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It was Akira's idea, throwing a Christmas party with all of his friends.
And like with most of Akira's brilliant ideas, Goro tends to have his own concerns about them.
There have been lengthy conversations between him and some members of the Phantom Thieves whose past happened to overlap with his in not so amicable ways. Those had been awkward, terrible, overall situations he'd prefer not to put himself into again. But he did what was necessary. Cleared misunderstandings, exchanged emotional vulnerability. Expressed genuine guilt and just enough regret to avoid major conflicts for whatever bonding activity Akira likes to regularly collect all of his friends for.
Goro still only shares a few friends with him. Ann and Sumire were unavoidable with how insistent they both had been about becoming part of his life—their actions and words were as heartwarming as they were infuriating, regularly driving him up against the wall—and, surprisingly enough, Ryuji.
Who turned out to be a rather good companion. Mostly for specific activities like gym exercises or anything that doesn’t require a lot of thinking—precisely for the fact that Ryuji is a bit lacking in the brain department, despite his commendable efforts at university.
On better days, Goro would argue it’s one of Ryuji’s charms.
The rest of Akira’s group, however? Goro could go into his chats and would find most of them at the very bottom of his phone. He’s never been the one to send meaningless how are you or happy birthday messages to people he could care less about, and clearly they share the same sentiment. He wouldn’t want to have it any other way.
So not only is Goro expected to tolerate all of those people in his and Akira’s shared apartment, he’s also supposed to tolerate them for an entire evening.
Because Akira insisted. And when Akira insists on something, it’s different from him being plain stubborn—he will find a way to weaponise every single ridiculous thing he has available to him, from his own face to the morning coffee he makes which Goro’s life may or may not depend on.
So Goro ended up agreeing to what is, historically speaking, Akira’s second worst idea. Under the condition that they will both go gift shopping together so Akira can aid him in what might as well be a trip to the Underworld itself. Fuck Goro if he knew what anyone from Akira’s circus troupe would want from their former enemy.
What Akira doesn't know: Goro's really just doing it to get him a gift.
And that's a dilemma of a different calibre.
Akira, being the selfless idiot he is, never wants anything for himself, always shares what he's being given, scrunches his nose at the very concept of someone doing something for him for free. It’s a completely alien thought to him, as if he’s not running around all year long doing exactly that.
Goro can't recall if Akira ever looked genuinely upset about receiving a gift. Not that he made it known—his friends have gotten better at calling out his bullshit, but still fall for it when Akira puts in the effort. And Akira would rather shoot his own foot than risk upsetting his friends over a well-meant matter, especially if he can tank the consequences all by himself.
The more Goro thinks about it, the more he's sure he had never seen Akira upset about an objectively bad gift. Akira knows his friends mean well, and knowing those intentions makes him happy from gratitude alone.
Goro could give him a baking pan with what were supposed to be cookies still stuck to it, and Akira’s eyes would sparkle like Goro hung all the moons and stars in the sky as opposed to the bitter reality: Goro tearing everything down.
(Regrettably, Goro speaks from experience. Though it is necessary to mention that his baking skills are improving.)
But he does not want Akira to just be happy. Happy. What a disgusting, simple-minded yet complex word. No, Akira needs to be blown off his feet, to be absolutely and utterly eviscerated by the riptide of emotions crushing him when he lays his eyes upon what will be Goro's gift.
And it will be glorious.
He wants to give Akira something so fucking special that Akira won't even think about anything else for the rest of the year. Akira will physically transcend to the next realm. One glance at the gift and he’ll instinctively know nothing would ever compare. And all because of one person; the bestest boyfriend the universe could possibly offer him.
Goro can not fuck this up. He has to give him the best gift.
And he could start working on this incredibly delicate matter if Akira would finally get his cute ass over to where Goro's waiting for him.
He pulls out his phone, swiping across the screen quickly. Going into his sparse list of contacts, he finds no new message or missed call. Obviously. With his relatively dry and sarcastic manner of texting, there are only a handful of people able to hold a conversation with him that doesn’t immediately trickle into sand. Akira being one of them, and Goro never has him on silent.
Either way, his idiot is ten minutes late and Goro's tempted to shuffle his way back into one of those warm looking cafés on the street, even if it means exposing himself to loud chattering and obnoxious Christmas decorations. Just because he's grown as a person (and in height, because that’s equally important) doesn't mean he appreciates lingering at the train station in between dozens of people.
Just when he’s starting to get a little worried, there’s a faint call of his name.
The stream of people in front of him part to reveal a grey and black bundle of long limbs coming his way—Akira’s wearing that coat, how nostalgic—and the next second he’s already too close and Goro has to catch his arm for Akira to not get better acquainted with the ground than with Goro.
“You're unusually clumsy lately,” he dryly comments, helping Akira on his feet.
Akira laughs. He uses the momentum to lean up and steal a quick kiss from the corner of Goro’s lips, smiling when Goro chases after him.
“A wonderful day to you as well. Sorry, did you have to wait long?”
Goro pretends to be unfazed by re-doing Akira's loose scarf.
“Unlike a certain someone,” he grumbles, “I dress myself not only for fashion. Waiting a few more minutes wouldn't have killed me.”
Akira sighs dramatically. “It doesn't really matter what I wear, you know. It’s the cold. Makes my bones really stiff and heavy and urgh.”
Akira’s skin shares not only the colour of paper, it also shares the quality—it bruises and freezes way too easily. He can always be found hoarding blankets and huddling for warmth even if he wears three layers at once. There are times not even Goro’s arms can properly warm him up, and it’s a major dent in Goro's pride that he would never openly admit.
“You work out somewhat regularly,” Goro says. He loops the scarf twice around Akira and wraps everything into a loose knot so he won't have to do everything again in a few minutes. “Haven't heard you complain about that even once. I'm sure your bones aren’t the problem.”
Akira shuffles closer, eyelashes fluttering as Goro moves from fixing his scarf to plucking snowflakes from his hair. They look like tiny marshmallows drowning in black coffee.
“But they are! I’m essentially a young soul trapped in an old man's body. Can you imagine?”
Goro scrunches his nose. The only reason he doesn’t pull at Akira’s strands for that remark is the sound Akira might let out at such an action.
“If you're old, then what am I supposed to be?”
“Super old, obviously,” Akira chirps. “But don't worry." He takes Goro's hands in his, leaning forward to give him a proper kiss. It manages to thaw Goro’s frown just a little. “I'll take care of you. Your true self has always been a bit of a grumpy grandpa after all, and I've lived with Sojiro long enough that I already know a thing or two about grumpy grandpas.”
"I'm one year older than you, Akira," Goro deadpans. "One."
"Oh, I know. But I’m not the one constantly bringing up that argument whenever we can't come to an agreement."
Goro doesn't even deign to answer, shaking his head. There are worse things than being compared to Sojiro, he supposes. Even in such a context.
He untangles their hands to take Akira's right one properly into his left one, tugging him along.
“Enough of that. We don't have all day,” he says. "Let's go."
Akira hums, glowing from both the street lights and the small smile lighting up his face.
“Someone’s eager to go on a hunt for Christmas gifts.”
“Make no mistake, I just want to get it over with. They're for your friends, after all.”
“They're our friends,” Akira’s counters, squeezing his hand. “End of the debate. I will tolerate no further discussion.”
"We didn't even start one just yet. Besides, how am I supposed to partake in a discussion if I'm not allowed to share my thoughts in the first place?"
"Because I already know what you're going to say. And everything you're going to say is invalid."
Goro snorts.
"So you plan on holding a boring monologue opposed to an actual debate we will both benefit from?"
"Honey, I know it's a very hard concept for you to wrap your head around, but sometimes I'm in the right, and you're in the wrong."
"I take everything I ever said back," Goro grumbles. “I’m revoking your rights as my debate partner.”
Akira laughs, playfully nudging Goro's shoulder.
"Remember that the next time you try discussing the ethics of dipping chips into ice cream with Ryuji."
Goro's plan is as follows: to remember everything that Akira's eyes linger on for a fraction too long.
Translate that to his phone’s notes whenever Akira’s distracted. Buy the best option at a later date.
And if he can't decide what to get, he'll buy everything that’s available. Simple as that. He’s barely touched the money from his assassin days—not to mention Shido’s bank account—so might as well make use of it.
It’s the perfect plan, foolproof and well structured through and through. It’s an understatement to say Goro’s proud of himself.
Akira might not really appreciate getting what could potentially be a truckload of gifts, but it’s not like Goro will do it openly in front of everyone. Their friends aren't privy to that. Neither should they get the wrong impression. He’s not flaunting his money (they never really needed it) or actively demonstrating some weird power play, all he really wants to do is spoil the hell out of Akira.
Not that he gives a shit about what most people think of him, anyway. He’s just become… considerate. More than he was before, at least, and mostly when it concerns Akira.
Akira made a whole list of malls for them to comb through today. He's looking at it on his phone and making last minute adjustments as Goro leads them to the right lines, softly humming to himself.
Odaiba is their first stop, hands tightly interwoven as they enter Aqua City. The first thing Goro takes note of is how surprisingly open the first floor is—there’s a clear path to follow down the middle, but the area itself branches out widely to the sides, inviting people to stray off the path. There are people all over the place, looking at products and comparing prices. Happy little families and couples and also individuals with enough hindsight to not get a Christmas gift on the absolute last day of Armageddon.
And there’s perfume. Everywhere.
Goro's so busy staring at the sheer quantity of perfume choices that he almost misses the polar bear mascot wanting to drown both of them in a hug.
“Do you see something other than perfume?” Goro asks, pulling Akira quickly along before he loses his boyfriend to something more cuddly than him.
Akira squints his eyes. “A bit of jewellery here and there, but otherwise—no, not really.”
“Who the fuck even needs this much perfume? Do they make enough profit to justify the sheer quantity on display here?”
"I think they do. Otherwise we wouldn’t be looking at mountains and mountains of the same product.”
“Ridiculous.” Goro shakes his head. “Surely the designer of this mall must be familiar with consumer psychology. Such as putting best selling products at eye level for easy and convenient access, and putting those at the very end of the shop as well, so the customer has to walk through the entire store to get there. Hm. I suppose you could consider perfume as—”
Goro continues to go on about his rant until he notices Akira’s not by his side anymore.
He blinks, a little irritated at losing his boyfriend, and tries to look around the large shelves surrounding him. He spots Akira near the entrance still, looking very much like a lost kitten. Goro quickly makes his way over.
"Everything alright?" He asks.
Akira looks up, smiling sheepishly. His face is bare. He's furiously scrubbing at something with his sleeves—his glasses.
"Yeah. They just fogged up."
“Oh."
Goro’s eyebrows knit together.
He considers himself as someone with a rather estimable memory. Almost photographic at specific instances. There's one thing, however, that keeps eluding his mind—and it's that Akira's eyesight worsened significantly from when they first met.
His glasses are no longer fake. It’s like the metaverse kept Akira's eyes intact during its lifespan, and as soon as it collapsed, so did the protective magic layer over his eyes, leading to quick deterioration despite Akira not being glued to the phone or console as much as Futaba is.
He can't recall what exact dioptre Akira has, but he's pretty sure it's close to the double digits. Maybe even above. The first thing Akira does in the morning is grabbing his glasses, which says a lot about the state of his eyes.
“Ah,” Akira says, his glasses back at their rightful place. “Much better.”
They're just short of being lopsided, and are turning foggy again at the very edges. Goro raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
There's a gentle flush to Akira's cheeks as he ducks his head. “Yes. C’mon, let’s go.”
Shrugging, Goro offers his hand, and they continue walking.
They stop again after a few seconds.
"Goddammit," Akira mumbles. He pulls Goro to the side and takes off his glasses with visibly more frustration this time around. "I can't see anything. Why do they keep fogging up?"
"Because of condensation," Goro begins, continuing when Akira makes no sound. "Your glasses are still cold from the outside. In a warmer environment such as this mall, naturally the ambient humidity will transition back into a liquid-like state on the surface of your glasses."
Akira stops his frantic cleaning briefly to let out a sound that could pass as both a sigh and a low laugh.
"I love hearing you talk science, Goro, but that was a rhetorical question."
Goro clears his throat, ears growing warm. He resists the urge to twirl a lock of his hair, a nervous tick he picked up from Akira.
"... Your inquiry seemed rather serious,” Goro says.
"I am definitely serious about these little fuckers here." Akira groans, raising his glasses towards the light. "How long will it take for them to adjust to room temperature? I can't keep doing this every other minute. Wait, I actually can."
Goro sighs. He reaches for Akira's elbow, giving him a look when Akira keeps his eyes on his stupid glasses.
"Akira."
“Mh.”
"Look at me."
Akira's head snaps back to him. Goro resists the urge to roll his eyes and holds out his hand.
"Don't give me that look," he says upon seeing Akira's mean glare directed at his poor hand. "You know they'll be useless for a good while. Might as well get rid of them for the time being."
"You tell me to look and go ‘don’t give me that look’ when I do?"
"I regret to inform you that I know what you're trying to do right now, and no, distracting me from the matter at hand is not working. Give me your glasses."
Akira sighs but does as he's told. Goro pockets them in his coat, nodding to himself. He feels vaguely proud—whether it's of himself or Akira is difficult to tell.
"There we go. Wasn't so hard now, was it?"
Akira waves him off. "Don’t let it get to your big head," he says, and then hesitates. “We do kinda need to get to the fifth floor, though."
“So?”
“How are we gonna do that if I'm essentially blind?"
Goro cocks his head. "Isn't it obvious?"
"I guess you can go ahead. I'll just stay here until I'm able to see again. Shouldn't take too long, right?"
Akira doesn't ever disappoint. He's fast like a viper, suddenly in Goro's space, but Goro's already taken a step back to prevent Akira from stealing back the glasses he just gave him.
“No. They'll stay with me," Goro says sternly. "Just like you will."
Akira pouts and crosses his arms.
"And I'm just supposed to walk into every person and expensive perfume shelf on our way there? Alright, then. You better be prepared to apologise to everyone because I sure as hell won’t do it."
Goro rolls his eyes. Akira has never not been a walking contradiction. One of the smartest people he knows of, while simultaneously being one of the dumbest.
"Must you make everything so complicated?" He steps closer, holding his arm for Akira to take. It's a little old fashioned, perhaps, but it'll work well enough for what he has in mind. "I'll guide you, of course."
That gets Akira to shut up. His eyes widen, darting across the space where he thinks Goro's eyes to be.
"Oh."
Akira doesn't react further, and Goro shakes his arm a little, impatient.
"That's… nice of you," Akira slowly says, hesitantly stepping closer.
Goro hums when their arms finally link. "I heard that brief moment of hesitation."
"Well, I was a little surprised. That's all."
"What do you mean, surprised? Do you think I would have just gone on my own, leaving you alone with the hungry wolves?"
That gets a small bubble of laughter from Akira. "There are no wolves here, silly. Only shopping fanatics." The grey of his eyes softens to silver clouds. "I'm glad though, seriously," he says, twisting his torso to look at Goro once more. "But are you really sure? I don't mind—”
Goro grabs the base of Akira’s neck, which is enough to shut him up and completely lock him into place. Goro then moves Akira's chin so his stubborn boyfriend is looking forward instead of at him.
"Shut up and watch your step. I said I will guide you, not help you walk. You can coordinate your clumsy deer legs all by yourself."
"I don’t have clumsy deer legs," Akira pouts.
"Oh, yes. You absolutely do."
"Well. Maybe they’re a little clumsy. But deer legs, really? Now that’s just harsh.”
"Is it so hard to admit that I'm right?"
Akira's laugh is bright and warm at his ear, and Goro nearly walks them into a shopping aisle.
They move like this for a while, loosely woven together.
Akira is a little fidgety at first, pulling at his hair and sneaking glances at Goro every so often, still afraid he's bothering him in some sort of untold way. Goro remains silent, keeps on looking straight ahead and not letting Akira get away, because he’s learned this sort of assurance is what Akira ultimately needs.
It's only a matter of time, then. Eventually Akira accepts his fate, and presses just a little closer, enough for his hair to tickle Goro's cheek every other step.
Nobody stops to look. Most people tend to ignore them, others sport secretive little smiles, or point towards their twined arms while cooing into another one's ear.
Goro detests open attention like this usually. Any PDA that is longer than a quick kiss or a hug is something he's working on still, for both Akira's and his own sake. It makes him feel on display, and he’s had enough of that to last for an entire lifetime.
But when they're walking towards the escalator and Akira's really leaning into him not to lose his balance on steps he cannot properly see, Goro finds he doesn't really mind as much this time around.
It's gratifying to see and feel Akira's quiet reliance on him, as small as it may be.
On the fifth floor, Goro moves them to a corner full of art supplies, because Yusuke's gift will probably be the easiest to organise. After five minutes of Akira rambling about specific items Goro should look for and bringing said specific items so close to his face Goro fears he'll imprint them onto his face, he becomes aware of the near indistinguishable weight in his front pocket again.
Akira's glasses should have been long warmed up.
But unlike earlier, Akira doesn't make a move to take them back. And Goro doesn't remind him. They keep on looking, making a game of Akira trying to recognise which object Goro’s holding from a distance. (Goro's absolutely not laughing at him, only with him.) When they're halfway through the store and Akira's forced to put on his glasses so they can properly compare prices without rearranging the entire floor, Goro's pleasantly surprised to find Akira stepping into his space again, glasses on his face, looking at him with an uncharacteristic shyness.
Biting his inner cheek a little, Goro flushes.
He opens both of his arms this time. Just a little, enough to indicate an opening, enough to effortlessly pull back in case Akira doesn’t react. His stiffness is worth the face Akira makes—his boyfriend’s the equivalent of a happy Christmas tree being lit for the first time as he accepts the hug.
"Thank you," Akira whispers.
Goro melts with him, liquid warmth spreading from the centre of his tummy up to his fingertips. He buries his nose in Akira's hair, inhaling deeply, and murmurs into it, "You're welcome, love."
Sometimes he wishes he could hold Akira in his arms forever, protect him from the rest of the world that always seems so greedy, so horribly cold to the people whose hearts bleed easy kindness.
Goro stops abruptly, feeling the same heat from earlier reach his head and taker over. Akira blinks at him. "Goro? Everything—"
He swallows Akira's worries with a kiss. He kisses him slowly, sweetly, endlessly, and keeps a hand at the back of his neck to angle for an even deeper kiss.
It's a good thing Akira pulls back first with how weak Goro's knees are.
"What was that for?" Akira asks. His face is as red as the bundle of pomegranates he bought earlier, undoubtedly mirroring Goro’s own. "I mean! Not that I'm complaining, of course, I just, uh… "
Goro prompts them to walk again, having realised they stopped in the middle of the street. He fears he might melt the snow around their feet with how much his entire body is burning.
"Just felt like kissing you."
Akira tries hiding a blooming smile in his scarf. "You really are after my heart today, aren't you?"
Akira's heart doesn't need protection per se. His weakness is also his strength, the way he cares about everything and everyone and doesn't relent until things are exactly how he wants them to be. For all the freezing Akira does, his heart burns with a determination and the will to live unmatched.
Now all Goro needs is a Christmas present capable of conveying just a fraction of how he feels for Akira.