us Crow. Whether you like it or not.”

“I… You’re stupid.”

“Hm, I seem to recall Mako-chan getting higher grades than you before you went off for your beauty sleep,” Okumura smiled, equal parts demure and teeth, “but whatever lets you sleep better at night.”

Goro snorted and pulled his arms closer to himself, unsure what to make of the odd sensation forming in his chest.

“Well,” Okumura prompted again, “are you in or not, Crow?”

“Of course I am,” Goro bit, “let's steal that idiot’s heart.”

“Hm, much better! Insult him again though, and I’m afraid not even the best will find your body.”

“Is that a threat, Nior?”

“Oh goodness me! Of course not,” Okumura’s laughter chimed like a bell, “it's a promise.”

The team had decided to reconvene Sunday, they needed to figure out what Kurusu’s key words were. None of them even had the slightest idea on what they could be, so after an hour of tossing out everything they could think of, they called it off and decided to think on it.

Goro had just finished folding his clothes when his phone chimed with a notification. He nearly dropped it when he saw the contact name.

Kurusu

5:02pm

[Kurusu] the new feathermen movie is coming out tomorrow

[Goro] Yes, it is.

[Goro] What of it?

Goro hoped he didn't come off as too abrasive. He started typing again to clarify he meant no hostility, but another text from Kurusu stopped him.

[Kurusu] did you want to see it?

[Goro] Of course. I have every intention of watching it’s premiere.

[Kurusu] lol

[Kurusu] nerd

Goro scoffed, he had taken both today and tomorrow off from work for the sole purpose of cramming in the last four movies before going to see the next one at its first showcase. He purchased the ticket last week. He did not have it in him to cosplay, but he DID buy a new Feather Red hoodie to commemorate the occasion.

[Goro] As if you are any better.

[Kurusu] wow ok

[Kurusu] but like

[Kurusu] guilty as charged

Goro ran his thumb along the edge of his phone case, it was black and unassuming. He had considered getting the case he saw a couple months ago that had the whole Feathermen team on it, but opted not to. He may not have to worry as he once did about upholding a certain image, but some habits die hard.

[Goro] Are you planning to see it?

[Kurusu] yeah, i’d like to

[Kurusu] i’m working the night shift tonight

[Kurusu] and i won't be off my other job until 7pm tomorrow though

[Kurusu] so i'm planning on seeing it then

Goro watched the dots indicating Kurusu was typing appear and disappear.

[Kurusu] have fun at the premiere

[Kurusu] if you send spoilers i’ll throw Mona at you

Really, Kurusu? Goro was swift with his response, it only taking a mere moment to decide his next plan of action.

[Goro] I have not purchased a ticket, the premiere seats sold out immediately.

[Goro] I had planned to see if other tickets were available for later showings anyway, what time do you think you’d be able to make it to the theater?

[Kurusu] wait really?

[Kurusu] i thought you would have been all over that

[Goro] I was, but I was not fast enough, irritatingly.

[Kurusu] that sucks

[Kurusu] uh, probably 8 at the latest

[Goro] Excellent, I shall purchase the tickets now then.

Luckily his brain was not so far gone he was able to stop himself before sending a truly horrid message. Goro stared down at the unsent message. Would it come off as too flirtatious? Goro certainly was attracted to Kurusu, but between knowledge of his Palace, and them only just starting to tip-toe back to what Goro hoped could be friendship… well. Certainly too soon for flirting.

Unsent: [Goro] I look forward to seeing you, I’ve missed you.

Goro deleted the message.

[Kurusu] you don't need to do that!!

[Kurusu] i can buy my own

As if Goro would have let him, he scoffed, already confirming his new purchase through the theater’s website. Besides, he did not imagine they would have any remaining seating available when the showtime actually came.

[Goro] Too late. Besides, Kurusu, do you really think they’ll have tickets available for purchase at the stand?

[Goro] You know how anticipated this movie is, especially if those disastrous rumors turn out to be true.

[Kurusu] oi thems fighting words

[Kurusu] you know Gray Pigeon is my favorite!!

[Goro] Hm. I see you still have shit taste.

[Kurusu] And I see you have still not grasped the beautiful intricacies of enemies to lovers, slowburn.

[Goro] I cannot believe you actually punctuated that disaster of a sentence.

He would have sent more if he did not receive another text, this time from a number he was not familiar with.

Unknown

5:34 pm

[Unknown Number] hand over the premiere ticket and i won't stalk your date with akira

[Goro] How did you even get this number?

He scowled and created the new contact, Sakura really ought to be more careful hacking into people’s phones.

[Sakura] what are u

[Sakura] a cop?

[Goro] I am still a private investigator.

[Goro] So.

[Sakura] …

[Sakura] I acquired your number through Entirely Legal means, Mr. Officer.

[Goro] Sure.

[Sakura] gimme the ticket and I’ll keep mona from stalking you guys too

[Goro] Deal.

 

Goro wondered if he should have walked Kurusu from his work to the theater. Though upon realizing he did not know if he was working at the flower shop this evening, he accepted it’d be a waste of time if he had been wrong. That, and he wasn't sure if it was appropriate yet.

It wasn't a date, regardless of what Sakura teased.

So he waited outside the theater. He had shown up nearly an hour ago, just in case Kurusu got out early. Yet no sign of him had shown itself, Goro glanced down at his wristwatch, it was fastly approaching 8, and their tickets were for the 8:15 showing. He knew he should have gotten the 8:45 ones.

To his relief though, he spotted dark curls bobbing through the crowd with murmured apologies. Goro staighted, and adjusted his hoodie, he figured Kurusu would have choice words regarding it.

“Akechi!” He greeted with an actual smile, Goro’s chest hurt, “sorry I’m a bit late. Traffic was really bad.”

“Hm, the show doesn't start for another twenty minutes, you're fine,” he assured with a dismissive wave of his hand, “come on though. Lets get seats before the good ones are taken.”

“Oh, is that part of the new line they just dropped?” Kurusu inquired, as they slid through the doors of the movie theater.

“Of course it is,” Goro preened. Kurusu was wearing a Feather Red shirt beneath a worn leather jacket which, well, leather looked good on the man, “I am surprised you are not wearing one of your stupid Grey Pigeon shirts.”

“Ah, well the one I have is pretty old, I mostly use it as a night shirt now,” Kurusu laughed, soft and still far too fragile, but it seemed genuine. His fingers toyed with the black that curled between his eyes, it seemed Kurusu had not gotten over fiddling with his hair when he was nervous.

Kurusu’s birthday was not too far away, Goro wondered if he would appreciate getting the Grey Pigeon hoodie as a present.

“Y’know, the oddest thing happened earlier,” Kurusu mused, as they stood in line to show their tickets to the teller, “Futaba was bragging about seeing the midnight premiere.”

Fuck.

“Oh? Are you surprised she is still a fan?” He flashed a Detective Prince smile at the woman taking tickets, she checked theirs, and gestured to her left where they would be on the fourth door down on the right.

“No,” Kurusu hummed, a dangerous sound if Goro ever heard one, “but I am surprised she got a ticket, given how she hasn't stopped complaining about missing out on the premiere since the tickets first dropped.”

“How quaint.”

“Hm.”

“Well then I believe snacks are in order—”

“Thank you, Akechi.”

Goro nearly tripped over his shoes, “I am afraid I haven't the slightest idea as to why you are thanking me.”

“Sure,” Kurusu smiled again and Goro wanted to steal the stars for him.

He would do Kurusu one better, though, and steal his heart instead.

“What do you want? Candy, popcorn?” Goro inquired, attempting to steer the topic away from the raw vulnerability that had set in between them, “I’ll pay.”

“Absolutely not,” Kurusu scoffed and pulled out his own wallet, “what do you want?”

“Kurusu do not be stubborn, I am perfectly content paying for you.”

“Akechi,” Kurusu’s tone dropped and Goro froze, “stop. If you won't let me pay you back for the tickets, at least let me do this.”

“It is no problem for me to pay.”

“I am aware you probably have more money than I can even fathom, but that's not what this is about,” the lenses of his glasses caught the glare of the artificial lights, effectively blocking the storm-gray eyes from sight. He got in line behind the two other people ordering their food, “it's an equal thing, ok? If you want us to be friends again, and I… I want that too, it can't be one-sided. Please.”

Goro averted his gaze when Kurusu’s eyes met his own, “I understand. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know,” Kurusu seemed more at ease, “now then, what the hell do you want?”

“I told you!” Kurusu cackled, his laughter no better than that of a hyena.

“That was atrocious,” Goro hissed, “that goes against EVERYTHING established in Neo Feathermen X-2!”

“You're just mad Grey Pigeon is back.”

“Damn right I am, he should have stayed dead,” Goro groaned, “ugh, do you have any idea how many plot holes this creates? They should have been able to see his readings, for one, after he ‘died’, and that's not even including the summon they attempted!”

Kurusu snickered, and really, Goro would have basked in it if he wasn't so pissed.

“Yeah yeah, I’m sure the new season will explain the plot holes,” Kurusu grinned, “that ending was cute though.”

“How was that cute? They left Red alone with the man that tried to kill him! They may as well be just tossing a slab of meat to a starving wolf!”

“If you dont think standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean at sunset isn't romantic, then I regret to inform you, my good sir, that you have no taste.”

“They were just standing there!”

“They bumped shoulders, Akechi. That's basically kissing!”

Goro made a vague throttling motion, “Grey Pigeon could have so easily just pushed Red Hawk’s stupid ass off the cliff.”

“Ah, but he didn't.”

“He should've,” Goro knew crossing his arms made him look like a petulant child, but he couldn't actually bring himself to care, “just to make a point.”

“Yeah but then you’d be pissed your favorite character was killed.”

Goro waved the (accurate) accusation off, “it would have made for an interesting set up for the coming season.”

“Hm, sure.”

“Why do you even like the character so much anyway?” Goro asked, “he was written with no redeeming qualities.”

“Ok now that is just untrue,” Kurusu scoffed, and zipped up his jacket when the cold chill of night greeted them after they stepped outside the theater.

“You can't say it's because you find him attractive.”

“I wasn't—”

Goro raised a brow.

“I wasn't just going to say that,” Kurusu mumbled, thoroughly cowed, “but really! He’s an interesting character, and made a good foil for the rest of the team thanks to his unconventional views on justice and worth. He acted as a good straight man, and his ability to seamlessly blend into any environment had helped the team more than once.”

“He just knew how to manipulate people,” Goro scoffed.

“Well yeah, but I don't know…” Kurusu shrugged, his eyes glazed a bit as he considered his response, “it was like he was a man of many faces, y’know? The team never knew his true face, he had always worn a mask around them, even if only metaphorically. Now that he’s back they’ll be able to see who he really is, and I think that alone is an interesting concept.”

“Hm,” Goro considered it. Masks, huh?

“Just admit you're hot for Feather Red and leave,” Kurusu laughed.

Goro sputtered some attempt at a sentence, then snorted, “please, as if!”

“Sure,” Kurusu grinned, all teeth and danger.

Goro did not dignify him with a response, instead he opted to merely roll his eyes and adjust his own scarf.

“Seriously though,” Kurusu began after a moment of silence between them, “thank you. I haven't gone out much recently, and this is the first time I’ve been able to just enjoy myself in a while.”

“Uh, of course,” Goro frowned, “surely your friends hang out with you?”

Kurusu shrugged, “they're busy. They try, I might see them like once a month, if they're available, but they all are pursuing such grand ambitions. I don't want to bother them.”

“Y-you're not a bother, Kurusu,” Goro snapped, “have you asked them to hang out?”

“Well, obviously,” Kurusu leveled him with a blank stare, a mask to hide his true feelings on the matter, “but they have their own lives. I’m not going to hound them constantly for attention.”

Goro weighed the options he had before him. He could press Kurusu, and make him talk more. That held the possibility of making Kurusu retreat even further behind his glasses, and maybe spur him to not contact Goro again. Or he could let it slip by, and not comment on the situation any further.

Fuck that, Goro never was good at the gentle sort of nudges. Sometimes, things just needed to be heard.

“That's bullshit,” Goro frowned, “they are your friends, they love you, Kurusu. If you told them how important spending time with them was, they’d make the time.”

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed, “you sure know my friends, huh?”

“That's not—” Goro ran his hand through his hair, brushing the longer strands back from his forehead, “that's not what I’m saying. They’re dense as hell, they probably don't realize how much you want to be with them, and think they're doing you a favor by not pestering you while you're working. Speaking of, how many jobs are you holding down now?”

“Three,” Kurusu bit, “that's not the point.”

“Then what, pray tell, is?”

Kurusu opened his mouth, then snapped it shut with a harsh clack of teeth, “you wouldnt understand.”

“Try me, Kurusu.”

“It's… Ugh,” Kurusu shoved his hands into his pockets, “I really don't want to get into this, Akechi.”

Goro considered letting it go. He would, if that was what Kurusu needed, after a final nudge, “did you ask them, the same way you ‘invited’ me to see the movie with you?”

Kurusu’s brows furrowed, he seemed to be paying attention proper now, “what do you mean?”

Thought so.

Goro shrugged, then offered a smile, “just ask me directly, next time you want to do something together, Kurusu. I’m a PI, sure, but I’m not a mind reader.”

Kurusu grunted, a thoughtful little sound. Goro hoped Kurusu understood what he meant, whilst he was able to see the guarded invite for what it was, Goro doubted his friends would have.

“Do you have work later tonight?”

“No, I’ve got a morning shift tomorrow though, so I should get back.”

Goro was a bit disappointed, though endeavored to not let it show, “alright. I’ll see you later, Kurusu?”

There was a moment between them, where Kurusu studied Goro like a critic at a gallery. Eyes roamed over him, as though taking measure of Goro’s worth. He must have found something worth holding onto, given the soft smile that sneaked its way onto his lips, “yeah. I’d really like that, Akechi.”

They were all physically there this time. Goro was the first to arrive outside the cafe family, Sakura was going over a pile of items that seemed designed for recovery. Morgana perched on her lap, talking over what to and not to bring.

Kitagawa came next, shortly followed by Sumire, Sakamoto, and Takamaki. Each of the four brought their own supplies with them. Finally, Niijima and Okumura arrived, both with heavy bags in tow. They were all prepared, ready to go to war for their friend.

The sight warmed Goro, how could Kurusu even entertain the notion that his friends wouldn't tear the world itself down for him? Or, maybe that was just Goro. Still, his friends adored Kurusu, and the man needed to see that.

They crowded into a single booth, and pulled several chairs from the countertop to bring to the open side of the table. Now came the hard part; they needed to figure out Kurusu’s keywords.

“I think I know the location,” Sakamoto announced, “Tokyo.”

Their phones chimed with the confirmation.

“That's one down!” Morgana beamed, “how’d you figure it out?”

Sakamoto shrugged, “just a hunch I guess. I talked with him a bit this week, about his life here n’all. Dude was dead on his feet when we chatted, but he said he’d rather be in Tokyo than Inaba. So, I thought maybe here’s where the distortion would be?”

“I’m surprised it isn't in Inaba,” Kitagawa mused, “that is where he grew up, yes?”

“Yeah,” Sakamoto rubbed the back of his neck.

“We know the where, now we have to figure out the what,” Takamaki chirped when the group fell silent, “any ideas?”

“Prison?” Nijima inquired, no match, “cage?”

“Jail.”

“Cafe?”

“Bar?”

Several words were tossed out, none of them meeting what Kurusu’s distortion had become. Goro frowned, wracking his brain for possibilities. His first thought would have been something along the lines of a prison as well, given his views on police and the justice system in general.

Perhaps they needed to think more about how the Palace itself was formed?

“Ugh, why don't we just ask him?” Sakamoto groaned, “he’s smart, he’d probably know what his own palace is.”

“Absolutely not!” Morgana hissed, “Akira is a special case. He knows how Palaces work, if we tell him we plan to infiltrate his heart, he could very well close off even the possibility of us entering his Palace.”

“That can happen?”

“I don't know, but I’d rather not take that chance.”

Goro leaned back against the counter, Boss had locked the cafe up for the rest of the evening, trusting Sakura to close it properly behind her after they left. He hadn't turned the music off though. Soft and comforting, Goro had long since associated the songs that commonly played in Leblanc with Kurusu, warmth, and safety.

The cafe had been the only place Goro felt he could hide from the world.

I'm a shape shifter,

At Poe's masquerade.

Hiding both face and mind,

All free for you to draw.

I'm a shape shifter,

Chained down to my core.

Please don't take off my mask,

My place to hide.

Oh.

They were fools, all of them. How could Goro have been so blind?

“Masquerade.”

Reality pulsed around them, and their phones confirmed Goro’s word. They could now enter Kurusu’s palace.

“Masquerade, huh?” Kitagawa hummed, “how romantic of him.”

“It makes sense,” Nijima spoke, her fingers tapped against her chin, “I mean, think about it. In the metaverse, we all wore masks, and to even awaken our persona, we had to rip our masks off.”

“So does Akira still have his mask?” Haru asked, her brows furrowed, “he uses several personas though.”

“Well yes,” Morgana mused, “I wonder… His outfit doesn't change like Akechi’s does.”

Goro straightened at the mention of his name.

“You think those personas aren't actually his?” Nijima inquired.

“Oh no, they are. But it is different, I think. He doesn't awaken with each persona he gets, they just become part of his mask,” Morgana’s tail flicked and he turned his eyes to Goro, “did you have an awakening for both of yours?”

Goro’s throat grew dry. He remembered Robin’s awakening perfectly fine, it was the first time he had fallen into the Metaverse, tossed in by a false and apathetic God. It was what allowed him to live against the shadows that had cornered him. He felt he could actually make a difference then, be a hero.

Loki’s awakening was… Different. He had been poked and prodded, pushed to his limit, then past it. Loki’s awakening had been one of rage, of a desperate need to get away, get away. He could feel the way Loki shunk back in his mind, ashamed, perhaps, of how he came to be.

“Akechi?”

Goro jolted back to the present, though refused to lift his eyes from his empty cup, “yes.”

“But Akira did have an awakening!” Sakamoto disputed, “back in Komoshida’s palace.”

Goro knew Kurusu had to have experienced his own awakening, he came to understand it was a prerequisite of even having a persona. Though he thought perhaps Kurusu’s awakening had been more like his. Alone, desperate for the ability to claw himself up from the hell he fell into.

“Right,” Takamaki mused, “you're the only one who actually saw his awakening.”

“Heck yeah I was, it was badass!”

“What… was it like?” Goro asked before he could stop himself.

“Wild,” Sakamoto grinned, “Komoshida’s shadow was going to kill me, but Akira stopped him. Komoshida, the bastard, made his shadows pin him against the wall, and was gonna make him watch as he killed me. Then he started laughing, and whoosh, these wicked chains and blue flames just exploded from him! He and Arsène absolutely mopped the floor with those pathetic shadows.”

Kurusu only awakened to save his friend, huh. How like him, Goro thought, half fond, half jealous.

“Oh yeah! I remember that one,” Takamaki smiled, “he had knife heels.”

Knife heels, really? Loki seemed intrigued by the concept, because of course he was. What with his fucking hooves, and all.

Kitagawa however, merely frowned, “I’m disappointed I have yet to meet this persona.”

“Uh, honestly I don't think he’s used Arsène since Kamoshida’s palace.”

Morgana seemed to perk at that, “yes, I think that is true. Brilliant observation, Lady Ann.”

Takamaki chuckled, though didn't humor the cat further.

“Could that be the cause of his palace then?” Niijima inquired, “if he doesn't use his original persona?”

“No,” Morgana mused, “I don't think that's it. Or, rather, that's not the whole story. I think you might be onto something, though. It feels… off.”

“We aren't going to get any further speculating,” Goro cut in, “the sooner we’re in the palace the sooner we’ll be able to get out.”

“Killjoy,” Sakura muttered, then held out her phone and spoke the keywords.

Goro wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasnt that.

They stood before a massive wrought iron fence. The grand entrance gate easily towered two, or even three times their height, it’s shimmering black paint reflected the lights of Tokyo in a myriad of colors.

Behind the gate stood an equally impressive building, if not for its size than for the sheer artistic grandeur alone. The building was a brilliant pearlescent white, pillars lined the cobblestone walkway leading to the front door, accented in golden runes. They pulsed like a heartbeat.

The sloped roofs reminded Goro a bit of a Kabuki Theater, though the building itself seemed to be drawn from some European or Germanic inspiration, decorated with golden creatures at each point. Perhaps birds, but it was hard to tell.

“God he’s dramatic,” Sakura groaned, “alright, let's get going. The Palace is actually really small.”

“Any bright ideas on how to get past the massive gate, then?” Goro snapped.

Sakamoto, like an idiot, walked over to the gate, reached his hand through one of the feather-shaped bars, and flipped the latch up. The gate made nary a sound as it swung inwards, granting them access to the Palace.

“Like that.”

Goro recited the alphabet instead of throttling Skull.

“He doesn't see us as a threat,” Panther mused, and strode past him with Queen and Fox on either side, “but we still have our masks on?”

It was true, oddly enough. Despite being in the clothes they arrived at Leblanc in, they all still wore the masks from their usual outfits. Goro reached up, surprised to find his mask was Loki's, not Robin's. Though it was only the top half, covering his eyes but leaving his jaw and neck uncomfortably exposed.

“Well it is a Masquerade, afterall,” Mona pointed out, “it makes sense."

Goro had expected them to comment on his sudden change of mask, afterall, they had only ever seen him in this when he stopped them within Shido’s Palace. Yet no one batted an eye, as though they had expected it.

Once more, Goro felt as though he was missing something important.

“Threat level right now is a big fat zero,” Oracle mused, her voice like static in his head, “the treasure is in the basement, there’s only a couple of rooms so figuring out how to get down there should be easy-peasy.”

Goro wondered if Kurusu would really make it that simple.

“Stay on guard everyone,” Queen reminded them, “this is Joker we’re talking about. I doubt his Palace will be so straightforward.”

“Um, we should probably make a vow as well,” Violet added, “that whatever we learn within this place, we won't let it affect our friendship with him.”

The Phantom Thieves all readily agreed on that promise, Goro himself muttering a curt “of course.”

The entrance took the form of double doors, each the same ethereal white as the building, and had similar runes as the pillars they passed. Goro was no language expert, but he did not believe whatever the runes were from to be a current dialect.

Loki seemed intrigued by them, Goro decided he’d look a bit more into ancient Norse after they left. There was something sloppy about them though, he noted, they seemed oddly out of place. As though only recently scrawled onto the door, desperation seeped through each pulsing light.

‘They're for binding’, Loki supplied, ‘to trap whatever lurks here inside.’

Interesting.

Even with the runes lining the edges of the two doors, the main draw of them was the golden bird spread between them. It seemed to be some sort of raptor, an owl most likely given the flatter face shape, though it was worn and hard to tell for sure. The bird’s wings unfurled between the two sides of the entrance, cut perfectly down the middle with its talons stretched out in front, as though lunging for its next meal.

Mona grabbed one of the talons, and pulled the door open.

The cheery pearl bled to darker hues, fit for the prime of gothic renaissance. Something Goro found oddly fitting, as he walked inside with the others, Kurusu was right at home with the colors of the night.

A deep red carpet led from the foyer to a larger room, where shadows lurked. Hundreds of shadows. Oddly though, they seemed non aggressive, not even noticing the thieves that had entered the grand ball. All of them wore decorated masks and elaborate clothes, all lace and pomp.

The black marble of the ballroom reflected the golden chandelier above them, framed by a ring of red stained glass, letting in light from the sky above. Goro squinted past the candles suspended within the intricate loops of the light, and noticed there seemed to be a pattern of images inlaid upon the glass.

It was hard to tell, but they almost appeared to be connected events, six, maybe seven of them. Separated by thick harsh lines.

Further in was a looping stairway at the far end of the room, two stairs starting on the east and west sides to intersect perfectly in the center, another door behind them. That one was a deep maroon, though no less decorated, it seemed.

“Wow, this place is elaborate,” Panther whistled, “such a shame it's a palace though! I always wanted to go to a real ball.”

“Looks like the treasure is beneath the room up ahead,” Oracle announced, and gestured to the maroon door on the other side of the room, “it doesn't seem to be locked, but we’ll have to find a way to get to the basement.”

“There’s probably some hidden mechanism,” Queen reasoned, “can you sense if there are any oddities around us?”

“One moment,” Oracle mused, and fell silent as she retreated into herself. Likely scanning for any and all possibilities. Whilst she was off doing whatever she did in her little flying saucer, Goro stepped into the ballroom proper. The shadows all danced together, intermingled without a care.

All the shadows danced with those of the same gender, something Goro noted rather quickly. That was unsurprising; he already knew Kurusu was gay. Or at the very least, was attracted to men in general. Another thing they shared, he supposed.

“Uh, guys?” Oracle’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, she sounded frantic, “guys get ready. Something is approaching us, and it’s powerful.”

Goro already had his saber out, prepared to fight.

“Well, well, well. I am surprised to see you all here,” a deep voice purred, echoing through the entire room.

Goro felt the warmth of Fox at his back, and for a moment was shocked the man was trusting his blindspot to Goro. The thought was shoved aside when a man appeared from the crowd of shadows, slipping between them as though they didn't exist.

It wasn't Kurusu, that much Goro could tell even from a glance.

“You came at quite a bad time,” the man lamented, “the show will start soon.”

This creature was… off, in a way Goro couldn't pinpoint. By all accounts he seemed human, he wasn't Kurusu’s shadow (he bore vibrant red eyes, not yellow), but he seemed too aware to be a mere cognition. Loki and Robin pressed against the back of his mind, fascinated by the stranger before them.

‘He smells like our Sigyn,’ Loki seemed disturbed, never a fucking good sign, ‘but he is not.’

Robin echoed the sentiment.

The… whatever it was wore red heels that were frankly too thin to be practical, almost knife-like in their edge. A black vest was buttoned tightly around his slim frame, accented by a flashy red tailcoat, the inside of which a deep black where it flared near his hips. When he walked, it almost gave the impression of a pair of raven wings trailing behind him.

The mask was probably the oddest part of his whole obnoxious get-up. It was a matte black, only gaining color as the wings of the mask curled forward to mimic horns, becoming infused with red accents within the core.

“While it is nice to see you all,” the man smiled, “I am afraid you really must go.”

“We don't take orders from shadows!” Skull snapped, mace clenched in a grip so tight Goro wouldn't be surprised if his knuckles were white beneath his gloves.

“Not a shadow,” the creature corrected, examining the black fingers of his gloves, “not a cognition either, if that is what your next guess is.”

“Then what are you?” Oracle sounded frustrated.

“I do not believe my existence can be so easily defined,” its tone was far too casual, “as far as Akira is aware; I shouldn't exist at all.”

“Well,” Skull floundered, “you gotta give us something!”

“I’m afraid I cannot, Ryuji.”

The team froze, how the hell did it know their names? It couldn't have been just a mere shadow then, they knew little outside of who the Palace’s owner was, and the knowledge within the cognition itself. A cognition may know more, but that still didn't seem right.

‘It is like he… but no. That is impossible, surely…’ Robin mused in the back of his head, rubbing the side of his jaw, ‘we are not discarded so easily.’

Goro told him to either speak his mind or such the hell up. Robin snorted, but obediently fell silent.

“Ah, right. Skull,” he corrected himself, as though that was the reason for their shock, “I cannot speak my name even, should I try —”

Whilst the man / creature / thing’s mouth continued to move, there was a sharp ringing in Goro’s ears. Pressure built and the agony was indescribable, as though being bludgeoned from sound alone. Goro’s knees wobbled, on the verge of collapsing.

“Stop it!” Violet cried out, her hands cradling her ears as tears pricked her lashes, “stop it hurts!”

“—That happens,” it frowned and swooped down to assist Violet in standing back up, “do accept my sincerest apologies, I am afraid that was the easiest way to explain.”

“Yeah ok,” Panther murmured, rubbing her own head, “a warning would have been nice.”

There was a chime, like a bell toiling in the far distance. Soft, but unmistakably there. At once, the shadows stopped dancing, and began to all file toward the back of the room, ascending the stairs to enter whatever laid beyond that maroon door. There was an eeriness in how calm and coordinated the things were, none with so much as a fold out of place. The picture of perfection.

“Showtime, it seems,” the man sighed, “now then. Whilst it was good to see you, and actually meet the rest of you properly, you really must be on your way.”

“Absolutely not,” Goro snapped, and shoved past the ridiculous creature, “we’re stealing Joker’s heart whether you like it or not.”

“We are aligned in that goal, Crow,” it spoke again, though it’s tone was a bit different now. Perhaps he pissed it off? Good.

“Then why are you stopping us?” He sneered.

“Now it is merely not the time, too dangerous,” it amended, still holding onto that strange tone. He had heard it from Kurusu a few times, somewhere between irritation and fondness.

He remembered before they finished Sae’s palace, he and Kurusu had gotten into a squabble over something stupid. Goro doubted Kurusu even remembered it, but recalled so vividly the way Kurusu’s eyes lit up with sheer anger at the mere notion that his instant coffee wasn't that different from Kurusu’s cups. Such a foolish thing to get angry over, and yet, there Kurusu stood, fuming silently for a good five minutes.

Goro had always liked to prod Kurusu for reactions, to break that unflappable mask he always donned, even around those he considered his friends. To the point of being cruel, more than once, but it was a way to both pass time and learn what made the famous leader of the Phantom Thieves tick.

Never had he meant to get attached, to grow fond of his target. To even consider laughing out an apology after Kurusu’s sulking began to make Goro feel. He had assured Kurusu that his coffee was leagues better, something that elicited that same tone when he muttered a soft ‘damn right it is.’

Goro was not surprised when the others brushed past the man either, ignoring his warning.

Only Oracle and Mona seemed to hesitate, though they both made their minds up as well and caught up to the rest of the group easily.

“I suppose I should be pleased by all your wills,” he purred, sacchine and something dangerous beneath, “though do not say I didn't warn you, hm? When you're actually ready to take the Palace on, I’ll be waiting.”

Without a further word, the man vanished in a swirl of black feathers, leaving them alone in the now empty ballroom.

“So,” Violet broke the silence, “he seemed… nice.”

Goro rolled his eyes and ascended the stairs, not waiting for the others to follow after him. They were arguing over something or another, likely what their next action should be. How foolish of them, to think whatever creature had appeared before them to be truly an ally. Kurusu was powerful, it is no surprise he could conjure up a shadow or even cognition capable of making them all second-guess their objectives.

Not the time? Bullshit. Goro wasn't going to spend another damn second waiting around while Kurusu suffered. The man had suffered enough for all of them, enough for a lifetime. Goro was not going to allow that to continue even a breath longer than absolutely necessary.

“Crow, wait!”

Goro ignored Mona’s call and he yanked the door open.

He hadn't expected to be met with a theater, massive with rows upon rows leading down to a stage. Shadows had piled into the room, each with their own assigned seat, it seemed. Not a single chair had been left unoccupied. On either side of the amatheater, there were balconies, though they seemed to be far less packed. In fact, only one seemed to be occupied, though Goro could not tell if anything was unusual about the two shadows that sat within.

Aside from the red curtains and stretch of fabric that led down the steps to the stage, everything was a shade of black or deep gray. The only other exception, being the golden trim along the hem of the curtains, giving an air of royal sophistication that really wasn't necessary, in Goro’s frank opinion.

Kurusu always did have a flair for the dramatic.

He felt the others behind him, hesitating to step past the line of the door, to fully enter the room they were warned about. Was it the room they were wary of, or the event that was beginning to take place? The lights dimmed, only sconces near the stage remained lit.

Then, he appeared. Like the creature before, he appeared in a swirl of black, feathers dancing from his form as he spread his arms out, to only then dip into a deep bow.

“That's our boy,” Oracle confirmed, “that's Akira.”

While hard to tell from so far away, it did seem as though Kurusu donned his usual Joker outfit, though, like in the painting Fox had made; one of his gloves was black.

‘Wretched Criminal, tonight it seems,’ a shadow muttered, ‘a shame. I so greatly prefer the Witless Boy.’

Goro was so tempted to snarl at the shadow, though others joined in. A quiet, yet all encompassing, rumble of voices. It was overwhelming, the amount of conflicting thoughts the shadows echoed throughout the theater. No matter, they meant nothing.

He descended down the steps, and could hear two of the others follow after him, though didn't bother to check who. The carpet muffled much of the noise as they walked, but not enough that it didn't catch Kurusu’s attention. Bright yellow eyes snapped to them, widening beneath his usual white and black mask.

“H… how…?” he said, shock overtaking the flawless neutrality he always wore, “you shouldn't be here.”

“Heard that already,” Goro snapped, “don’t care.”

There was a click, and Kurusu’s surprise rapidly shifted into sheer terror, “wait, no— I can still perform!”

Goro stepped back, despite not really even being close to the stage, they had only managed to make it halfway down the stairs before being spotted.

Golden shackles shot from the stage, clamping on Shadow Kurusu’s wrists. The Shadow cried out in pain, red already staining the chains where they dug too sharply into his skin. He pulled back, “stop! I’ll keep going, I promise! Please!”

Another chain looped itself around his neck and Shadow Kurusu gagged, the broken wail of agony was what finally snapped Goro out of his shock. He immediately rushed toward the stage, but was blocked off by shadows filling into the aisle.

“Get out of my way!” He snarled, and swung his saber at the closest bastard, “Joker!”

“Shit!” Oracle cried out, “alertness just went through the roof! Every shadow is aggressive now, we have to go!”

“What about Joker?” Skull cried out, summoning his persona to shock a shadow that had been coming up on Goro’s right, “we have to save him!”

Goro watched in horror as the center of the stage opened up, more chains appearing and slowly, despite how Kurusu writhed and kicked and struggled, slowly dragged him down to it’s depths.

“We can't!” Queen cried out, “more shadows are coming, we’ll be killed!”

Goro ignored her and summoned Loki, the persona wasted not even a beat before they cleaved through anyone that stood in their way. He made a path only just big enough for himself, the others could take care of themselves, and he leapt onto the stage. It was already sealed, as though it hadn't just swallowed up his only fucking friend in this entire goddamn world.

The only evidence of Joker’s presence were the drops of blood that had fallen onto the otherwise perfectly pristine wood.

He dug his sword into the thin gaps between the wooden planks, he would pry the whole ass stage up with his bare hands if he needed to. Goro refused to abandon Kurusu, not again. No matter how hard he dug his blade in, or how Loki curled his scarlet claws into the surface, it didn't budge. And the shadows were closing in.

Goro, in his time with police, had grown hauntingly familiar with guns. He could still vividly recall the weight of them in his hands, and the sweat that seeped into his gloves when he aimed the muffler between Kurusu’s haunting eyes. So when a gunshot went off, Goro nearly jumped out of his skin.

The shadows screeched, unholy and grating as they seemed to have almost melted when a bullet from behind him tore through the masses. Leaving just enough of a path for him to see the others, still fighting, but horribly overwhelmed.

“Go,” the man from before commanded, “I’ll cover you. If you stay any longer you’ll be killed.”

“I’m not leaving until I know he’s safe!”

“He’s fine,” he reloaded his gun, it looked just like the one Kurusu often used in the Metaverse, “this is his Palace afterall. Come back earlier in the day, next time. Before the show begins.”

“How the hell do you know this?” Goro snarled, his gauntlets couldn't find any purchase on the polished smooth floor of the stage, not even the smallest of grooves for him to sink his claws into.

“It doesn't matter,” he snapped, actually angry it seemed, as he fired another shot, “now get out of here before I run out of bullets.”

Every fiber of Goro’s being was telling him to stay. Fuck the consequances, fuck everything. He couldn't leave Kurusu alone again, he couldn't let him drown in the hell he created for himself. Yet he could feel the far more sensible pull of Robin, begging him to leave before it was too late. Before his chance was wasted.

Before he died.

Goro roared his frustration, but grabbed his sword and rushed from the stage. The man was a flawless shot, keeping enough of the shadows at bay for them to make a break for it. Goro could already feel reality shifting around them as he grabbed Fox’s arm, pulling him back up to his feet.

They stepped out of the theater, and fell into Leblanc.

Agony blossomed from the back of his skull, where his head had met it’s unfortunate fate against the floor of the cafe. Goro blinked, taking a moment to adjust to the change in light and surroundings, and taking note of the pressure on his chest. Futaba had landed on him, though thankfully, it seemed she had avoided hitting her head, instead leaving the brunt of the floor to Goro.

Which was. Uncomfortable.

She groaned and sort of slid off him, similar pained sounds echoed from the rest of the group, Goro included as his body made his newly formed bruises known. His nails were chipped, and one was bleeding, probably from scratching at the floor of the stage like a feral animal. He frowned, and wiped the blood off on his jeans (they were throwaways anyway) and slowly pushed up to a sitting position.

After his brain finally finished catching up to the rest of him, panic flooded his lungs. Kurusu.

“Move,” he snapped at Sakura where she still was half laying against him, and wormed his hand under her shoulders to reach into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

She seemed to catch onto what he was doing, as she immediately scrambled up and almost pounced on the phone, “put it on speaker!”

He leant away from her, but did pull the phone from his ear and tapped the screen, the ringing echoed through Leblanc’s walls. No, no, no. He couldn't be. Goro refused to believe they caused Kurusu to shut down.

God, please, please let him be ok. Goro couldn’t— he couldn't be responsible for any more death, especially not his.

“H-hello?” Kurusu’s voice ran through the cafe, and everyone let out a sigh of relief, “Akechi? Are you ok?”

“Kurusu,” he breathed, relief filling his body, his bones, his marrow. He was ok. Whatever happened didn't break him.

No, of course it wouldn't have. Kurusu was too strong for that, he was a modern Sisphyus, in a sense.

“Uh, yes. Hi,” Kurusu sounded flustered, had he said something weird? '' Is everything alright? You never call.”

“Sorry,” Goro realized how foolish this must seem, the knowing look Takamaki was giving him didn't help either, “I uh, bad dream?”

“It's 5,” Kurusu pointed out, though now with humor lacing his voice, “I didn't think you slept until like, 3 in the morning. If you sleep at all, which is another question entirely.”

Goro flushed, “I have a perfectly normal sleep schedule now, thank you very much.”

“Ok Grandpa,” Kurusu laughed, and Goro wanted to take him off speaker and hoard the sound close to his chest.

He didn't.

But he wanted to.

“Ah, just a sec Mama. Yes, it's him, now please,” Kurusu’s voice was muffled, as though he had leaned away and rested his hand over the speaker, then grew louder again, “sorry, at work. Give me a minute, I’ll go tell my boss I’m taking my fifteen—”

“N-no need, it's alright,” Goro scrambled, “I’m fine now. It was just uh, slip of the thumb.”

“Sure,” Kurusu didn't sound convinced, though didn't seem inclined to press him on it, thankfully.

“Really, I am fine now. I should uh, go back to sleep.”

Kurusu made a sound, but said, “alright. You can call me any time, Akechi, you know that right? You're not a bother, I promise.”

This was not a conversation he wanted to be having with the eyes of the Phantom Thieves glued to him. Worse still, none seemed surprised. At all.

“Th-thanks,” he mumbled, “uh, goodnight?”

Kurusu chuckled, “alright, alright. I can take the hint, g’night Gramps. It was nice to hear from you.”

Goro stared at his phone until he heard the click of Kurusu hanging up, then continued to stare at it even still.

“God he’s disgusting,” Sakura groaned.

Goro puffed up despite himself, despite knowing how much Sakura cared for Kurusu.

“Still not over that crush, huh,” Takamaki giggled, Niijima and Okumura both heaved heavy sighs at that.

“Excuse me?”

“Do we really need to spell it out for you?” Takamaki drawled, “he’s so stupid for you it would be sweet if you weren't, well, you.”

“Thanks,” Goro sneered in turn, ignoring the heart shape Takamaki offered with her hands, “and don't be ridiculous. Kurusu doesn't… does not see me in that way.”

“Newsflash asshole,” Sakura cackled, and shoved her shoulder against his, “he’s been in love with you the entire time.”

Chapter Text

“Don't oversimplify this!” Akira yelled, baring his teeth in a snarl, “you don't understand! I —”

“No!” Goro met the teen’s tone, fisting his hands in his shirt and slamming him against the counter’s edge, “don't you dare finish that sentence!”

Akira jolted, though did not waver his gaze, despite the wince that twitched across his face.

“Don't you ever say those words to me!” He screamed, spit landed on Akria’s cheek, still he did not waver, “ever!”

If he did… fuck, if Akira did…

Goro didn't know if he would be strong enough to face tomorrow.

Sweat clung to his skin when Goro jolted awake. Terror and anguish still fresh on his tongue like a late-night snack. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and groaned.

It wasn't his first nightmare like this, yet something about them felt so real. Like he was forgetting something. Something vital.

Ridiculous.

“Let me get this straight, you work at Rafflesia, that red light bar, and the sketchy gun shop?”

Kurusu frowned at him, and brought his overly saturated drink closer to him. They had an hour before Kurusu had to leave for his job at Crossroads, and Goro would take any time with the man he could get.

Not because he wanted to secure as much attention from Kurusu as humanly possible. He had more strategic reasons too, reconnaissance, specifically. After all, if Goro could understand what Kurusu went through in the waking world, he may be of more help in the Cognitive world. He did not wish for a repeat of their last run, seeing Kurusu get dragged beneath that accursed stage once, was one time too many.

Besides, Sundays were the only day they could all meet at Leblanc. That left the rest of the week for investigating, both in his actual job, and keeping an eye on Kurusu for any potential changes. And taking Kurusu for dinner at Jazz Jin.

“Yes,” Kurusu frowned, “and Untouchable isn't sketchy.”

“Not denying Crossroads is?”

Kurusu shrugged, “it's not. Seedy part of town, but it works for what the place needs to be. It's safe.”

“Is it?” Goro challenged.

“Akechi, relax,” Kurusu’s next slurp from his drink was loud and obnoxious, “if you don't believe me, you can come with me to my shift.”

“Will the same invitation be passed to Untouchable?”

“Oh absolutely not. Iwai would hate you,” Kurusu chuckled, “I’d probably get fired for even considering bringing you along.”

“Hm,” Goro scoffed, “doesn't sound like a good boss.”

“He is, he is. Promise.”

Goro stared distastefully at the drink he had ordered, he didn't do alcohol. Too much trauma wrapped up in the scent of whisky and cheap beer. So really, why did he bother ordering something with rum in it? He considered forcing it down anyway, lapping up a bit of that liquid courage, though decided against it and nudged the drink away from him.

Instead he opted to nurse the complimentary water he and Kurusu were offered before their dinner had arrived. The check had been split evenly, even down to the tip. Now, they had some time to kill and chat before Kurusu had to leave.

“So, I hear you're still a detective,” Kurusu hummed, stirring the stained ice at the bottom of his cup, “I’m surprised.”

“Not a detective, private investigator,” Goro corrected, “and yes. It is something I am familiar with, and I formally got my license a couple months ago. Though I’m still under the training period, I’ll be able to go fully independent after three years working under an established firm.”

“I didn't think you’d stick with that, honestly.”

Goro shrugged, “it had been a front, initially, yes. However I find myself drawn to it, I think it may have been a career path I would have been interested in, regardless. Besides, for all the… things… that happened, I did actually enjoy it when I got to work on formal cases.”

“Why not take up the reins as a proper detective then?”

“I may, one day. The police system still leaves quite the bad taste in my mouth now, frankly. I still work with police, but much of my job now is more about gathering information on a broader scope. Besides, my clients are not usually associated with the law. Less dead bodies too, which is quite the bonus.”

“Uh, right. So what, you stalk some people for a living now?”

Goro only just managed to stop himself from snorting water out of his nose, “I do not.”

“You totally do.”

“Ugh, I despise you. Why did I even return?” Goro mumbled, and buried his head between his hands to avoid looking at Kurusu’s blinding smile.

“Akira!” A woman from behind the bar purred, “good evening, I see you brought some company. Care to introduce me?”

Under the red light of the bar, Kurusu’s cheeks looked almost flushed.

“This is Akechi Goro,” Kurusu tugged his hair.

The warmth from the woman evaporated in a near instant, her eyes hard as they raked over Goro’s body, evaluating for a weakness no doubt.

He bristled, “yes, I am a friend of his.”

“Hm,” she grunted, then after a moment, was all smiles again. Goro could tell a fake smile when he saw one, and whoever this woman was, did not like him an ounce. Smart of her, probably, but that didn't make Goro any less defensive. Did she know who he was, what he did?

Impossible. All memories of the Cognitive world were erased by the time he had woken up from his coma. He was remembered as a corrupt politician’s bastard child, the Detective Prince, but everything he had done within the Metaverse. Even down to killing Joker, gone. As though it never happened.

“Go on and get dressed, Akira,” she hummed, and set to work behind the counter, “I’ll whip something up for your man here.”

“Lala—”

“Don't you Lala me boy,” she pointed her pipe at him, “go on.”

“Yes, Mama,” Kurusu muttered and lifted his hand as if to pat Goro’s arm, but hesitated, and the hand instead fell limp at his side.

Goro watched him disappear behind the sheer curtain beside the bar, and turned his attention to the woman at the bar. She seemed to care about Kurusu, so Goro offered his best Detective Prince smile, “It is a pleasure to meet you, I’m guessing you must be Lala-chan?”

“Sit,” she jerked her head to the stool in front of where she stood.

Goro bit back several choice words, and instead sat where she had indicated. He laced his hands together on his lap, and forced his smile to remain bright and cheery, he charmed his way into the hearts of worse people. He could get on this woman’s good side, for Kurusu’s sake.

“So, honey, what’ll you have?”

“I’m sure whatever you make will be delightful, nothing like a perfectly concocted drink from a professional.”

“Oh? If I didn't know any better I’d think you were accusing me of something,” she hummed.

“I mean nothing so sour, I assure you, Ma’am.”

“Sure, sure,” she waved her hand dismissively, “so how did someone as distinguished as you find your way into my boy’s company?”

“I was not aware Kurusu had an owner,” Goro’s brow twitched, “surely you did not mean to imply he is a mere street urchin?”

“Unfortunate your care for him is so situational,” she drew in a breath from her pipe, “were he, as you say, a mere street urchin, would you leave him in the alley?”

Goro’s teeth ground together, still smiling, “I would do no such thing. I would never abandon Kurusu.”

“Again, you mean?”

Goro froze, and Lala’s smile fell into a twisted sneer, “he’s told me about you.”

“How kind of him.”

She raised a brow, and drew in another breath, “so, why are you back? Why now? Why here?”

“I owed him an apology, and I had a selfish desire to be part of his life again, if he wanted it.”

“Mhm, he said as much,” she stared at the smoke curling up from her pipe, twisting on itself like a snake devouring its own tail, “he was so happy when he told me.”

Goro frowned at the counter, he could vaguely see his reflection. He had left his bangs fairly long, enough to brush his ears and forehead, and had cut the rest short. It was more professionally styled from the hacked off mess it had been, when Goro took a pair of scissors to his head in the middle of one of the worst episodes he’s had.

He had looked in the mirror and saw his mother.

He closed his eyes and breathed for a couple moments, then faced Lala once more, “I know what I’ve done. Words will never be enough to express how angry I am at myself for how I’ve hurt him, and our—his friends. I refused to return until I had a chance to heal, and the space to learn to cope with what had driven me to become what I had then.”

She hummed, a wordless bit of encouragement.

“And so, here I am. With over a year of therapy under my belt, still on-going mind you. I understand your distrust, and perhaps dislike of me. It is warranted more than you’ll ever know. I am grateful that Kurusu has people who look out for him and his endless bleeding heart, he needs the support. Even if he’d rather choke on his own poison than reach for the antidote.”

Lala said nothing for a while, her eyes bore into Goro’s. The intensity crawled up Goro’s spine, dragging out all the worst of him, his anger, his crimes, his lust for violence. All of it, but he did not break her gaze. Finally, she smiled at him, her eyes softened and she set a glass on the table in front of him.

“Good man,” she praised, and added with a wink, “it’s non-alcoholic, you don't strike me as the whisky sort.”

Goro’s surprise slipped through his mask before he had a chance to reign it back in. He accepted the drink and took a sip, it seemed to be a take on a pina-colada, though fruiter. It reminded him of the drink he usually ordered at Jazz Jin, “thank you.”

She nodded, “you are welcome here anytime. You're one of us, afterall.”

“One of you?” Goro’s brow furrowed, and Lala merely laughed, a warm hearty sound.

Kurusu chose to finally appear from the back room then, dressed in what Goro guessed was supposed to be his uniform. It wasn't like what Lala wore at all, a deceptively simple shirt with high-waisted black pants, tucked into… Kurusu clicked behind the bar, were those heels?

The shirt was loose, buttoned down only just enough to show his collarbones, and flowed around his arms and torso like the silk carved upon a Baroque sculpture.

‘Truly the pinnacle of human form, our Marian is,’ Robin sighed, wistfully.

Goro told him to shut up, Kurusu was no naive maiden. He ignored the indignance that sputtered from Robin. No, Kurusu was certainly not a damsel in distress.

‘The true Maid Marian was far from just a damsel,’ Robin corrected, with a fair bit of irritation, ‘no more than our beloved Kurusu is.’

Goro tuned him out in favor of downing the rest of his drink; he had grown rather parched. Why had his personas grown so talkative recently? They’d been relatively quiet for months. He took back the notion of ever missing their chatter in his mind, if this was how they chose to spend their words.

Loki cackled, and Goro wanted to strangle him.

Crossroads was a gay bar, he came to realize a fair bit belated. Watching the patrons come in and shed their business suits to laugh and relax. Japan had come into the modern era, but the topic of differing sexualities and identities in general were still very frowned upon in the public eye.

Two older men sat beside each other, their shoulders pressed firm within one of the booths as they talked about office life. Their bosses couldn't know about them.

Goro understood what Kurusu meant, earlier. He nursed what remained of the drink and watched Kurusu dance between the customers, it was the closest he’d seen to Joker since he returned. Yet, still not quite the same. Joker with a softer edge around the younger patrons, ruffling a girl’s hair, a more violent edge when he warned an increasingly drunk man to cut it back. The steel set of his eyes was nothing short of intimidating.

All whilst Lala charmed the guests in her own way, and kept Kurusu always within her peripheral vision. Watching out for him.

Goro still preferred the atmosphere of Jazz Jin, but he could see himself becoming a semi-regular patron. If only just to watch Kurusu work. How did he walk in those thin heels with such flawless grace? Goro was sure he’d be making a damn fool of himself, stumbling around with wobbly knees like a newborn fawn.

His Joker outfit did have heels, now that he thought about it, though they were squared off. Still heels, but they didn't give the appearance of walking on toothpicks like the black boots Kurusu wore now.

The drink was good too. He wouldn't mind sampling more of the menu here, he squinted at the board behind Lala’s head, where she was charming some woman Goro didn't recognize.

Though she, tragically, recognized him.

“Hey, aintcha that famous teen detective everyone thinks is dead?” she slurred, her words tumbling out together, barely forming a coherent sentence.

Goro sighed, “not a teenager, also not dead.”

“Hmm clearly,” she hummed and leant further onto the counter, “you playin’ undercover or what?”

“Something like that,” he groused around the lip of his glass, even though it was mostly just ice now.

“Want a refill, honey?” Lala offered, and Goro nodded, pulling out his wallet to pay for the drink he had just received, and for the new one Lala began to mix.

She smiled at him and accepted the payment, Kurusu came around the bar then, offering to craft Goro’s drink instead. Lala handed the shaker over, and flitted off to chat up that woman again, keeping her attention away from Goro, blessedly.

He watched Kurusu’s deft hands mix what looked to be three different drinks together, one of them some sort of fizzed drink given the hiss it gave when Kurusu unscrewed the cap. He grabbed something from the far end of the bar, poured that in, staining what had been a semi-clear drink a deep ruby red.

Kurusu added four cherries on a white skewer, some orange zest, and an expertly curled peel from said orange.

“Here, it's different from what Mama gave you, but I think you’ll like it.”

Goro inspected the drink, and dragged the plastic sword along the side of the glass, letting the cherries drop into the drink, and mixed it, “what is it?”

“Bubbly Mocktail.”

“A what?”

“Just try it.”

Goro snorted, but did as requested. He had expected the fizz to come from a soda, but it seemed to be just carbonated water. Or whatever flavor the soda brought was overpowered by the apple, orange, and cherry flavors of the drink. It was light, and rather refreshing.

“Huh, not bad Kurusu,” he mused, and took another sip, “quite good, actually.”

He did not miss the way Kurusu preened at his words, just the same as he did when Goro complimented his coffee. Even now, at what may very well be his lowest, Kurusu was still Kurusu.

The realization brought more comfort to Goro than he would have expected.

“Don't let it go to your head,” he snorted.

“Too late,” Kurusu grinned, flashing teeth between his crimson lips. Goro wanted to bite—

Goro’s violent cough drew the attention of both Lala and that woman she was talking to.

“You ok?” Kurusu fumbled, grabbing a napkin from behind the bar and offering it to Goro with wide, concerned eyes.

Goro accepted it quietly, dabbing up the mess he made on the counter. Desperately trying to will away the burning in his cheeks and neck.

How depraved he was, thinking of his friend in such a… manner. No matter what Sakura had said, he and Kurusu were only friends. If that.

Goro wouldn't allow himself to hope for anything more.

“You know, I was thinking…”

“Quick,” Goro drawled, “someone alert the presses, Skull has achieved human thought.”

“Oi!” The man stomped his foot, “shaddup!”

Goro smiled his best Prince smile, and Skull glowered at him.

“Anyway, I was thinking about these uh, weird squiggle things.”

“Runes,” Goro supplied.

“Yeah, whatever. Runes,” he approached one of the pillars, and traced the symbol with his hand, “you think they mean anything?”

“Well,” Oracle mused, “according to Loki, they are used for binding, right, Crow?”

“Yes, he did mention… wait. How would you know that?”

“Uh, because I can hear your Personas?” Oracle giggled, “when we’re in the Metaverse I can hear everyone’s Personas.”

“Uh.”

“Yeah.”

Goro wondered if it was too late to pretend to be dead again.

“You didn't know?” Panther seemed genuinely surprised, “she makes fun of us for it all the time.”

“Well, I have not exactly been within the Cognitive world since Shido’s palace.”

“Man that's still weird to hear,” Skull rubbed the back of his neck, “after everything with Maruki, and uh. Yeah.”

Goro frowned, though didn't speak on the subject.

“Whatever,” Oracle huffed, “regardless, yes I can hear both of your personas. So keep your thoughts E for everyone, alright? Do you have any idea what it was like to have to be quiet after you first joined?”

Heat crawled up the back of Goro’s neck, Loki laughed. Bastard.

“You know,” Queen hummed, almost conversational, “you never did tell us exactly what his Personas were saying, other than, and I quote; yeah he’s got major issues.”

“For good reason,” Goro could hear the exasperation in Oracle’s voice, “couldn't decide if he wanted to bone Joker, kill him, or hold his hand.”

“Ok that is enough,” Goro snapped, “in case you idiots forgot, we have a palace to clear and a heart to steal.”

Goro ignored the cackling idiots and pushed open the doors to the masquerade. It did not appear to have changed any, since the last time they were there. Shadows flew across the floor in graceful dances and swirls of fabric.

They once again were in the clothes they had arrived at Leblanc in, with the exception of their masks. So the shadows should not be aggressive, Goro reasoned when he crossed the threshold into the ballroom. Sure enough, he was ignored. None of the shadows paid him even the slightest mind.

Interesting.

They were not deemed as threats until they had stopped the ‘show’, or whatever cruel game this palace had in motion.

“Welcome back,” a voice purred, and Goro turned to see the man from before leaning against the wall, “took longer than I expected, but I am pleased nonetheless.”

“Who are you?”

“I think you have a fairly good idea as to who I am, or, who I was, rather,” he hummed, and kicked off the wall with his obnoxious knife-shoes.

“Wait,” Skull’s eyes widened, “you’re—”

Mona all but tackled him, “shut up!”

“R-right. Sorry.”

That confirmed what Goro needed to know, he supposed. [Redacted] was not a mere cognition, nor a shadow. Yet, Goro had never heard of personas taking such unusual forms, was this a byproduct of Kurusu’s palace? A persona and a palace could not co-exist, according to Mona.

“We need something to call you,” Violet mused, her hand resting on her chin as she studied him, “maybe your own code name, since we cant speak your true one?”

“Why exactly would we need to refer to him at all?” Goro drawled, they needed to find a way down to that basement, and get the treasure.

“A wonderful idea, Violet,” [Redacted] ignored his growl, “I would say you could simply call me Joker, but I do imagine that would be quite confusing. I will graciously accept any name bestowed upon me.”

“We need to go,” Goro pressed, irritation bubbling beneath his skin as he was thoroughly ignored.

‘He is not truly our Sigyn,’ Loki offered, ‘but he is a part of him.’

Absolutely not.

‘Marian would be a far better fit, I agree.’

No, it really wouldn't.

Oracle laughed, and it dawned on Goro why she often just started cackling sometimes within the Metaverse. Great.

“How about Raven?”

“Too close to Crow,” Noir pointed out.

“Oh he wouldn't mind,” Oracle snickered and Goro did not believe he would ever want to strangle a girl that barely reached his chest. He learns something new every day.

“Owl!” Fox declared, “it would match the beautiful design on the palace door, afterall. I am told you have wings?”

Mumurs of agreement echoed between the teammebers, and Goro sighed. Fine. Whatever. They got their little pet name for Kurusu’s persona out of the way.

“Great, now then,” Goro made a show of gesturing to the maroon door on the other side of the ballroom, “can we continue our original fucking goal now?”

“Calm yourself, my dear Phoenix,” Owl chuckled, “he is not within the theater.”

“Phoenix?” Goro sputtered.

“Oh good, listening to Loki and Robin was bad enough,” Oracle grumbled, though her tone shifted into something more serious, “we’ve got a strong one approaching. Based on what I’m reading, I think it’s Akira.”

Goro was not looking forward to dealing with Shadow Joker so closely. He was still new to the whole concept of stealing hearts, he usually killed the shadows and was done with it. Mental shutdowns were an unfortunate side-effect of his efficacy.

The dancing shadows parted for a child, trotting through the crowd with long ringlets of black bouncing behind them. A cognition then, Goro ignored the child to search for where Joker had hidden himself within the crowd, yet, he couldn't spot him.

Was he hiding?

“Uh,” Oracle seemed confused, “this is. Huh.”

“Did he vanish?” Panther asked, her brows furrowed as he took post on Goro’s right, eyes scanning the crowded room. The shadows resumed their near endless dance.

“No, according to my readings,” Oracle pointed at the child, “that is Akira.”

Goro blinked, once, twice, and actually got a look at the little kid, no older than ten. The child wore a mere school uniform, a plain white blouse with a pleated skirt, and a red ribbon tying the long curls away from their face…

They wore Joker’s mask, and had the same yellow eyes he vividly remembered seeing as Kurusu was dragged down beneath the stage. The child, Joker, shied away from their stares and clung to Owl’s tailcoat, a cautious frown etched onto his face.

Mona, unsurprisingly, puffed up and angled himself to shield Kurusu from their stares, “alright, enough. This is our Joker as a child, got it? He’s still him. Anyone have any problems with that?”

“Nah, I already knew,” Skull shrugged, followed by a similar sentiment from Fox.

Goro expected more fanfare from the other thieves, but instead it was simple acceptance. They genuinely seemed ambivalent at the revelation, something Goro found relieving. Mona was the first to properly speak to the child Kurusu they faced themselves with, “ok Joker! We’re here to steal your heart.”

Joker frowned, and shook his head, a soft and meek voice escaped him, “you can't.”

Mona faltered at that, his ear twitched, “we really want your help, Joker.”

Owl spoke when Kurusu remained silent, “the cell beneath the stage cannot be opened by normal means.”

“Just tell us where the key is,” Goro snapped.

“You are looking at one,” Owl hummed, “each facet of your Joker carries a mask, by stealing the masks he guards himself with, the walls will crumble before you. Then, and only then, will he allow you within the treasure room.”

Joker’s mask, of course. So what, they were expecting to witness the various masks of their flawless leader? Simple enough. Stealing a mask from a child was easy.

Easy enough that Skull had already walked up to Kurusu, and pulled the white mask off his face with little fanfare. He turned and waved it at the team.

“Alright, now wh—”

The agonized wail bore into Goro’s skull the way nails did upon a chalkboard. Kurusu grabbed his face, blood coating where the mask had once been, and sobbed. They were weak, aborted sounds. It made his chest burn with a pain he had not felt in quite some time.

Goro didn't need Oracle announcing the palace was on full alert, he could tell by the way the dancing shadows had turned to face them as one.

Shit.

Owl’s thinly veiled sigh was the last thing Goro remembered before they were all flung back into reality, no more gentle this time. Goro at least landed on Kurusu’s old bed, better than Sakamoto who looked a mere breath from having been flung down the stairs.

It was truly wonderful foresite on their part to enter the Palace from the attic, and not the main cafe this time.

“Ryuji!” Niijima shouted, she pushed herself up and off of the desk Kurusu used to make nicknacks on, “what was that!?”

“He said to steal his mask!” He groaned, and sat up, his hand rubbed against some part of his torso and flinched.

Served him right.

‘Were you not about to do the same?’ Robin challenged, and Goro ignored him.

“Maybe Akira wasn't supposed to see us take it?” Sumire suggested, yet even she seemed unsure of her words, sitting up and tucking her legs beneath her, “or, maybe we aren't supposed to steal it at all.”

“You think Arsène would purposely mislead us?” Okumura asked, brushing some stray hair behind her ear, then repeating the same motion to Niijima.

“N-no, that's not it,” she frowned, “not exactly at least. I think Owl- ah, I mean Arsène, was being purposely vague. I don't think the mask here is literal.”

“Hmm, I believe she has a point,” Morgana chirped, “the ‘masks’ are probably the distorted desires, or beliefs, that make Akira change who he is.”

“A physical manifestation of them, that can only be formed when Kurusu lets them go,” Goro rubbed his chin, “I see. So we must see his true self, in order to obtain the masks Arsène spoke of.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Skull challenged, “pretty sure he’ll be mad when we go back to the Palace now.”

“Akira isn't the vengeful sort,” Okumura frowned (showed how well she knew him), “he wasn't mad at us for interrupting his performance last time, I don't think he will be mad at this time either.”

“Are we supposed to just talk it out of him?” Niijima frowned, “Akira is so quiet, there must be some sort of trick we’re missing. Perhaps we need to do something in our world to affect how he perceives himself?”

“Uh, I don't think the potential topic of this one is something we should go shouting to him about,” Sakamoto rubbed the back of his head, “he never even told most of you, so…”

“Ryuji has a point,” Goro admitted, loathe as he was to do so, “if it is something he still carries as a mask, no doubt the circumstances around his transition have been painful. From what I’ve gathered so far, it seems he was… forced to seek shelter elsewhere shortly upon his return to his parents.”

Sakura nodded, so Goro continued, “ambushing him over such knowledge may only make it worse. Perhaps if we were to take care of his parents…”

“Change their hearts, you mean?” Takamaki chirped, and Goro was incredibly tempted to say ‘no’, but he held his tongue and nodded instead.

“Doubt it,” Morgana sighed, “even if his parents came to their senses and apologized, I wonder if that would erase the pain Akira feels. Especially if such grief is the source of this mask.”

“Well it wouldn't make it any worse,” Goro bit, though reigned himself back some. He was furious, the more he learned of Kurusu’s family. He wasn't Blackmask anymore though, no. He tossed that monicor down to the seabed when he had thought he died.

When Goro breathed what he had swore would be his last breaths he chose to just be Crow, a member of the Phantom Thieves. He had every intention to keep it as so.

“While I do not disagree with Akechi,” Okumura frowned, “ I believe Morgana is right. Changing their hearts, or otherwise, probably will not help us at the moment. We can only meet once a week as it is, we must prioritize Akira’s palace.”

“It’s not like we have a deadline though,” Takamaki pointed out, “no world-ending stuff to worry about.”

That didn't feel right, though Goro couldn't place a finger on why. Still, his instincts had yet to lead him truly astray, “February 2nd.”

The entire team froze. Goro eyed them, but continued to speak, “that is our deadline.”

“Why that date?” Niijima asked, yet her tone seemed cautious, trepid even. Incredibly unlike her, but Goro wondered… If they reacted that way to the mere mention of the date; maybe Goro was right. Something happened that day.

“It is significant,” he responded, careful to keep his tone neutral, “given by your responses, it seems I am correct in that assumption?”

“You don't remember Maruki’s palace,” Sumire frowned, “how could you know about that?”

Goro’s head hurt. He shifted and brought his ankle up to rest on his knee, “I don't. I have no reason to deceive you all, however, February 2nd was part of the reason I’ve returned. I could not let three years pass over that date, it couldn't become the 3rd without me here, I do not know why. Or I didn't, until now, I believe.”

“What else!” Takamaki pressed, her hands splayed flat over the table before the couch, “what else do you remember?”

“I don't remember anything,” Goro hissed, “occasionally I’ll have weird dreams, but that is all. It is mostly relegated to sensations, gaps in memory, and lost time. I was in a coma, Takamaki, I know not what else you want from me.”

“Enough,” Niijima cut in, “this is getting us nowhere. Let us just treat February 2nd as a deadline then, to play on the safer side.”

“That only gives us… seven days we can go into the palace as a team,” Morgana frowned, “it is an incredibly tight schedule. We don't even know how to get these masks from Akira’s shadow yet.”

“Then we’ll have to make the most of the time we’re given,” Sumire smiled, “we can do it! I know we can, for Sen— for Akira’s sake!”

The group seemed to agree, voicing their support, albeit cautiously. They had no more room for errors, they couldn't waste another trip to the palace now, if they were kicked out again… They may very well not be able to finish it before the deadline.

Yet no other choice remained. They would finish Kurusu’s palace and steal his heart, before February 2nd.

They had to.

Goro squinted at his phone, staring at the messages he and Sakura had sent back and forth recently. Anxiety coiled in his gut, though he knew it would be better to face her head on than make excuses and flee.

[Sakura] you, me. Leblanc

[Sakura] we’re talking whether you like it or not

 

[Goro] Well it seems I have no choice, then.

He nosed further under his scarf, the crisp autumn air burned his lungs. The temperature had dropped drastically the last couple days, they were expected to get snow late next week. He pocketed his phone and pushed the door open.

Boss glanced up when he saw him in the doorway, nodded once, and returned to his crossword, “they are upstairs.”

“They?”

Boss nodded, though did not seem inclined to answer any further. Goro steeled himself for whatever ambush awaited him, and trudged up the stairs. Futaba was perched on Akira’s bed, Morgana curled up on her lap, with some papers set beside her.

Contrary to what he had prepared himself for, Kurusu was the only other person in the room, even that was a generous statement. The man seemed half-asleep where he had sprawled out on the couch. With his glasses on the table, the bags beneath his eyes were all the more prominent. There was no sign of the other thieves.

“I’m here.”

Kurusu jolted a bit at that and sat up, so he really had been dozing. Goro would pester him about it later, he was here primarily under Sakura’s request.

“I, wow,” Sakura pulled at the long strands of orange framing her face, she seemed to have taken tugging at her hair as a nervous tick from Kurusu, “I didn't actually think you’d show up.”

Goro allowed himself to frown at that, though didn't comment directly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, “you asked me to come.”

“Ok, yeah. Alright,” she gestured for him to grab a seat, so he sat in the one pulled to the center of the room. It had been left there for a purpose, he imagined.

“Why is he here?” He gestured to Kurusu, he straightened at his name and waved his earbuds in lieu of an answer.

“Emotional support if needed,” Kurusu explained at Goro’s deadpan stare, “for both of you. I’ll just be listening to music, so I’m not eavesdropping.”

“I asked him to come,” Sakura mumbled, petting through Morgana’s black fur, “he’s always helped me face my fears, and um. I know he’s helped you too.”

Goro lent back in the chair and crossed his arms, fine. He didn't need to be babysat by Kurusu, he wasn't Shido’s rabid dog anymore. Still, he understood the concern, and wouldn't protest Kurusu holding his leash if that was what eased Sakura’s fear.

“Fine,” he grunted, he could see Kurusu push in his earbuds and stare at his phone. Goro knew he was watching though, Kurusu would be at his throat if he made so much as a jerk in Sakura’s direction.

“Yeah.”

Goro remained silent and waited for whatever Sakura wished to get off her chest. He would be a fool to think this was not about her mother, so he braced himself for what was to be said. What needed to be said. He could feel the wave of unease from Robin in the back of his mind.

Wakaba had been his first kill, and the only one done with Robin.

“I don't hate you,” Sakura started, quietly, “not really, anyway.”

Goro blinked, “what?”

“You heard me,” she frowned.

“I killed your mother,” Goro pressed with a sharp laugh, “how can you not?”

“I know, asshole,” she snapped back, “and I hate that you killed her! She was my mom!”

Goro flinched, and pressed the blunt tips of his gloves into his jacket, the pressure was grounding.

“But I don't hate you. I hate Blackmask.”

“In case you forgot, Sakura, that's me.”

“No, shut up!” She stomped her feet, “that's not what I mean!”

“Then what, pray tell, do you mean?” he sneered, he was being cruel, he knew he was. But the words kept coming and he couldn't stop them, “would it make it better if you knew it wasn't Blackmask that killed her? That I killed her before I even had Loki?”

Her eyes widened, “what?”

“Your mother was the first person I killed.”

Goro averted his gaze to his knees, when tears began to well in her eyes. He wasn't sure what she was trying to get out of this, did she need permission to hate him? Was he supposed to make himself as distasteful as possible so her anger would be justified? Should he play the part expected?

“Why did you kill her?”

“Shido told me to, as a test of my power. He told me to destroy the cognitive self, and that was that,” Goro frowned, “I was given an order, and I followed it.”

“H-how though? You didn't have Loki with you.”

“You’ve seen Robin Hood, Sakura,” he drawled.

She scowled at him, and Goro found himself relieved. Sakura had come so far from how she was when he first joined the team, not to mention before that. She was braver than she knew.

“Why did she have to die though?”

“Because she was an inconvenience and in the way,” Goro growled.

Sakura said nothing.

“Fine, whatever. Shido wanted the knowledge your mother had, and did not want to fight with her over the moralities of his plans. So, when she refused to sell him her papers, he told me to prove my strength to him, and I did.”

“So you killed her? Why didn't you just change her heart, or I don't know!” She cried, her breaths came in short, hurried, pants. Goro could see Kurusu shift from the corner of her eye, though he still made no move to interviene.

“It was my first time within a real palace. Besides, that was a knowledge I did not have until after I obtained Loki,” he murmured, “so I killed the shadow and when I came back, Shido praised me for a job well done.”

“Did you even know what you were doing?”

Goro flinched at her shrill voice, and kept his gaze rooted firmly to the empty planter Akira’s old plant used to inhabit, “does it matter? What’s done is done.”

“Of course it does!” Her voice cracked.

“You are making too many presumptions,” he said instead of acknowledging her wavering voice, “even if I did not know what exactly would have happened to your mother, I knew it would have been bad. And, upon learning of the result, I continued to kill. That's that.”

He wouldn't tell her how he had sobbed himself to sleep the night Shido informed him of Wakaba’s death, and assured him there would be no way to trace the crime to him. Afterall, the suicide note read to her daughter was plenty. The poor woman merely had maternal neurosis, such a shame.

Goro wouldn't admit how he couldn't eat for days after, how even when he tried he only succeeded in vomiting it all back up.

And, when Shido contacted him a week later to test the scope of his powers, Goro held his tongue and complied.

Sakura gently nudged Morgana off her lap, and pulled her knees to her chin, “I’ll never forgive what happened to mom. I dont think I’ll ever get over what happened after, the suicide note… I was tossed between houses like an unwanted pet.”

Goro didn't comment.

“My last caretaker, and I use that term loosely, before Sojiro was my Uncle. I slept on the ground, he barely fed me, I couldn't even shower sometimes. When I got sick he locked me in my room and I was expected to just…” Sakura closed her eyes and pressed her forehead between her knees, her shoulders shook, “that's how Sojiro found me.”

“I see.”

“You were in the foster system, and you were abused too,” Fubata said after a couple minutes of silence, “I know you understand what I went through.”

“How do you know that?” Goro snarled, “what makes you think the families that took me in were anything but hospitable?”

“I have Akira’s phone bugged, remember?”

Of course, of course. Goro tried not to be furious at Kurusu, for taking advantage of him like that. It was needed, they needed to know where he was weak so they could strike where he was soft, the cracks in his otherwise stone shell.

“Don’t, whatever you're thinking, stop it,” Sakura snapped, “I bugged yours too. That's how I got most of my knowledge, outside of what you told me yourself. Both before and in… Well, what I guess was a cognition of you, told me. Akira never had his phone out when you were alone like that. Hell, he told me to stop listening when you were alone.”

“Foolish of him,” Goro sneered, “he should have exploited the weakness I showed.”

“Akira would rather die than do that to someone,” Sakura shook her head, “you know that.”

Kurusu seemed to have relaxed again, given neither he nor Sakura were ready to start screaming. He returned to laying on the couch, earbuds still firmly in place. Could he truly not hear them? If he concentrated, he could pick out faint music, blasting loud enough to be heard even where Goro sat.

The fool was going to damage his hearing.

“I know,” he mumbled.

“I don't want to hate you, Akechi,” Sakura let her legs fall off the side of the bed, “I don't want to be angry at you, either.”

“So, what? You're going to pretend I didn't—”

“Let me finish!”

Goro’s jaw snapped shut.

“You’ve done horrible, vile, and-and wretched things. But no amount of hating you is going to bring my mom back,” she pulled at the papers that rested next to her leg, “no matter how much you convince yourself you were always acting on your own, that's not true.”

Goro resisted the urge to snap at her again.

“You were taken advantage of, an-and manipulated. If… If Sojiro hadn't found me, trapped within my own filth, I… I would have done anything to escape,” Sakura mumurred, “maybe even killed my Uncle.”

“No, you're too kind for that,” leather creaked beneath the strain of Goro’s fists, “it's not in your nature.”

“You don't know me well enough to know that,” she spat, “we’re… we’re closer than you think.”

“Excuse me?”

She stood, shakily, and padded across the room to hand Goro the papers she gathered.

“When you said you made two of us orphans, you were rather misinformed,” she wrinkled her nose, “my father, if you could call that glorified sperm donor one, is still alive. Though is now thoroughly behind bars.”

No.

That was impossible. He had thought… Was his mother not the only one he…?

His heart pounded in his chest as he read through what she had given him. No, no absolutely not. He couldn't, he had no family left. His mother was all he had. There never was anyone else, never could be anyone else.

And yet.

His hands rested limp on his lap, he had a sister.

A little sister.

Her grin was brittle and shaky when he lifted his gaze from the blood analysis and birth certificate, “surprise.”

“I… never knew he had other kids.”

“Neither did I. Didn't even know he was my uh, bio father until he was arrested.”

“Are there… others?”

Sakura shook her head, “not that I could scrounge up. Not impossible though.”

“Does Kurusu know?”

Sakura nodded, “I told him after I said I wanted him here for support.”

“I don't understand what the point of this was,” Goro let go of the papers before he crumbled them with shaking hands, “why did you bring me here? What do you want?”

“I want to try again,” Sakura rubbed her arm, “we can't start over, but I’d like to try and continue forward. Maybe not as siblings, or… I don't know. Maybe a little. Akira’s like a brother to me, and you're well, technically my brother. Even if you weren't I’d still…”

Goro was patient as she groaned, pulling at her hair again.

“You're important to Akira, and he is important to me. I want you to be important to me too.”

It wasn't often Goro was left truly speechless. Even when silent there were always words and thoughts and feelings swirling so violently in his skull he feared if he so much as opened his mouth, only venom would escape.

Goro drew a complete blank.

“Ok,” he agreed after what was probably too long of a silence, and tried to smile. It was weak and shaky, no better than Sak- no. Futaba’s own watery one, “ok. I… yes. I would like that as well.”

“Good, you weren't going to be given a choice anyway.”

Chapter Text

Objectively, Goro knows this is stupid. He does, really.

He also knows, objectively, they had little time and still haven't figured out how Kurusu’s palace actually works yet. If they have any hope of learning anything, they’ll need someone to do scout work, and well, Goro’s last case wrapped up, and he doesn't have any new clients right now.

Aside from that one woman that exhausted Goro just thinking about. Another case of the rich using their money for their own means. He already informed his supervisor he would not be working with her any further. Still wasn't sure what would come of that.

( “Your job is to find evidence,” she clipped, “and you have yet to find any.”

“I am informing you there is no evidence of your husband cheating on you. Perhaps your marriage is failing for other reasons.”

“Excuse me?” She spat, saliva landed on his paperwork, and Goro had been so proud for not stabbing her in the neck, and watching the blood stain his work instead.

“The case is closed.”

“No, it is not! Not until I have my evidence!”

“There isn't any,” he growled and bristled as she leant in, her vanilla perfume gave him a headache.

“Then make some.” )

Goro wasn't surprised to see Owl near the entrance to the ballroom.

“You're alone?”

“Yes,” he bit, “where's Kurusu?”

“On his way,” Owl tilted his head, red eyes with pupils far too thin to be human. It was odd, seeing the once-persona up close. Whispers of something more constantly broke through the surface, but not enough to escape.

“Good.”

They stood there, silent. Goro had no desire to entertain the creature, and likewise, the creature had no interest in him either.

Sure enough, he spotted a child with long curly hair and a pleated skirt weaving between the shadows. This time, they did not part for him. Goro wondered why.

“Goro!” He chirped, grin wide and full of an innocent joy that made his skin crawl.

“Hello, Kurusu,” he said, unsure how to treat this version of him. Kurusu was clearly a child, and seemed to hold at least some level of likewise maturity. Goro had no intentions of scaring a child, much less Kurusu himself, if he could help it.

“Call me Rin,” he beamed, “we’re friends, right?”

“Rin?” It took a moment, then it clicked. Rin must have been the name his parents thrust upon him, “not Akira?”

Something passed over his face, a grimace. Kurusu’s hand went up to the blood red ribbon in his hair, clutching it, but not tugging it loose.

‘You look so pretty in red, Rin. You make Mommy so proud.’

Goro blinked when the voice of a woman echoed through the ballroom. He imagined it must have been Kurusu’s mother. The echo was gone, as was the moment.

“Of course not,” he bounced back, letting his hand fall, “Mommy gave me my name, it’d be awfully ungrateful to go by something else, right?”

“Hm,” he pretended to consider, searching for the right words to say, “if someone brings you food you dislike, do you still eat it?”

To his surprise, Kurusu nodded.

He frowned, “and why is that?”

Kurusu shrugged, “it's expected.”

Goro wasn't sure how exactly to respond to that.

He caught the movement of Kurusu’s arm from the corner of his eye, as though reaching up to grab Goro’s hand. The action fell through before it came to fruition, and his arm dropped limply at his side.

Should Goro reach out?

Kurusu had made the same motion when they had entered Crossroads, he recalled. A small little thing, like a reflex to reach out to soothe and be soothed. Both then, and now, he stopped short.

Why?

Before Goro could decide if he should return the gesture, Kurusu was already walking from him, wandering back into the ballroom. Goro turned to glance at Owl, but found the shell of a creature gone. Odd.

“Are you coming, Goro?”

Goro scowled at the empty space, then followed Kurusu.

Two hallways reached out on either side of the ballroom, Goro wondered if they had been there the entire time and he merely failed to notice, or if the palace had changed since he last visited. To be fair, Goro did not believe had paid attention to anything other than meeting the child he was trailing now.

What was his mask?

Goro did not believe it to be the literal mask on his face. He had a hunch, but was unsure how to coax Kurusu into removing it. Much less if he should even try without the presence of the other thieves. He imagined they likely would be rather cross if he had made significant progress without their presence.

Stealing Kurusu’s heart was his priority, and if he needed to do it himself he would… But he did not want to. Nor did he think, in truth he could. Not entirely, anway.

Kurusu took him down the hall on the left.

It was a shorter hallway, abstract paintings covered the otherwise plain black walls. Two doors, the same deep maroon as the door leading to the stage were on either side of the passage. At the end, there were stairs leading down. Could they access the treasure room from there?

Goro made a note of it, but still decided to ask, “where do the stairs lead?”

“The Dark Place,” Kurusu responded, and opened the door on the right.

“The Dark Place?” Goro frowned, “and what exactly is this… area?”

Kurusu didn't answer, and Goro didn't press.

The room was odd. It seemed to be a child’s room, yet there were no toys, or any sign of a child actively living there, aside from the bed being the right size. It was modestly decorated, none of the knickknacks Goro knew Kurusu loved to hoard like a magpie, the walls were a neutral white, and similarly colored curtains framed the large window on the opposite wall.

Really, it looked to be the room of an adult that rarely was home. A phantom in their own house.

Goro stepped inside, the whole room smelled… odd. Perfume, maybe? Goro couldn't pinpoint what ‘flavor’ the smell was, just that it seemed out of place for a child’s room. There was a pale vanity on the left wall, and a massive armoire on the right.

Behind the wardrobe, Goro could pick out small strips of black, where the dull paint was peeling away. A crack in his mask, perhaps. Even now, Kurusu’s will of rebellion did not entirely leave him.

Good. He could work with this.

“Where am I?” He asked.

“My room,” Kurusu chirped, and sat on the stool before the vanity, “you can't tell Mom you are here though, she’d be mad.”

“Would she now? Why is that, are we not friends?”

“Of course we are! But she says I’m not allowed to be friends with boys.”

Goro bit his tongue, he needed information. As much as he wanted to shake Kurusu back to himself, he needed to know more before he ripped that stupid mask out of him.

“Well, that is a ridiculous rule,” Goro scoffed, and approached the vanity, taking note of what was organized on the percent surface.

Lipstick, blush, eyeshadow of varying shades, concealer… A lot of makeup brushes, sponges, and a small bowl of water and a rag. Goro didn't know what kids grew up with, he did not know if having so much makeup was normal. Was it?

What truly grabbed his attention was the crystalline bottle separated from the makeup. It was small, and the glass was a vibrant red, the stopper at the top the shape of a heart, with the pointed end speared into the mouth.

Desire, the label read.

And Goro suddenly felt very sick.

“What's… All this for?” Goro asked, and picked up the perfume bottle. He turned it over, and other than it very clearly being meant for adults, Goro didn't see anything out of place on it.

“I have to practice being pretty,” he explained, kicking his feet back and forth on his stool, “if I’m not perfect enough, I’ll be a waste.”

“That… right?”

‘The only way a girl like you will ever amount to anything is to marry rich, no man wants a wife smarter than him.’

Kurusu nodded, but did not add anything further. His fingers tangled themselves in his red ribbon again, the tails of the bow weaved through his hair like rivers of blood. Goro would bet good money on that ribbon being his mask.

Now, if only he knew how to remove it. Or better yet, get Kurusu to remove it himself.

Absently, Kurusu turned in the stool to face the mirror. The reflection was odd, amorphous and unable to maintain a solid shape. As though looking through distrubed water, splashes of color rippled along the mirror. Only his yellow eyes remained undisturbed.

The vanity creaked when Kurusu opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a comb. It was a lovely thing, ivory with gold swirls depicting feathers. Goro had expected him to actually use it, but instead, he merely held the comb up.

It took a couple beats for him to recognize the request for what it was.

“I’m not your manservant,” he sneered, “brush your own damn hair.”

Kurusu’s eyes widened as he glanced over his shoulder. He seemed surprised?

How spoiled was he as a kid?

That didn't feel right though. Kurusu was a cocky asshole, yes, but he never gave the impression of someone who’d been catered to his whole life. In fact, rather the opposite.

“O-oh, I’m sorry,” his voice was meek, Goro hated it, “I didn't mean… I just thought…”

“Thought what?”

“Well, aren't friends supposed to brush each other's hair? I heard some girls at school talking about sleepovers, and I… Sorry.”

Goro approached and snatched the comb from the child. Kurusu jolted, and Goro expected him to shy away. To his continued surprise, he relaxed. Startled, not scared. Huh.

He used to brush his mother’s hair, when he was a boy. She told him it was calming, and he liked the feeling of being useful. So every night after she finished seeing whatever man she brought to the apartment, Goro would take her favorite pink brush, and smooth out the tangles that had worked their way into her hair.

He hadn't done it the night she killed herself. Goro wondered if he had, she could have fought against the coils of despair for just a bit longer.

It wasn't healthy to think like that.

Goro drew in a breath and let it out, willing the slight tremor of his hand to steady itself. He reached for Kurusu’s long hair and… Nothing.

Goro blinked.

His hand passed through his hair as though he had merely stretched his arm out, as though Kurusu was not patiently waiting on the stool in front of him. There was not even the change in temperature or tingling sensation he experienced sometimes when walking among cognitions. Genuinely, it was as if Kurusu was not even there.

Goro pulled his hand back and met Kurusu’s eyes through his reflection. The ripples stilled as the glass showed the reflection of the Kurusu he knew, albeit still with yellow eyes. His expression was neutral, yet something felt intrinsically off about it.

His mouth was pressed too thin, his brows had the slightest quirk to them, something he only had when he was trying to suppress strong emotions. Usually anger, but Goro had seen the face with grief as well. He knew it all too well. Though Goro wondered how the glassy stare and anguish that faced him through the mirror now, could feel so familiar.

The moment passed, and like a drop on a pond’s surface, the image vanished, once more returning to the rocky and uncertain mass of colors Kurusu’s reflection had been before.

“You aren't Kurusu.”

“I told you already,” he snapped, “I’m Rin.”

“Where is Kurusu, really?”

“The Dark Place,” Kurusu explained, smoothing his hands over his skirt.

“You mentioned it before, where is this place?”

“It's beneath the stage, he’s only allowed to leave during shows.”

Interesting. So he was dealing with something rather unusual. Not a cognition, exactly, it seemed. Yet not Kurusu’s shadow, or his true one, at least.

Beneath the stage, Goro set the comb on the vanity, “is that not where his treasure is?”

Kurusu nodded, his curls bounced at the jerky, excited, action, “yup!”

“Why is his treasure in a place he is imprisoned within?”

“It's safe,” Kurusu stilled, his voice had changed from the carefree chirping to something far more hesitant, “We—he likes the dark, it's familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“When we’re bad, we have to go to the Dark Place. We’re always bad though, so it's normal now; not scary anymore. Besides, we get left alone, so we can keep the treasure protected there.”

Goro’s mouth tasted like cotton, “I see.”

Kurusu did not comment further, and Goro was keenly aware of the passage of time. Still, he needed to know, “do you actually feel more comfortable in the dark?”

“Yes.”

Goro would take that knowledge to heart. He himself was ambivalent to it, but if keeping lights off when he visited was something that brought peace to his friend, well, Goro would adjust.

[ Futaba ] don't do it again

 

[ Goro ] Do we have a choice?

[ Goro ] Seven days will not be enough time.

[ Goro ] Certainly not when we do not know how to take his masks to begin with.

 

[ Futaba ] still…

[ Futaba ] warn me next time, so i can like idk

[ Futaba ] monitor him. Just in case

Goro frowned, and slid the box of mochi into the bright red basket dangling from his arm. Kurusu liked sweet things, right? Maybe he’d like truffles too. Crepes would be a hassle to bring to his apartment, too easily squashed on the train. Sushi was precarious enough.

[ Goro ] Fine. I will agree to those terms.

[ Goro ] I have no intention of doing anything major without the friendship brigade.

[ Goro ] So do not fret.

 

[ Futaba ] what are u doing now anyway??

[ Futaba ] (ㆆ_ㆆ)

 

[ Goro ] You bugged my phone, should be obvious, no?

[ Goro ] You tell me what you think I am doing.

 

[ Futaba ] i dont have your phone bugged YET

[ Futaba ] gotta actually get a hold of it first

Goro snorted.

[ Goro ] Shame.

He placed the basket on the register and feigned a pleasant smile at the man ringing him out. His brow twitched when he felt another buzz from his pocket. Futaba had been relentless all day. Goro was unsure how she had managed to ascertain his solo trip into Kurusu’s palace, but since she had, she hasn't shut up since.

[ Futaba ] come oooon

[ Futaba ] please??

[ Futaba ] you wouldnt leave ur wittle sister hanging would u

[ Futaba ] （ つ︣﹏╰）

 

[ Goro ] You know me better than that, Sakura.

 

[ Futaba ] ooo back to last names

[ Futaba ] i’m QUAKING

[ Futaba ] come on brochacho

 

[ Goro ] No.

 

[ Futaba ] Broseph

 

[ Goro ] Stop.

 

[ Futaba ] Brother from another mother~

 

[ Goro ] I’m blocking you.

Goro shoved his phone in his pocket again and paid for the snacks. He didn't bother maintaining a cheery persona, though did feel bad for the now trembling clerk. His snarling at his phone likely frightened him. Goro didn't care enough to explain or apologize, so he grabbed his bags with a gruff thanks, and left the store.

Honestly, not even Goro knew what he was doing. Or well, physically, he was going to Kurusu’s apartment because he was mad at the sad idiot. Past that, Goro had no plans.

When the buzzing in his pocket grew too annoying, Goro shifted the bags from the convenience store, and the takeout sushi he picked up prior into one hand, and pulled the stupid machine out.

[ Futaba ] please??

[ Futaba ] hey

[ Futaba ] hey

[ Futaba ] ugh. U suck

 

[ Goro ] Fine.

[ Goro ] I am on my way to Kurusu’s apartment.

[ Goro ] I am bringing him food.

Goro exited the conversation and skimmed through his previous one with Kurusu. A frown ticked at the corner of his mouth, he was concerned for the man.

[ Kurusu ] hey i won't make it to jazz jin tonight

[ Kurusu ] sorry

 

[ Goro ] What happened?

 

[ Kurusu ] nothing. Just tired.

What a load of horsehsit.

[ Goro ] Very well.

 

[ Kurusu ] thanks for understanding, sorry again.

 

[ Goro ] I’ll be at your apartment in two hours.

[ Goro ] You have been warned.

Kurusu’s texts devolved into him largely going through the stages of grief at the mere notion of Goro visiting his apartment again. First, thinking Goro was joking. Goro did not joke, Kurusu knew that. Then he got mad for half a sentence for not giving him ample time to prepare. He had two hours. Attempting to set up another time to meet, and when that did not work, he sent a rather sad looking picture of a cat.

Then, finally, Kurusu accepted Goro’s inevitable presence in his home. Really, it was quite the flurry of emotions, all taking place in the span of a mere five minutes.

His phone buzzed again, but Goro ignored it this time, as he stepped onto the train and secured a small corner to himself. Likely Futaba sending vague threats to watch himself. She was ready to send the cavalry after him if he so much as made Kurusu twitch in discomfort, he was sure.

Kurusu was not happy Goro was coming to his apartment, even Goro’s admittedly emotionally inept self could tell. However, he was not going to let his friend hide from the world and wallow in his despair. If Kurusu did not wish to get some air, fine, Goro would bring the air to him.

The train was crowded, though given the end of the evening rush was fast approaching, the carriages began to thin enough for Goro to get himself a seat.

He fished his phone out once more, just in case it was a text from Kurusu. It wasn't.

[ Futaba ] wait really?

[ Futaba ] hes letting you come over????

 

[ Goro ] He is not being given a choice.

[ Goro ] We had plans. He canceled. So I am taking the plans to him.

 

[ Futaba ] lol

[ Futaba ] is he actually going to even let you in?

 

[ Goro ] He will.

[ Goro ] If not I am capable of breaking locks.

 

[ Futaba ] that's illegal Mr Officer

 

[ Goro ] Not an officer.

 

[ Futaba ] whatever, same difference

[ Futaba ] good though. He never has anyone over, and you KNOW how he gets

[ Futaba ] he cuts us out like that a lot, and idk. I don't want to make him uncomfortable

[ Futaba ] i hope he actually lets you in

 

[ Goro ] As do I.

Goro frowned, that did explain some of his questions. If Kurusu canceled plans often, he did not imagine his friends to be the sorts that would hassle him into being with them anyway. They were respectful, usually. Qualities he believed were important, yes, but not what Kurusu needed. Not now at least.

Perhaps during their meeting Sunday, he could bring this up to them. Just because they were trudging through his Palace, did not mean they should ignore him in the waking world. Kurusu needed his friends.

[ Goro ] Also, absolutely not the same difference, you cretin.

 

[ Futaba ] good luck bromigo

[ Futaba ] (っ◔◡◔)っ ❤

 

[ Goro ] You disgust me.

“Kurusu! Open the stupid door!”

“Fine! Stop shouting, you're going to give me noise complaints, you dickhead.”

Goro huffed, narrowing his eyes at the neighbor that peeked through the curtains. She let them fall closed, Goro would like to see her try to send a complaint in against Kurusu. He knew damn well that man was quiet as a mouse unless with people he trusted. The fact Kurusu yelled back at him warmed his heart.

Worse case, Goro would take it up with property management. He was the one who started shouting, afterall.

He heard the lock click, and the door protested its treatment when Kurusu pulled the door open. Goro nodded his greeting, and shouldered past Kurusu before he could change his mind.

“Wait, what did you bring?”

“Food and snacks,” Goro responded, pleased to see the apartment was a bit cleaner. The dishes in the sink were mostly gone, and the trash was at least in the actual bin this time. It still was overflowing, but Goro was pleased there was some progress.

“Uh, why?”

“Well we were going to get dinner, so I brought some sushi, and I stopped at the convenience store for some snacks. Do you like truffles?”

Kurusu blinked at him, without his glasses his gaze bordered on unsettling. The kind of eyes that were dangerous, the sort that would draw someone in so far into their depth, they’d drown in his stare.

Not that Goro was looking.

Goro jerked his attention back to unpacking what he brought, “since you are tired, would you be opposed to watching some movies? Or perhaps we could watch some anime. Whatever you prefer.”

“E-either is fine.”

“Hm,” Goro folded the bags and set them aside on the counter for now, he’d ask Kurusu where to store them later, “Featherman it is then.”

Kurusu chuckled, and finally seemed to get over his initial surprise, and approached the counter where Goro had laid everything out. His brows furrowed, and his bottom lip was sucked between his teeth. Goro was tempted to pull the lip free, but did not believe that was an appropriate gesture.

Instead, he spoke, “don't even think about trying to pay me back or apologize. This is a gift.”

“Why?”

“Again with the ‘why’, ugh,” Goro snorted, “get it through your thick skull now that I do find enjoyment spending time with you. At Jazz Jin, Penguin Sniper, or even here, in your apartment.”

“Oh,” Kurusu tugged at his hair.

Goro shoved his serving of sushi into his hands, Kurusu fumbled a bit but managed to accept the meal, “go sit on the couch and get your dvd player working.”

“Okay.”

Goro grabbed his own sushi, and put the mochi in the freezer for later. He frowned at how little there was in there, half a bag of frozen vegetables, and some ice. Goro opened the fridge to find it in the same manner. Two bottled drinks lined the door, and there was a loaf of bread, cheese slices, and pre packaged ham.

Did this man ever go to the grocery store? Was it funds or time keeping him from stocking his fridge proper? Goro frowned, though did not comment. Now wasn't the time.

He wished there was more he could do. Was there more he could do? Goro was… unversed in the act of watching out for someone. He had been on his own for so long, he lived or died by his own ability to adapt and overcome. Never had to worry about anyone else, likewise, never knew how to care for anyone else. He didn't need to.

And now look at him.

To presume Kurusu is incapable of taking care of himself was an insult, degrading even. Yet, he was concerned. He did not think Kurusu was as well as he played off being. The existence of a Palace was proof of that enough.

Stealing hearts was something that still rubbed Goro the wrong way, no different than controlling a shadow or killing them. While he knew they were not the same at their core, he couldn't say he was wholly ready to steal Kurusu’s heart. Despite his drive.

He feared he would lose Kurusu. Would he become someone entirely new? No, that wasn't what bothered Goro. Futaba had been fine after her change of heart, according to her own accounts of it. Though they didn't talk about it much, merely in passing.

She described it as a blindfold being taken off her face, a veil lifted so she could see clearly again. Goro wanted that for Kurusu, for whatever he harbored in his heart that warped his perception so thoroughly.

Therein came the concern.

Would having his mind cleared wake Kurusu up to how absolute vile Goro was? After his heart was healed, would Kurusu leave Goro, as he should have the very second he knew what his plans were? Would it reveal to him that Kurusu had never once found comfort in his presence, and it was simply another mask for him to don?

That Goro never truly knew Kurusu at all.

It wouldn't sway him from his task. Goro wouldn't let it. Even if Kurusu turned his back on him when he snapped to his senses, proclaimed he never wanted to see his face again, Goro would accept that. Perhaps Kurusu’s self-sacrificing nonsense rubbed off on him. Perhaps Goro was merely returning the favor.

“Coming?”

The opening theme for Neo-Featherman rang from the television, Goro grabbed his sushi and the truffles. He dropped onto the opposite side of the ratty gray couch and set the chocolates between them on the middle cushion.

Some time passed and neither of them said anything, Goro hadn't the time to go back and watch the earlier episodes of the season again. Before they pulled whatever fuckery they did in that damn movie to get Gray Pigeon back. The new season would be airing soon, Goro prayed the movie would be considered non-canon at best.

Two more episodes ran, and Goro was comfortable. Kurusu, as far as he could tell, appeared to be relaxed enough as well. Exhaustion seemed to cling to his very soul, and Goro wished there was something he could do to ease that. He wasn't the man’s parent, and it would do no good to hover over him needlessly.

Still.

Kurusu grunted as he pulled his lithe legs out from underneath him, leaning forward to grab his empty takeout container from the ground, and held his hand out for Goro’s. The plastic was passed off, and Kurusu ferried them to the kitchen as the ending credits rolled.

“Turn the light off on your way back,” Goro suggested, and stole the last truffle. He still wasn't overly fond of sweets, but the mix he had obtained in the box was not half bad. Dark chocolate was palatable, and Kurusu liked the caramel ones.

There was silence for a beat, and Goro glanced over the corner of the couch to spot Kurusu frozen in the kitchen. He was staring at Goro in a way that reminded him of Joker, when sizing up a new shadow. Calculating, and far more intelligent than most would realize. Hidden behind demure shyness, Kurusu was so easy to underestimate, to brush off, and to overlook in a crowd.

Yet he had been the only person to ever stand toe to toe with him.

The thrill of Kurusu reading him so easily almost weighed out the dread coiled in his stomach, “what? I’ve worked all day and have a headache.”

“Besides,” Goro continued and turned his attention to the TV once more with a wave of his hand, “isn't this what you're supposed to do at these sorts of… things?”

Kurusu huffed out a gentle laugh, and flipped them off before returning to his side of the couch. It took a couple minutes for Goro’s eyes to adjust, but it seemed his hunch had paid off. The difference was immediate, Kurusu was still stressed, still bothered by something, but the set of his shoulders had relaxed, and he no longer seemed a breath from bolting. Good.

Another episode passed before Goro heard a sound from Kurusu. There was a scratch of fabric, and Goro could see him move from the corner of his eye. He feigned ignorance, curious what the fellow trickster had up his sleeve.

The movement was slow, slow enough that if Goro had wanted, he could grab Kurusu’s hand and put an end to his reach. But he didn't. So, cold fingers brushed up against his wrist. He tensed, the action was way too intimate. What did he want? What was he trying to pull?

Was this some elaborate way to get him to snap and lose his cool again?

The fingers were gentle, feather-lite, and moved down beneath the leather, Goro was prepared to stop him if he made a move to take off the glove. His therapist remained to be one of only a very select few he allowed to see his hands bare, even in a bathhouse, his hands were hidden as best he could. The puckered rosevine of scars that wove around his fingers and knuckles were unsightly at best, reprehensible at worst.

The fingers did not move any further, instead they pressed gently against the radial artery there. Goro blinked.

Kurusu was checking his pulse.

Goro wasn't sure what to make of the wave of emotions that assaulted him at that very moment. They twisted and writhed in his chest like eels, it made him sick and angry and threatened to suffocate him with the lump forming in his throat. If Kurusu noticed his sharp intake of breath, he didn't comment, and slowly retreated back to his side of the couch.

He wanted to grab the man’s hand and promise he was alive. Goro wanted to swear he wasn't some cognition dreamt up, that he was breathing and he was real.

For a long time, Goro believed no one would miss him if he were to die in Mementos or on a Palace run. Perhaps even before then, before he had Robin Hood, when he was a child forced into a home with five others because the monster running the house got more money the more kids he ‘took care of’.

Goro hadn't cried since he killed Wakaba. No tears fell when he was believed to have killed Kurusu, though perhaps that was of necessity. His apartment was bugged, he couldn't let Shido see weakness.

That didn't stop the hollowness that had threatened to swallow him from the inside out. How he’d catch glimpses of him in windows and reflections, blood coating his forehead with lifeless eyes. It drove him mad. Even so, he never broke down.

Yet here he was, with tears threatening to spill over at the cautious touch of someone who’d miss him if he died.

‘Minra eagna leoht’ a voice resounded in the far back of his mind. He didn't recognize it, yet the tone was familiar all the same, ‘Light of my eyes.’

Kurusu was looking at him, though was silent, as was Goro.

Neither said anything, but then again, neither needed to.

Chapter Text

“Look, I’m not really thrilled about it either, but like, the guy has a point,” Sakamoto frowned, “seven days is nothing.”

“He went behind our backs!” Niijima snapped, “this is Akira we’re talking about! What if, what if he…”

Her eyes darted to Goro as her words trailed off, something close to guilt rested on her face.

Goro bared his teeth, “go on. Finish the sentence.”

She tossed her hands up, “this is ridiculous! We have no reason to trust you, Akechi-san, why would you think it was a good idea to go into his Palace alone? Much less without informing any of us of your plan! I am sure at least one of us could have assisted you.”

“If I wanted to break him, I would have killed his shadow by now,” Goro spat, “I want the same as the rest of you, believe it or not. Who was the one who came to you with knowledge of his Palace again? I could have jumped in myself without ever saying a word, slaughtered all in sight, and left without any of you being the wiser.”

“That doesn't make it ok!”

“So you want me to kick back and twiddle my thumbs when I could be scouting and gathering information to make the Sundays you fools do meet, the most productive?”

Niijima groaned, and leaned back against the booth chair, she massaged the bridge of her nose, and Goro did not feel the need to say anything further. He took a sip of his coffee, and glared at the rest of the group. Prepared to defend himself, and take on Kurusu’s Palace alone, if needed.

Yet no one else seemed to be angry. Frustrated, perhaps, but not the bubbling wrath he had expected.

“Akechi is right,” Sumire finally said after a couple moments, “most of us simply cannot devote the time to going on Palace runs outside of our own responsibilities. We should take this opportunity and use it the best we can. We know Akechi is strong enough to hold his own if needed, and if any of us were to take solo trips, he would have been the wisest choice anyway.”

“I am not… thrilled by the idea,” Okumura spoke, nibbling on her thumbnail, “however, Sumire and Ryuji are correct. We must take every advantage we can.”

Huh. Goro had not expected that.

“However,” her eyes shot to Goro, “if we get even a whiff of ill intent, you will regret it.”

Goro snorted, “understood.”

“Weeell,” Futaba said after a beat of awkward silence, “let's get going. He can explain what he knows while we get into the palace.”

Kitagawa spoke the words, and reality shifted.

The ballroom was crowded as ever, the shadows spun together, the fabric of their dresses and tailcoats dissolved into thin trails of smoke, leaving the room in a foggy haze. Goro was cautious, this was new.

Owl was nowhere to be seen.

“Be careful, the smoke is clouding my sensors. I can't see anything.”

“Great,” Goro growled.

“We have to press forward,” Queen called, “Crow, lead the way.”

He kept the fools close to the edge of the ballroom, hugging the matte walls as they skirted along the outskirts of the dance. At least the shadows seemed to have not changed their behaviors, still ignoring them as they were trapped in the endless cycle of dance.

The hallway Kurusu had led him down prior seemed clear, and the smokey fog did not appear to reach this far in, relegated to only the main ballroom for now. He had been so busy keeping up with the childish excitement Kurusu had, he did not take the time to properly look at the red paintings that lined the otherwise barren hall.

“Hey, this looks familiar,” Skull muttered. Goro scanned the picture he had stopped in front of, as far as Goro could tell, it seemed no more exciting than the others. Geometric blacks, grays, and whites covered the red canvas. Lopsided squares made for a sloppy pattern, crafted by hands untrained in the arts.

“Wait,” Panther nearly pushed Skull over when she clambered to get a closer look, “yes! This is our first calling card!”

Goro blinked.

“I’d recognize the pattern anywhere!”

It had no letters written on it, but the boxes were empty. Goro counted them, enough for 15 characters, split between two words. Interesting.

There were six canvases in total, though this was the only one with the messy blocks decorating its face. The other paintings had been crafted in simple black and reds, the paint swirled together in an almost spiral shape.

He hadn't paid them mind before, but now, watching whatever coated the canvases morph and writhe, it reminded him of the way his vision grew spotty when entering and leaving the Metaverse.

Six paintings, six masks.

Goro peered over Panther’s shoulder at the small golden plaque beneath the blocked in painting they crowded around, ‘Noose of Red’, it read.

“Yikes,” Oracle murmured in their heads.

Yikes indeed.

Goro counted the characters filling the plaque, they wouldn't fit. Did they need to figure out what the words were? Or would they be filled upon their acquisition of the mask this was likely linked to?

He pushed back from the crowding thieves to investigate the other paintings, each with their own plaque beneath them. Even despite no solid form within the frame, each painting had their own golden tag beneath.

‘White Lies’

‘Sacrificial Armor’

‘Glass Cage’

‘Their Failure’

‘His Truth’

Goro stopped at the last painting, or, what be imagined the last painting to be. Their Failure could just as easily be the last one, depending on how they were numbered. They must be the description of each mask they needed to steal for the keys.

Given only Kurusu’s childhood mask was painted, Goro imagined there would be an order to the masks for them to steal, eventually leading them to the final ones.

Their Failure or His Truth.

Fitting, he supposed. They could get to the truth of Kurusu’s heart, or they could fail and leave him even worse than when they had started. There was no room for mistakes in their plan. They couldn't afford it. Not now. Not with Kurusu.

“Incoming,” Oracle chirped, “I think it’s Akira.”

Sure enough, the group turned to face the mouth of the hallway, where smoke still curled form the ballroom, its thin wisps fading as it curled past the arch. There, Kurusu stood, peeking into the corridor with an expression Goro couldn't quite discern beneath his white mask.

He no longer wore the school uniform, instead he donned a gown more fitting of a proper ball. It was a maxi dress, he believed to be term, an ‘A’ cut bearing long sleeves with intricate red lace at each end. The top half of the dress seemed to be some sort of velvet, then flared out to a proper ball gown with layers of tulle, red roses intricately woven along the bottom where it brushed the floor.

Goro wondered why his way of dress changed.

“You shouldn't be here today,” Kurusu murmured, “I can't spend time with you.”

“Why not?” Skull demanded with a stomp of his foot, an action that drew a flinch from Kurusu. Goro would have scolded him, but the way Skull’s eyes widened beneath his mask and how his shoulders nearly met his ears spoke plenty of his guilt.

“I’m performing today,” he explained, and glanced back into the ballroom, “Mother likes it when I perform.”

“Well,” Queen offered, “we know you don't have to go on right at this moment, surely you can spare a little time for us, right Akira?”

“Rin,” he corrected.

“Right, uh… Rin.”

He glanced back into the ballroom again, then nodded, “ok. Yeah, um. Not for long though, ok? Mother will be very angry with me if she catches you all.”

Kurusu trotted past them, a distinct click echoed with each step over the black marble at their feet. He opened the door to his room, and slipped in, leaving the heavy wood open behind him.

He caught Mona from the corner of his eye, where he had paused further down the hall. Goro couldn't tell what had grabbed his attention, but given the way his ears twisted upon his head, something caught his interest. Mona glanced back at them, met Goro’s eyes, and gestured toward the stairs there.

Good. Goro did not believe he could slip away unnoticed, so he nodded at the cat and closed the door to the room behind him. Everyone else had already spread out, and started poking around in Kurusu’s room.

“Wow, this is, uh… nice,” Panther tried. Her smile was among the worst of the fake ones he had seen her dawn.

Kurusu remained close to the door, his fingers fisted in his dress.

“Man, there's nothing in here! Where is this anyway?” Skull complained, and dropped onto the bed with little fanfare.

“It's my room,” Kurusu smoothed out his dress, “um, I have makeup and stuff, but Mother won't allow toys.”

‘Rin, quit your sniveling. A lady is above such boorish desires. You can either pick up an approved hobby, or have none at all. You will return this… thing to the child who gave it to you tomorrow. Am I clear?’

Goro stole a glance at Kurusu, as expected, his hand was gripping the red in his hair.

‘Y-yes Mother.’

‘Good girl, you know mommy loves you, right? I’m only doing this for your sake, my dear.’

“What was that?” Queen wondered, her arms folded across her chest, “Akir- uh, Rin?”

“I’m a lady,” he repeated, “ladies don't play with action figures. Those are for boys.”

“Uh,” Skull kicked his foot out, “you are a boy.”

Kurusu shook his head, his knuckles were white where they gripped the ribbon. Though he said nothing else, just stared at the ground.

The silence fanning the room was suffocating. Goro tapped his fingers against his bicep, they had to steal his mask today. If they failed in their mission, they would not have enough time to obtain the others. Yet the topic here was… delicate. Goro couldn't begin to understand what Kurusu felt, not in this.

It was Noir that approached the frozen child. She knelt down with the grace of someone born into wealth, and gently reached for the hands tangled within his own ribbon. As expected, her hand merely went through him, unable to touch Kurusu.

Her eyes widened, and she shot a look at Goro. He bristled in turn, “I don’t fucking know.”

“Oh Akira…” Noir sighed.

“Rin.”

“No,” Noir’s voice grew sharp, “no I will never call you that. Not unless the you in the waking world asks it of me.”

Kurusu’s eyes widened.

He shifted from foot to foot, even beneath his domino mask, Goro could see the conflict afixed upon his features. Perhaps this mask needed reassurance. Needed to know that their view of him didn't change, he was still Akira Kurusu to them.

“Kurusu… ” Goro began but was cut off by a noise from Oracle.

“Powerful shadow incoming. Seems hostile,” she alerted.

Shit.

Yet… elation began to bubble in Goro’s stomach. This was good, great even.

He cracked his knuckles. How long had passed since he last was able to hit something that could hit back? Goro still bouldered, though not as often as he would have liked, and his therapist and he both agreed that boxing was a good outlet for his aggression as well. Under the stipulation he didn't actually fight anyone.

Goro had a better handle on his ‘anger issues’ but they were still there. And as much as he liked punching things, he didn't actually want to hurt someone; so he couldn't trust himself against another person. Not yet.

But a shadow? Oh he could punch a shadow no problem.

“Oh no,” Goro’s attention jerked to Kurusu, “ you have to hide!”

Goro scoffed, “think we can’t handle a fight with a shadow? Come on Kurusu, you know me better than that.”

Kurusu frantically shook his head, “you can't.”

“We might want to listen to him on this one,” Oracle chided, “remember, this isn't just some run of the mill Palace. If we mess up, we get kicked out. It's all or nothing here.”

Goro didn't like it, but she did have a point. A small one, minuscule even. Yet they couldn't afford to take any risks, they had only so many days they could enter this place as a team. To squander one of them could very well ruin their chances of saving Kurusu.

“Fine.”

“So glad we have your permission, Crow,” Oracle drawled.

“In here,” Kurusu opened his wardrobe, “hurry!”

“We… Aint going to fit in that,” Skull peered inside, “we’re a bit bigger than you right now, man.”

Kurusu pushed against the back of his thigh, entirely ignoring Skull’s protests. He had his arms spread out, gripping either corner of the wardrobe, like a cat refusing to enter their carrier. This was a Palace, if Kurusu believed they would all fit, why wouldn't they?

Panther seemed to have similar thoughts, as she ducked under one of Skull’s arms and easily stepped inside, vanishing behind the clothes.

“Oh what the eff,” Skull groaned, but allowed himself to get shoved inside as well.

The others hurried inside, Goro brought up the rear. His foot rested on the edge of the pristine wood, and he glanced back to find Kurusu at the vanity, frantically brushing his hair.

“Are you not coming?”

The comb stilled in his hair, “no, if I come with she’ll find you too.”

She…? A chasm opened in Goro’s stomach, “we can take care of ourselves, Kurusu.”

Kurusu glanced over his shoulder, his form morphed briefly into one no longer a child, but a man with dull eyes and hollowed cheeks, “.... that's what they always say.”

Goro didn't have time to react to Kurusu’s words when a hand grabbed his arm and he was yanked into the closet, the doors slamming shut behind him. A snarl erupted from his throat and he turned, digging his fingers into the wrist of whatever had bound him, he adjusted his stance, ready to fully defend himself but the yelp he received was human, feminine.

Ann.

He dropped her hand immediately.

It was too dark to see anything, even as his eyes began to adjust. As though they had been brought into some sort of void, a vacuum of space.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It's fine,” Panther sighed, “I startled you pretty bad, huh?”

Goro snorted, but did not deny her statement. Was there an exit to this place? It was too dark to tell.

“Loki!” he called, and the Persona burst from him, trilling his joy at being free for the moment, his massive sword gave just enough light to illuminate the other thieves in a campfire glow. Goro glanced around, but found no sign of any other identifiable features. Not even the corners of the armoire they were supposed to be within.

“Oracle?” Queen rubbed the side of her mask, “Oracle can you hear us?”

Nothing.

“Well this is not… ideal,” Fox brought a hand to rest over his forehead, “I believe we are trapped here.”

“No, there's gotta be a way!” Panther huffed, “Akira’ll let us out!”

Goro wondered about that, but chose not to voice such a thought. He had several ones, none painted Kurusu’s parents in flattering lights. Kurusu said he went to the Dark Place when he was bad, and what were armoires if not dark?

Yet at the approach of the shadow, Kurusu’s first thought was to go to the wardrobe, not cower from it. Perhaps it was merely convenient and not worth any further consideration. Goro could not help but tuck the knowledge away for now, perhaps it would serve him well in the future.

“We cannot afford to just wait until Kurusu deins to free us,” Queen frowned, “we must find a way out ourselves.”

“So, what, pick a direction and start walking?” Skull groaned.

“I… suppose, yes.”

They were directionless without a navigator. Wonderful, just absolutely fantastic. Goro recalled the alphabet and mumbled the characters back to himself as he tried walking in the direction they came from. He could feel Loki idly follow behind, the others on his heel.

They walked.

And walked.

… and walked.

Goro’s knees began to ache, how long had it been?

“Ok, we need a new plan,” Panther decided, “this isn't getting us anywhere.”

Clearly.

Though Goro didn't have a plan prepared. He… Didn't have any idea how to proceed from here. Only darkness surrounded them, a void of nothing. Not even the ground at their feet illuminated beneath Loki’s blade. They were all that existed here. Was this a test of will, perhaps? Proof they would soldier forward without any promise of rest or escape?

Kurusu had mentioned the treasure was in ‘the Dark Place’, was that what this ceaseless void represented? Yet there was no sign of Kurusu’s true shadow, as far as he could tell. Though for all they knew he could have been trailing them the entire time.

“We have to keep moving,” Goro decided, “we have no other choice.”

“Do you expect us to walk until we collapse?” Noir snapped.

“What other option is there?”

“Maybe we could leave and come back?” Queen offered, and retrieved her phone. Yet instead of returning them to the real world, she only frowned, “ah. Nevermind then.”

The screen cracked with static, not unlike an old television stuck on a dead channel. Goro checked his own, and sure enough, just static. Wonderful.

“For a guy that doesnt have a closet,” Skull grumbled, “his sure is fucking huge.”

“I do not believe we are within the wardrobe anymore, Skull,” Queen pointed out, “rather, I believe it was merely a door to whatever this is. Similar to ah, what was the book called…”

“The Wolf, the Wizard, and the Cupboard, right?” Skull offered.

“Not quite,” Panther murmured, but did not add any further comments.

Skull rested his forearm on Fox’s shoulder for support as he stretched one of his legs out, “Crow’s probably right though, not much else we can do but continue, yeah?”

They pushed onward.

Something began to change. It was slight at first, the faint crunch of something being broken underfoot. Then, dotted reflections began to shimmer at their feet. Red light that shone back from the glow of Loki’s blade.

Fox held a fragment up, admiring the way the jagged piece shone in the dull light, “glass,” he surmised.

They were walking over broken glass. He supposed they should be grateful, given the colder weather, that none of them wore open-toed shoes. Yet even still, shards were likely to get caught underfoot. Larger ones could easily pierce the soles, and break skin.

No one asked to stop, or find another way around, so they kept walking. The grind of glass beneath foot and against itself was horrid. A grating, painful sound that set Goro’s nerves alight. Why the fuck was there broken glass everywhere anyway? Did it matter? Did it even mean anything?

In the distance, something blue appeared.

Goro could barely see it with his visor, but given the murmurs of the others behind him, they surely saw it too. Finally, progress.

“If we starve down here,” Skull groaned, “I’m going to haunt ‘Kira’s ass for the rest of his life.”

“Calm down,” Panther chided, “we’ll be fine! This is Akira we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s looking for us right now.”

The closer they got to the faint glow, the more it began to take shape. It was another door… one akin to a jail cell. Dread coiled in his stomach. Whilst the door was in one piece, it did not appear to have the capability to remain so for long. The bars of the door were rusted, cracked, and flaking off in jagged flakes that littered the entrance. One of the bars had been broken entirely, leaving only the serrated top half.

“Uh, Crow?”

Goro scowled around the door, where the others had continued further on. Panther had her hands on her hips, “come on, we gotta keep moving, right?”

They… couldn't see the door.

Goro frowned, it had been left slightly ajar, becoming him almost. Not that in its current state it could have truly kept him out. He pressed lightly on one of the bars, and sure enough, it swung open with only a mere creak of protest. Goro glanced back up, and found the entire troupe was staring at him now.

“There is a door here,” he stated, “I believe this may be our way out.”

“Uh, what?” Skull approached, “look man, I’m tired too but come on. Now's not the time to start seeing shit.”

‘You are a Wildcard, this is an escape only you can perceive,’ Loki rumbled.

Interesting. Likely that meant only he could enter it, however doing so would leave the rest of them trapped within this hellish void. Yet with no other option in sight, Goro wondered what would happen if they held onto him, as he entered. Would he vanish from their grasp or would he drag them down with him?

“It seems this is something only I can see, given my status as a wielder of two personas,” Goro rested his hand on his chin, “it may be our only form of escape, however, that does leave the possibility of the rest of you remaining trapped.”

“Two personas,” Skull grumbled, “yeah, right.”

Goro ignored him.

“Were you to remain in physical contact with me, there is a chance when I enter, I would bring you alongside me. However, there is also the very real possibility I will merely vanish,” Goro did not dislike the odd group, far from it for most of them (he and Niijima never got along, probably never would). Though he understood the feeling certainly was not mutual with the others.

He flinched when a hand clasped his shoulder in a firm grip, “worth a shot, yeah?”

Goro stared at Skull incredulously. Just like that? He did not flinch when other hands grabbed onto his hands and arms, with no preamble nor discussion. They must truly be desperate to escape, to place such easy trust within him.

He couldn't decide if the thought brought him pride or sorrow.

‘They trust you,’ Robin Hood assured, ‘and trust in your devotion to Joker.’

Goro swallowed thickly and pushed his emotions down to be shoved into the little box at the back of his mind. He’d unpack it Wednesday when he had his next session. Maybe.

Fuck he hoped this worked.

He stepped through the door and was immediately greeted by the sensation of falling. It was a heavy feeling, perhaps less falling, and more being pulled deeper down into the depths. The blue became blinding for a moment, before it faded into a gentle thrum of flames lit by sconces.

“They're back! I’ve got a reading on them now Mona, they’re in the treasure room!” Oracle’s voice was far too loud and excited for his pounding headache.

He held his head with a hand, and used the other to push himself up from the cool stone they had landed on. Sure enough, the others groaned and started to shakily rise to their feet, unsteady, but alive and with him. Goro breathed a sigh of relief he hadn't known he held.

‘Treasure room’?

The first thing he noted were the bars in front of him, and the torches that surrounded the heavy gate, their weak flames blue like the fog that rolled over their ankles. While Goro would have checked behind him, to see if there was a way out, Goro’s breath caught when he took in the center of the room.

There, bound to the floor in golden chains was a massive black beast. Its breaths were uneven and rattled in the silence of the prison. The chains were contracting its airflow, a slow and drawn out suffocation.

Dark stains spotted the area around the beast, covering the cobblestone and carpet it laid upon, painting a rather grotesque scene. The beast didn't move, the rise and fall of its chest all that spoke to the creature still living.

“What is that?” Panther wondered, she approached the bars and rested her hands on them, “is it a shadow?”

“In a manner of speaking,” a voice chirped from behind them.

Goro whipped around, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to strike. The action fumbled halfway as he recognised Mona before he actually drew his blade.

“It’s Akira,” Mona explained, “the real Akira.”

“How can you be so sure?” Fox inquired, his gaze adverting from the center of the cell, “Palace owners have always taken a human form before reverting to a more bestial one.”

“There could be several reasons for that,” Mona frowned, “but none of them are exactly good. Such as being so weak he can no longer maintain a more human shape for an extended period of time, or… not seeing himself as human to begin with.”

Goro took the time to at least try and get a better look at Kurusu, if that truly was him. He was entirely black, and the faint lighting did not make it easy to pick out details. There were feathers, wings, he believed, yet also scales and he could barely pick out the outline of a taloned foot, bound in gold as the rest of him was.

Kurusu’s body was twisted in upon itself, hiding his face entirely, and most of his underbelly and chest. Curled around his vitals in what may have been a last attempt to keep himself safe.

“Where is the treasure?” Goro inquired, all he could see was Kurusu himself. No sign of anything even remotely resembling a treasure.

“It's with Akira.” Mona rested his paw on a cheek, “I can sense it, though it's unlike any treasure we’ve found before. It's split up, like it was shattered and all the pieces are rounded up together with him. But it doesn't feel broken, it's strange.”

Then perhaps what Kurusu was wrapped in upon was not himself, but rather his treasure. What could be so important to that idiot’s subconscious that he would let himself be chained and bled like a sacrifice to protect it? Or was it something that brought comfort to him?

Goro massaged his temples, why could nothing be easy with this man?

“We got to the treasure room,” Queen frowned, “if we can open the gate we’d have a clear enough route to send the calling card.”

“Yeah but how do we open the door?” Panther’s gloves gripped the iron, “Akira! Let us in!”

No movement. As though he hadn't heard her.

“Don't bother,” Mona sighed, “I tried to get his attention while you guys were with the other one, he doesn't respond to anything. Owl said we had to gather the masks, when we do, the path will probably be opened.”

“Right.”

How did Kurusu ever let things get this bad? No, that wasn't the right question. Depression was not a beast so easily tamed, nor was it something that would merely go away if the host chose to ignore it. Goro wondered how long Kurusu felt this way, how long had he suffered under this weight?

It had to have been formed after… After what? Something in February… Something about February 2nd. Was that when it was formed? It had to have been, Persona users cannot have a Palace, and that would have been when they lost access to the Metaverse.

Right?

“Come on,” he turned from the grotesque scene, to where a flight of stairs stretched behind them, “let's get this over with.”

“Yeah, we have to find Akira and get that mask,” Mona shot one last baleful glance at Kurusu’s shadow, then led them up the flight of stairs.

There was a bone-deep wariness in the group as they ascended the stairs. Yet to fight a single shadow and still Goro was exhausted. To be fair, who knows how they had truly been walking in that endless void, it certainly felt like hours, even if it seemed they had not gone terribly long in truth.

The hallway was empty, no sign of Kurusu or his mother.

“Maybe he’s still in his room?” Panther suggested. She approached the door as a practiced step, not a single sound made. After she pressed her ear to the door, a frown graced her lips and she swung the mahogany open.

They filed into the empty room.

Makeup utop the vanity had been scattered, his comb was on the floor. There had been a struggle, but now there was no sign of either of the shadows. Dread coiled tightly in Goro’s stomach, his jaw ached from how his teeth ground together “he isn't here, let's keep moving.”

Noir placed the comb back on the pale vanity, and stared wistfully at it before her gaze hardened, and she nodded to him. Much like it seemed Kurusu had been, and even Goro himself to a point; he knew Noir had a terse history with being crafted into the perfect child, and being groomed to be an even better spouse. A mere bargaining chip for their parents to raise their reputation.

Not even a person.

Goro did not imagine this was easy for Noir to face, she had known much the same, from what little he had learned. Though he had no words of comfort to share. He barely could self-soothe, let alone soothe another. So he didn't comment on her hesitation as he left the room, and wandered further down the hall.

The smoke from the ballroom had begun to seep down the corridor, still hovering close to the doorway, but it was a rolling fog that would soon take over the entire Palace, he was sure. He pushed his mask up to get a better idea for it, the scent was one Goro was unusually familiar with; cigarettes, cigars, and wine.

Oracle couldn’t sense anything within the smoke, Goro recalled, perhaps that was by design. The smoke or fog or whatever it was, denoted the presence of something in the Palace that had not been there previously. The only change Goro was aware of was that Kurusu bore the mask of a child today, and that was his Mother’s favorite one.

Perhaps something to bring up again at a later point. Now, they needed to find him before he made it to the stage. They couldn't afford to lose him now.

The ballroom had not changed, from what Goro could tell. Those within still danced to the soft melody that permeated the Palace. A quiet and somber tune Goro couldn’t quite place. Perhaps this was a song Kurusu knew as a child, or had been familiar with. If the tune was meant to be an actual song to begin with.

“Oracle?” He pulled his mask back down, for all the good it did, “can you get anything?”

“Nope. I can’t read anything in the Palace anymore, not just the ballroom. It’s like, I don’t know. White noise, just static. Weird shit,” her voice seemed more broken up than before. An interference that had not existed prior, wonderful.

“But um, be careful,” she added after a moment, “I can read you all fine now, but I don’t know if going into the smoke will change that. So, y’know. Don’t be stupid.”

“Us?” Skull laughed, “never.”

“Oh he knows sarcasm now does he?” Goro sneered, though snapped his jaws shut before anything else escaped. He was frustrated and worried, he shouldn’t take his own problems out on another, even if that other was Skull.

“Hey I stood up for you, y’know,” he grumbled, and ground the toe of his sneaker into the rug, “I’m trying.”

That… was true. His mouth opened and closed around his attempt at an apology, but he ended up just scoffing and remaining silent. He couldn't get the words out, stuck in his throat the attempt burned. He wanted to say sorry, to acknowledge that Skull was trying, more than Goro was, more than most of the team even.

But he couldn’t. He had apologized to them before for everything in his past, why the hell couldn’t he apologize for something as simple as this? Fuck.

“Figures,” Queen huffed, soft enough to likely have not been meant for his ears. Goro may have felt guilty, but he cared more about Kurusu’s safety than making amends right now.

“If you’re done,” he snapped, “Kurusu may still be in the ballroom, we might need to fight. Are you prepared?”

“Let us not waste anymore time,” Noir said at the same time Violet chirped a happy “yep!”

Goro wondered why Violet seemed so calm with him, they barely knew each other. Right? The sentiment rang hollow, but Goro shook the strange feeling off. They had worked together before, of course, she was a Phantom Thief after all.

They stepped into the foggy ballroom. A part of Goro had hoped, just a bit, that crossing the threshold would have caused some of the shadows to turn violent. Goro really wanted to eviscerate something.

Yet it was as though nothing had changed. The shadows still danced, calm and unseeing.

Goro could feel the others behind him, staying close but at the very fucking least giving him his space. As they drew upon the center of the crowd Goro finally spotted Kurusu. He was being tugged along by another shadow, held firm by his wrist as he stumbled after it.

“Hold on, wait!” Violet called, “let him go!”

The shadow stopped, and Kurusu’s head whipped to them with enough frantic force a part of Goro feared for his neck. Yellow eyes widened in what only could be described as terror.

When the shadow turned to them, it became all to clean who this cognition was. She was tall, but thin, lithe and delicate with long black hair. Straight, unlike the curls Kurusu wielded.

Her black cocktail dress clung like a second skin, the slit in the side started just below her rib cage, leaving little to the imagination. It reminded him of an outfit he had seen his mother wear before, when she spent long hours at the club whilst Goro was home alone.

He hated it.

“And you are…?” The cognition hummed, flexing her pointed fingers further into Kurusu’s wrist. He flinched but didn’t utter so much as a sound.

“We’re the Phantom Thieves! And we are here to take Akira back,” Queen spit.

“Back? You dare to steal what is mine? Have you no idea who I am, who I know?”

“No and we don’t care!” Skull added, “he’s our friend, so let him go!”

“Him?” The cognition turned to Kurusu and yanked him to her hip, “have you deluded even more to your stupid game, child?”

Kurusu stared at the ground, silent and obedient. The perfect doll. Goro wanted to reach down her throat and pull out her spine, one vertebrae at at time.

“Well?” She demanded, “answer me!”

Nothing.

“Disgusting. Fine, you know what we do to delusions, don’t you my dear?”

Kurusu’s head snapped up, “no wait! Leave them alone!”

“Is that a tone I am hearing?” She snarled, “do you need to be punished again? Is nothing I do good enough for you, you ungrateful brat?”

“I’m sorry Mom! I-it’s my fault!”

“Oh I know, dear,” Kurusu’s mother cooed, and lifted her hand to stroke along his cheek. The child flinched when her fingers brushed over his skin in a cruel mockery of affection, “it always is. I still love you though.”

Goro jerked when a hand clasped his shoulder, he hadn’t realized he was starting to stalk toward that creature. He shrugged Fox’s glove off with a snarl, were they just going to stand here?

“Joker hasn’t done anything wrong,” Panther hissed, “leave him alone!”

“Nothing wrong? Oh my,” the stiletto nails caressing Kurusu’s cheek dug into the tender flesh, “look how you’ve deceived them. To think you are so innocent.”

“You know nothing,” Goro drew his serrated blade, he was going to enjoy this.

The cognition straightened and released her grip on Kurusu, the smile she wore was practiced and delicate. The kind Goro wore years ago when he tried to charm his way into the public’s heart.

She ran her hand through Kurusu’s long hair, stopping to gently tug on the tail of that red ribbon, “I look forward to the performance tonight. Make it a bad one, won’t you my dear? It’s been a while since the last execution, the blades are so dry now.”

Without another word, she vanished, taking the smoke and the fog with her.

“— Whoa. Hey you’re back! How’d it go?”

“The cognition of Kurusu’s mother had been the source of the fog,” Goro frowned and after a moment of making sure the other shadows did not plan to attack. Disappointed, he sheathed his sword, “she’s gone now.”

“Hmph, good.”

“Hey wait!” Skull stumbled past them reaching out to grab Kurusu’s quickly retreating form. Had he learned nothing? His yellow glove merely passed through his back, unable to touch.

Though it seemed Kurusu still was cognizant of it in some way or another, given he slowed to a stop. His small fingers were scrunched in his dress and a pitiful frown had wormed its way into his face.

He looked on the verge of tears, big yellow eyes glossy and heaving sniffles that wracked his entire frame with each labored breath he stole. Fuck. Goro didn’t know how to deal with tears, shit.

“Oh Akira,” Noir swept in and knelt before the child, “it’s ok, we’re here.”

“Y-you should g-g-go.”

“No way man,” Skull had regained his footing and crouched down beside Noir, “not without you.”

“You sh-shouldn't even be here!” Kurusu hiccuped, “why now, after all this time?”

“We only just learned you had a Palace,” Noir explained with the gentle cadence of a mother soothing her child, “so we all decided to steal your heart, and end your suffering.”

“No! No you can't! I—my treasure is all I have! I can't… You can't…” Kurusu pushed his mask up and wiped at the fat tears falling down his cheeks, “it’s all I have, please.”

“Hey uh, lighten up squirt,” Oracle fumbled, at least she was trying, “I’ve had my heart stolen too y’know. It's really frightening but it helps, I promise. It's not like, uh, a fix-all or anything, but it's a start.”

Kurusu shook his head and drew his arms tight around himself, squeezing until his fingers turned white, “I’m scared.”

Fuck.

‘Comfort him,’ the voice he heard from before spoke, gentle yet firm in the back of his mind. It flickered, then vanished again, Loki and Robin Hood’s presence returning once more.

“Crow?” Oracle spoke softly, “was that—?”

Goro ignored her and took a knee on the other side of Noir, “you can be scared.”

Kurusu turned to him with snot collecting on his upper-lip. Gross.

“Are you a coward, though?” Goro spoke without thinking, “you, Kurusu Akira, leader of the fucking Phantom Thieves?”

“I…”

“How long are you going to play this role?” Goro demanded, “how long are you going to bend to someone else’s will?”

“Crow!” Noir hissed, but Goro kept talking.

“You're better than this, even as a damn child. I know you are, you wouldn't be capable of becoming my rival if you weren't.”

Something flashed in the yellow, something angry.

There he is, Goro thought, found him.

“Where is that spirit of rebellion you boasted about so much? Was that just a show too?”

“S-stop it.”

“Why should I? You’ve given me no reason to, and frankly, your wibbling display is a sorry sight to behold.”

“Stop it.” Kurusu’s tone was firmer, no longer holding himself like his own lifeline, one arm was fisted at the side, his other held onto the ribbon with a shaking force.

‘You don't have to like it,’ the voice of Kurusu’s mother echoed through the Palace, irritated by the sound of it, ‘at least pretend, will you? This is a very important meeting for your father, and I wont have you make a fool of us both, you hear?’

‘Rin stop that, you look disgraceful.’

‘To bed, now. You will not get dinner for such dramatics! I cannot believe you got your dress stained in such a manner, playing in the mud with boys?’

‘Rin don't cry, it’s unbecoming.’

‘Mommy l-loves you, you know that, right?’

Kurusu’s whole body shook with near violent tremors, “she loves me.”

“She loves what she wants you to be,” Noir said, her own tone unsteady and soft, “but that isn’t love Akira, not really.”

“B-but…”

“I know,” she murmured, “it is not easy to accept. But Akira, love is accepting someone for who they are, as they are. It isn’t conditional, or something that is wielded as a weapon to beat you down. It never is used to hurt. Anyone proclaiming otherwise is lying.”

Kurusu’s silence spoke volumes.

“We love you, Akira. Nothing we have or will learn in your Palace will change that. I promise.”

‘WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?’

Kurusu’s wail of agony when tore the red ribbon from his hair was as shrill as it was heartbreaking. His entire body shook with the force of his sobs as the long ringlets began to fall from around his face, dissolving and vanishing in wisps of shadow. Leaving behind short and uneven chops of hair sticking from his scalp in all directions.

His mask was gone, showing the ugly bruise he sported on his cheek, and the busted lip leaking red down his chin.

Goro’s stomach dropped.

“Akira…”

“I’m tired of being what she wants, I hate this! I hate makeup, I hate pretending to be a girl, I hate it all!” Kurusu blubbered, and stomped his foot, the ribbon tightly clenched in his fist.

“Your hair,” Goro realized, “you cut it yourself.”

“Mother,” he spat the word like the blood that splattered at their feet was a lethal venom, “wouldn’t have let me. So I did it myself. When she found out, she made sure I’d never forget what a disgrace of a child I am. I had to wear makeup to cover the bruises and wear a wig to school. Sh-she even forced me to wear it at home. No one could know her dutiful little daughter was perverted.”

“You were a child!” Panther snapped.

“Didn’t matter, still doesn’t,” Kurusu shook his head, “she’ll never love me, and my father barely remembers I exist to begin with. It doesn’t matter.”

“But… it matters a lot to you,” Noir whispered, “doesn’t it?”

Kurusu glanced away, and rubbed at the tears still streaking down his mottled cheeks, “I wouldn’t exist if it didn’t. The… real me just wants to be accepted.”

“You are,” Goro huffed, “none of us saw you as anything but the man you are. Your parents are shit, but that’s old news. I could have guessed that just by how they abandoned you in Tokyo when you needed them most.”

Kurusu stared at him, full of the childish hope Goro had wanted to see in the kid’s eyes.

“You don’t need them,” Goro stood, “you have us, all of us.”

“Thats right.”

“Hell yeah!”

“We’ve always got you Joker.”

“Yeah! And if you need a dad, Sojiro basically thinks you’re his son anyway! He’s way better than your crappy one.”

As each of the thieves promised their affection, the shadow flickered and brightened. Wet tears fell down his cheeks and snot began to bubble from his nose. He rubbed the back of his sleeve against his face, a soft hiccup muffled by the velvet.

“Thank you.”

Kurusu thrust the ribbon out in front of him. After a moment, Noir offered her hands, and allowed the red silk to be shoved into her open palms, the shadow held it there for a moment.

“We don’t want to lose our treasure, but…” Kurusu swallowed, “but if you really love us, then… then I guess it’s ok if you try.”

“We do,” Noir assured, rested her hand over the shadow's small fist, and ran her thumb over his knuckles. He was tangible now, “we all love you very much. Even Crow, though he may pretend to not.”

Goro sputtered, and denial was thick on his tongue, but now wasn’t the time. He would sulk about it for the rest of the night, but he allowed this. Only once.

Because, yes, he did love Kurusu.

Kurusu smiled, and nodded. He released the symbolic mask then vanished. Gone like a candle snuffed out. The only evidence of his existence was the ribbon still resting in Noir's palm.

She curled her fingers around it and frowned at her fist, “I… had always wondered how Akira could relate so well to me.”

Skull patted her shoulder, no words could be said. Not now at any rate.

“Let’s call it a night there,” Oracle suggested, “don’t think we’ll get much further tonight.”

“Yeah,” Goro agreed despite himself, “yeah, let’s get back.”

“Ah, you’re back,” Boss hummed, he had already set out several plates of curry on the tables, and seemed to be working a line of coffee and other drinks behind the counter, “how’d it go?”

Okumura held up the single line of red, the ribbon had carried over into reality like a treasure might. Fascinating.

“We got one of his masks,” Sakamoto confirmed and beat his chest, “we'll get the others no sweat!”

Even with his words there was a bone aching tiredness that pulled at the corners of his eyes. A similar wariness seemed to have spread through the others as well. It was hard to process, he imagined, that the man they had believed to be entirely unflappable, harbored the scars of abuse so deeply.

Goro did not think the masks would grow any kinder.

“Good,” Boss nodded, “have some dinner before you kids leave. I can’t help you there, but I can at least do this.”

“Thank you, Boss,” Takamaki breathed and collapsed into one of the booths, Niijima slid in beside her.

Goro took his usual seat, where a plate of curry had been placed. Goro wondered if he should be touched the man remembered his usual placement when with the Phantom Thieves, or hurt he didn’t consider him one of the group. He pushed the thought aside.

He had to remind himself that not every action had an undercurrent of malice behind it. After all, Goro had always sat there, before everything. Before he knew he’d have to kill the strange barista he had become hopelessly fascinated by, before the aquarium, where Goro wondered if it was uncouth to want to kiss the idiot babbling on about deep sea life.

Before the engine room. Before Maruki. Before—

Wait. Maruki, that was Kurusu’s high school therapist, or something, right? Sumire had mentioned him… Why did Goro feel so positive he knew that waste of oxygen? More importantly, why did every fiber of his very core wish to pumble him into fractured glass?

“-ro? Hey. Ugh, he’s gone,” a voice far too close whined beside him. Goro jolted, he was in Leblanc. He was sitting in his usual spot with a plate of curry and a new cup of coffee beside it.

Alphabet, Goro began to mutter the letters to himself, the pressure from pushing his fingers into his temple was grounding. He was fine. Everything was fine.

After a moment, he finally felt human enough to actually respond to whoever had wormed their way into his space. He shot Futaba a look, though instead of cowing away, she merely frowned.

“You, uh, good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Right,” Futaba snorted, “because you definitely didn't just have a panic attack.”

“No,” Goro was honest for once, “the start of one, perhaps. I’ve learned the signs, so I am able to stop before it actually occurs. Most of the time.”

Futaba poked at her curry, why did she bring her plate to sit beside him? He glanced over his shoulder at the others infesting Leblanc, all eyes were on him.

Goro bristled at the attention and bared his teeth, “what?”

“Nothing!” Sakamoto piped, and went back to shoveling food into his mouth with the vigor of a feral dog. Kitagawa forwent eating his own meal in favor of framing the sloppy display with a thoughtful hum, artists.

“Y’know,” Futaba muttered when everyone settled back into their own little niches, “I’m surprised we haven't seen his cognitions of us yet.”

“Hm. I’m not, that one seemed to be primarily involving his childhood and, ugh, family. I would not be surprised if we see ourselves during his other… performances.”

“Right.”

Goro figured he should eat something, even if his gut only felt like a bottomless pit of dread. His therapist reminded him routine was important, even with eating. Especially with eating.

“Do… I mean, you’ve been to lots of Palaces, right?”

Goro nodded, too busy forcing himself to eat the, admittedly, delicious curry to respond proper. She seemed to just want to talk anyway and Goro could listen.

“Were all the cognitions… uh, bad?”

Ah. There was a difficult question, and one Goro wasn't sure the correct answer to. He set his spoon on the side of his plate, the click bounced off the walls as a hush fell over the café. Goro didn't know why they all turned to him, but he hated it. He hated the attention, he hated them pretending to value what he had to say.

He wrapped his hands around his coffee, perfectly brewed with the skill only a master could produce. Yet, he still longed for Kurusu’s. Objectively, it wasn't as good as the cup he cradled now but there was something about the company that left a warm haze of nostalgia over the flavor.

“The cognitions are just that, cognitions. They are how the Palace leader, well, views those individuals. Oftentimes, they are distorted, but in terms of if they are good or bad… is a more complicated answer,” he frowned at the dark roast, “a person in an abusive relationship could have a cognition of their abuser be warm and loving, because that's what they want, that's what they see. Is that bad? Or, similarly, the reverse. One could have someone be only loving and kind to them, yet their cognition could reflect that of a tormenter.”

“Oh.”

“Then, there is always the possibility the cognition is remarkably true to life. There will always be a bit of dissonance, however, no matter how small. Such is how we view others, picking and choosing what features or traits to focus on the most, leaving the rest to fall by the wayside.”

“That's… kinda messed up,” Sakamoto chirped around a mouthful of food.

“Ryuji!” Niijima snapped, then made a noise Goro imagined was intended to be a thoughtful hum.

“I wonder how Akira views us,” Takamaki's voice was low, barely loud enough for Goro to hear. He sighed, and turned to face the others, looking varying forms of dejected or thoughtful.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Morgana’s tail twitched, curling around to rest politely over his paws, “but we should be prepared for the worst. Akira can't see things clearly now, and his views of us may be affected by that.”

“Y-yeah,” Takamaki rubbed between his ears, eliciting a warm purr, “guess you're right.”

“Damn right! And if those cognitions effin suck, we’ll just have to kick their asses to show ‘em how much we care! Then steal that treasure of his once and for all,” was Sakamato always this loud?

“That's the spirit!” Morgana beamed, with similar sentiments echoing through the cafe.

Goro stole a glance at Boss, his expression troubled. He wondered what the man thought of this, what he thought of potentially there being some twisted version of him haunting Kurusu’s mind. Goro knew he’d inevitably face another cognitive version of himself within Kurusu, after everything… It would be near impossible for him to not exist in one shape or another.

He did not look forward to finding out how he manifested.

Goddamnit.

Can’t he get some fucking sleep without being disturbed at, shit, 2 in the damn morning? Goro patted the end table, the jarring ring of his phone hurt his ears.

“What—” He snarled into the receiver, “—do you want now?”

“S-sorry.”

Click.

That… had not been Shido.

It took only another moment for equal parts terror and guilt to wiggle into his core, Shido was in prison. Only three people had his number. Only one of the three contacts was a man.

Goro frantically redialed Kurusu’s number, each ring bringing him further into a spiral he couldn’t escape from. Kurusu would never call him if it wasn’t an emergency, he was so stupidly fucking respectful of everyone’s time. To the extreme these days.

But Kurusu called him, something Goro couldn’t imagine to be easy, and yet all he got was anger in response. God-fucking-damnit.

“Are you ok?” were the first words tumbling from his mouth when he saw the phone had been answered, “I was… doesn’t matter. Why did you call?”

There wasn’t an immediate response, so many options ran through his brain. He was going to work himself into insanity if he tried to make sense of everything his mind was jumping to.

‘Listen,’ Robin Hood commanded.

He did, and he could hear Kurusu’s uneven hiccups for air on the other line. What should he do?

“Hey, breathe,” Goro pressed his palm into his eye until he saw stars, “snap or make a sound if you can hear me.”

There was a soft thud, good enough.

“Ok. Ok, yeah, ok. Shit,” why did Kurusu call him of all people?

“Alright, we’re going to breathe alright? Just breathe in,” Goro counted, “breathe out.”

Kurusu’s exhale sounds like static over the phone. But he was responding, that was something, right? Goro remembered having attacks so bad he would hyperventilate until black swarmed his vision and he couldn’t perceive a damn thing. It got better when he awoke to Robin Hood, then worse again when Loki was added.

But he managed. His Personas were always a grounding point for him, Robin Hood had a more gentle hand, calm and soothing. Loki was no less sharp than his talons, pulling him through his panic with the promise of revenge against all who forced this upon him.

Goro wondered if Kurusu had that with his own Personas.

“Breathe in,” Goro tried, “and out.”

Goro continued to coach him until each exhale no longer sounded like the force of the air would shatter Kurusu. When his breathing sounded normal enough, Goro chanced talking again.

“Better now?”

There was a slight rustle of what sounded like a blanket, “y-yeah. Sorry to bother you.”

Goro worked his lip between his teeth, “it’s fine. You didn’t bother me, Kurusu.”

A dry laugh, “didn’t sound like it.”

“I… yeah ok. I thought you were Shido, at first.”

“He’s in prison.”

“Thank you, well aware, Kurusu.”

There was a more genuine laugh, and Goro slumped over the knees brought to his chest.

“Why did you call me?” Goro stared at his closet, he’d need to go to the laundromat soon, “wasn’t exactly expecting to be at the top of the list for helping someone through a panic attack.”

“I mean, you did good,” Kurusu huffed, “thanks, by the way.”

“Whatever.”

“And thanks for calling me back,” he sounded pensive, “it’s been a long time since I had a nightmare that bad.”

“Nightmare?”

“It’s over now, it’s fine. Just, I don’t know. Memories came to the surface and it was too much and… well. I'm sure you understand.”

Goro hummed, he did. Too well, frankly. He could still remember his mother’s face in the mirror when he had lobbed off his hair, her hair.

“What was,” Goro wet his lips, “was it of… what happened?”

Kurusu snorted, “being tortured, falsely accused, having to listen to what I thought was you dying, or Maruki’s bullshit?”

Goro wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“None of them, actually,” Kurusu admitted after a tense moment, “it’s… it’s uh, things that happened before then. I’m not, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Sorry, it’s late you probably have work tomorrow, I’ve got work tomorrow,” he could hear his groan followed by another thud, “Akechi?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks again, I uh. I appreciate it.”

“It was no trouble, try to get some better sleep, your remaining brain cells need all the help they can get.”

Kurusu’s laughter was loud and a bit grating through the phone, but it left Goro feeling proud. Warm, even.

“Where would I be without you protecting the sanctity of my intelligence?”

“Probably like Sakamoto.”

“Hey! Don’t be an asshole. Thought you were in therapy for this shit,” he cackled like a hyena.

“Kurusu,” Goro purred, “I will always be an asshole, do get used to it.”

“Goodnight,” more laughter, followed by a too soft and far too tender, “Akechi.”

“Sleep well, Kurusu.”

Chapter Text

Goro squinted down at his phone, really? A group chat?

He had expected the other thieves to know of Kurusu’s nightmare last night, given his disclosure to Futaba earlier that morning. Normally, Goro would have never breathed a word of it. Given its timing alongside them having recently stolen a mask, however, Goro wanted to know what precedent for such attacks had existed prior.

It could have been a coincidence. It also could not have been.

Turned out, Kurusu was no stranger to nightmares, according to Morgana.

Totally Not the Phantom Thieves (+ birdman)

4:36pm

Futaba: idk

Futaba: Morgana says he’d wake up a lot in the middle of the night. Never like, talked about it tho

Futaba: sometimes he just seemed confused, but mona never managed to get him to spill the beans much. You know how Kira is

Goro: Yes I am well aware.

Goro: Was adding me to a group chat really necessary though?

Sakamoto: absolutely man.

Sakamoto: now we can actually like talk to u

Sakamoto: u never chat with us dude

Goro: Had you considered that was by design?

Sakamoto: yeah.

Sakamato: don’t care though.

 

Goro stifled a sigh and silenced his phone. He had work to do anyway. His boss had not been particularly pleased with how he handled his previous client. Though really, what did he expect? The seedy underbelly of corruption leaked even to independent firms, toss enough money around and one could easily forge the perfect scandal.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Goro was taken off the case and given a far easier one regarding tax evasion of some small time diet member. No one of any note, few connections, and tracks the man barely even tried to cover. It was a baby case, Goro knew he was given it as a punishment.

Something so easy he could do in his sleep, and his supervisor knew that. He had too much pride to complain, however, so he bit his tongue and did his job like a good little Investigator.

If one good thing came of it, the amount of free time he had as a result of such a mind-numbing case left the ability to focus more of his time on important matters, case in point; Kurusu.

He grabbed his phone again and messaged Futaba.

Futaba

5:02pm

Goro: What would I have to give you in order to get a favor?

Futaba: oh?

Futaba: does the bwig bwad PI need help from wittle ol’ me?

Futaba: (´･ω･`)

Goro: No. I can find information out myself.

Goro: However, I am asking for your discretion.

Goro: And perhaps accompaniment.

Futaba: Akira's parents?

Goro: Yes.

Futaba: buddy that shit is on the house then (ノಠ益ಠ)

Futaba: in this cafe we brew our coffee with the tears of shitty adults

Goro: Highly unsustainable.

Goro: But does explain the rather refreshing flavor.

Goro: Also, are you not legally an adult yourself?

Futaba: Sojiro still calls me his little girl

Futaba: so fuck you

Goro: Hard pass.

Goro flipped his phone over again and silenced it.

It wasn't like finding the names of Yumi and Kaito Kurusu was difficult. They were small-time business folk, lived in a fairly rural area but were very well off for what the average income was for Inaba. They had few upper connections, though one did draw a fair bit of Goro’s attention.

They had signed a contract years ago to share a bit of their marketing firm with another businessman, unassuming really. Standard stuff, their business grew and they got an ally in the market. Simple stuff, really.

Yet that man then in turn worked directly under another who had been contracted by a woman who just so happened to be Ooe’s previous secretary before Shido was forced behind bars.

Goro put a pin in the thought, and saved the files in their own special folder on his personal laptop. He absolutely would go back to that, but for now, Kurusu’s parents remained the more important targets.

No surprise they both were in Mementos, what did surprise him was just how deep down Kurusu’s mother was. Her name was warped in a way Goro had seen only twice before. She was forming a Palace seed. Nothing full blown quite yet, but if left to fester for too long, Goro expected a proper one to form eventually.

Hence, the mild urgency.

Still, if he wanted to keep his job he would need to show at least some progress on this mindless case thrust upon him. He gathered the receipts he uncovered and set to work scanning them into his computer, his printer was so fucking noisy, but he’d take that over the dead silence his apartment often bore.

He couldn’t put anything on the TV either, he’d get distracted.

His gaze wandered to Feather Red, perched proudly on the windowsill. There was a small red bud forming in the direction the evening light hit. At least one of them was producing good results.

It’d take a while to go through the man’s receipts. Goro had handled cases like this before when he first started, easy stuff really. Using the purchase of paintings and other fine arts to get around paying taxes by falsifying how much the item was worth. It was a common practice around the world, and incredibly easy to prove.

Though harder to sentence. Art was, after all, something that existed on a sliding scale of worth. Ultimately it came down to number crunching, when all receipts were found. Which Goro already had obtained most of, he had a few more to track down if his math was correct. Mostly done.

He had until Friday to finish this file, plenty of time with what he already had.

Goro thrummed his fingers on his desk, his printer finished scanning the last of what he had recovered so far. He was on track to finish well before the deadline. Should it remain as smooth as it has, he’d probably be done before his session Wednesday.

So, he could afford a break. He needed one.

Goro hesitated for only a moment before he grabbed his phone, ignoring Futaba's irritated texts and instead opening up his chat with Kurusu.

Kurusu

5:26pm

Goro: When is your next day off?

Goro set his phone back down while he waited, though flipped the ringer on so he could hear as he sorted out the scanned in files. It didn’t take long to hear back.

Kurusu

5:31pm

Kurusu: a while

Kurusu: don’t really have whole days off much

Goro frowned.

Goro: That is not healthy Kurusu.

Goro: you need rest like anyone else

Kurusu: I’ll rest when I’m dead lmao

Goro’s grip on his phone tightened. Flashes came, sometimes. Memories of shooting Kurusu in the head, watching the shock fade from his eyes into empty nothingness. Vacant. The curious mind that had caught his attention now gone, blown through his skull and wet on the table.

How did none of his friends see what he was doing to himself?

Goro: Pick a day, this week if manageable.

Goro: And take it off.

Kurusu: can’t

Kurusu: I’ve got bills

Goro: One day will not make or break you.

Kurusu: you greatly underestimate just how expensive it is living here

Goro: Oh no, I am well aware.

Goro: Living where you are, even presuming you are paying on the higher end of the market value, between the hours you are working at your three jobs, assuming minimum wage, not including any tips from Crossroads, you could afford a day off.

Goro: You are working yourself to death.

Goro: Your friends may not have noticed, but I have and I will not allow it to continue.

Goro: Idiot.

Kurusu: you’re really intense

Kurusu: you know that?

Goro: So I’ve heard.

Kurusu: You are also assuming I don't have any other bills.

Goro: Do you?

Kurusu: That isn’t the fucking point, Akechi.

Kurusu: You cant just text me out of the blue and tell me to shirk my responsibilities to my employers for no reason.

Kurusu: You do not get to demand that of me. No one does.

Goro rubbed his mouth, shit. He hadn’t meant it like that, he just… why was this so fucking difficult?

Goro: Apologies. I had not meant to try and control you.

Goro: I am sure you’ve dealt with that more than enough.

Goro: I’m concerned, however. You do not look well.

Kurusu: gee thanks

Goro: You know this is not my expertise, I’m fucking trying.

Kurusu: i know i know.

Kurusu: its nice to know you care though. Thank you

Goro: Whatever.

Goro: My point still stands.

Kurusu: fine fine

Kurusu: I’ll see what I can do, happy?

Goro: Yes.

Kurusu: why do you even care though?

Kurusu: Like we can still hang out between shifts y’know

Goro: Yes, I do. However I wish to spend an afternoon with you without having to constantly watch the time.

Goro: I greatly value our meals, do not get me wrong

Goro: But I would like to do something else as well. Be it at one of our apartments, or there are hobbies I would not mind sharing with you, had you the energy.

Kurusu: If I didnt know any better, I’d think you were asking me someplace ;)

Goro: I am?

Goro watched the text bubble appear and disappear numerous times. He frowned, and hastily added another text.

Goro: You are my rival, and my friend, and while I am still working on how to show that

Goro: You mean an incredible amount to me.

Still no response. The typing bubble vanished completely, and did not appear to be making its way back any time soon. Kurusu was likely at a job now, of course. Goro pinched the bridge of his nose, regret already simmering in the back of his mind. He scrolled up through his texts, fuck, he sounded horrible.

He had not intended to come off as controlling or pushy. This was so fucking embarrassing.

Futaba

6:16pm

Futaba: oh my GOD

Futaba: UR STUPID.

Futaba: I HATE YOU BOTH

Goro: Ok.

Goro rubbed his eyes, he was bored and exhausted. He gathered up the newly scanned receipts and sent them off to his boss as a smal update on his progress. Goro needed some sleep, especially given Kurusu did not seem inclined to respond to him right now. Busy, undoubtedly.

He frowned at Futaba’s text, unsure what exactly to make of it. Had she a bout of common sense and realized he was a murderous monster?

Goro stopped the thought and redirected it, he was not a murderous monster anymore. He had no intention of ever taking another life, and he was getting better. Poshva said she noted great improvement to his mood last week after getting dinner with Kurusu. Something he refused to unpack further, especially when she started laughing at his embarrassment.

He’d be angry if she wasn't right.

Tired as he was, it was still too early to really try and sleep. So as he usually did when he needed a distraction from life, he powered his TV on and started watching some of the older Featherman episodes.

He turned it off after the ‘mourning’ episode Red had for Gray when he died. It left an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Not merely because, objectively, Red was the best character in the show. But when he watched Red hold the blaster Gray used to use, a sense of familiarity washed over him.

Kurusu had mourned him too, didn’t he?

Goro wondered what that had looked like, some self destructive part of him wanted to know how Kurusu did. Did he cry? Goro shut the thought down immediately, disgusted with himself for even wondering. Kurusu clearly mourned him, moved on, and now Goro shoved himself back into his life. He could only imagine the emotional turmoil Kurusu was facing; Palace notwithstanding.

Perhaps it could be something he spoke with Kurusu himself about, to gain a better understanding. Though if he did, that certainly wouldn't be a conversation for a long while.

Goro sighed, he really needed to get some sleep.

The following morning Kurusu had answered his text.

Kurusu

9:22AM

Kurusu: I have Wednesday off.

Well, alright. Not ideal, but Goro could work with it.

Goro: Excellent. I am busy with my session in the morning, and I usually go to the gym afterward.

Goro: I can come to your place after I finish at the gym?

Kurusu: you work out?

Goro: Not traditionally, like lifting weights if that is what you mean. I go boxing there.

Kurusu: no shit??

Kurusu: that actually sounds super cool

Goro had planned to introduce him to boxing and perhaps bouldering after the Palace was gone, figuring Kurusu needed all the rest and energy he could get.

Thinking back though, he was a fool. Kurusu and he were so alike in many ways, perhaps sharing this with him now could help. Or if not help, at least be an enjoyable experience for them both.

Goro: Would you like to join me then?

Goro: I can not say it replaces shadows from the Metaverse, but I find it enjoyable all the same.

Kurusu: i dont wanna intrude, I know you got your whole schedule down

Goro: I am inviting you.

Goro: Perhaps after we could get a late lunch?

Kurusu: actually that sounds really nice

Kurusu: yeah

Kurusu: I’m looking forward to it!

“I’m happy for you, Akechi,” Poshva’s voice was a bit staticy, her office was in the basement of a rehabilitation center, so her signal was not always the best. Still, they made it work, “that was very brave of you.”

Goro couldn't help the way he preened under her praise, “it was nothing. I had considered inviting him with me anyway, he is… struggling.”

“Mhm, you mentioned that last time,” she nodded, “it is good you are able to make time for both of you. Your relationship with him is important, but do not forget to take care of yourself as well.”

He scoffed, “of course I am.”

Poshva laughed again, “indeed you are, Akechi, though reminders are still important. Now then, would you like to talk about what you feel right now? You’ll be meeting Kurusu-san after our session, right?”

Goro nodded, though considered she may be unable to tell depending on how choppy the video was on her end, so he confirmed, “yes, we’ll be meeting at my boxing gym.”

“Good,” she scribbled a note down.

Goro once hated that she did that, like a scientist keeping tabs on a strange little experiment. It helped when she explained it more as reminders for herself, Goro was important, and so his values and experiences should be treated as such. But because she was only one person, and Goro was not her only client, writing herself reminders helped her keep names and events straight in her mind when they talked.

She offered to let him read her notes after every session so he could see what she wrote about him. The transparency helped, and Goro no longer felt the need to pry, but she continued sending him her notes after every session anyway.

Goro found the notes to be helpful for himself sometimes as well, a neat summary of their meeting.

“How does that make you feel?”

Ugh. Digging into his feelings was still something he did not particularly enjoy. However, he took a moment to consider what he currently felt anyway, Poshva would know if he gave her some bullshit answer. The small woman was too smart to fall for his nonsense, something that irritated and relieved him in equal measure.

“Happy,” he closed his eyes, “nervous, a bit angry maybe.”

“Good, elaborate more.”

Goro clicked his tongue, but complied, “I do genuinely enjoy my time spent around Kurusu. He was the first person I could consider a friend, or, wanted to. I am… uneasy however about our meeting.”

Poshva made a soft hum to urge him to continue.

“I have said things that hurt him, more than once; and I’ve not even been back in his life a month now, I am concerned such an event will happen again. I am angry at myself for not being able to… find better words to express how I feel, and I am angry that Kurusu can’t seem to read my intentions as he once could.”

Poshva was silent for a bit, so Goro kept talking, “I demanded he take a day off this week and he grew angry at me.”

“Most people do not enjoy being commanded to do things, especially when it is something that could affect their current lifestyle.”

“I know,” Goro knew that all too fucking well, “I had not intended it to come off as such.”

“How do you think you could have said it instead?”

Goro groaned.

Like they had planned, Goro waited for Kurusu outside the gym's entrance. He was early, so he didn’t expect to see the man so soon. Frankly Goro had hoped for perhaps at least ten or so minutes to settle his fraying nerves. But of course, ever the pain in his ass, Kurusu bound up to him like he wasn’t a whole half hour early.

Still, Goro nodded at him, “Kurusu.”

Kurusu snorted a small laugh, and adjusted what Goro presumed to be his gym bag over his shoulder. Certainly Kurusu didn’t plan to work out in a turtleneck and jeans.

Right?

If Kurusu was planning on working out in jeans—

“Uh,” Kurusu tugged at his hair, “shall we?”

Goro cleared his throat, and led them inside. He held his membership card beneath the scanner and after it beeped they went through to the locker rooms. It was a small place, all things considered. Clean and well managed, but relatively unknown. The classes were really the only days it was truly busy, and Goro never worked out on days yoga was happening.

He learned all too quickly to avoid those days lest he wanted to draw the attention of every well intentioned grandmother and every pent up house wife in the class. Goro’s skin crawled just thinking about it.

Kurusu opened the locker and— thank fuck— pulled out some sweatpants and a plain gray T-shirt from his bag. His expression must have given away his thoughts as Kurusu had the gall to laugh at him, “what, thought I’d work out in this?”

“You’ve done worse,” Goro groused, petulant and frankly justified in his initial trepidation. Kurusu led a band of vagabonds against Tokyo’s strongest, him thinking jeans were acceptable workout gear was not entirely out of the question.

Kurusu snorted, but tellingly did not deny the claim.

Goro packed his personal items into the locker, his own change of clothes, his phone, the works. Whatever he wouldn’t need to punch some bags, whilst Kurusu changed beside him.

Goro hadn’t noticed it initially, but the shirt he wore hung loose on his body. Folding and hanging awkwardly in places it once had not, the muscle and fat lost now. It left the turtleneck to sit odd on Kurusu’s form. Goro returned his gaze back to his own locker when the shirt came off, pursing his lips in an attempt to keep them shut.

He didn’t invite Kurusu here to hound him. No, this was for leisure, and his own concerns over Kurusu’s health aside, he did not wish to ruin it by nattering at him all day. Kurusu took this day off for him. Goro wouldn’t ruin that.

He closed his locker and shoved the key from the lock into his pocket, Kurusu followed his example.

They left the locker room without further comments, and Goro was pleased to find the corner where they kept the punching bags and small ring empty of anyone else.

“Ever boxed before?”

“Nope.”

Goro nodded, and pulled out one of his usual bags, hefted it onto the arena and slid under the rubber-like bars to get in. The chain hung from the ceiling had several hooks that slotted perfectly into the sewn in loops at the top of the bag. He heard Kurusu shuffle behind him, joining him in the arena.

After he tested the attachments and he was sure the bag was secure where it hung, he stepped aside and gestured for Kurusu to take a swing.

There was a brief hesitation before Kurusu took a step forward and swung at the bag. His form was passable, Goro supposed, Kurusu knew how to throw a punch. Though that wasn't really the point of this exercise, Kurusu took a step back with a half grin.

“Ok, go ahead.”

Goro frowned, his hand twitched away from his chin, he hadn't realized he had fallen into that habit again, “pardon?”

“Tell me what I did wrong,” Kurusu snorted.

Well now Goro was convinced he was treading on eggshells. He couldn't tell what Kurusu was thinking. Those damn glasses certainly didn't help. Shit, what the hell was he supposed to say? The longer he took to answer, the more Kurusu’s mouth twitched into a frown.

“Akechi?”

Goro cleared his throat, “you're fine.”

“Really?” Kurusu pressed, his brow rose.

“Yes,” Goro huffed, and crossed his arms, “either keep punching or move the fuck over.”

So Kurus threw a punch, and another, and another. Each time his form worse than the last. Was he doing this on purpose? Goro stopped him when he tucked his thumb under his fingers. He was going to throttle him.

“Are you daft?” Goro snapped, “what is wrong with you?”

Kurusu chuckled, it seemed genuine but fuck if Goro could tell anymore.

And… That was a thought. He couldn't read Kurusu anymore, not like he had, not like when they fought together. A single glance had been paragraphs between them, and yet, Kurusu met his eyes but Goro may as well have been blind for all the good they did.

Goro had been frustrated that Kurusu couldn't read him anymore, he hadn't realized it went both ways. He wanted to pull his hair out. With an admittedly melodramatic sigh, he turned and leant against one of the corners of the ring, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I cannot read you, Kurusu.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

When Goro looked up Kurusu’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. He shrugged when he noticed Goro’s stare, “can’t make heads or tails of my own moods most of the time either.”

Was this a result of their meddling within his Palace? “I see.”

Kurusu shrugged again.

Goro wondered if Kurusu had opened up about this to any of his friends. Likely not, Goro was surprised Kurusu had mentioned it at all to be frank. Though perhaps it was a trade. Goro confessed his vulnerability; in turn Kurusu shared his own.

Fine then.

Goro nudged Kurusu over and took a few swings at the bag, “therapy has been frustrating recently, I am not making the progress I want.”

Kurusu hummed, thoughtful, “are you not making progress, or are you just expecting results faster than you can give them?”

Goro punched the bag again in lieu of a response.

He stepped aside and let Kurusu have his turn, he mimicked Goro’s previous posture, though he was right handed, so it was all wrong. Goro nudged his foot with his own, “you’re right handed, you want an orthodox stance. Lead with your left foot instead.”

Kurusu seemed pleased Goro had corrected him, though he couldn’t figure out why.

He stepped back and Kurusu threw some punches himself, “I’m tired of people treating me with kid’s gloves.”

Ah, that explained it.

Kurusu let out a sharp exhale through his nose, “my friends act like if they even look at me I’ll break, I’m fucking sick of it.”

Figures the others wouldn’t be smart enough to keep their attitudes the same after the Palace. No, they were infantilizing him and treating him like a porcelain doll on the edge of a shelf. A slight rumble away from shattering. Kurusu may be perched on the edge, but those fools were shaking the shelf.

Goro was shaking the shelf.

“Even you,” Kurusu threw another punch for emphasis, the bindings holding the bag in place rattled from the force, “hesitated to correct my stance until I was going to risk breaking my fingers.”

Goro frowned, but didn’t comment. He wasn’t going to interrupt, not now.

“I’m tired, not fucking…” Kurusu groaned and slumped against the black canvas, “I’m just tired.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No, not tired like that.”

Oh.

“I did not correct your stance because we came here for pleasure. I do not intend on treating you as a child.”

Kurusu chuckled, “but you love showing off how much better you are than me at things.”

“Be that as it may, it felt… rude? I don’t fucking know, I would have corrected you the second you walked up to me with jeans if I knew you wanted me to talk down to you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kurusu laughed then, and straightened, “just… say what’s on your mind. Stop filtering around me, if you piss me off or cross a line I’ll tell you. I have told you.”

“Yes after I’ve hurt you.”

“You’ve yet to truly hurt me since you’ve come back,” Kurusu shrugged and tugged at his hair, “make me mad, sure, but no. Not hurt.”

“I shot you in the head.”

Kurusu blinked at him, then had the goddamn audacity to roll his eyes at him, “one, that was years ago. Two, you didn't even technically shoot me.”

“I had fully believed it had been you at the time.”

“I mean,” Kurusu dug the toe of his sneaker into the ground and shrugged, “I cant say I particularly like thinking about it; but I’m not stupid. I know what happened, they didn’t drug me up that much.”

Goro flinched, what was wrong with him? He shouldn't have brought it up at all. Of course this would be a sensitive topic for Kurusu, Goro did not doubt the injuries the cognition sustained were accurate. Kurusu had been tortured.

“Point is, Akechi, that whole thing? I don't actually blame you for, believe it or not.”

“You're a fool.”

Kurusu shrugged, “not the first time I’ve been called one, certainly won't be the last.”

Goro’s skin crawled. Why the fuck was Kurusu like this? Everything would have been so much easier if Kurusu was angry, if he screamed and shouted and demanded Akechi to never curse his sight again. Yet here they were, alone in an arena together. For once their opponent not the other.

“Hey,” Kurusu frowned, and bumped his shoulder against Akechi’s, “your turn to take a few swings.”

It took a moment for Goro to steady his breath, then, positioned himself before the canvas bag. Sometimes, Goro imagined the bag to be a shadow, or Shido. It didn't ease the wrath he still struggled against, certainly did not replace actual combat. But sometimes, imagining he was back to pummeling shadows again, was a nice thought.

Goro could feel Kurusu’s eyes on him, it was a prickling feeling. Instincts aware he was being watched by a formidable foe, despite the lack of ill intent. When the sensation didn't alivate itself, he stole a small glance at Kurusu from the corner of his eye.

The man had leant back against the railings, and was watching him with an expression Goro couldn't quite place, a light flush of exertion dusted his cheeks. Kurusu must have caught his gaze and immediately turned his head away, the dusting now a prominent red.

Oh.

Goro grinned, and if he was a bit more… Extravagant with his next swing, well that was his business.

Conveyor belt sushi was not what Goro usually went for after a workout, but he couldn't deny the nostalgia for the off flavor some of the fish had. Really this was a nice place all things considered, the fish was generally fresh and the meal was simple and cheap. Plus Kurusu was actually eating something other than instant noodles, so Goro was pleased.

Not that he was really one to judge.

Their roles seemed almost reversed now. Goro trying to bully Kurusu into eating better rather than an awkward teen offering to hang out at places happening to serve decent food. Goro had always gone, of course, he had taken gathering intel on his lead suspect for the Phantom Thieves very seriously. He also wasn't so blind as to not notice the way Kurusu danced around him even then.

Goro had thought it mere lust, physical attraction, a liking to a pretty face that held nothing but a black hole beneath its mask. It had infuriated him, to think his rival to be so shallow. To be another of the masses, scrambling for him to even blink in his general direction. Disgusting.

He knew better now, of course. Kurusu was far from a vapid fan. He always had been.

“Maybe I should get some extra,” Kurusu hummed, “Morgana said he wants to spend the night with me.”

“He doesn't normally?” Goro was unsure if Kurusu had told him why Morgana no longer stayed at his side like a yowling tumor. He knew the reason from prior discussions with the Thieves, though was unsure how well Kurusu would take to him spending so much time with his friends.

“No, Futaba needs him more than I do,” Kurusu grabbed a plate of salmon sashimi that rolled past, “he used to sleep in my desk during school days. I bet he does the same with her.”

“You… brought him to school?”

“Of course, can't go anywhere without my trusty sidekick,” Kurusu bared his teeth in a wide grin, only for it to falter as the words he spoke sunk in. He pretended to cough into his sleeve, “ah, that was then of course.”

Goro clicked his tongue, “I doubt Futaba needs that thing’s help, she seems plenty capable on her own. Probably torments him.”

The soft chuckle that escaped Kurusu felt like victory, “I’m glad you two are getting along.”

“Yes, well. She is a menace and a danger to society. Someone with legal knowledge ought to keep an eye on her.”

“Oh?”

“So that she may appropriately leave a scene with no trace of course,” Goro stabbed his sushi through with his chopsticks, “I’m not keen on letting people I sort of care about do hard time.”

Kurusu laughed and leant back in his shoddy stool. Goro could so easily hook his ankle around the leg and kick it over. He didn't. But it was tempting all the same.

“Sort of? Sure, Goro.”

He bristled, “it's… still new. I’m not going to put foolish labels like love on it, we barely know each other. I’ve not had a family since my mother died, not really.”

That seemed to sober Kurusu up. He stopped tempting fate with his stool and leant forward over the bartop, “that’s true I suppose. Your dad certainly didn't count.”

Goro snorted. Understatement of the goddamn century, that.

“I’m glad though, and hey, now you do. Got yourself your very own sister,” Kurusu chuckled.

Goro frowned, something about his tone seemed… off. Bitter, in a way Goro could all too easily recognize. Afterall, he too had held such feelings towards Kurusu in his past, and still a part of him envied his present. He had friends willing to risk their lives to save his heart, Goro was sure such effort would have never been extended to him.

“She is a sister far more to you than I, at this point. To bring attention to the commonly mistaken proverb; ‘blood is thicker than water’? The true saying had always been ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,’ a far more apt descriptor, yes?” Goro finished what remained of his roll, “her relation to me is only blood. Rather shitty blood at that.”

Kurusu’s laughter was a welcome noise, even if at his expense, “you could have just said I was closer to her.”

“And miss out on my chance to talk circles around you? Perish the thought.”

“Of course,” Kurusu hummed around the rim of his drink, “I’ll have to see if you got that quote right though, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hegel.”

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose, “it was not meant to be an exact quote.”

Kurusu snorted, “sure it wasn’t. You just wanted to sound smart.”

“That— sure, fine. Did you truly look up Hegel to fact check me?”

“No, I wanted to read more about him so I could sound all academic too. Couldn’t let you think you were smarter than me.”

“Kurusu,” Goro drawled, “that is one of the single most stupid things I’ve heard.”

“More so than misquoting Hegel to a stranger?” Kurusu purred and leant back again.

Goro kicked his stool and cackled when Kurusu scrambled to grab the bar before he fell.

“Ok, Morgana is at Akira’s place, so we’re clear to head in,” Futaba closed her laptop with a resounding click.

Goro remained silent where he sat at Kurusu’s former desk, it was bare of any sort of character or decorations other than a few notches in the wood from scraps along its surface. Goro wondered if those were from Kurusu or had always been there.

“Ready?”

“Akira Kurusu, Tokyo, Masquerade,” he said in lieu of a response.

The world shifted around them and finally they were in the Palace again. Still brought in to the entrance, with the Palace not having any safe rooms, he supposed such a luxury was not allowed to them.

“So here’s the plan, I’ll navigate for you from Al Azif but you’ll be doing the bulk of the heavy lifting. I’ll see what environmental stuff I can suss out, and maybe we can figure out what the next mask's gimmick is.”

“Yes, fine.”

“Awesome! Feather Scout Team, move out!”

“Absolutely not, fuck off,” Goro hissed, but shoved open the gate anyway, “don’t you dare.”

“Let me have this!”

“No.”

“Shove off, you’re part of the FST whether you like it or not, dickhead.”

Goro rolled his eyes, “can you sense any changes to the palace?”

“Maybe? I can’t really tell.”

“You can’t tell?” Goro sneered, “here I thought you were at least fairly competent.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, though her tone lacked any true bite, “it’s like our progress from before has been wiped. Or, like the palace itself reset… Perhaps each time we get a mask the place goes back to factory settings or whatever.”

“How delightful.”

Goro pushed the doors open and braced himself for what was to come. He could only imagine each mask to be worse than the last, that was how these things worked was it not?

When he arrived in the ballroom, it seemed largely unchanged. The shadows still danced to the faint trills of a piano. No smoke in sight, it seemed his waste of a mother was not present today. A shame really, Goro would have enjoyed ripping that thing apart limb from limb. Goro wondered if that was healthy to fantasize about. Probably not.

“Oh, got a reading of what I think may be our next mask,” Oracle chimed, “take the eastern door, looks like there’s a huge room there.”

Goro followed her instruction, though drew his blade for ease of mind. Kurusu’s last shadow had been docile, Goro was not foolish enough to think they all would be. He had seen it before, the simmering rage that bubbled beneath the surface of the man, he was positive they would face that wrath in one way or another. Perhaps not this mask, or the next. But they would, Goro would bet his life on it.

The corridor on the eastern wing was shorter than the western one, only a small detour that opened up into a larger room not dissimilar to a rest hall. There were still shadows littered about the place, peaceful for now, each dithering in the luxurious room. Goro did not sense any ill intent, nor did Oracle warn him of any danger; so he sheathed his sword and strode inside.

The marble of the ballroom bled into dark wood, covered by a red floral trellis rug, accented in intricate black patterns. If Goro squinted, he could almost see the shape of a dark rose in the fibers.

Red couches littered the area, tables set with drinks and food rested between them. The shadows loitered there, many dressed with wine or coffee in hand, giggling amongst themselves as he strode past. Their vacant eyes followed his every move, watching him without so much as moving their heads. The atmosphere was stifling, and it brought Goro back to his days attending banquets with Shido.

Looking down at him, judging him, analyzing for weakness. The same feelings from then came bubbling to the surface as he searched the hall for Kurusu’s next mask. Goro didn't give a damn if he was underdressed for the occasion, yet such feelings still came to him, entirely unbidden.

Finally, Goro spotted a familiar flash of white. Joker.

Perched on the only black couch in the room, well away from the other shadows, sat Joker. A small coffee table at his knees, with a faded roll of paper unfurled over the glass top. If he noticed Goro’s presence he didn't react until Goro stood directly in front of him.

When Joker’s attention lifted from the paper, yellow shone beneath his domino mask. Excellent.

“Was wondering when you’d show up, Crow. Take a seat,” Joker waved at one of eight chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the table. Goro sat beside him on the couch, Joker stared at him for a moment, then turned his attention back to what laid upon the table.

It was a map.

“Oracle, can you scan this?”

“Bold of you to assume I haven't already. It looks to be the current map of the Palace.”

Goro hummed his acknowledgement, and brought his focus back to Kurusu himself.

“I take you know why we are here?”

Joker chuckled, and leant back on the couch, a wry grin twisted across his lips, “of course. You want to steal the masks, correct?”

“Quite,” Goro crossed his arms, “care to share how to take yours?”

Joker shrugged, “I was hoping to figure it out before you showed up.”

“You… Don't know?”

“None of us do,” Joker explained, “we’re masks, not the shadow himself.”

“But you hold a part of him, do you not?”

“Maybe, but we don't understand it ourselves. Hence,” Joker waved at the map, “I was hoping to find some clues.”

Something did not seem right, why was this one trying to help them? Was the goal of a Palace not to protect the treasure?

“You seem rather invested in our success,” Goro lifted his lip, “I do not take kindly to betrayals.”

Joker laughed, a sharp sound, “rich coming from you, Crow.”

Fair.

“Even so, why are you trying to aid us, is your duty not to protect the treasure?”

“Well, yes,” Joker conceded, though rubbed his chin, “but I’m Joker. It’s my duty to steal hearts and lead the Phantom Thieves, that comes first over whatever loyalties I have to myself, or rather, the true shadow.”

Dread was heavy in his stomach, he had a feeling he knew where this mask was going to lead. Still, if Kurusu’s self-sacrificing tendencies would help, Goro would be remiss not to take full advantage and learn all he could. Oracle could scold him for using this to his benefit later.

“Fine then, I have some questions and I expect answers.”

“Of course,” Joker purred, “I will give all I can.”

“Will you now? Then give me your mask, surely the leader of the Phantom Thieves can do that much at least.”

Joker’s face did not betray any emotion as he reached up and pulled his mask from his face, dropping it in Goro’s open palm without any further fanfare. That was fucking easy—

The mask vanished the moment Joker’s red glove let go. Of course it did.

“Unfortunate,” Joker frowned, “though to be fair, you couldn't have thought that would actually work, right?”

“No,” Goro admitted, “do you even have an inkling on how we can take the mask?”

Joker shook his head.

“Do you know how we can obtain the other masks?”

Joker pressed his lips together, “no. We never interact, while we know of the other masks, we never see them, much less learn about them. Other than the general awareness of their existence, I suppose.”

That in itself was something though. It confirmed they would only ever have to deal with one mask at a time, and likely meant the masks returned to Kurusu himself when not actively in use.

“Very well, what can you tell me of the Palace then?”

“Not much, the true shadow is locked in the treasure room beneath the stage. Only way to get in is to get all the masks.”

“Figured that out ourselves, what else?”

Joker hummed, “you’ll want to be careful whenever you’re in the palace too long, otherwise you'll draw some… unwanted attention. You recall the Reaper?”

Goro shuddered, that shadow was not something so easily forgotten.

“The Palace has three, the Judge, the Jury, and the Executioner.”

“They’re all Reapers?”

“In their own right, they each are a representative of a person though. You’ve met the Judge already.”

“His mother?”

Joker nodded, “you should try to avoid conflict with the Judge and Jury if possible, however the Executioner is the one to truly be wary of. I’ve never seen it myself, but I know of its presence. It’d be wise to leave the Palace altogether should you encounter it.”

“We are working on a time limit, that won’t be possible.”

“I see,” Joker tapped his red fingers against his chin, “then try to stay out of sight should it appear.”

Goro wondered how possible that would be. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, if the Judge was his mother, surely the other two would be stand-ins for important figures in his life, no? Positive or negative.

“1000 yen that the Executioner is you,” Futaba cackled in his ear.

“Have you not even a modicum of tact?”

“Nope.”

She didn't even have the decency to sound embarrassed, but really. What should Goro have expected?

Joker’s knowledge had ended there, it seemed. With no leads, Goro couldn't help but feel the whole excursion to be nothing more than a waste. Oracle seemed pleased with their progress though, perhaps she could study the new map outside the Palace and come up with a possible solution to this mask.

When they returned to Leblanc, Futaba scuttled over to her laptop and opened it. Goro checked his own phone… Morgana had pinged them.

Before they left Futaba had installed a button in Morgana’s collar he could scratch at to ‘ping’ him and Futaba, when they were in the Palace. It seemed the notification did not reach them within the Metaverse, however.

It had been designed to use in case of an emergency.

Goro fought against his shaking hand and dialed Kurusu’s phone, Futaba peered up at him from over her laptop screen.

“H-hey Akechi,” Kurusu answered, a good sign.

“Evening,” Goro grumbled, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Kurusu certainly did not sound fine, “it's ok. Just a bit tired.”

What a load of horseshit.

“Hm, you do not sound it.”

“Look it's fine, Akechi,” Kurusu snapped, “it was just a phone call. I’m fine.”

“Phone call?” He pressed, his eyes darted to Futaba who already was trying furiously on her keyboard, there was an abrupt stop to the rhythmic click of her keys the same time Kurusu spoke. Futaba’s eyes widened and she stared at Goro in what he could only describe as abject dread.

“My mother called.”

Chapter Text

Kurusu had not spoken a word since they arrived. Instead, he took to glaring at him over the bunched up blanket draped around his body like a shawl, Morgana coiled around his neck in an elegant loop, purring. The sight was hardly intimidating, he looked like a petulant toddler forty-two seconds away from throwing a tantrum.

Futaba dropped herself on the couch beside him. Thirty seconds from a tantrum, given the unsubtle narrowing of his eyes. Though it seemed his irritation was directed almost entirely at Goro, which, given the other two inhabitants were a cat and Futaba, he could not blame the man.

“This is unnecessary,” Kurusu grumbled, “I’m not a child.”

“Then stop pouting and eat your dinner,” Goro shot back. He held out the takeout container to him, chopsticks already stabbed into the rice. A silent threat. Kurusu would eat, be it by choice or Goro shoving food down his gullet by force.

There was a quiet stare down between the two before Kurusu finally relented and accepted his meal, muttering under his breath as he did so. Kurusu could be irritated all he wanted, but surely he had to have expected this outcome. One did not simply inform someone their abusive family requested to get dinner with him next week, and not have them flock to his side for support.

That… was what people did, right? Futaba had begun packing her computer back up before the call had even ended, and declared they were coming over. Though to be fair, Goro recognized Futaba was not exactly the shining example of how to maintain interpersonal relationships of the Thieves. Must run in the family. Or the trauma. Either or, really. Maybe both.

Probably both.

The couch was only big enough for two, so Goro got himself comfortable on the floor, and popped open the lid to his own meal. For a while, the only sound was their eating and the low rumble of Morgana’s purrs.

Futaba was the one to break their silence, “so… want to talk about it?”

Kurusu shrugged, and earned an irritated grunt from Morgana, his little nails spread out on his shoulder to keep himself in place. If the puncture wounds bothered him, Kurusu didn’t show it.

Futaba poked at her food, then tried again, “your parents suck.”

Kurusu snorted, “you’ve never met them.”

“Don’t need to, they left you in Tokyo when you didn’t even do anything wrong! A-and then they kick you out?”

Kurusu shifted, his lips pressed into a thin line, “they didn’t kick me out.”

“Oh they might as well have!” Futaba’s voice was shrill, “you had to leave because they were awful to you!”

Kurusu shrugged, “you don’t know that.”

“Ugh!” Futaba threw her hands up, “you try!”

“Why did you leave after you moved back in with your parents?” Goro sighed, and set his food on the ground in front of him.

Kurusu poked at his chicken.

“You sounded like you were panicking when I had called,” Goro pointed out, falling back on the usual tactics, “your voice was strained and despite saying you were perfectly fine, you sounded out of breath. You barely put up a fight when we announced we were coming over with food, and only now you are deciding to be stubborn?”

“I wasn't wanted,” Kurusu muttered, low enough that if Goro had not trained every ounce of his attention onto the man; he wouldn't have heard it, “common theme, that.”

“Wh-” Futaba sputtered, “what do you mean? Of course you're wanted! By us if nothing else! You're my key item, you know that!”

Kurusu’s mouth did a strange little wobble, but he didn't speak.

Goro pursed his lips, unsure which words were the right to choose. He had several options before him, he could be blunt and borderline cruel; point out how stupid he was being and what moron believed he, Joker, could ever be unwanted in any world? Yet on the other, Goro knew all too well how alone one could feel, even surrounded by adoring fans, claiming how much they love him, love who he pretended to be.

Was that how Kurusu saw them? Vapid and shallow? Or did he believe they didn’t know him, the true him?

Did they know him?

“I cannot speak of your parents,” Goro lifted his lip, “rather I could but I have not a single flattering word I would say about them. So best I don't. However, despite what you may feel now, you are cherished dearly by the many people around you. Any one of those people would drop everything to rush to your side, as we just have. Your friends, Sojiro—”

Kurusu averted his eyes, a subtle motion. Interesting.

“— myself of course, and that is not even including the several sycophants you have gathered throughout Tokyo. You are wanted, several times over, of that I can assure you.”

There was a period of silence where Kurusu just stared at him. His eyes wide and mouth a bit open, surprise most likely. Had he overdone it? Said too much? Perhaps he had overstepped a boundary he didn't even know existed.

“See,” Futaba said, and broke the awkward silence, “you better feel loved otherwise he’ll go on a whole monolog again and I don't want to hear him confess his—” Futaba put a hand on her forehead with a gasp and leant back against the couch, “—undying and eternal passion for you.”

Had Goro anything within throwing range he would have lobbed it at her with enough force to decapitate.

He instead took to glowering at her, perhaps if he believed it hard enough he could set her ablaze with his fury alone. It did not work as Futaba only started laughing when she caught his gaze.

Kurusu chuckled, “don’t be an ass, Futaba.”

She stuck her tongue out at him in response.

They settled into a comfortable silence after that. The tv droned on, reruns of some cartoon Goro couldn’t be arsed to care about. He had a refined taste.

Still, as the quiet pressed on, Goro grew anxious. He could see Futaba pull her legs up to her chest and occasionally glance at Kurusu but didn’t bite the bullet. Well. Wouldn’t be the first time he called Kurusu out, he supposed.

“So.”

“…So?”

Goro set his container on the ground, “you never told us what you decided, in regards to your parents. You said they wanted to get dinner.”

“Oh, yes. They did.”

“And? What was your response?”

Kurusu shrugged, and averted his eyes away from them, “I agreed.”

Of course he did. Of fucking course he did. Perfect and polite and delightful Kurusu, always extending an olive branch to those undeserving. How pathetic, he hated—

Why was he so angry? Kurusu had not wronged him, far from it. So why was he so damn furious with the man? Was he angry at him, or the situation?

He wrinkled his nose, “why?”

“Dunno. They wanted to talk,” Kurusu murmured, his voice muffled by his palm he used to support his cheek on the arm of the couch.

“Are they going to apologize?” Futaba asked, “they better.”

Goro didn’t think their apology would mean shit. They wanted something from Kurusu and were going to take advantage of his stupid bleeding heart to get what they wanted. Disease ridden insects that they were.

“Maybe, I don’t know what they want,” Kurusu sighed, “I’ll see them next week.”

Goro dug his phone from his pocket when he heard it chime.

Futaba

5:42pm

Futaba: you. me. mementos

He glanced at her, and met her eyes over the edge of her phone. Goro wondered if that would be the best route. Of course doing so may give Kurusu the result he yearned for, by agreeing to humor those pigs. However, would having them grovel for his forgiveness be what he truly wanted?

Goro certainly wanted to have a go at them, though.

Goro didn’t respond to her text, instead he just shoved it into his pocket and left it on read.

She huffed, and went back to tapping away on her phone, perhaps updating the other Thieves. Kurusu’s attention darted between the two of them briefly, then moved back to the television. A charged silence settled over their shoulders.

A few more episodes passed in silence, before Kurusu had them leave. He needed to get rest for his morning shift tomorrow. Goro ushered Futaba out when she kicked up a fuss, now wasn’t the time to push.

Morgana sat in the doorway, “I’m staying.”

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets, Morgana.”

“I’m not a pet!”

“You look like one,” Kurusu pointed out and crouched down, “besides, Futaba still needs you. There’s school tomorrow right?”

Morgana’s ears swiveled flat against his head, “I’m not leaving.”

Kurusu’s mouth pressed to a thin line, and he scooped the feline up to deposit into Futaba’s arms. She fumbled with him a bit, his indignant yowl echoed in the frigid air.

“Why are you always doing this?” Morgana hissed, “stop pushing us away!”

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed, and without another word, closed the door in their faces. Well then.

“Hey!” Morgana sputtered and jumped out of Futaba’s arms, “Akira!”

The feline stalked back and forth before the door, his tail twitched back and forth like an arrant pipe cleaner.

“That’s quite an angry kitty.”

Shit. Goro stepped in front of Futaba and the damn cat, blocking them at least in part from view. A woman stood at her door, she was well dressed, and her white hair twirled back into a sensible bun utop her head. Goro recognized her as that woman he saw peer out her window when he had first stormed Kurusu’s apartment.

“He does not belong to Kurusu,” Goro frowned, nosy neighbors like her loved calling landlords for every little perceived violation. Goro wondered if she ever did file that noise complaint.

To his surprise, the hag only laughed, “he sure looks like he wants to be.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may; this complex does not allow pets.”

“Oh please, what the landlords don’t know won’t hurt them, hm? Besides, that boy could use a little furry friend.”

“Hear that Akira?” Morgana called, “she thinks I should stay!”

Goro doubted Kurusu could hear him anymore, and if he did, Goro would bet his entire bank account on him not giving a shit right now. He’d text Kurusu tomorrow morning, he doubted Morgana’s insistence today put him in a particularly good mood, even if Goro agreed with the stupid creature.

He still needed to figure out when to keep pushing or allow Kurusu his space.

“Oh, you’re that young man I’ve seen around here, aren’t you?” The woman adjusted her grip on the cane she clutched, “my name is Naruko Hina, but you can just call me Granny, dear.”

Goro pointedly ignored Futaba’s little cackling giggles, “ah, yes. I’ve visited Kurusu a few times. We are… friends.”

“How wonderful! It’s about time that boy made some friends his age, and not just some old widow.”

He shot Futaba a look over his shoulder, she and Morgana both withered under his stare. Had they not even once visited him? That would be a conversation to be had with the others as well.

“If you do not mind me asking, how did you come to make his acquaintance?”

“Oh he helped me fix my computer, I was having trouble sending emails. Technology these days is just so hard to grasp, I don’t know how you kids do it.”

“Yeah that sounds like him alright,” Futaba muttered.

“After that we hit it off, and he comes by every week to help me cook. I can’t hold utensils like I used to, and my children don’t live in the area. And oh I’ve told him he doesn’t have to, I can still function just fine but, well, he keeps insisting so he can pay me back for helping him a while back.”

Helping him? Goro crossed his arms, “oh? Did you assist him in moving in?”

“Oh no, really it was just a stroke of luck I… ah. Me and my big mouth, excuse me. I don’t think that’s something he’d like me sharing with some new friends.”

“We’ve known him way longer than you,” Futaba mumbled into the scruff of Morgana’s fur.

“Right, well,” Goro cleared his throat, “we best be leaving now. It was truly a pleasure to meet you Ma’am.”

Goro nudged Futaba in the direction of the stairs. She muttered something beneath her breath, but relented and carried Morgana down the stairs. Goro bowed and followed after her.

Once they were down the street, Futaba spoke up, “we didn’t know where he lived for a while.”

Goro did not respond, caught somewhere between confused and irritated.

“He made me stop tracking his phone when he moved out, said it made him uncomfortable,” she explained, “still have it bugged technically. It’s how I got your phone number to begin with.”

“Hm, figured as much,” Goro tapped his foot against the ground as they waited for the signal to walk, “I’m surprised you kept your promise that long.”

“I mean,” Futaba adjusted her grip on Morgana, “I did break it, once, late last year, like December maybe? He stopped responding to all our texts for a while, s-so I got worried y’know? He was just at home though, so it was fine? I mean, he’d leave his phone there when he went to work an’ stuff, never managed to catch him. You know how he gets. He eventually got back in contact though, and it was fine. But…”

There was a period of silence, where it seemed she was mulling over her words. Futaba spoke up again, her voice soft and wary, “but he was acting weird I guess. Maybe that’s when his Palace formed? Though he’s been acting off for longer than that, I think. It just was more obvious then.”

“I see.”

So Kurusu had been unwell for about a year, at least. Goro could see the puzzle beginning to form in his mind, several pieces laid before him. Yet they still did not fit together, not yet. Something was missing.

“Are… we bad friends?” Futaba asked, her brows furrowed, “I… we knew he was struggling but… we didn’t do anything. We just watched it happen.”

Goro shrugged, “I am not the person to ask that.”

“But you’re the only person he’s let in,” she mumbled.

Goro had nothing to say to that.

“We simply do not have the time,” Kitagawa pointed out, “perhaps we should wait until after his Palace. Sundays are all we have, after all.”

Goro scoffed and while tempted to reach over Futaba’s arm and end the call then and there, he knew better than to touch her things. The gross invasion of property aside, Goro did not want to get bit. He was fairly certain she had rabies.

The rest of the Phantom Thieves had all dialed into a call as soon as Goro returned Futaba to Leblanc. Her pestering them at 8 in the evening seemed to be enough of an emergency to put their responsibilities on hold. Okurma was the only one not actively participating; something about a meeting.

“Not everyone needs to show up to change a heart,” Goro pointed out, “I could be in and out in an hour.”

“With all due respect, Akechi,” Niijima snapped, “we cannot trust you.”

“Think I’d kill them?” He sneered.

Boss made some sort of noise behind the counter, followed by a rough, “keep the murder talk out of my cafe.”

Goro flinched and muttered a quick “sorry, sir,” the same time Futaba cackled out a “can we talk murder outside then?”

Boss raised a brow, then shook his head and resumed cleaning the glass he had been fussing over the last twenty minutes.

“Dad said we could talk murder outside,” Futaba cheered.

“No one is going to kill anyone,” Niijima frantically corrected.

“Not outside my shop you won’t,” Boss snorted, “scare away my customers.”

“That’s the issue you have with this?” Goro pinched the bridge of his nose.

“If something happens,” Boss turned away and set the glass back into the cabinet, “I didn’t hear nothing.”

“Everyone please,” Niijima tried again, “Yusuke is right. We don’t have the time to deal with his parents and take on the Palace if we still plan to finish it by February 2nd.”

“Again, I am available.”

“And again, Akechi-San,” Niijima bristled, “we can’t trust you.”

“I can go too,” Futaba pointed out, “I just have school and I can do my homework in my sleep.”

“You wouldn’t be able to reliably stop him if he decided to betray us again.”

Futaba opened her mouth, then snapped it closed with a sharp click. Her fingers laced and unlaced together, worrying them against each other as her lips pressed into a thin line. While Goro may have worded it differently, Niijima was right. Futaba wouldn’t be able to stop him if he was truly motivated.

None of them could. Not on their own, at any rate.

To his surprise, Sumire spoke up, “I could go. It would have to be between my training sessions, but if we made it quick, I can spare a few hours, I think. No, I’ll make the time. This is important. Plus if Futaba goes, then Morgana-senpai can come too. I really don’t believe Akechi is going to do anything, Makoto. He just wants to help.”

“Well, you and Akira were always closer to him than the rest of us,” Niijima trailed off.

Goro could agree with that statement, yet… yet he couldn’t actually recall a single time they spent time together. In fact, other than in passing at the television station, the only memory he could recall of her was during a rather embarrassing display of jealousy.

Even so, he didn’t feel the need to try and appeal to her as he did the others. Like she already knew him, and liked him well enough.

But how? Why?

“Then it’s settled! We’ll make Akechi do all the work and we can kick back and relax. It’ll be fun!” Futaba gave the camera of her laptop a thumbs up.

It was such a ‘Kurusu’ thing to do, he marveled. How could Kurusu think for even a moment that Goro was somehow far more worthy of the brother title than he? There was nothing between him and Futaba but the shitty blood making up the worst parts of them. Kurusu filled in the gaps, helped her bloom into a fine young woman.

Goro would never dream of trying to vy for that title. He did not deserve it. Not after what he did.

Date and time set, they would tackle Kurusu’s deadbeat parents Friday, then the Palace on Sunday.

It would shape up to be a rather busy week, it seemed.

Mementos had not changed much from how he remembered it. But it felt… odd. Before, Mementos held an air of wrath and greed, now the air was tinged with desperation and anguish. It felt colder, almost like the halls of an abandoned hospital, despite its appearance remaining much the same.

Goro was curious, yet he couldn’t help but feel unsurprised. As though he had expected a change in humanity’s Palace, after what happened.

Yet for the fucking life of him, he couldn’t remember why.

“Ok F.S.T.—"

“No.”

“Shut up, you don’t get a say, Black Condor,” Oracle snorted, “so figure the easiest way would be to work our way down. His dad is only a couple levels down, his mom though is pretty deep in there. And all… weird.”

“Weird how, Oracle-Senpai?”

The way she preened under the honorific was so painfully obvious, Goro felt embarrassed on her behalf.

“Well, she is in Mementos for sure, but the reading I’m getting is all staticy and warped. Like there is some sort of interference.”

“She is forming a Palace seed,” Goro explained, “her Palace is starting to take shape, but not complete yet. If left alone, it will eventually become its own Palace.”

“Huh,” Violet pressed a slim finger to her cheek, “I didn't realize there was an inbetween state.”

“I am unsure if it happens in all cases of Palaces, I’ve only seen the oddity one other time myself. Likely, it is a state of limbo. Her desires are distorted, but she still has a grip on reality. My theory is it would only take one more push to cause the Palace to form in its entirety, yet likewise, if her heart is truly so fragile, it may be easier to change it.”

“Let’s get a move on then!” Morgana bounded ahead and transformed, “quicker we track those shadows down, the better.”

They all loaded into their usual positions, Oracle in the passenger side, Goro in the furthest back row with Violet in the middle.

“Uh guys? I still need someone to drive me.”

After seeing Kurusu’s mother in his Palace, Goro had expected more from his father. Yet when they came upon his shadow, Goro was taken aback by how… average he was. A businessman with a clean haircut, glasses, and inoffensive suit.

He looked no different than the hundreds of people he’d pass by on his way to visit Leblanc. In fact, the only thing that spoke of more, was the suit he wore. His pants were hemmed perfectly to his ankles, and the shoulders sat snugly where they belonged. It was tailored, clearly.

“What do you brats want, can’t you see I’m busy?”

Goro bristled, too many times had Goro been called nothing but a worthless brat. A waste of space, a burden. He tapped his claws against the side of his thigh instead of lunging at the fucker. He wasn’t going to kill him.

“We’re here about your son!” Violet demanded, her chin lifted so that even despite her small stature, she could look down at him, “how you’ve treated Akira has been nothing short of shameful.”

“Son?” The man rubbed his temples and sighed, “oh yeah, that kid. Look, it’s not my problem. Wench of a mother is lucky I’m such a forgiving soul… raising some other man’s brat. I’ve got better things to do anyhow, I’m an up and coming business tycoon, you know.”

“What?” Oracle squawked, “no one cares about your stupid business! What about Akira?”

The man rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses to sit better on his small nose, “I don’t keep tabs on the thing. I was letting it live rent free in my home for years, I should be given an award for my kindness.”

“What leads you to believe Akira is not your child?”

The man sniffed, “for one I’m infertile, two, there’s no way I’d sire a little f—”

Even with the added weight of Mona clinging to his leg, Goro cleared the space between them in record time. He fisted his hand in that worthless deadbeat’s shirt, “you better think real fucking hard about your next words.”

“Oh yes!” Violet chirped, followed shortly by the click of her locking up her rifle after loading two shots into it, “it'd be terrible if something happened here, wouldn’t it, Crow-senpai?”

“Indeed.”

“You two are scary,” Oracle muttered, followed shortly by what sounded like a ‘nice’ but Goro couldn't be sure.

“Why did you adopt him if you wanted nothing to do with him?” Goro barked.

“I didn’t! Damn doctors said it was mine, bullshit. It’d look bad if I just left that whore of a woman, so I married her when she was still pregnant with it,” the man wavered, both his hands up beside his head, “I fed it and gave it a bed. That’s more than most would have done!”

God, the worst part was, he wasn’t even wrong. Goro himself was a testament to that. Kurusu so nearly had the same life he did, who knew if his mother would have lasted raising a child on her own. She was a coward of a woman, her strength nothing compared to his own mother’s.

She probably would have abandoned Kurusu outright.

“Why did you keep him?” Violet asked, “why not just give him up for adoption?”

Goro’s fist tightened. The strain his gauntlets put on that fabric proved to be too great, enough that it began to tear under his wrath.

“Certainly thought about it,” the pig spat, “but keeping it was beneficial. After all, a family man in business is appealing. Having a pretty wife and pretty kid looked good in photos. Only thing that brat was useful for. At least its mother is a good lay.”

Really, if Goro wasn't so set on changing his ways, on being a better person, those words alone would have marked his expiration date. As it were, Goro tossed the man to the ground and drew his blade. The red illuminated his face, and only then did the sniveling coward seem to realize the situation he was in.

“W-w-wait wait! I didn't do anything wrong! It’s not like I beat it or some—”

“Akira isn't an it,” Mona hissed, “he’s our friend!”

“That's right! Akira has done so much for so many people, and yet you treat him like that?” Violet’s eyes narrowed, “how could you?”

“Kid is lucky I let i-him live with me! I coulda thrown him on the street!”

“For all the good you did as a father,” Goro watched the man’s shadow break and warp, black escaped the seams as he transformed, pooling into a thick tar-like puddle at his feet, “you may as well have.”

He jumped back just in time to avoid an uncoordinated swing from the Orobas. Pathetic. Goro scoffed at the worthless attempt, did he even try? How utterly disappointing.

Loki tore at the edges of his conscious before Goro pushed the Persona back, much to it’s wrath. Goro did not desire to kill the man, and he feared if he had brought Loki out to battle, he would lose control and kill the shadow before them.

He summoned Robin Hood instead, though even the calmer Persona held no less rage within. It was sharper though, more focused. Goro was furious but he could still think. Yet, here was a third feeling, somewhere deep within the back of his mind that called out.

‘Call upon me.’

A name he did not know but felt as though he should. Goro shook the sensation off, and commanded Robin Hood to attack. Arrows of light bore down on the Orobas, the shadow squealed it’s pain. Violet followed swiftly after with a shot from her gun and like that the shadow was done.

What a pathetic creature.

“God,” the red fur of his shadow form melted away, leaving the man collapsed on his knees, “what have I done?”

“You hurt someone you should have watched over,” Violet responded, and despite how blunt her tone had been, there was an air of softness to her words. More than the man deserved, but he was never truly practiced in changing hearts.

Even when he was part of the Phantom Thieves, he had always watched them work. Never directly participated.

“I did, what a pathetic waste of a father I am,” he muttered to the ground, “he’s my son. My dear son.”

“Oh so now he’s your son,” Goro sneered.

“He always was. I just didn’t want to see it,” he admitted, “Yumi is not the type to sleep around, our deal was meant to be exclusive. I should have believed her.”

“Your paranoia hurt an innocent child,” Mona responded, “a child that needed your love and guidance.”

The man nodded, sharp jerking motions, “you’re right. You’re right I— I messed up.”

“Understatement.”

“Did you know his mother beat him?” Violet demanded, and clicked her tongue when he nodded.

“I had… I believed he wasn’t my child, so I didn't care what happened to him. Her brat, her problem.”

“And now?” She prodded.

“I need to make things right with my wife, and my son.”

Shakily, he pushed to his feet. As he straightened, his body swayed and glowed. Like dust particles reflecting light, he began to dissolve. He bore a soft smile and adjusted his glasses in a way that harkened back so eerily to Kurusu, Goro could almost see the resemblance.

“Thank you.”

A pocket watch dropped to the ground after he vanished. Oracle skittered over to and picked it up, her fingers brushed over the gold surface. She found what she seemed to have felt for, and pressed down, the watch popped open to reveal a photo within. An image of a woman and man together, smiling on a beach somewhere.

There was no sign of Kurusu in the photo, perhaps taken before he was born.

“No wonder he feels unwanted,” Oracle clicked the watch closed, “I can’t believe he never told us what he went through.”

Violet placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Joker isn’t someone who wants to burden others, I imagine. I… I don’t think he knows how to confide in someone.”

“That’s so fucked up.”

Goro couldn’t claim to be a good confidant, but he hoped all the same, that his attempts were noticed by Kurusu. That even through the undeniable weight he had to feel, that Goro could help make it just a bit lighter. That maybe, just maybe, he could be enough this time.

A low grumble echoed through Mona’s interior.

“S-sorry!” Violet squawked, “please ignore it, I’m fine.”

Goro snorted and pulled a granola bar from his suit, then offered it back to her, his hand still firm on the wheel as they cruised through Mementos.

“Oh, thank you Crow-senpai!” She accepted the bar, and ignored Oracle’s gagging sound.

“Eww bodysuit granola.”

“It’s still in its wrapper,” Goro scoffed, “I didn’t see you bring anything.”

“Yeah, well,” she stuck her tongue out and pushed her goggles up, “I didn’t think to.”

“Yes,” Violet hummed, “Joker was always the one to pack food and items.”

Goro chose not to comment on their over reliance on Joker, and instead offered, “well, I tend to have some food on me. So if you get hungry, speak the fuck up.”

“Thank you!”

Goro shrugged, even as Oracle’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Always?”

Goro shrugged again.

“How come you barely ate back then, huh?”

Goro’s grip tightened on Mona’s wheel, “I imagine you’d get it, out of anyone.”

Futaba faltered and pulled her legs up to her chin, “yeah, never knew when your next meal would be.”

Violet made a sound akin to a cough, and Goro merely gave a short nod. He had never been inside Oracle’s room, but he would be far from surprised if she too had a stash of nonperishables beneath her bed. Just in case.

His therapist informed him that food hoarding was common in people of his background, and while it was a behavior Goro wished to break eventually, he found ways of working around it. Just as he’s found ways of working around his chronic pain — courtesy of driving himself insane and getting shot several times.

Even before he had ever met the others, he always had some sort of easily hidden food on him, usually an apple in his attache case, though sometimes a protein bar. There was, and still is to a point, a part of him that felt he needed to fight for his next meal. That he couldn't trust others not to take from him, so he had to have a backup on hand so he didn't starve.

Entirely unreasonable now, Goro had no shortage of food. But the feelings, the urges, still remained.

He didn't know the gory details of Futaba’s previous ‘caretakers’, but he knew enough. Someone doesn't just leave a situation like that unscathed.

“I had no idea,” Violet managed to speak again after she regained control of her lungs, “I’m… sorry.”

“Don’t pity me,” Goro snapped.

“I’m not.”

Goro huffed but let the subject drop. He didn’t particularly enjoy lingering on this topic anyway. They had more important matters to attend to.

“That’s different.”

Goro narrowed his eyes as he pulled Mona to a stop. The entrance to where Kurusu’s mother was had already begun to warp the parts of mementos it connected to. Had the situation been different, Goro would have found himself fascinated.

As it were however, Goro only felt dread and a fair bit of indignant fury.

Wooden planks stretched out from the swirling vortex, two decorated paper lanterns marked the start of where Kurusu’s mother’s delusions began.

He stepped out of Mona, he wasn’t sure what to expect from the woman’s shadow. Would it be akin to a Palace holder, or would she be more grounded? Not including how dangerous she may or may not be.

Goro felt the rush of wind at his back when Mona transformed, “ok! Are we all prepared?”

“As much as we’ll ever be,” Oracle huffed, “let’s get this over with.”

Goro stepped through the vortex, and as he had expected, his foot did not meet the usual give of Mementos’ floor. Instead the planks of wood that had swirled around the enerance, now lined an entryway to some sort of building.

It seemed they were brought straight to the front door, so Goro had no way of seeing what the building itself was. It was eerily quiet.

Goro motioned for the other three to stay back as he took the step from the welcome mat deeper into the building. Echoes of mementos still pulsed within, cracks in the wood at his feet and in the walls throbbed with the veins often lining the corridors. So far it was empty.

“Can you sense anything, Oracle?”

“Nope, just her shadow further in.”

Goro relaxed a touch, the Palace had not developed enough for there to be minions then.

The others seemed to have taken that as a sign of permission, and trotted along after him as they walked past what seemed to be a front desk. There was a wooden figure sitting at it, a puppet with a hand out as though anticipating payment for some sort of service.

“Oh!” Violet clapped, “this is a Bunraku, I think.”

Oracle poked at the mannequin, it did nothing, “a puppet theater?”

“Yeah, l remember going to one of these when I was little with Kasumi.”

Sure enough, as they ventured deeper into the small building, wood was exchanged for tatami mats with an open floor full of cushions to kneel on. Goro had never been to a Bunraku show, he had always pictured it to be a thing for the elite.

There, on the stage, was a woman. She was kneeling in a dark navy kimono, with a puppet sat before her. Her hair was pulled back from her face, though was still allowed to flow down her back. The puppet, like her, had its hair pulled from its face, though it appeared to represent a character far younger. Its clothes were also a dark navy, but tattered and worn in contrast to her otherwise flawless kimono.

“Welcome to the Kurusu family theatre,” the puppet said, “please enjoy our show!”

“We don’t want to see your stupid show!” Mona hissed.

This time, Kurusu’s mother spoke, she opened her eyes and frowned, “don’t like this puppet? I have others.”

She tossed the puppet aside and it vanished in a thick ploom of smoke, another swiftly appeared in its place. This time it was still of a young child, but instead of the iron rod straight hair, the black locks curled around the painted features of the doll.

“Is that all you see your son as?” Violet demanded, “a puppet?”

The woman tutted, “I have no son, only a damaged daughter.”

She stroked the side of the puppet’s face in a cruel mockery of affection, “with enough love I’m sure she can be fixed, it’s the blood of her father that messed her up.”

“Messed up?” Oracle sounded indignant from where she stood behind Goro, “y-you're the messed up one here! Can you even see what you’ve done to him?!”

The woman had the gall to sigh, “I can see she’s made fools of you all too, such a shame. Can’t she understand what I’m trying to do? Every time she chooses the path of strife.”

“You’re the one making HIS path so hard!”

“Can’t you see I’m trying to save her?” The woman snarled, “if she just smiled and did what I asked, none of this would have happened!”

Goro had enough, and drew his sword. Clearly this woman had no intention of listening to them.

She likely sensed his intent, and stood, tossing the doll of her child away like an undesired accessory. The doll cracked against the stage, before it too vanished in thick cloying smoke.

Not unlike the fog that had settled in Kurusu’s Palace when she appeared.

As though peeling off the rind from an orange, Kurusu’s mother burst into a shadow, a Parvati standing in her place. This would be easy, Goro sneered and called upon Loki. The familiar flames of wrath edged into the corners of his vision as it always had with the Persona.

The desire, the need, to see his enemy kneel before him flowed through his blood.

“She should be weak to curse, Crow,” Oracle buzzed into his ear, “careful though, she’s stronger than average!”

Strengthened by a spell Mona cast upon him, Goro lunged for the woman, “Eigaon!”

The heavy static of curse filled the air around him as Loki commanded the attack. The Parvati brought up a doll to block the assault, a mimikry of what was undoubtedly her husband burst into splinters when the attack landed. Wisps of shadow seared her skin and she shrieked, her arms tossed up to protect herself as she stumbled back.

Goro didn't waste any time, not allowing for a single move, he called for another Eigaon, this one blocked by a puppet of the child from before.

Again. A young boy with dirt on his face.

Again. An old man with a wicked grin.

Again.

The puppet of Akira, like all the others, cracked and disintegrated when hit by the attack. Small shards of wood bounced across the stage, still lit by the purple flames of curse.

No more came, and Goro did not hesitate.

“Eigaon.”

The shadow screamed and writhed in agony. It’d be easy, it’d be so easy to just kill it. To kill the woman who had made Akira’s life so miserable. But he wouldn’t. He refused.

Goro stopped the assault, and the shadow vanished, leaving nothing but a pathetic echo of a person behind. The woman was on her knees, head buried in her hands as she sobbed. It was… uncomfortably familiar.

He took several choice steps back as Violet and Mona filled in for him, smoothing over the hurt he could not fix. He could fight, hurt, maim. But comfort and soothe? He still could barely handle himself.

“I’m sorry,” the woman wept, “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you?” Violet demanded, like with Kurusu’s father, her tone was firm yet still held that air of warmth to it.

She lifted her face, black streaks of makeup cut through her cheeks, “yes, I… how could I have been so foolish?”

Violet squatted down, “you hurt your son.”

“Yes,” she murmured, “I wanted to do what was best for him, but I… I never stopped to think about what would have made him happy…”

When Violet did not respond, she continued.

“I was poor, growing up. I lived on a farm, we barely could keep food on the table. Some nights we only had the food we couldn’t sell, if any at all,” she whispered, “I hated it. Working from sunrise to sundown. I couldn’t have a proper education, I had to stay and tend the rice.

“I refused to let that become my life. That backbreaking misery. I got jobs in town, I saved up, I got into a decent school. I got to college, I graduated! I have a fucking degree! For what? Nothing!” Her voice cracked, “I nearly worked myself to the grave! But I couldn’t get a job, no one would hire a country bumpkin with no family ties.”

Goro couldn’t say he was a fan of where this story was heading. Too familiar in all the wrong ways.

“What else is a woman to do? I refused to go back to that life, I couldn’t. I would have rather died, so I made due,” she glanced down at her hands, “I attracted the attention of Kaito, and after some dates, I agreed to be his sugar baby. I got everything I ever wanted, and I… loved Kaito, I did. We were happy.”

“But then you got pregnant,” Goro crossed his arms.

“Yes, I… I never cheated on Kaito. But he didn’t believe me! He said he was infertile, that he couldn’t have kids! Even after a paternity test, he refused. He wouldn’t even look at me!” She wailed, “I thought he was going to abandon me, but he… he decided to marry me. He wanted nothing to do with raising the child, but said having one would be good for his image. So we kept him.”

“Before he was even born, he was destined to be your goddamn tool?” Goro sneered, “you’re pathetic.”

“I know!” She shouted, then softer, repeated, “I know. When he was born, and I held him in my hands for the first time, I felt nothing. I never actually loved him, not in the way he deserved. But I thought, if I could do nothing else, it would be to make sure he didn't make the same mistakes I did. I figured if I could teach him to be the perfect wife, or I guess husband, he’d never want for anything. He could marry rich, help the company grow… I never thought of his happiness. I never thought of him as… him.”

“Did you truly believe he would have been happy being someone’s arranged spouse?” Violet asked.

“No, he was always such a bright kid. Too smart for that, too smart for me,” the woman’s hands curled into tight fists, “I tried to force him to obey me. I locked him in a closet when he annoyed me or his father, I hit him when he did not achieve perfection, when he first cut his hair I…I lost it. He… had to wear quite a lot of makeup for a while after that.”

“He never said anything,” Oracle’s voice was soft and trepid, “he never told us about his childhood.”

“I doubt they were memories he cared to linger on,” Goro frowned, “as Violet said, I do not believe he knows how to open up to others. I don't think he ever could.”

Even Goro, for all the horrors of his childhood, had his mother at the start. She loved him, and she gave him a foundation of love, of care. Goro had squandered it, tossed away the parts of her she left with him, to take up his father’s blood. But at least he received it at all.

Kurusu never did.

“How are you going to make this up to him?” Violet asked, and grunted as she pushed herself back to a standing position.

“Can I even make amends with him? After what I’ve done?”

“I mean, his future boyfriend shot him in the head, so…” Oracle mused.

“Future boyfriend?” Goro squawked, “excuse me?”

“Oh? Current boyfriend?”

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose and decided she did not deserve a response.

“I see,” after a moment, Kurusu’s mother stood as well, and dusted off her kimono, “I am relieved to know he has found people to love him where I didn't. I will ask for his forgiveness, and be the mother he deserved for so long.”

Goro hadn’t loved him as he deserved. Maybe, though, maybe one day he’d have the chance.

“And if he doesn't want you back in his life?” Goro pressed.

“I—” she faltered, “I don’t know.”

“If he wishes to never see you again, you better fucking respect that. After what you and your husband have done to him? You’d be goddamn lucky if he even accepted your sniveling display to begin with, let alone want you back in his life.”

She nodded, and as she began to glow and her shadow faded, she smiled, “of course. Its high time my son got to choose something for himself.”

She vanished, and a rusted sickle clattered onto the stage in her place. Violet scooped it up and inspected it, before tucking the damaged tool away, “let's get back.”

“Yeah,” Mona stretched and bounded on ahead of them, “time to go.”

Goro was brought from his late night suffering by his phone going off with a text. He groaned, and debated if it would be worth the effort of moving his arm. Already he could feel the exertion of a Mementos crawl catch up to him. He wasn’t as young as he had been, certainly not as whole either.

Physical therapy had helped, and often he was fine. Or at least the pain and exhaustion were manageable. It seemed as though his body drew the line at Mementos and fighting shadows. His plans until the Palace on Sunday were to be borderline comatose and maybe get some sleep while he wallowed in his misery.

Perhaps take a shower if he was feeling adventurous.

He finished his case days ago, so he knew it couldn’t be work, he was still on the naughty list from that stunt he pulled last week. Goro wondered if there were other agencies in Tokyo, surely there were. He had zero desire to go back to bending the truth for some rich asshole’s benifit.

Goro hissed and forced his arm to lift enough to reach where his phone sat on the nightstand. Even such a simple action felt as though he were forcing himself to run a marathon, after being deprived of all forms of sustenance for a week.

The name that showed up gave him enough of a boost to actually open his phone and read the message properly.

Kurusu

9:28pm

Kurusu: did u want to get lunch tomorrow??

Such a simple thing, yet reading those words felt like something precious. Sacred.

That was the first time Kurusu had initiated hanging out with him so directly. Even after what happened between them yesterday, Kurusu still sought out his company. Goro let his phone thump against his chest as he figured out how to respond.

Goro couldn’t brush him off. This was a big step for him, and Goro didn’t want to come across as cold or uninterested. What if that set him back to square one?

Yet at the same time, Goro didn’t know if he could physically be out tomorrow. Maybe he’d be lucky and be full of energy and be able to do everything like normal. Maybe he wouldn’t be beholden to his broken prison of a body and he could hang out with his friend and do things that made him happy.

But Goro was a realist, and he knew better.

He lifted his phone again.

Goro: I’m afraid I’ll be unable—

Goro deleted it, sounded too formal.

Goro: Sorry, not tomorrow—

Too vague.

Goro: I am in crippling pain—

Certainly not.

Goro: I want to see you but I’ve never been so vulnerable with someone in my life and I’m scared—

Goro sighed, and wondered if he could feign being asleep and text him tomorrow. No, Kurusu was smarter than that. He’d know Goro ignored him.

Goro: I’m afraid I won’t make for great company tomorrow, apologies.

There. Good enough. Not an outright refusal, but it was clear he had something else happening.

He was surprised when Kurusu responded mere moments later, had he been staring at his phone?

Kurusu

9:56pm

Kurusu: everything ok???

Wasn’t that a loaded question?

Goro: I am fine. Merely pushed myself a bit further than I should have today, I’ll likely be feeling the consequences tomorrow.

Kurusu: oh. ouch.

Goro: Yes, unfortunately.

Kurusu seemed to be going through his own battle of indecision, as the dots signaling his typing continued to pop up and vanish. Had Kurusu watched him do the same?

Kurusu: i could come over

Kurusu: if you want obvs

Kurusu: no pressure

Goro: There won’t be much for entertainment, I’m afraid.

Kurusu: you’ll be there

Ah yes, come laugh at the cripple. Goro shook his head, and flinched at the movement. Kurusu wouldn’t do that, Goro knew he wouldn’t. Fucker would probably show up with food and commandeer his kitchen or some shit.

Goro: Very well. I would not mind your company.

Kurusu: awesome!

Kurusu: I’ll bring the food this time (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ

Goro squinted at the little emoticon and let his head fall back on his pillow. He sent his address without further delay and agreed to meet with him at 12pm tomorrow.

Perhaps he could manage some sleep tonight.

Goro did manage a shower, for all the good it did him. He ended up just putting his pajamas back on after, so, it was decidedly unclear if his efforts of actually taking a shower were worth it.

He did migrate to the couch though.

A gentle series of knocks at his door pulled his attention from glaring at the remote, where it sat just barely out of reach. Kurusu was early, of course he was.

He managed to get himself up on his elbows when his phone chimed.

Kurusu

11:36am

Kurusu: u alive??

Goro snorted.

Goro: more or less. The door is unlocked.

Shortly after the text was sent, he heard the door creak open. Kurusu was silent when the door closed behind him, Goro managed to get himself properly sitting by the time he made it to the couch.

“Wow,” Kurusu whistled, “you look like shit.”

Goro blinked, and then with growing horror, realized his shirt was short sleeved.

Of course. How could he have been so foolish?

He tugged his sleeve down as far as it could go and tucked his right arm out of sight behind him, “ah apologies, I know the skin grafts aren’t particularly nice to look at—“

Kurusu’s brow furrowed as if he was confused, then his expression rapidly shifted into something akin to horror. Goro didn’t know what to make of the expression until he babbled out, “no! No, no I didn’t— that wasn’t, ugh.”

Goro should change his shirt.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You looked really tired,” Kurusu rubbed the back of his neck, “that’s all.”

“If the scars make you uncomfortable—“

“Nope, not hearing the rest of that.”

“I—“

“Lay back down,” Kurusu huffed and jostled the bag he had on his shoulder, “I’ll get started on lunch. Put on Featherman or something.”

Goro blinked, and watched Kurusu walk back around behind the couch to disappear into his kitchenette. He waited a moment, then grabbed the remote and did as instructed, he was too exhausted to try and put on a proud face. He cushioned his head on the arm of the couch, and if he tilted his head just so, he could see Kurusu unloading things from his bag onto the kitchen island.

He was far from versed in the art of cooking, so at a glance Goro couldn’t tell what would be in store for their lunch today. Curry, maybe?

“I’m glad you came,” Goro’s mouth said, entirely without the permission of any of his other facilities.

Kurusu froze and blinked at him, his mouth worked around words that never left him. Though the surprise was short lived, and melted into a soft laugh, “wow you are out of it.”

“Fuck you,” he spat, and fumbled with the remote, hot shame crawled up the back of his neck. Why did he say that, what the hell was wrong with him?

Kurusu’s chuckle echoed like a rolling thunder, “Futaba asked me to hang out today, I told her I was going to be with you. She told me you’d be ‘fucked up’ and to record it.”

“If I see your phone anywhere near me I will shatter it, and you, like glass,” he groused, and tabbed through the episodes of the latest season of Featherman so he could get back to the start. “I’m not fucking zooted or whatever the hell she called it.”

Goro recalled only just resisting the urge to strangle the woman when he declared he would be taking his medication and passing the fuck out until Sunday, after they left the Metaverse. Sumire at least had the decency to be worried, and offered to help him back to his apartment. An offer he, of course, refused. No one could see his home, temporary as he planned it to be.

It was his space, somewhere he felt relatively safe, he couldn't just… let others in. Let others see him at his weakest, see his flaws and take advantage.

Yet there they were, with Kurusu chopping away at something in his kitchen, laughing at him in a way that didn't feel as though he were being mocked. It was comfortable. Goro was comfortable.

And what a fucking thought that was.

When was the last time he had been comfortable around someone, felt safe in another’s presence? When his mother was still alive? Yet toward her end, Goro could sense something was wrong. He was far too young to understand, to grasp what horrors his mother battled each day she opened her eyes.

He was older now, wiser. Goro’s chest ached when he watched Kurusu, something deeper than desire fluttered behind his ribcage. The feelings from back then still echoed within, the worry, the confusion, the fear. Goro understood the horrors of the mind better, he had fought his own monsters, still battled them each day.

Once more, Goro couldn't help but hope. Hope he wouldn't find blood on the bathroom tile again, hope love wouldn't be ripped from chest, hope that he’d be enough of a reason for someone to just stay this time.

Ok, so maybe he was a little zooted.

Goro hated taking this medication precisely for how foggy he often felt when he did. Yet it was the only stuff that’d actually get rid of the pain so he wasn't in agony. It was an annoying middle ground to figure out, but he managed more or less. This was the first time he had let anyone witness himself like this, however. Willingly, at least.

When he was still hospitalized he did not have a choice, but the moment he was cleared as well enough to live on his own again, he refused to allow himself to show others his weakness. Even his therapist, whilst she knew he took the painkillers on occasion, whenever he had a day bad enough where his hand was forced, he rescheduled.

She was always understanding, and never acted put off or irritated, even if he would cancel that morning. Her patience was what got him to open up to her eventually though, so he supposed he couldn't be terribly surprised.

Something sizzled in the kitchen, Goro did not recall owning any pans. Did Kurusu bring his own? Goro couldn't see what exactly he was cooking, Kurusu’s body blocked his view of the stove. He wanted to get up and watch, but he did not bother to try. He may not be in active pain, but the achiness and exhaustion still remained heavy on his body.

“Do you have to work today?” He found himself asking.

“Yeah, but not until late tonight, I have a shift at Crossroads. But you got me until 5,” Kurusu responded, and clicked on another burner on his stove, “or until you get tired of me.”

Goro snorted, “please.”

Kurusu only laughed, “seriously, if you need to get some rest or something, I won’t be insulted if you need me to leave.”

“It’s fine,” Goro grunted and started the first episode in Featherman’s latest season, “what are you making anyway?”

“Soup,” Kurusu chirped, “this recipe takes a little while to make, but I’d always make it when I felt sick or needed some comfort food.”

Goro tilted his head back, to no avail. He still couldn’t quite see what was happening with the mystery soup Kurusu was concocting. Though the size of the pot he was using was larger than he had expected.

“How much was the cost?”

Kurusu scoffed, “nothing.”

“Kurusu,” he frowned, “that looks like a lot of food.”

“Leftovers, for tomorrow. In case you still aren’t feeling great.”

“At least let me reimburse you for half.”

“Nope,” Kurusu popped the ‘p’ with an air of something between irritation and humor, “you’ve brought me food how many times? Let me repay the favor, asshole.”

“I didn’t mind—“

“I don’t mind either, Akechi,” Kurusu dumped the contents from the skillet into the pot and adjusted the heat, “besides, I was planning on paying for your lunch today anyway.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?”

Goro supposed not, though he wondered how true that was in this instance. Cold guilt gripped his stomach, he may not have said it, but it seemed Kurusu had something he wanted to do with Goro today. Had plans he wished to share with him, only for Goro to brush them off without even knowing what they were.

Maybe he should have asked, before he turned him down?

Goro pressed the palms of his hands to his face, he fucking hated this. The uncertainty, the awkwardness, how Goro felt he was always just a word or two away from being shut out. He wondered if Kurusu felt the same.

“You alright?“ Kurusu’s voice was louder than he had expected, he pulled his hands from his face to see Kurusu peering down at him from the back of the couch. His cheek was propped up by his hand, though Goro couldn’t quite discern what the look he bore meant.

“I am fine,” he snapped, “shouldn’t you be making sure the soup doesn’t burn?”

“It’s simmering now, don’t gotta watch it. Just stir occasionally.”

“Did you have plans for today?”

Kurusu blinked at him, “huh?”

“Today. Was there a reason you had contacted me last night for lunch?” Goro snapped his fingers, “keep up. I want to know why you invited me out.”

There was a moment of confusion, though Kurusu’s expressions schooled into something more neutral and his gaze wandered to the television, “I just wanted to see you. I didn’t have some ulterior motive, y’know. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable or something.”

Shit. Goro groaned, and tried again, “no, I did not mean it like that, Kurusu.”

Kurusu didn’t look at him, his eyes remained fixed to the episode playing.

“You said you wanted to pay for my lunch, had you something in mind you wanted to do?”

Kurusu glanced back down at him, a faint dusting of red spread over his cheeks. He sighed, “sort of. You aren’t ruining anything as you are right now, though. It was just… thoughts I was having. And figured I’d share over some food.”

“Well?”

“Not now,” Kurusu huffed, “ another day when you’re not…” he made a vague motion to Goro’s entire body, “all like that.”

“I’m not drunk, you moron.”

“I know,” Kurusu propped his cheek up on his hand again, “still.”

“Is this about Thursday?”

Kurusu stiffened, and shook his head, “no.”

“Do… you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Kurusu mumbled.

“Ok,” Goro finally turned his gaze back to the TV, the credits for the first episode were rolling. The ending theme was one of the stronger ones the series has had, though Goro found the chipper and hopeful tune the first series had to be a lot more fitting for the story of Featherman as a franchise.

“Ok?”

Goro glanced back at him, Kurusu’s expression once more was infuriatingly neutral. Had he merely gotten better at a poker face, or had Goro truely lost his touch?

“I will not force you to talk to me,” he started, “I am willing to listen, so I will trust that you will speak to me when you are ready.”

Kurusu blinked, “huh.”

“Expecting a different response?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda,” Kurusu made a sound close to a laugh, but not quite, “thanks, though. For uh, not pushing. And for getting them to leave. It was the first time anyone but you saw my apartment, and it was just… a lot.”

“I understand.”

Kurusu pressed his lips into a thin line, then nodded and left the couch, returning to the kitchen. Goro watched him go, but decided to let him be and went back to watching Featherman.

Goro wasn’t sure how long had passed when Kurusu entered his field of vision, a bowl in each hand, “here.”

He grunted, and pushed himself to his elbows, then eventually sat up properly. Kurusu had made no move to help him up, an action Goro appreciated more than he could express. As though seeing him like this didn’t change Kurusu’s impression of him, that he didn’t view him as weak.

He held his hands out for the bowl, and poked around the soup with his spoon when he received it. There were some vegetables, chicken, and some other green ingredients he couldn’t quite figure out. He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted the concoction.

It was nice, it held the same homey feeling as eating Leblanc’s curry. While there was a bit of heat, it wasn’t spicy, exactly. Goro couldn’t quite describe it, though found it far better than any chicken soup he recalled having in the past.

“This is delicious,” Goro assured after he noticed Kurusu still staring at him, “thank you.”

Kurusu’s shoulders relaxed and he plopped down on the ground, “good.”

“You do not have to sit on the floor like an animal, Kurusu,” Goro snorted, “I’m not taking up the entire couch.”

“You can lay back down when you’re finished.”

Goro rolled his eyes, “there is room for more than just me until then.”

Kurusu tensed, then nodded and stood from the floor to perch on the far end of his couch like an anxiety ridden gargoyle. He remained rigid even as he started to eat again. Goro wondered if commenting on it would only make things worse.

“What’s it like?” Kurusu blurted, nearly startling Goro into spilling his food. Heedless of the glare Goro shot at him, he continued on, “therapy I mean. Does it help?”

Oh. Well, Goro couldn’t say he had expected this to ever be a topic they spoke of.

“It does,” Goro took his time with his words, he had to choose each one with care when it came to such a subject. “It is not easy however, facing the worst parts of you. Sometimes you learn things you wish you hadn’t, but learning them helps you heal, in a way. It’s… difficult to describe in all honesty. I’ve learned mechanisms to help me cope with my anger and own anxieties. I imagine everyone’s experience is different.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Kurusu huffed, “but I’m glad it’s helping you, Akechi. You aren’t being told to… forget your hardships, are you?”

“Forget?” Goro snorted, “of course not. Forgetting my past would be a great disservice to both myself and those of whom I’ve hurt. No, I am learning to move on despite my past, not to pretend it never happened.”

Something about what he said relaxed Kurusu, while he still remained coiled to flee, he seemed no longer inclined to. He nodded, “good. That’s good.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Uh,” Kurusu tugged at his hair, “just reassurance I guess.”

“Are you considering finding a therapist?”

“No,” Kurusu’s answer was swift and near hostile, “tried it before, wasn’t for me.”

Something about that rang familiar, again. The more time he spent with the Phantom Thieves, the frequency he got the feeling of missing something arose. When he was in his coma, something had happened. Something he had apparently taken part of, despite how impossible it would have been.

Perhaps there was more to his gap in memory afterall.

Their food was finished in silence after that, the air between them charged once more. Goro was tired of it, “will you be free Monday, perhaps?”

Kurusu set his empty bowl down on the coffee table, “in the morning, why?”

“So we can get breakfast and you can share what it is that plagues your mind.”

“Why?”

Goro grunted, and set his own bowl on the table, “if you do not wish to speak to me now, fine, however I wish to get this over with as soon as possible.”

Kurusu shrugged, “it’s not that, I just… I don’t want to trap you.”

“I am in my own damn apartment, I am far from trapped.”

“That’s just it though, where would you go?” Kurusu bit, “you’d have nowhere to run! Not that you really can right now anyway.”

“Why are you so sure I would flee?” Goro’s brain began to work through all the things Kurusu could say that would lead him to run. Had he killed someone? Accepted a deal he shouldn’t have? Was he being evicted?

None of those would cause him to run, Goro could keep law enforcement off his tail were a body found, Goro knew several good lawyers to get him out of any undue contracts. Goro could cohabitate with Kurusu just fine if he needed somewhere to stay, if for whatever nonsensical reason Boss couldn’t take him back in.

Kurusu mumbled something Goro couldn’t understand, and looked away.

“Kurusu I can think of nothing you could realistically do that would cause me to run from my own damn apartment.”

“Fine,” Kurusu dragged a hand down his face and swallowed, “just, know I don’t expect you to do anything about this. I’m not telling you out of some… I don’t know, need for reciprocation, I guess.”

Goro was no fool. He prided himself on his observation and deduction skills. None of which he would have needed to put the pinkening of Kurusu’s cheeks and the weight of his words together.

“Iloveyou,” Kurusu babbled, vomiting his confession in a drunken deluge of words, “I truly do care about you, Akechi. And look, I know you don’t want to be tied down or want to hear me say anything about empty promises of love, but I need you to know how I feel. You don’t have to return the feelings, hell, you don’t have to accept them at all, I just…”

Kurusu drew in a steadying breath, though his voice came out shaky and warbled, “I just needed to actually tell you this time, before I-I lost you again.”

For all the good predicting what Kurusu would say, it did absolutely fuck all when faced with how to respond. Goro returned his feelings, and had harbored feelings of his own for far longer than he could truly express.

First it had been curiosity over a boy who spoke true to his face, and did not simper and kiss at his feet as so many others had. Then it became glee when he realized the boy was as smart as he, clever and quick witted. Someone who could match him at every pace, a rival.

Soon it became wrath, anger twisted and vile when he realized what was to become of them. Goro never allowed himself to feel toward Kurusu at all, he couldn’t. Goro knew even at the aquarium Kurusu would not make it through the year alive.

He hated him, for what he stood for, what he had. Goro wanted to kill him, wanted to be the last thing he saw before he died by his hand. He had convinced himself everything between them was a lie, that he looked forward to being his end.

And then he failed, he saw the Phantom Thieves in action again, somehow his rival had lived and Goro had never been so furious and relieved. He had tried to stop them, in a sense.

Though really, he had entered Shido’s palace that day with full knowledge he would die there. He intended to.

It wasn’t suicide if someone else pulled the trigger, right?

Goro covered his mouth, he had been in… a bad place then. He still could feel the wrath, the despair claw at him on some days even now.

Looking back, Goro could pinpoint the exact second he had grown to cherish Kurusu, loathe was he at the time to admit it. Such feelings only grew with time, and remained strong in his chest now, a veritable garden of roses lodged within his lungs.

He had plans to take Kurusu out, after his Palace was cleared, and the man had a chance to recover. He had planned to wait until Kurusu was better, and he had planned to go to the aquarium again, and offer a silly little proposal. A simple, ‘we may as well date,’ would have been sufficient he was sure.

Yet there Kurusu sat, his leg bounced against the floor with a curl tangled around his finger. Entirely unaware of how easily he had upended his plans once more.

“Akechi?” Kurusu’s voice was softer than usual, his eyes met Goro’s briefly though darted away just as fast. His leg continued to bounce and really, if he pulled on his hair any harder Goro was sure the roots would give.

He had never seen Kurusu so twitchy before. It took him a moment to realize with stunning clarity that he had never seen Kurusu like this before because he had never been scared of him. The way his eyes darted, the way all the tension he carried from before was back in full force, the slight tremble of his hand where it had buried itself in his black locks. It was all so clear, and Goro wasn’t sure what to make of how it made him feel.

Even at his absolute worst, Kurusu had never seen him as someone to fear.

“I… I should go,” Kurusu murmured, “I’m sorry for intruding.”

“Wait,” Goro slapped his hand against the couch cushion in an aborted attempt to reach out, “will you not let me at least fucking respond?”

“You were just staring at me,” Kurusu snapped, defensive, “what else am I supposed to do?”

“Give me a chance to reply, maybe?”

“You aren't obligated to—”

“Kurusu, you should know damn well by now I never do a fucking thing out of obligation,” he hissed, “I am irritated you ruined my plans.”

“Plans?”

Goro slumped back against the couch, he was too fucking tired for this. No, that wasn't quite right. He was too tired to formulate what he wanted to say, to find the right words to make Kurusu understand. At this point, he wondered if he could find them even in the right mind.

“I had intended to wait until… things settled down more,” Goro said, “thought it’d be romantic to go to the aquarium or something.”

“You… wait really? You were planning to confess?”

“God, you make it sound so childish, we aren't in High School anymore Kurusu.”

“Yeah, well, you still haven’t ‘responded’ so—"

“Shut the hell up,” Goro groused, “I had expected to have more time to formulate my words properly, much less be fully in my right mind, this is your fault.”

“My fault?” Kurusu barked a high laugh, something between nervous and giddy, “you’re the one who pushed!”

“If you continue to speak I will skin you and your cat,” he hissed, “let me think!”

“Mona could take you.”

Like that, the dam broke; “you infuriate me. I despise and absolutely loathe how much I have come to adore you. Never have I felt anything remotely romantic until you stumbled into my life and fucked everything up. You made me question myself when nothing else had shaken me, you made me wish for us to have met years ago, before I had been beyond saving. You made me want a future, a future I believed myself entirely incapable of having!”

Kurusu’s eyes were wide behind his glasses.

“You,” Goro bared his teeth in a snarl, “are the best thing to have ever happened to me. I wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for you. When I awoke one of my first thoughts was of you. I had wanted to see you, but I realized the chance I had been given. No one knew my crimes, most of the public had forgotten me. I wanted to change, be better. So I did. When I first attended therapy I had only gone with the thought of being someone you’d deem worthy as a true confidant.”

“Akechi…”

“Don’t,” Goro held his hand up, “let me finish. You were what drove me to get better, to change myself. I’ve… grown, I’d like to think. I no longer go with the sole purpose to be worthy of you, I go for my own benefit. I hadn’t realized how miserable I was until I began to heal. You are a cherished friend, first and foremost. However I will not deny my interest in pursuing something deeper with you.”

Kurusu seemed at a loss for words, and Goro couldn’t help but let that revelation feed that egotistical side of him a tad. He did that.

“I had planned to wait, however, because you are not well Kurusu. Don’t make that fucking face, I’m smarter than that. I do not know how your friends had not noticed your deterioration, but I have. And I am concerned.”

Never mind that he had an entire Palace.

“So, what?” Kurusu lifted his lip, “depression isn’t sexy enough for you?”

Goro wanted to throttle him, “no, you being happy and healthy would be, though.”

Kurusu did not seem to have expected that response.

“Do you truly wish to pursue a romantic relationship with me? I am not easy to be with, as I'm sure you can imagine. I will be blunt, rude, and I have my own struggles I fight against each day.”

Kurusu twirled his hair between his thumb and forefinger, “I’m not exactly a walk in the park either, you know. You’re right, I’m not ok. I haven’t been for a really long time, I want to help you with your problems, but I can barely manage my own.”

Goro winced when he moved, scooting close enough to press his knee against Kurusu’s. He reached over and rested his hand on the one Kurusu didn’t have tangled in his hair, the wrinkled and scarred skin a stark contrast to the smooth fingers beneath his own. The skin graft helped the worst of his burns, but he would always be scarred.

Kurusu froze briefly at the action, then let his shoulders slump and flipped his hand over to intertwine their fingers.

“This has to be the least romantic confession, ever.”

Goro yanked his hand from Kurusu’s grip, “oh like yours was any better, fuck you. I would have swept your stupid ass off your feet if you didn’t just ruin my plans, again!”

The laughter he got in response did not do much for his simmering embarrassment, but it soothed his worries. Kurusu was not upset Goro could never be the Casanova he deserved.

Warmth flooded his side when Kurusu’s giggles died down enough for him to dip and rest his head against Goro’s shoulder. There was a slight spike of pain at the pressure, no matter how gentle, but Goro ignored it.

“We’re a mess, huh?”

Goro grunted.

“So, uh,” Kurusu pulled back and lifted his head to meet Goro’s gaze, “boyfriends?”

Ugh. Boyfriends. What a childish word, it didn’t even remotely describe the depth of their relationship, though he supposed rivals wasn’t exactly met with romantic connotations. He sighed, “yes, fine.”

Kurusu’s grin was lopsided and warm in a way that burned at Goro’s heart. What a fool. What an incredible and beautiful fool.

“Nice.”

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose. What an incredible and beautiful and insufferable fool.

A fool that against all odds, Goro had come to love.

Chapter Text

Goro had stood just around the bend from Leblanc for nearly fifteen minutes now. His gloves tightened and relaxed over the black handle of his cane. He did not know what to expect when he did breach the door to the humble coffee shop. And while he certainly wouldn’t say he was frightened, he was most definitely apprehensive.

Futaba

5:32pm

Futaba: 👁👄👁

 

What the fuck did that even mean?

Getting that text a mere half hour after Kurusu left for his night job yesterday certainly did not help his anxiety. Undoubtedly she had listened in through one of their phones — a fact he was incredibly irritated by — and knew the change in relationship.

There hadn’t been any text in the group chat with the others, but he was not so naive to think the group chat he had with them was the only one they used. Now he was left pensive of the next meeting. He could only imagine the words they would say to him, not a single fucking one good. While he would likely agree with their assessment of his character as a whole… Goro dragged his hand down his face and shoved his phone into his pocket.

He needed to stop letting himself spiral like this.

They would react how they would react, Goro could not change that. He could only control how he, himself responded to their words.

God, Poshva was undoubtedly in for a long session with him on Wednesday.

Goro steeled himself. He had fucking killed people, and he got cold feet over how his boyfriend’s little pals would react? Pathetic. Murder? No problem, yeah he could kill anyone that worthless man had once pointed him at, including his now-boyfriend, but apparently fucking heavens forbid Kurusu’s friends disapprove of their relationship.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. There were things far more important now than his apprehension, regardless of how they reacted they had a job to do. Goro could only trust they’d be professional enough to keep it out of the Palace. The last thing they needed now was infighting.

Goro straightened, adjusted his grip on his cane, and strode through Leblanc’s door with his chin held high.

To his surprise, there wasn't mass commodium when he entered.

Sakamoto glanced up when he came in, tilted his head, looked at the cane, and gave a thumbs up. Goro narrowed his eyes.

Takamaki glanced up when he entered and smiled, but went back to her phone, Kitagawa had not looked up to begin with, his eyes glued to whatever piece he had hunched over. Okumura and Niijima regarded him much the same, a polite hello but nothing more. Sumire waved at him, and Goro nodded in return.

Futaba seemed to be the only that was acting any differently. Her eyes darted to Goro, then to the group, and back to him again. She held her phone close to her chest, further shielded by where her legs were pulled up to precariously balance on a stool at the counter.

Goro met her eye, and she gestured to the group, waving her hand in a frantic motion. He had no idea what she wanted from him. Was this a warning of his incoming demise?

When he did not react to her erratic movements, Futaba cleared her throat and asked, “soooo… before we go into the Palace, does anyone have any news to share?”

It was then that Goro realized Futaba had yet to share the information she had gleaned from listening in on their conversation yesterday. A sadistic part of him wanted to see how long she would stretch this out before she broke.

“Anything… of the romantic sort?” She tried, narrowing her eyes at Goro. He merely shrugged.

Okumura made a noise, and spoke with a soft giggle, “I don’t know how you found out.”

Niijima frowned, “yes, you do.”

Okumura brushed off the comment and cleared her throat proper, “well the secret is out I suppose, Makoto and I are official now. We’ve been dating for about a month now.”

“What?! No!” Futaba groaned, then as the hurt settled on Okumura’s face was quick to scramble with, “I mean, yay! I’m so happy for you two! But that’s, I mean, ugghh.”

Her head dropped against the counter with a hefty thud.

“That’s awesome!” Takamaki grinned, “I was wondering how long it’d take you two!”

Similar sentiments echoed through the cafe, Goro sat down and tossed in his own, “congrats.”

Sumire clapped her hands in glee, “I’m so so excited for you two! It’s wonderful to see you happy together.”

“Indeed, a beautiful love between two beautiful people,” Kitagawa framed the beaming Okumura and utterly embarrassed Niijima with his fingers, “please allow me to paint you a portrait to celebrate such a wondrous occasion.”

“Wanna take bets on who’ll be next to get paired off?” Takamaki grinned and tucked her feet under her to lean further forward over the back of the booth.

“Absolutely not,” Niijima muttered, be it in response to Takamaki or Kitagawa, Goro could not say. Watching her sink further into her seat when her partner chimed with opposite sentiments did however bring him no small amount of glee.

“Okay,” Ann chirped, “does anyone other than Makoto have an opinion?”

Goro tuned out their giggling in favor of the cup of fresh coffee set down on the bar in front of him. He was surprised Boss had even considered brewing him anything, though he supposed the man has been nothing but accommodating since Goro had walked through that door, before he had even truly known Kurusu. It was hard not to wonder what the man thought of him, he had killed a woman he was close to, the mother of his now adopted daughter, and attempted to kill what may as well be his adopted son.

It was because of him Futaba had weathered the trauma she did, and because of him that Kurusu was forced to suffer through interrogation.

Goro didn't know what exactly happened in that room before he arrived, but he knew two things; one, few leave that room alive, and two, those that do were never the same. He would not fool himself into believing those events had no impact on him, and he was sure they would surface in the Palace one way or another. How, Goro wasn't sure, but he knew they would.

He wondered if any amount of mental preparation would brace him for that, or if he even deserved such a thing. It was Goro’s fault Kurusu was even in that damn place.

Goro took a sip of his coffee, “impeccable as always, Boss.”

Boss grunted, though seemed to have stood a bit straighter at the compliment.

“Does anyone else have an announcement?” Futaba shot upright when the gossiping and chittering seemed to find a lull. Goro jerked a bit at the sudden movement, a part of him itched for a weapon to defend himself with, though the impulse died as quickly as it came.

“Uh, sounds like you have something to say,” Sakamoto responded.

Futaba’s mouth worked around words she could not speak, then groaned and slumped against the counter once more. Her anguish was not quite dressed up enough, it had no luster. She should have added some fake tears and a slow descent, it would have been more believable.

“I hate you,” Futaba muttered, her voice muffled by the wood of the bar.

“Understandable,” Goro sipped on his coffee, he held no pity for her, “you did this to yourself, Oracle.”

She shot him a withering glare between the strands that covered her eyes, “what?”

“You obtained your current knowledge through dubious means, suffer with it.”

“Dubious? Who even says that anymore?”

Goro rolled his eyes, “did you not listen in on our phones?”

“Uh no,” she frowned, “for several reasons, my pure unsoiled ears shall not be tainted with your two’s filth. But also I promised Akira I wouldn’t tap his phone, and I don’t even have a bug on yours yet.”

“Yet?” Goro repeated, his brain still worked to process the other half of her sentence as she continued.

“Yet,” she affirmed, “Akira texted me on his way to work to tell me, said I couldn’t tell anyone ‘till you wanted to!”

Kurusu… had told her? Goro was surprised, a part of him anticipated being irritated by that knowledge. But all he felt was warmth. Kurusu was not ashamed of him? Of all in attendance, Futaba was one of those most affected by his actions, and yet Kurusu told her anyway.

Was it because he trusted her? Was he looking for her approval? Did it matter why?

Goro turned on the stool to face the rest of the Thieves, though it seemed most had already put together the fragments of a conversation he and Futaba shared.

“Kurusu and I have entered a romantic relationship.”

“About time,” Takamaki groaned, and held her palm up beside Okumura who sighed and pulled out a wallet to drop some yen into the waiting hand.

Excuse me?

“Ah I can picture it now,” Kitagawa brought his fingers up to frame Goro, “you two were meant to be.”

“Uh…”

“During Maruki’s palace, I kinda thought you two were already together,” Sumire admitted with a small giggle, “I’m so happy you’ve found each other now!”

Goro blinked.

Sakamoto groaned, “man, couldn’t you have waited until after the Palace? Now I owe Ann and Futaba money!”

“You fools made bets?”

“Duh,” Futaba scoffed, “we made bets the moment we got word your death was a touch exaggerated.”

Goro massaged his temples, Boss slid him a refill with blessedly no other comment than a mere chuckle.

“Why?”

“He missed you, dearly, when he thought you were dead,” Okumura explained, “even before you betrayed us, whenever you came up in conversation he never had a poor word to say of you. When you had joined us, Akira had asked us to at least try to get along with you, forge a genuine friendship with you.”

Goro frowned, “you knew I was planning to kill him.”

“We all did, yes,” Okumura sighed and drummed her nails on the table, “and we had figured out what your past crimes likely were, I was certain you were behind my father’s death. Still, Akira believed in you, and while it was certainly misplaced at the time, you’ve returned. You did not have to, that alone speaks volumes, I believe.”

No, Goro supposed. He did not have to return, but he had always planned to. Were he to be honest, it was an entirely selfish motive. A part of him wanted to return and rub in the fool’s face how much he had grown, how he was even better than he had once been, and dare Kurusu to keep up. He had never truly believed his absence would have affected him, and if he had…

Goro wasn't so sure that would have changed anything, in the end.

It would not have made Goro return before he was ready, Goro doubted he would have even contacted him to assure he was alive, albeit unavailable. He didn’t want to even speak to Kurusu until he was good and prepared. Kurusu’s own feelings would not have been a factor at all.

We’ve always been a selfish creature, Loki rumbled in the back of his mind, a low sound that reverberated through his body.

While true, Goro wanted to change that. He was trying to change that.

The silence that settled over them was charged, though not inherently hostile. Goro finished his drink and upon setting the mug back on its plate, stood, “enough distractions. We have work to do.”

The wash of healing from Oracle was a greatly appreciated gesture. Even if it came with a snide, “damn bitch, you live like this?”

Still, he huffed his thanks and she waved him off to address the group.

“So,” Oracle clapped her hands together, “we’ve got no fucking clue how to get this mask.”

Goro pushed his mask up and pinched the bridge of his nose. They still were not seen as a threat, clad in the clothes they had come to Leblanc in, with the sole exception being their masks. He supposed it was a good thing, though he wondered how long it would take for that to change.

Yet ‘Joker’ seemed invested in helping them, so a part of him wondered if they would ever be seen as a threat.

Goro had tuned Oracle out as she caught the rest of the team up on their meager discoveries, until she said something not even he was aware of.

“—so it seems like the Palace itself changes too.”

That had his attention, “you said it just reset.”

“Well, yeah, that's what I thought at first,” Oracle pulled up a small screen with a wave of her hand, two maps were displayed in green, “see at a glance they look the same, but that's not true. Look at Akira’s room, or uh, his childhood room.”

Goro compared the room on the two maps. The outdated map showed the room and the door they had used to enter it, yet on the current map, there was none. The room was there, but cut off from the palace, as though floating in a void alongside the rest of the Palace. Interesting. Something else must have shifted then, perhaps that would be a good start to investigate.

“Do you think there’d be another way into that room?” Panther asked, “maybe it’d look different when another mask is present?”

“Maybe? I doubt it though. This mask mentioned that they never actually encounter the other masks and are just aware of each other, that's probably how. Each mask has its own areas it can and cannot access.”

“What rooms can be accessed then?” Queen crossed her arms and turned his attention to the Palace itself, “we should start there, I’m sure this mask will come to us if what you said was accurate.”

Oracle shrugged, “maybe. Anyway, let's see… there is a cafeteria, though the kitchen itself is off-limits, the ballroom, the lobby, and there's another room in that hallway his childhood room was in that can be entered now? Maybe start there.”

“Sounds good, any objections?” When none came, Queen pulled open the door herself and they strode into the Palace.

As before, shadows still danced endlessly along the black marble of the ballroom. They continued to ignore the group as they skirted around the edges to enter the corridor to the west.

“The room is past the old one,” Oracle announced.

Goro was in no hurry to reach it yet, however, if something as large as rooms were changed since they last came, surely smaller items would change as well. Sure enough, Goro’s stride stuttered upon noticing a change in one of the paintings.

“Noose of Red”, the painting that once held jagged squares of color had now been filled in to read; ‘Dutiful Daughter’. Or rather, it was supposed to. The painting had been destroyed, a clean gash cut from the top left corner down to the bottom right, as though sliced by an impeccably sharp blade.

Was this a progress marker for them? To prove the mask had been stolen, or was it a warning? An omen of Kurusu’s crumbling state of mind?

“I wonder who cut it,” Mona murmured beside him, “do you think the true shadow did? Or one of the masks?”

“Who can say?” Goro spared one more glance at the picture, then investigated the others. Most were still amorphous swirls of red and black, yet one had gained a solid form not dissimilar to the previous one had before the characters were filled in.

‘White Lies’ given the theme of the last, Goro could imagine the squares displayed on the image would spell this mask’s title, while the plaque described the mask itself. Yet the picture itself seemed to hold no clues on how to obtain said mask, so Goro figured studying it any further would be a waste.

They continued to the room.

As they approached, whispers began to echo through the corridor.

“Let go of me!” A woman screamed, “help!”

Voices kicked up, disjointed and discombobulated. Several people spoke over each other, shouting and sneering and snarling. They grew louder and louder until it became violent white noise, sharp and grating.

As they reached the door, everything fell silent with the definitive click of metal and a slam of a door. Goro immediately recognized the swoop of his gut as they reached the door, it was a Will Seed.

The room was taped closed with police caution tape, as though a crime scene had occurred. The red staining the knob of the door certainly added to the look.

“Huh,” Panther placed her hands on her hips, “I know this is a Palace, but honestly I didn’t think he’d have Will Seeds.”

“They’re themed around the whole seven deadly sins concept, right?” Oracle hummed, then turned her attention to Goro for some fucking reason, “have you seen Will Seeds?”

“I have, I rarely bothered with them, however, it was a waste of time.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’ll help us? Joker always got all three when we were in Palaces.”

Of course, he would, fool had a team and more time than he knew what to do with, if Goro had such luxuries he would have too. Still, “most ones I have seen follow a common pattern of sins, though not all. I believe they act as a common theme within the person's life, not a representation of their faults. Though many certainly reflect their vile natures.”

“Joker does not have a vile bone in his body,” Panther scoffed.

Goro wondered how true that was.

There was no use delaying, so he drew his blade and cut the garish yellow tape. Warnings be damned; they had a job to do.

Heedless of the blood that coated the doorknob — still warm and tacky — he threw it open to show the interior of the room. Goro wasn’t sure what he expected, yet the inside looked no different than any other Seed room he had stumbled across. He wasn’t sure what to make of the niggling disappointment that echoed in the back of his mind.

Surely Kurusu would have something more elaborate?

Goro hated himself for thinking like that.

Echoes of the past coiled around them, and whispers hung in the air. Just soft enough to be heard, yet accompanied but a faint buzz that set Goro’s nerves alight. There was a reason he tended to avoid these stupid things, and frankly, Goro doubted there’d be much of a reason to obtain these ones.

But he held his tongue and grabbed the seed, given none of the other morons seemed to want to touch it. Was it the sense of violation? Or were they too cowardly to reach out and grab proof of Kurusu’s faults?

As soon as Goro yanked the skull-like thing from the pulsing red tendrils it grew from, a wave of vertigo assaulted his senses.

When the world righted itself, he stood on the streets of some backwater town. He didn't see the others, at a glance, was this because he grabbed the seed?

“Let go of me!” a woman screamed, “help!”

Goro knew what he was about to see before he even turned, yet the sight of that fucking man lit the familiar flame of fury. Shido had the woman by the wrist and yanked her toward a black car.

A part of Goro wondered if his mother had been in that position, once. They were in a fairly inhabited neighborhood, it wasn't terribly late either. There were still wisps of light in the darkening sky. Surely someone would have heard—

“H-hey!”

Goro would have expected to feel something when someone ran through you, but apparently not. He supposed this was less of him being present in the scene, and perhaps a mere bystander to Kurusu’s memories. Goro wondered what purpose this served in the grand scheme of the Palace itself.

Kurusu inserted himself between Shido and the woman, “what’s going on?”

A distant, bitter, part of Goro wondered what would have happened if someone had done that for his mother. If someone had at least tried.

Goro knew how the story went, some fool got between Shido and his perceived property, and was left to pay the price. Kurusu was not the first, and at the time, he certainly hadn't been the last. It was a pathetic scene, to watch his progenitor stumble a swing at Kursu, who, even scared and untrained, easily ducked from the punch and the man fell to the ground.

Goro wanted to laugh, though held his tongue, lest it comes out as a sob.

Nausea assaulted Goro’s senses, colors and sounds bled into one another, swirls of pain, blue, red, and the silver glint of shackles churned around him. It was disorienting. Goro could no longer make heads or tails of himself, he was in a car, there was shouting, a sharp, piercing pain in his shoulder, then his cheek.

He was on the ground, grey dust kicked up as he was pushed, more shouts. Though for as garbled as the words were, they may as well have been in another language. He couldn't understand anything.

Then came the eyes.

Everywhere, they were everywhere. Pressure crushed his chest, cracked his ribs, and the agony was indescribable. Goro had grown all too familiar with pain, but this. This was something else. He was in a courthouse with shackles cutting off the blood from his fingers.

Guilty.

Dangerous.

Criminal.

Eyes were everywhere. Goro couldn't breathe, the pain was excruciating.

Voices and screams and the crackling cacophony grew in volume, and the eyes grew further in size. Everywhere Goro turned, they were there. Faceless voids of people, all staring at him, their eyes far too big for their black, featureless, skulls. No matter where Goro looked, where he turned to escape, they were there. Why was Goro panicking? The walls were closing in on him.

The eyes grew.

Until Goro finally retched back with a scream so guttural, he was surprised to not find blood upon his lips.

They were in the same room as before, the Will Seed was safely in his hand. The eyes were gone, as was the pain. Though Goro’s breath still came in fractured staccato breaths, he was aware enough to check on the other thieves. Their faces were all the same sort of pale, haggard in a way Goro presumed to mean they all had the same experience.

“What was that?” Queen gasped, she had to brace herself on her knees, “that's— that's never happened before.”

“A memory, I think,” Goro frowned, “I… I am aware he was charged with assault before he came to Tokyo, yes?”

“Yeah,” Skull muttered, and slid down a wall to land on his ass with a grunt, “yeah, but he never mentioned anything like… that.”

“It is not uncommon for memories surrounding traumatic events to be hazy, some believe it to be a result of the brain protecting itself. Dissociative amnesia, I believe is the medical term for it,” Goro narrowed his eyes at the seed, “Oracle, what can you tell me about the seed?”

As expected, Oracle was as shaken as the rest of them, though at the call of her name, she seemed to ground herself enough to scuttle over and take the hideous thing from his gauntlet. She inspected it and made some noise that Goro could only interpret as disapproval or confusion.

“Acedia,” she muttered, only just loud enough for the growing group to hear, “that's his sin, apparently.”

Goro frowned, acedia, of all things? His sin was sloth, for lack of any better-describing word. He could see Kurusu’s cardinal sin being many things, wrath, greed, envy even. But never acedia. How could the man that toiled tirelessly and thanklessly for the entire fucking world, think of himself as one without drive? As lazy?

Apathetic?

“So, uh, what does that mean,” Panther whispered, none too quietly to Queen, who had rested her chin against her palm as she thought.

“Uh, apathy, more or less?”

Goro resisted applauding her in the most demeaning way he could, and instead offered his own insight, “it was a Greek word, though has since gained a Latin spelling, it largely means to be without care, concern, or grief. It is a precursor to what is commonly known as today’s sloth, and is meant to be seen in a negative light.”

Queen narrowed her eyes at him, and Goro tried not to preen.

“So… lazy,” Panther concluded with a frown, “well that's stupid. Akira is literally the least lazy person I know.”

“Perhaps we are seeing this seed through the eyes of its host?” Fox peered at the Will Seed with framed fingers, as though deciphering an artistic puzzle, “perhaps this is how our dear leader sees himself, as though there will always be a task left unfinished?”

“Inari might be onto something, kinda,” Oracle stored away the wretched thing, “I mean, the seeds are supposed to represent the ruler, right? But not in like some grand cosmic way, maybe like how the ruler views themselves… My Will Seeds were wrath, right?”

The group shifted uncomfortably at Oracle’s question, though Queen did confirm that to be true.

“I was so angry at everything, at my family, at my mom, at…” her eyes darted to Goro briefly, then back to the seed in her palm, “well, y’know. I blamed myself for it, the wrath was how I felt about myself more than anything. I wanted myself to suffer, I felt I deserved it. Maybe that's what Akira feels now, that he should just… give up.”

Guilt was a powerful emotion. It curdled in his gut like sour milk and left him cold and bitter. He did not regret his actions, not exactly, but he did regret the fallout. Goro wouldn't have changed his course then, even if he knew what would have happened to Futaba, but Goro would have let nothing stop him then. Hadn’t let anything stop him.

Goro liked to think that if he were given a chance now, to do it all over, things may have been different.

Still, what happened, happened. Goro could not change the past, nor would he want to. He became who he is today because of all he weathered, to change that, would be to change who he is.

“Come on,” he grunted, “let's get going.”

The thieves didn’t say anything, but their withering glares told him all he needed to know. Goro wouldn’t apologize again, that was a wasted sentiment now. They had far more critical matters, the present needed their focus far more than unchangeable events that happened years ago. Kurusu needed their attention, more than ever.

He shoved the door open, only to be greeted with the sight of Joker propped against the far wall.

“Ah, retrieving the Will Seed was a success?”

Goro got pushed aside as Skull shouldered past him, the other Thieves not far behind. Instead of lashing out at them, he bit his tongue. Frustrated as he was with them, they too had reason to be angry with him. Goro knew that, he did, but it did not make stomaching their hatred any less bitter.

Joker’s yellow eyes shot between them, and Goro. His lips pressed into a thin line, though said nothing one way or another. Maintaining the peace, likely.

“What’s the plan?” Joker asked, and turned to face the Thieves at large.

The fools broke out of the stupor they had found themselves in, despite the warnings before they even stepped foot within the Palace; it must still have been unusual to see the spitting image of their dearest leader as a shadow.

“Uh,” Skull rubbed the back of his head, “shouldn’t we be asking you that?”

“I suppose that is all I’m good for, yes,” Joker’s eyes wandered over the group, “let's go to the lounge room, there is plenty of space to rest while we come up with a plan to steal my mask.”

“W-wait, hold on—” Skull sputtered,

“May I inquire,” Fox cut in, “as to why you cannot simply relinquish it to us? If you are so willing to aid us in our quest.”

Joker frowned, “it is my duty to help you, but I still cannot go against my nature entirely. I don’t know how to give you my mask.”

“Why do you even want to help us, isn't your purpose to keep us from the treasure?” Queen crossed her arms, “how can we trust you?”

“I’m Joker,” he swept into a large bow, “I’m the leader of the Phantom Thieves, stealing hearts of the nefarious will always be my priority, regardless of circumstances.”

“You…” Mona’s ears spayed back against his head, “you aren't nefarious.”

Joker straightened with a grin, “nonsense, why else would you come here, if not to rid the true self of its sin?”

“We’re helping you!”

Joker tilted his head, “are you?”

Mona sputtered at that, and Joker left him to flounder as his attention rose to the rest of them, “come on, we’re wasting time.”

He left without further fanfare, walking down the hall, only to pause at the frame that opened to the rest of the ballroom, waiting for them. Though none made a move to follow, not immediately at any rate. The useless morons stared at each other, none willing to speak on what the mask had said, yet none willing to take the step to follow. Goro wondered if the true Joker ever felt frustrated at their ineptitude.

He pushed his way through them, “let's go. The sooner we get this stupid mask, sooner we get to his treasure.”

“Crow…” Violet murmured, “I… I don’t know, this doesn’t… it feels weird.”

“Getting cold feet, are we?” He sneered, “don’t you want to save your poor Senpai’s heart?”

Violet’s eyes narrowed, “it's not like that Crow, you know it isn’t.”

He scoffed and turned away. Violet was right, he knew whatever feelings she may have harbored as a teen were gone, or at the very least she seemed happy for Goro and Kurusu’s relationship. Genuinely.

That didn’t mean he didn't still harbor ugly worms of resentment in his chest. He liked Violet, genuinely, yet sometimes he couldn’t help but want to see her and everyone around him suffer. To bring them down to his hurt.

It was fucked, and he knew it was.

Goro recited the alphabet and exhaled a steadying breath. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but nothing would leave his dry lips. What the fuck was the point of all this goddamn therapy if he couldn't actually make any fucking use of it?

He sighed, and shot a look to Violet, she still bore a hard-set frown, though it eased when their eyes met. She uncrossed her arms, and trotted up to his side, “I get it.”

She didn’t, she couldn’t. But he allowed the comment to slip by without any reubuttle, and his apparent acceptance allowed the thieves to follow suit. They trailed after Joker as he led them into the ballroom.

‘She is willing to meet you halfway,’ Robin mused, ‘that is far more than most.’

Yes, that was true.

Shadows danced in the ballroom, illuminated by the eerie red light of the chandelier. Had it always been so?

Crow nearly ran into Joker’s outstretched arm when he stopped just shy of the lounge room. Joker’s lips pressed into a tight frown, though his gaze remained fixated on something further around the corner, where Crow couldn’t see.

Oracle sneezed when she drew close, dust had settled into what he could see of the couches in the room. Patches of black mildew lined where the walls met the ceiling, the stench damp and constricting. Was this another of those shadows Joker had warned them of? Like his mother?

“The Jury is here, you should leave,” Joker announced, though his voice remained low so as to not catch the creature’s attention.

“No way man!” Skull shouted, “we gotta get your mask!”

“Skull,” Joker snapped, and gestured for the rest of them to get down, “quiet, it’ll hear you.”

Skull crouched and rubbed the back of his head, then continued, softer, “we can’t leave now.”

“He’s right,” Pather pipped up, “we can fight the shadow, and then work on figuring out how to get your mask!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Guys?”

“Come oooon, there’s like, nine of us and one of it right?” Skull smacked his fist against an open palm, “we’ll kick its ass.”

“No, it's not just some regular shadow, Skull.”

“Uh, guys?”

“We’ve fought the reaper before, we can again!”

“It doesn't work like that.”

“Guys!” Oracle squawked, her shrill voice snapped everyone to attention, where she pointed up… to none other than Sojiro standing at the archway, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Oh! It’s just Boss, let's ask—” Skull was cut off when the shadow spoke, low and cruel.

“You causing trouble again, boy?”

Joker tensed, his gloves creaked from where he had steadied his crouch on the edge of the hall’s end, “no, Sir.”

The shadow looked over the group, and sneered, “can’t help it, eh? Causing problems everywhere you go, only thinking of yourself, huh.”

“H-hey!” Oracle stomped her foot, “Sojiro would never say that!”

Sojiro’s eyes widened only briefly when he saw her, then settled back into a frown, “never to you. You're my daughter, Futaba, I signed up to take care of you. I didn’t,” Sojiro jerked his head toward where Joker remained crouched, “sign up to keep taking care of that freeloader after the year was up.”

“Wh-what?”

“Warned him as soon as he showed up,” he scoffed, “first sign of trouble he’d be on the streets. I didn’t give a damn. Then look what he did, started the Phantom Thieves, put you in danger? Like hell I wanted him back. So what does he do? Make a racket and drag everyone else into his mess. What a headache.”

Not a single word was uttered between the thieves. Goro couldn’t say he knew Sakura well, but such statements… he did not want to believe the man to be the sort who’d spew such nonsense.

Yet it always was the ones least expected, was it not?

The kind foster mom that scolded Goro for being so selfish, when her real children stole his Feather Red action figure— the last thing his mother had bought him before she died. The orphanage attendant who had told him to be a man after he caught him crying when he was assaulted out of his share for dinner.

The visionary who was set to lead the country, that fucked a woman only to leave her and his bastard to die.

Sakura had always been so kind to him, and seemed genuinely concerned for Kurusu, had it been all but an act? Or was this merely how Kurusu saw him?

A… cold man that forced him to live in an attic, that… didn’t have Kurusu living with him now; despite him barely having enough to get by working three jobs.

“Sojiro doesn't believe that!” Oracle snapped, “You're just some stupid cognition!”

Sakura’s face split into a grin too wide for his face, skin and muscle pinched in awkward angles when he bared his teeth. The skin at his lips began to crack and bleed, red rivulets disappeared into his facial hair, “am I?”

Oracle’s hand went up to her mask, the eye lights flickered, though Goro did not need her warning to know what was coming.

“Run!”

The group ran into the lounge room, scattered and panicked as Sakura’s true form burst from his skin. Couches and ottomans were crushed as the massive black serpent rose to its towering height, each of its immeasurable heads with a different face. Despite the lack of any true facial features, there was no mistaking the long orange hair, the twin blond pigtails… or the short crop of light brown hair.

“Wh-what is that thing?” Skull yelped, and pushed Oracle back behind him, a bat ready in hand.

“I have no idea, I can’t get any read on it!” Oracle responded in turn, her fingers made rapid jerky motions in the air, presumably controlling the screens in her helm.

‘Sakura’s’ face lowered down to their level, despite the lack of eyes, it was unmistakable it’s attention was on them, and even without a mouth, it spoke; “it’s cute how you pretend to care, yet will use him until the very flesh melts from his bones.”

Skull yelled and called for his persona, and a bolt of lightning came down upon it. Yet the creature only laughed, Sakura’s face changed out for Skulls, and reflected the attack back at him. While not terribly damaging to him, it caught Joker unawares and caused more damage than it should have.

Goro stepped in beside Skull, Fox at his side with Panther sliding up on the other of Skull’s

“It looks like it can reflect your attacks, be careful!”

Goro snorted and charged for the head closest to him, his blade easily cut into the tender flesh, severing Skull’s fake head from the creature’s body. The beast jerked back, yet did not cry in pain, nor shriek in terror. Instead, it started to laugh, all of the faces of Kursu’s sycophants joined in, an unholy cackle of voices.

“What the hell?” Panther cried as Goro managed to duck out of an attack of its sweeping tail.

When Goro righted himself, the ‘Skull’ head was back where it was, laughing with the others.

Oh fuck this.

The shadow, despite its size, was nimble enough to avoid a shot from Joker. Though it was enough of a distraction for Goro to only just escape a torrent of flame from ‘Panther’s’ head, the rest of the room was not so lucky. The black and red carpet at their feet began to swelter.

“You’re pathetic,” She sneered, and attacked again, a wide arching flame they could not dodge.

Goro knew he’d easily survive such an attack, yet even as he braced himself for the pain, none came. He heard Joker’s cry of agony, had he merely been lucky to have been missed?

Yet even Fox stood strong after the attack, his hand on his sword, though no less confused.

The head swapped for Mona’s, and snorted, “wow, the only one who couldn't dodge? That's not very cool, Joker.”

“Hey, shut up!” The true Mona hissed, “you aimed for him!”

“Did I?” It questioned, though came for them again. Wind tore at their clothes and hair, yet… No damage to any of them came, except Joker.

Why were they immune to its attacks? Despite certainly aiming for them all, Joker was the only one to take injury. He clutched a bloodied arm, but said nothing.

Sojiro’s head returned, its voice was eerily calm when it spoke, “ain't you too old to still be living in an attic?”

Panther had managed to find time while the heads were swapping to heal Joker, though he flinched still at the words.

“Wasn't it enough you leeched off of us in high school?” The false Sakura’s head lowered, “you knew we could barely afford the cafe and yet you came back, eating me out of house and home. Your greed took food from my actual child’s mouth.”

Joker swiped at the head, but the attack unphased the serpent, its head drew closer to Joker. His blade passed through the shadow, unable to make any real contact. Panther attacked it with her own flames.

The shadow laughed, and despite losing half its face in the burn, patched itself back up with little effort. They couldn't touch it.

No, that wasn't quite right. Their attacks did damage to it, it took on injury when they striked, yet Joker could not touch it at all. They had to be the ones to defeat it, though Goro couldn’t piece together how. It healed too fast for them to keep any lasting damage on it.

“That’s not true!” Oracle cried out, again, “I still had plenty of food!”

“What about those foreign snack boxes you get each month? You couldn’t have them anymore, could you?”

Oracle faltered, “that wasn’t his fault!”

“And yet it was,” he sneered, “why, when I no longer needed to keep the parasite alive? All was returned to normal! You were so much happier.”

“It wasn’t because of Akira though! Sojiro was renovating the spare room at the house!”

“Oh, you don’t actually believe I would have let him live there,” Sakura chuckled, “do you?”

“You said!” She cried, her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, “you said that was why! You promised!”

“I was lying, of course I was. What father would want some criminal to live under the same roof as his dearest daughter? One that not only put her in danger but could have killed her himself? I was happy to see that delinquent take himself out.”

Goro had always wondered how Sakura had viewed his daughter's change of heart. He had never discussed it with him, and while he doubted Kurusu had the best frame of mind at the moment; he did not imagine the man to be too pleased with it. Especially with the mental shutdowns that had been rather… abundant at the time.

Joker had been eerily silent the entire exchange.

Goro was about to raise his own objections, yet Oracle herself beat him to it. With an anguished scream, she took the bat from Skull’s hand and ran at her adoptive father's visage. She swung with all her might and cracked the bat against the creature’s face.

“You don’t know anything! Sojiro loves Akira so much! He was renovating that room just for him, b-because he was worried about him!” She screamed and swung again, “we don’t know why he left! He said he had a new place, and he just left! Sojiro didn’t want him to go!”

“He’s nothing but a freeloader,” the creature gurgled.

Oracle swung again, “you’re wrong!”

The head fell silent, and dissolved into ash.

Her chest heaved with each breath she took, and the bat in her hands shook from the strain of her grip. She stared at where the head once was; it didn’t grow back.

“Oracle!” Joker shouted, and pushed her behind him, to shield her from another lighting attack.

The magic arched across the smoldering battlefield, and Joker barely managed to suppress a pained sound as once again, he was the only one struck.

“Joker!” She grabbed his arm and shook it, “stop it! You’re the only one getting hurt!”

“I have… to keep you all safe…” he grunted.

“That’s stupid!”

“He is, isn’t he?” This time a head matching Queen swooped down, “it was no wonder when I joined I had to become the strategist. Really, I should have been the leader.”

“Wh-what?” Queen sputtered, “I’ve never said that!”

“Oh, but we’ve thought it,” the shadow countered.

“I—”

“Oh we thought it until it got to be too much, then it was all too easy to let him take the fall,” the shadow chuckled, “we’re putting ourselves on the line too, you know?”

Queen paled, and Goro lacked the context to understand why.

“We need to take this thing down,” she turned away from it, “Oracle, any ideas?”

“What's the matter, Leader?” the false Skull sneered, “aren't you the one calling the shots?”

“Don't be foolish, he can't plan. If he could, you think he’d have avoided incarceration,” Noir giggled.

“Come on Joker,” Mona goaded, “stand and fight! Are you really so useless?”

“That's not fair,” Violet added, her head swooped low enough to be at eye level with Joker, “he isn't useless, he still dances so wonderfully for us when we call on him, after all!”

Joker lifted his lip in a snarl, though did not retaliate or dispute their words.

“I can't believe he made us come all the way out here,” the false Panther groaned.

“You’re eating me out of house and home there, kid.”

“He’s ignoring us, his phone is inside,” Oracle sighed, “how annoying.”

“You can’t sleep on my couch forever, you know.”

“I hate you.”

“Must be tired of us,” Skull growled, “what a shitty leader.”

“Shut the eff up!” The true Skull snarled and stomped his foot against the ground. He raised his bat and pointed it at the head donning his face and bared his teeth, “Joker is the best! He works so damn hard, and is better than all of you combined!”

“Yes, the best leader,” the false him laughed, “but not friend, oh no, never friend.”

“He’s Joker, that's all that matters.”

“The leader of the Phantom Thieves, that's his true calling. A steadfast masterpiece. Akira, who?”

“It's all he has going for him, after all, without the mask, who is he?”

“He’s no one, never was. And never will be again, the world forgot him. You,” the false Skull lowered its head, “you forgot him.”

“That's not true!”

“Isn't it? After the world was saved, again, what did you do?” the creature hummed, “you dropped him. Too busy with school, with sports, with homework, with friends. When he reached out, what did you do?”

Skull swung his bat, though missed, “I wasn't tryn’ to blow him off!”

“When you reached out to him, when you needed him, what did he do?”

“Screw you!”

“Agnes!” Queen called, “Atomic Flare!”

The attack obliterated the head, splattering black gunk over the charred carpet at their feet. Even so, pale skin began to wire itself back into the stump, bubbling and swelling to rebuild the face lost in the attack. Skull jerked back from the creature, as it screamed again and lightning danced along the battlefield.

Joker remained the only one affected by the attack.

“Joker is our friend!” Queen yelled, and primed for another attack.

Goro took the distraction as an opportunity to reposition himself beside Joker, and give Oracle space to do her fucking job.

“Even now!” The heads spoke as one, “he is only Joker! Not Akira! Never Akira.”

“That's because we're in the Metaverse,” Skull snapped.

It laughed, “what purpose does that serve now? You are in his heart, are you not?”

Skull faltered at that.

Fox called for an attack, to no avail. Goro remained by Joker, with each attack the creature lobbed at them, it chipped away more and more at Joker’s waning health. With barely a breath left, despite Mona and Panther’s best efforts both in healing him, nothing they threw at the Jury worked.

Something needed to change. Oracle was able to defeat Sakura’s head, how? Why? Even when Skull attacked, the heads just kept regenerating. What did she do differently?

Goro directed Joker away from the front lines, yet even far behind them, outside of the monster’s supposed range, the attacks landed each time. They couldn't keep doing this. Joker was going to die.

Something had to give, and Goro would be fucking damned if he let it be Joker.

Fire spread over the battlefield again, the false Panther laughed so joyously as she stoked the flames. The true Panther was crouched beside Joker, doing what she could to keep his health topped up enough to remain conscious. Though Goro did not imagine she’d last much longer herself. Sweat was dotting her brow.

“How pathetic, you keep letting them face danger, and there you are, whimpering in the back like a child!” She hissed, “I’m ashamed to have looked up to your sniveling display.”

“It's your job to keep us safe!” The false Skull added, and ducked out of the way of the true one’s bat again, “you are failing! What happens when you fall? They’ll be next. We’ll kill them, and then what? We trusted you!”

“FUCK YOU!” Skull threw the bat at the serpentine head, and struck it true between the eyes, “fuck you!”

Skull turned his back from the shadow and dropped to his knees in front of Joker. He reached out to Joker, though was granted with nothing, when his hands only passed through him. Skull’s hands shook as he dropped them beside his legs, his fingers curled into a fist.

“I’m sorry.”

The Jury paused, the attack it had in retaliation died as sparks in its mouth.

“I’m so sorry man,” Skull ground his knuckles into the carpet with a sigh, “this is all my fault.”

“Skull…?”

“That's what this is, right?” he murmured, “we forced this upon you. I just followed you in Kamoshida’s Palace, you were a natural. It was so easy to let you do the hard shit, and just punch things along the way. You had it handled, I thought you had it handled.”

“I do, Skull,” Joker hesitated then hovered a red hand in above of Skull’s own, “it's my duty. I’m the Leader, I—”

Skull tossed his arms up in what could only be described as exasperation. He reached for Joker again, but once more, merely passed through him unburdened, “no! It's not! It shouldn't have been! Man, I’ve been so effn’ stupid!”

Mona’s tail lashed behind him when he added in his own regrets, “I… I never asked what you wanted, did I?”

Joker was silent.

“You should never have been the Leader…”

Joker leaned back and waved Skull’s hands away from him with a snarl, “I get it. I’m not what you wanted.”

“No! That's not what I meant! I was supposed to guide you! I was supposed to help you, and keep you safe, not the other way around! You stepped so naturally into that role, I never questioned it,” Mona’s ears pressed flat against his fur, “I knew you didn't enjoy it. I could see how stressed you got, how tired you were taking care of everyone. But you never complained, and it was… easier to let you do it all.”

Joker frowned, though didn't comment.

“Look,” Skull’s shoulders dropped, “it wasn't Joker that would spend lunch on the roof with me, it wasn’t Joker that went running or got ramen with me. That was Akira, my best effin’ friend in the whole world.”

“It wasn't Joker that comforted me after nightmares,” Mona added, “or assured I’d always have a home with him.”

“Akira was the one to chase after me, even after I called him a creep, and took me to Big Bang Burger, just to make sure I was ok.”

“Joker was not the one who gave me the inspiration to keep at my craft, to hone and perfect it.”

“You saved me from the Yakuza,” Queen added, soft, “before I ever knew you were Joker. Akira was the one who saved me.”

“Last I checked, Akira was the one who helped me face my fears, helped me leave my room. Be a person again. Joker had fuck all to do with that.”

“Akira gardened with me, was there for me, when so few others were.”

“Akira,” Goro licked his dry lips, “was the first person to truly find value in me as a person since my mother died.”

“…”

“We failed you,” Mona continued, “all of us. We made you carry all this… this by yourself. We relied on you so much, but never gave you a chase to rely on us, huh?”

“That's gonna change, right now!” Skull huffed, “we’re here for you man. We always will be, I promise. And… shit… I’m sorry we made you think otherwise.”

Joker pressed his hands to his face, “stop.”

Skull froze, his hand hovered over Joker’s shoulder.

“Stop it,” Joker said again, firmer than the previous whimper, “you can't have it.”

“What?”

“You can't have the mask,” Joker hissed, he curled in on himself, his hands never leaving his face. Goro wondered if he was forcing the mask to remain in place, forcing himself to keep it.

“We need it,” Violet tried, “we need all the masks so we can get to the treasure.”

There was no response other than, if possible, Joker curled even further into himself. His shoulders shook, an action so subtle, if Goro were not merely a meter away, he wouldn't have noticed.

“I’ll help you get the treasure, just let me keep the mask,” Joker’s voice was muffled against his palms, “I can't… I’m nothing without it.”

“That's bullshit!” Skull snapped, “were you ignorin’ us that whole time?”

“I need the mask. You need me when I have the mask.”

“What the eff are you even saying? Or course we will need you without it.”

“Bullshit,” Joker spat with such venom, even Goro suppressed the desire to flinch.

“You want us to steal the treasure,” Queen tried, “without your mask, we cannot succeed in that task.”

Joker didn't respond or give any indication he had heard her.

“Joker…?” Skull reached for Joker, though stopped short of actually touching him, Instead his fingers passed through Joker’s and barely grazed the mask.

In a flash of red, Joker pulled a knife from his sleeve and swiped at Skull, one hand remained pressed against the mask, and the other brandished the blade against Skull’s jaw. He yelped and scuttled back, unharmed other than a thin cut along his cheek that began to weep blood.

“I believe I made myself clear.”

“Dude!” Skull gawked, “what the hell, I thought you were on our side!”

“I am, was… am. You need me, I can help you but I will not let you take this from me.”

“Why won't you give it to us? It's not even attached to you anymore!” Panther demanded.

“I’ve made myself clear. You can not have my mask.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“As long as I have this mask, you need me,” Joker barked, “as long as you need me, I won't be alone.”

At that, the group fell into a heavy silence.

“You need Joker, you need the mask. You don't need Akira, you never did. None of you did. While cute, your words mean nothing, not now. Not after everything.”

“Why didn't you just say you were lonely?” Violet demanded, “we would have made time for you, you know that.”

“And what? Make you miss practice? Make any of you miss out on bigger and better things? You were busy, and I was alone. Don't fucking lie to me, you don't need me. But this, you need this. As long as I have it…” Joker’s voice trailed off but it was enough.

What did one say, to the face of a man abandoned? The truth of the matter irrelevant, Joker; and by some expansion Kurusu too, truly believed his friends abandoned him. Left him to rot for the vultures to pick away at his raw and unprotected underbelly. He had grown soft for them, had needed them, all of them, and they were nowhere to be seen.

Goro hadn't helped, of that he was sure. Goro didn't think he could help now, not in the way Kurusu truly needed it. He didn't rely on anyone, couldn't rely on anyone. He couldn't give Kurusu that sense of belonging he craved, unhealthy as it was.

Truly the woe of an unloved child, to cling onto such a small thing because someone else wanted it. Just so they’d get scraps of attention from those around them. Something, anything, to push away the complete isolation.

“Fine,” Skull tossed his hands in the air, “fine! We don't need you!”

Joker’s expression did not change, though he adjusted his grip on his knife.

“But you know what?” Skull grabbed at Joker’s shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye. It was a rather pathetic motion, given Skull’s hands passed through him again, though the action drew Joker’s attention all the same, “we still want you! You're right, we won't just collapse without you, but that doesn't mean we want to live like that man. You're important to us. I don't need you, but I’m choosing you anyway! You are my best friend, Akira. Please, believe me.”

Joker stared at him with wide eyes beneath his mask.

“You’ve been hurting, real bad, haven't you? For like, a long time, huh? And we— No, I’ve been a really effin’ shitty best friend for not noticing before. Shit, for not paying attention before. It's easy to just… forget, sometimes. You're more than the unflappable leader we made you be man, you don't need to keep making yourself be strong, ok? Lean on us, lean on me, now and then.”

“I don't have anything to offer, there's no reason to keep me around.”

“The only thing you need to offer is your company man,” Skull sniffled, “nothing more.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. Just you, Akira.”

Joker’s presence flickered, he glowed like a candle lit fresh from the match. Finally, Joker— Kurusu, let his hand leave his face, and the black and white domino mask fell with it. Beneath it, revealed Kurusu, baggy eyes, gaunt cheeks and all. Kurusu’s hand shook when he offered the mask to Skull, though he brushed the mask away in favor of dragging him into a tight embrace.

Behind them, the Jury evaporated in wisps of smoke. Its heads bowed before the last of it was carried away. With its disappearance, the air became lighter, easier to breathe.

“We’ll make it up to you man, you're not alone anymore.”

Kurusu returned the hug, and pressed his face into Skull’s shoulder, “thank you.”

He vanished then, leaving naught but a lone mask in his place.

Upon returning to reality, no one made any move to speak.

Goro’s own gut was twisted with conflicting emotions. While it didn't seem much of the foundation of the mask was entirely his fault, Goro did not doubt the role he played in that one, even if not the focus.

He hadn't known how much Kurusu would miss him, true, and even if he did, he doubted it would have truly registered it enough to change his mind. Goro would not have returned before he was ready, period.

Though, in retrospect, he should have at the very fucking least, contacted Kurusu to inform him of his survival.

Would that have even changed anything?

Probably not, were he honest. Maybe it would have helped, but the struggles Kurusu faced seemed to be seeded deep. Ones he certainly did not help, but definitely did not start. Not that it mattered either way in the end.

“So…” Niijima started, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I… think we need to talk about that.”

Sakamoto, from his position sprawled on his back, only groaned. He held the mask up to the light filtered in from the curtains, “what's to talk about?”

“You know that it's not your fault,” Takamaki tried, “we all really messed up. A really fucked up joint effort.”

“I’ve known him the longest here, I knew he wasn't doing great, but it wasn't like I was seein’ him that often so I just…” Sakamato pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I should have known better! I’ve seen this shit with my mom, I know what depression looks like! I just… he always seemed so untouchable, I didn't…”

“None of us did,” Sumire drew her knees up to her chest, “I think that might have been on purpose, though.”

“He is a self-sacrificing fool,” Goro snorted, “I imagine he didn't want you all to worry.”

“Still…”

Futaba jumped to her feet, and darted downstairs in a whirlwind of orange. Sumire was quick to scramble to her own and ran after her. Goro had not caught Futaba’s, but if Sumire’s expression was anything to go by, the situation was about to get terribly messy.

The others had the same idea, and were quick to follow.

“Sojiro!” Futaba demanded, “why isn't Akira living with us anymore?”

The man startled, he fumbled with the mug he was polishing and set it on the counter. His eyes swept over the group that had amassed and frowned, “what's this about?”

“Just answer the question!”

Sakura held his hands up, “he got an apartment and moved out, I don't know what else to tell you.”

“What about the room? The one you were renovating? Didn't he know about it?”

“Well, no… It was going to be a surprise, remember?” Sakura crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter, “what's going on? What happened?”

Futaba rubbed furiously at her eyes, “he-he thinks you kicked him out!”

Sakura paled, “what?”

“Why did you say all those things to him!”

“Whoah, whoah, ok,” Sakura came around the counter and grabbed Futaba’s arm, “what things?”

“You-you called him a delinquent and a burden! You said you’d kick him out! How could you?”

Recognition crossed over Sakura’s face, and he pushed his glasses up to massage the bridge of his nose, “that… was a while ago.”

“So!?” She jerked away from his hand, “you told him he was too old to live in an attic! You said he couldn't stay!”

“What? No—”

“You abandoned him!” She shrieked, “if he can’t be your son, then I don't want to be your daughter!”

Futaba ran past a stricken Sakura, and out the door.

Sakura moved to go after her, but Goro stopped him, “maybe it's best you let her cool off, hm?”

“She’ll get herself hurt!”

“I’ll go check on her,” Goro assured, “but with all due respect, Sir, I don't think she wants to see you right now.”

Sakura’s hands clenched into fists, then he deflated. He ran a hand through his hair, and sighed, “you're probably right.”

Okumura rested a hand on his arm, “you didn't kick him out, did you?”

“Of course not!” Sakura didn't snap, but it was a close thing, “when I had gone to tell him about the room we had for him at the house, he said he had an apartment lined up before I could even finish. So I left him to pack, by the time I came back later that night, to see if he needed any help; he was gone.”

“In his Palace…” Okumura started, “he um, he seems to be under the impression that you kicked him out because housing him was too much of a drain on your finances. And that, well, you thought he was dangerous. That he’d hurt Futaba.”

To the man’s credit, he looked beside himself in confusion, and perhaps grief, “what?”

Goro figured he would not be of much help in this conversation. He still did not think Sakura held much love for him as it were, and he imagined his presence would be an unwanted audience. So he left the cafe to track down Futaba.

Goro found Futaba exactly where he expected to, huddled in a ball, just around the bend with her back pressed against the bricks of Leblanc. Her sniffles were muted, muffled from where her head was tucked against her knees.

He walked over, and after a moment of hesitation, moved his cane to the side and eased himself down beside her.

She drew herself in further but said nothing. So neither did Goro.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” she muttered, “I shouldn’t have shouted at him.”

Goro shrugged, “maybe.”

“You’re not here to tell me to apologize?”

Goro snorted, “why would I be?”

“Then why are you here?” She rubbed her nose against the sleeve of her jacket.

“I don’t know,” he hesitated, then thumped his head against the worn brick, “I understand your anger, and misery loves company; does it not?”

“I guess…”

“I’m angry too, though not at Sakura-san.”

Futaba flinched.

“Or you, or the rest of Kurusu’s sycophants. I’m rather irritated with Kurusu himself, frankly.”

Futaba poked at the ground, “I know not everything that shadow said was true, but… I dunno. It felt better to yell at him than be angry with myself for not realizing how bad things had gotten. You heard what that stupid thing said.”

“Yes.”

“It… not everything that thing said was wrong though,” she frowned, “some of it was stuff we said when he tried to go to his apartment. He wasn't home, or at least, we thought he wasn't. A-and some of the stuff Sojiro said… I wonder how much that was true. If-if even a fraction of it was…”

“Sometimes good people can say cruel things,” Goro sighed, “if I understand the situation, Kurusu was given to Boss after he got his record, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Perhaps he was attempting to put who he thought was a dangerous criminal, on the straight and narrow? It does not excuse his words, though they may not have been spoken entirely in malice.”

“That's not the point,” she kicked at a pebble beneath her boot, “he heard us when we visited him, he shouldn't have been home and he was. He ignored us. He doesn't… he doesn’t do that. He’s never done that.”

“I know,” he also knew the implications of it. Kurusu had indeed heard the thieves when they had tried going to his apartment but had not answered.

Why?

Had he ignored them or… had he been unable to reach the door?

Futaba bumped her head against the brick and sighed, “I… I don't like his Palace.”

“Neither do I.”

“I… should go apologize.”

Goro shrugged, “if you want.”

She nodded, perhaps more to herself than to him, and pushed herself up. She waited for Goro to right himself and grab his cane, then led the way back into Leblanc.

Sakura had taken residence in one of his booths, his head in his hands. He wasn't crying, but his body language alone spoke well enough of his devastation. He looked up when the bell chimed above them, and stood to gather Futaba in his arms, “are you alright?”

She nodded into his chest, “m’sorry.”

“Don't be, I should be apologizing. To you, and to Akira.”

Goro adverted his gaze and slid into the closest booth available to him. No small distance away, but present enough.

“I should have known,” Sakura sighed, “I thought something was fishy right away, but I didn't press him. I should have. I know how flighty that kid is.”

“You really didn't want to kick him out?”

“Of course not,” he assured, “of course not. The kid has grown on me.”

Futaba chuckled a wet giggle into Sakura’s apron.

“I knew the kid had abandonment issues,” he stroked Futaba’s hair, “I should have been more clear with him, no wonder he’d flee at the drop of a hat.”

“Can he move back in with us, then?”

Sojiro sighed, and his hand stilled atop her head, “regardless of if he did at the time, he has an apartment now. I don't know if he would want to move back with us, or if he could afford to break the lease.”

“I would happily pay for it,” Okumura assured, before Goro himself had a chance to offer, “just say the amount and I’ll write a cheque.”

Sakura chuckled, “then, if he wanted to, yes. Shops’ been too quiet without him.”

Chapter Text

When Goro’s phone buzzed, he picked it up on the second ring.

“Akechi speaking.”

It wasn't as if he had been doing anything important, he had been sent home from the office earlier that day to ‘think over what he wanted’. His boss had reprimanded him for making such a mess regarding the lack of evidence surrounding his last client’s cheating allegations.

Sometimes, he had said, their job was to find the truth hidden beneath it all.

When Goro had seen the same woman leaving his boss’s office, reapplying a ruby shade over her lips, he had a rather sour feeling he was the only one not leaving messes behind.

It had left Goro actually rethinking what he wanted. He could grin and bare it, dance to their corrupt little tune just long enough to get his license and go independent proper. Or, he could find another. Transfer? Though at the risk of losing a year of his work, or potentially even being blacklisted from other firms in Tokyo.

“Hey.”

At the sound of Kurusu’s voice, Goro pushed aside his lingering thoughts. This was the first he had heard from him since they stole another mask yesterday.

He had texted him last night, to see if he had some free time this week, though had been left on read. Goro figured he was busy and had not pressed, much as he would have wanted to. Given how Kurusu had reacted last time he had insisted on carving out time for him in his schedule, he had gotten (rightfully, admittedly) upset. Even if it ended in what Goro at least had thought to have been a good day.

“Afternoon,” Goro grunted, “I didn't check my caller ID when I picked up.”

There was a gruff laugh, “yeah, I noticed.”

Goro waited for him to continue speaking, when he didn’t, Goro spoke in his stead, “hm. Regardless, have you given my text any thought?”

“I…” a pause, a sigh, “yeah. My parents called again.”

Goro sat up, “what did they want?”

“They… said they looked forward to seeing me.”

It worked. Their change of heart worked. Not that Goro had doubts, truly, but the relief was there all the same. Though before words escaped his lips without permission, he paused.

Kurusu didn’t sound happy.

“That is good, is it not?”

Kurus snorted, “no. They’re going to do something again, and I just… I’m so fucking tired of their bullshit, Akechi.”

Kurusu wouldn’t know his parents' hearts were changed. Of course, he would be apprehensive, Goro wouldn’t have trusted it either were Shido to try and play nice with him. He rested his head on the backing of his couch, “I see.”

“Last time they were happy to see me was when they told me I had a single night to pack my shit before they were gonna ship me out to Tokyo.”

Hm. Goro wondered if their shadows lingered in Mementos. He brushed the thought away, “ah. Well, do you want to cancel the dinner?”

“No, I just…” Kurusu fell silent again. He’d make noises as though he were to start a sentence, but it would drop off before any words were actually formed.

“Spit it out.”

“Will you come with me, Friday?”

Goro blinked.

“You don’t have to, I mean if you’re busy or don’t want to that’s fine I just—“

“Yes. What time should I be at your apartment?”

“What time— you don’t have to do this Akechi.”

“Yes, I am aware. In case you forgot, it is very difficult to make me do something I have no desire to,” he snorted, “if my presence is for some asinine reason a comfort to you, then yes. I will be there.”

“Honestly I just want to see you tear them to pieces, verbally. Mostly.”

Goro laughed, “that could be arranged.”

It was 3:52, he was almost an hour earlier than he needed to be.

Goro reasoned Kurusu would need a pep talk, and Goro brought flashcards he amassed from the other thieves when he informed them of his journey. The papers were safely tucked away in his coat pocket when he knocked on the door.

There was no answer. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing. Kurusu got off of work at 2, he should have been home by now. Before he could start shouting, the door creaked open and Kurusu’s mop head poked out.

“You’re early.”

“Indeed,” he frowned, “is that a problem?”

Kurusu sighed, and let him in. Goro kicked off his shoes and once Kurusu locked the door, followed him to the couch.

The man was in plain sweats and an old, worn, T-shirt. Goro presumed he was still getting ready.

“Do you already have your clothes prepared?” He inquired and hung his jacket and scarf over the back of the couch Kurusu perched on.

His apartment was a mess again. Goro wondered how much he could feasibly do while Kurusu showered and finished changing.

“I’m dressed.”

Goro raised a brow, “please tell me you do not plan on meeting your parents in… that.”

Kurusu shrugged.

Goro had been under the impression they would be going to a nice restaurant, and had dressed accordingly. Striped tie and all.

Fine, Goro could adapt. He could make himself more casual, easy, “where are we dining?”

Kurusu fished out his phone, “Cedros, I think. Some stupid fine dining place.”

Goro blinked, and glanced at his watch, they had time. Goro could make this work, “get up.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you go out like that, I know you can dress better.”

Kurusu snorted, “please. With luck, we won’t even be let in.”

“Pardon?”

“If I dress like a slob, they won’t let me in, and I’ll have an excuse to ditch the show they’re going to put on. They’ve done it before. They’ll say how they tried so hard to raise me, but I just had to go and be a freak—“

“You have not forgotten I’ll be with you, right?”

“No?”

“Then I am insulted you think I would let them even finish such a sentence.”

Kurusu stared at him like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. That Goro would have just sat passively by whilst his parents tore into him with the ferocity of starving street dogs.

It… was hard not to take personally.

“Kurusu, I will never allow someone to speak ill of you in my presence, and that does include yourself. Do not think so little of me again.”

He averted his gaze, “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know, and if they do begin to step out of line we can leave and go somewhere else. Like Jazz Jin, or that little arcade you like.”

“Yeah, so you can kick my ass again in Gun About?”

“Obviously.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t go easy on me during that, you had an unfair advantage!”

“When have I ever gone easy on you?”

“Pool?”

“Oh fuck off, I started with a break ace. Besides, you were learning.”

“Mementos?”

Goro adjusted his gloves, “I did not intend to kill you, and it wasn’t like I could use Loki.”

Kurusu stood, “the engine room?”

Goro wasn’t sure how to respond to that besides a dry chuckle. He had not held back, exactly, but Goro had gone into the fight with the intention of his ultimate demise. Though he had imagined it to be Joker, to take the final shot, not a puppet wearing his own face.

But he supposed the irony was a rather karmic way to die.

“Ah, I was not… stable at the time.”

“Yeah.”

“I am better now. Or, not in such a place as I was then, I was desperate and tired. It felt better to go down fighting than to go the way my mother had.”

Goro crossed his arms over his chest, “for what it is worth, I am sorry.”

Kurusu opened his mouth, though instead of speaking he merely snapped his jaws shut and nodded. His weight shifted from foot to foot, then he walked into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him.

Right. Well.

The sound of a creaky showerhead sputtered to life, so, at least he was showering. In the meantime, Goro tried to find some better clothes. Kurusu didn’t have a dresser, or a closet for that matter, but he did have a box with some shirts and pants tossed in.

It was separate from the pile on the floor so Goro figured they were clean. Clean enough, at least.

With a black button-down and nice jeans laid over the back of the couch, Goro gathered up the empty bottles and found a bag big enough to stuff them all in. If nothing else, none of them were alcoholic, which was a relief in itself.

He rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed the dishes left in the sink. It didn’t take long, and by the time Kurusu was out of the shower, the dishes were done.

“I left some clothes on your couch,” Goro said.

When Kurusu didn’t respond, he turned around to see the man standing in the middle of the apartment, frozen. He bore nothing but a pair of red boxers and a towel draped over his head.

Goro cleared his throat, “Kurusu?”

When he garnered no response, Goro knew something was wrong. He scooted a bit closer, though was sure to give the man his space, should he need it, and asked again, “Kurusu?”

“You said you wouldn't baby me.”

“Yes,” he agreed, readily, and wracked his brain to figure out where the statement had come from.

Kurusu swept his arm out over the apartment and whirled on him, “then what the hell, Akechi?”

Goro froze.

“You think I can't take care of myself? Is that what this is? I can't believe you!”

On instinct, Goro took the defensive and snarled, “what are you talking about?”

“You cleaned my apartment! Too disgusting for you, huh? Can't go out with some… some filthy slob, right?”

“You're being ridiculous!” Goro snapped back, “I’m trying to help you!”

“By invading my space? You come an hour earlier than you said you would, you pick apart my clothes, and while I shower, snoop through my apartment like I’m some sort of drug addict!”

“Oh grow the hell up. You're the one who invited me!”

Kurusu clenched his fists at his sides, Goro could almost hear his teeth grinding from where he stood. After a moment, Kurusu turned on his heel, retreated to his bathroom again, and slammed the door. There was a muffled thud, then silence.

As the silence continued to grow, so too did Goro’s dread. With the heat of the argument over, Goro was awash with a cold numb feeling. He tried to put himself in Kurusu’s place and found himself rather… lacking.

He knew he shouldn't have gone through Kurusu’s things, yet at the moment all he could think of was the best course of action for how he had envisioned the night playing out. Kurusu didn’t know his parent’s hearts had been changed, of course, he’d be angry and avoidant over it. It was a surprise the man still intended to see them, were he honest.

Goro wanted the night to go smoothly, and in his plans, he had completely neglected Kurusu’s feelings.

He pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. Fuck.

Goro gave Kurusu a couple more minutes before he shuffled over to the bathroom door. He didn't hear anything, so he gently rapped his knuckles against the worn wood, “Kurusu?”

No response again.

“I… shouldn't have touched anything without your permission. I had only wanted to— ugh. Do you want to just go to Jazz Jin? Or uh, I could order food and we could stay here?”

There was a thump against the door, Kurusu must be leaning back against it. Goro sighed, “I did not intend to invade your privacy.”

“I know,” Kurusu responded, his soft voice muffled only further by the door between them, “I shouldn't have yelled at you, I’m sorry.”

“Don't apologize, I was being far too assumptive.”

“It's just… embarrassing. I can barely muster the energy to get out of bed, much less clean. I’m sure it was driving you mad, huh?”

Goro hesitated for a moment, then eased himself down to lean against the door, “before, when I was still… ah, employed under Shido, I had very little control over my life. One of the few things I did for myself was cleaning, scrubbing counters, sweeping, dusting, all that shit. It was mindless, and it helped ground me when I was stressed.”

“You cleaned for yourself?” Kurusu’s voice was still tired, yet held an air of that humor Goro had come to expect from the menace.

Goro chuckled, “don't be ridiculous. Not entirely. I thought you’d… appreciate it, and the added benefit of clearing my own mind was merely just that. An additional benefit.”

“I don't want to see them,” Kurusu admitted what Goro had already long figured out. Still, he offered only a hum for Kurusu to continue, “but if I don't play into their demands they get even pushier. I just want this night to be over, and it hasn't even started yet.”

“You don't have to see them, Kurusu. You're an adult, they hold no power over you anymore, they can't force you to do anything.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Kurusu sighed, “I feel like an idiot. Like, there's some part of me that thinks, ‘well maybe it’ll be different this time Akira’, and it never is.”

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah, I guess you would,” a dry laugh.

They settled into a comfortable enough silence after that. Goro let his head thump against the door. He was conflicted, on one hand, Goro wanted Kurusu to see the change his parents had, and to let him actually form a relationship with them. On the other; they sure as hell didn’t deserve that second chance, and Goro wanted to keep Kurusu as far away from them as possible.

It wasn’t his decision to make, he knew. Whatever Kurusu decided would be what they did, and Goro would support him. What Goro wanted didn’t matter here, as irritated as he would be with the perceived wasted effort, it was Kurusu who they had hurt. If he decided they didn’t deserve another chance (they didn’t) then Goro would find something else for them to do.

And if Kurusu’s parents pressed the issue, well, Goro had no shortage of avenues to pursue in order to get them to leave him alone. Permanently if needed.

“I should finish getting dressed,” Kurusu sighed, and Goro pushed himself to his feet and away from the door.

“Do you want me to bring the clothes from the couch? Or do you want to pick something else out?”

“Whatever you got will be fine,” Kurusu responded, “I need to dry off more before I can put on my binder.”

“Do you want me to bring you another towel?”

“No, air drying is usually faster. Only takes a couple of minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll go grab your clothes then.”

“Hey, uh, Akechi?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Goro stared at the closed door for a moment, then managed a soft, “you’re welcome.”

Cedros was a modern restaurant, according to Goro’s search it had only opened within the last four years but had already cemented itself as a fine establishment. Seafood was its specialty, though it offered other dishes as well.

Goro adjusted his tie for the fourth time since they arrived. He couldn’t help but feel a sizzle of unease in his gut. A change of heart did not mean they would like Goro, or approve of their relationship. He wanted to make the best impression, yet did not want to bend to them were they to step out of line.

It was frustrating not to know what he should expect.

“They’ll like you,” Kurusu said, his hands shoved into the pockets of his thick trench coat. It was starting to look a bit worn, and Goro had yet to approach how best to convince the man to let him buy a replacement.

“Am I to be introduced as your friend or your… partner?”

Kurusu blinked at him.

“Should I say I’m just your friend or your boyfriend?”

Kurusu snorted, “I’m not ashamed of you, I don’t care who knows you’re my boyfriend.”

“Well then.”

“If you’re comfortable with that, of course,” Kurusu backpedaled hard enough Goro worried he’d trip over his ancestors' graves, “if you don’t want to like, label it, that’s fine too. I can go at your pace.”

“I already agreed to be your boyfriend, Kurusu, don’t misunderstand me.”

“Right.”

Goro adjusted his gloves, and straightened his tie, “it’s fine to be nervous. You know.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Goro narrowed his eyes at Kurusu’s grin, though was prevented from snapping back when a throat cleared.

“Akira?” A voice inquired, “you didn’t tell us you’d be bringing… company.”

Kurusu tensed, and Goro didn't need to see the woman to know exactly who she was. Still, he put on his best smile and offered a small bow to the two people before them.

“Hello, it is a pleasure to meet you two at last. I’m Akechi Goro.”

It was always a bit off-putting how similar the shadows in the metaverse looked to the real-life thing. Kurusu's mother was a lithe, tall, woman with long black hair. Unlike Kurusu’s curls, her hair fell straight upon her shoulders. Other than their similarly delicate features, she bore little resemblance to her son. Not even her grey eyes quite matched the flintlock Kurusu wielded.

His father bore black curly hair, he was a plain man otherwise. Nothing remarkable there at all.

Kurusu truly took the best of his generators.

“Kurusu Kaito and this is my wife Kurusu Yumi,” the man spoke, “what brings you to our little family get-together?”

Kurusu spoke up for the first time since they arrived, “he’s my boyfriend.”

To their credit, the only reaction they gave was a small motion of surprise. There was no hostility or disgust though, so far so good, Goro reasoned.

“How delightful, any partner of my son is welcome to join us,” the woman chirped and reached out to Kurusu.

Instead of letting himself be brought into an embrace, Kurusu batted her hands away and shrunk back from her reach. The woman recoiled and rubbed her hand where Kurusu struck, and frowned. She didn't say anything, and neither did his father, the two exchanged a glance.

“Well, no point in standing in the cold, I understand it's time for our reservation, yes? Come, let's sit,” Goro hummed, and opened the door for Kurusu’s parents. It was almost too easy to step back into the Detective Prince role he had cloaked himself in what felt like a lifetime ago.

Thankfully, Kurusu’s parents left it at that and walked inside. Goro then turned his attention to the man himself.

“Are you alright?”

“Stop it,” Kurusu frowned, “you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not.”

Goro shrugged, “it is not hard, shallow people are easy to deceive.”

“You shouldn't have to, Akechi. You're fine as you are.”

It took a moment for Goro to digest that. He swallowed down the ice built in his throat, the shards cracked and sharp, and nodded for Kurusu to walk in, “come on, we better not keep them waiting.”

Kurusu narrowed his eyes at him but didn't press the subject further. He drew in a deep breath and walked inside, Goro closed the door behind them.

The restaurant was swift and professional, after giving their name they were seated without further preamble. It was an easy process, that left no room for trouble until they finally sat down and had their menus before them.

As fine dining, the prices for the meals are reflected accordingly. Goro had heard of the beginnings of a fine restaurant back when he still had kept up with his food blog but had been wholly uninterested at the time in putting their food to the test. He would be lying if there wasn't a part of him a bit excited to see if they lived to their steep askings.

Though a more rational part of him was glad he thought ahead of time to bring extra yen. Were Kurusu’s parents to bail on them, Goro could pay and keep Kurusu from suffering even further at their hands.

Provided they made it that far; if Kurusu’s near-manic energy was anything to go off of.

Goro placed a hand on Kurusu’s bouncing knee, it settled under his touch, though Kurusu looked no less strung.

The silence that settled over the table was stifling. Goro had no intention of playing mediator further than he already had, this was Kurusu’s decision. What happened next was in his hands, and Goro would support whatever that would be.

“What do you want?” Kurusu finally snapped.

Kurusu’s mother placed a hand on her chest, her black dress bunched at the motion, “we are here to see our beloved son.”

Kurusu’s jaw set, “bullshit. Why are you really here?”

“Akira,” his father scolded, “watch your language.”

“Then cut the nonsense and tell me what you want already, we all know you couldn't be paid to give a shit about me.”

They both faltered at that. Finally, his father removed his glasses and set them on the table with a deep sigh, “we are… sorry.”

Kurusu crossed his arms.

“We… the way your mother and I treated you was abysmal. You should never have had to weather what we put you through, no child should have. We are both so sorry for what we’ve done.”

The only response they got from Kurusu was a disgusted curl of his lip.

“I have been a wretched mother, and I know I’ve hurt you in ways that cannot be so easily taken back. I refused to see you as you were, as my son, and I can never apologize enough.”

“We just want to make things right,” his father admitted, “that's all we want. Isn't that enough?”

The silence was heavy, loaded with apprehension as Kurusu leaned back against the booth and snarled, “oh, is that all?”

His parents flinched at his words, their own meek little nods all they could muster in return. Even Goro was a bit taken aback by the harsh cold of his tone. While deserved, certainly, Goro could not picture a time he had seen the man so… livid.

“We just want to be parents to you again, Akira.”

Kurusu barked a sharp laugh, “oh please, you lost your chance to be parents a long time ago.”

He leaned forward, and bared his teeth, “you lost your chance to be parents when you kicked me out for protecting a woman from getting raped. You lost your chance when you saw me come back from detainment, bruised and terrified, and looked me in the fucking eyes and told me I deserved it. You lost your chance to be parents when you shipped me to Tokyo to live with a man you never even met with nothing more than a box and an evening's notice.”

“We know it wasn't ideal—”

“You lost your fucking chance to be parents when after I did return from Tokyo, you took everything I had and threw it into the damn dumpster!” Kurusu stood and slammed his hands on the table, the force rattled the glasses and silverware upon it, “you lost your chance when you said you would never have a son.”

Kurusu had begun to attract the attention of other diners, and Goro could see the staff whispering to each other out of the corner of his eye.

“We know we were cruel!” his mother pleaded, “but we’ve changed! We know what we did was horrible, but we’re here now. Isn't that enough?”

“No.”

Kurusu pushed himself out of the booth and shoved his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, “come on, we’re leaving.”

“Akira!” Kaito pleaded, like the pathetic grub of a man he was, “please, we just want to make this right.”

Kurusu ignored them, and once his coat was fastened, turned on his heel and left the building. Goro fumbled with his own trench coat and was swift to follow. A hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Goro retaliated by grasping the wrist that trapped him in a firm, bruising grip, “I suggest you let go of me.”

“Please, you're his boyfriend, right? Talk some sense into him!”

“I am his boyfriend, yes, and that is precisely why I will not as you say, talk some sense into him. That is not my place, and if even a fraction of what he told me is true, you best leave him alone from now on. You wouldn't want me to open a case against you,” Goro smiled, “I have some friends in very high places you see, and child abuse is such a touchy subject for them, you understand.”

Kurusu’s father let him go as if he were burned, and Goro adjusted his sleeve, “now then. I would say it has been a pleasure, but honestly, it's been anything but.”

Goro left the worms to writhe at the table and stepped into the biting winter wind. Kurusu had his arms wrapped around himself, and when Goro approached, a hand reached out for the second time that night to grab him. This time, he merely stood silent beside his captor and ran his thumb over the cold-bitten skin, and politely pretended not to see Kurusu sob.

“C-can we go to Jazz Jin?” Kurusu managed to warble out between his aborted attempts to stop crying.

“Should have gone there from the start.”

By the time they had made it to Kichijoji, Kurusu had more or less managed to get a hold of himself. Despite that, Kurusu had yet to let go of Goro’s hand, and he certainly wasn't going to point it out. It had not been the first time Kurusu had reached out to him, but it had been the first his hand met its mark.

Kurusu had always been so physically affectionate with his friends, even Goro, for a time. Nothing quite so blatant as holding hands, of course, his celebrity reputation would not stand for it. Now, without a need to posture or appeal to the greater masses, Goro found he rather enjoyed it. Kurusu’s hand was warm.

Muhan-san was an astute man. Goro often wondered how he could so easily read the mood and needs of his patrons, though he had figured it merely came with the job. Still, he was grateful all the same when he took one look at the two of them when they walked down the stairs into the club, and immediately had them seated in a booth toward the back, away from the rest of the customers.

It was not their usual table, but the privacy was appreciated.

Kurusu executed himself to wash his face in the bathroom, and Muhan-san took the opportunity to approach.

“Is the kid ok?”

Goro shrugged out of his coat, and elected not to point out that both he and Kurusu were well over eighteen now, “not right now, though I have faith he will be.”

Muhen-san hummed, and clicked his pen, “the usual, then?”

“That would be greatly appreciated, Muhen-san.”

Muhen grunted and left without further preamble. Not even an annoyed dig at Goro’s insistence on using honorifics.

Kurusu slid back into the booth a moment later, “m’back.”

“Muhen-san is getting our usual, that alright?”

Kurusu nodded, and that was that.

There was no live singer tonight, a shame, but the music that played over the speakers was still plenty of sound to keep their silence from getting too awkward. When they changed those fuckers’ hearts, Goro had expected Kurusu would have been happy. Skeptical, naturally, but still happy. Hopeful even.

Yet, he was anything but. Why?

It was not as if Kurusu himself had an issue with changing hearts, with how his little gaggle of buffoons had wreaked havoc over Tokyo. Was it because he did not know that their hearts were changed? Though telling him would not be an option, Kurusu was far too smart for his own good.

Goro was sure if they let slip the Metaverse was still active, and Kurusu did not have the app on his phone; well. No doubt he would put two and two together.

Would that be a bad thing, though?

Could Kurusu aid them in stealing his heart? Or would he shut down and remove any hope they would ever have of completing his Palace? And if he did, what right would they have to steal his heart?

Muhen came back with their drinks, “wave me down if you need something else.”

“Thank you,” Kurusu smiled, a small thing, but genuine.

Muhen clasped Kurusu’s shoulder, then left them alone to their beverages.

Kurusu stabbed his straw around in his drink. The colors swirled together and the ice clinked against the glass. He sighed, “you're quiet.”

Goro shrugged and sipped at his own drink, “I am unsure what you want me to say.”

“Whatever you're thinking, I guess.”

“Are… you alright?”

Kurusu frowned and bit at his straw, “I don't know… I’m… ugh, it's complicated I guess.”

“The floor is yours.”

“I’m angry, for the most part,” Kurusu admitted around the now slightly chewed straw, “why now? After all these years, why the hell would they want anything to do with me? They made it damn clear last time I saw them I was dead to them, so… what changed after so long?”

“People change all the time, no one is ever the same as they were yesterday. Does the time they took matter in the end?” Goro mused, “perhaps they merely woke up and it struck them. Humans are fickle.”

Kurusu snorted, “I doubt it.”

Goro crossed his arms and waited for him to continue.

“When I got back from Tokyo after my year was up… It wasn't… great. We fought a lot, I guess I gained too much of a backbone for their liking. I went out for a walk to clear my head, a couple of days in, and when I got back I saw the boxes I brought back from Tokyo empty by the dumpster.”

Kurusu’s knuckles were white against the glass, “everything I had was tossed in. My clothes, valuables, gifts I got from friends and your… it was all in there. Of course, I tried to fish it all back out, but my mom caught me in the act. She yelled at me, said it was dirty, and that I had no need for such ‘frivolous things’ under her roof.

“I was furious. I don't think I had ever been as mad before, I… shit Akechi, I wanted to kill her. I wanted nothing more than to see her dead. I tried to ignore her, and just grab the most important things, but she tried to pull me out and-and your— it got ripped— and I…”

Kurusu buried his head in his hands, “if I had anything that could have been used as a weapon, I genuinely think I would have murdered her.”

Goro wasn't sure how to respond to that.

“I’d like to think I’m not that violent of a person, but I… Akechi I wanted to kill her, who the hell thinks that of their mother? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Goro reached across the table, but he stopped short of actually touching Kurusu. He did not know if such a thing would be welcome, so he instead clenched his hand into a fist and knocked against the wood. Kurusu looked up at him.

“First, there is nothing wrong with you, not that I would be one to judge. I certainly still want Shido six feet under.”

“Yes, because you’re such a paragon of mental health.”

Goro ignored him and continued, “second, you mentioned something of mine? What are you talking about?”

Kurusu worried his bottom lip between his teeth. After a moment of what seemed to be deliberation, he reached into his pocket and placed a black, worn, glove on the table.

It did indeed have a tear in it, along the thumb, where it had been shoddily sewn back together. The leather was cracked in several places and nearly worn away entirely in others. Yet despite its abysmal condition, Goro could recognize his own glove anywhere.

Was that the glove he had thrown at Kurusu?

It had to have been, that was the only time Goro had given something to him. A glove pitched at his face in a mix of rage and anguish. Of hatred and helplessness. A half-baked promise.

Kurusu kept it.

Kurusu kept it.

“You… you still have it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kurusu’s hand hovered over the leather, “It… it's important to me. You're important to me and this was all I… sorry that's probably really weird.”

Objectively, Goro already had a feeling Kurusu had kept the glove in some capacity. Between Kitagawa’s painting, and the brief glimpse of his shadow in the Palace, both had a black glove matching the one Goro had thrown at him.

But to have it on his person? To have tried, if unsuccessfully, to repair it when it was damaged?

That spoke to a level of care and commitment Goro couldn’t fathom. How much would someone have to mean to Goro for him to put even a fraction of care into some glove thrown at him?

Not for the first time, Goro was awash in guilt. For nearly three years Goro let Kurusu continue to mourn, only to barge into his life without permission. While his presence was allowed now, Goro wondered how Kurusu viewed him. He claimed to love him, yes, this glove was more than enough proof of that.

How did Kurusu view Goro’s feelings toward him?

“I’m sorry, that was weird,” Kurusu mumbled. His hand settled over the glove and sat there for a moment before it was slowly pushed back to Goro’s side of the table. “You can have it back.”

Kurusu peeled his hand from the worn leather, it was a slow, drawn-out motion. Goro would have none of that. He covered Kurusu’s hand with his own and pushed it back down, “I gave it to you. Keep it. I am… merely surprised you still have it.”

Strange emotions settled heavily in his stomach when Kurusu looked down at the glove, then back up to him.

“Just take it, and stop apologizing.”

Kurusu grabbed the glove and eased it back into his pocket, a faint dusting of pink settled high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

They settled into silence again. Goro wracked his brain on what he could say, how he could verbalize the twisting emotions that coiled in his stomach. Before he could, Kurusu’s phone chimed.

It was ignored.

It chimed again and Kurusu’s face twisted into a frown, though he still didn’t reach for it. When it chimed a third time, Goro rose a brow.

“They’ll stop eventually,” he muttered.

“Who? Your parents?”

“No, it’s…” Kurusu grabbed his phone and flipped it to silent with a sigh. “It’s my friends.”

That was not the response he would have expected, given Kurusu’s frown, “what do they want?”

“Everything, nothing, it’s just a lot right now.”

Goro held his tongue.

“I don’t know what happened. But this week they’ve been messaging me nearly nonstop, they all want to hang out or visit and it’s just…” Kurusu sipped on his drink, “it’s been overwhelming.”

Of course, the fools wouldn’t be able to reign themselves back after their last foyer into his palace. Not that Goro had been any better, he had texted Kurusu as soon as he had returned to his apartment that night. He could only imagine the wave of messages he received.

He still chose Goro, something the worst parts of him couldn’t help but preen over.

“Even Sojiro called.”

Goro had expected as much, “what did he have to say?”

Kurusu shrugged and averted his eyes, “don’t know. He left a voicemail to call him back.”

“You haven’t yet, then.”

“No,” Kurusu narrowed his eyes at whatever he was staring at, “don’t know if I will.”

“Hm, I am surprised.”

“Why?”

“I had been under the impression your relationship with him was good? You seemed content enough there when we first met.”

Kurusu shrugged, “opinions change.”

“Yours, or his?”

Kurusu shrugged again. Slighted by the dismissal, Goro tried another approach, “why are you avoiding him?”

“I’m not.”

“Then why, pray tell, have you not answered him? Much less any of your friends, I presume.”

Once more, he was met with silence.

“Do you ever plan on answering them?”

Kurusu cushioned his cheek with his palm and shrugged, “yeah, eventually. I just… I don’t know why now. Like with my parents, it’s just…”

Goro once again, was struck with how astute the man was. Something he truly shouldn’t be, in retrospect. Kurusu did not become his rival because he was simple, after all. Still.

“I do have a confession.”

Kurusu glanced up from where his eyes had wandered to the worn wood of their booth’s table, “you told them to contact me?”

“Ah, no. Well, not exactly. I happened to have stopped by LeBlanc before I found you, and I had been told you were no longer working there. I wondered why.”

“Bit inconvenient from where I live.”

“Of course, I had assumed you were still living with the Sakuras.”

Kurusu broke his gaze, “got my own place now.”

“Did Sakura kick you out?”

“My being there was…” Kurusu furrowed his brows, “why does it matter?”

“Because when I was there, Sakura mentioned he missed you.”

Goro wasn’t sure what to make of the genuine surprise that crossed Kurusu’s face.

“I know not what occurred between you two,” Goro continued, the lie tasted bitter on his tongue, “your avoidance of him may very well be warranted. Though I have known cruel men, and Sakura does not strike me as one.”

Kurusu’s shoulders fell and he all but deflated into his side of the booth, “he’s not. Just doing what’s best for his kid.”

“Hm, you know when the topic of children came up… he always mentioned having two.”

Goro did not believe he would ever be truly accepting of Sakura’s hospitality.

The cafe was a welcome change from the bitter cold of the outside air, any lingering moisture in the streets or pavement had all but frozen over. To be greeted with a ready-made cup of coffee and curry only further warmed his chest; albeit in a different way.

“Seen the kid any?”

“Yes, we got dinner a couple of nights ago.”

Sakura nodded and returned his attention to the crossword puzzle he had splayed over a leg.

Goro unfastened his scarf, “he told me you had left a voicemail.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes.”

Sakura looked up from his paper, though remained silent. Undoubtedly waiting for Goro’s input on the situation, of which he had already well enough voiced to Kurusu. It was pointless to repeat the conversation, so he instead slid into the bar stool waiting for him.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“I had extras,” Sakura muttered, “besides, Futaba said you two were going back to the Palace today, correct?”

“Yes, scouting to get a feeling for whatever mask is next.”

“Well. Be careful, though I suppose I don't need to tell you that.”

“No, but the concern is appreciated all the same.”

They lapsed into a comfortable enough silence while Goro ate. When Futaba scuttled through the door with Morgana under one arm and her computer under the other, Goro supposed that was his cue to wrap up. She gave a hurried greeting and trounced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. A surprising feat for someone of her vertically challenged stature.

“Thank you again for the meal, Sakura.”

The man frowned, undoubtedly irritated Goro was forgoing calling his oft nickname. Nicknames were a privilege, as far as Goro was concerned, one he wasn't sure he was willing to extend back to the man quite yet. Despite his defense of him to Kurusu, there was no doubt what Sakura did was cruel, misguided well intentions as they were.

When he found himself at the top of the stairs of the attic, Futaba had all of their gear laid out and organized. Her fingers danced over her phone, undoubtedly informing the other thieves of their impending excursion.

“Akira is ignoring all of us.”

“Hounding him is not doing the good you seem to think it is.”

“His shadow said he was lonely though!”

Goro sighed, and settled himself on the couch, “you’ve gone from barely speaking to him to vying for his attention all at once, he is overwhelmed. Kurusu is also no fool, I am sure he knows something happened to make you all jump down his throat.”

“Impossible, there is no way he knows he has a Palace.”

“No, but he undoubtedly knows something is off, and doesn't know how to react to this sudden influx of attention again. Be patient.”

“Ugh, who died and made you the emotionally intelligent one?”

“My mother.”

Futaba leveled him with a particularly blank stare, then returned to her computer, “same hat, brochacho.”

Goro groaned, but given he was the cause of the ‘same hat’, he chose not to comment further.

“Alright, we should be good to go. No more than like, two hours though, Sojiro says I have to be ‘well rested’ for school.”

“We will make it quick, then. He wasn’t hard to find last time, I do hope it’ll be the same this time around.”

Futaba nodded and pulled out her phone, “Kurusu Akira, Tokyo, Masquerade.”

It was the third time Sojio found his eyes dart to the clock on the wall. It ticked away, steady, the only sound in the closed cafe.

Three hours had passed since the kids left, and worry had long since planted its seed in Sojiro’s gut. The Metaverse had always been something he did not quite understand, even back when Wakaba would share her findings over a far too late dinner. She would prattle on and on and Sojiro didn't fancy himself a stupid man, but he was no genius.

One of the few things he did know, was that it was dangerous.

Sojiro set a cup down behind the counter, if he polished that damn thing anymore he was sure to wear it down to nothing but a shitty coaster. He fished his phone out from his apron’s pocket, 9:34pm, then deleted the strange red app that had appeared on his phone a few nights ago. Futaba’s doing, no doubt.

After a moment, he shoved the little device into his pants and slid his apron off his head to hang on its rightful hook. A neglected green one just beside it.

What he said to the kid couldn't be taken back, he knew. There had been a part of him that had believed the kid had brushed off his words, especially as he had realized the ‘troublemaker’ he had thrust upon him was just a confused kid.

A little shit, to be sure, but he was kind where it mattered.

Sojiro pinched the bridge of his nose, guilt was a strong, sour, feeling. One he was certainly acquainted with, especially with his early days raising Futaba. She was traumatized in a way Sojiro didn't know how to help, and he was too scared of losing her trust to force her outside of her comfort zone. After what she had gone through, he thought with enough patience and love, she’d come around.

She didn't. Not because of him, at any rate.

Maybe they had come back, and he merely did not notice? He trudged up the stairs to the kid’s old room. It still laid empty, with nothing but Futaba’s computer on the floor. His lips pressed into a thin line and he retreated down the stairs.

Sojiro pulled out his phone, no texts or any sort of contact. Not that he believed they really could contact him in that little world they hop into.

He frowned when that persistent red app Futaba installed on his phone made itself known again. The red eye pulsed and took over the entire screen. He closed his phone after he deleted the app.

Again.

Sojiro was going to have a talk with Futaba about hacking other people’s electronics. Enough was enough.

Sojiro wiped the tables and counter down for the fourth time that night. The shop had technically closed an hour ago, but he sure as hell wasn't going to leave until he was sure all three of them were back safe and sound.

He grabbed his crossword and eased himself onto his stool for the wait ahead. He was helpless, all he could do was wait. Wait and pray they were alright.

Not for the first time, Sojiro wished he had paid better attention to Wakaba when she had explained her research. Though he supposed his passing knowledge of it at all was more than most, especially given he had not even technically been in that division. He was no researcher; never had the patience for it.

His time in the special division of security had spoken of his skills well enough, he knew the government, and he knew how to make politicians trust him. It had really been that easy. Until it wasn't.

Sojiro was cut not long after the subjects of their experiments became actual fucking children. Asked too many questions, became a liability. He had no next of kin for Shido’s ilk to hold hostage, so he had no reason to stay. Much as he, in retrospect, probably should have.

Not even two years after he was relieved of his post was Wakaba killed.

Sojiro didn’t blame Akechi for her murder, not truly. He was the gun Shido pulled when Wakaba no longer cooperated in the way he wanted. While there was a part of him that hated the boy for what he did; the larger part of him was furious he had been in that position, to begin with.

Akechi had been a fucking child, and from the little he gathered of his history, he would have been on the streets from whatever adoption agency had him by then.

It was no wonder he turned desperate, and got his nose into things no kid should have been involved with.

Sojiro stood, walked around the counter, and wiped the tables down again, just for something to keep himself busy.

Sojiro’s phone buzzed again, and the screen was once more stuck on that red-eye symbol.

It remained stuck on that screen, no matter how many times he tried to exit the app, or even shut his phone off. Something about it had completely blocked his ability to use his phone.

Technology these days.

Was he overthinking things? It wasn't their first time in the Metaverse, hell, from what he understood Akechi was a damn hitman within it for a while. They would be able to leave if things got too dangerous.

Right?

They were in Akira’s Palace, that kid would never wish harm upon his friends. While Sojiro was sure that kid had no shortage of grudges, people he cared about though? He had watched him bend over backward for a spark of validation, something Sojiro was still ashamed of.

He couldn't change the past, and if Akira decided he wanted to mend the bridge Sojiro had formed, he could. The kid had enough on his plate, Sojiro didn't think badgering him would help anything.

Sojiro pulled out his phone, it remained stuck on that red screen. He frowned and tapped on the black eye that pulsed in the center, rings emitted from the center, and a voice chimed from the phone; “candidate name.”

The phone clattered against the table when Sojiro dropped it. He recognized that voice. It was the same one the kids used to access Akira’s Palace, to begin with.

He tried to shut his phone off, back out of the menu, but it remained set on that screen.

“Candidate name.”

“K-Kurusu Akira.”

“Candidate found. Location?”

This was what they were trying to figure out before, when they first learned of his Palace. Codewords, he believed they called it. They had to figure out what they were to be granted access.

Why did he have this on his phone? He wasn’t one of them.

Did Futaba hack it or whatever the hell she does into his phone, in case of an emergency? Not that he’d be much help in some otherworldly freakshow.

“Location?”

Sojiro’s grip on his phone tightened. He needed to contact Sae, she’d surely have her sister’s phone number. Makoto would know what to do.

What if she couldn't get to them in time? What if it was already too late?

‘Will you sit by to watch another be killed?’

Sojiro hesitated.

‘Are you going to let yourself fail her again?’

Even if he had still been in security when Wakaba was killed, it wasn’t like he could have done anything. Not then.

‘Your children need you, are you to turn your back on them as all others have?’

Sojiro shoved his phone into his pocket and left the cafe. He was tired of watching kids, his kids, throw themselves into danger for anyone who looked at them. It was about damn time they had someone willing to do the same.

In his house, beneath his bed, he had a locked safe. Sojiro, in his early years of having Futaba, had expected to need to defend her because of whatever knowledge she had locked away in that head of hers. He had always been afraid the people that killed Wakaba would go after her next.

He pulled out the pistol and loaded it with ammo. Sojiro didn't know what would await him on the other side, but he hoped they weren't immune to bullets.

He returned to the cafe when he was ready, he didn't have any armor or vests, so he donned the thickest jacket he had, which still granted him his mobility. Sojiro trudged up the stairs to the attic, the parsley little place he had Akira living in for far too long.

He didn't know much about computers, much less Futaba’s computers, but he knew she had Leblac bugged. He helped her set it up years ago so she could feel more connected to the outside world. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the only he had at the time.

He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset with her old man for this, and he browsed through the folders she had on the desktop. He managed to find her folder for Leblanc, named ‘The Coffee House’, and pulled up a video from when they first discovered the keywords to get into the Palace.

“I think I know the location, Tokyo.”

Sojiro skipped forward a few minutes.

“Akira is a special case. He knows how Palaces work, if we tell him we plan to infiltrate his heart, he could very well close off even the possibility of us entering his Palace.”

“That can happen?”

“I don't know, but I’d rather not take that chance.”

“Masquerade.”

Sojiro paused the clip and stood.

“Kurusu Akira, Tokyo, Masquerade.”

“Beginning navigation.”

Chapter Text

“Why is it, every time we come in here, your health is garbage?”

“You're lucky I get up at all,” Goro groused, though thanked Oracle all the same for the healing she provided.

“Okay, Sisyphus.”

“Can you see what changed, Oracle?” Mona inquired. Goro could respect his dedication to the problem at hand. He certainly preferred it over Oracle’s teasing.

“Give me a minute.”

They had arrived outside the Palace again. The gates were shut, as they usually were. At a glance, it looked as though everything was the same, though Goro was sure something had been altered, however small it may be.

“Looks like… ah! The kitchen! That area should be accessible now.”

Well, as good as any place to start, he supposed.

It was starting to become a routine, waltzing into the Palace, keeping a healthy berth between themselves and the ever-dancing shadows. They seemed to be largely harmless, but Goro did not want to invoke their wrath by stepping out of some invisible line.

The atmosphere was thick, not unlike when the shadow of Kurusu’s mother was present, though it lacked the distinctive smoke. Instead, the Palace seemed… tense. As though something shifted in a way it shouldn’t have. Goro couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the feeling.

It seemed, however, Kurusu’s old persona was there to fill in the gaps.

“You are mettling quite a lot, in affairs you yet understand, Mon amis,” he hummed, and inspected the red fingers of his gloves. Owl’s shoulder was propped against the archway that would lead them to the path they needed to get to the kitchen, though he seemed hardly inclined to move.

“We’re trying to support him,” Mona hissed, “he needs us now more than ever!”

“Are you supporting him, or suffocating him, I wonder?”

“I—“

Owl did not give them the opportunity to respond, he merely vanished in a plume of ebony feathers. They dissolved when they brushed the black marble at their feet.

The Palace rumbled, and the sound of a gear turning echoed through the ballroom. None of the shadows paid it any mind, they merely continued their dance, as though trapped within their motions. Futaba pulled up a screen, “... well, that's new.”

“What now?”

“The Palace changed again,” Goro couldn't see her eyes through her mask, though he imagined her brows to be furrowed, “we can access the dining hall, but the kitchen is off-limits again.”

“Palaces change as the cognition does,” Mona hummed, “but Jo— Akira’s Palace is constantly changing.”

“Does that mean his cognition is changing too?”

“Maybe. It is hard to say, I’ve never seen a Palace like this.”

With the kitchen having blocked access, Goro wondered if they should check out previous areas they could access before. Them losing access to the kitchen couldn't have been all that changed. Perhaps, since they had stolen another mask, the hallway with the paintings would have changed as well.

“Let's see if the paintings changed.”

Oracle nodded, and the three skirted the edge of the ballroom again. Something about the shadows made him uneasy still. They had yet to attack them, bar the one time they had interrupted a… performance… but Goro didn't trust that. Their docility was as believable as Kurusu’s own.

The hallway, for the most part, had remained unchanged. All the doors were still there, even when Mona tugged on the door to Kurusu’s childhood bedroom; the door wouldn't budge.

“It's locked.”

“Eeeh,” Oracle teetered her hand back and forth, “less locked, more doesn't exist. Sorta.”

“Fantastic explanation, Oracle, your way with words astounds me.”

“Shut up, Black Condor.”

Goro snorted. He turned his attention from the two at the door and approached the paintings on the walls. As he had suspected, there had been a change. One of the paintings no longer swirled with crimson and icor pulses, and laid out several blank squares for letters to be filled in.

Sacrificial Armor, the golden plaque read.

It seemed taking care of the last mask was merely brushing the surface of the inadequacy Kurusu struggled against. Figures.

“Hey, uh, Crow?”

He turned at the sound of Oracle’s trepid voice, she stood beside another painting, a haggard slash drawn across the canvas. The gold beneath read in simple text, ‘White Lies’.

That was the last mask.

Goro approached the destroyed painting. Like the one predating it, the art had been destroyed with what appeared to have been a blade. The cut was not even, the smooth line hiccuped toward the end of the stroke, implying a shaking hand, or that the blade had been caught on something. Goro wasn't sure what would have been the better of the two options.

“I… what do you think this means?”

Goro shook his head. He didn't know, but it was concerning all the same.

“M-maybe it's just a marker? Like a checkpoint!” Mona chirped, “Like in your video games, Oracle. It's just showing what we’ve done already.”

Oracle glanced at the painting and wrung her hands together. Goro shared in her worry. The destroyed paintings could mean any number of things, he supposed, though with Owl’s words in the back of his head, Goro did not believe them to be good signs.

The Palace shook again, dust from the ceiling rained down upon their heads. Goro grabbed Oracle and Mona, and shielded their heads with his arms and upper body. The shaking lasted for not even a moment before the Palace stilled once more. He waited for another breath, two, then released them.

Oracle scratched her head, then pulled up her screens again, “huh.”

“Do share.”

“The kitchen is accessible again.”

Perhaps the Palace needed them to see the damaged painting, perhaps this was Kurusu’s persona’s doing. Whatever the reason, the Palace had shifted again, and they would be remiss to not take advantage.

“Well,” he supposed, “we have our next objective.”

Oracle turned to glance at the damaged painting once more, then nodded.

They trailed through the ballroom yet again, and when they approached the eastern wing, Owl was not there to halt them. The lounge room was in perfect condition. Shadows toiled around the couches, dressed in their finest, laughing and sipping at flutes of a thick red.

It was as though the battle never happened. The carpet was back to its vibrant hues, no longer scorched and torn. Couches and ottomans were in fine form, with no sign of any repairs either.

“It's like…” Mona trailed off.

“I guess the Palace does reset every time we enter it,” Oracle murmured, “or if each time a different mask is in control; it's an entirely new Palace?”

“Impossible,” Mona brushed off, “that would mean Akira has several Palaces, it's odd enough he has one.”

“A Palace for each mask,” Oracle frowned, “do you think we’re stealing his treasure each time we steal a mask?”

Mona’s tail twitched, “treasures don't materialize unless we send a calling card. The owner has to know of our involvement, Akira doesn't.”

“I guess that's true.”

They continued left to the dining room. The room was massive, nearly as so as the ballroom itself. There were booths covered in red velvet, the tableware upon the dark wood gold. It was the picture of indulgence. A candle flickered at each table, and some had black curtains that could be pulled for privacy.

It… Reminded Goro of Shido’s ship.

The greed on display was disgusting, shadows at the booths stuffed their faces with piles of food that towered over their heads. A grotesque sight, to be sure.

“Incoming.”

Goro placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, though was met with Kurusu himself approaching him. The yellow glow of his eyes, despite the striking resemblance to the Kurusu Goro knew, gave away his status as their next target.

“Oh, I wasn't expecting you to visit today,” Kurusu smiled, his eyes crinkled at the edges, “come with me.”

Goro hesitated, something didn't feel right. The shadow was pleasant enough with them once more, yet Goro couldn't place the unease he felt when the shadow led Oracle and Mona toward one of the booths with a privacy curtain. The table was massive, enough to fit a dozen, easily. The booth curved around the polished wood, gold tassels hung from the bottom seam of the velvet.

Oracle bounced in, Mona close behind.

Kurusu turned toward Goro, where he had yet to follow, “come on Crow, take a break.”

“This is so comfy! I don't think I’ve ever sat on anything so soft in my life.”

After a moment, Goro conceded and approached the table. Up close, Goro could see the wood along the border had the same intricate swirls Goro had long since associated with Mementos, and the edge of the table had a repeating pattern of cards.

Goro ran his hand over one, La Justice.

Goro tensed at the feeling of hands upon his shoulders, “let me take your coats, you won't need them here.”

Goro brushed his hands away, “no need.”

Oracle had already wormed out of her oversized green jacket and passed it onto the mask.

“It gets rather warm, you don't need to worry about winter chill here,” Kurusu laughed, “if you're cold just tell me. I can keep things just right for you guys.”

Goro wasn't sure how he felt about being stripped of the little armor he had. His tan trenchcoat may not be enough to stop a shadow’s attack, but it was better than the button-down he wore underneath. Still, they needed to play to this mask’s rules, if they had any hope of stealing it.

He shrugged off the coat and allowed Kurusu to take it before be too slid into the booth.

“Great! I’ll be right back.”

“The mask just kinda seems like regular Akira,” Mona frowned, “what do we do?”

“We get information, same as we had before. We will be unable to steal the mask without the rest of your stupid little friendship squad.”

“Hey,” Oracle jabbed a finger in his direction, “you're part of the stupid friendship squad, whether you like it or not.”

Goro rolled his eyes, though did not comment.

Kurusu returned with three plates of food, and three cups balanced on a silver platter. He set down curry before Oracle, tuna before Mona, and a familiar chicken soup in front of Goro. They each got their own cups of coffee, undoubtedly tailored to their specific likings. Though at a glance at Mona’s mug, it seemed to be entirely milk.

“How do you all feel? Tired? We have rooms with beds in the back if you need to lie down. Is there anything you need?”

“Your mask,” Goro cut in, and nudged the soup away from him.

“My mask?”

“Yes, don't be daft.”

Kurusu’s smile faltered for but only a moment, then he erupted into a small fit of giggles, “Don't be ridiculous, I have no mask for you to steal.”

Despite the lack of any mask on his face this time, Goro was not convinced. Kurusu brushed his hands down the green apron he so often donned at Leblanc, and adjusted the watch on his right hand, “would you like me to get you some different food, Crow?”

“No need, I ate before I arrived.”

“Well surely a taste wouldn't hurt, it is made just for you.”

Goro poked his spoon into the warm broth. The aroma was indeed delectable, but something still didn't sit right.

Mona purred around a mouthful of fatty tuna, “this ish shooo good!”

“Honestly yeah,” Oracle hummed, “this is the best curry I’ve ever had. Better than Sojiro’s.”

Kurusu stood a bit straighter at the compliments.

“Your hospitality is appreciated, but we are here for information.”

Kurusu shoved his hands into his pockets and cocked his head, “sure. I’ll tell you whatever I know.”

“What is your mask?”

“I don't have one, I told you that.”

“Fine, who does?”

Kurusu shrugged.

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose, “do you have ANY information that can help us?”

“Probably not.”

What a waste of time.

“I gotta finish tending to everyone else, I’ll be back in a bit. Just call if you need me!”

With that, Kurusu trotted away, a bounce in each step. He seemed happy to see them, despite Owl’s previous words. Yet they too still echoed in the back of his mind, Goro pulled the coffee close and sipped at the drink. It was perfect, as to be expected.

Each of their meals was catered to their specific tastes in a way Goro wasn't sure what to make of. Perhaps the chef was the real mask?

“We aren't getting anywhere with this,” Goro groused, “we should just go back. We may have better luck with the rest of the team.”

Oracle shoveled the last of her curry down her gullet, “yeah, I guess you're right. This mask seems pretty ok, though.”

“He wouldn't be a mask if he didn't cover something beneath.”

Oracle pushed away the empty plate and grabbed her own coffee, “I mean, yeah. But maybe this Akira can help us get the actual mask; since he doesn't seem to have it.”

“Akira’s first mask was a ribbon,” Mona pointed out, and lapped at his milk, “though that shadow still had Joker’s mask on, to be fair.”

“Does the lack of Joker’s mask negate his possibility of being the true mask?”

“I don't know,” Mona’s ears flattened, “this Palace is unlike any we’ve seen, so its hard to know what the rules are.”

That he supposed was true enough. Either way, it did not seem as much could be done now, and Goro had no intention of making Sakura mad at him for keeping his daughter for too long. Their relationship was fragile as it was.

Just as Goro moved to stand, Kurusu appeared again at their table, with a fresh plate of curry and a refill for Goro’s coffee. The watch on his wrist was gone, Goro wondered what reason he had to take it off.

He slid into the booth beside Oracle, she scooted over to give him the space needed, “how is everything?”

“Amazing!” Oracle chirped, “I don't know how you did it, but this curry is perfect!”

Kurusu’s smile was gentle, warm, “good. It was made just for you, after all.”

“Well, the real you has to keep up, because I don't think even Sojiro has made curry this good.”

Kurusu’s laughter was hollow, “what else can I do for you?”

“We were just leaving,” Goro cut in.

At that, Kurusu’s smile fell and his face became stone. He nudged the refill he had gotten Goro closer to his hand, “you just got here.”

“I mean, yeah, this was just for scouting,” Oracle chimed, “Sojiro put me on curfew anyway.”

“Surely the curfew allowed for more than a few minutes.”

Oracle’s mouth did a strange wobble, and she shrunk further into her seat. Goro did not know what about Kurusu’s voice or words upset her, but it was clear she began to grow uneasy in his presence. So he remained firm, “we need to go now.”

“So that's just it then,” Kurusu leaned forward and propped his cheek up on his palm, “off to abandon me again? Go on your fun little adventures without the deadweight holding you down?”

Mona balked at the statement, “what? No! Of course not! We just can't steal your mask without everyone!”

“I told you I don't have a mask,” Kurusu sneered, “you have food, drink, shelter, and places to rest. What more do you want from me?”

Goro had enough of the petty back and forth, so he decided to pull his phone from his pants pocket. If they needed to force an exit, fine. Yet as he tapped on the screen, all he was met with was just static. He tried to power his phone off, yet the screen remained.

Panic began to well up in his chest.

Futaba pulled out her phone and paled, she too was trapped. They could not leave the Palace.

Even in Shido’s fucking Palace, they could leave when an emergency arose. Yet here, it was clear they were not to leave unless the mask before them deemed it acceptable.

“We… we can't leave,” she set her phone on the table, and like his, the screen was only static. It was not unlike the same interference they had gotten while wandering the armoire.

“Why would you want to?” Kurusu asked, “you have everything you need here. You're safe, fed, and warm. What else could you ask for?”

Something about their entrapment felt familiar in a way Goro couldn't quite pinpoint. It left him with simmering anger in his gut and bile in his throat.

“Are you bored? I can provide a show just for you. Do you want a computer room, Oracle?”

She didn't respond and her fingers danced along in the air, undoubtedly managing the several screens in her goggles. Whatever she was seeing, she did not find it fit to share, though Goro far from blamed her, with their captor perched right beside her.

“Crow? Do you want something? Anything you ask, it’s yours.”

“I want to leave,” he snapped.

“Well, other than that.”

Oracle made a noise Goro couldn't quite discern, but given the way her hands trembled, he did not believe it was good.

“Akira, we have to go.”

“I’m sure the others will come on their own, no need to worry.”

“No, that— that's not it. It's…” she trailed off and her voice wavered.

At that, Kurusu’s brows furrowed, “why is nothing I offer good enough?”

“S-Sojiro.”

Kurusu blinked and pushed himself from the booth to cast his eyes cast over the dining hall, though eventually settled on the archway that acted as its entrance. The frown only deepened.

Futaba scrambled out of the booth with the mask distracted and started running. Kurusu jumped from the action, startled, and made a move to grab her, but she ducked out of his reach. Mona jumped off the table over Kurusu’s head, and Goro slid out his own side.

“W-wait! It's not safe!”

Goro ignored him, and caught up to Oracle fast. He stumbled a bit under the weight of Mona jumping onto his shoulder but caught himself in enough time to follow as Oracle skirted around the corner and ran into the ballroom. The room was empty, as a chime of bells sounded.

Empty save for a single man, and a lone shadow. Goro barely gave himself time to process as he leaped into the battle, putting himself between Sakura and the amalgamation of shadows he faced. Goro had never seen such a thing, as though several shadows had been fused together, creating a writhing, pulsing, abomination.

It gurgled at him as he drew his sword, and plunged it into the center of the beast.

Black seeped around his red blade, and like a balloon, the creature deflated. It made an unholy chittering sound as what looked to have once been a hand rested on the dull side of his serrated blade, in a motion that felt almost grateful. When it dissolved, Goro was left feeling nauseous.

In all his time within the Metaverse, he had never come across such a thing. Was this the doing of the Palace?

He flicked his blade clean of the thick, coagulated black that stuck to it and sheathed it.

“What are you doing here?” Oracle’s voice was high and panicked, “It's way too dangerous for noobs!”

Sakura stumbled when his daughter barreled into his chest, “that's why I came. I was worried you two were hurt.”

“How did Boss even get in?” Mona asked, and Sakura jumped a bit at the sight of Mona staring at him with his wide, blue, eyes.

“I-uh, I gave that weird app Futaba put on my phone those codewords you kids found.”

“I didn't put any app on your phone,” Oracle pulled back and took out her phone. Despite no longer being in the same room as the mask, they still seemed to be prohibited from leaving.

“You didn't?”

Sakura’s question went ignored as Futaba pocketed her phone and pulled up a few screens again with a wave of her fingers. The map she showed of the Palace was unusual, in that it showed the Palace existing in its own void. Before, they could at the very least see the map for the entrance, now it was as though the entire Palace was cut off from everything around it.

“What the heck?” Oracle muttered, “I’ve never seen this before.”

“This Palace is full of firsts,” Mona scratched his ear, and Sakura followed the motion with wide eyes.

“Oh, I certainly had not expected you,” Kurusu’s voice echoed in the empty ballroom. He stood at the arch of the hall, the silver platter still tucked safely beneath an arm.

“K-kid?” When Sakura shoved the gun (Christ how did he get one of those?) into a pocket within his coat and started toward the mask, Goro grabbed his arm.

“That's not the Akira you know,” Goro explained, curt, “not truly. It is an aspect of him, but not the man himself.”

“What are you talking about?” Sojiro demanded and pulled his thin arm from Goro’s glove, though he hesitated for enough of a time to let the arm merely fall back to his side.

“Who—?” Oracle stared at her father, her hands hung in the air limp at the wrist.

“I-uh… I see.”

Goro took one glance between Sakura, and his daughter, and came to a rather troubling conclusion.

How did Sakura get himself a persona?

That didn't matter, not now at any rate. This place was dangerous, that… abomination of a shadow was only the surface of the horrors Goro believed they would find. The group was experienced, and with Kurusu’s life being the one on the line, Goro would not take any chances.

“We need to leave,” he turned to face the mask, “it is not safe for Sakura here.”

“No harm will come to you if you just listen to me,” Kurusu frowned, “you will be safe here.”

“The Metaverse is no place for regular people! Without a full awakening, he will die here, and there will be no way you can keep him alive.”

Kurusu wrung his hands in the green apron he wore.

“I believed you to be better than to cruse a man to death for your own selfish reasons.”

“Hey, now,” Sakura started, but Goro held a hand up to stop his words outright.

“So what will it be, Kurusu? Your own desire to trap us, or Boss’s life?”

Finally, the mask’s shoulders dropped and he adverted his gaze, “fine. Just… go.”

Oracle’s phone was out in record time.

“Don't come back,” the mask bit.

With that, Oracle pressed the button and they were gone.

“What were you thinking?” Futaba shrieked, “you could have gotten hurt!”

“I could say the same of you three!”

“Yeah, but we know what we’re doing, we know what’s involved!”

Sakura crossed his arms over his chest, “Futaba you could have been in serious danger.”

“Yeah? And!”

“You’re my daughter!”

Futaba threw her hands up and stomped down the stairs. The faint chime of a bell signaled her absence from the building. Sakura hesitated for a moment, then sighed and dropped onto the garish yellow couch.

“How did you enter?” Goro figured he might as well get some information, “when did you receive the Metanav?”

“I used Futaba’s bugs to get the words you kids used to enter, and I’ve had it for a little over a week. I thought Futaba installed it on my phone.”

“That lines up with when we stole the last mask!” Morgana jumped into the sofa beside Sakura, “it must be what sparked his will of rebellion.”

Sakura, to his credit, only stared at Morgana with wide eyes for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

“So he has a Persona.”

“I can sense it, but it’s all flicker-y, like now Haru’s was before she had her real awakening.”

Goro was unfamiliar with the circumstances around Haru’s awakening, outside of it happening within her father’s Palace. So Sakura had the will but had yet to reach his breaking point. Goro knew damn well that having the capability to awaken to a Persona did not mean the person could survive the ordeal.

He rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger, “I see.”

“Anyone going to fill me in, or am I going to just have to puzzle it out myself again?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry Boss,” Morgana turned to face him and rested his paw on the worn khaki, “I am Morgana, as you well know. Thank you for always giving me your extra tuna!”

Goro snorted.

“Yeah, uh. Sure.”

“You are taking this remarkably well.”

“Already was told the cat—”

“I am not a cat.”

“— could talk, but it’s another thing hearing him.”

“Hm, fair enough. I imagine you have questions, though.”

Sakura rubbed Morgana’s head in an action that seemed entirely out of habit, “where the hell was that, and what was wrong with Akira?”

“That was Akira’s Palace! It’s a manifestation of his distorted desires, and the Akira you saw wasn’t actually Akira himself, but a mask. Or, well, we’re calling them masks, we don’t really know what they are other than keys for us to get to the true shadow.”

Sakura pushed his glasses up his forehead to massage the bridge of his nose, again.

“Uh, right. Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve had to explain all this. So that was the Metaverse and people who have strong distortions of reality sometimes form what are called Palaces. These Palaces can be accessed in order to change a person’s heart, like what we’re trying to do now! It’s what we did with Futaba.”

“So let me get this straight, you helped Futaba by doing this, right?”

“Yup! She even asked us to, at first, we were kinda blackmailed into it.”

“Blackmailed— actually, no I’m not surprised. She had a Palace like Akira does?”

“Well, sorta. All Palaces are different, they are often a personification of one’s true self, or how they view the true self… Futaba’s was a, uh, was a tomb.”

Sakura rubbed his mouth, then sighed, “I see.”

“Her heart was distorted, and saw her room as a tomb, and felt it was what she deserved… Akira’s is the representation of his own distortion.”

“Does having a Palace hurt them?”

Morgana nodded, “by getting rid of their Palace, we get rid of the distortion.”

“Alright, you kids go in as a group on Sunday, right?”

Goro was swift to butt in, “it is not safe for you to accompany us, Sakura. That was a mere taste of the dangers that await in a Palace, Akira’s is particularly unusual. We have the experience to handle what it throws at us, you do not.”

“I’m not letting you kids go in alone again.”

“We are not asking for your permission.”

Sakura stood, “neither am I.”

“It is really dangerous, Boss. What if something happened to you, what would happen to Futaba?” Mona chirped, though with the way his ears splayed out; it was a half-hearted protest at best.

Though the words set in, as Sakura hesitated at that. His shoulders dropped, and he ran a knobby hand over the top of his scalp, “I don't have any other family left, the kids are all I got. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and watch this shit happen again.”

This was a monumentally terrible idea. However, Sakura had a point. He could enter the Metaverse alone now, better he does it with the team to protect him, than go at it alone. With luck, they’d be able to keep him from fully awakening, and he would stay back as support.

“Fine,” Goro huffed, “but I can not emphasize this enough; that place is dangerous. If we tell you to do something, you do it. Period. Am I understood?”

Sakura snorted, but nodded his consent all the same. It was the best Goro could hope for.

“What?” Sakamoto slammed his hands on the booth’s table, “Boss?”

Akechi massaged his temples, truly the concept of an inside voice was lost upon him.

Sakura set down a glass of soda for Sakamoto, “I ain't going to get in your way. I already discussed it with Akechi.”

“Wh— That's not the point! It's dangerous!”

“I know, that is why I am coming with.”

Niijima had her palm pressed against her cheek, brows furrowed, “this is not a decision Akechi gets to make.”

Goro rolled his eyes and turned his focus back to the coffee and curry the man had left for him. If Niijima wanted to play leader, she could have at it. Goro didn't give enough of a shit to try and fight with her now, as long as they entered the Palace within the next hour, Goro was fine.

And argue they all did.

“It isn't safe, Boss, you could get hurt!”

“Well, I mean, if he wants to come why shouldn't he? Mona said he has a Persona.”

“I am intrigued to see the manifestation of the Boss’ rebellion,” Kitagawa framed Boss’s figure, “what an intriguing subject!”

“He isn't the first person we brought into the metaverse. Besides, it's not like he’s blackmailing us as Gramps did.”

“Or Makoto, or Futaba.”

“Or Yusuke.”

“Or Akechi.”

“Jesus, you kids know that shit is against the law, right?”

Futaba waved him off, “It’s tradition.”

“It's illegal.”

“Look,” Okumera reasoned, “Boss we care about you very much, we don't want you getting hurt, or worse. Akira isn't himself right now, and him being able to trap you within the Palace is worrying, what if something happened to you?”

“I could say the same of you brats,” he sighed and leaned back against the counter, “I’ve known about the Metaverse longer than all of you, I am under no illusion of it being safe. I have also sat to the side and watched someone I love die because of it. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

The room fell silent, Goro could feel the weight of their gazes heavy upon his back. He set the shaking fork down and recited the alphabet as the familiar cold settled in his fingertips. No one said anything further, either accepting Sakura’s reasoning for waiting for Goro to comment, he wasn't sure. The conversation was over, so Goro turned to face the group.

“Well, that is that, hm? Let us go, we are wasting time.”

Futaba pulled out her phone, spoke the phrase, and the world swirled around them.

Sakura may not have been fully awakened, but his Persona was present enough to create a mask for him. It was a white mask with two horns jutting from the forehead, the one on the left broken near its root, a vibrant red the only spot of color on the otherwise pristine mask. It curved down his jaw and ended with two sharp teeth, almost harkening back to a traditional Oni mask.

There was a black ‘u’ shape on his forehead, meant to be a moon or a third eye Goro could not tell.

He had no full outfit, but then again, neither did the rest of them for now.

“Fascinating, oh I long for a pencil and paper.”

“Uh,” Sakura’s eyes darted between the group, and eventually settled on Mona, “that's the cat, right?”

“I am not a cat!” Mona stomped his foot, “I am Morgana, or within the Metaverse, Mona.”

“We have codenames,” Panther explained, “to protect ourselves when in the subconscious of people, I’m Panther, that's Fox, Skull, Noir, Queen, Oracle, Violet, and of course, Crow.”

Sakura raised a brow, “bit on the nose for some of those names.”

“They're badass!”

“Skull, please,” Goro sighed, “Akira, or Joker as he was called, already knows our codenames, for what little good it does us. However better to err on the side of caution, I suppose.”

“You need a codename too!”

“I really don't.”

“How about Ace?”

“Boring, what about knight?”

“I think General could be fun.”

“Shouldn't we let him pick his own name?”

“I mean, it doesn't matter if Akira knows it or not, like Crow said. So why not just stick with Boss?” Oracle pointed out, “easy and not as cringe.”

“What Futa- erm, Oracle said. Boss is fine.”

When they entered the Palace, the shadows were back in full swing, dancing and twirling about each other as though nothing had happened. They stuck to the edge and curled to the eastern entrance where they had found the last mask before.

They got into the lounge room and were stopped short of entering the dining hall by the mask itself.

“You came back.”

The mask’s expression was neutral, almost carefully so. His yellow eyes scanned the group, what he was looking for, Goro couldn't be sure. They still were in their regular clothes, so despite the caution the creature displayed, the Palace still did not see them as a threat.

Goro wondered how long it would take for that to change. Was this Kurusu’s way of subconsciously giving them permission? Or did he think they would not go through with it, without speaking to him first?

Not that they could, until the calling card was sent.

“Of course we came back,” Skull spread his arms out, “we ain't gonna leave until we get your mask, either!”

Kurusu’s face soured, “I do not have a mask, I’ve said this already.”

Skull faltered, “uh, then who does?”

Kurusu shrugged, then as though a switch had been flipped, beamed at them, “It doesn't matter, anyway. You all are here! Come with me, I’ll take you to your table.”

He spun on his heel and led them to the dining hall. They had no choice but to follow. Despite his earlier coldness, the click of his black shoes upon the floor was chipper. A spring in his step now they were falling in line.

It left a bad taste in Goro’s mouth.

The dining hall was as opulent and indulgent as it was prior, shadows gorged themselves on mountains of food that never ran dry. Kurusu gestured to the table he had brought them to before. They filed in, and the booth fit them all with no trouble, crafted to be the perfect size.

“Now then!” He twirled a pen between his fingers, “any requests?”

“For what?” Panther twirled a lock of blond hair between her fingers, “we don't really need anything.”

“Foods, drinks, all that you want!”

Oracle slapped the table, “curry!”

The mask laughed, warm and bright, he tucked the pen behind his ear “very well. If the rest of you aren’t sure, I’m sure I can whip something up to surprise you.”

With that, the mask left them to their own devices.

Boss spoke first. “That wasn't Akira.”

“No, it is one of his masks, or at least we think it is, despite his rebuttal,” Goro explained, “whether it is the true mask or some sort of puppet of it I am unsure. We have to find a way to explore freely, without irritating him too much.”

“We could have some of us distract him?” Mona suggested. “But it’d be risky to split up.”

“It will probably be our only option,” Queen pressed her lips into a thin line. “We would need to decide who goes where, and hope this is the only version of him wandering the floor.”

“We need to get to the kitchen. It’s the only entirely new place accessible, so there has to be some sort of clue or something there.” Oracle pulled up a map of the Palace for them all to see, “we’re here. The entrance to the kitchen is almost right behind us, around the corner there. If we can distract Akira long enough, I could even go and investigate. I can drag Mona or Crow along too.”

“The mask would notice their absences, it would notice any of our absences, I imagine,” Queen pointed out. “We would need to come up with a solid plan to distract him.”

“He mentioned asking if I wanted a computer room when we were here last time, maybe we could all ask something of him, and keep him distracted long enough to investigate?”

Queen nodded. “Alright, it is worth a shot.”

“We should have a backup plan, in case it turns south,” Violet mused, “he might realize what we are doing and kick us out.”

“The mask seems dead set on keeping us in,” Goro countered, “I do not believe that will be an issue. What lengths the mask will go to keep us here should be the concern.”

A wave of unease washed over the group at that. There was no shortage of ways they could imagine for Kurusu to force them to remain in the Palace, none were particularly pleasant to think of. Goro would like to imagine Kurusu would not go so far as to incur bodily harm upon them, but Kurusu was akin to Pandora’s box in many ways.

Never know what could happen when you lifted the lid.

The mask returned then, with a wide grin, “Alright! Here you all go, catered specifically to all of you.”

“Curry, curry, curry!”

He proceeded to take plate after plate from the delicate tower of food he had balanced on his hand, setting each dish in front of its respective recipients. Ramen for Skull, crepes for Panther, tiramisu for Violet, and the list went on.

Goro imagined each dish to have some sort of meaning to their respective people, much as the warm chicken soup placed before him had. The first time since his mother someone had gone out of their way to care for him, the first time Goro had willingly let someone see him at his weakest.

Everything was catered specifically to them. Kurusu remembered each of the meals they shared and recognized the memories shared as important to them.

The mask adjusted the gold cufflinks on his shirt and let the silver tray he brandished rest against his hip. “I’ll be back with your drinks.”

The team dug in.

Goro did not.

The mask returned not long after, “alright! I’ve got coffee, milk, and soda.”

He set each drink in front of the intended team member, reverent almost in how he laid the cups upon the table, careful to not spill so much as a drop. Boss inspected the coffee, and after a sniff, sipped at it. His brows rose, “well color me impressed, Kid. This is fantastic.”

Panther, with her mouth full of some sort of crepe, blindly reached for her own coffee. Her fingers brushed the mug, and knocked it over, splattering the caramel coffee over the table and Kurusu’s sleeve.

It stained the white an umber brown.

Despite the heat the drink undoubtedly bore, the mask didn't flinch. He merely looked at the stain as though confused by its presence.

“I’m so sorry!” Panther scrambled for something to wipe his arm down with, “let me just, augh, does anyone have a napkin?”

Kurusu flourished a small rag from his back pocket, “no need!

The red cloth absorbed the coffee on the table with little trouble, and he used it to dab off the worst of the drink staining his own arm, though the brown spot remained. Even so, Kurusu did not seem much too upset by it.

“I’ll get you another, Panther.”

“You don't have to—”

“I insist!”

He trotted away, and Panther buried her head in her hands, “well that was embarrassing.”

“Not the first time you knocked something over onto one of us,” Skull muttered, then ducked under a half-hearted swing from Panther’s fist.

“Shut up!”

Oracle tucked her knees beneath her chin and cleared her throat, “he’s going to the kitchen. So that rules out any sort of distraction with his clothes, or food.”

“He did say he was getting Panther another cup,” Violet hummed, and leaned a bit closer to see the map Oracle had projected onto the table.

“I think the only way to actually distract him would indeed be for one of us to have him make a room, like the computer room he offered me before. We need to decide who goes.”

A heavy silence settled over them. Splitting up was a bad idea indeed, they all knew it. Yet what other option did they have? Could one create enough of a distraction to keep the mask away and they all filed into the kitchen? Goro doubted it.

They needed bait.

“I’ll go,” Fox offered, “if he is truly able to conjure up whatever we desire, I would be remiss to not take the chance and draw this opulent Palace.”

“I’ll go too,” Panther sighed, “my acting has gotten better anyway, plus I’ve had to distract Akira before. It’ll be a cakewalk!”

So then it was settled.

The mask finally returned, he had drinks for everyone balanced in one hand, and more food in the other. He stared at the plates at the table, his brows furrowed only just enough to be noticeable. Whatever confused him, however, was not something he seemed keen on commenting on, as he snapped back to that chipper tone once more.

“I’m back! Sorry it took so long. I had to get all your food ready.”

Kurusu dolled out the food with expert proficiency. Drinks and plates of more food alike littered the table. His sleeve was pristine again, the stain gone. He must have changed while preparing their food, though to change for such a simple stain? Kurusu seemed more the type to just roll his sleeve up to hide it and continue on.

Perhaps this was the part of Kurusu that took actual pride in his appearance, though he had yet to meet a proper hairbrush regardless.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well if you are so kind to offer,” Fox spoke between his fervent bites of fresh sushi, “I would love for an opportunity to paint you.”

The mask seemed surprised by that request, “that's all? I can get you a studio set up, where you can have any inspiration you’d desire.”

“You are an inspiration on your own, Akira.”

Goro narrowed his eyes at Fox, though kept his mouth shut. If it distracted the mask, it distracted him. It would give them a chance to investigate.

“Ah, but a studio would be wonderful if I am to be honest.”

The mask seemed excited at the notion, “I can do that.”

“Can you do other things, like uh, make me a closet with alllll of the clothes?”

“Sure.”

“Sweet, lead the way Akira! I am like, sooo excited!”

Panther’s ability to lie was abysmal. Nonetheless, the mask seemed happy at the chance to do something for them, “ok, yeah, follow me. The rest of you can stay here and finish your food, I’ll be right back.”

The team waited until Kurusu rounded the corner into the lounge room with Fox and Panther in tow before they unanimously scrambled from the booth.

“Kitchen, go go go.”

Queen and Violet took point at Goro’s sides.

The kitchen entrance seemed no different than any other. Two massive steel doors marked the only way in, and likely the only way out.

“Wait,” Goro stopped Violet from opening the door just yet, “we need someone to stay here to keep watch for Kurusu. If he returns, we need to get out as fast as we can.”

Her brows furrowed beneath her mask, and she nodded.

“Um, who though?”

“Mona?” Queen volunteered.

“Got it, I’ll be able to sense him before we see him, so I can keep watch by myself! I’ll message you as soon as I can feel him coming.”

With that, they pushed the doors open.

Initially, the kitchen seemed empty. There were no cooks or even dishwashers. The room was sterile and white, flawless in a way that sparked deep unease in Goro’s stomach.

Boss approached the sink, and frowned, “it doesn't look like it’s been used at all.”

Oracle opened the fridge, to find nothing inside, “that doesn't make any sense. How can you have a kitchen with nothing in it?”

“Metaverse logic, I guess? I mean, he probably doesn't like, think about the individual ingredients to stuff right?” Skull opened a cabinet to find nothing inside, “like, I don't know. It's Metaverse food, who knows what it’s made of.”

Were it anyone other than Kurusu, Goro could imagine that to make sense. However, it seemed his cooking and ability to brew and mix drinks were one of the few things he still had some semblance of pride over. He seemed meticulous with his ingredients, whenever he cooked. To just spurn it from nothing didn't seem right.

Yet with the kitchen bare of any sort of ingredient, that seemed to be the case.

Noir wandered further in, and as she reached the back of the kitchen, she wrinkled her nose, “do you smell that?”

Boss walked over and immediately made a face, “that's some off-food smell, alright. Meat, probably.”

Goro approached and sure enough, as he closed in on their location, the scent of iron, with an almost egg-like overtone hung heavy in the air. The smell was thick and heavy, almost sour, it settled in the back of Goro’s throat like a film he couldn't remove, no matter how many times he cleared his throat.

“Eugh, gross,” Oracle muttered, “it looks like there's a room close, maybe that's the source?”

Oracle walked toward the back of the kitchen to the left, where a curtain hung just out of sight. The ends of the black curtain were tattered and shone as though dripping with something. The closer they came to the curtain, the stronger the smell became.

“Think I’m gonna puke,” Skull whined, Queen patted his back, though looked no less green herself.

Since no one else cared to take the first plunge, Goro pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.

“Good god,” Boss muttered from over his shoulder.

Goro had seen many things in his life, things people probably should never have seen. Things that on his worst nights, kept him up. Afraid of closing his eyes and seeing the proof of what he had done.

Yet to see Kurusu strewn upon a table, chest carved open like a slab of meat, was something Goro would not soon forget.

He scuttled back and put his arm out to keep anyone else from entering, “don't come in!” he barked.

“Like hell we won't!” Skull shouldered past his arm and nearly stumbled to the ground as his brain caught up to the grotesque sight before them. “Wh-what the hell? Akira?”

Goro grabbed Skull’s bicep to steady him and approached the corpse.

Kurusu’s entire body was vivisected, his ribs broken and pulled to the side to keep his skin and muscles from caving in on the empty cavity that hollowed his chest. His lungs, heart, and all of his organs were removed. His legs had fillets missing, carved away to reveal the damaged bone beneath.

As Goro scanned the body for any further clues, he found himself looking at the face.

And the mask adorning it.

His eyes were open, for what good it did him, his skull seemed to have been hollowed out. The sockets were empty and black.

Goro felt sick.

The body twitched and Skull yelped and scrambled back, though, in all fairness, Goro was certain he made his own unflattering noise as he too jumped away from the corpse.

Its head shook, then like the tick tick tick of a clock’s hand, the head turned to face them. The movements were jerky and erratic. The creature’s mouth opened and a rivulet of blood seeped past the gaps missing teeth left behind.

‘̷͕̆Ÿ̴͍́o̴̘͊u̷̫͑ ̶̋ͅs̸̪̔h̸̨͛o̵͈͊u̷̥͐l̶͎̋d̵̼̑n̸̫̕'̶̘͘ẗ̸͈́ ̴̡̾b̵̝̕ĕ̸̤ ̵̳̐h̴͌ͅḙ̶̂r̷̳̊e̶̟͂.̶̝̈́’̵̭̉

Kurusu’s voice echoed in the back of Goro’s mind. The mouth moved, yet the words it spoke were felt, not a single sound made it past the gurgling blood.

“H-how are you still alive?” Skull croaked.

‘̶Y̸o̶u̸ ̴s̷h̴o̶u̵l̴d̵n̵'̴t̶ ̵b̶e̵ ̴h̷e̷r̷e̸.̴ ̷L̵e̶a̷v̵e̵.̴ ̶T̴h̵i̸s̷ ̸i̵s̸ ̵n̴o̷t̸ ̷f̸o̷r̷ ̸y̶o̷u̷r̶ ̴e̸y̴e̸s̵.̷’̶

“Are you doing this to yourself?” Goro snarled, “What is going on?”

‘̴T̵h̸i̵s̷ ̷i̴s̶ ̸n̷o̵t̶ ̴f̵o̶r̶ ̵y̵o̷u̷r̸ ̶e̸y̷e̵s̵.̶ ̵L̸e̸a̴v̵e̵.̵’̴

“Guys, get out of there!” Mona’s voice crackled through their headpieces, “he's coming, and he is coming fast!”

Goro approached the viscera that littered the table and spilled off of the sterile sides in near-melted strands of flesh and skin.

“What are you doing to yourself?”

The body did not respond, and Mona’s voice got shrill, “Guys he’s aggressive!”

Goro’s fingers twitched, he longed for something to maim. Fury fed his veins, and he could feel Loki’s indignance in the forefront of his mind. Goro had no outlet, no one to fight, no shadows to tear apart.

He was left there, with no option but to face Kurusu head-on. He would not run from this.

But. But the others should.

Boss was not equipped to handle this. Oracle wasn't.

“Violet, get Boss and Oracle out of here. They can't afford to be caught in any crossfire.”

“Crow! Are you insane? Get out of there!”

“Skull, Queen, you may remain if you so choose.”

“The hell? Man, what are you planning?”

“The only way we have gotten the masks so far is to confront the mask head on, running away will do nothing but potentially block out the ability to return at all.”

Boss nudged Oracle toward Violet, “go with her. I’m staying.”

“Absolutely not!” Oracle snapped, “I’m not helpless! I’m not going to just leave and cross my fingers that everything turns out ok!”

Violet danced between either foot, they had yet to see the full viscera before them, Boss’s body blocked the worst of it, from where he stood. Though when Kurusu showed up, he was sure there would be no further way to keep them blind to the horror.

They had taken too long to decide, and the choice was ripped from their grasp.

“What are you doing here?” Kurusu chirped, all smiles and fake. “This is the kitchen, only the cook is allowed back here.”

“Are you the cook?” Goro sneered.

“Well, obviously. Someone has to do the dirty work,” Kurusu frowned, “what, you think your food and desires just magically appear?”

“You mean, the-the curry,” Oracle warbled out, she backed further away from the shadow in the entrance, yet crept further into the butcher room.

“Eyes,” he hummed, “you got the eyes, so we can watch over you and keep you safe.”

Oracle turned her head to try and look behind her, but Boss blocked her sight and laid a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Wait so all that food was—” Skull covered his mouth, and looked back at the body.

“A leg, for the meat, skin for the noodles. We’d give both our legs for you.”

Crumpled on the far counter, where the knives and saws were delicately arranged, laid a white shirt with a brown stain on the sleeve.

Goro paled. “There are others.”

“Well of course, once the cook runs out of ingredients, what better honor is it to BE the ingredients!”

“How could you do that?” Noir demanded. “How could you feed us that?!”

“We have nothing else to give.”

“Y-you're insane!” Queen snapped.

The shadow’s face fell into a cold expression. He clicked his tongue, “We gave our lungs to you.”

That pushed her over the edge and she braced herself against the far wall and started to heave. Noir rushed over to rub her back, pale and sweaty herself. Hair clung to the sides of each of their faces, stuck to their skin through a layer of sweat.

“Did you stop to think that we don't fucking want you to tear yourself apart for us?” Goro hissed and gestured to the body, its limbs twitched occasionally, his ribs rattled with each failed attempt to breathe. “We don't want this!”

“We’ve given you our heart, time and time again. Why are you still rejecting it?”

“Because I don't fucking want it at the cost of your own goddamn well-being!”

“We have nothing left. The supplies long have run dry, we have no access to a market, and if we did we can't keep up with demand. So many people are hungry, Goro, we have to feed them.”

“No, kid, you don't.” Boss stepped forward, “you shouldn't have to feed anyone but yourself.”

“Don't be ridiculous, what restaurant would I have if not for the patrons?”

“Why do you need patrons?” Boss challenged. “Why can you not just feed yourself and let other people worry about themselves?”

“If they are not here for Joker, they must be here for something else. Should I not give it to them, what else will I have? I’d rather butcher myself than let myself be alone again.”

“You shouldn't have to!” Boss shouted, “get this through your fucking head! If the people in your life demand you to give yourself away, then they should not fucking be in it!”

“I—”

“No, enough is enough Akira,” Boss stepped forward, “you need to put yourself first for once. This will kill you eventually, kid. You can't keep this up forever.”

‘̷W̸h̶y̴ ̸n̸o̷t̶?̵’̶

Behind them, the body shook. It bubbled and swelled, like a balloon set to pop.

‘̶̖̯̗̏͊W̶̡̌h̵̙̻̃y̴̠͑̉͒ ̷͎̝̜̈́n̷̖̾̓o̷̥̜̮͒t̶͎̋͂ͅ?̷̘̎̽̎’̶̨̗́

Boss stepped away from the body.

‘̴̺͕̲̭̫͛̈́̏͠W̵̰̺̲̜͈͑h̸̛̭̆̐̏y̷̹͐̑̏͝ ̸̡̗͌̊̀̈́n̴̞̞͙̮͖̮͑͗͌o̸͙̱͇̞͐̂͛̾t̵̹̯̣̪̱̽́̆͝?̷͍̤̙̞̈́̚’̵̧͎̑̑̀̈

‘̵̢̳̺͙̮̌̌̃̂́̀̆̎̕͠W̵̩̗̾h̷̡̠͔̖̳̝̓̎̓̅̀̈́̂̓͠y̸͈̜̮̳͉̪̲̔̈́̂̏͛̀̈́͒͆̀ͅ ̵̱̪͈̣̱͎͖̓͋ń̴̥̼̮̖͚͖͛̑̓̇̌̉͐̚͘ơ̷̥̾͒͆͑͘t̸̮̩̤̹̏͌ ̸̧̓̾̔̈́͌͠w̵̰̼̫̥̳̰̾̋͆̑̿̍h̴̢̝̗̺̦̼̦̳͑y̵̥͖͈͆̈̎͠ ̴̟̲̄͋͗̇̊ń̴̳͙͓̬ō̷̯̱̫̫̝̪͇̠̬̎́̀̓̒̀͆̽͜ţ̴̗̬̉̈́̀́̏́ ̷̟̊̿̀͘w̸̺͚̣̠̗̗͒̽ḧ̴̞̖̫̤̲̝̥̤̮́̀ÿ̷̖̬̠͍̣́͆̆̇̅͌̋̕͠ͅ ̸̨͉͔̯͈̣̹̜̣̘̉͌n̵̖̬͍̺̹̫͈̓͑̿̿̔͌ó̶̬̰͒̂̿̋̑̒̀̚t̸͕̜̬͚͇͔͍̬̽ ̷̻͔̜̱̫͇͗̍̐̉̃͜ẉ̵̢͉͙͔̳̿h̷̠́̀̎͑͊ͅẏ̵̩͖͎͌̍̀́̚̕ ̵͎̘̳̻̣͇̫͈̻͂̐̇͒͌ṋ̸̮̟͇͎͍́̽̏̋̆͜͝͝o̷̢̪̞̰̭̣̰͙͙̍̈́͆͋̂̋͛͌͝͝ͅṯ̶̦̼̙̾̈̆͛̅́̒̓̚͘?̷̧̨̠͍̼̻̹̪̠͒̕ͅ’̵̛̘͚̫͉̬̻̗̺͜ͅ

‘̵̛̰͔̣̼͙̜͓͕̘̼͕͍̺͍͙̙̫̀̋͛̽̐̓͊̇̏͒̓̔̀͛̋̍͗͌̂̊̔̍̄͊̅̚̚͜͝ͅW̴͔͊̊̈́͂ ̸̨͎̗̣͖̮̞̙͎͚̖͎̳̭͓̺̮͔͙̟̱͎̍̍͆̿́͂̌̽̃̈́̒͛͊̀͘̚͜͝H̵̭̝̥̙̲͙̤͕̥͓̣͖͈̰̺͐̐͐ ̷̡̡̢̘͖̘̖͍̟̠̪̘͕͉̭̣̻̲̙̳̳̱̤̙̫͍̥̰͈̗̩͍̠͂͗͋̈́͑̽͐͐̄́͜͠Y̵̜̥̜͎͕̯̗̎͒̌̂͑̐͠ ̶̡̧̮̣͎̘̰̬̠̰̠͕͛͗̄̔̕͘̕N̵̬̫̹̤̯͍̼̘̙͍̳̰͇̫̩̞͇͍͙̙͓̺̮̺̠͛̊͛̌̀̎̈̓̐̾̄̑̅̀̈́́͂͑͜͜͜͜͠ͅͅ ̸̧̙̯̙̩̖̭̞̘̥̝͇̳͑̎͑̏̏̍́͆̐̅́̍̈́̉̈͂̉̋͛̋̆́̎̂̽͋̀̽́͌̕͠͠͝ͅͅÓ̵̬̙̹̺̖͓͕̇͒̀͊̿ ̴̡̢̨̣͍̟̠̼̯̦͕̞̝̹͍͇̜̝̫̰͚̣͓̳̩̰̹͔͇͎̤͔̰̩́͒̍̐͛̀͗̈́̐̿̅̈́̈̈́́̅̌̈́͑͛͋̃̃͂͘̕̕͝Ţ̶̥̩͕͎̳̓̇͛̿̿̑̊̈́̓͂̃̏̐̾͑̓̀̈́̋̍̈́̈́̅̇̆̔͘̕͠ ̶̨̛̙̼̳̞̩̞̳̭̹̰̜̟̮̯̟̠̮̪̠̞̾́́̌̎̊̊̋͋̇͒͗̽̏̔͑̾͆̍̍͊̇͒̀͊͘͘͜͜͜͝ͅ?̶̧͈̣̜̥̀̅͆̓̉̈̐͐̿̄͑̈̏̓͑̚͝͝ͅ’̵̛̛̰̬͕͚̬̲͈̪̣̺̺̜͓̤̥̆͗̇̔̈́́̍̏̀̐̆̂́̎̐̈́̀͐͊̄̇̈̅̓͒̚͜͠͝͝ͅ

The Kurusu they had spoken to had vanished, leaving them alone with the festering mess of bones and flesh. Each movement echoed through the room in a wet crack, as it used its thin and gored body to prop itself up and turn fully to face them.

“Because you’ll kill yourself!” Boss yelled, desperate and cracked as his voice was, “I’ve seen this kill people before, Akira! Stop this, please!”

The body fell off the table in a wet thwap.

Its legs couldn't work, so it dragged itself closer to them using its arms, leaving a smear of viscous red behind him with each pull of its body.

‘There is nothing else. There is nothing underneath these masks.’

“We don't need anything else!” Oracle cried, “we already told you!”

‘The void is all I am. Bottomless, neverending. My agony is not yours to bear.’

“But it can be!” Boss dropped to his knees before the flesh, “damnit kid, let us fucking help you! Let someone else help you if you don't trust us enough! Just… please.”

A thin arm reached out to Boss, and gripped his pants just above his knee. Red and black smeared over the tan khaki. Boss rested his own hand over the mangled fingers. Flesh stripped away to leave naught but broken and jagged bones beneath.

“You can't keep doing this.”

‘Neither can you.’

“You worry about yourself.”

The mask seemed unsure how to respond to that. Heedless of the loose strands of muscle that clung to what was left of his chest, Boss grabbed his shoulders and brought him close, his cheek rested upon Kurusu’s tangled hair.

‘We are hideous.’

“Everyone is,” Boss muttered, “everyone is.”

Goro clenched his fists at his sides and inched a bit closer. Desperate to do something, say something, be anything other than the useless bystander he had become.

Yet the mask seemed comforted by Boss’s touch.

‘We could kill you.’

“You haven't yet, kid. Not for a lack of trying with the stunts you’ve pulled, my heart isn't as strong as it used to be.”

‘Why do you care? I am not your son. I am naught but a burden upon you.’

“Akira, listen to me,” Boss closed his eyes, “you have never been a burden. I am so, so, sorry for having ever made you feel like you were. You were a child, and I met you with nothing but suspicion and hostility. I’ll never be able to take back what I’ve said, but know I regret them with each passing moment.”

‘Why?’

Goro had never seen an awakening before, not one that didn't start with screams and blood. Yet as blood started to flow out from beneath Boss’s mask, he seemed almost at peace. Unbothered. Goro wondered if he even noticed.

He pulled the mask from his face, not a sound to be heard, and behind him, a warrior flared to life. His persona.

“Because I love you, kid.”

The samurai brandished a long golden spear, ‘I am Hachiman. Never again will we stand idly by while those we love suffer. We were but a passive spectator before, we are done being a coward.’

‘I am thou, and thou art I.’

Hachiman vanished in a flash of gold. The mask too, began to glow.

It slumped against Boss’s chest and flickered away. The only thing left behind was a single green apron, stained with blood, but no less recognizable.

Boss’s hands shook as he gathered the fabric in his hands, and turned it over. Leblanc’s insignia was spared of the red that stained much of the rest of the apron.

No words were exchanged.

None needed to be.

Chapter Text

“Are all Palaces like that?”

“No,” Futaba’s fingers smoothed over the top of the counter, “I mean, kinda. But… it’s weird.”

They had all made their respective ways downstairs and had since spread over the cafe. The closed sign remained flipped, Sakura didn’t seem inclined to open shop again.

Not that Goro could blame him.

Sakura grunted and wandered to the kitchen. He gathered some things from the fridge and set about preparing the ingredients. Curry, Goro presumed.

“When Ann and I followed the mask, we could not see past the commotion. What occurred?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sakamato ran a hand over his face, “why I gotta learn now of all times that I’m squeamish?”

Takamaki rubbed his shoulder, and Sakamoto draped himself over the table they had settled in.

“I think that’d make anyone squeamish,” Niijima mumbled, her nails drummed on the table. “I… I never knew he… he just…”

Okumura laced hers and Niijima’s fingers together, “he has always been good at hiding his emotions. He… did not want us to know. So, he never let us.”

“Sure love seeing how terrible of friends we are over and over,” Futaba grumbled.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Morgana placed his paws on the counter beside Futaba’s hunched form, “remember this is his Palace, his distortion.”

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re perfect, cat.” Goro snapped, despite himself.

“I am not a cat!” Morgana jumped into the polished wood, “and I’m not! But we can’t lose hope! When we steal his heart he’ll see we love him as he is!”

“Off the counter, Morgana.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

Futaba rubbed between Morgana’s ears, “I mean, Akechi is right, though. We haven’t been perfect, I mean, some of us have been better than others.”

Goro snorted.

“But I can’t help but feel like… I don’t know… we should have seen this coming.”

“Oh, Futaba,” Okumura slid from the booth and brought her to her side in a loose hug, “we can not be expected to read minds, Akira never told us how he felt. We all have had our own lives, and I think… I think Akira had been counting on that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I know.”

All this wallowing was getting them nowhere. Goro knew better than to interject, much as he rather would have preferred to. What Kurusu needed now was action, both inside and outside of his Palace. Cooing at each other that they aren't to blame was a waste of time. It's their fault he was like this. It’s his fault he’s like this. Kurusu was going to die—

Goro drew in a breath and let it go, he was being unreasonable. He knew he was.

Kurusu would not become his mother.

He fished his phone from his jacket and sent a swift text to the man, requesting when he was available that week. Goro did not get a response, though he did not expect one right away.

“When we went scouting in the Palace,” Futaba pulled from Okumura’s arm, “Arsene said something like, we’re suffocating him… do you think we are doing the wrong thing?”

“Why are you questioning this now?” Niijima did not snap, but it was a close thing. “You saw what he’s doing to himself.”

“I mean, yeah! I’m not blind! But! Augh!” She threw her arms up, “what if we are making it worse? I asked for help, he didn't!”

“With a Palace, he won't get better, even with help,” Mona butted his head against her arm. “He can't. I imagine he is suffering like you were, before.”

Futaba faltered at that, and she sighed, “yeah. I’m just… I’m really scared. I don't want to lose him.”

“None of us do.”

Sojiro carried out plates of fresh curry and distributed them among the group.

“I’m coming with you from now on. I’m not letting you kids face this alone.”

That was that.

Crepes were far from Goro’s choice of morning dining, but when Sae invited him for breakfast, what was he going to say? No? Nonsense, she never would have let that slide. Especially given Goro’s… subtle… attempts at avoiding her. He supposed being forced to see her sister every week kept the woman woefully updated on his status.

The weather was far too cold to sit outside, so they were brought to a secluded enough booth. The faux leather was uncomfortable and far too firm. Kurusu’s Palace had been nothing if not luxurious, he supposed.

“Enough small talk,” Sae closed her menu, “how is your investigative work going?”

Goro snorted. “The most I’m investigating is a woman desperate to get out of a marriage she herself is philandering in, and another member of the esteemed Tokyo business scene committing tax fraud.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Like you would not believe, Sae-san. Going from solving murders to tax fraud is quite the change of pace.”

“Hm, I’ve heard you and your boss butt heads recently.”

“And how, pray tell, did you learn of that?”

Sae merely smiled, “the law firm has really taken off. A lot of my work relies on private investigators, so I am at least familiar with most of them. Imagine my surprise when I hear a firm around here just accepted a new apprentice, that so happens to be causing trouble right around the time I hear from Makoto you didn't kick the bucket.”

“Is everyone in Tokyo a gossip?”

“You know that better than anyone, Detective Prince.”

“Do not call me that.”

Sae hummed. Their waitress slid up to them then, and with their orders given, Sae’s playful demeanor settled into a more serious position.

“I will admit, my inviting you out here was intended for some selfish gain.”

Of course, it was.

“Look, I will be blunt, Akechi. You are wasted at your current department. You are a genius, and wasting your mind on petty tax fraud is an insult to your intelligence.”

“It is common for one starting out in the field to take on smaller cases,” Goro did not know why he was defending his job, he loathed it, but pride would not allow him to let it rest; “I am not above going through the proper channels, Sae-san.”

“Going above the ‘proper channels’ was what had gotten you the chance to be a detective, to begin with, Akechi.”

“I worked my ass off to get to where I was,” he snarled, “I did not buy my way up the totem pole, how dare—”

“Akechi, you were a kid. You weren't even eighteen when you were admitted into the force, that just doesn't happen. Regardless of how smart you are or hard you worked, you know this.”

At that, Akechi deflated. She was not wrong. Shido had pulled several strings to give him the chance to prove his worth, amongst that was joining the police as a detective when he was sixteen, even if only as an apprentice. He worked forty-hour weeks, unpaid at that. Or, he supposed if he was paid; Goro never saw a yen of it. Bastard probably kept it for himself and lorded Goro’s financial reliance on him over his head.

Kept him obedient, not that he needed it, lest he be kicked out on the street again. An urchin fighting for survival.

“That isn't the point of what I’m trying to say, Akechi,” Sae’s voice fell into a calmer tone, “I wanted to meet with you to catch up, truly. But I also had a proposition for you, should you desire it.”

Goro sipped the mediocre coffee in lieu of a response.

“Should you be willing, I could use some help around the firm.”

“You want me to be your secretary?”

Sae laughed. “No, of course not. I want you to be my apprentice.”

Goro was unsure how to respond to that. So he remained silent, and Sae took the cue for what it was.

“I do not know your whole story, nor do I desire to. However, I refuse to believe the man that had such a high regard for justice was entirely fake.”

“How much has your sister told you, about me?”

“Enough,” Sae’s nails drummed against the white ceramic of her mug, “I am well aware of what you have done in the past, and what you tried to do to Akira. Who, I’ve heard has recently become your boyfriend? You have my congratulations.”

“Most people wouldn't congratulate a man for dating someone he tried to kill.”

“I am not and will not make excuses for what you have done.”

“Good.”

“However, you are bettering yourself. You are not the same man you were before, and I respect that if nothing else. Few have the strength to not only move forward in life but change themselves in a meaningful way. You have.”

“Doesn't bring the people I’ve killed back to life.”

“No, it doesn't.” She sighed; “that also does not change the fact you were a tool for Shido.”

“My actions were my own.”

Sae leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms. She stared at him the way one would a puzzle, studying him, looking for cracks in the shell. Weaknesses to exploit.

“Yes, they were. You also made them to bring someone else to justice, short-sided and stupid as your plan was. Look, I’ve thought this over, I am aware of your past well enough, and I know what you have done to change. I’m proud of you.”

“I killed people, Sae.”

“You did. In a different world, you would be brought to justice.”

Goro lifted his lip, “why not this one?”

“Because as far as I am concerned, the true criminal is rotting away right where he should be.”

“So, what? Do you think I should get off scot-free? No jail for the pitiful orphan boy?”

Sae opened her mouth to speak, but Goro badgered on.

“People are orphans because of me, I’ve torn families apart, I’ve killed people who did not fucking deserve it. And even if they did, who was I to be their executioner? You think I should be a prosecutor? What right do I have to judge a damn soul?”

“Do you regret what you’ve done?”

“No.”

Sae nodded. She brought her coffee to her lips as their breakfast arrived. The waitress gave them a tight smile and scurried away. Goro supposed he was getting a bit loud. How fucking embarrassing.

Silence settled between them, and the familiar pinpricks of shame dug their barbs into the back of his neck.

“I… apologize for my outburst. It was unprofessional.”

“I understand this is likely a sensitive topic for you.”

Goro stabbed at his crepe, and watched the red strawberry jam ooze from the wound.

“Your dedication to finding the truth, and your drive for justice would make you a great prosecutor.”

Goro lifted his lip, though had no further comment.

“Look, all I ask is for you to consider my offer. What you do with it will be your choice. I will not influence your decision further.”

“I will… think about it,” Goro relented.

“Good, thank you. Now then, I have to know. Makoto was so sparse on the details, how exactly did you and Akira end up together?”

Goro wondered if it was too early to ask for the check.

Goro did not believe standing outside Kurusu’s door was healthy. Yet that stupid voice in the back of his head was too paranoid to let him rest.

Akira had not responded to his, or any of his friend’s texts in three days.

And Goro was worried.

Was just waltzing up to Kurusu’s apartment without any warning or consideration for his schedule the right way to approach this? No, probably not. But Futaba’s messages set alarms off in his subconscious that Goro refused to ignore. Kurusu meant too much to him.

Futaba

1:22pm

Futaba: have u heard from Akira???

Goro: No, he has not answered my prior text yet.

Futaba: :///

Futaba: he hasn’t answered anyone

Futaba: I promised I wouldn’t look at his phone but I’m a liar and a terrible friend

Futaba: his phone went dark

Goro: Explain.

Futaba: I don’t know how long it’s been like that but,,

Futaba: his phone is either off or absolutely destroyed

Futaba: I just checked it earlier

Goro: Are you not in class?

Futaba: I’m bored :|

Futaba: and really worried now

Futaba: Mona is too

Goro: I will head to his apartment as soon as I am able.

And there Goro was, after he finished up at the office, standing in front of his boyfriend's door. This was a massive breach of privacy, Kurusu would be angry at him no doubt. Yet Goro would take an angry Kurusu over a… well. Best not to linger on that thought

He knocked on the door.

The lights were off, but if Kurusu’s schedule was even remotely consistent, he would be home by now. Or at the very least, it was too early to leave for his job at Crossroads. It was 4 on a Wednesday.

No answer. Goro knocked again.

“Kurusu!”

Nothing.

This was stupid. Kurusu had more than once expressed his need for privacy, and here Goro was; disrespecting it in the most blatant of ways. He turned from the door and shoved his hands into his jacket. Gloves or not, it was still cold as shit.

His descent down the stairs was paused when another door opened. At first, Goro had thought it to be Kurusu’s. Though he was met with only disappointment when he turned and saw his neighbor’s face, one door over.

“You’re Akira’s friend. How wonderful to see you, dear.”

Goro debated the want to correct her against the caution to keep his mouth shut.

“Is he alright?”

Goro let out a thin breath through tight lips, “neither his friends nor I have heard from him in a couple days. I came to check on him, but evidently he is not home.”

At that, the hag grew pale.

“I knew something was wrong.” She hobbled from her door to his, and knocked against the worn wood, “Akira?”

No response.

“I checked on him last night after I heard a crash from his apartment. He said he was fine, but wasn’t feeling well and needed to pass on our usual cooking night.”

Goro’s stomach dropped. No. No, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Goro threw himself at the door, the hinges creaked at the force.

The woman yelped, “I-I’ll get the master key!”

Tempted as Goro was; Kurusu didn’t need a busted door on top of whatever else he fought. His shoulder remained flush against the wood, a small dent buckled into the grain. Another and Goro was sure he’d be able to get in.

But he remained still. Calm.

Everything was fine. This was just some stupid mistake. Kurusu would walk up those stairs any moment and get angry at him for showing up and damaging his door. And he would be alive and breathing and Goro would take his hate over red rivulets spiraling over cracked tile.

Kurusu was fine.

He was asleep. He was out. He was at work. He was alive.

The world grew blurred. Black crept into his peripheral, Goro closed his eyes and recited the alphabet. His stomach was heavy, his fingers had long since gone numb. He flexed them, working blood back into the digits. His joints popped.

The stairs creaked, the old woman had returned with a key clutched in knobby fingers. Goro swiped it from her and nearly broke the lock when he tried to force the fucking thing into it’s damn place.

The door swung open, the sound echoed in an utterly silent home.

The lights were off. Goro smacked them on.

Kurusu’s apartment was a mess. There were empty containers of food and drink littered about the place, strewn about like they had been thrown. There was a dent in the kitchen wall, beside the island that separated it from the main room.

“Kurusu!” Goro’s chest burned.

He threw open the bathroom door, and when the lights filled the room… It was empty.

There was a crack in the mirror, and shards scattered around the sink. Yet upon closer inspection, there was little blood. Goro inspected a fragment, and while there was a hint of a reddish-brown discoloration to the edge, it wasn’t enough to indicate severe damage.

Kurusu wasn’t home.

The apartment was empty, but there showed signs of a struggle. Was he assaulted, or kidnapped?

No. Goro would not think like that. Facts. He needed facts.

He was a detective for fucks sake.

The mirror was broken, based on the discoloration on the shards; it was done by Kurusu himself, likely with a fist. Goro left the bathroom. The main room was a disaster. Kurusu had already mentioned his struggles with being able to clean up after himself. However, this was easily the worst he had seen it.

None of the furniture was disturbed. So the likelihood of it being a kidnapping was slim.

Goro strode around the island to the kitchenette. The dent in the wall was small, too small to reasonably be a fist or some other body part. There was nothing embedded that gave any clues to what had been thrown.

On the floor and the edge of the island, there was a faint sparkling sheen. Goro knelt down and ran his glove over the tile, glass. Very fine glass, but glass all the same. Something had shattered. Perhaps a cup or plate had been thrown.

The kitchen looked no different than expected. Nothing seemed out of place, the fridge was barren; a single tupperware of rice was the only occupant.

Kurusu was not home, and as far as Goro could tell, it was of his own free will.

A thud by the front door jerked him from his hypothesis.

Goro lifted his head from the fridge, and watched as Kurus’s face went from worried, to confused, to what Goro could only presume to be positively furious.

“What the fuck.”

Well. Shit.

“Kurusu, I can explain—”

“Oh you better start, Akechi what the fuck are you doing?” With each word, Kurusu’s voice grew more and more shrill.

“You weren't answering our texts, we were concerned.”

“So you break into my HOME?”

“I didn’t break in, I unlocked it. Your door is still plenty in tact.”

Kurusu’s face grew neutral, and Goro’s skin crawled.

“Oh, of course. That makes this situation just fine, then.”

“Fuck you—”

“Wait, Akira, dear, please don’t yell at your friend.”

Kurusu’s head whipped from Goro to where the hag from before was holding up a blanket in the far end of the apartment. His face softened, if only just.

“I let him in, he was very worried for you. He was leaving when he explained what was going on, and I… I was scared. After last night I was worried you might have… You were so lucky I found you last year when I did.”

Goro filed away the information for later.

Kurusu’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and after a terse moment, his shoulders slumped, “I understand.”

She approached him and held out her arms, her cane left to lean against the door as Kurusu bent down to give the woman a gentle embrace. She pat his hair a few times, then gently eased back from his grip, “I’m glad you're alright. Would you like me to stay to help you clean up?”

Kurusu shook his head.

“Alright, I’ll be right next door if you need me.” She stepped over the grocery bags Kurusu had dropped and hobbled back to her own place.

Goro and Kurusu were all that remained.

“Kurusu, I will not apologize for breaking into your apartment to verify your safety.”

“So now it's ‘breaking in’.”

“However, I do deeply apologize for invading your privacy when you clearly did not desire to be bothered.”

Kurusu’s response was a heavy sigh and he left the door to slump onto the couch. He buried his head in his hands and remained as such. Goro wondered if he should leave. Yet Kurusu was so clearly in distress. Though he certainly has made it clear Goro was not particularly good at comforting him.

Really, Goro couldn't blame such a judgment. Goro’s only memories of comfort were of a mother, whose image was more often than not stained in blood.

“May I… put away the groceries you brought?”

Kurusu lifted his head, and it struck Goro how deep the bags beneath his eyes were. Perhaps it was merely the lighting, but they seemed worse than when Goro had seen him last.

“What?”

“If you leave them on your doorstep you are not only letting in cold fucking air, but it’s a waste to not put them where they belong.”

“I… ok.”

Goro nodded, though as an afterthought, unlocked his phone and dropped it in Kurusu’s lap.

“Assure your sycophants you are alive. Futaba has been freaking out all day.”

Kurusu cradled the phone with care, and when their eyes met, Goro merely nodded and hauled the groceries to the kitchen.

With the sparse food laid out, Goro decided that Kurusu needed to be handled with the gloves off, so to speak.

“Why did you not message any of us? Even to just inform us you were busy?”

“My phone broke.”

“How?”

“Broke it on my way home from Crossroads, slipped and landed on my ass. Phone was in my pocket.”

Bullshit. Goro eyed the dent in the wall, but let Kurusu keep the lie.

“You were unable to repair it?”

“Too expensive.”

“Hm,” Goro pulled out the dubious container of rice, and placed fresh food in its place, “why not bring it to Futaba?”

“She does hacking, not repairing.”

“If she could repair your phone, would you let her?”

Kurusu was quiet; and Goro let him have it, for a little while. When the groceries were put away, Goro left to sit beside Kurusu on the couch. They sat in silence for some time.

“I am sorry for… not respecting your privacy.”

Kurusu shrugged. “It’s fine, I get it.”

“It is not fine.”

“You thought I killed myself.”

Goro sucked in a sharp breath.

“So did Granny. Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kurusu grumbled.

When Goro did not respond, Kurusu tugged at a stray curl and continued; “I… uh. Yeah. Sorry, I doubt you want to hear about this shit.”

Goro seized Kurusu’s wrist in a tight grip, his phone clattered to the floor, “no. Tell me, anything you are comfortable sharing. Even if it’s nothing past what you already have. This is important.”

“It’s not your problem, you know.”

“You are my boyfriend, and furthermore, someone I care deeply for.”

“Aw, you liiike me.”

“Kurusu.”

“Alright, alright. Fine,” Goro allowed Kurusu to tug his wrist from his grasp, “it was last year. Took too many pills, was in the hospital for a bit. I’m fine for some fucking reason. So I clearly didn’t take enough or whatever god is still out there decided to keep me around for round four.”

“Did you see a therapist?”

“Sure, and when I earned the stamp of approval I got to leave.”

“Did you at least try?”

“Last time I ‘tried’ my therapist became a god and tried to take over the world.”

Goro… did not know what to say to that. So he remained silent. As did Kurusu. Another stalemate, Goro couldn’t help but feel they had them more often than they didn’t.

He… cherished Kurusu. Yet Goro continued to bring nothing but pain and frustration to Kurusu’s life. Goro was no fool, he knew he was far from perfect and certainly did not make for a good partner.

Goro ran a hand through his hair, “was… did you… why?”

“Why I tried to off myself?”

Goro nodded, and Kurusu shrugged, “why does anyone? I… had, have, no direction in life. My friends are all but gone, I was alone.”

“Your friends are worried about you.”

“I know,” Kurusu’s eyes glazed over, “I heard them when it happened.”

Goro let his silence urge kurusu on.

“I… I regretted it, when I took the pills. I think. I don’t know, my memories are foggy. But they were at my door, I remember them. They didn’t come in, I think I had locked my door. But I heard them, or maybe I was hearing things, who knows. They left, and then some time afterward, Granny found me passed out in the bathroom.”

Kurusu nearly died. Goro was numb, he did not believe the truth had yet to truly set in. Goro had almost been too late.

Maybe he still was.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Kurusu pulled a knee up and propped his gaunt cheek utop it, “pretty gruesome thing to thank me over.”

“You trust me enough to tell me what happened. That… is nice.”

He snorted, and shifted from his cheek to chin, “you could have pieced it together yourself. Even without what Granny said.”

“I had my suspicions, I will not lie. However, that isn’t the point.”

Kurusu shrugged, and that was that.

Goro scooped his phone from where Kurusu had kicked it out the way. Futaba had responded.

“She wants to fix your phone.”

“Ok.”

Goro hesitated, his thumbs hovered over the keypad. Then he let the phone drop onto his lap, “are you working tonight?”

“Yeah, shift with Lala.”

“May I come?”

Kurusu glanced at him, then returned to staring at the wall.

“Why?”

“If you would like, I would not be opposed to spending some proper time with you. I’ve… noticed your absence this week.”

That earned a chuckle from Kurusu. “Just say you missed me like a normal boyfriend.”

Goro scoffed, “I… missed you.”

Kurusu’s face softened, and he nodded, though added in an aside; “don’t break into my apartment again.”

“… technically I didn’t break in.”

———

Goro did not know Kurusu.

Once upon a time, years ago, he had. They were two sides of the same coin, perfect foils, soulmates; if Goro was feeling romantic. They had completed each other. Now, Goro was left squandering in a relationship he so desperately wanted, but was even more so afraid of ruining.

Kurusu was a marvel, he was deviously intelligent and knew how to use it. Loki and Robin both hummed their own affections for the man, once again it seemed watching Kurusu work was where he seemed the happiest.

Was he happy, or merely putting up a front?

Goro couldn't tell, and that irritated him. Lala loved him, that was obvious. The patrons did too, some more lecherously than others, but none stepped out of line or made so much as a move to reach for him. Goro had no doubt Kurusu could handle it himself, should a hand wander where it didn't belong, but he imagined it helped Lala always had her eye on him.

“Alright loverboy,” Lala slid him a refill from across the counter, “let's talk.”

Goro eyed the drink, “talk?”

“Hun, anyone with eyes can see the trouble brewing in paradise. Go on, Akira’s too busy to pay attention.”

“There is no trouble.”

Lala sniffed.

“Everything is fine, I’m fine. Kurusu is fine.”

Lala raised a brow.

“I have a therapist, I don't need another.”

“Honey, with all due respect; you look like you need help. Help with Akira, now I don't know everything, but I’ve watched over that boy myself these last couple of years. I know enough ‘bout him to lend some advice.”

Goro sipped at the drink, “I’ve made poor decisions regarding him recently. There are… things occurring he doesn't know about, that he can't know; but involve him all the same.”

Lala hummed, so Goro continued. “I want to make him happy, but all I have done is cause frustration and hurt, I fear we…”

Goro turned his head to watch Kurusu, he was talking to a patron. A man somewhere between his and Boss’ age, were he to wager. The conversation seemed amicable, and Kurusu smiled.

“I fear our relationship is doing more harm to him than good right now.”

“You plan to break it off?”

“No, I am far too selfish for that. I… merely wish for his happiness, but I am not terribly good at providing him it.”

“You want advice on how to get to his heart?”

“If you have any recommendations I certainly won’t spurn them,” Goro spun his straw around in his drink, the ice clinked against the glass.

“Take the boy out on a date, will ya?”

“I have, we’ve gotten food together several times now.”

Lala let the smoke of her pipe escape pursed lips when she chuckled, “a romantic one.”

“We shared meals. That is plenty romantic.”

At that, Lala gave him her full attention and frowned. She did not respond right away, instead she tapped ash from her pipe onto the tray on the bar top, then sighed.

“Eating together is nice and all; can be cute enough. Show him you care, do something with him.”

“Fine then, if you are the leading authority on all things Kurusu, what, pray tell, should I do?”

“You could start by actually asking him and not some woman twice his age what he’d like to do.”

“Well, here we go again,” Futaba adjusted her goggles as the metaverse snapped taught around them. Goro certainly shared her unenthused outlook.

“Come on, the sooner we get a handle on what going on, sooner we can leave,” Goro pressed his gloved hand against the bars of the gate, though the movement was stopped short with a rattle.

Goro stared at the gate, chains. Looped tight against each bar, the entire gate and surrounding fence were covered in black chains, sealed with a single red lock at the seam where the two doors met.

“So, uh. That's new.”

Mona bounded to the lock and inspected it, the end of his tail flicked back and forth while he turned the mechanism as best he could given his angle and stature, “this is… strange. Something in his cognition had to have changed.”

Goro leaned over the cat to grab the lock himself, it seemed standard fare. He could probably break it with Loki’s assistance. However, he was not terribly keen on sashing any obstacle in their path, given whose subconscious they were in. Kurusu was too important to risk it.

“Crow did go feral on Joker’s door.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“It has a dent, my guy.”

Crow narrowed his eyes at her. Then his attention went back to the more important matter at hand, “how are we going to get around this? Will picking the lock be safe?”

“Of course, it will. We’re thieves! Breaking in is what we do best! Give me a moment and I’ll have it unlocked in no time.” Mona nudged Goro back with a paw on his stomach and brandished a lockpick from… somewhere. Goro was not going to ask, he didn't want to know.

The second the pin was inserted into the lock, it shattered. Mona pulled out another from his fur, and tried again, same result. Two more tries occurred before Mona finally took a step back and admitted defeat, “Oracle?”

“No dice, that's old school. I can hack, not pick locks.”

Goro squinted at the top of the gate, towering over them as spires of black. Thorns waiting for a shrike to feed them. “Can we climb it?”

Mona jumped on the gate, he was able to scuttle about halfway up before an ear-shattering yowl ripped from him and he jumped down. The black gave way to a pulsing red, the heat enough to even distort the air around the peaks.

The cat waved his paws and blew on them, “hot hot hot!”

“So that’s a big fat no,” Oracle mumbled, then turned her gaze to Goro. She made a pointed nod toward the gate.

Destroying the lock it was, then. He summoned Loki, and the persona broke through the chains… and the gate, with little trouble. “There.”

Oracle stepped over the wreckage, “overkill much?”

“You asked.”

Goro followed the two through the courtyard and into the Palace.

It was clear the moment the door was thrown open, something was wrong. The Palace seemed to be unchanged, yet it was eerily silent. No more piano, no more muffled chatter. One could hear a pin drop with the stifling silence that blanketed them.

“This is… really new,” Oracle muttered and paused to pull her screens up. “I don't detect any signature that could be his mask, though maybe it’s hidden by some static again or something… There are still shadows like before but… huh.”

Oracle continued to mutter but began to walk again, Goro shared a brief look with Mona and followed after. When they entered the ballroom, Goro began to understand Oracle’s absent mumblings.

The shadows that had been an ever-present part of the Palace were frozen. Locked in the dance they had always been in, yet… entirely motionless. Even the movement of fabric had locked itself in time, dresses had fanned out in a way that defied gravity to remain as, only making such a shape when in motion.

It was as if the entire Palace had been locked in a moment of time.

Mona approached one of the shadows and found them entirely unresponsive. No matter what poking or tugging he did. They were statuesque.

Goro wondered what could have caused such a change. Locking them from the Palace, the sudden freezing of the shadows… Kurusu had to have changed in a way they did not account for.

What could have happened? Was this the result of Goro breaking into his house? Kurusu seemed to have understood, was he merely showing a mask? Again?

Goro wanted to throttle the man.

“Oracle, any readings?”

“Nope, nothing. Like, at all.”

Well. It was time to investigate, apparently.

Goro led them away from the frozen shadows and into the hall they had found the previous paintings within. Oracle darted ahead, checking each one to find the one they had just stolen. Like previously, the painting had been destroyed. Unlike the others, however, it had been cut out. A massive hole was all that remained in the center of the painting.

While Oracle inspected it, Goro turned to the others. Their next one, if the pattern continued would have been— the thought cut short.

“Oracle,” he snapped. She waved him off, so he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her over to the painting, or rather, the distinct lack of it.

A faint discoloration showed where the picture had once been, but the plaque had been strewn onto the ground, crumpled and broken. Their next target was missing entirely, and dread pooled deep in his stomach.

What would it mean for Kurusu to lose a mask? Surely it was merely the image, the actual mask still needed to be found. They needed all of them to get to the true shadow.

“That doesn't bode well.” She wheezed.

Goro wanted to shake the sarcasm out of her but kept himself calm enough. “This is no laughing matter, we need to find that mask.”

“I’m not laughing! I’m just really really stressed and— a-and! Ugh!” Oracle threw her hands up and stomped to the end of the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. Goro snorted and knelt down to grab the plaque.

He tried to straighten it, but even when he did manage to make the gold lay flat enough, it was only half of the entire piece. Goro scowled but figured he may need it and pocketed it for now. Mona had vanished to fuck knows where, so Goro approached the pouting Oracle.

“Any new areas open up?”

Oracle huffed, but pulled her map up, “no. Not that I can tell. I’m not getting any interference either. There's just… nothing.”

“There has to be something.”

“Then you scan!”

Goro blinked at her outburst. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Goro relented and sighed. “I offended you.”

“I mean! I guess! I’m just,” she pushed the goggles up and Goro realized she was crying. Ah, shit. Goro did not know how to handle this.

“I’m so worried about him,” she sniffled and rubbed at the tears threatening to spill, “I’m so scared we’re gonna lose him and a-and… I just… I hate this.”

Goro crossed his arms over his chest and turned his attention to the frozen shadows, “I… am concerned as well. He is… I have no way of saying for absolute certain but I do believe he is getting worse. I do not know if it is because of our presence here within his Palace, or external factors. He has not been terribly forthcoming.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Lifting his distortion.”

“Are we?”

Goro dug the blunt nails of his glove into his bicep.

A blip appeared on Oracle’s map, “oh hold on. Got something, it’s in the lounge.”

“A mask?”

Oracle rubbed her eyes one more time and lowered her mask, “I can't tell. I don't think so. But hell if I know, Akira’s gone and changed the rules on us again so be ready for anything, Crow.”

As if he wouldn't have been.

The trip across the palace to the lounge was a short one, even now the once dancing shadows remained frozen in place. Statues abandoned in an opulent manor. The phenomenon continued into the lounge itself. Where shadows once had been languishing in luxury, they too had been locked into some sort of stasis.

They still reclined on blood red couches. Food and drink in gluttonous hands, yet as though a cockatrice charged the entire palace, they too were as of stone. All except a lone figure in the back of the room, lounged upon the only black couch in the entire room. Where they had first met the mask of Joker.

Owl spun a small object on the table, it scratched against the wood and between the tapered tips of yellow claws. When he and Oracle came to a stop before the persona, so too did the object Owl spun.

“My, how tragic.” The persona rose his head and leant fully back against the velvet, “already you are losing the race you started.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering him, Owl slid the object he had hidden beneath his hand to Goro.

A pair of glasses, cracked. Goro’s stomach dropped. Oracle beat him to obtaining them. She turned them over in her hands, again and again as though searching for a clue, a reason as to why Kurusu’s glasses were in such a state.

And why they were without their wearer.

“What are these?”

“What remains of a mask,” Owl hummed, “you were too late.”

“Too late? Too late for what?” Goro snarled, Owl’s cold indifference infuriated him. Was this thing not Kurusu’s persona? Should it not be more concerned with his charge’s declining state?

“The Executioner seemed to have yearned to wet its blades again.”

“How? Can masks even be killed?” Oracle tucked the glasses away in her jacket pocket with a shaking grip, “they can’t die. That’d mean Akira would…”

“Not conventionally, but the executioner has always been an exception. The loss of one will not cause a mental shutdown, though I would advise against loosing any more, my dear. It was already too close of a call than I would rather prefer.”

“What do we do now?”

“Simple; you either beat the Executioner in the race for the masks, or fail, and Akira’s life will be forfeit.”