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Goro Akechi knows he is not a team player. He’s been taking care of himself without anyone else’s help for so long now that it’s second nature to brush off any sort of assistance– after all, he is not weak. He is not pathetic. He has learned how to destroy: to rip and tear and ruin anything that stands in his way with an absolute efficiency that would make others weep in awe or terror. He has learned to survive by whatever means necessary: to claw with tooth and nail at what he desires or to speak with a silver tongue to lure people where he wants them.
Unfortunately for him, all that learning doesn’t stop the ache in his chest as he watches the Phantom Thieves and the way they fight and take care of each other– the way all of them fit together like puzzle pieces. Making up for weaknesses and shortcomings in a way that is almost–only almost – inspiring. A healing item or spell here, shaking someone out of ailment, changing tactics to cover each other… He can’t identify what he's feeling. It bothers him more than it should. It's overwhelming in a way he just barely manages to brute force through. He ends up deciding that it’s anger, hate, or disgust– but those emotions are always in the background of his life and he can identify those in a heartbeat– the one he feels right now surrounded by the Phantom Thieves is not one of those.
He's comfortable with those negative emotions that are oh-so unbecoming of him in his facade of Detective Prince. He’s comfortable with the layer upon layer of masks he wears to hide said non-desirable emotions from the world. He is not comfortable with this new one.
Goro Akechi is in control of himself and his emotions. At least, he thought he was. This is an emotion he can't label, and it drives him to the edge of breaking. His current situation doesn't help things.
Akechi had been put on the sidelines shortly after his debut. He doesn’t blame them– they don’t trust him, not yet. He has work to do, but they aren't giving him a proper chance. His blood boils. Of course, he's being judged falsely, everyone judges the bastard child–He’s pulled out of his current train of thought as the final opponent of this particular wave of combat, a Divine Warrior, lifts their spear up with a cry.
Neon pink and stark black magic coils around Joker’s current squad, starting at their feet and up to their head. Most shake it off– except for that annoying punk, Sakamoto. Skull, he corrects himself, he should be playing along after all, and these childish codenames are a part of it. Akechi watches in intrigue as Skull’s posture becomes less of a delinquent slouch and more of a feral hunch. It reminds him of rampages, and he feels a smile dance on his lips. He wonders how Skull would really act if he wasn't restrained in morality. He supposes this is a small preview of sorts. He'd love to watch them all succumb to the lack of morals, to turn them into what they hated and lay bare the parts of themselves they hid from the world.
Akechi now eagerly watches as the others call for him to snap out of it. The cries unsurprisingly fall on deaf ears, as Skull lifts his weapon– a horrible mix of a hammer, pipe, and ultimately a bludgeon– and swings it down onto the willowy-thin body of his comrade, Fox. Skull couldn't have picked a better target even if he had been in his right mind, he muses.
Fox cries out in anguish, as the others gasp in alarm and fear. There’s a wonderful crunching sound that makes his heart soar: the sound of bone breaking. It's a morbid and familiar sound. He barely restrains a laugh as the katana-wielding boy crumples to his knees. Fox's weapon clatters to the ground, his weapon arm now useless. Akechi does some quick calculations: with the heft of the weapon, Skull's faculties lacking restraint, and the general build of the Phantom Thief, he wouldn't be surprised if Skull had fractured or otherwise shattered Fox's clavicle. Perhaps even some torn ligaments too, if the boy was unlucky enough.
Skull is already rearing up again when Queen runs in from the sidelines near Akechi. She skids to a stop behind Skull, grunting with effort as she forces her arms up under his Skull’s, attempting to lock her hands together behind his neck. It's clearly difficult with her iron knuckles. "That's enough Skull!" She growls.
Queen’s actions are a firestarter, and everything happens quickly after that. The battlefield is filled with even more shouts and struggles, and Akechi muses if it's always this much of a shitshow. It makes that unsettling feeling fade and it’s replaced with relief.
The battle is over quickly, Joker dispatching the foe without the typical fanfare Akechi had seen towards the beginning of the Palace. It was confusing as Joker typically lived for the theatrics but he realizes why things have ended so fast. Queen seems to be struggling– Skull is thrashing and grunting and putting up quite the fight. There's an ugly metallic TING ! as he twists and his elbow smashes into Queen's mask as her grip falters. Her head snaps to the side, but she hasn’t given up her hold entirely. She isn’t locking her fingers together anymore, but she still has her arms under his, her body pressed against him. Stubborn woman. As stubborn as her sister.
He doesn't step in to help. They appear to have it covered. They wouldn't ask me anyways, he reasons.
His eyes focus back on Joker, who is already closing the distance between himself, Queen, and Skull, reaching into a pocket in his coat as he does so. With surprising deftness, he opens a container with practiced ease and swipes something across Sakamoto’s exposed cheek with his thumb. It's only then that Queen pulls back from him, reaching to cradle her face and rubbing near the edge of her mask. She steps back and away, and he can tell that she's holding onto nervous energy, the hand lowered to her side flexing open and closed.
The effect on Skull is almost immediate as his posture relaxes. He clutches his head, grunting. “Oh man…What…” He turns, sensing the commotions beside him, and spots the others of the group crowding Fox. The gears turn slowly, and he touches his cheek to feel the Relax Gel on his skin.
Noir, Mona, and Panther have gathered around Fox, slowly getting him to his feet. Fox still clutches his arm, grimacing. Akechi represses a scoff at how the Phantom Thieves mother each other.
“Fox! Dude I’m so sorry, I–” Skull steps forward, arms out and palms up. He’s dropped his weapon.
Fox flinches despite himself. “There’s, ah… No need for apologies. I’m aware you weren’t in your correct mind. I’m alright, I will…Just be sore for a while. Hopefully nothing too dire.” He visibly relaxes as a pale green light wraps around him starting from Ann's hand placed gently on his bicep. A few sparkles shine in the air as the spell finishes. "Thank you, Panther…"
It sickens Akechi how easily they forgive each other as Skull turns to bow at a near ninety-degree angle to Queen, and all she does is give him a light tap to the top of his head with the bottom of a loosely curled fist– like she’s playing Rock Paper Scissors. Skull then grunts as she ruffles his hair, and he stands up to quickly attempt to fix his wild mane. It makes his stomach and chest ache at how tender they are, how loving and kind. Did she not care that he’d battered her? Did Fox not hate Skull for shattering the artist’s bones?
He sees how Panther has her arm around Fox, and how Skull is now hovering anxiously around him, conflicted. Queen has moved to be near Joker, who delicately touches her cheek and she leans into him. That makes the feeling in his chest tighten even more, now constricting around his throat for a moment. The familiar light of a dia family spell sparks against the red glove as they discuss the fight in hushed tones. Noir has picked up Fox's sword and puts it in the scabbard for him, a soft and worried expression on her face.
The more he watches these gentle exchanges the worse the feeling in his chest becomes, constricting his heart like a snake with its prey. It makes his eyes ache and he feels as if tears would drop from his eyes at any moment. How sickening. He hated it.
That's it. It's just a stronger feeling of hate. Loathing, perhaps? The Phantom Thieves are unlocking depths of rage and disgust he didn't think was possible. He could barely stand to be in their presence with all their displays of emotion. The battlefield wasn’t the place for this shit. He balls his hands into fists, wishing he could dig his nails into his palms but his gloves won't give him the satisfaction. They never do. He grounds himself by focusing back on Joker.
While Akechi stands at the edge of the group, Joker is already speaking in that hushed but powerful tone to the rest– taking charge before the group can fall into pitiful spirals of apologies. “Skull, take a break. You’ve been fighting for a bit and need to recuperate. Fox, you’re out for tonight. I need you to take it safe.” He looks at each as he speaks, nodding. “Mona, swap in.”
“Got it!” Mona bounces from foot to foot, looking eager.
“Crow, your turn.”
Akechi’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "Ah?" He had been benched rather quickly when they started, the teams clearly uncomfortable with him, no matter who Joker tried to place him with. He wasn’t expecting to be called. But how foolish of him, he should know better. Joker knew his full strength after all, even if the others didn’t.
Perhaps he could finally show these Phantom Thieves how it was truly done. That he and Joker could be an unstoppable unit and that the other two spots on the team were a waste , that they were all wastes of space and he wasn’t, because he was powerful, he was useful and strong and– “Of course, I expect concise commands,” he responds with that Detective Prince charm oozing into his words. He smiles, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s practiced that people-pleasing smile for a long time and it’s second nature. It was a comfortable mask and ruse. This is going to be a piece of cake.
Of course, of course, things couldn’t go to fucking plan. He should have been paying more attention. Goddamnit, I should have –
All thoughts leave him as an Eigaon envelops him.
It’s a horrible flame that burns and freezes all at the same time, and he bites the inside of his cheek to avoid screaming in pain. Hot copper floods his mouth. Akechi tries and fails to avoid crumpling to the ground, his head spinning as he tries to catch his breath. If only he had had Lo— A blade slices through the air and then his flesh and he gasps instinctively.
He thinks it's over, but it happens again.
And again.
And again.
He feels hot, wet blood drip from his mouth unbidden as he gasps, struggling to fill his lungs with air. It’s familiar, and a contrasting cold dread settles in his stomach as his brain defends him by pushing his consciousness to the side, making him think of another time instead of here and now. Of what he did when he was alone and he had to claw and drag himself out of fights he wasn’t able to beat when he was younger– When he frailer and more pathetic. Before he was strong and could stomp any foe into the dirt.
He was strong now, and the blades were no longer dragging across his body. Robin Hood thrummed under his skin, begging him to heal himself. Using your resources to repair and ease your suffering is not weak, it protested.
Bullshit. He had no time to lick his wounds.
Between the vague dissociation and the lecture from Robin Hood, he doesn’t know how the battle is going. So instead, he does what he always has, and forces himself up. You’ve done it before, you can do it again, he thinks bitterly.
He has to get up to strike his foes down. Get up, you piece of trash, he thinks. Akechi swallows the blood that hasn’t yet escaped his mouth, drawing his tongue over his teeth as he prepares to take inventory of himself. He feels unsteady on his feet. Akechi hates being weak, but perhaps this will have them lower their guard around him. He could pretend he was as pathetic as them. He grits his teeth, noting the Shadow that had downed him is gone. So much for a cathartic revenge strike.
The cuts on his skin sting, throbbing with each heartbeat, and the remnants of the curse magic feel like pins and needles across his skin, like his entire body has fallen asleep and something is hitting him over and over in an attempt to shake it off all at once. Robin Hood's gentle pleas to heal himself are simply passing thoughts in the back of his mind, with Loki bubbling under the surface, begging to be unchained and let free. Violence would make you feel better, Loki purrs.
He’s fought in worse states. This is just like fighting alone; he can only depend on himself to keep going– the Phantom Thieves hated his guts, and would only look at him with pity or distaste. He was not some beloved companion. He had been with them for hardly a week, and there was no love in any of their hearts for him.
So when soft green light blooms at his feet and wraps around him like a gentle embrace, he flinches. His left arm twitches but doesn’t completely raise to shield his eyes from the blinding sparkles that float up and away like a reverse snowfall.
“Oh man, that was totes a critical hit!”
“Whoa dude, you alright?”
Their voices start to overlap, and Akechi blinks to clear his vision. They are all around him now, and Akechi’s heart suddenly jumps into his throat. He’s surrounded. They know something –
“Are you alright? I can always do a Diarama too if you need it,” Mona is lowest, and Akechi tilts his head down to meet his wide gaze. Is this expression one of…concern? This damned cat-creature-thing is the hardest to read other than Joker. He can feel a paw on his leg, Mona waiting for his answer. Mona had...healed him? Why waste his SP?
Akechi frowns. He does try to smile but it falters. “I…No. This is fine.” he swallows roughly. He has to get it together and slip the mask back on. He needs just a moment to fully ease back into his persona–he laughs to himself bitterly in his mind at the wordplay.
“Critical hits are no joke, you’re lucky it wasn’t an O.K.O! Lemme make sure it was really enough, you know?” Oracle’s voice calls into his ears and before he can refute that he’s fine , that they’ve done enough, he's swathed by another green light. This isn't a healing spell, and this time he feels like an item being scanned at a konbini.
“Oh! I guess Mona’s got it all covered, ‘Nomi and I aren’t sensing anything else!” Her voice is clear and obviously relieved.
Akechi finds himself clenching his teeth, trying to trample down the multitude of emotions running wild through him. He needs to be in control of this narrative. He couldn’t be grateful. That would mean he owed them something, and Goro Akechi did not owe people favors.
Noir keeps her distance at first but then moves forward with delicate steps–she's been the most reluctant to interact with him, perhaps still reeling from her father's murder. She’s at the edge of this circle of Phantom Thieves and carefully slips past Queen and Mona.
She stands in front of him for a few moments, thoughtful. Noir nods her head a few times and then stretches her arms out to him. Horrified, Akechi thinks she's about to hug him and he edges his body back and away. Instead, Noir reaches forward and clasps Akechi's hands in hers. They both wear gloves, but he can feel the warmth of her hands against his, and the gentle pressure as she squeezes his.
His gaze lowers to their hands, as she slips something into his grasp. By the time he looks up to try and meet her eyes, she’s pulled back to the edge of the group, beside Joker. Without an answer from her, he looks down and sees that she’s given him a pale lavender handkerchief. Akechi’s brow furrows in confusion, but after a moment of assessing himself, he realizes. "Oh." His face, half-hidden by his mask, now matches it in colour-- he's covered in blood and he can feel it cooling and sticking to him. “Ah…Thank you.” He uses it to gently dab at his lips, swallowing roughly. It smells floral, a soft perfume tickling his nose. It’s distinctly feminine and smells expensive. Even the edge of the cloth has lace, and he's ruining it.
The rest of the Thieves fill the space around him now that Noir has left, with him in the center. Most are in contact with other Phantom Thieves and Akechi, or are only touching him, focused on…Comforting him? Reassuring him? This is new and strange: there are gentle hands touching his arms, his shoulders, his back...Even a paw on his leg…it's not the desperate grasping and well, pawing that he was used to from desperate fangirls.
Queen speaks to the others as he attempts to gather himself. “You know, Crow did only join us recently. It’s been a rough time, we’ve had two major injuries now, and not to mention, Skull needs to recharge…” she’s looking off to the side, away from the huddle of thieves around him. “Maybe we should backtrack to a safe room Joker…”
Akechi felt like he could throw up. Pity? How dare she speak to him like that. He’d had his abilities far longer than that damned Sakamoto and Kitawaga! He feels himself trembling under all their touch. It’s too much. They all seem to sense the tension but don't understand the source and some gently move their hands back and forth, or pat him. They think he's shaken from the fight, and not the very things they're saying and doing right now.
He funnels the confusion into anger instead: He’d strangle Niijima until her face turned as blue as her damned outfit if she dared to imply–She doesn't matter, don't bother with her, Loki hisses into his mind. He forces himself to pivot, his mind and body reeling. He needs something to focus on instead of all this babying and all their hands on him. What does the charismatic and oh-so-wise Joker think? For starters, Joker is the only one not in the huddle, discounting Noir. He’s at the outskirts, watching him with those gunmetal-grey eyes that nearly take his breath away as he locks eyes with him. Joker’s eyes flick down for a heartbeat. Akechi can tell that Joker is analyzing him, the same way he would look over his opponents before making a move. Goosebumps rise on his arms under his Prince outfit.
“That’s why Fox and Skull are in the reserves resting up,” Joker’s voice is calm and collected as he responds to Queen, but he’s staring at Akechi while he speaks.
“You’re kind of smothering him guys.” He’s flipping and spinning a knife in his hands idly, and Akechi’s eyes trail down to train on it. He can hear in his voice a smirk that plays at his lips, and Joker adds, “he’s surrounded by paparazzi and fans enough as it is outside of the Metaverse. Give him a break, yeah?"
Akechi feels his ears heat up. It jolts him back to the present. He can handle teasing remarks, this is normal–This is his and Joker’s little game. He gives that fake laugh that the camera loves as he looks back up at his face. “Ah Joker, how astute of you. It does harken back to my television appearances and the like." Yes. Play it off. Perfect. He flicks his hair, trying to act aloof and charming.
The others all move back in a wave, seeming to remember themselves and who they’re comforting. Queen still looks at Joker, and even though she’s been healed he can see a mottled bruise forming at the edge of her mask where Skull had hit her. “Are you sure we shouldn’t…” The question trails off, and Joker shakes his head.
“Let’s keep going. Just a little more. I’ll make sure we don’t overwork.”
Joker takes control as always, and Akechi doesn’t even have to fight with them to stay on the current rotation even after that horrible display. He hadn’t fully shown them what he was capable of yet.
Even though he was healed, he still feels some leftover aches from the attacks. He doesn’t let it stop him, taking advantage of any openings that the others give. He ‘kill-steals’ as Oracle so-annoyingly puts it, wiping out anything he can in a furious attempt to be deemed capable. Because he was– is. He is capable. He’s aware that technically he’s allowed Joker to give him orders but they’ve trickled to a stop, Joker allowing Akechi to make his own choices.
Good, he knew Joker would realize who was worth the honor of thinking for themselves on the battlefield eventually. More time passes as the group makes their way through Sae's Palace and all its obstacles. Its novelty has more than worn off on Akechi now. The only exciting thing left is that Joker has gone from the far edge of the party, to directly beside him. And even so, when he was on the edge, he could feel his eyes on him in every battle. It is a bit distracting, to have your rival’s eyes only on you but it makes Akechi feel special. To feel wanted. It's a dangerous, addicting feeling that thrums in his core. But just as that feeling settles within, he's having to bite back scowls whenever he hears Joker give orders to the others or when he switches his focus to them. They weren’t worth his time. He’d proven that he was competent enough to fight without orders.
But a part of him craved to hear Joker call to him. To tell him exactly what he needed at that moment and have it provided. He could be that someone for him...
It's after one particularly drawn-out battle full of back and forth that Joker lets the team know it’s time to be heading back to a previous Safe Room, and that they were done for the evening. Everyone relaxes, relief obvious on their faces and bodies as they slowly make their way back down the cleared path.
Akechi exhales roughly from his nose. Good. As much as he loved the thrill of combat, that last battle has brought him to the brink. It was difficult to put on his princely air when he felt like a simple gust of Garu could knock him over. Akechi goes to follow along behind when something grabs his cape. He turns on a dime, expecting more conflict.
Joker has his hand clenched in the silk, his eyes boring through him. "You took a bad hit."
Ah shit. He thought he had played it off well enough.
"Apologies for the concern Joker, but I assure you I'm fine–"
“We take care of each other here. Do you need to use a Goho-M instead?” Joker has the small tool placed in the palm of his other hand, stretched out in offering.
Akechi stares at it, then looks back at Joker's face. “As I had said, I really am fine,” he smiles yet again, that TV-perfect grin, eyes shut to push the falsehood that it meets his eyes, that it's an honest one. “You’re a very good leader Joker, you care well for your teammates.” That part isn't a lie.
Joker is lulled into that quiet, thoughtful silence he often fell into. Akechi can hear the footsteps of the other thieves fading away.
“You know that means you too, right?” There’s none of that boastful Phantom Thief showmanship to the words, no playfulness behind them.
He’s being serious.
Akechi blinks a few times, absorbing what he says. What he means by that. What he could mean by it. He steadies himself with a soft inhale and turns it into a gentle chuckle. “I’m flattered that I’m being welcomed with open arms even if the way I joined you was…Not very polite of me.” he settles for that.
Joker’s lips twitch. He’s thinking. He palms the Goho-M into his coat but is still holding onto Akechi’s cape like a child holding onto their mother’s skirt. That thought immediately sends his emotions somewhere he doesn't want them to be. He’s rescued from the incoming spiral by Joker speaking up again. “I mean it, Goro.”
Oh. Interesting. His stomach does a slight flip. This is far too much-uncontrolled emotion for one evening, he decides.
“I understand,” he pauses and the sentence hangs in the air unfinished. Until, “Akira.”
He nods apparently satisfied, and finally, lets go of the cape. His hand is instead placed on the small of his back, and Akechi feels a chill go up his spine.
The rest of the trip is a colourful blur. Akechi is at the back with Joker, his hand only ever leaving when there is no other choice.
He sees the rest pairing or trio-ing up. Noir is near Queen, their voices a soft muffled background to his walk. It looks like Skull is still anxiously hovering near Fox, not placing his hands on him. Instead, Skull is nigh brushing against Fox’s undamaged side. Panther has her hand on the wrist of Skull’s dominant hand, thumb caressing where there’s no armor. They’re insufferably domestic with one another–even Oracle is cradling Mona in her arms, content to walk back with them instead of riding in her Persona.
But to be fair, he did have Joker’s hand on his back. It's his anchor as they go through the Palace. It slips away as they exit the Metaverse, and the weight of all the injuries slams into him.
He isn't the only one as Yusuke clutches his arm, exhaling through gritted teeth. The groups stay the same, though the Sakura girl comes to bump arms against Akira, slipping Morgana into his bag. The cat wiggles in and settles, poking his head back out.
"We'll take a break before we tackle it again." Akira whispers. He can hear the guilt trickling in. "Let's all head back. The usual way is fine by me."
The usual? Was all this… contact and cuddling and just… hands-on nature normal for them? It wasn't transactional or a display of power– at least not yet. But…Why? He is barely there as Akira waves off or delegates things to his crew.
"Do you need someone to bring you home? I can afford the fare."
Absolutely not. "It's quite alright, I can manage," he says instead. "After all, your warden, Sakura-san will be waiting for you, no?"
Akira smiles, raising a brow. "Yes but no. I don't have curfew." He speaks softly as if each word is difficult to say. "I can call the cafe and let him know I'm running late."
Absolutely fucking not. He could not handle being around Akira right now when the phantom– hah –touch of his hand on his back was still present, the ghosts of the thieves' touches haunting him. "Perhaps next time," he dances around the excuses and invitations. "Good night, Kurusu-kun." he attempts to put distance between them verbally, turning away.
"Good night, Akechi-san." Akira's voice is faint, and Akechi nearly misses it as he leaves.
To say that he zones out on the ride home is an understatement. Even this late at night everyone is crammed into the trains, and he clutches his briefcase like a lifeline to his chest. People are too close. They're touching him and crowding him and–
He doesn't remember the rest of the ride or the fact he walks the rest of the way home. It's robotic, the steps he takes. A microwaved dinner, followed by bandages and salves on the remnants of his wounds. It catches up to him when he lays in bed, exhaustion enveloping him.
He feels their ghosts. Ann's soft touch to his lower arm, Ryuji's hand on his shoulder. A soft paw on his calf, the almost-full body embrace of healing magic and Necronomicon's scan. The way Haru had held his hands so reassuringly. All of it was so gentle. Even as he lay in bed, staring at the bare ceiling he could feel Akira's hand on the small of his back, firm. The way it had moved up and down slowly, thumb drawing back and forth along his body to attempt to soothe him. The memory of all these tender and loving– Could he call them loving, did they even really care?-- touches make that feeling return to his chest, and Akechi presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, letting out a rough hiss of an exhale. The feeling settles like a weight on him and he continues to press against his eyes until he sees stars against black.
Another breath in, another exhale. It turns into a sob, and he breaks. He shatters into a million pieces, and it's only when he entirely exhausts his tears that oblivion of sleep takes him.
He dreams of faceless phantoms cloaked in reds, blacks, blues, and whites. They whisper sweetly to him, brushing hair from his face. Kisses litter his forehead and shoulders. He is loved. There is one who is not faceless, but instead with a mask that covers only the upper part of its face. This one holds him tight, all-consuming. Its lips press against his temple and it says nothing, but Akechi knows. He knows.
When he wakes up, it's without the embrace and warmth of his...companions. Akechi lets out a shaky breath, and steels himself. He has work to do.