Work Text:
Who… was he?
Goro stood in front of the sink, gazing at his reflection in the mirror.
Maruki brought him back to life. That much was obvious. He died in that boiler room – He wasn't alive. It was even more evident with how many people had been brought back by their wishes as well – Wakaba, Okumura…
Why would he be the exception?
His memory was almost completely gone between when he died in the boiler room and now. All he remembered was waking up in his bed, checking the date, and seeing that a whole month had passed, and it was Christmas Eve. It was almost – almost surreal.
Remembering the feeling of that bullet shooting through his abdomen, remembering how he'd whispered to Kurusu something about his glove before slipping into unconsciousness – or death.
Goro ran his fingers through his hair and let out a shaky sigh. He felt his abdomen with his other hand – searching for that bullet that had ended his life–
But it wasn't there.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Why was he alive? How could he be alive? No one cared enough about him to wish him alive – who even knew he was dead.
None of the thieves cared about him. Sae didn't care about him enough, let alone Shido. It wouldn't be anyone's ultimate wish for garbage like him to be alive.
Maybe Kurusu– No. He would never wish someone like him alive again.
Which is why – which is why he has no idea who he is. He's probably in some sick dream where he's alive. This is his limbo – a limbo that allows for him to be with the thieves as if he was one of them. One where they accepted him for who he was. One where Kurusu– where he appreciated Goro and let him spend the night at Leblanc when he was afraid of his own apartment.
Kurusu would never snuggle Goro like that in reality. He murdered his friends' mother and father – he murdered Kurusu himself. Yet… Kurusu still invited him into the futon and ran his fingers through Goro's hair. He still let a murderer sleep next to him without a care in the world.
…Goro was dead. He was dead. If he was simply someone's sick wish – he wasn't even himself. He was someone's sick idea of who he should be. He wasn't even controlling himself– he was probably being controlled by that goddamned Maruki. His every move was probably being tracked and changed to fit that sick man's ideology.
He was a fucking puppet. Whoever wished him alive was some sick– some sick psycho who wanted to control him to make him his Detective Prince self again.
But… Kurusu was…
Kurusu was the only one who'd want that. He knew that Goro was dead. He knew that he was shot in that boiler room. He was the only one who even cared for Goro in any way shape or form.
If Kurusu was the one who wished him alive… Then…
He'd rather be dead.
He wouldn't let himself be Kurusu's sick fantasy of what Goro might have been like if he'd not known him as the Detective Prince.
But… if Kurusu was genuine in the way he cared for Goro… maybe…
No. He would choose his own path. He wouldn't let someone else control his decisions. He wouldn't be someone else's puppet.
He would choose his own life – once and for all.
Goro took one last good look at himself in the mirror, glaring. He then opened the door slowly with a sigh. He looked at the calendar posted in the hallway – and ripped it off the wall.
Tomorrow, whatever Maruki would say wouldn't convince him.
February 2nd, 2017.