Work Text:
When Goro woke on November 19, he knew something was wrong.
There was a weight on his chest, as if he were physically being pressed down into what felt more like stone than a mattress. His back ached like hell, he was wearing sweatpants he couldn’t remember putting on the night before, there was a phone somewhere that wouldn’t stop ringing that definitely wasn’t his because he would never make his ringtone the opening song to Neo Feather Rangers season 4 and—
When he opened his eyes, he was in Kurusu Akira’s room.
“Ugh, who’s calling you so early?” The weight on his chest asked in a sickeningly familiar high-pitched voice that sank like a stone in Goro’s gut. Seemingly unaware of the fact that Kurusu’s bed was inhabiting a stranger, he slunk across his body to look at the nightstand.
Goro’s mind was racing with the possibilities:
The Phantom Thieves realized his plans and decided to capture him. No, that didn’t make sense, his arms and legs were decidedly unbound and the shadow demon cat thing was still treating him like friend rather than foe. This was nothing but a dream. Dreams don’t begin with the subject waking up. A hallucination. No, his time on the force had given him enough experience to know hallucinations didn’t work like this. Shido decided to get rid of him in his sleep and this was what Hell really looked like—
All were blown away once the cat wrinkled its nose in distaste once it had pawed the phone over to look at it’s screen. “Why is Akechi calling you?”
Maybe this really was Hell.
“Who?” He asked, but the raspy voice that escaped his lips wasn’t his own. Too deep, too scratchy.
“Akechi,” the shadow cat repeated, and his mouth was still moving but whatever else he said was lost in the tidal wave crashing through Goro’s ears. It was unbelievable. It was irrational, impossible—
Like a god bestowing a penniless orphan with the power to slaughter for his retribution.
The phone stopped ringing before Goro could pick it up, but just as soon as it stopped it began again, and Goro almost jumped at how obnoxiously loud it was. On its screen, his own name staring back at him, and with it a photo Goro didn’t recognize. It was unflattering to say the least, his eyes closed and head tilted at an awkward angle in the low light, and even from here Goro could see where his foundation was oxidizing against his skin. From his clothes and the background, it looked like it was taken at Jazz Jin.
Goro swallowed tightly around the lump forming in his throat.
No one knew he went there.
No one but…
He answered the phone.
“Hello?”
A few moments of silence, and then, “Akechi?” his own voice asked him, and Goro felt his heart sink through the floor, “is that you?”
There was no point in denial. Kurusu had to know, and if he didn’t he would soon enough, and the longer Goro let him go unchecked the longer Kurusu had to fuck with his plans.
Plans? What plans? His plans were utterly and entirely ruined now. Kurusu had unsupervised access to his apartment when he already knew too much—because Goro had told him too much, had given him hint after hint always hoping Kurusu would rise and meet him to the challenge and now—
Relax. He could fix this.
“Yes, it is.”
A sigh through the end of the receiver, so wholly unlike him he wanted to take the voice and strangle it. He angled himself away from the nosy cat sitting far too close to the receiver as he added a quiet, “I assume this is Kurusu-kun?”
“Yeah,” his own voice chuckled back at him disbelievingly.
And then, silence. Awful, repugnant, silence.
Both of them knew too much.
“We should…” Akira hesitated, and Goro felt his nerves whittling down to the quick at how little effort Akira was putting in to attempting Goro’s facade of pleasantness. It was more like listening to an AI replication than his own voice, like watching a robot too intelligent for its own good but not quite human enough to show it. “Talk about this. In person.”
“A rather astute observation,” Goro bit, only belatedly remembering that just because he was in Akira’s body didn’t mean he got to stop acting nice, “stay where you are, I’ll come to you.” Because as sickening as the idea of Kurusu staying in his apartment any longer was, it made him even more nauseous to think what would happen if he let Kurusu just stumble around Tokyo blindly for anyone to see.
No, better they do this at his apartment. At least there he had a pistol if anything went awry—
A pistol he couldn’t use, because who the hell knows what would happen if he shot Kurusu in his own body. Would he be stuck like this? Trapped to live in the body of the man he killed for the rest of his miserable life? No. He needed his body, and he needed to make sure Kurusu didn’t fuck it up until he shot Shido in his awful bald head of his.
“And don’t touch anything,” he added for good measure once he’d somehow found something somewhat acceptable to wear outside at—he checked the time, and grimaced when he realized the Lock Screen of Kurusu’s phone was a stupid, shitty picture of him and all his friends—5 in the morning.
He hung up before Kurusu could say anything else, just hoping he would listen to logic and not do something stupid like go to LeBlanc anyways, when he felt little pinpricks of pain at his ankle.
Oh, right. The cat.
“What’s happening? Where are you going?” The evil little demon creature demanded aggressively as he wrestled at Goro’s (Kurusu’s?) leg.
“Akechi needs help,” he answered stiffly, because Kurusu was enough of a self-sacrificial idiot for that to work.
The shadow’s ears folded down at that, somewhere between sad and pitiful looking. “Akira…” he stopped, and Goro eyed him curiously, “just be careful, okay? This could be a trap.”
Goro’s heart iced over in his chest.
“I don’t know what you mean,” He said, deliberately infuriating because he knew the demon thing had a short fuse and an even louder mouth—
But the cat just looked at him even more pitifully.
“Just, be careful, okay? I know you like him but still…he’s trying to kill you.”
Goro was only still for a moment, before he turned towards the stairs and left without another word, disappearing into the early morning darkness where he belonged.
When Akira woke up in Goro Akechi’s body, he wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be the universe doing him a favor, or giving Akechi more reasons to shoot him in the head. On one hand, now Akechi can’t shoot him in the head, because that would mean shooting his own body in the head and who knows what would happen in that case.
On the other, it was unfortunately giving Akechi just as many excuses to shoot him in the head, because even if this completely fucked up the arrest plans, it didn’t change the fact that Akechi still wanted to shoot him in the head. Or, well, thought he wanted to, at least. It was hard to tell with Akechi most days, but Akira was at least 60% sure Akechi at least believed that he wanted Akira dead. Or that this was, like, the natural conclusion to their rivalry or whatever. Akira just wanted to kiss him; he didn't claim to be an expert in Akechi-logic.
Whatever disaster that unfolded from this, though, at least Akira got to see Akechi’s apartment before he died. And, sure, Akechi told him not to go touch anything, but what Akechi didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t as if Akira was going to go look for his credit card number or see if he had any sex toys—he just wanted a look around (a nice apartment, but not extravagant—with its own bedroom so undoubtedly expensive. Beyond that, it kept up an almost pristine facade on its exterior, more like an Ikea set than an actual apartment except for the pile of Featherman DVDs Akechi hid in the closet).
He’d just wondered why Akechi’s pillow was so lumpy.
He didn’t mean to find Akechi’s gun.
Why was only the first question, because even if he didn’t know Akechi there was only ever one reason people slept with guns under their pillows. Is he in danger? Does he really think he’ll need it?
A stupid question—of course he did. Why else would it be there?
On the lingering thought of the mysterious voice on the other end of Akechi’s phone, he reached out and picked up the weapon.
It was almost funny how different it looked compared to his own—to any of theirs, really. Sure, by now he was getting them through demonic rituals that involved fusing personas with plastic guns which probably wasn’t the best recipe for realism but…
It was on an odd compulsion that he found himself walking to the bathroom to look in the mirror, the pistol heavy in his hands. In his reflection Akechi looked worn, young: his hair a mess even Akira was afraid to try and tame, the bags under his eyes so deep he looked more ghost than human, his eyes wide as Akira took in his reflection, the crimson so bright it was as if his body was already bleeding out.
Akira pointed the gun towards Akechi’s reflection, and wondered how many shadows had seen this exact same sight before they died.
If this was the sight Akechi thought Akira would’ve seen just before he—
A loud knocking on the door startled Akira out of his reverie—so badly he dropped the gun into the sink, and then, in his panic, he shoved the weapon under the sink so he could rush towards the door, opening it without a second thought.
Which was a mistake, considering Akira really, really wasn’t prepared for how weird of an experience it was to have his own body staring back at him. Something like a sense of deja vu with a couple extra emotionally conflicting steps. Akechi wasn’t smiling, which was a good thing because not only did Akira not want to know what Akechi’s TV smile would look like on his face, but if Akechi was willing to throw out his mask then that would make whatever hell they were going to be subjected to next a lot easier. Unfortunately, he hadn’t taken them time to put on Akira’s glasses either, which was more than a little off-putting because it left Akira the subject of the full intensity of his own gaze staring back at him.
The lawyer was right, he thought idly as he let Akechi into the apartment, my eyes do make me look like a criminal.
Akechi surveyed the house with a few short glances, and, apparently satisfied Akira hadn’t destroyed his sanctum, turned to him with a decisive, “well,” only to then give him a once-over that felt far too judgemental considering the situation. Was he judging himself or Akira? It was anyone’s guess, but Akira knew where his bets lie, “this confirms my assumption at least.”
The blasé comment made Akira snort, which had Goro making a sour look with his face that only made Akira want to laugh even more: like he was torn between being upset that Akira dare make such a noise with his body, and remembering that even now he was still largely putting up his fake nice act that he could never quite escape the claws of. Akira decided he liked the look.
“Do you find this funny?” Akechi’s tone was clipped, awkward, unused to how deep Akira’s own voice was from his throat, making it come out more agitated than questioning.
So, switching bodies forced Akechi to be more honest. Good to know.
“Isn’t it,” Akira admitted with a half-hearted shrug. What could be more funny than switching bodies with your attempted killer the same day they were going to kill you?
Akechi narrowed his eyes darkly at the suggestion, but evened his voice out before he spoke.
“This is a serious problem that we need to solve. Immediately.”
As if they both didn’t know what he meant.
“Sure it’s a problem but,” Akira shrugged half-heartedly. Something like anger flashed through his own expression before Akechi could smother it. “It’s really not that big of a deal. We don’t know why this happened, who knows if we can even do anything to change it?”
Akechi sighed like he couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. “I don’t know if you’re aware of the date—”
“I’m aware of what day it is.”
“—but like this we’re in no position to steal Sae’s heart, and if we don’t then all of our efforts up to now will have been meaningless.” Akechi pushed through stubbornly, his voice frigid, without any lingering trace of pleasant pretense. Was that really what Akira looked like when he was being stubborn?
Guess I’ll have to apologize to Mona when this is all done with.
“I disagree,” Akira argued back calmly, because there was something satisfying about watching Akechi’s mask slip so severely—in a way he hadn’t seen before, even when Akechi announced that he hated him, “I think we can still steal Sae’s heart.”
Akechi didn’t pace, but he moved one hand to his hip and smiled with too many teeth. “And how would you suggest we go about doing that?”
“Well, if persona are manifestations of our other selves, then I don’t see why this,” he gestured vaguely between them like it could possibly explain what was happening, “would prevent us from using them. Our minds or souls or whatever are still intact, so, in theory, so would our persona.”
“A bold assumption that our persona would even still function considering we don’t even know the cause of this condition. It could mean that we’re unable to use our persona altogether.”
“Then let’s test it out.” Check. If it did turn out they could use persona, Akechi would have nothing rational left to argue against their infiltration of Sae’s palace, and he had to know it, had to know that his facade was crumbling before his eyes because Akira could see the desperation burning in the cracks of his smile—
Akechi isn’t going to admit this way, a quiet voice of reason whispered in his mind, he’ll never work with you if you force him to.
Right. He didn’t just need Akechi to drop his mask, he needed to convince Akechi to work with him.
Akira looked away first, because he knew Akechi never would.
“Regardless, we’ll be fine, I think,” Akira said, taking a seat at the nearby couch because he was already exhausted enough as it was, and when he finally gathered the strength to look up again Akechi looked like he was on the verge of strangling someone, “even if neither of us can fight, I trust that the rest of our team can do it.”
Akechi was quiet. There was nothing left for him to say, not like this, not when they were both still pretending.
“It won’t work,” Akechi finally spoke, voice cold, without a single trace of his polite persona.
Akira almost smiled. “Why?”
Go on, the cruel part of Akira’s brain urged, tell me why the infiltration is so fucked up. Tell me it ruins your plans to murder me.
Akechi was smiling now but expression was ugly, bitter, angry—the same expression as he’d had the day he told Akira he hated him.
“You know why.”
“Do I?”
Akechi sneered at him and even knowing that it was Akechi’s expression Akira still hated seeing the look on his own face. He moved towards him so quickly Akira didn’t have time to react, leaning in so close Akira almost worried he would actually choke him after all. “Don’t play coy, you’re too smart to have not figured it out by now,” he smiled but the expression was vicious, wild, animalistic, honest—
“I’m going to kill you.”
Fuck was now was a really, really bad time to get turned on.
“I know.”
It was a stupid answer, of course they both knew. How could the demon cat know if Kurusu didn’t? How could Kurusu not know in the first place? After everything Akechi told him, all the veiled threats and lies Kurusu navigated with too-observant eyes and the same cocky ease he wielded as cleanly as Joker’s knife. He’d already managed to surpass Goro on every other level, why wouldn’t he surpass him here too?
It was just like him to look death in the eyes like it was nothing.
It would be a lie to say Goro could have ever accepted anything but this. It would also be a lie to say that it didn’t infuriate him nonetheless. To watch Kurusu say it like it was nothing, like Goro hadn’t imagined the moment he would die countless times, like Goro hadn’t fantasized about his victory over him since the day Kurusu challenged him on television.
Fuck this—fuck all of this—
“But you can’t,” Kurusu continued like it was easy, like he wasn’t staring into the eyes of a murderer, “not like this.”
Goro wasn’t going to let him win this easily.
“Do you have a death wish?” Goro seethed, pressing forward so he was practically spitting in Kurusu’s awful face, “I just told you I was going to fucking kill you.”
“I know,” Kurusu repeated slowly, and god Goro’s blood boiled with how smug he must feel staring at Goro like he thinks knows everything when he was nothing more than a speck of dirt come to destroy Goro’s entire plan, “I’ve known.”
“How long?”
“Since the beginning of the month, give or take,” he shrugged vaguely, “you weren’t that subtle about wanting me dead.”
This fucking idiot.
“No,” Goro corrected, leaning so close he could feel the warm breath of Kurusu’s sigh against his nose, “how long have you known?”
Akira was finally silence by that, staring at him with an awful expression Goro couldn’t parse even when it was his own face. Too quiet, too small a ripple in the pool of his emotions when Goro only knew how to wield his own like a hurricane. Always too much to bear, too much to conceal or contain so he turned it into weapons he could properly use. Smiles into daggers, laughter into gunshots, the years of hatred and rage and anger and everything he was never told he was allowed to be into—
“Since the very beginning.”
Just one bullet. That was all he really needed. His life for just one bullet.
“Since the very beginning,” Goro muttered, no longer talking to Akira, to anyone really, like he couldn’t believe that the words were real.
“Yeah.”
Kurusu shattered that bullet between his fingertips.
Is this all I’ll ever amount to? He wondered as he stepped away, uneasy on his feet as something like laughter bubbled up in his throat, unyielding and uncontrollable—a tsunami in the making.
Goro didn’t even bother trying to control it.
“I never had a chance, did I?”
“It’s not like that,” Goro didn’t look at Kurusu but he didn’t like the the wry pity rising in his own voice, “listen, I don’t know what’s happening, but—”
“You’re right,” Goro interrupted him with a kind of calm he’s never experienced before in his life. A certainty of fate. “You don’t know.”
“But I want to know,” Akira pressed ever so stubbornly. Funny, was that Kurusu’s stubbornness or his own? Did traits pass between them or was this Kurusu’s calm flowing through his veins.
It felt nice.
“Did you orchestrate this somehow,” Akechi interrupted whatever spiel Kurusu was giving with a short gesture between them, “as a way to escape?”
Kurusu was only quiet a moment before he answered.
“No, I was just as surprised as you were.”
It sounded honest, and, really, how the hell would Kurusu manage to orchestrate something like this anyway when neither of them had traveled to the Metaverse in days? Not to mention the fact that the cat was so utterly unaware of such a plot that he admitted to Goro’s face that he knew he was going to kill Kurusu.
So, his plot really was doomed from the start. Fate had already decided he would never take his revenge.
It didn’t matter, he decided, ignoring Kurusu’s calls as he walked towards his bedroom, it didn’t matter that he would never achieve his mother’s revenge.
He could still get it against the fate that doomed them in the first place.
It was stupid of Akira to confront Akechi alone, it was stupid of him to admit everything without a second thought, and it was really, really stupid of him to let Akechi walk away.
But he wasn’t sure anything was more stupid than following after him.
He hadn’t done it immediately, because it took him a moment too long to realize exactly what was happening. It was only when the awfully blank look on Akechi’s face settled into his chest that Akira realized what he was doing.
But the moment he stepped foot into the room and felt the full force of Akechi’s wild, feral desperation turn from the bed he’d been systematically tearing apart to him, he realized his mistake.
Akira didn’t have time to plan when Akechi lunged for his throat.
He just reacted.
It was Akechi’s training, he realized belatedly, that had him tackling Akechi to the floor. Muscle memory, years of training, reflexes, things Akira’s own body didn’t have, and it showed. The kick Akechi aimed at his gut still hurt like hell, but not nearly as much as he knew it would’ve had he been doing this in his own body.
Their fight here was nothing like the Metaverse. The Metaverse had rules, systems as fucked up or illogical as they were. Here neither of them did, there was no trading blows or revival beads or diaramas to save them.
One wrong move, one slip-up, and one of them would die.
Even with his advantage Akira struggled to pry Akechi’s hands away from his throat, where they were desperately clawing to get a solid grip around his windpipe, and it was only with a forceful shove—knocking Akechi’s head back into the floorboards with a sickening crack—that they loosened.
Before Akechi came to his senses Akira had one arm pinned to the floor, but it only made Akechi more vicious when he grabbed for the other, like a wild animal who would rather die than let itself be captured. And while Akira was trying to stop the other from tearing his throat apart Akechi managed to wrench his other arm free.
Akira didn’t see his punch before it was being slammed into his jaw and left stars spinning behind his eyes.
His shoulder hit the wall hard when Akechi reversed their positions and curled his hands around Akira’s throat before his vision had even cleared.
I’m going to die Akira’s mind began to scream as he felt air catch in his throat with no way to escape his lungs, i’m going to die i’m going to die i’m going to die—
Akechi squeezed so hard Akira wasn’t sure he would even be able to swallow if he tried, if he was getting any blood to his brain or if he was already dying. His vision had only just cleared enough for him to watch it go out on him again. He wasn’t sure if his vision blurry from lack of oxygen or the tears rolling down his cheeks, and any attempt to pry Akechi’s hands away only had him pressing down impossibly harder on Akira’s throat.
“Oh how funny is this,” Akechi was laughing somewhere, his voice murky in Akira’s ears, “everything the great Joker has done and this is where your Justice ends.”
In the disappearing world around him all he saw was the desperation in Akechi’s eyes.
He tried to speak, to say something, anything, but it only renewed Akechi’s vigor, like he wanted to choke whatever words Akira could have left out of his body. Always has to have the last word Akira almost wanted to smile in his delirium, but he couldn’t, not when he barely had the energy to struggle anymore, not when he still hadn’t told Akechi—
Even knowing they had a plan in place Akira had prepared himself for the possibility he might die in the interrogation room. That, for one reason or another, their plan would go awry. That he’d be left to be shot in the head. For a long time he wondered what he would do if that happened. Fighting back seemed impossible, persuading Akechi even moreso, so instead Akira spent hours wondering what his last words were going to be.
Funny, how even now he could barely force the words past his lips.
“I…ove…you…”
When the pressure stopped, all Akira could wonder was if this was what it felt like to be dead.
“What?”
Goro didn’t hear Akira right. He couldn’t have, he couldn’t have. There was simply no possible way.
It was still enough to make him release Kurusu’s throat in surprise.
The body beneath him jolted back to life, coughing and gasping for air desperately as his own red eyes opened again, dazed and unseeing. Goro hated it, Goro never wanted to see that look again in his life. It would be so easy now to never see it, just a few more minutes of pressure and Kurusu would be gone, and Akechi’s body with him.
But he had to know first.
“What did you just say?”
“I said that I love you,” Kurusu wheezed, voice thoroughly wrecked and tattered at its edges.
A joke, this was what it had to be. A cruel, awful joke Kurusu was pulling to make Goro stop—the desperate actions of a desperate man willing to do anything to survive.
Goro’s hands tightened around his own scrawny throat again.
“I mean it,” Kurusu whispered breathlessly. He wasn’t struggling anymore, and it just infuriated Goro even more. Why wasn’t he struggling? Was he that fucking stupid? Goro was about to kill him? Was he so fucking cocky that he thought he wouldn’t?
“Do you really think that’ll make me spare you?” He spat with all the vitriol he’d practiced for the day he had Shido at his knees and begging for mercy.
“No—” Kurusu’s voice was cut off with another harsh squeeze, but his lips were still moving, still so stupidly fucking stubborn even when he was on the verge of death—
Goro released some of the pressure, but never let go of Kurusu’s neck.
“I—wanted to,” Kurusu barely managed to say through his heaving, “return the—favor—”
Goro’s blood turned to ice in his veins.
“What favor?” He demanded, but Kurusu was too busy trying to fucking breathe to answer his goddamn question so he shouted even louder, squeezing his throat again as a reminder of his threat, “what fucking favor?!”
“After,” and now Kurusu was slurring his goddamn words of all things, “the duel you—told me how—you felt. Wanted to do—the same.”
i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you
“Would’ve thrown the glove if I had it,” Kurusu chuckled through his gasps, and if Goro had the strength anymore he might have considered killing Kurusu properly just for that.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Kurusu’s voice dissolved into a cough as his body tensed with pain, and Akechi let his hands fall to his sides limply, “because you’re my Rival.”
“I know you like him…” that awful, ungodly cat’s words rang in his ears, but like a broken record Goro’s brain still couldn’t process them. Love, how the hell could Kurusu claim he loved someone like Goro? He didn’t know him, everything he’d shown him was a facade. Goro’d only ever even talked to him because he was planning on destroying Kurusu—
but he always knew that.
“How can you claim to love me when everything you saw was a lie?”
Akira almost looked confused at the remark.
“Did you lie to me about your mom?”
A stupid question. “I didn’t tell you the full truth.”
“But did you lie to me?”
The silence was palpable, because Goro couldn’t really answer that. Couldn’t admit that he’d gotten into the habit of telling Akira too much, of admitting to things he’d rather have taken to his grave than admitted to another person.
“I was going to kill you.” Goro said, because there wasn’t anything else left to say.
“I know.”
It didn’t make sense.
“I’ve killed other people.”
“I know.”
It doesn’t make sense.
“I killed your friends’ parents.”
Kurusu’s expression never wavered.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Kurusu shrugged as best as he could, wincing in pain at the action, his hands relaxed by his sides. “No one ever said it did.”
The crystalline anger he’d repressed for so long had escaped him when he most needed it, and in its place hysterical laughter bubbled from his chest like a spring. Goro couldn’t stop laughing even if he wanted to, turning his hands on his own face to wipe away the twisted, thorny agony evicting itself through his eyes.
When he finally stopped, he kept his face covered so he wouldn’t have to look at his own eyes.
“You ruined everything for me.”
“I know.”
“You ruined me.”
“I know.”
A weak pair of hands touched the sides of his face. Goro stiffened at the contact, but Kurusu pressed onward, gently cupping around his cheeks like he was holding something precious.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
He didn’t expect an answer, but Kurusu was Kurusu so of course he gave one.
“Not killing me would be a nice start.”
“And why the hell should I do that?” Goro asked without the energy to give the demand any heat.
“Because you don’t really want me dead, do you?”
Of course Goro wanted him dead. Just a few minutes ago Goro had never wanted anything more in his entire life but—
“I love you.”
Maybe he liked to lie to himself a little too much.
“Let’s say I don’t kill you,” Goro agreed idly, “what then? My plans are ruined. Shido’s going to have me killed, and then you and your entire team of sidekicks next. It’s pointless.”
“We’ll just have to beat him sooner,” Kurusu rasped, so sincerely it was almost sickening, like a promise Kurusu really thought he might actually be able to keep. Like he believed what he was saying.
“He’s too powerful. You’ll be dead before tomorrow if he has a say in it.”
“Then,” and Kurusu had the gall to smirk of all things, “we’ll just have to be quicker, won’t we?”
Goro laughed again.
“What, you’re saying you’re going to help me kill him? In less than a day?”
“No,” Kurusu corrected quietly, “I won’t help you kill him, but I’ll help you make him wish he were dead.”
Goro felt his smile slip from his face, and let the hands pull away his hands so he could meet Kurusu’s eyes. There was warmth there, so much Goro could hardly stand to look at it, and within that warmth so much pain and misery and—
“Are you asking me to join the Phantom Thieves and change Shido’s heart?”
Akira nodded, and Goro almost wanted to laugh again at the pure absurdity of it all. It wasn’t what he wanted, the revenge he’d spent years chasing like a daydream, but it was still something, wasn’t it? Something he could tell his mother’s grave he accomplished, the villain he’d always wanted to beat.
It was better than nothing.
After all, who was to say he’d have to let them change Shido’s heart.
“Fine,” Goro thought aloud, “in that case, it seems we have a new deal.”
Kurusu looked nothing short of delighted, and when he pulled him in to softly kiss him with bruised lips and a gentler hand, Goro found himself smiling despite himself. His plan was in ruins but this was something, something tangible, that quickened his pulse and left him light headed with excitement.
Goro could still get his revenge.
And stealing the heart of the leader of the Phantom Thieves didn’t hurt either.