Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I really need your help, Ren.”

Despite the background noise of wherever Ann was at that moment, and despite being separated by miles and miles of ocean of dozens of countries, and a phone connection that had no small amount of static, she still managed to sound just like she always did, a little teasing as she wheedled him for a favour. Ren smiled into the receiver as he adjusted the balance of his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for the coffee beans that were set neatly on the third shelf of the cupboard beside the sink. There were three bags, the same ones Sojiro served at Leblanc, although Ren only ever used two of them.

It was early in Tokyo, just past seven-thirty in the morning and Ren had only been awake for half an hour before his phone rang. It had to be quite late in Paris, but he was pretty certain that models didn’t follow the same sleep schedules as normal people did because Ann never called him at a time that anyone would consider reasonable for her to still be awake. She didn’t call much at all, really—too busy walking runways and posing for photoshoots that wouldn’t be printed in magazines for months yet. Ren was happy for her.

“If you need me to go water your plants again, I really suggest you ask Haru instead.”

Ann’s laughter was interrupted by a brief bout of static. “Sweetie, no, after the last time, I would never dream of asking you to take care of my plants. I left that up to Ryuji.” At Ren’s disbelieving silence, Ann laughed again. “Kidding. Well, I did leave it up to Ryuji, but Haru or Makoto come by every week to make sure they’re doing all right.”

Ren hummed with amusement. “A wise decision. Although you may actually end up with more plants than you had before.” He filled the kettle with water and set it to boil, and then wandered into the small living room that overlooked the quiet street below. There were a few women walking past his building toward the station. “So, what is it you need me to do? Pick up a delivery from the post office? Eat a double-chocolate crêpe in your honour? Tell Morgana that it’s really him you’re in love with?”

“No, yes, and no.” Ann giggled while Ren watched the pedestrians round the corner out of sight. She took a deep breath from the other side of the line and continued in a more serious voice. “I think I’ve narrowed down the wedding venues.”

“That’s great,” Ren said sincerely. He turned away from the window and went back to the counter to finish brewing his coffee. The machine was just like the one at Leblanc, courtesy of Sojiro as a joint welcome-home-to-Tokyo and congratulations-on-making-it-into-university gift many years ago now. It brought back many pleasant memories of his year in Tokyo before he was forced to return home.

He tried not to spend time dwelling on that period.

“Yeah, it really is. The problem is that I’m booked with shoots over the next few weeks, so I won’t have time to travel back to Japan and book the venue before our date is taken.” Ann paused and Ren could imagine the way she twirled her hair around her finger when she was about to ask something mildly inconvenient. “That’s where you come in.”

Ren carefully began grinding the coffee beans while Ann spoke. The comforting smell of fresh coffee filled his nose as the kettle began to reach a whistling crescendo. Brewing the perfect cup of coffee was a skill that, as a young, naïve teenager, Ren hadn’t considered particularly interesting or useful until he started doing it as a way to pass time in Leblanc. Initially, it was little more than a way to work his way into his guardian’s good graces; he’d rarely drank coffee before arriving in Yongen-Jaya, but living in a café surrounded by bags of beans and sleeping on a futon propped up by milk crates piqued his interest enough to want to learn a little about his new home. He could still recall the first time he made a decent cup—it wasn’t even close to Sojiro’s skill, but it was better than anything you could buy at a chain coffee shop. He was so proud of himself—so proud of Sojiro’s praise for making his first cup that was really worth drinking—that Ren realized that he was actually enjoying the process of brewing coffee.

“Me?” Ren repeated, a little surprised. “I can’t say I know much about weddings, but I can try. What exactly do you need me to do? Scope the place out, make sure it’s exactly as advertised?”

“Well, not exactly…” Ann’s voice trailed off as someone in the background called her name. There was some muffled exchange in what Ren supposed must be French and then Ann’s voice came clearly back through the receiver. “Sorry about that, the next shoot is starting soon. Anyway, no, I’m quite confident about the look and feel of the venue, so don’t worry about that. I’ve actually been there before as a guest to a family friend’s wedding.”

With the filter prepared, Ren carefully tipped his grinds in and slowly poured the hot water over them. That was one of the trickiest parts of the process and it was the one that had taken him the longest time to perfect. “Then what do you need me for? If you want design ideas, you’d be better off asking Yusuke.”

That might still be risky. Yusuke’s ideas were not always viable—or appealing—for the average person. Still, Ren wasn’t exactly a master of decorating for holidays or parties. The last time anyone relied on him to decorate, he had just brought flowers from Rafflesia that were left over at the end of his shift. Morgana always tried to convince him to buy streamers to hang on the walls, but they could never agree on the colour. Besides, Ren was pretty sure Morgana only wanted them so that he could bat at them with his paws until they fell off the wall.

“Actually, it’s not about the design. I have a much more important task for you.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to book the venue so that we don’t miss out on reserving our date.”

The water began to drip through the grinds. It took a moment before Ren realized just what Ann had said.

“Why not get Ryuji to do it?” Ren asked curiously. “Not that I mind, but he’s your fiancé, so shouldn’t he be doing the legwork for your wedding?”

Ann laughed. “Ryuji doesn’t really care about this sort of thing. He’ll just show up wherever I decide—honestly, I don’t think he really has any preference for where the wedding will be. Plus,” she added conspiratorially. “He’s got a meet in England this week, so he won’t have time to do this too. That’s why I need you!”

Ren was certain that there were better candidates than him for a job like this. Marriage was hardly the first thing on his mind, after all, not with his work at the clinic keeping him busy. Did Ann really have so little faith in the rest of the ex-Phantom Thieves that she thought Ren was her best option for a job like this?

“What about Haru?” Ren asked. “She’s got all kinds of connections—I bet she could get you any date you wanted.”

But Ann only huffed into the receiver. “Haru’s tied up in Singapore finalizing a deal for Okumura Foods. Makoto is the only one who can get ahold of her right now, and she refused to bother Haru for anything less than someone actually dying.”

That made way more sense—Ren wasn’t Ann’s first choice, after all. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel capable of helping her out, but Haru was everyone’s go-to for making reservations. She could get them into any restaurant—even expensive ones with a three month long waitlist—and was fantastic at haggling. Ren had witnessed her in action several times and always left feeling a little awed (and vaguely terrified) after each one.

“Then why doesn’t Makoto do it?”

“She’s in the middle of midterms right now.”

Fair enough, Ren thought. She was juggling a job with the Tokyo Police Department as well as advanced courses in law. It made him glad that he had graduated from his own program a few years ago so that he could focus on working. There were always troubled children and youths who needed someone to talk to, after all, and Ren wasn’t so egotistic as Maruki had been when it came to counselling.

“Yusuke has been MIA for like two weeks working on his next exhibition piece,” Ann continued relentlessly. He could picture the way she ticked off her fingers while she spoke. “And Futaba is busy with her own work. So that really just leaves you. We may not be Phantom Thieves anymore,” she added, “But you’re still our Leader. I trust you to do this for me.”

When she put it like that, it did make sense. Ren felt flattered, even all these years later when they were all just regular people going about their regular lives. He supposed that fighting together in life-or-death situations transcended normal friendships.

“Don’t you think this will confuse the venue?” Ren pointed out as he set the kettle aside and watched the water drip through the coffee grinds. “What am I supposed to say when I say I’m there to book on behalf of my friend who is currently in Paris?”

“Just book it under your name,” Ann said. “It’ll be fine! It’s really just to pay the deposit to reserve the date anyway—I’ll send you the money, of course! They don’t care who is getting married so long as they get paid at the end of it.”

“Well, if you say so…” Ren sighed as the drip filled the flask below. “I’ll do it for you. Send me the location and I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Oh, Ren, thank you so much!” Ann squealed with delight. “Yes, yes, I’ll forward you that information as soon as my shoot is done. I’d better get going or I’ll cause a lot of trouble for everyone. Talk soon, okay?”

In the silence of his apartment, Ren had to wonder if this scheme would really work out the way Ann believed. He couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t be questioned by the staff why he was booking a wedding venue when he wasn’t even her fiancé. He supposed he could lie and claim that he and Ann were engaged, but if they asked for proof he was totally out of luck; the last picture of them that was on his phone was of the two of them and Ryuji at their official engagement party. No one would believe he was Ann’s fiancé when Ryuji had his arm around her shoulders and was staring at her with such obvious affection.

He took the flask of coffee and transferred it into a cup. Ren inhaled the aroma of his coffee deeply, allowing it to soothe something knotted inside his chest. Of course he was happy for Ann and Ryuji. They deserved to be happy after all the hurdles—metaphorical and otherwise—that they had had to cross in coming this far. He would never begrudge them, or anyone else, their happiness. No one had escaped their teenage years unscathed, not the least of which was Ren himself. Yet while the others had all found comfort in each other as they passed into adulthood, Ren found himself rather lonely.

When was the last time anyone had looked at him the way Ryuji looked at Ann? When was the last time anyone had argued with him over something silly, like Yusuke did with Futaba all the time? Could he recall the last time someone dropped by just to spend time with him like Makoto and Haru always did with each other? Probably when he first arrived back in Tokyo for university and they spent the first few months making plans to catch up, or when the others helped him move into his apartment. Yet slowly but surely over the subsequent years, those plans had lessened as each of their adult responsibilities demanded precedence. They were no longer high schoolers with seemingly endless free time and a world to save.

Now, in a world with no metaverse and no Personas, they had to acclimate to certain societal expectations. It wasn’t all bad, but it did make it difficult to find as much time to hang out as they once had. Ren felt a little like they’d taken it for granted without even realizing it.

He took his coffee into the living room and sank down onto the couch. Morgana was already there, curled up in a shaft of morning sunlight. There wasn’t even the sound of feet from the unit above his or the tell-tale cry of the baby across the hall. Everything was quiet, perfect for introspection and memories. He shouldn’t allow himself to be jealous of his friends. It wasn’t wrong of them to have found solace in each other while Ren was stuck back in his hometown and then drowning in the demands of university life or making a name for himself as a counsellor. Nor was it their fault that the only person Ren had ever truly felt a connection with beyond mere friendship still tried to push him away at every turn.

Ren sighed and sipped his coffee. He had to leave soon to reach the station in time to arrive at work for his first appointment. It wasn’t the time to be thinking about the fact that he hadn’t dated anyone in months or that the few flings he’d had only lasted a handful of weeks at best because his heart was—and is—still in the hands of a man who could squeeze the life out of it and probably be pleased by the pain it would cause Ren.

“Ugh, gross,” Morgana muttered, glaring up at him with one eye. “Get that disgusting smile off your face. It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Sorry, Mona.”

“No, you’re not.”

He wasn’t.

Saturday dawned bright and cool. Ren liked to sleep in a little later on his days off but brewing his morning coffee was practically a ritual at this point so he couldn’t head out on his mission until that was done. He spent some time flipping through the news headlines without much interest (since the Detective Prince was no more, the news now tended to be rather dull—no one else had his charisma on TV) and then switched to his chat messages. The most recent one was from Ann with the promised address followed by a selfie from Ryuji where he sat slumped in his seat on a plane. Then there was also one from Futaba about a new video game she insisted they had to play together that Ren knew they wouldn’t have time for until she had a break from her work.

Glancing at the clock, Ren heaved himself up and washed his coffee implements before heading back into his bedroom to change. The air was still quite cool in March, so he opted for a long-sleeved sweater and a comfortable pair of faded jeans. It was nearly impossible to tame his hair, so he settled for running a comb through it and then adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose; despite wearing glasses as a fashion accessory during high school, Ren’s eyesight had ironically deteriorated enough on its own to warrant that he wore real ones all the time.

“Are you heading out now on Lady Ann’s mission?” Morgana asked, yawning widely as Ren paced back into the room. “Your keys are on the table over there.”

“Thanks, Mona. Are you coming along too?”

Morgana considered the offer for a moment. “I think I’ll stay here today. I trust you will do exactly as Lady Ann has instructed.”

“You just want to be home to watch the next episode of Love in Kyoto,” Ren accused with a snicker.

“T-that’s not true!” Morgana wailed. “It’s just…my old bones, they can’t take the cold like they used to, that’s all.”

Considering that Morgana never seemed to age or fall ill like a normal cat, Ren knew perfectly well that this was a complete lie. Still, he only smiled fondly and ruffled the cat’s head as he passed to grab his keys. He left a plate of food on the counter for Morgana since he would likely be out for most of the day, buttoned up his gray wool coat, and then headed down six flights of stairs and into the quiet street.

He’d been lucky to land a nice, if somewhat small, apartment near the clinic where he worked almost as soon as he graduated from university. Sojiro had offered him back the cramped attic that Ren had occupied during his first stay in Tokyo, and it had worked out well enough while he went through the first few years of psychology courses. But the room had been small even back when he was only a high-schooler and Ren was a man grown. He needed his own space and saved every yen for it by working shifts at Leblanc and Crossroads throughout university. Sojiro had even been kind enough to come view the place with him and make sure it was worth the money. He would never allow his pseudo-son to move into a dump of an apartment or get scammed in the process. Years later and Ren still comfortably inhabited that same first apartment.

The subway train was as packed as usual as it headed toward Shibuya filled to the brim with high-schoolers, businessmen, and plenty of other people simply on their way to shop. Ren heard his stomach rumble as they finally pulled into the station and made a beeline toward Central Street. He was early, and there was plenty of time to visit the venue, so he headed toward a popular bakery that had popped up a couple of years earlier.

It was rather small with cramped aisles and only a few round tables for seating customers. There was already a line of people waiting to purchase freshly-baked loaves of bread and warm pastries filled with an assortment of flavours. Ren had tried several of the turnovers and bought an entire box of croissants just the other week and had yet to be disappointed. Although he enjoyed cooking, Ren wasn’t much of a baker but he could tell when a pastry was done right. It was an art not unlike brewing coffee, requiring precision and years of practice to get it exactly right. If he’d had more free time, he might have even considered taking up baking as another hobby. As it stood, teaching himself to cook had been much more important than kneading pastry dough because as much as he enjoyed Leblanc’s curry, he certainly needed more variety in his diet.

He joined the end of the line, hands shoved in his pockets, behind a man wearing a familiar camel-coloured coat. The line was moving slowly this morning, but that wasn’t unusual. Popular places tended to go viral on food blogs or whatever app was currently the most popular amongst high-schoolers. Plenty of people debated what they wanted right up until the moment they reached the register. Ren didn’t mind, though; he was a patient person by nature, and he had deliberately left himself plenty of time to run Ann’s errand. He could stand to spend a few extra minutes waiting for the line to inch forward if it meant that his breakfast would be fresh and warm.

The man directly in front of him spoke without turning around. “Some people might say that this is stalking.

Ren smiled. “It’s not stalking when you’re just predictable.”

The man still didn’t turn to face him. His long coat was as pristine as the first time Ren had seen it years ago and his hair brushed against his shoulders when he moved his head. He must have had it trimmed recently because the cut was more even than earlier in the week when Ren had bumped into him on the train to Akihabara. He’d claimed that he didn’t want to chat then either, but they were cramped together in the middle of the train car gripping the railings above their heads for support, so he hadn’t been able to escape from Ren’s persistent attempts at starting a conversation. Not that he had tried very hard to do that (something Ren had noticed) given the way they fell into their usual back and forth banter without a second thought. They had even walked all the way to Electric Town together after disembarking the train and agreed to meet for billiards later in the evening.

He snorted derisively at the suggestion that he might be predictable but he didn’t pursue the point. Still, he was the one who had acknowledged Ren’s presence behind him in line first, so it stood to reason that he probably didn’t mind chit-chatting with Ren as much as he would like to claim. 

“You keep coming back here, though,” Ren went on casually. He turned a package of melonpan over in his hand while keeping his quarry within his peripheral vision. “I thought you only visited popular places once to gauge the veracity of the fad.”

“The product is of decent quality,” replied Goro Akechi waspishly, turning his head just far enough to glare at Ren from the corner of his eye. “And the prices are reasonable. My patronage has nothing to do with popularity.”

He wasn’t wrong—the food was excellent and the prices were only a bit above average—but Akechi was not one to simply admit when he liked something. The only notable exception to this rule was Jazz Jin, and Ren could hardly fault him for that; he liked it there too. He set the melonpan back on the shelf with the others as the line inched forward again and he caught a whiff of Akechi’s cologne. It was a subtle scent, something easily forgotten amidst a crowd of people unless you were looking for it. Within the confines of a tiny bakery, the scent was easily lost among sugared desserts and the comforting smell of fresh bread; no one but Ren would ever notice it, much less be drawn toward it so inexorably.

Maybe he was stalking Akechi. He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it though, not after all the time Akechi had spent stalking him all those years ago.

“You bought anpan last week, right?” Ren asked, peering at the box of six on the next shelf. “Were they any good?”

“Fine,” Akechi said curtly. “You could buy your own and find out, you know.”

“I don’t feel like them today,” Ren replied with a shrug, smiling sidelong at him.

“Then why would you ask?” Akechi snapped. He turned to face Ren fully, arms crossed tightly and eyes flashing. “Never mind. I forgot that you specialize in asking inane questions.”

The line moved forward again as a pair of middle-aged women stepped up behind Ren, and he shuffled closer to Akechi on instinct. The one-time detective hated sharing his personal space with others, but even when he had cooperated with the Phantom Thieves, he had never insisted Ren stand back from him, despite how he would force his way past the others. Even now, years after Ren had reconnected with him and there were no pretenses to uphold, Akechi still didn’t insist on maintaining much distance between them. This was just like the nights they spent together in Jazz Jin or at Penguin Sniper, heads bent closer together and knees knocking against each other under the table in a world all their own.

Akechi moved over just enough that Ren could stand beside him instead of pressed nearly nose-to-nose and shifted his leather bag to his other shoulder. A couple of young women stared at them from two aisles over, whispering behind their hands and pointing at them unsubtly. Akechi ignored them, feigning interest in the menu posted over the registers even though they both knew he had decided on his order before he even set foot in the store.

He must be in a good mood today, Ren thought. He didn’t know if they were former fans of the Detective Prince or just interested because Akechi was undeniably good-looking, but it hardly mattered. He attracted onlookers everywhere he went.

“I suppose you’re heading to Leblanc after this,” Akechi said, not quite making it into a question. He glanced sidelong at Ren. “Where’s the cat?”

“He stayed home. Something about television reruns he didn’t want to miss.” He could make a comment about enjoying old episodes of Akechi’s interviews, but that would truly anger him, and Ren didn’t want to do that. He opted instead for the truth. “I’m not visiting the café today, though. I’ve got business to take care of in Kichijoji.”

They reached the register. Akechi selected a loaf of fresh, crusty French bread from the counter and a package of anpan. He really was quite thoughtful.

“Kichijoji?” he murmured, pulling a card from his wallet while the cashier rang in his purchases. “What could possibly take you there so early on a Saturday? Surely you aren’t going to practice darts alone just so you have a chance to beat me.”

They were actually pretty evenly matched, but Ren decided not to correct him. Instead, he shoved both hands in his pockets and pretended to be interested in the lemon tarts that an employee was carefully arranging in the display case. Morgana would have scolded him for teasing Akechi like this by deliberately misrepresenting his mission for Ann, but Morgana wasn’t there. And besides, Ann would have found the whole thing funny—of all the ex-Thieves, she was the one who liked Akechi the most. She was also very supportive Ren’s very obvious and long-term crush on him, but neither of those things would have stopped her from teasing the former detective. Ren felt that it was his duty to do what he knew Ann would have in his place.

“Of course not,” he replied, eyes sparkling. The cashier handed a bag with Akechi’s purchases over the counter. Ren watched as Akechi’s fingers curled around the handles. “They don’t book weddings there.”

The bag hit the floor between them. The two older women behind them abruptly stopped whispering to stare at them while the younger ones from two aisles over audibly gasped, unable to tear their eyes away from the scene. Akechi didn’t seem to notice how the store became unnaturally silent as Ren knelt down in front of him with one knee pressed against the floor and his head of shaggy hair bowed. To the many unsuspecting bystanders, it probably did look like Ren was about to whip out a ring box and propose right there on the floor of a bakery in Shibuya. He hadn’t planned on making such an elaborate scene, but Ren was nothing if not a bit theatrical and Akechi was always the perfect audience.

Ren picked up the bag and rose lithely to his feet. Akechi’s red eyes were wide, his expression frozen in disbelief. He held out the bag with a smile and saw the moment when Akechi came back to his senses.

“Certainly not,” he agreed with a brittle fake laugh. He managed to snatch the bag out of Ren’s hand while still making it look like he was grateful for Ren’s help. “I can’t imagine anyone would want to be married at a lounge like that. Ah, but I had no idea you were engaged! Tell me, who is the lucky bride?”

Akechi’s expression was deceptively pleasant, head tilted just enough to show interest in the topic and mouth quirked in a curious smile. Anyone who saw them would think Akechi was genuinely happy for his good fortune. That was as it should be—no one in the general public had ever been able to recognize Akechi’s plastic, practiced mask of professional detachment for what it was. Only Ren had ever been able to see through the layers of makeup and feigned concern to the roiling emotions lurking just beneath that placid surface.

They knew each other so well. Akechi was just as capable of seeing through Ren’s mask, reading between the lines of what he said to what he actually meant. Surely, he had to know there was no bride in Ren’s life—in fact, Akechi had been there beside him in Jazz Jin (both of them halfway through a colourful cocktail and deep in a debate about moral philosophy) when the last man Ren had been sort of seeing off and on for a few weeks texted him to break it off entirely. And yet, somehow, he was still visibly upset by the idea that someone might want to marry Ren.

“It’s Ann,” he said, grinning wickedly. He stepped up to the register and murmured an order for a pair of chocolate croissants. Akechi all but hovered over his shoulder, radiating impatience while he paid for them.

As soon as they stepped back out onto Central Street, Akechi grabbed Ren’s sleeve and pulled him into a narrow alley. His red eyes blazed with a fire that he usually reserved for their competitions at Penguin Sniper.

“Are you having fun fucking with me, Amamiya?” he hissed.

He was close enough that Ren could press their lips together without having to lean forward. It wasn’t the first time he had ever considered kissing Akechi, but that was a dangerous train of thought. Ren had known for years that he was in love with him, but he couldn’t quite be certain if the feeling was reciprocated. Sometimes, it seemed like it might be—Akechi would flirt with him over drinks at the jazz bar, or when they played darts, or whenever Ren flirted with him first—but most often, Akechi would realize what they were doing and suddenly push Ren away again, deflecting all of his attempts to apologize for overstepping his boundaries. Usually, he would storm off and give Ren the cold shoulder for a week or two until he cooled down enough to finally respond to Ren’s texts and pretend like all the flirting between them had never even happened.

It was the only aspect of their relationship where Ren didn’t have a clear idea of what Akechi actually felt, so he definitely wasn’t going to risk ruining everything by forcing a kiss on him.

“Sure am,” Ren agreed, smiling again. It was hard not to smile at Akechi, especially when his nose was scrunched up with anger. He looked cute like that.

“You’re an asshole,” Akechi told him flatly, shoving him away and turning toward the street. Ren scrambled to catch up to him amidst the crowd of shoppers. “What are you actually doing, then, if you’re done playing absurd tricks on me?”

Ren handed him one of the croissants. “I really am going to Kichijoji. Ann asked me to book a wedding venue on her behalf since she’s in Paris for a few more weeks.”

Akechi accepted the proffered pastry with a dubious look in his eyes. “I thought she was engaged to that buffoon Sakamoto. Why isn’t he doing that?”

“He’s also out of the country.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. The croissant was pleasantly warm in Ren’s mouth, light and fluffy with a hint of rich sweetness from the chocolate. It would be better in the comfort of his apartment with a mug of hot coffee and Akechi lounging on the couch, but he’d take what he could get. He still had the beans to brew Akechi’s preferred blend if he ever agreed to come visit. So far, none of Ren’s invitations had been successful, but he wasn’t discouraged.

“You can’t book a wedding venue for someone else,” Akechi said. “That will cause immense confusion to the staff.”

Ren shrugged. It was nice to know that they were on the same page about Ann’s request, but he could hardly back out now. Neither of the engaged parties were actually in the country at the moment so it was up to him to make sure his mission was successful. He couldn’t let them down.

“I’ll just book it under my name. They won’t care who it’s really for so long as they get paid in the end.”

Akechi glanced at him sidelong. “It must be nice to live in such a naïve fantasy world. Surely you don’t honestly believe they won’t question why the actual engaged couple aren’t booking it themselves, or at least using a proper wedding planner to do it?”

“How would they know that I’m not their wedding planner?” Ren shot back, shoving the rest of his croissant into his mouth. Akechi looked mildly disgusted.

“It’s not that difficult to tell, really,” he countered smoothly as they descended the stairs toward the subway, having finished his own croissant already and wiped his fingers clean with a napkin. “Your complete lack of appropriate business casual dress, totally dishevelled hair, and the absence of any documentation proving your business all point to you not being a professional wedding planner.”

“That’s hardly a fair assessment. You know me too well to be fooled.”

Akechi smirked as they passed through the ticket gate. “While I appreciate the compliment, you’re merely fooling yourself if you think anyone would fall for such a thin lie.”

They stopped on the platform to wait for the train that traveled to Kichijoji. Ren scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. It was just like Akechi to complain that Ren purposefully ran into him every week at the bakery only to then follow him to Kichijoji.

“Shall we make a bet, then?” Ren suggested, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning at his companion. He could feel the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the heady lure of recklessly rushing into the unknown. “If they don’t question me about anything, you’ll owe me a date.”

It was a gamble. The words hung there, suspended in the air between them.

The one-time Detective Prince, the mocking Crow, the ruthless Black Mask—Akechi said nothing. He looked like he was carved from stone. He would probably walk away just like all the other times and leave Ren standing there alone again, like he always did.

He held his breath, waiting.

“How confident you are!” Akechi finally murmured darkly. He stared at Ren with a calculating look in his eyes. It made Ren feel like he was being analyzed like a particularly elusive mouse caught between the paws of a cat. “All right then, I’ll take your bet. When your little plan inevitably falls apart, you’ll owe me a duel.”

“It’s a deal,” Ren agreed readily. He held out his hand, acutely aware of his heart pounding like lightning in his chest. Akechi’s grip was always firm, and this time almost painfully so, but Ren’s heart had never felt freer.

After all, he hadn’t said no.

The venue Ann had chosen was quite elegant. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling in the lobby and the marble floors shone as they made their way toward the reception desk. Delicate chairs stood by the front windows and fresh flowers were arranged artfully around the room. Ren felt a little out of place in his jeans and old coat while Akechi strode in beside him like he owned the place. He’d always had a knack for looking like he belonged wherever he happened to be; Ren just tried not to stand out and, to his credit, it usually worked.

“Welcome to Starlight Gardens,” the woman at the desk said politely. If she noticed or cared how underdressed he was, she didn’t show it. “How may I assist you today?”

“I’m here to make a reservation,” Ren said, offering his most charming smile to her. Beside him, Akechi did an admirable job of not quite rolling his eyes.

“Certainly. What is the event?”

“A wedding,” he said, leaning against the counter and smirking at Akechi while the receptionist typed something into her computer. “I’d like the Royal Room.”

“And what date are you looking to make the booking?” she asked, still typing.

“The twenty-fourth of October,” Ren said, smiling. This was almost too easy.

There was a pause while she typed the information into the database. Akechi’s expression was carefully blank while they waited, one foot tapping impatiently against the floor. At this this rate, Ren wasn’t even going to need to fall back on pretending to be a wedding planner—she hadn’t even asked him anything about who it was for, or even who he was. Everything was going swimmingly, exactly as Ann assured him it would. At this rate, his date with Akechi was a foregone conclusion.

“That date is available,” she confirmed, raising her head to peer at him. “Are you booking the chapel for the ceremony as well, or only the hall?”

Ann hadn’t mentioned that. Even if he sent her a text to confirm, there was no guarantee she would be able to reply right away. He didn’t even know what time it was Paris or whether she was in the middle of a shoot.

“Can the chapel be removed at a later date? Akechi cut in smoothly, shooting Ren a smug look.

“Yes, but the deposit for both the room and the chapel are non-refundable, so you would lose out on that. Is that all right with you?”

“It’s fine,” Akechi said, elbowing Ren unsubtly. He hastily nodded his own assent.

She began typing again, nails clacking noisily against the keys. “Great. I’ll put you down for the package deal that comes with our in-house catering, unless you would prefer to contact an outside provider? It’ll cost extra though.”

“You provide the catering through the same kitchen that services Striker’s Bistro and Bar, correct?” Akechi asked, referring to the restaurant that was right next to the venue, which Ren had only heard of in passing. Haru had talked about gathering the whole crew there for a meal, but so far it had been impossible to align everyone’s schedules for the occasion on top of reservations being in such high demand.

“Correct,” the receptionist said. She smiled at Akechi. “You’re quite well informed.”

“Oh, not at all,” he demurred with a little chortle. “I’ve merely had the pleasure of visiting the restaurant once before. I heard about the connection from the manager there.”

This was supposed to be Ren’s mission, but he couldn’t help but admire the way Akechi just took control of the conversation. A warm, bubbly feeling welled up in his chest as he watched him charm the receptionist into giving them a small discount on the cost since they would be booking the catering through their service provider. It was so damn easy to fall in love with Goro Akechi, despite—or perhaps because of—all the deception and dangers they had traversed together as teenagers. He couldn’t stop himself from loving a man who clung to his vision of justice, willing to do anything at all to see it through, no matter how much it might sully his own hands.

Ren had always admired him, even when they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. It was no different now, except that their battlefields had become substantially less dangerous and the stakes much, much lower.

“Hey,” Akechi asked, snapping his fingers in front of Ren’s face. He looked irritated, but that was just Akechi’s default setting anyway. “Are you done spacing out?”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck and smiling. The receptionist glanced between them with keen interest. “You were doing such a good job that I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt.”

“It’s quite all right,” the woman said. “We’re almost done here. I just need a little more information from you to complete the booking. Do you have your marriage paperwork?”

Ren blinked at her.

Akechi also blinked at her.

“I’ll take that as a no.” She reached for something on her desk and shuffled several papers into a neat pile. Passing that over the counter to Ren, she added, “You’ll need to fill these out and return them to complete the reservation. We’re closed tomorrow, so you would need to get them back to me by four in the afternoon on Monday.”

“Is this a marriage application?” Ren asked, fighting to keep his voice casual.

“That’s right. Were you unaware of our policy?” The receptionist cleared her throat. “Due to the popularity of our venue, it is impossible for us to hold reservations for more than one business day. Therefore, in addition to the deposit, we also require the completed marriage application at the time of booking. We will, of course, submit the application on your behalf prior to the wedding so you don’t need to worry about that as you plan for your big day.”

She looked so pleased with how convenient and easy this would be for them. And, for anyone who really was getting married, it was easy. Book your venue, your catering, and submit your legal paperwork all in one place—honestly, if he was just a bystander in all this, Ren could absolutely appreciate the simplicity of it all. The problem was that he wasn’t merely a bystander—he was standing in for Ann and Ryuji who were out of the country due to work.

“And, sorry, but when exactly is the paperwork submitted?” Ren continued, not daring to look toward Akechi. He probably looked sickeningly smug now that they had stumbled into this very unfortunate roadblock.

“Usually right away, but we can hold off on it until closer to your wedding date if you’re having second thoughts…”

“Right. Okay, great.” That was fine. Everything was fine. There wouldn’t be time to have Ann and Ryuji fill out the paperwork, but that was completely fine. Ren had everything under control. “I’ll get everything back to you on Monday, then.”

“Of course, sir. May I ask your name to complete the reservation hold?”

“Ren Amamiya,” he said.

“Excellent.” She smiled at them. “That’s all we need right now. Don’t forget to return the paperwork by Monday. If you don’t, we will have to cancel the booking and I cannot guarantee that you will be able to reserve the same date again.”

That was fine. Everything was fine.

Ren just needed to find someone who would agree to play the part of fiancé until the real forms were ready for submission.

They walked back toward the bustling café in Kichijoji and claimed a table by the window. Ren hunched over his latté and stared at the marriage application with no small amount of dread creeping up his spine. How was he supposed to get this filled out in time for the deadline on Monday when both parties were out of the country? It would be a logistical nightmare to scan the forms to both of them and have them email them back—Ren wasn’t even sure if either of them had access to a printer. Even if they did, he doubted Starlight Gardens would accept scanned documents since the signatures would be electronic copies of the real thing.

Across from him, legs crossed and sipping a fancy coffee that Ren knew didn’t remotely compare to anything he could brew, Akechi watched him with undisguised amusement.

“It seems that I won our bet,” he said silkily, having allowed Ren to stew in his own head for the better part of half an hour. “You owe me a duel.”

Ren waved his hand despairingly. It was hardly the first time he’d lost a bet with Akechi and had to accept whatever stage he demanded for the duel—usually, they played darts, billiards, chess, or an online game of Ultimate Featherman—and their scores were perfectly even. No, the duel could wait; he had bigger fish to fry.

“I told you this was a ridiculous plan,” Akechi went on. “Takamaki-san ought to have known better. Did she not research this place thoroughly?”

She’d probably liked the aesthetics and hadn’t read the booking information very closely, but Ren wasn’t going to say so. “It’s fine,” he said instead. “I’ll just fill it out and submit it, and then Ann can resubmit it when they’re back in Tokyo.”

“Setting aside for a moment that there are multiple things that could go even further wrong with this plan, how do you expect to fill this out?” Akechi tapped the top of the paper with a slim finger. “Or do you actually have a fiancé that I am unaware of?”

“Of course not,” Ren snorted. “Kind of hard to hide a fiancé, isn’t it?”

“With you, anything is possible,” Akechi muttered, red eyes flashing. Ren supposed that was true; he had, after all, deceived the most deceitful person he knew into murdering his cognitive lookalike. That was the most difficult thing Ren had ever accomplished—even taking down Yaldabaoth and Maruki were comparatively easier than tricking the handsome detective intent on murdering him.

“Well, I assure you I have no one like that in my life. I’ll have to ask one of the Thieves to play the part of my fiancé for the sake of this application.” Ren rubbed his temples. It was much easier said than done. “But I doubt Makoto will agree, and Haru’s also out of the country. Yusuke is busy with art stuff and I can’t ask Futaba. She’s…”

Akechi sipped his coffee. He seemed to understand what Ren hadn’t said. “Certainly not. It seems you are without options. How will you escape this little snag, I wonder?”

“Sumire is still in town,” Ren said slowly. He reached for his phone and unlocked it with a glance. “I can probably convince her to do it as a favour.”

Akechi snatched the phone out of his hands just as Ren brought up Sumire’s contact information.

“Absolutely not,” he snapped, holding the phone out of reach across the table. Ren stared at him, nonplussed. “Yoshizawa-san has a big meet coming up soon. She doesn’t have time to help you with such a harebrained scheme.”

Akechi’s face was slightly flushed, but the sneer curling his lips was exactly what Ren expected from him. Several dozen questions flitted through Ren’s mind as he watched Akechi’s cheeks darken under the layer of makeup he still dutifully applied every day, not the least of which was why he cared. He knew Ren liked men; they’d flirted themselves on countless occasions in spite of Akechi’s frequent backpedaling. Every other normal person in the world would have considered their regular visits to Jazz Jin and Penguin Sniper (or whatever other local spot Ren found recommended in a magazine) dates.

Really, it shouldn’t matter to him if Ren asked one of his friends to be his fake fiancé for a couple of weeks until Ann and Ryuji returned to Japan. If anything, Akechi should be laughing at his desperation and waiting patiently to see how many other things could possibly go wrong between now and then. He desperately wanted to ask Akechi why it was such a problem to ask Sumire for help when she was always so willing to lend him a hand, or bring him gifts of homemade chocolate, or ask him to hang out with her between training sessions. He was certain she would agree.

“How do you know she has a meet?” he asked instead. “I didn’t think you guys talked very much.”

At this, Akechi glowered further and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She texts me sometimes. Trust me, I did not encourage such behaviour, but Yoshizawa-san was insistent.”

So Sumire had befriended him and Akechi had allowed it to happen. Ren smiled at him and was pleased when the blush spread across his cheeks again.

“I understand. But Sumire is the only one of the Thieves who might—”

“Didn’t you consider me a part of your silly little band once upon a time?” Akechi hissed, interrupting Ren’s musings. He blinked.

“Well yeah, of course. You’re a part of the Thieves whether you want to be or not. We’re Phantom Thieves for life, even if our thieving days are in the past.” Ren pinned Akechi with a shrewd look. “Akechi, are you implying that you would be my fake fiancé if I asked?”

It was his turn to look nonplussed. It was unlike Akechi to be struck speechless, but it seemed Ren had achieved just that. He drained the rest of his coffee and avoided Ren’s eyes, instead fiddling with his sleeves.

“That’s not it at all. Don’t be daft,” he said at last. Despite his sharp words, his tone was surprisingly neutral. “I just thought all your prior insistence that I was also a Phantom Thief was mere lip service.”

“I see. So you won’t have a problem giving my phone back so I can call Sumire?”

“I just told you she has an important meet coming up. She is busy with extra practices to prepare for it, and has no time for your frivolous demands.”

Ren sat back in his chair and sipped his hitherto forgotten latté. It was a little cold and the foam had mostly melted into the cup, but he hardly noticed. His heart beat a little faster as he met Akechi’s smoldering red eyes.

“Then I am at an impasse. Without Sumire, you’re the only Phantom Thief available to assist me with this mission.” Ren cocked his head and smirked. “If I wanted to strike a deal with you to act as my fiancé long enough for the real paperwork to be submitted, what would it take to convince you to agree?”

He considered Ren’s question in silence. Ren tried to maintain an air of nonchalance.

“This is stupid,” Akechi finally replied, completely ignoring the question. It was unlike him to back down from a direct challenge like that; Ren sat a little straighter in his seat. “It doesn’t matter which fool you rope into this ludicrous scheme, there’s dozens of things that can and will go wrong. What if those idiots at Starlight Gardens actually submit the forms even when you tell them not to?”

“They won’t,” Ren said with more certainty than he felt. “It’s purely for placeholder purposes. It’s not like Ann is expecting me to plan her whole wedding. She’ll be back in a month and then I’ll be off the hook.”

“You say that now, but I know your Thieves,” Akechi muttered. “They always come crawling back to you, expecting you to drop everything to help them with their problems. You’re far too generous for your own good.”

“I don’t mind—”

“That’s just the problem, now isn’t it?” Akechi snapped, genuinely angry. “You don’t mind putting aside your own desires for theirs. You don’t mind when they use you because you’re too much of a pushover to say no. You don’t mind putting your own reputation on the line for them, even if it means submitting real, legal paperwork engaging yourself to a man who tried to kill you more than once!”

Oh.

So that was Akechi’s issue. Ren chuckled, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Why are you laughing?” he hissed, reaching across the table and smacking Ren’s shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry. I just didn’t realize how passionately you felt about me.”

“I do not—!”

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Ren interrupted. Akechi’s mouth snapped shut. “For any of it.”

The silence between them was taut. Across the table, his long-time rival and one-time Detective Prince sat as if he was carved from stone. His eyes blazed with something—a mixture of rage, despair, hurt, and maybe even regret—and his hands clenched and unclenched on the tabletop.

“Then you are more of an idiot than I gave you credit for,” Akechi sneered. “I tried to kill you multiple times, and you have the audacity to pity me, as if I didn’t actively choose to commit each and every one of my crimes?”

“Akechi.” He paused, and reached across the table to grip Akechi’s hands with his own. He held his hands firmly, held his gaze with all the love he thought the man could bear. “I said only that I don’t blame you, not that I deny that you did them willingly.”

“Then you ought to know better than to entangle yourself with me any more than you already have.”

“It’s much too late for that,” Ren countered, just as he always did. They were drawn together inexorably; no matter how often Akechi pulled himself away, their feet always led back into each other’s orbit. No amount of shame or self-loathing could keep them apart, so far as Ren was concerned. “We’ve been entangled since the day we first met at the TV station. There’s never been any going back for either of us.”

“You are disgustingly sentimental.”

“And you love it,” Ren said confidently, smiling when Akechi didn’t immediately pull his hands away and deny it. “So, what do you say? Will you be my fake fiancé for a few weeks?”

Akechi stared at him with disbelief. His gloved fingers were slack in Ren’s hands, his lips slightly parted. For the second time in one day, Ren was struck by how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him. Did everyone think about crowding their crushes against a wall and kissing them senseless? Such feelings, he was given to understand, often faded over time, especially when one was a teenager. First crushes rarely lasted, and attempted murder usually stopped such feelings in their tracks. Yet he had been imagining that very scenario since he was seventeen, longing to taste Goro Akechi on his tongue and feel him in his arms even at the very height of their game.

Almost fifteen years later and Ren still felt like a giddy seventeen-year-old whenever Akechi entered the room, even now that the game was long over and the stakes were little more than wounded pride.

“I hate you,” Akechi said venomously. It didn’t bother Ren; he was more than used to Akechi’s abrasiveness. This time, he pulled his hands away and withdrew a pen from an inner pocket of his coat. “If you’ll agree to leave Yoshizawa-san out of this preposterous plan, I suppose I can assist you. It isn’t like my reputation has anything left to lose if something goes wrong, but she has worked hard to succeed in her career.”

Ren blinked. Years of experience had taught him to temper his expectations when it came to Akechi, yet he had agreed far more easily than Ren expected. He almost dropped the pen that Akechi flung at him from across the table.

“Done,” Ren said quickly, before he could retract his consent. A warm, bubbly excitement welled up in his chest. His hands were unsteady as he began filling in his name at the top of the page. “Thank you.”

“I’m getting another coffee,” Akechi announced suddenly, standing up so quickly that the table shook and Ren nearly fumbled writing his birthdate too. “You owe me, Amamiya.”

He decided not to mention their agreement to anyone except Morgana. It was rather difficult to keep secrets from him given that they lived in the same apartment and Morgana was perfectly capable of reading anything he wanted, even if he sometimes needed Ren’s help to turn pages. Besides, Ren trusted Morgana; he always trusted Ren’s leadership and Ren always trusted Morgana’s advice and discretion with his secrets. They were inseparable, and it felt wrong to hide things from him.

“Ren…are you sure this is a good idea?” Morgana asked that night, his bright blue eyes steady on Ren’s.

The cat didn’t approve of the arrangement. He didn’t dislike Akechi, and he understood perhaps better than the others the sheer cruelty of the game Yaldabaoth put him through. They had seen Akechi lose all his credibility after the fall of Maruki’s reality with the grueling trials and subsequent jail time that he did in the months and years following Shido’s downfall. Without Sae’s help, it undoubtably would have been much worse for him. Neither Morgana nor Ren would argue that those things weren’t deserved. Yet Morgana maintained a wariness of Akechi even all these years later, a product of his protective nature especially when they had already gambled Ren’s life in his hands once. He knew exactly what kind of dangerous game Ren was playing by filling out marriage papers with Akechi and just how badly it could end up hurting him.

It was a terrible idea, Ren knew, not that that changed anything.

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching behind Morgana’s ears. “It’s for Ann’s sake, remember? I’m not getting my hopes up for anything to happen between us. This is all purely transactional.”

“Ren…” Morgana murmured, ears drooping. He knew a lie when he heard one. “Just…be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful.”

He wasn’t—every single one of the Thieves knew he wasn’t—but Morgana didn’t press him on it.

There were a lot of mixed feelings about Akechi amongst the rest of the Phantom Thieves—and with good reason—so even though it was common knowledge that Ren had long pined for him, he really wasn’t sure how to explain their fake engagement in a way that didn’t just paint him as desperately grasping at whatever fragment of affection Akechi tossed at him. It just seemed like inviting a lot of unnecessary questions for which he didn’t have good answers.

Morgana very kindly refrained from raising the situation again for the rest of the weekend. For his part, Ren spent his time cleaning every nook and cranny of the apartment to keep his mind and hands busy; the last thing he needed was more time to process that he was fake engaged to the man he had loved since he was a teenager lest he start wishing for it to be real.

He dutifully returned to Starlight Gardens the following Monday afternoon after he finished his shift at the clinic. It was a different receptionist at the front desk when he arrived, but she took his forms without fanfare and informed him that digital copies would be sent to both himself and his fiancé for their records. She assured Ren that they wouldn’t submit the paperwork until he gave them the go-ahead, with the caveat that everything would need to be finalized at least a month prior to the wedding. That was fine—Ann was supposed to return to Japan by the end of April which was plenty of time to update the reservation with the real paperwork.

He left the building and made his way back through the streets of Kichijoji with a buoyancy to his step. There were definitely easier ways to do this, but Ren stubbornly told himself they wouldn’t have worked half as well. He didn’t need Futaba or Makoto pointing out all the flaws in his plan (Akechi had already done enough of that, thank you very much!) or how much simpler it would have been to enlist Futaba’s help in forging the documents (a plan which, in Ren’s eyes, came with its own host of legal pitfalls). No, Akechi was there at the time and agreed (however testily) to help and Ren was hardly so selfless as to turn him down. It might be a fake engagement, but he was more than willing to live the fantasy of marrying Akechi until the very end. It was only for a month, after all, and that was hardly enough time for anything to go wrong.

He might have gotten away with it all too, except that things did not go at all according to plan.

For a few weeks, the knowledge that they were technically engaged existed peacefully in the back of Ren’s mind. Work kept him too busy to spend much time dwelling on it and when they met for darts at Penguin Sniper or drinks at the jazz bar, it felt like nothing at all had changed between them. Their knees still knocked together under the table and their eyes still met from across the pool table, and the fact that they had made a wedding hall reservation faded easily in the background of their day-to-day lives, as if it was no different than booking movie tickets together.  

It was a typical Wednesday night in mid-April when things went awry. Ren took the same train home with the usual crowd of workers just as he did every night, his mind foggy and tired from the demands of the workday. Dark clouds threatened imminent rain when he finally disembarked and hurried down the street to his building, and the drops began falling heavily just as he ducked into the lobby. He made a beeline to the mailboxes, shoes squeaking across the tiled floor. There were several envelopes stuck inside, one of them quite large and marked DO NOT BEND, and two flyers, but Ren rarely received anything of real importance so he didn’t pay the stack much mind. He caught the elevator up to the sixth floor, shouldered open his front door, and dropped the mail on the table with the intention of going through it after dinner.

“Can’t we have sushi tonight?” Morgana complained as the warm smell of rich spices filled the room. His tail swished impatiently over the edge of the counter while Ren prepared curry.

“Maybe this weekend.” The rice cooker beeped. “You can’t just live off of sushi, you know.”

“And you can’t live only on curry, but you eat it all the time,” Morgana countered primly.

That wasn’t entirely correct—he did try to keep a varied diet—but he did crave it more frequently at certain times of the year. It was a comforting meal that reminded him of home above Leblanc. Not only that, but it was also the first meal Sojiro had served him when he arrived in April of his second year of high school. It was his own little tradition to cook it at this time of year when the memories of his probationary year inevitably came flooding back.

“I’ll bring some home on Friday,” Ren promised, patting Morgana’s head with a smile. “Let’s eat.”

Just as he finished plating up two helpings of curry for them, there came a furious knocking at Ren’s door. The two of them exchanged a bewildered look.

“Who could that be?” Morgana asked. “It’s half-past six on a Wednesday night. Do you think Yusuke came by for dinner again?”

“Maybe,” Ren said as the knocking continued. It wouldn’t be the first time Yusuke arrived unannounced because he’d neglected to go to the store. “Or maybe the building manager finally found out that I have an undeclared cat in my unit.”

Curious, he went and unlocked the door, Morgana curled around his shoulders. On the other side stood Goro Akechi, sopping wet from the rain and with his hand raised to assault Ren’s door once again.

“Akechi?” Morgana said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“You!” he hissed, ignoring the cat. He pushed his way into Ren’s space and shoved a finger firmly into his chest. His umbrella dripped onto the tiled floor and droplets of water still clung to the ends of Akechi’s hair, but Ren stood transfixed by his blazing eyes. “This is all your fault.”

“How did you get my address?” Ren asked curiously. He couldn’t remember having given his address to Akechi, not when every invitation to visit over the years had been turned down. Akechi had always been very careful to keep their not-relationship out in public spaces and Ren was always happy to oblige him if only because it meant that they could spend time together. He certainly didn’t mind him just showing up out the blue, but that didn’t lessen the surprise of it.

Akechi pushed the door shut behind him and shoved his dripping coat into Ren’s arms. “I received a soft-copy of that paperwork too, you know. It has both of our information on it, as I’m sure you’ll recall.”

“Paperwork?” Morgana repeated, glancing between them. His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me…”

“Oh, right,” Ren said, mechanically hanging his jacket up in the closet. He had spent that whole weekend rereading the forms and had memorized every personal detail it revealed about Goro Akechi. It was foolishly naïve to think that Akechi hadn’t done exactly the same thing. “So why exactly are you here? Not that I mind of course,” he hurried to add when Akechi’s scowl darkened further.

“Are you truly so uninformed?” He glanced around the tiny entryway where Ren kept his coats, shoes, and spare slippers. One of Yusuke’s more abstract paintings hung on the wall behind Akechi’s head. “For an infamous thief who once oversaw the exact timing of sending calling cards out to every criminal your little band targeted, I expected you would pay more attention to your own mail.”

“I was planning to go through it later,” Ren said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want some food? We were just sitting down for dinner…”

“Wait a second,” Morgana interrupted, digging his claws into Ren’s shoulder. “Akechi, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on,” Akechi said, pronouncing each word slowly and clearly, “is that he is my husband.”

Red eyes locked with silver. Silence filled the space between them, electrifying and magnetic. Words he never expected to hear hung in the air and echoed in his ears. They made his stomach swoop with anticipation, but he couldn’t look away from the man standing in front of him. He is my husband. The words sounded right, like a longed-for homecoming and they made his fingers tingle with excitement.

“Husband?!” Morgana shrieked, claws digging even more deeply into Ren’s skin. “Did something go wrong with the paperwork? Ren, say something!”

“Welcome home, honey,” Ren said, smiling.

“Are you daft?” Akechi snapped. He flicked Ren’s forehead with his forefinger and thumb. “Do you have any idea just how serious this is?”

Oh, yes, Ren knew exactly how serious it was. Instead of answering he pried Morgana off his shoulders and set him on the ground. Then he led the way back into the kitchen and began serving up a third plate of curry for their unexpected guest—even if Starlight Gardens had mistakenly submitted their marriage application letting the food get cold was certainly not going to change it. To his great relief, Akechi only hesitated for a moment before he sat down with a huff and muttered thank you for the food almost directly into his rice. Ren smiled; it was cute when he was flustered.

“Don’t think that this will distract me from the matter at hand,” Akechi said. “We have to deal with this quickly.”

“Of course,” Ren agreed easily. “Would you like coffee? I can make the blend you prefer.”

“Ren,” Akechi said firmly, eyes narrowed. Ren stilled. “Don’t act so flippant about this. It’s you who will suffer for this mistake, not I.”

“Say that again.”

“I said don’t act so flippant—”

“Not that,” he interrupted. “My name. You haven’t said my name in years.”

“Oh my god,” Morgana groaned, slinking down from the table and darting into another room. “I’ll just leave you two alone to sort this out.”

“Look, Amamiya, this isn’t a game—”

“Ren,” he corrected, smiling wider. “Since we’re husbands now.”

Akechi’s eyes flashed with derision. “That’s only because your absolutely idiotic idea predictably resulted in the legal paperwork being processed. If you had only told Takamaki-san to do this herself, we wouldn’t be in this situation at all.” 

Ren crossed one leg over the other and regarded Akechi from across the table. He ate his curry with a furious kind of gusto that looked like he wanted to hate it and was angry that he couldn’t find any fault with it.

“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “It was my idea to do this. So I suppose it’s up to me to fix it.”

“Exactly,” Akechi nodded. His expression was so serious as Ren stood and rounded the table. “You can call them tomorrow, and if they can’t retract the paperwork, I will prepare the divorce papers—what in the world are you doing, Amamiya?”

Ren knelt on the cool tiles in front of Akechi’s chair, head upturned and a little smile playing on his lips. He reached into his pocket for the black glove that he always kept there. The leather was soft between his fingers, gentle and warm in all the ways that Akechi tried so hard to hide. Withdrawing it carefully from his pocket, Ren smoothed the fabric with his thumb and reverently placed it back in Akechi’s bare hand.

“Goro Akechi,” he murmured, pressing Akechi’s fingers closed over the glove. He had been waiting for so long to properly return it. “Will you stay as my husband?”

Silence again.

Ren waited patiently as several emotions flickered across Akechi’s face. He stared at the glove in his hand, once flung into Ren’s chest as a defiant challenge, one rival to another, now lovingly given back into his possession. He wondered if Akechi still had its mate or if it had been lost in the aftermath of everything that happened after that fateful night. If he knew Akechi at all, he suspected the other glove was tucked away safely in his own apartment.

“You aren’t seriously proposing to me with my own glove?” Akechi said at last.

“Well I could go get the ring but I thought that might ruin the mood since it’s tucked away in my nightstand.”

“There’s no mood to ruin, you moron.” He sighed heavily and stared at the glove. “I can’t believe you still have this. What a sentimental fool you are.”

Ren smiled up at him. He liked accusing Ren of sentimentality, as if he wasn’t just as bad.

“You know we can’t do this.”

“I don’t see why not. Despite the accidental nature of it, legally, it’s already done. Besides,” Ren added quietly. “I would have asked you eventually, even knowing you might say no.”

“Ren…” Akechi sighed again, fingers curling tightly around the glove. “We can’t get married—no, hear me out. This is impossible. Once word gets out that the convicted murderer Goro Akechi has married someone like you—”

“You mean an ex-delinquent with a questionable loyalty to authority figures?” Ren supplied helpfully. Akechi swatted him in annoyance.

“—you’ll be the target of every tabloid and news outlet in the country. I keep a low profile these days, but there’s still the odd fan left from my time as the so-called Detective Prince. You can be rest assured this news will get out and you will be hounded about it.” He snorted derisively. “You may be a fool, but I thought you had some modicum of intelligence in that empty head of yours.”

Ren’s knees where beginning to ache so he pulled Morgana’s abandoned chair closer and brushed a strand of honey-brown hair out of Akechi’s eyes. He flinched slightly under Ren’s gentle touch, but he held his gaze steadily. Rebelliously, really, like he was fighting back the urge to lean away lest Ren’s touch turn hostile; he never had liked people in his space. That fire that always burned within him—within them—was a manifestation of their will to forge ahead on a path of their own choosing. And Ren was not one to cater to the masses.

The Phantom Thieves had learned that lesson the hard way.

“You’re the fool if you think that stigma has left me even after my record was repealed.” He chuckled darkly, caressing Akechi’s cheek with a featherlight touch. “And I’m hardly a paragon on caution. Do you think I can’t handle a little bit of slander against my already blemished character? That I am not willing to face it to be with the man I love?”

There, finally, it was out in the open. Ren felt oddly light now that he had finally admitted aloud what they both already knew. Goro Akechi wasn’t stupid; he had to have known all these years that Ren’s feelings ran deeper than mere friendship. Stronger than a simple, uncomplicated rivalry.

Or perhaps he didn’t, if the sudden breath he sucked in through his teeth was any indication.

“Don’t say that,” Akechi told him, grip tightening on the glove. He squeezed it like a lifeline. “Don’t say that you love someone like me.”

“Not someone like you,” Ren agreed, pushing the boundaries of their personal space a little further as he leaned closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just you.”

“You’re insane.” He stared at him in disbelief. “After everything that happened, you would still choose a murderer like me. I truly don’t understand you, Ren. You always defy my expectations.”

There was so much between them. Blood on Akechi’s hands, a twisted game of cosmic chess, and Ren’s own justice—so many times that their paths crossed once, twice, thrice, looping together endlessly. They shared a mutual respect, a rivalry-turned-romance that no one else could possibly understand in its entirety. If Ren believed in fate—and, in some ways, he did—he might suggest that they were connected by a red string. Their lives were intertwined, two wildcards who danced together endlessly on the edge of a silver knife.

“It’s a gift of mine,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I never quite know what to expect with you, either.”

Like now, with Akechi trying so very hard (in his own abrasive way) to protect Ren from the inevitable whispers and judgement that he would face as his spouse. Akechi leaned back in his seat, head resting against the wall and eyes shut. He looked younger like that, softer and more innocent than he really was. But Ren didn’t like the idea of a sanitized and watered-down version of Akechi; he liked his cutting tongue and admired his quick wit. He knew how much blood was splattered between them and he had a pretty solid idea of the guilt that dogged Akechi’s footsteps. He wasn’t afraid of those things; his Akechi wouldn’t be who he was if it weren’t for those foolish, brash choices he made when he stopped believing in heroes.

“There are innumerable reasons why this is a terrible idea,” Akechi said, voice weary and quiet. It was unfair how long his eyelashes were even with a light coating of mascara. “Not the least of which is that the rest of your friends assuredly won’t approve. Can’t say I blame them.”

“You don’t know them very well,” Ren murmured. He stared at Akechi’s white-knuckled grip on the leather glove. “Besides, this isn’t about them. It’s about us.”

“Us,” Akechi scoffed. “How utterly romantic you are.”

“You haven’t said no yet.” He paused, watching Akechi slowly open his eyes and pin him with his most annoyed look yet. “It’s rude to keep a man waiting.”

“Oh, I’m keeping you waiting, am I? For a man who proposed to me with my own fucking glove, you sure seem to think you’re smooth.” He sat up straighter and took Ren’s face in his hands. “You’re an idiot, Ren.”

Ren had spent an inordinate amount of time over the years imagining what it would feel like to kiss Akechi. He expected pain, sharp and serrated enough to draw blood against the rough stone of a brick wall in Jazz Jin. Sometimes, when his imagination got the better of him, Ren imagined them together in the darkness of a now-inaccessible Mementos, masks knocked askew and the danger of lurking Shadows haunting every touch. It always sent a thrill down his spine, the longing to fight a real rematch and then make out afterward. A distant part of his mind wondered if Akechi had ever done the same thing and, if he did, where his fantasies had taken him.

He had certainly never expected their first kiss to happen in his own brightly lit kitchen beside a plate of cold, half-eaten curry and a cat that was undoubtably eavesdropping from around the corner the entire time. Akechi’s lips were soft—a product of his diligent skincare routine, no doubt—but he seemed tentative, like he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. His eyes were closed again, too, and the little lines between his eyebrows bespoke an underlying nervousness that was so uncharacteristic of him that Ren almost bit his lip as the realization hit him.

Had Akechi ever kissed anyone before?

Ren had dated a few guys over the years, none of them long-term and only a few of them worth taking further than a drunken make-out session. But in all that time, he couldn’t recall a single instance of Akechi ever going on a date, much less mentioning a significant other.

It wasn’t the time for such thoughts though. Ren kissed him back recklessly, his tongue running eagerly along the seam of Akechi’s lips until he opened his mouth just enough for Ren to take advantage of it and deepen the kiss. He pushed himself forward until he was half-out of his chair and crowding Akechi back against the wall, one hand tipping his head upward just slightly and the other wrapping around the small of his back. It was unbelievable how right it felt to finally kiss Goro Akechi, after years of wishing he had the guts to just do it.

“Goro,” Ren whispered breathlessly against his lips. “Goro, say you’ll marry me.”

His fingers dug painfully into Ren’s temples and he bit Ren’s lip on purpose, but he didn’t pull away. How long had he been waiting for Ren to say his name? Maybe, somewhere deep down, he really was still a lily-livered teenager. When had Ren ever angered him enough that their paths didn’t converge again? They had never been able to stay away from each other, not since the day they first met, and he didn’t believe that was fate at all; they were simply two people who were drawn to each other in ways that even a god couldn’t control.

“We’re already married, idiot,” Goro growled, voice husky and uneven. “The ceremony is little more a thin excuse to throw an extravagant party.”

There was a little more to it than that, but Ren wasn’t about to argue with him. The last of his hesitation melted away with those words, and with Goro’s tongue in his mouth Ren let himself drift along with the sensation of kissing his husband for the first—and not last—time in his life. As far as first kisses went, it was messy and wet and imperfect; Ren loved every minute of it. He never felt so alive as when he was with Goro, no matter whether they were merely chatting quietly over drinks in a bar or making out in Ren’s little kitchen like their lives depended on it.

“You planned this whole fucking thing, didn’t you?” Goro accused him when they finally broke apart. His lips were red and kiss-swollen, and his hair was so mussed that Ren could only begin to imagine how he would look in bed. It was likely his imagination hadn’t done Goro enough justice.

Ren grinned at him, fully aware that he looked just as debauched. “As much as I would like to take credit for a plan well executed, this really was all an accident. Ann’s going to be so pissed when I tell her she needs to pick a different date for her wedding.”

It hit him then that they were married. That Goro wasn’t pushing him away anymore, that despite all the reasons they both had to deny themselves the comfort and pleasure of unconditional love, they had finally chosen each other for themselves. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy or smooth, but it would be theirs. There had never been an obstacle that they could not overcome together—with or without their Personas—and Ren doubted that would ever change. They were always in sync, always on the exact same wavelength, always able to communicate with nothing more than a shared glance. It was only natural that they formalize it into a proper vow.

“I still expect a ring,” Goro said, eyebrows arched. He shook the old glove for emphasis. “And it had better be a damn nice one. If we’re doing this, then we’re not hiding it.”

“I’d never dream of it,” Ren said truthfully. “Coffee?”

Goro just nodded, slipped the glove into his pocket and let out a long breath. Ren’s heart was racing as he began to prepare the blend that Goro had always preferred all those years ago at Leblanc.

“Did you really mean what you said?” Goro said after a moment, after their heartrates began to settle back into a normal rhythm and the comforting scent of warm coffee filled the air. He tried to sound nonchalant, but Ren was adept at listening for everything that Goro didn’t say. It wasn’t hard to hear the need for reassurance in his voice, although he might be the only person in the world who could pick it out at all.

He didn’t need to ask what Goro meant, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a little shit.

“You’re the detective,” Ren said, smiling. “You tell me.”

“And you’re insufferable.” Goro rolled his eyes, but there was an unmistakable smile on his lips. Ren wanted to kiss him all over again.

He slid into the chair beside Goro’s and laced their fingers together. “But you love me.”

It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t not a question either. Sometimes even an infamous ex-Phantom Thief needed the same kind of reassurance from an infamous ex-murderer. And Goro, beautiful, cunning, dangerous Goro knew Ren down to his bones.

“Of course I love you, you absolute fool. I suppose that’s why I’m the detective and you’re the thief; you might be able to steal hearts, but you’re piss poor at figuring out when your feelings are reciprocated.”

Ren opened his mouth to counter with something witty, but an annoyed voice by their feet beat him to the punch. “Ugh, are you two done yet?”

Morgana jumped back up on the table and shot them both look that Ren knew to interpret as fond exasperation but Goro likely couldn’t read beyond his thin veneer of mild disgust. Granted, Morgana probably hadn’t enjoyed being a third-wheel hiding in the other room the whole time, but there was nothing to be done about that. It was only a small apartment with just enough space for one occupant and his undeclared cat. He curled his tail around his paws and regarded them through steady blue eyes. Goro watched him warily.

“My curry is cold now,” Morgana announced, apparently deciding not to mess with him for now. “And I had to listen to you two be gross for like forty-five minutes. I demand sushi to make up for it.”

“Sorry, Mona,” Ren said, carefully pouring the hot water over the grinds. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

“Not the conveyer belt kind,” Goro added a heartbeat later, earning him an approving nod from the cat. “Take us to the expensive place near Shibuya.”

Us. They were a unit now, a pair of wildcards and their cat chaperone-slash-roommate, at least as soon as Ren could convince Goro to move in together. He suspected it wouldn’t be particularly difficult since they had agreed not to hide anything, and Goro was nothing if not efficient. Wasting money on two separate properties now that they were married was pointless. He wondered if Goro’s was big enough for the three of them, or if they would need to look at places together. The very thought of it was enough to make his chest burst with warmth.

Ren turned, smiling, and set the coffee down in front of his husband.

Goro took a sip and then raised his eyes to meet Ren’s.

“Delicious,” he murmured, smiling slightly. “As always.”