Chapter Text
There is no one else in the world who understands Goro’s inability to shut up better than he himself does. It’s a talent he’s grown to nurture over the years, after all: a seed of survival painstakingly watered and cared for, now fully grown to boast flourishing, vibrant life.
It’s a useful skill to have, the art of crafting words.
For example:
Goro says, “What the fuck?”
Ah, excellent choice of words. Thy mastery over tongue truly astounds me. Hast thou considered retiring thy gallant heroism for articulate poetry?
Goro snaps out of his incredulity at Robin’s snark, too shocked to retort anything back. He just did the—the thing (a bond, something whispers). With Kurusu. And he didn’t pass out? Is it just with him, or are all the others normal now too? Since when did it get fixed (—fixed, why does he think it’s something to be fixed, why, why, why) —
—Did Kurusu see it, too?
He’s still staring at Goro. His eyes are wide with surprise. Surprise at the card appearing, or surprise at Goro’s outburst?
Goro thinks fast. If Kurusu saw it, it would guarantee that he had some connection to the Metaverse, which would tilt the scales in favor of him having heard Morgana that day, which would make the possibility of Kurusu being the mysterious shooter in Kamoshida’s Palace all the more plausible. If Kurusu saw it, it would mean that he could not, would not, should not be trusted in any way, shape, or form. But doesn’t the bond’s existence itself prove Kurusu’s genuine friendship—a headache Goro absolutely refuses to tackle right now—with Goro? Doesn’t that mean he can be trusted?
Goro could ask. He could ask, right now. He could take out his phone and enter Madarame’s keywords and show Kurusu around the gaudy museum, kill Shadows, show off Robin Hood and Loki, and then—
Then what, something inside of him sneers. Then what, Goro?
…He’s being foolish again. Backtrack. Current possibilities: Kurusu saw the card; Kurusu didn’t see the card. But thanks to Goro’s huge mouth, his reaction could swing either way. But one thing remains certain:
Goro’s involvement with the Metaverse must remain a secret.
All of this thinking occurs in about three seconds. And then, Goro acts.
“Do you make it a habit of doing this sort of thing?” Goro demands, cranking up the incredulousness of his voice from a nine to a fifteen. If he plays it up, Kurusu won’t think he said something strange. “What do you mean, you trust me? What have I ever done to earn that trust? Is your sense of self-preservation that shitty? How on earth did you become a private eye with that sort of attitude?”
It works beautifully. Kurusu’s eyes crinkle into a half-moon smile, and the stars embedded in his cheeks wink a familiar hello. “You’re so mean,” he laughs. “Can’t you take my words as a compliment and be done with it?”
“Compliment? How? You told me you’d help me bury my father’s body and help hide the evidence. You’re willing to be an accomplice to murder? What kind of detective are you?”
“A teenage one,” Kurusu grins. “And teenagers have the right to make stupid decisions.”
“I’d hardly consider hiding a body to be a typical teenage mistake,” Goro scoffs. His heart is racing as he checks for any abnormalities in Kurusu’s expressions—nope, nothing, damn him. “I’m aware that you think you’re funny, but you shouldn’t take matters such as these so lightly. I could actually kill him.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to refer you to one of the better defense lawyers I know,” Kurusu says, chuckling. Then, suddenly, he swipes Goro’s hand in his.
Goro’s mind goes impressively blank. He stares down at their joined hands. “What are you doing.”
“Taking payment. An accomplished detective’s referrals aren’t cheap, you know.”
Goro, still expressionless, tries to shake his hand off. “I didn’t ask for a referral. Let go of me.”
“But you’ll go to jail if I do that. Murder’s a serious charge!”
Goro feels something hot crawl up his throat. “Kurusu,” he warns.
“Akira,” Kurusu corrects, smiling.
Like all of his grins, it stuns Goro. Only momentarily, of course; he’s not so idiotic as to allow a slightly better than average face to blind him stupid. But this time, armed with the knowledge that he trusts him…
Well. Goro can’t blame himself for feeling a bit dizzy at the revelation.
But it’s fine, he thinks. It doesn’t mean I have to trust him in turn. It just means that he’s foolish enough to do so.
Still, he feels—he doesn’t know. Wrong? Awkward? Not guilty, never guilty, he won’t allow himself to regret being on his guard around someone so clearly suspicious, but… he feels like he owes him something in return, at least.
“...Akira,” he finally acquiesces, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. It tastes like carbonated soda, feels like fizzy aspartame; stings and soothes like an overripe kiwi devoured too quickly on a hot summer’s day.
Akira’s star-smile only brightens to match the brilliance of a sun, and Goro finds himself wanting to smile back, just a little bit, but—
Loki sneers.
SOFT. WEAK. WORTHLESS.
Goro tamps the newfound warmth down with the force of a falling anvil, and says, “Let go of my hand. And since I’m following your idiotic little whims, keep your end of the deal and don’t go around calling me by my first name.”
Akira squeezes his hand once before he lets go and steps back, finally letting Goro breathe in his own space. He tilts his head and says, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” as he wears an indecipherably fond smile.
So then they walk together to the train station back to Shibuya, the air surprisingly, comfortably silent. Goro’s hand tingles all the way back.
And when he gets home, he throws up.
-
cold, again. at least he’s getting used to it by now.
“my, my. you have established a truly intriguing bond today, it seems.”
(what happened?) (why is it different?) (is kurusu kurusu kurusu kurusu akira the cause?) (am i—)
the voice interrupts him. goro’s never wished for a mouth more.
“JUSTICE,” it says. “truth, fairness, and objective law. a sworn promise that is always kept. a scale that shall remain ever-balanced. it is a dance of duality, equality, and stubborn impartiality.”
(why him?)
“a deal to pay others back what they are due, and to be paid back in turn… it seems that you two share a very unique fate, trickster.”
(why HIM?) goro tries to demand, (why him, why kurusukurusukurusu akira, what promise, what deal, what dance—)
a chuckle. a laugh. a cackle—no, not a cackle, but oh, how goro wishes it were. he wishes for a lot of things. none of them will be granted, not for someone like him.
(fuck you. fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you—)
“i look forward to your future,” the voice delightedly says in that horrible, freezing silence.
-
Goro thinks he’s gotten better with reining in his temper.
He’s no stranger to how much his words can sting. Can hurt. He knows full well how they are, most of the time, overly cruel and at some times entirely unnecessary. But after—ugh— befriending the others, he’s been trying to file his claws down, to retract his fangs—not entirely, mind you, but just enough so that it falls moreso on the side of teasing than insulting.
But sometimes, sometimes, his rage can be entirely justified.
Like when Morgana decides to set off an incredibly obvious booby trap just because he thinks it’s nice and gold and shiny.
Goro manages to escape the lasers, of course, because he’s Goro Akechi and would rather get cut in half by said lasers than get uselessly trapped in them like some two-bit amateur. Ryuji and Ann (who aren’t two-bit amateurs, Goro should clarify), get caught not because they’re slow, but because they foolishly try to save Morgana from the trap instead of retreating like they should. And Morgana… no, Goro isn’t even going to mention Morgana.
He frees them quickly, as a good leader should, and then deigns to beat up that damned necklace Shadow with such bloodthirst that none of the others even dare to try and get a hit in—not even Ryuji, which is saying something.
They escape to a safe room after, and Ann, the emotionally intelligent one in the group, carefully suggests to retire for the afternoon, with the others heartily agreeing. And before Goro can even get a second word in, there’s a Goho-M crushed in Ryuji’s palm, and they find themselves loitering in front of Madarame’s beginner Minecraft house once more.
Before the group disbands for the day, though, Ann shoves her share of the loot towards Goro.
“Nuh-uh, you’re the one who did most of the fighting today,” she warns as Goro opens his mouth. “And this isn’t everything, just the money we got from that necklace Shadow. Don’t give me that look, you killed it all by yourself and I was the one stupid enough to get caught in the trap. Take it.”
“Mine too!” Ryuji muscles in, shoving the mess of bills into Goro’s arm. “No take backs, got it? ‘Kay, I’m goin’ now. And I’m takin’ the cat with me.”
“I am not a—”
Morgana’s complaint is cut short with a yowl as Ryuji grabs him by the scruff to hoist him onto his shoulder, grinning, and leaves with a wave. Ann follows soon after with a shrug, and it’s only after they’re a few paces away that Goro hears Morgana yell, “Sorry for today! You can take my share too!”
And then, Goro is alone.
Probably for the best, Goro thinks. After all, he isn’t exactly a people person. Being around them would have probably resulted in a fight—or rather, in a one-sided shouting match where Goro spits out the most vile insults imaginable. He’s lucky the others know him well enough to know when to back off. Unfortunately, this means that he’s now left with a bunch of angry energy and nowhere to release it to.
And it isn’t pointed towards the others, not really. Sure, he’s annoyed that progress got cut short due to such an amateurish mistake. But it’s the, well, everything: the slower progress due to the higher-level Shadows, the strobelight-like colors in the Palace giving him a near-constant headache, fucking Akira Kurusu, and the worryingly silent Kitagawa.
Kitagawa…
Just thinking about the guy makes Goro want to rip out the street sign next to him and bash the rickety wooden house to planks and pieces. It’s been a long week and a half of infiltrations and fights and migraines, and Kitagawa hasn’t answered a single text Goro’s sent his way since the sixteenth. Even his half-baked attempt to lure him out with the promise of food had gone ignored.
But, Goro realizes with a start, was it really ignored?
After a moment’s stalling, he comes to a decision, and finds himself knocking on the door of Madarame’s residence.
He knows he’s being foolish. Impulsive, even. But frankly, he’s quite tired of having to be the beacon of reason all the time; he’s just itching to let himself be unreasonable, especially after the events of today. And the only open choices he has, barring the ones that would absolutely get him in deep trouble, are either seeking Kitagawa or Akira, and he’d rather eat his own shit than willingly seek that damn detective out.
Honestly, the most ‘danger’ he faces now is that he might actually sock Madarame in the nose if he sees him here. But, well, assault’s already on his record, and they’re making good headway into his Palace. If worst comes to worst, he’ll just camp out in Mementos.
But all the what-ifs end up being just that, as Kitagawa is the one who answers the door. And Kitagawa looks…
Tired. Incredibly tired. His bangs, normally swept artfully, stick up in every which way with an oily sheen; the bags under his eyes, normally obscured by his long lower lashes, boast loud and true with an impressive shade of bruising purple. His cheeks are hollowed, his skin is a sickly pallor, and the only color on him are the smudges of paint decorating his person, all in various stages between wet and dry.
Even still, he manages to look pretty despite it all— some people have all the luck, Goro thinks, and immediately curses himself out—and Kitagawa’s eyes, which are glazed over and mired with exhaustion, sharpen then soften as he recognizes who he’s answering at the door.
“Akechi-san?” he says. His voice is scratchy—perhaps from disuse?
“Kitagawa-san,” Goro says. The usual smile makes its way on his face. It feels empty. It feels familiar. “Hello. Am I interrupting you? I apologize, if so.”
Kitagawa blinks at him. “Oh,” he says, after a pause. “Yes, I suppose you are. Sensei isn’t home today, so I suppose it’s alright… can I help you with something?” Then, he blinks again. “Ah, where are my manners? Please, come in.”
It’s like he’s swimming through molasses, Goro thinks as he enters the rickety building. Like he’s suspended in animation, like someone’s slowed his playback speed to zero point five. When has Kitagawa slept, eaten, rested last? How is he even alive?
(Goro knows the answer to that question. It’s the same way he’s alive. Human bodies are resilient things, after all, and adapt to habit as easily as the mind. After a lifetime’s worth of practice being starved, neglected, and deprived of bodily needs, it stands to reason that his system has adapted to this near-constant absence of care.
Goro’s familiar with it, and he’s as grateful as he’s bitter about it. When he was younger, he had thought that the least his body could do was fail him entirely, so that he wouldn’t have to face this endless, aching pain. Whether he shares the same sentiment now, though, he’s unsure.)
“I was worried about you,” Goro suddenly says.
There’s a bit of him that guiltily cringes at the way Kitagawa turns to him, eyes wide. He was— is— worried for him, it’s true, but he’d only decided to come today because he’d wanted a distraction. Still, he barrels on. “You hadn’t answered any of my texts, and given your sensei’s disposition I thought, well…”
“Ah… yes, sensei took my phone away after you—um, collapsed. To ensure that I would not be distracted while working on the new painting.”
Of course he did. Goro tamps down the lick of anger crawling up his throat and tightly says, “That’s ridiculous. You and I both know that you are not one for petty distractions, Kitagawa-san.”
“It is only an excuse to punish me further, I gather,” Kitagawa agrees, then harshly winces. “That is—please ignore what I just said. I must be quite tired. The truth is, Akechi-san, I have made little progress on the spotlight piece due to a, hm, drought of inspiration. Sensei is simply frustrated at the lack of progress. The fault lies with me.”
Keep it down. Keep it down. Goro swallows dryly. “Kitagawa-san,” he forces out cheerfully—
“Yusuke.”
“...Yusuke-san,” he repeats. “Would you allow me to take you out for dinner tonight?”
It’s only after he makes the offer that he realizes that, right, he’s supposed to be in a relationship with one Akira Kurusu; But Yusuke thankfully doesn’t see the unintentional implication of the suggestion, and only shakes his head. “I… shouldn’t.”
“Why not? You’ve been working near-nonstop, I’d wager,” Goro presses. “When did you eat last?”
“Only a few hours ago. Please, Akechi-san, it’s really fine—”
“When did you eat a proper meal last?”
Yusuke falls silent. Goro takes it as a go-ahead, and says, “I won’t keep you for long. I simply want to treat you to something nice tonight. A bit of good food should help you find the energy to finish your piece, no? Your sensei isn’t home, either; it isn’t as if he has to know.”
Yusuke hesitates. “...I couldn’t possibly make you pay for me—”
“It just happens that I came by quite a bit of money recently. A… bonus from my job, if you will.” Technically he’s not lying. “We can go somewhere nearby. I believe I saw a Western-style seafood grill a few blocks down?”
Yusuke’s eyes brighten.
Got him.
“Well…” he says slowly, eyes darting about the room as if Madarame will suddenly appear out of thin air. “If it’s truly no trouble, then…”
“Excellent,” Goro says, grabbing him by the arm. “Let’s go.”
The grill is, to Goro’s surprise, a relatively quiet establishment. There are private booths in every section, and the lighting is nice and dim. Due to its recent opening, there aren’t a lot of people, and they’re placed in an inconspicuous table near the back wall. The seats are nice and plush, and there’s a table grill for the waiters to serve their food on-site.
It’s also, as expected of its high service, incredibly expensive to dine there. Goro (who is incredibly allergic to spending any unnecessary money and is frugal to a fault, which is why he is put in charge of the group’s funds) is surprised to find that he doesn’t mind paying the undoubtedly high bill. He supposes that this, too, can be chalked up to his itch to do something stupid today. People spend money when they’re in bad moods, right? A bit of retail therapy would surely do the trick.
That, and there’s no end to the satisfaction he feels when he watches Yusuke gorge himself on the food.
“You’re going to choke,” he tells the other boy not for the first time that evening, his voice wryly amused. “We aren’t on a time limit, Yusuke-san. Please make sure to chew before swallowing.”
Yusuke, who has just finished devouring an entire tail of a lobster in one go, blindly reaches for his glass of water, which is empty. Goro hands him his own glass instead, and Yusuke downs the whole thing in a single gulp. “My many thanks,” he says breathlessly as he wipes his mouth. “And many apologies for my manners. It has been some time since I’ve eaten something this exquisite. You are too generous, Akechi-san.”
“...It’s really nothing.” Goro waves down a waiter, who wordlessly refills both their cups. “It’s nice to see you enjoy yourself. Would you like me to order more shrimp?”
“Only if your wallet allows for it.”
“Two more servings of shrimp, please,” Goro tells the waiter, who nods and promptly goes to put the order in. “Don’t worry. I did say that I had a good bit of money today.”
“I thank you, truly.” Yusuke swallows down three smoked artichokes and a palm-sized slice of grilled salmon. “If you wouldn’t mind me asking, what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m afraid I’m unable to divulge specific details, but I suppose you could call it a form of paid activism,” Goro says, the lie falling from his lips easily. “I contributed heavily on a recent venture in our current project, and so I received a hefty bonus for my efforts. I apologize, but I’m not at liberty to explain any further.”
Yusuke nods his head, and takes a huge sip of water. “That’s quite incredible, Akechi-san. To think you’re doing so much at our age… it’s quite admirable.”
“You’re quite admirable yourself,” Goro points out. “Kosei is quite a prestigious school, is it not? It’s incredibly difficult to get accepted. …Not to mention how high your pieces go for at your sensei’s exhibitions.”
Goro almost regrets saying that last part when he sees how Yusuke’s expression shutters. But, well, he’s never been one to coddle, and there’s nothing he hates more than to run away from problems.
“I suppose so,” Yusuke finally says, his voice quiet. He stares into his plate for a moment. “Akechi-san… have I ever told you the reason why I’ve stuck by my sensei for so long?”
Well. This is new. “...You haven’t,” Goro says, voice cautious.
“Contrary to what you and my previous senpais think of me, I did, at one point, fantasize about leaving that house. In fact, I did leave the house. I believe I was… about ten years old.” Yusuke’s voice and eyes are both far, far away. “One of the students—seven years my senior—had just gotten into an intense argument with sensei . It has been so long, I do not even remember what the argument was about. But she ended up packing her things and leaving that very night… to this day, I do not know what became of her.
“Although we were not especially close, she was my favorite senpai as well as the one I was most familiar with, since she was the one who stayed the longest after I. Her disappearance shocked me to my core, and I, too, decided to leave that house once and for all. I ran away the very next day, and found myself walking through the streets of Tokyo. I somehow made my way into an open art exhibit while looking for that senior of mine, and then…” Yusuke trails off.
In the midst of his storytelling, Yusuke had even stopped eating. Goro watches him twirl one of his chopsticks around his fingers like one would do with a pen. “And then…?”
“And then, I saw it.” Yusuke looks up, eyes bright. “The Sayuri. Inside the exhibit was painting—a painting so beautiful, so awe-inducing, that I, even at ten years old, could not help but be moved by it.” Yusuke fishes for his phone, then frowns. “Ah. I do not have my phone. May I borrow yours for a moment?”
Goro passes him his phone, and Yusuke types something in the search bar. After some squinting, swiping, and muttering “no, no, the quality of this photo is atrocious,” Yusuke lets out a sound of triumph, and passes it back to Goro.
The painting is… well, Goro’s no expert, but it’s certainly well-painted. As with many of Madarame’s works, it seems to be rooted in traditional Japanese ink painting. But while the photo absolutely obscures some of the details of the piece, it seems, well… simple. The colors aren’t especially eye-catching, and the composition doesn’t seem all that arresting. And so the nasty, coldly rational part of Goro’s brain scoffs, That’s it? That’s all it took for you to stay?
But there’s something else about the artwork that makes him stop and stare. He can’t put it into words—he doesn’t even understand why— but when he lays his eyes on it, something unnamed makes him feel a pang. His chest twists, like someone’s wringing it out like they would do a wet rag. It’s a bone-deep sort of throb, the kind that Ryuji complains about on a rainy day as he’s leaning on his good leg, the kind that persists in Goro’s head after dreaming of a bitter cold and an uncannily high voice, the kind that—
The kind that…
The kind that aches when he thinks of birthday cakes made with stale bread, of Christmas presents wrapped with newspaper and twine; of cuddles under thin quilts, of bedtime stories by dying candlelight, of chestnut hair and maroon eyes and comfort and love.
Goro thinks he understands, now.
“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Yusuke says, voice soft.
“Yes,” Goro says. His voice cracks, and he clears it. “Yes.”
“I found myself awestruck by it, and before I had realized it, it was evening.” Yusuke smiles wryly. “That is how sensei found me. He was beside himself, lecturing me about leaving the atelier and wandering off on my own… after that, he became all the more strict regarding when and why I left the house. But in the moment, I felt nothing but gratitude for my teacher: such a brilliant man had cared enough to look for me despite such a rude departure, after all. He was even willing to allow me to study under him again.
“Not long after that, he took me out to eat at a rather luxurious restaurant, not unlike this one, and apologized to me.” Yusuke bows his head slightly. “ ‘What a failure of a teacher I must be, to have not one but two of my brightest students leave me within a single week!’ he had sobbed, and then begged me to forgive him of his shortcomings.”
Goro’s mouth tastes like sawdust. “And that’s why you never left.”
The story, oddly enough, almost feels reminiscent of one of those folktales parents would tell their children to teach a guiding moral veiled by a fantastical narrative. A young boy, disillusioned with his sensei’s teachings with the loss of his senior, runs away from home; he finds himself wandering an unknown, seemingly magical place, before being captivated by a beautiful painting. His sensei finds him weeping at its beauty, and they make up at the end, promising to live happily together forevermore.
But this isn’t a folktale. This isn’t some magical story with an upright moral and a feel-good ending. This is reality, and the reality is that Madarame guilt-tripped a child into staying with him for his own benefit. The reality is that Yusuke Kitagawa, a brilliant, talented artist full of passions and dreams and potential , has been so thoroughly brainwashed that he clips his own wings to shackle himself to that utter scam of a teacher.
“I am aware that you believe me to be a lonely person. But sensei is an even lonelier person than I,” Yusuke says when he sees Goro’s expression twist. He closes his eyes. “His fame draws many to him, like moths to a flame. But it also keeps him isolated, as the moths cannot touch the flame without being burned by its brilliance. After seeing my fellow peers come and go, I have realized that I am the only one willing to stay.”
Yusuke looks up, and smiles sadly. “Without me, I fear that sensei may be unwilling to go on. And if something were to happen to him due to my selfishness… I would never forgive myself.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Yusuke flinches.
“You are not responsible for your sensei’s issues,” Goro snarls. “He is his own person, and you are yours. Until when are you planning on coddling him? Until when will you sabotage your own prospects to placate your master? Are you not an artist, Yusuke-san? Is your craft not representative of your own thoughts, your feelings, your creativity? Or have you simply been following your sensei’s every which whim and demand, churning out piece after piece like some automated machine? Because if that is the case, I am incredibly offended that you had the gall to ask me to be your muse when you have no idea what it is that you wish to capture on your canvas in the first place!”
Goro’s words ring loudly in their small booth, loudly enough that a passing waiter turns to look at them as she walks by with an impressive amount of trays in hand. It takes him approximately three seconds to realize the weight of his own words, and approximately three more to wrestle down the urge to take back everything he just said and offer an apology. He is not going to run from this, damn it, and if this severs the thread-thin connection he’d spun with Yusuke then so be it.
But then Yusuke laughs.
It’s a breathless laugh, one that’s a bit disbelieving and a touch hysterical. It grows louder and louder in volume, until he’s nearly doubled over the table and his face is obscured from view.
Goro starts towards him, concerned. “Yusuke-san—?”
“Marvelous,” comes a breathy whisper, and Goro’s hand freezes where it’s stood, hovering directly above Yusuke’s head. “Positively marvelous.” Yusuke raises his head, his eyes shining. “Akechi-san.”
“Y-Yes?” Goro squeaks.
“Would you do me the favor—no, the honor —” Yusuke’s hand snaps out and ensnares Goro’s palms before he can pull away. “—of painting you as my subject for the spotlight piece for the exhibit?”
Goro gapes at him.
“—What?”
-
“What?!” Morgana screeches. “And you agreed?!”
Goro shrugs off his bag and takes a heavy seat next to Ryuji, who’s currently chowing down on some melon pan. Then, he fixes Morgana with a sharp glare. “Mona.”
“Sorry,” Morgana says meekly, lowering his voice. “But you agreed? But what about Madarame? Doesn’t that mean you have to be there every day? I don’t like it!”
“I don’t like it either,” Ann says. Her mouth is turned down in a scowl. “Don’t you remember what happened last time you went alone, Goro? And you’ll have to see that horrible man again. You should say no.”
“It gives me a more legitimate excuse to be there, Ann,” Goro says mildly. “Besides, this means I can personally check up on our target as we progress further through the Palace. It will make for good reconnaissance. While your concern is appreciated, it is not necessary—”
“That’s the problem!” Ann argues back. “You always do this, Goro! You never think any of our concern for you is necessary! Last time we let you go alone, you had a fainting episode all by yourself, and we had no idea—”
“I’on see what the problem is,” Ryuji says.
Ann whirls on him. “What?”
“If Goro says he’s got it handled, he’s got it handled, yeah?” Ryuji takes another staggering bite of his melon pan. “He’s the leader, which means we gotta trust him when he makes the calls. Besides, Goro ain’t the kinda person to do stuff he doesn’t wanna do.” He turns to Goro, and gives him a toothy, crumb-filled grin. “Right, leader?”
Goro feels warm. It feels disgusting. It feels nice. “I’ll get you that new bat you’ve been eyeing at Untouchable later today.”
“Sweet!”
“I guess if Goro says it’s fine, it’s fine,” Morgana admits.
Ann’s frown lessens, but only by a bit. “Okay, but still— it’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s that he tends to—you know.”
“Madarame isn’t going to kill me, Ann,” he says bluntly, making her flinch. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be changing his heart fairly soon regardless.”
Outnumbered, Ann finally backs down. “...Fine,” she acquiesces, uncrossing her arms.
“Changin’ the subject,” Ryuji says with all the subtlety of a rampaging bull. “Any of you guys go to that counselin’ thing yet? With Narupi?”
“It’s Maruki, Ryuji. Geez.” Then, Ann looks at Goro, then guiltily looks away. “...I have.”
“For real? What’s it like?”
“Surprisingly, it was… pretty good?” Ann laces and unlaces her fingers together. “We really did just sit there for most of the time. I started to feel awkward, so I talked a little bit about Shiho—he didn’t push me to say anything I didn’t want to say, though. It was… nice.”
Goro sneers. “That’s how therapists are, Ann. They shuffle through meaningless conversation starters until you get tricked into engaging with them, and then they coerce your secrets out of you while making you think that you’re offering them up out of your own free will.”
“It’s kind of unfair to judge him like that before you’ve even met him,” Morgana points out.
“I have met him, Morgana. And I can tell he’s the same as all those lying bastards I’ve seen in the past.”
Ryuji chews his lower lip. “But he didn’t make you say anythin’ you didn’t wanna, right?”
“Yeah,” Ann says. And then she turns to Goro, expression defensive. “I really think you should try giving him a chance, Goro. He seems like he just wants the best for us. The school’s gonna make us go see him anyway, so we might as well be friendly with him, right?”
“You can play buddy-buddy with him all you like,” Goro says spitefully. “But I won’t have anything to do with him.”
-
[homophobe] : [i went to maruki]
[ann<3] : [!!! how was it??]
[homophobe] : [ig he was alright]
[ann<3] : [see!!! isnt he super nice]
[homophobe] : [yea]
[homophobe] : [btw @GoroAkechi he says that he wants to see u after school 2day]
[homophobe] : [says the school’s making him do it]
[Of course he would say that.]
[ann<3] : [He really isn’t that bad goro]
[ann<3] : [Just give him a chance!]
[It looks like I have no other choice in the matter regardless.]
[Fine.]
-
This is what happens, in as concise of a summary as can possibly be.
After school’s end, Goro tells Haru that he’s busy for the afternoon, and apologizes for being unable to, yet again, help her with her garden. He goes to Ann, who he promptly hands Morgana off to, and pointedly ignores the expectant looks she throws his way. He finds Ryuji, who’s lounging by the stairs, shoves a few thousand yen into his hands, and tells him to go buy the bat from Untouchable himself since he’s busy today. And then, he goes to that damned nurse’s office, and is greeted with the sight of one (1) Takuto Maruki, one (1) Sumire Yoshizawa, and…
“What,” Goro snarls at one (1) Akira Kurusu, “are you doing here?”
To his credit, Akira looks just as surprised as Goro feels. “Meeting a few friends of mine?” he says in the form of a question. “What are you doing here, Akechi?”
“I go to school here , dipsh—” Goro catches Yoshizawa staring at him, and promptly clears his throat. “You came all the way to Aoyama-Itchome to see Yoshizawa?”
“Yeah. We were gonna hang out today. Also, Dr. Maruki’s an old friend of mine, so when I heard he started working here I thought I might as well say hello…” Suddenly, Akira grins. “What, are you worried I’ll run off with her or something? C’mon, babe, you know my heart only belongs to you.”
“I will chop off your fingers and toes with a dull knife and feed them back to you one by one,” Goro hisses, “I will slit your throat and hang you upside down until all the blood has drained from your body and then use your skin as a wet rag—”
“Isn’t he so cute,” Akira says to Yoshizawa, who looks horrified. “He says stuff like this all the time. It’s like I’m dating a porcupine.”
“I didn’t know that you knew each other,” Maruki says, looking like he’s torn between being horrified at Goro’s viciousness or amused at Akira’s nonchalance.
“Oh, yeah. We know each other real well. Don’t we, sweetie?” Akira winks.
Yoshizawa finally manages to find her words. “You two are—” she stumbles to say, “you two are dating? Kurusu-senpai, you’re—”
“Apologies,” Goro says viciously, reaching out to grab Akira’s hand in a vice-grip. “May I borrow him for a moment? It won’t be for long. Thank you very much.”
He ignores Yoshizawa’s spluttering and Maruki’s small laughs as he drags Akira into the boys’ bathroom near the office.
“Woah,” Akira says, grinning. “Talk about forward—”
Goro punches him in the face.
He doesn’t tuck his thumb in between his second and third fingers, and it’s a relatively light hit, all things considered, but the punch still sends Kurusu reeling. His hands scrabble up to clutch at his reddened cheek as he exclaims, “What the hell?”
“That’s my line, you feckless piece of shit,” Goro snarls. “What have I told you about telling others about our so-called relationship?”
“You didn’t have to punch me for it!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Goro says. “Shut up. You understand nothing. You’re a selfish bastard, Akira Kurusu. Have you ever once considered why I don’t want you going around announcing this shit to other people? Have you ever considered what might happen if people find out I’m gay?”
Akira stills. “I…” Suddenly, he looks aghast. “Wait, you’re actually gay?”
Goro sneers. “What is it? Are you disgusted? Don’t tell me you want to put a stop to this ridiculous farce now that you know my orientation. I should have known you would pull something like this.”
“No— no—” Akira scrambles. “No, Akechi, I’m not disgusted, what the hell? But you should have—I don’t know, told me if you didn’t want people to know—”
“I did, you idiotic twat. Multiple times, if you recall. But who was the one who decided to tell others anyway? Shall I ask Nijima-san to let you borrow the school’s PA system so you can announce it to everyone all at once? It would save you quite a bit of time.”
“Akechi, I…” Akira looks crushed. Oh, Goro feels wonderful. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hm. Shame that apologies can’t turn back time.”
A thick silence falls.
And then, Akira speaks. “Are you—are you in any danger?”
Goro snorts. “What?”
“Like—is your caretaker homophobic, or something? Or your friends? Ann and Ryuji didn’t seem to be those kinds of people…”
“They’re fine.” Goro’s voice is short. “As for my caretaker, I haven’t the faintest clue. And I don’t intend on finding out.”
“Oh. Okay.” Akira fiddles with his hands. “Sorry. Uh… if it helps at all… Sumi and Maruki won’t find any issue with it. They’re not the kinds of people to spread this kind of thing around, either. You can trust them.”
Ha. Goro trusts them as far as he can throw them— especially Maruki, that damn hack.
“We’ll see,” is all he says.
“I mean it. They’re good people.” Akira shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Also…”
“If you’re planning on apologizing again, I’d advise you to save your breath.”
“No, that’s not it.” Akira winces. “I mean, I am sorry. But that’s not what I was gonna say. I just wanted to tell you that—uh—I get it.”
Goro doesn’t think he’s met a more frustrating person in his entire life. “Get what, Akira.”
“The whole—you know, being gay thing. I mean, I’m not gay, but—oh, that sounds bad, doesn’t it? Um. Sorry. I’m bad at this.” Akira laughs awkwardly. “What I meant to say was. I’m bi.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So you really don’t need to—wait, you know?”
“Akira,” Goro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “You have been flirting with me incessantly since the day that we met. When asked about your ideal type on those inane interviews you feature on, you deliberately answer them with genderless pronouns. You wear a peacoat and turtleneck and fake glasses because you think it’s fashionable.”
Kurusu’s smile quirks. “You watch my interviews?”
“My caretaker likes to put the TV on in the mornings. It isn’t by choice.” Goro glances at his phone, then pockets it. “Unfortunately, it seems that our time is up. I have a very harrowing session mandated by your dear therapist friend, and I intend to be as difficult as humanly possible. Good day, Akira.”
Akira’s hand closes around his wrist. “Wait.”
Goro turns around, exasperated. “What is it now—”
A pair of lips meet his cheek.
It’s a quick kiss. Just a peck, really. But the tiny action roots Goro to the ground, as if he’s been frozen solid by a stray Bufu. “I’m sorry,” Akira whispers, lips close to his ear. Lips that he just kissed Goro with. On the cheek. “Really. I’ll make it up to you, just wait.”
And then, he lets go, and strides out of the bathroom quickly.
Goro stands there, dumbfounded. He raises a hand to touch his cheek. The spot he’d kissed is still warm.
His eye twitches.
That little shit.